१. Phos hilaron

It was the night life began, and Sergeant Kent Kessler started it out by breaking the law.

It was the first of many misdemeanors he planned to commit.

He’d been drinking. He’d taken his confidential informant to a basketball game; afterward they went out to celebrate and things got out of hand. Perhaps that’s how a prosecutor would argue it, but the truth was a bit more complex.

James R. Foster wasn’t just any informant. He was a well-known investigative reporter who helped Kent solve a serial murder case. Along the way they became buddies, partners, best friends.

The game was Jamie’s first night out in three months, since he got home from the hospital; the season opener for his favorite college team. He was so excited he started cheering before they even got there. His beloved Purdue Boilermakers put away the Miami RedHawks in the last five minutes.

They ate a good dinner afterwards and obtained information that would lead to another arrest. That alone justified busting loose; they had every reason to celebrate. Plus it happened to be Kent’s 27th birthday, so yes, they had a couple of drinks, but no one got out of control.

Not yet, anyway. Now, by any means necessary, he was going to make his informant his lover.

He'd developed a written plan, and now would implement it, "Operation 3-S," to remind himself of his goals.

So even at the risk of his job, he wasn’t about to call a cab to take them home. What he was going to do didn’t need any witnesses.

He pulled his stud-red F-250 pickup out of the restaurant parking lot to drive some 2.2 miles, by the back roads, at the speed limit. With luck he would not encounter a single vehicle or pedestrian.

He knew he was doing wrong, but this was West Lafayette, Indiana, a Big Ten college town surrounded by cornfields, and the minute they left civilization, they left it.

So far so good, but criminals always think that. Kent smiled and concentrated on his driving.

A civilian would likely be found not guilty; his breath alcohol content was only .039. But he was guilty, all right, and completely without remorse.

Indiana state troopers are considered legally intoxicated at .030 BAC, less than half the alcohol consumption of civilians. They are held to a higher standard. Maybe that’s not fair, but it’s part of the job, and it had never impinged on his behavior before; he wasn’t much of a drinker.

But he was intoxicated, all right. With any luck he would soon be very impaired.

They didn’t talk. They had talked themselves blue at the restaurant, telling each other their backstories. Now they were alone in each other’s presence and about to make love. That made them silent, conscious of the moment, of each other’s body.

Jamie leaned onto the armrest between the seats. His left hand reached under Kent’s right thigh, grasping the muscle, making his leg come alive.

Kent had a major felony growing down there, and he had every intention of committing that offense too.

He turned up the heater against the late November chill; Jamie was one to get cold easily. Kent remembered him shivering at the crime scene at Willow Slough; it was hot that day, late summer, but Jamie had thin skin and no body fat. When the wind whipped off the lake, he got cold.

A week later Kent saw him without a shirt, in a hotel room in Indianapolis. He was built like a thoroughbred, sleek and athletic, with big arms, a tight, muscled chest, amazing abs and a little bitty waist, giving him a V-shape so wide he was bound to get grown men in trouble.

That was the night of the serial killer takedown, when Jamie saved a man’s life and got stabbed three-fourths to death. Kent’s task force finally got there, but not soon enough to prevent a nine-day coma. From which Jamie emerged to ask, “Commander, how many killers did we get?”

Kent shook his head at the thought of such a warrior.

And openly Gay. Whatever is the world coming to?

The answer to Jamie’s question was now 20, going on 21, in the biggest known conspiracy in the history of serial homicide. Usually, repeat killers are lone wolves, or a dominant bully and his twisted sidekick. But this case had accomplices all the way to the FBI.

Jamie didn’t remember that night, nor even Kent’s name after the fog. But Jamie was the first on the task force to call him Commander, which led everyone else to call him that too, and it was the first word out of Jamie's mouth when he woke up. He shouldn’t even have been able to talk, but somehow he gasped out the perfect thing.

Commander. That was ironic, because Jamie called half the shots, but it filled Kent with pride anyway, to have the guy look up to him and defer to him at the crucial moment, publicly supporting his leadership: Commander.

Kent would issue a new order soon and enforce it ruthlessly: Whatever you do, you ain't leavin' me.

Kent knew how to make a man obey. Sometimes you sweet-talk 'em, sometimes you force 'em.

Prettyboy likes sweet talk. But time he finds out what he's up against.

Oh, how he’d ached for this guy. But here he was, at full strength again, riding in his truck and about to strip naked. If Kent weren't a trained officer, he'd probably drive right into the ditch.

But he made it to the little house safely, turned off the headlights and put the transmission in Park. He kept the engine running, not knowing why; sometimes it’s just good to savor your arrival.

Months they’d spent since then, together at this house, as Jamie slowly recovered and Kent came by every night. They’d had a lot of fun here, become the closest of buddies, but always with an unbridgeable gulf between them, an openly-Gay reporter and a macho cop with a reputation as a ladies’ man.

How do you tell a guy you love him when you don’t even know who you are?

You don’t, and Kent didn’t either. So they became pals, without becoming quite honest.

Then, just today, separation screamed down: Jamie said he was going home to Ohio. So Kent finally showed him what he felt with incoherent fumbling, whereupon Jamie kissed him right on the spot—in front of 14,123 people and a nationwide television audience.

They weren’t on camera, no one even noticed, but Jamie did have a flair for the dramatic. The minute Kent let him know he wanted him, Jamie made his move.

Just like a stud.

That was two short hours ago. Change is speeding up these days, but this was an epic switch.

Kent was so excited he could barely breathe; yet he was deeply calm too. He knew what he had to do, so he set about doing it. He had plotted this operation for months, and now he would execute his plan.

With practiced skill he kept his emotions in check. His mind drew back to a wider perspective.

They were two unusual men from an ordinary place, to whom extraordinary things had happened. Neither of them asked to get mixed up with serial killers, but they didn’t shy away either, and they lived to tell the tale. Heroism just happens, an accident in a moment, and theirs didn’t figure into this one. The only thing important now was getting out of their pants.

Kent’s eyes drifted shut, and he pictured that little bubble butt. Narrow, round, high and tight, made to get slammed down and mounted.

Jamie was caught up in his own reverie. He became aware of his breathing and deepened it. He didn’t know what he was getting into; neither of them did.

But when he was centered and sure of himself, he slapped Kent’s thigh twice—smack smack!—eyed him and climbed out of the pickup. Kent killed the engine and scrambled out.

Time for his opening gambit: Kent cupped his hand around Jamie’s neck to escort him to the door. He made it seem like the smallest, most natural gesture, but it changed his awareness: he felt big and tall, protective and directive. I'm a cop, little boy. You're comin' with me.

Jamie naturally went along without thinking—and Kent's heart smiled. The walk was over in mere seconds, but it gave him the most masculine pride he’d ever felt. He was going to get this guy and keep him forever.

Nine-tenths of him was a very Good Cop; the other 10% was real Bad. And they both lusted after Jamie Foster.

On the porch as Jamie unlocked the door, Kent said, “Can I have a kiss goodnight?”

“Surely you’re not thinking of leaving.”

"Heck no, but this is the end of our first date, so I want a kiss on your doorstep.” Kent pointed to his mouth, "Lips here."

Jamie stood on the concrete as Kent bent down to him. They kissed, only their third time, and held each other tight. Jamie had to stand on tiptoes to reach him.

Kent held him by the chin and the ass, step two, no objections. They became their lips, their arms, their bodies. Good boy.

When they couldn’t finally get close enough, Jamie leaned back a little and they looked at each other, truly saw each other.

The face Kent saw was stop-traffic gorgeous, almost too beautiful to be a man’s. Yet infusing Jamie’s innocence was a rock-hard core of courage that was raw masculinity.

The face Jamie saw was all-American macho, ladykiller handsome, with a smoldering gentleness that ignited Jamie's passion.

They were opposites: Kent tall, dark and athletic, Jamie short, blond and artistic. They fit together like a man and a man.

They pushed inside the house. No lights were on, there wasn’t even an electronic clock glowing, it was pitch black; and Jamie didn’t move right away, so Kent closed the door and waited. They’d seldom spent any time in this living room and he wasn’t sure where all the furniture was.

Jamie moved away. Kent could hear him taking off his fancy black jacket, the crinkling sound leather makes when it moves. Years later Kent would remember that sound for what it told him about his prey.

Jamie headed further into the house. Mildly Kent asked, “Ain't you gonna turn on no lights?”

“No, not right now if that’s okay. Relax a second, I’ll be right back.”

So Kent cooled his heels, staying spontaneous. He took advantage of the separation to slip his duty weapon and holster into a nearby drawer, which he opened and closed soundlessly. The low console by the front door was the one piece of furniture he was sure of; he'd picked it out weeks ago as his weapon drawer, a good hiding place, because Jamie couldn't stand the sight of guns.

How dark it was, though. The house was in the middle of a cheap and deteriorating subdivision on the edge of town, outside the city limits; no street lights, no sidewalks, low taxes. Kent knew Jamie didn’t like this house; it still smelled of cigarette smoke, three months after his mother died young from tobacco.

That was why Jamie had just agreed to sell it, which set in motion the entire crisis, confession and kissing.

The house spoke everywhere of her, and of his loss. Jamie had no desire to keep a Mom Museum, so he sold it to a family of Cambodian immigrants with two gorgeous, stairstep little girls. His Mom would love having little girls in her house, so Jamie knew when the right family came along.

He came closer and set something on the dining table; Kent knew vaguely where it was. But still no lights came on.

Instead Jamie came and took him in his arms. Kent closed his eyes. “Man, this feels good.”

They held each other close. Their groins pushed hard. Then Jamie raised his head to kiss him. At 6’4”, Kent was six inches taller.

They kissed again, the fourth time in their lives; just lips at first, just lips.

Then Jamie’s tongue reached out to lick. Kent wrapped his arms tighter and tasted him.

Deep in Jamie’s throat a little sound started up, like a cat purring. Nothing turned him on like kissing.

His hips began to find the depths of Kent. They pressed and swayed as their lips and tongues kept exploring.

Kent grew aware of the hardness of this body in front of him, its muscularity, its firmness, its maleness.

He stood there kissing a man. He couldn’t believe it, any more than he could stop it.

He didn’t ever want it to stop, not ever. A man! He gave himself over to kissing this man.

Kent’s body felt light, like he was losing his balance. He widened his stance and pushed his hips forward.

A man—this was what a man felt like. A hard, macho, tender-as-buttercups man.

Kent grabbed tighter. His hands had to feel all of Jamie’s back. And then not just his back, but that tiny little behind.

Left hand grasping that firm muscled ass, right hand finding the back of that head, Kent’s tongue reached deep and his dick pushed hard.

And the body in his arms began to surrender. Kent knew it the second it happened, flooding him with joy.

Aha, little man, I knew it. You are gonna be mine.

Two minutes they stood that way, both taking, both giving, and not even a tornado could have moved them.

Finally Jamie broke the hold; they stood there gasping, astonished. Then Jamie attacked him.

And Kent let him. Oh, what’s this like, when the little guy gets his way for a minute?

Kent couldn’t think anymore, he could only feel this hard little man taking over him.

Every muscle and joint in him loosened. Jamie could have dragged him to the opera and made him listen to the fat lady and Kent would have loved every minute of it.

So this is what joy is like. He let himself feel the delirium.

Jamie grasped Kent’s chin, smooched him and beat his chest once. That felt good, so Kent stuck his chest out for more. Jamie beat him three more times, then rubbed his pecs, fingers passing over nipples.

They kind of liked that, and Kent smiled.

Then he felt Jamie grasp his arm and lead him towards the table. They moved a few steps and Kent's guard went up. Jamie said softly, “I want to try something about lights.”

“Okay, baby.”

"Oh. You've never called me baby before."

"I'm gonna call you that lots. You're my baby boy, so come to Daddy."

Jamie chuckled. “I brought a candle here, and there are several others in the house. I think we should have a little candle-lighting ceremony.”

“Okay.” Jamie could have said he wanted to slaughter goats in the living room and Kent would have said the same thing. Funny how power flows back and forth between us.

“Um, it may help us if we design this, put some thought into it.”

“Okay. Design?”

Jamie was quiet for a minute while he thought. “We are beginning our first night together. Being with you, making a permanent relationship, is the most important thing in the world to me.”

“Me too, Jamie. God, you mean everything to me.”

“So how do we start out right? We have two things to think about maybe; this first night, and our life together. What do we want those to be?”

Kent shook his head, just listened.

“One, we’re getting ready to make love.”

“Yeah, baby, we're gonna fuck. It's what you need, baby. I got what you need.” Kent adjusted himself.

“Part of me just wants to rip our clothes off, roll around on the floor and go at it till we’re senseless.”

“Works for me,” Kent grinned. “Senseless, huh?”

“Crazed. Wacko. Can’t even remember our names.”

“Okay. More, though, pretty boy?”

“This is our first time. And we should do it right, whatever right turns out to be.”

“Right sounds good. Long as I get you naked.”

“Kent, I want to remember this the rest of our lives.”

“We will. We're gonna do it right, baby. Can't nothin' go wrong from now on.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t just stumble about, though. Maybe we should create the future we want from the very start.”

“Keep talkin'. I like it when your lips move.”

“I don’t know what this design should be, but if you'll bear with me, I think I have a procedure for finding out. I’m going to take this unlit candle, and let’s go over here and sit down on the floor facing each other, and talk a little. Then when we’re ready to go on, we’ll know.” Jamie led him to the middle of the living room. They sat down cross-legged and he put the candle between them.

He said, “We’re starting out in darkness. And what we want to do is to feel that first, and then go on to see each other’s light.”

Kent nodded. He started to appreciate what Jamie was doing, not part of Op 3-S at all. But even with a specific desired outcome, Kent always knew Jamie'd spring surprises and he'd have to be ready for anything. It didn't matter, because it would all lead back to the same result, naked and wet.

“We know what each other looks like, so we don’t need light for that," Jamie said, "but now we want to know more about each other on the inside.”

“It’s the inside I love, baby, as well as the outside. Boy ain't just pretty. He's beautiful inside."

“It’s the inside of us that falls in love with each other.”

"Yeah, buddy. I love you inside out.”

“So recognizing that we are two separate people, coming together to make a relationship we want to be lasting and faithful, even before we know what faithful really means; let’s first acknowledge the darkness we come from: the darkness of solitude.”

“And loneliness.”

“Oh yes,” Jamie said gravely, rubbing Kent’s knee. “Very lonely. That’s how I know I want to be with you. These last three months you’ve taken all my loneliness away.”

“I was slowly getting miserable till I met you, Jamie. You’ve made my life better than it’s ever been.”

“So as we acknowledge the dark places we’ve been in by ourselves, we can prepare to light our candle, having already glimpsed the light in each other, and basked inside its glow.”

“Man, you are wonderful. How do you come up with this stuff?”

“As we sit here together, talking and touching, opening ourselves to each other, each time we see more light, let’s start to take off our clothes, making ourselves more open and vulnerable to each other, until at last we see each other as we really are. Naked, with imperfections as well as strengths and beauties.”

“I’m so glad you want to be faithful. That’s mandatory, Jamie, I need that. Don't go breakin' my heart by foolin' around with nobody else.”

“I won't. It's not a morality thing to me, or mere conventional thinking; I wouldn't give you five cents for patriarchy or the 'heterosexual model.' I just think monogamy's what actually works—if a couple are both committed from the very start. I know a lot of Gay guys in successful, longterm relationships who aren't monogamous; but they always separate sex and love, and I want them integrated, not separated.

"There seem to be several ways people break sex and love apart. They love each other, but they're not attracted to each other. Or they love each other and are attracted, but one wants sex every night and the other wants it twice a month. Or one likes a certain kind of sexual activity the other's decided he can't stand, so having sex becomes impossible. Or the most common thing, which I suppose is only human nature, they're good friends, but they're both so selfish and immature they want to sample every kind of candy in the store. They want what they want when they want it. They're always on the prowl, and they tell themselves they don't get bored this way, eating the same old Hershey bar every night. But it's just as likely they're scared of real intimacy. That's what I don't want for us. Who is more dear to me than my intimate, lifelong friend?"

Kent got quiet; he was impressed, but he couldn't think of what to say, so he kissed him instead. "Go on, man."

"It's a challenge, I suppose, for two people to trust each other so much that they can open themselves up as they really are, with all their wants and needs and contradictions, so they don't have to be their pretend-selves. When you love someone, you find what is beautiful about him, what is sexy, what turns you on. Looks are only skin-deep, and they fade over time; what then? Personality's the most attractive part of a man; every guy on the planet's got a dick, so he'd better have something more going for him than that.

"I love your personality, Kent; your values, what you stand for, how you treat people. You happen also to be physically beautiful—but here in the dark I can't see that. If I were blind, I'd still be hugely attracted to you. So let's start out in the dark, because this is where love begins."

"You're still the same Jamie, even though I can't really see you."

"I don't care that my opinion's out of fashion now. I just believe that monogamy, for those who can do it, makes for much closer relationships. That's what I want. But it's difficult or impossible unless we're both committed from day one—and we learn the skills it takes, the honesty and openness, the readiness to please each other, to accept each other, trust and forgive each other.”

“My parents were monogamous, Jamie. If we have half of what they did… man oh man.”

“Let's not just give and receive each other’s good intentions; the road to hell is paved with those, so let's stay off that highway. I think we should make promises, commitments, and develop ways to keep them when the pavement runs out and the road gets bumpy. That's how we become able to give our minds and souls, because we've come to trust each other, as we learn to give and receive the gift of our bodies, every part of each other.”

“Oh,” Kent sighed, "and our bodies become one.”

“Your body inside my body; your heart inside my heart. Maybe you’d like to say that too?”

“Your body in my body; your heart in my heart. Oh, man.”

“This is the darkness of separation. Now let there be the light of love.”

Jamie grasped a fireplace lighter, struck a flame and lit the candle, followed by two others on the end table.

Softly he recited the candle-lighting prayer, Phos hilaron:

“O gracious light,
pure brightness of the everliving Father in heaven,
O Jesus Christ, holy and blessed.
Now as we come to the setting of the sun,
and our eyes behold the vesper light,
we sing your praises, O God:
Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
You are worthy at all times to be praised by happy voices,
O Son of God, O Giver of life,
and to be glorified through all the worlds.”

He pulled off his sweater and T-shirt, and sat in front of Kent shirtless.

Music started up quietly by remote control, English folk songs by Ralph Vaughan Williams.

They looked at each other. Kent started pulling off his black satin baseball jacket, his red flannel shirt, his undershirt. He wore an athlete's gold chain, mandatory somehow, heavy links. They sat staring at each other, naked from the waist up.

Jamie said, “I hope that wasn't too religious?”

“No, baby. You're right to bring God into this. Who was it but God that answered my prayers and brought me you?”

“Man, that’s exactly how I feel about you. You're this gift from heaven, in my mother's living room."

Kent let himself be dazzled by Jamie’s blond hair. “Oh, my darling. You are so beautiful in the light.”

Jamie was awed by the muscular athlete in front of him. He’d only seen Kent briefly once before, at that hotel when he was trying not to look. “You are more man, with more love, than I ever knew to want.”

Kent moved the center candle aside, reached out and started stroking Jamie’s hair.

Jamie said, “I feel like we’re in a dream.”

“I love you, Jamie. I’ve always been afraid to give my heart to anyone. But with you, it’s easy to say. I love you.”

“Love makes us so vulnerable to each other.”

“I promise to treat you right.”

“I promise to comfort and support you every day.”

“I hope I never let you down, not even once.”

“When I let you down, I’ll beg your forgiveness.”

“Well, we’re human, we ain’t perfect. I know I’m not.”

“You’ve got me fooled, mister. What I see is perfect manhood.”

Kent put his hand on Jamie’s thigh. “Maybe it’s good that we’re taking things slow.”

“We should take the time to figure out what we want together, so we can actually achieve it.”

“I want us to be one, forever.”

“I just want us to learn how.” Jamie picked up Kent’s hands. “Will you have me to be your beloved; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love me, and comfort me, honor and keep me, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep only unto me, so long as we both shall live?”

Tears welled up in Kent’s eyes. “Yes, I will.”

“Kent, I will have you to be my beloved husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage. I will love you, and comfort you, honor and keep you, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep myself only unto you, so long as we both shall live.”

“Oh!” A tear almost spilled down Kent’s cheek, so he grabbed him and held him tight. “I never thought I’d hear those words. Oh, baby, oh my God.”

Jamie held him, and started rocking him a little. Kent sniffled, “How did you know those words?” He eased back.

“Well, I garbled them up a little, but now is hardly the time to drag out the Prayer Book. Years ago I was an acolyte at scores of weddings, so I know the basic idea. There’s more to it, but the promises are what seem like the important thing right now.” Then he remembered something else. He pondered a second, then his idea felt right, so he pulled off the gold ring from his left hand, lifted it up and looked up to heaven. Then he said, "With this ring I thee wed; with my body I thee worship; and with all my worldly goods I thee endow, in the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."

He grasped Kent's left hand and slipped the ring on his little finger. It almost didn't want to go past the knuckle, but a little jiggling secured it.

Kent stared at it, and all he could think to say was, "Amen."

"So," Jamie said, "it is done."

"I wish I had a ring to give you."

"You do, somewhere."

"Ah, I know what I'll do. When do I get to kiss my groom?”

“Anytime you want.” So Kent grabbed him, held his face in both hands and kissed him, a lot longer than they’d ever get away with in church.

Finally Kent said, “How did you know to do this?”

“I didn’t, until we sat here and lit the candle, and I thought about what we’re really doing tonight. It’s not just having sex, it’s making a relationship. And to me that takes promises, a commitment. Those vows that lovers make are the only ones I know.”

Kent blinked. “I’m a married man. I’m married to Jamie Foster!”

Jamie's jaw dropped. "I'm married to Kent Kessler." Twenty-four hours ago he thought they'd never see each other again.

He said, “You know, at a wedding, the priest only gives the final blessing; it's the couple who perform the sacramental act. They marry each other by their promises given and received. That’s the essential act in every wedding, not the priest making his big announcement or giving them 'permission' to kiss. The priest is just an afterthought—though the couple's vows are considered stronger when they're made in front of witnesses and God's representative.”

Kent shifted till he was on his knees, and took Jamie’s hands. “Then let's get us some witnesses. Jamie, will you come with me to Massachusetts, or one of them other states so we can be married under the law?”

Jamie's eyes got bright. “Yes, Kent, I’d love to! But I’d also want the blessing of the Church if we can get it.”

Kent frowned, “Mine doesn’t do it, I don’t think.”

“Mine's done it in the closet for years, but now it's openly approved, local option.”

“A real church service? With flowers and stuff, a big cake?”

“New Hampshire. Maybe we could get Gene Robinson." Jamie thought about his friend Gene, the first openly-Gay Bishop in the history of Christianity. He was horribly busy being a role model and a target; what if he could find the time to marry them?

“Man oh man. A real church wedding would be fantastic. Would you consider taking my name?”

“Well, there's a new thought. I'm inclined to say no at first, not professionally I don't think; but it's a wonderful idea, Kent, doing something with our names. Maybe we could.”

“I’d love to make you a Kessler man. Oh, Jamie, my heart would bust.”

“Let’s think about it. Mom isn’t here to object; Stone would probably be happy to drum me out of the family. Let me see what Danny thinks.” Those were his older brothers.

“Okay. Take your time. We got time, baby. We're already married in our hearts."

“Oh, what a joy to hear you say that. Let’s light some more candles, and use that as a transition to opening up a little about sex.”

“Yeah, I’m totally inexperienced with a guy. I been studyin’ up, though, everything I could get my hands on.” Kent lit two candles on the glass-topped coffeetable, and Bad Cop started rising again.

He’d watched lots of video snippets for his 3-S research. Most were pretty awful, but a few gave him some excellent tools. He knew what turns Gay guys on, and what goes too far and is emotionally abusive. Good Cop was all over him on that.

Kent flashed briefly on his sexual history. He'd never pleased a woman that much, or even come close to getting one to please him. A sexual athlete? Nah. Denial, some homophobia maybe, and just plain ignorance were his real weaknesses; he never knew who he was before he met Jamie.

But now he hoped to become the man's man he always wanted to be; king of the jungle, top of the heap. He held Jamie's neck again and kissed him.

And oh, that blond innocence played right into his hands.

“Should I show you how, do you think?" Jamie asked. "Or do you have an idea already of what you want?”

“Both, maybe? I got a few ideas and fantasies.”

“Good,” Jamie nodded. “I have a birthday present for you.”

“You do?”

“No gift wrap, though. You didn’t tell me it was your birthday.”

Kent didn’t want to obligate him, and with the Incident and all, Jamie had no way to buy anything. "Where's my present?”

Jamie pulled Kent’s shoulders forward till they were nose to nose. “Twenty-seven years’ worth of fantasies.” Jamie made a quick calculation, 400 times 25. “Which comes to about 10,000.”

"Yeah? Where I get to decide what I want, then I kinda tell you what to do, and you just do it?"

Jamie nodded. "Arabian nights. A Cherokee cementation ceremony, where we take off all our clothes and dress each other in them, then disappear into the mountains. Palace intrigues in the Ming Dynasty!"

"I could take my pick of all of 'em." They searched each other's faces, then Kent’s lit up. “What about leap years too? I know I got leap years comin'.”

Jamie cackled in delight; “Leap years too. And I bet that a year from now, you’ll have another birthday. There’s another 365. Buddy, you will never run out.”

“Oh wow, I’m gonna use all of ’em. I’m rich! Got me ten grand in the bank already. Do you pay interest?”

“Not in this economy, but we're insured. You'll have a lifetime supply of sexual joy. That, I think, should be one of our most important goals."

"Yeah, baby. I'm here for you."

"We want to take care of each other’s body, our minds and emotions and turnons, and respect our different tastes and pleasures and needs. We won't be the same, we can't be. But…”

“We can work together. And communicate.”

“And put each other first. This is one of the issues that trips people up about monogamy; 'oh, he's into name-your-kink and I can't stand that.' Well, if you're into it and I love you, then turning you down just drives you away. So I ask you to show me how to do what you want; maybe explain your turnon, teach me how to do it the right way. I'll be damned if I'm going to sit in a nasty bar drowning my sorrows while you're out with someone else. Let's find a way to compromise and accomodate and just plain try.

"Kent, if you’re into something I’m not, I’ll do my best to be open-minded and get into it with you. I do ask this, that whatever you do to me, I can do to you too, okay? We should have that equality. With that, anything safe, mister, it’s yours. Ten thousand fantasies. Happy birthday.”

Kent kissed him. "And you're gonna do whatever I say?"

"If it's safe, why not? I may not be good at it at first, but I'll get better."

“Mutual respect, too. I’ll do my best to make you satisfied, Jamie.”

“Whatever pleases you will also please me. Let me ask, what's the worst turn-off you can think of?"

"Honestly? Women's clothes. How about you?"

"Women's clothes! I want a man, not a woman."

“Yeah. That's something I've always known about you. My guy needs a man." That was Bad Cop talking. "I’m so glad to be gettin' physical with you finally. God, I’ve dreamed of this every night.”

“And getting physical is more than sex, isn’t it. Sometimes guys get so obsessed with orgasm they forget they've got their whole bodies to work with. Every part of you gets pleasure being touched, and every part of me. Use your whole instrument, not just the G Major chord. You can't make a song out of that."

"Ooh, baby's gonna play me a symphony."

"And there's other body language to consider. Let’s decide something about staying close, no matter what, even though we know we’ll feel distant in some future moment. Please, no running away at times like that. Silence is okay, anger is okay, but stick close by.”

“I hope it never happens.”

“So do I, but it probably will. People just misunderstand each other sometimes. Let’s learn to develop so much tenderness, honesty and trust that we can be truly intimate with our deepest thoughts and feelings and needs. Let’s say there’s some sexual act that you truly love, but I don’t do it, or not often enough, or not the right way. If I don’t know how you feel, I’ll just keep fumbling around. So teach me how to do it right. Be bold enough, and considerate enough, to teach me the right way. The last thing I want is for you to lie there thinking, 'This is all wrong,' but you're too uptight to help me change it. We have to teach each other, not just assume we're both experts in sex. We don't even know each other's bodies yet."

Kent saw an opening. "That ain't teaching, Jamie, that's training. Teaching is academic, desks in a row, it's headwork. Showin' a guy how to perform a physical skill, that's training. Cops train all the time, with lots of practice. What you're askin' me for is training."

"Then train me, sergeant. You're right, I need training."

Kent took a minute to absorb this, which only made him harder. "What a great guy I got, askin' me to show you how to move. I'll train you, all right. I'll show you exactly how to move." He gave him an evil grin. "And I'll see you get lots of practice."

"I really do need it, Kent. Every body is unique. I've only done it with one guy, and that was years ago. I'm way out of practice, even with the basics. And my ass has never been touched."

Kent's eyes narrowed. "You wantin' me to change that for ya, pretty boy? You gonna give me your virginity?"

"Um, yes, if you feel like it?"

"Then say it. You want me to train your ass, baby? Is that what you want?"

A few years ago Jamie was featured twice in People magazine's "100 Most Beautiful People" issue: The Total Package as well as World Class Ass. There was plenty of demand for his posterior; too much. But some small part of him, even as a Gay man, was a little proud he had held out for love; he was monogamous, and his first lover was a bottom. So now, did he want his ass fucked, five minutes after getting married? "If it's one of your birthday fantasies, then yes, of course; Kent, would you train my ass?"

"Man oh man," Kent exulted. "You come to the right guy, baby. Boy even asks me to train his behind."

"Mutual teaching is part of intimacy to me. How can I do it right if you don't show me how? So I'm thinking with training, and 10,000 fantasies, no matter how we're getting along at the moment, if you want sex, all you have to do is cash in a fantasy. Even if I’m hurt or upset, I owe you one. Just pull up at the drive-thru at Jamie's Bank and Trust, and ask for what’s yours. Politely, I hope, but it’s your money.”

Kent grinned, “I’ll be polite. No sense bein’ rude to the help when I got me such a great bank.”

“Let’s be partners, so that together we can find the greatest fulfillment two people can have together. Part of that is sexual ecstasy, where we love and desire each other exactly as we are, because we know each other so well, and trust each other with all our imperfections. Let's feel free to express honest, deep emotions without judging ourselves or each other. That's’s a lot to promise and it won’t all happen tonight; but it can start tonight. Therefore it must. Therefore it will.”

“Ooh, great present. Excellent present.”

“What’s your first fantasy?”

Good Cop elbowed his way to the front. “I want to sleep with you. Naked.”

Jamie backed away a little and said, “That one's a freebie, mister. I love sleeping with my man. These past three months, I cling to my pillow and pretend it's you. Please let me sleep with you; please sleep with me."

"Hey, I'm lovin' this bank. The premiums are better than a tote bag."

"I actually think sleeping together's my ultimate fantasy. It’s certainly my most lasting and pleasurable one. He’s there; my guy’s touching me, he’s right there. We’re safe, we’re warm, all is well, and so we can sleep. It’s okay, my guy’s right there.”

“Like we protect each other.” Jamie nodded. “Yeah, every night, I'm gonna protect you, baby. Still, I want you to know I ain’t never slept with nobody before. I always wanted to, but I’m kinda scared about it.”

“Scared? How can I help you relax?”

“Afraid I’ll get too tense and can't sleep. I’ll thrash around, steal all the covers, and you won’t like me no more.”

“I’ll steal half the covers back. We’ll learn how to sleep together so we get a full night’s rest. We've slept in the same room before; we can train each other to sleep in the same bed.”

“Wow,” Kent said, picturing it. “Even that’s a big step.” Good Cop could be a little sappy at times, but he was so sincere; he was the one Jamie loved, not realizing Bad Cop even existed.

BC liked it that way.

“We’ll learn," Jamie said. "Just tell me your rules as we go along. Everyone has rules, but they don’t always tell each other. That creates misunderstandings.”

“We’ll tell each other, you and me. By the time I'm done trainin' you, you'll know all the rules.”

Jamie kissed him. “Even if it seems negative at first. If we talk…”

“It can stop being so negative.”

“Oh, man, I want you. Naked in bed.”

“Ooh.”

“Can I feel your muscles?”

“Damn! Would you?” That was the first time Jamie ever heard Kent swear.

Jamie’s hand trembled a little as he reached first for Kent’s hairy forearm and gripped it, then slowly up, past the elbow, across the tattoo to his biceps. Jamie reached his thumb underneath and stretched out his fingers, but he couldn’t get his hand even halfway around that upper arm, and Kent wasn’t flexing. Jamie breathed, “So this is what a home run hitter’s built like.”

Kent beamed like the sun; Jamie’d said something similar once before. The tattoo was his name and uniform number with the National League Champion Atlanta Braves. “You like my big arms?”

“You make me queer for muscle.”

“Then maybe you’ll like this.” Kent bent his elbow and flexed, the classic bodybuilder pose.

His muscle popped, and Jamie exclaimed. “Have you ever had that arm licked?”

“No,” Kent gasped, “but it’s sure on my wish list. So here's Order Number 1, pretty boy: start right now. Lick you some muscle. Lap up my number." And he pulled Jamie's neck till he was face to face with that red and blue tattoo.

In truth Jamie hated tattoos, a total middle-class bigot, so curing him of that was high on Kent's to-do list. Jamie was Mr. Clean-Cut, his body pristine, his look classic, devoid of any funk; but Bad Cop aimed to give him a taste for the exotic. Jamie'd previously admired the tattoo's meaning, commemorating Kent's brief but great career as a professional athlete, but Jamie would never in a million years consider getting himself inked. His Grandma warned his brother Danny not to get tattooed when he went into the service, and 13-year-old Jamie took it as the Gospel truth. Tattoos = criminals, gangbangers, drug addicts, uneducated people, and Foster boys were never to sink so low.

Danny served in the Air Force during Operation Desert Storm and made it home safely, every bit as white as before.

Jamie blinked rapidly at the etching, then his tongue came out and he started to lick the muscle.

The hand behind his head didn't let go.

He kissed the biceps a couple of times, but Kent said, "No kisses, baby, training time. All tongue, no lips. Got it? All tongue, no lips. Just lick me."

Jamie licked the big arm. His eyes found Kent's smiling back at him, nodding, encouraging.

Jamie kept licking. In a minute something happened; he got into it.

He'd had no idea how much he wanted to lick muscle. But now, with a lover who encouraged him, who liked it, something in Jamie let go. His tongue traveled all over that arm, till it finally focused on the tattoo of his All-Star.

He shut his eyes and licked athleticism, all tongue, no lips.

Tongue on muscle, a Gay guy's dream. A Major League baseball player.

Jamie became aware of the awkwardness of his body, bent at the waist and pulled by a hand. He shifted onto his knees. Kent pushed his head down onto the muscle and Jamie put his hands on the floor.

Bad Cop closed his eyes and smiled deep in his soul. They weren't even naked yet and Jamie was already in position. In a low voice Kent said, "Good job, puppy. Lick my big muscle. That's a good boy."

Jamie loved that he was pleasing him. He licked that arm with nice long strokes.

Kent whispered, "Get that bulging muscle wet, little boy. Sex is wet."

With my body I thee worship. Muscle love was the riskiest, most erotic thing Jamie had ever done. The big flexing arm started to shine where his tongue had been. He decided to get the whole thing wet.

And that hand on his head, guiding him, showing him where to go, interacted with him, told him they were both turning on; he would never have licked some passive, roided-up bodybuilder off the street, but Kent was fully part of this.

Jamie covered that arm with his tongue. And he tried to think, though he couldn't really think, what a luxury it is, a coming-out, to lick the sexy muscular arm of the man he loved. It wasn't foreplay, it was the real damn thing.

Kent pulled his head off, looked him in the eye, then spat on his own tattoo. "Lick me, boy. Sex is wet. All tongue, no lips. Lick it up."

And he pushed his head back down.

This was hotter than Jamie'd bargained for, but he got very serious about licking that spit.

Jamie used to hate tattoos, but he was getting a hardon for this one.

"Yeah," Kent muttered. "Servicin' my uni number. Like a real good boy."

Jamie's strokes got bigger and better. He worked all over that upper arm. And when he lifted it up to get at the triceps, he murmured, "Oh my God!"

Kent had the thickest, blackest, hairiest armpit Jamie'd ever seen. His tongue leapt to get that hairy sweat.

Kent had never had his armpit licked before, but he sat there with his arm up and locked Jamie's head in.

Jamie started moaning, and Kent said, "Get you some sweat, boy. Clean me with your tongue."

Kent put his head back and looked up at the ceiling for a second, then back down at the scene. Little blondboy, down on all fours, licking his pit.

He pulled Jamie's head back a little, leaned down and half-accused, "You like this, don'tcha."

"Oh yeah." So Kent guided him back home.

"You got a little pervy streak, ain'tcha." It dawned on Kent that Jamie was going to be a whole lot more fun than even he'd planned on, and he'd planned on a lot. He kicked it up a notch and whispered, "Lick my sweat, puppy. That's your new private nickname startin' tonight, just between us. Got me a new puppy I'm trainin'. Gonna make him a real good boy."

Jamie licked another minute, then broke his head free. "No more deodorants, okay? You smell great, but I'm not here to eat aluminum silicate. Man, that shit's nasty."

Kent laughed, pulled him higher and kissed him. "No more deodorants?"

"At work, yes. But why would a man put a coat of metal on his body to keep from sweating? Do baseball players do that?"

"Fuck no."

So Jamie gave him two palms up, a signal that said, "Get it?"

Kent said, "Fuck you, Gillette. Baby, you just passed your first test with flying colors. You are now a State Police-certified arm-licker. Congratulations. You'll receive your certificate Monday. It ain't valid without my signature."

Jamie chuckled, "Thank you."

"You'll get your official laminated card in the mail in a couple of weeks. Be sure to put it in your wallet in case anyone ever questions whether you're a certified Kessler sweat-licker. You passed, baby, #1 in your class."

"Sex is wet," Jamie grinned.

"You're learnin'. So let's keep gettin' to know each other."

Jamie resumed his manual explorations. His hand traveled up to big, firm deltoids, squeezing all the muscle. “Man, you are built.” He lifted Kent’s arm up just to look at his wet armpit again and said, “Oh my goodness, yes.” Kent had the blackest, hairiest undergrowth. Jamie licked once more, then leaned back to take in the view.

He closed his eyes and felt a little awe. His own underarm hair was sparse and pale; this one was a testosterone forest to get lost in.

He brought his palm downward onto a chest muscle the size of a dinner plate. The striation was incredible, Kent's nipples were huge, the size of half dollars. Jamie wasn't that keen on nipple play—his dime-sized tits were super-sensitive and couldn't take the least abuse—but he knew it wouldn't be long before he was licking these nipples like a starving baby.

He massaged them with his whole hand, and played in a patch of black hair between Kent’s pecs. Then fingertips found the other nipple, which again appeared to enjoy being touched.

Jamie felt light-headed. He was going to love this body with so much passion that if he didn’t stop now, they’d never get to the Big Necessary Discussion. So he made a fist and pounded Kent’s chest again.

Kent didn’t mind that one bit. He grabbed Jamie’s neck and kissed him.

Jamie nearly swooned. But he reconstituted and said, “There are two more candles on the dinner table. Would you get them going too?”

Kent got them started, brightening Jamie’s face and hair, illuminating the entire living-dining room; a small round table made of maple in Tell City, with four chairs, a large buffet with a hutch and pretty things displayed; an abstract oil painting, Haitian primitive, yellows and reds and greens; two armchairs, an end table, a hassock, a sofa, the glass-topped coffeetable, Renoir prints on the wall, a young woman in a red cloche hat.

The room was immaculately kept, but what Jamie saw was the slipcovers his mother had made, light green for the armchairs and hassock, gold for the couch. He was proud of her workmanship, she was a fine seamstress and upholsterer; but he wished she’d bought new instead of recovering the old. She had the money, but she wouldn’t spend it. And now it was too late.

He hoped his mother couldn’t watch them from heaven; she didn’t approve of Gay sex. But that had never stopped him before, so he sat hip to hip with Kent, holding each other.

Kent lifted him up so that Jamie straddled him, face to face, chest to chest, crotch to crotch.

Jamie whispered, “You smell so fine.” Kent had the sweetest, strangest scent, like baby powder and hormones.

Kent whispered, “Your hair’s so soft.” He stroked it over and over. “Blond hair so light, but it’s fourteen different colors.” He lifted locks up just so he could watch them fall. "Do you know how long I've waited to say that?" He played in Jamie's hair again. "Fourteen different colors of blond."

“You’re beautiful, Centerfielder. Look at that chest, you’re massive.”

“I can’t believe you’ve gained all your weight back. Man, I’m so proud of you. Got my own muscleboy right here.”

“I had professional help, though.”

“Protein shakes,” Kent ordered. “Keep at it.”

“No beets,” Jamie shuddered. “No carrot juice.”

“Those are just for vitamins. You need protein to put meat on your bones.”

Jamie didn’t make a protein joke. It might have gone over Kent’s head, or maybe not. “Any other fantasies, goals, wishes, hopes?”

“You’ll laugh at me.”

“Not likely, but maybe. I’m allowed to laugh at you, it’s a rule.”

“Something tells me I’m gonna learn a bunch of new rules.”

“We both are. You enforce rules for a paycheck.”

“Well, here’s your first one, it’s too darn hot in here.”

“Don’t even start," Jamie snorted, waving his hand. "Temperature's a done deal.”

They’d pretend-fought over this many times; Jamie would not abide being cold and Kent had long agreed to suffer. “I’ll tease you, but I’ll never complain, and I promise I’ll never touch the thermostat when you’re around. Never, man. My job’s to keep you safe and warm, Jamie. I take that job serious.”

Jamie smiled; Kent was not very good with adverbs, but he sure was good with everything else. “That’s very sweet. Thank you, I accept. Now give me another fantasy, or something we can laugh about.”

“Well, I had a lot of time to think after the Incident.” That was their name for the coma business.

“And what did you think about, Commander?”

“Will you do it, though?”

“Certainly.”

“Before I even tell you?”

“A birthday present, man, twenty-seven years’ worth. Thousands of fantasies.”

“It’s very important to me.”

“Then help me to do it well. Show me how. Train me, Coach.”

“Okay. In a way I only have one fantasy with 10,000 variations. Give me that one, man, I’ll be overjoyed.”

“Then I will.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you, though. Just show you, ya think?”

“Sure. Do that.”

“I ain’t sayin’ we can’t never do it other ways. New fantasies’ll come up as time goes on, I know that. Let’s have all kinds of fun, every way there is. But I do have one thing I think about all the friggin’ time, and if you'll do it, you’ll break my heart, Jamie. In a good way.”

Jamie grew a little pensive, then a little guilty. His lover had been fantasizing about him all this time; one way of being together that he desperately wanted.

So that was the unspoken life that was starting right now.

Jamie had been so caught up in himself he hadn’t thought much about how Kent suffered after the Incident, only about how he'd been there to help him.

Jamie knew from his own experience that the caregiver suffers more than the patient. One guy gets sick, his lover goes through Dante’s worst hell.

But Jamie was emphatically not a patient anymore; that was what had changed. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Tonight?”

Jamie nodded, “I’m almost ready.”

“My God, I can’t believe how little you are. Big, impressive, the cutest muscleboy, but little too.”

“I’m big in the right places.”

“I know all about it," Kent smiled. "My arms love holding you, little man with the big dick. Even in a coma you got hardons every two hours; sometimes I'd kinda move your covers a little bit just so I could see your big boner.”

Jamie laughed, a little scandalized but not the least bit violated. “Do you remember when we met?”

“Of course.”

“That’s when I knew.”

“Me too.”

“Then why did it take all this time?”

“I was retarded. And scared. I ain’t never done this before.”

“I’ll show you.”

“Why do you bring it up, when we met?”

“I have these three criteria in men. And then three great desires, but I thought I had to keep those optional. I knew at once you had all six. Most guys don’t even have two, Kent. I’ve never met anyone remotely like you.”

“Took me five seconds.”

“Maybe my standards are a little more defined.”

“Maybe. Then again, no. Look who I got, prettiest blondboy on the planet. Gets hard regular as clockwork.”

“I walked out of that building, when you challenged my credentials, whispering those criteria. You’ll see them on my wall someday at home, I think they’re still up there. I’ve been looking for you.”

“What do they say?” Jamie had told him before, but Kent wanted to hear them again.

“Masculine. Intelligent. Sensitive. My man has to be all those things. And you are.”

“I like that you think I’m intelligent.”

“Hey, take credit for masculine and sensitive, too.”

“I’m more sensitive with you than I’ve ever been with anybody else.” That was Good Cop telling off Bad Cop.

“You’re macho with everybody.”

“Heck yeah, but so are you. I’m in a macho business. Gotta prove myself every day.”

“And then those three great desires.”

Kent gently grasped Jamie’s jaw. “Tell me.”

“Now I’m almost worried.”

“Don’t be. Just go for it, man, all the way. Trust me. I love you.”

Jamie stared Kent right in the eye and said, “I want a man who’s Powerful, Muscular and Heroic.”

Kent breathed. This was going to work out just as he’d hoped. He thought he knew Jamie pretty well, but people are always surprising each other. Kent memorized those six turnons. “Cops have power. Cops have authority. You gotta do whatever a cop says."

Jamie's jaw dropped slightly. Kent looked at him steadily, not mean, not intimidating. But insistent.

He said, "I’m glad you like my muscles too. I love my body, Jamie. Maybe that ain't an acceptable thing to say. I ain't meanin' to brag, I don't claim I'm better than other people; but I'm an athlete, just like you. And baby, I promise you, I got what you need.”

He touched himself again, and Jamie stared, realizing for the first time how deliberately sexual this man was.

The Vaughn Williams soundtrack had to give way; this man was going to fuck him. Jamie'd asked for it; this guy was going to do it.

Time to grow up. “I’m sitting here with a total stud who’s arrested 20 serial killers. Good grief, I’m getting out of these pants.”

“I’m sitting here with a total studboy who made it all happen.”

Jamie scooted away, pulled off his sneakers, yanked down his jeans and tossed them on the couch, then came back over to stand before him.

Kent’s eyes drank him in again: skin whiter than ivory. Hairless, no little moles even; one or two pale freckles if you looked really hard. Big square pecs, not rounded; male, not female. Little-boy nipples that stuck straight out. Broad shoulders that tapered down to the smallest waist. Big muscled arms, especially for a skinny little ectomorph basketball player; point guards have a hard time gaining any bulk, but this one ate well, loved his workouts and packed on great results. And the straightest, deepest-cut abs Kent had ever seen on a male animal.

Leading right down to white, low-cut Calvins straining at the seams, trying to cover up that clockwork cock and huge/tiny stick-out butt; plus distinct, muscled quadriceps where all Kent had to do was point and count to four.

Meanwhile Jamie stared at Kent’s magnificent chest. For the first time he realized how much bigger Kent really was. His triceps bulged as much as his biceps. Every move Kent made was graceful. His well-defined abs were much bulkier than Jamie’s; stronger, able to bend harder, do more. Jamie’s body was a monument to structure; Kent’s was a picture of power.

“A hundred and seventy-five pounds of muscleboy,” Kent said. “Half of it between your legs. Do me a favor. Turn around for me. Let me see you in your underwear.”

Jamie turned around, finding a stance that showed off the merchandise, with his head down in partial profile.

Kent let out a loud wolf-whistle that echoed off the walls. “Now here's another little order. Walk over to the doorway nice and slow. Let me watch you move. Just relax and move naturally, without any thought, just moving slow so I can watch your body flow.”

Jamie breathed and put himself at half-speed, walking deliberately toward the kitchen; turning, pausing, circling around the dining table to block the view (always make them want more), then coming back towards him, arms swinging freely, hips loose, eyes on the audience, projecting an open attitude, knowing every inch of him was being scrutinized, and reveling in that.

Putting on an underwear show for the only man who mattered.

Kent looked up at him. “Sold. I'm buyin' the whole shipment.”

Jamie smiled, “Thank you for your patronage.” He sat between Kent’s legs again, not quite so close. “I love that you’re such a leader. I admire you so, and to think of being close to you permanently, my heart’s breaking.”

“We make a good team, Partner.”

“For me it all starts with masculinity. That’s what my sexuality is based on. My heart wants gentleness, and my body wants strength. Getting those two in balance is what makes us real men. Being Gay doesn't change that; in fact it enhances it.”

“You totally dominated those killers.”

“No, sir. You shot ’em dead.”

For once Jamie did not add, “I just got stabbed.”

Kent shook his head. He’d never seen a more courageous act than Jamie taking on those killers. But of course he didn’t remember it; Kent knew all about it from the video.

Still, they both hated talking about the Incident. “Have you always liked muscular guys?”

“Not so much, especially not bodybuilders. But I met Bob Paris once, a Hoosier boy, and I liked him. He's a nice guy and says he never used steroids. So who am I to judge his sport, when I'm lifting weights too? Hell yes, I like muscle."

"There isn't any sport I can think of where lifting weights doesn't help your performance."

"Working out helps me maintain my appetite, getting tired from the workout helps me sleep. And I admit, I love the Pump. Then after Rick died, I thought about what I wanted in another man; just the question helped me grow up. Muscles are hot. Muscles are masculine. Muscles connote power.” Jamie looked at him, jaw out. “Do you enjoy being muscular?”

“Damn right. Makes boys like you lick me.”

“Do you like it when people look at you?”

“Very much. I got the body and they don’t. I respect other people, they come in all shapes and sizes, but I got what a boy like you needs.”

“Women have chased you. Athletes attract thousands of women.”

Kent didn’t even like to picture it. “I’m tryin’ to think whether guys ever looked at me. If they did I was too dumb to notice.”

“You're going to realize they're looking at you now.”

“Bring ’em on. I’m kind of a closeted exhibitionist, Jamie. I’m gonna love havin' you look at me.”

“Oh, muscleman.” Jamie pounded Kent’s chest some more. Then he licked his thumb and rubbed it on a big nipple.

Kent grinned. “I might get kinda cocky if you keep lookin’ at me.”

“You like cocky.”

Kent looked at Jamie’s pouch, then rubbed his own crotch. “Yeah. I like cocky a whole lot.” Jamie looked silently at that crotch, showing Kent more. “And what you just told me is, so do you.”

“Oh yeah. Cocky rocks.”

“How’d you get so intense?”

“Just born this way.”

“I’m easy-goin’. You’re not.”

“We might be a good combination. Sex is intense. It’s also relaxing.”

“Nah,” Kent said, “I want intense.”

“I’ll need you to cool me out sometimes. When it’s not the time and I get confused.”

“I know. You get hyper a lot, and angry sometimes. But you also care more than most people, more than anyone else I’ve ever met. I love that in you, baby.”

“Will you help me?”

“Nah. I’ll just slam you down and fuck you silly.”

Jamie burst into laughter. Kent pulled him closer, rubbed their crotches together.

Jamie stared down; oh God, you’re touching me there!

He leaned all the way back on his heels to give him more room. Kent said, “I like you, cocky boy.”

“Show me what you’ve got, stud.”

“In a minute. Right now I like havin’ you more naked than I am. Like you’re eager for my body. Like you can’t wait for it.”

“I am eager. Will sex with me seem foreign to you?”

“No,” Kent shook his head. “Sex with women seems foreign to me.”

“I guess I need to hear that.”

“I want you to show me the way sometimes, when you gotta be the cocky boy. So I can learn from your example.”

“Do you want to?”

“As if you ain’t made it clear I ain’t the only one cocky here.”

Jamie laughed. “Or the only exhibitionist.”

“Really?”

“A little.” Jamie was a former model, high fashion, underwear, (and in Europe) his naked behind. No frontal nudity, though.

“In case you’re asking, yeah, I’m curious about pleasuring your dick.”

“I guess I was asking. I’ve been afraid that if we ever did get together, you'd never want to reciprocate.”

“I know at first I won’t be no good. But I admit, I’ve thought about it. If it makes my guy feel good, I'm gonna do it.”

“I want you out of those jeans, so let’s both get cocky.”

Jamie moved away. Kent started pulling off a boot, but it was brand new and didn’t want to come off. He struggled with it, or appeared to. He eyed his little blond prey.

“Here, let me.” Jamie tugged on it and got it off.

Kent leaned back on an elbow and said, “Now ain't that a picture; you helpin’ me with my boots.”

Jamie got the other one off and looked inside the shaft. “Frye. Nice. Warren Buffett thanks you.”

“I was goin’ on a date. So I decided to splurge on some new boots.”

“Excellent. I like boots too.”

“I only seen you in 'em once, those silver-gray ropers. You got anymore back home?”

“Yes.” Jamie’s home was Columbus, Ohio, where he was a reporter for The Ohio Gay Times. “Boots for most occasions, not a big fetish collection.”

Kent pulled Jamie’s chin close. “I love boots. I'm never without my footwear.”

“Oh, they turn you on?”

“Kinda. With you they sure do. Maybe you need some apprentice trainin' too, how to help your man out of his boots. The proper procedure and all, the right moves. With lots of practice.”

Jamie started to feel a little threatened. But he said, “Ooh, that’s going to cost you those Levi’s, Mr. Cocky. Stand up.”

Kent did. “I’m more than ready to get these badboys off.”

Jamie got up on his knees in front of Kent, grasped his hips and slowly kissed his giant silver belt buckle, which had a Braves Indianhead on it. It wasn’t politically correct anymore, it never was, but Kent had more right than most people to wear it.

Then Jamie lowered his head, eyed that big bulge, closed his eyes and kissed it.

His lips were on Kent’s packed crotch, something neither of them had fully dared to hope for.

Jamie couldn’t believe it—and he couldn’t leave it either. He felt the denim next to his face, the heat that radiated out. He lay his face next to it and just knelt there, holding Kent’s hips with his dick in his face.

Kent, high above him, cupped both hands around the back of Jamie’s head and pressed him home. Seduce, Submit, Surrender.

Jamie moaned and buried his face in Kent’s crotch. He started licking the outline of cock.

That was the moment, the next one anyway, when Kent knew he was going to make him his.

Life started now: Kent standing, Jamie kneeling, Kent taking control.

They remained that way in silence a little while, so Jamie could experience it. Oh yeah, pretty boy. Eat my dick.

At last Jamie broke away, looked up and said, “There are two things that absolutely must be said before we’re naked. I’m stripping your jeans off now, and once we understand these last two things, let’s go to the bedroom.”

“Okay.” Kent undid his belt buckle and let Jamie pull his Levi’s off him. Kent was so glad to be out of those hot things. “But I got somethin’ on my mind too.”

“Oh my stars,” Jamie muttered. “Look at that.” Kent stood in front of him, straining elastic in a jock strap.

"I been wearin' a jock every time I'm with you. Just the sight of you gets me hard, thinkin' about you. I didn't want other people at the post knowin' it. So say what you gotta say."

Jamie smoothed out his hair, “Um, we have to do safe sex.” There, he got it out finally; why was it such a struggle? He pulled Kent down to sit with him again.

“No, we don’t, man. I got you covered, I promise.”

“Yes, we do, Kent. It’s an ironclad rule.”

“Rules are negotiable, bad laws get repealed. We’re both HIV-negative, man.”

“We are?” Jamie blinked. “How do you know?”

“We both got tested after the Incident.”

“They tested me in a coma? That’s not right.” The activist in Jamie started to get aroused. “They have to get signed permission. It’s illegal not to ask; that’s a Federal law. It can affect a person’s entire course of treatment. All of a sudden hospital trays don’t get delivered, the room doesn’t get cleaned. No one answers a goddamn call button. It happened to Ricky and he didn’t even have HIV! The mere rumor is sufficient.”

Kent put his hands on Jamie’s shoulders, “Cool out, baby: you're right, but Danny signed for you, Jamie, he gave them permission. He knew you were negative, and it helped us officers.” They still staged a general panic, but they got through it. All that blood, cops were bound to go nuts.

Jamie’s face softened; he loved his brother Danny. “Oh. Really? Well, okay, I guess, if Danny said so; if it helped you. I wish he’d told me, though. Every insurance company in America will know I’m Gay! But if it helped you guys, that’s fine. That’s a good reason, it helped you.”

Kent silently cursed a certain female trooper, his ex-sorta-girlfriend, the leader of the panic and the next to be arrested. “We’re both negative, man. Think about it.”

Jamie’s eyes widened. “There are re-tests, though.”

“I been re-tested. And you were negative before. Ain’t neither one of us been with nobody since. I know, I been watchin’ you like a hawk.”

“But there are other diseases too.”

“I had ‘em do a full workup. And Danny okayed that for you the first time. We’re disease-free, Jamie. I got the lab results to prove it, in an envelope in my glovebox. Want me to go get it? I wrote your name on it when I sealed it up. It’ll just take a minute.” Kent reached for his jacket as a coverup; he didn’t want the neighbors calling any cops. He pulled his boots back on.

“No, don’t go, that would be like I need proof, that your word isn't sufficient.”

“You sure?” Kent realized Jamie really was as vulnerable as he talked about.

“Show me tomorrow, stud. I’d like knowing that you had this all planned out.”

Kent tossed the jacket and sat on the floor again. “As long as we’re monogamous, Jamie…”

“Um, have you received all the vaccines by any chance?”

“Absolutely, I’m a cop. I don’t want none of them bugs some criminal’s got. Last thing I need’s some junkie with hepatitis.”

Jamie swallowed. “I’m not sure I know how not to have safe sex. But what a nice problem.”

“It’s real easy, the same way people have always done it. I'll train ya, boy; ya just open up your lips and blow.”

Jamie stared open-mouthed at Kent’s crotch, and slowly started emitting a sound. Comic books might have called it “Eek,” which wasn’t how it actually sounded, but close enough.

Kent said, “You give me a great big bulge, Jamie, starin' at me like that. What’s the other thing you’re thinking of, besides my dick?”

Jamie had to shake out the cobwebs in his head. It wasn’t easy with bareback cock on his brain. He stood up so he could think on his feet, another sure sign of a hyper ectomorph. He spoke rapidly, “Well, I don’t know at all how this is going to sound. But maybe it’s the reason I thought of the candle ceremony. I’ve been wondering lately what it means that I’m still alive.”

Kent’s eyes got big. Softly he said, “Come back here, please. I want to hear every word of this. Come and be with me, Jamie. These are things we never talked about, and I'm dyin' to know.”

Jamie came back and Kent sat him on his lap to cuddle him, and give him some dick where he needed it. “It didn’t hit me at first. Not till I got home. And then one day…”

“You were so busy recovering.”

“I realized how much time I was wasting. Time, as if it’s an endless commodity, just plug-and-play. But I know for certain it isn’t. Time is something I don’t have. None of us do, but we don’t realize it until it’s too late.”

“What happened that day, man? Tell me.”

“I’d read everything in the newspapers, like I always do. Then I started looking around for something else to do; I was completely at loose ends. I finally played a few games of solitaire. There I was with… playing cards, aces and jacks and deuces. It’s the biggest waste of time on the whole damn planet, and there I was playing solitaire.”

Kent just listened and held him.

“I thought about turning on the TV, but I already knew all the news; so what would I find, some tired sitcom? A cop show? I don’t ever need to watch any more cop shows.”

Kent nodded. He’d often advised crime victims not to watch cop shows. They get more graphic every year.

“I asked myself why I was needing to be entertained. Of course it was simple boredom; I was idle, naturally I was bored. But I decided not to turn on the TV, to look around for something more engaging, more real. I ended up writing something instead. And, um, well, talking to God about it. I don’t at all know how you feel about that.”

They had never discussed religion, but now they were becoming—what, a family unit? Heck yes, it was time. Kent said, “I’m in favor of talkin' to God; I done it plenty myself here lately, prayin' about you. I ain’t that religious, Jamie, I won’t lie to ya; but I pretty much believe. With me church is, well, it’s a family thing mostly, just somethin’ that Kesslers always do ’cause we always have. It’s tradition, I guess, the old man was a preacher; and I’m glad for it, especially at the holidays. Over the years some of it’s prob’ly rubbed off on me; I hope it has. I wanta believe that Jesus is Lord; I just ain’t sure all the time, which is prob’ly my own fault. You were talkin’ to God?”

Jamie played in Kent's black curly hair. “Yes. And I ended up asking him, why am I here?”

Kent was perplexed for what to do. He was a problem-solver, not a theorist, but this was a problem he didn't know how to fix. “What happened next?”

Jamie looked him full in the face. “Here’s the crazy part, or the most real. He answered me back."

Kent's mouth opened, his eyes got big. He had narrow, deep-set black eyes, so when they got big, that was news. "God talked back?"

"Not only that, he spoke in a way that felt unmistakable to me, this great huge surprise. I had no doubt whose voice it was."

"Gee whiz. I don't think God talks to people, Jamie, unless they're saints or somethin'. Every time I know about, it's some mental case thinkin' the TV's sendin' him messages."

"I know. But the TV was off. And there I was, yammering along about what was going on with me, and he actually interrupted my sentence. I didn’t hear a voice or anything, it couldn't be measured in decibels; but out of left field, implanted in my brain from outside myself, came this whole other thought, clear as a bell, stopping me. God doesn’t need to hear anymore, he knows right where I’m going with this; what he needs is my attention. So bang, he interrupts: ‘You’re here because I want you to be.’”

Kent sat back, his jaw dropping more. "Dang.”

“I lost my whole train of thought; God interrupted me. First person singular, referring to himself as I. I didn't produce that voice; he was addressing me. My head just vibrated like a bell, and I felt this rush of energy from top to bottom. Electricity is all I can compare it to, like a chill that runs down your back, your legs, every finger, every toe. And it lingered awhile, fifteen or twenty seconds, so I'd know it was him, before slowly fading away.”

They felt the confusion of that; Kent held him.

What kind of a guy not only talks to God but gets an answer back? Kent tried to think of whether he knew of anyone who ever heard an answer, but he knew he didn't.

Was Jamie nuts, or onto something? People can invent things, fool themselves. But if God is really God, he can do anything he damn well wants.

Besides, Kent had had a supernatural experience himself three months ago, the minute Jamie came striding into the state police post. It never occured to Kent it could have been God talking, but the “outside myself, implanted in my brain” was eerily familiar.

Was it God who transfixed Kent at the mere sight of this guy? Kent was suddenly glued to the floor that day, unable to move a muscle. It went on for three or four minutes, total paralysis, the weirdest thing that ever happened in his life.

Jamie said, “So if my perception is true, what are the implications? ‘I’m here because he wants me to be.’ Yikes! Am I supposed to do something now? If so, what?

“I haven’t come up with any answers yet. Not at all, those take more time; more prayer, more listening. But I did decide, from here on out—including tonight, Kent, especially tonight—to take advantage of the gift of my life, even if I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. All I can think is conventional thoughts, that I must try to excel in all the things I do; to give as much to you and to others as I possibly can; to savor all the moments I’m given, even the difficult ones, the horrible ones; and to recognize that time is a gift not everyone gets. There is no reason—none at all—that I should be alive and not Aaron Haney.”

Mr. Haney was one of the earliest murder victims, whose story touched Jamie more deeply than the others. Aaron Haney, the Gay youngest son of petty criminals in Richmond, Indiana, made something of himself. He went back to school, got a GED, then a license in practical nursing, moved to Indianapolis and took care of old people, up until the night he felt so lonely that he went to a Gay bar and got drunk, where he fell into the trap of one Thomas Alan Ford, whom Kent finally shot dead twelve years later, the night of the Incident.

Jamie would never forgive Tommy Ford for what he did to Aaron Haney. Jamie interviewed Aaron’s co-workers at the nursing home, and even after all those years they were still torn up about their beloved Aaron. “He cared about these patients,” a Black woman nurse half-yelled at Jamie. “He cared more than some of their families do. What does that tell you, huh? Look around this facility. It’s a damn nursin’ home. It’s where you send people that’s too old and too sick to bother with anymore. It’s where you put the people that’s on Medicaid, that ain’t got nothin’, that don’t got nowhere else to go, so you stick ’em in a home and pay $89 a day, or 72, or 56, or 24, ’cause Lord knows the Medicaid is costin’ Republicans too damn much money, and they’s just old people anyway. So the politicians cut back and cut back, and all that’s left for wages even an illegal immigrant won’t take. Who wants to work with a bunch of old stinky elderly? Do you? You’s too fine a man to take care of people like these. But that Aaron, he was the soul of sweetness with these patients; till that con man, that ass-end o’ trash, stole him from the patients that needed him. Up and stole him! Man, that ain’t right. It just ain’t right!”

Jamie teared up, got her on tape, then printed every word of it. One of the glories of Gay media is that they never purported to be "family newspapers," so they can print quotes the mainstream media water down to complete nonsense.

He had cried many times for Aaron Haney, and Kelvin, and the others. He tried now to remember the latest victim’s name, the marketing guy from the Indiana Pacers whose body was found at Willow Slough. It took awhile, but Glenn Archer Ferguson’s name finally crept through the fog.

Jamie said, “So what do I owe Aaron and Glenn and all the others—what do I owe you, Commander?—but to live as fully and deeply as I can in whatever time I have left? Do I not owe you that, and owe them, and owe God?”

Kent thought of a country song, Live Like You Are Dyin'.

He knew a lot of songs like that. People would buy the records and love the ideas, but never make the day-to-day choices the songs suggested.

For that matter, he didn’t either. Till now anyway. Maybe Jamie could show him how?

Jamie said, “How do I repay such a debt, but to be the best, and do the best I can? That’s why I can’t wait to get back to work, Kent. I have to do something to take advantage of the gift I’ve received. Anything less is somehow disloyal to God; to myself, to you and your task force which came and got me.”

On some level Kent was speechless. So he stayed tuned in to his boyfriend. Correction: his husband. "Don't go back to Ohio, though; stay here with me. I need you, baby, stay here with me."

“I end up with nothing but clichés so far: work hard, play hard, give it all you’ve got. But by God we both know it can be taken away at any moment.”

Their eyes locked. Jamie said, “I promise from the depth of my heart to love you, and be loyal to you, and watch your back, and help you make a safe home, especially if you’ll let me show you how much fun it is when we cook together.” They grinned a little; Kent couldn't shave a sno-cone. “And cherish you as the most precious gift of all. There is no good reason, nothing of my own merit, that I should have survived when others did not. But I am given this chance and even more, I’m given the most wonderful man to love. You know what I think of you, Mr. Masculine Intelligent Sensitive Powerful Muscular Heroic? Listen hard, ’cause you may never hear this out of my mouth again.

“I love you, Kent Kessler. You are a paragon of manly virtues; working hard in the midst of insanity for chump change from the ungrateful people of Indiana. And I want to suck your dick for it. I admit it, I’m Gay, sucking dick is what I do. Especially hot stud muscular guys who rescue people, and solve crimes, and prevent violence.

“So till my last day I vow, to you and to God from this night forward, to honor you, to love you, in mind and soul and body; and to make the most of all God’s gifts, of which the greatest of all is love.”

Kent squeezed him tight, “Man, I’m gonna spoil you rotten. Kiss me quick.”

They held each other, and Jamie said softly, “Let’s live our lives as fully as we know how. Let’s spend some money—and give some away. Let’s make a lot of love; in everything we do, let it be lovemaking, whether it’s work or play or painting the garage, it’s something we do to make love to each other. Whenever you need kisses, my lips are yours. Anytime you want your dick sucked, just come to me. Anytime you need something warm and strong and hard in your mouth, call my name. Let’s show each other what our bodies are for, why God gave them to us; so we can give them to each other. And let’s fill each other up till we’re overflowing with riches, ecstatic with delight, screaming and joyous, rolling on the floor, full of cock and come and laughter.

“And when the world tries to grind you down, when you’re worn out and discouraged, sick of humanity and ready to quit, I’ll rock your ass, buddy, or sit on your dick just like right now, and call you Daddy and Lover, Commander, my Prince. I’ll ask for more, Daddy, can I please have some more? And you’ll give it to me, give me everything, because this is the only moment we have. It’s right now, this is it! So let’s use it for fucking, for lovemaking, and find inside this moment that God made it for eternal life.”

Kent shuddered. This boy, this strong grown man, must never leave him. "I love it when you call me Daddy."

Non-sequitur. "You do?" They were only six months apart.

This was what Kent called a Permission: "You're even right sometimes to call me Daddy. It ain't about age, Jamie, it's about respect, someone you look up to. Forget that stereotype from lousy porn. It ain't about how old I am, baby, but a guy you admire and kinda want to be like; my father was sure that way. You're telling me you want a hero; I ain't one, but I'd give anything to be that guy."

Kent was almost in pain about this. "Oh, Daddy, you are."

"I want to be the big powerful guy you always wanted, the one you look up to, your husband, your Daddy, your stud. But it's a whole lot easier to leap tall buildings when I know my boy believes in me. When this incredible boy, who's so fucking courageous, thinks I am someone to look up to."

Seduction. Surrender. "I do believe in you, Kent. I know what you can do. I love you, Daddy. It's not just that you saved my life; it's all the future victims you saved."

Kent could barely hear that, but he held him tight. "Boy, get this: I promise to watch over you better than your father."

Jamie was stunned. They'd never even mentioned his father.

Kent said, "So when you call me Daddy, you're right. Let me be your father figure; let me take his place. Baby, say the word, I'm knockin' that asshole aside. I'm your Daddy now, got it? I'm the one you look up to. And you're my boy, Jamie, like you were born to be, my sidekick, my Partner, my better! It's time you got a Daddy who fuckin' treats you right, who don't abuse you, who appreciates what a gifted guy you are, and who gives to you, not just takin' all the time. I got what you need, baby, and I swear to God I'm gonna take care of my boy."

Jamie stared with so much wonder, incomprehension and longing that he couldn't say a word.

Kent dialed it back and picked up an old thread. “Live every day like it’s the last one you get. ’Cause it just might be. Law enforcement officers know that better than anyone."

Jamie held Kent’s face in his hands, then with two fingers traced down his cheekbone to his lips, a soft gentle touch like a kiss. “Starting now,” Jamie said.

Kent vowed, “Starting now, married boy.”

Jamie rose to his feet, shook out his hair, took his lover’s hand and started to lead him to the bedroom, where life was going to begin right now.

But Kent grabbed his arm and stopped him; “You’re forgetting who's boss here, buddy. I'm your Commander. So I’m cashing in Fantasy #2 right now. You're in training, okay? Just do what I say, and I'll train you right. Do it my way, baby, just like I tell ya, and I promise I'll show ya everything you need to know."

Jamie got toothy with delight; Kent was going to show him how to love him. Jamie got so excited he had to sprint in place for several steps, stomp stomp stomp stomp stomp, loosening himself up and shouting, “Yow! The man of my dreams and he loves me!”

Kent pulled him in close and belly-laughed. "Hyper boy, just needs a Daddy to slow him down sometimes." Jamie vocalized, that same little purring sound. Kent grasped him by the jaw and kissed him. "Don't worry, baby, I know what I'm doin'."

Then he steered his blond muscleboy to the bedroom by the neck.

Bad Cop doesn't let anyone lead him around; he does the leading. And Good Cop cherished every second.++

© 2009 Josh Thomas, All Rights Reserved.