Page 3 of For Life
The garage door opened to a foggy, misty morning, normal for the city in summer, but especially my area. I’d probably burn constantly everywhere else in California. Pulling my thick leather motorcycle jacket over my uniform, because the cold tended to seep into the skin when I went over the hills of the city, I started my bike up and headed out onto the street. She purred for me and vibrated between my legs, making me feel alive. So I allowed thoughts of familial obligation and what-ifs to leave my mind, and focused on the joy of weaving between cars and making green lights.
Getting into work, I tried to maintain my good mood, but putting on my gear felt a lot heavier than it should have. The weight of the job and responsibility, more than physical. The watery coffee didn’t help. Nor did the mound of paperwork waiting on my desk.
“Brave man,” Officer Berry called out as she entered the station kitchenette, pointing at my mug. A broad Black woman, she took no one’s crap, but was always cracking jokes.
“It’s caffeine, at least,” I teased her back with an exaggerated wink.
Berry laughed, “I meant that you chose your partner’s favorite mug. Matlock gets so pissy when anyone but him uses it.”
What she didn’t say was that my partner was also racist and sexist. He wouldn’t want my non-white lips onhismug, even though everything in the kitchen without a name on it was supposed to be communal. Swallowing the gulp I had taken was like sludge as I read the cup, “You have the right to remain silent, USE IT!”with a blue lives matter flag.
Not overtly racist and not anything he could get in trouble over, with half the force putting that flag on their vehicles and personal belongings, but it was racist and offensive nonetheless. I dumped the mug out and rinsed it without care before deciding I’d have better coffee delivered.
“Probably for the best,” Berry patted my shoulder in solidarity. “He might have made you buy us all donuts, though. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything…”
Her lighthearted words had the desired effect of making me smile. I waved her off and sat down to start sorting through my open cases before diving into the backlog. If I’d known police work would be even more paperwork than college, I might not have chosen that path. It was mindless work, rarely anything as exciting as the stalker case I’d been on. Mostly local shops reporting B and E’s, smash and grabs from tourists who never hide their belongings in their cars, and then a few cases I needed to forward on to different departments like organized crime.
That stalking case had been an eye-opener. The victim was trans and his partner was gender fluid, and they had another partner who they all got kinky with. I knew about kinks, watching porn and reading hentai was followed by internet research, plus gay men I’d topped were often vocal about what they wanted. I liked topping, choking, and making an ass jiggle, but I wanted to know more.
The threesome—throuple? —led me to assist friends of theirs in another case, and then they invited me to the kink club they all belonged to. It was eye-opening. Of course I’d looked up what to wear, and was glad black and leather were the standard. I didn’t own harnesses or fishnet shirts. Going to college as pre-law taught me to always protect your image, and being a cop reinforced that. I rationalized that it was right after my shift, and I was checking on the club’s security after an illegal recording almost got them shut down for solicitation.
The X Club had been very different from when I’d seen it by day. No longer open and empty, voices echoing over the space that was painted black, it was filled with people in all manner of undress. I thought about turning right around and leaving when someone got me talking and then watching a scene.
Ant.
Technically they were named Anthony Costa, a witness to the stalker shooting outside of their place of work. Ant was in a face mask that evoked a cat. But not a cute and fluffy cat. The mask was black, leather, and spiked. I wanted to say it didn’t match Ant’s bubbly personality, but there was a passion and intensity to his eyes. I didn’t even want to get started thinking about the expanse of bare skin exposed under a leather harness, their freckles like constellations all over.
Shaking my head to clear that thought, my mind didn’t listen. There had been a hot scene playing out right in front of me, and I had been distracted by the taller, blond man’s nipples. Still, we shared a couple laughs, and I found myself thinking of Ant multiple times a day, but also about the club. Going back meant opening myself up to being seen and left me vulnerable to the story getting back to my captain.
The truth was, I needed something in my life. Something more than family and coworkers who didn’t know the full, real Maxx Wu.
Something for me.
Chapter two
ANT
“THEROOMLOOKSGREAT,”I told Shepherd, sitting at their kitchen counter. “Only two weeks left at my studio and I’ll use that to move everything over and clean up. You’re sure you don’t mind keeping my fold out couch and extra boxes in your storage?”
“You’re good, Ant. There’s plenty of space,” Shepherd waved a hand dismissively, heading to the fridge to begin meal prep.
They were a Daddy to the other two roommates at the loft we all called The Factory. July and Roman were opposites, but utterly devoted to their Daddy. Despite being a full time chef and business owner of Shepherd’s Kitchen, and owning the whole building, Shepherd made them lunch and dinner every day.
Shepherd was also my boss and mentor at the Kitchen, the person who took a chance on me when I’d been a homeless teen. I had been kicked out of my home shortly after I turned seventeen, when caught kissing a boy. Living in rural northern California, and in a traditional Italian-American family, being gay was not an option. They said if I didn’t do counseling with our Catholic priest, I couldn’t stay there. It was late winter, and I had no high school diploma, so I hitchhiked from the snowy mountains down to Sacramento and on to San Francisco, seeking warmer weather and more access to assistance. I had food and a bed if I showed my driver’s license that I was under eighteen, but couldn’t get into school or get a job without a parent signing off or my social security card. I wasn’t proud of what I’d done to survive those first few months, but I wasn’t ashamed either.
When I heard about a kitchen that was more like a restaurant and open to the unhoused, the word Shepherd always used for us, and that they would hire you if you were sober, I jumped at the chance. Shepherd believed in training all of us in as many skills as possible, and I started on cleaning. Eventually I moved up to sous chef and head baker. I had lied to Shepherd that I was eighteen but that I had no ID. We were paid in trade, with Shepherd paying our rent and groceries instead of us getting a paycheck that would have required paperwork to get taxes taken out. It was true that I didn’t have the ability to renew my license until a few months back when I finally got my birth certificate, but I still hadn’t told him my birthday after that. It was time to come clean.
“So, boss, I gotta tell you a few things if you’re going to be my landlord,” I paused until they met my eyes, seeing the seriousness in my tone and posture.
“I’m all ears,” Shepherd wiped their hands on their flowered dress and leaned on the counter, “go on.”
“First, I want to thank you for being my savior and mentor all these years,” they scoffed but I held up a hand, “truly, you kept me from falling into the hole of drug addiction and street prostitution. You helped me get my high school diploma and discover my passion. You even helped me explore my sexuality, gender, and kinks in a safe and accepting environment. And now I consider you one of my very best friends.”
Shepherd cleared their throat and sniffed, hastily wiping at their eyes. I hadn’t meant to make them cry, but since they were too choked up to talk, I continued.
“Secondly, I need to admit that I lied about my age when I started with you. I was one month from turning eighteen, not one month over eighteen.”
Swallowing hard, I waited for a reaction and then Shepherd laughed, “Oh, kid, I thought you had lied by up to a year. But when you didn’t correct us on Roman planning your twenty-first birthday here, I thought maybe I was wrong.”