Mysterious Man on the Motorcycle

The detective's bald head began to sweat profusely and his shirt collar began to soak up. Both his knees began to wobble and his fingers starting to go numb. There was something very strange lurking about in garage of his usually very quiet police station. The loud tapping of boots echoed across the garage pavement, as the tall shadow came closer. The detective could feel more beads of sweating rolling down his body. He tried to say something, but he stood frozen in place as the huge shadow came right up to his most prized possession, a mint condition Red Harley-Davidson.

Detective Stanley watched nervously as the behemoth of a man became visible in the left side mirror of his prized motorcycle. Most of the man's face was hidden by a pair of massive gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses. The man appeared rugged and tough, and his face had strong masculine features. His thick bushy moustache covered his upper lip spread down both sides of his mouth. A deep scar marked his left cheek and ran up to right eye. Although he was massive and tough looking, he walked nimbly, and had the detective not heard his boots he probably wouldn't have even seen him.

The Detective's hands were still trembling, so much that he was barely able to insert the small key into the keyhole. Cautiously grasping his sidearm, he did his very best to get away from the lurker. The detective couldn't help but wonder who he was. Perhaps this was some old enemy he had locked away? After all, he had very few friends and no shortage of enemies. Or maybe it was some mob boss that had been defeated and was out for revenge? Perhaps someone from the old Donahue clan was still looking for his revenge. But it didn't make sense, and it was unlikely he wouldn't a Donahue's being over six-five. Besides he arrested Greg Donahue almost twenty years ago. He was so old by now that he was probably buried somewhere in the Jail.

There was another theory, but it was pretty wild for someone who spent their life doing detective work. Perhaps it was some sort of ghost, maybe it was Donahue's spirit coming back for revenge. The detective quickly shook that feeling off and focused on getting the heck out of the garage.

Detective Stanley took a deep breath, and his Harley roared to life. Stanley took another look behind him, praying the man had disappeared and disappeared and it was some weird figment of his imagination. But he was very much standing there, standing in middle the exit ramp and staring right at him. Stanley tried to speed out of the garage, but the motorcycle stalled and began rolling backwards.

A thin cloud of smoke covered the man's face, and caused his thick sunglasses to momentarily disappear. A thick cigar dangled out of the side of his mouth as he started coming closer and closer. He was so massive that Stanley could feel his huge body hovering over the motorcycle. Finally the Motorcycle kicked back into gear and launched forward, nearly launching him off the seat. The back tire spun so fast it left a huge burn mark against the pavement, and the putrid smell of burned rubber in its wake.

The whole drive home Stanley couldn't shake off the feeling that he was being followed. Even over the noise from his motorcycle, he was certain he heard the tapping of soles against the road behind him.

'Tap-Tap-Tap' 'Tap-Tap-Tap' 'TAP-TAP-TAP' and suddenly it was silent again.

He was so eager to get back to the solace of his empty apartment that he sped through every red light across Maplewood Avenue. It was unlike the detective to run through red lights, but he was certain he was being followed. As he turned off Maplewood and past the old school building, a loud honk and a slew of profanities jolted him back to his senses. He came with an inch of an old rusted out red Toyota pickup, before finally coming to his senses. Two of Donahue's grandsons were sitting up front and swung up their middle fingers, but soon realized who he was and sped off into the distance.

He drove as cautiously as he could the rest of the way home, and after a few wrong turns he was finally home. His hands were still shaking and most of his shirt was drenched in sweat. He was so nervous that he barely was able to park the motorcycle, and almost fell to the ground when he got off its pegs. He stood off the motorcycle, put the key in his pocket and began to walk upstairs. He could shake off the feeling that he was being followed.

'Tap-Tap-Tap' 'Tap-Tap-Tap' 'TAP-TAP-TAP!'

This time the sound was much louder and closer. But he couldn't see the massive man anywhere nearby. After regaining his posture, he began to slowly walk up the small cement staircase from the garage up towards his apartment. Finally catching his breath, he walked down the worn-out pink carpeted hallway to the comfort of his fifth floor apartment.

He was finally somewhere where he didn't have to worry about being spooked. Doing his best to distract himself, he hummed along as he began to get undressed. His police uniform was so sweaty that he badly needed to peel it off and take a shower. He unbuttoned his soaking wet police shirt and threw it down on the floor. He pulled his police belt off and placed it on the side table in his living room. He fumbled with the top button on his khakis, releasing his pants down to the floor. After kicking the pile of clothing to the side of the room, he sunk down into his big green living room chair. There was so much solace in sitting in his favorite chair, and drinking the night away in his tight white underwear. It was as lonely as it was peaceful, and he decided he would shower in the morning.

The familiar comfort of the first sip of alcohol hit hard at the back of his throat. He sank deeper and deeper into his chair, and was minutes away from falling asleep. He was hoping that the alcohol would numb him, and it was all just his imagination. After a few more swigs, he thought he heard a familiar tapping. This time it was much louder, even louder than it was in the police station garage. It was so loud, that it sounded as if it were right inside his apartment.

'Tap-Tap-Tap' 'Tap-Tap-Tap' 'TAP-TAP-TAP'

Stanley pulled his living room curtains, perhaps it was coming from outside. He was right, there he was again. The man was just standing there, and it looked like he must have followed him home. But where was the tapping come from if he wasn't moving. Stanley quickly pulled the curtains shut, and peeked out the window. For the first time in his thirty years as a detective, he was truly scared. He was shaking so much he nearly fell to ground.

Stanley was finally able to get a good look at the man. He was comically large compared to the thin black lamp post which he was comfortable leaning on. The lamp post was bending back and forth from the pressure his huge frame was putting on it. He faced Stanley's apartment window and pulled a thick cigar from his top left jacket pocket. It was definitely his shiny knee-high cowboy boots that were causing that loud incessant tapping all night.

Stanley was still scared out of his mind, but something about the man drew him in. It was as if he was under some sort of strange hypnosis. The giant man seemed to have the ability to power over him and somehow make him tremble with fear.

Thick red embers glowed underneath the man's bushy black moustache as he smoked his cigar. Finally he finished his the cigar, and began to ash it out with heel of his huge leather boot. With as much stealth as possible, Stanley grabbed the bottle of JD off side table. He chugged half of it down while still nervously observing the man.

The lamp above his head flickered on off, casting a shadow on his huge robust frame. His tight leather jacket perfectly accentuated his well-defined upper body. A small surge of electricity caused the street lamp to flicker back on, giving Stanley a much wanted view. His shoulders were built very wide like a football players or strongman competitors, his well-toned and muscular arms barely squeezed into his jacket. His chest was so big the jacket clearly couldn't close at the top, and his huge chest stuck out at the top. A soft tingle spread across the detective's body, as his curiosity and fear began to turn to feelings of lust.

Stanley wrapped his fingers tightly around the bottle, and pulled the neck of his bottle up to his mouth. He took another long chug from the bottle but drank a little bit too fast. The alcohol seeped up through his head, and burnt up inside both his both his eardrums. In his drunken haze, he accidentally grabbed the left curtain and pulled it back open.

The man was slowly walking down the street, as if he didn't have a care in the world. Those were definitely the leather boots that had been tapping against the pavement in the parking lot. He had a confident strut to his walk, and it was as if he was walking the runway at a New York fashion show. He stopped for a second and looked over his back, causing Stanley to quickly draw the curtains back. Stanley was hypnotized by his huge figure, and every swing of his massive muscular hips.

Still trying his best to remain hidden, Stanley peeked curiously out of the window. His attention was drawn to the man's hips and his perfect backside. The huge toned curves of his thick muscular behind pressed tightly against the back of his jeans. With every step he took, his butt muscles seem to flex wildly back and forth. Stanley couldn't ignore the swelling between his own legs, and the tip of his cock rubbed hard against his underwear. He pressed his fingers against the fabric and began gently caress his crotch. It was as if the man was walking like that purpose and flexing his butt to appease him. But the show was interrupted by a strange noise that was becoming all too familiar.

'Tap-Tap-Tap' 'Tap-Tap-Tap' 'TAP-TAP-TAP'

But it couldn't be his boots! He was looking right at him!

So where was the tapping come from? Stanley immediately stopped thinking erotic thoughts and began to panic once again. Beads of sweat dripped down his bald head, and ran down onto his chest. A loud knock at the door made things even scarier, and he quickly grabbed his gun off the nightstand. But who on earth would be knocking at his apartment door so late at night? His cock was still half-swollen and he could barely close the zipper on his khakis.

"I'm coming, give me a second!" He yelled.

Stanley's heart began to beat faster and faster, he was still dizzy and his sweaty right palm could barely grasp at the doorknob. He gripped his gun tightly in his other hand, knowing full well he would be too scared to shoot anything. He took a quick look through the peephole, as he began to unbolt the giant brass latch. As soon as he saw the massive frame of a man and that thick moustache, he knew exactly who it was. A swirl of cigar smoke covered most of the man's aviators as the knocking grew louder.

But how the hell could he have gotten here so fast?! Stanley stared through the peephole again, now convinced the man had some sort of weird superpowers.

Stanley began to worry the old lady from three doors over would be jolted awake by the excessive knocking. Her shiatsu would probably wake up and set off every dog in the neighborhood if he didn't do something soon. Also, the old wooden door jamb was shaking so violently that Stanley began to worry it would fall right off the hinges. Shaking violently, Stanley held his gun one hand began to open the door with his other hand. With his finger on the trigger and the gun cocked, he slowly opened the door. The other side of the doorknob was warm, which meant the man was very much alive. But where the hell was he? He was absolutely nowhere to be found.

Stanley looked up and down the hallway, and couldn't see any sign of him. The hallway didn't smell of his cigar smoke at all which was also strange. Completely frustrated, he went back inside and latched the door to his apartment.

As he stepped back inside his apartment, he found his first clue. A small patch of torn-up denim fabric, about the size of his open palm was on the hallway from in front of him. Once again, how the hell was he always one step ahead of him!

He placed the fabric between his index finger and thumbs, and began looking for clues. It was blue and denim and that was about it. It had no particular stains or markings. It had no variation in its threads that seemed out of the ordinary. It had no message, good or bad or sexual in nature. As far as he could tell it was just a random piece of torn up denim.

Stanley went back to his window, hoping to catch another glimpse of the very mysterious stranger. He could feel excitement all over his body, and the warm tingling began to spread inside his body again. It was him! There he was slowly walking down the street, with a thick trail of cigar smoke behind him. A shiver went down the Detective's body as he realized where the patch of denim came from.

The hole was about the same size of the patch of denim that the detective had found in his apartment. Stanley stared lustfully at his behind, watching his butt-cheek through the missing gap as he strutted slowly down the block. Stanley imagined reaching inside his jeans and touching the skin of his smooth muscle butt. His fantasy was once again interrupted by the irritating taps of shoes hitting the pavement.

'Tap-Tap-Tap' 'Tap-Tap-Tap' 'TAP-TAP-TAP'

The man had completely vanished into the dark night, again. His footsteps echoed across the dark empty street, but there was no sign of him anywhere. Frustrated, he went to the hallway to pick up the small clue he had left behind. That was gone too, and somehow it had evaporated from his floor and completely disappeared. Stanley stayed up all night asking the same questions over and over to himself. For a seasoned detective, he certainly was agitated not being able to solve this bizarre case. The only clue he had completely vanished into thin air.

Early the next morning Stanley arrived at the station to begin his last double-shift of the week. The whole drive to the station the incessant tapping didn't stop, and the sound of shoes echoing loudly on the pavement ran in a loop in his head. He was still groggy from the night before, and his head was pounding back and forth from his hangover. With the little bit of strength in his tired body, he grabbed the keys to the car and head into the stations garage.

On the dashboard of his patrol car were two roughly cut pieces of denim fabric. Stanley quickly realized what they were from. He hoped he would get another peek of him. Perhaps he would get another look at the thick fleshy part of his behind. Stanley fingered both pieces of fabric between his fingers, feeling himself starting to get hard. He quickly put them back hard, remembering he had a patrol to do.

It was the usual troublemakers.

A few loud drunks were loitering around the only bus terminal in town. Not much unlike detective Stanley, they were still recovering from the night before. It didn't matter, and Stanley didn't care too much about what noise they were causing. He was too focused on the denim patches sitting on his dashboard.

It was always the same two troublemakers, but they never harmed a soul. Even if it was a hot day 'Jerry the drunk' always wore thick and insulated snow-pants. Leo was the shorter one who went by 'Darth'. He always wore three layers too many and had a weird obsession with Star Wars, particularly Darth Vader. The detective didn't like or dislike them, but he couldn't leave them yelling and shouting in the bus terminal all day. After chatting with them a bit, he dumped them off at the edge of town. It never solved anything and he knew they would be back by morning.

Between patrols, his mind kept slipping away. His lust for the mammoth of a man that had been following him was growing stronger by the minute. He badly wanted to run his hands across his thick body. He had been with other men before, but never a man of this stature. He had never been with a man of such massive proportions, and never a man who had this much control over him. The swelling between his legs kept growing harder, nearly causing him to crash into a fire hydrant.

Next on his morning patrols were the 'Redneck Williams'. The young redneck couple always seemed to get into some loud verbal altercation. It was usually a dispute that had spilled over from the night before, and was likely the aftermath of some heavy drug use the night prior. Stanley really hated those two, because they were loud and always smelled terrible. He hated going near their house, because of the two vicious Rottweiler's standing guard. They also had too many kids, and none of them behaved normally. After tossing the dogs a couple bones (which he kept in his car for this exact reason), he finally got the crazy couple calmed down and headed back to his patrol car. He had barely stepped out of their home when one of the Rottweiler's starting barking again, and the other tried to chase him. Lucky for him, the leash was just an inch or two from him getting torn apart. He bolted over the chain-linked fence and ran back to his patrol car. Even for an older detective, he was still pretty spry. Just as he started the car, a Motorcycle raced past him leaving a huge cloud of dust over his cop car.

"Fuck. It was too early for this stupid shit." He muttered, as he flicked on his sirens and gave chase.

Stanley pressed his foot down and swore like a madman. The crown Vic' was old and wasn't giving like it used to. It certainly was a comfortable car, but it definitely wasn't practical anymore. He pressed his foot hard against the pedal again, nothing. On the third try, the car launched so far forward that his coffee flew out of his cup holder. The coffee splattered all over the dashboard, and a bit part of it spilled on his clean starched shirt. He was a detective, and he wasn't even supposed to be doing these stupid cop chases.

To his horror, the idiot on the red motorcycle didn't show any signs of slowing down. This type of thing very rarely happened in his small town, especially this early in the morning. The two of them weaved in and out of intersections, through alleyways and even a soccer field! Even though Stanley called it in, he was more determined than ever to catch this idiot.

Stanley stared in disbelief as the motorcyclist sped up even faster. He let go of the handlebars, and planted both of his huge cowboy boots on the pegs of the bike. He leaned all the way forward and gripped the handlebars, sticking his behind out at Stanley. Once the dust settled behind the back motorcycle tire, Stanley could see two holes in the back of his jeans. The holes were about the same size of the patches of denim and revealed part of the man's behind. He leaned back and forth against the handlebars, giving Stanley peeks at the bottom of his thick muscular butt. Now he was much real, and this was definitely a real chase.

The two of them ended up in the huge abandoned car park. The man stopped and once the dust settled, he turned his motorcycle face-to-face with the police cruiser. Stanley was still shaking violently, and really irritated about how his morning patrol was going. His usually clean police car was now covered in a thick layer of dust, and he was shaking up and down.

Towering over his bike's handlebars, he planted his huge feet on the pegs of his motorcycle. Stanley got out of the car and pulled his gun out of his holster. Backup was on the way, but the seasoned detective was stubborn and wanted to claim this prize. It was harder to ignore the massive bulge between the man's legs as Stanley drew his weapon.

"Turn the fucking bike off! And raise both your fucking hands in the air!" Stanley yelled.

In his entire career, he never swore like that. He even shot a man point-blank in the temple and still never swore. But this was different, and who the heck speeds through town like that? Maybe this man was way more dangerous than he thought.