A Thing for Cops

by Roland Graeme

  I retraced my steps, with the soldier walking alongside me. Once, he stumbled, and put his hand on my bare shoulder to steady himself.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “I’m fine,” he declared, with an optimism I couldn’t quite share. His warm hand lingered on my shoulder for longer than was strictly necessary, and his fingers squeezed the rounded muscle. “Hey, you’re really built,” he exclaimed.

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you know what you are?”

  “No.”

  “You’re my fucking Good Samaritan, that’s what you are.”

  “Am I?”

  I had a sudden flashback. I remembered the night I’d met Ken. I’d been drunk then, and Ken was my Good Samaritan. Of course, I didn’t recall the biblical story ending with the Samaritan having sex with the man he’d rescued!

  We had reached my house. I turned toward the front porch, but my companion lingered on the sidewalk. He was peering through the darkness at the lot next door.

  “Well, this is where I live,” I said.

  “It’s nice. But is that really a cemetery next door?”

  “As a matter of fact, it is.”

  “Wow. Is it haunted?”

  I had to laugh. “Not to my knowledge. But don’t just stand there. Come on in. I’ll make us some coffee,” I said easily, leading the young soldier to the front door and inside the house. “That’ll help you sober up. We’re going to have to be quiet, though,” I cautioned him. “I have company.”

  “Who?”

  “Just a buddy of mine. He’s already in bed, asleep.”

  “That’s probably where I ought to be, right now,” my guest admitted, ruefully.

  For the first time I was close enough to him and in a strong enough light to be able to read the surname printed on his shirt, which was Nagel.

  I left him in the living room, excused myself, and went into the kitchen to start the coffee. While it was brewing, I went back into the living room—and there I got the surprise of my life!

  My guest was standing in the middle of the room, and he was completely nude, his uniform lying in an untidy heap at his feet. His body was exquisite, firmly muscled but by no means bulky or lacking in grace. He grinned at me, his eyes shiny with intoxication.

  “God, I must stink of sweat and booze,” he said bluntly, and he lifted one sculpted arm to sniff his own armpit to confirm his suspicion as he spoke. “Can I take a shower first?”

  The implications of that one word first intrigued me, needless to say. What exactly did my guest have in mind, to follow his shower? But I tried to sound as casual as I could as I replied, “Sure. Come into the guest room. It’s got its own bathroom.”

  I led him upstairs, turned on the lights in the guest room and the adjacent john for him, handed him a fresh towel, and retreated before my growing hard-on gave me away. I heard him turn on the shower.

  I took a moment to turn down the bed in the guest room, then checked on Ken. As I had anticipated, he was sleeping like a baby, even snoring lightly.

  I went back downstairs to lock up, and then carried the coffee upstairs on a tray. My guest was toweling himself dry in the guest room.

  “Here’s the coffee,” I said.

  “Oh, thanks. Just what the doctor ordered. Hey, I don’t even know your name,” he pointed out.

  I introduced myself. “And what do your friends call you, Private Nagel?”

  “Well, my name’s really Lincoln, but all the guys call me just plain Linc, for short. So you can call me Linc, too.”

  It sounded appropriately blunt, and butch. I watched him drink his coffee, which he took black.

  “Aren’t you going to have any?” he asked.

  “Just a little. I want to be able to fall asleep.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for me. I feel pretty wasted. Just give me a chance to sober up a little, and then I’d better call that cab. Otherwise, I’m likely to pass out on you.”

  “You can spend the night here, if you want to.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course.”

  “But you don’t know me. We just met.”

  “Oh, I’ve had overnight guests before—and on short acquaintance.”

  “I bet,” he retorted, with more than a hint of suggestiveness in his voice. He stood there nude, with the coffee mug in his hand, looking completely at ease, as though he was at home alone in his own bedroom. Or—I couldn’t help thinking—as though he was comfortable being naked around other men. “You must make out okay,” he added, looking at me. “And you look like you can take care of yourself. God, you’ve got a hot body.”

  “Thanks.” The turn the conversation had taken was encouraging. “Why don’t you get into bed and get comfortable?”

  “I think I will.”

  He poured himself some more coffee, and then he crawled into bed. He propped himself up, shoving one of the pillows between the headboard and his back to cushion himself. Only then did he take a sip from the mug and pull the covers up over his legs and groin—in that order. Modesty didn’t seem to be a high priority with him. I appreciated that. It wasn’t one of my top priorities, either.

  He indicated the area of the mattress between the edge of the bed and his hip. “Sit down and keep me company,” he urged.

  “All right.” I fixed myself a mug of coffee, heavy on the cream, then seated myself beside him on the bed.

  “It’s nice and quiet here. Do you own this house?” he asked.

  I had to laugh. “I’m paying the mortgage.”

  “You live here alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a cop.”

  He seemed to find my statement amusing. “Aw, bullshit.”

  “No, really.”

  “You’re really a cop?”

  “I’m afraid I am. And my buddy, the guy who’s asleep in the other room—he was a cop on the beat, too. Now he’s a police detective.”

  “I still don’t believe you.”

  “If you didn’t look so comfortable lying there, I’d tell you to get out of bed and go see for yourself. I’d take you into my bedroom and show you my uniforms hanging in the closet. And my badge and my gun.” And maybe I’ll get a chance to show you a few more things, if I get lucky!

  “Okay, I guess I’d better take your word for it.”

  “What makes you so sure I’m not a cop?”

  “You’re too good-looking to be a cop,” was his answer. Whatever that meant. It didn’t sound logical, and it suggested that he didn’t have too high a regard for the police department. However, it was personally flattering.

  “Thanks—I think. Now it’s my turn to ask some questions. So we’re both men in uniform, in our different ways. How do you like being in the military?”

  He shrugged his bare shoulders. “It’s all right. I like the discipline. I like being around the other guys. I’m not sure I want to make a career of it.”

  “You should think about going into law enforcement, after your hitch,” I told him, half seriously, half facetiously. “Two years of military service with an honorable discharge entitles you to take the police exam, you know, even without any college credits. You might be good at it. There’s only one problem.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “You’re like me. You’re too good-looking to be a cop.”

  He laughed. “I guess I left myself wide open for that one. You’re a funny guy, Jim. It is Jim, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I remembered. So I must not be as drunk as I thought I was.” He looked around the bedroom. “This is so fucking nice,” he said, punctuating the statement with a sigh. “Much better than spending another night in that goddamn hotel, with three snoring dudes…”

  His voice trailed away and I realized that, despite the caffeine coursing through his bloodstream, he was getting drowsy. I took the empty mug from his hand and set it on the ni
ghtstand.

  My guest had slumped down into a semi-recumbent position, still propped up by the pillow but being slowly and inevitably pulled down into a horizontal position by his own relaxed body weight. His eyes were closed. He had long eyelashes, I noticed for the first time, and they made him look sexy. Very sexy indeed at the moment.

  Then he spoke, but without opening his eyes. “Aren’t you going to get undressed?” he mumbled, barely audibly.

  “I guess I’d better,” I replied, in a whisper.

  I stood up. I kicked off my trainers, untied the drawstring of my sweatpants, and dropped them around my ankles. When I raised my leg to step out of the pants, pulling my foot out of them, the tip of my cock brushed against my belly, depositing a thin trickle of clear, sticky jism on my skin. I was rock-hard and leaking.

  In those few seconds it took me to get naked, however, Linc had fallen asleep. Looking down at him, lying there so peacefully, I bit my lip in indecision—and, I admit it, in frustration and temptation, as well. But then I picked up my discarded clothes, turned out the light, closed the door after me, and went down the hall to crawl into bed beside Ken. He, of course, was totally oblivious to my presence, let alone my tumescence.

  Resisting the urge to jack off, I slipped my arm around my fuck buddy and gradually fell asleep myself.

  Naturally, the last guy to get to bed at night was the first to wake up in the morning. I disentangled myself from Ken’s heavy limbs, retrieved my yellow sweatpants, and pulled them on.

  In the dawn quiet, the slightest sound seemed to penetrate the entire house. I heard Linc stirring in the guest bedroom, and I investigated.

  He was sitting up in the bed, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. When I came into the room, he dropped his arms into his lap, where the covers were bunched up around his waist, and stared at me, as though he couldn’t remember who I was, where he was, or how in the hell he had got there.

  His disorientation lasted for only a split-second, though. Then he relaxed and his tense facial expression melted into a smile.

  “Hi,” he said softly, and I automatically echoed him. “Jesus, I really slept like one of the dead. Is it late?”

  “No, it’s still early. Want some coffee?”

  “Maybe later.” He rubbed his hand over his bare chest and smiled at me even more seductively. Maybe I was imagining things, but it almost looked as though he was making a play for me.

  From where I stood I studied his pecs and nips quite matter-of-factly, the way I might examine a nude statue on display in a museum.

  “I thought you’d be hung over,” I remarked.

  He shook his head. “I’m not, thanks to that coffee you forced down me last night. That much I remember. God, I have to go take a piss, before I explode.”

  He pushed the covers away from his crotch and got out of bed, standing in front of me stark naked but quite relaxed and unself-conscious. Only his groin area retained any degree of tension. He had a three-quarters erection, no doubt a classic piss hard, fueled by all the alcohol and coffee he’d drunk the night before.

  He started toward the bathroom, but lingered in the doorway, half-facing me, his hand sliding restlessly up and down over the polished wood of the jamb. His cock seemed to be getting harder. He had a hot ass, the cheeks round, firm, and inviting.

  He gave a searching look. “Tell me something,” he asked.

  “Shoot.”

  “You are gay, aren’t you?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, I am.”

  “You didn’t seem to want me, last night. In bed, I mean.” He made it sound like a reproach.

  “Sure I did. It wasn’t a question of not wanting you. I just didn’t want to take advantage of you.”

  “Yeah, I was pretty drunk.”

  “I didn’t want you to wake up this morning feeling all guilt-ridden because you let some queer pick you up and bring you home with him. I also didn’t want you to have to pretend that you only let the queer in question suck you off because you were drunk and didn’t know what you were doing.”

  He winced. “I’m not like that!”

  “No? Good for you, then.”

  His cock was now fully erect. “Don’t go away,” he urged me, before he vanished through the doorway.

  As I had predicted, it took him several minutes to get his dick relaxed enough to piss through it. I heard his urine splash into the toilet bowl, then the john being flushed.

  Linc came back into the bedroom—his prick once again “only” semi-hard—and he seemed surprised to see me standing exactly where I’d been before.

  “Why aren’t you in the bed?” he asked bluntly.

  I shrugged. “I didn’t know that’s where you wanted me to be.”

  “Well, it is, so get in.”

  While he threw aside the covers and climbed back onto the mattress, I stepped out of my sweatpants, then joined him.

  We were both nude now, and my cock was quickly awakening from its torpor, lengthening and thickening and throbbing with an inner excitement all its own, until it fully matched Linc’s own degree of arousal.

  He wasn’t shy, or coy, but grasped me by both of my shoulders and pulled our chests together, already twisting his head down slightly so that his lips could brush against mine.

  He kissed me quite lightly and delicately at first, letting out a little moan of appreciation. But suddenly his mouth opened and his tongue pushed out to lick my lips, then penetrate them, plunging deep into my mouth.

  I reached up to grab his head, my fingers raking through his short hair, and returned the kiss with greedy passion, opening my mouth wide and sucking on his tongue. He moaned more loudly and his fingertips dug into my shoulder muscles, holding me tightly against him.

  I returned his embrace, running my palms down his back, toward his buttocks, which I gripped and kneaded, forcing his hard cock to duel with mine. After a moment, though, he pushed me away from him, then pushed me again, urging me to get down flat on my back.

  “Lie down,” he told me, “and just let me make love to you. I haven’t been with a man for ages. Oh, damn, I really need this!”

  I lay with my arms thrown above my head, and he straddled my thighs, leaning forward so that our cocks came into exciting contact again.

  He licked my chin, my throat, my pecs. I groaned with delight when he started to work on my nipples, using his mouth to suck on one hard tit, his tongue-tip rubbing his saliva over the little cone, while his fingers teased the other.

  After he had serviced each of my nipples in this way, he attacked my armpits, licking them, breathing hard and moaning as though the taste of my sweat on his tongue had intoxicated him. He even caught my tufts of armpit hair in his teeth and pulled on them, while his hands pressed against my chest mounds and massaged my tits again.

  I was desperate with passion by the time he slid down my torso, shoved his head between my thighs, and began to lick and suck on my balls, coaxing both fat orbs inside his wet lips at once and slurping on them with loud, obscene greed.

  My prick was so stiff by then that it was absolutely inflexible. When Linc, still mouthing my testicles, grabbed the shaft, he could only bend it slightly. Letting my nuts slip wetly out of his mouth, he had to raise his head to get his tongue on my bloated erection.

  He wet it thoroughly with his saliva, then laid his flushed cheek on my thigh and, with his head in that position, he simply opened his mouth and pushed the middle section of my shaft between his lips, as though he were eating an ear of steamed corn.

  He moved his mouth back and forth to caress my cock from its base to its tip, his lips and tongue curling around my meat, never actually taking the head inside his mouth. Simultaneously, he used one hand to tickle my balls, the other to part my ass cheeks and penetrate my sphincter rim.

  “I can’t stand this,” I confessed breathlessly, after several minutes of this delightful torture. “I’m going to have to come!�
��

  Quick as a flash, Linc abandoned his lip-lock on my dick and repositioned himself, once again straddling my thighs so that he could grasp my cock in his right hand, his own cock in his left hand. Then—holding both tools close together—he beat them both off.

  “Come,” he gasped, looking down at me, wild with excitement. “Go ahead and come!”

  He was masturbating me with just the right amount of pressure, and at just the right pace. I knew that I wasn’t going to have any trouble ejaculating, so I sat up slightly, reached for his chest, and began to pinch and pull on both of his tits while he fisted us both.

  Our eyes were darting about restlessly. Neither of us could decide which was the more exciting thing to watch—the other guy’s face, taut with pleasure and fast-approaching ecstasy, or our two dicks, being stroked so energetically in such close proximity between our bodies.

  I could see the head of my cock getting wet. Linc rubbed the ball of his thumb over my piss slit to capture the oozing semen and utilize it as a lubricant for his steadily pumping hand.

  “Oh, I’m close,” I warned him.

  “All over me, man,” he insisted. “Shoot your fucking jism all over me!”

  “Yours, too. I want yours on me, too.”

  “Pinch my fucking tits harder, then. That’s going to do it for me. Oh, yeah! Yeah!”

  He came first, throwing his head back and rearing up on his knees, his buttocks tightening to provide the impetus behind his spurts of hot wet semen.

  He drenched my sweaty torso with his first few wads. And then, helplessly, I lost my own load, my sperm escaping from my hard-fisted prick in such quantities that the discharge resembled a seminal hemorrhage rather than a series of individual bursts.

  “Oh, Jesus!” he cried, as we finished coming together. He let go of our wet, slippery pricks and grabbed me by the shoulders again, his soiled fingers leaving slimy streaks on my flesh.

  He kissed me again, desperately, as though he’d been starved for physical contact with another man and was now determined to make up for lost time.

  “I really needed that,” he said by way of explanation, when we lay together afterward in a loose, sweaty embrace. “Damn, I was so hard up I was afraid my cum was going to back up and choke me!”