Date: Tue, 28 Feb 2006 02:19:05 -1000
From: S turner <scotty.13411@hotmail.com>
Subject: Strange Bedfellows, Chapter 4

STRANGE BEDFELLOWS
Chapter Four

Discaimer:  The following story is a mostly-fictional account of the
author's experiences and relationships while a college student.  The
characters are either composites of people he knew, or those about which he
fantasized.  Any resemblance to real people, either living dead, is a pure
coincidence, and is also a bloody shame.  If you are not old enough in your
state to read sexually explicit material, then get the hell out of here.
This story is copyrighted, 2006, and may not be reproduced or reposted
without the expressed, written permission of the author.

I've appreciated the feedback I've gotten to date.  If I e-mailed you back
and told you I was having great fun with Chapter 6, make that Chapter 7. I
had way too much story planned for this installment, and decided to cut it
in half.  So, please bear with me.  Hope you enjoy. As always, your comments
are eagerly read at scotty.13411@hotmail.com

She was short, maybe five-foot-four, and had the richest shade of auburn
hair Scott had ever seen.  That was the first thing you noticed, especially
from a distance.  But when she looked your way, the dazzling green eyes made
you forget about the hair.  Scott couldn't name the shade of green.  He just
thought of it as `sparkling green,' as though he'd coined a name for a new
shade that they'd be selling at Sherwin Williams any day now.

If you let your eyes wander the very perky pair of very round, firm breasts
made you forget about the eyes.  `the kind of tits,' Scott imagined, `that
hold their shape even when she's laying on her back.  The kind that just beg
to be licked.'  But when you were face to face with her, she held your gaze
and sent a signal that said `don't let your eyes wander or I'll conclude
you're a pig, and I'll let everybody know it.'  Scott believed her name was
Kelly, and was happy that they'd reached the door to their American Lit.
class at the same time.  He reached over and opened it for her, politely
stepped back and waved her in.

"Thanks very much."  She was genuinely grateful, since she'd determined on
the first day of class that this guy was one of the best looking hunks in
any one of her classes.

"My pleasure."

They'd made eye contact a few times during class, exchanged a few smiles in
reaction to something that had just been said, and even offered an
occasional `good morning.'  They'd never really talked, but had established
that kind of quiet familiarity that allowed you to greet each other if your
paths crossed somewhere else.  Each one was wishing the other would initiate
a conversation of substance.  Kelly was determined that, at the end of
class, she'd exit the room at the same time as Scott...she was pretty sure
that was his name...and would kick things off as they walked down the hall.

As Kelly walked to her seat, Scott judged her to have one of most perfectly
shaped asses he had ever seen on a woman.  She felt certain that she sensed
his attention, even though she was walking away from him.  At least she
hoped.

`Yeah, gotta chat it up with her after class today,' he resolved.

During the discussion of the work of Ayn Rand, Kelly jumped into the fray
with a scathing indictment of the author's Objectivist philosophy.  This was
the third, and final, day of discussing the philosopher/novelist's work, and
Kelly had been all over the poor old girl since day one.  It seemed that
from the moment Rand was identified as a source of strength for conservative
political ideologues, Kelly was hell-bent on trying to run the poor old girl
though the mud.  "Her take on life is selfish, even hedonistic a lot of the
time!  Rand's heroes are all about `me, me, me.'  She's a right-wing kook,
and that bleeds its way into everything she ever wrote."  There was a
passion in her voice and fire in her eyes.

Scott's hand went up.  He wanted to test her mettle a bit.  "I don't know
that I agree.  Rand's heroes are also strong individualists, usually pretty
visionary, the sort of `I'm not marching to anybody else's tune' kind of
guys. That's often an admirable trait."  Several heads nodded their
agreement.  "Besides," he added with a wry grin, "Rand's view of femininity
holds that its essence is hero worship—the need a woman has to look up to a
man.  Maybe she's onto something there."

All the guys in the class and a few of the women laughed.  The instructor
tried to hide a smirk.

When the laughter subsided, Scott heard her whisper "what an asshole."

"What?!"  Scott shot back.  Everybody in the class turned their heads.

"Hold on, gang." The teaching assistant intervened.

"But she called me an asshole!  I can handle an honest disagreement, but
only if the childish name-calling is left outside.  Do I get to respond to
that?"

The instructor shook his head.  "Not on our time.  You two can settle it
later, and let's keep the discussion at a certain level, shall we?"  Kelly
just glared at Scott.

Scott just smiled back, politely, `The girl's got spunk.  I like that. Bet
she's a firecracker in the sack," he speculated.

After class, Kelly was a bit embarrassed.  Once she cleared the doorway, she
tried in vain to make her escape.  Scott was right on her heels.  "Hey...let
me ask you something!"

Kelly turned on her heels.  "Can you do it without being offensive?  You
know, some of us take this stuff at least a little bit seriously."

"Yeah, and some of us can take it seriously without totally losing a sense
of humor.  You need to lighten up a bit, Kelly.  It is Kelly, isn't it?"

She nodded.  He continued, "Is the whole friggin' world so black and white
to you?"

"Huh?"

"I've been listening to you rant for the last few classes.  It's like the
minute you pidgeon-holed Rand into a nice, convenient
category...conservative...you've been bending over backwards to find fault.
You're an un-thinker."

"A what?"

"One of those who needs to put a label on something in order to judge it.
It's a lazy-ass way to decide what's good in the world.  `Just tell me what
it's called, and then I know all I need to know `cuz they're all the same,
you know.'  Well, I size up ideas on their substance, not on what we can
call the person who offers them up.  `Liberal, good...conservative bad.
Conservative, good...liberal, bad.'  It's all the same load of shit.  Things
aren't right or wrong because of who says them.  They're right or wrong
because they're right or wrong on the merits.

" It's not all plainly black and white, Kelly.  There's a whole lotta gray
around us.  I'm only suggesting that you ought to learn to think for
yourself.  Oh, and learn to laugh a little bit, even about the serious
shit."  He turned a sharp left and headed down the stairs.

He had her pegged, and she knew it.  Not only that, as she watched him stomp
down the stairway, she thought he had a really cute ass.

Scott talked Craig into having dinner earlier than usual, saying he wanted
to get to the library early because of his work load.  In reality, he wanted
to get there early in case Randy did indeed call this evening.  He wanted to
actually get some work done in case he was interrupted and needed to
relocate to meet his TA.

He remembered the fundraiser that was coming up, and thought he'd invite
Craig to come along with him.  "Hey, you're always asking questions about
the local political scene, right...wanting to get a better handle on the
landscape...right?"

"Yeah...sure."

"Well, if you're free next Tuesday, Mr. Bostwick, I'd be honored if you'd
accompany me to a fundraiser for a state senator up at the Inn on the Park."

"Huh...?  What...?  Who...?  Whatta you got goin' on?"

"It'd give you a chance to meet some of the states' movers and shakers,
maybe catch a little capitol gossip here and there, and enjoy some free food
and drink."

"But who, dummy...fill me in."

"Okay...here's the deal."  Scott leaned in over the table and lowered his
voice, as though he was sharing some kind of conspiracy.  "The Maureen I
know, you know...the lawyer?"

"Uh, yeah..." Craig said, slowly, maybe a little apprehensively.

"Well, she's Senator Maureen McCarthy," emphasis on the title.  "She's
represented my home district for years and, like I said, an old friend of
the family.  When we had lunch last week, she comped me a couple tickets and
told me to bring a friend along."

"Dude!  One of the chicks in my journalism class is from that neck of the
woods.  We were talking Wisconsin politics the other day.  I think she
tossed out McCarthy's name, saying that rumor has it the old girl is
planning to run for statewide office.  What was it...?  Attorney General, I
think?"

"That's the rumor."  Scott was careful not to confirm it, mindful of his
obligation to hold Maureens confidences `off the record.'  "So, ya wanna
go?"

Craig chuckled.  "Sooooo...Scotty's Maureen is Senator Maureen," emphasis on
the title.  "Weeellll.  You...Da...Man!"

Scott rolled his eyes and sighed.  "I said, do you want to come along?  It's
a fucking yes or no question, Or should I play it safe and ask someone who
might not embarrass me?"

"Gonna cost me anything?"  The question was muffled by a mouth full of mac
and cheese.

"Nope."

"Gotta wear a tie?"

"Yup."

"Don't have one."

"Gotcha covered, bro."

"You said free food and drink?"

"You got it."

"Okay, I'm there."

"Cool.  It'll be fun.  You'll like her.  Maybe you'll scoop a story."

"Yeah," Craig used his hands to draw out a headline in the air between them.
  "INCREASE IN COLLEGE FINANCIAL AID PROPOSED"  Then, beneath that, "Bill
tied to state senator being served by freshman boy toy.  `He makes me moist,
even at my age, and he always delivers the goods' the senator is quoted as
saying.  `I think every lawmaker should have one.'"

"You're disgusting, ya' know that?  In fact, at times I'm certain that
you're deeply disturbed."  Scott wiped his mouth with his napkin and dropped
it on his plate.  Grabbing the tray by each side, he looked across the
table.  "Well, gotta fly, roomie.  Too much to do and not enough time."
Scott stood up and headed toward the window to deposit his dirty dishes.

"kay, man...later."

Sitting at a table in the library, texts and notebooks sprawled around in
front of him, Scott really was trying to get some work done.  But, despite
his best efforts, there were just too many distractions.  His mind wandered
around, as it had been doing for a few weeks, and he'd hit the pause button
to enjoy the various sexual escapades he'd jumped into since arriving in
Madison.  First with Marty, then the James Brothers.  That was all wild
enough.  Nearly manic, uninhibited sex in two hot sessions with three very
hot guys.  `Jeez...I'm lovin' this, but it can't go on forever.'  He'd met a
lot of firsts in a very short period of time, and was a both excited and a
little afraid of where it all might go next.

Then there was the anonymous blow job—well, somewhat anonymous, he hoped—at
the book store.  `That had to be Randy!' he'd said over and over.  At the
same time, he wondered if he was being sucked in, so to speak, by some very
wishful thinking.

His cell phone's ring tone brought him back to earth.

"Hello?"

"Hey, is this Scott Turner?"

"It is."

"Hey, it's Randy Oakes!  How's it goin'?"

"Goin' good Randy.  I'm at the library trying to look like a scholar.  I
think I'm pulling it off."

"Atta boy.  Hey, I just got home.  I gotta take a shower and then call the
wife.  I really don't want to trudge back to the office tonight, so if you
want to go over your paper, would you mind doing it over here?"

`At his apartment?' Scott thought.  `That could be interesting!' A smile
slowly spread across his face.  "Uh...I dunno."  His voice indicated a shrug.
"Where's your place?"

"I'm only a couple blocks off campus on the 500 block of West Mifflin
Street.  It's no palace, but fits the bill okay."

Scott knew where Mifflin Street was.  Actually it was close to the dorm than
Randy's office was.

Scott picked up a pen.  "No problem.  What's the address"?

Randy gave him the number, and a few short directions as Scott's pen raced
across the inside cover of his poli-sci notebook.  "It's the lower
apartment, the door's on the right. Gimme about a half hour?"

"That's about what it should take, but the time I wrap up here and hike
over.  Half hour's good.  See ya' then.  And, thanks, Randy."

"No problem, bud.  See ya' in a bit." The phone went silent.

Scott packed his backpack and looked out the window.  It was already very
dark out there, but he could see the gold and orange leaves whipping around
the mall.  The calendar was approaching October, and fall weather had
clearly decended on Wisconsin.  He pulled the hooded sweatshirt on, grabbed
his backpack and headed for the door.

In his head, excitement and apprehension were having one hell of a duel.
But, in reality, there were three players in this battle.  The academic dude
was anxious to reap the benefits of Randy's extra help.  The horny dude was
anxious to get to Randy's apartment and to push the envelope as far as he
could.  The sensible and rational dude was telling him that there was
something wrong with this; that making a move on a college instructor was a
bad plan that could only go wrong.  It was like a Looney Toon cartoon, where
the protagonist had an angel-Scott on one shoulder and a devil-Scott on the
other, both of them whispering in his ears.  He kept hearing "Go For
It!...Don't Do It!...Go For It!...Don't Do It!..."

The academic dude was perched on his head, but he wasn't taking sides.  "You
gotta go over there no matter who wins the debate going on below me," he
said.  "Randy has offered legitimate help that you ought to take, whether
you fuck him or not."  The academic dude made sense.  The struggle made him
walk fast, but it didn't make the hike very easy.

Turning the corner and walking up Mifflin Street, Scott recognized the same
small white Toyata pickup truck he'd seen just about every day parked behind
Bascom Hall.  He knew it was the same truck from the bumper stickers on the
back fender, and the fact that the side mirror on the driver's side was bent
all to hell.  The center of the block was dark, so it was hard to read the
house numbers from near the street.  He walked up the short sidewalk and
climbed the porch stairs.  Seeing the right number, and light coming through
the window in the door to the right, he reached out and rang the doorbell.

"Door's open!  C'mon in Scott," Randy's voice called from somewhere inside.
Scott tentatively turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open.  He
stepped into a short hallway that ended in an opening to the right about
eight feet in.  He paused, feeling something like an intruder.  He heard
Randy talking, and figured he must be on the phone. "I'm back here Scott...in
the kitchen...c'mon back."

Scott walked down the hall, squeezing past a mountain bike parked in the
hallway, and turned right.  The apartment was small.  The living room and
kitchen were actually one pretty good-sized open space.  They were divided
only by the arrangement of the furniture, the couch being used as the
primary demarcation that separated cooking and eating space from living
space.  Shelves lined the walls of the living area, books occupying every
available inch.

Looking across the living room and into the kitchen, there was Randy, his
cell phone to his ear and a bottle of beer in his hand.  He was leaning
back, ass perched against the kitchen counter, striking the same pose that
Scott had seen so many times in the classroom, Randy leaning against the
desk at the front of the room.  The primary difference was that this time,
he was wearing nothing but a bath towel.  Randy saw him and smiled, and
waved him toward the kitchen, pointing to the table and chairs next to the
kitchen window.  As Scott put his backpack on the kitchen table, he noted
two empty Miller bottles.  Randy looked over and whispered, "only be a sec."
  Scott nodded, "no problem" he mouthed back.  Randy held up his beer and
questioned with his eyes, motioning toward the refrigerator.  `No thanks,
I'm good,' Scott waved him off.

Scott's earlier impression that the guy had a gymnast's build was confirmed
in spades.  The towel was wrapped tightly around a harrow waste, probably
about 30, maybe 31 inches around.  A four-pack, approaching a six-pack, was
revealed above the towel, rising up to what had to be a 42 or 44 inch chest.
  The pecs were, in Scott's eye, `just fucking perfect.'  They weren't body
builder pecs, the kind that he always thought should be called tits.  They
were perfectly squared, firm, solid pecs, with quarter-sized nipples that
needed the attention of a hot mouth, in Scott's estimation.  The chest and
stomach were covered by a moderate spraying of brown hair.  His arms were
forceful, even in repose.  Holding the phone in his left hand, the arm
curled and betrayed a very impressive bicep.  Every time he raised the right
hand to his mouth to take a drink, Scott could see every muscle in his
forearm doing its job, and the upper arm would expand as he drank, relax
when the bottle was lowered.  `Wouldn't want to fight this man for
anything,' Scott commended Randy in his mind.  `well, maybe a little playful
wrestling could be fun.'

Scott sat down on a kitchen chair, leaning forward and planting his forearms
on his knees.  He looked around the room.  What appeared to be the bathroom
door was to the right of the counter/sink area of the back wall.  Another
door on the side led to what he assumed must be the bedroom.  The room was
dark, but the light from the kitchen and the illumination from a computer
screen in the room allowed him to see what looked like a desk in the back
corner and the corner of a bed just inside to the left.  He nervously
fidgeted with his fingers, picking his nails, cracking his knuckles, trying
not to stare at the barely-clad hunk a few feet away.  Sitting bent over
like that, he could face the floor and, but check out the lower half with
his eyes.  The calves were as tight and powerful as the arms, but a bit
harrier than the forearms.  Moving his gaze further up, the damn towel got
in the way.  It was wrapped tightly around Randy's thighs, but there was a
noticeable bulge in the center.  It wasn't tenting the way it would if Randy
were aroused, but the goodies underneath were obvious.  Scott felt the need
to occupy himself, so he sat up and turned to retrieve his backpack.  He set
it on the other kitchen chair, and opened it to retrieve his poli-sci folder
and notebook.

Randy spoke into the phone.  "Well, it depends what happens in November, and
then they don't meet again until January, so I guess we'll
see...Huh?...Yeah...well, like I said, it's just too early to tell...okay...what
weekend was that again?...oh, yeah, that's right...sorry...just got a lot goin' on
right now...Well, hon, Scott's here...yeah, he's the guy in my state gov.
section I told you about...got a lot goin' for himself, I think."  Scott
looked up with an `aw shucks' grin and they smiled at each other.  "Better
go now...give `em hell when you have to...love you too, babe.  G'night.  Sleep
tight."  He hit `end' on the phone and set it down.

"Sorry about that, and about the casual attire, man.  She called just as I
was stepping out of the shower.

"No problem," Scott assured him.  "Must be hard, being so far away."

"Well, it sure isn't ideal, but we're making it work.  We're together
practically every weekend, and talk at least once, usually twice a day.
And, like I said, it's gonna be short term.  Once the dust settles on our
respective careers, we'll likely either settle together here or in the
Chicago area.  Truth is, I'm hoping it'll be here in Madison."

"I can see why.  This is a great place."

"Yeah"  Randy drained his beer and set the empty on the counter.  "Hey! Let
me throw some clothes on and we can get busy."  Randy stepped into the
bedroom, but didn't turn on the light.  Nor did he bother to close the door.
  Standing just inside the doorway, he faced the bed and dropped the towel.
He bent over the bed and retrieved a pair of shorts.  Scott had to stare.
The profile of his smooth, muscular butt was a sight to behold.  Randy
turned a bit and stepped into the shorts, giving Scott full view of his
perfect ass cheeks.  Standing and pulling them up, every muscle in Randy's
magnificent v-shaped back teased Scott.  Reaching back to the bed, he found
a t-shirt and pulled it on over his head.  He wiggled his feet into a pair
of flip-flops and turned for the door.  "There, that's better."

Stepping out of the bedroom, he reached for the refridgerator.  "Sure you
don't want one?" he invited as he leaned in and grabbed another bottle of
beer.  The shorts were cut-off sweat pants, and they hugged Randy in a way
that left nothing to the imagination.  Scott approved.

"Nah, I'm fine."

"Let's move in here," Randy advised, pointing toward the couch.  "We can use
the coffee table so we're both looking at the same stuff at the same time."
On his way to the couch, Randy grabbed his book back off the floor, and dug
around inside until he found the draft of Scott's paper.  "Have a seat."

Scott sat on one end of the couch and Randy near the middle, giving him
access to the coffee table.  Holding the paper up, he smiled.  "Well, what
you have here is probably already an A paper, with a little editing for
grammar and punctuation, and I've made those marks throughout.  But, I'm no
English major, so you might want to have somebody with those talents give it
a once-over after you've made some revisions and additions."

"My roommate's a journalism major and a helluva writer.  He'll do it for
me."

"Perfect! Well, then, on the content of the paper."  Randy took another long
pull off of his beer.  "If you can add some additional information about the
district and its political complexion, this will be over the top."
Referring to the course's professor, Randy advised, "the old man sets the
standards, but he has us do the grading on most of the work.  Then, he wants
us to show him samples of the best and the worst of the batch.  Those in the
`best' category always grab his attention, and it can make a name for you
with an important voice in our poli-sci department.  He's very well
connected, both in academia and in political and government circles.  Gain
his favor as a freshman and you'll have a great three years in front of
you."

Scott liked the thought of that.  "Cool!  So what do I have to do?"

Randy set the paper down and started going through it, a page at a time.  In
order to see them and to make sense of Randy's observations, Scott had to
scoot over nearer the center of the couch so that they were sitting
side-by-side.  Randy pointed to a couple main sections of the work.

"If you could dig a little deeper, identifying specific geographic areas of
the district where one party or the other tended to dominate, it would add
another level of analysis that would really nail the assignment, and then
some.  Plus, you'd have a grand master plan for anybody thinking of
following McCarthy in that seat, if she really does decide to move up.
Shit, you could probably sell this to a candidate in a year or so."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah...this is the kind of stuff that candidates and parties pay good
money for."

"So, you think she's gonna do it?"

"Well, my sources tell me it's all but decided.  Like I said, the remaining
question being kicked around back home is `who's gonna follow Maureen?'"

"Any strong contenders?"

"Depends on who you ask.  One side of the conventional wisdom says that
Maureen and the powers-that-be at the state level, can anoint a wanna-be,
and the speculation is over.  The other end says that the locals...the county
party big-wigs and community leaders...will nudge someone to the front of the
line.  If the two are not of one mind, it can get interesting.  But when the
two forces agree it's a slam dunk.  That's how McCarthy got in.  She had the
blessing at both the local and the state level.  Even though her first race
was a squeaker, there's never been a question about her re-election.  Of
course, none of the speculation I've followed can account for who the 'bad
guys' might run in the next general election.'

Randy leaned forward and started sorting the pages to put them back in
order.  When he moved up, his legs spread a bit, and his knee and thigh came
into contact with Scott's.  Scott didn't flinch; didn't move his leg a bit.
He looked down and noticed that he could clearly see the outline of Randy's
dick running down the inside of the right thigh of Randy's cut-off shorts.

Randy squared the pages and turned his upper body to hand them back to
Scott.  But, his leg remained in contact.   "So you think you can deliver
what I'm asking?"

"It's in the bag.  I've got plenty of time, and an editor in the room, so
I'm going to blow the professor away."
Randy patted Scott's thigh a couple times.  "Atta boy.  Make me proud."  He
left the hand on Scott's knee for a second.

"I think I'd like that beer now, if you don't mind."

"No problem."  Randy smiled, grabbed his book bag off the floor and set it
in his lap for a second.  "I think I'll join ya" he said as he stood,
holding the satchel in front of him, trying to hide the fact that his cock
was half hard.

Scott leaned back on the couch and turned a bit to the right, bending his
right leg up at the knee, and laying it sideways on the cushion.

"Keep it together here, Scotty.  Don't go doing anything stupid." He
couldn't tell which cartoon conscience was knocking in his head.

He bent his right arm at the elbow, planting it on the back of the couch,
and rested the side of his head in the palm of his hand.  Randy sauntered
back from the fridge, his cock was obviously waving around under the gray
cotton of his shorts.  He plopped down on the couch, very close to Scott,
and assumed a mirror image of Scott's position.  Their knees were pressed
together as Randy's weight settled onto the sofa.

"Here ya' go."  He handed Scott his beer.

"Thanks!" Scott raised his bottle in a silent toast to his host.  Randy
replied in kind.  Scott took a long draw from the bottle.

"So," Randy began, "where do you see all of this heading?"

"All of what?  What do you mean by `all of THIS?'"  Scott was more than a
little apprehensive.  Randy reached down to scratch his shin, and the backs
of his fingers were rubbing Scott's leg.

"I was thinking about this outstanding start to your college career.  You're
taking off like a rocket, and I'm curious about what you hope to make of it
all."

"Not sure yet.  Just want to succeed at whatever I try, while I try to
figure out `what I wanna be when I grow up.'"  He mocked a little kid's
voice at the end of the summary.

Randy exhaled a bit of a laugh.  "I know what you mean."  He looked intently
at Scott. Both of their arms were resting on the back of the couch; their
hands were nearly touching, but not quite.

Silence.  Randy leaned to his right and put his beer on the coffee table.
Scott took a drink and leaned to his left to do the same.  When he settled
back on the couch he laid his hand flat on the back of the couch.  Randy
leaned back and his fingers came down on top of Scott's.  Neither one moved.

"I'm also wondering where you see all of THIS heading," Randy sort of
whispered, as his fingertips began stroking the top of Scott's hand.

Scott didn't move, and his gaze locked on to Randy's.  They both smiled.

"Not sure.  I'm one of those `one step at a time' sort of guys."  Each one's
eyes bore into the other's. "What about you?"

Randy responded by moving his stroking fingers up Scott's hand, across his
wrist and onto his forearm.  He shifted his weight toward Scott, and placed
the other hand on his thigh and began to slowly rub his thumb back and
forth.  Scott could see the pole in Randy's shorts was about at full mast.
Scott was catching up to him, very quickly.

Randy's hand left Scott's arm and reached toward the back of his neck.
Scott leaned in a little to allow him the reach he was aiming for.  Randy
embraced Scott's neck with only his hand and he whispered, "c'mere, and I'll
let you know."

Slowly, reluctantly, Scott leaned forward.  Randy guided Scott's face toward
his own, and their lips lightly touched.  Each held their ground for a
moment, and Randy moved forward a bit further.  He kissed Scott, wishing he
would allow his tongue to explore past those lips.  Scott broke the contact,
but his eyes remained fixed on Randy's.  Randy's one hand was rubbing the
back of Scott's neck, the other was moving up his thigh, and his rubbing was
becoming more and more insistant.  It felt good. Scott sighed.

Randy pulled their faces together again, and this time Scott opened his
mouth a bit.  They kissed slowly, passionately for the better part of a
minute.  Each man allowed the other to explore his mouth; each sucked softly
on the other's tongue. Randy's hand was roaming over Scott's completely hard
dick.  Scott's left hand began to explore Randy's chest, rubbing over the
cotton t-shirt he was wearing, lightly pinching each time his fingers came
across either nipple.  It felt so fucking good for both men.

Suddenly, Scott broke the contact.  "Oh, FUCK!...Randy... No...Stop...I can't...!" He
scuttled back to his corner of the couch, putting as much distance as he
could between the two.  Scott looked at a spot on the floor about ten feet
away.  He continued, "I am so sorry, man.  I shouldn't have let this go this
far.  I'm such a fuck-up!!"

"What's up?  You saying now that you don't want to do this?"

"Want to has nothing to do with this, Randy.  God...do I want to!!"

"Then, c'mere."  Randy reached over again for Scott's neck, but the offer
was dodged.

"Aww, man!  This is so wrong on so many levels.  I just can't...not now at
least.  Shit, I don't know.  I'm so sorry Randy.  I feel like a piece of
shit right now."

"Scott, don't feel bad.  I started it.  But, what's wrong with it?  Unless I
misread that kiss, we want each other in a bad way.  What's the hold-up?
We're both consenting adults you know.  What?  You don't want this?"

"Aww, fuckin'-A.  You're one of the hottest guys I've ever met.  You're the
total package.  You're smart, you're articulate, you're funny, you're built
like a Greek god, and you have probably the sweetest ass on the fucking
planet.  By the way, thanks for putting it on display so shamelessly earlier
tonight."

"Oh, you caught that, did you?"

"Randy...Ray Charles would've caught that view."

"Soooo..." Randy leered at Scott.  "You want somma that?"

"Oh, shit!"

"Scott!  I want you to fuck me.

"Dude! It can't happen.

"Why the hell not?

"One: you're married, and apparently quite happily.

"I am, and that's my problem, not yours."

"Two: you are, for all intents and purposes, my teacher.  You must be able
to see what a mine-field that would be.

"But I want you to fuck me, and I think you want that, too!!"  Randy leaned
in for another lip-lock and Scott turned his head.  "You're as hard and hot
as I am, we're both ready to go, so fuck me, man.  Take this ass.

Randy, you gotta start thinking with the right head for a minute.
Forgetting the marriage thing for a minute, the simple fact that you're my
TA will make this a big fucking mistake, for both of us...and I think you know
that.

Randy threw himself back on the arm of the couch.  His hard on was
completely outlined through the grey cotton of his shorts.  "I know the
rules and all the ethical conventions.  I'd just hoped we could work our way
around that.  We're both big boys, after all, and we're both smart enough to
deal with it here, or in Bascom Hall."

"I'd like to think that was possible.  But, this shit  nagged at me all the
way over here.  Randy, the plain fact is, we've already gone too far.  We
take this any further and our student-teacher relationship is shit-canned
for good, no matter what our best intentions would be after tonight.  You
evaluate me, scholastically anyway.  I'll have a chance to evaluate you at
the end of the term.  That shit needs to be clean of personal
considerations.  We've already compromised it with our tongues and our
hands, god dammit!  Not that I haven't enjoyed it, but if this keeps up,
we'll end up pissing it all away.

Both the devil and the angel on his shoulders, along with the one on his
head actually beginning to pay attention.  The Scott-devil was getting
pissed.  His arms were crossed, and he was tapping a foot and rolling his
eyes, just like in the classic cartoons.

He continued.  "And what happens if we go further, but things go sour?
We're supposed to deal with each other in class as if nothing happened?  Or
what if this contined and we had the best sex of your life?

Scott digressed for a moment. "I mean no disrespect to your wife there, by
the way.  I saw the wedding picture on your desk.  She's a babe...you done
well there, man."   Randy shrugged and nodded, but didn't want to speak
right then.

He plowed forward.   "Anyway, are you telling me that you'd still look at my
work in the right frame of mind if we got naked right now and had hot, wild
sez?"

"I could do that," Randy insisted.  He was drunk.

"Bullshit!!  Nobody could do that, unless they didn't care about fucking up
the whole rest of the relationship. In our case, it's different
relationship, but it would be toast if we did this.  I'm not saying it would
be intentional or premeditated or anything like that, but I'm afraid that it
would be inevitable.   I couldn't live with even the suspicion."

"Look, Randy, we got a good thing going right now.  We're connected in a lot
of ways.  We have the hots for each other, but the student/teacher thing is
always gonna stop me from getting physical with you. The semester ends on,
what, December 22nd?  We take a break over the holidays, and then I come
back to Madison and you're no longer my teacher.  The marriage thing, as you
said, is your problem...sorry, not a problem necessarily, but your issue...and
I'm not gonna fuck with that for anything."

"I don't want you to fuck with that...I want you to f..."

"STOP!!  I'm telling you that if and when it does happen, it can only be
when you're no longer my teacher."

Randy sighed heavily.  "Okay, you're probably right.  But any time you
change your mind..."

"Not likely to happen.  Let's concentrate on getting back to where we were,
and even trying to be friends.  After the semester ends," he wiggled his
eyebrows in a sinister gesture, trying to inject some humor, "maybe then
I'll have my way with you."

Scott went to stand, and it was obvious that his cock was still pretty hard.
  Randy noticed and laughed a little.  "Looks like part of you is still
considering the possibilities."  He reached out to rub the bulge in Scott's
pants and got his hand slapped.

"That part of me is a bit slower than the rest, and doesn't always listen
very well.  But, I do really appreciate all the help.  Scott was walking
down the short hallway to the front door, with Randy right behind, his
semi-hard tenting his shorts.  "For now, anyway, lets keep it all down to
business, and we can take the rest as it comes when the time is right."

"You're a task-master, Mr. Turner.  You're really going to test my
self-discipline for the next couple of months."

"Back atcha, Mr. Oakes.  Some times I wish I didn't usually think so
rationally."

Randy leaned forward.  Scott didn't stop him.  They kissed, their tongues
gently meeting each other half-way..

"G'night, Randy."

"G'night Scott."

Scott was still rock-hard when he hit the sidewalk out front.  He walked to
the end of the block, thrust his hands into his pockets and grabbed his
dick, and squeezed.  It felt good, but not good enough.  By this time, Randy
was in his bedroom, buck naked on his back, stroking his hard cock to the
vision of Scott Turner hovering over him.

Scott turned right, telling himself he'd done the right thing.  Over and
over, he kept telling himself he'd done the right fucking thing.  The
Scott-devil on his shoulder had long-since been dusted in one of those
little explosions at which the artists at Looney Toons were so adept. He
felt good about that, but felt like shit at the same time.  Ten minutes
later, he was in the elevator taking him to the third floor of the dorm.  He
was nearly a mess, but not quite.  Coming off the elevator, he heard some
old Billy Joel playing from the James Brother's room.  The door was ajar.
He knocked.

"Entre..." It was Jesse's voice.

Scott pushed the door and it swung open.  Jesse was alone, sitting at his
computer, wearing only a pair of navy gym shorts.  God, he looked delicious!
  "Hey!  `Sup, buddy?"  Jesse smiled and waved him in, but stayed at the
computer, typing and clicking with a vengeance.

"Not much, just getting' back and saw the door open.  Thought I'd drop in
and see what the James Brothers were getting' themselves into tonight."

Jesse smiled a somewhat naughty smile and looked to his right, catching
Scott out of the corner of his eyes.

"Not much doin' here, bud.  Frank's out breeding some gal he met in a
drafting class, I think anyway.  And, I'm here pressing a deadline for my
first serious work in this fucking accounting course.  It's a ball-buster,
man."

Randy had gotten off the bed and went to the top drawer of his dresser.  He
retrieved an eight-inch dido, and a bottle of lube.  He dropped back onto
the bed and stuck the rubber cock in his mouth.

Scott was bold.  He walked over behind Jesse and reached down.  He rubbed
his hand over those huge, hard pecs.  It was weird.  While looking down at
Jesse, he imagined he was feeling up Randy.  "Maybe you need to take a
little break?"

Jesse took his fingers off the keyboard and unleashed a very contented sigh.
  For the time-being, Randy left Scott's mind, and all he could see was the
incredibly hot body sitting below him.

Jesse laughed under his breath.  He stood up and turned around.  He reached
over and held Scott by the waist, pulling him in.  "Dude, you're timing
sucks on a couple of fronts."

Randy had been stroking his cock and fingering his hole for several minutes.
  He had two fingers buried inside of himself, and was sucking the fingers
of the other hand.  `Ooooohhh, I so want you to fuck me...;

Scott looked dejected, with a question mark on his face.

"Lemme explain.  First, I fuck around with Jesse, or with Jesse and a
friend."  Before Scott could respond, he added, "...and you're the only other
guy we've ever included in our play time."  Somehow, Scott felt better about
that.  "Second...  I'm pretty fuckin' sore right now.  My bud really put it to
me during a `nooner' today, and you know how fuckin' big he is.  I was
really askin' for it, and he really went to town.  I really wish he was
here.  I'd love to see you get all over his sweet ass.  He would too."

"So, this ain't gonna happen," Scott breathed into Jesse's ear.

Randy had the dildo poised right at his tight entrance.  He rubbed it up and
down, teasing himself.  "Fuck me, Scott!! Goddammit, I want you to fuck me
Scott!!"

"Not tonight, bud."  Jesse looked up and pecked Scott's lips.  "But soon?
Maybe?"

"Aaawww, I could be persuaded...soon...maybe."

"Hey...lemme ask you something.  I saw Marty today down at the library mall.
Unless I'm seriously mistaken, he was shootin' some ` I wanna suck your
dick' vibes in a very big way.  Any chance...?"

"With Marty, there' always a chance of just about anything happening.  He's
nuts.  Yeah, he's hot, but he's nuts."  Dramatic pause.  "Interested?"

"Hell, yeah.  That little fucker's hot!!  You doin' him?"

"Jess!  Shame on you.!!  I don't kiss and tell!  But, tell me...what if you
and Frank, me and Marty were to all end up in the same place at the same
time, just the four of us?"

Jesse leaned up for another polite kiss.  Scott reached down and pinched his
left nipple.  Jesse smiled.  "We'd move mountains."

Randy was plunging the big `cock' in and out of his hole with a blind fury.
He pinched his right nipple hard, and moaned, then his left, and moaned
louder, nearly shouting Scott's name.

"I'll see what I can do."  Scott ruffled Jesse's hair.  "Get back to work,
and say `hi' to Frank for me."  One more quick kiss and Scott was out the
door.

Randy rammed the dildo up inside farther than it had ever gone.  His eyes
nearly popped out of their sockets as he sprayed one shot after another onto
his face, his hair, the wall, the pillow, the sheets and his chest and
stomach.

Scott returned to an empty room.  Craig was upstairs.  He undressed down to
his boxers and slid under the sheets.  It didn't' take long before the
shorts were around his knees.  He moved the comforter and the sheets with
one hand while he licked the other and went to work.  "Damn you, Randy
Oakes!" he said with a smile.  Within a couple of minutes, he'd shot a
good-sized load on his chest and stomach.  He found a towel in the dark and
cleaned himself, then crawled back under to covers and fell into a deep
sleep.

*	*	*	*	*

Scott and Craig walked into the Inn on the Park at about 7:30.  Scott had
been unsure on the etiquette of tipping the valet service.  `Do you tip them
on the way in and on the way out?'  That seemed a bit outrageous, so Scott
left his wallet in his pocket, promising himself he'd remember to hit the
guy up when he left.  He got a kick out of the thought of his beat up old
Ford Pinto being eased into a spot between the rides of the high and mighty.

Both guys looked good.  Scott had donned a midnight-blue suit, a white shirt
that he'd had laundered and starched, and a gold tie.  Craig had his own
black slacks and white shirt, and he was wearing a maroon tie of Scott's and
Brett's charcoal-gray sport coat.  It fit him well.

The event was in a large meeting room, called a "ballroom," on the second
floor.  On their way to the grand stairway leading to the upper level, they
walked past the entrance to the restaurant.

"Ooohh, Mr. Turner!!" squealed a familiar voice.  Scott stopped, and Craig
followed suit.

"Bradley!"

"How nice to see you again.  Are you here for the senator's event?
Everybody whose anybody is there, or will be...and, who's your handsome
friend??

"Bradley , this is my roommate, Craig Bostwick.  Craig, this is Bradley
Manning, the `host with the most,' the best restaurentuer  in all of
Madison."

"Ooooohh, nooooww..." Bradley manufactured a protest as he took Craig's right
hand in both of his.  "So very nice to meet you, Mr. Bostwick!  Any friend
of Scott's is always very welcome here."

Craig felt immediately uneasy, but smiled anyway.  "Uh...nice to meet you
Bradley.  Scott's said nice things about you."  He lied.  Scott had never
mentioned him.  Still Bradley looked at Scott and smiled a mushy smile.

Scott kept control of the conversation.  "Craig's going to be a Pulitzer
Prize winner some day.  Meantime, he's interning as a restaurant critic for
the Capitol Times.  Times are tough, you know, so the ownership class is
hiring us peons for minimum wage, and they're pulling it off!  Oh-oh, I
probably shouldn't have let that cat out of the bag, should I?"  He looked
plaintively at his thoroughly confused roommate.

"Well," Bradley assured them while patting Craig's hand, "your little secret
is safe with me.  I don't give a shit about the critics or reviews.  We have
a regular clientele locked in from the hotel.  Bradley leaned in a bit
closer and whispered, "Those assholes at `The Top' floor are another story."

There was a second establishment on the top floor of the hotel, the Top of
the Park.  Allegedly fine dining, though Scott had never been there.  He
thought his folks had visited the place a time or two, but wasn't sure.

Bradley continued to whisper, and he now had ahold of Craig's right arm with
one hand, waving the other in the air.  "You'd think those monsters up there
had invented food.  Pretentious, haughty arrogant bastards they are.
Craig...Scott...any time you want to do a review that will really serve the good
people of the area, you just let me know.  I'll set you up."

"Thank you, Bradley, I'll remember that," Craig said, finally reclaiming his
hand and arm from the gregarious host.

"You too, Scott.  I mean it.  When you want to dine at `The Top' you just
call Bradley.  It's a good meal, but they need some critical exposure if
they're ever going to get off their fat asses and put out the cuisine that
they should be creating.  I can take care of everything, incuding the
tab...except, of course, the tip, if they earn one that is."

"Oh, of course.  You've got a deal, Bradley my good man!  Maureen was right,
you're the best."  Scott patted his shoulder.

"Oh, you're too kind!"  Bradley tried to blush, but couldn't.

"Well, we need to get upstairs.  I'm sure Maureen is wondering if I'm coming
or not."

"Okay then, look forward to seeing you again...and you too, Mr. Bostwick."

"Great, see ya' then."  Craig was thoroughly dumbfounded.  As the two
started to climb the stairs, side by side, he looked to his right.  "What
the bloody fuck was that all about?"

Scott was already laughing.  "Just tryin' to get you hooked up, bro.  Unless
you're holding out on your roomie, you ain't had no sex since we got here.
Rumor has it Bradley gives great head, and I was pretty sure you're just his
type."  Scott handed Craig his ticket as they reached the top of the stairs.

"Fuck you every which way," snatching the ticket from Scott's hand.

"But I had no idea I'd be locking each of us into a free meal at The Top."

"Well, there is that."

As they reached the door to the hall, a state trooper asked them to see
their invitation.  Each one held up a ticket.  "Hope this'll do, sir."
Scott offered politely.  He looked at the ticket suspiciously.  "We're
guests of Senator McCarthy.  Those are her initials above the black marker."

He looked at Craig's just as closely.   "Very well, that'll do."  He handed
them back.

"The governor must be here, or maybe some big shot from Washington.  There's
no way security would be in place for just another state senator," Scott
surmised.  Craig just shrugged and nodded.

It wasn't a sit-down dinner thing.  It war a bar and hors d'oeuvre thing.
Both guys were glad that they wouldn't have to sit and make small talk with
strangers during a meal.  They could mingle, eat, drink and leave if and
when they wanted.  Scott peered around the large room looking for Maureen,
but saw the bar first.

"C'mon, bud, I hear cocktails calling."  Craig wasn't going to argue.  He
was going to follow Scott's lead all night.  He was seeing faces he thought
he recognized, but couldn't put a name to any of them.

Craig tapped his arm.  "You mean they're gonna serve us here?  I have a fake
i.d., you don't, and you're the one with connections here."

"Not sure.  Didn't discuss it with Maureen.  But since guys our age are
probably rare here, I'm thinking they don't check.  Guess it's the political
end of `don't ask, don't tell.'  Let's find out."

The bartender was busy, but beautiful.  "They can't just have one working
this crowd, can they?"  Craig asked.  "That's just wrong.  It's
un-American!"

Shortly, a sixty-something year-old gentleman with his hair dyed red and
slicked back stepped in front of them.  "What can I getcha fellas?"

Scott gulped back a guffaw at the dye job and ordered a gin and tonic.
Craig smiled and said, "make it two, Red."

"D'I know ya?  How'dya know my name?"

"Lucky guess."

Red served up the drinks and the guys both turned and surveyed the crowd.
Scott pointed out some of the notables he recognized.  "That's Senator
Musgrave, current minority leader, due to retire at the end of this term.
There's the Lt. Governor.  Word is he and the gov' are on the outs, and he's
gearing for a run for the U.S. Senate, so the old man is open for a new
running mate in a couple years.  The bozo over there is the mayor of my
hometown.  A complete klutz who keeps getting re-elected `cuz nobody else is
crazy enough to want the job.  The guy over there is the head honcho of the
teacher's union who...

"Scotty!!"  Maureen shouted from about fifteen feet away, waving him over to
join her.  He hadn't seen her when they approached the bar, but was glad
that he had caught her eye.  She was standing in a group of four others,
some of the faces looking familiar.

"We're being summoned.  You're gonna like her.  She's one classy dame."

Craig shrugged and followed his roommate.  Half-way there, he leaned over
and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "she is pretty good looking,
for an old gal.  You sure you haven't banged her?"

That got him an elbow in the ribs.  "You are deeply disturbed.  I should've
invited Marty.  Here, hold this," handing Craig his drink.

They both opened their arms and met in a warm embrace.  Cheeks were politely
but genuinely kissed.  "Oh...I'm so glad you could make it!"  Maureen meant
it.  "And, who's this?"

"Senator McCarthy, I'd like you to meet my roommate, Craig Bostwick.  He's a
flat-lander and aspiring journalist.  Mostly a real shit-head, but sometimes
a pretty good guy.  Craig...Maureen McCarthy."  Craig handed back the drink
and extended his hand.

She took Craig's hand and threw a sharp glance at Scott.  "I've told you
more than once, can the title crap"  She turned her attention back to his
roommate.  "Craig, very nice to meet you, and it's Maureen, just and only
Maureen."

"Got it, Maureen.  Scott's just kissing your ass when he throws the title
around."

She laughed.  "I like him, Scotty."

"I didn't have a choice.  The `U' just threw us together, but he'll do...for
now."

"Illinois, huh? Scott told me Rockford?"  Craig nodded.  " Is Scott giving
you enough grief about the Bears, the Bulls and the Cubbies?"

"Only three or four times a day, every day.  As tedious as he is, it's funny
listening to him try and defend the Brewers.  Actually sena...Maureen... I've
been a closet Packer fan for a long time, but if you repeat that, I'll deny
it and call you a liar in public."

Maureen laughed.  "Scotty, you got lucky on this one.  He's got looks and
brains."

"I can't wait for the UW-Illinois game.  I'm hoping he'll have a stroke as
he struggles to make up his feeble mind on who to root for."

The senator looked past Craig and called out,  "Ted...Oh, Ted...Come here a
minute, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

The tall gentleman excused himself from the conversation he was having and
strolled over.  "I owe you one, Maureen, I'd been looking for a way to
escape those two vipers for the past ten minutes.  Damned lobbyists!  The
never quit."

"Theodore Hackett," I'd like you to meet Scott Turner, Jr.  Hackett extended
his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Turner."

"It's an honor to meet you, governor.  I've long been an admirer of yours."

"Thank you, son."

"And this is Scott's roommate, Craig Bostwick."

"How do you do, Mr. Bostwick."

"Governor.  Nice to meet you."

"Scott's father is a very old, dear friend of mine from back home.  Scott
and Craig are both freshmen at the UW."

"Then, I'll assume that's water you guys are sipping on."  They looked at
each other, neither one sure just what to say.

Maureen was smug.  "Of course it is.  Besides, Ted, this evening, for all
intents and purposes, I'm working `in loco parentis.'  Scotty's parents have
given me full reign to act on their behalf."

The governor smiled.  "You're a lucky guy, Scott.  So, do you both have
majors chosen yet?"

"Yes sir.  I'm pretty sure, anyway.  I'm planning a double major in
political science and history."

"Oh, lord!  Another aspiring politician, huh?"

"Not sure, yet, sir. I don't know all that many, but the ones I do know are
generally decent sorts."  He patted Maureen's shoulder.

"I'm planning on journalism, sir."  Craig piped in.

"Good God!  A politician and a reporter.  You two must have some interesting
conversations, and some doozy arguments.  You fight a lot?"

"Not yet, governor.  Other than Craig's Illinois heritage, which gives us
lots of room to battle it out."

"Illinois?  Really."

"Yes sir, Rockford."

"Rockford!?  I have family down in Rockford.,  That's my mother's home town.
  Do you happen to know any Burts?"

Craig grinned.  "I went out with Heather Burt for the past two years, until
we sent our separate ways for college.  Decided a long-distance romance
wasn't fair to either one of us."

"Heather...Heather...I'm pretty sure my cousin has a daughter, Heather, who'd be
about your age.  What's her dad's name?"

Craig and the governor began chatting it up like they were old friends.
Maureen noticed that Scott's glass was empty.  "C'mon, I'll buy you another
glass of water."  They walked to the bar.

"Craig seems like an awfully nice guy," Maureen noted as they walked.  "Red"
walked over.

"Another gin and tonic, sport?"

"Make it two, Red. Thanks."  While they waited, Maureen waved at a couple of
people, thanked a few more for coming, and turned back to Scott.

"So, you're growing some roots on campus finally?"

"Yeah...it's goin' good.  I'm really starting to feel at home."

"I hope you're finding time for yourself.  Any activities outside of the
classroom?  Make that, any that you can tell me about."  She winked at him.

"Naah...not really."

"You should think about it.  Find a campus organization and dive in.  Any
thoughts about student government?  The Student Association might be a good
place for you to get a taste of politics, and you'd serve the university
well.  That group has so long been headed by meatheads."

Scott screwed up his face and shrugged.  "Aaahh, I don't know, Maureen.  You
know I o.d.'d on that stuff in high school, doing the `Mr. Student Leader'
thing.  It was fun and all, and I learned a lot..."

"And you made your parents, and me, proud.  You were good at it.   You have
natural leadership ability, you know, but back home you were a big fish in a
small pond.  Madison would be a good place to really test your mettle."

Red set the drinks on the bar.  "There ya' are, chief."  Scott nodded his
appreciation.

"Ya' think so?  Maybe..." Scott felt a hand on his ass.  He instinctively
jumped.  Quickly it was removed and placed on his shoulder.  Maureen smiled
at the hand's owner, but apparently hadn't seen the initial contact.

"So, senator, looks like you'll let just about anybody into one of these
things."  Randy Oakes had obviously been there a while, enjoying the open
bar.

"Hello, Randy!  So nice of you to come!  I haven't seen you in ages!  You
two know each other?"

Scott tried hard to hide his discomfort.  He smiled.  "Hey, Randy.  How's it
goin'?"

"Senator, Mr. Turner here is the brightest star in our state government
course."

"You didn't tell me that you knew Senator McCarthy personally, Randy."

Maureen explained.  "Randy's dad is the long-time chair of the county party.
  By the way, I haven't Marshall in months.  How's he doing these days,
Randy?"

He smiled and shook his head.  "Same old, same old.  Still `The Mighty
Oakes.'"

Maureen nodded her understanding.  "Scott, Marshall Oakes is probably more
responsible for my being here in Madison than any other single person.  He
convinced me to give up the bench to run for the senate in the first place."
  Maureen's attention was grabbed by someone at the door, waving her over.
"Would you two excuse me for a bit?...someone I need to see at the door."  She
patted Scott's arm.  "We'll talk again before you go, I'm sure.  Have a nice
time.  You too, Randy."  She was gone.

Scott didn't know what to say.  Randy wasn't exactly smashed, but his eyes
were glassy and there was a slight slur to his speech.  "Been here a while?"

"Oh, a little over an hour, I'd guess."  He ordered another scotch and soda.
  "How `bout  you?"

"Just got here a little bit ago."

"So, you and Ms. McCarthy are old friends I take it."

Scott nodded and explained the family history.  "Hey, Randy, I gotta go find
my roommate.  He came along, and this is his drink.  I'll see you around."

"Hope so."  Randy smiled.

Craig and the governor had been joined by another man and woman, and they
were all talking Badgers football when he walked up.  "This one's yours,
bud."

Craig introduced Scott to the governor's press secretary and the chair of
the UW Board of Regents.  They all chatted a bit more, and then Scott
suggested the two go and get some food.  "Will you folks excuse us, we need
to hit the chow line."  Hands were shaken all the way around.  "Very nice
meeting you.  Governor, take care."

"Hope to see you again, Scott.  Craig, when the time comes call the office
and schedule a time with my secretary.  Use the number I gave you, though,
or you might not get through."

"Thank you, sir!  I will."  The walked toward the buffet table.  "Dude!!
This is so fucking cool.  The gov's gonna give me an interview for an
assignment in my journalism class.  I'm gonna jump all over that.  Everybody
in class is gonna just die!  And...his press secretary said they always hire
one or two interns every year.  Said I should touch base with him and send a
resume after our sophomore year.  This is so fucking cool."

They each picked up a small plate and began surveying the goods.

"Down boy!  Your voice, too.  Chill a bit on the `fucking' will ya'?"  Scott
whispered a scold out of the side of his mouth.

"Yeah, sorry man.  Hey thanks.  I'm glad you talked me into coming.  This is
just too good.  Who's the dude you were chatting it up with with the
senator?"  Craig was spearing meatballs and dropping them on his plate

Scott began to follow suit.  "That's my state gov. TA, Randy Oakes.  I knew
he was from the district, but didn't know his old man is the county chair
for the party.  Turns out he's a big Maureen supporter."

"Cool."

"Yeah, but he needs to ease up on the sauce a little bit.  He's been
knocking them back pretty good, and is on his way to getting sloshed if he
doesn't cool it."

Maureen joined them.  "God, I hate these damned things." she said with some
exaggeration.  "Sucking up to anybody and everybody.  I'm glad you boys
could come.  I need someone to talk to and not end up feeling like I owe
them something."

Craig chuckled.  "I owe you, senator.  I really appreciate this.  I got a
choice interview out of the deal with the governor, and his press
secretary's business card is in my wallet.  I may shoot for an internship
over there in another year or so."

"Good for you, Craig.  Jim's a good guy.  Always finds a way to make Ted
look good, and that is sometimes quite a trick."  She rolled her eyes.

"So, you know Randy Oakes very well, Maureen."  Scott was more than a little
curious.

"Yeah...his dad's been a huge source of support over the years.  Randy's been
volunteering on my campaigns since he was about ten years old."

"He always drink so much.?"

Maureen sighed.  "He's a lot like his dad in that respect, too.  Marshall
could always be counted on to close the bar.  He's alright, I think."

Maureen's eyes suddenly lit up as she looked over Scott's shoulder.  "Hey!
you made it!!"  She bolted from her chair and hugged someone.  "Oh, so good
to see you, dear." Scott looked over, but only saw the arms come around
Maureen's shoulders.  He went back to his meatballs and shrimp.  "Come here,
darling.  There's somebody I really want you to meet."  Scott began to rise
for an introduction.

Scott, I'd like you to meet my niece, Kelly.  Kelly Abbott, this is...

"Asshole." Scott grinned and extended his hand.

Kelly's mouth fell open and she just stared.

"What?!"  Maureen was stunned.

Scott's eyes never left Kelly's and his smile slowly grew.  "I'm an asshole,
Maureen.  Just ask Ms. Abbott.  She'll tell you."  Scott laughed out loud,
thoroughly enjoying Kelly's discomfort.  "Kelly Abbot, I'd like you to meet
my roommate, Dipshit McLoser."

Craig waved.  "Hey."

Scott gave Maureen a short review of the morning's disagreement in class,
and afterwards.  The senator's eyebrows arched in disbelief.  "Kelly
Abbott!"  Maureen admonished.  "You called another an asshole in class?"

"Aunt Mo'..."  Kelly pleaded  "it's not like I shouted `you're an asshole'
across the room in front of the whole class."  She smiled a little.  "I
muttered it under my breath and Scott has really good hearing."

Scott looked over at Maureen "And, which member of the State Senate called
me a little shit not too long ago?"

"They're all right you know.  You're a shit and an asshole.  Good call,
ladies."  Craig popped another meatball in his mouth.  "Geez, these are
good."

To say Kelly was a bit sheepish was a gross understatement. "Besides, I
thought a bit about our `talk' after class today, and you make a good point.
  I hope you'll accept my apology,  Scott.  Could we, like, start over from
scratch?"

"Clean slate.  Forgotten.  So I'm not an asshole?"

"I don't know yet.  Let me get to know you better and I'll get back to you
on that one."

Maureen excused herself one more time.  "Need to keep the contributors
happy.  I'll be back."

The three of them got acquainted over another drink and a second helping of
finger food.  Kelly grew up in Brookfield.  She was a junior, active in her
sorority, and would be interning in the governor's office after the school
year ended.  Her declared major was business, but Maureen's career had
fostered an interest in government.  Her mom was the late Mr. McCarthy's
sister.  She had died of cancer when Kelly was very young, and Maureen had
stepped in to fill the female void at crucial points in her life.

"My dad was sooo ill-prepared to raise kids on his own, and Aunt Mo' was
always like mom for me, my brother and my sister.  She's just the greatest."

Craig's glass was empty.  "Got time for one more before heading out roomie?"
  Scott shrugged and nodded.  "Can I get you something, Kelly?"

"I'd love a glass of wine...white, please.  Thanks"

Craig gathered up the empty plates and deposited them in a bus tub on his
way to the bar.

"So, Scott, I'd like to make up for my bad behavior this morning."

"Clean slate...remember?  I don't know what you're talking about."  He tipped
his glass and munched on an ice cube with a grin on his face.  `Those are
the most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen,' he marveled to himself.

"Still, let me buy you lunch."  She ran her schedule through her head.  "How
about... Friday?  We could meet at the Union.  If the weather holds out, we
can have a burger on the terrace."

"Sounds good to me."

"Great."

Craig returned with the drinks, and they all sat and watched the crowd.
Kelly pointed out a few more of the big shots, sharing Maureen's estimation
of many of them.  They shared several laughs at the expense of Madison's
high and mighty.

Maureen returned to the table. Standing in between their chairs she put one
hand on Scott's shoulder and the other on Kelly's  "I guess I've done enough
ass kissing for one night," she lamented.  "You boys made quite an
impression on the governor.  And, the man remembers names like nobody I've
ever known."

"Oooohhh, already sucking up to the governor, are we?" Kelly taunted.

"Easy for you to say, you're already locked into a job in his office," Scott
answered.  "So Maureen, as these things go, is this a good crowd?  Has the
night been all you've hoped for."

"Oh, I don't know.  My campaign treasury is certainly healthier.  But you
feel a little sleazy.  People are here representing groups and organizations
that I don't have the time of day for, and they know it.  It's kind of
funny."

Craig piped in, "I suppose that's the whole `politics makes strange
bedfellows,' thing going on,  huh?"

"Boy, you got that right, kiddo."

Scott noticed Randy Oakes glaring at them from across the room.  He just
nodded and headed for the door.