Yeah, I’m in uniform. Full gear—the badge, the belt, the cuffs, the gun. Maybe it’s that sense of authority that catches your attention. There’s something about it, right? The power, the control that comes with it. It’s hard to miss. It’s a presence, really. You see someone in uniform, and your mind immediately draws conclusions. There's a certain weight that comes with the job, something that demands respect—whether it’s earned or assumed. But maybe it’s not just that. Maybe there’s more to it—something deeper, something that doesn't always make it to the surface. The part of me that’s not as obvious, the side that doesn’t come with the badge, but with the person inside it. The side that needs to be needed, that craves validation. The one who wants to feel important, like I matter.

It’s a strange mix, this duality. I’m the one in charge, but also the one who needs someone to want me to be in charge. It's like, there’s this balancing act between authority and vulnerability, like I’m both the protector and the person who wants to be protected, or at least seen, acknowledged. I don’t mind being the strong one, but there's this quiet longing underneath it all, the desire for connection, for someone to see more than just the uniform. You get what I’m saying? It’s not just the badge or the power. It’s the person behind it, the one who knows how to take control, but also craves a little bit of attention, a little recognition.

I just finished up my shift. Now, I’m looking to unwind. Maybe have a good conversation, let my guard down a bit. I’m tall, keep in shape, got light hair—nothing too extraordinary, but I like to think I’ve got a presence. How about you?

29, white, 6'2", in shape