People who have read my stories on Literotica.com know that they are written from a male point of view. A reader recently suggested that I do a story from the woman's point of view. I'm not sure a man can really write from a woman's point of view, but it seemed like a challenge. What follows is my attempt to accept that challenge. I encourage readers to leave comments letting me how well or poorly I did.
This is longer than my other stories and takes many paragraphs to really get going. I apologize but thought that some character development was necessary. If you finish the piece, I hope you will think it time enjoyably spent.
This story mentions some real organizations and institutions. They are used here fictitiously and, I think, respectfully. Insofar as I know, no real persons associated with those organizations and institutions have acted as my characters act in this story. Any similarities between any character in this story and any real person is coincidental and unintended.
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Sharon Dawson grew up in British Columbia's Okanagan region where her parents had a successful winery. Sharon helped with the grapes, did very well in school, and was a diver with the regional club. Sharon was very competitive and did not see winemaking as a challenging career. She went to UBC/Vancouver where she also did very well, receiving a Bachelor of Commerce degree with a specialization in finance. After graduation, Sharon went to work for a firm in the City that was essentially a middle-man, financing imports and exports between Canada and Asia.
After about a year in her job, Sharon was profoundly bored. She didn't know what she wanted, but she wanted to feel like she was making a bigger contribution to society. Sharon stumbled onto the website for the Vancouver police and saw that the Force was hiring. All Sharon knew about policing was what she had seen on US television shows, which, she knew, was divorced from reality. However, the idea of enforcing the law appealed to Sharon's very strong sense of right and wrong. She thought that there would be a physical element to serving as a constable, which seemed preferable to sitting at a computer ten hours a day. The information session made the job sound interesting, so Sharon applied.
Sharon passed through the selection process easily, although, in both of her two interviews, it seemed like they were discouraging her from joining the Force. That only increased determination.
The mandatory three blocks of training took most of a year. During that time, Sharon learned that, despite all the talk of diversity and inclusion, there were still male officers who were patronizing or sexist, and many who felt that women were given an easier pathway into the Force in the name of "diversity" and "inclusion." These attitudes reinforced Sharon's zeal to prove that she could perform as well as any male officer. She also resolved that she would never be perceived as reluctant to accept any assignment.
Sharon's difficulties integrating into the police culture were due, in part, to two characteristics of hers. One, which Sharon acknowledged privately but would never say out loud, was that she was simply more intelligent than many of the people with whom she was working. The other, which Sharon firmly disbelieved, was that she was a very physically beautiful woman. Sharon was a little under six feet tall. Diving and working in the winery had given her an athletic body which she kept in shape by alternate days of running and swimming. Her stomach was flat. Her thighs and calves were firm but not excessively muscular. Her breasts were perfectly proportional to her body, were firm, and stood out proudly from her chest with no hint of sag. Sharon's butt was tight, firm, and perfectly shaped. Even the police uniform could not conceal the fact that Sharon had a gorgeous body. Sharon wore her honey blonde hair cut just above her shoulders. Her hair framed a face with sensuous lips, noticeable cheekbones, a jaw that was firm but not too prominent, and very blue eyes. The truth was that many people on the Force were intimidated by Sharon's combination of intelligence and beauty.
Sharon would have been easier to take, in some ways, if she had seemed arrogant about her attributes. However, Sharon's father, while loving, had been one of those parents who always expected his child to do better. If Sharon brought home good grades, her Dad pointed out that they weren't perfect. If Sharon won a diving competition, her Dad was there to explain what she'd done wrong in particular dives. Her father had made it clear that he was disappointed that his daughter wasn't aiming higher than the police force. Neither parent had ever said anything to Sharon about her appearance and, through secondary school and university, she'd been too busy striving to have time for boyfriends. Thus, Sharon had never received the compliments she so obviously deserved. Rather than being arrogant, Sharon fought a deep-seated fear that she wasn't measuring up and people were just too polite to tell her.
Another thing which made Sharon's integration into the Force more difficult was that she was a "by-the-book" constable. Sharon believed in rules and followed them. While she was not preachy about it, officers who worked with her were sometimes frustrated by her compulsion to dot each i and cross each t. However, command appreciated that quality in Sharon and generally recognized her as a very promising officer. She had been moved out of patrol into the Investigation Division after the minimum five years. Because of her background in finance, she was assigned to the Financial Crimes unit. In two years, there, she had made major contributions to some important cases, including a scam victimizing the elderly and a scheme involving waterfront condos which had not, and never would be, built.
Sharon was summoned to the office of Superintendent Ian McAllister, head of the Investigation Division, on a Thursday in mid-June. Sharon didn't know what the meeting was about but feared that a call to the Boss's office wasn't good news. A third person was in McAllister's office when Sharon entered. The man, wearing a sport coat, open collared shirt, dark slacks, and well-polished shoes stood as Sharon walked in. Sharon recognized him as Detective Constable Ron Crewes.
Despite working in the same building for over a year, Sharon didn't know Crewes; although she knew of him. Crewes had become something of a legend while was in patrol. He had been assisting with a drug search in a warehouse. A suspect had burst from a closet with a large knife which he apparently intended to bury in the back of a nearby officer. Depending on who told the story, the suspect outweighed Crewes by 60 to 100 pounds. However, Crewes had the suspect disarmed and face-down on the floor with his hands cuffed behind his back in under a minute. No one, including the suspect, had been hurt. A couple of weeks before the meeting, Sharon had seen a notice on the bulletin board in the break room congratulating Crewes on finishing third in a triathlon.
While Crewes and Sharon both stood, McAllister made introductions. Crewes gave Sharon a firm handshake. Crewes was about Sharon's height. He was a compact man but gave a distinct impression of coiled strength. As he shook hands, he looked directly into Sharon's eyes. Crewes' eyes were also bright blue. His face was ruggedly handsome and an old scar on his forehead bespoke a man who'd been through some things. His complexion hinted at some First Nations ancestors. What surprised Sharon was the look of kindness and compassion in his face.
McAllister had the reputation as a good commander, but he didn't waste time. He told Sharon and Crewes to sit. "I've brought you in," McAllister explained, "Because we've had a request for assistance from the Toronto Police Service. As you know, Toronto's done some favors for us recently so we can hardly refuse. They've been hearing rumors of drug dealing in one of the sex clubs there. I gather it is one of the upscale ones. Toronto has looked at the club several times and never found anything outside the lines. However, the rumors persist. Toronto thinks the rumors come from another club trying to hurt its competitor, but they can't afford to ignore them. They recognize the possibility that they've not found anything because their officers are known to whomever is dealing, if anyone. They want someone unknown in Toronto and from far away to take a look. Have either of you ever been in Toronto?"
Crewes said, "I ran a marathon in Toronto about three years ago, that's all."
"Did you identify yourself as a police officer?" McAllister asked.
"No," Crewes answered.
"What did you tell them you did?" McAllister asked.
"Nothing," Crewes replied. "No one asked."
Sharon?" McAllister asked.
Sharon was a little embarrassed about her parochialism but had to be truthful. "I've never been east of Calgary, Sir," she said.
"That's good," McAllister responded. "Ideally," he went on, "we'd send them people from Drugs Squad but, as you know, we're short-handed there. We can't really spare you two either but, at least, your units are fully staffed. The two of you are booked on a flight to Toronto next Tuesday that gets you there in late afternoon. You report Wednesday morning to Captain Les Tibbits. Here's the address." McAllister handed Crewes and Sharon each a typed sheet of paper with an address on College Street in Toronto. "Toronto's paying the expenses, so you needn't be quite as frugal as if we were. You will copy me on your reports."
Crewes asked, "Sir, what precisely will we be doing?"
"That's up to Toronto," McAllister responded. "I expect they'll want you to go into the club undercover and see what you can learn."
Crewes didn't react at all to the suggestion they'd be undercover in a sex club. He asked, "What limits do we observe?"
"Whatever the situation demands consistent with your mission," McAllister replied. "I expect that you'll have to use your own judgment. Any other questions?" There were none. "Ok," McAllister concluded, "You've got a few days to hand off your current work. I know you'll represent the Force well."
Sharon had said very little during the meeting. As she left McAllister's office, she was reeling at the idea that she of going undercover at a sex club. She knew such places existed and that, within limits, they were legal; but she had no idea what went on in them. Her imagination was already going out of control.
