A Thing for Cops

by Roland Graeme

  Meanwhile, at home, I was intrigued—and, at first, baffled—by my new back yard. Here, in the midst of some old fruit trees, the previous owners had built a small but extremely hi-tech greenhouse. It was essentially a large freestanding glass box with a pitched roof.

  The greenhouse had its own heating system, and a storage shed next to it. The plants had all been removed, and I simply didn’t know what to do with the greenhouse.

  Unlike my predecessors, I didn’t grow orchids and other exotic plants as a hobby. In fact, I didn’t particularly care for plants of any kind. If some guys had a green thumb, then mine must be black, since any form of vegetation entrusted to me was usually doomed to wither and die within a few days.

  Well, I could decide what to do with the greenhouse later. Right now, I wanted to get settled in.

  As soon as the interior of the house was reasonably presentable, I threw a housewarming party of sorts. It started out on an extremely modest scale. There were only two participants—me, the host, and one invited guest, my old buddy Ken Sanderson.

  Although the two of us had remained in touch, we’d been preoccupied with our respective careers lately. To put it bluntly, we were overdue to get together for a fuck.

  So I phoned Ken and suggested that we have dinner together—and then that he come check out my new place, and spend the night. I took him to my new neighborhood hangout for dinner. We pretty well had the place to ourselves. It was a Friday night, but it was still the early part of the dinner hour, and there were only a few drinkers standing or seated at the bar.

  Ken had recently been promoted. He’d made detective, so that too gave us a reason to celebrate.

  We were both unattached at the moment, and weekends tended to be lonely, even in the heart of the big city. I always enjoyed Ken’s company, in or out of bed. As I’d hoped, he entertained me during our meal with a constant stream of trashy chatter.

  “So when are you and Ducati going to go pick out rings and set the date?” he asked.

  “Don’t make me laugh. Me and Ducati? We just have a cop thing for each other. It’s just a fling. For one thing, I’m not a one-man kind of guy. You of all people ought to know that. And furthermore, a stud with a roving eye like Ducati is about the last dude I’d let myself get too serious about.”

  “So what you’re telling me is you’re still open to other possibilities?” Ken asked.

  I leered at him. “I’m wide open. I hope you’re ready to fill the gap.”

  “Let me eat first. It sounds like I’m going to need to build up my strength. Anyway, since you and that stud partner of yours aren’t an exclusive item, you should have been downtown this afternoon,” he told me salaciously, as we attacked our salads.

  “Why?”

  “There were all these men in uniform wandering around all over the place! Soldiers, sailors, Marines! They’re in town for the dedication of some sort of monument or something—I read about it in the paper this morning.”

  “It’s that new war memorial they built in the park downtown,” I informed Ken. “There’s going to be a big parade Sunday morning, before the actual dedication. It ought to draw a big crowd. Thank God I haven’t been assigned to crowd control duty for the day.”

  “Whatever,” he retorted flippantly. “Anyway, they’ve brought these guys in from all over the state—from all over the country, too, from the looks of it—and they were all running around downtown today sightseeing, taking photos, that sort of typical tourist shit. And,” Ken added with a snicker, “the local hookers were out in full force, trying to pick up these studs—and succeeding, judging by what I observed.”

  “Didn’t it occur to you to make any busts?”

  “What do I look like—Vice? It wasn’t my beat, pal. And even if it was, I wouldn’t bust a soldier just for getting laid. They’re serving our country. They deserve a little service, themselves.”

  I returned Ken’s smirk. “I agree. But they shouldn’t have to pay for it. They should be getting it for free. Are you telling me the local gays are falling down on the job? Weren’t they out in full force, too, trying to pick up their share of the action?”

  “Hell, that goes without saying. Oh, God, here come some of them now! Four of them, no less!”

  “Four gay men?”

  “No, four soldiers! And gorgeous, every damn one of them.”

  “Calm down, Ken.”

  We watched the quartet of soldiers as they ordered beer at the bar. Then, carrying their mugs, they wandered over in our direction to grab a table. In their immaculately pressed uniform trousers, spit-polished shoes, olive-drab shirts, and ties, and with their short haircuts, they all looked impossibly young to me.

  Aside from their youth and their identical attire, they were an intriguingly varied group.

  One was a dark, beefy number, obviously Italian-American or Hispanic. Beside him was a slender, thoughtful-looking boy with wire-rimmed eyeglasses. Seated opposite them, the other pair consisted of a stunningly handsome blond stud and a firm-bodied youth with a bland face, a dark tan, and light brown hair and mustache.

  Ken, of course, immediately developed a bad case of the hots for the blond enlisted man. Personally, I could admire him as a beautiful object without being particularly fascinated by him. For some reason, I was more attracted to the blond’s brown-haired drinking buddy.

  He wasn’t saying much, although he smiled readily in response to his companions’ repartee. There was an air of seriousness and self-assurance about him that was inexplicably sensual. I could imagine what the blond Adonis would be like in bed. Exciting, no doubt, but also in all probability he’d make it clear to you that he was doing you a favor.

  I could also imagine what the mustached kid might be like as a sex partner. Sitting there, looking relaxed, he was obviously comfortable with his own body. In my experience, men like that were usually good in bed. I suspected this guy was no exception. Whether he was in bed with a man or a woman, he’d be tender and thorough, taking his time, making sure that both parties involved ended up completely satisfied.

  Damn it, I could feel my prick hardening just from my thinking about it. But the guy was presumably straight—what a waste of natural talent.

  Ken and I observed the four soldiers furtively while they ordered another round of beers, along with some food, and ate and drank with youthful relish.

  At one point the guy I was lusting after happened to glance up and caught my eye. His tanned cheeks and forehead flushed just a bit darker in reaction as he smiled shyly at me. I nodded—casually enough to be inoffensive, I hoped—and turned my attention back to my own meal.

  We lingered until the soldiers paid their check and left. Ken was sure that they were going out on the town, and would all get laid at least once before the night was over. Maybe all four of them would take turns banging the same chick, in an orgy with distinctly homoerotic overtones. Ken’s lewd speculations had me laughing as we walked back to my house.

  In my new living room, we sat and talked for a while, and then we retired to my bedroom.

  But not to sleep! Not just yet, anyway.

  When I’d invited Ken to have dinner and spend the night with me, I’d suggested that we could go out for a movie “or something” in between these two activities. Maybe we could make the rounds of the local gay bars, to see if any of our mutual acquaintances were there. We’d left our plans for the evening open. But, the moment we got back from our walk, we both knew that what we really wanted to do was stay in and fuck

  Ken and I had never been coy with each other, and when I put my hand on his butt and groped his ass cheek through his tight faded jeans, then kissed him on the mouth, he immediately recognized my move as an invitation to play around. Without needing to say anything, we went upstairs to my bedroom and got undressed.

  Standing naked beside the bed, our feet buried in the soft pile of the wall-to-wall carpeting, we fooled around a little, embracing and kissing, our hands roaming restlessly up and down over each
other’s warm, aroused bodies.

  I especially enjoyed kissing Ken now because he had recently grown a neatly trimmed, silken-textured beard. This was one of the perks permitted by his new status as a detective. And I always enjoyed taking his cock in my hand and coaxing it into erection because he was hung so big. I finally got down on my knees and licked his swollen penis from base to tip, then tickled his balls with my extended tongue.

  His testicles were coated with the same soft hair that was on his face and scalp. When both heavy, semen-laden nuts were matted and gleaming from my saliva, I opened my mouth wide and sucked both balls inside.

  As I drew on them gently with my lips, making Ken tense up and moan above me, I took his dick in my fingers again and stroked it delicately, keeping him excited, but being careful not to get him so aroused that he’d be in any danger of ejaculating prematurely.

  My own erection was like a flagpole jutting outward from my groin. After a few intense minutes of ball-sucking and prick-fondling, Ken put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me away from his crotch.

  Breathing hard, he turned toward the bed, grabbed one of the pillows, and deposited it on the edge of the mattress. He stood by the bed, bending his knees slightly, and then leaned over until his head, upper torso, and arms rested on the mattress.

  His cock and balls were cushioned by the pillow, and his big, hairy ass—the buttocks hard-muscled and round—stuck up in the air, a mute invitation to my lust.

  “Hurry,” he gasped. “I’m really hot for it tonight!”

  “Are you, buddy?” I responded. “Well, so am I!”

  I didn’t hesitate, or waste any time. Ken loved to get fucked, and this was his favorite position. We’d done it so often over the past few years that the mattress, which I’d brought with me to the new place, actually sagged a little on that side.

  I took a condom out of the nightstand drawer and put it on, sheathing my phallic sword in the thin translucent latex, then squirted some lubricant onto my fingertips and massaged it over my rubberized dick. I deposited a second blob of the lube right between Ken’s ass cheeks, pressing the jelly through his sphincter muscle, and he quivered with anticipation as I finger-fucked him gently.

  Then, standing behind him, I guided my prick to the target and pushed it home, inserting it carefully, inch by inch, up my buddy’s wantonly suctioning asshole. He took me easily, already moaning with delight, and I placed my hands on his hips to steady him under me as I made my first fucking thrust deep into his guts.

  “Fuck me, fuck me! Oh, God, I wish that blond stud we saw in the restaurant was here—naked—screwing me!”

  “Thanks a lot!” It felt strange to be laughing and humping at the same time.

  “Oh, you know what I mean. I don’t mean I wish he was here instead of you. I wish he was here in addition to you, so we could be having a hot threesome with him.”

  “I know.” I was doing some militaristic fantasizing of my own, as a matter of fact. “Oh, I know!”

  “I can just see him now. Fucking me on a bunk in the barracks, with just our boots and our dog tags on,” Ken rhapsodized, as I pounded my prick in and out of him harder.

  “You licking his boots,” I suggested. “Working your way upwards with your tongue, to his crotch…licking the dripping cum off his big, hard blond prick!”

  “Oh, yeah—oh, yeah! Then licking the hot, salty sweat off his pecs … sucking on his tits!”

  “Sticking your tongue up his ass,” I panted. “Getting him hot, getting his cock hard again, until the bastard’s so turned on he just has to fuck you again—!”

  We goaded each other verbally like that until my dick exploded inside the condom, inflating its reservoir tip like a tiny sperm-filled balloon jammed far up Ken’s squirming ass.

  After I pulled out, he rolled over onto his back on the bed, his legs hanging down over its edge, and silently offered me his painfully swollen cock. I took it in my right hand and beat it off for him.

  When I slipped two fingers of my left hand up Ken’s relaxed, well-fucked asshole, he shuddered and began to play with his own tits, pinching them mercilessly until he came in a hot white shower of cum that sprayed salty drops all over both our torsos.

  It was safe sex at its most intense, and we both felt drained afterward. We roused ourselves long enough to take turns showering. There were a couple of interesting things on cable TV, but I suspected that after busting our balls together so forcefully we’d fall asleep half-way through any of the programs.

  I decided to make sure I wouldn’t suffer from insomnia.

  “I think I’ll go for a jog before I hit the sack,” I told Ken. “That always tires me out, and I fall right asleep. Want to come along?”

  “Hell, no,” my overnight guest retorted. “After that fuck you just threw into me, I’m half asleep already. I can’t believe you have the energy to go for a run.”

  “Oh, not a long run. Just around the block a couple of times.”

  “Well, better you than me.”

  “I won’t be long.”

  “Take as long as you like. Just try not to wake me up when you do come back and you crawl in bed next to me. God, you are such a jock.”

  “And that’s only one of my many fine qualities, detective,” I boasted. “Go to sleep.”

  “I intend to,” I heard Ken mumble. He was already lying on my bed on his belly with his face buried in the pillows. I smiled as I pulled on some clothes, knowing from past experience that he was a heavy sleeper who’d no doubt be blissfully unconscious by the time I got back.

  I dressed myself, or rather half-dressed myself, in the first things that came to hand—the kind of casual clothes that I wore around the house on weekends, in this case bright lemon-yellow sweatpants and a pair of battered, comfortable training shoes.

  It was a hot night, so I didn’t even bother to put on a shirt. After all, I was only going around the block, and I flattered myself that my bare torso could stand up to the casual—or even the not-so-casual—scrutiny of any passing motorist who might be cruising his way through the neighborhood at this hour.

  It was past midnight, and few of my new neighbors had more than token lights on. Nor did I see any cars until I rounded the corner and started down the street that led to the restaurants and bars. I was feeling pretty good. Sex with Ken had relaxed me, but now I found myself being reinvigorated by my outdoor physical activity. As I jogged at a slow but steady pace, passing under the pools of light thrown onto the sidewalk by one streetlamp after another, I actually began to speculate about just how much of an exhibitionist I was. Some night, I told myself, I was going to have to jog bare-chested like this right past a couple of the bars. I might find myself on the receiving end of some admiring stares—and you never knew when casual eye contact with a stranger could lead to something more.

  When I saw a young man walking toward me from the far end of the block, I didn’t recognize him at first. It wasn’t until he moved under one of the street lights that I saw he was a soldier in uniform. But not just any soldier. He was “my” soldier, the sexy little brown-haired one!

  He was alone and he was picking his way along the sidewalk rather gingerly, and when he got closer to the pool of light thrown by the next street lamp in the row I could see that he was drunk—not exactly falling-down drunk, but decidedly unsteady on his feet.

  His uniform shirt was stained with sweat under both arms and he’d loosened his tie and unbuttoned the shirt half-way down the front. A white cotton T-shirt, also sweat-stained in front, stretched enticingly across what promised to be a sensational pair of pecs.

  I slowed from a jog to a walk as I approached him. He heard my footsteps and my heavy breathing. He looked up. As the only sign of life in the immediate vicinity, I naturally attracted his attention, and he caught me staring at him. He didn’t seem offended by my curiosity, though!

  I closed the distance between us and came to a halt.

  “Hi!” he exclaimed, moving close to me a
nd grinning foolishly. “I know you, don’t I? Oh, yeah, you were in the restaurant, before.” He giggled. Oddly enough, he managed to remain macho even while acting silly.

  “Yeah. We meet again,” I said.

  “Look at you. You’re all sweaty.”

  “I’m out jogging.”

  “You must live around here.”

  “Yeah, I just moved into this neighborhood.”

  “Oh? Where, exactly?”

  “Just down the block, that way, and around the corner,” I admitted.

  “So you must hang out in the bars in this neighborhood a lot.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to hang out in them a lot. But sure, now that I live here, I’ve started to check some of them out.”

  “We—my buddies and me, I mean—we made the rounds of a couple of them, looking for action,” he explained breathlessly. “Only there wasn’t any—not really—so they decided to drive downtown and try to find some pussy, and they got pissed off when I said I didn’t feel like going along. So fuck them! I can get drunk alone.” He giggled again. “I’m pretty drunk right now,” he exulted.

  “So I see. How come you didn’t go with your friends?”

  “Oh, fuck that shit, man! Even if they do end up getting laid, they’ll probably have to pay for it. And they’ll probably be so wasted by the time they get in bed that they won’t be able to do anything, anyway.”

  “How are you going to get back to—wherever the hell you’re staying tonight?” I asked.

  “The hotel? I don’t know. Walk, I guess, or call a cab.” He felt his pockets, one by one. “I have my fucking cell phone here somewhere,” he muttered.

  I hesitated, but only for a moment. I might not have taken the risk of entertaining a drunken stranger in my home had I been alone. But, with Ken in the house—even asleep—I figured I could handle any unpleasant consequences of my impulsive behavior.

  And so I told him, “You can use my phone, if you want to. I don’t have it on me, though. We’ll have to go to my place. It’s not far.”

  “Let’s go,” he said, brightly, with the enthusiasm if intoxication.