In the Boonies of Oklahoma
1983

“Fuck,” I said as the red and blue flashes filled the interior of my car.

“Were you speeding?” my wife asked; her question, in and of itself, wasn’t the issue. No, the way she asked hurt me. The condemnation in her voice stung. My wife can humiliate me with no effort. She draws enjoyment from my pain. This is a niggling thing, which drives me insane.

“A little,” I answered as I pulled onto the shoulder of the road. “Three miles an hour, no cop gives you a ticket for 58 in a 55 zone, does he?”

“Maybe this one,” she said with smugness in her voice, reminding me, without saying I told you so, she had warned me about my speed.

The spotlight from the patrol car shown inside of ours, bathing us in bright rays. The glare from my review blinded me. I glanced at the outside mirror. He walked toward us, his right hand resting on the butt of his revolver, the other clutched the sheathed handle of a nightstick. Standing at least 6 feet 6 tall, with impossibly broad shoulders, massive ape-ish arms, and a thin waist, the man appeared monster-ish.

“You better keep your cool, baby,” she said, handing me the registration and insurance. “I don’t want you to piss this guy off. He’s black, he’s a Deputy Sheriff, so don’t write a check, with your overcompensating mouth, that your sissy ass can’t fucking cover. Remember, we’re on a job. So, take your medicine, and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

This is the same song and dance she loves—Tina always puts me down. She can’t leave me alone, but her advice, this time, was excellent. At least, minus the insults, the advice would have been fine. She understood how niggers affected me. You don’t want to piss off a black cop on a power trip. A coon in authority, fuck that is messed up to the max. I dug my license out of my wallet and put two twenty-dollar bills with my driver’s license, insurance, and registration. Money always works with jigaboos.

“What are you doing?”

“Relax, he’s a nigger. He’ll take the money and let me off with a warning.”

“Oh, baby, you’re such a loser.”

I wanted to say something, but a light in my eyes interrupted my thought process. The cop walked around the car, pointed his flashlight inside when he walked across the front of my car. By the time he smacked his knuckles on my window, I was ready to offer him the bribe. I hit the down button and held out the license, insurance, registration, and reparation for his bullshit suffering.

“Thank you, sir. I bet you been stopped for crossing the centerline, speeding, and reckless driving before.”

“No, I haven’t,” I said. “I didn’t cross the centerline, and I wasn’t driving recklessly.” My mouth raced ahead of my mind.

“Honey,” my wife said, “hear the man out.”

“I wasn’t...”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said.

I glared at her; my darling wife had this grin on her face. She laughed at me, not aloud, but under her breath. Nonetheless, she enjoyed this. Her amusement at my predicaments in life was not at all a subtle criticism. On top of everything else, we’d been at odds about blacks for years. I never liked them, my parents never liked them, we considered them a threat to white Christians, to white lives.

He scowled at me, putting the bundle of documents and money in his hand into a shirt pocket. He opened my door, placed his swarthy hand on my shoulder.

“Sir, step out of the car, please,” he said. Remaining polite but insistent, he squeezed my shoulder with his gigantic ape paw of a hand, digging his fat thumb into the flesh just above my collarbone, his gargantuan, long fingers into the muscles of my neck.

“No,” I said. I shrugged my shoulder and lurched forward, trying to make the cop let go of his grip. “Write my warning, keep the money, and return the rest, so we can go home. I had a hard, long day.”

Clutching me harder, he leaned into the car, unhooked my belt, released his hold, only long enough to let the belt pass his hand. The deputy dragged me out of the vehicle by my throbbing shoulder. Throwing me against the rear window, he leaned his massive body into mine, wrenched my hands behind my back, and cuffed them. My face felt on fire, my heart burned inside my chest.

Holding my face to the window, he put his fat lips to my ear. My wife’s tickled expression made me nauseous. My head spun as the helplessness of my position sank into my mind. I gazed at her without seeing anything but her pleased smirk. The bitch enjoyed this. Eating up my distress and humiliation like a rich pudding.

His body was twice the size of mine. He had to weigh 250 to 270 pounds, all muscles, while I’m 5 feet 8 and 140 pounds. The man pressed into me, hurting my back, letting me appreciate the simple fact, I hadn’t a chance in a fight with him.

“Your ole lady’s a beautiful, little, white woman,” he said in a hushed voice. “Bet you’d love seeing a big, black cock splitting her tiny, white pussy open, wouldn’t ya, boy? blondes, like her, always open their legs wide for black men.”

He patted me down, running his bear paws over my body. When the black cop made his way to my crotch, the deputy clutched my junk, squeezing the balls and pecker tight. Against my will, my cock stiffened to his rough touch. My cheeks flushed. As best I may, I gazed away from my wife, not wanting her to sense my anguish, my humiliation. The burning on my face worried me; I might be blushing.

The weight of his body and the situation made my head pound. What had I done to him to treat me like a homo? I’m not gay, I’m not gay, you have to believe me, I’m not. Why doesn’t he kill me? I’d be better off dead than have an erection at a man’s touch. Especially not a niggers.

“Nothing hiding here,” he released me, rose, leaned into me again, whispered into my ear. “Closet faggot got a little, stiffy pee-pee, didn’t ya, boy?”

“Stop, I’m white. You can’t talk to me in such a way,” I said.

Reaching down, he touched my slight bulge again; precum seeped. Oh shit, this can’t be happening to me. This bastard would out me to her. I twisted my head down, fuck the pre-cum leaked through. I had this small wet spot on my jeans. Tears fell from my eyes, drops hit the window.

The bitch knew, my wife’s hands went to her face, and she laughed aloud. Laughed at me, she cut me, she stomped on my pride, my heart.

“Forgive him, officer. He’s a redneck hick and wasn’t raised well.”

He continued with his assault on my body, digging in my back pocket, laying the contents on the top of my car. The friction of my clothes on my cock kept me hard. Damn, he dug in my shirt pockets. Fucking Shit, I’d forgotten about the bag.

“Suspicious white powder,” he said. “Mister Cramer, you want to tell me what this is?”

I raised my head and returned my gaze to my wife. Her expression was no longer amused. A worry-wort darting of her eyes to the console, coupled with a nervous bite of her lower lip, signaled something important worried her. Tina tried to avert her stare, but in an all but inevitable way, she couldn’t keep her eyes off the leather lid covering the little box.

In a moment of inspiration, she did what she shouldn’t do, putting her elbow on the top of the box, rested her face on her hand. By hiding the box, she put the damn thing on display.

“Will this take much longer,” she said. The bored to tears attitude as she asked the question didn’t fit with her actions moments prior. What the fuck was wrong with her? A flashing neon sign would have been less noticeable.

The weight lifted from me, the cop leaned into my side of the car. He grinned at my wife and sat in my seat.

“You really don’t want me to peek inside your console compartment, do you, Misses Cramer?” he said.

We took this route for a reason. No one used this road this late at night, not even cops. Where he came from, why he was on this lonely highway at three in the morning, who knows? Who the fuck would expect him? We drove this back road on purpose, no entanglements with the law. This bastard was fucking up my routine.

“I ... I mean ... what I...” she stopped collected her thoughts, “whatever do you mean?”

The innocent act didn’t fool him a smidgen. Her eyes darted to me, to him, back and forth like she watched a tennis match. In the end, Tina would have faired better if she’d peered out the windshield with a blank stare.

“Step out of the car, Misses Cramer, keep your hands in the air, and walk around to the driverside,” he pulled his gun, pointed the barrel at my wife.

“Charlie, what’s this man talking about? I don’t understand?” she said, batting her eyes. “After all, Officer, you don’t have a warrant. Can’t we talk this out?”

Pulling the baggy from his pocket, he waved the dope for her to see, “Don’t need one.”

Shit, she’s trying to flirt with him.

“I haven’t a clue what you mean?”

“Don’t act like a dumb cunt,” he said, adding, “bitch.” Waving the gun, indicating to her the direction he wanted her to go, “Step out of the car, and do what you’re, fucking, told.”

“Do what he says, Tina.”

In a few moments, Tina did as ordered, walked around the front of the car. Her short skirt threatened to show her ass as she strutted to the front fender, turned from him, her hands above her head. Returning the gun to the holster, the cop body-slammed my wife over the fender, her face kissing the hood of the car.

The rough treatment of my wife should have pissed me off, should have outraged me. Instead, my dick got stiffer, my mind rushed to terrible thoughts of him manhandling Tina like a two-dollar whore. The words he’d used about fucking her, about her willingness to abuse at the hands of blacks because she was blonde, filled my head. Electricity arched through my body as I imagined his black cock violating her petite frame.

In seconds, his massive hands searched Tina’s body. Under her skirt, copping a feel of her cunt. Her gasp told me he’d stuck one or more of his massive fingers up inside her. The bastard massaged her tits through her blouse, mangling her tiny A-cups. She squealed from the pain and probably some pleasure.

My little wife glanced about, her eyes darting around, refusing to make contact with mine. Her cheeks were beet red, and I realized he’d started a fire she didn’t want me to know about. But I fucking realized I didn’t care. Tina’s teeth bit into her lower lip. Squeezing her breast, he put his body against her, crotch to ass. Tina’s eyes widened when his massive bulge made contact with her.

With a baseball-mitt-sized hand wrapped around her slender neck, he led my wife to his patrol car. Opening the back door, the creep forced her to sit with her feet outside the prowl car. Unbuckling his belt, he tossed his gunbelt on the dash. The nigger fidgeted with his pants. Fucking A, he took the back of Tina’s head in his hand, guided her down toward his stinking ape cock.

“Stop, you fucking nigger,” I said at the top of my lungs. I didn’t want her to suss out the truth. Oh, god, what he is doing to her. A dreadful violation of her, and I’m fucking hot for this to happen. What the hell is wrong with me?

Turning his head to me, he leered, letting me in on the fact, he face-fucked her. Taking her head between his two colossal hands, he backed away from the car. The man kept Tina tucked into his body, hunched over, cock down the back of her throat; she took quick steps to keep up with him.

He forced my wife to kneel on the hard asphalt. This nigger pig gouged her throat with brutal force. His massive black cock glistened in the light of the full moon, sliding deep inside her, then out for me to see. The dark, fuck rod, wet with her spit, sliding deep inside her mouth, down her throat, he used her head like some fuck sock. Soon, he dumped on her face, her neck, and blouse.

I couldn’t believe how hard and turned on I was.

Holding Tina’s neck, he guided her back to me, forced her to kneel, then pushed me down on my knees. Tina’s cheeks were red, pupils dilated, breath ragged, the veins in her neck were showing the wild beating of her heart. Tina was either angry or turned on. I believed more turned on than angry.

I don’t think she gave a fuck if I knew, either.

Pressing my face to her, he barked out an order.

“Clean her face and neck, panty-waist, boy.”

“You can’t do this,” I said. “You’ve got rules.”

“Rules, you see anyone here, anyone at all, to enforce any, fucking, rules? Who the fuck gonna believe your sissy, pasty ass about anything, boy?”

My heart pounded, my mouth turned to cotton, and my bladder screamed at me. Clutching my neck harsher, he pushed me closer to her face. The deputy shoved my lips to Tina’s cum drenched face. My body shook.

“Do what you’re told, boy. Clean my black cock spunk off your woman,” he said. The grip on my neck increased, pain shot through my neck and down my spine. I feared he might snap my neck. Warmth flooded over my crotch, ran down my leg. A stream of my piss pooled under my knee on the black pavement.

He laughed aloud, Tina gulped.

I closed my eyes, refusing to see my wife’s eyes, the revulsion in her stare. The hatred of me she had would worsen with all that’s happened. I licked his nasty black man lacquer from her face. I wished his seed made me sick, caused me to puke. It didn’t. The dirty little secret I kept from her, I liked eating his cum.

The cop’s grip loosened. I kept licking his thick cum from her out of fear and craving. The warm man cream rolled down into my belling, a satisfying warmth filled me, not unlike a good hit of booze does. While I cleaned her, his footsteps sounded as he strolled away from us.