[Present day, July 30th, 2026, 09:47 A.M.]
I rolled my eyes as Catherine’s receptionist, Beverley, muttered into the receiver. She delivered my name in a hushed tone, as if speaking it too loudly might cause the end of the world. I watch her every time I come here. The heavy sighs, the thin-lipped looks of disapproval—none of it goes unnoticed. Mind your own business, hag.
“You can have a seat, sir. Catherine will be with you shortly.”
I hold my breath, and it takes everything in me not to strangle her wrinkled neck.
‘Shortly’ stretched into twenty-six minutes before Catherine finally stepped into the waiting area attired in a beige blazer and matching trousers.
“What do you want, Jake?” Catherine asks. Damn, she doesn’t even offer a greeting.
“Can't I just come by and say hi?”
“You always ‘just come by and say hi,’” she said, not buying it for a second. “And then it turns into a financial emergency, or a prescription for narcotics you need written, or whatever else—it just seemed like you using me for your gain was the basis of our friendship for quite some time,” she says and folds her arms across her chest.
“I've changed.”
“Okay...”
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Jake, I have several patients to see today, I can't just—”
“Please, Cathy, I just need to get your opinion on something.”
“Fine,” Catherine says after a long beat and steps aside, gesturing with her arms in the direction of her office.
I walked in and was immediately hit smack in the face by the color green. The place is a jungle—potted plants crowded the floor, lined the window sills, and hung from the walls. An orange sofa bed sat against the eastern wall, complementing Catherine’s mahogany wooden desk on the west. It looks completely different from the last time I’d been here, but I kept that to myself.
“So, where do I sit?”
“You can lie on the bed, Jake.”
You might wonder why Catherine is being so cold to me, but honestly? If I were her, I’d hate me too. I made her life hell. We met in college—she studied medicine while I took Criminology. We clicked instantly, and even though I finished first, we stayed close. There was nothing sexual between us, just a deep platonic friendship. She felt like a sister. Eventually, she became a doctor, then a licensed psychiatrist.
Then my life imploded. My newborn baby died, and my girlfriend passed away a few days later from pregnancy complications. Seven months in, an emergency C-section, and then… nothing. My world was shattered. I drowned the grief in alcohol, substances, and non-stop partying. Catherine was the one who cleaned up my vomit, cleaned my apartment, cooked hot meals, and even helped bathe me when I couldn't stand, and whenever I randomly remember these things, I feel a deep sense of shame. It’s no surprise that burnout caught up to her, and she stopped coming over, stopped answering my calls, and cut me out of her life completely.
However, I've turned my life around. I am a Police Constable now. A respectable man with a respectable job. Catherine and I reconnected recently when she saw me in uniform downtown.
I lie down and look over at Catherine; she's sitting behind her desk and her arms have taken post across her chest again.
“What is it that I can help you with?”
I take a deep breath. “I think my coworker is trying to seduce me.”
She doesn’t blink. “Okay, Jake. If a colleague is being inappropriate toward you, this is a matter for your human resources department.”
“Cathy, just—”
“Alright, Jake. Continue,” she says impatiently.
“Okay. I think my coworker is trying to seduce me,” I say a second time, immediately pausing to give myself a minute to think about what I want to say without sounding like a lunatic.
“Is she ugly, or married, or something? What's the problem?”
“He's a man.”
Catherine unfolds her arms and frowns. “Your male coworker is trying to seduce you?” she asks, slowly enunciating each word.
“Yes.”
“Are you gay now, Jake?”
“I am not gay. I... I don't know.”
“Why do you think he's trying to seduce you?”
“He does weird shit. Like, I don't know how to describe these things to you without sounding like a crazy person, but I am not crazy, Cathy. I believe this is legitimate. I feel it in my gut.”
“What has he done?”
I shift on the bed so that I am looking completely up at the ceiling rather than at Catherine.
“The first thing he did was get dressed in front of me.”
Catherine furrows her eyebrows, and I put up my hand to silence her.
“Getting dressed in front of other men is nothing new. But he did something that weirded me out. He's on my shift, obviously. And sometimes, only the two of us are there because my station is not the biggest station—”
“Can I just interject? You keep saying ‘he’—what's his name?”
“Nicholls. Sergeant Nicholls.”
“Okay.”
“So, one night, only Nicholls and I were working. The front office is smallish, and then there is a small room with computers to record written statements from people.”
[Flashback: July 17th, 2026, 11:32 P.M.]
Nicholls and I are the only policemen at work for the night shift, as Henry is on sick leave. The phone barely rang, the rain is falling, and I’m idly scrolling on my phone in the statement room. Nicholls is a lot older than me. He is 50 and I am 25, and of all the other people I've worked with since becoming an officer, Nicholls is the only one I can have an actual conversation with. We talk about anything, we challenge each other's perspectives, and he's a great mentor.
I hear the toilet flush, and I figure he's in the bathroom. A moment later, he comes into the room I am in and shuts the door. I observe his shirt untucked from his pants. He then stands a few feet in front of me, turns his back to me, drops his pants to his knees, and proceeds to tuck his shirt into his underwear. I could not believe my eyes, because why was he doing this in front of me?
From where I sit, I can see the back of his thighs and a slight peek of his hairy bum cheeks, and I feel my face heating up for some reason—and I also feel my crotch come to life.
Nicholls turns to face me, and my eyes follow the mound in his white briefs as he shifts it from side to side, continuing his tucking until he is fully satisfied with himself that his work is neat, pulling his pants up, pulling his zipper up, and clasping his belt buckle.
“Any reports come in, Anderson?”
“No, sir,” I say stiffly.
He exits the room, and I have a boner, and the meaning of it scares me.
[Present day: July 30th, 2026]
“Jake,” Catherine interrupts, “you just said you guys change in front of each other all the time. How is this scenario so different from any of those other times?”
“Cathy, don't you get it?” I immediately sit up. “He left the privacy of the bathroom to come into the room I was in. It's different because, in the barracks, we all change in front of one another… at the same time. There's nothing weird about that. Nicholls left the bathroom where he had privacy to dress himself after taking a shit, and it seemed like he was forcing me to watch him.”
“And don't you think you are reaching just a little bit, Jake?”
“There's more, Catherine.”
[Flashback: July 21st, 2026]
I am not gay. I don't know what happened a few days ago, but I am not gay. I get random boners all the time, and a few days ago was no different. Sergeant Nicholls’ exposed bottom half did not give me a boner.
I park at the station and look through my windshield to see Sergeant Nicholls’ beat-up Ford Ranger truck. He's early. I report to the desk officer that I am returning from off-duty leave, she writes me in, and I proceed to the barracks to get changed.
I open the door, and Nicholls is lying on a bed on his back with his hands behind his head. He is wearing just underwear. “You're early, Anderson,” he says softly, and it creeps me out because, moments ago, I said the same thing in my head about him.
I said nothing because I couldn’t. My throat felt seized up. I set my stuff down on a bed and go back outside to my vehicle. I start it and turn on the air conditioner, all the while taking deep breaths against the steering wheel. Oh my God. Why do I feel this way all of a sudden? I feel extremely anxious and claustrophobic.
Once I've settled down, I return to the barracks, and Nicholls is in the same position watching me. I try not to look at his bulge, but it has some kind of magnetic pull, and I look at it and it seems bigger than last time. Nicholls is very hairy all over: hairy legs, hairy stomach, hairy chest, and hairy pits. Oh my God. Nicholls doesn't look his age; he looks so much younger, like he just turned thirty-nine. I still cannot believe he is fifty. His body is so toned, fit, and youthful.
I try to relax. With shaky hands, I undress from civilian clothes and put my uniform on, keeping my back turned to him the whole time. When I turn around, he is lying on his side facing me. While retrieving my police accoutrements from my locker, I hear the springs in the mattress creak loudly. “Imma go shower, Andy,” Nicholls’ voice comes from behind my shoulder. “I’ll be with you shortly.”
I turn just in time to see him stepping out of his underwear. He scratches his pelvis absentmindedly and walks toward the shower completely bare.
[Present day: July 30th, 2026]
“Catherine, him lying there… I don't know, it just seemed staged, somehow. Like he knew I'd be coming and he posed for me or something. And then he got naked. Catherine, I saw his fucking… cock. All these occurrences—when I think about them, I get a lot of anxiety when I am around him now. Am I crazy? Do I sound crazy?” I rub my temples because this whole situation has been causing me daily migraines.
Catherine evaluates me thoughtfully. “Jake, I believe in gut feelings too, but in my opinion, nothing you have described amounts to sexual harassment or seduction. Nicholls just sounds like a man who is comfortable in his skin and comfortable around you. You are getting yourself worked up over nothing. Those events are not enough to actually make you anxious. Does Nicholls have children? Is he married?”
“He always mentions a daughter.”
“See? He's not gay. But Jake, can I ask you something?”
“Mm-hmm?”
“Are you attracted to him?”
That question hung in the air, heavy and ominous. “I don't know.”
[August 4, 2026 — 02:16 A.M.]
The rain was pouring hard again, accompanied by heavy drums of thunder and flashes of lightning. Sergeant Nicholls adjusted the Venetian blinds to block the glare before sitting back down behind his desk, sipping coffee from a dark mug. I dragged a couple of metal buckets across the linoleum, placing them under the worst leaks in the ceiling.
“Anderson. Come here.”
Fuck. What does he want now?
I walked from the back to the main office and stood stiffly in front of his desk. “Yes, sir.”
“I was reading your report on the theft. I just want you to review your work before submitting.” Nicholls took off his glasses and looked up at me. “Sometimes we know what we want to say in our head, and we think we put the right thing on paper, but that's not always the case. Always have a second pair of eyes to check for errors or discrepancies.”
I nodded, my brain wracking itself to figure out what mistake I could have possibly made. He pats a chair next to him, and I obediently sit down.
“See, look right here...” He points. “You meant to say ‘complainant,’ but you put ‘complaint.’” He continues, “And then in the last paragraph, you forgot to mention the time forensics arrived.”
I nod, feeling foolish, and suddenly, his hand is palming my inner left thigh, his eyes boring into mine. “Don’t be embarrassed; we all make mistakes, and mistakes help us to learn. You’re a great officer, Anderson. Never forget that. Make the corrections and resubmit by the end of the shift.”
[August 4th, 8:12 A.M.]
I head to the barracks to take a shower as Catherine and I are having brunch at ten. It’s still early, but I plan to complete a few errands before then. I turn on the shower and let the warm water massage my body for five minutes before I start to wash my hair, and later wash my arms, my torso, and my legs with my three-in-one shower gel. As I start to wash my private parts, I hear a loud banging on the bathroom door.
“Come on, Andy! Hurry up or I’m coming in there.”
I recognize Nicholls’ voice and do not answer him, and before I know it, the door is opening since there is no lock—and I hear his footsteps along the tiled bathroom floor. The shower curtain is pulled back, and he is standing there in nothing else but a towel. My brain short-circuited for a moment. The whole thing threw me for a loop. I watch in utter horror as he peels off his underwear and enters the shower, and I reflexively use my hands to cover my penis.
“Relax, Anderson. We’re both men here. I can’t let you hog all the hot water now, can I?” He stands directly behind me, and the shower cannot fit the both of us without our bodies touching. It just so happens that the areas of our bodies coming into contact are my bum against his dick. I know this cannot be real. I’m hallucinating. Psychosis really is hereditary. Thanks, Granddad. Nicholls reaches around me and, with a little strain, pulls my hands away from my front. He whispers against my neck, “Let me take care of you, Andy,” and begins to lick my right ear. I close my eyes and let this play out.
“You’re okay with this?”
I give in and say yes, and for the second time that morning, my body is lathered in soap. He takes his time and massages my shoulders and my arms, and he spends a very long time massaging my butt. Every now and then, he uses the edge of his hand to swipe against the inner lining of my ass, brushing against my hole, and the contact makes me shiver and hardens my cock.
Nicholls’ hands on me feel incredibly sensational, and as time goes on, the tension begins to leave my body. Almost all of the tension, because my dick is tense and ready for some action. I feel floaty and light, and I have never in my life felt this way. I accept things for what they are. Maybe I am gay, and there’s no "maybe" about whether or not I am attracted to Nicholls. My thought process is interrupted as the shower is shut off. He ushers me out, leads me to the barracks, and dries us off with a towel. He chucks the towel across the room and stands directly in front of me, the tips of both of our manhoods touching.
He gives a lopsided grin and rubs the back of his head, and it occurs to me that he is just as nervous as I am. I take the initiative and bring our lips together. It’s not long before our tongues are in each other’s mouths, and as the kiss becomes more intense, I think to myself: Yes. This is what I want to happen. He grabs my face and deepens the kiss, and I let him take complete control of my body. He coaxes me onto a bed and tells me to lie on my stomach, and I comply.
I rest my head on my forearms and close my eyes, anticipating what he’ll do next. A moment later, the bed dips with his added weight, and my spatial awareness tells me that he is kneeling, my legs between his knees. I hear a bottle opening, and my heart rate speeds up a little bit at the thought of a dick entering my ass—not just any dick, but one that looks a little scary with its veined surface and big juicy head. I feel his hands along my neck and I tense up.
“Relax, Andy, just let me take care of you.”
There he goes with that line again. His hands, slick with what I presume to be oil, glide across my neck and rub the skin there, and it feels way better than in the shower. Was he a masseur before he became a cop? I start to relax. Maybe sex is off the table for now. He returns to my arms, paying special care to rub each of my ten digits, and then he gives my back a deep knead, using his knuckles and thumbs to really dig into my skin.
“Mmmhmm.”
Finally, he gets to my ass, and just like before, he takes his time there. He massages the left half and then the right, and then both at the same time in a circular motion. A chill runs through me as the oil runs into my ass, and he spreads my cheeks apart. Just like that, his finger is in my ass, and he is going in and out slowly while the palm of his other hand rests against my lower back to keep me in place. I love the pressure inside of me, and it starts to build as he adds a second finger and later a third. He is actively stretching me out, giving my body a preview of what is yet to come.
He asks me to turn onto my back, and my cock points to the ceiling. He rubs my pectoral muscles and my nipples, my stomach, and my thighs; he is touching me everywhere except the one place that longs to be touched, as it is leaking like a faucet without a washer. This is torture.
“Can you do something for me, Andy?”
He can get me to do just about anything.
“Yeah,” I say, and I feel him getting off the bed. He gently pulls me back toward the end of the mattress so that my face is underneath his torso, and as I look up, all I’m seeing is glory. He holds his length and lowers it toward my mouth, and I let him in. As soon as he enters, his pre-cum pools inside of my mouth, and he starts to move in and out of my face and reaches over to, at last, jerk me off.
“Oh, Andy, this mouth of yours,” he moans, and he starts to go a little faster, hitting my throat and making me cough and sputter. He pulls out and gives me a break, and then he goes back in and assaults my face, forcing himself further and further down my throat.
The next time he pulls out, he tells me to get on my knees. He settles himself behind me, and I tell him to “wait.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just a little nervous is all.”
He rubs my ass briefly, a silence hanging in the air.
“I always figured you were slow or something.”
“Huh?” I ask, the last thing I expected to hear.
“I like you. I thought I was doing a good job at showing you, but it’s like you never got the hint.”
I laugh. “I knew.”
“So... why didn’t...”
“I was scared.”
“Of me?”
“No, it meant that I would have to finally accept my sexuality.”
He laughs, and I laugh too, and I begin to relax, appreciating his effort to lighten the mood.
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
There’s no mistaking it; he forces his big stiff rod into my tiny asshole, and I feel myself expand to fit the size of him. I squeeze my eyes shut and grimace as he goes further inside of me until he is in to the hilt. He holds my waist and fucks into me, not even giving me a chance to get used to the feeling of a dick up my ass. He wasn’t kidding when he said he liked me. He takes what is his, digging in and out of me without abandon.
“Ouuu, mmmhhmm.”
Eventually, we switch positions so that I sit on his lap, and it is now my turn to take control of things. I move myself up and down, holding his face in my hands and kissing him. Somehow in this position, the reach of his penis inside of me feels deeper than before, and I am loving every moment of it, wishing that it never ends.
“Let me finish inside of you?”
I just nod my head, and thereupon, I feel him continuously thud inside of me with each rope of jizz he unleashes. He’s a mess, moaning and grunting as he rides out his orgasm. As we separate, he bends me over and begins to lick my anus, cleaning up the mess he made. OH WOW. I feel him worming his tongue in and out of my asshole, and he reaches around me, wraps his hand around my cock, and rubs me out. It’s not long before I, too, begin to moan and grunt.
: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :
I arrive at the bistro just before ten, look through the window, and observe Catherine sipping a drink and scrolling on her phone. I walk in with Nicholls directly behind me, and we both pull up a chair at her table.
“Hi Cathy,” I say casually.
“Um, hi…,” she says, probably wondering who the tall, handsome man is.
“This is Sergeant Nicholls,” I say, and I lean in and kiss him open-mouthed and the look on her face was absolutely worth it.
