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.
The End
