Strange Bedfellows

STRANGE BEDFELLOWS Chapter Twenty Seven

Disclaimer: This story is a fictionalized account of some of the author's experiences and relationships while a college student. It occasionally contains graphic depictions of sexual activities between consenting men and other consenting men. This chapter is a little light on that, though. Nevertheless, if it is illegal for you to possess or to read such material in you locale, or if your parents or partner don't approve, please consider finding something more suitable to occupy your time and attention. This story is copyrighted, 2007, and may not be reproduced, reprinted or reposted without the expressed written consent of the author.

This chapter is brief enough to have been included in the previous installment. I just thought that this one should stand alone. I hope you enjoy it.

Wednesday evening of final exam week and everybody was there. Of the six, four lucky ones had knocked down their last exam that afternoon. Only Scott and Marty were still on the academic hook. Each of them faced one final test on Friday morning. The others could only rub it in and tease them about their plight.

Brett and Craig would be moving back to Rockford the next day, and Frank and Jesse would head north back to Minnesota. The implications were obvious and irrefutable. A party was clearly in order. Never mind that two of them still had one more academic hurdle to clear before it was all over. That was still two days away. Okay, it was a day and a half. But neither of them really cared. That left plenty of recovery time, and there was a higher cause. A party was called for. Given the events of the school year about to end, it was preordained. There could be no debate, not even a discussion.

That was fine with Scott. He was growing weary of debate, weary of discussion.

Craig was rolling one of his trademark joints, the second of the night, and he was humming something of Bob Marley's. It was awful, but it was fitting for the occasion.

Marty chop, chop, chopped on the mirror. He looked over at Scott without missing a beat. "So, what time you guys checking out of the room tomorrow?"

Scott shrugged and looked at his roommate. "Hey, Rasta Man! How `bout the first one up wakes up the rest?" Craig grinned and flipped him off. "Me an' Marty got the day off of the tests, and I need you assholes to help me move my shit over to the apartment."

He looked back at Marty. "Craig and Brett are the ones headin' out tomorrow. Me and him can get checked out of the room, move my stuff, and then all I need to do is crash up at your place for the night." He grinned at his buddy, and detected the smirks on both Frank and Jesse's faces. "Then you can check out of your room before Friday's test and you're free and clear of this place, once and for all, asshole."

Marty handed Scott the mirror and the straw. "Asshole? Asshole?" Marty picked up Scott's empty glass to make him another bourbon and water. "Fatherhood calls, sonny boy. That's one of the reasons I wanted to party tonight with you guys. This is Marty's last hurrah with this white demon. Told my supplier that I'm done buying this evil shit. Gonna be a daddy, so have to clean up my act, boys."

Brett scoffed. "Translation: Jill will cut off his balls." Everybody, including Marty, snickered. "Besides, Marty, you can't totally give it up until after the bachelor party." Marty shrugged and smiled his confession that Brett was right about Jill, and that he knew the party would be the one last exception for these particular indulgences.

Scott sniffed a line and handed the mirror and straw to Frank, who was sitting on the floor. He pinched his nose to hold the powder in, and then sniffed hard. "Still...good idea. I'm thinking the same way about most of this shit, even though I'm not breeding a new generation like you are." He wiped the end of his nose and sniffed again through a chuckle. "How hypocritical is that? I just did a line, and then handed off five more lines while saying that this is it. I'm going to burn in Hell, you know."

Brett nodded his head as he took the lit joint from Craig. "I'll prol'ly see you there. But, thank God that you're not trying to keep up with Marty in populating the planet. We already got a new generation of the Anderson line on the way. The last thing we need now is another brood of Turners to join him or her."

Frank shook his finger at Scott. "You're just getting all politically correct and shit. You're movin' on up to the dome, and don't want to get busted with a straw up your nose."

Scott took a sip of his bourbon and shrugged. "Oh yeah, that's a part of it. I can't afford to get my tit caught in a wringer over some artificial high. And, I can live without it. It's all good." He hit the joint that Jesse had just handed him, held the smoke for a while and exhaled a blue cloud. After another sip to sooth his throat he looked back at Frank. "I'm high on life, dude."

A dirty sock hit him upside the head, and he wasn't quite sure where it came from. He didn't care.

Craig looked over at Brett. "So, is Angie gonna move in with us next fall?"

Brett shook his head. "No can do. She already signed a lease with a couple of her girlfriends for next year and doesn't want to bail out on them."

Marty looked self-consciously toward the floor. Brett caught onto his sinking feeling and he reached over and tapped Marty's knee. "I'm not dissin' you dude. It's a different situation. She's coming back for another school year, and you're not. But it's for all the right reasons. It's all cool, Marty. Take it easy."

Frank changed the topic. "So, Craig, you goin' back to the Holiday Inn for the summer?"

He nodded. "Yup, but I'm done bussing tables. I told the manager that I'd come back, but only if I could work in the kitchen. He's got a full time slot as a grill cook, but it's all workin' nights, and a lot of weekends too. Should be lots of hours. What about you?"

Frank handed the mirror to Jesse, who was sitting above him on the edge of the bed. Jesse gently laid it on the mattress to his side and leaned over.

"I'm goin' to work for my Uncle Sal at The Marquette. Mostly bellman work, but some other shit here and there. A little bit in the restaurant, some desk work, but yeah, it's gonna be full time too, and then some." He looked over at Jesse and grinned. "Tell `em about the gig you landed."

Marty sat up straight and slapped his knees. "You got it? You got the job at the club?"

A shy grin crept across Jesse's face and he nodded. Then a look of confidence emerged and he beamed. "Yup. Got the call yesterday. I'll do a couple weeks of dance training, working out quite a bit and some grooming. Then I'll hit the stage first weekend next month."

Scott's jaw dropped. "The stage? Dance?"

Frank silently mouthed the words, `strip club.'

Jesse reached down and swatted his chest. "Adult Entertainment Revue."

Craig stared at Jesse. "No shit? You're gonna be strippin?"

Marty jumped into the fray. "Our boy Jesse here is gonna be shakin' that beautifully muscled bod, bumping and grinding for some of the richest gals in the Twin Cities! Some high-end strip club...uhm...adult entertainment revue." He leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. "I took some pics of him in various stages of undress last month, and he sent `em up to The Cities. Pretty hot beefcake there. Damn near had me throwin' wood, you little hottie!" He winked at Jesse, and then at Scott, and then he shook his head. "I still can't believe you're actually going to have to work out, Jess."

Jesse shrugged. "I can always use it." He looked around at the other guys. "Anyway, I caught the ad last time I was home, and went down to check the place out. You should see some of the studs working there. We're talking totally, one-hundred-and-twenty-percent buff. But, I thought about it for a while and figured, what the fuck? The money's good. I like to dance. I met one of the guys who works there and he said it's a good gig. So, I had Marty do some pics, sent them in and, wham! I'm in! It's only going to be weekends; two shows on Friday, two on Saturday, and maybe some private shows down the road if I get any good at it." He shrugged. "And during the week, I'll work a few days at my dad's grocery store."

Brett giggled. "Shakin' your ass up and down the cereal aisle. So, are you gonna be getting all nekkid and shit?"

Jesse shook his head. "No. Law won't allow that. But damn close, down to a thong. But it doesn't leave much to the imagination." He wiggled his eyebrows and thrust his hips up and down off the edge of the bed.

Marty giggled. "Kinda hard to hide that beer can between your legs under a tight little strip of satin. You're gonna need the `extra wide load' model of thong."

Brett tapped his thigh. "Come on, Jess. Give us a demonstration! Turn on some tunes, Scotty, and let's have a preview."

Jesse flipped him off. "Only if you're payin'. I'm a professional now. You want to stuff some bills into my jockstrap, I'll think about it."

Brett wrinkled his nose. "Eeeeeeewwwww. Don't think I could handle that."

Frank exhaled a stream of smoke, and handed the joint to Brett. "So what about you, bud? What's in store for your summer?"

He shrugged as he inhaled the smoke, and then held it for a while before coughing. He cooled his burning throat with a swig of his beer and wiped his lips. "Well, for as long as I can get away with it, I plan to loaf around my folks' house and do nothing. That ought to last a couple weeks before my dad kicks my butt into getting a job."

Marty stirred his fresh gin and tonic with a finger and sucked the digit into his mouth. "Jill said they're hiring at Lundee's. Maybe she could set you up with a job there. Of course you'd have to deal with the general public. You know, act normal and sane and polite most of the time."

Brett scrunched up his face. "Eeewwww. Not sure I could handle that."

Marty took a seat on the floor next to Scott, and slapped his leg. "So what's up for the party, professor? You guys got your shit together yet?"

Scott sipped his drink and nodded. "Locked in the bus today." He glanced at Craig. "And I had them send the tickets to your home address so they'd be waiting in Rockford. Didn't want to forget and leave them here when I come down for the wedding."

Marty's brows arched. "Bus? Tickets?"

Craig grunted a suggestive chuckle. "Rrrrrroooooooad trip!! Charter bus. Thursday afternoon and evening bar hopping from Rockford to Chicago. Overnight in the Windy City, and then the Brewers versus the Cubbies on Friday. Return trip Friday night. Don't worry, Marty, we'll get you to the church on time."

Scott's eyes widened as he shook his head and smiled. "And I swear to God! You wouldn't believe it! It only took Brett, like, three minutes, to roll off the name and location of every tittie bar between Rockford and Chicago."

Craig laughed and added, "And even knew the names of some of the premier girls at a lot of the places."

Marty wiggled his eyebrows. "Oh, I believe it. Sounds like fun." He looked over at Jesse. "You might pick even up a few professional pointers from some of the pole dancers. You guys are coming down, aren't you?"

Frank snuffed out what little was left of the joint and nodded. "Hell yeah!"

Scott nudged Marty with his knee. "Got an e-mail from Danny up in Minneapolis today. Depending on the Twins' schedule, he might be coming along, too." He glanced over at Jesse. "I told him to give one of you guys a call if he needs a lift."

Jesse flashed a sly grin and he nudged Frank's shoulder with his leg. "It'd be our pleasure." Then looked back at Scott. "So, Scotty, what's your game plan?"

He shrugged. "Well, since you guys are all heading out tomorrow, I want to move all my shit over to the apartment before you go. That way I have a little help." He looked around the room. "Not a lot of stuff to move, so it shouldn't take long." He glanced back at Craig. "Then we can check out of the room with the RA before you go and I'll just crash upstairs with Marty tomorrow night. We'll load his shit up Friday morning before our finals."

Brett got up to grab another beer. "And when's the new job start?"

"I got a meeting with the Caucus Director on Friday afternoon. Then, I start on Monday."

He tapped his forehead and dug into his hip pocket. "Shit. Almost forgot. I saw Wilbur today about the moving plans, and I got the keys." He tossed one to Craig and one to Brett. "In case you guys want to come up over the summer." He smirked, "But call first. Don't want you barging in unannounced. You might find me in the throes of passion with some lucky young thing.

"Anyway guys, most of the furniture in that place is shit. Wilbur's gonna get rid of it for us, and then my dad and me are gonna move a bunch of better stuff in from my Gran's place this summer. Probably start this weekend, I think."

"Don't you mean your place?" Craig asked.

Scott answered with a slight shake of the head. "I don't think I'll ever be able to call it that. It's always gonna be `Gran's house' I s'pose." He was quiet for a moment. "And, Big Scott has this client who is looking for a house to rent. He said the guy's a good shit with a decent income, and can afford to pay a good price. We're gonna move some of the stuff down here, some of it into storage, and rent it mostly unfurnished. He figures the guy's good for it for at least two years."

He had one extra key, and handed it to Marty. "You might as well have one, too, in case you feel the need to escape family life from time to time." Marty face started to register an objection, but Scott gave him a stern look, quickly replaced by an inviting smile. "Really, Marty. You know you're going to be welcome any time. Shut up and take it." Marty nodded meekly and took the key.

At ten on Friday morning, Scott opened the now familiar blue book that was the depository of every college student's end of term pabulum regarding the semester's teaching and learning. He was distracted by his thoughts of the previous day and night, and smiled a bit at the discomfort he felt in his lower regions when he first sat down.

On Thursday morning, he was the first one up. He rousted his roommate, then checked the others' rooms to make sure everyone had survived the previous night's goodbye bash. By noon, they had relocated nearly of all Scott's college possessions to the new apartment and said their goodbyes to Craig and Brett, Jesse and Frank. Scott and Marty then beat a hasty retreat back to the dorm.

Marty had already pulled the mattresses from the bed frames and placed them, side by side, on the floor. They tore each other's clothes off in a frantic dance of groping, sucking, tickling and nibbling here and there, and then spent the afternoon and evening in sometimes playful, sometimes frenetic, sometimes soothing physical revelry. They ordered a pizza, sipped on some beers and chatted about everything under the sun. Some time around midnight, they finally dozed off in one another's arms.

Scott smiled again and tried to picture the hickey Marty had left high in his crotch. "Just marking my territory," his buddy had said in a muffled voice as his lips latched onto the flesh below his scrotum. Because of the location, he hadn't quite been able to view it in the shower, and he didn't own a hand mirror.

He read through the exam questions, shifted his weight in the chair in an effort to find the least uncomfortable posture and began writing.

Two hours later, he was sitting at a table in the upstairs dining room of the deli staring out the window down onto State Street, daydreaming. The sound of the chair sliding on the floor brought him back to the present.

Marty plopped down and sighed. "Shit! That fucker was a bitch! I was thinking so hard I thought I was gonna start bleeding from the ears."

Scott grinned and nodded. "Same here, but it's done. Finally."

Marty scanned the menu. "So whatcha been thinkin' about, professor?"

Scott shrugged. "Nothing much. This past year, the summer, the job, next year." His grin was coy. "Yesterday..." his voice wandered off.

Marty returned the smile. "Nothing much? That's a brain-full." He tore a piece off a rye roll and spread some butter on it. "So, you got a meeting up there today, right?" He pointed back over his shoulder in the direction of the Capitol.

Scott sipped his lemonade and nodded. "Yup. Two o'clock."

"So what're they gonna have you doin' again?"

"Lots of stuff. Probably a lot of grunt work and `gofer' duties at first while I learn more about the ways of the legislature. But eventually it's going to be researching issues, problems and possible solutions, helping write speeches, position papers and press releases. Basically, doing what needs doing to keep the party's senators stay looking good and politically viable back home."

Marty's eyes widened and his eyebrows danced. "Any opposition research on the bad guys? You know, the really fun shit?"

Scott chuckled. "If we do, I'll give you a call for some tips."

After the waiter took their sandwich orders, Marty squeezed a lemon into his tea. It reminded Scott of Maureen's ever-present two lemon wedges. Marty's face lit up. "Hey, it was good seeing Kel' over at the party last week, huh?"

Scott grinned. "Yeah, it really was. Kind of funny though. Looks like she found the social window dressing she thought she needed."

Marty smirked. "Seems like a good enough guy. Kinda shy though, don't you think?"

"Seemed that way. Funny thing is, one of the reasons she said we should move on was that we'll both be working under the dome, and she didn't think it would be a good idea to be in our relationship and basically working together. And this Jayson will be interning in the governor's office, too. Ah, well..." his voice trailed away again.

Marty changed the topic. "So, you think ol' Danny's coming down with Frank and Jesse for the bachelor party?"

Scott shrugged. "He's still waiting to hear from the boss if he can get away for a long weekend. Twins are on the road that week. If he can bail on that trip, then he's gonna be good to go."

Marty wiggled his eyebrows. "Could be an interesting weekend. You guys could send me into matrimony with a bang."

Scott grinned and shook his head. "You're an animal, you know that?"

Marty sat back in his chair and folded his hands. "Yes...I...am.

"And besides, I did my best to do that last night."

"Yes...you...did."

The waiter delivered their sandwiches and chips, and both guys used the food as an excuse to drop the conversation. After several minutes of eating in silence, Marty finally spoke. "You seem sad, Scotty."

Scott popped a chip in his mouth and chewed while he thought about it. "In all honesty, it's a mixed bag; a jumble of feelings right now." He pondered his own feelings for another half-minute. "It's like...Well, I think back to that self-absorbed, somewhat naive kid who showed up here last August. Didn't know anybody at all and was unsure of what this was all going to bring." He looked Marty in the eye. "Then, thank God, you had to show up."

He looked down at the table, then slowly back up into Marty's eyes. "I'm feeling grateful for all you've done for me, all that you've taught me," he leaned over and whispered, "both in and out of the sack." Marty giggled. "I'm feeling happy for you and for Jill and for Ashley. But, yeah, I'm sad you're leaving, God awful sad. Of course I am!"

Marty fixed a forlorn gaze into his tea and stirred. His other hand was flat on the table, and Scott tapped his fingers with his straw. "How would you feel if you thought I wasn't going to miss all..." he gestured back and forth between the two of them with a hand "...all this...all we've become?"

Marty smirked. "I'd be pissed, of course. I'd feel like shit." Then the smile faded as he pushed the plate to the side and leaned forward on the table. "And if it matters, I'm going to miss it all, too. A lot. Probably more than you know. But you know this is how it's gotta be, right?"

Scott didn't hesitate before nodding his assurance.

"Scotty, you gave me some opportunities I never knew before we met, and that I never would have known if not for you. I've always been a screwball, but you let me use that...ah, let's call it a gift...in ways that finally let me see some good come of it. It's like I had some purpose I've never really known. And then, to top it off, you helped me get through all the shit with my dad, and with my mom." A naughty smile returned and he whispered, "And the sex hasn't been too bad." He ducked his head down and to the right to dodge the straw that was flying his way, and he giggled.

They were quiet for a time, and Marty started to chuckle again.

"What?" Scott asked, unable suppress the smile.

"I was just thinking. Remember that first time? When I came in and caught you..." He mimed the stroking motion with his hand.

Scott guffawed and clapped his hands. "How could I forget? You barged in, caught me jackin' and practically threw yourself at me, you slut." A naughty smile remained on Scott's lips. "Great timing, by the way. Thanks for that."

Marty faked a nonchalant shrug. "Least I could do. You know me. I'm a helper by nature."

Their laughter was followed by another minute's silence, until Marty's face brightened again. "But...ya' know? If that had never happened, and if neither one of us had ever made that kind of move, it'd still have been a wild, wonderful ride. Ya know?"

Scott's smile was calm, it was knowing. "I think that was the last thought I had last night before I fell asleep, and again just before you got here."

Marty waved at the waiter. He pointed at the uneaten half of his sandwich. He hadn't had much of an appetite when he'd first arrived, and wasn't going to keep on eating. "Hey, sport! Could you please bring me a box, or some foil? I guess I'll just take this with for the drive home." They stared and smiled each other for a full minute, until the waiter returned with a sheet of tin foil and a small paper bag. Scott dropped his napkin on his plate and pushed it to the side for the waiter to retrieve. Marty placed the sandwich on the foil and handed the empty plate to the server, who promptly made his leave.

Marty was folding the foil around the roast beef and swiss on sourdough. "Do you know Kipling?"

"Rudyard?"

"No, Bronco Kipling, dummy. Bronco Nagurski Kipling. Biggest, toughest poet in literary history. Of course, Rudyard, ya' fool."

"Not personally. He's dead, you know."

Marty pushed the neatly wrapped afternoon snack to the side and leaned forward again on the table. "Don't be a dickhead."

Scott figured he'd play along. "Okay, late nineteenth, early twentieth century British upper crust writer. Imperialist and militarist. Probably sexist and racist, too, from what I know."

Marty nodded, "Yeah, and pretty good novelist and decent poet. I liked Gunga Din,' and really liked The Jungle Book.'

"You liked Disney's cartoon of `The Jungle Book.'

"Yeah." He sang, too loudly for Scott's comfort, "Oh it's the bare necessities, the simple bare necessities...

"Cut it out!"

Marty stopped the singing, "But it's a great song, and it's all true!" He giggled mischievously. "Still worried I'm gonna do something to embarrass you, Scott?"

Scott blushed. "Sorry. It's a habit with you; a knee-jerk reaction."

Marty rolled his eyes. "Anyway, the old guy wrote what is probably my favorite poem. Maybe you know it."

He leaned further forward on the table and gazed directly into Scott's eyes. "If you can keep your head when all about you; "Are losing theirs and blaming it on you. "If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you; "But make allowances for their doubting too."

A knowing smile slowly crept onto Scott's face. "If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, "Or being lied about, don't deal in lies; "Or being hated, don't give way to hating; "And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise."

Marty smiled and shook a finger at his friend on that last line, before continuing. "If you can dream—and not make dreams your master; "If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim; "If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster; "And treat those two imposters just the same."

Scott took a sip of water and swallowed hard. He nodded, "If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken; "Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools; "Or watch the things you gave your life to broken; "And stoop and build `em up with warn-out tools."

Marty giggled quietly, "If you can make one heap of all your winnings; "And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss; "And lose, and start again at your beginnings; "And never breathe a word about your loss."

Scott had to think for a second about what came next, and his eyes quickly signaled his recollection. "If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew; "To serve your turn long after they are gone; "And so hold on when there is nothing in you; "Except the Will which says to them: `Hold on!'"

Marty reached across and took both of Scott's hands in his. "If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue; "Or walk with kings—nor lose the common touch; "If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; "If all men count with you, but none too much."

Scott took Marty's grasp and squeezed his hands gently. "If you can fill the unforgiving minute; "With sixty seconds' worth of distance run; "Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it." He paused, blinked back the hint of tears and sighed, and Marty joined him in unison, "And—which is more—you'll be a Man, my son!"

Each stared deeply into the other's eyes, smiling. Finally, Marty broke the silence with a clearing of his throat. "Uhm...yeah...well, I s'pose I should hit the road, professor. Mom's got Ashley this afternoon, and I told her I'd be there some time between three and four."

They both stood, and dropped a good tip on the table. After paying their tabs at the register, they turned toward the stairs. As they hit the first step, Marty locked their arms together for the walk down and to the front door. They descended the spiral staircase in silence.

Once outside the restaurant, they turned to face each other on the State Street sidewalk. Marty smiled. "Remember what you said in New Orleans, professor, I'm only a phone call or an e-mail away. You fuck something up, and need your special advisor," he winked, "and you know you will...and I'm here in about two hours." Marty's smile faded. He swallowed the lump in his throat and sighed. "And, remember, I got a key."

Scott nodded. "You sure as hell do." His hands shot up and forward, and he pulled Marty into a fierce hug, wrapping both arms around his neck. When Marty felt Scott's tears hit his temple, his own began to flow as well. He hugged Scott closer.

After most of a minute's embrace, his eyes still closed tightly, Scott whispered. "I love you, Marty Anderson."

Marty sucked in a chest full of air, rubbed Scott's back and coughed out a quiet sob. "Me too, you, Scott Turner, Jr. I always will." He placed a soft kiss on Scott's jaw.

Gradually, they released each other and took a short step back, ignoring the many glances from the other pedestrians. Each man giggled as they wiped their cheeks. Scott swiped his nose and lips with his shirt cuff as Marty put his hands back on his shoulders. "There now. It's all good Scotty." He lifted a hand and swabbed his right eye once more with the back of his index finger, and then pointed over Scott's shoulder at the dome a half-mile away. "Now get your ass up there and make me proud."

Scott just sniffed and nodded. Marty waved a thumb over his own shoulder in the opposite direction. "I have to be going now Scotty." He patted Scott's cheek. "You take care, professor, and keep in touch."

Scott nodded again and smiled. "And you, too, Mr. Special Advisor."

Marty winked one more time, turned and walked down the sidewalk. Scott stood for a minute and watched him stroll past the storefronts. He chuckled when Marty paused to drop a couple dollars into the open instrument case of a lone saxophone player on the sidewalk. As Marty darted between the traffic at the first intersection, Scott turned around. He thrust his hands deep into his pockets, shrugged and shook off a shiver.

He paused and looked up the street. There was that damned dome. He pursed his lips, took a deep breath and sighed, and then started his walk toward the Capitol.

THE END

Author's Note:

About fifteen months ago, after reading several pieces on Nifty, and kicking around a few fleeting thoughts, I said to myself "what the hell?" and opened my laptop. Without a clear roadmap for an entire story line, I was figuring, "maybe ten chapters, tops." Live and learn. I've resisted the temptation to do a complete and total page count, but I never once imagined that this would become what it has.

To say this experience has been `interesting' would be a gross understatement, and I haven't found the right adjective to do it all justice.

To any of you who have had the same thought about taking a stab at doing some writing of your own: I urge you to give into the impulse. It can be a daunting task at times, but the rewards come in many forms. You'll learn a thing or two about yourself, you'll have the support and encouragement of some of the great literary forces on sites like this one, and you'll make some good friends in your readers.

I'll thank the many great authors who have been so generous to this newbie. Billy McBride, Timothy Mead, Jack Scribe, Scotty and Tyler Peel have been outstanding sources of inspiration, support and kinship. They are a gifted and incredibly generous lot.

I've also had priceless input and assistance from a number of proofreaders and editors, contributors, advisors and confidants from among my many insightful and talented readers. Kory, Peter, Glenn, Jack, Danny and a friend in San Diego who wishes to remain nameless all deserve a share of the credit for keeping me going and getting us to the finish line.

And the regular correspondents who have provided feedback and encouragement as the story has evolved are many. The risk in trying to list them is that someone might get overlooked. I'll try to avoid that, and apologize to anyone who feels slighted by my haste and oversight. In addition to those wonderful individuals already mentioned, my most heartfelt thanks go out to: Les, Tracy, Stephen, Terry, Brent, Danny, Kevin, Wes, Frank, Homer, Geoff, Triggereo, all three Scotts, Rick, James, Vasanzio, Peter A., Rock, Jere, Ted, three Bobs, Jay, David, John, Jack, Earl, Jasper, both Dougs, Ron, Ryan, Christian, two Adams, another Terry, Ian, Jeff and Mike. You folks kept this going.

And, of course, the staff at Nifty deserves all of our thanks. I'll repeat my constant appeal for you to support their endeavor with a donation. I have two parting requests or wishes. First, that each of you will identify at least one other author who you've been enjoying, and let them know that you appreciate their efforts and their talents. Your messages are huge when it comes to the motivation to keep writing. Second, I'll ask once more that every one of you will support Nifty's efforts to continue to bring you, at no cost, the works of the many tremendous authors whose works entertain and inspire you.

In response to the many inquiries I've received about what's next on my writing agenda, all I can say is, I don't know yet. Part of me is thinking "Well, you got that out of your system." Other days, another part of me thinks, "what if...?" If I do return, it's going to be a while, I think. I'm taking a break from the laptop.

As for the rest of me, in the near-term, I'm taking some time off to fly back to Madison to visit some friends.

Be Well,

Scott Turner scotty.13411@hotmail.com