This afternoon I had the distinct pleasure of finally meeting with someone that I had been trying to get together with for some time now.
He is a fan of uniforms as I am, and he has one of my absolute favorites, a real Royal Canadian Mounted Police uniform! When we arrived in his hotel room, he excused himself to the storage room to fetch something and invited me to try on any uniform I wished while he was gone. I immediately went for the RCMP.
I admired it on the hanger, it was more beautiful than I imagined it or had seen in pictures. The red was so bold and proud, the dark blue so deep and powerful, the yellow stripe on the breeches was a striking accent. I admired it for a while longer before taking it and carefully laying it upon the bed. I put on the pants and suspenders and found that I was too thin for the waist, the coat came on next and it was large on my narrow frame. I walked in front of the mirror and felt my heart ache.
I looked as if I were a child trying on his father's uniform! It was so embarrassing! I felt I was disrespecting this amazing uniform by trying to wear it. I returned it to its hanger as carefully as possible and decided to change into my own CHP uniform. My friend soon returned just as I began to change in his bathroom. He asked if I wanted him to wear anything, and I asked if he would wear the RCMP, to which he happily agreed, much to my excitement.
I soon finished changing, and slid my recently acquired police baton into its holster at my gun belt. As I waited with eager anticipation for him to finish. My heart began to beat excitedly, there I was, in the same hotel room as a man who would be wearing my favorite uniform in the world. A man who was handsome, and of a gentle, worldly demeanor.
His voice finally came through the crack in the door, I moved my gloved hand to the door handle, took a moment to breathe, and exited the bathroom.
There, with his back to me, stood a Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer. He turned to face me, the coat red and crisp, the breeches blue with striking yellow, the boots a deep earthy reddish brown, the gauntlet gloves a deep brown, the belt, the hat...my heart began to flutter. My mind went blank, I could only move towards this beautiful and dignified sight.
His eyes, once gentle and smiling, now looked me over with a quiet, subtle intensity, framed by the tan stetson, and the dark navy collar. His whispered orders were met with immediate obedience. His touch and grasp made me sigh and gasp with gratitude. His gloved grip over my mouth made me lightheaded. He tore open my shirt, tossing it behind me, he forced open my belt and down to my ankles my breeches did fall, he yanked off my boots, and I was left in only my briefs and gloves.
A Canadian Mountie was dominating me.
He ordered me to his boot, and I couldn't fall to my knees fast enough. It was an honor to service these boots of lore, of fetish legend. Eventually he ordered me back on my feet and took another uniform from his closet. He dressed me in a light blue shirt, dark navy pants, firm smooth black boots, and soft white leather gauntlet gloves. He finished me off with a narrow navy hat. I discovered I was wearing a Gendarmerie uniform. He ordered me on the bed to join him, we lay together, and he kissed me deeply.
A Canadian Mountie was kissing me.
It felt beautiful, dignified, masculine. Two uniformed men in each others arms, embracing, kissing. Feeling the red coat under my gloved hands as I gripped him closer to me. The smell of the uniform, so clean and even bold in scent, bold in dignity and order.
I am so thankful for the opportunity to see, feel, and experience a gentleman in a real RCMP uniform, it is almost moving me to tears. I embrace these experiences deeply, never knowing when the next one will come about, never knowing when one may be the last of its kind. Taking in as much as possible, I grip and squeeze all I can out of them.
Serving a Mountie, one of my many fantasies has come true.
Merci! Merci beaucoup!
