Double Dysfunctions

Chapter Five

James was relieved beyond all imagination when he finally caught sight of the large neon sign that broadcasted the words "Xstasy Hotel and Gentlemen's Club." This was where he and C.J. would be staying; that is, until one of them found a reasonable apartment to rent out.

          "Well, isn't this just the best-looking hotel around here?" inquired C.J. as he made his way through the glass double-doors at the entrance.

          And admittedly, James had to agree with him. Every other hotel that they'd stepped foot in since arriving in Los Angeles at 3 a.m. in the morning had been disgusting. James could honestly say that the cleanest inn had cockroaches and gigantic horseflies scattered about all over the floor.

          James was startled when C.J. grabbed him by the shoulder and gently shook him out of his thoughts. "Come on, slowpoke; we got room 16. Hey, that's pretty ironic, isn't it?  We got room 16 and your sixteenth birthday is today!"

          "I guess," mumbled James as the boys made their way up the narrow hallway and through a dingy doorway with cracked and yellowing paint.

          Setting their bags down on the one queen-size bed in the small hotel room, both James and C.J. began to unpack.

          Looking around glumly after emptying his bag, James croaked, "I guess this will have to do."

          C.J.'s head snapped up, his face held an expression of deep concern. "Babe, everything is going to be just fine, okay? I think you need to relax a little."

          Pausing for a moment to slide the empty suitcases off the bed, C.J. continued, "And guess what? I have the perfect way to get you to relax!"

          He then pulled James close to him, and they began to kiss. Slowly at first, then as time wore on, the kisses grew heavier and heavier.

          C.J. stopped to strip off his clothes, and James was right behind him. Then they fell flat onto the bed, with James on the bottom.

          Groping each other, they both grunted in pleasure. C.J. reached over and grabbed a condom off the nightstand, opened the package, and to James' shock, slid it carefully onto James' hard, curved penis.

          Gasping for air, James managed to breathe the words, "Are you sure?" Nodding his consent, C.J. rolled over off of James, giving James time to sit up on his knees.

          As soon as James was in position, C.J. threw his legs up onto James' broad shoulders, caressing his muscled chest as he did so.

          Taking a final deep breath, James entered C.J. for the very first time.

*        *        *

          James awoke what seemed like hours later, to an empty bed and an even emptier hotel room.

          James sat up, noting as he did so that the nightstand on C.J.'s side of the bed was bare. James glanced around the room for a sign that his boyfriend had been there.

          Looking at the small electric clock that was on his bedside table, James noted that it was 8:15 a.m.

          James then flung his feet off the bed and into his house shoes, which had been haphazardly tossed to the floor hours ago. He grabbed his bathrobe, which was hanging from a coat rack near the door.

          As James made his way out of the hotel room, being sure to lock the door carefully behind him, he could hear the sounds of many feet and voices bouncing across the hotel's lobby. Curious, James walked in that direction.

          As he entered the main lobby, James immediately noticed the bright yellow police tape that blocked off a good portion of the large room. Police officers, both in uniforms and dark, crisp suits, were bustling back and forth, carrying out whatever business they were doing.

          James reached the edge of the tape and saw Crime Scene Investigators swarming what could only be the bare body of one of the strip-club's workers. She was lying at an awkward angle, but James could just make out the faint rise and fall of her ample breasts. So, thought James. It looks as if she has been attacked in some way, but she is still alive. That's good, news, at least.

          But before James could even ask another tenant for any details they may have gathered, a plain-clothes policeman standing a little ways off at a portable crime-scene lab pointed to him, and said, "You there! Stop!"

          Stunned at being called out in such an embarrassing manner, James looked from one side to the other, trying to decide if the cop was speaking to him. Confused, James pointed to himself, asking for the policeman's confirmation.

          'Yes, you," said the cop as he pulled off the latex gloves he was wearing and slathered his hands in hand sanitizer. Coming closer so as to not have to yell, the cop introduced himself.

          "I'm Joseph Maranville, captain of the Los Angeles Police Department's Special Victims' Unit. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?"

          Seeing no problem with that, James nodded.

          "Okay, then, son. Maybe we should go somewhere more private?"

          "Um," said James hesitantly. "My room is just down the hall, if that would work."

          Nodding his thanks, Captain Maranville ushered over another cop, who turned out to be his partner. "This is Oliver Sikorski, my partner. Would you mind if he came along as well?"

          Shaking his head no, James replied, "No, of course not; if this has to do with the case you're working on, then I want to know if there's anything I can do to help."

          Leading the way, James walked back toward his hotel room. He slid the card key through the slot and the door opened.

          "Can I get you anything, Captain? Or you, Detective?" James asked as the two officers stepped in and sat down in the two armchairs.

          Both men politely declined, then the Captain said, "I'm terribly sorry, son; we introduced ourselves, but I don't remember asking who you are?"

          "Oh," James said, quite stunned that he hadn't offered the information himself. "I'm James. James Comer."

          The captain's eyes grew wide, as if he recognized the name.

          "You mean, the James Comer, the son of the S.V.U. captain that was killed five years ago? Son, if you are who you're saying you are, then why the hell are you all the way out here in L.A.? Why not back in Michigan with a relative? After all, the son was like, nine or ten when his father was killed. That would make you a minor."

          "Actually, my dad died the day I tuned eleven," James heard himself say before he even realized what he was doing.

          Both the policemen stared at James for a moment, then Detective Sikorski looked to his captain, who gave a cursory nod in response. The detectives stood up, and Sikorski pulled out a set of stainless steel handcuffs.

          "James Comer, turn around and put your hands behind your back."

          "Wait, what? What did I do?" asked James as he complied with the officer's order.

          Detective Sikorski continued. "James Comer, you're under arrest for the rape of Selena Lopez."

          James couldn't believe his ears. How could he possibly have raped that poor girl? He had been asleep in this very room. But it was really happening; the cops were now reading off his Miranda rights as they frog-marched James out the room door.

          James was escorted to a squad car, where he was shoved in, still handcuffed. The detectives gave their instructions to the uniformed officer standing beside the driver's-side door, and the squad car pulled away from the hotel a moment later.