A week after we’d first laid eyes on each other, Tony and I met again early Sunday, July 11, 2010, at a strip mall in Crewe, VA. If I recall, I’d gotten to the tiny town pre-meeting-time, planning to explore the area, but he buzzed me on my cell to let me know he’d seen me drive past him. So I happily scratched my intended geographic expedition be with my state policeman.
In the parking lot we hugged and smooched hello. I stood by his motorcycle and examined his “big” badge -- the one he’d forgotten to bring the weekend before. I also got to check out his fake ID, a perk of working for the Virginia State Police.
Turns out the VSP provides false identification to some of their personnel to use in various legal operations. The laminated card he possessed had all the standard items one would find on any authentic license: picture, name, date of birth, and address. The image was, obviously, of him, albeit not recent; I can’t bring to mind what the address was; and the DOB read 07/11/1963. I remember thinking momentarily how odd it was that the month and day coincided with that very one’s. I’d already seen his retro Trooper ID in Appomattox a week ago. He’d originally showed it to me with his thumb protecting his surname but, after two seconds of my pouting, he’d disclosed it was Gattuso, thus the only other thing that stood out to me was the last name on the bogus one’s definitely not being Tony’s -- which made sense given that the sham permit was supposed to be a cover.
I try my best to always keep tabs on my surroundings and while Tony and I chatted in Crewe about whatever, I observed a local police car roll into the mostly empty square. Continuing my conversation with the delightful Anthony Gattuso, in my peripheral vision I watched as another sedan arrived, picked up the unknown officer, and zipped away. That mightn’t have been too peculiar at face value except the unattended patrol vehicle left behind also had its windows down. I was so surprised at the carelessness, I interrupted my companion to point it out. “Did he really just leave his car wide open?!” Tony was shocked as well. We strolled towards the abandoned marked auto, getting only close enough to see that there absolutely were valuable items inside that anyone with sticky paws could steal. We likewise noticed the reason for the desertion: a flat. I touched on the event briefly in a blog post I made on I HeArTE JADE months later.
About the time the officers returned to repair their airless tire, the fine Mr. Gattuso suggested the two of us move on. Privacy sounded good to me, so I followed him on his bike.
We chilled for a bit under trees at a picnic table in a nearby baseball arena, but, after I grew restless with the bland scenery, Tony recommended we relocate to Twin Lakes State Park.
The temptation whilst trailing behind him was unendurable; I dragged out my camera and clicked away at the handsome Special Agent in the blue helmet leading us to our destination:
Upon arriving at the place, Tony halted at the entrance booth and paid the fees for us to get in. I stopped at the ranger-maintained brown building and retrieved the ticket and parking pass. Sentimental me still carries the stub around in my wallet:
Inside the grounds, I removed a wild multi-pink camouflaged-pattern sleeping bag from my trunk and we wandered off to find a quiet spot to relax.
With not another soul close-by, we settled on some grass by the water. I removed my shoes and Tony doffed his riding attire, revealing the tee and pair of skintight cycle shorts he was wearing underneath. Whoa; no possible way to overlook how well-endowed he is!
In between story-swapping, we kissed and caressed. It was fabulously romantic.
Tony kept hinting there was something special about that day’s date. When I failed to guess what he was trying to convey, he announced it was his birthday. I was enthralled he’d chosen to spend it with me. He said nobody else really gave a darn about the occasion -- not even pseudo-wife.
He looked so yummy laying there with his head resting atop his crossed arms. Sitting up, I ran my nails up and down his exposed legs for a spell then slipped my hand under his trunks. His serene expression morphed to one of astonishment yet he otherwise remained composed, continuing to talk as if we were merely hanging out in a crowded coffee shop. I’d worn a sundress and he tried repeatedly, though to no avail, to get a peek at my panties. Our fun with that ended when a party of four people invaded our comfort zone.
Wanting to resume the foreplay devoid of offending the intrusive group, I swung one of my lower limbs over Tony’s sinewy body to straddle his lap. Without our breaking our dialogue I ever-so-slowly rocked my hips astride him until the stimulation got to be too much for him. He shifted me back to the blanket and sank his lips forcefully on mine to avoid climaxing. I tried to persuade him to let me go further but he both reluctantly and adamantly refused to.
I could’ve spent the rest of my life in that moment. Unfortunately it was time to break the fantasy and head off to our respective homes.
It was hard to say good-bye to Mr. Gattuso, especially as he wasn’t sure when we’d be able to see each other again. Thanks to his work and my hobby -- or perhaps fate -- we would meet up in less than 24 hours. And if this day was outside unbelievable, the next would fall beyond incredible.
