Please note: The following story is protected under international
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information or to obtain reprint rights or explore other uses,
please email to "twylamarie at ymail.com"

It's very hard to put your life in writing like this.  If you
liked what you read, can identify with it, or simply didn't
understand it or found a typo, drop me a line.  All thoughts and
input are appreciated.

#####

It was one of those incidents that changes your life.  I was in a
fallow field in the heat of the summer and waiting for a buyer
that I thought was running late.  I quickly discovered, though,
that I had been set-up.

By the time the cop actually got there, we both knew the evidence
was gone.  I had thrown it into the fast moving irrigation canal
as soon as I saw him. That didn't stop him from arresting me
though on suspicion to traffic narcotics.

When he did the frisk he seemed awfully interested in double
checking to make sure I had nothing hidden in my bra.  He also
checked up on my downstairs pretty good - it wasn't third base -
but just a small piece of cloth away.   (Things like arrestees
rights weren't big in rural Iowa in the late 80's.  Male officers
more than once felt me up under the guise of checking me for drug
possession.  I don't even really think my little town had female
police officers on the street.)

Once I was in the back of his car, in the 100+ degree summer
heat, the nice officer decided to get chatty.  I had been told
about this tactic before . I got to sit in the back in the
stifling hot air of the car while he stood outside talking to me
through the half cracked front window. I was ready for the
questions and for the heat, but wasn't ready for how absolutely
unbearable it all became in other ways

The questions were so predictable.  Where did I get it? What was
it?  How much was I selling it for?  Did I know what the
punishment was for selling drugs near the high school?  Why was I
not carrying any identification and what about the cash? 
Answering just about any one of these would be an admission of
guilt, and never mind what my Miranda rights were. This was a
small town and they did things their own way.

The cash was mine from working odd jobs.  I didn't have ID
because I don't own any.  Every other answer was the same.  "I
don't know what you're talking about."  Playing stupid is easy
and I was good at it.

Eventually, though, the conversation changed course.  The nice
officer wanted to let me know he knew me and everything about me.
 He asked me about my boyfriend using his name.  (Dennis -
everyone who was on the wrong side of the law knew Dennis.)  He
asked me if I had turned 18 yet, which I'm sure he knew I had.

Then it got abusive, him asking me what it was like to turn
tricks at the truck stop.  (Something I hadn't done, but I had
spent a lot of time there doing other things.)  Asking me what I
charged and if I took it up the ass.  How much cum I think I'd
swallowed and if I thought black truck driver cock tasted
different than the white meat.

I didn't take the bait and offer defense.   It had to be the same
pitch.  "I don't know what you are talking about."  A lawyer of
Dennis's had driven it into my head.

Finally, he decided to get personal - and took after my mom and
dad.  It was a dumb move on his part - I hadn't run away from
home because I was fond of the two of them.  But it got
interesting.  I found out things I'd always suspected, but never
knew for sure about.

"I was sorry to hear your daddy died " he said.

I am sure he wasn't.  No one in town had liked my dad.  His job
as a manager at the local packing plant had made him an
incredibly unpopular guy.

He said, "Just as well though. Being married to that bitch must
have been hell."

I'm sure he had that part right.

And that's when things went sideways. While I listened from the
back of the police car, this cop told me something I had
suspected for years - my mom had never been exactly faithful to
my dad.  I had been mentally divorced from them for so long that
it shouldn't have bothered me, but hearing the details was
troubling.

It turned out that my mom got around plenty - and her reputation
was well known.  She preferred uniforms- cops, firemen, and
soldiers when they came through town.   She loved it in cars out
in the fields but was wilder when they sprang for a motel room. 
She wouldn't go home with any of them - not if they were married
anyway.  (She had her standards - she wouldn't have sex in
another woman's bed.)

He also shared specific positions. "She liked to be on top you
know," he told me.  "She probably didn't learn to sit on your
daddy's face instead of his dick until after you and your brother
were born, but she told me once it was the only time old Roy
actually used that mouth other than for firing people and kissing
his bosses ass."

He went on and on as I roasted in the car.  Talking shit about my
mother who had died just weeks before. I wondered if he knew that
but he had to have. He knew everything else.

Finally, after describing in detail the kinds of underwear she
used to wear under her work clothes and how she had probably
"taken one on the chin" in that very police car back seat,  he
got back to me.

If the other part had been unpleasant, and my situation in the
backseat wasn't already a small slice of hell, things were
getting there fast.

He told me that they had been watching me and my friends and
sometime soon we were all "going to get our wings clipped."  He
told me that Dennis had been in trouble before - which I knew -
but had an amazing lawyer, which wouldn't be a factor this time.
"This time when we get him, it's going to be by the book and
airtight."  Then he started the bargain.

"You going to like prison?"  He asked.  "Eat some carpet - be a
dyke's bitch?  You think they are going to love you in there? 
The dykes will, but the niggers will knife your ass just for
being pretty."

He added "You'll be dead will before your sentence runs out,
probably about 20 years before."

Then I got the pitch - I'd been told there would be one.  States
evidence, abused youth, yada yada.  This was going to be a
fishing trip for the cops to try to gather evidence.  Except it
wasn't.  Instead, I got something much easier to pass up.

"You want protection?  I can give it to you.  Me and my friends
at the station."

He opened up the door to the backseat then.  A good thing too, as
I was about to pass out from the lack of air.

"You see, we been missing your mom, and figured you might take
her place."

With that he opened his zipper and pulled himself out.  It was
pretty obvious he'd enjoyed catching up on old times after
reminiscing about his wild times with my mother.  I think he
expected me to open right up and take him in - his dick was close
enough to my face that I could have spit on it and hit the hole -
but the very idea was pretty revolting to me.  He was an older
heavy guy, a cop, and he had fucked my mom.  What could be less
attractive?

This wasn't my first rodeo though.  When your hands are cuffed
behind you and you're in the middle of a deserted field is not
the time to say anything to provocative.  At the very least, you
wind up banged up from resisting arrest , and at worst you wind
up buried under a cornfield probably after getting ass fucked and
strangled.  So I just kept quiet and waited.

Eventually, though no words were spoken he got the message.  His
cock was wilting in the heat and I think he understood I wasn't
going to help him with that - not willingly anyway.

He gave me a few words of encouragement, telling me that his dick
was the key to my freedom and I wasn't going to get another
chance to stick it in the hole.

Eventually, sensing his unease on how to move forward, I said,
"Are you planning on raping me?  Cause if you aren't, maybe we
should end this." I was a line I had used before with men who
were a little too forward.  I usually brought them to their
senses, but his cold stare scared me so I made him a peace
offering.

"I'll tell you what, I know Brenda's back up at the truck stop.
You go see her and tell her if she'll treat you right, I'll slip
her something later will make her feel good too."

Brenda was a black hooker who worked the truckers and she had
told me about how she sucked a lot of cop dick to stay out of
jail.  I'd seen her more than once in the back of this assholes
copcar, so I assumed he liked the service.

Eventually, he put his cock away, but not before I had noted the
size, shape and distinguishing marks.  (You never knew when
something like that might come in handy.)  He took out a
cigarette which he smoked with a slow anger.

He scowled and asked me why he wasn't as good as all the truckers
I'd sucked off.  I told him again I didn't know what he was
talking about.  He said he thought maybe I should try it just to
be sure and maybe he'd try some other parts of me besides, but I
kind of sensed his heart wasn't in it.

Eventually, he made the signal for me to turn around.  He
uncuffed me, letting me know that this wasn't over and I'd be
pretty sorry that I hadn't swallowed my pride and his  cum when
I'd had the chance.

I walked away about $300 poorer due to the drugs I'd had to drop
into the canal, and with an acquired distaste for small town cops
that it would take years to shake.   More devastating was the way
that the cop had peeled away my dignity and robbed me of any last
love I might have had for my mom while destroying my memories of
my dad.  For that I wanted to kill him.

Brenda told me later that he'd been a very bad man to her later
that day and I had to find her some painkillers so she could sit
down.  I did and was silently grateful it was her instead of me.

I stayed away from his as much as I could and he never got close
enough to catch me doing anything else for a long time..

One day six years later I woke up one day in a hospital after an 
overdose. He was there at my side, grinning like a fucking 
Cheshire Cat. I could see he had a hard-on just by looking at 
him. I also realized I had been handcuffed to the bed siderails.

But that is a story for another time.