Date: Tue, 30 May 2006 04:00:42 -1000
From: S turner <scotty.13411@hotmail.com>
Subject: Strange Bedfellows, Chapter 11

     Disclaimer:  The following story is a mostly fictional account of the
author's experiences and associations while a college student.  It contains
graphic depictions of sexual activity between consenting men and women, and
consenting men and other men. (Although this chapter is pretty light on the
sex.  Sorry if it disappoints).  Any resemblance of the characters to real
persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  If it is illegal for you
to read such material in your locale, then please move on to something else.
  This story is copyrighted, 2006, and may not be reprinted, reposted or
reproduced without the expressed consent of the author.


     Chapter 11


     	Bart Morrison.  That was the guy's name. Scott heard it, and thought
he'd recognized it from WSA news stuff, but wasn't sure.

     Morrison was a law student from Green Bay who had been an elected
member of the WSA for four years.  At twenty-six, he was the oldest member
of the Student Senate, and the only one who wasn't an undergraduate.  "A
nutty liberal" whose head was stuck in The Sixties, according to his
classmates, but undoubtedly one of the sharpest minds on campus.  Funny
thing was, he really didn't want to practice law because of his perception
of the conformity it imposed on anyone hoping to be successful.  Bart wanted
to be a professional rabble-rouser, to win the lottery and then say in
college for the rest of his life.  Short of that, he wanted to represent the
underprivileged before being appointed to the Supreme Court.

     The phone had awakened Scott on the fourth or fifth ring at 9:15 a.m.,
over three hours later than he usually rose.  He was hung over on a
Wednesday morning, a first for him.  The Lit. class was already behind him,
and Kelly was wondering where he was.  He'd gulped down five, maybe six,
glasses of bourbon on the rocks when he'd gotten in the night before,
without waking up his slumbering roommate.  Not more than he could normally
handle, but he pounded it fast, and it was more than he was accustomed to on
a weeknight.

     "Is this Turner?  Scott Turner?"

     "Aaaauuccccchhh." He cleared his throat and hacked up a big glob of
phlegm.  "Ptew" into the trash can.  "Ah, yeah.  Scott Turner here."  He
yawned again while he reached below his morning wood to scratch his nuts.
The good news was Craig had left half a pot of coffee in the pot.  "Hang on
a second."  Scott put the phone down and poured a cup.  It wasn't too far
above room temperature, but it'd do.  He took a big gulp before picking up
the phone again.  "What?"

     "It's not too early, I hope."

     "Only today.  Sorry.  Who is this?"  He took another big gulp of java.

     "Scott, this is Bart Morrison.  I'm a sitting, and now re-elected
member of the Student Senate.  Been there longer than anyone."

     "Okay.  I'm impressed.  What can I do for you."

     Bart was partly taken aback, somewhat amused.  "I didn't mean to try to
impress, Mr. Turner, only establish my credentials."

     Scott sat down on the bed and scratched his messy head.  "Consider them
firmly established, Mr. Morrisey."

     "It's Morrison."

     Scott took another drink.  "Got it.  Morrison." He yawned again.  "And
you're calling because...?

     "I want to talk politics, Scott.  Actually, in some ways, I want to
talk math."

     "Math?  That's my weak spot."   Scott was waking up and starting to pay
attention.  He took another sip.  Holding the receiver between his ear and
shoulder, he found the coffee filters and dug the can out of the fridge.
"Hey, can you hang on a second, or do ya' want me to call you back?"

     "Sure.  No, I'll wait."

     "'kay, be right back."  Scott dumped the rest of the old coffee into
the mug and went to the sink and filled the decanter.  His mind was starting
to run as the water level rose, and even moreso as he filled the resevior of
the coffee maker.  The sound of running water made his bladder talk to him.
He slid the basket and filter into its holder and hit brew before picking
the reciver back up.  "Gimme another second."

     "No problem"

     Scott went back to the sink and stood on his tip-toes, whipped out his
half-hard cock and pissed like a race horse into the basin.  It felt really
good.  He ran the water to rinse the piss out the sink, then scooped a
couple of handfuls onto his face and dried off with a nearby pair of gym
shorts.

     He sat down on the bed again and yawned once more before picking up the
phone.  "Okay.  I'm back.  Sorry `bout that.  Thanks for waiting."

     "No problem, man.  I'm glad I caught you in your room.  Anyway, we're
due to elect officers next week for the senate."

     "Yeah, I know."

     "I'll come right out, Scott.  I need your vote.  If you've looked at
the results very closely, you can see there are fifteen frat boys and girls
in the new organization."

     "Yeah, I know that, too."

     "That makes sixteen of us."

     "Us?"

     "Well, you are on our side, aren't you?"

     "When I said I was running as an independent, I meant it.  I'm not
interested in signing up for any party or any faction.  What is it again you
want from me?"

     "I want to be the next WSA President.  I have fifteen votes in line.  I
figure Monmouth has fifteen of his own; either him or one of his flackies."

     "So?"

     "You don't want that asshole at the helm do you?  Word I get is that
you're no fan of Kip's.  I watched you and your buddy giving him fits at the
candidate's meeting."

     Scott smirked as he recalled Marty's performance over the names on the
ballot.  "I'm not a fan of his, no, but it's mostly his arrogance I have a
hard time with.  As far as the direction he wants to go in the WSA, I don't
really know.  He and I haven't discussed it."

     "So he hasn't called you yet?  I'm a little surprised.  He certainly
must know the score, here.  Well, your vote would put me over the top."

     "And, what's in it for me?"

     "Depends on what you ask for.  I'd surely owe you one."

     "One?"

     "Okay, maybe more.  What would it take?"

     Scott mulled it over for a second as he took another gulp of coffee.
"Don't know.  Haven't really thought about it."  He was lying.  He'd tought
about it a lot.  "Tell you what, Bart, let me shake off this hangover," he
heard Morrison snicker, "and we maybe can meet.  I want to finish reading
the orientation stuff that Walter gave me and think about it a bit.  Gimme
your number, and I'll give you a call."

     Scott wrote down Bart's phone number, then excused himself.  "Look,
man, I gotta go.  Already missed one class today, and can't miss physics.
I'll give you a call after I've thought it all over."

     "Well, that's about the best I can do right now, huh?  I'll take it.
I'm willing to make it worth your while.  You're in a position to be the
king-maker here, Scott.  I need you."

     "Got it.  I'll be in touch.  Later."  He hung up the phone, then leaned
over in his chair and puked in the trash can.

     After drinking half a bottle of water, Scott dialed the WSA office.
"Walter?"

     "Speaking."

     "Hey Walter, it's Scott Turner."

     "Hey, Scott!  What can I do for you?"

     "Do you have a detailed breakdown of the election,
district-by-district?"

     Walter reached for a file.  "Got it in my hand, Scott.  You want a
copy?"

     "Yeah, that'd be great.  When can I pick it up?"

     "I'll have it ready in about five minutes."

     Scott chuckled under his breath.  This really was Radar, he thought.
"I'll stop by in about half hour, maybe forty-five minutes."

     "Cool.  It'll be here, in an envelope with your name on it, in case I'm
not in the office.  I still have a morning class to get to.  Hey, Scott, are
you okay?  You don't sound too good."

     "Aahh, just a touch of the flu, I think, but I'm feeling much better."

     "Lotta that goin' around.  Well, you take it easy and stop by
whenever."

     Scott rubbed his eyes and took another gulp of water.  "Thanks, Walter.
  See ya' later."

     He finished the water and opened a second bottle before going to the
showers.  At this late hour, there were few sounds on the floor.  He heard a
shower running as he opened the door.  "Turner!  Good going man!  Sorry I
didn't stop by to give you your prop's yesterday."

     Scott dipped his head and grinned.  "No problem, Teddy.  Thanks a lot."
  He hung up his towel and scratched his balls again.  Teddy was standing,
feel shoulder-width apart, the hot water plastering his hair to his
forehead.  His right hand had a bar of soap in it and roamed all over his
torso.  Black hair matted his chest, and his fat uncut cock bobbed around as
he washed his balls.  Teddy turned around and looked up into the stream of
water, and scrubbed his face.  His glutes churned up and down with each
shift of his weight from foot to foot.  The hand with the soap reached down
and around, gliding over each shiny globe of flesh.  `He's showing off,'
Scott thought.  `But then again, he's got plenty to show.  What a fine,
fuckable ass.'

     Theodore, Teddy, Borsheki was of southeastern European decent, and it
showed.  At about five-foot-nine, he carried about 170 pounds extremely
well.   His thick neck gave way to very broad shoulders that lead to nicely
shaped, strong arms.  Not a magazine muscle stud by anyone's assessment, but
a compact, hard body.  He had a thick head of jet-black hair and animated
eyebrows you would notice from the entire length of their floor's hallway.
In addition to his well-developed chest, his legs were covered with
jet-black hair, and it almost always looked like Teddy's clean shaven face
needed a shave.

     "Still seein' the redhead?  What's her name, Carrie?"

     "Kelly.  We're getting together now and then.  Yeah, it's all good."

     "Cool, cool.  She's a real babe."

     "Yeah, she's a good time."  Scott rubbed a glob of shampoo into his
hair, closing his eyes as he massaged his scalp.  "What about you?"

     Teddy shook his head and rolled his eyes.  "Nothing happenin' here at
the moment, man."  He tugged on his cock, pulling the foreskin down an inch
or so.  Scott caught a glimpse through squinted eyes.  "Little Teddy's been
pretty lonely lately.  Fuck, I'm getting' ready to ask my roomie to suck on
it."  He wiggled it up and down again and Scott's stirred to life.

     Scott rinsed his hair and opened his eyes, then gazed at the member in
Teddy's hand.  It appeared to have grown some.  "Don't know that I'd call it
all that little, dude."  Teddy chuckled with a bit of pride.  "Well, ya'
hear that guys give better head than chicks do, anyway.   Any truth to
that?"

     "Not sure."  Teddy licked his lips.

     "Ya' think he'd do it?"

     Teddy laughed.  "My roommate?  What're you nuts?  You seen the guy?
He'd beat the shit out of me if I came close to even joking about it."

     Scott shrugged as he soaped up his arms and pits.  "Hey, he could
surprise you.  I've known a couple of very butch gay guys.  One's a real
muscle stud that you'd never expect is into sucking dick."

      Teddy paused. "So...ah...did he do yours?"

     Scott just winked.  "Teddy, Teddy, Teddy.  You don't think I'm one of
those guys who cums-and-tells, do you?"

     Teddy winked back at him.  "I'm guessing someone with your political
future would have to be pretty careful about stuff like that, huh?"  Teddy
turned off his shower and stepped out, grabbing his towel.  His dick stood
out a bit, and wagged back and fourth as he vigorously toweled his head.

     Scott leaned over to soap up his thighs, then his calves and shins.
"Well, as far as I can tell, in that business, a guy's either gotta be out
to the world, or deep in the closet and extremely cautious.  Even then, it's
risky business.  Ask the guy from Waukesha."

     Teddy laughed.  "Yeah, I read about that.  Pretty much tossed his
career into the shitter, didn't he?"  Teddy put a foot on the bench to dry
his lower legs, exposing his hard, hairy ass.  "Lesson being, ya wanna suck
cock, do it with someone you know, not in public, and keep your fuckin'
mouth shut, you say?"

     Scott soaped up his crotch and balls, slowly rubbing with both hands.
"Well, I imagine you'd have to open your mouth for a while, wouldn't you
think?  Otherwise, it'd be kinda hard to get the job done right."

     Teddy's back was still turned toward Scott.  As hairy as his chest was,
his back was smooth, but every bit as nicely defined.  Great v-shape and
tight, leading to a trim waist above his beautiful ass.   He shook his head
and chuckled as he wrapped himself in his towel.  He turned around, his
towel tenting in front of him.  "You got me there, Scott.  Well, I gotta get
a move on.  Hey, let's get together some time."  He leered Scott up and down
one last time, smiling seductively.

     "You know where to find me, man.  Just give me a shout."

     Teddy nodded.  "I will.  Have a great day."

     "You too, man.  You too."

     Teddy was back in his room, but wasn't even dressed yet when Scott's
knees locked and his hips bucked.  He stroked his rock-hard cock furiously
with an image of Teddy in his mind as his load spattered on the wall in
front of him.  Five, six, seven shots of cum dripping down the wall as he
quietly grunted and moaned.  "Whew...fuckin-a...I needed that.  Too bad the guy
had to go so soon," he muttered to himself.  He spent another minute under
the hot stream of water, rinsing himself clean.

     After stopping by the WSA office, Scott jogged to make his physics
class.  The hangover was pretty much gone, though he wished he'd grabbed a
bite to eat.  During the lecture, he spent as much time scanning the details
of the recent election results as he did listening to the professor drone
on.  "Fucker," Scott thought to himself.  "Every week, same thing.  He's
basically regurgitating the text to us, and nothing more.  God!  What a
fucking waste of time.  He noted that Kip had won his district comfortably,
though no landslide, against only one other opponent.  Morrison, whose race
gave him three others to beat, had kept his seat by a whisker.  He prepared
the rough draft of a data-base with two columns, "Greek" and "Anti-Greek"
noting the names of all the candidates in each race.  Later, he would enter
the numbers and analyze who had won where, and by how much.

     In the lobby of the Science Building, Scott dropped his backpack and
opened it up, pulling out a striped tie.  Some students gawked for a second
as he stood in front of a polished marble column, using it as a mirror,
while he crafted the perfect half-windsor.  He had an appointment in Bascom
Hall, and wanted to look good for the great man.

     Ellison Cushing, PhD., was one of the most esteemed political
scientists in the nation.  Author of fourteen books, twice nominated for the
Pulitzer, he'd served in both official and unofficial capacities for three
presidents and six of Wisconsin's governors.  He sat on the boards of
directors of three of the nation's largest non-profit organizations.  He
would've been pulling down huge money on corporate boards had he not feared
a conflict of interest with his academic reputation and pursuits.  Following
the melting of the Iron Curtain, he was called upon to advise four Eastern
European governments in their restructuring, and was a close confidant of
the likes of Lech Walesa.  Even The Vatican called him from time to time to
pick his brain.  Both Harvard and Yale wanted him, but he loved his adopted
hometown of Madison, Wisconsin.  A native on Indiana, he'd evolved into a
Badger, through and through.

     Back in the 1980's both parties had recruited him hard to run for
office, first for governor, then for the U.S. Senate.  His best claim to
fame to the average man on the street grew from his being needled and
pestered about his political ambitions, or lack thereof, by a political
columnist for "The Journal."  After several questions about his intentions,
all of which he found repetitive and annoying, he finally looked over his
thick lenses and glared.  "I'm an academic, dammit!  I'm wedded to the
university because I'm dedicated to unearthing all that's really true in our
world.  I'm not going to wallow around in political slop and `spin' in a
never-ending effort to avoid those truths.  On top of all of that, I'm
short, I'm fat and my gray hair is thinning more every day.  I have a face
made for radio and a voice fit for print, and the idea of `pressing the
flesh' and kissing babies is repulsive to me.  What is it that you don't
get?  I'm an egghead, you fucking moron, not some publicity whore!"  Of
course, only the last ten words made it into print.

     He was perfectly content to lecture two courses, twice a week each, to
continue his research, to write and advise the high and mighty, when called.
  He didn't chair the department, but that was only because he didn't want
to.  Everybody knew he was its anchor, and an endorsement from him was
golden practically anywhere.  While Scott found the `meat and potatoes' of
his state government class to be held in Randy's discussion sections, he
still felt a sense of awe as he sat quietly in the professor's lectures.

     Sitting in the man's outer office, Scott was nervous and excited.  He'd
had a couple more cups of coffee than he should have, with nothing to eat on
top of it, and his stomach was giving him hell for it.  The stern secretary
had invited him, ordered him actually, to have a seat, as the professor was
on a very important conference call, and would be running a bit late.

     "Thank you, ma'am.  No problem."  He couldn't help but wonder to whom
the old man was dispensing his sage advice.  He tried to look relaxed, but
his knee continued to jump up and down, much to the annoyance of the
brittle-looking woman behind the desk.  She rolled her eyes and huffed, but
then the professor's door finally opened.  "Gloria, please call the
Chancellor's office and see if the university will cover me for a trip to
Sacramento in two weeks.  Tell her that California should be able to cover
the cost, but I don't believe the new governor out there could find his own
ass with both hands.  Tell him the time will be covered.  Randy can take the
lecture if I'm not back in time."  He turned toward Scott.  "Mr. Turner!"
Scott stood up and wiped his hands on the back of his pants before accepting
the professor's handshake.  "Glad you could come by!  Sorry to keep you
waiting!" He motioned toward the door and led the way.  "Please, come right
in."

     The office was amazingly bare.  Scott had envisioned an ego wall full
of degrees and photos of the professor and an assortment of a political
who's who from the past three decades.  The only such picture was of the
professor and the former vice president, autographed, "with much respect and
affection, Dan Quayle."

     "Dan Quayle?" Scott thought to himself.  His expression revealed his
surprise and curiosity.

     "I've known the family for more years than I can count, and he's
central to one of my proudest moments.  Not to boast, Scott, but among other
things, I'm considered something of an expert on the vice presidency."

     "I know that, professor, I've read much of your material on the
subject."

     Cushing nodded his approval.  "Anyway, the Bush campaign called me when
they were vetting several prospects for a running mate.  I gave Senator
Quayle high marks for the job.  A couple days later he called me himself,
and I said, `go for it.'"  The professor shrugged and chuckled slightly.
"Helped get the dumbass out of the Senate and into the harmless role of the
veep.  Of course I had to hold my breath for four years, praying for the
good health of the president."

     Scott warmed up to the conversation as he took the seat indicated by
his professor.  "You know that that's what they planned for Teddy Roosevelt,
to get him out of the way and into the V.P.'s office."

     The professor laughed.  "Scott...I knew Teddy Roosevelt...Teddy Roosevelt
was a friend of mine...Sir, he's no Teddy Roosevelt!"

     They both laughed, and the professor continued, nodding at the photo.
"Still, the guy got a bum rap, all in all.  He's actually a helluva lot
smarter than the press ever gave him credit for.  I certainly didn't agree
with all he stood for, but he represented his constituents well and nobly.
Plus, he had a gift for surrounding himself with some very talented staff."
He leaned forward and nearly whispered, "And, between you and me, more than
one of them were damned hot!"  He winked, then shrugged.   "So, no harm
done, I guess."

     Scott laughed as the professor came to the matter at hand.  "Scott,
Randy Oakes has shared your work with me, and I must say, I'm very
impressed.  I read that first paper, and it's top-rate, parts of it probably
publishable, with a little work.  He also gave me a copy of your current
outline, and it could be the template for what we're looking for in a
political scientist."

     Scott blushed a little.  "Thank you, sir.  That's very kind."

     The professor scoffed.  "Kind, schmind.  It's the truth!"  Then he
paused.  Scott leaned forward in his chair, and his eyes widened in
anticipation.  "Scott...do you plan to continue your academic career here at
the UW?  Do you see yourself finishing your undergrad work on this campus?"

     	Scott was surprised by the question.  "Well, of course!  Where else
would I go?"

     "Hard to say.  I'm guessing you could go just about anywhere you wanted
to, given your talent."  The thought of being anywhere else but Madison was
nearly offensive to Scott, but he kept that under his hat.  "But I need to
know."  Cushing leaned forward over his desktop and smiled.  "Scott, I plan
to nominate you for the LaFollette.  You're familiar with the scholarship I
hope?"

     Scott's jaw dropped open as the professor leaned back and continued.
"If my nomination stands and prevails, you'd have to commit to completing
the degree here in Madison."

     The LaFollette Scholarship was named after "Fighting Bob" LaFollette,
Wisconsin's governor around the turn of the century, U.S. Senator and
one-time Progressive Party candidate for president.  It was awarded annually
to the one freshman whom the members of the political science department saw
as the most promising young scholar.  It was full tuition and materials, and
half the room-and-board for the time it took for the student to complete
their bachelor's degree.

     "Oh my God!"  Scott nearly peed his pants.  "Are you shi...are you
kidding me, sir?"  He blushed at his near-slip of the tongue.

     The scholar chuckled.  "I'm not shitting you, Mr. Turner.  I don't do
that.  It's a waste of everybody's time."

     Scott blushed.  "Sorry, sir.  I just can't believe it!  Of course I'm
going to see the degree through, right here.  Then, maybe law school, but
I'm not certain yet."

     The professor nodded, "Good," and reached for the phone.  "Gloria,
bring me the Turner nomination file, if you will."  About a second later,
the door opened and closed. Gloria strutted across the floor and sharply
presented the manilla folder across the desk."

     "Is it all here?"

     Gloria nodded and Scott detected a little impatience.  "Yes sir.  The
senator's recommendation arrived this morning.  I've retyped Mr. Oakes's to
correct the spelling errors.  He's coming by this morning to sign the edited
copy."  The professor grinned and slightly shook his head as he reviewed the
contents of the file.

     "Scott, forgive me for being presumptuous, but I took the liberty of
contacting Senator McCarthy for a good word or two on your behalf.  The
nomination requires three recommendations.  Here's mine, and Randy's is in
here, or I should say Randy's corrected version, and Maureen's makes three.
Randy informed me that you have quite a big fan in that woman."

     Scott looked surprised.  "Well, yeah...she's an old friend of the family.
  Funny, she didn't say a thing, and I just saw her the other night at
election headquarters."

     "She thought it'd be a nice surprise.  You're fortunate to have such a
supporter in her.  She's smart, she's got guts, she's got vision and, unless
something really unexpected happens in the coming weeks, she's about to have
real power.  It's an exciting time for the state."

     Scott shrugged.  "I guess it could happen.  We'll see..." He was lying,
but the professor knew it and thought it a noble obfuscation, and an
admirable sign of loyalty.

     The professor added his signature to his recommendation, then again to
the cover page of the packet.  "You'd like to read this, I presume?"

     Scott shrugged again.  "Oh, I don't know.  It's not nec..."

     Cushing shot a glance over his glasses and a knowing grin.  "Now, don't
you be shitting me.  You're dying to know what we've all written about you.
You'd be less than human if you didn't."

     Scott looked down and coyly nodded his admission.  He really, really
did want to pour through the contents of that folder.  "Gloria," he handed
the file to his secretary.  "Make an extra copy of this for Scott.  Once
Randy comes in and signs his letter, send it over to the Dean's Office."

     "Yes sir."  Gloria did a quick one-eighty on her heels and clicked
short, quick steps out of the room, her pointed chin leading the way.

     The professor leaned back in his chair, locking his plump fingers
behind his head, and smiling toward the very efficient secretary as she
closed the door.  After a moment, he turned his attention back to Scott.
"Decision's due to be made some time during Christmas break.  We need to see
first semester grades first.  Plus, we like to send the congratulations
letter to the winner while he or she is at home with the parents.  It
includes mom and dad in receiving the news, allows for some family
celebration, plus it lets the family sit together and adjust college
finances before returning for the second semester.  You see, the recipient
receives the benefits at the start of the second term.  There's a formal
recognition banquet right after spring break."

     Scott was going to explain that the financial discussion wouldn't be an
issue, as he was footing the bill himself, but decided he'd be tooting his
own horn. "That's very thoughtful."

     Cushing continued.  "Normally I lead the selection committee, but not
when I nominate."  He seemed to grow more serious for a moment.  "And,
Scott, I very rarely nominate."  Scott nodded his appreciation.  "I've
notified the Dean that I need to recuse myself from the selection process
this year, and he knows that a nomination will be coming from me." The
professor stood and extended his hand.  "Well, Scott, I look forward to
continuing to watch you learn and grow here at the UW.  It's a grand
institution, and one that can offer you as much, if not more, than you can
offer it."

     Scott took the professor's firm grip in his own. "I'm sure it's got
more to offer me, professor, but I really appreciate this!  You have no
idea!"

     "Oh, I think I do, Scott.  I was the grad school's LaFollette Scholar,
there are two of them you know, back in the Ice Age.  That's how I first met
Maureen McCarthy.  I was fresh from Indiana, and a teaching assistant in the
department.  She was a freshman...still dating, as I recall, your father, is
that right?"

     "Yes sir.  They've remained friends over the years.  Over the past few
years, she's become a good friend of mine, too, and she's taught me a great
deal."

     "Well, keep listening to her, Scott.  She has much to teach that you'll
never learn in a classroom or a library down on this end of State Street.
I'd like to say otherwise, but I know better.  And, frankly, politically,
she's a star you'd be well served to hitch your wagon to.  If she wants it,
she's gonna go places in the next few years, and you're at the perfect age
and place in your life to make the most of it."

     Scott stood and leaned over the desk, his arm extended.  "Thank you
Professor Cushing!  You're very kind, and I know I'm a lucky guy in a very
good place.  I intend to make the most of it."

     "I'm sure you will, young man.  Good Luck, Scott."

     He turned for the door just as it was opening.  Gloria stood just
outside the entrance to give him room to exit.  She held a large envelope in
her hand.  "Your copies, Mr. Turner."

     "Oh, please, it's just Scott."  He stood in front of her for an extra
moment and flashed a huge smile.  "And, Gloria," he winked  "you have
yourself a wonderful day, will you?"

     She tried to fight back a shy smile, but failed.  "Well thank you,
Scott.  I'll do my best."

     "Alrightee, then!  That's just great!  Bye-bye now."  And he
practically skipped out the door, the envelope clutched firmly in his hand.

     He took the steps leading out of Bascom Hall two at a time, and pulled
to a halt next to Mr. Lincoln.  Leaning against the base of the statue, he
jimmied his index finger beneath the seal of the envelope and pushed,
earning a hell of a paper cut for the effort.  He cursed, shook his hand,
and slid the contents out, laying them flat on top of the envelope.  A stiff
breeze made the loose pages flutter, and the cover page nearly blew away.
Scott grasped the packet at the corners to protect it from the elements, and
cursed again.  He looked up.  "C'mon, Abe!  Cut a guy some slack here!! Can
you protect me from this fuckin' wind?"  Another gust made the stack of
pages quiver.  "Oh, fuck it!  I'll take it inside."  Just as he secured the
nomination back inside the envelope and negotiated the packet into his
backpack, a pair of arms wrapped around his waist from behind, and he felt a
chin nestle on his right shoulder.

     "More good news, I assume, Mr. Turner?"  Kelly was purring seductively
and had to stand on tiptoes to ensure that her breath would directly hit his
neck.

     Scott bolted around and threw his arms around her neck, drawing her
into him.  "Oh, Kelly!  You won't believe this.  I just left..."

     "You just left a meeting with Professor Ellison Cushing, who informed
you that he was nominating you for The LaFollette."  Scott's mouth fell open
and he gave her one of those `deer in the headlights' kind of gazes.  She
held his face in her mitten-clad hands.  "Furthermore, you know as well as I
do, even thought I'm not a poli-sci major, that his backing basically means
you're a lock to receive it."  She giggled at his befuddlement.  "Aren't I
somethin'?"

     It finally dawned on him.  "Maureen, dammit!  She told you, and neither
of you told me.  Son of a bitch!"  He narrowed his eyes and they bore into
hers.  "What else are the two of you talking about and not including me?"

     "Only the good stuff."  Kelly winked, then leaned up and kissed him.
"Congratulations, Scott.  You know you deserve it."

     "Thanks.  Hey, you're done for the day, aren't you?  No classes left?"

     "Free and clear.  That's why I'm here.  I knew where you'd be, and
wanted to catch you and hopefully be the first you'd share this with."  She
wiggled out of his grasp and took his hand.  "C'mon.  Let's go to The Union.
  I'll buy you a cup of coffee to celebrate."

     "But I didn't need to share the news.  You knew about it before I did.
You've been a naughty girl, Ms. Abbott."  He pulled her close as they
started down the hill.  "I do believe you might need a spanking."

     Kelly rolled her eyes and sighed.  "Promises, promises."  She looked
up, "Hey, you weren't in Lit. today.  What gives?"

     "Aw, not much.  Just dealing with some other shit, and needed some
time.  I think I have Maya Angelou's stuff down pat, and this was time
better spent, except I didn't get to sit behind you and think dirty
thoughts."

     Kelly wondered what was up, but didn't want to pry, so she just smacked
his chest and giggled.

     They reviewed the contents of the nomination together.  Sitting
side-by-side in a booth at The Union, they quietly read each page together.
Neither spoke as they quickly poured over each page.  Now and then, one or
the other would issue a "whoa," but it was mostly silent reading.

     It was a very well-orchestrated collective commentary.  First, the
professor wrote at some length about what the scholarship was intended to
represent and honor.  He then spoke to his knowledge and assessment of the
quality of scholarship that Scott had already produced during his brief
tenure as a UW student.  `Scarcely have I genuinely enjoyed reading
first-year students' work.  However, I dare say that I've learned a thing or
two myself from Mr. Turner's analysis of the pertinent political issues he
has been challenged to address.'  Randy wrote about Scott's valued
contributions to discussion sections, his work ethic, his thoughtful
interactions with his classmates.  He was, in Randy's estimation, the most
valuable freshman, `years ahead of his peers in temperament, ability and
vision.  He has demonstrated a level of scholarly bearing and leadership
skills that our academic community, and our community at large, will
continue to value and take pride in.' Maureen piped in on a more personal
note.  `I am confident that Scott Turner is precisely the kind of young man
Mr. LaFollette himself would want to support.  He is driven to succeed, both
for himself and for the benefit of others.  His character, his intellect,
his demonstrated success within the department and his devotion to The
University of Wisconsin all call for the recognition that this scholarship
represents.  I have no doubt whatsoever that he is going to leave his mark
on Wisconsin, and I strongly urge your selection committee to give his
nomination the most favorable consideration."

     Scott was dumb-founded.  "Shit!  I don't deserve this."

     "Bullshit."  Kelly smacked his thigh, and left her hand there.  "Don't
give me that crap.  You're smart.  You're gorgeous."  She squeezed his thigh
and her hand slid up toward his belt.  "You're articulate.  You're
principled.  You're loyal.  You're humble."

     Scott rolled his eyes.  "I wonder if others would agree."

     "Huh?"  She looked concerned, and grabbed his forearm.

     "I've just been looking back and looking ahead, wondering about a lot
of shit.  Heavy pondering is all."

     She felt like she had to give him one more chance to unburden.  "Sure
you don't want to get something off your chest?"

     Scott reached behind her and put his hand on the small of her back,
then leaned in and nuzzled her neck.  His other hand wrapped around her knee
and gently rubbed.  "Thanks.  No.  What I want to do is get something off
your chest.  Like this sweater, and the pesky bra underneath it."  He slid
his right hand up under the sweater and slowly and gently rubbed, slowly
moving up her back.

     "Not gonna happen tonight, Mr. Turner."  She kissed him just below the
ear.  "Not that I don't want it."  She kissed him again.

     He whispered in her ear.  "And after the sweater, I want to peel off
those jeans, and then the panties, and lick you from head to toe.  What say
we make front page news, and I just take you now, right here on this table."

     She pushed him away and snickered.  "I do believe, all things
considered, that you'd do it, you horn-dog.  You're incorragable."

     "Sorry." He giggled.  "You bring that out in me."  He put his hands
flat on the table and glanced to his right, into her eyes, trying to look as
innocent as possible.

     She sipped her tea, then leered back at him.  "No, you're not sorry.
But anyway, seriously...what you said earlier...Kip's not giving you any shit,
is he?"

     He chuckled.  "Hell, no.  I'm pretty sure he never wants to speak to me
again, and will hate it if he has to.  The irony is, I'm probably gonna have
to reach out to him."

     "Really?"

     "Well, look at the break-down in the WSA.  Fifteen Greeks, fifteen
anti-Greeks... don't know what else to call `em, but that's what they are.
Kinda puts me in the middle.  Far as I can tell, it sorta puts me in the
middle of the political dynamic.  I'm kinda trying to make sense of the
whole thing.  Best I can figure, if you gotta call someone who speaks for
the Greek faction, Kip is the guy.  Am I wrong?"

     "Oh...no!  You go that right.  Want to talk to the Greeks, especially the
ones in WSA, then you talk to Kip.  That's understood across the board."

     "Thought so."  He went silent for a while as he thought and she
scrutinized his face, staring intently into nothing in particular..

     "What?"  Her elbow hit his.

     "Hey Kelly?  I just had a revelation."

     "Spill it."

     "Let's not talk school politics anymore, `kay?"  Her face screwed up as
if it ask, huh?  "I mean, we got kind of divided loyalties here, and they're
all real and legit.  You're part of his world and, thankfully, you're also a
real part of mine.  You and me got Maureen, and we got each other, and I
love that.  The rest of me now has this student government stuff.  I asked
for it, but it's starting to feel like it somehow puts you in the middle.
Kip and me are like oil and water, but that shouldn't fuck things up for you
and me, or even for him and you.  I know your friendship with him is real,
and I don't want to do anything to question or compromise that. Let's let
the stuff between Kip and me stay between Kip and me, and the stuff between
you and me be just that."

     Kelly picked up the pages they'd laid face down on the table and fished
through them.  Finding the right one, she cleared her throat.  "Ahem...'years
ahead of his peers in temperament, ability and vision.'  She beamed as he
looked blankly at the table.

     She put the page down, wrapped an arm over his shoulder and pulled him
into a kiss that just about everybody else in The Union noticed.  She broke
the kiss he didn't want broken and breathed into his still opened mouth.
"Good idea, Mr. Turner."  He had to breath deep as she leaned back toward
his ear and whispered.  "but that's not gonna get you inside my pants
tonight."

     "In that case, never mind...forget I said it.  I didn't really mean it."

     They both laughed hard as the heads that they made turn a minute ago
went back to their own conversations.

     "Can I walk you home?"

     "You can walk me back to State and Lake.  Then, you go your way, and I
go mine.  I'll be wielding the car keys from hell in my fist as I walk back
to the house, and we both go to bed frustrated tonight."  Scott just nodded

     They didn't speak as they made the short stroll across the mall to the
intersection at the foot of State Street.  When they got there, Scott turned
Kelly into him and took her face in his hands.  "Thanks, Kelly.  I couldn't
believe you were there when you were.  I know you had to plan that, and I
really appreciate it.  I needed to celebrate this scholarship thing with
somebody, and I'm so glad you made sure it'd be you."

     She wrapped her arms around his waist again.  "Well, I figured it'd be
either me or Marty, and if you and he started a celebration on a week-night,
school tomorrow would be damned.  Couldn't let that happen now, could I?"

     He hugged her but didn't say a word, much to her surprise.  She'd
expected some smart-ass remark about Marty, but there was none.  Finally,
"Nope.  Couldn't let that happen."  He pulled back and smiled into her
somewhat puzzled face.  Then she smiled too, as he leaned over and kissed
her gently on the lips.  "Thanks a lot.  You're the best."

     She patted his face.  "Yeah, I am.  Glad you recognize that.  G'night,
Scott."

     "G'night, Kelly."

     It was still pretty early in the evening, and Scott knew that his dad
would still be in his office.

     "Turner Law Offices.  How may ah direct yo' call?"

     Daisy's voice was crisp, efficient, demanding, and had a strange
southern drawl with a distinct African-American dialect.  It was only
strange because it was booming out of a small, lily-white community in the
middle-west of Wisconsin.  Still, it was music to his ears, and he closed
his eyes to envision her big-toothed smile.  He felt her huge hands rubbing
his back as he hugged her waist and she pushed his head into her ample
bosom.  The woman had the biggest tits Scott had ever seen, let alone felt.

     "Daisy!  Is that tyrant makin' you work late again?"

     "Laawwd  in Heaven!" she squealed.  "How you been, child?  God forgive
me for thinking ah oughta come to Madison and give you a whuppin!  Why ain't
ya called, deary?"

     She'd lived in Wisconsin since before he was born, but she was still
Louisiana, through and through.  And with her dear "Scotty Sweet Scotty,"
she always poured on the southern black woman thick, just to annoy him.  Big
Scott had told him once that Daisy wasn't able to have children of her own.
There was a bond between she and Scotty that was iron-clad.  He tried to
play the part of the son she could never have.

     "Daisy, sweetie, you know I love you, but drop the Black Mammy crap,
will ya'?  `Scuse me if I sound like a bigot, but I wanna talk to one of the
smartest, most successful black women in Wisconsin, not to Aunt Jemimah, and
then talk to the old man.  That is, of course, unless you've talked him into
holding some landlord's balls in a vice and he doesn't have time to talk to
his own son."  Truth be told, Daisy had the knowledge and skill to practice
law on her own.  She just lacked the degree and the license.  Everybody who
knew her was well aware of that, and they heeded it wisely.  Those who
didn't, they paid handsomely.

     Daisy stepped up the southern mammy schtick one more notch, just to
piss Scott off.  "Ain't no landlord, deary, it's a car dealer.  And we just
aimin' to show him The Light Scotty, and you know it's only `cuz he got it
commin'."  She laughed, then lowered her voice to a whisper."  Honey, he
gonna be beggin' ol' Daisy for mercy, God love him.  Now, you just hold on,
dearie, and ah'll let yo' daddy know you callin."

     "Love ya.  Miss ya."

     "You better!"

     While he sat on hold, he recalled some of the happiest days of his
youth.  Daisy was one of the few non-white faces in Scott's hometown.  She
was a traditional Southern Baptist through and through, who happily drove
across the Mississippi River every Sunday, and then headed north for ninety
minutes to attend church just south of St. Paul.  It was the nearest AME
Baptist congregation she could find.  One Sunday, when he was only eleven,
she'd brought him along when Big Scott and Suzanne were attending a legal
conference, and he'd stayed with Daisy and her husband for the weekend.  He
still found himself occasionally humming "I'll Fly Away," and "The Circle is
Unbroken," and he could see and hear The Very Reverend Albert Walsh
Pennington scaring the shit out of everybody in earshot as he boomed out how
much he and Jesus loved each and every one of them.  It was a three-hour
service, and Scott loved every minute of it.  After The Benediction, as they
all silently prayed, holding hands, he asked The Almighty to touch him with
at least part of the gift with which he'd blessed the good Reverend.

     "Scotty?"

     "Dad!"

     "Something wrong, son?"

     "Jeez!  Why is it every time I call home, you figure something's
wrong?"

     "Maybe if you called more often..."

     "Okay okay nevermind!  NO!  Everything's fucking great!  Oops, sorry."

     Big Scott laughed heartily.  "I can handle it, son.  I'm a big boy."

     "Do you know Professor Cushing in Poli-Sci?"

     "Ellison Cushing?  Hell, yes.  He TA'd one of my undergrad courses, way
back when and since then has become a huge name in academia, in political
consulting in the media, and in government itself.  Thought he was going to
run for governor years back.  Isn't he your state gov' prof?  What's up with
`Elly'?"

     "You know The LaFollette?"

     "The scholarship?"

     Scott was nearly shouting into the phone now.  "He's nominating me!!
Dad, Dr. Ellison Cushing is nominating little old me for The LaFollette!"

     There was silence.  As Big Scott rubbed his eye to try and stave off
some tears, Scott began to worry.

     "Dad?  You still there."

     His dad's voice was choked.  "Oh...Scotty...I don't know what to say.  I'm
so proud of you.  About three months in, and Ellison Cushing is ready to
sing your praises.  Do you have any idea..."

     Scott cut him off.  "Yeah, I think I do.  He was tactful, but pretty
clear.  And Maureen let Kelly know that if Cushing's putting me up, it's
nearly a done deal.  Randy, my TA has been touting my work in front of him,
and he was very kind in the office today, and again in his recommendation.
And it's a huge scholarship!"

     Scott abruptly changed the subject.  "Bud Dad, I need to talk politics
with you."

     "Okay, Senator, what's up?"

     Scott paused to think about it once more.  "Well, I think I'm in a
prime position.  The breakdown of the newly elected is fifteen to fifteen,
and then me.  Sixteen makes a majority.  I'm pretty sure I'm ready to
bargain with both sides for real influence, and maybe even real power within
the WSA.  It's just that, as I see it, however this goes, there's going to
have to be agreements where somebody thinks that somebody else owes them.

     	Big Scott was listening closely.  He thought for a second, and then,
"You can collect IOU's , and they can be very useful, but you still need an
enforcement tool. If they don't have to pay when you try to call it in, you
could hear `fuck you.'  History is riddled with leaders who thought they had
honorable agreements in their hands, and who are remembered as ignorant
morons for taking the word of someone with malice aforethought.

     "World War II comes to mind."

     "Chamberlain's not the only poster child for hasty agreements on
balance of power."

     Scott relished the academic and intellectual discourse he often enjoyed
with Big Scott.  He'd long considered his Dad the best teacher he'd ever
known, and likely ever would.

     If you can position yourself so that you already have the power, and
are in a position to use it without negotiating, that's best.  If you got
leverage to avoid negotiating down the line, use it now.  Let me ask you the
most important thing: how well do you know and trust your negotiating
counterpart?

     	"Well, that's the big thing.  There's two of `em.  One I don't trust
too much, and the other, I don't know very well at all."

     	"Then if you've got a way to avoid holding a possibly useless IOU,
trump them now, if you can."

     	Silence.

     	"Scotty, are you following this?"

     	"Yeah Dad.  Got it.  It's perfect.  I gotta go.  I love you, you old
fart!"

     	"Back at you, Little Shit.  But, before you go, remember...please
remember.  Power for the sake of power is just arrogance.  It's destructive
to the holder and to his or her victims.  Clarify your convictions, your
priorities.  Identify for yourself why you want it.  What's the end-line
goal?  I know it isn't just to gratify your ego.  That's not you."

     "No, Dad, it's not."

     "Then sit down, have a talk with yourself and decide what it is you're
really shooting for, and why, before you try to gain some political muscle
and try to use it."

     There was a pause as both Scotts sized up the situation and the
conversation.  "And Scotty, I'm so happy for you about the scholarship.  And
your mom is going to nearly die when I tell her.  You always said you were
going to do this on your own.  I'd say this is a huge step in putting her
mind at ease.  She may call you tonight.  She's at the shop in LaCrosse
until late, and will want to call you later on."  Scott chuckled.  "Maybe
she'll even stop hiding money from me in order to deposit in a savings
account for you."

     "She what?  Oh hell...never mind.  Leave it to her!  If and when I win
this thing, you two take the money and go on a second honeymoon."

     "As far as I can tell, it's not that much, but maybe enough to buy is a
nice weekend in Madison for Homecoming.  That would be the perfect way to
spend that money.  Do you have plans for the game or the other events yet.
Got a date?"

     "None of the above.  Kelly had pre-arranged commitments for the events
before we even met.  Frat and sorority shit, so she's booked."

     "Then how about you join me and Mom for the game and dinner.  Bring
Craig along.  He's a good shit."

     Scott's voice indicated his smirk.  "Craig's going to be...uh...otherwise
occupied.  I'll likely be crashing upstairs...or more likely, down the hall,
that weekend."

     "Good for him!  What about this Marty we've heard so much about?  You
and Craig made us both want to meet him last time we were there, and Maureen
tells me he's got a lot going for him.  Has he ever had dinner at Smokey's?"

     Scott was blind-sided by his Dad's innocent good intentions.  "Don't
know.  Don't think so.  Uh...I'll check...uh, sure...uh, maybe."

     "Okay, ya' little shit.  Keep us in mind and we'll be in touch.  Hey,
on the political stuff, just remember...don't do anything without a purpose
that's bigger than just you.  I know that you won't, but I just feel like
I'm not being The Dad if I don't come right out and say it.

     "I got it, ya' old fart, and I got a plan, Dad.  Do ya' trust me?"  He
suddenly cringed when he heard Marty's voice echo those words.  "Look, I
really gotta run.  It's getting late, and I got plenty to do, if I can still
think straight.  Give Daisy a big kiss and a hug, and Mom, too.  Bye."

     Scott hung up, checked his watch and booted up his computer.

     He checked the directory Radar had given him, then typed in two e-mail
addresses.

     "Gentlemen," he began.

     "Each of you speaks for your respective faction within the
newly-elected WSA.  That is, at least, my impression.  If I am mistaken,
please let me know at your earliest convenience.  I've been lobbied already
for my tie-breaking vote with regard to the body's leadership for the coming
term.  In response, I have a proposition that I am confident will satisfy
part of each of your own agendas.  Happily, I am also confident that my
proposal will serve the interests of our diverse student body in fine
fashion.  I believe it's a win-win-win.

     "Whomever responds first to this message with a pledge of fifteen votes
for Scott Turner as the next President of the WSA will have my vote in
naming the V.P..  Fourteen other e-mails or phone calls pledging their
support for my candidacy will lock your choice in as the vice president in
the newly configured body.  Tell me you're on board for this plan, and we
can move forward, hopefully to the satisfaction of all of our members, and
to the students we have pledged to represent."

     In All Sincerity,

     Scott Turner, Jr."

     He reviewed and revised the message twice, then clicked "Send."

     Fifteen minutes later, just as he was getting serious about crunching
the numbers on the other thirty races in the election, his phone rang.
"Hello."

     "Is this Scott Turner?"

     He knew the voice.  "Yes it is.  Who's calling?"

     "Scott, it's Kip...Monmouth."

     "Yeah, Kip.  What's up?"

     "I got your message.  Has Morrison responded yet?"

     "Uhhmm...hang on a sec."  He went back to his e-mail inbox.  There were
four unopened messages.  None from Morrison, but one was from Kip.  He
opened it.  "I'm in." was all it said.  "Uh, no, I haven't heard from him."

     "Good.  Do you have a few minutes?"

     Scott surveyed the materials on the desk in front of him.  "Yeah, I
suppose I do."

     There was a knock on the door.  Scott peered through the peephole.
There stood Kip, his cell phone held up to his ear. Scott hung up his phone
and opened the door.  "Come on in."  Kip paused at the doorway.  "Kip, I'm
not going to have this conversation with you in the hall.  If you don't want
to come in, I'll shut the door and you can call me back."  Scott stood aside
and Kip slunk past him and into the room.  Scott pulled out Craig's desk
chair.  "Have a seat."  It occurred to him that if Craig came back in the
next few minutes, he'd be stunned to find their mortal political enemy
sitting there.  And, if Marty were to drop in, he'd shit in his pants.

     "That was a ballsy move, Turner."  Scott didn't respond.  Kip became
uncomfortable in the silence.  "I, uh, wanted to speak face-to-face and to,
uh, see how many of my folks have responded.  I've got e-mails out to
everybody, and Chet is making phone calls right now.  You should have
fourteen other votes by morning."

     "You work fast.  I'm impressed."

     "Well Morrison's a flake.  I figured if it was you and him at the helm,
we'd be frozen out entirely.  Better to get a piece of the pie, I figured."

     Scott shrugged.  "I don't personally know Bart, and know only a little
bit about him.  But if all goes as I'm hoping, nobody needs to be frozen
out, as you say."

     "You're going to cut him in too?"  Kip looked surprised and confused.

     "Kip, the presidency and V.P. job are only two pieces of the puzzle.
Big pieces, to be sure, but they don't quite run the entire show."

     The phone rang.  "Hello...speaking."  Kip could hear a voice shouting on
the other end.  "Bart, take a breath.  I'm sorry, but you're late.  Kip's
here right now.  And," Scott went back to his in-box, "by the looks of
things, six others on his side have already answered the call."

     Scott listened a few more seconds to Bart's protest.  He glanced up and
saw Kip leaning back in his chair, smirking, looking all too self-satisfied.
  "Bart, that proposition is only one piece of my idea for the next term of
the WSA.  You don't have to be totally isolated.  If you'll just hear me out
completely, I think you'll be satisfied that you'll still have influence
that's consistent with your election results."

     Kip could hear Morrison asking a string of questions, but couldn't
quite make them out.  Scott rolled his eyes.  "Bart, I want to meet with
both of you at the same time.  I want to draw you a picture of the future of
the WSA, and to answer any questions or concerns either one of you might
have.  Meet us at the cafeteria across the street from my dorm.  7:00
tomorrow morning.  We'll have coffee and talk.  Who knows?  By then, maybe
you and old Kip here can devise a way to join forces and shut me out...ya
know?  Maybe him as president and you as veep, or vice versa."  Kip shook
his head insistently and Scott just smiled.

     Scott listened a few more seconds.  "Tomorrow, Bart.  7:00 a.m.  Be
there, and you still have a chance to enjoy some influence.  Don't show, and
we'll complete our plans without you.  Now, I gotta go.  See you tomorrow."
He hung up the phone.

     Kip was chuckling, but looked surprised at the same time.  "OUR plans?
Since when did any of this become OUR plans?"

     "The moment you responded to my e-mail, Kip.  You're on board for the
whole thing, and I'll explain all that tomorrow morning.  Don't worry, you
will not be disappointed.  I think you'll find me downright generous.  But
it's only fair to Bart if I wait until he's on hand.  Now, if there's
nothing else, I still have some work to do here."

     Kip stood up, still looking a bit smug in his victory over Bart.  Scott
was annoyed.  "And Kip.  Don't gloat.  It's not very attractive to look like
an asshole, even if you might be one.  And, if you do or say anything
tomorrow to alienate Morrison completely, then you're going to be very
unhappy down the line."

     Kip wiped the grin off his face.  He paused by the door and looked
closely at Scott.  "You know, Turner, I underestimated you, I can see that
now.  I'll see you tomorrow morning."  He opened the door and walked out.

     As the door closed, Scott muttered, "Make that mistake again,
shit-head, and you'll be history."


     After a quick morning run and quicker shower, Scott arrived at the
cafeteria ten minutes early.  He got a cup of coffee and waited near the
entrance.  The first real measurable snow of the season had covered the
ground with a light dusting, and it blew around in circles on the patio in
front of the large windows.  Kip arrived five minutes later, stomping the
snow off the soles of his shoes on the inside mat.  He looked at Scott and
gave up a small smile, nodding `good morning.'

     "You think he'll show?"  Kip removed his gloves and unzipped his coat.

     Scott looked over Kip's shoulder and motioned with his tall paper cup.
"I think this is him now, isn't it?"

     Kip glanced back.  "Yup.  There he is.  He's such a wimpy freak."

     Scott glared out of the corner of his eyes.  "Cool it, Kip.  Don't blow
this.  The man is more-or-less you equal in this thing.  Deal with it."

     Bart took of his stocking cap and shook his long black hair.  His
frameless glasses were fogging up in the warm café's air.  As he was wiping
them off, he heard his name.  He squinted in the direction of the voice.

     "Bart."  Scott stepped toward him and extended a hand.  "I'm Scott
Turner.  Thanks for coming."

     Morrison replaced his spectacles and frowned.  "I know who you are, and
it's not like I really had a choice."

     Scott motioned Kip to join them.  "Do you know Kip Monmouth?"

     Kip extended a hand, and Bart took it weakly and shook it once.  "Yeah,
we've met a couple of times."

     "Good, then let's get some chow, and find a place to sit."  Scott led
them to the serving line.  "Breakfast is on me, guys.  My meeting, my
treat."  They both nodded.

     "I'll just have coffee," Kip said as we went straight for the paper
cups next to the large urns.

     "Me too, and maybe a bagel."

     "Good enough."  Scott refilled his own cup and paid the cashier.  Then
he led the other two over to a booth.  Kip sat on one side and Bart on the
other.  Scott slid onto the bench next to Kip.

       After a few seconds of getting settled, Scott began, "Okay,
gentlemen, here's the full picture in my mind."  He looked at Bart.  "As I
said, you came in second to my offer last night."

       Morrison scoweled.  "That's bullshit!  I called you first."

       Scott was calm.  "You called me in the morning about a whole
different matter.  Did it get me thinking again about the possibilities?
Yes.  Does it qualify as a response to my solicitation?  No.  You were
second.  My proposition was quite clear, and I am, if nothing else, a man of
my word.  Mr. Monmouth here responded first, and delivered the votes I asked
for.  I intend to support him, or his designee, as vice president."

       Kip smirked, and Scott shot him an icy `don't fuck this up' glance
that wiped the grin off of his face.

       Bart shook his head in disgust.  "I deserve this.  I've been here
longer than anyone.  I know how this works.  I've earned this."

       Scott remained coolly objective.  "Yes, you have considerably more
experience than either of us.  And, I value that.  But, Bart, if you've been
with the WSA longer than anyone else, then I have to ask, why aren't you
president already?   With all due respect, what you've earned for the next
two years is the seat you currently occupy, and you barely earned that.  My
guess is that if your votes had been split three ways rather than four, you
wouldn't even be here.  The numbers don't lie, Bart."  Morrison stared into
his coffee, and did another slow `I can't believe this' shake of his head.

       Scott was working hard to hang onto the soft tone.  "Kip was elected
by a larger margin than you, and I, frankly kicked the shit out of both of
you."  He looked back and forth between the two of them.  "You may or may
not know this, guys, but I got write-in votes in both of your races, and in
every other district as well."  Morrison already knew that, but he hadn't
been sure that Scott did.  Kip had been unaware, and shot a `what?' glare at
Scott, revealing his own niavete.

       Morrison put his mug down with some force.  "But..."

       "Bart!  Please, shut up for a minute!"  Scott paused and took a
breath.  "Sorry about that.  But, just give me a few minutes of quiet and
listen.  Let me spell it out from start to finish."

       Kip felt he was being shrewd for just shutting up and listening for
the time being.  He was probably right.

       "Okay.  Here's my best-case scenario, one in which all interested
parties get a deserving piece of the pie.  Kip, or one of the other Greeks
nominates me for president.  Bart, you or one of your guys or gals seconds
the nomination.  Then, I get elected, unanimously.  I think it sends the
right message.  The campaign was divisive, and no doubt a lot of people are
expecting the next term of the WSA to be a circus, nothing but a
mean-spirited pissing match.  We're going to prove them all wrong."

       Scott gave it a few seconds to sink in.  "Next, we move to the
election for veep.  One of Kip's gang nominates him, and another one seconds
it.  They all vote for him, and along with my vote, he wins."

       Morrison was having a quiet fit, and finally blurted, "And, where the
fuck does that..."

       Scott held up his hand with a wide-eyed "shut-the-fuck-up" gaze.

       "Then we set about organizing the operations of the WSA .  There are
eight committees within the WSA.  Under our constitution, the president's
power here is considerable.  He or she appoints not just the members, but
also the chair of each one.  Kip, you name four of yours that you want to
chair four committees."  He looked back at Bart.  "Then, I'll appoint the
members of those committees, and each will have a one-vote majority of your
members."  Without breaking eye contact with Bart, he continued. "At the
same time, I'll name four of your guys, yourself included, if you want, to
chair the other four committees.  And, likewise, there will be a one-vote
majority of Greek votes on each one of them."

       Scott had anticipated some confusion, maybe even outrage on the part
of both men.  Before they could close their slacked jaws, he delivered the
punch line.  "We're gonna learn to play nice, guys, on behalf of the good
men and women who sent us here.  We may hate each other, but we asked for
this, and we're not here to serve ourselves.  Well, we might be, at the end
of the day, here for ourselves, but we need to produce for them.  Both
things can happen.  We can do the right kind of things for the UW and its
students, and reap some benefits for our selfish selves a the same time."

       He took a breath and continued.  "This race devolved into an `us
against them' campaign among a lot of our students.  I admit I had a hand in
that, and after thinking it over since the election, have decided that's not
healthy.  Nor, do I believe, is it realistic.  I think this arrangement
forces the two of you, and your supporters, along with myself, into an `I
have to keep an open mind, and do what's best for everybody' position."

       Scott let the silence hang for a second, then started to slide toward
the end of the booth.  As he was starting to stand, Bart asked a key
question.   "And, what if I say `Fuck it!  No way!'

       Scott pointed to his empty coffee cup, then over his shoulder to the
urn in the cafeteria line.  "Anybody need more coffee?"  No answer.  "Okay,
so I'm the sad-assed caffine addict at the table.  Bart, let me go feed my
vice, and I'll be right back."  Morrison nodded, then looked over and
grimaced at Monmouth.  Kip returned the favor.

       As Scott turned around, he saw Marty paying the cashier for his tray
full of food.  Marty looked up and flashed a huge smile.  As he raised his
hand to flash a peace sign, Scott's eyes dashed dead ahead and he went
straight for the coffee.  Marty thought Scott had seen him, but he wasn't
positive.  He was about to try to catch up with his buddy, but then noticed
him settling in with two others.  The guy facing his direction, he didn't
know.  The other guy had his back to him.  Either way, it seemed Scott was
on a mission, so Marty let it go.  He'd catch him on the exit.  Marty took a
seat behind Scott and the other guy, on the other side of the room.   As he
ate, his attention shifted between the sports page, his breakfast, and the
conversation taking place thirty feet away.

       Scott took his seat.  "Well, Mr. Morrison.  Tell me to go fuck
myself, and you'll be ignored for the entirety of your new term."  He threw
an arm over Kip's shoulder, much to the senior's surprise.  Marty's
curiosity rose.  "Me and Kip will have a sixteen-seat bloc.  In time, we'll
convince one or more of yours to come our way, and you'll really be totally
fucked, politically.  You won't merely be opposed.  You'll be fucking
ignored.  You'll be irrelevant."  Scott let it sink in for nearly a minute
as he sipped his coffee and removed his arm from around Kip.  He felt the
weight of Kip's body shift his way slightly, barely coming into contact with
his own.

       Scott continued.  "Then, you'll leave our august body in two more
years with a law degree, and the distinction of being the longest-serving
do-nothing in the Student Senate of the WSA.  You'll be an asterisk in the
annals of the organization's history.  I'll see to it myself.  I'll make
sure my buddy "Radar" accounts for every move you tried to make in this
organization, and failed.  You won't even leave any fingerprints behind for
anybody to know you were ever even here."

       Morrison's wheels were turning.  "Okay, here's the deal.  I'll go
along with this on one condition.  In a couple months, we need to recommend
someone to the governor for appointment to the Board of Regents.  I want
that to be me."

       Scott sipped his coffee again, and, in a very matter of fact manner
said, "Actually, Bart, I think it's going to be me, but I'm still mulling it
over.  Believe it or not, I've already had a discussion with Governor
Hackett on the topic, and I can assure you that I would be a recommendation
he would favor."

       "You're full of shit!"

       "Actually, Bart, it was his idea."  Scott was digging in his
backpack.  He pulled out yesterday's paper, and found The State section.  On
the front page was a large color picture of Maureen and Governor Hackett
announcing their legislative victory.  He handed the folded section to
Morrison.  "Look over the governor's shoulder, behind him, leaning against
the wall.  Recognize anybody there in the background?"

       Morrison stared at the picture, looked back up at Scott, then back at
the photo.  He handed the paper back and slumped back onto the booth's
bench.

       Scott leaned on the table.  "Bart, be real.  The only way you're
going to walk away with nothing at all is by refusing to play.  Get on
board, and the opportunity to have an impact around here will still be
alive.  Take your bat and ball and go home, and you're dust in the friggin'
wind."

       Morrison looked at his watch.  "I gotta go.  I'll think it over, talk
to my guys, and we'll get back to you.  We don't meet `til next week.  I got
time to consider the situation."

       "Good idea, Bart.  I know I've thrown a ton of shit your way that you
didn't see coming.  At times like this, a few days to think it over is a
good thing.  Making decisions when you're agitated or upset isn't often very
wise. But don't dwell on the fact that it feels like you're getting fucked.
That'll just keep you pissed off.  No way to spend the home stretch of your
college career, hey?   Instead, consider the good you might be able to
accomplish by remaining a `mover and shaker' within the organization.

       Bart was standing next to the table by now.  He thought about Scott's
last words, and just shrugged.  "Whatever.  See ya' later."  Bart Morrison
turned and headed for the door.

       Scott was still sitting next to Kip on the bench.  He turned to his
left.  "You've been pretty quiet, Kip.  Cat got your tongue?"

       "It was your meeting."  Kip just sat, hands flat on the table and
shook his head.  "I'm amazed."   His head dropped onto his hands and he
laughed.  "That was one of the most brilliant performances I've ever seen,
or maybe will ever see.  You just fucked the hell out of his skinny little
ass, and you're going to make him like it."  He raised his face and smiled
at Scott in admiration.  "When I said last night that I'd underestimated
you, I had no idea by how much.."

       Scott was stoic.  "Remember, Kip.  That could've been you getting
fucked just a moment ago, and I'd have made you like it, too."  Kip's smile
faded and he went silent.  He remembered the pictures of him and Brandon
that had arrived at the start of the campaign.  He had assumed that Scott
was aware of them, and had probably been behind their delivery to his room,
but wasn't quite certain. Scott slid out of the booth and stood up, and Kip
followed him out and stood to face him.  Marty was still watching Scott's
back, but now he saw who Scott was meeting with, and he dropped his spoon.
Kip stood facing Scott, and now could see Marty over Scott's shoulder.

       "Look, Kip.  I don't know you very well and, frankly, what little I
do know, I don't like very much.  A few things have gotten us this far.
First, you just had the good dumb luck to be checking your e-mail when Bart
wasn't.  Then, for reasons that escape me, Kelly likes you.  I assume that
means there's something in there that I haven't seen, and I have to give you
the benefit of the doubt.  She's too smart to spend any time with a complete
asshole."

       Kip smiled and nodded his agreement.

       "Then, the election results gave us an outcome that will force us to
work together.  I doubt that we're ever going to be friends and, I don't
really trust you very far.  You and your thugs were going to do whatever it
took to shit on me during the campaign.  I still don't know why you decided
to lay off,

       "Good," Kip sighed in his head, "maybe he hasn't seen thos pics"

       "but, I've presumed that Kelly had something to do with it.  It
really doesn't matter, though. I'm over it, ready to move on."

       Kip squinted, and thoroughly scrutinized his new ally's demeanor.
"You've really got it all figured out, don't you?"

       Scott folded his arms and shrugged.  "Not all, probably, but a lot of
it, I think.  And, that was no performance you just witnessed with me and
Bart,  Kip.  In time, you'll realize, I don't bullshit.  It wastes
everybody's time.  Everything I said just now was genuine.  It was sincere.
The odds might be against us, given our fairly unpleasant history, but I'm
confident that we can all rise above the petty stuff and move forward to do
some good.  And Kip, that stuff I said about representing all the students
here was dead serious.  You and your gang gotta shit-can all the `right
kinda people' crap you've been tossing around.  Of all the things that could
get me to turn on you, that elitist bullshit is near the top of the list."

       "What else is on the list?"

       "It's still being written.  But I can tell you this: lie to me, lie
about me, hurt my friends on purpose, and I'll do what I can to crush you."

       Kip considered it and slowly nodded.

       "Well, that about covers it for now, don't you think?  Anything else
I need to consider before we meet next?"

       "No.  You've given us all plenty to think about.  I'll talk to my
gang and let you know if we have any questions or concerns before the next
meeting."

       "Okay, I gotta go unload some of this coffee."  He nodded toward the
men's room, and Kip's slight grin showed his understanding.  Kip wanted to
follow him in to try and check him out, but thought better of it.  Scott
brought his mind back. "Oh, and review the veep's duties in the materials
that Radar sent us.  There's not a lot there.  Maybe, and I do mean maybe,
we can find more to put in there as time goes by."

       Kip smiled and said, "Will do...that'd be great!"  He extended his hand
and Scott took it in his own.  "Turner, I do believe this is a real-life
example of the old saying, `politics makes strange bedfellows.'  I never
would have guessed we'd be having this meeting, and that you'd be on top."

       For the first time during their conversation, Scott actually smiled.
"Get ready.  Stranger things might be in front of us.  Gotta be ready for
just about anything, I do believe.  And, by the way, I like to be on top."

       Kip blinked, then nodded, and finally turned and headed toward the
door.

       As Scott went into the bathroom, Marty stood and returned his tray
and empty dishes to the window.  He walked to the exit facing their dorm and
waited by the door.  He needed to know what the fuck Scott was doing making
nice with that slime ball.  He figured it had to be political, but he was
aghast at what looked like genuine warmth between the two.  It made him want
to vomit.

       Scott looked to his right as he stepped through the doorway, and he
spied Marty leaning there, staring at his feet, he continued on a straight
course instead of going out that doorway.  There was another exit dead ahead
and to the left, and it would do just fine.  Marty hadn't seen him coming
out of the john, but spied him as he was about half-way across the dining
room.  "Hey, professor!" he shouted.

       Scott ignored it and continued at a brisk pace.  As he opened the
door to exit, he heard Marty's voice again.  "Scott!  Hey Scott!"  The door
closed behind him.


     The bell rang, and Randy got in a couple last sentences as the class
was packing up.  "Okay, gang, great discussion!  Please drop the final
drafts of your budget analysis papers on my desk.  I'll try to have them
back to you some time next week  Mid-term's next Thursday, so pay attention
to the study questions in your syllabus.  I'm confident you'll all handle it
well."

     Scott dropped his paper on the stack and stayed behind, waiting for the
rest to exit.  "Mr. Turner."  Randy smiled.  "You were awfully quiet today.
Something wrong?"

     "Nope."

     "So, what's up?"

     He didn't want to do this, but felt obligated.  Without any enthusiasm,
he did his duty.  "I just wanted to thank you.  I met with Dr. Cushing and
he gave me the good news.  I know you had a lot to do with that, and he
shared your letter of recommendation, and the others, with me.  You were
very generous in your endorsement.  I appreciate it very much."

     Randy smiled warmly as he accepted Scott's extended hand.  "Oh, that's
right!  Congratulations!"  Scott broke of the handshake quickly.   "You
deserve it, Scott.  You really do.  And I meant every word of it, even if
Gloria had to spell-check it for me."  His smile continued to brighten his
handsome face.

     Scott did not respond in kind. "Yeah, well, I just wanted to say
thanks."

     Randy's grin disappeared.  "No problem, Scott."  Randy's brows
furrowed.  "You sure there's not something wrong?"

     "I'm sure.  Just got a lot on my mind.  I gotta run, Randy.  I'll see
you later."  He hurried out the door, leaving the confused and concerned TA
alone in his room.


     It was a half-hour before kickoff against Michigan State, and all but
Scott were assembled in the room.

     "Where's the senator?" Frank asked.

     Craig was carefully rolling a joint and Marty was mixing drinks. "Ran
out of coffee this morning, so he ran out to the store.  Should be back in a
few minutes."

     "He's been pretty scarce lately, hasn't he?"  Marty inquired.  I
haven't seen him since Tuesday night.  He was at the cafeteria the other
day, but got out the door before I could talk with him."

     Craig looked up.  "Did he see you?  I can't believe he didn't tell you
the awesome news!"

     "Well, I thought he saw me, but he looked like a man on a mission.  So,
what's the good news?"

     Marty handed Jesse his drink and took a seat at Scott's desk.  Craig
briefed the gang about the scholarship.

     "That is so fuckin' cool!  The man is on a roll."  Marty just shook his
head, wondering why Scott wouldn't have stopped to tell him.  He must not
have seen or heard him after all.  He would have been busting to share
something like that.

     The phone rang and Marty grabbed it.  "Senator Turner's office, head
flunkie speaking."

     Big Scott laughed.  "Craig, is that you?  It's Scott Turner, The
Elder."

     Marty put down his Bloody Mary and sat up straight.  "Oh, hey, Mr.
Turner!  No, it's not Craig.  My name's Marty Anderson, just another on of
your son's adoring, wide-eyed fans."

     "Oh, Marty!  Nice to meet you.  My wife and I have heard wonderful
things.  I hope to meet you face to face real soon.  Hey, I know the game's
gonna start soon, so wanted to call early.  Is Scotty there, or is he
already passed out?"

     "No, sir, and nobody's passed out...yet"  Big Scott chuckled.  "He ran
out to get some coffee.  Should be back in a few.  Should I have him call
you back?"

     "Naw, just tell him that his folks are definitely coming down to pester
him for Homecoming.  Hey, Marty, Scott's going to invite you anyway, but
I'll beat him to it.  Do you have any plans that weekend?"

     "Nothin' set in stone yet, Mr. Turner.  Why?  What's up?"

     "Well, we'll be having dinner at Smokey's after the game that evening.
My wife and I would be honored if you'd do us the pleasure of joining us for
one of the best steaks east of the Mississippi."

     Marty's face lit up.  "Cool!  Craig said the place is just awesome!!
I'd love to!  And the honor, my good man, is all mine."

     Big Scott laughed.  "Maureen said you could charm the teeth out of a
`gator.  I look forward to it.  Well, back to your game, and whatever else
it is you guys do on game days that I shouldn't know about."

     Marty giggled.  "Nothing you've never done, or so your son tells us.
I'll tell him you called."

     "Good boy.  Be careful, now, and tell him I'll e-mail the details once
our reservations are confirmed."

     "Got it.  Thanks for calling.  Buh-bye now."

     Marty shared his good fortune with the guys, and Craig confirmed what a
quality meal was in store.  "And, the Turners are top-notch.  I think the
missus is a little bit uptight at times, but a real nice lady.  The old boy
has a great sense of humor, and some great stories to tell on his sonny
boy."

     Scott paused at the door, took a deep breath and tried to put on the
most pleasant face he could muster.  He swung open the door.  "Jesus!
Craig, I told you to keep this thing locked.  You never know what will
wander in off the streets if you're not more careful."

     "Well, shit!  You DO still live around these parts!"  Marty stood up
and filled a glass with ice.  "Thought you'd moved away, as much as we've
seen of you this week."

     "Been pretty busy since the election.  Lots to do, plenty of homework,
couple of meetings on top of the regular class routine.  And, with mid-terms
around the corner, I've got three study groups going, so yeah, I've been
gone more than I've been here."

     "Don't discourage him, Marty," Craig pleaded.  "It's been kinda nice
living pretty much by myself."

     Brett was carefully examining one of the joints Craig had produced,
admiring the handiwork.  "Gives him more time alone to jack off whenever he
wants."  Craig smacked Brett's head and handed him a lighter.  "So, Mr
Turner, how are the plans to take over the world coming along?"

     "Not ready for the world yet, but we're making some big plans for the
WSA."  Everybody looked at him carefully trying to tell if he was being
sarcastic.

     "What's up your sleeve, Scott?"  Jesse was grinning suspiciously.

     "Just my arm.  Don't let your imagination run away.  I'm simply
negotiating with some of the heavy hitters.  Nothing I can really discuss
yet.  We'll all meet next week to establish the leadership and committees,
then I can tell you more after everything's settled."

     Everybody looked a little let down.

     "Guys!  Ya gotta cut me some slack.  It's not cool to share `off the
record' discussions before official decisions are made.  You're just going
to have to understand that there's going to be shit I can't share.

     "He doesn't trust us, guys."  Marty faked injury while he garnished a
Bloody Mary.

     `You have no fucking idea,' Scott heard a voice in his head react.
"Dude!  It ain't personal, it's politics plain and simple."   He reached
into the fridge and grabbed a beer, just as Marty was handing him his
cocktail.  "No thanks, man.  Beer's good."

     Marty's face registered surprise.  Scott had never turned down one of
his bloody's.  He shrugged and set the drink down next to his seat at the
desk.  Scott sat on his bed and scooted back against the wall.

     Frank found a rubber band on the floor and shot it at Scott.  "Hey,
good goin' on the LaFollette thing, Mr. Scholar.  Craig filled us in.  Very
cool indeed!"

     Scott smiled and shrugged.  "Thanks, Frankie.  Yeah, I think it's
great."

     "So this is a sure thing, right?"  Brett was scrutinizing another piece
of Craig's handiwork.

     "Well, not really.  Professor Cushing's like the three thousand pound
gorilla in this game, so his backing is about the best insurance you can
get.  But, it won't be official `til around the first of the year.  If I
score, I'll hear about it when we're all home over break."

     "Hey, Scott, let us read the application!"  Marty's interest was
genuine.  "Craig said the letters were out of this world."

     "Uhh, I don't have it any more.  I, uhm, mailed it home to the folks.
I told them I'd send them a copy, but didn't have time to have copies made
before the mail went out, so I just mailed them the only copy I had."  He
lied.  He just wanted to watch the game, put a pleasant buzz on and have
everybody's attention on somebody else, especially Marty's.

     Throughout the game, everyone noticed that Scott was unusually quiet.
Craig was sitting on his bed, with Frank and Jesse on the floor leaning
against it.  Brett was leaned against the dresser between the beds, and
Marty sat in Scott's desk chair with Scott looking mostly at his back.
Scott joined the guys as they burned a couple of joints.  Several times,
Marty tried to pull him into a give-and-take of playful insults, but Scott
usually responded with one-word answers.

     After the first joint was smoked, and Scott was on his third beer,
Jesse caught Scott leering at him, and he winked back with a smile.   He
flexed his pecks making his tight white muscle shirt dance.  Scott rolled
his eyes and licked his lips. Frank was wearing cut-off sweat pants and a
loose fitting T, but as he leaned back against Craig's bed, next to his
roommate as always, they fit him just fine.  After two or three non-verbal
interplays, Jesse nudged his roomie and Frank caught onto the game.  Craig
was behind him, Brett was to his right and Marty had gone to take a leak.
Frank spread his bent legs a bit further and hiked up the right leg of his
shorts.  His nuts rolled out into full view to only Scott.  Scott shut his
eyes and shook his head.  He remembered the sight and feel of Frank's tight
asshole sliding up and down his dick two weeks ago, and then he could see
his cock sliding in and out of Jesse's hard, bronzed globes weeks before
that.  Frank casually reached up under his shirt, as if to scratch his
stomach and his hand wandered higher and he pinched his right nipple.  Scott
could actually see Frank's exposed balls twitch from the stimulation.  Jesse
couldn't actually see the action Frank was exposing, but he added to the
scene by reaching up and back as if to stretch, flexing his massive arm
muscles, then clasping his hand behind his head and bulging out his biceps.
His nicely shaven armpits looked delicious, Scott thought to himself.

     The second half went much the same way as the first.  It was subdued
banter, with Marty trying in vain to bait Scott into bits and pieces of
conversation.  The pantomime flirtations that had been attempted between
Scott, Jesse and Frank had come to a halt, even though all three remained
distracted by their half-time play.  Scott's hardon had eventually subsided,
though the residual horniness had not.  It had been two full weeks since the
sex circus in Maureen's apartment, and nearly as long since he'd been with
Kelly.  The only other time he'd gotten off in the meantime was the other
morning in the shower, the image of Teddy sucking his cock in his head.  The
combined effects of the beer, the dope, his memory and his hormones, plus
the two hot studs playing games with him during the game left Scott just
about ready to bust.  Part of him wanted to bend Marty over the desk and
fuck him out of spite.  Another part of him wanted to march over to Kelly's
room and feed her his cock before fucking her silly.  The rest of him wanted
to have Frank's big, thick tool in his mouth, with his own hard rod ramming
in and out of Jesse's muscular ass.  He started to think even about Kip, but
managed to shake it off, for the most part.  Even the bent over football
players on the screen, with their firm asses in tight pants was making his
mind run.

     With less than a minute left, the Badgers were up 34-10, and Scott
declared the need to piss.  "We got this one in the bag, and I got a full
bladder.  Have to drain the vein, boys."  With some effort, he lifted his
ass off the bed.

     Frank piped up.  "Hey, Scott.  I still got that CD of yours."  He
rapped Jesse's tricep with the back of his hand.  "Jess...don't you still have
his APA Manual?"  Jesse nodded as Frank continued.  "Just doin' a little
house cleaning.  We appreciate your generosity, but stop by and pick up your
shit, will ya'?"

     Scott did a faux salute.  "Will do!"  Jesse winked at him.  As he
closed the door, he heard Marty starting to announce his departure for the
afternoon.

     Scott stood in front of the urinal, happy that his hard on was gone as
the piss streamed out of his dick.  He looked upward, but closed his eyes.
It was one of those great, `shit! that feels good' kind of leaks.

     His eyes were still closed and the stream was in full force when he
heard the door open and shut.  Someone stepped up to the urinal next to him,
but he didn't give a shit.

     "Haven't seen you since election night.  Where you been hidin' out,
man?  It's like you're avoiding me or something."

     Scott's eyes remained closed as he finished the job.  Still he asked,
"So, how was the pizza?"

     "Huh?"  Marty grunted a little through his nose, trying to get his own
bladder to empty.

     Scott opened his eyes and looked right.  "The pizza.  Tuesday night.
You and Randy went out for a bite.  Was it good?"

     "It was okay.  You know, it was pizza.  We were buzzed, had the
munchies, and you know that any `za at that point is excellent."  He paused.
  "By the way, if you're pissed at me `cuz we came back to the deal stoned,
I'm really sorry `bout that.  It was stupid.  But at least we got out of
there when you said so."  Marty was nearly pleading by now.

     "So, did you enjoy his sausage while he chomped on your pepperoni, or
the other way around?"

     Marty went silent, and lost a shade or two of color in his face.  He
was stunned, and said nothing as he finished the task at hand.  Scott was at
the sink by the time Marty was shaking off his dick.  Marty finally spoke.
"So that's it.  You're jealous?"

     Marty's back was still in view in the mirror as Scott rinsed, but he
scowled anyway.  "In your fucking dreams."

     Marty turned around.  "Let's go downstairs.  We need to talk."

     Scott threw a paper towel into the trash.  "Fuck off."

     Marty turned on the water and tested the temperature.  He looked
directly at Scott through the reflection in the mirror.  "Scott, this isn't
you.  If our friendship means anything, or if it ever did, then you'll have
it out with me in full.  It'll do you good.  If nothing else, get the shit
off your chest."

     Scott shook his head.  "Not a good time, man.  We're both pretty
buzzed.  I'm really pissed and you're waaaaayy defensive.  Under the
circumstances, we'd both shoot off our mouths in a bad way."

     "Maybe in a good way."  Marty shook his hands, then dried them in the
lower half of his tee-shirt.  "Inhibitions are lowered.  Talk about a good
time for honesty.  Let's just agree that nobody will hit anybody else."

     Scott was silent, leaning against the wall with his hands in the
pockets of his sweatpants.  "I don't know.  Bad idea, I think.  Besides, I
don't know if I want to try to clear the air with you.  Right now, I don't
give a shit."

     Marty leaned against the sink and ran both damp hands through his brown
hair.  "Scott.  Please.  This might be the last thing I ever ask you to do.
And, this might be the last open door I give for you to bust my balls."

     Scott continued to look at his shoes.

     Marty was practically begging now.  "Dude!  I did say please!  I don't
say that very often, you know."

     The trip to the basement was made in silence.  It was the most
uncomfortable two minutes either man had ever lived through.  Normally, it
would have been a good time to put your thoughts together, but both brains
were in reckless overdrive.

     When they hit the bottom of the stairs, Marty walked to the table,
leaned against it and stared into Scott's eyes.  "Okay, Scott, have at it."

     Scott glared at him.  "I HAVE been avoiding you, you stupid son of a
bitch!  I'm finding it hard to believe that YOU are actually dumber than you
apparently THINK I am."  Scott ran his fingers through his hair and shook
his head, with his eyes squeezed shut.  He continued.  "Pizza my ass!"  He
lowered his voice to just above a whisper.  "It was Randy's mouth, then it
was his nips, then it was Randy's fat cock, then it was his tight ass.  And
he served it all up for you in the back of his truck in the middle of what
was one of the most important nights in my friend Maureen's career."

     Marty hadn't seen this coming until only minutes before, so he was
ill-prepared.  Feeling under attack, the natural "fight or flight" instinct
kicked in.  And, Marty Anderson was not one prone to flight.  "Jesus Christ!
  You ARE fucking jealous."

     Scott took a deep breath.  "Ya know what?  I wondered and even worried
about that myself, but I've had time to think it through.  Maybe, on some
level, I was.  But it doesn't fucking matter."  His voice was rising.
"GODDAMMIT, Marty!  Media, with their news vans all over the place.
Security cameras all over the garage.  How do you know old Gus wasn't
watching you two bumping and grinding on some little TV monitor on his
goddam desk?  Cops coulda been comin' and going at any fucking time, and
you're out there in public, stoned, one or both of you possessing pot and
whatnot.  And there you are, in all your fucking glory, grunting and
sweating over the bare ass of a university staff member!"

     Scott took another breath and shook his head.  "Marty, think about it,
if you can!  You were my guest, but you're basically there at the invitation
of one of the most high- profile political figures in the state.  You met
the fucking governor.  They both liked you, not that that's all that hard to
imagine, and you pull a stupid fucking stunt like that?"

     "So are you pissed that I tapped his ass before you, or that I was
giving it up for another guy, other than you?"

     "Fuck you!  In your goddam dreams!"  Scott took another breath to
regroup.  "But suppose, just for the sake of it, that one or both are
absolutely true.  What does it fucking matter?  It was just plain stupid.
It was reckless.  It was thoughtless."

     Marty's hands reached out, causing Scott to take a step back.  "Scott!
It was just one of those things.  We were hot on each other.  You understand
that.  Things just got out of hand."  He shook his head and lowered his
voice.  "And if it matters at all, he made the first move on me.  I didn't
set out to get all over him.  But Randy didn't waste a second to grab my
groceries and shove his tongue in my mouth, once we were down in the garage.
  Like I said, it just got out of hand."

     Scott scoffed.  "Never mind getting busted and what it could have meant
for me."

     Marty took a deep breath and squinted his eyes.  He leaned in toward
Scott, straining his neck forward.  "And once again, you bring your special
gift to the bitching table."

     Scott was momentarily confused.  His face registered as much, though he
didn't speak.

     Marty was almost growling now.  "How do you manage that, Mr. Turner?
How is it you can turn just about any situation under the sun into what it
means to you?  Jesus Christ, Scott!  If I got clipped for j-walking
tomorrow, you'd be sweating bullets over what it might mean to you.  You,
Mr. High and Mighty, need to get over yourself."

     Scott leaned in to Marty's advance.  "And, once again, you didn't even
pause for a split second to think about anything other than your own cock
and balls."  He stepped back and headlined with his hands.  "And, what would
the headline have been, do you suppose?  "Streaker Fucks TA at McCarthy's
Victory Party"?  "Gay Sex in the Garage With the Governor's Approval"  What
could that have done to you?  Forget Maureen for a minute.  Forget me for a
minute, or forever for that matter!"  That hurt Marty, but Scott continued.
"Was it worth risking what might've happened to you?  You forget you're soon
going to be sitting in front of an assistant DA trying to shake a `lewd'
charge?  I hope that was a good piece of ass, dumb shit!"

     Marty was tied in knots, both above and below the neck.  He actually
wanted to hit his friend.  "God Damn It!  Scott, we both know I was key to
getting you where you are.  You just don't want to admit it.  I didn't know
it would turn out this way, and neither did you.  But the fact
remains...remove me from the equation over the past month, and you're just
another successful political science major at the University of Wisconsin.
I deserve better from you.  You own me, you fucker."

     Scott's eyes were welling tears.  "Haven't I told you that?  Did I not
say exactly that in the middle of an enormous hug last Monday night?"

     Marty's eyes were keeping pace.  "Yeah...sure...but words come easily to
you."  That hurt Scott a lot, but it was what Marty intended.  He went on.
"And then, that big, grateful hug is promptly followed with "there's no more
`we' Marty."  How the fuck do you want me to take that?" Marty wiped his
eyes.  "And finally, to put some icing on the `fuck you' cake, you basically
run away from me in the cafeteria the other day after playing kissy-face
with shit-head Christopher-U-Monmouth-the-fucking-second."

     Scott raised his hands in defense.  "First, I needed to talk to Kip.
There's shit brewing that I can't share."

     "More of the no-more-we shit, huh?"

     Scott nodded.  "Yes!  I probably didn't express it well enough earlier.
  I tried, but obviously failed.  But you gotta get over it.  This is the
way it's gonna be.  I got elected.  Kip got elected.  Marty Anderson did not
get elected.  Me and Kip have a responsibility to work together now.  And,
by the way, if there is any jealousy running around the room right now, it
sounds like it's running both ways." Scott wiped his own eyes and took
another deep breath.  "But the truth is, I did see you there, and heard you
call, and I did run away.  I was, and still am, so fucking pissed at you
because of your stupidity Tuesday night, and I didn't want to speak with
you.  We would have had this conversation in front of forty or fifty other
people in the cafeteria. Shit, Marty, I struggled to merely tolerate being
in the same room with you this afternoon.  You have no fucking idea how
shitty that fact alone makes me feel.  I hate being pissed at you!"

     "Well then, allow me to offer you, one more time, my heartiest
congratulations.  You survived.  Let me get you off the hook.  I won't
pollute your rarified air any more.  You don't have to stoop to associate
with the pitiful likes of Marty Anderson!"

     Marty stormed up the stairs, slamming the door behind him.

Author's note:  As always, my appreciation goes out to those of you who take
the time to let me know what you're thinking about the story as it develops.
  Any feedback is welcomed at scotty.13411@hotmail.com.  If you've written,
and I haven't responded, I apologize.  Write again, if you will, and I'll do
better.

And for those who have inquired:  Yes, I had a great time seeing "Kelly,"
"Craig" and "Marty" during a recent trip to Madison.  I played a round of
golf with the guys, and then we enjoyed several pitchers of beer on the
terrace at The Union.  We were joined by Marty's teenage son, who is growing
up to be even better looking than his old man (his mom, Marty's ex-wife, is
a real beauty), and who can hit the shit out of a golf ball.  He's also
planning on following in Marty's footsteps and attend the UW.  I had a
wonderful afternoon with Kelly and her daughters also.  After a great lunch
on State Street, we strolled the campus for a while, and I even had time to
stop and pay my respects to Mr. Lincoln.  I hope to be back for another
visit in the fall.

Stay tuned...