My partner is a veteran female police officer. She is married. I am not. Why we got assigned together, I don’t know. At first, I thought it was some type of cruel joke, to test us. Sandy was a good cop and had been on the force for thirteen years. Her husband was also a police officer, but in another city.
Sandy was like one of the guys. She was athletic and tough. She was also very business-like and she rarely, if ever, let her emotions show, even when we were alone. She’d tap the steering wheel when frustrated, if she was driving, or make quirky facial expression, but that was generally about the extint of her emotions.
Sandy and I always had each other’s backs. We counted on each other. When the end of the shift came, she went home. I would go have a beer at the bar and look for a girl to pick up. My relationships were never long ones. I guess my snarky sense of humor took a lot of getting used to.
Sandy could always tell when one of my conquests was about to end. She’d tell me to “take it easy.” That was her cue to me, to take a step back and re-evaluate.
Sandy refused to talk about her family, her marriage, religion or politics. She said anything and everything else was fine, but those areas were untouchable. My love-life, on the other hand seemed to be fair game. I hated it at times, because the conversations seemed so one sided, with me asking things like, “Why do women have to be such emotional creatures?”
After about my third girl-friend in three months, Sandy told I was not hitting a homerun when it came to relationships. I told I wasn’t trying for homeruns, that I was just happy to be able to play.
“So, what is it that you’re looking for?” Sandy pressed as we rolled down Bacon Avenue in the central patrol district, past small businesses and bars, drunks and gangs of guys standing on the street corner, ready to bolt if we tapped on the brakes.
“I want a hot ass blonde, in her thirties, who can hold her own, and who isn’t afraid to have some fun,” I replied. Sandy was 32 and a blonde, so my insinuation comment was not lost on her.
“Pretty high standards,” Sandy replied. She waited a few seconds and asked,
“So what do you consider fun?”
“You know,” I replied.
“No,” Sandy shot back, “Spell it out for me.”
“You’re married,” I replied.
“So, what does that have to do with you having fun?” Sandy shot back.
A white sedan ran a stop sign right in front of us. I hit the overheads while Sandy radioed in the plate. The errant driver pulled over. I approached the driver, while Sandy casually approached from the car from the passenger side. Suddenly the driver and the passenger bolted from the car, each going in opposite directions.
“Foot pursuit, need cover, 1300 Vargas street,” I yelled into my shoulder mike. Sandy took off after the passenger, while I went after the driver. It wasn’t much of a foot pursuit, because the kid couldn’t run very fast with his pants falling down around his knees. I managed to coral him after a mere block, flip him on to his back and cuff him.
Sandy was not as lucky. Her guy managed to get away. One of the other patrol units was assigned to take the juvenile to the juvie jail. Our sergeant wanted to keep us on the streets and let the rookies do the jail hauls. We went out of service to complete out reports, sitting in a vacant parking lot.
“You’re getting old,” I told Sandy. “Maybe it’s time for school patrol.”
Sandy did not like to be told she was getting old. The truth be told, she really wasn’t getting old and she was still in her prime.
“I can still best you,” Sandy replied. I knew she could, so I didn’t press the issue.
“You never answered my question,” Sandy pressed. I had to admit, I had forgotten the question.
“Your idea of fun,” Sandy repeated.
I sat my clip board on the dash. Okay I thought, it’s time to get real here.
“I like blow jobs,” I replied. I don’t know why I said it. It was such a crude remark. Immediately recognizing I had crossed a line, I apologized.
Sandy laughed.
“That sounds so like you,” she replied. She then asked, “Would you like for me to blow you?”
“Yeah right,” I sarcastically replied. “You’re married.”
“I can still give you a blow job,” Sandy remarked before asking, “You don’t think I could give you a good blow job?”
“Yes,” I replied, staring out the driver’s window. There was no way I could hold this conversation and look Sandy in the eye. Just the thought of getting a blow job made me horny.
“I would blow your mind,” Sandy replied. “Come on, Rick, pull it out, let me see that Johnson of yours!”
‘You’re freaking crazy,” I replied.
I glanced over at Sandy. I don’t know what it was, but something told me she was being more serious than a jokster.
“No way,” I replied.
“No one will know,” Sandy pressed.
“You’re married,” I repeated.
“So what?” Sandy replied. “I’m still a woman and I like it when I can make the men closest to me happy.”
“I am honored,” I replied. “And I love to have you suck me off, but that just wouldn’t seem right.”
“So I guess you don’t find me attractive?” Sandy asked.
“Yes, I do,” I replied, “But we’re at work and if we got caught, we’d both be fired.”
“You’re just afraid you’d like it and might want more,” Sandy replied.
“You really want to do this, don’t you?” I asked.
“Yes,” Sandy replied. It was time to see if she was joking or being real.
I backed the patrol car up into a corner of the parking lot. I unfastened my seat belt and Sandy did the same. She opened the passenger door side of the patrol car, stepped out of the patrol car and proceeded to take off her Sam Brown, tossing it into the back seat. I knew at that point, she was being serious.
She pulled her uniform blouse of her uniform trousers and proceeded to unbutton it. She slipped off her protective body armor and tossed it in to the back seat of the patrol car as well. I quickly unfastened my unform blouse. I stepped out of the patrol unit and tossed my uniform blouse, my Sam Brown and my body armor into the back seat. I slipped around to the passenger side of the patrol unit. Sandy was sitting in the passenger seat, her legs extended.
“Show me the tool,” Sandy said.
I unzipped my pants as I stepped in closer to where Sandy sat in the patrol unit. She reached out and slipped her hand between my legs and pulled me in closer to where she sat. My uniform trousers dropped to my ankles. My cock strained, fully erect against the fabric of my bikini briefs.
“Oh wow!” Sandy remarked, rubbing her hand across my manhood and squeezing it. “Mark wears briefs as well. I love a well packaged product.” She peeled my briefs down, exposing my nine-inch circumcised cock.
She cooed as she wrapped her fingers around my shaft, and then leaned in to kiss the tip end of my tool. Precum had already formed and she used her tongue to deftly spread her saliva and my precum around the bulbous end of my manhood. She slipped her other hand down to my testicles and gently massaged them, as she parted her lips and slipped my tool into her open mouth. I pulled on the bobby pins that held her hair in place, allowing it to fall to her shoulders.
She sucked on my cock, working it in and out of her mouth, slowly and deliberately. She looked up at me for an approval.
“So far so good,” I replied.
“Let me know when you’re going to cum,” she requested.
“Do you swallow?” I asked.
“Not usually,” she said, “But for you, I will.”
She increased the speed of her sucking and then licked the entire length of my cock. I could feel my thighs tightening.
“I’m getting closer,” I said. She used her thumb to press at just the right spot, as she held her lips to the head of my cock. Without any warning, my first load shot out, directly into her mouth. She pushed my cock in further to catch the remaining streams of cum, as I unloaded inside of her open mouth.
“I’m cummig,” I exclaimed.
“Uh hum,” she acknowledged, my cock still in her mouth. She swallowed everything I had to offer.
She kissed the end of my cock and stood up, wrapping her hand around my neck and proffering me a deep throated, tongue whipping kiss, even as she continued to hold on to my manhood.
“How was it?” she asked.
“Really, really good,” I replied. “Your hubby must be a very happy guy!”
“Not really,” Sandy replied. “I don’t give him blow jobs.”
I was surprised at her revelation.
“Get dressed,” Sandy replied. “We can talk about it later. We need to get back into service.”
I pulled up my uniform trousers and quickly got dressed. I settled back into the driver’s seat as Sandy resumed her seat riding shot gun. She started to pin back her hair, but then said, “Fuck it.”
She took the radio mike and placed us back into service. She took in a deep breath and forcefully exhaled.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Honestly,” she replied, “No I am not, but I will be. Just keep your pants on and everything will be fine.”
I smiled.
“I’ll try to keep mine on if you do the same,” I shot back.
Sandy gazed out the window of the patrol car.
“This is going to be a hard one.”
I had to agree.
