Sexy Devil: In Uniform

I heard someone step onto the porch and I didn’t bother to look up.  Instead, I just mumbled, “Shit,” and tried to mop up the drink some idiot just dumped in my lap. Thank God the damn pants were fake leather.  I manned the front door for the annual three day Halloween blowout at the Ranch. I’d been looking forward to this for months, seriously going to get a hook up with some of the college theater boys if I could.  Then Roger, who owned the place, dubbed me ticket taker and stuck me by the front door.  Sucked some, but that’s what I got for being one of the “in” crowd.  At least it meant I didn’t have to hunt down my own booze or food.  And no one bothered me about being, you know…’cause I had clout.

When the newcomer stepped through the sliding door, I held out my hand – the one holding a joint another wandering party goer handed over earlier.  I didn’t smoke, but I could pass ‘em around.  “Take that.”  I shifted and tried to catch the last of the wet spot.  The newcomer didn’t help me out by taking the weed off my hands.  Irritated, still messing with my pants, I growled, “Your invitation, dude, I need to see it.”

“Excuse me?”

The tone caught me.  I glanced away from wiping my pants.  Just the way I sat, hunched on the stool and mopping my crotch, meant my first visual contact was at about mid calf.  Cowboy boots, nothing unusual there…both because it was Halloween and because this is South Eastern New Mexico.  I rocked back and took in a tall, dark-haired guy, dressed in dark pants and matching short jacket.  He sported a fully tricked out gun belt.  A khaki shit collar and black turtleneck were visible under where the jacket collar gaped.  Five star badge pinned on the left breast…fuck, he’d nailed the outfit down to the patches and name tag: J. Alvarenga. 

And he was fucking hotter than anything at the party.

“Awesome costume, dude.”  I tapped my hip, indicating his pistol. “But if the gun’s real,” I drawled out the word gun and gave him my best fuck-me smile, “you’re going to have to ditch the clip in your car okay?” 

Leaning in, reading the black marker scrawled across my right pec, “Gun’s real, Tim.”  He pushed his hat back with one knuckle and hooked the thumb of his other hand into his belt.  “Everything’s real.”

The rest of my life flashed in front of my eyes.  At least the next six to nine months that might be all wrapped up in courtrooms and county jail.  “It’s not a costume is it?”  I managed to sputter out.

Alvarenga looked me over, pretty hard. I wasn’t sure if it was because of what I was wearing or what I wasn’t.  Black pleather pants, combat boots, a vinyl collar/tie thing and a police hat.  A set of plastic play cuffs dangled off my belt. “No,” the deputy, one of Dona Ana Sheriff’s finest, sounded amused, “Mine isn’t.”

I’d take amused over pissed off or just about anything else.  Still, there I am, sitting by the door of a double wide that reeked of Indochina, half naked and holding a joint.  “Fuck me.”  I hissed as ground the joint out against the wall.  “What can I do for you, sir?” 

“This is a private party?” He asked, continuing the stare down. 

I smiled as big and wide as I could manage. “Yes sir.”   Since I hadn’t been thrown on the floor and cuffed, I figured I ought to keep it that way.  “You have to have an invite to get in.”

He glanced around.  Probably saw close to a hundred things he could have arrested people for within five feet. “Anybody not legal here?”  Most of the party goers ignored the officer, most likely assuming, like I had, that it was a costume.  People got elaborate, often starting planning next year’s costume the day they recovered from the previous year’s party. 

“Not since I’ve been manning the door.”  Of course I didn’t mention that I was about six months away from 21st birthday.

“Okay, look.” He snorted.  “There’s four cars blocking the county access road with the way they’re parked.  Right now, you promise to find who owns them and get them moved, I’ll pretend I didn’t see jack-shit.  If, when I roll back through in an hour, those cars aren’t gone.  Well, then, I’ll call it in and we’ll just bust everyone we can catch.”

That sounded like a supreme plan.  Not like I was going to argue with a deputy with a gun.  “They’ll be moved even if I got to get six huge guys and push them into the ditch.”  ‘Course he probably stepped onto the property and knew within a minute he was insanely out numbered.  I mean, hell, there had to be close to a hundred people in the trailer, out back at the bonfire or off in the barn.  The moment he said ‘everyone’s under arrest’ half the people would run off into the desert and the other half would probably jump him.  No sense being a hero to bust a bunch of folks drinking and smoking pot…and mainlining harder shit.

“Okay, Tim.” He nodded and smiled at me.  “Just tell them all, the cops now know there’s a big ass party out here.” After another glance at the room, where the smile dropped a notch or two, he turned his attention back to me.  “We’ll probably keep a few extra guys on the road back to town.  DUIs suck, you know?”

“Certainly sir, I’ll pass the information around.”  I watched him saunter off – big, burly and dark…just the way I liked ‘em.  Why did he have to be a fucking cop?

He stepped around a couple making out on the porch steps and walked across the property.  I lost sight of Alvarenga somewhere halfway down the short drive from the access road to the house.  Probably why no one noticed a police car in the neighborhood.  Most people were already here and it was damn fucking dark out there. 

Then I grabbed someone I half-ass knew and plunked them by the door.  It took me a bit before I found Roger out at the bonfire, tripping on God knew what.  At least he wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t immediately grasp the importance of what I had to tell him.   Might have taken us forty minutes to pass the word around, find the owners of the offending cars and get them moved.  Yeah, it’s the middle of the desert but you can’t just park in the center of a dirt road. 

Idiots.

The whole incident, though, took some shine off the party.  I hadn’t had half enough to drink before the uniformed gate crasher, and then getting the cars and such squared away killed that little bit of buzz.  Nobody new, or cute enough to hit on, other than the Sheriff’s Deputy, showed up…or at least cute enough when I was sober.  Since it was close to one in the morning, I figured I bail.  The party would catch a second wind sometime tomorrow evening and I’d try my luck then.  Plus, it was fucking cold and I didn’t have a shirt.  When you’re drunk those things don’t matter, they suck when you’re sober and tired. 

I managed to get my car out of the general congestion of parked vehicles and headed toward the highway and eventually my nice warm room.  Since I’d driven the route dozens of times, I knew I could cut off the track at one place, off-road it over a little gravel and hit the main road without having to go a mile out of my way in the wrong direction.  My little ten year old six-banger Dodge bounced a bit over the short-cut, but made it onto the pavement without loosing any parts.  I started to congratulate myself on getting home that much earlier when flashes of red and blue lights lit up my rear-view mirror. 

Fuck.

I pulled over, killed the engine and rolled down the window.  The cold air hit my skin causing goose-bumps and nipples to rise.  Maybe tomorrow I’d wear something with sleeves. If I didn’t get hauled off to jail or something.  Hands firmly locked at ten and two on the steering wheel, I looked in the side-view mirror to check out the officer.  Then I did a double take.  It might have been dark, but I’d swear that was Deputy Alvarenga.

He sauntered up to the driver’s side door and peered in.  “Hello, Tim.” He snorted, obviously recognizing me as well.  “Nice little stunt you pulled back there.”

“It’s just a short cut.”  I shrugged.  “Do it all the time.”

Alvarenga coughed and held out his hand.  “License, insurance, and registration.” 
 
I pulled my wallet out of the glove box, where I’d stashed it during the party, along with my other papers.  After fishing the license from its slot, I handed all the requested documents out the window.  The bright beam of his little mag light made me blink when Alvarenga flipped it on.  He took his sweet time going over the documents, then ran the light over my face, my chest…and a little lower. 
 
When I started to make a sound, he cut me off with, “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“Ah…”  Oh crap.  New Mexico had zero tolerance policies…especially underage.

“Let’s see,” Alvarenga cocked his arm on top of my car and leaned down.  “Any answer that is other than ‘none’ means too much when you’re not legal.” He’d know that by my birth-date stamped in big, red type on the face of my driver’s license.  “And you smell like beer and pot.”

“Shit,” I delivered pizzas for a living, I couldn’t afford to loose my license for ninety days, “honestly, sir, I got a beer spilled on me and maybe a contact buzz.” If he gave me a breath test or blood test, I’d have to take it…New Mexico had a crappy law where they could bust you for not taking the test with the same penalties as being blotto behind the wheel.  “I don’t like smoking dope, gives me a headache.”

He glared and tucked my license into his front pocket. “Anything harder?”  I didn’t have to see it to know it was a glare. The rest of the documentation, he tossed back onto my lap.

“Nooooo,” I scrambled to shove the papers and my wallet onto the passenger seat. “No, sir.”

He grabbed the door handle of my Intrepid and popped it open as he stepped back.  “Get out of the car.”  The order sunk deep into all the wet dreams I’d ever had about uniforms. 
 
“Yes, sir.” All the fantasies of hot cops and getting pulled over…well, fuck they weren’t anywhere near as sucky as the reality.  I got out of the Dodge, wrapped my arms around my chest and stood there, shivering.  I heard Alvarenga say something into his shoulder mike.  I guess it was into his mike, because all the police-code crap didn’t make any sense to me.  Then Alvarenga ushered me around the back of my car and toward the rear passenger side of his patrol car. 

When we got near the trunk, Alvarenga stopped.  I tried to prepare myself for the reality of getting tossed into the back of a patrol car, booking, calling my folks for bail money.  My dad was going to be massively pissed.
 
“Tim,” Deputy Alvarenga stepped up next to me, “don’t you have a jacket?”

I could feel the heat from his body, he stood so close. “I didn’t bring one.”  I wanted to lean into him and I didn’t dare.
 
“We can see about warming you up.”  He laughed, it sounded almost embarrassed.  “A little coordination test.  Get down on your knees.”  One big hand landed on my shoulder and pushed me down.
 
“What?”  I sputtered the one word question out.  Touching your nose with your fingers, reciting the alphabet backwards…those I’d heard of.  None of them started with, ‘go down on your knees.’  Hookups maybe, not sobriety tests.
 
Alvarenga hesitated.  “How bad would you rather have a ticket for 5mph over limit or an underage DUI?”
 
I dropped.  I know, dark night, late, all sorts of issues about, well whatever…shit, dude was hot, he was in a uniform and he was offering me a way to keep my license.  I was down with all three. Figuring there was only ONE reason to be at the back of the patrol car on the side away from the road, I leaned in and mouthed his crotch.  Oh yeah, he was solid.  Alvarenga’s hands kept getting in the way of my mouth as he fought with getting his zipper down and his dick out. 
 
“Can you suck, not gag and stroke yourself off at the same time?” He hissed out the question as he pulled his dick out and ran it over my lips. 
 
I might not have been legal to drink, but I was a pro at that.  I wrapped my mouth over that hard piece of meat and sucked down to the base.  Like I Meant It, ’cause I did.  Didn’t gag once on that hot, thick dick.  I even managed to get my hands down into my pants and fish myself out.  It might have been fucking cold outside, but I was burning up.  Alvarenga tasted so good.  He wrapped his big hands around the back of my skull, holding me, forcing me to take it all as he fucked my mouth. 

And he talked dirty.  Calling me his ‘little cunt boy,’ and ‘college ‘ho.’  Shit, it got me off so much, I shot-off quicker than I ever had.  All of it, dirty talk, a cop at the side of the road, holy fuck I never blew so hard…especially over some policeman’s cowboy boots.  Alvarenga just laughed.  He yanked down on a fist-full of my hair and pulled me back.  Then he jacked himself, that big, wide fist pumping his fat cock until he shot his wad all over my face.  I fucking snorted cum when I tried to breathe.  Thick gobs of it dripped down into my eyes. 
 
I brought up both hands and rubbed his cum into my skin.  As I did, Alvarenga reached down and grabbed my wussy little vinyl tie and used it to yank me to my feet.  He leaned in a bit and kissed me.  Fuck, I had to go up on my toes to reach his lips.  “I think,” he growled, “I’m going to let you off with a warning…”
 
“Thank you, sir.” I panted out.
 
“Don’t thank me yet, twink.”  He licked my cheek.  “I got your license.”  Holy shit, he did.  “I live at the 1300 block of Parker, right off the end of Douglas.  You want you fucking license back, come by tomorrow night.  Look for the red F150 and say trick-or-treat wearing just those pants.  You can loose the rest of the shit, including your drawers.”  He pushed me back and I went sprawling on my ass in the sand.
 
“What if it’s not your house?” 
 
He laughed as he wandered back around to the front of his patrol car…zipping himself in as he walked.  “Sokay, Tim, my neighbors give out candy bars.” Alvarenga looked over his shoulder and smirked.  I caught that in the glare of his headlights. “I like treats with my tricks.”

Written by James Buchanan

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