Rebecca Romjin-Stamos was driving her XE Jaguar through Westwood Hollywood when a highway patrol cop put his sirens on and followed her. She was caught speeding and the cop signaled her to pull over. "Aw, shit!" Rebecca shook her head and pulled over along the curb.
Rebecca saw the cop hopped out of his bike and walked towards her car. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel trying to think for an excuse. "Afternoon ma'am," greeted the young black officer.
"Hi officer," she greeted pushing above her sunglasses over her head.
"I'm afraid I caught you driving past the speed limit, may I check your driver's license please?"
"I know that officer. I was so in a hurry because suddenly I had my period and..." she broke her sentence just to put a sweater on her lap. Then she smiled. "I have to rush home and put my tampon on. I really am very sorry officer but here's my license," she said fishing it from her wallet in her bag.
"Oh, just as I thought. You are the star in the Girl From Iwojima. All right, I won't hold you in, just take it easy, don't violate anything on the road again, you'll get home anyway you hear," the cop said. "I hear you officer and thanks. I'll remember that, you're most kind. Give me your name and your family and I'll see that you'll have free tickets for the premiere of my new movie."
"Be glad to," said the officer, who's single but with a girlfriend.
Back on the road she was chuckling. "Boy, that was a swell excuse and I thought it right fast," she was telling herself. She was driving way too fast because she was going to see a lover coming to her house and she was hungry for extra-marital sex. Staying married is good but straying out once in a while was more than good. It's exciting.
Finally she reached home and drove her car into her four-car garage. She was early and no sign of her boyfriend yet. She stood on the foyer and rubbed her arms as the wind was beginning to get chilly. She looked tall, statuesque with a body built not just for modeling but for sinning. She was wearing a white tank top with a built in bra, Doctor Denim jeans, and wide brown suede belt with brass studs and cowboy boots.
Soon a raspberry gleaming Harley customized like the easy rider throbbed up her U-shaped driveway. It was him, her sex object for the moment, tall mustachioed and macho to the max. She had just driven her husband to the airport and she's excitedly free and totally in heat. She waved at him and the guy, raised a gloved hand killed the motor of his machine and dismount like he's some god with a stare that could make a pussy wet on the spot. Hot kisses ensued as they finally got hold of each other unmindful even from the prying eyes of nosy neighbors. But fortunately there wasn't any witness. Most of her neighbors were on vacation.
The two went inside the house and continued grasping their lips and Rebecca was deftly groping the bulge in his pants. The guy's name was Nick Fluck. He was a fashion photographer, older, salt and pepper hair, smoldering sex appeal, and known in the industry to be extremely well-hung. Inside the house, he removed his bike jacket and Rebecca felt his hard chest, rippled belly through his black T shirt and well-worn jeans hugging his tight bottom.
"Beck, my gorgeous doll," Nick said breathlessly.