My eyes watered from the cigarette smoke that hung heavy in the club. Between second-hand cancer and not being in a position to pick up the occasional cute thing that caught my eye, I hated undercover police operations – especially after midnight. Which was when I  really began to feel how alone I was. I was almost ready to call it a night and find my bed, even if I wouldn't be sharing it with anyone.

I sipped at my pint, and, bored, turned my attention back to the Yank and the scene playing out beside me at the bar.

I'd been noticing Brett Chandler since early last autumn – at one or another of London's trendy clubs. The first few times I'd seen him, I'd taken him for just another gay student out for a good time with friends. His reputation grew rapidly, however; and men began to take notice of him, wondering if even half of what was said about him was true.

The room’s dim light reflected from the metal studs in the blond American’s collar. He was on his knees, his face pressed to the crutch of his companion’s chap-covered groin. His fingers roamed over his companion’s chest beneath the open leather waistcoat. His throat massaged the man's cock.

I guessed the Yank to be five foot seven or eight and something close to ten stone. I admired his naked back and slim waist, and the smooth chest I’d already seen.

Brett Chandler seemed to generate rumours as rapidly as some of our government ministers did. He was a student at King’s College at the University of London, was from somewhere in the southern part of the United States, and was rich.

He was supposed to be a nice package all around – a good shag and up for nearly anything. He only did one night stands, however – apparently losing interest in his companions after having had them the one time.

According to some of the wilder rumours he had performed every public toilet in London.

The American liking public sex was one rumour I now knew to be true. I was watching him do the nasty not more than two feet away from me. The thought crossed my mind of arresting the two of them for what they were doing, but I suspected that I would start a club-wide riot. I was also undercover; and a bit of frivolous sex wasn't a good enough reason to blow that cover.

Brett Chandler was also into dresses. He was the star performer at Illusions, London’s premier drag club.

Every rumour I'd heard suggested that the American was mixed up. He was young, of course – perhaps he was still finding his feet. But drag, public sex, anonymous sex even – all seemed to suggest that he still had a few personal problems to sort out.

My gaze moved to the boy’s companion. The man’s eyes were already glazing over with lust. He was a bit rough-looking for my tastes; I also knew him to be a regular to this club and to London’s leather circuit. He was also a successful barrister at the Inns of Court. I wondered idly if the Yank knew that much about his companion and if he even cared.

Brett's companion groaned and his body stiffened. He was sucking in short, quick gasps of air. I couldn't stop watching, even if I'd wanted to. A hollow ache grew at the base of my belly. I wished I was the barrister at that moment, public sex or not.

I sighed and pulled my gaze and thoughts from the blowjob beside me. And wondered what my dad would have thought of me being here.

I was sure that he'd have accepted my being gay. He would have seen it as my business and left it at that. But being in one of London’s darkest leather bars?

The question was out of place. Dad would have accepted that I was doing my duty and left it that, never giving it another thought. He had become an adult just as England had got on its feet after the world war – and was losing its empire. Unlike many in his generation who came to spawn the consumer society, he'd harkened back to an earlier time. The standard by which he'd lived was that men had responsibilities and duties and simply lived up to what was expected of them. He had operated from the Home Office with the same expectation – rising to be its senior civil servant before his death nine years ago.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the ginger-haired lad at the other end of the bar still watching me. The lad wore a T-shirt, faded jeans, and trainers. He'd followed me around the club both times I checked it out earlier. And he had been watching me from the same position for the past hour – probably with the same pint sitting on the bar in front of him. I suspected that he was another uni boy out for some fun and reckoned he'd decided that I could provide it. Judging from how tightly his jeans covered his arse, he wasn’t wearing underpants.

It was late, and I was tired of being undercover and the denial that went with it. I wanted to go home and get into a mindless shag. I instantly forgot my Dad as philosophising gave way to the rutting instinct.

I took a long swallow of my pint and studied the redhead a bit longer. Why not? I asked myself. It wasn't as if I was going to see a drug sale, not this late. Watching the American pleasure the barrister two feet away from me had left me feeling sexy enough.  I smiled and crooked a finger at the youth.

'Brett puts on quite a show, don’t you think?' he asked as he neared me. I was willing to wager that his hair was naturally red now that I saw him up close.

'You know him?' I nodded in the direction of the American now licking out the barrister’s belly button as he worked the man's zip up over a still sizeable bulge.

'Yeah. We take classes together at uni, you know? He talked me into exploring the darker side of London with him tonight.'

I detected an accent but there was enough conversation in the barroom to muffle it beyond recognition. 'He had latched onto the leatherman before we even got into the club.'

'Interested in an evening in my bed?' I asked.

He blushed, and I nearly smiled at how brightly his freckles stood out. The boy’s complexion was light which only served to highlight his freckles. Pure cream, I thought to myself.

He nodded. 'I was hoping you’d be interested.'

His accent – slight but discernible – still bothered me. I was almost willing to wager it was Northern Irish, probably from near Belfast.

'My bedroom’s done only in vanilla,' I said.

'I prefer it that way.' He shrugged. 'I’m only here because I followed you in.'

I raised a brow in question.

'After Brett had his man for this evening, there wasn’t much here for me – until I saw you on the street.' He laughed. 'You turned in and I followed.'

I grinned back at him. 'I would have thought you could have had your pick, lad.'

'I’m Richard – Richard Bell,' he said, offering his hand. 'And I like my men tall, dark, and handsome – preferably with an equipment package that leaves me gasping for breath.'

'Philip Goodson here,' I chuckled, pumping his hand.

'Hiya, Philip. At my regular clubs, I've usually had several offers by this time of night.' He looked down at the floor, digging his trainer’s toe into a knot he’d found in the floorboard. 'Only, I saw you and – well – I decided to follow you and hoped you’d noticed me.'

'I did.'

Richard Bell smiled. 'I was beginning to have my doubts.'

'Where are you from, Richard?' I asked. Whilst I was now certain he was Irish, that in itself meant nothing. Since joining the force, however, I'd seen too many people become victims to the IRA. If he denied coming from Ireland, we'd end our encounter here and that I'd go home alone.

'Belfast,' he answered, managing to sigh. 'And I wish I were from any place but Ireland. This accent frightens away too many of the men I’d really like to know.' He squared his shoulders and looked directly into my face. 'I’m in my third year at the University of London. I’m Protestant.'

My face began to colour.

'I voted Tory the last election. And I’m as bloody British as you are.' His face became stern. 'Are you going to reject me because you’re frightened of a few sick arseholes, or are we going to go somewhere for one hell of a shag? I’m also a hell of a lot better in bed than anyone you'll find here tonight. I’m also free.'

'Are you ready to leave?' I asked, looking down at my hands and continuing to feel embarrassed.  I really was going to have to work at forgetting that I was a policeman when I switched to cruise mode.

'Sounds good to me.' Richard smiled at me then. 'Sorry if I overdid it.' He chuckled. 'I've found that if I don’t make you swallow your fears like some sort of bad medicine – and fast – they’ll eat you alive and we’ll never get into bed together. Or it won’t be as good as it should. It works on most of the men I meet – the ones I want to spend the night with, anyway.'

* * *

'Have you been to Africa?' Richard asked as I closed the door behind us.

'Not yet.'

He moved slowly around the living room, getting a feel of the place. I had the feeling that he was trying to understand me through how I had furnished the flat.

The living room was spartanly furnished, the way I liked it. Two elongated African wooden masks looked down on the room from above the mantel. A white leather sofa faced the fireplace, a side table with Tiffany lamps on either side. One wall held the skin of a gnu and the other that of a dik-dik. At the corner of the window I had a small sideboard with a decanter each of gin and whisky.

'The hides and artwork were my dad's and grandfather's – from what used to be called Rhodesia,' I told him.

He fingered one of the masks, bending close to get a good look at it.  'Was your – your grandfather, I suppose it was … Was he part of that whole colonial thing down there before they became independent?'

'He won a small coffee plantation on a bet – as a young man.  He was there for a while until it was turning a profit and he could sell it.  He came back to England then and married my grandmother. He did some hunting while he was there.'

I remembered  the old man's trophy room then and the awe I'd felt the few times that, as a child, I had been permitted inside.  And the overwhelming aura of masculinity that pervaded the room.  I hadn't thought about the trophy room in more than twenty years, not since my mother did the house over after Grans died and we moved there. The masks and dik dik skin were soon all that was left by which to remember him.

He'd taken my father on safari the summer before Dad entered university.  Dad had come back blooded and carrying the gnu skin as his own trophy. Dad had promised to do the same for me – only, he died while I was still studying for my A exams.

The only time that I'd ever seen my father angry was when Mum wanted to toss everything African out of Grandfather's house.  To her, if it wasn't Gainsborough, it wasn't art. He'd kept the masks and skins. I took them when Mum died. The stuffed animal heads and other artifacts had found their way into some museum while I was at university.

Richard turned and studied me. 'The masks are good, Phil. I guess this taste of Africa brings back family memories. I hope they're good ones.'

'They do and they are,' I told him and smiled.

I crossed the room slowly to reach him. My hands found his shoulders and he entered my arms. He stood on the balls of his feet and our lips met. I pulled him closer, and he melted against me.

'I wish people would just accept each other,' he mumbled against my ear as we slowly rocked in each other’s embrace. 'Hate, fear – they’ve got no place – shouldn’t…'

I guessed he was thinking about his home and said: 'It’s everywhere, Richard – not just in Ireland.' I nipped gently at his earlobe before pulling back and smiling at him. 'Want something to drink before I take you to bed and ravish you?'

'If you think you’re man enough to do it, Englishman.' His eyes twinkling, his hand was instantly on my crutch through the denim of my jeans. He felt the bulge there begin to lengthen and chuckled. 'Perhaps you are man enough, Philip.'

He leant into me as I led him into the hallway, his fingers beginning to work the buttons free on my shirt as we walked. As we reached the bedroom, both of his hands slipped inside. 'Fur,' he mumbled as his fingers explored my exposed chest.

'You don’t like hair?'

'A little is good.' He looked up into my face and smiled. 'It marks the man, you know? But I want enough skin that my tongue can navigate a chest without getting hair caught in my teeth.' He pulled open the shirt and quickly licked the nearest nipple.

He gently grated the nipple between his teeth and I groaned. 'I want you. I want all of you. Now,' he said.

'Let’s find my bed then.' I pulled Richard into the room.

He kept in step with me, stopping me to kiss me twice.  Each time he toed off a trainer. At the side of the bed, his voice husky with desire, he said: 'Now, I want you naked.' His hands were instantly pushing my shirt off my shoulders.

He stepped back and studied me for a moment. 'Nice. A real man’s chest.' He licked his lips. 'That’s what I want tonight – a real man.'

He unbuttoned my jeans and began to peel them down  my buttocks. He knelt as they bunched at my knees and pulled them down to my ankles. I stepped out of them.

Sitting back on his haunches, Richard looked up at me. 'You’ve got a six pack,' he said. His fingers caressed my thighs and moved up to cup my arsecheeks. 'You must do some serious exercise, Philip – you’re hard all over.'

I smiled down at the top of the ginger-covered head. 'Take the Y-fronts off,' I whispered softly.

'Yeah.' Richard grinned up at me wolfishly.  The palms of his hands moved to my hips, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my boxers.  Moving his hands down along my hips, he pulled the silk pants down to my knees. They puddled at my feet and I stepped out of them, naked.

'You’re huge,' he mumbled. 'I knew you were big, but – God! This…' His fingers tentatively encircled my knob.

My skin had pulled back to expose the bell-end.  The pad of his thumb brushed across the jap's eye. He sat back on his haunches, mesmerised. His fingertips traced the length of my thick shaft as if he was memorising each inch.

'Like it?' I asked.

Richard nodded slowly.

'It would like to feel your lips on it.'

His hand formed a fist around the bottom half of my shaft, pulling the skin all the way back. I sighed. He kissed the tip, his tongue darting into the gaping slit as his lips slowly spread over more of the helmet. I shuddered.

I groaned as my prick began to disappear into his mouth and his tongue spread across its underside. 'That feels good,' I mumbled.

I was close. 'Too good for this early in the game,' I told him and reluctantly pulled away.

I helped him to his feet. 'Let’s see what you’ve got.'

'I want…'

I shook my head slowly. 'We’re going to take it slow – on the bed where we’ll be comfortable – so that we both enjoy ourselves tonight.' My hard cock leaked pre-come against the front of his jeans as I held him against me.

Richard studied me for a moment before nodding.  Pulling back in my arms, he  began to pull his T-shirt slowly out of his jeans.

'May I undress you?'

'You'd better.' He ground his crutch against me and grinned. "I've got to wear these clothes home, so it's best that I don't spunk them."

I released him and reached for his belt. He pulled the shirt over his head. 'Nice,' I told him appreciatively and moved to lick his nipple. I smiled as I watched him shiver with pleasure at my touch. I opened the waist of his jeans and reached for the zip.

My hands slipped beneath both his jeans and Y-fronts to cup his arsecheeks. He had a massive erection beneath his underpants. As the cotton eased down his shaft and slipped over its head, I ducked down to lick it.

I forced myself to pull back.  I would have his cock soon enough.  But my bed promised far more comfort than the hard floor on my knees. I continued to kneel before Richard after I'd pulled his clothes down and waited for him to step out of them before pushing myself back to my feet.

I studied him appreciatively in the dim light from the hall. He was good-looking, of course. I’d made a pretty accurate guess back at the club – his smooth chest, slim waist, and well-rounded bum especially. His legs proved to be nicer than I had anticipated, though – and his prick proved more than I’d expected.  All of his body parts joined together comfortably to make him a very desireable man.  For the night.  For any night even.

I held out my hands in invitation and he stepped into the embrace, pressing against me. Our lips crushed against each other and our tongues duelled.  Our dicks jousted for position between us.

Richard moaned as I lifted him and carried him to the bed. Still locked in our kiss, I lay down beside him. My fingers moved across his tight, hairless chest, feeling the gooseflesh rise to meet them as they dipped southward.

My fingers found stubble where his pubes should have been. I pulled away and sat up. 'You shave?'

'Yeah. My legs too.'

'Whatever for?' I asked, looking at him.

'I wear some pretty slinky outfits when I'm performing at Illusions.' He chuckled nervously. 'Can’t break the illusion, you know.'

'Illusions? You do drag?' I asked.

He nodded.

'What do you do with this then?' I asked and gripped his prick.

'I tape it down; that’s why I shave everything. Otherwise, I’d be pulling out hair every time I went back to being a boy. You don’t like me smooth?'

In answer, I leant forward and took his helmet into my mouth.  And, swallowing, continued down his shaft until I was burying my nose in the stubble.  Pulling back, my lips worked his foreskin over the flange of his helmet.  Richard moaned his approval.

He twisted around to take my prick in his mouth, pulling me on top of him. My cock nudged past his tonsils and threatened to enter his throat. He grasped my arsecheeks to slow down my movement.

I swallowed him, burying my nose in Richard’s bollocks. Underneath me, he shuddered and moaned in surprise. I followed his prick back out along its length, I sucked hard, then dived again, consuming all of the dick as I had before.

My fingers moved to his ball sack and pulled gently at it. The boy spread his legs in invitation and pulled off my cock.

'Get me loosened up,' he said urgently. 'I want you in me. I want to feel every inch of this thing buried in my arse. But you’ve got to get me ready for it.'

I continued to bob on Richard’s knob but my fingers moved from his bollocks to his puckered hole. A moment of pressing my index finger against the wrinkled, raised skin of the slit, and his sphincter relaxed. My finger dived for his prostate.

He ground his bum against my finger as it buried itself inside him. Hot, satiny muscles milked at it as it moved inside him. He yelped in pleasure as its tip began to massage the small raised knot in his bowel.

I slipped a second finger into him and was rewarded with the taste of pre-come at the back of my tongue.

'Oh, God!' Richard mewled. 'Shag me now, Philip! I can’t wait. Do it. Please!'

I let his cock go. 'You don’t want me to get you off first then?' I pushed a third finger into his now pliant hole.

'No. Just ... Oh, I want…' He ground his arse hard against the fingers in him. 'Fuck me now!'

'Reach into the bedside cabinet and get us a condom then.'

He yanked open the drawer of the cabinet.  It almost came all of the way out to spill on the floor.  Richard twisted and caught it with both hands. He continued to grind his bum against my fingers in it.

'We’ve got all night, you know,' I said as I got to my haunches over him and leant forward to nuzzle his ear.

Richard dropped the packet. 'Shit!' he growled. He turned his head and searched frantically for the moment it took him to find it.

He struggled to open the packet over my head as I ran my tongue over his closest nipple then nipped it with my teeth. 'I can’t…!' he growled, frustration marking his voice. I heard the foil tear. 'Ah! There! I've got the bloody thing opened,' he cooed. 'Get up here so I can put it on you.'

I smiled and rose up on my knees. Richard spread the latex across the width of my helmet and onto the shaft. With my free hand, I reached into the cabinet and picked up the lube. I pulled my fingers from him and squirted them with the stuff. He made himself comfortable on the pillows while I stroked myself.

Richard watched hungrily as I crawled back between his legs. He hoisted them and stroked his dick while I lubed him up. 'Do it!' he hissed, making it clear that he thought things were going entirely too slow.

I spread the rest of the lube on my latex-covered prick. He crossed his legs behind my neck. He grinned up at me when he felt my cock lodge at his entrance.

'Shall I put it in?' I asked.

'Kiss me, Philip.' Richard moved his hands onto my arsecheeks and licked his lips.  I leant forward to kiss him, pressing his knees into his shoulders and lifting his arse.

His tongue probed my lips hard before I could open them. As it entered my mouth, I felt his hands pressing down on my backside. My helmet pushed into Richard as he bucked at the initial entry. I gave him a moment to adjust to my stretching his arsemuscles before continuing.

A moment later, he began to grind his bum against me, and his kisses became harder as I pushed into him.

As my bollocks bumped against his raised bottom for the first time, I felt him stiffen under me. A moment later, he moaned in my mouth and a thick, slippery wetness spurted between us and began to ooze down over my belly. He'd come already. From just me entering him.

I was determined to make him come from our shagging, however. I began a slow, sensual fuck then, making sure the lad beneath me felt every inch.

'That feels so good!' Richard gasped as he broke our kiss. 'It does. Oh, God, yeah – it does!' He humped up to meet my next long, slow descent into him. His prick stayed hard and rode his abdomen. 'Fuck me good, Philip.' He wrapped his fingers around his dick and slowly wanked himself.

I had no sense of time. Reality existed only in my dick moving inside his arse. In until my pubes were pressed against the insides of his thighs. Out until just the tip of my dick was just inside him. Richard kept up a continuous stream of sex chatter as I fucked him, but I barely heard it.

His head jerked from side to side, his eyes closed tight.  One fist stroked his cock while the other gripped large handfuls of the duvet. His bollocks rode the shaft of his dick as I carried him closer and closer to another orgasm. From the way that his arse was gripping my dick, I knew he wouldn't be long.

He arched his back and growled. Every muscle in his body stiffened.  His orgasm triggered rippling spasms of the muscles through his bowel. They gripped and caressed my dick as I continued to fuck him.

Against my will, I was being pushed into coming, however. I couldn't hold back. My cock expanded as I dived deep into him one last time, my balls rode the shaft of my prick hard. The tremors of his orgasm still shuddered through him when I exploded inside him.

'Leave it inside me,' Richard gasped, smiling up at me. His fingers lazily caressed my arsecheeks.

* * *

The next morning I was on the quay as I was every day. I shivered as I put the boat into the water and returned to padlock the boathouse. To the east, the sky was just beginning to grey. There was a cold breeze coming off the river. I quickly pushed myself through two dozen squats to warm up before I began my daily rowing regime.

Pushing off from the quay, I moved the small boat into the channel with my oars. Free then, I bent forward and began to row hard against the current. My body was instantly on autopilot. Rowing had been my preferred form of exercise since I was fourteen.

I smiled as my muscles stretched across my back and down into my arms. I couldn't remember the barely pubescent lad I had been then. There were pictures of me from that time, of course; but they carried no memories when I looked at them. It was as if the pudgy young boy I had been had ceased to exist when I picked up my first oar.

I probably hadn’t liked that fat boy I was then; I may have hated him. But I had finally got up enough nerve to take him in hand and remake him into someone I would like. It had been my dad who helped me understand what I was about then, and it had been he who suggested rowing. I had joined the local rowing club and immediately learnt that every muscle in my body was exercised when I rowed. Stretching. Toning. Burning my baby fat from me.

Dad had been there cheering me on as I learnt to make a good move and lost another pound of fat.

I had been hard and muscular by the next year – someone I was proud to be. I joined my school’s crew team and captained it my last year to win our every competition. At King’s College, I had continued to crew but, somehow with Dad’s death, I lost interest in belonging to a team and my need for the camaraderie that crew had given me. It was then that I re-learnt my love for sculling.

With the small boat I was forced to compete against myself. I found that exhilarating. I held total responsibility for myself with the scull. I succeeded at whatever goal I set myself or failed – success or failure was mine alone, not shared out among the members of a team. That was a lesson I carried into police work when I joined the Metropolitan Police straight from university.

I pulled the oars from the water and smiled as I wiped sweat from my face. It had been a damned good lesson to learn. At twenty-eight, I was the youngest Inspector in Met history. That too was a success that was mine alone. In spite of me being a queer, as the old timers were apt to call me behind my back.

'Let them,' I growled as I turned the scull back the way I’d come. 'I’m still going up and they’re standing still.'

* * *

Richard was spread-eagled across the bed as I entered the bedroom. I stopped and studied the sleeping boy’s plump arse as I pulled off my sweat-soaked T-shirt and shorts. My prick decided that it liked what I saw. His bum was inviting and I wondered if I should wake him. I rejected the thought almost instantly.

            Last night had been a shag. A mutual coming together to satisfy both of our needs. This morning, Richard and I were going to go back to our separate lives. Seeking out another shag under the circumstances seemed almost presumptuous.

Besides, I was worse than just sweaty. I pulled off my jockstrap, letting my growing prick swing free, and stepped into the bathroom.

I was soaping my chest when I heard the shower door open. Turning, I saw Richard standing there holding a condom and smiling at me. He was already erect.

'May I come in?' he asked.

I smiled at him. This wasn't presumptuous; he was still as randy as I was. 'Ready for another bout, are you?' I asked and reached out to his cock. Wrapping my fingers around its shaft, I pulled him into the cubicle with me.

'I came prepared,' he said as he held up the opened condom. 'Shall I put it on you?'

He spread the latex over my helmet and unrolled it down my shaft. He put his arms around my neck and kissed me. My hands cupped his arse, and Richard began to grind his pelvis against mine.

'Take me now, Philip,' he said, pulling away from the kiss.  He leant towards the wall of the cubicle and pushed his bum against my crutch. 'I want it.'

I guided my prick to his hole and felt it slide in easily. He pushed his backside towards me, impaling himself. 'Yeah!' he groaned as my pubes scratched his arsecheeks.

I began to shag Richard slowly, but he wasn’t having any of that. He shoved back hard, taking all of me over and over again with a frenzy that I hadn’t expected. He wanked his own cock with the same driving need. There was nothing gentle about our fuck this time. I gave myself up to the rough sex that Richard needed.

My bollocks were riding my shaft as my dick slammed into his bumhole again and again. He cried out. The sound seemed a great distance away. His arsemuscles immediately began to spasm, and I could no longer hold my own orgasm back.

Later, he sat on the edge of the bed naked and watched as I pulled on a pair of boxers. I followed his gaze to my crutch. I smiled as he forced his gaze up over my lightly haired abdomen and chest to my face.

'I enjoyed that,' he said.

'I did too. We’ll have to get together again one of these days.' I reached into the dresser and pulled out a pair of socks.

'Yeah. One of these days,' he mumbled, then smiled whimsily. 'Stop in at Illusions sometime – I perform there every weekend,' he said as he began to pull on his pants and looked around for his jeans.

'Do you see much heroin activity there?' I asked casually as I pulled on my socks.

He looked back at me sharply. 'I don’t do drugs, Philip. And I don’t do guys who do drugs.'

'It’s returning to the clubs, Richard.' I stood and moved to the cupboard to find a shirt.

Realisation struck him then. 'You’re a bloody cop!' I nodded. 'God!' he groaned, 'I’ve been fucked by a damned cop – I can’t believe it.'

'I am a cop and gay,' I answered as I buttoned my shirt. 'I enjoyed our sex. And I enjoyed being with you. But I’m also in charge of the investigation of this sudden build up of heroin sales in London’s gay clubs.' I reached for a pair of trousers.

'We aren’t going to have the police marching into the clubs like some throw-back to Stonewall, are we? Or some straight boy in blue getting a blow job in the toilet at one of the clubs and giggling like a pimply teenager about it back at the nick?'

I nodded, understanding his concern. 'I sucked your cock. That suggests that I’m not looking for sex stories to tell the lads, doesn’t it?'

Richard shook his head slowly.

'Gay sex between consenting adults is not illegal in England – in private. Selling drugs is.'

He relaxed. 'I’ve seen it at the club – a couple of the other clubs I like too. I try to ignore it, Philip. Drugs and studying just do not go together…' He snorted and smiled to himself. 'And I don’t need any sort of chemical to get and stay horny.'

I laughed. 'I noticed.'

'I go into sex mode when I’m doing the club scene.' He looked down at his hands. 'It just turns me on and I become a raging mass of hormones.'  He grinned up at me through his fringe. 'Most of the time, though, I’m a proper young scholar with my nose stuck in dusty tomes of knowledge.'

'Would you keep a closer eye out for drug activity, Richard? Heroin specifically. And contact me with what you see?'

'Yeah, I guess I can do that.'

I crossed back to the dresser, picked up a business card, and quickly wrote out my

home telephone number. 'Call me anytime,' I told him as I handed him the card.

            Richard held it in his lap with both hands, his gaze unfocussing as he stared at it.  'I have a friend, Phil; he works behind a bar. 'I'll ask him…'

            'I could go see him if you'd give me his name and where he lives,' I told him.

            He snorted and began to laugh.  He looked up at me and just shook his head as his body shook with mirth.  'He rather dislikes coppers, Philip,' he said between giggles.  'I think that it'd be best if I spoke to him without you there.'

            I shrugged.  'If he'll just keep his eyes open for drugs, it'd be better than what we have now,' I told him.

            He swallowed one final chuckle. 'He definitely hates drugs – on a par with his feelings for policemen.'