A Thing for Cops

by Roland Graeme

  “There goes the proof of the crime, Five-O,” he told me, sarcastically. “You know, the forensic evidence?” And, from that moment on, “Five-O” became his nickname for me.

  “Yeah.” I was too tongue-tied to talk much.

  He looked at me. “Are you pissed off at me because I came on to you?” he demanded, bluntly.

  “No.”

  “No?” He smiled at me, in a seductive way that made me feel uncomfortable and excited all at once. “Good for you. Hey, you want to go do something on prom night?”

  “Do something? Such as what?”

  “I don’t know. Take in a movie, maybe.”

  “You mean you want us to go on a date?” I blurted out.

  He laughed. “Yeah, if that’s what you want to call it. A man date. I promise you won’t have to put out—unless you decide you want to.”

  “I’m not likely to want to,” I told him, primly. But, even as I said it, I wasn’t so certain. Being in Marco’s company was stirring up some strange and contradictory feelings, deep within me.

  “So do you want to go out that night or not?”

  “Okay.”

  “Gimme your number and I’ll call you.”

  We exchanged cell phone numbers, and then, after cursory goodbyes, we parted, there on the sidewalk.

  I went home in a daze. Upon my arrival, I hurried upstairs to my room, stripped naked, and, in the bathroom, gargled with undiluted mouthwash to kill the telltale smell of booze on my breath. Then I took a brief icy cold shower, to sober myself up, followed by a long hot soapy shower, to cleanse myself thoroughly. Only then did I feel up to facing my unsuspecting parents.

  Chapter One

  Cops in Cuffs

  On prom night, Marco and I met at the coffee shop again, and then we took in an action movie. It was a typical example of “steroid cinema”—filled with car chases, fist fights, gunplay, and explosions. The muscular young actors shed their shirts at every opportunity, and did more flexing and grimacing than acting. In short, it was made-to-order entertainment for a couple of oversexed guys such as Marco and myself. I could feel myself getting kind of excited. And I wasn’t the only one.

  At one point, without any warning, Marco put his hand on my knee.

  “Cut it out, Marco,” I whispered.

  “Sure, Five-O,” he whispered back. “Whatever you say.” But he took his sweet time taking his hand away. We sat there side by side in the dark, while some strange feelings kept going through my head. I couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if I’d let Marco go on touching me.

  Afterward, we stopped to have pizza and wings. We talked about the movie.

  “I like a guy with big hard muscles,” Marco said, casually. “Don’t you?”

  “Sure,” I agreed, but cautiously. “What’s not to like?”

  “They say if a guy takes too many steroids, his balls shrink and his pecs swell around his nips. Bitch tits, you know?”

  “I wouldn’t know. My physique is all natural,” I bragged.

  “Yeah, you’re so frigging pure, aren’t you, inside and out?”

  But he didn’t say it in a mean or insulting way. He was bantering with me, I realized—teasing me. I decided I liked it when he talked to me like that.

  I liked it so much, in fact, that I was almost disappointed when Marco didn’t make any further moves on me that evening. As prom nights go, it would have to be called an uneventful one.

  Before I knew it, it was graduation day. I was no longer a student. I felt grown up.

  I’d already found what I fervently hoped would be just a temporary job, as a stock boy in a warehouse. It was a way to make some money during the summer, while I finalized my plans for my future. The dull routine quickly brought me back down to earth.

  Fortunately, I had my budding friendship with Marco to keep me diverted.

  “Are you working Saturday afternoon?” he asked me one night.

  “No, just that morning.”

  “I’m supposed to go take care of that dump my uncle owns,” he said. “You want to come along and keep me company?”

  “Sure.”

  I knew that accepting Marco’s invitation to hang out with him in his uncle’s office building was tantamount to giving in to him, sexually. Something was going to happen between the two of us, this time. I wasn’t sure what. But, passively, I kept our rendezvous.

  Our routine was virtually the same as before. The meeting at the coffee shop, Marco’s gym bag, in which he stowed away his empty paper cup, the empty and eerily silent office building. The liquor and the joint shared on the couch in the executive suite. This time, though, Marco did introduce a couple of variants.

  “I brought you a little graduation present, Five-O,” he declared.

  “Oh? What?”

  “Take a look.”

  From his well-stocked gym bag, he pulled out a magazine and handed it to me. I couldn’t believe what I saw!

  It was a sex magazine, the kind that was labeled on the front cover All Color Hard Action for Adults Only. Furthermore, it was a gay sex magazine. The title was Cops in Cuffs and it featured two men who wore police uniforms, complete with nightsticks, guns in holsters, and all the other standard gear, in the first few shots. But by the second page they were kissing, lustfully, open-mouthed—and by the third they had their dicks sticking out of their open flies and were groping each other. Fellatio quickly followed, and a turn of a page later, they were both naked and really going at it together. One of the guys now had his wrists handcuffed behind his back—and the other “cop” was “forcing” him to service him with his lips and tongue!

  Not that the guy wearing the restraints seemed all that unwilling. Both of these models had longish hairstyles, a bit unkempt, along with beard stubble. They weren’t well groomed enough to be convincing as uniform cops—they might pass muster as undercover cops, maybe. But they both had muscular, well-defined bodies and huge hard cocks, which were no doubt the basic requirements for the photo shoot.

  Just in case the pictures weren’t self-explanatory, there was a running commentary in the form of brief, crude captions. Officer Todd got a good taste of his partner’s ass, which really got his hot tongue going inside that hole. “That’s right, bitch,” Officer Steve growled. “You get that fucking tongue up in there! Eat my ass! You better rim it, and you better rim it good! You have the right to kiss my dirty cop ass!”

  Marco was watching me while I gaped at the pictures. He was smirking.

  “Where the hell did you get this?” I asked.

  “On the Internet, of course. You can find anything on the Internet. I picked it out especially for you. With you planning a career in law enforcement, and all. You might as well start doing your homework for it.”

  “This is so gross.” But, gross or not, the photos were monopolizing my full attention. I leafed through the pages one by one, taking care not to miss anything, and pausing frequently to study a particularly lurid image in detail. By now Officer Steve had Officer Todd—who was still cuffed—bent over, and he was fucking him. Officer Steve’s big hard nightstick drove in and out of the other cop’s tight ass like a pile driver! “Don’t stop!” Officer Todd yelled. “Don’t stop fucking my hole! Give it to me harder, partner. Fuck me as hard as you can! Oh, give me that thick stiff cop cock!”

  Marco was also observing the progress of the two cops in action, looking over my shoulder.

  “Those two guys have nice bodies,” he commented. “Every bit as good as the guys in that movie we saw the other night.”

  “Yeah, they have nice builds.”

  “Their dicks aren’t bad, either. And they sure seem to know what to do with them. They look like they’re having fun.” He paused, as though he was waiting for me to say something, to agree with him. I was too nervous to speak. I avoided his eyes and looked at the magazine. “Fuck!” Marco exclaimed, under his breath. “You really do have a thing for cops, don’t you? You sure seem to like what you’re looking at.
”

  I couldn’t deny it, so once again I said nothing.

  Marco chuckled. “Hey, speaking of cops, and fun—!” He rummaged around in the gym bag, and this time what he pulled out really took me by surprise. It was a pair of heavy steel handcuffs. The restraints definitely weren’t a toy. They looked like standard police issue to me.

  “Where the hell did you get those?” I asked.

  “Also on the Internet, of course. You can buy just about anything you want on the Internet.”

  “And what do you carry them around with you for?”

  He shrugged. “Just for fun, like I said. A lot of the guys I bring up here like to play around with them.”

  Marco’s notions of fun and playing around seemed decidedly strange to me. I was curious about just what he meant—and just what went on here, in this empty office building, with these other guys he’d mentioned.

  “Play around?” I asked.

  “Yeah. You know. I put the cuffs on the guy and make him do things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as be my slave. Just like in the pictures in that magazine.”

  “And they let you?”

  “You bet. Some guys get off on it—on being restrained, and bossed around. It gets them hot.”

  “No kidding?” I asked.

  “No kidding. Hey, maybe you should put in some practice, since you think cops are so cool and you want to be one so bad.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Come on, let me put the cuffs on you,” he coaxed. “You might get off on it.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I’ll be the big, tough cop,” Marco suggested. “And you can be the sniveling little punk perp. I’ll cuff you, frisk you, and then I’ll interrogate your ass. I’ll get the fucking truth out of you, and fast.”

  “Forget it.”

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you trust me?”

  “You bet I don’t trust you, any more than your uncle does. Probably less.”

  He seemed amused, rather than offended, by my frankness. “You’re not as dumb as you look.”

  “Thanks—I think.” I supposed his remark was what you’d call a backhanded compliment.

  Marco was playing with the cuffs, snapping one of them closed around his wrist, and then using the key to unlock it again.

  I was a hypocrite. Despite my protests, my imagination was stirred up, just thinking about the sordid little bondage scenario Marco had proposed. The photos in that dirty magazine had given me plenty of fantasy raw material, too!

  In a deliberate attempt to get drunk, I drank freely from the bottle. Consumed on an empty stomach, the alcohol soon had its predictable effect. I was hammered.

  Also, my bladder felt uncomfortably full.

  “I have to take a leak,” I declared.

  “Go right ahead. The executive washroom is right there, waiting for you. On second thought, maybe I’ll join you.”

  We went into the adjacent washroom, where we shared the single toilet bowl. We stood shoulder-to-shoulder in front of it, aiming our urine at the receptacle.

  In a weird way, this felt infinitely more intimate than the piss we’d taken together at school, on that memorable former occasion when he’d accosted me. There, at least, we’d each had our own separate urinal.

  I felt that a joke was in order, to relieve the tension—the tension I was undeniably feeling, to be specific. Marco, for his part, seemed as insouciant as ever.

  “It seems like we spend an awful lot of our time pissing together,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he grunted. “You also seem to spend an awful lot of time looking at my dick.”

  “No, I don’t,” I quickly insisted.

  “Sure you do. What’s the matter? Those dirty pictures put some ideas into your head? I just bet they did. But don’t sweat it. I don’t mind.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No.” Then he hit me with the thousand-dollar question. “Do you want to suck it?” he asked.

  I nearly misdirected my aim and pissed my pants!

  Yes! That’s what I wanted to fucking scream out at the top of my lungs. Fuck, yes, do I ever want to suck it, man! Go ahead! Shove it in my mouth!

  But I was afraid he was just putting me on—trying to get a rise out of me, mock the jock, or something like that.

  So instead I blurted out, “Hell, no! What the fuck do you think I am?” I was trying to sound really offended, at having had my heterosexuality impugned. It was a lousy, unconvincing performance, even to my own ears. No wonder the street-wise Marco didn’t buy it!

  “I think you’re kind of cute,” he drawled, still flashing that shit-eating grin and still playing with his cock in a way that nearly drove me crazy. He’d stopped pissing. Now he seemed intent on getting the fucking thing hard. It just swelled and swelled, getting longer and thicker and harder, until I couldn’t believe it. The dude must’ve had a foot of dick, and he was the same age as I was!

  “Thanks for the compliment,” I blurted out, nervously.

  “I also think you’re a goddamn prick teaser,” Marco informed me. “You’ve led me on long enough. You and me—we’re gonna do everything those two dudes in those pictures are doing, right here and now. And you’re gonna like it!”

  “Bullshit!”

  “I’m dead serious. I’m done kidding around. And,” he added, turning mean all of a sudden, “I think you’re going to get down on your knees and swing on this big fat dick of mine. That’s what I fucking think!”

  Before I could react, he spun toward me, almost knocking me over with his big hard-on, and grabbed me by the shoulders and tried to shove me down on my knees in front of him, just like he’d said.

  I put up a fight, of course, what with me still being in the closet and all. I must’ve had some silly notion about defending my honor, or at least not coming across as too easy a lay. But even though I was big for my age, and an athlete, Marco was bigger and stronger, and he fought a hell of a lot dirtier. I didn’t have a fucking chance to save my cherry, had I even wanted to, I swear to God!

  We wrestled briefly, but soon he had me on the floor in an arm lock with my face pressed against his crotch and my mouth obscenely close to the protrusion his cock made through the open fly of his pants. The damn thing even slapped against my cheek! He twisted my arm until I started yelling in raw pain, and then he twisted it some more and ordered me to “Shut up.” The lousy bastard!

  I did shut up, despite the agony shooting through my arm and shoulder joints, and he grunted, “Okay, you going to suck it now, big football hero?” After a little more arm-twisting, I moaned and nodded my head yes!

  I still can’t believe what that rough fucker did next, even after all these years! He dragged me the short distance over to the sink against the wall and shoved me flat on my back on the floor.

  “Don’t move,” he warned me. “Do not fucking move, if you know what’s good for you.”

  I remembered the switchblade he supposedly carried with him at all times. I didn’t move.

  I lay there, paralyzed by fright, while Marco whipped out the pair of handcuffs and used them to secure my wrists to the drainage pipe that ran from the base of the sink down into the floor.

  So there I was, caught up in a virtual bondage scene at the tender age of eighteen, flat on my back on the cold tile floor of the john, my hands secured above my head. At first, I was terrified by the possibility that somebody who had to take a leak might walk into the lavatory and see exactly what was going on. Then I remembered that the building was deserted. We’d locked ourselves inside it. Nobody was going to interrupt us while Marco did whatever he intended to do to me. Now I was even more scared—I was at the mercy of the horny son of a bitch.

  I gasped, “No,” and “Let me go,” but Marco ignored my protests.

  “You look kind of hot, cuffed like that,” he said.

  “Please, Marco.”

  “Yeah, that’s better, stud. Beg for it!”

  �
��I’m not going to beg you for anything, you son of a bitch.”

  “You will be, before I’m done with you.”

  “You’d better unlock these fucking things and let me up, or you’ll be in a lot of trouble.”

  “Yeah?” He didn’t look or sound particularly perturbed. “What’re you going to do—call one of your cop buddies and turn me in? Good luck with that, Five-O,” he jeered. “Hey, I got an idea, cock sucker. Why don’t you make a citizen’s arrest?” He seemed to find this suggestion hilarious.

  “Please let me go,” I pleaded.

  “After you’ve sucked me off.”

  We both had our pants unzipped and our dicks out, from taking that leak together, and our clothes had gotten further disarranged during our tussle. Now Marco squatted over me and began to play with his cock again. He seemed to be aiming it down at me like a deadly weapon—a weapon that grew longer and thicker and stiffer with each massaging gesture his hand made around its awesome bulk.

  I stared at the gross genital display, mesmerized.

  “Don’t worry,” he grunted. “I’m going to get it good and hard before I give it to you.”

  I was still frightened—now of getting caught sucking a cock and being arrested for public indecency, to say nothing of having the word get around about what we were up to. It was an irrational fear, of course, considering that the two of us were locked inside this vacant building, where nobody could possibly see what we did together. More realistically, I was worried that Marco might get really rough and beat me up. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to satisfy him, maybe I’d choke on his dick, or throw up. He might become frustrated and take his frustration out on me. Or he might beat me up just for the hell of it, because he got off on that sort of sadistic shit. I wouldn’t have put it past him!

  But that juvenile delinquent couldn’t have cared less what was going through my panic-stricken mind. He pulled his jeans down—he wasn’t wearing any underpants, naturally—and straddled my chest, weighing me down. Then he rammed his fully erect dick right against my mouth.