Date: Fri, 09 Mar 2007 03:11:52 -1000
From: S turner <scotty.13411@hotmail.com>
Subject: Strange Bedfellows, Chapter 22

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


STRANGE BEDFELLOWS
Chapter 22


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You got it, Andy.  Thanks."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morrison shook his head, and sat down.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

Marty grinned.



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mardi Gras?"  Craig smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scott frowned.  "And the lobbyists."

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

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

"Who owns the shit?"

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Huh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Need some help?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And the year after?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

Scott nodded.  "Yeah, us."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Abby grinned.  "Tell him about the jets."

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

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

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

"And what does that cost us?"

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

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



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

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

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

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

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



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

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

Scott's eyes opened halfway.  "Huh?"

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

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

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

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

His smile broadened.  "Want me to check?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just nodded as she opened the door to leave.

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




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

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