Chapter 2

“Steve! I’m disappointed. Look at the carpet! Fuck, look at my shoes. Now I’ve gotta go clean these up. You can take care of the carpet and let yourself out.”

After fifteen minutes I walked behind his desk and peeked out the window. The only car in the parking lot was mine.

Turning to go I happened to see the spreadsheet that was open on his computer. What had he been hiding? Apparently he was engaged in some rather amateurish forensic accounting. Wondering why, I sat down to look over the numbers.

I could readily see that the company was bleeding about a hundred thousand a year. Not a lot but it would add up. Chad knew this too as he had highlighted the cells proving it.

Next, I could see that the money was funneling through the HR department then disappearing. Why hadn’t he done a basic Poisson Probability Distribution. He didn’t even follow up on the gaps. He obviously saw the gaps, but didn’t know that the absence of data is the arrow pointing to the culprit.

Five minutes later I knew that the money was going straight to the sweet Marissa. But I’d been in her apartment. Her personal budget was far more likely to be five thousand dollars underfunded rather than a hundred thou in excess. No way she had the money.

Ten minutes later I knew she was the patsy and not the criminal. Nevertheless, in a couple more days Chad would be calling the cops on her.

Thirty minutes later I had computed Chebycheff’s Inequality and performed several distributions but was no closer to figuring out who it was based on statistics alone.

It had to be someone with a lot more skills than the pretty Marissa. But also someone positioned to take advantage of the inadequate security systems in place. The personnel files indicated it had to be Chad, the CFO, or the accountant.

I ruled out Chad since he was trying so inadequately to find the perp. In another ten minutes I knew the CFO earned seventy-five K with stock options and profit sharing, lived in a house in Highland Heights worth two-hundred K, and was married to a beautiful wife with three daughters. He had too much to lose if he did it and got caught, and clearly wasn’t swimming in dough.

Meanwhile, the accountant was single, overqualified for the job, only made fifty-five, and also lived in Highland Heights, but in a paid off house worth twice as much as the CFO’s.

Wednesday I showed up to work bright and early. At nine I was called into the conference room where I was to be interviewed by none other than John the accountant and the lovely HR rep Marissa.

Long story short, I, really my brother Steve, was accused of the white collar crime of stealing a hundred thousand dollars per year from the company for the last ten years. Evidence showing I had been in all the pertinent computer files was laid out. I was placed on leave. And an official inquiry was due to begin in two days. With the evidence I had downloaded last night I wasn’t worried at all from a legal perspective. But why did it bother me the way Marissa looked at me?

I couldn’t bring up what I knew without putting Marissa in danger so I said nothing. The strangest parts were that there should have been policemen there to arrest me on the spot. No investigation should wait two days to start. And why in fucks sake was the accountant conducting the interview?

Marissa got up to copy some papers. I was thinking her ass looked sexy as hell. But on her way out she sneered, “I thought better of you, Steve. I feel so betrayed.” I couldn’t even defend myself.

Alone with the accountant I took a reasonable chance, “You should swing by my place tonight so we can talk about this in private.”

“I’ll be there at nine.” Then he up and left.

At five I fed the cats. At five thirty I turned around and suddenly there was a strange man standing there. A hit man? No, it must be my brother’s boyfriend of sorts. “Come’er baby.” I couldn’t do it. His arms were out expecting a hug and he was already puckering up for a kiss. That was far worse than the idea of sucking a dick.

I started explaining, “Brian, I’ve had a day? First, my boss is an ugly bastard. Then I was called into a meeting to…” But I never got to finish.

“That’s the greeting I get!? I come here to surprise you and you give me the cold shoulder? I even brought flowers.” He pointed to a box on the table. “You always run hot and cold. There’s no predicting when you’re gonna be fun and when you’re gonna be a little bitch. Why am I even with you?”

I wanted to create a strain in their relationship. But to me it seemed like it already had problems. Are gay relationships always filled with such drama? Still, when I found out that Steve had 86ed what I had with Ashley it hurt. And yet breaking them up in turn would be going too far. “I’m sorry, Brian. What can I do to make it up to you?”

He looked happier now. “I want that thing we do for special occasions.”

Champagne? Dinner at a special restaurant? I had no idea what it could be. Until he grabbed at his crotch. Brian was kind of handsome. There was a possibility I might even like sucking his cock. Learning from the attitude Marissa had shown me I threw my all into it. I dropped instantly to the floor at Brian’s feet and declared, “I can’t get enough of this wonderful cock.” Deftly I pulled it free through his fly and started reigning kisses upon it. It was a good looking cock. Manly. Rugged. Thick! No wonder Steve put up with this nonsense. I actually WAS going to like sucking this handsome cock. Not the way Marissa sucked – out of a genuine feeling for the person behind it. But just because it was a beautiful gigantic specimen of manhood.

Brian bellowed, “Steve you duplicitous pansy. Why are you always such a, a, woman?” He said the word woman like it was an insult. “If you’re gonna act like the weaker sex then I’m gonna treat you like a helpless slut.”

Brian grabbed me by the wrists and started dragging me toward the bedroom as I scrambled to keep up so I didn’t get dragged across the floor. Was this a game? This was the thing they did on special occasions? But the angry look on his face was so real.

Well, anything Steve has done before I could do. Maybe not better in this instance. I was better than Steve at just about everything – but I would have to concede that he would be better than me at gay sex.

Brian pulled me up on my feet then shoved me down on the bed where I fell face down. In contrast, when I had moved Marissa’s body around it had been playfully rough and reflecting on the sounds she made she had enjoyed it. Nevertheless, if I could go back in time and do it again I would make love to the innocent lady with tenderness instead.

Here it should have been obvious to Brian that this had crossed a line. I was making noises of protestation, not love. In fact, there was no love anywhere to be found.

Next, he yanked off my pants and underwear, but when he didn’t take off my shirt or turn me over I got an inkling of what was to come. On the bright side, we weren’t kissing.

Straddling my legs he dropped his heavy log between my butt cheeks as he leaned over to retrieve lube from the nightstand. Don’t all gay guys do butt sex? How bad could it be?

I received the worst prostate exam ever as he squirted the cold gel on me and prodded my ass unceremoniously, first with one finger, then two. He pulled on my anal ring outwardly from the center, going around the “clock face” stretching all twelve numbers. I started to realized that this preparation was an unpleasant though necessary kindness. He wasn’t a jerk. He was making sure he wasn’t going to hurt me.

He left my backside alone for a minute and I waited for the sound of the condom wrapper. Everyone used protection for anal sex. Everyone except guys in a monogamous relationship like Brian and Steve.

He placed the blunt head of his cock on my hole, deriding me and hanging out their dirty laundry, “It’s not too fat, you’re too tight, so don’t go blaming me for your inadequacy.”

Brian leaned into me. It was like putting a 2×4 into the bathroom sink drain. He could have worked it back and forth. He SHOULD have eased it in and out. Instead he doubled down on putting his weight behind his thrust. This just couldn’t be the way they did it.

Slowly, inexorably, the beastly cock made its way into me like a freight train. I screamed out a low roar straight from my gut. Any lover would have stopped now. A minute later he was lying on my back pressing the air out of my lungs. The pressure up my ass was intense.

The man’s rough stubble scraped my neck as he first bit me, followed by gentle nibbles. “Stop that! You don’t get to pretend that you love me. If you loved me you would take it easy on my poor colon”

He laughed, “A colon? Since when do we call your fuck hole a colon? Just play dead like always.”

“Play dead!? I can barely move from the pain. When it’s your turn how do you handle it?”

“I don’t fucking do that. I’ll never do that. Not with anyone. And your little dick would feel like a thermometer.”

With his hands on my shoulder blades he pushed himself up and began fucking in earnest. The ripping tearing agony was gone. But every time he was buried to the hilt it felt like my insides were being rearranged.

Which was worse, the stretch, the internal pressure, or the sudden involuntary loss of air every time he pushed on my back with his strong hands?

I swear, he lasted thirty minutes if it was ten. And the various discomforts never receded. Near the end he began grunting with each forceful pump and when drops of gross sweat fell on me I knew he was close.

He bit and kissed my neck one more time despite my complaints. With his lips on my ear he growled, “Come on little rabbit, fuck the mattress so your orgasm will make your fuck hole contract on my big cock. It’ll make me feel so good. Don’t you want me to feel good?”

With a roar, disgusting buckets of slick cream hosed into my defenseless rectum. The goo literally lubed his steel hard pole changing the way it felt pistoning in and out of me. To my horrified imagination it was going to travel backward up my intestines, through my stomach, and into my mouth where I would be forced to taste the bitterness of bad gay sex.

Without a word Brian got up to get dressed. Tripping over my crumpled pants he had left on the floor, he fell backward into a glass coffee table shattering it completely. Swearing, he left bloody footprints all over the apartment. As a parting symbol of his rage he dashed a ceramic horse statue on the opposite wall before taking back the flowers and departing in a new rage.

I lay there leaking filth out of my hole which trickled over my balls and back onto the bedspread. Reflecting, I realized I didn’t just have gay butt sex with my lover. The reality was I’d just been anally raped.

By the time I’d finished a long hot shower, eaten dinner, and collected myself it was seven thirty and I was too tired to clean up the broken glass, broken statue, cummy bedspread, or bloody footprints. Instead I just avoided getting any of the mess on myself. The walls and the floor in this ancient building were old, they could wait.

It had been a very rough day and I wanted nothing more than to sit on the couch staring at the fourth story city view. I thought hard about how people need to treat each other. Coworkers, brothers, lovers, and fiancés. I sent a text to Christy, “We both know there’s something missing. It has been for a long time. We should talk.”

My solitude was disturbed at eight when the doorbell rang. I expected to meet a neighbor or something, but when I opened the door, John, the accountant pushed his way through the door and inside.

I was more surprised than anything, “You’re early!”

“I wanted to keep you on your toes.” He set his computer bag down then walked around picking up things and examining them. He made himself a drink and bit an apple, leaving the half eaten fruit on the counter. It was all a juvenile power play.

I broke the silence, “You’re very skilled and underemployed. Why bother with Franklin Relocation and Travel Services at all? You could make far more doing legit work at a larger company.”

He snickered for no other reason than that he could, “It’s part of a bigger plan. This just sets the stage for a bigger score. Besides, not many companies hire accountants with three DUIs.”

“Marissa’s gonna pay a fortune in legal fees before she’s cleared. Don’t you care?”

“She’ll be cleared fast. Then all the evidence incriminates you my dear boy. But you had to go and put your digital fingerprints all over the wrong files.” He drummed his fingers on the table for who knows what desired effect, “But if I want to I can switch everything to make it look like William is at fault instead of you.”

“But Billy has a wife and three young girls under the age of eight. It’ll destroy them.”

“It’s them or you Steve. I’ve already set it up so that with one data transfer you’ll be free. Both you and your dark haired little sweetheart.”

“Let’s talk about this, John. There’s a better way.”

“And I can do all this for you if you just do one little thing for me.”

John, what if you ran the funds through an outside consulting firm instead of HR? Then the losses would be covered by insurance.” But he wasn’t listening.

He pulled my brother’s laptop out of the bag and opened it. He must have brought it here from the office just for this. “Delete the files I show you and do a batch transfer. Then it’s all fine.”