It took several minutes for John Munch to realize he had been daydreaming about his former partner, Brian Cassidy. The seminar on sexual deviancy and its relation to criminal behavior had reached a lull, and even Munch could no longer be fascinated by the discussion of the effect of testosterone levels on sexual aggression or how medical approaches could alleviate the recidivism of paraphiliacs.
Instead, he found himself remembering the time young Cassidy had confused the sexual term "frottage" with the French word for cheese during testimony in open court. It was a fond memory, and Munch realized his mental indulgence was not just internal - he was actually sporting a small smile, hardly congruous with a discussion on identifying the three categories of child sexual abusers.
He controlled his outward demeanor while allowing his flight of fancy to continue. He probably knew more than the droning presenter did about the subject, anyway, so he could afford to tune out the lecture.
Brian Cassidy. The enthusiastic, energetic, na´ve and innocent, yet mischievous and sometimes cheeky Brian Cassidy. Munch pictured the young man in his mind, remembering the many occasions he had scolded, lectured, educated or elucidated his young partner. He clearly saw Brian's boyish smile and bright eyes, as well as his tall lean frame and sometimes outrageous choice of suits.
As he continued the pattern of thought, Munch decided to peel away the clothing and reveal the man beneath, a mental exercise he sometimes allowed himself when faced with even the most repulsive suspect (not to mention an occasional lovely waitress).
In Munch's mind, Brian stood before him naked, grinning. His body was slim, his skin pink and his penis impressive, even in a flaccid state. He looked welcoming and yet somehow vulnerable, and Munch could hardly resist capitalizing on the latter trait. He mentally tied Brian's wrists to the headboard of a large bed, and the expression on the young man's face turned to a certain amount of surprise and expectation. The penis started to rise.
Munch inserted himself into the fantasy. He approached the bed, shirtless, with a small riding crop in one hand. He stood over Brian, watching him. "What's up, John?" Brian asked, unnecessarily. "What are you going to do with that?"
Munch struck him across the chest, nicking a nipple with the end of the crop. The reddened flesh swelled and hardened and Brian let out a small gasp.
"Jesus, Munch. Watch it!"
"Are you familiar with the works of the Marquis de Sade?" Munch asked, knowing the answer before he asked the question.
"De Sade . . . 'Sadism,' right?"
"Good boy. At least you know where the connection comes from. Do you know why the phrase 'sadism' was coined after the Marquis?"
Brian shook his head slowly, watching Munch's hand holding the whip.
"The Marquis equated sexual pleasure with crimes of violence, mostly in his written work, less so in his life. He was more of an author than a libertine, and what he wrote was considered blasphemy to post-revolutionary France. In fact, de Sade was a sodomite, which certainly got him into a good deal of trouble throughout his life. He was probably hated more for his anti-religious sentiments than for his sexual compulsions."
Brian Cassidy looked blank, staring from the riding crop to Munch's face. He was clearly waiting for the man to get to the point.
"You know what the definition of sodomy is?" Munch asked impatiently.
"New York law says its oral or anal sex. It doesn't matter if it's consenting or between the same gender or whatever. Right?"
Munch ignored the answer. "The Marquis liked to get fucked in the ass," Munch said simply. "By one of his favorite servants."
"Oh. Okay." Brian paused for a moment. "So, what's the point?"
"The point is that some human sexual behavior has included aggression and a certain amount of pain forever, but until the late 1700s, nobody really wrote about it. That's where we get the term 'sadism' - gratification derived from the infliction of physical or mental pain."
Munch raised the crop, and Brian flinched even before he struck him, this time on the stomach.
"Yikes! That hurts! I didn't know you were this kinky."
Munch shook his head and sighed. "There's a great deal you don't know about me, Brian. Yet."
Munch maneuvered the crop around Cassidy's hips and thighs, avoiding the stubborn erection, stinging enough to leave small welts, but not breaking the skin. Brian squirmed on the bed, his arms taut against the restraints.
"Jesus, Munch, that's getting to me."
"If you think that got to you, just wait," Munch commanded, licking his right forefinger and running it down one of the puffy spots on Brian's stomach. Brian breathed in sharply and his penis gave a little jump. Then Munch bent close and blew on the wet welt.
"Oh, Christ!" Brian cried. "That's unbelievable!"
Munch mentally decided to take pity on the young man before he reached some sort of premature sexual crisis in the fantasy or before the lecture ended, whichever came first. He reached down and stroked Brian's penis, enjoying the smooth feel and pulsating heat of the taut flesh.
"Are you going to blow me, John?" Brian asked in a breathy tone.
"Not if you can't describe it any better than that," said Munch, cupping Brian's tight balls in his hand.
"Okay. Suck me, Munch."
Munch shook his head, his lips pursed. "You have one more chance to convince me. Think carefully."
Brian bit his bottom lip and his eyes flickered. "Umm . . . I know. Give me head!"
Munch squeezed under the tip of Brian's penis and held the grip long enough to deflate his erection.
"Jesus, John, why'd you do that?"
"Three strikes and you're out, my friend. You have to learn that sex doesn't come that easy. You have to ask for what you want and describe what you like. You have to articulate." Munch drew out the last word, syllable by syllable.
Brian's look of disappointment touched and surprised Munch, even though he was in control of the fantasy. He found himself unable to continue his stern tone, and he reached up and stroked Brian's cheek.
"I'll show you something else you'll like," he promised, eliciting the smile he was seeking.
"Okay, John. Do I have to talk?"
"All you have to do is make sounds of pleasure, as many and as loudly as you like."
Munch climbed on top of the supine Cassidy and lowered his crotch over Brian's; the fabric of his pants rubbed against the exposed skin of the young man's lower body.
"Do you know what this is?" Munch asked, maneuvering his hips up and down on Brian's crotch, feeling the instant response.
Brian groaned; his breath quickened. "Yeah," he said, grinning. "Fromage."
Munch smiled back. "Exactly."
Munch moved quickly against Brian until he was rewarded with an "Oh, fuck!" and a long shudder from his young partner. The spray of liquid caught not only the waistband of Munch's trousers, but also the bare flesh of his upper stomach. If his own body hadn't been obscuring the ejaculate, no doubt it would have struck him in the eye! Oh, to be that young again - for just an hour or so -- Munch thought, impressed.
He lowered himself over Brian and gave the sweet mouth a long kiss, which he lingered over for several beats. By the time the moist, warm contact had broken, Munch realized the people around him were scooting back in their chairs. He mentally shook himself out of his reverie and consulted his program.
It was time for 'New Tools for Identifying the Serial Rapist' in Room B.
Munch stood up slowly and noted that his pants were intact and unmarked. He was nearly surprised.
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