Date: Thu, 21 Feb 2008 13:46:27 -1000
From: S turner <scotty.13411@hotmail.com>
Subject: "FORK IN THE ROAD"  Chapter 12

FORK IN THE ROAD
By Scott Turner
Chapter 12

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

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction that occasionally contains rather
graphic depictions of sexual activity between consenting adult men.  If
that's not your cup of tea, or if it is illegal for you to possess or read
such material, then please go elsewhere.  This story is copyrighted, 2008,
and may not be reproduced, reposted or published without the expressed
permission of the author.


From Chapter 11:

Call the cops if you want.  I broke in.  I saw Craig yesterday and he said
you'd be alone this weekend.  So I came over a half hour ago and I shimmied
up the rail to the front porch.  I knew you guys usually leave that door
unlocked, so I took my chances.  I figured if the door was locked, then I'd
check the front windows, or wait out there until you got home."  He held
out a glass.  "I wanted to talk about last weekend."


CHAPTER 12

Scott took the glass and set it down on the coffee table.  Then he took the
other from Greg and set it next to the first.  He smiled broadly and
gripped his waist.  "You break into my apartment, pour a couple glasses of
wine, strip down to nothing but a jockstrap and wait for me.  And you
expect me to believe that you want to talk?"  Scott pulled him in and
mashed Greg's bulging pouch into his own crotch and then kissed him
furiously for most of a minute.  He pulled back.  "You don't want to talk."
He kneaded Greg's firm smooth ass cheeks.

Greg shot back a smoldering gaze and whispered.  "No, Scott.  I don't.  I
want you to make me your bitch boy.  I want you to use me."

He'd never been that into domination, but his mood met the situation.
Scott stepped back and picked up his glass of wine.  He took a large gulp.
"Take off my tie."

Greg grinned slightly and complied, loosening the knot beneath Scott's
collar and undid the knot it.  He carefully folded it over twice and lay in
on the arm of the couch.

Scott took another drink.  "Would you like some wine?"

Greg nodded.  "Yes...yes...sir."

"Then unbutton my shirt.  Don't forget the cuffs."  Greg began to comply.
"But lick my neck and my chin as you do it."  Greg's tongue lapped at
Scott's neck and chin, as the buttons were undone.  Scott played with and
pinched Greg's nipples as the shirt slowly opened, eliciting soft whimpers.
"Now take the shirt off."  Scott put down his glass of wine to allow Greg
to slide the shirt off his shoulders and off his arms.  He ruffled Greg's
hair.  "Good man."  He handed Greg his glass of wine and they stared at
each other as they shared another healthy sip.

Scott reached out and took Greg by the chin.  "So, you're in the mood for a
little direction tonight, huh?"

Greg looked down demurely.  "Yeah.  I want to make it up to you, and I like
doin' this sometimes."

"How far you want to take it?"

Greg giggled softly and sighed.  "If you go too far, I'll slap your face,
unless my hands are tied down, but I'm good for anything right now.  I want
you to totally have your way."  His face went almost solemn.  "I need you
make my ass all yours tonight...sir."  He took another sip and set down the
glass.  "Now, how can I do your bidding, sir?"

Scott was getting into it and he sneered.  "Get on your knees, bitch."

Greg hinted at a grin and immediately fell to his knees.  Scott's hand went
to the back of his head and he ground Greg's face into his own rapidly
bulging crotch.  Greg's hands came up and began to work on Scott's belt.
Scott tapped his head.  "Did I tell you to unbuckle my pants, boy?"

Greg's face came off the swollen pleats of Scott's slacks.  "No, sir.  I'm
sorry, sir."

Scott sat on the couch.  "Take off my shoes, and then the socks."  Greg did
as he was told while Scott leaned over and refilled both of the wine
glasses on the coffee table.  "Now lick my toes and feet.  Both of them."

Twenty minutes later, the fattest cat in the world had waddled into Scott's
bedroom closet for refuge.  The noise and activity in the living room was
just too much.  He, himself, had licked Scott's feet more than once, but
he'd not licked all the other places that the stranger was licking.  Nor,
did he imagine, he ever would, even if asked very politely.

Greg's hands were bound behind him with Scott's discarded necktie and he
was on his knees on the couch, his head turned with his left cheek pressed
up against the living room wall.  Scott had kicked the coffee table back a
few feet to give himself some room and was hammering his hips into Greg's
sweaty ass cheeks, his cock into Greg's chute.  He raised a hand and
smacked Greg firmly.  "What do you want?"

"I want you to give it to me harder sir!  I want you deep inside of me!"

"You don't deserve it!"

"I know I don't, sir, but I'm begging you.  Please, sir, may I have
another?"

Scott smacked the other cheek with more force.

"Oh my goodness," he gasped, "thank you sir!  Now please do me as hard as
you can!  I want it all, sir."

Scott reached up and grabbed Greg's shoulders.  He drove himself into Greg
and relished the moans and whimpers of satisfaction coming from below.
Finally, he growled as he filled the condom completely before collapsing on
top of Greg's back.

He smelled coffee and felt the mattress shift.  He sat up as Greg handed
him a steaming mug.  "I had to hunt around for it, but I finally found the
coffee.  You're a coffee snob, huh?  Only the fresh ground stuff, kept in
the freezer."

Scott rubbed his eyes, grinned and sat up.  He took the mug, leaned over
and stole a quick kiss.  "Yeah.  Only way to go.  No canned Folger's in his
place."

Greg crawled back under the covers and then picked up his own mug from the
bedside table.

There was a moment's silence as they both sipped the steaming brew.
Finally, Scott broke through it.  "That was something new for me."  He
looked at Greg and grinned.  "Not that I'm complaining.  It's not my usual
cup of tea, but you were something else last night."

Greg giggled and rubbed Scott's knee beneath the sheets.  "Not my usual
thing either, but I really needed that, and I needed it from you.  It was
incredible, you monster."

"I'm gonna need a steam cleaner and a bottle of Fabreeze to clean that
couch you know."

Greg cackled.  "And I want to be there when you explain the stains on that
necktie to the dry cleaner."

Scott looked at the floor to where the tie lay.  "That is going in the
garbage."  He reached over Greg to put his mug on the table, and then lay
an arm across his lover's chest.  "Or maybe I'll frame it and hang it in
here somewhere."

Greg put his mug next to Scott's and turned sideways, snuggling into the
embrace.  They kissed softly.

Scott moved his head back.  "No fair.  You brushed your teeth already and
I've got morning mouth."

Greg kissed him again.  "You taste great."

Scott scooted over Greg and headed to the bathroom.  After relieving his
bladder, brushing his teeth and rinsing his mouth, he scurried back to bed
with a half hard cock leading the way.  Greg grinned as Scott ambled back
over and shimmied under the covers, reached over Greg and picked up his
mug.  Then he started to laugh.

Greg rolled onto his side and wiggled his hand down onto Scott's hip.
"What's so funny?"

"You said `My goodness!'  Last night I was throwing it into you as hard as
I could at your urging, you reached back and grabbed my ass hard, pulled me
into you as deep as it goes and you whimpered `Oh, my goodness!'"

Greg smiled.  "Did I?  I don't remember what I was saying.  What's so funny
about that?  It's how I talk."

Scott smirked and shrugged.  "Well, I'm more accustomed to hearing
something a bit steamier, more profane I guess, like `oh shit, oh fuck, god
damn it.'  But `my goodness,' while complementary I suppose, was a new one
for me."

Greg kissed his neck.  "You know I'm not a potty mouth.  My mom would come
back and wash my mouth out if I tossed out the f-bomb.  And just so you
know, I don't give out a lot of `my goodnesses.' You gotta be great in
order to get a `my goodness' from me."

Scott turned his head and kissed his nose.  "You can `my goodness' me as
much as you want."  There was another minute of silence.  Scott blinked a
few times and turned his head.  "So, tell me more about Nick."  He took a
big gulp of the cooling coffee.  "I mean, you told me a bit about your high
school relationship with him, but who is he?  Where does he fit in?"

Greg put his mug down and rolled back onto his back.  "Nick Torres is one
of the nicest guys I've ever known.  Only other guy I've ever been with.
Great looking, as you saw," he smirked and took a sip.  "He's very
competitive but very sensitive.  He has a great sense of humor.  Mom is
Anglo and Dad is Cuban.  His grandpa came over from Havana during the
revolution.  Very rigid home life with tons of Latino machismo flowing
through.  So, if it's possible, he's even further back in the closet than I
am.  If his old man ever knew about him and me, he'd probably beat him to
death."  He paused.  "But so would mine."

Before Scott could respond to the last remark, Greg looked over.  "So, tell
me about Marty."

Scott sighed.  "My best friend.  Funniest guy I've ever known.  Happy go
lucky, always optimistic, loyal as they come."

"Hot in the sack?"

Scott snorted and pinched Greg's right nipple.  "Almost as hot as you."
They kissed.

Greg blinked.  "Seriously."

"Truth?  Marty taught me most of what I know about sex with guys.  Before
meeting him, I'd swapped head as a teenager with a cousin of mine.  I was
with a couple other guys last year, but Marty and me were special.  We
were, I guess, mostly fuck buddies, but still so much more than that.  We
have a real special friendship, too.  One unlike any I've ever had."  He
paused as he reflected on that thought.  "Anyway, then Marty knocked up a
wonderful woman who has a precious little girl and they just recently gave
birth to my godson."  He sighed again and kissed Greg's chin.  "So we'll
always be best friends with a lot of great memories."

Greg's brows arched.  "But you and him still mess around?"

Scott settled his forehead into the crook of Greg's neck.  "We have, once,
since he got married.  But I don't see much of that in our future.  It is
odd.  Our friendship was born in part out of our sudden sexual
relationship, but the friendship exists on its own.  If we never got naked
together again, the relationship would survive."  He looked up.  "And you
and Nick?"

Greg rubbed his face and sighed heavily.  "Shit.  I don't know.  The
distance is a bitch, and he kind of hinted that he had something going on
up in Minnesota.  We had a great romp last weekend," he snickered shyly and
kissed Scott's forehead, "as you know."  He laughed out loud and mimicked
Scott.  "Nick, you have cum in your hair."  They both laughed.  "He just
about died after you stormed out.  It took me twenty minutes to talk him
down from the ledge.""

Greg nestled down onto Scott's chest and licked his nipple.  "And I
basically told him in a round about way that you and me were working on
something here."

Scott leered down at Greg's upward gaze.  He craned his face downward and
kissed the top of Greg's head.  "And what would that be that we're working
on?"  Greg's soft caresses on his thigh had already brought his cock to
attention.  Now he gripped it.  Scott gasped, then sighed.  "No ties,
right?  I already ruined one of them on you."

Greg smiled up at him.  "No ties.  And I don't think my ass can handle any
more swats."  His tongue lightly danced on Scott's sternum and slowly
worked its way downward.

Scott sighed.  "Gotcha, sir."  He sighed again as Greg's head disappeared
beneath the sheets.  "Oh my goodness!"



It was an open caucus meeting.  By law, whenever they met to discuss
policy, they had to meet in an open session.  `The State Journal' reporter,
Bruce Weeden sent Grant over to take notes and report back to him.  Scott
waved him over to an empty chair next to him along the back wall.

The members were discussing Frick's environmental and highway bills.
Senator Winston, the gentleman from Lancaster was pounding on the table.
He was, in Scott's mind, a relatively well-educated, very shrewd member of
the Senate who probably represented his constituency pretty well.  He was
not, however, the body's most eloquent member.  "Dog gonnit!  If we can all
get behind these bills it'll create jobs at a family supporting wage, and
it'll get through the Assembly and the Governor's desk like shit through a
goose!"

Frick's face beamed his approval.

Grant leaned over and whispered.  "What did he just say?"

"Like shit through a goose."

Cornell suppressed a grin.  "What the hell does that mean?"

Scott returned the smirk and whispered out of the side of his mouth.
"Well, I've heard my dad say it a few times, and he always meant `in a
hurry.'

He leaned closer to Grant and whispered.  "But I'll tell you...I've golfed
with a buddy on a course about thirty minutes north of here that's right
next to a marsh.  Hundreds of frigging geese, especially this time of year.
In addition, tons and I mean tons of goose shit.  And they shit big.  Don't
know if they shit fast, like I think the senator implied.  But for birds,
they shit big.  If you play in the morning before the crew has worked on
the course, you have to scope the greens for goose turds before you putt
and then smack them away yourself.  I mean, you can hit a hard goose turd
with a putter and make it hop or roll away."

Three or four of the members' heads turned when Grant laughed.  Scott bit
his bottom lip and looked at his shoes.

Grant regained his composure and made sure the senators were all fully
engaged again in the meeting before the left side of his mouth spoke.
"Sorry, I was just picturing you lining up a putt on a goose turd."

"Been there, done that.  But was able to blame a couple of losses on the
goose dump that was in the line of my putt." Scott whispered back.

Neither guy dared speak again for the rest of the caucus meeting.



	A couple days later, as they had lunch together, Scott dropped his
soupspoon and grabbed the glass of iced tea.  He took too big of a gulp and
coughed.  "Are you shitting me?"

Grant shook his head and smirked.  "It's been the buzz in the press room
for weeks.  The Guv's chief of staff, Marsha Hawley, is doin' Frick, and
vice versa.  Word is a maintenance gal caught `em goin' at it in his office
one night while she was just making her usual rounds doing the cleaning."

"No shit!"  Scott mulled it over for a second.  "I guess I'm not surprised.
I think they both crawled out of the same pool of political slime."  He
stabbed at his salad and munched some more.

Grant grinned and bit into his hot pastrami.  He munched for a time.  "The
debate is whether or not it's a story."

Scott was incredulous.  He dropped his spoon again after slurping another
small load of clam chowder.  "What do you mean, not a story?"

"Well, Frick's married and Marsha's long been thought to be a dyke."  Scott
winced a little.  "But there's a strong school of thought that if their
messing around isn't having any impact on their jobs or the state's
business, it's not newsworthy.  It might be enough for Mrs. Frick to want
to cut his balls off, but not enough for us to blow it up into something
that's sensational but not newsworthy.  We're not Entertainment Tonight,
for Christ's sake.  Besides, Weeden and Frick are kind of buddies."

Scott mulled it over and nodded.  "True enough."

Chad had an evil grin and he leaned into the table.  "I'll bet he whimpers
and begs while she ties him down, smacks his ass and then fucks him with a
strap-on."

Scott nearly spit out a mouthful of chowder.  "God!  You're an evil man
with a terrible imagination!  That image is just gross.  I'm trying to eat
here, ya' know."  He couldn't help but think of Greg's passionate reactions
the night before when he had him pinned against the bed.  He smirked and
wiggled his eyebrows.  "But could be."  He looked around to see if anybody
might hear him.  Coast was clear.  "She's a mean, vindictive cunt and he's
a sleazy little snake.  They're perfect for each other."

Grant snickered as he wiped his lips and then tossed the napkin on his
empty plate.  "My thoughts exactly."  He looked over Scott's head rather
wistfully and sighed.  "Too bad it's not a real story."  He looked back at
Scott.  "They can fuck day and night, but until or unless it affects their
jobs or the state's business, it's not newsworthy."

"Even if they're fuckin' under the dome?"

Grant shrugged.  "Well, assuming the rumor is true, if the cleaning gal had
called the cops, it'd been a different matter.  I can't cite the statute,
but I'm sure having sex in the State Capitol is against the law, even after
hours.  But apparently she didn't tell anybody other than her supervisor,
three days later.  Happened on a Friday and she supposedly told the boss
about in on Monday.  He's a wimp who isn't going to do anything about it
now.  So as it stands, it's only a nasty rumor.

"And, uhm, bad news from the Press Room too.  I can tell you what Weeden is
sure it's not a story.  Campaign contributions.  I did some research.
Sure, a ton of money is coming in from out of state, but it's all within
the limits and all legal.  Bruce is quick to say `we report news.  We don't
manufacture it where it isn't.  When it suits him, of course.  Like I said,
he and Frick are pretty tight.  When it suits him, Frick leaks shit to
Bruce and then Bruce decides what to report and what not to report.
There's a lot of self-editing that goes on there.  If there is such a thing
as any media bias, it's often found in what we choose not to zero in on and
write about.



Scott was the first back to the apartment that afternoon and picked two
day's worth of mail out of the box.  Standing in the kitchen sorting it
into four piles, one for the trash, he came across an over-sized post card
with a brilliant photo of Ayer's Rock.  It was addressed to him.

The handwriting was small, but it was very neat.  "G'day Turner,

"It's a blast from your past here!

"I came to Melbourne last summer and hunkered down at Glenn's place.  Well,
one thing led to another, and I've made a few great adjustments in my life,
much to my father's dismay.  First, I enrolled in an MBA program at
Melbourne University.  Then I came out to my family and Glenn and I have
become quite the hot item."  Scott grinned.  "My dad's still having a fit,
but I can't tell you what a relief it's been.  Not only do I have the
greatest guy in the world in my life, but also it feels like the weight of
that world has been lifted off my shoulders.  Anyway, we're doing Christmas
with Glenn's family, and then flying back to The States to spend the week
with my folks in Brookfield.  We'll probably shoot over to Madison for a
day or two.  Wondering if you'll be in town that week and might want to
have dinner or something.  My e-mail address is printed at the bottom of
this card.  Keep in mind, though, that we're 17 hours ahead of you on the
clock.

"Hope we can make this work

"Take it easy,

"Kip"

Scott giggled.  "Well smack my ass and call me Sally!  Sounds like ol'
Kippy really has his shit together."  Be brought the card and the rest of
his mail to the bedroom.  He taped the postcard to the side of his computer
screen as a reminder to check his calendar.  He and Greg had talked about a
trip north to his dad's cabin, but that wouldn't be until over a week into
January, just before classes resumed.  `Might work,' he thought.  `I'd be
coming down for a little while for some WSA work anyway.'



It had been a long day.  Scott had left campus and returned to the office
for an hour to dispense with a few e-mails he'd neglected that morning.  At
about 5:30, he strolled to his car, drove the few blocks to the lot and
parked the car.  It had snowed a couple of inches during the day.  It was
one of those wet, heavy coatings, great for snowballs but probably not
enough for a snowman.  He trudged through the sticky powder for a half a
block.  Just as he put his foot on the first of four steps leading to the
front door he was showered with a huge clump of the white stuff.

"What the fuck?"  He tried in vain to grab as much snow as he could from
sliding down beneath his back collar.

Brett leaned over the balcony's railing and cackled, holding the push broom
he was using to clear the surface.  "Happy Birthday, Mr. President."

"You're slime, and a crazy fucker, you know that?"

"Yep."  He turned toward the screen door.  "Craig, honey, our boy's home.
Open another beer for his special day."

He was still shivering as he hit the top stair leading into the apartment
and Craig was smirking.  He handed his buddy a Leine's Red, one of Scott's
favorites.  "Happy Birthday, bud."

They tapped the necks of the bottles together.  "Thanks, man."

Craig walked back into the kitchen.  "We're cookin' dinner tonight.  No
brats tonight for the birthday boy.  Twice-baked potatoes are in the oven.
Ribeyes are seasoned and ready to hit the grill.  The salad is tossed, the
bread sliced and warming, and the beer is chilling."

Scott took a good long draw from his bottle.  "Sounds great.  A hell of a
meal.  Thanks, bud.  I'm gonna have to get up and run tomorrow."

Brett came back in from the porch, kicking his boots on the door jam to
shake off the snow.  "Gonna light the grill."

"Fuck you asshole," Scott smirked.  "I hope you go up in flames."

Brett giggled and rubbed Scott's wet back.  "Such a mean-spirited birthday
boy."

Scott smiled.  "I ain't cookin'.  I'm gonna lose the tie, put on some
sweats and check my e-mails.  You boys can get everything ready."  Scott
closed the door to his room and booted up the computer.  He slipped the tie
off, shed the oxford and the Dockers and put on some sweats and a UW
sweatshirt.  He clicked on the inbox and changed his socks.

He looked at the inbox and smiled.  "That son of a bitch."  Walter Jamieson
had obviously told everybody in the WSA that it was his birthday.  There
were over thirty emails with "Happy Birthday" in the subject line.  His
cell phone rang.  It was Greg's number on the screen.

"Hey."

"Happy Birthday, stud."

Scott snorted.  "Well, thanks, sexy."

"The roomie's gone for the night.  Want to come over so I can...uhm...give
you your present?"  His tone of voice suggested everything Scott might
want.

Scott paused and cleared his throat.  "Uhm, that sounds great.  But the
guys are cooking dinner for me tonight, so I have to hang here."  He
thought about the invitation and his cock stirred.  "For a while anyway."

"How long?"

Scott thought about it.  "Probably two or three hours.  I don't want to dis
the guys.  They've obviously planned this for me."

"Gotcha."  Greg sighed.

"Can I call you later?"

Greg paused.  "Buddy, you can call me whatever you want tonight, but you're
gonna have to come over here to do it.  I don't do phone sex."

Scott snickered as he reached for his comfy slippers.  "Naughty boy."

"Maybe.  We'll see.  Call me."

"I will."

They both hung up, and Scott looked back at the computer screen.  `Later,'
he said to himself.  `I'll send them all thank you notes tomorrow.'  It
dawned on him that he didn't know when `Radar's' birthday was and he felt
guilty about it.  He resolved to fix that.

The three stood out in the cold while Brett tended the grill, then feasted
on what was one of Scott's favorite meals.  Scott sipped a second beer
during the meal.  When Craig went to get another round, he waved him off.
"Not me, dude.  I gotta drive tonight."

"What?"  Craig shot a surprised glance at Scott.

He shrugged.  "My buddy Greg called.  He's struggling with a history
project and needs some help.  I told him I'd come over to the dorm and help
him out."

Brett dropped the plates into the sink and ran the faucet.  "Well, that's
nice of you, but it kinda sucks.  I figured we'd play poker or something
and I'd clean you out by cheating."  He and Craig exchanged glances.

Scott snorted and stood up.  "You always have been cheating us at cards,
haven't you?"  He rubbed and patted his flat stomach.  "Guys, that was
great.  Thanks for dinner.  But I'm gonna take a quick shower and head over
to the dorm."

Brett arched his brows as Scott exited the kitchen.  He whispered.  "Take a
shower to go help a guy with a paper?"

Craig looked back sternly.  "That's what he said he was doing.  Then that's
what he's doing."

Brett opened a fresh beer and took a long swig.  He inhaled deeply and
belched.  "Whatever."

Scott rapped on the door to Greg's room.  "It's open.  Come on in," he
heard from the other side.  The room was lit dimly by just a table lamp
with a towel draping its shade.  Greg stood wearing only a jockstrap.  He
knew Scott enjoyed the image of him in a jock and he rather favored the
look himself.  He wasn't exactly vain, but he knew it looked hot.  He
grabbed the lapels of Scott's leather coat and mashed their lips together.
He broke the kiss and leaned his head back a bit.  "You're late, birthday
boy.  How was dinner?"  He slid Scott's coat off of his shoulders and
tossed it on the desk chair.

"It was great."  Scott grabbed Greg's smooth ass with both hands and ground
their crotches together.  "But I'm ready for dessert."

Greg nuzzled his neck and snickered.  "Still hungry, are you?" He looked up
and pecked Scott's lips.

Scott smiled.  "You know it."

Greg put both hands on Scott's chest and pushed him back toward the bed,
finally forcing him over the edge of the mattress onto his back.  Before
Scott could say so much as `whoa' Greg was laying flat on top of him with
his tongue in Scott's mouth.  Scott felt the pouch of Greg's jock expanding
as they continued to make out on the bed.  Greg slid the bottom hem of
Scott's sweatshirt upward.  Starting at Scott's beltline, his tongue did a
dance up to Scott's right nipple, where his tongue and lips did a vigorous
dance.

"Oh, God!"  Scott sighed.  He grabbed the back of Greg's head and sighed
again.  "Mmmm...damn!"

Greg suddenly stood up.  "Get up and get naked.  Need to have the birthday
boy in his birthday suit."  He went to the sink and turned the hot water
on.  A bottle of oil had been sitting in hot water for the past hour, but
he wanted to add a few more degrees.  By the time he turned around, Scott
had quickly complied with his directive and he stood there, looking
magnificent with his member half hard at nearly a ninety-degree angle from
his groin.  Greg leered.  "Very nice.  Now lay down on your stomach."
Scott did as asked.  "Fold your hands up under your head or under the
pillow so that I can get at your arms.  I'm gonna give you your birthday
massage.  You'll appreciate Nick, I think, in a little while.  He taught me
how to do this right."

Scott just sighed as Greg straddled his hamstrings.  He felt the heated oil
being swirled up and down, left and right, from the bottom of his neck to
the lower traps, just above his ass.  Greg spread the oil around gently
with two flat hands.  After a minute, the hands arched so that only his
fingertips gently roamed up and down, left and right.  Scott was quickly
relaxing when Greg went to work on his neck.  He kneaded the back of
Scott's neck, and then held the sides working his thumbs deep into the
tissue.  "You're tense, Scott."

"Mmmmm.  Less than I was when I got here, getting better every minute."
Greg worked the neck for another couple of minutes, and then expanded his
scope to Scott's deltoids.  He worked the shoulders softly at first but
then ramped it up a couple notches.  He put some more oil in his hands and,
one at a time, worked both of Scott's upper arms.  Wrapping his fingers as
far as he could around Scott's triceps and biceps, he massaged as if he
were wringing out a washcloth.  After a couple minutes on each upper arm,
Greg whispered, "Hold up your right hand."  Scott lazily raised his arm
while Greg slathered his hands in fresh oil and rubbed them together.  He
gripped Scott's forearm firmly and worked his hands up and down, and up and
down again several more times.  He held Scott's wrist in his left hand and,
one by one worked each finger between his oily thumb and forefinger.  Then
he repeated the routine with the left arm and hand.  Scott just sighed.
His hard cock was now aching beneath him and he was beginning to leak onto
his stomach and Greg's comforter.

Having finished with the upper extremities, Greg whispered.  "How we doin?"

Scott moaned a muffled response.  "I'm all yours, Greg.  And we're doing
abso-fucking-lutely great."

Greg grinned.  "Well, hang in there.  Gonna work on the lats now, and work
my way down to the lower traps bit by bit.  But I'm merciless."

"Gimme your best, Greg."

He felt a fresh coating of oil being drizzled up and down his back as Greg
shimmied down a little lower and he was sitting on Scott's calves.  Greg
began with slow, up and down swipes from the very top of his glutes all the
way up his back.  Gradually, his thumbs became more aggressive, digging
into the tissue all along the way.  Then Greg made two fists and Scott felt
his knuckles boring into the various muscle groups as they made their way
slowly, south to north and north to south.  He moaned into the pillow.
Greg grinned again, the wet spot on the pouch of his jockstrap growing by
the minute.

Now he was sitting atop Scott's ankles drizzling oil over the ass cheeks.
He snickered.  "This is my favorite part."

Scott just nodded, half-conscious.  "Mm hmm."

Greg kneaded the glutes with vigor.  A couple of times, Scott raised his
hips to meet the greedy fingers.  Greg swatted his left ass cheek.  "Simmer
down, son.  I'm in charge here."

"Mmmmmmm.  Yes, sir."

Greg parted Scott's legs and propped on his knees between Scott's ankles.
He separated the glutes, revealing the very inviting, twitching rosebud
between them.  He leaned in, first flicking the opening with the tip of his
tongue.  Scott gasped, then whimpered.  Then he sharpened and pointed his
tongue and plunged in with determination and purpose.  Scott yelped and
Greg smiled.  He lifted his head.  "Only one way to correctly massage the
sphincter muscle."

Scott raised his ass and reached behind him, searching for Greg's head.
"Don't stop, buddy.  That muscle needs some work.  Greg dove back in and
Scott raised his ass further to meet his invasion.  Greg reached between
Scott's legs and grabbed onto his hot, throbbing cock.  It was slick with
precum.  He raised his head.  "Dude, you're making a mess on my comforter."

Scott regained his bearings well enough to mutter, "You're causing the
mess, and if you keep playing with that thing you're gonna have a much
bigger mess."  Greg snickered again and released the pole.

He finished by oiling the back of Scott's legs, working his greedy hands
down the hamstrings and the calves, and finished with a vigorous
wrap-around assault on each foot, and finally sucked on all ten of Scott's
toes.

"How ya' feeling."

"God.  I've died and gone to heaven."

Greg lightly tapped his ass.  "Roll over.  We're not done yet."

Scott did as he was told, rolling onto his back and linking his oily
fingers behind his head.  "Dude!  That was unreal!

Greg just smiled and stood.  He shimmied out of his jock and his nine-inch
monster sprang to life.  He looked down.  "See what your body does to me?"

Scott just shrugged as Greg lay on top of him and kissed him passionately,
deeply.  After a couple of minutes, he raised his face.  "Time for my
payback.  Not to worry, though, Scott.  I'm going to do all the work."  He
leaned to his right and fumbled to find the condom and lube he'd stashed
there when Scott had called to say he was coming over.

Thirty minutes later, Greg was gently wiping Scott's chest and abs with a
warm, wet washcloth.  He removed the condom and tossed it in the trash,
then bent over and sucked hungrily on his lover's deflating member.

"Jesus!  Greg!  Sensitive right now.  Take it easy!"

Greg smiled and smacked his lips.  "Good to the last drop."  He gently
wrapped the cloth around Scott's manhood and ministered to his nut sack
before tossing the cloth in the sink.

Around midnight, Scott stirred and sat up.  "Damn!  I gotta go, Greg.  I
gotta be at work at eight."  He cleared his throat and rolled over Greg to
find his clothes.  "Hope the guys are asleep."  He pulled on his jeans,
zipping up and fastening the belt.  After wiggling into his sweatshirt, he
grabbed his shoes and sat on the bed.  "I told `em I was coming over to
help you with a paper, and I'm going back smelling of oil and cum."

Greg frowned.  "You're not sorry you came over, are you?"

Scott guffawed and threw his head back.  "Are you fucking kidding me?"  He
leaned back and kissed Greg gently.  "I'm grateful I came over.  I'm glad
we're back.  We are back, aren't we?"

Greg smiled and blushed a little.  "Yeah.  Back to what, I don't know yet
and neither, I believe, do you."

Scott thought for a second and nodded.  "You're right.  I don't know."  He
pecked Greg's lips again.  "All I do know for sure is that I really, really
like it whatever the hell it is."

Greg rubbed his back as Scott tied his shoes.  "Me too, Scott.  Day at a
time, okay?"

Scott smiled.  "Yep.  I just wish every day was my birthday."  He kissed
his lover, still naked under the sheets, one more time.  "Day at a time.  I
have to run.  Thanks again, Greg.  I feel like a million bucks."  He stood
and grabbed his bomber jacket.  "Best birthday I've ever had.  Probably
talk to you tomorrow."

Greg was propped up on an elbow.  "Hope so.  Have a good night.  Thanks for
coming over."

Scott smiled.  "Believe me, the pleasure was all mine."  He sighed.
"You're amazing."

Greg smiled back.  "Get out of my room, now, or we're gonna start all over
again."

"K G'night."  And he closed the door behind him.  He was going to sleep
like a baby tonight.



Early Monday morning, Marshall Oakes bellowed into the phone.  "Turner?
You're going to support and endorse Scott Turner?"

Maureen sighed. "That's right, Marshall.  Scott's going to announce this
afternoon and I plan to support him and will eventually endorse him
publicly."  She had returned to the district over the weekend to announce
her intent to seek the Attorney General's position and that she'd be
leaving the State Senate at the end of this term.  It made the Sunday
papers in the state's big media markets and was in all the morning papers
and on the local radio stations back home.

There was a stunned silence for most of a minute.

"Marshall?  Are you still there?"

"But...but...Jesus Christ, Maureen, after all I've done for you?  This is a
stab in the back.  It's a humiliation.  Half the frigid' county knows I've
been gearing up for this for months.'

Maureen nodded.  "Now, Marshall, you know I've always appreciated your
support, and I always will.  I tell people all the time that you don't get
enough credit for all your hard work for the party.  And I'll continue to
support you in your role as party chair of the county.  But I can't help it
if you jumped the gun in letting people know of your plans."

"God damn it, Maureen!  You can't do this to me!"

"I'm not really doing anything to you, Marshall.  You're still free to run
in the primary and challenge Scott for the nomination.  But he will have my
support.  I'll never speak ill of you or your candidacy.  But I will make
it clear whom I prefer will follow me into this seat, Scott Turner, Sr. I'm
sorry Marshall, but that's the way it is."

The line went dead.

Maureen sat back and sighed.  She whispered to herself.  "I'm glad that's
finally over."  Five minutes later she heard Randy's cell phone ring.  He
got up from his desk and closed the door.  She could hear his muffled
voice.  She couldn't hear what he was saying, but he was obviously
agitated.  After five minutes, the door flung open and Randy stomped out,
struggling to get into his sport coat.  He didn't speak.  He just glared at
her and hurried out of the office.



Just before eleven, Scott dialed Kelly's number.  He had been suffering
under a gnawing guilt for over a week now.  The way he just left Kelly
sitting on the bed in the hotel room was shabby.  On the third ring, Kelly
answered.  "Hello, this is Kelly."

"Uhm, hi Kelly.  It's Scott."  This voice was decidedly meek.

"What do you want?"

"Uhm, I'd like to take you to lunch.  I want to try and clear the air.  I
want us to be friends, Kelly.  Really, I do."

"Well, you have a damned odd way of showing it."

"I'm sorry Kelly, I just kind of freaked.  Come on.  Let's get a couple of
burgers and a big basket of those great onion rings at The Union."

"Weeellll..."

"How about tomorrow?  I'm done up here at noon and can meet you at about
12:30."

"Well, my only afternoon class doesn't start `til two tomorrow."

"Ditto!  Tell you what.  Maybe I can sneak out a little early and meet you
at 12:15.  That'll give us almost an hour and a half."

She sighed.  "Well I do have to eat, and I love their burgers and I haven't
had lunch there in ages.  Okay, Scott.  But don't expect me to be all,
like, sunshine and roses."

"I understand, Kelly.  Thanks a lot.  See you then."

The voice came from over his shoulder.  "You knew."  Scott swiveled in his
chair.  Randy Oakes leaned on the top of the wall of Scott's cube.

"Huh?"

Randy pointed and sneered.  "You ffffucking knew."  He spit on his chin
with `fucking.'  He reeked.  It was barely eleven in the morning and he was
drunk.  Scott was pretty sure what it was he supposedly knew, but wanted to
be certain.

"Knew what, Randy?"  He pulled the spare chair from under the desk.
"C'mere, Randy, sit down and fill me in."  More than anything, he wanted to
get the guy as far out of public view as possible.  Maybe he could avoid
making too much of an ass out of himself and not embarrass Scott in the
process.

Randy waved a hand.  "Fuck that!  You knew that that bitch was gonna shit
on my old man so that she could embrace her golden boy's daddy and hold his
fucking hand into her seat."  He took his elbow off the wall.  Without the
additional support, he began to weave a bit so he put his arm back where it
was.  Penny Harrington, one of the full time members of the staff walked by
and raised her brows and then did a double take.  One didn't often hear
that kind of language within the walls of the caucus complex.  "How long
have you known, Scotty?  His tone when he used the name was very sarcastic.
"When me and my dad were asking you to join the campaign?  You could have
told me then.  Instead, my old man is gonna be humiliated throughout the
county."

"Uhm, I don't exactly recall exactly when I learned about it.  But if I did
know then, I probably wouldn't have said anything anyway.  Dad and Maureen
were clear when I found out that they wanted to keep it under wraps until
she announced for the AG's job.  I'm guessing that now that that cat's out
of the bag, my dad will announce today."

"Ha!  You got that right.  Two o'clock press conference at the county
courthouse.  An' he's gonna have some company besides the good men and
women of the press corps."

"Uhm, what are you gonna do, Randy?"

"Oh, I wanna see `Big Scott's' announcement.  An' I'm gonna make sure that
Mister `Big Scott' Turner and everybody else knows that the candidate's son
is a dope smoking, cock-sucking butt pirate who's raising all sorts of hell
in Madison."

"Randy, that's sleazy.  Besides, you're in no shape to drive.  You're
bombed. It's obvious."

"You're climbing in and out of the sack with me, with that Marty guy, with
God knows who else, and I'm sleazy.  That's fucking rich, you fucker."  He
looked at his watch.  "Well, Scotty, I got a two o'clock appointment back
home.  Got just enough time.  Gotta run now.  Ta ta!  You have yourself a
real nice day, asshole."  He swung around and lumbered toward the exit to
the caucus offices.

Scott sat back and pinched his nose.  "Okay, think."  He sat for another
minute more.  He dialed a number.  It didn't ring, but went right to
voicemail.  "Hi, this is Scott Turner, sorry I can't..."  `Fuck, it's shut
off.'  He hung up and dialed another number.  "Turner Law Office.  How may
I help you?"

"Daisy, I really gotta talk to Dad."

"Lord have mercy!  Scotty dear!  How are you?"

"Sorry Daisy, really don't have time to chat.  I just need to talk to Dad.
It's really important.  Is he in?"

"Sorry, honey, he's in court all morning.  And that judge will shoot you if
your phone rings in his courtroom.  All morning, and probably into the
lunch hour.  Then he's doing his big political thing at two."  Her voice
gave evidence of her dismay over Big Scott's decision to run.

"I know.  But I really need to talk to him.  Any way you can get word to
him that he needs to call me as soon as he can?"

"What's the matter dearie?"

"I'm okay.  There's nothing wrong here, so don't worry.  I just need to
talk to him.  Sorry, Daisy, but I have to run now.  If there's anything you
can do to put us in touch..."

She sighed.  "I'll see what I can do, but can't make any promises."

"Got it.  Thanks a lot."

He hung up and redialed Big Scott's cell phone.  "Dad, it's me.  Call me
back as soon as you get this.  AS SOON as you get this you have to call me
back. I'm okay.  Nothing wrong here, but we need to talk as soon as you get
this message.  Call me."  He checked his watch.  It was coming up on 11:30.
A two-hour drive and Randy would be there with a little time to spare.  He
logged off his computer and grabbed his coat.  He marched over to Will's
office and stuck his head in.  Will looked like Hell.  "Uhm, Will, I'm
going over to Senator McCarthy's office for a few minutes, then knocking
off, okay?"

His boss just waved his approval and went back to his finance report.

Maureen's assistant was away from her desk, and the senator's office door
was closed.  That meant she was in a meeting with somebody important.
"Shit."  He headed for the stairs.  He paused outside the doorway to the
massive building and grabbed his cell.  Greg answered right away.  "Hello?"

"Hey, whatcha doin'?"

"Working on an outline for a Lit. paper.  Class at two.  What're you
doin'?"

"Uhm, basically, right now, I'm kinda freakin' out here.  You alone?"

"Yeah.  Darrin's got classes all day today."

"I'm comin' over.  Just don't want to be alone right now.  Like I said, I'm
kinda freakin' out here."

Greg sat upright and frowned.  "What the hell's goin' on?"

"I'll tell you when I get there.  See you in about fifteen."  He hung up.

They were sitting on the floor of the dorm room.  Greg was propped up
against the side of the bed with Scott nestled between his legs, his head
resting on Greg's shoulder.  Greg rubbed his chest softly as a tear
trickled down the side of his face.  "Greg, I am so fucked, and so is my
dad, and it's all my fault."

"Sssshhhhh.  You said this guy was drunk, right?"

"Yeah, and probably stoned too, by now."  He picked up his cell phone and
glared at it.  "Ring goddammit!  Ring!"

Greg patted his chest.  "Relax.  You've done all you can to get hold of
him.  What are you gonna tell him when he calls?"

Scott sighed.  "Well, if he calls me before the conference, I'll just warn
him that Randy's gonna show up, that he's loaded, he's crazy, he's madder'n
a wet hen and he's spewing shit."

"And if it's after the conference?"

Scott shrugged.  "I guess that depends on the kind of performance Randy
puts on.  Assuming he's really gonna go through with this."

Greg kissed the top of his head.  "You think he's gonna?"

Scott scoffed.  "Greg, this is a guy who had sex with Marty in the bed of
his pickup two stories beneath the governor, the new majority leader and
half the state's press corps.  And if you'd have seen him a couple hours
ago, you'd agree that he's capable of just about anything today."

"Kind of a reckless guy sometimes, huh?"

"That's the understatement of the year."  He looked at his watch.  "Hey,
it's one thirty.  Don't you need to get ready and head out for class?"

"Fuck that.  The outline's almost done, the paper's not due for another
week, and I'll get the notes from somebody else.  We're stayin' here `til
your Dad calls."

Scott laced their fingers together and he kissed the back of Greg's hand.
"Thanks bud."

They cuddled a while longer without speaking.  At a quarter to two, the
phone finally rang.  Scott and Greg both jumped. "Dad!"

"Scotty, what the hell..."

"Just listen, Dad.  It's Randy, Randy Oakes.  He..."

His father cut him off.  "You already heard?"

Scott was confused.  "Huh?  Heard what?"

"It came across the police radio at the courthouse about a half hour ago.
According the deputy I talked to during a recess he must have been
traveling like a bat out of Hell.  We had some sleet and light snow over
the weekend.  Randy apparently hit some black ice on a curve, rolled the
truck two or three time before wrapping it around a huge oak tree about
twenty minutes south of here. I guess there was a half-empty liter of vodka
in the cab of the truck with him Scott, Randy's dead."




Author's Note: Well, if I had to choose a winter in which to wind up
partially and temporarily disabled, this is the one.  Nearly 85 inches of
snow, occasional freezing rain, and below zero when it's not snowing.  Good
time to stay inside and write.  Another thanks to everyone who has sent
along their well wishes.  Getting better every day.  This chapter is for
those of you who wrote to give me the business for going so long on the
politics and short on the sex in the last chapter.  Hang in there, Kory,
and thanks again for all your help.

Comments, questions, complaints and queries are always welcomed at:
scotty.13411@hotmail.com

I genuinely love the feedback of all perspectives.