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Commando
by
JenAsayKwa


I'm going mad.

Not in the traditional sense, of course, but I do believe my partner and friend, Ray Kowalski is trying to drive me insane. No, he isn't behaving any differently than usual, yet he has done something today I don't believe he has done before in my presence. In fact, I'm certain he hasn't done this in my presence. I would have noticed.

I believe the phrase is "He's gone commando."

It's amazing that one simple piece of clothing, or the lack there of, could lead to the deterioration of my mental stability.

I noticed it right off, this morning. How could I not? As I walked into the bullpen, he was facing away from me, conversing with detectives Huey and Dewey. I had a clear view of Ray's backside. He was wearing what he's told me are his favorite jeans; Levi's button-fly 501's. I suppose he chose to wear the button-fly variety of jeans, because a zipper would abrade the more sensitive skin of his...well, anyway.

I walked around the small group to stand opposite Ray. The three of them were deeply engrossed in a discussion of the relative merits of basketball versus hockey. Ray was arguing vehemently in favor of hockey.

I took advantage of Ray's preoccupation to examine him more thoroughly. Or, more precisely, one specific portion of him. I was immediately able to verify my initial assessment. There was nothing between Ray and me but a thin layer of faded denim. At that moment I became more than grateful for the loose fit of my jodhpurs, as well as the long cut of my tunic. If not for these concealments, my interest would have been obvious to all.

However, my physical condition did not discourage the continuation of my observations. The outline of Ray's flaccid organ was clearly visible. I imagined how it would look were Ray as aroused as I. His turgid flesh straining against the worn fabric. When he moved, the material would caress his swollen member as if it were a lover's hand. Stop. I had to stop. How would I get through the day, thinking such thoughts?

And the thoughts didn't stop. Together we solved some case of which I have no memory. I am quite unsure how I was able to function with not only the visual distraction, but also the sound. I am aware that my auditory acuity is somewhat higher than the average person's. However, I should still be unable to hear the sound of denim rubbing against the bare skin of Ray's most intimate places. Yet I can. Perhaps it is only in my imagination that I can hear this. It is no less vexing for that possibility.

Now, as Ray drives us toward his apartment, I have to wonder why? Why did Ray choose today to go without his usual boxer shorts? Has he decided to advance our relationship beyond the unspoken line we have drawn? Perhaps he is curious to see if I will attempt to advance it given the proper stimulus. Alternately, he might have merely forgotten to do his wash, leaving no other option than to go bare.

I am at the end of my rope. I have not heard anything Ray has said to me during the drive. He has taken to giving me odd looks. I cannot continue in this manner. Soon, we will be in the privacy of Ray's apartment. I am determined to discover his motive, if I have to tear every last piece of clothing from his body to do it.