Gary and Andy Meet Again (TorC IV) by Derkx

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Gary and Andy Meet Again
(Ticket or Change? IV)
by Derkx


"Nilsson!" That was Jim and he sounded . . . loud! He was standing by the counter in the staff lounge with a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. "Nilsson, did you make this coffee?"

"Yes, uh . . . Yes, sir?"

"Great coffee! Much better than the usual crap!"

"Thanks, uh, sir. I brought the beans from home. I thought it would make a change."

"Remember, it’s Jim," he said as he joined me at the table. "The ‘Nilsson’ bit was to get your attention, Gary."

"It did do that." I should have known he was putting me on, trying to sound angry.

He saw right through me about the coffee. "You mean you can’t stand the cheap swill we usually have to put up with."

He had me there.

"You know, Gary, you can be at ease," he went on. "We are on break."

"Thanks, Jim, I know. I am at ease. Relaxed, I mean."

"You don’t look it. You’re so . . . what is the word? ‘Ramrod’ straight the way you’re sitting."

"Ah. My posture, you mean. No, that’s just the way I was brought up. Good posture. Perfect posture. My father, you see, . . ."

"A strict disciplinarian? All ‘spare the rob, spoil the child’? A career military man, expecting you to follow in his footsteps?" Jim conjectured.

"He was a chiropractor."

Jim coughed, close to choking on a misdirected swallow of coffee. I waited for him to recover.

"That was a joke. He’s actually ex-military, still working with the government. He’s always insisted on cleanliness and perfect posture. Other than that, he’s very indulgent. He wouldn’t have minded if I’d decided to write poetry and support myself bussing tables, as long as I was happy." I added cautiously, because I respected Jim and wanted him to have as clear a picture as possible, "I’ve never had a father fixation, if you were wondering. As father and son, we’ve have a mature relationship. A loving relationship even."

Jim mulled over what I said before responding. "So, your father’s not a chiropractor?"

That made me laugh.

"I hope it’s not a problem, my bringing in coffee."

"Hell no," he said. "Maybe you can convince headquarters to supply us with a decent brew. We’ll have to serve the good stuff when one of that lot shows up for a visit."

"Can pigs fly?" I asked.

I was tentative, even hesitant, about developing a friendship with Jim. Yes, I did attend his wedding, his and Matt’s, but then all the local state police officers who were not on duty attended. I wasn’t intimidated by the age difference; that was only a half-generation, if that. It was the fact that Jim was a superior officer by years of experience. He had an air of authority that he’d earned. He knew how to take control of situations. I didn’t want to be presumptuous.

"I was hoping to run into you," Jim said. "I have something for you."

He reached into his shirt pocket and handed me a photo. It was a picture of me at his wedding reception. I was seated at a table and was reaching to stroke the remarkable hair of a strikingly handsome man across from me. Andy. He had wavy dark red hair. He had even darker eyebrows and lashes. And he had one hand holding mine.

"Thank you," I said, taking the photo and putting it into my own pocket. I refused to blush or be embarrassed.

"Matt and I would like to have you for dinner if you’re free on Saturday," Jim said in what seemed a change of topic.

"Sure. I’m free." I wouldn’t mind spending more time with the two of them. It would be a pleasure to be in the company of such handsome and intelligent (and sexy) men. "Planning a dinner party?"

"Not really. It’ll be just the four of us. Matt and I. You. And Andy from Matt’s office." Was he smirking? "We should all get to know each other."


The four of us. There was Jim, one of my hosts, a fellow state police trooper and my superior. He had that impressive air of authority. He was shorter than his husband, which seemed to make no difference in their relationship. He always had a crisp look about him, even when he was out of uniform, with a short, faded haircut, and light-colored dense brown hair on head and arms. Matt, co-host, was much darker than Jim, and taller, and noticeably hairier. Apparently he was considered to be quite a hot item in his office, especially after he met up with Jim and took on a very short hair style with a casual, longer, forward-brushed top. I was the tallest of them all, thinner than Jim and Matt, and with excellent posture. I was also extremely blond although my body hair was consistently light. By personal choice, I wore a crew cut.

Andy worked in Matt’s office. I met him at Jim and Matt’s wedding. I’d noticed him several times during the reception but it never occurred to me that he might be interested in me. Then I felt his gaze on me across the room. Happy day! I looked away when I saw that Jim and Matt were observing our brief, distant interaction. But we met before the event ended and, as Jim’s photo indicated, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.

The next day, when we were again apart and the champagne had worn off, we were both awkward and unsure about making further contact. There was no assurance of compatibility after lust at first sight.


Andy arrived for dinner at Jim and Matt’s apartment maybe five or ten minutes after me. The lust was there again, immediately, before the wine was even poured. I felt an ache in my abdomen (and a steady stirring in my groin). He was every bit as beautiful as my memory painted him. And "painted" was an appropriate word.

Andy’s wavy hair was the color of aged bricks. (That was Matt’s description.) His eyebrows and lashes were dark, almost black in contrast. His eyes were the color of molasses. (Again, Matt’s description.) He was close to my height, which put us on the same level eye-to-eye. As far as I could tell, his physique was naturally slender, not quite as developed as mine.

Andy’s greeting smile was uncertain. He tried to turn it into an indifferent expression, but it broke out again without control. To be honest, he may have been responding to my own stupid, hopeful grin.

We lingered over a handshake. I noticed the prolific hair on his arms and upper chest, which was closer to the dark of his eyebrows than the hair atop his head. I wondered what the color of his hair would be farther down, well below his chest. I wouldn’t find out that night.

It was a good get-together. A very comfortable outing (so to speak). Jim and Matt told us about how they’d met â€" the speeding ticket that was not issued, the haircut that was given, and the instant friendship that quickly blossomed into romance.

I elaborated on what I’d told Jim about my family and my ex-military father who had a very non-military relationship with his son.

"He wasn’t responsible for your joining the state police?" Andy asked.

"He’s fine with it," I said, "but, no, he didn’t push me into it. The work seemed like something I’d be good at. I’m logical and calm in a crisis. I have some medical training as a volunteer paramedic. . . . And I’m used to uniforms."

"How’s that?" Matt asked.

"My dad’s work with the government kept us moving around. So I was always changing schools. Public schools, private schools, military academies, and even a military college. Dad’s connections got me in anywhere. I have quite a wardrobe of school uniforms."

Andy raised his eyebrows. I couldn’t tell whether he was turned off by or attracted to the idea of uniforms. All he said was, "You’ve got the haircut too."

"Yeah," I agreed, rubbing my own crop of blond hair. "This seems to be the most adaptable style."

"It suits you," Jim contributed. "You’re like a . . ."

Matt cut him off. "No more animal analogies, please." (I found out later that Jim referred to Matt as his furry rabbit, and Matt’s young brother, Nick, as a bunny boy.)

Andy told us a bit about himself. One unfortunate issue was that the apartment he was renting was thirty minutes outside Melton; lower rent was probably a factor for that, but it must have been a lot lower to justify the cost of commuting. His work in Matt’s office was only his second "real" job after graduating. In college he earned some money from appearing in ads for a local business. (He avoided referring to himself as a model.) He had also been on the college swim team.

"Really?" I was surprised because, looking at him now, I couldn’t imagine all that body hair on a swimmer. He must have spent a lot of time shaving!

Although we went our separate ways at the end of the evening, the ice had been broken, just as our hosts intended.


After getting to know each other that evening, Andy and I met up now and then after work â€" for drinks or dinner, to see a movie, chat about our days’ activities. Just as friends do. In spite of tending to get touchy-feely when in proximity, we avoided intimate contact. A solid, friendly relationship was developing.

We seldom stayed out late because of the expense of going out and Andy’s half-hour drive home. It was a shame that he always had that drive home. So, I suggested that we do something together for an upcoming weekend without making a big deal of it. Our schedules didn’t often coincide so perfectly. He rarely worked weekends and I happened to have that one off.

"Why don’t you just stay over?" I proposed. "Then we don’t have to plan anything. We can improvise and do whatever comes to mind."

When I got home that Friday, I found Andy waiting on my door stoop.

"Cool!" he said when he got his first look inside my two-bedroom loft apartment.

"It is, isn’t it?" I agreed. "The building’s still in the artists’-studio phase. Not much gentrification so far. I bought in at the right time."

"You bought this place?"

"Well, my folks took care of the down payment as a present when I graduated from the police academy. The mortgage, however, is entirely mine."

It was a great place that suited my tastes. The two bedrooms perched on a large balcony overlooking the living, dining and working area. I wasn’t a visual artist like many of my neighbors but I did have a piano and could read music, so I guess that qualified me for the artistic neighborhood.

My style was minimalist and immaculate. The interior walls were paneled and painted white, as were the kitchen cabinets. The exposed pipes and ducts, dust-free, shone with metal polish. Splashes of color stood out in wall hangings, rugs, furniture, throws and pillows.

"Let me show you your room." We dropped his bag there. "And this is mine through here," I said, leading him through the shared bathroom, and undoing my necktie. "I’ll just be a minute changing."

Andy stayed and picked up my uniform shirt.

"Gary, would you mind if I tried this on?"

Not in the least. "Knock yourself out."

He took off his shirt then picked mine up again. He sniffed my shirt unobtrusively (except for my noticing), then put it on and buttoned it halfway up. It was a good fit. He then added the necktie and my hat.

"How do I look?" he asked, smiling at me.

"Like an impostor," I said. "A very sexy imposter, but still . . ."

He sighed in disappointment as he removed the tie and began unbuttoning the shirt. For some reason, his chest hair was more enticing when peeking through the open shirt front rather than just displayed on an unclothed chest.

"I know," he said. "It’s my hair. I’ve been meaning to get it cut for a while, weeks, but I haven’t found the time or the right barber. Where would you recommend for me?"

"That depends. What kind of haircut do you want? What style?"

He didn’t waver. His molasses eyes fixed on mine. "I want my hair cut like yours, Gary."

"What?"

"I’ve had it short before. I like the way you . . . the way yours looks. I can use a change. I haven’t got around to it, that’s all. I didn’t know what I should ask for."

"You want your hair cut like mine? A crew cut?"

"Yes. Maybe I could go to your barber, Gary?"

"Are you serious? ’Cause I’m my barber. I cut my own hair. Have for ages."

"Oh. So . . ." I expected him to back away from the idea then. He did not. "Would you mind? We have the time, don’t we? I know it’s an imposition."

"Not at all. If that’s . . . Are you sure about this?"

He nodded.

"All right. Clothes off. I don’t bother with a cape. Into the bathroom."

I finished removing my uniform. He stripped out of his own clothes and laid them on the bed next to mine. We went into the bathroom where I spread a large towel on the floor. I prepared my hair clippers, wiping and oiling them slowly. I was enjoying the vision of his nearly naked body covered with red hair so dark it look black until it caught the light.

Andy didn’t flinch when I turned on the clippers. He’d had clipper cuts before.

"Crew cut?" I asked once more.

"Crew cut," he confirmed.

I placed the clippers on one side of his head and ran them up a nearly two-inch width of hair. A dense strip of luscious red hair slid down the top of the clippers and onto Andy’s lap. Then another. I cut all I could from that position then did the same for the other side. Andy didn’t try to watch in the mirror. He eyes were fixed on my face.

I had to step behind him to do the back. Then I went over all the same territory again, with different guards on the clippers. The sides and back were basically one short length; the various guards were for a slight tapering down and a blending up into where the top would be cut.

I had him sit on the lowered toilet seat so I could work on the top of his head with scissors. I put my hands to the sides of his head and tilted his head up slightly towards me.

"At least you shaved this morning," I remarked. His mouth parted slightly in a smile, which stretched his lips thin, scarcely making them less seductive. His trusting eyes looked into mine. I combed down the thick, wavy auburn forelock over his brow and eyes. With excitement and trepidation I cut through it, exposing pale, lightly freckled skin as the forelock fell away.

I continued with the top cuts. Not too short, not too blunt. I knew how to add just the right amount of style. In the end, Andy’s new haircut was about ninety percent identical to mine.

"Voila!"

"How do I look?" he asked, standing up and hand-brushing his hair and drizzling us both with dark red stubble.

"You look like you’ve been in an explosion in a red chili powder factory. Go take a shower." I looked at the dark specks that had fallen on my own bare chest. "I’ll go after you."

He stripped off his undershorts, shook them clean, and tossed them onto the bed. His movements were too quick for me to see much more than a fiery blur far below his belly.

"I plan to keep all this beautiful hair," I told him as he stepped into the shower and I began to clean up his hair from the sink and the towel on the bathroom floor. "Maybe I can knit a pair of hirsute hosiery."

"What?"

"Furry red socks."

He laughed. "See you on the other side of the soap bar!" I had no idea what that attempted idiom was supposed to mean. The important thing was that he was still cheery after the dramatic haircut.

I plunged into the shower as soon as Andy finished. The red blur on his lower body was hidden by a towel as we passed.

I stayed longer then necessary under the hot water blast. I should have made it a cold shower. My mind was filled with images of Andy’s brilliant, newly clipped hair, his eyes, his lips, his slender, hairy body.

I toweled my body until it wouldn’t drip on the floor. I was finishing towel-drying my hair when I stepped back into my bedroom.

"What the . . .!"

There stood Andy, dressed head to toe in the uniform I’d worn that day.

"Now how do I look?" he asked.

He gave me a good laugh. "Very convincing!" I said. That was true. With the crewcut and properly buttoned up, he did look like a real trooper. I even approved of his posture.

"I must take a picture." First I grabbed my underpants from the bed. Except they weren’t mine. They were Andy’s. Which meant that he really was dressed in my uniform from head to toe â€" and underneath.

"Yours, I believe,"" I said, holding up his underpants.

"That’s all right," he said. "I haven’t done anything nasty in them. You can wear my clothes and we take pictures of each other. Fun, eh?"

I wasn’t so sure. I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try.

"I’m not breaking any law, am I? Wearing your uniform?"

"Not unless you go out in public like that and pretend you’re actually a police officer. . . . If it’ll make you feel better, we’ll take off my name tag."

I slipped on Andy’s underwear. I was surprised that the very idea brought on tingles down below. Then his trousers, which heightened the state. Socks, shoes, shirt. In a small way, I was him.

"How do I get this off?" Andy was fiddling with the name tag on my uniform shirt.

"Let me do it. We don’t want to rip anything." I carefully unhooked the tag, reaching inside the shirt pocket to gently slide the clasp through the material. I could feel the heat from his body and the rise of his chest. I couldn’t say whether the aroma was Andy’s scent coming through my uniform or residing on his clothes that I was wearing.

Andy did look good in the uniform. Part of the attraction was the dark blue fabric, lightly starched and crisply pressed. He looked the part. And he looked very handsome. The short red stubble showing below the stiff-brimmed cap was striking, as were those molasses eyes and thick, dark eyebrows. He never looked sexier. I wondered whether my body in uniform had a similar effect on Andy. I certainly hoped so.

"Lost in thought?" Andy prodded me.

"How do I look?" I asked in return.

"Like me," he said. "Only better. Brush a hand through your hair and you’ll be perfect."

We took a few pictures for our own amusement only, not others’. It wouldn’t have been practical for Andy to wear my uniform all night so â€" at his insistence, mind you â€" I dug out from a hamper the clothes I’d been wearing the night before. (Actually, for a couple of nights before.) He took a good whiff at the fabric then put them on anyway.

Following a home-cooked meal â€" after all those schools and residences, I’d learned to fend for myself in a kitchen â€" we took a long walk through the neighborhood and stopped for a drink at one of the local Melton night spots. There was no particular activity going on and we didn’t need the drink; I had a modest bar at home. The whole idea was simply appearing in public wearing each other’s clothes. I felt a little like we were wearing each other. And the sensation was utterly stimulating. It’s wasn’t a matter of pretending to be one another. It was like being secretively inside each other.

The whole evening made for a very pleasant night. We didn’t use the second bedroom. As close as we felt in each other’s clothes, we had no hesitation about being in each other’s arms. No clothes needed. And, without any clothes, we could freely canoodle and fondle and embrace. And much, much more. We went beyond friendship with no regrets.

When we awoke the next morning, we were comfortably fitted together with my fingers embedded in Andy’s new crew cut and his locked into mine.

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