After Duty Calls

Can a trick help Sam get a fresh start and find new love?

This story was written for the 2025 April Fool's Day Contest.

© SouthernCrossfire - 2025. All rights reserved,

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The trial was over and I was glad.

Well, almost glad.

For nearly two full business weeks, I'd been Juror 19 in a murder trial in our mid-sized bedroom community just outside the largest city in the middle of a mid-sized state. Having served on juries a few years earlier, I'd been elected jury foreman and now the press from the local and city papers, several radio stations, and a TV station or two were outside hoping I would make a statement about our findings. I wasn't concerned about them, though.

With the judge having just dismissed us, I had two thoughts on my mind. First, I wanted to get out without running into those vultures and, secondly, I really wanted to find Melinda, AKA Juror Number 31.

*****

It was just a few months after the governor declared that jury trials could resume after the pandemic shutdown that I'd received my jury summons. It ticked me off, in a way, since this was my third time in about four years (not counting the COVID break), whereas most of the guys at my firm hadn't been called even once during the same period. Much like that time in high school when one of the seniors did it, I felt like someone had pinned a "Kick me!" sign on my back only this time it said "Pick me!"

To make matters worse, I'd been selected the first two times, so I was determined to get out of it this time. I gave excuses about why I couldn't serve, the most important being that I'd followed the case closely and already had some definite opinions about the case based on what the press had reported.

"Yes, I still have newspaper subscriptions--city and local, actually, plus online access to the big one," I answered, feeling like a three-eyed carnival freak based on some of the looks I got when I said it. There'd been a good bit of reporting about the case in the local paper, some in the city rag, and at least a few reports on radio and TV.

"But can you put what you've heard out of your mind and be objective based on the facts presented?" queried the prosecutor.

I sighed, recalling what Coach Nelson said in our American government class about 25 years before. Parroting him, I answered, "'Jury duty is an important responsibility of every citizen.' And yes, I'll do my best to be objective, listen to the evidence, and vote according to the case presented rather than what I've heard in the news." I left unsaid that I already felt him to be as guilty as sin and just had to wait for the prosecutor to present a half-decent case to convict him.

"That's good enough for me," said the prosecutor. Based on the questionnaire I'd filled out and my past service, he knew I'd be a dependable juror, though he'd have to present the case to get me to finalize my vote.

"Good enough," said the judge, who was about to turn to the defense attorney.

"Your honor, I have another reason," I said. "It's, ahem, private."

The Honorable Nicholas Yellenby looked at me like he'd heard everything but he must have seen the concern in my eyes and so he turned to the prosecutor and the defense attorney and told all three of us, "Approach the bench."

With me standing in the center and the other two huddled in close, Judge Yellenby leaned toward me and said, "What's wrong, Mr. Thomason?"

While I think he was supposed to address me as Juror 19, Judge Yellenby and I had both been members of a local service organization until I'd had to take a leave of absence three years before. We didn't know each other well and he'd already ruled that wasn't enough to cause a conflict of interest that might disqualify me as a juror.

Yes, I was trying everything.

Now, though, it wasn't a technicality but a real sadness and a real concern that caused my eyes to cloud as I recalled that night nearly three years earlier....

*****

It was late on Friday evening and I awoke feeling a warm breath behind my ear and hot little hand sliding over the top of my unexpectedly mounting excitement. Cici had something to do a little earlier before joining me and I'd fallen asleep without finishing a single page of my book.

"You're not asleep are you?" she whispered. "I'm getting up early for my practice run and I could use a little something to help me fall asleep as fast as you did."

Damn! She was nibbling on my ear lobe, knowing full well what that did to me. Between that and her hand sliding into my boxer briefs to cup and encircle me rather than continuing to just tease over the top quickly put any thought of rolling over and going back to sleep behind me.

When I turned my head toward her, she had an anticipatory smile and rolled her eyes to the side. I nodded and she rolled away from me but scooted back, presenting her sweet ass against my hardness and then leaned back against my chest to pull my arm around her. With both of us lying on our left side, she raised her top leg, planting her foot to brace herself and making it easier for me to push into her heat.

"Mmm," I moaned as I did, finding her hot and ready, allowing me to bury myself to the hilt, tight against her buns. Her fingers interlaced with those of my right hand and she pulled them in tight against her little breasts. With her running so much in training for her upcoming marathon, she'd lost weight, a little too much I thought, but she'd promised to cut back on her running and regain a little weight after the race.

I was kissing her from behind as I held her and thrust in time with her soft whimpers and little flexes, caressing my length and giving me a bit of her love on each stroke. Seeing her knee pull up a bit closer, I disengaged my fingers from hers, slid across a little tit to tweak her hard nipple, and then down her flat tummy, over her close-cropped mound, and to her little glans.

A few times around and then a short fast flick as my strokes continued, leading her to turn her head over her shoulder where we could share a loving kiss.

"I love you, Sammy," she whispered while looking back into my eyes. "And, God, I love that. Mmm."

Her grin faded and turned into rapt concentration as I continued and then, before too long, into dogged determination not to give in before I was ready. Fortunately I was getting close, my breathing and my movements short and fast.

"Are you..." she started only for me to nod, give her just a few more rounds, and then slam hard against her ass as I sent my cum spurting deep in her loving pussy. Cici's face, set so intensely just a moment earlier, seemed to dissolve into a beautiful, tranquil state as her pleasure, building for so long, swept through her. She grabbed my arm, pulling it away from her now-conquered "Mount Heavenly" and back up to her breasts where she held me snuggled against her.

We lay there for several minutes, reveling in our love before she released me for a quick cleanup. Back in bed, we held each other close for a few moments, sharing a few short sweet kisses before Cici said, "I'm getting up early in the morning to do 20 miles so I should be back at 8:55 to 9 a.m."

"Oh, a whole five-minute window, eh?" I teased.

"Okay, after you kept me up late doing wonderfully wicked things to me, let's say 8:55 to 9:15."

I laughed lightly at her adding a whole minute per mile to her training time, knowing that her initial estimate would likely be right on the money. "Okay, sweetheart. Be careful and I'll see you when you get back if I don't wake up before you leave."

We kissed goodnight and I went to sleep not knowing that would be the last time I ever saw her alive.

*****

Despite my effort, a tear streamed down my cheek as I recalled the guilt of not waking up, of not stopping her from going out that fateful morning.

Of not knowing that I needed to.

Wiping as surreptitiously as I could, I said, "Your Honor, I'm a single parent, widowed, and I have two troubled daughters at home with no one to watch them. My parents kept the girls last time I had jury duty, but they retired and moved to Florida just before the pandemic and I have no one here now that I can depend on to pitch in to help for this long. My daughters have really struggled with their mom not being there for them, but they're good girls and I want to keep them that way. I even schedule my work hours so I can pick them up from their practice and afterschool program, so they don't have to stay home alone."

The judge looked at me and nodded slowly, remembering. "Gigi."

"Cici, your honor."

"Cici," he repeated, nodding again. "Yes, I'd forgotten about that. I'm sorry and sorry for your loss." Seeing the look of both of the lawyers, he added, "Mr. Thomason, do you have any pictures of them?"

"Yes, your honor." I immediately hit the button to show the cover photo and handed it to him. "That's Bethany and Breanna, three years ago with Cici. She had a heart issue we didn't know about and died while training for a marathon just days after I took this photo. The girls are 14 and 11 now--"

I paused, barely able to continue as I quickly wiped another tear, hoping no one would see. "They've struggled, your honor, and they need me there for them."

Yes, some might call me a helicopter parent, hovering around them, but I called it doing what it took to help them get through the pain and keep them safe and out of trouble. Losing their mother so unexpectedly had been a shock and had led to some very difficult times. It had been a tough journey but they trusted me now and weren't afraid to talk to me about anything, even when it made me, a 43-year-old somewhat introverted guy, uncomfortable.

The judge looked at the picture and then flashed it toward each of the attorneys before handing it back and asking the details on their schedules.

"Mister, ahem, Juror 19, again, I'm sorry for your loss and for the issues you've had. We generally allow very limited excusals for child care needs--nursing mothers and such--but if you happen to be selected, I'll keep your situation in mind and will try to end sessions at a reasonable time so you can pick your girls up."

"Thank you, your honor. If you can do that, I withdraw my request and will be ready to serve if chosen."

"Thank you, Nineteen. Now, check that phone to be sure it's in silent mode and return to your seat. I wouldn't want your daughters to have to come bail you out if they call you and that phone rings in my courtroom." He laughed and I laughed nervously with him as I quickly confirmed I'd turned the ringer back off after lunch.

Shooing the prosecutor and the lead defense attorney away, too, he asked, in a louder voice with the mic back on, "Does the defense have any questions for this juror?"

The defense attorney gave a cringy nod. "Yes, your honor. I have a few."

He was a greasy asshole who gave me a hard time, asking a bunch of questions instead of a few, first about my past jury duty experience ("Yes, we found one guilty, and one not guilty") and then about the organizations to which I belonged. He must have been familiar with the service club I'd formerly shared with Judge Yellenby because he skipped further down below it on the list.

"What's ASME?"

"One of my professional societies, the American Society of Mechanical Engineers. It's, ahem, for mechanical engineers."

Most of the prospective jurors and some of the support staff laughed at my eloquence as I blushed, reminding myself not to volunteer more than needed.

The attorney asked about a few others, receiving curt answers and becoming more frustrated on each. He scanned down the list and made a face, probably disappointed that I hadn't included the KKK or something similar that would allow me to be dismissed. "Ah, here, what's this one, the SCA?"

I rolled my eyes but I think the judge did it first, holding up his hand toward the defense attorney. "Juror 19, in an attempt to keep us from being here the rest of the afternoon with questions for you, are you or have you ever been a member of any organization, personal or professional, that would sway your opinion based on anything other than the facts presented?"

With a sigh of concession, I replied honestly, "No, your honor."

"Remembering what we discussed earlier about the media coverage and your willingness to put that aside, do you have anything in your personal background or beliefs that might prevent you from being impartial in this case and giving weight to the testimony and evidence presented in this courtroom instead of to your personal beliefs or preconceptions?"

"No, your honor, not that I'm aware of."

The judge looked at the defense attorney and said, "Good enough, Mr. Denham?"

The defense attorney sputtered a bit more but didn't make any headway, with the judge refusing to continue the questioning or to dismiss me for cause as I still hoped. Based on the open questions to the other jurors, I'd reported as much education as any of the others who'd been called to fill out the jury--and more than most--so I could almost see the gears turning in the defense attorney Denham's head as he debated using one of his peremptory strikes to send me on my way. He whispered with his assistant at the table while the defendant's eyes wandered, as if he didn't want to look at the person who might send him to the chair.

However, as much as Denham appeared to dislike me, I looked professional and had promised to be fair; since some of those that followed looked a bit seedy for jury duty and possibly for most anything else, he couldn't be sure about their responses or their follow-up so he gritted his teeth and moved on without striking me.

With that, I was empaneled, taking my assigned seat in the jury box.

Questioning for the next few potential jurors went fairly quickly, with the judge, the DA, and the defense attorney seemingly playing a game of three-way chess until the jury was down to the last spot.

My eyes and my mind focused then for they'd reached Juror 31. Standing for the questioning, she reminded me of a supermodel, though with our masks that the governor still mandated still being in place, I couldn't be sure if her face came anywhere close to the rest.

She was about 5'-8 to 9" tall, about 125 to 130 pounds, with clothes that fit perfectly and really flattered the great figure of someone who exercises regularly. Though I couldn't see at the moment since she was standing at her seat, I'd already noticed very sexy legs below a modest, business-like skirt, but I could see up top, with nicely-sized breasts looking perfect on her frame under a long-sleeved floral blouse.

When she turned toward the jury box where I was now seated for a moment, I saw what appeared to be almond-shaped, creamy-brown eyes highlighted by long, full, dark lashes that were to die for--they were what had drawn my attention to her earlier. Her hair was a wavy brown, hanging about halfway down her back, with a hint of a red, though I wondered if it might be a reflection from the reddish mahogany paneling around the courtroom. She reminded me of some actress, but I couldn't recall the woman's name or the show I'd seen her on.

The only problem was that the state was still making us wear our masks indoors if not alone in private offices and she didn't pull it down when answering questions like some of the potential jurors so I still couldn't see her face.

From what I could see, I guessed that she was in her early 30s at most. With me being 43 and three-years widowed, I'd finally let Cici go and recently begun to wonder whether there might be another woman out there for me. No, I didn't have designs on Juror 31, but she seemed like a knockout and I wondered what her mask was hiding. It was silly to wonder or even dream, but I hadn't been around anyone like that since Cici, so I indulged myself a bit, wondering what a date with her might be like if I were a bit younger. It was a silly daydream that would never come true, but Cici always told me that dreams are fun because they're our imagination showing us what might be if things were somewhat different.

With it already getting late in the day and close to time for me to get to the schools for the girls, the judge had cut the questioning short and it wasn't long before Juror 31 took her place on the back row with me but at the far end of the box. As the questioning for the two alternates began, thoughts of supermodels, Juror 31, and dating in general were forgotten as I watched the clock on my phone, hoping Judge Yellenby would honor his pledge. He did, with selection of the alternates following in fairly short order before sentencing us to be there bright and early the next morning to get started with the actual trial.

It was a complicated case with a lot of witnesses, most of them testifying about the technical aspects since there were no eyewitnesses to the crime itself, so it dragged on from Tuesday through the following Monday. I'd been busy at work prior to the trial and taking what was originally estimated as 7 to 10 business days away for the trial was a non-starter, so I spent my lunch hour each day munching on a sandwich that I brought from home while answering emails on on-going component projects and spending at least a couple of hours each evening doing actual work when I wasn't spending time with my girls.

Bethany was a teen and was trying to express her independence, but Breanna was still a kid and needed lots of attention, so after helping with homework and reconnecting through her usual pre-teen angst, I even worked on my laptop while she snuggled up against me to watch TV on several evenings. She fell asleep against me on more than one occasion.

Because of my working lunches, I skipped the courthouse cafeteria, using the little quiet room designed just for such use instead so I never got to talk to Juror 31 and by the end of closing arguments, my silly, initial interest in her was practically forgotten.

Before the court proceedings and based on media reports alone, I'd figured it would be an easy decision to fry the accused if the prosecutor did an even half-assed job presenting the case, but that changed once we started deliberations on Tuesday morning. I was quickly elected jury foreperson but that was about the only thing that was quick. We discussed the case for a bit and then took our first vote, ending 11-1 on the most serious charge.

The state requires secret ballots but, by process of elimination, I soon narrowed our dissenter down to one of three people. Over the course of the day, we discussed the case, going through our notes, and took four more votes.

All turned out 11-1 on the most serious charge, but I was down to two candidates for the dissenter: Jurors 6 and 31. Other than possibly me, Juror 31 had taken the most extensive notes and she was constantly consulting them as our discussion continued, though she said little other than occasionally giving us what I believed were verbatim quotes from her notes of the proceedings.

As I sat on the couch with both of my girls that evening with the TV playing before us, my mind wasn't on the screen. It was elsewhere, on a leadership training course I'd taken years before. With nothing left to lose, I decided to try it.

On Wednesday morning, I said, "Let's do something different today. I want everyone to spend the next half hour thinking and writing the reasoning for their vote on Count 1 of the charges. Why do you think as you do? What evidence supports your conclusion? We're going to make this anonymous, just like our votes, so write what you think but don't sign it. Fold it and put it in the pot when you're done. Afterwards, I'll draw the papers out randomly, one at a time, and read them and we'll discuss each in turn."

To my surprise, a couple of people were still writing when my planned time-frame was up, so I waited, pretending to still be writing as they finished up. The three of us folded our papers and put them in the pot at the same time.