Seduction Lie No Other

[Beep, Beep, Beep]

Two off days a week isn't cutting it anymore. What's even worse is that they aren't back to back, they are spaced out. Like this week; my off days are Monday and Sunday and it's incredibly taxing to work five straight days.

Madness!

[Beep, Beep, Beep]

I wish work started at 2 in the afternoon and ended at 6. But life isn't always fair. Briefing is at 7:30 and we hit the streets by 8:30. And by the way, there's no official ending time, we leave when the Madam dismisses us for the day.

[Beep, Beep, Beep]

Sometimes I feel like I have no time for myself. I have no social life, no dating life, my hobbies are neglected. My life is like this: I wake up, work, eat, work, sleep and it's back to work.

What the fuck even is that?

That's not living.

It's a miracle I even manage to drag myself out of my bed to show up.

But the job in and of itself is worth it. It's worth my depression, it's worth the loneliness I feel when I come home to an empty apartment, lie in an empty bed. It's worth the suffocating feeling I get when I see my childhood friends married with children and documenting their happy, vibrant lives on social media.

It's so worth it.

[Beep, Beep, Beep]

Gorblimey!

I shut off my alarm, stretch and start my day.

Is my job so worth it that I'm able to look past waking up at 4am most days?

Totally!

*****

I'm a part of a special unit of Social Workers within the Police Force.

You read that right. I am a Social Worker and a Police Officer at the same time. So what we do is when certain scenarios are a bit too complex for the detectives to handle, we step in and come up with decent solutions that can improve other people's lives.

This week, we're tasked to check in with people who had substance abuse issues in the past. What would happen is that we do house visits and conduct interviews centering on how they're coping with their new realities. Afterwards, we have to write comprehensive reports on each person and submit them to the Madam and in turn, she submits them to the court magistrate.

"Okaaaaaay--Smith today you work with Downie and Peterson."

Madam Bennett hands me the sheet with the names and addresses of people we have to look for today.

25 names.

Twenty five Got-Dam names.

[Sighs]

"The only vehicle available is the Volkswagen."

Twenty-five names and a vehicle with no AC during a heatwave...

"Please remember to be alert at all times. You might meet a situation where someone is still using and you have to arrest them and bring them in. Shit can go from 0-100 just like that" [Madam snaps her fingers]

"Please don't forget to take handcuffs with you." Madam eyes me when she says this and I blush. She's telepathically referencing last week when I used an extension cord to hogtie a violent meth head.

"Before you go, Mr Smith, when are you going to go back to the range?"

"I never get the time to go, Ma'am."

"Tomorrow, fall in at the range. Don't come here unless you pass."

"Yes Ma'am."

"Alright, Downie and Peterson, get firearms from the Sergeant on duty and get to it."

"Okay, shoo, shoo!" Madam says, while frantically waving her arms.

We file out of her office. I wait for Downie and Peterson to get firearms and we hit the road.

*****

Wearing a suit and tie in this heat is torture And I feel like this fucking car should be at the dump site. Miss Peterson sits in the front passenger seat while Miss Downie takes the backseat.

"I guess I'm driving today", I deadpan.

Miss Peterson is your classic hottie. She's tall with long brown hair styled into a high ponytail. She's wearing a tan skirt suit with mocha coloured stockings to show off her long legs and a red blouse. Her hazel eyes peep out from fake mink eyelashes and a thick layer of lip gloss is plastered on her mouth. She checks her facial appearance sixteen times during the drive from the station to the first address on the list.

Yes.

I counted.

You'd think she'll meet the man of her dreams at one of these visits.

Miss Downie is the complete opposite. Her face is bare and she's wearing slacks with a starched white shirt.

Now, I'm in no way saying Downie is unattractive. It's just that, when the two women are together, men automatically look at Peterson first because she's the one that jumps out. But when you stare long enough, you'd come to really appreciate just how beautiful Downie really is. If women were my thing, I'd be hung up on her.

We reach Williams Street and look for lot # 15. The home of Orlando Browne. Fifty-two years and a parolee as of two weeks ago.

It says on the file that he moved here from Jamaica ten years ago.

"There!"

Miss Downie points to a small green house.

"I'll circle back and park further down the street."

We hobble out of the volks-OVEN And chip down the street.

Three steps in and I can feel the sweat slipping down my back.

We reach Mr Browne's front porch and I ignore Peterson fanning her face with her hands.

"Fuck Smith! You could've parked a bit closer."

I knock and wait.

We listen for any kind of movement from within.

I look behind me to make sure that--

Of course, she's not.

"Peterson, load your firearm."

I look back in front and hear floorboards creaking.

The two women grip their Glocks and I prepare myself.

The door opens and the sight of a black man drying his hair greets us.

He sucks his teeth. "Can I help you?"

It seems like he just came out of the shower because his skin looks damp and he's using the towel to dry his hair.

He's using the towel to dry his hair. The towel that should be around his waist, he's using to dry his hair.

I try to compose myself and pretend I don't notice his junk.

"Police, do you have anything to declare Mr. Browne?"

Mr Browne continues to use the towel to dry his hair and I try my best to keep my eyes on his. But it's a losing battle And I can feel my shirt begin to stick to my skin.

Mr Browne saves me the embarrassment and turns and walks away from us and I appreciate his voluptuous ass cheeks.

I let out the breath I was holding and enter with the ladies at my back.

Mr Browne gestures with his hands. "Have at it."

Peterson and Downie share a look and start to execute a search of the house.

Meanwhile, I start asking Browne some questions.

"Are you employed?"

"I'm at home at 9am on a Tuesday. What do you think?"

"When was the last time you had a job? And I'd prefer it if you turn and face me, Sir."

He turns and puts the towel over a chair.

I try to keep my eyes on his for as long as I can but 20 seconds in, I succumb to my lustful desires.

Browne has some arms and hands that could kill a man with one blow.

"I got fired from Walmart 3 weeks ago."

"Why?"

I glance further down and admire his hairy legs and the iron between them.

A crash makes us look to our right.

"What you fucking break, you pay for!"

"For being late" he says, looking back at me.

"Mr Browne, do you mind covering up?"

"What's the sense in that? I gotta take a leak in your little tube soon from now. Ain't that right? Let's get it over with."

I follow Mr Browne to his bathroom, which is next to his bedroom and when he faces me, he reaches his hand out.

I hand him the tube.

He grabs himself and makes a show of peeling his foreskin back and placing the tip at the tube's opening.

I watch mesmerized as the yellow liquid slowly trickles out.

He fills it and then puts the remainder in the toilet. He pees for at least a full minute and he's still holding the tube the entire time and I have no other choice but to stand there and watch the whole thing unfold. My crotch fidgets and my hole clenches and unclenches as though it's prefiguring what it would feel like to take the size of him inside. I take deep breaths in a futile attempt to banish my thoughts.

Finally, he hands me the tube when he starts to shake the residual drops of urine from his urethra and flush the toilet.

When I hold it, it feels so warm and I wished I knew what it would feel like for that hot piss to hit the back of my throat.

We walk back out and this time, I look at his bedroom. It's a bit messy with clothes here and there.

I see his fishing rods and I couldn't help myself. I rub my hand along one of them and when I look back at him, he's wearing pants.

"The house is clear!" Peterson shouts.

"You need to get a job as soon as possible. That's--"

"A requirement of parole, blah blah, blah. Anything else?"

"That's it for now."

The women appear at my side and I let them know the bathroom and bedroom are clear also.

Peterson and Downie leave the house and before I can get through the door, I feel a hand on my arm pulling me back inside. I look back at Browne and he's handing me a piece of paper with a number on it.

"In case you wanna go fishing...or something..." he mumbles, while taking my hand and leading it to his crotch

I stifle my gasp.

I want to say something but no words come out. I take my hand back and walk away and his toothy smile is the last thing I see before he closes the door behind me.

*****

It's Sunday. Finally, my day off and every day since Tuesday, I find myself unable to get Tuesday's events out of my head. I'm at a bar and this is bad because I've had four glasses of whisky neat and my mind is telling me to go to Williams Street.

Go and put it in your mouth, Smith. You know you want to.

The rational side of my brain is telling me to go home.

I clear my tab and get in my car. I turn left at the exit and my heart booms in my chest. The alcohol makes me feel light and sweet and carefree.

I take a deep breath. This is so...wrong. I'm breaching so many ethical codes right now just having these thoughts.

When I get to his door, the stench of weed hits my nose.

I close my eyes and count to ten.

Smith, go home. Please.

But my sexuality ignores my conscience and before I know it, the door opens.

"Come in."

"You know you're not supposed to do that."

"Come on, it's a little weed, everybody does it."

I've never done it but I don't say that to him.

He's not fully naked this time but he could as well be. He's wearing a pair of skin-tight white boxer-briefs and the material is so thin that I can actually see the attributes of his manhood. The spectacle of him right now is just so sensual; from the curve of his thighs and hips, his round, hairy belly and his wicked smile. It almost seems like he's silently celebrating his feat of luring me back to his house.

"Want a hit?"

He steps towards me and holds the back of my neck with his left hand while bringing the joint to my lips.

"Open and pull"

I do as he says and breathe in and out slowly.

I take a few more pulls and by then, I start to float.

Browne sets the joint down and pushes down on my shoulders, bringing me to my knees.

I sniff his feet, I run my nose and lips along the steel of his shins, kiss the inside of his hairy thighs and rub my face all over his bulge.

"Open up, baby."

Browne pulls his boxers down and I gobble his soft penis and relish in the thrill of feeling it grow in my mouth.

Damn! I don't know how to describe the taste but it's driving me nuts. I slide my lips all the way down to its base and try not to choke when the hook of it gets stuck in the back of my throat. At this point, Brown holds my head in his big hands and tries to force it further down. I try to pull my head back but he won't let me until at least fifteen seconds after the fact.

When It's out of my mouth, I admire the way it looks in all its glory while being drenched in my saliva. His erection resembles a piece of steel with a bend that looks similar to that of a crowbar.

I barely have time to catch my breath and he holds my head again and starts to fuck my face and I take it all like some dirty call girl.

"Ouuuu, huhuhhhh--fuuuuucccck."

Browne loses himself and in less than no time, a thick liquid is flooding my mouth and to my surprise, my dick starts to spasm and shoots in my pants.

I swallow all of his deposit and he helps me off the ground and puts his tongue in my mouth. No one has ever kissed me like this. Not with this much passion and purpose. I melt into him and feel him palming my ass. He turns me away from him and bends me over the dining table. He pulls my pants down and I hear him spit. Soon enough, I feel his wet fat fingers start to play with my hole.

I shudder. First, there's one finger, then two, then three and when he feels confident enough that my opening can accommodate the lodging of his length and shape, he begins to slip his now oiled rod inside of me and uses his big heavy hands to press into my back to keep me from running.

I immediately stiffen from the discomfort and he tells me to relax.

"Cough hard."

I do as he says and I start to feel full as he eases his way into my depths agonizingly slow.

Thereupon, I surrender myself to him. My asshole yields to him.

The juxtaposition of him hurting me so bad but at the same time making me feel so good is striking. There's no feeling in this world like what I'm feeling at the moment. He starts with a steady rhythm and I whine and groan and feel my eyes start to well with water. He's fucking me so good. He's fucking me too good.

His vastness stretches me and opens me up and the feel of it all the way inside sends shockwaves through my soul.

Pretty soon, Browne goes off the deep end and starts to hit into me with more force and determination and I wince and clench my eyes shut.

Damn. Who would've thought that I would have a black dick up my ass right now?

While giving it to me, Browne whispers in my ear: "Your cunt is so tight, I gotta tell you. No man ain't ever been in here before, huh?"

I can't bring myself to answer him.

I take it until his hot spunk warms up my insides.

"Shiiiit," he says, and slowly pulls out and I feel his mess ooze out of my ass and slip down the back of my thighs.

*****

The next morning, I ease out of Browne's heavy arms to go take a shower. I feel really sore back there and it makes me reminisce about last night's activities. Just thinking about what we did gets me so hard.

I get in and let the water rain down on me. Before I can start to lather myself up, Browne walks in and wraps his arms around my abdomen.

"How are you doing?"

I nod to let him know I'm okay and I let him take care of me. He lathers a loofah with soap and scrubs all over my body, spending an unnecessary amount of time "Washing" my ass and balls.

We eventually get out and dry off and I get dressed.

"I have to go, I'm late for work."

He nods.

"Will I see you again?" He asks in a low tone. I hear the vulnerability and helplessness in his voice because he knows I heard him do lines throughout the night when he thought I was sleeping.

Weed is one thing; notwithstanding it's been decriminalized, a no drug policy is still one of the main criteria for his parole.

Some magistrates may have a heart and let him off on a warning. But cocaine? That's inexcusable.

I have a workaround in place though and that lies in the fact that two days after his initial house visit, I went to the lab and switched his urine sample with one of mine.

Substance abuse is tough to beat and not having someone there to motivate him and uplift him during the bad times will lead to continued use.

So I tell him "Yes." He will see me again and I plan to hold his hand on his journey to recovery.

He smiles and I smile too.

I kiss and hug him goodbye.