The Entrapped

He’s handsome... young... the zipper area of his trousers bulging. For a hasty choice... otherwise too eager to spend time surveying the field... I have not done badly.

“I always seem to need something in my mouth,” I counter in my most girlish voice.

Then I hold up my right hand, extending three fingers.

“Hamilton’s?” he inquires.

I nod.

“But only for a little taste,” I advise, discouraging any contact beyond fellatio.

With that my tongue, so conveniently altered for oral gratification, thrusts from my mouth, circles my lips then extends to rise and touch the tip of my nose.

My prospect is initially taken aback with the nimbleness, furnished by a quick flick of a scalpel bearing hand. But as I step from the pathway into some dense Rhododendrons, he follows, fishing in his pocket for the three ‘Hamilton’s’... the $30 I demand.

I neither need nor necessarily want the money, but it so much enhances the sense of being wanted. The psychological aspects need investigation, I realize. But my counselor is unavailable. Therefore I fellate then seize the money with zeal. Analysis can follow.

There’s a large, smooth rock within the copse. I often wonder how many have sat squirming to polish the granite as some form of licentious interaction is undertaken. For sure enough, my prospect sits, exactly where I have so many times indulged in ‘candy’.

I stand between his knees, letting himself warm his engine, letting his hands slip under my skirt to fondle the buttocks which so attracted. I am careful to press together my thighs, the inner flesh keeping my trapped penis tip well concealed. Meanwhile my hand goes to his zipper and rubs. The first brisance of deviant sexual delight brings my nipples to a stand.

I am found to be attractive... I am alluring... I am seductive. As always, such thrills.

I unzip him, fearful that his hands, though sensuous and caring, will uncover my secret. His raging manhood pops into view. I meekly fall to my knees. Guys like the sense of power when a little girl genuflects. His hands go to my head to guide. I engulf. He moans. As my tongue swirls there comes a voice. It terrifies.

“Vice. Move away. Slowly. Then freeze.”

It is a female voice... deep... sounding middle aged. My prospect appears apoplectic. I do not feel so good myself.

The officer is in plain clothes. As I raise my head from my prospect’s lap, a badge is flashed between us. The woman grabs my hand bag and wrestles it from my shoulder, concerned with flight, knowing to secure the identity of at least one of her culprits.

“Zip it up, he man,” the patois that of a New York cop.

Wavering hands somehow tuck away a swollen but rapidly shrinking organ.

“This is serious stuff. This girl appears to be not more than 15 years old. That’s five years minimum and a lifetime on the sex offender’s list,” the officer lectures.

“How old are you, sweetheart? Are you a runaway?”

I cannot let my prospect go down... even begin to go down. It is my folly, my seduction, my thrill, my proclivity.

“I’m twenty five.”

The officer is shocked. My prospect exhales in relief. When the officer rummages into my purse and finds my identification there is more silent shock. For some reason knowing not to say anything more, she backs off.

“Ok, Don Juan. Take a hike. And remember, from the 65th Street bypass down to Park Central South, you’re in my territory. So pass through with care... and keep your hands... and everything else clean.”

My prospect jumps and runs... my virile source of ‘thrill’ leaping from the rock like a frightened hare in a rabbit hunt, wordlessly leaving me holding the bag.

“Did he know you are a guy...? Mr. Robert Warren?”

I shake my head.

“It’s my fault... I just have this thing... just a little sex... some thrill... blow off some steam.”

“Hands on your head. Spread ‘em.”

I know the search for weapons is mandatory... but should be brief. There is no place to hide anything. Still the woman’s hands smooth up my inner thighs, reaching the ‘Y’ where my tiny ringed penis is attached to the guiche piercing on my perineum. Feeling the cable tie there brings confusion. In not knowing what she encounters, she commands that I place my hands behind my back. I am cuffed. Then, having indeed come to the park for a thrill, my objective is attained. This officer gamely releases the clasps of my skirt, whisking it away to leave me standing naked from the waist down.