Date: Tue, 6 May 2003 10:04:26 EDT
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Getting Pumped by the Man

			 GETTING PUMPED BY THE MAN
			   BY Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

Carver kept his stash of marijuana in small baggies secreted in several
places, in his jumpbag, in his sneakers, in his jockstrap. A policeman who
would bust him would usually stop at finding the first one. That was enough
to let him have some chance of dumping the rest of it if they took him
in. That, at least, was what he told people. It worked well enough.

The others on the basketball court were selling crack, mostly. One woman
had some red pills, Carver hadn't found out what they were. Obtained from a
pharmacy on a fake prescription. All of them were standing around the court
pretending that they had business there, with the lights busted out and the
basketball court silent and the darkness around them. Just hanging out.

Yeah, right!

The police knew that the Mad Tower was crawling with junkies and small-time
dealers. None of the really big boys were here, just a lot of small dealers
like the woman and her single pad of prescriptions. She'd get busted sooner
or later with those things, or run out of prescription forms.

The call went out, hissed. "Cops are coming!" Many of the dealers and all
of the buyers took off, some running, some strolling. Carver stayed where
he was. He only had some weed; they didn't bother busting a man for selling
weed. Usually.

Then the lights hit him, that bright, white searchlight near the car door
next to the external rear-view mirror, it hit him with what must be several
hundred watts of white light, and he flinched, threw his arm up over his
eyes. "Shit!" he said in exasperation.

"Stay right where you are." came the voice.

"Man, go hassle someone else tonight!" he groaned. He had nearly two
hundred dollars worth of dime bags on him, it was early Saturday night! He
could stand to lose it...but he'd be eating macaroni and cheese for a few
weeks if he did.

The light stayed on him while the door opened and the form stepped out.
Carver recognized the long, lean figure, tan and white. "Shit, Fields, why
you hassling me tonight?" Carver realized that Fields was alone. "Where's
Rodriguez?"

"Back at the station filling out paperwork." Fields said.

"So why ain't you with him?"

"I'm done with my paperwork."

"A policeman comes here at night, alone? You stupid or looking for a
medical leave?"

"I'm supposed to be stopping people running red lights, but I got bored. I
figured the Mad Tower would give me a perp or two to take in. You're the
lucky winner. Or are you clean?"

"You know I only sell some weed." Carver protested. "Half my customers buy
it for their grandmothers to smoke for their arthritis."

"Oh, I don't expect them to prosecute." Fields said easily. "Just want a
reason to go back to the station and kill a few hours."

"All right." Carver sighed. "Let's go." He left his jumpbag where it was,
tucked into a corner. He hated to lose that jumpbag, but it held most of
the dime bags and not much else. Some used paperback books, a newspaper and
other junk. In his line of work, you had to be ready to throw things away.
Maybe one of the other dealers would actually save it for him. It had
happened that way last time. Washington had done that, but Washington
wasn't here tonight. Oh, well. Cost of doing business.

He shucked his sweatshirt as he stood up and tossed it toward his
jumpbag. Now he only carried three dime bags, one in each shoe and one in
his jockstrap.

Fields let him do that, let him saunter over. He straddled at the police
car, let himself be patted down. The hands were vulgarly familiar, they
found the dime bag in his crotch and Fields ran his hand in to pull it out.

"Hey, officer, watch the family jewels!" Carver protested. "You turning
funny on me?"

"You're a laugh riot, Carver." Fields said as he pulled out the dime
bag. "I'm dying laughing. What's this, some incense? You're under arrest
for possession of an illegal substance." Fields run through his Miranda
rights but didn't cuff him.

"Now get in the back."

"Aren't you going to cuff me?" Carver asked.

"Why, you want me to? Now you're turning funny. Get in the back. Like I
said, you'll be out by morning. I just don't want to play traffic cop,
okay?"

"Okay." Carver got in the back and they took off. Went about six blocks and
into a business area, one that closed totally down during the day. From
there into an alley, this one lighted and secured. Local security guards
chased away the homeless before settling in for the night to watch their
TV's they weren't supposed to have.

Fields stopped the car, killed its lights and got into the back with him, a
thin white policeman with a pale bush of a mustache, with high bony cheeks
and a sharp, thin nose. He was too thin to be truly handsome, but he looked
damned good for a white boy, just the same. Carver looked at him with
disgust. "Man, why you have to come for me in uniform? You know I got to
explain this to the brothers." Fields usually visited him in street
clothes, and during the day, just a friend paying a visit. It worked,
nobody who sees a policeman really notices the face, they all see the
uniform and nothing else.

"I had an emergency call and dumped you out here." Fields said. "You walk
back home and get back on station in a half hour."

"What about my dime bag?" Carver said.

"Call it a business expense."

"I call it ten bucks." Carver insisted.

"Fine." Fields reached into his wallet and pulled out a ten, handed it to
him. "Now, what can you tell me about the real stuff? We hear something's
going down this weekend."

"Already has." Carver said. He knew darned well. He was with the police on
this, the crack dealers were the dangerous ones. "Shipment came in on a
truck loaded with television sets from Canada."

"Shit!" Fields said. His hand came over and onto Carver's thigh, ran almost
idly back and forth. "Where'd they ship it?"

"Several crack houses." Carver said. "I only know of a few of them."

"We'll take whatever information you can give us on this one." Fields' hand
came up and cupped Carver's balls, squeezed and felt out their shape,
followed up the line of his cock. Carver licked his lips. Those fingers
knew him so damned well, knew he liked it like this.

"Come on, talk." Fields said as his fingers went up and found the
waistband, the tie there and undid it. "Give it to me."

"I got what I know from listening to the dealers." Carver said. "I can't
tell you how much of it is true or what, you know that."

"I know." Fields said and his hand went into Carver's sweatpants and into
his jockstrap, the same as they had when they fished that dime bag out of
his jock, it had rested in his pubic hair above his manhood. But now that
barrier was gone, Fields' hand sailed through the hairs and bumped against
his cock which was aching here, found and wrapped around it. A sharp tug on
his waistbands with the other hand and Carver's cock was brought out into
the open. Fields fondled it lovingly, slowly.

"Come on, man, tell me the houses that took the shipment."

"I know three for certain." Carver said. That hand began to stroke his
prick, pumping him up into firm rigidity. He groaned and slumped back in
the seat. "There's the one at 620 Franklin Street, that old two story house
all boarded up. Front's all boarded up, but hey got their lab in the back
and they approach it through the bushes from the house at 624. They go in
the front door of 624, out the back and over to the lab."

"Gotcha." Fields said. His hand, God, his hand was making long, firm
strokes, Carver's cock was hard, damned hard, it was alive with sensations
all along its ten-inch length, loving the hand that pumped on it, loving
the white boy's hand that milked it, his tip was wet and slimy with precome
that he could see as sparkles in the dimness of the car's interior, the
nearby sodium lights turning everything oddly colored, making his cockhead
sparkle with gold. Fields was jerking his cock, and all the while acting
cool, like he was just talking. Carver was trying to do the same, but shit!
That hand, that fucking hand was working him!

"The next place." Carver panted. "Is at 1218 Oakwood. `Nother abandoned
house, this one they got in the basement, I think. The dealer complained
about having to crawl down in and he tore his pants. I don't know for
sure." Oh, God, this was such a fucking trip! He was a small-time dealer
keeping the cops off his back by turning in the harder dealers. Fields had
shown himself a cocksucker the second time he'd come by Carver's place and
Carver had been wearing a pair of ratty shorts, woke up and groggy, he'd
laid back on the mattress and Fields had sat down and just took down his
shorts and sucked on him. After that, every time Carver dealt out
information, Fields dealt out a blowjob.

But this...shit, this was why Fields had come by in uniform on a night he'd
managed to dump his partner for a shift. He hadn't come looking for an easy
bust, not even the information, maybe, but just to do this, to take Carver
here, in his squad car.

But Fields never wanted to talk about it, always acted like he didn't know
what he was doing. It had thrown him at first, then it had turned him on.

"Yeah, and what's the third one?" Fields asked. His hand was working harder
now, working Carver's cock, and he expected Carver to remember details on a
crack house! Shit! Oh, shit! God, his cock was practically burning, his
balls were bubbling with jizz, he'd never make it!

"The third place." he panted. "Shit! The third place...it's an
apartment...small one, one of them...uh!...one of them converted
houses. They got...uh! Man!...they got a place on the second floor. Owner
of the place knows what they're doing, and most of the tenants...oh,
God!...most of the tenants work for them...Man! You can...uh!...you
can....uh!...you can...." His voice trailed off, he was losing it, shit, he
was about to come and he was supposed to keep on talking? God!

"I can what?" Fields asked him. "Come on, give it to me, spill it, man!"

"I'm sure as hell going to!" Carver grunted.

"Come on, what's the address?"

"It's at...it's at!"

"Damn it, man, spill it! The address!"

"24...23...Fifth...Avenue! God, shit, fuck!" Carver groaned. "Man, I'm
about to come, don't you fucking stop now!"

"Was it 24 or 23?" Fields asked him.

"It was 2423!" Carver gasped out and he followed it with a loud moan, for
he was coming, he was fucking coming! "Gah, uh, gah!" he groaned as he
squirted his load, a heavy load, shot it all over his chest and stomach,
and still Fields gabbled on like this was a common meeting between the
stoolie and the cop.

"So it's 2423 Fifth Avenue, and we can bust the whole house?" he asked
Carver while Carver was still spurting.

"Yeah! Yeah!" Carver groaned while gobs of jism landed on him, all over
him. Shit, he was so fucking turned on by this!

"Good man." Fields said to him. "You're a good man." he said.

"Yeah, yeah!" Carver moaned as he finished, panting, weak and helpless, his
cock a withering, wilting, soggy mess in Fields' hand, it still squeezing
and working him, milking every last erg of joy from his dong, shit, he had
been fucking milked dry in the middle of an interrogation! Fucking hot!

"You got anything else for me?" Fields asked him. "What about the gangs
that run those crack houses?"

"All run by the Blanks." Carver said panting.

Fields leaned over and his pink tongue stuck out, then Fields said. "What
else are they up to these days?" And that tongue came back out and Fields
began to lick the come from Carver's chest.

Carver sighed as that warm tongue bathed him, cleaned him, licking up his
pearly globs of sperm nonchalantly. Funny how much it excited him, this
cavalier, by-the-way thing he had going with this cop. Like it was nothing
to do with them, it just happened off there. So he talked of what he knew
about the Blanks these days, talked freely, naming the ones he knew and the
new ones they'd added.

Done, Fields said, "All right, I hate to make you walk back, but it's less
than a mile."

"I can handle it." Carver conceded. "Get back to my post and hope they
didn't steal my bag."

"If they did, let me know and I'll tap the discretionary fund." Fields
promised. "You did some good here today, we don't mind juicing you to keep
you on your post."

"Yeah." Carver said. He walked it and was back on his post by ten
o'clock. The night's work was just starting, and his bag was right where
he'd left it. Washington had shown up, he'd been coming in as the squad car
arrived and he'd held onto it, and turned it over. Washington was kind of
sweet on him, Carver decided, but no way he was doing the guy. Long as
Washington kept his hands off, they'd be okay.

"So what happened?" Washington asked him. "You get out on bail already?"

"Naw, he got a call and just stopped the car and told me to get out."
Carver said. "I been walking back ever since."

"He treat you okay?" Washington asked solicitously. "Didn't rough you up or
nothing, did he?"

Carver shook his head. "Naw. He tried to pump me, but I just sat there and
acted like nothing was going on. Gave him some stuff at the end, nothing
big, and he lapped it all up."

"Good man." Washington said. Washington was in the Blanks, but not a major
player. "Don't let the man fuck with you."

"He wouldn't do that." Carver said. "I got him playing just the way I want
him to."

And he sat back at his post. He still had to sell some weed tonight.

THE END

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		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM