Date: Thu, 20 Jan 2000 16:51:46 EST
From: VicHowel@aol.com
Subject: GUT FEELINGS chapter 1

Thank you for opening this posting.  I hope you enjoy the story as it develops
- it's a crime story and a romance.  I outlined it and wrote the 1st 3
chapters to present to Idol, but got a bit too involved.  Before Virgin
decided last autumn to shut down Idol after June 2000, I had 14 of the 18
chapters done (admittedly only in 1st draft which is what you're getting
here).  I've decided to post this draft with Nifty for one over-riding
reason - doing so will force me to finish it.

I think you'll find it a bit of a change in pace from my other on-going
novel here at Nifty - GROWING UP SEXUAL in the Young Friends section.  Yes,
I really am Brit - although I'm an ex-pat.  I also hope as a writer that
I've acquired the ability to cross the cultural divide.  You'll have to
decide that for yourselves, though.

Let me know how you like this chapter and if you want to see more.  Contact
me at vichowel@aol.com.

DISCLAIMERS Every character is fictional in this story.  Of course, there
is homosexual contact - why else would it be posted here, if there wasn't?
And you really shouldn't be breaking any laws to read this.  Please do
remember that this story belongs to me.  You can make a copy for your
reading pleasure, but I don't want to find it on the German or Russian
boards w/o my permission (I don't read Japanese, but I don't want it there
either - w/o my permission.

***************************************************************
GUT FEELINGS by David MacMillan


CHAPTER ONE


My eyes watered from the cigarette smoke that hung heavily in the
low-ceilinged club.  I squinted, sipped at my pint, and turned my attention
back to the Yank and the scene being played out beside me at the bar.  I
had seen him at most of the trendy clubs during the winter.  Initially, he
had been just one more gay student out with friends and enjoying himself;
it didn't take him long to fully develop his reputation.

The slim, short blond was sitting on his haunches now, his face pressed to
the crutch of his companion's chap-covered jeans.  The room's dim light
reflected from the metal studs of the boy's collar.  His fingers roamed
freely over the man's chest beneath the opened leather waistcoat.

I guessed the lad to be five foot six and something less than ten stone.  I
admired his naked back and slim waist, and the smooth chest I'd already
seen.  My dick thickened with interest at the full roundness of the lad's
backside.

I'd heard the rumours that swirled through gay London about this Brett
Chandler and chuckled softly as I realised that he seemed to generate the
things as rapidly as some of our government ministers did.  He was a
student at King's College at University of London, was from somewhere in
the southern part of the United States, and was rich.

He was supposed to be a nice little package all around - a good shag and up
for nearly anything.  He only did one night stands, however - apparently
losing interest in his companion after having had him in bed.  Some of the
wilder rumours had him being an habitue^ of every public toilet in
London.

The one rumour about the American that I now knew to be true was that he
did public sex.  I was watching him do the nasty not more than two feet
away from me.  I could arrest him and his companion for what they were
doing, but I suspected doing so would start a club-wide riot. Besides, I
was undercover, and a bit of frivolous sex was not a good enough reason to
blow that cover.

From what I had heard, Brett Chandler was also into dresses.  My nose
twitched as I supposed that was so; he was, after all, the star performer
at Illusions, London's premier drag club.  From what I'd seen and heard of
him, the American was rather a mixed bag.  Drag, public sex, anonymous sex
even - all seemed to suggest that he had a few problems to sort out.

Still, the American looked as though he might be fun.  My dick thickened
further and I knew I was going to have to find someone to take home with
me.

The lad's lips began to stroke his companion's prick faster through the
denim.  His thumb moved up to manipulate the man's helmet through the thick
fabric.

My gaze moved to the boy's companion.  The man's eyes were already glazing
over with lust.  The large tube snaking across his crutch suggested that
the man would be any size-queen's dream come true.  He was a bit
rough-looking for my tastes however, but would probably do in a pinch.  I
knew him to be a regular to this club and London's leather circuit.  He was
also a successful barrister at the Inns of Court during the day; I wondered
idly if the Yank knew that much about his companion and if he even cared.

The lawyer groaned and his body stiffened.  He was sucking in short, quick
gasps of air.  I glanced down at his crutch in time to see a wet spot begin
to spread out across the denim.

I wished that I were the barrister at that moment, public sex or not.

I sighed and looked around the room.  And wondered how, if he were alive
today, Dad would handle me being here.  I had no problem knowing how he
would accept my being gay.  He would have accepted it as my business and
left it at that.  But being in one of London's darkest leather bars?

I realised instantly that the question was out of place.  Dad would have
accepted that I was doing my duty and left it that, never giving it another
thought.  He had become an adult between the wars - when men had
responsibilities and duties and simply lived up to what was expected of
them.  He had operated from the Home Office with the same expectation - as
its senior civil servant until his death nine years ago.

My lips twitched as I spotted the cute redhead at the other end of the bar
still watching me.  I instantly forgot my dad's memory and knew the lad for
what he was - another uni boy with a hard itch up his arse.  An itch
calling for me to scratch it, I suspected.  After all, the lad had followed
me around the club both times I checked it out.  And he had been watching
me from the same position for the past hour.

Bloody hell!  Why not?  The scene that had acted itself out beside me had
left me horny enough.  I turned to the ginger-haired lad at the other end
of the bar and crooked a finger at him.

The redhead skirted the couple beside me and approached.  "Brett puts on
something of a show, don't you think?" he asked as he came up beside me.
The lad wore a T-shirt, faded jeans, and trainers.

"You know him?"  I jerked my head in the direction of the American now
licking out the barrister's belly button.

"Yeah.  He's one of the most talked about newcomers to the London scene,
you know?  He talked me into exploring the darker side of London with him
tonight."  I detected a slight accent but there were enough conversations
in the barroom to muffle it beyond recognition.  "He had latched onto the
leatherman before we even got into the club, though."

"Interested in an evening in my bed?" I asked.  Judging from how tightly
his jeans covered his arse, he wasn't wearing underpants.  The boy's
complection was light which only served to highlight his freckles.  Pure
cream, I thought to myself.

The lad blushed and I nearly smiled at how brightly his freckles stood out.
He nodded and smiled.  "I was hoping you'd be interested," he said and I
placed the accent.  It was a slight one, but still discernible.  It was
Northern Irish; I was willing to wager from near Belfast.

"My bedroom's done only in vanilla."

The ginger-haired boy nodded.  "I prefer it that way.  I'm only here
because I followed you in."  I raised a brow in question.  "After Brett had
his man for this evening, there wasn't much here for me - until I saw you
on the street."  He laughed.  "You turned in and I followed."

I grinned back at him.  "I would have thought you could have had your pick,
lad."

"I'm Richard.  Richard Bell," he said, offering his hand.  "And I like my
men tall, dark, and handsome - preferably with an equipment package that
leaves me gasping for breath."

"Phillip Goodson here," I chuckled, pumping his hand.

"Hiya, Phillip.  At my regular clubs, I usually have several offers by this
time of night."  He looked down at the floor, digging his trainer's toe
into a knot he'd found in the floorboard.  "Only, I saw you and - well - I
decided to follow you and hope you'd noticed me."

"I did."

Richard Bell grinned as he faced me.  "I know, but I was beginning to have
my doubts."

So was I.  He was Northern Irish, but there was nothing wrong with that -
as such.  There were enough of them in London - and they were just as
British as the Royal family.  The problem with an Ulster lad was that there
was no way to tell if he was a normal, law-abiding bloke or a terrorist.  I
wasn't particularly interested in inviting one of the latter to Parliament
Hill, no matter how nice an arse he had.  "Where are you from, Richard?" I
asked.

"Belfast," he answered, managing to sigh.  "And I wish I were from any
place but Ireland.  This accent frightens away too many of the men I'd
really like to know."  He squared his shoulders and looked directly into my
face.  "I'm in my third year at the University of London.  I'm on a
scholarship.  I'm Protestant."

His words became bullets hitting me in the chest.  "I voted Tory the last
election.  And I'm as bloody British as you are."  His face became stern.
"Are you going to reject me because you're frightened of a few sick
arseholes, or are we going to go somewhere for one hell of a shag?"  His
eyes squinted.  "I'm also a hell of a lot better than most of the English
boys you could find tonight.  And I'm free."

"Are you ready to leave?" I asked, looking down at my hands and feeling
well-chastised.

"Sounds good to me."  Richard smiled at me then.  "Sorry if I overdid it."

"Then why did you do it?"

Richard chuckled.  "If I don't make you swallow your fears like some sort
of bad medicine - and fast - they'll eat you alive and we'll never get into
bed together.  Or it won't be as good as it should.  It works on most of
the lads I meet - the ones I want to spend the night with, anyway."

                              * * *

"Nice!" Richard offered as I closed the door behind them.  "I guess I can
pick them then," he mumbled as he moved slowly around the living room of
the flat with its large bay window overlooking the heath below.

"You go only for the rich lot then, do you?" I asked from beside the door,
watching Richard Bell move around the room.

It was spartanly furnished, the way I liked it.  Two elongated African
wooden masks looked down on the room from above the mantel.  A white
leather sofa faced the fireplace, a side table with Tiffany lamps on either
side.  One wall held the skin of a gnu and the other that of a dik-dik.  At
the corner of the window I had a small sideboard with a decanter each of
gin and whisky.

The Irishman turned and studied me.  "Firstly, I go for a man with a body
that has me thinking sex - like you.  Then, if I find that I like him too,
we've got an all-nighter."

I crossed the room slowly.  I reached the ginger-haired man and smiled.  I
held my arms open and Richard Bell entered them.  He stood on the balls of
his feet and our lips found each other's.  As my hands found the lad's back
and pulled him closer, he melted against me.

"I wish people would just accept each other," he mumbled against my ear as
we slowly rocked in each other's embrace in the centre of the living room.
"Hate, fear - they've got no place - shouldn't-"

I guessed he was thinking about northern Ireland and said: "It's
everywhere, Richard - not just in Ireland."  I nipped gently at his earlobe
before pulling back and smiling down at the man in my arms.  "Want
something to drink before I show you my bed and begin to ravish you?"

"You think you're man enough to do it then, do you, Englishman?"  His eyes
twinkling, his hand was instantly on my crutch through the denim of my
jeans.  He felt the bulge there begin to lengthen and chuckled.  "Perhaps
you are, Phillip Goodson."  He moved his fingers across the growing tent.
"Oh, definitely.  This is proving to be a nice package, mate.  Quite nice
indeed!"  He looked up to meet my eyes watching him and licked his lips.
"Shall I open it for us then?"

I nodded and the ginger-haired lad knelt to press his face into my crutch,
finding the zip.  Richard angled his face so that he caught the metal
between his teeth and began to pull it down.  His hands moved up to open my
belt and then unbutton the waist of my jeans.

I sighed as I felt my trousers loosen and begin to open.  This Richard Bell
had all the promise of a yearling on race day.  "We should find my bed,
don't you think?" I said.

His fingers traced my erection through the underpants from my bollocks out
to its tip.  "How big is this bloody thing?" he groaned.

"You'll certainly feel it."

"Oh, yeah!  I can see that."  He pressed his face against the silk of my
underpants and traced the erection with just his lips.

I reached down and grasped the boy's shoulders.  I pulled him up to face
me.  "I like a bed under me when I play, Richard.  I want to be comfortable
- both of us."  My arm slipped across the other man's shoulders.  "Come
along, I'll show you to my bed."

He leant into me as I led him into the hallway beside the fireplace.  The
fingers of his left hand worked the buttons free on my shirt as we walked.
At the entrance to the bedroom, both of his hands slipped inside the opened
shirt as he stepped in front of me.  "Fur," he mumbled as his fingers
explored my exposed chest.

"I didn't shave this morning," I chuckled.

"It's not a bloody forest," said Richard as his fingers found a nipple and
enclosed it.

"You don't like hair?"

"A little is good."  He looked up into my face and smiled.  "It marks the
man, you know?  But I want to see enough skin so that I can navigate a
chest without getting hair caught in my teeth."  He pulled open my shirt
and quickly licked the nearest nipple.

Bending closer, he pulled the nipple between his teeth and I groaned.  "I
want you.  I want all of you.  Now."

"Let's find my bed then, lad," I told him and pulled Richard through the
doorway into the room partially lit by the light from the hallway.

He kept in step with me, stopping me to kiss me twice so that he could toe
off a trainer each time.  At the side of the bed, he again faced me in the
near-dark of the room and, his voice husky with desire, said: "Now, I want
to see you naked."  His hands were instantly pushing my shirt off my
shoulders.

He stepped back as the shirt fell to the floor and studied me for a moment.
"Nice.  A real man's chest."  He licked his lips in anticipation.  "That's
what I want tonight - a real man."

He reached out and took the fabric of the open waist in his hands,
beginning to peel the jeans down over my buttocks.  He squatted as the
trousers bunched at my knees and pushed them to my ankles where I stepped
out of them.

Sitting back on his haunches, Richard took in all of me.  "You've got an
eight pack there," he said, eyeing my belly as his fingers touched my
thighs and moved up to cup my arsecheeks.  "You must do some serious
exercise, Phillip - you're hard all over."  He moved closer and tongued the
thick tube that was beneath my silk boxers.  "I've got such an itch up my
arse," he mumbled, his lips still pressed against my shaft.  "This is just
the thing to scratch it."

I smiled down at the top of the ginger-covered head.  "Take them off, lad,"
I told him impatiently, wanting to be naked and that much closer to having
sex with him.

Richard nodded and pressed the palms of his hands lightly on each of my
hips.  Moving his hands down along my hips, he pulled the silk down to my
knees.

"You're bloody huge," he cried, awe in his voice.  "I knew that you were
big, but - God!  This-" His fingers tentatively touched the large,
mushroomed helmet before him and his body shuddered.

My skin had pulled back onto my shaft as I erected and now bunched behind
the flange of my glans.  He sat his haunches, staring at my prick.
Mesmerised.  His fingertips traced the length of my thick shaft, seemingly
memorising each of the gnarled inches that were my cock.

"Like it?"  I asked gently.

Richard nodded slowly.

"It would like to feel your lips on it."

He reached out and formed a fist around the bottom half of my shaft.  He
leant forward and kissed the tip of my cock, his tongue darting into the
wide jap's eye as his lips slowly spread over more of the helmet and he
opened his jaws wide.

I groaned as the helmet of my prick began to disappear into the Irish boy's
mouth and the rough surface of his tongue spread across its underside.
"That feels good," I moaned.  I sensed how close I was and stiffened.  "Too
good for this early in the game," I told him and pulled myself away.

I reached down to take Richard by the arms and lifted him back to his feet.
"Let's see what you've got."

"I want-"

I shook my head slowly.  "We're going to take it slow - on the bed where
we'll be comfortable - so that we both enjoy ourselves tonight."

The redhead studied me for a moment, nodded then, and began to pull his
T-shirt slowly out of his jeans.

I reached for his belt and released it as he pulled the shirt over his
head.  "Nice," I told him appreciatively and moved to lick one and then the
other of his nipples.  I smiled as I watched the boy shiver with pleasure
at my touch.  I opened the waist of his jeans and reached for the zip.
"May I undress you?" I asked.

"You'd better," said Richard and smiled seductively.

My hands slipped beneath the denim along his hips and moved to possess his
round arsecheeks, pushing his jeans down onto his legs.  I could see that
this boy had a massive erection beneath his briefs but avoided it,
reserving it until last.  I knelt before Richard and pulled his jeans down
his legs and waited for the lad to step out of them before pushing myself
back to my feet.

I studied him appreciatively.  I realised that I'd made a pretty accurate
guess back at the club - his smooth chest, slim waist, and well-rounded bum
especially.  The legs were proving to be nicer than I had anticipated,
though - and the pole tenting the white briefs promised more than I'd
expected.

I held out my hands in invitation and he stepped into the embrace.  Our
lips crushing against each other and our tongues duelling, my hands slid
beneath the thin cotton to claim possession of the cute bum.

The lad moaned as I lifted him and moved him to the bed.  Laying him across
the duvet, I slipped his briefs off.  Still locked in our kiss, I lay down
beside him.  My fingers moved across his tight, hairless chest, feeling the
gooseflesh rise to meet them as they dipped southward.

My fingers found stubble where the boy's pubes should have been and the
incongruity caught at me.  I broke the kiss and sat up as my fingers
wrapped around the base of Richard's dick.  "You shave then?"

"Yeah.  My legs too."

"Whatever for?" I asked, glancing back up the boy's chest to see his face.

"I wear some pretty slinky outfits when I do my show at Illusions."  He
chuckled nervously.  "Can't break the illusion, you know."

"Illusions?  You do drag?"  I watched the lad nod.  "What do you do with
this then?" I asked as I tightened my grip on Richard's prick, pulling its
skin back over its helmet.

"I tape it down; that's why I shave everything off.  Otherwise, I'd be
pulling out hair every time I went back to being a boy.  You don't like me
smooth?"

In answer, I leant forward and sucked in just the lacy doily of bunched
skin that barely extended beyond the boy's helmet.  A moment later, I was
biting it gently and Richard moaned his approval.

He twisted around immediately to take my prick in his mouth and pulled me
on top of him.  My cock nudged past his tonsils and pushed into his throat
as he grasped my arsecheeks to slow down my movement into his throat.

I swallowed him, burying my nose in Richard's bollocks on my first plunge.
Beneath me, the boy shuddered and moaned in surprise.  My lips slowly
followed the prick back out along its length, my cheeks hollowing as I
sucked hard.  I dived again, consuming all of the dick as I had before.

My fingers moved to his ballsac and pulled gently at it.  The boy spread
his legs in invitation and pulled off of me.

"Get me loosened up, mate," he mumbled.  "I want you in me.  I want to feel
every inch of this thing buried in my arse.  But you've got to get me ready
for it."

I continued to bob on Richard Bell's knob but my fingers moved from his
bollocks to his puckered hole.  I pressed my index finger against the
wrinkled, raised skin that surrounded the hole and, after a moment's
resistance, the sphincter relaxed.  My finger dived for the boy's prostate.

Richard ground his bum against the finger as it buried itself inside him.
He yelped in pleasure as its tip began to massage the small raised knot in
his bowel.

I slipped a second finger into him and was rewarded with the taste of
precome at the back of my tongue.

"Oh, God!" Richard mewled.  "Shag me now, Phillip!  I can't wait.  Do it.
Please!"

I lifted off the Irishman.  "You don't want me to get you off first then?"
I pushed a third finger into his pliant hole.

"No.  Just ... Oh, I want-" He ground his arse hard against the fingers in
him.  "Fuck me now!"

"Reach into the bedside cabinet there at your head then, Richard.  Be a
good lad and get us a condom."

I chuckled as I watched him hurriedly yank at the drawer handle.  It pulled
out smoothly and nearly fell, forcing the Irish lad to twist and catch it
with both hands.  All the while, he continued to grind his bum against my
fingers in it.  "We've got all night, you know," I said as I got to my
haunches and bent to nuzzle the boy's ear.

"Shit!" growled Richard as he dropped the packet.  He searched frantically
through the rumpled duvet between him and the pillows for the moment it
took him to find it.

He struggled to open the packet and I ran my tongue over his closest nipple
then nipped it with my teeth.  "I can't-!" he growled, frustration marking
his voice.  "Ah!  There!  I got the bloody thing opened," he cooed as I
heard the foil tear.  "Get up here so I can put it on you."

I watched as the Irishman spread the latex across the width of my helmet
until he had reached the flange.  As he began to unfurl it down along the
shaft, I reached back to the cabinet and picked up the lube.  I pulled my
fingers from him then and, while the lad made himself comfortable on the
pillows, I squirted lube on the fingers that were going back into him.

Richard watched with anticipation as I crawled on my knees across the
surface of the bed.  He hoisted his legs and stroked his dick slowly while
I lubed him up.  "Do it!" he hissed, thinking things were going entirely
too slow.

I moved between his legs and spread the rest of the lube on my
latex-covered prick.  He crossed his legs behind my neck and smiled up at
me when he felt my cock lodge at his entrance.  "Shall I put it in?" I
asked.

"Kiss me, mate."  Richard moved his hands onto my arsecheeks and licked his
lips as my face approached his.

I felt his tongue probe my lips hard before I could open them.  As it
entered my mouth, I felt his hands pressing down on my arsecheeks.  My cock
eased into his arse as Richard bucked at the initial entry.  I gave him a
moment to adjust to my stretching his arsemuscles before continuing into
him.  He began to grind his bum against me, and his kisses became
increasingly feverish.

As my bollocks spread across his bottom for the first time, I felt him
stiffen under me.  A moment later, there was a thick, slippery wetness that
spurted between us and began to ooze down over my belly.  I began a slow,
sensual fuck then, making sure the lad beneath me felt every inch.

"That feels so good," Richard groaned as he broke our kiss.  "It does.  Oh,
God, it does."  He humped up to meet my next long, slow descent into him.
His prick stayed hard and rode his abdomen.  "Fuck me good, mate," he
mumbled and, wrapping his fingers around his dick, slowly began to wank
himself.  "Yeah."

I had no sense of time.  Reality existed only in my dick ploughing the man
under me.  In until my pubes were pressed against the insides of his
thighs.  Out until just the tip of my dick was still behind his sphincter.
I was aware of Richard's continuous stream of sex chatter as I ploughed his
bumhole, but it was not part of my reality.

He jerked his head from side to the other, his eyes closed tight and his
fists gripping large handfuls of the duvet.  His bollocks rode the shaft of
his dick as I continued to carry him closer and closer to another orgasm.
He mindlessly rode the crashing waves of pleasure coursing through his
body.

His orgasm triggered rippling spasms of the muscles through his bowel.
They gripped and caressed my dick as it continued to plough deep into his
arse and begin to withdraw.  Against my will, I was being pushed into
coming, my cock expanding as I dived deep into the boy one last time.  The
tremors of his orgasm were still shuddering through him when I exploded
inside him.

"Leave it in me," Richard mumbled and smiled up at me, his fingers lazily
caressing my arsecheeks.

                              * * *

I shivered as I put the boat into the water and returned to padlock the
boathouse.  To the east, the sky was just beginning to grey.  There was a
cool breeze coming off the river, and I quickly pushed myself through two
dozen squats to warm up before I began my daily rowing regime.

Pushing off from the quay, I moved the small boat into the channel with my
oars.  Free then, I bent forward and began to row hard against the current.
My body was instantly on autopilot, each part knowing its place in the
regimen that had been my preferred form of exercise since I was fourteen.

I smiled as my muscles stretched across my back and down into my arms.  I
could not remember the barely pubescent lad I had been then.  My mum had
pictures of me from that time, of course; but they carried no memories when
I looked at them.  It was as if the pudgy young boy I had been ceased to
exist when I picked up my first oar.

I hadn't liked that fat child I was then; I probably had hated him.  But I
had finally got up enough nerve to take him in hand and remake him into
someone I could like.  It had been my dad who helped me understand what I
was about then, and it had been he who suggested rowing.  I had joined a
local rowing club and immediately learnt that every muscle in my body was
exercised when I rowed.  Stretching.  Toning.  Burning my baby fat from me.
And dad had been there cheering me on - as I learnt to make a good move and
I lost another pound of fat.

I had been hard and muscular by the next year - someone I was proud to be.
I joined my school's crew team and captained it my last year to win our
every competition.  At King's College, I had continued to crew but, somehow
with dad's death, I had lost interest in belonging to a team and my need
for the cameraderie that crew had given me.  It was there that I re-learnt
my love for sculling.

With the small boat I was forced to compete against myself.  I found that
exhilarating.  I held total responsibility for myself with the scull.  I
succeeded at whatever goal I set myself or failed - success or failure was
mine alone, not apportioned out among the members of a team.  That was a
lesson I carried into policework when I joined the Metropolitan Police
straight from university.

I pulled the oars from the water and smiled as I wiped sweat from my face.
It had been a damned good lesson to learn.  At twenty-eight, I was the
youngest Inspector in Met history. That too was a success that was mine
alone.  In spite of me being a poof, as the old timers were apt to call me
behind my back.

"Let them," I growled as I turned the scull back the way I'd come.  "I'm
still going up and they're standing still."


Richard Bell was spread-eagled across the bed as I entered the bedroom.  I
stopped and studied the sleeping boy's plump arse as I pulled off my
sweat-soaked T-shirt and shorts, my prick deciding it liked what I was
looking at.  The bum was inviting and I wondered if I should wake him and
see what we could get into, but I rejected the thought almost immediately.

I was worse than just sweaty, even though it wasn't still pouring off me as
it had been when I was putting the scull back into the boathouse.  I pulled
off my jockstrap, letting my growing prick swing free, and stepped into the
bathroom.

I was soaping my genitals when I heard the shower door open.  Turning, I
saw Richard standing there holding a condom and smiling at me.  The lad was
fully erect.

"May I come in?" he asked.

"Ready for another bout, are you?" I chuckled and reached out to his cock.
Wrapping my fingers around it, I gently pulled him into the shower cubicle
with me.

"I came prepared," he offered as he held up the opened condom.  "Shall I
put it on you?"

When he had rolled the latex onto my knob, he put his arms around my neck,
pulled my face to his, and kissed me.  My hands cupped his arse, and
Richard began to grind his pelvis against mine.

Pulling away from the kiss, Richard turned and reached out to put his hands
on the wall.  "Take me now, Phillip," he said as he pushed his bum against
my crutch and leant toward the wall of the cubicle.  "I want it."

I guided my prick to the boy's hole and felt it slide in easily as he
pushed his backside toward me, impaling himself.  "Yeah!" he groaned as he
felt my pubes scratch his arsecheeks.

I began to give the lad a slow fuck as I had our first time the night
before, but Richard wasn't having any of that.  He shoved back hard, taking
all of me over and over again with a frenzy that I hadn't expected, and
wanked his own cock with the same driving need.  There was nothing gentle
about our shag this time and, accepting that, I gave myself up to the rough
sex that the ginger-haired Irishman wanted.

My bollocks rode my shaft as my dick slammed into the boy's bumhole again
and again.  As if at a great distance, I heard Richard cry out.  The boy's
arsemuscles immediately began to spasm and I could no longer hold my own
orgasm back.


Naked, Richard sat on the edge of the bed and watched as I pulled on a pair
of boxers and covered my dick.  He licked his lips and I followed his gaze
to my crutch.  He forced his gaze up over the lightly haired abdomen and
chest to my face and found me smiling at him.

"I enjoyed that," he said.

"I did too.  We'll have to get together again one of these days-" I reached
into the dresser and pulled out a pair of socks.

"Yeah.  One of these days," he mumbled and smiled.  "Stop in Illusions
sometime - I perform there on the week-ends," he said as he began to pull
on his pants and looked around for his jeans.

"Do you see much heroin activity there?" I asked casually as I pulled on my
socks.

He looked back at me sharply.  "I don't do drugs, Phillip.  And I don't do
guys who do drugs."

"It's returning to the clubs, Richard."  I stood and moved to the cupboard
to find a shirt.

Realisation struck the Irishman then.  "You're a bloody cop!"  I nodded.
"God!" he groaned, "I've been fucked by a damned cop - I can't believe it."

"I'm gay and a cop," I answered as I buttoned my shirt.  "I enjoyed our
sex.  And I enjoyed being with you.  But I'm also in charge of the
investigation of this sudden build up of heroin sales in London's gay
clubs."  I reached for a pair of trousers.

"We aren't going to have the Met marching into the clubs like some
throw-back to Stonewall, are we?  Or some straight boy in blue getting a
blow job in the toilet at one of the clubs and giggling like a pimply
teenager about it back at the nick?"

I nodded, understanding the Irishman's concern.  "I sucked your cock.  That
suggests that I'm not looking for sex stories to tell the lads, doesn't
it?"  Richard shook his head slowly.  "Gay sex between consenting adults is
not illegal in England - in private.  Selling drugs is."

The redhead relaxed.  "I've seen it at Illusions - a couple of the other
clubs I like, too.  I try to ignore it, Phillip.  Drugs and studying just
do not go together-" He snorted and smiled to himself.  "And I don't need
any sort of chemical to get and stay horny."

I laughed.  "I noticed."

"I go into a sex mode when I'm doing the club scene.  It just turns on and
I'm a raging mass of hormones.  Most of the time, though, I'm a proper
young scholar with my nose stuck in dusty tomes of knowledge."

"Would you keep a closer eye out for drug activity, Richard?  Heroin
specifically.  And contact me with what you see?"

"Yeah, I guess so.  We don't need that sort of thing in the clubs."

I crossed back to the dresser, picked up a business card, and quickly wrote
out my home telephone number.  "Call me anytime," I told him as I handed
him the card.