by Sean Kerr
My stomach flipped. It felt as though my entire insides fell from my torso and into my feet. I felt my asshole blowing kisses, love puffs that made me clench my cheeks tightly.
“You do look familiar...”
“I’ve seen you out, on the scene. I’m gay too.”
Shit. My mouth fell open, once again demonstrating that it had a life of its own and would do as it pleased. Andy laughed.
“I thought I recognised you from somewhere, but for the life of me I couldn’t think where, and I didn’t like to say.”
“Don’t be a daft bat.” Andy laughed gently. “You should have said.”
“Yeah, but, you know...” and I pointed at his tightly fitted uniform.
“The uniform doesn’t make me any less human, you know. You can speak to me. It never stopped you before.”
That caught me off guard. The way he said it, the implication behind his words, it got my complete attention.
“What do you mean?”
“You tried picking me up once, a couple of years ago.”
“Shit. Okay, now I’m embarrassed.” I knew my face burned like the sun, I knew that my ears glowed like the pits of Hell itself. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me completely, as surely as I wanted to get on my knees and swallow him. Yet, despite the terrible embarrassment that flushed through my burning body, I could not look away from him, from his deep, penetrating gaze that pinned me so hopelessly to the spot.
“Don’t be.”
Two words. That was all it took, just those two words. The way he said them, the way he looked at me as he said them, the way his gaze fucked me as he said them. The world disappeared to the sound of my own heart banging inside of my chest, my blood pumping through my ears in a stream of raging, middle-aged hormones that drowned out everything else around me. My kitchen blurred behind a curtain of surreal disbelief as that moment that we all dream of began to take shape. The impossible moment, that thing that could never happen in real life, the thing that only ever happens within the pages of a book, or on the cinema screen, or in our wettest dreams. I could feel it, tingling through my body, tightening my balls, making my cock throb inside my baggy shorts. Anticipation.
“I was with someone then,” he continued, his voice low and deep, and I detected a slight tremble in there. I realised with a shock that he was just as nervous as me. “So I couldn’t do anything about it.”
“Wow, that was a long time ago, how the hell do you remember that?”
Andy took a step forward. “I never forget a face, and I’m not with anyone anymore.”
How I stood my ground, I will never know, because my legs shook like a council house on stilts. It all felt so unreal, to have this Police officer standing in my kitchen, this huge hunk of stunning man with eyes so dark, so piercing. Eyes that wanted me on the spot. He looked at me as though he wanted to devour me like a piece of my half-made apple pie, and he made me feel so absolutely powerless.
I saw his hand moving towards me, and yet my mind refused to believe it. Ronni Lane, a middle-aged, overweight man, living alone, tormented by a gang of moron kids. That was me, worn out, used, past it. My days of picking up gorgeous men had long since passed, and yet, there he remained, six foot of Hispanic beauty, reaching out a hand towards my tee-pee pointy shorts.
His fingers stopped so close to my cock that if it had twitched, it would have leapt into the palm of his hand. Andy looked at me, his gaze questioning, a silent plea for permission pouring from his expression into my loins, and my cock moved in answer.
Long fingers traced the outline of my shaft through the thin fabric, a tentative movement that had me holding my breath, anything to prevent the groan perched upon my lips from taking flight. I clutched the edge of the counter with one hand—more to stop myself from crumbling to the floor in shock than anything—while my other hand grabbed the arm to which his exploring fingers belonged. My God, the muscles beneath the black fabric felt so hard, so taut, and I could only imagine the skin sliding over the sinew and bones, stretching across those tremendous mountains of man meat. I shivered.
Dare I touch him? I could see his own pleasure moving beneath his tight black pants, and I could barely tear my gaze away from the huge promise that pulsed beneath the fabric surface with such animation. I let go of the counter, my hand moving towards his cock, but suddenly he was pushing me, grabbing both of my hands in his, thrusting them above my head.
My back slammed against the counter, and Andy leaned into me, his full weight pinning me to the granite. He pressed his groin into my own, and I could feel his hardness grinding against me, a solid lump of flesh that dug into my inner thigh.
Something animalistic seemed to transform his face, a feral look that made me shiver with eagerness. His eyes seemed to turn black, and I felt his manliness pour out from the depths of his soul, a manliness that pulsed with incredible power, so fucking horny, and I could barely breathe. Andy held me in such a tight grip that I could not move my hands held above my head, and my gaze filled with the sight of his muscular shoulders, framing that perfect head of his.
“Why me? You can have anyone you want,” I groaned through clenched teeth.
“Shut the fuck up.”
His mouth hit mine with the force of a train, and I thought my back would snap across the edge of the counter upon which he had me trapped. I felt his tongue slide between my lips with an urgency that grated across my lower teeth, and my body melted into his as I felt his wet tongue invade the depths of my throat.
Never mind the fucking fireworks—I already saw them, exploding around my head in a show of exquisite desire. My own tongue pushed back and he welcomed it, his lips caressing its length until once again they smothered my mouth in a kiss that sucked the life out of my very bones. Thank God his body held me in place, because my knees crumbled from beneath me, reduced to nothing more than insubstantial farts of vapour.
I kept my eyes open. I feared that if I closed them, he would disappear, nothing more than the horny fantasies of my overworked libido. Yet there he stood, his own eyes open too, their brown so intense, seeing me, wanting me, tasting me, and I melted inside them, my soul swallowed by the black of his pupils, devoured by his exquisite exploration of my mouth.
Andy released my hands. Suddenly his huge arms wrapped around my waist and lifted me onto the counter, until I sat perched on the edge of the granite with his body jammed between my legs. Something fell and broke behind me, and my ass felt suddenly wet, but I didn’t give a shit, because my own arms lay entwined around his muscular neck, pulling him into me, my mouth swallowing his face, desperate to feel him inside of me.
Andy pulled away. The look on his face made my chest heave, an earthquake of excitement that rumbled through my rib cage. I half expected him to growl, such was the animalistic quality of his gaze. He pressed the palm of his hand against my chest. He pushed me backward onto the counter until my back connected with the cold of the granite. Eager hands pulled at my shorts, and the shock of cold and moisture seared through the cheeks of my ass as he pulled my shorts down, past my knees, until they fell to the floor.
“Close your eyes.”
My heart beat so fast as to explode between my ribs, and I clenched my fists at my sides as I obeyed. How silent that kitchen seemed at that moment as I gave into the darkness, and how very vulnerable I felt lying there, stripped to my waist with a hulking Police officer between my legs. My cock felt so cold as it twitched against my groin, throbbing in time to my every heartbeat.
The sound made me jump, a sharp ratcheting noise that I did not recognise. Yet, I did not open my eyes but screwed them up tightly instead, the anticipation almost making me scream. Something touched my inner thigh, something hard and cold, something that felt like plastic, and I had to bite my lip to prevent the squeal of alarm that threatened to burst forth. The cold thing moved around my cock, around to my balls, and then I felt it between my legs, pushing down towards my ass, a thic
k length of plastic that felt so fucking good I wanted to swallow it.
I opened my legs wider, welcoming that thing as he pushed it gently towards my hole, perched just on the rim, playing with me, taunting me. Suddenly, I gasped as his mouth enveloped my cock, his lips sliding down my length until I felt its head hit the back of his throat. The sensation overwhelmed me, and I could not believe how deep he took me, his tongue flicking around my shaft as his lips completely enveloped my cock. He moved with purpose, his mouth sliding up and down my rock-hard shaft, his tongue flicking around the slit, tasting my pre-cum as it oozed up my shaft, and then I felt him push that object further into me. With great gentleness, it entered my hole and slid inside.
I felt his other hand at my side, and I heard a bowl clatter next to me, a bowl of butter that I had ready for the pastry. Then I heard the plastic implement clatter to the floor, and my asshole warmed to the sensation of the butter as he smeared it around my opening. My back arched, my cock sliding in and out of his greedy mouth as first one, then two fingers slid up inside of me, easily. I could no longer contain the groans that burst from my mouth as he dug deep, pushing his fingers far inside of me until they found my prostate, massaging that one spot as his mouth worked my cock. It felt so close, that rush of exquisite pleasure that tightened my balls and rose up the shaft of my dick.
“I’m going to cum,” I gasped, expecting him to withdraw his lips. Instead, he pushed his fingers in deeper, and I yelled in surprise as my orgasm shot out of my cock, filling the back of his throat, each pump pounding inside of his mouth as he swallowed me deep.
The orgasm seemed to go on forever, and all the time his lips devoured me, licking every drop of my semen until I lay spent.
He withdrew his fingers gently as he pulled me up into a sitting position. I looked into his stunning face, at his slightly swollen lips, and I kissed him, long and deep, my tongue exploring his throat, tasting myself within him. Andy pulled away, and I found that I did not want to let him go. He stepped back a few paces until I could see all of him, and it was then that I noticed the plastic implement on the floor—his retractable truncheon.
As I watched, he undid his zip and pulled out the hard thing from within, a massive length of veined muscle that glistened wetly in the palm of his butter-slicked palm. I wanted to jump down, to get on my knees and feed on him, to taste his magnificence, but he held up his hand, stopping me in my tracks.
I could only watch in horny fascination as his hand worked his own cock so expertly. It took only a few strokes, and his load shot from his shiny head, pumping into the palm of his other hand. His gaze never left me, and I could almost feel every spurt of his passion as he emptied himself before my disbelieving eyes.
I passed him a roll of paper towels as I jumped down off the counter and quickly pulled my shorts back over my nakedness. It felt awkward somehow, and I felt deeply embarrassed, turning my back on him as I fastened my shorts around my waist. To my surprise, I felt his arms wrap around me, the gentle warmth of his lips against the base of my neck, kissing my flesh as his huge hands pulled me into him.
“Don’t turn away from me. I want to see your face.”
I turned around in his arms and looked up at him. He was so beautiful, so manly, and I could hardly believe what had just happened.
“Why? Why me?” I stammered.
“Because I have wanted to do that for a very long time.”
I wanted to say something back, maybe something witty to relieve the tension or something romantic to mirror his amazing words, but I found that I could say nothing. Andy left then, after kissing me on the lips, and I stood at the kitchen counter watching his massive back disappear through the kitchen door. And as I heard the front door close, I could hardly stop the tears from pouring down my face. I had just turned forty-seven, and for some reason, that magical moment in front of my Delia Smith cookbook felt like my last hurrah.
I reached over to grab a towel and my foot kicked against something that rattled across the floor. Andy had left his truncheon.
The party went as all such things do when one is living on another plane of existence, in a blur of unreality. Friends came, and friends went, but as the hot dogs vanished and the apple pie lay in decimated ruin, I could only think of Andy and the extraordinary events of that afternoon.
It is a testament to the mettle of your friends when they can so easily see that something troubles you, and I wilted under their onslaught of questions, but I said nothing. Why that should be, I didn’t know. Maybe because if I spoke out loud about my experience, it would be over, forever banished to the depths of my memory, but if the story remained unsaid, then the event could live again, and continue living until I gave them words.
It was just past midnight when my last guest left, and I surveyed the carnage that was my kitchen. Plenty for the recycling bins that week, I thought as I began to pick up numerous empty bottles of wine, thrusting them into green sacks.
Someone knocked at my door. I thought perhaps Craig had left his phone behind again, and I chuckled as I went to the front door, ready with yet another wonderfully sarcastic comment.
Andy stood leaning against the frame of the front door, wearing a tight white t-shirt and a pair of boot cut denim jeans. He held in his hand a bottle of champagne, and dangling around the neck of the bottle glinted a pair of silver handcuffs.
“You took my advice then?”
“Pardon?” I muttered, stunned to see him there.
“You didn’t let off the fireworks.”
“No, I thought better of it.”
“Good, glad to be of service. So, it’s not strictly your birthday anymore, but how do you fancy cracking open this bottle with me?”
Wow. That was all I could think of. Wow. I opened the door wider, and Andy stepped over the threshold.
“Oh, and I left my truncheon here.”
I learned two things on that hot summers night. One—age is just a number, it means nothing. And two—never, ever be afraid of phoning the Police.
About the Author
My name is Sean Kerr, and I am a 47-year-old gay man living in Cardiff, Wales, with my husband of 28 years, Derek. We have two cats, Rita and Harry, and a host of tropical fish.
By day, I am an Interior designer, and I have had a shop, Home Zone, in Cardiff with my amazing business partner Jayne, for eleven and a half years. It has, and continues to be a struggle, the recession hit a few years after we opened, and it has been challenging, to say the least. I consider myself to be lucky though, because the shop pays me a wage, and I have been lucky enough to furnish my house with lovely things because of it, and I really do have some spectacular curtains lol.
I worked on building sites for years, and I used the money earned from that to put myself through college, specialist paint techniques etc. I trained in fine art, and then I went out and painted murals on client’s walls, and created Roman Bathrooms and fantasy hand-painted bedrooms, all the rage back in the late eighties and nineties. I then became the Interior designer for a large DIY chain, and that is where I met Jayne, my business partner, and the rest is history.
By night I am an author, and I am proud to be an author for eXtasy Books. I currently have three books under my belt, with eXtasy about to release Dead Camp 3. I also have a new book, Hush Little Baby which is a standalone Novella and is a pure horror story. The project happened just after I completed Dead Camp 3 and it is a story that I had to get out of my system before I start Dead Camp 4. It’s different, and I hope scary! I love writing, so very much. It has always been my dream, and the wonderful eXtasy Books has made my dream come true, and it is a world that I am totally in love with, and I hope to be a part of for a very long time to come.
th friends