I found myself wondering if Ray, before meeting the rapist, had wanted this too, in a way, like Bernard had. Maybe the reason the two of them weren’t being honest with me, was because these weren’t really rapes at all…no, no, I didn’t really mean that, I suppose. These men had been violated, and twisted somehow, but it was like the rapist was channeling their own desires back at them. But then why had Ray been gone for four months, but Bernard only a week? The inconsistencies had to add up to something, but I didn’t know what, and it was getting harder and harder to think, my hand drifting to my crotch to grope my cock again as I sat there on the weight bench.
Why Jules? Had Ray pissed on him on purpose? Had he chosen him, or had it just been luck–good or bad, depending on how you were feeling about it? I wondered if I had been closer to him, if I’d pushed through his musk, and it had been me struck by that piss…would I have done what Jules had done, gotten him right out of the jail? He’d seemed interested in me, when we’d been driving, and while in the interview room, but it was Jules he’d been wanting to see. He…knew Jules was weak, somehow. I didn’t have any explanation for it, or how it could have worked, aside from magic, but I didn’t believe in magic. In this job, I had increasingly come to believe that all sex is just power. Holding power over someone, or giving power up to someone else, willingly or not. Maybe I hadn’t been good enough for him. Jules was bigger than me. Stronger than me. I was the weak one. I wasn’t…strong enough, was I?
I found myself searching for the place where Ray had pissed all over him, found a bit of it still pooling in the ridged floor of the shipping container, and just stared at it, inhaling the fumes off of it, feeling my mind slowing down even more. I…wanted to be enough. I wondered where they were, and what they were doing. No–I knew what they were doing, or I could guess well enough. After all, I knew what I would have been doing with him, if he’d taken me. I managed to keep myself from licking it up, jacked off again, shooting my cum onto the floor, and then left while my head was still somewhat clear. I was too jittery to drive, so I sat in my car, thinking about Ray, and Bernard, and wondering what all of these thoughts in my mind even were. I’d never been interested in men before this–I wasn’t a fag, and I didn’t really have anything against them, either, but this also didn’t…feel like I had somehow become gay, either. This was a specific desire. I didn’t want men, in general–I wanted these men. Either one of them, both of them, I didn’t know–but the desire was so specific, and I no longer knew, honestly, if I wanted to solve the case so I could stop this rapist, or if I just wanted to find either of them and see where these thoughts led.
I tried to calm down, but at this point, the only thing that seemed to work was jacking off. I hauled my cock out again, and noticed how many cum stains I had on my shirt and slacks from the day. It seemed like so much more than it could have possibly been, and I wondered if I’d been jacking off more without even realizing it, or maybe just leaking cum right into my pants this whole time. I didn’t want to think about it, I wanted to think about Ray, about getting…bigger for him, about smelling him, and smelling like him, about my mind fading away until nothing else mattered, until it was just him, and I came again, spraying myself with another load, the skin of my cock red and a bit chaffed. I needed to get home and take a shower–I’d feel better if I got cleaned up. Clean myself up, and then call the Captain and tell him I was done–that something was wrong with me–and wrong with this case. I’d gotten too close to it, or it had gotten too close to me, and they needed someone to blame this mess on, so it might as well be me. I could take the hit to my career, if it meant I could stop feeling like this. For the first time in my life, I wondered if this career, if being a cop was too much–but I pushed that away. If there was one thing about me, some core thing that I know, that I still know, it’s that I want to be a cop, whatever that means. To me, it means order–someone who orders the chaos, who makes sense of it, who judges it and controls and moderates it. That I’d questioned it for even a moment shook me more than the smell of that piss had, and I knew I needed to get out of here.
I started the car, and in the rearview mirror I noticed something–there was a bike parked behind me with a big brute on it, not doing anything in particular. I pulled away from the crime scene, and when I did, the biker revved up his bike and followed me back onto the main roads. He was tailing me, but he wasn’t very good at it–that, or he wanted me to know he was following me. Should I go back to the precinct? That was the smart idea, the better idea, but if I spooked him and he ditched me, it would be back to square one with this case. No–I needed him to follow me. I needed a lead, badly, and this might be my only shot.
Bracken's Corner 