Personal Narrative Fiction

Once inside the inner sanctum of his bedroom, Booker ran a shaky hand through his dark hair. His confrontation with Tom had left him feeling confused and more than a little guilty. He had thought his affection for his fellow officer was a thing of the past, but he now realized his devotion was as powerful as ever before. For the briefest of moments, he had relished in the sensation of his friend writhing beneath him, locked within the sexual energy flowing from their two bodies, while savoring the uniqueness of Tom’s vibrant juices. But the intensity of their coupling had been fleeting, destroyed by memories of rape and abuse, leaving them both resentful and unfulfilled.

With a sigh, his eyes focused on the naked man lying asleep on his

Jorge stood in the bedroom doorway, his dark eyes blurred with sleep. There was a childlike innocence in his unabashed nakedness, but for Tom, it was a flagrant display of exhibitionism, and he lowered his gaze again, his cheeks flaming red. But Booker showed no signs of embarrassment, and walking across the room, he laid his palm against the young Latino’s sleep-flushed cheek. “It’s okay, Jorge. We’re only talking. Go back to bed.”

Jorge’s eyes narrowed as he studied Tom’s partially hidden face. “Is that Tom?” he asked quietly, his lower lip pushing into a soft pout.

“Yes, it is,” Booker replied gently. “But now’s not the time for introductions. Go back to bed and I’ll—”

The loud slam of a door cut Booker off mid-sentence. He didn’t need to turn around to know Tom was gone, the smug glint in Jorge’s eyes relayed the information as effectively as a public newscast. For a fraction of a second, he considered running after his friend, but he was too weary, and he honestly did not know how to begin to explain his situation with Jorge. It was a delicate issue, and after Tom’s near slip up, he needed time to think, otherwise, he risked jeopardizing their relationship before it had even