December 15th- Five Times Starsky and I Banged Each Other and One Time We Didn’t by Daisy Morgan

Okay, let me begin by saying that, technically, not every time can be considered banging, as the term implies penetration of some kind. So unless you consider Starsky’s dick “penetrating” my mouth to be banging, it technically wasn’t. But saying “five times we sucked each other’s dicks” wouldn’t be accurate, either. You get the picture.

And just because I said five times, doesn’t mean those are the only occasions where we got naked with each other in the “before” times. Before Gunther, that is. It’s just that those are some of the ones I treasure the most.

In case you’re wondering what I’m getting at, I’m talking FWB. Meaning, Starsky and I had a “friends with benefits” thing going on for as long as I can remember.

Now you probably have some questions. Such as, if we were having sex with each other all along, why did we continue to date women? Why did Starsky talk about marrying them? And most importantly, why not just date each other exclusively?

Let me begin by answering the third question: We didn’t know we could. It’s not as if men could just date each other openly in those days, especially not cops. Hence, why we dated women and expected we’d someday marry one. Well, at least Starsky did. I’d already been there, done that.

So it never occurred to us that we could have a serious romantic relationship. But we’ve always enjoyed each other’s company and the fine view of each other’s asses in tight jeans, and we connected on an emotional level we could never achieve with anyone else.

Hence the FWB.

And while we loved each other, we didn’t know we were IN LOVE with each other. Ya know? I think we always have been, though, but it took Starsky almost being killed by Gunther’s goons to force us to reassess our priorities.

Before then, we operated on the assumption that we were supposed to date women and that one day, at least one of us (as I said above, most likely Starsky) would marry, settle down, and have a kid or two. But we had always anticipated continuing our FWB even after that happened, which made finding women willing to get serious with us a little trickier.

But I just want to make myself clear that we never cheated on any of our long-term girlfriends. Any women we dated seriously knew about our arrangement and accepted it; if they didn’t, we broke it off with them gently, with no hard feelings. As for the women we dated casually or had one-night stands with — they didn’t need to know.

We also had an informal rule that whenever one of us was seriously dating a woman, that once we told her about our relationship, he and I would refrain from engaging in sexual activity in his bed, although his sofa and bathroom were fair game and were perfectly reasonable locations to engage in whatever type of sex we wanted to have, penetrative or otherwise, as were other, more spontaneous locations — such as, for example, the kitchen counter. That’s a purely hypothetical example, of course.

1)

Helen knew about us. Starsky told her after he’d been dating her for a couple months and realized they were getting serious. It was always a balancing act of finding just the right time to mention it. Too early in the relationship and the girl didn’t need to know; too late and the girl might feel she’d been lied to and deceived.

She took it in stride, though, and accepted that sometimes Starsky and I would want to be alone and fuck each other’s brains out. Those were the nights when she washed her hair or went out to dinner with her girlfriends. And it was never a question that Starsky wouldn’t be able to perform when he was with her, or with anyone he was dating, because Starsky has an unlimited capacity for getting a hard-on and keeping it, any time of the day or night. So he and I could bang each other on a Tuesday and he’d be good to go with Helen on Wednesday.

But I don’t want you to think we were a couple of rabbits constantly humping each other every chance we got, or that the sex had no meaning other than physical. I mean, yeah, we both have healthy libidos, always have, but we weren’t sex-starved.

And it wasn’t just about the sex, either. We craved the physical closeness, the intimacy. Still do, of course. And even when we were alone in each other’s apartments, we didn’t always do the deed. Some days, we just cuddled up together on the sofa or held each other in bed, especially if one of us was feeling low or was recovering from an injury or serious illness.

The week Helen was murdered was one of those times. As I sat beside Starsky in the morgue hallway, I held his hand and tried to comfort him. He was really having a tough time coming to terms with her death, I think, because it was so violent and unexpected. I also suspect he blamed himself and their breakup for what happened to her. I tried to convince him that it wasn’t his fault and I think he understood that on some level. By his own admission, they fought all the time. It just wasn’t meant to be.

But Starsky has a way of loading his psyche up with guilt as heavy as a ton of bricks and it’s always been my job to help lighten the load and keep him from sinking under the weight of it, even if I had to dismantle it slowly, one brick at a time. So there were many days when I just sat next to him on the sofa at his place or mine and leaned my head against his while he stared out into space, lost in his own gloom.

But after about a week of him moping around the house, I decided the time had come for his mourning period to end. He was feeling really low and I was seriously concerned it would spiral into full-blown depression. You might not know this about Starsky, but he can become melancholy pretty easily, and I have to make sure it doesn’t overwhelm him.

So I called his mom and got the recipe for his favorite dinner, a pot roast with carrots and potatoes that she proudly called the “Paul Muni special.” I was sitting next to him on the sofa while the roast was doing its thing in the oven, and when I got up to check on it, I kissed his forehead, but he barely registered it.

I really needed to get him out of his funk, so I tried enticing him to watch the sunset with me, but his melancholic mood refused to break. The candles I brought to the table piqued his interest, but he mistakenly thought I was having a girl over later, because we didn’t usually get romantic like that with each other.

He seemed down about it — having to leave early to make way for my supposed date — although he tried not to show it. He just wasn’t picking up on any of my cues. The dummy truly didn’t know that I was seducing him. He was really off his game, because he should have realized that the last thing I’d ever have done was kick him out in favor of some random girl.

I triumphed in the end, though, because he finally understood when I looked him in the eye and sternly suggested he eat his vegetables. Oh, he understood, alright. “Eat your vegetables,” in case you didn’t know, roughly translates to “you better eat something healthy tonight, pal, because you’re gonna need all the strength you can get when I fuck your brains out later.”

And guess what? It worked. After our frenzied lovemaking session, he stopped being so glum all the time.

2)

Then there was that time we were both convinced we were gonna die a violent death by assassination, and Captain Dobey arranged for us to hide out in a cheap motel on the outskirts of town until it was time to draw out our would-be assassin, an ex-CIA agent named Alex Drew who had already killed two cops and was coming for us next. The cops were a pair of partners named Mac and Carl, whose deaths were sudden and violent and shook us both to our core, but when we discovered that Alex Drew had somehow managed to plant a bomb in the striped tomato while it was in the police garage, it was a real wakeup call.

We’re gonna die today, we thought to ourselves, almost resigned to our fate.

So, with our nerves shot, and us holed up at the motel with nothing to occupy our time, we needed to do something about our nervous energy. Starsky, especially, was jumpy and restless. And horny.

But instead of just asking me to suck him off, he decided to play coy while I was perusing the Bible. One minute, I’m burying my head in Ecclesiastes and the next minute I’m looking over at him sitting on the floor between the twin beds with his legs spread apart and his feet propped up like he was at a gynecologist appointment. Here — his body language beckoned — bury your head in this.

But he really got me going when Dobey walked in and Starsky STAYED IN THAT POSITION. And did I mention that his gun was lying on his stomach, pointing in my direction? How the hell Dobey didn’t catch that I’ll never know. He actually sat on the bed, discussing the case with us and periodically wiping his face with his handkerchief, without ever commenting on Starsky’s provocative pose. Starsky was seducing me in plain sight and Dobey was oblivious.

Or at least, I hope he was.

I don’t know which one of us was more grateful when our captain finally left us alone, but as soon as the door shut behind him, I put down the Bible, locked the door, and strode quickly over to my partner who was still in the same position on the floor. Then I hastily unzipped his jeans and took his cock in my mouth. There was no time for foreplay and even if there was, I don’t think either of us could have concentrated on it long enough. In fact, Starsky went from moaning and grunting, to shooting his wad down my throat in ecstatic ecstasy, in less than a minute.

Then I grabbed some tissues to clean off the jizz that had trickled down my chin, kissed him, and went into the bathroom to wash up. When I came out, Starsky was lying on top of the bed, contentedly blowing tissues in the air.

The next day, he told me that was one of the most mind-blowing BJs he’d ever had. “Musta been the heightened tension,” he said.

I said, “I think I’d rather trade for mind-numbingly boring blow jobs if it meant we weren’t under the threat of succumbing to a violent death at any moment.” He thought about it for a minute and then disagreed.

I’m pretty sure he was kidding, though.

3)

Sometimes we flirted with women in order to stir each other up. Flirting with girls upped the sexual tension between us, so by the time we got back to one of our places — sans girls — we were literally about to burst at the seams. The time I remember most fondly was when I was shot by a kid.

We’d stayed up all night at Metro doing paperwork and I was driving Starsky home the next morning. I was tired and cranky and since we’d just come off a double-shift working together, I needed some peace and quiet. But Starsky kept annoying the crap out of me by asking me irritating questions about colors and numbers, convinced he was some kind of ESP genius.

And then I was shot only a few minutes later. How’d that ESP work out for ya then, meathead?

The perp who shot me was a teenage girl. I saw she had a gun, but I froze — I just couldn’t bring myself to pull the trigger on a child. Heaven help me if she’d pointed that gun at Starsky, because I really don’t know what I would have done. Edit — yes, I do. I’d have shot her without thinking twice.

I was in shock when Starsky found me, but the ambulance came right away and he rode to the hospital with me. The last time I saw him was when they were taking me into the OR and I lied to him about the number I’d been thinking of in the car. Even with a bullet wound in my chest, I still needed to get in the last laugh. It’s one of those ways we turn each other on, although about to be taken in for surgery was probably neither the time nor the place.

I didn’t see him again until the next day, when I was doing much better than expected and we managed to have some fun flirting with each other while he visited me in the hospital. It was brief, though, as he had to run out after getting some info from Huggy, but he winked at me as he left. Starsky winking at me is always meant as a little coded signal that simultaneously says “I love you” and “I want to make love to you.”

When Dobey and I rescued him and Meredith the next day, he obviously knew I was feeling much better, despite my checking myself out of the hospital early, because he instantly started flirting with her right in front of me, calling her “partner” and purposely ignoring me. He knew that would get me going, and boy, he wasn’t wrong.

But he really amped it up the day after in Dobey’s office, when he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her as they said their goodbyes. By then, my dick was about to burst out of my pants and I practically begged him to let me leave the room while he flirted with her. He just kept looking at her, though, with such an intensity in his eyes that I knew I was gonna be in trouble.

When I finally peeled him away from Meredith, I had to hide the growing bulge in my pants as we walked through the crowded squad room. Then he drove us to his place, where he took me into the bathroom and carefully removed my arm sling, jacket and shirt, inspecting the wound to make sure it wasn’t infected, but he said he wanted me to see the doctor the next day, just in case. Then he gave me a clean t-shirt to wear and led me to his bed.

With a demeanor of utmost seriousness, he thanked me for saving him and Meredith and asked if I was okay. When I said I was, he kissed me and then carefully removed my shoes, pants, and underwear, leaving only my t-shirt, and instructed me to lie down so I could be comfortable. I was feeling a bit lightheaded, but by that point my boner would have been obvious to Stevie Wonder from fifty feet away, so we needed to do something about it sooner rather than later.

There’s something to be said about slowly getting sucked off by the man you love, whose life you just saved a few days after you almost bled to death. When you have all the time in the world to lie comfortably on the soft sheets with your eyes closed, with no cares or worries at that moment, it can best be described as heaven on earth.

Also, he owed me — big time.

When I was done, he got a towel and cleaned me off, then removed all of his clothes except for his t-shirt and underwear and climbed into bed next to me. Then he snuggled up against me, his arm gently wrapped around my waist, being careful not to disturb the area where the gunshot had blasted a new hole in me.

So in the end, getting shot for the first time had its upside.

4)

A deckwatch is a precision watch used on a ship’s deck for navigational purposes to avoid disturbing the ship’s chronometer, which was kept below deck. When I was a kid, I’d desperately wanted to be a seaman and eagerly joined the Sea Scouts on Lake Superior. So when I came out to California, I planned on getting a job working on a cruise ship or maybe I’d join the Merchant Marines, as Hector Salidas had done; but fortunately, fate had other ideas, one of which led me to the one true love of my life: David Michael Starsky.

What — did you think I was referring to being a cop?

And BTW, Starsky ended up being the one who loves watches.

I was in a foul mood the morning the body was found down by the canal, and it was made fouler when we found out that the murderer was wounded and hiding out in my neighborhood and it was our job to find him. Starsky and I had just finished working the night shift where we had investigated a particularly nasty rape case whose details I won’t go into, and all I wanted was to go home and get some sleep.

He had wanted to go with me, but I rebuffed him. But not because I wasn’t up for having sex, as that was the furthest thing from both our minds that morning. And normally I’d want more than anything for him to lie beside me and hold me protectively in his arms. But that day, I really just wanted to be left the hell alone.

Instead, I ended up going undercover as a paramedic to save the lives of my friends who were being held hostage by the Merchant-Marine-turned-Missing-Murderer. Laura and I had broken things off a few weeks earlier because there just weren’t any sparks between us, which generally happens when two people who are gay try to convince themselves otherwise, and she didn’t know about Starsky and me. Obviously, neither did Hannah. Not that it mattered.

I could tell that Starsky wasn’t happy about me going under, especially with the mood I was in, but he knew I was their only chance. As I pulled up my pants leg to fasten the leg holster, I felt him staring at me in this sort of melancholy way. And instantly I knew what he was thinking — that if something happened to me in that house, our last moments alone would have been spent arguing in his car instead of snuggled up together in my bed. So I flashed him a smile to let him know that was all behind us and that I loved him. Not that he didn’t already know.

It was a tense afternoon, but after we took out Hector, gave our report, and said goodbye to Laura and Hannah, Starsky drove us back to my place. We’d been awake for over 30 hours by then and we fell into my bed, exhausted and stripped down to our underwear. As we lay in each other’s arms, he pulled me close and rested his head against mine. The last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep was Starsky softly kissing the top of my head.

The next night, we visited Laura and Hannah to make sure they were okay. I half-heartedly flirted with Laura while Starsky played cards with Hannah, and when Laura went to serve the pie she’d made, it somehow ended up all over Starsky instead of on our plates.

And I couldn’t help myself — I had to have a taste of the pie that was on my partner’s face. I wanted to lick it off but I obviously couldn’t do that in front of Laura and Hannah, even if they had known about us, so I had to content myself with using my finger.

Afterwards, we went back to his place so he could clean up, or should I say, so I could help him get cleaned up. First, I stripped him down to his underwear and then I removed that, too. Then I stripped down myself and joined him in the shower where I made sure to lick meringue out of every nook and cranny on his body, slowly and deliberately, even in the places it had never touched.

Especially in those places.

Then he did the same to me and I shot white sticky stuff on his face and hair and had to clean him off again. We decided we should experiment more with food in the future, although we both agreed it would need to be something we’d want to eat, not just squirt on each other, so we quickly ruled out mustard and ketchup.

Foods that we decided to try included whipped cream, chocolate syrup, peanut butter and jelly, s’mores, and hot dogs, although the hot dogs themselves weren’t necessary — just the buns.

It’s a good thing Starsky’s always hungry, but I think I gained ten pounds by the end of that summer.

5)

Three words: Starsky’s. Red. Underwear.

We were sans girlfriends at the time and were looking forward to spending a relaxing weekend going fishing by day and trying out new sex positions by night. Actually, I was the only one looking forward to the fishing, but the time we went camping up at Pine Lake didn’t quite turn out as either of us expected, on account of the crazy Satanists across the lake who tried to kill us.

But we did get in some interesting activity that first night, so it was totally worth it.

I hadn’t noticed the flashes of red under Starsky’s clothing during the day, but when I started to undress him that evening as we sat on the sofa, I saw that the red fabric under his blue shirt was some type of long-sleeved clothing. As we kissed, I undid his belt and unzipped his pants, and out of the corner of my eye I saw that the red kept going. Intrigued, I stopped kissing him and concentrated on getting his pants off, tugging them down towards his ankles. And as his jeans went further towards the floor, the red fabric covering his legs did, too.

He was wearing full-body red long johns. “I bought them just for you,” he said, his eyes bright and eager. And did I mention how form-fitting they were, with six little white buttons going down the front, from the top of his well-defined chest all the way down to the large bulge in his crotch. Looking at them while we sat together on the sofa, I had an idea. I took his hand and led him to the wall by the bed, instructing him to stand up against it.

Then, instead of quickly unbuttoning the underwear to get at the meat inside, I decided to take my time and explore the ins and outs. I have large hands, but I discovered that they were just small enough to slide in between each of the openings from one button to the next.

I began at the top button, which started just below his i-Ching necklace. The second button was about three to four inches below. As he stood erect with his back against the wall, I slipped my hand in the opening between the two buttons while sliding my tongue between his lips.

I pressed my still fully-clothed body against his, and as my tongue explored his mouth, my hand caressed his chest, twining the little curls of dark hair between my fingers.

After a few minutes, I removed my hand from its enclave and ran it down the front of the underwear until it rested over his bulging cock, which swelled even more from the pressure of my hand over the fabric. Then I brought my hand back up and explored the next opening, in between the second and third buttons. That area was just below his pectoral muscles and was slightly indented. There was also a bit less hair there, which I’d never noticed before. It’s amazing what you can notice when you’re concentrating on just one small area at a time.

As I moved my hand under the soft red fabric, I pressed my lips to his and ground my pelvis against him as we both started to moan. We were both aching to be let free, but I was determined to explore his body with excruciating slowness.

When we had as much as we could take, I removed my hand from inside the long johns and grabbed his face with both hands, kissing him while running my fingers through his hair, which I dimly realized was much softer than the wiry hairs of his chest. Another thing I’d never noticed before.

Next, it was time for buttons three and four, an area which was about halfway between his chest and his crotch, near his stomach. But as I touched him there, I realized too late that it was his tickle zone, which resulted in much squirming and laughing on his part. Taking total advantage of the situation, I deliberately tickled him some more until he was doubled over and begging me to stop.

We both laughed until we realized that neither of us was hard anymore and then we laughed some more.

When we finally calmed down, I resumed with the next set of buttons, knowing it wouldn’t be difficult for us to resume our stiffies. These were buttons four and five, and the area was getting dangerously close to the groin where the pubic hair started. But as it was just above that area, it was mostly free of any kind of hair, and as I moved my hand around, feeling the smooth skin, I decided to kiss my way down his body, starting with his neck and down to each button. I lightly tugged at the buttons with my teeth and slid my tongue between them, making my way towards where my hand was still inserted between the opening in the fabric. Then, keeping my hand in place, I knelt down and moved my head lower and lower, kissing him over the groin area and the large bulge that had triumphantly returned.

Then it was time for the final slit, the one between buttons five and six. Staying in my kneeling position, I slipped my hand inside as he moaned some more. I had hit paydirt — my hand found his naked erect cock and began to fondle it. His cock pressed against the confines of his underwear, wanting to be free, but that could only happen if and when I wanted it to. Because — I forgot to mention — when I instructed him to stand up against the wall earlier, I took out a roll of masking tape that was in my duffel bag and taped his wrists to the wall so he couldn’t move his arms.

So now he was in the untenable position of needing to remove his cock from his underwear as its growing bulge ached to be free, but he was completely at my mercy. I flashed an evil grin at him.

“Why the hell did I listen to you and let you tape me up?” he asked, pleading for me to do something.

“Uh, uh, uh” — I admonished him — “be patient, my little red devil. You’ve heard the saying, ‘Trees that are slow to grow bear the best fruit’?”

He countered with, “Impatience is a virtue.”

All the buttons were still buttoned and I thought about undoing them slowly one by one, torturing him before I finally allowed his swollen cock to escape, but then I got another idea. It seems I was filled with brilliant ideas that night. If my hand could fit inside the opening between the buttons, then his cock could fit, too.

After stroking it underneath the long johns for a bit, I pulled it out through the opening and, taking pity on him, I took him in my mouth as he sighed with relief.

Resting on my knees, my arms raised as my hands explored his chest and groin over the underwear, I took him in as deep as I could while he moaned, writhing his body against the wall which was the only thing holding him up at that point. It didn’t take long for him to succumb to my erotic machinations and he forcefully came in bursts, spraying the back of my throat as he repeated, “Oh God, Hutch,” over and over until he was reduced to a quivering, whimpering mass.

His legs had gone all rubbery and I could tell he wanted to slump down to the floor, but he couldn’t because his wrists were still taped to the wall. I decided to show him mercy and so I stood up and pulled the tape off. As soon as I did so, he wrapped both arms around me gratefully and pulled me close, leaning on me for support.

“It’s your turn now,” he said to me, winded, “but I gotta lie down, babe.”

“I have an idea,” I said, winking. As he rested on the bed, still out of breath, I whistled as I strolled over to the chair where I’d deposited my sleeping bag earlier and brought it over to the bed. After forcing him to get up and stand beside the bed (while his eyes shot daggers at me), I unraveled the sleeping bag and spread it out on top. Then, while he was still standing, I quickly unbuttoned and removed the beloved red underwear, as it unfortunately wouldn’t allow me to do what I had planned next.

I instructed him to lie down on top of the sleeping bag (for which he was eternally grateful) while I retrieved the bottle of lube I’d packed, and then I removed my clothes and climbed into bed next to him, gently pushing him over onto his side. I kissed his shoulder and then lubricated my finger, inserting it into his rectum and spreading it around the opening, relaxing and widening it. Then I lubed up my cock and slowly inserted it as we both began to moan.

Now the tricky part — I had to turn my body so I could reach the end of the sleeping bag and zip it up around us, while remaining inside of him, but somehow I managed to do it. So now we were cocooned inside the zipped up bag, spooned together with my dick in his ass. Our movement was severely restricted by our limited space, but that wasn’t a problem, because Starsky was too exhausted to do much moving at all, and I was more than content to wrap my arms tightly around him while I rocked slowly back and forth.

“Jesus, Hutch, if I knew campin’ in the middle of nowhere was gonna be like this, I’d have insisted we go sooner.”

“But there’s no place to get a burger and Coke up here,” I reminded him, grunting, while gripping his shoulder as I thrust deeper inside him.

“Yeah, but this beats a hamburg and a Coke any day of the week,” he said, kissing my hand.

So after I’d finally gotten Starsky to enjoy camping, those damn Satanists had to go and ruin any chance we had of going again.

So…about that one time we didn’t bang each other.

Starsky had been dating Terry for a while and when he realized he was starting to fall for her, he told her about us. He was worried that she’d take it badly but she surprised us both when she said she had no problem with Starsky and me having sex with each other. She was a lot more open-minded than I’d given her credit for, and she and I became good friends.

Terry was shot in the head late one night while picking up milk and a newspaper at the convenience store near her house, and Starsky stayed up all night at the hospital waiting for news about whether she was gonna make it or not.

I spent most of the night interviewing witnesses, going through files in the darkened squad room and praying she’d still be alive when I got to the hospital the next morning.

I was driving the tomato because Starsky had ridden in the ambulance with Terry, and when I took him home, I suggested we go back to my place and get some sleep. We desperately needed shuteye after the night we’d had, and all I wanted to do was comfort my partner and lie beside him with my arms wrapped around him. Of course, it goes without saying that neither of us was in the mood for fucking that morning, not while Terry lay dying in the hospital.

But you know what they say about the best laid plans.

Because when we got to my place, we found Huggy there nursing a head wound, and so our alone time would have to wait. I love the Bear, but I was never more irritated to see Huggy in my life as I was at that moment.

Two weeks after Terry died, we sat on Starsky’s kitchen floor and cried together, and then we made love in his bed, the tears still drying on our cheeks. But I’ll save that story for another time.

At this point, you’re probably wondering where Starsky is and if he knows I’m telling you this. But don’t worry–he’s right here beside me in our bed, watching me with a bemused grin on his face as I write this in my diary. I can see him out of the corner of my eye, trying to guess what I’ve been so meticulously putting pen to paper about.

“Hey, Blondie,” he asks, leaning over to kiss my cheek and take a peek over my shoulder, “whatcha writin’ about?”

“You,” I answer truthfully. “It’s always you, partner.”