The Traffic Stop

Trevor knew his goose was cooked when he saw the flashing red and blue lights in his mirror.

"Damn, I'm screwed!" he swore. He stepped on his brakes but it was too late. The cruiser had already pulled up behind Trevor's black Celica while the cars around him were moving discreetly into other lanes and going around.

State troopers are so damned sneaky, thought Trevor. They go out of their way to nail you during holidays. This one had been hiding on the side of the highway behind some trees on a bluff, invisible after sundown. As far as Mike could tell, he had been going about 75 miles per hour. Unfortunately, the posted speed limit was only sixty. Just stay calm, he told himself. Act surprised and maybe you'll get off with a warning. But he had a bad feeling as he steered his car onto the berm.

The trooper, wearing a dark, olive-green uniform and a Smokey-the-Bear hat, emerged from his cruiser and ambled slowly up to Trevor's door. "Can I see your driver's license, please?" the officer said, , shining his flashlight at Trevor's chest.

"Yes, of course, sir," said Trevor. Ordinarily he didn't call anyone "sir," but it seemed a prudent thing to do now. Awkwardly he retrieved his wallet from his rear pocket and started to hand his license out through the window. But just then he looked at the officer's blond hair and cleanly-shaven face, and his jaw dropped. In fact, a small laugh escaped his lips.

"Holy shit! Mike, is that you?"

The trooper, who was well over six feet tall and well built, stepped closer and peered down through the window. His eyes widened a little. "Well, who have we here?" he asked. "Trevor Andrews, right? It's been a long time, Trevor."

Several years earlier, the two young men had graduated from high school together in Norwich, Connecticut. They hadn't exactly been best friends, but they had spent four years attending many classes together as well as playing on the varsity baseball team. Mike had the reputation in school of being the class clown, so Trevor was surprised to see him in a police uniform with a black leather gun holster. But under the circumstances, he was glad to see him again.

"I'm doin' great, dude, how about you? I heard you applied to the police academy but I didn't know you were, like, a real cop."

"I was lucky. I was accepted into the accelerated training program and I passed the state peace officer's certification exam in August," he said. "So things are going okay,I guess. Are you still in college? "

"Yeah, third year at Brown. It's tough, but I like it. I'm majoring in political science."

"You going into politics? I always figured you would go to some big-deal ivy league school. You seemed like the type," said Mike. "Traveling home for Thanksgiving?"

"You bet," said Trevor. "Long weekend."

"Yeah, lot's of vehicles on the road tonight. Can I see your license now?"

"Huh? Oh, sure--here it is. Standard procedure, right?" said Trevor, grinning.

"Yeah, standard procedure, " said Mike. "By the way, do you know why I pulled you over?"

The smile dropped from Trevor's face. Policemen were always asking stupid, officious questions like that when they pulled people over, probably trying to trick them into making a confession. Was that in their training manuals? "Heh-heh," said Trevor. "I'm not sure, was I going too fast? We're having this family get-together tonight, see, and my mom is making dinner and she gets pretty pissed if you're late. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I remember your Mom. Nice lady," said Mike. "Let's see, ah, seventy-eight point two. That was your vehicle speed. We have these new Z-band radar units that can clock your speed within zero-point-two miles per hour now."

"Oh, no kidding." said Trevor. And who the fuck cares? he thought.

Putting Trevor's license on his clipboard, Mike looked down and said, "If you don't mind, Trev, I need to call your number in and have them run a check on it. Can you wait here for a minute?"

Trevor stared in disbelief. "Jeez, you don't have to do that, do you, Mike? I mean, you know who I am!"

"I'm sorry, Trev. I know who you are, but it's standard procedure. It shouldn't take more than a minute to run a computer check."

Mike sat in his cruiser for at least five minutes. When he finally came back, he walked slowly and had a peculiar expression on his face that did little to allay Mike's consternation. He stopped once again at Trevor's window, glanced up and down the highway and cleared his throat. "Trevor, did you know that there's an warrant out for your arrest in back in Providence?"

"What?!!" Trevor cried.

"Yeah. They say you failed to appear for a court hearing on a speeding ticket a couple years ago," he explained.

"You gotta be shitting me!" said Trevor. "That's not true, I paid that ticket! I mailed in a check!"

"Hmm. BMV has you down as a no-show. Anyway, you've got a code five-oh-three next to your name. That means I'm supposed to arrest you and take you to Providence for detention until a magistrate schedules a bond hearing for you. Unfortunately, that could take a while because of the holiday weekend. Could you step out of the car, please?"

"What?!" Now incredulous and shaking with anger, Trevor forgot about being calm. "Dude, you've gotta be kidding me! Is this a joke? I can't go to Providence for a hearing. My Mom's making dinner and my whole family is waiting for me!"

"I appreciate your concern, but rules are rules. Please step out of the car and come back to the cruiser, I have some paper work to write up. If you open the door and get out, it will make things easier."

Staring incredulously at his old classmate, Trevor decided that this all had to be an elaborate joke. It couldn't be anything else. To be a good sport he opened his door and got out of the car. When he turned to toss his wallet on the seat, Mike pulled Trevor's arms together and snapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists.

"What the fuck are you doing?" yelled Trevor.

"I'm putting you under arrest," said Mike. His tone said: It's pretty obvious, isn't it, moron?

"Dammit, you can't arrest me!" shouted Trevor. "I haven't done anything. Okay, maybe I was speeding but you can't arrest me for that! Goddammit, Mike, take these things off my hands!

Mike didn't bother to answer, but pulled hard on Trevor's shoulder, spinning him around pushing him towards the cruiser. Trevor stumbled in the dark and felt the grip of panic rising in his throat. "Why are you doing this to me?" he whined. "Why are you doing this?"

When they reached the cruiser, Mike opened the rear passenger door and told Trevor to get in. Trevor said, "Wait, listen to me. This is crazy. You know I don't belong in jail. There's got to be something we can do." He tried to think. "Do you want something from me? I have about a hundred bucks in my wallet, I could pay---"

"I hope you aren't offering me a bribe, Trev."

"NO, no bribe! I just thought I could pay the speeding fine. If it's more than a hundred I have a credit card. Isn't there anything I can do?"

Mike stood for a moment, gazing at Trevor as several cars with bright headlights whizzed by. When he finally spoke, his words came out like punches to the gut. "You can sit down and shut up, asshole!"

"What?"

"You heard me, jerk. You were always a whining pussy in school and you still are. I guess Ivy League college can't cure you of that."

"Mother of Christ, what are you talking about?"

"You want me to bend the rules for you, Trevor? I guess you don't remember the time you went and told Coach Peters that I drank some beer at a party and got me suspended from the baseball team."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about---"

"No? I was going to be starting pitcher in the division playoffs, you know. I remember what Peters said when he suspended me. 'Rules are rules,' he said."

"I don't think---"

"And who got substituted in my place in that game? Who blew a six-run lead and lost our chance at the division championship? I'm sure you remember that one, don't you, Trev? You probably didn't know it, but a scout from the Red Sox had come to watch me pitch that game. Peters told me after graduation it was the worst mistake of his life. He told me that you were the snitch, too."

Trevor started to object, but decided it wouldn't do any good. Obviously Mike had been stewing about this stuff for a long time and Trevor had no proof that would change his mind. "What in God's name do you want from me, Mike?" he whispered.

"Simple, said Mike. "I'll give you a choice. You can get in the cruiser and go to jail, or you can get down on your knees and blow me."

Looking carefully at Mike's face and eyes, Trevor concluded that he was completely serious. Trevor wasn't gay and the idea of giving Mike, or any man, a blow job made his stomach turn. On the other hand, going to jail would embarrass him, ruin his holiday, cost him tons of money and maybe ruin his chances of getting into a decent law school. Which was worse? He weighed his options and said, "I don't think I can blow you. I don't know how."

Mike looked down with an evil grin. "We'll see about that," he said.

****

Beside the open door of the cruiser, Trevor obeyed Mike's order and knelt down on the gravel berm. The gravel was murder on his knees and he almost fell over, but Mike had cuffed his hands in front instead of behind his back, so he was able to put his hands out and catch himself from falling.

Mike stepped up close and stood before him so that Trevor's nose was about even with his big silver belt buckle. "I'm surprised you never sucked dick before, I always thought you were a fag. Well, there's a first time for everything I guess," he said, fumbling with his pants. Moving with slow deliberation, he found the tab of his zipper and pulled it down, opening his fly while leaving his belt buckled trousers at the top. Once his zipper was down, he opened his fly and Trevor saw his white boxer shorts. "Yeah babe," said Mike. "You might like what you see here." Then Mike pulled his penis out, gave it a shake and let it flop out of his pants like a limp hose before Trevor, who was surprised at how big it looked. "Yeah, babe," Mike murmured. He lifted his penis in one hand and wiggled it at Trevor's mouth. "Here you go, dude. Get down there and start sucking it now."

With great distaste and hesitation, Trevor leaned forward and opened his mouth to accept the end of Mike's penis. Immediately his nostrils were filled with a sour odor of crotch and his tongue curled around the salty, warm flesh. He started to gag and pulled his head away, and Mike laughed. "What's the matter, dude, you don't like the taste of dick? Suck it."

Holding his breath, Trevor once again took Mike's penis in his mouth and this time held it between his lips, feeling the end with his tongue. He could feel the round circumcised head with its little vertical slit, and the silky skin around the shaft. Soon the spongy shaft started getting thicker and stiffer as Mike became aroused. It became long and hard, and soon transformed into an enormous erection straining and pulsing between Trevor's quivering lips. Mike began pushing it deeper into Trevor's mouth and Trevor again started to gag. "Fuck you," he sputtered angrily, pulling off and looking up at Mike. "Would you take it easy?"

"sorry, it just feels so good. Suck it some more, dude," said Mike. His cock was standing straight out from his pants now, bobbing and glistening in the evening air. "I want you to blow me good."

Putting aside his indignity and anger, Trevor began servicing Mike, taking his erection into his mouth and running his lips up and down the pole. Mike groaned with evident pleasure and assisted in the effort by thrusting his crotch into Trevor's face. Trevor had never felt such a violation before and frequently felt himself wanting to gag and throw up, but somehow succeeded in suppressing those reflexes and accepting Mikes thrusting member without serious interruption or injury. Occasionally he had to pull off to remove a pubic hair from the back of his tongue, which was awkward with his hands cuffed, but otherwise he seemed to get the hang of it all right. The thought occurred to him that he might be able to reach the pistol in Mike's holster and put a stop to this, but the gun was well secured with snaps and buckles, and Trevor realized that he wouldn't know how to use the safety catch anyway.

After five minutes or so, Mike started grunting and pumping his hips faster and Trevor sensed that he was building to his climax. Shortly thereafer, Mike pushed Trevor back against the cruiser until his head was immobilized against the fender and began to fuck Trevor's mouth, using fast, short strokes. Mike's zipper scraped painfully against Trevor's lips and Trevor thought he might faint from lack of air as Mike fucked his mouth, saying, "Blow me, fag! Suck my wang!" Finally, Mike let out a deep groan and Trevor's mouth became the receiving vessel for a load of thick, hot cum from Mike's cock. He gagged, and got another, and then another, until Mike was finished unloading his semen and Trevor's mouth felt like it was filled with sticky, unsavory glue. He pulled away and tried to spit, but choked instead and let the jism dribble onto the ground.

"Yeah, babe," said Mike, wiping himself. "Yeah, that was a damn good blow job! Your mouth is almost as good as a pussy."

Trevor didn't say anything. He was too exhausted and embarrassed.

Later, after Mike unlocked the handcuffs, he handed Trevor his license and told him he'd better watch the speed limit.

"I just want to know one thing. Is there really a warrant out for my arrest?" asked Trevor.

"Naw. I just made that up, dude," said Mike. "I'm really glad I stopped you, though. Gave me a chance to get even with you for snitching on me to Coach Peters back in high school. You blew my chances with the Red Sox, and now you got to blow me! Maybe we'll get together again sometime, huh?" And with that, he let out a loud laugh and said, "Have a nice Thanksgiving, dude!"