Ninja at First Sight

Part 2: Knock, knock...NINJA!

"No, it's a matter of decency."

"And who decides what is decent?"

I slowed my steps as I approached the dorm kitchen, especially when I thought I recognized the second speaker's voice. Without realizing what I was doing, I stopped and waited for the conversation to continue. I didn't have to wait long.

"You're being purposefully obtuse." A woman spoke; she sounded extremely frustrated.

"I'm not. I'm merely pointing out that one person's decent is another person's indecent," came the laconic—almost bored—response. The speaker was Greg.

My body stiffened, and I clutched the washing bin closer to my chest. Within were dishes too dirty for a simple rinse in the bathroom sink. I felt a slight disturbance in the cadence of my heart and realized I was holding my breath. I forced myself to breathe out. I rolled my eyes at my bizarre behavior and willed my feet to move.

They didn't move.

"That's bull," she said, sounding disgusted. "You can't tell me that harming animals is okay!"

"I can tell you whatever I please. I can tell you that Shaquille O'Neal is my cousin and that James here is having sexual relations with his hotdog bun. It might not be true, but I can say it."

"Hey, leave me and my bun out of it!" Presumably this objection came from the aforementioned James.

I pressed my lips together to keep from grinning, belatedly realizing I'd been eavesdropping. Shaking myself, I charged forward and into the kitchen. I wasn't going to turn into a creepy lurker just because I found Greg interesting...okay, more than interesting. Really, I shouldn't have been thinking about him at all. He had a girlfriend.

"Get back to the point. Do you or do you not believe that having sex with animals is wrong? Do you believe that it's cruelty to animals? Yes or no."

I glanced around the room as I entered, nodding to several people who looked up from the debate, a few girls and guys I recognized from my tour of the dorms and subsequent social interactions. I counted almost thirty people crowded in the kitchen, most sitting on the floor, their attention rapt on Greg and a tall girl with long blonde dreadlocks. I recognized her as Simone, political science and women's studies senior, and she was giving Greg a look that would incinerate most people.

Greg looked untroubled and amused.

"That's not the point at all," he said. "And if it were the point, I counter with the fact that farmers and veterinarians frequently lend a helping masturbatory hand in the worthwhile cause of animal husbandry."

"That's a different matter entirely. The horse isn't being raped."

Greg's eyes flickered to mine, and he did a double take; his amused expression wavered, his eyebrows pulling low for an instant. But he turned his attention back to Simone. I watched him gather a deep breath, his eyes blinking three or four times as though he was trying to bring her back into focus. I ambled to the vacant sink and washed my dishes; but I kept the water pressure low so I could listen to the debate.

"Hello? Greg...the difference with animal husbandry is the absence of rape."

"Ah, well then," he cleared his throat, "what about the great demand for horse on human pornography—yes, that's right, videos of horses having sexual relations with women. A horse going on a human ride, saddle optional, of course."

This was met with some groans and some laughter. I cringed, tried not to laugh, failed, and cringed—feeling guilty for laughing.

"Ugh! You are so disgusting! I can't believe you're laughing-" Simone glared at several of the spectators, her hands balling into fists. She was obviously seething.