Officer Hugo Mason had been with the city police department for close to ten years, and in that time, he’d always been highly respected by his fellow officers and superiors, enough so that his occasional fag bashings, both in and out of uniform, were usually overlooked and shoved under the rug by the rest of the department. After all, none of them liked faggots–although none of them disliked them nearly as much as Hugo did. Whether it was from a position deep within a closet of his own, or simply lashing out at a particular target, he was merciless either way. He was never quite certain, in the thick of what happened, whether it had been coincidence or some grand scope of cosmic revenge that it was him that ended up on the subway, alone in that car, that late at night. All he could really be certain of was that something strange had happened to him–though in the immediate aftermath, even he hadn’t been quite sure what it was.
It had been a late shift and he was on his way home–that time of night, there were never many people on the subway, but being alone in a car–that was rare enough that generally everyone notices when it happens, and the sensation is always eerie. A place which was usually so full of people–you realize just how large and small the space is at the same time. Hugo once heard a story of someone hyperventilating while alone in a car. It was probably just an urban legend, but sitting there by himself, the tunnel roaring along outside, he could understand how it could do that to a certain kind of person.
It was a decent distance to the next stop, long enough for him to notice–and the lights in the car flickered once, then again, and plunged him into momentary darkness, before coming back alive. The car had never stopped moving, but when he looked around, after the darkness, he say that he was no longer alone in the car. Down towards the other end, standing, holding onto the upper rail, was a sizable man–well, a sizable faggot, by the look of him. He was clad all in some sick, leather mockery of the uniform he wore during the day, and that alone made Hugo furious. Those faggots–was nothing sacred to them? Or was everything just some…disgusting target for their filth? Did faggots see him like that? Is that why they were always looking at him? Because they wanted something like that?
He stood up, the lights flickering again as he did, the train swaying and keeping him off balance. “Hey! Faggot! What the fuck thinks you have the right to wear something like that?” The man did nothing, didn’t even look at him, like he wasn’t even there. “Hey! Hey fucker, I’m fucking talking to you!”
He stalked towards him. The lights cut again, and when the lights came back up–there was no one there. He looked around, confused–the lights cut again, this time longer, and then came back after a few seconds–the man inches from his face–Hugo staring right into his eyes, smelling his hot breath, tinged with cigar smoke, and Hugo…he felt different. He…he was different. He was cold–his shirt and pants were gone, replaced by a harness and leather shorts…and a collar, which the man grabbed him by, pulling him into a kiss. Hugo knew he should be disgusted, but all he could think was how much he wanted him, wanted this man, wanted to be with him. The train was slowing down as they kissed, and came to a halt. The man stepped away, and asked, “Coming, boy?” He left the train without waiting for a reply.
Hugo crept to the doorway and looked out at the empty station–a station he didn’t recognize from the route. It was…somewhere else. The man walked off and disappeared up a staircase–something in him ached to follow him, but the terror was greater–the door slipped shut again, and started up, the lights flickering off, and he was left standing there again, his old self, the taste of the stranger still on his lips, which he licked. His cock achingly hard in his pants–so hard that he was able to whip it out and jack off onto the seat beside him before the train reached it’s next station–his station, so he could get off, legs shaking, trying to grapple with what he’d just experienced, what he’d just felt, the certainty that soon, very soon, he’d have to feel like that again.
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