Canyon of Shame in Los Angeles

I was driving on Laurel Canyon Road around 11:30 PM. In my rear view mirror, I saw a policeman on a motorcycle following me. I was the only car on the road. Once I crested at the light for Mulholland, the flashing lights began, so I pulled over. It was very quiet, there was some fog, and the air was a little chilly.

I was a little nervous because I had no idea why I was being pulled over. I rolled down my window and was immediately blinded by his flashlight. He ordered me to step out of the car. The helmet was hiding his face, and his visor was pulled down. I was confused and nervous, but as I surveyed his manly frame in uniform, black leather boots, gloves and helmet, my southern regions were becoming tropical. He could leave the helmet on if he wanted. I wouldn't care. He had a strong jawline and a bushy, sandy colored 70's moustache. He reminded me a little of the cop who I had given my phone number to the night I had the incident at the restaurant, but I couldn't be sure.

He conjured up all kinds of squishy feelings in the pit of my stomach. Took me right back to high school, fantasizing about Mike, a cop I knew when I was 17. Gay guys fetishize cops, and I was no different. Additionally, my dad was a Military Policeman when he served in Vietnam, and he's a cop now. Granted, I have no desire to ever sleep with my father, but I would have gladly helped a couple of his buddies achieve orgasm.

Especially Mike, who used to shoot hoops with my Dad, out in the driveway behind our house. One time afterwards, Mike was changing in the pool house. I didn't know it, and I accidentally walked in on him. He was standing there shirtless and was zipping up his fly when I happened upon him. I got a cold flush of adrenaline and stood there staring at his body. I had never seen a naked man's chest live and in person. I also remember asking him what his jockstrap was for and if I could have it. He laughed and told me I should ask one of my buddies, or my Dad what it was, but he gave it to me anyway, and called me "little bro." I didn't know any better, I was just curious as to what it was. Mike didn't think anything of giving me his jockstrap, and there was absolutely nothing sexual about that poolhouse meeting.

It was only later on, once I became gay, that I figured out why I should have kept that jockstrap, and why I should have jumped his bones in the poolhouse. I realize this would have amounted to the statutory rape of a cop since he was probably 38 and I was 17, so it is a good thing I knew better. Over the years, the memory of that chance, non-sexual encounter with Mike taught me never to waste an opportunity for sex with a cop if it ever presented itself to me, even if the he was ugly or fat. It also taught me that a jockstrap under your athletic shorts while shooting hoops is a VERY good idea.

At this point in the present day cop/rape fantasy come true that was unfolding before me, the faceless LAPD (who was not at all fat) started to pat me down, presumably looking for a weapon. When his gloved hands discovered my fully cocked cock, he gave it a grope. I cued up the imaginary porno music and submitted to real life, which had just swallowed me whole with a gigantic lava burp--the kind that form on top of a boiling kettle of porridge.

Of course he was gay, and of course, I was going to let him fuck me, and of course, this would make my top five list. He came supplied with the lube and condoms. He never even had to take his uniform or his black gloves off. His shirt was unbuttoned and hanging off his body, and his fly was unzipped to remove the necessary equipment. Somehow, I ended up completely naked, but I can't remember how it even happened. I only wished I had some poppers for the occasion.