The Boys in Blue 0-912516-85-2

472 97 6MB

English Pages 153 Year 1984

Report DMCA / Copyright

DOWNLOAD FILE

Polecaj historie

The Boys in Blue
 0-912516-85-2

Citation preview

THE BOYS IN BLUE

Phil Andros Books in Perineum Press Editions Below the Belt, & Other Stories My Brother, My Self Roman Conquests Shuttlecock Greek Ways The Boys in Blue Different Strokes, Stories by Phil Andros & Co.

PHIL ANDROS

THE BOYS IN BLUE

A Perineum Press Book San Francisco

'

Copyright'° 1970, 1984 by Phil Andros All rights reserved. With the exception of short excerpts in critical articles, no part of this book may be reproduced by any means, including information storage & retrieval or photocopying equipment, without the written permission of the publisher.

Cover drawing by Tom of Finland © 1984. Second printing, 1986.

Library of Congress cataloging in publication data: Andros, Phil The boys in blue. "A Perineum Press book." Rev. ed. of: San Francisco hustler, c1970. I. Andros, Phil San Francisco hustler. II. Title. PS3537.T479B6 1984 813'.54 83-20108 ISBN 0-912516-85-2

Distributed by Subco, P.O. Box 10233, Eugene, Oregon 97440

To Officers Jim & Rudy & John &

their assorted weaponry

Contents 1. The Traffic Cop 2. A 10¢ Blow

1

17

3. The Love Nest

27

4. Three Ways to Go

38

5. Pain & Pleasure

51

6. The Copnap

64

7. A Shot in the Ass

79

8. P(½S) + T(M) = fun 2 9. Bull's-eye 10. The Jig's Up 11. Last Rites 12. Pastures New

100

111 127 134

88

1. The Traffic Cop If Orange County in southern California were actually the size of an orange, a lot of people would be able to dispose of it. And I have a good suggestion about where it should go. Same for parts of Los Angeles County. There are two elements in southern California-one, the far-right, ultraconservative, near-Bircher group, Republicans all, and even more puritanical than the narrow ones who settled our country. But then there is the other: southern California produces ninety perc.ent of the pornography in the United States. How come? You explain it. Drag out your theories and suggestions and philosophies. Don't leave it to me. The most horrible thing in my life is that I-a male whore and hustler-have for a brother-in-law one of the nearBirchers (I sometimes think he really is one), and a sister on whom a great deal of his bigotry has rubbed off. They live in Santa Monica. She used to be a liberal. No more. When we were both going to Ohio State University (she knew I was gay, because I told her), we'd often fight over the same man. But she was busy preserving her virginity, whereas I was trying to get as high a score on the Kinsey index as I could. So I got most of 1

the men, and she chewed her nails. Trouble was, though, that she married that son-of-a-bitch named Jim, because as she grew older and less liberal, I think she turned into a bit of an opportunist. So there's the scene set. I spent most of my time in northern California, but I couldn't get away entirely from the relatives. Despite the fact that most of the screwing was for free around San Francisco, I managed to make a good living, largely because I was passed around from one wealthy guy to another, and there were few encounters that I had for less than fifty dollars. A hundred was more like it. I wear the hustler's uniform all the time. It consists of a black leather jacket, black cap tipped as far back on me curly Greek locks as it will go without falling, light-colored beige chinos (which show shapes and sizes better), and black motorcycle boots about sixteen inches high. They're called 'engineer boots' in some circles. As for T-shirts, I like a tight black nylon one because it shows me nipples, or a tight white one, which is even better. But I very seldom wear a T-shirt at all unless I'm going 'formal' for an evening. My chest hair turns 'em on. As for my personal appearance, I'm a little over six feet with a fifty-inch chest and sixteen-inch biceps-and a good deal of hair on my body: a big triangular fan on my chest, narrowing down to a thin line as it passes through my navel, and spreading out again like a peacock's tail when it comes to my prick. My cock itself is between nine and ten inches long hard-quite a whopper-and thick enough so that you can hardly get your thumb and forefinger to touch when they circle it. It has one big vein on the topside which sort of circles around to the left and disappears under the head. I've got a thirty-inch waist and weigh one-eighty-five or oneninety. But when I go to visit my sister and her fuckin' husband in Santa Monica, I have to wear a suit and tie. Wouldn't you just know? They can't stand my 'uniform' and made that 2

very clear to me the first time I visited them. That time was the day before Christmas a few years ago. We got in my brother-in-law's car, leaving my sister at home, to do a little last-minute Christmas shopping-getting something for her, actually, so she wouldn't know what it was. In Santa Monica they've built a Mall-blocking off several streets and filling them with shops-mostly tourist traps. That's where we headed. Jim parked his big car in a parking-lot, and I made a mistake. I forgot all about my Boy Scout training and didn't take a sighting so I could find the lot again. "Meet you back here at four," Jim said. He had the usual executive's white hair, the result of a blue rinse on it. He was quite active for his sixty-two years, played golf, loved to go camping in the mountains (loved it as much as my sister loathed it), and was 'semi-retired.' ... Their apartment was at the corner of San Vicente and Ocean Boulevard, on the palisades, with a sheer drop of about five hundred feet to the hazy Pacific below ... A good-lookin' guy, all right, with several intimate male friends (any head-shrinker could have told him the truth about himself). For some reason (again, see the nearest head-shrinker) he admired me-or my freedom. Well, I'm one of those guys who try to get along with everyone, though it was hard with him. We parted at the Mall, and each went about his purchases. I bought a few gimcracks for the two of them, and then looked at my watch and discovered it was ten of four. Damnation! That parking lot had disappeared! You couldn't exactly say 'disappeared into thin air' because of the smog. But it was gone, completely! I walked rapidly up one street and down another. And there was still no parking lot! It would have been a simple matter for me to hop in a taxi and go home, but that would have left Jim sitting and fuming in the car, waiting for me. What to do, what to do? I remembered one thing. It was a 3

parking lot where you had to pay. Most of them were free, but not this one. I suppose Jim used it because he enjoyed the status of paying. An executive wouldn't park in a free lot. I had noticed a dark-haired cop wearing a crash helmet, with sideburns as long as regulations would allow. He was at the junction of two streets that looked vaguely familiar. He wore black shining boots (I doubted that the department bought those for him!), had white stripes down his flared trousers, and-in truth-looked like a motorcycle cop pressed into traffic duty for that particular season. I approached him. He was as tall as I. And he was standing in the middle of the street, gesturing the flow of traffic at first this way and then that, and evidently enjoying the authority that his badge and uniform gave him. "Officer ... " I began, and at that moment he blew his whistle. After a little pause he looked me up and down and then said, "Yes, what is it?" "Officer," I said, "I'm from northern California and visiting my sister here, and her husband took me to do some lastminute shopping. I've looked everywhere for the parking lot where he left the car, but I can't find it at all." The cat looked me up and down and then did an astonishing thing. We were almost the same height but he put his arm around my shoulder, there in the middle of the street intersection, and said, "Well, I'll tell you, son- things like that happen to all of us at one time or another. Was it a free lot or a charge one?" "They charged," I said. Sheez! He called me 'son!' I should imagine that we were the same age, almost. And on top of that, he'd put his arm around my shoulder! I looked closely at him. His jaw was square. He had deeply carved lips, quite full and red, and a cleft in his chin. I couldn't see what color his eyes were because of the sunglasses he wore, but who the hell cares about the color of a person's eyes? I could see, be4

hind the rim of the glasses, that his eyebrows were full and heavy and black. And he wore the uniform as if he'd been born in it. It fitted him perfectly across the shoulders and down the legs. I sneaked a hasty glance at his crotch, which seemed full and fine-and I don't know whether he saw me do that or not. I sort of think he did. At any rate, I headed in the direction he pointed, and sure enough, there was old Jim sitting in the car waiting for me. And I could tell that he was fuming. "You're fifteen minutes late," he said. "Yeah, I know," I said, and explained what had happened. And then, because of the oddness of it all, I told him about the cop's calling me 'son.' "And he probably wasn't a month older than I am," I complained. Jim laughed. "Well," he said, "that's not too unusual. The police down here have a sort of paternal attitude. They ought to," he added somewhat bitterly. "Most of the tenants in Santa Monica pay them extra, and as a result we expect the best service from them.'' I buckled my seatbelt and we drove home. One of the reasons I never liked to go to Santa Monica was that I was a 'prisoner of love,' so to speak. Instead of being a free agent and able to wander where I wanted, my sister and her husband always had every damned minute planned ahead of time. There was no consulting of my wishes or anything like that. We were invited this or that evening to the Petersen's, or to be the guests of the general manager at the Ambassador Hotel. I had forgotten that Robert Kennedy was assassinated in that particular hostelry, or I doubt very much I would have had any appetite for the first course of lobster in the Coconut Grove-a sleazy place. Naturally my sister and her husband never mentioned the killing. The Kennedys were anathema to them. So I really didn't know Los Angeles or any of the bars, and I even had to make a special request to get them to drive past 5

Hollywood and Vine, and to stop and see the footprints in front of the Chinese Theatre. I guess they didn't realize that strangers from out-of-town were interested in such things. At my insistence they finally did find Valentino's home, Falcon's Lair, but it took days to get them to do it ... Dinner at their house was the same old shit. Margaret was a good cook but the routine was always the same. Yeah, being near-millionaires, they had nice thick steaks, but Jim had to watch some Western which came on at the same time ... So-what was it? Margaret unfolded three TV tables and placed them in front of the deep chairs in which we were sitting. And so we watched the damned thing on the boobtube-or Jim did-while my sister and I enjoyed the good steak and made catty little comments to each other. I wasn't at all sure the cop would be in the same place on Christmas Day, but by god he was! I had a heluva time getting out of the house and over to the Mall. First Jim wanted to drive me over and then Margaret did-but I said I had to go alone because I wanted to buy a present for each of them and didn't want them to know what it was. So I finally made it-all by myself. It was the first time I'd ever been out of the house alone. And he was there-still directing traffic. I went up to him. "How's it happen, officer, that you have to work on Christmas Day?" He growled deep in his throat. He hadn't recognized me yet. "Well," I said, "I just stopped by to thank you for directing me to that parking lot yesterday. I found it all right." He looked at me for the first time. I was still in a suit, shirt, tie, and skinny Italian shoes. "Think nothing of it," he said, and blew the whistle for the other direction of traffic. "Glad to be of help." But I was more than persistent, having quite a thing for cops. "I know you're not allowed to accept money, officer," I said, "and I can't even buy you a Christmas drink, but how's 6

about a cup of coffee when you get off duty? Nothing wrong with that, is there?" He grinned at me for the first time and looked at his wristwatch. "I get off ten minutes from now," he said. "I live just two blocks down the street. And I always have coffee ready. So why not come down to my place, and I'll buy you one." He was still looking me over, top to bottom. "Delighted," I said. You don't say 'okay' when you're all dressed up. "Just hang around here a few minutes," the cop said, "and I'll be free. I got a fair pad." "With your salary I guess you must," I said. He snorted. "Salary!" he said. "Sheez! If we didn't have a little on the side for night patrol from the ... citizens, we'd starve to death. There is a little extra from them ... hardly enough to make any difference at all." "Then I oughta buy you some coffee," I said. "Nah," he said. "Better at my place." Better at his place! That was a strange statement for sure. Better for what? S-e-x? He certainly didn't look gay, but then you never can tell. I'm sure I didn't look gay myself, and I could name a couple of dozen others who didn't, including all sorts of athletes and weightlifters and truckdrivers. I said, "Thanks, man-be glad to," and then spent the next ten minutes looking in a few shopwindows along the way. His relief drove up and got out of a squad car. It was a real treat to walk down the street with him. It reminded me of the attention I once got in Paris when I walked down the street with a young Scot in kilts. Oh, I wasn't fooled for a minute-I knew they were looking at him and each one was wondering what he wore underneath-if anything. But to walk down a street beside a cop in America is a different thing. People wonder if you're just friends, or if he's arresting you, or just what the hell is up. You shine with a reflected glory. I liked it. Sure enough, two blocks to the inch. It was a kind of 7

southern California pink stucco ("Bad color," he said) with railings and about ten steps up to the front door. He went ahead of me, said "Excuse me," and unlocked the door. I must say that my heart was chugging and my throat and mouth were dry. I followed him up a well-worn carpeted stairway, past some old prints in rotting frames. But once we got into his 'apartment, man, what a difference! It was spotlessly clean-and Spartan. There were four sets of well-polished boots standing in an open closet, and about an equal number of freshly pressed uniforms. I couldn't avoid taking a closer look at the boots, and picked up one to inhale its fresh and sexual smell. I turned around with one of the boots in my hand, about to compliment him on its glitter and polish, and nearly dropped the damned thing! For he had opened his fly and hauled out his already hard cock, and it was one of the damnedest biggest pricks I'd ever laid eyes on in my happily wasted life! He had his fingers at the root of it and was waving it up and down vertically. "Howja like that, buddy," he said. "Pretty big whang, don't you think?" I was fascinated by its size and color, a deep rosy tan, and by the fact that it seemed a more formidable weapon than the gun in his holster. It was cleanly circumcised, hung straight, and a small pearl had formed at the tip-end of it. "Damn!" I said, swallowing. "That'd split any woman for sure!" "What do you think it'd do to a man?" he said. I swallowed again, noisily. "G-guess it'd depend on where you'd put it," I said nervously. "Suppose we try it both front and back," the cop said, smiling. But his voice had grown hard, as a cop's should be. "Man, I had your number the day you asked me about the parking lot. Oh, not that you were queer, but at least a hustler. I wondered if I'd see you again. And then when you showed up the next day, I knew for certain. You like cops, don'tcha?" 8

I didn't answer. I was already on my knees, kissing and fondling his cock. The pearl tasted a little salty, an excellent appetizer for the banquet that I hoped would follow. I hungered for that huge piece of meat the way I did for one of my sister's steaks. "W-el-1?" he said, bobbing it up and down. I pushed his hand away. "When are you gonna get down to business? Take it, man, unless you want your skull bashed in." He reached for his leaded twenty-inch night stick. I slipped my hands around and pushed his ass forward. "Good grief," I said, "no need for that!" I felt his big square hand resting loosely on the end of his billy, and took it and put it at the back of my head. He laughed. "I knew I was right," he said. I remembered the techniques of the eunuchs serv1cmg their clients in the Kama Sutra, which I had read many years ago, and started applying them to my nameless handsome cop ... . . . the nominal union, holding his cock in my hand and pressing it between my lips, turning my head to this side and that, giving his cock a circular, caressing movement ... . . . and the nibbling on the sides, with my fingers drawn together on his cockhead as on the bud of a plant or flower, and pressing the sides of it with many little clampings of my lips, even nibbling it gently with my teeth ... . . . the exterior suction, taking his cock into my mouth, pressing it strongly against my lips, and then pulling it out, over and over again ... . . . the cock-kiss, holding his prick in my hand, kissing it as if it were a lower lip, by giving the end of it little kissings and nibblings, without taking it into the mouth at all ... . . . the licking, touching his cock on all sides with my tongue, ... the interior suction, taking his cock into my mouth, with my lips firmly against it, and then p11shi,1g it out,-again and again ... . . . and the suction of the tongue, putting half his cock 9

into my mouth and sucking it with force, and with my tongue ... . . . the swallowing, taking as much of his cock as I could entirely into my mouth as far as I was able, and pressing the end of it against the bottom of my throat as if I were trying to swallow it, sucking with all the force of my throat muscles .. . . . . and his great cock in my mouth, filling it completely .. . Meanwhile, the peace officer was not inactive. He had seized both sides of my head and raised himself on tiptoe, so that-looking down- I could see the creases in his boots where foot met ankle. "Oh, what a cocksucker!" he gasped. "Eat it for me, man! Eat me!" He increased the speed of his pumping and I knew it would not be long before he came. I 'prepared' my throat for the load, which I hoped would be a big one. "You're gonna swallow my come, you bastard!" he said, gasping between words. "Your tonsils are gonna get a bath of cop's gyzym. You like that, don't you?" I cupped my free hand under his balls and tickled them, pulling them out of his flared trousers, and letting my tongue slide off the cock for just a moment, while I took first one and then the other into the heat of my mouth. Then I was back to his cock, swallowing it as far as I could. His healthy male crotch odor filled my nostrils. The exertion of what I was going through brought tears to my eyes. He pumped furiously-and then came that tension I had been waiting for. My reward was not far away. He arched over me as I knelt there, and said, "Damn, oh, gahdammnit, I'm coming!" And he did, filling my mouth to overflow with his sweettasting come. There was a hel uva lot of it-it felt like a quarter-cup. I imagined it to be blue like his uniform and sprinkled throughout with sapphires and diamonds. I swallowed it all and then held things quiet, barely flicking my tongue against the tip-end of his cock, and pressing my thumb towards my mouth to milk the urethral canal empty of its last drops. 10

"Oh, man!" he said, over and over. "What a swell blmvjob! Where'd you learn all those tricks?" I waggled my hand at him. "I been around," I said. "You pick up lots of different techniques from your scores." "See!" he said triumphantly. "I'd guessed you were a hustler all along." I said nothing, but he could tell. "How much you gonna charge me?" he said, sort of hard. "Guess," I said and laughed a little. "On the house, huh?" He laughed, too. "But buddy, you're too damned good to let go. I'm not done with you yet." He reached over and squeezed one cheek of my ass, hard. , "Oh, please not that, sir!" I said in mock horror. "It's much too big. It'd split me!" He laughed along with me. "Let's get these clothes off," he said and started undressing. "Do me a favor, will you?" I said. "Leave your boots on," I said. "Queer for boots, huh?" he said. "Yeah," I said. He started to unhook the black Sam Browne belt over his shoulder. "And that too," I said. "You want I should fuck you with all my clothes on?" he said, a little harsh. "Sometime," I said, "but for now just those two things." "Okay," he said, "I will." His cock, monstrous, red, and dripping a little at the end, was tremendous in size. It was like a satyr's-or maybe more like a centaur's-provided that the horse-part of a centaur governed the size of his prick. I hefted his cock in my hand and he grinned at me, all the time undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. "Like it?" he said. "Makes mine look like a little sweet pickle," I said. He looked down at the long bulge in my trousers. "Like hell," he said. "You've got one almost as big as mine." 11

"Oh, no, sir," I said, pretending to be coy. "Let's see," he said. "I couldn't possibly expose myself before strangers," I said. He roared, " ... And here you blow me! What's it take to be friends, then?" , "Well, that's going to happen next, I reckon," I said. He took off his shirt. His muscles were excellent, with good definition. "You work out a lot?" I said. "Just what my daddy gave me," he said. "How's about your taking your clothes off?" He unfastened the buckle to his belt. "After all, I can't fuck you through your pants." I slipped out of the skinny Italian shoes and undid my belt. "I doubt if you can fuck me at all with that monster," I·said. He laughed again, that short sharp hard laugh of his. "Oh, sure I can," he said. "We'll use plenty of grease. And don't worry-I'll take it easy." "How do you like to do it?" "For me," he said, "standing up. You bend double over the bed." I had been so fascinated with picking up a cop that I had not really bothered to look at his pad. It was sparse and simple, that of a baby tiger, a man of action. There were a few paperback fuck books (hetero) on a shelf, a small kitchenette, and the bed, set between two chairs, one of them a rocker. "Where's the vaseline?" I said. "Over there," he said. He pointed to the small washbasin. It was albolene, not vaseline-just as good, maybe better, because it liquefied at body heat. I dug two fingers into it and spread it all around my asshole. Then I took another gob on my right hand and approached him. He was up and ready to go as soon as I touched his cock. I slid my hand two or three times up and down the fantastic length of his prick, and then tickled the end of it on the underside. He jumped. 12

"Hey!" he said. "Let's get down to business, smart-ass. On the bed there, buddy." I took the position he wanted me in, spreading my legs apart so that my asshole, my cunt for this cop, would be as wide open as possible. Something told me I ought to, considering the size of that monster he was going to impale me on. Damn, I thought. Me, a high-grade hustler, being screwed. And by a cop. Well, you learn to do a lot of things in your life. A really good hustler will do anything, even sixty-nine-unless he is pretending to be straight. But by this time I knew myself well enough to recognize the fact that I was homosexual. Maybe bisexual-but more inclined towards the homo angle than the hetero. Personally, I'd always found women too loose, looser than most men-especially in the mouth. But when it came to asshole-fucking, a man had it all over a woman. When a woman climaxed as she of ten did if you prepared her enough, then all you had left to work with was a coupla pounds of loose warm liver. But a man's ass remained tight, and the pressure against your cock didn't change. I was always reminded of the old Arab proverb: 'Woman for duty, boys for pleasure, and melons for delight.' Well, I'd tried them all. And now I wanted the cop to fuck me. I wanted to feel his steel-hard rod rearranging my guts. He put his hands, widespread, on the cheeks of my ass and then I felt the huge helmet-shape of his cockhead touch my asshole. I jumped. "Take it easy, kid," he said softly, his lips close to my ear. "It may hurt some, but I'll bet a nickel it isn't the first time you've been screwed in the ass." I shook my head. Negative. But then I looked up and around. "You're so damned big," I said. "I hope you'll go slow." 'Slow as all hell," he said. I felt a little pressure at my asshole; a kind of gentle in-and-out of the vestibule, stopping when he hit the still-closed sphincter, and then withdrawing 13

again. And then finally he lay down on top of me and worked his arms underneath me in a kind of hug, but the fingers on each hand were busy with my nipples, pulling, squeezing, twisting, rubbing them. I swear I hadn't felt so good for months. When you're a hustler, you get mighty tired sometimes of having to do the same things all the time. But this was different-he was the symbol and active agent of authority, punisher of my own guilt feelings (if there were any left )-and in addition to that, a handsome stud with an enormous cock. The fact he was a cop added the mint to the julep, the fillip of danger and excitement and unattainability. I wanted to see him again and again-but time enough to talk about that later. The pressure grew stronger against my sphincter, and the pushes more frequent. I felt strange and hot all over. After all, a hustler rarely gets fucked-and even more rarely by a cop, and one as goodlooking as this one. And then suddenly the sphincter gave way and he rode in. It felt like he was on his motorcycle, or even his horse, the conquerer-hero, flags waving, trumpets blaring, victory achieved. The size was tremendous, much bigger than anything I'd ever taken before. I groaned a little, not able to repress it, and he stopped. "Hurt you, buddy?" he said in my ear. "A little," I said. "You'll get used to it soon," he said, and started up slowly again. This time it didn't hurt quite so much. And finally it didn't hurt at all. I kept groaning, but these were groans of pleasure and he knew it. The bastard was hitting my prostate, sliding against it twice on every thrust, in and out. I felt as if I were going to come myself. And I took note of the increased speed of his thrusting and knew that he was about ready. He was breathing hard and hot against my neck-gasping, really-and suddenly everything stopped. His cock was rammed in my ass as far as it would go and I felt

14

the scalding spurts of his semen lodging themselves deep inside. Damn! A cop! I had swallowed his gyzym and now it was burning deep in my guts. His whole belly was aflame, it seemed. And his body, too. I felt the heat of it even through his chest hair-which was nearly as thick as mine. So we lay for a moment, joined and panting, until we had both climbed back up out of the 'little death,' as the French termed it. At last he began to pull out. I clamped down on his cock as hard as I could to keep him there. He laughed. "Don't want to let go, huh?" he said. "Correction. Don't want to let you go," I said. "Never." "Why don't you move down to southern California?" he said, and nibbled at my ear a little. "Can't stand it," I said. "Why don't you move to northern California?" "Maybe I will do just that." "You married?" "Nah," he said, "and that's a hassle for me in the department. Most of the guys are. Hitched. Family men. So it's odd to be a bachelor. I get a lot of razzin'." "Yeah," I said, "most of the goodlooking dudes are snatched up already-and I do mean snatched. You mean they razz you about bein' queer?" "Yeah, that, mostly." "Why don't you quote that old French proverb?" I said. "Which one?" "Why buy a cow when milk's so cheap?" He laughed. "Why don't you tell 'em your wife died? That you're a widower?" He shook his head. "Negative. It's on my record anyway. They used to use me for entrapment, until the Civil liberties Union stopped that." "I could see a handsome stud like you would be a natural

15

for that," I said. "Well, I was pretty successful," he said. "But it made me feel dirty, so I asked to be relieved of that job." "But not until you found yourself a half-dozen gay boys you could go to bed with," I said sardonically. His eyes widened a little. "How'd you guess? he said. "I ... er ... visited one of them for over a year. Then he moved up north somewhere and I lost touch." "So all you can do now is beat your meat," I said wryly. "Yeah-or find some stud from San Francisco like you," he grinned. "And me-I gotta go back there," I said. "Hell," he said. "Gimme your address, will you?" "Yeah, if you gimme yours." We scribbled our names on a scratch pad. There his was: Greg Wolfson, and the address and phone. "Greg, huh," I said. "I was about to ask you your first name." "And I yours." "Phil Andros," I said. We shook hands. "Nice to meet you," he said. "Likewise," I said. I'm not at all sure Emily Post or Amy Vanderbilt would have approved of our introducing ourselves after we'd been in bed fucking ...

16

2. A 10¢ Blow It was only a short note but it made me go out and get drunk-to celebrate: Dear Phil, The more I think of it, the more I feel it was one of the best ever. So guess what. I've applied for the San Francisco job and been accepted. I'll be there permanently in about two weeks. I tried to call at once. No answer. So I got drunk-mildly. Then I went back to my room at the Y, the old Embarcadero whorehouse, gathered a number of quarters and dimes and nickels, and went to the pay phone down the hallway. I called his number again. He answered. No wonder: it was about one o'clock in the morning. "Greg, you old bastard!" I shouted. "I got your letter just when I got in this evening! Sorry to wake you up, but I just had to tell you how glad I was to hear the news!" He sounded very sleepy. "I'm glad you were," he said. "You alone?" I said. "Oh, yes." And then sardonically: "Are you?" "Believe it or not, man," I said. "I've been alone ever since I was down in Santa Monica." Not quite the truth, but what 17

the hell! "You want me to begin to look around for an apartment for you?" I said. "I thought maybe we could share the expenses of one together," he said. That was like a cold-water shower. It partly sobered me up. If you're a hustler, you can't be tied down like that. And I had a few more years before I'd have to give it up completely. To waste even one of them in an 'affair' was almost beyond my ability to cope with. On the other hand-to room with a cop, and one as attractive and well-endowed as Greg (I like sex)-well, that was something else again. I didn't expect the thing to last but I might as well give it a try. "We'll talk about that," I temporized. "Meanwhile, I'll look around and see what I can find." "Okay, Phil," he said, and we hung up. And there was another complication. If I were to share an apartment with Greg, I'd have to find a job. That in itself might not be so bad. It would prepare me for the life to come. But lord knows, I would have to do something. I couldn't go on hustling while living with a cop. Greg wouldn't stand for it, and furthermore I might get in trouble, harm him in the department. And then it hit me! Why not apply for a job in the police department itself? They always needed cops. The enormity of the idea made me grope my way back to my room and sit on the edge of the bed. You'd be walking down the street in full uniform (nice dark blue ones) and see a former trick of yours. What would you do? Arrest him? Proposition him again, or listen to his 'solicitation'? Or what would he do when he saw you as a cop? Report you to the Internal Investigation Department? Try to make you again? For money or for nothing? The latter smacked of blackmail. I remembered the case of Rudolf Dax in Chicago. He'd been one of the town's most sought-after hustlers-and then he joined the force. Nothing had happened to him thc;1t he couldn't handle. He

18

simply never called any of his old scores again and ignored them if he saw them on the street. And the internal investigation unit never found out a thing about him. But if I did that, if I became a cop, I'd sure as hell have to watch my step. We'd be under surveillance all the time, especially if we were two bachelor cops rooming together. I lay back on the bed. I'd had just enough to drink to make me horny-and then the brief talk with Greg. In the morning I'd be able to think more clearly. Meanwhile ... I reached over and got a towel. Then I unzipped my fly and hauled out ole Betsy. A coupla strokes, and she was rarin' to go. I kept on beatin' my meat-and this time I summoned Greg into bed with me ... to blow me. And even after I came, I kept pushing his head down on my cock. Matter-of-fact, it was so vivid I almost thought he was there in bed with me. I turned over and went to sleep, idly wondering how many thousands of people had ejaculated that night at the same time I did. Some times a good hand-job was better than a session with another person ... because that way you can take anybody you want into the bed with you ... But in this instance, Greg was enough ... A good night's sleep did not solve my problem at all. When I wakened the next morning it was still there, still burning a hole in my brain. Instead, I thought I might as well get as many tricks as I could in that two-week interval. ... Or should I? That would be just postponing the problem. Maybe I ought to stop everything right now, and begin a new life ... I got up and showered and shaved-no incidents at all, partly because it was around ten in the morning, and everyone who lived in the old Embarcadero whorehouse had gone to work, this being a school day. I went back to my room and almost without thinking put on a white T-shirt, of the sort usually kept for formal evening wear-for hustlers like me, that is.

19

And then I went out the front door and turned right. It was all sort of automatic as if I were in a trance. I ended up at 850 Bryant, the Hall of Justice, and went into the antiseptically clean building. It smelled just like the old whorehouse. They were evidently using the same brand of floor-cleaner. I went to the information counter. It was manned by male cops. "How do you go about applying for a job as a peace officer?" I said. Well, you would have thought it was someone's birthday! They all dropped what they were doing and came to cluster around me. There was one-a lieutenant-who seemed to be in charge of the works. I spoke mostly to him. "You got any police record?" he asked. "I got one parking ticket about eight years ago in Chicago," I said, grinning. He dismissed it with a gesture. "We'll fingerprint you and let you know," he said. I told him my name. "Where are you staying?" he said. I told him. His eyes narrowed. "What do you think of the people there?" he said. I waggled my hand. "Homosexuals, mostly," I said. "They don't bother me. They go their way, I go mine." "You married?" The crucial question. "Nah," I said. "Unfortunately, I spent a lot of time looking for my ideal woman and when I found her, I wasn't her ideal man." The lieutenant laughed. "Well, we'll have to investigate you," he said. "Sure," I said. "I'd expect that. And I wouldn't have applied if I knew I had anything serious against me." "If we find you haven't," the lieutenant said, "then there's a number of exams. Physical, mental, psychiatric, and such like." "Whew!" I said.

20

"Yes," he said. "Nowadays it's different from the old times when they just pinned a badge on you and gave you a book of parking tickets. How far did you go in school?" "B.A. Northwestern." His eyes narrowed again. "And what have you been doing in the meantime?" I wondered what he would have done if I said, with a limp wrist, "Why, lieutenant, I just graduated last June!" But I didn't. Instead, I ticked them off on my fingers. "Worked for the French Line in New York, mainly, and in a stockbroker's office, and a Dallas hotel, and a few others." "Well, we'll find out about those," he said. "Why do you want to be a peace officer?" The new term-not policeman, not cop. I grinned at him. "To help keep the peace, I reckon," I said. "And the salary and the stability of the job." The cat smiled. "At least you're honest," he said. "I get so much baloney about law and order and all that, it's refreshing to hear someone say he likes the stability and the salary. Well," he said, shuffling some papers on the counter in front of him, "you'll hear from us. Perhaps this week." "Thank you," I said, and left. The coffee I had drunk that morning was pleading to get out, so I went back to the information counter and asked where the men's room was. A cop directed me down a couple of corridors and to the left. I was still in the middle of pissing in one of the latrines when a cop came in, all by himself. He was young and goodlooking, with sandy hair. He nodded at me and stepped to the adjoining latrine, hauling out a good-sized whang. I studied the wall in front of me. But then I saw out of the corner of my eye that the young cop was watching me, and more specifically, looking at my prick. I looked over at him and caught him in the act. "Couldn't help admirin' such a hunk of meat," he said. "Oh," I said nonchalantly, "it's just about parlor-size."

21

The cop snorted. "If that's a parlor-size one," he said very low, "then mine's a broom-closet." "Oh, I wouldn't say so," I said. The cop moistened his lips. "I'll bet the boys and gals like it," he whispered. "Ever had a blowjob?" "Ah, is that legal in this state?" I spoke as low as he did. "It's okay," he whispered, "especially if nobody finds out about it." I saw that he was looking towards the stalls. In only one other place, the airport at Copenhagen, had I seen stalls that went clear to the floor. The young cop reached down and groped me. It takes only a touch for me. I began to grow. He moistened his lips again and with a gesture of his head, motioned towards the stalls. I started to go with him. "Damn," he whispered, feeling in his pockets. "I haven't got a dime." "Have one on me," I said, low, grinning a little. "Thanks," he said. He put it in the slot and opened the door, and then holding it wide, motioned me in. I went. "We'll have to keep damned quiet," he whispered, and I nodded. So the five dirty minutes were performed in absolute silence. He unzipped my fly, then looked behind him to locate the bowl, and sat down on it. He pulled my cock out and it was inside his mouth at once. It was a poor angle for it, but I enjoyed it nonetheless, as I enjoyed all sex. I bent my knees a little so that it would go farther in. And he sucked it silently-no slurping, no gagging, nothing. In the next stall you wouldn't have been able to hear a thing, except the air-conditioning system purring softly in one corner of the ceiling. I looked directly up. There were no openings of any kind, so we were safe in that regard. He worked mostly on about the first three inches of it and used his hand on the rest, because of the fact that we had to

22

be quiet. I knew that if he took the whole length into his mouth he might gag or cough, and that would be a dead giveaway to anyone sitting in the other stalls. I had rarely allowed myself to be blown or sucked in a tearoom, feeling that it was always too dangerous. But this was a different thing-to have a blowjob by a cop in the sanctum of the Hall of Justice. He had more to lose than I did. It proved only one thing: that it didn't matter a damn what channel your sexual instincts pulled you along. Everything was normal to the one practicing it. And all the laws against such 'perversions' had their origin in the Judea-Christian code, because it taught that the only purpose of fucking was to produce children! What a load of crap! But things were happening to me, and I was beginning to unfold. That indescribable feeling of joy, in every cell throughout my body, in every capillary-well, who can actually put into words what it feels like to come? I felt the little tingling in my toes and scalp that usually were prelude to the orgasm. My cop was using his tongue- topside, underside where it was corded, wedging it into the slit from which the white explosion would come. He would pause about three-quarters of the way down on it, create a vacuum in his mouth, and then start inching slowly back towards the head of my prick. His mouth and lips remained firm, and my body, singing with the happiness and delight of the approaching orgasm, told me that I was going to shoot him full in a minute. Usually I gasp and make some noise (to please the scores) but I realized that this time I'd have to come in utter silence. And I did! with only one barely audible intake of breath! I grabbed him by the head and pushed his face down into my pubic hair, and really filled his mouth with my gyzym. And then I sensed it go down his throat-no gulping, no noise of any kind. His eyes were watering from that last thrust of mine. He wiped them a little on the back of his hand, and then took his

23

cap off the peg where he had hung it, on the back of the door, and put it back on his curly sandy-brown hair. I took a good look at his face, wanting to file it for future reference. Little did he suspect, I'm sure, that he had just blown a guy who had applied for a job on the force! He'd have a fit if he knew. And if I did get to be a cop-well, there'd be another one besides Greg to whom I could turn if things got loused up. The cop opened the door a crack and peeked out. So far we hadn't heard another sound. Then he swung it wide and beckoned to me. I came out too. There was a spot of wetness on my chinos-I didn't know whether it was a last drop of come or some of the piss from my earlier relieving. The cop opened the main door, stood in the little vestibule, and then finally went through the main door into the corridor. At last he spoke to me. "That was swell-for me," he said. "Thanks a lot." "I enjoyed it too," I said, in my best manner. "You've no idea what hell it is to be on the force and still have an adequate sex life." If I didn't now, I might soon enough. So I said to him, "Why don't you team up with some gay bachelor cop and share an apartment together?" The cat laughed, short and bitter. "I would if I could find one," he said. "But most of the guys on the force seem to be either married or already sharing an apartment." "Well, you'll just have to keep your eyes open," I said. "My name's Pete. Pete Simmons. Badge number 269." "Nice number," I said wryly. "Do you suppose I could see you again?" he said. I told him my name. "Sure," I said. "Nothing better than a talented blowjob." "Where you stayin'?" he asked. I told him. "Good grief," he said. "that whorehouse." "Well, you gotta have a little fun now and then," I said.

24

Pete looked thoughtful for a moment. Something was going through his head. I couldn't tell what. "Say," he said, "have you ever thought of joining the force? You're the right age, height, and all the rest. And man, they're lookin' for new recruits all the time." Well, there it was. Now I'd have to tell him. And watch him go up and down. "Pete, ole boy," I said. "I just applied this afternoon, a little while ago." He lit up like a Christmas tree. "Maybe that means we could room together?" he said. I shook my head. "Sorry kiddo," I said. "But a guy I know from southern California is transferring up here and we're gonna share an apartment together." The disappointment in his eyes was almost too much to stand. I put a hand on his shoulder. "But after we get acquainted a little better, that doesn't mean that we can't share bodies together, does it?" Pete looked around. "You mean three-ways?" "Yeah," I said. "Like you said, a cop's sex life is hell unless he's married." He looked a little nervous. "I kinda gave up gang-bangs when I joined the force," he said. "Who said anything about gang-bangs?" I said gruffly. "I don't care for 'em myself. But three-ways are all I had in mind." He seemed a little less unhappy. "And if three cops get together for a little fun and some beer," I said, "who's to blame them?" "Yup," he said. "We can't drink in bars, so we might as well drink at home." "And maybe do other things ... " I dropped my right eye in a sort of gentlemanly wink. "Sheez!" he said, "maybe we all three could room together!" "Maybe so," I said.

25

"You haven't found a place to stay yet?" he said. "Not yet," I said. "That's my project now. Perhaps we could find a place where three could stay." I didn't know what Greg would have to say about that. "Look for one, will yuh?" he said. "I could pay about two hundred." "Hell, we oughta get a mansion for that amount," I said. He was scribbling something on a pad. "Here's my name and address and phone," he said, handing it to me. "Lemme know if anything turns up." "Will do," I said. That would really be a gas-three cops (excuse me: peace officers) staying in the same pad. I wondered how it would work out-if at all. I was about to say goodbye to him, and then I had an idea. "Say," I said, looking down at my crotch. "There's a little wet spot there, on the inside. I think it's the last of my come. Why don't you take it off for me?" He looked puzzled. "How?" he said. "With your tongue," I said. I pushed open the door to the men's room again, and leaned heavily back against it after we were both in the vestibule. Then I unbuckled my pants and peeled them down. Sure enough, it was gyzym. "Okay, bud," I said. "Lick it off." He got down on one knee and licked it off, gently. Then I put my hand at the back of his neck. "Now kiss it goodbyefor the present," I said. He did, lightly running his tongue around the crown of it. "Okay, that's fine," I said. I moved away to the right a little and pulled my pants up again and fastened my belt. I flicked the brim of my cap at him, shook hands, and said goodbye. His handclasp was warm and strong. I'd sorta like to have him around the place for the nights when Greg had to work.

26

3. The Love Nest Well, I found a place all right-on Grand View Avenue, with a heluva nice view of the city all laid out below you, a small balcony, a big picture window, two bedrooms and two baths, and a beautifully whorl-patterned grey wall-to-wall carpeting-and furnished to boot. One thing-it was a little more than Pete said he could spend. There was one possible solution if he couldn't afford it-find a fourth gay cop and take him in too, which would reduce the rent to practically nothing. Meanwhile, I was in the process of becoming a cop, attending classes-all day long, eight to five-for training in all sorts of things, from riot control to making out parking tickets. We had a psychologist, too, who I'll bet was gayer than a three dollar bill, but he certainly knew his stuff in telling us how to deal with the public. Being a hustler helped me along those lines, too-I had always been easygoing and nondemanding so I had no trouble in that regard. But I was a little uneasy about one thing: telling Greg that Pete was going to be a third party in this thing. I'd have to do a good deal of conning, telling him that you just couldn't find any livable quarters in San Francisco for less money. I saw Pete and told him the situation and told him also to

27

cool it. He was a little worried about the extra money, but he said he wouldn't let his hair down until I gave the signal, nor would he give away the facts about our encounter in the Hall of Justice. I didn't say anything, but of course I planned to tell Greg at once that Pete was a club member. "Oh, it'll all come out soon enough," I told Pete. "You'll walk in on us one day and find Greg and me in bed together, and that'll be that. You'll just be asked to join the party." "Okay," Pete said. All in all, he was a nice guy, with an expert mouth, too. I took him to bed a coup la times before Greg arrived. He blew me once, doing a swell job-and I screwed him once in his eager ass. It was in his room, a dingy little thing in a cheap hotel in the Tenderloin district. There was a washbowl (where Pete pissed, so he wouldn't have to go down the hall to the head), and an old iron bedstead with a headpiece strong enough to let me give him the old Arabian-style fuck-upending his legs and locking his feet on my shoulders while I gripped the head-rod of the bed. He was one of those guys who-while he was in that position -had his prostate right in direct line. I could even feel my swollen cockhead sliding past it. By angling my hips a little to the right, I could then poke it directly, bringing forth small moans of pleasure from him and producing a little watery fluid at the end of his cock. I took off the fluid with my forefinger and put it to his lips. '.'Salty, ain't it?" I asked. He nodded. You can always make a guy come when his prostate is placed like that, and I set about making Pete shoot his wad that way-first a thrust to the left, then one to the right, then one straight at it, slipping off and downwards. Pete was panting hard and I could feel the sweat on his legs and belly. And then suddenly he said "Oh, Christ!" and he came, flooding all his pubic hair with semen. I managed to bring myself to a climax about three strokes later.

28

I let go of his legs and they fell down beside me, and I collapsed on top of Pete, and put my arms around him. Well, there it was- Law and Order himself filled full of a hustler's gyzym-or of a rookie cop's. And a rookie rubbing the cooling sticky gyzym into the cop's pubic hair. We'd be stuck together. Forever and ever. The head of my cock was still in his asshole. He arched his hips a little to try to keep it in, but no go. Out it came, and I rolled over on my left side so that my prick was still between his legs. Our faces were right together. He half-opened his mouth, in invitation. And I kissed him briefly, sending my tongue into his mouth and fighting a little silent duel with his tongue for a moment. But not too much of that, or he'd get the idea I was gay too. Oh, he'd find out soon enough when Greg arrived, and he'd be able to see me blowing Greg, or being fucked by him. It was a dynamite situation, but one I thought I could handle without too much trouble. Greg was to arrive on the twenty-second, a Saturday night. Pete had already moved into the apartment on Grand View, as had I. I met Greg at the airport in the early evening as we had planned. He looked swell. He was dressed in a pair of black tight slacks which showed his big basket, and a black pullover sweater with a V-neck. Those, with his black hair and tanned skin, made him look like a movie star. "How's things been, ole buddy?" Greg asked. "Okay. Fine," I said, "except I've got a coupla surprises for you." His eyebrows went up a little. "So?" he said. "Gimme the best one first." "Okay," I said. I am now a rookie cop on the force." Greg damned near dropped his overnight bag. "Sheez!" he said, "That's a real surprise." I drew a deep breath. "And second," I said, "there's no decent place to live in San Francisco on our salary, so I asked 11

29

a third guy in with us." This time he stopped dead in his tracks. I laid a hand on his arm and found it tensed and hard. "Wotthehell," he said, "how'll we ever fuck with him around?" "Easy," I said. "You can be as straight as you want. Pete's as gay as I am." A struggle of different emotions showed themselves on Greg's face. He swallowed, frowned, and finally-as I had hoped-he grinned. "Who knows?" he said. "He may be better than you." "Gahdamn," I said. "You mean I got my choice now of two guys I can screw?" "Not right at the moment, ole buddy," I said and took him by the upper arm. "Maybe later. But you're all mine right now, y'hear?" Greg grinned. "We'll see," he said. "But I can foresee some interesting evenings at home." "At the moment Pete's on the night shift anyway," I said. "And I don't know yet what mine will be. But you, with your prior service you'll probably be able to pick what you want." "Hope so," said Greg, flashing that unbelievable smile in my direction. "I'll pick the day shift if I have any say-so in the matter." "Which will give us a few evenings together," I said. I looked around and saw no one watching, so I slid my hand down over his ass and thigh. He jumped as if I'd shot him. "Hey! None of that! I'm the man around here, remember?" "Oh, sure," I said. We got to our apartment and Greg whistled. "Man," he said, "this is a swell-lookin' pad!" He walked to the balcony and looked over the winking jewels of the city lights. "With a view like this we can get all kinds of cunts up here." "I doubt that," I said, "since Pete has the only car. And I'm not certain you'll be able to talk him into bringing girls. Besides, Nlac, I'm your 'cunt.'" 30

He made a wry grimace. "You mean I'm gonna have to fuck just two men?" "Looks like," I said, noncommittally. "Unless you buy a car yourself." "May just do that," Greg said. But he smiled along with it. "Which is our room?" I liked that: he said 'our room,' never doubting for a moment that he would be sleeping with anyone but me. Neither of us was in uniform at the moment. "Well," he said, "I guess this apartment ought to be broken in by a good fuck. Unless," he said, very hard, "you and this Pete have been having a go at it since you moved in." I held up my hand, palm side towards him. "I do solemnly swear," I said, "that we have not touched each other since moving here." ... perjury ... It didn't take him long to get naked. I admired his body just as much in San Francisco as I had in Santa Monica - the massive pees, the deep tan, the chest and belly vibrant with life, the dark brown nipples turning outwards, his slim waist and sturdy thighs, and his cock-already swelling with blood and growing perceptibly as I watched it. "All right, buddy," he said-growled rather. "What's keepin' you?" "Admiration," I said. There was not much question as to who would be running this apartment, or would be the dominant figure in it. "You got any vaseline-or something like it?" "First purchase when I moved in," I said, and then remembered that I had dug into it the second time I fucked Pete, in the new apartment. It would certainly not look like a brand-new jar. Maybe he needn't see it at all. "Lemme see it," he growled. Oh lord! I went into the bathroom and got it. I unscrewed the lid and sure enough, there were my two deep fingermarks

31

dug into the grease. I walked back to him with it opened. "Don't get your dander up," I said. "I used some to jackoff." He looked at me. "There'll be no more of that while I'm around," he said. "I'll fuck either you or Pete, but you're not gonna be 'makin' yourself at home,' after this." "Yes," I said, and then sardonically added "sir." It was very plain he was used to giving orders. "How long you been a cop, Greg?" I asked, taking off my shirt and slacks. " 'Bout six years," he said. Our bodies were a good deal alike, I noticed-long-legged, narrow-waisted, and broadshouldered. But Greg had me beat all to hell in the main department. His cock was at least twice as big as mine, and mine was no little pinky. Or so I'd always been told. "Okay, rookie," he said in a tone that I liked. "On the bed on your belly." I turned and spoke over my shoulder. "Greg," I said, "you're the last one to be up there. So take it kinda easy, will yuh?" "Don't I always?" he said harshly and then swatted me on the ass with his open palm. It stung like fire. "Don't you tell me how to fuck, rookie. I know." I didn't want to irritate him further so I lay still and kept my mouth shut. I felt his long heavy skillful fingers insert a blob of grease in my asshole, skimming it around the edges, and then I knew that he was slicking up his own cock with plenty of vaseline. He crawled on the bed between my knees and I felt the pressure of his enormous helmeted cockhead pushing ever so gently against my asshole. He did know how-no question about that. Then he ran his hands in a long caress the full length of my back and sides, ending at my ass, and gently slipping one finger inside. I jumped a little and he laughed. "You're a damned good-lookin' stud," he said and put his open palms, one on each cheek of my ass, spreading them

32

until the hole must have been clearly visible. I could hear his hard breathing. He nudged my hips up from the bed to make the angle of entry a little better. He kept caressing my back with his fingertips, relaxing me, and tickling me a little around the edge of my asshole, until I could have yelled at him to stick that prick in, to stick anything in. I needed the gratification. And then he reached down to one shoulder and turned me over on my back. I flung one arm across my face-and then almost as soon took it away, so that I could see his muscular body approach and get ready for the entry. The whole of my naked front was presented to him, upstanding cock and all. I had a terrific hardon. I could sense, somehow, that he wanted my complete surrender. He ran his hands over my nipples, pinching and twisting them until I groaned with delight. I kept making little animal sounds of pleasure and squirming on the bed. That stud turned me on the way few people could. I felt small flames licking all over my body, between my thighs and around my asshole, springing from the nipples he had twisted-just cruelly enough to cause me pleasure, not pain. His hands continued running over my body, and now up and down my legs, and then he put one big square hand in under my cock and stuck a long thick finger up my ass. He positioned himself between my legs and reached down, pulling my hips well up on his body, towards his groin. Now I felt, really did feel, the monstrous head of his cock, poking here and there between my widely-opened legs, until it came to rest directly on my hole. He felt that and kept it there. My own body weight against his steel-hard thighs was slowly and inexorably pushing his cock into me, and he did not have to move at all. He pushed his body a couple of inches forward, and I felt the size and helmet-shape of his great cockhead. I heard him whisper: "Put it in for me." "It's going in," I said. "Just push a little ... but not hard. At first." 33

He pushed hard on the sides of my legs, at the same time pulling me down towards him a little. His cock jumped into my asshole. I could not help biting my lip with the sudden pain, for my sphincter was not yet entirely open. He paused, waiting, because I needed it, holding back the final plunge that would melt us together into one. And then slowly I felt my legs being elevated-up and up until the ankles rested on his shoulders, and then he grabbed the head of the bed. It was the old Arab position, the same one I had used on Pete. I was completely helpless that way. I had to realize that he was the master. That was the way he wanted it, I supposed. It didn't matter to me; my face reflected the absolute rapture I felt. He let go of the headboard with one hand and reached down for my right nipple, pinching it hard. It had always been my trigger. "Ah, Greg," I said. "Put it clear in! Fuck me!" And he did, but not a fast lunge. A slow one, still teasing me. His cock reached clear back to my second sphincter. He pushed the long thick thing up and up, and I felt the whole of my guts flowering before the terrible onslaught. My body jerked and twisted and I heard myself moaning. I could feel that tremendous rod rammed into me with all the strength that Greg had. In that position, I couldn't squeeze or clutch him or tighten my muscles upon his huge prick. I would have liked to, but he didn't seem to mind. I was writhing and trying to push my ass forward to meet his thrusts, to match his rhythm. They grew deeper and harder. I heard and felt his groin and belly slapping hard against my ass. And then suddenly he let go of the bed completely and grabbed an ankle in each hand. Every time he socked it in he pulled his arms back so that it would enter farther. I was bent double, my feet close up to my head. I felt his body grow hard then, and felt a sudden swelling of his cock-and then bang! he shot his load deep inside me. It was scalding hot, and I felt each spurt strike the back of my asshole.

34

"Been savin' it for you, stud," he said, playfully knuckling my head. I lowered my legs. Such a movement was in no danger of taking his long cock out of my ass. I felt it slip a little but there must have been a good six inches still inside. "Blue come full of sapphires," I whispered. "Damn! I'd like to stay like this forever." He laughed. "Oh, we'll see enough of each other," he said. "It sure is nice to have your own private pussy when you come home at night." ''And just as nice to have your own private cock," I said, "especially when it's attached to a cop." "Sometime I'm gonna fuck you with my uniform on," he said. "Boots and all." "The sooner the better," I said. Was this myself talking? Here I'd gone through all my life being trade mostly and getting money for it-and now, here I was, pressed hard under a cop, our cocks rubbing together, our bellies sweating where they touched, and calves and feet linked together. And for free! If anyone had told me five years ago that an experienced hustler like myself would enjoy being dominated, being fucked in the ass by a cop, I would have laughed in his face. And yet I suppose I partially understood, because along with Bennett I had spent some time being a 'slave' to that black, Adam X, in New York City. There was something in me I didn't fully comprehend, that I knew. "The frosting on the cake," I said, more to myself than him, thinking of his fucking me with his uniform on. "What's that?" he said. "Nothing," I said, "just talking to myself." He pressed his cheek against mine, rubbing it hard, and I felt the stubble, rough and masculine. I took one hand and rubbed over it. "Heavy beard," I said. "Haven't shaved since this morning." Then he turned to me, his cock still buried in my asshole. "You really think it'll work out all right, with this-what's his name? Pete?"

35

"Sure it will," I said, feeling his swollen member expanding me still. "And if he makes a pass at you I'll scratch his eyes out!" Greg looked a little alarmed. I laughed-and that was a mistake. Out came his cock! I got out of bed very quickly so as not to get grease on the sheets. "I was just kiddin'," I said. "I'll tell Pete soon enough that we are together-and then maybe as a special treat we'll take him in with us once in a while." "A three-way?" Greg said. "Who'd do what?" "Well, I'd want you to screw me and then Pete could blow me at the same time." "Lucky Pierre," said Greg with some sarcasm. "Well, we can do it the other way," I said. "I can fuck you while Pete blows you, or you can fuck Pete while I blow him." "Nix on any of that," Greg said. "I'm used to your asshole and I like it. No point in breakin' in a new cat.'' Well, that was one worry off my mind. Greg was mine, at least for the time being. And Pete would have to wait. Pete got home at ten p.m. and we were both sitting there waiting for him when he came in, each with a drink in our hand. Pete stood a little hesitantly in the doorway. "C'mon in, Pete," I said. "Meet the new roommate-Greg Wolfson. He just got in this evening from Santa Monica." "Yeah, I know," Pete said. He still seemed nervous. He sat down in a third chair. "Might as well get right down to the main matter. I'd like to know if you think you're gay, Greg." Greg shook his head. "Not me, Pete," he said. "I like to play around with the boys, yeah. I'm a lot like Phil-I just plain like sex. But I guess I'm oriented towards women." Pete bit his lower lip. "There's a second thing," he said. "I wonder if you and Phil went to bed as soon as you got here." I'm sure I must have blushed. Greg waggled his glass. "Well, since you're so curious, Petey ole boy, I might as well tell you that we did. And there's so,mething more. I intend to

36

go to bed with whomever I want, whenever. And that includes you, Petey." Then it was my turn to be a little pissed off. I thought he was mine, and here he was-as good as propositioning Pete right under my nose. Pete got as red as I must have been. "You see," Greg said, throwing one leg over the chair-arm and exposing his basket for us to lick our lips over, "I've been a cop for a lot longer than either of you guys, and it's me who's going to be calling the shots around here. If I want to go to bed with Pete alone, Phil can watch. And if I want Phil alone, vice versa. And if I want to go to bed with both of you at once, I will. Y'understand?" Both of us nodded our heads in unison. I had a feeling I'd win out, having had more experience. And I'd set about getting Greg whether he knew it or not. But there was tension in the air, there on a peak in Darien or San Francisco, if you prefer it by that name.

37

4. Three Ways To Go There was plenty for Greg and me to do the next few days. I was even a little ahead of Greg-for a while. And then when his prior service record came through from Santa Monica, I fell far behind, and he disappeared from the training classes. The interview with the shrink was perhaps the most interesting of all. He was a little balding man, but he confronted me with situations that were ticklish. How do you feel about blacks? street people? whores? drugs? tattoos? Birchers? homosexuals? long hair? beards? and a number of others. It was not until later when I had a chance to think it all over, that I saw behind every question an investigation into my attitudes, feelings, and general make-up. I must have possessed a high degree of tolerance, because the lieutenant who had first interviewed me, complimented me on the interview, after he had carefully warned me about being too permissive. "Lieutenant," I said, "I have never looked on a peace officer as a preacher or moralist carrying a gun." "Well, that's a healthy attitude," the lieutenant said, brushing a finger over his small mustache. "But we have to remind you that as long as some of these gahdamned antiquated laws are on the books, and remain there, we are bound to try 38

to enforce them-hypocritical and puritanical though they are." "Yes sir," I said, and that was the end of that. I decided right then and there that I wasn't going to exert myself about some of those laws, especially the sexual ones. I got to our pad that evening about eight, completely pooped. I hadn't worked so hard in years. Hustlers really don't work very hard. They take it easy with their scores. But I might as well accustom myself to it, for hustling wouldn't be in the books while I was a cop (or would it?) and by the time I got through being a peace officer I'd be ready to go to work for the rest of my life. Pete had told us where we could get our uniforms tailored a little more, pulled in at the waist, trousers narrowed, coat shortened a little to show the basket, and even the basket sewed. The uniforms of the San Francisco police were a good-looking dark blue, and we all bought extra-high boots for ourselves. In the apartment I took off these symbols and hung them carefully in the closet, and put the boots on the floor. Greg and I were sharing one bedroom, leaving poor Pete all by himself. And Greg was either screwing me or making me blow him every night. I loved it. Once I saw the door open a crack, but pretended I didn't. It was Pete peeking in and getting his rocks off by beating his meat there at the doorway. I really did feel sorry for him. The three of us could have had a lot of fun together. I found myself thinking that Greg might give way some time soon, when he realized that a three-way might be even more fun than a contact between two. Having hung up my clothes, I flopped on the bed, naked, running my hand up and down through my chest hair and pubic hair, and even stroking ole Betsy a little. As usual, I got a hardon at once. I was lying there slowly jacking-off when I heard the outer door open. 39

Lord! It was too early for either Greg or Pete! But I stayed on the bed, figuring it had to be one or the other of them since a key was used. It was Pete. "I'm in the bedroom!" I hollered. He opened the door and stood there, one hand on the knob. Damn, he looked good in his uniform, sleek and blue and muscular! "All ready for action ... with Greg?" he said. I patted the side of the bed. "C'mon sit down," I said. "You knew how things were. You knew you didn't have to move in. Greg and I had this thing going for quite a while." That was a lie but he didn't have to know. It was kinder that way. "When the hell are you gonna let me join the party?" Pete said. He came and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Why not right now, ole buddy!" I said. "Why not gimme a blowjob before Greg gets back?" Pete's eyes shone. "You mean I really can? You'll let me?" "Why not?" I said. He stood up and started to remove his coat and cap. "Nup," I said. "I want a blowjob by a cop in uniform, hat and coat and all the rest." "Why?" "Frosting on the cake," I said, remembering what I'd said to Greg. He bent over my tool and took it gently between his lips. I closed my eyes as he went into action, taking nearly the whole of my cock into his mouth, grabbing it at the base, forcing his pointed tongue down into the slit, tickling the frenum on the underside of it. He was hot and wet in the mouth. It was really better than fucking a cunt. Pete sure knew how to do it. Right in the middle came a harsh voice from the door. "So that's what goes on when I'm not around!" Pete took my cock out of his mouth. He was petrified. I was more nonchalant. "Oh, hell, Greg-you knew it'd happen some day sooner or later. C'mon-take off your 40

clothes. Let's try a three-way." But Greg was not through grumbling. He spoke to me. "That's my private property. That's my pussy you're carryin' around." I grinned at him. "Oh, come on now, Greg," I said. "Pete's not in my asshole. He's givin' me a blowjob, and you can't deny me that. It's a lot better than having to beat my meat

" Pete's face was flaming. "I guess I better get out of here," he said. Greg caught him at the door. "Oh, no, you don't!" he said. "Get your clothes off and get over there on the bed with Phil." Well, here it was at last, after about three weeks. I turned on my belly and looked over my shoulder. "What's gonna happen?" I asked Greg. Greg was undressing, too. It didn't take him long. "You'll find out soon enough," he growled, "I'm gonna fuck you and Pete's gonna get up there with his ass on the pillow and spread his legs on each side of your head, and you're gonna blow him." "Oh, hell!" "I'll 'Oh, hell!' you in about a minute," Greg said. He seemed angry. But it didn't affect his getting a hardon. You could see it growing through his jockey shorts, and when he finally took them off, his cock jumped out fully erect and hard. He reached into the drawer of the end-table for the vaseline, and then turned. Pete was naked. "Do as I say, Pete," he snapped. Pete scrambled into position. Then Greg spoke to me. "You're finally gonna get plugged full of all the cop-cock you want," he grated. "You're not only gonna have me in your ass, you're gonna go down on Pete at the same time. And I want to hear you swallow it!" Just what I wanted, but I decided not to say anything

41

more. Greg was mad enough already. He'd not give me an easy fuck this time. I'd had hard and violent ones before, but not of the cock-size Greg had. I didn't know whether I could take it without hollering. Greg greased himself, but put none on me. Then he got into position between my legs, and I felt his great cockhead brush against my asshole. At the same time Pete, grinning as if he'd swallowed a canary, positioned himself on the pillow right in front of my face. I inhaled the male odor of his balls, already drawn up tight in anticipation, and licked them a little. Pete shivered. He put one finger on the topside of his cock and pushed, so that it angled downwards a little, and entered my mouth straight-on. Meanwhile, Greg was not wasting a moment. He got placed properly, and I felt the cockhead at my asshole. "Ready for it, you bastard?" he said. I couldn't answer very well with Pete's cock in my mouth, but I nodded my head. He rammed it in, and I do mean in! Sheez, I thought I would be split! There was no easy preparation to open my sphincter the way he generally did. The hot wave of pain almost blinded me and brought tears to my eyes. I wasn't sure whether it was good to be Lucky Pierre or not, if it felt this way. The pain lasted for about a minute and then gradually subsided. Greg was riding me hard this time, harder than he ever had before. His belly slapped against my ass. And meanwhile, Pete was enjoying the degradation I was enduring, too, after thinking all along that I was fairly straight. He set up a circular motion on the pillow with his ass, knocking his cockhead against the roof of my mouth. And then to get farther in, he pulled the pillow away and caught me by the back of my head, pushing me as far down on his prick as I could go-which, considering his size, was clear to the bottom of it. Even though he was only about one-third the size of Greg, he succeeded in getting it so deep down in my 42

throat that I felt it go through the arch, and gagged. "Do that again," Pete ordered. "That felt good." And so I did. Greg was pumping away faster and his muscles had grown tense, I could tell. So had Pete's. Pete locked his legs around the back of my neck and pushed down. I was nearly choking to death on his cock. And I could feel that Greg was on the point of coming. In the little mirror at the top of the bed I saw him suddenly throw back his head, and his mouth took on the square fishshape of the orgasm. Pete was watching Greg's enormous cock ram ii). and out of my ass, shiny with vaseline (I supposed), and when Greg suddenly held it in as far as it would go, that was enough for Pete. He shot his load into my mouth, about five seconds after Greg had come. For a little guy with a medium-sized prick, Pete sure held a lot of gyzym. It filled my mouth and ran down my chin. Greg collapsed on my back. "Swallow it, gahdamn you!" he said and I did. It was a real mouthful. I wondered if Greg's load in my ass had been as big. I wouldn't ever know. Until later, and perhaps not then. "Well, you've got what you wanted, haven't you, you damned cocksucker!" Greg growled. "Front and back, fulla cops' come." "Oughta make Pete eat it out," I said. "That's an idea," Greg said, "but we don't want to put him through too much right now." Pete turned pale. "Kee-rist, I couldn't do that," he muttered. "Oh, I 'spose you could," Greg said easily. "Whyncha try it right now?" "Don't give him hepatitis," I said. "We'd all get it." "Well, you're right about that," Greg said. "Guess we'd better skip that for now." "We may run out of things to do," Pete said. "Look!" said Greg. "As long as there's three healthy male bodies in this apartment, we won't run out of things to do. -t3

Next time," he said, and leveled a finger at Pete, "I'm gonna fuck you in the ass and you blow Phil here. Just for kicks." I said, "Oh!" and grinned. "What's your recovery time?" Greg asked me. "About thirty minutes," I said. "Fills up almost as fast as a toilet tank," Pete grinned. "And yours?" Greg asked Pete. He looked downcast. "About an hour," he said. "All right," Greg said, looking at his wristwatch. "At ninethirty we're gonna have another go at it." "I won't be able to work tomorrow," Pete said. "Sure you will," Greg grinned. "Just keep one hand down over your basket and tickle it from time to time." "We might as well get a little drunk before the next ball," I said. So we sat and drank for the next hour. By that time Pete was really smashed because he had been pouring it down. I figured he hoped he'd anesthetize himself before Greg drove that monster into him. At nine-thirty Greg looked at his watch again. He was feeling good from the whiskey, and I was exhilarated. I was really looking forward to my next blowjob from Pete, under better conditions than the can down at the Hall of Justice. "Well, the time has come," he said. If anyone with a pair of binoculars had been looking into our living room he would really have been surprised to see three naked cops sitting there drinking. But at the same time, how would he have known that we were peace officers without our uniforms on? "Okay, buddy-face down on the bed," Greg said to Pete. "Greg, listen," Pete said desperately. "I can't take that hunk of meat. It'll kill me." "Oh, yes you can," Greg said. He squeezed one cheek of Pete's ass with his big hand."I have an idea you'll be small and tight." "All the more reason to fuck Phil, who's at least had some experience," Pete said. "Nobody's ever had me that way before."

44

Wrong thing to say. "I'll be damned!" said Greg."An honest-to-god cherry! Man, I'm gonna get that if it's the last thing I do!" Pete shuddered. I felt a little sorry for him, because Greg really was enormous. "We'll use a lot of grease," Greg said and then turned to me. "Got any Crisco in the kitchen?" "Yeah, I bought a can just last week," I said. "Open it and bring it in," Greg ordered. "We'll need a lot." I did as he said, and pulled off the plastic lid. It looked white and pure. "Okay," Greg said. "Phil, you put plenty around his asshole, and then come over here and grease me up." Well, what else was there to do? I dug a coupla fingers deep into the white stuff and spread it liberally on Pete's ass, which was twitching and jumpy. I put a lot around his asshole, too, and tucked a little inside with my finger. Then I took a big scoop and approached Greg. He was limber, but a little ministration of my hand, along with the grease, soon brought him to full size. I laughed. "What the hell's so funny?" "You've got a really white cock," I said. "Get on the bed, face down," Greg said to Pete. Pete's face was as white as the grease around his heavenly gate. "Promise me you'll go slow and easy." "Oh, sure, sure," said Greg. I could tell that he was drunk enough that he wouldn't. "And you, Junior," Greg said to me, "get the hell in position over on the bed so Pete can suck you." I did, even though I didn't feel much in the mood for it. Pete grabbed my legs and I felt the desperation in his clutch. "Make him take it easy, will you?" he said. "Sure, Pete," I said, although there was nothing I could do with Greg. He was the boss around these parts. "Better take it kinda easy, Greg," I said. "After all, we don't want to have to take Pete to the hospital and have him stitched up." -t5

I had meant it as a kindly warning to Greg but it scared the hell out of Pete. Greg put his massive hands on the cheeks of Pete's ass and spread them, just as earlier he had done to mine. I found myself wishing I were in Pete's place, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Greg got between Pete's legs and aimed his cockhead at his asshole. Then he sort of rubbed it up and down against it, and slowly worked the head into the vestibule. I could see that he was causing Pete pain for he was biting his lips. Greg reached up and grabbed his hair. "What's the matter, sonny?" he said. "Relax. It won't hurt as much. You were interested enough when I came in that big asshole of Phil's in front of your face-so why not now?" I could see Greg's big cock inching into Pete's asshole slowly while he went on talking. "Now if you don't want a real hard ram, get to work on that prick of Phil's," Greg said. And Pete did. He went at it as if cocksucking was going out of style-all over my prick, over the corded underside, licking the pearl from the end of it, taking the head in his mouth and going as far down on it as he could-which was about three-quarters of the way to the base. "That's better, rookie," Greg said. "If I'm gonna be boss around here I sure want to see my orders carried out. Maybe we'd better call 'em suggestions, huh?" Pete tried to nod his head up and down on my cock, but it only scraped me some and I drew back an inch or so to avoid it. In the meantime Greg was really ploughing ass. You could have heard the slap of his groin on Pete's buttocks in the next apartment. I knew what Pete was going through, having been plugged already with that monster tool of Greg's. The whiteness of the Crisco had disappeared now, having been melted away by Pete's body heat, by the furnace of that hot canal. In and out it went, in and out, and Greg's balls were drawn 46

up tight on the underside, so tight that you could see one on each side of his cock. When he started they were banging loosely against Pete's space between his asshole and balls. Greg had all kinds of tricks and as I looked at him, seeing his well-muscled body in action, the strong thighs, the ridged abdomen, the way he would take his cock almost out of Pete and with little short thrusts gouge the head into the vestibule only-and then ram it back clear to his own pubic hair, I became sure of two things: first, I envied the hell out of Pete, preferring the hard-soft massage of my prostate to even the talented blowjob Pete was administering to me; and second, I concluded that Greg must have been married at one time or another, because only married men know how to fuck. Trick is to get 'em to do it to another man! Greg's hands, spread out flat on Pete's ass, were stretching his hole as wide open as possible. And finally Pete too seemed to be enjoying it. He was raising his ass up and down, pressing hard back to meet each incoming thrust of Greg's. There was a look of intense concentration on Greg's handsome face, almost a scowl. His head was lowered, watching his long shiny cock go in and out of Pete's ass. Pete was also working as hard as he could on my cock. I inched downwards a little more and was rewarded with that slipping through the arch that I always liked so much. It wouldn't be much longer for me now. I felt the joyful wave of the orgasm begin to sweep over me. And the same thing must have been happening to Greg. He was breathing harder, and his muscles stood out like a weightlifter's. I watched his face, especially the mouth, and suddenly saw it open in a tremendous gasp while his eyes squinched shut. He rammed his cock as far as he could into Pete's ass and held it there, and I knew his gyzym was flowing into Pete's asshole. And that triggered me. Mine began to flow too, filling Pete's mouth and running down the sides of his chin just as earlier his had done with me. I reached down with my finger and playfully smeared the gyzym over Pete's

47

cheeks and nose. He made a grimace trying to get away from it, but none of that stopped him from milking the last drops from my cock, and licking the very last pearl as it seeped up and out of my cockslit. He took my cock out of his mouth. "Sheez!" Pete muttered. "That sure as hell was the best fuck I ever had." "Considerin' it was the first one, that's not sayin' much," I commented. Greg scowled at me. Then he slapped Pete back and forth across his ass from his upright position. "Us peace officers don't use bad language like 'hell' and 'fuck,' " he said. "Didn't you learn that?" The whole situation tickled me so much that I began to chuckle. Us peace officers, indeed! We could fuck ourselves silly in a three-way, but we couldn't say 'hell' or do any cussing. Some deal. "Sheez, we all need showers," Greg said, looking down at his greasy hands. "Right," Pete said. Greg began slowly to withdraw from him and came out with a gentle pop! "Lord, I feel fulla come," Pete said. "You must have shot as much in me as you did in Phil." I was still plenty full of it, and my asshole a little sore, giving me a new center of consciousness. "Well, we have two baths and three people. Who's gonna shower with who?" "Whom," I said. Greg frowned at me. "I'll shower with Greg if he doesn't mind," Pete said eagerly. I could just bet what kind of a shower that would be! Pete would be on his knees all through it ... Oh, well, I'd had enough sex for the moment. Two good explosions in one evening. That was enough. I was satisfied. If Greg and Pete had more in them that wanted out, I certainly wouldn't be jealous! Or would I ... ? I took a long leisurely shower with plenty of soap, because that damned grease had a way of melting and spreading,

48

even though I hadn't been using any of it this second time. I imagined that Greg was having a hard time getting it off his cock-or maybe Pete was sucking it off for him ... I moseyed into their bathroom and looked at the shadows behind the sliding glass doors. Sure enough, one of them was on his knees. Pete was blowing Greg again. None of my business. If I had not been a hustler, I might have got extremely jealous. But hustlers never-or rarelyget emotionally involved. There's a dead and empty space where the heart is. True, I had been involved in my time, but those years seemed far behind me no,,·. And if Pete wanted to blow Greg and Greg wanted it-okay. I had enough confidence in my own talents to feel that Greg would in the long run prefer me and my asshole to Pete and his-and what the hell difference if he didn't, anyway. The world is full of men-and women, too. I left the bathroom and went into the bedroom that Greg and I shared, and stretched out naked on top of the bed, thinking I'd get under the sheet as soon as Greg came in from the shower. But I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew my cock was engulfed in a warm hot cavern and was being tickled delightfully at its tip. I pretended to be asleep but of course I wasn't. Nothing wakes you as fast as a hand or mouth-or any kind of touch-on your cock. Some people just couldn't get enough prick, I guess, and Pete must have been one of them. Well, it wasn't going to be unpleasant to have a roommate with satyriasis. I could stand it if Greg could, although both of us would probably lose weight. Finally I pretended to wake up a little, and put my hand down on the head that was blowing me. But instead of feeling Pete's longish curly hair, I felt a close-cropped head! The cocksucking stopped. I reached over and turned on a dim night light. Guess who! Greg! He looked both ashamed and fierce. He grabbed me by the wrist. "If you ever tell Pete this, I'll 49

cut your nuts off, you mother," he growled. I grinned at him. "Why should I, Greg ole boy? I don't give a damn about a person's sex life and you know it. But there's only one thing I can't stand." "What's that?" he rumbled. I lay back on the bed, put my hands under my head, and arched my ass up a little. "Somebody who starts something and then doesn't finish it," I grinned. After all, there's no better sedative in the world. To hell with reds and yellowjackets and all the rest of the downers. A good blowjob will put you to sleep faster than anything else. And that's what I had that night.

50

5. Pain & Pleasure By the time a month had passed, each of us-Pete, Greg, and myself-had all been put on the day shift. And one Wednesday found us in the ready room, ready, that is, to go out on any call that came in. And one came, a suicide on Carl Street ... We went out, piled into a squad car, and with sirens screaming and lights flashing, got there in a few minutes. A little crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. We brushed past them and found the landlord, an old gay boy if ever I saw one, wringing his hands, red-eyed from weeping, and saying over and over, "Oh, that this should have happened in my place!" Greg gave him a hard look. "It's too bad it happened anywhere," he said, and the landlord shut up. He had a funny Abe Lincoln beard, all white. It was an old house, made-over, and nicely decorated inside in a sort of queen-bitch way. We went up the carpeted stairs, the landlord tagging along behind. "How'd it happen?" Greg asked him. "He hanged himself," the landlord said, and broke out afresh. "And such a nice quiet boy, too." Before we went into the room, Greg put his hand on the 51

door. "If either of you guys is squeamish," he said, "you'd better not come in. A hanging's not very pretty." I was all right, but Pete looked a little pale. "I'll just stand guard at the door," he said. The body was that of a good-looking young guy, about twenty-four, dangling in a sort of darkened room, with one light burning. A stool under his feet had been kicked away, or fallen away. He had on a woman's dress with an extra low-cut decolletage, and there were clothespins fastened to his nipples. The face was horrible. I took one look and wondered if I shouldn't have stayed outside with Pete. The skin was purple, the tongue extruded and swollen, and the eyes were open, looking as if they would pop out on the cheek any minute. Greg was clearly in charge. He called in on his walkietalkie, asked for the coroner, notified the proper persons, and then cut off. He looked at the landlord. "What was his name?" "Pat Flannegan," the landlord said. "Homosexual, was he?" The landlord didn't want to answer. Another black mark for his place. "Look," said Greg, more kindly than I had ever heard him talk. "This is San Francisco. We know all about such things. The guy's got a girl's dress on. Would you say he's a homosexual?" This time the landlord came through. "Yes, he was," he said. "He used to be 'married' to a guy-" "Where's he now?" Greg asked. "Oh, they had a fight, and the guy moved out," the landlord said. Greg put his note pad away. "We'll locate him later," he said. I had moved closer to the hanging body which was slowly rotating. "Don't touch anything," Greg warned.

52

"No, of course not," I said. I kept my eyes away from the face. Greg approached and looked closely at the clothespins. Each had a lead fish-sinker of considerable dimension-maybe about six ounces-hanging from the end of it by an Shook. I wondered which particular heaven or hell the kid had been in when he died. "They've got blunted tacks set through each of the pinching ends," Greg said. "Good lord, why?" I asked. "More pain," Greg said matter-of-factly. "And they also keep the pins from slipping off. They're evidently not strong enough to pierce, because there's no blood, but I guess they must feel like it." And then, when he was sure the landlord wasn't listening, he said, "I'll try 'em on you sometime when I feel mean enough." He grinned a little at me. My hands went to my nipples involuntarily. "Oh, no, you won't," I said. "I'm no damned masochist." "I may turn you into one," Greg said. "We'll see about that," I said. The landlord was out of the room and we were alone with the kid who had hanged himself. Greg put his arm around my shoulder. "But if you like cops, ar.d I'm the boss-cop, and I said so, you would now, wouldn't you?" What is there about sex that traps you so much? I had no inclinations whatsoever to masochism-just the opposite, if anything-but there I was, nodding my head numbly, agreeing. "Good," Greg said, "and we'll try it before long." I found myself shivering a little in anticipation. But that's part of it all. Anticipation and retrospect. You look forward to something, you don't particularly like going through with it, but the memory of it can give you a hard on for years. Then Greg became all the businesslike cop again. The detective bureau would go through all the letters and papers, the vice squad would look at his collection of pornographic

53

photos (and was there ever a gay man who didn't have a bunch of them? The fantasies kept the kids out of trouble and off the streets), the fingerprint man would dust the whole apartment, and after that it would be sealed until the family arrived. If any. Outside, Greg pressed half of the red paper seal against the doorjamb. Then the coroner-after they were all donewould press the rest of it against the door. Just then the whole bunch of police workers arrived. Greg reported to the coroner, introduced him to the nelly-nervous landlord, and then we picked up Pete, who had got his color back by now. We all three had to wait around a while, but Greg went down and scattered the group of people who had collected in the doorway. "I wonder what made him do it," Pete said. "San Francisco is the death-wish town. People come here to die," I said. Greg was more practical. "You can draw up any theories you want," he said. "The fact remains that San Francisco leads in alcoholism, is second in suicides, and has more psychiatrists per square inch than any other town, and has more people die of cirrhosis of the liver. Nearly eight hundred have jumped off the Golden Gate bridge." "Wonder why they all come to San Francisco?" I said. "Glamor," said Greg shortly. "And maybe the fact that if they died in an earthquake, their religion won't hold them responsible," I said. "When ole Mother Nature betrays you and even the ground beneath your feet goes to pieces, then you begin to think." "It's the farthest west you can get," Pete said. "Maybe that has something to do with it." "Maybe," said Greg shortly. "I suggest we all go home, have a couple stiff ones-drinks, I mean-and then fuck ourselves silly." "Second the motion," I said. I wanted that tool of Greg's shoved up my ass again. I itched for it. And this time I was 54

sure he would do it. And that's exactly what we did. We piled into the squadcar which would be ours until the next morning, and headed for Grand View Avenue. Before we got there, however, Greg said to Pete, "Stop at that big hardware store on Haight Street, will you?" Pete said, "Is it still there, or did the hippies chase it away?" "It's still there," I said. "I was in it just last week." "Okay, fine," said Greg. He looked at me. And then it hit me! I knew what he was going to buy! Tacks and clothespins! "Hey, not tonight!" I said. Greg and I were in the backseat. Pete looked around. "Not tonight what?" he said. "Oh, nuthin'!" Greg grinned. "Just fixin' a little somethin'." We stopped in front of the hardware store and Greg got out and went in. Pete turned to me. "What's he gonna buy?" "Clothespins and tacks." "Sheez ... what for?" "I'm afraid we may find out sooner than we want to," I said. Greg came out carrying a little paper bag and grinning as if he'd just heard a dirty joke. He got in. "You got 'em?" I said. He shook the bag and a few items rattled together. "I'll put 'em together while we're havin' a few drinks," he said, grinning. "Oh lord!" When we got home, I was the first one naked, Greg the second, and poor modest Pete the last. Greg looked at his boots as he pulled them off. "These need a little polish," he said. I didn't volunteer, but Pete would have beat me to it anyway. "I'll do it tomorrow," he said eagerly. Then he padded out to the kitchen and made the drinks. Greg had set up a small workshop on one of the counters in the kitchen. He got out his cordless electric drill, a tack 55

hammer, and a small anvil. It didn't take him long to make them. The clothespins were the wooden type with little springs on the inside. He didn't glue the tacks in, but just pounded them tight. "We can glue 'em later," he said. "The hole is small enough to hold." Then he took the snippers and cut off the point of the tacks. "I reckon four will be about enough," he said. I was fascinated and at the same time frightened. "You are a wicked evil man," I said jokingly to him. "Just call me the Grand Inquisitor," he grinned. "Or Machiavelli." He had four of the pins in his hand, and laid them on the kitchen table. I picked one up and looked at it. It did look damned wicked. I put one on the tip-end of my index finger and felt the small pain course through my hand. If it could do that with a finger, what about a nipple ... ? I put them all back. "It may just be that I don't feel like fucking at all tonight." Greg grabbed one of the naked cheeks of my ass and squeezed. "Oh, yes, you will!" he growled. "If I say so and wan ta get in that ass of yours, you'll do it, man, whether you feel like it or not!" I knew that he was right. Alas. Well, if the pins were to be used on Pete and me, I decided I'd get gahdamned good and drunk beforehand. I reached for the bottle of bourbon and sweetened my drink considerably. "Painkiller, huh?" Greg grinned. Pete wandered in and out of the kitchen but didn't really know what was going on. I felt that he'd find out soon enough. "You ready now?" Greg asked me. "Haven't finished my drink yet," I said, holding up my glass. "Drink up, man!-drink up!" Greg said. "What's gonna happen tonight?" Pete said innocently. He looked very attractive with his compact body, smaller than 56

Greg's or mine. "Think we oughta try the same thing we tried the first time," Greg said. "I feel like fuckin' Phil, and he can blow you at the same time. Okay with you?" Pete nodded, looking happy enough. I was sure he didn't know yet what was going to happen this evening. We drank for a little longer and I was feeling pretty good. Pete himself was nearly drunk, and Greg was getting there. I thought it might be time to begin, because if Greg got too drunk the screwing would go on too long. We all three went into Greg's bedroom. "Okay, Phil," Greg said. "You sit on the edge of the bed first." I did. I knew I wasn't going to like this at all. Greg approached, holding a couple of his clothespins. He took a big section of my nipple, including the flesh behind it, and held it horizontally between his fingers, pulling it as far out from my chest as he could. Then he brought the clothespin close and pinched it open. He fitted my nipple into the pinching end, with the track part on the top, and very gently let it close itself on the flesh. Sheez! I thought I'd go through the ceiling! The pain was terrible. It coursed through my body and spiraled up through my head. But Greg didn't wait. He grabbed the other nipple and gave it the same treatment. "Now get down there on the bed on your belly," Greg said, "and put the pins with the ends pointing either up or down." I had the ends pointed up towards my face, but I could hardly lie flat. There's an old principle in medicine called counterirritation. They use it when you have a stiff joint or something like that-rubbing in Ben-Gay or some other lotion that burns and makes you less conscious of the arthritis or the sprained joint. I knew that the pins would serve that purpose, once Greg started fucking me with that monstrous tool of his, but so far the only thing I could think of was the_dreadf ul little pain caused by the clothespins. "Okay, Pete-your turn," Greg said. Pete sat down on the

57

edge of the bed as I had, a kind of look of wondering innocence on his face. "What're you gonna do?" he said. "This," Greg said. He grabbed one of Pete's nipples the same way he had mine and put the pin on it, letting it close gently. Pete let out a howl and started to remove the pin. Greg slapped his hand away and put the other pin on. "You'll forget all about them as soon as Phil starts to blow you. Now get up there in position." Pete's face was contorted with pain and he was gasping, "Oh! Oh!" over and over, but he crawled up above me and stretched his legs out, one on each side of my body. I took his cock in my mouth and started sucking hard on it. Greg stood beside the bed laughing, and getting himself greased up. Gradually Pete's gasps tapered off a little, though his hands kept wandering towards his nipples. "Leave 'em on there," Greg warned. "Or you'll get your ass beat off." The sucking of Pete's cock was taking his mind off his nipples, but it wasn't doing much for me. I discovered that I had to be very careful not to move sidewise because that increased the pain tremendously. Then I felt Greg get in position between my wide-opened legs, and felt the pressure of his great cockhead against my asshole. He was not nearly so slow this time as he had been the first few times, and the head of his cock was in very quickly, pushing against my still-closed sphincter. I will have to admit that the clothespins did help a little. I felt Greg tensing his muscles for a big push, and in a coupla seconds he was clear inside, down to the very root of me. Between the clothespins on my nipples and Greg's cock in my ass, my whole body throbbed with pain. And then Greg started thrusting, hitting my prostate time after time. The combination of pain and pleasure was almost unbearable. Greg came down flat on my back, and his added weight made the pins pinch more. But he was still poking that massive prickhead at my prostate. He reached one hand under 58

each of my sides, down along the ribs, and found the nipples. And then with one finger on each, he pushed the blunted tackhead even harder into my skin. And what did I do? Instead of howling, I found myself raising my ass more and more to meet his cockthrusts, and actually beginning to enjoy the pain-pleasure reaction. Maybe he would turn me into a masochist after all. I could see that Pete was also enjoying himself. His cock was swollen to a larger proportion than it had ever been before, and there was a continual throbbing in it. Suddenly Greg lurched forward, and the pins nearly killed me. But it was a lurch that indicated one thing. He had come! I felt the spasmodic swelling of his cock and the spurts that hit me deep inside. At that moment, Pete came too, filling my mouth with his gyzym. As usual, I was astonished at the amount he produced-more than twice as much as the usual ejaculation. Greg grabbed me by the hair. "Don't forget to swallow, buddy," he said, hard and low. I did, feeling it slide down my throat. "I'll take those pins off now, Pete," Greg said. Without removing his cock from my asshole he reached up and unfastened them. And then he made three fingers into a hard ball and rubbed Pete's nipple with a circular motion. Pete howled with pain. "Now, kiddo, same thing for you," he said. "Turn over half on your left side," he ordered. I did, his cock still inside me. He unfastened the clothespin on my right nipple and did the same thing he had done with Pete. And I howled, too. The pain was the worst yet. "Now the other side, baby," Greg said. He bit me gently on the neck. I was misled. Perhaps he would not be so violent on this one. He unhooked the pin on the right nipple, and rubbed it twice as hard as he had the other one, his fingers together in a ball. It was a lot worse than the first one. "Just wanted both of you guys to remember who's boss 50

around here," Greg said. He grabbed me by one nipple, ready to twist it. "Any question in your mind, Phil baby?" He started to twist. The thing still burned like hell. "None at all, Greg," I said. "You're the boss." Greg stretched and reached up towards Pete's left nipple. Pete covered it with his hand. "No-absolutely no question, Greg," he said. "You're the boss. I'll admit it." "Good," Greg said. Well, Pete escaped from that one all right. Then Greg did a slow pushup on his brawny arms and his cock slowly slipped out of me. I must have been stretched to about a three-inch diameter, because I could hear the faint sound of the lips of my asshole as they closed when the battering-ram withdrew. If Greg kept on fucking me as of ten as this, my sphincter would lose its control and stay open permanently. Greg stood up and stretched like a great tawny panther, and yawned. "And now," he said, "I think I'll take a bath. A tub, not a shower. Since I got me two bare-assed flunkeys around here I reckon it'll be possible for me to have all the fuckin' service I want. "Pete," he said, "you can wash my top half; and Phil, ole boy, you can wash the bottom half." He walked towards the bathroom, cocky and self-assured. He really did have a beautiful well-made and well-kept body, small hips and waist, broad shoulders and long legs. I heard him turn on the water in the tub. Pete still had one hand on his right nipple. "Sheez," he sa_id. "That was terrible. That pain. I hope he forgets about those damned clothespins from now on." I nodded, and put one hand up to my own chest. "Yeah," I said, "I think I'll hide 'em or do something with 'em." "Hey!" Greg yelled from the bathroom. "I'm all ready. Bring a couple of washcloths!" Pete opened our so-called linen closet and got two. He gave me one of them. Greg was immersed in a tub half-full of water. He had one 60

foot outside, on the rim, and was lying back in the tub. "First off," he said. "Phil, there's my foot. Wonder what ought to be done with it?" I knew without any further hint from him. I kneeled on the bathroom mat and took his foot in my mouth, sucking each toe separately, licking the sole and arch up to the ankle. Greg was actually trembling with delight! Pete stood beside me, looking envious, and beginning to get a little hard, too. Greg looked up at him and grinned. "Don't be so downhearted, matey. You can have the job next time." Pete's face showed his pleasure at the thought. Suddenly Greg withdrew his toes from my mouth and put his foot in the water. "All right, you swabs," he growled. "That's enough of that. Now give me a bath." I'll have to admit it was a pleasurable thing to do. I took the washcloth and soaped it, and then lifting Greg's wellshaped leg out of the water, I washed his foot, his calf, and his sturdy thigh as far as I could go. Pete, meanwhile, had soaped up his cloth and was scrubbing Greg's back, washing carefully and thoroughly the long black hair in his armpits, and down his front through his chest hair and belly hair to the point of his cock. I got a lot of soap on my cloth and dove in after his cock and balls. I washed them carefully, and the big helmet-head of his cock, cleanly circumcised. Then, using the washrag I went in underneath to wash his perineum, which the French call le petit pont, 'the little bridge,' between balls and asshole. He put both arms on the sides of the tub and arched his hips up a little, so that I could get at his ass. He looked me in the eye. "No tricks now," he said. "None at all," I said. I soaped his asshole carefully and took special pains not to dig my finger into it, although the temptation was there. But I didn't want him to come flying out of the tub after me. Maybe some day I'd get even ... . . . although I might have to wait for quite a while. But I 61

decided then and there that I would get him! Then we were done. Greg stood up in the tub and said, "Now rinse all the soap off me." Pete took the back and I took the front, bringing water on the washcloth up and getting him clean of soap. He could have done the thing more easily by just turning on the shower for a moment, but I think he enjoyed it this way. I kno\'v I did, and I suspected Pete did too. I fumbled around his whang so much that it began to get hard again. He turned around so that his cock faced Pete. "Suppose you suck it a little, Petey," he said. Pete climbed into the tub water, kneeled, and took the big cock into his mouth. I must say that Pete was an expert, a lot better at cocksucking than I was. In no time he had Greg completely hard again, and I got a hardon just watching. I hadn't shot my load yet, so I stood there watching the way Pete's lips curled in and out as he went on servicing Greg, and beating my meat. Suddenly Greg stiffened and the muscles of his front and legs jumped out-and he came in Pete's mouth. At the same time I found I was ready, too, and I said, "How's about takin' mine too, Pete?" "Soon as he swallows my load," Greg growled. Pete swallowed, then hopped out of the tub and knelt in front of me, his warm wet hands on the cheeks of my ass pushing my cock deep into his mouth. He didn't have it there more than twenty seconds until he got his second load-and it was a big one. He swallowed again, and then grinned. "Now everybody's happy," Pete said, "except me. I'm all hot again." _ "Okay, Phil," Greg said. "You can blow Pete again." It was degrading, yes, but I did it. Pete was so heated up that it didn't take him any time at all. I had barely got the satiny head of his cock in my mouth when he exploded. And for the second time that evening I had a mouthful of his gyzym. Where did it all come from? Greg looked at me and 62

like a good little boy, I swallowed audibly. That seemed to make him happy. Pete rubbed his belly. "Now you're both in there, mixing it up," he said happily. Greg stepped from the tub. He let us dry him, and then put one arm around each of our shoulders. "Nice time, gang," he said. And then we all went to our beds and, I think, were all immediately asleep.

63

6. The Copnap More and more as time went on, both Pete and I discovered that there was no question about Greg's 'taking over' the place. He was by far the handsomest stud of any of us, splendid both in and out of uniform. His blue trousers fit him perfectly, and his shortened coat showed off both his small ass and his big basket. When he was in the apartment, he liked to wear just his cop's blue shirt-no pants, no anything, and the great dangling cock that showed between his legs kept both Pete and me continually excited. Sometimes it was half-hard, sometimes it seemed long and slim, but at all times it stimulated us and kept us sexually aroused. He had excellent legs, sturdy and beautifully, sexily, covered with black hair-damn, what a hustler he would have made! He had it all over me. Had he worn the hustler's uniform he could have been the star of San Francisco. And he liked to go barefoot on the deep shag rug. His high-arched feet were handsome and well-kept, with toenails clean and trimmed. Once I asked him if he had ever hustled. He didn't give me a direct answer. He just laughed and said, "What we did before we became cops is really nobody's business, is it? Anymore than what we do in our apartment." And that was answer enough. I had a feeling he had been 64

one, and had handled the whole thing as well as Rudolf Dax in Chicago had taken care of his past. But if Greg had been a hustler, he would certainly have been a high-priced onearound forty or fifty dollars for the simplest blowjob. There was an empty hole where my own heart was, but I could see that Pete was really falling in love with Greg. Pete did not have nearly the experience nor the savoir-faire that either Greg or I had. He was a naive kid from South Dakota, a farm boy who was quite frankly shocked by some of the things that went on in the Big City. One day I was shifted to night duty. It irritated me a good deal because it meant to me that Pete and Greg would be alone together most of the time in the evenings, and I knew what that would lead to, with Greg as horny as he was, and Pete sighing after him like a high-school girl on Junior Prom night. But the captain put me on night patrol on Eddy Streetfoot patrol, mind you. None of this easy stuff of riding in a squad car with a partner. "You'll be safe enough in the Tenderloin District," Captain Shellenbarger said. "Now Fillmore Street's another matter. You have to go by twos up there for protection. But you can wander around Eddy and Ellis and ;ones and Union Square and the rest, and maybe pick up a few whores or some soliciting homos or such. But don't forget to inform them of their rights before you arrest them." I almost laughed out loud. Me, a hustler-now on the other side of the fence. Suppose I ran into someone I knew. I thought of all the people I had been to bed with in San Francisco. The chances were about a hundred to one that I would eventually see an old bedmate. And then what to do? Go with 'em? Arrest 'em? Oh, well, we'd just wait and see what happened. That was a Wednesday and my duty began that evening, so I went back to our pad to get a little sleep before going to work. 65

I was lying naked on the bed, slowly jacking off, when I heard a key in the front door. Now who the hell could that be? Greg was on duty and so was Pete. It was the apartment manager-and a telephone man. "Sorry you found me without any clothes on," I said. "I was takin' a nap before going to work." "That's okay," said the manager, a forty-year-old guy named Roy O'Sullivan. Must have been Irish. "The phone man is checking the lines. There's some cross-talk going on and he wants to find it." "Don't pay any attention to me," said the phone man. I would have liked to. He was about six five, big-boned, and with a blond crewcut. I was not displeased at what I saw shadowed between his legs. I reached for my dressing gown, and Roy looked at my nearly hard cock. "Thinking of something pleasant?" he said. "Always," I grinned at him. Roy spoke to the phone man. "Just go right ahead with your work," he said. "I'll stay in here and talk until you're ready to leave-now that Phil's awake." He sat down on the edge of the bed. He had very little hair and a face like a bulldog, with a mouth that was big enough to take a cantaloupe, I'd wager. There were two deep lines down beside his mouth. "How're things going?" Roy said. I knew he was gay. No one with inflections such as his could avoid being. Besides, he kept looking at my middle, where my cock was making a little mound beneath my dressing-gown. "Fine," I said, "I'm getting used to being a cop." "What had you been doing before?" Roy said. I just grinned at him. And he grinned at me. "I don't think you could arrest me for saying it," he said, "but when you showed up to rent the apartment, I could have sworn you were a hustler, or had been one." 66

I waggled my hand at him. "So maybe I was," I said. "There's all kinds of hustlin', from pool to gals." "Yeah, but-" said Roy, again casting a hungry look at my middle. "I was thinking of guys who hustled queers." "Oh, that meaning!" I said, as if the thought had never crossed my mind. I lay back on the bed. Isn't it an unusual coincidence that such a movement halfway exposed my cock, the end of it and the first three inches? Roy wet his lips in a gesture I knew all too well. "You getting along all right with your roommates?" he said. He had the apartment next door. I could just see him with an electronic stethoscope or a water-glass pressed against the wall, so that he could pick up all that was being said. "Just dandy," I said, "they're swell guys. Greg has had a lot more experience than Pete, but we're working out together just fine." The door to the bedroom had been closed by either Roy or the phone man. Without warning, Roy suddenly put his hand on my cock. "Hey!" I said, half sitting up and then lying back down. "Oh, go ahead if you want to." "You mean it?" Roy said. He looked around the bedroom. "Where's your cap? I pointed to the sliding door of the closet. "In there," I said, thinking of the old idea of 'frosting on the cake.' "Do you mind putting it on?" Roy said. He wet his lips again. "Sure not." I got it and fitted it on my head and then lay back again, my back against the headboard so I could watch. This little caper might result in a small reduction in the rent for our place. I was right about his mouth. It was big enough to take a cantaloupe. He took all my cock, clear to the base, and managed one ball inside, too. I wondered where it all went. He 67

hardly touched the sides of it, and then he came back up and started to work on the head exclusively. In no time at all I was hard. Then I said, "Better lock the bedroom door. That phone man just might come in." Roy barely took his mouth away but said (and I could understand him perfectly), "Doesn't matter. I've had him too." "Why not bring him in to join the party?" I said. "Huh-uh, he's too damned straight," Roy said. He went on sucking. He was pretty damned good at it ... a swallower. For a few times there I thought my cock was going to be torn loose from my body, or that it was going clear down to his stomach. He was able to develop a lot of suction, too, and in hardly any time I was ready to come. "I'm gonna come," I said, and he nodded his head a little. And I did. My sun went nova and fragments of it hit the back of his throat. I gave him quite a load, about ten c.c., and it all went into his throat. I could hear him swallow. "Jesus, Phil, that was nice," he said. "Can we do it again?" "I generally get paid for such a deal," I said, a little surly. He pulled a twenty out of his pocket. "How about this?" he said. I grinned at him. "Any ole time, Roy," I said. I started to put my hand on his head but he drew back. Then I saw that it was just colored with dye or something. Roy hesitated at the door a moment. "Next time ... " he began. "Next time I'll be in full uniform," I said. "But I'll have to come to your apartment. Can't let my buddies know what's • JI gomg on. The wise and knowing smile he gave me indicated he had been listening, after all. A moment later I heard the two of them go out the door. I threw off my dressing-gown and went back to sleep on the bed,naked. I was already awake when the alarm went off, so I got up 68

and put on my uniform and headed for the Hall of Justice on Bryant. It was then about four-thirty, and I went on duty at six-six to two. It was one of those days in San Francisco that make you want to stay there forever and ever, San Andreas fault or not. The air was clear and pure and filled with little golden motes, and as intoxicating as a clear French wine. I got off the bus and walked part of the way, largely to enjoy the sunshine and clear air. It was then that I discovered that I drew looks-admiring ones-from both men and women, and that is always flattering. My uniform had just been cleaned and pressed and looked fine. And even with the handcuffs, nightstick, and transmitter, my waist stayed small and my ass didn't look fat, as it did on most of the fuzz in the city. I knew. I had checked in the mirror. I reported in and got my instructions and my beat -around Union Square, the St. Francis Hotel, and up to the Glide Memorial Church behind the San Francisco Hilton. The very heart of the Tenderloin. I walked back to my beat and moseyed around. I saw several pickups being made by female whores-and male onesand did nothing about it. The permissive climate of San Francisco had been very clearly impressed on us in our training classes. luckily there were no outright muggings, for then I would have had to go into action. My feet hurt when I was on foot patrol. Usually the fuzz rode around in a squad car, two in the front seat. But everyone had to take his turn at foot patrol-and this was mine. It had begun to grow dark and the buildings were being illuminated. As far as I'm concerned, San Francisco is one of the loveliest cities in the world, second maybe to Paris or Rome. Or maybe even first. I had just passed the Hilton on the Eddy Street side and was heading up towards Glide Church, which was the corner of my beat-limit, when a voice came from a car on the other side of the street. I signaled that I'd be over, and then back60

tracked to the traffic light, and waited for the green. One thing about San Francisco-there was no jaywalking. Much different from Chicago, for example, where you could cross at any place in the block if no cars were in sight. Some tourist, I thought, who's got lost and wants directions. It was a car full of blacks, with one white guy driving. Rather unusual, perhaps, but there was such a mixture in the city that I paid no attention to it. I got to the car, which was parked on the Market Street side of Eddy directly across from the church. Both windows on the sidewalk side were rolled down. The white guy asked the questions. "Could you tell us how to get to the 100 block on Polk?" he said. I started giving him directions and then remembered that Polk was one-way near Civic Center. So I had to start over. I was bending over, talking to all of them, when suddenly a powerful black arm snaked out of the rear window and got me around the neck. I grabbed for my transmitter but it fell to the sidewalk. The next few seconds were very blurred for me. They were all four suddenly out on the sidewalk, and the next thing I knew I was in the middle of the back seat, with something hard poked into my ribs from each side. Man, you don't fight back when there are two guns on you! "What the hell ... ?" I said, wiping some blood from my mouth. Three black men and one white. They were all high on something. "Hey!" I said. "There's all kinds of penalties for kidnapping-" "Ah, we know that," the white guy said, from the driver's seat. "Except that I know you used to hustle in Chicago and New York, and we thought we might have a little fun with you. You won't tell anybody-we know that." I looked carefully at the white guy and didn't recognize him at all. But that wasn't unusual. I couldn't remember what most of my scores looked like.

70

"You got hold of the wrong guy," I said. "I never been a hustler in my life." "Then how come I know your name's Phil Andros?" the white guy said, with a small sneer. That tied it. I had no more to say. If I could have called for help, it would have been a different matter. But one of them had picked up my transmitter and it was on the front seat of the car, with the Off button showing. "So you're a cop in San Francisco now," the white guy said. "Joined the fuzz and the establishment. A genuine pig." The blacks in the car laughed. "Y'all say he a hustler?" "Yeah," said the white guy. "He a hustler all right. You pays him twenty and he lets you blow him." "And him a cop," said another. "Listen, a guy can change, can't he?" I said. "Sure can," said Whitey. "You can even start to blow guys." He looked over his shoulder briefly. "Like you're gonna do tonight." "Oh, no, I ain't," I said. I was rewarded with a vicious poke in the right ribs from the gun one was holding. "Oh, yes, you are," Whitey said. "You cost me twenty bucks once, and I'm gonna get it back tonight. With interest," he said, and looked at his companion in the front seat. The black beside him chuckled. "You mean we all gonna fuck this pig cop tonight?" he said. "Fuck him, make him suck you, anything you want," the white guy said. "All at once or one at a time. I think he'd enjoy rimmin' all you guys too." The guy with the gun in my right ribs said, "I reckon I better go las' on this stud," he said, "account I under treatment." "Clap or siff?" said the one at my left. "Siff," said the right one. Good God! If I ever got out of this mess alive, I'd have to go to a ~doctor first thing and get some penicillin. "Maybe we oughtn't let you fuck him a tall," the one in the 71

front seat said. "Account some of us dudes might wanna fuck him more'n once." What the hell were they planning? "Maybe on the fourth, fifth day we can let old Bones fuck him. He oughta be purty ragged by then." Damn, they might bring all of Fillmore Street, drag in half of the city! My ass would be sorer than hell, the way it used to be when Ace Hardesty was screwing me in Dallas. And women, too-cunts. They might make me eat pussy. I shuddered at the thought, which made the guy on the right say, "Man, this pig is gettin' skeered. He shakin' all over. I kin feel it." Whitey turned around in the front. "He gonna be a lot more skeered when \'Ve get through with him," he said. "Now, Al," the one sitting beside him admonished. I could just see the headlines. Cop Missing. Feared Kidnapped. "You guys don't realize what's gonna happen," I said. "The whole gahdamn force will be looking for you." Al laughed. "And we's got ourselfs a hideaway nobody can find," he said. "They'd be afraid to. On Fillmore." "They'll go through every house," I said desperately. "Still won't find us," Al said. "Nobody kin," said the guy with syphilis. "Oh, they will," I said, some of my courage returning-but only a very little. I reckoned I could go though the workingover they'd give me. I only hoped they wouldn't beat me, with my billy or something else. Or shoot me. It was fully dark vvhen we got to Fillmore Street. Al turned the car up a dark alley and stopped at a rear door. Al, the white guy, got out first. He pulled my own gun from his waistband and aimed it towards the back seat. Now a cop is supposed to be brave, honest, ethical, daring, and so on. But is he-can he be-with three guns on him? I was afraid not. Of course, one of them might get shot if I pushed him towards Al, but on the other hand I knew I'd get shot by Syphilis, who ,,;as just behind me-or ol' Bones, as 72

they called him. So I just went along, making no commotion at all. It was a smelly dirty stairway, illuminated by a dim fifteen watt bulb hanging from a cord at the top. Al and his frontseat buddy went first, I was in the middle, and the two husky blacks were behind me. There was no possibility of escape whatever. At the top of the stairwell, we turned into a small dingy room. It was empty. Al went to the side of the room, tugged at an almost invisible crack in the godawful wallpaper, and opened a door into another room-even dingier. There was an old meatcutter's table in the middle of that 'secret' room. Al must have been in on the S/M game. I saw a number of whips and suchlike hanging on the wall. "Y'all hold him tight now," Al said. He picked something off the wall and approached me. It was a small rubber ball with a hole cut through its middle and a leather strap pushed through. "Okay, Philbaby-open your mouth now like a good boy," Al said. He was about my size with a vicious face and thin lips, and a deep scar on the left cheek. He was balding about halfway back, and what hair was left was sort of mouse-brown. One black on each side of me grabbed an arm. I struggled some, but it was useless. Al forced the rubber ball into my mouth, which opened it wide, and fastened the leather strap behind my neck. It was a very effective gag, keeping my mouth wide open and crushing my tongue backwards so that I couldn't make any intelligible sounds. "How we-all gonna make him suck cock wif that ball in there?" the nameless black asked. "We'll take it out when that time comes," Al said grimly, "and use one of youse guys' cocks instead." I was still searching my memory to try to identify him-and where our encounter had happened. That's the trouble with hustling. You don't remember your one-night stands. You just remember

73

your regular (and wealthy) scores. And Al's anonymous face could have been the face of anyone walking any street anywhere. He really did have one of those faces that blend into the crowd-nothing to hold on to, nothing except the scar, that is-and he must have got that after he'd had me for trade. "What we gone do now?" asked a black. "Undress him and get to work," Al said. "You always wanted to fuck a pig, dintcha?" "But if he naked how we gone know he a cop?" "Aw, we'll fix that," Al said. "Leave his cap on or his boots or that fuckin' Sam Browne belt." The blacks pushed me up against the table and one of them started tugging at a boot. It came off easily enough and he threw it in the corner of the room. Then he went to work on the other one, and threw it after the first. I stood there in my stocking feet, the gag choking me, the blacks holding me tightly by the arms. "Down on the table," Al said. "And turn him over ass up." The old meat cutters' table was smooth and cold. Al went to the corner where my right leg was, pulled up a rope of some kind or other-hemp, from the scratchy feel of it, wrapped it two or three times around my ankle and then down the side again where he fastened it to a hook on one of the legs. Then he did the same thing with my left leg and both my wrists. I was helpless, trussed up there like a hog about to be butchered. "One of you dudes got a knife?" Al asked. Evidently someone produced one. I couldn't see it. Then holding the back of my shirt tight, he sliced up the middle of the back of it, through the collar, and cut it off my wrists. "Now we're gonna fix his legs the same way," Al said, and they set to work on my trousers. Well, I thought, there goes one perfectly good uniform. I was concerned about myself, yes, but I hated to have the uniform cut to pieces. And oddly enough, I remembered it was just freshly cleaned and pressed.

74

Then Al picked up my cap from the floor and put it on my head, and looked around for the Sam Browne belt which he also found on the floor. I cringed at his touch and shuddered a little as he passed his hand underneath my belly, and he laughed. "Can't stand the touch of me, huh?" he said. "I guess that means I go first." "Whyncha let Big Dick here go first and git him all spread open?" one of the blacks said. "Man, he stretch him from Maine to Texas, he so big." "Nah," said Al. "Don't forgit. It was my idea in the first place." I could tell from the little sounds that he was undressing. I heard his trousers fall to the floor and the coins jingle in his pocket. Then I felt him climb into position between my spread-out legs. One of the blacks said, "Here his billy," and evidently handed him my nightstick. Al whacked me once on each cheek, hard, and then I felt the wood poke at my asshole. It was perfectly dry. Al was rolling the handle of it between his palms, as far as I could guess, because the twisting rolling motion burned like fire. And gradually he worked it in. He paid no attention to the sphincter, but just kept on boring. I thought my guts were in flames, a,1d bit my lower lip so much that I could taste the salt of the blood. The blacks were laughing fit to kill. "Man, lookit dat," one said, "one honky pig bein' fucked inna ass by another honky!" "Wait'll we gets our turn," another one said. "We gone make him jump for sure." "He gone try press hisself right through that ole table," another voice said. "Speshly when he feels Big Dick goin' in." Someone laughed. "Man, he gone have to be stitched up when Big Dick gets inna ass!" "That ole Al, he purty big for a honky," someone said. Al pulled the billy out and threw it clattering to the floor. Suddenly I felt a big gob of cooling spit hit me directly in the 75

asshole. I jumped involuntarily and that made the blacks laugh even more. Good lord-I'd have a nonspecific venereal from that spit! Then I felt the head of Al's cock touching my asshole. Well, get ready, I thought-there'll be no gentleness here. And I was right. Al rammed his cock into me with all the force in his spindly legs. I didn't holler, but I bit my lip again, and felt a little blood ooze out of the corner of my mouth. And then he started in. The saliva didn't last long. It dried out and my asshole became a tunnel of flame. He was a fast fucker, too-slap, slap!-nothing slow about him. His belly clapped rapidly against my ass. And in order to make him come sooner, I tightened up a little. It worked. His thrusts grew harder and then stopped abruptly. I felt his dirty old white come shooting up my ass. "Now he all slipperied up for Big Dick," said a voice. "Yeah, man," came a deep rumble, "and I gone do some integratin' right now." I looked down through the hair of my armpit and saw the one who had spoken. He was taking off his pants, and all of a sudden I was back in Dallas, watching Ace Hardesty undress in the locker room and seeing the mammoth cock dangling between his sleek black thighs. Gradually, as I watched this stud, his cock began to harden and lengthen without his laying a hand on it. By the time he climbed up on the table his cock was fully hard, and I was aghast. That thing would split me! "Man, lookit duh size of dat thing," a black said. "How he ever gone poke dat into dat pig's ass?" Right at that moment came the miracle! The 'secret' door through which we had come burst open! "All right! Hold it, you guys!" It was Greg's voice. If it hadn't been unmanly, I swear I would have cried. Suddenly the room was full of blue uniforms, with drawn guns. The four who had kidnapped me were hustled against the wall, feet apart, hands high, and their weapons taken-guns,

76

knives, brass knucks-quite an assortment. Someone was untying my wrists and there were two more cops undoing my ankles. "One of you guys go down to the squad car and get a tarp out of the back," Greg said sharply. Then he came over to me. "You safe?" he said. "1-1 ... guess so," I said shakily. "H-how t-the hell did you ... ev-ever find m-me?" "Long story," Greg said. "Some citizen saw you getting pulled into that car and got the number. Then one of our finks ... excuse me, informers ... on Fillmore Street phoned in and said he'd show us where you were. We'd never have found you otherwise." "I can believe that," I said, rubbing my wrists where the ropes had bitten into them. "How many screwed you?" Greg said, matter-of-fact. "Just the honk-white guy named Al," I said. "We'll take you to the hospital for a shot of penicillin," Greg said. "Why?" "Just in case ... " "In case what?" "Al had syphilis," Greg said, looking at me with cool grey eyes. "Okay," I said. Then in a low voice so that none of the other cops could hear, "Can't have my favorite cunt taken away from me," he said. If I had been a high-school girl on her first date, I swear I couldn't have blushed more prettily. Greg laughed. "Man," he said, "as an ex-hustler you sure are sensitive." "Haven't blushed for twenty years," I said, very lo\v. "I'm glad we found you before that black got into your ass. He would have split you wide open with a dong that size. You'd have to be stitched." One of the cops came back upstairs with a tarp. I draped 77

it around my shoulders (it was cold!), and then shivering a little, went with Greg down to the squad car. He had picked up my boots. We got in and drove off. The Great Copnapping Case was over.

78

7. A Shot in the Ass We were back in the apartment. I'd been to the hospital and had a double shot of penicillin (to which, luckily, I was not allergic nor immune), a shower, an enema of mercury soap (for the saliva); and now Greg, Pete, and I each had drinks in our hand. "All right, ole buddy," said Greg, standing naked in front of the mantelpiece, "let's have the whole story." "How can I keep my mind on what happened to me when you're standin' there like that?" I said. Greg laughed. "Okay-I'll sit down ... temporarily," he said. "Now-what happened?" "Well, I ain't no 'kid,' " I grinned, "but believe me, I was 'napped.'" "Yeah, yeah," growled Greg. "Let's have all the details, gory as they may be." Well, I told them everything. I left nothing out. And when I had finished, Greg and Pete were both silent for a while. Finally Greg said, "Then the only one who really screwed you was the white guy, Al? None of the blacks?" I shook my head. "You saw the one they called 'Big Dick.' He was just about to, when you guys busted in and saved me from a fate worse than death." 79

"You bastard," said Greg, "if you could have got one that size in you'd probably have enjoyed it no end." I shook my head. "Negative," I said. "He really was so big he'd have split me, like you said. And then I'd have had to be stitched-which would have made a merry tale for the department." "Merry enough as it is," said Greg. "The story's all over the place. So far we've been able to keep it out of the papersand I hope to hell we will." "Me too," I said, thinking of the people that would recognize me, either by picture or name. "And me," said Pete. "Is there gonna be any fuckin' around here tonight?" I said. "Not for you, ole buddy," said Greg, looking severe. "We gotta wait twenty-four to forty-eight hours for the penicillin. Just to be safe." "Damn," I said. "Anyway, you've had one tonight," Greg grinned. "You can stand and watch me screw Pete." Pete's eyes lit up like light bulbs. "-and beat your meat," Greg said, still severe. "And look and look and look," I said. Greg drained his glass. "Yup," he said. He handed the empty glass to Pete. "Make me another one, will yuh?" "Sure, Greg." Pete's eagerness and his pleasure showed in every line of his good-looking body as he padded towards the kitchen, and his face was radiant. While he was out of the room, Greg quietly said to me, "Never mind, old fucker-it's your ass I prefer. We'll just give Pete a little fling to keep him content." Well, that statement made me happy, I'll tell you. I could put up with no fucking for a coupla days, knowing that Greg would be mine at the end of the waiting period. Standing there naked, I could see that big cockhead of his, resting first against one thigh, and then the other. I could even imagine it rubbing gently against my asshole. The thought began to 80

make me hard. Pete came in with two glasses and handed one to Greg. Greg said, "Just look at that horny bastard." But he grinned. "One fuck tonight, and already he's bustin' for another one. II "Nothing satisfying about that one," I said. "It was forcible rape, not a fuck." "I know what you mean," said Pete, "but I'll bet you loved it anyway." Truth. I remembered the night down at Treville Tolman's place back in Chicago. "How you know?" said Greg, turning to Pete. Pete blushed, a very pretty pink. It spread all over his face, neck, and shoulders, down to his nipples. "Oh, well," he said, "it was so long ago ... back in high school. The football team caught me in the showers, or rather-just as I was coming out. And they were coming in." "In more ways than one," Greg said, and laughed. "Yup. Well, they all screwed me in the ass-eleven of them. And after about every three fucks, they'd throw me in the shower-which was running-and wash me off, with someone using his hand down between my legs. I had come running to my ankles. And that hand made me even hornier." "Bet that's what turned you queer," I said. "Well, it probably helped," Pete admitted. "Found out you liked to be punked," Greg grinned. "Sure did," said Pete. He looked at Greg. "Well, I'm gonna fuck you soon as I finish this drink," Greg said. Pete looked coy and smug. "And Phil can watch and beat his meat if he wants to." "I'm jealous," I said. But I grinned. Pete took me seriously. "No need to be," he said. "Honestly, I wouldn't want to come between you and Greg." Not much chance of that, buddy, I thought to myself. I knew Greg liked and enjoyed the way I could use my ass on his dong, and I doubted that Pete was all that wise in the ways 81

of our wicked world. Maybe he was. I had never bothered to ask about his past, and so far he'd told me almost nothing about it. Matter of fact, as I looked at that hard little ass of his, I decided that come day after tomorrow or so I'd have another go at it. If Greg weren't around. "Hey!" said Greg, irritated. "What's with this 'come between' business. Phil knows I'm not in love with him, and he's not with me. We-all of us-just like a good fuck. Right?" We both nodded. "If there's anything I can't stand," Greg said, draining his glass, "it's homosexuals 'getting married,' as they call it. Phil's not married to me, nor I to him. We just fuck together, that's all." "The family that fucks together stays together," I said piously. That shocked Pete a little, because he had a curious kind of religious background that came out every once in a while. Southern Baptist or something like that, I guess. Maybe Methodist ... Greg put his glass down on the narrow white mantelpiece and turned around to face us. "Well, I'm ready," he said. He was more than half-hard. "Is anyone else?" Pete jumped to his feet. "I am," he said, his inflection full of anticipation and joy. "I'll just sit here and read the paper," I grumbled. "No, you won't," Greg said, taking it away from me. "You come in there and watch and jackoff. I like an audience once in a while. How's about you, Pete?" Wrong question. "Well, I-" Pete began. "Oh, hell," Greg said, a little crossly. "We're all in this together and we've had our share of three-ways. Don't be so fuckin' modest." Pete looked up. "1-1 just can't seem to help it," he said. "Early training," I said. Greg walked into the bedroom, assurance in every step. I liked the way his ass and thighs moved. He knew he was the

82

boss. He knew he walked well. Some day, by damn, I'd get inside there. Both of us followed. Greg sprawled on his back on the bed, legs wide. The light was dim, coming only from a little neon night light. "Ride me tonight, Pete," he said. Pete went for the vaseline, squatting down. He put a sizable gob in his asshole, and then he went to work on Greg's big tool, putting plenty on the head and sliding the grease all up and down Greg's big thick pole. Greg laughed. "Still pretty big for you, ain't it?" he said. "Yeah," said Pete. He got up over Greg and straddled him, his arms bent a little as if he were doing a push up. His feet were placed even with Greg's middle, and his knees were bent. The tip-end of Greg's cock was just touching his asshole. In the dim light I could see Pete begin to lower himself on that monstrous tool, and I felt very envious. But not only envious. I felt my own cock begin to harden and reached down to give it a coupla strokes. It was hard in about fifteen seconds. Meanwhile, I watched the slow, slow progress of Greg's cock into Pete's male cunt. Pete held himself steady for a while, making no movements. His sphincter had not yet opened. And then I saw the bursting purple-red head of Greg's cock slip slowly inside Pete. It made me hot as hell and I really began to beat it. Greg's cockhead disappeared entirely into Pete's asshole. I watched the slow and steady progress of Pete's body downwards until the goal was reached. Pete's asshole, stretched to a good three-inch diameter, finally came to rest on Greg's pubic hair. Then Greg started to move his hips. I saw him put each of his big square hands gently at the sides of Pete's hips, and then the-up and down, rotating motion followed. In the meantime, Pete was not inactive. He was moving 83

his body up and down on Greg's cock, the lips of his ass turning in and out. It was the first time I had ever seen anyone get fucked at such close range. I wished there were more light, but there was nothing to do about that now ... Finally, Pete put his hands down on the bed flat and started to work his ass rapidly up and down on Greg's cock, a good six or seven inches each time. I saw Greg turn his head from side to side, and heard him moaning with delight. Man, I'd have to remember that little trick, or I just might find Pete taking my Santa Monica cop away from me. At any rate, they both seemed to be enjoying themselves. And so was I, with those two well-developed bodies twisting and sweating and fucking there on the bed. I reached out and got a coupla kleenex, because I felt I too was on the point of coming. I think both Pete and Greg were too. Suddenly Greg grabbed Pete firmly by the hips and held him down steady on his cock. His body convulsed. I knew that he was shooting deep into Pete's asshole. Pete sat straight up and took one hand off the bed and although it was halfhidden from me, I knew he was jacking off. And then he came, too, probably all over Greg's belly. But I paid little attention, then, because the orgasm was beginning in me, too. My hand flew faster, and then bang! there it was, filling the kleenex and turning it into a soggy wad. I sat down on the foot of the bed and Pete turned halfaround. "You come too?" he asked. "Damn betcha I did," I said, "just about the time you two did." "For crissake, you came all over my belly," Greg grumbled. "Ah, Pete'll wash it off," I said agreeably. "Whew!" said Greg, and reached up to give Pete a buddypoke on the chest. "You're a pretty good asshole," he said. "No more than that?" Pete asked, hurt. I chuckled. "Oh, sure," I said. "You're also one of San Francisco's finest."

84

"Who also happens to like being fucked," Pete said. "That's it," I said. "Although," said Pete, sitting comfortably on Greg's pubic hair, "I'd much rather blow someone. Like Greg," he added, with a little fondness in his voice that irritated me. "Then you're a size queen," I said in almost a jeering tone. Again Pete turned. "And that's-?" "Somebody who likes only big cocks, not medium or small ones," I said. "I guess I just like men," said Pete happily. "Kid, we've gotta separate," Greg said. "You're killin' me, sitting there like that." "I hate to, but if you say so, okay," said Pete. He lowered his torso towards Greg's and the huge cock began to slide out of Pete's ass. I watched it carefully. The lips of Pete's hole snapped shut as the great shiny instrument came out. Pete turned around and looked at it. "Clean?" he said. "As a whistle," I said. "Just how clean is a whistle?" Pete said, reaching out to the floor with one leg. "Smart ass," I grumbled. I threw the come-soaked wad of kleenex at him. It hit between his shoulder blades, and stuck. Pete reached around for it. "You're the smart-ass," Pete said. "Never mind," said Greg. "Poor ole Phil is pissed off at havin' to beat his meat." He reached down and patted Pete on his buttocks. I was more envious than ever. But-"Oh, I didn't mind too much," I said, as lightly as I could. "After all, you didn't fuck Pete while I was jackin'off. You fucked me." Greg looked puzzled. I laughed. "Back here," I said and tapped the back of my head. "Oh, you mean in your imagination," Greg said. "Remember what Freud said," I said. "Yup," said Greg. "Fantasies." Greg and Pete went into the bathroom and washed up, 85

and I lay down on the bed. When Greg came back, drying his crotch, I said, "Maybe I should sleep on the sofa tonight." Greg did something he'd never done before. He reached over and brushed his lips lightly against my forehead. "Not necessary," he said. "The doc said you couldn't possibly get anything, getting the shot as soon as you did." I rubbed my ass where the needle had gone in. "It hurts," I said. "Hah!" said Greg. "Not half as much as the times I finish fuckin' you, I'll bet." "That's a different kind of hurt," I grinned. "I like that one. " Greg crawled into bed and put his arm over my shoulder. "Never mind, Philbaby," he said. "Remember-I came up here to live with you, and just between us two you're a lot better fuck than Pete." "Thanks," I said, snuggling in under his arm and nuzzling into his armpit hair. There was the faintest suggestion of male sweat there and I loved it. "I can hardly wait for another load of that blue come sprinkled with diamonds and sapphires." Greg laughed, and knuckled my head with his other hand. "You're a crazy bastard, y'know?" "And you're the sexiest cop I ever knew," I said. "Known many?" he asked. "Only three in my life," I said. "You make four. There were t\vo in Chicago and one in Milwaukee." "Trade or gay?" "Strictly trade," I said. I didn't sleep very well that night. Perhaps because I was eager and impatient for my waiting period of forty-eight hours to be over. Of course, I didn't want to take any chances. And with that bastard Al's attitude, he could easily have had syphilisor the clap-and given it to me without telling the blacks. From what I knew of Al, during that one night, he wouldn't

86

have given a damn whether he gave it to the rest of the blacks, as long as I got it. He was out to get even with me. And then I began to worry about the court appearance when they'd be sentenced. Would Al tell his lawyer I was queer, or an ex-hustler? Oh, why worry? The feel of Greg's arm was strong and protective, and I gradually slipped off into an uneasy sleep and dreamed of pleasurable fucks mixed in with nightmarish rapes and scenes of public exposure in court.

87

8. P(½S)+T(M)=fun2 After that little hassle on Eddy and Fillmore Street, Captain Shellenbarger took me off patrol and put me in the offices for a week. I did nothing but file reports, and thought the inactivity would drive me nuts. Whether that character named Al had talked about my being a hustler, I didn't know. Shellenbarger's attitude towards me was a little strange, I'll admit. But he didn't approach me directly about the subject, and naturally I didn't volunteer any information. I did, however, let my feelings about officework be known, and those statements evidently reached the captain's ears, because after only a week, he called me into the office and put me back on patrol. You might have thought he'd give me a buddy in a squad car, but no-it was still foot patrol. Golden Gate Park was at that time the scene of countless muggings and quite a few rapes. It needed foot patrolmenand guess what! that's where I went, along with my Peeping Tom tendencies. I was in full uniform, of course, and it was sort of pleasant to wander down the paths. I was under direct instructions not to interfere with lovers-unless they were actually fucking or sucking in the bushes-and then the charge would be only indecent exposure. 88

But before I started on that patrol, I stopped in an art store and got a small roll of silver-colored adhesive tape. Then I retired to a spot where no one would see me. I ripped a small patch off the roll and pasted it over the number of the badge I wore on my shirt. And then I took off my cap and did the same thing for that badge ... Never say that Phil Andros was unprepared ... Well, there was plenty of smooching going on all right, everywhere in the park. You couldn't find an empty path or an empty bench. They were all occupied, sometimes by a boy and a girl, sometimes two girls, sometimes two boys. There were a lot of guilty breakaways as I approached, swinging my nightstick-but I did nothing except smile benignly and walk on my way. It was just getting dark one Tuesday evening when I saw a guy sitting all alone on a bench. I gave him a cursory look and was about to go on my way when he spoke. "Hey, officer!" he said. I turned and started to amble back towards him. He got up from the bench. "S-say," he said, "didn't I see you once in the Levee some time ago?" "I've eaten there," I said. I looked at the guy and then suddenly remembered. He was the Montgomery Street type who had come into the men's room while I was taking a piss, and had licked the piss off my finger, down to the second knuckle. "I didn't know you were a cop,'' he said, and put out his hand. "My name's Tom." "Mine's Phil," I said-and immediately wondered if I had done the right thing. "What're you doin' here? Cruisin'?" I grinned at him. "Oh, just getting a little fresh air," he said. "I live over there on Oak Street." He pointed. "You never called me back," he said. "Oh, man," I said, "I wasn't a cop then. And I had to get to

89

Chicago in a hurry to try to find my twin brother." "You find him?" the guy said, making conversation. "Well, yes and no," I said. We had as if by mutual agreement started walking towards Oak Street, in the direction he had pointed. "I've never had a cop before," he said, almost to himself. "They come high," I said. "How much?" I looked him over and did a little estimating about his salary, rent, neighborhood, and such-like. "Forty," I said. "I'll make it fifty," Tom said. I grinned at him. "You're about to cop yourself a cop's joint," I said, "for the first time in your life." He had an elegantly furnished apartment, all white and gold, in one of the high-ceilinged old houses on Oak Street. When we went in, he said, "Stand still for a moment, please," and then went to several places in the room. "Turning off the alarms," he said. "The place has been burglarized twice." I swung my nightstick in a wide arc. "Well, you've got all kinds of protection now," I said. "You dig the S/M scene?" he asked. "Nah," I said. "I don't dig it but I know it. You an M?" He nodded. I pulled my gun from my holster. "Okay," I said, in as harsh a voice as I could manage, "get over here and pull off my boots and lick my toes." The gun seemed to scare the hell out of him. He actually turned pale under the tan. He came over to where I was sitting on an elegant eighteenth-century French sofa, legs sprawled straight out in front of me. "Down on your knees, buddy," I grated. "Now take off my boots. And while you're doing that, suck on this." I extended the muzzle of the pistol towards him. I thought he would faint, but he finally opened his mouth and I stuck the gun barrel in. And then with his eyes squeezed 90

tight shut and fear written all over his face, he sucked on the gun barrel while he unbuckled my boots and tried to pull them off. It was mechanically too difficult, so I pulled the gun barrel out of his mouth and lifted a leg so he could straddle it. He did. But before he could pull the boot off I put the heel of it down on the carpet. "Undress," I ordered. He did, almost falling over as he tried to get out of his pants. He was wearing a black pullover sweater and no shorts. Fear had shriveled his cock until it was almost hidden in the bush of his pubic hair. When he was naked I raised my leg a little again. "Okay," I said, very hard. "Take the boot off and suck those toes." He straddled my leg for the second time and pulled on my boot. He had a fair-looking body, tanned around the neck and shoulders. I looked down at the crack of his ass and the sandy hair that crawled down into it. Then I got my second good idea of the evening. First I made sure that the safety lock was on my pistol, and then I stuck the end of it right up against the little pinkbrown hole into which I planned to go pretty soon. He jumped as if he really had been shot-at the contact of cold metal against his asshole. I could see it contract a little with the shock. This was fun. I started a gentle twisting motion with the gun handle, and watched the barrel go gradually into his asshole. "How'dja like to have your guts blown out, sonny?" I said. He shook his head mutely. I could see a little rivulet of sweat running down his backbone. The metal sight on the end of the gun barrel was evidently causing him a little pain, judging from the way he was gasping and breathing-maybe cutting into the sensitive lips a little. One boot came off, and the jerk brought the end of the gun 01

barrel out of his ass. Then, fearfully, he looked over his shoulder and down at the pistol. I lifted the other leg into the air and at the same time raised up from my sprawling position on the sofa. He straddled the second boot, and this time I rammed the gun barrel in as far as it would go, twisting it, while with the other hand I reached around under his bentover body and grabbed a nipple, pinching and twisting it hard. He yowled, but not very loud. I reached across the sparse chest hair and found the other nipple, giving it a tweak as hard or harder than I had the first one, meanwhile twisting the gun from side to side. It's funny about M's. He was scared shitless when I brought out the gun the first time, but the twisting in his ass and the pinching of his tits had made his cock hard as a rock. The second boot came off. He peeled my socks away and I wiggled my toes in the carpeting. Then he got down on hands and knees, his ass still high in the air, and started licking between my toes and on the arch of my foot. He managed to keep the gun barrel in his ass. I guess he liked it after the first shock had passed. I angled the pistol and twisted it more, and was rewarded by the moans escaping him. But all the time he kept sucking and licking my toes and feet. It was a grand sensation, one I never tired of. The loving care he took of my feet must have gone on for a good ten minutes. Then with one harsh scrape of the gunbarrel sight against the inside of his ass (he groaned), I withdrew it. "Okay, Tommy," I said. "That's enough of that." I stood up. "Now where's the bedroom?" Still fearful, he said, "T-there," and pointed to a door. I walked towards it in my bare feet. The rug felt good against them. We got into the bedroom which was dark except for a small night-light burning in a large amber globe, hanging by a chain. The bed was a heavy Mediterranean style-king-

92

size. Or queen-size? "Now undress me, you bastard," I growled at him. With trembling fingers he unfastened my belt buckle, pulled my trousers down and off and undid my necktie and the buttons on my shirt. He left my cap on, purposely I supposed. I was wearing the regulation police undershirt -not Tshirt, but the kind with straps over the shoulder. And no shorts. He acted a little surprised at that. "Never wore 'em," I said. "Old habits hang on." He knelt in front of me, and I felt the old-new sensation of a new mouth on my cock. He sucked on it until it expanded to its full length. "Lord, what a whopper!" he said. "On the bed, cocksucker," I ordered. "I'm gonna fuck you." His eyes widened. "Oh, I couldn't take all that!" he said. "Sure you can," I said, very severe. "Got any Crisco in the kitchen?" "Yes, I have." "Go get it!" I snapped at him. He was gone and back in less than a minute. He took off the plastic lid and held it towards me. "Gahdamn it! Grease me up!" I growled. "And you'd better grease yourself up pretty well, too!" He dug his fingers deeply into the can and applied the grease to my cock. I still had my undershirt and cap on. I looked down and watched him. The grease was cool at first, but the friction of his hand brought me to a full hardon, and melted the whiteness away. Then he took a big lump on his two fingers and put it in and around his asshole. I could see that he was sort of tucking it inside, because he thought I was so big. Well, there was only one way to handle this M-give 'im a good hard poke. "Go on-face down!" I ordered. He crawled onto the bed and lay down, burying his face in the pillow. I could see him 93

quivering, his whole body vibrating. "You're gonna get a cop's prick up your ass, buddy!" I said ominously. "And along with it-a load of gyzym that'll burn your guts!" He shivered even more and turned his face a little sidewise. "O-don't hurt me t-too much, please," he pleaded. "I-I c-can't take it, really." "Oh, you'll take this, all right," I said. "Or would you rather have a twenty-inch nightstick up your butt-all the way?" He gulped. "Let's open it up a little first with the billy," I said maliciously. I reached down on the floor for my trousers and unhooked the stick, and slid some grease up half the length of it. Then I parted his cheeks and hit the hole with the nightstick. I rammed it in good and hard for about half its length. He arched his body up backwards-head up, feet up, and I could see him biting his lips. "You gahdamn M's oughta know how to take it," I said vehemently, and rammed a coupla more inches in until I felt it hit the barrier of the second sphincter. He screamed- but not loud enough to be heard in the hall. "Well, that opens you up," I snarled. I threw the nightstick on the floor and got between his outstretched legs. I planted my cockhead firmly against his asshole and felt the hot ring of flesh. It had been opened up all right with the nightstick so I went on in, into the hot all-enfolding tunnel that grabbed and clutched my cock as if I were a long-lost son. But good as it was, I withdrew. And then with the back of my hand I swatted him a half-dozen times across his asshard. I saw the flesh begin to turn pink, then red. I put my hand down on one cheek and felt that it was warming up-so I hit him again, at least a dozen times. My hand stung like fire, so I could imagine what his ass felt like. I wished I had a leather glove. Then I tested his skin again with the palm of my hand. It 94

was really getting hot, and Tommyboy was almost in tears. "Y-you're killin' m-me," he managed to say. It was almost a sob. "An M oughta be able to take a little spankin'," I said. "A I-little, y-yes-but not so much," he said between swats. "Makes it nice and warm for me," I said. "You wanta give me some pleasure, don'tcha?'' He nodded yes. I gave him about a half-dozen more swats and then felt his ass again. It was really burnin'. "Now," I said, "we've got it warmed up for papa, ain't we?" He nodded again. There's something about spanking or whipping a guy's ass that keeps the sphincter open, or opens it even more quickly if you don't happen to have a billyclub on your mantelpiece. He was wide open. But this time I was tender and slow. I didn't ram it in as hard as I did the first time. His ass was glowing, hot and fiery, and it heated up my groin almost to boiling point. This time I gave him a nice slow lazy-fuck, resting and rolling my belly against his heated ass every time I slid clear in. And he pushed back to meet my every thrust-sometimes circular, sometimes straight. I went in slow as a mule-train and came out the same way. Not only was the skin of his ass hot when I reached it, the tunnel itself seemed to be on fire, sprinkling my cock with little embers and coals. "Did you mix anything with that grease-like Ben-Gay or Deep Heet or something like that?" I demanded. "I swear I didn't," he said. And I believed him because I couldn't smell oil of wintergreen or menthol or even toothpaste or anything like that. He was just a natural hot springs or geyser, I reckon. But the heat was terrific. It was like having my prick wrapped in a heating pad that had no controls on it, or having my prick stuck in a pipe that was full of boiling water. 95

I reached up under the back of his armpits, grabbed a handful of flesh, and squeezed as hard as I could, pulling the hair along with it. He whimpered with pain. Then I worked around to his nipples and got one of those between each thumb and forefinger and rolled 'em, twisting and squeezing at the same time. He let out a moan, but again, it was not a loud one. Just a soft alley-cat whimper. "You're a good fuck," I said, ramming him again, "and you're hot inside, hot as hell. How'dja get that way?" I twisted his nipples again. "You made me that way," he said. "The very idea of being screwed by a cop." "Peace officer," I corrected, driving my fist into his ribs. He gasped. "Peace officer," he repeated after me. "I'm sorry." "Think you'll remember this fuck?" I said. "Damn betcha. 11 "Had a better one recently?" I reached for his nipple again. He didn't draw away. I grabbed it and twisted it clear around. He almost screamed with the pain. He turned his body nearly to the side. "N-no, oh no!" he yelped. Half-turned like that gave me an idea. I decided that it really wouldn't harm my image if I pulled him on top of me. So I grabbed him around the waist and turned to be flat on my back-still fucking him, ramming it in and out. He lost some control that way, but not much. In fact I think he enjoyed it, and my grabbing his belly-flesh in both hands and squeezing. At any rate, he started rotating his ass on my cock, and my prick was really poking into all corners of that superheated cave. I reached down and got one of his nuts in my fist and squeezed. He moaned again. Then I took both of them in one hand and squeezed once more. This time the moan was a lot louder. "0-0h!" he groaned, "you're killin' me!" 96

I put more pressure on. "Shut up!" I said fiercely, "Or I'll rip 'em off!" He was quiet after that. In this position his heated-up ass was continually against my pubic bush-and its warmth was good. I felt the crazy little fingers begin to work again all over my body, and suddenly I turned him over, back to our original position, with me on top. And this time I really began to pound ass-faster and faster. "You're gonna be gettin' a real cop's come in you in a minute," I rumbled-and then suddenly it came, wave after wave of pure delight sweeping over me from head to toes, and my cock spurting thick and heavy gouts of cream deep inside him. "It's-it's scaldin'," he whimpered. I reached around under him and gave a final tweak to his nipple. "Hot stuff, huh?" I said. He nodded. I lay panting on top of his perspiring body for a while, recovering. With nothing else to do I put my lips on his neck above his collar line, and started to give him a hickey. It took a lot of suction and once or twice he tried to move away, but I grabbed his head and held it. Then when I drew back to look at it, I was pleased to see a great reddish-purple bruise on his neck. "You'll get razzed all day tomorrow about that," I said, rubbing it with my thumb. He nodded again, still faintly gasping. "But I'll love it," he said, "and I'm the only one will know it was put there by a ... er ... peace officer." "I hope it's only you," I said malignantly. "I really will cut your nuts off if you ever mention it to anyone." "Of course I won't," he said, "but I only hope there's one little condition attached to that ... " "What kind of condition?'' I said, pretending to be surly. But I already knew. "That you'll let me see you again-maybe once a month," he said. 97

I knuckled his head. "You're one of the hottest fucks I ever had," I said, and it was true-more or less. "Sure-I'll agree to that. Only trouble is, I live with two other peace officers, and you'd have to be damn careful when you call, because both of them are pretty suspicious. You'll have to say you're my nephew, huh?" "Sure thing," he said. "Anything you say, officer ... " he added, and I knuckled his scalp again. "And I reckon you want me in full uniform," I said. "Yes, I'd like it that way," he said. "It's so much more-" He couldn't find the words. " ... satisfying for your masochism?" I finished. "Like the frosting on the cake?" "That's it exactly," he said, nodding. "Sure I'll come again," I said. I took one hand and massaged the cheek of his ass. "Except tell me one thing," I said. "What's that?" "Just who's blackmailin' who around here?" I grinned. He grinned too. "No blackmail, Phil." He went to his trousers in the front room and extracted fifty dollars. "If I could afford it more often I'd have you more frequently." "For a red-hot ass like that," I said, "I'd cut the rates." I took two of the twenties and left him holding a ten. "Good grief," he said. "That must mean you liked it too." "You gotta realize," I said, folding the bills, "that's it's a little hard for an unmarried cop to have all the sex he wants." "Yeah, I suppose so," Tommy said. "But there's hundreds of gay boys who'd like to have a ... er ... peace officer." I shook my head. "For my part," I said, "I can't afford to let the word get around too much. Just you ... no more. Remember, you promised to keep quiet about it." "And I will." "You better," I said, returning to the surly threatening pretense of being an S. "I said I'd cut your balls off, and I will, too-if you talk."

98

He shuddered a little. "I believe you would," he said. "Such things have happened," I said. "More than once." We were both dressing as we talked. I picked up the nightstick and grinned at him. "Guess where that's been," I said, and handed it to him. "Take it into the bathroom and wash it off." He went into the bathroom. "And bring back a coupla paper towels with you," I hollered. I'd have to wipe the gun a little. He was back shortly. He handed me the paper towels and I wiped the gun. It was clean. Then I stuck it back in the holster. "Will you give me your number?" he said. I scribbled it on the note pad he gave me, together with "Phil." "I gotta get back to patrol," I said. "Yes," Tom said. And then he kneeled in front of me, ass in the air, and put one kiss on each of my boot toes. Then raising a little, he kissed the place on my trousers behind which my cock lay in its dark tangled nest of black hair. He threw his arms around my hips and stayed that way for a moment. "Okay, Tommyboy-lemme go," I said, and tapped him lightly with my nightstick on each cheek of his ass. He looked up at me from his kneeling position and his fingers reached up towards the tag end of the zipper of my fly. I laughed and drew away, "Not again," I said. "Not right now. " He got to his feet. The cheeks of his ass were still a bright scarlet. I took a big handful of one of them and pinched hard. "You will call?" he said. "Yeah," I said. "Or you call me. But remember, you're my nephew Tom." So, feeling on top of the world, I went down the stairs jauntily, swinging my nightstick. A good piece of ass will set anybody up. And Tommy's was the hottest I'd run across in many a moon.

99

9. Bull's-eye About a week after that hot ass, I got home on Greg's day off, about seven in the evening. Pete wasn't due until around midnight. When I went into the apartment there was Greg, sprawled out wide in a leather chair-sound asleep or passed out. A glass of whiskey had fallen out of his hand onto the carpet. I went over to him. He was completely naked-his long legs stretched out and feet resting on their heels, his cock half-hard, and his head fallen to one side. He was snoring. I took hold of his muscular shoulder and shook him. "Hey!" I said. "What's goin' on here? You look as if you were completely snockered." Greg opened one eye and looked at me, blearily. " 'S good ole Phil," he mumbled. "What you doin' home in the afternoon?" "Afternoon!" I said. I gestured towards the picture window. "Have a look, man! It's seven in the evening." "Must've dozed off," he said, alcoholically. "You oughta get to bed," I said, taking over the boss-man role. "Get some sleep and get rid of that smash you're in." "Yeah," Greg said drunkenly. He tried to get out of the chair, but couldn't make it, and fell back into it.

100

"Here, lemme help you," I said. I got him out of the chair, steadied him around the waist, and led him into the bedroom. Still holding him with one arm around the middle I ripped the bedclothes down to the bottom sheet. He fell across the bed, his legs still over the side. I picked them up (the very touch of his flesh excited me!) and swung them around onto the bed. I fixed the pillow under his head and looked down at him. A handsome stud, for sure. His face was turned sidewise against the pillow, and the strong profile, the cleft chin, were too much. His tremendous arm and eighteen-inch biceps lay across his chest. So resting, he looked like Michelangelo's David come to life-or sleeping, save that he was crewcut. I remembered that breathtaking first view of the David standing at the far end of the Academia Galleria in Florence, under a marble-canopied circular background. It was so moving that I sat down on a bench at the remote end, chin resting on my fist, and looked at it for a full half-hour before I dared approach. So it was with Greg. I sat down on the edge of the bed, and tentatively, delicately, stroked that magnificent arm. It had the warmth of living flesh, not the cold purity of marble. And then it dawned on me that final!y, at last, he was totally at my mercy, unable to be the boss-man he had been for so long. I crossed my left boot over my right one and slowly pulled it off. And then I pulled off the other one. Standing, I stepped out of my pants, took off my socks, and walked barefooted to the kitchen, feeling the cool of the kitchen linoleum contrast with the warmth of the nylon carpeting. I opened the kitchen cabinet and looked at the cans. There was the Crisco. I regarded it a long time. I had sworn to myself that one day I would fuck him-but was this the day? When he came to, he'd beat the shit out of me. Oh, well, I reckon I could stand it once more. I greased up and got hard. Then I went into the bedroom with a big gob of grease on my fingers, and looked down at 101

his superb body. Bending over, I took one of his circular dark-brown nipples in my mouth. He stirred a little, and groaned-in pleasure, I hoped. Then I took him by the shoulder and slowly pushed him over, so that I had a full view of the magnificent landscape of his back. I gently took one ankle and pulled it to one side of the bed, and then went to the opposite side to pull the other one. This exposed the crack between his hard small buttocks, and I saw the little brown hole that was the target of my desire. It was puckered, in-drawn, and looked very small. I reached down with the grease, and very carefully deposited it in the hole. I crawled onto the bed gently, so as not to waken or disturb him. He was still snoring a little-or breathing heavily. My cock was white with the Crisco, but it was melting from the heat of my body and just beginning to look oily. I got into position between his tanned muscular legs, holding myself up at an angle on my arms and not touching him, and then began slowly to advance my cock towards the celestial gate, estimating the angle and position with my eye. With the first contact of my cock, Greg stirred and tried to turn over on his back. I stopped him with one hand on his shoulder, pushing him back onto his belly. And then I-very slowly indeed-began to push my cockhead inside him. The hole expanded a little and I felt the heat from his asshole burning against my prick. The fire-ring was closed, and very slowly I put a little pressure against it, a very little. And then pressed more, working my hips slowly and carefully. It took time, indeed ... and I was not about to spoil things with any sudden movements. Push-and again, push. I held myself steady, though my arms were beginning to tremble a little from the strain and anticipation. Just be patient, old cat, I told myself-and I managed to be. At last I was rewarded by feeling the sphincter begin to loosen a little and to expand. Then suddenly it was open. I pushed my cock halfway in102

side and felt the hot tunnel, the enfolding paradise I had been seeking. He groaned a little and I stopped all motion, holding myself rigid and unmoving. After a moment, I gradually slid in another inch, and then another-and finally I was clear in, my pubic hair resting against his ass which was covered with sweat. By gum-I was really fuckin' a cop! The idea was enough to make me come without any further activity, almost. But it didn't, and I slowly began to push in, draw out-the old familiar movement. It would have excited me more had 'the frosting been on the cake,' but this was enough. Here I was, held on my arms above this living flesh, this symbol of authority, this man who had screwed me so many times, whom I had given blowjobs to- this tough nightstick-swinging guy ... who liked to claim he was straight. No, the uniform, the 'frosting,' could not have excited me more. I was aroused enough! I felt my cock swell with the little messages my brain was sending to it ... So I rested a moment and then took up the slow, slow movements once more. This was no ass-slapping screw, but the slowest one I had ever had in my life. The last thing I wanted to do was waken him. And then I was startled. The muscles of the tunnel I was in contracted, not much-but just enough to clamp me gently. Had I wakened him? "Greg!" I whispered softly. There was no response and his breathing did not change. It was still slow and measured. I sent my cock in deeper, and this time was startled again by a small feeling of pressure returned, his buttocks pushing up against my belly. "Greg ... " I said again, very low. No answer. And then I went on, in and out, in and out. He made a sudden movement and I stopped everything. Then he spoke. "For crissake, Phil ... fuck me! Fuck me harder than that!" Good grief! I lowered my body and lay solidly against his 103

back. My fingers slipped around his ribcage and found his nipples, each of them hard and upstanding. He moaned a little. "Go ahead!" he said. He sounded much more sober than he had been. "You're in now-gimme a good one!" Thus encouraged, I began to move a little faster. A real cop-not a phony one like me-and I was screwin' him! He rotated his hips a little, sending me into all the crevices of his ass. The feeling drove me crazy. I'd fucked a lot of men, but never one who excited me the way Greg did. Largely because he was a cop, I suppose. And he seemed to be enjoying it too. Small wonder -my cockhead was brushing against his prostate on each thrust and each withdrawal. I could feel the contact deep inside. He struggled with the pillow, drawing it down beneath his middle. "G'wan," he said, "put it under me so it'll raise my ass a little. It feels damned good." I pulled the pillow down. It elevated his ass so that my thrusts went in much deeper than before. And then he really started-writhing, twisting, rotating both his hips, using the internal muscles to grip me on my inward thrusts and relaxing them a little on the withdrawal. The feeling was wonderful and intense, and the orgasm began to build in my balls and groin, where I felt a sort of ecstatic churning. I felt the little fire-fingers all over me. "Greg," I whispered, "I've wanted to do it for so long." He laughed a little. and I've wanted you to." "Why didn't you say so?" "Idea ... about my image," he said. Then we stopped talking and I speeded up. It wouldn't be long now. And suddenly the sperm flowed up from my balls, mingling with the prostatic fluid, combining themselves into a dazzling, blinding dance; and pumped itself deeply into him. His muscles clutched me as his hand would have-that 11

104

•••

big square muscular cop's hand I liked so much. I collapsed against his strong ridged back and lay there, panting. He was breathing hard himself. I reached one finger up and traced it around the rim of his small well-shaped ear. He shook his head a little. We lay that way for a while, recovering. Then he turned his head sidewise some and said, "Good?" "The best," I said. My cock was still inside him ... I was reluctant to withdraw. Then some of the old Greg returned. "Okay, buddy-now what're you gonna do for me?" "Anything you want, ole buddy," I said. "Yours to command." "All right," he said, sounding completely sober now. "Get your cock out a my ass and go wash up. And then come back. I want a full tongue-bath." I grabbed a paper towel from the rack beside the bed, and slowly withdrew my cock, pressing the paper against his asshole, and then quickly getting another for myself. I wiped my cock and then got up and went to the bathroom, lathered up my cock and balls, and washed them off. I held my cock tenderly for a moment, thinking where it had been-in a cop's ass ... Then I went back to the bedroom. It was about eightthirty. Plenty of time before Pete got home, not that it mattered. Greg was flat on his back, and his cock was hard. He was stroking it slowly up and down. "A tongue-bath," he said again, and I began, down at his long muscular toes, the 'classic' toes, the second one longer and larger than some cocks I had seen. I remembered a lot of tricks that Karl had used on me, so long ago, and applied them all to Greg-licking between his toes, making a figureeight around the ones on each foot, licking the soles, then coming up around the instep to the arch, twiddling my tongue down to his toes, and finally taking both big toes in 105

my mouth together and tickling them with my tongue. The faint male odor of his feet, heavy with leather, exhilarated me more than ever before. "Up my right leg now," he ordered, and I started, gathering saliva in my mouth, licking and nibbling my way through the thick black forest of his leg-hair, biting a hair off now and then and swallowing it. I licked hard on the underside of his leg, behind his kneecap, one of the great 'love-points' you learn about in the Far East. He was twisting his body from side to side, and moaning with pleasure. With my tongue still tickling, I also found on each side of his body, left and right, at the juncture of the spine and pelvic bone, another of the Kama Sutra spots. I got up as far as his balls and took one of them, the size of a small lemon, into my mouth, running my tongue all around it, feeling the little nubbins with their hairsprouts, and then slipping to the other one, opening my mouth wide and bringing as much heated air into my mouth as I could. And then the slow progress down the left leg, nibbling and licking and biting gently, until I reached his foot again. "God!" he said. "You're drivin' me nuts!" I grinned to myself but did not stop my work. I came back up the left leg again, a little more rapidly this time, and once more licked at his balls, now drawn almost out of sight close to his belly, high up against the root of his prick. Then I turned him over and started licking and rubbing my chin against the left cheek of his ass. My saliva was running out. I had to summon more by thinking of lemons. It worked. "My asshole, dammit," he growled, his voice almost muffled in the pillow. "My asshole, dammit," he repeated when I delayed. "I don't want to get hepatitis," I said. "Never had it," he said. Oh well, I thought-I'll take this one chance-for Greg. But no one else. And go gargle with zephiran chloride afterwards.

106

I put my thumbs close to his asshole, with the fingers spread wide on each cheek of his ass, and dove in. I thought he would climb the wall. His body struggled and arched up, feet and neck. My tongue registered the faint taste of my own gyzym, deposited there not so long ago. The French call rimming 'making rose petals,' and his asshole did feel to my tongue like the petals of a rose. I hardened it and went farther inside, tickling the soft sensitive lips of his ass, and then using my tongue as a small cock to pierce inside him as deeply as I could. Then I withdrew and licked around the edges of his hole until Greg was reduced to a quivering jelly. "Oh, oh!" he gasped. "Dammit, that's enough for now-go on up my back!" And I did, over each well-muscled ridge, down the long trough of his spine, licking around his shoulder blades-and finally into my favorite area-his armpit, heavy with good male sweat, and heavy with curly black hair. Then I reached for his shoulder and turned him over again. I began at his neckline and went down over his broad and swelling pectorals to his nipples, spending a few minutes on each one, grabbing it with my two hands and forcing it upwards until the nipple itself was at the peak of a small mound of flesh, like a woman's tit. Then I opened my mouth as widely as possible and took his nipple in, until I could actually feel it touch the little dangler at the back of my throat. I let go with one hand and rubbed it down over his belly hair, finding his cock-steel-hard and huge. And while still sucking at his nipple, I began slowly jacking him off. Finally, he reached down with one hand and stopped me, indicating he was about ready to come. I took my mouth away from his nipple and with lots of saliva licked down through his chest and belly hair, sticking my tongue deeply into the little volcano of his navel-a sensitive pleasure spot for him, surprisingly enough-aware of

107

his cock towering like a great battering ram close to my right ear. Then I slowly took his huge cockhead into my mouth. He grabbed my head on each side and began to force it downwards. It really was too big for anyone to suck, but I did my best. He kept pushing and pushing, arching his hips upwards at the same time. Tears sprang to my eyes from the pressure and the fact that his cock, hitting the back of my throat, cut off my breathing. But I let him have his way, until I actually began to grow dizzy. Then I put one hand on his and pulled it away a little, and took a moment to refill my lungs with air. Then I took it again. This time he put his hand at the back of my neck and kept it steady and firm. And then he started moving his hips-up and down, fucking my mouth. In that position I couldn't move. His hips moved faster and faster, and my forehead against his groin registered a new tension there. The tears were streaming down my cheeks, but I wouldn't give up. And then suddenly he released his load in my mouth-a dozen spurts of his scintillating sapphire gyzym, sprinkled with diamonds-or so I would have liked to think. I swallowed each gush as it came forth-and when he was done, used my fingers and tongue on the bottomside, where the canal was, to milk the last sweet drops of cop-come into my mouth. The tears were still streaming down my cheeks, but I didn't want to stop, reluctant to have him withdraw. He gasped and relaxed on the bed, his body dead from its exertions. His hand rested loosely at the back of my neck, his fingers idly pulling at the short hairs there. "Sheez!" he said, letting out his breath in a great gust. "You'd kill a man with your cocksuckin'." He lay absolutely quiet for a moment. Then he began to struggle upwards. "I gotta piss," he said. I turned on my back quickly and got my head in the center 108

of the bed, close up against his crotch. "On your hands and knees, ole buddy," I said, and pointed to my open mouth, "and drop that ole whang right here." He did as I said. I held my mouth and tongue absolutely motionless, feeling the helmet-head of his cock well within my open mouth, resting against my lower lip ever so gently. It took a moment, and then my lip felt a swelling in his cock and the stream began. I kept swallowing as silently as I could. The taste of his piss was not bitter nor acrid because of all the whiskey he had drunk. It was diluted, almost sweet, and there was lots of it. He went on and on until I thought it would never come to an end. But it finally did, and then he collapsed again on his back, one superb arm thrown across his forehead and eyes. My head was still at his crotch. He threw one muscular leg over it, sealing my ears against any outside sound. And with the world shut out, I lay there thinking what an experience it had all been-my fucking him, a real cop, and then his filling me full of a real cop's gyzym, diluted now with a real cop's pale golden piss. I wished that the world might come to an end right at that moment, and hoped also-thinking of a South African tribal chieftain-that magically in swallowing his gyzym and his piss I might also have absorbed some of his strength and handsomeness. He reached down and twisted his fingers in my hair. Then he lifted his leg from my ears, and the world rushed back in with all its sounds once more. "You're a genius," he said. "Nope," I said, "just a good deal of experience." "Whatever ... " he said sleepily. I looked at the clock on the end-table. It was about tenthirty, time to get up and get dressed-or something-before Pete got home. "It's ten-thirty," I said to Greg. "I guess I'd better get up and put on some lounging clothes or something like that. How about you?" 109

Greg turned his handsome face to me and smiled. "Just tell the kid I got drunk and passed out," he said. And then he yawned mightily. "You can skip the fact that while in my drunken condition someone took advantage of me. I really couldn't get up. I'll just turn over and go to sleep. Tell him I'm sleepin' off a drunk-which I am." I reached over and very tenderly touched my lips to the head of his big cock, lying still swollen and heavy against his thigh, an honest kiss, one that had all that was left of my heart in it. Greg reached down and smoothed my hair. I looked up and found him smiling. "Then you're really not mad at me?" I said. "Why should I be?" " ... I mean ... for screwin' you," I said. "Hell no," Greg said. "I guess I liked it as much as you did. It felt good." I kissed his cockhead again and then lay back for a moment on the bed. "Nothing really matters," I said."You learn that after a few years, don't you?" "Yeah," he said, and yawned again, turning over in bed. I pulled the light blanket and sheet up over him part way. His right arm and shoulder were still uncovered. I touched them gently, and then bent to put my lips against his closed armpit once more. "G'night," I said, "and thanks again." "For what?" he said sleepily. "Just so Pete doesn't find out." "Well, not from me," I said. "Nor me." It would be our secret, and I really did feel that Greg preferred me to Pete.

110

10. The Jig's Up Both Pete and Greg had already gone on early shift. I wasn't due until noon, and that left me all alone in the apartment. I shaved and showered, all the while thinking of the pleasure I'd had last night with Greg drunk. It might not ever happen again. But the thought of it, as I was shaving, began to make my cock swell and feel heavy with blood. I looked down at it, thinking of all the places and the holes it had been in. And then I dressed in a freshly pressed and cleaned uniform. Then primping a little, I stood in front of the fulllength mirror in the vestibule when I had finished, and admired myself. Just call me Narcissus for short. The uniform coat was snug at the ribs and flared out a little, but luckily my ass was so small that the nightstick, handcuffs, radio, and pistol in its holster did not spoil the line of my body ... My boots were black and shining. I pulled the blue cap down on the bridge of my nose. I guess I could be called a handsome cop, if I may be permitted a little immodesty. I felt my cock down in the uniform of my trousers, curled like a dormant snake, ready to strike, to penetrate, to bite, to have its sides and tip washed with spit, and finally to loose the 111

white venom I carried a plentiful supply of-in gushes of ten or twelve. But at present it lay quiet, its head buried in its little nest of curly black hair. Only when I hitched up my trousers and looked down could I see the bulge that was there-my cock, sleeping, dead, surrounded by the fabric of my trousers, my balls hanging loose and pendant. No wonder the Scots were so healthy. They let both cock and balls swing free under their kilts. They did not constrict the monster by the muslin of jockey shorts or elastic binding, nor even the blue gabardine of my policeman's uniform. Thinking like that gave me a hardon. I'd better get the hell out and get to work before I stayed home and jacked-off. And those sapphires in my blue come were precious. Why waste them down the toilet bowl or in a paper towel? The three of us-Greg, Pete, and myself-were easily among the best lookin' guys on the force. And to tell the truth, I liked being a cop. Some guys couldn't stand it and misused their authority. Sooner or later they were washed out. But I liked the attractiveness of the neat blue uniform, the glitter of the boots, even the silver shine of my two badges-one on the coat of the uniform (or the shirt, if the weather were warm) and the other on the cap. I noted in the mirror that the lower I wore the cap, the tougher I looked. And despite the demonstrations, riots, mobs, and all the rest (and the kids calling us 'pigs'), I liked the life. Authority is a wonderful thing. The attitude of children towards you except in certain districts-was rewarding. They liked you. You were their protector. The only things I didn't like about being a cop were that you were 'on duty' twenty-four hours a day, and had to carry your gun all the time. The other thing was that the Birchers supported us, and thus turned us into far-right "preachers with guns" in the eyes of the new permissive youth of the land. That put us on the other side, so to speak, and was partly responsible for the kids' calling us 'pigs.' But if they could only understand what was going through the 112

minds ... of some of us . . . . like 'Sergeant Sunshine,' for instance. He smoked a joint in front of City Hall, got fired from the force, and ended up in the pokey. I'd had a few joints in my life, but as I said before-I was one of the unfortunate ones. Marijuana did nothing for me except make my mouth dry and give me a heluva appetite . . . . or take that story about the cop in Golden Gate Park during one of the demonstrations or something. He was talking to a group of people, when a hassle arose about fifty yards from him-a dog perhaps, fighting with another. One of the people said to him: "Don't you think you'd better go over and see if you can stop that?" And the cop grinned and said, "Well, I ought to-but to tell the truth, the kids over there are all blowin' grass, and I'd have to arrest the whole bunch of them." So he didn't go, the dogs stopped fighting, and all the guys and gals thought the cop was the finest they'd ever seen ... Well, that was it. You had to use your authority wisely ... I looked at the image in the mirror. I saw a tall husky cop, cap set low, boots shining. I turned a little and took hold of each front end of my coat, pulling them up slightly. My basket showed very attractively. I let the coat ends fall, and was gratified to see that you could still get a partial glimpse of the bulge. It had been enough to get me Tommy. Maybe it would get me others. I was supposed to be on traffic all that week, at one of the worst corners in the city-Fifth, Powell, and Market. It was a job I didn't look forward to at all. But it was time to head for the Hall of Justice and report in. I had to take the bus since Pete and Greg had gone off in the Volkswagen. I checked the pigeonhole. There was a note in mine. It said: "Please see me. Shellenbarger." Well, I couldn't imagine what the captain wanted with me. 113

Maybe he'd decided to take me off traffic. I sure as hell hoped so. i went to his office and spoke to his secretary-a girl-type with brown hair and big boobs. I showed her the note. "Oh, yes, Officer Andros," she said. 11 I think Captain Shellenbarger can see you right away." She pushed a button on the squawk box and said: "Officer Andros is here." "Send him in," the box said and I walked through the swinging gate to his door. The captain was sitting behind his desk, frowning. I saluted and stood in front of him. "Sit down, Andros," he said, pointing to a chair. I sat down, wondering just what was up. Shellenbarger rubbed his chin with his hand, still frowning. "You're in a little trouble, Andros," he said finally. "And I don't exactly know what to do about it." "Trouble, sir?" I was as wide-eyed and innocent as could be. "What kind, sir?" Shellenbarger looked a little sick. "You remember those guys who kidnapped you and took you up to Fillmore?" My chest contracted but I kept my face impassive-I hoped. "Yes, sir, I certainly do," I said. Shellenbarger fiddled with some papers on his desk and picked up one sheet. "Well, that character Al who ... who ... " "Violated me, sir?" I said, picking the best euphemism I could. 11 • • • er ... yes, violated you." Shellenbarger seemed reluctant to go on, and my heart was beating fast. My mouth was very dry. "Well, this Al Perkins swears that in Chicago you were a male prostitute ... or hustler. We had investigations in Chicago, Dallas, and New York City-all the places you worked-and couldn't substantiate his claim." Comes from being discreet and intelligent, I thought wryly. But I knew what was coming. "So-you're clean as far as we know," Shellenbarger went 114

on. "But here's the problem. You know the police are in a very delicate situation at the present time-attacked on one side and the other, called 'pigs,' hit with rocks, and in general looked on as enemies of the people. Except," he added wryly, "by the far-right groups." I nodded. "So, when the trial of these four characters comes up, their lawyer is going to accuse you of being ... a hustler ... and the whole image of the force will suffer. A trial like that, even if it proved your innocence, could set us back fifty years." I nodded again. He looked at me. "I understand, sir," I said. "And I am entirely innocent." I cast a brief glance upwards to see if there were any indication the ceiling would fall. "But the papers would have a field day with such gossip." The captain nodded. "I like you, Andros. You're an intelligent man, cooperative, courteous, a credit to the force. But this damned accusation can cause all of us no end of trouble." I let out a deep sigh. "I suppose the only thing for me to do is resign from the force, sir," I said. The captain sighed too. "After a lot of thinking," he said, "that's the only thing, the only conclusion I can come to also." "To tell you the truth, sir," I said, "it's a thing I would hate to do more than anything else in the world." The captain nodded. "Yes, I understand," he said. "And we all would owe you a debt of gratitude if you did resign. You would leave with an absolutely clean record, of course," he went on, "and that would mean that with our recommendation you could find similar work anywhere in the country." "Thank you, sir," I said. "But I am also sorry about another thing, even more important than what happens to me-the old 'guilt by association' one. I would be very unhappy if my sharing an apartment with Greg Wolfson and Pete Simmons might cause any doubt about their ... heterosexuality," I said. 115

The captain waved his hand in the air. "Those days are gone," he said. "None of this will ever go any farther than this office-except, of course, you'll have to tell Wolfson and Simmons. I would suggest you ask them to keep the whole affair confidential," he added. I nodded. "Yes indeed, sir. You can be sure I won't talk to anyone about all this. It wouldn't make me look too good, would it?" The captain almost laughed. "No, it wouldn't," he said. He pushed a pad of paper across the desk towards me. "You can just write out your resignation by hand," he said. "Give any reason you want-health, tension, family matters ... " He put his hand on what was evidently my dossier, lying on his desk. "If you want to be a peace officer elsewhere, I'd suggest 'family matters' as a reason." "Thank you, sir." My hand was wet and trembling, but I wiped the palm on my trousers and steadied my fingers by a sheer act of will. And wrote out my 'resignation.' Resignation, hell! It was as close as I'd ever come to getting fired ... and found out, too. I gave 'family matters,' as a reason, as Shellenbarger had suggested. After all, there was always old Aunt Elena in Ohio ... Outwardly I was calm, but inside I was a wreck. I needed a drink, a whole lot of drinks. But you had to be manly in front of the captain. I pushed the pad back across the desk to him and he read it, nodding. "Good enough, Andros," he said. "We'll see to it that your record is spotless if anyone asks about you." "Thank you, sir.'' I stood up and saluted again. "There is one complication, sir," I said. "I'll have to ask either Wolfson or Simmons to bring in my uniform and badges tomorrow, because I haven't any civilian clothes down here to change to.'' The captain dismissed the whole thing with a gesture. "No problem, Andros," he said. "You can just go on home now and ... " he looked at me narrowly but not unsympatheti116

cally ... "get drunk." I grinned at him. "It was on my mind, sir," I said. "I could sure as hell use a drink right now." The captain stood up and stretched his hand across the desk. "Well, good luck, Andros," he said. "I certainly hate losing a man of your type." If he only knew ... ! I managed to wipe my still-sweating palm on my trousers before taking his. We shook hands and I saluted once more, turned smartly, and left his office, even remembering to grin at his split-tail secretary. Out in the corridor I started to shake. It was about one o'clock. I had a ten-dollar bill in my pocket, so I went out on the street and hailed a taxi, giving him the address on Grand View Avenue. I knew my face was white and sweating. The taxi driver saw it. "Something wrong, officer?" he inquired. "Touch of the flu," I said. "I'm goin' home to bed." "Best place for you if you're gettin' the flu," the driver said. Then he turned to me. "I'm gonna roll up the window if you don't mind," he said. "Don't want to take it home to my kids." Well, this was something he couldn't pass on to his kids. But I nodded and lay back against the seat, my mind a confusion of unpleasant thoughts and chagrin. And just that morning I'd been admiring myself and thinking how much I liked the work! Goddamn that Al character! If I ever found him again I'd beat out his fuckin' brains and feed 'em to a dog! Yet I couldn't blame him too much. After all, I had been a hustler, was still a hustler, and had been one for a long time. And the rap for kidnapping was pretty heavy. It was almost inevitable that one day I'd be found out, considering the number of people I'd had sex with ... Son-of-a-bitch! No more three-ways, no more Greg or Pete-unless I got myself another job and stayed with them. And yet that didn't sound quite right. Cops always formed 117

little cliques-with other cops, not with civilians. I wondered how Greg would react. A rage, probably. And Pete-well, he would be worried or scared, but not angry. They were not due to arrive until around six p.m. And I-if I were working-would not be there until ten. On the way home I suddenly thought of Oak Street and remembered Tommyboy. A little plan began to form. I'd go home, get reasonably drunk, and then call him and go over to his place-in uniform-for a final screw. He had given me both his numbers-where he worked and his home phone. And if I saw him, I could work off some of my anger and frustration and really mean it this time. That would put me in a calmer mood for facing Greg and Pete. Masochists really do have a place in the world, I guess. I paid the taxi-driver who looked at me. "Chee," he said, "you're lookin' better already. You got some color back." "Nu thin' like this good clean San Francisco air," I grinned at him, and gave him a good tip. Then I went upstairs and into the apartment. It seemed very empty at that hour of the day. The sun streamed in through the picture window and the whole of the city was laid out before me. I went to the kitchen and opened the cabinet where we kept the liquor. There was a half-bottle of bourbon there-enough for a coupla good drinks. I poured out a whole glassful, with no ice or water in it, and took it back into the living room. I stood at the side of the picture window beside the drapes, and looked out over the city, sipping the whiskey slowly. It began to take hold, little by little. Of course, getting drunk wouldn't solve any of my problems at all. Then I went to the shelves of paperbacks and reached down behind them for my little black book. I went to the phone and dialed Tommyboy's number. When he answered I said, "Tom, this is your uncle. How's about seeing you today?" He caught on at once. "Uncle Phil!" he said. "Of course! 118

What time?" "It's my day off," I said. "So when do you get home?'' "About five-thirty," he said. "Can we make it then?" I said. "Sure thing," he said and we ended the conversation. That gave me about two and a half hours, because I'd have to be out of the apartment by four-thirty at least, in order to get there. I took another gulp of whiskey. Poor Tommyboy, finding a cop and then suddenly-and unaccountably-losing him. I decided I'd tell him about my quitting the force. But when you got right down to things, I sure as hell had been lucky. With my past, I could have ruined the whole police force of the city. And been jailed, too. Of course, I had admitted to Greg that I had been a hustler, and that fact would make him worry. Or make him mad. Well, there was no help for it now. He had moved from southern California up here just to be able to screw me, or so he said. Perhaps it could still go on-but something told me it wouldn't. When I told him, I'd have to be very careful to quote Shellenbarger exactly, and convince Greg that my record was spotless. And I'd better do that in private-maybe in bed-without Pete around. It was going to be one hell of a day ... and night. By four o'clock I was fairly well smashed, but not to the staggering stage. The more I thought about the whole affair, the less I worried about it. I'd be able to handle Greg all right, I was sure. And Pete would go along with the whole thing easily. Perhaps it was the whiskey making me feel better- in fact, there was no doubt about that. Hardly thinking about what I was doing, I opened the kitchen drawer where Greg kept the clothespins he had made. I saw that he had also bought some small S-hooks and some fishweights, lead sinkers about six ounces in weight. I put two clothespins in one pocket and two hooks and some weights in another. Tommyboy would have some fun this evening. 119

I took another shower because I had sweat so much that day, and ran the electric shaver over my face again. Then I dressed fit to kill-or to fuck-and set out for Tommy's place. It wasn't unusual for cops to ride the buses. As a matter of fact, on some lines there was always a cop present to prevent muggings or robberies. And I got to Tommy's apartment right on the dot of five-thirty. I pushed his bell. There was no answering buzz at the door. So instead of standing there calling attention to myself, I walked around the block, which took me about ten minutes. I hoped no one would stop me with some dopey question, because they sure as hell would have been able to smell the whiskey on me. The second time I pushed his bell, the buzzer sounded. I shook my head to clear it a little and started up the stairs. He was at his door, hand outstretched. "Nice to see you ... officer," he said. "Yeah," I said in a surly tone, playing the role the M's liked best. I unhooked my nightstick and poked him in the ribs with it. "Well," I said, "this evening you're really gonna get fucked, buddy." I put on as sinister an expression as I could. He looked a little frightened. "Get your fuckin' clothes off," I growled. His fingers were trembling as he undid the buttons on his shirt and pulled it off. Then he unzipped his slacks and stepped out of them, and out of his loafers, too. Then came his socks, and he was entirely naked. He had a body with good definition, with the kind of long muscles a swimmer has. I clapped the end of my billy a couple of times, and then extended it and pushed at his balls. His cock was already hard. I tapped it gently a few times, right on the end. He was beginning to sweat. Then I stuck the nightstick back in my belt and unzipped my fly, dug in with a coupla fingers, and hauled out my cock. It was about half-hard.

120

"Now," I rumbled. "Get down there and kiss it." He took my cockhead into his mouth. I swatted him on the side of his head with my hand. "Kiss it," I growled. "I didn't tell you to suck it." He kissed the tip-end of it and licked off a small pearl with his tongue. "Now, you cocksucker," I said, very hard. "Kiss the toe of each boot." He did. I scowled down at him. "Go get the grease," I said. He padded out to the kitchen. I unbuttoned my coat and shirt, and unbuckled my belt while he was gone, letting my trousers slip down a little. The anticipation of getting into Tommyboy's hot ass again was exciting. He came back with the grease and a towel. "C'mon," I said, very tough. "Grease yourself up, and then me." He dug his fingers into the white stuff and reached around behind, putting plenty on his asshole. Then he got some more on his fingers and slid his hand up and down my prick, leaving it very greasy. My cock was steel-hard from the feel of his fingers. "Now come here," I growled. I reached into my pocket and took out one of the clothespins, and from the other pocket an S-hook and a fishweight. Looking at the clothespins, I noticed how Greg had 'refined' his little 'invention.' There was a hole bored in each of the ends that you grabbed to open the pin. Tommyboy looked scared but he stepped closer to me. I reached up and grabbed one of his nipples, pulling it as far out from his chest as it would go. Then I slowly put the pin on the nipple and let it gradually close, with the tackhead uppermost. When the tack hit, Tommy let out a low howl and reached his hand up as if to take it off. I slapped it away. Then I slowly hooked the S-hook into the pinhole, with the weight

121

attached, and dropped it against his torso. This time the howl was louder. I reached for the other nipple and treated it the same way. The weights were heavy enough to pull the nipples down an inch or more-quite a stretch. His hands kept wandering up towards his nipples and I kept slapping them away. Finally I reached down and took one of the weights and lifted it until it was out horizontal with his nipple. Then I let it fall. He yowled. He was sweating heavily. I could see the sheen on his shoulder blades. "Now you listen," I said viciously. "You try to take 'em off again, and I'll rip your tits off." He stood then in front of me silently, his face contorted with pain. "That's a nice boy," I said. I pulled my gun from my holster; and put it down against my cock so that the barrel extended beyond the head of my prick. "Now get down on your knees and suck that." He did. I had recently oiled it, and knew that he was tasting the oil. "But don't suck the cock," I said. "Now boy," I said, "get down on your knees like the fuckin' dog you are, and turn your ass around this way." He turned and sank to his knees and bent over, resting on his elbows. The movement released the pins from hanging against his torso and let them swing free. I saw the Crisco at his asshole and decided not to get my gun all greased up. Instead, I took one hand and reached underneath his body and flicked the fishweight sidewise on his right nipple. His head arched upwards in pain. Then I flickecfthe left one, and they were both swinging. He must have loved it. "Okay, buddy. Back up towards me. Hands and knees." He inched backwards. I took hold of the base of my cock and aimed it for his asshole, dead center on. The grease was melting and running down inside his thigh a little. And then-contact! He stopped moving. I put one hand on each side of his body and held him solid.

122

"Okay, bud," I grated. "Are you gonna put it in at your own speed or do you want a good hard ram?" He moved a little farther back. My cock entered the vestibule. His fire-ring was still closed-and I rested there. He was even hotter than the first time. It was a grand feeling. I gave him a series of small pokes, still holding him solidly, and then felt the muscle open and relax. He groaned, and then suddenly pushed his body backwards towards mine, and my cock slid into his hot tunnel its full length. Sheez, what a sensation! His guts felt like they were boiling. Then he started rotating his ass a little, and I started the old in-and-out motion in counterpoint to his own rhythm. The heat had melted the grease completely. I looked down at my cock going in and out, and the lips of his ass turning in and out, in and out. It always excited me to fuck a guy this way, dog-fashion, because I was able to watch my own movements. Underneath me he moaned and twisted, and then I heard him gasp, "Oh, fuck me, Phil! Fuck me hard and deep!" And I did. I felt his muscles grip my cock as if they were hot hands, rippling all up and down its length. He evidently liked the pins and the new rhythm. I bore into him heavily with my cock, and put as much pressure as I could on each finger against his nipples. His howls were gratifying, and his back was wet with sweat. I looked down at my blue shirt. It had a large dark spot where I had lain against him. Oh, well-it would soon dry under my coat. He had crossed his hands under his face. I reached out and got hold of some armpit hair, twisting and pulling on it. His backward motion at that rammed my cock very deeply into him and milked the last drops from it. And then I let go, and simply lay quietly against him. Finally his panting tapered off, and he turned his head a little ~idewise. "Sheez!" he said, "that was the best one ever!" "Damngood, Tommyboy," I said, and ruffled his hair

123

with one hand. Then I slowly eased my cock out of him, looking down at its shining length, glistening with the melted grease. I had depm,ited a mighty big load in his ass, because I saw it start to run out. He grabbed hastily for the towel and stuck it between his legs, while I rolled over on my back, pulling my shirt and coat away from the greasy area. He got to his feet. "Lie still, Phil," he said, "and I'll wash you." He went into the bathroom and soon returned with some warm water in a plastic bowl, along with a bar of soap and a washcloth. He lathered the cloth and set to work. The warm water felt good, and he was very tender about washing me-cock, balls, and between my legs. I felt like an Oriental sultan being ministered to by one of his harem. He had evidently put a dash of cologne-something fresh and dry and lemony-into the wash water. I was sort of reminded of the oshiburi hot towels they use in Japan. When he had finished, he very tenderly lowered his head and gently kissed the slit of my cock. "So wonderful!" he murmured. "Yeah," I said, "but I got a little bad news for you." He looked startled. "What is it?" he said. I half-raised myself on my elbows. "I'm leaving the force," I said. "Think I'll go to Chicago and be a cop. They pay more." I thought for a moment he was going to cry. "Oh, shit!" he said finally. "Just when I find an ideal man, a real cop, he moves away." I took some of his chest hair between thumb and forefinger and twisted it a little. "Never mind, Tommyboy," I said. "I may be able to fix you up with a couple more cops before I leave. And they aren't the ones to take money. They just like sex. But you'd have to promise to be damned quiet about it." Tommy grinned and held up three fingers, crossing his thumb over his little finger on his palm. "Scout's honor," he said. "Not one word ever."

124

"I don't know whether I can convince 'em," I said, "but I'll try." His eyes glowed as if they had lights behind them. "You mean I could have both of them at once?" "When I tell 'em how hot your ass is, you may find 'em both trying to get in at the same time. But they'll know how to make good use of all those talents you've got. And give you the working-over you want." I grinned and reached over and took a handful of his hard compact ass and squeezed with all my strength. He winced, but he smiled too. "Are they as good as you?" he said. "You may like one of them even better," I said, thinking of Greg. "He's a regular boss-man. Those clothespins-" I jiggled them in my hand, picking them up from the floor, "they were his idea ... well, actually ... he saw 'em somewhere." "Your boss-man sounds a little like an S," Tommy said. "You're right, buddy. The real thing. And some of it has already rubbed off on the second one I know, too." I put the clothespins and weights back in my pocket. "You'll really be in paradise." "No more so than with you," Tommy said. He leaned his goodlooking head against the rough fabric of my coat. "Damn, I'll miss you." "Not if they say yes," I said. "And who knows-we may run into each other again some time." Tommy nodded. "I may spend my vacation in Chicago," he said, and then he looked at me. "Do me one last favor, will you?" "What?" I asked. "You probably have to piss, don't you?" "Yeah," I said. "I want it," he said. He got up and went into the bathroom and I followed. He stretched out on his back in the tub and looked up at me hopefully.

125

I stood over him, arms straight, and dropped my cock over him and after a moment ... let fly. Fair exchange. I left him with a load of gold streaming all over him. And there were three twenties this time in my pocket.

126

11. Last Rites Lord, how I hated to go back to the apartment! But I did, having asked Tommy for a shot of bourbon before I left. When I got there, both Greg and Pete were home-both in dressing-gowns, both drinking a little. That was good-they wouldn't smell the whiskey on me. We sat around gossiping, talking shop until about eleven. Then Greg yawned and said, "I'm going to bed." I stood up too. "Think I'll hit the hay as well," I said. I could see that certain look in Greg's eyes. "No sex tonight?" Pete asked innocently. "Nope," said Greg. "Too tired." But I could still tell he wanted it, and without Pete's seeing me, took a jar of albolene into the bedroom, only to discover there was one already there. I threw off my dressing gown and put some grease at my asshole, and then sort of slid sidewise into bed, so as not to get any grease on the sheets. Greg came in after taking a piss. I was lying in bed with my hands behind my head, the bed-light on. Greg closed the door. "You're in the wrong position, buddy," he said. "You'll have to turn on your belly." Somehow, it was a different Greg tonight. Most of his

127

cruelty was gone. Very gently he pressed his velvety huge cockhead against my asshole in a series of short little pushes-not the single hard ram that he always liked to give me. This was easy. The continued short pushings opened me up immediately, and Greg slipped in without any trouble at all. He sent it clear to the root and then rested a moment, pinching my nipple. I felt him even biting gently at the back of my neck. Since Greg had been screwing me, I had learned a lot about how to squeeze him with my sphincter and all associated muscles. The one leg drawn up to my chest made me able to do it even more strongly. He moaned softly with pleasure. "Fuck me, buddy," I whispered. "Fuck me hard and deep." It was just what Tommy had said to me ... The words seemed to stimulate him. He rammed his cock clear in, took it back to the entrance, and rammed it deep again. His fingers on my nipple pinched stronger, and he twisted it first one way and then the other, between thumb and forefinger. In return I pushed my ass back to meet his deep all-penetrating thrusts, clamping him as hard as I could. So we set up that rhythm, with my giving him a very hard clamp as he sent his cock into me, and relaxing a little as he drew back. "Oh! damn!" he said in a loud whisper. "That's a sweet ass you got on you, sonny." "All yours, dad," I said, thinking sardonically of the first time in Santa Monica when he'd called me 'son.' He pushed his other hand under my body and found my other nipple, and began to give it some of the same rough treatment he was giving my right one. I loved it. Suddenly he stopped pinching my nipples and spread his big square hands wide on my pectorals. At the same time he thrust in closely, his cock buried in me to its full length. I felt a sudden swelling in his prick as he lunged forward. 128

It was his climax. Spurt after spurt of his hot gyzym flooded into me. I counted eight. And then the pressure of his hands against my chest relaxed ever so slightly, and he sighed deeply. "I wish your cock could stay in me forever," I whispered. His right hand slid slowly down my belly through the hair, until he found my cock, fully as hard as his own had been. He grabbed it around the middle and started jacking me off, rubbing his thumb around the cockslit. His cock was still inside my ass. "I'd like to melt inside you," I said in a low tone, and his hand, responding, squeezed my prick more tightly. Inside my ass I felt that he was still hard. I pushed my buttocks back against his loins, wanting all of him in me for all time. The tempo of his hand moving up and down on my cock increased. I reached to the end-table for a paper towel, and held it close to my cock in one hand. And then the nightland in our bedroom exploded with a million stars. I clutched the paper against the end of my spurting cock. And still he did not stop. The paper was full of my gyzym. He rubbed his thumb forward on the underside of my prick, against the canal, forcing the last drops out. Then he curled his fingers in my pubic hair and twisted them a little. His hand crept back up across my belly, and he gave my nipple a final tweak. Then he laughed a little. "Lord!" he said, "when you come, the muscles in your ass go wild! It'd be nice if sometime we could both come at the same time while I was fuckin' you." "Yes," I said, "but unfortunately ... " "Unfortunately what?" he said. Well, this was the moment. Slowly, haltingly, I told him of the interview that morning with Captain Shellenbarger. I felt Greg's body stiffen. "And you say he never found out you were a hustler?" he demanded. "No, he didn't," I said. "He told me my record was spotless.

129

But I decided I'd better be movin' on, and not press my luck." "Gahda:nn it!" Greg said vehemently. "What's gonna happen now? Pete and I can't afford this apartment all by ourselves!" "Listen," I said. "You ever meet a cop named Ray Stafford?" "Nah," said Greg. "I think he's a club member," I said. "My elbow always tingled every time I passed him. And he was always sneakin' a peek at my basket. I'll bet he'd move in with you. He's not married, and he lives all alone in a small place on Joice Street." "How's it happen you know so much about him?" Greg asked, suspicion in his voice. "He had me in for a cup of coffee one night," I said. "There's lots of gay books in his library, and the picture of a naked man in the can. Besides, he led the talk around to homos himself." "A cup of coffee!" Greg jeered. "And a blowjob, too, I'll bet." "Absolutely not," I said. "I swear it. You want me to ask him about the apartment?" "I'll look him up myself," Greg said shortly. "And then we'll see." "And there's one thing more," I said. "There's a guy named Tommy who lives on Oak Street. An M, too. I screwed him a coup la times when I was a hustler- and he's got a great big thing for cops. Moreover, his ass is about the hottest thing I was ever inside." And then I grinned. "Except yours." Greg playfully took a swing at me and I ducked. Then he said, "He a cop too?" "Nah-a civilian. But very discreet. He saw me once in Golden Gate Park after I'd joined the force. But he never said anything to anyone-except me. He'd love having both you and Pete screw him."

130

"Well, I dunno ... " said Greg. "Try him out once," I urged. "I'll arrange things before I leave town." "Okay," Greg said. "Maybe." His cock had softened inside me and he drew it out. I tried to hold him-unsuccessfully. It almost broke my heart to have him leave me. Maybe his cock would never be there again ... Greg swung his legs out of the bed and got up to wash. I did the same thing from my side of the bed and followed him into the head. He looked at me from beneath his heavy brows, so drawn together that they almost met in the middle. "Damn," he said. "I'll sure hate to see you leave. But I reckon I can understand why. You sure Shellenbarger doesn't suspect Pete or me?" "Absolutely," I said, looking down at his heavy cock, still swollen with blood. I watched him wash it and then dry his crotch with a towel from the L.A. Police Academy, the letters woven in bright green. I knelt and kissed the head of his cock, right on the rim, very gently. "I don't know how Pete's gonna take this," Greg said, his mind still working on what I told him. "Oh, he'll go along all right," I said, "if you say so. Besides, he's got as big a case on you as ... as ... " "You have?" Greg said, grinning. "Yup." "Let's tell Pete now." "Don't you think we'd better wait until morning?" I said. "Nah." He opened the door to our bedroom. "C'mon with me." He crossed the corridor still naked, and knocked on Pete's closed door, not too loudly. "What is it?" Greg opened the door wide. Pete was in bed reading a dirty book. The sheet at the center of his body was poked upwc:1.rds. Obviously, he had a hardon. "Phil wants to blow you," Greg said, "and I want to watch." 131

"Aw, Greg ... " I began. He turn~d around and seized my hair and pulled hard. "Sure you do now, don't you?" The pain bent me over. "Y-yes," I said. He kept pulling. "All right," he grunted, "ask Pete if you can." "You want a blowjob, Pete?" I gasped. Pete was grinning from here to there. He threw back the sheet. His cock was standing up straight and rigid. "Sure do," he said. "Okay," Greg said to me. "Get going." Pete spread his legs wide and I crawled onto the bed. I took the head of Pete's cock between my lips and mouthed it, swirling my tongue around it. Greg moved over to the bed, closer to Pete's head. He reached over and put one big hand at the back of my neck. "Clear down, now," he said, and pushed. Pete's cock went clear in through the arch and touched the back of my throat. I gagged. Greg's hand did not release its pressure, and I gagged a second time. "That's the old spirit. We'll make a cocksucker out of you yet." Out of the corner of my tear-filled eye I saw that he was beginning to get hard again. Pete saw it too and swung his body sidewise on the bed. He took Greg's cock in his mouth. "Just get me ready, Pete old sweetheart," Greg ordered. "Then we'll make this fruit swallow both our loads. Mix 'em up inside." I could tell it wouldn't take Pete long because of the reading he'd been doing. Greg kept one hand on my neck and put the other hand behind Pete's head, pushing his cock so far down Pete's throat that he gagged too. And that seemed to be all that Pete needed. He suddenly flooded my mouth with his gyzym. I swallowed and then sucked the tip-end for the last drops. Then Greg seized me by the hair. He pulled his cock out of

132

Pete's mouth and stuck it in mine-hard and deep. I gagged again and the archway closed on the cockhead. And guess what! Greg came again, not very much, but enough for me to swallow. I sucked hard at the end of his cock, aware that Pete was now the voyeur. I understood why Greg was putting me through this degradation. It was his way of getting even with me for breaking up our comfortable arrangement. "And now," Greg said, breaking away from me, "I guess we can tell him what it's all about." So Greg told him. Pete looked unhappy at first, and then worried. "What are we gonna do?" he asked. "Aw, don't worry," Greg comforted him. "Phil knows another gay cop and we'll ask him to move in with us-after a trial run. Right, ole boy?" he said to me. I reached out and took Greg's heavy cock in my hand. He did not move away. Then I leaned over and kissed it. And being ever the gentleman, I then leaned back and kissed Pete's cock in exactly the same way. "I sure as hell am gonna miss you two guys," I said. "But I reckon it's for the best-my leavin'." There was a lengthy silence. Then Pete said, "Well, we're gonna miss you, too. Aren't we, Greg?" Greg grunted, and then somewhat reluctantly said, "Yeah." Pete reached down and gave me a buddy-poke on the shoulder ... "Cheer up, Phil," he said. I could tell from the tone of his voice that the light had finally dawned on him. With me out of the way, he'd be first with Greg. He'd have the jump on Ray Stafford, or anyone who moved in with the two of them. And I felt moving thinly and deeply in me the green tide of envy and jealousy. But then I shrugged mentally, remembering the last two lines of Milton's "Lycidas": At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue, Tomorrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.

133

12. Pastures New Rudolf Dax gave me a kind of odd look. "Nah," he said. "I still room with my parents. Cheaper that way." "Don't they ever get in your hair?" I said. "All the time." "Well, then," I said, putting my hands on my knees. "All the more reason to share an apartment." Rudolf looked around to see if anyone was listening. "Listen," he said. "I know you used to be a hustler. And so was I-but nobody else knows it. But I was strictly trade, and the word is that you're a gay hustler." We were sitting in the ready room at Eleventh and State in Chicago, and there were only a few fellow-cops around. I had passed the preliminary tests for the Chicago police force, and would face a probationary period of a few weeks while.they investigated my past. If I hadn't been reasonably confident they'd find nothing- especially in San FranciscoI would never have applied. And the salary was over three hundred more than out west. Speaking of hustlers, Rudolf was right. He had been one, for sure-one of the handsomest and best. He was as tall as I was, about six feet, blond and Austrian, blue-eyed, and with a shape that you see in physique magazines. Matter of fact,

134

that was one item that had caused him some trouble. With his magnificent frame and muscles he had been a popular model-and been photographed widely, since most of the physique magazines-before they were able to show cockswere nothing except jackoff magazines for the gay community. Rudolf had to prove to his precinct captain that he wasn't gay, and didn't know what the pictures were used for. And then it helped by his getting promptly engaged. There were literally thousands of pictures of Rudolf Dax circulating, but somehow he had always avoided the completely nude shots-a point in his favor. I had known him before he had become a cop and was still a hustler. Matter of fact, he stayed in my pad for two weeks once, and it was during that memorable time that he found out about me. His greatest desire was to be one of those weightlifter movie heroes, and take part in the 'spectaculars' that poured out of Cinecitta in Rome. And I remembered that during that twoweek period I had written a letter to a friend in Copenhagen, asking him to introduce Rudolf to one of the producers in Rome. But Cinecitta was momentarily on a low budget, and Rudolf never got his chance. However, to get me to write to Copenhagen, Rudolf did something he swore he had never done before or since. He blew me. So I had something on him, much more than did any of his clients for whom during his hustling years he had been 'strictly trade.' But I didn't know if he remembered the incident. He was much better-looking than I, with his muscles and blondness. For one year he had been "Mr. Illinois" -and that year his rates had doubled. He had got started hustling while he was working out in a gym run by that photographerpimp Mike. Mike arranged everything- and took his cut, too, presumably. Rudolf was still lifting weights, and although he was three or four years older than me, he could have gone on hustling for five years at least, because he was 135

much in demand. When we first ran into each other in the ready room, he was astonished and so was I. I couldn't wait to get him alone to ask him how he handled the problem of seeing his former scores. "I just ignore 'em," he said. "That's all. They call up-I never call back." The years had lain lightly on him. At thirty-three, his face was still unlined, and he had all his hair. His blue eyes were cool and calm. In his uniform he looked a lot more bulky than I-but it was pure muscle without an ounce of fat. And in the five years since I had put him up for two weeks, he had not changed at all-at least outwardly. As for his getting engaged-phoo! Rudolf was really a narcissist. He could not come without a mirror to watch himself, either while jacking-off or letting someone blow him. Like most weightlifters, he was in the medium-sized range: his cock was no more than six inches in length, despite all the exercise it had had, and the lingual lavings he had permitted others to give him. But the body that went with that cock was-unclothed-one of the most superb I had ever seen. He could have modeled for either Praxiteles or Michelangelo, and neither would have complained about anything. As for myself, leaving San Francisco was very hard. It turned out that Greg approved of Ray Stafford (Jr.), and that Ray was really gay. So he moved in, taking my place. Pete liked him, too-and I think was really torn between Ray and Greg. Well, they were all having a happy time, I supposed, in that incredible Sodom of the west. I moved out as quickly as I could, gone the next day after Greg had put me through the humiliation of blowing Pete while he looked on. So, armed with a letter from Captain Shellenbarger, I bravely approached the personnel office of the Chicago police. And was hired immediately. But I lived on Van Buren Street in a raunchy little hotel-

136

and wanted to get out of there. "C'mon, Rudolf," I said. "I roomed with two cops out in San Francisco and no one ever found out. And we had our share of fun." "Then why'd you leave?" said Rudolf darkly. I waggled my hand. "More money here," I said. "Three hundred more." Rudolf whistled. "Shee!" he said. "You could rent an apartment all by yourself for that." I lowered my voice. "Listen, Rudy," I said. "Now tell me the truth-as an unmarried cop, are you gettin' enough sex?" "Well ... no," he said. Then he whispered, "To be honest, the gal I'm supposed to be engaged to is really a dyke. We'll never get married." "You screw her?" I said. "Are you kiddin'?" he scoffed. "She wouldn't let me touch her." "How about companionship-do you have enough?" I said. "Shit," said Rudolf. "I told you I can't stand my family. Nah," he added, "you know damned well all cops are lonesome unless they're married." "Well, then ... " I said, leaning against the back of the bench. "Here's your chance." "I'll think about it," he said. He did-and guess what! He saw me the next day. "I reckon you're right," he said. "Where do we want to live? I can spend about three hundred on rent." "Leave it to me," I said. "We'll find a neighborhood that's medium class-and far enough away from Old Town and the questionable parts." "Okay," he said, "it'd be worth it to be able to move out." So I went looking, and found a nice two-bedroom deal beyond the Near North Side that we could afford. It wasn't as fancy as the one in San Francisco, but it was a damn sight better than my hotel-and I imagined better than Rudolf's lace-curtain home. 137

We moved in three days after that- a big hassle, but worth it. "Sheez," said Rudolf, wrestling with a big trunk. He picked it up as easily as I would have a bunch of bananas. "I sure am glad to move out." "Your mother, you mean?" I said. "Yeah. She's gonna miss the money I paid her for room and board." He grinned at me with teeth as perfect as false ones. But they were real. "Christ, this is hot work," he said. He took off his blue cop's shirt, exposing his massive biceps. I reached over and squeezed one. "How many inches around?" I asked. "Eighteen now," he said, "but if I pump 'em up a little, I can manage twenty." I whistled. "That makes mine look like matchsticks," I said. "Aw hell," said Rudolf, "you got a good built on you, man." "Just what my daddy gave me," I grinned. "You mean you never worked out with weights?" "Never in my damned life." Suddenly he sat down in a chair. "I'm thirsty," he said. "Any beer yet in the house?" I was astonished. "You never used to drink," I said. This time he waggled his hand at me. "Ah, you know how it is," he said. "You can carry that diet and weightlifting crap just so far. And just so long." "I know what you mean," I said. "It just so happens I did lay in- a six-pack." "How's about breaking out a couple of cans?" He sat down on the edge of a chair, all solid two hundred pounds of him. "Okay," I said. I went to the refrigerator and came back with two cans. I handed him one and then sat down in the opposite chair. From our window we could see Lake Shore Drive and a small corner of Lake Michigan. I remembered

138

the only good line of poetry that old Ben Messer, one of my earliest scores, had ever written: "I cannot live away from water." I felt the same. Rudolf drank from the can and wiped his lips. "Sure tastes good," he said. Then he looked at the can. "Beer always makes me feel sexy." I cocked an eyebrow at him. "Right now?" I asked. "Why not?" he grinned. He spread his legs wide in the chair. I shook my head. "I don't blow nobody except cops," I said, but with a grin. He looked startled. "I'm a cop," he said. "You're not in uniform," I said. He had on his summer blue shirt, his uniform trousers, his black tie and shiny boots. He reached over to· the table, picked up his cap and put it on his head. "Now I am," he said. I nodded. I cast a glance at the mirror in the bathroom door. It was partly closed and angled just right so that he could watch. I finished my beer and gave my mouth a moment to warm up. Then I went and knelt between his legs and pulled his zipper down. He was wearing jockey shorts. So I unbuckled his belt, heavy with holster and gun, and looked up at him. "Heist your butt a little, Rudy." He did and I pulled his shorts and trousers down. His cock was already hard. It was clean-cut and leaned a little to the left. The anticipation had-as with any good hustler-already brought a small pearl to the head of it. I put out my tongue and licked it off. He squirmed a little on the chair. "Chee," he said, "maybe this ain't such a bad idea after all." With my mouth open and my tongue licking the underside of his cockhead I managed to say, "What isn't?" "Rooming with a gay cop," he said. "Now I can get all the sex I need." " ... and no problems," I said. Then I took his cock fully into my mouth. I felt rather than saw him finish the last of his beer, and felt also that he had turned sidewise so that he

139

could watch in the mirror. Meanwhile I was at work with all the tricks I knew. I wedged my tongue down into the slit and wiggled it, and then swirled it around the head. And then I started in earnest - going clear to the base of his cock with a lot of suction, tickling his massive balls (they made his basket look big) with both fingers and tongue. Then I took his cock out of my mouth and discovered that by opening my mouth as wide as I could I could get both his balls into it at one time. "Oh, oh!" he gasped. The empty beer can fell from his hand to the floor and with his balls still in my mouth and tongue active I reached over and picked up the can and set it straight. Then I went back to his cock itself, using all the Kama Sutra techniques that Greg had liked so much. In no time at all I had Rudolf twisting with joy and groaning with delight in the chair. His head was still turned sidewise, watching me blow him in the mirror. He stretched his body out, arching his hips upwards, resting his boot heels on the floor. I glanced in the mirror myself and was not displeased by what I saw. Then, panting, I took my mouth off his cock completely. I reached over and took hold of one of his big hands, bigger even than Greg's, and put it behind my neck. Fumbling, I found his other hand and put it on top of my head. "Don't ... be afraid," I panted, "that you'll ... muss my ... hair." The activity was all he needed. I felt the swelling in his cock which is the prelude to the orgasm, and suddenly he threw back his head (still looking in the mirror), and came in my mouth. His gyzym tasted of sweet herbs, probably from all that wheat germ he always ate. Then I ran my tongue gently around his cockhead, and with my lips pulled against the underside to milk out the last sweet drops. I swallowed it all. I looked up at him and then laid my head against his warm thigh. God, he looked wonderful! More handsome than ever

140

before, with the cop's cap on. "Well, that's that," he said. He stood up, straddling me, and put himself back together, tucking his cock down into his shorts and zipping up his fly. I still sat on the floor. "Not quite. What're you going to do for me?" He shook his head. "I don't go that route," he said. "You know that." "You blew me once," I said accusingly. That really shook him. "When?" he said. "I never blowed anybody." I reminded him of the incident about Cinecitta and my friend in Copenhagen. "Damn," he said, "was that you?" Well, you could hardly blame him for forgetting. A hustler has a lot to remember. And Rudolf wasn't any too smart to begin with ... dumb, but handsome. I nodded. "The very same," I said. He shook his head as if to clear it. "I'll be damned," he said. "Here you get me all steamed up," I complained, "and leave me with this." I put my hands down my uniform trousers to measure the size of my hardon. "You got a whopper," Rudolf said. "Well, I can't do anything after I've come. You gotta get me beforehand." "I'll remember that next time," I said. "Tell you what. You know I got a thing for cops ... " "Yeah," he said. He was scowling a little. "And from what you've said, I also know you're pretty much an M." "Yeah," I said. "So this time," I said, emphasizing the last two words, "suppose you just stand over me and twist your boot on my chest, and I'll beat my meat." Rudolf chuckled. "Just like old Eddie Elstein," he said. "Yup," I said. "He was one of my scores, too." "He was?" Rudolf was surprised. "Yeah-he had every hustler in the area," I said. Rudolf shook his head. "I sure had a hard time getting rid of him," he said. "You couldn't trust him. He talked."

141

"Yeah, I know," I said. I was still sitting on the floor. I shucked off my blue shirt and pulled the undershirt over my head. Then I loosened my belt buckle and lowered my pants, taking hold of my cock. I lay flat on the floor, feeling in my pocket first for a handkerchief. "Okay," I said, "c'mon and get over me." Balancing himself carefully on one booted foot, he set the other one on my chest. It was so long it reached from one nipple to the other. He caught one under the heel-edge and the other under the toe. It was a little painful, just what I needed. I looked at his blue-clad form towering above me, one big hand resting on his gun, the other on his nightstick. He seemed huge from such an angle. This was the way the sailors must have looked up when their ships went in between the legs of the Colossus of Rhodes. "Hard or soft?" Rudolf asked. "Soft at first, and harder when you see I'm ready to come," I replied. Well, it was a dandy experience. With Rudy's background you might expect it to be. He evidently took a keen delight in dirtying my chest with his boot. There were black streaks clear across it, slowly turning red. In the meantime, I was beating my prick as if it were going out of style. But also crowding into my fantasy of the cop-master with his boot on my chest there was another awareness. I'd have to get to work on Rudolf and change him a little-bring him out, really, for I suspected that with all his experience a good deal had rubbed off on him. And if I had succeeded in making him blow me one time- I could do it again. If you once suck a cock you're a cocksucker. It's only a matter of time until anything goes, and you think nothing of it. But then the smell of leather from his boot and the torturing of my nipples from his crushing pressure was having its effect on me. "You want my whole weight-both feet?" Rudolf asked.

142

"O-don't know ... if I c-could stand it! But t-try ... !" I gasped. I hardened my stomach muscles and he stepped with his other foot on my belly, grabbing the back of the chair to balance himself. That was it! I exploded into the handkerchief filling it full of my own gyzym. Then Rudy took his foot off my belly, still keeping the one on my chest. He moved it closer up to my face. "Kiss it!" he ordered, and I did-on the side of it. Well, well! A few more lessons and I'd have just what I wanted. I guess a man can arrange his happiness anywhere. It was about three weeks after that encounter-three weeks filled with sex every night, almost. Rudolf didn't like to fuck, but a little coaxing got him to try it on me. Though he was nothing like Greg in size, he was talented-and his reactions were startling. "Chee!" he gasped, after the first time he screwed me. "I t'ink I like that better'n a woman!" And within that three week period, too, I also talked him into blowing me. His reactions to that were not so favorable-but he'd learn. I really did my best to brainwash him, talking of the new 'permissiveness,' telling him it didn't matter where you put what as long as you got your rocks off. He was very susceptible to such talk. It would just take time-that's all. We checked in that particular morning and went to the ready room for our assignments. A group of cops was clustered around the bulletin board, reading. Occasionally one would laugh, or another shake his head. "What're they readin'?" I asked Rudolf. "Dunno," he said. "Let's go see." Tacked to the bulletin board were two front pages-one from the Chicago Tribune, the other from the Sun-Times. And both had nearly the same headline: Cops Arrested in Frisco. "Jesus," I said to myself. "I gotta read that." One of the cops-a handsome stud-turned and saw me trying to crowd in. 143

"Hey, Andros!" he said. "Weren't you on the force in 'Frisco?" I nodded. "Yeah," I said. "What's up?" "Let 'im in to read it," ano.ther voice said. "Maybe he knows 'em." I was on a spot. If it were really Greg and Pete and Ray, I thought I might faint. Or change color too much. I got all the self-control I had, and stood in front of the newspapers. God damn-it was all true, all right! It seemed that 'observed' activity on the part of Ray Stafford had resulted in the chief getting hold of a cop who would play the gay role. Ray took him home to the apartment (on Grand View), and Greg Wolfson and Pete Simmons all joined in what the papers called a 'homosexual orgy.' The sweat sprang alive in my crotch and armpits as I read the damning story, quickly skimming the UPI and AP accounts. I think I kept control. "Didja know any of those guys, Andros?" someone called. I shook my head. "Negative," I said, feeling the sweat run down my legs. And I'd have to watch my step. I didn't know what lines of communication existed between San Francisco and Chicago, nor whether the old outmoded 'guilt by association' still was stronger here, nor whether Greg or Pete or Ray had mentioned my name to anyone. I'd have to get up to that newsstand at Randolph and State that sold the out-of-town papers, and read the fuller versions in the San Francisco Chronicle and Examiner. Rudolf was hanging on the outer edge of the group. "Didja know any of 'em?" he asked nervously. I shook my head again. "Nope," I said. The cock crowed three times. "What's the matter?" Rudolf said. "You look sort of ... funny." I took off my cap and passed my hand over my forehead. It came away wet. " ... and you're sweatin'," said Rudolf.

144

"I think it's too damned hot in here," I said in the corridor. Then, seeing that no one was around, I said to Rudolf, "Just a close call, that's all." "We'll have to watch out," said Rudolf. "You betcha," I said. "We're safe enough just as long as there's the two of us. But let's not go pickin' up any stray cop to room with us." "Not on your life," said Rudolf vehemently. We had turned a corner and were in a small corridor with no doors or windows. Rudolf looked around, and then he put his big arm across my shoulders. "An' besides," he said grinning. "I got me my cunt." Ah, well! What does San Francisco have that Chicago hasn't?

145

Other Grey Fox books of interest: John Coriolan

Christy Dancing

Daniel Curzon

Human Warmth & Other Stories

Patrick Franklin

The Uncertainty of Strangers & Other Stories

Robert Gluck

Elements of a Coffee Service

Richard Hall

Couplings, A Book of Stories letter from a Great-Uncle & Other Stories Three Plays for a Gay Theater

Oaude Hartland

The Story of a Life

EricRofes

"I Thought People Like That Killed Themselves"- lesbians, Gay Men & Suicide

Michael Rumaker

A Day and a Night at the Baths My First Satyrnalia

Samuel Steward

Chapters from an Autobiography

George Whitmore

The Confessions of Danny Slocum

RoyF. Wood

Restless Rednecks: Gay Tales of a Changing South

Allen Young

Gays Under the Cuban Revolution