Panama City Beach
Driving through the country roads of northwest Florida resembles the countryside of Alabama and many parts of Georgia. Farm lands, forests, and dirt roads take up a good portion of scenery. Therefore, my GPS, being a few years old without any updates, doesn't show all of the roads in the countryside. That is how I found myself down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, quite a distance north of Panama City. Or should I say, that is how I found my vehicle stuck a foot deep in mud in the middle of the woods.
It was dark and I could not see beyond my headlights on a wet dirt road. The excessive rain from Hurricane Isaac left much of the Panhandle of Florida drenched. I was on my way to a bachelorette party in Panama City and was aiming for the fastest route there. I knew I should have turned around, but according to my GPS, I was only a mile away from a highway, so I continued my course... And my car wound up stuck in a foot of mud. My car has all-wheel-drive, so I tried setting it to that, but it wouldn't even budge. Pushing the car out was impossible. I was stranded in the middle of the forest on an unnamed dirt road with a party starting within an hour.
So I had to do something that I didn't want to do. Call for help.
I dialed 911 and told them the closet street name on my GPS. The dispatcher wanted me to go to the actual street to meet an officer, so I had to trek through the mud, soaking my tennis shoes and socks with brown muck, then cut through a patch of woods to get a road. After a few minutes, I was drenched in sweat. If I somehow managed my way out of this situation, then I would still arrive at the party looking like I came from a week-long hunting trip.
After stumbling through the underbrush, mud, and several puddles, I made it onto a nearby road and waited for an officer to come. Meanwhile, I called one of the girls at the party and told her my situation and that I was going to be late. She seemed unperturbed, and told me to call once I was on the road again. The wait for the officer only took five minutes even though my location was in the middle of nowhere. When the officer arrived, a familiar face stepped out of the patrol car, and he looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
"Dion! What's up, man!" he called out, smiling.
"Oh shit! Matt?! Is that you?"
Matt and I met in college and had a lot of classes together. We often worked out together after class. Matt towered over me by a few inches and he still wore his trademark mustache. He had a gregarious and easygoing personality, so I got along with him well enough although we went our separate ways after college. This coincidental meeting marking the first time I had seen him since then.
"So how'd you get stuck way out here?" he asked.
"My GPS sucks and I got stuck on a dirt road nearby," I said.
"That's not a dirt road," he laughed. "That's where they're laying the new pipeline."
"So where were you headed to?" he asked.
"Same ole... I gotta show in Panama City," I said.
He grinned. "Still doing that? That's awesome, man."
"Yeah, but I'm going to be late at this rate..."
Matt frowned in thought for a moment, then pulled out his cellphone. "Hold on. Let me call a friend. He lives just down the road from here." Matt dialed the number and spoke with someone for a few minutes. Afterward, he closed his cellphone and said, "My friend is on his way. Is twenty dollars too much for you?"
I was ecstatic. "That's more than reasonable!" I said. While we were waiting, We traded stories on what we had been doing since college. I told him about my normal job and he told me about his. We talked a little about 'good ole days' in college, then about the present and my upcoming party. "Hey, think the girls would mind if I showed up with you like this?" Matt said, pointing to his uniform and grinning.
"Not at all. Your sergeant might though."
"So how much they paying you?" Matt asked.
"More than you're making tonight," I said.
Matt guffawed. "Ain't that the truth."
Matt's friend soon arrived in a tow-truck. Matt introduced his friend to me, but I did not remember his name. His friend attached a tow line to my vehicle, which had sunken even more into the mud, and used a machine to reel my vehicle out like a fish. It was a time consuming process, and Matt had to leave to take another more important call. He shook my hand before he left.
"Dion, it was great seeing you again, man. Take care of yourself."
"You too," I said. "Stay safe out there."
After Matt left, his friend finished pulling my vehicle from out of the muck. I only had to pay twenty dollars since I was a friend of Matt's. I thanked the tow truck driver and was on my way to the party once again, but this time with shoes and socks soaked and caked with mud.
Prior to arriving at the party, I stopped at a country gas station with a water hose, took off my shoes and rinsed the mud off of my feet. I had an extra pair of socks in my car along with my stripper boots for the party. My stripper boots were black, patent leather, knee-high boots, that had a zipper that zipped up along the calf. They were ideal for my shows but not as primary footwear. It looked like I was going to wear them a bit earlier tonight.
After cleaning myself up at the gas station, I was blazing down the road again and arrived only twenty minutes late. This particular party took place at a rental cottage near Panama City Beach. The rental cottage was in a residential community with a guard gate posted at the entrance. I had to tell the guard my name and the name and address of the person I was going to visit. The guard allowed me in without any objections or issues.
At the cottage, I pulled into the driveway. A girl named Erin came outside to pay me. As I spoke with her about what I would do, I changed into my police outfit. It was almost thirty minutes after nine o'clock at night, so no one was going to see me. Erin seemed a little surprised, especially when I stripped down to my thong in the driveway, but I told her, "You're going to see me almost naked in a few minutes anyway."
"That's true," she said with a giggle.
After paying me, Erin went back inside. I finished donning on my uniform and approached the front door under the facade that 'someone had called the police for a noise complaint.' Erin answered the door and invited me inside. There were six girls total, and I spotted the bachelorette immediately. She was a tanned brunette wearing a pink, one-piece dress that had a white ribbon draped across with the word, 'bachelorette,' emblazoned in shiny, silver letters.
My 'noise complaint' act went without a stutter. I announced that the neighbors in the other cottages were complaining that the girls being too loud outside...And the bachelorette wasn't buying it.
She laughed and beckoned me to arrest her. From there, I stripped and dry-humped each and every girl at that party. What made this party interesting was the fact that every girl either wore a one-piece dress or a short skirt. When I would place a girl on the couch or floor to emulate humping her in a missionary position, her dress would hike up to reveal her underwear. Most of these girls had g-strings on, so when I would grind against them, only the thin fabric of my thong and theirs separated us. The girls encouraged each other to participate in this activity; I did not have to say a word, but merely accepted whoever was pushed and jostled toward my direction.
During the commotion, one of the girls placed a pink, circular sticker on my ass that read, "TIGHT BUNS." Another girl had flavored lube that she pour and lathered onto my chest, legs, and ass. The girls also had glow-in-the-dark bracelets. The sole red-haired girl at the party attempted to reach down place the bracelet around my cock and balls like a cock ring. However, the bracelet unsnapped open every time she tried.
Overall, I had immense fun at this party. They invited me to stay, but I had work the next day and needed rest. The tip money they left me covered the twenty-dollar towing fee multiple times over. The night might have started out hopeless and shitty, but it ended with me driving home content and well-paid.