Please note: The following story is protected under international copyright and all rights are held by the author. For more 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.