Sixteen Scandals
Copyright© 2026 by Zappedfan
Chapter 9: Pageant Runway
“Don’t Stop Believin’” was playing over the loudspeakers. Edna finished lacing her boots and suddenly had another impure thought.
Mystery Torpedoes!
She could still see them. She bolted up to her locker, grabbed her little tool box disguised as a make-up kit, and rushed into the hall calling the other Fordham girls.
“Follow Me!”
Claire wondered what Edna was up to now. She walked over to the door and looked both ways out into the hall. She saw the Fordham girls at the privacy wall between the female and male half-floors, feverishly making measurements and drawing twelve little circles with pens.
“Oh no,” Claire thought and rushed up to Edna.
“Edna, the moment you drill through that wall, they’ll see it!”
Edna finished the last circle and handed tools out to her classmates.
“By the time this song plays,” Edna said, “They’re all shaving, waiting to shave, showering or waiting to shower. Nobody’s in the hallway.”
“Well, then,” Claire replied, “They’ll see the peepholes in the wall when they come out.”
“How often,” Edna asked, “Did you look at the privacy wall when you came out?”
Edna had a point. Claire had always headed to her bunk and locker the other way.
All four Fordham girls began drilling peepholes.
“The OFFICERS,” Claire protested, “Are inspecting the barracks after training so we can clear post.”
“Betty and Debra,” Edna explained, “Are skipping breakfast to take this wall out.”
Betty and Debra nodded.
“It’ll be in the dumpster in a hundred pieces,” Edna continued, “Good luck finding peepholes”
“Nobody,” Claire insisted, “Ordered you to remove the wall, Edna.”
“Oh? I assumed we were supposed to leave the barracks as we found them,” Edna said with feigned innocence, “If that’s not true, I’m sorry.”
Edna turned back to drilling peepholes.
“It’s still an awful risk,” Claire warned, “We got away with the air chase all week. Why not just leave it at that?”
“Listen,” Edna explained, “The Twenty Torpedoes are about to walk back to their bunks without towels. That hallway is going to become a pageant runway for a male cadet nude revue. And I am NOT letting THAT parade pass me by.”
“Fordham has the top holes,” Edna finished, “What about St. John’s?”
“We’ll take the bottom holes!” Claire exclaimed (now fully on board), “I’ll tell Cindy that City University has the middle ones.”
In the male drying room, a small white nozzle appeared through the white louvers of the wall vent.
“I don’t know about this part,” Susan whispered.
“Oh please,” Jenna whispered back, “I’ve painted wall murals a hundred feet high with this equipment. I can make it stream, spray and mist at exactly the right time and place.”
“Yeah,” Susan whispered, “A wall can’t feel itself being painted.”
“The key is following the towel,” Nancy instructed, “Whatever they feel, they’ll attribute to their own toweling off.”
“Right,” Jenna answered then turned to Nellie.
“What are the six places again?” Jenna asked.
“The pulse points,” Nellie whispered, “Underarms, wrist, neck, thighs, inner elbows and crotch.”
“Maybe not the crotch,” Susan whispered.
“Oh,” Jenna answered, “DEFINITELY the crotch! You’re having fun with your potato pistol. Now it’s MY turn.”
Five nude male cadets, some oiled up from slipping, were swaying to the music displaying the pendulum effect and waiting a turn in the shower.
Bedroom Eyes Ben stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel.
Dreamboat Danny walked in towards the shower head that Ben just left.
Susan took aim at a bare bottom and just as Danny was about to pass it...
Pufft ... flick.
Studmuffin Stan twirled around and gave a surprised look at Danny.
The Hofstra girls watched Stan’s torpedo through their opera glasses.
A small white potato pellet mixed with the soap suds and washed down the drain.
Susan re-loaded.
Stan shook his head and turned back around.
Ben finished drying his neck and felt a slight tingling sensation there.
“These Army towels were sure cheap,” Ben thought.
“Hey, Chemistry major, what’s in this?” Jenna asked in a whisper.
“Lavender, musk of course, vanilla, and appropriately for these guys,” Nellie whispered back, “Wood.”
The Hofstra girls suppressed giggles.
“So, what do you call it?” Nancy asked.
“Torpedo Juice” was the obvious answer.
Out in the hall, twelve female cadets, four standing, four kneeling and four sitting had one eye each pressed against a hole in what was now the “Lack of Privacy” wall.
“The lighting is so much better out here than in the shower,” Jane said.
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