Author's website: http://unhinged.0catch.com

Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.

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This story is a sequel to: sexliesandvideotapes

sexandlies
By MR

The summer I was ten, I convinced Eric and his sister June to accompany me on my exploration of a nearby mining site. The mine, Eric's father told me, had been closed 30 years before, following a cave-in that claimed the lives of 20 men. But despite this, despite the wire fence that surrounded it and signs that read DANGER and NO TRESPASSING and KEEP OUT in bold black letters, I was determined to see what was inside. And I took Eric and June along for the ride.

It was inevitable that we would be caught. We were not, after all the first children in the area to attempt such an exploration, The problem was common enough that the mining company had hired someone to guard the site 24 hours a day.

Eric and June were returned to their parents, and I was escorted home to face the wrath of my grandmother. The punishment and lecture I received were less than pleasant, and I was not allowed to seek the solace of my room until I promised grandmother I would never again put anyone else in danger just to satisfy my own selfish instincts.

Naturally, I grew up and became a Mountie, like my father, and discovered I hadn't learned my lesson very well, as those around me were frequently thrust into the very teeth of danger because of my single-mindedness. That, as much as anything, is why I became a loner, seeking out the solitary, less-traveled places in my homeland. When I fixed myself on something, it was best for everyone concerned to just stand back and leave me to pursue it. At least then no one got hurt besides me.

I'm saddened to say things didn't change much when I was assigned to the Consulate in Chicago. I shudder sometimes when I consider the situations Ray Vecchio followed me into; if not always willingly, then doggedly, because we were, after all, partners, and partners looked out for each other.

And so I took a vacation to Canada, which resulted in precisely the sort of mayhem they'd sent me south to avoid, and when I returned, I found Ray Vecchio had been replaced by a man who looked nothing like him, but who was, I discovered, dangerously similar to me. The day we met, shortly after saying that he didn't risk his neck for anyone, Ray Kowalski threw himself into the path of a bullet intended for me. True, he had a Kevlar vest on at the time, but as I chided him for frightening me needlessly, I realized what it was my grandmother had been trying to communicate to me all those years ago.

I wish I could say it made me wiser and more cautious. But I'm not inclined towards lying.

Ray, however, is an entirely different matter. He is, at present, regaling the squad room of the 27th with a very colorful, completely fictitious story of how he broke his left wrist. He's doing this because if he were to tell them how he really broke his wrist, there's a good possibility we'd both lose our jobs.

I'm sitting on the edge of his desk, considering that I have managed to hurt someone who means more to me than I ever believed anyone could. My guilt is in no way ameliorated by the fact that Ray followed me willingly into the shower that night. If I'd been thinking rationally, the accident would've never happened. Of course, if I'd been thinking rationally, the idea of making love in the shower wouldn't have possessed the siren lure it did. I would've realized it was just another way of having sex while standing up.

Except that in our bedroom no one would've been in danger of slipping on the soap.

"Will you stop it?"

I look up at Ray, who's standing in front of me, blue eyes blazing. He possesses the ability to read me like an open book, and oddly enough, my guilt over the situation annoys him.

His voice drops. "Frase, it's not like you cuffed me to you and dragged me into the shower against my will, okay? It was just a stupid accident that could've happened to anyone."

Of course he's right. It's just that in our attempts at sexual experimentation, he seems to be the one who keeps getting hurt.

"And what about the pulled muscle?" I reply. "To say nothing of the dental work necessitated after our first foray oral sex?"

He runs his good hand through his hair. "The damned tooth was cracked to start with; I should've had it fixed a long time ago. How the hell was I supposed to know you'd be so enthusiastic about it?"

Just the way he says it makes me close my eyes, and Oh Lord, what do I think I'm doing having a conversation like this in public? "Ray, please stop. Otherwise I'm going to be forced to try something in one of the men's room stalls that could well result in something far more serious than a pulled muscle."

He just chuckles, a low, wicked chuckle I've never heard outside his apartment, and I realize that this, of course, is my penance for what I've done. In the initial aftermath of the accident, as I sat in the ER holding his good hand while the doctors x-rayed and reset and cast the injury, I agreed to abide by his decision: Nothing more strenuous than kissing and mutual masturbation till the cast came off.

At the time it seemed perfectly reasonable. Now? God help me...I may die from sexual frustration sometime in the next four weeks.

"Could be as long as six." Ray reminds me, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

The only answer I can manage is to lean my head against his chest and moan softly.

FIN

End sexandlies by MR: psykaos42@yahoo.com

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