My dude and I are walking down the street on the way to catch a train. It’s fairly late, and the streets are filled with tanked-up football fans and loved-up students off their tits on MDMA so naturally, there are police. Just in front of us, a pair of young police officers get out of a panda car in their stab vests. She’s mid-twenties, with short blond hair and the kind of muscle tone you’d need to restrain a suspect. He’s slightly older, and has a solid heft to him that I’d imagine would feel achingly good on top of me during a struggle-fuck.
I’m not sure I’ve been able to disguise my frankly obvious perving, and a little worry rises in my chest that my other half will ask what I’m looking at and not understand why so many sexy fantasies are flicking through my head right now. Luckily, though, we’re on the same wavelength. He turns to me and whispers:
“Wow. I wouldn’t kick them out of a swinger’s party.”
I fucking love someone in uniform. From my earliest sexual dress-up games with my first ever boyfriend, when he put on his old army cadets uniform and stood, slightly baffled, while I eagerly sucked him off, to this one guy who recently DMd me a picture of him in full dress uniform, just because he knew I’d love it (thanks!).
Uniforms play a massive part in a fair few of my sexy fantasies. If you count a business suit as a uniform (and I do, I really do – it is, to me, the uniform of the rich-and-callous City-boy wanker, and as such it has a key role in disgusting fantasies about being used as a dick receptacle), then 99% of my sexy fantasies involve a uniform.
Note: some of these fantasies described below involve abuse of power.
Sexy fantasies in army uniform
One of my favourites involves army uniforms. No – not the sexy fantasy about SAS Who Dares Wins – a new one. I’m a young recruit who’s committed some minor misdemeanour, which my commanding officer trumps up into a more serious charge. A charge that warrants 100 press-ups while he stands over me with a military-issue riding crop, beating me to go harder until I break out in a sweat. When I pause for breath, he orders me to strip down my combat trousers and knickers to expose my bare arse, and amuses himself by trying to whip darker and darker stripes into my exposed flesh.
Once I’ve completed the 100 press-ups, he offers me privileges in exchange for sexual favours, and I press my face into the cool leather of the top of his desk, grip the furthest edge with my hands for balance, and count off 100 strokes of his dick as he fucks me hard in the arse. At the end, when he’s come inside me and his spunk is dripping down the backs of my thighs, he gives me one final whack with the crop and orders me to go and clean up.
And I obey, because that is the whole point.
As a general rule, I am wary of people in uniform. Uniforms give people an assumed authority that is easily abused by those with no moral compass. It’s likely because of this that uniforms play such a huge part in many of my sexual fantasies – I like fantasies that involve power play, and so I like to construct scenarios in my head where I am not just obeying out of desire, but out of compulsion.
Sexy fantasies: police edition
When the army fantasy drifts away, it’ll probably be replaced by the one I have where I’m being interrogated by police, and I fuck them as part of my punishment – getting vigorously spitroasted by two officers who have long since given up on trying to take a statement. Instead they’re focused on who gets to fuck which hole, and which of them can give me a harder beating with their belt.
See, this is why uniforms are sexy to me. It is also why uniforms are problematic. And that, in turn, is why uniforms are sexy to me. Guys in uniform are usually fantasy figures – people I don’t know beyond the stripes, or even really care about beyond the stripes. The uniform itself means less than the symbolism: those two police officers weren’t hot because their clothes were particularly tight-fitting or sexy, they were hot because either one of them could have put me in handcuffs if I were naughty. Naval, army or RAF uniforms aren’t hot because of the style, they’re hot because of all the times I’ve imagined someone wearing one while barking orders at me, with precise punishments meted out to me if I disobey.
I have never fucked a guy who is in a uniformed job. Not knowingly, at least. I have never been arrested, joined the army, or run around a parade ground singing ‘I don’t know what I’ve been told.’ Maybe this is why uniforms, to me, represent a safe way to fantasise about power and control. The guy in uniform is as mysterious and distant to me as any celebrity crush. I can enjoy his power, and obey his every command, at a very safe distance from reality.