Second Chances
Copyright© 2025 by ahorsewithnoname
Chapter 1
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Is it possible for a reformed Hollywood porn star to reclaim her life in small town America, and get a second chance? Possible, especially when it's with the local sheriff, who has some issues from his past. After a chance meeting, their relationship nurtures and grows, hitting some bumps but moving forward to the inevitable climax. It's an erotic story, but more of a true love story. You can read a bunch of reader's comments for this story at Bookapy.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Masturbation Oral Sex
“Hello, Sheriff Coop de Doop!”
Looking around, Rob saw that it was old man Goat. He smiled and waved, then responded with “Hey Billy Goat!” as he continued walking.
His last name wasn’t Goat, but, he had this straggly gray beard, and his first name was William, and while Rob couldn’t quite pull all the pieces together, it had something to do with all of Goat’s brothers and sisters that townsfolk got to calling him Uncle William ... then it progressed to Uncle Billy, and before long he was Uncle Billy Goat.
Old man Goat chuckled every time he heard someone call him that. Not his kids, though. Ellen and Levi simply called him Dad.
The day was coming to a close and Rob was happy about that. He’d dealt with a smashed mailbox out on 199 at the Jonesville farm and then got called to the high school about a suspicious gas smell. Turned out to be a couple of kids mixing liquids in the chemistry department without proper ventilation.
Can you spell D-E-T-E-N-T-I-O-N chuckled Rob to himself as he watched Miss Crenshaw, the aged principal, tongue lash the two youths. From there it was a quick hop across the 2nd Street Bridge to the Fire Department for his mandatory lifesaving refresher course. Everyone in the department knew he could teach the course standing on one foot, but village bylaws were bylaws.
He had but one more scheduled stop, the short jaunt down Canal Street to St. Patrick’s. In exchange for letting his veteran’s group hold weekly meetings in the basement, he’d agreed to referee basketball early Friday evenings with boys from the parish.
Rob was glad that there was a second referee who liked nothing better than to run up and down the court all game long. He knew his knee would never stand up to that kinda punishment, so he was content with hovering around mid-court, toward one sideline, and making his calls from there.
Once in a while, he’d make a controversial call and one of the kids would get a little mouthy. Rob would take hold of his jacket and open it a bit, revealing his Sig Sauer weapon, and that would most often diffuse the tension into laughter.
After the games, Rob would open his trunk and pull out an ice chest filled with soft drinks and a box full of snacks, all paid for by him, and he and the kids would sit around and talk about sports.
The group dispersed around 10 pm and after Rob cleaned up a bit, he opted to head over to Mollies for a drink or two and some conversation.
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