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Deep Trouble Undercover

By Vincent Diamond

Published by

JMS Books LLC

This story is included in the print book

Rough Cut: Vincent Diamond Collected by Vincent Diamond.

Vincent Diamond

ISBN 978-1-61152-056-9

Cover Credits:

Lars Christenen

Used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
Cover Design:

J.M. Snyder

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your

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infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be
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No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced

in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from
the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the
purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains

substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which
may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your
files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and

incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination
and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to
actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

* * * *

Deep Trouble Undercover

By Vincent Diamond

“How far is too far, Sarge?”
Benton brushed back his graying hair. “What are you

really asking me, Steven?” His drawl was smoother than Jack
Daniel’s. Like so many on the Jacksonville PD, he was just a
good ol’ boy who’d done well. Lots of them didn’t care much for
the younger, college-educated cops who came on board. Benton
was always cool with me, though and he gave me this shot at
high-level undercover work. Undercover was a young man’s gig;
the guys over forty didn’t have much chance.

I had to know. “When you worked undercover, did you

ever—sleep with a suspect?”

Benton’s gaze jerked around, some surprise on his worn

features. He snapped the manila folder containing the Stalton
crew’s operations file on the desk. “No, I never did. But I came
close. You sleeping with one of the crew?”

If he only knew.
“No, it’s just…Things are getting kinda squirrelly. Tense,

you know.” Working the Stalton gang was taking its toll on me; I
hadn’t been sleeping or eating well the past month. I couldn’t
stop thinking about Conrad and I couldn’t keep my focus on the
job like I should. This quick meeting with my sergeant was
supposed to make me feel better—not worse.

Benton clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Do what you

have to, Steven. The Feds are in the case now, we can’t blow it.”

So I got the advice I needed—fuck whoever you have to

in order to make the bust.

* * * *

The bust went bad. Yeah, we had our SWAT guys, who

are damn good but when you’re bogged down with DEA and FBI
guys who only run a raid like this once a year, things go really
wrong, really fast. Instead of waiting until dawn to move in, some

bigwig Fed decided to go in during a rave. Civilians all over the
place, the crew we were after tucked away in an upstairs
backroom and sure enough, things got blown to shit. No civvies
dead, but we took some hits, and two of Conrad’s crew got
popped permanently.

I slammed up the stairs, found Conrad bending over

Jason, the one of his crew who had hero-worshipped him the
most. The knees of his pants were soaked with Jason’s blood,
there was a bloody palm print on his white T-shirt and the look in
his eyes when he saw me with a badge around my neck and a
gun pointed at him…betrayal, grief, rage.

“You lying sonfabitch!” Conrad stood, hands wiping more

blood onto his shirt.

“Conrad—I…” My voice cracked. Below us, the clatter of

the SWAT team banged at the bottom of the stairs. Conrad
flinched. “Run.”

I’ll never forget that night.
Or the night before when he lay me out on a rickety table

in that room and took me to heaven with his lips and his tongue
and his hands.

Never forget.
I let him go, let him get down the fire escape, let him skip

away into the night.

* * * *

The Feds let us take the heat for the deaths, milked the

media for all it was worth, then they charged the ravers they
could arrest and left town. The case was closed, and I got sent
back down to street units.

It took me over three months to track Conrad down. Once

the Internal Affairs investigation was over, I knew my career in
law enforcement was finished. Oh, they put me back on the
street but I got the midnight shift in a toney part of town that
never saw any action. After three weeks in a row with nothing
more serious than a burglary call to an outside storage shed, I
turned in my badge and my gun.

I’ll never shoot one again.
I ran the beaches for awhile, picked up some cash

working the surf shops. It was fun at first, like being back in high
school again. Nothing more to think about than the waves and
the girls and whether I should wear the orange shorts or the
green that day.

Except that I couldn’t really think about the girls.
I cruised the streets some nights to look for ravers. But

the dance scene had ended once Conrad left; there was no one
with the power and charisma to generate the interest, no one
had stepped in to make money on raves. I did find one crew, but
no one would talk to me about the Stalton team.

It was the ‘net that helped me out. I got lucky in a Florida

dance music chat room, found some kid who bragged a little too
much about being in the scene, knew somebody who knew
somebody who knew Conrad and sure enough, with some
nudging from me (DanceBoy69), he dropped the dime on
Conrad.

Conrad was in Tampa.
I turned in my keys to the surf shop the next day and

packed for my trip.

* * * *

My old friend Sheila was still at the bank. She was happy

to plug in his card number and sure enough, his Visa spit out a
cluster of purchases along Florida Avenue in the central part of
the city. Gas once a week at a Mobil, groceries here and there,
the liquor store once. CDs, of course, at a hip-hop store on
Columbus Drive. All in a six block radius.

Once I got there, I felt the stares from the neighborhood

folks. I was too white in a car that was too fancy. But Conrad
would blend right in here with his caramel-toned skin and dark
eyes. I wondered why he chose this part of town when the
university neighborhoods would have a better music scene.

It didn’t take long to spot his souped-up Mustang at one of

the motels on the strip deep in the heart of Hispanic Tampa. That

was one of the things that intrigued me about him, his interest in
old muscle cars. The ‘stang was painted a rich metallic eggplant
that looked black at night and sheened with purple sparkles in
the daytime.

I parked across the street and watched the motel for an

hour, telling myself I was just being cautious, casing the joint. In
case he was working a crew in there. Told myself I was still
thinking like a cop.

I was just scared shitless.
I waited until after dark, then made myself drive over. I

parked next to his Mustang, picked a door and knocked fast,
before I chickened out.

I wished I knew what to say to him.
He answered the door, bare-chested, work pants drooping

loose over his hips like he’d just tugged them on. He was a big
guy, over six feet, a solid two-ten and had shoulders about three
feet wide. And that caramel skin and full as honey mouth—all the
same. Just seeing him made me feel like I’d been punched in the
stomach.

I swallowed and locked my knees.
“Who’s with you?” Conrad whispered the question.
My belly tightened and I felt my testicles crawl upwards.

Fear felt like this. “What?” I could only stammer.

“I said, who’s with you, dumbfuck! The Feds? Jax PD?”
“No one!” I lifted high my palms. “I’m alone. Really.”
“I bet.” Conrad folded his arms over his chest. His deep

voice rumbled, a growl like a lion’s. “Then what the hell are you
doing here?”

I balled up my fists and shoved them in my pockets. I kept

my gaze on him.

Don’t back away, don’t cringe. Be a man and face him.
“I needed to see you.”
“And I should care?” It probably felt good to strike back at

me, if only with words.

“Conrad…” I managed a shaky breath. “Please.”
“You still a cop?”
“No.”

He just stood there, muscled arms over his smooth-

skinned chest. A shoulder shrug.

I tried to speak calmly. “So, can I come in?”
“Suit yourself.” Conrad turned back into the room.
First I noticed the room smelled like Conrad. Not dirty and

sweaty, just that he'd lived here long enough to make it his own.
Both beds were neat, pillows were propped up on one, the
outline of Conrad’s body clear on the mattress. Two pairs of work
boots rested on the floor next to the TV; a few clothes dangled
on the rack, shirts and pants together. Tidy.

I watched him move to the low dresser and tug out a tank

top. As Conrad stretched it over his torso, our gaze met in the
mirror. Conrad shifted his eyes away and pulled the shirt down.
He buttoned his pants.

Conrad flicked the remote and the TV blared back on. He

stretched out on the bed again, seemingly relaxed.

“Uh, can I use your bathroom?” It was all I could manage

to say.

“Over there.” A dismissive hand waved towards the back

of the room.

I leaned against the bathroom door once I shut it. My legs

were trembling the same way they had that night in his
apartment and I remember being pressed against another door,
watching its hinges move as he thrust into me, feeling his fire
and ice burn me.

I was glad that the fan worked. I flipped it on and just

stood at the sink, looking at my face in the mirror.

What am I doing here? What can I possibly say to this

man to make him forgive me?

I looked over Conrad’s toiletries carefully arranged on the

sink. A damp towel hung over the shower curtain and I had to
stop myself from reaching for it.

Screw this. You drove over three hundred miles—face him.

* * * *

“…So after three weeks of that, I quit.” I finished my story.

Conrad’s eyes flicked back and forth to the TV. It was
disconcerting to see him stretched out on the other bed like that;
my eyes kept skimming down his body. Conrad had grown a
goatee and it gave him a devilish, dangerous look. Combined
with his usual shaved head, it made him look a little too satanic.

“That’s all very interesting, Steven, but it doesn’t explain

to me—why.”

“Conrad, I get in too deep, too fast. This was way more

than the undercover jobs I’d done before. Shit, for two years I
busted college kids selling dope in their dorm rooms, nothing like
this. Benton saw it, he tried to pull me out but by then, the Feds
were involved and they didn’t want to blow the whole operation.
So, I stayed in and look what happened.”

A car commercial roared onto the screen and Conrad’s

gaze moved back to the television. We watched the thirty-second
spot in silence.

I wanted him to look at me.
“I owe you my thanks for letting me go. Thank you. But

that’s all I owe you, Steven. Nothing else. I don’t know what
you’re doing here.”

“I guess I just wanted to explain my side to you.”
Conrad’s eyes went flat and cold. His shoulders bunched

up and for a second I thought he might stand and slap me across
the face.

Conrad twisted his feet onto the floor and glared at me. His

jaw clenched and I could see that famous Stalton temper—the
temper that got him sent to prison on assault charges—rising to
the surface in the flush of Conrad’s face and the flex of his arms.

I’d be lucky to get away with just a slap.
Conrad’s hand clenched around the remote and then he

threw it over my head. It crashed into the wall behind me and fell
apart in a tinkle of cheap plastic.

“You fuckin’ lied to me! You lied, Steven! That first time in

my apartment and again that night at the club. I tell ya, kid, you
should go to acting school or something, ‘coz you sure pulled
that shit over good with me.” Conrad’s throaty baritone deepened
into that growl of rage I’d heard before directed at people who’d

pissed him off.

“I’m sorry.”
Conrad shook his head. “You know what makes me even

stupider? Not just fooling myself that you were on someone’s
payroll or fooling myself about you and me. No, I went one worse.
I fooled myself into thinking that you fucking cared.” That pointed
finger again, accusing and cold. “You were lying all along.”

“I wasn’t lying when I told you that I cared.” I raised my

palms, wished they weren’t trembling. “I let you go at the club
that night, Conrad. I—had to.”

“Doesn’t matter. The team’s torn to shit, anyway. And it’s

my fault! Laurie and Taylor are gone, Jason is fucking dead, my
sister won’t even talk to me…” Conrad seemed to calm down a
little. He lay back on the bed once more. “I fucked things up for a
lot of people, Steven, all because I couldn’t see through you. Or
didn’t want to.”

“I’m sorry, really.” My voice broke. I remembered that pain

and put one hand on my chest. My heart thumped. It felt loud to
me; I wondered if Conrad could hear it. “It killed me to watch you
walk away like that, Conrad. It actually hurt my chest.”

“Well, it’s over, kid. You did your bit, you said your piece,

so how about you just move the fuck on?”

“Stop calling me kid. I’m just as much a man as you are.

Man enough to face you.”

Conrad’s mouth snapped shut. I stood and walked over to

the television. I slammed it off with a palm on the power button
and stood facing him.

“You’re right, you don’t owe me anything, Conrad.” The

words came fast now; I couldn’t stop them and was past caring
about stopping them. My hands knotted in my T-shirt. “I don’t
know exactly what happened between us, I just know that it’s
changed me and I can’t go back to where I was and I can’t keep
running and I can’t be here. Maybe you felt like this your first time
and you didn’t have anyone to turn to either, but this is fucking me
up all over…” I felt my face flush and lowered my head.

I heard Conrad rise off the bed, felt his warm bulk step

closer. Three steps away, two.

Please. Please, just hold me and tell me this will all get

better.

Conrad didn’t touch me, though. I raised my head and

saw him look at me, sadness and pity and something else in his
eyes. To my embarrassment, my stomach rumbled loudly in the
quiet room.

The tension broke and Conrad grinned. “Geez, is that a

thunderstorm in your belly? When was the last time you ate?”

I was able to grin back. “I had breakfast this morning in

Jacksonville.”

“Why don’t you grab a shower and I’ll snag you some

dinner. Okay?”

“That’d be great, thanks.” I reached out one hand, got

close enough to feel his body heat but Conrad moved away.

Conrad tugged on a pair of boots. He smiled at me once

more, that slightly goofy grin that belied his ultra-cool personae
on the street. “You better learn to like Mexican food, whitebread.”

“I love it.” A lie, but who cared?
“Back in twenty.”
I spoke once more as Conrad got to the door. “Conrad?

Thank you. Really.”

He didn’t turn back. A quick nod and Conrad was gone.

* * * *

Two hours later, I’d had downed three Coronas, four

enchiladas, beans, rice and corn, plus chips and guacamole.
Conrad noshed along with me, “I had dinner earlier,” but I knew it
was more to be polite than any real hunger. He was thinner, too.
I could see a little more of the clavicle bones in his chest and
noticed his arms were slimmer. A touch of oil from the enchilada
glistened in his new goatee; it looked delicious somehow,
intriguing.

“Oh, man, that was so great!” I flopped back on the

second bed and groaned in mock distress. I raised my arms over
my head, a badly needed stretch after my drive. I felt sleepy and
satisfied; my feelings of unease with Conrad had dissipated as

we ate and chatted. “My stomach’s gonna bust.”

Conrad picked up our dinner leavings and tucked them

into the bag. “Want another beer?”

“No, better not. I probably shouldn’t drive yet.”
Conrad looked down at me. Our eyes met for a long time.

A siren warbled in the distance—there were memories for both of
us in that sound. I held his gaze and eased my legs apart, just a
little.

Conrad swallowed and crunched the bag together with a

loud rustle. He moved towards the door. “You can crash here.
For tonight.”

“Conrad?”
“I’m gonna dump this trash and uh, take a walk for awhile.

You can clean up and get some sleep.”

Before I could speak, he was gone.
Shit. I blew it.
I made for the door and realized I was a little light-headed,

the beers and the tension had zonked me. Once I grabbed my
overnight bag from the car, I felt more normal again, just on edge
and anxious. What would I do when he got back?

Should I say something to him or just touch him?
The image of Conrad in that backroom still chilled me.

The utter sense of betrayal and anger on Conrad’s face wilted
any sense of excitement I could sustain. I stripped off my clothes
and shoes. I stood for a minute in my shorts, debating, then took
them off as well. The sheets on the second bed smelled like
bleach and the linens were rough, scratchy. I rolled back and
forth a few times, pillow punching and then the beer and the food
and the stress of the day caught up to me, and I faded into sleep.

* * * *

I woke at seven, my usual time. For a second I didn’t

recognize the room, then the smells reminded me—the odor of
greasy food, beer, and Conrad. A narrow shaft of pale sunlight
shone into the room and Conrad stirred, then turned away from
me. His broad back was smooth-skinned, a rich caramel color

that was unblemished and it looked delectable.

Before this—before Conrad—looking at other men had

meant something completely different than what I was feeling
now. It meant sizing them up. Sweeping over a silhouette for a
concealed weapon, gauging height and weight for a report later,
analyzing someone’s bulk to make sure I could take a suspect
down without getting hurt myself. And sure, I looked over other
guys like all men did, just that quick review to reassure myself I
was bigger, stronger.

But looking at Conrad in the dawn light was looking at

beauty. It felt like such a strange thing to think, that a man could
be beautiful, but he was. His features were strong enough to
carry off that bald head: sculpted brows over his deep-set brown
eyes, a thick nose, and full lips balanced it all. And his skin!
Caramel, mocha, creamed coffee—whatever you wanted to call
it—it was mouth-watering, literally.

I’m one of those unusual guys who normally doesn’t have

morning wood but I sure did today. My cock was heavy and it
bonged right on my belly, hard and oozing pre-cum. I rolled over
to avoid looking at him and to keep myself from jacking off.

Next thing I knew, I heard the shower going.
Wait for him to come out or go to him?
Go to him.
The steam in the bathroom wafted a little as I carefully

opened the door, just enough to peek in. I could see his
silhouette through the flimsy shower curtain. One hand moved
below his waist, steady and even. His exhalations made the
steam swirl and I saw his head fall back. I stepped inside the
room, naked and hard and oh-so-scared.

He stopped moving. “What the fuck do you want?” His

words were hoarse and guttural.

I managed just a whisper in the steam, the words wet.

“You. I want you.”

I pulled back the shower curtain with white fingers.

Conrad still had one hand around his cock; it was wine-red and
thick. He moaned as I grabbed his bull neck, pulled him towards
me and kissed him—hard.

The shower curtain snapped off its rings as he wrenched

me into the tub. I lost my balance on the wet surface, he bent to
catch me and we went down together, wet and lost, slippery, the
tile cold, our bodies warm and slick. The water pelted us. I
pressed him against the wall and pushed our cocks together. He
groaned, his torso twisted against mine and we rubbed our
bodies together, frantic, panting in the steam.

“Look at us, look,” he gasped, his gaze downcast.
I saw my cock thrust against his. Mine was longer, more

pink-toned against my golden pubic hair; his was thicker and
wine-dark with black curls surrounding him. The sight grabbed
me, the pink and wine flesh moving together. He put his hands
on us, tunneled our cocks together and we both thrust upwards,
bucking like horses.

The tub hurt my knees, I was vaguely aware of the pain,

knew I’d have bruises but didn’t care. I wrapped my arms around
his shoulders and pushed harder. One of his hands gripped my
butt and he pulled me close, biting my neck and then he groaned
and spurted upwards, his thick, white semen washed away in the
spray of the shower.

Now.
I gave three more hard thrusts and exploded. Semen

spurted out of my cock, and Conrad bent low to catch some on
his face. It looked incredible against his dark skin, like frosting
over mocha cake. He scooped some up with his fingers, fed it to
both of us. My cry echoed against the tile, so loud I thought it
might be heard outside

We knelt there, foreheads to shoulders, panting and

breathless for a long time. When I could look at him again, his
face was calm and set, the anger gone.

* * * *

I woke with a start. The knock on the door was sharp and

so was the voice behind it.

“¿Cirada?” A woman’s voice, raspy.
“No, vuelto mañana, por favor. Gracias, senora.” Conrad’s

deep voice buzzed in my ear. I pressed closer to feel the
vibration in my skull. “Solomente toallas.” Conrad’s Spanish was
quick and smooth. I recognized a couple of the words; a cop in
Florida had to learn some just to get by but I was surprised at
how well he spoke it.

More secrets.
“Si, senor.”
I saw a shadow pass in front of the curtains and the squeak

of a wheeled cart. I glanced over at the bedside clock. 10:45.

Conrad stretched, his broad torso rippled against mine.

He rubbed my feet with his own. “Man, you got cold feet.
Geezus!”

I snorted. “Yeah, I always have. Maybe bad circulation or

something.”

“Probably just those long legs of yours.” Conrad accented

his words with a caress down my belly to my cock. “Looonnngg
legs.” A low growl from Conrad and I was hard again, just like that.

“Oh, no, not again!” I sighed with mock dismay and then

laughed with delight. Conrad pulled me on top to straddle him. I
watched his face flush and bent to kiss him.

“Just like that first night.” Conrad breathed hard. “Ride me.”
I rode.
Later, we showered again. I found Conrad’s body utterly

beautiful and couldn’t stop stroking and tasting and nuzzling him.
His new goatee was scratchy and I could feel that my face and
neck were a little raw. Beard burn. It felt so strange.

But nice.
I liked feeling stretched and sore, kissed and bruised. I’d

never made love with a woman with such intensity or adventure;
Conrad was tough enough to take my fiercest sexual moments
and gentle enough to kiss my fears away.

“Hey, Conrad, this is—well, pretty wonderful. Thanks.” I

curled my arms around Conrad’s waist and our eyes met in the
bathroom mirror.

“Yeah.” Soft smiles linked us. Conrad pulled me close and

kissed my forehead. “I’m glad you found me, Steven.”

* * * *

In the next week we established a simple routine. Conrad

drove off to his job at the garage; I worked days washing dishes
and busing tables at a local Spanish café. It was hard labor and
next to no money but I didn’t mind. I had Conrad.

I usually got back to our motel room first and showered.

The throaty carb of the Mustang announced Conrad’s arrival
from blocks away, and by the time Conrad got in the door, I was
hard and ready. I didn’t even let Conrad shower away the day’s
grime and sweat; I just met him at the door and we grappled with
each other standing up. After Conrad got cleaned up, we’d hit
the bed again, then head out to one of the restaurants in town for
dinner. He pushed me to expand my tastes; he got ‘Mr. Meat and
Potatoes’ from cattle country eating Thai and Greek and Mexican
and even sushi. Once.

Since adolescence I usually had to get up during the night

to pee. I tried to ease out of the bed and not wake him, but
Conrad always welcomed me back with a quick nuzzle and a
sleepy sigh of contentment. He would twist his toes around my
chilled feet and rub them until they were warm again.

One Friday night, I’d propped pillows under my torso to

watch television sideways over Conrad’s broad shoulders. We
took turns stretching out, one holding the other, and switched off
as the shows ended and cruised through commercials. I let my
fingers ease over Conrad’s back and arms. “This feels great,
doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Conrad turned towards me, his face

furrowed. “You’re spoiling me, I’m not used to this.”

“Come on, you’ve had this before.”
“Not really.” Conrad shrugged. “It’s not like we lay around

in Raiford all cuddly, ya know.”

Raiford was the maximum security men’s prison in north

Florida, a bad place by anyone’s standards. He’d done two years
of time and didn’t like to talk about it. I pushed a little more.

“What was it like?” I felt Conrad’s torso tense and wiped

one palm over his smooth forehead.

“Raiford was just about—need. Release.” Conrad’s eyes

went flat. “Not much more than that.”

“Did you—I mean, after Raiford—were you ever with

another man?”

“Coupla times. There’s a beach south of Jax for cruising.”
“Spa Beach, yeah, the cops know about it.”
Conrad looked at me sharply. “Do they? Guess I was

lucky, could have gotten busted again for getting a knob shine.
Great.” He sat up and scooted back to lean against the
headboard. I resettled next to him.

I couldn’t help but be curious. “Why did you do it?” He’d

had groupies of both sexes after him in the dance scene and
seemed to prefer the women.

Those broad shoulders shrugged again. “I don’t really

know. But there were some nights when I just wanted a man’s
touch. Something different, something—rough. I guess that’s
what it comes down to.”

“You had Donalita.”
Conrad reached over for an iced tea from the nightstand.

He swallowed a good third of the bottle before speaking. “I never
really had her. Donalita let me borrow her when it suited her
purposes.”

“Oh. I thought you two were pretty much an item.”
“She liked the music and the money and being the top

dog’s woman. If Johnny Jay had taken over that scene, she
would have been with him.” Another long swallow. “I think.”

“I shouldn’t have pried, this is none of my business.” I saw

the hurt in Conrad’s features.

Conrad glanced over at me then looked away to the

television. “It’s okay. I don’t mind talking to you about stuff.” A
few seconds silence. “And what about you, you been with
another man since that night?”

“No, no way.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t really want another man. I just want…” I stared

hard at the ceiling. I felt his brown eyes on me, felt our arms
pressed against one another. “I just want you.” It felt a little silly

to say it but he didn’t tease me.

I kissed him and settled on his broad chest. We wrapped

our arms around each other, the blue light from the television
glazing our faces. When I woke around three in the morning, we
were still holding each other close.

* * * *

At dinner a week later, Conrad talked through a beery

burp. “Walk on the beach?”

We both grinned. “Yeah, that’d be great. All sappy and

romantic-like.” I was tickled that Conrad asked me; romantic he
wasn’t.

We headed west across the bridge over to Pass-A-Grille

Beach. We walked our usual route: around the jutting finger of
the point, past the snack bar then into the quiet water where I
liked to swim. The water here was calmer and the sea-smell
permeated the air tonight.

I spotted a lump on the sand ahead. Driftwood, maybe or

a clump of seaweed. The half-moon shone on the gray sand.

A few steps more and Conrad stiffened next to me.

“Whoa.”

I could smell it now. Death. I moved closer and could

make out the dark shape on the sand, curved like a sickle. It
wasn’t seaweed.

I heard the flies first and covered my nose. From six steps

away I could see it clearly—a dolphin, eyes blackened in death,
mouth open in a rictus.

We moved upwind.
“Oh, man, this sucks. Should we call somebody maybe?

The Game Commission?” I asked.

Conrad shook his head. “It’s after hours, man, nobody’ll

answer. Who gives a shit about a dead dolphin anyway?”

The words were cruel and I looked at him for a few

seconds, pissed. “An adult, wouldn’t you say. I don’t see any
wounds.” I squatted in the sand to see more closely.

Conrad didn’t answer. He put his hands in his pockets and

stared out to the gulf.

“Wow, that’s so sad.” I remembered dolphins from my

high school days of surfing. That first frission of fear at seeing a
fin in the water, then the sweet relief as the school arced past,
close enough to make the waves swell around me. Smiling
creatures, I remembered that.

“Let’s go,” Conrad said quietly.
Conrad’s eyes were dark, his jaw muscles clenched tight.
Halfway back to the car, Conrad took my hand in his.
We didn’t talk on the way back but Conrad’s hand was

tight around mine, our fingers clutched together. He ran his
thumb up and over mine in a sensual caress. I was hard before
we even got back to the Mustang.

I grabbed him and kissed him, one hand looped tightly

around his neck. The tang of sea water was on his skin. I was
ready to climb in the back seat and do whatever he wanted but
he stopped and held my face. “Take me home,” he said, his
voice rough.

It was normally an hour drive; I made it back in thirty-five

minutes.

Once inside the door, I pushed him against it, impatient

and horny. My shorts were damp from pre-come that had soaked
in while I was driving. Conrad raised his arms overhead and
leaned back, waiting. I trailed kisses over his bare scalp, down his
neck and chest and tugged at his pants. Conrad’s cock sprang
free and I kissed it, feeling it grow and bob against my lips.

It was sweetness.
“Get your clothes off and get the stuff.” Conrad’s order

was husky and rough.

I loved Conrad’s eyes on me as I undressed; I took my

time, teasing him a little. When I ran a palm down my torso, I
saw Conrad swallow. By the time I got back to the door with the
lube and condom packet, Conrad was naked as well.

And now. And now, now Conrad would fill me and ride me

and pump me and I was so hard that it hurt, my cock actually
ached. My balls were tight up against me, tender. My cock
oozed, wet and ready. My fingers trembled.

Conrad grabbed me—almost too hard—and our kiss was

frantic. Conrad gasped when we parted and fumbled for the lube.

Oh, yeah, give it to me. Right now.
Conrad filled my head; the smell of the beach still on him,

a touch of pepper in his kisses, Conrad’s beautiful bulk was all I
could see. I ground against him, loving the feel of our bodies
pressed together. I heard the rip of the condom packet and
thought I would scream with frustration.

Conrad pushed me away and looked down. I kissed his

scalp and nuzzled at his ears. “Oh, Conrad, please. You’re
teasing me.”

Conrad’s hand closed around me and with a shock of

slippery wetness, I realized that Conrad meant to put the
condom on me. Conrad’s callused palms were rough but it felt
good, so good. The latex was cool, Conrad’s tongue was hot on
my neck, and the room filled with our urgent moans.

I grabbed Conrad’s face, forced our eyes to meet. “Are

you sure about this?”

“Oh, yeah, I am absolutely sure I want you to fuck me.”

Conrad knelt down and used his tongue on me before rolling on
the rubber. He stood and turned around.

Right against the door, just like he’d done to me.
I moved closer and eased my cock between Conrad’s

buttocks. I looked down and my head filled with an erotic buzz. In
the dim light of the room I could see Conrad’s mocha skin, feel it
warm against me and then my own pale cock pressed against
the other man. I cupped Conrad’s muscled ass in my hands, felt
the curve of him against me. I fumbled some lube onto my
middle finger and plunged it inside him, a little unsure, not really
knowing what I was doing.

He gasped and his head jerked back. He clamped down

on my finger and whispered, “Fuck me, Steven. God, I want you
to fuck me.”

And oh, God, I want to do this.
I thought I could go slowly but once I pushed inside him, I

was gripped with fever. Conrad moaned against the door, his
body rigid. I felt our sweat slippery between us, felt him move

beneath me, and I thrust into Conrad over and over. This was
nothing like being with a woman; this was dangerous and hot-
blooded and rabid wild. I gripped Conrad’s fingers tight, saw his
knuckles whiten, saw the flakes of paint on the wall next to us.
We moved together; the cheap door rattled in its panel as we
rocked away.

“Oh, God, Steven, please!” Conrad gasped. “Harder,

Steven, please!”

I grasped his shoulders and slammed into him with

everything I could muster. Conrad’s whole body went tight and
stiff. He pushed backwards and cried out, a moaning wail so loud
that I knew it sounded beyond the room. Conrad thrashed in my
arms; I could barely hold him. I moved one hand down to
Conrad’s cock, felt it wet and spurting, and then I came myself,
hard, gushing inside him, and my ears filled with the sound of our
groans, and the buzz of orgasm.

Coming made me stagger. We lost balance and I

smacked into the wall next to the door. We stayed connected,
panting and gasping. I put my hands on Conrad’s back and felt
him trembling.

Conrad pulled away and fell to his knees on the carpet.

He hunched over, hands over his bare skull, sweating; it shone
in the room’s dim light.

After a few seconds, my head cleared. My legs trembled

so much I had to push away from the wall with my hands.

Conrad stayed on the floor.
“Con, are you okay?” I bent down and realized Conrad was

still shaking. “Hey, hey, come on, man, tell me what’s wrong?”

No answer.
“Conrad! Look at me!”
Conrad raised his head finally, revealing red-rimmed

eyes. His face was flushed and sweaty.

My heart lurched. “Oh, God, did I hurt you? Oh, Conrad,

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

Conrad clasped my face and kissed me. “No, you didn’t

hurt me, it’s all right. Let’s lie down.”

We settled on the bed, Conrad’s head on my chest. I

shivered as our sweat cooled. Conrad tugged the sheets over
us. I nuzzled his forehead, hoping he would talk. Our legs
wrapped around each other. and Conrad brushed his own warm
feet against my cold toes.

I think he would have stayed silent all night if I’d let him,

but I wasn’t going to. “Conrad, you kinda scared me there, I
admit.”

Conrad sighed and pulled himself closer. “I just needed

that, Steven. It’s been a real long time for me that way.”

“Since Raiford?”
“Yeah.”
“So why tonight?”
“I dunno.” Conrad trailed one finger down my torso.
“I’m not buying that. Come on, tell me. I know something’s

bothering you.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”.
I stopped him with one hand against his neck. “You got

quiet after the dolphin. Please. Talk to me.”

Conrad sat up and pulled his legs to his chest. He wiped

one palm over his scalp. “Jason loved dolphins. He used to go
down to the marine science center in Sarasota to watch them.
He was kinda embarrassed about it. When he went down there
the first time, we teased him for awhile. Called him Flipper Boy.”
Conrad snorted and looked away.

“Until you stopped it.”
“Yeah…I saw that it was a break for him, something away

from us, away from the clubs. One little thing that was his own.”

I stroked Conrad’s arm. He looked at me, eyes glistening,

soft.

“I couldn’t go back to the house after the raid, I knew cops

would be all over the place.” Conrad’s voice choked. “I never got
to go to his funeral, never got to see his family. I never said
good-bye to him.”

Conrad turned his face away, his fingers clenched tight

over his arms.

I pulled Conrad over to me. I let him grieve, let him shed

his tears and then loved him again as best I knew how.

I got up about four in the morning. After finishing in the

bathroom I stood for a few seconds, looking down at Conrad in
the bed. Our bed. My heart thumped unsteadily in my chest and
my stomach clenched.

I’m not sure what this is, but I sure like it.
I lay down gently, tried to settle in without waking him.

Conrad pulled me close and spooned against me. He settled one
hand around my waist, the other on my shoulder, his lips a
comforting touch on my neck. I felt Conrad’s toes caress my
own, intertwined and rubbing, warming the tops with his soles,
holding my feet between his own. The touches were sensual and
efficient all at once.

It told me what I needed to know. This was something

more than mere lust, something precious.

I rubbed his toes too, pressed back against his broad

chest and fell asleep, knowing he would be there when I woke.

How far is too far? This was far enough.

THE END

ABOUT VINCENT DIAMOND

Vincent Diamond is the pseudonym for a former Central

Florida writer whose short story collection, Rough Cut, was
released by Lethe Press. “An erotic wordsmith,” says noted
editor Richard Labonte says in the foreword to the book.
“…Erotic fiction that possesses story-telling heft.”

Diamond's stories have appeared in Best Gay Erotica

2009, Gay City Health Volume 2, Coming Together: Under Fire,
Country Boys, Truckers, Best Gay Romance 2007, Hot Cops,
Love in a Lock-Up, Best Gay Love Stories 2005 and 2006,
Feathers, Chance Encounters, Under Arrest, and Play Ball, and
online at Fishnet, Clean Sheets, and Ruthie’s Club. For more
information, visit

vincentdiamond.com

ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

Founded in 2010, JMS Books LLC is owned and operated

by author J.M. Snyder. We publish a variety of genres, including
gay erotic romance, fantasy, young adult, poetry, and nonfiction.
We are an invitation-only small press. Short stories and novellas
are available as e-books and compiled into single-author print
anthologies, while any story over 30k in length is available in
both print and e-book formats. Visit us at

jms-books.com

for

more information on our latest releases!