A Thing for Cops

by Roland Graeme

  Gideon dropped me off at my apartment building, and my first priority once I was alone was to do something to relieve the aching sexual tension that had built up in my loins during the past hour.

  What I liked to do in such minor emergencies was to get naked, grease my dick up with a generous handful of a really slippery silicone-based lubricant, and beat off while gaping at the photos of practically naked musclemen in a bodybuilding magazine.

  It was a poor substitute for real sex with a humpy, willing partner who shared my interests. But it was quick and efficient, and it sure as hell beat trying to fall asleep with aching nuts.

  After flipping quickly through the magazine to decide exactly which physique star was going to provide me with sexual satisfaction tonight, I stripped down, squirted a huge glob of the slick lube into my right palm, and wrapped my hand around my cock.

  I smeared the lubricant all over the head of my cock, then worked my fingers down around my thick, throbbing shaft, and even massaged some of the lube into my balls, matting the fine blond hairs that coated my swollen testicles.

  Then I grabbed the magazine in my left hand, sat back in a chair with my legs spread wide, and began to masturbate, my eyes glued to the well-filled posing trunks of an impossibly muscular, handsome, and darkly-tanned blond bodybuilder, who seemed to be leering at the camera like a gay porno star.

  The guy was obviously an exhibitionist, and I was an appreciative audience of one.

  But I hadn’t given my prick more than three or four strokes with my fist before I heard the doorbell chime.

  “Oh, fuck!” I exclaimed under my breath, as my masturbating fist slackened its pace, then reluctantly relinquished its grip on my erection altogether.

  I hid the tube of lubricant under the chair’s cushion, ran into the bedroom to grab a bathrobe and pull it on, and unlocked my apartment door. To my surprise and confusion, my unexpected visitor was none other than Gideon—standing in the doorway with a big grin on his dark face, and carrying a gym bag.

  “Am I interrupting anything?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” I lied. “I was just getting ready to watch some television before I hit the sack. Oh,” I added, as a definite afterthought, to explain my near-nudity and embellish my alibi. “I was going to take a shower first.”

  I wouldn’t have made a good career criminal. No sooner were the words out of my mouth than I remembered I’d just had a shower, at the gym. Gideon must’ve been thinking the same thing, because a slightly skeptical look came over his face.

  “I was almost home when I noticed that I had your gym bag with me in the car,” Gideon explained. “You must’ve grabbed mine by mistake when you got out of the car. It’s no big deal, but I do have some personal things in mine—”

  “Sure, Gideon. Come on in.” I let Gideon into the apartment, then went in search of the gym bag I’d set aside the moment I’d arrived home.

  Ordinarily, the first thing I would have done was pull out my dirty gym clothes and put them in my laundry basket. But tonight I’d been so horny that I hadn’t even bothered to open the bag, let alone empty it.

  Sure enough, I had Gideon’s—the black leather bags were similar enough to be easily mistaken for each other. Smiling at each other, we exchanged bags.

  Gideon immediately noticed the bodybuilding magazine lying open on the coffee table, and my clothes strewn all over the living room floor.

  “Are you sure I’m not interrupting anything?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This almost looks like you were having a party. A party of one, all by yourself,” he specified.

  I could feel my face getting warm from embarrassment. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You weren’t jerking off, were you, man?” he teased.

  I was used to my partner’s sexual kidding by now. “Maybe I was,” I replied evasively. “There’s really not that much on TV tonight—”

  “Fuck!” he exclaimed. “You really were beating your meat, weren’t you?”

  “The last I heard, it’s legal in this state. And it’s still the safest form of safe sex.”

  “Well, don’t let me stop you. I guess I’d better be going, and let you have your fun in privacy.”

  “You can stay if you want to, Gideon. Don’t feel that you have to rush off,” I blurted out. “I mean, you can always have a drink, or something. Whatever you’d like…”

  Gideon met and held my gaze for a moment.

  “So I can have anything I want, can I?” he asked.

  “Well—within reason.”

  “Why don’t you take that robe off and get comfortable again, for starters?” he suggested softly, in a gentle, insinuating tone of voice that I had never heard him use before.

  Recklessly, I shrugged off the bathrobe and let it fall to the floor at my feet, standing there in front of Gideon stark naked, with my huge hard-on jutting out from my groin—and still gleaming wet with its coating of lubricant.

  “Sweet Jesus,” was Gideon’s only comment, as he stared down at my blatantly displayed erection. “I knew you were hung, partner, but I didn’t know that dick of yours could get that hard! You’re hung really big for a white boy.”

  “I bet yours is bigger,” I gasped.

  Gideon grinned at me. “You think so? Let’s find out!”

  Quickly, Gideon took off all of his own clothes, so that we were both naked.

  His ebony cock filled his hand when he took it in his fist and began to stroke it with a practiced ease, soon coaxing his member into full, awesome erection, so that it resembled a thick length of some dark, smooth wood clasped in his hand.

  I too stroked myself, and the light pressure of my fingers on the shaft of my cock felt incredibly good. Staring at Gideon’s big black prick, I groaned, then I began to masturbate in front of the other man quite unashamedly, concentrating on soothing the burning, throbbing need in my genitals.

  My hand felt good around my hot, hard prick, and I beat off with increasing roughness, suddenly eager to make myself come.

  “Damn! Look at that big hard thing of yours. I think mine is maybe half an inch bigger, at the most,” Gideon said, modestly. “But it’s hard to tell with you whacking away at yours like that.”

  “I’ve just got to jack off. I can’t help myself,” I panted, pumping on my prick even more feverishly. “I was just about ready to shoot when you rang the bell, man. I’ve been thinking about you all goddamn night—your body, your cock—oh fuck, my whole crotch feels hot and sweaty, as though I’ve been beating off nonstop for hours…Jesus, I just have to come!”

  “Don’t hold it in on my account. Don’t let me stop you, buddy,” Gideon said, with raw excitement audible in his voice. “Go for it!”

  “You tell any of the other guys down at work about this, and I’ll kill you!” I threatened, between deep, shuddering intakes of breath.

  Gideon only chuckled.

  I got down on my knees on the floor. Then, as I went on masturbating, I stared up at Gideon, whose magnificently-muscled, charcoal-skinned body was already glistening with beads of sweat, long streaks of which dripped slowly down his torso and thighs.

  Gideon now had a full, massive hard-on himself, but he stopped playing with it and simply let it rest against the palm of his hand, as, fascinated, he watched me, his hot blond partner, masturbating so animalistic-like in front of him.

  “Help me, Gideon,” I pleaded, in a faint, hoarse voice. “Help me come, for Christ’s sake!”

  Gideon didn’t hesitate, but took a step closer to me. “How?” he demanded eagerly. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Pinch my goddamn tits for me! Hard!”

  Gideon squatted down, facing me, and, grinning, reached for the nipples that stuck out from my sweaty pecs. His thumbs and forefingers began to tease my stiff tits, twisting them and compressing their points.

  I groaned, and my cock spasmed wildly within my fist, almost ready to ejaculate.
r />   I squeezed my shaft with my fist so hard that the swollen, reddened head crowning its tip looked like a ripe tomato ready to burst. “I’m going to come on you if you stay there,” I warned. “I’m just about ready to shoot. Oh God, it’s probably going to make a big mess. I’m going to come all over you!”

  Gideon shrugged as he continued to pinch my tits. “I don’t mind. I’m all sweaty, anyway. Go ahead and shoot your load, Jim. Just let it all squirt out.”

  That did it! My prick swelled even larger inside my slippery fist, and it fired a thick white stream of semen directly onto Gideon’s pecs.

  I came, repeatedly, my whole body shuddering its way through my prolonged orgasm, my cock blasting wad after wad of jism onto Gideon’s dark torso—until the front of the other guard’s muscular body was dripping with a combination of sweat and jism.

  “Yeah, man,” was all that Gideon said, softly. “Oh, yeah!”

  Chapter Four

  Security Studs

  After my violent, self-induced orgasm, I collapsed on the carpet. My cock and balls still tingled with lustful agitation, but not as painfully as before.

  “Thanks, buddy,” I gasped. “I really needed you to help push me over the edge. God, it felt so good to come like that!”

  “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

  I looked up at Gideon, almost blushing as I met the other man’s intent gaze.

  “Don’t you…want to…come, too?” I asked him awkwardly.

  “You bet I do. But not in here. Why don’t you show me where your bedroom is? If we’re going to do it, we may as well get comfortable first.”

  I led Gideon into the bedroom, where he made himself at home, stretching out on his back on the mattress, cupping his hands together behind his head, and opening his sturdy legs wide. His dick pointed straight up at the ceiling, like a loaded cannon aimed at the sky.

  I joined him on the bed, moving more slowly, still recovering from my fierce climax in the living room. I got down on my knees between Gideon’s legs and reached out to touch his big dick, fascinated by its size and weight and blackness, by its obvious potency.

  Gideon closed his eyes. “Go ahead,” he whispered. “Go ahead and jerk me off, Jim. Don’t use any lubricant on it, just your bare hand. I like to feel a lot of friction on my cock when I come.”

  “Do you?” I whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  “I want to do it the way you like it.”

  I now had Gideon’s cock in both of my hands, caressing it from base to tip, allowing myself to become familiar with its size, shape, and responses.

  Gideon’s penis was unusual in its dimensions, especially when it was erect, which it certainly was at the moment. It swelled thicker in the middle than it was at either end, where it had a definite taper. His glans was like a knob carved out of ebony and set on top of the shaft, and one of his balls hung lower than the other, almost touching the mattress he was lying on.

  He groaned again, with undisguised pleasure, when I got a good grip on him, squeezing the base of his prick with one fist and using the other to pump up and down on the head and the upper half of the shaft.

  “That’s right, buddy. Jerk me,” Gideon repeated huskily, without opening his eyes. “Make me come. It’s a big fantasy I have, that I’m just lying there, with another guy working on my piece of meat, massaging the fucker until it shoots out all my hot cum.”

  I didn’t say anything, but concentrated on squeezing and stroking an orgasm out of the thick fuck tool that filled my fists.

  At first, Gideon barely seemed to respond to the steady pressure and friction I was exerting upon his cock.

  But then, as he lay there still motionless, his lips began to quiver and his breath quickened. His head rolled sluggishly from side to side. Then—suddenly—he raised both legs and used them to grip my hips, squeezing me between his strong thigh muscles with a firm, viselike pressure that got me even more excited.

  Gideon’s cock twitched restlessly within my roughly milking grasp.

  “Oh, hell,” Gideon choked, still not opening his eyes. Increasingly excited, I now saw his piss slit gape open and emit a clear drop of fuck fluid. “I’m leaking jizz,” he pointed out. “That’s how hot you’ve gotten me.”

  I wiped the sperm across the tip of Gideon’s prick with the ball of my thumb, and the young black stud shuddered against me, his legs gripping me even harder.

  “Oh, hell,” Gideon repeated, punctuating the outcry with a deep, raw gasp. “I’m going to come! Can’t hold it back, fucker. Just let it fly, man. Let it fly!”

  I pumped savagely up and down on Gideon’s prick with both hands, and I was instantly rewarded when the fat head of the cock visibly pulsed, then spat out its charge of semen in an awesome jet that rained thick drops of cum all over Gideon’s squirming, sweating torso.

  He came hard, grunting loudly with satisfaction, and for the first time since I had begun to give him the hand job, he touched me with his own hands, reaching up blindly to caress my knees and upper thighs with outstretched, trembling fingers.

  When he had stopped ejaculating, he pulled me down on top of him, and we kissed, with Gideon’s slick sperm mashed between our bodies like an erotic lubricant.

  Gideon got much more aggressive, pushing his tongue deep inside my open mouth and clutching my hair with both hands to keep our lips crushed together in breathless urgency.

  One thing quickly led to another, and before I knew it, I was on my hands and knees on the bed, with Gideon kneeling behind me, fucking my ass. Because he’d already shot off once, it took him a long time to come. He pounded my butt with his big, beautiful black cock, and I took everything he had to give me. I begged him to fuck me, and to keep it up for as long as he could.

  Just thinking about that first night we’d slept together, on this morning several months later, I came, my sperm erupting like thick hot lava all over my tautly muscled abdomen, dripping in wet rivulets down the creases of my threshing torso.

  Then, groaning with a combination of satisfaction—because of my orgasm—and frustration—because I couldn’t just go back to sleep, which was what I wanted to do—I finally hauled my ass out of bed and started getting ready for work.

  The only good thing about it, I told myself with a rueful smile, was that I’d be able to see Gideon—and suggest that we get together again soon. If possible, that night after work!

  Chapter Five

  The Right Man for the Job

  In due course, I took the police exam, passed it, and was accepted as a recruit. Gideon thought I was crazy when I quit my job with the security firm to enter the academy. My parents weren’t exactly thrilled, either. But they held up their end of the bargain we’d made. It didn’t take them long to come around and become quite proud of me. Before long they routinely described me as “our son, the police officer,” to anyone who would listen, and they’d whip out photos of me in uniform.

  There really is such a thing as the thin blue line. After all, cops are expected to watch out for one another. They also tend to socialize together. Police work is a subculture, with its own rules and rituals. And to be a gay police officer is to belong to a subculture within a subculture. But first and foremost, a cop is still a cop, no matter what he chooses to do in his private life.

  I have sometimes been accused of having slept with every other cop in town, but that simply isn’t true. I’ve confined myself to those of my fellow officers who were gay, bi, or “straight but curious.” Although there were times when I found it hard to believe, there are such things as totally straight cops, who have no sexual interest in other men whatsoever.

  Still, I have to admit that, when I first joined the force, I played the field. I was so excited by the discovery that there were other cops who shared my proclivities that I didn’t hesitate to trick with as many of them as possible.

  One of my more memorable such experiences took place with two veteran officers who were partners. They were both considerably older than I
was, and they were the kind of tough, seasoned cops whom we rookies looked up to and strove to emulate.

  When you’re a rookie, fresh from the academy and reporting to your first assignment, you might as well have a big target embroidered on the front and back of your uniform. You’re the butt of every joke, and the older cops treat you with a combination of condescension, contempt, and pity.

  Howard Petrie and his partner Manuel Blanco were no exceptions.

  When I first met them at the precinct, they joined wholeheartedly in the general harassment of me, the new kid on the block. This was standard operating procedure. I was new to the job and still awfully naïve, but I was smart enough to realize that the bullying was an initiation ritual and a test. I had to show that I could take it. And so I didn’t take it personally. But it was a struggle for me to keep my cool, at times.

  One of those times was my first day on duty. Talk about a trial by fire!

  I was assigned to Precinct Two, which covered part of the city’s downtown area but spilled over into a combined residential and commercial neighborhood. As things turned out, this was in fact a good assignment for a rookie. It was preferable to doing the same deceptively comfortable routine, over and over again, with few surprises. The diversity of Precinct Two’s beat gave me the chance to observe and interact with a variety of civilians. I was exposed to many of the different situations which, I soon learned, were characteristic of the job.

  Prior to reporting that first day, I’d already gone to the precinct for an orientation. I met the captain, who was cordial and who gave me a personal tour of the building, introducing me to some of the other officers.

  I was assigned a locker. Virtually all of the cops kept at least one change of clothes in their lockers. Many of them reported to work in their civvies, and changed into their uniforms there in the locker room. They changed out of them, too, before heading home at the end of their shifts. I fell into this habit, too, depending upon what my off-duty schedule happened to be. Sometimes it was easier to wear my uniform to and from work.