When I became a motorcycle cop a few years back, when I was still just a nervous kid not really knowing why I ever went to the police academy and still trying to figure out why I left all the girls in high school with broken hearts cause they just didn’t interest me, I remember the sensation of pulling on those patrol boots for the first time.
As a former surfing dude around town who played quarterback on the high school team, I was used to being barefoot or in sandals or athletic shoes all the time. Suddenly, as those tall sturdy boots pulled onto my young, muscular legs, I sensed for the first time without denial what I had been missing and I knew I had an exciting destiny. I knew those boots were going to be used for more than just patrolling the local highways and byways.
I pulled on my leather patrol jacket, my black leather gloves and took to the highway with a fantasy quest pulsing in my tight patrolman pants: to find the bootman of my wildest fucking fantasy.
Actually, months went by and I was just starting to get bored with the whole fucking job when one day, out of the horny blue, I was tooling down the highway and pulled over a little sport scar that was going way too fast. I got off my bike and walked to the driver’s side of the car where a gorgeous Latin boy was sitting looking pretty scared.
“Officer, you can’t give me a ticket – my parents are going to kill me, not to mention take away my car. Please….!?”
“Your PARENTS!?!?”, I said in a slightly sarcastic tone as I looked at his driver’s license and noted that his name was Juan, aged 23.
“Yeah, officer, they bought me this car and I still live at home. I’m dead meat if I get another ticket…”
As my blue eyes looked into his pleading brown eyes, I thought I noticed something more than the usual whining’ of a motorist trying to get out of a ticket. What I really noticed, and it caused my meat to bulge on the spot, was that as he talked to me, the guy kept looking down at my boots. He tried to be real discreet about it, but I knew he couldn’t keep his eyes off my boots.
I was only 25, not much older than this real fine looking guy, but I knew I was going to have to lead here, and an idea suddenly took such hold of me that I decided to take the biggest risk of my life.
Trembling slightly I said, “Hey bud, I understand. But you were way out of line, going so fast. What’re you going to do to thank me for the favor of ripping up this ticket which you really deserve?”
I then looked down at my boots, then back at him and I could see his interest and curiosity growing into a fantasy of his own.
I wrote down the address of my apartment on the back of an unused ticket and handed it to the kid.
“If you want out of this ticket as bad as I think you do, come on over tonight about 7 to my place. Maybe I’ll reconsider the ticket after all.” Then I added, “Make sure you’re wearing a pair of boots – any kind of boots. But if you’re not there at 7, you get the ticket, fair and square. What do you say?”
The guy was a dark Latin brown, but I could see he was fucking red all over and looked like he was just hit over the head and had woken up for the first time in his life.
He said, “I think I’ll see you tonight.”
I took off with my head spinning. All I could do the rest of the afternoon was think of that hunky Latin face, his dark eyes and jet-black hair slicked back, wondering’ what kind of boots the stud would show up in.
I got off work and went home, but for a change I didn’t take my uniform off. I just removed my shirt and put my leather jacket back on, open down the front. I put my boots up on the coffee table in the living room and started to imagine what the evening would be like, occasionally stroking my boots with my gloved hands.
About ten anxious minutes after 7, the doorbell rang. I got up and opened the door to find my Latin dream boy standing there like a Latin god: tank top, tight, ripped white jeans, and a pair of slick black cowboy boots with pointed toes and some metal accessories. The jeans were so tight I could see the outline of the boots impressed clearly as they climbed to reach his mid calves.
For the first time I used his name and said, “Hey Juan, looking good in your boots tonight! Come on in, bud.”
He was starring at my smooth well-chiseled chest through my open leather jacket. But now his eyes freely, without any effort to hide it, strayed to my patrol boots again and again.
I bolted the door behind us and took Juan into the living room where we had a couple of beers as I introduced myself as Jason. I found my eyes drawn again and again to his slick cowboy boots and bulging crotch (it was growing by the minute).
After the second beer I suddenly put mine down and said, “Juan, today I got a little mud and dog shit on my boots. It was a long hard day on the job. I thought maybe you could help me out by giving my boots a nice shine.”
He looked at me with unbelievable longing, but a little uncertain.
I said, “Juan, I want you to plant your gorgeous tongue on every inch of my boots and cover them with your hot saliva.”
His eyes widened as he got down on his hands and knees, and began to lick my boots with a heavy intensity that made me crazy. For the first time in my life I was abandoning myself to the fantasy that had haunted my subconscious for so long. I was going out of my mind with a tingling sensation all over my hot young body. All I could think of were images of all the men I had ever seen in their boots…images which I had repressed again and again.
Juan got wild too, and soon his boots were knocking on the fucking floor as he devoured every inch of my sturdy boots with low animal sounds, moving ever closer to the top of their tall manly shafts. When my boots were totally fucking covered with his shiny saliva, I made him sit on my boot, sliding back and forth until he erupted in a fountain of cum all over the boot.
I didn’t have to tell him what I wanted next. He applied his tongue to my boots once again and finished off the job with his hungry, cum covered tongue. And he just kept panting over and over again, “Jason…boot god…Jason…my fucking god of boots…!”
Juan gave me a chance that night to do some wonderful fucking things to his own boots, and of course he tasted my gorgeous fuck meat again and again, and I tasted his. But as we finally lay entwined in each other’s arms, with our boot clad legs wrapped around each other, in a moment of total exhaustion and tenderness, with our blonde and brown bodies throbbing’ next to each other, I knew I had finally become a man. The man I was always meant to be. I was now a true bootman: a bootlicking, bootloving, bootfucking bootboy.
Juan and I still meet occasionally, but there have been many other bootlicking men to serve my boot needs. That night with Juan was only just the beginning of MANY good things to cum….
PS: I never did give Juan the ticket
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