It’s all fun and games until the police officer tells you to put your pants on…

This is the story of how I almost got myself arrested while on spring
break… how typical right?

Yet this is not the typical story of the “Girls Gone Wild” spring break trip to Florida, Cancun, or some other warm place where booze, bikinis, boobs, and boys abound that you might expect.

I spent my spring break in Baltimore, Maryland.  This single week was the first time, in a long time, that I found myself to be happy and I was ready to take full advantage of that.  I met a lot of really great people and did a lot of fun things, but the absolute highlight, and cause for this story, did not come until my last night in Maryland.

I spent my weeks with Buns, a friend who I have had a fairly tumultuous relationship with in the past.  An aside about Buns and why I’ve chosen to call him this: this man has the kind of ass that any man or woman would be undoubtedly be envious of, and I am in fact included among this jealous population.  Buns and I had spent the week together learning that there was something hard to ignore between us… and included in this “something” was undeniably great sex.  We explored the city and best of all we explored each other.

  Somehow, on my last evening in Maryland, the need and desire for penetration was great enough to silence the rational part of me that I hope might have stepped up to say “this might not be the best idea…”  But no such warning emerged, so when the suggestion for car sex came up (though I expressed some brief hesitancy) I was more looking forward to it than not.  And so Buns and I found ourselves taking an evening drive, perusing the streets in his Chevy Impala looking for just the right spot.  We even took special care and consideration in our search, we did not settle for the first place that seemed suitable, but instead engaged in a more thorough search.  As I sat in the passenger seat next to him I was giddy and anxious; any reservations had long since left my mind.    Finally it seemed we had found just the place: an empty parking lot at the far end of an out of the way park in a quiet residential neighborhood.  Perfect.

We wasted no time before climbing into the back seat and discarding any unnecessary clothing items to the floor.  It was a slightly chilly March evening so my top half remained snuggled into Buns’ hoodie as he slid his large erection between my thighs.  The thrill of the circumstances no doubt added to the experience.  After a fair amount of excited and steamy penetration, the only thing left to finish was the clean up.  Just as this was complete (pants still off mind you) I could very clearly see headlights coming towards the car from just over Buns’ left shoulder…

“Oh shit.”  He mutters after looking behind him.  I sink a little lower against the cold seat, thinking maybe I can hide.  I lie there frozen; he must surely be teasing me.  As Buns proceeds to pull his pants back on, I am still utterly frozen, not knowing what to do or what to think.  It’s only after he gets out of the car and I hear the murmur of more than one voice outside that I fully realize that we have a situation.  I scramble, with great difficulty, to get my pants on.

**Tip: if you’re going to have sex in a car, plan your wardrobe accordingly.  Skinny jeans are very challenging to get on in a hurry and in small confines.  I definitely do not recommend this choice.

I timidly open the car door and an unfamiliar voice greets me.  “You got your pants on?”
“Of course!”  I say innocently.
“What’s your name Miss?”  Once I step out of the car I am utterly shocked to see not just one, but one female and two male police officers.  Three… really?  This seems a little excessive to me.  Buns is standing near the two police cars with the female officer and the other male officer.  I cling to the Impala’s open back door for support as I find myself untrusting of my trembling legs.

“How old are you?”  This man asks me.
“Ummm…. 23?”  I’m not sure why I had to think about this one, but I’m guessing it only added confidence to the officer’s next question.
“Can I see your ID please?”
I give a nervous chuckle. “I- uh… didn’t bring it with me.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“January 28.”  No hesitation this time.  I was proud.
“… Of what year…?”
Oops.  That was only a half-pass.  I supplied him with the year as my heart was beginning to pound more and more loudly in my ears.

The  officer stands near the open car door, looking at me skeptically for a moment but his next question must have been pressing enough that he willing to over look my previous hesitancy and half-answers.  “Do you want to be here with guy?”  He asks, nodding his head in the direction where Buns stood with the other officers.

Oh boy.  I thought.  But what escaped my lips was more nervous laughter.  I quickly bit my lip to control this and managed to slip out a “Yeah.  I do.”

As the officer is writing down my information, the scratching of his pen slows and then stops.  His eyes travel up from his notepad, but they’re not on me.  He’s looking passed me as I am beginning to fear my legs might give way beneath me.  His head tilts to the side and the expression on his face changes dramatically.  “What’s that on the floor there?”  He demands in a stern tone.  My stomach sinks.  I have no idea what he is referring to.  So I ask him.  “Where?”

“There on the floor of the car.  What is that?”  He persists.  There are several things on the floor of Buns car but nothing I can immediately identify as being as offensive as what the tone in the officer’s voice would indicate.  So I stay silent, not knowing how to answer, as my eyes frantically search for what I think will only lead to our immediate arrest.

And then the officer clears his throat, and in a terse voice he clarifies.  “That.  Hat.”
I released the breath I had been holding inside my chest.  The hat?  Is he really asking me about a hat??  I was confused.  “The hat?”  I clarified.  “It’s a part of his uniform.”
“What uniform?”  He presses.
“His work uniform?”  I’m still not seeing the point in this line of questioning.
“Where does he work?”
And so I explained to the officer that Buns works as a security officer.  It was now his turn to let out a sigh of relief as he went on to tell me that the police force has very similar hats for their uniforms and so he had immediately thought that Buns was a fellow officer, which was the cause for alarm.

After this my officer and I walked away from the Impala and joined the others.  The female officer was given my information so she could call it in and make sure that everything I had told them checked out.  As the female officer repeated my name several times into the walkie, the other male officer gave me a peculiar look.  The next thing out of his mouth was: “Are you Asian?”  I am again, very confused by these officers.  Standing there with my very blonde hair and green eyes I tell this man, that no, I am not Asian.  He goes on to explain that somehow, my name made him think I might be.

As I stood next to Buns with the two male officers, the tone became increasingly lighter despite my continued nervousness and confusion.  The expected additional questions slowly trickled forth as to why we had not chosen a better, more responsible, location for our sexual escapades.  I still continued to be tense as the mood continued to lighten to the point where it almost seemed as though we being teased by these men.  Finally, one of the officers begins to chuckle.  He goes on to say, “Ah heck, I can’t really blame you kids, I was young once too.”

And then they let us go.

As we got back into the Impala and pulled away from the scene of the crime, Buns turns to look at me with a big smile on his face.  “I told you the country PD were cool.”  I rolled my eyes at the familiar statement I had already heard come out of his mouth a number of times during the week as I had previously scolded him for speeding or other traffic infractions.  As what had just happened, including the humor behind many of the questions we had been asked, quickly began to sink in,  it was impossible for Buns and I to contain our laughter and amusement… as well as our distinct delight that at the very least we had gotten to finish before the cops showed up.


Unsportsmanlike Conduct

My first day in New York I attended a mandatory, all day graduate school orientation.
All I took away from this was a desire to drop out before I had even begun.
My second day in New York I did the very touristy trip to Niagara Falls.
All I took away from this was a pair of ruined shoes and a cold.
My third day in New York I thought shopping in Downtown would be fun.
All I took away from this was a fear and distaste for the big city.
My fourth day in New York found me at the airport, saying goodbye to my last support.
All I got out of this was a desire to book my own flight back to Utah.
My fifth day in New York I lost my virginity.
All I got out of this was a better understanding of football.

We’re taught a lot of things growing up, like at around age five, if a guy punches you or otherwise teases and torments you, then he likes you.  And apparently 17 years of growth and maturation does little to change this fact, because when Junior wanted my attention he got it through administering a stinging whip on the ass with a towel.  This was the start of game play.
The kick off.

Like any good game there was a lot of back and forth as we were each attempting to get or maintain possession of the towel.  My first defensive strategy was to put the towel in a place I never assumed a man who I had only been in the presence of for 20 minutes would go… between my legs.  And as he approached and effortlessly forced my legs apart, I knew I was in for more than I had bargained.   Well played.
1st and 10.

It was time for a new strategy.  Junior and I are both just a little too stubborn to let the other have the upper hand, even for a moment.  Yet while I made many attempts to tackle this 6’1” 300 lbs black man, I was having very little success at putting an end to his advances.  As I stuffed the towel down my shirt and watched with great delight as he hesitated in his advance, I celebrated a bit too soon, and his hand found its way into my shirt for more than just the towel.
2nd and 5.

Resume play.  Things got hot and heavy in a hurry and truth be told just because I found myself on top, straddling Junior, this did not mean that I had control of the play.  And don’t get me wrong, I thought this was strictly superficial.  A childish game.  The kind of back and forth banter that brothers and sisters have.  Exhaustion was setting in and my defenses were coming down.
Time out.

As I lay on my back on a single cushion of Junior’s couch, my legs and feet dangling over the arm of the couch, I found myself hot, tired and keeping a watchful eye on him as he sat watching me on the opposite end from me.  And I watched, as he leaned down over me, the towel forgotten offside somewhere, and he kissed me.
4th and goal.

As our playing field went from the living room to the bedroom, clothes were coming off.  Lusty kisses.  Careful caresses.  Timid glances.  Surely very few first time sex stories are as well orchestrated as this.  As time ticks away and our bodies are demanding that we play with more urgency and more contact, it becomes necessary to establish…
The defensive line.

We’ve got another brief time out on the field as the players need to regroup and bring the defensive line into play.  The condom.  He rips it open and turns away from me.  Now I admit, as I’m completely new to this whole sex thing, I do not know if it is standard protocol to turn away.  So I’m waiting for penetration, quietly but not so patiently, and I’m wondering what Junior’s doing that I’m not allowed to see.  And I’m waiting.  Waiting as Junior continues to struggle getting the condom on.  And I hear him groan and in frustration he mutters “dammit” under his breath.  Thinking he’s still struggling, I venture to ask if I can help.  It’s then that he turns to face me… limp… and sticky…

Keep in mind this still is the story of how I lost my virginity.  This very… very anti-climactic occurrence did not halt game play, because if nothing else, I am persistent.  Embarrassment and premature ejaculation aside we quickly got back to business.  So I settled myself between his legs, wrapped my lips around him, and proceeded to kiss, caress, lick, and suck his flaccid cock back to life.  Once the full potential of his 4.5” erection (yes, 4.5 inches, the black man myth has been debunked in my eyes) had been reached, we prepared for penetration… round 2 (for one of us anyway).  I still wasn’t convinced that allowing Junior to turn away from me and have another private moment with the condom wouldn’t come to the same end.  My entire body was on edge and my mind was racing as I waited.  I was finally able to exhale when moments later he turned back around wearing a triumphant smile and the condom.  Despite all of the previous awkward and embarrassing navigation we finally achieved penetration.  Success!  And 2 minutes later I was no longer a virgin.

The events that followed some time after were such that no 15 yard penalty would suffice.  This was a game ender.  You see, at no point in the entire evening (or even in the month that followed) did Junior mention to me the minute detail of him having a “girlfriend”.  And that is…
Unsportsmanlike Conduct.


The Car Wash

I don’t buy into Hallmark Holidays.  Case in point, Valentine’s Day.  Candy, cards, and flowers only
only add padding to other people’s pockets.  If we
can’t express our feelings to our “valentine” more
regularly than once a year, then perhaps we’ve got
more issues than just the observance of this holiday.
It’s not sweet and it’s not special because you’re
only one of the thousands others receiving the
exact same thoughtless tokens of affection on this
particular day.  Maybe your significant other is
different.  What do I know?  Maybe I’m just a cynic,
but even peer pressure won’t get me to buy in.

And so, as far as “valentines” go, mine was my car.  Scoff if you will, but I like to think she likely has a nicer body than a lot of others’ valentines.  My “valentine” was my car, and no flowers or candy here, I bought her a car wash.

Never.  Again.
It was a very traumatic experience.

In my defense I grew up in Small Town, Idaho.  Population:  576, but I think a couple households  must have counted their cows in that particular  census.  A car wash there includes a front lawn, a  bucket of soapy water, a hose, and my two hands.    We don’t have  car washes like this where I’m  from.  New York car washes are intense.  I found  New York car washes converge into a toll booth  set up, and my panic set in immediately because I  didn’t have the slightest idea which line to choose  or if there was a difference.  Once that decision  was locked in, I was confronted by an overly perky  teen trying to up-sell my desire for a $5 car wash…  and dammit if she didn’t succeed to some degree  when I found myself agreeing to some undercarriage spray or some such thing.  Now annoyed and confused I now know I was expected to be competent enough to drive up onto the track.  What actually came next was the point in time where I thought I would opt out.  I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking.  I just remember opening up my car door and immediately getting yelled at:


And so I did, flustered, annoyed, and missing home.  Then comes the water, the whooshing, the brushes and soap, the noise, and especially, the increasing anxiety and belief that I was somehow way too close to the car in front of me in this torture tunnel once i could no longer see it.  Or anything else for that matter.

And then… you’re pushed out and dumped into yet another line, though I couldn’t figure out why, until people with towels for hands come along and are afforded the opportunity to cop a feel on my “Valentine’s” date.  Some holiday.

Needless to say, the entire experience was a bust in my eyes.  Especially now that my car is one again covered in city salt and grim a mere two days later.  And it will likely stay that way for the reminder of my time in Buffalo, New York.


Today is…

March 2018
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