TPC: Chapter 2.1

Part 2 – Into the Gyre

Chapter 1 – Back to Reality

Dennis and Barry didn’t speak much for the rest of the weekend, after their night out at Depot. It was clear that something between them was withering in a way that was rather unexpected, but neither of them could articulate. Barry, however, was closer to understanding it. It was the same sensation that he always felt after a circuit party, or an orgy, when he was back in the quiet house again. He was back in reality. The party, the club, the sex, all of that was just fantasy, it couldn’t penetrate him. He couldn’t allow it to penetrate him. But when he saw someone like Samuel, or Parker, who not only allowed that energy to flow through them, but lived and breathed it, all he felt was restless. Like he’d done scuba diving, with all of this protection, only to discover other guys he knew had gills. That Dennis had intruded on that rather sacred experience, injected his own kind of order and justice and control into it only made him feel more sour, more disconnected, more jealous of what he could be, if he hadn’t chosen all of this.

Dennis, on the other hand, was feeling usurped. Annoyed that Barry had dragged him to that party, annoyed that he had challenged him when it came to Kyle and threatening to tell his father, annoyed that he felt bad about it, most of all. He’d done the right thing, he was sure of that. Kyle shouldn’t have been there, he was too young. It was illegal. Pretty much everything that was happening in that club was illegal, in fact. But Barry had put him on the defensive, a position Dennis hated, since he was very careful to always maintain a moral high ground. He felt like he needed to defend something that ought to be obvious. The fact that Barry apparently disagreed only made his own values feel more slippery. 

Barry dealt with the frustration by going to the gym, and stopping off at a gay sauna on the way back for a little action. Dennis dealt with it by making calls to the health department, the liquor control board, and the police department, reporting the myriad of violations he had witnessed at Depot on Friday. Neither of them felt satisfied, by the end of it. The energy that Barry was craving just wasn’t there, like it had been at Depot. The guys were all too nervous, too embarrassed, mostly older closeted men with wives in the suburbs. It only made Barry feel more hemmed in than before. Dennis kept getting the runaround from every agency he called. They would seem interested, and then as soon as he mentioned where he had been and they confirmed the address, the person on the other line would go quiet, say that wasn’t their jurisdiction, thank him for his vigilance and hang up on him. Only once, with a police officer, did he manage to get a little bit of info out of him. “Look, the folks you ought to talk to are down at Precinct 27. They handle everything in that neighborhood.” Frustrated, and again feeling like he was running into some bureaucratic red tape he hadn’t expected, he decided he’d pay a visit to the precinct sometime in the next week, and get some answers there. Surely they would have a more difficult time dismissing his complaints in person.

Monday came for them both. Dennis headed for the hospital–Monday was usually a day for appointments, and getting his surgeries for the rest of the week planned out and organized. Barry headed into the office, dreading it more than he had in some time. He’d hoped that seeing Samuel and having a chance to blow off some steam would have helped soften the blow of being passed over for a promotion, again. Instead, he just felt caught between two worlds, one unsatisfactory foot in each. He couldn’t invest himself entirely in his job–it bored him to death, and he didn’t understand how Dennis could stand being so normal all the time–but if he didn’t, he’d never get the respect there he longed for. Each time he saw Samuel though, it was like looking at some amazing being. He was so free. Sure, his life likely wasn’t easy, but it seemed effortless and fun and exhilarating in a way Barry’s had never been. It also terrified him, all the same, and he hadn’t even been able to hack an hour on the dance floor on Friday. He got settled in his office, and got caught up on his email for the first couple of hours, before the usual Monday morning meeting was due to start.

This is what he was dreading the most, of the entire day. He showed up a bit late, took a seat towards the far end of the table. Evan Ternbull, his current boss, was sitting at the front, and off to his left was Richard Carlisle, the man that Barry privately considered his rival, but they had never spoken more than a few words to each other, since Richard was a relatively new hire, and they’d been working on different projects.

“As you know,” Evan said once getting everyone in order, “I’m going to be transferring over to a new project team in a month or so, which I know all of you are so disappointed to hear about. I’m happy to announce today that Richard here will be stepping up into my role and overseeing your team for the remainder of your project. As you know, Richard is relatively new here, but he comes with some great outside experience, and I am very confident that he will be a great project lead.”

The folks around the table clapped for Richard, who stood up, looking a bit sheepish. How old could he be, really? Twenty-five, twenty-six? Slender, twinkish but clearly straight, Richard got up and introduced himself, talking about his wife, and about the baby they had on the way. The table clapped again, and Barry tried to mask his scowl as he clapped along. Part of him felt a bit bad now for feeling so entitled to the position. Dennis and he were doing just fine with their incomes, and he knew that kids were expensive–one of many reasons he’d never wanted one. But as soon as that sympathy popped up, he pushed it back down. Just because he was straight, just because he was “starting a family” didn’t mean he was entitled to more money than him. It didn’t mean he was entitled more respect.

That was it, wasn’t it? The respect. He didn’t feel respected here. He didn’t feel respected at home, even. Dennis loved him, sure, but did he respect him, really? Did it feel like a relationship between equals all the time? It didn’t. Barry would goad him, and half the time Dennis would just dismiss him out of hand, refuse to even engage, like fighting with Barry was simply beneath him. Like he knew that no matter how dissatisfied he might be, he’d never leave him, because he liked the money, and the lifestyle, and Barry’s own job here couldn’t afford it. 

He could barely focus for the rest of the meeting. After an hour, he faked a phone call, and retreated to his cubicle to think. Mostly, he stared at the little business card that Hugh had given him, and thought about what on earth “Broker” might mean. Someone in the drug trade, apparently, if Hugh worked for him. So much of that conversation had been…weirdly cryptic, but Hugh had been right about the central proposition. Barry was unsatisfied with his life, and more hemmed in he felt–by Evan, by Dennis, by Richard now–

“Hey, Billy, right?”

He was startled up from his thought, looked up and saw Richard looming in the doorway of his cubicle. The meeting was over apparently–was this the first thing he’d thought to do? Hunt Barry down?

“Barry, actually.”

“Oh shoot, sorry man. Everything alright? You zipped out of there in a hurry.”

“Yeah, just the husband, you know. Everything sounds like an emergency to him.”

Richard laughed, “Yeah man, I get it. Hey, Evan told me that you were on the shortlist for the position, and I just wanted to let you know that he thought you would have been a great choice too, and he wants you to keep throwing your hat in the ring, alright? He just didn’t think that this position would be a better stepping stone for me, since we’re at the tail end of a project, about to ship. He knows that wouldn’t have been a challenge for you.”

Barry’s face was growing a bit heated. Evan thought so, huh? Then why wasn’t Evan here telling him this? Why send this cherub faced little shit to come apologize on his behalf? “Sure thing, I understand. Besides, you got the growing family to feed, right?” Barry said, stretching his mouth into something he hoped was a smile and not a sneer, and from the way Richard’s face lit up back, he must have managed well enough. They chatted a bit about Barry’s current duties, and then Richard moved on to the next member of the team.

That settled it, then. If nothing else, he would have his curiosity satisfied. If it was a service that could make his life better, than great. Why care that the info came from a drug dealer? He pulled out the card Hugh had given him on Friday–it was rather simple. All it had was a name, Ian Miller, the word “Broker” below it, and on the bottom of the card, a phone number. He picked up his phone, and gave the mysterious number a call.


Want more Pigtown Chronicles? Support me over on my Patreon, and you can get early access to new chapters, along with loads of other content!

TPC – Chapter 1.8

Chapter 8 – Pigtown’s Shadow

Both Marlon and Jimmy had been reluctant when Kyle had suggested going out to a club that night. It wasn’t that they were bothered by the idea of going out, or drinking underage, it was that in their opinion, gay clubs were passé. Who went out to a club anymore? It seemed like such an anachronism. If you wanted to meet a guy, you got on tinder. If you wanted to get a drink or party, there were way more exciting places to do it than with a bunch of gay guys. But with enough badgering they relented, climbed into Jimmy’s car, and headed downtown to Depot.

But now, Jimmy and Marlon were converts. The sheer energy and vitality in the room was unlike anything they’d felt before, and by far, the strangest and most thrilling part was that in Depot they were normal. Growing up in the wealthy suburbs, going to wealthy schools, they were all part of the same upper class as the rest of their peers, and for the most part, the homophobia they’d faced was minimal in the liberal culture. But while they weren’t hated, they weren’t normal, either. They’d never really thought about all the ways they were constantly pressured to conform and tone themselves down, so that the people around them–the straight people–didn’t have reasons to be afraid of them. To hate them.

But here, they weren’t just normal, if anything, they were boring. The makeup, the bodies, the sex, all of it. The energy was infectious, and by the time last call came around, the two of them were amazed to discover that hours had passed and felt like no time at all. That, and Kyle was nowhere to be found. They checked their phone and found his message saying he’d gone home already, and they chuckled at that. The guy who had been so eager to come out had left early, and here they were, still having fun. 

In an effort to be responsible, Jimmy hadn’t had a drink since that first one, but Marlon had gone back to the bar for a few more as the night progressed. He wasn’t falling over wasted, but he was more than a bit drunk, enough that as they walked down the sidewalk towards where they’d parked the car, he was leaning on Jimmy for some support. It was cute, Jimmy thought. Looking around, the streets were emptier than he’d ever seen, and it was a little unnerving. As they got closer to the car, he also had the distinct sensation that something was watching them.

He paused, and Marlon almost fell over. “What’s up?”

Jimmy looked behind them, but there was no one there that he could see–but oddly enough, from the corner they’d come around, to a couple of yards away, all of the street lights had gone out. And not just the streetlights–every light on the street. About twenty yards away, everything just went completely black, which shouldn’t even be possible. There was still light around, after all–but it was like something was just absorbing all of it. As he stared into it, trying to look and see what might be in there, another street light flickered and went out, leaving just two between them and the void.

“Come on Jimmy, what’s up?”

“Doesn’t that seem strange to you?” he said, pointing into the darkness. “Those were all lit up a second ago.”

“Everything around here is falling apart man, it’s not that strange,” Marlon said. He tried to stand up on his own, but ended up stumbling over and leaning against the side of the building.

“Hello there, boys, how’s the night?” The voice came from the doorway not far from where Marlon was leaning. The space was dark, the same kind of shadowdark as the street they’d come from. A man in full black leather stepped out onto the sidewalk, the only bit of skin visible was the lower part of his face, and even that was obscured by a thick black beard. The band of his muir cap was pulled low, so his eyes were impossible to see. “You aren’t going home yet, are you? You know the night’s just getting started around here.”

“Actually, we are heading home, thanks,” Jimmy said, pulled Marlon over to him, and they kept walking down the street. As they passed under each street light ahead of them, it would flicker, and then go out as they crossed to the next. He looked behind them, but the man had slipped back into the darkness and was impossible to see. They were almost to the car, which was on the next block, and at least the guy seemed to be alone. But then, the light ahead of them flickered and went out leaving an empty hole in front of them. Jimmy pulled up short, but Marlon, whose head had been watching the sidewalk for cracks, stumbled on into the dark, and just…disappeared. 

Jimmy just waited, expecting him to come back out, but there was nothing. Not even the sound of his footsteps, or of him breathing. He stepped closer to the edge of the light, when he heard something behind him. Boots on pavement. The stranger stepped out of the shadow again, right on the edge of the light. “Where’s your friend, boy? Wasn’t he just here?”

“Dude, get the fuck away from me, alright?”

“He just stumbled into the darkness, didn’t he? He can’t be that far away. Go on, just take a little step–you aren’t afraid of the dark, are you?”

The man stepped closer, looming over him, the dark behind him, the man before him. He edged his foot back, but he couldn’t…feel the sidewalk there, in the dark. He felt like he was being pushed to the edge of a pit.

“Jimmy?”

It was Marlon’s voice, but it seemed so far away. “Jimmy, where are you?” he replied.

“Right here Jimmy, I’m at the car. Come on, Jimmy, let’s go home, you have the keys.”

Another moment, and maybe he would have stepped back, and found out what was in the dark. But instead, a bright beam of light cut through the dark behind the man, and he winced, visibly, as though the light had hurt him. 

“Fuck, is it another one of Shadow’s puppets? I thought we’d gotten them all!” someone shouted.

“He has someone cornered!” 

The man in the leather, glowered. “A pity,” he said, straightened his coat, stepped past Jimmy into the dark, and like a switch, all of the lights came back on up and down the street. He blinked, and saw a couple of men running towards him with flashlights, and coming closer, he saw they were police officers. “Fuck, it’s just a kid,” one of them said. 

Jimmy looked around for Marlon, but he wasn’t on the sidewalk. Looking further up, to the car, he wasn’t there either, that he could see. “M-Marlon?” he called out. “Marlon!”

“Hey, hey!” one of the officers grabbed him by the arm, and shone the light in his eyes. “What the fuck are you doing out here this time of night, kid?”

“I…My boyfriend and I, we were just going home!”

“What the fuck are you doing out here? God fucking damn it!”

“Give him a break Williams,” the other officer said, and pulled the other off him. Something seemed off about the two of them, somehow–they weren’t quite…right. They didn’t quite seem to have the build he would have expected from the police officers out in the suburbs. Their beards were longer and unkempt, their uniforms dirty and wrinkled. “Did you say your boyfriend?” the officer asked. 

“Yeah, he…he stepped into the dark, and…and now I don’t know where he is.”

“Into the dark?” the officer said, “What do you mean ‘into’?”

“It was the shadows, I don’t know. The guy wanted me to go in too, but then you showed up.”

“I didn’t think any of his puppets could do that,” the other officer said, looking around.

“What’s your name, kid?” the nicer officer asked.

“Jimmy.”

“Alright Jimmy, I need you to listen to me,” he said, and locked eyes with him. A sense of calm washed over him, and the only thing that was keeping him standing was the officer’s firm hand on his shoulder. “Is that your car over there, kid?”

Jimmy nodded.

“You’re going to walk straight there, Jimmy. You’re going to get in, and drive home. What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

“M-Marlon.”

“You let us take care of Marlon. You don’t need to worry about him. You don’t need to think about him for a while, or wonder where he is. The most important thing for you to do now, is to go home, and don’t come back here, for Christ’s sake kid. Stay the fuck out of Pigtown if you know what’s best for you.”

Jimmy nodded, the officer looked away, and gave him a little push towards his car. Jimmy did as the officer said, went right to his car–half expecting that Marlon might be inside waiting for him, but he wasn’t. He drove himself home, and found himself staring at every shadow he passed, but they were all empty ,and normal. Not like that strange, deep darkness. Still, he kept a lamp on next to his bed all night long, not that he slept much. He might not have been afraid of the dark before–but he was now.


Want more Pigtown Chronicles? Support me over on my Patreon, and you can get early access to new chapters, along with loads of other content!

TPC: Chapter 1.7

Chapter 7 – Home Safe

The ride home was quiet. Dennis was driving, Barry was sitting in the passenger seat, and Kyle was in the back, slumped against the window, not quite sure whether he should be angry or terrified. Barry wasn’t quite sure what Dennis had in mind with this whole thing–was he really going to out the kid to his asshole father, just for wanting to get into a gay club? It seemed…cruel, but then, Dennis had always had a bit of a cruel streak in him. Barry had largely been able to avoid it, but his husband had never had much sympathy for gays who fell outside of the normal range of behavior that his rather conservative upbringing could tolerate. Assimilation or scorn were the choices, and Barry had chosen the first. He regretted it at times, but at least he was comfortable.

It took about half an hour to get out of the city and into the suburb where the three of them lived. It was an older subdivision, built in the early 90’s. The lots still had yards in the front and the back, rather than the strips of grass that passed for outdoor space in more modern construction, with your neighbor’s prying eyes six feet away from you next door. Barry expected him to drop Kyle off at his house, but they drove past it and arrived at their own, pulling into the driveway.

“So, do your parents know you were out tonight, or did you sneak out?”

“I…I told them I was over at a friend’s house for the evening. They don’t mind if I get back home late.”

“Look, I’m doing this for your own good, alright?” Dennis said, “I know that places like that seem fun, but trust me when I say, they’re dangerous–”

There was a light scoff that came from Barry at that, but Dennis ignored it, aside from a little pause.

“–Guys do a lot of drugs in places like that, and there are guys who will take advantage of you, alright?”

“I’m not a virgin, you know,” Kyle said, “I know what sex is, you don’t have to treat me like a kid.”

“You are a fucking kid though, and I know you don’t see that, but when you’re grown up, and have a job, you’ll understand that this was for the best, and I expect a thank you note when you get there.”

Kyle looked away at the window. “Are you gonna tell my dad?”

“It depends–”

“Of course we won’t.”

Dennis looked over at Barry, who was glaring at him from the passenger seat. “We’re not going to tell his dad, that’s fucking awful to even suggest it,” Barry said.

“Alright, I’m not going to tell your dad, this time, but you know what Kyle? You need to tell him. I know it’s scary, alright? My parents weren’t exactly the…most supportive people, of the lifestyle.”

“You didn’t come out to them until you were thirty, Dennis, stop making it sound like you’re some brave soul,” Barry said, and flipped around, “I don’t think there was anything wrong with you being there, I think you were right to get out of from under your parents thumb, and I don’t really think you should listen to Dennis on this one. Live your fucking life while you still can, alright Kyle? And if you go out again, and you get in trouble, then call us and we’ll come pick you up, alright?”

“Barry, that’s–”

“Let it go, Dennis, I think you got your little snitch high from this already, he’s scared enough. Go home Kyle.”

Sensing an opportunity to get away from this uncomfortable situation at last, Kyle nodded, thanked them for the ride home, and took off down the sidewalk at a quick stroll, leaving Barry and Dennis in the car, silent. Barry got out first, and went into the house, with Dennis following close behind. “Is there something you want to say to me?” he asked, “It seems like there’s something you’d like to talk about.”

“I can’t fucking believe you sometimes, you know that?” Barry said.

“What! He’s underage! He shouldn’t be in a place like that, and you know it.”

“Just because you were immature, and too scared to do anything fun when you were younger, doesn’t mean the rest of us weren’t willing to take a risk now and then. And threatening to out him to his father! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“He’ll have to tell him at some point, he might as well rip the bandaid off now.”

“Brave words from you. Why didn’t you tell your parents, huh?”

“That was different, and you know it.”

“Why weren’t you brave, Dennis? Just rip the bandaid off, you know, it’s easy!” Barry said, cooing at him. “We both know full well why you didn’t, and you were right to not tell them until when you did. And Kyle is right for not telling them too! Why the fuck are you like this? Why are you such a fucking hypocrite?”

“Excuse me?”

“You think you know exactly what’s best for everyone else, all the fucking time, and you dole out all of this mealy-mouthed advice, which everyone knows you would never do in a million years. You’re a fucking coward, Dennis, and you want everyone else to do the work so you don’t have to change.”

“It’s called being an adult, Barry, maybe you should try it sometime. You act like a child, you know that? You’re almost forty for fuck’s sake, why can’t you act like it? You have a good time tonight, pretending you’re a cool kid again? Make you feel better about getting turned down for that amazing promotion yet again?”

“You know damn well why I got turned down.”

“It’s not because you’re gay, Barry. It’s because you’re unserious. Because you’re immature. You think you can go out and party and still be treated like an adult, well at some point, you’re going to have to grow the fuck up.”

“I can’t fucking deal with you sometimes!”

“Well we both know you’ll never leave, because as much as you want to be a little party whore, you want the nice house and the respectable life more, and you’re lucky I’m willing to put up with your shit to give it to you. We both know who pays the fucking mortgage, after all.”

Barry gave up at that point–as soon as Dennis brought up the bills, he knew he’d lost. It was his husband’s favorite point of leverage. Barry made good money, but he didn’t make money like Dennis did, and as much as Barry might resent him for it, he did like it. He liked being taken care of, he liked the comfort. He went upstairs to the bedroom, Dennis stayed down in the living room after getting a beer out of the fridge–most likely, he’d end up sleeping on the couch, which is what usually happened after one of their arguments. Come morning, neither of them would apologize, and they would just move on with their life together, pasting over their frustrations again, and again, because usually, things were fine. Usually. Barry found himself peeling back layers, unable to help himself, wondering how many times you could cover something up before it just came apart anyway.

He got out of his clothes and into bed without a shower, closed his eyes and thought about that pounding bass on the dance floor again, thought about being swept away. Thought about how he’d been too scared to do it, too old. He was getting old, he was getting fucking old! He hated that, he hated how it felt like he had wasted his youth trying to be a good gay, trying to be a smart, clever, business gay, and now here he was, stuck in a job he hated, with the ladder rapidly getting pulled up away from him. He’d been passed over for a promotion again, for someone younger than him, a good little straight boy, twenty-eight, with a wife and a kid on the way. He knew the reasoning. He had a family to support, after all. But Barry didn’t want a family, Barry just wanted to be respected. He wanted his work to be seen and appreciated. He wanted the money too, of course. But why had he worked so hard, and missed so much, if all he got for it was a boring office job as he just kept getting older, and older, and older.

He got up again, dug around in the pocket of his pants, and pulled the card out Hugh had given him. None of what Hugh had told him seemed possible. None of it had even made sense. If he told Dennis about it he would scoff at the fantasy, but after the argument, that just made it more appealing. Mostly he was tired. Tired of things being safe, tired of being bored. It couldn’t hurt to ask, right? 

TPC – Chapter 1.5

Chapter 5 – The Offer

Barry was panting and sweating through his shirt, trying to decide if he was having a good time or not. The beat of the music only seemed to be quickening, the crush of the bodies around him growing thicker with each moment. It had probably only been a few minutes ago when Samuel had been pulled away from him, but it felt like hours in the throng. Someone pushed up against him, looked down at him, placed two hands on the sides of his face, and kissed him, only to be whisked away by the current of bodies, and replaced by someone else. Why the fuck had he turned down Samuel’s offer of coke a moment before? Why had he thought this would be a good idea? He hadn’t been on a dance floor like this since his mid 20’s, not long after graduating from college, before the pace of work had decimated all nightlife for him aside from the occasional breeder dinner party with Dennis.

He knew from experience that the only way through was surrender. Just give in, forget everything else for a bit and just let the music and the vibe hold him. Each time he tried though, he lost it and just felt out of place and embarrassed. The crowd was well mixed, but he was still older than most of the guys there. He was out of shape, his knees were hurting. Somehow he was sure that Dennis was watching him, scoffing, thinking about what a fool he was being, and that was enough to make him push for the edge of the floor, stumble out of the mass and stand by a table, trying to not look as panicked as he looked around for his shirt and jacket, tugging them on before anyone could look and really see how out of shape he was.

The air was still too thick, the smell of sweat and everything else in the room overwhelming him. He pushed away, looking around for Dennis and an exit. He stumbled out a side door, and found himself in a small patio area where guys were smoking and chatting, or kissing and fucking off in the darker corners of the fenced area. At least the air was cooler, despite the smell of cigars that Barry had never really enjoyed.

“Having a good time?” a voice said.

Barry looked over, and sawt the dealer from before, who had sold Samuel the cocaine, smoking a cigarette. “It was Hugh, right?” Barry asked.

The man nodded. “Looks like you bit off a bit more than you were expecting. Need a bump?”

It sounded appealing, but despite wishing for it out on the floor, he no longer thought it would do much for him, and he shook his head. “I just haven’t been in a club in a while. I’m not quite the twink I like to think of myself as, you know?”

Hugh laughed, “Yeah, it’s a wild scene in there, but good for business. Hell, the whole district has really taken off in the last year. Crazy to think how many places were going under just a couple years ago, but everything is really getting revived. Some solid private investment, I’ve heard, but I don’t know that much about it, really. Here, can I get you another drink at least?”

“Just a water, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” Hugh said, went over to the smaller bar out on the patio, and returned with a bottle of water that Barry guzzled down. “So, you two don’t seem like the usual types who come around here. That other guy, he your husband?”

Barry nodded. “Yeah, we don’t have much time for a nightlife. I was just trying to pin down when I’d last been in a place like this, and I think…it’s been most of a decade?”

“Work keeps you busy, huh?”

“Yeah. Dennis is a surgeon–joint replacements mostly. I work with CelTech, in their sales department.”

“Sounds dreary to me.”

It was a bit, but Barry didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right. Certainly after his time on the floor, he was almost looking forward to the simplicity and safety offered by his office come Monday.

“Have you ever considered giving it all up? Finding something a little closer to your passions?”

“Excuse me?”

“You have some valuable assets, Barry. They could be worth a lot of money to the right folks, and you could get yourself a life more in line with what you want–what you really want.”

Barry just stared at him. Was he really thinking about networking through a drug dealer, that he’d just met a few minutes ago? 

“Look, I’m just a connector. I connect people to things that they want. A lot of guys here, they want drugs, but I like to think that I can offer many things to many people.”

“And what do you charge for such a service?”

“Oh, I don’t get paid by you. I do receive a commission from the client if I bring them someone who goes through the process successfully, but I guarantee you, you’d get more out of it than me.”

Barry was saved from having to find out more, by Dennis pushing his way through the door and out onto the patio, dragging Kyle out with him. “There you are Barry, come on, it’s time to go.”

Barry looked from Dennis to Kyle and back, confused. “Uh, yeah, sure. Why…Kyle?”

“Hi Mr. Gershom.”

“You’re…oh, I see,” he said, looking back at Dennis. “What happened?”

“This young man got in here, underaged, and I suggested that he let us take him home, or else I’ll tell his father where he’s been sneaking off to.”

“Dennis let go, you have a deathgrip on him.”

Dennis looked over at Kyle, and let go of his wrist, a bit embarrassed. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I’m fucking not, and you’re not my fucking parents anyway.”

Dennis held back an exasperated sigh, glad he’d never had to suffer through children at least. “Let’s just go home, alright?”

Barry nodded, and followed Dennis away, but not before Hugh pressed a business card into his hand. “If you need a contact, you know. There’s better lives out there, if you want them.”

He nodded, and left. Finding their way out of Depot was more difficult than getting in. Barry got the distinct impression, somehow, that the building didn’t want them to go, not yet. It was a silly sensation, but the pull and the flow of bodies, the positioning of walls, all of it made him feel a bit claustrophobic. In the end, they found their way out of the unmarked door and back onto the sidewalk. It was less busy, the city already beginning to turn in for the evening, but the guys who were still out were a little less friendly than Barry preferred. “Come on, let’s go find the car,” Dennis said, and led the way. Barry followed behind him, and Kyle lagged a bit further back, but wasn’t trying to ditch them. Barry wondered what he might say, to help. Looking at the young man’s face, it was a look he recognized–he was unhappy, and he wanted freedom, or something more free than what he had. He thought about telling Dennis they should let him go back, that he should have a chance to be young, and have fun, and feel like himself for a moment at least, but he didn’t. Dennis was right–he was too young to be out here, especially in a place like that. He felt like a snitch all the same, and while Dennis was happy in the role, Barry had always chafed under it, and he resented Dennis for putting him there. At least he’d had a little fun. He sent a text to Samuel explaining their sudden exit and thanking him for the evening, found their car, bundled in and headed home, to the suburbs.


Want more Pigtown Chronicles? Support me over on my Patreon, and you can get early access to new chapters, along with loads of other content!

TPC – Chapter 1.4

Chapter 4 – The Crow’s Nest

Dennis was left behind, as he’d expected he would be. If you’d pinned him down on it, he would have even admitted that he wanted to be abandoned, that it would confirm for him that this was somewhere he didn’t belong, and where he didn’t want to be. He sighed–Barry had promised him one drink, but he could already tell that he’d have to drag him out of here in a couple of hours. He could be such a child.

He started looking for somewhere that he could wait, preferably somewhere quiet and away from the noise of the dance floor, but most of the nooks he found were largely taken up by guys in various states of making out or full blown sex. One thing was for sure, when he was out of here, he’d be dropping an anonymous tip to the liquor control board and the health department, because none of this was acceptable to him, and everyone here should be ashamed of themselves.

Dennis had grown up the son of two doctors, with well entrenched class interests that neither had done much to examine. Dennis’ homosexuality had been a minor wrench in their family, but quickly smoothed over. An anecdote, real or not, that Barry had heard many times at many dinner parties, was that his parents would have been more scandalized by him not going to medical school, than the fact he was gay. His parents’ orthodoxy hadn’t entirely rubbed off on him, but he’d imagined that the sort of debauchery all around him now was beneath gay men, as a culture. They could get married now! They were on TV all the time. This sort of thing just wasn’t necessary, or at the very least, could be kept more discrete. He found a set of stairs leading up. They weren’t cordoned off, but no one seemed to be on the upper level that he could see. On the stairs, someone had spray painted the words “Crow’s Nest” along with an arrow pointing up. A bit curious, he climbed them and found himself on a set of narrow walkways suspended over the warehouse floor. Entirely unsafe, and most certainly another violation of some sort. He’d always kind of enjoyed being a snitch.

The view gave him a good view of the place. There was the dance floor where he was sure Barry and Samuel were still satisfying some of their baser urges. He looked around for where the hell knew where that shady fucker and the meathead had gone, but soon lost interest. He polished off the beer, and set the can off in a little cubby on the wall, and leaned over the railing by the entrance to the bar, deciding to just spend his time looking at the flow of guys coming in, as something to do.

It was after about twenty minutes, when he was contemplating going down and beginning the process of extricating Barry from the place so they could go home, that he saw a trio of younger guys enter the bar. Obviously underage–not surprising, since the bouncer didn’t seem interested in checking ID. They were looking around nervously, tittering a bit and huddling together, before they headed for the bar to get a drink. As they passed under a light, though, Barry realized that he recognized one of them–Kyle Hendricks, a son of one of their neighbors, who they paid to watch their cat, Misty, while they were on vacation.

And so, the snitch in Dennis was torn. On one hand, he loved the idea of getting someone in trouble. On the other hand, Kyle was a good kid, and he’d always taken good care of their home and Misty for them. Besides that, there was the issue of Kyle’s father. It didn’t surprise Dennis to see Kyle here–Barry and him both had sussed out the teenager’s preference rather quickly after their initial introduction. What had concerned them both, though, was the cold treatment they’d gotten from Kyle’s father ever since they’d moved in. He seemed like a garden variety homophobe. He could tolerate Dennis and Barry in his neighborhood, because at least they were respectable, but Dennis didn’t think he would be as accommodating with his own son somehow. There was also the matter of what had happened last summer, but Dennis avoided thinking about that in the moment. What was there to tell anyway? He’d offered to pay Kyle in exchange for helping with cleaning out the garage. Sure, there had been some flirting, maybe. Just some play, really. But then Kyle had kissed him, and Dennis had kissed him back, nothing more, but he was thinking about it now, he knew better than to think about it. Best to bury things like that deep down, and never tell a soul. It was safer that way.

The three young men moved deeper into the bar, and other two kids started making out, while Kyle kept drinking–classic third wheel, then. Maybe he’d come along just to keep them company. Maybe he didn’t even want to be here. The two disappeared into the dance floor not long after that, leaving Kyle alone–and Dennis felt a certain camaraderie, having been abandoned in these sorts of places often, including tonight. If he went down, he could offer him an escape hatch at least. He’d probably be thankful for it. There was no way a good kid like him wanted to be somewhere like this. Kyle finished his beer, and Dennis thought he’d probably just be a good wall flower and stay put, but he didn’t. He was looking around at the other men around, then pushed off from the table, and headed towards…well, Dennis found his theory full of holes already.

Kyle slid closer to the object of interest, a leather clad bear smoking a cigar (indoor smoking, another violation) who was easily twice his age, if not more than that. Older than Dennis, surely. The man looked Kyle over and gave him a nod, the two of them started chatting, and it wasn’t long before the man slid an arm around him and pulled Kyle closer. Dennis wracked his head, trying to remember exactly how old Kyle was. He knew Kyle was eighteen (though he’d been seventeen the summer before, but Dennis definitely wasn’t thinking about that). He was too young to know what he was getting into, what this place was, who that man was and what he was into. Finally feeling a solid moral ground, he headed down to the main floor, and pushed towards the dance floor.

The club had been only moderately packed when they’d entered, and now was beginning to feel crushing. Dennis hadn’t been this close to so many men in a very long time, but rather than exciting, it was just frustrating him. By the time he’d reached the tables around the dance floor, he saw the bear and Kyle had moved from heavy petting to kissing. Dennis walked over, grabbed Kyle by the shoulder and hauled him away from the older man. “Kyle Hendricks, what the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

Kyle’s eyes went wide in the dark, and he tried to bolt, but Dennis kept a firm grip on his upper arm.

The bear got up, “Hey man, what’s the deal, this your boy or something?”

“He’s my neighbor, and he’s underage.”

The bear laughed, “Come on man, this is Pigtown–everyone who’s here belongs here, don’t you know that? The kid came onto me, anyway. I was gonna be gentle.”

Dennis gave the bear a glare, and pulled Kyle further away from him. Kyle was a scrawny kid, with long hair that tended to fall over his eyes, something he liked to hide behind. “If you bolt, I swear to God, I will tell your dad what you were doing tonight, and where you were doing it.”

Kyle’s eyes went from startled, to legitimate terror at the threat. “Mr. Case, you–he’d fucking kill me, come on, I just…my friends wanted to come out, and I…I didn’t really want to, I…”

“Yeah yeah, you just wanted to get all up in some leather bear’s grill, huh? I am going to firmly suggest that you are probably too young to know what you actually want.”

“I’m…I’m eighteen, it’s legal.”

“There’s a distinction between legal and right. Now, Barry and I are going to take you home, and if I catch wind of you doing anything like this again, I will have to make an issue of it with your father, do you understand?” He stood Kyle next to an empty table. “Now, I have to find Barry, and then we’re leaving. You do not take your hand off this table, do you understand me?”

Kyle nodded, and watched as Dennis slipped into the throng of bodies on the dance floor, looking for his husband, surprisingly satisfied to have both the moral high ground, and an indisputable reason to leave this place. Kyle heaved a sigh, trying to get his heart to stop pounding in his ears, and looked back over at the bear a few yards away. The leather bear was looking back at him, with a rather pitiful look, and that just made Kyle angrier. He hated pity. His friends pitied him, for his asshole family. He pitied himself, because he was scrawny. He’d been the one to suggest this place, anyway, not that Dennis needed to know that. He looked down at his hand, still on the table where Dennis had put it. He could let go–he knew that. He could go back over to that bear, he…he could say fuck it. Who cares if his Dad knew, anyway? He’d figure it out. But he didn’t pull his hand away–he just waited, feeling like the child he mostly was still, and hating himself for it. 

The bear just shrugged, and took another drag on his cigar. The boy would have to grow up sometime, after all. Besides, he was pretty sure he’d be seeing more of him soon enough.


Want more Pigtown Chronicles? Support me over on my Patreon, and you can get early access to new chapters, along with loads of other content!

The Pigtown Chronicles – Chapter 1.1

The Pigtown Chronicles

Arc 1 – A Night Out In Pigtown

Chaper 1 – A Reunion at a Gallery Show

“There’s a spot!”

“It’s too tight. I’m gonna circle around and get that one we just saw on the other block.”

“That one’s probably gone already, just squeeze in here!”

Dennis had already passed it, and Barry sat back in his seat with a sigh, but let his husband circle back around. By the time they’d reached the spot they’d seen a few minutes before, he’d already thought of the perfect little jab, but the spot was still open, and Dennis pulled in without trouble. There, see? It’s closer to the gallery anyway.”

Barry gave a little huff, and got out of the car onto the sidewalk. It was a weekday evening, but the walkway was still flush with people going to dinner at the various restaurants around them. The couple were there to support a gallery show by Samuel, who was an old college friend of Barry’s. An ex, technically, but that was well buried by them both. Samuel had been the flamboyant, outré fine arts major known for his extravagance and openly gay work on campus, and Barry had been the closeted business major just beginning to poke his head out. Barry had been drawn to Samuel’s freedom, while the artist had enjoyed prying open the scared little baby queen, as he’d called him. None of it had been particularly healthy, and the breakup had been explosive, forcing Barry out of the closet, and while he had been bitter about it at the time, with distance and a good therapist, he’d come around to crediting Samuel with a good amount of personal growth. The two of them had reconnected on facebook eventually, and were better friends than lovers.

Dennis knew the history between the two of them, but he didn’t understand why Barry liked Samuel’s company at all. His personality was about as distant from Samuel’s as you could get in many ways. Pragmatic, practical, with a reputation as a bore and a square. The two of them had met through a mutual friend after Barry graduated and landed his first job, and a few years later, had gotten married after a steady engagement. Dennis worked at a hospital in the city doing lucrative knee replacements, while Barry had focused on climbing the corporate ladder. The two of them were a classic TWINK scenario–TWo Incomes, No Kids–though their physical twink days were well behind them at this point. Dennis was quickly approaching forty, and while he assured everyone that age was just a number, he himself was finding some personal reservations and difficulties with it, not that he bothered sharing that with anyone openly. At some point, his boyish charm had slipped away, replaced with a burgeoning bearhood, and a growing waistline to go with it. He was currently experimenting with a beard, and waffled on shaving it off every day. It had a bit too much grey in it for his liking, and it only emphasized his own age. Barry liked it, however, and so it stayed for the moment.

Barry was a couple years younger, and seemed to be coming into his own at last. His career had gotten off to a rocky start, and had remained so over the years. Barry blamed it on the latent homophobia of the corporate world, and while Dennis was sympathetic, he pinned more of the blame on Barry himself. He lacked focus and drive, tended to flit from one project to another, and didn’t really have the leadership and confidence he imagined he did. Barry didn’t like to hear any of that though (another flaw, Dennis thought) and so he coddled him along. His salary more than provided them with a comfortable lifestyle after all. Barry, in turn, considered Dennis to be a bit dismissive of his own contributions to their lifestyle. The aloofness his husband had could drive Barry mad at times, along with his refusal to cede the moral high ground at any moment. But despite their frustrations, their relationship was comfortable, and neither saw any reason to disrupt that. Dennis checked that the car was locked, while Barry brushed his hair into place. Then they oriented themselves, and set off for the gallery where Samuel was exhibiting his latest work.

“So what has Samuel done this time?” Dennis asked him, “That last show of his didn’t make any sense to me.”

“He’s assured me that this one is more grounded, but I’m not sure what that means exactly.”

“Fewer dicks maybe?”

“Doubtful.”

“I just find it a bit crass.”

“Honestly, he’s toned it down a lot over the years.”

“What did you ever see in him?”

“Honestly? He has a great hole. He makes you feel like you’re the greatest fucker in the world.”

Dennis’s lip sneered a bit. He’d never been the most sexual person, and didn’t really understand people’s obsession with it. When Dennis did fell the urge, he’d usually just jack off, or at most, oral only, preferring to top. Since getting married, the two of them didn’t do much together, or separately. Work came first for them both, though Barry would binge on occasion, going to a circuit party on a weekend while Dennis stayed home. It didn’t bother him, so long as he didn’t do drugs or fuck bareback. Barry assured him that the parties he went to were classier than that. “I’d never want to fuck someone on meth, could you imagine?” he said once. Dennis couldn’t, and he’d left it at that before Barry might elaborate.

They reached the gallery not long after that and stepped inside. There were a surprising number of people there in Barry’s opinion, and of a slightly more elevated persuasion than the other shows Barry had attended. More suits, fewer drag queens in outlandish flair, though there was a gaggle of them tittering in a corner. Samuel had confessed once that he usually hired them to attend–after all, a gay artist with no drag representation isn’t really a gay artist at all.

The work was a bit more toned down, in Barry’s opinion. A couple of pieces he could imagine hanging on his bedroom wall (Dennis would never allow it of course) but nothing that he could hang out in a main room where someone from work might see it. Leather, denim, cock, hair. The bodies were twisted out of proportion, almost abstracted. Dennis waved down a young man with a tray of champagne, took a glass, and proceeded to meander, while Barry looked around for Samuel.

It didn’t take long to find him. He had cleaned up for the occasion, and Barry was always impressed with how well he could look when he allowed himself a bit of respectability. Tall, broad shouldered, long hair slicked back against his scalp and down to his neck, with a short beard trimmed up around his mouth. He had a thicker frame, but carried it well–managing to tread the line between beefy and chubby better than Dennis did. It helped that he had a better sense of style at least, or at least cared to know what fit him well, and lean into it. He was chatting to someone who looked rather wealthy, probably trying to drum up a sale. Barry hung back until they had moved on, and then slipped in for a hug before anyone else could commandeer him. 

“BarBar, you came! So glad to see you,” Samuel said, bending down and planting a kiss of each of Barry’s cheeks. 

“Yes, well, I was sick and tired of staying at home on the weekends. Dennis can be such a bore at times.”

“Yes, well, you knew that when you tied the knot. No use being bitter, it will sour your soul,” Samuel said, then gripped Barry by the hand, “Speaking of, I have someone I want you to meet,” he said, and pulled him along.

Barry sighed–Samuel was a serial philanderer. No one stuck around for long, but they were always, well, something. This one proved to be no exception. Barry found himself looking up at a rather imposing fellow wearing a sleeveless shirt and shorts that did nothing to disguise the size of the cock he was packing in the front of them. “Barry, this is Parker. Parker, this is a old friend of mine, Barry.”

The muscular fellow stuck out a hand, gripped Barry’s, and while he had long practiced a firm handshake for the business world, this one left him feeling like his hand might cramp. “Nice to meet ya,” Parker said, and then pulled Samuel close. “When are we getting out of this joint baby, you said we were gonna party tonight.”

“Not too much longer, I promise. These rich fucks are boring the piss out of me–no offense Barry.”

“None taken, I guess,” but Barry did feel boring, and sizing up Parker, who seemed to grow more muscular each time he looked at him again, he was feeling a little jealous, a little aroused, and a little bit of FOMO creeping up on him. Samuel was just a year younger than him, and despite all of his own successes, looking at him he still felt envious of his confidence. 

“Evening Samuel, it’s a very nice show,” Dennis said, wandering over to join the three of them. He stuck a hand out to Parker and introduced himself, and seemed unfazed by his substantial grip. 

“So glad you could join us, Dennis. Barry says it’s been a challenge prying you up from the couch on the weekends.”

Dennis ignored the jab. Their mutual distaste for one another was well known. Dennis considered him to be a phony, while Samuel, considered him to be a tasteless square. Neither cared enough about the other to make an issue of it, and Barry smoothed it over well enough with his usual enthusiasm. 

“Barry, why don’t you come out with us tonight? I’m having a little afterparty at Depot, have you even been there? Hell, when was the last time you two even went out? The last year or so, it feels like the city is breathing again, you know? You have to come, it’s amazing. They took this old warehouse, and kept all the scaffolding, just dropped a stage and a bar in the middle of it. You wouldn’t believe the shit people get up to in the corners.”

“Fuck, last weekend, Hugh told me he saw a four guy train up in the rafters,” Parker said.

Dennis heaved a sigh, and generally, Barry would have taken the cue, excused them both for the evening, and gone home to Netflix and bed. But between his annoyance about the parking situation earlier, and the euphoria he alway got for the first few hours he was with Samuel again, he decided to throw caution to the wind. “Fuck it, why not?” he said.

“Barry–”

“Come on Dennis, just one drink. We don’t have to be out long.”

Dennis was caught off guard, and had never been good at putting his foot all the way down. Samuel assured them that it was just a few blocks away–they’d be home before their couch could even miss them. They slipped out the back of the building and into an alley, and the four of them headed for Depot, a club on the edge of a district people were beginning to call Pigtown.


Want More? Support me over on my Patreon, and you can get early access to more chapters, along with bonus chapters, and loads of other content!

(Caption) Four Lost to Pigtown

October Caption Challenge (22/31)

Zane didn’t know that Pigtown existed. He was as straight as could be, had never so much as looked at another man–aside from a few times, out of drunk curiosity, but that was different. That didn’t matter though–sometimes, Pigtown comes for you regardless. 

He had been working a construction job down by the docks, adjacent to Pigtown, though he didn’t know that. All he knew was that there seemed to be a lot of queers and fags about on occasion, but they generally gave him a wide berth. All the better, really, so he didn’t have to bash their teeth in. Some in Pigtown, regarded that a worthy challenge. 

Once evening, Zane worked a little longer than he usually did, the fog rolled in a bit thicker, twilight came a bit quicker, the street lights were a bit late to turn on, and he found himself lost in the streets and alleys, looking for his truck. The streets were quiet–not even cars were passing him by, for whatever reason, but for all the stillness, he couldn’t shake the sensation that he wasn’t quite alone, either. Sure enough, he could see the occasional shadow of a person following behind him at a leisurely pace, too far back to make out clearly in the mist, but close enough to give an impression, one of size and substance. Not exactly threatening, but also not…weak.

Zane picked up the pace a bit, and lost his pursuer–at least until the sizable man stepped out of the alley in front of him, sending him stumbling back in surprise. He was certainly large, wearing all of this leather gear, like the fags did on occasion around here. He also had a heavy chain in his hands, and from one end, hung a heavy metal collar. “Where do you think you’re going so quick, boy?” he asked with a grin.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble, alright? I’m just trying to find my t–” Zane said, only for the man to rush into him, wrap a gloved hand around his neck, and pin him to the brick wall behind him. He clawed at the man’s leather grip, but couldn’t get a finger loose. “Hmm…thought you’d be more fun, honestly. Rather boring. Still, I caught you fair and square–so that means you’re mine, doesn’t it?”

Then, it wasn’t the hand around his neck, but the heavy metal collar, and Zane soon discovered he was unable to disobey the man who held the other end of the chain. Right there on the misty sidewalk, he sucked the man off, and then was half dragged, half led, down the street, into Pigtown proper.

Zane never made it back to his car. He remained with his Master for a while, who trained him, and then released him back into the wilds of the streets. And then, it was time for a new hunt. Hopefully this one would give him a little bit of a challenge–these men thought they were so tough these days, but a little leather, a little metal, and they just melted in his hands, every time.

Precinct 27’s New Recruit

When Jordan heard that he was being assigned to Precinct 27 after graduating from the academy, a couple of other trainees pulled him aside and asked what he’d done to get that assignment. From their tone, he couldn’t quite tell if it was a curse or a blessing. When he asked why they seemed surprised, none of them would really give him any details. The only hard fact he could get out of any of them was that the precinct was on the edge of a chunk of the city which was generally called Pigtown, which was a rather unsavory locale, where it was best not to be caught after dark. Jordan, having grown up in the suburbs of the city, hadn’t heard of it, which only seemed to surprise the fellows more. In any case, none of them had been there, or if they had, they weren’t talking about it, so they moved on to other conversations. Jordan learned what they meany by unsavory, however, when he pulled into a parking garage not far from the precinct house, and stumbled upon two guys fucking near the elevator.

He froze. The fellows looked over at him, from the shadows, and one of them was so bold as to beckon him over. Jordan didn’t join them, and if he’d been on duty, he would have hauled them in for public indecency. Instead, a bit rattled, he retreated down to street level, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and found it hard to believe he was still in the same city he’d always thought he’d known. The ground and storefronts were grungy and dirty, the air choked with smoke and exhaust, the streets narrow and full of alleys that seemed to weave around in directions that made no sense. The men passing him on the sidewalk (and it was only men, he realized after a few minutes) were all dressed in leather, denim, rubber, work gear, none of it clean, and some of it rather suggestive, but not as suggestive as what they catcalled him with as he passed by. 

He found his way to the precinct eventually, nearly getting lost in the process. He was certain, somehow, that the streets were moving around him, but that couldn’t be possible, right? In any case, he got there on time, climbed the steps and stepped inside, eager to find somewhere normal after such a strange start to his day, but he quickly discovered that there was a reason precinct 27 had…a reputation with the rest of the cops in the city. 

The building seemed tired. Whether it was because it was simply old, just uncared for, or something else, he couldn’t tell. The tiles of the floor were peeling up and scuffed. The walls had any number of stains on them. The chairs were falling apart, the officer manning the desk had his boots up on the desk in front of him, and he was flipping through a magazine that, Jordan realized as he came closer, looked to be a vintage gay porno rag. He cleared his throat, giving the officer the chance to put the magazine away, but he just looked over the top of it. “What’s up?” he said.

“Uh, hi. My name is Jordan Bethell, I’m a new recruit assigned here? I’m supposed to have a meeting with the commander today at ten.”

The man leered at him. Jordan had never really known what a leer was, until the moment this officer’s nose and lips turned up, upon the news that the precinct had a new recruit. “Sure thing man. His office is on the third floor. Elevator’s broke though, gonna have to climb,” the officer said, pointing to the stairs.

“They gonna fix it soon?”

The man just laughed, and returned to his magazine, groping the crotch of his uniform openly as he reached the centerfold. Jordan backed away, confused, and took the stairs up. He’d be sure to mention the officer’s rather inappropriate behavior when he spoke to the commander. The higher he climbed in the building, the hotter it became, adding ten, then maybe fifteen degrees of heat, despite it being a rather cool Spring day outside. He passed a few officers on the way up, and each of them were walking uniform violations–beards on almost all of them past regulation length, some men who were quite a bit too fat to pass the physical exam, illegal modifications to their uniforms–and he was certain that one of them smelled like alcohol as he passed, and another stank of piss. What kind of operation was the commander running here? He had met a few captains and commanders while he was at the academy, and all of them had seemed rather rigid and sticklers when it came to the rules of how an officer ought to present themselves. Whoever was leading this place–if this is what he let his officers get away with, how could he expect them to look up to him as a leader?

At the top floor, the temperature in the building had to be eighty degrees, and Jordan was already sweating through his undershirt and out onto the crisp, clean button down he’d worn, since he didn’t have his official uniform to change into yet. Those were stored at the precinct, and given to recruits when they arrived. He turned the corner at the top of the stairs, and at the end of the hall, he saw one officer had shoved another up against the wall, and was…making out with him? The other one had his hand down the other officer’s pants and was stroking the man’s cock, making him moan. “What…what the fuck are you two doing?” Jordan asked.

Both officers turned to him, surprised and annoyed at having been interrupted. “Who the fuck are you, askin’?” the larger one asked. He was big, one of the larger men that Jordan had ever seen, and he stalked towards him, footfalls reverberating through the floor, and Jordan stepped backwards, only to stumble into someone else. The officer stopped, stood up straight, and saluted, “Commander,” he said, and the other officer behind him pushed off the wall and saluted as well, “I was just inquiring as to what this…civilian was doing in our precinct.”

“I believe this civilian is Jordan Bethell, our new recruit out of the academy,” the voice behind him said. Jordan turned around, and found himself looking up at Commander Rumwell. He was a few inches taller than Jordan was, his body thickly packed with muscle. Unlike the other officers he’d seen, his uniform was at least worn as it ought to be, but that didn’t stop the older fellow’s musk from forming a thick cloud around him in the heat. Jordan’s nose wrinkled at the smell–it reminded him of the days back in high school after football practice, the air full of sex and hormones and sweat. He shuddered a bit, but wasn’t quite sure why. “We have a meeting, don’t we Jordan? Thank you for your promptness,” the commander said.

The other two officers backed off, and Jordan followed Rumwell down the hall to his office. Somehow, it was even hotter in there, but Jordan didn’t understand how that could be possible. He loosened the tie he’d added to his ensemble, hoping to appear more professional, but now he just felt silly somehow. “Thank you, Sir,” Jordan said once the door was closed behind them. “I walked in on those two making out in the hallway! I…and the man at the reception desk was reading a porno mag. A gay one, I think.”

“Oh yes, Lark and Willis are partners, they usually don’t make it without fucking in the hall until around noon, and Jimmy at the desk pretty much always has his nose in a rag like that. He gets them at an old shop around the corner. I’m surprised you didn’t walk in on him with his cock out–happens more often than you might think.”

“You…you can’t be serious,” Jordan said, and tugged at the collar on his shirt. “Is…the air conditioning broken, or something?”

“Yeah, very broken,” Rumwell said, “I can turn on my fan, if you want.”

Jordan nodded. The older man turned around, twisted the knob on the back of the fan he had sitting behind him, and air started flowing. It didn’t make anything that much cooler, and the air had to pass by the commander before it reached Jordan, which meant that it stank of the man’s musk. It’s not that it was particularly rank–it was…Jordan had a hard time describing it exactly. Rugged? Masculine? Powerful? He shook his head and shuddered again, trying to keep his composure. 

“Precinct 27 is…a special case, in the city,” Rumwell was saying, and Jordan struggled to recall what had started the monologue. “This is all classified, and does not leave this precinct. There is a bar, about ten to fifteen blocks west of here, depending on how you walk there, called Pigtown. It has always had a certain…reputation, but as of late, that reputation has become…an aura. Or a zone, perhaps. There’s a perimeter around the bar that, well, it has an effect on people. On men, especially. This precinct is charged specifically with trying to contain and understand this influence, so we can stop it from spreading further. Not many recruits from the academy have the stones to make it here, you know, but I think you’ll do fine once you’re a little seasoned. I selected you in part because your instructors took note of your determination and grit–and also because you’re a rather handsome young man, if I do say so myself.”

“E-Excuse me?” Jordan said, his words a bit slurred. He felt…high, almost. He wasn’t quite sure what was wrong with him, and figured it had to be heat exhaustion. “Do…do you have something to drink? I’m feeling a bit dizzy. From the heat.”

“Are you sure it’s from the heat?” Rumwell asked him and chuckled, a deep chuckle that made Jordan’s heart jump a bit for reasons he didn’t quite want to explore too deeply. He dug a water bottle out from his desk and tossed it to Jordan. He guzzled it, but it didn’t help his head clear much. “Anyway, this precinct and the bar have…an agreement. We enforce the perimeter, and do our best to keep everything on the inside, in, and everything on the outside, out. Nice, and separate. We have our place, in here, and they have their place, out there.”

“Wait, in? Aren’t we…out?”

“Oh no, the perimeter is at 134th street–we’re a good five blocks inside here.”

Wait, it’s…how big is it?”

“Too big, perhaps. This far out, it’s  noticeable, but the further in you go, especially at night…well, you’ll see in good time. No reason to send you running away screaming on your first day. Around here we have a little more lewd conduct on the street than other places in the city, and the only folks who live around here tend to be men, but beyond that, nothing too out of the ordinary, especially during the daytime.”

“I saw some guys fucking in the parking garage…”

“Yeah, like that.”

“I…this…I don’t understand, what are we doing here?”

“It’s a lot to take in, and it looks like you’re having trouble focusing, Jordan,” Runwell said, put his arms back behind his head, and the smell of his musk intensified. Jordan moaned, and realized his cock was tenting the front of his pants. “Seems like your commander’s scent has you all riled up. Don’t fight it–no one around here can resist it. That’s why I’m in charge, you see. That’s why all of the men here, including you, have to obey everything I tell them to do.”

“I…I don’t understand…”

“That’s ok. Recruits like you, if I told you everything right away, well, your heads would probably explode. But that’s ok. You’re kind of tired of listening to an old man like me prattle on and on, aren’t you? Isn’t there something else you’d rather do?” The commander stood up from his chair, and Jordan gaped at him. Six foot five, massive frame packed into a uniform a little too small for him, pit stains under his arms, a thick beard growing out of his face down to the collar of his shirt, a firm muscle gut pushing out, and the bulge of his cock and balls under that. Jordan realized he was staring, but he also couldn’t quite bring himself to pull his eyes away. Would that bulge smell different from his pits? How would his ass smell, he wondered? He shook his head, and managed to push out of his chair.

“This…it’s a trap,” he said, but he couldn’t quite manage to walk to the door, something was…keeping him there, a voice, maybe. A desire. An urge.

“It’s not…not a trap. I really did choose you because I knew you would be able to take it. The work here requires a…certain kind of man. You aren’t quite there yet, but give it a few months around the rest of your brothers here, and you’ll be one fine fuckin’ specimen, I can fucking tell. Yeah, look at you, all clean shaven, short hair, lean frame…but fuck, we’ll make a damn fine man out of you. Isn’t that what you want? For me to make a man out of you?”

Jordan tried to go for the door, stumbled, and fell to the floor on his hands and knees. Before he could crawl, Rumwell stood beside him and rolled him over with one boot, when he was on his back, planted it on his chest. Jordan tried to push him off, but whatever it was that was in the commander’s musk, he just felt weak. He couldn’t oppose this man. He couldn’t fight him. And if he couldn’t do those things, what could he do?

He could submit.

The idea popped into his head a little too readily for him to trust it, as much as he wanted to. He struggled anyway, even knowing that there was nothing he could do. Sensing resistance, Rumwell moved the boot, planting it on Jordan’s neck, applying just enough pressure to make breathing difficult, and Jordan froze.

“Bitchell–you don’t mind that I call you that,” the commander said. It was stated as a fact, not as a question. “Bitchell, you’re going to have to learn here that, as a recruit, you are on the bottom of the totem pole. The harder you fight, the worse you’ll make it for yourself, and the more likely it is that you’ll find yourself dragged away down some alley in the middle of the night, and when you come crawling back out–if you come crawling back out–you will not be the same man that you were when you were taken. Obedience is what protects you. If you obey me, if you only obey me, then you will always come back to me, because that is where men like you belong, do you understand?”

Jordan nodded as best he could with the boot on his throat.

“Now, I am going to remove my boot, place it on the floor, and you will lick it. Then, I will remove my boots, and you will worship my feet–you will do this not because you want to, but because as your superior, in every way, you must obey me.”

Rumwell pulled his boot away, and Jordan did everything he could to push back against the man’s musk and command, and bolt for the door. He managed to roll over onto his belly, but before he could push himself up to run, he crawled over to the boot and started licking at the leather. All the while, he was stuck in his head, screaming at himself to run, but it was like all control of his body had been severed away from him. His mind was reeling still, his vision swirling from the smell of leather and musk and the heat. Rumwell smirked, and then walked back to his desk. Jordan followed, trying to lick the boot as he walked, until the commander sat back down in his chair and put his booted feet up on his desk. “Take off your clothes, including your underwear, then take off my boots and socks and worship my feet, recruit.”

Jordan did as he was ordered, stripping off his tie, shirts and slacks until he was naked and sweaty in the commander’s office, horrifically embarrassed to find himself completely naked before the uniformed older man in front of him. He pulled off one of Rumwell’s boots, and the smell that struck him was even stronger than the general musk of the room, and much to his own disgust, he almost craved it. Not…the smell itself, exactly. He craved…he craved the pure manliness of it. He wanted to drink it down. He wanted it to pour out of him as well. He pulled off the other boot and sock, faster now, and then got down and started licking the commanders size seventeen feet clean, shoving his nose between his toes, snorting up the scent, taking in as much of it as he could.

“That’s a good recruit, get as much of that in you as you can. I had a feeling you’d have good instincts. You want it, don’t you? You might not understand why yet, but fuck, you want it. I can see it, I can tell–there’s no use trying to hide it. Go on, enjoy it. Relish it. Take it all in.”

Jordan didn’t know how long he was there in front of the desk, cleaning the commander’s feet, but when he finally took them away and pulled his socks and boots back on, Jordan collapsed back in the chair, looked at the clock, and saw that an hour and a half had passed since the start of their meeting. “I…What the fuck are you doing to me?” he said.

“Heh, that was just the introduction, recruit. Get up and follow me. Leave your clothes here–you won’t be needing them again. We’ll get you into the recruit uniform for now.”

“I…won’t…everyone see me?”

“You aren’t a very quick learner, are you?” the commander said, “Get out there–locker room is on the ground floor.”

The commander marched him down the stairs, past a few officers who catcalled and whistled at him as they passed, making Jordan’s face burn in humiliation. But as he walked, he was certain that something about him was off. He didn’t quite know what it was, exactly–like he was a little thicker, or a little hairier, his dick a bit bigger–it was rock hard despite how horrified he was by this entire scene. The officers that passed them went and told the rest of the shift that there was a new recruit about to be broken in, and a mob of officers followed them into the locker room, surrounding Jordan, making him feel even more self-conscious. 

“Now, recruits tend to wash out here pretty regularly. They run out into the streets, and when we find them again, they usually aren’t very interested in being officers any longer. We started saving time keeping just one recruit at a time, and you all get the same uniform. I always tell the guy who had it last to wash it, but they never do, for some reason,” Rumwell said, opened up a locker, and pulled out a grungy looking uniform stuck to a hanger. The commander pulled it off, and it was…crispy. He brought over to Jordan, and he realized, from the smell, that the reason it was crispy was because it had been saturated with cum–and probably a bit of piss–and left to dry there in the locker. Once the pants were laid out, he saw that the ass of the pants had been ripped open, giving ready access to whoever’s ass might be underneath. His ass, soon enough, he supposed. 

“I…No fucking way am I putting that shit on,” Jordan said.

“Recruit, put on your uniform–that’s a fucking order,” Rumwell said, and watched the young man struggle to resist. There was no underwear of course, and no boots or socks. He pulled on the shirt, trying not to gag when he realized that some patches were still a little wet–apparently it had been worn more recently than he’d thought. The pants were next, and he had to use the belt that the commander handed him to cinch them up, because they were too small for him, the ankles pooling around his feet. The officers around him laughed, and all Jordan wanted to do was run away.

“Well men, this is our new recruit. For now, you all will address him as Bitchell, until he’s proven to us that he’d good for more than being the precinct’s bitch, right?”

Again, the men laughed and some advanced closer to him, a few with their cocks hanging out of the flies of their uniform pants. This has to be a dream, Jordan thought to himself. He didn’t know what to make of it, if it was, but it was better than this actually happening to him. He tried to shrink away, but the officers were coming from every side, and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

“Attention, Recruit!” Rumwell snapped at him, and Jordan immediately took the proper position. “Here are your orders. From now on, you will serve this precinct as our cumdump, urinal and bitch. You are not to leave the premises under any circumstances. A cell will be reserved for you below, where you will sleep when you are not on your shift. When you are working, you will service any officer who requires it. You will not refuse a request from an officer under any circumstance, no matter how much it might personally revolt you–but I have a feeling you’ll come around to our way of things soon enough,” the commander added, whispering that into Jordan’s ear.

With that, the men of the precinct descended upon him in the locker room, bending him over the length of the bench between the lockers. One officer took his mouth, another took his ass, and with that, Jordan lost his virginity to two sizable cocks at both ends. He tried to do something, anything, to get away, but his body refused to obey him again, and the smell of the men around him was so heady and intoxicating he wasn’t quite sure that he wanted to leave. The men didn’t last long. Some waited until they could have a turn at either end, while others were too excited and simply shot their loads all over the back of Bitchell’s uniform, as they all called him now. After an hour or so of constant sex, with his hole pulsing and his jaw aching, he was finally done, and just stayed on the bench for a few minutes, shuddering, feeling the cum ooze out of his ass, drain down between his thighs and pool in the crotch of his pants. 

He pushed himself up, and found that he wasn’t alone. The commander was still there, standing against the lockers, admiring the sight of the new recruit plastered with his men’s cum, and a few loads of piss to go with it. “Fuck, you’re gonna be a handsome pig once we’re done with you, I can already fucking tell,” Rumwell said, “I knew it from the first time I saw you in the yard that day, that I had to have you.”

“Please Sir, please…I…just let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I…please…” Jordan said, crawling over to where the commander was standing and kissing his boots.

“Are you sure you want to leave, recruit? Get up, I want to show you something.”

He got down and hauled Jordan up off the floor, and helped him over to the mirror at the end of a bank of lockers. There, Jordan got his first good look at himself since putting on the disgusting uniform…and he was appalled. There was cum all over his face and hair–but then he saw something else that hadn’t been there earlier. He had a five o’clock shadow. He never had a shadow like that. Hell, he generally didn’t have to shave his beard more than a few days a week, because he didn’t grow that much. He opened up the shirt, and saw that the same thing had happened across his chest and belly, a thicker trail of hair had appeared than there’d been before. There was something else too, but harder to pinpoint. He smelled different. At first he thought he was just smelling all of the cum that was on him, but it was more than that. He’d never had much of a musk before this, but he could really smell himself, and…and he liked it. 

“Look at you, already growing into a proper man. Probably won’t even have to have you in the recruit uniform for very long, if you work hard and bulk up quick, and show that I can trust you to be good and obedient. You like being obedient, don’t you? It feels good to obey men like me. The better you obey me, the sooner you’ll be a man just like me. You’d like that, wouldn’t you recruit?”

He came closer and licked the side of Jordan’s face, one hand groping his cock and balls through the front of the crispy uniform–only the crotch wasn’t so crispy anymore. Some of that was because of the cum that had drooled out of his ass, but he realized he’d been leaking this entire time into the front as well. “Please, I…” Jordan managed to say, but then the commander pulled him into a kiss, forcing his tongue into his mouth, invading it, dominating it, and Jordan just…relented, as the commander’s other hand slid behind him, found his well used hole, and slid a finger inside it.

The commander pulled away, and put his lips to Jordan’s ear again. “It feels good, doesn’t it? Getting fucked by men feels good. It feels good to service them. The more you service them, the faster you’ll stop being a bitch, and grow into a real man like them too. You want to be a real man, don’t you? You don’t want to be a bitchy little recruit forever, do you?”

“No, Sir.”

“No–you want to grow big, and strong, and hairy, and musky like a real man, don’t you?”

“Fuck…fuck Sir, I…I do Sir.”

“Do you want me to fuck you Bitchell? Do you want me to pound that hole of yours, flood your guts with my seed? Do you want me to make you even hairier, and bigger, and smellier than you already are? Do you want to become a proper pig like the rest of my men here? You do, don’t you?”

“Please Sir, please fuck me…” Jordan moaned.

“You fucking bitch slut, if you insist.”

The commander pushed him over in front of the mirror, lined up his cock, and pushed inside Jordan’s hole, sliding right in up to the hilt. His cock wasn’t the longest, but it was the thickest, and the stretch of his hole made Jordan gasp and contract. “Don’t fight it bitch, you need this. You want this load. You want every load this bitch hole can take, isn’t that right? If you don’t, you aren’t going to be man enough to stay here. You’ll just wash out, and we’ll leave you out back for the freaks to come collect when night falls–that what you want? You want those pigs out there to drag you into the alley and do all sorts of unspeakable things to you?”

Jordan shook his head.

“Yeah, why would you want that, when we can do all those filthy, unspeakable things to you right here,” Rumwell said, and fucked him harder. He came, flooding Jordan’s guts with his load, and he could feel it, this time. The potency of the commander’s seed, the corrupted essence of it, Jordan looked at himself in the mirror, saw his shoulders widen, his pecs beef up, his waist expand enough that he needed to let the belt out a notch. Even his feet grew larger, and had a fine coating of hair on the surface. 

The commander pulled him close, making sure he got every last drop, and then led him downstairs to the jail. Most of the cells were empty, but the commander showed him to his new room, but left the door open. After all, the men needed easy access to the bitch. His first shift would start tonight–the night shift was always more active here in Pigtown, and a lot of the officers liked to blow off some steam before going out on patrol–it helped keep some of the temptations down. As the commander was leaving, Jordan asked, “Wait, what about my car? My stuff? I can’t…just stay here.”

“Don’t worry about that life anymore, Bitchell,” the commander said, “We’ll take care of you from now on. This is your home now–even when you aren’t the bitch anymore, you won’t want to be anywhere else. You’ll see. That’s the thing, really. In the end, Pigtown will claim us all. Until then, well, someone has to keep order around here.”

With that, the commander left. Jordan thought about trying to escape, but he was exhausted. He curled up on the cot, still in his uniform, and passed out. It wasn’t until around nine at night that someone shook him awake, and shoved a dick in his mouth. The night shift was here, and Jordan’s time as the precinct’s newest recruit had begun.


Those first few months were hard, as Jordan adapted to his new role in life as the precinct’s bitch. Nothing worked the way it ought to. He felt like he was trapped in some sick and twisted gay porno–all the actors were wearing cop uniforms, but none of them were actually cops, no matter what they might look like or say. Except, they were. It was all confusing, and he struggled to keep his footing, just trying to take things as they came, rather than sort the whole mess out all at once. One thing was certain, and that was that the night shift at the precinct was much more active than the day shift. It was populated with a different sort of officer as well–younger, bigger men, all of them forming a stern and tight knit community. They didn’t talk to Bitchell much or engage with him as a fellow officer–it was clear that they didn’t see him as an equal, but merely as a tool. They would go out on their patrols, but who they returned with, if they had to make an arrest, shocked him at first, and one thing the officers always told him, was to stay away from the other cells in the block when they were occupied–best, in fact, to avoid the jail altogether during the night. He had plenty to keep him busy in the rest of the precinct anyway. After their patrols, the officers were usually so horned up and desperate, they either fucked each other right there over the desks or up against the wall, or if no one else was available, they’d use Bitchell. 

Once the night shift ended around dawn, Jordan would go down to the jail, once one of the officers had given him the allclear, and find that all of the men that the officers had dragged in over the course of the night had disappeared from their cells–he’d never see them leave the building in other ways, and there was no other way out of the jail that he had seen yet. It was like the perverts, the leather beasts, the rubber pigs, all of them just evaporated with the morning sun. The one exception, on occasion, would be a rather bewildered businessman waking up with a massive hangover, possibly someone that an officer had dragged in to keep them from going too deep. One thing was clear–if you went too deep, you weren’t going to come out the same person again. Even just skipping across the surface, you’d slip under eventually. He saw a few of these businessmen reappear in the cells as the months passed by, the cops doing their best to convince them to stay away, but the place had its hooks in them, the suits giving way to leather and rubber, tattoos appearing across their bodies, begging the officers for abuse–and some of the cops even gave it to them, if they begged enough. Then, they wouldn’t show up again, or if they were showing up, they were disappearing with the morning, like the rest of them.

Once the cells were empty, Jordan would collapse and sleep in his own cot for six or seven hours, until the day shift had gotten in and was ramping up. Then, Jordan would wake up (or be woken up, if one of the officers was particularly desperate) and he’d spend the afternoon and evening servicing them. The day crew was generally older, chubbier, and looked a little more ragged around the edges both physically and mentally. There was more laughter he supposed, but less camaraderie. None of them remained in the building after sunset, and on a few occasions, he heard them talking about the nights, about their time on the night shift–work that none of them could do anymore, not after what they’d seen, what they’d done, or what had grabbed them in an alleyway during a patrol and done to them. They were scared, he realized. Scared of Pigtown, to some extent, but more terrified of themselves, of what would happen to them when their resolve failed, when they decided to stay out one night, and just relent, at last. But until then, they had each other, and that was enough, even as that fear also held them apart. They processed the paperwork left by the night crew, took note of which apparitions seemed to be active or growing stronger and what could be done about that, and they would leave their advice and suggestions for the night shift, sometimes heeded, and other times balled up with a laugh and chucked against the wall.

But Jordan didn’t understand what they were doing here. When he had the occasional opportunity, he would make his way up to the commander’s office and try and get a straight answer out of him, but for the most part, Commander Rumwell wasn’t interested in giving him a clear answer. He would just tell Jordan to focus on his training–that he’d understand in time. As for his training, it felt like a cruel joke to Jordan. Mostly, his training meant crawling from officer to officer, servicing them in whatever sick way they preferred, and then doing it all over again with the next one. In the bathroom (where Jordan tried not to remain for too long, if he didn’t want to spend a few hours doing urinal service exclusively) he’d look at himself in the mirror, and every day, he looked at a different version of himself. Hairier, more muscular, fatter, taller, shorter, older, strong, weak, filthy, tattoos, piercings, shaved head, shaggy mop, long beard goatee–it wasn’t long before he couldn’t even really remember who he’d been to begin with, that bright eyed, clean cut, young man was gone for good. Not too long after that, he lost his last name–he just couldn’t remember it. All that would come to him was Bitchell. He clung to Jordan for a while after that, but lost it one night, when he made his first proper mistake.

It had been a crazy night at the precinct, which meant that for Bitchell, it had been relatively boring. When most of the officers were out on patrol, or dealing with the men they’d arrested, that usually meant that Jordan was stuck in the office, bored out of his mind and working out in the small gym next to the locker room, waiting for someone to come and need one of his holes. It wasn’t dawn yet, but most of the officers had left, tired and ragged, and so Jordan, without thinking about the fact it was still an hour or so until dawn, descended down into the jail, and found one of the cells was still occupied.

The officers usually took care to make sure that Jordan didn’t get a good look at the men they brought in (he thought of them as men, still, though the officers generally called them beasts, apparitions, or monsters) but Jordan had always assumed they were at least human. They had to be human, didn’t they? Downstairs, Jordan had his first proper encounter with one of the apparitions of pigtown, men who had been swallowed up by the bar at some point, then spit back out as something else and now they roamed the streets, their single purpose now to corrupt others. This one had no flesh visible, just a pile of grimy rubber gear heaped around him, but whether he was wearing it, or whether it was simply stuck to him, it wasn’t clear. Each time it turned its head, another face appeared on the rubber mask it had on, always facing him: a pig, a gimp, a demon–so many so quickly, that all he could do was stare at it, and step closer, and closer to see, to feel it. The next thing he knew, the officers had him by the shoulders and hips, dragging him back, the sensation of the rubber coming unstuck from his face, where the thing had latched onto him–something between a kiss and a sucker–and all he could do was try to get back down there. The other officers spent the next few hours with him in the locker room, shoving their own musk in his face, dominating him, fucking him, but it took the commander coming in and brutally fucking him, to finally break the things hold on him properly. When he was back to himself, back to Bitchell, the rubber beast was just a memory now–faint, but powerful, and he asked what had happened, none of them could come up with an answer that satisfied him.

He came away relatively unscathed–but he did lose his first name–it had just been pulled right from his mind by the beast’s sucking rubber. If that rubber thing had kept a grip on him, what else could he have lost, and how quickly? Bitchell looked at the night shift with more respect after that. They could have abandoned him to that thing, the apparitions were always easier to wrangle after a snack, but they’d saved him. It was the first time that Bitchell felt like he belonged there, and he minded them and their orders more carefully in the future.

As the weeks became months, Bitchell’s body began to shift less from day to day, and was beginning to solidify into something he could at least recognize as a person. He hadn’t grown much older, at least. Some of the times he’d looked at himself in the mirror he’d seemed older than half the officers at the precinct. There was a thick beard coating his face, about an inch long. It never seemed to get longer, oddly enough, but it would get thicker and bushier. His face was more angular, brow heavier. His eyes were no longer blue, but instead a dark grey. The rest of his body was filling out the recruit’s uniform he’d been given rather well. Where before everything had been relatively baggy on him, on some days it now felt too tight. The belt was on the last notch, when he could even manage to get it fastened, the buttons across his chest were threatening to pop free, and he could fell the fabric stretched tight across his thighs, biceps, and hips. The officers had pitied him after a month and thrown him some boots–they’d been size sixteen, and now his toes cramped up in them after a day.

There were other changes as well. While he found himself still bound to obey the other officers, and especially the commander, the compulsion no longer seemed as strong. Lying on his cot in his cell in the mornings, while he listened to the activity above him, he wondered if it was because the commands were losing force because he was stronger, or whether it was simply because he wanted this. Did he want this? He hadn’t seen the outside world in so long now, he wasn’t entirely sure that it existed. There was just the constancy of his service, wallowing in the musk and the fucking and the piss and the debauchery of his precinct. Wasn’t he enjoying himself? He struggled to remember the academy, what he’d learned there, but none of it seemed to matter anymore. The men of precinct 27 carried their guns, but they were largely worthless. They couldn’t keep you safe from Pigtown. It was the strength of your will that saved you, not a bullet. Was he getting stronger though? Is that why he was thinking…all of these new thoughts? Having all of these dreams?

His sleep had been filled with visions lately, fantasies of storming through the precinct house, bigger than he is now, roaring, pinning down the officers one by one and fucking the daylights out of them, culminating with the commander in his office, but he always woke up before they came to blows. The dreams terrified and thrilled him, and more than once, he’d filled the front of his stained breeches with a load or several even before waking up and climbing from the jail to assume his duties. 

Then one day, he lost it. It had been Hopkins of course–that fucker was always taunting him, from his first week at the precinct. Hopkins, Bitchell had managed to deduce, had been a stellar cop at a central precinct, aiming for a promotion, before he’d been transferred here as a way to get rid of him for some failure Bitchell hadn’t deduced yet. The commander almost never took experienced cops–they simply didn’t understand what they were getting into. Hopkins had disregarded all of the commanders warnings, gotten in over his head within the first month, with several cops having to drag him back to the precinct just to keep from losing him entirely. Now, he was dayshift only, and Bitchell had heard that he got up to some rather…freaky shit when he wasn’t here. He took a lot of his rage out on Bitchell because he was an easy target–at least until Bitchell had had enough, and with a snarl, thrown Hopkins to the floor, tore out the rear of his pants, and mounted him right there in the middle of the office. 

The rest of the officers had just laughed and watched–there was no real love for Hopkins at the station. They all knew that one day, he just wouldn’t show up, and he’d be just another one of the freaks out there. Hopkins knew it too, and that terrified him more than anything. By the time Bitchell was through with him, he was begging for more, begging him to fuck him harder, and only when Bitchell pulled his cock out, and Hopkins looked around him, did he realize what had happened. He fled the station, and Bitchell was summoned to the commander’s office. He’d expected to be reprimanded, but instead, he was told that he was being promoted, and to get out of that filthy uniform. He was so thrilled, and so thankful, he stripped down and bent over the desk, allowing the commander full use of his ass, and then he received his first civilian clothes in ages, and that afternoon, he left the precinct for the first time in nearly nine months. The sunlight on his skin, even just in the evening, sent a shudder down his spine, and he cried a little. Gunner, the other officer he was with who had offered him a spare room in his place, just held him for a moment, and let him use his shoulder. “You’re alright, brother,” Gunner said, “I know it sucks, but its fuckin’ necessary. Come on, let’s get a meal in you, and then get home.”

They got there as twilight was ending, and already, the denizens of Pigtown were out in force, selling their wares, or just tempting the unsuspecting men travelling through for a little fun in an alley. Gunner showed Bitchell into his apartment–a cozy and rather rundown two bedroom flat, but after sleeping in a prison cell for most of a year, it was heaven. Gunner had made up the second bed, as an offer, but he wasn’t surprised when Bitchell climbed into bed with him, nuzzled up to him, but he was asleep before the two of them could get past foreplay. Bitchell wasn’t sure whether he should be embarrassed or apologetic the next morning, but Gunner got down, blew him, then fucked him, and that was enough to explain that there was nothing to feel bad about. Back at the precinct, he received his new uniform–and it really was a new uniform, much to his surprise. He pulled it on, and found that he missed the smell of his old one–he’d felt…surrounded, in it, by everyone at the station. Now, it was just him–his own musk, warped and twisted by the men around him, sure, but it was still him. Lastly, he received his badge, but where he’d half expected to see the name Bitchell written there, instead, he saw the name Bulldog. “I think it’ll suit you, soon enough,” Rumwell told him with a wink, and with that, he was officially a full-fledged officer of precinct 27.

He trained with the day shift at first, as they explained what to expect outside the walls of the precinct, and what their job was. They had two tasks, really. Protect the folks outside of the zone, and do their best to keep them out. This was what the day shift did, primarily, policed the space between and tried to keep everyone on their proper sides. This was the best they could do to keep Pigtown from getting any larger than it already was. Over the years, they’d learned that the more men that congregated there, the stronger the power at the center became, and while they knew the deal would hold between them and the owner of the bar, they were sure that, as soon as the opportunity arrived to overwhelm them, the owner would do so without hesitation. The second task was the night–dealing with the rogue agents of Pigtown–the apparitions, the beasts, the monsters–whatever you wanted to call them. He wasn’t ready for that yet, but he would be soon. For now, he was partnered up with Gunner, who worked both shifts off and on, and kept sleeping at his place for the time being. Together they walked the streets, did their best to steer folks away using whatever means necessary, and gathered what intel they could from the men, in exchange for a load of cum or piss, usually. 

Then, after about six months there, he was transferred–the commander thought he was ready for the night shift. The crew that greeted him was familiar to him, but now, instead of keeping him at arm’s length, they welcomed him into the fold as a fellow officer. After all, the night was different from the day. Out in the maze of the night, the only folks they could rely on were each other. It was night when the apparitions came out. None of them knew for certain what they were, if they’d been men before this, if they were men during the day, if there were something else entirely, some tendril of power coming from the bar itself. The only thing they knew, was that the stronger they got, the harder they would be to fight. So they captured and tamed them, as best they could, worked to uncover their weaknesses, or at least tried to keep them confined to the inner segments of the neighborhood. Those first few nights were unlike anything Bulldog had ever witnessed, and when they got back to the precinct house, he tore open another officer’s clothes and fucked him there in the entryway–the other officers pulling him off, calming him down, but all of them were so caught up in it, it wasn’t long before an orgy had broken out around the office. When a new recruit appeared in the jail one night, Bulldog realized how necessary his own role had been–the more he could fuck here without distracting another officer, the clearer his head could be out there without impeding their mission.

He proved himself many times over the next few years, dragging a few of his fellow officers back from the brink, and surviving more than a few encounters with apparitions that should have been the end of him, but which he scraped free from with just his wits and sheer force of will. The only weakness he had was rubber. More than once he’d seen that apparition from the cell when he’d been a recruit, just watching him. Perhaps, one day, when he finally fell, it would be at the hands of that thing, everything sucked from him, until he was just a pile of rubber, just another face in the mask–but not tonight. Not for a long, long time, if he had anything to say about it. 

Officers came and went. Hopkins never came into work about a year after their encounter in the office. Not too long after that, a couple of officers found him in a rather sleazy den, the property of a leather clad pimp. Hopkins was decked out in a rubber cop uniform with a zipper up the ass, his hole drooling cum and lube, his mind already gone for the most part. They did their due diligence and tried to get him to return with them–a brother is a brother, after all–but he no longer remembered anything before his service with his new master, and so they left him. He was happier now, in any case, right? New cops came, usually three or four a year, barely enough to replace the ones they lost. Only a few came up from the academy–most of the others ended up in precinct 27 because they pissed off someone more important than they were, and they needed to disappear. Usually they did, but the rare one, who listened to Bulldog and the others, managed to stay relatively sane and become a proper brother. 

Bulldog and Gunner had something like a relationship, but neither of them could really explain what it was between them. A shared tragedy, mostly. Gunner had been the recruit before him, raised up to a proper officer just a week before Bulldog had arrived. They had seen everything together, and no one else could really understand them, other than the commander, perhaps. Bulldog kept meaning to move out and find his own place, but being alone no longer felt right. They were safer together, in the end, even off duty, even if commitment seemed dangerous and terrifying. Would that make them a target? Could he bear to lose him one day? Could he resist him, if he had to? It was better not to worry about it, to take the shelter where he could find it. Happiness was fleeting, and that made it all the more important to hold onto, wherever you could find it.

Slowly, he found himself not just a brother, but a leader. The other officers started asking him for his advice, and more often, he was the one leading their incursions into Pigtown, tracking down the troubling apparitions and finding ways to drain at least a bit of their power and keep their city safe for a little longer. It was a losing battle–Pigtown would creep larger, pulling in a few more blocks each year. The further out you went, the less you felt it, but it was there. At the same time, Bulldog knew he’d never be able to leave. It was home, now. A part of him. He wondered, at times, what it would be like, if Pigtown were…everywhere. He tried not to listen to the part that seemed thrilled by the prospect. They wouldn’t have to fight it anymore. They could just…give in. Fuck. Night would go on forever then, they would never have to go to bed, they’d never have to wake up. It would be hell, it would be paradise. But his conscience wouldn’t allow it. He had to be a force for order. He had to, if he was going to live with himself.

He was surprised when, a couple months shy of his five year anniversary at the precinct, Commander Rumwell invited him to his home for dinner. It wasn’t the first time he’d been to the commander’s townhouse, but it was the first time he’d been invited alone. Unsure of what to expect from the older man, he arrived looking as sharp as he could out of his uniform, as twilight was falling, and stepped inside.

“Evening Bulldog, good to see you,” Rumwell said, and pulled him into a hug and a short kiss. This close to the man, Bulldog felt that same flutter he always did when he smelled his commanding officer’s musk. No matter how many holes he fucked, no matter how much of a top he was, he knew he’d always bend over for Rumwell with just a word, no matter what. 

“Evening Sir, my pleasure,” Bulldog said, took off his leather jacket and hung it up, along with his cap. “I just wonder what the occasion is,” he added.

“What, I can’t have dinner with one of my most reliable and trusted officers at the precinct? I can’t congratulate him on the fine work he’s done over the last few years?”

“I mean, sure, but…” Bulldog wasn’t really sure what to say to that. There had to be more. It felt like there was more, between Rumwell’s words. 

Rumwell put an arm around his shoulder, and pulled him towards the kitchen. “Come on, let’s eat. We can discuss more over a cigar after, alright?”

The food was delightful–Bulldog had always been surprised that the commander was a decent cook. With Gunner, he mostly relied on takeout and a good workout regimen to keep the fat off as necessary. After they’d eaten their fill, they retired downstairs to the commander’s modest, but well supplied dungeon, stripped out of the rest of their clothes, and took a cigar each from the humidor. Even now, being naked with the commander made him feel so…vulnerable. He could almost remember a young kid, fresh out of the academy, a sweltering hot office, a scent he could barely even understand, a power he not only wanted to worship, but a power he desired himself, worshiping this burly, masculine, forceful man. But that felt like a lifetime away, now.

They chatted for a while about some cases that were ongoing, before they fell into a lull of silence, and Rumwell said. “The reason I’ve asked you over, Bulldog, is more than just to congratulate you on your work, though fine it is. I’m offering you a promotion. Precinct Captain. I trust you won’t refuse.”

Bulldog stared at him, a bit confused. The precinct didn’t have a captain. In fact, it didn’t really have rank at all–they were all just officers. Equals, aside from the commander, and whatever recruit they might have crawling around at the moment. “I…I guess I didn’t know there was a position for a captain available.”

“There usually isn’t. But I’ve been doing this for…nearly twenty years now. I have a few more left in me, but I know, one of these days, it will get me too. I’m…I’m ready, in some ways, but not yet. I needed someone that I knew would be able to handle this job when I’m gone–a proper successor. And I want that man to be you, Bulldog.”

“I–I mean…” Bulldog stammered, but in all honesty, he’d never allowed himself to think about a future where the commander wasn’t there. But if there was one thing he’d learned about Pigtown, it was that none of them would escape it, in the end. Not even he would. Not even Rumwell either.

“And more than that, as well,” Rumwell said, getting up and walking over to a cabinet, where he pulled out a uniform not unlike Bulldog’s own. But when the commander brought it close, and Bulldog smelled it…he moaned. It smelled like the commander, pure, delightful, pungent power, almost dripping from it. “I’ve been wearing this one for a few weeks at home, getting it ready for you, boy,” Rumwell whispered in his ear, “Look at the badge, too.”

Bulldog did, and saw that it was a captain’s badge–and the name on it was, “Bulldog Rumwell”. 

“I…I don’t understand…”

“I’ve always wanted a son, you know? Rumwell said, pulling Bulldog up from his chair and helping him get dressed in the uniform he’d prepared for him, “In this place of course, that’s out of the question, but…but I think this just might work. Wrap you up in my scent, seed that ass of yours, and maybe, if we believe enough, we can get what we both want, eh son?”

Bulldog shuddered at the word, and nodded, smelling his own scent from his body melding with the scent of the uniform, becoming something between them. He fell to his knees and pushed his face into his commanders–no, into his father’s crotch, inhaling his scent, licking at the head, sucking the web of pre that had already formed between the head of his cock and his low hanging balls. “Feed me Daddy,” he said, “Feed me your seed, and make me your son, your successor, please…”

He lost count of how many loads Rumwell fed him that night. It seemed that the magic of the place was suffusing them both, stretching out time, driving them to heights of arousal and perversion neither of them had experienced before. By morning, they were a tired, aching, heaving knot, Bulldog’s uniform discarded and crumpled off in a corner of the dungeon. Rumwell Sr. was snoring still, when Bulldog got up, thighs, and hole aching, and stumbled into the bathroom to take his morning piss, but froze in the mirror. 

His face–it was his face, almost. But the nose, the jaw, the auburn hair–there was no mistaking it, was there? He lifted up an arm and sniffed his ripe pit, and moaned in delight–he smelled like his dad, fuck! That same authority, that same masculinity was flooding the bathroom around him, and it was so hot he could barely contain himself. He tried to stroke off, his arm was too tired from the night before to finish the job, and he had to go back to his father lying on the floor, lick him clean, thank him for his gift, for his power, and Rumwell Sr. was so thrilled to have his son, that they spent the morning fucking as well.

Everyone at the precinct was nervous, when Bulldog and Rumwell showed up late. The commander was never late, after all, and never arrived to work…with anyone. But as soon as they caught a whiff of them both, they found themselves beginning to understand what had happened, and by the time Rumwell gathered them all in the office to announce the promotion of his son, Bulldog Rumwell, to the position of Precinct Captain, no one could object. Bulldog would oversee the night shift as their shift commander and report to Rumwell Sr., while the commander would continue to supervise the day shift, as he had been. 

Afterwards, the other officers came up to congratulate Bulldog, and to get a good sniff of him too–which Bulldog was more than happy to give them all. And when they were all drunk of his own powerful musk, he enjoyed ordering them all up against the wall so he could sample all of their holes with his cock–and whoever was the nicest fuck would get his load. His father looked on, proud of his boy and pleased to see how quickly he’d been able to assume control over the officers. He could rest a bit more easily now, knowing that when he was gone, there would be a leader here. And maybe, when Bulldog found the right man, the Rumwell legacy could continue. Someone had to keep the city safe, after all. Bulldog looked back at his father, and realized that this is what he’d always been looking for, when he’d decided to become an officer. A family, and a duty. And now that he had both, he would do whatever he could to protect it, until he too, fell under, until they all did, one day. But that was for the future. For now, he had holes to breed–it was time to put these pigs in their place, and show them who would be boss around here, soon enough.

A New Recruit at Precinct 27 (Sneak Peek)

Sorry for the long bout of silence! Things have been happening, mostly a lot of commissions, most of which are sizable (and some which are…not fit for public consumption). In any case, that should be changing soon, starting with a new story here. This is a Pigtown story, but it’s also not really about the bar this time around. A while back, riffing off a fellow who did some captions inspired by Pigtown on his tumblr, that turned it into more of a neighborhood, instead of just one bar, I did a little riff using the same idea in a couple of captions. I’ve used the idea in a few stories, but most are unfinished–but I’m pretty happy with this one, and thanks to the commissioner for the nice ideas and being willing to let me run with it! This is a sample of the story, I’ll post the full version publicly next week. If you want to read it sooner, you can find it on my Patreon, if you support me at the $5 level or higher.


When Jordan heard that he was being assigned to Precinct 27 after graduating from the academy, a couple of other trainees pulled him aside and asked what he’d done to get that assignment. From their tone, he couldn’t quite tell if it was a curse or a blessing. When he asked why they seemed surprised, none of them would really give him any details. The only hard fact he could get out of any of them was that the precinct was on the edge of a chunk of the city which was generally called Pigtown, which was a rather unsavory locale, where it was best not to be caught after dark. Jordan, having grown up in the suburbs of the city, hadn’t heard of it, which only seemed to surprise the fellows more. In any case, none of them had been there, or if they had, they weren’t talking about it, so they moved on to other conversation. Jordan learned what they meany by unsavory, however, when he pulled into a parking garage not far from the precinct house, and stumbled upon two guys fucking near the elevator.

He froze. The fellows looked over at him, from the shadows, and one of them was so bold as to beckon him over. Jordan didn’t join them, and if he’d been on duty, he would have hauled them in for public indecency. Instead, a bit rattled, he retreated down to street level, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and found it hard to believe he was still in the same city he’d always thought he’d known. The ground and storefronts were grungy and dirty, the air choked with smoke and exhaust, the streets narrow and full of alleys that seemed to weave around in directions that made no sense. The men passing him on the sidewalk (and it was only men, he realized after a few minutes) were all dressed in leather, denim, rubber, work gear, none of it clean, and some of it rather suggestive, but not as suggestive as what they catcalled him with as he passed by. 

He found his way to the precinct eventually, nearly getting lost in the process. He was certain, somehow, that the streets were moving around him, but that couldn’t be possible, right? In any case, he got there on time, climbed the steps and stepped inside, eager to find somewhere normal after such a strange start to his day, but he quickly discovered that there was a reason precinct 27 had…a reputation with the rest of the cops in the city. 

The building seemed tired. Whether it was because it was simply old, just uncared for, or something else, he couldn’t tell. The tiles of the floor were peeling up and scuffed. The walls had any number of stains on them. The chairs were falling apart, the officer manning the desk had his boots up on the desk in front of him, and he was flipping through a magazine that, Jordan realized as he came closer, looked to be a vintage gay porno rag. He cleared his throat, giving the officer the chance to put the magazine away, but he just looked over the top of it. “What’s up?” he said.

“Uh, hi. My name is Jordan Bethell, I’m a new recruit assigned here? I’m supposed to have a meeting with the commander today at ten.”

The man leered at him. Jordan had never really known what a leer was, until the moment this officer’s nose and lips turned up, upon the news that the precinct had a new recruit. “Sure thing man. His office is on the third floor. Elevator’s broke though, gonna have to climb,” the officer said, pointing to the stairs.

“They gonna fix it soon?”

The man just laughed, and returned to his magazine, groping the crotch of his uniform openly as he reached the centerfold. Jordan backed away, confused, and took the stairs up. He’d be sure to mention the officer’s rather inappropriate behavior when he spoke to the commander. The higher he climbed in the building, the hotter it became, adding ten, then maybe fifteen degrees of heat, despite it being a rather cool Spring day outside. He passed a few officers on the way up, and each of them were walking uniform violations–beards on almost all of them past regulation length, some men who were quite a bit too fat to pass the physical exam, illegal modifications to their uniforms–and he was certain that one of them smelled like alcohol as he passed, and another stank of piss. What kind of operation was the commander running here? He had met a few captains and commanders while he was at the academy, and all of them had seemed rather rigid and sticklers when it came to the rules of how an officer ought to present themselves. Whoever was leading this place–if this is what he let his officers get away with, how could he expect them to look up to him as a leader?

At the top floor, the temperature in the building had to be eighty degrees, and Jordan was already sweating through his undershirt and out onto the crisp, clean button down he’d worn, since he didn’t have his official uniform to change into yet. Those were stored at the precinct, and given to recruits when they arrived. He turned the corner at the top of the stairs, and at the end of the hall, he saw one officer had shoved another up against the wall, and was…making out with him? The other one had his hand down the other officer’s pants and was stroking the man’s cock, making him moan. “What…what the fuck are you two doing?” Jordan asked.

Both officers turned to him, surprised and annoyed at having been interrupted. “Who the fuck are you, askin’?” the larger one asked. He was big, one of the larger men that Jordan had ever seen, and he stalked towards him, footfalls reverberating through the floor, and Jordan stepped backwards, only to stumble into someone else. The officer stopped, stood up straight, and saluted, “Commander,” he said, and the other officer behind him pushed off the wall and saluted as well, “I was just inquiring as to what this…civilian was doing in our precinct.”

“I believe this civilian is Jordan Bethell, our new recruit out of the academy,” the voice behind him said. Jordan turned around, and found himself looking up at Commander Rumwell. He was a few inches taller than Jordan was, his body thickly packed with muscle. Unlike the other officers he’d seen, his uniform was at least worn as it ought to be, but that didn’t stop the older fellow’s musk from forming a thick cloud around him in the heat. Jordan’s nose wrinkled at the smell–it reminded him of the days back in high school after football practice, the air full of sex and hormones and sweat. He shuddered a bit, but wasn’t quite sure why. “We have a meeting, don’t we Jordan? Thank you for your promptness,” the commander said.


Want to read more? You can wait until I post it for everyone, or sign up at my Patreon, and get access now!

Pigtown Provides: Episode 1 (Part 2)

Carter woke up in bed. His bed–the same bed he was always in, the bed in his father’s house where he’d been sleeping since he was a kid. He…held out hope, every time, that it might be somewhere else–that…he might be someone else, but apparently not yet. That’s what a lot of people didn’t understand about the place, he supposed–or what they wouldn’t understand about it. What people like his dad wouldn’t be able to understand. Normal people. People who were happy–or even those who weren’t happy. Maybe just at least content. Content with the world as it was. But for Carter…this world was terrible. He didn’t fit into it, no matter how hard he’d tried, no matter how well he could pretend…he knew there had to be something else out there. And then, he’d found Pigtown.

That, or Pigtown had found him. Online first, in chat rooms, on old websites. No one knew exactly where it was–unless you knew where to find it. You had to want it, or maybe you had to want something that was there, or maybe it was the place that wanted you first. All the stories said that if you found it, and you went long enough, eventually you wouldn’t be the same person who entered…but Carter was finding out the reality was a bit more complicated than the myth. Sure, the first time…the first time was a rush. You never left the first time the same as you went in. He’d been this skinny little twig of a kid, nervous as hell, standing around in the dim light with all these hulking men smoking cigars and wearing leather, and after that first drink shoved into his hand, the first kiss, the first fuck in the dark–he’d woken up the next day, back in his bed, and he’d been different. Thicker, hairier, with a constant insatiable need to smoke. Not a bear exactly, something more like a muscle cub, but the most important thing, was that it was difference. Progress, according to a certain scale.

But he’d still been here. Here in the same life, going to college, living with his dad–but now, somehow, he was more miserable. He had to hide so much more from everyone. If anything, he felt even worse than he had been before going–and the only place he ever felt better, was there, at Pigtown. He’d started to wonder if it was a grift–if the bar didn’t want things to get better, if it just wanted to eat him alive. He knew it could, he’d seen some of them in there, the ones who didn’t leave anymore, or couldn’t leave. They weren’t…anyone anymore. They were whoever you wanted them to be, whoever the bar wanted them to be. He didn’t want to lose himself though–he wouldn’t let that happen.

Changing after that first time wasn’t impossible–there were other guys at the bar who’d experienced it, and unless they were all lying…he’d get there eventually. He’d become who he wanted to be one day, even without Pigtown, though it would make it easier. It was then, as he lay in bed, thinking about this, that there was a sudden snore beside him. He looked over, and realized, with a bit of horror, that he wasn’t alone in his bed–beside him, rolled away under the covers, was the back of…well, someone else, still sleeping.

“Fuck,” he said, quietly, wondering what in the hell he was going to do. His dad was home, and he always got up before Carter, especially on the weekends. Now he had a stranger, from Pigtown, and he had to try and sneak him out of the house before his dad asked any horrible questions, or did something even more awkward, like invite him to eat breakfast with them. He got up, and threw on some boxers–hoped that the man would stay sleeping for a bit longer–and went out to scout the house, and see where his father was. With luck, he might be reading the paper in the backyard, and give him a longshot chance to sneak this guy out without being seen.

The house, however, was empty. His dad was probably running errands or something, thank goodness. He ran back upstairs, but stopped himself before shaking the man awake. He…knew that face, didn’t he? Was it someone he’d fucked around with before, in the bar? Someone he’d woken up with? This wasn’t, after all, the first awkward morning-after he’d had, but it was the first time anyone had come home with him. He couldn’t worry about this–it didn’t matter who it was, all that mattered was that he got this fucker out of his house as quickly as he could, before his dad got back from wherever he was.

“Hey, Hey!” he said, giving the man a shake, “Get up–you gotta go.”

The man gave a grumble, and rubbed his eyes, before blinking them open. “W-Where…what the fuck…”

“Yo, get up, get your clothes on. My…housemate can’t see you here.”

The man didn’t seem to be listening. He was just…kind of shaking, looking around the room, trying to understand what had happened. “I…I don’t…I didn’t want…” before he could get anything else out, he leaned over the side of the bed, and puked his guts up onto the carpet beside the bed. It was…grey. The guy must have been eating ash–Carter had puked shit up like that before himself, in the mornings after he got a little extra carried away. He sighed, touched the guy’s shoulder, and he flinched away from him, and scooted back away from him, wiping his bearded lips. The man looked at him again, his eyes focusing a bit better on him, and they went wide with shock. “C-Carter?”

Fuck, they did know each other, but from where? “Look, we can catch up later, you have my number, but you have to get out.”

“What the fuck–was that…was that you?” he said, “You…they…you fucked me, you…fucked me, and–and I wanted it, and…” He rolled over to the other side of the bed and tried to puke again, but his guts were already mostly empty, so he just heaved a few times.

Carter was mostly confused. This was the first time someone had reacted so badly after waking up–with him at least. He’d been pretty freaked out like this the first time–had it been this guy’s first time last night? But then how had they known each other? Gears clicked and whirred, and the realization came to him. He tried to deny it. It couldn’t be him. He’d been working late, and he’d left before he’d gotten home. Had he followed him? How had he even found it in the first place? Wasn’t…wasn’t his dad straight, anyway?

No, it couldn’t be his dad, it couldn’t be him…right?