The Cop, The Doctor, & Me Ch. 01

The cop left the Manhattan hotel room early. The room was over two hundred dollars, but I didn't have to worry about the cost. Plus, it was a bargain for the borough. He, not the cop he, paid for it. It wasn't even 6 p.m. though. During a break the cop was texting someone. Someone that he had just told me that he might like, for real, not just like to fuck, like me. She wanted to meet up with him, and he was three hours away from his home, a home he shared with his parents, but he didn't know I knew. He was young, but at 26, he wasn't anyone I would feel guilty about fucking. The cop was hot and cocky.

I had just spent about three hours with him.

Earlier, he had spent about three hours traveling to me. I got there first. It only took me about 45 minutes. It was so hot outside, and I wanted to get there before him to make sure I could check my makeup and hair. I was sweating from nerves and the summer heat, not a great combination for a first fuck, a fuck with basically a stranger. I went up on the elevator and went to my room. It was tiny, with bunk beds. Twin bunk beds. I was so upset. How on earth would I able to have amazing sex in a twin bunk bed? The cop was a good foot taller than me and solid. There was no way he'd be able to move comfortably on that bed. But it really wasn't about him. This was about me.

Over the last week he had texted me almost nonstop after linking up on FetLife. His body was thick, not thick in a feminine way, but in a solid, he could pick-me-up-with-one-arm kind of way. Blonde suburban guys really aren't my thing, but I didn't care. I wasn't going to spend a lot of time with him. He liked to send pictures of his hard cock to me and tell me how he was going to fuck me. I've heard this before and wasn't impressed. I've probably had hundreds of dick pics sent to me. Short and fat ones. Skinny ones that I have no use for. Limp ones. (Why would anyone do that?) Curved ones were my favorite to fuck. But unless I know what his dick feels like inside me, I couldn't care less what it looked like. And almost every "alpha" guy brags about his superb fucking skills.

We met for a couple of drinks at a Brooklyn bar about a week before meeting at the hotel. He stuck out wearing khakis and polo. It was a pleasant or so first "date". We talked about the normal stuff without giving too many details about ourselves. I did figure out what he did for a living. It made him uncomfortable. I didn't care though. I like to know who I'm fucking. He didn't pay for the drinks and it took me some mild pleading to let me, really the doctor, pay for the beer. I just needed him to be a little bit of an asshole, not a complete one and fuckable. He was certainly fuckable.

When the cop walked into the hotel room, I was quiet. It was the afternoon and I didn't have wine in me. It was bright outside. Everything felt mildly awkward. I also hadn't seen the doctor in a long time and didn't know whether seeing the cop was a mistake. What if fucking the cop was a bad idea and the doctor got so jealous, he went away? I didn't want him to disappear.

We made some small talk in the tiny hotel room, and then went into the bathroom to get ready. The bathroom was unusual. There was a frosted glass wall that sectioned off about one third of the hotel room into the bathroom. There was a glass door to the bathroom that rose about two inches from the ground. The cop would be able to see me moving through the frosted glass and hear everything I did. He also would be able to see (my now) bare feet through the space between the floor and the glass door. I peed and made sure I was clean between my legs. I didn't know if he would go down on me, although my experience with bulls is that they usually don't. I wanted everything though. I didn't want to just be fucked. I wanted to be fingered, fucked, and gone down on. I just wanted to cum so badly.

I was even more excited for what I had planned later. In a rather large New York City apartment, I was going to have the doctor go down on me until he couldn't any longer. I wanted to tell everything the cop did to me. Everything. I wanted to make the doctor feel so badly for not taking care of me the way a man should. I still had doubts about the doctor, but he is a "man" and men are never reliable. I still wanted his face to be covered in me. I wanted to cum on his face. I wanted him to smell the cop on me and feel a heat inside his chest because someone else fucked me first.

The cop bent over and started kissing me. Overall, he wasn't a bad kisser, much better than I would have guessed. I started to take my clothes off. It was easy. I just had a short cotton sleeveless summer dress and a new lace bra and underwear set on. I made the doctor buy me the set earlier in the week. The underwear was from one of those fancy lingerie stores in lower Manhattan. I had never gotten anything from one of those stores before and was trying not to think about keeping the set pristine. After all, I was in the hotel room to be fucked and not treated delicately. I was not supposed to care about the lace.