Public Warrior Dating

"You open your yap and I swear I'll beat you to a pulp."

I just nodded my head, scary visions going through my head of Tom slapping me around, both of us naked, and then fucking me—and me liking it. Had I opened some sort of Pandora's Box of my fetish preferences with this blind date?

By then, though, one of the cops was at the window and the other was standing in front of Tom's truck, his gun half out of his holster, his other hand holding some sort of communications device to his mouth. He already was calling the license plate number in. The cop at the window was the same dark hunk who had stopped us before.

"Need you to get out of the truck, nice and easy, Mr. Fielder," the cop said.

"What the shit? I ain't—"

"You've been driving erratically," the cop said. "And I can smell the alcohol from here. Your little party is over now. You get on out of the car now. Larry here will take you in to spend the night in a comfy cell and sober up. We'll treat you right as a public warrior; just let you walk in the morning. Nothing on paper. That is, if you don't give us any shit on this. It'll be good for you and for everyone else on the road tonight."

The cop wasn't paying any attention to me and I sank down a bit in the seat. I wasn't any sort of public servant hero. There'd be no reason not to write me up—although I couldn't think of anything I'd done that was illegal. Guilt by association, I guess.

Tom slid out of the car easily enough, allowed the cop to cuff him, and the two cops to walk him back to the cruiser parked in front. Tall, dark, and handsome came back and stood by the fender of the truck and watched the other cop car drive away. I watched through the windshield. I had no idea what would happen then. I'd had some to drink too. And I was sitting here in Tom's truck. The keys were in the ignition, but this wasn't my truck. We were in a thinly populated area right outside a park entrance. My apartment by the college was more miles away than I wanted to walk at night.

Suddenly this blind date didn't seem the best of ideas.

"You been drinking too?" The cop hunk had come back to the car window and turned the beam of his long, thin flashlight on me. He didn't growl at me; he sounded calm, soothing. He'd dipped his head to look through the rolled-down window on the driver's side of the truck. A beefy forearm was propped up on the window sill—tanned, with curly black hair swirling around on it.

I stared at his eyes, not responding, and then looked away in submission, my attention going to the hair on his arm, wondering where else he had silky matting like that. He repeated his question, still in a calm voice. "You been drinking too, son?"

I shook my head. "Not more than one shot. I didn't want . . . sorry, officer. Tom told me not to speak and this is all just so different—a shock—to me."

"First time you've been with a man?"

I hesitated, but he was a cop. "No, sir, it's not."

"First time you went to a motel with this fireman dude?"

"Yes." I wanted to scream that I wasn't a rent-boy; that I was just in it for a different experience fling. but at that moment I did feel like a male whore.

"So, again. You been drinking too?"

"Yes, some, but this has sobered me up. Not much, though. One shot of vodka in the motel and a couple of beers at a sports bar before that—but that was a few hours ago."

"Relax. You weren't driving under the influence. No foul, as a passenger, if you can still walk a straight line. You can do that, can't you?"

"Yes, sir. You want me to do that for you?" I was eager to please. I knew I was sober enough to do that.

"I'll take your word for it. That's not what you can do for me. My name's Trane—that's my first name. I can tell you that because I've just gone off duty. And your name is Chris Collins, living over by the college. A college student, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm off duty. You can call me Trane."

"Yes . . . Trane." That was the second time he'd told me he was off duty, like it was supposed to mean something to me, or something.

"You go with this guy because he was a fireman . . . a public warrior."

"Yeah, I guess. Curiosity, I guess."

"You go to the motel with him because you knew him and let him do you before or just because he was a built fireman?"

"I went with him mostly because he was a fireman—and young and muscular, I guess. I didn't know him. It was a blind date. I just wanted . . ." Hell, I couldn't tell him what I had wanted.

"But let's be clear. You let him fuck you, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir . . . Trane." I shouldn't have been embarrassed. I was old enough and it wasn't against the law. But I couldn't look into his eyes. I turned my face forward and stared out the front windshield.

"Your usual guy . . . the guy who usually fucks you . . . isn't young and muscular?"

"No. No, he's not."

"He all you hoped he would be, this Tom Fielder fireman?"

"Pretty much, I guess. Other than the drinking."

"Muscular, young . . . hung? Virile and vigorous?"

I didn't answer. This was getting a bit weird.

"Cops are public warriors too, you know."

"Yes." I certainly was aware of that. This hunk of a cop had my cock standing at attention.

"Well, now, we've got a problem. I can't let you drive this vehicle. It isn't yours. And I've got two vehicles out here. I can't drive the both back to the station. I think the best thing is for me to drive this truck into the park, leave it locked and in the parking lot there, and bring the key back to my cruiser. Then I can drive you home and take the key back to the jail to turn over to Mr. Fielder in the morning when he's sober and we cut him loose. Does that sound like a plan to you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Trane. Call me Trane. I'm off duty now."

"Yes, Trane, it sounds like a good plan. I wondered how I'd get home."

"I'll get you home. You want to ride into the park with me?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"The Fielder guy had his turning signal on. He was going to go into the park, wasn't he? He was going to take you into the park and do you again, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"Just like he took you to that motel."

"Yes."

"Again, do you want to ride into the park with me? I'm sure I can do you as well as he did. I'm off duty."

I turned to look at him. He was running his hand up and down the shaft of the flashlight, like he was stroking it.

* * * *

Trane fucked me in the bed of the truck on a thin pile of army blankets we found back there. He stripped us both down and knelt at my chest, his beefy legs encasing my chest; one arm was stretched out gripping a handle at the base of the roofline behind the cab and his other hand was buried in the hair on my head, manipulating my head as his thick, long, hard cock stretched my throat.

If I'd had dreams of getting it rough, they were being fulfilled once again.

We were both naked, except that he was still wearing his equipment belt. He asked me if I'd like him to do that, and I answered that, yes, I'd like that—seeking the sensation of being fucked by another hunky public warrior.

He sat on the tailgate of the truck and bent me, naked, over his lap, holding my torso down with a strong arm across my back. After spanking me with his hand, telling me to relax for him and given in completely, and he was convinced I was letting loose of all my tension and wouldn't fight him, he strapped my ass and thighs with my folded belt while I whimpered and sobbed in low tones until my ass must have blushed up. I didn't ask him to stop, though, and he could clearly see that it made me hard. I could feel that he was hard too.

"He did have a big one, didn't he?" Trane asked. He had more than one finger in my ass. "Reamed you big, he did." And then I gasped, gave a little yelp, and started panting hard, as he worked the butt end of his flashlight in me and twisted it and pumped it slightly.

"Oh, god, oh shit. Please," I whimpered.

"You gonna give me anything I want?" he asked.

"Yes, sir . . . yes, Trane. Fuck me . . . please."

Then, having made me demonstrate my surrender to him, he took me hard and rough, missionary style, me on my back, he on his knees between my bent and spread legs.

"Open to me. Take it," he demanded, and I complied. "Ah, yes, he opened you well."

Upon the first nailing of my ass, he gripped my waist between his hands and raised my pelvis to him, as he thrust inside me, to the hilt. He held there, with a fist at the small of my back, pressing and releasing, pressing and releasing, until I got what he wanted me to do. He was holding still, his gigantic rod deep inside me. He wanted me to signal my submission to him. I began to leverage off my feet, fucking myself on the hard cock, in long, slow strokes. He groaned his pleasure, my total surrender to him.

Hungrily, I fucked myself on his hard cock as he took my mouth in his in a deep kiss. I ran my fingers through the silky black curls on his hard, muscular chest. My mouth went there, licking his chest hair into swirly patterns and tonguing out his nipples and sucking on them as I moved my passage on his cock, taking him deeper into me as he thickened and lengthened. He had dog tags on a chain around his neck, and when he released his kiss, I sucked those in my mouth and moaned my want, as I moved my pelvis against his, taking him as deep inside me as I could. I wanted to remember—to savor—this forever.

"Is it as big as the fireman's?" he demanded to know.

"Bigger," I answered through clinched teeth. And it was bigger—both thicker and longer.

When he had established who wanted what, he took control, holding me close in his embrace, as I moaned and groaned and he grunted in fucking me hard and fast and deep . . . and seemingly forever. Half way through the fuck, he turned me onto my forearms and knees, mounted me high on my buttocks, and fucked me like a dog. I would have barked for him if he had demanded I do so to keep the cock inside me and churning.

Stretched out beside me in the bed of the truck afterward, his arms embracing me, both of us looking up at the stars, and my moans only then beginning to subside, he asked, "Dorm or apartment?"

"Studio apartment. Not much. One room, really, with kitchenette and bathroom."

"Roommate?"

"No."

"Double bed?"

"More like three-quarters."

"Big enough. I'll be on top."

"Yes."

"You think you can stay with it all night?"

"I can certainly try."

Best damn blind date ever. Two public warriors in one blind date.