Helping Scars Heal

524

Starsky is over the worst of his recovery from Gunther’s attack, but there’s something going on with him that’s he’s not ready to face. Hutch decides today might be the day to tackle that problem. But will Starsky agree?

Originally published in the SHareCon 2012 zine.

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Hutch looked through the open kitchen window and scanned the neighborhood from his second story apartment. A whiff of salty air, not yet overcome by vehicle exhaust, greeted his senses; a welcome reminder of the ocean just a few blocks away. The scene toward the horizon deserved more thorough contemplation, as creamy shades of blue and yellow filled the eastern sky. A ray of sunlight lit the side of a small cloud bank, turning it into a floating gold puff. Morning’s arrival was imminent; another day had started—twenty-four hours in which anything was possible but nothing was certain.

Looking down below, Hutch watched for signs of movement along the paved roads visible through the trees. A pair of sparrows flew by the window but other than a passing delivery truck and a few pedestrians, it was still too early for much human activity.

Another breeze blew past the kitchen curtains, this time a little stronger, and lifted them farther apart. Here and there, a frond on a palm tree waved back and forth, beckoning Hutch to ditch work and come outside to play. Sighing heavily, he leaned back from the window and took a sip of coffee from the warm mug in his hand. The clearing sky outside promised a perfect day but that was no guarantee to expect any change in his life. For better or worse, Hutch had fallen into a role he wanted no part of, and all he could do was hang on for the ride.

“What’s that old saying?” Hutch mumbled, checking the blooming gardenia on the window sill. “Always count your blessings?”

Sniffing the salty air, he thought about his childhood in Minnesota. The warm, humid breeze entering his kitchen was a far cry from the wintery gales that blew deep snowdrifts across his parents’ farmland. Now, he lived so close to the Pacific Ocean freezing temperatures were just an empty threat.

Taking an exploratory walk around the large, open kitchen and into the living room, Hutch noted each decorated wall and corner. Everything he held dear was inside of these four solid walls: his music, his art, and the bed he shared with Starsky. Not much smaller than the home he grew up in, this roomy apartment also provided shelter from the wind and rain; its well-insulated roof kept the interior warm at night and cool during the day. But beyond protection from the elements, their home served as a sanctuary; a place both could escape to every evening after work and wash off the filth from dealing with the scum of the earth.

Yet despite being such a perfect refuge, this special haven had lost much of its charm. Exactly why was anyone’s guess, but Hutch had his suspicions. A glance at the calendar hanging near the kitchen confirmed at least one. Today marked two months since Starsky had come home from the hospital; tired, pale and thin, but very much alive. In spite of numerous setbacks, he had endured every surgery and infection thrown at him. His recovery had been a miracle, a celebration of life beating death; and even though Starsky would never fully heal, he seemed happy.

No, better strike that.

Starsky had his moments. Times where he cracked a little joke or played a big tease in bed. But sex between them was nothing like it used to be. Climax, for either man, had disintegrated into a hasty attempt to milk a few squirts or jacking off alone. Whether this was from being physically exhausted—Starsky from recuperating, Hutch from working day and night—or a host of other reasons, one possibility stood out above all the rest—Starsky never got naked.

Sure, he’d drop his briefs and expose that perfect fuck package, yet everything above the groin remained covered like a nun in a biker bar. Even in the hospital, Starsky shot a death glare at anyone who was around during examinations or dressing changes. Once he came home, Hutch had interpreted his lover’s shyness to just being tired. However, as days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, Starsky’s reluctance to let his best friend even look at him—

Hutch shook off the unwelcome conclusion and hastily swallowed a big gulp of coffee. The hot liquid stung his tongue, but the pain wasn’t close to what burned in his heart. As much as he loved Starsky, the love-making essential to keeping their world happily spinning through the universe had been sucked into a black hole; yet neither one had thought it important enough to even discuss.

“Shit,” Hutch muttered, looking at the kitchen clock. He walked over and poked his head into the hallway. “Starsky, it’s a quarter past seven! Time to get your ass out of bed, or I’m coming in there and yanking the covers off!”

Convinced he’d heard a grumbled acknowledgement, Hutch went back into the kitchen and set his cup down on by the sink. Opening the refrigerator, he scanned the contents. The carton of eggs looked good, along with the large container of plain yogurt.  Setting those aside, he grabbed the jug of milk and scooped two nectarines out from the fruit bin. An opened package of bacon sat on the shelf directly above. A silent debate ensued, accompanied by an imaginary, albeit heated, conversation with a crabby roommate if the slab of fatty meat was left untouched. Shaking his head in defeat, Hutch added the dreaded item to the stack in his arms.

After placing the food on the counter, he took a frying pan out of the dish rack and set it on the stove. While waiting for the pan to heat up, Hutch finished the last mouthful of coffee. The caffeine was working its magic, sending sparks of energy through the tired and weakened muscles in his thighs. He could feel them stiffen and tighten, like a dog pulling at its leash to be let go.

God, he missed running, especially on cool mornings like today. Running helped clear his mind and let him focus on just one thing, or nothing at all. It quickly dissolved away nervous tensions; about his job—his life—about anything. Running emptied his soul, and let him fill it back with whatever he saw fit.

However, even this simple pleasure had gone unfulfilled lately, replaced by a bigger need; or better put, someone else had a bigger need for him.

“Hutch?”

And that curly-headed need was now standing just a few feet away, wearing boxer shorts and a light blue t-shirt.

“Did you wash my pair of jeans last night?”

Hutch carefully placed a few strips of bacon in the hot pan. “No, Starsky, I didn’t do any laundry last night.”

“Well, I can’t find ’em…you sure you don’t have them?”

Hutch frowned, a sarcastic reply ready to leap off his lips. The temptation to get into a futile argument tugged at his resolve, but this wasn’t how he wanted to start the day. Maybe mustering a little more patience—

“You know those are the only pair I like to wear to therapy,” Starsky continued. “Are you sure you didn’t wash ’em or something?”

“Starsky, what would I want with your jeans?” Hutch snapped. “Did you even check the last place you left them?”

Not surprisingly, Starsky defiantly folded his arms across his chest. “If I hadn’t, then I wouldn’t be standin’ here asking you, would I?” he said.

Losing his temper, Hutch waved the spatula in the air. “Do you smell that?” he griped. “That’s your greasy, artery-clogging breakfast I’m cooking! I know you don’t care about what the doctor told you—”

“Hutch—”

“No, Starsky, I’m not in the mood to be your whipping boy today.  If you can’t find your ratty old jeans then, goddammit, find another pair! They all look the same, anyway!”

Expecting a bitter retort, Hutch was surprised when Starsky didn’t answer. Instead, the man just stood there with a look between acceptance and perhaps a tiny flicker of sympathy.

“Fine,” Starsky muttered. Turning to leave, he sniffed at the air. “Is that really bacon?” he asked.

“Well, it isn’t grilled trout,” Hutch answered glumly.

Starsky smiled a little. “Hey,” he said.

“What?”

“I think you’re pretty sexy when you want to be whipped.”

Before Hutch could utter an appropriate response, Starsky had turned tail and hurried off. That comment had been surprisingly provocative, especially considering his partner’s recent prudish behavior. Baffled, Hutch just stood there and numbly poked at the frying bacon with one eyebrow raised.

“Quite illogical,” he muttered, feeling a little like Spock.

Had the love gods taken pity on him and blessed Starsky with a hefty dose of primal lust? Just the possibility of that was temptation enough to forget about breakfast and head straight for the bedroom. But what if Starsky’s act was only a tease? An attempt by a mystical siren to lure his lover into their night chamber, only to assure any love-making would result in a catastrophic wreck. No, Starsky may be many things, but a calculating, malicious prude wasn’t one of them. Caught at a bad time, Hutch reluctantly put sex on pause and tried to forget about things like leather and whips; although, that was a far better topic to consider than the food sizzling on the stove.

“Hutch! Are you burning my bacon?”

Starsky’s yell from down the hall snapped Hutch out of his musing. He quickly slid the frying pan off the burner and batted away the cloud of white smoke.

“Sorry, Starsk…bacon’s gonna be a little extra crisp this morning.”

“Terrific.”

Hutch grabbed some clean plates from the dish stand and started setting the table, but something about Starsky’s lewd comment kept tugging at his brain. Someone in this relationship needed to step up and take charge; drive some romance back into their lives. Starsky had never refused to make love, although since recovering from Gunther’s hit, Hutch felt he was the only one who was ever interested.  Somewhere, lurking deep within Starsky’s convoluted mind, might be a good excuse; but perhaps all Hutch needed to do was take one simple step.

“Okay, buddy,” Hutch whispered to himself. “If food is the way to a man’s heart, then be prepared for a dinner tonight you’ll never forget.”

A few minutes later, Starsky’s booming voice ripped through the kitchen. “Somethin’ smells good!”

Startled, Hutch turned around to see a fully dressed Starsky standing by the hallway, one hand gently rubbing circles over his belly.

“If I didn’t know any better,” he cheerfully continued with a big smile, “I’d swear you’ve been hiding one of Mom’s cookbooks around here.”

Hutch couldn’t help but stare. Starsky looked good enough to eat. Instead of being adorned in his usual t-shirt and sweat pants, Starsky was dressed like he was ready for a disco night at Fever. His dark blue and white striped shirt blended well with his black jeans, handsomely emphasizing his trim physique. Starsky had bought the pair of Levis two weeks ago but this was the first time he’d worn them. Hutch watched as his pal walked to the table, still unable to resist examining each movement for any new sign of pain or stiffness.

“Your mother would be as upset as I am at what you’ve been eating,” Hutch said, wondering if he’d forgotten Starsky had a doctor’s appointment today instead of physical therapy.

“For your information, Miss Julia Child, I can’t even remember the last time I had a juicy hoagie from Ernie’s, or one of Huggy’s specials.” Starsky grabbed a chair and sat down. “You know, if you really loved me, you’d stop at that Bun n’ Burger joint on your way home tonight and pick up a couple of chocolate shakes. And while you’re at it, a double order of chili fries, too.”

Hutch found himself grinning; knowing Starsky had no clue of his plans to provide more than a burger and fries for dinner.

“Yeah, Starsky, you keep dreaming,” he said innocently, removing the pan from the stove. He went over to the table and slid half the fried eggs onto Starsky’s plate and the rest into his. A whiff of Brut aftershave passed under Hutch’s nose, rekindling thoughts of forgetting about work and spending the day together in bed with Starsky. Suddenly, a plan conveniently hatched in his head. “Hey, how about we play hooky today?”

The look on Starsky’s face wasn’t what Hutch had expected. “Come again?”

Ignoring any perceived lack of enthusiasm from his partner, Hutch returned the pan to the stovetop and grabbed the plate holding the bacon. “I know you’d miss your appointment,” he continued, “but I guarantee you’ll get a good workout.”

He lifted both eyebrows and gave Starsky his most seductive look.

“That mean you gonna tie a rope around my neck and drag me along while you go run a marathon?” Starsky asked flatly.

Taking a seat, Hutch lifted the paper towel from the bacon and passed the plate to his partner. “No, that wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”

The look on Starsky’s face grew even sterner. “Not quite?” He took a couple of bacon strips and handed the plate back. “Just what exactly do you have ‘in mind’?”

“Well, seems to me, it’s been a long time since…you know?”

Apparently clueless, Starsky stabbed a fork into his food. “No, I don’t know, Hutch. What are you tryin’ to say?”

“Ah, come on, Starsky! Wining! Dining! Sex! You know, what two people who are supposed to be in love regularly do with each other?”

Starsky flashed a sarcastic smile. “Yeah, no foolin’. So that thing we did in bed the other night, you wouldn’t call that sex?”

“Foreplay, Starsky.”

“Huh?”

“Okay, heavy foreplay. Sex is when you—”

“I know what sex is, Blondie, and that’s what we were doin’, what we’ve been doin’, for a long time.” Starsky quickly shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “Now, the wining and dining, I could always use more of that.”

Hutch’s hopes suddenly grew. Maybe injecting some romance into their lives wasn’t going to be so hard. “So it’s a date, then?” he asked, sliding the remaining piece of bacon into his plate.

“What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’? I’m talking about going out…tonight. Have a few drinks, do a little dancing…wouldn’t you like that?”

Despite Hutch’s sincere plea, Starsky looked completely dumbstruck. “I think you need to ease up on those vitamin pills ’cause you’re gettin’ really weird in your old age.”

“My old age?” protested Hutch. “Now look, partner, don’t go changing the subject.”

“And what subject is that?”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. Talk about someone who needs a pill…” Hutch grabbed his napkin and shook it open. “Can’t you see I’m trying to be a little romantic?”

“Romantic? Why? Are you saying we’ve got a problem?”

“No, of course not! I just think our sex life could use a little…help.”

The last word came out very soft, although Hutch would have rather shouted it to the heavens.

“Comin’ from someone who doesn’t know the difference between sex and foreplay, I’m not sure I trust you, Hutchinson.”

“Okay, fine! Have it your way. Just don’t be surprised when you find yourself replaced by a…a dildo!”

Starsky answered the threat with a snort, but immediately fell silent and finished the rest of his breakfast with not so much as a sideways glance. The quiet that followed was hard to stomach, along with Hutch’s food which had suddenly lost all taste. At ten minutes to eight, Starsky drank the last of his coffee and gathered his dishes to take to the sink.

“You still haven’t said what you think about taking today off,” Hutch reminded as Starsky got up. He wasn’t sure what to make of his reluctance to commit to an evening out, but figured it wouldn’t hurt to keep prodding for an answer.

Starsky set his plate down on the counter but stood with his back turned. It was obvious he was struggling to either do or say something. Unable to stand the suspense, Hutch grabbed his plate and walked over next to Starsky.

“I didn’t realize I was asking you to make a life and death decision,” he joked, setting the dish by the rest in the sink. In a show of comfort, he placed a hand on Starsky’s back.

At least that got a reaction.

“Yeah, I hear you.” Starsky sighed loudly and turned to face Hutch. “So, I take it you want to roll around in bed instead of going to work?”

That wasn’t exactly how Hutch would have phrased his request, but at least Starsky had considered the offer. “I want to make love to the person who means more to me than anyone else,” Hutch replied. “I wouldn’t call that just a ‘roll in the hay.'”

“Bed.”

“Huh?”

“I said ‘bed,’ not ‘hay,'” Starsky corrected.

“You know what I mean,” Hutch said, feeling a rush of heat. He slid his hand farther down Starsky’s back and pulled him in closer. “Are you playing hard to get, huh? Making me want you even more?”

Indulging in Starsky’s scent, Hutch ran his fingers through the silky brunet curls and grabbed a handful. Before his lover could object, Hutch lunged forward and greedily captured Starsky’s mouth. His tongue penetrated the moist cavern, bent on a mission.

Starsky gasped for air through his nose but offered no resistance. Tightly clasping the curly head, Hutch kept sucking—needing to saturate his senses with his lover’s smell and taste. Desire, hot and exciting, made his skin tingle as Hutch’s groin brushed against Starsky’s. With his cock demanding contact with its mate, Hutch pressed harder.

Unsubdued, Starsky’s hands joined in the foreplay. Soon, their fingers were raking and clawing through the other’s tussled strands of hair, brushing by earlobes and massaging the back of scalps. When more oxygen became necessary, both separated and refilled their lungs; ending a marathon-long kiss. With Starsky still in his grasp, Hutch nudged his nose inside the collar of Starsky’s shirt and let his lips slide along the base of his lover’s jaw. The smell of freshly washed skin and aftershave intensified the fire building in Hutch’s soul. In an effort to slow his pace, he concentrated on leaving a long line of kisses in the sensitive groove on the side of Starsky’s neck, stopping every now and then to tickle the skin with his tongue.

Pleasured moans from Starsky filled Hutch’s ears, the soft noises only making his dick grow bigger and harder. Summoning strength from every muscle, Hutch reluctantly paused.

“I want to have you,” he panted in Starsky’s ear. “Please don’t say ‘no.'”

“You wanna do it now…in the daytime?”

Dumbfounded at the response, Hutch pulled back. “What’s wrong with making love right now?” he pleaded.

Like a bashful child, Starsky avoided eye contact. “Wouldn’t it be better in the dark?” he proposed.

“Starsky, I want to see you. All of you. You have a beautiful body—”

“Had, Hutch. I had a good body.”

Shocked at that revelation, Hutch nearly bit his tongue.

“Do you hear yourself?” he scolded. Not only did Starsky’s admission sound ridiculous, but the dwindling erection under Hutch’s jeans was pissing him off as well. “Nothing has changed about the way I feel about you, babe,” he went on, struggling to keep calm. “You’re still the sexiest man I have ever known, have ever made love to…what?”

Starsky was shaking his head fervently. “Obviously, you haven’t seen me lately,” he said sarcastically.

“You’ve got that right!” Hutch fired back. “And for the life of me, I don’t know why you think that’s something you can’t share with me anymore!”

Hutch stared at Starsky, demanding a response. He hadn’t meant to let his frustration explode like that, but keeping quiet wasn’t going to resolve this recent impasse in their relationship. When Starsky’s eyes, tinged with pain and confusion, darted to the floor, Hutch felt one inch tall. Whatever secrets were lingering behind his friend’s stone-walled exterior obviously wanted to stay that way.

As more time elapsed without a word of acknowledgement, Hutch regrettably let the subject die. He loved the man standing in front of him so much, he’d willingly accept whatever Starsky would give—even if that meant a soft peck on the cheek instead of a hard dick rammed up his ass. Maybe time did heal all wounds, but the kind of pain his lover was carrying around consisted of impenetrable steel.

“It’s okay,” Hutch conceded, feeling the last ounce of fight slip away. He glanced at his watch and noted it was almost eight. Patting Starsky on the shoulder, he said, “We’d better get going. I’m sure Lamont is wondering where his star pupil is. He doesn’t like it when we’re late.”

Hutch only made it a few feet down the hall before changing his mind. Hearing Starsky softly call his name, he stopped and turned around.

“I’ve been thinking,” Starsky said hesitantly, taking a few awkward steps forward. “Well, people say that sometimes, taking a break from work is a good thing.”

“Are you implying I’m not spending enough time at home?”

“No, wasn’t what I meant. Just saying maybe you have a point, ’bout me not sharin’ stuff with you.”

Hutch stuck a hand in his pants pocket and leaned against the wall. “So, you’re admitting holding out on me?”

From the reaction on his face, Starsky caught the cockiness in Hutch’s voice. “Don’t think that’s the way I’d put it.”

“What way would you ‘put it‘?” Hutch asked, as he petted his moustache suggestively with two fingers.

“Look, I’m tryin’ to be serious, here.”

Hutch bowed slightly and apologetically extended an opened hand.

Starsky started to speak, but paused to clear his throat. “I know I haven’t been acting the same lately,” he said, regaining eye contact with Hutch. “And it’s been causing you grief—”

“Well, it’s been more than that—”

“Hey!”

“Okay,” Hutch said, holding both hands up in surrender. “Sorry I interrupted.”

“Thank you.” Starsky shifted nervously on his feet. “Like I was saying, things haven’t been going too smooth around here lately. I’ve been a little cold around you, and you’re probably feelin’…well, you’re probably feeling like…”

“So what’re we going to do about it?”

Starsky gave him a condescending glare. “Would you quit trying to read my mind?”

“That, I assure you, is something I would never want to master.”

“Very funny.”

The look of defeat that came over Starsky made Hutch wish he hadn’t interrupted. Chances were good his partner would just shut up and leave Hutch and his limp cock hanging out in the hall. Not wanting to press his luck, Hutch tried to make amends.

“Starsky, whatever is going on, I want to help. We’ve never encountered anything that’s made us this afraid to be together.” Hutch stepped a little closer. “C’mon, buddy,” he pressed gently, “what’s tearing you up?”

“I don’t know,” Starsky said, shaking his head. “Seems the more I try to get back to normal, the farther away it becomes.”

“But, I thought Lamont said you’ve been doing really well; that you’ve almost got all your mobility back—”

“I don’t mean ‘normal’ in a physical sense,” Starsky cut in. He released a loud sigh and stared down at the floor again. “It’s complicated, Hutch. I know I’m getting better, but not where I want to get better. Get my drift?”

Sensing a crack forming in his lover’s shield, Hutch leaned in, close enough so they could touch foreheads.

“Does this have anything to do with your scars?” he asked gently.

Hutch could feel Starsky take a hard swallow. When he didn’t respond, the answer wasn’t difficult to guess. Hutch clasped Starsky’s chin in his palm and stared into his lover’s eyes. What he saw reflected back at him looked like a lifetime of hurt.

Shit. What Hutch wouldn’t give to find a giant eraser and wipe May, June and July from the calendar. And while he was at it, he’d gladly rub out April and Kira with one sweep, too. But all that was past history; buried under the weight of countless late night talks and increasing measures of forgiveness doled out from both sides. What lay in front of them now, was another perilous navigation through their present situation.

“C’mere,” Hutch ordered, taking Starsky’s hand.

He led his unresisting mate into the bedroom. Once inside, Hutch went over to the window and started to draw the curtains closed.

“Don’t,” Starsky said.

Hutch stopped midway and looked over his shoulder. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Starsky nodded, although his tense body language suggested differently.

Leaving the curtains half-closed, Hutch approached the bed. He pulled his shirt out from his pants. If Starsky was having any second thoughts, he didn’t speak. After unbuttoning his shirt, Hutch slipped both arms out and let it drop to the floor. Next, he unbuckled his belt and slid the thin leather strap free from around his waist.

As the belt joined the shirt on the carpet, Starsky looked down at the front of his chest and started to unbutton his shirt.

“Starsky, don’t,” Hutch pleaded softly. “Let me.”

Much to his relief, Starsky complied. Hutch cautiously approached, keeping his eyes locked on the twin set watching his every move. When he got close enough, Hutch stopped and took in the magnificence of the person standing in front of him. Someday, he’d have to thank the lucky star he was born under, but right now there were more important matters to attend to. Before unfastening the first button on Starsky’s shirt, Hutch leaned in and gently kissed him on the lips.

“Love you so much,” he whispered in Starsky’s ear.

“I know,” Starsky replied, unable to hide a furtive smile.

Taking his time, Hutch carefully worked down the front of the cotton shirt, releasing one button and then the next. Starsky’s hands remained at his side but otherwise he tolerated the undressing. When the last button was undone, Hutch took hold of both shirt flaps and pulled them aside, exposing part of Starsky’s chest. He lingered there for only a moment before turning back to his lover’s face. “Tell me,” Hutch urged, “what’s wrong?”

Standing ramrod straight, Starsky could have passed for an elite member of the Queen’s guard. “Nothing,” he lied.

Hutch combed his hand through the curly chest hair and let it rest over Starsky’s heart. “Your body says different.”

“That’s ’cause you’re standing in front of me half-naked,” Starsky quipped.

Not falling for the ruse, Hutch halted his exploration. “If you don’t want this—”

“No,” Starsky insisted, relaxing a moment to rest a hand on Hutch’s shoulder. “I do.”

As if on cue, a ray of sunshine entered through the curtains, brightening the room and dousing their skin in a warm glow.

“Looks like you’re gettin’ your wish,” Starsky said.

“How’s that?”

Starsky nodded at the window. “Got plenty of sunlight.”

“Well, that’s pretty fortunate…considering how blind I’ve become in my old age.”

“Smart ass.”

With Starsky acting more at ease, Hutch slid his fingers over the long, vertical scar running down the center of his lover’s chest. Some of the wound had settled down flat and smooth, but most of the pinkish line lay raised above the skin, puckered and wrinkled. Hutch opened the shirt even more until he exposed one of the exit wounds above the left nipple.

He felt around the circular rim of the scar and let his fingertips dip into its small crater. Not far away was a similar indentation; this one larger and more jagged. Hutch thought about the pain Starsky had endured taking those bullets—it made him want to see Gunther rotting six feet underground instead of in a six foot concrete cell.

Hoping to sooth away some of the hurt, Hutch lowered his head. Starting with the nearest wound, he kissed it softly.

“You’re beautiful, Starsk,” he said, giving the scar another kiss, this one longer and firmer. “Every bit of you.”

Starsky’s chest muscles shivered in response to Hutch’s ministrations. Moving closer, he was about to lift the shirt completely off Starsky’s shoulders when a cool, wet drop fell on his arm.

“Hey, what’s this?”

Hutch cringed as he saw another tear stream down Starsky’s face. Frightful thoughts whipped through his mind; of why Starsky was suffering alone, unable or unwilling to confide in him. If the hole in their relationship wasn’t big enough, it felt utterly gargantuan now. With no clue to the cause of his partner’s turmoil, Hutch grabbed a Kleenex from the box on the nightstand. Using it to dab Starsky’s wet cheek, he guided him over to sit on the bed and sat down beside his friend.

A few more tears fell before Starsky finally relaxed; releasing a long, heavy breath.

“You ready to tell me something, now?” Hutch asked as he gently rubbed Starsky’s back.

“Don’t suppose you’d take ‘no’ for an answer, huh?”

Grateful for the response, Hutch shook his head. “I think you know me better than that.”

Starsky inhaled a deep, but shaky, breath of air before answering. “Guess I don’t see, how you think I’m still…beautiful.”

The last word fell flat, its intonation more like a curse than a compliment. How could Starsky think such a thing? He had always appeared comfortable in his physique. That cocky sureness, that irresistible confidence, was the first thing that had captured Hutch’s attention and his heart. And even though looser fitting jeans now hung from that perfectly round ass, Hutch didn’t care. Starsky’s days of dressing provocatively to get his attention had ended long ago.

“You’ve always been beautiful to me, Starsk,” Hutch replied, keeping his voice soft and level. “Not just your body, but what’s in here, and up here,” he added, placing a hand on Starsky’s heart and moving it to the side of his head.

Starsky slid his hand over Hutch’s. “I know what you think of me,” he said, moving Hutch’s hand away, “but these scars are ugly! I have to look at them every damn day, and when I’m not doing that, I still get reminded.” Starsky delicately ran a few fingers across the long scar on his chest. “I just wish for once I could see me like I was before…”

“Hey,” Hutch said, gathering Starsky’s fingers in a strong grip, “I know the scars are hard to look at, but they don’t change the way I feel about you. They’re a testament of your strength; of your will to live. That’s why you’re so beautiful to me.”

Starsky stayed quiet, as if contemplating what was said. Looking up, he locked eyes with Hutch.

“I hear what you’re sayin’,” Starsky said. “But this—” He glanced at his chest, then jerked his head away in disgust. “I did this to me, Hutch. I did this.”

“Starsky, you can’t be—”

“No, Hutch,” he said defiantly. “I had a choice that day, but I couldn’t do what I’ve done a million times before! I screwed up my life…and yours.”

“You had a choice? Look, buddy, you’re—”

“Hutch—”

“No, dammit! Just stop right there!” Hutch shook his head, barely comprehending what he’d just heard. He stared at Starsky, needing, on some remote level, to make sure this was the same person he’d known so intimately for nearly a decade. “In what solar system is this your fault? Huh?” Met with silence, Hutch didn’t let up. “That wasn’t a rhetorical question, partner. I was there, remember? And I sure as hell know you didn’t shoot yourself.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, explain it to me, because the way you’re talkin’ isn’t making any sense!”

Flashing a sulky frown, Starsky pulled his shirt closed. It took all Hutch had not to reach over and stop him. This was a tough man with a strong spirit, but the inner child in him had surfaced and taken over. Reasoning with something that personal in Starsky wasn’t going to be easy.

“Okay, so you’re not crazy,” Hutch stated gruffly. “But you’ve got to understand partner, that nonsense about thinking you’re responsible…I can’t get my head around that one, pal.”

“It’s not that complicated,” Starsky muttered, “even for you.”

Hutch met Starsky’s dirty glance with one of his own, but kept his mouth shut.

“Like I told ya, I screwed up. When I saw that patrol car coming at us, I…I froze.”

Hutch couldn’t believe what he just heard. Starsky? Thinking he ‘screwed up’? Where in the hell did that come from? Once the bullets started flying, there had barely been time to duck. On top of that, Hutch hadn’t been the one with his back to the gunmen.

“I thought you said in the hospital that you didn’t remember getting hit?” Hutch asked.

An ambiguous grin broke out on his partner’s face but faded away. “I didn’t. I mean, not after the first bullet, or two.”

“But you do remember the squad car?”

Starsky nodded. “Oh yeah, don’t think I’ll ever forget that moment.”

“So what went wrong? If you remember everything that happened—”

Hutch quit talking as Starsky huffed in frustration. Reaching behind his shoulder, Starsky grabbed a pillow and propped it up against the headboard. He lifted his legs and scooted clumsily around Hutch to stretch out on the bed. Instinct told Hutch to remain silent; that his partner would answer when he felt ready.

After staring up at the ceiling for a few moments, Starsky wiped the last bit of wetness from the corners of his eyes.

“I saw the guy lean out of the window,” he explained as if by rote, “and then the flashes. Wasn’t too difficult to figure out what was gonna happen next.”

Feeling a chill, Hutch reached down and grabbed his shirt from off the floor.

“Anyone in that position would be terrified, Starsk. I know I was,” Hutch said. A horrible vision ran through his mind—of his partner standing by the Torino, sprayed by bullets when he should’ve been diving for cover. “I’ve never hit the ground that fast in all my life,” Hutch added, suddenly realizing what a cowardly move that had been.

“Yeah, exactly my point. You, at least, reacted.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call kissing the pavement ‘reacting,'” Hutch said as he slipped his shirt back on.  He wasn’t sure how to respond to Starsky’s guilt, especially since his own felt incredibly overwhelming. “I should’ve pulled my piece right then and killed those scum.”

“Doubt if you would’ve hit anything.”

“Oh?”

Starsky looked at Hutch and shrugged. “You had the car and me in front of you, not to mention a fast moving target. You did the right thing, Hutch. Given a different set of circumstances or any other day of the week, you would’ve nailed ’em with one shot.”

Hutch felt better hearing Starsky’s praise, even though it didn’t completely erase his feelings of culpability. But this personal debate would have to wait for another day; getting to the heart of Starsky’s pain needed to take precedence, even though his partner wouldn’t likely agree.

“Why do you think you froze?” Hutch asked, getting straight to the point.

That obviously wasn’t the best approach. Starsky’s face twisted into a pout and his attention, together with his readiness, went out through the window. Feeling a wall of silence rise, Hutch changed his tactics. He got up and walked around to the other side of the bed. He kicked off one shoe, then the other and lay down beside Starsky. For a little more support, Hutch plumped his pillow a few times and soon found a comfortable position lying on his side.

Finished drawing his line in the sand, Hutch felt ready to take on Starsky’s demons. “Nobody here but just us chickens,” he challenged.

Starsky had watched him curiously, but it was hard to tell which personality was still in charge; the adult or the man-child? Either one would be difficult to handle, but Hutch wasn’t going anywhere until he got some answers. His hopes immediately rose as Starsky cleared his throat.

“That day,” he began shakily, “when we went out to the car, I wasn’t thinking. I mean, I was thinking about that dinner you were gonna buy me, but that was about it. It feels stupid to say this now, but I didn’t even hear the patrol car peel out until you yelled at me.”

Hutch gave a sympathetic smile. Anything else might slam the door shut on his partner’s courage.

“The sound in your voice,” he continued, “kicked me right in the guts. I went for my gun, but that’s when…”

Starsky’s eyes slammed shut and he turned his face away. Hutch’s heart sank; this had to be an excruciating memory.

“It’s okay,” he said, putting a hand on Starsky’s chest. “I’m right here.”

Opening his eyes, Starsky blew out a shaky breath and gingerly turned back to Hutch. “I grabbed my gun, but before I could pull it out, something happened,” he said, looking pale and haunted. “All of a sudden, I was back in that restaurant, seeing you held at gunpoint and that waitress flying out of the kitchen. I wanted to pull my piece and fire, but—”

Oh God, Hutch thought. The night at the Italian restaurant…

“But all I could see was the gun barrel that bastard had pointed at me and I knew…I knew I wasn’t gonna make it.”

Hutch swallowed hard. He moved his hand over Starsky’s shoulder and squeezed firmly, trying to convey all the support he could. “That’s nothing to be ashamed about. I was scared, too,” Hutch admitted. “We both were. But you stayed standing, partner—”

“No, Hutch,” Starsky said pointedly. “You’re trying to make me look like some marker—”

“Martyr.”

“Whatever. Shit, don’t you get it? I didn’t react! And what if that happens again? When both of our lives depend on it?”

The question struck with a hard slap of validity. Hutch’s stomach turned, sickened by an unwelcomed memory. He had done the same thing—frozen in an alley, while Starsky was under fire. Only in that case, Hutch had known someone could be waiting around the corner, just itching to blow a cop away. Starsky never had a clue before he was gunned down.

“I can’t answer that, Starsk,” Hutch said, “only because I’m just as guilty.”

It was a lame response, but all Hutch could muster. Starsky didn’t say anything; perhaps out of politeness, or because he felt this was one problem they’d never solve. Unwilling to accept that, Hutch threw all remorse aside. “Listen, buddy. If you could’ve done anything different, anything at all, what would that have been?”

In contemplation, Starsky arms crossed his arms over his unbuttoned shirt. He was just about to speak when Hutch upped the ante.

“Uh, uh!” he said, shaking his index finger. “And you’ve only got one second.”

“One second?”

“One. Second. Barely, two. Because that’s all the time you had to react.”

In defeat, Starsky settled back against the headboard. “I guess I see your point,” he said.

“Which is?”

“Maybe I could’ve gotten my gun out, but no chance in hell to aim it. Still, Hutch—”

“No, Starsky. There isn’t any more.” Hutch scooted a little closer. “Don’t you see? It was an ambush; a no-win situation. The bad guys cheated. They won the first round, but we’re gonna make damned sure they never win the game.”

“Yeah, right,” Starsky huffed out, obviously unconvinced. He looked down and began to fiddle with the hem of his shirt.

“Listen,” Hutch insisted. “I would never doubt you couldn’t back me up. Under any circumstances!”

Acknowledging the vote of confidence, Starsky smiled a little, but remained focused on his task. Sadly, it wasn’t hard to see the defeat deepening across his face. “I don’t know about this job, anymore, partner,” he sighed, as the sunlight faded out of the room.

“What’s on your mind?” Hutch asked, sensing a second admission coming.

“Quitting.”

The solitary word hit hard.

“That’s a pretty heavy decision, babe.”

Starsky’s announcement didn’t come as a complete surprise, considering all he’d been through and the doctors’ prognosis. Yet his declaration was still painful to hear. Hutch had never wanted to see their journey end like this. He’d always believed a positive attitude would get Starsky over his worst setbacks—the old “whatever doesn’t kill me will make me stronger” advocate. Now, with the finish line finally in sight, Starsky wanted to leave the team.

“Don’t think I’d blame you,” Hutch said, tabling his cynicism as best he could. “If that’s what you want to do.”

“You wouldn’t be upset?”

Hutch looked straight into Starsky’s eyes. No amount of wishful hoping would change the fact that their lives as cops could not go on indefinitely, but the trust radiating from those familiar blues told Hutch something else. He might be experiencing the end of an era and losing a partner, but not his partner for life.

“Maybe a little,” Hutch confessed, getting back to Starsky’s question. “But you know something? That might be the best thing for me to do.”

“Ah, Hutch. You can’t quit. You love doing this.”

“Starsk, when have I ever said ‘I love this job’?”

“Well,” Starsky shrugged, “maybe you haven’t come out and said it word for word, but you care about the people out there…the ones who’ve still got a heart.”

“Can’t exactly disagree with that,” Hutch replied, pleased by Starsky’s thoughtful comment. “But the person who has the biggest one is sitting right here.” Hutch leaned over and kissed Starsky on the lips. “I just want us to stay together. Whether or not we keep being cops, or end up as bouncers at Huggy’s.”

That brought a hint of a grin, but little else.

“I still meant what I said earlier,” Hutch added. “About how beautiful you are to me.”

Starsky lowered his head and sighed quietly. “I want us together, too, Hutch,” he said. “It’s just…”

“What?”

Hutch stroked the back of Starsky’s hand with a feather light touch, communicating his need for an answer. He wanted everything between them to be fun again—to have Starsky realize he was the same man Hutch had fallen in love with years ago. But so far, Starsky looked miles away from having fun. He slipped his hand free and nervously ran it down along the inside of his thigh, smoothing out a wrinkle in his jeans.

“You know why I got all dressed up like this today?” Starsky asked.

Perplexed, Hutch shook his head.

“I wanted to play hooky, too,” he admitted with a sly grin.

“Really?”

Ashamed at his hasty response, Hutch reeled in his excitement. If there was any chance Starsky was talking about something other than making love, Hutch didn’t want to spoil the moment with an inadvertent or selfish remark. Trying to appear laid back, he adjusted the pillows behind his head and propped himself up higher.

“What did you have in mind?” Hutch calmly asked.

Starsky rolled his eyes playfully. “I don’t know…something besides stretching a big rubber band a million times.”

“Yeah? Like taking a nice walk somewhere? Maybe going down to the beach?”

Starsky snorted. “And get sand all in my shoes? What happened to our date with some grapes?”

Hutch had to chuckle, but deep down he wanted to explode with happiness. “Buddy, I’m a man of my word,” he said. “I promise you’ll get your dinner. But you’re the one ditching therapy this morning, so what’s on your mind?”

A quiet sigh spilled out of Starsky. He looked nervous as he scratched the side of his head and avoided eye contact.

“It’s been a long couple of months,” he started. “But I’ve discovered a lot during that time that I’d never trade for anything. You’ve been a true pal, Hutch. You know what makes me happy; you’re always there when I need you…” Starsky quit looking down at his hands and stared at Hutch. “I don’t want to be afraid to love you anymore and I don’t want you thinkin’ that I don’t care about us. I may have changed on the outside, but what’s in here,” Starsky said, pointing to his heart, “that’s still the same.”

Touched by Starsky’s words, Hutch was left temporarily speechless. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wished for Starsky, but words alone were not going to change anything.

“You shouldn’t be afraid of love, Starsk. Not with anyone, and especially not with me. Whatever you’re comfortable giving me, I’ll take it.” Hutch patted the mattress. “If you want, we’re here in the bedroom…on a bed.” He glanced around Starsky at the alarm clock. “And we’ve still got a few hours until dinner.”

Breaking into a grin, Starsky seemed to like Hutch’s plan. He raised his arms and folded them behind his head. “A few hours? Think that’s enough time for you to get a hard on, old man?”

“C’mere you!”

Starsky giggled loudly as Hutch rolled over him and bounced off the bed. He gave Starsky a quick peck on his forehead, then unzipped his jeans and let them fall to the floor. He started to slip his shirt off, but changed his mind. Starsky’s devilish smile suddenly gave Hutch a new idea.

“Stand up,” he commanded in a soft voice.

Starsky obeyed, the look of trust never wavering on his face. Hutch drank him in, reveling in the beauty of the man standing beside the bed—and had an epiphany. It wasn’t just Starsky’s physical attractiveness he cherished; that loveliness only encased what Hutch truly held dear—Starsky’s total and unconditional acceptance of everything about Hutch. His faults, his weaknesses, and yes, even his mistakes. Devotion like that deserved a special measure of gratitude.

Hutch leaned in, ready to give a dose of that appreciation. He kissed his lover’s mouth; at first gently, then progressively firmer. Starsky’s tongue played back and forth with his, matching its movements perfectly. Keeping their lips together, Hutch backed away just enough to slide his hands in and gather the open lapels of Starsky’s shirt. Lifting up and away, he pulled the sleeves off both arms.

Tossing the shirt on the bed, Hutch ended the succulent kiss. He studied his partner thoroughly, making sure there was no sign of second thoughts.

“That all you got?” Starsky teased.

Like a matchstick going off, the fire inside Hutch ignited. Lunging forward, he grabbed the front of Starsky’s jeans.  As his partner chuckled and playfully tried to stop him, Hutch brushed the interfering hands away and unbuckled the belt, letting both ends fall free. A hard tug on Starsky’s zipper opened the front of his denims. Without further prompting, Starsky kicked off his shoes and helped pull the jeans down past his hips. Hutch’s cock excitedly twitched as he stared at the delectable bulge underneath Starsky’s cotton briefs.

“You thinking about something?” Hutch asked, finding it hard to hide his enthusiasm.

“Yeah,” Starsky said. “Thinkin’ about how long it’s been.”

“Too long, partner. Way too long.”

Unable to prolong his restraint, Hutch swiftly peeled off the black Levis. After kicking the bundle away from his feet, Starsky glanced slyly and poked his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs. Before he removed this last bit of clothing, Starsky’s eyes twinkled with a hint of seduction.

As the velvety package fell free and dangled in front of him, Hutch whispered, “Oh, God.”

With Starsky’s manhood fully exposed, lust-driven decadence erupted in every muscle of Hutch’s groin; each spark intensifying before shooting out through his cock. He stripped off his shirt and underwear, the need to get naked exceeding all other thought. Controlled by testosterone, he struggled to keep from throwing his lover onto the mattress and devouring him whole. Starsky’s cut penis hung perfectly, his balls full and fuzzy, each one screaming to be fondled and sucked. Like a kid in a candy store, Hutch didn’t know where to start.

“Hey,” Starsky nudged. “You need a handbook or something?”

“Huh? Oh, that’s real cute, Starsk—”

Before he could finish, Starsky grabbed his arm. “Why don’t you put that mouth where it’ll do some good?”

Latching onto Hutch with both hands, Starsky fell back onto the bed taking his partner with him. As their naked bodies landed in a pile, Hutch seized Starsky’s wrists. Staying on top, Hutch spread his legs wide, effectively pinning his lover to the mattress.

“By the time I get through with you, pal,” boasted Hutch through clenched teeth, “you’ll be screaming my name so loud the whole neighborhood will hear.”

Wiggling helplessly underneath, Starsky could do no more than respond with half-broken dares and chuckles. In control, Hutch pressed groin against groin. His cock swelled, taking on a mind of its own and demanding relief. Below him, Starsky eased his struggling and slid his thighs further apart, signaling permission for Hutch to take him any way he wanted. With his heart beating wildly, Hutch buried his face into the soft curls around Starsky’s ear. His decision to let his tongue fuck this part of his lover first came out of nowhere.

“Stop! Stop it!”

Starsky tried to jerk his head away, but couldn’t. His cries of laughter filled the room, urging Hutch to keep licking Starsky’s ear. He squirmed harder and faster, trying to escape, but Hutch’s position was too advantageous.

Refusing to give up, Starsky rammed his hips and penis into Hutch’s sensitive dick. The feel of firm, soft-skinned genitals coming together between their muscled legs quickly drove Hutch crazy.  As his cock struggled to overcome Starsky’s, Hutch’s fried brain couldn’t wait any longer.

“I wanna fuck you through the floor,” he growled. He let go of Starsky’s wrists and seized his dick.

“Like to see you…try,” Starsky gasped. In retaliation, he reached around Hutch and grabbed his butt. Two pairs of probing fingers quickly separated his cheeks and poked at his opening.

Hutch cursed as he felt a trickle of cum escape from his own cock.

“You bastard,” Hutch grunted, on the verge of shooting his load.

Anxious to hold off a premature orgasm, Hutch squeezed his dick tighter, but those fingers teasing his behind weren’t helping matters. Slapping Starsky’s hands away, Hutch gained a few seconds of clarity. He hastily coated his shaft with the leaked semen and quickly pumped himself fully hard again. Drenched in a sexual haze, Hutch lifted his butt and began to angle his cock into Starsky’s center by feel. As the moist head rubbed against the coveted opening, Hutch hesitated.

“Are you sure?” he sputtered; his body so near a climatic edge the sexual tension was killing him.

“You need a signed statement?”

Hutch broke into an unexpected laugh but kept his drive going. With Starsky helping to guide him, he took aim again.

“Shit, why didn’t you say something!” Hutch hollered. He hit the mattress with his fist, frustrated at yet another interruption.

Not waiting for an answer, he snatched a pillow and stuffed it underneath Starsky’s hips, mentally cussing himself for neglecting his partner’s comfort. A whiff of sweet, pungent scent swirled up from Starsky’s crotch and Hutch couldn’t resist gazing at the nearly-erect cock. Cuddling the plump rod with his hand, he offered amends by firmly stroking it from top to bottom.

“Oh, babe. So good…feels so good,” Starsky muttered helplessly. He slammed his eyes shut and sunk his head deep into the pillows.

Seeing his ministrations bringing so much pleasure, Hutch let his own need simmer and deftly attended to Starsky’s. Turned on by his lover’s naked body, Hutch felt transformed into an ancient Roman, admiring the beauty and helplessness of his captured slave. Lean and sculpted, Starsky belonged to him; especially every taut and gleaming inch of that powerful dick Hutch held captive in his hands.

“You’re mine,” Hutch whispered with affection. “All mine.”

“Got that right, buddy boy,” Starsky wheezed.

Playing with his prisoner, Hutch rubbed his thumb over the sensitive glans. Starsky’s passionate howls filled the room—the sound intensifying the feral desires stirring deep in his master. Using his free hand, Hutch groped Starsky’s scrotum and skillfully fondled the furry pouches until the howling changed into a string of strangled, ecstatic yelps.

“Oh, God. Yes! That’s it…right there!”

Primal emotions soared as those blissful cries reverberated through Hutch. He needed to join in the ecstasy, but something more powerful tugged at his soul. His mate, his lover, deserved to be blown into next week, and Hutch needed no fucking handbook.

Easing his head down, he licked the tiny drops of cum off the tip of Starsky’s cock. In response, hairy thighs quivered and trembled with need. Dipping a little lower, Hutch wrapped his lips around the cock’s tip and eased the shaft into his mouth. With his eyes closed, Hutch sucked Starsky like a popsicle making his partner’s thrashing grow wilder.

“More…oh, yeah. Keep goin’…keep goin’! Don’t you dare fuckin’ stop!”

Hutch felt two hands land on his head, followed by frantic fingers raking through his hair. Starsky arched his back and bucked wildly with sexual pleasure. The bed was shaking so much Hutch grabbed his lover’s hips to hang on.

“I’m gonna come! I’m gonna come!”

Starsky’s words blended into an unintelligible mantra that would’ve put a Sunday choir to shame. Sensing his lover’s eruption was imminent, Hutch sucked more powerfully. He looked up just in time to see Starsky’s face ablaze with the rush of orgasm. The blaring ring of the telephone completely spoiled the beauty of the moment.

“Who the fuck is that?” Starsky cursed, flinging an arm over his face.

“Someone without one goddamn ounce of timing!”

Hutch collapsed in a heap by Starsky’s side, mourning the deflation of his bliss and both their dicks. The phone, completely unfazed by all this discontent, continued its incessant ringing. Left with no choice, Hutch stretched his long body over Starsky. His efforts were faintly rewarded when he paused to admire the wet-sheened chest fighting for calm underneath him. Extending his arm to its fullest, Hutch’s fingers finally reached the handset on the nightstand.

With the phone in his grasp, Hutch extended the cord as far as possible and settled next to Starsky.

“Yeah?” he answered, unconcerned about his grouchy tone. “Oh, hey. Hi there, Lamont.” Hutch peeked over at Starsky. The arm still hid his eyes, but the big frown on his face wasn’t hard to miss. “Yeah…Starsky is just fine. Really. Well you see, we uh…got a little sidetracked. Oh, no, nothing serious.” Hearing Starsky giggle, Hutch elbow poked him in the ribs. “Huh? Sure, he’ll get a good workout. You bet, I promise. Lots of sweating, definitely. Same time next week? Okay. Yeah, you have a good day, too. ‘Bye.”

Hutch let the handset drop on Starsky. “What’s so funny?” he asked, nearly giggling, too.

“You think he really fell for that?”

Hutch stretched lazily out on his back. “Starsky, if he doesn’t know about us by now, then he certainly suspects.”

“Well, you don’t gotta worry about that anymore.” Starsky dragged the arm off his face and eyed the phone resting on his chest.

“You told him?”

“I didn’t have to, he asked me.”

Confused, Hutch shook his head. “He asked you what?”

“If I was having any problems, you know, performing.” Starsky picked the phone up and tossed it onto the receiver.

“And what did you say?”

Starsky looked at him and just shrugged. “I told him everything between my lover and me was fine.”

“‘I,’ not ‘me.’

“Eenie meenie miney moe. When did you get so particular?”

Hutch had to smile, but Starsky’s evasiveness wasn’t fooling him. “You weren’t really being honest with him, were you?”

The twinkle in his lover’s eyes grew brighter. “The way I see it,” Starsky explained, “is you’re the only one who knows my heart…and how to keep it beating.” He glanced down at the scars on his chest. It wasn’t a look of disgust, but more of acceptance. “I don’t know if I’ll ever see this the way you do, but if it hasn’t changed how you see me—then that’s all I need for now.”

A warm glow settled over Hutch. His heart certainly felt Starsky’s love, but another part of his anatomy needed to feel that good, too. “So, where did we leave off?” he asked, hoping Starsky’s engine was still running.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, Slick?”

“What?”

“You know, work. What two people who are supposed to be in love regularly do—”

“Smart ass! I am working, very hard right now…trying not to fuck you through the mattress.” Hutch rolled over on top of his lover. Sticking his face just above Starsky’s, he lowered his voice and in a sultry tone asked, “So once again, where were we?”

As if on cue, Starsky wiggled his hips.  “Fixin’ to do the hokey-pokey where you put your big dick in and shake it all about—”

The End