Okay…I’m not interested in kids. Any guy under the age of 23 is not my thing. Even when I was 19, I preferred men about the age of 27. But tonight something creepy happened to me, inside.
I was watching Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets for the third time…and Daniel Radcliffe started looking good to me. To be fair, I think he’s currently a damn fine-looking man, and I would love to find some way of getting him interested in playing Adam in the film version of The Alice ’65, but as a boy actor he wasn’t all that great.
Then tonight…I caught myself thinking about him in that way. And it startled the shit out of me. I don’t know if it’s because I know he turns out gorgeous. I don’t know if I’m in a weird mood due to self-isolating over COVID 19. I do know it’s not because of Dair’s Window, the book I’m writing, right now, because that’s about a 33 year old stained glass artist trying to get his life in order after the death of his lover and 5 years of lawsuits by the man’s estranged family. Got no kids in that.
So what the fuck? How old is he in this thing – 12/13? Am I channeling some long-dead priest who sucked off altar boys in 19th Century Ireland or buggered them in Italy? Am I turning into a dirty old man in reality and not just in my mind? I don’t feel that for any of the other boys in the movie.
This is not acceptable. It’s not me. I like men along the lines of Chris Evans and Ryan Gosling and Henry Cavill. Adult men with muscles and hair on their chests, legs and arms. Not a smooth child who’s yet to be completely formed. I mean, I would LOVE to have him like this.
A novel set in Ireland has been taking my full and complete attention, but now I have a first draft of it and can work on a MM romans set just outside Seattle. Nothing dark about this one, except emotionally.
Five years after his lover, Alain, died in an avalanche, Dair is ready to restart his career as a stained glass artist. A civil action filed by the dead man’s homophobic mother has finally been thrown out, and he’s about to marry the lawyer who handled his case, Wallace. But memories of Alain continue to jolt Dair’s calm facade, then the arrival of Wallace’s Best Man, Jackson, and his pregnant wife sends things spinning into chaos.
I’m pushing to get it done in time for the UK GLBTQ Meet Up in Southampton, UK on Labor Day weekend. Use that to launch it.
After a lot of work and focus of the maniacal sort, with the story leading me places I did NOT want to go, The Beast in the Nothing Room is about to be completed. I’m working on formatting the ebook, first, which will be available through Smashwords.com; then comes a paperback version.
I’m thinking of working up a special illustrated edition in hardcover, just for the hell of it. Quick pen & ink drawings of certain events in the book, nothing truly hardcore…maybe…but still not decided. Make it a limited run — about a hundred copies only, signed and numbered.
I’m still freaked over some of the things I put into it, but I know better than to take them out or try to minimize them. I’ve already been told I’m overreacting, a bit…so maybe it’s not as dark as I think. Maybe I’m just too sheltered. But so far it’s got incest, sadism, bondage, rape, kidnapping, water sports, domination, torture, rip-n-strip, straight-to-gay and murder.
The Layout’s still a bit off, and the red is crappy, but this is the basic idea for the paperback cover of the book. Should be out before Christmas…
I have to say…this book is even darker than HTRASG. It has a time-traveling human beast who captures attractive men on the verge of being killed in an accident, rapes and brutalizes them, then puts them back in time to die.
Its overlords allow this to happen because it’s located a strain of DNA they need and is tracking it to its best source — my MC, a British Detective Sergeant named Finley Winterbourne…Finn…a decent man being groomed to become one with the beast.
I finished a first draft of the book. 62,000 words and parts of it freaked me out, just like How To Rape A Straight Guy did, when I was writing that. The tag line is good — How do you stop a serial killer who never kills anyone, and doesn’t exist?
The Nothing Beast has become The Beast in the Nothing Room, and this is how it starts out…
Finn had no idea
where he was or what had happened. One moment he was in the woods searching for
poachers; the next, he was lying in a room that was dark…and yet, not dark,
for he could see light casting a vague glow off his nose and cheeks. Both silent
and not, despite an absence of sound. And it was neither warm nor cool. What’s
more, it didn’t really seem like a room because he was unable to see any walls
encompassing him…just like he was unable to see any source for the light
shining upon him.
But what was
worse? He sensed he was not alone.
He was stretched
out on a bed…that wasn’t a bed. There was nothing beneath him but
air…simple air holding him up. He knew he was still in his clothes — a well-fitted
suit in a fine modern cut, neat tie and Oxfords, completely inappropriate for
tramping through the shrubs and sticks of a forest — but being a police
officer, he’d had no choice.
The call had come
as he was en route to Clayton-Magna to meet some friends, and the male caller’s
tone of voice was panicked…at least, that’s what the call center had said.
Strange lights whispering through the forest. Animals scattering away from it
in fear. Concern it might be a drug deal going down, or what was worse…yobs
poaching. Uniforms were on their way but were at least ten minutes behind him
and, since he was a Detective Sergeant, they felt he was best to at least make
contact with the person reporting the incident so as to make a proper beginning
to the investigation. He’d agreed to do it because he didn’t feel it would take
too long, could hand it over to another DS soon as he arrived, and he knew his
friends would be understanding. The life
of a cop, sort of thing. He’d made a hands-free call to Prue, the woman
who’d arranged the get-together, to let her know he was running behind then
turned down Mid-Clayton Road to double back for Lower Clayton-Merrill.
He gave a soft
chuckle. Prue was the reason he’d worn this particular suit. It was snug in all
the right places, showing off his trim, well-formed torso and colt-like legs,
though it was a bit…well, snug around the derriere and…um…frontal area.
However, he felt very male-model in
it, and knew she would be impressed. At least, hoped she would be. Especially
since she was a biologist…and an unspoken part of that hope was perhaps she’d
also now see him as not only a prime specimen of the male figure, but a
possible bed partner and eventually, if all went well, husband. He was ready to
start a family, having already settled into the area and now being just past
thirty. Find a nice cottage someplace local, somewhat similar to the Cotswold’s.
Not too far from the police center and DCI Blethyn, his superior. Base his new
life from there. They were meeting with another couple, married with a child en
route, and he was also hoping that was another sign she might be considering
him as more than a mere boyfriend…and the idea almost felt cozy and warm.
By using a bit
more speed than he should have, considering the narrowness of the road, he’d
arrived to the stated location…only to find no one about. No lights. No fresh
tracks from car or foot. No animals, either. The forest was still and dark,
despite it only beginning to approach dusk. He’d wondered if he’d gone to the
wrong side…but double-checking his GPS showed he was where the center had
He’d tried to go a
few meters into the trees, just to get a sense of the place, but the brush was
thick and he could see no path to follow. He hadn’t wanted to push in too far
because that would mess up his aren’t I
hot suit, so he was about to back away when something struck him.
The forest was
Not even the hint
of a breeze to rustle the tree branches. That was decidedly odd, especially being
this close to the Channel.
Then he’d seen a
glow, about a hundred meters to his right. Not like that of a torch or lamp,
just a soft blue circling the trees.
Surrounding a lone
He’d jolted and
begun to back away, saying, “Hello! Police. I’m Detective Sergeant Winterborne
and — ”
And then he was
here, with no idea how he got here or what was going on.
“Did I fall?” he
wondered. “Knock myself out?”
That had to be the
explanation — the lights and figure hadn’t been close enough to reach him, and
there was no notice of a weapon firing, so he’d stumbled, hit something, been
struck unconscious, and now was dreaming. It was the only thing that could make
He tried to sit
up…but he couldn’t move. Not his arms. Not his legs. Neither hands nor
fingers. Just his eyes. And he could breathe. And speak. He thought.
called, not so much expecting an answer but only to see if he was capable of
speech. He heard no echo in the chamber so figured he probably only thought he
was speaking. He was also able to figure out he really was breathing by letting
out a massive sigh.
Now he was certain
he was caught in a dream.
Then he felt a
whisper of air around him, like the caressing of fingers…but nothing was
there. It traced over his clean chin, his full lips, his bright open eyes, a
cool blue under light brown lashes. He felt it on the eyebrows he’d trimmed
last night in anticipation of his date. Felt it travel through his thick curly
hair, cropped close to keep from becoming too unruly. He wasn’t movie-star gorgeous;
he knew that, but he also knew his face was well received by most young
women…and he felt like the nothing-air was touching every inch of it.
Then it moved down
his neck, well-shaved not an hour ago; he had issues with a light five o’clock
shadow, which Prue had once mentioned in her flat Belfast brogue, and he wanted
nothing that might prevent any kisses. He noticed the nothing-air fingers were
also caressing the back of his head and now were crossing the nape of his neck.
Whatever it was he was lying upon made no difference; the sensations merely
displaced the feeling of support momentarily as the sensations travelled across
his shoulders and down his back to his rear, the nothing-air in front pacing
them as it drew over his chest and reached under his suit coat to play with his
nipples, which startled him, and continued down his fairly taut abs to his
He moaned with
discomfort. “Oh…oh, no. This…this isn’t real, Finn,” he said. “It’s all a
certainly felt real. Especially when the nothing-air traced over his trousers
to fondle his crotch and grope his ass, slipping between his legs to almost
tickle the back of his balls before feeling all around his thighs, and over his
calves down to his feet.
“What is this?!”
he cried. Or did he merely think it? He still couldn’t tell. But whatever it
was, it had become dreadfully invasive…and deplorably intimate.
But what was
worse? He felt the beginning of an erection.
believe it. The nothing-air had become so sensuous and sensual and erotic in
its caresses, he was responding! Oh…was he glad he wore tight CK boxer
briefs. Those might keep him from becoming too embarrassed.
He tried to move,
again, but still was kept immobile. Remained floating in nothingness. But he
knew this was nothing like sensory deprivation. He could see the light
reflecting off his face. He could feel himself being touched. He swallowed,
fear starting to build in him.
Then he felt his
shoes being untied and removed!
what’re you doing?!”
No response. No
echo. No proof of any sound coming from him.
caressed his soles and toes as it removed his socks, a new pair he’d worn
because the only other pair that matched this suit had holes in them. Next, his
suit coat was shifted off his shoulders.
“Stop! What’re you
doing?! I’m a police officer! Stop! STOP IT!”
His tie was
loosened and pulled away around his collar, then the nothing-air slowly unbuttoned
himself to not panic. “It’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream,
it’s a dream,” gasped from his lips. Or maybe he was just thinking it. Hoping
it. Wishing it. Because no matter how hard he tried to convince himself
otherwise, he could feel every single solitary thing the nothing-air was doing.
Each touch was insistent. Each movement over him was a promise of more. Each
caress was meant to lead him closer to something…well, it was certainly
trying to be something deeply carnal and prurient. It didn’t help that he’d
been going through a dry spell and had been more than hoping Prue would take
him to bed, that evening, instead of him being only his date, again. But this?
When he’d been a
youth living with his grandmother…his Nan…long after his mum and dad had
left him to follow their own bliss, he’d had a couple of what Nan called
Emission Dreams. She’d told him they were completely natural, at his age.
“Both of your
uncles went through this,” she’d said, “as did your father. Nothing to be
embarrassed about. Just be sure to give yourself a good wash.” Then she’d taken
his sheets and pajamas, without another comment.
He smiled. Nan was
the level-headed one on the family, not typically British in her understanding
about sexual needs. She’d been on a commune in Wales and traveled to Monterrey
in California and some temple in the Himalayas, for some form of awareness, and
that still carried with her. He felt he’d taken more after her than either of
his still very self-interested parents. Thinking of her helped calm him and let
him focus on the reality of the moment.
Only he didn’t
actually know what that reality was.
Well, to start
with…this could not really happening, except in his mind. So no matter what the
nothing-air did, it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
That helped when
the nothing-air pulled apart his shirt and slipped it down his immobile arms to
reveal his undershirt. Tight, white, just a bit see-through. His well-formed pecs
giving it a nice flow, though his nipples barely made a tent against the
cotton…until the nothing-air fondled and flicked and twisted them through the
fabric. He felt lightning fire into his groin and he yelped in shock at how
glorious that felt. How amazingly fantastic it was. How he didn’t want it to
stop. He actually groaned from pleasure.
undershirt was torn in half, revealing his pumped up chest, smooth skin, with a
dash of near-blond hair swirling down his abs to his groin. He cried out as the
nothing-air ran its caresses across his belly and over his shoulders and along
his arms to guide the shirt’s remains away.
He began to breathe,
heavy, and fought to keep one thought in his mind.
“It’s NOT real, Finn,
it’s not real, it’s not real…”
But he was losing
the battle. The sensations brought on by the nothing-air were too
demanding…too consistent…and on top of it, his dick was growing and
growing, in response.
Even though he
could not move his torso or arms or legs.
Then his trousers
He cried out then
forced himself to picture Prue doing it. Picture how lovely she was, round in
all the right places, peaches and cream skin under golden red hair cut just
right. That Belfast brogue. He’d been attracted to her the second he met her on
a murder case. She’d been a suspect, for a little while, so their beginning was
tainted by that, but it was Blethyn who’d made the suggestion, not him. After
some stumbling, he’d been able to get her to know him and let him know her, so
using her helped make this nightmare into something he could handle. It calmed
him more than anything else had. If he was going to be dream-mauled, sexually,
at least it would be by someone he wanted and not some random female.
The zipper was
lowered, almost teasing, and his trousers were guided down his hips, away from
his ass and crotch, revealing he was pretty damn close to being ripe and ready
to go. The nothing-air danced back up to grasp the cotton, playing not only
with his dick but his balls, whispering around them and over them and under
them and along them, making the taut material feel like something alive and
indecent. It also groped his ass, massaging his cheeks like they were ripe
melons. He didn’t have what others would call a bubble-butt, but it was a nice
size and fit him just right. To his uncertain pleasure, apparently the
nothing-air agreed…for this went on for what seemed like hours, but probably
was only a couple of minutes.
He realized his
trousers had been maneuvered down his legs to his ankles, and more of the
nothing-air was caressing the soft hair on his thighs and calves, as if
inspecting a prize horse. Then it slipped
under the waistband of his CKs and tugged, and in an instant they had joined
his trousers, exposing an erection he had often been proud of; not the biggest
dick ever but certainly above average. Well, none of the girls he’d been with
in the past had complained. He’d even caught a few lads in the gym casting him
glances of either envy or interest, or both. But now? Like this? As he was
The trousers were gently
removed, then off went the CKs with a few more caresses over his calves than he
expected, and his legs were pushed wider apart to allow even more of the
dreadful intimacy being forced upon him. But he was handling it. He was
Until he felt the
nothing-air slip between his cheeks and touch his rectum.
He screamed and
his self-control vanished.
“NO! STOP IT! THIS
IS RAPE! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!”
He fought to
squirm away but his body would not move. His breath was fast and furious, and while
he could shift his eyes to look around and move his mouth to speak and knew
damn well he really was yelling and snarling words into the nothingness, he
also knew his tits had grown pointy and his balls were happy being juggled and his
dick was engorged and ready to be used, while everything else remained still
manhandled him in earnest, now. Dancing over his nips, sending more lightning into
his balls. Caressing down the hair on his abs to dance through his pubes like
they were rafting down a river then cascading into rapids. Grabbing his ass and
pulling at it, almost as if to see whether it could be separated from his body.
Fondling his dick and balls in a way that seemed more like worship than sexual
need. Drawing sensations down his thighs and calves, making the hair on them
part of their sensuous journey, adding to the build of erotic need within him.
His dick was now
as hard as it had ever been, and he was whimpering at the incessant
manipulation of it…taking him almost over the edge but never quite.
“No, no, no,
no…” was all he could say, now. He knew his cries and screams and pleading
would do no good, but they still burst from him at each step in the invasion.
Then a form appeared
in the dark space above him, shining so bright he had to jam his eyes closed.
He opened them, just barely, to watch the form draw closer and closer. His eyes
adjusted to its glow and he slowly realized this was another man. Also naked.
Darker hair. Lean, solid build. Tightly muscled with black fans of hair over
his body in all the places they should be. Deep, caring eyes under thick
lashes. A two-day growth of beard on his strong chin, surrounding full lips. A
couple years older.
And also sporting
a full-blooded erection.
His shaft was full,
his knob was red, his slit glistened with pre-cum, and his foreskin was completely
pulled back from the head.
Finn was so taken
aback by it all he forgot that he was still being caressed by the nothing-air
and thought, “I know him. From where?”
The man seemed to
know Finn, as well. His expression was first that of near-recognition…then
confusion…then shock. Finn was sure his own face reflected the exact same
thoughts. He noticed the hair on the man’s body was shifting slightly, as if
he, too, were being caressed.
“Him?” the man
said, in a Geordy accent. “It’s him?! No!”
Finn jolted. “Newcastle!”
he said. “You’re Hallsworth! DS…Joss?”
expression grew pained he said, “Yeah. I know you. Winterborne, from down
South. Conference a couple years back, at New Scotland Yard. You’d just gained
“What the hell’s
laughed. “If I could explain it, I would. How’d you wind up here?”
called out to investigate some lights. Caller said…well, he thought they were…uh…they were…”
Joss. “Bloody hell.”
“Got that right,” Finn
said…then felt the nothing-air slip up against his anus and he cried out, in
shock. “STOP IT!”
“They’re all over
Finn froze. Had to
fight a panic building in him. “I…I’m dreaming you, right?”
“No, you’re not. I
thought that’s all it was but I…I…bloody fuckin’ hell, not him! Not with
Not with him? The nothing-air pushed harder
against Finn’s rectum. He fought to keep from screaming. “What do you mean? Are
they messing with you, too?”
touching me and groping me and…and…and nothing’s there.”
me…like me, but I can’t move and…and…WHO THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU? WHY’RE
YOU DOING THIS?”
Then Finn realized
he wasn’t lying down; he was upright, as was Joss. And they were closer
together. Growing even closer. And closer…until their erections touched each
other…and then slipped side by side…and the nothing-air whispered over the
both of them…fondling them, together…and it felt so good…too good…too
“They use me.
Against you. Against Rob. Fellow cop. From Manchester. Others. I’m outside,
alone, then I’m here, then I wake up and I thought it was a dream, at first,
but now it’s too often….no…no, don’t make me do it, again! Not to him!”
Finn felt the
nothing-air grip his ankles and lift his legs up and up, even as the caresses
and the probing continued all over him. He screamed, “NO! YOU’RE NOT — YOU
CAN’T — NO! THIS IS RAPE! THIS IS RAPE!”
“They don’t care!”
Joss cried. “They don’t follow our laws! Dammit, don’t make me, please, not him…”
“NO, I’VE NEVER
rested Finn’s legs on Joss’s broad shoulders, his ass now completely open and
Then he felt Joss’s
erection press against him.
“Finn, I’m sorry…”
“NO, NO, NO, NO,
Joss’s head pushed
in and Finn felt every bit of it and screamed in pain.
It kept going
in…slowly…slowly…filling him deeper and deeper.
He screamed more.
Felt he was being torn in half. And still he could not move to get away from
“I’m sorry, Finn,
I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
It seemed to take
forever, but finally Joss’s erection was all the way inside, right to the base.
Finn could feel the man’s pubs against his skin. Then it began rocking in,
deeper, and back and in and back and in and back.
Joss was fucking
Finn cried out.
Gasped harsh and fast. Felt the nothing-air pinch his nips and caress his
thighs and toy with the hair on his legs and fondle his balls and stroke his dick,
making it harder and harder and bringing it closer and closer to the brink and
it went on and on and on and every push in hurt and every pull back was like
fire and he screamed and yelled and cursed and tried to fight but couldn’t move
as he was groped and felt all over and it kept on and on and on and then…then
slowly, oh so slowly, almost exquisitely,
the pain begin to diminish. Each thrust began to feel like something exquisite
filling him with pleasure. His own dick grew even harder. His balls became even
more tender. His nips were crazed by each touch. His thighs laughed with joy
from the nothing-air traveling over him. He couldn’t believe it.
He was…he was liking this!?
He was enjoying
being fucked by a man he barely knew!?
In and back and in
and back, over and over and over. Each thrust taking him closer and closer to
nirvana…the sensual demands of it enveloping him and making him lose all
sense of time or reality as Joss kept going in and back and in and back, and
kept going and going and going for hours and hours and Finn didn’t care because
he wanted it and needed it and hoped it would never stop…
Until he felt a
rush explode from behind his balls and hiss through every fiber of his being as
every muscle in him clenched and joined with the nothing-air’s caresses to make
him grunt and howl and cry aloud in a bellowing roar as the rush slammed down
his thighs and across his ass and over his nips and up into his dick and
massive line of semen screamed from him, firing straight up into the air, the
like of which he had never experienced. It did not splash back onto his belly
or chest or face, just vanished into the nothing light as more cum leapt from
him, shooting at least a meter up…and he fired, again, going just as far
up…and that also vanished. And again he shot, and again and again.
Then he felt Joss
slam harder and harder against him jolt and shudder and stop deep within and cry
out…and fill him with his own cum. Gasping and whimpering in both pleasure
and horror and joy and pain. He rammed against Finn, harder and harder, sending
more and more flooding into him…filling him like a faucet fills a jar or
bottle with water. On and on Joss went until he was a quivering, laughing mass
and could not make coherent sounds. Finn was so lost in his own overwhelming
sensations and feelings and exultation, he was just as incoherent.
After a few
minutes more of this, Joss pulled away and Finn slowly…slowly…slowly drifted
back to himself. He found he was able to move his head, now. He looked at Joss
and saw…well, what he saw was a man who appeared to be drunk out of his mind.
His eyes were half closed and his face slack from the overwhelming pleasure. Finn
looked down and saw the man’s dick still dripped with semen and had just begun
to go limp.
Finn’s own dick
was lying back on his belly, looking very pleased with itself. Nothing dribbled
from it, despite his explosions. He was even still erect…somewhat. Just
beginning to shrink back to normal, like Joss. But unlike Joss, he felt like he
was still in control of his thoughts.
Then his legs were
removed from Joss’s shoulders and the man drifted away. He cast Finn a vague, sorrowful glance as he murmured,
“They…they made me…do this…to Rob, too. Till he…till he let loose, same
as you. They all did.”
“No, not that. I…I’m
so sorry. Didn’t want this. For you. Sorry.”
“Not your fault,” Finn
Joss heard him and
smiled. “That’s what…Rob said. Still sorry.”
Then Joss was gone
into the nothing light.
Finn felt the
nothing-air still caressing him…fondling him…probing him…tits, balls,
dick, thighs, ass…but it was in a manner that almost seemed sweet and caring.
Which made no sense. Did whoever had done this to him think he’d been made love
to? Had this been some fucked up alien abduction and the little bastards believed
this was a proper sexual coupling? That he’d wanted it to happen? Despite his
screams and struggles? It had hurt like hell, and he was brutally sore from
being fucked…but something he had to admit was…he was also so damn mellow
and easy from having cum like he did, he found he didn’t care.
That shocked him
more than anything — the idea that he really did not care.
He really had
enjoyed being fucked by Joss. He’d not only gotten off on it, he wanted it,
again. In his head, he knew this had been a vicious, cruel, manipulative,
painful form of rape…but the truth was…he really did want it to happen,
again. The unbelievably intense ejaculation at the end of it had overcome the
horror of everything else. He felt like a junkie coming down off his first
snort of coke, who wanted more, just to regain that high. It frightened him,
but also put him at ease.
Which made absolutely
no sense whatsoever.
withdrew from caressing him. He sensed he was being drained of Joss’s cum…and
cleansed, in some way. Not with soap and water but still, he was being
dry-washed somehow. Then he felt his CKs tenderly being slipped back on and up his
legs. The tight, white cotton surrounded his ass and scrotum, and the
nothing-air adjusted his dick and balls so he was comfortable. Next came his
trousers, socks and shirt, followed by his shoes. He felt the tie drape around
his neck but remain untied, and the suit coat come on and —
He was lying in
the forest, two constables watching over him, one young and fit, the other
older and more concerned. The young one was on a mobile phone.
‘round, sir,” the man said. “Yes, still needs a medic. He looks pretty shaky.”
Finn smiled then
made himself sit up and even though it made him dizzy, he glanced the fit young
constable over in a way that was more than appreciative, to his vague surprise;
The lad did complete that uniform very nicely, in every way, and his pale blond
hair suited his chiseled features and tanned forearms.
“How long?” Finn
murmured, his voice shaky.
“We got here ‘bout
twenty minutes, ago, sir,” said the older constable. “Saw your car and looked
around. Couldn’t find you till I noticed you here. Dunno why we didn’t see you
earlier. Undid your tie.”
“You know what
happened?” asked the young constable.
Finn shook his
head and started to get up. The older man held him down.
“I’d stay put, were
I you, sir. That’s a nasty cut over your ear.”
Finn touched a
sore spot behind his right ear and his fingers came away with blood on them. He
sighed. So it was all just a dream. He was only sore from having fallen or been
hit; he wasn’t sure which, yet. What he did know was…he was surprisingly disappointed.
He almost laughed.
He’d never even thought of being with a man, before, let alone getting buggered
by one, but here he was, sad that what had happened in his head hadn’t happened
in reality. It was madness.
didn’t add up. After all, should he be aching all over? And he did ache in
every part of his body, as though he’d been straining hard against something. Could
that be from just a blow to the head? And should his ass hurt like he’d taken a
really hard dump? And his nipples, why were they so tender? And why did he feel
so…so different, now, as if his whole world had shifted?
That’s when he
realized…his undershirt was gone. He always wore one.
Relief swept over
him and he smiled. It really had happened. He felt his balls tingle and his
dick shift in agreement…and surprising hunger. An odd sort of confusion
filled him. As did need. Followed by a thousand unanswered questions. One
moment he’s dreaming of a night with a beautiful woman; the next, he’s casting
appreciative eyes over that elegant young constable, focused on his very nice
arse and well-formed legs.
Was he queer, now?
Had those aliens made him a poof?
No…the very idea
was ridiculous. One doesn’t go gay from a smack to the head, and you can’t rape
a man into changing his sexual orientation. The whole process would be too
didn’t feel traumatized. Which made even less sense.
It looked like Prue
would have to wait, because he needed to sort this out. And the first step towards
doing that would be to track down Joss to find out what he knew about this
whole mess. Then would come finding a fellow officer named Rob, in Manchester. Finn
needed to see if he really had been used like Joss said he’d been. See if his
reactions had been the same. If his world had been shifted as much as Finn’s. Another
Detective Sergeant, it sounded like, and he got the impression it would be
someone about the same age and as buff as him and Joss.
Finn smirked at
the thought. A wicked twist of his lips. For some reason, he wanted to spend as
much time as possible with Rob, to see if they could figure out why this
happened. Maybe sequester themselves in a B&B he knew, near Whitford Park. For
a long leisurely weekend. In a double bed. That thought brought an even more-wicked
gleam to Finn’s eye.
Then he and Rob
could go to Newcastle and face Joss together. Find out more about why he was part of what
had happened. Finn remembered he had a wife and kids, so they would need to guide
him away from them. To another B&B, maybe. Where they could pick his brain
and drag more about the other rapes from him. He had indicated there were
others, hadn’t he? Other men brutalized like him. Which sent a shiver into his
scrotum. Finn hoped he’d be forthcoming…cute choice of words…about the
other men. Give Rob and himself justification to introduce their unwillingrapist to the joys of being raped. Show him what he’d missed by not
being used like them. Get some of their own back. Which filled him with a billowing
sense of wouldn’t that be fun?
Finn jolted. A
detective Sergeant as sensible and sure as he was, who knew right from wrong,
without question, considering breaking a dozen sexual assault laws, fun?
What the hell had
happened to him? Finn was not a real believer in alien abductions, but
something ridiculously confusing and intense had taken hold of him and he had
no other rational explanation for it. All he knew for certain was, his whole
way of viewing sex had been altered, and he now felt not only different and
confused but also rather delightfully dangerous.
He heard sirens
approaching. One of them an ambulance. He touched the injury behind his ear.
The blood had already coagulated…and he felt no real pain. No headache.
Nothing but as soft murmur of a throb. Could that have been the cause of his shift
in perceptions? Did something like this happen after a concussion? Should he
see a specialist to make certain he wasn’t damaged more than he thought?
Yes, that had to
be it. He’d been assaulted and struck unconscious, and it had scrambled his
brain. He’d probably feel all back to normal once he’d had a checkup and good
Except a singular
thought insisted on bouncing around in his mind.
“Me and Rob on Joss…yes,
that would be fun…”
And not one iota of his being even considered rejecting the idea.