Fork in the Road

FORK IN THE ROAD By Scott Turner Chapter 8

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

CHAPTER 8

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.

From Chapter 7-

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.

CHAPTER 8

A little after 9:00, Scott rolled out of bed, put on his robe and lumbered out of the bedroom. He poured a cup of coffee and continued his lumbering toward the living room. Brett broke out of his trance in front of the TV. "Dude! I didn't even know you were here. What the hell?"

"Decided to take a `mental health day.' Called the office a couple hours ago and left messages for all the relevant big shots. I can access my e-mail from here if I want to, and will check it a few times." He sipped his coffee. Haven't decided about the afternoon classes yet.

Brett's face showed genuine concern, something that was rare for him. "Something wrong?"

Scott blew on the surface of the brew. "Nah. Just been so frickin' busy and want some quiet time to veg out. Other than the wedding, I haven't taken a single day off since I started, so I figure I'm entitled. Gonna hunker down and let the cat abuse me."

The dog scampered into the room and promptly shoved his snout into Scott's crotch. Scott scratched his neck and behind his ears. "G'mornin' boy." He still couldn't use the name and he cringed every time he heard Brett use it. But he also knew that an argument with him was a waste of time. The lab wagged his tail and licked Scott's hand. He had doubled in size since arriving in Madison, and he had developed something looking like a friendship at times with the fattest cat in the world.

Brett stood up and handed Scott the remote. "Well, knock yourself out. I got a ten o'clock Botany to get to." He wiggled his eyebrows. "The sex lives of plants today! I'll probably get a boner."

Scott sniffed and sipped the coffee. "Dude. Oxygen gives you a boner."

Brett grinned. "Yeah, ain't it great bein' young?" He slipped into his coat and grabbed his backpack. "Later, buddy."

Scott scratched the dog's jowls and waved Brett away. He looked down into the lab's expectant eyes. "Your dad's a nut." The dog wagged his tail and pressed the side of his snout into Scott's palm.

He padded back to the bedroom and found his slippers, then booted up the computer and logged on to the state employee website. He accessed his e-mail inbox. He scanned the new mail and determined that there was nothing very pressing. Then he set his "out of office" auto response and went to the kitchen and refreshed his coffee. After channel surfing for a half hour, surveying the a.m. TV trash, he returned to the computer and opened his personal e-mail inbox. There was a message from Greg.

"Scott, Thanks again for your help last night. And I mean ALL of your help. I really needed that. And again this morning. I hope you're okay with everything, and that you have a great day. Call me if the mood strikes. Talk to you later, I hope. Greg."

He looked at the fattest cat, who was lying on the desktop next to the monitor and he reached over to scratch his ample belly. The cat stretched out and seemed to say `it's about time, dummy.'

"You know, maybe I could really go for this guy. That could be trouble."

The cat didn't care.

Scott hit the couch again and grabbed the remote. For the next two hours he engaged himself selfishly with brain candy on TV Land. One classic episode of "I Love Lucy," one of "Happy Days," and back-to-back reruns of "All in the Family." Then he flipped over to CNN to catch up on some current affairs, and promptly dozed off. He blew off the afternoon classes and never did call Greg. He went for a vigorous run at about three, showered, put on some clean boxers and sweats and hit the couch again.

A week later, Will was finally back working half days, but still didn't look very well. He appeared frail and pallid, looking and sounding like a guy searching out the path of least resistance at every turn. Scott was working on a spreadsheet detailing per pupil costs in various demographic groups among the state's public school students, and was bored to death when there was a rap on the wall of the cube.

"Mr. Turner, I presume?" He grinned, swiveled in his chair and then stood up.

"Ms. Abbott." He opened his arms and she stepped into the hug. "It's been too long. He pulled up a spare chair. "Come on in, Kelly. How've you been?"

She sat and crossed her legs. She looked great. "Been good, thanks. Loving being a senior and the work at the house keeps me very busy."

He leaned back and smiled. "Well, you look like a million bucks."

She batted her eyelashes and blushed. "And so do you. You've been working out."

He waved it away. "Just trying to keep up on the running and hitting the gym now and again with a buddy of mine." Actually he and Greg had been hitting the gym twice a week and working up a good sweat, then perving on each other in the shower before going back to his dorm room and fucking like bunnies. He offered her a cup of coffee and she declined. "Okay. So how are things with you and Jayson?"

She curled her upper lip. "In a word, over." She sighed. "He just wasn't any fun. He never wanted to go anywhere or do anything, couldn't discuss much more than himself, his family or football and I don't think he'd recognize a sense of humor even if it bit him in the ass."

Scott pursed his lips and looked down. "Sorry to hear that." He cleared his throat. "So to what do I own this pleasant surprise?"

She hesitated. "Weeeeeelllll." She paused. "It's been ages since I've seen you and I've missed you. I came by this morning to visit Mo' and figured since I was in the neighborhood, I'd stop by and say hello."

He smiled shyly and nodded. "Well, that's very nice. I'm glad you did." He waited for the rest.

"And you know that Homecoming is coming up in a couple of weeks, and I wondered if you had any plans for the weekend."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "And you need an escort for all the Greek events."

She leaned over and put a hand on his knee. "Oh, Scott! It's not just that! We haven't done anything together in months, and I miss you. You're still single, right?"

He thought about it for a second. "Uhm, yeah."

"And we always had a great time together, didn't we?"

Several visions of Kelly, some fully clothed, some not, flashed through his head. He grinned. "Yeah, Kelly we did."

"Do you have plans for the weekend?"

He inhaled. "Not sure yet. There's a chance that my folks will be in town that weekend. Dad's spending more time in Madison these days, and they could be coming to town."

She frowned a pouty frown.

"Tell you what. Can't make any promises now, so don't hold off on asking somebody else on my account. I'll think about it and will give you a call later in the week. Will that work for you?"

She sighed heavily. "Well, not the answer I was hoping for, but I understand."

He smiled and stood. "Thanks for understanding. Like I said, if you got another guy in mind, don't wait for me."

She understood that the conversation was over and again leaned into his hug. He kissed her cheek. "But it was great seeing you again Kelly. At least we need to have lunch or dinner sometime."

She pecked him on the lips and leered into his eyes. "Or breakfast." They held the stare for several seconds and she smiled. "Give me a call. I hope this will work. I think you'd have a good time."

He sighed. "I'll call and let you know."

Greg and another member of the baseball team, Marcus, bumped fists and parted ways right after they'd broken through the gym's front doors. Then Greg's face lit up. Scott was standing outside waiting for him, looking incredibly sexy in his tight jeans and bomber jacket.

"Hey, you! What's up?"

Scott shrugged. "Well, it's Friday and I was in the neighborhood and knew you'd be finishing up your ass-kissing routine with the coaching staff, so thought I'd hold up here for a sec and see if I could catch you here. Wanna get something to eat?"

Greg smiled coyly as they started walking. "Weeeeeellll...I could do you one better, if you're a good boy."

Scott arched his right eyebrow in an unspoken question.

"Darrin is gone for the night. It's the girlfriend's birthday and he got a hotel room to try to impress her. We could go back to my room, enjoy one another's company and order something in, if you're up for that."

Scott tried to look thoughtful. "Uhm, let's see...a couple a beers, fucking, pizza, another beer, some more fucking...geez, Page, I don't know..."

Greg giggled. "I didn't say anything about fucking."

Scott smirked. "Maybe not, but after working out with that hottie Marcus, I'm sure you're all horned up, and I got just what you need right here." He dug his hands deep into both pockets and nudged Greg with his shoulder. "Then we can have breakfast tomorrow morning over at Denny's to replenish ourselves. One meal in, one meal out and a lot of feeding in between."

Greg rolled his eyes and grinned. "Jesus, Turner! Where do you come up with that shit?"

"Hey, I'm an imaginative and creative guy."

An hour later, there were two open beer cans on the floor getting warm. Greg's feet were flat on the floor, and his hands were flat on the bed. He grunted through gritted teeth while Scott's hips thrust back and forth. Greg bit his bottom lip and then looked over his shoulder. Scott slowed it down and began to long dick him, fixated on the sight of his pole sliding in and out between the smooth, firm cheeks.

"Yeah, Scott," Greg whined. "Do me like that. Slow. Long."

Scott shivered in response to the sensations running through him, all of them emanating from his cock. He kneaded and gently rubbed both of Greg's ass cheeks. "You got it, bud. God, I love this ass." He reached forward and grasped both of Greg's shoulders and shoved himself in to the hilt, and then held it there. Greg reached behind and grabbed Scott's ass with his right hand, but kept his left hand on the mattress to avoid collapsing. Scott shimmied his hips left and right, buried completely inside of his friend, and he grinned at Greg's grateful whining.

Their orgasms were earth shattering. The pizza was okay.

Three hours later, Scott was jolted awake by a heel to his shin and a muffled whine. "But I just missed the bus! All I did was miss the bus." That's what it sounded like anyway. Greg was whimpering into his pillow. Scott's arm was still around Greg's waist and he muttered again, "I only missed the bus."

Scott shook his head a couple times and rose up on his elbow as Greg grabbed his pillow to his chest. "I didn't mean to." He sucked in some air, eyes still closed, and he mumbled about something that sounded like `locker'.

Scott was now wide-awake, and was going to shake his friend, but Greg was suddenly serene. The dark dorm room was dimly lit by a full moon, and Scott could feel and see the perspiration on Greg's neck and chest. But he was still sound asleep, so Scott just held him closer and gently stroked his chest. Greg sighed in his sleep. Scott just held him for another couple of hours, drifting in and out of dreamland himself.

Scott slid out of bed, left a note on the desk and snuck out of the dorm just before 5:00 a.m. Ten minutes later he was quietly sneaking up the stairs of the apartment. Four hours later, after he'd slept a little longer he showered, jabbered with his roommates over a cup of coffee and then was waiting for Greg at Denny's.

Greg grinned sheepishly as he took his seat. "Sorry I didn't wake up before you left this morning."

"Well, you didn't sleep real soundly either, but I didn't want to wake you so I kinda just slithered out of bed and out of the dorm."

Greg gave him a quizzical look. The waitress put a cup of coffee in front of him and he scooped a couple of ice cubes out of his water glass and stirred them into the mug. "I slept like a baby." He grinned again and looked left and right before whispering. "You worked me pretty hard last night."

After ordering a couple of skillets full of eggs with cheese and a variety of meats, Scott leered across the table. "Well, you were asking for a workout. Practically begging for it." They both chuckled again, and then Scott's face clouded. "So, you missed the bus. What does that mean Greg?"

Greg coughed on his sip of coffee. "Huh? What do you mean?"

Scott leaned over. "About five or six hours ago, you were practically sobbing in your sleep, `but I only missed the bus...I just missed the bus.'" He looked around. "Greg, you were basically freaking out in your sleep."

"Oh." Greg's eyes darted around the bustling dining room again. "Not now, Scott. Later. You said I was whining that I'd just missed the bus?" Scott nodded. "Please let me tell you later."

Scott just nodded as the waitress placed their skillets in front of them. They ate in silence, split the total of the check with a tip and Greg followed Scott out to the parking lot.

Scott stopped and propped his butt on the trunk of his car. "So?"

Greg's hands bore deep into the pockets of his jeans and he hung his head and shivered. "Can we get in the car? I don't want to talk about this out here."

They each sat down inside and closed the doors. Scott started the car and turned up the heater since the fall chill was settling in. "Okay, go ahead if you want. But, Greg, you're kind of freaking me out here. Fill me in if you want to, and if you can."

Greg nodded. He gulped and closed his eyelids tightly. "It was the day my mom died. Last fall." He sucked in more fresh air without opening his eyes. "I'd hung out after school and played a pickup game in the gym with some of the guys who weren't on the football team, `cuz the football guys were all at practice." There was another long pause before he continued. "The school ran one late bus for the athletes and other activity geeks who don't drive. But there was only one late bus, and I missed it. And I didn't have a car. I'd spent too much time in the locker room, and then too much time at my locker, and then tried to track down one of my teachers in her classroom to hand in a late assignment, and ended up missing the fucking bus. So I called my mom at work. She was gonna come and pick me up. If she'd have been going straight home from work..." He choked back a sob. "If she'da been able to go straight home, if she didn't need to come to get me..." He looked at Scott with tears streaming down his cheeks. "Then that drunken bitch never would have had a shot at her." His head fell forward into his hands and he sobbed. "If I'da been on that fucking bus in time, my mom wouldn't be dead!" He sucked in several stuttered breaths. "It's my fault, Scott! God damn it! And all I did was miss a fucking bus...and it's all my fucking fault."

Scott's right arm went up and roped Greg's neck, and he pulled him toward him. He felt Greg's tears on his cheek and began to weep himself. "It's not your fault, Greg. It's her fault. It's that drunken bitch's fault." Scott was oblivious to those passing by in the parking lot as he kissed Greg's cheek. "You were just doing what high school guys do. She was doing what mom's do. There's no blame here for you."

Greg pulled away and wiped his eyes. "Tell that to my dad, and to my fucker of a brother. They haven't come right out and said it, but I know they blame me."

"You know that, or you feel that or you sense that...or what? You said they haven't really blamed you."

Greg shook his head. "Of course not, but I can tell. Things weren't great before she was killed. But since then, it's been like an unspoken rule in the house...'Greg killed mom.'"

"Well that's just fucked up!" Scott reached over and put a firm grip on his knee. "Greg. You need to see somebody about this. You need some counseling. Have you talked to the coach or anybody else about this? There's a really good health service here on campus, and a lot of great student groups that can..."

Greg waved his hands. "No fucking way! I'm trying to hold together a baseball scholarship here. Without that, I'm done. No way my old man's gonna pay for this." He wiped his eyes again. "I'm a freshman who needs to make the cut. I can't tell the coach I'm some freakin' head case, and not gonna pour my hear out in front of some group of students I don't even know with a sob story about what a fuck up I am and how I miss my mommy."

Scott knew that now was not the time. "Okay." He revved the engine once and checked the rear view mirror before putting it in reverse. "I don't agree, and you're not a fuck up, but I'm not gonna push it now, buddy." Greg just nodded. "But tell me that you'll call me or talk to me when you're feeling lousy or anxious about it all?"

Greg nodded but didn't answer.

Scott drove for only five minutes before reaching Greg's dorm. He wanted to pull his friend in for a loving kiss, but knew he couldn't. They gazed into each other's eyes for most of a minute. "You gonna be okay?"

Greg just nodded.

"It's not your fault you know. It's really not. Like you said, all you did was miss a bus, and for all the right reasons."

Greg's eyes started welling with tears again.

Scott looked around through the car's windows and finally grabbed Greg's hand. "You know I'm here for you, right?"

Greg finally cracked his crooked smirk. "Like you were last night?"

Scott squeezed his hand again and laughed out loud. "Like that, anytime." Then his face suddenly froze and he stared. "But like this too. If all I can do is just listen, that's cool. But just so ya' know, I am gonna urge the counseling thing again some time down the road." Then he winked. "And the rest is just a bonus. No charge."

Greg blushed. "Thanks, Scott. I'm okay." He stared blankly at the dashboard and nodded his head with determination. "Really, I am."

Scott slapped his bicep with the back of his hand. "Okay, then. Get out of my car before I kiss you."

Scott was ambling up the stairs to the apartment, frowning and deep in thought when he heard Craig's laugh. "I never heard that one before, Mr. Turner. That's rich. Oh, hang on, I think that's him coming up the stairs now." He shouted from the couch. "That you, Scott?"

"Nope. Jack the Ripper. Say your prayers."

"Got your dad on the phone here. He's been telling me dirty jokes, but I think he'd be willing to talk with you too." He went back to the phone. "He'll be here in a second, Mr. Turner." He paused. "Yeah, it's going good. I love the job. Keeps me out of here a lot of weekends, but I think my loving roomies like it that way." Scott moseyed into the living room. "Okay, here he is. Good talking to you, too. Take it easy." He handed the phone to Scott who plopped into the recliner and pulled the lever to lift his feet.

"So what's up ya' old fart?"

"What? I can't call my favorite son just to shoot the shit?" There was a pause. "Actually, your mom's in Dubuque working with a new client, so I thought I'd give you a call before kickoff." The Badgers were playing in Illinois and the game was just about a half hour away.

"That's cool. Hey, you guys coming to Madison for Homecoming?"

Big Scott sighed. "Well, we were hoping to, but the party has a training session for new candidates up in Wausau that weekend. I was able to confirm that Marshall Oakes won't be there. He's been party chair back here for so long, so he'll hardly qualify as a `new' candidate, so I'm going to attend."

"Yeah? What kind of training?"

"Oh, the `do's and don'ts' of campaigning, the party's agenda, fundraising rules and regulations, crap like that."

"Fun, fun, fun. So you're sure he's going to run, huh?"

Big Scott chuckled. "No doubt. He called the other day asking me to endorse him publicly."

Scotty laughed. "And what'd you tell him?"

"I told him how much I admired what he'd done for the party all these years, but that I wasn't comfortable committing to anybody until after the filing deadline for candidates had passed and I knew who all was running."

Scott grinned. "Sly bastard."

"I beg your pardon! That was the truth. I just neglected to mention that I'll be one of those filers and the day of the deadline. If he'd asked if I was going to run, I'd have told him I was considering it. But he never asked. By the way, he sucked up to me by singing your praises."

Scott's brows scrunched. "Huh? How's that?"

"Last year, you handed over some political analysis of the district? Something you did for your state government class?"

Scott's head went back. "Oh, yeah. Actually, that was my first paper and it's the one that got Randy's attention and then Professor Cushing's. It ended up leading to the LaFollette Scholarship. I'd forgotten all about that."

"Well, as far as Marshall is concerned, you're the most brilliant political strategist since Newt Gingrich."

Scott coughed. "Now there's high praise."

"Any reason your old man hasn't seen a copy of that?"

Scotty paused. "Uhm...because he never asked?"

"Don't be a smart ass. Can I still get a look at it? If Marshall stays in after Maureen endorses me, I'd like to know what his game plan is."

Scott thought for a second. "Uhm, yeah. I still have it on a disk. How about I email you a copy? Home or office."

"Home is best. Don't want to muddle the practice and the campaign stuff. Daisy will hand me my ass. She doesn't like the fact that I'm gonna run anyway." Daisy was Big Scott's `executive assistant' and had basically run the office for over twenty years.

Scott laughed. "Why'd you tell her?"

"Because if I waited until I declared, then she'd be handing me my head in a couple months. I promised her that, aside from being away from the office a lot more, my campaign wouldn't affect her life one iota."

"And she said...?"

"She said, `Don' you go playin' me for no fool, Mr. Turner! Politicians is nothin' but sleazebags and scoundrels and it don't do my heart no good to see you joinin' them."

Scott laughed. "She went all `Mammy' on you, huh?"

Big Scott chuckled. "She does that to piss me off and let me know that she means what she's saying."

Scott grabbed the remote, turned the channel and hit mute. The pre-game show was on and kickoff was just about ten minutes away. "I know. She tosses that act at me from time to time too."

Scott bit his lower lip. "I wonder what Randy's going to do when Maureen fills in Marshall on the political facts of life."

"Maureen's guessing he'll quit."

Scott nodded. "That's my bet, and it won't be pretty. Those two, Marshall and Randy, are making a lot of assumptions."

Big Scott switched gears a bit. "So, I take it you're not going to work on Maureen's AG campaign?"

"Naw. I could do it legally, on my own time. But being a state-paid employee who basically works for her now in the capitol, I don't want to create even an impression of impropriety. Besides, I want to save the weekend time to work on the `Turner for Senate' campaign. Nobody could question my working for the old man on my own time."

He could hear his father grin. "Atta boy. It's gonna be grunt work ya' know if it's only weekends. You know, making calls, stuffing envelopes, knocking on doors."

"Not to worry. Been there, done that. It's fun. If you need some dirty tricks I can always call Marty."

Big Scott laughed. "I don't know the young man all that well, but from what I do know I want you to keep him as far from here as possible."

Scott grinned. "No worries. He's got his hands full with the new job and the new family."

"How're they all doing? How's your godson?"

"They're great and Little Scotty's perfect. Haven't talked to the goofball in ages and I was thinking of giving him a call after the game today."

The Badgers put away the Illini, 27-10. Scott smiled as he grabbed his cell phone and went to his room. He dialed the Anderson's home phone. It rang four times and went to voicemail and he hung up. He found Marty's cell number and hit "Call." It didn't ring, but when right to voicemail. Scott looked perplexed. `Turned his phone off? He never turns his phone off.'

Scott lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking of Greg. He sighed as the fattest cat decided to do him a favor by warming his feet. `That poor bastard. Has a cold fish for a father, and asshole for a brother and he believes his own mistakes helped to kill the only person who has ever really loved him.' Eventually, he dozed off for an hour-long nap. He rolled off the bed around 5:00, went into the kitchen and preheated the oven. He slit the plastic wrap off of a frozen pizza and unwrapped it. After sprinkling some extra Parmesan and mozzarella on top, he set it aside until the oven buzzed. He wandered into the living room and pried the remote from his sleeping roommate's hand. Craig never stirred. The dog looked up and wagged his tail. He whistled and tapped his thigh, and then led the dog down the back stairway to the back yard. He clipped his collar to the chain they'd secured to the back rail, and encouraged the lab with a pat on the ass to take care of business as quickly as possible.

His cell was ringing when he got back upstairs. It stopped just as the oven buzzed. He checked the one missed call. Marty. He slid the pizza off of the cardboard onto the middle rack and punched "call back."

"Hey, professor. What it is? Sorry I missed your call earlier."

"Yeah, and I was just letting the dog out to do his thing when you called. See the game today?"

"Uhm, no. Had a hectic day. Relocated the kids over to Jill's parents' place for a day or two."

"Really, what's up?"

"Well, Jill's been really sick. She just needs to rest, I think, and when the kids are around, that's not possible for her. And if whatever bug she has is catchy, I figured best to get `em over there for a bit. They love having them and the kids love being there. Probably only for a day or two?"

"What's the matter?"

"Looks like the flu to me, but it's not exactly flu season. Aches and pains in the joints and lower back, headaches, some vomiting. Been going on for about four days now, with no signs of letting up. So, I moved the kids, called the restaurant and put her in bed. If it's not better by Monday, I'm gonna haul her to the clinic. Meantime, I'm sleepin' in the guest room."

Scott frowned. "Ick. Sorry to hear that."

"But hey! If she's all better in a couple weeks, I think we might all be coming up for Homecoming!"

"Very cool!! That'd be a lot of fun. Want me to try to get tickets for the game?"

"Probably not a good idea. Not sure that Ash' is ready for that, and neither one of us wants to drag the little one to the stadium. Maybe in a few years. I figured we'd go to the farmer's market, one of the last this year I guess, then take in the parade, and watch the game from the room. What about you?"

"Not sure yet. Kelly stopped by the cube the other day wondering if I'd be her escort for all the festivities."

"Really!? What happened to that lump...what was it Jeremy...that we met at the frat party?"

Scott chuckled. "Apparently, the thrill is gone."

Marty's wink came over the phone line. "Well, she's probably comparing the poor dope to you, so ya' know he's toast."

Scott laughed. "You're too kind."

Marty giggled. "I know I am, but remember that I know the truth, too."

Scott rolled his eyes. "You're such a naughty boy."

"Yessssss I am!"

Scott turned on the oven light and peered in. "Well, hey, bud. My pizza dinner is almost done. And you sound really tired and need to tend to your lovely wife. Fix her some soup, then kick back and relax for the evening. Let's talk again next weekend about Homecoming."

"You got it professor. As soon as you know what your plans are, gimme a call."

"Will do Marty. You know I miss you...and the family...right?"

Marty muffled a chuckle. "Of course I do. Who wouldn't? And, I still love you too. Have a good night, my friend."

"You too. My best to Jill and the kids. G'night."

Scott hung up the phone, dug the pizza mitt out of the closet and found the pizza cutter in the second drawer.

Elliot Lyman returned to Madison from his home in Reedsburg on Sunday afternoon. It had been an invigorating weekend. The Spirit of the Lord flowed through him. He'd performed his duties at his father's church with devout and pious diligence, leading his Sunday school class through the day's lesson, and then delivering the reading during the service before the congregation with a vengeance. Pastor Lyman was a fire and brimstone Evangelical who took no prisoners, and Elliot was cut from the same cloth. He felt inspired and looked forward to Monday's meeting of the WSA finance committee. Scott had done the sensible thing and honored his recommendations in appointing the committee's members, so he knew he had a friendly majority.

Monday evening, he called the meeting of five to order. He knew that two of the other four were like-minded, so he proceeded with confidence and had to work to keep his bluster in check. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for making the time for this. It's important to our student organizations. As you know, the WSA controls a sizable chunk of student activity fees that are disbursed to the various organizations serving and supporting our students. Our biggest task is to recommend to the full body the distribution of those funds." All heads nodded.

In order to get the ball rolling, I've prepared a proposal, just to get us off the starting line and to serve as a catalyst for meaningful discussion." He handed out a three-page spreadsheet. "Let's take a few minutes and review it, and then we can dig into it." He sat back in his chair as the members perused the document.

Tara Bjorn, one of the members he didn't know well looked up. "This is a joke, right?"

Lyman was stoic. "Not at all ma'am."

She huffed. "This completely de-funds the Gay/Straight Alliance, the Ten Percent Society and the Young Log Cabin Republicans."

Elliot didn't move. "Yes it does, as it should."

She straightened up in her chair. "Uhm...why?"

He stared straight at her. "Because I, and a great many other students, are sick and tired of having funds we are forced to fork over being given to student activities and organizations that advance the causes of decadence and perversion."

Tara rolled her eyes. "Does it matter that in the real world there are gays and lesbians all around you, and some of them are paying those same funds?"

Lyman smirked. "To tell you the truth, it does matter that there are fags and dykes all around me, and I don't like it. I'm not sure I can change it, but I don't like it. What I don't like even more is that some of my money is being taken from me and being spent to advance their gross agendas."

Thomas Randall raised a hand and Lyman recognized him. "I like it. Why should those of us who are opposed to homosexuality be forced to subsidize it, just because we want to attend college?"

Phil Wharton, who gave every appearance of being a stereotypical big, dumb jock jumped in. "Dude. We're not subsidizing homosexuality. You think they'll stop being queers just because we cut off their clubs' funds? Those folks pay the fees too. I don't care who they're gropin' and lickin and doin' whatever with, as long as they don't hit on me. Whatever floats your boat, man, just stay away from my junk. But funding their clubs ain't promoting being a queer."

Tara cleared her throat. "Well, I don't think I can be as eloquent as Phil, but he's right. All of us pay these fees. All of us are entitled to a share of their disbursement without discrimination."

Priscilla Standish raised her hand and Elliot pointed to her. "I, for one, have always resented my student activity fees being spent on organizations such as these, and I commend the chair for taking such a bold stance. I can happily embrace the priorities reflected in this proposal, and I move its adoption by this committee."

Elliot held back a grin. Thomas chimed in. "I second the motion."

Elliot leaned forward. "Okay. We have a motion and a second. Discussion."

For the next two hours they went at it. At one point Phil leaned across the table, glaring at Pricilla and nearly shouted, "Why don't you get that stick out of your ass and join the rest of us in THIS century? I ain't gay, but I have some friends who are, and they're good guys and gals. And whether you know it or like it, you have some friends who are just like that, too."

She gasped. "I most certainly do not!"

Phil laughed in her face. "My apologies, `Prissy', that's not a stick up your ass, it's your head."

Elliot called a recess and they broke for fifteen minutes. Phil and Tara huddled at one end of the hallway, the other three gathered at the opposite end.

When they reconvened, Thomas raised his hand. "Mr. Chairman, I think we've exhausted the discussion, and I call the question. It's time to vote."

Elliot nodded. "I don't disagree. The motion is to recommend the proposal in front of us without amendment. All those in favor?" Elliot, Thomas and Pricilla all raised their hands. "Opposed." Phil and Tara's hands rose weakly and in resignation.

Elliot beamed as he left the Union that night. `Wonder what Turner's gonna do with this.'

Author's Note: My continued thanks to those who continue to send me your well wishes and positive thoughts. I'm doing fine: better than yesterday, but not as good as tomorrow. Special thanks go out to Kory for his continued assistance in ironing out some of the wrinkles in the text. So if you find a typo here and there, it's his fault.