Date: Mon, 06 Mar 2006 18:10:00 -1000
From: S turner <scotty.13411@hotmail.com>
Subject: Strange Bedfellows, Chapter 5

It was the striking auburn hair he saw first.  Walking down the sidewalk
along the front of the Memorial Union, Scott could see just the beautiful
head of hair bobbing up and down among the shoulders of the three guys she
was strolling with.  They were coming across the library mall, all of them
headed toward the Union.  She hadn't seen him, or at least he didn't think
she had, so he picked up the pace. Kelly went one way while the guys went
another, and Scott was waiting at one of the four front doors on The Union
when she got there.  The door opened when she hit the second step.

"Ms. Abbott.  Come right in," he spread one arm while holding a door with
the other.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Turner!"  She walked past him as he held the door.
  She smelled fantastic.

"So, havin' a good day?" he asked

Kelly thought about it.  "Not bad... not great... as always, hoping it'll turn
into a real doozy."

"I'll see what I can do," Scott offered with a smile.

After making their way through the cafeteria-style serving line,  Kelly,
good to her word, paid the tab.

"You didn't have to do that, you know."

"I told you I was buying lunch, and I meant it..  I don't say stuff I don't
mean."

"I'll remember that."

She gave him a `you'd damn-well better' nod.  "Want to sit outside?"

"It's a bit breezy, but let's give it a shot.  We can always relocate if
it's too bad."

It was a little windy, and the patio was only about forty yards from the
shore of Lake Mendota, so the breeze was quite cool.  But there wasn't a
cloud in the sky, and Scott's black sweatshirt absorbed the sun's heat,
keeping him warm.

They had one of those get-to-know-you-better conversations.  Childhood, high
school, family, likes, dislikes, all the standard stuff.  Scott quickly saw,
actually he'd seen it in class and during their conversation at the
fundraiser, that when Kelly hit a topic that meant a lot, her expression
said so.  Her eyes narrowed just a bit and they seemed to turn a more
brilliant green, if that was possible.  Kelly was very involved in her
sorority, and ran a couple of miles every morning.  Scott's runs were
usually scheduled for the afternoon hours.  She had perfect, pearly-white
teeth and an infectious laugh, and he was happy that when he tried to make
her laugh she did so.

So, you're gonna intern in the governor's office next year?"

"Actually it's gonna be over the summer.  My course load next year is gonna
look pretty ambitious, so I wouldn't be able to do it after school starts."

"Sounds like a good gig."

"Yeah, I guess," she said casually, with a slight shrug.  "Aunt Mo' says the
governor's kind of a putz, but he and I are on the same page politically, so
it shouldn't be too hard working to support him.  Besides, internships are a
lot of grunt work, so it's not like I'll be faced with anything that would
cause me to compromise anything I believe in."  Suddenly, a smile lit up her
face and she threw a fast wave across the patio.

Scott glanced over his shoulder and saw one of three guys at a table behind
him waving back.  Hje was a great looking guy with Greek letters on the
front of his sweatshirt.

Kelly continued, "So...Aunt Mo' tells me she's urged you to run for a WSA
seat."

Scott rolled his eyes a bit and shrugged.  "Yeah, she thinks it would be
good for a poli-sci major to dig into some campus politics.  Plus, she's
just so devoted to this place, she wants me to dive into campus life with
both hands."

"Are you gonna do it?"

"I'm thinking about it, but wouldn't know where to start.  It's not like I
have I have an organization or group of students to draw any support from."

"Oh...hang on a sec.  Maybe we can change that."  She leaned to her left to
look around and behind him.  "Kip!  Hey, Kip!  You got a minute?"  She waved
the guy over.  "C'mere...there's somebody I want you to meet."

Kip Monmouth stood up and walked, or more like swaggered, across the patio.
It occurred to Scott, as he watched him approach, that this was a guy who
spent a lot of time working waaaayyy too hard to look like an A and F model.
  Truth be told, though, it was working.  `He could do it.' Scott was
certain.  Kip was about six foot three, and probably weighed about one
eighty, very trim, and he moved gracefully.  His sandy brown hair, with some
subtle blond highlights, was cut short on the sides and spiked a little on
top.  He had a very masculine, square jaw.  The neck that rose from the
collar of his sweatshirt wasn't thick, but it was very muscular.  The gray
sweatshirt hugged his broad chest, and flattered his physique quite nicely.

"Hey, Kel, how's it going?"  Kip leaned over and kissed her cheek.  She did
one of those air kisses, the kind of smooch they do on talk shows when a
guest is introduced.

"Kip, I want you to meet a friend of mine...Scott Turner.  Scott, this is Kip
Monmouth"

Scott half stood and extended his hand.  "Good to meet you Kip."  Kip had
large hands, and his grip was very firm.

"Oh, keep your seat!  Good to know you, Scott."  He had a great `pleased to
meet you' smile, and then he turned, "So, what's up, Kel?"

"Hey...Scott's mulling over a run for WSA.  I know that you and the guys are
working to run a full slate of candidates next month."

"Yeah, we are.  I'm talking to a couple of our recruits right now.  If one
of them agrees to get on the ballot, we still have to round up one more to
join the effort.  I'm thinking we can pull this off."  He shoved his hands
into his hip pockets and gave a little shrug.  "So, Scott, you're thinking
of making your own mark on student government?"

Scott half shrugged, half nodded and started to answer.  Kelly jumped in
ahead of him.  "Oh, Kip, he'd be great!  He's smart, he's articulate, he's
funny, and his ties to the `U' go back a couple of generations.  If you're
still looking for candidates, maybe you two should talk."  Scott was a
little surprised by her enthusiasm.

Scott jumped back in.  "So, Kip, who's this `we' your representing?  You
got, like, a party or something you've organized?"

"Well, I guess you could call it that, and we'll probably find a name to
identify our folks.  What it is right now is an agreement by the members of
the Greek Council to elect a majority to the WSA."  The "IFC,"
Intrafraternity Council, commonly known as the Greek Council, was the
coordinated effort by fraternity and sorority leadership to deal with
interests involving them both.

"Really?  So what are you and `your folks' aiming for?"

Kip pulled out a chair and sat down.  He rested his elbows on the table and
folded his hands together.  He was getting into a serious teaching mode, and
was going to enlighten Scott.  "It's not so much-not right now anyway-about
any specific agenda.  It's about dumping the loosers, drunkards, dopers and
fags that have held sway over the WSA for far too long.

Scott tried not to wince, but wasn't sure he had succeeded.  "What d'ya
mean?"

"It's just that the WSA has been in the hands of such lefties for so long.
Everybody manning those offices is, like, either a total doofus or some
theatrical politically correct idiot who wants to squander student funds on
the homos, the homeless or the hapless.  It's an embarrassment to a Division
I, Big Ten institution that deserves a lot better.  Don't you think?"

Scott thought for a moment.  "You know, Kip, I honestly haven't paid close
enough attention.  I guess I can't say for sure."

"Well, we're happy to entertain some new talent among the ranks, and I'd
like to tell you more."  Out of habit, Kip was sliding into sales mode. So,
what house are you pledging?"

Scott muffled a chuckle.  "None."  He grabbed the last whole potato chip in
his basket and popped it into his mouth.

Kip's face showed a mixture of surprise and confusion.  In his eyes,  Scott
certainly looked the part...very attractive, indeed...great shape, decent
dresser, friend of one the most popular sorority sisters on campus, good
friend of a state senator.  "No, dude, I said which house..."

"Oh, I heard you  okay..," Scott's fingers pinched some of those small
potato chip pieces that populate the bottom of the of a bag or a burger
basket.  He tried to guide all of the little flakes into his mouth, but
failed.  A few stuck to his bottom lip.  He licked them off, and took a
generous drink off of his Coke.  "I just said I'm not pledging anybody."

"Really!"  Kip seemed a bit dumb-founded.  "I just sort of assumed...I mean,
you're..."

"Naaaahh...not really much of a joiner here, Kip."

"Aw, Man!  Pledging a frat isn't about just oining something.  It's not just
signing up for some club.  It's a fucking way of  life.  It's about what the
name implies...it's about brotherhood, about commitment, about giving yourself
over to something bigger than yourself.  It's about being a piece of
something that's a helluva lot bigger than the sum of its parts..." Kip was
on a roll now, even though pledge week was long past for the current year.

"No, Kip, I get all that stuff, and it makes sense on one level.  It's just
not an interest, nor is it a need of mine right now, or probably ever."  He
emphasized the word `need', wondering what kind of reaction he'd get.

Kip was exasperated, and felt like he was being dis'd.  In reality, he was
being dis'd, in a big way, and didn't know quite how to react.  The frat boy
in him kicked into high gear.  "Well, sorry, Scott.  We're only taking
in...we're only ready to support other members of ours for election to the
WSA.  If you're not Greek, I can't recommend you."

"What?!"  Kelly protested.  "That's a little nuts, isn't it?"

Kip raised his palms to the sky and tried to look innocent, as if a decision
that was outside of his control was imposing on his desire to recommend
Scott for the political support of all the frat houses on campus.  "Kel,
it's not up to me!  The council voted the other night to limit our
endorsements to other chapter members.  We're only gonna get behind fully
qualified members of a fraternity or sorority."  He shrugged, "You could've
been there, ya' know.."

Scott learned that Kelly was also a member of the Greek Council,
representing her sorority, but she had a previous engagement the night that
vote was taken.  "I was at that thing for my Aunt Mo'.  You know that.  I
told you about it a while ago."

Kip nodded his understanding.  "Yeah, I know.  Still...it's done.  We're
supporting only members of the various local chapters."  He looked at Scott
and put on one of the most bogus smiles any human being had ever seen.
"Dude, I'd love to give you a hand on this, but if you're not `Greek' I
can't help."

"Don't sweat it, Kip.  I'll survive...somehow."  He sniffled a little and
pretended to wipe a tear from his eye.  Scott was fucking with the guy, and
they both knew it.

Kip smiled a sneer at him, then looked back at Kelly.  "So, what'cha doin'
next weekend?  My folks are coming over for the game on Saturday.  Wanna
join us?"

She did her best to look disappointed.  "Oh, sorry Kip.  I already have
plans."  Scott finished his chips and took the last draw from the straw in
his Coke. He slurped the last drops as loudly as he could, then repeated the
effort just for hell of it.   Kip just frowned.

Kip looked around, and then glanced at his watch.  "Shit!  I gotta get
moving."  He looked back at Kelly.  "But we're still on for the whole
Homecoming thing, huh?"

She put her hand on Kip's forearm.  "Of course, silly!  That's going to be a
lot of fun.  I'm really looking forward to it."

"Good!  Me too."  Kip went to stand, and half-way up he leaned in and kissed
her cheek one more time.  "I'll call ya'...okay?"

"You'd better!"

"Scott, it was great meeting you.  I'm sure we'll see  you around."

Scott took his hand, thinking that the "we" in his last statement was like
the royal "we," as in `We are not amused.'

"Hope so, Kip."  Scott shook the guy's hand, but he didn't enjoy it.  As Kip
walked away, Scott couldn't avoid thinking, `that's the best looking
mother-fucker that I'd never fuck."

He looked back at Kelly, his face showing a moderate level of amazement. As
impassionately as he could, he surmised, "There goes, without a doubt, the
most pretentious, self-absorbed...how many synonyms do you know for the word
arrogant...? Anyway, the biggest fucking prick I think I've ever met!"

"Ooohh, Scott, he's not that bad."  She put her hand the arm he had laid on
the table in front of them and she squeezed it a little.

"Whatever you say...or whatever you see in him...but, for my money, he's a
white-collar redneck.  You know...he's the country club Fascist.  He's the
`our kind of people' kinda guy.  Archie Bunker in pinstripes.  What a
complete and total ass-wipe!!  How do you know this guy?  And what kind of
fucking name is Kip, anyway?  Who the hell names their kid Kip?"

Kelly giggled a little.  "His given name is Christopher, after his
grandfather.  When he was a little boy, his family all agreed that he was a
`chip off the old block,' and started calling him `Chip.'  As a little boy,
he mangled the nickname to Kip, and it just sorta stuck.

"Oh, how friggin' cute is that?  But how do you know this asshole?  I'll bet
everything in my wallet that he has a roman numeral behind his name, too,
doesn't he?"  There wasn't that much in his wallet, but he thought the
gesture was appropriate.

Kelly laughed hard and clapped her hands together, nodding,.  "As a matter
of fact, he does.  Formally, he's Christopher U. Monmouth The Second."

"U?"

"Ulysses."  It was his grand-dad's full name.  He's a "second" because he
was named after his gramps, and not his dad.  That's why he's not a
"junior."

"Christopher Ulysses Monmouth, II.."  Scott just shook his head.  "Okay, I
get it, not that I care, but I see why he'd prefer Kip.   So what's your
connection?"

"Well, we met when we were both in high school.  He was in Brookfield and I
was in Waukesha. We were both active in our schools' student governments,
and we met at a regional conference, and then we ran into one another again
when I started school here. His dad has this huge PR and advertising firm in
Brookfield...one of the biggest and best in the state!"  She tried to sound
enthused.  "Anyway, we've kept in touch through the Greek thing."

"And, Homecoming?"

"Well..."  Kelly sounded tentative now.  "Looks like we're both gonna be on
the court."  The Homecoming Court was selected by, and from, the various
fraternities and sororities around the campus.  "And, Kip asked me last week
if he could be my escort for the various events.  I think it'll be fun!"

Scott had to dig deep.  "Sounds like it.  So... you really have plans for next
weekend?"

"I hope so."

"Hope?"

She leaned in and put her hand over his.  "Here's what I'm thinking, Scott..
  I have Aunt Mo's tickets for next week's game.  Forty-five yard line."
Maureen had owned the same season tickets to the Badger's home games for a
few decades now.  "I'm thinking you'll buy dinner on Friday night, and I'll
treat you to great seats on Saturday to see Ron Dayne break the record."

The Badgers' Ron Dayne was poised to break the all-time NCAA rushing record,
and all of Madison...all of Wisconsin...for that matter, was abuzz.  It was
going to happen at a home game against Iowa, and these were the hottest
tickets in the state that week. Scott was taken both by Kelly's seductive
expression, and by the idea that he could watch it with her, on the
forty-five, and not in the student section's end-zone's seats.

"Sounds like fun!"  Their fingers were now entwined, somewhat casually,
somewhat sensually, fondling each other.  Scott felt his dick swelling, if
only a bit.  He cleared his throat.  "Sounds like fun.  Where do ya' want to
eat on Friday?"

Kelly gazed at him, wanting to say all sorts of naughty things about eating.
  "You pick.  You're buying."

They both laughed a low, quiet chuckle.

He slapped the table with his other hand and broke the spell.  "Hey!!  This
was fun, but I gotta get goin'!  I'm really glad you suggested this, Kelly.
I like this `clean slate' deal better than the `asshole' deal we started off
on.

"You told me you'd wiped that from your memory."  Both started to stand.

"And so I have. We'll talk in class this week, and make a plan for Friday.
Gotta decide where we're gonna go.  Anything you don't or won't eat?"

She leered at him.  "Not a thing..."

"Good.  I like that in a date.  This is a `date' isn't it?  I mean, I can
tell my buddies, `Sorry guys...can't get together tonight, `cuz I GOTTA
DATE...YOU PATHETIC LOOSERS!!"

She blushed and giggled.  "You tell `em whatever you guys tell each other,
but, yeah, it's a `date.'

Scott leaned over and kissed her cheek.  They parted a bit and stared into
each others' eyes for a moment.  Then he leaned in and gently kissed her
lips.  She returned the kiss.  Kip hadn't yet left the Union, and he watched
from a distance.

*	*	*	*	*

Scott decided to skip his anthropology discussion section and call it a
week.  He headed back to the dorm.  On the walk back, he did a slow boil
over most of what Christopher U. Monmouth II had to say, and how he'd acted.
  `What a prick.  Just the perfect fucking dick-head,' he thought.

His trip back to the room brought him past the office of the Wisconsin
Student Association.  `What the fuck...' he mumbled and walked up the steps of
the small brick building.  After standing at an office counter for a few
minutes, a nerdy looking guy with really bad acne asked, "Can I help you?"

"Um, yeah.  I'd like to find out what it takes to become a candidate for the
WSA," he sounded a little tentative, and he knew it.

The clerk nodded and very efficiently pulled a single sheet of paper off of
several different stacks arrayed on a table behind the counter.  "Well...this
gives you a list of the active parties that have run in the past.  You're
already affiliated with a party?"

"Aaahh, no!  Do I have to be?"

"Of course not, this is just informational.  Now, this one spells out the
duties of any elected member."  He reached under the counter and grabbed a
booklet. Scott was reminded of Radar O'Reilly from M*A*S*H*.  "Here's a copy
of the WSA Constitution.  This one's a timeline with deadlines and
due-dates."  Radar laid another single sheet down and he pointed on the
page.  "You'll see that you only have a few days to get it in.  The deadline
is next Tuesday. This is a sheet for bio information.  We like it in case
the WSA makes any press and we get calls here at the office about a
particular member.  Keep that in mind as you write your bio...don't include
anything you wouldn't want to see in print.  And finally, this is what you
use to actually file as a candidate...it gets you on the ballot.  Any
questions?"

Scott thought for a second.  "Er, no.  Not really.  I've only recently
thought about it, so I guess I don't know enough to actually have any
intelligent questions yet.  If I do, I'll call.  What's your name."

"I'm Walter."  Scott almost laughed in the poor guy's face.  `How fucking
perfect is that?' he wondered.

"Okay, Walter," he extended his hand across the counter.  "I'm Scott...Scott
Turner."  Walter shook his hand and nodded.  "You've been very helpful.  If
I do have any questions, I'll call and ask for you."  Scott squared the pile
of papers.  "Thanks very much."

As the door closed behind him, Walter called out, "No problem, Scott.  Good
luck."

Scott had plenty to think about, but decided to keep this to himself, for
the time being anyway.  He returned to an empty room and took a short nap.
The plan was for all the guys to gather upstairs in Marty and Brett's room
tonight, so a little extra sleep seemed prudent.  After about an hour of
sack time, he decided to don his sweats and go for a run.  He'd lost the
discipline he once had about his daily running routine, and had been
promising himself that he'd find it again.

When he got back from a modest three miles, Craig was on his bed reading.
He looked up from his book. "Hey, Bud!"

"'sup?"  Scott was still a bit winded.

"So...?"

"So what?"

"So lunch, meathead!  How'd your lunch with Kelly go?"

"Oh, that...it was fine, `cept I had to endure a meeting and conversation with
a royal, and I mean ROYAL fucking prick."  He mulled it over for a sec.
"Maybe an old flame, too.  Couldn't quite tell.  But he was one of the
biggest fucking assholes I have met since setting foot on campus.  Some jerk
of a frat rat who clearly believes his own shit doesn't stink."

"Don't they all think that?  I thought that quality was, like, baseline
criteria for putting Greek letters on your sweaters."  Craig smiled, amusing
himself with his rhyme, `letters on your sweaters.'  He made a mental note
to turn that into a lyric some day.  As a hobby, he liked to write song
lyrics, even though he'd never played an instrument.

"Well, if it is, it's clear how he made it in, and then stayed."  Scott just
shook his head and shrugged.  "Oh, well...I'm gonna grab a quick shower, then
you ready to eat?"  Scott stripped down to nothing, wrapped a towel around
his waist.

"I'm in!  Didn't have any lunch today, and could probably eat just about
anything they put in front of me."

"'kay...back in a few."

"Hey!  Gonna see her again?

"Uh...yeah!  Looks like we're having dinner next Friday, and then gonna hit
the game together on Saturday.  She has Maureen's tickets.  Forty-five yard
line.  Eat your fuckin' heart out, baby."  He grabbed his key and headed out
into the hall.

*	*	*	*	*


Almost everybody was there...Marty, Craig, Scott, Jesse and Frank...but not
Brett.  And he was supposed to bring the weed.  The Badgers were on the road
against Penn State this weekend, so it couldn't be a band thing, and they
were all wondering where in the hell the guy had gone.  The James Brothers
had brought a couple of joints, but the second one was almost gone, and they
were pretty much tapped out.  The guys were pretty buzzed, but getting more
than a little impatient.

Marty had worked out some kind of deal to keep the room stocked with beer
and liquor, at a minimal price, and nobody had asked how that had been
arranged.  Scott had a suspicion or two, but kept those thoughts to himself.
  Beyond that, Scott and Craig supplied most of the liquid and some of the
herb.  Craig had an older cousin who worked for a liquor store not far from
campus, and he and Scott split the costs, fifty-fifty.  Jesse and Frank were
always good for some of their outstanding dope, and Marty's job was to bring
"Mr. Whitey" to the party.   They were all there, but where the hell was
Brett?

Loud voices in the hallway stopped the conversation about the Packer's
prospects in the season that was just heating up.

"That's just fucking stupid... just plain fucking stupid!!  I'm only a college
sophomore, and I can see more clearly than those morons!"  It was obviously
Brett, throwing a tantrum, but only Marty had ever heard him yell...about
anything.  There was the sound of a key in the door as Brett continued to
wail. "How could the Dean's office, or whoever the hell makes that kind of
call, stumble upon such a stupid fucking decision.  Talk about a fucking
mismatch..." the door to the room swung open, and Brett, red-faced, looked
around the room.  He smiled sheepishly for a second, and then his face got
all screwed up again, and he turned on his heels.  He stuck his head out the
door and looked to his left.  "We're in the fucking Big Ten, and this is the
goddamn best college marching band in the U-S-of-A!  I'm gonna write a
goddam letter."  He slammed the door.

They all stared at the floor.  Nobody had ever seen Brett go ballistic.
Marty, being Marty, looked up and smiled sweetly and sang, "Hi hon...so...how's
your day?"

"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on...and somebody gimme a drink...and I
don't give a fuck what it is."  Scott grabbed the bottle of bourbon, Marty
reached for the gin, and Jesse stretched out across the floor trying to
reach the door to the refrigerator to find a beer.  Both Scott and Marty
looked down at his sweet bubble butt, encased in gray sweat pants, obviously
wearing only a jockstrap underneath.

Frank felt a little guilty for not having the mind to offer Brett a
vodka-and-something, or just a vodka for that matter, but he'd been busy
staring at Marty's crotch, arms and chest for the past fifteen minutes.

Jesse was the quickest, unscrewing the top off a bottle of beer and holding
it straight up as Brett sat down on Marty's bed.  "So, `Ward," didn't you
hear `June' over there...how's your day?"  Marty laughed.  Brett glared down
at Jesse for a second and then cracked up.

"Fuck you, too, Eddie Haskell."  He knocked back half the beer in one huge
swig, sat forward and belched.  He belched big.  "God, I needed that.  Gets
the evil spirits out of your system."

The other guys continued to mix the cocktails they'd each started, and then
Marty took control of the situation.  "Okay, Brett, get it out, now.
Lighten your load...unpack your baggage...piss your pants...puke your guts out...do
whateverthefuck you gotta do.  You're raining on the parade, bro. But, I'm
beggin' ya...give us the Readers' Digest version."

"Okay...in a nutshell."  He finished his beer in a second drink, then grabbed
the bourbon that Scott was holding.  "Our most important assistant director
took another grad assistantship at Ohio State...dumb shit!  Dumb fucking shit!
  He must be on serious drugs to take that job."  He scrunched his eyes and
shook his head back and forth,  "Ohio...fucking...State!"  He took a big sip
from of the whiskey and coughed.  "Anyway, everybody knew that my buddy
David was next in line, and they tapped this totally lame, limp-wristed
fruit-cake to take his job.  Totally unacceptable.  Un-fucking-acceptable
all the way around!!"

Some of them whinced.  Others remained as stoic as they could.  Brett could
be such a red-blooded pig at times.

"Awful fucking casting...just pathetic...It's like when the Batman dopes cast
Vincent Price to play The Joker, or something stupid like that..." He was
grasping at straws as he gulped down another one-third of the bourbon and
coke.

Scott was simply appalled...no, he was dumbfounded...at the stupidity of the
statement.  Granted, he had a pretty good buzz going by this time, but Brett
had hit a nerve.  Scott was about to bust loose, and he welcomed the chance.

"DUMB SHIT!!"  He sat up straight on the floor and pointed, damnation in his
voice.  "You, sir, are a Neanderthal, a Troglidite, a Heathen, a
Blastphemer!  You are obviously starved, intellectually, and I'll take that
into account before judging you too harshly.  Perhaps your parents should be
thrashed for raising you so poorly.  I'll reserve judgment on that count,
out of consideration for your obviously neglectful youth."

Brett was caught off guard, and stared back with his mouth open.  The
others, save for Craig, were just stunned.  They'd never seen nor heard a
hint of anger coming from the level-headed Scott.  They all suffered through
a brief, uncomfortable silence staring at the floor, except Craig, who knew
what was coming.

"Vincent Price, you fucking fool, was Egghead.  Cesaer Romero played The
Joker.  And both, by the way, were near-brilliant.  You...fucking...maroon!"
Jeeeeezus Christ!!  Next he's gonna tell us that Dawn Welles played Ginger
and Tina Louise was Mary Ann!!  You foool...you poor, poor fool!   Ohhhhh, the
humanity!"  There was spit on Scott's chin, but nobody cared.  Suddenly,
they were all, including Brett, enjoying the show.

"Has it escaped you entirely that the beauty of that show was in the casting
of  serious actors, or at least established ones, and giving them room to
really go over the top?  That was one of the cool things about TV Batman.
The villains made the fucking show!! Other than Nicholson playing The Joker,
the movie villains have all been pathetic...really fucking pathetic."

"Oh, listen to Mr. TV trivia over there...So, who was The Penguin?" Craig was
goading him on.  He knew where this was headed.

Scott reached over and slapped his roommate's left knee. "Oooh...gimme a
fuckin' break.  Burgess Meredith, on TV, and he was also great!!  Danny
DeVito had a sad-ass reprise of the role in an awful movie.  Now, who has
the joint?"  Craig handed the smoke to Scott with a grin on his face. They'd
had this conversation once before.  He knew, `don't mess with Scott on TV
trivia, especially not on Batman.'  He hoped that nobody would go to Hogans'
Heroes, either.

Craig thought he'd get the ball rolling.  "And Cat Woman?"

"Which one?  Number one or number two?"

"Number Two."

"Ertha Kitt."

Frank joined in.  "Number One?"

"Julie Neumar.  God! you guys are sad!"

"You know `em all, blowhard?"  Jesse had joined the fray.

"Blow hard?!  Blow Me!!  I'll bet any motherfucker in the room that I can
name any actor who played any bad guy, or bad gal, on TV Batman."  Marty
showed a very naughty grin, and went to work trying to think of a stumper.
The thought of Scott sucking him off had pretty grand appeal at the moment,
especially if he could win the bet and shame him into blowing him in front
of the other guys.

"So, ya' lose and you'll suck me off right here...tonight?" Marty dared him as
he was unfolding the now familiar little packages he always brought to the
party.  Frank and Jesse were perking up, and Craig and Brett were just
laughing.

"Do it, man," chimed Craig.  "I do believe that you could win that bet."

Emboldened by his roommate, Scott offered, "Okay, I'll suck the cock of any
of you who can name a Batman villain and I can't tell you the actor who
played them on TV.  Even you, pencil-penis," Scott taunted Marty, even
though he new better.  Marty was intently chop-chopping on the mirror, and
with his free hand flipped the bird, never missing a beat with the one-edged
razor in the other.  "And if I, or rather WHEN, I win?  Who's gonna do me?"
Scott asked grabbing the semi-hard in his shorts for effect.

"You pick from anybody who's in the bet," said the usually quiet Frank.

Marty: "I'm in," not looking up from the small pile of white powder he was
scraping off the paper and onto the mirror.

Jesse: "Me too."

Frank was sitting on Brett's bed, with Jesse on the floor below him.  "I'll
have a go," he dared.  "Haven't gotten any really good head in a while.  You
any good, Mr. Turner?"

Jesse leered up at him, mostly because he'd had Frank's huge tool for
breakfast that morning.  Frank looked down and smiled sweetly. Getting up
off the floor to retrieve a beer, Jesse knocked Frank's knee with his empty,
considerably harder than was necessary.  Scott muffled a chuckle, and he
thought he saw Marty react similarly.

"You ready for one, bud,?" Jesse inquired.  Frank smiled and nodded, then
threw back his head to drain the beer he'd been working on.  Jesse looked
back as he opened the door to the fridge.  "So, Craig, what about you?"

"I know a losing proposition when I see one, and while I've grown to admire
my roommate, I have no desire to have him sticking his dick in my mouth.
I'll be the judge, in case of a dispute."  He moved over to Brett's
computer, turned the screen so that only he could see it, and he Googled
"Batman."

"And you, Mr. Bandman?" Scott asked Brett directly.

"Shit, I don't know squat about TV Batman.  Besides, I'm getting all the
head I need."

That brought a round of "oooohhhhh..." from the gang.  "Do tell!" Craig
encouraged.

Before Brett could answer, Marty jumped in.  "Some ho' in the marching band
is doing him every night after practice."

"She's not a ho'!  She's actually a real babe.  And..." he paused for effect,
and to make sure he had everyone's attention..."she swallows!"

"Sounds like a ho' to me," Frank said rather plainly, remembering the
mouthload of his own cum that Jesse had eagerly taken earlier in the day.
Marty returned with a couple of bottles and handed one to Frank.  They
clicked bottle necks, and Marty settled back in on the floor, this time a
little bit closer to his roommate's right leg. Frank nudged Jesse's shoulder
with his knee.

"Actually," Marty observed as dryly as he could, "he's been a hell of a lot
easier to live with since the ho' started polishing his knob."

"She's not a ho, asshole!!"  Brett continued to protest.

Scott returned to the matter at hand.  "Okay, we've done the easy ones:
Joker, Penguin, Egghead and Catwoman.  Who's next?"

Jesse tossed out, "King Tut."

"Victor Buono, and he was hilarious.  I loved the way they could cast all
those cool, legit actors and get them to do those parts so...well...off the deep
end.  He was a classic!"  Scott knew he was showing off, which usually
wasn't his style, but at the moment he didn't care.

Marty handed Scott the small mirror with two lines remaining.  "The
Riddler?"

"I get them both and I'm taking both lines."  Marty shrugged, hoping that
Scott would've forgotten that there were two actors.  "Frank Gorshin was the
good one.  He always reminded me of Kirk Douglas on speed.  John Astin
sucked.  I could buy him as Gomez Addams, but The Riddler?  Gimme a fuckin'
break."  There was disdain in his voice as he turned to Jesse.  "Here, hold
this a sec," handing him the mirror.  Straw to his nose, he lowered his
head.

This went on for quite some time, each guy taking turns.  Marty continued
the grilling. "Okay, who was the Mat Hatter?"

"David Wayne."

"False Face?" Jesse asked,

Pause, then a smile. "Malachi Throne."

"Louie the Lilac?"  It was Frank this time.

"Milton Berle."

Frank shot right back.  "The Siren?"

`Whoa,' Scott thought.  `Mr. Big-Dick knows his Batman.  Maybe I should lose
this one.'  Then, `Nope...can't do it.'  "Joan Collins."

Marty shouted out "Bookworm?"

"Roddy McDowell."

Craig was watching the computer screen, nodding his head and smiling with
each correct answer.  They continued...

Jesse had to grope for the character's name, but finally got it. "Ma
Parker?"

"Shelly Winters.  You guys ever see her in her prime?  She was, once upon a
time, a fucking big-titted babe!!  But that was long before she helped sink
the Poseidon.."  He was showing off again.

Since Scott's back was to him, Craig felt safe in mouthing the names of the
villains to his buddies.  He feared they'd run out of challenges, and he was
enjoying the show.

"The Minstrel?"  Frank had correctly read Craig's lips.

"Van Johnson."

"Lord Fogg?"  Jesse was determined.

"Rudy Vallee."

"Dr. Cassandra?"  Marty remembered on his own

"Ida Lupino."

"Chandrell? Blurted out Brett, just having finished the gin and tonic
someone had handed him.

Scott rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation.  "It was Chandell,
ya' maroon.  No `R' in the name.  And it was Liberace.  Besides, you're not
even playing, so shut the fuck up."

"Colonel Gumm?"  Someone asked, but Scott wasn't sure whom, but didn't care.

"Roger C. Carmel."  He reflected on it for a second.  "Just about the only
real character actor in the mix.  He did, like, a million things in the
movies.  A lot of westerns...played a really good sleaze bag.  The mustache
and the eyebrows were his biggest acting assets."  The man was on a roll

"The Archer?"

"Art Carney."

"The Minstrel?" Brett shouted.

"Van Johnson, you dumb ass.  Didn't you hear me the first time?  You wanna
sit in my class, then pay attention.

After a moment's silence, as each one tried to remember just one more
villain, Marty leaned over and glared at Scott.  "I got it, you won't
remember this one."  It sounded like Marty was drawing a line in the sand.
"Nobody remembers the old dust bag who played... the Black Widow."

Silence.  Scott closed his eyes and rested his head back against the
dresser.  `Oh shit...you know this...think...what was that old hag's name...
	THINK!'  His faculties were indeed impaired by the combination of alcohol,
dope and "Mr. Whitey," but he knew that he knew this.  It was just a matter
of tapping into that part of his cranial archives, but it seemed the door
was locked.

Marty was about to open his mouth to lay claim to his just reward when
Scott's eye's opened wide.  A grin slowly emerged.  He leaned over and
locked into Marty's gaze.  He said it very slowly,  "Ta...lu...lah...Bank...head."
He emphasized HEAD.  "Tallula Fucking Bankhead!"

The guys roared, and Marty just slumped back in his chair.  "Okay, okay,
okay...I admit it.  You're a TV Batman God!  I'm not worthy to share the air
you occupy.  I bow to your greatness."

"Oh, you'll bow alright, and we'll be sharing something, but it ain't gonna
be air, bitch!  But I'll save my prize and claim it some other time.  Just
don't forget."  More laughter followed.  Marty just grinned and winked

Both Craig and Brett were wondering if either or both guys were serious
about collecting on the bet.  It sort of sounded like it, but neither
imagined their roommates would actually go through with it.  `Ah, what the
hell...' Craig finally rationalized.  `We're all pretty buzzed,' and he
dismissed it as macho bravado by a couple of messed up college guys.  He
fired up another joint, and offered it to Marty.  "Meantime, suck on this."
Marty gladly complied.

Brett came out of his temporary daze and blurted out, "Hey, guys!
Halloween's comin' up in a few weeks.  We goin'?"

"Hell yeah" was the chorus response.

Halloween on State Street had become a stupendous local tradition.  It had
actually gained so much attention that chartered busses from colleges
throughout Wisconsin, in fact the whole upper Midwest, would converge in
Madison for one weekend-long drunken community bash.  On a good year, there
were a few dozen arrests and practically no vandalism.  Other years, store
windows were broken and fires were started.  But the police had it down to a
near-science, and tried hard to strike a healthy balance between controlling
the crowd and not unduly antagonizing the revelers.

"Gonna dress up?" Brett asked, scanning the faces.

"Don't know," said Jesse.  "Hadn't really thought about it."

Scott was mulling over a number of possibilities for costuming the James
Boys, each one filthier than the other.

"Lemme take care of it," Brett slurred a bit.

"Huh?" Marty could tell that his roommate had an idea.

"Don't know if I can pull it off, so I don't want to spill the beans just
yet.  But, Angie works for a costume shop out on the Beltline, and she could
fix us up.  And, a few of the band members are also connected to the theater
department, and I could lean on them if need be."

"Who's Angie?" Craig wondered out loud.

"She's the ho" Marty blurted before Brett could respond.

Brett shot an angry look at his friend, one that quickly melted into a
sheepish grin. "No, Dudes!!  I'm fucking serious.  I have it all planned out
in my head and you're gonna love it.  We'll look great!"

"I ain't wearing no dress," Frank warned.

"Don't worry.  No dresses.  Nothing embarrassing.  You're gonna love it.
Leave it to me."

"I'm not promising anything, but I'll give it a shot." Craig was more than a
bit apprehensive..  "You in, roomie?"

Scott shrugged and nodded.  "I want somethin' that won't let me be
recognized.  I like the mystery and anonymity of a good Halloween costume."
He struggled more than a little to pronounce `anonymity.'  "Give it y'rall,
Brett."

"Cool.  This is gonna be fuckin' cool!"  Brett was like a little kid.

"You ain't thinking, like, The Village People or anything like that, are
you?"  Marty wanted a hint.

Brett was getting frustrated.  "Numb-nuts, there's only five Village People,
and there are six of us.  Trust me, dammit!"

"Okay...have at it maestro."

Craig abruptly changed the subject.  "Oh, HEY!!  New Topic!! You guys are
gonna love this!  Remember Scott's `Maureen?'  He had everybody's attention,
each hoping they'd hear some lurid detail of Scott's social life.  "Get
this...that Maureen is Maureen McCarthy!"

Silence.  Each of the guys had heard the name, and they were pretty sure it
was in the news from time to time.

"Isn't she some big wig up at the capitol?" Jesse wondered out loud.

"Oh, you fuckers are hopeless!  I'm not even from Wisconsin, and I know
she's a big-time senator.  She's probably gonna be the most powerful woman
in the state after the next election.  Dude in one of my journalism classes
says she could be governor some time in the not-too-distant future."

Marty gushed, pointing at Scott. "Duuuuude!  You been holdin' out on us.
You're connected!  You are seriously fucking connected!!"  He slapped
Scott's knee.

"I didn't hold out anything.  I told you she was a lawyer who does a lot of
work in Madison.  That's the truth.  She is a lawyer, and she does do a lot
of work in Madison.  I'm just not a name-dropper, that's all."

"So, `dyou bang her yet?" Brett asked as seriously as he could.

"That is fucking sick, you mutant.  We did have lunch a few weeks back, and
went to a fund raiser she had up on `the square' last week."

Craig put his fingertips to his chest and put on an air of haughtiness.
"And...I got to be his date!"

"So, you guys were up there rubbin' shoulders with the big ass mucky-mucks,
huh?  You getting your political ducks in a row already?"  Frank was teasing
a bit.

"It's not like that," Scott protested.

"The fuck it isn't," Craig shot back with a smile on his face.  "That's
exactly what it is.  Get over it, man.  Marty's right, you are connected.
Enjoy it, man!  It is what it is.  If pretending it's something else makes
you feel better, then continue to live a fantasy.  But it is what it is."

Scott knew there was a lot of truth to Craig's summation, but it bothered
him more than just a little bit.  His `I'm gonna do this by myself'
sensibilities were offended by the notion that he could benefit unfairly
from any patronage that Maureen might want to bestow, and that he might
accept.

"I'm went because she invited me."  He pointed at his roommate.  "You went
`cuz she gave me an extra ticket and told me to bring a friend, and `cuz you
been sayin' you want to get to know Wisconsin politics better...and `cuz I'm a
helluvaguy!  And we both went `cuz it was an open bar and free food.  Whose
got the fuckin' joint?"  Marty passed him what was left of it.  Even though
the words had become a challenge to get out of his mouth, he hit the thing
anyway.

"Ooohhh but it gets soooo much better boys," Craig continued with his
torment, "the bastard scored with the senator's niece, Kelly.  She's a
fuckin' fox, big tits and a very hot ass, and she was throwin' some serious
`fuck me' vibes at our boy here."

"She was not!  We have a class together, and a common connection to Maureen,
so we had a lot to talk about."

Frank, Jesse and Marty were giving Craig their full attention.  Brett
started shuffling a deck of cards.

"She looked like she was having a conversation with your member, ya' big
stud."

"So he scored with her?" Marty was very interested.

"We had lunch."

"D'ya bang her yet?" Brett wondered out loud.

"No."

"Ya' gonna?"

"Maybe.  I'm picky about who I let play with little Scotty."   He grabbed
his crotch.

`Not that little,' three of the guys all thought at the same time, but each
was gratified by the assertion that he was picky.

"They're goin' out again next weekend.  He'll bang her then." Craig
insisted.

Scott just smiled and shook his head.  He did want to bang her, though.


Jesse began to stir on the floor.  "Well, gents, as always it's been a real
pleasure, but it's after two in the a.m. and I gotta work at noon
tomorrow...make that today."  Frank stood up with a "yeah... it's time."  He
held out a hand to help his friend off of the floor.  Jesse stumbled a bit.

Brett was suddenly paying attention again.  "Oooh...Hey!!  Wait up!!"  He
grabbed a notebook and tore out a piece of paper.  Taking a pen, he drew
several vertical lines making columns, then put a heading atop each one.  It
was a struggle, and the lines weren't very straight, but he got it done.  "I
need your sizes.  Write down your pants size, waist and inseam...your shirt
size, neck and arms...your shoe size...and your hat size, if you know it."

"Who the fuck knows their hat size?" wondered Craig.

"What...not my dick size?" Frank asked, taking the pen and paper from Brett.
"I'll just note `ginormous.'

`No Shit!' a couple of brains echoed at the same time.

Scott sighed.  "Yeah, I should probably hit the road too, and he held up
both hands for the James Brothers to assist in his effort to haul his ass
off the floor.  You comin' bud?"  Craig looked at his beer.  He had just
opened it.  "Gonna finish this up first.  Be down in a bit."

"kay...g'night guys."  Then he stopped in his tracks and hung his head.  "OH
SHIT!!"

"Huh?"

"My fucking housing payment.  The second quarter needed to be in today, and
I got side-tracked and forgot to drop it off."

Craig frowned a little and shrugged.  "Do it on Monday."

"If it's not in the drop box when that old housing bitch opens the office
Monday morning, they'll clip me a surcharge.  I gotta get it in there
tonight, or this morning to be exact.  That way the Saturday staff will have
it on her desk when she comes in.  But Ieft my fucking checkbook in the car.
  Gotta go down there and get it."  He looked right at Marty, who was trying
not to smirk, wanting to appear preoccupied with other matters.

"I thought you said you paid housing for the full year up front..." Criag
wondered.  He was right.

"Naah, that was for the food plan.  I gotta do housing a quarter at a time.
Want to keep what's mine as long as I can."  He was lying.  "Awright, then,
it's out to my car.  Hope I can find that goddam checkbook.  Haven't used it
in weeks, and my noble chariot's a fucking disaster area."  He looked at
Craig.  "If I'm not in the room by the time you get back, send out a search
party."

"Gotcha covered, bud.  S'later."

Scott stepped out and started to close the door.  Before it shut, it
stopped.  Then, it slowly opened again.  "Oh...and...by the way, Mr. Anderson?"

"What now...?" Marty whined, still smarting a little after having been shown
up so mercilessly earlier in the evening.

"Alan Napier."  All three of them looked at Scott like he was speaking
Latin.

"Huh?"

"I said Alan Napier, dumb shit."

Marty rolled his eyes.  "O.K., I'll bite.  Who the fuck is Alan Napier?"

"Not is...was.  He played Alfred the butler.  You remember Alfred...the loyal
and humble servant."  He winked at Marty and put one hand to his crotch and
squeezed, and flipped the bird with the other, and then he started to close
the door again.  Before it shut, he stuck his head back in.  "Oh...and...when
the time comes, you'd better not bite.  `night hon."

When they'd stopped laughing, Brett asked, "anybody wanna play cribbage?
I'm still good for a bit and can give someone a lesson."

Craig mulled it over and looked at his beer.  "Sure."  He looked at Marty.
"You guys know how to play three-handed?"

"Yeah," Marty said, and forced a yawn.  "But count me out.  I'm gonna go
down and take a shower, and chill to some tunes for a while."  He dug out
his ipod and tossed it on his bed.  "You give my roommate a lesson, will you
Craig?"  Brett flipped him off and pulled the cribbage board off the shelf.
He struggled with the cover on the back of the board, trying to retrieve the
pegs.

Marty fished out a towel and grabbed his kit as Brett started dealing the
cards.  Neither noticed him fishing in his dresser drawer for a second set
of keys.  "Back in a bit." and he was out the door.  He walked past the
bathroom door and hit the "down" button to call the elevator.  After about a
minute, the bell rang and the door opened.  Marty looked up and registered a
huge smile.

"Fancy meeting you here," Scott said as non-chalantly as he could when the
doors opened. "Fuckin'-A, man, I was wondering how many times I was gonna
have to ride this mother before you'd show."

"So, Batman, I have this problem..." Marty moved in close as the doors closed.

Scott lowered his voice so that it registered deep and kind of breathy.  He
was no Adam West, but he tried.  "And how can I assist, good citizen?"

Marty pinned him against the corner of the elevator car and looked up only
inches from his face.  He reached down and rubbed the front of Scott's
shorts.  "I have to repay a debt and am not quite sure how to go about doing
it."  He kissed Scott lightly.

Staying in character, Scott tried to appear is if he were looking off into
the distance, even though he was in an elevator car. "Well, if you are a man
of your word, and I'm certain that you are, you have to do the right thing
and comply with the terms that you and your creditor had agreed to."  He
looked into Marty's eyes.  "That's the American way, after all."  He kissed
him a bit more forcefully, and reached around to grab Marty's ass.

Marty smiled, "My creditor is a wonderful human being, and I'm feeling that
I should give him more than we had agreed to.  That's my problem."  The
elevator had begun to slow, and Marty stepped back and turned to face the
elevator doors.

Before exiting, Scott grabbed the wasteband of of Marty's shorts and pulled
him back.  Seeing nobody in the dorm lobby, he ground his hardening cock
into Marty's ass and whispered, "I'm sure you'll do the right thing,
citizen."  He licked the back of Marty's ear before releasing him.

Marty looked both ways, and motioned Scott to follow him to the left.  Scott
had no idea what he had in mind, but was confident that he knew what he was
doing.  He was also crazy horny and would've followed Marty outside and done
him at the corner of University and Lake Streets.

At the end of the hallway, Marty fished out a set of keys and jingled them
at Scott with a gleam in his eye.

"What the fuck?"

Marty laughed. "My work study finally came through.  I got placed with
Buildings and Grounds, and work all the dorms on this corner of campus.  I
have keys to every storage and maintainence area...everything accept a master
key to the dorm rooms or access to the offices."

Scott smiled.  "Saweeeeeet."

Marty opened the door and stepped through, holding it open for Scott while
he switched on a light.  As Scott stepped through, Marty quietly closed it
and motioned down a flight of stairs.  As Scott turned left, Marty grabbed
his ass.  "Straight down and to the left.  This is the `command center' for
the dorm."

"Any chance we'll have any company?"  Scott was suddenly a bit apprehensive.
  But started down the stairs with Marty close behind, admiring the moves of
Scott's ass with each step of his desent.

"Not a chance.  It's almost 3:00 in the morning.  Nobody's due `til 6:00
a.m. and the Saturday morning dipshit is always catching hell for being
late.  Besides, if he walked in on us, he'd only want to join.  The dude's a
serious cock-hound."  Marty reached around with both hands and started
rubbing Scott's cock through his shorts.  "C'mon...I have a debt to pay."

"I wasn't sure you were serious about paying up."

Marty put on his most hurt voice.  "Are you kidding?  Me?  I, sir, am a man
of honor."  He borrowed a line from Dr. Seuss.  "I meant what I said, and I
said what I meant, and ol' Marty is faithful, one hundred percent."

There was a bank of lockers for employee use.  Marty stopped and opened one,
and stored his kit and his towel.  A few steps away was a table with a
computer and a phone.  The rest was plain industrial basements space.  Gray,
concrete walls and floor, pipes and wiring running along an unfinished
ceiling.  Poor lighting and lots of heavy equipment, most of which Scott
didn't know the purpose, though he was sure it kept the building's
environment regulated.  And it was noisy, which Scott took as a good thing,
even though they were about twelve feet underground.

"What about Brett and Craig?  Craig'll be back in our room soon, and they'll
both be wondering where we are."

Marty turned and moved toward Scott, forcing him to step back a bit, until
the backs of his thighs were up against the table. "Just chill!  They
started a game of cribbage, and that could go on for hours, knowing Brett.
I told them I was gonna take a shower.  I take long showers, and then I'll
tell them I stopped in the community room to shoot the shit with some of the
other guys on the floor before coming back.  Maybe I'll tell `em I fell
asleep in there for a while.  Dude!!  You think waaaayyy to fucking much."
He grabbed Scott by the hips and pulled him so that their crotches were
grinding together.  He had that `I'm too fucking horny to waste time
worrying about other people' leer in his eye.  "Now just shut the fuck up,
will ya?"

"Yeah, but..." Marty cut him off by grabbing the back of Scott's head and
pulling their mouths together.  Scott reached around and grabbed both of
Marty's ass cheeks.  Marty let out a low moan that echoed in Scott's throat
while their tongues danced and darted in and out of the other's mouth.
While Scott man-handled Marty's ass, Marty lowered his hands and went to
work unbuttoning and unzipping Scott's shorts.  After reaching in and
stroking Scott's hard tool for a while, then reaching down and juggling his
nuts in one hand, he grabbed the bottom hem of Scott's tee-shirt with both
hands.

They broke the kiss as Marty pulled the shirt up.  Scott raised his arms to
allow the tee to be removed.  Marty then started bathing his ears and neck
with his lips and his tongue.  Scott tossed his head to the right when Marty
found a sweet spot on the left side of his neck.

"No marks!" he admonished.

"No marks," Marty moaned.

Marty lowered his face a bit and lightly licked Scott's nipples, first the
right, then the left, then the right and then the left again.  He paused to
suck and gently nibble there as Scott took several deep breaths.  He grabbed
Scott's left arm and lifted it, running his tongue upward off the left
nipple, flattening it and running it slowly through the armpit.

"Oooooohhh fuck!" told him he was hitting the good spots, so he lingered on
the armpit for several seconds, eliciting the same response.

If Marty's shirt had been tucked in, it probably would have ripped when
Scott tore it off.  In an instant, it was draped over the computer monitor,
but was intact.  He pulled Marty in for another deep kiss, and raised his
hands to work a bit on Marty's nipples.  He pinched and tugged a bit,
rolling each nub between his thumb and forefinger.  "Ohhh, goddam!" Marty
sighed into Scott's open mouth.  Scott reached down and undid the drawstring
on Martys shorts.  He wasn't wearing any underwear, so Scott just had to
push the waistband past Marty's hips and let them fall to the floor.  They
stood for a few more minutes, locked in the embrace in front of the table.
Lips and tongues enjoyed nearly every inch from the tipples to the eyebrows.
  Hands rubbed and grabbed, pinched and teased, and cocks were ground
together with a vengence.

Marty broke the embrace and gently pushed Scott back so that his ass was
resting on the table's edge.  Scott laid both hands flat on the table, just
a bit behind his ass.  When Marty started in again on his neck, his head
went back to give his hungry friend full access.  Slowly, Marty licked his
way down, between his pecs, already glistening a bit with sweat and down to
his flat but heaving stomach.  He traced the tip of his tongue back and
forth, first to the right then to the left.  When he reached his "innie"
navel, he paused to tease it, darting his tongue in and out.  All the while,
his right hand was massaging and gently tugging on Scott's balls.  He was
intentionally leaving his aching cock alone, for now.  Scott wasn't quite
sure where the hell he was anymore, and couldn't give a flying fuck.

Now all the way down on his knees, Marty nudged Scott's legs a bit further
apart, and he readily complied.  He pulled back, and just stared for a few
seconds at the throbbing piece of rock hard meat in front of him.  Precum
was dripping from the piss slit, slowly sliding down the underside of
Scott's aching tool.  Slowly, Marty brought his face closer, and he inhaled
deeply, savoring the manly scent that his partner was throwing.  With a hand
on each of Scott's thighs, gently massaging and rubbing, he stuck out his
tongue and, starting just above his sac, he very patiently ran just the
sharp tip of it up the complete length.  He paused at the head and slowly
ran his hot, wet tongue round and round.  Marty had hardly touched his cock,
but Scott felt like he could shoot any second.

`Relax, relax, relax!!!" He commanded himself.

Marty sensed the urgency in his friend, and slowed the pace a little.  With
the head of Scott's cock resting on his flat tongue, but not moving, Marty
looked up and threw one of those fucking killer smiles.  He let the dick
just rest there for a second while the guys locked eyes.  The view from
above was incredible.

"Oooohhh, you little fucker.  You are just too fuckin' hot, ya' know that?"
Scott pleaded.

Scott heard "uuuh-huh," though Marty's lips did not move. In a split-second,
Marty went in for the kill.  He plunged his mouth down the full length of
Scott's cock, taking it all in a single swoop.  He came back up, just as
quickly, just as Scott was half way through "Oooooh my ffffuuuuucking
Gaaaawwwwd!"

Marty giggled a little.  "Like that, professor?" as he stroked the cock a
few times.

"Oh, you little fucker!  You're amazing!"

Without even nodding so much as a `thank you' Marty went to work in earnest.
  He sucked, licked slobbered over Scott's smoldering meat.  Scott could
only throw his head back and utter the occasional, "shit!" "oooohhh fuck!"
"suck that thing, man!" "mmmmhhhhmmm."

Marty was thoroughly enjoying himself too.  He'd known for a long time that
he really loved sucking cock, and he was learning that this one was just
about his favorite.  It wasn't a huge mushroom head, rather more in the
shape of a missile, but a nice cut head nonetheless.  He preferred that.
Mushroom heads could be hard to swallow.  The seven inches were straight as
an arrow, but it was thicker than most.  The balls were average size, and he
liked being able to get both of the in his mouth at the same time, which was
what he was doing at the moment.  Scott reached down and encouraged the ball
bath with a hand on the back of Marty's head, and was a bit relieved that
the attention had moved south a little bit.

With a hand on each side of his favorite cock-sucker's head, he eased Marty
off and urged him to stand up.  He could have chipped a tooth with the force
with which he plunged their mouths together, and he liked the wet, slippery
feel of the whole area around Marty's lips.

Scott took Marty by the biceps, and nice biceps they were, and turned him
around to switch positions.  He eased Marty up, so that he was sitting full
on the table.  With one hand on Marty's hard, now wet, cock and the other on
his sternum, he eased his friend back so that he was laying flat with his
legs dangling off the table.  He spread Marty's legs, and stood between them
at the edge of the table.  Getting down on his knees, Scott went to work on
the balls.  He held the cock in one hand and began stroking while he teased
each nut with just the tip of his tongue.  Then he took one, then the other
fully into his mouth, sucking fairly hard at first, bring an appreciative
moan from up on the table, and then gently rolling it around with his
tongue.

Scott stood and bent at the waist as he held Marty's tool straight up.
Taking just the head in his mouth, he held there and swirled his tongue
around and around as he gently rubbed Marty's legs from his shins to this
thighs.  Slowly, he lowered his head as far as he could go, and gagged a bit
when it hit the back of his throat.  `Note to self...find a way to learn to
deep throat.  Ya' gotta learn how to do that.'  But now was no time to pause
and ask for directions.  Everybody knows that guys don't stop to ask for
directions.

Slowly and deliberately, Scott administered the best, wettest blowjob he
knew how, pausing at the top and the bottom to suck just hard enough to
avoid inflicting any pain.  Holding Marty's slippery member in his right
hand, stroking in a twisting motion, he went lower again, licking and
sucking Marty's balls as his hands went behind his knees and he lifted.
Marty happily complied, hoping that we knew where this was going.  Scott's
hands were now pushing his legs up from the back of the thighs, and Marty's
knees bent and went toward his chest.  When Scott's tongue began probing the
crevace of his ass, Marty grabbed the back of each knee to invite Scott in
for a better taste.  Scott parted the cheeks with his hands and slowly
licked each one, nearer and nearer the hole.  Marty's pucker was winking at
him, begging him to zero in with his tongue.

He acquiesced.  In increasingly smaller circles, the tip of Scott's tongue
traced its way around Marty's waiting hole.  Finally, he flicked the tip
dead center, barely entering his friend.  Marty gasped.  "Ooooohhh
yeeeaaahhh, man.  God I fucking love that."  He let go of his right knee,
still keeping the leg in the air, and placed the free hand on the back of
Scott's head, urging him on.  "C'mon bud," he begged, "please eat
me...fucking eat my ass!!"  Scott dove in with a fury.  He shoved his tongue
forward until it began to hurt, and Marty whimpered a bit in his gratitude.
He licked and sucked and nibbled on the pucker until his jaws began to ache.
  Marty was thrusting his hips as his head rolled back and forth on the
table.

Suddenly, Marty grabbed the edge of the table with both hands, and used the
leverage to lift his upper body up off the surface a bit.  "The locker!!"
The expression was one of near-desperation.  He pointed to where he'd left
his kit and towel.

"Huh?" Craig was confused, and a bit frustrated by the interruption.

Between heavy breaths, Marty managed to convey his true intent. "Hurry...
dammit!!... grab...my...kit...rubber...lube...fuck me...HURRY!"

Scott took two long steps, threw the door open and grabbed the kit.  Nearly
ripping it open, he saw a couple of Trojans and a bottle of Wet near the
top.  He grabbed one of the condoms with both hands and had torn the wrapper
before even clearing the top of the shaving kit.  Unrolling it an inch or
so, he wrapped the head of his cock and unrolled the rest with one move.  He
was so tightly wound that he feared the friction right then could make him
shoot.  He squirted a generous amount of lube in his right hand and greased
his pole.  Marty's waiting hole was already very wet, but he used the excess
to prepare his entrance, sliding a single finger past his ass ring.

Marty looked up, almost in panic.  "Fuck the fingers, man!!  I need your
dick inside of me.  PLEASE!"  Scott smirked and cozied up to the table.  He
kind of got off on the notion that Marty "needed" his cock inside of him.
He lifted each of Marty's legs, resting the calves on his shoulders.  Taking
aim, he placed the head of his cock in contact with Marty's hole.  He heeded
his friend's cries for relief, and slowly inserted himself, the head
clearing the entrance ring with relative ease.  Marty let out a long sigh.
"Oooohhh yeeeaaaaahhh, man!!  That's what I need!  You got exactly what I
need, you fucker."  Marty reached up and grabbed both sides of Scott's head
and pulled him down with force.  He mashed his mouth into Scott's and
repeated his gratitude, mumbling between licks and sucks of Scott's mouth.
"Yeah, baby, just what I fucking need."

Scott began this hot jock with blind purpose.  Their eyes locked together,
he began slowly, pulling nearly all the way out, pausing a second, and then
slowly returning to the hilt.  Each time back in, he loved watching Marty's
face.  Sometimes he smiled.  Sometimes his eyes got suddenly wide and he
looked a little shocked.  Another time, he threw his head back and rolled
his eyes.  These were the many faces of bliss, and Scott was delighted to
provide them.

He quickened the pace and increased the force.  Marty reached down and
around, placing his hands on Scott's ass, urging him on.  Through a clenched
jaw and gritted teeth, he was staring upward and muttering,
"yeah!...yeah!...yeah!" with each thrust.

Scott suddenly stopped.  When he began to withdraw, Marty looked stunned,
then nearly betrayed.  "Stand up and lean over the table!!  I want to fuck
you from behind."

Marty just nodded and quickly stood up.  He leaned over and placed his hands
flat on the table, with his legs slightly spread.  He felt a hand on his
left shoulder and, without warning, Scott drove his hard cock all the way
in.  "OOOOhhhh, fuck...yeah."

Scott had hold of both of Marty's shoulders now.  "Gimme that ass!  Gimme
that tight fuckin' ass!"  He was pounding from behind, his thighs slapping
Marty with each thrust.  The banging was so intense that the table had been
nudged back nearly a foot, and the guys had to adjust their footing to keep
up with it.  Marty lowered his chest and face to the table's surface, his
forearms and hands flat on either side of his head.  Scott raised his hand
and brought it down on the tight smooth ass below him, not violently, but
smartly and with authority.  Marty's head shot off the table, and he slapped
the table's survace with his own flat hand. "Yeah, man, make that ass all
yours!!"  A second smack was met with the same approval.

Scott grabbed hold of Marty's hips and pumped another half dozen times.
"Ooohh god...oh my fuckin' god!!!  Marty could feel Scott's body becoming more
rigid, and the strokes he was taking were shorter and shorter.  He knew that
the man was gonna blow.

"Wait!!  Not Yet!!" Marty begged.  He reached behind him and pushed Scott
back a step forcing his cock to spring from the chute.  Before Scott knew
what was going on, Marty was on his knees again in front of him.  He grabbed
the red rod in front of his face and quickly peeled off the condom. He
stroked it with his right hand while he pounded his own little monster with
his left.  A few quick strokes and Scott's knees locked.  Marty locked his
lips around the head of the cock and stroked several more times.  The rest
of his body went rigid and Scott uttered a few guttural whimpers as he fired
shot after shot of hot jizz into Marty's hungry mouth.  "Oh god!...oh
shit!...oooooh mother fucker!..goddammit!!...good...so fucking good!"  As Marty
was hungrily gobbling up his heavy load, Scott felt a warm shot hit this
thigh, then another hit his knee, and a third on his foot.

Marty remained in place, breathing heavily through only his nose, as Scott's
cock twitched a few more times and began to deflate.  He moved his head up
and down a couple more times, prompting Scott to grab his shoulders and
gently push him back a little.  "Easy boy!  Awfully sensitive there right
now."

Marty looked up, the semi-hard bobbing at chin level, and smiled.  He slowly
inhaled a chest full of air, held it, and slowly released.
"Wwwwhhhhheeeeeewwww.  Un-fucking-real.  Un-mother-fucking-god-damned-real!"
  Then he sat back on his ass, knees bent and feet flat on the floor,
propped his elbows on his knees and lowered his head into his hands.  He ran
his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, and took several more deep
breaths.  Still looking down at the floor, he chuckled a few times.  Scott
had joined him sitting on the basement floor, but he was staring up at the
ceiling waiting for his breath to return to near-normal.  He heard his
friend's laugh and looked over.

"What?"

Marty turned his head without lifting it up, and glanced over out of the
corner of his eyes.  "What?  You...me...this.  That was some of the most
incredible sex I've ever had."

Scott slowly smiled, but then got suddenly solemn, and tried to put that
deep, breathy Adam West voice into gear.  "Yes, citizen, you've performed
nobly.  I knew you'd do the right thing.  You can be proud."  It was a bad
impersonation to begin with.  At this time of the morning, following the
night's activity, it was even worse.

Marty found a roll of paper towels and cleaned up as much of the mess as he
could find.  He tossed the roll to Scott who wiped off his leg and his foot,
then gave some attention to his cock and balls. They pulled the table back
into its original position, and Marty checked to see that everything else
appeared in order.

As they were getting dressed, Marty turned.  "So, you really gonna go after
her?"

"Who, Kelly?"

"If that's here name...the senator's niece.  Yeah, you got your sights set?"

Scott thought about it as he shook his boxers.  "Not sure yet.  Craig's
right.  She is awfully fuckin' hot, and I ain't had any of that for a good,
long time."  He pulled up the boxers and adjusted his dick.  "So...your
coworker is a `cock-hound' huh?  You doin' him?"

"Swapped bj's a couple times.  He's good, and pretty well hung.  He's really
very good.  Brandon's a thousand percent gay, and he's out...very out...and
doesn't give a shit who knows.  But he's totally cool with me wanting to
keep it all on the down-low, and he's on the market for a boyfriend, so I
don't gotta worry about him wanting to get all serious and shit.  Maybe next
time we get something going I should give you a call...ever done a three-way
with two other guys?"

Scott was dressed and looked at his watch.  "Shit...I gotta be up in less than
six hours.  Gonna be a long fucking Saturday."

Marty wasn't deaf to the fact that Scott had intentionally ignored that last
question, but didn't push it.  He was dressed by this time, too, and grabbed
his towel.  "C'mon, man," and led the way back up the stairs.  He paused
before opening the door and turned around just as Scott hit the landing.  He
wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him in for one more kiss.  It was
firm, wet and warm.  As their faces parted, each one whispered, "thanks,
bud."

Marty opened the door a few inches and listened.  Then he stuck his head out
a little and looked both ways.  Secure in the fact that the hallway was
indeed empty, he opened the door and stepped out.  Scott followed.

On the stroll to the elevator, Marty looked up and asked, "d'ya think Frank
and Jesse are doin' each other?"

"Ya' think so?"

"Can't say for sure, but they're throwing some awfully cozy vibes,
`specially when they're together, and even more when they've got a buzz
goin'."

Scott thought about it for a minute.  "Hard to say..." and stepped into the
elevator.

As the door closed, Marty interrupted.  "Damn, I wish they were, or I hope
they are.  I'd love to get in Frank's pants...the dude is packing some serious
equipment there.  And Jesse's just plain one...serious...fucking...stud."

Scott chuckled.  "My boy, you are a fucking machine, aren't you?"

"Gonna get it when I can.  We're in our prime, dude!  Gotta take advantage.
Besides, I ain't hearin' any complaints."

Scott shook his head as he laughed.  "And you won't here `em from here,
buddy."  He wrinkled his nose and sniffed the air in the elevator.  "But,
Dude!  We reek!!  We're both gonna need a hot shower.  Too bad we're not on
the same floor."

Marty knew he was right.  "Yeah...'I love the smell of sex in the morning.'"
Robert DuVall, he was not, but that was just fine.

As the door was opening on the third floor, Scott reached over and squeezed
Marty's ass.  "I do too.  And, no complaints here, my man.  Probably see ya'
tomorrow."

"G'night, stud."  Marty winked.

As he walked by the James Brothers' door, Scott heard Aerosmith.  Not loud
enough to wake any neighbors, but enough to cover any low moans or grunts.
He smiled.  `That,' he said to himself as he shook his head, `would be a
hell of a night.'" He began to mull over how to pull this off.

To be continued...


Emboldens him to run independently. On his walk back to the dorm, he's
decided he's going to run, but as an independent.

Later, talks to the guys about it, and they begin to organize an independent
campaign for Student Senate.  I'm gonna run, but without any obligations to
any organization.  Sort of the college version of Senator Kohl's "Nobody's
Senator But Yours" theme.  Goes online and gets to the frat's webpage, and
find's a picture of Christopher U. Monmouth, II.  Anybody know this guy?
Explains why.  They're all, like, "fuck him."  Brett cracks up.  Gentlemen,
the look at the dude's initials—he's CUM.  No, Craig gasps, he's CUM II.
Marty's grinning and staring at the image.  Scott can nearly hear the gears
turning in his head.

Dinner w/ Kelly at the Avenue Bar.  Craig's back in Rockford for the weekend
for his parents' twenty-fifth anniversary party.  They go back to Scott's
room and have great sex.

Organize the campaign.  Scott will chair his own.  Craig will handle public
relations.  Brett will deliver the marching band.  Jesse and Frank will
handle a lot of the leg work, and word of mouth. Marty will be special
advisor to the chair/idea man/advance man and all around utility guy.

Announcement, Craig got some good press in both the Herald and the Cardinal.
  The "hook" is that he's running as an independent.  Decent interview with
a good photo.

Runs into Kip.  You really gonna take us on?  Who the fuck do you think you
are?

Football game vs. Ohio State.  Scott accepts Maureen's tickets instead of
joining the guys in the student section.  They're on the 40-yard line.
Cold, so they've got a blanket over their laps.  Much handsy-pansy under the
blanket.  Scott opens his program, and a red slip of paper, about the size
of a dollar falls out.  Says nothing but "TURNER!!" on one side and
"INDEPENDENT!!" on the other.  Kip's sitting with his parents, as it's his
birthday, and they've come to Madison to treat him and his roommate.   He's
livid when he gets his slip.  Then, as is the tradition, sections of the
marching band parade through the stands during the second half.  About fifty
of them each had a hundred or so of the bills.  They're serruptitiously
handing them out, or just dropping them, through the student section as they
go.  The Turner Mystery makes the evening news during the sports report.
Marty.  Has to be Marty.

Scott gets a call from one of the local radio stations.  What's up with
this?  Are you "Turner?"  Don't know for sure.  I didn't have anything to do
with that, but I will tell you that an awful lot of folks have called or
emailed me to voice their support.  As far as I know it could've been just
about anybody on campus."

How many d'you get in there?  Game days I work Camp Randall w/ buildings and
grounds. Over 70,000 seats, but only about 50,000 programs.  I think we
missed about 40 cases of programs, so that's about 4,000 we missed.  Piece
of cake; sorry we didn't get the rest.  You're unfucking believable.
"Professor, I'm just warming up."