In Too Deep - Part 1

By Killerwhale Zeus

It was one o'clock in the morning and Detective Richard Hughes could barely stifle his yawn.

"What's the problem, Richie, past your bedtime?" asked his partner, Detective Carlos Martinez.

"Fuck off, Carlos. And I told you not to call me Richie," said Richard. He yawned again. Carlos laughed. Richard laughed too. "Okay, maybe it is past my bedtime."

"Tonight's the night, though," said Carlos.

"You said that last night. It's been a week and we've seen nothing. Maybe we need to change our tactics."

Carlos frowned. He lifted the night vision goggles to his eyes and peered across the road at the warehouse. It was dark and apparently abandoned for the night. He lowered the goggles. "Maybe you're right. It's been a week and I've got to say, the squad car is beginning to stink."

"That's not me!" said Richard, sweeping a pile of empty fast-food containers off dash board and onto the back seat floor. "It's a well known fact scrawny asses stink way more than prime beef." He flexed a muscle to emphasise his point, and to remind himself he preferred the gym to sitting in a car for 8 hours straight every night.

Carlos watched his well-built partner flex his arm and felt a twinge of envy. He was tall but slender ... scrawny was a good word to describe him ... and Richard never lost an opportunity to remind him.

"Alright, let's pack it in for the evening," Carlos said, dumping the goggles back in the case.

Richard nodded and reached to turn the key in the ignition. "The whole operation needs a rethink ... Jones is too clever to fall for ..."

Suddenly at the end road a van turned into the street.

"Wait." ordered Carlos, but Richard had already stopped moving. Carlos grabbed the goggles while Richard started the recording camera.

"Is it him?"

Carlos could only make out vague shapes in the van. "I can't say ..."

About fifty metres from the warehouse, the van lights went off, and the van backed into the driveway of the warehouse. A hooded man jumped out and ran over to the roller door. With a flick and pull, the door wound up, revealing a pallet of non-descript bundles piled near the door.

"What?? Fuck," swore Carlos.

"What? What's happening?" asked Richard, he had the small screen of the night vision video camera but it was not as clear as the goggles.

"The junk, it's already there."

"What? That's impossible. How the fuck does he do that?"

Now a second man jumped out of the van and they both began loading the packages onto the back.

"These are the pickup boys, there's no sign of the delivery, but the goods are here!"

"Where the fuck is Jones?!"

They watched the two men load the van.

"Fuck." swore Richard, banging the dashboard in disgust.

"That's it, I'm calling in the crew," said Carlos, reaching for the radio.

Five minutes later the street was flooded with police response units.


"Sixteen million dollars! Fuck!" swore Richard. He punched the filing cabinet.

"Yes, a fine effort," said Sergeant Russell. "You boys did good work last night."

"Jones fucking got away with it again, though," said Carlos, placing a hand on Richard's arm in an attempt to mollify him.

"We'll get him next time. He can't keep doing these big drop-offs without us finding out how."

"That place was empty, Sarge, I walked through there myself that afternoon. No-one came in or out."

"And yet Jones managed to put $16 million worth of crack cocaine in there without leaving a single fingerprint," the Sarge sat down behind his desk. He gestured for the two cops to take the other seats, which they did.

"I agree with you both. We need to rethink our tactics," said Russell. "We know it's Jones, but a straight down-the-line investigation isn't working."

"We could bust him on other charges ... get a warrant, search his place. He's gotta be dodging tax, all rich fuckers do ... we'll get him in the Al Capone way," said Richard.

"Yeah," nodded Carlos.

"We know already charged him on suspicion of dealing ... he threw cash at his lawyers, they threw the book at the judge and the judge threw shit at us ... city hall wants Jones taken down too, but they've made it clear the city can't tolerate any more screw ups."

"Fuck town hall, they don't know what's it's like ..."

"Calm down, Richard," said the Sarge, taking off his glasses and rubbing his temples. "We gotta be smart from now on, that's what I'm saying. Let Jones make the mistakes ... let him come to us."

"Every hour we waste waiting for Jones is another kid dead from overdose or another cop killed by pushers or another family missing a father 'cause some turf war got out of hand ..." said Richard.

"What have you got in mind, Sarge?" asked Carlos, cutting Richard off.

"Nothing concrete. You know I was at that national conference last month, right?"

The cops nodded.

"Well there was a lot of talk about new techniques. One of the presentations was these science guys ... strictly early days you understand ... I dunno ... the other guys thought it was a bit of a laugh. I did too, at the time, but ... hmm, give me a few days. I might call them up."

The Sarge was lost in thought for a few seconds, Richard and Carlos exchanged a glance.

"Anyway, you two have done your paperwork right?" asked Russell. The cops nodded. "Then get yerselves home, have a good weekend."

"You too Sarge," chorused the boys as they left the office. Richard paused at the door, "Don't worry Sarge, we'll get that fucker Jones."



In the police station locker-room, Carlos and Richard were changing out of their uniforms and into their off duty clothes. Carlos had taken a short shower and was already at his locker drying off when Richard exited the showers sopping wet.

Carlos glanced over at his cop buddy's naked glistening body. In his mid forties, Richard was in the prime shape of his life. His body was big and broad, like a rugby player's, and his stomach and chest were covered in a forest of black hair that matched the thick mane that sat on top of his square-jawed face. Strangely his stubbled beard was brown, and Carlos was surprised to see that Richard's pubes were also brown. Nestled amongst that thatch was a large cock that hung down four inches soft.

Richard grabbed a towel and began to wipe down his wet body. He wiped over his big round shoulders and down his thick muscled arms. His forearms were also hairy ... even his meaty fingers had dark hair over each knuckle. He toweled his inner thighs, standing slightly apart because his large chunky legs normally touched each other as he walked, and toweled down his tight chunky ass.

Carlos knew women loved that ass. On the few occasions they had socialised together at bars (Carlos was married and rarely went out anymore), Carlos noticed Richard wore tight jeans that showed off his tight end. Carlos had also noticed with envy that it attracted the woman far more than Carlos' slender frame.

Carlos had finished drying himself off and threw on a pair of pants and a loose shirt. Richard pulled on a pair of loose shorts and loose fitting tank top. He liked to hit the gym after work, especially when it had been frustrating.

"See you on Monday, okay?" said Carlos, reaching out his hand to Richard.

Richard grabbed Carlos' arm and they shared a matey clasp. "You too."


Richard lay down on the bench press. He had loaded the bar with an obscene amount of weight. He sometimes did that when he was frustrated. Psyching himself, he grabbed the bar with both hands and, with straining arms, hefted the bar into the air. He slowly lowered it and then pushed it up again. After several repetitions he was unable to concentrate on anything but the weight. With a final push, he let out a grunt and then lowered the bar back down to its braces. He swung his body around and sat up. Richard could feel the blood was pumping through his arms, his biceps and chest were engorged with blood and he was on a work-out high.

Twenty minutes later he was back in his car driving home to his apartment. He switched on the CD player, the previous song resumed from midway and began blaring out of the speaker. Stuck in traffic but feeling good, Richard started singing along with the music, "... all it takes is one itchy trigger ... one more widow ... one less white nigger ..." A lady in a Mercedes cut him off. He could have pulled her over but he had a rule that when he was off duty he let civil shit go.

At home Richard threw a chicken breast in a hot pan to cook while he drained some potatoes. He had the news going on in the background, he watched it every night. It was the usual stuff about global hotspots and the bizarre situation in America, but when it turned to news of the previous night's drug bust, he changed the channel.

At about nine o'clock he changed into his bar clothes, a black t-shirt overlaid with a trendy shirt, dark blue jeans and brown leather boots. He grabbed his wallet, keys and phone and headed out to meet his friends, a group of ex-high school colleagues.


One of his high school friends, Kennedy, had turned out to be gay. He had come out in his early twenties and despite some initial misgivings, Richard had remained friends with him. Kennedy's partner, Paul, had been in the group for over ten years and was also a friend. Richard was uneasy with fags he didn't know, but he had to admit Kennedy and Paul were good friends. Whereas a lot of people in the late thirties stayed at home on a Friday night, Kennedy and Paul were always dragging the group out to the latest hot spots around the city, places frequented by the city's "in-crowd", with a good mix of professional people in their late twenties, thirties and forties. Richard, who spent most days hunting down drug runners and other undesirables, loved to mingle with the white collar urbane types. It was nice to see them in a bar instead of the lockup.

Tonight Kennedy had taken them all to "Vale", a plush bar on the 16th floor of a city skyscraper. The drinks were overpriced but the view was sensational. Richard was chilling at the bar with his comrades when he glanced over at one of the occupied booths. In the center of a gaggle of good-looking but waif-like young men sat R. Jones, the city's biggest and baddest drug lord. He was 50ish, pale, wiry, bald and with silver-grey eyes. He was decked out in flamboyant dandy clothes, with a large cravat and frilly shirt. He had a cane with silver knob, which he waved about wildly while telling some story. The boys, all male escorts, laughed and flattered Jones in concert.

Richard saw red. When Jones groped the young black man sitting to his left and with no decorum pressed his lips noisily to his young charge's own plush set, Richard slammed down his cocktail and marched over to Jones' table.

"Ahhh, if it isn't Detective Hughes!" said Jones with a steely grin.

"You asshole," said Richard though clenched teeth. His hands had curled themselves in fists and he was shaking with rage. Some of the young men backed away from the table.

"My, my, you're looking buff," said Jones. "Don't be shy boys, the Detective and I go back a long way."

"You've got a lot of nerve coming here," said Richard.

"Oh Richie, my dear, surely you're the one with the nerve, a blue collar worker such as yourself. Come in off the streets for one night with the beautiful people have you? Just like my boys here." Jones sniffed. "Can't say I blame you, what with grumpy pants Russell and your sad sack partner ... what was his name ... ah yes, Detective Martinez. You know he wants that promotion don't you?"

"Shut up, you don't know anything about us."

"tsk tsk, so much anger from one of our boys in blue." said Jones, his eyes flickered over Richard's shoulder, and Richard became aware that four huge security guards had moved into the area.

"Can I order another drink, or are you going to arrest me?" asked Jones. "Because if you are going to arrest me, you better have better proof than last time."

Now Richard's friends came up to him. Kennedy grabbed him by the arm. "He's not worth it, Richard..."

Richard allowed himself to be led away.

Paul picked up his coat and Richard's friends all did the same. Loudly, and to no-one in particular, Paul led them from the bar, saying "I wouldn't frequent a bar that served drug pushers like him."

The crowd was silent and Richard had to admit he felt better that his friends were on his side.

"Bye bye Richie! I enjoyed our chat, but I'm afraid ... " Jones appreciatively squeezed one of his slender prostitutes on the rear-end, "... you're not my type."


Five days later, on Wednesday morning, Sargent Russell called Carlos and Richard into his office. He closed the door behind them.

"Men, it's here," he said, sitting down behind his desk.

The other two men sat down, Richard glancing at Carlos, who was staring at a package on the desk.

"What's here?" asked Richard.

"I told you about that presentation at the conference?"

"Yes," said Carlos

"Not exactly, you mentioned it but didn't tell us anything," added Richard.

"These government types did a presentation, and a demonstration, of these bracelets things they're working on. This is going to sound strange, but they can transform the wearer ... like ... make them taller or shorter. Create the perfect disguise for undercover cops was how they put it."

Richard stared at the Sarge incredulously.

Carlos nodded, "You mean like a hologram?"

Russell picked up the package and pulled out two solid metal bracelets and two small devices that look a bit like old fashioned ipods or dictaphones. "No, no, actually *transform* the person. Reality Adjustment ... something or other, look here, the acronym on the package ..."

Richard leaned over, on the package were written the words "Project RACHETT" in a neat font. He picked up one of the bracelets. It was lighter than it looked. Silver metallic with a blue dot. It did not seem to have any moving parts or circuitry. "Weird."

"Put it on," said Carlos, watching intently.

Richard slipped the bracelet over his wrist. Instantly it contracted until it was firmly in place. "WHAT THE FUCK!" yelled Richard, falling off his chair trying to pull it off. "It won't come off!"

Carlos laughed.

"Relax, relax," said Russell. "You control it with this. He picked up the transmitter with a blue dot. He switched it on.

A tinny mechanical voice piped up from the small speaker on the transmitter. "Proceed," it said.

Russell said to it, "release bracelet"

"Confirmed," said the voice.

Within a second, the bracelet relaxed its grip on Richard's wrist. He slipped it off and inspected it closely. Despite its ability to change shape he could discern no joins or moving parts.

"Wow, that's amazing," said Carlos.

"You haven't seen anything yet," said Russell.

"Put it back on," said Carlos to Richard.

"NO way," said Richard.

"Go on, you big chicken," said Carlos.

"Fuck you," said Richard.

"Fine, I'll put it on," said Carlos. He picked up the second bracelet, this had a red dot on it. He slipped it on his wrist and it shrunk into place. Carlos tried to move it but it was stuck. He gestured at Russell, who picked up the transmitter with the red dot.

"How did you get these?" asked Carlos.

"I pulled in a few favours. It's strictly experimental. I don't think the science guys wanted the project out of the lab but they were overruled from the top. From what I hear they're stalled at the moment, some major problem with the project but they need their funding continued so they had little choice."

"Go on, do something," said Carlos, entranced by the metal band around his wrist.

Russell turned on and spoke into the transmitter. "I want Carlos to be a hot woman."

"Confirmed," said the voice.

A second later Carlos the man was gone, in his place was a buxom woman wearing Carlos' uniform. Her large breasts strained his standard issue shirt so much the top few buttons popped off, and Carlos' new breasts pushed their way out into the open.

Richard and Carlos stared in shock. Carlos recovered first and covered his breasts with his hands, which he noticed were long and slender and had long finger-nails.

"Shit, Carlos, you're hot!" said Richard.

Carlos looked at his reflection in the window. He saw an incredibly hot chick staring back, with long black hair and big brown eyes. "Wow, that's amazing!" he said. His voice even matched the woman's.

"I don't believe this!" said Richard.

"This is the demo they did at the conference, pretty effective huh?" said the Sarge. He watched as Carlos tried stuffing his breasts back in his shirt. "It's all real, you're a real woman, no drugs, no scars, it's like you were born that way." He spoke into the transmitter. "Please return Carlos to his normal form, but give him 20 kilos extra of muscle."


Carlos was back as a man, but whereas he had been a slender man before, now he packed his shirt tight with muscle.

Richard had to admit he was damned impressed by the devices.

Carlos flexed for a while, and Russell laughed. "They did a small bit about creating super warriors. They added a lot more than 20 kilos. It was freaky, man." Speaking into the transmitter he said, "return Carlos to normal and release bracelet".

Soon Carlos was back to normal, and the bracelet loose around his wrist. His shirt was ruined, first from the breasts and then from the huge chest and biceps that had torn the sleeves. He didn't care, the possibilities of the bracelets were obviously endless.

"Alright, I'm convinced."

"Me too," said Richard reluctantly. Despite the other two's enthusiasm for the devices, he had a bad feeling about them.

"So what is the plan?" asked Carlos.

Russell paused. He looked first at Carlos and then at Richard.

"Richard, how bad do you want to take down Jones?"

"That faggot drug running scum?" asked Richard. He looked the Sarge in the eyes and said, "I will do anything to take that mother fucker down."

Russell nodded, "We know a few things about Jones. We know we gotta get in his mansion, and we know the one way people get to waltz right in."

Now Richard nodded. "Yeah, his 'boys'"

Russell continued, "Yeah. Every night Jones goes cruising for a couple of male prostitutes, who he takes back to his place for a party. God knows what they do there."

"Fag shit," said Richard. He had worked on the south side and as a young officer had been forced to patrol the pick up area there. Rich men like Jones would collect men, take them back to their pads for sex and drugs. Very few were ever prosecuted.

"So ... this is something Jones will never suspect. We disguise an officer as a young gay man and send him under cover. Jones picks him up in his limo and takes him straight past security and into Jones Manor. The officer 'goes to the bathroom', looks around the place, gets some evidence and gets out."

Richard nodded, with these bracelets it was foolproof. "I know the south-side beat, you're gotta be one hard son-of-a-bitch to handle those rich old buggers."

Russell and Carlos shared a glance.

Richard caught it and suddenly realised where Russell was heading. "What??? Oh no no no NO. I'm not doing it."

Russell looked at him. "Detective, you just said yourself, no-one knows Jones or the south-side better than you. Now, I'm not going to order you to do this, but we've got under a week to use these bracelets, get someone undercover and get enough evidence on Jones to shut him down."

Richard had a sinking feeling that the Sarge was right. "Alright, I'll do it. But we do it my way or not at all. I'll go undercover, but I'm not doing any faggy shit."

"Excellent!" Carlos clapped him on the back, "don't look so worried, Richie, no gay man in their right mind would find you attractive anyway!"

Richard punched Carlos on the shoulder, "I told you don't call me Richie. I fucking hate that name."


The Sarge had cleared the locker room and now the three men stood alone amongst the benches and lockers of the police station. Carlos was carrying the bracelet with the red dot and the transmitter.

"No one can know but us three," said the Sarge, taking the bracelet and handing it to Richard.

The other two nodded.

Taking a deep breath, Richard slipped the bracelet over his meaty hand and onto his hairy wrist. Without visibly changing size the bracelet suddenly seemed snug around his wrist. Richard gave it a tug, it refused to move. "That's so fucking weird."

Carlos could only nod, he was so excited. Perhaps a little too eagerly he handed the control device to the Sarge.

Russell turned on the device and spoke into it. "I want Richard to be 19 years old."

Richard had expected a bit more notice, and in surprise he turned his eyes towards the nearest mirror. But it had already happened. Staring back at him was a young man in an ill fitting police uniform.

"SHIT!" He said but then let out a yelp ... his voice had lost most of its bass and sounded nothing like his old manly voice.

"WOW! Look at that!" said Carlos.

Even the Sarge was surprised at the change.

"Look at me!" said Richard, taking a step closer to the mirror. He was inhibited by his pants and shoes which now clustered around his feet.

"Take off your shirt, let's have a look at you," commanded Carlos.

Without thinking, Richard slipped off his shirt. He was shorter, by maybe half a foot, but his muscle mass had remained the same, redistributing itself in denser, more shapely fashion. Instead of looking like he spent hours in the gym, it looked like he spent half-days in the gym. "Look at this!" said Richard, flexing his arms.

"Look at these, my pants are too long but fuck they're tight around the ass the thighs," he said, peeling them off.

Having their colleague standing there butt naked with nothing but a metal wristband and white socks on sent the Russell and Carlos into fits of laughter. "Hahah look at the punk with his pants down!" said Carlos.

Richard gave him the finger and walked over to his locker. "I'm ready to take on the real punk ... Jones."

The mood darkened considerably.

"I don't want you getting in too deep." said the Sarge.

"Don't worry, Sarge," said Richard. "I'll know when it's too deep."

Detective Carlos looked at his young friend and marvelled at the changes. He remembered earlier when the other bracelet had given him an extra 20 kilograms of muscle and how good it had felt.

Richard reached into his locker to put on new clothes. Even though he was still extremely built, his body had still lost some mass and height from the changes. While his shoulders were still very broad, his waist in particular had shrunk several sizes, giving him a strong v-shape he had never had in his less buff younger years. His large butt had undone any mild sagging it may have had and now seemed obscenely bubbled to him, each tight buttock protruding out in near perfect round spheres. "Where am I gonna find pants that fit these?" He asked himself, cheekily slapping his new ass.

But what surprised him the most was the lack of hair he had. He had always been moderately hairy, and he still was, but he had never realised how much extra body hair had crept up on him by his late thirties. Now he had the body of a 19 year-old, his ass was almost bare of hair, as was his back and shoulders. Instead of a thick rug on his stomach and chest, he was reduced to a healthy snail trail and a nice smattering of hair on each pec and across his chest. "At least my legs and arms are still manly," he said, looking down at his body.

His regular pants no longer fit, being too wide around the waist, too long in the legs, but tight in the seat and thighs, so he pulled on his gym shorts and pulled the draw string extra tight ... they just hung on there, and he had to pull them up every few minutes. "Better get some new clothes," he thought to himself.

He walked over to the mirror. Staring back was a younger version of himself, a hot younger version, true. He had the body building mass of a 40 year old packed onto the youthful frame of a twenty year old. His gym gear hung off him but that seemed to only accent the curve of his shoulders and ass.

"Wow ..." he breathed. "I can't believe this."

Carlos and the Sarge looked at Richard.

"We'd better do a practise run tonight though," said Carlos.

The sarge nodded. "Yeah."

"What do you mean?" said Richard. "I'm ready to go."

"How much do you know about gay prostitution?" asked Carlos, raising an eyebrow.

Richard blushed. "They stand on a street corner at one of the beats, wait for a driver to come along and then go home with them. And that's all I'm going to do. Get inside his house, say I need to use the bathroom then go search for his files. I don't need to know any more about ... uh ... that other stuff."

Carlos shook his head. "Maybe you're right, but maybe there's some secret sign guys have to give ..."

"What do you think we should do?" asked Russell.

"We know Jones frequents the beat on the south side. I say tonight we send Richard to the north side beat. It's smaller but Jones won't be there, the other boys will be different so if he fucks up the ones on the south side won't be suspicious."

Russell nodded. "Yeah, it's a good plan."

"Wait, you want me to go a completely different beat ... one that Jones won't even show up at?" asked Richard, incredulously.

"Think about it, think about it for a second," said Carlos. "You've never done this before. We only know about it from the cop side. There's probably all sorts of rules and secret signs that gay guys give each other, especially gay prostitutes. Think of tonight as a trial run. We only got one shot on the south side, better not blow it." Carlos put a hand on his now young friend's muscled shoulder, "Slow and steady wins the race."

Richard could see it made sense, but he still felt uneasy. The less time he was undercover as a street walker the happier he knew he would be. "Alright. But I'm telling you guys it's not needed. There's nothing special to it, you just stand on a street corner and wait for a car to pull up."

"Then there's nothing to worry about," said Russell. "Oh, and Carlos, I want you on surveillance, somewhere, somehow."

Carlos grinned at Richard and tousled his hair. "Looks like you and I have a date at a beat."


"Shit it's freezing," said Richard as he walked towards the beat. He yawned. It was already very late.

"I heard that," said Carlos into a microphone as Richard's voice was transmitted to his headphones. He was sitting on the fifth story of a large empty office building with a clear night view of the street below. A half dozen young men were hanging around, waiting for clients. Carlos watched as the well built 19 year-old figure of Richard joined them.

Richard was cold for one reason. He was wearing a tight white t-shirt and jeans. He had thought it was perfect "slut" clothing, showing off his broad chest and tight ass. But he noticed all the other men were dressed much warmer. A couple had leather jackets. Most were wearing two or three layers in the cool early autumn air.

He walked up to were two guys were sharing a cigarette.

"hey," he said, trying to sound cool. He was amazed at how youthful his voice sounded! It was so weird to be 19 again.

The two boys looked at him suspiciously. They were both slender waifs, gaunt and pale. Both had the haunted look about the eyes of too many drugs and not enough sleep.

A car swung slowly into the street and began to cruise past the wall. The men all stepped forward, including Richard at the end of the line.

"I'm totally going to win this one," he thought to himself. "I'm way hotter than those other sluts here." He stifled a yawn.

The lights from the car highlighted each boy in turn. When it came to Richard he looked confidently into the light. Silently, the car slid past and kept going. Soon it was out of sight.

"That's was weird," said Richard.

The boy nearest him looked at him.

"I'm new at this, do they do that often?" asked Richard.

The sullen boy glared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Do they just drive past like that?"

"They do sometimes ... especially when they smell pork."

The hair on the back of Richard's neck rose up. "What do you mean?"

Now two other boys joined the first. "It's pretty obvious." said one.

"We're not harming anyone," said one of the new ones, a Latino boy with a pockmarked face.

"Look, as I said, I'm new ... it's not my fault ..."

"We don't want police here," said the other.

"I'm ... I'm not the police," said Richard.

The boys laughed.

"I'm not!" said Richard. "Look at me, I'm only 19."

"Yeah, maybe," said one. "Maybe not."

"You're kidding, I hate the fucking police."

The boys laughed again. Even Carlos grimaced at how insincere Richard sounded.

"Cops have young looking members. You may not be a cop, but you're no hooker."

Richard frowned, these guys had spotted him as a cop from the moment he had arrived. He decided to come clean. "Alright, alright, if I was a cop, and I'm not saying I am, how could you tell? What makes a guy like me stand out from guys like you?"

"It's all in the attitude, innit?" said the Latino one.

"Yeah," nodded the black-haired one. "You look and act like a cop. I mean, look at that body, it's way too muscled to be anything other than gym-trained career body."

"And they way you carry yourself, like you own the world. You haven't lived a day on the streets in your life."

Richard could hardly disagree, "I see."

"And I don't even think you're gay," said one of them.

Richard looked down at his body, "but I'm wearing a tight white t-shirt."

"Nah, you're lacking that hunger man. When you rocked up, we all looked at you and your hot body with hunger and you didn't even see us. No gay guy would ignore those stares. So, if you're not gay..."

"... and you've got a good body ..."

"... and the wrong attitude..."

"... and you're all wired up with equipment ..."

"... and you're at a gay beat late at night... you gotta be a cop," finished one boy triumphantly.

"Well, even if I'm not a cop, I need to go away and think about this," said Richard. "Thank's guys. You've been a big help. Man, I'm dead tired."

"You know, if you have any other questions, you can come and visit me any time," said a good-looking brunette, pushing his way forward.

"Maybe," said Richard, oblivious to the innuendo. The boys laughed at him again. He blushed and started walking away not sure what they found funny. He was heading back to the squad car located three blocks way. Into his mike he whispered, "well that was a fucking waste of time."

Carlos shut down his computer and began to pack it away. "Maybe not, my amigo, maybe not ..."


"So, what do you think we should do?" ask Sergeant Russell.

He and Carlos looked through the office glass wall at Richard. He was still in his jeans and t-shirt and looked like nothing but a young man hauled in by the police and made to sit outside the office. He certainly didn't look like a seasoned detective any more.

Even though he had the body of a 19 year-old, it was clear to the two men, indeed anyone that passed by, that there was something older about this man. His body was incredibly developed, as if he had been going to the gym for decades not years, and something about his bearing ... implied he was much older. Despite his appearance, if people were asked to guess his age they would all say mid-twenties, or even older.

"I jotted down a list of things," said Carlos, handing over the sheet to Russell.

The Sarge perused them quickly, raising an eyebrow before finally looking up at Carlos and saying, "that's a pretty big list. Radical too."

"Look," said Carlos quickly. "We've got to make this work. We've only got a few days. You said yourself the bracelet can change personality as well as physical form. We don't have time to train Richard ... but we can give him the attitude and body language he'll need to impress Jones."

The Sarge did not look convinced.

"One wrong move and we know Richard get's it. He has to be totally convincing or else he's compost. We owe it to him to give him the best damn cover we can."

"But some of this stuff ... a desire to try anal sex ... for example ... " Russell blushed even reading it.

"Do you think Jones cares about niceties? This is war, you've said so yourself a dozen times. We gotta be smarter, we gotta work faster than the crims. Yeah, I ain't proud. This list is hardcore. And I'm doing this to my own friend and partner. But this is what we need. I'm not sending him in without armour. If we don't give him everything on the list .... then I say abort."

"But I mean, where did you get this stuff from? Some of it;s pretty fruity ... I mean look at this ... 'has a natural ability to deep-throat'..."

Carlos thought quickly, "I read it in the police profile of Jones. When we were interviewing some of his escorts this were the faggy stuff they said he liked. We only got one shot at getting inside his trust, so I figure we give Richard the best tools for the job."

"I dunno. This is deep, this is going deeper than I thought we would go."

Carlos grabbed the Sarge by the shoulders. "You've been behind a desk too long. The cops on the street ... we gotta be hard. Richard can take it ... I mean ... Richard can do it. I know he can. We don't have time to convince him, but I know deep in my heart he would agree. That's why we gotta do it on the sly. He don't like needles but he'll take the jab. He won't like this, but he'll take it anyway."

"Call him in," said the Sarge.

Carlos went to the door. "Hey, Richard, come in here."

Richard walked in. "How did your debrief go? Ready for mine?"

"Uh, that won't be necessary, Richard. It went fairly well last night I hear?"

Richard nodded. "We didn't fool anyone but I got some great tips."

"Uh, right. Um, Carlos mentioned you got pretty tired last night."

Richard nodded again, "yeah."

"Well, then, I know it's only ten o'clock in the morning, but I want you to go home and try and get some sleep. Meet at the operational point tonight at eleven. We know Jones goes for a pickup at about midnight. We need you rested."

Richard could see it made sense, so shook the Sarge's hand. "See you tomorrow Sarge. See you tonight, Carlos."

Carlos bade him farewell and shut the door behind him as his old comrade left.

The Sarge thought about it one last time. He looked out the window at Richard, who didn't suspect a thing. "Alright, alright," he felt bad about it, but every week a new shipment of drugs came out of Jones' network and every week more people died. So what if one of his detectives flirted a little with some gay men, this was after all, a war. "Get me the transmitter."

Carlos went over to the safe and typed in the code the three of them shared. The safe swung open and Carlos grabbed the blue transmitter. He stared at the other bracelet for a second before shutting the safe.

Sergeant Russell looked at the list and switched it on.

"Proceed," said the computer's voice.

"Uh, I want to make some changes to Detective Hughes."

There was no response from the transmitter, so Russell continued.

"OK, here's what I want ... First ... I want him to be way less muscled. Keep him the same height but make him 65kg tops."

Carlos jumped in ... "uh, better make it happen without him realising it, we don't want him to freak out."

"Oh, yeah, I don't want Richard to notice his new body."


Richard was standing in the lift when he felt his pant begin to slip off his waist. He grabbed them and pulled them up. "Shit, that was close. Don't want my pants falling down at the office! First thing I'm gonna do today is buy some pants that fit!"

Russell spoke into the machine "Now I also want Richard's preferred sleep times to be 6am to 6pm."

Outside in the parking lot, Richard yawned heartily. "Mmph," he said, "where did that come from? It must've been the late night last night."

He sat in the driver's seat and yawned a second and third time. He rubbed his eyes. "Man, I'm so tired all of a sudden. Shit, I hope I'm alright to drive."

He rubbed his eyes again and gave his face a bit of a slap. He glanced in the mirror, his eyes were red with tiredness. "God, maybe a sleep is a good idea."

Back in the office, Russell read the next item off the list. "What's this one?" he asked Carlos.

"Oh, something one of the gay escorts said last night, that Richard walked like he owned the world. They knew he was fake because he was too confident."

"Well then, we want Richard to be less confident, any bravado he has is just a cocky act to cover up insecurities from growing up on the streets."

"Yeah, that should do it," nodded Carlos.

"Shit, I hope no-one saw that," swore Richard, as he drove through an orange light. "I mean, what the hell do I care?" he said, trying to look relaxed. "What are you looking at?" he said to the person in the car next to him.

"I wish that Richard acted by default like a 19 year-old," said Russell.

"Come on, come on," said Richard to the red light. He was getting really impatient to get going. He turned on the radio. It was some song he had never heard before, but he liked it. He turned it up loud and started rocking in his seat.

"I can't believe I'm going to do this to my best detective," said Russell, looking at the list.

"Trust us," said Carlos firmly.

"I wish Russell was gay, with a desire to try anal sex, and a natural ability to deep-throat."

As the light turned green, Richard glanced over at a group of construction workers standing on the side of the road. "Man, those guys are buff," he thought, subconsciously licking his lips.

"... and ..." prompted Carlos.

"... and I wish Russell had a penchant for older gay men like R. Jones." They hoped that if he had a natural affinity with the target, Richard would be more likely to get picked up.

"Don't forget the last thing ..." said Carlos.


Richard threw his keys on the kitchen table and went to the fridge. He grabbed some OJ and a glass and filled it up.

Stifling a yawn he drank it down. "Shit I'm tired today! Better get some sleep before tonight."

His thoughts quickly turned to the gay beat and patrols he had been to those areas. A flash of adrenalin coursed through him. "Man it's gonna be exciting," he said, hopping from one foot to another as he shed his clothes and walked into the bathroom for a shower.

He glanced in the mirror and frowned. He was never going to get used to seeing this body instead of his buff 45 year-old body. He flexed in the mirror. While he was still lithe and shapely, most of his muscle was gone. It looked like he worked out, but had never put on enough weight for it to matter. While he still had a six pack, he looked more like a drama queen than a gym king. "At least my cock is unchanged," he said, giving it a quick feel. If anything, his smaller frame made it look even more massive, especially when it was semi-hard like now. He turned to the shower, but stopped again, his eye having been caught by something in the mirror. "Man, my ass looks especially hot now," he said, cupping it with his hand and admiring it in the mirror. "Mmm, that feels good," he said fondling his ass. He yawned again, so strong he had to put a hand on the sink to steady himself.

He turned on the shower and got in. Running his hands over his body he marvelled at how different it was. Substantially less hair than his old body. Zero percent body fat. An ass that felt smooth to touch. "I can't get over how little hair there is back there," he said to himself. He placed both hands on his ass and gingerly pulled the cheeks apart. Feeling slightly guilty, he gently moved his fingers into his sensitive crack until they were resting on his rosebud. He thought of the guys he had seen the previous night at the gay beat, and strangely, the workmen on the building site on the drive home. He allowed one finger to lightly penetrate his ass. "Gay prostitutes have anal sex don't they?" he asked himself rhetorically, gently fingering himself. "I won't have to do that," he added. "But I wonder what it feels like?" he asked himself as the water beat down on his body and his finger slowly explored a small way into his rosebud. He had to admit this was feeling pretty

good, his dick was certainly responding, straining upwards. He felt a pang of curiosity, no way would he even have anal sex, he thought, but for a split second he did wonder what getting fucked up the ass by a man was like... He thought of the construction workers again ... their arms, their bodies, their rough faces ...

"Shit man! I gotta get some sleep, this is doing my head in!" he said, shaking himself free of his reverie, turning off the shower and wrapping himself in a towel.

He climbed into bed. He lay there hot and flustered, his mind on the feeling of his finger in his ass from a few minutes ago. His dick was hard but he could feel sleep rapidly coming on. "I should jerk off so I don't ... (yawn) ... so I don't ... do anything wrong tonight," he mumbled, placing a hand around his thick cock and beginning to stroke. "Not that I would do anything with another guy ... but I should jerk off just ... in ... case ..." but it was too late, Richard was already asleep. And it was not even midday.

To Be Continued...