Jeff looked around him, at the grungy side street he’d been walking down, and then up at the neon sign hanging over him, flickering the word “PIGTOWN” overhead, throwing blue and red light onto the potholes and trash around him. This was the place? Was this some sort of joke? This wasn’t the sort of place Jeff would have usually considered going–especially not as an officer of the law. It seemed more like a place where criminals would hang out and plot a heist–not the sort of place where a bunch of police officers would get drinks off duty. Then again, Keith hadn’t actually told him the name of the bar where they were meeting–he’d just given him precise directions–very precise. This had to be the place, but something was telling him that this was a bad idea, that little sense of danger he’d learned to trust even in his short time on the force, but still–it was just a bar. It was probably just a prank or something to see what he would do. Hell, Keith wouldn’t even be there at all, and all the guys would just have a laugh about it back at the precinct tomorrow. He climbed the steps, rang the buzzer, and a moment later the door unlocked and he stepped into an anteroom with a coat check.
He moved through into the bar proper, and there weren’t many people inside, a three or four at the bar, some others sitting at the tables scattered around the claustrophobic space. It was then that he realized something else. This wasn’t just some shady ass bar–this was a shady ass fag bar. Every man seemed to be wearing some strange leather or rubber outfit, and more than a few were engaging in rather unseemly–and illegal!–acts at and under, the tables and bar. Was it a test? Should he shut down the place and report everything in here? Before he could make up his mind whether to confront the manager about it, or simply leave in embarrassment, someone caught his attention at the bar–and his jaw dropped.
It was hard to tell in the low light, but yeah–it was Keith. Jeff felt a little bit of fear in his gut, looking at the imposing officer sitting at the bar. Everyone on the force had told him a story or two about Keith–and most of them were so fantastic that they couldn’t possibly be real, but looking at the guy, it was hard to doubt them all. When Keith had pulled him aside in the locker room and invited him out with some friends, Jeff had tried to turn him down, but Keith had ended up…almost browbeating him into coming along. He gave a little wave, and Keith acknowledged him with a not of his police cap–and Jeff realized Keith was still in his uniform. Then again, as he took more time to examine him, it wasn’t the usual uniform at all. Rather, it was crafted entirely about of shiny black leather–and a size or two too small for Keith’s frame, bulging with muscle. Jeff…didn’t know what to do, and so his feet acted on their own, and he stumbled over to the bar where Keith was. Keith shoved the man beside him off the stool, and told Jeff to sit with him…and he did, looking around awkwardly, noticing the bartender staring at him very…pointedly.
“New guy, Keith?” Rod asked, as he wiped out a glass.
“Rookie at the precinct, fresh out of the academy, ain’t that right, Jeff?” Keith said, and threw an arm around him. The smell of the leather was pungent, and while Jeff tried to shrug the arm away, Keith made it clear it was staying right where it was, when he gripped Jeff’s shoulder with a gloved hand.
“Rookie, eh? Yeah, he looks a little green if you ask me,” Rod said with a chuckle.
“Keith,” Jeff said, “What is this place? Where are the other guys you said hung out here?”
“Them? Oh, they’re already in the back,” Keith said, indicating a heavy black curtain hung across a hallway on one side of the bar, “I wanted to wait for you though. This place can be a bit…intimidating to newbies like you.”
“I don’t think…look, I don’t know what you think, but I’m not gay. And is their sex happening on the premises? You know that’s illegal, if they’re serving alcohol!”
Rod laughed, and set down a glass in front of Jeff, “I see why you brought him.”
“I’m not drinking this,” Jeff said, “I’m leaving, and I’m telling the sergeant about this.”
Keith laughed, “Where do you think the sergeant is, right now, Jeff?”
Jeff just stared at him, and then at the curtain. “You’re a fucking liar.”
“Now now, take your medicine,” Rod said, pushing the glass closer to Jeff, “And you’ll understand.”
His hand gripped the glass, despite Jeff wanting exactly not to do that. The drink looked like whiskey, but it smelled much fouler, somehow. He picked it up, brought it to his lips, and downed it in a couple of glugs, dropping the glass back to the table and sputtering. It didn’t just burn–he could feel the liquid coursing down his entire throat, to his stomach–and then it went through his stomach and just…kept going. He let out a cry of pain, and nearly toppled off the barstool–he would have, actually, if Keith hadn’t been holding on to him. Jeff felt it push to every end of his body, like he was on fire, and he felt–fuck, he didn’t know what he was feeling. His skin burned, and his muscles were seizing and shaking, and then it was over, leaving his sweating, and nearly crying, on the stool. What…what the fuck just happened to him? What the fuck was wrong with his hands?
They were…too big. His forearms were too big. His clothes were too tight, and his head felt…cloudy. “What…what the fuck was that shit?” Jeff muttered, but his voice was slurred slightly, to seemed too deep.
“Think he needs another?” Keith asked.
“More than another–right man?” Rod asked, and poured some more in the glass, “Go on, drink.”
Jeff, hand shaking, grabbed the glass and chugged it down again, unable to resist the strange bartender’s orders, feeling the concoction rip through him. The pain was there–perhaps even more intense than the first time, but he could at least brace himself for it. He swelled larger, his clothes beginning to rip, but when Rod poured him a third round, he took it without even needing to be told, and fourth one after that. As much as he didn’t want to drink it, as painful as every shot was–he was starting to…crave it almost. It was a rush, and a heady one at that. He ripped away his clothes with a laugh, thrilled by how they tore like paper in his hands, amazed at how strong he was becoming. He felt…he felt like he could do anything. He noticed…hairs falling down into his vision, and ran his hand over his scalp–and all of his hair fell away, leaving him completely bald–but the hair covering his body more than made up for his sudden head of skin. He didn’t care anyway–it made him look tough. Hell, he was tough. Tough and…and horny.
Bracken's Corner 