Now…

“Rowdy?…Rowdy, are you out there?” I paused. “Stop fucking around and answer me.”

Officer Kirk Rowdy, I believed, lifted the radio off his belt, pressed the callbutton, and replied in his deep and masculine voice, “Rowdy here.”

I knew his frequency, acted like a cop at Station 782, and responded, “The Neadley security alarm is going off again. A break-in at zone six. A rear man-door area has been tampered with. Can you check it out?”

“I’m on it,” he confirmed.

I imagined him clipping the radio to his belt as he stopped eating donuts and exited a local coffee shop. Thereafter, he probably slipped into his cruiser and zoomed off to 625 Amsterton Drive

my house

with a smile perched on his handsome face. I was ready for him as I ever would be. Truth was I couldn’t add too much rough and erotic spice to the relationship between us Of course, I was ready for him. Who wouldn’t be?

* * * *

Now…

The West Templeton Tudor along Lake Erie was cozy and impressive with its three thousand square feet, pool and fountain in the back, two gardens, and a two-car garage. It was almost dark outside. Twilight showcased a blue-purple sky with very little wind.

I stared at Rowdy from a bedroom window on the second floor of the Tudor as he drove around the confines in his white-and-green cruiser. I assume he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary around the property line. No broken gates. No movement on the premises. Nothing questionable. At the front was a wrought-iron gate that stood ten feet tall, he used the four-digit pin number for access, let himself onto the property once the gate unlocked and mechanically opened on its own. He slowly drove up to the Tudor’s expansive entrance, shining a spotlight over the lawn, seeking an interloper. Every now and then I caught a glance of him in the Toshiba camera and thought him handsome beyond words. The man was block-shaped with sapphire blue eyes, stallion-sized, twenty-nine years, and two-hundred and twenty-five pounds. Under his police uniform, I knew he had a hairy chest, a nine-inch hard dick, and a thick tangle of pubic hair.

My game was on, of course: set off an alarm in the house on purpose; start the shower; strip out of my clothes; climb in the shower; wait for Rowdy to show and…seduce me. My little game had worked before; I only wondered if it would work again. Selfish for his skin, hungry for wild sex with the man, needy of his well-built body, I only hoped that he would take advantage of my trim body one more time, pleasuring the both of us.

* * * *

Then…

Earlier that morning after we fucked and were side by side with sticky chests, he said, “Let’s play that game again.”

“What game?”

“The one where I’m the first responder. What do you say?”

“And I play the victim, right?”

“Whatever it takes,” he said.

“You really do like that game a lot, don’t you?”

“More than we both know. I do enjoy my games.”

“You have addictions, Rowdy. Do you think that’s really healthy?”

“Things could be worse.”

He was right. They could. Such addictions could have been with alcohol, drugs, stealing things, gambling, and a dozen more tempting activities. None of those demons had played a role in his life. But Idid, and told him, “I’m your addiction.”

“I never denied that, and never will.”

I was satisfied with his answer and decided to jump on his cock again, willed to ride the massive shaft with what little energy I had left, following our first bout of sex, happy.

* * * *

Now…

Hours later I reviewed the security camera of his arrival and saw: Rowdy found the front door open and walked into the pitch black house, which at first caught him off guard. He looked for blood on the stoop, a broken lock, or damage to the front door, but couldn’t find any evidence of a break-in or hostile situation. Cautiously, he moved further inside, deeper into the foyer, was careful and on guard, and obviously prepared for the most dangerous scenario of his policing career. He checked out the dining room, study, library, kitchen, and the sitting room, but found no details of an unwanted interloper. Back in the foyer, he listened to interior sounds: my footsteps upstairs and water running. I imagined him carefully flicking on the foyer light, scanning the area, and proceeding throughout the still house. After lighting each room on the first floor, having discovered no sign of an emergency, he went upstairs.

Kirk Connor Rowdy was afraid of the dark. If any of his coworkers knew that, they would have laughed him out of the precinct. Truth was he went to therapy twice a week because of the fear, spoke to a psychiatrist, and attempted to heal, which he hadn’t yet. Another interesting detail about the man concerned his eyesight. Not only did I believe he could see in the dark, but he had an eagle’s vision and could hunt down criminals after dark without any problems whatsoever.