This is from way back.
"Yeah, I used to play line," he said, his gloved hands cutting the ticket into tiny pieces.
"Well, you sure are big enough." the driver was glad to have the ticket gone, but he was starting to think this cop wanted more.
"I coulda gone pro, if some little monkey hadn't gone for my knees that one time. But water under the bridge, that what I say. My pardner though, he really coulda play in the league. Told his pa he wanted be trooper instead like me. Ooh, his pa didn't like that one bit." The trooper was standing, both hands on the top of the car, blocking the view. It wasn't much of a view. A freeway surrounded by woods, starting to get dark.
"Well, I guess that's honorable, though it doesn't make sense to me. Nobody who's good would say no to a chance in professional football." The driver didn't know where this was going, didn't know why the trooper was so close. The smell was intoxicating. The trooper was smiling wide, looking at the driver's thin but developed body.
"Oh, he's good. I was good too, but he's better. You wouldn't understand, but he make do. We all do alright I guess, no matter. You, you were heading somewhere quick, u a doc or something? You got that college boy look, you ever work. For real?"
"Um, I'm just a college student, I don't play...but I try to go the gym. Trying to stay in shape."
"Well, in shape you say. I don't mean nothing by it, I just noticed. I got nothing to do but sit in a car waiting for little guys to speed past ya, so I try to notice things when I can. Tell ya what, I can tell you don't believe a word I been saying about football. Let me show you. Well, I may be no hog anymore, but I still know how it work. Come on out the car. Come on, git out of the car. Wanna show you something about work. Yo, Rick, come out here. This boy an accountant, he don't believe we were hogs once."
The driver got out the car and immediately his arm is gripped tight and into the trees by the road they go.
"Um, its not that I don't believe you I mean. You could have played football, hell I almost did...where are you taking me?"
A few feet and a little clearing appears. The driver can't see the road, but he hears the cars go by. He doesn't think anybody from the outside could see them.
"Now, now. I am saying we were good hogs once but we still got some tricks." The second trooper, his boots shined bright, a big badge calmly stating "Rick" is standing next to the first trooper, looking like he's gonna have a lot of fun.
"Alright, you be guard this time. Get to the line." A pause, the driver watches as they both turn around, place the legs shoulder apart and with a grunt squat down. Their pants stretch; he hears the rubber of the boots squelched as the weight settles on each heel.
"See that? How about that? Two old hogs can still get down. If Coach could see me now eh Rick? What he always howl? Ass up! Ass up! I want your ass up! I used to have bite my tongue each time, keep from laughing. He was a good coach. Sometimes we needed reminding."
The driver watches them as they share some old moment, they look casual, like they do this all the time. He thinks he's dreaming, maybe he's not standing straight, but it looks like both of them are slowly shaking their behinds at him, letting them sway back and forth. He finds himself getting hard. Very hard.
"You mister, why don't you come up here and take a closer look. Took me years to get all this right. Coach taught us where to put our weight, how to stand still. Heh, damn doing this again brings back old memories. Feels weird not having a qb's hands right underneath. Hated that sumabitch sometimes, but he turned out to be an alright qb. Soft hands and shit. He always took his time at the line."
A pause.
"Hey mister. For old times, you mind coming here and putting your hands where the qb would? Make an old hog's day, make him feel young again?"
The driver held his breath for a moment, unsure of if he was hearing things. The big thick cop only grimaced and grunted again, "Aww, c'mon, mister, just for old times sake -- put your hands where the qb would...yeah, make a big hog feel like he used to..."
Trembling a bit, overwhelmed by the sight of these two beefy-assed meathead cops squatting down, the sound of their heavy breathing and squeaking boots and belts echoing in his ears, the driver nervously bent down, moving his small hands down toward the open upside-down "V" formed by the lead cop's massive hunched thighs and big wide-spread glutes.
"Yeah, mister, yeah..." the "center" cop growled. "Just like the QB..."
The driver moved his hands even closer, feeling the heat emanating off the cop's huge thick body, catching sight of how every seam in the cop's blue breeches was seemingly stretched to the maximum, as tight as a sausage-skin on this hog cop. He paused, held his breath, and went for broke -- rubbing his small hands gently along the inside of the cop's spread thighs, his wrists tapping against the cop's beefy glutes.
The cops suddenly went quiet, until both let out a renewed grunt and began to haunch their legs even more, hiking their asses up even higher, wider. "Dat's it, mister...just like the old QB...shucks, you're making an old hog feel like he's back on the field, little guy," the lead trooper groaned, and just then the driver couldn't help but notice the sudden growing bulge forming at the trooper's crotch.
He didn't know what he was doing, but he felt his own pants began to tent. As they did, the bulge against the back of his hand pulsed slightly. He was saved from having to react by the "guard" trooper, Rick cursing into the ground.
"Fuck it. Same as in school. Center gets to hold the ball, gets to exchange with the qb, I just squat here and push. Ain't worth shit."
"Now you hold your ground rookie!" The center trooper hollered. "Hold your god-damn ground. You gonna just up and go in a game?! Hey, qb, you s'pose to be in charge ain't you? You gonna let him go?"
The driver didn't believe this was happening. He was being chastised by one trooper, who was definitely rubbing his fat thighs against his hands, for not being in charge of another trooper, all the while playing some kind of football game in the woods by the freeway.
Whatever it was, he wasn't going to screw it up.
"Get down, rook!" he barked, doing his best to sound angry. He reached out his hand, grasped the thick belt holding the trooper's pants and pushed that guard ass down. The guard trooper, once touched, put his hand on the ground and became perfectly still. The driver let his hand wander down the tight fabric of the trooper's pants and patted the trooper's ass. It was meaty and broad, but had enough fat to shake a little at the contact. The guard trooper raised his ass a little higher, getting his legs underneath him, raising it proudly up, practically begging for it to be patted and caressed.
The driver could not say no to that wide ass and so he placed his hand back against the steep curves of the trooper's rounded rump. He squeezed it and felt it shimmy back at him happily.
"That was a good job, qb. Us hogs need a stern hand sometimes, I know it. But we doing good here, standing still for ya. We good hogs."
"Yes center you are." The driver patted the center's ass too, reveling in how each ass was different. The guard had a meaty rump which resisted his grip, like a firm handshake. The center's ass was wider, not as firm, but seemed to shimmy faster and happier when he gripped it.
"Yeah, we'd win some games for you. A good qb makes his hogs want to win a game for him. It was my job back then to keep the qb safe and happy. All the line helped though. Ain't that right Rick? Those were good times." The center trooper spreads his legs wider and pushes his head down to ground, looking back at the qb between his thick thighs. "Looks like you having a good time qb, I think its time u get your reward for reminding a hog what it was like."