Fork in the Road

FORK IN THE ROAD By Scott Turner Chapter 7

"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 no 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.

CHAPTER 7

"Well, if it isn't my second favorite politico!" Bradley Manning beamed from behind the host's podium. He came out around and extended a hand. Scott took Bradley's right hand in his own and the host's left hand quickly landed on his shoulder. The man simply could not greet a person with just one hand.

Scott smiled. "Good to see you, Bradley. It's been too long." He waited for Bradley to let go and patiently tolerated being eyed up and down one more time. "Is your first favorite politico here yet?"

He smiled and nodded and picked up a menu. "I just served her some coffee. You're at the usual table. Come with me." He looked over his shoulder. "So the Capitol is treating you well, and college life is still good I take it?"

"Yeah, Bradley. It's all good thanks."

Maureen smiled and closed a three ring binder. The host pulled out his chair and placed the menu on the placemat. "Coffee for you too, Scott?"

Before answering he leaned over and kissed Maureen's cheek. "Yes, please and lots of it. This slave driver drags me out at 6:30 on a Monday. Lots and lots of coffee."

Bradley giggled. "I'll bring a cup, and a pot."

Maureen arched her right brow in a question. "Good weekend?"

Scott sighed. "All in all, very good, very lazy. Grilled out with some buds Friday night, hung over on Saturday and slept in late. Badgers were away in Michigan, so caught the game on TV. Then watched the Packers yesterday with the roomies but found enough time to pour over some stuff for today's Regents meeting."

She rolled her eyes. "My god. Swimming in an ocean of testosterone."

He sipped the java and grinned with a nod. "What do ya' expect? Three virile, manly college males all under one roof." He sipped again. "Hey, I talked to Dad yesterday. He said the fundraiser back home on Saturday went well."

She nodded. "Very well, and it was actually kind of fun." Then she sighed. "But I'm afraid I'm nearing the point where the shoe is going to have to drop on Marshall Oakes."

Scott frowned. "What do you mean?"

She sighed again. "Confidential, right?"

Scott's frown deepened.

"Okay, okay. Not to offend." They paused to place their order with the waitress. Once the coast was clear she leaned in. "Well, here's the way I see it. In the November elections, we should be able to increase our majority by one seat. I'll have a year left in my term, but more solid footing as leader. Once the dust settles, that will clear the way for Ted Hackett to announce his intent to run for his final stint in the governor's office, if only to shoo away anybody with dreams on his job. Then, the AG will announce his intent to retire, and I'll announce for his seat."

"So, it's all good."

She arched both eyebrows now and tilted her head. "And then Marshall Oakes is going to call me and ask for my endorsement of his bid for my seat."

Scott put down his mug. "And you're going to have to tell him no." He thought about it. "But you knew this day was coming, right?" She shrugged and waved a hand. "Oh, of course I did. And I knew it when I hired Randy. But methinks shit is gonna hit the fan with Marshall, and I'm not sure that Randy won't leave."

Scott took a sip of water. "You going to tell him who you are supporting?" Maureen had actively, but quietly, recruited Scotty's father, `Big Scott' Turner to run for the seat.

"No, I don't think so. For now, I think I'm just going to tell him that it wouldn't be appropriate for me to interfere in the primary and nominating process within the party a full year out." She pursed her lips. "It's kind of sad. Marshall would make a decent senator. He's a great organizer, but he's a drunk and has no vision that I can discern. With him it's all for the party, for the sake of the party, and nothing else."

Scott wanted to say `his son, and your Chief of Staff, is a drunk, too,' but he was pretty sure she already knew that.

Their breakfasts arrived and Scott refilled both coffee cups. As he cut into his sausage, he asked, "Hey, what's going on with this environmental stuff Frick has us working on?"

She poured syrup on the French toast and shrugged. "Not sure. He's the caucus chair, and actually he's more your boss that I am. I don't deal with that crap, with due respect. It's his job. He's mentioned in general terms that he and other members are taking some flack about the heavy-handed tactics of the DNR on some issues."

"But that whole area of law has never been an item of concern on the caucus agenda. It's like he's making it up on his own. I talk to most of the members offices every week and nobody's ever brought it up other than Senator Frick."

"And the argument that is once again raising its ugly head is that private citizens who own private property need greater leeway to make private decisions about how to manage what they own without onerous state interference." Maureen wiped her lips and leaned over. "And he's raising a shit load of money for the Senate Election Committee of our party."

Scott swallowed a mouthful. "Even if it means that nearby public lands and public rivers and streams and public air could be ruined by those private decisions? Jeez, Maureen, even the City of Madison has stopped salting some of our streets in the winter because of the lakes."

She slowly shook her head and grinned. "Oh, for Christ's sake! A lot of the nuts in Madison would have us back on horses and buggies for transportation, then go on to argue about how to best regulate the gas emission from horse farts. There's a grain of truth to the old joke that this city is an island of forty square miles surrounded by a sea of reality. Besides, it's just a bad analogy, Scotty. The streets are public, so are the lakes. The city council made the right decision. Frick is raising questions about public regulations over private property."

He knew she was right, but took another shot at it. "So if I buy lakeside property of my own, can I salt the living daylights out of my back patio knowing it's going to run into the lake? Or put in my own landfill or a nuclear waste disposal site just because I own the land?"

She chuckled. "God, I love you for this. On the nukes, probably not, but that's federal. The city, and probably the DNR, would slap your hand about the salting. But as I understand it, you'd have some serious hoops to jump through if you want the landfill. Although why you'd want it is beyond me."

He was starting to get pissed now, feeling patronized.

Scott blinked a few times and Maureen put down her fork. "Don't worry about it dear. Jeremy Frick is far from my favorite person in the world. But he knows his district, knows politics, is a good chair for the caucus and obviously knows how to milk a cash cow." She sipped her coffee. "For now, `nuff said."

Scott heard, shut up and do your job and he told himself, time to change the subject.'

"So how's Kelly? Haven't seen her in ages." Maurine's niece, Kelly, had worked an internship in Governor Hackett's office that had ended with the start of the school year. So, she wasn't at the Capitol any more, not that they'd seen a lot of each other when she was there.

Maureen paused and sighed once more. "It's a mixed bag. She came home with me to help with the fundraiser and we had something of a girls' weekend together. Sounds like she loved the stint at the governor's office. I think she's been bitten by the political bug in a pretty big way. And her sorority work is good for her. But it sounds like things between she and Jayson are going to hell in a hand basket. Frankly, I always thought he was kind of a dullard."

Scott snickered and looked up. She was staring at him with a wistful expression. "Scotty, I always wished that you and she..."

He cut her off, something he almost never did. His hand went up. "Don't bother, Maureen. Please don't go there."

She started to go there anyway. "She told me about your little rendezvous the weekend of Marty's wedding.

He was mildly shocked. "She did?"

She giggled. "Don't worry, dear. She spared me the steamy details." She took another run at it. "But don't you think..."

This time both hands went up. "Enough. You know I love you. You're a great friend, a great senator, a great leader and I love you dearly. But please don't try to play matchmaker. At least not with me, if you please."

Maureen looked down shyly. "Then I should tell you that I encouraged her to give you a call."

He shrugged and nodded. "That'd be just fine. I'll never refuse a call from Kelly. I want us to be friends, and I think she knows that. But holster your expectations, will ya?" He filled his mouth with the last forkful of eggs and hash browns, wiped his mouth, shoved the plate aside.

"Hear you loud and clear, ya' little shit." She grinned at him warmly and checked her watch. "Time for one more cup of mud?"

He smiled. "Yeah. Will's still in the hospital and Frick's never in the Capitol until Tuesday anyway, so even if I'm a little late I've got you to cover my ass."

This time she poured. "So, Regents meeting today, huh? What's going on in our hallowed ivory towers these days?"

Scott shrugged. "Pretty mundane agenda this month. But after last spring's pissing match with Pennington, I've been flying below his radar more or less. Most of the time will be spent just discussing budgeting possibilities for next year." He smirked at her. "Depending on how badly you folks try to screw us next year, we want to be prepared. That's what I spent time on over the weekend. I have a few thoughts, but want to see how the discussion flows before jumping in. But you know me, I'd prefer cutting nothing and adding plenty."

Maureen snorted. "Earth to Scotty!"

He shrugged, "I know, I know." They chatted a while longer about the weekend and the fundraiser, reminisced a bit and babbled about some of the gossip circulating under the dome. She let Scott pick up the tab, since he had called her, but she insisted on leaving the tip. They exchanged the obligatory pleasantries with Bradley on their way into the lobby, and then walked arm-in-arm across the street.

Cornell was just coming up the sidewalk at the same time. He looked at the two of them, grinned and shook his head. `Lucky fucker.' Chad followed them down the broad entry hallway. Maureen hugged Scott and headed for the elevator.

"Little ass kissing for breakfast, Mr. Turner?"

Scott turned and smiled. "Care to eat shit and die for breakfast, `Corny?' They walked up wide marble stairs together, comparing notes on their weekends.

Grant paused at the top of the steps. "Spent some time reading the latest quarterly fund raising report of the various campaigns and committees. Couldn't help but notice that McCarthy waited `til after the reporting deadline to hold her latest soiree this weekend. Rumor has it she did extremely well."

Scott shrugged. "Wouldn't know. This is the first one of her campaigns in a long time I haven't been directly involved in. I could legally do it on my own time, but as a state-paid employee, I don't want to create any perception of impropriety. Besides, she doesn't need me. If she did extremely well with the fund raiser, it's because she's extremely popular, extremely talented and extremely dedicated."

"And what's up with Frick? Is he on fund raising `roids or something? Or does he have his own printing press? Those numbers are gymormous."

Scott cocked his head and frowned. "First, I don't do any work for the Campaign Committee. Second, I told you when you moved to the pressroom that it would ice some of our conversations, so even if I did work for the committee, I'd kick you in the balls for even asking that question. Why don't you suggest to your boss that he ask the senator himself?"

Grant rolled his eyes. "Yeah right. First, it's too early. Not enough info to go on yet. Second, they're buds. I'm not sure that's a story he'd pursue anyway."

"Ah, the wonderful world of the independent, liberal media. I gotta go break some laws now, and you gotta go write some good fiction. Make it a good one, `Corny.'" They went their separate ways.

After e-mailing his analysis of the environmental statutes and DNR regulations to Senator Frick, Scott grabbed his coat. After a hurried afternoon of classes, he rushed into the board room at five past four in the afternoon. The Board would meet for a couple hours, break for a meal, and then reconvene if necessary. He quietly apologized to the group for being tardy as Abby waved him over to the chair next to her that she'd saved with her coat and a couple of folders.

Pennington grinned as politely as he could. "Sure you're busy these days, Mr. Turner, but we're glad you're here." He didn't mean it. He continued. "We were just reviewing the agenda for this afternoon." He sipped his bottled water. "I'd like to proceed with a goal of agreeing on a framework, a set of priorities if you will, about how we'll face whatever comes our way from the other end of State Street once the new legislature is elected and sworn in. If we can agree now on a process and a set of priorities in a clean environment, free of the distraction of specific budgetary details, we can establish some guiding principles that we can employ once we have the ugly truths in the real state budget once it's born."

Abby raised her hand. "Mr. Pennington, I appreciate your proactive approach. One of the benefits of being an old bat and being retired is that I can spend plenty of time thinking about stuff like this, and would like to offer one suggestion." There were nods and a few light chuckles around the table. "I'd first like us to try to define what we prize and value the most. Not specific departments, but our function and our mission as an institution. Then I'd like to separate the various budget categories into four areas: first, things we could lose right now without negatively impacting our students; second, things we could live without if we really had to make cuts, but that we'd rather not; third, those things that are off limits and off the table; and fourth, those items we'd add or enhance should pigs start to fly and more money starts flowing out of the dome."

Andy smiled and nodded. "I've been thinking along the same lines. A sensible, systematic approach, where we can agree now on some parameters and ground rules now will make the process simpler and probably less rancorous if and when the time comes when it could turn rancorous."

By the time they broke for dinner, they'd worked through the Buildings and Grounds portion of the budget and Administration. Many of these items went into the first two categories. After he'd finished eating and having a delightful conversation with Abby and two other members, he noted that he still had fifteen minutes. He stood and excused himself. "Pardon me folks, but I've been sitting all day and need to visit the `Little Regent's Room." They all chuckled. "See you back in there."

After washing and drying his hands he turned on his cell phone. One missed call, from Greg. He checked his watch as he stepped through the door and Abby was standing there. Without enough time to return the call or even listen to any messages, he shut off the phone and returned it to his pocket.

Abby motioned him over. "We still have a few minutes. Let's take a stroll." She had what appeared to be a rather knowing glance on her face. As they walked down the hall, she spoke in a near whisper. "Remember that last conversation we had at the last meeting? The one about priorities?"

"Sure. I've thought about it about a hundred times."

"Well, I'm going to open a can of worms before we finish here tonight."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Uh oh." He smirked. "Is this going to cause me any grief and suffering with the WSA or at the Capitol or out and around on campus?"

She giggled. "Oh, I suppose it could. Probably not right away, but it depends on how things go, both tonight and in the longer term with those political mopes and vote whores you work with and work for."

He thought about the meeting's agenda. "Damn. Athletics is next, isn't it?"

She pursed her lips and nodded, then grabbed his arm. "Scott, last time we chatted you said you agreed with my take on our necessary priorities. Some things affect teaching and learning, other things don't. We've done some good work here so far. But the reality is that some of our athletic programs bring in tons of revenue, like football. Others are a drain on our resources and don't give our student body or the university anything, except for those few who get scholarships to come here and play."

Scott nodded back toward the meeting room." You know that a few of them are gonna have a cow as soon as you mention putting any athletic programs on the table."

"But the simple truth is we can qualify their educational value. And this is a budget discussion and the numbers don't lie. We can see what they cost, we can see what they bring in and we can see how many students they affect. We're not cutting anything tonight. In a broader sense, we're talking about our mission, our principles and our priorities. I don't want to scare anybody or piss them off...yet. But..."

"But you're laying the groundwork for pissing them off down the line, and you want me on board."

She looked up and winked at him with a sly grin. "You got it."

He sighed. "Well, I guess I'm with you in theory, Abby."

Abby giggled and checked her watch. "Oh, what the hell. They won't start without us." She looked up at him and leered. "There's a great old joke about `in theory.'"

Scott smiled. "Okay, lemme have it."

"A father walks into the dining room and sees his fifth grade son frowning over his open science text."

"What's the problem, son?

The lad looks up. "I don't get it Dad. I'm reading this stupid stuff. And in one paragraph it says, in theory' and in the next one says, in reality... What's the deal?

The father thinks about it and gets a devilish grin. "Tell you what. Your mother is in the den reading. Go in there and ask here if she'd go to bed with Mr. Johnson next door for a hundred thousand dollars.

"The kid's jaw drops open. `No way!'

"The dad smiles. `It's okay, son. Tell her I told you to ask.' So the boy sheepishly walks into the den.

"'Uhm Mom, I have a question.' Before she can react, he say's emphatically, `But Dad told me to ask!'

"The mother looks up. `Yes?'

"The kid squirmed. `Uhm, well...if somebody gave you a hundred thousand dollars, would you go to bed with Mr. Johnson next door?'

"The mother's face contorted and the lad repeated, `Dad told me to ask!!'

"Knowing her husband very well, and figuring there was an explanation, she put down her book and looked at her son. `Well, Jeffrey. You know that I love your father very much. But we could do a lot of nice things for you and your sister with that kind of money. So, if it was just once, then yes, I guess I would.'

"The boy scurries out to the dining room where the father is awaiting. His eyes were wide with amazement and his jaw agape. `She said yes!'

"The father nods. `Now go upstairs and ask your sister the same question.' By now the lad is enjoying this and bounds up the stairs.

"His seventeen-year old sister was sitting on her bed and had just hung up her phone. `Hey sis, got a quick question.'

"What?

"If somebody gave you a hundred thousand dollars, would you go to bed with Mr. Johnson next door?

"Her jaw drops. Eeeeewwwww. That's gross! Fat, smelly, sweaty old man Johnson?' Then she mulls it over. But if it was just once, and the cash was up front, then, yeah.'

"Jeffrey bounds back down the stairs and scurries into the living room where his father is now sitting on the couch scanning the paper. `She said yes, too.'

"The dad pats the cushion next to him and Jeffrey sits down. His father drapes an arm over his shoulder. `Well, there ya' go then.'

"Jeffrey looks up in utter confusion. `Huh?'

"Well, son, in theory, we're sitting on two hundred K. In reality we're living with a couple of whores."

Scott was still wiping the tears from his eyes as they walked into the boardroom. First, he'd never heard the joke. Second, he thought it was hilarious and expertly delivered and third, he couldn't believe she'd been the one to tell it. It was perfect. Abby looked up and whispered. "Don't be a whore, Scott."

Pennington and the rest looked up. "Everything okay, Mr. Turner?"

"Yes sir. Sorry we're late. Just had something in my eye and Abby helped me to fix it. Good to go now."

Two hours later, he left the meeting feeling like shit. Abby had expertly led the Board through her homework on the various athletic budgets. And she had done some serious homework. She continued to assuage the suspicions of some members by reminding them that they weren't making any decisions that night. She knew very well that she was putting some sacred cows on the table and was treading lightly.

They'd called it a night after working through that section of the budget and agreed to continue the process at the next meeting. Baseball ended up in the second category: "Could cut if we need to." It didn't generate any revenue, was a fairly significant drain on that side of the budget, only served at most sixty students at any given time, and was a drain on the scholarship kitty. They usually had winning seasons, but didn't generate any significant press or prestige for the UW. He had to support it. He felt like shit.

He listened to the voicemail on the way to his car. "Hey, Scott! It's Greg. Thanks again for the food and the hang over on Friday. It was great meeting your roommates. They're great guys. Hope I can return the favor some day. Kinda hard to do from a dorm room, but maybe I can spring for the pizza and beer some night, or if we get another stretch of nice weather like the one were supposed to have this week, I can set up the grill down at James Madison or Tenney park. But, uhm, thanks again. Hope to hear from you soon. Later, bud."

He didn't call Greg back that night. He needed time to think. He thought to himself again, `Fuck! Baseball!'

At the end of his last class the next day, he hurried back to the apartment. When he parked in the lot at the end of the block, he wondered how many traffic laws he'd broken on the seven-block drive from the lot next to the WSA office. He scolded himself, well aware that the MPD was not known for their forgiving nature, especially where college students were concerned. Not even the president of the WSA or a member of the Board of Regents could expect any grace from the men and women in blue.

Indian summer had settled in for a couple of days. They'd had a few nights of solid frost, but the temps had now climbed back into the low seventies. He needed to run, and to think. An hour later, he found himself running past the practice field. The team was just finishing a practice, packing up their gear and heading to their cars, scooters and bikes. Even though the competitive season wouldn't start until the spring, they were expected to attend three practices a week in the fall, and workouts every Saturday or Sunday morning.

Even with his back to him, Scott recognized the v-shaped, muscular back bending over filling the duffle bag, and beautifully tight ass. Beneath the nylon shorts Scott could make out the contours of the straps framing those wonderful buns. Scott stood and stared, hands on his hips, breathing hard from the run. The coach, a fairly short but muscular man in his early forties, with buzz cut hair and a receding hairline, a square jaw and flat nose strutted past, nodding at Scott as he went by. His face shone with sweat and he squinted into the setting sun as he strode toward his truck. `I'll bet he was quite a looker in his day. He sure still has the body,' Scott thought to himself. Scott recalled that the aging athlete had enjoyed an impressive career in the minors, and caught for the Cubs for two years before taking a clue from the front office and accepting the UW job. It was perfect for him, and they usually enjoyed winning seasons, though they rarely brought home any hardware from playoff play.

Greg stood upright and stretched and then pulled a long sleeve tee over his torso, pushing the sleeves up his muscular forearms. Scott muttered to himself, `Damn!' Then he shouted toward the field, "Good workout today, Greg?"

Recognizing the voice, Greg smiled broadly and turned his dimpled face toward his friend. "Hey, man. What's up? What brings you all the way out here?" The field was on the far west edge of the campus, and most of those visiting the area were either baseball players, soccer players or ag. students who spent most of their days in the various barns and labs near the fields. On a breezy day, there was no mistaking where you were because of the smell in the air.

"Just out blowing off some steam with a good run in this gorgeous weather. Won't have many more days like this, and I've had a very hectic week. It's like every time I turn around, somebody's kicking me in the ass about one thing or another." He coughed up a wad of phlegm and spit it far to his right. "But I guess what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, hey?"

Greg scoffed as he wound the straps of his duffle around the handlebars of his bike. "I'll remember that one as I stumble my way to finishing this fucking mid-term paper."

Scott smirked. "Poli-Sci?"

Greg sighed. "You know it."

There were several seconds of awkward silence. Finally, Scott cleared his throat. "Uhm, you need a hand?"

Greg grinned ruefully. "Aw, Scott, I've already asked too much of you. I don't want to go to that well too often. I mean that's really good of you, but..."

Scott cut him off. "No! I don't mind. Really. You know I love the material, and it's fun working with you on that crap. Besides, it's not like I'm going the assignments for you. I'm just leading you to the right sources, asking some relevant questions to clarify the assignment and helping point you in the right direction." He paused as Greg mulled it over. "I'm serious, man. I don't mind. Let me give you a hand."

A slow grin crept across Greg's face. He looked back up. "You mean it?"

"Wouldn't offer if I didn't, and if I ever thought you were imposing then I'd tell you."

Greg's grin didn't fade. "How's 7:30 sound?"

Scott checked his watch. Twenty minutes on at a cool-down pace back to the apartment, a long hot shower, a bite to eat, some time with the guys, and 7:30 would be a piece of cake. Scott nodded. "See you then. Have the assignment ready and the computer booted up."

Greg's leg shot over the bike and he plopped down on the seat. "Outstanding! Man! You are a fucking life-saver, Scott."

Scott put up a hand. "But I haven't done anything yet."

Greg twinkling eyes gazed directly into Scott's. "Well, if anybody can, it'd be you. Trust me on that one."

Scott waved him away. "Get going. I'll see you in a couple hours."

Greg stood on the right pedal and pushed down hard, and continued to pedal mightily to jettison up the small incline and into the parking lot. He looked over his shoulder when he reached the top and half-shouted, "See you then!" He was standing off the seat working the pedals, his glutes bobbing left and right, up and down. `Damn,' Scott shook his head and started a slow jog back to the apartment.

He stood under the hot spray for a long time, eyes closed, just letting the stream wash away the tensions the last few days had wrought. The conversation with Maureen had been frustrating. The Regents meeting started great but left him with his head spinning. The vision of Greg, shirtless and bent over his duffle bag would not leave him but he didn't mind. Once he finally picked up the bar of soap, he struggled to not dwell too long on any one particular place, one particular place in particular. He didn't want to spend anything right now. If the lights hadn't been on when he exited the tub, he'd have thought he was in London for all the fog he'd given rise to. He dried and wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door.

Stepping into the short hallway, Brett walked by and his eyes went directly to the obvious tent in the terrycloth covering. "Uhm, Dude!" he said pointing at Scott's crotch, "there's a fairly simple solution for that you know."

Scott smirked. "You wanna help?"

"Eeeeeewwwwww. You're so gross."

Scott chuckled and closed the bedroom door. The fattest cat in the world lifted his head off the bed, obviously annoyed by the intrusion into his room. He stretched and rolled over so he could completely ignore his human. Scott pulled on a pair of jeans and, before slipping into smartly colored Polo, he sprayed a hint of cologne on his neck and chest. He vigorously dried his hair and ran his fingers through the damp locks, letting them fall where they may. He went to the kitchen and nuked some Sloppy Joe left over from a couple days earlier and had a couple of sandwiches. He grabbed a large handful of chips and tossed a couple of dill pickles on the plate before sitting down in the living room with the guys. He set the plate in the sink, vigorously brushed his teeth, rinsed with some mouthwash and then he was off.

Greg answered the door in a loose fitting pair of shorts and a tight fitting muscle shirt. He too had showered and it was obvious he had applied a spritz of the latest Tommy scent. He bade his tutor welcome and invited him to sit. They chatted for a few minutes about practice until Scott asked to see the assignment. He took a minute to read through the entire thing.

"So you only have to pick three?" The professor had provided six hypothetical scenarios relating to current issues at the federal level. The job of the student was to pick three and bring to bear what they knew about the powers of each branch of the federal government and the role they'd play in addressing the issue. In addition, they had to apply what they knew about the current political dispositions of each of the three branches today and predict the outcome of any resolution.

Greg nodded. "Yeah." He bit his bottom lip as he scanned Scott from head to toe.

Scott shrugged. "Well this is pretty straight forward. You just need to know what each branch can and can't do and what, if anything, they must do, according to The Constitution. Then you gotta know enough about the current dope in the White House, the Congressional majority's collective wisdom' on each of the issues you pick, and how The Supremes' might decide if it ever went to them. They spent some time reviewing the fundamentals of separation of powers and checks and balances at the federal level. Greg's understanding was rudimentary but it would suffice. Finally Scott said, "What you're going to need is a more contemporary insight on what the current occupants are most likely to do given what you can reveal about their political orientation. A Democratic president and a Republican have the same powers, same restrictions. The political question is what he might try to do because of his political views."

Greg nodded. "Gotcha."

"So, let's bookmark some good media sources on politics today where you'll find some quality analysis of the political bent of all three branches today, and you should be good to go. You might actually find an article or two where congressional leaders or the current president have actually spoken directly to these issues. If you find that, you're golden. Okay, go to `Google.'

After scoping out a half dozen political magazines and other publications, they hit a site that wasn't very user friendly. In a replay of an earlier study session in Greg's room Scott leaned over Greg's shoulder and his hand guided Greg's and the curser until he found the right link. Together they clicked it. "Now bookmark both of those links and you'll be set for this project." He didn't remove his hand from Greg's. "I'm pretty familiar with a lot of this material, so if you need any help, I hope you'll ask. But this should get you started."

Greg's fingers came off the mouse and spread out. Scott's slid in between them. Greg turned right, only inches from Scott's smiling face. Greg's hand did a turn and he locked his fingers between Scott's. "Okay. You got me started. Now what?"

They didn't break the grasp, and stared into each other's eyes for most of a minute. Slowly, their faces came together until their lips barely touched. Scott whispered. "Not sure, but I'll do what I can."

Greg leaned up and softly pecked Scott's lips. He pulled back and grinned shyly. "Something tells me you can do a lot."

Scott's left hand came up behind Greg's head and pulled him in. They mashed lips and tongues for a minute, each one gasping for air every few seconds.

Greg finally pushed Scott's shoulders back. "Do you really want to do this?"

Scott's hand roamed over both sides of Greg's bold chest and then settled into his armpits, and he lifted him out of the chair.

"C'mere." They kissed again. "I do if you do, and I really think you want to."

Greg pushed him back three steps and onto his back on the bed. He lay on top of Scott and kissed him again.

Their faces parted and Scott laughed lightly, huffing breath into Greg's nostrils. "I take it that's a `yes.'"

"Shut the fuck up." Their faces came together once again and their tongues renewed a fierce battle. Greg ground their aching groins together while he slid the bottom hem of Scott's polo up and off. He returned to the passionate kissing and Scott moaned into his mouth. Exquisitely slowly, Greg's tongue wandered across Scott's cheek and into his ear, causing him to squirm and giggle and swat Greg's ass. Greg moaned into his ear and proceeded down his neck. After pausing to tease Scott's left nipple with his tongue, lips and teeth, he slithered down. Both of Scott's hands gripped Greg's shoulders and massaged while Greg licked his way across his abs. He gnawed at the pole beneath the denim and fumbled with the button on Scott's jeans. He slowly unzipped them and found the plump pink head of Scott's tool peeking over the top band of the boxers. Finally, Greg's hot wet tongue found the dripping head of Scott's raging hard on.

"Mmmmmmmmmm." Scott massaged the shoulders more firmly to encourage his new best friend. "Damn, that feels good."

Greg grinned, but didn't look up. "Tastes great, too." He yanked the jeans and boxers down to Scott's knees and swallowed all of Scott's rigid manhood in one swoop.

"Jeeeeeesus Chriiiiiiiiiist! Oh, fuck!"

Greg looked up and grinned, wiping the glistening cock head around his scruffy chin and cheeks, causing Scott to squirm. "How we doin?"

Scott gasped. "Oh, you fucker. Keep that up and you're gonna get a mouthful before I tear those shorts off of you."

Greg's head went back down and he slowly, gently sucked as Scott's fingers roamed through his hair. After a minute of slow and wet ministrations on Scott's meat, Greg heard his friend beg for a break in the action. "Slow down." Greg looked up and grinned. Scott pleaded. "Let it go, man, or you're gonna get a face full right now."

Greg stood up and grinned again. "And how do you know I don't want one?"

For such a shy guy, he was a very aggressive hot man behind closed doors. Greg got up and stood at the foot of the bed and, gripping the bottoms of the legs of his jeans, pulling them off with one swoop. The boxers peeled off with them. Scott giggled as he rose to his knees and Greg rejoined him on the bed in the same position, face to face. Scott gripped his hips and kissed him forcefully, his extended dick wiping precum on Greg's khaki shorts. He unbuttoned the shorts, hooked his thumbs inside the waistband at both hips. His mouth went to Greg's neck, then his nipples as he pushed the shorts further down Greg's legs. The fell to the floor and Greg stepped out of them, and then returned to the bed, kneeling on the bed, face to face with Scott. Scott licked and sucked and nibbled his way down the taut torso and tight abs. Now on his knees and elbows, he finally came to his friend's jockstrap. He opened his eyes and gazed and the pouch of the sexy athletic gear.

He gasped. "Jesus Fucking Christ! You need to get a bigger jock, bud."

Greg giggled as Scott pulled the white elastic downward, liberating his buddy's privates. "Holy shit!" Greg's thick nine-inch tool sprung upward, staring Scott in the face with its one moist eye.

Greg rubbed the sides of Scott's head and shrugged. "Have at it, man. Has your name all over it tonight."

Scott gripped it and guessed it was even bigger than an old acquaintance from his first year at the UW, Frank, and he licked the tip. Greg sighed. Scott smiled "You could put a dozen names on this monster."

Greg chuckled. "But I don't want to." He rubbed Scott's head. "Make it all yours, will you?"

Scott stroked it several more times and considered the girth in awe. He coached Greg's legs and feet, without speaking, out of his jock and nudged him back toward the bed. He spent nearly fifteen minutes licking and sucking and rimming and playing with nipples and kissing.

He'd vaguely recall, the next morning, the sound of Greg's voice cracking through his own delirium, "Drill me harder, Scott! Come on, man, pound me!"

But more than that, he relished the memory of their cuddling pillow talk. Greg recalled his relationship with his high school buddy, Nick, and the precarious situation he always felt he was in those couple of years. But it was clear that he missed Nick. Scott reviewed his own history with Marty and was very honest about their friendship and his affection. But he was careful to assure Greg that there was no real future there beyond their precious friendship. He actually beamed with some pride and affection about Little Scotty, as if he had something to do with it.

He couldn't remember who fell asleep first.

As he was leaving that morning it was still dark. He hadn't showered because they were in the dorm, and he could feel his cock sticking to his boxers after another robust and creative escapade in the pre-dawn darkness. He was a jigsaw puzzle of emotion. Greg Page was one of the nicest guys he'd ever met. Just genuinely nice, down to the bone. He needed somebody in Madison to connect with. Greg had shared that his family life sucked and that he was glad to be out of his father's house. That made him sad. Scott loved going home to see his folks. And, it was some of the best sex he'd ever, ever had. At the same time, as he waited for the elevator, he dug his hands deep into his pockets, hung his head and frowned. `And I said the other night that I could live with axing the baseball program. And I didn't tell him.'

When Scott got back to the apartment, he took a shower, fed the fattest cat in the world, put on a clean set of boxers and a t-shirt and rolled into bed for a nap. He didn't need to be at the Capitol for another three hours, and could call in sick if need be.

Author's Note: I've cried many happy tears the past couple of weeks from all the wonderful well wishing many have you have sent my way. All I can say is, thank you very much. Still have an uphill road on the physical therapy in front of me, and the motor skills have returned well enough that I can manipulate the keyboard well enough. Not as well as I used to, but well enough. On the up side, the recuperation has given me time to think and write, so I'm getting close to being back into the swing of things. And, for the first time in years, I get to watch "Jeopardy" every day. I kick ass, if you'll permit me to say. As always, comments, criticisms, queries are happily received at scotty.13411@hotmail.com.