Tony Gattuso, my State Policeman, was waiting for me at our prearranged point, a dilapidating shopping plaza in Crewe, Va. If you’ve never been to Crewe, Va, let me show you what’s there:
That’s right; a whole lotta nothing’. You can practically take three strides and go from one end of town to the other. We’d met here at least once before but this time Tony had come in his unmarked agency-issued SUV rather than on his motorcycle. It made sense he’d be in the Ford; it was a work day for him and technically he was on-duty. He jumped out of it as soon as I pulled in to the adjacent parking square.
I stepped out of my car to join him. Standing between our vehicles we firmly hugged hello. The impassioned kiss that followed set off flashbacks of our tryst in a hotel eight days prior. Judging by Tony’s physical reaction, he, too, craved a repeat of that rendezvous. We disentangled to circumvent molesting each other smack there on the pavement under our feet.
As promised, Tony had brought me his two-volume set of “Police, Crimes and Offenses and Motor Vehicle Laws of Virginia.” As if the books weren’t enough of a dandy gift, he surprised me with a Global Positioning System. I was delighted to have a guy who put real thought into the presents he gave. Flowers are nice, but I think most men only give women those because “it’s the thing to do.” A guy who offers me a GPS because he remembered my saying how bad I am with directions and how I loathe getting lost? He is the epitome of awesomeness!
Tony and I hopped into his wheels and chattered away. If memory serves, we were disturbed about fifteen minutes later by a call from pseudo-wife -- I already described the interruption here. When the brawny officer retook his seat inside, we opted to relocate to an outdoor recreational area. We rode in his Expedition to the park.
Facing him with my legs swung over his, occupying a table across from the ball field, we interspersed our conversation about his job, cases, weapons and gadgets, with hand and tongue caresses. Oh, and we talked about trains -- because apparently that’s the sole thing Crewe, Va, is noted for having. At some point I moved to sit behind him. Snuggled up against his muscular back and butt, my arms wrapped casually around him, with a light breeze breaking the summer air, was like paradise.
The heat -- both from the afternoon sun and our make-out -- was taking a toll on us. We headed back to where I’d deserted my auto, stopping for drinks and a snack at a Valero convenience store on the way. My appetite was more for him than food, so I tucked my small quarter-empty bag of Lays in the passenger door pocket near my leg.
Stationed by my sedan, we retreated to his backseat to take advantage of his heavily-tinted windows. When we parted company, I’d not only left the potato chips behind in his machine but a lovely mixture of my saliva and his sperm also.
