“…Officer James Davis, Respected Asset,” I told her as she wiped the surface of the little bronze plaque.
“’Respected Asset’,” she said quietly, filling out the request form, “I like that; simple, not too ostentatious. Is it for a coworker?”
“Uh, yeah…a colleague,” I replied.
“Well, it’ll be ready in half an hour if you want to come back,” her face had just enough experience on it to betray that she was maybe older than she looked, but there was a distance there as well; detached.
“Thanks,” I said, standing up from where I had leaned on the counter while selecting the plaque and leaving the small store.
I’d been off shift for an hour now but I usually didn’t bother to go home and change after work. I’d do my errands in uniform and swap clothes only once my outside life was all done with for the day. I loved the uniform. I loved the way people looked at me. Everyone was hiding something and it was plain on their faces when I wore the uniform. When I was in the uniform I was the uniform. People didn’t see James Davis who’d been pushed around by the football players in school and they didn’t see James Davis who’d struggled in his relationships with women before finding one that was willing to marry him. They didn’t see James Davis who had lost that one acceptable woman after beating her senseless in a drunken rage after the first time I’d been first-on-scene at a homicide. I couldn’t believe she had the nerve to tell me “she understands how I feel.” What did she understand? The guy had had his head caved in with a shovel and you could smell it. The brain smell, like old socks and human grease, had been stuck in my nose and I’d been on the couch drinking vodka straight from the bottle when she’d come in and started running her mouth. She had tried to be comforting but had come off arrogant. She’d tried to compare it to her own problems; compared to what I had seen that day her problems were small.
No, they didn’t see any of that; they saw the black with red stripes on the legs, they saw the vest under the shirt, they saw the gun on my belt. They didn’t see James Davis at all; they saw Officer James Davis. I didn’t win awards, like so many others I didn’t really receive any recognition at all so I’d started providing my own. After really, really good days like today I’d buy myself an award and have it engraved or embossed the way the force would if they had enough money and time to go around for all of us that had earned it. When I’d seen him earlier, downtown, I knew it was him right away; the lank brown hair, the skinny shoulders poking up at odd angles under his t-shirt, grey where it used to be black and stretched where it used to be tight. Everyone knew he was too small to put up a fight against 215 lbs of 6’2” ex military combat training but I knew it would stick as ‘resisting arrest’. He’d gone down easily but the word was he tried to rape a little girl earlier, so I broke his arm and dared him to try and press charges while I did it. That’s the arm I used to get him in the car, that’s the arm I used to get him out, and that’s the arm I wrenched one last time while I took the cuffs off his skinny wrists in the station. Little girls were one thing, but he was like a bundle of sticks to my hands as I’d broken him.
As I walked to the foodcourt to get a coffee I realized that I actually missed Shelly. Waiting in line at the cookie shop I wished that I could go home to her tonight. Going home alone had its own appeal; no one to bother me, no one to ask about my day, no one to just not fucking get it while I told them about it. On the other hand, there was no one at all; no one to press the crease into the front of my pants, no one to make my lunch, no one to go to bed with at night. Oh well. Shelly had never done any of those things very well anyway. Especially the going to bed part. She sucked too much on the head, her bored strokes more a prelude than an overture. She just wanted to get it over with so she could get on with the sex and get that over with too. It was all bland and obligatory. I shook her lazy mouth from my mind as I stepped to the counter and pointed at the cookie I wanted and ordered a small coffee.
“Daaaavis,” the girl said.
“What?” I snapped.
“Davis. It’s on your shirt under your badge.” she flicked at her lip ring with her tongue and tossed her streaked hair off her forehead with her black painted nails. Her accent was from somewhere in the south. “It even sounds like a cop name.”
Why did people always say that? Any name sounds like a cop name when it’s on a steel tag under a badge. They don’t know how desperate they sound though; just trying to cover up their nervousness with useless banter, and it made them all sound stupid. She was smiling coyly at me, her almond shaped eyes an odd color because of her amber colored contact lenses. Her hair was in one of those cloyingly cute pixie style cuts and had an unnatural red streaked through its unnatural blonde. She bit just the tip of her tongue and winked at me as she handed me the coffee. I held out my change, precounted for speed and efficiency.
“No no,” she said, putting her hand palm out towards me and shaking her head, smiling while still looking into my eyes, “your money’s no good here. My dad was a cop, too.”
I frowned slightly and put the money on the counter anyway, walking away. Why did they always do that? So her father had been a police officer; that didn’t make coffee or cookies free. People were so desperate to please the uniform. I stopped at the little condiments station and added my details; half a cream, half a sugar, dash of cinnamon. I let my gaze flit around the people near me; always on guard because you just never know. The girl at the cookie counter was giggling and talking behind her hand to her coworker, a larger girl wearing glasses with thick black frames and a tattoo on her chest above her breasts. They were looking at me.
No. They were looking at the uniform.
She saw me looking and wiggled her black painted nails at me in a little wave while she smirked and her coworker giggled harder. Yes, she was very pretty in her own way. Yes, I noticed her perfectly rounded breasts pushing against her almost-too-small white button up cookie store shirt, one button too low for her supervisor no doubt. Yes, I noticed her throw me another little wink as I looked away. No, I wasn’t interested. At least I told myself I wasn’t interested. I’d been down that path; women couldn’t handle me. I was too strong, too even, too single minded. I was the uniform. Besides, she was probably just a teenager. Yes, I knew that teenagers could be sexy too and she looked just a few months into legal age territory. Yes, I kind of liked the playful way she had smiled and winked. Yes, I had liked the way her voice drawled a bit when she said my name the first time. Yes, I was still thinking about her as I went and sat on a bench in the mall by a large chain clothing store. Yes, I realized I was intrigued. I didn’t want to be though.
Yes I did.
“You so totally want to fuck him, Crystal,” Connie said to me, giggling and punching my arm. Her cheek piercing highlighted her dimple and her long fake lashes fluttered behind her glasses.
“Maaaaybe,” I drawled. I liked my drawl. I’d moved from Kentucky right after high school to go to college but I’d tried not to lose it. It was cute; maybe a bit sexy.
“Oh shut up,” Connie went on teasingly, “you want to put his big cock in your mouth.”
I’m not shy, but I blushed. I blushed because she was right. I didn’t have daddy issues and I wasn’t looking to replace my father, who had passed away when I was 13, but I liked men in uniform. Especially cops. It wasn’t the uniform so much…it was the gun. I loved the gun.
“Oh my god,” she said, her mouth and eyes going wide, “Crystal wants to fuck the hot cop!”
“Yeah, I do,” I said, looking down while biting one of my nails, “I totally do.”
“Go talk to him then!” she said, pushing me towards the part of the counter that lifted to let us in and out of the cookie store at the edge of the foodcourt.
“I don’t think I should,” I said, my voice more embarrassed than playful despite my attempt at humor.
“Well, die horny then,” Connie said with mock finality. “Oh shit, here comes Paul. Let me take him?”
Connie had had a crush on the manager of the fancy shoe store upstairs for as long as I had worked here. He was tall and lean, well dressed, and always smelled really good. I’d seen him at the clubs sometimes and he always seemed to have more women around him than he could handle. He was a slut as far as I knew and not my type at all. The guys from the cell phone kiosk down the hall had told me that he liked to fuck his staff in the backroom and that just seemed gross to me. Who knew where that cock of his had been. Some of those girls that he hired looked more like hookers than store employees. Connie didn’t seem to realize that he didn’t even look at her, he looked through her; right through her at me. I went into the back so I wouldn’t have to deal with him or the way he tore at my clothes with his eyes.
Holy fuck I hated that guy.
“Connie bo bonnie,” I said, turning on my bitchvoice. Bitches loved that voice. I’d started working on it in junior high when I realized that girls liked sex as much as guys and all it took was the right pressure in the right place and they would drop their panties and fuck. It was one part simmering tease, one part disinterest, and one part pimp swagger. At least I thought so; I’d never met and actual pimp. It seemed to work on Connie though and I felt a flush of pride thinking about how her panties were probably getting wet right now thinking about my cock.
“Hi Paul,” she gushed at me, batting her lashes. She made the pin up style look good even though she was a bit thicker than I liked. I’d rather rail up into some skinny bitch with big fake-looking tits and a tight ass than something like Connie. Still, pussy is pussy and she wanted it bad. I could see in her eyes that though she was asking me what cookie I wanted what she really meant was “fuck my pussy.”
While I tried to sound interested in whatever garbage she was spitting from her bright red pouty lips I imagined her standing with her hands on the back of my couch with her little grey skirt pushed up over her soft curved hips and round ass. Her heels gave it more lift and her panties stretched almost to breaking against her knees as she spread her feet apart and I manhandled my dick into her and pushed in with one long hard thrust. Her black ringlets bounced around, her big tits up and down, and I slapped her ass hard, once for effect, while I fucked her. As I came her glasses slipped down to the tip of her nose and her mouth went wide as she looked over her shoulder, moaning and licking her lips with her pierced tongue.
“…are the freshest though, so if I were you I’d have one of those,” Connie was saying.
She was still talking about cookies? Stupid bitch. I don’t even like cookies, I just like Crystal. Most girls want my cock; Crystal was probably no different but the way she toyed with me and acted like she didn’t want to fuck me drove me crazy. I only thought about Connie when Crystal wasn’t working. She didn’t seem to be working so I looked back at Connie and smiled my perfect practiced smile at her and when she shyly smiled back I imagined taking my cock out of her hungry mouth and cumming all over her lips, nose, and those black-framed glasses.
“So, you’re closing tonight?” I asked her in the bitchvoice, leaning on the counter with one elbow and looking at her with my bitcheyes. Bitches loved my eyes.
“Yeah, I get off at 9.” there was an eagerness in her voice. I’d be up in this bitch by 9:15 if I wanted to be, “I wish it was earlier though.”
“You wish you could get off sooner?” I asked, all polish and poise. She blushed a bit and giggled as I continued, “Work I mean. You wished you got off work sooner.”
“Yeah, that too,” she winked exaggeratedly. She was terrible at this and it was almost a turn off, but I didn’t have any other after work pussy lined up at the moment. I’d ditch her if Vanessa from the lingerie store finally let me hit that shit, but if not then I’d slum it a bit and fuck Connie in the stockroom. Or maybe in my car. No…in her car. I’d fuck her in her car and leave the rubber on the floor. Yeah.
“You have plans after work?” I asked her. She lit up like I’d asked her to prom. Fucking bitches, so fucking eager.
“Are you asking me out?” Connie asked me, hunger in her brown eyes behind her glasses.
“Something like that,” I teased her.
Then, suddenly, there was Crystal. She came out of the back where they bake the cookies with her tits, one nice handful each, straining against her work shirt and peaking out the top where she left a few buttons open just to fuck with me. I wanted to grip one of them in my hand while lifting her leg up by her toned and tanned thigh and drive my cock in and out of her tasty little sweet spot. She always wore jeans, and though they showed off her small little ass well they would be a pain in the ass for a quick fuck. She’s the type of bitch you have to take home so you can get her out of her clothes properly, like a present that’s wrapped too well. Fuck I hate Christmas.
“You on your break, Paul?” she asked. She sounded annoyed but I could tell she wanted this dick. They all did.
“Just ending,” I said to Crystal, “I’m going back to the store now.”
“Good,” she said, “I can have my break in peace then.”
She left through the flip-up part of the counter and kept her back to me as she started walking away, probably so I could get a good look at that ass as it shifted up and down in those tight jeans of hers. What a spicy little slut.
“You ever get tired of cookies come talk to me!” I called after her. She held up her middle finger over her right shoulder and kept walking.
“So should I come meet you at 9?” Connie was asking me. I looked back to her; she was so desperate for my cock that she didn’t seem to notice me raping Crystal with my eyes.
“Yeah, come up to the store when you’re finished here,” I leered at her. I knew it was a leer, but I already had that shit sewn up. I didn’t need to flirt anymore.
Before I got back to my store I almost died. Looking down over the railing into the lower floor below as I walked and thought about fucking Crystal, that hot little slut in disguise, I saw the cop. What was he doing there? Had that bitch from the engraving store told? She said she wouldn’t. She’d believed me when I said I thought she was just being dirty. She wasn’t the first girl I’d fucked that pretended to say “no” when she really meant “yes”. One of my part timers at the store liked to be held down and have full blown rape fantasies so I had experience to draw on when I’d made it up. It sounded more believable coming from my practiced swagger than if some little college punk had said it.
I knew though. I knew she had meant no; but once I have my cock out I’m going to fuck that pussy. Down on her knees in front of me by my desk in the back room she had done her best to get out of novelties and into fashion retail. She’d taken the hints like they all did and as she sucked my cock I hadn’t been able to stop looking at her tiny ass in the little skirt she had worn. Her slurping and smacking sounds denoted a certain skill at head that most girls just don’t have, but I see a blowjob as a down payment; by the time a girl gets into it I’m already fucking them in my mind. I was all about the pussy. I’d pulled her up by her hair, gently as I didn’t really know her and what she would stand for, and she looked up at me seeking approval with her eyes. I’d put my hands on the sides of her breasts to guide her up to her feet so I could get behind her.
I’d pushed forward and leaned her down over the desk with her ass pointing towards me. She had looked worried, like she wasn’t so sure anymore. She’d change her mind once I was inside, I’d thought. They all did. There was too much panty to move to the side easily but I shoved the light blue material to the side anyways and pushed my cock head, wet with her spit, against her pussy. It had looked small, rarely tread territory, and I’d been looking forward to it since the interview had begun. She looked sort of homespun, and that turned me on. I’d been hitting a lot of high class snatch lately and I had been hungry for a bit of wannabe-slut. The girl from the engraving store, I think her name was Mallory, was certainly that. Bent over on my desk with my dick pushing against her moist little pussy she’d looked even more so. Worry in her eyes, her body tense. I loved it when they were tense and the homespun girls were always tense the first time they got fucked by a guy like me.
“I don’t…we shouldn’t…” she said, teasing me. I did. Yes we should.
“Don’t worry,” I’d told her, “you’ll like this.”
“Don’t,” she said pleadingly, “I didn’t know…I don’t want to…”
I pushed into her, a quarter of my shaft penetrating her hot little cunt and popping through her hymen. A virgin; my day had gone from good to great. She’d let out a cry and looked back at me with her face on my desk. Her eyes were scared now, not worried, but she wasn’t saying anything. She’d just stared at me so I’d pulled back, her face going from relief to fear as I’d pushed forward again with one quick thrust.
“No,” she said quietly, squirming a bit, “please no.”
With a few more thrusts in and out I could feel her pussy getting more wet and her sexy little protests in her small little voice turned into mewling noises. There were a few tears but she could probably tell already that it wasn’t going to hurt for long. Her mewling turned to sharp little sighs as I’d fucked her, long and slow at first then building to short sharp strokes deep inside her. She bit her lips and clenched her whole body, her eyes wrinkling shut and her insides clamping around my throbbing cock. I loved that part; the part where they give that pussy to the cock and just hang on to enjoy the ride. Whining noises had come from her throat and my thrusts had made her little hip bones bang against the desk. Thinking about her looking at those bruises the next day, her memory of her first time washing over her as she thought about my cock, had turned me on even more. I’d grabbed her hair in my left hand and bent her head back so her chin was on my desk and her torso was flat against it and used my other hand to grip her right hip hard and tilt her ass up at a sharper angle. As I slammed into her from behind over and over the slap of my body hitting her ass had been joined by the sounds of her crying again. Looking down and watching my cock go in and out of her violated virgin cunt, a bit of blood and her pussy juices staining the crotch of her underwear where I’d pushed it roughly to the side to get at her, my face had twisted into a sneer of lust and I rammed into her harder as I came.
When I pulled out with a sloppy pop and sat down in my chair, she had been a little slow to stand up. She’d looked mortified and unsteady on her feet.
“Why did you…?” she’d said, her tears still flowing.
“What?” I asked, pretending I didn’t know.
That’s when I lied and said I thought she was playing, being sexy. She’d seemed to believe me, but why was a cop at her store right now? Had that bitch changed her mind a week later and decided to call ‘rape’? I’d seen it happen before; this was the kind of thing that starts a landslide of stupid slutty bitches who think they can cash in on a lawsuit against a guy that lets them fuck their way into a job. My hands were clammy and wet, my breathing was shallow. I felt sweat on my forehead, sticky from the gel in my hair.
Walking slowly I moved from the railing so I was out of sight from below and continued to my store. I needed to calm down. No one could see me like this. There could be no cracks in the façade. I had to be smooth and glossy and irresistible. I got it back, the swagger, as I came around a corner and into my store. It was shiny and white and bright and all the staff were hot. I loved it here. I felt my blood pressure return to normal. My suave grin returned. Savanah, a girl I’d hired last month who had perfectly round little tits and straight brown hair that hung to a firm narrow waist, grinned at me while touching just the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. A short thin girl in platform hooker boots with a pushup bra under her little one piece black skirt was standing by the till with a manila envelope by her side in one hand and the end of one lock of bleached blonde hair twirling in the other. She looked dumb, like a tanned blow up doll with too much lip gloss and a look in her eyes like she’d been lobotomized. Bitches like this take dick like a champ.
“Are you Paul?” she asked, her vapid tone putting the final nail into my estimation of her intelligence; small.
“Yeah, you must beeee…Viki with one K?” I asked her, using the bitchvoice. “Sorry I’m late for your interview, Viki; I lost track of time on my beak.”
She just giggled and I forgot all about the cop, and Mallory from the engraving store. I put my hand gently on the small of her back, it was smooth and hard through the backless dress, and guided her through the door back to my office. I gestured for her to have the one chair and I sat on the desk close to her.
“So Viki,” I started, using the same script I’d used a dozen times, “how hard are you willing to work to be in the fashion industry?”
Unless you counted Mallory it always worked. I didn’t count Mallory. That bitch hadn’t even accepted the job when I’d offered it to her. Whereas Viki, on the other hand, already looked like a good fit for the company.
Fuck I loved the mall.
Watching the cop leave with his shitty little plaque in hand I sat back down on the stool behind the till and turned the shitty little ghetto blaster back up. No sound came out and I saw that my ipod battery was dead. I unplugged it from the audio jack and put it in my backpack pocket under the counter. Now I wouldn’t be able to listen to it on the bus because I’d forgotten it was still playing on mute while I did took care of that last customer. Stupid cop and his stupid little plaque. I tried to find something on the radio but couldn’t. Everything sucked and it sounded like shit anyways; it was old and small. I looked around the small little store and thought again about how much I hated working here. “It isn’t going so well for me,” as my mother used to say of her job at the grocery store bakery before she finally died of broken dreams.
Not that trying to get a job at a different store in the mall had worked out so well for me either. I’d been surprised to even get an interview, but when I had I went and bought a little skirt I could wear and put on more makeup than I usually wore. I knew the manager liked hot little girls so I did my best. I didn’t hang out with other people from other stores because I usually worked alone and couldn’t leave the store on my break, so I didn’t really know the extent of his reputation until after. I wanted to work there so bad…
Even while I had I gotten down on the painted concrete floor in the back room of the shoe store I had wished I hadn’t. I’d only gone down on one other guy in my life so I’d felt like a slut the moment my bare knees touched the cold floor. Before that my heart had been racing and I felt dangerous, sexy. As I’d taken Paul’s cock into my mouth I already knew I shouldn’t, that I’d regret it and never get over it. I wanted to work there so bad though; the girls were so sexy looking and everyone else in the mall talked about them. I’d seen girls from other stores go from drab obscurity to mall goddesses as soon as they got hired there. They made commission too, commission on expensive shoes. I didn’t make commission on this shit in here. I barely made more than minimum wage and my shitty little apartment didn’t pay for itself.
When he put it in me it had hurt so much. I hadn’t wanted it. He didn’t stop. I’d led him on to that. I was such a slut. God, I hated myself.
Jeremy didn’t help either. He spent all his money on cigarettes and beer and his stupid online games memberships. He barely worked and when he did it wasn’t very hard. He didn’t know about all the times I’d had to ask my mom for money because ends just wouldn’t meet any other way. Nothing really ‘met’ these days. I’d lost weight since high school and turned into a pretty hot little thing and he didn’t seem to notice. I still dressed the same; plain jeans, simple tops, hooded sweat shirts. So maybe it was my fault; but we slept in the same bed and I only wore my underwear at night so I don’t know how he couldn’t have noticed what I’d grown in to. I’d realized I was pretty fit and had started to think about sex right around the time he’d lost interest and stopped thinking about it. Maybe if I was drawn with over sized breasts and a waist as narrow as his arm and tiny little eyes and a big mouth he’d notice me. He was such a dork.
I felt a familiar pressure at the top of my throat and a lurch in my stomach and I tried not to vomit, thinking about stupid oblivious Jeremy and what I had let myself do to try and get a better job. I felt so small. I couldn’t bear the thought of the face he’d make if he knew. I always thought he’d be my first time. How could I do it with him now? He’d know. Poor, stupid Jeremy.
I wandered around the small store in slow motion as time raced by around me. At 9 I l closed and left and went to the bus stop alone just like every other night.