Date: Tue, 16 May 2006 04:07:42 -1000
From: S turner <scotty.13411@hotmail.com>
Subject: Strange Bedfellows, Chapter 10
DISCLAIMER: This story is a largely fictional account of many of the
author's experiences and relationships as a college student. It contains
depictions, some graphic, of sexual encounters between consenting adults.
If you are offended by such material, or if you are not old enough to enjoy
it in your zip code, then please leave now. All of the characters are based
on either men or women who really exist(ed), and whose names have been
changed, or they are composites of people he knew. Then again, they might
be pure fantasies. Any resemblance to real people, either living dead, is
an innocent coincidence, and is also a damned shame. This material is
copyrighted, 2006, by the author, and may not be reproduced, reprinted or
reposted without his consent.
CHAPTER 9 SYNOPSIS: Okay, kids, let's review...
Scott (Batman), Marty (Robin), Craig (The Joker), Brett (Egghead) Jesse (The
Penguin) and Frank (The Riddler) spent Saturday night at the State Street
Halloween Party, and they wowed the crowd with their costumes and their
antics everywhere they went. Near the end of the night, Craig returned to
the dorm with his high school girlfriend, Stephanie. Brett disappeared with
his squeeze from the band, Angie. The other four "borrowed" Maureen's
vacant apartment for the rest of the night, for a party carefully
pre-arranged by Jesse and Scott. A good time was had by all. (Please
review Chapter 9 for the details, as it's hard to summarize that episode.)
END OF CHAPTER 9
On the walk back to the dorm, they agreed on a quick stop at a corner
convenience store; one of those where a bag of chips, mostly air, costs a
buck nineteen. Jesse's head came out of a cooler, bottle of orange juice in
his hand, and he saw Scott holding a Sunday paper, grinning from ear to ear.
Scott grabbed the hood of Marty's sweatshirt and pulled him back. "Check
it out, bud!" On the `Inside Today's Edition' strip of the front page was a
teeny little photo of Batman, Robin and the criminals; the heading said
"Metro Section. The Dynamic Duo capture State Street. See Section B, Page
One."
On page one of Section B was a five-by-seven version of the same color
picture. A side-bar caption read: "Batman and Robin joined the revelers on
State Street last night, and managed to bag The Penguin, The Joker, The
Riddler and Egghead all in one fell swoop. A good time was had by all."
The accompanying story gave an overview of a dozen arrests and minimal
property damage to the shopkeepers on the avenue.
Marty went into overdrive. "We're gonna get Craig to call `The
Journal' and get permission to reproduce this shot. Then, we're gonna
plaster the fucking campus with `Batman's Voting For Turner' posters." He
looked at Frank and Jesse, "you boys put your walking shoes on tomorrow
night. We're gonna nail this fucker down for good!"
Scott laughed out loud. "You're actually going to ask for permission
for something?"
"I'm not. Craig is. I'd never do something as wimpy as that." He
elbowed Scott.
Everybody bought two copies of the paper; one for their own scrapbooks,
another to send home to their parents. Marty grinned widely, thinking,
`This'll piss the old man off big time, leave him thinking I'm spending his
money on costumes and partying.'
The room was empty when Scott returned, but there was ample evidence of
what Craig would no doubt recall as a very good night. The sheets and
blankets were strewn about the foot of the bed, and the room smelled of
passion. Two, maybe three, spent Trojan wrappers were in the waste basket,
but Marty didn't look closely enough to count. That would be a tacky
invasion of his roommate's personal life, he reasoned. Besides, he figured,
Craig might share all the wonderful details; then again, maybe not. He
assumed that Craig had taken his old flame out for breakfast, and maybe
accompanied her back to her roommate's house before seeing her off until
God-knows-when.
He wanted a shower, but was afraid that it would leave him wide awake.
He was tired, very tired, and all he wanted to do was sleep for a few hours.
He'd shower later. He slowly stripped down to his boxers and flopped on top
of his bed. He hugged the pillow under his head and closed his eyes with a
heavy sigh.
When Craig returned an hour later, he was quietly snoring, with a
serene smile on his face.
STRANGE BEDFELLOWS
Chapter 10
Scott woke up about four hours later, with a bad case of cotton mouth,
The space between his ears and behind his eyes felt thick, heavy and fuzzy.
As he stood, his thighs reminded him they'd worked overtime during the
previous ten or twelve hours, and he knew he'd get sore as the day wore on.
Craig was back on his own re-made bed, face up. A book lay open, but face
down on his chest, his hands folded over it and his eyes closed. There were
still a few traces of makeup underneath his ears, and the eyebrows, and it
made Scott smile again, recalling the night before. Craig wasn't normally
one for napping during the day, and Scott was happy for him that he was
tired. He hoped that Stephanie's roommate was doing the driving on their
trip back to OSU, so that she could sleep in the car if she felt the need,
and he hoped she felt the need.
Scott put on the coffee and slipped out the door with a towel over his
shoulder. He headed to the shower, and was more than a little annoyed by
how busy it was, since it was coming up on noon. But then again, it was the
Sunday morning after the Halloween Party, and he guessed about half of the
floor was still asleep. When a shower opened up, he backed against the wall
to let the guy pass without even really scoping him up and down, much. He
was sexed out, for the time being, and was still tired. He pissed off the
few guys who came in behind him by spending a good twenty minutes under the
hot water. He didn't give a shit.
As he opened the door to the room, the coffee's welcome made him
breathe deep. Craig was sitting back on his bed, one leg bent up under the
other. He'd poured two cups of coffee and raised the one in his hand in a
good morning salute. "Hey, bud." He pointed with his cup to the steaming
mug on the dresser. "I made breakfast. Don't say I never did anything for
ya'" Craig grinned and went back to mulling over the section of the
newspaper that Scott had brought back. "Great fucking pic, bro! We're
goddamn rockstars."
"Oh...yeah!" Scott had forgotten about their city-wide fame. "Hey,
Marty said something about making that into..."
"He just called. Sounded really tired." Scott's back was to Craig,
luckily, as he grinned and rolled his eyes. `He should be,' he whispered to
himself. Scott was vigorously toweling his hair as Craig continued, "I got
the permission thing covered. I got ahold of the managing editor at The
Journal about ten minutes ago. Sunday mornings those schmucks always gotta
work. He was kind of a dick about it at first, but then I said they could
have an exclusive with "The Camp Randall Streaker" when he goes to trial if
they went along."
"Marty's not going to trial, I don't think, anyway."
"That asshole doesn't know that." They clinked coffee mugs. "He's
gonna email the permission to reproduce the picture. Marty's going to see
if Kinko's is open to make some copies right now." Craig picked up the
section of newspaper that he had laid on his lap and pointed in Scott's
direction. "Did ya' see the thing here on the senator from Waukesha...guy
named Robbins?"
"Huh? No. What? Bruce Robbins?" Scott reached for the paper and sat
down on his bed and took a sip of coffee.
"Dumb shit got himself arrested yesterday in a Milwaukee County park.
Exposed himself and propositioned an undercover cop in a men's restroom.
The article says he's a long-time right-wing family values kinda guy!"
Scott scanned the article for details. The state's official picture of
Senator Robbins accompanied the story. In the second paragraph, it was
reported that "the police complaint alleges that Robbins exposed his
genitalia to the office and offered to perform a certain sex act on him."
It noted that repeated efforts to contact him for comment had not been
answered. There was much speculation about what effect the arrest might
have on the coming election, which was less than ten days off."
"Haaa Haaaa!" Scott put down the paper. "What a dolt...and complete
hypocrite!! This is one of the most conservative, religious-right,
moralistic, holier than thou members of either house. Fuck man, his donor
list includes the likes of Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson. Ralph Reed even
came in and rallied the troops on his behalf last time around. He looked
down at the paper again and smirked. "I'll bet he was blowing Reed."
Scott picked up the paper again and read the article more closely,
imagining that this could only help Maureen's and the party's prospects.
Robbins's opponent was quoted in the article. "This is, no doubt, a
difficult time for Senator Robbins and his family. As he hasn't been
formally charged yet, let alone convicted of anything, it would be
inappropriate for me to comment at all on any allegations. For the next
week or so, I plan to continue making the case before the people that I am
their best chance to find a voice in Madison that genuinely represents their
wants and needs and values."
`Smart,' Scott thought. `Managed to not take a cheap shot and still
get the v-word in there at the same time. Stay on the high road, dude, and
let others throw the shit.' He knew they would, starting today, no doubt.
He looked back at Craig. "Ya' know, this can only help Maureen and the
party. This guy was a shoo-in for re-election, until he started waving his
dick around in public. In fact, I doubt that the party has even spent much
money on this race. I'll bet that'll change, if it hasn't already. Either
that, or they'll cut him off, whole-hog." He wanted to call Maureen and
talk politics.
Instead, he looked at his roommate and smirked. "So, ol' buddy of
mine, how was your night? All you'd hoped for?"
Craig looked at the floor and shook his head, in almost absent-minded
disbelief. "Dude! It was a-fucking-mazing! I mean, and I don't want to
sound like some bragging fuck-monster stud, but Steph and me had some very
hot, heavy times in high school, `specially most of our senior year. Bud,
Damn! I do believe the girl's been studying at college! Either that, or
she hasn't been laid since I porked her last, and a lot of pent-up horny
frustration spilled out all over this fucking room last night and this
morning."
"That's my boy! So you two gettin' back together...like steady and
regular again?"
Craig shook his head. "It's just not practical, and we're pretty much
agreed that it's not fair to give or expect commitments from so far away.
But...I'm pretty sure that, whenever we do have a chance to get together, if
both of us are still single, we're gonna fuck like jackrabbits!"
"Sweet deal, man. Sweet fucking deal! I'm jealous. I mean, you guys
all said Steph was hot, but she actually exceeded my own high expectations."
"You're more than holding your own, bud. It's pretty well understood
that Kelly Abbott is in a very elite group of some of the hottest babes on
this campus. And you're the lucky fuck who's got her."
Scott smiled and shrugged. "Yeah, we're havin' a lot of fun, but who
knows where it's goin? We haven't spelled out any kind of `I'm yours,
you're mine.' We aren't together every day, making demands on each others'
time, planning vacations, or anything like that.
"But still more than `friends who fuck,' right?"
"Yeah, it's not like Marty and the girl he's boinkin' at University
printing...the one who did the football game flyers...it's more than that. We
haven't really analyzed it together and agreed what the hell it is. Thing
is...it feels like we're both avoiding that conversation, and I'm good with
that." He did a quick check-up by asking himself silently if he was still
okay with her doing the Homecoming stuff as Kip's date, and he was. He
really was.
Still, the conversation got him thinking. He looked at the clock and
grabbed his cell phone. After speed-dialing Kelly's cell number, he left a
voicemail after her prompt. "Hey, just lil' ol' me! Hope your Halloween
thing went well. We all had a great time on State Street, and made it home
in one piece. Check out the second section of today's paper...page one!
Marty even got through the night without getting arrested. Gonna watch the
game over here, then go over and feed Mittens. Give me a call if you want,
whenever you have a chance. C'mon over and join us if you want to watch the
game."
The guys hunkered down on their respective beds, pouring over their
texts and notebooks, each one wrapping up some light studying for the week
ahead. Scott planned on hitting the trail and knocking on dorm doors asking
for votes every night for the week, so he wanted to be on top of his game
during classes. He reviewed the outline of his political science project
and thought back to the vision of Randy getting his ass plowed by that
beefy, big-dicked top. `Man! He was so into that submissive shit,' he
marveled. `Gotta admit, it was kinda hot, but don't know if I'd get into
dishing out that kind of physical and verbal abuse.' Still, he had
discovered that he got into laying a firm hand on the guys ass he was
fucking, especially if the guy liked it. Both Marty and Jesse, especially
Jesse, responded with enthusiasm when he'd smacked their ass while he was
doing them, and it added something to the experience. Live and learn.
Then there was the question of whether Randy had intentionally put on
the show for his benefit. On the one hand, Randy knew there was a chance
Scott would be stopping by the office at about that time, but it hadn't been
a certain arrangement. Was Randy trying to freak him out? Was he trying to
show Scott what he was missing? Did he look over and smile while he was
begging the guy to fuck him harder because he'd planned the show, or did he
just get caught and was glad Scott had seen it? Scott was also still a
little mystified by his own erotic reaction to the episode and, even now,
felt his cock stir as he lay on his stomach on his bed. He flexed his
muscles as if to stretch his legs a bit, and ground his pecker into the
mattress. The nerves in his tool responded, and he felt a small pulse of
pleasure course through his groin.
Whatever the answers, he had been unsettled enough by the whole thing
that he had skipped last Thursday's discussion section. He wasn't sure how
he would, or should, act when Randy entered the room, but was sure he didn't
feel ready to discuss it yet. Could Randy possibly just go ahead and
conduct the class, and then talk with him as though it hadn't happened? He
had needed time to mull it all over, so he double-checked the reading and
discussion topics for the day and made sure he had the work done. Then, he
skipped Thursday's class. He was going to have to deal with it this week.
Marty's knock interrupted the study session. Craig knew what was
coming, so he took a breath and resolved to survive Marty's onslaught. He
slowly opened the door and grinned, rolling his eyes as the tirade began.
"Still walking, huh studly? Spill the beans, or spill whatever you
have left to spill, which can't be much, you whore!" He smacked Craig
lightly on the chest and tried to ruffle his hair, but Craig quickly
employed an effective head dodge. Marty turned his head and leered at
Scott. "Bro'...have you ever...in your life...seen a more blatant `get me the
hell out of here and fuck me blind' demonstration as the one we saw last
night from the ever-delicious Stephanie?"
Scott wanted to say, `I saw more than one of those last night, buddy,
and they were all pretty intense.' Instead, he put on a deep, pensive
expression. Resting his chin on an upturned fist, he furrowed his brow and
looked upward with only his eyes. "Upon careful reflection...No. But, neither
have I ever seen a more intense `please beg me to get you the hell out of
here so you can beg me to fuck you blind' pleadings from a guy in a purple,
double-breasted, pin-striped suit, clown makeup and a green wig."
Craig put his hands shoulder-high, palms out. "Guilty as charged,
boys, but don't let your envy get the better of you. Unless I'm misreading
your own silence on the rest of the night, you both quit the party in a
pussy-free zone." He shook his head and shrugged. "I've always said, `pity
the hungry,' but I thought you'd be able to handle it on your own. I'm
sorry for you both."
Craig turned to find the remote and hunker down on his bed. The other
two exchanged glances, grinned and shrugged. "Yeah, I gotta admit it,"
Marty shrugged again for Craig's benefit. "I didn't get any beaver last
night, that's for sure. What about you, Mr. Turner?"
"Not so much as a lick."
Marty winked, and as he turned his back to Scott, reached behind and
rubbed his ass. From the front, it looked like he was reaching into his
back pocket, and as his hand came up from between his cheeks, he snagged a
piece of paper. He tossed it to Scott. "Here. Take a look. I want to
cover as much of the campus as possible by tomorrow morning with this."
The five-by-seven picture from the morning paper had already been
cropped and enlarged, and it looked a little grainy as a result, but it was
clear enough. Above the photo was typed "BATMAN for TURNER." Below were a
few catch phrases: "INDEPENDENT" was in the center. "Wisconsin Born and
Bred" and "Endorsed on `John and John.'
Scott's brows frowned. "Wait...the Johns didn't endorse me."
Marty saw this coming. "It doesn't say endorsed BY John and John. It
says endorsed ON John and John. You were. I did it myself. Leave it
alone, professor. A poster doesn't need a lot of information other than the
name. It's like a yard sign. People walk by it, but they remember the name
when the time comes. We'll print it on any number of neon colors and paste
the landscape...just for fun, if nothing else. Where the hell are Jesse and
Frank? We need a fuckin' plan." He looked back at Scott. "Okay, are we a
`go' on this?"
Scott shrugged. "Yeah, what the hell. Go for it."
Marty grabbed his cell phone and dialed. "Hey...is this Bridgette?
Yeah, this is Marty Anderson. I was in there about an hour ago. Yup, the
one and only! Go ahead and print `em. Yeah, five hundred should be good.
Gimme a mix of all the neon colors you have. How late are you open? `kay.
I'll be there just before then. And, hey...Bridgette...what're you doin' after
you close up shop? Yeah? Wanna go out and have a drink or somethin'?
Cool! We'll see ya' later, then." He put the phone back in his hip pocket.
"Damn! She is one hot fucking young woman. Oozes sex appeal, and I
caught her checking out my package when I was over there."
Scott shook his head. "You already had this at the printer's before I
even got a look at it? I thought..."
Marty cut him off with his hand. "Hold on, bud. I DID run it by you
first...before I gave them the go-ahead to print, didn't I? I DID NOT go
ahead on my own and do anything in your name, without your approval. I
brought it over there when I did because I figured you were still asleep,
but I want to move on this today. You should want that too, so get with your
own program, professor! At the risk of sounding immodest, this is the best
gift to your campaign since I was on the radio." The others nodded their
agreement. "You coulda changed it or nixed it or anything you wanted, but
you just gave me the green light. I know the drill, I know your boundaries,
so don't go getting all pissy on me!"
Scott grinned and shrugged, nodding his head lightly. "Okay...okay...you
got me. You're right. My bad. You're finally playing by the rules."
Marty flashed a smile and looked at Craig. "See? He still loves me!"
Craig glanced up from the sports section without expression and
dead-panned, "Everybody loves you, Marty."
There was a knock at the door as Scott asked, "So, what's this gonna
cost me."
Marty took a couple of steps to the door. "Five hundred high-grade
copies on neon, heavy-weight stock...about two hundred, plus tax."
Scott exhaled and tried to recall the current balance in his checking
account. "Fuck...I don't think..."
Brett walked in with a manila envelope and handed it to Marty.
"There's probably four, maybe five here."
Marty dumped the contents onto Scott's dresser. Mostly ones, several
fives, even some tens and twenties scattered across the surface. "We had a
fundraiser. Brett hit all fourteen floors of the dorm and passed the hat."
Brett looked like he'd worked hard the night before, and he had. He
yawned. "Any room with noise or an open door got a knock. They were happy
to give. Catch a few hundred college students with hangovers and give `em a
decent cause, and they'll open their wallets. Marty's revelation on the
radio that you wouldn't take his donation made it easy."
Craig put down the paper and plopped in front of his computer. He was
tired, but it was a good tired. He started rolling and clicking the mouse.
Scott just shook his head as Marty sorted the bills by denomination.
"I give up... you..."
"Shut up." Marty never stopped sorting. He was a master of
muti-tasking. "I coulda asked, yeah, so what's new? We're coming into the
last week and you're gonna have some expenses. You said you wouldn't take
any money unless they knew what they were givin' it for. They knew. You
wrote the rule, and we followed it. End of story." He started counting the
stack of ones as Scott poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Brett, then
refilled his own mug. "Hey, Craig, how are the letters coming?"
"Done. I have fifteen written. How many signers?" He hit `print.'
As Brett did the counting, the printer started to churn. "Me, you,
Marty, Jesse, Frank, the dude Brandon who Marty works with, Angie...by the
way, she thinks you're hot...but she thinks I'm hotter...and I can get another
however many we need out of the band."
Marty anticipated the goofy, quizzical look on Scott's face. "Letters
to the editor." He kept counting the bills as he spoke. "They'll go to The
Cardinal and The Herald, and any really good shit your roommate can pen will
also be sent to the State Journal and the Capital Times. If there is
anything good, that is."
Craig flipped him off. "Hemingway couldn't do better,
shit-for-brains."
Marty smiled as he finished counting the twenties. He looked over to
Brett. "Ya' did good! Five hundred sixty three dollars in the treasury!"
Scott was stunned, but was resigned to just going with the flow. "Tell
me you got their names, please."
Marty held up the envelope, showing tidy columns of three-digit numbers
running up and down. "We got room numbers. I'll match `em with names later
and you can either write or email thank-you's when it's necessary, or stop
by the rooms to do it personally if that's your thing. With my work/study
job, I got a handle on everybody's name, room number, and contact info."
"Okay," Scott was tired; he had no resistance. "What's with the
letters?"
Marty sat down on the bed next to him. "We need to frame the election
in the home stretch. There's a theme. Target the `Greek Conspiracy' to
take over the WSA. You know, `they think they're better than the rest of
us, and they've organized to take control of YOUR student government.'
Appeals to the regular Joe, to `Johnny Six-Pack,' the normal guy and gal on
the street who don't share the rarified air of Langdon Street, and who don't
care to."
"Sounds kinda like a Red Scare." Scott thought out loud. "Are you now,
or have you ever been a member of a UW fraternity!?" He tried to mimic Joe
McCarthy, but did it badly.
Marty dropped his right arm over Scott's shoulder. "Oh, lighten the
fuck up. That's what motivated you to start this thing, right? You met
Kip, realized from the start that he's a dick-head, you heard him talk about
organizing `all the right people' and the fucker basically black-balled you
from getting their organized support `cuz you weren't one of the chosen few.
Then, the fucker slashes your tires, or has them slashed, he sends his
goonies to try to intimidate you, and now you want to pretend that it isn't
what this is about? Face it, Scotty, the anti-Greek thing is your tune.
You need to own it, and this way, with good letters, others will trumpet it.
Let's shove it down his fucking throat." He squeezed the back of his neck
on the last line and, of course, winked.
Craig handed him the stack of pages off of the printer tray. "Check
these out. Strike anything you don't want said, or printed rather, about
the election, and I'll do the editing. If there's an idea or sentiment
missing, go ahead and add it, and I'll work it in. You might not need these,
`cuz I think you've already got it locked up, but wouldn't it be fun to ride
in on a fucking landslide?"
Marty continued, "We'll send three a day for the next five days,
starting tomorrow. Who knows how many they'll actually print, especially
those ass-wipes at The Herald. But the letters do get read. Meantime, you
spend the week knocking on doors and pressing the flesh, dishing out liberal
doses of the old Turner charm, and we'll work the huddled masses."
Scott flopped back on his bed and laid an arm over his eyes. "Why did
I ever delude myself into thinking I was actually in charge of my own life
in this thing?"
Marty put a hand on his belly. "Relax, professor. Do ya' trust us?"
"Does it matter?" Scott moaned. He knew it did matter, and he knew he
trusted Marty and the rest of the guys.
As the clock ticked away the last seconds of the fourth quarter of the
game, Scott grabbed his coat and his gloves. The gray day had brought cold
temperatures and wind.
"Goin' over to Maureen's to feed the cat."
Marty was on his feet. "Goin' over to the copy shop." He checked his
watch. "They close in about fifteen minutes, and I gotta pick up the
posters."
"You gotta try to get into...what's her name...Bridgette's?...pants, you
whore." Craig tossed a dirty sock at him, and the tennis player in Marty
batted it down.
"Well, that too. You should see her. She is one fine babe! But
that'll have to be later. First, we got some ground to cover, boys." Frank
and Jesse had shown up during half time, and had been lazily lounging on the
floor, mostly watching the football game, partly dozing in and out.
"Anybody know how much a staple gun costs?"
"Huh?" The James Brothers looked up in bewilderment.
"I'm gonna go and get five hundred posters, six staple guns and three
rolls of tape. We're gonna split up half the campus and cover it with
"Batman for Turner" posters tonight. The other half we'll hit tomorrow."
Frank and Jesse went off in one direction, a stack of fliers, a staple
gun and two rolls of duct tape in their backpacks. Craig and Brett paired
off and went in the opposite direction. Marty vowed to cover enough ground
on his own.
Key in hand, Scott suddenly froze in front of Maureen's door. Billie
Holliday's voice was wafting through it, and he could see a hint of light
peeking through at the bottom of the door-frame. Maureen was a huge fan of
Lady Day. "Fuck!" Scott damned himself. "She came back early." Mentally
kicking his own ass, he tried to take an inventory of the apartment's
condition when they'd all left that morning. He was pretty sure it was in
good shape, though the windows had been left opened for a little fresh air,
and he hadn't fed the cat before leaving. If anything, he hoped she'd just
arrived, and that she'd be busy unpacking, and that she would be happy he
was coming back on a Sunday evening to take care of Mittens. Still, he felt
guilty about what would only be an exercise in deceiving Maureen for the
next few minutes. He made a plan: he'd give a bogus account of the weekend,
give a close visual check of the premesis and make a quick exit as
gracefully as possible. He vowed, then and there, that he would never put
himself in this position again. He did not want to walk in there and lie to
Maureen McCarthy. She deserved better.
Then he thought of the dumb-shit, holy-roller senator from Waukesha,
and he suddenly wanted to talk politics, so he took a deep breath and plowed
through the front door.
"I was going to give you another five minutes," Kelly said softly and
sexily, "then call it a night and go home, alone and frustrated." She was
sitting in the center of the couch, Mittens lazing happily on her lap,
having her neck and chin stroked and scratched, and loving every second of
it. He could hear the cat purr from the doorway. Mittens opened her eyes a
little and blinked twice in a `fuck you, can't you see that I'm busy here?'
kind of way, then turned her head and thrust it into Kelly's moving fingers.
Scott was speechless for a moment, but managed a decent recovery.
"What're you..."
"You said in your message that you were gonna watch the Packer game,
then come over here. Mo' won't be back `til Monday night or Tuesday
morning. Thought I'd wander over and make sure that Mittens was being fed.
It'd be a shame if the kitty went to bed hungry." She leaned forward,
aggravating the cat, picked up the bottle of wine and filled his glass. He
smiled as he heeled-and-toed his shoes off at the door.
"I'd never let a kitty go the night without feeding her first." He
stepped over to the couch and sat very close. Accepting the glass of wine,
he gazed into her eyes and took a sip. He rubbed Mittens' head, and she
responded in kind with several well-aimed moves of her head, purring even
more loudly. "You doubted my sincerity in wanting to...ah... feed...the...uhm... the
cat?" His hand joined hers in spoiling the already spoiled feline.
Bridgette threw her dorm room door open and dragged Marty in by the
collar. "My roommate's gone `til tomorrow." She pinned him against the
closet door and mashed her face into his, ramming her tongue deep into his
mouth. "Doesn't have a Monday class `til after eleven, and never comes back
to the room on Sunday." She buried her face into the crook of his neck and
bit lightly, while her hands worked to lift his sweatshirt. Her nails
dragged up his taut ribcage, to his pecs, and she greedily grabbed the flesh
as she ground her groin into his swelling package.
Marty gasped. He was rarely, if ever caught off guard, but he was
oddly at a loss. No man or woman had ever stunned him quite this way, and
once he started computing again, he realized how hot this was. Bridgette
reached up behind his back and head and grabbed a handful of hair. She
tugged it back, somewhat gently, and bit his exposed neck a bit harder.
"Awww fuck!" His hands roamed down her back and grabbed her ass, hard. She
moaned into the crook of his heck while she continued to lick. His hands
came back up to her waist and he grabbed firmly, pushing her back just
enough to look her in the eye. Neither smiled, really, more like smoldered
at each other.
Scott had Kelly pinned on her back, flat on the couch. He was propped
above her, grabbing at her tits as his tongue lathered her right ear. His
knees were between her legs, but he denied her the feel of that firm package
grinding into her pussy, which was getting damper with every brush of his
tongue. Scott sat back on his knees, and dragged her with him, and each
pulled off the other's sweatshirt. She wore no bra, he'd noticed as soon as
he walked in, and he slowly guided her back down to the couch, grabbing one
fleshy globe in each hand and kneading them as he slipped his tongue back
into her mouth. Now he laid fully on top of her, and she could feel his
aching dick strain against the boxers and sweatpants. She thrust her hips
upward, wanting him inside of her. She forcefully slid her hands down the
back of the sweats, and grabbed a handful of ass on each side. When her
weight shifted during her bucking into his cock, his weight shifted too, and
Scott rolled to his right. The distance to the floor was only less than two
feet, and she came down on top of him as they spilled off the sofa.
Scott's "uuuuhhhfffff," morphed into uncontrollable laughter, as he hit
the floor, and Kelly's echoed the same. She sat up and straddled his groin,
staring down into his eyes as she ground her crotch in small circles tightly
on top of his pulsing cock. His brain was barely functional enough to
detect the feeling of his own precum being rubbed into his abdomen. As he
reached up to massage her wonderful tits once again, she locked her fingers
into his and pinned them flat on the floor. Leaning over, she teased his
mouth with one nipple, then the other, keeping them both just above the
reach of his face. He wanted to curse her, but couldn't give words to his
frustration. Only, "eeeeerrrrrrgggggghhhhhhh" escaped his lips as Kelly
giggled.
Bridgette's and Marty's clothing littered every corner of her room. A
few items were slightly torn, but neither was certain which ones. Nor did
they care. She was on her back, massaging her own tits and gently pinching
her nipples slightly while his face was buried comfortably between her
spread legs. He recalled a classic HBO special of the late, great Sam
Kineson's, where the comic had advised his male fans to, when eating pussy,
lick the alphabet. Avoiding the temptation to hum the melody of the
alphabet tune, he gave it his all. "A...B...C...D...E..." It worked magic. Bridgette
grabbed a handful of hair and pushed his face into her sexual center. Part
of him worried about being left with a bald spot on the top/back of his
head; the rest of him looked forward to explaining how it got there. Before
long, he'd determined that M, W and Q were the most fun, so he repeated each
letter more than once, resolving to scour the dictionary for a word that
contained all three. Her smell, her taste and her reactions were exquisite
to Marty, and the thinking part of his brain noted that it'd been a long
time since he'd been here.
Kelly was on all fours, her head swinging up and down, back and forth,
as Scott rammed his cock as far into her as he could from behind. He was
gasping for air, sweat pouring down his face and his chest, unable to
articulate a coherent thought. All he felt he could do was bite his lower
lip, tilt his head back and drive forward and back for all he was worth.
His whole existence was centered on the unbelievably hot, wet tight pussy
that was gripping him. Kelly whimpered, "yeah...yeah...fucking yeah...oh
God...Scott...give me that cock...oh God...Scotty!! Fuck me, baby!...fuck me!" He
grabbed her hips more firmly and slammed harder to her encouragement.
Bridgette's nails dug into Marty's back as he pounded her from above.
Her legs were locked tightly around his hips, limiting the range of his
thrusts. She wanted him deeper and deeper inside, and every inch of her
available body worked to draw him in. Marty's forehead was on the floor
over her shoulder, and he felt her open mouth drool on his neck. Neither
was speaking, both grunting and moaning. Marty could barely make out her
faint "oh god...oh god...yeah...yes...yes..." and he felt the heat of an intense
orgasm swelling. He slowed the rhythm of the strokes, but did his level
best to increase their strength and intensity. Four quick bangs later and
he was shooting into the condom as her eyes rolled back into her head during
her ferocious whine. Both bodies bucked, though not in perfect rhythm
anymore. Each one responded only as they could, neither lover in control of
their own limbs, groins or genitalia.
Scott couldn't control it any longer. "Kel...fuckin'-A...Kel...I gotta
shoot...I'm gonna cum...goddam...gimme that sweet pussy...fuckin...goddam...you're so
damn sweet...so fuckin' sweet...baby...goddam I love this."
Kelly had about as much control. When Scott's
"oooohh...ooooohhhh...oooooohhhh" began, Kelly reached back and grabbed his ass
with her left hand. She pulled him forward, as deeply inside of her as she
could, while her hips continued to buck up and down on his cock. He began
to shoot into the rubber as Kelly continued to rock her ass back and forth.
She clenched her teeth and squealed. "Scoooooooooooooootttt! Oh damn...
uuuuuhhhhhmmm...oh damn...oh damn!'
After one final, fierce kiss, Marty closed Bridgette's door behind him.
He took a deep breath and smiled. A pang of guilt slapped his brain. The
guys were out canvassing the campus with posters, and he was greedily
indulging the straight side of his sexual appetite. He got an idea that he
felt would redeem himself. He turned right out of the main entrance to
Bridgette's dorm and started a late-night trek to Langdon Street,
"Fraternity Row."
On Monday, Scott awoke a little over an hour before the alarm was set
to bring him back to life. He'd slept hard, but once his eyes opened he
knew that sleep wasn't going to return. He put on the coffee, grabbed a
towel and trampled down the hall to the shower. Peeling off his boxers, he
looked down at "Little Scotty." He smiled. "Good weekend, eh buddy?" His
pubic hairs were matted and stuck together from Kelly's juices. He
absent-mindedly scratched himself while he waited for the shower to heat up
and his mind wandered between recollections of his weekend and trying to
plan the day and week ahead.
Back in the room, he made a good effort at typing quietly so as not to
wake his slumbering roommate. `Should have found me a treasurer,' he
thought as he started filling out the Elections Committee's finance
paperwork. Now that fundraising had actually been done, he needed to
account for the money. He compiled an Excel spreadsheet of the room numbers
Brett recorded on the money envelope, and entered the amount attributed to
each individual room. "Shit!" he muttered, noticing that Brett had
collected $50 from room 411. "That's gotta be a mistake." He didn't think
he'd ever even visited the fourth floor. "Gotta stop up there and thank
them personally."
Finishing the bureaucratic busy work, he saved the spreadsheet, and
opened an e-mail to Marty. "Mr. Special Assistant: Attached you will find
a complete listing of donors' room numbers and each one's donation. Please
review your records and add the appropriate names at your earliest
convenience." After inserting the spreadsheet, he went back and typed, "Had
a great weekend. Hope you did too. I don't tell you often enough, but I
really do appreciate your help, your friendship and all the rest! Don't know
exactly where I'd be today if Craig hadn't introduced us, I just know it
wouldn't be as much fun.
I'll always be grateful to both of you, and, come what may, I consider
myself a very lucky guy.
Always,
Scott."
The "Badger Herald" reprinted, with permission, the State Journal's
State Street photo of the Dynamic Duo's capture of the four bad guys on
Monday morning. To everybody's satisfaction, they'd also re-run the
caption, complete with the character's names. They ran an accompanying
column of text along the vertical left side of the photo, noting that
"Turner is running as an Independent in next week's WSA elections. Scott
grinned as he sipped his coffee and looked at the front page.
Kip Monmouth walked out the front door to the house and paused. "What
the fuck?" He looked down and, from between his feet, Scott, Marty and the
gang stared back in their costumes. The steps to the porch, and the
sidewalk leading to the street were dotted with neon colored rectangles.
Looking left and right along the street, he could see the same yellow,
orange, red, blue and other shades of neon dotting the path that ran the
length of the street. Luckily for Marty, it had been a dry weekend in
Madison, and the duct tape worked perfectly to adhere the posters to the
sidewalk and the porch steps. Kip could only sigh and shake his head.
"Shit! Those fuckers are good."
After Craig rose and headed down to the shower, Scott called Maureen's
direct number.
"Hey, Maureen! It's Scott."
"Scotty! Dear! How are you?" He heard a muffled order being thrown
at a staff member, but in the genteel manner in which only Maureen could
throw an order. She put her mouth back to the receiver. "Sorry, honey, you
caught me at a goofy time."
"Sorry, Maureen. I'm great. I won't keep you long. Any chance you're
free for lunch this week?"
"I'll check. What's going on? Is something wrong? Have you talked to
your folks?" She sounded concerned.
"Relax, Maureen. I talk to Mom and Dad a few times each week. I just
wanted to touch base. I don't want to be presumptuous, but we're both
coming into the home stretch of our campaigns. I just want to see you, and
to talk."
"Sounds like fun. You're kicking ass by all accounts that I'm in on.
Feed us some of that, if you can. By the way, thanks so much for taking
care of the apartment last weekend." Scott rolled his eyes and smiled. She
had no idea. "Hang on." He heard her half-yell, "Lois, what's my lunch
schedule this week? Can I go to The Inn for an hour or so one of these
days? Hell yes, it's important! It's Scotty, dammit! Change some stuff if
you have to! Tell the asshole from the Tavern League that he'll have to
wait `til happy hour to meet with me."
Scott laughed, but felt a bit of a charge when he heard her. One of
the most important people in the whole state had put her staff on orders
that he was a priority.
Maureen came back. "Tomorrow works, but we need to make it early.
How's 11:30 at `The Inn?' Lois just gave me permission."
"I gotta meet Lois. Give her a hug for me, and e-mail her number so I
can just call her and don't have to bother you with a direct call."
"You quit calling me direct and I'll come down to campus and personally
smack your ass, you little shit! But, I really do have to run, honey. Got
a renegade member of our own party from Milwaukee who is making noise about
bucking us on the budget, even if we do get the majority. The asshole is
talking about a 17-16 split after the election, and is ranting about how he
can't be taken for granted, like he might start voting for the other side if
I'm the new leader. Murdoch is such a lame duck, it's not even funny, and
this guy...he's such a complete asshole, and I'm ready to tear him a new one."
The Madison press had already how written about how the current minority
leader was ignoring the future of his own party. He apparently didn't give
a shit, and Maureen was already towing their party's line in the state's
upper house. They'd also written about the `Maverick from Milwaukee' and
how he could hold the balance of power should Maureen and the governor
prevail in the rapidly approaching elections.
"Rip him up, Maureen. Keep fightin' the good fight. See you tomorrow.
Now, go and make him one sorry man."
Maureen laughed. "Aaww, shit! I need you up here. Love ya' lots.
See you tomorrow."
Scott strolled over to the neighboring dorm on Monday night, showing
his student identification and assuring the security in the lobby that he
was a legitimate candidate for office, innocently knocking on doors. He
would repeat the routine on the next three nights, not really jumping
through security hoops, but rather like gliding through them on each stop.
Each one of the fifty or sixty-something-year-old honorable men guarding the
lobbies gave him a green light, so he spent about four hours knocking,
chatting, cajoling his way down the halls of each dorm every night of the
week. The response was good enough for him to worry about what he'd
actually do if he was elected.
"Hey, Bradley!! How's it goin' bud?"
The restaurant's host recognized the voice, and turned on his heels
beaming. "Missssterrr Turner! How awfully nice to see you again!" Bradley
grabbed Scott's right hand in both of his, even though he hadn't really
extended it. "So...school's going well, I hope? And I understand you're on
the verge of charging into the student government over there?"
"Well, we'll see about that, but yeah, school's goin' great. How's
business here at `The Inn?'
Bradley leaned in, and out of the corner of his mouth muttered, "I'm
busier than a three- peckered billy goat, but that's always the case when
`The Bigs' are in session," he motioned across the street to the stately
domed building. "Elections are coming...you'd think they'd be back home
covering their own asses."
Scott patted his shoulder. "I'm sure you can handle it. Is Maureen
here yet?"
"No sir, but she called and said to have your usual table ready. It
seems our next majority leader is going to be running a bit late. She's
been delayed by an unexpected appointment, and said it'll be ten or fifteen
minutes, a half-hour at the most." Bradley picked up a couple of menus and
motioned, "follow me, if you will."
"Not to worry, Bradley," the menus were snatched from his hands.
Maureen patted his cheek. "I threw the s.o.b. out of my office and told him
to go to hell. I'll lead the way." She hugged Scott in a warm embrace.
Bradley beamed, but still wished he could get his arms around the young
stud. "I'll have your tea sent right over, Senator. Coca Cola, Mr.
Turner?"
"You're the best, Bradley, but please call me Scott." He winked at the
host, who blushed a little at the compliment and the mock intimacy of the
wink.
As they took their seats, Scott asked, "Trouble at the office?"
Maureen rolled her eyes. "No trouble, just an intrusive lobbyist for
the Manufacturers and Commerce crowd. He's scared to death that his puppets
are about to lose control in the upper house, and he's sweating bullets.
I'm going to let him and his own sweat a while longer. They've held enough
power for more than enough time now, and ignored us for most of the past
decade. If the election turns as we hope next week, there'll be a `come to
Jesus' meeting to follow."
"Atta girl!" Scott was in awe of this woman.
Debbie put down their beverages, and asked if they were ready to order.
"Well hello there!" Scott schmoozed. "Long time no see. You're
lookin' like a million bucks, if you don't mind my saying."
Debbie blushed. "I wasn't sure you'd remember me. I saw you down on
State Street Saturday night! You were really busting loose with Catwoman.
You got the moves, if you don't mind my saying."
Scott ducked his head in mild embarrassment as Maureen laughed. "Did
you see the gang's picture in the paper on Sunday, Debbie? They looked
great, didn't they?" She looked back at Scott. "I cut it out and have it
hanging on my office wall. Your dad told me that six or seven people have
sent them extra copies of that shot."
Scott hung his head. He hadn't talked to Mom and Dad since late last
week, and certainly hadn't told them much about their plans for Halloween.
"Shit! They're gonna think I'm nothin' but a big old party boy down here."
He also felt bad about the fact that Maureen had been in closer contact with
the folks than he had been for the past week. He resolved to remedy that as
soon as possible.
Debbie nodded eagerly. "They looked great...the hit of the whole party
by all accounts! Everybody I ran into that night asked, `did you see the
group from Batman?' So, what's it going to be for lunch today?" Maureen
ordered a salad and Scott opted for a BLT with a side of slaw. Debbie
giggled and winked before turning toward the kitchen.
Scott leaned forward and whispered. "So what about the poor sap from
Waukesha? Did he really whip it out for an undercover cop? Is he toast, or
what? As sad as it is for him and his family, it's gotta be good for you
guys, right?"
Maureen choked a little on her sip of iced tea. "First of all, I never
dreamt I'd ever hear you use the expression `whip it out.' Second of all,
we're off the rec... oh, sorry, never mind." Scott smiled smugly. "Okay, the
word on the street is that he's guilty as hell. The satisfaction for me is
two-fold. First, I've always thought he was a self-righteous,
self-important, sanctimonious and hypocritical asshole. I didn't know how
hypocritical until now, assuming the charges are true. And word is, they
are. And, yes, it looks like this'll be good for us. I'm told that he
intends to withdraw from the race and is looking for a way to save face.
The woman we have running against him isn't the best, but she's ours.
There's talk of their party trying to mount a write-in, but it'll never
work. Of course, if we do take that seat, it'll probably be for only four
years. By the numbers, it's their seat," referring to the other party. "We
should take it now, but will probably lose it again next time around."
Maureen looked beyond Scott, into nowhere in particular. "I'm cautiously
optimistic that we'll have a three-seat majority, 18-15 next Wednesday
morning."
"And...you?" Scott asked cautiously.
Maureen grinned shyly. "I'm going to be the new majority leader. I've
got the votes, and with the extra seat, that renegade sonofabitch from
Milwaukee is about to be a moot point. I'm going to pay him a visit right
after lunch and let him know that he can get in line, or he can become..."
Maureen leaned in over the table "...ir-fucking-relevant."
Scott clapped his hands once and laughed. "God! How I love your tact!
I think it was LBJ who said `I don't want loyalty, I want LOYALTY! I want
the man to kiss my ass in Macy's window at high noon and tell me it smells
like roses..."
Maureen echoed the quote as Scott finished it. "I want his pecker in
my pocket!" They guffawed together until Debbie arrived with their lunch.
As Scott bit into his sandwich, Maureen changed the topic. "And your
bid for power? How goes it? Word I hear from younger staff is that you're
a shoe-in, especially after the Halloween performances."
Scott shrugged. "Hard to tell. This is all so new to me. I've got a
lot of great help, and more than a few good breaks in the publicity
department. The guys did a fund-raiser throughout the dorm, and they've
plastered the campus with `Turner' posters using the same picture you saw in
The Journal. With the left-over cash, Craig bought some space in "The
Herald" and "The Cardinal" for the rest of the week. Meantime, I'm working
room-to-room through the dorms. The reception has been good, but it's not
like I have polling going on or anything. But, in my gut, it feels good."
"You're going to kick ass, I just know it." Maureen beamed at him.
"Yeah, you are." Debbie said as she refillied their water glasses. Her
leg nudged his knee. "This whole Greek versus the rest of us thing has
really caught on `cuz of the campaign. There are, like, what, seven or
eight parties running? And still, the frats have turned this into something
like class warfare with their whole approach. Your showing up has mustered
the `who the hell do they think they are?' crowd, and that's been a good
thing. It's like the fraternities against everybody else. I hope they get
drubbed, and I agree with Senator McCarthy. You're gonna kick ass, Scott."
Scott was demure. "Thanks, Debbie. Thanks a lot." He raised his
glass to her as she turned to check her other tables and excused herself.
Maureen continued, "Okay, honey, back to me. Are you going to be able
to make it over to headquarters next Tuesday? I'll be honest and say that
we don't need as much help as I thought we would. As the momentum's been
building, the volunteers have come out of the woodwork, everybody trying to
glom onto someone else's success. But it'd be great to have you on hand."
Scott's eyes grew wide. "I wouldn't miss it! And, I hope to bring
Marty along, and maybe Craig, too. You gotta meet Marty. He's a flippin'
card. I know you'll love him."
"Kelly told me he's an ace, and something of a firecracker, I gather.
Speaking of...seen Kelly lately?"
Scott paused. He mentally kicked himself for not seeing the topic on
the horizon, and for not adequately planning for it. "Uh...yeah...we got
together for a while Sunday night. You know she had the Halloween stuff
going on Saturday, so I gave her a call on Sunday and we met up after the
Packer game."
Maureen sensed some tension. "Scott. Relax. I'm not going to pry
there. You know how much she means to me. You know you much you mean to
me. I believe I know how much I mean to you. Or, at least I hope I do.
So, trust me when I tell you that I don't have a concern in the world where
the two of you are concerned. I'm interested, of course, and even have to
admit to having high hopes for the two of you, but I'm a realist. Have fun.
Be good to each other, and have fun. That's what I've told her."
Scott glazed his fork over his coleslaw, then picked up a small pile
and shoveled it into his mouth so he wouldn't have to speak. He just nodded
as he chewed, then swallowed. "I got it, my dear. We're doin' fine." He
felt a pang of guilt as he replayed the sight of his cock slamming in and
out of Kelly on Maureen's apartment floor. So, instead, he conjured up a
more innocent vision of Kelly's brilliant emerald eyes and gorgeous, rich
auburn hair, but only for a moment.
Maureen's cell phone rang. "Aw, shit!" she muttered as she reached
into the pocket of the blazer. Unfolding it, she rolled her eyes and held
up a finger to pause the conversation. "Yes, governor. What can I do for
you? Are you sure that's a good idea? I don't know. Wait! Yes, in fact,
I think I do know! I think it's a bad idea! Ted, there's no reason in the
world for you or I to comment at all. That horney dumbass created a
situation that's bad for him, his family and their party. We don't need to
jump all over it. It's a gift to us without lifting a finger. Why rub
salt...?" Maureen looked at her watch, shook her head and pursed her lips.
"Give me a half hour. I'm in the middle of an important lunch, and need to
wrap things up here, first. I'd respectfully suggest you tell your press
secretary to signal the media that you might not, after all, have anything
to say on the matter. Okay. See you then."
She snapped the phone shut. "Jesus Christ! He can be such a dick-wad
at times." Scott coughed on his Coke.
"Trouble in political paradise, Senator?" Scott was faintly amused,
but only because he had no doubt that she could handle this.
"He amazes me at times! Friggin' moron! How he got there..." Maureen
just shook her head at what she knew was the man's occasional stupidity.
"Scott, if you're gonna pursue politics, please remember this: you don't
have to speak out on everything. Often, it's what you choose not to say
that's political money in the bank. And, on a good day, shutting up is also
the right thing to do."
She rolled her head as if to release the tension in her neck, then
focused sharply on Scott's eyes. "He wants to issue a statement to condemn
the perv from Waukesha. He wants to do it live, and he wants to do it with
me by his side. I'm not gonna do it! I'm gonna tell him he shouldn't do it
at all. There's no political need...plus it's just wrong! Can you imagine
what the guy's wife and kids are going through already? Shit! What would
you be feeling if you learned that your dad was busted trying to suck some
guy's cock in a park back home? It was on a Saturday. Not like he was on
the job, or on state time, and he wasn't making moves on another state
employee. It's none of our fucking business! It might be a legit concern
of the folks back home, especially given his public statements about gay
marriage, civil rights of gay and lesbian men and women, the asshole's `holy
roller' take on what he defines as family values, but dammit! This is
between him and his family and his voters. Politically, there's no
conceivable reason for us to say a friggin' word. Ethically, there's every
reason for us to just shut the fuck up!"
Scott just stared and soaked up her anger. Maureen's glare shot
through the dining room. "Debbie!" The girl jumped.
Scott reached across the table and grabbed Maureen's hand. "Go! I
planned to pick up the check, anyway. This was my `date' after all. Get
back there and tend to business, and put the dumb-shit governor back on a
leash. Then, go and ream the asshole from Milwaukee, and call it a day.
Get back under the dome, kick some ass, take some names, go back to the
apartment, feed Mittens, pour yourself a bourbon and kick back and relax.
After all that, plus lunch with me, and you'll chalk this up as a very good
day."
"You're a little shit, you know that, don't you?" Maureen was half
standing already.
"Yup!" Then he lied, "I already told Bradley that I insisted on picking
up the check today, anyway, so your money's no good. Get outta here. Go
and save the dumbass governor from himself. I'll see you next Tuesday, if
not before. You're gonna love Marty."
Maureen leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm sure I will. I
look forward to it. You're a dear little shit. Thanks."
"Go."
Scott took a deep breath before walking into the classroom. He kept
his eyes focused on the newspaper he was carrying.
"Mr. Turner, we missed you last week! I hope everything's okay?"
Randy's greeting was a genial question.
"All's well, Randy. Thanks." Scott took his seat and began shuffling
through his backpack. The class discussion on state budget priorities went
well. Randy was well prepared, with though-provoking questions that laid
the groundwork for lively debate among all of the students. Scott was well
prepared too, and jumped into the fray without caution. He commanded plenty
of current and historical information about Wisconsin's progressive
traditions of taxing and spending. He could criticize and defend just about
every aspect of the state's current fiscal trends. Everyone was impressed,
though Scott didn't realize it. The intellectual discourse felt good, and
the give and take shoved any tension between Scott and Randy far into the
background.
"Got a minute?" Randy interrupted Scott's journey toward the door.
He stopped and looked at his watch. "Sure, got a few."
Randy shuffled papers for a minute as Scott took a seat in the front
row of the classroom. The TA spent another several seconds erasing the
notes from the board to give the other students a chance to exit the
classroom. Finally he turned, walked to the door, and pulled it closed.
"Sorry I didn't have the chance to meet with you last week about your
outline."
"You were, uhm, pretty occupied." Scott replayed the vision of Randy
bent face-down on the conference room table begging to be fucked harder and
harder.
"Do I owe you an apology for anything else?"
"That was quite the show you put on for me. But, no, you don't owe me
an apology. You don't owe me anything other than doing your job as my TA.
But I'm curious. Was that fuck-fest staged for my benefit?"
"You angry?"
"No, I'm not angry. I'm confused. I'm wondering what it is that
you're after here. I'd like to know why you invited me to stop by your
office at the same time you were planning to be begging for that big dude's
monster cock to practically tear you in half while he smacked your sweet ass
and you begging for more. I hope you can appreciate my wonderment."
"Scott. It wasn't that premeditated. When I suggested you stop by the
office, I didn't know that was gonna happen. He's another teaching
assistant in the Phy. Ed. department who was at the same meeting as I was
that night. We've hooked up a few times and he's a good time. I didn't
know for sure that you were going to drop in, and it just happened."
"You're into that submissive scene all the time?"
Randy was a little bit glad that Scott was wondering. "No. Not
always. Sometimes I want to be as vanilla as they come. Sometimes I like
passion. Sometimes I like hot and nasty. With some guys, I've been the
submissive little slut you saw last week." Randy shrugged. "What can I
say? I like it all."
"And your wife? Where does she fit into your sex life? You don't have
to explain any of this, Randy, but I'm just very curious."
"No problem. I figured you'd wondered about that. We have a great sex
life when we have the time and the opportunity. We're very adventurous and
like to try new things all the time. Sometimes she wants to really dominate
me and other times, it's straight out of a mainstream porn movie. But,
yeah, we do great when we can be together."
"Does she know you do guys?"
Randy shook his head vigorously. "No! And that bothers me now and
again. But it is what it is, and the distance between us encourages me to
be a bad boy sometimes."
"Okay, but the way you smiled at me when you saw that I was watching..."
"Well, we were busted, and at the moment I was glad it was you. Plus,
there's a bit of a voyeur in me, and a little exhibitionist, and I thought
it was hot that you'd been watching." He laughed. "Sorry if that freaks
you out, but in the moment, I thought it was cool. I never would've planned
something like that when I was thinking rationally, but, as I'm sure you
saw, there was nothing rational going on at that moment. Plus, the thought
and sight of you watching us brought on an orgasm that might've killed a
lesser man."
"Don't know if it's rational, reasonable or whatever. I just wondered
if you were trying to show me what I'm missing by keeping you at arm's
length."
"Not trying, really, but I have to admit there was a little bit of that
in my head." Randy leaned back in his chair. "You know all you have to do
is say the word and..."
"Don't go there Randy. You know I think you're hot, and as a bonus, I
admire your intellect. If you were just another guy on campus, I'd bend you
over that table myself. But nothing's changed for now. Like you said, it
is what it is. The semester's more than half over and, in a little over a
month, you won't be my teacher. Maybe, we can explore the possibilities
then. I'm pretty sure I want to."
"Pretty sure?"
"Yeah...pretty sure. Hey. My budget paper outline?"
Randy chuckled. "Man, the best piece of work that's crossed my desk,
and it's only about half done." He reached into his book bag and slid the
pages out from the top of a stack inside a file folder. "You got this shit
nailed, Scott. You could be teaching this class. A few notes in the
margins that I wrote carefully so that they'd be understandable." He handed
Scott the outline and settled back into his chair, somewhat uncomfortably.
"I was afraid you wouldn't want to meet face-to-face, so I did my best to be
clear in my comments."
"Relax, Randy. This is a great class, and you're a top-notch TA. But
this is why I want to keep the school work separate from the rest of our
lives. It's moments like this that make it clear to me that those lines
can't cross."
"Got it, and I guess you're right. So, no harm done?"
Scott got up out of his chair. "I gotta get going. No harm, no foul."
He started toward the door.
As he passed by, Randy grabbed his arm. Their eyes locked. "I'm
glad," Randy nearly whispered. The TA leaned forward in an effort to give
him a kiss.
Scott pulled back, signaling Randy to let go of his arm and cool it.
"Me too, Randy. Me too."
On election night, he felt tied to the library until nearly 10:00 p.m.
The anthropology paper he was toiling over was a bitch, and the research
required was obscure. `Go figure,' he chided himself. `Anthro. is giving
me shit, and I didn't even want to take it.'
He unlocked the door and strolled in to find Craig on the phone.
"Yeah! Really hope to see you then, and let's plan on Thanksgiving
weekend!" Craig shut his cell just as Marty was shutting the door.
"The lovely Stephanie, I take it?"
Craig smiled. "Yeah. She's coming up here for Homecoming! We're a few
weeks off, but I'll give you a heads-up. Might need a roomie-free zone
again that Saturday night. I'll keep you posted."
"Don't sweat it. Ya' know I'll vacate whenever ya' need. Brett and
Marty are good hosts, or Jesse and Frank will take me in if need be."
"You're the best, bud! Oh, Walter from the WSA office called about a
half-hour ago. Said if you got back before eleven to call him back. Weird
thing...his name is Walter, and the dude sounded just like Radar O'Reilly."
Scott laughed. "You should see the dude. He gave me my nomination
stuff the day I decided to seriously inquire about running. Better, he
looks a little like, and acts a LOT like, Radar from M*A*S*H*. It's fucking
hilarious... `Radar O'Reilly' is alive and well, and working at the WSA
office." Scott was already dialing the phone, trying hard not to look tense
or nervous.
"Yes, is Walter there, please? Hey! I thought that was you! Walter!
It's Scott Turner. My roommate said you'd called. Yeah...uh-huh...yup...and?
Yeah...uh-huh...really? How bad? uh-huuuuhhhh. Well...I'll be damned! Whodda
thunk it, eh? Well, thank you very much. I'll be in touch." Scott hung up
the phone and stared at the wall for several seconds. Agonizing seconds, as
far as Craig was concerned.
Craig pushed a few buttons on his cell phone, and folded it closed. He
stood up and moved in behind his roommate. He put a hand on each shoulder.
"Well? What's the verdict? What say `the people?'
"Nearly seventy-percent. It's a fucking landslide. I took almost
seventy percent in a three-way race in our little district. At the risk of
sounding immodest, FDR or LBJ didn't do this well, and they both kicked ass.
Not as big as Reagan's stomping re-election, but this was just plain
huge." Scott shook his head and laughed, then felt his throat tighten and
he choked a little. He took a deep breath. He turned around and looked at
Craig. "Fuck, dude... now what?"
Craig pulled him into an embrace. "Way to go, buddy. I knew you'd do
it, and I knew you'd do it huge." Scott's eyes were welling with tears as
he let his chin rest on his roommate's shoulder in their embrace. Marty's
knock on the door filled the room.
Craig smiled. "Now what? Now, we celebrate!" Craig strode to the
door as Scott wiped his eyes with the backs of both hands.
Brett burst through, both hands in the air. "Yooooouuuu da'
ffffffuuuuuucking Man!" He strode past Craig, and Scott barely got his
hands up in time to meet the pair of high-fives. Their hand-slaps became
clasps which quickly became a manly hug.
"I got the little fucker at WSA to give me a call with the results,"
Marty said, as he handed Craig the champaign and smacked Brett's ass. "Get
the fuck outta my way. The Special Assistant needs a hug from the biggest
political bad-ass on the UW campus!" As Brett and Craig worked together on
the foil and wire on the tip of the Dom Perignon, Marty flung both arms
around Scott's neck and aimed a kiss at the cheek they couldn't see. He
missed, and hit the ear square-on. He moved his head a little, and repeated
the gesture, this time making his mark squarely on the cheek. "I knew we'd
do it, my man. I just fucking knew you'd be huge around here. Way to go.
Way to fucking go." There was a pop of the bottle being opened. "Somebody
pour the man a fucking drink. Craig! You got a doobie rolled? Fire it up.
We're gonna celebrate a bit before planning the man's road to the U.S.
Senate!" Everybody laughed as Craig fished through his desk drawer.
"Call Frank and Jesse!" Scott all but shouted.
Marty assured him, "They're on their way, bud. Brett damn near smashed
their door down on the way by."
Around midnight, Scott called it quits. "Y'all gotta go, boys! Sorry,
but I need some sleep." He blinked his eyes and shook his head, "And so, by
all appearances, so do you guys. I need to go out a run in the a.m., and
then work through my head what's next." He looked around the room. All
five others were sitting on the floor. All were obviously buzzed and each
one beamed back at him. "You know I love you guys, and I can't thank you
all enough." His eyes panned the happy faces and bloodshot eyes loving him
back. He kicked Brett's foot in appreciation, but Marty was sitting close
enough to reach over and grab his knee and give it a squeeze. "You're the
fucking best, and I can't do enough to say so." Scott's throat was
tightening and thickening again.
Brett rolled his eyes and leaned over to smack his roommate's arm. "We
gotta bail here, buddy, or he's gonna start crying." He looked back at
Scott and he worked to lift himself off of the floor at the same time.
"And, you're right, you can't do enough, but I'll expect you to keep
trying." Now standing, he reached down and ruffled Scott's hair. "G'night,
Sir." Frank and Jesse repeated the move as they sauntered out of the room.
"Great one, Scott. You done good." Jesse offered.
"Ditto. Thanks for letting us help." His roommate followed.
Scott managed to get upright and throw an arm around Brett. "You and
the band, man . You delivered it all." It was an exaggeration, and
everybody knew it, but it was in line with the mood and direction of the
conversation.
"And YOU!" Scott grabbed Marty into a bear hug. "You're a keg of
dynamite, you're a whacko loose screw, you're nuts plain and simple, and you
got me here. I might hate you for this, and I might love you for this. Too
early to tell." He held Marty's shoulders at arm's length and held him
still. They gazed into each other's eyes. "I'll let you know if you're a
good thing or a bad thing."
Marty understood the praise that was being heaped on him, and he looked
at the floor in some modesty and some embarrassment. "I'm a good thing,
man, and you know it." Scott pulled him into another big hug as all the
guys laughed. Marty went on, softly, "Good going on the election. You did
it. You woulda done it without me, or Brett, or Craig or anybody. You're
that good." He whispered as they rocked in their hug, "and I hope you know
that. It's just so fucking easy to believe in you. I don't completely
believe in a helluva lot, really, but I do believe in you."
Scott strode up the narrow staircase of the brick building. He hadn't
been here since the day he picked up the nomination papers; the first time
he'd met Kip, as he recalled. Walter's directions over the phone last night
had been to stop in and pick up some orientation materials, as well as a
schedule for the coming weeks.
Scott opened the office door, somewhat sheepishly. "Hey!" Walter's
voice squeaked. "Welcome aboard, Senator-elect Turner." The little guy had
to put a toe on a counter shelf near his feet to lift himself up to reach
out and lean over the counter to offer a his heartiest handshake.
Scott was caught up in the moment. "Ra...I, er, mean, Walter! Thanks a
lot."
The kid laughed. "Don't sweat it, Mr. Turner. Everybody calls me
Radar. I'm kinda flattered that you keyed in on that without being told."
He looked around. "You weren't told, were you?"
"Hell no, Walter! And, it's Scott, please. Radar O'Reilly was the
first thought I had when we first met." Scott suddenly felt bad and a lot
self-conscious. "You're not offended by that, are you?"
"Why? It was a great show, and Radar was the hero a lot of the time,
the glue that held that unit together. Plus, I am from Iowa. It's kinda
flattering, and I do try to play that part working here. Anything you need,
Scott, I'm your guy. This is my third year here, and I know where all the
bodies are buried."
"I'm sure I'll take you up on that, Walter. I really appreciate it."
"Well, time to get to work, then." Walter squared the stack of papers
in his hand. He cleared his throat and began laying them out one at a time.
"Okay, here's a list of newly elected or re-elected members of the Student
Senate, their districts and their contact information. If you have any
aspirations for a specific post within the WSA, you might want to start
contacting your new political colleagues." Scott nodded. "This is a list
of the WSA committees and their responsibilities. This is the official WSA
Charter and Bylaws. This is the condensed version, the handbook that
explains procedures and operations and the like, more in layman's terms. I
wrote it myself when I came on board." He exuded a small amount of pride.
"This is the timeline for the organizational meetings that are coming in the
next couple of weeks. There's a meeting of the Senate next Thursday night,
to elect officers. The first official meeting of the new WSA will be held
the Monday night before Thanksgiving, and twice a month thereafter, the
first and third Mondays of every month, except January during Christmas
break." He grabbed a slip of paper. "And this, Scott, is my home number
and e-mail address. It's not in any of the other contact information in
here, but you might want to use it. Hope you don't hesitate to give me a
call if you need to know anything," he paused and looked around, then leaned
forward and whispered, "on or off the record."
"Thanks a lot, man."
Walter straightened up and cleared his throat again. "Okay, then, any
questions?"
Scott's eyes were wide. He paused and thought for a second, then
shrugged and shook his head. "Uuuhhhhmmm, no, I guess not. Er, not now,
anyway. I'm sure I'll be pestering you a lot the rest of the week though."
Walter squared the stack of paper once again. Taking about a third at
a time, he three-hole punched the pages and assembled them into a ringed
binder. He snapped the rings closed and shut the cover. It had been
labeled "Senator Scott Turner, Jr." He slid the binder across the counter.
"I hope you will. I'm very glad you won your seat, and by such a huge
margin. I've never seen anything like it, Scott." He leaned in again and
whispered. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, either, but you actually
got write-in votes in all the other thirty districts. Of course, the votes
were thrown out and didn't count for anything, but I'm quite sure that has
never happened."
"Really...who'da thought..."
"Me." His eyes widened and he nodded enthusiastically, trying his
hardest to be sincere and persuasive at the same time. "I'm not surprised
at all, actually. Your campaign was brilliant."
"Just dumb luck, Walter. Marty's media presence helped, my press guy,
Craig did a great job, and the Halloween photo was a boost. Actually, I
shouldn't call it dumb luck, but I am a lucky guy."
"You're gonna do great! I just know it."
"Thanks again, Walter. You're the best." He checked his watch.
"Well, gotta run and grab lunch and begin digesting all of this stuff.
Scott was munching on a tuna sandwich and some chips, slowly paging
through the materials Walter had so efficiently assembled for him. He
sensed a presence over his shoulder, and a voice whispered, "Did I ever tell
you that I find power very sexy?"
A grinning Marty Anderson plopped down in the seat next to him.
Scott smirked and wiggled his eyebrows. "Ever sucked a senator's
cock?"
Marty licked his lips. "Nope, but I been wonderin' all morning when
I'm gonna get my chance."
Scott mulled it over, then dismissed it. "Craig's probably in our
room."
"Brett's not in ours..."
"And I've got class in a half hour."
Marty glanced around and, determining it was clear, put a hand on
Scott's thigh. "And I can have you screaming my name in fifteen."
"Knock it off, Marty. You're making me hard." He rapped the back of
Marty's hand with his spoon. "Too much to do today, and I'm goin' up to
help Maureen tonight. You're comin' with, right?"
Marty pulled back and sighed. "Shit, you're no fun, you know that?"
"I am too, and you know that, just not right now...but soon, I hope"
"Yeah, I want to come along. Can't wait to meet the great Maureen
McCarthy."
"You'll love her, and I'm sure you'll charm the hell out of her. At
least, that's what I'm counting on. She's heard great things about you, ya'
know."
Marty smiled. "So whatta we got here?"
"It's the playbook for newly elected members. Radar put it together
for me. He's really a good shit, and I've got a feeling he'll be a real
asset. Need to get ready for the first informational and organizational
meeting."
"Cool! So, what do we do now? We're gonna start kicking ass and
taking names now, right? When's the meeting?"
"We...? You don't have to go. Fact is, you really can't go. I mean,
you can maybe be there as a spectator. I'm not sure it's an open meeting,
but I can ask if you want."
"Huh? What do ya' mean?" Scott could see some hurt and confusion in
Marty's expression.
"Bud! Like it or not, one of us was elected and one of us wasn't.
That was my name on the ballot, and only mine. Things just changed. You
don't really have a voice in this the way you did up `til the other day.
Not officially, anyway."
Marty's brows pursed and his eyes squinted. "You sayin' that your all
done with me...with us...now that you're all elected and shit?"
"Dude! No! That's not it at all! What it is, though, is that I'm not
a candidate anymore. I'm in. Fact is, you're not. My loyalties gotta
widen to everybody who elected me now, and even those who didn't. My
responsibilities just grew. Yours, in a lot of ways, just shrunk." Marty
looked dejected and hurt. Scott put a hand on each shoulder. "Marty. I
couldn't have gotten here without you. I know that, and you know that I
love you guys because of that, and more." He looked deep into Marty's eyes,
searching for a hint of understanding, but didn't see it. "I'm going to
continue to need your ideas, your voice, your support...but you don't have the
role to play the way you did. It wouldn't be right for me to continue to
give you any more consideration than I do anybody else I represent. I'm
always going to need you close by, but when it comes right down to making
decisions in the WSA, there really isn't a `we' anymore."
Marty mulled it over, quietly.
Scott was suddenly feeling guilty, though it was clear he needed to
spell out the political fact for his friend. "Marty, tell me you understand
that...please!"
"Yeah, I get it. You're right." He did his best to smile. "You
fucker...you're always right."
Scott breathed a sigh of relief patted his shoulder. "Thanks, man.
You're the best. Well, I gotta get a move on it. If I don't see you here
for dinner, we should be ready to leave at about 6:30. The polls are open
state-wide until 8:00, but I expect exit polling info. to start coming in a
little after 7:00."
"Awright, professor. I'll be ready."
The party's headquarters were in an office complex two blocks from the
capitol. It was nearly 7:00 p.m., and after parking in an underground ramp,
Marty and Scott got on the elevator for the third floor. Access to the
office complex was blocked by a locked door and an intercom security system.
Scott punched a four-digit code that Maureen had e-mailed him, and a gruff
voice responded, trying to sound polite, but not quite pulling it off. "How
may I help you this evening?"
"Scott Turner. Here to see Senator McCarthy and Company?" It was more
of a question than an introduction. The speaker went silent for several
seconds.
"What the fuck?" Marty was antsy. "Don't you have enough pull to get
into the place at night?"
The grumbly voice came back. "Relax, son, he has more than enough
pull. Who's your friend, Mr. Turner?"
Scott put his hand over Marty's mouth. The old guy watching the video
monitor of the lobby and working the intercom system chuckled. "Mr. Martin
Anderson, sir," Scott sounded chipper and anxious. "I'm pretty sure that
Senator McCarthy understands that Mr. Anderson will be with us tonight, and
I believe she's expecting both of us. And, sir, if I may, a Mr. Craig
Bostwick might be joining us all later."
"Very well, Mr. Turner. Come through the doors and take the hallway to
your right. Have a good evening."
"You too, sir!" Scott offered, not knowing if the growly bastard on the
other end even heard him.
As they rounded the corner, Maureen stretched out both arms. "Marty!
You little dickens! It's about time I met the new senator's `special
assistant!' So glad you could come!" His eyes were trying to bust out of
their sockets as she pulled him into a hug.
Scott laughed and clapped. "Maureen, you're the only person I know who
can render the boy speechless! Way to go!" He elbowed his buddy. "Told
you she's somethin' else."
"Uhm...err..nice to meet you...ah, Senator." Feeling challenged by her
good-humored effort to put him on the spot, he recovered quickly. "And, if
I may say so, you're much better looking than Scott ever let on."
Scott's hand smacked the back of his head. Maureen and Scott both
giggled at Marty's effort to mix it up with both of them.
She leaned in and kissed Scott's cheek, and grasped both of his hands.
"Congratulations! I'm so proud of you." She looked back at Marty. "And,
it's Maureen, my boy. It took me too long to train first Scott, and then
Craig to drop the title. I hope you're a quicker study than the two of
them."
Marty nodded and winked. "You got it, Maureen."
"Gus told me that Craig might join us tonight. True?"
Scott shrugged. "Depends on how late his study group goes. He's got
some serious shit...er, stuff... coming down the pike in one of his classes, and
he's kinda the point man in his group, but he's gonna try."
She linked elbows with the two of them and led them down the hall.
"Well, it'd be good to see him again. I hope he can make it." She walked
them both into a large, open area with several desks. "This is `the
bullpen.'" She pointed around the room, naming several of the party's most
important operatives, each of whom was busy on the phone. After a few
superficial introductions with some of the more idle team members, she led
the guys to an empty office. "Okay, here's the drill. You get to sit by
the phone and answer it, for now. This line is set aside for three
districts in the northwest part of the state. Our local folks will be
calling with exit polling information they're gathering on site. Then,
later, they'll start calling with hard numbers, actual counted votes. You
might have to make a few calls, if they're not getting to us as soon as we'd
like, but it'll mostly be answering the phone between now and...oh, depending
on how it goes, maybe midnight. Is that gonna be a problem?"
"Shit, no!" Marty was already feeling juiced by the feeling that he
was being drawn into some political inner sanctum. "We got all night,
Maureen! Bring it on!"
Maureen laughed and put a firm hand on his shoulder. "Relax, Marty.
It won't get busy for another hour or so. Kelly told me you were a bit of a
firecracker. She was right."
"Hey! Is Kel' coming in tonight too?" Marty eagerly asked.
"Afraid not. Too much sorority and school stuff going on for her right
now. I gotta go. I'll check in from time to time, and don't be surprised
if a few others stop in and introduce themselves." She put her hand on one
of each of the guys' shoulders. "Thanks for coming, guys."
Every fifteen or twenty minutes the phone would ring. Scott or Marty
would pick it up, write down the district and precinct, then either copy out
numbers from exit polls of harder numbers from the actual count. The
variation in timing and the type of numbers surprised them, but emphasized
the differences between the counties' preparedness to handle a pretty normal
election. The trends seemed, to Scott, anyway, to be going Maureen's way.
Marty was fascinated by the flurry of activity. The tense faces and
the sense of common mission captivated him. His only loyalty as was to
Scott and, by association now, to Maureen, but he was quickly caught up as a
stakeholder the momentum of election night in a campaign headquarters. He
knew that nothing could be done at this hour to affect any of the outcomes,
but he was glad he was on hand to play a part in keeping score. And the
score that was taking shape was a good one.
Walking out of their office to deliver some more numbers to the keepers
of the large white board in the `bull pen,', Marty ran head-long into a very
well-built twenty-something guy. He detected a hint of alcohol on the guy's
breath, certainly nothing unusual on what was becoming an election-night
victory celebration, and it certainly didn't detract from his commanding
presence. The muscled guy stepped back "Hey, dude! Slow down a bit, if you
please."
"Sorry, man, they said they needed these numbers. I guess this is a
big race."
The guy extended his hand. "Randy. Randy Oakes. I'm from McCarthy's
district and just dropped in to see how it was going. Wonerin' if I could
help."
Marty looked around and shrugged, but his eyes came back to the man's
fine form. Even under a pretty thick sweatshirt, his pecs showed their
perfect form, and the shirt's neckline tightly hugged the thick and muscular
tissue between his chin and his chest.
Randy continued, "I'm lookin' for Scott Turner, and was told he was
manning the fort on this end. You know him?"
Marty smiled and stabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "He's in there,
Randy," and reached out and grabbed Randy's hand. "I'm Marty. Marty
Anderson. Me and Scott are buds, and I'm just here to help him do some of
the grunt work tonight." Randy eyed Marty up and down, keeping his
expression just this side of a leer. Marty held up the few pages in his
hand. "Hey, I gotta get these in to the chiefs over in the bull pen.
Scott's in there. See you back here in a minute."
Randy smiled and their eyes locked. "Hope so, Marty. Any friend of
Scott's is a friend of mine. Awright, then, ya' better get goin'. See ya'
back here?"
"Hope so." Marty winked and scooted past Randy. Then, as he strode
down the hallway. `Who the fuck is that?' he asked himself.
Scott was sitting next to the phone and Randy's butt was perched on the
table edge when Marty returned. "Hey, you found him!"
"You guys already met?" Scott asked.
"He nearly knocked me on my ass out in the hall a minute ago. Anyway,
as I was saying, a bunch of us did happy hour down the block, and I figured
I'd drop in and see how the good fight was coming. My dad wanted me to give
him a call later tonight with the latest results."
Scott sniffed the air a few times. "Yeah, I thought you'd had a few.
Here." He tossed Randy a pack of gum.
Randy nodded. "Just what the doctor ordered," as he unwrapped a stick.
He offered the pack to Marty. "Want a piece?"
Marty's grin approached a leer. "I'd love a piece." Scott smirked at
his buddy.
"So how goes the battle?" Randy asked.
"Well, looks good from in here, but we're only monitoring three races.
I'd say that two out of these three are safe, and the other one's always
been a lock for the bad guys."
Marty's head jerked sideways toward the door. "The mood out in the
bullpen is pretty upbeat, that's for sure."
A figure passed the door, then quickly stopped and backed up. The
governor looked in. "There you are. Maureen said you were down here
somewhere helping us out." He strode into the room, right hand extended.
"Good to see you again, Scott!"
Scott was on his feet in a flash. The man walked past Marty and Randy
and took Scott's hand in a firm grip. "Governor! How are you? Good to see
you!"
"Or do I call you senator, now, Scott? Congratulation on your big win
down on campus."
"Thank you, sir." He motioned toward the other two. "Governor
Hackett, I'd like you to meet my friend, Marty Anderson." He waved Marty
over. "Marty, this is Governor Theodore Hackett."
Marty took his hand. "Very good to meet you, sir."
"And me you, Marty."
"Marty led me into my win last night. He's a political genius, but his
Illinois roots require us to keep an eye on him. You know Illinois
politics."
"Aaaaahh, I see. A little Chicago-style stuff in your campaign,
Scott?"
Marty jumped in. "No sir, governor. I tried my damnedest, but Scott
wouldn't allow it. The guy has no imagination." They both laughed.
"And do you know Randy Oakes, governor."
"Haven't had the pleasure." The two shook hands. "Nice to meet you
Randy."
"Randy's my poli-sci TA, and his dad's the county chair of the party
back home."
"Ohh...Marshall Oakes's son. Good man, your dad. Been a long-time and
big-time help to the party."
"Thank you, governor. You and I met once very briefly several years
ago, during your first term, when the old man hosted a Labor Day thing for
the party back home. I've been a big fan of yours for years."
The governor nodded, and looked back at Marty. He pursed his brows.
"And have we met, Marty? I have a great memory for faces, but Anderson's a
very common name. You look familiar to me, but I'm not placing it." Marty
shrugged. "Where was it...?"
Scott chuckled. "Were you at the Iowa game, sir? When Dayne broke the
record?"
"Who wasn't? I hosted a staff appreciation tail-gaiter for the office
gang. Great game!"
"Then you might have seen Marty there. All of him." Marty smiled
sheepishly and his eyes went to the floor.
It didn't register at first, but suddenly the governor's face lit up
with wide eyes and a huge smile. "Oooohhh...of course! That's where I've
seen you. You're right, Scott, I have seen all of him. But, I remember
the head shot they ran in the paper now. That's why you look familiar."
Hackett guffawed and slapped Marty's shoulder. "Legal stuff all behind you
yet? How'd you come out of that?"
He looked back up. "Not quite yet. Couple a weeks and I meet with the
DA's office at a pretrial conference."
"Well, good luck. I, for one, thought it was hilarious. `Course you
repeat that and I'll deny it." They all laughed. "Scott. Can I speak with
you in the hallway for a moment."
Scott looked confused. "Of course. Anything wrong?"
"No, not at all. Just want to run something past you."
Scott looked at the other two and shrugged. He followed the governor
out into the hall. Hackett took a few steps down the hall and began,
"Scott, one of the fifteen seats on the University Board of Regents is
reserved for a student member."
"Yeah, I know."
"And the current student is in the third year of a three-year term.
Her term is up, and I'm due to appoint a replacement in January."
"Uh huh?" Maureen was standing at the end of the hall, talking to a
member of the staff. She saw the two talking, and nodded with a smile when
she caught Scott's eye.
The governor stopped walking and turned to face Scott. "Well,
typically, the Student Association sends my office one or two names as a
recommendation for my consideration. Of course, I don't know many students,
so I rely on their own elected representatives for advice."
"That makes sense."
Hackett nodded. "Scott, I'd like you to consider vying for the WSA's
recommendation for the seat on The Board."
"Really?"
"Really. I don't know you all that well, but between what I do know,
and what I hear," he nodded toward where Maureen was standing, "I think
you'd serve the university well from that seat. I could just go ahead and
appoint you on my own, but I wouldn't be doing you any favors if the WSA
didn't endorse you first."
"I understand. I don't know much about the position, sir. I don't
know..."
"Well, it's a fifteen member policy-making board for the whole state
university system. The full board only meets once a month, though certain
committees and task forces and the like also hold meetings intermittently.
Not a huge time commitment, but an important one. There are some big issues
facing the university in the next few years, and I think you'd learn a lot
and could serve the system and its students well."
Scott was unsure exactly what to think, and his face showed as much.
He was silent for a few moments. "Well, gives me something to think about.
I'll keep it in mind. And, thank you sir."
The governor smiled. "Of course, if you were to get my appointment,
you'd have to withstand the scrutiny of the confirmation process in the
State Senate." He subtly pointed with his thumb toward where Maureen was
standing. "Think you could handle that?"
Scott got the joke and played along. "Weeeelllll...I don't know, sir. I
understand the likely new majority leader is one tough nut."
Maureen walked toward them with a smile on her face. "Giving Ted some
political pointers, Scotty?"
"Hey! How's it going? Are we close to knowing the final tally?"
Maureen looked at her watch. It was nearly 11:00. "Well, most of the
TV stations have reported we're going to have at least a 17-16 majority,
maybe 18-15. Murdoch is coming over in a little while to stand next to you,
Ted, so that the two of you can claim victory in front of the press."
Hackett rolled his eyes. "Now, Ted, he is still the party's leader in the
senate, and will be until he leaves office in January."
The governor sighed. "Oh, I know. But he's such a wet blanket. He
has all the pizzazz of a week-old glass of 7-Up. You'll be standing nearby.
I want your face in any pictures or film that go out."
Scott heard the phone ringing in the conference room. It rang several
times, and he wondered what the hell Marty was doing. "Better get that.
See you in a bit. And, thanks, governor." He turned and jogged back to the
door.
"What the fuck?" he muttered under his breath as he jogged through the
empty room toward the phone. He quickly picked up the receiver. "Yeah!
Oh, sorry. No we haven't shut down for the night, I just stepped out of the
room. Okay, shoot." He glanced around again, looking for a clue.
"Oh...gimme those totals again?" He searched frantically for a pen, then
scribbled on a scrap of paper. "Sounds great! The governor and Senator
McCarthy are just down the hall. I know they'll be pleased. Send her our
congratulations. I will. I'll tell them both. Now go and enjoy the
party!" Scott smiled into the phone as the caller hung up.
As he got near the door, he heard Randy's voice. "Dude, I gotta stop
in here and take a leak. I'll be right there."
"Awright, man. Take one for me, will ya'?" Marty turned back around
as the men's room door closed behind Randy. He nearly walked right into
Scott. "Whoa. Sorry, bud! S'pose I ought to be looking in the same
direction I'm walking, huh?" He giggled, and Scott could smell the familiar
aroma on his breath and his clothes.
Scott stared him in the eyes. "I need to get this to the bullpen. Be
right back."
Marty grinned, a bit sheepishly. "I'll be right here."
Scott returned and found Marty leaning against the wall, staring at
nothing in particular and humming "Stairway to Heaven."
"You're baked. You and Randy went...God knows where...and you fired up
some herb."
"A lil' bit. And we're not actually `baked.' Weren't gone longanuf.
We're more like lightly toasted." Marty snickered.
"Not funny, Marty. Time and place. Time and place." He was shaking
his head, working hard to not shout obscenities at his friend. But the time
and place were wrong for that, too. `He just doesn't get it,' Scott thought
to himself in amazement. `And Randy...jeeezus, what a moron.'
"We done yet? Let's go down to the bullpen and see where we stand.
This is a big night. We gotta be close to a final result around the board,
yeah? Let's go down and check out the finals with everybody else." Marty
pushed himself upright from leaning against the wall. Before he could take
a complete step, Scott put his hand up, and Marty's shoulder nudged into it.
"You're not goin' anywhere, Marty. You can't go down there. You can
stay here and out of sight until I'm ready to leave, or you can go back to
the dorm, or you can just leave and do whatever, but I'm asking you, I guess
I'm telling you, you're done here for the night."
"You pissed?"
"Not sure yet. I sure as hell don't see the humor that you do, but
then again I'm not high, either. I'm a little shocked, I guess, that you'd
get stoned in the middle of all of this. I mean, you made a good
impression on Maureen, but that was a given. The governor seemed to like
you, as brief as that was. Neither one of them were born yesterday, you
know. Everybody in the room, them included, will know you're stoned. You
can't go down there with me. You just can't."
"But you can't stop me from going down there."
Scott mulled it over. "Can I physically stop you? Maybe. Probably,
but it'd be a helluva fight. Besides, I wouldn't try. Can I prohibit you?
No, I guess I can't. But, will you think about it?" He was struggling
mightily to retain some composure. "You're obviously stoned. If you go
down there, others will see it. A number of them are media. They know
you're here with me, and that I'm here at Maureen's request. Tomorrow's
headline, "Streaker Stoned at Election Night Victory Party." will fuck us
all up the ass."
"Another part of `no more we' huh?"
Scott felt his temperature rise. "Don't go there Marty. `We' didn't
get high at an event managed by a high-profile senator, and attended by the
governor. This has nothing to do..." He stopped, took a breath, raised his
hands to shoulder-level and shook his head. "I'm not gonna do this now.
Under the circumstances, you're not worth the time or effort. I only hope
that your brain is functioning at a level that lets you realize that I'm
right, and that you just fucked up, big time. Don't make it worse." He
almost said, please, but couldn't do anything other than scold and try to
give an order.
Randy appeared in the doorway. If anything, his eyes were more narrow
and more red than Marty's. "Who wants pizza? I think we should call. The
place down the street closes at midnight. Bet we could get `em to deliver."
Marty looked at Randy and decided to heed Scott's judgment, and get the
hell out of there. "Naah, Randy, let's go get some."
Randy looked at Scott. "Join us?"
"I'm going to stick it out here for a little while longer." He looked
at Marty. "Meet me at my car in about an hour, or call the cell if you're
going back to the dorm. Don't want to leave you here wandering around
Madison in the middle of the night. God knows the trouble you could get
yourself into."
Marty nodded as he took his first step. "You got it, perfesser. C'mon
Randy...let's go chow down." They were out the door in about one second.
Scott left the room and took a left down the hallway, shaking his head
and trying not to think too hard. Looking up, he saw the back sides of
three people blocking his way to the bullpen. Maureen was on the left, the
Governor's was in the middle, and a short, fat gray suit, mostly bald on
top, was on the right. Apparently, they'd decided that his only path to the
rest of the crowd was as good a stage as any to mount their press
conference. Scott paused and leaned against the wall to try and listen.
The governor noted that one race remained undecided but declared that
they would have a majority in the senate regardless of the outcome. "...and
we take this as a clear and convincing signal from the good people of
Wisconsin... blah...blah...blah..." is about all of the rest Scott heard. He
stepped as close as he could to the trio assembled in front of him, and was
sure he was far enough in the background to remain inconspicuous. They spent
another five minutes in what Scott thought was false humility and an
insincere plea for cooperation between the parties for the good of the
people. The governor ended his speech, the staffers whooped and applauded
wildly, and several members of the press descended on the trio of leaders to
ask questions and get some good sound-bites and quotes for the morning
editions.
Maureen spied Scott standing off to the side and motioned him over.
"Scott, be a dear and do me a favor, would you?"
"Anything, Maureen."
She pointed to her briefcase on a nearby table. "My car keys are in
there. I'm parked downstairs, at the far end, to the left as you leave the
elevator, near the south entrance to the ramp." He nodded, remembering that
he'd seen the car on their way in. "On the back seat there's a box with a
stack of thank you notes. I want the party to mail them tomorrow morning,
so need to leave them here tonight. Will you run down and get them for me?"
"You got it. Be right back."
Scott stepped off the elevator and veered left. The lower level of the
ramp was about one-third full of staffers' vehicles, and those of the print,
TV and radio media. Several vans with call letters and channel numbers
populated the parking stalls. Half way to Maureen's vehicle, he stopped
dead. He thought he'd heard a muffled voice come from somewhere in the
dimly lit structure. He listened. Other than the sound of the heat vents
blowing warm air into the large concrete garage, there was silence. He
dismissed it and continued on his way. As he opened the car's back door, he
heard it again. This time he was certain. It was a hushed male voice, but
unintelligible. Then he heard what he was sure was a laugh. He lifted the
box of envelopes and set it on the roof of the car. He held the door's
handle out and up and slowly closed the door, then let go of the handle,
allowing the door to latch tight.
Scott walked across the aisle and into a row of cars. The next row
faced the one he was standing in, and he paused again. A quiet, slow
"mmmmmmmmm" barely echoed off the walls and ceiling. It was followed by
Marty's unmistakable giggle and a few garbled syllables in his muted voice.
Scott looked around furtively, but couldn't see either Marty or Randy.
Randy was sitting back in the bed of his pickup, legs outstretched in
front of him, and a sleeping bag spread out beneath him. Marty was
straddling Randy's thighs, working hard to keep his posture as low as
possible, inside the pickup's side walls. Randy's shirt was unbuttoned, and
he stroked the back of Marty's head as his nipples were licked and sucked.
Randy's cock was throbbing against his jeans as Marty's right hand worked
his crotch without mercy. Marty's sweater had been pulled up over his head
and hooked around the back of his neck. Randy played with his erect nipples
with the fingers of both hands.
Scott surveyed the row of vehicles against the far wall. On his far
left, there in the very back corner of the garage was Randy's truck. It was
backed in between a TV news van and the rear wall of the building. The van
blocked a view to the truck's bed, but when Scott heard the next soft
"ooohhh, yeah," he was positive that it was the origin of the only sounds
filling the air.
Marty licked his way down Randy's impressive chest and six-pack abs,
wanting to linger along the way. But they both knew that they were in risky
territory, and couldn't spend too much time on hot, wet foreplay. Maybe
some other time, they each thought, but this had to be quick.
Scott turned a quick one-eighty and walked softly between two rows of
cars. Scanning the ceiling, as dark as it was, and located three dark glass
globes that had to encase house security cameras. `Shit!' he silently
mouthed, but mentally screamed. He turned sharp toward the elevator doors
and quietly made his way back upstairs. A few steps off the elevator, he
gave Gus's camera a salute with his free hand, and the door to the offices
buzzed. "Thanks, Gus!" he shouted over his shoulder as the door closed
behind him.
Randy's jeans had been tugged down to his ankles, and he shuddered each
time he felt the head of his cock being swallowed into Marty's throat.
Marty had shifted around, giving the TA access to his belt buckle and
zipper, and Randy fumbled with each between the sighs and moans coming
involuntarily from his own throat. After some effort, he had worked his way
through the pesky button at the top of Marty's khaki's, and was struggling a
little bit, trying to get the hot, dripping cock into his mouth and shove
the pants down at the same time. Mission accomplished, he grabbed Marty's
ass, and pulled him on top of himself. Marty expertly sensed the momentum,
and rolled on top of Randy, without missing a single stroke of his mouth
around the hot stud's cock. Each sucked the other furiously, and Marty
tugged firmly on Randy's balls, eliciting a throaty "ooohhh, yeah." As
Marty plunged deep onto Randy's pole, and then held the position for several
seconds, his middle finger found Randy's pucker, and probed inside.
"mmmmmppphhhhhhh," Randy moaned into Marty's balls.
Scott set the box of envelopes next to the briefcase, and quietly
stepped over beside Maureen, who was answering a Milwaukee reporter's
question. She finished the brief interview and thanked the young woman for
her time, then turned and smiled at Scott. "Well, it's been a good night.
Looks like it's going to be 18 to 15 after all."
"So the bastard in Milwaukee is irrelevant in the new majority?'
"Oh, not quite irrelevant, but I plan to make him feel that way." She
winked, and took his hands in hers. "Thanks for your help. Where's Marty?
I wanted to thank him, too. He's a cute little sonofagun. Like him."
"I'll tell him. He and Randy went down the street to order a pizza
before they close. I'm going to run over and join them. Thanks for
inviting me, Maureen. This was interesting, and fun. But it's getting
late, so I'd better run." He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
"Congratulations, Maureen. You're going to do great things, I just know
it."
She kissed him back. "And to you, too. You're going to set the
university on fire. I just know it. I'm so proud of you, Scotty."
Scott blushed a little. "I'm glad. Hey, say thanks and g'night to the
governor for me, will you?"
"I sure will. I hope you'll give that Regents thing some thought."
Scott looked a little surprised. "He told you?"
Maureen gave him a `gimme a break' grin and eye roll. "No dear, I told
him."
"Shit. I shoulda known. God, I can be a friggin' moron at times."
"You'll learn, dear. You'll learn. Now get going. The pizza's
getting cold."
Randy was on his knees and elbows, only mildly aware that his profile
rose a little bit above the side of the truck bed's walls. He didn't care.
He had parked where he had in order to get the visual protection of the news
van, and that was good enough at the moment. Marty's hands had his muscular
cheeks pulled apart, and he was forcefully kneading them with both hands.
He was gasping and purring as Marty's magical tongue worked around, then in
and out of his quivering hole. Marty took his right hand and reached
underneath and grabbed Randy's rock hard cock, dripping with precum. He
pulled it downward as far as he thought he could without doing permanent
damage, and dug his tongue as far as it would go. Randy whimpered. Marty
released the throbbing member, and it slapped into Randy's heaving abs with
a sharp "splat."
Scott strode off of the elevator, but this time veered right. The
place was a few cars and vans lighter than it had been a few minutes ago,
and Scott wondered if the guys had managed to finish before any innocent
passers-by came through the garage. He squinted and peered down the length
of the last row, against the wall, but the news van obscured his view of the
corner stall. `God, let them be gone,' he quietly prayed. The Almighty
responded by causing Randy to pound the truck bed's floor with his fist,
announcing their presence.
Actually, it was Marty Anderson who'd caused the small outburst on
Randy's part. Even with his pants around his knees, he was able to bend his
knees and part them far enough to straddle Rand's legs and aim his tool at
the glistening hole. He'd loosened him up well enough with his tongue and
fingers, and had just popped the head of his cock through Randy's tight
ring. About two-thirds of the way down the row of cars, Scott could see the
front bumper of Randy's truck, and he cursed under his breath. As Marty was
slowly sliding his full length inside of the muscle stud below him, Scott
turned and walked between two vehicles, all the way to the wall of the
garage. He thought it was Randy he heard let out a whispered moan.
"oooohhhh yeeeaahhh." Looking to his left, he judged that there was enough
room between the remaining bumpers and the wall for him to walk sideways the
full distance. He wasn't sure what he'd do when he got there, but was
pretty sure he wanted to kill them both. `How can they be so incredibly,
fucking stupid?' he screamed to himself in his head. Part of him hoped
they'd actually get busted.
He was standing against the wall, glad that the news van's driver was
cautious when he parked, allowing ample room between the vehicle and the
wall. He could hear the heavy breathing and grunting of both men now. At
least they were trying to whisper. Marty was taunting Randy. "Like that
dick, do ya' boy?"
"Oh, fuck yeah Marty...gimme that cock! Don't stop, dude! Please don't
stop! Pound that hole!"
Scott peered around the side of the van. Marty's back was still
covered by the maroon sweater that had been pulled up and over his head, but
not all the way off. His bare ass was rising and falling at a rapid,
forceful pace. He could see Randy's head thrashing up and down, left and
right, and could hear him whimpering between gasps.
"You got a sweet ass, man, ya' know that? Hard, muscled, nice, tight
fuck hole." Marty massaged the buttocks greedily as he kept up the pace of
the fucking he was giving his new friend. He pulled nearly all the way out,
and held it there for a second. Randy's head came up and he turned over his
shoulder. "Huh?" he asked pleadingly, and Marty rammed his cock into him
forcefully. Randy's face fell to the floor and he sucked in a mouthful of
the sleeping bag, biting down hard..
"eeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyaaaaaaaaaa...sssssshhhhiiiiiiiit! he nearly screamed into
the down-filled muzzle between his lips.
Marty laid full on top of his back, keeping his cock deep inside.
"Flex that fine ass, stud! C'mon squeeze my cock with that sweet, hot
hole!" Randy was still whining quietly, and tears had begun trickling from
his eyes, but he happily did as he was ordered. Marty reacted to the
contracting muscles that encased his pounding cock. "Yeah, man. That's it.
Work my cock with your sweet hole. Goddammit, you're a talented fuck
man," he sputtered through gritted teeth, and he resumed the drilling with
short fast strokes. He didn't raise up again, but continued to lay
completely on top of Randy, biting his neck and shoulder, continuing to work
his hips. He grabbed Randy's massive biceps and massaged them as his ass
moved up and down in short, fast pumps.
Scott had seen enough, more than enough actually. He felt a pang of
guilt, like a sick voyeur. He reversed the steps along the wall that had
gotten him here, and was pissed that these two could make him feel guilty.
He suddenly wished he'd just gone to his car and left them to their own
sexual escapade. Randy's gratitude could be heard in the muffled "mmph,
mmph, mmph" that greeted every one of Marty's thrusts. Scott quietly but
quickly stepped to the other side of the garage and found his car, and was
grateful when the growing distance finally washed the sound out of his ears.
As quietly as he could he unlocked the door and slid behind the wheel. He
was relieved that his path to the exit would not take him past the rocking
white pickup truck. He stopped at the top of the exit ramp and looked for
traffic. Seeing the street clear he hit the gas and turned the wheel. The
tires squealed on the pavement, and he took his foot of the pedal, coasting
to the stop sign at the end of the block.
In the days and weeks ahead, he would never find the right word, or
words, to describe the feelings that churned in his chest and his gut. He
felt nauseous. He was sweating. His hands shook a little on the steering
wheel. Above the neck, his head pounded with a wild assortment of thoughts,
images and sounds. Later, he would try to recall the drive back to the
dorm, but it would be useless.
He pulled into a parking space in the lot across from the dorm, and
shut off the car. He closed his eyes and put his head back, took a deep
breath and exhaled, then repeated the calming exercise. "Relax," he said
out loud. "Just relax. If there's anything you need to figure out, you can
do it tomorrow. Think about it again when you're calmer, or forget about it
and don't think about it at all. Yeah, that's what Dad would say. `Don't
try to draw conclusions or make decisions when you're angry or upset.'" He
took another deep breath. He shook his head and rubbed both eyes with his
palms. He flattened the hands and massaged his face from forehead to chin.
"Okay. Better. Probably gotta talk to Craig when you get back up there.
Just chill out and be cool."
He got out of the car, locked the door and closed it. A couple feet
forward along the side of the car his right arm went up over his head, and
his fist and forearm crashed down on the hood of the car. Practically
against his own will, the arm did it again, he bellowed, "YOU FUCKER!!" He
hit the car once more. "YOU STUPID...SELFISH...FUCKER!!"
Author's Note: Well, gang, it's good to be back. I know it may sound like
an empty and obligatory salute to the readers, but the emails really are
appreciated. I really do enjoy the correspondence with many of you. All
comments, questions and suggestions are welcomed, and they really do help
shape bits and pieces of the story. Don't be shy. The time away from Scott
and the gang was healthy. Chapters 11 and 12 are in the works, but I don't
think I'll ever be back in the `chapter a week' mode I was before the recent
hiatus. Please be patient.
On a personal note, I'm happy to report, especially to the very loyal
readers out there, that I'm flying back to Madison this coming weekend, and
I can't wait. If you've never been there, put it on your list of places to
visit. "Kelly" and I will spend a good share of Saturday together. And,
believe it or not, I'm playing golf with "Craig" and, yes, "Marty" on
Sunday. After the round of golf, who knows? Kip? I doubt it. We kind of
lost touch after he graduated.
As always, my hat's off to the golden staff at Nifty for providing us with
the forum to spin these tales, and to enjoy the works of others.