It was the simple fact that I had a pussy instead of a cock between my legs that made my made my commanding officers, let alone my peers, question my capabilities and effectiveness not only as an officer but as lead detective as well. It wasn't even as though I was a rookie cop either. No, I'd been on this damn force for 3 years now yet the brass have never failed to come down on me at every chance they gotten. I've yet to find the answer to if it's the fact that I work by the book or that my arrest record and case closure is shining, that irritates them more.
"Probably both," I think aloud rolling my eyes, "fuck 'em".
It wasn't as though my parents were exactly on board with their only daughter joining the force either. They'd rather I'd become something that appeals more to my "fragile" nature as a woman. A more demure profession that didn't have me surrounded by men constantly in a pissing contest. There were plenty of good cops in the field of course but it seemed to be the particular unit I was assigned to that was reminiscent of a cesspool. It was another reason my parents had tried to convince me to become something more womanly. Not happening. Damn did everyone just agree to pit against me for shits and giggles?
It's not that I'm not in touch with the feminine aspects of my personality either. Quite the opposite actually. Something I've exhibited on many Friday nights at O'rouke's. A smirk and the sway of my hips as I approached a bar stool had beckoned plenty of sailors to their deaths so to say. Hiding my femininity while exuding a tough as nails exterior while at work was seemingly beginning to become a harder performance to maintain. On top of that It's tempting to give in like everyone else down at the station and bend the rules for personal gain. I would be lying if I said the temptation wasn't steadily gnawing at the back of my mind with each day I had to endure another snide comment or lewd joke thrown in my direction. I had earned my place and titles through hard work and upheld the oath I swore to my badge and to the public. I haven't participated in playing the moral game of good cop/bad cop outside of the interrogation room and I highly doubt that day will ever come. My familiar thoughts are broken by Velma's weathered voice rumbling out from the radio on my dash.
"56 we're gonna need you to check out a possible suspect sighting over on the East side. You need backup?"
I roll my eyes once again annoyed. I know Velma means well. She's been one of my only reprieves at work apart from 2 other detectives I see once in a while around the bullpen. The words of my male counterparts echo in my mind once again like the gunshots that have rung from the trusted pistol at my hip have on more then one occasion.
"I got it Velma. On my way. Over."
I drive my way slowly through the now nearly abandoned buildings that makes up the East side. I pull off into spot that constructs me from view and wait outside the address I was given. Nothing yet. I wait, my convenience store coffee cold and stale in the center console as I sit in readied silence. My eyes scan back and forth waiting to detect a trace of movement, a ripple in the landscape, waiting to see if my suspect has indeed made the concrete fortress before me his hideout.
An hour passes. I'm used to this. The waiting. The biding of my time as I dutifully scan my perimeter. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. The seconds that fill the minutes elongate while I sit. It's another part of the job that I do in detail though. The silence starts matching the heat that hangs around me, getting heavier and more stifling. My thoughts from earlier start lining the edges of my vision. How easy it'd be to shut everyone up and give in to temptation. I could become just another asshole detective like them. The constant feeling of having to prove myself creates a deep-seated craving to exert my power. To prove to everyone around me that I'm a forced to be reckoned with and to be taken as such. It's a dark thought I know. It calls to me when I do get a rare few moments to sleep and waits in the shadows for me to say the word to command it into action. The allure of the play of my power. It's a game I know I'd win easily.
Gray and black catch my attention. Well I'll be damned if I didn't just catch a fucking break as I quietly slip out of my door and approach the suspect from behind. My ability to be lithe and stealthy have always been second-to-none.
"Hands where I can see them."
The suspect freezes, obviously surprised to hear a voice behind him. I'm not sure what his next move will be but I'm prepared for the decision he'll make in response to my command. Surrender or run. He's bigger then me. I can see the way his shirt stretches to accommodate the muscles of his back. A dark stain traces the center, a giveaway he's feeling the heat biting into his skin as well. He's taller too. He's almost towering above me, momentarily blocking the rays of the sun from shining into my face. Yes he's got his build and stature going for him but neither is a deterrent for me. Neither will end up winning in his favor against me in the end either.
"I said hands up! Get on the ground, Now!"
My voice is a rough bark and I'm used to projecting it in a way that's laced with authority. Any hints that allude to moments of when it's soft and breathy and at the mercy of another are tucked away behind the demeanor I'm taking on. No, right now this man is at the mercy of me.
Without preamble he launches himself forward. I immediately set foot to chase him. There's no need to shoot. Yet. He's setting a quick pace as he weaves around the corner of a building. Thrill and irritation lance through me as I pursue him. It's the ultimate cat and mouse and at this moment I'm a lion hunting a gazelle. My breathing is quick but thankfully I've been diligent with staying on top of my physical stamina. He's still weaving but I'm gaining. I look ahead and see a way to cut him off. I veer to my right and push myself into a full sprint. He thinks he's gotten away. I ambush him and propel myself from my spot against a wall and with a exothermic burst I'm tackling him to the ground.
He plants face first onto the ground with me pinning myself to his back. The slickness of his sweaty skin causes me to slide forward, the side of my body connecting firmly with the ground. It's only seconds and then he's on top of me, fighting to restrain my hands above my head with his own to overtake me. He's looming over me and I'm trying to find purchase against him with my body planted firmly against the hard Earth beneath me. I can feel his hot breathe come out in pants against my face and neck as I'm struggling to right myself and apprehend him. I can feel the power of his arms gripping mine together and the muscles of his thighs assert dominance over mine, locking them in their place spread around his hips. My chest is heaving and the thought that he's besting me is beginning to become not only a possibility but a fact. I can see his face from my position and for a quick second I take notice of how handsome he is and how suggestive this position would be in any other situation. Who the fuck am I kidding, it's suggestive in this situation too. Those dark thoughts of wanting to assert my dominance creep back into the forefront of my mind and I imagine how this would feel if I were the one to straddling that excruciatingly hard body of his.
