Date: Fri, 24 Feb 2006 16:40:04 -1000 From: S turner Subject: Strange Bedfellows, Chapter 3 STRANGE BEDFELLOWS Chapter Three Discaimer: The following story is a mostly-fictional account of the author's experiences and relationships while a college student. The characters are either composites of people he knew, or those about which he fantasized. Any resemblance to real people, either living dead, is a pure coincidence, and is also a bloody shame. If you are not old enough in your state to read sexually explicit material, then get the hell out of here. This story is copyrighted, 2006, and may not be reproduced or reposted without the expressed, written permission of the author. I've appreciated the feedback thus far, and would welcome your comments at scotty.13411@hotmail.com As was his habit, Scott awoke before the alarm was set to go off at 6:00 a.m. After staring at the ceiling for twenty minutes, replaying last evening's session with the James Brothers, he needed to get to the showers to take care of business. He started the coffee pot, grabbed his towel and his kit and headed down the hallway. No sound coming from Frank and Jesse's room as he walked by. Too bad, but understandable, all things considered. He noted a rug burn on the inside of his right knee, and his lower back was a bit stiff and sore. "Gotta work out more," he thought to himself with a grin on his face. Back in his room, refreshed and newly relieved, he thought about the day ahead. He looked forward to his state government discussion section. Randy Oakes was bright, thoughtful and very, very easy to look at. He was easy to listen to and speak with as well. Scott felt well-prepared to jump into any discussion that might come their way, given the reading assignments for this week, and he hoped for an opportunity to impress the young teaching assistant. After debating with himself for a short time, he decided to put on a pair newer, nicely pressed Dockers and a tie today. His lunch with Maureen was on the schedule, and he didn't want to show up under-dressed. While he didn't feel the need to impress her-she was already in his camp, in case the need ever arose-it was the Inn on the Park, after all. While he'd never ventured into the place, he knew that it catered to the capitol's high and mighty. He knew the neckwear would make him stick out in his morning classes, but that's not always a bad thing either. Following his ancient history course, he stopped for a cup of coffee and checked out the morning headlines in The State Journal. The paper's own poll had the governor's approval ratings at an all-time high, a virtual shoo-in for reelection, and there was speculation whether he would spend that capital in the upcoming legislative races. `He'd be a moron not to,' Scott thought. After eight years of battling the other party's majority in both houses of the legislature, to be able to finish his gubernatorial tenure with a friendly majority in at least one house would be very sweet icing on the cake. Then again, he'd heard that despite his affability, and the generally favorable economic conditions in the state, the man was not the sharpest blade in the drawer. Heading up the hill, coffee in hand, Scott found himself anxious to get to Randy's class. Walking past Mr. Lincoln, he simply looked up and winked. Abe kept his seat, continuing to stare ahead at the dome on the other end of State Street. "Poor old guy," Scott thought: "had to battle both the Civil War and a madwoman for a wife. You're a better man than I, sir." He was about five minutes early for the discussion section, and there were only three others in the small room when he entered. Scott situated himself on the aisle near the middle of the room, remembering Randy's habit of walking throughout the room during their discussions. A glance at that hard ass and tight package would make the morning a bit more pleasant, he thought, not that there was anything wrong with the day so far. Scott returned to his paper and what was left of the coffee and, bit by bit, the other twenty students in the discussion section drifted in. He was oddly self-conscious about the slacks and red tie he'd put on that morning, and a couple of his classmates, barely awake and wearing shorts and tees, seemed to register an air of `who do you think you are?' as they walked by. `Screw `em' he thought, `adults sometimes dress this way. Get used to it...' He heard a voice he recognized, and glanced up over the newspaper. The first thing he saw was the Doc Marten's, and then he slowly looked all the way up over the fine form of Randy Oakes. Tight-fitting jeans, covering very fit legs and a great looking package. Randy turned to finish the conversation he was having in the hallway, giving Scott a reminder of the tight, firm ass he'd seen under the desk the other day. A very trim waist that gave rise to a v-shaped contour of his broad, muscular back and shoulders. If he hadn't been a gymnast, he surely should have been. Randy came into the room, and everybody either opened their eyes or they looked up from what they were doing. "'Morning, gang. Glad you're all up and running," he smiled, grabbing a piece of chalk to begin outlining the morning's agenda. "I got a couple of drafts so far on our first paper," he said, jotting his notes on the board, "and they're looking pretty good. But, I'll encourage you all one more time to get moving. Remember...now I don't mean to boast...but I took this class with this same professor a few years ago, and I know exactly what he's looking for." He turned around and propped his rear end on the table up front, forcing his hands into the front pockets of his tight Levi's. "And," he said, looking directly at Scott, "especially for those of you who are committed to this department for the next few years, I want to help you make the most of it. I'm not a big wheel around here, but I'm confident that I can ease the way for those who really want it. Just let me know." With that, Randy launched into a well-constructed Socratic dialogue regarding states' rights as outlined by the U.S. Constitution. Scott almost forgot his sexual attraction to the man, as they all bantered about the disputed interpretations of the Tenth and Fourteenth Amendments. When Scott raised his hand to chime in on "equal protection," Randy smiled. "Mr. Turner, I'm impressed that you felt the need to dress for class today," bringing attention to the tie. "Thanks, Mr. Oakes, but with due respect, I didn't put on the tie for you. And, it's Scott. Mr. Turner is my dad." Many in the class chuckled. "Fair enough," Randy laughed. Nobody in the class caught the little inside joke the men were sharing. "And Mr. Oakes is my father. You have something to add?" `Oh, do I...' Scott thought a dirty thought, but went ahead instead with the point he intended to make. The class discussed the political and historical application of `equal protection under the law' until it was time to wrap it up. As he looked at the clock, Randy asked anyone who had given him draft for review to give him a minute after class, so they could schedule time to talk. Scott held back, wanting to be the last of three to speak with Randy. "So, why the tie, if not just for me? It's a good look, by the way," although Randy's eyes did not remain only on the tie. He seemed to be eyeing Scott from head to toe, and Scott thought that he had paused for a moment somewhere near the middle. "Thanks. I have a lunch date with a friend at the Inn on the Park." "Good for you. Decent food there. I read your stuff, and I think it's a great first draft, though I do I have a few ideas I want to share. But, we'd have to sit down one-on-one in order to have them make sense. My office hours tomorrow are already pretty booked." "Oh..." Scott looked disappointed. "Tell you what. It looks like you've got a real jump on this thing, but that you're eager to move along and get it done. What's your schedule like tomorrow evening?" "Well, normally it's a few hours library time, but that's about it?" "My last class for the day ends at around four. Give me enough time for a workout and a bite to eat, I have a few errands to run, but we could plan to meet in the evening, if that works for you." He lowered his voice for dramatic effect. "Keep in mind that I don't normally do this, and I'll thank you to not make it common knowledge that Randy Oakes is so accommodating," he winked. "It's just that your material is more captivating to me than most of the stuff I'll be handed, given my own ties to the district, so I'm motivated to make sure you explore the whole gamut." Scott smiled. "That'd be great! When and where?" "That's the hitch. I'll be running around, then have to plan the phone time with my wife. Do you have a cell phone where I could reach you tomorrow, say, early evening? If you're going to be in the library anyway, I can touch base with you and let you know." Randy was half-sitting on the edge of the desk with his arms crossed. The bright silver wedding band, with the cool engraved pattern, seemed to taunt Scott. He wanted to shout at Randy's hand. "Fuck You!" Instead..."Works for me." Scott wrote down his cell number. "Call me here. I usually eat at around 5:00, and try to be at the library between 6:00 and 6:30." "OK, if you don't hear from me by 7:00, then it's not going to work tomorrow, and we'll have to reschedule after Thursday's discussion. But I'll see what I can do. I'd really like to see you make the most of this assignment, and want to see you do the same. I do have a couple of pointers that I think you could benefit from." "I'd like that, too. I'll take whatever you have to offer." Scott was thinking about more than the paper, and it was hard not to smirk and add a wink to his acceptance. In his mind, he sneered again at the ring. "I look forward to hearing from you." Scott left the office, and was quickly walking down Bascom Hill. It's a straight line from the steps of the hall to the steps of the capitol building. A couple blocks of campus mall, past the library and the bookstore, then onto State Street without making a turn. The walk up State is a pleasant one. Lots of local shops, some a bit esoteric, reflecting the character of the Madison campus and community. An awful lot of folks still stuck in the Sixties, Scott thought as he walked past them, but that was one of the things that attracted him to "Mad Town" to begin with. A lot of people were starting to decry the "corporatizing" of this mile-long landmark, and Scott wasn't unsympathetic. He walked past the Starbucks and recalled the recent protests when it opened its doors. The WalMart of coffee houses had encroached, it brought out both the Madison lifers who were sincere in their protest, and the wannabe Lefty's who just wanted to raise a little hell. Scott didn't join them, and he chuckled at some of the newbies, certain that most of them couldn't name a locally owned coffee house to save their life. Plus he was sure that most of the fresh faces would be vying for internships with Nabisco or Arthur Anderson within a couple of years. He felt a little guilty, but he really didn't have any spare change when one guy asked, not at that moment anyway. He made a note to dip into the change mug on his dresser whenever he left the dorm room. Just in case. About two blocks from the capitol, he approached one of the adult bookstores that Marty had told him about. "Adult Video Arcade" was prominent in the windows. The windows themselves had been painted over, so that innocent passers-by didn't have to be offended by the products that were no doubt on display. He'd been into a few dirty bookstores just off the interstate the past few years, but always with other teenage guys looking for a cheap thrill, and always only after having had a few beers and smoking a joint or two. None of them, though, had an "Adult Video Arcade." Scott chuckled when a fifty-something year-old gentleman in a conservative business suit paused near the front door, looked all around as if to see who might see him, and quickly darted through the front door as another patron was leaving. Once inside the lobby of the Inn on the Park, he was heading toward the desk clerk for directions to the dining room when he heard the woman's voice from behind. "Scotty!" Maureen called out. He turned on heels and walked quickly toward her, happily offering his outstretched arms in reaction to hers. The hug was warm and genuine. "Your timing is perfect, as usual," she gushed after a quick peck on the cheek. She tussled his hair, then put one hand on each shoulder. "Look at you!! You must be turning the head of every pretty co-ed on that campus." "Wouldn't know for sure," Scott said. "I've been too distracted by other matters to really notice." Scott held back a smirk. Maureen took him by the hand and they strolled slowly toward the dining room. "You look more like your father every time I see you! He was such a handsome, strapping lad, and had more than a few skirts on campus chasing after him. We all thought your mom was the luckiest woman in the world when she stole him away from me. And to think I introduced the two of them." It was pretty well-established part of family lore that the elder Scott Turner and Maureen Davidson, later McCarthy, were pretty much on the rocks, after a five year romance that started in high school and followed them both to the University of Wisconsin. His mom liked to joke that Maureen had to beg her to take him off of her hands. Yet, even though they remained close after all these years, it seemed the tension in the room rose a small notch whenever Maureen, her career or the next campaign ever came up in conversation between his parents. Still, mom pitched in when campaign time came around. Scott had seen pictures of Maureen and her dad "back in the day." His dad was a great looking guy and still was for his age. And there was no denying it, Maureen was just plain hot when Big Scotty was doing her. As he came to know her better, through his teen years, he'd always thought she favored Meryl Streep, though with shorter hair than she usually wore in the movies. Still very fit and trim, she was holding her own in her fifties. This particular start to their conversation had become the nearly ritualistic opening to practically every exchange they'd had over the years. Every time she recalled that phase of her young life she sounded like she thought she was telling him for the first time. Scott had long since accepted this as part of the deal, and was happy to humor her. About the time she introduced "Big Scott" to her roommate Suzanne, Maureen met Gregory McCarthy. She and Greg were had both been accepted into law school, as had Scott's dad, and they all remained very close friends throughout. After graduation, Maureen and Greg got married and "hung out a shingle" in their small Wisconsin town. They practiced together for the first five or six years, cultivating a very nice client list from around the region. Then, Maureen's reputation and political activism led that governor to appoint her to fill a vacancy on the circuit court. At the time, she was the youngest circuit court judge in the state, and only the second woman to hold the post. She left the firm in the hands of Greg, and was reelected to the bench in her own right two years later. When the district's state senator got caught up in an ethics probe, the county party leadership nudged her to challenge him for the position. She won in a very close election, but was comfortably reelected three more times. Her star continued to rise, both inside the capitol and inside the district. Her political instincts were very sharp, she ran a very tight office, her ethics remained beyond reproach and the folks back home knew they could count on Maureen to listen and solve problems whenever it was possible, and the right thing to do. Greg had been killed in a car accident two years before this meeting, and Maureen had thought about retiring from politics to return home and run the law firm. The current governor had intervened personally, pleading that he needed her in the senate, and painting all sorts of horror stories of how the state would go to hell in a hand-basket if she weren't there to help him thwart the majority party's agenda. So, instead, she hired two associate attorneys to continue to run the shop, but they kept Greg's name on the front door and letterhead. Maureen remained as involved as she could, mostly in an oversight capacity, but didn't have much time when the legislature was in session. So, Scott was having lunch with a very big wheel, a good looking one at that, and, no doubt one of Wisconsin's most eligible and sought-after widows. "Senator! How nice to see you again!," gushed the restaurant's host, grasping Maureen's outstretched right hand in both of his. "You brighten up my dining room every time you do us the pleasure!!" `What a schmuck,' thought Scott, but he knew that that sort of ass-kissing came with the job and the territory. Plus, Maureen usually did brighten a room, in a gracious, handsome-woman sort of way. "Bradley, I'd like to introduce to an old and dear friend of mine. Scott Turner, this is Bradley Manning." "A pleasure, Mr. Turner," Bradley nearly whined as his eyes nearly bugged out of his head and his smile grew to an unbelievable width. He repeated the double-hand hand shake on Scott. "A real pleasure indeed," Bradley gushed. `Time to get my ass kissed now,' Scott speculated, correctly. "God, how I'd love a chance to kiss this lad's ass," Bradley thought, fighting the temptation to lick his lips. "How do you do, Mr. Manning. It's very nice to meet you." Maureen put a hand on the host's arm and looked at Scott. "Bradley's been here longer than most of the furniture and fixtures in this room, and every other restaurant in Madison has been trying to woo him away from the Inn for as long as I've been doing business here." "Oh, you're too kind, as always," said Bradley, still not taking his eyes off of Scott, nor letting go of his hand. "Oh, fucking great. A sixty-five year old queen is about to start drooling. I may lose my appetite." Bradley finally released his grip, and led the way to a table in the back corner of the small dining room. "You're usual table is all set up. Iced tea with two lemons awaits, ma'am. What would Mr. Turner care to drink?" Asked Bradley, pulling out the senator's chair. "I'll have a Coke, please." Bradley interrupted a waitress and quietly ordered the soda. He then reviewed the day's luncheon specials, making a recommendation in favor of a salad that featured salmon. He assured them the waitress would be right back with Scott's drink, and would be happy to take their order. As Bradley left, Scott couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Scotty!! Maureen scolded. "I don't figure you for a homophobe, so don't be that way. I know your parents raised you with a healthy tolerance for all people. Yes, he's as gay as the day is long, but he is a dear man and would walk over hot coals for just about anybody he thought needed his help." "I suppose, Maureen, and you know I'm no bigot, but the guy did kind of give me the creeps." "You should be flattered. He knows a great looking specimen when he sees one. He may be old, but he's not dead, for Christ's sake. You're a hunk, my boy. I'm sure you've turned the heads of more than a few young gay men on campus the past couple of weeks." Scott blushed a little, and thought to himself with a smile, `I've turned a couple of heads, sure. Marty's head turned this way and that way and this way and that way as he was driving himself up and down on my dick. I've also had a couple of heads bobbin' up and down in my lap. I've turned some legs, too...in the air.' The picture of Jesse, ankles held high, lapping up at Frank's balls popped into his head. "And what about you? Seeing anybody yet?" Scott smiled and wiggled his eyebrows up and down a little. "Oh, Scott, now don't go getting dirty on me now. I've had a few dinners the past few months, I guess you'd call them `dates' with eligible men, but haven't met anybody who trips my trigger the way Greg did." "Well, don't look for a replacement for Greg. That's not supposed to happen anyway, is it?" "No, not really, and I don't expect it to. I just haven't found the time for much of a social life." "Maureen, you need to make the time. You said `Bradley's not dead.' Well neither are you. You're still a babe!" Scott insisted, pouring on the old Turner charm. "Get out there and get yourself some...girlfriend," Scott sort of squealed. Maureen laughed, and blushed a little, then leaned in and whispered "You're worse than your old man, you know that? Besides, if I was `getting some,' I'd damn sure not share that fact with you, you little shit. A sweet little shit, but a little shit nonetheless." They both laughed, Scott nodding his head as if to plead `guilty,' as he munched on a roll. This was the Maureen Scott really liked. Not the one parsing every word and phrase for the benefit of a reporter. Not a carefully scripted campaign appearance, but a real person, capable of saying "shit" when the word fit and of enjoying an occasional dirty joke. An extremely attractive and shapely young woman delivered the Coke. With as much subtlety as he could muster, which admittedly wasn't very much, Scott's eyes wandered upward from her outstanding legs, past a trim waist and lingered a bit at her breasts before making eye contact and smiling. Her blond hair was illuminated by the sun coming through a window from behind her, creating the illusion of a halo. "Thank you very much." Their waitress, gazed back and smiled. "My pleasure, sir." "It's Scott, Debbie," he replied warmly, reading her nametag. "Nice to meet you, Scott," and her gaze lingered a bit longer than was appropriate, under the circumstances. Shaking off the fact that she'd like to get into his pants, Debbie kicked back into professional, working mode and recalled the etiquette of such an establishment. Turning away from Scott, she asked, "Are you ready to order, Senator?" After taking their orders, without writing anything down, Debbie thanked them and collected the menus. "I'll be back in a minute, and lunch should be ready shortly." She walked as slowly as she could away from the table, teasing Scott a bit with slightly exaggerated hip movements. "Down boy." Maureen taunted. "Looks like you have two admirers here at the Inn. Play your cards right and you could be eating here for free before long." They both giggled. "What can I say?" Scott pleaded, as if he was a totally innocent bystander. Scott turned a bit more serious, but still had one of those `want to know' grins on his face. "So, word is that we're poised to take the majority in the next election, at least in the senate." "Been reading that hack in `The Journal,' I see." "Just about every morning." "Not my problem, really. I don't have to run this go `round. I put up with the b.s. just two years ago." Just then, Debbie returned with a pitcher of iced tea to refill Maureen's glass, and offered Scott a fresh Coke. Both accepted, and Maureen asked for another lemon for her tea. Scott thanked Debbie, and asked if she'd bring a glass of water as well, and let her know that he'd probably want a cup of coffee at the end of the meal. "I'll check with the kitchen and make sure we have a fresh pot brewed." This time she winked. "You're the best," he got out before her back was to him. She did the same sachet away from the table as last time. Scott and Maureen both grinned. He continued, "So if it happens...if you and the governor really do get a majority in the senate, what'd that mean for you?" Maureen paused, trying to look contemplative, as if she hadn't really thought all the way through this before, which was a crock, and they both knew it. "Well, for me personally and politically, it could be a bit of a quandary." "Word on the street is that you're priming for a run at the AG's office," Scott tossed out as casually as he could before sipping his fresh soda. "Word on the street?! Who're you talking to?" "My State Gov. TA, who grew up in the district, seems to have an ear to the ground. I don't know how sharp that ear is, but he seemed pretty sure that you're gearing up for a statewide election. He seems to believe, for whatever reason, that you're not going to run for another term in the senate, but that you're gunning for the attorney general's office instead. Says it could lead you to the governor's office before the decade is out. What say you, Senator McCarthy?" "Off the record?" The tone and expression were very, very cautious. Scott was slightly offended. "Aw, c'mon, Maureen! This is me here...this is `Scotty' you're talking to. Do you really have to ask `off the record'?" He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Maureen, I've even avoided sharing my family ties to you with anybody on campus, `cuz I didn't want to look like a schmuck who drops names, and `cuz I didn't want to look like I was an easy connection to you or you office for any sleazy opportunist who might want to impose..." He was going to continue, but wasn't sure where, when she held up a hand. Maureen was embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Scotty. I really am." She really was. "But, a couple of decades in elective office will do that to you...make you react that way, even with your good friends." She reached over and grabbed his hand. "I understand." He squeezed her hand in return. "I don't have to go through the shit that you do. Point made." Debbie saw what appeared to hand-holding at the table as she was coming back with their lunch plates. `What the...?!,' she thought. `Looks like our boy Scott is into older women...seriously older women. And this woman has scored, big time!' The look on her face betrayed those lurid thoughts. Scott and Maureen looked up toward her approach at the same time, and realized that they were so entwined at the fingertips. Debbie awkwardly presented her salad and his pasta, saying next to nothing, and then fidgeted her way through "er...is there anything else I can get you two?" Her voice seemed at least half an octave higher than it had been. Scott jumped on the moment. "No thank you, Debbie." Looking across the table at the senator, he breathed, "I think I have all I need, right here. But, please, remember the coffee. I think I may need a little extra energy this afternoon." They held their breath until they were sure that Debbie was out of hearing distance, neither daring to look the other straight in the eye. Maureen cracked first. Trying to maintain her composure and taking a drink of the tea, she feared it was going to come out through her nose. She swallowed and gasped. "Oh, you are a little shit!!" Their laughter could be heard at the bar. Even Bradley was distracted from his efforts to schmooze one of Madison's premier power couples at the other end of the dining room. "Read `The Journal' tomorrow and see if we made the society page," Maureen chuckled, rolling her eyes, knowing that it was a possibility. "My dad's gonna die when I tell him this. I can't fu..., er... I mean I can't wait." Maureen was pleased with the young man's effort to maintain some level of propriety, but was also happy that he seemed comfortable enough to almost say `fucking' in front of her. "Plus," she reminded herself, "he's still a kid." "So, what is it, senator? What's the low down? Off the record." "Well, this is what the landscape looks like so far...You know that I don't have to run for reelection this November, but half of the members do. We have to keep all the seats we have...and we should...and if we gain just two...and it's a real possibility...then we have a one vote majority in the senate. The Assembly? Who knows? The `lower house,' is such a cluster-fuck most of the time, it's anybody's guess on any given day," she said, emphasizing the word "lower." Scott was listening intently. He knew that this was a lot more education than he could get from Randy Oakes. Then again, he had learned an awful lot since landing in Madison, so anything was a possibility. "If the party pulls if off, and we really could, I'll have some choices to make. On the one hand, I'm situated to take over the chair of the Finance Committee, and I know I could do a lot of good there." "And there's another hand?" Scott wondered out loud. "Yes. I feel confident that the votes are in place to make me majority leader, if we make that transition, and if I want it. Senator Musgrave is retiring, leaving the leadership post open. The assistant leader is the assistant for several good reasons, and doesn't have enough support in the caucus to move up. Our candidates who are poised to knock off their opponents for the `good guys' are pledged to back me as the party leader in the senate." Scott was on the edge of his seat and had, in fact, stopped eating altogether. "Keep going." "Well, as Finance Chair, I could really bring home the bacon for the folks in the district. And, if the party's prospects swelled in the next few years, I could be in a position to stay there and do a lot of good until I got tired of it. There's no discernable opposition to me back home, and I could cement myself in this office until I decide to leave on my own terms." "And as majority leader?" "That's a somewhat bigger fish. I'd play to a larger audience and could really build a statewide base. The governor will be up in two years, and he really wants me to run for Attorney General. He's already told me, point blank, that I'm his candidate, and that he'd eagerly campaign on my behalf everywhere he goes. Last time we had dinner, he reminded me, in a very pointed manner, that he'd been AG before being elevated to the mansion." She took another sip of her tea. "Says it's a great statewide platform from which to run for the top spot. He's told me, point-blank, that he's going to serve one more term," she paused for effect and dropped her voice to mock him, `if the good people of Wisconsin deem me worthy of the honor,' she droned. It was a pretty good impression, eliciting a chuckle from Scott. "Of course, the downside is the responsibility that comes with it." Maureen frowned a bit. "How's that bad?" "Well, Scott," Maureen put down her fork to teach a lesson. "I've believed for some time that one of the worst things to happen to Bob Dole's presidential ambitions was when the GOP took the majority in the U.S. Senate, and he became the leader. All of a sudden, he owned the crap that was coming out of Washington. When he was leader of the minority, he could point and blame and say `this is all their mess.' But when his time came to run nationally, his fingerprints were all over it. Granted, he and his people ran a lousy campaign against a very charismatic incumbent, but once he became a majority leader in Congress, he couldn't disavow anything. He was responsible. As I said on the phone the other day, there's a certain comfort to being on the outs, bitching about what's going on inside. "So, basically, the old boy is telling you...'run for AG, and I'll do what I can to leave the governor's office in your hands'?!" Deep down, Scott was both stunned and thrilled, though was trying hard not to appear too awed. "Can he get you elected to the AG's office?" Maureen smiled and shook her head. "Scotty, I've told you. The staff and the campaigners are priceless, but only I can get myself elected, if it's what I really want, if I have good reasons that the voters will understand, and if it's clearly in the best interest of the people of Wisconsin and their government." Scott was impressed once again. She really meant it. Then she broke the moment's silence with another wisecrack. "Besides, despite his incredible popularity, and his indisputable charm, the man's basically a dolt. Personally, I like him, but he's a rube who has had the good sense to surround himself with an incredibly talented group of political hacks. Moreover, he's benefited from good economic times, low crime rates and little social strife, most of which he's had nothing to do with." She looked left and right, then leaned in over her plate. He did the same. She whispered so quietly that he practically had to read her lips. "To top it all off, not that it matters any, his wife is a raging, lunatic bitch-on-wheels. But, if it weren't for her, he'd still be a sheriff's deputy in northeast Wisconsin." He laughed. "Yeah, I'd heard that. So, what'ya gonna do?" Maureen became very business-like. "Haven't decided yet. I figure I have time to mull it over. The fall elections are two months off, so I'm going to spend some time thinking about it and fighting the good fight in the meantime." "Wow!! So, the way I see it, the next time we have lunch, you could be on your way to either: one, being chair of the legislature's most powerful committee, or two, sitting as majority leader, carrying water for an appreciative chief executive. On top of that, you might be the favorite as both our next attorney general and our next governor." "Could be, but that won't be until after the November elections. I hope we'll see each other before then." Just as Maureen was getting to "I hope we'll see..." Debbie reached in to remove their empty plates. She was obviously trying to appear as though she wasn't listening. Maureen continued, fighting back another giggle at poor Debbie's expense, "Remember, I told your mom and dad I'd keep an eye out for you, and an ear to the ground, whenever possible. I suddenly feel partially responsible for you here." "And that's a problem, Senator? Feeling like a baby-sitter are you?" Scott asked as indignantly as he could. Then he smiled and blushed a little bit. He had to admit to himself that he liked the attention. Then the senator remembered one of the reasons she'd called Scott in the first place. "Oh...I almost forgot!! One of the reasons I wanted to see you this week is to invite you..." she went into her purse. "I'm having a fundraiser, upstairs right here in fact, two weeks from now. I want you to come. I'd love to introduce you around, if only a little." "Fundraiser," thought Scott. "Shit." He wasn't impoverished, having done a great job saving and budgeting for the first couple years in Madison, but unexpected expenses scared him. Plus, he had no idea what people shelled out for an event like this. He'd participated in fundraisers back in the district, but those were five and ten dollar spaghetti dinners, and he was working them, not putting up a donation. From what he'd heard and read, these Madison things can get a little rich. He quickly thought that a call to his dad could get a check in the right amount in time, and knew that the old man would be happy to do it. But Scott didn't want "Scott Turner, Sr." listed as the contributor to an even to which Jr. had been invited. Besides, how could he ask the folks for money after he'd made such a big deal about doing it all on his own? "Uhhmm...when is it?" he asked with some trepidation. He was mentally ticking through ways he could avoid or defray some expenses in the coming weeks. "Relax," Maureen smiled. These are comp tickets. Everybody has a few to give away for their own events, and I've already told the campaign staff that you're coming, so it's on our dime. I insist that you come, if you're free, and that you bring a friend." She handed him two tickets. The amount of the suggested donation had been inked out in black marker, and her initials were scribbled above it in red pen. Then he thought for a second. "Wait a minute." His eyes narrowed. "You have decided!! You don't have an election in November. Every fundraiser you've ever had has been local, back in the district, nickel and dime stuff. You've always bragged about not feeling the need to go hat-in-hand and pander to the big money folks in Madison." Maureen was ahead of him. "Very sharp, Scotty. Yes, I am gearing up for the possibility of a statewide race. In order to do that, I need to appease the party and engage in some Madison fundraising for my own campaign. But I haven't decided. If I do raise a ton of cash in the next couple of years, but then decide I don't want to aim higher, anything raised on my behalf will sit there for use in future reelection campaigns for my seat in the senate. Either that, or it will be donated to Habitat for Humanity if I decide to hang it up and come home in two years." Scott was smiling and shaking his head. "May I say, Maureen, that I can see why my father was so taken with you. Don't get me wrong. You know how I adore my mom, and will always be grateful that you put the two of them together. I've thought about it more than once; if not for you, where would that have left me?" Maureen got a devilish grin. "You'd have probably been nothing more than a slippery splash on his bedroom wall, for the flies to eat if he didn't clean it up." Scott nearly choked on what was left of his Coke. "And," she added, "I think I was probably there, in the apartment, the night you were conceived. They didn't even have the decency to take it back to his apartment. God! the way those two would go at it. And we had these paper-thin walls..." Scott plugged his ears for dramatic effect and sang, "Na Na Na Na Na Na Na!!... Don't want to hear it, Maureen!! Waaaayyy tooooo much information here!!" Debbie came by with the check while they were still laughing. Maureen was wiping her eyes and apologizing for the impropriety, actually blushing that she'd said such things to this fine young man. Scott reached for his wallet, and Maureen went cold. "Don't even think about it." She smiled sweetly. "For all you do for me, the very least I can do is provide an occasional meal so that you can keep up your strength. You know how important that is to me." She smiled and batted her eyelashes. Debbie didn't know what to do. "You can pay this with Bradley at the register, ma'am. Thank you." She didn't even address Scott. Then, she left the table. They shared another grand laugh. This was going to be one of those get-togethers that they'd recount with each other, and with friends, for years to come. Each one was certain of that. After settling the tab, they headed for the Inn's entrance. Scott was quietly glad that Bradley was otherwise occupied, and that he'd escaped an elaborate good-bye. On their slow walk through the lobby, Maureen reached down and took Scott's hand in her own. "You don't know how much fun this has been for me. I need this kind of "R and R" from time to time. It's early in the current floor session, but we're all looking at a campaign season in the weeks ahead, and it could get nasty. Everybody's looking ways to create issues to run on, and still cover their asses all at the same time. I hate nasty, but can't just walk away from it, either. I think there's a lot at stake, for the state and for me, personally and professionally." They were on the front sidewalk now, the Inn's front door on Scott's right, the stately dome of the capitol building on his left. She was quiet for a long moment, and seemed to be thinking very hard. Maureen nodded sideways, across the street. "You know, if it was possible for me to create a part-time position over there, I'd find a way for you to come and work for us while still working on your degree." "Whoa! Not sure I'm ready for that. I'm still navigating campus. You know that part of me would love it, but I need to get settled into the college routine. But, please, Maureen, don't go toward nasty." "I'll do my best." Just then, her cell phone rang. "Shit!" she hissed, rolling her eyes. "Well, then," she grabbed both of his shoulders and leaned up to kiss his forehead, "you go and get settled, and please keep in touch. I'm being beckoned." The "Walk" signal was flashing, and she was stomping through the crosswalk before Scott knew what was going on. Scott had to shout. "Take care! Thanks so much for lunch. I promise I'll keep in touch." The cell phone at her ear, Maureen turned and waved, a big smile on her face. She blew him a kiss, hoping that Debbie was watching through the restaurant's windows. Turning back onto State Street, Scott checked his watch. He still had better than an hour before he was due back in class. Not enough time to go back to the dorm, nor enough to start any meaningful work in the library. He decided to take his time on a leisurely walk down State and enjoy the sights. The door to the bookstore flung open, and he had to quickly step to his right to avoid walking into it. A portly, gray-haired guy stepped out, gave Scott sort of a sneer, and turned a sharp left. "Uuhhmmmm, what the hell," he thought. "Let's check it out." He ducked inside before the door had closed. Walking past the counter, he nodded at the clerk. The guy with blue hair and a ring in his nose never looked up from his `Harry Potter' book. There were three other customers, each one browsing the magazines and the merchandise by himself. He strolled around the perimeter of the front of the store, passing the entrance to the arcade about half-way through the trip. Like every other adult bookstore he'd seen, the videos, DVDs and magazines were neatly organized into categories based on one's likely interests; straight, gay, bisexual, biracial, older women, older men, fat women, fat men, huge tits, enormous cocks, bondage, water sports...you name it. He was slightly turned on by the covers of more than one of the straight video covers, as well as a few of the gay and bisexual ones. He peered again back into the darkened arcade. All he could see from the bright front room was two banks of doors on either side of the narrow hall in back. A couple of them were closed, with a light bulb burning above each. He surmised that it meant the booth was in use. Giving in to his curiosity, and a touch of horniness, he gathered up a bit of courage, and walked in. He was scanning the DVD covers that were displayed in a case on the wall, indicating what was playing on this day. They represented a variety of tastes similar to what was for sale out front. There were several signs, prominently posted, "Only One Person Per Booth." He noticed that the doors did not reach all the way to the floor, so one could peer below the bottom of the door and see how many pairs of feet were on the other side. A bell rang when the front door opened, and he looked back out to the main floor. The guy who'd left a few minutes ago was back, and was strutting with purpose toward the arcade entrance. He looked like a man on a mission, and Scott became very uncomfortable, actually quite nervous. In order to avoid any contact with the guy, Scott turned and ducked into an open booth. The booth was very dark, with a little light being thrown from the buttons and displays surrounding the small television screen. He accidentally kicked the cheap plastic patio chair that was in the center of the floor. He could see the dollar slot to pay for viewing lit with little flashing green lights. He grabbed his wallet and removed a couple of singles before taking his seat. Before paying to watch a video clip, he noticed a hole in the wall to his right. He estimated it slightly smaller than the opening of a one-pound can of coffee. Scott shook his head. `Fucking hilarious...'One Person Per Booth!!' But, here's a hole for those of you wanting to suck on some stranger's cock.' He peeked into the booth next door. The light and sound from the other booth let him know that his neighbor sampling the day's fare. Slowly, he leaned down a bit and tried to peer through the hole. From his vantage point, all he could really see were the denim-clad knees and thighs of his counterpart. Shifting forward and looking back a bit further, he could see that his pants were opened, and the guy was stroking a fairly impressive hard cock. From what little he could see, he estimated the stranger to be in decent shape. From the slaps, grunts groans and moans he heard, it seemed pretty clear that he was watching some pretty kinky porn next door. Scott wanted to move his face a bit lower and peer up higher, to get a glimpse of the guy from the neck up, but he feared framing his own face in the opening for his neighbor to see. In fact, it occurred to him that he might be seen from where he was sitting, so he slid the chair up close to the wall, placing his head and face high enough so that the stranger couldn't possibly get a vantage point that would allow him to see his face. He slipped a dollar into the slot, and the TV screen lit up. A very hairy, large-dicked man was nailing the shit out of a very big-breasted, though not terribly attractive woman in her forties. She was on her back, one leg in the air and was mauling her own tits with her hands. She quit licking her lips long enough to scream, "Give me that big cock you fucking beast!!" and stuff like that. Scott quietly chuckled and though, "Christ" What do you think he's doing, you skanky slut?" He figured out the buttons in front of him and lowered the volume. He then began flipping through the various channels. He paused here and there, and settled in on a locker room scene in which the studly, big-dicked quarterback had a cheerleader on the floor in the shower. Scott began groping his dick through his Dockers, and it was responding to both the visuals on the screen and his own manipulation. The light and sound next door came to a halt. From the sound of movement and his sense of a presence just on the other side of the hole, Scott figured he was being checked out. He smirked a little bit, but leaned in closer to the wall to avoid his face being seen. Very quickly, he heard the dollar slot next door hum, and the lights and sound resumed. His dick now nearly fully erect, Scott slowly unzipped his fly and reached into his pants. He manipulated his fingers under the elastic of his boxers, grasped his tool, and began squeezing and giving it short strokes. A change in the light at the opening in the wall told him that the visitor had probably returned to check him out. A couple of moments later, a couple of fingers appeared on the edge of the hole. Scott looked down and thought he caught a glimpse of a nose. He was becoming strangely excited. His screen went dark, and Scott leaned down a bit to peer through the hole a bit. The guy's jeans were now down to his knees and he was giving his meat a thorough workout with his right hand. Scott sat back up and slid the other dollar into the slot. He leaned back, unbelted and unbuttoned the Dockers to give his hand better access to his now throbbing cock. The fingers reappeared, this time rubbing the edge of the hole. The index finger motioned to him to come to the hole. He didn't. Then a bearded chin and lips appeared, and he heard a whispered, "hey...let me help you out with that...got a real hot wet mouth here...and I'm hungry." Cautiously, Scott stood up and lowered the slacks a little. He stood facing the hole, and the hand reached in just a little, this time motioning with three or four fingers for him to come closer. He move in just close enough for the guy's finger tips to stroke the underside of his cock. It was a tentative, light touch, but it felt really good. Leaning forward a bit, the stranger's hand could now wrap the pole in his fingers, and he began to slowly stroke it. Scott shivered, gulped and held his breath for a minute. He gently tugged Scott to come closer, then the hand let go and disappeared. "What the f...?!" Before he finished the thought, the chin appeared, resting on the bottom edge of the hole. A tongue slowly emerged from his neighbor's lips. The head of his dick was dripping precum, and Scott leaned in a little more to give the guy a taste. He looked down and watched the tongue slowly run its way around his head several times. Presumably, the guy couldn't see his cock. `Sort of like reading Braille, only with your tongue,' Scott mused. `He's good.' The talented guy next door paused long enough to feed the dollar slot one more time. Before he returned to the favor he was performing on this stranger, Scott had to find another bill and do the same. The hand invited Scott, or rather Scott's hard cock, back to the hole in the wall, and this time Scott threw caution to the wind. He let his dick rest on the edge of the hole, and the hand invited him all the way in. In an instant, he felt the entire length of his dick being swallowed by a very hot, moist mouth. He gasped, pressed his hands flat against the wall and his groin up against the hole. The dude next door went to town. He furiously sucked, licked and swallowed the entire thing. Scott bit his lips to avoid shouting. He began thrusting his hips, and the mouth on the other side met him stroke for stroke. They had developed a rhythm, his head coming toward the wall as Scott thrust forward, withdrawing as Scott moved back a little. The hand replaced the mouth for a minute while the guy lowered his mouth to lick and suck on Scott's balls. Realizing what he was doing, Scott went on his tip-toes to raise his sac and give the guy full access. His anonymous friend then returned to his slippery dick with a vengance. Before too long, Scott felt the orgasm building. He clenched his ass cheeks during one final thrust, and he exploded. The guys head quit moving, and he locked his lips as close to the base of the cum machine as he could. Scott gave several more thrusts, each one giving his neighbor a blast of hot cum. In the middle of the sperm feast, the guy's mouth opened a little, and he gave a little whimper. "Ohh...shit...shit...awww fuck!!" Scott could barely hear him whispered, and he figured he was splashing his own seed on the wall of his own booth. Scott backed away and slumped down in his chair, and he heard his neighborly booth-mate do the same. Each could hear the other zipping zippers and buckling belts. The dude next door was a bit quicker, though. Before Scott had put himself back together entirely, the mouth reappeared. There was still a noticeable drop of cum in the whiskers of the guy's chin as he whispered, "Thanks, bro. That was hot!" Scott was going to whisper, "Dude! Wipe off your chin," but, he was gone. He started to smile, hoping the guy would run his hand across his face before leaving the arcade. Scott heard the guy's door open and close, and two or three footsteps started down the hallway. He heard a light `thud' on the floor outside of his door. "Shit!" the voice muttered. Reacting to the noise, he leaned forward and down from his sitting position, and looked behind himself. He peered under the opening at the bottom of the door from an upside down position. The first thing he saw was a hand retrieving the wallet he had dropped. Then the guy went down to one knee to tie his left shoe. The shoes were shiny, black Doc Marten's. Big, clunky soles and bright yellow stitching. On the left hand was a wedding band. Bright, white silver, with an unmistakable engraved pattern going around it. To be continued...