The Police Cadets of South Florida

Fort Lauderdale, September 2001

In August 2001, after completing my Ph.D. in sociology I moved to Florida, on the invitation of my friend Yuri.  I immediately felt at home. It was like I had gone back in time 16 years, to when I first arrived in West Hollywood.

Yuri shared a small ranch house in Wilton Manors (the gay suburb of Fort Lauderdale) with Barney, an older guy who owned a gym in Oakland Park.  He reminded me of Derek, the fitness instructor-turned-insurance agent, my housemate in West Hollywood in 1987.

I had the choice of sharing Yuri's bed or moving into the small room off the kitchen that used to be the study of Barney's deceased lover.  I picked the study, although I ended up in Yuri's bed quite often anyhow: in Fort Lauderdale, like in West Hollywood: good manners required that you invite your roommate to "share" your dates.

We lived only two blocks from Wilton Drive, the Santa Monica Boulevard of Fort Lauderdale, with the Florida equivalents of everything I missed in West Hollywood:

New Age Books and Things (the Bodhi Tree)
Bill's Filling Station (the Hamburger Habit).
The Sunshine Cathedral (The Metropolitan Community Church)
The Ramrod (The Faultline)

The Courtyard Cafe (the French Quarter)

Plus the Clubhouse II Bath House, about 2 miles away, constantly packed with locals and tourists.

We went there quite often, until I started a monogamous relationship with Matt the Security Guard.

Even my jobs seemed to mirror those of West Hollywood .

1. From copy writer for Muscle and Fitness to fitness trainer at Barney's gym.  I taught the new members how to use the machines, and walked around to see if anyone needed help.  

2. From adjunct English instructor at Loyola Marymount to adjunct Communications instructor at Florida Atlantic University.  I taught "Introduction to Communication Studies" and "Popular Culture."

3. From juvenile probation officer to instructor at the Broward County Police Academy. I taught "Spanish for Police Officers" and "Juvenile Offenders."

There was only one problem: outside of gay neighborhoods, Florida was very, very, very conservative and very, very, very homophobic.

Especially my students at Florida Atlantic and the Police Academy, 18 year olds drawn from such redneck cities as Sunrise, Delray Beach, and Pahokee.

The morning of September 11, I was just getting ready for my class, when news of the World Trade Center collapse hit.  Their attitude toward 9/11: "Let's drop some A-bombs on Iraq!"

Their attitude toward gay people: "Let's drop some A-bombs on Wilton Manors."


After being out in grad school I found myself closeted again.

But, on the bright side, I saw a lot of beefcake.

Alan's Arrest: The Vice Cop, the Gay Basher, or the High School Boy?

West Hollywood, July 1988

"Ok, do you guys want to pick at ice cream like little sissy girls, or do you want to EAT ICE CREAM?"  Alan asks.

If you say EAT,  you get six scoops "for starters."

We're at a barbecue at Derek's house near Sunset Boulevard. About 10 of us, including Fred, Matt, Raul, Marcus, and Will the Bondage Boy, are swapping our best stories about disastrous dates, gigantic penises, or hookups with celebrities.  Now it's time for dessert, and Alan's turn:

"I'm going to tell you about the time I was arrested."

This should be good.  Alan does everything BIG.  A Pentecostal theology student turned porn star turned English teacher, he is exuberant, effervescent, full of crazy schemes.  He says whatever pops into his head, does whatever he wants without considering the consequences.  It's not hard to imagine a lot of circumstances where he would draw the wrath of the heterosexual police state.

"Better yet, I'll tell you about three incidents, and you have to decide which resulted in my arrest.  They all happened in the early 1980s, before any of you met me."

"What do we win if we get the right answer?" Raul asks.

"Twenty minutes alone in the bedroom with me.  Anything you want: make out, give me a blow job, discuss Dynasty...."

We glance at each other and grin.  Alan is very big beneath the belt.

#1: The Vice Cop

Alan didn't approve of public cruising -- not because of any immorality in anonymous contacts, because it was dangerous.  Undercover cops were everywhere, waiting to haul in "perverts" on "lewd conduct" charges, even if they did nothing but talk.

One day Alan and his friends had a picnic in Griffith Park, and he decided to go on a hike.  A cute guy cruised him.  In his twenties, with blond curly hair and a smooth chest -- well, who wouldn't follow him into the woods?  Besides, there was no way a vice cop would be prowling this far from a gay neighborhood!

They found a secluded spot.  The cute guy unzipped Alan's pants and pulled it out.  He fondled Alan's aroused penis for a few minutes.

Then he flashed a badge.  "LAPD Vice!"

I go into the kitchen and bring Alan another soda.  Obviously the contest is over -- this must be the one.

#2: The Gay Basher

In the early 1980s, before people knew about AIDS, "tricking" was commonplace -- you went out to the bars, met someone, and brought him home that night, without waiting for a date or introducing him to your friends or anything.

One night at the Gold Coast Alan met a truck driver -- in his 30s, very tall and muscular, with a beard and a hairy chest.  Alan usually preferred soft and smooth -- but what a bulge!

The guy said "I want take you home and pound you!"  Alan was not usually into anal sex, but he figured, with someone that hot, he would make an exception.

They went back to Alan's apartment.  When they walked in the door, Alan drew him in for a kiss.  The truck driver called him a  "f*king faggot", and punched him in the face.

Alan sprang back in shock, and the guy was on top of him, punching and kicking and yelling "f*king faggot."

"More ice cream?" Alan asks.  "I brought lots."

#3: Staying After Class

Every high school teacher and college professor knows that male students often get aroused in the classroom. You're supposed to pretend that you don't notice.  But Alan doesn't pretend.

He was so cute!  18 years old, tall, slim, Hispanic, a little feminine, with thick black hair -- and what a bulge!  He had a Mortadella, easily.  And he was tenting outrageously right in the middle of the lecture.

Alan leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Do you want to go to the bathroom and take care of that?"

The boy blushed and shook his head.  But after school he came back to "talk about his grade."  His bulge returned.  So did Alan's.

The school was empty except for some kids doing after-school activities and the the janitor making his rounds.  So Alan unzipped his pants, and the boy knelt and went down on him.  Right at his desk!

"Ding, ding!" Alan exclaims.  "Write your answer on a slip of paper, and I'll tally the results."

Most guys guess The Vice Cop.  I mean, come on, the guy flashed his badge!

"No," Alan says. "He let me off with a warning -- after he went down on me.  He was on a power trip -- he got off on intimidating guys into sex."

Some guess Staying After Class.  Sex with one of your students, right in the classroom!  Who cared that he was of legal age -- the police would have a field day!

"No," Alan says,  "We hooked up after class several times.  We're still in contact -- he went to UC Santa Cruz, majored in philosophy."

Only Will the Bondage Boy, who has never met Alan before, guesses The Gay Basher.  "You look like you can take care of yourself," he says. "I bet the basher ended up in the hospital, and that didn't sit well with the straights."


"Precisely!" Alan exclaims.  "He got a broken nose and three broken ribs.  My crazy roommate called the police, and of course they arrested me for 'enticing' a poor innocent straight boy."

So Will and Alan go into the bedroom for 20 minutes.  They don't tell us what happened there.  Probably something like this.

See also: Sharing the Kept Boy with Alan; and the Bear with the Sweeney Todd Fetish.

In Search of Muscle Cops

Here are some nude photos of police officers.

Or least, men wearing police uniforms.  I doubt that most of them actually work as police officers.

There are morals clauses in most police contracts, so posting a nude selfie could ruin your career. 

Besides, most police officers aren't particularly muscular, and I'm assuming that they have the same range in cock size as everyone else.

Well, maybe they're a little bigger, due to the self-selection process whereby small guys shy away from jobs involving locker rooms.

Hung but not muscular.

More after the break