Brad jumped out of his police car and dashed toward the bushes. At full sprint he cut through the lightly worn path feeling the tall weeds and thin branches whipping across the back of his bare hands. Partially hidden further down the path was the suspect, Criss, his new juvenile delinquent stepson.

Brad and Criss developed an almost violent relationship from the minute Brad said I do, and Brad couldn’t figure out why. Criss was definitely bull-headed, but Brad gave him as much space as possible. In fact, Brad did his best to pretend that Criss wasn’t even there. Criss was a senior in high school and Brad counted the days until he could be either shipped to college or jail, whichever was easiest.

But the reason Brad chased his athletic son this time was more personal; something of his had gone missing. Brad was on the police department’s drug enforcement unit and it was well accepted that the first cops onto the scene were allowed to shave off the top of the drug bust. It was thought of as “The Quarterly Bonus”. But when Brad opened the compartment in the wall of his closet, one of his carefully package baggies of coke was missing. After some thought the cop knew it could only be Criss who took it.

Brad slowed a little when the green weeds got too tall and thick to see Criss ahead. He almost stopped when he spotted what looked like Criss’ shirt tossed on the ground.

“What the fuck?” he muttered.

He got back up to speed and next passed Criss’ shoes, one after the other. Brad looked down with curiosity. Where is Criss gonna get too without his shoes? He wondered.

Brad slowed to a stop when the next thing on the path was Criss’ long pants. Brad knew this area. There was nothing but open woods ahead. Where ever Criss was going, he was going to need pants, so something told Brad that Cris wasn’t going anywhere.

Brad picked up Criss’ pants and jogged a little further. What lay on the path near the clearing was Criss’ boxers. He stood over it and stared down. They were definitely Criss’ boxers. His boy had a habit of walking around the house in only his underwear and it was one of his pair.

Knowing that in the clearing was the lake and rock wall where kids liked to gather, Brad dropped the pants and slowed to a walk. Brad unclipped his gun and gripped the handle tightly ready to draw. Feeling his heart race with almost no more of the thick weeds to hide him, he withdrew his gun, steadied himself and exited the weeds.

Criss watched Brad as he emerged from the tall brush. Criss’ heart raced even more when he saw his stepdad with his gun drawn.

“Don’t shoot,” Criss exclaimed. “I don’t have anything. See, I’m not hiding anything.”

Brad turned to Criss who stood at the edge of the lake. Criss was standing with his legs spread and his arms stretched high into the air. As Brad had suspected, his new son was completely naked.

“I’m not hiding anything, see?”

Brad turned from his boy examining the remainder for the area for any of his delinquent friends. But when the scan turned up empty, he returned his attention to Criss. Stepping closer he examined his son’s 18-year-old body. Brad had seen Criss’ lean muscled chest many times before. It was beautiful looking with soft bumps for pectoral muscles and a gentle rippling to his abs. It was all lightly tanned and there was not a hair on it anywhere. Brad had always liked looking at it, which is why he did his best to pretend that Criss didn’t exist.

What was new for Brad however, was what was further down. Criss, to Brad’s surprise, trimmed his pubes to almost nothing. And the cock that hung between his legs was thick for an 18-year-old boy. Brad had conducted many of the strip searches on the boys arrested on drug charges and checking out the young men’s meat was the best part of his week. Criss’ cock, in length and thickness, topped them all.

Brad looked further down and found Criss’ shaved, thick legs and wonderfully wide feet. Brad loved Criss’ feet because he always suspected they hinted to the size of his cock. Now looking at his boy’s cock and feet together, he knew he was right.

“I don’t have anything,” Criss said again.

“How do you know I was looking for something?” Brad asked still approaching with his gun drawn.

“I don’t know, because you were chasing me. I knew you were gonna blame me for something.”

Brad looked into Criss’ soft hazel eyes. They seemed to scream innocents. That was one thing that Brad never understood about Criss. When Brad watched him interact with others, he seemed almost considerate. But the minute he got around Brad he would say something that almost forced him to hit Criss. He would try to ignore him and Criss would practically come looking for him. And only after Brad would throw him against the wall a few times would Criss back away.

“Put your hands on your head,” Brad commanded.