Last Assignment

If you're a lifestyle critic, don't pester me! This is fictional and fantasy engaged in by consenting adults. Perhaps this should be under novellas, or novels...it's long. It's also my first attempt at writing gay or bisexual adventures, my first material was MMF and the MM didn't connect ;-) . I've gleaned some ideas from all the stories I've viewed here on Literotica. I hope you enjoy it, and I'm open to suggestions for improvement!

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"Shit!" was all I could come up with.

Here it was the end of the friggin' night and I had to go take another stupid report for a lost or stolen ID. That's what junior guys are for, dammit! I quickly realized though that if anyone else were available they'd not be sending me because, on top of the fact I was top guy (oldest prick) on our crew, I also garnered top pay for OT when I get stuck, and giving me OT would be avoided if at all possible, so I knew everyone else had to be tied-up and I just sucked it up and headed to the address they gave me in the radio dispatch. The address sounded vaguely familiar too.

As soon as I pulled up to the home in the older residential area of the main part of town I remembered being here before for another job where someone stole the guy's entire keg bar from his backyard. That was a few years ago now, but I remembered it because of the thing taken -- an entire bar -- and because the house was home to some gay guys who were also into making gay male porn movies, some right on this property. Oh yeah, I'd checked the books to see if that was a violation, but when our local codes were written by Moses, it wasn't a breach to film guys suckin' and fuckin' one another on private property in town. Long as no one saw anything, bitched, or was offended, qué çera, çera.

The rain was pelting down now, it was one of those crummy mid-April spring early, early mornings, and it was chilly enough for me to see my breath. I pulled up and called the dispatch center to tell them I was stepping out. As if listening for my radio call, the gate light came on brightly and the gate opened to reveal a shadow standing in the opening, trash can lid overhead defending against the deluge, and waving its arm as if directing traffic, but directing me to hurry and follow this shadow man.

I did as beckoned and tailed the guy up the alley alongside the house, after I secured the gate behind me of course. The gate was in an eight-foot high fence that surrounded the property of the old brick colonial. The opening was right off the driveway and had the mailboxes for the place, and the house number, affixed next to the gate. As we jogged into the back yard I observed the expanse of the place, a huge in-ground swimming pool, cabana, and entertainment area to the right, from whence, if I recollected rightly, had been swiped the keg bar; and a sort of Japanese garden complete with bridge to the left. We made the left and went over the bridge toward what appeared to be the old garage at the rear of the property. Quite a spread, palm trees and lighting and various sculptures, gazebos and all. For a standard lot, this place was crammed full like Disneyworld. We approached the door of the garage and a sensor lamp illuminated our path. My guide flung open the door and indicated I should enter past him, and as I did I heard him toss down the garbage can lid he'd been using as an umbrella, then enter and shut the door with a thump.

The interior of the place was dimly lit from someplace around the bend to the left in another room. Instead of finding myself in an open garage I found it was a conversion into living space...quite well done actually. My companion brushed by me and entered deeper into the glow and suddenly the place was awash in blinding light that pained my eyes, which had been in darkness these past eight hours on night patrol.

Gradually, my eyes adapted to the lighting and I began to be able to see details. The guy had vanished again. I looked around at the decor of the place and noted it was mostly contemporary, Ikea-type stuff. Nice reproductions of European artists were tastefully hung about on the walls. The place was sparsely furnished; after all it was an old one-car garage. There was a full bed with some sort of overhead cabinetry for storage, a combination dresser, computer workstation, and work area had been built into one long side of the place. A plush leather chair and couch with a heavy wood table stood at what used to be the rear of the garage on the short wall, and there was a severely bright hanging lamp dangling from what looked like anchor chain over the table. I heard a rustle behind me and the mystery fellow appeared from around the bed and cabinet setup, apparently from a bathroom since he was now toweling his blonde hair vigorously as he approached me. He was now also shirtless. Beyond him I could observe a kitchenette setup with sink, stove, refrigerator and cabinets and a little breakfast alcove set. I couldn't see the bath; it apparently occupied space alongside the bed, which is why there was sort of a hallway entry from the outside.

The blonde tossed the towel onto the bed and extended his right hand, "I'm Doug, I called about my ID being lost or stolen."

"Officer Clay," I replied, as i shook the guy's hand.

He was about my height, six-two or so, 25-28 years of age, medium build but toned, tousled blond hair, which I now noted was actually highlighted brown hair, and he had pierced earrings in his right ear and bright blue eyes to match his bright white smile. There was a tattoo of some combined letters on his left front shoulder area as well, perhaps Asian letters, but I couldn't discern.

"I'm really, really sorry for having to call you out in shit weather like this for a dumb thing like a lost ID, but I have a plane to catch later this evening and without ID I can't board. They told me call the cops and file a report and try to get some new ID. But it's a weekend! How can I get ID on a weekend from anywhere?" he moaned.

I got my pad ready and began to copy down all the information required to file the report for Doug. He was plainly irritated at himself for misplacing his wallet and ID's, and depressed over the fact he might not make his flight because with the new standards in force after 9-11, entering aircraft without the correct paper and ID is impossible, even with a boarding pass, and though this kid was obviously no Middle-Eastern terrorist. I felt bad for him, he was just stuck, and I thought of my own kid who was about the same age as Doug.

"Listen," I said. "I'm going off shift in about ten minutes. When I get in I'll write this up and print a copy for you and bring it over on my way home. I go by here anyhow. With the report, the authorities in the airport can confirm who you are and also confirm the report by calling the station." I dug in my pocket. "Here, this is my card, keep it with you and present it with the report and with any luck the guys at the gate in the airport will let you pass and board."

"You'd do that for me?" he inquired, almost incredulous.

"I have a kid about your age and if he were in a similar bind I'd hope one of my buddies in arms would help him out. It's no big deal, really; just writing a short report with all your particulars and identifiers and printing it so you can show it, instead of waiting 'til Monday to get a copy."

Doug was ecstatic.

"Thanks!" he said, and he jumped up from the chair next to the sun-like lamp and put a bear hug on me.

I was a bit shocked, but understood Doug's elation because of his relief.

"No problem," I said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Officer. I got a little carried-away because you made my night!"

"Don't apologize, I understand," I answered. "I'll be back in about an hour or so, I have to stow the car and my gear, write this up, and then get back over here. You be up?"

Doug's eyes were wide and shining, "Absolutely! Thank you so much! I'll put on some coffee for when you get back."

"Great," I said, "I could use that with this damned weather we're having."

I turned to leave and Doug went to show me the way.

"Don't bother, I'll find my way back to the car. I'm dressed for this shit, you're not." I was being paternal again.

"Okay," Doug said. "When you get back ring the bell under the mailbox to the left and I'll buzz the gate release and you can get back in, okay?"

"Fine by me, Doug. I'll see you in a little bit."

I left the little apartment and stepped back out into the rain that was now pouring down at the rate of about an inch an hour. Even though I hurried, I still got damp en route to the car; these raincoats we're issued suck!

About forty-five minutes later I was heading back to Doug's home with the freshly written and printed theft report, sealed in a Ziplock against the elements, for him. The raw night and damp uniform was making that promised coffee sound really good.

Once back at the old colonial house, I located a parking space for my personal vehicle as close to the house as possible and then got out, popped open my Mary Poppins and Olympic-walked to the gate and rang the buzzer as directed by Doug earlier. There was the immediate answering buzz and I opened the gate and dashed in, crashing the umbrella into the wall of the house as I went, and of course letting water pour down on me in my light jacket, soaking me. I nearly slipped and fell into the little moat under the bridge, but managed to arrive at the door to Doug's quarters without further mishap. This Good Samaritan stuff always costs!

Doug opened the door as I arrived at the threshold and I stepped into his home, dripping water everywhere on the entry mat, and splattering the wall with it as I closed my umbrella.

"Holy shit is it pouring out there!" I announced.

"Holy shit indeed," Doug replied. "You're absolutely drenched! Give me your umbrella and jacket, Officer Clay."

"It's Paul, " I said, "Paul Clay...you can call me Paul, I'm off the clock," I said as I peeled off my jacket.

"Here's the report," I said, offering Doug the plastic envelope.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry, Paul," Doug groaned. "You got into a mess just trying to help me out past what was expected of you."

"Hey, proud to serve, Doug. No problem," I fibbed.

"This isn't going to help," Doug said, walking away from me quickly, arm outstretched, and dangling my gushing jacket as he headed toward the kitchen or bathroom from the hall.

"I'm going to get you one of my guest robes," I heard Doug say, the echo revealing his location as most likely the bathroom.

"You're going to have to get out of all those wet things and put the robe on and I can put the stuff in my dryer to make it wearable again, before you have pneumonia."

The smell of fresh brewed coffee was now prevalent in the air and my mouth fairly watered for it. I was chilled to the bone now, and coffee and dry duds sounded like a grand idea.

Doug reappeared. "Come with me to the bathroom and you can get all that wet stuff off and give it to me. I put the robe on the hook on the back of the door for you, and there's a pair of flip-flops you can put on too," he said, sounding like a mom.

I trailed Doug into the home and to the bathroom, which turned out to be huge, about one third the size of the whole place, with Jacuzzi tub, separate shower, double sink vanity, a big linen closet and built-in dresser. It was brightly lit with canned ceiling lights and ambiant recessed lighting around the room. The room was like a Roman bathhouse, all covered in ceramic tiles in various hues of green, some with Greek or Roman etchings in them, and with a Roman terrazo floor.

"This place is gorgeous," I said, truly amazed.

"Thanks," Doug said proudly, "I designed it myself. The shower doubles as a steam bath, and the Jacuzzi can seat three," he said with a wide grin and a wink.

"Uh oh," I thought to myself. "You dope! You forgot what this place is and who lives here! Doug is probably gay, dummy! Okay, be cool...I doubt he's being anything but gallant here, returning the favor as I wound up drowned in order to deliver him his report."

Doug showed me into the bathroom and then left, pulling the door closed as he did. I fought with my wet clothing for about ten minutes, trying to get out of them without tearing them or pulling off my skin. I was a mess. I pulled my money clip out and tossed it onto the vanity and water immediately pooled around it from the saturated bills. That's why I don't carry a wallet when I work...you lose the whole shebang and I'd be just like Doug here, no ID's.

I stripped naked and squeezed as much water out of the clothes as I could and plopped them down on the tile floor near the door. Then I took a plush towel and dried myself off. The robe was on the door hook as promised, and it was an extra large and fit me fine. As soon as I put it on I was enveloped in its warm, comfortable terry material. I slipped my feet into the flip-flops and opened the door of the bath into the kitchenette.

Doug was at the counter pouring coffee for both of us, and the microwave oven was purring; he had something cooking. I stood in the doorway a moment and watched this healthy, young, studly kid, shirtless, barefoot, and wearing only satin lounge pants. He did indeed resemble my own estranged son in many ways. Music was emanating from the main room...jazz, my preferred genre! "How'd he guess," I wondered. The aroma of bacon cooking now charged into my sinuses and I immediately felt famished.

"Damn that smells good!" I said, causing Doug to visibly jump, startled by my voice.

"I'm making some of those frozen bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits for us, to go with the coffee," Doug explained. "They're pretty good, I eat them a lot."

"I do too," I said. "Them at home, pork roll, egg, and cheese at the diner."

"I figured since it's pretty much breakfast time, well, maybe of couple hours early, I'd make us some and we can eat and talk," Doug said, as he busily went on with his impromptu meal preps.

Five minutes later we were seated in his little breakfast nook with steaming cups of coffee and breakfast sandwiches before us, accompanied by orange juice. I nearly inhaled the sandwich and sloshed it down with the OJ, and then, fully sated, I began to sip my coffee as Doug finished his sandwich, carefully chewing each bite and sipping his orange juice after each nibble.

"How long have you lived here?" I asked Doug.

"Sid let me move in here about eighteen months ago, after I began to work for him," Doug replied.

Ah, that was it--Sid! The other guy's name, the owner of the place I took the report on the stolen bar from. He of the gay movie making business, which was obviously quite lucrative, judging by the renovation of the house and the lavishness of the yard and grounds. Now I recalled. There's another guy he lives with here too...Greg? Something like that. They're a couple.

My curiosity was now hungry too.

"You work for Sid?" I queried.

"Well, work for him; work with him. I'm a gay porn actor, and Sid discovered me and got me into the business about two years ago. I've made five films with him already and I'm actually considered among the best in the trade," Doug said proudly and matter-of-factly, with a huge smile. "That's why I was hopping the plane later, to San Francisco. I have an appointment out there to make another movie for a friend of Sid's that is a major porn producer on the West Coast, and I need to be there by Monday afternoon for the first shoot."

I couldn't explain it, but I got a hot flash as Doug's bright smile lit the nook and we had solid eye contact.

"That's why I'm so thankful that you went the extra mile for me to help out with my catching that flight, it means a possible shot at big time movie productions with national distribution, and of course more money!" Doug beamed.

"I'm glad that doing something so simple could help so much, Doug. No more thanks necessary, it's my job," I said.

"No, really," Doug said, as he reached across the table and grabbed my hand. "I used to think all cops were assholes, especially to us in the gay and lesbian communities, but you're not, and actually you are very nice," Doug squeezed my hand.

I was suddenly having all sorts of weird surges of energy go through my body from the contact of Doug's hand squeezing mine, and his almost sultry eye contact with me now, his smile changing from broad and bright to sort of lascivious. I wasn't gay, or even bisexual, but I had to admit that I was now feeling a certain electricity charging my sex drives and could even feel my cock twitch.

Doug ran his hand up my forearm about halfway to my elbow.

"Have you ever been with another man, Paul?" he asked with a husky, sensual tone of voice.

Oh my God! Holy shit! Here's another nice mess I've gotten myself into, I thought.

"N-n-no, n-n-never!" I managed to stammer; lying of course because as all male kids do in their early pubescent years, I'd fooled around with a couple of my pals, jerking off together, jerking each other off, even sucking each other's boy dicks and poking each other in the ass with them, but never fucking.

"I'm sort of drawn to older men myself," Doug continued. "They're not as intimidating and aren't in a big hurry like younger guys who just want to get off and go."

My throat was so tight I was nearly strangling, and my pulse rate was skyrocketing. Yet, I didn't pull my arm out of Doug's grasp. I was beginning to feel those sensations beginning to radiate from my core, the sensations I normally felt when becoming aroused with my ex-wife as we enjoyed foreplay with one another.

"I'm glad you like older guys, Doug, but I'm old enough to be your father, or even older!" I croaked, trying to lubricate my voice box with a mouthful of coffee. "I'm just a burned-out old cop, nothing you'd be interested in."

"On the contrary," Doug said, as he released my arm and finished his coffee now, and rose. "You're exactly what I like in a man; mature, not a hard body, but not a bucket of flab either, nice eyes, nice personality, a cop even...and maybe a nice cock too," he said with a wicked smile and a wink. "I've never had a cop."

My cock did jump when he heard his name mentioned! I watched Doug step over to the sink and put the dishes into it.

"I'll be right back," Doug said, "I want to get those wet clothes of yours and put them into the dryer so they'll be done sometime today," and he disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes. Evidently there was a little laundry area concealed in the linen closet by the shower. Helluva setup!

And now here I was; naked inside Doug's robe, in his kitchen, and me without clothing, and with a monsoon in progress outside. A fly snagged in the spider's web! A fly that should have been old enough to know better! I suddenly had empathy for the girls I'd dealt with after had a bad encounter with a date, or an acquaintance, after getting into a seemingly innocent situation.

I drained the last of my coffee as Doug came back out of the bathroom into the kitchen.

"Can I get you another," he offered.

"No, thanks, that was plenty," I said.

"Good, now we can relax and talk some more. C'mon, come into the other room where we can get comfortable on the leathers," he suggested.

I got up and followed Doug to the main room, and as I followed I could see his firm buttocks swaying, sheathed in his sateen pants. I saw no lines for underwear, and it sure looked like Doug's butt was naked inside those pants. The robe rubbed across the head of my penis and made me shudder and my dick throb. Doug flopped down into the luxuriant chair and indicated with his outstretched hand that I should occupy the couch. Hmmmm, I thought. How many victims had he devoured here already? The thought of Doug having sex with guys here caused my cock to begin to inflate, even as I fought it down. I dropped quickly into the couch to avoid Doug noticing the bump in the robe at my groin, and I arranged myself and the robe to cover it and to try and recover and head off the sexual excitement I was experiencing now, regardless of how I tried to extinguish it. I tried to concentrate on how really great sinking into this glove leather monster felt, as it molded around me.