Friday, October 10, 2008

You Know It's Been A Good Night When The Police Get Involved...

Earlier this evening, I Plurked that I was going dancing this evening. I normally don't talk about real life, the last major post was when I was a real life neko exploring dirty talk in the back of a car. But, I'd like to give you another little glimpse into my real life and why I like policemen.

I went to my usual dance club, the bouncers know me, the bartenders know me and serve me my favorite drinks (without charge), and the DJs know me, playing my favorite music. I'm there about once a week. I go dancing, not to hook up but to dance, a fact that many men seem to not grasp. I frequently close out the club, dancing all night until they throw me out pouting.

Often, especially towards the end of the night, men become desperate and attempt to hit on everyone or anyone, hoping to get lucky. A usual night for me involves fending off 10-15 guys who won't take 'no' for an answer. Most guys who hit on me are fine with me saying 'no' and they go their way, the dozen or so each night that persist too far - grab me, grope me, forcibly kiss me, grab my hand and won't let go, grab my hand and put it on their dick (both outside and inside of their pants), show me their dick, tell me about how big there dick is and all the women they've had sex with, attempt to 'dirty dance' with me, and all manner of behavior that I'd normally associate with ill-mannered baboons.

Just because I gyrate my hips when I dance, that is not a license to expect sex from me. Speaking of licenses...

One guy towards the end of the night was particularly persistent, trying to dance with me, kiss me, put my hand on his dick through his pants, etc. Basically, your typical persistent creep. I left towards the end of the night as usual, saying goodnight to everyone who worked in the club on my way out, I jumped in my car, and drove away; heading home to rest my weary feet. Dancing for 4 hours straight in 5" stilettos makes even my feet tired.

As I pulled away, the creep waved to me from his silver Mercedes. I ignored him and drove away. I went a few blocks and turned to pull on the highway. I looked in my rear mirror and noticed a silver car behind me, could be a Mercedes, could be nearly anything. He can't be stupid enough to be following me, can he? I drove for a while, watching the silver car behind me, hoping it wasn't the creep. But, every time I changed a lane, a few moments later the silver car changed lanes. I began to wonder what to do, should I call 911, what?

I decided to test my theory that it was the creep, I pulled off at the next exit, noting that the silver car swerved over two lanes to follow me off. Crap, it had to be him. I decided to drive around a few blocks quickly in an attempt to lose him, otherwise it would be time to find a policeman and try to attract his attention, or call 911. My sore feet just wanted to get home, but I also didn't want the creep to follow me there and rape me.

I went around a couple of blocks rather quickly, and I noticed that he was falling behind, a few more blocks and I could zip back on the highway and he wouldn't see me. I sped up a bit and slid around a few corners, just one more corner to go and I would be around it before he could see which way I turned. I zoomed around the corner and headed for the highway...

Then, I saw the red flashing lights behind me. Darn! Where were you about two minutes ago?

I pulled over, turned off my car, rolled down my window and waited for my erstwhile savior. The cop swaggered out of his car and came to my window, I greeted him with, "Thank you so much officer for pulling me over, you saved me." I then babbled about leaving a dance club, a silver car following me, trying to lose the car, etc. The few times I've been pulled over have nearly always started with a 'thank you' to the officer, I think it confuses them, they probably hear nothing but excuses, insults, pleading, etc. Never a 'thank you', 'you're doing a great job', or any other acknowledgement. It's my mission to I brighten their day; they have a rough enough time without me making it worse.

"I didn't see any car following you Miss."

"I'm just glad you came to my rescue, Officer... Jim," I said glancing at his name tag and flashing him the biggest, most grateful smile I could. The name has been changed to protect the besotted.

"Anyway Miss, I'd like to see your license, insurance, and registration."

"Anything you want officer. It was sliding through a stop sign wasn't it."

"Yes, Miss."

I rummaged in my purse, produced my license and handed it to him. I then opened the glove compartment and began to look for the rest of the documents he wanted. Who knows if they were even in there, I haven't had an accident or been pulled over by a cop in years.

I started to pull things out...

"Hmm, no this isn't it, but... is this a tire gauge officer?"

"Yes Miss."

"I needed one the other day, I have to remember that I have one in here..." I toss it back in and continue to look.

I bent over, trying to show as much of my legs under my tiny black miniskirt as I could. Yes, I'm shameless, but I didn't want a ticket.

Everytime I brought something back from the glove compartment, I made certain to look into his eyes with my blue eyes, bat my long black lashes, and show off all of the cleavage I could muster in my gold sequined low-cut camisole. A few flips of blond hair never hurt either.

I began to hand him all sorts of junk, asking him very politely to hold it while I continued to look. I pulled out the owner's manual, flipped through it, took out a few random papers, unfolded them, glanced at them, and handed them to officer Jim, while I babbled on about him rescuing me, the silver Mercedes, how afraid I was, etc.

He had quite a pile of random odds and ends in his hands when he finally said, "Miss, please take these back, I'd like to check on something." Finally, I was wondering how much stuff I needed to pile on his hands before he'd just go check my record. He took my license and headed back to his car, looked it up in the database, obviously found out that my record was spotless and wandered back. While he was gone, I did eventually find my registration and insurance.

He handed back my license, "Here you go Miss, I'm letting you off with a warning tonight, make certain you come to a full stop at all stop-signs."

"Yes, officer," I looked directly in his eyes and smiled as sweetly as I could, "let my say again, thank you for saving me, I was so afraid." I blew him a kiss, waved, and drove off. Even if he'd given me a ticket, I wouldn't have complained, just to guarantee the silver Mercedes creep wouldn't find me.

All the rest of the way home, I kept looking in my mirror, paranoid about silver Mercedes cars near me. This incident is just another example of why I love cops.

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