This story is copyright 2003 by Jef Blitzer. Thanks for reading. As with any of my stories, I welcome any comments, ideas, thoughts, suggestions, or just plain, old friendly emails. Write me at burlguy@excite.com
I Saw the Way You Stared
by
Jef Blitzer
I always had a thing for uniforms. Since I began to notice men and their bodies, the sight of a man in uniform did something for me. Hell, it didn't matter particularly what type of uniform. My head has been turned by plumbers. But what really got me going was the more dangerous types of uniforms, the ones I wouldn't have dared to touch, even though I wanted to: military, football players, cops. Especially cops.
Until I was stopped that night. I was only 18. I hadn't had my license very long, and as soon as I saw the flashing lights, I knew I was stupid to have been driving fast. Not that fast: I was probably going only 15 miles above the limit. But it was a hot, rainy summer night, and I guess he had a quota. And I came along, and gave him an excuse.
I pulled over right away. Sat there motionless, my hands on the wheel. Like I'd been told. But I looked in the mirror, and saw him walking toward the car, and my heart began to race.
People joke about fat cops. Maybe cops get fat when they get older. This guy was neither old nor fat. He was tall, and perfectly built. The broad shoulders, and a torso tapering down to a thin waist, and thick, long legs. I took all of this in in an instant. I didn't have long to stare: he was moving quickly. And I didn't want to stare. Or I did: the thought raced through my mind that this was something I would remember pleasantly for several weeks. Or longer.
He walked up to my window, and shined his flashlight at me, and around the car. "License and registration, please," he ordered. His tone was even, unemotional.
I am not a big guy. I'm 5'5", and weigh just over 130 pounds. It's not just uniforms that do something for me. It's the big men who often inhabit them. Big cops, beefy military officers, 300 pound football players. And this guy was large. My car is not that small, and his crotch was at eye level as he stood checking out my papers. I gulped. I couldn't help but noticing that he had a large and beefy package staring at me. Whew.
The rain was falling gently. His big hands were wet with the raindrops softly dripping. "Come back with me to the car," he softly ordered. I gulped again. I was even turned on by his deep, even voice.
So I got out. He walked behind me, and opened the passenger door of the police cruiser. Then he got in. I felt even smaller than I am, there in that huge car, with this big cop sitting beside me. "Do you know why I stopped you?," he asked. "Yes, sir," I gulped, "I was speeding." This guy was not that much older than me, but there was no question of addressing him as "officer." "Sir" was the only thing that seemed right. The thought occurred to me that "master" might have been the better choice. I squirmed slightly.
"That's right. You were," he continued. He paused for a minute. "I'm just going to give you a verbal warning this time. Just watch yourself. Watch your speed, and be careful. It's a bad night for driving, even at the posted speed. Speeding is dangerous. You don't want to get hurt." I was so grateful. I had expected a ticket, and I knew my Dad was going to kill me if I got one. "Oh, thank you!" I told him, and I gulped again. I had wanted to sound as masculine as I could, and I just sounded stupid.
He must have sensed that I felt dumb. "It's OK," he told me. He had the overhead light on. I couldn't help but notice his thick legs. Like most uniforms, the fabric accentuated every feature. Especially his legs. His thick bulge. His muscle pecs. He reached up and turned the light off.
There was a few seconds of silence, but it seemed like a very long time. I felt like I was under observation. Maybe I was. He stretched. The road was quiet. Not a single car came along here. "It's OK," he repeated, "You're free to go, if you want to." I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to go. I was beginning to pick up other things in this car, his smell, his manner, all of which were driving me crazy, though I thought I was insane to even imagine what I wanted.
His big hand brushed gently over his crotch, which seemed -- there in the light of the dashboard -- to be bulged up bigger than it had been a few minutes before. "You like it, don't you," he said. It was a statement, more than a question. My mouth went dry. I sat frozen. I didn't know what to say. My heart seemed to be beating a thousand times a minute. "It's cool, you know," he said, "But you like it. I saw the way you stared."
How I said it, I don't know. I can't even believe I did. But I just sort of grunted out, "Yeah." His fingers were on his zipper. "You don't mind, do you," and again, it was a statement, not a question. I barely shook my head.
The zipper came down. Gently, but firmly. My eyes were adjusted to the light by now. His cock bulged out through underwear that looked to be nylon or silk briefs. I could see the head, like a snake trying to get out. It was thick and stiff. The underwear was moist with precum. I felt like I was hypnotized. I couldn't quit staring at this. There was something about that man's cock, so close, sticking up through the fabric, so enveloped by thick, muscle legs. I could hardly breathe.
He took his thumb and hooked it over the edge of his briefs, and pulled them down. He pulled the his briefs down around his balls. His cock sprung out, stiff and menacing. His balls were full and ripe-looking. The bush was wiry around this beautiful package.
I just kept staring. His cock was thick, plump, and the head was large. He was not cut, and his foreskin came to a loose point in front. I had never seen a guy up close who was uncut, and there was something about it that got to me. I wanted it. It just sat there, bobbing a little with each beat of his heart. The tip touched his muscular stomach.
"Go ahead," he said, nodding to it. He was at the same time arrogant and pleasant. It was an order. I knew it. He knew it. I gulped, and gently put my head over his dickhead. I didn't quite know what to do with the skin, so I began licking around it, tonguing his piss slit, running my tongue in and out of the loose skin. The head had a spunky taste, like it had not been well washed for a day or two. It only made me want him more. He moaned, and took his thumb and finger and pulled on his shaft, bringing the foreskin back. The head was moist even as I began to take his thickness in my mouth. His cock was stiff, unbelievably so in my mouth. He just leaned back a little as I softly fingered his big ball sac, savoring the kinky wiriness of his bush around it. I felt like I was servicing an animal, an incredible testosterone-laden animal.
It didn't take long. As I fingered his balls, they began to contract, pulling up toward his shaft, as if they wanted to share in the pleasure about to come. His dick stiffened, even more than before, and he groaned, deeply, and I felt a surge go through his shaft, and warm sweet cum shot into my mouth, over and over. Even after the bursts were done, he continued to ooze his man juice into my mouth, and I treasured every drop.
I lay there for a few seconds more, enjoying the feeling of his now-softening penis still between my lips, and fearing that, satisfied, this man might be mad. But he just said, "That's OK," and he tousled my hair just briefly. I lifted up. "It's cool," he continued, "But I gotta go. I'll catch you later, man, I'll look for you."
I wasn't sure if he would. I was a stranger in this town, and I had not noticed his name. But as I got out of the car, and waved goodbye, I licked my lips. There was still drops of cum there, and I savored the last bit.