
-----------------------------------Bury It, Officerby Ryan Field-----------------------------------Erotica/Gay Fiction
www.loveyoudivine.com
Copyright ©2011 by Ryan Field
First published in 2011, 2011
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and characters are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental
Bury It, Officer
Copyright(C)2011 Ryan Field
His and His Kisses Edition
Cover art and design by Dawne Dominique
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BURY IT, OFFICER
By
RYAN FIELD
When not even warm milk will do the job!
On nights when I can't sleep, I'm not the type to read or drink warm milk. I don't drink alcohol, take pills, or count sheep, either. Sometimes music works but not always. And I've found there's always an underlying reason for why I can't sleep.
I get this way when I'm bored with bars, websites, and typical ways to meet men. So I take a short drive to a rest stop along the interstate about ten miles outside of town. It's a public, circular area with separate sections for cars and large trucks, surrounded by trees and thick brush. It's one of those places were travelers stop and rest and one of those places where some men find satisfaction on lonely nights. No one goes there looking for love and romance. But you have to keep an open mind, because it is what it is.
There's a dilapidated, closed-down, cinderblock bathroom in the center of the rest area, the "men" and "women" signs are now hidden by six vinyl, pee-stained porta-potties. They are set back from the interstate, dark and discreet and fairly empty between midnight and dawn. You can circle the old bathroom for hours looking for action and no one gives it a second thought. Though cruising is heavy in the warmer months with the down-low guys, almost any kind of action is for the taking all year around.
This place is not a habit; a person could become addicted to these things, and it's important not to go too often. But every now and then, I have a simple fetish that needs to be fed. A slight kink that has to be recognized or I won't stop thinking about it. It's not common, and the only place for a five foot eleven, butch, jock-type to exhibit such a desire is a dark corner where no one is in a position to judge. Actually, and this fact makes a broad statement in itself, it's a fetish so uncommon you can't find a website that's completely devoted to it.
Though I'm not into drag or cross-dressing, and I have no interest in panties or stockings (don't even like to watch drag shows), I happen to really get off wearing high heels during sex. There you are. A pair of heels, six inches or higher, in black leather makes my heart race faster. But they could be any color.
My body is lean; I work out six days a week for a thirty-inch waist and a forty-three-inch chest. My legs are long, muscular, shaved, and tan thanks to endless hours of running nowhere on treadmills and the local tanning salon. I work hard at it year round. Most guys at thirty would have said give it a rest; you can't stay young forever but even still.
One drizzly, damp night last November, I decided to drive to the rest stop to see if there was anything interesting going on. You never know unless you go there, and it's all harmless if you're not going to do anything but observe. At least this is what I told myself on the way. I hadn't been there in months; not since the sultry night in June I'd sucked off a couple of saggy-jean college guys who were too drunk even to remember, I'm sure. They were of legal age, but so young emotionally they were amazed that I'd swallowed three full loads. Their eyes bugged; they thanked me more than once and walked me back to the car. They even opened my car door and waited for me to pull away. It was the typical ritual with all its excitements, but it was also just as dangerous: to drive there wearing nothing but a belted black leather coat that stopped just below my ass and six-inch heels. I always carry a bag with a tee-shirt, jeans, and shoes for emergencies, but half the fun was driving there practically naked while wearing the heels. Sometimes, I turn on all the interior car lights, giving the old truck drivers a cheap thrill.
By the time I pulled off the interstate and into the rest area, the rain had stopped, leaving the black road slick and shiny with a smell of wet grass in the air. It was a cool November night, sultry and mysterious, and you could still feel Halloween lingering in the breeze. My heart was already racing and my face felt warm. As I slowly circled the parking lot, carefully checking out the truck area, I realized it was also an empty night. There was only one other car: a black sedan and not a trucker in sight. It was already two in the morning, and I didn't want to cruise all night, so I parked about two spaces away from the black sedan, killed the engine in my black SUV, and turned off the headlights. I knew there was still hope; it was too soon to go home. I'd learned from experience never to assume anything when it came to cruising rest areas. Though the car windows were darkly tinted and dotted with rain and I couldn't see very well, the guy sitting in the black sedan seemed fairly young and surprisingly attractive from where I was sitting. I love my SUV, so high up, because it gives me the advantage of checking everyone around me.
Normally, I would have waited; lowered the passenger window to see if the other guy was interested or not, made eye contact with him. But I was feeling bold that night. So I opened the door, stepped out of the car and stood for a moment, adjusting my belted coat to make sure you couldn't actually see my ass, bending over slightly, pretending to check out the windshield wipers. Then I decided to show off a little, walking away from the car toward a large metal trashcan on the sidewalk, so the other guy could see that I was practically nude. Not an effeminate walk either, just a normal guy with a good body who was completely at ease with his fetish. It was extremely important to appear masculine and confident, to walk with a heavy step, legs always spread wide. I was advertising the body of a man, not a woman. A man who just happened to be wearing high heels and a black choker.
Within minutes, as I walked toward a rain-soaked picnic bench just beyond the trashcan, I heard a car door slam shut, and I knew the guy in the sedan liked what he'd seen. I turned and saw the guy walking toward the picnic bench, too. He was tall and dark, wearing a navy polo shirt and kaki slacks. His zipper was down and what appeared to be a nine-inch cock, fully erect, poked from the opening. They aren't all this bold, these guys on the down low. Most stand back and observe for a while, but not this one. This would do it, I thought. He wouldn't even have to drop his pants. He'd just bend me over the picnic bench, lock my hands behind my back with the wristbands I had stored in my coat pocket and fuck my brains out as fast as possible so that we could both get off, and I could go home to bed. I wasn't looking for love; I was looking for action.
As he approached, I leaned back against the picnic table, spreading my legs in an obvious way so he knew there wasn't a mistake. I let one dangle off the edge of the table so he could look up my coat and see my dick and the bottom of my ass. Then I thought for a moment; it was so quiet there and we were so isolated, we could do anything without getting caught. I quickly unfastened the belt on my coat. I opened it completely and let it slide off my shoulders and off my wrists so that I was now sitting on the wooden table wearing nothing but black high heels and the leather choker. With eager brown eyes, the guy in the kaki pants pursed his lips as though he were about to whistle and took a deep breath. He liked what he saw, I knew this from the expression on his face and the way he was gaping with his mouth half open.
When he reached the picnic table, he licked his index fingers and then slowly circled the tips of my nipples. "Suck me off," was all he said, as he spread his legs and leaned back as though he were going to take a piss. I could tell he was a cocky, aggressive one. He had an air of superiority...comfort...in a place that usually intimidates most people.
I pulled the black wristbands out of my pocket and fastened them to my wrists. "Hook my hands behind my back first." I whispered this and sent him a soft, gentle glance, with my head slightly bowed and my eyes looking up at him.
He smiled and nodded. He took my hands, placed them behind my back, and snapped the wristbands tightly so I couldn't move my arms at all. His hot breath was against my neck; I detected the aroma of stale tobacco. His cock was now larger and stiffer and resting against my thin waist. Before he stepped back, he kissed my shoulder very gently and said, "You're adorable."
Without having to be told a second time, I went down on my knees against the cracked-concrete sidewalk and kissed the head of his dick. He then unfastened his belt buckle, unbuttoned his kaki slacks and yanked them down to his knees. His legs were real-man hairy; a dark fleece covering hard thigh muscles, not shaved like mine. I opened my mouth, slowly stuck out my tongue, and began to lick the tip of his dick so lightly my tongue barely touched him.
"Ah yeah," he said, grabbing the leather choker around my neck and pulling me toward his crotch, "Suck me off real slow, bitch...suck the head of my dick like a Popsicle. You like it, don't you, bitch."
I nodded yes and kissed his balls. I wanted to be his bitch; I wanted to please him while he gave me orders. The Popsicle reference was a little stupid, but I'd learned years ago to ignore trite comments like this from men in dark parking lots. I wrapped my wet lips around the head of his cock, sucking gently, tasting the salt and sweetness of his pre-come, swallowing as though it were my last meal. By that time, I doubted it would be a full-force fuck session. He only wanted me to suck him off. He wanted the job done fast. Which was fine with me...I hadn't slurped down a load in my high heels for quite some time.
"You're a good little cocksucker," he whispered, gently slapping the back of my head. "Such soft, smooth lips, you like being tied up and naughty. You like being a bitch, don't you?"
I nodded yes again and then took the entire nine-inch dick down my throat as he gasped and ordered me to suck him off in a deep stage whisper.
But then, just as I was about to begin the hard, wet sucking in order to get him off, he suddenly pulled his dick from my lips and looked to his left, toward the rest area entrance. Swiftly, he grabbed his large cock, shoved it into his pants and then turned back toward the black sedan. He didn't even give me a backward glance.
I blinked. Not a word was spoken; he didn't care that I was bound with leather wristbands and couldn't move my arms. He walked quickly, got inside his car, started the engine, and slowly pulled away without causing any commotion at all.
Though I was slightly offended at first (maybe he didn't like the high heels), I suddenly noticed headlights on the other side of the rest area. A police car, white with black letters and red lights, had pulled in. I knew the local police cruised the area all year long, hoping to bust men sucking dick. They lived for this. But I'd never seen one during the colder months on a rainy, desolate night. It wasn't busy enough for them to waste their time. I quickly put my coat between my teeth, knowing I wouldn't have enough time to get back to my car, and headed for one of the porta-potties where I could hang out and unfasten the wristbands or until the police car was gone. I knew the drill, and I always knew how to get out of my own wristbands just in case I had to move fast in any situation. The police car circled once, checking to see that no one was sucking dick in the wide-open grassy area where there were picnic benches and then moved on to the parking lot.
From a small crack in the plastic door of the porta-pottie, I saw the police car pull up next to my SUV and park. He then killed the engine, turned off the headlights, and simply sat there. And for the next thirty minutes or so, that's where he remained as I watched through the crack in the plastic door. I worked carefully to try to unhook the wristbands, but I couldn't seem to break free this time. I didn't understand this. I'd never had this problem before. My arms were hurting by then; I couldn't take it much longer. And then finally the snaps popped, and I was free to move and to put on my coat.
After sorting through my choices, realizing that I didn't want to sit in that awful-smelling porta-pottie a minute longer. I finally decided to simply walk back to the car as naturally as possible. I could have left the high heels inside, but I thought walking barefoot in November would seem even more suspicious. If he asked why I was walking around in nothing but a leather coat and high heels, I'd say I'd just come from a costume party; it was only one week after Halloween, which was plausible. I'd actually been invited to a costume party that night and had refused to go. I hadn't done anything wrong; I hadn't been caught sucking anyone's dick. There was a change of clothing in my car, too. As far as I knew, though embarrassing in the wrong context, high heels were not illegal.
As I opened the plastic door and stepped down, I put my hands in my coat pockets. I tried to pull the coat longer, but it was futile. It barely covered my dick. All that could be seen were long, shaved, tanned legs and six-inch black high heels. I walked slowly, trying to act as if nothing were out of the ordinary. I was only several hundred feet from the car, but it was a walk of shame that felt like miles. And, oddly enough, I felt strangely excited, too.
Though I'd expected the cop to shine his headlights as I reached my car, he instead lowered his window and said, "Is everything alright?"
"Ah, yes, officer," I said, keeping my voice deep and butch and rough, "I was just coming from a Halloween party. I know it looks a little strange." I figured I'd better explain up front, before he asked any questions.
His expression was tongue in cheek, as if he knew there wasn't a Halloween party. Actually, I thought I noticed a half smile.
"Well, then you won't mind if I check your driver's license, bud," He said, climbing out of the patrol car.
"No, not at all," I said as he approached. "It's in my wallet on the front seat," Face to face, he was tall, about six feet three or four, with short dark blond hair and a wide neck. He had delicate facial features that reminded me of young Elvis Presley, but the body of a baseball player. It was a strong body built around massive shoulders, covered by a uniform of light blue shirt and navy wool trousers. His large feet were covered in heavy black leather cop shoes, the kind with the rounded toe. If he hadn't been a baseball player in high school, it would have been a waste.
He opened my car door and said, "Why don't you reach in and get it."
I knew that if I bent over and reached for the wallet, the coat would rise and expose my ass. I hesitated. "Can I just sit down in the car and hand it to you? It's kind of embarrassing to bend over in this coat." I smiled and shrugged. "I'm not wearing anything under it." I was hoping honesty would help me out of this one. It was too soon to flirt.
"I said bend over and get it," his voice turned rough but not mean.
I blinked again. He had a playful look on his face. "Are you sure?"
He reached down, grabbed my ass, and said, "I'm sure."
Well, he asked for it. He left me no choice. So I turned, bent over, and stretched my arms as far as they would reach, realizing that this encounter was by far the hottest I'd ever had. I knew where it was going to lead by then. I was following his direct order, doing exactly what he wanted me to do. All I wanted was to show off my ass to the sexiest fucking cop I'd ever seen up close.
The coat, as expected, rose to my waist and my bare, tanned ass was fully exposed. I even arched my back and spread my legs a little for him. And then, as I grabbed the wallet, I felt the wool fabric of his slacks on my bare ass. His knee was rubbing and pushing me down onto the black leather seat with gentle force. I spread my legs even wider and arched my back, inviting more. He then gently lifted his leg and pressed the sole of his black shoe against my ass, tapping it a few times. I moaned and lifted my right leg, bending it at the knee so one high heel was in the air. He grabbed the heel and rubbed the flat sole it against his groin for a moment.
"You really aren't wearing much under that coat, I see," he said, now reaching down and running the palm of his large hand across my ass. Slowly, up and down and then back and forth, his thick middle finger circled the opening of my hole. "I thought you were joking around. But you really are fucking naked." He slapped my ass. "Fucking hot."
I dropped the wallet as he reached under my waist and slowly pulled me to a standing position so that I was facing him. He pulled me closer and said, "That must have been some costume party. I'll bet you were a big hit. But you could catch cold walking around naked this way." Then he laughed and squeezed my ass again.
"I'm not naked. This is a very warm coat," I said, looking directing into his sky blue eyes. "Why don't you put your hands underneath and find out for yourself." I caressed the back of his neck slowly.
He began to unfasten the belt that held my coat together, opening it, and then allowing it to fall from my shoulders to the wet, cold parking lot. It was an old coat; he could have stepped on it for all I cared. My eight-inch cock was now fully erect. He grabbed it with his right hand, placed his left hand on my bare ass and then leaned forward to kiss me on the lips. I opened my mouth, and his warm tongue began to circle mine. With force I hadn't expected, he pulled me toward his body, and I wrapped both my arms around his wide shoulders. Then we kissed: fast, hard face sucking; his rough beard rubbed against my smooth face, and his slim hips bucked into my pelvis. He overpowered me, and I let him. I had a feeling his thick dick was ready to burst from the navy wool slacks pressing against my naked groin. He began to make faster fucking motions as though he were about to pound me into the metal frame of the car.
With my left hand holding his neck for support, I reached down with my right and slowly began to unzip his pants. I wanted to set him free and hold him in my palm. I felt the cold metal of his cop badge against my naked chest. When his zipper was down, I reached inside and grabbed his cock...beer-can thick and yet soft and gentle at the same time.
He bit my neck, just beneath the choker. "Oh, baby, that's it. You're a cuddle toy. Stroke me like you love it. Show me how much you like dick."
"Handcuff me; I'll do whatever you want," I said, running my face across the cotton fabric of his pale blue uniform shirt, not knowing how he'd react. I began to rub his dick. A big cop cock, real cop handcuffs on my wrists. I knew he wanted me to tell him he was the best. I could sense he was into cheesy, trashy, almost-laughable dialogue for the sake of sex. "You're very strong; you're dick is huge." I wasn't lying either. He was the best I'd ever seen in a place like this.
He smiled. "Turn around, baby. I'll handcuff you."
As I turned, my arms already behind my back, he pulled out cold, shiny handcuffs and clamped my wrists together. I was now in complete submission; his fuck toy for as long as he wanted.
"Spread your legs for me," he ordered. "Open them nice and wide so I can get in there."
"Yes, sir," I said, hoping and praying he'd fuck and pound and rip me wide open with that beer-can cop cock. My entire body tingled, my heart raced, and I had trouble catching my breath.
"I'll just put on a rubber, slip it in and out real slow, baby," he said. "The rubber isn't pre-lubed, I'm afraid. I'm going in dry, bitch."
I liked that he referred to a condom as a rubber; it was sexier for some reason. I didn't care about lube. I knew how to take him dry without any problem. The friction would only make it better for me. "I don't have any lube, officer; you'll just have to bury it with your spit." I lied; there was a tube in the glove box just in case I needed it. I never went anywhere without condoms or lube, just in case.
"Shut the fuck up, bitch," he said, as he spit into the palm of his right hand and then rubbed it on his cock. He wasn't serious. His tone was gentle, and he was smiling the entire time.
"Go easy," I said as he slammed the car door shut. "You're a big boy." The metal handcuffs clinked against the steel on his belt buckle. I was only joking about going easy. I really wanted to say, "Bury it, officer," but I thought that might be too forward.
He laughed; he seemed to sense I knew what I was doing. "I know how to take care of bitches like you. I know exactly what you want."
I was now totally nude, save for the six-inch heels and choker, and he was fully clothed, with a thick erection swinging from an opening in his pants. I pressed my shoulders against the frame of the car, leaned over, spread my legs wider, and arched my back for an easy mount. He spit again, lubed his cock. Then, he slowly began to work it into my ass. It didn't take much. The lips of my hole parted and sucked his big cop cock without a hint of rejection. I felt an instant of good pain, but it didn't last long. His large hands held the sides of my smooth ass and he slowly began to fuck and pump and pound. The rough fabric of his uniform rubbed against the back of my thighs; his huge balls slapped the bottom of my ass. To enhance his pleasure, I squeezed my hole tightly, creating suction and jerking his dick while he fucked.
"What's your name?" he asked a few minutes later, out of breath from fucking.
"Luke," I replied, wondering why he'd asked.
"Luke, I swear to God that I'm HIV negative. I just want you to know that. I always wear condoms and I've been tested and I'm fine. But you're so fucking hot, I can't control myself. Can I fuck you raw?" He slapped my ass. "I need it raw."
"Me, too," I said as he continued to fuck and pound very slowly. "I'm negative, I swear." I wasn't sure about him fucking me raw. I didn't know him, and he could have been lying about being negative.
"Then, Luke," he said, fucking harder, pounding with such force, I knew he'd split me open, "Can I fuck you raw? Please, can I just feel what it's like in there without the condom?" He lowered his voice and said, "I'll bet it's warm and soft, just like a pussy."
I almost laughed at that line. But I knew he was only speaking this way because he thought it was sexy. So I wiggled my ass and said, "It is like a pussy."
"Let me fuck you raw."
"What's your name, officer?" I asked.
"Bobby," he replied, squeezing my ass so hard, I knew there would be bruises in the shape of fingerprints the next day.
"Bobby," I said, bracing my legs firmly so I wouldn't lose my balance with the high heels on the wet pavement, "It's not that I don't trust you, but I'd rather you keep the condom on this time. I'm sorry. I have rules about these things. But I really wish you didn't have it on. You're different from the others. I like you, and I don't even know you." I knew if I said no, it would only make him want to fuck me raw and shoot up my hole all the more. I wanted his come up my ass. I wanted him to plant all the fucking seed he had in his big, strong balls inside my body. I hadn't been fucked raw in so long, I'd forgotten what raw dick felt like. But I just couldn't take that chance with a stranger, not after I'd been so safe all my life with everyone else. It would have made all that sacrifice and all those times I'd said no to eager, begging men worthless.
He slowed down for a moment and caressed my ass. "That's cool," he said. "Maybe next time. I can prove to you that I'm negative with actual results, and then we'll do it raw."
Did he just say next time? I didn't want to ask out loud, so I just smiled and said, "If you can prove it, you can fuck me raw next time. I'll even wear the high heels again if you want."
Then he slapped my ass and said, "Shut the fuck up. You know you'll wear the high heels. You know you love getting fucked in high heels," he ordered, placing a strong hand over my mouth so tightly, I could barely breath, "I'm gonna shoot my load any minute. I can't hold back."
I tried to mumble that it was okay, but it was no use. It made me smile that he wanted to come this way; most guys just pull out and jack. He was so rough, and he fucked so hard. Anything that came from my mouth sounded more like a squeal than a coherent word. His strength; the handcuffs; I was his slave for as long as he wanted. The best I could do was try to nod my head yes.
"Get ready, bitch," he shouted, fucking harder, his legs beginning to vibrate. "Fuck yeah, fuck yeah, man."
I knew he was ready to unload and fill the condom, and I wanted it as hard and rough as he could give it. I'd reached the edge of my own climax and I wanted to come, too.
"Here it comes," he moaned. Then he slapped my ass so hard, it echoed into the dark night.
I grew closer. Actually, I'd been close to orgasm the minute he'd shoved his cock up my hole, and I'd had to hold back on purpose. I'd always been lucky this way. If the guy fucking me was rough enough and he hit the right spots deep in my body and he slapped my ass hard enough, I could climax without even touching my dick. An internal orgasm was the best kind, mainly because it was more psychological and emotional than physical. I'd learned through trial and error that the word emotion contained more than one meaning.
"Yeah, fuck, bitch," he shouted, "Here it comes. Fuck, yeah, fuck, fuck, fuck."
With his hand still over my mouth, I began to moan; I licked the palm of his large hand. When a guy like Bobby shouts fuck as he climaxes, a guy like me knows he's doing his job.
And then the fucking grew intense, his legs began to bend, as though doing the limbo. He humped so hard, my head began to bob, and I had to lean into the door frame with my shoulder so I wouldn't fall over. With his other hand, he started to pull my ass toward his cock, practically lifting me in the air.
"I'm fucking ready to blow," he shouted. "Ah...Ah...fuck yes...Ah fuck." He grunted and moaned and sighed. It took a while, but he got there. He pulled my ass toward his dick and shot his load into the condom.
As he did this, I reached the best orgasm I'd ever had. My entire body shuddered with pleasure. It wasn't just the high heels and choker or being nude in a public rest area or being fucked by a big, strong cop. It wasn't just the slight pain from the real handcuffs, the rugged way he'd held my ass while he fucked, and the way he'd needed to cum inside my body. It was more than just a naughty, little slut night for me. With this guy, it was emotional in a way I'd never experienced before. That's when it occurred to me that I really liked him. It was more than sex. I would have done anything to please him by then. I wanted to shout tie me up, kick me with your dirty boots, and fuck my brains out so I can't walk tomorrow. But I didn't want him to think I was out of control. He seemed to like the fact that I was more subdued than he was, and I didn't want to ruin that gentle balance.
For a moment, after we'd both blown our loads, we remained in position, with Bobby deep inside. He gently ran his hands up and down my ass, slowly fucking, trying to dump every last drop of his load into the condom. In this sense, he proved again that he was a real man. He needed to maintain control and keep me submissive. And I responded by wiggling my ass in slow circles, encouraging him to remain inside for as long as he wanted.
"Are you okay?" he asked, reaching for the key to the handcuffs, "You are the hottest thing I've seen in a long time, walking around out here in black leather high heels and choker collar. I wish I could take you home with me right now, but I'm on duty."
I was slightly stunned. Did he just say he wanted to take me home? I'd expected him to jump off my back, pull up his zipper, and say thanks like most guys. That's usually how the down low worked in public rest stops. Then, they go home to their girlfriends and wives with big smiles on their faces.
"I'm fine," I said as he pulled his cop dick from my body and unlocked the handcuffs. Fuck, dude, I wanted to say, that was the best fucking pound session any guy ever gave. I knew I'd still feel that big cock up my hole for days to come.
"I swear I'm not positive," he said, stuffing his cock back into his navy slacks. He seemed eager to repeat this.
"Me, either," I said, now standing there naked but not feeling awkward at all. I usually experience a strong sensation of guilt and couldn't wait to put on my clothes and take off the high heels. But that night, I only felt warm and happy.
He bent down, picked up my coat and helped me put it on, pulling the belt tightly. I'd never met a guy who'd actually dressed me.
"I hope this doesn't sound weird or anything, but I really think it's hot when a good-looking guy wears high heels...it really gets me going. It's not something I see often, and I'd never ask anyone to do it. Do you think we can hook up again? I really want to fuck you raw next time."
I smiled. "Will you use the handcuffs?"
"Oh, next time, I'll completely dominate you, with you on your back, hands tied to the bed post, a gag in your mouth, and those high heels over my shoulders. Maybe we can get you some more black leather shit, too. I'd love to see a black leather belt around your waist. Maybe some tall black boots with high heels. That shit really turns me on, buddy."
I found some paper and a pen in the car, wrote my number and handed it to him.
"I'll call you tomorrow," he said, his blue eyes sparkled with satisfaction. Then, he reached down and ran both hands under my coat, resting them on my ass, and stuck his thick tongue in my mouth. A minute later, he stopped kissing and said, "Maybe we can get you a pair of red high heels." He laughed. "You won't be able to walk for a week, trust me."
I caressed the back of his head and kissed his chin. I smiled and said, "I have red heels. I have white, pink, gold, and silver, too."
He slapped my ass and stepped back. "C'mon, baby. Let's get your pants on, and I'll follow out to the highway so I know you're safe. Then I'll call you tomorrow, and we'll go out to dinner or something. I know a couple of nice places in town. I eat lunch out all the time, and I know a lot of the owners. And then we'll hook up at my place."
"Aren't you afraid someone will see you out with a guy?" I asked. He was a cop. And though I wasn't effeminate, I was surprised he would want to go out in public on a date with a guy.
He shrugged. "I'm not in the closet. I came out a long time ago to my family and my co-workers. It made life a lot easier. And if anyone has a problem with me taking you out in public, I'll kick their ass." He kissed me again and said, "Get dressed. It's getting late."
When I was dressed, he kissed me good-bye and closed the car door for me. I started my car first, and he followed me out of the rest area and onto the highway. He remained behind me until I reached my exit. And when I hit the turn signal and eased to the right, he hit his red lights, sounded a quick siren, and zoomed by on my left. As I watched his tail lights disappear in the distance, I experienced a warm sensation I'd never known before. All of a sudden, I wanted to get to know him better. I wanted to find out what his favorite color was and to know what his favorite meal was. Did he like to read? Did he like to travel? There was so much to learn and so much to look forward to. And for the first time in weeks, I knew I wouldn't have any trouble sleeping that night.
About the Author
Ryan Field is a fiction writer who has worked in publishing for over fifteen years. He has worked as an assistant editor and editor for magazines and non-fiction publishers.
Aside from his novels, his short stories have been published in anthologies and collections by Alyson Books, Cleis Press and Starbooks Press. His short story, "Down the Basement," is part of a collection of short stories in the Lambda Award winning book, BEST GAY EROTICA 2009.
He blogs at www.ryan-field.blogspot.com
Other LYD Titles
By Ryan Field
Young Doughy Joey
"Whatever, Dude"
Capping The Season
Vance's Flames
Down The Basement
Pumpkin Ravioli Boy
A Regular Bud
Strawberries and Cream at the Plaza
Kevin Love's Cowboys
Missing Jackson's Hole
Sir, Yes Sir
Down the Basement II: Santa Saturday
Dirty Little Virgin
Billabong Bang
Jolly Roger
You missed A Spot Big Guy
Skater Boy
Babycakes
Another Regular Bud
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