Who's Your Daddy?

Chapter 8

About  a week later, Bruce was at the Mirror Ball in the middle of telling a story: "So, I put his hands in the cuffs and I'm fucking him, right? I'm lying on my back and he's facing me and riding me. He's a skinny twink, but he's got this big ol' bubble butt. I'm sorta spreading his ass cheeks apart so I can get in good. And I keep noticing that he's turning his head around a lot. I realize that he's watching himself get fucked in the mirror on my dresser. It was my grandparents' mirror, funny enough. Their dresser too, now that I think about it. But anyway, this kid is totally getting off on watching himself get fucked, and I'm getting off on the fact that he's getting off. This goes on for a while. And he's totally pumping his ass up and down, faster and faster. So, at this point, I'm like, fuck it, I'm gonna shoot my load. I pull out, take the rubber off my dick, toss it toward the trashcan and totally make the shot. I feel like a fucking rock star. I give my dick a couple of yanks and nut all over the twink's ass cheeks. But now here's where things get interesting..."

Bruce, Michael and Sidney were sitting at a small table on the top floor. It had been a couple of weeks since they'd seen each other. Bruce was catching them up on his latest sex-ploits. Michael was glad to hear Bruce talk about sex with another guy because it meant—at least, he hoped it meant—that there was no lingering weirdness from their hookup.

Bruce continued: "So, the guy tells me that he once saw this porno where a dude gets fucked with a nightstick. These kids, I'm tellin' ya, they're obsessed with porn. Been watching it their whole lives on their phones and shit. You know how we were, like, Generation X? They're, like, Generation Sex. So, anyway, he wants me to stick my nightstick up his butt while he watches in the mirror. Once guys know I'm a cop, they ask to do some crazy shit like suck on my gun and shit like that. But normally I stop at just using my cuffs. This guy was so fucking hot, though. And he had his ass cheeks spread open, like his lil' asshole was just begging for it—"

Bruce's phone, which sat on the table, lit up and started playing Guns n Roses' "Paradise City." Bruce glanced at the keypad and told his friends to hold on for a minute.

"Hello...No problem...What?... Oh, crap!...No, thanks, thanks for calling...I'll be right there." Bruce spoke into the phone.

"I gotta run," he said to Michael and Sidney.

"You didn't leave some twink cuffed to your bed again?" Michael asked.

"No," Bruce said. "And, for the record, that wasn't my fucking fault. That nutcase cuffed himself to the bed after I left for work."

"So what's up?" Michael asked.

"Nothing. Just got some shit I got to take care of."

"You can tell us about sticking a nightstick up some twink's ass, but you can't tell us where you're going?" Michael said.

"Gotta run," Bruce said, kissing Michael on the top of the head before rushing out of the bar.

"What do you think that's about?" Michael asked Sidney.

"God only knows," Sidney said with a shrug.

"What could he possibly have to do that he couldn't tell us about?"

"Everybody has secrets." Sidney said.

"I don't."

"Oh, you have them," Sidney said. "And you're no good at keeping them either."

"What do you mean?"

"Like the fact that you and Bruce slept together again." Sidney made a Dr. Evil-like grin and placed his pinky on his lips.