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More Cute brunette twink gets filled with goo video samples here!
And his wife and son


I breathed on my new chromed nametag and polished it on my sleeve. I had been promoted: Sergeant Lincoln Lovel. I attached it to my blue uniform shirt, checked myself out one more time in the mirror, and walked outside to the police car in my driveway. Life is good. My utility belt gleamed, newly polished; my buttons all glittered; even my service pistol shone like it was gold-plated. And I had sergeant’s stripes on my sleeves!



My wife Cheryl waved to me from the house. My son Jan grinned at me as he walked over to his own car, a babe-mobile yellow Corvette. It was finals week; he was about to graduate from college.



I backed the police cruiser out into the street, carefully avoiding my personal pride and joy, a shiny red creampuff, the famous ‘87 Lincoln Continental four-door convertible. I loved that car, a big, shiny, movie-star cruiser with a virgin-white top. It was the only four-door convertible produced since the ’30s, unique in every way. My buddies thought opening both doors on a side–the front opening to the left, the back suicide-door opening to the right–looked like the automotive version of a big cunt: red, flaring, and open.



That car and I went way back; it was my pride and joy. For a long time my son thought the Lincoln Continental was named after me. As a college student, my wife lost her cherry to me in that car. A few years later, as best I can figure, my son Jan was conceived in that car one horny night at a drive-in movie. And something else: that car held my biggest, most closely guarded secret.



In the trunk of the Lincoln was a red tackle box with a bulletproof padlock. Inside it was a secret so terrible that its discovery would destroy my whole life.

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