Never been much of a sports fan, I admit it, but I became one with the Great Plains Rams rugby team.
It doesn’t take a fucking brain surgeon to guess why I was following them: they were hot fucking beefballs, and I became intoxicated with the overflowing, gushing masculinity of these men, often from other countries, their bodies a seductive mix of beef, muscle and beer belly.
We were in some no-name town in fuck-all Indiana, and there were four teams playing a set of tournament matches.
I always made my way to the team locker rooms once the game started, so I could sniff around, find my favorite players’ locker, maybe steal a nice, sweaty pair of worn shorts to sniff.
No luck in my team’s room, so I headed to the visitors.
“Hey. You’re not supposed to be back here,” a security guard said.
“Sorry, got lost,” i replied, rushing away.
His strong hand gripped my arm. “You don’t seem very lost,” he said, dismissing any question. “Come with me.”
He took me to an office. I was shaking. I could see he wasn’t simply a security guard, but an actual police officer. He was tall and imposing, like one of those strongman types, a real military type guy.
He closed the door, locking it behind him. He paced back and forth in front of me for what felt like an hour.
“So are you going to tell me why you’re back here?” he asked.
A long silence, and then I said, “Guess I’m a super fan?”
“I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head no. “Try again. You got three tries.”
He leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head.
I looked him in the eye. “I’m a cockhound, sir. I’m a groupie because I hope one of them will fuck me.”
“Yeah, that’s real obvious, faggot,” he chuckled. “You ever get lucky?”
“Not yet,” I replied. “The hottest guys seem to be married, and oblivious to what I want.”
The officer smiled and stood up. “Oh, I wouldn’t say all married men are oblivious. I had you pegged for a cocksucker a mile away.”
He reached down and unzipped his pants, and a huge, fat cock, as tall and beefy as the man himself, popped out.
“I can’t do much about gettin’ you a rugby player, but if you’ve ever wanted to blow an on-duty police officer in uniform, here’s your chance.”
He didn’t have to ask me twice - I was on my knees, slobbering all over his cop dick while he grunted and groaned.
We could hear the teams cheer’s as they raced back to the locker room, passing our room as he grunted and gushed a salty load in my mouth.
The dude zipped up and got his pad out from his belt. Was he seriously going to write me a ticker?
“Gimme your hotel room number,” he commanded. “Wife’s out of town this weekend, and I got another load for you later. Hope your ass likes a big dick in it.”
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