Ready to Serve: Arresting Gay Erotica

Easy and confident Chris strode through life. In gym Jeff watched, without watching, memorizing how Chris moved. Jeff longed for the odd, off-the-cuff blessing of a smile and hated himself for doing so. Chris' voice seeped through his frame during science class. Hidden behind those big ceramic slab counters, Jeff would jack-off in the back row of the lab. No matter how much Jeff tried, oblivious Chris never saw anything, never noticed. What did he expect? Straight arrow described Chris Mathers, in more than one sense. Jeff had always been, and always would be, among the not quite good enough crowd.

Plus he didn’t have tits. Giggling herds of girls swarmed the jock everywhere he went. That's where Chris' attention lay.

After graduation, Chris had gone on and up. Everyone expected him to become a banker, lawyer, or doctor. Jeff headed to the State University. He'd graduated. That was the best that could be said for it. Well, and he’d finally accepted himself, which helped him move beyond much of his angsting high school past. Put it all behind and move forward was his motto.

So his job was crap, at least he liked himself now. His bosses liked him. Guys at the plant liked him. Sometimes, like tonight, he and a bunch of his co-workers would head out for a beer. Jeff would relax, hang out and for once be part of "the crowd."

Then some jerk said the wrong thing in the parking lot. The instigator had been massively ploughed. Jeff hadn't been feeling much pain either. Enough people egging them on and words went to blows. Jeff happily pounded the assholes face into the gravel until a hard, lean set of arms wrapped around his chest and hauled him off.

He spun, ready to come out swinging, and found himself staring into set of dark brown eyes. Eyes he hadn't seen in seven years. All the hell Jeff though he'd left behind pushed its way into his not-quite-sober brain. Like an idiot he’d sputtered out, "Hey, Chris, long time no see."

Chris hadn't said anything. He just stared with narrowed eyes and a hard set mouth.

Then Jeff's gaze drifted down over a hard muscled chest. Jeff remembered that chest getting a lot of behind the eyes time in his teenaged stroke fantasies. Whispering sweet nothings, Jeff would ease Chris out of his lettermen's jacket. He'd watch those dark nipples get hard under a thin T-shirt and then he'd just lick every inch of skin. That chest had gotten him through many a one-handed date.

Unfortunately that chest was now covered in a black uniform shirt. Storm-grey pocket flaps, epaulets and placket under the buttons jarred against the dark background. Gold accents came off as gaudy not military. Silver patches were stitched to straining short sleeves. A thin leather belt crossed from his left shoulder to right hip, sliding under his badge. It all looked like some military dictator's idea of a joke. And cowboy boots; only in New Mexico could a State Police officer get away with cowboy boots.

Reminding himself to breathe, Jeff pulled his gaze back up to Chris' face. Pushed back on shorn, black hair, the sharp cornered, flat topped police hat added menace to the glare. Jeff swallowed. Anthony was one of those weird little towns spanning two states with a highway down the center. Hell, Jeff wasn't even sure whether he was in Texas or New Mexico at that moment. Nobody really gave a shit who's jurisdiction was who's everyone just traded off suspects to make the numbers right. Whoever was around took care of the problem.

Jeff was the problem. Teenage fantasy Chris was there to take care of it. Why of all the people in the world was Chris there to take care of it? The high school bully would have been better. Hell, the high school principal would have been better. Chris was the one person Jeff didn't want knowing who and what he was. That daydream didn't need to be blown wide open.