Above and Beyond

(This story was written by my buddy Hank - enjoy!! Ed.)

Tension was high at Penn Station. In other words, it was a typical workday at one of the busiest intersections of commerce in the world, and SWAT Officer Blake Turner stood ready to come to the rescue at the first sign of trouble. Ever since anxiety levels had risen in general in the city, National Guard troops had been stationed at Penn to assist local law enforcement restore calm and order. Turner and two soldiers restored their own sense of calm over a chat and a cup of coffee next to a Hudson News stand.

Turner was wearing 8" desert tan boots tucked into a pair of snug khaki ripstop BDUs. A tan web belt held his Beretta 92 in a matching drop leg holster. A tight black t-shirt stretched over his muscled frame and a pair of short black leather gloves and black baseball cap completed the outfit. A black DragonScale armored vest twinkled darkly in the overhead fluorescent lights.

"How do they expect us to do our jobs here without proper protection?" one soldier asked of the other two men.

"What do you mean?" replied Officer Turner.

"I mean body armor."

"Beg pardon?" Turner asked with a puzzled look.

"Yeah, body armor," echoed the second soldier. "We've seen the urban tactics training videos. Some of these guys get so strung out that they come at you with no warning, practically fly and crash right into you!"

"Look, that's a gross exaggeration," reassured Turner. "Most of the time we identify them and make the approach. It works out real well, there's no big scene or commotion, and no one gets hurt, including you. And sometimes, we even save a life. That's the biggest reward."

Just as he was finishing up, Turner glanced towards the side of the newsstand and noticed a suspicious patron.

"Take that guy, for instance..." Blake tilted his head to direct the soldiers' gaze towards the person in question.

The other two looked over at a devilishly handsome young man in an expensive suit and tie. He looked like a GQ model. He was well-built - but not overly so - and given his posture, his square jaw and piercing green eyes, he could have easily passed for a uniformed officer - even a motor officer - if wearing the proper attire. The man appeared to be flipping through a magazine, yet Turner caught the suspect glancing up in his direction more than once. At their close proximity, he even could see the other man's hands tremble a bit. Turner suspected this would be a good opportunity to demonstrate the tactics he and the Guardsmen had just been discussing. Blake approached the obviously nervous man, cautiously.

"Excuse me, sir, we'd like to have a word with you."

"Who, me?" The GQ look-a-like stammered, rather surprised that the officer would notice, let alone address him.

"Yes, you. What's your name?"

"Pat," blurting out the first name that came to mind, and then realizing that he could have some explaining to do should the officer ask to see his identification.

"You seemed rather nervous, Pat, and I wanted to ask what the reason for that might be."

Turner was standing right next to Pat now, and just to the side, ready to spring into action any moment. "There are a lot of people coming and going through the station here, and we don't want any kind of trouble. We need to keep disquiet to a minimum."

"Oh, no, I'm just fine, nothing's wrong at all," Pat tried to say reassuringly, though Turner was quite sure the man was lying.

Come on, Pat, you can tell me. I'm Officer Turner, by the way." The SWAT officer had so kept Pat's attention with his deep, brown comforting eyes that Pat had not even noticed the officer sliding alongside him and putting his arm around his shoulders. Turner could feel his suspect tense.

"Why don't you come over here with my friends and me so we can talk?" Turner phrased it as a question, but his tone and body language made it clear this was much more a command than a request. Pat did not resist as the officer walked him a few feet to join the soldiers, who had been watching expectantly.

"Gentlemen, this is Pat," he said, his arm still draped around the man's shoulders, which Turner could feel were starting to relax a bit. "Pat, these soldiers are working with me today to help keep everything and everyone here in peace. I noticed you at the newsstand, and it seemed like you were distressed. What's up, Pat? Are you OK? Can we help?"

Turner's tone had softened considerably, and Pat was visibly much more comfortable with the men. He started talking, explaining what was on his mind and heart, even more readily than he might a therapist or pastor.

"Well, yeah, I am kind of tense. No, ... really tense, and sad and angry! I've been given responsibility for a huge project at work that I'm not sure I can handle, my boss is giving me grief, and I've got a couple of female co-workers who can be real bitches, and today they're in absolutely rare form. This morning when we got into an argument, my boss was taking their side -- he usually does it seems -- and I didn't know which I wanted to do more: slap one of them or punch him in the jaw. I just had to get out of the office for awhile to calm down."

Pat had paused, then with a tear, choked out, "Maybe I'd just like to be someone else, or be like someone else, even if just for a few minutes."

The two Guardsmen looking on this scene turned to each other for a moment and stared, seeming both compassionate for Pat, and a bit stunned that Officer Turner had drawn this confession out so quickly.

Giving Pat's shoulders a good solid squeeze, he waited a few moments and asked, "Pat, would you like a hug?"

Looking down, Pat didn't respond at first. It had been months since he had hugged another human being, years since hugging a man, and it may have been the first time in his entire life that another man had offered him a hug.

Hesitantly, Pat finally replied, quietly, "Yeah."

Without another word, the officer turned Pat toward him and wrapped his other arm around Pat's shoulder, pulling Pat's chest close to his. Pat cautiously placed his own arms around Turner, at first gently, then more forcefully pulling Turner into himself. Turner embraced Pat firmly yet tenderly, offering the latter the genuine affection and comfort which Turner knew he needed. Had it not been for the bullet proof vest, he would have felt Pat's heart against his, racing. Pat clung to the officer like a life preserver, his eyes closed. He allowed himself to relax, to let his head rest on Turner's shoulder, and sink into his strong arms as the officer gently rocked Pat back and forth, rubbing his back as he held Pat close. With their crotches pressed against each other as well, Turner noticed Pat's cock swell at first, then subside as Pat calmed down, comforted by the true manly affection and affirmation which he had needed so much, and for so long. But Turner thought little of what Pat, or any man in that situation, might have found rather embarrassing, other than to confirm that the intervention was paying off.

As all this transpired, half of corporate New York seemed to walk by, yet none gave the slightest indication that anything was greatly out of the ordinary. Only the occasional glance came from onlookers, and sometimes with it a little smile at seeing New York's Finest in action. Only the out-of-towners, unfamiliar with the ways of the NYPD, seemed to wonder in disbelief. The two soldiers continued to observe as though taking mental notes.

Without breaking off the embrace, Turner lifted Pat's chin so that the two men were looking into each other's eyes, their noses only a couple inches apart. Pat was beaming. Turner grinned, quite satisfied at the change in Pat's affect.

"Feeling better?" he asked, fairly confident that Pat's answer would be affirmative.

"You bet!" was Pat's quick reply. "Thanks so much. That's just what I needed!" Then only a moment later Pat's face grew somber once again, and he added, "But I don't want to go back to my office, not yet at least. I don't know that I'm ready to face that again."

"Well my friend, how would you like to stand guard here with the troops and me for the rest of the afternoon?" Turner offered. "When trouble comes up you could help us with interventions -- you're a pretty good hugger, you know -- and in the meantime you could hang out and chat with us. How about it?"

"Are you kidding me? That would be awesome!" Pat seemed as though he would burst! "Oh, but I couldn't. My boss is expecting me back at the office in a few minutes. He'd kill me."

"Not a problem. I'll write you an intervention ticket. It's like a doctor's note, only better. It excuses you from work, and carries the full authority of the City of New York. Your boss is legally required to excuse you from work, without docking your pay or vacation or sick time."

"That's great! In that case, I'm staying! Thanks so much, Officer Turner!" Pat folded his arms and nonchalantly leaned against Turner's side.

Again wrapping his arm around Pat's shoulder, Officer Turner offered, "You're welcome, Pat. And you can call me just Turner.....or Blake. That's my first name."

"So when do we get in on some of this 'law enforcement', 'Blake'?" The first of the Guardsmen was seeming much more comfortable with this operation. "We want in on the action."

"You bet, guys. Don't worry, I'm sure there will be plenty more trouble brewing here at Penn today. In the meantime, why don't you get in some practice with Pat here. You open to another hug, Pat......from a guy in camo jammies?" Turner smiled and winked at the soldiers.

"Watch it, SWAT boy," the Guardsman smiled back. "You're just jealous because our uniforms are more huggable. Come over here, Pat. Let the Guard show you some real tender lovin' law enforcement."

Pat willingly moved over to try out the new offer. The two men embraced, and now, as the soldier did indeed feel Pat's heart beating against his own, he was relieved that he had not been issued that body armor. The guardsman caught the faint scent of Pat's cologne - a mixture of chocolate and vanilla - and hugged him closer. It reminded him of his grandmother's fresh-baked cookies.

The other soldier observed, "Well, that's not as dangerous as I thought it would be. Piece of cake."

"Well.....I do have to admit, it's not always that easy," Turner allowed. "And I have a feeling you may be finding that out for yourself much sooner than later."

Turner's face sported a slightly uncomfortable smile, and held back a chuckle, as he gestured behind the soldier to another business man, one gawking at the unsuspecting soldier with his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

"I think someone might want a hug." Turner snickered, as from his own past experience on this detail, he was fairly sure what the unsuspecting Guardsman was up against.

The soldier turned around just in time to see a half-crazed New Yorker in suit and tie pouncing on him, screaming, "Camo jammies!!!" Before he knew it, the soldier was rolling around the floor, getting the stuffing hugged out of him by the highly stressed office worker.

"Yikes! Must work at a hedge fund..." Pat speculated.

"Heeeeelp!" cried the struggling soldier.

"Think we should call for backup, Turner?" the soldier in Pat's arms calmly asked.

"Nah, he'll be fine," Turner assured with a satisfied smile. "It's just part of the Job."


THE END

* * *

I love my buddy Hank. We both share a very deep and abiding love of motor patrol uniforms. And boots. In fact, I based the character of Captain Edmund Tiernan on Hank. He is a drop-dead handsome man who only looks more amazing in a uniform - in addition to being one of the most decent and kindest men I've ever known. I've said to him on a number of occasions that he should do PSA's (Public Service Announcements) for the CHP since he really fills out the uniform the way it should be worn.

This type of story is in the genre of "Anti-porn".

Huh? What?

Anti-porn is literature (the term used very loosely) which commandeers fetishistic, erotic, or otherwise pornographically associated themes and bends them to satisfy deeper emotional needs while calming the base sexual passions.

I got the warm fuzzies about this story when I read it - I had mentioned to Hank that I had seen a SWAT officer speaking with two Guardsmen and he took that comment and made this great piece of fiction!

I did take a couple of liberties here with what I actually saw - my "SWAT boy" wasn't wearing a pair of shades (that's how I could tell he had brown eyes) and he wasn't wearing a bronze gryphon-headed torc around his neck. I added the torc since Hank's story made me feel that Officer Turner was part of a very elite unit and he needed some distinctive accoutrement to signify that.