[Only one sentence in advance: English is not my first language, so I humbly ask you to forgive the spelling mistakes and the like I made in the text.]

Chapter One — Introductory Salutations and Ulterior Motives

Jeff knocked at the door and checked the time. He was ten minutes late, perfect.

A few seconds later, the door opened and Troy appeared with a happy smile on his face.

"Jeff, come in! Vuestra casa es su casa," he said, confounding the Spanish possessive pronouns nuestra and vuestra, and beckoned his guest to enter. But the former lawyer hesitated to do so. Because he was surprised by Troy's clothing.

Jeff shouldn't have been surprised—he had been invited to a "pajama party" after all—but he had thought that the guys had been using the term pajamas just for fun. And yet, there stood Troy in front of him, wearing light green jammies, with dark green space ships from the Star Trek franchise on it.

Before Jeff had a chance to greet Troy and to express his astonishment, Abed entered from the bedroom, wearing the red version of Troy's attire. "Hey Jeff. I hope you brought your PJs," he said, waving friendly to their guest.

After some time, Jeff lowered the eyebrow that he had raised skeptically and entered. "Hello, Troy, Abed. And no, I haven't brought them, because I don't have any pajamas. For, you see, I am not twelve years old anymore." And he added, slightly frowning, "And neither are you."

"But this is a pajama party," Abed insisted, stepping next to Troy and accentuating their matching clothing. "We can't have a pajama party without pajamas!"

"You'll get over it," Jeff answered curtly. He had not been wearing PJs probably since before his two friends here were even born, and he did not intend to change that now. "But even without them, we can still have a party," he said and put the six-pack of beer that he had brought along on the kitchen counter. "I brought some cervezas."

"No, Jeff, this won't do," Abed said, shaking his head and his left index finger. "Just look at yourself!"

As commanded, Jeff looked at himself; at his dark leather shoes, his black Jeans and his navy blue sweater combined with a light blue shirt. With a smug smile, he said, "I look dashingly handsome."

As true as this may have been, it did not impress anybody. Abed insisted, "That's not the point. A pajama party is not about looking good. It's about feeling comfortable."

"I told you, Abed, he thinks he is too cool for PJs," Troy said, before exchanging an ominous look with Abed, then smirking at Jeff, "but, lucky you, we prepared something in advance!"

Having said that, Troy rushed into the bedroom and returned a few seconds later. He was brandishing blue Star Trek pajamas. "They'll fit just fine."

Any other time, Jeff might have unyieldingly objected to dressing up like a 40-year-old man child, playing with his 25-year-old man child friends. But today, there was something he wanted from his friends and he knew he had to make some concessions if he wanted the get that. So he decided to abide by their rules.

Yet, he still had to resist at least a little bit. Anything else would have been highly suspicious.

After all, the last time somebody tried to pressure Jeff Winger into putting on clothing he considered ridiculous, it led to a pool game of life and death. "You want me to put that on? Surely, you can't be serious!"

Abed, deadpan, replied, "I am serious and don't call me Shirley!" and laughed.

Troy joined his laughter, "Airplane, classic," before he turned to Jeff and added, "But he's right: If you want to party with us, you'll have to wear these." He handed the clothes to Jeff. "Don't worry, there are no girls here today you'd need to impress with 150 dollar shoes. It's just us guys."

That was right, there were no girls with them that night. They were away on a trip to a so-called "Judeo-Christian Museum of Feminism", though Jeff was convinced this was just code for getting drunk off their asses without the boys. But he was pleased with their absence for that was very conducive to his plans.

Skeptically inspecting the blue PJs in his hands, he said, "First of all, these are 250 dollar shoes. Secondly, what have we got planned for tonight anyway?"

"Well, originally we thought we might watch a movie, sing karaoke or play charades" Abed said, putting popcorn into the microwave.

"We could watch The Dark Knight," Troy added. "We've seen it just four times this year."

Jeff commented drily, "Only four times? Sounds like you must already be suffering from withdrawal."

"Don't make light of the Batman!" Abed retorted, surprisingly serious, and thus affirming that he might indeed have been suffering from some kind of Batman-deprivation.

"But since neither Pierce nor Dean Pelton can join us this evening," Troy went on, "we can do more of the fun stuff."

"Oh? Pierce and the dean can't come?" Jeff said happily.

"Yeah, Pierce celebrates his Level 5 Laser-Lotus-Puja-Mitzvah, and the dean has an urgent appointment somewhere else."

"What a pity," Jeff said. Though he had known about the dean's appointment before.

After all, it was he himself who had called the dean and had asked him to drive five hours to a shop in the middle of nowhere, where they sold the canned Greek olives Jeff ‚liked so much, whatever he said in public'.

"But, as Troy says, now we can do the funnier stuff as well. Like Truth or Dare."

Truth or Dare? Jeff jubilated internally—for that was the perfect game for his secret intentions. But he had to restrain himself. Trying to feign revulsion, he scoffed, "Truth of Dare? Why, how come we don't play Strip Poker?"

"We've never learnt how to play poker," Abed said. "But if you teach us, we can play that as well."

Jeff strenuously tried to hide the obstinate smile that slowly pried the corners of his mouth upwards, as he said, attempting to sound a little bit contemptuous, "You do know that Truth or Dare is a game for children and teenage girls? And while Strip Poker is a game for adults, you don't play it without women. I mean, I'd love to play it with Annie and Britta—maybe we could do this when the girls are back from their weekend trip—but with just the two of you ... that would be ... very, very gay.—Not that there's anything wrong with that. You know what I mean.—Why would grown men like you want to play such games?"

Troy answered by nodding silently towards Abed, who was staring vacantly at Jeff's sweater.

Jeff had to wait a moment before Abed, with a somewhat melancholy ring to his voice, said, "I've always wanted to play games like Truth or Dare, or Strip Poker, or Twister, since a long time ago."

The red clad Greendalian paused a moment. Jeff thought about saying something, but did not dare to do so, he did not dare to interrupt his friend, who seemed to muster courage to say something that came from the heart.

Abed went on, still staring at Jeff's chest. "In many TV shows and movies, those games are portrayed as a normal part of the life of teenagers. Because I was somewhat of an outcast, I never had a chance to do these things with my friends and I always felt like I missed out on something. Something important." He raised his eyes from the sweater and looked first into Troy's, then Jeff's eyes, as he said, "You're the only guys I'd feel comfortable enough to play these games with, and it would mean a lot to me if we could do that."

Troy added, "And I don't care whether those are games for little girls or for children, they're fun! I mean, I probably wouldn't play Truth or Dare with Pierce, 'cause he'd probably dare me to do something really bad, or with Dean Pelton, 'cause I'd learn things about him that might scar me for life." He paused, glanced sideways at Abed and added, "And I don't care that much for Twister, 'cause, you know, the rubbing could britta things up. ... I mean, the rubbing with Annie or Britta. ... Not the rubbing with you guys ... 'cause that would totally not influence me."

"I bet that Shirley would be offended if she could hear you now," Abed said, "only talking about Britta and Annie arousing you."

"Well, that's life and she better come to terms with it," Jeff said. "She's a great woman, but her time as a woman I want to rub my body against has passed. And in twenty years guys will be talking about Annie and Britta the way they talk about Shirley now. Beauty is ephemeral." He directed his thoughts back at Strip Poker, heaved a sigh (while dancing gleefully in his mind) and said, "Well alright. I'll do it, I'll play these stup– these fun games with you." And he finished as if he were making a great sacrifice, "If it means that much to you, Abed."

"Cool. Cool, cool, cool. You can change in our bedroom. See you in a minute."

Jeff nodded and went into the bedroom, blue Star Trek pajamas in his hands. As soon as the door closed behind him, the broad smile that had been imposing itself on his lips was finally allowed to show itself.

He couldn't believe how simple it would be.

He had thought it would be way more difficult to see the guys nude.

Since several weeks ago, he had been fascinated with the crotches of Abed and Troy—since the one time when he had visited them at their apartment and, just before the apartment door had opened, had heard Abed saying, "When I'm fully erect, about 30 centimeters."

Jeff had had no idea how long 30 centimeters are because he had never felt the need to learn the metric system. He had had no idea—until that day, that is. He later grabbed his phone, did the math and was astonished when he found out that 30 centimeters are equivalent to almost twelve inches, to a foot—almost twice the size of Jeff's own penis.

And later, another thought had started crossing his mind: Abed had given Troy's character in Dungeons and Dragons the name Hector the Well Endowed. Why? Was Troy's even bigger?

For some reason, he felt the irresistible urge to know it for sure.

He had never been that much interested in penis size. He knew that there were guys with dicks bigger than his and that there were guys with dicks smaller than his, but he had never really cared about that. As far as he knew, his penis was at seven inches a little bit above average, and that sufficed in his eyes. Of course, he wouldn't have minded if his joystick had been an inch (or 2.54 centimeter) longer or a bit thicker—but he was happy with his—as he like to call it—with his gavel, and none of the women he had been intimate with had ever complained.

But when he had overheard Abed's proclamation, that had changed.

Now, whenever he was trimming the bush or masturbating or just scratching himself down there, he wondered what it would be like if there was more. And—at least he thought so—also his lady friends started wondering the same: if it weren't nice if there were a few inches more of Jeff to love and to caress. They didn't say anything about his size out loud, but he started seeing signs he interpreted that way.

And now Jeff wanted, no, he NEEDED to, he had to see the real things. He had to know if it was true.

He had already seen Troy and Abed in their underwear once: Quite some time ago, the study group was searching for Annie's lost pen and all had stripped down to their underwear in order to prove that they weren't hiding it on their bodies. At that time, Jeff might have noted if Abed's briefs had been unaccountably brimming or if there had been an anaconda winding its way through Troy's boxers. But since Jeff's eyes were mostly fixed on the ladies' lingerie, he probably wouldn't have noticed anything, even if any of the guys had been wearing a medieval chastity belt.

He did somehow wish that it were a lie, or that he had simply misheard. After all, Jeff was a little bit competitive from time to time, and having a big penis was—in Jeff's mind and in the minds of many people of both sexes—a victory. Maybe not a very important one, maybe a very small one, but a victory nonetheless. Having the biggest penis in the study group was not a thing to brag about, but hey, it would have still been nice just to know that it was true.

Although, he had to say, that he wouldn't really mind that much losing this competition to Abed or Troy, or even to both of them. Jeff didn't like losing in general—that's one of the reasons he had been such a skillful lawyer—, but he considered losing against his best friends to be almost as good as winning himself. (On the other hand, he would have been REALLY pissed if he had reason to believe that Pierce or, God forbid, Chang were better equipped than he.)

But be that as it may, he had nothing to worry about anymore. If they were going to play Strip Poker and Truth or Dare, he was unavoidably going to see enough. Either during Strip Poker because they wouldn't be able to beat Jeff, who had been playing Poker for years, or during Truth or Dare because he could (and, if necessary, would) inconspicuously use dares to make them do things like asking nude for a cup of sugar from their neighbors.

Jeff checked his reflection in the mirror of a wardrobe and looked at the hunk in baby blue fabric. The guys had correctly guessed Jeff's size and the pajamas were comfortable; they were tight enough to underline his physique and show his assets, yet still loose enough so as not to hinder any of his movements. However, he felt ridiculous: He might just as well be wearing a diaper and a bib while suckling on a pacifier.

He would have to make sure that no photographic proof of this humiliation would ever be recorded.

While his gaze wandered across the reflection of his body, something else caught his eye. He saw something lying on the desk behind him: a ruler. He moved to the desk, grabbed the ruler and checked its graduation.

The ruler was twelve inches long.

It was of the purported length of Abed's penis.

Jeff hesitated for a moment, then he held it to his crotch as if it were his erection and checked his reflection again. His first thought was how huge it seemed on his muscular frame, and how unrealistically huge it must seem on a scrawny body like Abed's.

Jeff moved his right hand along the length of the ruler as if he were masturbating. He thought about how unpractical such a thing could be. That it might in fact be very unpleasant for a woman to be—there's no better word—to be impaled on this. That maybe the two guys, when they were still younger, felt somehow like freaks because of it and that it may have to do with their social inadequacies.

His next thought was how easy it must be for the two to fellate themselves.

He chuckled, then remembered that his friends were waiting for him.

Jeff looked again at the reflection, watching himself "masturbating". He sped up the movement of his hand and silently moaned as if he were having an orgasm and ejaculating on the mirror (not without forgetting to shake off the last drops of "sperm" from the tip of the ruler), chuckled again and restored the ruler to the desk.

Having urged his facial features back into a not too enthusiastic expression, he joined his friends in the living room. "Well, I have to admit—", he began talking, when he was interrupted by Troy's exclaiming "SAY CHEESE!", followed by a blinding flash of lightning.

"Aaaaand it's sent. The girls are gonna love this," Troy said with a big grin on his face and his phone in his hands.

A second later, Abed's and Jeff's phones signaled the arrival of a new message. Jeff didn't check it, he already knew what he had gotten. Abed did check his though and commented, "Cool. Cool, cool, cool."

"I'll get you for that," Jeff said calmly and threateningly to Troy. "Later. When you least expect it.—Well then, what's planned now?"

Abed handed him a beer and said, "We haven't decided yet."

"We thought about watching Caddyshack. Did you know that one of the lead actors is the spitting image of Pierce? A younger Pierce, that is."

"No, thanks. I'm grateful for every moment I don't have to think about that guy or people who look like him."

"Well, we've been discussing about some other movies to watch and can't agree. You decide," Abed said and pointed at their impressive movie collection, which ranged from Kickpuncher & Mecha-Godzilla vs Punchkicker and American Pie to Eraserhead and My Dinner with André.

"I really don't mind. Any movie becomes a good one if watched with one's friends. And anything's better than discussing half an hour about which movie to watch."

"You are not helping us decide. Choose a movie."

"Alright," Jeff grunted. "Let's just watch The Dark Knight. I love the performance of the Joker in that movie." He paused a moment and added, "And the Joker will be a fitting transition to a nice game of cards afterwards."

"The Dark Knight it is, then," Abed said in the raspy voice of the Batman.

Three minutes later, three guys in pajamas were sitting comfortably in front of the TV, beer, popcorn and Let's chips at the ready, watching the golden logo of Warner Brothers turning into the baleful night sky above Gotham City, where a desperate populace wistfully awaited the hero they needed.