Author's Notes: Notes: I wrote this a long time ago, and never finished it -- I think it was too close to home for me. But on rereading it recently, I decided it was worth sharing. Comments welcome. (I accidentally posted it with a G rating, and am now reposting.)

Fraser/Female, Fraser/Male, Fraser/Kowalski

NC-17, angst

She didn't have long, dark, wavy hair. That was probably a good thing. Her short, boyish cut was reddish-auburn and it framed a lovely face, with almond-shaped eyes and full, kissable lips.

But they didn't kiss. They didn't even touch. She drove them to an empty parking lot outside a warehouse near the lake, where only a fragment of moonlight revealed the slight tremble in Fraser's hands and the dab of sweat on his upper lip. She put the car in park, turned off the ignition and shifted in her seat to face him.

"Do you want to get in the back seat? It'll be more comfortable," she offered in a soft, slightly amused voice.

"Um... yes, I believe that would be a good idea," Fraser replied without meeting her eyes. Relax he thought. She has more to fear from you than the other way around. He reminded himself that not all women driving cars were intent on killing him or betraying him -- or marrying him. Apparently, however, some women were prepared to do unusual things with men they'd never met but had only spoken to on the telephone for a couple of hours. It was foolhardy of her, he supposed -- only he knew that he wasn't dangerous.

At least not to her.

On the phone, her voice had been mesmerizing beyond belief, but he hadn't been foolish enough to suppose she'd be as charming in person. Although, he admitted with some chagrin, this knowledge had come to him the hard way. More than once he had allowed himself to be seduced by a woman on the phone who in person turned out to be someone he couldn't bear to be alone with for more than a few minutes. It wasn't just that those women were unattractive -- or at least unattractive to him, he thought with characteristic charity, beauty being in the eye of the beholder. To his horror, they seemed to be completely unrelated to the human beings with whom he'd shared a telephonic tryst -- their voices even seemed different, perhaps because face to face, without the anonymity offered by fibre-optic communication, they really weren't the same person at all. On the phone they had been somebody else entirely, or at least had revealed only a narrow slice of their personality. It never ceased to amaze Fraser how many different dimensions one person could encompass.

He supposed he might be equally disappointing to his interlocutors; he was acutely aware that the Benton Fraser who masturbated with strange women on the telephone could be just an artifact, quite unlike the Fraser his friends and coworkers were acquainted with -- they knew only the highly starched, morally upright, if not to say uptight, officer of the law. Not only would no one else recognize the Fraser he became on the line, he hadn't known that person existed until fairly recently.

Those initial discouraging face-to-face encounters had ended abruptly, with the aid of suddenly remembered appointments and politely feigned attacks of stomach flu. Still, no one could ever question Constable Benton Fraser's determination; he'd persisted in his quest, and this time he was not disappointed. Of course there was a certain amount of adjustment required, as he reconciled the image he'd concocted in his mind with the flesh-and-blood woman behind the wheel of the sporty little car who had picked him up at a prearranged corner on Diversey. But he'd quickly recognized the spark that had attracted him on the phone in the first place, the part of her that sought what he sought: danger and safety in equal measure.

Ever the gentleman, he hopped out the passenger side and walked around to open the driver's door. She looked pleased. Getting out and opening the back door, she slid gracefully across the seat, which was covered with a grey polar fleece blanket, while Fraser sat down awkwardly beside her and closed the door behind him.

The woman leaned back against something that looked like a pillow, conveniently propped against the other door, and parted her legs just slightly, the short black skirt riding up a little on her legs, the tops of black pull-up stockings just visible to a Mountie with excellent night vision.

"I didn't think you'd go through with this," she said, smiling.

"I...didn't think you would, actually." He smiled back shyly.

"A lot of guys on that system are full of hot air. A lot of women, too, apparently." Her pretty face betrayed a hint of jadedness for just a second before she brightened. Lowering her voice to a rough murmur, she raised her eyebrows a little. "What are you thinking of?"

He blushed a little and lowered his head, oblivious to how attractive that made him to her, then cleared his throat. "I'm...um...I've been thinking of what we talked about...on the phone." His voice cracked a little, and his tongue darted out to lick his lower lip.

The woman inhaled audibly. "About watching me?"

Fraser looked right at her then. "Yes."

"And I get to watch you?"

"Uh-huh. Yes. That is...if you want to--"

"I want to," she cut him off. "You're quite a specimen. I could look all day, in fact."

He gazed down again, embarrassed.

She smiled kindly. "You get that a lot, don't you."

After a couple of beats, Fraser offered her a crooked smile. "From time to time."

"But I'm the first one who gets to see this particular...act, aren't I." As she spoke, she raised both knees and settled more comfortably against the door.

Fraser nodded and felt himself harden, as much from the sight of her as from the exquisite sensation of shame that engulfed him. He closed his eyes for a moment and put his head back slightly, then shifted to his knees and sat back on his heels on the cramped seat.

"Pull down your pants. Let me see you." The woman's voice was very quiet but so was the car.

This is it a voice sang inside Fraser's head. You're really going to do this. For an instant, he wondered what Ray Kowalski would think. He was quite certain that if Ray could see what his partner was up to tonight, he would be convinced one of them had sustained serious brain damage.

Fraser's hands moved to the button on his jeans and his zipper snicked down. In turn, the woman -- she'd told him her name was Barbara, but he doubted it really was -- spread her legs. He saw the black stocking tops clearly now, and a small black shadow in between. His instinct was to look away, politeness kicking in automatically. Then: I may look all I want he remembered, wondering if he really could.

"It's OK," she breathed, lowering herself further so that she was almost on her back, her skirt higher, the crotch of her panties much closer to his gaze. Her finger absently stroked the inside of her thigh.

Slowly he looked down, feeling like a small boy in church, wondering if his grandmother's ghost would suddenly appear to smack his ill-mannered head away from where he shouldn't be staring. But no grandmother appeared. And he found that, on some level, he could also pretend that Barbara wasn't there, either. If he reduced it to an encounter with a part of her body, he could do this. The fact that she was giving him permission filled him with gratitude and another feeling so powerful he couldn't identify it. Relief? Freedom? He took a deep breath, and slid his fingers inside his jeans and briefs on either side, pushing them down his hips as far as they would go, allowing the cool night air to tease his skin. His cock sprang free, thick and already wet, bobbing a couple of feet away from what he guessed was Barbara's own wetness.

"No touching, right?" she said almost sternly.

Fraser shook his head slowly, not meeting her eyes. He realized the car was filled with the sound of his panting, and he could smell himself.

"Jerk off for me," she whispered, and the whisper almost undid him right there, along with the darkness, and the enclosed, hidden space. He thought: nobody knows nobody knows nobody knows.

Barbara's hand pulled the thin strip of dark fabric between her legs to one side and her index finger touched the spot beneath it. Fraser groaned a little, placing his own hand on his penis. The sight before him was almost too much. He closed his eyes, imagining he and she were on the phone as they'd been the night before.

"Talk to me," he mumbled, throwing his head back.

Barbara was panting now, too. "I never dreamed you'd be such a naughty boy and such a nice one, too," she laughed a little.

His hand began to move on his slick, soft skin, and his stomach muscles contracted.

"Your cock...your cock looks so hard. You got that hard for me?"

"Yes-s-s-s." He dared to open his eyes and stare again at her rapidly moving fingers. Now her scent filled the air, too. A line of fluid left his cock and webbed down to the blanket between her legs.

He tuned in to her voice, as she spoke aloud the things he'd never had the guts to articulate to anyone until recently, urging him to pump himself harder and faster. He felt silly that he wasn't saying anything, but now that they weren't on the phone, surely he didn't have to keep up his end of a conversation, surely he could--just--do this...let her watch...

"I love your voice, you know," Barbara gasped, her hips undulating slightly as she fingered her clit and at the same time slid the middle finger of her other hand inside herself. The moist, lewd sounds they were both making were a little embarrassing, but nonetheless wild to Fraser's ears.

He stared hard now -- her brazenness brought forth his own, heretofore hidden, need to expose himself, to expose both his desire and his body. God, it was so much easier than he'd imagined, so much easier because she didn't know him, didn't know him, would never know him...

"Keep doing that," he told her huskily. "Play with yourself for me." His face burned at the sound of such words coming from his mouth, and he felt his balls draw up and his ass clench and pump the air. God help them if anybody was walking around in this parking lot --

Suddenly she shifted a little, and her hands moved up to her shirt. She unbuttoned it clumsily and yanked down a lacy bra. Fraser could see rosy nipples amid smallish, well-shaped breasts, and his heart pounded.

"On my tits, OK? Whenever you're ready." She smiled and moved her hands back between her legs, taking a deep gulp of air.

He shifted forward a little between her widespread legs, carefully trying not to let his knees touch her wetness and her hands, and tried to control his breathing, closing his eyes one last time. As he listened to her moan and whimper, he opened them again, braced one hand against the seat and aimed his dick at her breasts, jacking back and forth -- she wants this she wants this --

Barbara began to wail and he couldn't hold back. Coming great spurts on her milky skin and hard nipples, his face contorted, he growled out, to his shock, "Fu-u--u-u-ck!" Her thighs gripped his then, their skin touching, shockingly, just for a few moments, as she writhed beneath him, echoing his word over and over as she came.

Fraser sat back on his heels and closed his eyes. He recalled their post-orgasmic talk of the night before, when he had cradled the phone to his ear and luxuriated in his bed, gentling his cock with one hand and listening to her soft breathing and relaxed giggles. It was different now. Now he had to look at her.

*******

"Frase, you don't understand women." Ray Kowalski stabbed his finger on the diner table between them and leaned back on the bench seat. "This thing with Stella has been going on a long time, and it ain't gonna stop."

"But, Ray, is there really a need to antagonize the Assistant State's Attorney--"

"She likes it when I flirt with her, Fraser! No, she doesn't want to be married to me anymore, and you know what? I don't want to be married to her anymore, either. I've finally got to that point. About time, huh?" He drummed his fingers on the table. "But if I flirt with her a little, she's flattered, even if she acts like she's pissed. She's actually happy, so I'm happy, and we can get along on the job." Ray smiled and shook his head.

"Don't you still care for her, Ray?" Fraser asked, his brow furrowed, as he dipped a french fry into a puddle of ketchup.

"Oh, sure," replied Ray. "I'll always care about Stella. But not the way she thinks I do."

"I see," said Fraser, surprised. "So, Ray...do you think you understand women?"

"I understand Stella. She's a woman."

"Obviously--"

"Put it this way, Fraser," Ray laughed. "I know a hell of a lot more about women than you do." He cuffed Fraser playfully on the ear. "Though that's not saying much." Ray winked, and got up from the table, dropping a couple of bills on the way. "Let's get at her, huh?"

Fraser could feel his ears turning red, and he quickly put his Stetson on. "As you say, Ray. Lieutenant Welsh awaits our report."

"Hey, what were you up to last night?" Ray asked as they reached the sidewalk, his hands rummaging through the pockets of his leather jacket for his car keys. "I was driving down Diversey on my way home from Mom and Dad's around 10:30 and I could have sworn I saw you getting out of a car. Was that you?"

Ray's tone was casual, but Fraser could tell the question was anything but. "No, Ray, I was at home last night. It must have been my doppelganger." It really didn't feel like a lie at all.

********

The next one was blond and plump. She had a thing for men in uniform, though Fraser only told her he was a cop, not that he was RCMP. He wore the brown uniform, not the red serge and the Stetson, when they met in a hotel room downtown. If she was an aficionado of uniforms, she didn't ask questions. This woman also had a thing for men fucking her substantial breasts, and that had seemed appealingly wanton. On the phone, Fraser had told her he didn't kiss because he was married. She'd said that was fine. The excuse had popped into his head at the last minute, and he supposed he should feel guilty for being the type of man who had extramarital sex. But he wasn't really married, so what was the point in feeling guilty? It would be worse to mislead the blond, plump woman with the substantial breasts into thinking he wanted more than ...kinky sex, he guessed one would call it, though he had no idea what constituted kinky in this universe. Would Ray think it was kinky to straddle a strange woman in a strange room with a print of matadors on the wall and a Bible in the bedside drawer, to rub his penis between her breasts until he ejaculated, then get dressed and leave without any other form of intimacy?

****

Ray had a date. Since he'd known him, Fraser had not been aware of Ray actually succeeding at getting a date, though -- he now realized with new insight -- who knew what Ray got up to on his own time? But it was only recently that Ray had revealed that he was apparently "over" Stella. Fraser hadn't admitted to himself how happy it made him to know that Ray was no longer mooning over his ex-wife. It wasn't until Ray showed interest in this new woman that Fraser recognized a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The two officers were on a stakeout. Ray sighed with boredom. "You don't have to hang out with me, Frase, you know that, right?" he reminded Fraser as they settled in for the night. "It's not your official job, and it's pretty damn dull."

"It's alright, Ray. I'm happy to keep you company." Fraser smiled fondly.

"Thanks, Frase. Appreciate it."

Fraser was burning with curiosity about Ray's upcoming date, but wasn't sure how to approach the topic. Fortunately, Ray seemed in a forthcoming mood, and volunteered that he was taking her to a rather nice restaurant for dinner, and that he'd bought a new jacket.

"Is this the first woman you've been out with since your divorce?" Fraser asked while Ray was fiddling with his binoculars.

"Huh? No, no...not really."

Fraser was puzzled. "Not really?"

"Well, you know, there's dates and then...there's *dates.* If you get my drift."

Fraser wasn't entirely driftless, but he wanted to hear Ray's explanation. He ran his thumb along his eyebrow, which made Ray raise his eyebrow -- was that concern? -- and turned toward his partner in his seat. "I'm...not sure I do."

"I--you know--" Ray laughed ruefully and looked down, seemingly intent on untangling the binocular strap. "Um...maybe you don't know." He sighed. "Fraser, have you ever just wanted to do something wild and crazy -- well, you do wild and crazy things all the time, or at least wild and stupid things -- but I mean, wild and crazy in a sexual way?"

Fraser thought it best to let Ray go on without interruption, and treated the question as rhetorical.

"Sometimes you find yourself in a weird situation and you just go with it, you know? 'S long as nobody gets hurt, of course. I never did anything wild and crazy while I was married."

"No, of course not." Fraser nodded.

Ray was silent for a while. Suddenly he looked up at Fraser. "That's not true, I shouldn't say that. Stella and I did wild and crazy things once in a while. And I gotta tell you, Frase, wild and crazy is a lot better with somebody you love."

Fraser looked down into his lap and mentally counted the wolf hairs on his tunic. He wondered if Ray kept a lint brush in his glove compartment...

Ray continued. "Course, don't get me wrong -- sometimes wild and crazy with a stranger is just what you need. It can be fun. I guess."

"You guess?"

"Sure."

"Have you been wild and crazy with strangers?"

Ray chuckled. "Not very often. After the divorce I did some weird shit. Mostly it didn't feel very good, you know?" He paused. "Afterward, I was just...lonely. And -- maybe the other person felt...lonely, too, afterward. I don't know."

Neither of them spoke for a couple of minutes.

Then Ray looked up. "But you know, once or twice, it was...fun. You know, exciting. OK. More than OK, even."

Their eyes met, and Fraser felt as though he was supposed to be understanding something here, but he couldn't quite grasp what it was.

"More than OK," Ray continued. "but less than greatness. And I guess -- maybe you settle for OK if you think life isn't gonna give you any more greatness."

Any more greatness? Fraser thought. Or any greatness at all?

*******

The third time Fraser met with a woman he'd shared a fantasy with over the phone, they arranged to get together in a bar to enact it. After he'd seated himself at a table, a 20-something woman fitting the description he'd been given sat down with him. She was not his type, exactly, but not unattractive, and her plan to perform oral sex on him behind the building excited him. He wasn't prepared, however, when she introduced her husband, who materialized after they'd been talking for 15 minutes or so. The law enforcement officer in Fraser was wary of danger at first, but the man seemed a pleasant enough fellow, and, he noted, was quite good-looking as well. After the initial shock, Fraser felt comfortable with the couple and agreed to their terms. The woman would fellate each of the men in the alleyway while the other watched. As agreed, there would be no other touching.

Standing up against a brick wall next to an odiferous garbage bin left something to be desired at first; Fraser's back and legs hurt since he'd led Ray on a lengthy pursuit of a coked-up purse-snatcher the day before. But when the woman pulled his trousers down, he caught her husband's hungry eyes and was instantly so hard he felt dizzy. He looked down as the woman's soft pageboy tickled his thighs and his cock was engulfed in a compliant, wet mouth. The smell of old urine and oily dust filling his nostrils, which had revolted him at first, suddenly seemed almost excitingly appropriate: the word dirty ran through his head over and over as he jerked his hips in the darkness, his leather jacket scraping against the brick. Above the sound of his heavy breathing he could hear the grunts of the husband, and could dimly make out the man's fist on his own cock. He was shocked at how much the sight aroused him, but then this fact began to preoccupy his thoughts so much that he became confoundingly unable to ejaculate -- it was as though he had stepped away from his body and was watching from a distance. Embarrassed, after a little while he apologized to the woman and pulled away, suggesting she turn to her husband, who was obviously frantic with desire.

Fraser stood in the shadows and watched, fascinated, as the man was pleasured by his wife; his anxiety abated now that he was disengaged from any other human being, and he began to stroke himself in time with the woman's sucking noises, pacing his breathing with her husband's breaths. His orgasm coincided with the other man's-- at the last moment, Fraser was overwhelmed with how deliciously bad this was, how lascivious and forbidden an act, and he stepped forward to shoot on the woman's cheek and on the side of her husband's penis, grunting softly. Afterward he was afraid of how they would react -- was this what they had wanted? had he interfered with the script? -- but as the woman's husband wiped her face with a handkerchief, she smiled and the man panted, "Thanks, man, that was hot."

After pulling himself together, Fraser couldn't quite figure out how to take his leave; feeling like an idiot, he went to shake the husband's hand, then stopped -- the hopeful look on the other man's face put butterflies in his stomach, made him feel a bit off-balance. The woman was still on her knees; Fraser patted her head with his fingertips and smiled stiffly as she stood up. She immediately began kissing her husband, who slipped his hand inside her blouse. The two of them seemed to have entered their own private world. Suddenly Fraser felt profoundly alone, and darted down the alley.

When he'd put some distance between himself and the couple, he stopped and bent forward, panting, with his hands on his knees. What the hell am I doing? he asked himself. He had no answer.

******

The day after Ray's date -- which was, in fact, three days after Fraser's last "date" -- he seemed quiet. It was a slow day for both of them -- Fraser went to the 27th in the afternoon with Diefenbaker and helped the detective with some filing.

Afterward, Ray suggested they take in a movie. "I hardly ever see you anymore, Fraser. You always seem to run home straight after work, and your phone's always...busy."

"I have call waiting, Ray," which was true. Fraser wasn't about to explain why he often didn't pick up his waiting calls. In fact, he usually told himself they were probably wrong numbers.

"Must be something wrong with it, then. Better check it out."

During the movie's inevitable sex scenes, Fraser felt clammy and had to concentrate hard on not squirming in his seat. The man and woman on the screen didn't attract him much, but watching their actions so near Ray made his skin feel electric, made his breath catch. Ray heard that, he was quite certain, because he cast a furtive glance in his direction and caught Ray furtively glancing at him. Fraser felt mortified.

In the restaurant after the movie, Fraser cleared his throat and asked, "How was your date, Ray?"

"OK," Ray said almost before the words had left Fraser's mouth. "It was OK. She's nice."

"Good." Fraser said. "That's good." Could he sound any more foolish? Fraser thought.

"It was our third date, tell you the truth."

Fraser was surprised. "Oh? Ah. I didn't know."

"No...I didn't tell you. I felt...kinda stupid, I guess. I don't know why." Ray looked straight at Fraser's face. "Why should I feel stupid telling you about my dates?" He sounded as though he really wanted an answer to his question.

"I suppose that's normal. Dating is...personal. You don't have to...tell me everything."

"You're my best friend, Fraser, you know that?"

The question in Ray's eyes riveted Fraser. He took a deep breath. "I'm pleased to hear that, Ray. I'd have to say you're my best friend, too." His lips quirked in a smile.

Ray relaxed a little. "Best friends tell each other stuff. Not all stuff, but...stuff. Is there any stuff you wanna tell me?"

Fraser realized his heart was pounding. "If there is, Ray, you can be sure I will." This mealy-mouthed answer struck Fraser as the height of cowardliness, but he couldn't make anything else come out of his mouth. Retreating still further, he asked, "So your third date with this woman was...a success?"

"A success?" Ray snorted and ran his fingers through his dirty-blond spikes. "Like, did I plant a flag on top of the mountain? Win the battle? Get an Oscar?" He turned and shook his head, kicking one leg forward under the table and sitting back in his chair. "It was a success for a first date, maybe. For a third date, it was kind of a flop, if you really wanna know."

Fraser said nothing; the furrow in his brow deepened and he looked hopefully at Ray.

"I thought we might be headin' down a path, right?"

"And you weren't?"

Ray closed his mouth and lowered his head, placing his hands palm-down on the table. "Let's get some dessert, Fraser. I don't wanna talk about it anymore."

"As you wish, Ray." Fraser felt as though he'd missed something, a feeling that was becoming increasingly familiar.

********

The scene with the couple in the alley behind the bar had unsettled Fraser and he stopped calling the phone sex lines for a while. There was so much that was profoundly disturbing about his new pastime, he didn't know where to begin analyzing it. He really didn't want to analyze it. From the first night he'd shakily made his first phone call to the number in the weekly newspaper, he'd told himself that he was simply, belatedly, sowing his wild oats. The pitiful extent of his sexual experience, for a man in his mid-30s, was obviously driving him to do what must surely be every adult's right -- to indulge a few sexual fantasies while he was still young enough to do so. He'd been careful not to hurt anybody -- hadn't he? He wasn't cheating on anybody, or leading anyone on. He was indulging in safe sex -- well, reasonably safe sex. Whose business was it if he had a few kinks? His experience on the phone lines had made it abundantly clear -- to his astonishment, at first -- that he wasn't the only person out there with unusual fantasies. No, those fantasies apparently weren't very unusual at all, and that knowledge had come as a huge relief. For the most part, the people he'd talked to and met had been otherwise pretty normal people, as far as he could tell.

But...but...sometimes, after one of his encounters with a stranger, he was dismayed at how empty he felt. At other times, he was equally dismayed by the fact that he didn't feel empty at all, even though he had touched only a small part of himself to only a small part of another person. In fact, sometimes, after a casual encounter, expecially one on the phone, he felt more normal than he'd ever felt in his life. Was this, then, what constituted normal for him?

*****

While driving to an interview with a businessman who'd been robbed, Fraser turned to Ray in the car rather suddenly, and blurted out, "Have you gone any further down your path?"

"What path?" Ray said absently as he signalled a left turn and rolled his eyes at another driver's stupidity. "Hey, buddy, there's more than just you on the road here!" he shouted, even though the other motorist couldn't hear him.

"With the woman you're dating."

"Oh, her. Nah, I haven't seen her since the third time. Path's blocked, I guess."

"Where exactly did you think the path was heading?" Fraser asked.

Ray said nothing for nearly 10 seconds. Then: "Can we talk about this some other time?"

Fraser tried not to sigh. "Certainly."

Ray did sigh. "I'm sorry, Fraser. I don't really know the answer to that one. I guess I thought...I hoped...well, it was one of two paths."

Fraser waited.

"One of them's the fun and games path, I guess. I thought I could use some o' that. Man, it's been a long, long time. But it would have been better if it were heading somewhere real."

"And fun and games aren't real?"

"It's not...it's not that they aren't real. They just don't *feel* very real. That's what matters, I guess. How you feel." Ray turned the radio down and glanced over at Fraser. "I don't know -- you tell me, Frase."

Fraser jerked his head up.

"If you...hypothetically speaking, of course...took a woman home and you didn't love her, but you did the nasty anyway -- you know, made love, even though it's not love, but kissing, fucking, the whole nine yards, would it feel real to you?"

"I don't know, Ray," Fraser replied, because he didn't.

******

After a couple of weeks, Fraser's libido got the better of him again, and he arranged an assignation with a woman who was only interested in men who would perform oral sex on her. This was an activity at which Fraser felt rather unskilled, though he'd enjoyed doing it with Victoria. He felt challenged, and he went to a small, somewhat sleazy hotel room not far from his old apartment, only to find that the woman was 17 and wanted $50. Appalled, he left quickly (trying to ignore the fact that not so long ago he would have spent some time with the girl trying to persuade her to abandon her dissolute lifestyle). But he was so aroused he returned to the phone sex line as soon as he got home, this time deliberately seeking a woman with the same wishes. It was after midnight when he found himself in the lobby of a swanky condo building, pressing the buzzer for the penthouse.

The woman was a few years older than he was, but attractive in a B-movie star sort of way -- long, blond hair, a lot of makeup and perfume. He began to entertain the fantasy that *he* was the hooker, in demand among older women who would pay him for the privilege of sitting on his face.

Things worked out well for the first part of the visit. He broke one of his rules and drank part of a glass of Scotch the woman pressed on him before she pulled him into her bedroom. What he seemed to enjoy about performing cunnilingus was the feeling of being controlled by another person, existing in that moment just for her pleasure. While lying between her legs, he began to imagine he was the woman in the alley behind the bar sucking off her husband, and he began to hump the sheets, temporarily forgetting the fact that these genitals spread out before him were attached to a person.

But not for long. Before he knew it, the woman had drawn him up to her eye level and began kissing him, wrapping her legs around him and pulling him against her. She mumbled something about condoms on the bedside table, and Fraser froze. He'd agreed to oral sex, that was all. This was wrong. When he tried to figure out why it was wrong, he couldn't. The woman was pretty, sexy even, and she wanted him. Why did kissing a stranger fill him with distaste when going down on her didn't? Why did feeling her whole body against his make him want to run out of the room, when he knew he could happily jerk off on her stomach and not be bothered? Why didn't he want to explore her body, caress her skin?

He faked a cramp in his foot before she could tell that his erection had waned, and after she'd massaged his foot for a while, he tried to persuade her to return to the original plan. Instead, she began to whine and then to cry, pushing her tongue into his mouth until he thought he might start crying himself. Suddenly, an image of Ray coming to his rescue filled his head, as though he were in the capture of a gang of crooks or trapped inside a burning building. Oh, God, Ray, save me, he thought, save me. He found that if he concentrated on Ray, he could withstand the kissing, and he frantically managed to bring the woman off with his hand. Perversely, by the time she came, he was hard as a rock again, and ejaculated against her hip.

She'd had plenty to drink and fell asleep quickly, to his great relief. He slipped out of the building and ended up walking for an hour and a half to get home, tense and befuddled. When he entered the Consulate, Dief gave him such a look that he checked himself in the mirror.

"I don't know him, either, Dief," he said shakily as he headed for the shower, hoping against hope that soap and hot water would erase at least the smells of this troubling night.

******

It was one of those embarrassing deaths, in which a person had expired while pursuing something he had assumed nobody would ever know about. The fifty-ish male was decked out in not much more than a leather dog collar, nipple clamps, and a painful looking contraption around his testicles, and bright red lipstick and blush adorned his face.

"Boy, if I was ever tempted to do something this nutso, snapshots like these will make sure I never do. Geez," said Ray, shaking his head, and tossing the photos onto his desk. "That's really humiliating."

Fraser tried to untangle Ray's verb tenses.

"I mean, the guy was probably into humiliation, that kind of thing," Ray added, raising his eyebrows, "but I doubt he wanted to take it quite this far." He laughed grimly.

"Have you ever--" Fraser began, then looked around them. They were in the squad room, but it was very late, and nobody else was there.

"What?" Ray chuckled, blushing. "Have I ever dressed up like this geezer? C'mon, Fraser, if you're going to ask me questions like that, you have to let me ask you one, too."

Fraser swallowed hard, and said nothing.

"I ain't into pain and kinky duds, OK. Just so you know."

Fraser shot Ray a look.

"I'm teasing you, Frase! I've done a few kinky things, I guess. Told you I'd try anything once."

"What--" Fraser's voice came out all crackly, and he coughed and tried again. "What do you consider kinky?"

"Well, I'm not gonna tell you what me and Stella got up to, because that would be...just...not like a gentleman, right? You know her."

Fraser held his breath.

"But like I told you, after the divorce -- I had a few fantasies -- tried 'em out."

Fraser was a little surprised to discover his pants were getting tight.

"You got something to tell me, Fraser?" Ray's tone was playful at first, but the longer he stared at Fraser, the more it seemed to contain something like concern, or worry.

"I've--I've--I'm not as inexperienced as you seem to think me, Ray."

"Well, I know about the Metcalfe monster -- wouldn't surprise me if she'd got you into something weird." Ray seemed -- not nonchalant, but as though he were trying to be nonchalant, so it was clear he judged this conversation to be important.

Fraser smiled ruefully. "Victoria got me into something that was far more than weird, but not in a sexual way. The sex was...intense, but...fairly conventional. Emotionally, it was...bizarre and dangerous to say the least." He sighed. "You could say Victoria had a need to hurt me, but not...not with--" he gestured at the photos of the corpse "--not with paraphernalia like that." He took a deep breath. It was the most personal information he'd ever shared with Ray, and he knew the other man was equally aware of that fact.

"I gotcha," Ray said softly. "She was into the plain old ordinary kinda pain. Or maybe not so ordinary -- the kind that ends up with you on the business end of a .38."

"Yes."

"Well, let's just stop talking about her, 'kay?"

Fraser thought, I could kiss him and he almost believed that he meant it figuratively.

"So, you been up to no good with the ladies of Chicago while I'm not looking?" Ray was focused intently on his paper-clip holder.

Fraser was very still. "I occasionally...that is...I have met some...had some da--." He stopped, then started again. "I seem to have a taste for..."

Now Ray appeared to be holding his breath.

Fraser couldn't continue. He knew he had a powerful need to tell Ray something very personal, but he didn't know what it was or why. And surely there was no reason to share with him the rather sordid details of his recent sex life. It was unseemly and unnecessary. There were no easy words to describe what he'd been doing, in any case. He couldn't talk about romance or love or even dates or girlfriends. Not even lovers worked here. There hadn't even, technically, been any fucking. What was he supposed to say? Well, Ray, I talk on the phone to women I've never met and we bring ourselves to orgasm while discussing fantasies that mostly involve masturbation or oral sex in squalid semi-public locations. And then occasionally I meet one or more of them and we actually do what we talked about. I'm now up to several women a week, in fact, and I can't seem to stop.

"I'm sorry, Ray. Perhaps I shouldn't have brought it up. These things are very private."

"You're telling me," said Ray, and he moved to grab his jacket. "Let's call it a night. I'll drive you home."

******

After Ray had dropped him off at the Consulate, Fraser felt the familiar restlessness, and his fingers twitched to pick up the phone. It was just turning midnight -- Ray had worked a late shift -- and he needed to be on the job early in the morning. But finally he gave in to what had begun to seem like a drug. After listening to messages and greetings from a number of women -- a lot of them were women whose greetings he'd heard before, he noticed -- he was surprised to hear a male voice. The man announced that he and his girlfriend were interested in finding another man to watch them have sex, and maybe go down on the woman. Remembering his encounter in the alley behind the bar, Fraser felt his blood rise at the thought, and he left a message in the appropriate mailbox. He ended up speaking to the man for only a few minutes; he told Fraser that his girlfriend was on her way over to the man's apartment and was eager to meet him. The man's voice was deep, gentle and enticing, and Fraser wanted to do this thing --to scratch this unbearable itch -- before it grew any later. It wasn't long before Fraser was jotting down the address of an apartment building not far away. He jumped in the shower to clean up, pulled on a T-shirt, sweater and jeans, and slipped into the night.

When the man opened the door to his apartment, Fraser was disappointed. He was about the same age as Fraser, quite a bit shorter and smaller, and rather hirsute. Not as nice-looking as the man at the bar, but did it really matter? He'd be touching mainly the woman in any case. The man's eyes and smile both widened as he took in Fraser standing before him.

The man, whose name was Doug, invited Fraser to sit on the couch next to him. Fraser sat down and inquired as to when his girlfriend would be arriving.

"She's stuck in traffic, but she should be here any minute," said Doug. Fraser took the beer offered to him, and wondered absently how bad the traffic could be at this time of night.

"You wanna watch a porno?" asked Doug.

"Um...no, it's all right."

"You mind if I put it on in the background?"

Fraser made a small gesture that meant Doug could do as he liked, since it was his TV. After loading the video, Doug settled back on the couch, his legs spread.

Fraser noticed before too long that the video featured men having sex with other men, and he began to feel panicky. He glanced at Doug, who was not very subtly rubbing the crotch of his jeans. Before Fraser could say anything, Doug picked up a cellphone from the coffee table, dialled a number and had a quick conversation with someone he addressed as "baby" -- far too quick a conversation, in Fraser's opinion -- then hung up.

"She can't make it, turns out," said Doug, as he turned to Fraser. "Sorry about that, buddy."

Fraser started to get up. "Well, I'll just be on my way, then," he said casually.

Doug put his hand on Fraser's arm as if to stop him. "Hey, stay, why don't you. You wanna watch some videos with me, jerk off a little?"

Fraser froze, assessing the potential for physical danger. He could take Doug easily if it came to it, he was certain. In any case, the man didn't seem violent, only duplicitous. As he tried to figure out how to smoothly extricate himself from the situation, his eye caught the TV screen, where a slim, very fit man with a blond brush cut was sodomizing a muscular man with dark hair. Fraser's mouth became dry and somehow he felt riveted to the couch.

"Pretty, hot, huh?" said Doug hopefully. "OK if I take out my dick?" He reached over to turn off a lamp, and then the only light in the room came from the TV.

Fraser felt that familiar sensation sinking into his bones -- overwhelming hunger that didn't seem to have anything to do with the person he was sitting next to, a person he wasn't remotely interested in, let alone attracted to (in fact, it was probably fair to say that the man repelled him on some level). It was more the situation that aroused him: the clandestine setting -- nobody knows -- the illicit video, the taboos being broken, the freedom from societal strictures, the ability to sit back and observe the sexuality of others without having to -- without having to what? To touch, really touch, another human being, let alone make any kind of commitment? Without having to reveal his most intimate self to somebody he knew, somebody who actually mattered to him, someone he might see again and again? He was too light-headed to think about it seriously. He slid into the corner of the couch and reached for his fly...

******

"Did you sleep at all last night?" asked Ray, shooting Fraser a quizzical look over the roof of the GTO.

"Um...not much, no," Fraser replied hoarsely. "Were you saying something?"

" Yeah, and you haven't been listening to a word of it," said Ray, exasperated. "And you looked like you were asleep in Welsh's office this afternoon. I'm sure he was thrilled."

"I'm sorry, Ray," Fraser ducked into the car.

"Just get with the program, Fraser, is all." Ray was quiet as he pulled out of the parking lot. Once they were on the road, he snuck a glance at Fraser. "You all right?"

"Hm? Yes, just tired."

"Well, where were you last night, anyway?" Ray asked, looking straight ahead.

"Nowhere, Ray. I simply had a sleepless night."

"Nice try, Frase. Now I really know something's up." Ray paused as Fraser glanced over nervously, then he exhaled. "I called you last night right after I got home, and then every half an hour until 2 a.m. You didn't answer."

"Why?"

"That's what I'm askin' you!"

"I mean, why were you calling me?"

"That hunch on the Paterson case. I wanted to bounce it off you." Ray frowned. "Where were you?"

"The phone must have been off the hook." Fraser stared out the window. "Turnbull and his dusting, you know--"

"Fraser! Cut it out! I drove over at 2 a.m. and let myself in with my credit card. You weren't there. I waited with Dief for half an hour, and then I figured you were gone for the night."

Fraser was silent for a while. Then he turned tentatively toward Ray. "You just missed me, actually. I was home by 3:00." Pause. "You must be rather tired yourself, then, Ray," he added.

Ray gave him a look that said "cheap shot," then said nothing as he negotiated an off-ramp and left the freeway. Finally, he sighed. "What's the matter, Frase? You gonna tell me? 'Cause I've never heard you lie this much before. And, I gotta say, it ain't pretty. You in some kinda trouble?"

Fraser panicked then. "Ray, I don't think it's appropriate for you to let yourself into the Consulate by illegal means. Inspector Thatcher would be very upset if she found out--"

"Then get a better friggin' lock!"

"--and--and--it is my place of residence. My privacy..." His voice trailed off, and he instantly regretted taking this tack.

Ray's mouth dropped open for a moment, then he closed it and clenched his jaw. "OK, Fraser. Have it your way." He shifted gears aggressively. "I promise I won't violate your privacy anymore. And I won't ask who you're fucking, because obviously your best friend isn't good enough to be told about your precious love life. Sorry."

A terrible sense of dj^ vu came over Fraser. They were approaching the Consulate, and he put his hand on the door handle so he could make as quick a getaway as possible. But he had to say something. "Ray, you told me yourself that some things were too personal to share. You didn't tell me about the...last woman in your life until your third date."

"Yeah, well, Mr. Smart Guy, you're right as always." Ray peeled up to the curb. "See ya around. Have fun."

Fraser looked directly into Ray's eyes for a moment and was stunned to see not anger, but deep hurt. He backed out of the car, stumbling a little, and headed for the front door of the Consulate. Tears were stinging his eyes, and when he got inside his room, he began to sob until he thought he might be sick.

******

Any ideas for where this could go from here? I have some, but I think I've run out of steam.