Date: Sat, 31 Aug 2002 11:55:46 +0000
From: DW
Subject: A Routine Day

It started off, a routine day.

My gay best friend told me once that some straight guys "could be had."  He
figured I was one of them, I fit his description.  Pretty boy, open minded,
no inhibitions, bold.  Steve thought I was a pretty boy.  Tall, dark, good
looking and a body I had worked hard to strut.  He was no better, just as
tall, just as fit, but handsome, strikingly handsome and really cool blonde
curly hair.  We were in the middle of a heated argument and he blurted that
out, opening a door that could never be closed again.  It explained a lot.

But that was years ago, now I was married, a child on the way, successful,
and straight, dammit.

So if anyone had told me that morning while I enjoyed my coffee that by the
end of the day I would find myself on the business end of a blow job, I
wouldn't have believed it for a minute.  In fact, I probably would have
beaten the shit out of him just to be sure he understood; I'm not a fag.
But if that someone could have convinced me that the only way to avoid this
fate was to stay at home, to cancel the business trip, quit my job,
whatever, I would have done it.

But life isn't like that and most days you don't get any warning.  So, as
that day wound down to a close, I found myself a three-hour drive from my
home, on my knees, a stranger in front of me, his dick in my mouth.

Hey, don't get me wrong.   It's not like I'm unfamiliar with the whole
concept of gay sex.  Like I said, my own college roommate and best friend in
the world was a gay man, although we lived together for three years before I
found out.  But one morning he finally found a way to tell me.

We had spent the night bar hopping and had passed out drunk, together on my
bed. The next morning I woke up with the sun streaming through the windows
onto my bed, my jockeys pulled down, sporting a major woody, and in the
middle of the most glorious blow-job I had ever received.

The mop of blonde curly hair working my dick belonged to my roommate and
best friend in the whole world, Steve.   I lay back with my hands folded
behind my head and looked down at him.

"I win," I thought.  Everything was a competition with me.  I felt myself
slip into ecstasy.  "And he gives insanely great head."   And then, aloud,
very shortly later:  "Steve, I'm gonna CUM!" and I shot my load into his
mouth for the first of many times over the next few years.   Hey, I was
young, always horny, always hard, and he was, well, there.  And willing.
Any port in a storm, man.  Any port in a storm.

I gave him a hand job in return, every time.  That was a phase in my life,
no big deal.  I just thought it had ended when Steve and I graduated and
went our separate ways.

But many times since then I found myself getting hard of the memories of my
long, rock hard cock; glistening from his saliva.  Looking down on the top
of his head, watching my erection as he sucked me.  Sliding into his mouth,
and out, his lips clinging to every contour.  The purple rim of the head as
it slowly slipped out past his talented lips, then inching back in as far as
he could take it.  Then cumming, and cumming, and cumming like never before
(or since).

Just like this dude's huge cock was stretching my mouth now.  Just like my
lips were clinging to the contours of his very hard dick.  My jaw, my knees,
my wrists ached as I mentally clawed my way back to the present.   I managed
to get his cock out of my mouth and panted out a few words.

"If you'll take off these hand cuffs I swear I won't try anything," I
begged.

I saw stars before I felt the sting as he backhanded me hard across the side
of my face.  I found myself on the ground staring at the grass gradually
deducing he had taken exception to my plea.  He grabbed me by the collar and
dragged me to my knees again, and bent down to face me.  His spit sprayed in
my face as he threatened me.

"I'll decide when the cuffs come off, and you'd better start showing some
respect, pal."

And I realized the very serious danger I was in, out here in the dark and
deserted rest stop in the middle of nowhere.  It was the middle of the
night, there were no witnesses, and this man was a cop.   The situation
wasn't in my favour.

"Yes sir," I responded meekly.

"Take a few minutes and decide how you want this to end up, pal."  And he
stood up straight in front of me.  I looked at his erection in front of me.
It glistened in the moonlight, wet from my spit.  I resigned myself to the
inevitable.  Still, I took as much time as I could to rest my mouth before I
started sucking his cock again.

"I'm ready," I said, and corrected myself quickly.  "May I suck your cock
again, sir?" I asked.

He just grabbed my head and pushed the head of his cock to my lips in
response.  I opened as wide as I could and he started drilling my head again
as he held my face firmly in his big hands.  This thing had been going on
forever already, he had stamina. I was drooling spit and jism.  It ran over
my chin and down my neck into my shirt.  It didn't look like he was going to
end this soon, and my mind drifted as he rocked his cock in and out of my
mouth.

I had come up to this remote tourist town on a Saturday to look after an
account I had over looked all summer and the company risked losing.
Sweet-talking the client had taken longer than I expected and I didn't want
to drive back home in the dark, so I found the cheapest motel on the
outskirts of the deserted town.  I wasn't going to expense any of this, the
only record of how close I came to losing the account would be if they
checked the mileage on the company car.  I called my wife and told her I'd
see her sometime on Sunday.

After checking in I doubled back towards town and stopped at the only
roadhouse with a big screen that had the hockey game from the Canadian
signal.  I paced my drinking carefully to stay within the limit; I couldn't
afford to lose my license.  My job depended on it.

But the game had gone into double overtime and I had crossed the threshold
of good judgement and kept ordering beer.  At some point in the first
overtime period I noticed a cop walk into the bar and look around.

I took notice of him because he was big, good looking, square jawed and crew
cut; marine-like, huge biceps and thighs poured into a skintight uniform.
He was giving me competition.  It was a wonder but I still thought in terms
of picking up chicks all the time, even though I had been married and
faithful for a few years.  He also looked like he might be trouble but under
the influence of a few beers he vaguely amused me, and I nicknamed him
"Biff" as I checked him out and kept an eye on him.  I guess I must have
been smiling to myself as I looked at him.  My smart-ass attitude has gotten
me into more trouble than I care to admit.

At the break between overtime periods I lost sight of him.  I got up to take
a leak and walked into the men's room and found him at the urinal.  I got an
eyeful of his handful of cock as he was pissing, and sure as fuck, he caught
me looking.  How the fuck could you not look?  All guys check each other
out.  That didn't make me gay.

He asked me a few questions as I stood there beside him with my dick in my
hand, and skillfully got out of me my reason for being in town, where I was
from, that I was married, where I worked.  Shit I talked easily when I'd had
a few.

"Be carefully, city boy.  Don't get into any trouble," was all he said as he
zipped up and washed and dried his hands, but the way he said "city" it sure
sounded like he meant "pretty" to me.

"I won't," I sneered back sarcastically, and to myself, "Officer Biff."

I was still shaking the last drops off when he came up in my face and
confronted me.

"Sir!" he said.

"I won't, sir," I answered, suddenly sober.

"Make sure you don't."  He left the washroom and left me staring at my self
in the mirror as I washed my hands.

"Make sure you don't!" I mimicked to my reflection.  "Yes, sir, officer Biff
with the big dick."  "Fuck, he's huge," I thought to myself.  "Did you see
those arms?"  Then as an aside, "Did you see that dick?"

I came out of the washroom and Officer Biff, the huge dicked weight lifting
tough guy was nowhere to be seen.

The game ended, the bar closed, and I stumbled out to my Taurus.  I
rationalized that I was just fine to drive, the truth was I was border line
at best.  But it was only about 5 miles out to the motel, and where the fuck
would I get a cab if I wanted to out here in the middle of nowhere?
Besides, the place was deserted by the time I left, Officer Biff was long
gone, how much traffic could there possible be?

Only one car, as it turned out, and it followed me from the time I left the
roadhouse until I got a few miles up the road.  And then the lights came on
and I realized it was the cops.

"Oh fuck," I thought and I pulled into a rest stop off the side of the road.
  He signaled me to keep driving and I went several hundred yards out of
sight of the main road, past some picnic tables, down a ways.  He pulled up
behind me and I watched him in my rearview mirror as the put his cruiser in
park.

"I wonder who I'm gonna have to blow to get out of this one?" I thought to
myself as I contemplated the bullshit ahead of me.  It was supposed to be a
rhetorical question, a metaphor for making a deal, groveling, whatever it
took.  I looked into my side view mirror as he approached my window and got
a full view of his bulging crotch as it filled my mirror.

"Officer Biff," I answered myself out loud.  I chuckled at my own wit.

He caught me smiling as I rolled down the window and prepared to ask the
"something wrong, officer?" question.  He was not amused.

I offered my license and registration and he ordered me out of the car into
the chilly October dark.  A few sobriety tests later, which I had no problem
with, and things got nasty.

He had me spread-eagled over the hood of his cruiser and started to pat me
down.  It was more like he was feeling me up, he took a lot of time on my
shoulders, pecs, biceps.  He was checking out my body and I was feeling
cocky about this body of mine.  "They can't resist." I thought to myself.
Then down to my ass, and then slowly, very slowly, back up the inside of my
legs till he reached my crotch.  All the time talking about how no big city
asshole was going to come into his jurisdiction and show disregard for the
law, that sort of thing.

"You know where I've got you now, don't you pal?"  Before I could answer his
hands reached my crotch, and he shocked me when he took a handful and
squeezed me firmly.  "By the balls," he said, and squeezed again.  He leaned
forward against me and his lips brushed my ear as he spoke.  He took one of
my hands behind my back as if to put cuffs on me, and held it there, then
pressed hard against me.  His crotch ended up in my hand.  And fucked if I
didn't feel the blood start to rush to my cock, which he was rubbing while
he whispered in my ear.  His whole body was leaning against me, pressing me
into the hood of his car.  I had to escape before he noticed my prick
thickening in his hand.

"I've got a little machine in my trunk you can blow into.  If I don't like
the results, things are going to get very unpleasant for you."  He rubbed
his crotch against my palm, then took my other hand from the hood of the
cruiser and brought it around behind me.  He let go of my crotch long enough
to put a pair of handcuffs on me, then pulled me up by the scruff of my neck
and brought me around to his cruiser.  He opened the back door and pushed me
so I was sitting down, feet outside the cruiser, facing his crotch as he
leaned against the roof and spoke.

"On the other hand, there is a way out of this."  He waited.  "It involves
blowing as well, but if I'm satisfied with the results, we can forget this
ever happened."  I'm pretty quick, I understood what the faggot cop was
getting at right away.  Still, there was not much of a choice here.  There
was no way I'd pass the Breathalyzer, even if I'd never had a drink in my
life.  Not tonight, not with Officer Biff.  I had lots to lose.

I stared at the bulge in the crotch in front of my face.  What goes around
comes around, and it was coming around big.  Fuck, what's the big deal,
anyway?  And dammit it all, my own cock was more than half way to hard
itself.

"I'll do it."

"You'll do what?" he asked.

"I'll suck you off, man.  I'll do it.  Anything, just let me go."

He bent down to face me.  "You're in no position to tell me what you plan to
do, or tell me what to do.  Now if you have a request, I'll consider it if
you ask nicely."

Oh fuck.  I took a deep breath.  "May I suck your cock?"  I gulped.  My cock
jumped in my pants as I heard those words leave my mouth.  Silence.  "Sir?"
I offered.  And I was very hard by then.  I was very confused by my own
excited anticipation at the prospect of giving my first blow-job.

He never said a word.  He reached down and started undoing his belt, then
his button, and then his zipper.  He reached into his pants and freed his
growing python and I stared at it in disbelief.   Oh fuck.

He pulled me from the car and down on the grass in front of it.  The parking
lights of the cruiser dimly lighted the area.  There was an orange glow.  I
knelt in front of him and considered my immediate future.  He had pushed his
pants down below his balls, hugging his massive thighs.  His dick stared at
me, waiting, not fully hard but well on the way.

"Well?" he asked.  And I opened my mouth and leaned forward, and tasted cock
for the first time.