Frat House Troopers

This story involves acts of both sex and romance between consenting adult males, so if that's not allowed where you live then you should march in the streets. I'm releasing this story under Creative Commons by-sa-nc license, which means you can do pretty much whatever you want with it, as long as you give me credit and don't use it for commercial purposes of any kind. If you enjoy the story, I'd love to hear from you. Thanks for reading.



* 1 *

"You want me to what, now?" he asked, convinced he had heard incorrectly.

"You are to infiltrate, gather information, and convey the results to the Attorney General's office. I don't see what's so difficult to grasp. We do this all the time."

"I didn't expect when I joined the State Police that I would be asked to--"

"To what? Do your job? We serve as the investigative force for the AG's office. Sometimes that involves going undercover. That's all I'm asking you to do."

The trooper was silent for a moment.

"This isn't like pretending to be a drag racer to stop sideshows or something. What you're asking me to do is--"

"I'm asking you to take on this assignment, which was handed to me by the AG himself. You are the only one who can do this."

Officer Brandt looked up, met the Chief's eyes.

"Why? Why am I the only one?"

The Chief sighed, and sat on the front edge of his desk.

"I would think that's pretty obvious," he said, in a more conciliatory tone than he had used before.

"No, it's not obvious to me. I wish you would explain."

The Chief looked at the ceiling, clearly wishing that something would fall from the heavens and smite him so that he could avoid having this conversation.

"Look. You're the youngest guy on the force. You sped through college, and the academy, and you're on the force at 24. That means you are the closest in age to the targets of the investigation."

"But, sir, you said that the men who work there aren't the target. You said that the AG is going after the person who owns the place, and whoever is funding him."

The Chief's eyes rolled--again--as he drew a deep breath.

"What I meant was that you are the closest in age and appearance to the ones who work in the house. If we're going to get good intel on what's going on in there, we need someone working there. And the only way we get that is to send someone who looks like he could work there. And that's you."

Officer Brandt was stunned.

"Wait, this is about how I look?"

"Undercover work requires a physically appropriate operative. This is basic, Brandt! I wouldn't send Ramirez to infiltrate an Asian gang, would I? You look like the men who work there, that's all. You remember when they nailed that Senator, the one from, what, Iowa?"

"Do you mean Larry Craig, from Idaho?"

"Right, that one. Now, when they wanted to stop men's rooms from turning into pick-up joints, they didn't send some fat slob in there, right? They sent someone who could get the right kind of attention."

Brandt was silent. His role in this investigation had not been clear to him when he entered the Chief's office; unfortunately, clarity made things worse. He had drawn this assignment because someone--the Chief? he shuddered inside--thought he looked the part.

The Chief continued, hoping to bring this conversation to a close before more awkward words were spoken.

"One of the AG's close friends and campaign donors is a contractor who works in the area where the house is located. His guys got a call to help with a renovation at the house, and they told him some of the stuff going on there. What we want you to do is pose as a carpenter, and see if you can't get them interested in hiring you."

"And how do I do that?"

"You look the part, you act interested, and you say yes to whatever they propose you do. It's that simple."

Brandt sighed. It was anything but simple.

"You'll keep working with Donnelly on this--report progress to him, and he'll get you whatever you need to make it work on the inside."

Brandt closed his eyes, sighed. Donnelly was his partner, and having him involved in this investigation would normally have been a good thing. But what he was being asked to do--he would rather Donnelly not know about it at all.

"You're the finest we have, Brandt. Now go make us proud."

"Yes, sir," Brandt managed to utter, as he stood and backed out of the Chief's office.

* 2 *

"So, what does that involve, exactly?" Donnelly asked, lifting his second beer to his lips.

"How the fuck should I know? It's not like I've ever looked at one of these things." Brandt drained his second beer, started looking for the third. The tavern was quiet, as one would expect on a Tuesday evening. Brandt and Donnelly had their entire half of the bar to themselves.

"Well, all they told me was that I'd be coordinating your support while you're on the inside, and I get the concept of that, but I don't really know what it's going to involve. I was kinda hoping you had more info."

Brandt scoffed.

"Nope, they haven't given me much except a passcode to use so that we can get on the site and take a look--see what it's all about. I'd rather have a root canal than punch up that website, I can tell you." His third beer arrived, much to his relief.

"Well, ya gotta look sometime. It's Tuesday, and Thursday is your ... insertion." Donnelly failed to control his giggling at this word, and Brandt's boot in his shin let him know he should have tried harder.

"Okay, funny guy, finish your beer and we'll go look. You and me. And no hiding your eyes at the gory parts, like you always do with those stupid Saw movies."

Donnelly wasn't laughing anymore.

Back at his apartment, Brandt poured two large shots of Jaeger from the freezer and handed one to Donnelly, who was seated in front of the computer. Brandt sat next to him and took a big draw off the Jaeger, then began typing the web address into his browser. The screen filled with a banner announcing "Str8 Frat Dudes!"

Brandt took a deep breath as a photo collage of muscular young men in various states of undress filled in behind the banner. Donnelly looked at Brandt, his face queasy. They tipped their glasses up and swallowed the last of the burning liquid.

"Well, you gonna click Enter?" Donnelly finally asked.

"You do it," Brandt replied. "I don't think I can handle what I've seen already."

Donnelly took control of the mouse and clicked the button.

"Okay, it says to enter your ID and passcode."

Brandt handed over the slip of paper the Chief had handed him earlier in the day. Donnelly typed.

"Okay, we're in." He looked at Brandt. "So to speak."

Both men stared at the screen, gaping. Where the photography on the opening screen had left something to the imagination--if you were inclined to imagine what a football player might look like should his tight pants come unlaced, for example, or what would happen if an impossibly beautiful young man should pull the shorts off of another impossibly beautiful young man during horseplay on the beach--now there was no imagination required. The goods were on display, in all their glory.

"Holy fucking shit, man," whispered Donnelly, trying to find a safe place to look. There wasn't one.

"My life is over," mumbled Brandt. "How am I supposed to do this? Going undercover there means doing, well--that." He pointed at the screen, at all of the naked flesh there displayed, at all of the smiling faces of men who clearly enjoyed displaying it.

"At least you can see now why the Chief chose you for the job," Donnelly offered, as if this were good news.

Brandt turned on his friend and partner.

"What the fuck does that mean?" he spat.

"Hey, chill! I just meant that of all the guys we work with, you," he pointed at Brandt, "Are the closest thing to that," he pointed at the screen.

"If you are telling me that I look like some male whore who sells himself on a fucking website, I'm going to offer you some free dental work, courtesy of the curb out front."

"That's not what I meant. It's just that you are pretty much their age--"

"I'm 24. That's two years younger than you, old man."

"Yeah, but you look younger. And look at these guys -- you are in as good shape as they are. Whoa -- except that one. Holy shit look at those abs!"

"Should I leave you alone so that you can beat it looking at all of the pretty boys?"

"Shut up. I'm just saying that you are a good fit for this cover. That's all. So, is this a standard prostitution sting? Go after the johns?"

"No. That's what's weird. They want me to get accounting records, of all things. They're going to try to shut them down on Revenue Code 164.32."

"Sorry, my Revenue is a bit rusty. Let's see, 164, that's consumer taxation, and the 30s are all about retail goods..."

"And services. Apparently the AG is going to charge them with not paying taxes on personal services rendered."

Donnelly frowned, trying to figure this angle.

"Why not just go for prostitution?" he mused. "Seems like that's an easier one to make stick."

"Because they aren't prostitutes--they perform in videos. The closest thing to prostitution is the live shows they do. But there's no touching or anything--the clients who pay to see the shows can be in other states or countries. It would be hard to make prostitution stick."

"So, if they hire you on, you're going to be doing ... what? What do they do on video that people will pay money to see?"

"Well, let's hit the Videos button and find out."

* 3 *

An hour later, the two troopers sat before the computer, slack-jawed. An empty bottle of Jaegermeister lay on its side on the floor.

"Oh. Fuck."

This was all Brandt could think of to say. What they had just seen, what he and Donnelly had just subjected themselves to, well, he had no words for.

"Why would anyone want to watch that?" he finally asked, slurring a bit. The bottle of Jaeger had been nearly full.

"Well, imagine if that young man--Trent, was it? Imagine if Trent, instead of being a football player who liked jacking off after a long, hot shower," Donnelly paused to shudder, "Were instead a cheerleader who liked massaging her breasts and playing with a vibrator after a long, hot shower. Would that change things for you?"

Brandt slugged Donnelly on the shoulder.

"Of course it would change things, dipshit! But that's a whole different deal. A hot chick doing that is a ... a work of art. A dude? Sick."

"To you, sure. But to someone who's into guys, well..."

Brandt squinted at his partner.

"Something you need to tell me, buddy?"

"Fuck off. I'm just saying that there are people in the world who like to look at guys they way we like to look at chicks. Different strokes, man."

"Heh. That Trent guy had some different strokes all right. That thing he did with his other hand--what the hell was that? How could that possibly feel good?"

Donnelly looked queasy again. "I have to say I wasn't watching that closely. After that long, slow, camera pan down his back to his ass I kind of had to look away. I don't need to be looking in super close-up at some guy's pucker."

"Great. Some partner you turned out to be."

"Sorry. I promise that when you're doing it I'll watch every second."

"The hell you will. I don't want anyone watching anything. What if my family finds out I'm doing this?"

"What, do you think your dad has a subscription to Str8 Frat Dudes?"

Brandt glowered at Donnelly. "My point is, this could fuck up my future life pretty bad. Once this shit gets out on the Internet, there's no getting it back. The Chief says that they would enjoin them from using any clips that I appear in once the charges are filed, but I don't see how that does any good."

Donnelly looked at his partner seriously. "This is what you signed on for, you know. Sometimes you gotta work ugly in order to do good."

Brandt laughed ironically. "Ugly I could do. This, I'm not so sure about."

"So, what's your back story?"

"I'm supposed to go in as a carpenter on the crew that's working on a bathroom project in the house. My story is that I'm working my way through college, but the pay I get as a carpenter isn't cutting it. I chat up the guys who work in the house, see if they will put a word in for me, or get me an audition or something. That's all there is."

"Okay, that's pretty straightforward. Let me know if there's anything you need."

"What I will need is a dignity transplant once this is over."

"Come on, it won't be that bad. Most guys jack off every day for free--you're going to get paid for doing it. How awesome is that?"

"Have I told you lately that your upbeat personality is the reason everyone hates you?"

"No, but thanks."

"You're welcome, asshole. Now get the hell out of here so I can contemplate my fate in peace. And come back tomorrow so you can help me get ready."

"Ooh, are we going to shave your chest?"

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you."

"Geez, so touchy!"

* 4 *

The next morning Donnelly returned, only slightly the worse for his Jaeger-induced hangover.

"So, what's first?" he asked. He had been thinking over breakfast this morning just how much his partner was sacrificing to take on this assignment, and he was determined to be helpful if he could.

"We're going in for a mission briefing. That's supposed to take most of the morning. Then we have to make me look like a carpenter."

The briefing was with an Assistant District Attorney and the Chief. Brandt had some questions.

"So, I need to know why we're doing this," he stated when the meeting began. Donnelly was a bit surprised by this direct approach, but Brandt already had the standing in the agency to pull it off.

The Chief cleared his throat, and exchanged a significant look with the ADA. The attorney took the hint.

"What the Attorney General is interested in is protecting the public from Internet-based obscenity."

"I thought I was assigned to gather information about tax evasion."

"Well, yes, but the bottom line is that these sleazy Internet operations are--"

Brandt turned to the Chief.

"Which is it? Is this tax or some kind of morals thing?"

"It's tax. What we've been told to deliver is information relating to Revenue 164.32."

Brandt turned back to the ADA.

"Are you intending to prosecute the men who work in the house?"

He was taken aback at the question.

"Who cares about them? If we're successful with the tax prosecution, they're all out of a job. And good riddance, right?"

"But they're not going to be charged with anything."

The ADA leaned in close across the table.

"I don't give a fuck what happens to them. You just get the house shut down and the little fags can scurry off into the dark. I don't care."

Donnelly stood and excused himself from the room.

Brandt turned back to the Chief.

"I need to know whether the men in the house are going to be charged. If they aren't, then I can get information from them without worrying about entrapment. If they are suspects, it complicates things to the point that I don't think this will work."

"Officer Brandt, I've told you. It's tax, and tax only." He glared at the ADA, harshly enough that the attorney sat back and was silent. Finally, he nodded.

"Good," Brandt said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to prepare."

Brandt found Donnelly back at the cubicle they shared.

"Well, that guy was sure an asshole," Donnelly said in greeting.

"Oh hell yeah. But I got everyone to agree that this is about tax and nothing else, and so we're good to go. Now, I guess I need something to wear. I'm supposed to look like a carpenter, but, well--you know ..."

"What?" Donnelly asked, clueless.

"You know, like, sexy or something."

Donnelly puzzled over this for a moment. "Have you ever met a carpenter? I don't think sexy is part of the job."

"Of course not, you doofus. But it needs to be for this to work. My mom got a birthday card once with a picture of a guy in a toolbelt on it. We need to do something like that."

"Why would they put a guy in a toolbelt on a birthday card?"

"Duh. That's all he was wearing. It was supposed to be some joke about hardware or whatever. You know, hard-ware?"

"So, we need to get you a toolbelt, and then you'll go in just wearing that? That seems kind of weird."

Brandt sighed and rubbed his brow.

"You are a fucking idiot, you know that?"

"Sorry. I'm just trying to get this."

"Yeah, me too. We have to do is go buy some clothes that will give the guys in the house the idea that I might want to work there."

"Got it. Let's roll."

* 5 *

Donnelly drove to a shopping district downtown where several clothing stores sat among cafes and antique shops. Brandt was confused.

"Hey, aren't we going to the mall or something? What are we doing downtown?"

"If you needed regular clothes for construction work, that'd be fine. But you need to get tarted up, so this is your spot."

Brandt looked at him skeptically.

"And how do you know where to find sexy carpenter clothes?"

"Did I ever tell you about my brother?" Donnelly asked as he parked the car in front of a combination laundromat and sushi bar.

"Just that he was in the Army, and he didn't come home from Afghanistan."

"Yeah. He was killed by a roadside bomb almost five years ago." Donnelly sighed, a breath of old sadness. "Anyway, this used to be his favorite place to shop."

Brandt looked around at the stores.

"Seriously? I can't see much here that an Army guy would want to shop for. I mean, antiques? And this bar here is called Parasols, and everyone's sipping fruity drinks with paper umbrellas in them. And that place," he pointed across the way to a bar called Harley's, "Everyone's wearing leather, but there are no motorcycles parked outside. And doesn't it seem strange to you that there are just about no women here, anywhere?"

Donnelly sighed, exasperated.

"Well, duh, Sherlock. This is the gay district. You didn't know that?"

Brandt stopped in his tracks.

"The what now?"

"The gay district. I thought everyone knew about Alta Avenue."

"But your brother--"

"Queer as a three dollar bill."

"But he was in the Army..."

"Yep, and died serving the country that wouldn't let him get married. Awesome, right?"

Brandt was quiet for a moment. "Well, when you put it that way, it kind of sucks."

"Yeah, it does. Now let's get you some sexy carpenter clothes."

They made their way to Camp & Dragg, specialists in "Clothes for the Working Man." Or, rather, men who like the look of the working man. They entered, and stood for a moment, stunned by the broad array of functional yet stylish denim, the plaid in many unconventional color combinations, the fabulous array of steel-toed boots. The table directly in front of them offered several styles of toolbelt, including one that could hold both a Fleshlight and a range of dildos.

"Uh, Donnelly, I don't think this is--"

"Ooooh! How can I service you two today?" called the salesman, as he dropped the bandannas he was folding and made his way swiftly to the troopers' side. He looked them up and down, quickly appraising. "What are we looking for, gents?"

Brandt blushed furiously and was silent. Donnelly would have to carry the conversation.

"My friend here," he pointed to Brandt, "Needs to something that says 'I am a carpenter.' But in a, you know, sexy way."

"Donnelly, shut--"

"Oh, for your friend," cooed the salesman, turning to Brandt. "I see. Come this way, and I shall reveal to you what you seek." He hurried away.

Donnelly socked Brandt on the arm, and hissed, "Be nice! He's helping us."

"Did you have to say the 'sexy' part? I don't want him to get the wrong idea."

Donnelly glared back. "You are trying to trick your way into a sex-cam job. What exactly would be the wrong idea about that?"