Date: Sun, 12 Mar 2006 07:13:45 -1000
From: S turner <scotty.13411@hotmail.com>
Subject: Strange Bedfellows, Chapter 6

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.  (The one exception in this Chapter
is Ron Dayne, who really did break the NCAA rushing record, but who has
never met the author and whose accomplishment is retold here without his
permission or his knowledge) 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.

Feedback is always welcomed, however.  Let me know what you think.  In fact,
please take a moment to consider the note at the end of this chapter.  You
may contact me, if you wish, at scotty.13411@hotmail.com.  Hope you enjoy.



     Through his half-opened and blurry eyes, Scott labored to focus in on
the red numerals of his clock radio.  8:17.  He closed his eyes, but quickly
determined that sleep was not going to return.  He began to raise his head a
little off his drool-spotted pillow, but the effects of last night's party
slowed the effort.  "Oohhh, shit!" he quietly moaned.  He poured a tall
glass of water from the sink, and let the faucet run as he turned to grab
the coffee decanter.  Craig was snoring.  Not so loudly as to interrupt a
roommate's slumber, Scott was thankful, but loud enough to notice.  After
downing the water and setting up the coffee maker, he reached into the
fridge for a small can of tomato juice.  He drank the juice quickly, and
another glass of water. Then, he pulled on his sweats, donned his shoes, and
had found the determination to run off the effects of last night's revelry.

     He paused outside the front doors of the dorm to stretch a bit.  The
sun was beginning to warm the pavement, but the air was cool and crisp, and
the light breeze was just what the doctor ordered.  It was going to be a
perfect fall day in Madison; made for raking leaves into huge piles on the
curb, playing touch football with family and friends, bringing home gourds
and pumpkins and Indian corn to decorate the front porch.

     As he ran, he thought about last night's events.  He grinned a bit
smugly about his demonstrated knowledge of TV trivia, but his humble side
wished, if only a little, that he hadn't been so immodest throughout the
whole silly episode.  `Ah well...it was all in fun.'  Besides, it had set the
stage for another round of fantastic sex with his new buddy, Marty.  Then,
upon further reflection, he asked himself, `who're you kiddin'?  We'd have
found some other pretense to make that happen, Batman or no Batman.'

     Scott was happy, even grateful, that Craig had introduced him to Marty
and Brett.  Brett was a little goofy, but he liked him.  Marty was something
else altogether.  He had introduced Scott to some of the greatest sex he'd
ever had.  Beyond that, though, they'd become real friends.  Scott admired
Marty's `what the fuck...?' carefree approach to life.  He sort of envied his
buddy's go-for-the-gusto, balls-to-the-wall take on things.  He was certain
that, even if the sex ended tomorrow, they'd still be good friends for a
long, long time.  He hoped, though, that the sex wouldn't end tomorrow.

     In his reflections upon his current quality of life, Scott hadn't
really thought about the route he was jogging.  After covering much of the
lower campus of the UW, he'd gone east and made it within a block of the
capitol.  He didn't go all the way up because the Farmer's Market was in
full swing, and he knew that hundreds of slow moving pedestrians would be
covering the sidewalks on both sides of the street.  He imagined many of
their shopping bags loaded with little decorative pumpkins and gourds and
Indian corn.  He found himself heading back down Mifflin Street.  From a
little over two blocks away, he saw Randy's white pickup parked on the
street.  Now, just a block away, but on the opposite side of the street, he
grinned in seeing the front right tire parked, in fact, squarely on top of
the curb, leaving the rear of the truck sticking out into the road a bit too
far.  `Nice job, bud,' he thought.  `Must have had a helluva night.'  He
assumed that this must be the wife's weekend to visit Madison, and it
appeared that they'd hastily parked and exited the vehicle.

     He saw Randy's front door open, and prepared himself to pause and greet
his instructor and, perhaps, meet his wife.  At least, he thought, he'd
shout "g'mornin' Randy" and hope to be called over for an introduction.

     He had to wait at the intersection for traffic to clear, almost a half
block from Randy's front porch.  What he saw caused his jogging in place to
come to an abrupt halt.  A big, burly guy exited the apartment and turned to
chat a bit through the opened door.  The guy nodded a couple times and
turned to leave, a smile on his face.  He wore jeans and a black leather
vest with no shirt underneath it.  His forearm and biceps were huge.  Not
particularly well-developed, just massive.  A black leather cap covered his
head, with rust colored hair sticking out from the back.  His bearded face
bore the same shade of burnt orange.  Each wrist bore a black leather band,
and he had one of those silver chains that dangled down off a belt loop,
nearly to the knee, then back up where it connected to the wallet in his
back pocket.  As the jog resumed, Scott watched the bear amble across the
street to his Harley, his black boots clomping on the pavement.  As Scott
neared the bike, he could see that the man's chest and stomach were covered
in a thick coat of hair, the same shade as his beard.  Scott stared straight
ahead, as the guy got astride his bike.  Nearing the end of the block, he
heard the "hog" roar to life.  Glancing over his shoulder, he watched the
biker execute a u-turn and roar off in the other direction.  He wasn't quite
sure what to make of the scene, but decided to sprint the remaining four
blocks back to the dorm.

     Even before putting the key in the lock, he could hear the TV and some
recognizable voices from inside his room.  Craig was sitting on the edge of
his bed, Brett on Scott's desk chair and Marty on Scott's bed with a mug of
coffee in his hand.  A mid-sized cooler was sitting on top of the fridge and
a grocery bag on the floor next to that.  The Badgers were playing at Penn
State this weekend, and the guys had thoughtfully brought along some game
day provisions.

     Marty raised his mug,  "mornin' professor.  Aren't you the ambitious
one this morning?"

     Scott found a bottle of water in the fridge and uncapped it.  "Don't
know where it came from, but I woke up strangely inspired."  He was grinning
even as the bottle touched his lips.  He downed half the bottle in several
gulps. "Must have been something left over from last night."

     Marty raised his mug again, as if in a toast.  "Lucky you."  He winked
and Scott nodded, `yeah...lucky me.'

     Scott scanned the room and smiled.  He paused, slowly and carefully
looking each one of his friends up and down.  He shook his head.  "I don't
know, boys, it's a tough call."

     "Huh?" Craig moaned.

     "I was trying to tell which one of you sad sacks looks the shittiest."

     Brett raised his hand.  "That would be me."

     Scott bent over and propped one hand on his thigh bringing him to eye
level with Brett's bloodshot peepers.  He put the other on the top of
Brett's head as if to hold it in place.  He looked for a couple of seconds.
"Yup.  You win."

     "Yeah for me," Brett weakly sighed.

     Scott poured two cups of coffee and gave one to Brett, sipping the
other before putting it on the dresser.

     "What the fuck am I, roomie, a leper or something?" Craig protested.
Scott shook his head and poured another one for his bud.

     "No, you're just helpless and pathetic, is all.  Here you go baby."  He
refilled the decanter with water to make another pot.

     After hitting `brew' he stepped to his closet and shucked off his
shorts, kicking them into the laundry basket. As he peeled off his shirt,
Marty admired his fine naked form from the back and wondered if Scott would
ever consent to giving up that beautiful ass.  Scott could feel Marty's eyes
on him, and took a little longer than necessary searching the upper shelves
for a towel.  He turned around before wrapping the towel around his waste,
giving Marty just a bit more of a show.  After taking another sip of coffee,
Marty slowly licked his lips.  Each guy grinned a little.  Craig and Brett
were oblivious.

     Scott grabbed his kit.  "Gonna hit the shower.  Kick-off's, what, a
half hour?"

     Craig looked around for his watch, but couldn't find it.  He squinted
his alarm.  "'bout that."

     "Cool.  Back in a bit."  On his way down the hall, he decided he'd give
his Student Association ideas a test run past the guys this afternoon.
There were sounds of life in nearly each of the rooms he passed.  The James
Brothers were listening to Cheap Trick this morning.  He considered
knocking, but decided to leave them alone.

     When he got back, Marty was putting the finishing touches on his
`special' Bloody Marys.  "Olive or pickle, professor?"

     "Both."  Scott pulled the towel off and vigorously dried his hair one
last time, giving Marty one last little show of his goodies before finding a
pair of boxers and some sweatpants.

     Marty picked up an olive and speared it.  Then, he pierced the very end
of a pickle so that it hung down from the pick.  He added another olive to
the other side.  Laying the green cock and balls garnish atop Scott's glass,
he handed it to his friend.  "Just for you, bud."  Scott stifled a laugh as
he looked at Marty's creation.  He lifted the artwork with his finger tips
and dipped the pickle into the cocktail, stirring its contents slowly.  He
then put just the pickle between his lips and sucked.

     "Mmmmmm.  You're very good, ya' know that?"

     "Who're you kidding?  I'm the best."  Scott nodded his appreciation.

     By this time, Craig had pretty much come back to life.  He was rooting
around through his desk drawers, shuffling pages, pens and pencils, little
boxes, note pads.  He got on the floor and dug around under the bed.  "Aha!
There it is!" He came back up with his stash box in hand and opened it.  He
smiled.  "I fucking knew it," and held up a joint.  "Hey, Lucy and Ricky...you
two gonna watch the game or just stand over there and flirt?"

     "Turn it up a bit, and Brett, move your fat ass a little to the right
so I can see the TV."  Scott took a seat on the floor, leaning up against
the dresser.  Marty stepped over his outstretched legs and grabbed the space
between him and Craig's bed.  He handed Craig a lighter.

     By half-time, the "hair of the dog" effect of Marty's drinks, chased by
a couple of beers and topped off with a joint, had brought the quartet fully
back to life, if a little bit buzzed.  The Badgers were up 13 to 6.

     During a commercial, Scott just tossed it out there.  "Gentlemen, what
would you say if I told you I think I'm gonna run for a seat on the WSA?"

     Marty's head snapped to his right.  "What?!  You're shittin' us,
right?"  Craig just smiled, hardly fazed.

     "You don't think I could pull it off?"

     "No, not that.  You got a party to run with or something'?"

     "No you don't need one to get on the ballot.  I stopped by the office
on Friday and picked up all the stuff.  I'm thinking of filing candidacy on
Monday."  He related his conversation with Maureen, and yesterday's lunch
with Kelly.  "So I been thinkin' about it for a while.  The last straw,
though, was meeting this fuck-head friend of Kelly's.  Totally arrogant cock
from one of the frats who's convinced himself that he and his blue-blood
cronies are gonna take a majority of seats in the WSA."

     He started to stand, and lightly tapped Brett's shoulder with the back
of his hand.  "Move a sec, I wanna get to the computer."

     Brett rose, "gotta pee anyway," and he exited the room.

     Scott typed for a few seconds, then moved the mouse a few times this
way and that, clicking as he went.  He found the fraternity and sorority
link to the UW's web site.  He clicked a couple more times, finding the
pictures of the leadership of Kip's fraternity.  "Here!  Check this out.
This is the Goebbels wanna-be I'm talking about."  Craig and Marty crouched
over his shoulder and looked at the screen.

     Beneath's Kip's picture was a short bio: "Christopher U. Monmouth, II.
Senior.  Brookfield, Wisconsin..  Nickname, `Kip.'  Interfraternity Council,
Pledge Chairman, Captain of UW Crew Team.  Dean's List: Fr., Soph., Jr.

     `Crew Team,' Scott thought.  `That explains that sculpted form the dude
sports.'

     Marty's eyes widened.  "Aawwww, shit!  I know that fucker!"

     "You do?"

     "Dude...get this!  We were in the same marketing class last spring.  We
got assigned to the same group project...a major part of the grade.  We
divvied up the jobs and had to prepare a power point.  Kip's job was to do a
little market analysis, and then he was going to compile everybody's work
into the final version of our presentation."

     "And...?"

     "The prof. busted us for plagiarism.  She said that a good deal of the
content was somebody else's work, already published in some trade journal.
And she said that much of the material in the final version wasn't properly
cited.  Between to wrong citations and the `borrowed' text, the plagiarism
charge stuck.  The thing is, the stuff that was pilfered was Kip's part of
the project, and it was his job to make sure that the citations the rest of
us attached to our research made it into the presentation.  The dude totally
fucked up."

     Craig nodded "So, what happened?"

     "We all had it out in the professor's office.  This cock-bite tried to
blame it all on me.  He told the prof. that the lifted content was my part
of the project.  It was a he-said/he-said sort of thing, and the prof. just
gave us all zeros for the project.  I finished the semester with a fucking
D.  God, I hate that fuck-head.  I run into him now and then in the library
computer lab and he just sort of sneers at me every time our paths cross."

     Brett returned, and Marty waved him over.  "C'mere, man.  Remember that
plagiarism fiasco last spring?"

     "The one where the frat rat fucked you over?"

     "Yeah...lookit this!  This is the dude Scott was talking about meeting
yesterday at lunch.  The one who's planning the big takeover of the WSA."

     Brett leaned over and scanned the screen.  He started to smile, then
sort of giggle.  "Aaww...check it out!!"  He was pointing and laughing.  The
other three looked confused and a bit concerned.  "How fucking perfect is
that?"

     "What the fuck...?" Marty tried to understand his roommate's reaction.

     "His initials, dude.  Check out the name.  Christopher U. Monmouth.
The guy's CUM."  The four laughed together.

     "So..." Brett asked, "you really gonna do it?  It's not like you have a
party organization to lean on, right?"

     "No.  I figured I'd run as an independent, and make that fact sort of
the hallmark of the campaign, sort of a `nobody's senator but yours' kinda
thing."  He was borrowing the trademark line from millionaire Herb Kohl's
recent election to the U.S. Senate.  "It worked for Kohl."

     The other three were like kids in a candy shop, alternately offering
"You gotta do it!  I'm in!  I'll help.  What d'ya need?"

     "Boys!!  Chill Out!!"  The second half of the game was starting.  "Ya'
know I love you for the support already.  But, give me another day or so to
think about it.  Gonna be back here tomorrow for the Packer game?"

     "I might not leave."  Brett was scoping out the floor already.

     "You know...

     Kip's face was still on the computer screen, and Scott noticed Marty's
gaze fixed on the monitor.  He looked determined as hell, and Scott thought
he could actually hear the wheels turning in his head.

     Scott felt the need to distract him.  "Mr. Anderson!"

     Marty shook his head and looked left.  "Yo!  Wassup?"

     Scott thrust an empty glass his way.  "Could I trouble you for another
one of those magical cocktails of yours?"  He batted his eyes.  "Two olives
and a pickle, if you please."

     Marty surveyed the crowd for clearance.  Seeing all eyes focused
elsewhere, he opened his mouth and formed the lips into a sizeable "O"
shape, bobbing his head a couple of times while he grabbed his own dick
through his shorts.

     Bucky won the game, 24-13.  The guys hung around the room long enough
to sing the alma mater, "Varsity."

     The four went over to the food court for some imitation, flavored food
stuffs.  They talked further about the possibilities of Scott's campaign.

     "I'll handle the press stuff.  Already have a couple of news releases
worked out in my head." Craig had been mulling over for a while.

     "I can deliver the marching band vote," boasted Brett.

     Marty had been considering his unique talents, far-flung as they were.
"I'm appointing myself `Special Advisor' to the candidate."

     "Special Advisor?"  the three asked in unison.

     "Yeah...all the big wigs have sidekicks that are named something like
that.  I'll be the idea guy, the utility man.  You know...Special Advisor.  I
mean, I am awfully fucking special."  Scott rolled his eyes and shook his
head `he really is pretty special at that.'

     By a little before noon on Sunday, the same group was settled in, along
with the James Brothers.  At the end of the first half, the Packers were
leading the Vikings, 17 to 10.  Just as the BudLight commercial began, the
phone rang.

     Scott grabbed the receiver, "Whaaaaaasssssssuuuuuuppp?!" he bellowed
into the phone.  "Oh, hi Dad."

     The gang around him went nuts.  Scott thought he actually saw beer
coming out of Jesse's nostrils.

     "Scotty, sounds like you guys are enjoying the game, so I won't keep
you long.  What are you doing Wednesday night?"

     Scott thought.  "Don't have any plans.  What's up?"

     "Well, your mom and I are going to be in town, and we want to take you,
and maybe your roommate, if he's free, to dinner."

     "Cool.  What're you doin' in Madison?"

     "Well, Maureen's decided to quit spending state money on daily motel
rates, and has rented an apartment downtown.  We're going to help her move
some of her stuff down."

     Scott considered the implications.  `Sounds like Maureen's thinking
she'll need to be spending more time in the capitol.'

     "Everything else going o.k., Scotty?"

     "Yeah, Dad, it's all good.  Classes are going great.  I've finished
that major poli-sci paper we talked about and will hand it in to my TA on
Tuesday.  I think it's really good."

     "Glad to hear it.  You have enough money?"

     Scott rolled his eyes. "Dad, I'm fine!" he pleaded.

     "You're not driving anywhere this afternoon, are you?"

     "Huh?  Don't think so...why?"

     "'cuz from the sounds of things, I figure you guys are on about your
third twelve- pack."  Scott rolled his eyes again, but Big Scott was pretty
much right on the money.  "I want you to have a great time, but I want you
to be safe."

     "Dad, I'm no dummy, ya' know."

     "I know.  I'll let you get back to your gang.  Call us Tuesday night.
By then we should have a specific plan for Wednesday.  I love you."

     "Will do." Love ya' back, you old fart."  They both chuckled and hung
up the phone.

     He looked over at Craig, who was busy rolling a joint.  It was the
James Brother's dope, but it was unanimous that Craig had the most talented
fingers of the bunch.

     Wednesday.  Dinner.  You, me, Mom, Dad.

     "Oooohhh Goodie!!  Boys...he's finally taking me to meet the parents!"
He squealed with a slight lisp.

     Marty chimed in.  "So, you boys picking out sheets and curtains yet?"

     Scott shook his head in earnest. "Naah, and we're not gonna until he
learns to watch his teeth when he's sucking my cock."

     Craig had lit the joint and was handing it Scott's way, then abruptly
switched directions, giving to Brett instead.  He flipped his roommate off
and, after holding a hit for an impressive length of time, blew a cloud of
smoke in his face.  He went to his computer, rolled the mouse around a few
times, clicking along the way.

     "Hey, check it out, and let me know what you think."  He opened the
file he was looking for, cleared his throat and continued.  "Scott Turner,
Jr., freshman political science major, announced today that he was launching
an independent run for a seat on the Wisconsin Student Association..."  He
continued to read a press release that was full of superlatives about
Scott's intense commitment to good student government, beholden to no single
faction of the UW's student body.  The quotes he'd put in Scott's mouth were
a bit dramatic, perhaps, but generally represented the sentiment he wanted
to present.

     "Dude!"  Jesse grinned.  "You launching your political career already?"

     It dawned on everybody that the James Brothers had been out of the loop
until now.

     "Damn straight!" Marty proclaimed.  "I'm appointing you guys as leg
men, ground troops in this noble cause.

     "And who the fuck are you?" Frank inquired.

     Marty sat up straight and smacked his chest with a fist.  "As Special
Advisor to the candidate, I'm naming the James Brothers as the campaign's
rank-and-file.  Under my direction, you'll provide some of the foot work
we're gonna need to do the posters, the fliers, and the like."

     Scott just shook his head.

     Frank thought for a second.  "Hey, Craig...I know one of the reporters at
The Cardinal.  I'll bet I can get her to push to have that story run."

     Brett added, "I got The Herald covered.  A good bud in my trombone
section is the managing editor."

     Craig nodded his head at both of them.  Remember, though, it's gotta be
pushed as really news-worthy.  You gotta push the fact that Scott's the only
independent candidate; the only student who's trying to represent the entire
student body.  That's what makes this news."

     The agreed to submit the release to the competing campus papers on
Tuesday, shooting for a Wednesday publication.  On Monday, Marty and Scott
would go out and do some camera work, taking various pictures of the
candidate, both formal and casual, at various spots around campus.

     By the end of the game, several plots and plans had been aired, each
one a little more outrageous than the others.  Feeling buzzed, and satisfied
by the Packers win over the hated Vikings, Scott volunteered, "God I hate
those fucking Vikings!  Boys...the pizza's on me!  Least I can do for my loyal
minions.  Pizza Pit or Rocky's?"  The dope helped persuade the gang that the
occasion called for a couple of large Rocky's pan pizzas.

     Marty spoke from experience,  "Rocky's takes longer, and they only
deliver as far as the lobby downstairs."

     Scott was standing.  "No problem.  You make the call, Special Advisor.
I gotta go pee."  He stumbled a little, gained his bearings, and headed out
the door.

     	Marty found the number and called Rocky's.  As he was hanging up, he
checked his watch.  Ten minutes to five.  Something clicked.  "Shit!" he
whispered.

     	Jesse heard him.  "'sup?"

     	"Uhm, I forgot to check my email this afternoon.  I was expecting
something major from my sister, then was s'posed to call her about it.
She's gonna chew me a new asshole if I don't follow up.  I'll run up to the
room and take care of it, then run downstairs and meet the pizza dude with
Scott.  That his wallet?  Remember, that fucker's buying."  Craig nodded.
Marty scooped up the wallet and was out the door.

     	He ran into Scott on his way down the hall.  "C'mon, professor.
Follow me."

     	"Where we goin'?"

     	"Meet the pizza dude."

     	"But you just called, it'll be, like, at least forty minutes."

     	"No problem.  Trust me?"  He threw a puppy dog look at his bud.

     	"Mr. Anderson.  Methinks you're up to no good."

     	"Naaah, man, it's all good.  C'mon."

     	The elevator reached the ground, and Marty led the way to the lobby.
Scott had expected him to turn left, toward the basement stairs.

     	"Let's wait here."  Marty led the way to a bench that provided a view
of the front door, and the hallway leading to the basement door.  He checked
his watch.  Then a minute later he checked it again.

     	"Marty...bud...fill me in."

     	"Just sit tight.  You'll see.  Once you have a handle on it, if you
think I'm headed in the wrong direction,  just say the word.  Trust me.  Has
ol' Marty ever let you down?"

     	Scott just shrugged.  He heard the basement door open and close down
the hallway.

     	A few seconds later, Marty turned his head and smiled.  "Brandon!!
You pull the Sunday shift, huh?"

     	A fairly tall, skinny guy in black jeans and the university's standard
issue Buildings and Grounds shirt strode into view.  He was a little over
six feet tall, and couldn't have weighed 150.  Straight, jet black hair that
he wore fairly long framed a pale face with dark piercing eyes.  His white
skin was flawless, and apparently hairless.  He looked more like fifteen or
sixteen, but exuded confidence in his manner and his speech.  He was cute.
Not handsome, certainly not rugged, almost pretty.

     	His voice was deeper than his appearance suggested.  "Marty!  Yeah,
man, I took the time and a half this week."  They bumped fists.  Brandon
leaned in and looked closely into Marty's eyes.  "Dude?  Been makin' the
most of the end of the weekend, I see."

     They both laughed, as Marty nodded and held up his hands.  "Guilty,
guilty, guilty.  Been watching the game with some guys and partying a bit.
Hey!  Brandon, this is my bud Scott.  Scott, Brandon."

     Brandon extended his hand and Scott accepted it, but didn't stand.
"How's it goin' Scott.  Any friend of Marty's is a friend of mine."

     `I hope so,' Scott heard himself think even before Brandon had finished
the sentence.

     "Good to know ya' Brandon.  Think I've seen you around the dorm when
you been workin'."

     "No doubt, but I mostly do weekends.  So, what're you boys up to?"

     "Serious-ass case of the munchies.  Waitin' for the Rocky's delivery.
Probably got about a half-hour or better.  Sooo...you, uhm...hungry?"  Marty
winked.

     Brandon looked Marty in the eye, shot a glance at Scott, back again to
Marty, looked again at Scott, then asked Marty with his face, `you really
want to...now...with him?'

     Marty closed his eyes most of the way and slowly nodded once, `he's
cool.'  He turned his head toward Scott and wiggled his eyebrows and asked,
again with his face, `you up for this?"

     Before he could react, Brandon interrupted all of the non-verbal
communication.  "Hey, I almost forgot.  We got a task on the intranet system
that I don't understand and didn't get done today.  Afraid I'm gonna catch
hell.  Do you have a minute to come downstairs and take a look at it?  At
least I'll know what I was supposed to do, and can create a decent reason
why I didn't do it."  He dug his hands into his pockets and obviously
grabbed onto a cock that was already starting to get hard.

     Marty shrugged "I don't think Scott would mind," he turned, "do you?"

     "Hey, we got some time.  Maybe I can help."  Scott leered at one, then
the other.

     A knowing smile spread across Brandon's lips.  "Well, I know how much
help Marty can be in a pinch, but it seems I'm always looking for
new...uhm...ideas.  Three heads are better than two, I always say."  He started
back down the hall toward the door to the stairs.

     Brandon led the way.  As they stood, Marty leaned to his right and
whispered, "unless you wanna marry him, he doesn't get fucked."  Scott
pantomimed a snap of the fingers and grimaced, `shit!'

     Brandon led the way down the stairs, with Marty and Scott side-by-side
behind him.  A few steps off the bottom stair, he stopped and reached behind
himself with both hands.  "Ooohh, looky what I found!  I think I just hit
the jackpot."  He turned around and began rubbing both guys' growing members
through their sweatpants.

     "So," Scott observed.  "I take it you are hungry."

     "Very."  Brandon went down on his knees and continued massaging the
guys as Marty's left hand reached over and started rubbing Scott's ass.

     Brandon wasted no time, grabbing the draw string of Scott's sweats and
loosening the waistband.  He tugged the pants down, along with the boxers,
and Scott's semi-hard bobbed in front of his face.  He licked his lips,
leaned forward and licked the head of Scott's cock.  His left hand continued
to work Marty's crotch through the fabric of his pants.  Scott let out a
slow sigh and slid his right hand down the back of Marty's pants, grabbing
at his ass.

     Brandon went to work on Scott's dick as he pulled Marty's pants down to
his knees with his left hand.  He began to slowly stroke Marty's cock while
his head bobbed slowly up and down on Scott's.  Scott left hand was on
Brandon's head, stroking his encouragement.  His right hand left Marty's ass
for a minute and he slid it up under Marty's t-shirt and began stroking his
chest and playing with his nipples.  Marty pulled the front of his shirt up
over his head to give better access.  He reached with both hands and pulled
Scott's up and over in similar fashion.  Then he leaned in and began licking
and sucking on Scott's nipples.  Scott wrapped his right arm around Marty's
shoulders, holding his face to his chest.  With one hot mouth on his dick
and another one working his nipples, he was in bliss.

     Marty raised his face and put his hand behind Scott's head.  He pulled
his buddy in for a kiss.  "Hang on, bud."  He then dropped to his knees to
join Brandon.  Brandon made room for him by moving to the side.  Their
mouths and tongues met on and around Scott's slippery cock.  Scott began
slowly rocking his hips and looked down to see his rock-hard tool sliding
between both guys' mouths.  Marty swallowed the cock as Brandon bent down
lower and craned his neck to start licking on Scott's balls.  By this time,
Brandon had undone his own belt and opened his pants, and Marty's right hand
was digging in to free his big eight inch cock.  Scott leaned back on the
table to give the guys better access.  His head drifted back and he moaned,
"aww fuck!"  Marty grabbed a calf and tugged at the bottom of one leg of
Scott's sweatpants, urging Scott to step out of them altogether, allowing
him to spread his legs.  Scott happily went along with the direction.

     Marty stood up and faced his buddy.  "Having fun yet?"  He stuck his
tongue in Scott's mouth.  Brandon grabbed both guys' ass and nudged the two
closer together.  Reaching between their torsos, he held their hard cocks
together and positioned his head between their abdomens.  "Boys..." he
observed..."I do believe I might have died and gone to heaven." Opening his
mouth as wide as he could, he managed to get both heads into his mouth at
the same time.  He licked and sucked the two friends' dicks as far as he
could as Scott's and Marty's tongues lapped in and out of each others'
mouth.  Scott looked down to watch the scene for a moment while he pinched
Marty's nipples.  He pulled Marty in for another deep kiss and reached
around with his right hand and began gently fingering his hole.  Marty
moaned in delight.

     Marty broke the kiss and stepped back.  Brandon looked very
disappointed, but he continued to stroke Scott's and his own cock while
Marty took Scott by the hips.  He directed him through a ninety-degree turn
and gently urged Scott to lean over the table.  Now sitting nearly under the
table, Brandon went back to work on Scott's tool as Marty took position on
his knees behind Scott.  He began to lick, kiss and nibble both cheeks of
Scott's smooth ass, slowly nearing his rosebud.

     Brandon had managed to slide his jeans down to his knees and was
furiously stroking his cock as he swallowed Scott's all the way down to the
pubes.  Marty spread Scott's ass and teased his hole with the tip of his
tongue.  He reached between Scott's legs and fondled Brandon's balls for a
while, as his tongue probed deeper into Scott's twitching hole.  "Fuckin' A
you guys!  So... good ...so...fucking...good!  Yeah, boys...eat me!"  Brandon moaned
his approval as Marty's hand replaced his own and continued a slow, firm
hand job.  Brandon was oozing precum and Marty deftly smeared it around his
cock using the lube for maximum pleasure.  His moans sent vibrations through
Scott's entire body and he nearly shot his load right then.

     Marty left Scott's hole and hunched down between his legs.  He
swallowed Brandon's huge tool, nearly causing Brandon to shout with glee.
Scott continued to lean on the table and began sliding his hips back and
forth, fucking Brandon's mouth and throat with determination.  Soon Marty's
head was moving up and down on Brandon in the same rhythm of Scott's
thrusts.

     Scott couldn't hold back any longer.  His pace quickened, and he felt
his nuts rise up in their sac.  "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck...Aaaarrrgggghhh!"
He was wildly firing shot after shot of cum into Brandon's mouth.  Brandon
eagerly swallowed nearly all of it, and the intensity of Scott's orgasm
brought him to the brink as well.  In an instant, Marty's mouth was being
filled with Brandon's man juice.  Scott slowed the pace, and finally had to
remove his sensitive dick from Brandon's sucking lips.  He could see the
intensity of Brandon's orgasm in his face as he removed his cock.

     After draining Brandon, Marty leaned back, still on his knees, and
furiously stroked his tool.  Brandon swooped in and swallowed him all the
way.  That was all it took.  Marty began bucking his hips and let out a
whimper.  "Cumming...aw, fucking cumming...God...yeah!!"  He shot five volleys of
hot cum into Brandon's mouth.

     Scott had turned around and was leaning back on the table, waiting
patiently to catch his breath.  Marty sat back with his eyes closed and a
smile on his face.  Brandon wiped his lips.  All three guys began to chuckle
at the same time.

     Marty spoke first.  He looked up at Scott.  "Told you he was a cock
hound, didn't I?"

     Brandon offered no protest.  "What can I say?  A guy's gotta lead with
his strengths, right?"

     Marty held up a hand and Scott grabbed it to help him to his feet.
Scott worked his feet back through the elastic at the bottom legs of his
sweats and pulled them up.  The three reassembled their attire, and Marty
looked at his watch.  "The pizza dude ought to be here any minute."

     "Great meeting you, Brandon."  Scott patted him on the butt.

     "My pleasure.  Any time, dude.  Bring him by again some time, Marty.
The guy's a lot of fun...and he's delicious."

     "Nothin' but the best for Marty Anderson," Marty winked, and the three
headed back up the stairs.

     The delivery guy from Rocky's arrived about five minutes later.  Good
to his word, Scott paid the tab.  He was feeling a bit generous, and tipped
the guy well.

     On Monday, Scott awoke early.  He had asked Craig to print a copy of
the release the night before.  After putting on the coffee, he propped his
pillows up against the wall and sat up in bed to review it and do some light
editing.  He and Craig had made plans to "massage the message," as Craig put
it, during lunch.  After his last class, he was going to roam campus with
Marty to pose for some inspirational photos of the candidate.

     On his way to his Lit. session, he caught up with Kelly at the bottom
of the hill.  He snuck up behind her and whispered, "goin' my way, good
lookin'?"  Kelly's face lit up but he didn't see it, as she didn't turn
around.

     She just shrugged. As nonchalantly as she could, she answered, "all
depends...where do you plan to go?"

     Scott stepped up beside her and draped an arm over her shoulder,
pulling her to his side.  "I'm open to suggestion."

     Kelly giggled and blushed a little as she wrapped her left arm around
his waist.  "Good morning, Mr. Turner.  How was your weekend?"

     He thought for a moment.  "Good, all in all.  No, great actually!"  He
finally realized that he was comfortable, actually excited about the coming
race for WSA.

     "Really?"

     "Yeah...made a decision and made some plans."

     Kelly stopped dead and turned to face him, looking up at his bemused
face.  "You're going to do it, aren't you?  You're going to run!"

     He just smiled and nodded.

     Kelly squealed as she threw her arms around his neck.  "Oh, that's
wonderful!"  She kissed his cheek.  "C'mon, sit down...tell me all about it...we
have a few minutes before class."  She led him to a concrete bench right in
front of Mr. Lincoln at the top of the hill.  Abe didn't even flinch.

     Scott reviewed his conversations with the gang, his plans to run as an
independent, some thoughts on issues he'd raise, and couldn't help but
include his disdain for Kip and the Greek's unified front to control the
UW's student government.  Kelly just rolled her eyes a little at that.

     "Well, I'm so happy.  You'll be great.  And, Aunt Mo' will be so
proud."

     "Thanks, Kelly.  Hey, don't tell her, okay?"  Kelly nodded.  "I want to
tell her myself.  Hey, did you know she was going to rent an apartment in
Madison?"

     Kelly nodded again.  "Yeah, she's been thinking about that for a long
time.  She was all to do it before my uncle died.  After the accident,
though..." Kelly was suddenly very sullen..."she thought it would look like she
was moving on, and away, from her married life too quickly."

     "Smart lady, she is."  There was a moment's silence.  We'd better get
going.  They stood and moved on.  "So, we still on for Friday...right?"

     "You didn't think I'd let you out of that one, did you?"

     "Ms. Abbott, I don't believe you would, or will, cut me any slack on
anything."

     "Got that right."



     Scott was at his computer when Marty's knock made him jump a bit.  He
opened the door and waved his buddy in.  Marty had his camera in hand.

     "Ready to go?  Martin Anderson, photographer extraordinaire, ready to
capture the real essence of future president, Scott Turner, Jr.  One day,
these shots are going to be worth some serious money!"

     Scott thought about making a snide remark about Marty `capturing his
essence,' but he let it pass.  "In a sec...just need to finish this last
paragraph," his fingers were dancing across the keyboard. "...and...control-S..."
the computer drive buzzed a little.  "...and it's all good.  I'm fucking
brilliant you know.  That paper is going to knock the shoes off my poli-sci.
prof.  Okay, where to first?"  Scott grabbed his car keys.

     "Bro...you gotta change clothes, man!"  Scott was wearing jeans and an
old sweatshirt from his high school.

     "Think so?"

     Marty went to the closet.  "Positive!  He tossed Scott a pair of neatly
pressed khakis and a red and white striped long-sleeve polo.  "We'll start
with these."  Then he went back to the closet.  He grabbed a long-sleeve
denim shirt with a Bucky Badger logo on the breast pocket.  "We'll bring
this along, too.  Got any better jeans than those?"

     Scott was down to his boxers.  "Uh, yeah."  He went to his dresser and
found the newest pair he had, and set them on the bed.  "What next?"  Scott
was pulling on the slacks and scanning the room for his belt.

     As his head popped through the neck of the shirt he saw Marty holding
up a light blue dress shirt with button-down collar and navy sport coat.
"We'll bring these too, just in case."  Marty looked over his choices and
considered them for a second.  "'kay, that ought to do it.  C'mon, we'll
start down by Camp Randall."

     For the next two hours, they toured campus in Scott's car, usually
parking illegally.  He changed clothes several times, either in the car or
in restrooms.  There was Scott with Camp Randall in the background, Scott on
the steps of Bascom Hall, one with him in full stride, the other sitting and
smiling.  Scott with Abe.  Scott on the sidewalk atop Bascom Hill, with the
capitol building looming in the background.  Scott in front of the library.
Scott sitting in the library, hard at work.  Scott standing before a shelf
of books, thoughtfully pondering Whitman's "Leaves of Grass." Scott in front
of the Union, Scott sitting with other students in the Rathskeller, Scott
standing on the terrace with the lake behind him, his hair blowing lightly
in the cool breeze.  Several others of a very studious Scott Turner, exiting
any number of the most recognizable buildings on campus.  Marty was driven,
inspired.  Scott knew he was a photographer by hobby, but he was actually
taking this seriously, barking directions, positioning his hands, his chin,
and his feet.  A couple of times he lightened up and teased..."yeah, baby,
work with me...love the camera...give me that `sex me up' look again."  Of
course, he only did that when other students were within earshot.  Scott
could've killed him, but he still got a kick out of the guy's attitude.

     By the time they got to the cafeteria, the other four were eating
dessert.  They scurried through the chow line and joined the gang.  Scott
relayed the whirlwind tour and Marty's antics while the photographer pushed
a few buttons on his digitial camera to replay the images for the committee.
  The camera was passed around, each guy voicing his opinion on what sort of
image each shot portrayed.  Jesse came upon the one where they guys were
clowning around: Scott with a broom handle sticking out from between his
legs, stroking what was represented as about a foot-long cock.  "I want a
copy of this one."

     On Tuesday, Craig visited the offices of both The Badger Herald and the
Daily Cardinal.  He'd called each office ahead of time, and spoke briefly
with a reporter and a managing editor.  Neither promised any kind of press,
reluctant to give specific focus to any one candidate for WSA.  Craig drove
the point home that Scott Turner, Jr. was the only, maybe the only ever,
truly independent candidate to run.  His message was unique; his approach
was outside the box.  That, he argued, merited the attention of the campus
press.  "Plus," he added with each representative, "the other paper said
they were gonna run it.  You want to be left out of the best political story
on campus?"  He knew that neither one would call the other to confirm the
claim.

     Scott went to his state government section a little excited and a
little apprehensive.  Randy had been pretty distant since their encounter in
his apartment.  Not hostile, by any measure, but no sign of warmth or
friendliness, either.  Just very businesslike.  There was a little relief to
be found in that, but a little discomfort, too.  On top of that, there was
the scene that was played out on Randy's porch on Saturday morning.  He'd
wondered about that on more than one occasion since his weekend jog.  On the
other hand, he was anxious to hand in the final draft, and even more anxious
to get Randy's final verdict.

     After a class in which animated discussion took place on the
appropriate relationship between state government and county and local
officials, Scott and his classmates began filing out of the room.  Randy
called, "Scott...can I see you for a minute?"

     "Sure."  Scott hung back.  Randy fished through the pile of papers and
found Scott's.  When the room was nearly empty, he walked over.  "So, how's
it been going, Randy?  Haven't had much of a chance to talk to you lately."

     "My fault, man.  Been really busy."  He held up the paper.  "I'm
looking forward to reading this.  How do you feel about it?"

     "Seriously?  I think I nailed it, but I guess you'll be the judge of
that, won't you."  Scott had a hard time maintaining eye contact.  Randy's
jeans were tight, and the v-neck sweater he was wearing did his strong upper
body a real service.

     "I will," Randy smiled as he nodded.  "I'm gonna read this one first.
Any problem if I come back and tell you that I'd like to discuss it
face-to-face?"

     Scott paused.  "In your office, right?"

     "In my office," Randy offered with a hint of resignation.  He looked
kind of vulnerable.

     "You still have my cell phone number?"

     "Sure do."  He was not going to lose that number.

     "Feel free to use it, any time.  Hey, Randy, I really gotta run.  Glad
you called me back, though.  I'm glad we can still talk, like, normally."

     "Me, too.  See ya' later."

     Scott smiled and nodded, then exited the room.  Randy just sighed,
watching that fine butt bobbing down the hallway.

     Tuesday night, Scott called home.  His dad was working late, so he
talked for a while to his mom.  Typical mom and college son stuff went back
and forth for about a half hour.  Suzanne Turner had a very hard time hiding
her anxiety and frustration of her son's insistence on not accepting any
financial support.  Without either her husband or son knowing it, she had
been making weekly deposits into Scott's savings account, just in case.  She
told Scott that they would be in Madison most of the day on Wednesday, but
planned to meet him at Smokey's at 7:00 p.m.

     "Smokey's!  Excellent!  I've never been there, but everybody I know
says it's the best fu... I mean the best darn steak in town...maybe in the
state."

     Suzanne muffled a chuckle.  "It's your dad's favorite, and you know
what a steak connoisseur he is."

     "Cool, mom.  I'm bringing Craig along, if that's okay."

     "Of course, honey, I thought that was settled.  I'm looking forward to
meeting the poor soul who has to tolerate my baby.  I think we owe him, and
a good steak dinner might be a decent start."

     "Hey, I gotta get some more work done here.  We'll meet you out there
at 7:00.  Love ya' mom.  G'night."


     Wednesday morning, Craig was actually the first one out of bed.  He
quickly took the stairs to the lobby, two at a time, to see if the day's
papers had been dropped off yet.  They had.  A stack of each one occupied
the competing racks in the lobby of the dorm.  He grabbed one of each and
sat on the bench.  Unfolding each one, holding them side by side, his face
erupted in an explosion of absolute glee.  He whooped,
"yeeeeeehhhhaaaaaaahhhh!"  Nobody was staffing the front desk yet, but a guy
heading out for an early morning run paused and considered exiting the dorm
through a different door.

     He reached down and grabbed a half dozen of each.  He ran the stairs
back up to the fifth floor first, and dashed to Marty and Brett's room.  He
banged.  "What the Fuck?!" he heard Brett protest.  Groggy, disheveled, hair
standing in a dozen directions, and sporting morning wood under his boxers,
Brett opened the door.  "Who the fuck...?"  Craig didn't let him finish.
Instead he thrust a copy of each paper into his chest and said, "we did it!
We fucking did it!"  He was gone.

     Stopping at the James Brother's room, he repeated the scene, but it
appeared that Jesse had been awake for a while.  "Here, enjoy the morning
papers!  Gotta get back to see Scott."  Jesse looked at each cover and
shouted "Atta Boy, Craig!  See you guys later!"  Somewhere down the hall, he
heard a voice protest, "shut the fuck up, will ya?"

     "WAKE UP, ROCK STAR!!" Craig bellowed.  Scott shot straight up in bed.

     "What?!"  He got his bearings and put a hand to his chest.  "SHIT!  You
scared the living hell..."  Craig smacked him up side the head with a couple
of rolled up papers.

     "Check it out man."  He sat down, and just grinned, smug and satisfied.

     Scott pulled his legs over the side of the bed and sat his feet on the
floor.  He stared down, first at the Cardinal, then at the Herald.  "God
Damn..." he whispered.

     The Cardinal had included the story on the front page, above the fold,
and had even included the photo Craig had given them.  The Herald had also
made it page one, but below the fold, and without the picture.  Scott just
sat in silence and read both pieces.  The Cardinal had included it
practically word for word, adding some editorial emphasis on the "bold,
independent bid by the freshman from central Wisconsin."  The Herald was
more subdued, and the release had been more heavily edited.

     "You, sir, are unbelievable," Scott beamed at his roommate.

     "We did it.  We fucking did it, man!"  Craig was still pretty giddy.

     "No, bro', You did it.  I owe you one."

     "You're in for a big day around campus, ya' know."

     "Shit.  Hadn't really given it much thought.  Well, we'll see, I
guess."  Scott was more than wide awake by now.  He was jazzed.  He jumped
from the bed and grabbed his sweats and shoes.  "I gotta go for a run."  He
dressed in a hurry.  Craig had started putting on the coffee.  Scott paused
to let him finish, then pulled his roommate into a hug.  "Thanks, man.  I
really owe you."

     Craig hugged him back.  "No you don't.  It was a piece of cake.  I got
good material to work with."

     "Later, Craig."  And he was out the door.

     Forty-five minutes later, Scott was jogging down Langdon Street, home
to nearly every fraternity and sorority on campus.  He paused on a corner,
waiting to cross the street.  Hands on his hips, he was breathing hard and
seating profusely.

     "Turner?  Scott Turner?"  He heard a voice from across the street.
There was Kip and two of his brothers.  Scott smiled and waved.  Kip shook
his head at the other two, and Scott heard one of them say, "then I will,"
and he jogged across the street toward Scott.

     Before the guy even made it to the curb, he shouted "just who in the
fuck do you think you are?"

     Scott extended his hand.  "Scott Turner, Jr.  and you?"

     "Never mind, asshole.  Made quite a splash this morning in the papers,
huh?  You really think you can take us on, you uppity punk?"

     Scott put up his hands with the most innocent expression he could
muster.  "Whoa, Dude...back off!  I'm not taking anybody on.  What's your
fucking problem, man?  I don't even know you."

     "This fucking stunt of yours with the WSA...do you really want to mess
with the most powerful and best connected men and women on campus?  You're a
piece of shit.  You're a fucking gnat.  Don't go biting off more than you
can chew, ya' jerk-off."

     Scott remained calm.  "Listen, whoever you are.  I am merely asserting
my right to freely express a view and run for an office in a democratic
institution representing ALL of the fine young men and women of the
university."  The academic Scott was running the show now.  "Frankly, I'm a
bit astounded that any true red-blooded disciple of freedom and liberty
would take any exception to such an all-American exercise.  Certainly,
you're not suggesting that not every student on this campus maintains an
equal right and opportunity to run for or hold office in OUR student
government are you?  What are you, some sort of communist...or is it fascist?
I'm never quite sure."

     The guy paused, his face betraying a struggle to formulate an
intelligent response.  Impulse and emotion remained in charge with this one.
  "Aawww, fuck off, man.  You might have the right, but it doesn't make it
the smart thing to do.  Your problem is, you don't know or care just who
you're fucking with.  Just watch your sleazy back."

     "Is that a threat?"  The guy was on his way back across the street.

     He looked over his shoulder, flipping Scott the bird. "That's a fucking
promise, dip shit."

     Scott just shrugged, trying to display indifference.  He sprinted back
to the dorm.

     It was a fairly wild day, all in all.  Students in each of his classes
approached him with encouragement and congratulations, as if he'd already
accomplished something.  He felt most, if not all, of the glances or stares
he received on campus as he walked from class to class.  Randy made a point
of mentioning it in class, and Kelly seemed to exude what felt like a little
pride as he accompanied her across the Library Mall.  He also endured more
than a few glares from the Ken dolls from fraternity row.  The tension of
the morning's confrontation had worn off, and he was actually amused by
their obvious frustration.

     By the time he got back to the dorm, there was a battle going on inside
of him.  Self-consciousness and humility were doing battle with ambition and
ego.  He knew himself well enough to know, though, that this would continue
for a day or so, and he was cautiously optimistic that humility and
sincerity would win out.

     Everybody was in the room when he got there, and they greeting him with
a rousing cheer and round of hugs and high fives.  "Gentlemen, we need to
chill.  All we did was announce."

     "Bullshit!" Marty was most excited.  "It's the volume of the
announcement that matters.  You got this campus by the balls right now, my
man."  Even Marty knew that was a gross exaggeration, but he was living
large right now.  Scott kept his run-in on Langdon Street to himself, for
now anyway.  In his current mood, he was afraid of what Marty might do if he
found out.  Burn down a frat house, perhaps?  That wasn't out of the
question, Scott was fairly certain.

     Scott and Craig were still a little elated as they walked in the door
to Smokey's.  Scott had a copy of each morning paper under his arm to show
his folks.  He knew they'd be pleased, and that was really important to him.
  He had always cherished their pride in him, especially Big Scott's.

     "There he is!"  It was Maureen's voice that caught their attention.
Big Scott, Suzanne and Maureen were waiting at the bar.  They all got up as
the boys walked over, each one opening their arms.  Scott handed the papers
to Craig, and hugs were exchanged all the way around.  When Maureen pulled
him in, she whispered, "don't worry, I haven't told them yet.  I knew you'd
want to."

     Scott pulled back and looked quizzically into her eyes.  Quietly she
said, "I get the campus papers delivered to my office every day...you little
shit."  She winked.

     "Mom, Dad, this is one of the country's finest future journalists...Craig
Bostwick.  He's a shit-head of a roommate, but can string a sentence
together like nobody I know."  Each took his hand and greeted him warmly.

     Big Scott laughed.  "Craig, on behalf of my wife and me, please accept
our apologies for what we've wrought.  If there's anything we can do to ease
your pain, I hope you'll just let us know."

     "I don't think that's possible, Mr. Turner, unless you've got a
scholarship to another Big Ten university in your pocket, but I'll consider
it." Big Scott laughed and slapped his back.  Scott smacked him upside the
head. Craig looked at Maureen and extended his hand.  "Good to see you
again, Senator."  She scowled at him.  "Oops, sorry.  So, how the hell's it
goin' Maureen?"

     She giggled and hugged him.  "God, I love this kid."  Then, she
whispered in his ear.  "I like the way you write, especially when it's about
my Scotty."

     Craig was a little stunned, but managed a grin in response to her wink.

     Just then, their name was called and they were led to a table near the
back of the dining room.  The hostess took a drink order, and questioned
with her eyebrows the guys' request for Whiskey Old Fashions.  Big Scott
assured her that Scott was his son.  Maureen put her hand on Craig's arm and
lied, "and this one's mine."  The waitress shrugged and promised she'd be
right back.

     "Well, folks, got something I want to show you."  He took the papers
from Craig, and handed one to each of them.  Before even getting into the
article, Big Scott just roared.  Suzanne sat in stunned silence as she
absorbed the entire article.

     "You ballsy little bastard," his dad said.  "That's my boy!"  He
laughed hard and slapped the table.

     Suzanne showed a mix of pride and anxiety.  "Scotty, are you sure
you're ready for something like this?"

     "Relax, mom.  I have the greatest network of supporters in my buddies
back at the dorm.  The reactions I got around campus all day today were just
out of this world."

     Maureen jumped in.  "Even some of the younger staffers with ties to the
campus were talking about it at the capitol today.  Your boy's starting to
make waves, but very positive waves."

     "Well, son...you'll let me know if there's anything I can..."

     Scott cut him off with a steely glance.

     "Whoops...sorry...I know, I know, Mr. I'm Gonna Do This On My Own.  As long
as you know the door's always open, that's good enough for me."  Big Scott
was proud of his son's self-reliance, but found it exasperating at times.

     The arrival of their cocktails provided the distraction Scott needed to
change the topic. "So, Maureen, decided to take up dual residency, huh?"

     Maureen nodded.  "It's practical, and something I've thought about for
a while.  Motel living is convenient when we're in session, but it's still a
damned motel room.  I've been wanting to create a space down here that was
more like home.  Your folks were a great help today, but I've still got some
settling in to do.  It's nothing all that fancy, but it's close to the
office, it'll be more comfortable, and the per diem payments I get when
we're in session will offset most of the cost."

     "As long as we're on the topic," she continued, "I'll probably be
imposing on you from time to time to take care of the place on the
occasional weekend.  You know...water the plants, feed the cat...that sort of
stuff."

     "You moved Mittens down here with you?"

     "Only when we're in session.  I'll usually ask Kelly to stop by and
tend to the place now and then, but if she's busy, you'll be my fallback."

     "No problem.  Hey, that reminds me," Scott was a little tentative here,
as he knew his mother would be going into overdrive in a little less than a
minute.  "I'm having dinner with Kelly Friday night."

     True to form, Suzanne Turner's head snapped up from her menu.  "Kelly?
Kelly who?"

     "Relax, Suz',  Kelly Abbott is my niece.  I was happy to introduce them
at my fundraiser a couple of weeks back, though they'd obviously met before
then."

     "Yeah, we have a Lit class together.  We had lunch last week.  I'm
taking her to dinner on Friday, and she's taking me to the game...with her
tickets," pointing to Maureen with his head, "on Saturday.  To tell you the
truth, we didn't hit it off quite right at the start, but that's behind us.
I think she's pretty cool.  So, Maureen, where do you think she'd like to go
for dinner?"

     "Oh, that's a no-brainer.  Her favorite place in Madison is the Avenue
Bar.  It's a little ways out on East Washington.  They serve a great
sirloin, and the Friday fish fry is outstanding."  Scott's parents were
nodding their agreement.  "You can't miss with Kelly at The Avenue," Maureen
assured him.

     Suzanne wasn't sure she liked the way `you can't miss with Kelly'
sounded, and it registered on her face.  "Relax, mom.  Maureen's a natural
at introducing young couples.  I'd say she's got a pretty good track record,
wouldn't you?"  Game, set and match, Scott Turner Jr.

     On the mention of the upcoming game, Big Scott asked, "So, Dayne gonna
get it done this week, ya' think?"

     Scott nodded with certainty.  "Oh, hell, he's got to.  He's only got,
what, thirty or forty yards to go.  For him that's about five carries.  It
should happen early in the game.  And, with Maureen's tickets, we'll be on
the forty-five yard line to see it."

     "So, my son's going to leave you alone in the student section, Craig?"
Suzanne asked.  Scott fought a smirk.  This was a sore subject for him.

     "Well, Mrs. Turner, nobody's ever `alone' in the student section."
Everybody chuckled.  "And I'd love to be there, but I'm afraid I'd be
disowned."  Questions registered on all the adults' faces.  "My folks'
twenty-fifth anniversary is this weekend, so I'll be back in Rockford
helping my brothers and sisters throw a big bash Saturday night."

     "Good reason.  Shitty timing," Big Scott said as he motioned the
waitress for another round of cocktails.

     "Yeah," Craig sort of moped.  "Not sure whose timing is worse: Dayne's
for not getting it done sooner, or my old man's for knocking up mom so they
had to get married when they did."  The men and Maureen all roared, though
Suzanne looked a little flustered with Craig's brash candor.

     The waitress took their order, and the five of them talked about just
about everything under the sun: Scott's campaign plans, Maureen's political
career, Suzanne's business, Big Scott's practice, the weather, the Packers,
and a number of embarrassing anecdotes about Scotty's childhood, much to his
chagrin and his roommate's utter delight.  The Turners made Craig feel right
at home.  Scott knew they would, but was gratified nonetheless by how easily
they all warmed up to each other.

     When the bill came, and Maureen shot down Big Scott when he reached for
it.  "Don't you dare.  You're here because you came down to help me.  This
is mine to repay your kindness."

     Big Scott began a protest, but gave it up in a hurry.  He knew better.

     They all walked to the parking lot together, Scott with one woman on
each arm, with Big Scott and Craig following.  As Scott's dad and roommate
shook hands, Scott gave each woman a big hug.  "Call me any time, Maureen,
to take care of the apartment," he said in her ear as they embraced.  To
Suzanne he assured, "Quit fretting, mom, everything is going way cool for me
here, and Kelly's great.  You'll really like her when you meet her."  He
turned and was engulfed in his father's bear hug and a number of mutual back
slaps.  "Love ya' you old fart."

     "Love ya' back, you little shit.  When ya' coming home
next...Thanksgiving?"

     "Can't see it happening before then, but we'll see."

     By this time Craig had said his thanks and goodbyes to both Suzanne and
Maureen, so the farewells were complete.

     On the way back to Scott's car, Craig threw an arm around his
roommate's shoulder.  "This, my man, has been one helluva day, from
beginning to end.  That's a cool family you got on your hands there, and
Maureen is just the fucking best.  You're one lucky fucker, you know that."

     Scott replied with his own arm over Craig's shoulder.  "Don't I know
it, man."

     Friday afternoon, after a run and a shower, Scott headed down to the
lobby to check the mail.  Craig had just left for home, and he had about an
hour before he had to pick up Kelly.  As he exited the elevator, the figure
strutting out the main exit caught his eye.  He hurried to look out the
window to confirm who it was.  `I'll be damned,' he thought.  Kip Monmouth
was just turning the corner and out of view.  `Wonder what made ol' Kip
lower himself to visit a common dormitory.'

     Scott found his best pair of jeans, the ones from the photo shoot, and
a nicely pressed cream colored button down.  The dark brown Cole Haan
loafers and navy sport coat completed the exterior, and he had to admit that
he liked what he saw.  He was glad he'd gotten back into the regular running
regimen.

     Kelly had pestered him a few times before and after class about where
they'd be dining.  Scott just kept teasing, "it's a secret.  Trust me,
you'll love it.  Or, at least I think you will...or maybe, just, like, I hope
you'll like it, or at least aren't repulsed by it.  Dress casual."   It was
driving Kelly nuts, but that was the intent.

     He pulled up to the sorority house at 6:00 sharp.  He started to get
out of the car to properly call for his date, when the front door opened and
Kelly came bounding down the front stairs.  She was wearing sinfully tight
jeans, which delighted Scott, and a low-cut black silk blouse.  Her dark
beige coat was open, but the collar was turned up, providing a striking
contrast for that beautiful head of hair.  Her hands were jammed deep in the
side pockets, as the October nights were becoming increasingly chilly.
Scott stepped back to open the passenger door for her.

     "So...where are you taking me?  You finally have to tell me."

     "No I don't.  Relax.  We'll be there in only a few minutes."

     A little while later, he turned on his left directional and Kelly
slapped his right thigh.  "No way!  The Avenue! You shit!  You talked to
Aunt Mo.' She never said a thing...and she tells me everything.  God!  I
haven't been here in ages!"  She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

     "I believe her exact words were, `you can't go wrong with Kelly at the
Avenue.'  I'm still trying to figure out what `can't go wrong' means."  He
pulled into a space, put the car in park and turned off the ignition.  He
turned they held the gaze for a few moments with her hand still on this
thigh.

     "I'm sure I have no idea what my dear Aunt might have meant.  I'm not a
mind reader, and would never presume to speak for her.  But, I've never
known Aunt Mo' to be wrong about much of anything, have you?"

     He put his hand on top of hers.  "Never.  So, you hungry?" he asked a
little suggestively.

     Kelly blushed a little as she looked down and smiled.  "Famished.  I
haven't eaten all day."

     "Let's go take care of that, then." Kelly allowed him to come around
and open the door for her, and took his hand when he offered to help her
out.

     They were seated right away.  They were too young to enjoy a cocktail
at the bar, it was clear to the hostess, so no sense in trying to convince
them to wait and spend any money there.  The atmosphere was eclectic, but
warm.  Lots of photos, old and new, of UW football teams and games adorned
the walls and shelves, along with fishing gear, copper pots, pans and milk
cans, and any variety of hand-held farm implements.  The tables were close
together, and Scott was impressed with the quick and efficient manner in
which the staff could navigate their way through the crowded dining room.
At the hostess's urging they slid into a c-shaped booth next to a window
looking out on East Washington.

     As they surveyed the menu, the conversation started out rather light.
Each one asked questions about the other's family, hometowns, hobbies or
other interests.  Much of it was of the "oh, yeah...that's right" category
that they'd been over at least once before.  Scott relayed the dinner of the
other night, exuding his delight that his roommate had been along.  He
filled Kelly in on his "campaign staff," detailing each guy's personalities
and their certain contributions to the effort.

     He took considerable time on Marty.  "You'd love the guy.  I hope you
get to meet him soon.  He's hilarious without even trying.  He's very
clever, and a real risk-taker without even thinking about it.  He has such a
`what the hell' take on life that I really envy.  The kind of guy I'd never
say `I dare you...' to him, because I know he'd do whatever it was, and might
die in the process.  He's nuts, but you just gotta love him."

     He paid equal tribute to his roommate.  Kelly remembered meeting Craig
at the fundraiser, and had already judged him to be a man of substance.  She
also sensed the growing bond between the two.  "Too bad he's gonna miss the
game tomorrow."  It was a calculated remark.

     "Why in the world wouldn't Craig go to the game?  I thought you guys
had season tickets."

     "Well we do.  But no," Scott shrugged and sighed.  "He had to go back
to Rockford for the weekend."  He spread some cheese on a cracker and
offered it to her.  Crackers in cellophane, and an orange cheese spread have
always been staples on just about every restaurant table in the State of
Wisconsin, probably since the French first began their exploration of the
area, Scott surmised.  She took it and munched on half.

     "It's a big anniversary party for his folks...their twenty-fifth."  He
looked for a reaction to register on learning he had the dorm room to
himself tonight.  Kelly just sipped her water.

     The waitress arrived to take their order.  She was a striking brunette;
tall, with sharp features, either Mediterranean or Latino in decent.  Scott
couldn't decide.   Kelly ordered fish.  Scott took a deep breath.  "Well,
it'll mean big, fat red meat twice in three days, but I've heard the sirloin
here is great."

     "Aw, honey, go for it," the waitress goaded him.

     "Sold."

     She took their menus and made her exit.

     Kelly was doodling on her placemat with her fork. "Too bad Craig can't
be here for the game tomorrow."

     Scott was cheesing up another cracker.

     "He'll survive."  He offered this one to her, too.  This time she
leaned over and opened her mouth a little and let him feed it to her.

     The rest of the meal continued in the same direction.  Longer gazes,
casual contact of the hands, the feet and the legs.  Each one was sending
the other subtle, and not-so-subtle `we gotta get naked a.s.a.p.' vibes.
Each one was loving the sexual tension that hung over the meal.

     They shared a piece of cheesecake for dessert, and Scott had a cup of
coffee.  When the waitress, Quinn, Scott finally had learned, arrived with
the bill, Scott's right hand was entangled in Kelly's.

     "Okay kids.  I'm about to knock off for the night.  Anything else for
the lovebirds?"

     They both blushed.  Scott checked his watch.  "Jeezus!  We've been here
four hours?!"

     Quinn threw him a knowing glance.  "Time flies, don't it?"

     "Yeah, it does..."  He looked back at Kelly.  "...when you're havin' fun."
She gazed back longingly.  Her foot was hooked around his ankle.

     Scott handed Quinn a card.  "Put it on this, if you will."

     Quinn gave a subtle bow.  "I will.  Be right back."

     Quinn dropped off the card and charge slips.  "G'night kids.  Have a
good one."

     Scott performed the quickest twenty percent calculation of his life,
and he wasn't sure he hadn't tipped her thirty.  He didn't give a damn.  He
scribbled an amount and a signature, hoping someone could read it.  He
needed to get Kelly back to his room.  He knew it, Kelly knew it, and Quinn
knew it.

     They held hands on the way to the car, neither one saying a word.
Scott opened her door.  She stepped in front of him to get in, but stopped,
then turned and looked up.  He reached behind her head with his left hand
and pulled her face to his.  He kissed her deeply and longingly, and she
responded as he'd hoped she would.  "It's still early.  You don't want to go
back to the house do you?"

     Kelly's perfect green eyes were ablaze.  "Not on your life, mister.
Take me back to your room.  Drive safely, but hurry, dammit!"  She leaned up
to kiss him again, this time biting his lower lip a little.

     "Ow!"  Kelly released him and gave an `I'm sorry' look.  "That was a
good `ow' by the way."

     "Get in the car and drive."

     "Yes ma'am."  She sat down, and he closed her door.

     His tires squealed as he turned right onto the street.  He checked the
rear-view mirror, and was relieved that there were no squad cars behind him.

     The elevator door opened.  Kelly stepped in and Scott followed, and
stood close behind her as the doors slowly shut.  As soon as they were
closed, she felt his arms wrap around her waist and pull her back against
him.  His lips and tongue bathed the left side of her neck and her left ear.
  Her head fell back against his chest and she reached her hand up and
grabbed the back of his head, pulling him tight.  She let out a low moan.

     Inside the room, Scott hadn't even had time to turn on the lights when
their lips locked tight.  As their tongues dueled, Scott removed Kelly's
coat and dropped in on the closet floor.  She repeated the same with his
sport coat.  He maneuvered her back two or three steps and, with one strong
arm around her waist, lowered her onto his bed.  Their mouths never broke
contact.

     He was straddling her waist, his knees on the mattress bearing nearly
all of his weight.  His fingers found the top button of her blouse and went
to work.  Her hands began to assist with the bottom buttons.  Opening the
blouse, his mouth ravaged her neck as her hands worked the buttons of his
shirt.  She pulled the shirt tails up and her hands began roaming his strong
back.  He cupped his right hand over her left breast and massaged it through
her bra.  It was round and firm, and she sighed mightily as he played with.

     Scott said something, but it was muffled in the crook of her neck.
"What?" Kelly giggled.

     Scott lifted his face.  The street lights outside illuminated the dark
dorm room, and she could see the glistening around his mouth and chin.  "I
said," looking deep into her eyes, "too...many...clothes."  He stood up and
removed his shirt and t-shirt in one move.  Kelly slid the blouse off and
dropped it next to the bed.  But the time he was standing in his boxers,
proudly tenting, she was unbuttoning her jeans.  As she lifted her ass to
peel them off without getting up, he grabbed the leg cuffs and pulled.  The
designer pants landed on Craig's bed.  Kelly reached behind and unclasped
the bra as Scott's hands rested on her shoulders and took hold of the
straps.  It landed on the floor on top of her blouse.

     As he stood above her, her hands reached behind him and grabbed his
firm ass.  She pulled his torso forward and began slowly licking and kissing
his flat stomach, darting her tongue in and out of his navel.  He sighed a
heavy sigh while he ran his fingers through her hair.  Her hands first
roamed up his sides, massaging his ribs, up to his pecs.  She grabbed each
one and he gasped.  She dropped her hands to his thighs and massaged them
gently, all the while continuing the mouth bath she was giving his
midsection.  Her hands roamed up and down his thighs, finally grabbing the
boxers by the legs and firmly pulling them downward.  His hard cock sprung
upward, glancing Kelly's shoulder en route.

     He pushed her back on the bed and straddled her once again.  She smiled
a seductive, wanting smile as he gazed into her eyes.  "You are so
unbelievably beautiful, you know that?"  She didn't respond.  He leaned in
and softly kissed her lips, then her chin, then her neck.  Her fingers
softly danced across the surface of his back. Soon his tongue was dancing
between her tits as he groped and massaged each one.  He had been right
about them from the very first day.  They did more or less keep their firm
round form, even lying on her back.  He pushed them together with his firm
hands, and licked them both at the same time.  He then took the left nipple
in his mouth and sucked.  She moaned and grabbed the hair on the back of his
head.  He sucked harder and grabbed the right one more firmly.  She moaned a
little louder and grabbed the hair more tightly.  He nibbled a bit and she
uttered a soft, "Oh, God!"

     She grabbed the sides of his head and pulled him to her face.  As she
thrust her tongue deep into his mouth, she pushed back on his right
shoulder, convincing him to roll over.  As he did, his hand reached behind
her and he slid his fingers down the back of her panties.  He rubbed her ass
as she moved on top of him, straddling his waist with his throbbing cock
pointing up at her ass.  Her mouth came back down to his and she felt her
butt rubbing against the head of his wet cock.  He brought his right hand
around and slid it between his stomach and her crotch.  She moaned into his
mouth as his index finger traced the outline of her pussy lips through the
moistened silk of her panties.  His left continued to work on her right
breast.  He flicked the nipple with his thumb and kneaded the orb with the
rest of his hand.

     Kelly broke the kiss and quickly headed south.  Scott gazed up at the
ceiling for a time, relishing the sensation of Kelly's tongue wandering down
his muscular sweating torso.  Now completely between his legs, she grabbed
his iron-stiff dick in her hand.  "Very nice, Mr. Turner," she smiled.

     Scott lifted his head and looked down at Kelly, part of her smile
obscured by his fat, hard cock.  "You like?"

     She responded by sticking out her tongue and running it up the
underside, from balls to the head.  "I'll let you know."  She sucked the
head into her mouth and held it while her tongue did a few laps around it.
Slowly, she swallowed as much of it as she could, and Scott's heavy
breathing and slow moans were music to her ears.  Scott reached down and
confirmed his approval by gently stroking Kelly's head as it raised and
lowered on his muscle.  She took his balls in her hand and released his
dick, taking one nut, then the other into her mouth and gently sucking each
on.

     "My God!" Scott gasped.  "Un-fucking-believable!!  Kelly...that...feels...so...
fucking...good!  Oh God...yeah babe...you're magic...pure magic."  Kelly smiled,
pleased that she was pleasing the guy she had fantasized about since the
first time she'd laid eyes on him.  She continued working his cock and balls
for several minutes, alternating her attention between them.  She scooted up
on her knees and slid the panties down, sliding one leg at a time out of the
undies.

     "Scott?" she whispered into the head of his dick.

     "Anything!  Whatever you want."  He was panting.  She smiled and sucked
lightly one more time.

     "I need you inside of me.  Where can a girl find a condom in this
place?"

     "Pants pocket...dresser drawer...closet.  Pick one...fast."

     Kelly giggled and reached for the khakis lying on the floor.  "You come
prepared."

     "I was hoping to get lucky in the restaurant.  I wanted to swipe the
table clear with my arms and give Quinn a show.  I think she wanted me to,
too."

     She slapped his thigh, and then tore open the wrapper.  While she
unrolled an inch or so, she gave his tool one long, last mouth bath.
Grabbing the member in one hand she carefully rolled the sheath down the
full length.  She walked on her knees, one on each side of his thighs.
Their eyes locked as she held his tool straight up, and lowered herself
slowly.  Her pussy was wet and hot, his cock was the biggest she'd ever
taken.  Their gaze broke only when she rolled her eyes upward, eventually
tossing her head back and moaning as he reached the hilt.  She held the
position for a minute, regaining her bearings.  She put one hand on each
side of his chest and looked back down.  Scott reached up and began
massaging her tits again.  Without rising off of his cock, Kelly began
slowly thrusting her hips. Scott's heavy breathing became a low, rhythmic
moaning.  He began to thrust his hips upward, and Kelly responded in kind.
She raised and lowered her hips in time with Scott's moves.  "God!!  You're
fucking perfect," he whispered.

     She leaned in and kissed him.  "Shut up and fuck me, Mr. Turner."  She
laid one hand on each side of his head and they both intensified their
movements.  Kelly was bouncing up and down as Scott thrust upward as hard as
his legs would allow.  Through half opened eyes, Scott was hypnotized by her
tits bouncing up and down with each thrust.  His head came off the pillow
and he attacked her right tit with his mouth, grabbing her waist firmly with
both hands.  "Oh, fuck, yeah!"  Kelly was whimpering now.  "Gimme that big
dick!  Fuck me, Scotty!  Fuck me!"  He reached around and grabbed her ass
cheeks, massaging each one and encouraging Kelly to move up and down on his
cock even faster, even harder.  Kelly pushed his head back down and leaned
over the top of him, bringing her clit in direct and constant contact with
Scott's constant movements.  She whined, "Oh...God!...Scotty!!"

     They both felt it coming.  Kelly didn't think it was possible for him
to quicken the pace, but Scott surprised her.  Her face was buried in the
crook of his neck, and she was nearly squealing.
"ooh...ooh...ooh...Scott...Scotty...ohmygod...ohmygod."  He felt her thighs flex.  She
had powerful thighs.  She dug her fingers into his shoulders as her orgasm
shot through her.  Another thrust and Scott was filling up the condom,
convulsing beneath the auburn beauty on top of him.  He wrapped his arms
around her and pulled her down as he shot several more times, each one
causing him to grunt and his entire body to spasm.

     She laid with her head on his chest, his cock still inside of her for
several minutes.  Their breathing remained labored for a while, and both
mouths were parched.  Kelly stirred and looked up at her lover.  His eyes
were closed and he had a serene smile on his face.  She traced his lips with
a finger, and he sucked it in.  Lifting herself enough to remove the invader
from inside of her, she kissed him gently.  He responded by slowly opening
his eyes.  Their tongues met and did a slow dance.  Scott chuckled.  "Shit!
And I thought my mouth was dry."

     Kelly laughed a little.  "You make me thirsty, Mr. Turner."

     Scott nudged her up and rolled out from underneath. He peeled off the
rubber and tossed it in the can, then leaned over and got a bottle of water
from the fridge.  Kelly stood up and lifted the sheets and blanket, and
crawled underneath.  He opened the bottle and handed it to her.  She took a
long drink and handed it back as he scooted under the sheets with her.
Being a dorm bed, there was not a lot of room, but they made due.  Scott lay
back with his hands locked behind his head.  Kelly laid on her side, her
head on his big bicep and her arm draped across him.  She gently stroked his
chest.  He kissed the top of her head, and smiled.  For some reason, he
joked to himself, `she called me Scotty.'  Before long, they were both sound
asleep.

     As he slowly returned to life, it occurred to him that he shouldn't
have been alone in bed.  Then he smelled the coffee and heard clicking on
the computer keyboard.  He rolled over and smiled.  Kelly was sitting at his
desk, wearing one of his t-shirts and doing her e-mail.  She looked over and
smiled, her green eyes dancing over his naked upper body.  "Hey," she purred
softly.

     "Hey, yourself.  You been up long?"

     She came over to him and sat on the bed leaning into him for a kiss.
"About a half hour, I'd guess."

     "Sleep okay?"

     "Like a babe.  A very happy, satisfied babe."  She kissed him again.
"Wanna cup of coffee?"

     "I'd rather have you."  Scott wrapped an arm around her back and
nuzzled her neck.  She giggled.

     "Scott.  It's nearly eight o'clock.  Kickoff's at eleven.  You have to
get ready, bring me back to the house, I gotta clean up and change, and then
we need to get to the stadium.  I'd love to replay last night, over and over
in fact." She kissed him hard, then broke it off and looked him in the eye.
"But we don't have the time."  She slid a hand under the sheets and pinched
his hard cock.  "So put `Mr. Big.' here away.

     He lightly slapped her hand away.  "Hey...No fair!  You can't go grabbing
a guy's dick while you're telling him you won't have sex.  Isn't that
against the rules?"

     "I make my own," she said sternly as she poured him a cup of coffee.

     Scott sat straight up and propped back against the wall.  She handed
him the coffee and snuggled in beside him. He wrapped an arm around her and
rubbed her bare thigh.

     Kelly had thought about it. "Let's do this.  You throw on some clothes
and drive me home.  Come back here, clean up and get dressed.  I'll get a
ride back here from somebody going to the game.  Then we can walk to the
stadium from here.  You don't want to try to park down there, do you?"

     Scott sipped his coffee.  "Hell no!  It's only about ten blocks away,
anyway."  He thought about it and took another drink.  "Sounds like a plan."
  He smiled;   "In fact..." he tried to sound dramatically suspicious.  "...it
sounds a little tooooo well-planned.  I think this has all been part of a
convenient little plot of yours to get me into the sack and take advantage
of me."

     She thumped his chest.  "You wish."  She kissed him.  "Now get your ass
outta bed and get moving.  I gotta get home."

     Pulling on some shorts, he said, "and, I gotta go pee.  He grabbed for
his kit and found a tooth brush and paste.  "and give me a minute to brush
my fangs."

     She leaned up and kissed him again, then scrunched up her nose.
"Yeah...I wish you would."  He reached around and lightly slapped her ass.

     Coming back down the hall from the bathroom he heard her laughing, then
noticed the door was partially open.  He opened it slowly.  Before he was
even in the room he heard Marty's voice, "mornin' professor!"  Marty had a
cup of coffee in one hand, a plastic cup in the other and there was a large
thermos on the desk top.

     Kelly was still laughing.  Scott looked at her and rolled his eyes.  He
was glad she'd managed to get dressed before Marty crashed their morning
afterglow.  "I see you've met the current bane of my existence."

     "That's Special Advisor Bane to you, my good man." He raised his glass.

     "Marty was just sharing some of his, uhm, more imaginative ideas for
your campaign."

     "Did any of them involve dead children or live animals; or dead animals
or live children?"

     "Not yet, but that'll give me somethin' to think about."

     Scott noted the uniform shirt Marty was wearing.  "You're up early.
Workin' a weekend?"

     "Actually, I've been at it since about four a.m..  Haven't been to bed
all night."

     "What?"

     "Me and Brandon volunteered. The department offers double-time for
working the stadium on game days.  Go in at the crack of dark, unload and
stock stuff, take a break, then go back and support the rest of the
staff...the security, the concessions, the ticket-takers, shit like that.  I'm
just a set of keys for the regulars who need to get into places, or get' em
locked back up.  It's a good gig.  Plus, I'm done by the end of the first
quarter, then get to see the rest of the game from the ground."  He took
another drink, then laughed a bit.  "I got it all planned.  I'm gonna be on
the sidelines and grab the ball after Dayne breaks the record."

     Kelly was enamored with the guy, but then, so was anybody who knew him.
  "Scott, I do believe he'll do it.  Can I hold it when you bring it back,
Marty?"

     "My dear, I will happily encourage you to hold anything that's mine."
Scott smacked him upside the head.

     Marty grabbed an empty coffee mug and poured it half full from the
thermos.  Scott took a drink. Scott looked down into the mug and sniffed.
"Screwdriver?"

     "Yessir."

     Scott took a drink. "Jeezus!  A little strong, don't you think?  It's
not even nine, and you're goin' back to work."

     "I'm going back to stand around, unlock and lock doors and leer at the
hot students, and probably a few of the better lookin' moms."  Kelly laughed
again.  "I'll be done by noon, so I'm just warmin' up.  Besides, I'm gonna
need a little extra courage today, and I figured Mr. Smirnoff could help me
out in that department."

     Scott froze.  "Courage?  What's up? What've you got cookin?"

     Marty stood and put his arm around Scott's shoulder.  "Not to worry,
professor.  Nothin' that's gonna touch you in the least.  I just have this
feelin' that it's gonna be a long day."

     "Marty, you're makin' me nervous over here."

     "Relax, bud.  Don't ya' trust me?"  Marty looked to the side and winked
at him squeezing his shoulder.  "You think I'd do something to rain on your
dream date with this goddess?  Oh, by the way, Kelly...?"

     She took a sip of Scott's drink.  "Yes, Martin...?"

     "Has anyone ever told you that you have the most perfectly beautiful
green eyes that God ever bequeathed upon one of his creations?"

     "And, has anyone ever told you that you're blessed with the most
perfect disposition and personality?"

     Still holding Scott by the back of the neck, he reached out, took her
hand and kissed it.  He suddenly leaned over and kissed Scott on the cheek.
"God!  Dontcha just feel the love!?  See you kids at the game."  And, he was
out the door.

     Kelly took another sip of Scott's screwdriver.  "Whew!  That's pretty
strong."

     Scott snickered and nodded.  "Marty Anderson doesn't do anything
half-way."  He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her in for a kiss.
"You ready to go?"  She nodded, somewhat reluctantly.

     A hundred feet or so from his car, Scott stopped dead and his mouth
dropped open.  "Oh Shit!  No fucking way."  He let go of Kelly's hand and
ran ahead.  He ran around to the front and looked down.  "Jesus Fucking
Christ!  I don't fucking believe this!  All four...all fucking four slashed to
hell!"  The car was sitting on four very flat tires.  He slammed both fists
on the hood of the car.  "Assholes.  Fucking prick assholes!"

     Kelly caught up and grabbed his arm.  "Who?  Who do you think did
this."

     Scott took a breath and thought for a second.  "I don't know!  But this
is just fucked up."

     He grabbed his cell and punched.  A second later, "Hey, man, it's
me...What time you heading back to the stadium?  Yeah, I AM pissed!  Well...and
you can slap my ass and call me Sally...but all four tires on my chariot have
been slashed...No Shit!...some fucker has iced all four of the Goodyear's on my
car.  I need to borrow your Jeep to give Kelly a ride home.  Yeah?  That
could work...okay...meet you in the lobby in five...okay, ten."

     "What now?" Kelly wondered out loud.  She wrapped her arms around his
waist.

     "Marty's gonna drive you home on his way back to the stadium.  I'm
gonna touch base with campus security, maybe the police, while you get ready
for the game.  Then, you make your way back here and we'll hike over to the
game."  He turned around and leaned against the hood of the car.  He kissed
her forehead.  "Kelly, it's okay.  Just some stupid vandals out for a cheap
thrill.  C'mon, Marty's gonna meet us in the lobby."

	An hour later, Scott was sitting in the lobby, looking out the window and
doing a slow boil.  He knew that Kip and his frat buddies were somehow
behind this, but didn't want to over-react in their direction.  Not just
yet, anyway.  `That's what they'd like,' he thought to himself.  He'd given
a report to campus security, and they'd contacted the Madison Police
Department.  He had fished through the yellow pages for an auto repair shop
that would deliver and install, and jotted down three numbers to call on
Monday morning.  He'd left a message with his insurance agent, whom he
figured was probably traveling to Madison for today's game, anyway.  He'd
covered all the bases, but hadn't called his parents.  He was pretty sure he
wouldn't.   A van pulled up, and Kelly jumped out.  Scott picked up the
blankets he'd rolled up, shoved his gloves in the pocket of his hooded
sweatshirt, and headed for the front door with a smile on his face.

	On the walk to the stadium, he filled Kelly in on the last hour's
activities, and she seemed comforted by his calm, `this is one of those
things' demeanor.  It was a cool, but sunny day, perfect for a football
game, and they both managed to put the car crap behind them.  The band was
playing at Union South as they walked by.  Craig grabbed her hand and they
ducked in to grab a beer.  Scott wanted to point out Marty's roommate out
Kelly.  "There he is!  Trombones, second row...third from the left."  Brett's
trombone was bobbing up and down with the rest of the section to "The Bud
Song."  Scott couldn't help but wonder, as he scanned the faces, which one
was the "ho" who was polishing Brett's knob.

	They finished their beers and made their way through the throngs, through
the gate and finally found their seats.  Scott unrolled the blankets.  One
to lay over the cold aluminum on which they'd have to sit, the other to
spread over their laps to keep warm and, hopefully to provide cover for any
groping that might go on during the game.  It wasn't very long before the
second blanket proved its usefulness.

	Six rows back and a section to the north, Kip Monmouth sat next to his
parents.  He'd seen the pair walk down the steps, hand and hand.  Borrowing
his dad's binoculars, he zoomed in for a closer look.  `Whore,' he thought
to himself.  His mom pulled the game program from under her arm and began
paging through it.  A bright red piece of paper fell out and fluttered to
her feet.  Kip saw it.  It was about the size of a dollar bill.  Cardinal
Red with black print.  On one side of the paper, in black capital letters,
it simply said "TURNER."  Kip turned it over.  "INDEPENDENT" was the sole
word on the back-side.  Kip's mother was shocked to hear her son growl "That
mother-fucker" as he crumpled the paper and threw it on the ground.

	Scott opened his program and the piece fell onto the blanket covering his
lap.  He glanced at it, at first thinking it was a coupon of some sort, but
then he recognized the name.  He picked it up.  "TURNER" on one side,
"INDEPENDENT" on the other.  He panicked for a moment.  He looked left and
right down his aisle, then leaned backward and forward, scanning the rows
both behind and ahead of them.  By his very quick accounting, there were
several dozen of these little fliers littering the stadium, just in the
three rows he could see from his seat.

	"Marty," he said out loud.  "You goofy son-of-a-bitch!

	"Marty?  Where?"  Kelly thought Scott had seen him nearby.

	"Check this out."  He handed it to Kelly.  She gasped and put a gloved hand
over her mouth, struggling to hold back a howl.  "This, my dear, was in my
program." Motioning left and right with his head, he continued, "and, it
appears there are more than a few of these floating around the stadium."  He
thought for a moment, and was pretty sure he'd put it all together.  "He
volunteered to work this weekend so that he could stuff the programs with
this shit," holding up the campaign material.  "Who knows how many helpers
he recruited, but I do believe that Marty Anderson could pull this off."

	He was suddenly aware of Kelly's connection to the Greeks.  "Uhm...Kel?"

	She reached over under the blanket and rubbed his thigh, then buried her
face in his neck.  With Scott wearing a hooded sweatshirt, that was quite a
trick, but she accomplished it, somehow.  "Don't worry, baby.  I like you
and I like Marty too much to fuck anything up for either of you."   She
kissed his ear, then whispered, "In fact after the drive home this morning,
I might be in love with Marty."

	He feigned shock and dismay.  "What the fuck?  He gives you a few sips of a
screwdriver and a twelve block drive.  I get you a plate-load of perch and a
pretty good roll in the hay.  And, you're falling in love with him?"

	Kelly rubbed higher on his thigh.  "I did NOT eat a plate-load of fish last
night... and it wasn't just `pretty good.'  She kissed him again.

     "No, it wasn't, Scott whispered.  "It was fantastic.  It was the best!"

     Somebody a few rows up shouted, "Hey!! Get a room!"  There was much
laughter all around.  Scott looked over his shoulder and shouted, "Hey!!
Eat your heart out."  More laughter and some light applause.

     	A couple minutes into the second quarter, Ron Dayne broke loose for a
thirty-something yard rush.  It was sheer bedlam. The crowd went wild.
Scott was jumping up and down on his seat as though he'd just broken the
record himself.  High-fives, hugs and handshakes were shared with total
strangers by just about everybody in Camp Randall.

     There was a television time-out; one of those breaks in the game that's
dictated by the networks.  It made sense, as the NCAA record had just been
broken, that ABC or ESPN or whoever would time a break in the action at that
moment to try and sell something.  The crowd was settling back into their
seats.

     Suddenly the cheering began again, and Scott noticed the fans in front
of him pointing toward the south end zone. The marching band was assembled
on the track, just behind the goal post, and somebody had pushed their way
through the group and onto the field.

     "A streaker!!" the lady next to him squealed.

     Wearing nothing but white tennis shoes, the lean figure sprinted the
length and width of the field.  Running diagonally from one corner to the
other, he'd turned a hundred-yard run into something more like a hundred and
twenty, maybe thirty.  But the guy was on a roll.  By the time he hit the
thirty, the crowd was back on its feet.  No campus security, no city or
county law enforcement made a move to stop him."

     Kelly grabbed Scott's arm.  "Oh Shit!...and the guy looks kinda hot!"

     "Please don't say that."

     "Huh?"

     "Just wait `til he gets closer."

     As he crossed the fifty, the runner's hands went up in the air in
victory.  The cheering got only louder.

     Kelly's mouth dropped, and she looked at Scott with alarm.
"Oh...My...God!"

     "Yup," Scott shouted over the crowds ranting.

     As he crossed the ten yard line on the stadium's north end, the
streaker showed some real style and class.  He stopped running.  He bent his
left leg upward, and thrust his left arm out in a stiff-arm, striking the
Heisman Trophy pose.  He then calmly strutted across the goal line and put
his hands behind his back, waiting to be handcuffed.  In this position, he
was throwing a complete "Full Monty" to all of the fans in the end-zone
seats, and they were loving it. A sheriff's deputy removed his own coat and
ran over.  He wrapped the coat around the criminal's waist and tied the arms
behind his back.  The guy was hand-cuffed and led out of the stadium to the
cheers and chants of the Badger's loyal fans.

     Scott slumped down in his seat and buried his head in his hands.  He
was laughing so hard that there were tears streaming down his cheeks.  He
felt Kelly's arm come over his shoulder.

     He could only shake his head.  "That's my boy.  That's my Special
Fucking Advisor."  He gasped for air as Kelly's head fell into his shoulder.
  "But...I'm not answering the phone today, in case he calls for bail."  He
knew that if Marty did call, he'd be there in a flash.

...

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Well, gang, Chapter 6 actually ended up being more fun than
I'd imagined at its inception.  Chapter 7 has been in the works for some
time, and I'm looking forward to finishing it up and having it posted in
another week or so.  At that point, I'll decide whether Scott, Kelly, Marty
and the rest will continue.  I'm kind of torn, and will leave it up to
Nifty's readers.  Let me know.

At the same time, I'd like to echo the recent, and very clever, appeal by
Tyler Peel in his series, "The Road Home."  If you're not reading it,
there's something wrong with you.  Stop reading my crap until you've caught
up with the rest of the "Roadies."  And, support Nifty, dammit!  Go back to
the College section of the archives.  Find Chapter 23 of "The Road Home,"
and follow the directions laid out by Tyler and Luke in that chapter's
prelude.  As I said, if you haven't already read Chapters 1 through 22 of
Tyler's work, then fix your problem and get busy.  It's an outstanding read!