More Cliffhangers?

"Bloke? What bloke?"

This was the cheapest form of defense I could come up with in my semi-sober defense. Am I flat-out lying, or am I simply asking for the definition of obscure Australian slang. Plausible deniability, I rationalize. At the moment, I was disconcertingly curious about the straight boy I was hitting on's reaction, but he'd already vanished. And by the time I'd realized it, so had my accuser. Without further comment to me, the crowd shuffled out of the bar and into the night.

The next day, I sat down at lunch with a person I know heard. I strongly believe he was sober. He chatted in his usual quiet demeanor, nothing different. That morning, I'd noticed no swastikas painted on my door. Apparently I had nothing to fear... until I went to pay the freshman block a visit. It was quiet and empty. I turned to leave, when a boy exited the bathroom in a towel. He looked at me, then turned to walk down the hall. I recognized him from standing next to me at the bar last night. I called after him "Why's it so quiet tonight?"

He turned back to look at me again, same stony look on his face. Without responding, he resumed walking down the hall. Now I felt worried.

That dinner, another friend approached. You may recall him from my first visit to The Valley. He offered to accompany me to the gay bar for the cheap drink specials, but decided against it when he realized there'd be a cover charge. 10 minutes later, he was spouting anti-gay rhetoric at me, telling me how disgusting they were and how he'd refuse to fraternize with them. I simply rolled my eyes, and wished for once that Teh Ghey actually was infectious.

"I heard you had a good night after the A&P dinner. You were with somebody. Who was it?"

I had long ago learned to focus in on pronouns. Clearly, a game of Telephone had been at work, and a few steps back, 'bloke' had slipped from the secret message.

"You know, we were drunk on champaign and port that night. You know the rule: What happens on port, stays on port... What, not satisfied? Fine, I'll come clean. It was the Warden. That old man is a fox in bed!"

I was almost off the hook, but I still had to survive the weekly College Meeting. One of the major orders of business is to announce any "win-ons" or inter-college hookups. Plainly, I was fucked, right? Maybe not. The call for win-ons came and went, and no one piqued up. I breathed a sigh of relief as the meeting came to an end.

"Wait, there was one win-on this week... At the A&P Dinner! But we wont announce it just yet. More info next week." As he says this, he appears to stare right into my eyes.

Peter figures they know I had a hookup with somebody, they just have no clue who, and they cant announce a win-on unless they know both parties involved. They used the announcement to stall, so they can investigate the story intensively in the ensuing week.

So either they're bluffing, or they're about to go over my life with a fine-toothed comb. This could end poorly.