Notes from the authors:

This is a product of the same collaboration that produced the recently expanded “Choosing a Stepfather.” The two of us enjoyed working together, and agreed to continue to do so.

This story is a work of fiction. Some persons and events are based on actual ones, but even those have been so significantly changed that nothing in this story should be read as anything but fictional.

This story contains bisexuality and sexual acts involving adults and under-age minors, both related and non-related, in accordance with the shared story preferences of the authors. If any of this is objectionable to you, you might like to leave and go to another story.

Feedback, which is desired and appreciated, can be sent to “Brad Gillespie” at the address RBZ followed by the digits 3141 at Please put the story title in the subject line. But don't be surprised if the name on the responses is different. That e-mail account is under a different pseudonym than the one I used to write this story.

Feedback to “Tucson Daddy” can be sent to lannyr99 at

And remember, Nifty relies on donations to help them stay in operation. If you want to help, you can donate by going to

The Policeman

by “Brad Gillespie” and “Tucson Daddy”

Chapter 1:


Phil was lying on a workout bench, grunting, to push the 225-pound weight above his head over and over, as his fellow deputy, Miguel, droned on, “17… 18… 19… 20! That's it!” Phil was lowering the barbell onto the support over his head. Miguel reached over to grasp it, “OK. I got it. Push it back a bit. There, it's down.” The solid thunk of the bar and its weights sounded as it dropped into place. Relieved of his burden, Phil relaxed, his body still shaking slightly from the extended effort.

Laughing, Miguel said, “Man! You are one tough hombre, Phil. I have to apologize for doubting you could do it.”

“No prob,” Phil said rising from the bench, flexing his biceps. It had been a real workout, raising sweat flecking his body and arms.

“You must be thirsty after that workout,” Miguel said. “Let me buy you a beer, amigo.”

“You're on, buddy.”

It took a lot of effort to press that much weight, and he felt every ounce of it. He was wiping his face with the towel as he stepped over to where he'd left his shirt. Picking it up, he pulled it back over his head, then pushed his arms through the sleeves. They walked out of the gym, chatting amiably.


Phil was a proud retired Marine, who had served his country for almost 22 years. He had learned and grown in the the Corps. One of those ways was respect. Respect for all, no matter their sex, color, religion, or heritage, because the Corps has taught him well by example and deed.

Before he joined, he had learned from his family and friends to be suspicious of anyone not like him, his family, or his friends. High school was a cross section of different kids, as was the population of the town. In his ignorance, he chose to associate only with other white boys, mostly, snubbing those who didn't fall within his parameters of sameness.

This excluded girls, naturally, for he was very good looking. Regular participation in sports gave him a buff body. Handsome, smart, friendly, and outgoing made him popular, not only with other kids, but with adults as well.

In middle school, as hormones began to flow, he had his pick of the girls. Thanks to their naïveté, he easily seduced several, who gave him full use of their bodies. As soon as he took them to bed, his interest waned, leaving broken hearts in his path. One day, he expressed to his dad the guilt he felt over fucking and dropping them.

“That's the way we men are, Phil. Girls expect you to be aggressive,” his dad assured him. “Trust me on this. Women want to be fucked by studs like you.”

In the Corps, he met men who taught him that as a Marine, it was his duty to protect the less strong, even if they weren't like him. That meant women, blacks, Hispanics, even the Muslim guy who was on his MP team.

The only ones he couldn't and didn't respect were queers! They disgusted him. The worst of them, those he hated deep down in his guts, were the bastards who preyed on young boys. He'd seen it first hand, when one of his friends told him about the abuse his father did on him. It sickened him so much that he could do nothing to help his friend. He felt relief therefore on the day that he'd learned the bastard was killed in a bar fight. Fucking faggot!


As his Marine career was coming to a close, his immediate supervisor suggested he find a place where he could use the skills he'd honed. “You're still young at 40, you need something to keep your mind and hands busy, or you'll wind up like many retired military; bored drunks.” With such encouragement, Phil sought out a civilian police force to join. Raised in a large city, he yearned for some place less stressful and found it in a mid-sized town in Iowa.

He sent out resumes to several cities. Surprisingly they all came back showing an interest.

Thanks to technology, he interviewed with several by phone. One in particular told him, “…to drop in, when you muster out.” So he did, and with his background and the letters of recommendation, he was immediately offered a job as a deputy police officer.

Retiring as a senior master sergeant with over 20 years in military law enforcement, he had spent a lot of time doing the drudge work of a policeman. He knew what it was like on patrols, making the arrests, dealing calmly with the crazies, so his experience gave him an edge. He had the basic instinct of how to handle any type of person. Once on the force, he knew he was destined to rise quickly, because those with responsibilities were watching him. He was going places!

As soon as he could, he joined the detective staff, where he could use his brain more than just his strength. He found instant connection and friendships with the others there. One of his earliest investigations was of an attempted abduction of a 12-year-old boy, Christopher, who miraculously had escaped.

Interviewing the boy was an eye-opening experience. The kid had thought fast. Just as the predator had tried to grab his arm, pulling him into his car, Christopher had spat in his face. In shock at finding any resistance, he released the boy, who jumped from the car and ran. He stopped only long enough to glance back at and remember the license number. Then he continued running toward a woman who was coming his way. The predator quickly drove away, the woman seeing only its trunk as it turned the corner.

The 911 call brought police to the scene very quickly; Christopher told them what happened, and gave them the car's license number. The lead was of no value. It appeared that the predator had stolen a car and used it to drive off in search of a boy. It was his bad luck to meet Christopher. Nonetheless, the car needed to be dusted for fingerprints and searched for any other clues to the predator's identity.

Phil was in charge of this group. While his team handled the technical details, Phil and his partner drove to Christopher's home to talk with him about his part in the event. His mom invited him in, and called Christopher. When the boy came into the room, his appearance caused Phil to start. He was easily one of the prettiest boys he'd ever seen. Only with great difficulty did he manage to keep his mind on his purpose for being here.

“Please, gentlemen, do have a seat. There on the sofa.” Christopher immediately sat down between them and leaned against Phil. “Just happy to see a cop,” Phil thought. He and his partner asked Christopher to go over the details.

“I already did. Those officers who came first wanted to know,” Christopher said.

Phil smiled and replied. “I know, but they were there just to see if you were all right. Would you mind going over it just once more?”

“You mean about the predator?” asked Christopher brightly.

“You're a pretty smart boy,” Phil said, bringing a smile to Christopher's lips. “And what pretty lips they were,” Phil was thinking. Their eyes met and held for a second longer than needed. Phil set a small tape recorder on the coffee table and said, “Could you tell us what you recall, please.” Phil noticed that Christopher had placed his hand on his thigh. For a couple of milliseconds two opposing reactions fought, in the end, Phil left the hand right where it was. He realized that he liked the boy's hand there. Listening as Christopher began his story, Phil didn't even notice that his cock had begun to harden.

Christopher had a good memory for detail, giving instant by instant replay of what had happened earlier that day. They asked a few questions to expand on various points, then thanked Christopher and his mother for their time, and left the home.

“Nice kid,” Phil commented, as they walked to their car.

“I can see why the perp chose him,” replied his partner.

“What do you mean?”

“God, but he is cute! Almost pretty.”

Phil only smiled, and nodded in agreement — but in his own private thoughts, the boy was more than cute or pretty. He was the epitome of sexy! Only then did he shrug off the uneasy feelings that he was having about the boy. His partner's rambling on about the case helped Phil redirect his mind back to the present. Inside, out of his consciousness, other thoughts were stirring.

The next step in the investigation was to bring in Christopher to go over the endlessly boring books containing pictures of men who had a previous history of child molestation. After Christopher chose three who looked close enough to be the guy, he appeared at a line-up. It only took a cursory glance for him to point at number two and say, “that's him!” The officers tried to shake his confidence, but he was sure. The man, Greg, was questioned, but had good alibis, so he was released. Christopher was disappointed.

Phil had been reading up on predators, immersing himself in studies and knowledge of their behavior. He explained, “These guys can't not go looking for new kids. It's a compulsion. So if this Greg is our guy, he'll try again.” The department regularly cruised places where men were likely to gather for anonymous sex. Phil laid out a plan to spend more time at the most popular sites using plain clothes officers to circulate, checking faces, asking questions.

Being the officer in charge, Phil chose to be among those pretending to look for sex, with the unspoken suggestion that he preferred younger guys. It was just after three when he arrived at a public park to check out the scene. Parking his car a block away, he walked the short distance to the public rest rooms. He was wearing a fake mustache, glasses, and a Yankees cap, to mislead any he might know.

He was walking some distance behind a boy, probably of middle-school age, carrying a back pack. Nearing the restroom, the boy stopped, looked both ways, then turned off the sidewalk onto a path leading into the brush behind the rest room building. Curious, Phil turned to follow the boy, being careful to make as little noise as possible so that he would not suspect. The boy seemed familiar with this area, considering his confidence in negotiating the multiple side paths.

Phil stopped when he heard voices ahead. One was that of a child, probably the boy he was following, and another voice, deeper, possibly a man's. Slowing his approach, he moved to a point where he could see what was going on. Parting a branch, interfering with his view, what he saw initially shocked, then revolted him. The boy and a man, maybe 40 years old, were kissing. Mouth to mouth!

His mind was reeling and his stomach churned. His first impulse was to rush into the small clearing where the two queers were kissing, and arrest the filthy bastard on child molestation charges. Taking a few seconds to recover sensible thinking, he resisted that impulse, to wait. What could a boy-to-man kiss mean to anyone. Just good friends? When the kiss ended, the man was smiling, and speaking to the boy in low tones. The three words he could make out were, “honey,” “love,” and “cock.” The man knelt in front of the boy, who was standing with his back to Phil. Even though he could not see the man's head, he was sure of what he was doing. The boy was a little louder and very explicit. “Oh, yeah, daddy! Oh, yeah! You suck my cock so good.”

Phil's police instincts urged him to make the bust, but somehow he couldn't. He was entranced by seeing such a young boy being sucked off. And enjoying it! As he watched, he felt his own cock begin to thicken. The boy's words were so enticing. “Suck me. Oh, yeah, suck me, daddy!” The kid was getting off.

And so was Phil. Just the sight of this sexy scene was making him horny as hell. He wanted to jerk off, but he couldn't. Might spook this pair. So he watched until the end. Throwing his head back, the boy groaned loudly and stiffened. Phil knew that the boy's balls were pumping their contents into the mouth of the man kneeling there. For a few seconds longer, he continued to kneel there, to feast on his prize. When he had finished, he pulled back, and rose. Once more they kissed. Then the boy zipped up and turned to leave. It was Christopher! Oh, my god! Phil's head spun in confusion. Even so, he had the presence of mind to move away from the path. The man and his young suckee walked out together, each taking a different route back to the sidewalk.

Phil watched them go. He was too shocked to take any action. It wasn't just that. The feelings he'd had, in watching these queers go at it, confused him. On the one hand, his disgust of fags in general stirred his anger. Yet he had stood quietly watching them kiss, then the man sucked the boy, and they kissed again. He had been aroused as he watched, sexually excited to an erection. How could this be?

After the pair had gone far enough so they would not see him, Phil followed the path back to the sidewalk. The boy was further along, swinging his back pack and paying no attention to being followed. At the restroom, a few men dawdled, pretending a casual air. Even though his heart wasn't in it, Phil did his job, pretending to look for sexual action with the hint of youth. The first man he spoke with looked at him with a grin and pointed. “See that kid?” Phil turned to look: the only one on the sidewalk, just turning the corner, was Christopher. “He loves to get sucked off. Sometimes he sucks too. Hot little mouth!” That did it for Phil; his mind was no longer on the job, but on Christopher.

Two weeks later, Greg was arrested with a child in his car. Christopher was thrilled.

Phil was good at this! The best they'd seen in the force. Cracking case after case with determination of one possessed, it sometimes seemed. Such total personal involvement in finding and removing the monsters that roamed their streets was bound to be noticed and rewarded.

His phone rang; he picked it up and answered, “Hello, this is Phil.” It was the chief's secretary asking him to come to the chief's office immediately, if he could. “Be there right away, Maggie.” He hung up, told his partner that he had to see the chief, and strode from the room. He was puzzled and wondered, “Is this a new case?”

Maggie indicated he should go right in. As he entered, the chief rose from his desk, came around to shake his hand, and shut the door. “Phil, I have some visitors I'd like you to meet.”

Phil heard the rustle of men rising from chairs and turned to see them: two, both wearing dark suits, and walking toward him, hands extended. “Phil, I'm FBI Agent Frank Delany and this is Agent Fred Zimmerman. We've heard a lot about you.”

“Let's all sit down at the table,” said the chief, walking toward it. They all took seats with the chief at the head. “Might as well get down to business,” said the chief. “Agent Delany, would you explain to Phil why you are here?”

Delany began, “Thank you, chief.” Then turning to Phil, he continued, “Agent Zimmerman and I are part of an FBI task force targeting men who are sexual predators, who prey on children as young as 11 years. Based on news reports, your city is having a higher than average number of events such as this. You, yourself, have participated in three sting operations in the last six weeks. We want to make a major sweep of this area, putting fear into the hearts of these monsters, to keep them off of the streets. Make them lessons to the community, so that neighborhoods can not only feel safe and secure, but be safe and secure.” Phil was nodding as he spoke.

At the end of nearly an hour of talk, during which the two agents explained Phil's role in the FBI sting operations, it was agreed that Phil would be the go-to guy locally for anything that had to do with predators. Phil saw this as the opportunity to do what he'd longed for, get the bastards who sexually molested kids for their own pleasure. He quickly agreed, as did his boss.

Their business concluded, Agents Delany and Zimmerman shook hands all around and left, the chief walking them to the door. Turning to Phil, he said, “Congratulations, Phil. You are a real asset to the force. Working with the FBI on this. Very exciting!”

Phil was enthused with the prospects of working with the best of the best in law enforcement. Maybe he should have signed on with the FBI. But no, he was happy in his own world, here in Iowa. That night, after a few hours with the boys from the force who were congratulating him on his coup, he went home. It had been a tiring day, so he thought he'd drop off to sleep, then rise early the next day. Not this night.

The dream began.

Phil was seated in his office, dealing with the endless paperwork, when he looked up to see Christopher standing by him. “Christopher. What are you doing here?” he asked, surprised to see him.

“I came to see you,” the boy said smiling. Phil turned his chair to face the boy when he noticed that Christopher was naked, his little cock pointing straight at him. “Do you want to suck my cock, Phil?” he asked disarmingly, as though it happened every day.

Alarm rose in Phil. “No, Christopher. No I don't want to suck your cock.” But he couldn't take his eyes off of it.

Then the boy pointed at Phil and said, “Sure you do. Look. You're hard too.”

Phil looked down and gasped. He too was naked. It was true, his cock was the hardest it had ever been. He wanted to scream, but he didn't. Instead, he slid from the chair, sinking to his knees, opened his mouth, and lowered his head…

That's when he woke up in panic, shouting “No, no. I don't want to. No.” His eyes snapped open, and he gazed around the darkened bedroom. “What?” he mumbled, confused. “Christopher?” But nobody responded. There was no Christopher. He was alone in bed in his own bedroom. Arising, he moved cautiously in the darkened room to walk into the bathroom for water. In the dim glow of ambient light from a full moon streaming through the window, he looked in the mirror to see that he was naked, his cock hard.

It came back to him in that instant and he imagined he could see Christopher standing next to him saying, “You want to suck my cock, Phil?” Desire exploded in him, and he began to stroke his cock. Those words echoed in his mind as his hand rose and fell on this cock, with Christopher's words echoing over and over, until he shot stream after stream of cum all over the mirror. And when he was done, completely drained, he returned to his bed, where he fell into a troubled sleep. Phil's life would never be the same again.