Straight Town: Chapter 4

By Wesley Bracken -
published July 26, 2019

Kevin and Steve reconnect overnight in a prison cell. No longer themselves, they still remember something of what they had together.

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Steve had finally been settling, slightly. It had been rough from that first day, trying to grapple with these memories, trying to figure out who he was, and who he had been. Christine had been a vision of patience through it all, the sheriff as well. Steve had even seen the mayor a few more times, and that, somehow, had helped assure him that this was right. That this was the way things should have always been, and that, more than anything else, he was lucky. He was lucky to have such a loving wife, to live in such a charming town as Derryville, to have such beautiful children. He should be honored that he had been chosen to protect it, and for the most part, he was. But there was still that hole, inside him. He still couldn’t get hard for Christine without her fingering him. He felt…humiliated, and yet, at the same time, something inside him was hungry for it, hungry for something else. There was that void, in that dream, in that car. He hadn’t thought about it clearly in days, at this point, but it occurred to him, halfway to the sheriff’s office, that he could feel it. The outline of that hole beside him, in the car, and even more terrifying, he could somehow sense that the man behind him could fill it.

Who was he? Steve knew everyone in town–that was his job. All of the shopkeepers, all of the families, all of the children. He had to keep them all safe, and if he didn’t know his community, how could he do that? But the man behind him, a man named Kevin Billard, was somehow a complete unknown for him. He couldn’t remember ever talking to him. He didn’t know who he was married to, though he had a ring on his finger. He knew of some…boys with that last name, a couple of troublemakers on occasion, but nothing too terrible, who lived way out on the outskirts of town–was this their father? How could he not know this?

With everyone else in town, no matter how obscure, once he met them, touched them, Steve knew them. Memories would come back, he would see the faces of children and parents and sometimes even grandparents. He had come to rely on it, the fact that nothing here, in this town, would be strange to him–but this man was the first stranger he had ever encountered here. There weren’t supposed to be strangers here, not in a town this small, and that…terrified him. Terrified him, and intrigued him, too. Why him, of all people? He thought about his last chat with the mayor, when he was watching his children play at the park with all the others, thought about how the mayor had told him it was his duty to protect this place, and to protect the children here most of all. Steve had thought that was silly–this was such a safe place! Crime was low–hell, sometimes it felt like he didn’t even need to be here. The mayor had turned stern, and told him that this town only remained this peaceful because of his work. That he had to know everyone–everything about them. It was the only way to save them from themselves.

But he didn’t know this man. Had no memories about him. The few connections he was making, were all based on logic–they held no certainty like the way he usually knew about people. There was a thought he kept having, a sense of danger. Maybe…he didn’t know this man because he wasn’t supposed to. Maybe there was something happening here that was…well, wrong. Something that shouldn’t have happened at all.

“I didn’t do nothing to him–he’s the one who came on to me,” Kevin said suddenly, in the backseat, “I’m not a fucking fairy, I’ll tell you that.”

Steve didn’t say anything. He’d only gotten a bit of the story back at the bar–and he didn’t really care what had caused the fight, he was mostly interested in breaking it up.

“He’s the one who ran–that’s why. Just so you fucking know.”

“Sure man, whatever.”

The ride was silent the rest of the way back to the station. Kevin at least didn’t fight him as much on the way in, and he booked him into the system. Before getting him into the cell, he asked the guy if there was anyone he wanted to call–his wife maybe, Kevin just laughed. “Fuck no, I don’t want to talk to that bitch right now,” he muttered. With that, Steve pushed him into the cell, uncuffed him, told him to get some rest, and headed back out to his office. There, he checked the clock, and saw it was already past midnight–Christine had expected him home at eleven. He gave her a call, telling her what had happened–and that since he was the only officer on duty, he had to spend the night there, babysitting the drunk fucker, and couldn’t come home. She was disappointed, of course–she’d been horny that morning, and he was horny too, even if he still couldn’t get hard like he should be able to around her, and he told her he’d make it up to her in the morning.

With that, he sat back, rubbed his eyes, and checked the clock again. The early deputy would be in at six, Marcy and the sheriff around seven or eight. Assuming no one wanted to press charges–and he couldn’t really imagine anyone wanting to, given the weird backstory of this whole event, the guy would be back on the streets next morning, and it would be like this had never happened. Steve wanted it like that–he didn’t want to see this man again…and yet, he found himself checking the video feed to his cell every minute or so, because he…couldn’t stop looking at him, and trying to recognize him.

He should know who this is. He should know everything about him, if he lives in the town, but he didn’t. But that wasn’t all of it, that wasn’t everything he was feeling. He should know this man from somewhere else. He could feel him, somehow, in a way he hadn’t felt anyone else he’d encountered over the last week. He studied him on the grainy, black and white monitor. Looked at his long beard and hair, at his filthy shirt and jeans, at his tattooed arms and hands. He didn’t look right, to him, somehow. He should be smaller and thinner. No hair on his face. Younger–definitely younger. Had he known him in the past at some point? But that was a whole different thing–because Steve still knew everyone in town better than he even knew himself. There were so many gaps in his past, in his own self knowledge, that it was a struggle trying to even recall things about his wedding to Christine. He could remember them eventually, but it was like something else was filling them in as he thought about them–this was different. This was already there inside him. This man was already inside him somewhere, he just had to try and place him. The video was too blurry, and only in black and white. Maybe…maybe if he was closer to him, looked him in the eye, he’d know.

Steve sat back, and realized he was hard. Harder than he’d been all week. Harder than Christine had ever managed to make him, that was for sure. But that wasn’t right–he shouldn’t be hard thinking about this big, burly fucker…right? He shouldn’t be thinking about what he might smell like, or taste like, or…

He shook his head, stood up, and went into the bathroom for a moment to splash some water on his face. This wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be thinking about this. He was happy! Yeah, he was happy here, with his two kids, with his wife. He was important. People liked him, they looked up to him! He should be…be thankful, shouldn’t he?

Where had he heard this before? He was saying it to himself, but it felt like another voice in his mind, one he could recognize, distantly. Was something wrong with him? Was he going insane? No–No, this wasn’t anything important. His relief would get here in a few hours, and then he could go home, fuck his wife, and everything would be normal again, the way it should be, and he could forget all about this strange night. In the mirror, he looked at himself again, at the face he’d been trying to accept for the last week, at the wrinkles, at the mustache, at the uniform. Was this really him? Was this who he was supposed to be, or was this a skin he was wearing, a skin that was wearing him? Everything itched all of a sudden, his skin and his hair, he shuddered and had a sudden vision of himself, clawing his way out, but inside there was nothing, just another void like the one in the dream beside him, a void shaped, somehow, like that drunk and horny biker in the holding cell.

He splashed some water on his face again, but it didn’t do much to help. He tugged on his collar, on his cuffs, trying to feel comfortable in this uniform which suddenly felt anything but. There was no reason to panic. Nothing had changed. This is who he was, who he was always supposed to be. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, and then another one. It was too hot in here, he was sweating in the humid night, and the air conditioning didn’t seem to be running right now–which wasn’t a surprise. He took his uniform shirt off and went back out to his desk, hanging it on the back of his chair. It was still to hot, and yet he was shivering too, somehow. He glanced at the monitor, hoping that the biker would be asleep at least, give him a reason to slip out and not come back, but his breath caught in his throat when he realized what he was seeing–the biker was sitting there on the bench in the cell, pants down around his boots, jerking off, right where the camera could see him.

Didn’t he know he could see him? Maybe he was too drunk to notice the camera hanging in the hall outside his cell. Or maybe, he had noticed. Maybe he wanted Steve to see him do it, or maybe Steve just wanted to see it, and couldn’t allow himself the thought, or the admission of guilt. The video quality was bad, he could barely make out any detail, but his mind filled it in for him, what he cock might look like, or feel like, or smell like. Steve had the front of his own pants open, and he didn’t even know when that had happened, one had milking his cock, the other slipping down the back of his briefs towards his hole, probing it gently. He had never done it to himself, only Christine had, and they still hadn’t talked about it, about why it was suddenly necessary. He was afraid that if he did it himself, then he wouldn’t need her anymore. Wouldn’t even want her anymore. Maybe he only wanted her because it was the only thing available to him to want–because he wanted this man more. He wanted him so strongly, it couldn’t even compare. So strongly, he didn’t even realize he’d gotten up from the desk, and walked towards the cell block for a moment. So strongly that even though he didn’t know what he might be able to do, he was willing to risk it anyway.

When he opened the door to the small block of cells, he heard a quiet curse from the biker, and the rustling of pants. He had been taking his time on the video monitor, and obviously hadn’t finished by the time Steve opened the door. As much as part of him wanted to catch him with his pants down, he walked a bit slower, giving him time to put himself together, before he got to his cell, and looked at him again, closer this time, in more detail than the monitor could provide. He wanted to look elsewhere, but his eyes were drawn to the front of his greasy jeans, to the hard cock outlined there, still feeling that itch in his own ass, but trying to avoid connecting the dots any further than that. After all, this man was dangerous. Belligerent. Rough.

Between the ride and the booking and the short time in his cell, Kevin had begun to sober up slightly, and he did not enjoy it–He’d wanted to sleep, but had been too horny, after that altercation in the bar bathroom, to do anything without jacking off. Already, he had rewritten the history of that moment to suit him–of course he hadn’t hit on Benny in the bathroom, in sheer desperation, hoping that the young man’s sexual appetites wouldn’t object to a blow job from a man like Kevin. No, it had been something else, Benny had tried to touch him (perhaps on accident, perhaps not) he’d overreacted (perhaps) and now here he was. It was just a drunken misunderstanding, one that had left him cripplingly horny all the same, and now he was looking at the cop, the hangover already brewing in his head, but he noticed a few things. He noticed that he didn’t have his uniform shirt on, for some reason. He noticed that he was actually rather handsome, for a cop, not as handsome as Benny, but then, he was older. More seasoned. He noticed the camera over the cop’s shoulder, and the blinking red light, the lens pointing right at him in the cell. He noticed that the cops belt was unbuckled, the fly open–only the button had been fastened. Perhaps he’d been watching, and was curious. Perhaps he was tired, and hadn’t quite got himself put together after taking a shit. But looking at him like this, Kevin realized something else. He knew him from somewhere.

Not from town–this cop…for whatever reason, he wasn’t a deputy that was familiar to him, which was itself surprising. After all, Kevin was no stranger to law enforcement, here or anywhere else. He assumed this one was just new–but that didn’t seem right either. No one…moved into Derryville. The man spoke like he’d grown up here, in that same familiar drawl as the rest of them. He knew him from somewhere else, some other context, and from the way the cop was eyeing him, he might be thinking the same thing.

“Ya know, ya look familiar,” he said, and stood up, finding his footing a bit unsteady, but better than it had been at the bar, when the cop had dragged him out. “I think I know you from somewhere, years ago. This isn’t the first time you’ve arrested me, is it?” He stepped closer to the bars, not so close as to be a threat, but closer, hoping a better look would help remind him. It didn’t help him recall anything, but the closer he got, the more he…liked the look of the cop. Maybe he was better than Benny, somehow. Less nervous, though he could see the sweat on his brow. The cop opened his mouth, and then licked his lips. He was nervous, wasn’t he? But he didn’t feel nervousness from him, or maybe, what he wasn’t feeling was fear. Most strangers got a look at him, all muscle and hair and tattoos and leather, and were afraid. But this cop wasn’t afraid, or dismissive–he was curious. More than curious. Something else. He looked down at his crotch again, and then back up, a bit afraid himself, to admit what he was thinking about.

Steve kept trying to find something to say, but couldn’t trust his mouth to not say something…terrible. Because what he really wanted to say, what he wanted to ask, wasn’t something that could be asked. He had a wife. He was straight. He had children. He had never so much as looked at another man, especially not a man like this. He wasn’t a faggot, he wasn’t! He should leave, just go back upstairs, maybe jack off himself, and then go home and fuck his wife. That’s what had to happen–but instead, he just…stood there, looking at the biker like an idiot, not even replying to his question.

Had they met somewhere before? He had seemed familiar, that void…something about him could fill it, he was sure of it. But where could their paths have possibly crossed before? He had never worked as a cop anywhere else, he didn’t know this man from town. It was clear that he lived here though, he…could feel that, somehow. But if they didn’t know each other from here, then where? “I…think I know you too,” he said finally, his mouth dry, voice cracking slightly, “But I don’t know where.”

“You have a smoke?”

Steve shook his head, “You can’t smoke in here.”

Kevin tsked, and then chuckled, watched Steve blush slightly. Kevin had never liked cops much. Too righteous for their own good, unable to question whether authority was necessary. But this one…there was something about this one, that seemed different. “Come on, who’s going to know? Just one smoke.” He added a wink at the end, and Steve had to glance away.

“I’ll get you your cigarettes, but if I do, you…have to let me do something.”

Kevin raised an eyebrow, but nodded, and Steve hustled back out to the holding area, where he had kept the drunk’s keys, the contents of his pockets, and returned with his cigarettes and a lighter. He passed them through the bars, and while Kevin lit up, he opened the cell door, and slipped inside with him, still wondering what in the world he thought he was doing. He looked up at the camera, hesitated–but he knew where the tapes were kept, how to erase them. After all, the Sheriff had to scrub his encounters with Marcy from the record every other day or so–just to be safe. That, or he kept them…somewhere else–that sounded more like him, actually.

All Steve had meant to do, was smell him. He didn’t know what that void was shaped like, or what it sounded like, but somehow, he…could almost remember a smell, a taste. He stepped close to Kevin, pressed his nose to the nape of his neck, and took a sniff. It…it wasn’t the same, it wasn’t what he remembered, but it was…it. Clouded over with smoke, and drink, and musk, and work, and women, but it was there, buried deep down. He licked him there too, and then Kevin’s greasy hand wrapped it’s way around the back of Steve’s head, pulled his face over, and kissed him, feeding him the cigarette smoke, but now he was sure of it. He knew him, from somewhere. Not…him exactly, but he could sense that same recognition in the biker, in the way he touched him, in the way he tasted him too.

“I knew you’d feel like this, I knew it,” Kevin said, and then kissed him again. After a moment, he pulled back, obviously wrestling with something. “I’m…I’m not a faggot.”

Steve shook his head. Of course he wasn’t. Neither of them were.

“I have kids. Three of them. I fuck my wife everyday, just…just like a man should.”

“Me too…just…let’s not talk about it, not right now.”

They kissed again. Steve opened Kevin’s greasy jeans back up, hauled out his thick cock. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like he had tasted and smelled him, but he wasn’t going to object to the eight inch, uncut cock, so thick he could only just get his hand around it. Kevin moaned, bit Steve’s lip, pushed him back up against the cell wall. One had still working Kevin’s cock, the other undid the button on his pants, let them fall around his knees, tugged down his underwear awkwardly, and then he spun around, ass grinding against Kevin’s cock.

Kevin hesitated again, Steve could feel him thinking about it, calculating it. He couldn’t handle the waiting–if the fucker didn’t get his cock inside him soon, he might lose his nerve for the whole venture. “Fuck me already.”

“I’m not a faggot.”

“Shut the fuck up about faggots already! Just fuck me, I know you want to, I can fucking feel how fucking hard you are.”

“If you fucking tell anyone–”

“Why the fuck would I say anything! Just fuck me!”

Kevin drooled some spit into his hand, lubed up his cock, and pressed it to Steve’s hole. It was…so much bigger than Christine’s fingers, it hurt so much, but Steve didn’t dare tell him to stop, or tell him to slow down, anything that might cause him to hesitate again. He needed this–it didn’t matter how much pain it was, but as soon as he felt it, the head of the cock puncture his hole, he knew that this was what he had been missing. He had been missing this, and he’d been missing him! He’d been looking for him everywhere, even though he couldn’t know the shape of him. He’d been hunting, spending so much energy on it without even realizing he’d been doing it–and then he heard a gutteral sob behind him.

He looked back, and saw the biker wiping his eyes, his hand soaked with tears. Before he could ask what was happening, the man grabbed him in a bear hug, and drove the cock in another couple of inches, making Steve gasp and cry out in pain, but he couldn’t move, the biker was clinging to him, crushing him, and sobbing against his shoulder. “I didn’t think, I didn’t know…where you’d gone…” he sobbed again. “How did I…where did you go?”

They didn’t feel like questions with answers, to Steve. Besides, he barely had a chance to catch his breath before Kevin drove his cock still deeper inside him, and began fucking him in earnest, still clutching Steve to him, who could do nothing more than brace himself against the wall.

“I couldn’t find you, I went looking, I was worried, I…” Kevin muttered, mostly to himself, trying to retrace some footsteps that should have been lost to the past already. “I loved you.”

Steve reached down, started working his own cock. It only took a few strokes before he was riding the edge of his own orgasm, and Kevin was pumping harder, breathing faster, probably close to his own. Steve came, catching most of it in his hand, as best he could, and then Kevin came as well, filling his ass with his load. He could feel the thick cock pumping inside him, and he cried out a little, and Kevin held him tighter, held him until his cock had gone soft, held him until Steve started to squirm a bit, and he could get away to empty the palm of his hand into the toilet, and then wiped the rest of it off with a handkerchief, while Kevin tried to regain some sort of composure.

“You have to go,” Steve said, as he pulled his pants back up. “No one will know you were booked here, at least no one at the bar. I never told another officer you were here.”

“You…you felt that too, didn’t you?” Kevin muttered. “This…this is wrong, this is fucked. What the fuck happened to us? How did I forget you, why…why can I still not remember a god damn thing?”

“I don’t know. But you have to go, now.”

“When can I see you again?”

Steve didn’t know how to answer that question at all.

“I can’t…I need to know, please.”

Steve shook his head, “I don’t know. I don’t know if we can ever do this again.”

Kevin’s face fell, and some of the sadness hardened into anger–at himself, or at Steve, he wasn’t quite sure.

They didn’t say much else, after that. He got Kevin his things, took his number at Kevin’s insistence, and then pushed him out the door. He checked the clock–it was a couple of hours before another deputy would show up–he had time. He got rid of the booking, still incomplete and not entered into the system. He found the video files in the surveillance system, but hesitated. He had to delete them. He had to. He had to try and get rid of all the evidence, even from his own mind. He knew, somehow, that what they had done wasn’t just taboo–it was one of the most dangerous things he could have done here. There were no faggots in Derryville–it just wasn’t something that existed here, because everyone…had kids. That’s what you did here, that’s why this town, unlike so many others, had a future. Why it was growing. That they had done this, that they had enjoyed it…no one could know, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. In the end, he took the footage, put it on a little flash drive, and tucked it into his pocket before closing down the station and driving off for the evening–running everything through his mind, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, some little scrap of evidence that someone might find–the little drive burning a hole in his pocket, but he couldn’t. He’d found him, finally–and he wasn’t about to let him go that easily.

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