not exactly sure of the how and why of this one being born but it *slammed* into my head on Monday and would not let go. . . ~n~
I knew I was in trouble when he took off his mirrored sunglasses and hooked them in the space between button two and three.
As a rule, I thought most state troopers were supposed to be ‘spit ‘n polished’, all buttons done, ties and shining boots. But here I was in the rural backcountry of fuck-all knows where, trying to find my friend’s house.
She’d asked if I’d wanted her to come to the airport and get me. I’m cocky about my ability to not get lost, to read maps, you know, guy stuff.
Except, since I have tits, and big ones at that, I’m way, definitely…absolutely, not a guy!
I’d been twining around these unmarked mountain roads for a long time now, and I couldn’t even get any cell reception here, which she had warned me about. And…. dammittall…I was steaming mad at myself. I should have been at Cindy’s house hours ago.
All around me majestic mountains thrust fingers of rock up, up and up into space. The perpetually snow-covered high peaks gleamed against the azure sky, while green trees covered the lower slopes in multiple shades of summer green. We’d be heading out later this week, tackling one of those peaks…if I ever could find Sladesville.
The road was a gravel path at times, and I wended my way onward, sure that this time I was on the right road, using that term loosely. I cast a glance westward, wary of the sun beginning to fall towards the deep vee between peaks. Sunset came fast in the mountains, I knew. And for sure, I didn’t want to spend the night up here, at least not without more than a snickers bar in my belly.
The flashing blues in my rear-view took me unaware. What the fuck was a Statey doing up here clocking speeds? I was the only car I’d seen in fucking hours. And there was no speed limit sign. And I wasn’t driving that fast.
I pulled over, my heart thumping. I smoothed out my hair, reaching for my purse, my license. My window was down already, catching the pine-scented breeze as the evening wind came up over the hillsides.
He stood there, legs slightly spread, hooking his sunglasses. Above that opening in his blues, a wad of dark, curling chest hair beckoned. I’m a weak slut, I admit it. My mouth watered at the sight of those curling dark hairs. I imagined them arrowing down his belly, pointing the way towards the ultimate goal.
I tried not to be obvious about oogling the cock that filled out the front of his uniform pants, but geezuz…it was a monster, unless he’d packed a bunch of bananas in his bvd’s!
I licked my lips, slicked with my favorite red gloss, tossing my hair over my shoulder. I know, it’s so girly. But its been known to get me out of tickets before.
“Hi…Captain.” I had no idea if he was a captain or a first lieutenant, or a general. I saw it on television one time and it had made that cop happy to get a field promotion, and that scheming blonde vixen had gotten off scott-free too! At this point, I’d try anything!
“And by the way, Captain, I’m lost. Can you help a girl out? I’m from back east.” I tend to ramble a bit when I’m nervous. Between the pull-over and the setting sun, I was feeling some stress. Of course he’d see I was from back east when he looked at my license. Which he wasn’t doing because he was staring right into my eyes, with a wicked scowl on his face, too.
“You were speeding.”
I wanted to say something smartass, like “duh.” But I was caught off-guard.
His voice was beautiful. Silly word to use on a man, but really? He sounded like a porn star. His voice was full and rich and resonant. Mountain man meets cop academy. I looked into eyes as blue as mine, yet much frostier. I blinked, tried to smile with my eyes, lifting my license up to him.
He ignored it. And while he didn’t oogle me the way men can, you know, that obvious ‘oh you’ve got big hooters you must be a slut’ kind of look? He didn’t do that but I knew he’d checked me out. And really, I am a slut, so the whole big hooters thing is fine with me. Sorry if you’re a feminist or what-all. Your loss, my layover, right? Go march, sistah, and I’ll take care of the sexual revolution my way.
Sex. I wish I could stop thinking about it, while this trooper glares at me. But really? Nothing really ever kept me from thinking about sex. I mean, I write a sex blog back home, so why should this be any different? And gawd he was something to look at. Not handsome, but kinda craggy. A guys guy. Never understood that phrase until now. But a guy would totally relate to this guy. And as a woman, and a slut? Ooo la la!
“You were speeding.”
“oh, right, um, I am sorry, Sir, but I was nervous about being lost up here and it’s getting dark and …I guess I was a bit …lead-footed?”
I offered him my confused and addled look which I’ve been told is the height of cute.
Obviously, HE was not interested in ‘cute lost chick’.
“You were driving 55 in a 35. That is 20 miles over the limit. On unfamiliar roads. IN the mountains. Up ahead is a hairpin turn. Take that at the speed you were going and I’d be calling a wrecker to get your car out of the ravine…and the coroner to get you.”
His mouth was a hard line slashed across his face.
I mean, I was sorry, I didn’t mean the question mark that got tagged onto the end of the apology, but that’s the straw that broke the trooper.
“Sorry? Fucking-A you’ll be sorry, you dumb….”He bit back anything else he was going to say, whipped open my door, and pulled me out by my hair! Geeze, I’d spent hours with the window open getting it tousled that way…and it hurt.
And fuck if there is anything that turns me on faster than a Man who has his fist buried in my hair, pulling me around by it. My pussy began to thump as wildly as my heart as he pushed me past my car, after slamming the door and pocketing my keys.
As tersely as he spoke, He shoved me into the back of the cruiser. Who knew a 4X4 had that much room in the back? He slammed that door too, then reached into the front and pulled a red tag from under the visor. He wrote on it as he walked back to my car, then stuck the giant-assed sticker right on the side window of the rental car.
Well fuck, that’s gonna cost me, I thought.
I watched him swagger as he walked back to me, my heart thumping wildly at the look on his face. Gawd.
He got into the front, turned on the engine, and drove off, leaving my car behind. Every time I tried to speak, he looked at me in his rearview, but would not reply. Finally, even my vast repertoire of small talk was exhausted, and I subsided, crossing my arms across my chest, and huffing as I slumped back in the seat.
Not for a moment did I expect what happened next.