The Beat Meet

THIS STORY IS INTENDED FOR ADULT READING ONLY

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Evening, all. There's nothing like an old time copper . . . or, at least, there's nothing like the fun and games the old time coppers used to get up to. This is the way it used to be when PC stood for Police Constable instead of Political Correctness.

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When I see the crap that police officers have to put up with today I'm glad I'm retired. The fancy cars and the high tech gear they have now doesn't make up for being a police service instead of a police force. That's what we used to be, a force, a police force with a uniform that was respected by everybody, criminals and the public alike. When I remember how it was . . . well, it was great. Being a copper used to be the best job in this country. If you don't believe me, I'll tell you the story of my first day on the job.

That's right, the first time on the beat. Straight out of training school I was and sent to a small market town in the Midlands. The local station found me lodgings with a lady old enough to be my mother but a brilliant cook and some desires that her husband wasn't satisfying at all. Not that I found out about that until later, I was happy enough to start our acquaintance with a breakfast that would have fed a family of gypsies. Not that any of it got wasted -- I was a big lad, six foot two, with shoulders as wide as a barn door and a lot of muscle from playing rugby every chance I got.

Aye, I was what they call well presented, with a grin that a lot of people described as cheeky. Just a big overgrown boy hardly out of my teens, putting on a old fashioned uniform with a silly helmet and boots on my feet heavy enough to crush stones into gravel. Still, when I looked in the mirror I thought I looked pretty smart, what with that big silver crowned badge above my head, a row of shiny buttons down my high necked blue tunic and a silver whistle chain tucked into the top left pocket. What I was soon to find out was how many doors that uniform could open. Like I say, the force was well respected in those days.

So, everything straight and tidy for public display and then down to the station. Not a big place but big enough to handle the routine work in the town, with a sergeant in charge. He was as big as I was, but a lot older, a fellow named Hanson. A steady sort, but not a man to take any nonsense. I spent most of the morning learning the office routine and then the sergeant took me for a stroll around the town. I got shown most of the local places of interest and especially where the phone boxes where located. No pocket radios in those days. What you did on patrol was to make 'points'. That meant waiting outside a designated phone box at a specified time, usually for about five minutes, so that if the station needed you for anything they could ring through.

After we'd done the tour Sergeant Hanson said he'd leave me on my own for a while to keep on patrolling. He made sure I knew my point times for the rest of the shift and then went back to the station. I guess that wouldn't happen nowadays, a young copper on his first day left in the streets on his own with no radio and no weapon except a wooden truncheon. But that was then and nobody in his right mind tried to make trouble for the force in those days -- not unless he wanted to find out how heavy those police boots could be when they stamped down on something.

No, there weren't any problems, the sun was shining, the locals were nodding respectfully at me, most of them spotting straight away I was new in the area. Then a smart young lass stopped for a chat and I was happy to oblige. In fact, that was what the Sergeant had told me to do, to talk to the locals as much as possible and get to know them. If this was the first one, that was fine with me. She said her name was Angela and I was welcome to stop by her house for a cup of tea whenever I wanted to. Of course being invited in for a cup of tea was something anybody would do for a stranger and it didn't necessarily mean more than common politeness. Especially considering the pram Angela was pushing. Still, I made a note of her address anyway. You never knew your luck with the ladies, that was my belief.

To tell the truth I was starting to enjoy myself, with the attention the uniform was getting. Or maybe it was the way I was filling it out. And then there was a scuffle near a pub with a couple of drunks being silly, but not so silly that they didn't scoot off around the corner like long dogs as soon as they saw me coming. The landlord invited me in for a drink on the house, which I didn't dare do, in case Hanson came back. But I was full of myself, feeling like Wyatt Earp on the streets of Tombstone after the last gunslinger had been carried off to Boot Hill. Well, I was as young and green as they come.

Anyway, I made another point. The phone in the kiosk didn't ring so I continued patrolling and then noticed I was walking past a school. The kids were streaming out at the end of the day, with the younger ones being collected by their mothers. All except one woman who was left hanging around the gates after the rush was over.

"Hello, officer," she said to me, matching the words with a smile that straightaway tickled my fancy.

Oh, yes, this one was well worth passing the time of day with. The top of her reddish tinted hair was a clear foot below my shoulders, with a curl over her forehead and the rest worn long. Her face was pleasant without being really pretty, the nose was a trifle too big for that, but her eyes were green and bold, with a very vivid shade of lipstick on her smiling mouth. She had to be easily ten years older than me, more likely fifteen, so the breasts underneath the red and white floral shirt she was wearing deserved the mature plumpness the fabric clung to very nicely. Neither was there much amiss from there on down, with a bright red skirt which was drawn taut over a slightly plump belly and hips far enough apart for a man to settle onto in comfort. What was more, the skirt hemline was above her knees, high enough to be about as far as a respectable married woman could go in those days.

Oh yes, I spotted that drawback straight away, the wedding ring on her left hand but apart from that it seemed to me that here was the kind of fancy piece I'd love to have a few drinks with in a pub. By Christ, I'd have bought this one her booze all night in return for a chance to see those tits getting shaken around. Married or not, I was going to hang around within leering distance of this fine looking lady as long as I could, especially if she kept smiling at me the way she was now.

"Hello," I answered. "Waiting to collect somebody from the school, are you?"

She smiled again: "No, no, I'm Anna Morrison, the head teacher here, just making sure all our little darlings get collected safely."

"You're a teacher?"

She seemed slightly puzzled at my question: "Yes. Any reason why I shouldn't be?"

"No, no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything," I said. "It's only, when I was at school, all our female teachers . . . well, none of them looked anything at all like you. If they had, being kept back at school would have been a pleasure instead of a punishment, believe me."

She laughed, a deep throaty laugh that made my toes curl. Then she said: "Oh, I see. Well, you've just talked yourself out having to write any lines for being a naughty boy. I haven't seen you before, have I?"

"No, you haven't, Mrs Morrison. It's my first day in town. I'm Constable Rogers. Phil Rodgers."

"Pleased to meet you, Phil. Please call me Anna."

She shook my hand as if she was afraid that I'd break the bones in hers.

"My, you are a big fellow, aren't you, Phil?"

Mmmm . . . and for all her apparent hesitancy in putting her hand in mine it seemed as if she'd squeezed it for longer than had been quite necessary.

"Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?"

That sounded like a good idea, a chance to get to know her better but it suddenly occurred to me that here was a chance to try out a trick that one of the instructors at the training school had tipped us off about. He'd said that if ever we met a woman we thought might be willing for some fun and games, the best thing to do was to tell her there was a flasher fooling around in her neighborhood. Either she'd be frightened or she'd be interested, and the more interested the better. Either way, you'd soon find out what sort of a woman she was. Whatever else I might have missed at the school there was no chance I'd forget that lesson. Of course, a middle aged married school teacher was hardly likely to be up for a frolic but this seemed like a good chance to test the theory.

"Thank you, Anna, but somebody has told me there's a suspicious looking character in the area. I thought perhaps I should take a stroll around the back of the school buildings just to see if I can see anything. If anybody was there he's probably gone by now, but you never know."

"Oh. What was suspicious about him?"

"Well, he was wearing a raincoat for one thing, which seems a bit odd with the weather as warm as it is today." I winked at her. "If you get my meaning."

"Oh," she said again, but in a knowing tone. "Oh, one of those, hey? Wanting to show himself off to some of the children, you think?"

"I don't about know that, but it might be possible."

Anna nodded.

"Come to think of it, I saw somebody round the other side of the school this afternoon. Somebody wearing a raincoat, I mean. It seemed a bit odd at the time."

Which was a statement that set me right back on my heels. Here I was making up a story and here was this woman making up another one of her own to match it. Either that or there'd been a long odds coincidence and some fellow in a raincoat had chosen that day to walk near the school grounds. Whatever, it was a turn in the conversation to take advantage of.

"Would you like to show me where you saw him?" I asked her. "If you can spare the time."

"Yes, I can certainly do that. This way, Phil."

Here was a fine way to start a new job, strolling across the school grounds with this very attractive teacher and another hour before I had to make my last point for the afternoon shift. Mind you, I was squinting sideways at her and trying to guess whether she'd been telling the truth about seeing a man in a raincoat, or whether she was just using it as an excuse for us to go off together. Not that I was likely to be that lucky. Then she said something which grabbed my attention like a punch in the nuts during a rugby tackle.

"You know, Phil, I've always wondered what the best thing is that a woman can do if she gets trapped in an alley by one of those raincoat perverts. Should she fight him or do what he wants?"

Hey hey, it seemed like the instructor had been right on the money with his advice about how to get an interesting conversation going.

"It depends," I answered. "Of course the police force has to be careful about what it says to the public. There'd be all kinds of an outcry if they suggested that women shouldn't try to call for help or put up a fight. But the truth is that if there's not much chance of getting help and you're dealing with some nutcase who seems strong and determined, it may be best to offer him some co-operation. For a while, anyway, until you get your chance to break away."

She turned her head towards me with her lips curved up quizzically: "What exactly do you mean by co-operating?"

We'd reached the back of the school buildings by then. There was a narrow strip of grass, a pathway, a hedge which presumably marked the limit of the school grounds and a head high brick enclosure with dustbins inside it.

"There's nobody around here after the children leave. Only the teachers leaving on their own when they've finished for the day in their classrooms," Anna told me. "I worry sometimes about that. Suppose one of those characters was hanging around and he was the dangerous type?"

I certainly wasn't going to downplay any possible threat from a prowling pervert, not with the way Anna had been talking before. After all, it was my excuse for walking around with her. So I made something of a display of looking inside the bin enclosure.

"This is a bad spot, Anna. If one of your lady teachers got pulled in here behind these walls nobody would be able to see what was going on. Is there anywhere else around here which could be dangerous? You know, where somebody might be lurking?"

Again, I was being hopeful, but one thing was sure, there was no chance of getting a whiff of romance anywhere near the smell coming out of those bins. Anna looked up at me from underneath her fringe of tinted hair and whatever was causing the gleam in her eyes had my adam's apple rubbing hard against the tunic's stiff collar. All of a sudden that collar seemed to be making breathing a lot more difficult.

"There's the boiler room, Phil. It doesn't get used in the summer and sometimes the school caretaker is careless about keeping the door locked."

"Perhaps we should take a look at it then?"

She nodded and led me towards a green door. As I expected it was locked, but what I wanted to see was if Anna would just walk away after she'd checked it. She didn't, she looked back at me and winked, then reached up to the top of the doorframe and took down a brass yale key. As she bent down slightly to put the key in the lock I was presented with a chance to make a longer and more considered examination of the teacher's finely rounded stern. A work of art, a genuine work of art, and wouldn't I just love to unveil it for a private showing.

'Careful, lad, careful', I whispered to myself.

Not only did the tunic collar feel as if it was choking me, but I was starting to rub against my blue serge uniform somewhere else. I took off the helmet and held it front of me, trying to think about things that had nothing to do with women. Because I could get myself into real trouble if I was misreading the signals here. A lot of trouble.

"Perhaps you should go first, Phil," Anna suggested.

Why not? I went in, into a long room which was gloomy after the sunlight outside. There were only two small windows, on each side, close against the brick walls of neighboring buildings and high up because there was a boiler set against the wall on each side of me. I walked down the aisle between them and glanced at the valve handles and dials on each of the round white painted cylinders. It was something like being inside the engine room of a ship. Behind me I heard Anna's heels clicking on the worn lino. My cock was still refusing to drain and droop. Perhaps because of the lingering effect of Anna's perfume that had filled my nostrils as I'd brushed past her.

Maybe if I thought about ships instead of the teacher -- but all that came into my mind were images of clouds of steam and huge thrusting pistons. By God, there were problems about being a copper I'd never thought of. Like finding ways of concealing hard evidence from certain highly fuckable members of the public.

Then I looked behind the boilers. A basin and a draining board against the end wall, a steel locker, a table with rose patterned oil cloth, a wooden kitchen chair and an old purplish armchair, very low and battered and worn out. Exactly the sort of snug little private set up that every caretaker has somewhere for his meal breaks.

"Take a seat, Phil," Anna said. Her hand was clearly indicating the armchair. "But could I borrow your truncheon, please? Before you sit down."

"My truncheon?" I couldn't make any sense at all of that request.

"Yes, please. I think I might need it as a kind of prop. For educational instruction."

God help me, I was nearly stupid enough to ask her what kind of instruction. I might have done if my jaw hadn't been hanging so far down in astonishment. Still, there was only the two of us there and it hardly seemed likely I was in danger of getting bludgeoned to death by a lady school teacher. So I lifted up the side of my tunic and pulled out the foot long piece of polished wood with the county force badge on it. At the same time I was still trying to cover up my bulging groin, using the helmet like a matador waving around a red cape to distract attention away from his sword.

I offered the head teacher the truncheon, handle end first, and then sat down on the armchair. Right down on the armchair, with the weak springs collapsing underneath my considerable weight until my backside was only a foot or two above the floor. And what did Mrs Morrison do? What she did was to take the other chair, the ordinary wooden one. She set it down in front of me, in front and up close, and then sat down on it, her skirt drawing up high enough for me to get an excellent view of her knees and higher yet. Of course, the ideal position to appreciate the display would have been to have my eyes at the same level as her knees -- which was about where they were.

Now you might think that I'd have been taking a good long look at those knees and the appreciable amount of leg on display above them, but you'd be wrong. Because Anna was holding my truncheon in her lap, upright and looking down at it as she polished it with a carefully folded and spotless white handkerchief -- that caught my attention, I can tell you, even down to the blue lace edging on the handkerchief. In fact it was the way she was polishing it, with her fingers and handkerchief completely encircling the truncheon, and then sliding the ring of white fabric up and down the length of the weapon. The action was exactly the same as if she was jerking a man off. I couldn't stop myself from grunting and clutching at the helmet in my own lap.

Anna looked up and smiled again. A long slow one: "You don't mind me giving it a rub for you, do you, Phil? Just for luck."

"No, I don't mind at all." It sounded as if I was croaking, the way my throat had tightened up.

"That's good. You see, I wanted to hear some more of your advice about what's the best thing a woman can do if she gets trapped by one of those perverts."

"Oh."

It came out more like a groan than a spoken word as the teacher gave my truncheon another brisk rub. And underneath my helmet a genie was straining to pop out.

"You know, one of those sort who won't take no for an answer. Do you think doing this for him might . . . . you know, satisfy him?"

The teacher put the handkerchief aside, placed her fingertips in a row up and down the side of the truncheon, pressed her thumb against the other side and worked her hand up and down the entire length of it again.

"You know what I mean, don't you, Phil?

What sort of a stupid question was that?

"Yes. I know what you mean."

"Do you think that would make a man happy, if I did it for him?"

"It would make me happy, Anna, I know that. Very, very happy."

I had to lift a finger up to that damned collar and tug on it. Not only did I feel as if I was choking, I could feel my face turning red. Anna paused for her second in her handiwork to look at me again. A kind of arch look from underneath that fringe of hair over her forehead.

"A good looking young chap like you, Phil, you wouldn't be interested in anything an older woman like me could do for you -- would you?"

"For God's sake, Anna, you're absolutely bloody gorgeous," I croaked. "And if you keep on doing that in front of me I'll go mad."

She giggled, gave the truncheon another stroking, then held it up higher, narrowed her eyes, pursed her red lips and blew a gentle stream of air across the rounded top. Not as much air as I blew out though. The teacher watched my reaction with amused eyes and then looked down at the helmet I was still holding on my lap.

"Phil, I always wondered why they made police helmets in that odd shape." She giggled like a drunken schoolgirl. "Now perhaps I know. You haven't got another truncheon hidden away under there, have you?"