Date: Tue, 01 Aug 2006 20:17:08 -1000
From: S turner <scotty.13411@hotmail.com>
Subject: STRANGE BEDFELLOWS, Chapter 15

Disclaimer:  The following story is a mostly fictional account of the
author's experiences and associations while a college student.  It sometimes
contains graphic depictions of sexual activity between consenting men and
women, and consenting men and other men. It also contains some pretty f'ing
entertaining, sometimes damn funny situations, scenarios, episodes,
anecdotes, etc., and I'm just trying to find out how many of you guys
actually read this shit.  Any resemblance of the characters to real persons,
living or dead, is purely coincidental.  Well, not purely, but mostly.  If
it is illegal for you to read such material in your parents' house, your
area code, your zip code or your jail cell, then please move on to something
else.  This story is copyrighted, 2006, and may not be reprinted, reposted
or reproduced without the expressed consent of the author.  Since we're
coming into the campaign season here in the U.S. (with apologies to our
international friends), "I'm Scott Turner, and I approve of this message..."


FROM CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

     Marty smiled and shrugged.  "Well, you will recall that you basically
dared me and Frank to try to outdo the little soiree we had on Halloween.
We weren't sure that this would fit the bill, but I just learned this week
that it would just be the four of us.  So, like Frankie said, it seems the
stars have aligned.  It could be a lot of fun.  You'll like my buddy,
Danny."

     "Is that the guy you...?"

     "One in the same!"  Marty wiggled his eyebrows.  "I think you and him
will get along just fine!"

     Kelly came back in and patted Scott's ass.  "You two conspiring to
raise hell in the Twin Cities next weekend?"

     Marty picked Craig's room key off the desk. "Just trying to figure out
how much bail money we're going to need to have on hand."  He winked, then
plucked two grapes out of the plastic container, tossed them in the air and,
with a couple smart jerks of his head, caught first the green one, then the
red, in his mouth.  He smiled as he chewed.  Then he faked a serious face.
"Just remember, Kel, what happens in Minneapolis...stays in Minneapolis."
Marty spied the last container from the restaurant sitting on the desk.  He
opened the lid and stuck in a finger.  "Mmmmm.  Raspberry."  He put on a
preachy voice.  "Now, you kids aren't going to let this go to waste, are
you?  Shame!  You know, there are kids starving in Africa, who would be
happy to have this!"

     He kissed her cheek, then grabbed the back of Scott's neck and kissed
his cheek and handed him the styrofoam cup.  "Happy Birthday, bud!"  He
winked and made his exit.


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


CHAPTER FIFTEEN:


     Scott was up very early on Sunday.  Most of the previous morning had
been spent in one more sexcapade with Kelly, and they'd made good use of the
raspberry puree before they were finished.  He'd taken her back to her
house, grabbed a nap, and joined the guys for the Badger game on the tube.
It was a subdued afternoon.  Scott was exhausted and content.  The rest of
the guys were still tired from the house party they'd crashed the night
before.  He tried calling his dad, who was home alone that weekend, but
there was no answer.  In the end, Scott just called it an early night, and
had hit the sack before Saturday Night Live even came on the air.   Not a
bad thing, as this season's cast and troupe of writers really sucked.  So,
he was awake by 5:00 a.m. on Sunday, and he felt ready for a good, long run.
  Craig was quietly snoring.  He resisted the temptation to put the coffee
on before going out, as it made a lot of snorting and coughing noises at the
end of the brewing cycle, and he didn't want to disturb his slumbering
roommate.

     He did a trek up the mighty hill, offering a quick salute to Mr.
Lincoln as he passed.  Then, down the other side and along the lakeshore
dorms.  A u-turn brought him back to the return side of the hill, past Mr.
Lincoln again with another salute.  He nearly went down after hitting a
patch of snow on the slanted sidewalk, and felt lucky that he'd recovered
without destroying a knee.  After a trip up State and past the Capital, he
ran by Randy's apartment and saw no vehicle, no signs of life at all, but it
was still early, just after 6:00 a.m.

      By the time he came back through the dorm's front doors, he was
feeling great.  The weekend's events, combined with the hormones rushing
through his body and brain from the run, left him on a high he wished would
never go away.  He paused just inside the door to mop the sweat off his face
and brow with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.  He needed to pee something
fierce, and he judged that waiting `til he got upstairs was a bit risky, so
he turned right at the front counter and started down the hallway toward the
ground floor john.  The downstairs lounge featured a baby grand piano, and
as he passed, he heard the keys being fiddled with, badly, but didn't pay
much attention.  He was on a mission to relieve his bladder.

     Coming back, there was real music coming from the room.  Not good, yet,
but music nonetheless.  It was slow and melancholy, and in a very minor key,
in Scott's limited musical judgment.

     "I didn't know you played."  His voice came from a few feet inside the
door to the lounge.

     Marty smiled sadly at the sound of Scott's voice.  He didn't stop, nor
did he turn his head.  "You never asked." Without looking up, he sensed
Scott taking one of the comfy chairs behind him, over his right shoulder.

     "What is it?"  Scott's knowledge of the Classics was extremely limited.

     Marty shrugged as he paused to recall the start of the next movement.
"Don't remember the title.  It was my recital piece when I was twelve.  Mom
made me take lessons for about five years.  Dad hated it.  I think she liked
that he hated it, and I did too.  But I enjoyed it for myself, even though I
never really got any good."

     Scott moved over two chairs so that he was sitting directly to the
right of the bench, looking at Marty's profile.  His concentration on the
keyboard seemed intense, and it was pretty obvious he'd been crying.

     "Your mom and dad?"

     Marty nodded slightly.  "My mom."  He sneered, "Fuck my so-called dad!
She has to leave him, Scott!  She has to drag that bastard through the dirt,
take him for all she can for all he's done to us, mostly her, and leave him.
  She's just GOT to!"

     Scott leaned over, an elbow on each knee. "Want to talk about it?  What
happened?"

     "Oh...same old shit, different day at The Anderson's.  He's leaving for a
long weekend for another one of his `conferences.'  Of course, the slut at
the office is taking the same Friday and Monday off, so the whole place is
talking about it.  Mom gets her info from his scheduling secretary, who's on
my side on this one, so Sarah tells her everything, even when she doesn't
ask."  He sniffed, and plucked out a few more measures with his right hand.
"Damn!  I used to know this melody by heart.  Anyway, they had it out, and I
think he hit her, or at least grabbed her and got physical.  She's scared.
Too scared to leave and too scared to stay."

     "You once said she was ready to take that step.  Is she?"

     "Hard to say.  She doesn't know shit about the law, or lawyers for that
matter.  She wouldn't know where to begin.  She'd be fucking lost on
something like that."

     "Marty, can I help?  I can talk to my dad.  He must know somebody, or
at least somebody who knows somebody in Rockford.  He didn't call
yesterday," Scott frowned for a second, then he recovered.  "But he's sure
to call today.  He never misses a birthday.  I'll ask him when we talk."

     Marty quickly looked to his right and furrowed his brows. "He didn't
call you on your birthday?  What's up with that?"

     Scott shrugged.  "Busy, I'm sure.  With mom out of town taking care of
my Aunt Corrine, he probably took advantage to spend the whole friggin'
weekend in the office.  Mom put the kibosh on that habit a long time ago.
It's one of those `when the cat's away, the mice will work' kinda things"
It was a weird feeling.  In his brain, he was telling the truth.  In his
heart and his gut, he wasn't so sure.  "I know he'll call, though.  Let me
at least get a few names and numbers from him, and then you can talk to your
mom with more information."

     Marty nodded, and gave up on the recital piece.  "Shit!"  He shook his
head and grinned wryly.  I thought I'd never forget that damned thing."

     "Give it up, maestro.  Go take a nap...it's early...then get a shower, and
be down in our room by game time."

     Marty stood up and nodded.  Scott reached out and gave him a tight,
long hug.  "I hate seeing you hurt," he whispered.

     Marty just nodded into the crook of Scott's neck.

     Scott was in the shower, and Craig answered the phone on the second
ring.  "Yo!"  He took a sip of coffee.  "Oh, hey, Mr. Turner!  No, I'm
pretty sure he's in the shower.  His bed's empty, his kit's gone, there's
running gear all over the fu...the floor, and the coffee was brewing when I
woke up about ten minutes ago."

     The door opened and Scott slid through without looking up.

     "Well, speak of the devil!  He's just back, and all squeaky clean I'm
happy to report!  Yeah, the job's goin' good, but it's gonna stop me from
going to the game next weekend.  Oh, yeah!  Up in the Cities!  Scott didn't
tell you?  Oh, okay.  Well, anyway, we got a bunch of tickets for the game
in the The Dome.  Great deal, in all.  I'll let Scott tell you about it,
since the fuc...the s.o.b. is gonna leave me behind."  Craig laughed as Scott
pulled on some boxers.  "Here he is.  You too.  Take it easy."

     Scott grabbed the phone and put on his happy voice.  "Mornin' ya' old
fart!"

     "Happy Birthday, a day late, ya' little shit!"

     They gabbed in friendly father-son banter for about twenty minutes.
Scott filled his dad in on most of the weekend's events, omitting about ten
hours of acrobatics in the room with Kelly on Friday night.  Big Scott was
duly impressed with the travel arrangements, and he dutifully warned his son
to be careful all along the way.

     After a while, Scotty made a point to ask outright, "Heard from Maureen
lately?  How's she doin'?"

     "Not it a while.  Was going to call and wish her a happy one over the
weekend, but I got lost in stacks of files at the office.  Didn't even get a
card off to her, and I feel bad.  At least your mom remembered to send her
an email from the great white north.  I'll find a way to atone for my poor
memory down the road."

     Scotty winced.  "No doubt you will."  There was silence for a little
more than a second.  "So, let me know how that goes, will you?"

     "When the bomb drops, you'll hear it. So, you're leaving on Friday?
What about classes?"

     The effort to change the topic was not lost on his son. "Yeah.  Don't
worry, Dad.  I'll get the shit done, and already know two guys who will
cover me with the notes."

     Craig motioned that he was going downstairs and Scott nodded as the
door closed.

     Scott sighed.  "And, hey, Dad?"

     "Something else?"

     "Yeah...do you know any good divorce lawyers in the Rockford area?"

     "Uhm...I don't know.  I'd have to think about it.  If I don't I could
muster up a few contacts.  Why?  What's up?"

     Scott gave the old man a quick version of Mrs. Anderson's situation.

     Big Scott thought it over for a second.  "Uuuuhhhmmm...okay.  I'll make
some calls and email or call with some contact information this week.  Hope
it helps.  Well, your mom said she'd be home early evening, and I said I'd
have my slow-cooked pot roast done when she got here, so I need to get
hoppin' in the kitchen so I can hunker down for the game.  Love ya' Scotty."

     "I know you do, Dad.  And me too, you.  I'll call or email this week,
or after we get back from The Cities."

     Craig came back in with the Sunday paper under an arm, and refilled
both coffee mugs.

     "Okay, son.  Be good...or at least don't get caught."

     "You too."  Scott stared at the receiver for a moment too long after
hanging up.

     "Something wrong, bud?"  He handed Scott his cup and turned away to set
the paper down on his bed.

     "Wrong?   Are you nuts?"  Scott set down the mug and put a hand on each
of Craig's shoulders from behind.  "Let's see now.  Since I got done with
class on Friday, I had my best buds rent me a limo to take me to a surprise
dinner with a delightful, and delightfully hot young woman.  I get back to
the room and find it arranged to have a sex fest that I'd never even dreamt
of."  He pulled Craig back and whispered in his ear.  "That dream I'd never
dreamt then comes true for the next ten hours or so, not to brag."  Craig
coughed out a laugh.  Scott turned him around and put his hands back on his
shoulders.  "Then, I'm served breakfast in bed with the same sweet woman the
next morning, by four of the greatest guys you'd ever want to meet.  They've
arranged for us to travel a little over four hours or so next weekend to
stay in a sweet hotel and see the game of the season in a luxury box.
Fucking A roomie!  I'm living HUGE!"  He wrapped his arms around Craig's
neck, but winced again as he kissed him on the temple.  His voice choked a
tad as he whispered, "Thanks again man.  I'm the luckiest motherfucker on
the planet."



     "Hey, Scott, you got a second?"  Randy's expression was smiling,
hopeful.  As his classmates filed out of the room, Scott nodded and paused
at the front table.

     "Sure, Randy, what do you need?"

     "Nothing, really.  We just haven't really talked in some time.  I know
that you and Marty have come to terms."  Randy fidgited a bit as he admitted
that he and Marty had either seen each other or at least spoken since that
night in the garage.

     Scott's face registered mild surprise.  "Really?"

     "Yeah...he, ah, told me how ticked off you were after that election night
thing.  I was sorry to hear it had caused a rift between the two of you, but
told him I'd keep my nose out of things while you guys sort of hashed things
out.  I was glad to hear that you've managed to patch up the friendship.
He's a very cool guy, worth having around as a friend."

     "Uhm...okay...and, yeah, ah...he is."

     "And, I just wanted to apologize for myself...for acting so foolishly
that night.  It was a stupid thing that got waaaay out of hand, and you were
right to be pissed off," Randy rolled his eyes and shook his head "and I
just needed to say I'm sorry, too.  But you've been pretty distant since
then, and I didn't want any animosity toward me to get in your way in
class."

     "You think it's affecting my class work?"

     Randy shook his head slightly.  "Only that you've been a lot less
active in discussions, and I think the whole class is poorer `cuz of that.
Not that it's affecting your grade in any respect.  But, for me, I'd really
like to see the old Scott Turner back in my discussion section.  We only
have, like a month to go, and I don't want you to stay pissed off at me, for
a couple reasons.  I don't want you to stop participating the way you used
to, and I'd...um... like to think that, well, on a personal level" he put his
hands deep in his pockets and shrugged, "...uhm...well, you know."

     Scott folded his arms, paused and thought.  "Well, I appreciate that,
Randy.  I'll work on the class stuff.  I admit, I've been more distant on
purpose.  And, yeah, stuff with Marty is pretty normal, and I think I'm
smarter for the experience."  He couldn't hide a slight grin, and gently
kicked himself in the ass again in his head.  "For the...the, ah...the 'you
know,'...let's just play it by ear."

     Randy breathed a sigh of relief.  "Glad to hear it."  He extended a
hand and Scott accepted it.

     "Gotta go.  Need to get to the WSA office and take care of some stuff."

     "Okay, then.  Thanks, Scott." Their eyes lingered on each other for a
moment before Scott just nodded and left the room.


     He didn't want to call Kip, but he knew he had to.  The appointed
student member of the Board of Regents wouldn't be able to attend this
month's meeting, and they were scheduled to meet on Friday afternoon and
evening.  Scott would be well on his way to Minneapolis by then.  He had to
ask Kip to sit in.  "Shit!" he thought to himself.  "I'd rather send
Walter."  But Kip was the vice president, and protocol demanded that he take
the place of the president in the latter's absence.

     "Hey, Radar!  What's new in WSA Land?"  Scott stomped his feet right
inside the front door to knock the snow off of his shoes.

     Walter looked up and smiled.  "G'mornin' Mr. President...well, almost
afternoon, actually."

     "Walter...you got Kip's cell phone number?  I need to give him a call.
And do you have the packet from the Regents' meeting on Friday?"

     The packet was already waiting for Scott on the counter, and Walter
slid it across.  "Two birds with one stone, Scott.  Here's the Regents
stuff, and Kip's upstairs in his office.  Got here about a half hour ago."

     "Really?  That'll save me some searching.  But, give me his cell number
anyway, can you?"  The clerk took another sheet from beneath the counter.
"All the members' emails, room or home phones, cell phones.  I think I
emailed this to everybody late last week, didn't I?"

     Scott was a little embarrassed.  "You probably did, and I just didn't
catch it.  Sorry."

     Walter smiled a satisfied smile.  "No problem, Scott.  You're a busy
guy.  You might want to consider setting up a separate e-mail
account...hotmail or yahoo or something...just for Student Association stuff.
How about STURNERJR dot WSA at hotmail dot com? "

     "Great idea.  See, that's why I need you to cover my back, bud.  Hey,
do we have a dolly around here?"

     Walter looked perplexed.  "A what?  A doll?"

     Scott grinned, and gestured with both hands. "No...one of those two
wheeled carts...you know...with the high back and handles for moving shit?"

     "Oh, yeah!  One of those!"  The phone rang, and Walter pointed toward a
closet in the back office.  "Wisconsin Student Association, Walter Jamieson
speaking.  How can I help you?"  Scott walked around the edge of the counter
and headed for the closet.  He could hear Walter's end of the conversation
as he inspected the small room's contents.  "Uh-huh...uh-huh...I see.  Oh,
that's too bad.  I'm sorry to hear that, but, no...we don't do that, sir.  No,
sir...the WSA represents the student body before the university's
administration, governing board and other relevant agencies.  We don't get
in the middle of student-landlord issues."  Scott smirked and shook his
head, wondering how many of these calls the little guy took every day.
"Well...your landlord is a private citizen, in the business of renting
apartments.  He's not part of the university."  His voice was rising in both
pitch and volume.  "Okay...she...she's in the business of renting apartments...and
the fact that she might be, as you so eloquently say, "a cheating cunt," is
really none of our business...that's between you and the cunt!  It's not a
university or a student body concern."  Scott muffled a laugh as he rolled
the dolly out of the closet.  Walter's face was about two shades redder as
Scott neared the counter, but he was on a roll now.  "Well, yeah, IF it was
a dorm issue, we'd be all over it like white on rice, because the dorms are
part and parcel of the university now, aren't they?.  But it's not a dorm
now, is it?  And the key word, buddy, is IF!  IF my aunt had balls, she'd be
my uncle, but that's not the case either!  So IF is pretty friggin'
irrelevant here.  You got a problem with a private business owner?  Get a
lawyer!  Call your alderman!  You do know what an alderman is, don't you?"
Scott could hear the voice on the other end ranting through the receiver.
Walter held it away from his head, and stared at it in disbelief.  Then he
went back to the caller.  He was shouting now, and spit was spraying from
his lips.  "Better yet, you loser, you might want to start paying your rent
on time, quit pissing off the balcony at 3:00 a.m. and turn the fucking
music down!"  The unintelligible voice could still be heard.  Finally,
Walter had had enough.  "Oh...go smoke another joint and call somebody who
needs to give a shit!"  He slammed the receiver down on its cradle and
muttered, "A mind's a terrible thing to waste, fuck-head!"

     Scott patted him on the back.  "Take a breath, bud.  It's early in the
day.  Don't go wasting all your charm on one customer."

     Walter was startled.  "Oh...Jeeez!  Scott, I'm so sorry!  I forgot you
were back there.  But...I mean...we get so many stupid dick-wads calling here
wanting us to wipe their noses for them, it just gets my goat sometimes!
Golly!"

     Scott laughed again, and gently rubbed the little guy's shoulders.
"There...there!  Don't apologize.  You're free to handle the morons any way
you see fit.  I know you're going to make the right call.  Walter, if you're
the one taking the shit, you're the one to dispose of it as you see fit.
You handled that better than I would have.  Just keep on keepin' on, buddy,
and don't let the stupid bastards get you down."

     Walter took a deep breath and exhaled as he nodded.  "You got it,
chief."

     Kip heard the "clunk...clunk...clunk" of the wheels being dragged up the
steps.  He glanced up as Scott and the push-cart passed the doorway.

     Scott dropped his backpack on the desk and tossed his coat on a chair.
He wheeled the cart over in front of the file cabinet blocking the door
between the two offices.  Walter had told him that the previous president
had moved it there because he despised his vice president, frequently
deriding her as "the lunatic lesbian," and that he'd done all he could to
distance the two of them, including blocking that doorway.  Even though
Kelly had assured him that Kip did his best to mend fences, and that it was,
in her words, "all good," his contempt for his own VP was still very real.
Nevertheless, he didn't like the symbolism of the physical arrangement in
his office, so he was going to move the cabinet.

     Kip heard metal scraping on the floor, and a few muted knocks on the
door between their offices.  Then, he heard a thud and Scott's staccato
voice.  "Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!  Oh, fuck!  Fucking A!  Goddammit!!" came from
behind the door.  Kip smirked and slowly rose.  He walked into the hallway
and over to the door to Scott's office.  He leaned against the frame, hands
in pockets.  Scott was shaking his hand and still grimacing.

     "Doing some remodeling?  Should I call Tim the Tool Man, or Chuck
Villa?"

     Scott couldn't help but grin sheepishly.  "No.  Just trying to move
this damned thing into the conference room.  Got my fingers caught between
the cabinet and the dolly.  What the fuck is in here, rocks?"

     Kip was surprised.  "Move it?  I tried that door the other day, and it
was blocked by the cabinet.  I figured you'd put it there."

     Scott shook his head.  "Nope.  According to `Radar,' that was the last
regime.  Seems our respective predecessors disliked one another even more
than you and I do.  Don't get me wrong, Monmouth, I'm not trying to make
nice here.  I just don't think it's a good idea for the president and vice
president's offices to be physically blocked off from each other like this."
  He pointed to the cabinet that still stubbornly stood its ground.  "On
most things, I'm a pretty open-door kinda guy.  We need to deal with each
other, and I just think that a closed door between your desk and mine isn't
healthy for the organization.  To the extent that we'll be in the office at
the same times, we're going to need to interact, even if it's only to
disagree or bitch at each other."

     Kip stifled a scoff, but nodded his head.

     Scott grabbed the handles of the dolly again.  "Well, don't just stand
there, make yourself useful.  Grab on.  Pull up the bottom so I can slide
this fucker in."  Both men considered for a second just how that sounded.

     Kip did as he was instructed.  He stretched his arms over the top of
the cabinet.  His forearms and triceps writhed as he grimaced and pulled the
top toward his chest.  Scott slid the dolly's platform underneath and said,
"Okay, I'm in."  Kip lowered the cabinet and smirked.  Scott grabbed the top
handles of the dolly with both hands.  "Now, push a bit toward me, but not
too hard."  Together, they leaned the cabinet back toward Scott's chest.
His flexing pecs caught Kip's eyes.  "Now, help guide me through."  He
grunted a few times as he rolled it toward the conference room door.

     Kip led the way, directing him in short turns to the left and right.
"Hang on.  Straighten it out a bit.  There.  Gonna be a tight fit.  Good!
Okay, now come straight toward me.  Easy.  Easy! This fucker's almost too
big.  Slow down!  You're gonna make it.  Okay, now just push straight ahead.
  There you go.  Perfect!"  It occurred to Scott that it was a good thing
they were alone on the second floor.  He wondered what someone overhearing
Kip's directions might conclude.

     Scott let go, and the cabinet landed near the wall with a thud.
"There!  Now lets just jimmy it back to the wall."  Scott's left hand took
the left corner, and his right was flat on the cabinet's front.  Kip's right
took the opposite corner, and his left landed flat on Scott's.  Neither man
flinched.  They eased the beast, left, right, left, right, until it was snug
against the wall.

     "Okay.  That's it!  Heavy mother fucker, that one."  Scott sighed.

     Kip nodded.  "No shit!

     "Thanks, Kip."

     "No problem."

     There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.  "Actually, I'm glad
you're here, but for another reason."  Kip was more than curious as he
followed Scott back into the main office.  "What's your class schedule like
on Fridays?"

     Kip grinned.  "Scott, I'm a Senior!  Do you know anybody past their
mid-junior year with a class after noon on a Friday, if any Friday classes
at all?"

     Scott nodded.  "That's what I figured.  The Board of Regents meets
Friday afternoon, and probably into the evening.  It's their monthly love
fest.  Our student Regent, Mandy, isn't going to be there.  She's been a
lame duck for the past couple months, as far as I can tell, and she e-mailed
me to say she has an interview with CNN in Atlanta on Friday.  Normally, I'd
go just to have some eyes and ears in the room for our students, but I've
got tickets to see the Gopher game up in the Cities, and we're leaving
around noon on Friday."

     Kip's eyes widened.  "You got f'ing tickets for the game in the Dome?!
God Damn!  You do have connections, don't you?!"

     Scott waved a hand in dismissal.  "Not connections, Kip.  Just really
good friends."   He wanted to say, "You should get yourself some real ones."
  Then, he wanted to rub it in further by mentioning the hotel
accommodations and the luxury box, but bit his lips instead.  "Anyway, like
I said, I think we should at least have some eyes and ears in the room for
every meeting, and this one's no exception.  Can you go?  There's not a lot
on the agenda as far as I can tell."  He handed Kip the packet Walter had
given him.  "Just be there, take some notes, should be pretty vanilla."

     Kip nodded, and his eyes locked onto Scott's.  "I can handle vanilla,
and then some."


     At a little after eleven on Friday, after his last morning class, Scott
was walking down the Hill with Kelly when his cell phone rang.  Marty's
number was on the screen.  "Call me back in five, almost done here."  He
closed the phone, and then looked back at Kelly.  "So, when was that?
You're sure it was my dad?"

     Kelly's brows scrunched as she recalled.  "Yeah, about six last night.
I was on my way over to Aunt Mo's and I saw a guy leaving the building.  It
was dark out, but I'm nearly positive that it was him.  I was going to call
out, but he seemed to be in a hurry.  Got into a black car and drove away."

     "Could've been dark blue?  What kind of car?"

     Kelly thought about it.  "Yeah...coulda been.  But I don't know squat
about cars.  Dark.  Four doors."

     "Did you ask Maureen about it?"

     "No.  It never came up.  We had a nice dinner and a chat about all
sorts of things, lots of girl talk, my future, stuff like that.  But your
dad's name never entered in."

     Scott shrugged.  "Oh, well.  Could have been someone else, or he coulda
been in town on business and didn't have time to stick around, so he didn't
call.  I'll give him some shit about it when I'm home for Thanksgiving next
week."

     Kelly smiled.  "So, are you bad boys ready for the road trip?"

     Scott's face brightened.  "Yeah!  Gonna be a lot of fun!  I've never
been to the `Dome in the Twin Cities.  I hear it's kind of a dump, but have
never seen a game from a luxury box, either, so I guess it'll do."  He
checked his watch.  "Gotta run, Kelly.  We're leaving in about a half hour,
and I still need to pull some stuff together.  Marty was going to bring back
an SUV from his dad's company, and we need to load up and hit the road."  He
leaned down and kissed her lightly.

     Kelly returned the kiss and smiled.  "You children have fun, now, but
don't get arrested," she teased.  Scott squeezed her hand and smiled, then
turned and jogged toward the dorm.

     Marty was leaning against the vehicle as Scott walked across the
parking lot.  He was talking into his cell phone.  He looked up at Scott and
smiled, then waved at the van with the sweep of his left hand.

     Scott shouted, "A Town & Country?!  A friggin' Town & Country?  Did you
pick up a soccer mom and some whining eight-year-olds too, to complete the
package?"  Marty grabbed his crotch, and then flipped him off.

     He spoke into the phone.  "Okay, mommy.  Gotta go now.  You got your
appointment, right?  Okay, good.  I'll stop by Sunday night when I drop off
the van.  Yes, mom.  We will.  Don't worry.  Love you."  He closed the phone
and put on a happy face for Scott.  "It's one of my dad's company's
vehicles.  He'll never miss it."

     Scott kicked at a rock in the parking lot.  "Well, let me head upstairs
and grab my shit.  Have you called Frank and Jesse?"

     Marty scrutinized Scott'ss face.  "Uhm...not yet.  I'll go up with you
and we can roust them on our way by."

     Scott was silent as they walked across the street to the dorm's
entrance, and all the way to the elevator door.  Marty pushed the `up'
button, then looked at his friend.  "So, you wanna talk about it?"

     "Huh?"

     "Whatever's eating you.  You wanna talk about it?"  The doors opened
and the guys stepped aside as four others stepped out.

     As the doors were closing, Scott looked at the ceiling.  "Aww, Marty!
I think this is so fucked up!  I can't fucking believe it!"  He shook his
head.

     "What?  What the fuck is going on?"

     Scott's bottom eyelids were barely containing the moisture that was
pooling there.  "It's my dad, Marty.  I think my dad's fucking around.  I
don't wanna lay this shit on you, `cuz I know your own plate's pretty full
right now with this sort of shit, but..."  He hit the elevator wall.
"Goddammit!"

     Marty's jaw dropped.  "What?!  How do you know?  What's got you going
this way?"

     Scott recalled the unanswered phone calls to the hotel room on
Homecoming night, after Maureen had dropped him off at the dorm, then left
with Big Scott.  Then, a week ago, with the flowers, when he saw his father
exiting her apartment building.  The fact that Big Scott had lied to Suzanne
about his whereabouts that day didn't help matters any, he explained.
Marty's eyes scrunched closed tightly and he nodded.  Then, there was the
old man's insistence over the phone that he hadn't seen or spoken with
Maureen in a while.  Finally, Kelly's account of having seen Big Scott
leaving her building again, once more when Suzanne was up north, was driving
Scott nuts.

     The doors opened, and Marty followed Scott out.  "This is just so
fucked up, Marty!  I don't know what the hell to do!"

     Marty grabbed Scott's shoulder as they got to the James Brothers' room.
  "Hang on," he whispered.  Journey was playing from behind the door.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!" he slammed a flat hand on the door.  "Five minutes,
boys!  Be down in the parking lot with your shit packed in five!  And no,
I'm not giving you ten this time."

     Frank's voice echoed back, "You're an evil bastard, Marty Anderson!"

     Marty grinned.  "Yeah?  Well, I'm the evil bastard that's driving your
sweet ass to Minneapolis...IF you can have it downstairs in five!  Be there,
or spend the weekend here!"   They both grinned as Marty motioned with his
head to continue down the hallway to Scott's room.

     Scott closed the door.  Craig was gone.  Marty pointed to Scott's
unmade bed.  "Sit down."  Scott did as told.  Marty ran his fingers through
his hair.  "Okay, Scotty.  It sounds and looks like shit.  But, let's admit
it.  You have a habit of jumping to conclusions.  You told as much yourself,
just over a week ago.  Don't do that to your own dad!  You love your mom.
You love your dad.  You love Maureen.  Don't discard all that on what, I
have to admit, looks god-awful!"

     Scott wiped his eyes and took a deep breath.  "But what else am I
supposed to think?  Jesus Christ, Marty!  He's lying to Mom about where he's
going.  He's lying to me about not seeing or talking to Maureen.  Fuck!  I'm
thinking if you drove over there now you'd run into him coming out of her
building!"

     Marty smirked.  "I wouldn't know him.  We've never met...remember?  Okay,
not necessary.  Sorry about that."  Marty stood in front of Scott and put
one hand on each shoulder.  "Now.  Just listen, please!  You've given me a
lot of direction over the weeks and months, most of it good, some of ti
shit.  This time, listen to me for a change, will you?"

     Scott nodded.

     Marty's voice was soft, but serious.  "For now, you have to put this
aside.  You have to find the right time and place to raise it with your dad.
  You have to mull over any other possible reasons they might be spending
time together.  You can't let your speculation fuck up an entire weekend
that ought to be one helluva time.  More than that, you can't let it fuck up
the most precious things you have.  Give your dad some credit.  Give Maureen
some credit.  Don't jump to conclusions that could be poisonous.  If you do,
you're gonna do some major damage to the most important stuff in your life.
Put it on hold for now."  He tussled Scott's hair.  Scott looked up into
Marty's eyes, and he met a sympathetic smile.  "Do ya' trust me?"

     Within minutes, they were in the lobby.  To their surprise, the James
Brothers were waiting for them, bags in hand.  "This way, gents!"  Marty
bellowed.  "Gotta go north to kick some ass and take names!  I'm gonna find
me some Gopher fans, and make them my bitches!"  The guy working the front
desk just laughed and shook his head.  He'd come to expect that kind of
stuff from Marty Anderson.

     Marty threw open the back door to the van.  His bag and two coolers
were neatly situated.  "Made a stop at the liquor store on the way back this
morning.  Twenty bucks a head for the beverages, boys.  Pay me when it's
convenient."  The other three shook their heads and reached for their
wallets.  The bags were shoved in and he slammed the door.  "Load `em up
boys!  We got a fucking road trip to get done.  By this time on Sunday,
Minneapolis ain't gonna be the same!"


     The guard's uniform identified him as Casino Security.  He was big;
about six-foot-four and probably two-forty, and had a face that suggested he
never smiled.  He wasn't smiling now, his hand on the shoulder of a giggling
Marty Anderson as he ushered him to the door.  The other three followed,
struggling mightily to avoid busting out in laughter.

     It wasn't clear whose idea it had been to stop at Ho-Chunk Casino in
Wisconsin Dells but, despite being asked to leave after only thirty minutes,
it seemed like a pretty good idea, even as they were being escorted toward
the exit.

     Frank and Scott had headed directly to the five dollar blackjack table,
each one swearing they'd limit their betting to the fifty dollars in their
pockets.  Wallets and their ATM cards, minus drivers' licenses for i.d., had
been left in the van.  Jesse and Marty veered right toward the slots.
They'd agreed that, unless they all rejoined among the gamblers earlier,
that they'd meet in front of the main entrance in an hour.

     "I only play quarter slots," Marty was explaining to Jesse, who was a
newbie to the casino experience.  "Put in twenty, and then always bet the
max...three quarters per spin.  The Double Diamond machines are my favorite."
They window shopped the one-armed bandits for five minutes or so until Marty
spied one of his machines unoccupied, with a seat on either side vacant as
well, in case Jesse decided to join the fun.

     Scott and Frank found two chairs on opposite ends of the half-circle
blackjack tables and smiled politely at the stern-looking, overweight
dealer.  "Changing fifty!"  He yelled over his shoulder as he laid Scott's
ten dollar bills side-by-side, and then paused to hear his manager's
go-ahead.  The ritual was repeated for Frank's cash, and the dealing began.
On about the third hand, with the dealer showing a seven, Scott decided to
split eights, and drew two face cards, putting him about twenty dollars
ahead.  Frank was still breaking even.  Scott won a hand, lost a hand, won a
hand.  Twenty minutes later, their fortunes were reversed, with Scott down a
few bucks, but Frank up by about thirty.  Suddenly, all heads turned to the
other side of the large gaming area, over the dealer's shoulder.  A loud
"Whhhhooooooooooo  Hhhhooooooooooooo!  Yyyyyyeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaahhhhhh
Hhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" resonated throughout the room.  Scott and Frank's
eyes locked across the table.  Each one mouthed "Marty!"  In an instant
they'd picked up their chips and were stepping away from the table when they
heard a woman scream.  They stepped up the pace to a near trot and were
nearing a huddle of spectators when a man's voice could be heard.  "Stop
that!  Stop that, NOW!  Young man!  Release my wife!  Security!  SECURITY!"

     From between the heads and shoulders of the spectators, there was
Marty, his arm around the waist of a woman nearing sixty, her right hand was
held in the air by his left.  He was swaying his hips and twirling her
around.  "C'mon girlfriend!  You're my lucky charm!"  They found Jesse
standing on the side, doubled over with laughter.  A white haired gentleman
sporting a clerical collar stood by ashen-faced and slack-jawed, still
yelling for casino security.  Marty actually dipped her and each of the guys
were pretty sure that, even between the three rows of bodies in front of
them, they saw her smile.

     Jesse put one hand on a shoulder of each of them and gasped.  "Oh shit!
  You shoulda been here!  The dude's up a few, down a few, up a few.  Then
the lady sits next to him, with her husband, the dude who's a minister I
guess, standing over her shoulder."  He took a deep breath.  "I wasn't even
paying that much attention to Marty or the machine, just sort of scoping out
the scenery around the casino, when suddenly he starts shaking his fists and
jogging in place, more like sprinting, actually."  Jesse wiped the tears
from his eyes, and sucked in another dose of oxygen.  "Then he sort of
screams, grabs the old girl by the shoulders, and turns her, then takes both
sides of her face and plants a big wet kiss smack dab on the lips.  When the
machine stopped ringing and humming, it showed nine-hundred-seventy-eight
dollars!"

     "No fucking way!" Scott gasped.

     Jesse pointed to the machine.  They were distracted by the guard who
had appeared by now, and Marty had released his victim, whose facial
expression still seemed to hint that she was rather taken by her assailant.
Sure enough.  There were double diamond symbols all over the nine-square
grid, and the digital display did indeed read $978.00.

     The guard allowed Marty to cash out the machine and collect his winning
ticket.  He apologized to the couple, as did Marty.  "My apologies,
Reverend, and you too Ma'am.  But, you got a great gal here, sir.  Don't let
her go."  The guard tugged at Marty's arm and escorted him to the pay out
window.  The other guys followed and cashed in the chips they still had.

     As they finally hit the front sidewalk, Marty turned toward his beefy
escort.  He folded two twenty dollar bills, and slid them into his shirt
pocket.  "You do great work, my man!"  He winked and patted the pocket,
impressed by the firm chest that it covered.

     The guard reached in and took out the bills, and handed them back
toward Marty.  "Not allowed to take tips, young man.  You and your friends
should be on your way now."

     Marty held up both hands, refusing to take them back.  "Then give it to
your favorite charity or to somebody in there who's down on their luck.
Better yet, go and slide them into the machine my dancin' gal is playing.
Tell her it's from her boyfriend."  The guard finally cracked a smile, then
quietly turned and walked back into the casino.



     Kip had put on a tie before leaving the house for Van Hise Hall, home
of the university's administration and the site of the afternoon Regents'
meeting.  He wasn't sure what to expect when he got there, but he was glad
the other guys in the house had asked about the neckwear.  It gave him
reason to let them know he was doing something important, and that Chet had
been right in deciding to get off his back.  He felt like he was a
`somebody' again, but it grated a bit in knowing that Scott Turner, Jr. had
provided the opportunity.

     The meeting tables were arranged in a horseshoe, with seventeen seats
and name plaques identifying each occupant.  Only four were there when he
arrived nearly fifteen minutes before the meeting was to start.  Kip got
situated in the front row of the spectator's seats, the only spectator in
the room.  After about five minutes a somewhat frumpy looking
fifty-something year-old woman walked over to him.  She had graying brown
hair piled high on top of her head, bags under her eyes and too much
lipstick.  Still, her eyes sparkled in a way he found nearly startling.

     "You must be Mr. Monmouth."  Her large hand was nearly in his chest.

     Kip abruptly stood up and took a half step back, then welcomed her
greeting with his own hand.  "Yes, ma'am!  Kip.  Kip Monmouth."

     She smiled graciously, and spoke in a slow, somewhat droning voice.
"Welcome, Mr. Monmouth. I'm Sally Streichman, Regents Chair, for the time
being, anyway, until my term is up and the governor makes up his mind on the
future of this body.  Mr. Turner e-mailed and said that you'd be the WSA's
representative here today.  It's good to have you here, and very nice to
meet you.  You understand, I'm sure, that you don't actually have a voice or
a vote in today's meeting...that the privilege is reserved for the appointed
student member of the Board?"

     "Oh, yes ma'am!  Absolutely!  I'd never presume to..."

     "That's fine then.  Other students who've visited our meetings from
time to time haven't always had the good sense or good grace not to presume
such things.  I'm delighted you're here, but I just wanted to make sure you
didn't stumble into any awkward situations, should we enter into a topic of
hot student interest or concern."

     "No ma'am.  I'll speak if spoken to, otherwise listen and maybe take
some notes.  But, I'm happy to be here as a representative of our student
body and it's student government."

     Ms. Streichman smiled a fairly vacant smile and nodded.  "That's fine,
then.  We generally meet for two to three hours, then break for dinner...it's
catered in, and I hope you'll join us as my guest...and then we resume until
the agenda is finished.  I expect we'll be wrapped up here tonight at around
seven.  Early enough for a high-spirited college senior to still have a go
of it on a Friday night, I expect?"  Sally laughed at her own effort to
patronize Kip.

     He was uncomfortable, but mustered a chuckle of his own.  "That'll be
just about right, ma'am.  No problem at all."

     She droned on one more time, "That's just fine, then.  Make yourself
comfortable.  And again, welcome."

     Kip thanked her again as she returned to the other three at the table.
In ones and twos other suits and dresses emerged through the doorway.  A few
were obviously Madison media, in their khakis and cheap sport coats,
microphones or steno pads in hand.  The others were businessmen and women,
attorneys, political operatives and the like, all of whom were doing the
bidding of this governor or his predecessor on the Board of Regents.  Kip
pulled out the sports section from the morning paper to bide his time before
the meeting began, and was reading the local columnist's forecast for
tomorrow's game against the Gophers.  The prediction was a two-touchdown win
for Wisconsin, but posing some "what if?" scenarios that had the game much
closer.  An uneasy feeling of being scrutinized crept up on him, and he
slowly lowered the paper and tried to casually glance about the room.

     Kip dropped the newspaper when their eyes locked.  The nameplate in
front of him said "Mr. Pennington."  His rich brown hair framed a square
face and jaw, and two of the darkest brown eyes Kip had ever seen.  He was
thirty-five, maybe a young looking forty, Kip thought, with a gaze and a
smile that were mesmerizing.  Mr. Pennington smiled and nodded.

     It was the previous July 2, the Friday before the Fourth.  A perfect
Wisconsin summer's day:  eighty-two degrees with low humidity, a few
medium-sized cumulous clouds drifted through the bright blue sky, with a
light and constant breeze.  Kip had escaped the madness that was Milwaukee's
"Summerfest" to return to Madison for a Fourth of July weekend with some of
the brothers who were now year-round residents of the house.  Beer and pot
and sex and fireworks and sex and beer and pot were waiting about an hour's
drive away.  He really did have to take a piss as he pulled off toward the
only rest area between his home and Madison.  The fact that the place had a
reputation for cruising didn't hurt.  But it was the middle of the day, so
he figured he'd be back on the road in five minutes.

     The tasseled burgundy loafers were the only other sign of life in the
room as Kip stepped up to the urinal farthest from the stalls.  Rumpled
khaki Dockers framed the shins above the shoes.  He unbuttoned his cargo
shorts as the guy behind the wall coughed.  He was far enough from the stall
that he could see the left foot move, then tap.  Kip closed his eyes as he
perched the elastic of his boxers underneath his sack and tried to
concentrate on taking a leak.  Just as a good steady stream was flowing, the
foot tapped again, then slid right and left a couple of times.  Kip checked
his watch.  He shook off the excess, a few more times than necessary, and
cleared his own throat, and the early swelling of his cock was evident.

     He pulled up the shorts, but didn't fasten them.  Quietly, he stepped
back to the bathroom's entrance and looked out the window.  The only three
vehicles in the front lot were his and the two others he'd passed on the way
to his parking space.  He stepped over to the urinal right next to the stall
with the tasseled loafers, and coughed.  The guy on the other side sighed
heavily and slid his foot back and forth again.  As Kip focused on the small
space between the partition and the back wall of the stall, he could see the
guy's upper torso leaning back in the reflection of the wall tile.  All he
could discern from this vantage point was a full head of brown hair, a
Caucasian complexion and broad shoulders tightly contained by a light blue
shirt.  He pulled his shorts down to his knees, and then pulled again at his
swelling cock.  In the reflection in the tile, he could see the guy's head
turn, then an eye peered through the opening in a futile effort to check him
out.

     Kip backed away from the basin, and pulled his shorts back up before
looking over his shoulder once again.  Quietly he stepped backwards, then to
his left, and peered between the opening of the stall's door and its frame.
The guy was leaning back.  His legs spread, his dress shirt opened up to the
fourth or fifth button from the bottom, the red tie tossed back over his
left shoulder.  He was stroking a very hard cock in one hand, and pinching a
nipple with the other.  He had a very hairy chest, and similarly furry
crotch and thighs.  The guy saw Kip's feet below the door and his eye in the
slot.  He smiled.  Letting go of his nipple, he leaned forward and unlocked
the door.  "C'mon in," he whispered.

     Kip took a deep breath and pushed the door.  He looked to his right one
more time before quickly stepping in and closing the door behind him.  There
was a hand on the firm bulge inside of his shorts almost instantly.  The guy
slowly rubbed.  "Nice."  He looked up and smiled.  "I'm Andy."

     Kip sighed as Andy's hand fondled him through his shorts.
"I'm...um...Tim."

     Andy smiled again as he pulled Kip's shorts and boxers to his ankles.
He cupped Kip's balls, and slowly rolled then in his hand, gently tugging to
coax Kip forward.  Kip's feet slid, one by one, inch by inch toward the
welcoming face.  Andy's tongue emerged, and he slowly licked his way up the
underside of Kip's hardening tool.  He rolled the tip of his tongue around
the tip of Kip's cock, then looked up and smiled.  "Yum!"

     They heard a car door close.  Kip bumped heads with Andy as his hands
shot down toward the waistband of his shorts.  "Fuck, man!!  Not here!  I
can't get busted!"  Nodding at Andy's wedding band, he added "And, it
appears, neither can you!"

     Andy nodded.  "Meet me outside.  I know a place."

     Kip was at the sink, plying his face with handfuls of cold water when
the elderly gentleman with a cane hobbled in, assisted by what appeared to
be his grandson.  He wiped his face with paper towels, just as he heard the
toilet flush, nodded at the old and young man, and paused to let them pass
before beating a hasty exit.  He jogged back to his car, opened the
passenger's door and reached into the glove compartment.  He rarely smoked,
but he was nervous as hell, and felt an almost frenzied need to burn one
here and now.

     The tan khakis, blue button-down and tie sauntered toward the picnic
table.  He sat down and looked directly at Kip.  "So...Tim, is it?  You live
around here?"

     Kip took a drag and exhaled.  "Uh, no...no I don't.  On my way to
Madison."

     Andy leaned forward.  "Well, I don't live around here either, but..." he
pointed west.  "I grew up about a dozen miles from here and know of a cozy
little place we can go, if you like having sex outdoors."

     Kip nodded.

     Andy smiled.  "Follow me."

     They drove a quarter mile or so on a frontage road next to the
interstate, then turned north and went about another quarter mile on a
two-lane country blacktop.  Andy's Lexus turned right onto a gravel road,
more of a path, actually, that led into a grove of trees.  A couple hundred
yards later, there was a clearing and Andy pulled up and stopped.  Kip slid
his car in beside him.  He checked the rear-view mirror, and could not see
the road from where he was parked.  He felt better about that.  Andy got out
and gestured, and Kip followed suit.  His tie had come off, and he'd
unbuttoned the top three buttons of the oxford he was wearing.  He walked
ahead of Kip, between some pine trees for about thirty feet.  All of a
sudden, there was about a fifteen foot steep slope that led to a creek
running through the foliage.  At the bottom was a lush grassy area, well
secluded from anything other than a passing deer or the geese flying
overhead.

     Andy turned.  "Used to play here as a kid.  Lots of discovery going on
at that age."

     Kip grinned nervously and nodded his head.

     Andy approached and slid each hand under Kip's t-shirt, placing them on
his hips at the waistband of his shorts.  His gaze was sultry.  "Now, where
were we?"  Andy's lips were on Kips as he backed him up against an elm tree.
  He pinned Kip against the tree and ground his crotch into Kip's, as his
tongue slid in and out of Kip's mouth.  After a few moments, Kip warmed to
the occasion, and he began returning the kiss with a hand on the back of
Andy's neck, pulling him in deeper.  Andy's hands slid up Kip's firm torso,
a thumb flicking back and forth across each nipple as his mouth roamed over
his chin, neck and ears.  The front of the shirt went up and over Kip's
head, finally resting on the back of Kip's neck.  Kip gasped as Andy's mouth
found his right nipple, and greedily licked and sucked at the hard nub.
Kip's right hand held him there, urging him to feed on his chest while his
left hand rubbed the firm mound beneath the zipper of Andy's Dockers.  As he
turned his attention to the left nipple, his hands undid the button of Kip's
shorts and they fell to the ground.  In an instant, Kip felt Andy's mouth
swallow nearly all of his hard cock, and Andy savored the taste of the
precum that had started oozing before he had even gotten out of the car.
With Kip's hands guiding his head up and down, Andy managed to undo the
buckle of his belt and he unleashed his own throbbing member.

     Kip was already getting close, so he pulled Andy off of his cock and
urged him to stand.  He dropped to his knees and slid Andy's pants and
bikini briefs down to his ankles.  He cocked his head to the left and danced
his tongue around Andy's sack before sucking first one, then both, of Andy's
nuts into his mouth.  Andy whimpered above him as he sucked deeply and shook
his head back and forth a little.  Kip pulled back, and grabbed Andy's thick
tool in his fist and lavished the head with broad, wet strokes of his
tongue.  He then slowly swallowed as much of he could.  Andy wasn't much
larger than Kip, maybe five and a half, maybe six inches, but he was very
thick.  Kip had to open wide, and his nose was nearly in Andy's pubic hair
when he paused and reached around to grab each of Andy's ass cheeks.  As he
slowly slid his mouth back up the wide pole, he massaged and kneaded the
hairy mounds in his hands.  He got into a slow rhythm of sliding up and down
Andy's dick while his fingers parted the ass cheeks in his hand, and a
middle finger found Andy's puckered hole.  He massaged and played with it
while he listened to Andy's gasps and moans.  Kip paused the oral action,
only long enough to wet his fingers, then he returned to both Andy's cock
and the fingering of his hole.  He went as deep as he could without choking,
and inserted his middle finger past the sphincter muscle, and he heard Andy
whimper.

     "Ooohhh, boy!  That's it.  Suck that dick, boy!  You're a hungry boy,
aren't you?"  Kip managed a slight nod of the head without releasing the
rock hard tool in his mouth, and he shoved the finger up past the second
knuckle.  "Whoooaaa!  You hot, hungry little fucker!  Found something else
you want, did you, boy?  That's it, Tim!  Suck that dick...finger that fucking
hole.  God Damn!  The boy knows what he's fucking doing!  Yeeeaaaahhhhh!"
Andy took each side of Kip's head in his hands, and he began thrusting back
and forth, fucking Kip's face as Kip continued to finger fuck his twitching
hole.

     Suddenly, Andy pushed Kip back off of his cock, and he winced as Kip's
finger quickly exited him.  He looked down at the startled college stud
below him.  "We're gonna do this right, you hot hungry fucker.  Stand up."
Andy bent over and fumbled through the pockets of his slacks.  He came back
up with a condom and a small tube of lube. He was panting.  "You want that
asshole, stud, then you can fucking have it.  You're gonna fuck me with more
than your finger."

     Kip grinned as he tore open the wrapper, and Andy put some lube on
three fingers, reaching behind to grease up his entrance.  Andy turned
around, his pants still around his legs, and leaned over, crossing his
forearms against the trunk of the elm tree.  He managed to spread his knees
far enough apart to give Kip good entry, and he soon felt Kip's hands on the
cheeks of his ass.  He slid the head of his cock up and down Andy's crack,
teasing the horny, aching man below him.  He took his cock in his fist, just
the head visible when he gripped it that way, and navigated his way to
Andy's hot entrance.  In one motion, he let go of his member and pushed
forward.  Andy growled, "Ffffuuuuuuuuuuuuck!  Yyyyeeeeaahhh!" as Kip slowly
slid all the way in, his pubes resting against the inside of Andy's cheeks.

     "That what you want, big boy?" Kip whispered.  "You want this cock, do
you?  Well, you got it now, man!  You got this fuckin' dick now, don't you?"

     Andy looked over his shoulder and sneered.  "So, give it to me, stud!
Come on, man!  Gimme all you got!  Fuck me, stud!"

     Kip slapped both hands on each of Andy's hips, forcing another whimper
out of him.  He slowly withdrew until just the head of his cock was held by
Andy's sphincter muscle, then forcefully stabbed forward.  Andy's forehead
was resting on his arms against the tree, and he grunted "whhooooooaa,
yeah!"  Kip quickly began thrusting back and forth.  He felt the sweat on
his forehead begin to drip as he began fucking the guy in earnest, throwing
his hips back and forth with wild abandon.  He licked his lips, then bit the
bottom one as he increased both the pace and the force of the pounding.
Andy just gasped and moaned below him, his head pivoting left and right
against his own forearms.  More sweat was running down his chest how,
between his own heaving pecs as Andy rode back and forth meeting each thrust
with perfect timing.  He could hear Andy whisper, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah"
with each thrust forward.

     Kip felt the boiling in his balls, and knew he wasn't going to last.
But neither was he going to do anything to slow down or stop the coming
eruption.  He reached up and gripped Andy's shoulders, pulling him back as
tight as he could onto his burning pole.  He leaned forward, almost laying
his torso on top of Andy's back, and pelted his ass with short, quick
thrusts.  "Oh! Oh! Oh!  Fuckin A man.  Gonna cum.  Shit man!  Gonna shoot
this load."

     Andy grinned and clamped his muscles as tightly as he could.  Kip
whimpered above him, throughout a few more short thrusts, and he felt a
string of drool hit the back of his ear.  "Don't move, stud!  Stay inside of
me!!  Please!"  Andy straightened his body several degrees, and reached
behind and held Kip's ass with his left hand, to keep Kip's cock inside of
him.  He grabbed his cock firmly with his right and stroked it furiously.
Kip was nearly oblivious to the movement going on beneath him, but Andy's
gasps and moans brought him back to earth.  A stream of cum hit the trunk of
the elm tree at the same time he heard Andy grunt.  Then another, and
another, and another.  The last two spurts covered the back of Andy's
fingers.  He put the first three of them deep into his mouth and sucked them
clean.

     Kip stepped back, very flushed and covered in sweat.  He peeled off the
cum-filled condom and dropped it on the grass below him.

     The sharp rap of Ms. Streichman's gavel brought Kip back to the here
and now.  "The Board will come to order, and the clerk will call the roll."
A petite young woman began reading names, each one responded to with "here"
from the members.

     When she called "Andrew Pennington," his eyes were still on Kip.
"Here!" he said, with more enthusiasm than any of the others.

     The chairwoman droned, "All but one being present, we will begin to
trod through the month's agenda.  Before moving along, I should introduce
one of our spectators and guests.  As we know, our student Regent is unable
to attend this month's meeting, owing to a job interview in Atlanta.  And, I
should say, we all wish her good fortune in that endeavor.  Mr. Scott
Turner, our WSA President, is also unable to attend, owing to the good
fortune of having tickets to see the game tomorrow against the Gophers in
Minneapolis." Several heads nodded, and a few chuckles wafted through the
room.  "So," Ms. Streichman continued, "permit me to point out and introduce
to the Board the Student Association's newly elected Vice President, Mr. Kip
Monmouth."  Kip half-stood and nodded with a smile.  All heads at the table
nodded and smiled back.  "Although he can't participate under our bylaws or
statutes, Mr. Monmouth is available for any questions the board might have
regarding prevailing student sentiment or priorities as they pertain to
Regents policy.  I have invited Mr. Monmouth to join us during the dinner
break, and encourage you all to take a minute to introduce yourselves."

     "Now...moving on..."  Kip's mind kept wandering back to that spot about a
mile from the interstate freeway and the short, tightly-built man who sat at
the Regents' table in his suit and tie, but who once bent into a tree and
begged him to pound his ass.

     Three hours later the chairwoman declared it was time to break for
dinner.  "Ladies and gentlemen, we're a good two thirds through the agenda,
but my sense and my stomach tell me it's time for us to break."  All heads
nodded.  She motioned to the doorway at the back of the room.  "Our friend,
Mr. Manning, of the Inn on the Park, has arranged what I'm sure will be a
fine repast next door, and I'm told that `dinner is served.'  Please be back
in your seats in forty-five minutes, and we should be able to call it a
fairly early night.  The Board is in recess."  She tapped her gavel.

     Kip wasn't sure what to do.  He'd been invited to join them for dinner,
but didn't quite feel he belonged.  Happily, as he shuffled through the
papers on the chair to his right, trying to look busy, Ms. Streichman had
the grace to pause.  "Mr. Monmouth, I hope you're getting some insights into
the ways of the Regents, and I do hope you'll join us for a bite to eat.
I'll save a seat for you at my table, if you'd like."

     Kip smiled.  "That's very kind, ma'am.  Yes...I am kind of hungry, but
I'm also learning a great deal.  I'll be right in.  Thank you."  Kip fell
into line amidst the high and mighty of the university system.  Andrew
Pennington was four people in front of him in line, and was chatting
amicably with the man in front of him, and the woman behind him.  Kip picked
up a plate and followed the lead of those before him.  A healthy helping of
Caesar Salad, but he took two slices of the fresh focaccia instead of one.
The large stuffed pasta shells in marinara were labeled `cheese and sausage'
and `cheese and spinach.'  Kip surveyed the crowd, and decided he could get
away with having one of each.

     The room was set with five tables for four.  Sally waved him over and
motioned for him to take a seat right between her and Andrew Pennington.  He
smiled and nodded, then swallowed hard.  As he neared the table, Pennington
looked up at him and leered.  Kip tried to keep his eyes locked on his
hostess, without success.  "May I join you?"

     Sally put down her fork.  "Of course!  Kip, this is Andrew Pennington."

     Andy stood up and grabbed Kip's hand.  "Nice to meet you.  Welcome to
the `inner sanctum' of UW life."

     "Thank you, Mr. Pennington."

     "Hey, it's Andy."

     Sally completed the introductions.  "And this," gesturing to her left
to a dour looking forty-something woman, "this is Rhonda Mays."  Ms. Mays
merely nodded as she took a bite of her Italian bread.  "Rhonda is on the
county board up in Merrill, in her first year on the Board.  Mr. Pennington
is in upper management with Wisconsin Power and Light, and one of Madison's
brightest alumni."

     Andy took the complement in stride.  "Sally, you're too much."  He
looked at Kip.  "I'm a middle level hack at WP and L, with a loyalty to the
university that won't die, and some solid ties to the governor's office.
And, I've always had an interest in education."

     Sally jumped back in.  "Kip, we were about to discuss this anyway, but
I'll trust you to leave this conversation at this table..." Kip nodded in
earnest, "...not that the topic hasn't already been reported or rumored
throughout the establishment... but I'm guessing that, at the end of my term
in January, that the governor's not going to re-appoint me, and that he'll
likely move young Andrew here into the center chair."

     Andy shrugged.  "C'mon Sally!  You don't know that.  Neither do I!"  He
pushed what was left of a pasta shell onto his fork with the bread, then
finished them both in two swift moves.  Then he smiled.

     "Andy, I was appointed by the dip-shit's predecessor, and he only
reappointed me because he didn't know me, and university affairs weren't at
the top of his list when it was time.  You know I'm done here."

     Suddenly, Kip felt Andy's knee rest against his own. "Well, if that's
the case, you know that our kids are better off than when you arrived.  You
have already served our university and its students in fine fashion.  If it
does play out that way, I only hope I can serve the students of our system
in the manner they deserve."  He made eye contact with Kip, and neither man
moved.

     Kip chewed on a mouthful of salad, and Sally's hand was on his forearm.
  "Kip, he's as gracious as he is good looking.  I wish I were twenty years
younger.  If he weren't a married man, I'd be looking for him on State
Street later tonight!"

     Andy took her hand in his.  "And if you were there, who knows what
might happen?"  They all laughed.  "But I'm afraid my dear..." he looked at
his watch.... "that, two hours from now, if you handle the rest of the
meeting the way you have so far..."  he nudged Kip's knee with his own... "in
two hours, I'll be comfortably tucked away in Room 411 of The Concourse
Hotel."

     Kip smiled and slowly nodded.  That would give him plenty of time to
explain to the guys at the house why he wasn't hanging around for their
usual Friday night beer bust.




     At around 6:00 p.m., in the thick of the Twin Cities' rush hour, Marty
was pulling the van off of I-94 on to Eleventh Street in downtown
Minneapolis.  Frank was riding shotgun, doing the navigating.  Scott sat
behind Marty and stared blankly out the window, while Jesse dozed in the
seat next to him.  Scott hadn't said much since they left the casino, but
they'd made contact several times in the rear view mirror.  Marty's eyes
kept trying to tell him that everything was going to be okay with his
parents.

      A few blocks north, and Frank directed Marty to turn left onto
Marquette Avenue.  They pulled up to the curb in front of the hotel's
entrance, and a bellman appeared immediately with a large brass luggage
cart.  The guys handed off their bags, and the bellman smirked when the
coolers came out of the back of the vehicle.  It wasn't often that patrons
of The Marquette brought their own coolers.  "Welcome to The Marquette,
gentlemen!"  He noticed the W logo on Scott's cap, and Jesse's Badger
sweatshirt.  "In town for the big game, I take it?"

     "You bet, champ!  But I better take this one myself."  Marty lifted his
own gym bag off of the cart and winked at the staffer, who just smiled and
nodded.

     "Whatever you say sir.  If you'll give me the keys, I'll roll your
things into the lobby and have the valet park the vehicle.  I'll meet you at
the front desk in just a minute."

     The receptionist's expression told the guys that four college-aged
young men were not often seen strolling through the well-adorned lobby of
perhaps the finest hotel in downtown Minneapolis.  She forced the warmest
smile she could.  "Welcome to The Marquette.  How can I help you gentlemen?"

     Frank did the talking.  "Yes, miss.  We're looking for Sal Man..."

     "Fraaaankeeeeee!"  All heads snapped toward the booming voice.  A very
attractive man in what Scott judged to be about a seven hundred dollar suit
strutted toward them with his arms outstretched.  "Hey!  How's my favorite
nephew?"  Frank didn't even have the chance to utter his uncle's name when
his entire torso was engulfed by the tall gentleman's long arms.  He put his
hands on Frank's two shoulders and pulled him in, smacking each cheek with a
firm kiss, in decidedly Italian greeting.

     "Hey, Uncle Sal, how you been?"  Frank was blushing.

     "I been good, Frankie.  I been really good!"  He looked over Frank's
head toward the bellman.  "Billy!  The Foshay!"

     The bellman looked puzzled.

     "You heard me, boy!  That stuff goes up to the Foshay!  Don't just
stand there with your mouth open!  Move!"

     Billy snapped to attention.  "Yes sir!"  and he strode purposefully
toward the elevator.

     Sal released his grip on his nephew.  "Okay, so I know Jesse."  He
pulled him into a hug.  "How ya' doin' boy?  But who are these two mopes,
huh?"  He winked at Scott and Marty.  Frank handled the introductions and
each one was greeted with a firm, two-handed shake and a pat on the
shoulder.  "Good to meet you guys!  Any friend of my Frankie's is a friend
of mine."  He looked directly at Scott.  "Even if he is a friggin'
cheesehead."

     Sal put an arm back over Frank's shoulder.  "Okay, Frankie, I got good
news and bad news."  The receptionist had prepared four small envelopes with
key cards and handed them to Sal.  "Okay, the bad news is we didn't have two
rooms to give you guys."  He looked at the group and shrugged.  "Sorry,
guys.  The game brings in some heavy-duty alumni from both schools."

     Frank tried to ease his Uncle's discomfort.  "That's okay, Sal.  We can
get by with one.  It's no problem.  We only need a place to crash for a
couple nights.  It's not like we're gonna be holed up in a hotel room for
the whole weekend."

     Sal smiled and waved him off.  "So, anyway, the couple that had the
Foshay Suite for the weekend cancels yesterday, and I'm puttin' you guys in
there.  Beautiful suite, boys!  Not the best we have, but it comes a close
second.  You're gonna love it.  Two bedrooms with king-sized beds, so you're
gonna have to bunk together, two to a room.  But it's got a full kitchen, a
work station you're not gonna use, marble floors in the kitchen and the
bathroom, a steam room, and a big-ass flat screen in the entertainment
center.  All the really good stuff.  And, a view that's friggin' gorgeous!"

     The eight eyeballs surrounding Sal all got bigger and the four mouths
dropped open.  He laughed.

     "Forget about it!  Nothin's too good for my boy Frankie and his
buddies."  He led Frank toward the elevator, the other three following,
still somewhat stunned by their continued good fortune.  He handed out the
key cards.  "Now boys, you're gonna need these to get to up to the floor,
and then again to get into the room.  Frankie, your Uncle Frank sent over
the passes to get up to the box level tomorrow, and they're on the desk in
the room.  Now, I know you like Café diNapoli, so I made you guys a
reservation at 8:00.  If you got other plans, call over there and cancel,
will ya'?  I don't need those dopes getting' pissed at me for a no-show."

     Frank's face lit up.  "Aaawww, Sal!  You da man!"  He looked around at
his buddies.  "You guys are gonna love this place!  Best fuckin' Italian
food in the Cities!"  He looked back up at his uncle.  "Cancel?  What are
you nuts?  I haven't been there in couple years!  Thanks, Sal!"

     Sal chuckled and patted his cheek.  He looked at his watch.  "Look,
guys.  I gotta knock off in about an hour and get home, so I probably won't
see you."  His face grew serious and he looked at Frank.  "Your cousin Maria
is goin' to her school's Homecoming dance tonight, and I gotta be at the
house to scare the shit out of the mope she's goin' with.  He's gonna get a
not-so-subtle message from ol' Sal that he's keepin' it in his pants
tonight."  He grabbed his crotch and the guys all laughed.  "But I'll be
back tomorrow, and you won't be able to get in our out of the lobby without
running into Minneapolis's finest hotel manager."  He shook the other
three's hands as they thanked him, then he leaned down and kissed his
nephews cheek again.  "You boys have fun this weekend.  But not too much!"
He waved a cautionary finger and winked before strolling back down the
hallway whistling.

     The suite was a sight to behold.  A large living area with sofa,
loveseat and an easy chair and ottoman were arranged facing the wall-sized
entertainment center.  The kitchen/dining area were fully stocked and
furnished.  A doorway on either side led to the two bedrooms with high,
plush king-sized beds.  Each room had its own television and its own bath
and shower where marble and brass dominated.  Another doorway from the
living room led to a larger common bathroom with a large octagon-shaped tub
beneath three showerheads.  A smaller door off that room led to the steam
room.  Four lush terrycloth white robes hung on the wall hooks.  Dominating
the suite, though, was the view of the Foshay Tower across the street, hence
the accommodation's name.  The tower was the first skyscraper built west of
the Mississippi, erected as a tribute to the Washington Monument, and was,
until the early 1970s, the tallest building in all of Minnesota.  This time
of year, it grew dark early, and the lighting on the tower had already
kicked in, so the night-time view from the suite was something to behold.

     Billy had dutifully arranged the guys' bags on the couch and loveseat,
and left the valet receipt for the van on the dining table with a note.
"Have a great weekend.  Call if you need anything.  Billy."  He had added
his extension and a smiley face that was winking.  The coolers were set
side-by-side on the kitchen floor.  Frank was bent over, digging through his
gym bag.  Marty slapped his ass as he walked to the work station.  "You, my
fine friend, can bring me to The Cities any fucking time you like!  Just say
the fucking word, bro;" He picked up the receiver and dialed the front desk.
  "Yes, my dear, this is Mr. Martin Anderson in the...oh...sorry...of course you
know where I'm calling from.  Anyway, it's quite possible, certain in fact,
that a Mr. Danny Huber will be arriving to visit us before kickoff tomorrow.
  Would you be so good as to see that Mr. Huber is provided with a key to
access our floor?  Excellent!  Much appreciated."  Frank handed him a
freshly lit joint, which he eagerly accepted.

     Ninety minutes later, the guys had a mild buzz on, a serious case of
the munchies, and were seated comfortably at Café diNapoli.  Their waiter,
Gino, smelled some money to be spent, and doted on them like any starving,
sycophantic college student working mostly for tips should.  Plus, he was
hot.  Standing five-eleven, he carried his one hundred sixty pounds with the
grace of a leopard.  Sharp, dark facial features highlighted his surface,
and a smoldering Italian demeanor brewed beneath his congenial waiter's
approach to each customer.  Marty captivated him from the start with his
impish smile and flirty wink.  "Say, Gino, old boy!  What are the chances
you could scare up a bottle of Chianti for four guys whose age you're not
sure of?"

     Gino looked around.  "Well, sir..."

     "It's Marty, if you will."

     "Okay, Marty."  He nodded politely.  "Well...if I delivered a bottle of
Chianti to a table of college boys here for the game, and my uncle/manager
noticed, he'd have my balls nailed to the wall."  Marty nodded his
understanding and disappointment at the same time.  "But," Gino continued,
"if I poured four glasses of our house vino into soda glasses, I'm guessing
nobody would bat an eye.  We're too friggin' busy to spend much time on such
details."

     Marty beamed.  "I like your style, Gino!"  He eyed the waiter from top
to bottom.  "And I like your cut, if you don't mind."  The guys all
chuckled, but nobody disagreed.  "In that case, we'll start with an order of
calamari, an order of Bruschetta di Formaggio, and an antipasti of your
choosing.  Oh...and four "sodas."  Frankie here will handle the ordering of
the entrees.  He used to be a regular here."

     Gino looked at Frank and smiled.  "Welcome back, sir.  I hope I don't
disappoint you gentlemen tonight."

     Frank leered.  "I'm sure you won't.  Thank you, Gino."

     Gino delivered as promised, and gave every indication of promising more
than he'd delivered at the table.  Frank ordered four entrees including
beef, seafood, chicken and cheese and veggies, along with four empty plates,
so that the guys could share, family style, with plenty of fresh breadsticks
and crusty French bread, and several more refills of their "sodas."  The
guys laughed, joked and sang a couple rounds of "Varsity," and stuttered
through one verse of "If You Want to be a Badger..."

     An elderly couple laughed at their vocal efforts, and had already spied
the Bucky Badger on the breast of Scott's denim shirt and the "Wisconsin"
logo on Jesse's jacket.  They stopped on their way to the cash register.
The gentleman, a tall, stately looking man of about seventy, with a full
head of snow-white hair and Harry Carey glasses, dressed in a tweed sport
coat and a red v-neck sweater, smiled down on the table.  His wife's eyes
looked up at him and twinkled adoringly.  "Young men of Wisconsin!  Herbert
Tollefson, Class of '52!"  He thrust a fist in the air.  "Go Badgers,
Dammit!!"  The guys roared and clapped as his demure wife continued to beam.
  All four were on their feet with hands thrust in Mr. Tollefson's
direction.  "And this, my good men, is the perfect wife, my lovely Gloria,
Class of '54!"

     Marty scanned the room and nodded to Gino.  He mouthed `two more
chairs.'  Gino smiled and nodded back.  From a nearby table that was set for
four, but with only one couple seated, Gino grabbed one empty seat, and
Marty the other.  "Mr. and Mrs. Tollefson.  Won't you please join us for
dessert?"  Marty winked at Gloria, who was instantly smitten.  He looked
back at Gino.  "Six cannolis, if you will, a pot of black coffee and four
more "sodas."  Please ask the Tollefson's what they'd like.  I'm guessing
she might be up for a Grasshopper or a Golden Cadillac, and he a good
Cognac.  But, I've been wrong before."  He winked at their waiter.

     Mr. Tollefson, Dr. Tollefson actually, was immediately flattered and
caught up in the spirit of Marty's gesture.  Gloria said not a word, other
than "So nice to meet you" during the introductions.  The good doctor, a
very successful Minneapolis dentist, now retired, regaled the guys with
reminiscences of the good old days.  As a new dentist in the Madison area
who'd remained active in alumni activities, he'd gotten to know historian
Stephen Ambrose, future best-selling author, and the last man to play both
sides of the football on a UW team.  Gino delivered the desserts and the
drinks, looking at Marty and smirking as he sat placed Gloria's Grasshopper
on a cocktail napkin.

     Dr. Tollefson sipped his cognac and his coffee, and was becoming far
more familiar than he'd planned or expected.  "Boys!  You know the legend of
Abe Lincoln's statue, sitting so stately at the top of `The Hill.'  Well,
you should know that on...what was it, honey?  Our second...third date?  I
walked this lovely lady up and over the hill, and Mr. Lincoln not only
stood, but he bowed in her direction."

     Gloria patted his hand, then scanned the grinning young faces
surrounding her.  "He stood up, of course, on Herb's account."

     Napkins nearly flew off of laps and covered mouths and noses, as
cannoli, Chianti and coffee were barely contained by the four college boys.
Gloria giggled and blushed as Dr. Tollefson threw his head back and roared.
He slid his fingers behind his thick lenses and wiped his eyes.  Scott
coughed for most of another minute as he tried to clear his throat, and
Marty reached over and kissed Gloria's hand.  Half the restaurant looked in
their direction and Gino was mildly annoyed about what he might have missed.

     Herb recovered, then beamed.  He leaned in over the table and
half-whispered.  "She's right you know.  Taught me everything I know, and we
have four beautiful children and six lovely grandkids to thank her for it.
As you young pups might say, `Dude, she was a fox, and she knew it, and knew
how to...uhm...shake her booty?"  It broke up the youngsters one more time, and
Gloria just nodded confidently and smiled.  They chatted and teased back and
forth with the Tollefson's for about another half hour before Marty motioned
for the check.

     Gloria's eyes zeroed in on Marty.  "You're the one, aren't you?"  She
took another sip of her coffee and smiled knowingly at him.

     Marty met her gaze and leaned on the table.  "Could be, my dear.
Depends on which `one' your talking about.  I've been accused of a lot of
things, and am guilty of most of them."  The guys chuckled and nodded.

     She giggled and looked back at her husband.  "Herb, dear, don't you
recognize this charming young man?"  He looked completely befuddled as
Gloria shook her head and waved a hand in dismissal.  "No, of course you
don't.  You don't pay as close attention to anything the way I do.  Besides,
my eyes are a world better than yours are."  She looked back at Marty and
winked.  "Section E, thirteenth row, Wisconsin vs. Iowa, Dayne breaks the
record and your cute butt goes dashing past us and makes my day."  The guys
all laughed as Gloria wiggled her eyebrows.  "And I was lucky enough to be
holding the binoculars at that magical moment."

     Marty couldn't avoid blushing, but wasn't going to be completely put in
his place by this surprising woman.  "So, liked what you saw, did you,
Gloria?"

     She placed a hand on her husband's forearm.  "Almost as much as I like
this stud's."  A round of applause for Gloria and Herb erupted from the
table.  The Tollefson's asked the guys to pose for a picture, with Marty
between the doctor and his wife, and the others flanking on both sides, and
they all said their goodbyes.


     Back in the room a little after 11:00, they hunkered down on the living
room furniture and Jesse started channel surfing.  Frank slowly shuffled a
deck of cards, and considered suggesting a few hands of Euchre or Hearts, or
maybe a friendly game of poker.  Marty served a round of beers from the
cooler, then went into his bag to break into his own special stash of party
supplies.  Jesse glanced over to Scott, who was peeling at the label on his
beer bottle.  "Pretty quiet tonight, Scotty.  All day, actually.  What's up
with that?"

     Scott shrugged. "I don't know.  It's been a long, kinda shitty week.
I'm just really beat."  He put down his half-full bottle of beer.  "In fact,
you guys, and I'm sorry, but I'm gonna call it a night and hit the sack.  I
just want to get some sleep and get a fresh start on tomorrow, with my party
face on.  You guys have a good night."  He grabbed his bag from next to the
couch, and walked toward the bedroom.  Frank and Jesse's faces registered
stunned bewilderment.  After gazing questioningly at each other for a
moment, they simultaneously stared, slack-jawed at Marty.  He just waved
them both off.  Scott closed the door.  He stripped down to his boxers,
lifted the plush comforter and climbed beneath the sheets.  He locked his
fingers behind his head and stared at the ceiling through the dark.

     "What the fuck could it be?  Marty could be right, but what is it?"  He
could envision a few reasons for his dad to be meeting with Maureen, but
none of them would prompt him to lie to him and his mom about it.  Scott
figured it could be political, but if something were brewing, Maureen
would've shared it with him.  She'd not exactly been shy about taking him
into her confidence.  And if it were huge politically, too big to share with
Scott, his dad didn't have the experience or expertise on such matters to be
of any real help.  If it were family related...well, their two families had
never had any secrets.   No, there was only one reason for two old flames to
be sleuthing around in clandestine meetings.  It made him want to vomit.

     Some time later, Scott wasn't sure how long, light cut across the floor
in a widening path as Marty quietly opened the door.  Frank's and Jesse's
banter and occasional laughter wafted in, then faded away as the door was
closed.  Scott closed his eyes and didn't stir.  He heard Marty's jeans fall
to the floor, and the rustling of his shirt and t-shirt being pulled up over
his head.  The comforter on the other side of the bed moved, and Marty's
weight caused the mattress to shift.  Slowly, Marty nudged his way across
the king-sized mattress and situated his pillows so that they barely
overlapped Scott's.  He laid down on his side and snuggled his head into the
oversized cushions.  His right knee came down on top of Scott's as he got
situated, but his friend didn't flinch.  His hand snaked its way up under
the covers and came to rest on Scott's chest.  After feeling the warm, firm
pecs rise and fall a half-dozen times, he snuggled his face closer to
Scott's left arm.  He closed his eyes and whispered, "It's gonna be okay
professor."



	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*




AUTHOR'S NOTE:

     Thank you Kory!  Thank you Glenn!  Thank you Danny!   (And you, my
favorite Gopher, need to read your e-mail more often.  But then, you're
apparently the only person in Minnesota who is reading this, so I guess I
shouldn't bitch.)
     Originally, I had planned to bring you the guys' entire weekend in
Minneapolis in a single chapter.  But, as usual, it grew and grew into
something that was becoming unwieldy.  I'm confident you can all relate to
that phenomenon.  So, the rest of the weekend, and most of the really
naughty stuff, is coming in Chapter Sixteen.  Hang in there.
     I'll happily thank the rest of you for your continued patience,
support, feedback, criticisms, complaints, questions and smart-ass remarks.
I'll say it again.   It's the responses from the readers that gives a lot of
us who are posting stories the motivation to keep on writing.  If you're not
responding to me, then give it up for another author you're enjoying at the
moment.
     In fact, let's try this:  If you're inclined to send me an e-mail,
[scotty.13411@hotmail.com] AND I HOPE YOU WILL, please be ready to tell me
which other author you've given it up for.  I might know of the author or
the work, or I might not, but I'll surely get smarter for your effort.
Either way, it's all good.  But, please, only shoot me a message if you can
say, "I also sent an `atta boy' to ________ for his work, "_____________."
I love the feedback, but would appreciate it even more if I knew you were
spreading it around a bit.  Give it up, gang, but let's share the wealth!!

     (With apologies to Tyler, and he knows that I love him and his work
dearly:  I already know you're all reading TRH, so that's too easy.  Toss a
goody to somebody else.)

     I'll be back with Sixteen when I can.

     Be Well!!

     Scott