“Look here, Mr. Marshfield, I’m going to need you to get out of the car.” He slipped my license and registration into his chest pocket.

            “Why?” I demanded. “Can’t you just write a ticket and let me get out of here?”

            “Out of the car, Mr. Marshfield.”

            “Officer, please…”

            “Now!” Burberry shouted. He grabbed the handle and ripped open the door. “Out.”

            I hesitated. Why on earth do I have to get out of the car? Why doesn’t he just go to his car and write me a ticket?

            “Out,” Burberry demanded.

            I sighed. “Okay.” I unbuckled my seatbelt and slowly got out. I stood before the officer, praying he would look down and see my erection.

            “Turn around, bud,” he ordered. “Put your hands up on the roof.”

            I did as I was told, grateful to have the chance to conceal my hard on from the cop.

            “You got anything in your pockets you want to tell me about before I go searching around?”

            “What?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder. “Why do you have to search me?”

            “Standard procedure, Mr. Marshfield.” Burberry placed his hands on my shoulders, moving them slowly down my sides. “Anything you want to tell me about before I find it?”

            How about my raging hard on? “No, officer.”

            “Alright, bud.” He continued his search, moving his hands up and down my legs, patting my pockets. He slipped his hands around my chest, pressing his body against mine as he searched. Now my erection was at full mast. He slid his hands down, stopping at my waist. “Sure there’s nothing on you?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Suddenly, his hands went lower, gliding over my cock. He jerked his hands away quickly. “Oh, bud!”

            “I’m sorry!”

            “I asked if you had anything on you, Aaron.” His mouth was at my ear, his breath warm on my skin. “Why didn’t you tell me about the concealed weapon?”