The town felt something was amiss as April became May, and the summer heat descended on the town. It began with Edwin Moss resigning his seat on the city council at the Memorial Day celebrations. No one had seen much of him for the last month, and even fewer could even recall how such a figure had ended up on their council to begin with. He stood up at the podium, wearing some grungy biker leathers, fresh tattoos running up both arms, head shaven and only just beginning to pick up a tan from riding under the hot sun, announced his decision, and then left almost immediately. Some in town seemed like he should have been…different. Clean cut and respectable. “Hadn’t he been planning to run for mayor in the fall?” various people whispered to each other, but no one could really remember hearing that before, or imagine what might possess such a man to think he had a chance of winning.
Thus, it seemed that Quentin Furman, the town’s current sheriff, was the front runner. Traditionally, the candidates for mayor announced at the Memorial Day celebration, and he was the only one who planned on even giving a speech–and he did. He praised the town’s traditions, and emphasized a platform of safety and security, to make sure every family felt they were protected in their little town. Protected from immigrants. Protected from gangs. Protected from anything new. It assuaged them, and by the end of the speech, everyone had largely forgotten about Edwin’s odd appearance–at least until a surprise speaker climbed up as the Sheriff descended–it was a man no one recognized, immediately, but one a few had seen around town in the last month. He introduced himself as Todd Moss–Edwin’s younger son–and announced his intention to run for Mayor.
His speech was largely forgotten, amidst the flurries of gossip running from one end of the crowd to the other.
“He can’t be Todd–he looks much too old to be him!”
“I know he’s living in the Moss’ house though–he showed up about a month ago, out of the blue.”
“Wasn’t he a faggot?”
“He doesn’t have a woman, what does that tell you?”
“Doesn’t look like a faggot to me–ain’t his older brother the faggot anyway?”
“That whole family is a mess if you ask me.”
“Why is he wearing leather? It’s so hot today.”
Still, as the day progressed, and Todd had the opportunity to gladhand the townsfolk before, during, and after the parade, most found themselves impressed. The men all noticed how…firm of a grip he had, with those supple leather gloves he wore. He was distinguished, his voice full of confidence and authority. The cigar smoke around him lent a further air of credibility, especially among the older men, who say them as call back to a earlier, stronger era. He seemed to have an answer for every question–especially about his odd family. “There are bad seeds in every family, you know,” he said to one man, “but that doesn’t mean we should hate them. No–everyone should have a place in our town, don’t you think?”
Still, Sheriff Furman wasn’t concerned. Todd was a stranger. He had a reputation. His family was a laughingstock or considered a public menace, depending on who you asked. If anything, he was the perfect opponent, or so he tried to convince himself. The months wore on, and heat increased, and the sheriff discovered he may have dismissed him too handily. Todd was everywhere, and speaking with everyone–and his tongue was silver. He could say anything to anyone, and they would agree with him, it seemed like. But something else was unsettling to the sheriff, and to the town. The divorce rate was spiking. Women were abandoning the town in droves, both young and old. No one could speak about it, especially not the men who were suffering most, because it seemed to happen with no real explanation. But Todd was always there, consoling the men left behind, seeing if they needed anything from him, anything at all–or from his father or brother, if that interested them more.
By August, Quentin was certain that Todd was behind it, somehow. The men of town were all behaving so…strangely. It had somehow become normal to go through the streets shirtless. There was carousing, touching, holding hands. More rumors than he could count of men, family men, suddenly turning into faggots overnight with their best friends, or with relative strangers. He tried to talk to Edwin, when he rolled through town, about his son, but the biker…couldn’t speak to him. The same with his older brother, not that he seemed bright enough to know what was going on half the time. So he decided to go on a short trip to the city, where Todd had rolled in from a few months before–and there he found breadcrumbs, but enough to sink his opponents campaign, he supposed. A few arrests for prostitution ought to do it, right? With the files in hand, he drove back home, but when he got to his house…the lights were on, but his wife’s car was gone. He went inside, and there, sitting in his chair, was Todd, smoking one of his thick cigars, clad in less leather than usual–but much more provocative choices. A thick banded harness, a vest, leather chaps with a jock holding his cock and balls, thick boots, and always those gloves.
“Hello Sheriff–Maise asked me to give you a message. She’s taken the girls and gone–apparently, she was tired of the…beatings. You’re quite a beast, it seems, from the bruises she showed me. I can’t say I’m surprised–do you know how common domestic abuse is in the homes of law enforcement? I must say I’m disappointed in you all the same–you had such a reputation as a family man.”
Bracken's Corner 