Tony was sitting at his desk at the station, catching up on paperwork. He put his phone down, after leaving a text for Jason. He looked across the room at Cortez, who was processing a tearful woman she had just brought in. "A woman in the park?" he thought to himself. That was odd. Cortez had her usual stern but compassionate manner with the woman, which seemed to have a calming effect.
"Nobody in the park tonight, Solomon? On a Saturday night?" the Captain inquired with raised eyebrows.
"I had a few conversations, sir," Tony lied, "but nothing that could lead to arrest." The Captain eyed him silently. "Cortez arrested a woman, I see," the Captain added, nodding in her direction. "And yet you didn't see any men in the park..." the Captain knocked the desk a couple times and walked away.
Tony looked down at a scratch in the desk. He thought of all he had seen and heard that night in the park, and how the strength had just drained from him. He picked up his phone and texted Jason again: "Where are you?"
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His phone buzzed within the gymbag inside the locker, but Jason didn't hear it. He wasn't even at the gym, but two blocks away in the back of a warehouse which had been turned into clandestine club called Colors. The concrete floor was somewhat sticky on his knees, though he hardly noticed. The earbuds filled his ears with binaural beats that pulsed and guided the rhythm of his mouth on the cock he was sucking. Two other men stood around him in the glow of the red light, his hands on their cocks, gently pulling and twisting. He felt a strong hand on his head as the cock in his mouth hardened steadily, being thrust in and out, balls gently slapping his chin. Jason slackened his jaw and just took it in, silently moaning, his hands synchronizing in their stroking of the cocks they held and handled. He looked up and saw the eyes of one of the men looking at him intensely. The digital timer on the wall read 4:42, 4:41...
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"This new chip will be for your home arrest," Cortez said to me, holding up the little black rectangle she had retrieved from a machine. "Because of the current health order, we cannot keep you here. You will be returned to your home to await your court date."
I heard her, but I still felt like I was in not in reality. I've never even been inside a police station. I nodded dumbly.
"May I?" she asked, extending her hand toward my foot. I lifted my foot in compliance and she took my heel gently on her thigh. I giggled inadvertently, as her touch tickled. "I need to match the chip type you have." She examined the ankle monitor, removing and briefly inspecting the inner chip using a small tool that looked like an allen wrench.
She met my giggle with a questioning look, which softened when she realized she had tickled me. I thought I had seen a slight flush in her cheeks, which was fleeting.
"I will return you to your residence, then," she began, "so I can synchronize the new chip in your monitor with the scanner by your door." Her hand glided along my leg briefly as she let my foot go.
We walked out to the cruiser again, this time sans handcuffs. I felt like an animal sitting in the backseat, as in a cage, unable to leave except at the whim of my captor. I looked out the window as she pulled away from the station.
"You don't seem like the type that frequents the park," she said, making eye contact with me in the rearview mirror.
"Because I'm a woman?" I asked.
"That's part of it, yes," she answered. "But your...companion...tonight has quite a history. People like that don't..."
"Like what?" I interrupted, genuinely curious. Our eyes met in the mirror again, and I could see her think over her words carefully.
"Kilmead Drive," she said after a few minutes of silence, turning onto my street. I looked out the window, silently hoping neighbors weren't outside.
"Could you park a few houses down?" I asked. She didn't answer, but complied.
Nobody was out. The only sounds were of crickets and a neighbor's lawn sprinklers. There was a gentle breeze. The lights in my home were on timers, so everything looked normal from the outside. Or what was considered normal now. I placed the key in the lock and noticed her scent on the breeze. Subtle, but sweet and citrus. Like pomelo.
"I'll need you to stop just past your scanner when we enter your home," Cortez said. I closed the door as we walked into the entry. The scanner made a sound I've never heard before. Sort of a low screeching. I leaned against the back of the couch and she knelt down before me, coaxing my foot onto her thigh again. I giggled again from the tickle.
"Sorry," she said, with a hint of a smile. She opened a rear panel on the scanner and rested the new chip against a contact. I gazed over her as she did this, her hand gently cradling my heel on her thigh. Her shirt wasn't tight, but well-fitted, her surname bold on her chest above her heart. She had a lovely figure.
She closed the panel of the monitor, and guided my foot to the floor. Our eyes met before she stood up, and I felt my cheeks flush. She turned away, and I heard the ring of her phone. I pointed to the kitchen, and she nodded, answering it.
"Cortez," she said. I could see her looking at my bookshelf. I pulled out two mugs and started the kettle. I actually wanted a drink, but thought it better to wait.
"I'll be leaving soon," she said into the phone. Her voice became muffled and quiet and I saw her put her phone away.
"Would you like some tea?" I asked.
"Oh...no, but thank you," she responded, looking back and smiling. "You're quite the reader," she added, fingering a volume of lesbian poetry. "What are you currently reading?"
"The Gulag Archipelago," I said, telling a half-truth. "You know...how the Bolshevik Revolution led to the imprisonment, abuse and death of millions?" I had read this years ago, but my point was taken. She stood up, smirked slightly.
"I'm just doing my job," she said.
The air sirens went off at that point, and the automatic bolt went through the front door. I smiled in the irony of the timing, and Cortez looked at me in sheer panic. For once I wouldn't be alone during a drill.
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"Orange," said the soothing female voice inside Jason's earbuds. He had finally caught his breath after the encounters in the red room, stood and walked from the red light down the dark hallway. He saw male bodies from other rooms file in and out. He entered the door labeled "Orange" and the room was flooded with colored light. He felt firms hands behind him, and looked to see the same eyes that had met his in the red room. The mask was let down as the man pressed him against the wall and began kissing his neck and chest. Jason was lowered to a mattress on the floor, on all fours. He felt his hips tipped down as a tongue licked along the small of his back, then lower. He moaned silently into the orange light as the timer on the wall counted down from 12 minutes.
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Jason sat in his truck, tapping the back of his phone against his steering wheel. He was restless and needed a release. His arrangement with Tony wasn't exactly dating, even though that's what Jason had wanted. Dating had been completely obliterated because of the new rules of society. Rules for restaurants, clubs, movies...they were ever-changing and almost impossible to navigate with any social basis of intimacy. Smiles only seen in the eyes. So the hook up apps were popular for a while, but even those became monitored. Now more were operating on the lower levels of Maslov's hierarchy of needs...seeking sex in any form possible.
Tony was an asshole, yes. He made fun of gays as a way to mask his own homosexuality. He did it just enough to fool most around the station. But Jason could see through it, and went for that soft spot, which was sex. Tony wanted a lot of sex, and for Jason it was a way of having that companionship...waking up together, occasional coffee in the morning. But he wondered if it was enough. And would Tony be enough for him?
In a sort of resignation, Jason parked the truck and walked down the quiet alley to the steel door. He knocked, and when the door opened, he paid his $50. The hand that took his money gave him a pair of earbuds. When he placed them into his ears, the beat was already pumping. The steel door closed behind him and he walked into the back room. He took off his shirt, hanging it up in a metal wardrobe beside the shirts of other men. By the time he walked into the hallway, the voice in the earbuds had calmly said 'Yellow."
