My name's Javier, but people call me Javy. I've been a beat cop for seven years. My service record is clean but unremarkable. I'd rather not say what city we serve, but it's progressive, at least on paper. That means people of color, like me, are only slightly underrepresented on the force, and the occasional bad cop doesn't embarrass the department by using slurs. Two weeks ago, my old partner got promoted to sergeant, so they assigned me a new partner, Scott. He's only been on the force for a year and a half.
For the first couple of days, we talked about our history with the force and our aspirations. I don't have any desire to be a detective or a captain; I like what I'm doing, which is patrolling my section of town in a car. We also talked about our families. Shane is outgoing, but we both held back on details until we got a little more comfortable. He told me about his parents but said he was unattached. Part of this conversation happened when I took him to a bar after work so we could share a beer.
When we got in the patrol car to start our third day, Scott told me, "By the way, I'm gay. If that's a problem for you, you can go ahead and ask for a new partner now, no hard feelings."
I told him, "I don't know if you're assuming that I'll have a problem with it because I was raised Catholic, but I don't. My priest taught love over everything else."
Once that was out of the way, he started sharing more. He'd had a boyfriend, Shane, until a month or two ago. I'd been engaged to a girl named Marissa until a year ago, and dealing with the occasional streetwalker or junkie had dampened my interest in getting back into the dating pool. Shane wouldn't say anything where people could hear him, but he'd occasionally point out a woman he thought should pique my interest or a guy who did the same for him.
We became real partners fairly quickly, stopping at McBrick's a couple times a week at the end of our shift. On one of these nights about a month in, he'd had two drinks. (Since the first time, we'd traded off on driving.) He wasn't slurring or anything, but he whispered, "I bet I could turn you."
I knew what he meant, but I asked, "What, into a dragon?"
"Give me a night, and I can turn you gay."
"You're drunk," I told him.
"I've had two beers, and I can hold my liquor. See that guy over there?" I think he was pointing to a fat guy in his 30's. "He doesn't look attractive to me yet."
"You can't turn me gay," I insisted. "I'm taking you home."
"Wow, I'm better than I thought!" Scott said. Then he pointed out a guy in another part of the bar who he thought was attractive and went over to talk to him. I stayed a comfortable distance in case Scott's gaydar was right but close enough to step in if he was wrong. A few minutes later, Scott came back to me with a slip of paper. "That's Brent. I got his number," he told me.
"Then what are you doing here?" I asked.
"You're my buddy," he said indignantly. "I'm not gonna ditch you!"
"My bad," I said. I took him home just in case.
When Scott and I got into the car the next morning, I asked him if he'd called Brent yet. "No, I'll wait a day or two," he answered. He paused and looked at my expression. "You didn't think I'd remember him 'cause I was drunk," he said. "I told you, I can handle my liquor."
"Just checking," I said.
"And I also meant what I said about turning you. I'll bet if you spent one night with me, I could get you to play for my team," Scott said boldly."
I had hoped he'd either forgotten it or decided to move on. "I can't believe you're still talking about this. Or that we still call it 'playing for the other team.' Are you that good, or do you just think every guy is two drinks away?"
"Well, I think I'm that good, and you might only be a drink and a half away," Scott answered. I laughed it off.
Scott made jokes about it a few more times that day. Toward the end of the shift, I asked him, "Okay, suppose we made this bet. First of all, what would we wager, and second, how would we even know who won? Even if you did get me to like guys, I could just lie about it. It's not like I'd suddenly develop a lisp that would give me away."
"Good point," he answered. "How 'bout this? If I can get you to the point where you want my dick, then you have to walk in the next pride parade."
"And if you can't?" I asked.
"I have to go a whole shift without talking about who's hot or not and who's gay or not."
"Now
that's
a prize worth winning!" I told him.
We went to my place, and we both took off our uniform shirts. Scott started by saying, "I guess we need to decide what the rules are."
I started by suggesting, "Well, you said you could turn me. That implies that you have to be the active one."
"Right," Scott agreed. "And to make it apples to apples, I really need to show you that I can do what a woman can do, only better."
"That narrows it down a lot," I said.
"Not as much as you think," Scott replied.
"That's practically what you're trying to prove. How 'bout this? Women don't have dicks, so you can't touch me with your dick."
"Unless you ask me for it, but that would mean I've already won. But, just so I can concentrate on what I'm doing to you, my dick can come in contact with you, but only by accident. Anything that doesn't involve it is fair play."
"I think that sounds fair," I said.
Scott stood in front of me and put his hands between my undershirt and my chest. He pushed my shirt up and caressed my sides. He unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, but he didn't go any further than that. Then he kissed my right earlobe. "Feel good?" he asked.
"Only 'cause I'm thinking of an old girlfriend," I told him.
"No fair!" Scott protested. "Wait. On second thought, that's fine. If it feels good, then I'm still doing it as well as she did." He nuzzled the side of my neck. I could feel a bulge in my uniform pants. I hoped he didn't notice, because I was sure he'd say that proved his point. I thought I'd gotten away with it when he moved behind me. He put his hands under my shirt again and this time he caressed my nipples.
"Hey, that tickles," I said. I jerked away from his hand, but I backed into his crotch. I could feel that he was hard.
"I'm sure it does," Scott said with a wicked tone. He moved his hands to the space between my underwear and my uniform pants on my hips and pushed down.
I laughed. "Ha! You can't do anything from back there without forfeiting."
