Fork in the Road

FORK IN THE ROAD By Scott Turner Chapter 12

"If you come to a fork in the road, take it." -Yogi Berra

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction that occasionally contains rather graphic depictions of sexual activity between consenting adult men. If that's not your cup of tea, or if it is illegal for you to possess or read such material, then please go elsewhere. This story is copyrighted, 2008, and may not be reproduced, reposted or published without the expressed permission of the author.

From Chapter 11:

Call the cops if you want. I broke in. I saw Craig yesterday and he said you'd be alone this weekend. So I came over a half hour ago and I shimmied up the rail to the front porch. I knew you guys usually leave that door unlocked, so I took my chances. I figured if the door was locked, then I'd check the front windows, or wait out there until you got home." He held out a glass. "I wanted to talk about last weekend."

CHAPTER 12

Scott took the glass and set it down on the coffee table. Then he took the other from Greg and set it next to the first. He smiled broadly and gripped his waist. "You break into my apartment, pour a couple glasses of wine, strip down to nothing but a jockstrap and wait for me. And you expect me to believe that you want to talk?" Scott pulled him in and mashed Greg's bulging pouch into his own crotch and then kissed him furiously for most of a minute. He pulled back. "You don't want to talk." He kneaded Greg's firm smooth ass cheeks.

Greg shot back a smoldering gaze and whispered. "No, Scott. I don't. I want you to make me your bitch boy. I want you to use me."

He'd never been that into domination, but his mood met the situation. Scott stepped back and picked up his glass of wine. He took a large gulp. "Take off my tie."

Greg grinned slightly and complied, loosening the knot beneath Scott's collar and undid the knot it. He carefully folded it over twice and lay in on the arm of the couch.

Scott took another drink. "Would you like some wine?"

Greg nodded. "Yes...yes...sir."

"Then unbutton my shirt. Don't forget the cuffs." Greg began to comply. "But lick my neck and my chin as you do it." Greg's tongue lapped at Scott's neck and chin, as the buttons were undone. Scott played with and pinched Greg's nipples as the shirt slowly opened, eliciting soft whimpers. "Now take the shirt off." Scott put down his glass of wine to allow Greg to slide the shirt off his shoulders and off his arms. He ruffled Greg's hair. "Good man." He handed Greg his glass of wine and they stared at each other as they shared another healthy sip.

Scott reached out and took Greg by the chin. "So, you're in the mood for a little direction tonight, huh?"

Greg looked down demurely. "Yeah. I want to make it up to you, and I like doin' this sometimes."

"How far you want to take it?"

Greg giggled softly and sighed. "If you go too far, I'll slap your face, unless my hands are tied down, but I'm good for anything right now. I want you to totally have your way." His face went almost solemn. "I need you make my ass all yours tonight...sir." He took another sip and set down the glass. "Now, how can I do your bidding, sir?"

Scott was getting into it and he sneered. "Get on your knees, bitch."

Greg hinted at a grin and immediately fell to his knees. Scott's hand went to the back of his head and he ground Greg's face into his own rapidly bulging crotch. Greg's hands came up and began to work on Scott's belt. Scott tapped his head. "Did I tell you to unbuckle my pants, boy?"

Greg's face came off the swollen pleats of Scott's slacks. "No, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

Scott sat on the couch. "Take off my shoes, and then the socks." Greg did as he was told while Scott leaned over and refilled both of the wine glasses on the coffee table. "Now lick my toes and feet. Both of them."

Twenty minutes later, the fattest cat in the world had waddled into Scott's bedroom closet for refuge. The noise and activity in the living room was just too much. He, himself, had licked Scott's feet more than once, but he'd not licked all the other places that the stranger was licking. Nor, did he imagine, he ever would, even if asked very politely.

Greg's hands were bound behind him with Scott's discarded necktie and he was on his knees on the couch, his head turned with his left cheek pressed up against the living room wall. Scott had kicked the coffee table back a few feet to give himself some room and was hammering his hips into Greg's sweaty ass cheeks, his cock into Greg's chute. He raised a hand and smacked Greg firmly. "What do you want?"

"I want you to give it to me harder sir! I want you deep inside of me!"

"You don't deserve it!"

"I know I don't, sir, but I'm begging you. Please, sir, may I have another?"

Scott smacked the other cheek with more force.

"Oh my goodness," he gasped, "thank you sir! Now please do me as hard as you can! I want it all, sir."

Scott reached up and grabbed Greg's shoulders. He drove himself into Greg and relished the moans and whimpers of satisfaction coming from below. Finally, he growled as he filled the condom completely before collapsing on top of Greg's back.

He smelled coffee and felt the mattress shift. He sat up as Greg handed him a steaming mug. "I had to hunt around for it, but I finally found the coffee. You're a coffee snob, huh? Only the fresh ground stuff, kept in the freezer."

Scott rubbed his eyes, grinned and sat up. He took the mug, leaned over and stole a quick kiss. "Yeah. Only way to go. No canned Folger's in his place."

Greg crawled back under the covers and then picked up his own mug from the bedside table.

There was a moment's silence as they both sipped the steaming brew. Finally, Scott broke through it. "That was something new for me." He looked at Greg and grinned. "Not that I'm complaining. It's not my usual cup of tea, but you were something else last night."

Greg giggled and rubbed Scott's knee beneath the sheets. "Not my usual thing either, but I really needed that, and I needed it from you. It was incredible, you monster."

"I'm gonna need a steam cleaner and a bottle of Fabreeze to clean that couch you know."

Greg cackled. "And I want to be there when you explain the stains on that necktie to the dry cleaner."

Scott looked at the floor to where the tie lay. "That is going in the garbage." He reached over Greg to put his mug on the table, and then lay an arm across his lover's chest. "Or maybe I'll frame it and hang it in here somewhere."

Greg put his mug next to Scott's and turned sideways, snuggling into the embrace. They kissed softly.

Scott moved his head back. "No fair. You brushed your teeth already and I've got morning mouth."

Greg kissed him again. "You taste great."

Scott scooted over Greg and headed to the bathroom. After relieving his bladder, brushing his teeth and rinsing his mouth, he scurried back to bed with a half hard cock leading the way. Greg grinned as Scott ambled back over and shimmied under the covers, reached over Greg and picked up his mug. Then he started to laugh.

Greg rolled onto his side and wiggled his hand down onto Scott's hip. "What's so funny?"

"You said My goodness!' Last night I was throwing it into you as hard as I could at your urging, you reached back and grabbed my ass hard, pulled me into you as deep as it goes and you whimpered Oh, my goodness!'"

Greg smiled. "Did I? I don't remember what I was saying. What's so funny about that? It's how I talk."

Scott smirked and shrugged. "Well, I'm more accustomed to hearing something a bit steamier, more profane I guess, like oh shit, oh fuck, god damn it.' But my goodness,' while complementary I suppose, was a new one for me."

Greg kissed his neck. "You know I'm not a potty mouth. My mom would come back and wash my mouth out if I tossed out the f-bomb. And just so you know, I don't give out a lot of my goodnesses.' You gotta be great in order to get a my goodness' from me."

Scott turned his head and kissed his nose. "You can `my goodness' me as much as you want." There was another minute of silence. Scott blinked a few times and turned his head. "So, tell me more about Nick." He took a big gulp of the cooling coffee. "I mean, you told me a bit about your high school relationship with him, but who is he? Where does he fit in?"

Greg put his mug down and rolled back onto his back. "Nick Torres is one of the nicest guys I've ever known. Only other guy I've ever been with. Great looking, as you saw," he smirked and took a sip. "He's very competitive but very sensitive. He has a great sense of humor. Mom is Anglo and Dad is Cuban. His grandpa came over from Havana during the revolution. Very rigid home life with tons of Latino machismo flowing through. So, if it's possible, he's even further back in the closet than I am. If his old man ever knew about him and me, he'd probably beat him to death." He paused. "But so would mine."

Before Scott could respond to the last remark, Greg looked over. "So, tell me about Marty."

Scott sighed. "My best friend. Funniest guy I've ever known. Happy go lucky, always optimistic, loyal as they come."

"Hot in the sack?"

Scott snorted and pinched Greg's right nipple. "Almost as hot as you." They kissed.

Greg blinked. "Seriously."

"Truth? Marty taught me most of what I know about sex with guys. Before meeting him, I'd swapped head as a teenager with a cousin of mine. I was with a couple other guys last year, but Marty and me were special. We were, I guess, mostly fuck buddies, but still so much more than that. We have a real special friendship, too. One unlike any I've ever had." He paused as he reflected on that thought. "Anyway, then Marty knocked up a wonderful woman who has a precious little girl and they just recently gave birth to my godson." He sighed again and kissed Greg's chin. "So we'll always be best friends with a lot of great memories."

Greg's brows arched. "But you and him still mess around?"

Scott settled his forehead into the crook of Greg's neck. "We have, once, since he got married. But I don't see much of that in our future. It is odd. Our friendship was born in part out of our sudden sexual relationship, but the friendship exists on its own. If we never got naked together again, the relationship would survive." He looked up. "And you and Nick?"

Greg rubbed his face and sighed heavily. "Shit. I don't know. The distance is a bitch, and he kind of hinted that he had something going on up in Minnesota. We had a great romp last weekend," he snickered shyly and kissed Scott's forehead, "as you know." He laughed out loud and mimicked Scott. "Nick, you have cum in your hair." They both laughed. "He just about died after you stormed out. It took me twenty minutes to talk him down from the ledge.""

Greg nestled down onto Scott's chest and licked his nipple. "And I basically told him in a round about way that you and me were working on something here."

Scott leered down at Greg's upward gaze. He craned his face downward and kissed the top of Greg's head. "And what would that be that we're working on?" Greg's soft caresses on his thigh had already brought his cock to attention. Now he gripped it. Scott gasped, then sighed. "No ties, right? I already ruined one of them on you."

Greg smiled up at him. "No ties. And I don't think my ass can handle any more swats." His tongue lightly danced on Scott's sternum and slowly worked its way downward.

Scott sighed. "Gotcha, sir." He sighed again as Greg's head disappeared beneath the sheets. "Oh my goodness!"

It was an open caucus meeting. By law, whenever they met to discuss policy, they had to meet in an open session. `The State Journal' reporter, Bruce Weeden sent Grant over to take notes and report back to him. Scott waved him over to an empty chair next to him along the back wall.

The members were discussing Frick's environmental and highway bills. Senator Winston, the gentleman from Lancaster was pounding on the table. He was, in Scott's mind, a relatively well-educated, very shrewd member of the Senate who probably represented his constituency pretty well. He was not, however, the body's most eloquent member. "Dog gonnit! If we can all get behind these bills it'll create jobs at a family supporting wage, and it'll get through the Assembly and the Governor's desk like shit through a goose!"

Frick's face beamed his approval.

Grant leaned over and whispered. "What did he just say?"

"Like shit through a goose."

Cornell suppressed a grin. "What the hell does that mean?"

Scott returned the smirk and whispered out of the side of his mouth. "Well, I've heard my dad say it a few times, and he always meant `in a hurry.'

He leaned closer to Grant and whispered. "But I'll tell you...I've golfed with a buddy on a course about thirty minutes north of here that's right next to a marsh. Hundreds of frigging geese, especially this time of year. In addition, tons and I mean tons of goose shit. And they shit big. Don't know if they shit fast, like I think the senator implied. But for birds, they shit big. If you play in the morning before the crew has worked on the course, you have to scope the greens for goose turds before you putt and then smack them away yourself. I mean, you can hit a hard goose turd with a putter and make it hop or roll away."

Three or four of the members' heads turned when Grant laughed. Scott bit his bottom lip and looked at his shoes.

Grant regained his composure and made sure the senators were all fully engaged again in the meeting before the left side of his mouth spoke. "Sorry, I was just picturing you lining up a putt on a goose turd."

"Been there, done that. But was able to blame a couple of losses on the goose dump that was in the line of my putt." Scott whispered back.

Neither guy dared speak again for the rest of the caucus meeting.

A couple days later, as they had lunch together, Scott dropped his soupspoon and grabbed the glass of iced tea. He took too big of a gulp and coughed. "Are you shitting me?"

Grant shook his head and smirked. "It's been the buzz in the press room for weeks. The Guv's chief of staff, Marsha Hawley, is doin' Frick, and vice versa. Word is a maintenance gal caught `em goin' at it in his office one night while she was just making her usual rounds doing the cleaning."

"No shit!" Scott mulled it over for a second. "I guess I'm not surprised. I think they both crawled out of the same pool of political slime." He stabbed at his salad and munched some more.

Grant grinned and bit into his hot pastrami. He munched for a time. "The debate is whether or not it's a story."

Scott was incredulous. He dropped his spoon again after slurping another small load of clam chowder. "What do you mean, not a story?"

"Well, Frick's married and Marsha's long been thought to be a dyke." Scott winced a little. "But there's a strong school of thought that if their messing around isn't having any impact on their jobs or the state's business, it's not newsworthy. It might be enough for Mrs. Frick to want to cut his balls off, but not enough for us to blow it up into something that's sensational but not newsworthy. We're not Entertainment Tonight, for Christ's sake. Besides, Weeden and Frick are kind of buddies."

Scott mulled it over and nodded. "True enough."

Chad had an evil grin and he leaned into the table. "I'll bet he whimpers and begs while she ties him down, smacks his ass and then fucks him with a strap-on."

Scott nearly spit out a mouthful of chowder. "God! You're an evil man with a terrible imagination! That image is just gross. I'm trying to eat here, ya' know." He couldn't help but think of Greg's passionate reactions the night before when he had him pinned against the bed. He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows. "But could be." He looked around to see if anybody might hear him. Coast was clear. "She's a mean, vindictive cunt and he's a sleazy little snake. They're perfect for each other."

Grant snickered as he wiped his lips and then tossed the napkin on his empty plate. "My thoughts exactly." He looked over Scott's head rather wistfully and sighed. "Too bad it's not a real story." He looked back at Scott. "They can fuck day and night, but until or unless it affects their jobs or the state's business, it's not newsworthy."

"Even if they're fuckin' under the dome?"

Grant shrugged. "Well, assuming the rumor is true, if the cleaning gal had called the cops, it'd been a different matter. I can't cite the statute, but I'm sure having sex in the State Capitol is against the law, even after hours. But apparently she didn't tell anybody other than her supervisor, three days later. Happened on a Friday and she supposedly told the boss about in on Monday. He's a wimp who isn't going to do anything about it now. So as it stands, it's only a nasty rumor.

"And, uhm, bad news from the Press Room too. I can tell you what Weeden is sure it's not a story. Campaign contributions. I did some research. Sure, a ton of money is coming in from out of state, but it's all within the limits and all legal. Bruce is quick to say `we report news. We don't manufacture it where it isn't. When it suits him, of course. Like I said, he and Frick are pretty tight. When it suits him, Frick leaks shit to Bruce and then Bruce decides what to report and what not to report. There's a lot of self-editing that goes on there. If there is such a thing as any media bias, it's often found in what we choose not to zero in on and write about.

Scott was the first back to the apartment that afternoon and picked two day's worth of mail out of the box. Standing in the kitchen sorting it into four piles, one for the trash, he came across an over-sized post card with a brilliant photo of Ayer's Rock. It was addressed to him.

The handwriting was small, but it was very neat. "G'day Turner,

"It's a blast from your past here!

"I came to Melbourne last summer and hunkered down at Glenn's place. Well, one thing led to another, and I've made a few great adjustments in my life, much to my father's dismay. First, I enrolled in an MBA program at Melbourne University. Then I came out to my family and Glenn and I have become quite the hot item." Scott grinned. "My dad's still having a fit, but I can't tell you what a relief it's been. Not only do I have the greatest guy in the world in my life, but also it feels like the weight of that world has been lifted off my shoulders. Anyway, we're doing Christmas with Glenn's family, and then flying back to The States to spend the week with my folks in Brookfield. We'll probably shoot over to Madison for a day or two. Wondering if you'll be in town that week and might want to have dinner or something. My e-mail address is printed at the bottom of this card. Keep in mind, though, that we're 17 hours ahead of you on the clock.

"Hope we can make this work

"Take it easy,

"Kip"

Scott giggled. "Well smack my ass and call me Sally! Sounds like ol' Kippy really has his shit together." Be brought the card and the rest of his mail to the bedroom. He taped the postcard to the side of his computer screen as a reminder to check his calendar. He and Greg had talked about a trip north to his dad's cabin, but that wouldn't be until over a week into January, just before classes resumed. Might work,' he thought. I'd be coming down for a little while for some WSA work anyway.'

It had been a long day. Scott had left campus and returned to the office for an hour to dispense with a few e-mails he'd neglected that morning. At about 5:30, he strolled to his car, drove the few blocks to the lot and parked the car. It had snowed a couple of inches during the day. It was one of those wet, heavy coatings, great for snowballs but probably not enough for a snowman. He trudged through the sticky powder for a half a block. Just as he put his foot on the first of four steps leading to the front door he was showered with a huge clump of the white stuff.

"What the fuck?" He tried in vain to grab as much snow as he could from sliding down beneath his back collar.

Brett leaned over the balcony's railing and cackled, holding the push broom he was using to clear the surface. "Happy Birthday, Mr. President."

"You're slime, and a crazy fucker, you know that?"

"Yep." He turned toward the screen door. "Craig, honey, our boy's home. Open another beer for his special day."

He was still shivering as he hit the top stair leading into the apartment and Craig was smirking. He handed his buddy a Leine's Red, one of Scott's favorites. "Happy Birthday, bud."

They tapped the necks of the bottles together. "Thanks, man."

Craig walked back into the kitchen. "We're cookin' dinner tonight. No brats tonight for the birthday boy. Twice-baked potatoes are in the oven. Ribeyes are seasoned and ready to hit the grill. The salad is tossed, the bread sliced and warming, and the beer is chilling."

Scott took a good long draw from his bottle. "Sounds great. A hell of a meal. Thanks, bud. I'm gonna have to get up and run tomorrow."

Brett came back in from the porch, kicking his boots on the door jam to shake off the snow. "Gonna light the grill."

"Fuck you asshole," Scott smirked. "I hope you go up in flames."

Brett giggled and rubbed Scott's wet back. "Such a mean-spirited birthday boy."

Scott smiled. "I ain't cookin'. I'm gonna lose the tie, put on some sweats and check my e-mails. You boys can get everything ready." Scott closed the door to his room and booted up the computer. He slipped the tie off, shed the oxford and the Dockers and put on some sweats and a UW sweatshirt. He clicked on the inbox and changed his socks.

He looked at the inbox and smiled. "That son of a bitch." Walter Jamieson had obviously told everybody in the WSA that it was his birthday. There were over thirty emails with "Happy Birthday" in the subject line. His cell phone rang. It was Greg's number on the screen.

"Hey."

"Happy Birthday, stud."

Scott snorted. "Well, thanks, sexy."

"The roomie's gone for the night. Want to come over so I can...uhm...give you your present?" His tone of voice suggested everything Scott might want.

Scott paused and cleared his throat. "Uhm, that sounds great. But the guys are cooking dinner for me tonight, so I have to hang here." He thought about the invitation and his cock stirred. "For a while anyway."

"How long?"

Scott thought about it. "Probably two or three hours. I don't want to dis the guys. They've obviously planned this for me."

"Gotcha." Greg sighed.

"Can I call you later?"

Greg paused. "Buddy, you can call me whatever you want tonight, but you're gonna have to come over here to do it. I don't do phone sex."

Scott snickered as he reached for his comfy slippers. "Naughty boy."

"Maybe. We'll see. Call me."

"I will."

They both hung up, and Scott looked back at the computer screen. Later,' he said to himself. I'll send them all thank you notes tomorrow.' It dawned on him that he didn't know when `Radar's' birthday was and he felt guilty about it. He resolved to fix that.

The three stood out in the cold while Brett tended the grill, then feasted on what was one of Scott's favorite meals. Scott sipped a second beer during the meal. When Craig went to get another round, he waved him off. "Not me, dude. I gotta drive tonight."

"What?" Craig shot a surprised glance at Scott.

He shrugged. "My buddy Greg called. He's struggling with a history project and needs some help. I told him I'd come over to the dorm and help him out."

Brett dropped the plates into the sink and ran the faucet. "Well, that's nice of you, but it kinda sucks. I figured we'd play poker or something and I'd clean you out by cheating." He and Craig exchanged glances.

Scott snorted and stood up. "You always have been cheating us at cards, haven't you?" He rubbed and patted his flat stomach. "Guys, that was great. Thanks for dinner. But I'm gonna take a quick shower and head over to the dorm."

Brett arched his brows as Scott exited the kitchen. He whispered. "Take a shower to go help a guy with a paper?"

Craig looked back sternly. "That's what he said he was doing. Then that's what he's doing."

Brett opened a fresh beer and took a long swig. He inhaled deeply and belched. "Whatever."

Scott rapped on the door to Greg's room. "It's open. Come on in," he heard from the other side. The room was lit dimly by just a table lamp with a towel draping its shade. Greg stood wearing only a jockstrap. He knew Scott enjoyed the image of him in a jock and he rather favored the look himself. He wasn't exactly vain, but he knew it looked hot. He grabbed the lapels of Scott's leather coat and mashed their lips together. He broke the kiss and leaned his head back a bit. "You're late, birthday boy. How was dinner?" He slid Scott's coat off of his shoulders and tossed it on the desk chair.

"It was great." Scott grabbed Greg's smooth ass with both hands and ground their crotches together. "But I'm ready for dessert."

Greg nuzzled his neck and snickered. "Still hungry, are you?" He looked up and pecked Scott's lips.

Scott smiled. "You know it."

Greg put both hands on Scott's chest and pushed him back toward the bed, finally forcing him over the edge of the mattress onto his back. Before Scott could say so much as `whoa' Greg was laying flat on top of him with his tongue in Scott's mouth. Scott felt the pouch of Greg's jock expanding as they continued to make out on the bed. Greg slid the bottom hem of Scott's sweatshirt upward. Starting at Scott's beltline, his tongue did a dance up to Scott's right nipple, where his tongue and lips did a vigorous dance.

"Oh, God!" Scott sighed. He grabbed the back of Greg's head and sighed again. "Mmmm...damn!"

Greg suddenly stood up. "Get up and get naked. Need to have the birthday boy in his birthday suit." He went to the sink and turned the hot water on. A bottle of oil had been sitting in hot water for the past hour, but he wanted to add a few more degrees. By the time he turned around, Scott had quickly complied with his directive and he stood there, looking magnificent with his member half hard at nearly a ninety-degree angle from his groin. Greg leered. "Very nice. Now lay down on your stomach." Scott did as asked. "Fold your hands up under your head or under the pillow so that I can get at your arms. I'm gonna give you your birthday massage. You'll appreciate Nick, I think, in a little while. He taught me how to do this right."

Scott just sighed as Greg straddled his hamstrings. He felt the heated oil being swirled up and down, left and right, from the bottom of his neck to the lower traps, just above his ass. Greg spread the oil around gently with two flat hands. After a minute, the hands arched so that only his fingertips gently roamed up and down, left and right. Scott was quickly relaxing when Greg went to work on his neck. He kneaded the back of Scott's neck, and then held the sides working his thumbs deep into the tissue. "You're tense, Scott."

"Mmmmm. Less than I was when I got here, getting better every minute." Greg worked the neck for another couple of minutes, and then expanded his scope to Scott's deltoids. He worked the shoulders softly at first but then ramped it up a couple notches. He put some more oil in his hands and, one at a time, worked both of Scott's upper arms. Wrapping his fingers as far as he could around Scott's triceps and biceps, he massaged as if he were wringing out a washcloth. After a couple minutes on each upper arm, Greg whispered, "Hold up your right hand." Scott lazily raised his arm while Greg slathered his hands in fresh oil and rubbed them together. He gripped Scott's forearm firmly and worked his hands up and down, and up and down again several more times. He held Scott's wrist in his left hand and, one by one worked each finger between his oily thumb and forefinger. Then he repeated the routine with the left arm and hand. Scott just sighed. His hard cock was now aching beneath him and he was beginning to leak onto his stomach and Greg's comforter.

Having finished with the upper extremities, Greg whispered. "How we doin?"

Scott moaned a muffled response. "I'm all yours, Greg. And we're doing abso-fucking-lutely great."

Greg grinned. "Well, hang in there. Gonna work on the lats now, and work my way down to the lower traps bit by bit. But I'm merciless."

"Gimme your best, Greg."

He felt a fresh coating of oil being drizzled up and down his back as Greg shimmied down a little lower and he was sitting on Scott's calves. Greg began with slow, up and down swipes from the very top of his glutes all the way up his back. Gradually, his thumbs became more aggressive, digging into the tissue all along the way. Then Greg made two fists and Scott felt his knuckles boring into the various muscle groups as they made their way slowly, south to north and north to south. He moaned into the pillow. Greg grinned again, the wet spot on the pouch of his jockstrap growing by the minute.

Now he was sitting atop Scott's ankles drizzling oil over the ass cheeks. He snickered. "This is my favorite part."

Scott just nodded, half-conscious. "Mm hmm."

Greg kneaded the glutes with vigor. A couple of times, Scott raised his hips to meet the greedy fingers. Greg swatted his left ass cheek. "Simmer down, son. I'm in charge here."

"Mmmmmmm. Yes, sir."

Greg parted Scott's legs and propped on his knees between Scott's ankles. He separated the glutes, revealing the very inviting, twitching rosebud between them. He leaned in, first flicking the opening with the tip of his tongue. Scott gasped, then whimpered. Then he sharpened and pointed his tongue and plunged in with determination and purpose. Scott yelped and Greg smiled. He lifted his head. "Only one way to correctly massage the sphincter muscle."

Scott raised his ass and reached behind him, searching for Greg's head. "Don't stop, buddy. That muscle needs some work. Greg dove back in and Scott raised his ass further to meet his invasion. Greg reached between Scott's legs and grabbed onto his hot, throbbing cock. It was slick with precum. He raised his head. "Dude, you're making a mess on my comforter."

Scott regained his bearings well enough to mutter, "You're causing the mess, and if you keep playing with that thing you're gonna have a much bigger mess." Greg snickered again and released the pole.

He finished by oiling the back of Scott's legs, working his greedy hands down the hamstrings and the calves, and finished with a vigorous wrap-around assault on each foot, and finally sucked on all ten of Scott's toes.

"How ya' feeling."

"God. I've died and gone to heaven."

Greg lightly tapped his ass. "Roll over. We're not done yet."

Scott did as he was told, rolling onto his back and linking his oily fingers behind his head. "Dude! That was unreal!

Greg just smiled and stood. He shimmied out of his jock and his nine-inch monster sprang to life. He looked down. "See what your body does to me?"

Scott just shrugged as Greg lay on top of him and kissed him passionately, deeply. After a couple of minutes, he raised his face. "Time for my payback. Not to worry, though, Scott. I'm going to do all the work." He leaned to his right and fumbled to find the condom and lube he'd stashed there when Scott had called to say he was coming over.

Thirty minutes later, Greg was gently wiping Scott's chest and abs with a warm, wet washcloth. He removed the condom and tossed it in the trash, then bent over and sucked hungrily on his lover's deflating member.

"Jesus! Greg! Sensitive right now. Take it easy!"

Greg smiled and smacked his lips. "Good to the last drop." He gently wrapped the cloth around Scott's manhood and ministered to his nut sack before tossing the cloth in the sink.

Around midnight, Scott stirred and sat up. "Damn! I gotta go, Greg. I gotta be at work at eight." He cleared his throat and rolled over Greg to find his clothes. "Hope the guys are asleep." He pulled on his jeans, zipping up and fastening the belt. After wiggling into his sweatshirt, he grabbed his shoes and sat on the bed. "I told `em I was coming over to help you with a paper, and I'm going back smelling of oil and cum."

Greg frowned. "You're not sorry you came over, are you?"

Scott guffawed and threw his head back. "Are you fucking kidding me?" He leaned back and kissed Greg gently. "I'm grateful I came over. I'm glad we're back. We are back, aren't we?"

Greg smiled and blushed a little. "Yeah. Back to what, I don't know yet and neither, I believe, do you."

Scott thought for a second and nodded. "You're right. I don't know." He pecked Greg's lips again. "All I do know for sure is that I really, really like it whatever the hell it is."

Greg rubbed his back as Scott tied his shoes. "Me too, Scott. Day at a time, okay?"

Scott smiled. "Yep. I just wish every day was my birthday." He kissed his lover, still naked under the sheets, one more time. "Day at a time. I have to run. Thanks again, Greg. I feel like a million bucks." He stood and grabbed his bomber jacket. "Best birthday I've ever had. Probably talk to you tomorrow."

Greg was propped up on an elbow. "Hope so. Have a good night. Thanks for coming over."

Scott smiled. "Believe me, the pleasure was all mine." He sighed. "You're amazing."

Greg smiled back. "Get out of my room, now, or we're gonna start all over again."

"K G'night." And he closed the door behind him. He was going to sleep like a baby tonight.

Early Monday morning, Marshall Oakes bellowed into the phone. "Turner? You're going to support and endorse Scott Turner?"

Maureen sighed. "That's right, Marshall. Scott's going to announce this afternoon and I plan to support him and will eventually endorse him publicly." She had returned to the district over the weekend to announce her intent to seek the Attorney General's position and that she'd be leaving the State Senate at the end of this term. It made the Sunday papers in the state's big media markets and was in all the morning papers and on the local radio stations back home.

There was a stunned silence for most of a minute.

"Marshall? Are you still there?"

"But...but...Jesus Christ, Maureen, after all I've done for you? This is a stab in the back. It's a humiliation. Half the frigid' county knows I've been gearing up for this for months.'

Maureen nodded. "Now, Marshall, you know I've always appreciated your support, and I always will. I tell people all the time that you don't get enough credit for all your hard work for the party. And I'll continue to support you in your role as party chair of the county. But I can't help it if you jumped the gun in letting people know of your plans."

"God damn it, Maureen! You can't do this to me!"

"I'm not really doing anything to you, Marshall. You're still free to run in the primary and challenge Scott for the nomination. But he will have my support. I'll never speak ill of you or your candidacy. But I will make it clear whom I prefer will follow me into this seat, Scott Turner, Sr. I'm sorry Marshall, but that's the way it is."

The line went dead.

Maureen sat back and sighed. She whispered to herself. "I'm glad that's finally over." Five minutes later she heard Randy's cell phone ring. He got up from his desk and closed the door. She could hear his muffled voice. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but he was obviously agitated. After five minutes, the door flung open and Randy stomped out, struggling to get into his sport coat. He didn't speak. He just glared at her and hurried out of the office.

Just before eleven, Scott dialed Kelly's number. He had been suffering under a gnawing guilt for over a week now. The way he just left Kelly sitting on the bed in the hotel room was shabby. On the third ring, Kelly answered. "Hello, this is Kelly."

"Uhm, hi Kelly. It's Scott." This voice was decidedly meek.

"What do you want?"

"Uhm, I'd like to take you to lunch. I want to try and clear the air. I want us to be friends, Kelly. Really, I do."

"Well, you have a damned odd way of showing it."

"I'm sorry Kelly, I just kind of freaked. Come on. Let's get a couple of burgers and a big basket of those great onion rings at The Union."

"Weeellll..."

"How about tomorrow? I'm done up here at noon and can meet you at about 12:30."

"Well, my only afternoon class doesn't start `til two tomorrow."

"Ditto! Tell you what. Maybe I can sneak out a little early and meet you at 12:15. That'll give us almost an hour and a half."

She sighed. "Well I do have to eat, and I love their burgers and I haven't had lunch there in ages. Okay, Scott. But don't expect me to be all, like, sunshine and roses."

"I understand, Kelly. Thanks a lot. See you then."

The voice came from over his shoulder. "You knew." Scott swiveled in his chair. Randy Oakes leaned on the top of the wall of Scott's cube.

"Huh?"

Randy pointed and sneered. "You ffffucking knew." He spit on his chin with `fucking.' He reeked. It was barely eleven in the morning and he was drunk. Scott was pretty sure what it was he supposedly knew, but wanted to be certain.

"Knew what, Randy?" He pulled the spare chair from under the desk. "C'mere, Randy, sit down and fill me in." More than anything, he wanted to get the guy as far out of public view as possible. Maybe he could avoid making too much of an ass out of himself and not embarrass Scott in the process.

Randy waved a hand. "Fuck that! You knew that that bitch was gonna shit on my old man so that she could embrace her golden boy's daddy and hold his fucking hand into her seat." He took his elbow off the wall. Without the additional support, he began to weave a bit so he put his arm back where it was. Penny Harrington, one of the full time members of the staff walked by and raised her brows and then did a double take. One didn't often hear that kind of language within the walls of the caucus complex. "How long have you known, Scotty? His tone when he used the name was very sarcastic. "When me and my dad were asking you to join the campaign? You could have told me then. Instead, my old man is gonna be humiliated throughout the county."

"Uhm, I don't exactly recall exactly when I learned about it. But if I did know then, I probably wouldn't have said anything anyway. Dad and Maureen were clear when I found out that they wanted to keep it under wraps until she announced for the AG's job. I'm guessing that now that that cat's out of the bag, my dad will announce today."

"Ha! You got that right. Two o'clock press conference at the county courthouse. An' he's gonna have some company besides the good men and women of the press corps."

"Uhm, what are you gonna do, Randy?"

"Oh, I wanna see Big Scott's' announcement. An' I'm gonna make sure that Mister Big Scott' Turner and everybody else knows that the candidate's son is a dope smoking, cock-sucking butt pirate who's raising all sorts of hell in Madison."

"Randy, that's sleazy. Besides, you're in no shape to drive. You're bombed. It's obvious."

"You're climbing in and out of the sack with me, with that Marty guy, with God knows who else, and I'm sleazy. That's fucking rich, you fucker." He looked at his watch. "Well, Scotty, I got a two o'clock appointment back home. Got just enough time. Gotta run now. Ta ta! You have yourself a real nice day, asshole." He swung around and lumbered toward the exit to the caucus offices.

Scott sat back and pinched his nose. "Okay, think." He sat for another minute more. He dialed a number. It didn't ring, but went right to voicemail. "Hi, this is Scott Turner, sorry I can't..." `Fuck, it's shut off.' He hung up and dialed another number. "Turner Law Office. How may I help you?"

"Daisy, I really gotta talk to Dad."

"Lord have mercy! Scotty dear! How are you?"

"Sorry Daisy, really don't have time to chat. I just need to talk to Dad. It's really important. Is he in?"

"Sorry, honey, he's in court all morning. And that judge will shoot you if your phone rings in his courtroom. All morning, and probably into the lunch hour. Then he's doing his big political thing at two." Her voice gave evidence of her dismay over Big Scott's decision to run.

"I know. But I really need to talk to him. Any way you can get word to him that he needs to call me as soon as he can?"

"What's the matter dearie?"

"I'm okay. There's nothing wrong here, so don't worry. I just need to talk to him. Sorry, Daisy, but I have to run now. If there's anything you can do to put us in touch..."

She sighed. "I'll see what I can do, but can't make any promises."

"Got it. Thanks a lot."

He hung up and redialed Big Scott's cell phone. "Dad, it's me. Call me back as soon as you get this. AS SOON as you get this you have to call me back. I'm okay. Nothing wrong here, but we need to talk as soon as you get this message. Call me." He checked his watch. It was coming up on 11:30. A two-hour drive and Randy would be there with a little time to spare. He logged off his computer and grabbed his coat. He marched over to Will's office and stuck his head in. Will looked like Hell. "Uhm, Will, I'm going over to Senator McCarthy's office for a few minutes, then knocking off, okay?"

His boss just waved his approval and went back to his finance report.

Maureen's assistant was away from her desk, and the senator's office door was closed. That meant she was in a meeting with somebody important. "Shit." He headed for the stairs. He paused outside the doorway to the massive building and grabbed his cell. Greg answered right away. "Hello?"

"Hey, whatcha doin'?"

"Working on an outline for a Lit. paper. Class at two. What're you doin'?"

"Uhm, basically, right now, I'm kinda freakin' out here. You alone?"

"Yeah. Darrin's got classes all day today."

"I'm comin' over. Just don't want to be alone right now. Like I said, I'm kinda freakin' out here."

Greg sat upright and frowned. "What the hell's goin' on?"

"I'll tell you when I get there. See you in about fifteen." He hung up.

They were sitting on the floor of the dorm room. Greg was propped up against the side of the bed with Scott nestled between his legs, his head resting on Greg's shoulder. Greg rubbed his chest softly as a tear trickled down the side of his face. "Greg, I am so fucked, and so is my dad, and it's all my fault."

"Sssshhhhh. You said this guy was drunk, right?"

"Yeah, and probably stoned too, by now." He picked up his cell phone and glared at it. "Ring goddammit! Ring!"

Greg patted his chest. "Relax. You've done all you can to get hold of him. What are you gonna tell him when he calls?"

Scott sighed. "Well, if he calls me before the conference, I'll just warn him that Randy's gonna show up, that he's loaded, he's crazy, he's madder'n a wet hen and he's spewing shit."

"And if it's after the conference?"

Scott shrugged. "I guess that depends on the kind of performance Randy puts on. Assuming he's really gonna go through with this."

Greg kissed the top of his head. "You think he's gonna?"

Scott scoffed. "Greg, this is a guy who had sex with Marty in the bed of his pickup two stories beneath the governor, the new majority leader and half the state's press corps. And if you'd have seen him a couple hours ago, you'd agree that he's capable of just about anything today."

"Kind of a reckless guy sometimes, huh?"

"That's the understatement of the year." He looked at his watch. "Hey, it's one thirty. Don't you need to get ready and head out for class?"

"Fuck that. The outline's almost done, the paper's not due for another week, and I'll get the notes from somebody else. We're stayin' here `til your Dad calls."

Scott laced their fingers together and he kissed the back of Greg's hand. "Thanks bud."

They cuddled a while longer without speaking. At a quarter to two, the phone finally rang. Scott and Greg both jumped. "Dad!"

"Scotty, what the hell..."

"Just listen, Dad. It's Randy, Randy Oakes. He..."

His father cut him off. "You already heard?"

Scott was confused. "Huh? Heard what?"

"It came across the police radio at the courthouse about a half hour ago. According the deputy I talked to during a recess he must have been traveling like a bat out of Hell. We had some sleet and light snow over the weekend. Randy apparently hit some black ice on a curve, rolled the truck two or three time before wrapping it around a huge oak tree about twenty minutes south of here. I guess there was a half-empty liter of vodka in the cab of the truck with him Scott, Randy's dead."

Author's Note: Well, if I had to choose a winter in which to wind up partially and temporarily disabled, this is the one. Nearly 85 inches of snow, occasional freezing rain, and below zero when it's not snowing. Good time to stay inside and write. Another thanks to everyone who has sent along their well wishes. Getting better every day. This chapter is for those of you who wrote to give me the business for going so long on the politics and short on the sex in the last chapter. Hang in there, Kory, and thanks again for all your help.

Comments, questions, complaints and queries are always welcomed at: scotty.13411@hotmail.com

I genuinely love the feedback of all perspectives.