Boot Patrol

Men in uniform have always been in my dreams. And the uniforms that
turned me on the most always seemed to include a show of highly polished
boot leather. I can’t count how many times I beat off thinking of
certain young men who patrolled our town on big white motorcycles in
snug blue uniforms, armoured up in leather jackets and boots to their
knees.

As a former surfer and weekend rugby player, my high school buddies were
all surprised, even pissed off at me when I told them I had applied to
the police academy. They were even more pissed off when I volunteered to
become what most of the kids (well, the boys, anyhow) feared and
despised the most, a “FuckWad Motor Cop.”

I knew instinctively that I had to be alone the first time I put on my
motor squad uniform. The tight riding breeches were quite a change from
the baggy jeans I’d always worn. I liked the change. I liked the way
they showed off my rugby player muscular legs. When I pulled on my tall
patrol boots and I stood in front of a full length mirror, I grew the
biggest instant hard-on of my life. For the first time in my life, I
beat off thinking of and lookin’ at ME!

There was, of course, no training in Motor School on how to control all
that . It required a form of super self discipline, and I had to learn
that on my own...... which I did...more or less.



During my first few months on patrol, I stopped lots of young guys for
speeding, and was surprised at how many of them seemed to be checking
out my boots. Or was it all my imagination? A few of them even started
to get a woody as they did so. Or was that my imagination too? When
dealing with these boys, I always ended up clinging to the safe role of
the super straight cop. Such a cop wouldn’t think of asking a young man
if he was hot for cop boots. So I chickened out, played it straight, and
I was getting pretty disgusted with myself.



That all changed when one day, out of the horny blue, I pulled over this
little sports car that was going way too fast. I dismounted my bike,
swingin’ a boot over the saddle in my usual calculated slow motion. I
unbuckled my helmet as I walked slowly up to the driver's window. What
was waiting for me there, stopped me in my tracks. He was a darkly
handsome Latino boy, and as I was walking toward him, he never took his
eyes off my boots! When he did finally look up into my mirrored shades,
I saw he was pretty scared.
"Officer, please! You can't give me a ticket - my parents are going take
away my car for sure. Please....!?"
"Your PARENTS!?!?", I said in my most sarcastic tone, purposely not
looking at him but down at his driver's license. I read his name, Juan
Modina. He was 23 years old. And even his picture on the license was
sexy as hell!
“So your parents don’t like you speeding either, huh!”
"Yeah, I mean YES SIR. They bought me this car. I kinda had a need for
speed but I’m really working ’ on controllin’ that. Problem is I already
got written up once. I'm so-o-o dead meat if I get another ticket."
As I looked into Juan’s ’s pleading dark brown eyes, I thought I noticed
something more than the usual whining' of a dumb kid trying to beat a
ticket. What I saw--or thought I saw-- caused my meat to bulge on the
spot. As Juan begged, he kept sneaking glances over the side of the car
back down at my boots. He tried to be real discreet about it, but it
sure seemed he couldn't keep his eyes off them.

But hold on. maybe he was just trying to show me how repentant he was.
Two things I knew for sure. This kid was desperate to beat that ticket,
and I was getting desperate to stop playing it safe.

" Look here," I said, " you were way out of line going so fast. But you
seem like a nice kid. Maybe I could give you a break. Suppose I were to
rip up this ticket. Would you be willng to show your thanks by doing
something special for me? ” As I said that, I looked down at my boots,
then up at him. . I could see his interest and curiosity was growing.

Juan looked down at my boots before he answered my question.

“I’ll do anything you say, sir. Really! Anything!”

So I took the biggest risk of my life. Instead of handing him the
ticket, I scribbled my home address on a slip of paper. As he took it, I
said, “The thing is, at home I got four pairs of boots just like the
ones I’m wearin’ now. They’re all gonna need your attention . And I may
need some personal attention from you too. If you're not on doorstep at
7 sharp, I will turn in this ticket. And one other thing-
“
Do you own a pair of boots?”

“Yes sir.”