O’Melissokomos
The Bee Keeper

Changes 2

by Iainlthr

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Geoff Carruthers grew up on `the wrong side of the tracks', as they say. In Sydney that meant that he was born and raised in one of the far-flung south western estate suburbs. His family had settled in Green Valley when the area was the subject of a building boom in the 70's. Green Valley was a pretty sounding, pleasant name for a new housing estate, but there wasn't much about it that was a valley, even less that was green, and the name was the only pleasant thing as far as Geoff could see. Row upon row of little boxes, all remarkably similar in style, size and age, built mainly of fibro sheeting with iron roofs, facing each other across hard bitumen streets which criss-crossed the area. The closest thing to a park was the brown, dried out football field which doubled as a cricket pitch in summer, attended to by a dilapidated tin shed held together by the many layers of spray-painted graffiti which had built up over the years.

Almost from the time he was able to reason, Geoff knew he had to get out of Green Valley, no matter what it took. When he was eleven years old, his father walked out on them, and Geoff thought he had done what Geoff wanted to do -- escape. But he found out shortly afterward that his father had taken up with another woman and simply moved no more than seven or eight blocks away. He was disappointed and disillusioned. And the split-up caused his mother to withdraw from the world, so that Geoff was pretty well left to look after himself from then on. His natural outgoing personality came to the fore, and he quickly became self-sufficient as he learnt that if he wanted anything to happen he had to do it himself -- his mother was nothing but a shell who took absolutely no interest in her young son, or anything else for that matter.

Geoff soon earned a reputation as the kid who didn't take shit from anyone. He grew quickly into a strong young man, forced to mature faster than his peers, and to stand up for himself in any situation. By his thirteenth birthday he had been in more fights, and won, against older boys than he could remember. His mother ignored him, and he ignored her for the most part, helping himself to her purse when he needed money, and running his own race. It was around the same time that he began to realise that his sexual interests lay with other men. It didn't bother him, it was just another fact that he had to face and deal with alone. He found the glossy pictures of handsome guys in his mother's discarded magazines compellingly attractive, and was fascinated by the developing bodies of older boys at the local swimming pool.

He began to masturbate to imagined encounters with faceless bodies pumped full of muscle, hard throbbing cocks and sweat-sheened skin. Other kids laughed and joked about gays, spoke in knowledgeable terms about "arse-fuckers" and "shirt-lifters", yet when Geoff questioned them in more detail, none of them really had any idea what they were talking about, and a rumour began to drift around his neighbourhood that Geoff was `one of them'. When one of the older guys at school noticed Geoff watching him undress one day during P.E., the boy yelled out at him in a shrill voice:

"Take your eyes off me, you fuckin' poof! I know what you're after, but you ain't gettin' it here."

Geoff said nothing. He simply walked up to the kid who was two years older and several inches taller, and punched him in the face, breaking his nose and felling him with a single blow. It did nothing to quell the rumours, but it did mean that no one ever confronted him again.

*****************

Everyone knew that the `gays' inhabited the area around Oxford Street in the city, although it seemed very few of his acquaintances had actually been there or seen it for themselves. In his determined, do-it-yourself way, he set off one Saturday morning, taking a bus into Cabramatta and jumping on a train bound for the city. It was a long slow trip as the passenger service wound it's way through the endless expanse of suburbs before finally sliding into the city where it's route took it underground. Yet Geoff had watched the passing scenery with fascination. The kilometres he journeyed seemed to signify the distance he had to go to escape from Green Valley, the buildings between his home and the city a barrier he would need to breach to live his dream. Exiting at Museum Station, Geoff made his way up onto Goulburn Street and walked alongside Hyde Park to stand at Whitlam Square, looking up the hill, along what had come to be known as the `gay golden mile', the fluttering banners of Taylor Square at the edge of his sight.

This was the Promised Land! Everywhere he looked, handsome men in fashionable clothes strolled along the street; alone, in couples and groups, confident and smiling. Men held hands, or traded kisses, patted backsides or just stood and admired the passing trade. Taking it all in, Geoff strode purposefully up the hill, examining the shops and cafes, drinking in the atmosphere. Although he was still just a kid, he knew that he belonged here. He walked for hours around the district, getting to know it, determined to own it in his mind.

It was on this very first trip, as he explored and came to possess the area he knew would one day be his own, that he experienced his first sexual contact with another person. He was walking and watching, trying not only the main streets, but the back ways as well.

In an alley off a laneway off Crown Street, he encountered a leering face in a secluded doorway.

Standing there, the owner of the face watched as the young boy approached, and began to rub himself through dirty jeans. Geoff was fascinated, and felt himself becoming aroused as he looked interestedly at what the older man was doing.

"Hey kid, like the look of this do you?" the man hissed at him, unzipping his fly and taking out a rapidly lengthening penis, which he continued to stroke to semi-erection. Geoff felt no fear, and no loathing either. He was struck with curiosity, having never seen another person aroused in this way before. He stepped closer, until he was only a metre or so away, not believing his luck. His own erection was straining in his shorts.

"Go on," whispered the voice, "Suck it! You know you want to. I might have a treat for you afterwards ..."

Geoff leaned down, breathing in the musky, masculine aroma. He examined closely the swollen organ, now only inches from his face, committing every detail to memory.

"That's it, my boy. You can do it. A nice big fat cock just waiting for you to play with. Make it squirt!"

He opened his mouth, and closed his lips over the large swollen head, sucking as instructed. It tasted soiled, dirty, but it aroused him at the same time. He tried to swallow more of the fleshy pole, but started to gag.

"Relax your throat, boy," the man murmured. "And cover your fuckin' teeth, for crissakes!"

Doing as bid, Geoff tried again. He could not manage to take the full length of the cock into his gullet, but he tried valiantly, slurping and licking at it with his best efforts. The man's hand was at his head, pulling him onto that throbbing rod, and humping into his face with increased urgency, a low moan escaping him. Suddenly the man standing over him grunted, a long guttural sound, and pushed himself further into Geoff's mouth. A salty, acrid tasting, creamy substance erupted from the man's dick, filling Geoff's mouth and dribbling from his lips. Instead of being disgusted, Geoff found the whole thing so exciting that he creamed his pants as the man's cum filled his face. He tried to swallow the ejaculate as he licked his lips and stood back up, reaching for a handkerchief to mop up the mess inside his own jeans.

"Great work, son!" declared the now softening man in the doorway. "Here, get yourself something nice." And with that he stuffed a ten-dollar note into Geoff's hand. The boy looked up in amazement as the man hurried away. He would have done what he had for nothing, but if this man wanted to give him some money, he wasn't going to refuse it.

He travelled back west that afternoon feeling very pleased with himself. His dream had just taken on a much more distinct and realistic form.

**************

He knew what he wanted, and knew what he was. He was gay. It didn't bother him, didn't upset him. It was just another fact of life. He just knew that his future lay in the city, amongst the beautiful people and the bright lights, the dark alleys and the nightclubs. If it meant he had to use whatever he had, including his body, then he could do that, but one day he wouldn't need to -- he'd have money of his own.

Over the next few years he made many more trips into Darlinghurst, into the `gay ghetto'. Some during the day, some at night. He managed to talk his way into a couple of night clubs, and he found sexual release with any number of men, many of them older, but more than a few close to his own age. He learned about sex and learned how to be an expert at it. Sometimes he was paid for it, sometimes not, but that was a minor consideration. He enjoyed it, and the more he did it, the more he wanted.

Geoff wasn't stupid. He knew that to leave home too early and `run away' would condemn him to a life on the streets, a life of grovelling and begging, of selling his body because he had to, not because he wanted to. And he could stay at home without difficulty. His mother never commented if he didn't come home until dawn or later, paid no attention to where he went or what he did. The bored and indifferent counsellor at school had no idea -- giving him information on career options while at the same time providing him with all the details of welfare assistance that was available, since she figured that like most of his colleagues, his future consisted of unemployment and government hand-outs -- the staple and predominant income of most people in the area.

So Geoff learned, and planned.

**********

On the day he turned sixteen, he quit school and registered for the dole. Within three months, he had enough money put aside to get himself started by taking a shared room in a flat with other young men in a seedier part of town, down in Woolloomooloo, but it was within easy walk of Oxford Street. He packed the few possessions he had in a carry bag, and stood in the doorway of the living room, watching his mother for a few minutes as she stared blankly at the never-switched-off television screen.

"Mum?"

There was no movement, no recognition that he had spoken.

"Mum?" he said, more loudly. Still she continued to look at the infernal box. Geoff became irritated with her for the first and last time in his life.

"Mum!" he demanded, walking over and pulling the power cord for the TV from its socket in the wall. Slowly his mother turned to face him, her eyes sad but unknowing.

"Mum, I'm leaving! I'm going away, moving out. You'll be here by yourself from now on, okay?" Still no indication from her that she had heard. "Mum, you should know... I'm going to live in a flat in town. I'm gay, and I'm not staying in Green Valley any longer." Nothing! He leaned down and kissed her forehead, but she said nothing. Exasperated, he turned his back on her and his childhood, and walked out, leaving the door open and swinging behind him.

His mother slowly stood up from her perennial seat, carefully plugged the television set back into the power, and settled down again as if there had been no interruption, no annoying break in her viewing.

*************

Over the next few years, Geoff grew up. He worked wherever he could, finding jobs here and there, and at the same time collecting welfare. He had no scruples about cheating the system; it was simply a way for him to get what he wanted. He made friends -- well, acquaintances really -- and established contacts within the gay ghetto he now inhabited. He became one of the regular crowd in the area, and he watched and he learned. The time he spent working as a kitchen hand in late night cafes, or as an odd-job man around the neighbourhood, and the time he spent cruising the streets late at night, provided more of an education than any school or college ever could.

He learned about sex; what was good, what was bad, what was just plain boring. He learned about money and power; who had it and who used it. He came to realise that amongst the `beautiful people' substance was much less important than appearance, that if you appeared to have money and you appeared to be part of the `A' list, then you got invited to `A' list parties, and were treated accordingly. And he also saw the underside of this world -- the quiet deals done in dark corners which dictated who was this week's poster-boy, where the moneyed crowd would drink next month, what clubs to stay away from because the police would be raiding them in the near future.

Others too were watching; watching Geoff. He became known as a kid who could keep his mouth shut, one who could be relied upon for discretion, or to stand up in a fight. His connections spread and he started to get work as a lookout for the illegal casinos, or as an errand boy delivering unopened and unidentified parcels from one dark office to another, no questions asked. He could be counted on as well to perform certain favours for the ageing, bloated men who employed him to do their bidding. Geoff never considered himself a hustler, or a rent-boy. He never went out seeking sex for money. But if it was asked of him by these men, he would oblige -- he saw it as maintaining his network, establishing his credentials -- and if those same men saw fit to bestow upon him gifts of clothing or cash, or trinkets such as watches, jewellery or other items, in gratitude for his attentions, then he accepted gracefully; to refuse might offend.

By the time he had reached his 20th year, Geoff Carruthers knew very well where the real money lay. Legitimate wealth was tied up in, and increased through real estate. Illegitimate money was made in the drugs trade. And shady, questionable income of note derived from control of gambling facilities or the provision of sexual services. He resolved that he would need to have an interest in all of them.

*************

It was at around that time that his mother died. He had not kept in touch with her as such, had never been back to Green Valley to see her or the house again, but a sense of duty had prompted him to write to her whenever he changed address, simply to let her know he was still alive and well. No reply had ever come back from her, but he hadn't expected it to.

He was notified by a nervous young police officer, knocking at his door one evening. For Geoff, the police usually meant trouble; they were to be avoided, so it was with apprehension that he allowed the cop into his flat. She had died quietly at home, and been found by neighbours who raised the alarm when they hadn't seen her for some time and noticed a smell emanating from the house. The police had been called, and a search of the place revealed a collection of letters from Geoff, all of them unopened, which had led the police to him now.

Geoff nodded, asking politely about the procedure he needed to follow. He felt no emotion, no sense of loss. His mother had ignored him in life and in death and now she was gone. It made no difference to his existence.

He made funeral arrangements, and contacted a firm of solicitors whose name appeared on a copy of a will that had been found buried in the bottom of her closet. Following some investigations by the lawyers, he received a letter advising that as the sole beneficiary of her will, he was now the owner of the house she had owned. In surprise, he contacted the lawyer involved, who filled him in on some of the detail. His parents had purchased the house when they married using money from an inheritance from his maternal grandmother (Geoff never knew her, and hadn't realised they owned the place outright). After they divorced, his mother kept the house for herself. It was now his.

His initial inclination was to sell, until he stopped to consider his position. Real estate -- that was one of the pillars of wealth! He headed back to Green Valley for the first time in almost four years to examine the place he had grown up in, but never really considered `home'. The building was not in good condition, but could be made presentable with some cosmetic work. Structurally, it was sound, but Geoff would need to clean and wash, paint and repair it if he was going to be able to make use of it. He decided to move back in for a short period while he did what was necessary.

The return to his old neighbourhood was less difficult than he had expected, probably made easier by the certain knowledge that it was a temporary arrangement only. He worked hard at bringing the place back to good order, determined to do it in as little time as possible. It was during that time that he found himself in the local pub one evening, a quiet drink alone to get himself out of the house.

"Ain't you Geoff Carruthers?" asked a tall thin man who was standing beside Geoff at the bar.

"Yeah," said Geoff non-committally. He was unsure if he wanted to renew any schoolyard acquaintances.

"Neale Simpson! We went to school together." The other man offered his hand, which Geoff shook genially enough. "Haven't seen you for years. What are you doing with yourself? Come and sit over here." He led Geoff to a table away from the bar in a quiet corner of the quiet pub.

"I moved into town," Geoff answered his question. "Just back to clean up the house. My mother died so I'm gonna rent it out."

"Right, right ..." Neale nodded sagely, as if that was something he himself did every day. Geoff looked at him and wondered what his own life would be like if he had stayed.

"So, how about you? What are you doing with yourself now?" Geoff asked, trying to seem politely interested.

"Oh, nuthin' much! On the dole, hangin' around, you know!"

`Yes, I can imagine', Geoff thought to himself.

Neale leaned in close, and in a conspiratorial whisper, asked Geoff: "You haven't got any speed on ya, have you?"

That brought Geoff's eyebrows up but he covered his surprise. "No, sorry, I don't."

"Pity. It's so hard to get around here at the moment. And bloody expensive when it is available!"

"Really?" Geoff's interest picked up. He knew of plenty of places back in Darlinghurst where it could be had quite reasonably, along with Ecstasy, coke or hash, if that's what you were into. He wasn't, but he knew where it was. "How expensive?"

His newly re-found friend launched into a description of problems and costs associated with buying various drugs from the local suppliers. While much of the tirade bored Geoff, he was curious to find that the supply in the area came mainly from Vietnamese gangs operating out of Cabramatta, who were charging almost double what the boys in town were asking. His mind began to dwell on the situation as presented. Here was an opportunity, but a dangerous one. You didn't steal turf from the triads if you wanted to stay alive, but then they were more interested in supplying the extensive Vietnamese population around Fairfield. Green Valley and its neighbours were more of a minor extension, an added bonus, than anything else.

That night and the following day, Geoff made some calls to contacts back in the City. The following evening he was back at the pub, waiting when Neale showed again. This time it was Geoff who hailed his `mate', and secured the same quiet table.

"Neale, I don't have any dope myself, but if I told you I could get you whatever you or your friends wanted for a lot less than you pay now, would you be interested?"

"Fuckin' oath, mate!" was the eager response.

"It would mean you'd have to go out of Green Valley to get it. Probably pick it up from Parramatta, or even Homebush!"

"That's okay, I can do that on the train, no problem."

"Okay, you tell me what you want and how much. I'll get some prices for you, and set up the meeting place. Here's my mobile phone number to contact me on." With that Geoff scribbled the number on the back of a beer coaster and handed it to Neale.

And so he started in on another of his ambitions. It was the perfect arrangement. Geoff organised for one of his occasional employers to supply the drugs, so he couldn't be accused of infringing on that man's business. Someone then met Neale in a deserted industrial estate near Homebush, roughly half way from Green Valley to the City, where the exchange took place. That way there was little likelihood of the Viet boys getting their noses out of joint. And Geoff received a cut of the sale directly from the supplier back in town, so he was not actually on the scene at any time. He trusted his source to come good with his `commission', and made sure he was aware of what was happening by remaining the sole contact between the two sides via mobile phone.

Neale spread the word amongst his own contacts in Green Valley, but Geoff insisted he would only deal with Neale, so Neale became something of a supplier himself. That wasn't Geoff's problem. Neale would have to look out for himself. Geoff was on his way up!

****************

Within weeks of his first meeting with Neale in the pub, Geoff had completed his renovation work on his house, and arranged for it to be rented out through a local agent. He then promptly arranged to buy another property -- an apartment in Kings Cross -- borrowing all of the money he needed and securing it over both the new flat, and the house back west. The rent from the house covered the majority of his mortgage payments, and suddenly he was a landowner.

Money makes money, as they say, and Geoff Carruthers was living proof. He poured what he could into paying the loan he had so as to bring it down quickly, then purchased another unit in the city, cross-securing all three, and renting the new place out for a very tidy sum. The trade in drugs through Neale was growing steadily and Geoff was still pocketing very good money from that. He still worked legitimate jobs when they came up, and lived reasonably frugally, but his dream of the good life was closer and closer.

*************

His final `iron in the fire' came about after one night spent dancing and drinking at a nightclub, as he wandered home late. A young guy, probably no more than sixteen although he looked older, approached him from a laneway.

"Hey mister, wanna blowjob?" said a tired voice.

Geoff stopped and looked. "No thanks. It's a bit cold for that out here anyway isn't it?"

The kid looked resignedly at him and shrugged. "Gotta get some money somehow," he said matter-of-factly.

"You have somewhere to go?" Geoff asked.

"Nah, sorry," said the kid. "If you wanna do it, it's either right here, or we go back to your place."

"No, I don't mean that. Do you have anywhere to stay, yourself?"

"Don't need it," was the reply. "I make do on the streets. Find somewhere if I need it, a squat maybe, or one of the bunks at the refuges if it's raining."

"Well, not tonight, thanks," Geoff finished, but handed the boy a note anyway. "Here, for the chat, and an idea," he said. The kid looked at him in surprise, but quickly grabbed the money anyway and shoved it into his pockets.

That night Geoff thought long and hard about the rent boys he passed every day on the streets, what they did and why, where they went and with whom. He did some sums in his head, and the figures seemed to work out.

*************

Within a matter of weeks, Geoff had purchased an old boarding house which sat on the border between the gay district of Darlinghurst and it's neighbouring, straight, red-light area of Kings Cross. He spent some money on it so that the upper floors housed small but comfortable bedrooms with shared baths and cooking facilities for up to twelve people, while the ground level became a reception area at the front which opened onto a tastefully decorated sitting room, and behind that several well appointed bedrooms. It was unashamedly and obviously a brothel, but tasteful and discreet nonetheless.

Geoff made contact with several of the street boys, and word got around. He offered them an arrangement whereby they rented a room from him in the `boarding-house' for a higher than usual fee, and in return they had their own private room upstairs for personal use, as well as access to the street level `entertainment' facilities. They bought their own food and other supplies, and had complete control over whom they saw and what they did, and how much they charged. The only other contribution they made to the house was a set fee they paid for each half hour that they used the private rooms downstairs, which went toward the wages of the three burly men who were rostered on as receptionist/doorman and who doubled as security guards. These three also lived in the building, on the upper floors. Geoff got the business up and running with a couple of well-placed adverts in the local classifieds' `personal adult services' section, and before long he was collecting a nice but not overly inflated income from the place, which housed nine boys and three `bouncers'. Word quickly got around the area, and there was always someone new ready to take any vacancy that came up, while the supply of `clients' grew steadily until the place was self-supporting.

Once again, Geoff had managed to set himself up with a good and steady income, without actually getting his hands dirty by being there personally. To all intents and purposes he was simply the landlord who rented rooms in a boarding house for unfortunate runaways.

******************

So, at the ripe old age of 27, Geoff Carruthers had achieved what he had promised himself all those years earlier in Green Valley. He was making money, lots of money in fact. He had income from Real Estate property, from the drug trade and from the sex industry, and all of it was sufficiently distant that he didn't have to get his hands dirty. He had moved into a very nice home in the upmarket area of Paddington, and partied happily with the `in-crowd' of the gay community. He was known amongst his cronies as being up for a good time, and had more than his fill of partners when it came to sexual release.

He hadn't settled down with any one man, but then he didn't want to. `Why buy a book when there's a whole library to read?' was one of his favourite sayings. But that didn't prevent him from being attracted to quiet, stay-at-home types. He found it a challenge to get them to come out of their shell and join in the party atmosphere he enjoyed. What most found out only to their bitter disappointment, was that once Geoff had coaxed you out into the world, he lost interest and moved onto his next `project'. A string of broken hearts and bitter men across Sydney could attest all too well to that side of his personality.

************

His accountant and financial advisor, another ex who he occasionally slept with just for the fun of it, counselled him on his income streams.

"You need to get some more `legit' businesses going, Geoff! If you don't `clean up' some of your money, you're going to be the subject of some very close scrutiny from the Tax man."

And so he had set out to buy himself a restaurant. He figured it was a good way to launder some of his less legal dollars -- a mainly cash business that could be run without actually making a profit itself, and the injection of extra money would go unnoticed so that for record keeping purposes it actually turned over a healthy profit. But it had to be legitimate, at least from appearances. There it was again -- the need to make sure the appearance was good, even if the substance was lacking. So Geoff had contacted a nice respectable firm of solicitors in the City to take care of the legal side for him. With an appointment at 10.30, he had indulged in one of his favourite pastimes, people watching, from a footpath caf� on Macquarie Street early that morning.

He had thoroughly enjoyed catching the eyes of several men that day, winking and nodding at them, particularly a young suited type who had almost tripped over his own feet when Geoff caught him staring. Geoff knew the type -- gay and yearning, but closeted and careful. How he would have loved to follow the suit, get to know him, take him home and fuck him and introduce him to the `real' world -- the world according to Geoff Carruthers. But he had an appointment later that morning, and the attractive man was obviously in a hurry to get to work, so he watched him retreat and smiled.

When the same guy turned out to be his new solicitor, Geoff was highly amused and very much interested. Ian Sterling could barely speak when Geoff showed up at the meeting, but he got on with his job well, and Geoff admired him for that. He dropped hints like crazy which this Ian refused to acknowledge, and still Geoff smiled and oozed charm whenever he spoke with `his lawyer'. After several weeks, and with the purchase of the restaurant close to being finalised, Geoff had been wondering whether his gaydar hadn't been off balance. He still couldn't get a smile, or even a slight acceptance out of Ian Sterling despite all his efforts. And then he spotted him one evening with quite a hunk, in a small caf� in Newtown.

"Hah, I knew I was right!" he told himself as he stepped up to their table. A few semi-suggestive comments was just the thing to get these two going. But instead, Ian had jumped up and rushed out, making some lame excuse, while his boyfriend had tried to follow, obviously very upset about something much more than Geoff's harmless words.

When he tried to re-assure the other man on the street, Geoff reeled at the venom in his voice, and the harshness of his words.

"I don't know who you are," the young guy had spat, "but Ian is my best friend, not my boyfriend! Shit, he's not even `out' yet, and you've just embarrassed the hell out of him. I hope you're pleased with yourself!"

Geoff stood there on the street for a long time, lost in thought. He was even more attracted to Ian now, but he had never encountered someone who was still so deeply closeted, nor had he ever felt the anger of a close friend like that. This guy; what had Ian said his name was? ... Nick -- that was it, something vaguely Greek -- Geoff wondered what it would be like to have a friend so devoted to you who wasn't your lover. This was something completely outside his realm of experience.

*************************************************************************

Unknown to Geoff, the whole scene had raised questions in someone else's mind as well. Across the street from where Geoff stood outside the caf�, Detective Michael Sciutta had just recorded the meeting between Geoff Carruthers and Ian Sterling and a third man, and wondered to himself just how the three were connected.

Detective Sciutta had been following Carruthers for some months now, trying to get a handle on his affairs. The Liverpool region drug squad was certain that Geoff was somehow involved in a drug ring they had recently infiltrated out in the western suburbs, centred on a little place called Green Valley. Carruthers' name had surfaced during a couple of conversations between an undercover agent and the main suspect, yet the man himself never seemed to go anywhere near the place. It hadn't taken long to establish that Carruthers was one of the bigger players in the inner city, and so the request had come through to Michael to investigate Geoff, since he was on Michael's patch. They had strong evidence that he was involved in a number of questionable dealings, particularly a brothel in the Cross which operated from a building he owned. But Michael Sciutta wasn't interested in that. Personally, he couldn't see a problem with brothels if they were clean and operated properly. But drugs were a different issue entirely, and it was that which had brought him to be staking out Geoff.

`Pity,' Michael thought to himself. Geoff was not an unattractive man, and outwardly seemed to be very good company. If he wasn't under investigation, Michael suspected that he might have been a lot of fun, maybe even good for a `roll in the hay'! But Detective Sciutta would never let business and pleasure mix, so Geoff Carruthers was strictly business now.

*******

Detective Michael Sciutta was gay, and openly so. When he'd joined the force at 17, just over ten years ago, you didn't tell them you were gay, and you weren't asked. As long as that part of you didn't affect your work, the official line was that it was irrelevant. Unofficially, it was still said back then that being known to be gay would set you back when promotions were up for grabs, so those who were `that way inclined', kept the information to a small circle of colleagues, usually only partners and one or two others. But the change of leadership in the mid 90's had changed things on the ground quite a bit. When the NSW Police Service decided to actively recruit officers from various `ethnic or minority' groups, reasoning that someone who shared a cultural background with others in a locality was more likely to gain confidences, homosexuals were one of the many targeted groups.

With that in mind, Michael had applied for a spot in Darlinghurst when it came up, and had included in his resume the fact that he was gay, and therefore could identify with the highly visible and very influential gay population of the area. He got the place, and his hard work and talent quickly saw him rise through the ranks. He still copped some ribbing about being gay, but then so did his Chinese and his Jewish colleagues for their own `differences' -- it was just the way cops were, and he was happy with his life and his work.

*********

Driving back to the station that night, Michael tried to fathom out in his mind the link with Ian Sterling, and this newcomer. He had traced Sterling after Carruthers had met with him at a law firm in the City several weeks ago. Michael believed Ian Sterling was probably just what he seemed; a lawyer, innocent of any involvement with Carruthers' drug dealings. He had followed the young solicitor from his office that first night and had established that he lived alone in Erskineville. There had been nothing to suggest any more than an above-the-board relationship between the two, and Michael had just about written Ian Sterling out of the picture until tonight.

Unexpectedly, Sterling had already been at the restaurant to which he had trailed Carruthers. Carruthers had immediately gone up to speak to Sterling, who within just minutes had jumped up and raced away. His companion had exchanged words with Carruthers, and not looked too happy about whatever had happened, then he too had gone. Was Sterling unhappy about Carruthers approaching him in public? Did Sterling have something to hide? It sure looked that way.

"Pity!" he said out loud to himself. Ian Sterling might have been quite a catch. Not only was he much better looking than Geoff Carruthers, but nice and quiet too, it seemed. Much more Michael's style, the kind of man you could settle down with.

Still, you never mixed business with pleasure. Never.

Read next part

This story is a fantasy, it is not real and only happened in my imagination. YOU MUST REMEMBER that in the real world, you can DIE from having unsafe sex. It is your right and your duty to make sure that condoms are always used, whether you are giving or receiving. It doesn't matter how good looking or how ugly he is, and it doesn't matter whether you are top or bottom, USE A CONDOM!