A Thing for Cops

by Roland Graeme

  We talked. He was curious about my work as a police officer, how long I’d owned the house—the usual things. He admitted to me that the real reason he’d separated from his buddies the night before was that he’d hoped to find a gay bar—or at least get cruised and picked up on the street.

  Then my guest asked, “That guy you were with last night—is he your lover?”

  “We’re just friends, although we do have sex with each other sometimes.” I told him about Ken, and specifically about his fantasy of being fucked by a horny grunt.

  It didn’t take long for Linc to confide in me that he’d never been involved in any kind of a three-way sex scene, but that he was excited by the idea. Furthermore, he’d be more than willing to give Ken a “surprise”—a sexual wake-up call, so to speak. Did I think Ken would be interested? Linc asked me, in all innocence.

  “Trust me. He’ll be ecstatic,” I assured him cynically. “You think I’m a slut? Well, my buddy Ken makes me look like a nun.”

  “Damn,” Linc exclaimed under his breath. “I can’t wait to meet this dude!”

  “No time like the present. Come on.”

  We slipped into my bedroom, where Ken was still sprawled on his belly, snoring away.

  “What do you think?” I asked Linc, keeping my voice low.

  “He’s really hot-looking.”

  “And he fucks as hot as he looks. Go ahead. Screw him.”

  “Can I? Really?”

  “I know my buddy Ken well enough that I feel comfortable speaking for him. Go ahead, soldier. Take his ass.”

  I handed Linc a condom and the lube, and then I stood on the sidelines and watched as Linc climbed onto the bed—and climbed on top of Ken, as well.

  “Hey, Ken,” I whispered into his ear. “Wake up.” I blew my breath against his ear.

  He grimaced and stirred slightly, but he didn’t open his eyes.

  “Fuck off,” he mumbled. “Let me sleep. God, you’re heavy! Get off me, you son of a bitch.”

  “Don’t you want to get fucked?”

  “Um, not right now. Let me go back to sleep. Come back in an hour. Then you can fuck me all you want.”

  “But I’m horny now,” I protested. And, as though he was acting as my surrogate, and trying to prove the truth of my words, Linc stretched out on top of Ken’s back. Kissing the back of Ken’s neck, his shoulders, and between his shoulder blades, Linc also began to rub his stiff prick back and forth within the deep groove between Ken’s buttocks.

  “Oh, that does feel good,” Ken conceded. “Damn! That’s some big piss hard you’ve got there, buddy. Okay—you may as well shove it in me. Go ahead and get your rocks off, as long as I don’t have to do anything. Just let me lie here and take it.”

  “You go right back to sleep while I’m screwing you, if you want to,” I suggested.

  “I may just do that. Don’t wake me up when it’s over.”

  Although I knew that Ken would be forever grateful to me for sharing my trick with him, there was still an overtone of near-rape to the situation that, perversely, turned me on. Linc gave himself a few strokes to make sure he was fully hard. Then, with a military man’s efficiency, he gloved up and lubed up. Next, he settled himself into place on Ken’s back, wrapped his arms around Ken’s waist, and slipped his dick up his ass.

  Watching, I could’ve sworn that Ken remained more or less asleep throughout the first half-dozen thrusts, and that at least a minute elapsed after that before it dawned on him that it wasn’t me on top of him. I suspected that, technically speaking, screwing an unconscious or semi-conscious man was a form of nonconsensual sex. So I decided I’d better try to rouse Ken from his stupor.

  “Fuck him, stud!” I shouted, as I began to masturbate.

  “Huh?” Ken asked. He sounded a bit dazed. “Who the hell are you talking to?” Then he opened one bleary eye—and saw me, not lying on top of him with my cock shoved up his ass, but squatting beside the bed, jerking off.

  “We have a guest,” I explained, rather belatedly. “Ken, meet Linc. Linc, meet Ken.”

  Even taken by surprise as he was, Ken had enough self-possession to make a joke. “Something tells me we’ve already met. In fact, I’d have to say the two of us are already intimately acquainted!”

  Wildly excited though he was, Linc didn’t forget his manners.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Ken,” he gasped. “And you’ve got a nice ass!”

  “I’d glad you like it. Where’d you come from, anyway?”

  I felt obliged, in my capacity as host, to explain. “Linc is one of the four guys we saw in the café last night.”

  “Oh, really.” Ken was panting hard for breath. “And just how did you manage to—? Oh, never mind! You can tell me all about it later. Right now my ass is horny. Right now I just want to get fucked!”

  Writhing under his fucker, Ken couldn’t get a good look at Linc’s face. Only when he reached behind him with his hands and clutched at Linc’s head, feeling his short haircut, was he able to confirm that the stranger who was screwing him must indeed be one of the soldiers we’d seen the night before.

  At first, Ken told me later, he wasn’t sure if he was really awake, or was just having an unusually vivid wet dream. He obviously didn’t waste any time or mental energy worrying about it, though. He relaxed under Linc, flexed his sphincter muscle, and concentrated entirely on getting fucked.

  “Don’t hold back, soldier boy,” he demanded. “Fuck my ass!”

  Linc didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir.”

  “Harder, stud. Pound me as hard as you can!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Go for it, Linc,” I invited the lad. “Ken likes it rough, and so do I.”

  The three of us spent all morning in bed, experimenting with various combinations of bodies.

  We finally dragged our asses out of bed, got cleaned up, and got dressed. I made us brunch—and then we got undressed and fooled around again for most of the afternoon.

  We were three exhausted but happy men by the time Linc pointed out that he really ought to rejoin his buddies, who probably thought he’d been abducted by aliens. We drove him to his hotel, sorry to see him go.

  The dedication ceremony was held on Sunday, as scheduled, and then Linc and his fellow soldiers had to fly back to their base that evening.

  We’d exchanged addresses and phone numbers, though, and Linc had a standing invitation to stay at my place any time he found himself back in our town either on business or for pleasure.

  Ken and I urged him to bring his blond friend along next time, if he could persuade him to join the party. My “bed and breakfast” would always be open to such congenial guests.

  This story has an interesting sequel. Linc and I stayed in touch. He did come to visit me, several times, when he was on leave. And when he got his discharge, he went into law enforcement. He didn’t actually become a cop. He became the next best thing. Back in his home state, he became a state trooper, and by all reports he served in that capacity with distinction.

  “I guess you were my role model, man,” he told me once, during one of our many erotic reunions. “But then,” he added, with a seductive grin, “I’ve always had a thing for men in uniform.”

  “Me, too,” I agreed, happily. “Me, too!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  An Unexpected Reunion

  Our area had four distinct seasons. It was late spring when I moved into my house. As the warm weather began to prevail, I spent some of my leisure time tidying up the back yard. I decided I might attempt some gardening after all, if on a modest scale.

  I continued to be vexed by the question of what, if anything, to do with the greenhouse. Here was this sturdy structure on my property, and it was going completely to waste.

  Then I had an inspiration. The greenhouse already had heat and water pipes. I could hire a contractor to tear out the planting bins and replace them with a wooden deck, and add a sauna, a hot tub, and a shower.

  The result
would be a delightful oasis in which to relax, or to party, during the summer months. And I could easily imagine what a sybaritic experience it would be, in the dead of winter, to sit sweating in the hot tub and look out through the steamed-up glass walls at the snow outside.

  I questioned some of colleagues at work, and also some of my new neighbors whom I had befriended, and they all recommended a contractor named Torelli, a thirtyish local boy who had bought out a failing contracting business and managed to turn it around. He had a reputation for getting the job done quickly, economically, but with excellent workmanship.

  “That’s interesting,” I remarked. “I knew a kid named Torelli back in high school.” But I told myself that this couldn’t possibly be the same guy. The Marco Torelli I’d known, the punk who had popped my cherry, had hardly seemed like a successful entrepreneur in the making.

  I looked the contractor up in the phone book. His office was located downtown. I called and made an appointment for that afternoon, right after I got off work. I didn’t bother to change out of my uniform, but went right to the address.

  It was a small but nicely-decorated and well-maintained office. An attractive young girl was behind the reception desk, and I assumed she was the secretary I’d spoken to over the phone.

  When I told her I had an appointment with Mr. Torelli, she seemed a bit flustered by the sight of my uniform. She got up and knocked on the door of the inner office.

  “Yeah?” a male voice called out from behind the closed door.

  “There’s a policeman here to see you, Mr. Torelli,” she said.

  “Oh, shit,” we both heard him mutter. Then, aloud, he added, “Tell him I paid those parking tickets.”

  I thought I recognized the voice. And when the man opened the door and came out, I saw that I was right. It was none other than Marco Torelli, the guy I’d lost my virginity to.

  He’d changed, of course, as had I. He was better groomed, with a decent haircut. He was wearing work boots, jeans, and a tight-fitting T-shirt with his business logo printed on the chest. He’d put on some hard muscle since the last time I’d seen him. The T-shirt revealed more than it covered. His stomach was enviably flat, his pecs sculpted and hard, his shoulders rounded with muscle, and his biceps bulged below the short sleeves. One thing about him hadn’t changed. He was still sexy, and he looked at me in the bold, cocky way I remembered so well.

  Then his eyes, too, widened in recognition.

  “Jesus fucking Christ!” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe it. It’s my old buddy, Five-O!”

  “And it’s really you, my old nemesis.”

  “Hey!” he protested. “I don’t know exactly what nemesis means, but it sounds like fighting words to me. Look at you. I’d heard you really went ahead and did it—became a cop.”

  “I haven’t heard anything about you,” I admitted. “I thought you’d be—”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No, go ahead and tell me. What’d you think?”

  “That you’d be in the slammer by now.”

  Far from taking offense, he burst into boisterous laughter. “Oh, nice mouth, officer! Thanks for the vote of confidence. No, sorry to disappoint you, Five-O, but as you can see I’ve turned my life around. I’ve become disgustingly respectable and boring.”

  “You, boring? Somehow I doubt that.”

  “Come on into my office. No, on second thought, let’s go to the bar down the street. We can talk business just as easily over a couple of drinks. And it’ll do me good to be seen in the company of an officer of the law. I mean without him patting me down.”

  We adjourned to the bar, but we didn’t talk business, at least not at first. Over our drinks, we caught up with each other.

  “Are you married?” I asked Marco.

  “Me? Hell, no. What makes you ask that?”

  “Well, some guys go through certain phases in their younger days. I thought you might have turned out to be, you know, bisexual.”

  “Nope. I’m one hundred per cent gay. And you?”

  “The same.”

  “A gay cop. That’s quite a fantasy.”

  “There’re a lot of us on the force.”

  “No kidding? Maybe I should let myself get arrested, more often. You look damn hot in that uniform, you know.”

  “Thanks. You’ve held up well, yourself.”

  He extended one arm and flexed the biceps muscle for my benefit. “I owe it mostly to manual labor. So tell me, I’m dying to know. Have you got a cop for a boyfriend?”

  “Several,” I boasted. “None of them serious. How about you? Do you have a construction worker for a boyfriend?”

  “Several,” he fired right back at me, with a grin. “None of them serious, either. Jesus! To hear us talk, you’d think we were both living out some hot porno fantasy. Then why is it that whenever Friday and Saturday night roll around, I’m usually home alone—and too tired from work even to want to jerk off?”

  I laughed. “Trust me, my weekends tend not to be any more exciting. It looks like we’re both married to our jobs.”

  “Yeah. And I don’t know about yours, but my job is a lousy lay!”

  Over a second round of drinks, we finally got around to talking about the project I had in mind.

  We arranged for Marco to come by my place in a couple of days. He showed up in his pickup truck, examined the greenhouse, and immediately grasped what I had in mind. Excited by Marco’s preliminary sketches for the project, and not too traumatized by the price he quoted, I hired him on the spot.

  He complimented me on the house.

  “This is a nice place,” he said. “It has potential. But tell me something.”

  “What?”

  “Aren’t you afraid to sleep here alone at night, next door to a bunch of stiffs?”

  I had to laugh. One thing about Marco certainly hadn’t changed. He still possessed a somewhat warped sense of humor.

  “For your information,” I told him, “I’ve never been afraid of anything stiff in my life.”

  “No? Not even that first time with me?”

  “I was afraid you’d bring that up. Okay, I was a little nervous back then. But you have to admit I got over it fast. Fast and permanently.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And what makes you think I always sleep alone?”

  He shot me a wry look. “Oh, I see. Got a steady string of tricks going up those stairs, huh? Maybe while I’m at it, I should install a turnstile in your bedroom doorway.”

  “Not such a bad idea. With what you’re charging me for this project, I’m going to have to start selling my services, instead of giving it away for free.”

  “My prices are competitive,” Marco protested. “And I’m not just the best contractor in town. I’m also the best-looking. I don’t just do a good job. I look good doing it.”

  I shook my head. “That’s some ego you’ve got there, buddy.”

  I gave Marco a set of keys to the house, the greenhouse, and the empty storage shed. As a contractor, he certainly lived up to his reputation for efficiency. He offered me a set of detailed blueprints within a few days, and, after I approved them, he set to work at once.

  The only thing that surprised me was that Marco showed up every day with only one helper.

  Marco shrugged when I questioned him about this. “One guy’s really all I need for a job like this,” he insisted. “It’s not all that complicated, after all. And, believe me, the more men you have working for you, the more likely they are to encourage each other to fuck off on the job—especially if the boss isn’t around all the time to keep an eye on them. When it’s just me and one or two other guys, I bust my ass and I bust theirs, too. There’s no beer-drinking or sitting around in the shade until after the project’s done.”

  I couldn’t help teasing him a little. “Things have certainly changed since the days when we used to hang out in your uncle’s empty office building after school.”

  He looke
d at me, and gave me an enigmatic smile. “A lot of things have changed since then,” he said. “But some things haven’t. I’m still horny, and you’re still hot. But,” he added, before I could respond, “no offense, but I don’t think it’s good business practice to fuck around with a customer. It can make things awkward.”

  “Oh, I understand completely.”

  “Once the job’s finished to the customer’s satisfaction—that’s different. Then we can talk about maybe picking up where we left off. Why don’t I give you a rain check, until then?”

  “Please do.”

  Now I couldn’t wait for the project to be completed!

  By coincidence, I’d put in a request for a week’s vacation, long before. My vacation started shortly after Marco began work on the job. I wanted to use my time off to catch up on some chores around the house, and since I was home during the day, I had plenty of leisure time in which to observe the two workmen.

  Marco, I decided, had matured nicely indeed. The contractor had a fine, hard body, which he wasn’t at all shy about displaying. He always showed up for work in what seemed to be his standard attire of tight jeans, work boots, and either a T-shirt or a tank top.

  It was June and already quite hot, so after an hour or so the shirt inevitably came off, and Marco sweated his way through the afternoon, his torso gradually turning even browner under the broiling sun.

  I was excited by Marco’s broad shoulders, bulging biceps, hairy pecs, flat stomach, hard ass, and visibly well-packed crotch. I remembered the sex we’d had together back in the old days, and I couldn’t help wondering whether he’d mellowed and become more sophisticated in that area, as well. There was now a virility and an energy, a vivacity, about him which I found appealing. And he was obviously good at his chosen line of work, which was something I always respected in another man.

  Marco’s assistant, Gino, was younger, in his early twenties, and Italian-American. He was dark, quite muscular, but small. Marco towered over him and bossed him around shamelessly. Gino took it all without complaint, indeed cheerfully.

  He was handsome—even sexy—but for some reason, I took little notice of him whenever he and Marco were together. Marco was so dominant a personality, so much more aggressive and outgoing, that Gino, going about his business with such efficiency, tended to fade into the background. He was almost just another piece of equipment that Marco used on the job, like a power tool.