She giggled. “So, that’s an orgasm.” She sighed. “My God, I have been missing out on something wonderful.” She turned her head and shared a smile with me. “I always felt like I must be doing something wrong. Like I didn’t know how sex works.”
“Why did you feel that?”
“Sex with Fred… When he kisses me, it’s all lips, no tongue. He never gives me hickeys or plays with my clitoris or sucks on it. He never puts his fingers inside me, only his penis—well, that’s just about the only thing I enjoy when we have sex, but only long enough for him to orgasm. I never get to orgasm myself. He could at least stick his finger inside me after he’s finished so that I get to finish, too, but…”
“You need to tell him what you want him to do. And he needs to hold off on his orgasms until you’re both ready.”
“He says he doesn’t like tongue, he doesn’t want to put his mouth on my hoo-ha because he doesn’t want to put his mouth where his semen goes or ‘where pee comes out’, and when I asked him to take a break before he climaxes, he told me that he doesn’t like having to wait for his orgasms because he doesn’t like having ‘blue balls’.”
“He needs to grow a pair and meet you halfway.”
“Maybe if he tried a little harder and put up with a little discomfort, that might be enough to solve his side of the problem, but not mine. I like his personality, that much is true, and how caring he is, and his passion for wanting children—I really think we’ll be good parents together—but I don’t look at him and feel physically attracted the way I do with you. As soon as I first laid eyes on you—even smelled your perfume—I felt this… feeling in my… my pelvis… that I need you, and I had to try so hard not to let it take over me, but you… you undid me. I’ve never felt anything like that with him. After this beautiful moment with you… I find myself questioning why I said ‘I will’ and ‘I do’.”
((Andrea finds Andrea attractive. Ha.)) “If he put on a dress, would you want to fuck him more?”
Her face changed several times as she pictured it, until she said, confidently, “Yes, I think I would find him more attractive.” She continued to imagine for a few seconds before concluding, “I would be even more excited about sex with him if he shaved… and put on makeup… and got a woman’s haircut.”
“We’re exactly the same person, we’re both bisexual but mostly attracted to feminine people. I don’t know what to call it, but I don’t really care. ‘Femsexual’, maybe.”
“‘Femsexual’… I like having a word for what I am. Word or no word, though, just understanding what I like… I needed what you just gave me. I thought there was something wrong with me. But… it turns out the problem wasn’t me doing sex wrong—it was me not knowing what I needed.”
“In my limited experience, you’re going to find out even more about yourself as you experiment with other people.”
“I can’t experiment, though. I’m married. It’s bad enough I gave into temptation with you.”
“That doesn’t have to be a barrier. Ask him if he’d be interested in a threesome. Hell, I’ll join the two of you if he says ‘yes’, even though I’m not really into masculine men. Or ask for his permission to sleep around. If he doesn’t consent, divorce him.”
Her eyes grew wide. “I can’t divorce him!”
“You don’t enjoy sex with him, and I have a feeling he isn’t going to want to dress up like a girl. Am I right?”
She was torn, but she had to admit, “Ugh… Probably. Yeah. Yes, you’re absolutely right. He likes being a man too much to feminize himself. But I can’t just… leave him. Even if I don’t really want to be married to him for the sex, I… I still love him and want to have lots of children with him, so how can I justify a divorce? People who love each other don’t get divorces…”
“I’m pretty sure they do, actually. Such as when one of them finds out the other is gay. And in your case, you might be the gay one.”
Her eyes flew open. “Oh… I’m… (gay.)”
“You like girls, you like guys. Do you think you might be bisexual?”
“I’m bisexual! I’m an adulteress and I’m gay and I’m bisexual!”
“You could ask him if he’d like to try a threesome, and if he’d be willing to wear a dress and makeup and maybe a wig—be sure to explain how important it is to you, that you haven’t been enjoying sex and this is the only way to make it work with him. If he loves you, he’ll either give it a try—or he’ll let you sleep around to make up for not fulfilling your needs, to show that he cherishes you. If he refuses to give you any of these concessions, your marriage isn’t worth the paper the certificate was printed on.” Some may find my relationship advice questionable, which would be reasonable considering the meager breadth and depth of my experience with being in any number of relationships.
She considered my advice with a tormented face, for quite some time, until she admitted, with great reluctance, “You’re right. I’ll ask him about dressing up like a girl.” She sighed. “Thank you.”
I petted her hair. “Good. I need to get going, there’s no reason to stick around here if I can’t get my video evidence.”
She pouted. I had said something cruel.
“What’s wrong?”
“I would think that I’m a good reason to stick around.”
“Oh. I thought you were satisfied. Do you want more?”
“Well… I need to make you climax.”
I checked my phone—12:09. “Okay. We can do that. But we’ve been in your office for over an hour, and people might start to wonder—especially if anyone heard you scream.”
“I screamed?” she asked with horror.
I nodded. “When you came—but it wasn’t deafening, just… kinda loud, maybe enough for it to be heard just outside your office or next door. If you want to return the favor, it might be better if you waited to fuck me at my place after work.”
“Yeah. Oh… I’m having a sexual affair, this means—I’m—I’m… an adulterer.”
“I think you need the sex more than he needs your fidelity.”
“I’ve decided… I’m not going to ask him about sleeping around.”
“Then be sure to ask him to wear a dress.”
“No. I’ve changed my mind completely. I’ll leave him alone, I won’t ask him to wear a dress, I won’t ask him for a threesome, I won’t ask if I can sleep around.”
“You’re going to have an unhappy sex life if you don’t try at least one of these courses of action.”
“I said I wouldn’t ask him if I can sleep around—in California I don’t need his permission to have sex with whomever I want. I’ll just be careful about it. I’ll keep an eye out for private investigators following me, I’ll only use cash when I go out on dates, I’ll use a messaging app that locks when I exit it, all those precautions. And I’ll use an alter ego when I meet new… lovers. I’m willing to accept a sexually-unfulfilling marriage as long as it’s stable and as long as we’re happy together as parents. I still love him, enough to wear the ring.” She held up her left hand, which had no such ring. “Oh! I took it off yesterday to lay bricks for the new back patio, and I guess… I forgot to put it back on.”
“I might not have made a move on you if you’d been wearing it. Might not. Fucking a married woman is actually kind of exhilarating.” She blushed, and tried and failed not to smile. “Does the shame of being unfaithful feel awful… or does it feel… like… bad, but in a good way?”
She sighed. “Ugh… Bad… in a very good way. I want to have sex with you again. At my house. In the bed I share with my husband. While he’s at work. No, while he’s busy in his workshop out back. I didn’t tell him I took the day off so he has no idea I’m 50 feet away, having sex with you. And… the windows and blinds are open, so the neighbors can see and hear everything. But they don’t tell him about my cheating because they know it’ll break his heart. And he can’t hear us because he’s wearing hearing protection while sawing wood. God… and just imagine how satisfying it would be, if… you could… you could get me… pregnant, but he thinks that he’s the…”
As her fantasy rapidly ballooned my eyes grew wider and wider and my jaw fell further and further, until what she was planning out became so extreme that even I, the submissive-dominant freak with a breeding kink currently engaged in a cucking competition with one of my girlfriends, was feeling (a teensy tiny bit) uncomfortable, so I gently cut her off before she could finish describing her exhibitionist cuckolding impregnation fantasy. Uncomfortable or not, though… I was really digging her boundless energy. “Wow! That’s… hot. You are… really into adultery, all of a sudden. And I hope you get to indulge in your newfound kink.” She nodded shamefully… but couldn’t hold back a naughty smile. “We can hook up later. I’ll give you my number if you give me yours.” She nodded, and we traded phone numbers. “What time do you take your lunch hour?”
“12.”
“It’s 12:14. People might be wondering why you haven’t gone to lunch yet.”
“There’s no one here to notice… but I am really hungry after the sex. Would you like to go to Del with me?”
I wasn’t the least bit in the mood for food, but everything I had eaten that day was in a puddle behind a bush. “Definitely. I… missed breakfast. And I’m starving.”
She drove us there in her red Hyundai Sonata; just before pulling up to the drive-through, she asked, “Do you mind eating in the car?”
Having a very nice car had put me in the mindset of needing to preserve the niceness of said car, which meant permitting absolutely no food or drink in her to eliminate the possibility of stains or crud in the cracks. Because of this self-conditioning, I hesitated. “Are you sure you want to get crumbs between the seats?”
“I’d rather have crumbs everywhere than be seen in my uniform in public.”
Indeed, the Hyundai’s cloth interior was stained throughout and there were little particles of food everywhere—even so, living in an apartment that I cleaned far less often than I should have left me perfectly comfortable with, and nonjudgmental of, the shabbiness of her car. “Alright. It’s your car.”
She ordered our food and insisted on paying the bill to thank (or, as I preferred to see it, compensate) me for the sex, and she found a parking spot for us to eat.
All the while, I puzzled over why she didn’t want to sport her uniform in public—I had a hypothesis, but I didn’t want to assume.
“Why don’t you want to be seen wearing a uniform?”
“You know the acronym ACAB…”
“I suppose… you could say… I take it seriously.”
“I’m afraid of someone dumping a milkshake on me or spitting on my burger.”
((Bingo. But how deep does her anxiety over the uniform go?)) “Do you think those people are delusional?”
She hesitated, then said, diplomatically, “Besides having listened to the news and reading the hard data… I’m in charge of pulling body cam and dash cam footage at a police department with a reputation for having a civil rights record that ‘has room for improvement’. I’ve seen…” She squeezed her eyelids shut, then slowly peeked out. “…God, things I will never forget. Things I’m glad I wasn’t an eyewitness to. Verbal abuse, unprovoked threats of violence, dragging perfectly compliant people out of vehicles and throwing them to the ground; screaming at people who are already lying face down on the asphalt; screaming contradictory orders—‘down on the ground’ and at the same time ‘get down on your knees’ and ‘hands against the wall’, and ‘hands over your head’ and ‘hands behind your back’—at people who are showing signs that they might have mental disabilities; screaming at people just because they don’t like them; putting people in chokeholds—”
“Some of us still use chokeholds?”
“As far as I can tell, we all do, and no-one’s been disciplined for it. That would be practically impossible, because the brass never ask for recordings of misconduct, and the union is so aggressive about defending every allegation of misconduct that they’d just get the punishment reduced to a slap on the wrist even if one of us got in trouble. There’s no incentive to be humane, and it’s a lot more satisfying to be cruel.”
“That’s true. These are some pretty awful things.”
“They are. There are cases where officers draw their weapons even though the subject is complying with their orders with no indicators of violent intent. And… I’ve seen a few shootings. One or two were maybe justified, but too many of them are simply…”
“‘Simply’…?”
She shook her head.
“What are they?” I asked gently.
“I don’t want to talk about those, forget I mentioned those ones. They make me feel like I’m part of a machine designed specifically to oppress people.”
“Which… is exactly what it is.”
She sighed. “Yeah. It is.”
“If it’s so evil, why do you continue to work here?”
“Right now? My husband quit his job 8 years ago, right after we married, to become an aspiring writer, and he’s still working on the rough draft of his first book, so I’m the breadwinner; we’ve got a mortgage to pay and we’re trying for a baby. When I entered Academy, I wanted to make a difference in society. I wanted to help people and protect them and put the dangerous ones somewhere they wouldn’t pose a threat. But the way the job is structured, you can’t do your job without hurting everyone you come into contact with. That’s why I transferred to Safety and Accountability, where I don’t have the temptation to use my sidearm or cuffs, or a mandate or incentive to harass or ticket or arrest people. I’m not personally doing these things anymore, so most of the time I’m able to convince myself I’m not complicit. And… maybe, someday, I can testify about what I’ve seen. Maybe someday I’ll build up the courage to prove to the world just how awful my coworkers are by bearing witness to their sins.”
She leaned back and stared at her taco. After a minute of silence, I asked, “Have you ever considered reporting them?”
“Well… in the first place, I’m not supposed to pull footage without an I2R or subpoena; and second, I’m not even supposed to watch the stuff I receive a request to pull, beyond the bare minimum necessary to verify that all the streams are present and that it doesn’t have any transcoding errors. If I report anything I see, even while performing the duties I’m charged with, I would get in trouble for accessing law enforcement sensitive information without a need-to-know, as well as violating the contractual right to privacy of the officers involved. And I’m too much of a coward to go through that. I’ll lose my job and go to jail for half a year.”
“Damn,” I muttered. “God (damn it…) There has to be a way to report it anonymously. Could you pull it and burn it to a DVD and drop it in a newspaper’s mailbox?”
“In order to initiate DVD burns I require either a valid I2R from a captain or higher specifying that the video should be on a DVD, or I need a subpoena; and the identity of the officer who pulled the video is logged on the server and embedded in an invisible watermark in the video and audio streams, which I have no idea how to remove.”
“You could record the videos with your phone.”
“The recordings would lack the metadata embedded in the video files as stored on our server, which is vital to verifying the authenticity, the time of day, the officer name or car number, and the location that the video was taken for the sake of prosecution; and even if the missing metadata wasn’t a concern—if I decided to grab the videos that way, I’d need to hold my camera with my hand, which will shake, or use a camera stand, which I’ll have to smuggle into the console room, which is right next to the captain’s office—either way, the video quality will be degraded by the fact that it’s a recording of a recording; there’s also the fact that I would need to capture the recording in real-time, which would mean being restricted to filming 15-minute segments at a time; and the whole time I’d be hoping no one notices that I’m not fulfilling requests as quickly as usual, and hoping that nobody walks in and catches me with my phone on a tripod, pointed at the console screen. Which isn’t going to happen right away, but it’s bound to happen eventually. I’d be at this for months or even years recording all the videos, and all the while my backlog would be growing, which would arouse suspicion if it got too big.”
“Shit.” I understood her desire to cover her ass—no-one wants to go to prison and pay a crushing fine for leaking law enforcement sensitive information when that would mean being separated from your spouse and children for months to years. No matter how we looked at the problem, that would always be a risk. Then a memory flashed through my head, almost too quickly to read. “Wait. There was a web training back in 2018… SB 1421. Police Officers: Release of Records. When we had it I just clicked through without paying any attention because I was having a particularly bad depressive episode, but I think it was something about the public getting access to certain kinds of records, including footage.”
“Oh! They didn’t make me take that one.” She found an encyclopedia article explaining the law. “Oh my God. That’s our ticket!” She pinched my arm and beamed her teeth. “Except—if I put in the requests, people are going to wonder how I knew which ones to request.”
“You can give a list of the recordings to a civil rights or watchdog organization, anonymously, and they can make the requests.”
“Wow. Holy cow. I’m finally able to do something about this without destroying my own life in the process!” She leaned over and wrapped her arms around my head. “Oh my God, you’re an angel, an angel of Justice!”
I couldn’t hold back a grin. “I’m just a woman with a conscience. And so are you. On a related note, how do you feel about… (prostitutes?)” The word didn’t taste as good as ‘sex workers’ or ‘whores’.
“Well…” She took a bite of her fish taco and pondered as she chewed, then swallowed. “Do you promise not to judge me or break up with me if you don’t like my answer?”
((‘Promise not to break up with me…’ I guess we’re a couple, now.)) “I don’t know if I can make that promise, but I promise that if I don’t, I’ll be civil and talk it out with you and try to come to an understanding.”
“Alright, I’ll go out on a limb, because I have a good feeling about you. I just gave it some thought. Before you gave me cunnilingus, I thought they were leeches on society. But now that I’ve experienced sex outside of marriage… I think they get a bad rap.” I smiled. When she saw my smile, she gave me one of her own. “I think they should be allowed to do their thing without being jailed or fined. They’re productive citizens, they’re fulfilling people’s needs, they’re doing work that needs to be done, they’re contributing to society. And I don’t always feel like I can say the same about my own job…” My smile grew wider as she went on. “If I hadn’t felt compelled to be faithful to my husband for so long… I might have gotten into the habit of hiring them myself. They aren’t worth less than me for doing what they do. I think the law should leave them alone, and they deserve the same respect you or I deserve. They’re human beings with jobs, trying to make ends meet, just like me—except… except the part where I’m a cog in a machine hell-bent on hurting people for fun and profit.”
“I liked that answer, Andrea.”
“I take it you feel the same way.”
“Yes. I am a sex worker.” Her eyes grew in disbelief. “Or maybe I should say that I was one—I don’t know if it’s one of those ‘once a marine, always a marine’ situations. I’ve only had one client, but I enjoyed it, and she ended up becoming my girlfriend. I might try it again, but as an escort next time—streetwalking is kind of terrifying.”
“Wow. Good for you!” She finished her last taco, and I was able to force myself to finish my red burrito. “It’s 12:45, gotta get back to work.”
We went back to the station and I followed her back to SAO. She sat at her desk and assessed my face and body thoroughly before surprising me with, “May I ask why you’re requesting all this footage? Most cases that come across my desk ask for 4 to 8 officers and 2 to 4 cars, at most.”
“I guess if this room is good enough for clandestine sex and saying nice things about sex workers and calling ourselves oppressors, it’s good enough for secrets. I need you to promise me you’ll keep this between us.” Excitement bubbled up in her eyes as she zipped her lips. “Only a couple people know what I’m up to, because I don’t trust anyone here. Well, 3, including you. Somebody outside the department knew there was going to be a Vice raid on the Old Torrey Pines, and timed the kidnapping of Alexander Brookvale for when the hotel and street were empty.” The bubbles of excitement faded. I’d yet to see her eyes grow so wide, so full of shock. “I have a hypothesis that the chaos of the raid was a reasonably compelling explanation for Alex getting ‘lost’, and the empty hotel was a convenient location for an interrogation—or handover, if there were multiple parties at work. If either theory is true, they’ll have no way to argue that this wasn’t premeditated. I suspect both theories are correct.”
“Oh my… God. Oh my God! This was premeditated, and the people involved had contacts inside the department, so at least one cop is going down.”
((Ah. Shit. She’s right.)) Though in the past I had been willing to bear in mind the possibility that Diane had been involved, I had only done so when forced to confront the possibility, because it was simply too obvious to ignore. Just a little less obvious would be the involvement of pretty much any other employee of the SVPD—other than myself, and I was able to conveniently forget that just about everyone within the department was a suspect. I didn’t want to think about how evil my department was, I didn’t want to hear yet again about officers committing crimes, I wanted to believe that this organization wasn’t so awful that it would kidnap Alex. But I had to face the evidence. Every officer in the department (besides Diane, Andrea, and Tom, who all showed progressive leanings) was a suspect. “Yeah. Someone we work with was involved in some way or another, directly or indirectly. There’s no doubt about it.”
Her eyes scanned my face, perhaps hoping to see sarcasm shining through the cracks, to give away that I was pranking her. But there was no light of humor to be found, only the mourning-black desire to pursue justice. “You need this footage.”
I nodded.
“This is the most important case I’ve ever dealt with… Depending on who was involved, it has the potential to shatter the department into splinters.” She logged into her workstation and clicked around, typed, and clicked. “The I2R is requesting 24 officers and 12 vans from ignition to 12:00 PM on July 13th. That’ll be around 150 to 200 hours of footage, which is… a lot for one detective to scrub through. I need to run a query against the car numbers and officer names from the ShieldCam console in the server room, but if you prefer, I can break up such a large request into smaller batches and feed them to you as they become ready instead of waiting for one big export to complete.”
“I would appreciate that.”
“I’ll take care of these right away. Before you go…” She got up and walked around her desk to the visitor’s side. I could see in her face the subject in her head changing as she avoided eye contact. “Thank you for setting me free from an unhappy sex life. And thank you for letting me know I’m not the only one who cares about the horrible things this department does.”
I closed in on her and pressed my breasts against hers (equally ample as mine), and waited for her to examine my features one-by-one until our eyes were locked like the face of the moon to the Earth. “And thank you for being so cute I couldn’t resist fucking you, and thank you for being brave enough to help me.” She melted as I said this, and melted even more as I placed my hands on her waist and kissed her.
She responded aggressively, with her lips and tongue, and her hands on the back of my head. Then she dragged a hand across my shoulder, over my collar bone, down my upper chest, until it was cupping my breast. She squeezed and rubbed my tit as she kissed me eagerly, taking a break from my lips to whisper, “I want to stimulate your clitoris right now, the way you did mine.”
“I’d love that, but we have work to do.”
“Work can wait a couple minutes, let me… pleasure you. I need to suck your clitoris.” She resumed kissing me and started to undo my pants.
As tempting as it was to let her have her fun with my body, I gently restrained her hands. “Later. You can come to my apartment tonight and have a threesome with me and one of my girlfriends.”
“‘One of’ your girlfriends?”
“Yes. I may have started a collection.”
“I suppose… that you are the type to have multiple partners.”
“Maybe she’ll become your girlfriend, too.” I teased.
“Oh. Maybe… maybe.”
“How does 6 sound?”
“Oh, my! That’s a lot of girlfriends, but—the more the merrier!”
“No, no…” I chuckled. “6 o’clock.”
“Oh! Ha… ha… Yes… That… should give me enough time to get ready.”
“I live at 2840 Chester A. Arthur, Matteo’s apartment complex, room 201. It’s in the front, up the stairs.”
She added that in her phone. “Alright. Let’s get back to kissing.” She planted her lips on mine.
I checked my phone, then pulled away to inform her, “It’s almost 1:30, we have only an hour-and-a-half left in the shift, unless you want to put in for overtime.”
She sighed in frustration. “No, I’m not even authorized for overtime, otherwise I wouldn’t have a backlog. I’ll grab your footage ASAP. The first 10 videos should take about half an hour to locate, transcode, and replicate to your CaseCloud. I’ll include a copy of the standalone viewing software you’ll need to watch and annotate them.”
“Thanks, Doll.”
She smiled, blushed, and averted her eyes bashfully. “I like it when you call me ‘Doll’.”
“I think people officially become lovers once they invent pet names for each other. So if you can come up with one for me…”
“Holy cow. All I need is a pet name for you…?” She muttered too quietly to make out her words, then with an expression of satisfaction announced, “Clover.”
“Interesting. Why ‘Clover’?”
“Your eyes.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah, that works. I approve. We’re lovers.”
Her lips latched onto mine, where I allowed them to stay till 1:45, at which point I tapped her on the shoulder. She pulled away. “What is it, Clover?”
“We, um, really need to get to work, Doll.”
Her disappointment—no, her absolute sorrow, sent a bullet of regret right through my heart. “Oh. Right…”
“Tonight, remember?”
Her mood bounced back. “Okay. It’s a date.”
“A sex date. Bring a change of clothes, you might be too tired to drive home by the time we’re done. Go, get that footage. I gotta talk to the medical examiner before COB.”
She ushered me out of her office and left for the server room with a smile and a bashful wave of her hand.