On the plane ride to my "unique vacation"—at least that's what the brochure had promised--I thought of what had brought me here. Job stress is something we all face, but I was feeling it ran deeper. Life stress, pushing 35, seeing dreams passing me by, it all seemed to conspire to compel me to this impulsive, two week vacation that I wasn't even sure I would like or afford. I wasn't even sure what I'd be doing these two weeks, but I figured an outdoor adventure away from everything sounded right for me.
The flight to Oregon had given me plenty of time to think about the upcoming days and about my life thus far.
Mid-Town North Precinct in New York City has been my world for the past 16 years, ever since completing the police academy and graduating with 400 other athletic, short-haired, hard-bodied, optimistic law lackeys of the 5 boroughs of New York.
I felt so proud that day, and knew my family was proud too. Vinny, my older brother, my dad and my Uncle Bobby are or have been cops in New York. It's in my blood, I guess. I just figured this was something I was supposed to do with my life.
When I was 19 and hiking through Europe, backpacking and scouting cock, my buddies were off at college, joining frats and going down on women. I, on the other hand, wanted my space to explore the world without the scorn, derision—or in some cases, hatred—that seemed to encompass the gay man's life. I'm not an obvious gay guy, so I escaped most of the abuse that gays endure. But being a masculine man in a macho home and work environment can be just as inwardly stressful and oppressive.
I was stressed out in high school, always fearing that being outed and taunted was just around the corner. The locker room banter usually hailed pussy, tits and ass—while denouncing gay people as "faggots." I wanted a respite from this stress, and I figured those Europeans are good-looking, open-minded, sexually daring. I was sure to have a blast. I told my parents that Europeans routinely forgo college or work the first year out of high school.
"A gap year? What the heck is that?" my dad grunted one night when I brought the subject up at the dinner table.
"A year of exploration, of finding myself, growing, dad. Europeans are big on that. And it's only one year. I've saved enough from working at the shop." I had worked Saturdays and 3 nights per week at my Uncle Charles' car shop.
"Okay, Richie. Whatever you want is alright by me, you know that."
"You're the best, dad."
"And what am I, chopped liver?" My mom's gentle admonishment spoke of genuine approval of my upcoming trip and felt great. It was nice to get this support.
I figured that when the year was up, I'd be going into the police academy, which would be like high school sports. I could survive, and if it were like basketball I'd do more than survive; I'd be a decorated officer. But until then, I wanted to let loose and not just survive. I was going to live! I was going to SUCK COCK.
It was easier than I thought. I think I sucked dick and swallowed semen in just about every city I encountered. Coming from a family of cops you learn how to size people up. Usually it's just a millisecond longer that a guy will ordinarily make eye contact, or I'll catch a dude's eyes below my waist for a second. Straight guys just don't do that, generally. And spying these clues usually scored me a nice mouthful from an eager, hung and masculine stud.
I was in the Netherlands, in Amsterdam's red light district, just having left a coffee shop where I tried hash for the first time. What a laugh, to be able to smoke hash, legally, in a coffee shop! My buddies at home would be envious. None of us were real dopers; in fact, we're all fairly aggressive jocks, but we like to party too. And I wasn't passing this up, an opportunity to toke up without trouble.
After smoking a bit, I decided to explore the city further when I spotted a handsome, masculine cop standing at a lamppost. This guy got my cock stirring immediately. He wasn't a pretty boy but he was undeniably handsome. I'm in to the man's man, regular look. I don't want the guy who the girls dream about or the gay guys swoon for. I want a regular guy, kind of handsome face, who is in reasonable not exaggerated shape, athletic. This guy fit that bill and my cock enthusiastically agreed. 5ft 11 about 180lbs of athletic physique. I liked his short-cropped military type hair cut, his small round brown eyes and his crisp uniform.
I doubted he was gay, but I figured a little chit-chat with him would not hurt anybody. Our eyes met, my heart kinda skipped a beat and I said, "Hey mate." (Do they say mate over here or is that just Australia?) Whatever, he nodded back and said Hi. Before I knew it we were talking about the police force in Amsterdam vs. New York, American football vs. European, and cars too.
It was a voluble conversation and I wondered if he ever had a gay thought. I couldn't see much of any evidence. He did seem to like my manly company, but maybe he was just friendly to all. And lots of straight guys enjoyed and admired my company. I didn't notice any of the true signs of gaydom I was trained to spot.
"Don't be a cop," he offered.
"Why not?"
"It's not like television. It's boring and very frustrating."
"Yeah, well I can't be any more bored or frustrated than I am generally," I countered.
"What are you frustrated about?" he asked as he offered me a cigarette and I watched his eyes quickly walk all over me. Was this a sign? Not sure.
I took the cigarette (although I rarely smoked) and clasped his hand to hijack the light from his cigarette. "I don't know. Life, I guess," I said as I inhaled.
