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It had been a good day for an EMT. Nobody died, at least not while they were in my ambulance, and one person actually thanked me after I got his wife safely to the hospital. So I was in a good mood when my cell phone buzzed. Charlie's face lit up the screen and I gotta admit I was glad to see him… until he started whining.

"C'mon, Pete! You promised!"

Well, I didn't think I'd actually promised, but I guess Charlie had a point; it was my turn to wear the handcuffs. We both had the same night off again, which happened about once every couple of weeks and Charlie liked my king-sized bed, so we were going back to my place. ( His bed was queen-sized… but we won't go there.)

I didn't want to let on, but the handcuff idea kind of scared me. I never liked feeling helpless or out of control. I had an idea that Charlie was going to want to fuck me, and I hadn't let that happen very often. I just hoped to hell he knew what he was doing. Maybe he'd learned something from my good example.

Charlie showed up in jeans and a T-shirt, no cop uniform tonight, but freshly showered and shaved. I'd gone through the same routine when I got home, plus picking up the apartment a little and changing the sheets. He had a pizza box in one hand and a bunch of daisies in the other.

"Flowers?" I said. "What the hell, Charlie? You got the wrong place? I think your girlfriend lives two doors down."

"Come on, Pete. Guys can like flowers, too." He headed into the kitchen. "You got a vase?"

I stuck the flowers in a plastic milk jug and left them on the kitchen table. With luck, Fuzzballs the cat would eat them.

I suppose Charlie was just trying to be nice. I guess it shows just how uptight I was about the whole handcuff thing. No way did I want Charlie thinking of me as the girl.

So we ate pizza and drank a few beers, and when I finished my third one I noticed Charlie staring at me with this look on his face. "Okay," I said, "let's get this over with." And we went into the bedroom.

There had been a little problem with the keys to the handcuffs the first time Charlie wore them, so I told him he'd better stash the keys in the drawer of my nightstand. Then I looked to make sure they were really in there. Think I'm paranoid? Next time you wear the handcuffs.

So finally, there we were on the bed, naked, me flat on my back with my arms stretched over my head, the cuffs attached to my wrists and the headboard, my ass propped up on a pillow, and damned if Charlie doesn't push my knees up to my chest and start to lick my asshole.

Yeah, I know, guys do that all the time. I read about it on Nifty. Perfectly normal… but it never happened to me before, see?

For a minute I couldn't decide how I felt about it, whether it was great, or tickled, or just felt plain weird. Then it occurred to me-this was Charlie, my hot cop fuck-buddy, between my legs with his tongue in my ass! And, from that moment on, I was hard as a rock.

And he kept at it, first just licking all around, and then nibbling on my butt cheeks, and finally sticking his tongue into my hole, as far as it would go, which was pretty far. By the time he stuck a finger inside, I was thrashing around and making all kinds of noises that I never heard anybody make before. Charlie raised up and looked at my face. His eyes had gone dark and his mouth was half open. His expression was so damn sexy it made my cock jump. "You like that, baby?" He asked in a deep hoarse voice, as he wiggled his finger around in my ass. About then he hit my button and the only answer I could give him was a groan.

Charlie pulled his finger out, which made me groan again in protest, held up two fingers where I could see them, sucked on them, and then stuck both fingers back inside my ass. There was enough precum on my belly to lube six assholes by then, and Charlie pulled out his fingers after a minute and rubbed them in it, then stuck three digits inside. Charlie has big hands, but those fingers were not enough. I felt so open by that time you could have driven a Mack truck up there, and I wished someone would. Charlie must have gotten the message because he got up on his knees and looked down at me. "You ready, Pete?" He asked.

"Damn," I panted out, "I been ready. Hurry the fuck up!"

Charlie grinned and rolled on a condom, then leaned over and I felt the blunt head of his prick at my back door. Charlie's not the best endowed guy in the world, but when his tool slid home it felt fine. He began to move in and out and each stroke hit me in all the right places. The head of his prick on my prostate sent little lightning bolts all the way up my spine until my brain was on fire. It felt so good I couldn't help but raise my hips to meet him, and I would have grabbed his ass and pulled him in farther if not for being trussed up in those damned handcuffs!

As it was, Charlie took his time. He'd thrust in hard and fast for a minute or two, until I was right on the edge, and then he'd back off and just lay there, barely moving at all. Every time he stopped I'd swear and yell, but he'd just grin, like torturing me was the most fun he'd ever had. After the fifth or sixth time of that, I lost it and started to beg. "Please, Charlie," I said, "don't stop. Fuck me harder, man. Give me that big cock!" Which was an exaggeration, but damn I wanted to come so bad!

I needed to grab my dick and I couldn't, so I yanked on those cuffs until my wrists started to hurt and the brass headboard rang like a gong. I opened my eyes and Charlie was grinning down at me like a son-of-a-bitch and then he really started to pound me. It felt so fucking good I let out a howl and then there was only the sounds of our heavy breathing and the wet slap of hot sweaty skin on skin.

An electric sizzle built up in my guts, getting stronger and stronger and all of a sudden it flowed right up through my prick and cum shot out like a fire hose. Spunk went all over my face and chest. Hell, I think some of it hit the wall behind the bed. My ass spasmed around Charlie's cock and he let out a yell, and I swear I felt him spurt as he unloaded inside me. "Pete," he said, "oh, fuck, Pete!"

Well, we were both out of it for a while after that. Handcuffs or no, I couldn't have moved if I'd wanted to, and Charlie just lay on top of me and moaned.

After a long while Fuzzballs jumped up on the bed and began to sniff around. Charlie muttered something about claws in his back and I opened my eyes and stretched. My asshole was kind of sore, but man I felt great, you know?

Charlie sat up, got the keys out of the drawer and unlocked me so I could feed the cat. He dumped the cuffs and keys back in the drawer instead of his pants pocket, and I wondered if he thought we might use them again tonight.

I also wondered how hard Charlie would have to work to convince me to be the one to wear them. Not very hard, I decided. Funny how your mind can change like that.

"Geez," I said, dumping tuna crunchies into the cat's bowl. "I never came without somebody touching my cock before." Charlie just looked at me and grinned, but in kind of a proud way that didn't make me want to slug him… too much.

There was still some pizza left and we had a couple more slices and another beer, both of us still naked, but hey, my apartment is on the second floor so who was gonna see? I couldn't help but notice how good Charlie looked, even with pizza sauce in his chest hairs.

Now, you gotta understand that I am in no way a romantic, so I was kind of shocked when I heard myself say these fateful words: "Uh… Charlie… you wanna stay over?"

Shocked me even worse when he gave this big shit-eating grin and said, "Yeah." We both stopped and kind of looked at each other, wary-like, but then there we were, committed.

I needed a shower to wash the cum out of my hair, and it seemed logical to ask Charlie to share it, like, to save water and all. We started out just lathering our own selves, but then Charlie grabbed a washcloth and scrubbed my back and I had to return the favor. By the time we were out and dried off, we were both hard again.

Our eyes kind of met in the bathroom mirror. Little by little we each moved closer, then Charlie shut his eyes and then I did too and our lips came together.

Out of everything that happened tonight, that might have been the most shocking, because we kissed and kept on kissing and I don't know how long it was before we stopped and just stood there in a clinch, his arms over my shoulders and mine around his waist and our erections rubbing against each other. We kissed again on the way to the bedroom, flopped down and morphed into a sixty-nine without even talking about it.

This time it was slow, but still really good. I just had enough strength left to kiss Charlie again before we pulled up the sheet and passed out, still wrapped in each other's arms.

I don't know what woke me, but the room was pitch dark and quiet. Then it came again - a kind of glassy tinkle and then a scrape like an opening window.

I'd almost forgotten Charlie was there in the bed with me, but then I felt him sit up and it all came back. "Wha…?" I said, and Charlie put a hand over my mouth.

That's when I saw a flashlight beam, and then someone was standing in the door to the bedroom. My brain went into overdrive and all I could think about was how the hell had he climbed up the fire escape without us hearing and then the flashlight was in my eyes.

"Whatta we got here?" said this slimy little voice, "I don't fucking believe it… faggots!" The guy laughed and flipped on the bedroom light switch.

He was a skinny little fucker with a dirty ski mask over his face, and it pissed me off that he was standing there in my bedroom in the middle of the night. Charlie's hand had slipped down off my mouth and I opened it and said, "What the fuck do you think you're…" And then I saw the gun.

It wasn't like Charlie's revolver; it was small and kind of square and black, and the hole in the muzzle moved to point right at me.

"So, girls," the little rat said, taking a step closer. "Which one of you is the wife?" And he started to laugh. "I think we ought to have a little fun before I see what you got in this dump worth stealing."

Charlie didn't say anything, but I felt him stiffen behind me as the gunman walked closer, his eyes fixing on my chest and belly, bare because we'd kicked the covers to the floor. Fuck, why was he looking at me like that instead of Charlie? One ass-fuck and I've got a sign on my forehead?

"Turn over," the guy says to me, and I'm thinking he's going to have to shoot me first, then he takes one more step, stumbles, and I hear a yowl and Fuzzballs goes running for cover, his tail as big as a pine tree.

The guy's gun wavers and he stumbles again and almost goes down, and Charlie is up like a flash. One kick from him, like Walker the fucking Ranger from Texas, and the little twerp's gun goes flying into the closet. I sit up, and there's Charlie, kneeling on the guy with one of the guy's hands twisted up behind his back. The little man's swearing up a storm.

"Hey, Pete," Charlie calls, "toss me the handcuffs." And I know right where to find them.

The asshole was even uglier after Charlie pulled off his mask, but he shut up when Charlie told him he could tell all the other guys in lockup about how he was arrested by a fag. I offered to dial 911, but Charlie decided to call some of his buddies at the station instead, and three of them were there in nothing flat. We barely had time to throw on our jeans.

Charlie let them in, telling them what happened in cop lingo, talking about 457's and perps and other stuff like that. They all kind of looked at me, and I stepped up and said I sure was glad that Charlie was too drunk to drive home, and had passed out at my place after we hit the bars together. Charlie stood tall then and introduced me as his best friend. It wasn't a declaration of love or anything, but it was a start.

The cops milled around a while, looking at the broken window in the kitchen, and the daisies in the milk jug, and I went and knocked out the rest of the broken glass with a hammer, swept up, and then covered the hole with a piece of plywood left over from when I built the window seat for Fuzzballs.

Finally they hauled off the asshole burglar, not swearing anymore but still wearing Charlie's handcuffs, with a promise they'd return them tomorrow. He saw the guys out the door, laughing nervously when they asked if he thought he'd need the cuffs again tonight. Then we were alone.

Charlie looked at me, and I looked at him. I knew what he was thinking. Were we outed? I didn't know about Charlie, but I couldn't manage to give a fuck.

"Hey," I said, walking up and running a finger down the middle of his chest in what I hoped was a sexy way, "You really are a cop, huh, Charlie?"

He grinned. "Yeah, that's my job, lover." He stared at me with those hot eyes and that made me remember how good he could make me feel.

Lover, huh? I could deal with that. Pushing Fuzzballs off my pillow, where he was busy licking the paw the burglar had stepped on, I lifted the sheet. "Come on, lover. Let's go back to bed."

Fixing that broken window could definitely wait until tomorrow.