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"Hey, look at this," Hutch said, straining forward in the driver's seat of the parked LTD. In the darkness, he saw a car turn toward the driveway of the third house on the left. He and Starsky had been waiting hours for the return of the home's owner, one Edward T. Smith, who was suspected of two murders by strangulation.
In the passenger seat, Starsky was also looking eagerly out the windshield. But then he relaxed when the car didn't stop after pulling into the driveway. Instead, it backed out and turned around to disappear in the other direction, having obviously only needed to use the driveway for a U-turn.
"Hmph," Hutch muttered, also settling back in his seat.
"He ain't gonna show," Starsky noted confidently. The dark curly head was now bent over a slick magazine that he had been flipping through off and on throughout the evening. The light provided by the street lamp behind them made the pages somewhat visible.
Hutch tilted back his coffee cup, then realized it was empty. Disappointed, he tossed it into the back and wondered how agreeable his partner would be to making another trip to the convenience store two blocks away.
"She wants me," Starsky announced.
Hutch looked at him. His partner had now turned the magazine in a vertical direction and held it up so Hutch could see it.
"See?" Starsky tapped at the face of the nude dark-haired woman posed against the backdrop of an elaborately decorated bath. "Look at those eyes." He sighed forlornly. "They're sayin', `David Michael Starsky, you're the only one for me.'"
Hutch grunted. "Dream on."
"Ah, man," Starsky said as he gazed at the spread that was now lowered to his lap, "sweetheart, you are one beautiful lady. And I'd take you up on your offer any day. All you gotta do is come lookin' for me. We both know there's no one else for either of us."
"Don't get carried away," Hutch said dryly. He was horribly bored, and he hoped Starsky would make some more inane comments so he could find fault with them. His gaze returned to Smith's house, and he listened to the noise of pages turning as Starsky apparently got tired of longing for his dream girl and went looking for whatever else the magazine had to offer.
"There," Starsky said suddenly, his tone one of satisfaction. He held up the magazine again, but this time horizontally. "There, that's the one for you." He tapped the page on the left.
It was of a mildly attractive Marilyn Monroe type. She wasn't nude, but nearly so. "You think so, huh?" he asked, wondering why Starsky thought he would find her more appealing than the other one.
"Yeah," Starsky said, as though it was obvious. "She likes you. I can tell." He lowered the magazine when Hutch directed his gaze at the house again. "She's blonde, like you like `em. And her boobs aren't too big."
Hutch blinked and looked at his partner in disbelief. "Oh, come on," he scolded, "I'm not into hair color. Or breast size. It's the whole woman that counts."
Starsky shook his head, casually leafing through more pages. "Wrong, blondie. You like blondes. I've almost never seen you date anything else. And you don't like huge boobs."
Hutch rolled his eyes. "Vanessa wasn't blonde," he said, annoyed that he had to point it out.
"So, she was a rare exception." Now Starsky's tone was scolding. "Don't deny it. I've been watching you date for the five or six years since your divorce. You like a certain type of woman, so quit trying to act like you're above that kind of thing. `Sides, it's not like there's anything wrong with it. Perfectly natural."
Hutch shifted in his seat to face his partner. "All right, Mr. Perfectly Natural, then what's your type?"
Starsky almost seemed to pout that his partner hadn't been equally studious. "If you're a detective, it seems like you'd be able to figure that out for yourself."
Hutch thought. "You prefer brunettes."
"Wrong." Starsky was firmly shaking his head.
"Bullshit. You've dated as many brunettes as I've dated blondes."
"That's just coincidence," Starsky insisted, and held up a hand when Hutch sputtered a protest. "It's just coincidence that my type of girl has generally had brunette hair."
Flippantly, Hutch demanded, "Then just what exactly is your type?"
Starsky grinned and dropped the magazine in his lap. He made the shape of an hourglass with his hands. "My type is one who's all curvy. The way all the curves fit together. I don't like a woman who's built like a guy. Doesn't matter to me what her hair color is if all the curves are in the right place. It's the effect of those curves that catches my attention."
"All men like curves," Hutch noted.
Starsky shrugged, picking up his magazine again. "Not necessarily. I've seen lots of straight-built women who are married and stuff. There must be guys who like them like that."
Hutch grinned, loving it that he was scoring a point. "Yeah. Just like, somewhere out in the great big world, there might actually be somebody out there who even likes you."
Hutch waited half a minute, then said, "Why don't you get out and get us some more coffee?"
Starsky was absorbed in the magazine. "Uh-uh. `Sides, it's your turn."
Hutch frowned. "Well, why don't you go, anyway, and I'll keep watch over your precious girlie magazine."
"I will in a little bit," Starsky replied off-handedly. He was absorbed in reading. Then he straightened and challenged, "Think you know a lot about sex?"
Hutch wondered what kind of question that was, but it sounded like a game and he was more than willing to play along. "Of course, I know a lot about sex."
"All right, let's see how you do with these questions. This section is called, `Dear Sexperts', and it's where people write in with their sex problems. So, let's see how close your answers come to those of the sexperts."
Hutch nodded, feeling smug that he could answer with far more superiority than anyone who wrote an advice column for a skin magazine. "All right." He ran his fingers along his mustache.
"Okay, the first person says, "I've always been self-conscious about the fact that my penis - " Starsky snickered at the word. "Why don't they just use prick? Or cock? It's a porno mag, for cryin' out loud."
"Grow up," Hutch reprimanded with impatience. "Come on, what's the question?"
"I've always been self-conscious about the fact that my penis curves dramatically when it's fully erect. My current girlfriend couldn't hide the fact that she was shocked at how curved it was when we first had intercourse. Other than the curvature, it functions normally and it gives me very satisfying sex. But my girlfriend claims that it's given her a bladder infection. Is there something wrong with me? If so, what can be done to help me?"
Hutch shook his head. "A bladder infection?" he asked in disbelief.
"Come on," Starsky said, now the impatient one. "What advice would you give, Mr. I-Went-to-College?"
Hutch rolled his eyes. "Those questions in that magazine have to be made up."
"No, they aren't. They're too bizarre to be made up. That's how you know they're real. Come on, what advice would you give to this poor guy?"
Hutch considered. "There's nothing abnormal about a hard-on that curves a little."
"He says dramatically," Starsky pointed out.
"That's just because he's so self-conscious about it," Hutch reasoned. "As for the bladder infection, no way. That's real insensitive of his girlfriend to accuse him of that. I mean," he snorted at the thought, "how, mechanically, could that even happen?" Starsky was silently studying the magazine, and Hutch prompted, "Come on, how'd I do?"
Starsky took a deep breath and read, "A curvature of the penis during erection is normal. Since your sexual experiences are normal and satisfying, you should accept your penis and not be concerned about it." Starsky looked away a moment and shook his head. "Geez," he said bashfully. Then he continued, "As for your girlfriend's bladder infection, it's virtually impossible that it was caused by the curvature of your penis. Your girlfriend needs to see a doctor for treatment for the infection." Starsky paused.
"I did pretty good," Hutch said smugly, rubbing at his mustache again.
"Okay, here's the next one. My girlfriend and I have had a very satisfying relationship for nearly two years now, and we plan to get married soon. She's a wonderful person and a fantastic lover. However, there is one thing about her that bugs me a lot. She has large hairs around her nipples and - ." Starsky burst out laughing.
Hutch chuckled, too. "I don't believe this. Those questions are made up."
"No, they're not," Starsky insisted as he sobered. "They even have an address where you can write to them. Anyway, he says, She has large hairs around her nipples and, frankly, I find it gross. No matter what we do to remove them, they grow back. Any suggestions?" Starsky looked up. "Well, genius?" His gaze momentarily strayed to Smith's house, then he glanced at his partner.
Hutch said, "My answer is `Dear Schmuck. If hairs on your lady's tits is the biggest problem you've got in your relationship, then you're a sorry excuse for a man for complaining about it.'" He listened to Starsky laugh. "'Your "wonderful person and fantastic lover" doesn't deserve you. Tell her to leave you immediately and go find a hole to bury yourself in.'"
Starsky nodded with approval. "You tell `em, Hutch." He brought the magazine up closer to his face. "They say, Most women have some degree of hair on the breasts and nipples. Unfortunately, some techniques which claim to remove hair permanently are very expensive, and the results are questionable. Even if such methods are affordable, we do not recommend your girlfriend undertake them unless she is unhappy with the degree of hair. (It is, after all, her body.) We suggest that you learn to accept her as she is, especially since it sounds as if she has so many other excellent qualities." He grinned proudly. "You were right on, Hutch."
"I'm two for two," Hutch pointed out. "What's the next one?"
Starsky shifted and held the magazine closer. "I am a twenty-four-year-old man. A few weeks ago, my best friend and I got really drunk and I gave him a blow job. Now, my friend and I are really uneasy around each other. He's the best friend that I've ever had and I don't want to lose his friendship over this. Neither of us has talked about what happened, but I wish we could. I find the whole thing confusing, because I didn't mind doing it for him, but both of us have always loved women. Does this mean we're gay, even though we both like women? How can I break the ice and talk to him about this?" Starsky shook his head. "Mmm," he said with sympathy. Then, "The things people do when they're drunk."
Hutch noted the hint of unease drifting from the seat beside him. Starsky was sympathetic, but it was also apparent that he was uncomfortable with the question. Nevertheless, Starsky prompted, "What do you think, blondie?"
Hutch shifted his legs, noting that Starsky wouldn't meet his eye, preferring to keep his face turned down to the pages. He resolved to be objective. "I think that if his friend is really a terrific friend - and it sounds like he is - then this guy shouldn't be afraid to talk to him. He's just going to have to come out and say it... say that he doesn't want it to be between them. They need to forgive each other for what they did when they were drunk. It doesn't have to change anything."
"I don't think he's necessarily talking about forgiveness," Starsky said, voice quiet. "He says he's confused and that he `didn't mind doing it'." He put the magazine down and faced Hutch. "I think he liked it, and that's what he's having trouble with." His voice almost seemed to have a hint of challenge.
"Doesn't make him gay," Hutch said, hearing the defensiveness in his voice. "People do all sorts of weird things when they're drunk. An off-the-cuff act isn't going to up and change a person's entire sexual orientation." Starsky was still waiting, and Hutch felt impatient. "What do they say?"
His partner held up the magazine. "There is disagreement amongst experts as to what makes a person gay, but we are certain that a single act of sex with someone of one's own gender will not make them homosexual if they are heterosexual, or vice versa. However, it is possible that you and/or your friend have latent homosexual feelings that are just now being brought to the surface. Also, it is not unusual for teenagers and young adults to explore their sexual feelings with people of their own gender; and such exploration in and of itself does not make one homosexual. Whether you and/or your friend have touched upon inner homosexual longings, or were simply engaging in exploration, is not a simple question to answer, and we encourage you to seek counseling to work through your feelings. As for confronting your friend, it seems highly likely that he is as anxious to talk about what happened as you are. We suggest that you speak with him as soon as possible, as a good friend will be supportive of your difficulties." Starsky drew a deep breath. "That's a lot of psychological mumbo-jumbo. You said the same thing with a lot less words."
"Guess that makes me a sexpert then," Hutch noted, glad that the tension had eased between them.
"Yeah, just think, if we ever decide to quit the force you can put out a shingle and give advice to people who are grossed out by hair on their girlfriend's tits."
Hutch snorted. "I still don't believe that was a real question. Those questions have to be made up. They're just for entertainment value."
"I don't think so, Hutch. That last one wasn't very entertaining. Just sorta sad." He closed the magazine and shrugged. "I mean, gee, can you imagine if we got drunk, and I gave you a blow job? Wouldn't it be sad if we never felt the same about each other?"
Hutch was surprised that his partner was willing to continue the subject further. "Buddy, if you gave me a blow job, I don't think I'd feel any less about you."
Starsky was flipping through pages again. Without looking up, he casually said, "You mean it would enhance our relationship, instead of hurting it?"
Hutch relaxed into the conversation, since Starsky seemed nonchalant about it. "It's hard to imagine someone doing you a nice favor hurting your relationship, instead of - yeah - enhancing it."
Starsky held up the magazine. Plaintively, he asked, "Yeah, but wouldn't you rather have it from her than from me?"
It was the picture of the blonde again. "Of course, I would. You don't have any tits to squeeze."
Starsky chuckled. "That's what you like doin' while she's blowing you? Squeeze her tits?"
Hutch looked over at him, surprised that he was expected to answer. "Doesn't every man?"
Starsky shrugged. "What I like best is running my hand along her throat, feeling her muscles doin' me, imagining what my prick looks like inside her mouth." He paused, then, "And I like petting her hair. You know, there's something real nice and intimate about it - petting her while she's doin' me such a nice favor. Always makes me feel real protective of her."
Hutch blinked as his eyes sought the house up the block. He was surprised that his partner was willing to admit to such tenderness, especially when talking about being involved with a generic "lady".
"'Course," Starsky sighed forlornly, settling back in his seat and dropping the magazine to the floorboard, "the whole thing is so nice." Hutch felt his partner's eyes on him. "Makin' love, you know. Such a nice thing. Kinda hard to imagine what life would be like without it."
That was something Hutch could get his teeth into. He glanced at his partner. "Starsky, lots of people get by without it. Guys who are impotent. Women who, for whatever reason, have never liked it and don't want it. And lots of those people are perfectly happy."
"How do you know?"
"Because," Hutch said, irritated that his knowledge was being challenged, "I read things and I hear things, mushbrain. In fact, there was a survey done not so long ago and one out of every hundred adult males said they had no interest in sex whatsoever."
"Well, it's not like you're one of those one in a hundred."
"I didn't say I was."
"Yeah, but you act like it's superior or somethin' to not like sex."
Hutch opened his mouth to respond, then realized he didn't have anything to say to that. Because, he realized with annoyance, his tone had indeed been one of superiority. He sputtered a moment, then said, "Starsky, I'm just trying to expand your cultural horizons. I agree with you, buddy, making love is a wonderful element of life. But it's not like those who don't participate in it are necessarily living an inferior existence. It takes all kinds to make up this big world of ours."
"Yeah," Starsky sighed off-handedly, as though unconvinced. Both men stared at the house on the left for a while. Then Starsky picked up the magazine again. "You're three for three; wanna go for four for four?"
"Okay." Starsky was flipping the pages, then stopped. He pressed his face close, and then said, "Here's the next one. Dear Sexperts, I've been with my boyfriend for over a year and we've always had a great sex life. Recently, he has wanted me to anally penetrate him." Starsky snickered. "Geez." He took a deep breath and continued, "...Anally penetrate him with various objects - dildos, vibrators, etc. He wants all of our sex sessions to include some sort of anal activity, and no longer seems satisfied with basic sex. Does this mean he is a homosexual?" Starsky looked up. "All right, you're on, Mr. Sexpert."
The earlier conversation about superiority spurred Hutch to be less shy than he might otherwise have been about answering the question boldly. "'Dear Airhead," he began.
"All men love objects up their assholes."
Starsky burst out laughing.
"That's why God gave them prostate glands. Desiring anal attention doesn't make your boyfriend a homosexual any more than his wanting to put his prick in your mouth does. So, give him anything he wants back there. And, by the way, you need to be introduced to Mr. Can't-Stand-Hair-on-my-Girlfriend's-Tits. You two deserve each other."
"You're terrible," Starsky scolded, laughing nevertheless.
"Well, for Godsakes, Starsky, that's like saying that if your lady wants your face in her crotch, then she must be a lesbian."
"Calm down," Starsky mock-soothed with a touch of humor in his voice. "You're getting a bit worked up over this."
"Yeah, but I'm right," Hutch insisted. "Come on, what do they say?"
The magazine came up in front of Starsky's face. "Uh... okay, here it is. They say, Of course, it is always possible that your boyfriend may just now be expressing latent homosexual desires. However, the enjoyment of anal stimulation alone does not mean a man is a homosexual. Many men enjoy anal activity of some kind, because the sensitive prostate gland can be easily stimulated via the wall of the rectum." Starsky stopped again. "I hate that word." But then he plowed on. "Which many men find intensely pleasurable." He looked up again. "Hmm. `Intensely.'"
Hutch looked over at his partner as he finished reading, Starsky's voice getting closer to a mumble with each word. "As long as your boyfriend does not show any interest in having sex with other men, we feel it is safe to say that his interest in anal stimulation has nothing to do with homosexuality." Starsky put the magazine down. "You were right again, Hutch. Four for four and that was the last one." He sounded truly amazed.
Hutch didn't have any interest in dragging out the moment and bragging further. He was staring at his partner, evaluating Starsky's body language and editorial comments during the last question. His voice was level when he spoke. "You've never had anything up your ass, have you?"
Starsky's eyes widened in disbelief. "Geez...." He squirmed.
"No, I'm serious. You haven't, have you?"
Starsky sputtered and shifted again, not meeting his partner's eye. "Sheesh. What difference does it make?" Then, obviously trying to turn the tables, he demanded, "Have you?"
"Of course, I have." Hutch was truly sorry that Starsky was so uncomfortable, but it was too late to withdraw the subject now. He kept his tone level. "Like the magazine said, lots of men like it. It just seems odd to me that you've been sexually active for - what? Fifteen, twenty years? - and you've never done anything like that."
Starsky stopped squirming. "Oh, so... what? That's means I'm missing out or something? I got no complaints. And neither do the ladies I sleep with." He looked out the side window.
Hutch released a heavy breath. "Sorry. It's just... you never hesitate to tell me the next morning when she's let you up her backside. Didn't know you'd be so sensitive about having a virgin ass." In fact, Hutch thought, Starsky ought to be damn grateful that he wasn't laughing at him right now.
Another squirm. "Fine, Hutch, have a good laugh. I don't know why I should be expected to put anything up my backside when I've never had a desire to put anything there."
"I'm not laughing," Hutch pointed out with a great effort at patience. "If anything, I feel a little bit sorry for you."
Starsky made a heavily scrunched face. "Yeah, yeah. Like I'm missin' out because I don't put objects up my ass." He visibly shuddered.
Hutch laughed softly. "Don't knock what you haven't tried."
His partner gave him another uncomfortable look and started rapidly flipping through pages of the magazine, as though desperately needing something to do.
Hutch released a quiet sigh. He was sorry for this new awkwardness between them. Usually, they could talk about anything. But it seemed that certain subjects made Starsky endearingly bashful. He stared at the house in the distance.
Starsky continued to turn pages, and his voice was muffled when he spoke again. "It's really that great, huh?"
Hutch shrugged, relieved to be talking again. "Like anything else, some times are better than others. But you can't get that kind of erotic feeling any other way."
Starsky suddenly looked up. Hutch could see that he was calmer, now that it was he who was starting to ask the questions. "Well, if you're gonna put objects up your ass, wouldn't it make more sense to put something warm and alive in there? Like another guy's prick?"
Hutch grinned. That was his Starsky. He knew they were in for a long discussion, because now his partner's curiosity was piqued. "The only problem with a prick," he pointed out, "is that it usually has a person attached to it."
"Oh," Starsky said, but his tone indicated he really didn't get the difference.
Hutch decided to elaborate on his own. "Never been fond enough of a guy to take him to bed with me. I much prefer to have my lady of the evening tend to my needs."
Starsky was frowning again. "Sheesh. Can't imagine asking her to stick something up my ass." He snickered uncomfortably at the thought.
"Yet, you don't have a problem asking her when it's her backside."
Another shrug, eyes still on the magazine. "Just turn her over. If she doesn't want it like that, she'll let me know. And we go on to something else."
"Same idea," Hutch said. "If I've slept with her a few times and feel comfortable with her, I make sure she knows where the devices are, just in case she's interested in obliging."
Starsky was shaking his head. "I dunno, Hutch. To me, it seems very weird to stick a cold, inanimate object up inside yourself." He looked at Hutch squarely. "And I don't want to hear about it if you do it to yourself when you're alone."
Hutch laughed softly. "Not a chance. It's only fun when she's willing to love me like that."
Starsky regarded him for a moment, and apparently felt comfortable enough to finally put the magazine down. "Feels that good, huh?"
"Yeah," Hutch said sincerely, pleased at the way his partner was paying attention. "And it doesn't have to be a cold, inanimate object. Her fingers will do nicely, too, if she knows what she's doing."
Starsky shook his head. "After having the doctor's entire arm up my ass once a year, I don't need anybody's fingers."
Hutch laughed. "Oh, Starsky, he doesn't put his whole arm up there. Just a couple of fingers."
"Is too his whole arm," Starsky insisted on a high note. "Feels like my ass is stretched from here to the Atlantic Ocean."
Hutch was still chuckling.
"Feel like a goddamn carcass on the coroner's slab when the doctor does that to me. Like I'm not even a person. It always takes a coupla weeks before I start feelin' like a human being again."
"Oh, Starsky, get real."
"Don't tell me - " Abruptly, Starsky quieted. Then he seemed distressed. "Ah, man, Hutch, don't you dare tell me that you like it when the doctor does that."
"Of course, I don't." Hutch felt genuinely offended that Starsky would even consider such a thing. "That would be like saying women get turned on when they go to the lady doctor. For Godsakes, Starsky, making love and having a medical exam are two different things."
Starsky released a big sigh of relief. He studied the magazine for a while. Then, with head bowed, he muttered, "It's you who's the one a guy oughta feel sorry for. Wanting stimulation up your ass, but having to resort to toys, because you don't want to get involved with a real, live prick."
"Prick being the operative word," Hutch noted smugly. Yet, he was intrigued by Starsky's seeming nonchalance about two men getting it on together. Where's my homophobic partner?
Starsky sat back against the door and studied Hutch, his expression growing more intense, more challenging. "Maybe I oughta find a guy for you, Hutch. One that'll do you a nice favor with no complications. Would you do it then? If you could tolerate the guy and you knew he wouldn't want anything else from you, other than the privilege of having his prick up your behind?"
Hutch hesitated between making a smart comment and being honest. He chose the latter. "I'm secure enough in my masculinity to admit I'm curious as to what it would feel like." He hoped Starsky wouldn't notice that since he felt it necessary to point out how secure he was, then maybe he really wasn't.
Starsky's voice was quiet. In fact, the whole nighttime suddenly seemed still. "Seems kind of odd that you've never sought it out. I mean, if havin' stimulation up your ass really means that much to you.... It's not like you wouldn't know where to go to get what you want."
"Come on, Starsky." Now Hutch was getting uncomfortable and he heard the irritation in his own voice. "If I ever slept with a guy, it could only be you." There. That'll shut him up.
After a long moment, Starsky said, "Really?"
Do I really have to explain this? Apparently so. "Starsky, I at least have feelings for you. I can't sleep with someone I don't feelings for."
"Hmm." Pages of the magazine were turning again. "Explain that to Tanya Vasquez."
Hutch looked at him sharply. "What?" He had the suspicion he wasn't going to like whatever his partner was going to say.
Starsky shrugged, glancing up briefly. "I overheard her talking to her girlfriends in the cafeteria. She felt you used her, Hutch. Slept with her and then never asked her out again. She certainly wasn't left with the impression you had any real feelings for her."
Hutch felt an unease in the pit of his stomach. "I did when I was making love to her." He knew his defense was weak.
Starsky looked up. "Then how come you never asked her out again?"
Yeah, like you've never done it just because you were hard-up. "Found out she wasn't my type."
"Meaning what?" Starsky pressed. "She didn't want to play with your little toys?"
Hutch frowned. Though the words were crass, Starsky's tone was level, as though simply seeking information. Does he really want to know, or is he teasing me? It bothered him that he wasn't sure of the answer. "I couldn't stand the way she giggled in the middle of doing it. And she had really bad breath." He paused, then determinedly, "And I told you, I don't let a lady know about the `toys' until I'm comfortable with her."
"Hmm." Starsky shifted to toss the magazine into the backseat. When he settled back against the door, his voice was soft and quiet. "You know, Hutch, I'd do it for you, if you wanted."
"You have to be kidding." His voice was raised, the suggestion adding to his discomfort.
A casual shrug. "Just offerin'. I mean, just think, we could have a mutual little education session. You put your little toys up my butt, so I can see if I've really been missin' out on something spectacular; and then I could put my prick up your behind so you can see if you like it even better than your cold, inanimate objects."
Hutch realized his breathing rate had accelerated. Starsky couldn't be serious. And yet... it wasn't like Starsky to tease this way. If anything, that was more Hutch's field.
"My place isn't far from here," Starsky continued in the same quiet tone. "When our shift is over, we could go there. I mean, you gotta drop me off anyway." He shrugged, as though it were so easy. "Just come on up."
Hutch stared at the house in the distance. How did this all start? Why does he want to do this? Or, is what he says true - it would be mutual education? A buddy helping a buddy?
There was one big problem with this pat little plan. Still studying the house, Hutch said, "What if I like it?"
"What if I like your prick up my backside? I'm still not going to go looking for it somewhere else."
"Oh." Starsky seemed amused. "Guess, then, I might have to make regular visits. Keep my buddy happy."
Hutch stared at the house. No, he can't be serious. This is a dangerous game. We walk too close to the line as it is, without having this to muddy the water.
Starsky sighed. "Guess I'd better get more coffee." He cocked the door handle. "You want the same thing?"
Hutch nodded absently, his gaze still trained on the house. He listened as his partner opened the door, got out, then slammed it shut.
He was fully aware as to why Starsky needed to take a walk. His hand absently reached down to his own groin, and rubbed soothingly at the growing flesh there. He's got a nice little hard-on, just from talking about it. Is he really that interested in doing anything about it? Does he really want to know if he's missing out? Or is his masculine pride injured, because I know something he doesn't know about sex?
No, that didn't make sense. Starsky wouldn't need to protect his pride from his partner; there was too much trust there.
His heart swelled, content in that knowledge.
But... Doesn't he realize how dangerous it is? But Starsky had never been one to shy away from danger. He's staring it down, head-on. Like always.
But he can't be serious. Content with that fact, Hutch felt himself relax.
But he brought up giving me a blow job earlier, if we were drunk. So casually.
Hutch swallowed thickly. What's going on, buddy? You know as well as I do that if something happens between us, there's no way we're not going to like it. A flush came over his body. Or, is that what you've already figured out? And this is your clever little way of sneaking in the back way? He snorted. God, what a sick pun, Hutchinson.
His brow furrowed as he started to think it through. Was this all some grand scheme of Starsky's? Impulsively, Hutch reached to the backseat and picked up the magazine. He had to hold the cover this way and that before the street light caught it so he could read the date. It was last month's issue. He may have had it for a while. May have already read some of it. May have already seen those questions. Maybe he wanted to read those questions to me as a way of seeing what I'd say. After all, it's not like we took turns answering the questions. `Course, since he could see the answers, there wouldn't have been much point in making a competition out of it.
Brain racing, Hutch looked at the table of contents and then turned to the page titled "Dear Sexperts". Not certain what he was looking for, his eyes roamed over the familiar questions and answers.
Wait a minute. The third question in the magazine wasn't familiar. It had to do with contraceptives. Starsky skipped that question. Deliberately...? Because it had nothing to do with us? But that didn't make sense. The hairs-on-tits question didn't have anything to do with them, either. But that was sorta funny. So, was he just using it to break the ice? So I wouldn't get suspicious? Same with the first my-dick-curves question? He furrowed a brow. Does his dick curve when it's hard and he was making sure I wasn't going to say anything funny about it? Or is he wondering if mine curves?
Hutch shook his head. This is impossible. You're getting paranoid, Hutchinson. Disgusted with himself, he threw the magazine back to the rear seat. I'm not saying one other word about any of this. If he's really interested in us doing something together, he's going to have to bring it up again.
That settled, Hutch sat back in the seat, shoulders slumped, staring at the house. He refused to grant credence to the thought racing around his head that demanded to know if he'd be glad or disappointed if Starsky didn't broach the subject further.
Something kicked the passenger door.
Hutch reached over and popped it open. Starsky's hands were full, as was his mouth. "You buy out the whole store?" He took a coffee.
Starsky dropped a magazine from his mouth. "No, just coffee and donuts and stuff. You know, give us energy."
Hutch blinked. Energy for what?
Stop imaging things, Hutchinson.
Hutch nodded at the magazine as Starsky settled in the seat and shut the door. "You get another girlie magazine?" Got too threatened by our conversation, and now you're going to prove how heterosexual you are? He sipped his coffee.
"It's the new issue," Starsky said around a bite of donut. "This creep's not gonna show, Hutch. It's still over half an hour before Brakeman and Thompson relieve us. So," he glanced over at his partner, "thought we'd see how long your 100% streak can stay intact."
More questions? Hutch wondered. He reached for a donut.
Starsky spent a few minutes eating and drinking. Then he brushed off his hands and opened the magazine. "Let's see if we can stump you," he said, stopping on the page that was titled "Dear Sexperts".
Hutch waited, knowing that he was no longer interested in answering questions asked by strangers. He was a lot more interested in hearing what Starsky really wanted to know.
"Let's see." Starsky's eyes roamed over the page, moving the magazine around so the street lamp could hit it.
He's finding questions that will be pertinent to us. He's not starting at the top.
"Okay," Starsky said. Then glanced over at him. "Ready?"
Hutch nodded, chewing an overly-sweet donut.
"The first one says Dear Sexperts, My husband and I have been married for sixteen years. We've always had an active sex life and enjoy discovering new forms of stimulation. However, one thing we have never done is anal intercourse." Starsky drew a deep breath. "Man, this is the night for the back end, huh?"
Hutch kept chewing while staring at the house in the distance. Yeah, especially when you're being selective about the questions.
"We would like to try it," Starsky continued, "but we are concerned about the degree of pain. Please advise on the best way to reduce pain, the best lubrication, and the most comfortable position." Starsky shook his head and whistled. "Gee, can you imagine discussing something like this with your spouse? And, you know, if they have such a great relationship, why do they have to write a magazine to answer their questions? Seems like they oughta be able to work it out themselves."
Things fell silent, because Hutch was waiting to hear what else Starsky might say. Then his arm was nudged. "Come on, what would you advise for these people?"
Hutch sighed, as he really wasn't interested in helping people who would never know his answer. But, maybe, somehow, his answer would help him and Starsky? "Dear Happily Married...." He paused, trying to think of what to say. Should he focus on answering the question or saying what he thought Starsky wanted to hear? Except... he had no idea what Starsky wanted to hear. "Ass-fucking can be wonderful, but if you and your husband have been happy without it, then why go for it now? But if you insist on doing it, then the important thing is to stretch your asshole out slowly. Start with a small vibrator, or even your husband's finger. Work up to larger things. Make sure everything you use is well-lubricated. K-Y gel is a good choice. Vaseline gets too lumpy. Make sure all penetrations are achieved slowly, so your asshole has a chance to stretch to each new thickness." Was there something else? Oh, yeah.... "As for positions, sometimes it can be less intimidating for the person getting fucked to lie on their side. However, once you get past your worries about pain, then get in a crouch with your ass up in the air. Your husband will enjoy slamming into you as deeply as possible." There. Except... he was aware that he hadn't heard a single appreciative chuckle from his partner.
He glanced over and saw Starsky staring at him. "Well?" he asked with forced casualness.
"Uh...," Starsky quickly opened the magazine back up. "Let's see.... Okay, here it is. Uh... We are puzzled as to why you think it's necessary to participate in anal intercourse when your sex life is otherwise so satisfying. However, if you are determined to do it, please note that it is very important to stretch the sphincter muscle... Geez," Starsky shuddered on the phrase, "as gradually as possible. That will keep pain minimal. If you and your husband are comfortable with sexual devices, it might be best for him to start with a vibrator or dildo first. Please note that smaller is better in the beginning. It may take multiple sessions until you are comfortable with a penis-sized object and can proceed to actual intercourse with your husband. You are correct to be concerned about lubrication, as all objects, manmade or otherwise, inserted into the anus," Starsky shook his head at the word, "must be well-lubricated. There are a number of products on the market - petroleum jelly is probably the most common - and we do not advise one over the other. As for proper positions, that is a matter of personal taste, as all women have slightly different sizes of internal arrangements and, as with vaginal intercourse, some anal intercourse positions that are pleasing for one woman may be painful to another. We suggest you experiment with a variety of positions." Starsky finally looked up. "You know more about this stuff than they do." His voice once again hinted at admiration.
Hutch could only stare at the house in the distance.
"That's five for five."
Hutch wondered if any more questions were coming. He had to admit that they did help pass the time. And now he was very curious as to what Starsky would choose next.
"Let's see...,"Starsky was now making it obvious that he was picking out questions. Then a snicker. "Think we'll pass on the venereal disease question."
"Uuuuuuuuuuh...." Finally, he asked, "How about a blow job question?"
"Sure." Hutch kept his eyes on the house.
"Okay. Dear Sexperts, I am sixteen years old and have been sexually active with my first serious boyfriend for three months. I enjoy performing oral sex on him and he says he enjoys it, too. However, he has never ejaculated in my mouth and this bothers me. He says he prefers waiting to ejaculate for when we have intercourse. But I've read where lots of men ejaculate from oral sex and still go on to have intercourse, so I know my boyfriend is just trying not to hurt my feelings. What am I doing wrong?" Starsky made a clicking noise. "Poor kid."
Hutch looked over at him. "The girlfriend or the boyfriend?"
Starsky chuckled. "I meant the girlfriend, but I guess the boyfriend, too."
Hutch sipped his coffee, considering, then settled back. "Dear Pretty Young Thing, sixteen is too young to be worried about being sexually inadequate. Trust your boyfriend when he says he enjoys fucking you more than getting head. If he's your age, he probably doesn't know what he's missing, anyway. Besides, you aren't going to learn how to suck cock unless a man is considerate enough to gently educate you about how he likes it best. So, if your boyfriend doesn't bother helping you, don't worry your pretty little head about helping him." That was enough of an answer, but Hutch had decided over an hour ago he liked hearing Starsky laugh at the things he said. "And, by the way, the next time he wants you to give him head, make sure you tell him to give you some head, too."
"That's right, darlin'," Starsky chimed in.
"And don't be shy about telling him how you like it."
Starsky chuckled. "If she's sixteen, she probably doesn't have a clue how she likes it. Probably doesn't even know where her own clit is."
This time Hutch laughed softly. He sipped from his coffee, then, "So, what do they say?"
"Oh, forgot." Starsky pulled the magazine open. His eyes scanned the page for a moment. "Okay, here it is. Unfortunately, our society gives the mistaken impression that fellatio almost always results in orgasm. This is far from the truth. Since the vast majority of men ejaculate only once during each sexual encounter, they usually reserve the ejaculation for intercourse. While almost all men do enjoy oral stimulation, they usually do not insist that it culminate in orgasm in order for it to be satisfying. Therefore, we believe your boyfriend is being truthful when he says that he enjoys the oral sex you give." Starsky looked up. "You really are a sexpert, Hutch."
"I knew that."
Starsky laughed. Then he put the magazine aside and reached for another donut. "I don't know if I agree with the most-men-only-ejaculate-once part of that answer."
He wants to keep talking about sex, Hutch noted. Come on, buddy, get the conversation back to where it was before.
Starsky chewed for a moment, then looked over at his partner. "Don't you usually come more than once a session?"
Fishing for information about me? Learning as much as you can ahead of time? Hutch shrugged. "Like anybody else, it depends on the girl and the mood I'm in - how tired I am. If she's just a date, I guess I usually try to come twice, though the second time might be a while later. You know, get blown and then spend a lot of time pleasing her, and then fuck for the grand finale."
Starsky shook his head, still chewing. "Mr. Romantic. Wonder how your dates would feel, knowing you thought of your time with them as a `fuck'."
Hutch looked over at him and scolded, "Yeah, like you're Mr. Make Love every date."
Starsky laughed loudly around a donut, making it obvious he'd been found out.
Hutch's voice softened, as he wanted to get away from the more crass aspects of an active love life. "But, you know, if she's somebody I really care about - especially if she's someone I'm truly in love with - man, I can spend all night with her. If she's coming over and over again, it doesn't seem to matter how many times it happens to me." He looked over at Starsky, genuinely curious. "That ever happen to you? Where she's so excited from everything you do to her, that it makes you want to keep pleasing her for hours, just because there's no reason to stop? Knowing you can make her feel that way is all the satisfaction you really need?"
Starsky had finished the donut and was leaning back against the door, facing Hutch. He considered a moment, then, "Well, it's been my experience that, no matter how crazy I'm making her with my attentions, she ultimately ends up reaching for my prick." He shook his head. "When it gets down to it, they ultimately want the penetration. So, I figure my being good to her is also in my very best interest." The last was said with strong satisfaction. Then he asked, "You ever have great sex, Hutch, where you never actually got around to fucking?"
Hutch thought about that. Then he laughed softly. "No, I guess not. At least not that I can remember right off hand."
A firm nod. "In the end, the act of love is all about fucking. That joining is what we all strive for."
Before Hutch could respond, Starsky continued, "And if I've really been a good boy, and worked my magic on her secret little button, she's so sated by the time we've fucked that she'll let me turn her over and put it up her backside. `Course, by that point, I've still got to be interested enough to want to do it."
Ass-fucking again. Here we go....
"You know, Hutch, that's the key," Starsky said seriously.
Hutch turned to look at him. "What is?" The other's eyes looked so intent, and the blond tried to not be obvious about releasing a heavy breath.
"Sending her to ecstasy first. If you've done good by her, and she's just a puddle of mush, then she doesn't mind so much if you put it back there. `Cause it doesn't hurt as much when she's so thoroughly relaxed. Because, you know, she's not going to get much out of it, other than the satisfaction that she pleased you. Ass-fucking doesn't do much for women, because they don't have one of those whatchmacallit prostrate glands. They're just doin' you a favor."
"It's called prostate," Hutch corrected automatically.
"Yeah, well, one of those." Starsky's voice dropped an octave. "Gotta worship a lady that'll let you do that."
Eyes on the house, Hutch listened to his partner shift in the seat, facing more forward. He's getting another hard-on. He felt satisfaction at that realization. He likes the idea of ass-fucking. In general. He's being very careful to make sure I'm aware of how much he likes it. He swallowed thickly. Come on, buddy, get back to talking about how you want me to let you put it back there.
There was silence for a while, more squirming. Hutch finally glanced at him. "That all the questions?"
"All the ones that were interesting."
All the ones that only men wanting to do it with other men would be interested in.
"You think any more about us doin' it?"
Hutch's lips parted as he stared at the house. He felt the shifting in the front of his jeans, the seeking of more space. Starsky had asked the question so casually, so confidently.
"What if I say no?" Hutch wanted to know. Just how badly is he wanting to do this?
Heavy sigh. "Not the first time I've been rejected."
Oh, no. "Buddy, I just asked what if I said no; I haven't said no yet."
"I know." A tad softer, "You're just getting used to the idea, Hutch. I understand."
Barely glancing in the other's direction. "You sound like you're already used to it." Accusing.
"Well," shifting again, "the way I see it, I got nothin' to lose. I mean, you've been talking like if I lose my virginity to your little playthings, it's only going to feel great. And if I put myself up inside you, you'll find out how much better a big, warm cock's gonna feel to that little magic gland. And I won't have to impress you in order for you to let me do it. You'll just let me, because it's me."
Hutch's mind was racing as he tried to steady his breath. He's not even talking like if I like it. He's talking like I will like it. Masculine bravado. Except... he knows as well as I do that there's no way it'll be unpleasant. But if it's so pleasant....
Hutch downed the last sips of his cold coffee. He tossed the cup in the back and forced himself to look squarely at his partner. Starsky had a shoulder against the door, turned partially toward Hutch, one leg on the floorboard, the other crossed over the seat. Too dark to see his crotch. "If getting fucked by you is going to be so wonderful, then why don't you want the same thing from me?"
A brief laugh. "Well, I haven't had a chance yet to adjust to the idea of my virgin-tight ass getting knocked up by that huge prick of yours."
Hutch closed his eyes as he felt the predictable throb between his legs, as though proving the truth of Starsky's assessment. Does that mean he hasn't planned this whole thing?
"'Sides," Starsky went on, "it remains to be seen if I'm really going to be that crazy about your little toys. Don't see much point in advancing further if they don't give me the little thrill that they give you."
Hutch swallowed. He didn't like the over-calculated nature of his partner's approach. This is dangerous.
"Except," Starsky's voice softened, "I'd do it if you wanted to. You know, fair's fair."
That shocked Hutch into speaking. "No," he said firmly. "No. I won't do it like that. I won't do it just to keep things even. You have to want it before I'll do it."
"'Kay," the other agreed simply.
Hutch drew a deep, deep breath, then released it. He was puzzled by Starsky's apparent calm, because he himself felt was a flush burn his entire body. He looked at his watch. It was 5:28 AM. "Brakeman and Thompson should be here any minute."
Starsky tossed his empty coffee cup aside. "Except for the fact that they're always late."
Shit. Yes, that was true, that pair did have an annoying tendency to be late, especially for early morning shifts.
"It's gonna be okay, Hutch." Soothing.
The blond head turned sharply. "How do you know?"
A simple shrug. "'Cause it's me and you. We've always taken care of each other."
Hutch expelled another breath, and felt he had some ability to speak calmly. "Aren't you even a little afraid of what it might do to us?"
"A little bit, yeah. But I've never seen fear as a reason to not take a step forward."
"What if it's a step back?" Hutch challenged while trying to settle in his seat. The worst of the ache in his groin was waning. "What if it drops us into a huge hole that our partnership can't ever recover from?"
"Well," Starsky, too, released a breath, "I guess if you feel that fatalistic about it, then maybe we should forget about it." Then, softer, "I just find it hard to imagine that anything we do together is going to be a big mistake." Softer still, "It's just makin' love, Hutch. That's all we're talkin' about doin'."
Hutch's heart accelerated, threatening to break free of his chest. He could feel his protectiveness kick into gear. Wanting to protect Starsky and everything he believed... no matter how naïve.
The soft words continued. "We've always been good at lovin' each other. This will just step up the tempo... make it a little more intense."
Starsky's feet shifted again on the floorboard. "Man, I've got a boner." Abruptly, the window was being rolled down. Then Starsky turned to lay his cheek against the door, breathing in the cool, early morning air.
Hutch was grateful for the respite of cool air as well, for the car had started feeling awfully crowded. But he couldn't take his mind off the condition his partner was in. He's got a boner right now. The boner he wants to put up inside me. All I have to do is say yes. He imagined them on the bed, Starsky on top of him, grunting in tune to his thrusts, his hard flesh moving in and out Hutch's body, stimulating that gland, all the warmth in the world between them... because that is what had always been between them. No awkwardness afterwards. No asking for permission ahead of time. No apologies. Just an agreement to love each other.
Hutch shifted his own legs, feeling the restlessness creep up his muscles. I want to hold him, feel him, kiss him....
Will he let us kiss?
All he had to do was reach over with a hand, Starsky was so near....
No, that was crazy. Brakeman and Thompson would be here any minute. No way could they risk getting caught.
Hutch placed his hands on his knees, out of temptation's way. Once we touch, we won't be able to stop....
He drew a deep, deep breath, staring at the house.
Starsky's chin was resting on his arm, which was atop the door, as he gazed into the early morning blackness.
A car suddenly came upon them. Then there was a muffled, "Hey."
Startled, Hutch looked to his left and there were Brakeman and Thompson in the latter's Chrysler. He quickly rolled down the window. "Hi."
Starsky pulled his head back to look at the new arrivals. "You guys are in for a boring day."
Brakeman grimaced. "Ah, cripes."
Abruptly Starsky was moving over the seat, reaching across Hutch.... "Here's some girlie magazines to while away the time."
Thompson whistled while Brakeman accepted them. "All right!"
Hutch thought he was going to faint. Starsky's overheated body was stretched out across him, arm brushing against his chest, knee against his thigh....
His nostrils filled with Aroused Starsky. All he had to do was brush a hand between the legs encased in those tight jeans and feel that hardness....
Hutch gritted his teeth, barely managing to keep his eyes open as he turned the ignition. The motor started, and he revved it, switching on the headlights.
Starsky moved back to his seat.
Hutch swallowed with relief and started the car forward. He realized his hand was sweating as he turned into the street. Looking in the rearview mirror, he watched the Chrysler park in their same spot beneath the street lamp, the girlie magazine held vertically in Brakeman's hand.
That wasn't like Starsky to give up his prize magazines like that. Was it symbolic? Giving up women for... me?
Stop it, Hutchinson. That's not the deal. He just wants to experiment.
Hutch rubbed a hand across his forehead, then turned left on Eucalyptus Street. He didn't dare look to his right. His knees felt funny and his stomach was tense. For that matter, nothing in his body felt as it should.
He turned right at the next intersection, wondering how to get out of the neighborhood. A couple of blocks up was a house with a large front yard. If he took another right, he would be parked on the side of the house, and not directly in front of anyone's yard. Some semblance of privacy....
Hutch took a right and parked on the curb, cutting the motor and the lights.
"Why are we stopping here?" Starsky almost sounded alarmed.