Pc X

Being a bunny boiler, either in the past, in the present, or (dare we say it) doomed to be one in the future isn’t a good thing. This much is fact. I would suggest, in fact, that all bunny boilers, in my humble view, should be hung drawn and quartered. Cynical obsession was never in fashion, and, unlike Vivienne Westwood pirate boots, never will be.

With this point of view firmly in our minds we progress…

Date - Friday Night
Venue – G A Y (Astoria)
Reason – I had been invited to the club by a friend of mine from back home. It’ll be a good opportunity to catch up I thought, and he was due to bring his harem with him. A wider pool of men to choose from. Hurrah.

So, after watching a snippet of Comic relief, getting over the travesty that was three repeats of Ugly Betty (when I’d stayed at home to watch a much needed new episode) and pruning myself to look even more edible than I currently am, I made my way to the venue, handed my coat into the cloakroom and went in search of my friend, his harem, and any other good looking men that might be around.

At this point, it’s worth mentioning that Friday nights at GAY are titled ‘Camp Attack’. No comment. Although, I will say, it wasn’t anything like 28 Days Later with Queens, honest.

The music to begin with was dismal, and when I saw him I was pleased to just be having a drink whilst he introduced me to somebody he would refer to as his ‘ex’. That’s find, I thought, although I had been previously warned that they had split amicably and preferred not to refer to themselves as ‘ex’s’. Fine with me.

That this ‘ex’ was a policeman had me excited, it’s true. That this ‘ex’ and I got on well and could muster decent conversation was also true. That we sat next to each other and both thanked the lord for the music being loud so that we could whisper into each others’ ears is perhaps also true (although I might have to get his confirmation on this tiny matter). That we both talked about our respective blogs and exchanged addresses is also another truth. That I had an erection for much of this time, true again.

You see, things you should know about me, in order for this to make any sense, is that I have, like most other people, sexual fantasies. Whether those fantasises involve being handcuffed, stripped and intimately searched before the copper licks various parts of my body, is a different matter entirely.

So there we were, chatting away, having fun. And then he had to leave. Policemen work shifts you know. It’s not all cups of coffee and feet up on the desk, like many of us might imagine this section of society to function. Again, that was fine. Minutes after he left I received a text from him, telling me how much he’s like to meet me again. That he thought I was hot. He is hot too.
At this point I wondered what might have happened had he stayed a little longer. Whether, out of the view of my friend, he and I might have had a grope, or a deep erotic kiss or something of that sort. I wondered whether, had I pushed him up against a wall in the club, I would have been able to feel his throbbing cock against my leg. One thing I know is this; if he’d stayed, I would have tried.

‘Did you and (let’s call him) Pc X exchange numbers then?’ said my friend.
‘No’, I replied. A part truth, a part lie. Because I didn’t want it to cause tension and also because they were ‘exs’ and it was none of his business.
‘You don’t want to get mixed up with him you know’ he continued ‘He has a girlfriend who works as a Tesco Checkout girl. That’s why I ended it with him.’
‘How long have guys been together?’ I pressed.
‘Five years’ he said.
‘Ahh, got you.’

So, we danced some more, my arse was felt up some more, my butt cheeks pinched some more. The music got better (the highlight being ‘Into the groove’ by Madonna. It was a fun night out all in all.

So I got home and quickly text Pc X telling him that I’d love to see him again and to send me a text the next time he’s in London. The bit about my cock being hard thinking about him I decided to save for another time.

The following morning…

‘Did you text Pc X already?’ my friend asked over the phone as I was just about ready to dive back into my pillow for four extra hours of much needed ‘away time.’
‘No’ I lied.
‘Oh, well he just called me and said that you did and he asked me whether you were easy.’
‘Hang on a minute, what did he say?’
‘He just said you were easy and told me to tell you that he isn’t into ‘any of that stuff’.’
Fuck me, I thought, they’ve me deciphering me and I haven’t even woken up.

Needless to say, these sorts of occurrences I don’t take very well, so I blasted off a text message to PC X immediately, asking him about it all and seeking a few answers. He called me straight away.

Apparently (and this is where I get all bitchy and unreasonable) my ‘friend’ –please note the use of inverted commas to signify past tense, has suggested that Pc X should be careful of me because I ‘hang out with dodgy people.’ Damn, I thought, my involvement in the London Mafia has finally scuppered my chances of finding the perfect orgasm.

Apparently Pc X and the ‘friend’ had never as much been in a relationship. I think somebody was stirring up a whole load of shit weren’t they, before I bit the bullet, so to speak. 3

Jealousy is understandable. But if you’re going to be a bunny boiler, don’t ask two people out when there are chances that they might like each other. It’s simple.

To the positive…

PC X is horny, attractive and I spent the entire day thinking about what I’d like to do to his body. Not so sure what he’ll think when he reads this.

My fantasy containing a pair of handcuffs, a truncheon and a uniform might be realised after all. I get the impression Pc X is untapped territory. I’m going to push his sexual boundaries as far as they’ll go. The sex we’ll have is going to be toe curling, mark my words. I can say this, because sometimes in life, you just know.