by Mary Potter
COREY
BOYS IN BLUE
SAN FRANCISCO
BOOK 3
MARY POTTER
Contents
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
Chapter 1
COREY
I share an apartment with my friend, patrolman Tyler. He’s a good guy, but he sometimes sleeps with the bedroom door open. That means at the angle between the two bedrooms, the way his bed lines up across the hall from my bedroom, I see him asleep sometimes. It means he’s not a shy guy. He doesn’t really have too much to be shy about. He’s handsome and ripped and has a big dick. I know this intimate part about him, not because I’m interested in him… Tyler sleeps naked. That means he’s asleep sometimes when I get home from my shift before he starts his turn. You look in the room in passing, it’s our training. It’s the instinct for a cop to pay attention.
So, I see him sometimes. And he’s not shy, bed covers or not. Summertime means less covering. For Tyler, that usually means he’s above the covers. You see what I see. A few times, I catch him jerking off. But it’s normal. I mean, I jerk off sometimes. And one of the women I like thinking about is my recently married friend’s wife, Monica. She’s one sexy curvy girl. And Monica knows it. I remember when she wears her stretchy pants when Jeremy hosts BBQs for the boys, Monica likes to wear tight pants and shorts that show off her thighs and that voluptuous round ass. Monica is a very sexy woman. But she’s taken, and that makes her a fantasy at best. It’s the other woman who I discovered recently who gets me hard at the thought of her curvy hips and tight uniform top.
I get to see her almost every day. And if I plan my patrol route right, I get to see her more than a few times. Today, Tyler’s sitting in the passenger seat of my patrol cruiser watching the houses in the neighborhood. My patrol area isn’t bad; most of the homes have security. Most of the retired people living in the region spend a lot of time outside watching their maintenance crews trimming trees and manicuring lawns. I get to see all that and a lot more.
Some of the divorcées like showing off their newly available bodies they worked hard to get back into shape after a few babies and a lousy marriage. I like looking, but looking never led to anything more than an occasional masturbating session that lasts about as long as it can without the touch of a beautiful woman sharing my bed. That’s the problem living single in an apartment with two single men. We’re available and lonely. It’s not like we jerk off in front of each other. I’m not discounting that because everyone has their thing. But I know the size of Tyler’s cock, and it makes me a little envious, even if I’ve never admitted it. But he’s not my type. It is just like the loving divorcées. They’re fun and sometimes like flashing a little cleavage when they visit me patrolling the neighborhoods, only to bend over and look into the car. I love it, but I prefer younger women, about ten years my junior. Not that I’d appreciate a little patrol fantasy. It’s never happened.
Tyler’s with me today because his patrol cruiser is in the shop. He’s stuck with partnering. I don’t mind the company, and I offered to drive. I wanted him to see my neighborhoods and check out the beautiful new girl on the block.
“Look, there she is,” I say, and point to the sidewalk along the road.
ASHLEY
I like my little studio apartment, but I love the neighborhood where I deliver mail. Cow Hollow is a trendy and affluent neighborhood in San Francisco. It’s ever-changing, and not everyone can keep up with the rapidly replacing tenants and homeowners. It’s the kind of place that’s popular with young professionals. I like that I get a mix between apartments, houses, and chic fashion boutiques, as well as the Pilates studios, the beauty salons, and the fashionable people who think they know what art is and want to show it off. I get a few sports bars and a few wine lounges. I deliver inside open businesses, and I deliver door to door. I get my pick of fantasy people and my pick of men who are catching glimpses of my ass in uniform shorts or like to stare at my tits when I visit them directly to make my deliveries.
It’s not a dream job delivering mail every day. But when you know the routes well, and you get out of the building fast enough, I can deliver my route as quickly or as slow as I want. If I have something to do at home, I’m in a hurry. I can make people know that I need to keep moving by a practiced wink and a wave. I know how to pick up my feet.
When I don’t have any after-work plans, I can make the mail route last as long as the day and get back to the delivery center just in time to get outgoing mail on the evening truck. Delivering mail is a good steady income. It pays the bills and helps save for the future. I know I have a future. And when I’m inspired, I can hurry up, get the route done and be home before the sun sizzles as it slides into the Pacific Ocean. I get to deliver everyone else’s bills and still do what I want to do with my leftover time. I’m an artist, and I have a million brilliant ideas. Sometimes I can put to canvas the thoughts in my head. But I don’t have a place big enough to put all the notes I have on paper into practical experience because I have limited space.
There’s never a shortage of ideas because I run into a gambit of characters where I draw inspiration. The people, who I see every day, talk to, share stories, or walk by, give me enough great ideas that I can take it all home in my brain and dump them down on paper.
I get the young and old. I get the uptight socialite women who look at me with comparing and judgmental eyes. I get the few older retired men who like to greet me at the front door in their loose robes and nothing underneath but gray chest hair and saggy balls. I get the young men who want me to come into the apartment and try their new brand of weed. I get the guys at the lounges who want to hug me only to get a cheap feel of my breasts against them and the occasional accidental rub against my ass.
But out of all of them, the ones I remember and the ones I want to forget, I get to see the one hot older police officer who cruises the neighborhood at the same time as I happen to deliver the mail. The funny thing about seeing him every day, whenever I take home ideas about him, I don’t usually put them down on paper, he gets deep enough into my head that I have to fantasize about him in bed.
I see today he has someone else in the patrol car with him. He’s another hunky older man who gives me naughty ideas about sharing space between the two of them in my bed. Today is different than any of the other days. Today, the patrol car rolls up beside me and stops. Today, he’s talking to me.
Chapter 2
COREY
I can’t say ‘no’ to Tyler when he gets something in his head. He’s making comments about her. He’s not lurid, just openly vocal about the style of her uniform with the comfortable black footwear, the tight navy color shorts with the dark racing stripe that hugs the outside of her curvy hips. The shorts accent her luscious ass. He mentions her short-sleeve powder blue vertical striped shirt with the eagle head over the left breast and the way she has it unbuttoned enough to see more without trying. Tyler points out how she wears the hard shell white safari hat and dark eyeliner.
“I think if I had her in the neighborhoods I patrol, I’d have her name, number, and know the color of her panties for the whole week,” Tyler says. “I mean, look at her, Corey. How have you not stopped to talk to her?”
I’m not shy, but sometimes people are a little funny about cops stopping to talk to them. “I figured if she wanted to say something to me, she’d flag me down sometime.”
“That’s no excuse, man. You need to see if she’s single. I know she’s not wearing a wedding ring.”
“I noticed that already.”
“What the fuck are you waiting for?” Tyler asks. “Stop the car.”
I think for all the times I wanted to talk to the girl, I never really had a reason. With Tyler at my
right hand, how can I deny him little pleasantries between professionals?
As I pull up to the curb, I see her beaming bright, beautiful grin. Her hat covers her head, protecting her heart-shaped face. She has teal eyes, a large mouth with full lips. She has mahogany-colored straight hair that drops across her shoulders and down her back in a silk dark brown wavy. Her hair reflects the bright sunlight that illuminates her.
“Hi,” Tyler says. He’s closest to her. “What’s your name?”
“Hi,” she says. “Um, Ashley.”
“Well, Um, Ashley, I’m Tyler, and this is my second best friend in the whole wide world. He wants to meet you. His name’s Corey.”
She steps closer to the car. The postal satchel over her shoulder has a strap that has found its way between her breasts. The strap from the mailbag pulls at her shirt a little, revealing the lace trim on her bra. I’m not going to point it out to her. I mean, why ruin a beautiful sight?
Ashley cocks an eyebrow that’s a thin black line above her eye. “Second best friend?” she says.
I smack Tyler’s arm catching the comment as Ashley points it out. “Yeah, second best friend?”
“Corey’s been wanting to stop for a long time now, but never got around to it,” Tyler says, ignoring the statement. “He’s too chicken to say anything to you. I know he’s not shy because I’m his roommate, so I know he walks around the apartment in his underwear.”
She smiles briefly at the idea. “Do you like that?” she teases.
I smile, and Tyler doesn’t miss a beat. “I don’t mind. I mean, I sleep naked, so he sometimes has to see a little more.”
“I think that’s probably a lot more information than Ashley wants to know about us,” I say. There’s a playful twinkle in her eyes that I won’t deny. I like the way she’s looking at us.
ASHLEY
I t’s an exciting way to get all the embarrassment out of the way the moment you meet someone. I can tell that Tyler has a lot of confidence. I know the type. They are a little stuffy, a little vain, and they think just because they have a big cock, it gives them license to say things otherwise off the table in regular conversations. But Tyler manages to bring me face to face with Corey. Well, not quite face to face. I mean, I have to look over Tyler to see Corey at the steering wheel in his stylish uniform with the shiny badge. I know the whole time I’m leaning closer to the cruiser, Tyler’s trying to see a little more of the bra that’s showing because of the strap on my satchel. It’s unplanned, it just happens.
I know men; I know men like to look. I want to look too. I don’t mind Tyler looking. But one thing I know about Tyler that he doesn’t get yet—just because he has a big dick doesn’t mean he knows how to use it. I bet he can’t last as long as I like to fuck.
I take a second to clear my head because the artist in me already drew every outline of two adult bodies joined together in a lot of ways that don’t work for me when I still have to deliver. I like keeping my sexual ideas out of my delivery route because it is distracting, even with the older men who like to let their balls hang out of their robes. I don’t mind the experience, and I just don’t want them handling anything but their mail when I meet them at their front doors.
“You boys, be careful,” I say. “I got a little more left on my route.”
“Are you in a hurry?” Tyler asks. “We don’t want to keep you. I mean, its Saturday and I’m sure a beautiful woman like yourself probably has a date tonight.”
“No date,” I say. I’m not looking at Tyler. I’m watching Corey. He’s got his eyes on my eyes and not on my tits like Tyler.
“That’s good because Corey doesn’t have anything to do tonight either. He was telling me about how you’ve been driving him mad for months yet he never stopped to talk to you. I think it’s a good idea to let him down slow and easy finally.” Tyler leans his chin against his forearm against the door, staring up at me with buttery eyes. “That way, you and I can get together.”
“Well, Tyler, as it turns out, I think I’m busy tonight. So, sorry,” I say.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” he says.
Tyler leans back against the passenger seat again. I get a fuller view of Corey sitting relaxed behind the steering wheel. He’s trim and older and wears a pressed uniform. I see a hint of a tattoo peeking out from under the short-sleeve uniform shirt. I’d like to see what it is because I’m an artist, and I can be objective without objectifying.
“See, I remembered that I have plans. I’m meeting Corey tonight around eight at the café on Lyon Street across from Presidio. It’s the one that sells scones shaped like hearts.”
“Oh, yeah,” Corey says. He nods and grins. “I know the one. That’s right. We have a date. I’m glad I remembered.”
Corey punched Tyler’s left arm. I saw him wince.
“Sorry, Tyler, we have a date tonight. So, you have to hang out in the apartment alone.”
I shake my index finger at Tyler. “Don’t go sitting on the sofa naked. That’s just rude to guests.”
Chapter 3
COREY
I think Ashley is the kind of girl who I can fall in love with. She’s witty and knows what to say at a moment’s notice. I get to the café and find a seat before the place fills up, and I’m in luck. It’s a good seat at an intimate table with low lighting. I get a good view of incoming patrons and see Ashley arrive before she sees me.
There’s something to be said about a woman who wears a uniform for work every day and shows up for a date dressed in a casual summer dress with her hair teased out, string straps, and a bodice that hugs her hips and accents her perky and voluminous breasts. I love her top, her bottom, and everything else—above and below.
The hostess brings Ashley to the table, and to show her I know how to pretend to be a gentleman, I stand up as she arrives. Her lips sparkle in the table lamplight. I don’t know if its lip gloss or moist lips from the tip her tongue once she sees me. I let her look at the silk black dress shirt, the gold trim belt buckle, the black pleated slacks, and the loose roll of my sleeves. I know she’s taking in the appearance. I showered and shaved. I even took the time to fantasize about how our date went and jerked off in the shower before I arrive at the café. I don’t know how the date’s going to turn out, but I hope to get my hands under the hem of her knee-length summer dress before it’s over.
I had fantasized about Ashley’s luscious lips, and flavorful hips when I stroked my cock in the shower. I cum thinking about her, and it was enough to get me through the night with hopes of another excellent date even before we get through our first date.
“You look spectacular,” I say. I extend my hand to shake her hand gently. “I’m Corey, by the way. I know it’s late and it’s a little strange. But I love how we’re here and my horny roommate—who I’m obliged to apologize for—is home doing his best not to sit on the couch naked when I’m not around. By the way, thank you for that image. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Well, a lady needs to know when it’s the right time and place to bring up important points between friends. I mean, he’s not even your first best friend, and he’s sitting on your sofa naked. I mean, it’s so uncouth.”
I laugh. I am starstruck by Ashley’s easy and forward way about her. She’s not shy, and she’s beautiful. As soon as she sits and smoothes the front of her dress over her thighs, Ashley grins at me. I know at that moment, she’s the right girl for me.
ASHLEY
C orey is a little shy, even if he doesn’t know it. I like how he’s trying to be a gentleman without working too hard at it. He’s charming and smells like body wash, and I see the smooth chin and cheeks. I get the impression he’s the kind of man who doesn’t waste a lot of time and shaves in the shower. I get a little flash of him naked in the shower. I like to think that he’s the kind of guy who knows how to treat a woman with some dignity and isn’t going to try to get into my panties on the first date.
“Your friend is a great subject point,” I say.
“He’s a way for the two of us to get to know each other by using him as a bridge for conversation.”
“You know, I never thought much about it before just now. But I have to hand it to Tyler because he’s brought the two of us together. He’s not here, but he’s our topic,” Corey says.
I like watching his mouth and throat. His open collar shirt lets me see his neck and Adam’s apple dancing as he talks. His words wrapped in a rich tapestry of southern California dialect that tells me Corey is from the area or lived here most of his adult life.
“He broke the ice between us. Tyler made us feel better about being together right now because he was flirtatious and even a little taboo in our topic choices,” I say. “It’s a suave move on his part. Here we are, talking about Tyler, and we’re on our first date.”
“It’s our first date?”
“Well, we’ll see how it goes. I mean, you and I already know a lot about each other, and we’ve only just started our communication.”
Corey frowns. I like how he looks at me with interest. He’s captivated, and I know he’s attracted to me because I lost count how many times his eyes look at my cleavage in my cotton dress with the modest floral design.
It’s not usually the type of dress I’d choose for a first date. But I feel comfortable around Corey because he’s a cop. I know there’s a little bit of dangerous to him, the element of danger is in his job. At least I know he has a job. That already makes him top-notch in my book of dating topics of Important Points. Because I don’t have to worry about whether or not he’s employed, it takes us to another level of comfort.
