Strange Bedfellows

DISCLAIMER: This story is a largely fictional account of many of the author's experiences and relationships as a college student. It contains depictions, some graphic, of sexual encounters between consenting adults. If you are offended by such material, or if you are not old enough to enjoy it in your zip code, then please leave now. All of the characters are based on either men or women who really exist(ed), and whose names have been changed, or they are composites of people he knew. Then again, they might be pure fantasies. Any resemblance to real people, either living dead, is an innocent coincidence, and is also a damned shame. This material is copyrighted, 2006, by the author, and may not be reproduced, reprinted or reposted without his consent.

CHAPTER 9 SYNOPSIS: Okay, kids, let's review...

Scott (Batman), Marty (Robin), Craig (The Joker), Brett (Egghead) Jesse (The Penguin) and Frank (The Riddler) spent Saturday night at the State Street Halloween Party, and they wowed the crowd with their costumes and their antics everywhere they went. Near the end of the night, Craig returned to the dorm with his high school girlfriend, Stephanie. Brett disappeared with his squeeze from the band, Angie. The other four "borrowed" Maureen's vacant apartment for the rest of the night, for a party carefully pre-arranged by Jesse and Scott. A good time was had by all. (Please review Chapter 9 for the details, as it's hard to summarize that episode.)

END OF CHAPTER 9

On the walk back to the dorm, they agreed on a quick stop at a corner convenience store; one of those where a bag of chips, mostly air, costs a buck nineteen. Jesse's head came out of a cooler, bottle of orange juice in his hand, and he saw Scott holding a Sunday paper, grinning from ear to ear.

Scott grabbed the hood of Marty's sweatshirt and pulled him back. "Check it out, bud!" On the `Inside Today's Edition' strip of the front page was a teeny little photo of Batman, Robin and the criminals; the heading said "Metro Section. The Dynamic Duo capture State Street. See Section B, Page One."

On page one of Section B was a five-by-seven version of the same color picture. A side-bar caption read: "Batman and Robin joined the revelers on State Street last night, and managed to bag The Penguin, The Joker, The Riddler and Egghead all in one fell swoop. A good time was had by all." The accompanying story gave an overview of a dozen arrests and minimal property damage to the shopkeepers on the avenue.

Marty went into overdrive. "We're gonna get Craig to call The Journal' and get permission to reproduce this shot. Then, we're gonna plaster the fucking campus with Batman's Voting For Turner' posters." He looked at Frank and Jesse, "you boys put your walking shoes on tomorrow night. We're gonna nail this fucker down for good!"

Scott laughed out loud. "You're actually going to ask for permission for something?"

"I'm not. Craig is. I'd never do something as wimpy as that." He elbowed Scott.

Everybody bought two copies of the paper; one for their own scrapbooks, another to send home to their parents. Marty grinned widely, thinking, `This'll piss the old man off big time, leave him thinking I'm spending his money on costumes and partying.'

The room was empty when Scott returned, but there was ample evidence of what Craig would no doubt recall as a very good night. The sheets and blankets were strewn about the foot of the bed, and the room smelled of passion. Two, maybe three, spent Trojan wrappers were in the waste basket, but Marty didn't look closely enough to count. That would be a tacky invasion of his roommate's personal life, he reasoned. Besides, he figured, Craig might share all the wonderful details; then again, maybe not. He assumed that Craig had taken his old flame out for breakfast, and maybe accompanied her back to her roommate's house before seeing her off until God-knows-when.

He wanted a shower, but was afraid that it would leave him wide awake. He was tired, very tired, and all he wanted to do was sleep for a few hours. He'd shower later. He slowly stripped down to his boxers and flopped on top of his bed. He hugged the pillow under his head and closed his eyes with a heavy sigh.

When Craig returned an hour later, he was quietly snoring, with a serene smile on his face.

STRANGE BEDFELLOWS Chapter 10

Scott woke up about four hours later, with a bad case of cotton mouth, The space between his ears and behind his eyes felt thick, heavy and fuzzy. As he stood, his thighs reminded him they'd worked overtime during the previous ten or twelve hours, and he knew he'd get sore as the day wore on. Craig was back on his own re-made bed, face up. A book lay open, but face down on his chest, his hands folded over it and his eyes closed. There were still a few traces of makeup underneath his ears, and the eyebrows, and it made Scott smile again, recalling the night before. Craig wasn't normally one for napping during the day, and Scott was happy for him that he was tired. He hoped that Stephanie's roommate was doing the driving on their trip back to OSU, so that she could sleep in the car if she felt the need, and he hoped she felt the need.

Scott put on the coffee and slipped out the door with a towel over his shoulder. He headed to the shower, and was more than a little annoyed by how busy it was, since it was coming up on noon. But then again, it was the Sunday morning after the Halloween Party, and he guessed about half of the floor was still asleep. When a shower opened up, he backed against the wall to let the guy pass without even really scoping him up and down, much. He was sexed out, for the time being, and was still tired. He pissed off the few guys who came in behind him by spending a good twenty minutes under the hot water. He didn't give a shit.

As he opened the door to the room, the coffee's welcome made him breathe deep. Craig was sitting back on his bed, one leg bent up under the other. He'd poured two cups of coffee and raised the one in his hand in a good morning salute. "Hey, bud." He pointed with his cup to the steaming mug on the dresser. "I made breakfast. Don't say I never did anything for ya'" Craig grinned and went back to mulling over the section of the newspaper that Scott had brought back. "Great fucking pic, bro! We're goddamn rockstars."

"Oh...yeah!" Scott had forgotten about their city-wide fame. "Hey, Marty said something about making that into..."

"He just called. Sounded really tired." Scott's back was to Craig, luckily, as he grinned and rolled his eyes. `He should be,' he whispered to himself. Scott was vigorously toweling his hair as Craig continued, "I got the permission thing covered. I got ahold of the managing editor at The Journal about ten minutes ago. Sunday mornings those schmucks always gotta work. He was kind of a dick about it at first, but then I said they could have an exclusive with "The Camp Randall Streaker" when he goes to trial if they went along."

"Marty's not going to trial, I don't think, anyway."

"That asshole doesn't know that." They clinked coffee mugs. "He's gonna email the permission to reproduce the picture. Marty's going to see if Kinko's is open to make some copies right now." Craig picked up the section of newspaper that he had laid on his lap and pointed in Scott's direction. "Did ya' see the thing here on the senator from Waukesha...guy named Robbins?"

"Huh? No. What? Bruce Robbins?" Scott reached for the paper and sat down on his bed and took a sip of coffee.

"Dumb shit got himself arrested yesterday in a Milwaukee County park. Exposed himself and propositioned an undercover cop in a men's restroom. The article says he's a long-time right-wing family values kinda guy!"

Scott scanned the article for details. The state's official picture of Senator Robbins accompanied the story. In the second paragraph, it was reported that "the police complaint alleges that Robbins exposed his genitalia to the office and offered to perform a certain sex act on him." It noted that repeated efforts to contact him for comment had not been answered. There was much speculation about what effect the arrest might have on the coming election, which was less than ten days off."

"Haaa Haaaa!" Scott put down the paper. "What a dolt...and complete hypocrite!! This is one of the most conservative, religious-right, moralistic, holier than thou members of either house. Fuck man, his donor list includes the likes of Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson. Ralph Reed even came in and rallied the troops on his behalf last time around. He looked down at the paper again and smirked. "I'll bet he was blowing Reed."

Scott picked up the paper again and read the article more closely, imagining that this could only help Maureen's and the party's prospects. Robbins's opponent was quoted in the article. "This is, no doubt, a difficult time for Senator Robbins and his family. As he hasn't been formally charged yet, let alone convicted of anything, it would be inappropriate for me to comment at all on any allegations. For the next week or so, I plan to continue making the case before the people that I am their best chance to find a voice in Madison that genuinely represents their wants and needs and values."

Smart,' Scott thought. Managed to not take a cheap shot and still get the v-word in there at the same time. Stay on the high road, dude, and let others throw the shit.' He knew they would, starting today, no doubt. He looked back at Craig. "Ya' know, this can only help Maureen and the party. This guy was a shoo-in for re-election, until he started waving his dick around in public. In fact, I doubt that the party has even spent much money on this race. I'll bet that'll change, if it hasn't already. Either that, or they'll cut him off, whole-hog." He wanted to call Maureen and talk politics.

Instead, he looked at his roommate and smirked. "So, ol' buddy of mine, how was your night? All you'd hoped for?"

Craig looked at the floor and shook his head, in almost absent-minded disbelief. "Dude! It was a-fucking-mazing! I mean, and I don't want to sound like some bragging fuck-monster stud, but Steph and me had some very hot, heavy times in high school, `specially most of our senior year. Bud, Damn! I do believe the girl's been studying at college! Either that, or she hasn't been laid since I porked her last, and a lot of pent-up horny frustration spilled out all over this fucking room last night and this morning."

"That's my boy! So you two gettin' back together...like steady and regular again?"

Craig shook his head. "It's just not practical, and we're pretty much agreed that it's not fair to give or expect commitments from so far away. But...I'm pretty sure that, whenever we do have a chance to get together, if both of us are still single, we're gonna fuck like jackrabbits!"

"Sweet deal, man. Sweet fucking deal! I'm jealous. I mean, you guys all said Steph was hot, but she actually exceeded my own high expectations."

"You're more than holding your own, bud. It's pretty well understood that Kelly Abbott is in a very elite group of some of the hottest babes on this campus. And you're the lucky fuck who's got her."

Scott smiled and shrugged. "Yeah, we're havin' a lot of fun, but who knows where it's goin? We haven't spelled out any kind of `I'm yours, you're mine.' We aren't together every day, making demands on each others' time, planning vacations, or anything like that.

"But still more than `friends who fuck,' right?"

"Yeah, it's not like Marty and the girl he's boinkin' at University printing...the one who did the football game flyers...it's more than that. We haven't really analyzed it together and agreed what the hell it is. Thing is...it feels like we're both avoiding that conversation, and I'm good with that." He did a quick check-up by asking himself silently if he was still okay with her doing the Homecoming stuff as Kip's date, and he was. He really was.

Still, the conversation got him thinking. He looked at the clock and grabbed his cell phone. After speed-dialing Kelly's cell number, he left a voicemail after her prompt. "Hey, just lil' ol' me! Hope your Halloween thing went well. We all had a great time on State Street, and made it home in one piece. Check out the second section of today's paper...page one! Marty even got through the night without getting arrested. Gonna watch the game over here, then go over and feed Mittens. Give me a call if you want, whenever you have a chance. C'mon over and join us if you want to watch the game."

The guys hunkered down on their respective beds, pouring over their texts and notebooks, each one wrapping up some light studying for the week ahead. Scott planned on hitting the trail and knocking on dorm doors asking for votes every night for the week, so he wanted to be on top of his game during classes. He reviewed the outline of his political science project and thought back to the vision of Randy getting his ass plowed by that beefy, big-dicked top. Man! He was so into that submissive shit,' he marveled. Gotta admit, it was kinda hot, but don't know if I'd get into dishing out that kind of physical and verbal abuse.' Still, he had discovered that he got into laying a firm hand on the guys ass he was fucking, especially if the guy liked it. Both Marty and Jesse, especially Jesse, responded with enthusiasm when he'd smacked their ass while he was doing them, and it added something to the experience. Live and learn.

Then there was the question of whether Randy had intentionally put on the show for his benefit. On the one hand, Randy knew there was a chance Scott would be stopping by the office at about that time, but it hadn't been a certain arrangement. Was Randy trying to freak him out? Was he trying to show Scott what he was missing? Did he look over and smile while he was begging the guy to fuck him harder because he'd planned the show, or did he just get caught and was glad Scott had seen it? Scott was also still a little mystified by his own erotic reaction to the episode and, even now, felt his cock stir as he lay on his stomach on his bed. He flexed his muscles as if to stretch his legs a bit, and ground his pecker into the mattress. The nerves in his tool responded, and he felt a small pulse of pleasure course through his groin.

Whatever the answers, he had been unsettled enough by the whole thing that he had skipped last Thursday's discussion section. He wasn't sure how he would, or should, act when Randy entered the room, but was sure he didn't feel ready to discuss it yet. Could Randy possibly just go ahead and conduct the class, and then talk with him as though it hadn't happened? He had needed time to mull it all over, so he double-checked the reading and discussion topics for the day and made sure he had the work done. Then, he skipped Thursday's class. He was going to have to deal with it this week.

Marty's knock interrupted the study session. Craig knew what was coming, so he took a breath and resolved to survive Marty's onslaught. He slowly opened the door and grinned, rolling his eyes as the tirade began.

"Still walking, huh studly? Spill the beans, or spill whatever you have left to spill, which can't be much, you whore!" He smacked Craig lightly on the chest and tried to ruffle his hair, but Craig quickly employed an effective head dodge. Marty turned his head and leered at Scott. "Bro'...have you ever...in your life...seen a more blatant `get me the hell out of here and fuck me blind' demonstration as the one we saw last night from the ever-delicious Stephanie?"

Scott wanted to say, I saw more than one of those last night, buddy, and they were all pretty intense.' Instead, he put on a deep, pensive expression. Resting his chin on an upturned fist, he furrowed his brow and looked upward with only his eyes. "Upon careful reflection...No. But, neither have I ever seen a more intense please beg me to get you the hell out of here so you can beg me to fuck you blind' pleadings from a guy in a purple, double-breasted, pin-striped suit, clown makeup and a green wig."

Craig put his hands shoulder-high, palms out. "Guilty as charged, boys, but don't let your envy get the better of you. Unless I'm misreading your own silence on the rest of the night, you both quit the party in a pussy-free zone." He shook his head and shrugged. "I've always said, `pity the hungry,' but I thought you'd be able to handle it on your own. I'm sorry for you both."

Craig turned to find the remote and hunker down on his bed. The other two exchanged glances, grinned and shrugged. "Yeah, I gotta admit it," Marty shrugged again for Craig's benefit. "I didn't get any beaver last night, that's for sure. What about you, Mr. Turner?"

"Not so much as a lick."

Marty winked, and as he turned his back to Scott, reached behind and rubbed his ass. From the front, it looked like he was reaching into his back pocket, and as his hand came up from between his cheeks, he snagged a piece of paper. He tossed it to Scott. "Here. Take a look. I want to cover as much of the campus as possible by tomorrow morning with this."

The five-by-seven picture from the morning paper had already been cropped and enlarged, and it looked a little grainy as a result, but it was clear enough. Above the photo was typed "BATMAN for TURNER." Below were a few catch phrases: "INDEPENDENT" was in the center. "Wisconsin Born and Bred" and "Endorsed on `John and John.'

Scott's brows frowned. "Wait...the Johns didn't endorse me."

Marty saw this coming. "It doesn't say endorsed BY John and John. It says endorsed ON John and John. You were. I did it myself. Leave it alone, professor. A poster doesn't need a lot of information other than the name. It's like a yard sign. People walk by it, but they remember the name when the time comes. We'll print it on any number of neon colors and paste the landscape...just for fun, if nothing else. Where the hell are Jesse and Frank? We need a fuckin' plan." He looked back at Scott. "Okay, are we a `go' on this?"

Scott shrugged. "Yeah, what the hell. Go for it."

Marty grabbed his cell phone and dialed. "Hey...is this Bridgette? Yeah, this is Marty Anderson. I was in there about an hour ago. Yup, the one and only! Go ahead and print em. Yeah, five hundred should be good. Gimme a mix of all the neon colors you have. How late are you open? kay. I'll be there just before then. And, hey...Bridgette...what're you doin' after you close up shop? Yeah? Wanna go out and have a drink or somethin'? Cool! We'll see ya' later, then." He put the phone back in his hip pocket.

"Damn! She is one hot fucking young woman. Oozes sex appeal, and I caught her checking out my package when I was over there."

Scott shook his head. "You already had this at the printer's before I even got a look at it? I thought..."

Marty cut him off with his hand. "Hold on, bud. I DID run it by you first...before I gave them the go-ahead to print, didn't I? I DID NOT go ahead on my own and do anything in your name, without your approval. I brought it over there when I did because I figured you were still asleep, but I want to move on this today. You should want that too, so get with your own program, professor! At the risk of sounding immodest, this is the best gift to your campaign since I was on the radio." The others nodded their agreement. "You coulda changed it or nixed it or anything you wanted, but you just gave me the green light. I know the drill, I know your boundaries, so don't go getting all pissy on me!"

Scott grinned and shrugged, nodding his head lightly. "Okay...okay...you got me. You're right. My bad. You're finally playing by the rules."

Marty flashed a smile and looked at Craig. "See? He still loves me!"

Craig glanced up from the sports section without expression and dead-panned, "Everybody loves you, Marty."

There was a knock at the door as Scott asked, "So, what's this gonna cost me."

Marty took a couple of steps to the door. "Five hundred high-grade copies on neon, heavy-weight stock...about two hundred, plus tax."

Scott exhaled and tried to recall the current balance in his checking account. "Fuck...I don't think..."

Brett walked in with a manila envelope and handed it to Marty. "There's probably four, maybe five here."

Marty dumped the contents onto Scott's dresser. Mostly ones, several fives, even some tens and twenties scattered across the surface. "We had a fundraiser. Brett hit all fourteen floors of the dorm and passed the hat."

Brett looked like he'd worked hard the night before, and he had. He yawned. "Any room with noise or an open door got a knock. They were happy to give. Catch a few hundred college students with hangovers and give `em a decent cause, and they'll open their wallets. Marty's revelation on the radio that you wouldn't take his donation made it easy."

Craig put down the paper and plopped in front of his computer. He was tired, but it was a good tired. He started rolling and clicking the mouse.

Scott just shook his head as Marty sorted the bills by denomination. "I give up... you..."

"Shut up." Marty never stopped sorting. He was a master of muti-tasking. "I coulda asked, yeah, so what's new? We're coming into the last week and you're gonna have some expenses. You said you wouldn't take any money unless they knew what they were givin' it for. They knew. You wrote the rule, and we followed it. End of story." He started counting the stack of ones as Scott poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Brett, then refilled his own mug. "Hey, Craig, how are the letters coming?"

"Done. I have fifteen written. How many signers?" He hit `print.'

As Brett did the counting, the printer started to churn. "Me, you, Marty, Jesse, Frank, the dude Brandon who Marty works with, Angie...by the way, she thinks you're hot...but she thinks I'm hotter...and I can get another however many we need out of the band."

Marty anticipated the goofy, quizzical look on Scott's face. "Letters to the editor." He kept counting the bills as he spoke. "They'll go to The Cardinal and The Herald, and any really good shit your roommate can pen will also be sent to the State Journal and the Capital Times. If there is anything good, that is."

Craig flipped him off. "Hemingway couldn't do better, shit-for-brains."

Marty smiled as he finished counting the twenties. He looked over to Brett. "Ya' did good! Five hundred sixty three dollars in the treasury!"

Scott was stunned, but was resigned to just going with the flow. "Tell me you got their names, please."

Marty held up the envelope, showing tidy columns of three-digit numbers running up and down. "We got room numbers. I'll match `em with names later and you can either write or email thank-you's when it's necessary, or stop by the rooms to do it personally if that's your thing. With my work/study job, I got a handle on everybody's name, room number, and contact info."

"Okay," Scott was tired; he had no resistance. "What's with the letters?"

Marty sat down on the bed next to him. "We need to frame the election in the home stretch. There's a theme. Target the Greek Conspiracy' to take over the WSA. You know, they think they're better than the rest of us, and they've organized to take control of YOUR student government.' Appeals to the regular Joe, to `Johnny Six-Pack,' the normal guy and gal on the street who don't share the rarified air of Langdon Street, and who don't care to."

"Sounds kinda like a Red Scare." Scott thought out loud. "Are you now, or have you ever been a member of a UW fraternity!?" He tried to mimic Joe McCarthy, but did it badly.

Marty dropped his right arm over Scott's shoulder. "Oh, lighten the fuck up. That's what motivated you to start this thing, right? You met Kip, realized from the start that he's a dick-head, you heard him talk about organizing all the right people' and the fucker basically black-balled you from getting their organized support cuz you weren't one of the chosen few.

Then, the fucker slashes your tires, or has them slashed, he sends his goonies to try to intimidate you, and now you want to pretend that it isn't what this is about? Face it, Scotty, the anti-Greek thing is your tune. You need to own it, and this way, with good letters, others will trumpet it.

Let's shove it down his fucking throat." He squeezed the back of his neck on the last line and, of course, winked.

Craig handed him the stack of pages off of the printer tray. "Check these out. Strike anything you don't want said, or printed rather, about the election, and I'll do the editing. If there's an idea or sentiment missing, go ahead and add it, and I'll work it in. You might not need these, `cuz I think you've already got it locked up, but wouldn't it be fun to ride in on a fucking landslide?"

Marty continued, "We'll send three a day for the next five days, starting tomorrow. Who knows how many they'll actually print, especially those ass-wipes at The Herald. But the letters do get read. Meantime, you spend the week knocking on doors and pressing the flesh, dishing out liberal doses of the old Turner charm, and we'll work the huddled masses."

Scott flopped back on his bed and laid an arm over his eyes. "Why did I ever delude myself into thinking I was actually in charge of my own life in this thing?"

Marty put a hand on his belly. "Relax, professor. Do ya' trust us?"

"Does it matter?" Scott moaned. He knew it did matter, and he knew he trusted Marty and the rest of the guys.

As the clock ticked away the last seconds of the fourth quarter of the game, Scott grabbed his coat and his gloves. The gray day had brought cold temperatures and wind.

"Goin' over to Maureen's to feed the cat."

Marty was on his feet. "Goin' over to the copy shop." He checked his watch. "They close in about fifteen minutes, and I gotta pick up the posters."

"You gotta try to get into...what's her name...Bridgette's?...pants, you whore." Craig tossed a dirty sock at him, and the tennis player in Marty batted it down.

"Well, that too. You should see her. She is one fine babe! But that'll have to be later. First, we got some ground to cover, boys." Frank and Jesse had shown up during half time, and had been lazily lounging on the floor, mostly watching the football game, partly dozing in and out. "Anybody know how much a staple gun costs?"

"Huh?" The James Brothers looked up in bewilderment.

"I'm gonna go and get five hundred posters, six staple guns and three rolls of tape. We're gonna split up half the campus and cover it with "Batman for Turner" posters tonight. The other half we'll hit tomorrow."

Frank and Jesse went off in one direction, a stack of fliers, a staple gun and two rolls of duct tape in their backpacks. Craig and Brett paired off and went in the opposite direction. Marty vowed to cover enough ground on his own.

Key in hand, Scott suddenly froze in front of Maureen's door. Billie Holliday's voice was wafting through it, and he could see a hint of light peeking through at the bottom of the door-frame. Maureen was a huge fan of Lady Day. "Fuck!" Scott damned himself. "She came back early." Mentally kicking his own ass, he tried to take an inventory of the apartment's condition when they'd all left that morning. He was pretty sure it was in good shape, though the windows had been left opened for a little fresh air, and he hadn't fed the cat before leaving. If anything, he hoped she'd just arrived, and that she'd be busy unpacking, and that she would be happy he was coming back on a Sunday evening to take care of Mittens. Still, he felt guilty about what would only be an exercise in deceiving Maureen for the next few minutes. He made a plan: he'd give a bogus account of the weekend, give a close visual check of the premesis and make a quick exit as gracefully as possible. He vowed, then and there, that he would never put himself in this position again. He did not want to walk in there and lie to Maureen McCarthy. She deserved better.

Then he thought of the dumb-shit, holy-roller senator from Waukesha, and he suddenly wanted to talk politics, so he took a deep breath and plowed through the front door.

"I was going to give you another five minutes," Kelly said softly and sexily, "then call it a night and go home, alone and frustrated." She was sitting in the center of the couch, Mittens lazing happily on her lap, having her neck and chin stroked and scratched, and loving every second of it. He could hear the cat purr from the doorway. Mittens opened her eyes a little and blinked twice in a `fuck you, can't you see that I'm busy here?' kind of way, then turned her head and thrust it into Kelly's moving fingers.

Scott was speechless for a moment, but managed a decent recovery. "What're you..."

"You said in your message that you were gonna watch the Packer game, then come over here. Mo' won't be back `til Monday night or Tuesday morning. Thought I'd wander over and make sure that Mittens was being fed. It'd be a shame if the kitty went to bed hungry." She leaned forward, aggravating the cat, picked up the bottle of wine and filled his glass. He smiled as he heeled-and-toed his shoes off at the door.

"I'd never let a kitty go the night without feeding her first." He stepped over to the couch and sat very close. Accepting the glass of wine, he gazed into her eyes and took a sip. He rubbed Mittens' head, and she responded in kind with several well-aimed moves of her head, purring even more loudly. "You doubted my sincerity in wanting to...ah... feed...the...uhm... the cat?" His hand joined hers in spoiling the already spoiled feline.

Bridgette threw her dorm room door open and dragged Marty in by the collar. "My roommate's gone til tomorrow." She pinned him against the closet door and mashed her face into his, ramming her tongue deep into his mouth. "Doesn't have a Monday class til after eleven, and never comes back to the room on Sunday." She buried her face into the crook of his neck and bit lightly, while her hands worked to lift his sweatshirt. Her nails dragged up his taut ribcage, to his pecs, and she greedily grabbed the flesh as she ground her groin into his swelling package.

Marty gasped. He was rarely, if ever caught off guard, but he was oddly at a loss. No man or woman had ever stunned him quite this way, and once he started computing again, he realized how hot this was. Bridgette reached up behind his back and head and grabbed a handful of hair. She tugged it back, somewhat gently, and bit his exposed neck a bit harder. "Awww fuck!" His hands roamed down her back and grabbed her ass, hard. She moaned into the crook of his heck while she continued to lick. His hands came back up to her waist and he grabbed firmly, pushing her back just enough to look her in the eye. Neither smiled, really, more like smoldered at each other.

Scott had Kelly pinned on her back, flat on the couch. He was propped above her, grabbing at her tits as his tongue lathered her right ear. His knees were between her legs, but he denied her the feel of that firm package grinding into her pussy, which was getting damper with every brush of his tongue. Scott sat back on his knees, and dragged her with him, and each pulled off the other's sweatshirt. She wore no bra, he'd noticed as soon as he walked in, and he slowly guided her back down to the couch, grabbing one fleshy globe in each hand and kneading them as he slipped his tongue back into her mouth. Now he laid fully on top of her, and she could feel his aching dick strain against the boxers and sweatpants. She thrust her hips upward, wanting him inside of her. She forcefully slid her hands down the back of the sweats, and grabbed a handful of ass on each side. When her weight shifted during her bucking into his cock, his weight shifted too, and Scott rolled to his right. The distance to the floor was only less than two feet, and she came down on top of him as they spilled off the sofa.

Scott's "uuuuhhhfffff," morphed into uncontrollable laughter, as he hit the floor, and Kelly's echoed the same. She sat up and straddled his groin, staring down into his eyes as she ground her crotch in small circles tightly on top of his pulsing cock. His brain was barely functional enough to detect the feeling of his own precum being rubbed into his abdomen. As he reached up to massage her wonderful tits once again, she locked her fingers into his and pinned them flat on the floor. Leaning over, she teased his mouth with one nipple, then the other, keeping them both just above the reach of his face. He wanted to curse her, but couldn't give words to his frustration. Only, "eeeeerrrrrrgggggghhhhhhh" escaped his lips as Kelly giggled.

Bridgette's and Marty's clothing littered every corner of her room. A few items were slightly torn, but neither was certain which ones. Nor did they care. She was on her back, massaging her own tits and gently pinching her nipples slightly while his face was buried comfortably between her spread legs. He recalled a classic HBO special of the late, great Sam Kineson's, where the comic had advised his male fans to, when eating pussy, lick the alphabet. Avoiding the temptation to hum the melody of the alphabet tune, he gave it his all. "A...B...C...D...E..." It worked magic. Bridgette grabbed a handful of hair and pushed his face into her sexual center. Part of him worried about being left with a bald spot on the top/back of his head; the rest of him looked forward to explaining how it got there. Before long, he'd determined that M, W and Q were the most fun, so he repeated each letter more than once, resolving to scour the dictionary for a word that contained all three. Her smell, her taste and her reactions were exquisite to Marty, and the thinking part of his brain noted that it'd been a long time since he'd been here.

Kelly was on all fours, her head swinging up and down, back and forth, as Scott rammed his cock as far into her as he could from behind. He was gasping for air, sweat pouring down his face and his chest, unable to articulate a coherent thought. All he felt he could do was bite his lower lip, tilt his head back and drive forward and back for all he was worth. His whole existence was centered on the unbelievably hot, wet tight pussy that was gripping him. Kelly whimpered, "yeah...yeah...fucking yeah...oh God...Scott...give me that cock...oh God...Scotty!! Fuck me, baby!...fuck me!" He grabbed her hips more firmly and slammed harder to her encouragement.

Bridgette's nails dug into Marty's back as he pounded her from above. Her legs were locked tightly around his hips, limiting the range of his thrusts. She wanted him deeper and deeper inside, and every inch of her available body worked to draw him in. Marty's forehead was on the floor over her shoulder, and he felt her open mouth drool on his neck. Neither was speaking, both grunting and moaning. Marty could barely make out her faint "oh god...oh god...yeah...yes...yes..." and he felt the heat of an intense orgasm swelling. He slowed the rhythm of the strokes, but did his level best to increase their strength and intensity. Four quick bangs later and he was shooting into the condom as her eyes rolled back into her head during her ferocious whine. Both bodies bucked, though not in perfect rhythm anymore. Each one responded only as they could, neither lover in control of their own limbs, groins or genitalia.

Scott couldn't control it any longer. "Kel...fuckin'-A...Kel...I gotta shoot...I'm gonna cum...goddam...gimme that sweet pussy...fuckin...goddam...you're so damn sweet...so fuckin' sweet...baby...goddam I love this."

Kelly had about as much control. When Scott's "oooohh...ooooohhhh...oooooohhhh" began, Kelly reached back and grabbed his ass with her left hand. She pulled him forward, as deeply inside of her as she could, while her hips continued to buck up and down on his cock. He began to shoot into the rubber as Kelly continued to rock her ass back and forth. She clenched her teeth and squealed. "Scoooooooooooooootttt! Oh damn... uuuuuhhhhhmmm...oh damn...oh damn!'

After one final, fierce kiss, Marty closed Bridgette's door behind him.

He took a deep breath and smiled. A pang of guilt slapped his brain. The guys were out canvassing the campus with posters, and he was greedily indulging the straight side of his sexual appetite. He got an idea that he felt would redeem himself. He turned right out of the main entrance to Bridgette's dorm and started a late-night trek to Langdon Street, "Fraternity Row."

On Monday, Scott awoke a little over an hour before the alarm was set to bring him back to life. He'd slept hard, but once his eyes opened he knew that sleep wasn't going to return. He put on the coffee, grabbed a towel and trampled down the hall to the shower. Peeling off his boxers, he looked down at "Little Scotty." He smiled. "Good weekend, eh buddy?" His pubic hairs were matted and stuck together from Kelly's juices. He absent-mindedly scratched himself while he waited for the shower to heat up and his mind wandered between recollections of his weekend and trying to plan the day and week ahead.

Back in the room, he made a good effort at typing quietly so as not to wake his slumbering roommate. `Should have found me a treasurer,' he thought as he started filling out the Elections Committee's finance paperwork. Now that fundraising had actually been done, he needed to account for the money. He compiled an Excel spreadsheet of the room numbers Brett recorded on the money envelope, and entered the amount attributed to each individual room. "Shit!" he muttered, noticing that Brett had collected $50 from room 411. "That's gotta be a mistake." He didn't think he'd ever even visited the fourth floor. "Gotta stop up there and thank them personally."

Finishing the bureaucratic busy work, he saved the spreadsheet, and opened an e-mail to Marty. "Mr. Special Assistant: Attached you will find a complete listing of donors' room numbers and each one's donation. Please review your records and add the appropriate names at your earliest convenience." After inserting the spreadsheet, he went back and typed, "Had a great weekend. Hope you did too. I don't tell you often enough, but I really do appreciate your help, your friendship and all the rest! Don't know exactly where I'd be today if Craig hadn't introduced us, I just know it wouldn't be as much fun.

I'll always be grateful to both of you, and, come what may, I consider myself a very lucky guy.

Always,

Scott."

The "Badger Herald" reprinted, with permission, the State Journal's State Street photo of the Dynamic Duo's capture of the four bad guys on Monday morning. To everybody's satisfaction, they'd also re-run the caption, complete with the character's names. They ran an accompanying column of text along the vertical left side of the photo, noting that "Turner is running as an Independent in next week's WSA elections. Scott grinned as he sipped his coffee and looked at the front page.

Kip Monmouth walked out the front door to the house and paused. "What the fuck?" He looked down and, from between his feet, Scott, Marty and the gang stared back in their costumes. The steps to the porch, and the sidewalk leading to the street were dotted with neon colored rectangles. Looking left and right along the street, he could see the same yellow, orange, red, blue and other shades of neon dotting the path that ran the length of the street. Luckily for Marty, it had been a dry weekend in Madison, and the duct tape worked perfectly to adhere the posters to the sidewalk and the porch steps. Kip could only sigh and shake his head. "Shit! Those fuckers are good."

After Craig rose and headed down to the shower, Scott called Maureen's direct number.

"Hey, Maureen! It's Scott."

"Scotty! Dear! How are you?" He heard a muffled order being thrown at a staff member, but in the genteel manner in which only Maureen could throw an order. She put her mouth back to the receiver. "Sorry, honey, you caught me at a goofy time."

"Sorry, Maureen. I'm great. I won't keep you long. Any chance you're free for lunch this week?"

"I'll check. What's going on? Is something wrong? Have you talked to your folks?" She sounded concerned.

"Relax, Maureen. I talk to Mom and Dad a few times each week. I just wanted to touch base. I don't want to be presumptuous, but we're both coming into the home stretch of our campaigns. I just want to see you, and to talk."

"Sounds like fun. You're kicking ass by all accounts that I'm in on. Feed us some of that, if you can. By the way, thanks so much for taking care of the apartment last weekend." Scott rolled his eyes and smiled. She had no idea. "Hang on." He heard her half-yell, "Lois, what's my lunch schedule this week? Can I go to The Inn for an hour or so one of these days? Hell yes, it's important! It's Scotty, dammit! Change some stuff if you have to! Tell the asshole from the Tavern League that he'll have to wait `til happy hour to meet with me."

Scott laughed, but felt a bit of a charge when he heard her. One of the most important people in the whole state had put her staff on orders that he was a priority.

Maureen came back. "Tomorrow works, but we need to make it early. How's 11:30 at `The Inn?' Lois just gave me permission."

"I gotta meet Lois. Give her a hug for me, and e-mail her number so I can just call her and don't have to bother you with a direct call."

"You quit calling me direct and I'll come down to campus and personally smack your ass, you little shit! But, I really do have to run, honey. Got a renegade member of our own party from Milwaukee who is making noise about bucking us on the budget, even if we do get the majority. The asshole is talking about a 17-16 split after the election, and is ranting about how he can't be taken for granted, like he might start voting for the other side if I'm the new leader. Murdoch is such a lame duck, it's not even funny, and this guy...he's such a complete asshole, and I'm ready to tear him a new one."

The Madison press had already how written about how the current minority leader was ignoring the future of his own party. He apparently didn't give a shit, and Maureen was already towing their party's line in the state's upper house. They'd also written about the `Maverick from Milwaukee' and how he could hold the balance of power should Maureen and the governor prevail in the rapidly approaching elections.

"Rip him up, Maureen. Keep fightin' the good fight. See you tomorrow.

Now, go and make him one sorry man."

Maureen laughed. "Aaww, shit! I need you up here. Love ya' lots. See you tomorrow."

Scott strolled over to the neighboring dorm on Monday night, showing his student identification and assuring the security in the lobby that he was a legitimate candidate for office, innocently knocking on doors. He would repeat the routine on the next three nights, not really jumping through security hoops, but rather like gliding through them on each stop. Each one of the fifty or sixty-something-year-old honorable men guarding the lobbies gave him a green light, so he spent about four hours knocking, chatting, cajoling his way down the halls of each dorm every night of the week. The response was good enough for him to worry about what he'd actually do if he was elected.

"Hey, Bradley!! How's it goin' bud?"

The restaurant's host recognized the voice, and turned on his heels beaming. "Missssterrr Turner! How awfully nice to see you again!" Bradley grabbed Scott's right hand in both of his, even though he hadn't really extended it. "So...school's going well, I hope? And I understand you're on the verge of charging into the student government over there?"

"Well, we'll see about that, but yeah, school's goin' great. How's business here at `The Inn?'

Bradley leaned in, and out of the corner of his mouth muttered, "I'm busier than a three- peckered billy goat, but that's always the case when `The Bigs' are in session," he motioned across the street to the stately domed building. "Elections are coming...you'd think they'd be back home covering their own asses."

Scott patted his shoulder. "I'm sure you can handle it. Is Maureen here yet?"

"No sir, but she called and said to have your usual table ready. It seems our next majority leader is going to be running a bit late. She's been delayed by an unexpected appointment, and said it'll be ten or fifteen minutes, a half-hour at the most." Bradley picked up a couple of menus and motioned, "follow me, if you will."

"Not to worry, Bradley," the menus were snatched from his hands. Maureen patted his cheek. "I threw the s.o.b. out of my office and told him to go to hell. I'll lead the way." She hugged Scott in a warm embrace.

Bradley beamed, but still wished he could get his arms around the young stud. "I'll have your tea sent right over, Senator. Coca Cola, Mr. Turner?"

"You're the best, Bradley, but please call me Scott." He winked at the host, who blushed a little at the compliment and the mock intimacy of the wink.

As they took their seats, Scott asked, "Trouble at the office?"

Maureen rolled her eyes. "No trouble, just an intrusive lobbyist for the Manufacturers and Commerce crowd. He's scared to death that his puppets are about to lose control in the upper house, and he's sweating bullets. I'm going to let him and his own sweat a while longer. They've held enough power for more than enough time now, and ignored us for most of the past decade. If the election turns as we hope next week, there'll be a `come to Jesus' meeting to follow."

"Atta girl!" Scott was in awe of this woman.

Debbie put down their beverages, and asked if they were ready to order.

"Well hello there!" Scott schmoozed. "Long time no see. You're lookin' like a million bucks, if you don't mind my saying."

Debbie blushed. "I wasn't sure you'd remember me. I saw you down on State Street Saturday night! You were really busting loose with Catwoman. You got the moves, if you don't mind my saying."

Scott ducked his head in mild embarrassment as Maureen laughed. "Did you see the gang's picture in the paper on Sunday, Debbie? They looked great, didn't they?" She looked back at Scott. "I cut it out and have it hanging on my office wall. Your dad told me that six or seven people have sent them extra copies of that shot."

Scott hung his head. He hadn't talked to Mom and Dad since late last week, and certainly hadn't told them much about their plans for Halloween. "Shit! They're gonna think I'm nothin' but a big old party boy down here." He also felt bad about the fact that Maureen had been in closer contact with the folks than he had been for the past week. He resolved to remedy that as soon as possible.

Debbie nodded eagerly. "They looked great...the hit of the whole party by all accounts! Everybody I ran into that night asked, `did you see the group from Batman?' So, what's it going to be for lunch today?" Maureen ordered a salad and Scott opted for a BLT with a side of slaw. Debbie giggled and winked before turning toward the kitchen.

Scott leaned forward and whispered. "So what about the poor sap from Waukesha? Did he really whip it out for an undercover cop? Is he toast, or what? As sad as it is for him and his family, it's gotta be good for you guys, right?"

Maureen choked a little on her sip of iced tea. "First of all, I never dreamt I'd ever hear you use the expression `whip it out.' Second of all, we're off the rec... oh, sorry, never mind." Scott smiled smugly. "Okay, the word on the street is that he's guilty as hell. The satisfaction for me is two-fold. First, I've always thought he was a self-righteous, self-important, sanctimonious and hypocritical asshole. I didn't know how hypocritical until now, assuming the charges are true. And word is, they are. And, yes, it looks like this'll be good for us. I'm told that he intends to withdraw from the race and is looking for a way to save face. The woman we have running against him isn't the best, but she's ours. There's talk of their party trying to mount a write-in, but it'll never work. Of course, if we do take that seat, it'll probably be for only four years. By the numbers, it's their seat," referring to the other party. "We should take it now, but will probably lose it again next time around." Maureen looked beyond Scott, into nowhere in particular. "I'm cautiously optimistic that we'll have a three-seat majority, 18-15 next Wednesday morning."

"And...you?" Scott asked cautiously.

Maureen grinned shyly. "I'm going to be the new majority leader. I've got the votes, and with the extra seat, that renegade sonofabitch from Milwaukee is about to be a moot point. I'm going to pay him a visit right after lunch and let him know that he can get in line, or he can become..." Maureen leaned in over the table "...ir-fucking-relevant."

Scott clapped his hands once and laughed. "God! How I love your tact!

I think it was LBJ who said `I don't want loyalty, I want LOYALTY! I want the man to kiss my ass in Macy's window at high noon and tell me it smells like roses..."

Maureen echoed the quote as Scott finished it. "I want his pecker in my pocket!" They guffawed together until Debbie arrived with their lunch.

As Scott bit into his sandwich, Maureen changed the topic. "And your bid for power? How goes it? Word I hear from younger staff is that you're a shoe-in, especially after the Halloween performances."

Scott shrugged. "Hard to tell. This is all so new to me. I've got a lot of great help, and more than a few good breaks in the publicity department. The guys did a fund-raiser throughout the dorm, and they've plastered the campus with `Turner' posters using the same picture you saw in The Journal. With the left-over cash, Craig bought some space in "The Herald" and "The Cardinal" for the rest of the week. Meantime, I'm working room-to-room through the dorms. The reception has been good, but it's not like I have polling going on or anything. But, in my gut, it feels good."

"You're going to kick ass, I just know it." Maureen beamed at him.

"Yeah, you are." Debbie said as she refillied their water glasses. Her leg nudged his knee. "This whole Greek versus the rest of us thing has really caught on cuz of the campaign. There are, like, what, seven or eight parties running? And still, the frats have turned this into something like class warfare with their whole approach. Your showing up has mustered the who the hell do they think they are?' crowd, and that's been a good thing. It's like the fraternities against everybody else. I hope they get drubbed, and I agree with Senator McCarthy. You're gonna kick ass, Scott."

Scott was demure. "Thanks, Debbie. Thanks a lot." He raised his glass to her as she turned to check her other tables and excused herself.

Maureen continued, "Okay, honey, back to me. Are you going to be able to make it over to headquarters next Tuesday? I'll be honest and say that we don't need as much help as I thought we would. As the momentum's been building, the volunteers have come out of the woodwork, everybody trying to glom onto someone else's success. But it'd be great to have you on hand."

Scott's eyes grew wide. "I wouldn't miss it! And, I hope to bring Marty along, and maybe Craig, too. You gotta meet Marty. He's a flippin' card. I know you'll love him."

"Kelly told me he's an ace, and something of a firecracker, I gather. Speaking of...seen Kelly lately?"

Scott paused. He mentally kicked himself for not seeing the topic on the horizon, and for not adequately planning for it. "Uh...yeah...we got together for a while Sunday night. You know she had the Halloween stuff going on Saturday, so I gave her a call on Sunday and we met up after the Packer game."

Maureen sensed some tension. "Scott. Relax. I'm not going to pry there. You know how much she means to me. You know you much you mean to me. I believe I know how much I mean to you. Or, at least I hope I do. So, trust me when I tell you that I don't have a concern in the world where the two of you are concerned. I'm interested, of course, and even have to admit to having high hopes for the two of you, but I'm a realist. Have fun.

Be good to each other, and have fun. That's what I've told her."

Scott glazed his fork over his coleslaw, then picked up a small pile and shoveled it into his mouth so he wouldn't have to speak. He just nodded as he chewed, then swallowed. "I got it, my dear. We're doin' fine." He felt a pang of guilt as he replayed the sight of his cock slamming in and out of Kelly on Maureen's apartment floor. So, instead, he conjured up a more innocent vision of Kelly's brilliant emerald eyes and gorgeous, rich auburn hair, but only for a moment.

Maureen's cell phone rang. "Aw, shit!" she muttered as she reached into the pocket of the blazer. Unfolding it, she rolled her eyes and held up a finger to pause the conversation. "Yes, governor. What can I do for you? Are you sure that's a good idea? I don't know. Wait! Yes, in fact, I think I do know! I think it's a bad idea! Ted, there's no reason in the world for you or I to comment at all. That horney dumbass created a situation that's bad for him, his family and their party. We don't need to jump all over it. It's a gift to us without lifting a finger. Why rub salt...?" Maureen looked at her watch, shook her head and pursed her lips. "Give me a half hour. I'm in the middle of an important lunch, and need to wrap things up here, first. I'd respectfully suggest you tell your press secretary to signal the media that you might not, after all, have anything to say on the matter. Okay. See you then."

She snapped the phone shut. "Jesus Christ! He can be such a dick-wad at times." Scott coughed on his Coke.

"Trouble in political paradise, Senator?" Scott was faintly amused, but only because he had no doubt that she could handle this.

"He amazes me at times! Friggin' moron! How he got there..." Maureen just shook her head at what she knew was the man's occasional stupidity. "Scott, if you're gonna pursue politics, please remember this: you don't have to speak out on everything. Often, it's what you choose not to say that's political money in the bank. And, on a good day, shutting up is also the right thing to do."

She rolled her head as if to release the tension in her neck, then focused sharply on Scott's eyes. "He wants to issue a statement to condemn the perv from Waukesha. He wants to do it live, and he wants to do it with me by his side. I'm not gonna do it! I'm gonna tell him he shouldn't do it at all. There's no political need...plus it's just wrong! Can you imagine what the guy's wife and kids are going through already? Shit! What would you be feeling if you learned that your dad was busted trying to suck some guy's cock in a park back home? It was on a Saturday. Not like he was on the job, or on state time, and he wasn't making moves on another state employee. It's none of our fucking business! It might be a legit concern of the folks back home, especially given his public statements about gay marriage, civil rights of gay and lesbian men and women, the asshole's `holy roller' take on what he defines as family values, but dammit! This is between him and his family and his voters. Politically, there's no conceivable reason for us to say a friggin' word. Ethically, there's every reason for us to just shut the fuck up!"

Scott just stared and soaked up her anger. Maureen's glare shot through the dining room. "Debbie!" The girl jumped.

Scott reached across the table and grabbed Maureen's hand. "Go! I planned to pick up the check, anyway. This was my `date' after all. Get back there and tend to business, and put the dumb-shit governor back on a leash. Then, go and ream the asshole from Milwaukee, and call it a day. Get back under the dome, kick some ass, take some names, go back to the apartment, feed Mittens, pour yourself a bourbon and kick back and relax. After all that, plus lunch with me, and you'll chalk this up as a very good day."

"You're a little shit, you know that, don't you?" Maureen was half standing already.

"Yup!" Then he lied, "I already told Bradley that I insisted on picking up the check today, anyway, so your money's no good. Get outta here. Go and save the dumbass governor from himself. I'll see you next Tuesday, if not before. You're gonna love Marty."

Maureen leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm sure I will. I look forward to it. You're a dear little shit. Thanks."

"Go."

Scott took a deep breath before walking into the classroom. He kept his eyes focused on the newspaper he was carrying.

"Mr. Turner, we missed you last week! I hope everything's okay?" Randy's greeting was a genial question.

"All's well, Randy. Thanks." Scott took his seat and began shuffling through his backpack. The class discussion on state budget priorities went well. Randy was well prepared, with though-provoking questions that laid the groundwork for lively debate among all of the students. Scott was well prepared too, and jumped into the fray without caution. He commanded plenty of current and historical information about Wisconsin's progressive traditions of taxing and spending. He could criticize and defend just about every aspect of the state's current fiscal trends. Everyone was impressed, though Scott didn't realize it. The intellectual discourse felt good, and the give and take shoved any tension between Scott and Randy far into the background.

"Got a minute?" Randy interrupted Scott's journey toward the door.

He stopped and looked at his watch. "Sure, got a few."

Randy shuffled papers for a minute as Scott took a seat in the front row of the classroom. The TA spent another several seconds erasing the notes from the board to give the other students a chance to exit the classroom. Finally he turned, walked to the door, and pulled it closed.

"Sorry I didn't have the chance to meet with you last week about your outline."

"You were, uhm, pretty occupied." Scott replayed the vision of Randy bent face-down on the conference room table begging to be fucked harder and harder.

"Do I owe you an apology for anything else?"

"That was quite the show you put on for me. But, no, you don't owe me an apology. You don't owe me anything other than doing your job as my TA. But I'm curious. Was that fuck-fest staged for my benefit?"

"You angry?"

"No, I'm not angry. I'm confused. I'm wondering what it is that you're after here. I'd like to know why you invited me to stop by your office at the same time you were planning to be begging for that big dude's monster cock to practically tear you in half while he smacked your sweet ass and you begging for more. I hope you can appreciate my wonderment."

"Scott. It wasn't that premeditated. When I suggested you stop by the office, I didn't know that was gonna happen. He's another teaching assistant in the Phy. Ed. department who was at the same meeting as I was that night. We've hooked up a few times and he's a good time. I didn't know for sure that you were going to drop in, and it just happened."

"You're into that submissive scene all the time?"

Randy was a little bit glad that Scott was wondering. "No. Not always. Sometimes I want to be as vanilla as they come. Sometimes I like passion. Sometimes I like hot and nasty. With some guys, I've been the submissive little slut you saw last week." Randy shrugged. "What can I say? I like it all."

"And your wife? Where does she fit into your sex life? You don't have to explain any of this, Randy, but I'm just very curious."

"No problem. I figured you'd wondered about that. We have a great sex life when we have the time and the opportunity. We're very adventurous and like to try new things all the time. Sometimes she wants to really dominate me and other times, it's straight out of a mainstream porn movie. But, yeah, we do great when we can be together."

"Does she know you do guys?"

Randy shook his head vigorously. "No! And that bothers me now and again. But it is what it is, and the distance between us encourages me to be a bad boy sometimes."

"Okay, but the way you smiled at me when you saw that I was watching..."

"Well, we were busted, and at the moment I was glad it was you. Plus, there's a bit of a voyeur in me, and a little exhibitionist, and I thought it was hot that you'd been watching." He laughed. "Sorry if that freaks you out, but in the moment, I thought it was cool. I never would've planned something like that when I was thinking rationally, but, as I'm sure you saw, there was nothing rational going on at that moment. Plus, the thought and sight of you watching us brought on an orgasm that might've killed a lesser man."

"Don't know if it's rational, reasonable or whatever. I just wondered if you were trying to show me what I'm missing by keeping you at arm's length."

"Not trying, really, but I have to admit there was a little bit of that in my head." Randy leaned back in his chair. "You know all you have to do is say the word and..."

"Don't go there Randy. You know I think you're hot, and as a bonus, I admire your intellect. If you were just another guy on campus, I'd bend you over that table myself. But nothing's changed for now. Like you said, it is what it is. The semester's more than half over and, in a little over a month, you won't be my teacher. Maybe, we can explore the possibilities then. I'm pretty sure I want to."

"Pretty sure?"

"Yeah...pretty sure. Hey. My budget paper outline?"

Randy chuckled. "Man, the best piece of work that's crossed my desk, and it's only about half done." He reached into his book bag and slid the pages out from the top of a stack inside a file folder. "You got this shit nailed, Scott. You could be teaching this class. A few notes in the margins that I wrote carefully so that they'd be understandable." He handed Scott the outline and settled back into his chair, somewhat uncomfortably. "I was afraid you wouldn't want to meet face-to-face, so I did my best to be clear in my comments."

"Relax, Randy. This is a great class, and you're a top-notch TA. But this is why I want to keep the school work separate from the rest of our lives. It's moments like this that make it clear to me that those lines can't cross."

"Got it, and I guess you're right. So, no harm done?"

Scott got up out of his chair. "I gotta get going. No harm, no foul."

He started toward the door.

As he passed by, Randy grabbed his arm. Their eyes locked. "I'm glad," Randy nearly whispered. The TA leaned forward in an effort to give him a kiss.

Scott pulled back, signaling Randy to let go of his arm and cool it. "Me too, Randy. Me too."

On election night, he felt tied to the library until nearly 10:00 p.m. The anthropology paper he was toiling over was a bitch, and the research required was obscure. Go figure,' he chided himself. Anthro. is giving me shit, and I didn't even want to take it.'

He unlocked the door and strolled in to find Craig on the phone. "Yeah! Really hope to see you then, and let's plan on Thanksgiving weekend!" Craig shut his cell just as Marty was shutting the door.

"The lovely Stephanie, I take it?"

Craig smiled. "Yeah. She's coming up here for Homecoming! We're a few weeks off, but I'll give you a heads-up. Might need a roomie-free zone again that Saturday night. I'll keep you posted."

"Don't sweat it. Ya' know I'll vacate whenever ya' need. Brett and Marty are good hosts, or Jesse and Frank will take me in if need be."

"You're the best, bud! Oh, Walter from the WSA office called about a half-hour ago. Said if you got back before eleven to call him back. Weird thing...his name is Walter, and the dude sounded just like Radar O'Reilly."

Scott laughed. "You should see the dude. He gave me my nomination stuff the day I decided to seriously inquire about running. Better, he looks a little like, and acts a LOT like, Radar from MASH. It's fucking hilarious... `Radar O'Reilly' is alive and well, and working at the WSA office." Scott was already dialing the phone, trying hard not to look tense or nervous.

"Yes, is Walter there, please? Hey! I thought that was you! Walter! It's Scott Turner. My roommate said you'd called. Yeah...uh-huh...yup...and? Yeah...uh-huh...really? How bad? uh-huuuuhhhh. Well...I'll be damned! Whodda thunk it, eh? Well, thank you very much. I'll be in touch." Scott hung up the phone and stared at the wall for several seconds. Agonizing seconds, as far as Craig was concerned.

Craig pushed a few buttons on his cell phone, and folded it closed. He stood up and moved in behind his roommate. He put a hand on each shoulder. "Well? What's the verdict? What say `the people?'

"Nearly seventy-percent. It's a fucking landslide. I took almost seventy percent in a three-way race in our little district. At the risk of sounding immodest, FDR or LBJ didn't do this well, and they both kicked ass.

Not as big as Reagan's stomping re-election, but this was just plain huge." Scott shook his head and laughed, then felt his throat tighten and he choked a little. He took a deep breath. He turned around and looked at Craig. "Fuck, dude... now what?"

Craig pulled him into an embrace. "Way to go, buddy. I knew you'd do it, and I knew you'd do it huge." Scott's eyes were welling with tears as he let his chin rest on his roommate's shoulder in their embrace. Marty's knock on the door filled the room.

Craig smiled. "Now what? Now, we celebrate!" Craig strode to the door as Scott wiped his eyes with the backs of both hands.

Brett burst through, both hands in the air. "Yooooouuuu da' ffffffuuuuuucking Man!" He strode past Craig, and Scott barely got his hands up in time to meet the pair of high-fives. Their hand-slaps became clasps which quickly became a manly hug.

"I got the little fucker at WSA to give me a call with the results," Marty said, as he handed Craig the champaign and smacked Brett's ass. "Get the fuck outta my way. The Special Assistant needs a hug from the biggest political bad-ass on the UW campus!" As Brett and Craig worked together on the foil and wire on the tip of the Dom Perignon, Marty flung both arms around Scott's neck and aimed a kiss at the cheek they couldn't see. He missed, and hit the ear square-on. He moved his head a little, and repeated the gesture, this time making his mark squarely on the cheek. "I knew we'd do it, my man. I just fucking knew you'd be huge around here. Way to go. Way to fucking go." There was a pop of the bottle being opened. "Somebody pour the man a fucking drink. Craig! You got a doobie rolled? Fire it up.

We're gonna celebrate a bit before planning the man's road to the U.S. Senate!" Everybody laughed as Craig fished through his desk drawer.

"Call Frank and Jesse!" Scott all but shouted.

Marty assured him, "They're on their way, bud. Brett damn near smashed their door down on the way by."

Around midnight, Scott called it quits. "Y'all gotta go, boys! Sorry, but I need some sleep." He blinked his eyes and shook his head, "And so, by all appearances, so do you guys. I need to go out a run in the a.m., and then work through my head what's next." He looked around the room. All five others were sitting on the floor. All were obviously buzzed and each one beamed back at him. "You know I love you guys, and I can't thank you all enough." His eyes panned the happy faces and bloodshot eyes loving him back. He kicked Brett's foot in appreciation, but Marty was sitting close enough to reach over and grab his knee and give it a squeeze. "You're the fucking best, and I can't do enough to say so." Scott's throat was tightening and thickening again.

Brett rolled his eyes and leaned over to smack his roommate's arm. "We gotta bail here, buddy, or he's gonna start crying." He looked back at Scott and he worked to lift himself off of the floor at the same time. "And, you're right, you can't do enough, but I'll expect you to keep trying." Now standing, he reached down and ruffled Scott's hair. "G'night, Sir." Frank and Jesse repeated the move as they sauntered out of the room.

"Great one, Scott. You done good." Jesse offered.

"Ditto. Thanks for letting us help." His roommate followed.

Scott managed to get upright and throw an arm around Brett. "You and the band, man . You delivered it all." It was an exaggeration, and everybody knew it, but it was in line with the mood and direction of the conversation.

"And YOU!" Scott grabbed Marty into a bear hug. "You're a keg of dynamite, you're a whacko loose screw, you're nuts plain and simple, and you got me here. I might hate you for this, and I might love you for this. Too early to tell." He held Marty's shoulders at arm's length and held him still. They gazed into each other's eyes. "I'll let you know if you're a good thing or a bad thing."

Marty understood the praise that was being heaped on him, and he looked at the floor in some modesty and some embarrassment. "I'm a good thing, man, and you know it." Scott pulled him into another big hug as all the guys laughed. Marty went on, softly, "Good going on the election. You did it. You woulda done it without me, or Brett, or Craig or anybody. You're that good." He whispered as they rocked in their hug, "and I hope you know that. It's just so fucking easy to believe in you. I don't completely believe in a helluva lot, really, but I do believe in you."

Scott strode up the narrow staircase of the brick building. He hadn't been here since the day he picked up the nomination papers; the first time he'd met Kip, as he recalled. Walter's directions over the phone last night had been to stop in and pick up some orientation materials, as well as a schedule for the coming weeks.

Scott opened the office door, somewhat sheepishly. "Hey!" Walter's voice squeaked. "Welcome aboard, Senator-elect Turner." The little guy had to put a toe on a counter shelf near his feet to lift himself up to reach out and lean over the counter to offer a his heartiest handshake.

Scott was caught up in the moment. "Ra...I, er, mean, Walter! Thanks a lot."

The kid laughed. "Don't sweat it, Mr. Turner. Everybody calls me Radar. I'm kinda flattered that you keyed in on that without being told." He looked around. "You weren't told, were you?"

"Hell no, Walter! And, it's Scott, please. Radar O'Reilly was the first thought I had when we first met." Scott suddenly felt bad and a lot self-conscious. "You're not offended by that, are you?"

"Why? It was a great show, and Radar was the hero a lot of the time, the glue that held that unit together. Plus, I am from Iowa. It's kinda flattering, and I do try to play that part working here. Anything you need, Scott, I'm your guy. This is my third year here, and I know where all the bodies are buried."

"I'm sure I'll take you up on that, Walter. I really appreciate it."

"Well, time to get to work, then." Walter squared the stack of papers in his hand. He cleared his throat and began laying them out one at a time.

"Okay, here's a list of newly elected or re-elected members of the Student Senate, their districts and their contact information. If you have any aspirations for a specific post within the WSA, you might want to start contacting your new political colleagues." Scott nodded. "This is a list of the WSA committees and their responsibilities. This is the official WSA Charter and Bylaws. This is the condensed version, the handbook that explains procedures and operations and the like, more in layman's terms. I wrote it myself when I came on board." He exuded a small amount of pride. "This is the timeline for the organizational meetings that are coming in the next couple of weeks. There's a meeting of the Senate next Thursday night, to elect officers. The first official meeting of the new WSA will be held the Monday night before Thanksgiving, and twice a month thereafter, the first and third Mondays of every month, except January during Christmas break." He grabbed a slip of paper. "And this, Scott, is my home number and e-mail address. It's not in any of the other contact information in here, but you might want to use it. Hope you don't hesitate to give me a call if you need to know anything," he paused and looked around, then leaned forward and whispered, "on or off the record."

"Thanks a lot, man."

Walter straightened up and cleared his throat again. "Okay, then, any questions?"

Scott's eyes were wide. He paused and thought for a second, then shrugged and shook his head. "Uuuhhhhmmm, no, I guess not. Er, not now, anyway. I'm sure I'll be pestering you a lot the rest of the week though."

Walter squared the stack of paper once again. Taking about a third at a time, he three-hole punched the pages and assembled them into a ringed binder. He snapped the rings closed and shut the cover. It had been labeled "Senator Scott Turner, Jr." He slid the binder across the counter. "I hope you will. I'm very glad you won your seat, and by such a huge margin. I've never seen anything like it, Scott." He leaned in again and whispered. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, either, but you actually got write-in votes in all the other thirty districts. Of course, the votes were thrown out and didn't count for anything, but I'm quite sure that has never happened."

"Really...who'da thought..."

"Me." His eyes widened and he nodded enthusiastically, trying his hardest to be sincere and persuasive at the same time. "I'm not surprised at all, actually. Your campaign was brilliant."

"Just dumb luck, Walter. Marty's media presence helped, my press guy, Craig did a great job, and the Halloween photo was a boost. Actually, I shouldn't call it dumb luck, but I am a lucky guy."

"You're gonna do great! I just know it."

"Thanks again, Walter. You're the best." He checked his watch. "Well, gotta run and grab lunch and begin digesting all of this stuff.

Scott was munching on a tuna sandwich and some chips, slowly paging through the materials Walter had so efficiently assembled for him. He sensed a presence over his shoulder, and a voice whispered, "Did I ever tell you that I find power very sexy?"

A grinning Marty Anderson plopped down in the seat next to him.

Scott smirked and wiggled his eyebrows. "Ever sucked a senator's cock?"

Marty licked his lips. "Nope, but I been wonderin' all morning when I'm gonna get my chance."

Scott mulled it over, then dismissed it. "Craig's probably in our room."

"Brett's not in ours..."

"And I've got class in a half hour."

Marty glanced around and, determining it was clear, put a hand on Scott's thigh. "And I can have you screaming my name in fifteen."

"Knock it off, Marty. You're making me hard." He rapped the back of Marty's hand with his spoon. "Too much to do today, and I'm goin' up to help Maureen tonight. You're comin' with, right?"

Marty pulled back and sighed. "Shit, you're no fun, you know that?"

"I am too, and you know that, just not right now...but soon, I hope"

"Yeah, I want to come along. Can't wait to meet the great Maureen McCarthy."

"You'll love her, and I'm sure you'll charm the hell out of her. At least, that's what I'm counting on. She's heard great things about you, ya' know."

Marty smiled. "So whatta we got here?"

"It's the playbook for newly elected members. Radar put it together for me. He's really a good shit, and I've got a feeling he'll be a real asset. Need to get ready for the first informational and organizational meeting."

"Cool! So, what do we do now? We're gonna start kicking ass and taking names now, right? When's the meeting?"

"We...? You don't have to go. Fact is, you really can't go. I mean, you can maybe be there as a spectator. I'm not sure it's an open meeting, but I can ask if you want."

"Huh? What do ya' mean?" Scott could see some hurt and confusion in Marty's expression.

"Bud! Like it or not, one of us was elected and one of us wasn't. That was my name on the ballot, and only mine. Things just changed. You don't really have a voice in this the way you did up `til the other day. Not officially, anyway."

Marty's brows pursed and his eyes squinted. "You sayin' that your all done with me...with us...now that you're all elected and shit?"

"Dude! No! That's not it at all! What it is, though, is that I'm not a candidate anymore. I'm in. Fact is, you're not. My loyalties gotta widen to everybody who elected me now, and even those who didn't. My responsibilities just grew. Yours, in a lot of ways, just shrunk." Marty looked dejected and hurt. Scott put a hand on each shoulder. "Marty. I couldn't have gotten here without you. I know that, and you know that I love you guys because of that, and more." He looked deep into Marty's eyes, searching for a hint of understanding, but didn't see it. "I'm going to continue to need your ideas, your voice, your support...but you don't have the role to play the way you did. It wouldn't be right for me to continue to give you any more consideration than I do anybody else I represent. I'm always going to need you close by, but when it comes right down to making decisions in the WSA, there really isn't a `we' anymore."

Marty mulled it over, quietly.

Scott was suddenly feeling guilty, though it was clear he needed to spell out the political fact for his friend. "Marty, tell me you understand that...please!"

"Yeah, I get it. You're right." He did his best to smile. "You fucker...you're always right."

Scott breathed a sigh of relief patted his shoulder. "Thanks, man. You're the best. Well, I gotta get a move on it. If I don't see you here for dinner, we should be ready to leave at about 6:30. The polls are open state-wide until 8:00, but I expect exit polling info. to start coming in a little after 7:00."

"Awright, professor. I'll be ready."

The party's headquarters were in an office complex two blocks from the capitol. It was nearly 7:00 p.m., and after parking in an underground ramp, Marty and Scott got on the elevator for the third floor. Access to the office complex was blocked by a locked door and an intercom security system.

Scott punched a four-digit code that Maureen had e-mailed him, and a gruff voice responded, trying to sound polite, but not quite pulling it off. "How may I help you this evening?"

"Scott Turner. Here to see Senator McCarthy and Company?" It was more of a question than an introduction. The speaker went silent for several seconds.

"What the fuck?" Marty was antsy. "Don't you have enough pull to get into the place at night?"

The grumbly voice came back. "Relax, son, he has more than enough pull. Who's your friend, Mr. Turner?"

Scott put his hand over Marty's mouth. The old guy watching the video monitor of the lobby and working the intercom system chuckled. "Mr. Martin Anderson, sir," Scott sounded chipper and anxious. "I'm pretty sure that Senator McCarthy understands that Mr. Anderson will be with us tonight, and I believe she's expecting both of us. And, sir, if I may, a Mr. Craig Bostwick might be joining us all later."

"Very well, Mr. Turner. Come through the doors and take the hallway to your right. Have a good evening."

"You too, sir!" Scott offered, not knowing if the growly bastard on the other end even heard him.

As they rounded the corner, Maureen stretched out both arms. "Marty! You little dickens! It's about time I met the new senator's `special assistant!' So glad you could come!" His eyes were trying to bust out of their sockets as she pulled him into a hug.

Scott laughed and clapped. "Maureen, you're the only person I know who can render the boy speechless! Way to go!" He elbowed his buddy. "Told you she's somethin' else."

"Uhm...err..nice to meet you...ah, Senator." Feeling challenged by her good-humored effort to put him on the spot, he recovered quickly. "And, if I may say so, you're much better looking than Scott ever let on."

Scott's hand smacked the back of his head. Maureen and Scott both giggled at Marty's effort to mix it up with both of them.

She leaned in and kissed Scott's cheek, and grasped both of his hands. "Congratulations! I'm so proud of you." She looked back at Marty. "And, it's Maureen, my boy. It took me too long to train first Scott, and then Craig to drop the title. I hope you're a quicker study than the two of them."

Marty nodded and winked. "You got it, Maureen."

"Gus told me that Craig might join us tonight. True?"

Scott shrugged. "Depends on how late his study group goes. He's got some serious shit...er, stuff... coming down the pike in one of his classes, and he's kinda the point man in his group, but he's gonna try."

She linked elbows with the two of them and led them down the hall. "Well, it'd be good to see him again. I hope he can make it." She walked them both into a large, open area with several desks. "This is `the bullpen.'" She pointed around the room, naming several of the party's most important operatives, each of whom was busy on the phone. After a few superficial introductions with some of the more idle team members, she led the guys to an empty office. "Okay, here's the drill. You get to sit by the phone and answer it, for now. This line is set aside for three districts in the northwest part of the state. Our local folks will be calling with exit polling information they're gathering on site. Then, later, they'll start calling with hard numbers, actual counted votes. You might have to make a few calls, if they're not getting to us as soon as we'd like, but it'll mostly be answering the phone between now and...oh, depending on how it goes, maybe midnight. Is that gonna be a problem?"

"Shit, no!" Marty was already feeling juiced by the feeling that he was being drawn into some political inner sanctum. "We got all night, Maureen! Bring it on!"

Maureen laughed and put a firm hand on his shoulder. "Relax, Marty. It won't get busy for another hour or so. Kelly told me you were a bit of a firecracker. She was right."

"Hey! Is Kel' coming in tonight too?" Marty eagerly asked.

"Afraid not. Too much sorority and school stuff going on for her right now. I gotta go. I'll check in from time to time, and don't be surprised if a few others stop in and introduce themselves." She put her hand on one of each of the guys' shoulders. "Thanks for coming, guys."

Every fifteen or twenty minutes the phone would ring. Scott or Marty would pick it up, write down the district and precinct, then either copy out numbers from exit polls of harder numbers from the actual count. The variation in timing and the type of numbers surprised them, but emphasized the differences between the counties' preparedness to handle a pretty normal election. The trends seemed, to Scott, anyway, to be going Maureen's way.

Marty was fascinated by the flurry of activity. The tense faces and the sense of common mission captivated him. His only loyalty as was to Scott and, by association now, to Maureen, but he was quickly caught up as a stakeholder the momentum of election night in a campaign headquarters. He knew that nothing could be done at this hour to affect any of the outcomes, but he was glad he was on hand to play a part in keeping score. And the score that was taking shape was a good one.

Walking out of their office to deliver some more numbers to the keepers of the large white board in the `bull pen,', Marty ran head-long into a very well-built twenty-something guy. He detected a hint of alcohol on the guy's breath, certainly nothing unusual on what was becoming an election-night victory celebration, and it certainly didn't detract from his commanding presence. The muscled guy stepped back "Hey, dude! Slow down a bit, if you please."

"Sorry, man, they said they needed these numbers. I guess this is a big race."

The guy extended his hand. "Randy. Randy Oakes. I'm from McCarthy's district and just dropped in to see how it was going. Wonerin' if I could help."

Marty looked around and shrugged, but his eyes came back to the man's fine form. Even under a pretty thick sweatshirt, his pecs showed their perfect form, and the shirt's neckline tightly hugged the thick and muscular tissue between his chin and his chest.

Randy continued, "I'm lookin' for Scott Turner, and was told he was manning the fort on this end. You know him?"

Marty smiled and stabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "He's in there, Randy," and reached out and grabbed Randy's hand. "I'm Marty. Marty Anderson. Me and Scott are buds, and I'm just here to help him do some of the grunt work tonight." Randy eyed Marty up and down, keeping his expression just this side of a leer. Marty held up the few pages in his hand. "Hey, I gotta get these in to the chiefs over in the bull pen. Scott's in there. See you back here in a minute."

Randy smiled and their eyes locked. "Hope so, Marty. Any friend of Scott's is a friend of mine. Awright, then, ya' better get goin'. See ya' back here?"

"Hope so." Marty winked and scooted past Randy. Then, as he strode down the hallway. `Who the fuck is that?' he asked himself.

Scott was sitting next to the phone and Randy's butt was perched on the table edge when Marty returned. "Hey, you found him!"

"You guys already met?" Scott asked.

"He nearly knocked me on my ass out in the hall a minute ago. Anyway, as I was saying, a bunch of us did happy hour down the block, and I figured I'd drop in and see how the good fight was coming. My dad wanted me to give him a call later tonight with the latest results."

Scott sniffed the air a few times. "Yeah, I thought you'd had a few. Here." He tossed Randy a pack of gum.

Randy nodded. "Just what the doctor ordered," as he unwrapped a stick.

He offered the pack to Marty. "Want a piece?"

Marty's grin approached a leer. "I'd love a piece." Scott smirked at his buddy.

"So how goes the battle?" Randy asked.

"Well, looks good from in here, but we're only monitoring three races. I'd say that two out of these three are safe, and the other one's always been a lock for the bad guys."

Marty's head jerked sideways toward the door. "The mood out in the bullpen is pretty upbeat, that's for sure."

A figure passed the door, then quickly stopped and backed up. The governor looked in. "There you are. Maureen said you were down here somewhere helping us out." He strode into the room, right hand extended. "Good to see you again, Scott!"

Scott was on his feet in a flash. The man walked past Marty and Randy and took Scott's hand in a firm grip. "Governor! How are you? Good to see you!"

"Or do I call you senator, now, Scott? Congratulation on your big win down on campus."

"Thank you, sir." He motioned toward the other two. "Governor Hackett, I'd like you to meet my friend, Marty Anderson." He waved Marty over. "Marty, this is Governor Theodore Hackett."

Marty took his hand. "Very good to meet you, sir."

"And me you, Marty."

"Marty led me into my win last night. He's a political genius, but his Illinois roots require us to keep an eye on him. You know Illinois politics."

"Aaaaahh, I see. A little Chicago-style stuff in your campaign, Scott?"

Marty jumped in. "No sir, governor. I tried my damnedest, but Scott wouldn't allow it. The guy has no imagination." They both laughed.

"And do you know Randy Oakes, governor."

"Haven't had the pleasure." The two shook hands. "Nice to meet you Randy."

"Randy's my poli-sci TA, and his dad's the county chair of the party back home."

"Ohh...Marshall Oakes's son. Good man, your dad. Been a long-time and big-time help to the party."

"Thank you, governor. You and I met once very briefly several years ago, during your first term, when the old man hosted a Labor Day thing for the party back home. I've been a big fan of yours for years."

The governor nodded, and looked back at Marty. He pursed his brows. "And have we met, Marty? I have a great memory for faces, but Anderson's a very common name. You look familiar to me, but I'm not placing it." Marty shrugged. "Where was it...?"

Scott chuckled. "Were you at the Iowa game, sir? When Dayne broke the record?"

"Who wasn't? I hosted a staff appreciation tail-gaiter for the office gang. Great game!"

"Then you might have seen Marty there. All of him." Marty smiled sheepishly and his eyes went to the floor.

It didn't register at first, but suddenly the governor's face lit up with wide eyes and a huge smile. "Oooohhh...of course! That's where I've seen you. You're right, Scott, I have seen all of him. But, I remember the head shot they ran in the paper now. That's why you look familiar." Hackett guffawed and slapped Marty's shoulder. "Legal stuff all behind you yet? How'd you come out of that?"

He looked back up. "Not quite yet. Couple a weeks and I meet with the DA's office at a pretrial conference."

"Well, good luck. I, for one, thought it was hilarious. `Course you repeat that and I'll deny it." They all laughed. "Scott. Can I speak with you in the hallway for a moment."

Scott looked confused. "Of course. Anything wrong?"

"No, not at all. Just want to run something past you."

Scott looked at the other two and shrugged. He followed the governor out into the hall. Hackett took a few steps down the hall and began, "Scott, one of the fifteen seats on the University Board of Regents is reserved for a student member."

"Yeah, I know."

"And the current student is in the third year of a three-year term. Her term is up, and I'm due to appoint a replacement in January."

"Uh huh?" Maureen was standing at the end of the hall, talking to a member of the staff. She saw the two talking, and nodded with a smile when she caught Scott's eye.

The governor stopped walking and turned to face Scott. "Well, typically, the Student Association sends my office one or two names as a recommendation for my consideration. Of course, I don't know many students, so I rely on their own elected representatives for advice."

"That makes sense."

Hackett nodded. "Scott, I'd like you to consider vying for the WSA's recommendation for the seat on The Board."

"Really?"

"Really. I don't know you all that well, but between what I do know, and what I hear," he nodded toward where Maureen was standing, "I think you'd serve the university well from that seat. I could just go ahead and appoint you on my own, but I wouldn't be doing you any favors if the WSA didn't endorse you first."

"I understand. I don't know much about the position, sir. I don't know..."

"Well, it's a fifteen member policy-making board for the whole state university system. The full board only meets once a month, though certain committees and task forces and the like also hold meetings intermittently. Not a huge time commitment, but an important one. There are some big issues facing the university in the next few years, and I think you'd learn a lot and could serve the system and its students well."

Scott was unsure exactly what to think, and his face showed as much. He was silent for a few moments. "Well, gives me something to think about. I'll keep it in mind. And, thank you sir."

The governor smiled. "Of course, if you were to get my appointment, you'd have to withstand the scrutiny of the confirmation process in the State Senate." He subtly pointed with his thumb toward where Maureen was standing. "Think you could handle that?"

Scott got the joke and played along. "Weeeelllll...I don't know, sir. I understand the likely new majority leader is one tough nut."

Maureen walked toward them with a smile on her face. "Giving Ted some political pointers, Scotty?"

"Hey! How's it going? Are we close to knowing the final tally?"

Maureen looked at her watch. It was nearly 11:00. "Well, most of the TV stations have reported we're going to have at least a 17-16 majority, maybe 18-15. Murdoch is coming over in a little while to stand next to you, Ted, so that the two of you can claim victory in front of the press." Hackett rolled his eyes. "Now, Ted, he is still the party's leader in the senate, and will be until he leaves office in January."

The governor sighed. "Oh, I know. But he's such a wet blanket. He has all the pizzazz of a week-old glass of 7-Up. You'll be standing nearby.

I want your face in any pictures or film that go out."

Scott heard the phone ringing in the conference room. It rang several times, and he wondered what the hell Marty was doing. "Better get that. See you in a bit. And, thanks, governor." He turned and jogged back to the door.

"What the fuck?" he muttered under his breath as he jogged through the empty room toward the phone. He quickly picked up the receiver. "Yeah! Oh, sorry. No we haven't shut down for the night, I just stepped out of the room. Okay, shoot." He glanced around again, looking for a clue. "Oh...gimme those totals again?" He searched frantically for a pen, then scribbled on a scrap of paper. "Sounds great! The governor and Senator McCarthy are just down the hall. I know they'll be pleased. Send her our congratulations. I will. I'll tell them both. Now go and enjoy the party!" Scott smiled into the phone as the caller hung up.

As he got near the door, he heard Randy's voice. "Dude, I gotta stop in here and take a leak. I'll be right there."

"Awright, man. Take one for me, will ya'?" Marty turned back around as the men's room door closed behind Randy. He nearly walked right into Scott. "Whoa. Sorry, bud! S'pose I ought to be looking in the same direction I'm walking, huh?" He giggled, and Scott could smell the familiar aroma on his breath and his clothes.

Scott stared him in the eyes. "I need to get this to the bullpen. Be right back."

Marty grinned, a bit sheepishly. "I'll be right here."

Scott returned and found Marty leaning against the wall, staring at nothing in particular and humming "Stairway to Heaven."

"You're baked. You and Randy went...God knows where...and you fired up some herb."

"A lil' bit. And we're not actually `baked.' Weren't gone longanuf. We're more like lightly toasted." Marty snickered.

"Not funny, Marty. Time and place. Time and place." He was shaking his head, working hard to not shout obscenities at his friend. But the time and place were wrong for that, too. He just doesn't get it,' Scott thought to himself in amazement. And Randy...jeeezus, what a moron.'

"We done yet? Let's go down to the bullpen and see where we stand. This is a big night. We gotta be close to a final result around the board, yeah? Let's go down and check out the finals with everybody else." Marty pushed himself upright from leaning against the wall. Before he could take a complete step, Scott put his hand up, and Marty's shoulder nudged into it.

"You're not goin' anywhere, Marty. You can't go down there. You can stay here and out of sight until I'm ready to leave, or you can go back to the dorm, or you can just leave and do whatever, but I'm asking you, I guess I'm telling you, you're done here for the night."

"You pissed?"

"Not sure yet. I sure as hell don't see the humor that you do, but then again I'm not high, either. I'm a little shocked, I guess, that you'd get stoned in the middle of all of this. I mean, you made a good impression on Maureen, but that was a given. The governor seemed to like you, as brief as that was. Neither one of them were born yesterday, you know. Everybody in the room, them included, will know you're stoned. You can't go down there with me. You just can't."

"But you can't stop me from going down there."

Scott mulled it over. "Can I physically stop you? Maybe. Probably, but it'd be a helluva fight. Besides, I wouldn't try. Can I prohibit you? No, I guess I can't. But, will you think about it?" He was struggling mightily to retain some composure. "You're obviously stoned. If you go down there, others will see it. A number of them are media. They know you're here with me, and that I'm here at Maureen's request. Tomorrow's headline, "Streaker Stoned at Election Night Victory Party." will fuck us all up the ass."

"Another part of `no more we' huh?"

Scott felt his temperature rise. "Don't go there Marty. `We' didn't get high at an event managed by a high-profile senator, and attended by the governor. This has nothing to do..." He stopped, took a breath, raised his hands to shoulder-level and shook his head. "I'm not gonna do this now. Under the circumstances, you're not worth the time or effort. I only hope that your brain is functioning at a level that lets you realize that I'm right, and that you just fucked up, big time. Don't make it worse." He almost said, please, but couldn't do anything other than scold and try to give an order.

Randy appeared in the doorway. If anything, his eyes were more narrow and more red than Marty's. "Who wants pizza? I think we should call. The place down the street closes at midnight. Bet we could get `em to deliver."

Marty looked at Randy and decided to heed Scott's judgment, and get the hell out of there. "Naah, Randy, let's go get some."

Randy looked at Scott. "Join us?"

"I'm going to stick it out here for a little while longer." He looked at Marty. "Meet me at my car in about an hour, or call the cell if you're going back to the dorm. Don't want to leave you here wandering around Madison in the middle of the night. God knows the trouble you could get yourself into."

Marty nodded as he took his first step. "You got it, perfesser. C'mon Randy...let's go chow down." They were out the door in about one second.

Scott left the room and took a left down the hallway, shaking his head and trying not to think too hard. Looking up, he saw the back sides of three people blocking his way to the bullpen. Maureen was on the left, the Governor's was in the middle, and a short, fat gray suit, mostly bald on top, was on the right. Apparently, they'd decided that his only path to the rest of the crowd was as good a stage as any to mount their press conference. Scott paused and leaned against the wall to try and listen.

The governor noted that one race remained undecided but declared that they would have a majority in the senate regardless of the outcome. "...and we take this as a clear and convincing signal from the good people of Wisconsin... blah...blah...blah..." is about all of the rest Scott heard. He stepped as close as he could to the trio assembled in front of him, and was sure he was far enough in the background to remain inconspicuous. They spent another five minutes in what Scott thought was false humility and an insincere plea for cooperation between the parties for the good of the people. The governor ended his speech, the staffers whooped and applauded wildly, and several members of the press descended on the trio of leaders to ask questions and get some good sound-bites and quotes for the morning editions.

Maureen spied Scott standing off to the side and motioned him over. "Scott, be a dear and do me a favor, would you?"

"Anything, Maureen."

She pointed to her briefcase on a nearby table. "My car keys are in there. I'm parked downstairs, at the far end, to the left as you leave the elevator, near the south entrance to the ramp." He nodded, remembering that he'd seen the car on their way in. "On the back seat there's a box with a stack of thank you notes. I want the party to mail them tomorrow morning, so need to leave them here tonight. Will you run down and get them for me?"

"You got it. Be right back."

Scott stepped off the elevator and veered left. The lower level of the ramp was about one-third full of staffers' vehicles, and those of the print, TV and radio media. Several vans with call letters and channel numbers populated the parking stalls. Half way to Maureen's vehicle, he stopped dead. He thought he'd heard a muffled voice come from somewhere in the dimly lit structure. He listened. Other than the sound of the heat vents blowing warm air into the large concrete garage, there was silence. He dismissed it and continued on his way. As he opened the car's back door, he heard it again. This time he was certain. It was a hushed male voice, but unintelligible. Then he heard what he was sure was a laugh. He lifted the box of envelopes and set it on the roof of the car. He held the door's handle out and up and slowly closed the door, then let go of the handle, allowing the door to latch tight.

Scott walked across the aisle and into a row of cars. The next row faced the one he was standing in, and he paused again. A quiet, slow "mmmmmmmmm" barely echoed off the walls and ceiling. It was followed by Marty's unmistakable giggle and a few garbled syllables in his muted voice. Scott looked around furtively, but couldn't see either Marty or Randy.

Randy was sitting back in the bed of his pickup, legs outstretched in front of him, and a sleeping bag spread out beneath him. Marty was straddling Randy's thighs, working hard to keep his posture as low as possible, inside the pickup's side walls. Randy's shirt was unbuttoned, and he stroked the back of Marty's head as his nipples were licked and sucked. Randy's cock was throbbing against his jeans as Marty's right hand worked his crotch without mercy. Marty's sweater had been pulled up over his head and hooked around the back of his neck. Randy played with his erect nipples with the fingers of both hands.

Scott surveyed the row of vehicles against the far wall. On his far left, there in the very back corner of the garage was Randy's truck. It was backed in between a TV news van and the rear wall of the building. The van blocked a view to the truck's bed, but when Scott heard the next soft "ooohhh, yeah," he was positive that it was the origin of the only sounds filling the air.

Marty licked his way down Randy's impressive chest and six-pack abs, wanting to linger along the way. But they both knew that they were in risky territory, and couldn't spend too much time on hot, wet foreplay. Maybe some other time, they each thought, but this had to be quick.

Scott turned a quick one-eighty and walked softly between two rows of cars. Scanning the ceiling, as dark as it was, and located three dark glass globes that had to encase house security cameras. `Shit!' he silently mouthed, but mentally screamed. He turned sharp toward the elevator doors and quietly made his way back upstairs. A few steps off the elevator, he gave Gus's camera a salute with his free hand, and the door to the offices buzzed. "Thanks, Gus!" he shouted over his shoulder as the door closed behind him.

Randy's jeans had been tugged down to his ankles, and he shuddered each time he felt the head of his cock being swallowed into Marty's throat. Marty had shifted around, giving the TA access to his belt buckle and zipper, and Randy fumbled with each between the sighs and moans coming involuntarily from his own throat. After some effort, he had worked his way through the pesky button at the top of Marty's khaki's, and was struggling a little bit, trying to get the hot, dripping cock into his mouth and shove the pants down at the same time. Mission accomplished, he grabbed Marty's ass, and pulled him on top of himself. Marty expertly sensed the momentum, and rolled on top of Randy, without missing a single stroke of his mouth around the hot stud's cock. Each sucked the other furiously, and Marty tugged firmly on Randy's balls, eliciting a throaty "ooohhh, yeah." As Marty plunged deep onto Randy's pole, and then held the position for several seconds, his middle finger found Randy's pucker, and probed inside. "mmmmmppphhhhhhh," Randy moaned into Marty's balls.

Scott set the box of envelopes next to the briefcase, and quietly stepped over beside Maureen, who was answering a Milwaukee reporter's question. She finished the brief interview and thanked the young woman for her time, then turned and smiled at Scott. "Well, it's been a good night. Looks like it's going to be 18 to 15 after all."

"So the bastard in Milwaukee is irrelevant in the new majority?'

"Oh, not quite irrelevant, but I plan to make him feel that way." She winked, and took his hands in hers. "Thanks for your help. Where's Marty? I wanted to thank him, too. He's a cute little sonofagun. Like him."

"I'll tell him. He and Randy went down the street to order a pizza before they close. I'm going to run over and join them. Thanks for inviting me, Maureen. This was interesting, and fun. But it's getting late, so I'd better run." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Congratulations, Maureen. You're going to do great things, I just know it."

She kissed him back. "And to you, too. You're going to set the university on fire. I just know it. I'm so proud of you, Scotty."

Scott blushed a little. "I'm glad. Hey, say thanks and g'night to the governor for me, will you?"

"I sure will. I hope you'll give that Regents thing some thought."

Scott looked a little surprised. "He told you?"

Maureen gave him a `gimme a break' grin and eye roll. "No dear, I told him."

"Shit. I shoulda known. God, I can be a friggin' moron at times."

"You'll learn, dear. You'll learn. Now get going. The pizza's getting cold."

Randy was on his knees and elbows, only mildly aware that his profile rose a little bit above the side of the truck bed's walls. He didn't care. He had parked where he had in order to get the visual protection of the news van, and that was good enough at the moment. Marty's hands had his muscular cheeks pulled apart, and he was forcefully kneading them with both hands. He was gasping and purring as Marty's magical tongue worked around, then in and out of his quivering hole. Marty took his right hand and reached underneath and grabbed Randy's rock hard cock, dripping with precum. He pulled it downward as far as he thought he could without doing permanent damage, and dug his tongue as far as it would go. Randy whimpered. Marty released the throbbing member, and it slapped into Randy's heaving abs with a sharp "splat."

Scott strode off of the elevator, but this time veered right. The place was a few cars and vans lighter than it had been a few minutes ago, and Scott wondered if the guys had managed to finish before any innocent passers-by came through the garage. He squinted and peered down the length of the last row, against the wall, but the news van obscured his view of the corner stall. `God, let them be gone,' he quietly prayed. The Almighty responded by causing Randy to pound the truck bed's floor with his fist, announcing their presence.

Actually, it was Marty Anderson who'd caused the small outburst on Randy's part. Even with his pants around his knees, he was able to bend his knees and part them far enough to straddle Rand's legs and aim his tool at the glistening hole. He'd loosened him up well enough with his tongue and fingers, and had just popped the head of his cock through Randy's tight ring. About two-thirds of the way down the row of cars, Scott could see the front bumper of Randy's truck, and he cursed under his breath. As Marty was slowly sliding his full length inside of the muscle stud below him, Scott turned and walked between two vehicles, all the way to the wall of the garage. He thought it was Randy he heard let out a whispered moan. "oooohhhh yeeeaahhh." Looking to his left, he judged that there was enough room between the remaining bumpers and the wall for him to walk sideways the full distance. He wasn't sure what he'd do when he got there, but was pretty sure he wanted to kill them both. `How can they be so incredibly, fucking stupid?' he screamed to himself in his head. Part of him hoped they'd actually get busted.

He was standing against the wall, glad that the news van's driver was cautious when he parked, allowing ample room between the vehicle and the wall. He could hear the heavy breathing and grunting of both men now. At least they were trying to whisper. Marty was taunting Randy. "Like that dick, do ya' boy?"

"Oh, fuck yeah Marty...gimme that cock! Don't stop, dude! Please don't stop! Pound that hole!"

Scott peered around the side of the van. Marty's back was still covered by the maroon sweater that had been pulled up and over his head, but not all the way off. His bare ass was rising and falling at a rapid, forceful pace. He could see Randy's head thrashing up and down, left and right, and could hear him whimpering between gasps.

"You got a sweet ass, man, ya' know that? Hard, muscled, nice, tight fuck hole." Marty massaged the buttocks greedily as he kept up the pace of the fucking he was giving his new friend. He pulled nearly all the way out, and held it there for a second. Randy's head came up and he turned over his shoulder. "Huh?" he asked pleadingly, and Marty rammed his cock into him forcefully. Randy's face fell to the floor and he sucked in a mouthful of the sleeping bag, biting down hard.. "eeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyaaaaaaaaaa...sssssshhhhiiiiiiiit! he nearly screamed into the down-filled muzzle between his lips.

Marty laid full on top of his back, keeping his cock deep inside. "Flex that fine ass, stud! C'mon squeeze my cock with that sweet, hot hole!" Randy was still whining quietly, and tears had begun trickling from his eyes, but he happily did as he was ordered. Marty reacted to the contracting muscles that encased his pounding cock. "Yeah, man. That's it.

Work my cock with your sweet hole. Goddammit, you're a talented fuck man," he sputtered through gritted teeth, and he resumed the drilling with short fast strokes. He didn't raise up again, but continued to lay completely on top of Randy, biting his neck and shoulder, continuing to work his hips. He grabbed Randy's massive biceps and massaged them as his ass moved up and down in short, fast pumps.

Scott had seen enough, more than enough actually. He felt a pang of guilt, like a sick voyeur. He reversed the steps along the wall that had gotten him here, and was pissed that these two could make him feel guilty. He suddenly wished he'd just gone to his car and left them to their own sexual escapade. Randy's gratitude could be heard in the muffled "mmph, mmph, mmph" that greeted every one of Marty's thrusts. Scott quietly but quickly stepped to the other side of the garage and found his car, and was grateful when the growing distance finally washed the sound out of his ears.

As quietly as he could he unlocked the door and slid behind the wheel. He was relieved that his path to the exit would not take him past the rocking white pickup truck. He stopped at the top of the exit ramp and looked for traffic. Seeing the street clear he hit the gas and turned the wheel. The tires squealed on the pavement, and he took his foot of the pedal, coasting to the stop sign at the end of the block.

In the days and weeks ahead, he would never find the right word, or words, to describe the feelings that churned in his chest and his gut. He felt nauseous. He was sweating. His hands shook a little on the steering wheel. Above the neck, his head pounded with a wild assortment of thoughts, images and sounds. Later, he would try to recall the drive back to the dorm, but it would be useless.

He pulled into a parking space in the lot across from the dorm, and shut off the car. He closed his eyes and put his head back, took a deep breath and exhaled, then repeated the calming exercise. "Relax," he said out loud. "Just relax. If there's anything you need to figure out, you can do it tomorrow. Think about it again when you're calmer, or forget about it and don't think about it at all. Yeah, that's what Dad would say. `Don't try to draw conclusions or make decisions when you're angry or upset.'" He took another deep breath. He shook his head and rubbed both eyes with his palms. He flattened the hands and massaged his face from forehead to chin. "Okay. Better. Probably gotta talk to Craig when you get back up there. Just chill out and be cool."

He got out of the car, locked the door and closed it. A couple feet forward along the side of the car his right arm went up over his head, and his fist and forearm crashed down on the hood of the car. Practically against his own will, the arm did it again, he bellowed, "YOU FUCKER!!" He hit the car once more. "YOU STUPID...SELFISH...FUCKER!!"

Author's Note: Well, gang, it's good to be back. I know it may sound like an empty and obligatory salute to the readers, but the emails really are appreciated. I really do enjoy the correspondence with many of you. All comments, questions and suggestions are welcomed, and they really do help shape bits and pieces of the story. Don't be shy. The time away from Scott and the gang was healthy. Chapters 11 and 12 are in the works, but I don't think I'll ever be back in the `chapter a week' mode I was before the recent hiatus. Please be patient.

On a personal note, I'm happy to report, especially to the very loyal readers out there, that I'm flying back to Madison this coming weekend, and I can't wait. If you've never been there, put it on your list of places to visit. "Kelly" and I will spend a good share of Saturday together. And, believe it or not, I'm playing golf with "Craig" and, yes, "Marty" on Sunday. After the round of golf, who knows? Kip? I doubt it. We kind of lost touch after he graduated.

As always, my hat's off to the golden staff at Nifty for providing us with the forum to spin these tales, and to enjoy the works of others.