The Uniform Makes the Man

I thought it was too expensive at first. I mean, there were some cheap versions of a state trooper uniform out there. You know, the kind of cheesy shit for Halloween costumes and male strippers. 

But anything less than the real deal wouldn't do. That's how fetish wear was. And that's what it would take to tap into Greg's kink. We'd met at a leather night and hit it off immediately. Body and mind, it just clicked you know? 

I was just dipping my toes into the leather scene. When I was Greg's age it had actually been kind of a turn off, something I associated from 70s porn. But something changed around my 40th birthday. Maybe I realized I was gonna be getting my daddy on soon. But mostly it was an accident - a friend took me to the leather night and I loved the vibe. 

I had to do the jeans and leather boots thing at first to get in, then I got a leather arm band. I was 41 and muscular and classically handsome, maybe too handsome. Which meant I didn't have a problem attracting attention, but the real successful guys there were ones with the full get up. Those committed to the leather scene and embracing the fetish. 

So I broke down and bought some leather pants. I was wearing those the first night when Greg came up to me. Hot as fuck in his leather jock strap, leather harness, arm band on his right bicep, and an IU ball cap. I'd find out as we talked the jock look was just that, a look. He'd never played sports, but fuck he looked like he did. The young man was 25 and was basically sex on legs. Blond fur everywhere on his legs and chest, football sized muscle. 

"Can I get the hottest man in the bar a drink?" he asked. Forward, but not slutty somehow. 

"Nope," I said. "Because this round's on me," I said. That made him smile. 

"Great," he replied. "The cheap stuff's good... beer, shot, whatever."

I sauntered up to the bar and bought him the most expensive whiskey they happened to have. 

Our conversation was flirty and laid back at the same time. I actually thought maybe he was just chatting with me until he saw something better come along. 

But then he looked me up and down, in a very deliberate, slow way, and said, "Damn, I'm glad you embraced the leather, Bob."

"Whaddya mean?" I asked with a laugh.

He shrugged. "I've seen you come in here for like a year now, and never were in gear. I thought maybe you were slumming it here, or something."

To this day I had no idea how I missed seeing this hottie before. "Guess some guys take longer to figure themselves out," I explained.

"You still figuring yourself out?" He asked. A challenge, but also a friendly, genuine question.

"Probably," I answered. Than more concretely: "Yeah."

He nodded as if he expected that answer. In the dimness of the bar, I could barely make out his blue eyes beneath the bill of the ball cap and I found something hot about that. His voice wasn't as butch as his look, but I was grooving on his Midwesterner-next-door accent. "Any big turn ons you've discovered yet?"

I knew my answer. "I'm promise I'm not bullshitting," I said. "But this..." I gestured to his outfit, "is fucking perfect."

He laughed. A sexy laugh. "What about it, Bob?" 

I thought for a second. "The jock look with the leather. A little naughty, a little nice, you know?"

"Cool," he smiled. 

"What about you, Greg?" I asked. "What you're big turn on?"

"Motorcycle cops," he said without missing a beat. "There was a guy at IML who had the look down perfect."

I don't know why but I felt a twinge of jealousy. Easy there, Bob, I told myself, you just fucking met this guy. "You're really into the scene," I observed. Maybe a dumb thing to say, but for me I'd only been invested in this place, not thinking of myself as a full-on leather daddy or anything.

"Yeah, I am," he replied, maybe annoyed but not showing it. "I'd be happy to get you into the scene, if you like," he said. 

It sounded like he was friend zoning me. But I could do worse than a buddy like Greg. A lot of my friends from my 20s and 30s had settled down into steady relationships and I felt I was in a new cycle of my life. "Yeah, that'd be great," I replied. I held up my empty rocks glass. "Feel like another?"

He shook his head and leaned in. "I'd rather you take me to the backroom and fuck me hard," he grunted. 

Jesus, he was hot to trot, all right, and I was boning up at that idea. But I needed baby steps. "I don't know that I feel comfortable with that, buddy," I said. "But if you wanna head back to my place..." I offered.

"All right, Mr. Prim and Proper," he laughed. He was teasing me some, but that was OK. "But maybe at least a little make out time in the backroom?" he asked. "We're in a leather bar, you might as well get to be at least a little naughty."

That compromise sounded good. "All right," I smiled. And like that, Greg was grabbing me by the hand and leading me to the back. 

It was the kind of space I'd been too weirded out to enter before. It was dim, very dim, with just a faint red light. I could see some guys lined up, cruising or posing for the men who cruise. One couple was making out and I could hear fucking sounds from further back. It was a little much for me, but also a turn on. I was still trying to decide what I thought of it all.

Still, I didn't want to be too passive. I pulled Greg toward me and into a kiss. It was a perfect kiss, too, just the right amount of passion and the right amount of sexual energy. I felt like we were communicating with our tongues and our lips. 

We made out and pretty sound I felt his paw on my leather-clad crotch. The feel and smell of the leather was turning me on now, and maybe that was the night it all clicked. Feeling Greg's harness against my bare, trimmed chest and running my fingers along the leather strap of his jock strap. 

Greg was right, it was time to enjoy being a little naughty. I ran my hand openly over his bare ass cheek. It was furry, too, and hard. I knew then Greg was one of those bottoms who did a hell of a lot of squats. He moaned into my mouth, and I explored deeper into his crack. I could sense the young dude's surprise and his excitement as my fingers dipped in.

I felt a greasy sensation against my finger tips and as I circled one around Greg's hole, the grease grew thicker. 

I'd never done anything as wild as this in my life, but I pulled back and tugged at his hand. A silent "Come on" in my face. If I was gonna do this, I wasn't going to do it in the light. 

We found an open part of the dark area. It was a cozy fit, and guys were pawing at Greg and pawing at me, but I didn't give a fuck. I kissed Greg again as I reached down and unzipped. I roughly gripped his wrist and pulled it to my cock. I don't remember being so hard. I could sense his excitement at my erection and my size, but I only gave him a few seconds to appreciate it. Spinning him around, I pressed him toward the wall, and reached down to guide my prick into place. 

Greg had said fuck him hard, and I hope he meant it. Because I was pushing on in, past the greased up ring, and my bare cock drilling deep, fast. He let out a soft, quick grunt but otherwise leaned over and holding himself still, ready to take me. 

I held deep, right in the saddle. It was the kind of sensation that made me glad I'm a man. I almost wished I'd done this in the dim red, light, but I reached down and gripped the harness. And just started fucking. 

Hands were on me now, but I fed off that touch. These guys were turned on by me boning a hot fucking jock dude, and I was turned on by the first sex I'd had in a good month and a half. It all came pouring out of me, the energy driving my hips in like a jack hammer, my hand using his harness as leverage. 

I grunted when I came, letting Greg know he was being bred. I gave him a light slap when I withdrew. Maybe I'd gone too rough on him, but when he stood up, he met me in a hungry kiss that told me he'd LOVED it. Already he was unsnapping his leather jock and tugging at his hard dick. I reached around, rooting in his greasy, cum filled ass. I felt another man feeling around there too, so I slapped his hand away. I felt wildly possessive at that moment, pulling Greg tighter to my sweaty body and kissing him deep as I put my fingers back to push inside his well-fucked hole. It took about ten seconds of that stimulation ot get Greg to his own orgasm, his seed spraying against my bare belly. It was awesome and I almost felt turned on to fuck again. 

We finally made out way back out, and I got off on Greg's goofy grin. "Mr. Prim and Proper can throw a fuck," he laughed. 

I blushed, my normal personality coming back. "Yeah, you may have gotten me a little worked up."

Greg pulled off his ball cap to wipe off the sweat. He had his blond hair in a short cut that went with the rest of his look. But he looked somehow cuter, less rugged. "Maybe I can get you worked up again," he offered.

I gave a coy smile and nodded. "Definitely. If it's just sex, that's cool.... But maybe I can take you on a date the weekend?" I casually ran my hand up and down his bare arm, getting into the feel of his muscle and symbolism of that arm band. "You know, you can fill me on the whole scene."

He laughed. "I dont know how much filling in you need," he replied. "Seriously, that was crazy hot."

"It's a date, then?" I asked, a little concerned he hadn't answered my question.

"It's a date," he said.

****

I had to tell myself to go slow. But Greg wasn't the go slow type, and it turns out I wasn't either. Within a week we were texting constantly during the day, within a month we were having sex just about every night. We talked about exclusivity. Greg definitely had a horndog/slut streak, and I had a possessive side. But we talked about it rationally. 

"How much does it mean to you, Bob?" he asked. 

I sighed. "I'm not gonna be one of those controlling guys," I answered. "But it does mean a lot. It would mean a lot," I clarified. "Maybe I'm too traditional."

"Maybe," he smiled. "It's kind of a good look on you." Then, "I'll give it a try, OK?"

It turns out that lasted until Greg took me to IML Chicago, where he looked like a caged puppy. So we worked out a compromise at the end of that first night. He could suck dick and do anything really except I had sole rights to his ass. Then we had a fucking blast. More than I realized, I loved threesomes and group scenes. And we even paired off separately, just so I could give that a try. I could take it or leave it but it was fun and it gave me a different introduction to the leather scene. 

I was thankful to Greg for getting me out of my shell and being patient with me. When we got back I knew I had to do something special for my guy. His birthday was coming up, so I planned it all. We were living together now, and I hoped he wouldn't notice the packages being delivered. He didn't. 

So when I strutted into the bedroom the morning of his birthday, dressed head to toe in a state trooper uniform, knee-high Dehner boots, shades, helmet, the whole works, Greg had every bit of that kid-at-Christmas reaction I had hoped for. 

"Holy fuck, Bob!" he gasped, his normal sleepyhead self coming full on awake quickly. 

"It's Officer McKendrick to you, punk," I sneered. 

"Yes, sir, officer sir," my boyfriend grunted as he slid out of bed and got onto the floor. He spent the next fifteen minutes spit shining my boots. And the following fifteen sucking my cock through my uniform. This was Greg's gift and Greg's time. For the whole weekend I let him explore everything he ever wanted to with a motorcycle cop trooper. I cuffed him. I fucked him hard. I tested his limits with gloved fingers shoved into his mouth.

We'd never had to think about safe words before, but after that weekend, we decided we should have one. 

This had been for Greg, but I realized how much I liked it. Scratch that, I loved it. Love the feel of the uniform, loved its power. Loved becoming Officer McKendrick and leaving Bob behind. Loved the way it made my muscle jock put out. 

A once on-occasion scene became almost daily for me. Putting on the uniform, getting into the role. It took all the spontaneity out of sex, but I didn't care. Greg sure as fuck didn't. I was becoming his dream top.

My boyfriend didn't bat an eye when I told him of my idea of moving to the suburbs. It had been on his mind, too. A yard, some privacy, a basement we could set up as a sex lair. OK, maybe my possessive streak was kicking in. I wanted Greg all to my self, away from the leather bars, away from the temptations of the city. I broke down and confessed my jealousy and apologized. 

"Bob, I stopped doing anything months ago," he replied. 

We'd been in our new place a couple of weeks when a package arrived. I no longer had to hide anything, and Greg watched excitedly as I pulled out a new uniform. This one a classic California Highway Patrol one. 

"What's that for?" he asked, surprised and clearly turned on.

"I thought I'd start collecting different ones," I said. turning to gauge his reaction. I had a pale blue South Carolina uniform already, and had planned out a couple more I wanted. "What do you say I try this on, maybe model it for you in the backyard?"

"Fuck yes," Greg said. 

He was waiting for me when I strutted out. The fit was even better than I expected. 

"You look amazing, Officer," he hissed, reaching down to tug at his boner. Then he crouched down and started taking pictures of me posing in my new uniform, seated and showing off. 

Greg had gotten into dressing for me, too. He'd taken to dressing up in Indiana collegiate and jocky gear and half the time, I could make out the ridge of a harness he wore beneath that faded, stretched IU football T-shirt. 

I took a look around. Thank goodness for privacy hedges. I reached down and unzipped. "What do you say we give this uniform a christening?" I hauled out my cock and spread my legs, letting Greg get one of his favorite views before he set down the phone and came over between my thighs. 

"Yes, sir, Officer," he hissed. Then I got an amazingly slow and loving blowjob