Date: Tue, 28 Mar 2006 15:42:54 -1000
From: S turner <scotty.13411@hotmail.com>
Subject: Strange Bedfellows, Chapter 8

STRANGE BEDFELLOWS
Chapter 8

Disclaimer:  The following story is a mostly-fictional account of the
author's experiences and relationships while a college student.  The
characters are either composites of people he knew, or those about which he
fantasized.  Any resemblance to real people, either living dead, is a pure
coincidence, and is also a bloody shame.  If you are not old enough in your
state to read sexually explicit material, then get the hell out of here.
This story is copyrighted, 2006, and may not be reproduced, reprinted or
reposted without the expressed, written permission of the author.

Feedback is always welcomed, however.  Let me know what you think. Reader's
responses really do make a difference.  Many thanks to you who have taken
the time to touch base with me. You may contact me, if you wish, at
scotty.13411@hotmail.com.  Hope you enjoy.

	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

     A few minutes into the first quarter of the Packer game, Craig returned
from the weekend trip to Rockford.  He had been watching the Badger's game
during his parents' anniversary party and was aware of the streaker, but
hadn't learned the perp's identity until he picked up Sunday's paper.  The
guys brought him up to speed on the weekend's events, with Marty adding
plenty of emphasis on Scott's Friday night with Kelly.

     "Sounds like I picked the right weekend to vacate the room, huh?"

     Scott just grinned and shrugged, and handed Marty his glass.  "Here,
make yourself useful."

     During half-time Craig was checking his e-mail.  "Cool!" he turned to
Brett and Marty.  "You guys remember Stephanie Swain?"  They both nodded.

     Brett thought for a second, "Hey, isn't that the very leggy volleyball
player you were bangin' in high school?"

     "The very same.  We pretty much broke it off when I came here and she
left for Ohio State on a scholarship."

     Marty looked over at Scott, "The girl had legs that would wrap around
hour hips twice.  And muscular, too."

     Craig grinned, partially lost in reminiscence.

     "So what about her?" Brett urged.  There was a knock on the door.
Scott opened it and Jesse and Frank ambled in with a twelve pack of beer and
some munchies.

     "She's coming up for Halloween.  Her roommate at OSU is from here, and
they're gonna make the road trip"

     "Only two weeks to go," Brett pronounced with confidence.  "God, it's
gonna be great!

     "Hey, give us a hint," Scott prodded.  Brett smiled triumphantly and
steadfastly shook his head. "That Saturday is the 29th, right?" Scott
wondered out loud.

     "Yeah," Craig was still reading e-mails.  "Real Halloween is on Monday
this year."

     "Hey, Holy Shit!"  Brett was alert by now and back in the game.  "I
just realized, that's my man Marty's birthday!"

     Marty just looked at the floor and grinned.  "Shut the fuck up, douche
bag."

     "No shit?" Frank jabbed Marty in the arm.  "Mine's the next day, the
30th.  We're gonna have to make this a hell of a party, birthday boy."

     Scott's mind went into overdrive.  He looked over at Jesse and winked.
Jesse wiggled his eyebrows.  They were more or less of one mind.

     Marty interrupted his musings.  "Hey...check it out!  I'm gonna be on the
radio tomorrow morning!"

     Scott coughed on his drink and his expression registered more than a
little alarm. Marty held up his hand.  "It's gonna be cool.  I got a call
from the producer of the `John and John' show this morning."

     Craig thought for a second, "Isn't that the morning rant on the classic
rock station...the `Two Johns, No Waiting' dudes?"

     "Yeah, they're actually kinda funny, when their on top of their game.
Anyway, the woman said it's the most listened-to morning show on campus, and
she ran through the questions they'd ask.  Promised she'd call back in the
morning if the script changes.  It'll be live, so nobody can screw with what
I say."

     After the game, Scott and Marty reviewed the questions the producer had
provided him. Scott was more than a little miffed or perplexed.  "Marty,
think about it.  You haven't even officially pled to the charges, but you're
gonna offer a not-guilty plea and request a pretrial conference.  If you go
on the radio and admit that you did it, how the hell are you going to even
suggest that you're not guilty?  You go on the radio and tell all of Madison
that it was you, and you can kiss any pre-trial conference goodbye."

     "Thought about that.  I'm not going to admit to doing anything, only
that I was arrested and charged.  The rest will all be hypothetical.  John
and John will have fun with it.  Don't sweat it professor, I've been
listening to you.  Do ya' trust me?"

     Scott just rolled his eyes and shook his head.


     At 7:30 Monday morning, "John and John" were coming back from
commercial break.  Marty was on `hold' and Scott was sitting on the edge of
his bed feeling a little sick to his stomach.

     "Aaaaaaallllllrighteeeeee boys and girls, we are back!!!  And a very
fine Monday morning to all  you chillun'"

     Aaaaaand now...finally...joining us live... on the phone... we got
everybody's favorite game day streaker, UW Sophomore Marty Anderson."

     "Okay...so, if you were, aaahh, at the game on Saturday, and who the hell
wasn't, then you've already seen Marty, and I mean all of Marty."

     "Not his toes, John, `cuz the boy was wearing shoes, but we saw all the
rest. And a fine, strapping young specimen he is, if I may say so.  Heh,
heh, heh."

     "Marty, are you there?"

     "G'mornin' John.  How's it goin' John."

     "Maartaaay, you scamp!!"

     "So, brave boy, you were the dashing young stud who paraded his goodies
in all his glory across the vast field at Camp Randall on Saturday?"

     "Well, John, it's true that I was arrested at Camp Randall on Saturday.
  And, it's true that I've been charged with a couple of unpleasant
offenses. But, beyond that, I ain't admitting to anything."

     "Oooh Hoooooo!  Gonna get clever on The Johns, eh?

     "Well, I haven't even had a chance to respond to the charges in court
yet.  I'd be a flippin' moron to tell you and everybody else out there that
I'm guilty as charged, now wouldn't I?  And Mrs. Anderson didn't raise no
morons."

     "Okay, Mr. Lawyer, I'll play.  So, tell us Marty, IF you HAD stripped
down to your birthday suit and sprinted before more than seventy-thousands
strangers...

     "Make that seventy-thousand of your new best friends, eh Marty?  Bet
the boy's phone has been ringing off the hook!"

     "Anyway, Marty, IF you HAD done something like that, what the hell
WOULD HAVE been going through your mind?  See, John?  I can play this game."

     "You know, John, I've thought about that purely imaginary and
hypothetical scenario for a good long time now.  All I can figure is that I
would have been thinking it would be a dumb stunt that might be funny to
some, but no doubt offensive to others.  Naturally, being the sensitive
kinda guy that I am, I would deeply regret bringing any embarrassment on
friends, family or the fine institution that is the University of Wisconsin.
  That's IF I were dumb enough to do something like that."

     Scott was beginning to think that this might be work.

     "Hey, man, tell us what it was like!  Did they, like, read you your
rights, take finger prints and mug shots and all the other cool stuff they
do on TV?

     "The whole nine yards, John."

     "Were you wearing anything other than a smile when they took your mug
shot?"

     "Fully clothed, of course!"

     "Hey Marty, did they take a print of anything other than your
fingers...if ya' know what I mean?  I'm thinking that could be important
evidence in a case like this, couldn't it?"

     "John, the only appendages of mine that were printed on Saturday were
the five on my left hand and the five on my right.  Trust me on that one."

     "The question is, would you have allowed them to print anything else?"

     "Not the guy taking the prints, I wouldn't...However..."

     "Yeeeehaaah! A couple of hot babes on the staff at MPD, huh, Marty?"

     "No comment, John."

     "Okay...if you're just waking up and joining us, we're on the phone with
accused UW streaker from last Saturday's game, Mr. Martin Anderson.  Now,
he's not admitting much, but has been a good sport nonetheless. So, Marty,
according to the paper and the police report, your were the perfect
gentleman throughout the ordeal, and you didn't spend too much time in the
company of the pooolice, huh?  Sounds like you had a few good friends to
come to your aid."

     "Well, you know I believe it's the duty of every right-minded citizen
to fully cooperate with Madison's finest, John.  And yeah, my buds are the
best.  I was bailed out about an hour after the game ended."

     "Hey, rumor has it that the student section put up the cash to bail you
out.  Is it true that they forked over nearly three grand for bail and
fines?"

     "Ha!  Not even close.  It was about eleven hundred, and the bail was
only three fifty."

     "Whoa...still...BONUS for you dude!  That's like, what, around two or three
hundred dollars an hour for your trouble?  Not a bad day's work if ya' ask
me!"

     Whatcha doin' with the rest of the cash?  Party at Marty's?"

     "Well, John, I wanted to donate it to Scott Turner for his race for
Wisconsin Student Association, and I even tried to, but the stubborn s.o.b.
wouldn't take it."

     Marty didn't even bother to look over his shoulder when he heard the
flop on his bed.  He knew how Scott was going to react, and the picture in
his head was incredibly accurate.  The candidate had thrown himself backward
on the bed, grasped a pillow with both hands, held it firmly against his
face and groaned a loud, mournful groan.  Marty thought he'd heard
"aaawwwww, fffffffuuuuuuuuuuck!" from beneath the goose down, but wasn't
quite sure.  Neither did he care.

     "He wouldn't take it?  A wanna-be politico in Madison actually turned
down a campaign donation?  Good Lord, the man must be nuts!  Not to
mentioned an endangered species."

     "This just in, Madison: The Devil is throwing snowballs.  Hell has
officially frozen over.  And a pig just flew by the window here on the
seventh floor.  Film at eleven."

     "No, he's quite sane, actually, though he is one-of-a-kind.  He just
didn't think it would be right to take the money if the students who gave it
didn't know that it could end up supporting his campaign.  He told me to
donate the rest to charity.  If they hit me with any fines, I'll pay them,
and I'm leaning toward the humane society for the rest."

     "Well, Marty, the John and John foundation would be happy to accept it,
if you're so inclined, bud, heh heh heh...but if you want to toss the balance
toward some other needy animals, then more power to you."

     "So what's next for Marty Anderson in the streaker caper?"

     "Well, I'll enter a plea in circuit court in a few weeks.  After that,
it's hard to say."

     "So, kiddoes, let's sum it all up.  Marty Anderson may or may not have
shown us his cute little butt, and all the rest, last Saturday, but he is
definitely supporting that Turner guy for WSA.  What's the guy's name again,
Marty?"

     "It's Scott Turner, Jr."

     "So, `I only got arrested, and Turner for WSA,' is the Martin Anderson
thought for the day."

      "That's about the size of it, John."

     "Whoa, Marty!!  I was there on Saturday.  I know all about the size of
it, even though I was about thirty rows up.  This friggin' station is too
cheap to put us up in the good seats.  Still, I'm sure you're very proud."

     "Aaaahhhhh...no comment, John, but you...er... just said a mouthful.  Thanks,
man."

     "Whoooooooa!  You are a naughty boy.  We love it here on the John and
John show.  Well, my friend, we'll be watching to see how your case
undresses... I mean...unfolds...heh, heh, heh, if ya' follow.  We hope to see if
justice is sometimes naked, in addition to being blind.  Hey, Marty, will
you come back and visit with us after you've been found not guilt in this
heinous miscarriage of justice?"

     "You bet I will, John,  It'll be my pleasure

     "HA!  You, sir, are one shrewd little minx.  Well, thanks for joining
us Marty.  Best of luck with the powers-that-be downtown."

     "Good talkin' to you John.  You too, John.  Thanks a lot, guys...Party
On!"  He hung up the phone satisfied, and leaned back in the desk chair,
satisfied in himself.

     Scott removed the pillow from his face, partly because he'd faintly
heard the interview end, and partly because he feared he was moments away
from suffocating.  He stared at the ceiling.  "Jesus!  Could you have
POSSIBLY done that WITHOUT mentioning me?"

     "Dude!  Scott!!  You are not listening...or you are not thinking...or maybe
both!  At the risk of sounding immodest here, I am right now basking in my
fifteen minutes of fame, and there are damned few, if any, students on this
campus who don't think I'm something of a small-scale hero.  You, my dear
friend, are not on the record for anything connected to that fucking stunt."
  He pointed to the speakers on his desk.  "And that...you fucking moron...that
is about THE most popular radio show with our entire student body.  Shit,
Scott, if I could get on Stern's show, I'd do the same fucking thing."

     "Please tell me you haven't called Howard Stern.  Please."

     Marty was relishing this rare position of being in the driver's seat
with his friend.  "Maybe I have...maybe I haven't, but I'm waiting to hear
back from Don Imus.  Either way, do you have any idea how many dorm rooms I
just visited?"

     Scott shook his head.

     "No!  Me neither!  But, I dare say that the association with me is
gonna do you some good.  How much free exposure did I just get in the bag
for you?  Plus, I told them the truth about the donation offer, and you come
away looking like Honest fucking Abe.  So lighten...fucking...up...for
once!!...Jeez!  Quit being such a fucking tight-ass all the time!"  His voice
had gone from mild irritation, to real frustration, to near-anger.

     There was a minute's silence as Scott mulled it over.  A tinge of guilt
needled him. "Okay...okay!   Fair enough!  Maybe I should thank you."  It was
quiet again for most of a full minute.  "But goddammit, Marty, we agreed
you'd run that kinda shit past me first!  In fact, if memory serves, I made
the request in the form of a `promise me...', and you did promise.  `Promise'
is a huge word with me.  Please remember that.  If you can't promise, then
just tell me `I'll try,' or `I'll do my best,' or something else.  But
please don't ever say `I promise' unless you know it's gonna happen.  I
might have gone along with this whole promo you just did, but fucking-A,
Marty, you gotta give me the chance to agree or not first.  How fucking hard
can this be?"

     The insinuation of that last question was miles away from what Scott
had intended, but just the word `hard' in that context made them both smirk.
  Scott stood up.  "Sorry if I was too rough.  Thanks, I guess.  I'll see
you later."


     Early Monday evening, the six were gathered around their usual table in
the cafeteria.

     Scott elbowed Marty, who was sitting on his right.  "Watcha doin' after
dinner?"

     "Gotta hit the books.  My stats class is busting my balls"

     "It's gotta wait.  You're comin' with me."

     "Huh?"

     "There's a meeting for all WSA candidates at The Union.  They're
reviewing all the campaign rules, regulations and such, and going to discuss
balloting procedures.  You gotta be there."'

     "But I got a shitload of work.  Shitty timing, bro'"

     Brett chimed in.  "Marty, if there's anybody who needs to hear the
rules right from the source, it's you.  I'll help you with the stats shit.
Don't know why, but that stuff's a breeze for me."

     "My point exactly," Scott wasn't going to budge.  "You're coming along,
special advisor."

     At the same time, the InterFraternity Council was having a dinner
meeting of their own.  As they were wrapping up, Kip raised his hand.

     "Mr. President, before we adjourn, I'd ask unanimous consent to add an
item to the agenda."  Several members looked at their watches, and a couple
rolled their eyes.  "I promise the brothers and sisters I'll be brief.  If I
didn't think it was important, I would not impose in this manner."

     The presiding officer of the Greek Council scanned the fifteen others
in the room.  "Hearing no objection, so ordered.  Brother Monmouth has the
floor."

     "Ladies and gentlemen, as some of you may be aware, it seems that the
car belonging to Mr. Scott Turner was significantly vandalized over the
weekend."  Several glances were exchanged throughout the room, some of them
knowing, others questioning.  A couple of the brothers just smirked.
Kelly furrowed her brow, folded her arms and nodded.

     He continued, "It has occurred to me that suspicions may be cast our
way about those responsible for the crime.  I'm told that campus security
has, in fact, questioned some of our houses' leaders.  Now, we all know that
no self-respecting member of any of our houses would stoop to such childish
behavior.  However, I believe it behooves us all to get the word out to our
members: that we need to respect Mr. Turner's right to be a candidate for
the WSA.  Our own efforts are gaining steam in that regard, and I'm
confident we'll prevail at the polls when the time comes.  The point is that
even a perception that Mr. Turner is being harassed by any of our brothers
or sisters could come back and, excuse the expression, bite us in the ass."
Several heads nodded.  "It would, I believe, be prudent to leave as much
space between us and Mr. Turner as possible."  He was looking directly at
Kelly.  "Thank you for your time."  He took his seat.

     "Thank you, brother Monmouth," the president was back on his feet.
"Point well-taken.  No formal action is required on the brother's
observations, but I think we can come to general agreement that each of us
will express the same sentiment to our own members.  Agreed?"  Most heads
nodded.

     They waited until they were a block from the house.  Tim and Chet,
Kip's usual sidekicks were seething.  It was Tim who had confronted Scott
about a week earlier.  They went after Kip from both sides.

     "Kip, goddammit!  Turner's car was your fucking idea in the first
place!!  Have you lost your fucking marbles?"

     "What the hell has gotten into you?"

     "I've thought it over.  I was wrong.  I meant it in there."

     "Bullshit!  If you could cause Scott Turner to be hit by a truck, you'd
do it in a heartbeat.  Somebody got you by the balls or something?"

     "Fuck no.  It could hurt us.  Somebody does something stupid to Turner,
it's gonna come back to us.  It'll kill us politically.  That's all."

     "But Kip!"

     He stopped dead and glared at his cronies.  "Drop it!  Scott Turner is
off limits.  End of story.  Period.  Now, let's get going, or we're going to
be late."

     When they got to the meeting room in The Union, Scott was already in
his seat.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them enter, but continued to
look intently at the handouts he'd picked up on his way into the room.  Kip
and company took their seats two rows ahead of him and continued to whisper
among themselves.

     Returning from the men's room, Marty slowed his stroll as he passed the
three of them.  "Hey, Moremouth, how's it hanging?"

     "It's Monmouth, you hopeless freak."

     "Oh...sorry.  Hey, read anything lately that's good enough to put your
own name on?"  He giggled a little as he took his seat, and Scott jabbed him
with an elbow.

     "Good of you to put on some clothes to join us."  Kip sneered over his
shoulder.

     "Now why don't I believe that you really mean that?"

     Scott elbowed him again, and muttered from the corner of his mouth,
"Marty.  Shut the fuck up, will you?"

     The chair of the WSA Elections Committee called for the attention of
the roughly sixty hopefuls in the room, and reviewed the dozen or so
regulations about campaigning for a seat on the body.  Most dealt with size
and placement of posters,, fund-raising and reporting requirements, and the
like.  They were all handed a sample ballot, as the chairman continued.
"This will be the official ballot as it will appear at the polls on election
day.  The name placement was assigned through a random drawing of your names
during a committee meeting this afternoon.  Any questions?"

     Marty raised his hand.  "It's not about placement, but about the
names."

     "Yes?  Did we misspell something?"

     "No, but I think the candidates should be listed with their given
names.  Is Mr. Mopmouth's real name `Kip?'"

     Tim shot back.  "It's Monmouth, dummy, and everybody who knows him
knows him as Kip."

     "Well, in that case, my guy's nickname might be Ted.  Let's put Ted
Turner on the ballot.  Or maybe it's Tina.  That's it.  We want Tina Turner
listed here."  Marty was on a roll and Kip was doing a slow boil.
"Actually," Marty put a hand on Scott's shoulder, "those who really know my
guy here knows that his nickname is Jerry Garcia.  We've been calling him
that since he was a cute little DeadHead. That's it.  We want Jerry Garcia
listed where Scott Turner's name is on the ballot."

     Chet looked at the floor and mumbled, "give me a fucking break!"
Looking up at the chairman, he was insistent.  "That jackass isn't even a
candidate!  The only running our resident exhibitionist has done lately was
across the field on Saturday."

     Marty grinned and raised his arms half-way as the rest of the crowd
laughed and applauded.  From his seat, he took a shallow bow with his head.
One very attractive young woman blew him a kiss.

     The chairman smiled, but interceded, "Now, there's no need for that
gentlemen.  So, what's your real suggestion?"

     Scott cut Marty off.  "As the candidate in this race, I'll request that
all of our names be listed just as they appear in the university's official
student directory."  Looking around at the other candidates assembled, "How
many of you agree...that we should all be listed just as the university knows
us, officially?"  All but three hands went up.

     "Done.  As chair of the Elections Committee, I believe I'm within my
authority to guarantee that all candidates names will be reproduced exactly
as they appear in the UW Student Directory."  He looked at Marty.
"Anything else?"

     "No sir!  Happy as a clam over here."

     As they exited the building and walked down the front steps, Scott
looked over his shoulder, then leaned a bit closer to his buddy.  "You
looked it up, didn't you?"

     	"When I went to the can.  I stopped by the service desk in the lobby.
There's a stack of student directories out there."

     	"What's it say?"

     	"It says, `Christopher U. Monmouth, II'"  Marty giggled.

     	Scott's hands were buried in his pockets against the cold October
night, so he leaned over and nudged his special advisor with his shoulder.
"Now, aren't you glad I insisted you come along?  You'd have missed a prime
chance to get under the asshole's skin."

     	"It's my reason for being these days."

     	"Hey, I had lunch today with Maureen."

     	"And...?"

     	"And, once again, I made Bradley Manning's day, the host at the Inn on
the Park.  He likes my ass."

     	"Who doesn't?  Anything else of note?"

     	"Well, for starters, Kelly obviously filled her in about the weekend.
She spent ample time giving me no-so-subtle `don't hurt my niece' messages."

     	"Was she serious?"

     	"Naah, she just wanted to let me know that she knows what's going on.
It was a shameless attempt to make me blush."

     	"Did it work?"

     	"A little bit.  She knows me well and which buttons to push.  I dished
it out, though, too, assuring her that I knew where to find the condoms at
Walgreen's."

     	"When are you seein' Kelly again?"

     	"We talked for a while today.  I'll see her in class tomorrow, then
we're going to meet at the library tomorrow night.  Anyway, I ran down your
situation with Maureen, and my version of how this might proceed legally."

     	"And...?"

     	"And she said I'm a smart little shit...and said it's further proof that
I should go to law school."

     	"She thinks the lewd charge will go away?"

     	"She said we could be cautiously optimistic, but you'll need a break
with seeing the case assigned to the right guy in the DA's office.  She did
make a point to say that she knows the DA very well, and I think she was
hinting that she might reach out to him, but I don't know for sure.  She was
surprised that the citation didn't have `mandatory appearance' marked, and
guessed that it was probably a mistake by the cop who wrote it."

     "I'm pretty sure he was a rookie."  Marty laughed.  "He seemed pretty
flustered by all my nakedidity."

     "I'll bet he just wanted you."

     "Who doesn't?"

     "Anyway she said to wait `til the day before the date on the ticket to
enter your plea.  If the appearance question is a mistake, and if you send
it now, they might catch the error and notify you that you have to appear in
person.  If it's a slow news day, you could be met by TV cameras in the
courtroom."

     Marty sighed, and shivered a little bit. "That I do not need.  The
radio thing was fun, but I couldn't handle a camera and microphone stuck in
my face on the way out of the courthouse."

     "Okay, so be sure you make a copy of the ticket and attach to your plea
and request for a pretrial, so that whoever receives it can see that
`mandatory appearance' isn't marked.  I'd hand deliver it to the Clerk of
Courts office."

     "Piece of cake."

     During their lunch, Maureen had also asked a couple of favors.
"Scotty, I need to ask you to look in on the apartment in a couple of weeks.
  Not this coming weekend, but the next."

     "Halloween weekend?"

     "Yes.  I always escape Madison during that weekend, if I can.  It's
such hedonistic bedlam."

     Scott's eyes lit up, with some exaggeration on his part.  "Yeah!  Ain't
it great?!  C'mon Maureen, we both know that if this party had been going on
when you and dad were here, you'd have been diving into the deep end."

     "Oh, there's not a doubt in my mind."  Maureen laughed and thought back
a couple of decades, a wistful expression on her face.  "But you hit a
certain age, and, well...Anyway, I'd normally have Kelly take care of it, but
she's busy with sorority stuff that weekend.  Her house always has a party
at one of the elementary schools in the area.  You know, haunted house,
costume judging, all the rest."

     "Not a problem.  What do you need?"

     Maureen handed him a ring with two keys.  "This one's for the mailbox.
The other is the door to the apartment.  I'll feed Mittens before I leave on
Friday.  But, if you could stop in on Saturday, and again some time on
Sunday, that would be great.  Just check the mailbox on the way in and bring
anything upstairs.  Let yourself in, feed the cat, and you're free and
clear."

     Scott put the keys in his pocket.  "It'll be my pleasure."

     "And, have you looked ahead to election day?  I mean our election day,
not yours.  Yours is in the bag, according to everything I hear."

     "Don't know about that, but yeah, ours is Monday, the seventh, the
state's is the eighth.  What's up?"

     "Well, we're staffing something of a `control central' at the state
party headquarters.  You know, following exit polls, taking final results,
just sort of keeping tabs on the returns as they come in.  We want to be
ahead of the game, especially if the tide does turn in the upper house.
Have to be ready to make statements and such."

     "Sounds kinda cool."

     "Would you be interested in coming in to help man the phones and
tabulate returns?  I hate relying on the media for that, and the direct
links to the counties and the precincts are a lot quicker.  I think you'd
find it interesting, and we really could use the manpower.  This is really
important."  It was the first time Scott had seen her register any real
emotion or determination for the party to prevail in the coming election.
`She wants it,' he thought.  `She really does want it.'

     "Count me in, Maureen."

     "Now, if I could only find a way to channel some of your recent
political momentum our way, we'd have it locked up.  I'd like to meet this
`special advisor' of yours some day."

     "I'll see if he's interested in joining the troupe on election night,
if that's okay."

     "We won't have to, like, put him on a leash or anything, will we?"

     "No guarantees, Maureen, but I'll see if he's interested."


     Scott and Marty crossed University Avenue on their way to the dorm.
"Did you talk to your folks yet?

     	"I called this morning, when I knew the shit-head would be at work,
and talked to my mom.  She's horrified, but not too surprised that I'd pull
a stunt like this.  I actually got her to laugh a couple of times."  He
looked down and frowned a little.  "She doesn't do too much of that these
days, so it was worth the call.  I spent a lot of time convincing her that
the legal stuff would be okay."

     	"You think the old man was serious about cutting you off?"

     	"Mom's convinced him that it would be a stupid waste of money to pull
the plug now, with another year already well under way.  After this year,
who knows?  If I screw up again, I can pretty much plan on it, though."



     The library's reading room is a large affair, with long dark wooden
tables, intermittently lit by those desk lamps with green glass shades.
Adjacent to the reading room to the north was a considerable computer lab,
and to the south, a smaller vending area.  Some guy in the vending room was
banging on one of the machines, trying to coax the bag of Frito's he'd paid
too much for to fall out of the spiraled metal holder to the bottom of the
evil thing. `Been there, done that' Scott smirked.   From where he sat, the
diagonal view into the computer lab revealed that Kip was manning his post
tonight, doing his frat service for the less fortunate.  It took some
effort, but Scott held back a sneer.

     He'd just gotten comfortable, adjusting the sweatpants he was wearing,
and moving the chair this way and that to find the right posture and
distance from the table-top.  He was striving mightily to get into Milton
when he heard the chair across from him slide away from the table.  "Hey,
you."  The voice was soft, appropriate for the library.  A foot hooked
around his lower leg and nudged his calf.

     Just for fun, he didn't look up.  "Hey yourself."  His leg moved to the
right, saying a firm `good evening' to the foot that was stroking it.  It
was like it had a mind of its own.  So did his dick, which quickly graduated
to a half-hard chubby.  `Aw, c'mon Little Scotty,' he thought, `we got a
lotta work to do, and it's still early.  Besides, we're in a library.  Show
some respect.'

     He looked up.  "How ya doin'?"  Kelly's eyes looked even greener in
this light, and the beams from the lamps danced between the long lashes.
She was wearing sweatpants, too, and a hooded sweatshirt.  If he was any
judge at all, he guessed she had on a t-shirt and no bra underneath the
Bucky Badger that adorned her ample chest.

     "I'm doing well, thank you."  Kelly dug deep into her backpack to
retrieve a folder from the bottom of the pile.  "But I have a ton of
research to do.  This anthro. project is killing me.  Hey, how are you on
APA citations?"  She'd brought out a notebook and was rifling through the
pages.

     "If you got your sources down, I can help."

     "Great!  I figured you were good for something."  She shot him a
teasing grin.  He stuck out his tongue.  "Looks like you've been busy."

     "Yeah, but this crap's boring.  There ought to be a category on our
transcripts that's just labeled `endurance' for some of the shit they put us
through."  Scott leaned back in his chair and stretched.  "I'm gonna go get
a cup of that garbage they call coffee from the machine.  You want
something?"

     "No, thanks.  That shit's nasty!  I need to duck into the computer lab
and pull up a little more material.  I hope the printers are working."

     They'd both poured through their respective materials for another hour,
each managing to keep their hands and feet pretty much to themselves.  Kelly
asked him for some guidance on proper citing, and Scott had to run a couple
of passages past her for interpretation, so they'd managed to get some real
work done, despite the distraction each posed for the other.

     Scott pushed his chair back and stretched again.  His sweatshirt rode
up above his navel, and Kelly savored the view of his flat stomach and the
treasure trail running down into the elastic of his sweats.  He tossed his
head back and used both hands to massage his face and rub his eyes.
"Oooooooofff, it's only Tuesday, but it's already been a long week."  He
scooched back in toward the table and plopped his elbows on the table,
dropping his chin into the palms of both hands.  "I'm throwing in the towel,
how about you?"

     "Yeah.  This isn't due for two more weeks, and I think I'm ahead of the
game.  It's a nice night, and it's still fairly early. Want to go for a
walk?"

     Scott put his hands flat on the table and leaned over.  "I'd like
nothing better."

     Kelly knew the girl working the front desk, and asked her if they could
check their backpacks there for a while.  She took Scott's bag and shoved
them both in a cubby hole behind the counter.  It was a nice night.  "Indian
Summer" had visited southern Wisconsin that day, and the predictions had the
high temperatures in the sixties through the rest of the week, the lows in
the fifties.  There was a slight breeze, making the brown and bronze leaves
dance across the concrete as they walked across the mall toward Bascom Hill.
  Scott took Kelly's hand in his and she leaned into him, tapping his
shoulder with her head.

     "I heard Marty on the radio yesterday," and she chuckled.  "He was
great."

     Scott laughed and rolled his eyes.  "Don't get me going.  I was sitting
in the room when he did the thing."  He paused and thought for a moment.
"Yeah, I guess he was, really great, actually.  He really had it all thought
out ahead of time.  I gotta give him credit, the man's a piece of work."

     As they crossed the street and came to the foot of the hill, he let go
of her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist.  She returned the favor,
hugging herself into him.

     "I had lunch with your aunt yesterday."

     "And, how's Mo'?"

     "All in all, I'd say she's incredible, as usual.  I wanted to run some
of Marty's issues past her, and she wanted to ask me to feed the cat."

     "Oh, Halloween.  That's my fault.  I told her I couldn't take care of
Mittens that weekend, `cuz..."

     "I know, you got the sorority stuff.  No problem. I told her I'd be
happy to help."

     Kelly's hand wandered lower, and she'd managed to slide her fingers
into the waistband of his sweatpants, slightly rubbing his right hip with
her fingertips.

     "Are you sure the sorority stuff doesn't bug you?"

     "Kelly" he hugged a bit tighter.  "If it did, we wouldn't be here.  I
wouldn't have had dinner with you.  We wouldn't have had sex.  We wouldn't
have gone to the game.  You'd never have met Marty.  We wouldn't have met at
the library tonight.  I wouldn't be thinking about you a lot.  No...it doesn't
bug me."

     "And, you know I'm doing the whole Homecoming thing with Kip in a
couple of weeks, right?"

     "Yeah...so?"

     "I thought that might bug you too."

     Scott laughed lightly.  "You thought...or you hoped?"

     "I think I thought...maybe I hoped...I don't know."

     "You want me to be jealous?"

     "No, it's not that.  Kip and I are friends, and I know you hate his
guts.  It's just that he and I are running in the same circles, and we get
along pretty well, and..."

     "Whoa, Kelly...I don't know him well enough to really hate his guts.
What I do know, I don't like, but there are a lot of people out there that I
don't care for, don't respect and don't want to spend time with.  That
doesn't mean I hate their guts.  Besides, I figure, if you see some
redeeming qualities in there somewhere, he must not be entirely evil.  You
two made plans for Homecoming.  That's cool.  I have no problem with that.
I hope you go, and I hope you two have a good time.  Honest."

     They'd reached the top of the hill and were slowly strolling toward Mr.
Lincoln.

     "You sure?"  She turned to face him, and he pulled her close.

     "Positive.  Relax, Kelly.  It's all good."  He kissed the top of her
head as he rubbed her back.

     Scott looked up and to his left.  Through the leafless branches of the
trees on the hill, the capitol dome shone brightly a mile away.  "God, I
love this view.  I have since the first day I got here and went out for a
run late that night."

     Kelly's left arm was still holding him tightly around the waist.  With
her right, she rubbed up from his stomach up to his chest.  "You're going to
be there some day, you know that, don't you?  You're going to run that
place.  It's going to be all yours.  I just know it."  Her right hand slid
down and the fingers caught on the waistband of his sweats.  Then, the palm
of the hand moved lower, rubbing his cock through the thick cotton of the
pants.

     "Uh...Kel?  You don't want to start something here that we can't finish,
do you?"

     She was on a mission.  "Who said we can't finish?"  With one hand on
each of his hips, she pushed him backward toward the concrete bench in front
of Mr. Lincoln.  She reached up and pulled his face to hers.  For an
instant, their eyes locked, and her determination was clear.  Then, she
pulled his face down a little more and shoved her tongue into his mouth.
Instinctively, he sucked on the tongue, hard.  Kelly untied the string on
Scott's sweatpants and reached around to grab both of his cheeks.

     He gasped.  "What will Mr. Lincoln think?"

     She pushed him back toward the bench, still holding onto the front few
inches of the elastic.  "He'll think you are one lucky guy."  As she pushed
him down to sit on the bench, she tugged the sweats down, causing his cock
and balls to spring out above the waist band.

     "Jesus Christ, Kelly!"  The concrete was cold on his bare ass.  Her
mouth was hot and wet on his hard cock.  She went down with a vengance,
taking the entire length in one smooth motion.  She had dragged the pants
down to just below his knees.  Mixed feelings of awe and trepidation swept
over him at the same time.  His head jerked from left to right, and then
left again, looking for pedestrians that might be strolling the hill on this
warm October night.  Thankfully, there were none.

     She kept her left hand on his tool, along with her lips and tongue,
while her right hand dug in and grabbed his sack.  Fondling his balls in her
fingertips, she lightly licked her way up the underside of his cock and
gazed up into his eyes.  Scott reached down with his right hand, trying to
get through the neck of both the sweatshirt and t-shirt she was wearing, but
it was no use.  He threw his head back in resignation, and felt her up
through the cotton of the sweatshirt.

     "Oh, God!  Godammit Kelly!"  Scott started bucking his hips to fuck her
mouth.  She was more than willing to take all he had to give.  She began to
moan as he thrust his hard tool in and out.  She pulled her head up and it
came out of her mouth.  She rubbed his manhood around her face, and then
held it back against his stomach while she teased his balls with her tongue.
  She sucked his left, then his right nut into her mouth, and then pinched a
bit of skin between her teeth, just for fun.  "Ow!  Dammit!"

     "Just want to let you know who's in charge here.  I got your nuts in my
mouth, Mr. Turner."  She stroked his dick as she let him know she was in the
lead.

     There was no question in his mind.  "You're the boss.  I'm all yours."
She swallowed him whole.  He laid his hands on the back of her head again,
and thrust his hips.  She was relentless, sucking harder and harder, her
head moving faster and faster.  Scott could not control the moans coming
involuntarily from god-knows-where.  "Ohmygod!  Shit!  Kelly!  Ohmygod!
Kelly!"  He wanted to scream.  He closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip as
it was sucked in between his teeth.  "Oh...fucking-A!" he muttered, his lip
still gripped in between both rows of teeth.

     When she grabbed his nuts again, it was like pulling a hair trigger.
He actually whimpered as his eyes bulged open.  "Mmmmhhhh, oooohhh,
mmmmmmhhhhhh... goddammit... oh, baby...oh, Kelly!"  Later that night, he'd try to
recall how many shots he fired, to no avail.  It might have been six, but it
could have been nine, he wasn't sure.

     She kept him in his mouth as Little Scotty went limp, suckling on him
and making Scott shiver.  "Kelly!  A guy gets really sensitive after he
cums...please, take it easy there."

     "I know.  Just reminding you I'm the boss when your cock is in my
mouth."  She kissed the head of his dick one more time.  "See you again
sometime soon, I hope."

     "Oh, you will," Scott promised.  Kelly stood back up and joined him on
the bench as he pulled up the sweatpants and tied them.  "That was amazing!
I owe you one."

     "You owe me plenty, but the pleasure was all mine."  She grabbed his
face in both hands and kissed him deeply.  He could taste himself in her
mouth.

     They picked up their bags and walked slowly to the corner of State and
Lake.  Scott took her face in his hands. "You sure you don't want me to walk
you to the house?"

     "No, but thanks.  I'm a big girl, and can swing a ring of keys like the
nastiest bitch on the planet."  Kelly already had her key ring clamped in
her left fist.  He bent down and kissed her.  She dropped a hand and cupped
his balls through his pants. "Plus, I know where the `nads are and have a
very good aim."

     "Yes you do."

     "Anybody who fucks with me is gonna limp away with more than a few
nasty gouges down his face."

     "I pity the fool who would be so stupid."  He kissed her once more.
"Good for you, and I'll remember that.  G'night, Kel."


     While Scott and Kelly were putting on their show for Mr. Lincoln, an
e-mail arrived in Craig's inbox. "Craig, finally got the plan down for
Halloween.  I'm going with my roommate, Leslie, and her boyfriend, Stan
(what a name, huh? But a really nice guy!).  Look for Morticia (me) and
Gomez (Leslie) Addams, along with Uncle Fester (Stan) at a place called The
Pub at about 10:00.  Who should I be looking for?  Can't wait to see you!!
Love, Steph."


     Craig noticed his hands were sweating as he rattled off a quick
response.  "You'll make a stunning Morticia, though I'm concerned about your
roommate, if she can pull of a plausible Gomez.  I hope the mustache is
fake.  My get-up is still a tightly-held secret.  Brett's (remember him?)
taking care of it, and has been on a mission for several weeks.  Part of me
is a bit nervous.  Look for six thoroughly-costumed guys.  I'm assuming
there's some sort of theme involved.  Looks like I'll have to find you.

     "I'm really looking forward to it, too.  It's been too long.

     "You staying at Leslie's for the weekend?"

     About three minutes after clicking "Send" came the response.
"maybe...;)"

     His cock swelled.  `God, it's been a long time.  Wonder if I can get
Scott to crash someplace else Saturday night.'





     At the end of the poli-sci section, Randy signaled for Scott to wait up
a minute.

     "What's up?" he asked.

     "Couple of things.  First, I have a favor to ask."

     Scott was a little apprehensive, but hid it well.  "What d'ya need?"

     "Well, the work you did on that paper was absolutely outstanding.  The
analysis of the district, as well as the most salient issues was high-level,
professional-grade political consulting.  I was serious when I said you
could sell that stuff!"

     "Thanks a lot, Randy, but I admit I had some `inside help.'"

     "I figured as much, but that's neither here nor there."

     "So what's the favor?"

     "Do you have any plans or designs to copyright the work, or to use it
in the real world for anything other than a very good grade and to boost
your reputation in this department?"

     "Hadn't really thought about it, but don't think so.  No, not really, I
guess."

     "Well, here's the deal.  If Maureen does decide to vacate that seat in
a couple of years, I know someone who is very interested in making a bid for
the seat."

     "Really!  Anybody I know?"

     "Probably, but I can't say right now; way too soon.  But, with your
permission, I'd like to keep a copy of your work and maybe put it to good
use down the road.  I'll see that you get all the credit.  And, when the
time comes, if you're interested, I could see you joining the campaign in
paid capacity."

     Scott mulled it over.  "Hhhhmmm...very interesting.  No, I don't see a
problem with any of that.  Knock yourself out, I guess.  What else?"

     "Well, our esteemed professor wants to meet you.  He was very impressed
with the work you did, and wanted me to tell you to call and set up a time
to meet with him."  Randy grabbed a slip of paper.  This is his secretary's
name and number.  Check your schedule and give her a call when you can.
This could be big for your collegiate future, Scott.  He'd be a powerful
ally within these hallowed halls."

     "Cool!  I'll get all over it a.s.a.p.  Thanks!"

     Scott had planned on speaking with Randy, anyway, so he was glad that
he'd been asked to stay behind.  "Hey, what do your office hours look like
today?"

     Randy surveyed his appointment book.  "Pretty booked with this new
assignment looming.  As usual, more students are stepping up for some input
on the front end."

     "That's what I wanted to see you about.  I have an outline done on the
state budget priority assignment, and wanted to see if you'd look it over
and throw in your two cents."

     "Happy to do so, but it'd be a few days before we could discuss it;
maybe even next week."

     "Oh, well...I can go it alone this time."

     "Tell you what, you gonna be on campus tonight?"

     "Yeah...gotta speak in front of an international students' group for the
campaign, then go to a study group at the library `til about 9:00 or so."

     "Well, I have a TA Association meeting up here scheduled from seven
`til nine, then planned to go back to the office to work on some stuff.  If
you want to give me the outline, I can look it over this afternoon and tear
it apart tonight."

     "Tonight?"  Scott seemed a bit leary.

     "In the office...with the door open." Randy tried to sound reassuring.
"Tell you what, I'll be there either way.  If you want to scale the hill
after the library, feel free.  If not, we can find time during regular
hours.  Your call, either way."

     Scott thought it over.  "That'll work.  Cool.  Thanks."

     "No problem.  See you tonight or in class next.  Have a good one."

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


     The office door was closed, but the light was on, and Scott could hear
music playing.  It sounded a bit loud, but with nobody else working at this
hour, he figured Randy could get away with rocking out a little bit while he
caught up on some work.  As was his habit at a closed door, he tapped on the
opaque glass.  After a minute, he tapped again, then tried the door knob.
It was unlocked, so he slowly pushed the door and stuck his head in.

       The office was empty, but the door to an adjoining conference room
was open about a foot-and-a-half.  During a break between tunes on the CD,
he heayd a whispered muttering coming from the room next door, and figured
Randy must be talking to himself.  Scott did that himself all the time when
he was alone, and sometimes even found he learned a thing or two when he did
it.

       Nearing the door, he heard Randy's voice.  "Yes sir!"

       Randy was on his knees, buck naked.  The guy standing in front of him
had to be six-foot-four and about two-fifty.  He wasn't fat, but was very
imposing, barrel-chested and very well hung.  He had his massive hand on top
of Randy's head, holding it tilted back a bit, slapping his face with his
hard cock.

       "You're a filthy little cock whore, aren't you?"

       "Oh, yes sir!  I am!  I'm a whore."

       "You're a dick slut, a no-good-piece-of-shit dick slut!"  He smacked
Randy on both cheeks with his rod.

       "Yes sir!"

       "What are you?"

       "I'm your bitch.  I'm your cock whore, sir."

       "Open your mouth, bitch!"

       Randy parted his lips and the big guy grabbed his thick tool and
plunged it forward.  Randy whimpered as the guy pistoned in and out of his
mouth.  He was stroking his own cock with determination, the well-developed
muscles of his right arm flexing with each stroke. After a couple minutes of
forceful face-fucking, he placed his hands on the guys hips, and got the top
of his head slapped.  "Get your fuckin' hands off of me, you twat!"  He
grabbed a handful of hair on the top of Randy's head and forced him to look
upward.  "Did I say you could touch me?"  His wet cock made a `splat' as he
slapped Randy's face with it.

       "No sir!  I'm very sorry sir."

       "You're goddamned right, you are.  Tell me what you want, fag boy."

       Randy swallowed hard, and whispered rather meekly, "please..."

       "What?  You worthless fucker.  What do you want more than anything?"

       "Please, sir, please fuck me."

       "Why would I waste an inch of this trophy cock on the likes of you?"

       "Please, sir, I'm begging you.  I need you to take my ass and make it
your own!  Please!"

       He smacked Randy's face again with the weapon.  "Wrap this up, bitch,
and I'll think about it."

       Randy let go of his own hard tool and reached into the jeans that
were on the floor next to him.  He pulled out a condom and frantically tore
at the wrapper.  His hands were shaking as he unrolled an inch and then
grabbed the guy's monster and slid the protection over.  "God!  I need this
so bad!  Thank you, sir.  Thank you for giving me your big, fat dick!  I
don't deserve it, I know.  Thank you, sir!"

       "Shut up and bend over the table, you cunt."

       Randy obeyed, laying his chest and arms flat on the table, his face
looking away from the door of the conference room.  His `master' stepped
behind him and went down on one knee.  He grabbed Randy's ass in both hands
and roughly parted his cheeks.  He spit at the hole and used three fingers
to wet the entrance.  He spit again, this time inserting a fat thumb as far
as it would go, twisting it to the right and then the left.  Randy moaned,
"Oh...God!  Thank you sir."

       He stood up again and grabbed his pole in his left fist.  It appeared
that a good three or four inches extended beyond the grip of his large hand.
  His right hand went up about shoulder-high and came down hard on the right
side of Randy's ass.  "Ooooowwww!  Oh, thank you, sir!"  He smacked him
again, a bit harder.  "Oh...God...yes!!  Please fuck me, sir!"

       Randy folded his arms on the table, and buried his face in the
opening.  He bit his lower lip and tried to muffle a scream as the brute
slowly entered him from behind.  Scott winced at the sight, but remained
strangely transfixed.  His own cock was straining against the Dockers he was
wearing, and he thrust his right hand into his pocket to adjust it, and
squeeze it.

       In short order, the big man had worked up a slow rhythm, and had
administered three or four smart slaps to Randy's ass, both on the left and
the right.  He growled at his prey a few times as he picked up speed.

       "Ohh, yes!" Scott heard his TA beg for more.  "Fuck me, sir!  Please
fuck me harder!  Oh...thank you...thank you sir...my ass is all yours, man!"  His
head began to turn back and forth in a thrashing movement as he whimpered
and moaned his appreciation.

       Randy's head stopped thrashing and he laid it down, eyes tightly
closed on his folded forearms.  His head continued to jerk forward and back
with each plunge of the guy's huge dick.  Continuing to moan, he opened his
eyes and looked directly through the open doorway and met Scott's eyes.  He
smiled.

       Scott jumped back from the doorway.  He turned and bolted for the
office door, opened it, then quickly but quietly closed it.  The hallway was
cooler, and he immediately sensed the perspiration that had formed on his
forehead as he started down the corridor, his right hand still firmly
containing his own raging hard-on.

       He was a confused jumble of emotion.  Never a fan of kink or S&M, the
scene he'd just witnessed clearly turned him on at some level.  Randy's hot
body was enough to get a rise out of Scott, even when it was only part of an
imaginary fantasy.  He was confused that such a masculine guy with such a
fit, muscular body could submit as totally as he just had.  The smile he saw
at the last moment, the leer that chased him out of the office was most
confounding.  Without really thinking, he pushed through the door to the
men's room.  He made only a passing glance to see if the room was empty as
he charged into a stall and slammed the door.  In an instant, his Docker's
were down around his knees, and he was furiously jacking his dripping cock.
In about a minute, his knees locked and he grunted, spraying his load on the
back wall of the stall and the toilet seat.  He milked his softening member,
leaking the last of his load onto his index finger and thumb.  Grabbing a
handful of toilet paper, he cleaned off his hand and reassembled his
clothes.  He then cleaned off the wall and stool, and flushed the remains
down the toilet.

       He exited the bathroom, left the building and walked back to the dorm
in a haze of confusion and apprehension.



     It was about 2:00 in the afternoon on the Saturday in October when
Scott zipped up a gym bag and wrote a note for Craig.  "Went to Maureen's
apt. to get the mail and feed the cat.  Back in an hour or so.  B. called
and said to be in the room at 5:00.  I'll give you a backgammon lesson when
I get back.  S."

     He stopped at the end of the hallway and rapped on the James Brothers'
door.  Marty opened it and handed him a second bag.

     "Got everything?"  He took the bag.

     "Pretty sure."

     "Later."

     Jesse closed the door.

     A little before 5:00, the phone interrupted a game of backgammon.  It
was Brett.

     "You guys gotta be in the room at 6:00!"

     "For chrissake, Brett.  You called an hour ago and ordered us to be in
the room at 5:00!  What the fuck..."

     Brett sounded flustered, but excited.  "Just chill.  This is hectic.
Lots to do.  You'll see.  Just be there.  He hung up."

     "Let's go get something to eat.  The costume king is having a flippin'
stroke.  I do believe this is gonna kill him."

     At 6:10 there was a knock on the door.  "You're late.  Scott was
startled by Brett's white face.  Not clown- paint white, but a more subtle,
like, heavily powdered white.  He had something like a nylon stocking over
the top of his head, and some makeup had also been applied to his eyes and
lips.

     He pushed past Scott, followed by a tall very skinny guy with feathered
hair and too much cologne.

     "This is Michael.  He's the makeup guy..."

     "Makeup ARTISSST!"  Michael rolled his eyes. The lisp on the s sounded
like a leaky tire.

     "Pardon me.  Michael's a makeup artist with the theater department."

     Michael was carrying what looked like a tackle box.

     "Makeup?  Who said anything about makeup?  You said costumes.  You
didn't say a fucking thing about makeup."  Scott was growing worried.

     "Not you," said Brett, hanging two garment bags on Scott's closet door.
  "Only Craig's gonna need makeup."

     Michael had pulled a desk chair back near the dresser and pulled out
the second drawer.  "Does someone have a towel?"

     Brett grabbed one from the shelf of Scott's closet.  Michael folded it
over the edge of the drawer creating a headrest.  He patted the seat of the
chair and batted his eyelashes at Craig..  "C'mon over her hon and let
Michael work his magic on you."  Michael wanted to work some magic on Craig,
but not from the neck up.  He wiggled his eyebrows and winked.

     Michael was a caricature; a real queen, through and through.  The lisp,
the sing-song tone of voice, a touch of makeup, wrists by Slinky.  One would
think he was acting in a Saturday Night Live skit set in a gay bar.

     Brett pointed at the bags.  "This one's yours, the other is for Craig
after his face is done."

     Scott laid his on his bed and started to unzip it.  About a third of
the way down, he let out a howl.  "HAA HAAAAAAA!   Brilliant!   Just fucking
brilliant."  Craig couldn't see what was in the bag.  He partially unzipped
Craig's and repeated the scene.  "Duuude!"  He high-fived Brett, and gave
him a hug.  "I oughta give you a big, wet kiss."

     "Oooohhh. Can we watch?"  Michael was delighted.

     Craig was concerned.  "What?  What is it?"

     "Never mind, bro'.  You'll see, and you're going to love it.  This is
gonna be so fucking cool!  Just get in the fucking chair.  It's gonna be
okay.  Shit, it's gonna be fucking perfect.  Hurry up and let Michael do his
thing."  He was still giggling.  Craig stayed on the edge of his bed, still
hesitant.  Scott looked squarely at him and smiled, nodding a `trust me'
nod.  Slowly, Craig got up and sat down in the chair, laying his head on the
dresser drawer.

     Michael was now in charge.  "There.  That's a good boy.  Now close your
eyes."  He patted his subject on the shoulder.  Craig did as he was told.
He rested his forearms on the arms of the chair and tried to relax. Michael
plucked a grease pencil out of the tackle box and gently took Craig's chin
between his thumb and forefinger.  He moved his head gently to the left,
then to the right.  "Hhhmmmm."

     "You need the picture?" Brett asked.

     "Puh-llleeeeassssssse!  You offend me."  Michael tossed his head back
and rolled his eyes.  "Tsk, tsk."

     "Sorry, should have known better.  You'll get over it.  I gotta run.
Angie's down the hall helping Jesse and Frank.  She's gonna come upstairs
and finish helping me".  He looked at his watch.  "We'll meet in our room at
7:00 sharp.  Pre-party party.  Sort of a warmup for the evening.  Then we'll
all head over to State Street at about 8:00."

     Michael turned his attention back to his subject. He began outlining
his design on Craig's cheeks, then near his eyes.  "This is going to be
easy, and you'll look just faaaabulousss."  He was humming "Like a Virgin"
and shaking his ass at Scott.  A shapely ass it was, Scott had to admit to
himself, nicely packaged in what he guessed were very expensive designer
jeans.  Michael stepped over Craig's outstretched legs and leaned over,
working from the other side for a moment.  This went on for several minutes,
back and forth, leaning in and standing up.

     Craig finally spoke.  "Uuhhh...Michael?"

     "Yes hon?"

     "Well...uhm...first... do ya s'pose you could do this without calling me
hon?"

     He put his hand on Craig's shoulder.  "I call everybody hon...hon."

     "Okay, I'll live with the hon. But, then, do you s'pose you could do
this without rubbing your crotch against my hand or arm every time you lean
over me?"

     Scott choked on his Coke.

     Michael stood up and smiled a wicked smile, shooing Craig with a
limp-wristed hand.  "Oh, now, hon, what fun would that be?"

     He reached down to pat Craig on the shoulder.  Craig's hand beat him to
it and grabbed Michael's wrist.  He held it a firm grip; not hard, not
hurtful, but firm.  "Well...it would pretty much guarantee that you're going
to leave here with all your teeth," he smiled politely.

     Michael's eyes went to the ceiling as he mulled it over, one finger
holding his chin up. "Weeellll...I suppose there is that."

     Craig nodded.  Michael smiled and shrugged.  "Oh, Okay!"  Craig let go
of him and closed his eyes again.

     The artist turned back to the tackle box, removing an assembly of
different sized jars, tubes, brushes and whatnot.  He'd switched tunes to
"Material Girl."

     He began painting the area around the mouth, then around the eyes.
Then, Craig felt a coat of makeup covering the rest of his face, extending
even down his neck and onto, and into, his ears.  `What the fuck is he doing
to me,' he was beginning to sweat.

     He could hear Scott rustling around on the other side of the room.  His
roommate had decided to have a little fun, and had stripped down to his
boxers.  Taking stock of the tights he'd be wearing, he needed to decide on
underwear.  The boxers wouldn't do, as they'd bunch up and look stupid
through the spandex.  He considered a jock strap, but then decided on a pair
of tight, white boxer briefs that wore like they were about a size too
small.  They held the package in place nicely, and he liked the way they
clung to his butt.  With Michael's back to him, and Craig's eyes closed, he
shucked off the baggy boxers and shimmied into the tight ones.  Adjusting
the package just so, he half-sang out, "Oh...Michael?

     "Yes, hon?" Michael glanced over his shoulder and then abruptly turned
all the way around, poking Craig in the nose with the end of the brush he
was working with.

     "Ouch...jeezuz Christ!  Watch it man!"

     Scott had his hands on his hips, and did a slow turn. "Do these make my
butt look big?"

     "Honey, your butt looks absolutely perfect, and it's certainly not the
butt that looks big in those."  He licked his lips.

     "Thanks.  Just checking."  He pointed at his roommate.   "Back to work
now."

     "Honey, you are going to look faaaabuuulousss in that costume."  He
turned back to Craig., looking down to consider his progress. "And so are
you when I'm finished. "

     After another fifteen or twenty minutes of detail work around the eyes,
Michael stood back to check the work.  "Almost done, hon.  Pucker up your
lips, like you're inviting me for a kiss."  Craig's eyes opened to glare.
"Close `em, and don't worry...I'm not gonna kiss you...not that I wouldn't like
to...but I won't."

     As Michael applied some dark lipstick, Craig heard Scott grunt a bit as
he pulled on some boots.  "Christ, these fuckers are tight."

     "Okay, now...and keep your eyes closed...but lift you head up a little so I
can fit this wig on you just right.  First, I'll put this nylon over your
head.  It'll keep your own hair down tight, and stop the wig from scratching
your scalp too much."  Scott felt the stocking pulled over his head,
followed by a snug-fitting wig.  "Oh...this is gonna fit perfectly.  Now just
hold tight while I touch up this beautiful head of hair."  Craig felt a few
light tugs of a hairbrush or a pick, and Michael's hand patting the hair in
place here and there.  "Just a touch of spray to make this wonderful coif
behave all night, and"...Michael stood back..."Voila!  I am a true artiste," he
looked at Scott, gesturing at his made-up roommate with an open hand.  "Am I
not, my dear?"

     "Stay put, roomie."  Scott stepped over.  His huge smile turned into a
giggle.  "You, hon, are a fucking genius."  He kissed Michael on the cheek,
and the artist nearly melted, rolling his eyes and turning red.  He tapped
Scott's chest with his fingertips.  "Ooohhh you are just too sweet."  Scott
stepped back toward his bed.

     "OK, hon...now don't ruin this.  Keep your eyes closed...now stand up."
Michael put his hands on Craig's shoulders and pulled him a couple steps.
He moved the chair and closed the dresser drawer.  He turned Craig around
and nudged him a few steps to the right, so that he was standing directly in
front of his mirror.  "Ooookkkaaaaaayyyy" Michael sang out.  Open `em up.

     Craig slowly opened his eyes and looked squarely into the face of...

     The Joker.  The TV Batman Joker.  It was Caesar Romero looking back at
him from the mirror.

     He howled.  "AAAAWWWWW Fucking God Damn Perfect!"  He slapped his hands
on the dresser and looked in close.  "It's exactly the same!!  You're a
fucking miracle worker, Michael."  I'm sorry I threatened to knock your
teeth out.  Scott...check this..."

     He swung around and stopped cold, his jaw dropping in awe.  "Holy
Shit!!!"  He was looking at Batman in full dress.  The grey tights, the
black bat in a yellow oval in the center of his chest, the boots, the gloves
the mask over the top half of his face and head, the cape, even the trusty
utility belt.  They met half way and slapped a double high five and thumped
their chests together.

     "Ooooh God!  The machismo!" Michael fanned his face with one hand.  He
started packing his tackle box.  "Glad you boys like it.  This was fun, and
oh, you're absolutely gonna love the rest of the boys, too.  Brett really
knocked himself out on this.  Jesse and Marty down the hall are just going
to blow you away, and so will Marty and Brett.  You six are gonna be the
stars of State Street tonight."

     "So...you going over there tonight Michael?" Scott asked as he adjusted
his gloves.

     "You bet that sweet ass of yours, and looking like a million bucks,
too."

     Let me guess, Scott mulled it over and smiled, looking Michael up and
down with a sort of leer that Michael found flattering.  "Madonna, right?"

     "Oh...you're a naughty little mind reader, aren't you?  Are those your
super bat powers at work?"

     "Nah...you were humming her tunes and swinging you ass around most of the
time you were working on Craig."

     "I hope you see me, then.  Got the black thigh-highs, the fishnets, the
black corsette, some great fake boobs, and the perfect blond wig.  I'll even
have a riding crop, in case any of you bad boys are in need of a spanking
later on tonight."  He winked and licked his lips, and added, "though I
don't suppose we'll cross paths in any of the bars I'll be visiting later
on."  He had the tackle box in one hand, the other on the door knob.

     "Well, you boys have fun tonight, and be careful.  If you're all around
next year, I have this `Wizard of Oz' thing in mind."

     "Let me guess," Craig was unzipping his garment bag, "with you as
Dorothy?"

     "And you as The Wizard, making all my dreams come true."  He was out
the door before Craig could respond.  They could hear the opening strains of
"Somewhere Over the Rainbow," fading out as Michael sauntered down the
hallway.

     The three-piece suit was grape colored, with a gold pinstripe running
through it.  The ruffled shirt was a bright orange, and the over-sized bow
tie was bright green.  It fit perfectly.  The black shoes fit well too,
though the lilac colored gloves were a little snug.  "They're cotton...they'll
stretch," Scott assured him.

     "How fuckin' cool is this?" Craig laughed, holding up a plastic flower
with its stem connected to a small hose,  then leading into what looked like
a hand-sized hot water bottle.  "There's even the squirting flower for the
lapel."  Holding up the bladder that would go in his suit pocket he asked,
"what d'ya think...vodka or bourbon?"

     Craig grabbed a small bag with a half-dozen joints he had carefully
rolled and put them in his breast pocket.  Scott had found a compartment in
his utility belt for a film container of dope and a short metal one-hitter.

     They walked the length of the hall to the sound of shouts and hoots
from a few open doors.  One guy was coming out of the bathroom with a towel
around him and stopped.  "Jesus Christ!  You dudes look great!!"  Knocking
on the James Brothers door, a guy across the hall hollered, "Just missed
`em...they left about a minute ago.  You guys are gonna kick some ass on State
Street tonight!"  Scott just put his hands on his hips and stared.  He
nodded once, and the two walked off toward the elevator.

     Approaching the door to their room, they could see it was opened a few
inches, and could hear Jesse's voice, sort of quacking.  "Waaaaahhh, waaahh,
waah, wah, wah, wah" with the other voices laughing and the sound of
clapping.

     Stepping inside, there stood Jesse in full tuxedo with tails.  His hair
had been slicked back under the top had. Black paten-leather shoes with
spats, the monacle in one eye, and even the fake nose had been shaded with a
pancake makeup to perfectly match Jesse's olive complexion.  The cigarette
holder was clenched firmly between his molars as he menaced the others with
his umbrella.  He had become The Penguin.

     Frank was adorned in a one-piece, skin-tight bright green body suit of
nylon, or something that was nicely form fitting on his thin frame.  A
single black question mark covered the chest.  He had a mask that was more
like a wide headband, with holes for the eyes.  "Is that a wig?" Craig
asked, stepping forward to inspect The Riddler's bright orange-red hair.

     "No, it's a dye job.  Angie said it would come out in one or two
washes, and it better fucking better."

     "That's a great get-up, Frank, and it...ah...does your
goodies...uhm...justice."  Scott was smirking as he looked down at the package
that Frank's costume highlighted.

     "Yeah," Frank smiled as he exhaled and handed the joint to Brett.  He
grabbed his crotch and chuckled, "Riddle me This!"

     "No fucking mystery there," Jesse offered with a wink.

     "But aren't you gonna freeze your balls off in that?"  Craig wondered
out loud. It's gonna be cold tonight."

     "No," Brett explained.  "Feel it...it's lined with some cold-weather
insulation-type shit.  Forget what it's called."

     Brett was also in a tuxedo, but white from head to toe.  White tux,
white shirt, white bowtie, white gloves, white sox, white shoes.  His white
face was topped with what looked something like an over-sized white skin
head wig, with a huge insert to complete the true Egg Head.

     Finally, there was Batman's Robin.  Marty looked good enough to eat.
The flesh-tone tights complemented his muscular legs.  The short silk shorts
that went over his midsection didn't expose as much as Frank's get-up did,
but they held his ass very nicely.  The yellow cape didn't extend as far
down as Scott's did, so his butt was exposed if he bent over even a little
bit.  The short-sleeved red vest fit his upper body tightly.  The black eye
mask made the whole thing just a little more sexy, Scott thought.

     Brett had made a pitcher of vodka shooters and was filling shot
glasses.  Marty had a generous mound of powder on his mirror and was
intently portioning it out, chopping as he tried to eyeball just the right
amount for each line.  He was meticulous.  He paused as Craig helped Brett
hand out the first round of shots of the evening.  "What do we drink to
first?" he asked his pals.

     "To Brett!" Scott shouted.

     "To Brett!" the others echoed.

     "To The Egghead!" Brett corrected them.

     "To The Egghead!" and the first shot was history.  They drank the next
two to each of the weekend's birthday boys.

     Frank fired up a second joint, as the first one was quickly shrinking.
Brett went over and slid the window open, placing a fan on the sill to help
evacuate some of the smoke from the small room.  Another round of shots, and
Marty handed Craig a straw.  "You're up first, Joker.  By the way, the
makeup job is incredible!"  Craig smiled and nodded, then leaned in and
snorted a line.  The others followed suit.

     "Hey!  This is fucked up," Jesse finally realized that his fake nose
wouldn't allow him to indulge.  "My fucking beak is gonna screw this all to
hell."

     "Got ya covered," Marty was shaking his head.  "C'mere."  Jesse waddled
over.  "Okay, now tip your head back a little, and open your mouth."  Jesse
scraped a line into a small mound on the blade.  Jesse did as he was told.
"Hold still."  Marty brought the blade to Jesse's lips.  Then he leaned in,
his own lips very close to the other's, and he blew.

     Scott and Frank both thought the short exchange was kind of hot
looking.

     "Now close your mouth and swallow.  Don't drink anything for a minute
or two, until the back of your mouth and throat feel good and numb.  I'll
take care of you tonight.  Let me know any time you're in need.  I got a
little bottle and a spoon, and can shotgun your mouth."

     He winked and Jesse just smiled.  "You really are Boy Wonder, you
know."

     For the next hour, the Dynamic Duo and four of Gotham's greatest
criminal minds partied in the dorm room.  When it was appropriate, they
rehearsed their parts between shots, lines and another joint.  Jesse had the
penguin walk and squawk down to an art form.  Brett was trying to come up
with as many words he could work "egg" into, working to recall Vincent
Price's portrayal.  "Egg-sactly ...egg-squisite...egg-ceptional."

     "Egg-screment," Marty offered.

     Craig was, by his nature, a bit too shy to try and reproduce Casear
Romero's whooping laugh, and went instead for a Jack Nicholson
impersonation.  "This town needs an enema!" he barked, and, slapping a hand
on the desk, "Where DOES he get those fantastic toys?!"

     Marty thought about it, but only for a second.  "All I gotta do is put
`Holy' in front of just about any word, and I'm in...'Holy Hooters, Batman!'
Shit like that."  Then, feeling that they were sufficiently warmed up for a
night on State Street, he stood up.  "Gentlemen, what say we head out and
show these amateurs how to have a good time?"  They walked down to the
elevator to various cheers, whoops and rounds of applause from the others on
the floor.  Scott was first on the elevator, with Marty behind him.  The
other four filed in.  Robin subtly leaned back against his Batman, reached
behind, and groped his cock.  He looked up over his shoulder and mouthed
"holy boner, Batman!"  Scott just smiled.

     During the two-block walk over to State Street, the gang was met with
assorted cheers and random honking of horns from passing cars.  As they
neared the party, a guy without a costume, but a fairly expensive camera in
his hands asked them to stop.  "Hey guys,!  Pose for the paper, will ya?
Marty directed the action, standing between and a bit behind Brett and Craig
and firmly grasping one by the shoulder and the other by the back of the
neck.  Scott followed suit, and took hold of Jesse and Frank in similar
fashion.  "Now look pissed," Robin coached the bad guys, "and you look
triumphant, but don't smile.  Look dignified, strong, noble.  Scott and
Marty both puffed up their chests and stuck out their chins." he lifted his
left knee and nudged Scott in the ass.  The dynamic duo had the crooks in
their grasp, at last.

     "Perfect," the photojournalist said, and he snapped several shots.  He
took the time to get all of their names, making sure he had the spelling
correct.  As he was jotting down Robin's civilian name, he paused and
thought for a second.  He did a double-take and eyed Marty up and down.
"Oh, yeah...sure!  You're the..."

     Marty cut him off.  "Relax, Jimmy Olson, I'm keeping the costume on."

      He disappeared into the crowd, knowing that he wouldn't find a more
photo-worthy group of revelers for tomorrow morning's paper.

     To say that the bars' standards for requiring a valid i.d. on Halloween
were a bit relaxed was an understatement.  Frank and Brett looked like the
oldest of the group, and both had fakes.  But they all received such a
rousing reception at every stop that no self-respecting barkeep or bouncer
was about the check their ages and ask them to leave.

     After entertaining the gang at the Kollege Klub, Batman decided it was
time to move on.  "Can't deprive the rest of the masses.  Let's move out,
but first..."  He grabbed the Joker's lapel, leaned over and opened his mouth.
  A stream of peppermint schnaaps tickled the back of his throat.  Laughter
and applause rippled through the crowd nearby.  On their way out the front
door, the group encountered five guys in baseball uniforms.

     Marty focused on the one in the center of the group.  "Hey Muttmouth,
lotta `magination goin' on there.  Damn! You are one clever s.o.b.  Why
didn't we think of that guys?  The only question is, who's pitchin' and
who's catchin'?"

     Chet took a step forward to confront the cocky, and smaller, Robin.
Kip grabbed his arm.  "Leave it alone, Chet.  We came to party, not waste
our time on shit like this."  Chet started to protest.  "Drop it!!  Let's
go!!" and he ushered his posse into the bar.

     Heading toward the entrance to the Pub, they passed a row of windows
that made up the façade of the building.

     Party-goers started pointing and knocking on the glass as "The Group
from Gotham City" approached the central doorway.  Craig was feeling no
pain, and had even started whooping a few Joker laughs here and there.  He'd
given up on Jack Nicholson and had resigned himself to Caesar Romero.  But
now, he was anxiously surveying the crowd looking of a tall, thin woman in a
skin-tight black thingy, and with a butt-length black wig and legs that just
wouldn't quit.  No such vision in sight.  He sighed.  It was the first time
all night that he noticed that the green wig really was starting to itch,
but he resisted the urge to scratch.

     "Relax!"  Scott shouted above the crowd.  "She'll be here.  C'mon,
let's order a round of shots for Robin and the other bad guys."

     They went to the bar, and Scott ordered six vodka shooters.  The
bartender smiled.  "Anything for you, Batman."

     "You're a good citizen."  Scott struggled to remember which compartment
of his utility belt contained the cash, and was happy that he won the battle
on the first try.  His left leg was propped up on bottom bar rail.  Craig
was behind him, still anxiously scanning the crowd for Morticia.  Marty
stepped up to the bar and nodded to the still-smiling bartender.

     "Good to see you too, Robin."  The burly server was shaking a batch of
shooters for the guys.  He laid out seven shot glasses on a round tray and
filled each to the brim.  "Best costumes I've seen down here in years.
These are one me."  He lifted one of the glasses in a toast to the Dynamic
Duo, and knocked it back.  Sliding the tray forward, he laid on a thick
Irish brogue.  "Saint's Be'gorah, Batman! D'ya think we can trust the Boy
Wonder to get these to their intended targets?"

     Scott nodded, stifling a giggle.  "Not a problem, Chief O'Hara.  He's
never failed me yet."

     Marty's knee found its way between Scott's legs and he slowly nudged
and rubbed Scott's swelling package.  Even with the masks on, Marty could
see Scott's eyes get wider.

     "Take it easy, man!  I'm wearing fucking tights!  Jeezus, you want to
lose your birthday present?"

     "Oh...you got something for me?"

     "Maybe."

     "Stephanie!!"  Craig bellowed across the pool tables toward the back of
the bar.  He was waiving his arms.  "Steph!  Steph!  Over here!  It's me!"
He had worried that she might not recognize him through all the makeup in a
dimly lit bar.

     She was nearly six feet tall, and was striking in the tight black
dress.  Stephanie shimmied over and, without saying a word, wrapped her arms
around Craig's waist.  Scott watched from behind as her hands wandered down
to his roommate's ass.  Nose-to-nose, she asked, "Am I going to get that
face paint on me if I kiss you?"

     "Let's find out."  The makeup was remarkably resilient, and little was
transferred to Stephanie, despite Craig's earnest attempt to leave some.  It
was a hell of a kiss, inspiring a round of applause from those nearby.
Craig motioned Scott and Marty over.  "Steph, you know Marty Anderson,
right?  The Boy Wonder?"

     She nodded enthusiastically.  "Hi, Marty.  Good to see you.  You look
great."

     "And this is my roommate, Scott Turner."

     Scott took her hand, bowed and kissed it lightly.  "My pleasure,
ma'am."

     "Ooooh, and a gentleman to boot!  Good for you, Craig.  You could learn
a thing or two from a man with manners and grace.  It's nice to meet you,
Scott.  You guys really went all out tonight, and you look fantastic."

     Craig grabbed her and pulled her close.  He whispered in her ear.
"Manners and grace are the last things on my mind right now.  Hate to
disappoint you."

     She whispered back, "You never have," and flicked her tongue in and out
of his ear a couple of times.  She knew that drove him wild.  It did.

     Marty intruded. "Hey, I hate to interrupt, but the other boys are
probably getting thirsty.  I'm gonna head over to the other side with the
shots."  When he got there, Egghead was firmly in the hands of Catwoman.

     "Angie!!  You made it!." She extended a clawed hand, and Robin kissed
it gently.  "I should arrest you, or maybe handcuff you at least," he winked
at her.  Brett put the palm of his hand on Marty's forehead and pushed him
back.  "Don't get to egg-cited, Boy Wonder.  I have designs on the little
kitty tonight."  Brett had both hands firmly around her hips.

     She looked amazing; black from head to toe, with just the right amount
of cleavage showing below the neckline.  "Angie, you did a great job with
the costumes.  Thanks a lot!  We're a huge hit, thanks to you."

     "My pleasure, Robin.  You look even hotter than I thought you would in
those tights."  Brett bristled at the complement, until she turned and
whispered in his ear, "but this pussy is all yours tonight, if you'll just
take it."   Brett feared his boxers would be filled with egg whites then and
there.

     The Joker and Mrs. Addams rejoined the crew.  Craig made introductions
all the way around, barely containing the boner that was tenting the pleated
pants of his suit.  He tugged on Scott's cape.  "Hey, roomie, give me a
sec., will ya'?"

     Scott and Craig stepped to the side.  "Hey, man, normally I wouldn't
ask, but..."

     "Done."

     "Huh?"

     "I'm staying upstairs tonight.  Brett's gonna head out with the
Catwoman, so there's an empty crib in their room.  Our room is all yours.
Give her all you got, roomie.  Give Mrs. Addams what she wants, stud.  I
hope to hear her scream from two floors up!"  Scott reached down and
squeezed Craig's ass, just for fun, and the two bumped knuckles.

     All eight of them, the guys plus Stephanie and Angie, left The Pub
together.  Two blocks north, they ran into a party within a party.  The
intersection of State and Dayton was ringed with revelers, and they all held
themselves in a big circle, creating a street-level dance floor.  Somebody
had the foresight to set up the perfect sound system, blaring out the
windows from the apartment on the second floor corner.  "Twist and Shout"
came over the speakers, and the crowd started moving in unison.  Scott felt
a hand on his arm, and was surprised to see Angie, the Catwoman, dragging
him into the middle of the street.  Batman and Catwoman simply had to dance
for the crowd before the night was over.  His apprehension melted under the
effect of the various controlled substances, the atmosphere and Angie's fine
ass.   Almost against his will, Scott was shakin' it like he'd never shaken
it before.  He even had the presence of mind to put up two peace signs and
slide each hand horizontally in front of his eyes, the move that Travolta
replayed in "Pulp Fiction."  The crowd went wild.  He and the Catwoman
turned it up a notch as they bumped and ground their way through the last
third of the song.  Brett was applauding and pissed all at the same time.

     The song ended to a thunderous reception from the crowd.  Scott grabbed
Angie around the waist and kissed her, and they got even louder.  "Go and
make The Egghead's night, will you?" he shouted in her ear.

     "Whatever you say, Batman."  She quickly bit his lower lip and gave him
a long "meeeooooowwwww."  In very short order, Brett's white tails quickly
disappeared into the crowd.

     It was good fortune that Frank had the presence of mind to grab a
bottle of water at the last stop.  He handed it to Scott as he stepped up on
the curb.  They bumped hands as Frank felt The Penguin's umbrella scoping
out his inner thigh.  Scott took a long drink, and looked over Frank's
shoulder and nodded at a smiling Jesse.

     He handed the bottle back  to Frank. "Thanks for the drink, man.  I
gotta go find Robin.  Told a babe over there we'd pose for a picture."

     With a nod of the head and a point of his umbrella, Jesse motioned for
his roommate to step to the side.  He leaned in and whispered in his ear.
"Got the first part of your birthday present, bro."  The Riddler recognized
the blue pill for what it was, and his face broke out in an evil, very horny
grin.  He nearly begged, "when and where?"  If it hadn't been for the crowd
surrounding them, he would have been peeling off The Penguin's tuxedo then
and there.

     Scott found Marty and pulled him into a narrow alley between buildings.
  Marty handed him the bottle of coke and spoon.  "Havin' a good birthday,
buddy?"  He put the spoon to his nostril and snorted, then pulled another
load out of the bottle and held it up for Marty to take.

     "The best, man...the fuckin' best!"  Robin sniffed and pinched his
nostrils as he laughed.

     "Good, but it's gonna get better.  Here, I got you a little something."
  He took Marty's hand and turned it up, grabbing his fingertips to lay it
flat.  "Take this."  He put a blue pill in his hand.

     Marty recognized it for what it was.  "What the fuck?  You think I need
this old man's helper?"

     "No, you don't need it, but you'll want it tonight birthday, boy.  Do
ya' trust me, Boy Wonder?"  Scott tossed a viagra in his mouth and took a
quick pull on the bottle of water.  He leaned in and pecked Marty's lips as
he pinched his right nipple.

     Marty leered back through his mask.  "You son of a bitch!  What the
hell have you got planned?"  He had outlandish anticipation on is face as he
swallowed the pill, but Scott didn't give him time to ask any more
questions.

     "Well...Brett's gone with Angie.  Craig's soon to be on his way back to
our room.  That leaves...let's see..."

     Marty's eyes got wide.  He pushed Scott against the wall of the
building behind him and groped at Batman's groin.  Their lips were less than
an inch apart.  "Are you fuckin' with me?  Are we gonna...?"

     "I'm not fuckin' with you...yet.  But are you ready to really get this
party going?"


Author's Note:
Well, the guys are headed over to Maureen's apartment for a little
after-party party.  Love to leave you hangin'.

Many thanks to those who have written with complements, comments and other
assorted feedback.  Special thanks to those Nifty veterans who have assisted
this rookie on his first effort with wise counsel and encouragement (Jack,
Tyler, you're the best!)  As always big, special triple thanks to those who
have risen to the challenge to support Nifty.  If you haven't yet, please
reconsider.

Chapter 9 should be along shortly.  You can probably surmise much of the
content.  It was originally to be a part of this installment, but this was
getting long...again...and I thought it would be fun to leave off where I did.
What a shit, huh?  Much of it's already written, but it keeps changing here
and there, and needs a good editing if it's going to be clear who is doing
what to, or with, whom.

After that, there'll likely be a bit of a break.  I need to step back and
map out a clearer story line if I'm going to continue on this venture.  Not
to mention, I need to take care of a few other things in my life: taxes,
yard-work, etc.  I hope you'll appreciate that this is sort of
time-consuming, and I need to turn some attention elsewhere for a while.  At
its inception, this story was not going to explore as much of Scott's
freshman year is it has.  You may recall, it opened when he was a beginning
sophomore, and then went into this nine-chapter flashback.  I certainly
hadn't planned that, but it's been fun developing the characters.  Now, I
need to add some discipline and planning to the story, and that's going to
take a little time.

But keep on touching base with me if and when the mood strikes.  I've really
enjoyed reading the messages, and have responded to each of them (I think,
and I hope), and the back-and-forth with a few of you has been fun.

So, stay tuned...