Somebody Take Me Drunk, I Think I'm Home
Chapter 1

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Romantic, Fiction, Oral Sex, Petting, Hairy, Slow,

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - From gutter drunk to governor of the state because of a cop. A Love Story

Somebody take me drunk ... I think I'm home.

I've found an editor at long last, and I am so sure we are a good fit. I welcome curiousss on board. This is the first story he has edited, and I can tell how much more readable, how much smoother the story goes with his apt hand applied. I do want to say that after receiving his final edited version, I still tinkered a little with the story. So, if you find anomalies they can be attributed to me. Thanks to curiousss for his time and effort.

Those damned Rockies! They do it every time. You let them build you up - "This is going to be an interesting season. We have some raw talent. It just depends if these guys actually want to make a career out of baseball. They certainly have the skills, it's just a question of whether they want to put them to use or not," said the team manager, again, this year.

Then they slam-dunk you! "Well Bret, it's like this - those Giants are a very talented team and they have put it all together this year, going, what, 30-25 so far this season. We just need to continue to improve ... yada, yada, yada."

Here I am, a season ticket holder, having paid $2665 for sixty-one home games at club level. There's a pretty good crowd of ticket-holders around me, and we've become friends over the years. There is always a spread of food and booze in the club level, so everyone makes a party of each game.

It seems we always drink a little more when the Rocks are losing, to drown our sorrows, but then we tend to drink just a little more when they are winning, to celebrate their great prowess.

Yeah, it pretty much is just an excuse to get shit faced –

"I drink to your health when we're together

I drink to your health when I'm alone

In fact, I've drunk to your health so often lately

I've begun to worry about my own."

I dunno, somebody said it. I was a little too drunk to remember, but I do remember hearing it and laughing my ass off.

The Rocks lost to the lowly Padres that night four to two. We'd had a party, I mean a real party. All the others in the club level had girlfriends or wives, so they went home together. It was eleven pm, the game had ended at eight. We'd partied on for hours and here I was puking in the parking lot beside my pickup.

I was on my hands and knees, too drunk to stand or walk, so I had to drive! There was no way I would be able to walk to a bus stop.

I was on my knees, puke down the front of my shirt, leaning against my pickup, fumbling with the keys, trying to find the right one to unlock the door. I'd dropped them in my own puke. That made things real pleasant.

I heard the sound of voices, but not like they were right close. It was so strange; "Denver 131, I'll be out with Colorado ADP-735, a Red Chevrolet Silverado Pickup in the Rockies' Parking lot, structure C space 325. Man on the ground." This was a female voice.

"131 Denver, 10-4 do you need backup?"

"Denver 131, negative at this time, looks to be an intoxicated man trying to get in his vehicle. Will advise."

I saw the pretty red and blue lights swirling all around me. I saw this hot looking female cop walking towards me, flashlight in her hand, shining on and around me. My body and head were leaning back on my pickup. I was helpless; I could not get up, I just couldn't do much of anything except look.

"What do we have here?" the cop asks. "You been drinkin' at the Rockies game tonight?"

"Mayyybe a li'l." I replied, sounding surprisingly sober I thought.

"Looks like you threw up all over yourself, sir. Do you have any identification?"

"Yes, ma'am. Here..." I reached for my back pocket to get my wallet and fell over, hitting my head on the pavement.

"OK, never mind, I'll get it. Is it in here, in your pocket?" she asked.

"Uh-huh," I said, my cheek lying in this puddle of cold vomit.

"OK Mr ... Scott Gary Roberts," Officer Victoria Newland said, "Can you stand up?"

"I own't think sho." I replied.

"Scott, you are way too drunk to drive or be out in public. You are a danger to yourself, so I am going to have a paddy wagon come take you to the drunk tank and let you dry out for the night," she told me.

"No, take me drunk, I think I'm home," I begged.

She laughed. "No Scott, you'd stink up my cruiser and I have to live in that thing tonight, so you'll be ok, just hang on."

I woke up in a foul smelling 20x20 cell with 13 other foul smelling drunks. They had puked on themselves, shit their pants, pissed their pants and generally made messes of themselves. Of course, I didn't need to be treated like this; I have money, I'm not a common drunk. Just because I'd shit my pants doesn't mean I'm like them!

My head hurt so bad I wondered if I'd had a hemorrhage. My cotton-mouth was so dry I'd have considered drinking urine. The dried vomit on my clothes, face and hands was repulsive. The sticky wad in my shorts, running down the back of my legs, was horrible. If I could ever find a shower, I may never leave it.

Around 10 am they opened the cell and processed us all out. I was miles from my pickup, on the streets outside the Denver City Jail and no way, except walking, to get anywhere.

When they gave me back the contents of my pockets at the time of arrest, I had my billfold with six hundred thirty four dollars, credit cards and ID, my keys, a pocket knife and part of a roll of LifeSavers. I put the LifeSaver's into my mouth all at once and started the mushy walk down the street toward Coors Field. I walked into a 7-11 along the way to buy a bottle of juice and the clerk refused to serve me because I looked and smelled so bad.

No cab would have me; I was going to have to walk. Maybe I could get a bus.

Then, the strangest thing happened - the cop who had arrested me, Officer Victoria Newland, pulled up in her personal car, honked and got out, wearing street clothes.

"Scott, let me give you a ride back to your truck," she said. "Just don't touch anything in my car. I have an old newspaper on the seat, sit on that and let's go."

I looked at her like a jackass looking through a gate.

"C'mon, get in," she urged.

"Thank you, thank you so much ma'am," I said. "I'm afraid I need a shower, I'm sorry about smelling your car all up."

"We'll just roll down the windows. Scott, do you know what you said to me last night, while we were waiting for the paddy wagon?" she asked.

"Uhm, not really, I hope I didn't insult you."

"No, you said, 'Take me drunk, I think I'm home.'"

"Oh, I guess I got a little mixed up," I replied.

"Anyhow, I got to thinking about the irony of your statement - kind of funny on the surface but tragic underneath. I've been thinking about you all night. You're a young guy, nice looking, have money in your pocket. Where're you headed?"

"I just wanna get my car, officer. Thanks for the ride," I deflected.

"Scott, I got off at six am, then dragged my ass out of bed at nine forty five to be here for your release and I'm going to ask you to talk to me," she insisted.

"I'm just hung-over, had a big party after the Rockies game last night, that's all," I said.

"I checked your record. You've had one DUI, one arrest for public intoxication and one arrest for fighting. I imagine that, if you've been arrested, you've gotten away several times for each one. Do you have a wife, parents, family?" she queried.

"Naw, I'm alone; caught my wife in our bed with her little brother and her dad; that was a little bit more than I was expecting, so I divorced her. Other than that, nobody." I said gloomily.

"Oh Scott! I'm so sad to hear that, but you need to get over it. You can't throw your life away just because she let you down. You're young, very good looking and you have lots going for you.

Here we are at your truck. Scott, if you want to get some help, I can give you a name and a number," she offered.

"Yeah, that would be nice, thanks officer and, thanks for the ride," I said.

She took out a piece of paper from her purse, wrote something on it and pressed it into my hand.

"Call this number before you take your next drink, Scott. Someone who can help you will answer."

"OK thanks," I said, without looking at the paper, "thanks again for the ride." I was glad to get the ride, but so glad to get away from the 'pushing me to get help' stuff.

I needed to remember to clean the seat of my pickup before I used it again. I got home and went in, finally to get my shower. Oh, those were some nasty clothes.

As I undressed, I looked at my clothes, thought about my condition and what a mess of my life I'd made. Truly, since Dottie and I split, I have wandered aimlessly. This is not acceptable; shitty pants, puke all over me and my clothes, arrested again – I've got to get some help. I don't need those fucking Rockies anyhow, and that is the place to start. I decided I needed to break the pattern, as the hot water flooded over me, washing chunks of puke out of my hair and the smell of dried sweat off my body along with the mashed shit from between my cheeks and down the back of my legs.

I fixed myself some bacon. Then I made some cream gravy from the grease and put a pan of canned biscuits in the oven. I fried three eggs and sat down with bacon and eggs, biscuits and gravy and I drank a quart of orange juice. That helped.

I saw the piece of paper, which the police officer had pressed into my hand, lying on the dresser. Picking it up, I wanted to see what she'd written. It was only a phone number - no name, nothing else.

When I was growing up, I'd always thought that if someone's habits got so bad that other people actually took the trouble and cared enough to talk to that person about them, it was worth a hard look. The offending person owed it to himself, at least, to listen to the complainer. Then, a little self-examination probably would be in order.

I dialed the number.

"Hello, this is Victoria," was the answer.

"Oh, um, uh, Officer Newland; um, this is S-Scott, Scott Roberts."

"I didn't think you'd call, Scott. I am surprised you called so soon. Made a decision, have you?" she asked.

"You are right - everything you said! I called this number to see about a program, or something," I offered.

She explained, "Scott, there's something special about you. I am not licensed to treat you; I am not a professional counselor. I am just a cop. I became a cop to help people and I spend way too much time just processing crimes, chasing criminals and doing paperwork. I thought a lot about you this morning and last night. I want to reach a hand out to you and see if we can find some place inside of you that I can meet you, to sort through the things that are dragging you down, maybe help you back up. Whaddya think?"

"Whu-uh ... Mmm ... I ... why me? What do you want to do to me?"

"You still have a few choices left Scott but time marches on and, if your heavy drinking continues, your choices will become more and more limited. First, at some point you may hurt someone, you may lose your freedom, you may lose your own life, lots of things could, and some things will, happen. Your future is headed in a bad direction," she said, then added, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it's just the way it is. It'd be good for you to take a little stock of things."

"Yeah, I know," I replied quietly, somberly, "and you want to help me? Take stock? I mean, why me and why you?"

"Like I said, I wanted to be a cop to make a difference, and I'm not making a difference, I am just chasing my tail. It's a big step for me too, Scott. I am taking a chance and, if you fail, I'll fail ... so, I'm kinda layin' it on the line, too." She spoke with revelation in her voice ... her own awakening taking place as she explained the meaning of her intentions.

"Wow! It's like, like an angel is fluttered down into my life and -"

I was unable to finish my sentence.

Victoria cried too. An emotional bond was beginning to form. It was a good thing, because it would be needed.

"So, let's meet and set out some ideas and thoughts. Both of us need to be exposed here if we are going to be successful. For me, my intention is to get you to be aware of whatever demons drive you. I want to expose yourself to you. The only way I know of doing that is to just begin small and help you relax. I'll share myself with you; you won't be on any exam table, because I'll be out there for you to pick at if that's what you want," she said thoughtfully.

"OK, well, when are you working, when are you available?" I asked. "Since I have my trust fund, I really can do this any time of day or night, any day of the week," I added, then thought about her time.

"Am I going to be paying you for this?" I asked.

"I'll need to get you a copy of my schedule. Nope, no pay; this is something I'm volunteering. I could have picked anyone, and I picked you, so we go into this equal. I am offering my time, my heart and my best thoughts for you; you need to commit to offer your honest appraisal of life as you are experiencing it, to take things as they come honestly and deal with them openly," she said.

"My reward from this will be to see you be successful in life. To help you stare down discouragement and anger and whatever drags you down. If you begin to live successfully, you'll make my day."

We met at Village Inn restaurants, mostly because they have great coffee and free pie on Wednesdays if you buy something off the regular menu. It was just an excuse really - meeting in public while trust was being established was the best thing for us both.

Let me tell you a little about Victoria; she is a tall woman, six feet one inch with a lean, muscular build; but in her uniform she seems to be of medium build.

Cops have to wear bullet proof vests under their shirts so it makes her look thicker; they carry utility belts with a .40 caliber handgun, 2 extra magazines, flashlight, expandable night stick, handcuffs, a can of mace, 2-way radio, and a stun gun. So, when fully decked out in Denver's PD's dark blues, she looks like she weighs in at about one hundred eighty or one hundred ninety pounds. In truth, she weighs one hundred sixty five pounds, she has a soft and supple skin, but she is lean and in shape. She has muscular legs, strong shoulders and a flat belly; she is in excellent physical condition and knows how to fight.

She's a student of Marshall Arts and can put a man half again bigger than her on the ground before he knows what hit him. She's not infallible but she is smart.

She has C cup breasts that she keeps well bound when in uniform, just past her shoulder length blonde hair, which she keeps in a bun when working, and she does not shave her body, anywhere.

She has a full blonde pubic bush, silky hair on her legs and delicious armpit hair that is thick and bushy blonde. Trailing down from her belly button to her pubic bone is a blonde path of fine filament-like hair that is extremely sensitive to her. It is one of her secrets, that 'it drives her wild if somebody blows on that and nuzzles her there gently.'

Nobody on the force knows these things because she is always totally covered up when working; it is her secret.

Victoria is from a Montana clan and has four brothers, she being the one girl, and she's the youngest in the family. Her dad still works in a large open pit mine there. Her mom owns her own house-cleaning business and makes as much as most men around their town.

They are pure blue-collar people and are the salt of the earth. They work very hard, they love one another devotedly and they are very proud of their baby, Victoria.

Her older brothers are protective, but they've always picked on her mercilessly, playing boyhood pranks on her and yet they were all for one and one for all.

She could play a mean prank herself, every one of her brothers received payback for whatever price he exacted from his sister, and payback was double, at least. Victoria made her mark, giving as good as she got. It thickened her hide and honed her senses

One thing about Victoria, she knows men. She loves men. Her best friends are all men, her brothers.

It would be a mistake to think that Victoria Newland is a dyke. She is girly, loves men, wants a husband and family, it's just that she is six feet one, strong, athletic, on to male tricks and has been raised around older brothers. Most men are intimidated by her, or aren't aware of her sensitivities. She has "Next door girl" wholesome good looks and is twenty-seven years old.

I am six feet four inches, sandy hair, green eyes, weigh two hundred twenty five pounds and have a muscular build. I've been told that I'm hot looking, but I'm suffering a pretty severe case of lack of self-esteem since I found my wife fucking around on me with her dad and brother. I am not even going there.

I have an inheritance and am not pressed for cash or for anything in this life, except for a girlfriend. I am probably an alcoholic, at only 29 years old. My mom died six years ago from cervical cancer. My dad died of a gunshot wound. He was a stock broker and one of his clients, who'd lost everything and blamed my dad, shot him to death as he left his office building in downtown Denver ten years ago.

They were pretty well to do anyhow, and had large life insurance policies, annuities and 'financial depth, ' as it's called. I am an only child, so I inherited a great deal of wealth. I guess I started drinking after that, and then the divorce escalated things even more.

"So, Scott, what do you see for yourself? Who are you? Where are you headed?" Victoria asked me.

"I dunno. Guess I'm sort of a loser. Don't have much direction. I think I need a good woman, but I'd be a lousy choice for her, so that isn't likely. There are lots of loser women out there, but they're worse than me. I need somebody who's better, stronger than me, I guess." I honestly appraised myself.

"Ok, but do you expect some strong woman to come along and make you better? Don't you have to take responsibility for your own self, so you do have something to offer someone?" she asked.

"Yeah, I just can't seem to get started. It's easier to just get drunk," I said.

"Well, that's honest, I appreciate that. Scott, you should try and break your cycle of destructive behavior. Stop hanging around with those who always want to get drunk, or party," she opined.

"I know, I thought about that in the shower that day you took me home. Hey, I haven't had a drink since that night you picked me up."

"Where have you been? What have you been doing?"

"Just staying close to home, not going to the games, not hanging around the bars or seeing my old friends. Some of them have called, but I haven't answered the phone when I see it's them."

"I'm off for the next 3 days. Do you want to do something together?" she asked.

"Um, yeah, sure; what?"

"Let's go skiing. We can go up to Winter Park or Eldorado or even Vail if you want."

"Wow, I haven't been skiing in years, since I was in high school. That'd be a kick in the pants. Let's do it." I said.

Though the Rockies were playing, it was late May and the Colorado High Country had had extraordinary snow storms all season. There was still snowpack in the high country ski resorts and they thought they would be open until Memorial Day, at least; maybe a week longer into June even.

I asked Victoria to call and get reservations, giving her my Diamond American Express Card. She was only able to book one room, but it had 2 beds in it, and we got weekend passes, so we could ski for 2 days unlimited. We were off to Vail resort.

I let Victoria drive my Silverado. She seemed a bit anal retentive about car wrecks and driving. She'd seen some nasty car crashes and was a nervous rider. No problem for me, I was glad to let her drive and enjoy the scenery. I was actually having fun. I think she was too, a little anyhow.

We rented all our ski equipment up there, at the ski shop, took lessons for the first morning on the beginner slopes and then we were set loose to try our hand at snow skiing.

We rode up the chair lifts together and tried coming down together. That was hard, because it is hard to go the same speed when you really can't control yourself that well.

Victoria took a nasty fall late in the first day and wrenched her knee pretty bad. Fortunately, I was behind her and stopped uphill above her. She was writhing on the ground holding her knee. I unhooked my skis and knelt beside her, looking to see if I could do something. Her pain was intense; she wasn't dealing with me at the moment.

The ski patrols had seen her fall and were there inside ten minutes. They loaded her on a sled and took her down to the clinic at the bottom of the hill.

The Nurse Practitioner at the clinic said it could be broken but more likely was a nasty sprain. He wrapped it and gave her crutches, ordering her to keep off her leg and to see a physician as soon as we got back to Denver.

We went back to our room and were talking, "I don't know any good orthopedic doctors, do you, Scott?" she asked.

"I use University Colorado Hospital for everything, but I don't know if they have orthopedics. I can call my friend and he can point me to an orthopedist, if that is ok with you?" I offered.

"That would be great," she replied.

Unfortunately, I was unable to contact my friend at UCH, because it was late in the day.

"We'll stay here tonight. I'll order in pizza and then on the way down the hill tomorrow, I'll get you in somewhere as we are driving into town." I said.

"Oooh, a man in charge, I like it." Victoria teased, a little high on the codeine pills.

I helped her get ready for bed and ordered Pizza. We had supper and hit the rack. She was pretty dopey from the pain pills anyhow.

The next day we went straight into UCH, where we were directed to Orthopedics and she was treated very well. The doctor assessed her injury and pronounced it to be a badly sprained knee. There was no permanent damage, but it would be weak for some months. She was fitted with under-the-clothes reinforcement for the knee, given more pain meds and released with written orders, 'no work until released by Doctor'.

Her sergeant didn't care much for that, so he made her come in and fly a desk. With the pain pills though, she really wasn't much good to them, but they wanted her there so her benefits and salary would continue unabated.

After two weeks, I got a call from her, "Scott, would you be a dear and stop off at Walgreens and get my refill on Oxycodone? I am running low and need them for this damn knee pain."

"Still lots of pain, Vic? Better get you back to the sawbones and see what he says, ok?"

"Yeah, ok, but I need those pills tonight if you could please."

I took her in the next Friday to UCH Orthopedic department and her doctor examined her. "It's healing nicely; you should be able to take that brace off any time now. Just take it easy and you'll be ok," he said.

"Yeah, but I still have pain, doc., can you renew that script for oxy's?"

"They are highly addictive officer Newland. I wish we could ratchet that down and get you on something less potent. You need to wean yourself off them now, before this becomes an addiction," the doctor warned solemnly.

"Yeah, ok, just fill one more for me and then I'll go to something less addictive. Please?" she begged.

He wrote out a prescription and handed it to her silently. She took it and we left.

When Walgreens filled the prescription, it wasn't for Oxycodone but Tylenol 3. Victoria hit the ceiling when she realized what the doctor had done.

Suddenly we, Victoria Newland and Scott Roberts, were on equal ground.

The best thing about all this is that Victoria is a strong person. The second best thing is that she'd only been on the Oxycodone for a little over two weeks. Though that can be enough, she didn't totally fall under the spell of the addictive drug, but got close enough to smell the foul odor of that beast; addiction.

Helping Victoria assess things in her own life also helped me. While I was taking her inventory, I took my own. I hadn't had a drink in seven weeks and Victoria was off all pain meds except for an occasional Advil.

She started out strong but during the process she became needful and I was the guy who was there to help her. It served to ingratiate myself with her. She started looking at me like I'd been looking at her, with big moon shaped eyes.

We began dating, having dinners, going places and doing things together on her days off. There was no sex, she was wary and wanted to wait until there was real commitment. We did some kissing, some fondling, and some heavy breathing. She stopped me any time I got too adventurous, even though she was hot herself.

Seven weeks became two months, then four months. We spent her days-off together, enjoying one another, discovering places and doing interesting things.

However, a chasm began to grow between us. She was a cop, after all, and I an ordinary citizen. She had a league of brethren that she worked with, trained with and counted on for protection, which she protected as well.

Slowly she began to withdraw from me, especially when it became clear that I wasn't going to return to drinking my life away and that I was doing well and recovering from my drinking problem.

Finally, she ended it. "Scott, we need to go on with our lives. I care for you so much and I know you care for me but we are from different worlds. I have aspirations and you have a different future than me," she gently told me the last night we were together.

I listened silently, knowing that something like this was coming. Her growing detachment from me was obvious and I'd steeled myself against this day.

"You've done so much for me Vic," I said. "I'd probably be dead or in prison or something right now if you hadn't taken me on as a project."

"You were more than a project Scotty, you were special. I always said so, remember?" she asked.

"Yeah, I remember," I replied. "Well, so I guess this is it. I hate goodbyes and I'll do my crying in private, but I love you Victoria and I'll never forget you, never forget that you threw me a lifeline just as I was about to gasp my last." My voice began to crack as I headed for the door.

"Scott, please don't leave hurt. I didn't mean we'd never ... see one another..."

I closed the door and was just out of her building as my tears hit.

I made it to my car and sat and cried like a school girl.

Victoria lived in an apartment building off Florida and Evans and I had my penthouse downtown, off the 16th street mall. I drove home, walked into my place feeling hollow and wondered if a drink would hit the spot.

I thought about what I'd learned in the past few months, how my life had turned. I began to realize I had a lot going for me, and I shouldn't spend my time trying to destroy myself any longer, but to make something productive come from my time here on earth. I'd always hold Victoria Newland special in my heart but she didn't see me as a potential mate and there was really nothing I could do about that.

I just had to gird myself up and go on.

I had millions of dollars, with no need to work for the rest of my life, but I couldn't just sit and eat pistachios. I needed an avocation.

On a whim, I registered as a Republican and ran for the Colorado Senate, for a seat being vacated in downtown Denver. It had long been held by the Democrats. I really had no credentials to run. I did have a 4-year college degree, but I was loaded and never really had a job. So, I'd fit in perfectly if I could win the seat!

The Republican Party got behind me and poured funds into my campaign, trying to take control of the Senate away from the Democrats. They called me a fresh face with new ideas and I worked hard at it. We had rallies, I gave speeches and interviews, and I won that damned seat by only fifty-six votes. It was truly an upset victory and the Republicans did take control of the Colorado State Senate by a two-seat majority.

I got my committee assignments and pretty much voted the party line on everything that came up. It took quite a while for me to acclimate to the rigors of public life, of political life and of being a power broker, but I became popular with my colleagues and quite well known around Metropolitan Denver.

I'd had the seat for three and a half years and was up for reelection for another four-year term. I had a lot of money in my campaign coffers and spent a lot of time kissing babies, going to luncheons and rubber chicken suppers. I worked lots of rope lines, shaking hands meeting and greeting my constituents, the voters.

We'd received some death threats; my office staff had intercepted them and notified the Colorado State Patrol, who have responsibility for Capitol security. But, outside the legislature, we are unprotected and so whatever police district we are in has the burden of security, if we notify them that we will be holding an event.

My secretary had notified Denver PD that I'd be doing a Saturday 5k jog and meet 'n greet afterwards in Cheeseman Park, southeast of downtown. The police department said they'd assign an officer to run the 5k race with me and then a contingent of two more officers to hang close as I moved about the crowd. They'd be out of uniform, but be in service and armed as well as have protective clothing on.

There were probably 125 or 150 people in the group. I was shaking hands, one of my staffers was handing out campaign literature and out of the corner of my right eye, I saw a steel glint, then I heard several loud gunshots at close range. I was knocked to the ground, with people on top of me. There were a couple more gunshots and chaos reigned. I saw blood and there was screaming and yelling. I heard orders being yelled, lots of confusion. It didn't seem I was hurt, at least I didn't feel any pain, but I had this warm sticky stuff, "Oh, it's blood!" coming from my chest. It was becoming hard to breathe, I felt like I was drowning.

I woke up in Denver General Hospital. I'd been shot in the lung, two bystanders were killed and a Denver police officer, who had been protecting me, was seriously wounded and still in surgery. I was told the officer had stepped in harm's way to protect me by taking a second bullet meant for me, then landing on me as we both fell to the ground, which also broke two of my ribs.

I'd never even seen the security detail that DPD had said they'd assign me. I did see and talk to the officer who ran the race with me, but it got so hectic right afterwards I never even looked for the other two when I started greeting the crowds. At first I had no idea at all that it was Victoria Newland who had taken a bullet for me and now lay seriously wounded, in surgery at this same hospital, fighting for her life.

The shooter was shot to death by my other security guard; that was the second set of shots I had heard after falling to the ground. The assailant was an ardent Democratic supporter of the guy who I'd beat by fifty-six votes almost four years previously. I guess the Democrats wanted their Senate seat back.

They said I had a .38 caliber slug in my lung when I arrived at their ER. I was losing blood fast and they performed emergency surgery, removing the slug and repairing what damage they could find. They were cautiously optimistic that I'd make a full recovery.

I asked about the officer. Her prognosis wasn't so rosy. She had a bullet-proof vest on, but it is open on the sides, and she was turned to the side when the shooting began. She took a slug on her left side and the bullet grazed an artery near her heart and stopped in her left lung, after shattering a rib as it went by. She took a second round to the palm of her right hand, as she had put it forward using it as a shield against the onslaught of bullets. After she was hit, she went right down on top of me, breaking my ribs.

They got the slug out of her lung, and were trying valiantly to repair the bullet-grazed artery of her heart. The surgeons at Denver General Hospital had called University Hospital for the world famous Heart Surgeon, Harold Metzenbalm, on staff there. Dr. Metzenbalm arrived at DGH as they were just beginning to work on her heart. Victoria 'died' on the table, her wounded heart stopping just after they began operating on it.

The tenacious ER teams, and Dr. Metzenbalm, refused to accept that as the final answer and worked feverishly to restore a heartbeat, a blood pressure, stop the bleeding, restart normal function, mend the broken rib that the bullet shattered and repair the artery that had been nicked, bringing Victoria back to a living, breathing person.

She was in surgery for eleven hours. The team of hard working expert physicians saved the brave police officer's life. Her outlook was now bright. With time, and therapy, she would be ok.

I asked if we could be in the same room, as patients. They had to make sure Victoria was ok with that so, when she could communicate, she nodded her head yes to the question, "Would you like to be in the same room as Senator Roberts?"

They pushed our beds about as close as they could and still get the machines in there. I stuck my hand through the rail and she hers. We held hands.

We had a constant stream of visitors. I had a message from President Romney and Vice President Michelle Bachman, visits from our Democratic Governor, most of the Republican Senators that I served with and even many Democratic ones.

Victoria was visited by literally hundreds of Denver Police and Sheriff Officers. Other departments also sent representatives. It became so much the hospital had to shut it down. Victoria asked if, instead of visiting, they would each give a pint of blood - that would mean so much to her. The hospital received 3,219 pints of blood in the ensuing weeks. It was donated by law enforcement officers and fire fighters from around the state; also from many citizens throughout Metropolitan Denver. The blood bank finally had to refuse more blood, because they were afraid it wouldn't all keep and they were full.

We were in the hospital, together, for two weeks. She was in longer than I but we had many opportunities to talk during quiet evenings or late at night when we were both awake.

"I never meant to drive you away, Scott. I just needed some space. We were so close and I hadn't intended to fall in love. Plus, my career was taking off and I had a lot of demands, training demands, and other departmental things going on," Victoria said.

"I thought it best to make a clean break, Vic. I could tell you'd been more and more detached from me. When you started to talk that night, I already knew that you needed space from me, that you'd decided to move on. To cling to you would have been to drive you away, totally," I told her solemnly.

"You saved my life; several people have told me that. You put yourself in harm's way; you pushed me down and took that bullet, then another one in your hand. Your life is forever changed because of your sacrifice," I murmured.

"Victoria, you've saved me twice now." I said.

"Well, I can't have my guy dying on me now, can I?" she said. "Somebody's got to look out for you. Besides, you saved me from what was becoming a pretty bad drug addiction to Oxycodone. That would have ruined my life, Scott. You hung in there with me and made me see myself. I owed you for that, besides it was my job to protect you last Saturday; that was why I was there."

"Well, if we're keeping score, I am still down one but, let's make a deal ... let's quit the rescue business," I offered.

"I'm still a cop, still in that line of work, you know?" she reminded me.

"I imagine you will be getting some time off after you get out, some recuperation time. I want you to come to my place, I'll hire a nurse and we can convalesce together for a few weeks. What do you say?" I asked.

"Sounds good, Scott. I might just take you up on that. I need to sleep. See you in the morning," she said.

I won reelection handily from my penthouse apartment after being released from Denver General Hospital. I'd allowed one of the television stations and one of the daily newspapers into my roomy apartment every week for an extensive interview leading up to the election. Victoria was there for some of them and our story just won the hearts of the people. I could have been President of Colorado, if I'd asked and Victoria could have been Queen. She is so tall and elegantly beautiful with her blonde locks, light eyes and sweet smile. She looks nothing like a hardened cop, though she's tough as a Dodge Pickup Truck.

Together, in the interviews, we told of the beginning of our relationship; how she had found me in my own vomit, how I'd been arrested for various alcohol-related offenses in the past, how she'd taken me under her wing and given me a hand up. It was a comeback story and, instead of being viewed as shameful, it was inspirational.

There was always some smart-ass reporter wanting to know if she was bent on saving the world. Her answer, "No Keith, not save the world, but all the darkness in the world can't hide the light of a single candle."

Mostly, they just looked at her with a thousand yard stare after that.

We were recovering slowly. We underwent extensive rehabilitation and needed lots of time to heal. We each needed to go at our own pace, but heal we did.

My place is so large that I offered Victoria the chance to just move in and take up residence in one of the spare bedrooms if she wanted. It turned out she did want, but we were still platonic. I never could figure out her intentions towards me. If it were up to me, I'd bed her, but it wasn't. She was either going slow, making sure, or not interested at all.

However, this time, our bond strengthened. Our hearts were becoming knit. We ate together, we spent our evenings together and she accompanied me on some State business where a date or spouse's attendance was appropriate.

She was off the streets as a uniformed cop, though she was promoted to detective sergeant. It was less rigorous and she could cut back on her hours if she needed to rest some.

I had a call from Randall Prahall, the Chairman of the Colorado Republican Party. He wanted to come over and visit. I told him, we'd make a dinner party of it and to bring his wife. Actually, there were ten men with him when they came and it wasn't dinner they wanted to talk about.

"Scott, the governor is up for reelection next year and we think he's vulnerable. We want you to put your hat in the ring and run against him. If we can get the Governorship, we'll have all three; the house the senate and the governors office," he announced, to nods of approval.

Victoria sat there wide-eyed, not indicating her preference one way or another.

"I'll need some time to think it over. Nothing like this was on my radar so it's come to me out of the blue. Just let me think about it," I said, thoughtfully.

"We'd like your answer by the first of the month," Randall said, "We have a lot of planning and scheduling to do. I hope you are on board with this, Scott. The Republican Party is stronger now here in Colorado. We want to field a strong candidate for Governor, and we think you are it. If you agree to run, you'll have the full weight of the Colorado and National Republican Party and substantial financial backing behind you."

They all finished their drinks and left. The meeting lasted but 30 minutes. We did not eat dinner.

I had barely begun my second term as a State Senator and was only 35 years old. I'd been out of the hospital for six months after the shooting and was nearly back to normal. I was in good condition before the shooting, which helped my recovery substantially, the doctors had said. Victoria was recovering but more slowly as she had been more severely wounded. However, she would make a full recovery, just in a few months more than me. She was glad to have a place to recuperate where she had peace and was cared for both physically and emotionally.

We still hadn't resolved anything between us. I felt that I needed resolution before making any decision on trying for the Governor's Mansion.

"Victoria, I'd like to spend a little time, just you and me, talking," I mentioned.

"Ok, shoot," she said jokingly.

"This is hard for me, but it's time NOW if ever there was a time. I care for you. I want to know that you are ok. I want to spend my time with you. I want you to want me, I love you," I said quietly, with my head bowed, afraid to look her in the eye for fear of rejection.

She was silent a long time. We sat across from one another, her looking at me and me avoiding her gaze. I realized that this was the moment that the rubber hit the road. Our future hinged on what was about to be said.

I wasn't overly invested, because our relationship had matured and I knew that we'd always be friends, buddies. That I'd tipped my hand and spoken the 'L' word was a first for us. But, it forced her, at last, to make her heart known to me. I'd never known her even to date other men, cops or otherwise.

Victoria weighed her words carefully for several minutes.

"You are so good for me, I never feel this way around other people. I mean I am from a large family of all brothers. My brothers and I are friends, we are more than that, and we are best friends. The cops I work with are mostly men. We are brothers, we are family, we are not really friends though, because too much is riding on our confidence level with one another, we are comrades in arms, I guess," she said.

I blinked at her, wondering when she'd comment on what I'd said, wondering if or how I figured into this, her life full of men. I was such a different type of man in her life. Her brothers and her cop buddies were all macho, tough guy types. Me, I was certainly not effeminate, but just didn't need to prove anything. I was kind of mellow and laid back, bright but content with who I was.

"Like I said, Scott, you are so good for me. Around you, I feel different. I feel that I'm gently treated, that I am a treasure to you, that I am special. I do sense your love for me. It has perplexed me for a long time, I don't know what to do with it, it isn't something I'm used to dealing with."

"Ok, well, um... ," I stammered.

"Do I love you back?" she asked.

I blinked, then blinked again, breathless, waiting, wondering.

"Yes, I do. I've never felt free to express my love. It was always, 'tough love, ' 'rub some dirt on it, it'll be all right' type of love," she said.

"Scott, I'm totally inexperienced with men. I mean, I have more men in my life than probably any chick you ever met, but I don't know anything about love, the type of love that I know you are offering and that you want me to express to you," Victoria said.

"I mean, I'm not a virgin. I've had sex a few times but I've never had an orgasm with a guy in the room. Everyone seems to think that I want it rough, that because I am tough and can land and take a punch, that I want to be treated rough in the sack," she lamented.

She continued, "I've avoided all this with you. I've made you back off when you've got horny, even when you've got me horny. I did that because I didn't know what to do if you made me fall in love. It is something gentle and soft and kind and I don't go there too much. I know it's there, but it kind of has me buffaloed, know what I mean?

One more thing, then I'll shut up. Scotty, if I let you inside this tough exterior, I fear that you may not like what you see, that you might reject it and leave me weakened. I've never been weak and I fear it." She was speaking quietly and her vulnerability was beginning to reveal itself.

"I understand. Look at me Victoria. I love you. What you've just told me about is that little girl who was locked up by rough and tumble guy brothers who wanted to tease and overprotect their baby sister. But, you grew up taller and tougher than some of them and so they still forced you to be one of them, not let you be who you might choose to be. All I can say is that I promise to do my best to love you as you are and let you be you."

She had tears in her eyes. She wasn't sobbing, but I'd never seen her tear up. She had always been strong, she'd seen horrible suffering, handled horrific situations, dealt with terrible people and for her, a revealed tear was quite a step.

Even when she was fighting Oxycodone, she stayed tough-minded. What a great woman, what a great person, I do love her so.

"Scotty, make love to me. Teach me how to be loved. Show me how to love you." Then she cried, great heaving sobs, a lifetime of suppression began to find it's way to the light of day. For Victoria, to allow herself to be vulnerable was as big an achievement as any she ever had accomplished.

She left her chair across the table from me and ran around sobbing, her blonde ponytail bouncing as she trotted, all six feet one inch, to me. I was standing as she reached me and nearly fell with her as she impacted me with such force.

I led her into my bedroom. We stood there, her tears still flowing, the cleansing of the moment not finished. I motioned for her to stand still and went to get a warm washcloth. I started the huge tub full of water and came back to wipe her face. As I wiped her cheeks and nose, like a little girl, this six feet one inch; one hundred sixty five pound child became pliable, eager to be loved, touched, caressed and treated tenderly. She just didn't know what to do.

Neither of us spoke. I unbuttoned her blouse, brushed it from her shoulders letting it fall to the floor. I then loosened the fasteners on her brassiere. As I began to peel it from her breasts, she showed a twinge of shyness, pulling her arms up protectively. I hesitated, waiting. She lowered her arms and I dropped the bra to the ground.

Very gently I caressed her shoulders from behind, moving my hands around her neck. I pulled her to me, I was behind her and I puffed in her ear, nibbled on her lobe, and then licked her neck. My hands lightly touched her skin and moved to the swell of her C-cup breasts. She inhaled as my palms found her areolas and her puffy, skyward pointing nipples at the same time.

Both my hands on her hard nipples, gently circling with my palms, she ground her still clothed bottom into me. I kissed her cheek, breathed on her neck. She turned her head and we kissed. Without losing contact, she turned her body and we embraced, opening our mouths, intermingling our tongues, expressing our desires with our mutually labored breathing.

Her tears had stopped. She became wanton with her kiss, exploratory with her hands. I stopped her and she blinked in my face. I smiled warmly and unfastened her pants, shucking them down her hips and legs. She stepped out of them and revealed she had not worn underwear. I led her to the nearly full bathtub of water and helped her in, then she sat down. I took my clothes off and joined her, standing over her for a moment, my erection jutting out directly above her eyes. I stood and let her look at me, then allowed my cock to rub and bounce on her head and chin as I sat down in the tub.

She reached for it, but I deflected her hands, grabbing them and bringing them to my mouth. "You said, 'teach me, show me, '" I said, "Let me." I smiled at her.

I grabbed a bottle of shampoo and poured some in my hand, then applied it to her wet hair. I shampooed it, taking my time and scratching her scalp, caressing her blonde locks. I rinsed her with water from the tub and then I shampooed it again, the fragrance of the clean smelling soap filling the air.

I took a bar of soap and she handed me a washcloth off the counter, but I dropped it. I turned her in the tub so her back was to me and she was sitting between my legs. I rubbed the bar of soap on her back, neck, shoulders and under her arms. I soothed it down her arms and squeezed her fingers, massaging each one.

Gently, I pulled her back. She rested against my belly and chest. I took the bar of soap and rubbed her forehead, her cheeks and lips; her chin and neck and the front of her shoulders down to her breasts. Her breathing began to become labored again as I soaped her breasts, circling her nipples.

Her hands gripped the side of the tub as I trailed lower from her breasts, across and around her taut belly to just above her pubic mound, reaching over her from behind.

I scooted her up in the tub and moved both my arms beneath her arms, holding her upright. I took the bar of soap and rubbed her vagina, soaping her silky pubic hair, squeezing her labia and running my fingers in the areas where her legs joined her torso. I lathered my hands and rubbed her ass. Her breathing turned to moans as I carefully cleaned around, first one way and then around the other way and then directly onto and a little bit inside her little star.

She had become limp in my embrace from behind. I turned her body around, spinning her on her butt as the pivot, and moved her legs over my shoulders, leaning her body against the opposite side of the tub for support. She fastened her eyes on mine, heavily lidded, lusty and filled with the new experiences and sensations. Then I soaped her thighs and calves down to her feet where I kissed each toe as I rubbed it with soapy fingers.

While she watched, I cleaned myself. I raised up, on my knees and washed my hair, under my arms, my chest. I grabbed my very erect cock and balls and soaped them well, I rubbed the soap between the cracks of my ass and then I washed my feet and legs. I sat in the tub and rinsed my body.

I stood, as she watched silently, and stepped out of the tub. I grabbed a towel and dried myself vigorously.

When finished, I grabbed her hands and pulled her kindly to her feet, leading her to stand outside the tub. I toweled her hair thoroughly. I took a dry towel and patted down her body, rubbing between the cheeks of her ass and around her pussy. I sat her on the toilet, with the lid down, and blow-dried her hair, standing in front of her with my hard cock bouncing and pointing in her face, at her throat and chest.

When she'd make a grab, I would back away or pull her hands down, indicating silently that I was going to finish what I'd started.

Finally we were finished drying and I brushed her hair. I hadn't applied rinse, so it was frizzy, but I never let her see it in the mirror. She only smelled the cleanliness of soap and never saw herself in the mirror.

I led her into the bedroom and turned her to me as we stood beside the bed. As we kissed, I nudged her onto the bed. Her legs buckled and she sat down then lay. I lay beside her, kissing her. I planted kisses on her from her scalp, the tops of her ears, behind her ears, down her neck to where it becomes her shoulder and under her arms, licking her there. I moved from her bushy armpits to the gentle swell of her breasts and engulfed her nipples with my warm and moist mouth, flicking my tongue over her nipples, causing her to arch her back, planting her head into the pillow and presenting her breasts to me prominently.

She was breathing more heavily, sounding like she had the croup, hoarse sounds coming from her throat both on the exhale and the inhale. The odor of her arousal filled the room, I kissed down from her breasts to her belly button and there I discovered the filament-like blonde hairs, almost invisible, which trailed down from her belly button to her pubis. I gently nudged them with my upper lip, breathing through my nose onto them and she gasped and jerked as I lightly touched them.

That is an erogenous zone on her and she was quickly losing any control that she might have had. I lingered a moment on those small hairs there below her belly button, reached my hand around to the small of her back, opposite from where I was nuzzling in front and lightly tickled there in back. She orgasmed slightly, humping the air with her hips. How erotic!

I moved my body between her now open legs, her body writhing, her pussy pumping the air, seeking contact. Her words, "Please ... oh, please ... don't make me suffer any more ... please, Scotty." She pumped the air another time, seeking my lips or my fingers.

I blew a puff of air on her labia, she sucked in a huge gulp of air and stopped all movement, waiting. Very slightly I touched her vaginal lips and nuzzled my upper lip in between them, nibbling around, then inserting my tongue slightly. She jammed her hips into my face and my nose into her clitoris. Her hands grasped the back of my head, she spread her legs wide and pushed with her hands, humping with her hips, seemingly trying to insert my whole head into her vagina. Her orgasm started like a wave crashing in onto the shore and it built in magnitude, never slowing or receding. She squeezed her legs shut on my head and I lost the ability to hear anything she said. With her legs squeezed so tightly, I couldn't breathe, I licked and sucked until I just had to breathe or die. I had to break away violently and when I did she seemed unaware of what danger I was in.

I gasped and sucked in large lungfuls of air, laughing out loud at her.

She seemed incoherent and unaware for a few moments.

Wiping my soaked face on the bed sheets, I slithered up her body to lie face to face. I kissed her and asked her "How was that?"

"I never knew anything like that in my life. I want you to do that to me all the time. I loved that. Thank you so much," she gushed.

"We're not through, little girl," I warned.

"I want you inside me," she demanded. And she rolled me over straddling me. She grabbed my cock and slipped down hard all the way to my belly. She sat there taking in the sensations, her eyes closed, my hands cupping her breasts.

I told her "Spin around, face my feet but don't get off my cock."

Slowly she worked herself around and the sensation was totally different. She rose to her knees and began to pump up and down on me.

"Vic, I'm not going to last long," I said, as I began erupting inside her. That set her off again and she nearly tore me in two pumping and sliding back and forth, literally dragging the come out of my body. Even when I was done, she kept humping and I asked her to stop for a minute, because it was so sensitive.

She laughed, which caused her to involuntarily kegel, which caused my overly sensitive cock to twitch up inside her. She hiccupped at that and laughed again, which caused me to twitch again. It was a vicious cycle of glorious pain and pleasure there for a few moments.

She Lay her long torso back on top of me, my hands circled her to find her breasts. She lay her head back on my shoulder, where our faces were lined up next to one another, both laying on our backs, catching our breath. "Scott, I do love you so much."

Victoria Newland, Detective Sergeant of the Denver Police Department, became Mrs. Scott Roberts two weeks later.

She encouraged me to launch my bid for governor; it would be a two-year run for office. I kept my seat in the State Senate as I ran and was a constant thorn in the side of the current governor and the Democrats in the state legislature.

Victoria became a leader in the investigative ranks of detectives. It seems that finding her girly side, and exposing her vulnerabilities to one man she could trust, strengthened her even more that anyone could have imagined. She was promoted to Lieutenant after only five years as a sergeant.

I was in my second year as Governor of Colorado when another attempt was made on my life. There was only one guard on duty at the governor's mansion at night. Someone had sneaked onto the grounds of the mansion and into the mansion itself. He was armed with a pistol and a knife. He made his way into our bedroom upstairs without being noticed but some noise that he made awakened Victoria. She put three rounds into his neck and chest when he was only eight feet away from me. I was asleep when it happened. She keeps her service weapon close by 24/7. She'd saved my life yet again.

Security was tightened considerably around me after that. We discussed whether she should keep her job with the constant danger that she faced, and she insisted that she loved it and was as safe as any other cop.

Victoria hunted around and found a small weapon that I could carry concealed. She taught me how to use it. We practiced every month, shooting a minimum fifty rounds and she instructed me to be thinking of possible escape routes and 'what to do's' every time I went into public.

If the people of Colorado ever realized their governor was a gun carrying man, they might not appreciate it. However, generally, the security detail agreed with Victoria, it was best to make me more security aware and able to defend myself if the need arose, in addition to them ratcheting up their proficiency in this ever increasingly dangerous day and age.

A new mayor of Denver was elected and he hired a new chief of police. The new chief wanted his own people in key command positions and, after extensive review, he put Victoria in as Captain of Detectives, which is a Division Chief position.

I ran for and was elected to a second term as Governor of Colorado. Midway through my second term, the Republican Party asked me to toss my hat into the ring for United States Senator, telling me I'd be a shoo in since I was such a popular governor and would be term limited out of office after this term was over.

That would mean Victoria and I would be apart more than we'd be together, her in Denver and me in Washington, D.C. We never had children, but our love was totally devotional and she said she'd support me, whatever decision I made.

I thought about it and, after Victoria and I had another of our nearly head crushing love making sessions, I decided not to stay in public office after my term as Governor passed.

I was content being the spouse of Chief of Detectives. After all, how often does a love come along like this? It is rare, according to my observations. Why gain the world and take the chance on losing the best thing that could happen to me, my wife.

Nope, I am happy. No need to fix happy.

Thank you for reading my story. The courtesy of your vote is appreciated.


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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Romantic / Fiction / Oral Sex / Petting / Hairy / Slow /