Strange Bedfellows

Disclaimer: The narrative that follows is a mostly fictionalized account of some of the author's experiences while a college student. It contains some graphic depictions of sexual activity between consenting men and women, and between consenting men and other consenting men. If this kind of thing offends you, or if it is illegal where you live to read or possess such material, then please close the screen and move along. This story is copyrighted, and may not be reposted, reprinted or reproduced without the explicit written approval of the author.

STRANGE BEDFELLOWS Chapter 22

"What's your guess, roomie?" He pulled a gray tie off the rack and held it up. "Dress up or no?" Scott stood in front of his closet, clad only in a pair of boxers, his hair still damp from the shower.

Craig looked up from the edge of his bed where he'd been shuffling a bunch of papers and rooting through his book bag. "Well, you probably ought to wear a little more than that. It's cold out there, bud, and these are the august members of the Board of Regents, after all."

"Yeah, I know, but the meeting notice suggested that this was kind of a casual, social affair. Even spouses are joining us for cocktails and dinner after the short meeting."

Craig shrugged. "Split the difference. Put on a pair of Dockers and sport coat, and lose the tie."

It had been the right call. When Scott walked into the room, all the men were wearing jackets, but there was no neckwear in sight. Thirteen of the fifteen members were able to join them, the other two prevented by other obligations, Andy explained after he'd counted heads. "If I could, ladies and gentlemen, I'd ask the members to gather in the room next door, and we'll take care of a little bit of business. Our guests can mingle out here, relax, and get to know one another. For those of you who have been with us for a time, I'd like to introduce our two newcomers." He motioned to Abigail. "This is Ms. Abigail Svendsen, of Wausau, Director of the Women's Advocacy Fund." Ms. Svendson smiled and nodded around the room to polite applause. She spied Scott across the room and her smile widened with a quick wave directly at him. "Abby, would you introduce your guest to the rest of us?"

Abby put a hand on the shoulder of the woman seated to her side. "Of course, Andy. This is my partner and best friend, Sharon." When Sharon stood and nodded politely to the group of strangers, they were a remarkable study of contrasts. Abby was small, spry and fair-haired. She was attractive but rather plain, in that central Wisconsin way. Sharon was a good head and shoulders above her; a solid woman, though not really what you'd call overweight, with jet black hair and a stoic, statuesque bearing. An image of the two of them together behind closed doors swept through Scott's imagination, and he shuddered.

Andy swept it away with a hand on Scott's shoulder. "And this, folks, is Mr. Scott Turner, our new student Regent." Scott mimicked Abby's silent acknowledgement of the group's welcome. "Anybody to introduce, Scott?"

He shook his head. "No, Mr. Pennington, I'm flying solo tonight." A courteous chuckle rippled through the small crowd.

"Well, if our guests will make themselves comfortable and mingle for about the next thirty minutes, we're going to retire next door to conduct a little unofficial business. Then, they'll be serving dinner in here at 7:00." Andy ushered the group into the adjoining meeting room, his hand still on Scott's shoulder. He leaned over. "It's Andy, Scott, please. We're going to be working together for at least the next three years, so let's drop the formalities, okay?"

"You got it, Andy. Thanks."

Pennington walked confidently to the head of a long table and Scott found a seat in the middle. In an instant, Abby had swooped into the chair next to his, and she gently laid a hand on his forearm. "Scott. So good to see you again."

He smiled. "Ms. Svendsen! How are you? My Gran asked me to send a big hello."

"Oh, thank you, dear, but please call me Abby, will you? I just know we're going to become good friends. Anybody who sprouts from Evelyn Turner's family tree is someone I want to be my friend, so let's just make it Abby."

"Okey Dokey, Abby. Gran, uhm, wanted me to say hello."

Abby gave him a skeptical glance. "Evelyn Turner would not simply say `hello.' She must have sent some greeting of substance, probably some smart-ass remark, Scott. We're old friends, you know."

Scott was busted. He scanned the room for anyone else within earshot, and then he leaned over and whispered. "Keep in mind I'm quoting her here." He looked around and smiled, and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "She said, `Tell the old lesbian that if she doesn't come by and visit one of these days, I'm going to track her down and kick her ass.'"

Abby's hands rushed up to her lips and she squeaked out a chortling laugh. "Oh, that girl!" Scott blushed a bit as her laughter subsided and the other members gathered around the table. "Actually, Scott, it's going to happen sooner than Evelyn might expect. Sharon and I are driving up to the Twin Cities tomorrow morning, and we're planning on swinging through town to see her. You must give me the name and address of her residence."

Scott reached inside his coat and retrieved a pen and nodded as Andy called the meeting to order.

Collated packets of printed materials began to circulate around the table. "Folks, in the first packet of information are the minutes of the last six months' of meetings. I'm getting these to you because some of the issues are either ongoing or are unresolved, and will require the attention of the Board in the coming months."

For the next fifteen minutes, he walked through a Power Point presentation summarizing the variety of personnel, administrative and academic issues that lingered. "Now, let me turn your attention to some procedural and organizational matters. You'll see that the next graphic is an organizational line chart of the Board's committee structure. Beneath that is a form I'd like you all to fill out and hand in before you leave tonight. All of you will sit on at least two committees of the Board. I'd like you to list your top four choices for committee assignments, in rank order. I'll do my best to honor your preferences, but please keep in mind that I can't deliver everything to everybody."

"Budget," he wrote on the top line. Then, "Academic Affairs," then "Athletics," and finally "Personnel."

Abby glanced over, like a kid cheating on a test, and whispered. "You want Budget?" Scott nodded. "Then, list Personnel first." Scott questioned her with his face. She leaned closer. "Scott, they're not going to put a student on the personnel committee, where they might get into evaluations of administration and faculty. Too sensitive and you could have a conflict of interest as a student. So, he'll pass you by on the first choice, upping your odds of getting the second." It sounded like she knew what she was talking about, and it made sense. He crossed out the choices and started over. Then he slid the name and directions to Pineview over to Abby.

They reviewed the meeting calendar for the coming year, and Andy ran through the procedures and paperwork required for having travel expenses covered, and for submitting claims to the modest stipend that each member was entitled to. The travel wouldn't be an issue, as practically all of the meetings would be held in Madison, but he could look forward to a whopping hundred dollars per meeting as a reward for his efforts.

"Finally, I want to give you all some serious stuff to think about before we gather again next month. The governor will be meeting with his department heads in a couple of weeks, and I'll be there, along with the UW President, where we'll receive our marching orders regarding the state's next biennial budget. I expect we're in for some tough times, given the economic and political environment today. I think we should assume that there won't be any additional resources forthcoming from the state to fund the UW's various endeavors. I could be wrong, but I believe that's a prudent assumption for now. So, I'd like you all to take some time and mull over what you believe this great organization's priorities are, and what they should be. As the group charged with the stewardship of this vital institution: what do we value? What do we treasure? What's absolutely vital? What might be negotiable?" He let the thought hang for a moment. "I believe the challenges before us may be great, but I'm confident that if we approach them from a standpoint of principle and vision, we can tackle anything that comes our way."

He paused again, and looked around the table. "And with that, ladies and gentlemen, let's go enjoy dinner."

They recessed back into the small banquet room, most of the members heading to the small bar that had been set up for the occasion. Abby took Scott's arm. "Come on, Scott, I want you to meet my friend, Sharon. She's been looking forward to meeting Evelyn's grandson."

Sharon stood as the two approached. She looked even larger up close, a good inch or two taller than Scott, and really was a striking woman. Her features were dark, perhaps part Native American, Scott thought. She wore dangling earrings and favored southwestern jewelry, all bronze and turquoise. His initial impression of her was that she appeared stiff, perhaps even cold, but that evaporated with her warm smile, and soft-spoken demeanor. "So this is Ev's grandson." She took his hand in hers. It was large, too. "So nice to meet you Scott."

Scott quickly learned that Sharon was an artist specializing in pottery, but dabbling at times in sculpture as well. She and Abby had lived together above her studio/shop for the past twenty years. There was a quiet intensity about Sharon that was one more contrast to Abby's light, somewhat bubbly demeanor. After both women declined his offer to buy them a drink, Scott excused himself to get a soda from the bar. Just as he'd collected most of his change, leaving the rest as a tip, Andy called for everyone to take their seats, as the salads had been set out. Abby waved him over, indicating that they'd saved him a seat.

Once at the table, he was introduced to Tobias Milford, a farmer from Columbus in his fourth year on the board and his wife, Wilma. Frances Cunningham, a retired teacher from Madison and long-time leader in the state's teacher's union, widowed, rounded out the table of six. Mrs. Cunningham was just starting her second year with the Regents.

Polite chatter ensued over salad and a pretty good meal of Chicken Marseilles. During coffee and desert, the Milfords and Frances were deep into a conversation about their children. Abby looked at Sharon, but clearly intended Scott to be part of the conversation. She tilted her head toward Pennington's table. "Sharon, you should have seen the gentleman. Already setting the stage for the coming budget mess."

Sharon shrugged. "It doesn't have to be a mess, you know. If our current governor had the backbone, or the balls, to buck his business cronies, the state could fund all our kids' needs, and then some."

Abby winked at Scott. "Sharon's as into this stuff as I am, Scott. Long-time political junkie who doesn't think too highly of our current executive." She nudged Sharon with her elbow. "And not too thrilled that I'd accept an appointment from him."

Scott leaned in Sharon's direction. "What do you mean?"

She sipped her coffee and dabbed her lips with the napkin. "Scott. All the signals are that Hackett is going to play it politically safe and demand a no tax increase budget. Fair enough. But, he refuses to consider taxing big business the same way we tax individuals or small mom and pop operations. To him, closing any of the dozens of tax loopholes for the greedy few is a tax hike. To that crowd, being fair is practically heresy."

Scott was trying to keep up. This was all very new to him. "Give me an example."

Sharon leaned on the table with her elbows. "Ever go to see the Brewers play, Scott?"

"Whenever I can, though there's not been a lot to root for lately."

Sharon shared his sarcastic grin. "Yeah, but they've got a beautiful, new domed field in which to play mediocre baseball. Know where most of the state's share of the money to build that Taj Mahal came from?"

Scott thought back. "Sales tax, wasn't it?"

Abby nodded. "Another half percent on all retail sales in a five-county region around Milwaukee. Passed the Senate in the dead of night. It cost one poor s.o.b. his seat in a recall election, after he changed his mind and voted for it at about 3:00 a.m. on a Wednesday, I think. Anyway, today every poor Tom, Dick and Harry; every Trish, Deb and Hannah; they all pay another half percent on everything they spend everywhere. But, it got them a baseball field that they can't afford to bring their kids to."

Sharon picked it up from there. "And when you do go to watch the Brewers, that same sales tax is built into the ticket price, whether its box seats or grandstand." Scott nodded. It made sense. She arched her brows. "Ever been into one of the luxury boxes that corporations lease to wine and dine their friends and clients?"

Scott thought back to the luxury box at the Metrodome in Minneapolis, and the memory of him and Marty gobbling on Danny's big dick, while Frank and Jesse feasted on the two of them. He cleared his throat. "Uhm...not in Milwaukee, no."

Sharon nodded. "Didn't think so. Now tell me, why in Sam Hell are the fees on the luxury boxes exempt from any state sales tax?"

"What?!"

Abby patted his arm again. "Yup. First, they can write of the cost of leasing a luxury box as a business expense. Then on top of that tax break, none of `em pay the same sales tax on that purchase that everybody else in the place is paying."

Sharon shook her head. "Just one example, Scott, of some of the basic unfairness in what comes at us from out of Madison. Don't know how much money would come from treating the suits the same way they treat Johnnie Six Pack,' but don't let anybody tell you it can't be done, or that it wouldn't be fair. And if the knot-heads in the lower house would pay as much attention to our schools as they do to roads and prisons, we could still proudly claim that education was really a priority in this state. But, they whine, we can't afford it.'"

Abby smiled at her predictable banter. She'd heard it so many times, and she agreed. "Scott's putting in for the Budget Committee, Sharon."

"Good for you, Scott. That's were it's going to hit the fan first." Then she looked at Abby with a raised brow.

Abby patted her arm. "Yes, dear. I did, too. Not sure ol' Andy's going to put the two rookies on Budget, though."

Sharon thought for a second. "I don't know. If I were in his seat, and was under the gun from the powers that be, I might look at the two newest members as the most malleable, the most manageable."

Scott considered it, and nodded, but he tucked that nugget away for further consideration.

An hour later, Scott had been taken around the room by Pennington, and introduced to all the other members and their spouses. He shared a few good laughs about the Milwaukee Buck's dismal season with Willie Mason, a civil rights activist from the Brew City. Rosemary Burkett, an insurance executive from Stevens Point gave the impression of having a stick up her ass, and her demure husband seemed to practically cower behind her all evening. Scott wanted to make an exit, but didn't want to be the first to bail. Thankfully, members began retiring to their rooms in pairs, except for Mrs. Cunningham, who was widowed, local and didn't need a room. Scott said goodnight to Abby and Sharon, then quickly shook Pennington's hand on his way out.

Andy followed him to the door. "Scott, one thing about this post. We have a lot of free-flowing discussions when dealing with issues important to the UW." He paused and turned to face him directly. "If I'm telling you the obvious, I'm sorry. I don't mean to talk down to you, but I've already had the same conversation with Abby. If every member is going to feel free to discuss any and everything under the sun, and do it candidly, it's important that our discussions remain behind closed doors, until a final decision is made. Then we can make sure everybody's on the same page before we might be called on to publicly defend it."

Scott did think this point was fairly obvious, but the whiff of secrecy rankled him still. "Got it, Andy. Not a problem. Sometimes, it's the same thing inside the WSA. But the stakes are quite a bit higher here, and I understand."

Andy shook his hand again, and gripped his bicep with his left. "Good. I thought so. We'll see you next month, Scott."

It was only three flights down, but Scott decided to take the elevator. He was mulling over Sharon's complaints about the governor, and decided he'd need to be doing some homework on the state's real revenue picture. Just as the doors to his elevator were opening, the doors to the car on the left were sliding shut. Scott exited, just as Kip began his ascent to the seventh floor.

The WSA meeting had been pretty routine. The Student Senate underwent their usual arguments over spending student fees on campus organizations. The liberals didn't like the money going to groups they perceived as conservative. The conservatives didn't like money going to the Gay-Straight Alliance. Nobody liked spending student money on things that didn't sound, feel, look and act just like them. `So much for the deep appreciation for diversity on America's college campuses,' Scott pondered. In the end, the committee's recommendation for third quarter student activities funding passed with only two votes against it. But, both of them were well-known pricks, so nobody minded.

Scott was about to entertain a motion to adjourn, when Bart Morrison was on his feet. "Question of the chair!"

Scott had never taken a Question of the chair,' and didn't quite know how to address this usually obnoxious member of the Student Senate. He looked over at Walter, who rolled his eyes as he nodded it's okay; recognize the Senator.'

"Senator Morrison has a question of the chair, and has the floor"

"Thank you Mr. President. Now that you've taken your seat as a confirmed member of the Board or Regents, can you and will you address the rumblings that we and our peers throughout the UW System are likely looking at a hefty tuition increase in the next school year, perhaps in the double digits?"

Scott inhaled, and bit the inside of his lower lip. He shifted his weight, and realized that he had no option but to wing it. "I'm not sure what rumblings you're pointing to, but I'm glad you asked, Senator. The dust is still settling on the new term of the current Board, and I'd planned on giving the members an update anyway." He was starting to sweat, and he was pissed that it was Morrison who'd inspired it. "Unfortunately, I don't have a lot to share with the members at this time, other than to update you on my own role on the Board. Mr. Pennington, the chair, has named me to the Budget Committee, and to the Athletics Committee, and I'll be attending regular monthly meetings of the Regents for the next three years."

Morrison shrugged, not impressed by the non-response. "So, are you saying you're unaware of the very real possibility that the students might see a steep rise in the cost of their education?"

Scott couldn't deny it. He wasn't going to stand there and tell a bold-faced lie, so he sidestepped it. "Well, in a perfect world, we'd never see tuition go up. Actually, in a perfect world, our college education would be free!" Many of the members chuckled, and he heard the occasional "yeah right" and "oh sure" and "dream on." Scott capitalized on their sentiments. "But, I prefer to operate with both feet on the ground. For me to make any predictions about next year's tuition at this point would be terribly premature and irresponsible. I'll provide more information once it becomes available."

Morrison shook his head, and sat down.

Ted Hackett leaned back in his chair. He had just delivered his `no new revenues' sermon to the state's agency heads as they geared up for their budget requests, but he wanted to meet with Andy Pennington individually.

"I wanted to discuss this personally, Andy, for a few reasons. First, yours is the one agency that actually has to take some votes on the budget request. Health and Human Services, for instance, can submit a wish list with the fingerprints of three or four bureaucrats on it, but it doesn't take a freakin' vote of a majority to get here. There are going to be tough calls on the horizon. I expect a UW budget that doesn't cut services, but that doesn't cost the taxpayers any extra. I'd endorse cutting anything that can genuinely be called `fat,' but nothing a lot of people will notice."

"I'm sure you realize, sir, that a budget like that would require a significant increase in student tuition?"

Hackett shrugged. "Those kids don't know how good they've got it. That reporter, Weeden, was right at press conference. He's normally a major thorn in my side, but every now and then even he can stumble on a sensible analysis. Historically, the students have enjoyed increases far below what the average schmuck sees every year in his cost of living from year to year. Maybe it's about time they start footing a fair share of the bill."

"You know that Turner kid will raise holy Hell over that prospect. I named him to the Budget Committee, so he'll be privy to a lot of information pretty early in the process."

Hackett flinched. "Then you keep him under wraps! That's one of your jobs. I don't care how much noise he wants to make once the budget is public. But by then the kids will be back home and, as usual, ignoring what's going on up here."

Hackett didn't like Andy's hesitancy. He leaned forward in his chair and focused his gaze. "Andy. Let's talk brass tacks. I'm going to run for one more term, and I plan to win big. I want to show a few folks out in Washington that Ted Hackett is a force to be reckoned with. I'm only fifty-seven, and have no plans to retire any time soon. Depending on how the next presidential race shakes out, there could be a chair with my name on it out east." Andy had suspected as much, but this is the most direct expression of national ambition he'd ever heard Hackett give voice to.

"So, in order to do that, I plan to raise a shit-load of money, and get it done this year. There are some powerful interests out there with very, very deep pockets who are expecting me to deliver a budget without any sort of revenue increases. In fact, I'd like to be able to say, with a straight face, that I cut taxes in this budget, but the jury's still out on that. If I can do it, it'll be a slam-dunk.

"You see, Andy, I don't know who the other side will be running against me next time, although it sounds like Congressman Urban is wanting to come home, and that he'd like to move into the governor's mansion. Right now, he's the five hundred pound gorilla in the governor's race on their side, and everybody's waiting to hear what his plans are. Once he announces, those same big money interests will turn their attention to him and start lovin' him up with donations. So, I have to milk that cash cow now. Once I unveil a no-increase budget, I'll be able to strike while the iron's hot and build a war chest that ought to scare the shit out of anybody who even thinks about running against me. In fact, if we have a good summer, I ought to be able to raise enough to spend more than a little to help other candidates. We took the Senate in the last go `round, and I want a friendly majority in the Assembly too. In the process, I can gather a nice collection of political IOU's to use in my last term as governor."

Pennington mulled it over for a moment, and then Hackett plopped the icing on the cake. "Andy, there's a state appeals court seat that's going to open up shortly after I'm sworn in again in two years, assuming all goes according to plan." Andy's eyebrows signaled his intense interest in what the governor was saying. "That senile old fuck, Balistreri is due to retire, finally, and the next governor will appoint his replacement. And, Andy, you do know where four of the seven members of the State Supreme Court ascended from, don't you? It's a natural stepping stone from the appellate court to the high bench." He let it sink in for a moment. "It just occurs to me that you'd look damned fine in judicial robes, Mr. Pennington. I'd just need to know that your judgment is sound, your intentions are solid and your word is good."

Marty whistled his way down the hall. It was an old Mills Brothers tune that he remembered listening to on what his grandpa used to call the Hi-Fi. The flat, black disks would be stacked on a spool, and they'd drop when it was their turn. Somehow, the needle that picked up the sound and sent it though the speakers found its mark every time. He remembered being amazed by that thing.

"Shine little glow-worm, glimmer, glimmer..." he hummed as he fished for his keys. Grampa died way too young,' he thought to himself. My fucked-up so-called father never liked Grandpa very much. I wish the old guy had lived longer, so I'da gotten to know him better. He shoulda' been here to see his daughter, my Mom, Shelly Anderson, stand up for herself and kick Dan Anderson in the nuts.'

The white square of paper on the floor caught his eye. An envelope with his name on it had been slid under the door. It was an invitation, from Frank. "We celebrated mine and Marty's birthday on Halloween, and Scott's in Minneapolis. It's Jesse's turn." Marty grinned. There was a map to the cabin that Frank's dad was part-owner of, with one of his business associates. They used it for occasional hunting and fishing trips. It was about thirty minutes north of Madison, and he'd gotten clearance from his Pop to use it for the weekend in two weeks. Frank wanted to give the guys time to plan. Chances were good that Craig would be covering a concert, and Brett was spending practically every weekend with Angie, so he was planning on just the four of them.

Marty grinned.

Saturday morning, the four future roommates gathered for breakfast in the cafeteria. Brett had a map of the city and another of just the downtown and campus areas where they'd most likely relocate next year. Scott and Craig had spent some time the day before and earlier that same morning, scanning the classified ads. They isolated six prospective addresses. Two were in multi-unit complexes, two were upper level and two were lower level duplexes. Four of them were two-bedroom and two seemed to be reasonably priced with three.

As they bantered back and forth, Scott noticed Marty had been uncharacteristically quiet. "Cat got your tongue today, Mr. Special Advisor?"

Marty shrugged and shot a glance at Brett. "Dipshit here didn't tell me about today's little adventure until last night. I was planning on going back to Rockford this weekend."

Scott smiled, and winked at him. "Okay, so we hurry to let you get it all done today. If we haul ass, we can be done with this shit by noon. You can have Jill's legs in the air and screaming your name by three. That'll still give you most of today and all day tomorrow. You were bragging it up last week that your first class on Monday doesn't start `til eleven. Come back then if you want. No harm, no foul."

He checked his watch. "We were going to take Ashley out to brunch in a couple hours, then take her to see that new Disney movie."

"Buck up, chump. You can still make it to a later movie. Take `em out for pizza afterward instead. The little doll loves cheese pizza, if I recall."

Marty just shrugged and chugged back the rest of his coffee, then nudged Scott with his thigh to slide out of the booth. "Then let's haul ass, guys."

In between stops, Brett unveiled for them his master plan for spring break. "Gentlemen, the man who brought you fame and fortune...okay, maybe only fame, for a little while...on Halloween, has conceived the perfect spring break itinerary. While all the other revelers will head to the usual spots: your Ft. Lauderdales, your South Padres, your Tijuanas, I propose a lesser traveled destination. The Big Easy. New Orleans."

"Mardi Gras?" Craig smiled.

"No, dummy. That's the beauty of it all. Easter's kind of late this year. I wish the Church would just nail it down like they did with Christmas. Just pick a fuckin' date and stick with it. Anyway, Mardi Gras isn't until March 10th. Our break starts that next weekend. That gives `em the rest of the week to clean up after the madness, the nuts have all gone home, and it's prime time to visit the tourist starved hotels and restaurants. It won't be a zoo, prices will come back down after the celebration, and we'll have run of the place." He smiled with more than a little satisfaction.

Scott looked in the rearview mirror and smiled. He cocked his head and noticed a very passive Marty just staring out the window. Craig tapped his shoulder. "Pull over her, buddy. This is the place."

Back in the car once again, Brett went back into his travel agent mode. "So, we leave that Saturday at about noon. It's a twenty-hour drive, so if we take turns at the wheel we can drive straight through. We get to N'awlins at about eight the next day, and have a full week to rape, pillage and loot the French Quarter. We head out on Friday, and are back here comfortably by some time on Sunday."

Scott did the math. "Hey, genius. If it's twenty hours driving down, how do you figure twice that coming up?"

Brett leaned over the front seat. "Cuz Memphis is on the way back home, and I want to stop at Graceland. Always wanted to see `The King's' palace. We spend one night enjoying some barbecue and real culture with the spirit of Elvis."

After the fourth apartment, Marty looked at his watch again. "Look, Scott. You guys can decide this without me. I want to get going. Just drop me back at the dorm on the way to the next place, and I'm gonna head out. If you find one that looks good, that's fine with me." Scott shrugged and nodded, but nobody was going to argue with him. His mind was made up.

"So, how does the new schedule look?" Maureen squeezed a lemon slice over her tall glass of tea, and wiped her fingertips on the napkin.

"Pretty good, really. Tuesdays and Thursdays I start late but go late; the others I start early and get to finish early. Goin' to be cool being done with class by one-thirty on Fridays. Lengthens the weekend a bit." He winked at her and she shook a finger at him. "But, I think this chemistry class is going to be a bitch. Three credits worth of lecture and another two of lab, and you know science hasn't exactly been my strong suit."

She smiled. "You're a lot like me, and your dad for that matter. We do better where there are shades of gray worth exploring with some subjectivity, not the concrete all right or all wrong worlds of math and science."

Scott looked up and smiled. "Hello, Vang! How are you?"

The cute Asian waiter smiled shyly. "Hello Scott! Good to see you again." He had served the pair on an earlier visit to the Inn on the Park.

"Hey! I see we're in the same sociology class this semester. I was going to track you down when I saw you yesterday, but you got out of the hall in a hurry."

Vang looked disappointed. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't even see you."

"Well, it's a big class. The curse of being a freshman, I suppose. Most of the classes are intro, so they're all huge. I'll keep an eye out for you next week."

"That would be good! Are you ready to order?"

He took their lunch orders and quietly took his leave. Scott leaned his forearms on the table's edge. "Well, you were right."

She teased him. "What, again? What is it this time?"

Scott stuck out his tongue. "Pennington and the Regents. He didn't waste much time at that first meeting forecasting our coming budget woes for the University. Prepping us for the slaughter, I think. And, he went out of his way to make sure that I take pains to keep everything under wraps, for now anyway."

"Well, that's also pretty sensible. I've seen too many good efforts fall apart before their time because some idiot on the inside is running around shooting off their mouth long before it's prudent. The same can be true of potentially bad efforts. They get publicity too soon and can cause a lot of unnecessary anxiety. Lousy ideas that should've been aborted at their inception are often best killed quietly. I know that's an unfortunate metaphor, but there no sense in scaring the shit out of people, or in raising expectations before the facts settle and become real. It just muddies the water."

"I took some mild shit about it from our resident lunatic, Bart Morrison, at the WSA meeting the other night. Seems he's caught a whiff of financial storm clouds gathering on the horizon, and he wants me to answer to it now." Maureen's expression asked, and...?' He shrugged. "I stiff-armed him, for now anyway, but don't know how long I can hold onto it's too early to say' as an explanation."

"Well, if you honestly don't know how the budget is going to shake out, then it really is too early to say. I'd keep that up until the governor actually presents the budget to the legislature, if you can. Who knows? Maybe you can slay the dragon before it even leaves the cave. Then, it's a moot point."

Scott leaned back in and huffed his frustration. "I just think it sucks that Governor Hackett would get behind such a major screwing of the students. The real chance that we could be expected to endorse such lousy policy just pisses me off."

Maureen shook her head. "But, Scotty, you need to keep your eye on the difference between policy and politics. If it's a matter of policy, there's a long list of questions. Is it a good idea? Is it a bad idea? Who will it help? Who will it hurt? How do we implement and enforce it? What will it cost, or what will it save? What's the evidence of all of the above? For those things, we rely on the policy wonks, the bureaucrats, the experts and the academics."

Scott frowned. "And the lobbyists."

She had to admit it. "Yes, and sometimes the lobbyists. Like it or not, they're often very good sources of information. Granted, their facts are usually one-sided and full of spin, but that's why we at least listen to all of them."

She folded her arms and leaned in closer. "But," she paused for effect. "If it's a question of politics, there are often just two questions. Who is to blame? Who gets the credit?"

"Who owns the shit?"

"Exactly. And, as I've told you before, it's damned hard to point and blame and disown the product when you're in the governor's mansion, or in the majority for that matter.

"Ted Hackett has an agenda, and a big piece of that is to accept the Regents' request, and when it becomes clear that his budget is going to require maybe a twenty percent increase in student tuition, he can say, with a straight face, But, this is what the University asked for.' Keep in mind, Scott; he's not maliciously out to get the students. He doesn't get up in the morning wondering, how can I screw our best and brightest young minds today?' He's working toward a budget that won't require any kind of general tax increase. If it means that the students have to cough up more cash for their degrees, then so be it. He just needs, politically, to be able to say, "I don't really own this shit. I'm merely supporting the wisdom of the Regents.'"

Scott was standing, as patiently as he could, in the checkout line, and was being sternly admonished by a soft voice in his head. `You're going to Hell for even thinking that, you know.'

He tried to ignore it, and instead focused on the back of her head. God! He wanted to reach up and smack her on the back of the head. Well, not really smack, but maybe a good tap. Yeah, just a tap to get her attention. `Take out your friggin' pocketbook, dammit!' That pesky voice was becoming really impatient.

For the umpteenth time, Scott heard himself asking, `What is it with folks that age?'

Indeed, why was it that old women could stand in the checkout line at a grocery store, or any store for that matter, and not even reach for their money or their checkbook or their friggin' debit or credit cards until the cashier had officially pronounced the total amount of the sale? No, they'd wait for the pudgy little doll behind the conveyor belt that slid the green onions down the line to hit "Total," and tell them the final price, before even touching their purse. Then it was always find the checkbook and begin writing, slowly, double-checking the amount before recording the number in the blank, and painstakingly spelling it out on the line. He never understood why they couldn't begin filling in the check while the goods were being scanned. But it never happened. Never.

It was like they thought the crap might not have to be paid for it at all until it was specifically requested. Until they were told a specific amount, the money was staying put.

Scott only had five items in his hand, and the little biddy had seen that when they got to the line at about the same time. But did she insist that he go first because she had a lot more items in her cart? Not on his or her life.

Take out your fucking money, Lady!' the voice was screaming. At least get the goddam pocketbook out while she's scanning your Pepto-Bismol!' They never did.

Then, of course, we had to scan the friggin' coupons. Scott began to tap his foot and waged a quiet war with the impulse to smack her on the back of the head.

"That'll be twenty four fourteen." Now she had permission to unzip the purse.

And, God knew, she had twenty-four dollars and fourteen cents in cash in that little pocket book. "Let's see..." She fumbled through the pockets of the wallet. "There's ten...fifteen...twenty...twenty-one..."

The voice was getting louder still, and Scott didn't care any more about going to Hell. `Jesus Christ, lady! Why does it always have to be the exact fucking amount?' He could see that she had a twenty and a five in there, but it was going to be a ten, two fives, four ones, a dime and four fucking pennies. She had it all, but wasn't going to begin parting with it until the adorable clerk told her she had to. He had the dime and four pennies in his palm and was ready to dish it out, just to get the sweet old bat out of his way.

He scowled at the guy who smirked at his purchase. A roll of red and white gift-wrap, a roll of wide red ribbon, a spool of tape, a twelve pack of Trojans and a bottle of KY. The internal voice was now directed at the clerk. "Fuck off, dweeb."

He tossed the bag on the back seat and slammed his car door. He pointed toward the old gal who was waiting near the store's entrance for her husband to pull up in his car. "Was it the Great Depression, or wartime rationing or what that left every woman that age absolutely insane when it comes to handing over their money?"

Marty looked blankly at him. "Lighten up, Scotty. We've got time." Suddenly he pointed out the windshield. "Hit him!"

"Huh?"

"That asshole leaving his shopping cart in the middle of a parking space! Run the fucker over!! God I hate those people! You hate the slow-paying old biddies with their exact change. I hate the lazy motherfuckers who leave their carts out in the middle of the lot. Hit him!" Marty playfully put a hand on the wheel. Scott elbowed him away with a grin and pulled the car out of the parking lot.

Scott had gotten the same invitation as Marty, and they were driving up to the cabin Frank had permission to use for the weekend. Neither guy could stay the whole weekend, but they'd made plans to go up for a little party on Friday night. It's the least they could do for their buddy, Jesse, on his birthday.

Marty looked at the map and did the navigating. The place was pretty easy to find, about a half-hour due north of Madison, it was little more than a mile off if Highway 51. During the drive up, he opened the spool of ribbon, cutting off long strips with a pocketknife. "Mom taught me how to do this a long time ago. Let's see how my memory is."

Frank had given Scott the key that morning, and he and Jesse would join them about thirty minutes after they arrived. As instructed, Scott parked out back, behind the cabin, so Jesse wouldn't notice the vehicle when he and Frank arrived. They couldn't do anything about the tire tracks on the snow-covered driveway, and Frank had insisted he'd keep Jesse distracted so that he wouldn't notice them. They unloaded a couple of coolers. Scott deemed it a good idea to do some warm-ups, so he fired up a joint. Marty opened a couple of beers, then found a decent station on the old radio on top of the older television set. This was no condo; it was a real Wisconsin cabin.

They horsed around a bit while building a fire in the fireplace, but held off getting too physical, waiting for the other guys to get there. When they heard the car pull in, each one grabbed his beer and darted into the back bedroom. They knew the fire and the lingering smell of the joint they'd smoked would be suspicious, but they didn't care all that much.

From the bedroom, they heard their two friends coming into the cabin. "Got a fire goin' already, Frank? How the hell'd you pull that off?"

Frank could be pretty quick on his feet, when he had to be. "Called the neighbor who looks after the place a lot of the time. Told him we were coming up, and asked him to stop in and make sure everything was working. He musta' set it up for us. He's a good shit." Frank opened the refrigerator door. "I asked him to stock the fridge, too. Good man! He did it." He opened a couple of beers and smiled at a muffled giggle from behind the closed bedroom door. He handed a cold one to Jesse. "Make yourself comfy, bud. We got the whole weekend to just kick back and relax."

"And...?" Jesse put a hand on Frank's ass.

"Down, boy! Like I said, we got all weekend. I gotta go pee."

"Need some help?"

He put a hand on his roommate's impressive chest. "Sit." He walked to the back of the kitchen, reached around the doorway and turned on the bathroom light, then pulled the door closed. He tiptoed a few steps over to the bedroom door and quietly snuck inside.

After he'd been gone for more than five minutes, Jesse was curious. He walked to the edge of the kitchen. He could see the bathroom light was on under to door, but couldn't hear a sound. "Frankie? Everything all right? You okay in there?" Nothing. "Hey, Frankie, what's up?"

Finally, Frank rapped on the bedroom door. "In here, bud. I wanna give you your birthday present. Come on in!"

"Happy Birthday!" they all shouted at once. Jesse dropped his beer bottle. It was a sight to behold. Three fit studs, each one wearing only a smile and a length of wrapping paper rolled around their midsections like bath towels. Holes had been cut in the wrapping and their dicks were hanging through, each one with a large red bow tied to it.

Jesse's face erupted in pure glee. "Oh, Frankie! Just what I always wanted!" He dropped to the floor, and knee walked toward the trio of gift-wrapped meat. Scott's paper was torn first, top to bottom in one fell swoop. His dick bobbed in reaction to the motion, and Jesse's tongue danced across the head as he untied the bow. Scott felt Marty's hand gently rubbing his bare ass. Marty's paper went next, this time deliberately and slowly torn from bottom to top between Jesse's fingers until it fell to the floor behind him. Jesse craned his neck and sucked a nut into his mouth. Letting go of the orb, he found the end of the strand of ribbon hanging to the side. He clenched it between his teeth and pulled back. The bow fell to the floor. He turned and grasped Frank's wrapping at his waist with both hands and pulled it off. He stood up and stared his roommate in the eye, and grasped his ribbon-adorned member. "Always wanted to see you in a cock ring, Frankie." He squeezed the swelling tube in his hand, then leaned forward and mashed his lips into Franks. After a momentary kiss, he smiled. "Thanks for the birthday present, bud."

Frank smiled hungrily. "Nothing's too good for my roomie, Jess. Thought you'd like it." He grabbed the front of Jesse's bulging jeans. "But you're a bit over-dressed for the occasion." He glanced over Jesse's shoulder at their friends. "Don't you agree guys?"

On cue, Marty stepped over and grabbed the bottom of Jesse's sweatshirt and tugged it upward. Scott came around and went to his knees and began undoing his belt buckle. His shoes had been toed off at the door when they entered the cabin, so as soon as the Levi's were around his ankles, he stepped out of them. After dropping his sweatshirt on the bed, Marty slid his fingers into the elastic of his tight white briefs and slid them to the floor. His hands roughly grabbed onto the smooth bronze mounds in front of him and he teased the ass with his tongue and nips of his front teeth.

Frank began working his hands over the hard pecs while the two of them playfully swapped spit and Scott's tongue started darting over and around his thick and growing manhood. He reached up a little and gripped Frank's half-hard snake, and glanced to his right. `Jesus!' he thought. From a distance, Frank was always impressive, but at eye level, his nine incher was a marvel to behold.

Frank's voice interrupted his trance. "Boys, I think this room is a bit small for where we're headed here. Let's move this party out to the living room and give ourselves some space. I'll bring in four more beers and we can relax and take our sweet time." The roaring fire had nicely warmed the room, and it smelled of woodsy Wisconsin cedar and smoke. Jesse sat on the floor and crossed his legs, Indian style. A large rug covered most of the living room's center, for which he was grateful. Marty sat on the couch just above him. Scott plopped down next to Marty, facing his profile as he leaned back on the arm of the sofa. Marty had grabbed his overnight bag as they were leaving the bedroom. He reached in and fished out a joint. He lit it and handed it down to Jesse, just as Frank arrived with the beers. His hand wandered down over Jesse's shoulder and his fingers danced across the stud's massive chest. "Very impressive, Jess. You're still working out a lot."

Jesse held the smoke for a second as he grinned, then exhaled a cloud. "Thanks. Glad you like them." In reaction to Marty's gentle nipple play, his cock twitched a bit between his meaty thighs. He handed the pot to his roommate. "Frankie loves to suck on my pecs."

Frank grinned and shrugged as he handed the guys their beers, then brought the splif to his lips. He sat down on Marty's right, straddling his roommate's shoulders. "There's so much there to enjoy. You should see those cute little nubs when they get cold. Stick out and up like hard little pencil erasers."

Scott's foot came up and slowly slid across Marty's left thigh, resting against his swollen tool. He teased it with his toes, causing it to twitch and bob a little when he leaned back to take a swallow of his brew. Marty got a devilish grin. "Let's see." He laid the neck of his beer bottle on Jesse's collarbone and slowly tilted it downward.

"Hey!" Jesse squirmed, but giggled as the foamy amber brew slowly cascaded down over his bulky left pec and trickled down to his flat stomach, finally disappearing into his trimmed patch of public hair. Getting no real fight from his friend, Marty repeated the light wash. Jesse's head rested back on the edge of the couch between Frank's knees and he gasped.

Marty leaned forward. "Well! Lookee there. That little sucker stands right up at attention! What about the other little guy?" Jesse moved his elbows out on either side, giving him room to expand the surface of his huge chest, and inviting Marty's teasing beer shower. A light stream of cold brew hit his right pec and the nipple responded.

Marty tapped both guys' knees on either side of him. "Guys, I'm afraid I've made a bit of a mess of our birthday boy here. I think we ought to clean him up a bit." He rolled forward off the couch, and his lips instantly found Jesse's left nipple. Frank followed suit on the right side. Jesse leaned his full weight back into the front of the couch and he propped his arms up on the couch. A moment later, he felt Scott's hands underneath his knees, pulling him forward and inviting him to lie flat on the floor. Scott perched between Jesse's thighs and commenced his own tongue bath of Jesse's rippled abs. He reached over and found his own bottle and took aim. He slowly poured few sips of beer, overflowing his navel. His face came down and slurped, bringing a child-like giggle from the object of his play. "Who wants a belly button shot?" He poured another small amount, and Marty's smiling face descended. Frank repeated the play, and then went back up to begin sucking on his roommates tongue instead.

Jesse's torso was now damp and shiny enough that the precum oozing and pooling on his abs was barely noticeable. But there was no mistaking his juicy lust when Scott took the fat pole into his mouth. The sweet, somewhat acrid fluid coated his tongue as he began a slow feeding on Jesse's rock-hard cock. Jesse moaned softly into Frank's mouth while Marty's lips and tongue danced across his chest, pausing now and then to gently nibble on his alert and sensitive nipples. His tongue wandered up to Jesse's armpit and assaulted it, eliciting a shiver and giggle from the birthday celebrant on the floor.

Frank's hand nudged Marty's shoulder, and he backed his head away from the bronze god below him. Frank's right knee crossed Jesse's chest and his massive tool bobbed and weaved over his smiling face. Jesse's tongue slowly emerged from between his lips, and came in contact with the flesh pole just above Frank's sack. He dragged the pointed tip up its full length, craning off the floor in order to travel all the way to the head. Just as Jesse opened his mouth, Frank straightened up a bit to improve the angle, and he slowly fed his leaking meat to his hungry roommate. Both men moaned as he slid inside the warmth of Jesse's mouth.

Marty backed off and turned his attention lower. He reached down and began playing with Jesse's testicles while Scott's head continued its slow rhythm up and down on the very grateful `little Jesse.' To give Marty better access, Scott scooted around to Jesse's side, and Marty's face joined his, licking and sucking on Jesse's nuts. He'd turn his head to lick on the pole during Scott's upward movements, and a couple of times their lips met, taking advantage of each other with their own mouths while they double-teamed their buddy on his birthday.

Frank's elbows were on the couch, with Jesse's suckling mouth working on him from below. He swatted the cushion. "Need some dick up here, guys. Somebody bring me a cock to suck on. It's my cabin, dammit! And I want a cock in my mouth."

Marty giggled. "Don't have to ask twice, Frankie. I think ol' Marty has what you need right here." He sprang to his feet and settled in on the sofa, one knee on each side of Frank's shoulders. "Have at it, bud. Feed away." Frank's head descended, swallowing Marty to the hilt in one motion. "Jeeeeeeeeeeesus! Goddammit, Frankie. You are a hungry motherfucker! Oooohhh, yeah! Suck my fucking dick, dude!" He quickly started thrusting his hips upward to meet Frank's determined motions.

Scott tugged again at Jesse's legs, pulling him back a few more inches on the floor. While Scott hoisted his legs and parted his muscular cheeks, Frank's huge cock was replaced on Jesse's lips by his low-hanging balls. Jesse squealed up into Frank's sack when Scott's tongue poked through his hole, causing his roommate to shiver in delight. For the next several minutes, Scott tongue-fucked the muscle stud in his hands. Jesse's attention roamed between Frank's swinging nuts, his perineum and as much of the crevice between his cheeks that he could muster. Marty leaned back and smiled, his hands slowly stroking the head that hungrily bobbed up and down on his slippery tool.

"Enough!" Jesse gasped from between Frank's moving thighs. "Enough tongue, Scotty. I need that dick, man! You gotta fuck me, dude! Time to give Jesse his real present."

Marty giggled. He'd already dug into the bag again and retrieved a few condoms and the bottle of lube. They landed on the floor next to Scott's arm. "Thought he'd never ask, didn't you?

Scott swiped his forearm across his mouth and chin, and then gripped the wrapper between his front teeth. With the other hand he popped open the K-Y and drizzled a short stream directly onto the raised ass beneath him. He probed with his middle finger as he managed to slide the sheath over his own dripping meat. Then two fingers, making Jesse gasp and then moan. "Enough of the fingers, goddammit! Give me that dick you fucker!"

Scott chuckled. "Now that's no way to behave on your birthday, Jesse." He smacked Jesse's ass fairly firmly and it brought a naughty smile from below. He teased the pulsing rosebud with the head of his lubed tool. "Say please..." he sang out. He couldn't believe that this chiseled beefcake on the floor below him, who could probably beat the shit out him without much effort, was begging for it, and he clearly loved begging for it.

"Yes! Please!" Smack. "Oooohh yeah!" Smack. "That's it, Scotty! Please!" Jesse's head rolled back and forth on the floor between Frank's knees as he whimpered his needs.

Scott finally complied. When the head popped in past the ring, Jesse's eyes shot open wide and his head came off the floor again, but he uttered no sound. Jesse's hands came around and grabbed Scott's ass, urging him inside. He quickly pulled Scott's groin down and in, and Scott moaned in delight over the tight, hot sensations that gripped him. His face descended and found Jesse's licking, sucking mouth. He began a bucking ride, up and down as Jesse whined into his mouth. Scott finally came up for air. From this position, he was looking squarely at Frank's ass, rising and falling a bit as he continued his mouth job on Marty's pole. He thrust his face forward and found Frank's hole with the tip of his tongue, never breaking the cadence of his pummeling the tight hole beneath him.

Frank gasped at the welcomed invasion. He ground his ass back into Schott's face, and then he quickly stood. He looked at Marty with animal hunger. "You're not getting away without doing the same for me, stud." He took a condom off the table and reached down to find the lube Scott had dropped. They quickly moved to the floor, the sounds of Jesse's moans and Scott's grunts filling the air. In an instant, Frank had wrapped Marty's aching meat and was on all fours next to his roommate. Marty settled in behind him and laid a hand on his back. He grabbed his cock with the other hand and guided it toward its target. Frank moaned an appreciative "Yyyyyyyyyyeeeeeessssss!" as Marty slowly slid inside. Marty grabbed each of Frank's hips and he bit his lower lip when his head fell back in bliss. Soon, he was matching Scott's rhythm, side-by-side, and stroke for stroke.

Frank's head came up off his forearms, a serene smile showing his approval of Marty's treatment and he gazed up at Scott. Scott turned his head and leaned right without ever breaking his rhythm, and their lips sucked onto each other. After feasting on Scott's tongue, Frank leaned back down toward the floor. As his shoulders continuing to rock under the pressure of Marty's thrusts, he offered the same tongue massage to his whining, moaning roommate. "Happy Birthday, Bud!" he coughed. Jesse just smiled and rolled his eyes.

Suddenly, Jesse's head shot up again. "Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Oh God! Oh Shit! Oh God!" Scott wasn't sure how long Jesse had been pounding his own meat; hadn't even been aware he was even touching himself. Jesse's body rocked and convulsed and he sputtered something unintelligible as his fat missile began firing. Spurt after spurt of hot, white cream shot up onto Scott's chest and abs, then onto Jesse's glistening torso. The flexing of his sphincter muscle was enough to bring Scott over the edge as well. His legs locked and his torso went rigid. A few more short, grinding thrusts into the muscular ass and he was filling the condom deep inside of Jesse. He gasped several short breaths, saliva dripping onto his chin. Both guys began to laugh at the same time as Scott sat back on his haunches, sliding his tool out of Jesse's hole with a slurp.

"Not gonna last long, Frankie!" Marty muttered through gritted teeth. "You did such a number on me up on the couch! Fuckin-a, dude. Such a hot, tight fuckin' ass you got." His head shot back and he stared at the ceiling for a moment as he continued to pound back and forth on the slim tight ass between his palms. He began a slow, pulsing moan.

Jesse scooted out from underneath Scott's arms. "Gimme your load, Marty! Shoot all over me, dude. Come on, man! Fuck my roommate, and shoot your load on me, babe!" Marty smiled down on him and slid out of Frank's hole. Frank came upright and joined him above the smiling Jesse, still flat on his back on the floor. Marty stroked and started firing first. Jesse opened his mouth and tried to follow the shots, with mixed results. Some landed on his tongue; the rest, on his chin, his cheeks, his neck and his chest. Frank responded seconds later with a quivering groan, his body quaking from the knees upward. His eyes rolled back in his head and his massive tool exploded, completing the icing on the beefcake beneath them.

A half hour later, they'd all toweled off and were lounging around in various states of dress, or undress. Marty broke out some of the white powder and hosted his friends to a pretty good buzz. They had some more beers, but without drinking from anyone's body parts, smoked another joint, occasionally sharing the exhaled smoke from each other's lips. They talked about apartment plans and ideas for the next school year, and reviewed their respective plans for spring break. Jesse and Frank had said they'd think about joining the guys in New Orleans, but both of their budgets were tight. After Jesse became playful once again, the romp resumed. Scott bent Frank over the kitchen table and rode him hard, leaving a load of cum across his back and ass cheeks, and Frank splattered his seed all over the table's surface and the kitchen floor. Jesse enjoyed a good fucking from Marty while the two showered together. After Jesse had fallen asleep, Scott stared down in disbelief while Marty's chute consumed Frank's entire massive tool, and his mouth administered a slobbering, mind-blowing blowjob to his best friend.

"Scott, it was so wonderful seeing your grandmother again on our trip to Minneapolis a couple of weeks ago!" Abigail poured two glasses of water just before the first meeting of the Regents budget committee, and handed one to Scott.

Scott's face lit up. "I'm sure she was thrilled to see you. I haven't spoken with her since the Christmas break, mostly because she hates talking on the phone. You ladies got all caught up, did you?"

"Oh, we spent as much time reminiscing on the old days as we did getting caught up. At our age, that kind of thing happens a lot."

Scott was just about to say something when the meeting was called to order. Andy had considered naming Tobias Milford, the farmer from Columbus to the committee's chair. In hindsight, after his last meeting with the governor, he was glad that he had saved the top spot on the panel for himself. If the governor was holding him responsible for the Regents' budget request, he wanted to lead and guide the deliberations that went into it. Rounding out the committee were Abigail, Milford, Willie Mason, the activist from Milwaukee and Jerry Comstock a VP for one of the nation's largest accounting firms whose own office was in Milwaukee.

Also in attendance was UW System President, William Lyons, an ex-officio member of the board. If the Regents functioned akin to a school board, the president was like the whole system's superintendent. The UW System had thirteen four-year universities and the same number of two-year college campuses throughout the state. At the campus level, the various chancellors were similar to principals of enormous, multi-building school campuses. Madison was considered the `flagship' institution, and often bore the brunt of resentment from its smaller cousins. Next in size and stature were Milwaukee and Green Bay. The flow chart of decision-making and authority was dizzying.

A week earlier, Scott had received a very thick packet of information detailing the financing of one of the state's largest single investments. As he read through it, skimming some of the spreadsheets and graphs, he resolved to attend that first meeting and keep his mouth shut. He wanted to listen and learn, and to try to get a feel for the complexion and dynamic of the committee's members.

"I want to thank you all for stepping up to take on what will be one of the more thankless, but probably most important, tasks we all have. The budget for any organization is its clearest expression of its priorities and its values. It's often boring, except perhaps to math geeks and accountant types," he grinned and gestured with his head toward Comstock, "but completing this task is vital to the mission of both the Regents and the system we serve. And the sad fact remains, budgeting is about tough choices, and it is often an exercise that requires telling someone `no.'"

Scott remained outwardly impassive, and thought to himself `Well, we're off to a cheery start, aren't we?'

"Folks, the governor met last week with his cabinet and with various other department heads, including myself and President Lyons. He outlined his bottom line for submitting budget requests. The loudest and clearest message was this: the tax and spend plan for the next two years that he submits to the legislature this spring will include no general increase in state taxes. As such, we should proceed on the assumption that there will be no additional revenues coming to our Universities from the state's treasury. Frankly, it's just as I had feared, and this won't be an easy task to accomplish."

Abby piped up. "So, in a nutshell, we need to find a way to maintain the whole system, complete with rising costs we can't control, on the same income."

Andy nodded. "Yes ma'am, Abby. On the surface, it seems our options are two-pronged. We can find areas to save money, or locate additional sources of revenue that don't come out of the state's treasury.

"Now, to assist us in meeting this challenge, and to help us get our brains around the financial status quo of the system, I've asked President Lyons and Mr. Maurice Egelseer, the Director of Business and Financial Services, to give us an overview of the situation. Gentlemen?"

For the next hour, the group was treated to an insider's view of the comings and goings of more than three billion dollars. The president did not look happy to be there. After all, he knew all too well who, in the end, was going to be responsible for making it all look good, and to work. Whatever they sent to the governor's office, whatever he sent to the legislature, whatever the 132 academic wannabes up there passed into law, he was going to have to put it in place and make it work. And Pennington really expected him to put on a smile and embrace the idea that this was just a "challenge?" It's not a challenge, you buffoon,' he heard himself thinking. It's a fricking impossibility.'"

For another hour, the two endured a series of agenda-driven questions by the other members. Mr. Milford, the farmer, peppered him with questions about the contributions of the athletic department compared to its cost to the budget. Comstock, the accounting executive was interested in the proportion students paid compared to the total per-student cost of the overall budget. He was also interested to know how much of the total budget went to personnel, as opposed to bricks and mortar, utilities and other non-human costs. Mason seemed to need to know a lot of details about the content of much of the curriculum. Was the university paying enough attention to urban studies and the socio-economic disparity among the students and communities it served? He was politely told that such issues were typically the under the scrutiny of other Regents committees.

Finally, Scott broke his silence. "President Lyons, Mr. Egelseer. If nothing else changed; no new state funds, no new revenue of any kind, no cuts in any services, then how much more money would we need to just keep doing what we're doing?"

Egelseer looked over his horned-rimmed glasses. "Just cost of living?"

"Figure your estimate of what the average guy would need to keep his or her standard of living for two more years, and apply that to our budget. What would we need to just keep it going?"

"Well, COLA, that is, cost of living adjustments, or roughly the projected rate of inflation, is now widely predicted at about 4 percent for next year."

"And the year after?"

"Well," he had to lean over and forward in order to see Scott's nameplate. "Well, Mr. Turner, it's too early to say."

Abby jumped in. "Alright, sir, if you were budgeting for your own family, and wanted to pay the bills, keep the kids in designer jeans and keep gas in the car, what would you plan for in increased expenses?"

"Well, ma'am...and, speaking of the designer jeans, you must know my kids...but, planning conservatively, I'd say five percent a year for the next two years. That'd give us room for four percent next year, maybe some savings, and we'd plan on a six percent increase the following."

This line of questioning was annoying Andy, but he also saw an opportunity, so he jumped in and took over. "But we're not going to see a four, five or six percent increase in the millions out of the state's coffers. That piece of our current budget, a five percent increase in expenses, just to keep things as they are, is...is what?"

They answered in tandem, " About fifty five million."

Andy wanted to shut it down. It sounded like the others were chomping to get at the nitty-gritty, and he felt it was too soon to go there. He'd been through the budget, and he'd had four independent CPA's and CFO's that he knew, and whom he'd represented legally, go over the budget already. He'd sworn them to secrecy, and he now knew the numbers as well as Egelseer did. This committee was not going to dig into the sinew of the UW System's budget until he'd had a chance to try and work the members individually, and get them accustomed to the idea that tuition would certainly have to go up in order to avoid cutting those areas that were near and dear to each of them.

"Folks, it's too soon for us to try to pick apart the details of the University's operations. I'll respectfully suggest that we have our mission, and that's to deliver a budget to the governor that does not place any additional financial burden on the taxpayers of the state."

Abby sat upright in her chair and folder her hand on the table in front of her. "Mr. Pennington, I respectfully disagree." All heads turned toward her. "Our mission, sir, is the stewardship of these fine institutions and the needs and interests of the students they serve. We don't propose taxes hikes or tax cuts. The governor does. We don't enact taxes on the people of the state, the legislature does." President Lyon and Mr. Egelseer took and immediate liking to her. "Let's not get in the business of doing their jobs for them. If any of us wants to make tax policy, then we should go out and run for elective offices that have the responsibility of making tax policy. For me, I'm going to worry about sending a budget request that I'm confident will let us live up to our true responsibility. Let the governor and the lawmakers work out how to find the money necessary to do it."

Andy immediately regretted naming her to the committee. "But, don't you think that sending a budget request that flies in the face of the governor's directive would be irresponsible? He'd just send it back and say `that's not good enough,' an all our efforts will have been a waste of time."

Scott piped in. "Or he could change it." Heads now turned toward him. "I tend to agree with Ms. Svendsen. I think we keep our eyes on the prize that is the University System and its students, and do what's best for them. We send Governor Hackett a package and say, There you go. We did our best, and this is what we need.' He can alter it, the legislature can alter it, but then they own it. They're the ones elected directly by the people of Wisconsin, and they're the ones with the responsibility of worrying about tax cuts or tax hikes. We get to worry about ensuring a world-class college education for 160,000 students. If we ask for something because we're certain we need it and know we can defend it, and the answer is going to be no,' then let's make them say so."

Andy was flustered. "Okay folks, we've been at it nearly three hours now, and that's longer than most meetings can continue to be productive." He looked at the hired professionals from the University's administration. "Gentlemen, thank you for your time and your valuable insights. We're much better prepared to move forward." He looked around the room. "Everybody bring their calendars? I want to check and confirm our next meeting, in...say, two weeks?" They compared the open spaces on their pocket organizers and found a date and time that worked for everybody. Andy warmly thanked them all for their time and their dedication once again, and declared the meeting adjourned.

Walking toward the elevator, Abby took Scott by the arm. "What are you doing for lunch, Scott? Sharon came along, and is checking us out of the hotel, and we're going to meet at Ella's Deli."

"I love that place! Great pastrami. Not that shaved lunchmeat crap you get at the grocery store or our dorm's cafeteria, but the fatty, stringy, greasy chewy stuff."

The elevator door closed and Abby nodded. "And I'm having a fried pound cake hot fudge sundae for dessert."

Scott smiled. "Mmmmmm. You got a date."

"Well, Sharon's got the car, so I guess you're driving."

Andy sat back down in his chair in an empty meeting room and loosened his tie. Shit,' he thought to himself, I shouldn't have let it end on that note.' He knew from working a jury that people remember best the first and the last things they hear. It was a tactical mistake to let Abby, and then Scott, essentially share the last word, and he knew it. He resigned himself to working on the others individually. He had to get Milford, Comstock and Mays to see the need for a tuition hike. If a budget came out of committee on a four to two vote, then so be it. `Oh, well. We'll get there. Meantime, I can stop at the firm's Madison office, bill a few thousand dollars for a few hours of light work, and then Kip's coming over to the room after his last class. I can relieve my frustrations then.' His cock twitched in anticipation as he slapped at the light switch and closed the door.

Scott sucked a dot of brown mustard off his thumb and chewed the last of his sandwich. The three of them had just spent most of an hour with Sharon and Abby reviewing the recent afternoon they'd spent with Evelyn, and then Scott and Abby replaying the committee meeting they'd apparently upset at its end. Abby shook her head. "Pennington has already bought into the governor's `no new taxes' mission, and I get the feeling that he believes that he knows already where the money has to come from."

Scott nodded. "Yeah, us."

Sharon dropped her napkin onto her mostly empty plate. "That is such a crock! You two were right to assert that taxes aren't your duty as Regents. But do not buy into this song and dance that the money just isn't there. Fifty five million? It's a friggin drop in the bucket."

Scott leaned forward. "Really? How's that, Sharon? Educate me. I mean, I know you talked about that sales tax and luxury box thing, but..."

Abby nudged him. "Look out, Scott. Here she goes."

Sharon grinned a little, but jumped up on her soapbox. "Scott, it isn't that we're not taxed enough. The problem is that there are huge holes in the system that leaves us taxed unfairly. Close just a few of those, and the University or anything else the folks under the dome want to fund can be taken care of in the bat of an eye. The `we can't afford it' crowd plays to the little guy because the little guy bears the burden of the taxes the state does levy." She leaned back to allow the waitress to remove her plate, and then paused as all three ordered one of Ella's famous desserts.

She continued. "Scott, twenty years ago, corporations paid about twelve percent of income taxes levied by the legislature. Today, it's less than five, even though there are billions more being collected. Multi-state corporations like big-named retailers and banks pay little or no corporate income tax to the state because they hide their profits in out-of-state shadow corporations and subsidiaries. Did you know that ten of the states 13 biggest banks paid no corporate income tax in Wisconsin last year? Even Wisconsin corporations that don't stretch beyond our borders have been given the `Las Vegas loophole.' You live in Wisconsin, build you plant in Wisconsin, sell your stuff in Wisconsin, reap your profits in Wisconsin, you're a member of one or two country clubs in Wisconsin. But you incorporate in Nevada, lease a little office space in Vegas, and that's where you deposit your profits. Owing to the influence of the casino industry, Nevada doesn't have an income tax on corporate profits. So your corporation doesn't...pay...squat! That little slight of hand costs us over 250 million a year. That, in turn, gets shifted onto the rest of us in our state income tax, or reduced funding to cities and counties, driving up the property tax on the average homeowner."

Scott, who had never had much of a head for numbers, was engrossed.

Abby grinned. "Tell him about the jets."

Sharon wiped a dab of whipped cream from the corner of her mouth. "Don't get me going on the jets."

Scott sipped his coffee to wash down a large spoonful of hot fudge. "No! Tell me about the jets."

Sharon shook her head. "Okay, Scott, say you own a private plane. Maybe it's a hobby. Perhaps it's a small business, you're a crop duster or instructor or whatever, but you own your own plane. Not going to leave it in your driveway, now are you? So you use some space in a hanger at the nearest airport. You pay a fee to the county or the state for leasing the space and using the runway to come and go. But, if your aircraft is owned by a corporation, most often a high-powered private jet, but owned by a corporation, you're exempt from the fee."

"And what does that cost us?"

"I'm not sure, but I don't care. The simple fact is that if I'm a company big-shot, and the plane is owned by my corporation, which might be officially headquartered in Vegas...that means I can use the airport's facilities for free to fly me and my clients to Milwaukee and attend a baseball game where I'm sitting in a luxury box for which I'm paying no sales tax...and Joe Schmoe pays a fee to use the same facility, and pays a sales tax on his ticket to sit in the cheap seats. Well, it all just sucks! Screw the amount. It's the simple fact that smells like manure."

She leaned forward again against the table's edge and looked him in the eyes with intensity. "And so, Mr. Turner, any time Andy Pennington or Ted Hackett, or even your good friend Maureen McCarthy tells you the money isn't there, you tell them to go pound sand. If it's not there, that's by design. It's by choice."

Mike Branson, the chapter president, was just wrapping up the regular meeting of Kip's fraternity. "Okay, men. Just one more thing: how many of you aren't planning on traveling during spring break?" About a dozen, maybe fifteen hands slowly raised, none of them very enthusiastically.

Kip recalled the conversation with his father. "Kip." Charles Monmouth was frowning across his desk. "I paid for that trip to Florida last year, and you repaid me by getting cited for being drunk and disorderly in Ft. Lauderdale. Plus, the cost of an attorney to get them to drop the public nudity charge was about more than I could bear. Just be thankful I've never told your mother about that. Plus, your brother and his wife will be coming up that week to celebrate Chas's birthday, unless Charlene delivers the baby that week. No need for you to miss his big day two years in a row. And if you have a new nephew by then, you should be here to share in the joy of a new generation of Monmouths. It's a waste of money, and it's disrespectful to your brother to miss his birthday a second year."

Kip scowled, but he didn't raise his hand.

Mike looked him in the eye, and called him out in front of his brothers. "Kip. Your face tells me there's no fun in the sun for you next month, though your hand remains on your lap. What gives?" Mike had many attributes that made him a good leader for his house; chief among them were his keep powers of observation. Kip's hand slowly rose. "Atta boy!" the president smiled. "This is our year to play host to the annual exchange with our brothers from the Melbourne chapter. Last year, fifteen of us were treated to wonderful hospitality of our Aussie brothers. This year it's our turn to repay the favor and continue the tradition. They're sending an even dozen, so I'll need twelve of you to volunteer to play host for two weeks: the week before spring break, and the week of. You'll either have to take care of them here on campus during the break, or make arrangements with your parents if you're planning on spending the week at home. If you need to check with the folks, I'll need to hear from you tomorrow. If I don't have enough commitments by lunchtime, the arm-twisting begins at one o'clock. And remember, I'm the guy who decides whether or not your mid-term grade reports to Mom and Dad get mailed to the right address."

Kip made a note. "Call the rents. Australian guest?"

Craig put his toothbrush and paste into his kit and zipped it up. A week earlier, Brett had crashed in their room because Jill had left her daughter with her folks for a couple of days and come to Madison for a visit. Now it was Valentine's Day, and Scott's roommate had suggested he invoke the same squatter's rights to invade upstairs and give Scott and Kelly the room for the evening. Sleeping on the floor, it seemed, had become almost second nature for each one of the guys from time to time, and it wasn't all that bad. Especially if there was a bit of a party going on to induce a sound sleep. Ah, college life. He left a note on the desk that said Big Scott had called, nothing important, just saying hi. Then he grabbed his keys, his bag and made his leave.

Five hours later, Kelly laid her head down on Scott's heaving chest and listened to his still-rapid heartbeat. The dinner had been great. The sex had been better. There was a full moon with no cloud cover, and the room was dimly lit by the nightlight in the sky. She gently stroked his chest and purred. "Mmmmmmmmmmm. You're a time-saver for me, you know that?"

Scott's eyes opened halfway. "Huh?"

"I was planning on spending an hour at the gym tomorrow. Now I don't think I have to. I believe you've just stretched every muscle in my body, and who knows how many calories we just burned off? I don't even feel guilty about the cheesecake we shared for dessert."

He grinned. "Guilty? You're guilty all right. But it's a good guilty. You're guilty of making me do naughty things."

They'd enjoyed over an hour of animal sex all over the room. Scott would need to replace his roommate's paperweight globe, dashed into pieces when Kelly's arms flung across his desk. He was drilling her from behind when her arms flailed across the surface, sending the small ceramic Earth into the wall. Craig would understand, especially once Scott explained that it was the second orgasm that brought about the little disaster.

She tapped his chin. "I think you left a hickey where I'll never see it."

His smile broadened. "Want me to check?"

She snuggled closer, bending a knee and laying it on top of his thigh. "Maybe in the morning."

It was still dark when he felt the stirring on the mattress next to him. After a minute of trying to get his bearings, he was aware of being in bed alone, and heard some shuffling in the room. He rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat before starting to sit up. He propped the pillow up against the wall and leaned against it. "Shit, Kelly. What time is it?"

She was snapping the bra into place and looking for her shoes. She whispered, "A little after five. It's a good thing I drove over here. I need to get going. Early class today, and then need to haul ass up to the Capitol to meet with somebody in the governor's office about that internship this summer. We have several orientation sessions for the three new interns, and today's the first one."

He yawned and gave a little moan of disapproval. "Too early to leave, Kel. Come on back to bed."

She giggled. "You friggin' horn dog." She slid into the dress she'd worn the night before and then turned on the desk light above Scott's computer. "Want me to put on the coffee?"

"No. Don't bother with that. I might go back to sleep for another hour or so."

She sat on the mattress next to him, her back facing him. "Well, zip me up first, will you?" She held her hair above the neckline of the red dress to give him access all the way to the top of the zipper. He patted her back after completing the task, and she leaned back into him.

"I had a great time last night. Thank you very much." The tone of her voice caught his attention.

"It sounds like there's a `But...' coming here, Kelly."

She grabbed the strong forearms that had wrapped around her ribs. "But, I'm wondering again where all this is going. We have so much fun together, both here and out there in the real world, fully clothed." He snickered and kissed her temple from behind. "But I can't tell what it all means to you, Scott. I'd like to know what's on your mind, what's in your heart."

He held her tighter and kissed her above the ear again. "You know I think the world of you, Kelly." He considered it for a moment. "I guess that's what's on my mind and in my heart. You're the greatest, and I love the time we spend together. You're good for me all the way around." She smiled and sighed. "And I hope I'm good for you, too."

"And, have you thought long-term about you and me?"

Scott inhaled deeply. "Long-term? Like...forever kind of stuff?" He decided to try a tease. "Kelly Abbott, are you asking me to marry you?"

She slapped his chest. "Don't be an ass. I'm trying to have a serious conversation here. I just would like to know where I fit into your life, here and now. I just spent over three weeks at home. I talk about you all the time, and my dad asks a lot of questions, but I haven't even come around to refer to you as my boyfriend. It dawned on my when I was hemming and hawing about you with the family that I'm not sure that's the right term. I just talk about you as my friend, Scott." She reached up and pinched his ear, and he winced with a smile. "But only one of my friends bends me over their dorm room desk and fucks me standing up."

Scott kissed her nose. "If you recall, you begged for it, and in no uncertain terms. I'll bet the guys next door would back me up on that. I wouldn't have done that if you hadn't asked so nicely." She lowered her head and giggled.

He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "What do you want, Kelly? You want me to come over to Brookfield and meet your father and the rest of the family? You want to call me your boyfriend and feel okay about it? You want me to call you my girlfriend? None of that's a problem."

"Well, that'd be nice, but that's not what this is about."

He cupped each hand under her jaw and looked her squarely in the eyes. "Kelly, if you're looking for some kind of concrete commitment, some kind of understanding that your time is mine and mine is yours, I don't know. We're young, and we both have a lot on our plates right now. I'm loving what we've got going. I'm not sure I'm ready to settle into a relationship where I feel somebody else owns a piece of me." He looked down at the bulge under the sheet covering his groin. "Well, you can lay claim to that piece of me from time to time." She giggled and pinched his ear again. "But I don't want to mislead you in any way. When it comes to life outside of my family, school and the other jobs I've taken on, I'm in a go-with-the-flow mode right now. More expectations from others isn't what I'm looking for."

She ran her fingers through his morning hair and gazed into his eyes. "That's kind of what I thought."

"And if that's not enough, then I'm sorry." He pecked her lips. "I'm very, very sorry."

She patted his cheek and stood up. She slid into her coat. "Thanks again for last night. It was really nice. I'll give you a call."

He just nodded as she opened the door to leave.

He realized sleep wasn't going to return, so he got up and grabbed the coffee pot.

Author's Note: The part of the fraternity president in this chapter was played by Mike Branson, another proud product of the University of Wisconsin and our current "Most Observant" reader. Mike astutely picked up on an inconsistency of details between Chapter 1 and Chapter 21. It's hard to believe that it's now been just over a year since I began this little hobby. I'm very grateful for the comments, criticisms and questions that have come my way. As always, this chapter is brought to you with the outstanding editorial assistance of Kory and Ted, for whom the author is eternally grateful.

Your comments are always welcomed at scotty.13411@hotmail.com. Have a great weekend!