Taylor Ingold stood impassively surveying the arriving high school students. She wore her standard school-resource officer's togs: a white polo shirt with her department's badge silkscreened over her right tit, her too-tight cargo shorts and her black running shoes. Completing the ensemble, around her narrow waist she sported a nylon duty belt with a Beretta 9mm pistol on her right hip, along with the other accoutrements of her job: spare pistol magazines, an expandable baton, handcuffs, pepper spray and her police radio.
Today, because it was sunny, she wore mirrored aviator sunglasses and a black baseball cap with 'POLICE' stenciled across the crown. She wore it low on her forehead.
Her sunglasses let her eyes drift from student to student without detection. Each student at the middle-class public school felt sure she was staring at them, looking for some hint of malfeasance.
Taylor was standing statue-like near the front of the school, her tanned arms folded under her large, round breasts and her feet planted shoulder-length apart. She has perfected this stance though experimentation and felt it was the most intimidating image she could present. At five-foot-four she was shorted than the vast majority to the male student body, and needed every edge to project her authority and power over the teenagers.
It was late June but still a scorcher in southern California. The pretty blond police officer could feel small droplets of sweat meander down the hollow of her back. The droplets were tickling her but she resisted an urge to scratch them. She did not want to betray any evidence of weakness, or even humanity, but stood robot-like and impassive.
"Going to be a hot one today, eh, Miss Ingold?" Taylor recognized the voice of one of the history teachers, Mr. Hamilton, beside her. She did not turn to look at him but maintained her continence of stone-like authority.
"Indeed, Mr. Hamilton. Hot enough for mischief from the trouble-makers," she replied in a measured, rough tone.
Taylor usually had a high-pitched, girly voice, but she had practice and achieved a more baritone quality for use at work.
"Oh, they're not bad kids. I think maybe your profession has given you a skewed outlook on humanity," Hamilton chuckled.
Now Taylor swiveled her head to consider Hamilton. She addressed him with deliberate annoyance, "In my five years on with the police department I have seen humanity do things that would sicken you, Mr. Hamilton. If I am overly cautious and jaded it's the result of that experience. " She added, in almost a hiss, "We can't all live in the Mother Goose world of academia."
Hamilton looked defeated and slunk off in a funk. Taylor smiled at her minor victory and returned to intimidating the arriving students.
Finally the student she was looking for arrived, just before the first bell. Jerome Washington, six-foot two, black, wearing a loose tank top and baggy basketball shorts that hung to his knees.
Officer Ingold has heard rumors that Washington was selling baggies of marijuana on campus to his fellow students. She had not been able to gather sufficient evidence to make an arrest. So far it was little more than gossip.
Taylor knew from police records that he had a prior arrest, but it was for minor-in-possession of alcohol.
Washington was bee-bopping up the steps to the campus quad with his long, lanky black arm around the shoulders of one of the most pretty and popular cheerleaders in the school. Taylor wondered why so many of the white girls on campus seemed to gravitate to the relatively few black boys. It must be the novelty of having a black boyfriend in the predominantly white community; a sign of rebellion; a public statement of their enlightenment on the whole race issue; a way to get back at their previous white boyfriends. Taylor had noted the poorly concealed looks of disgust and disappointment of the faces of the white boys whenever a black boy paraded his new white girlfriend around the campus. That look must have not been lost on the black boys because they always hammed it up, hugging their white girlfriends tighter whenever they were being watched, kissing and groping the giggling girls. Taylor did not mind the interracial dating, only that it could lead to confrontation and force her to intervene.
Taylor caught Washington's eye and beckoned him with a crooked finger. Jerome gave his winsome little cheerleader a last, sloppy kiss and approached the officer.
"Yes, Officer Ingold?" Washington was the very image of innocence.
"My office---Now," Taylor said curtly.
Washington followed the cop up the steps to the administration offices. His gaze was fixed on her shapely round ass and the way it swayed at her climbed the stairs. Taylor suspected as much, and did nothing to alter her gait. Almost unconsciously, instinctively she exaggerated the swing of her hips. Taylor was till a young woman, and Washington was still a male, after all.
In her small office Washington sprawled himself on the single chair facing Taylor's desk. Taylor rested her ass on the desk edge and faced Jerome, her legs spread almost indecently, her palms on either side of her hips. She leaned forward, her shoulders rolled back, her breasts testing the material of her polo shirt.
"Mr. Washington," Taylor began in her best professional voice, "it has come to my attention that there is a great deal of buzz about you engaging in some illegal activities on this campus."
Washington spread his hands openly, "What do you mean, officer? I ain't done nothing' bad." There was a mocking smile on his face that enraged the female officer.
"I have heard from reliable sources that you are selling pot on campus."
"She-it, Officer Ingold, I don't even use the stuff myself. It's for losers. I ain't about to do anything to ruin my college basketball scholarship, now am I?"
Washington spread his feet and slouched further in his chair.
Taylor gave an inaudible gasp. Between the black boy's legs was a bulge running halfway down the thigh of one leg.
Taylor Ingold felt her nipples began to tighten involuntarily and felt the color rush to her cheeks. Even though she habitually wore a firm bra she knew her hardening nipples were tinting the tips of her large breasts. She instinctively folded her arms over her chest to hide this evidence of arousal. Thankfully her mirrored shades hid the attention her eyes were giving to this student's crotch.
She had always heard the rumors about black men and their impressive sexual equipment, but she had dismissed the idea as mere fodder for dirty jokes. She, herself, had never been with a black man before, so had never been in a position to confirm or disprove such rumors.
But what seemed to be hanging from Washington's crotch defied reality. If that thing was real it must be eight inches long, and that was while limp. No human male could boast an endowment so prestigious, she reasoned. It had to be something else.
"I suspect," Taylor's voice cracked embarrassingly, "that you have been smuggling your stash into this very school concealed in your underwear."
Washington looked genuinely alarmed. "No ma'am, I ain't. I ain't got no stash. Never did have any," he protested vehemently.
"What's that, then?" Taylor demanded, pointing at the bulge in his pants leg.
Washington regarded his crotch. "What's what?"
"What's that. . .that thing in your pants?" Taylor demanded.
"That? That's just me, ma'am. That's just Jerome Washington."
Taylor smiled cruelly. "Do you think I'm an idiot, Jerome? Ok, down with those shorts. This time I've caught you packin' your merchandise!"
Slowly, reluctantly, Washington stood. "You making a big mistake, lady. I ain't got no pot in my shorts."
"Drop 'em, Jerome," Taylor ordered triumphantly.
His chin resting on his chest, Washington hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and his boxers and yanked them down.
This time Taylor gasped most audibly. For there, mere feet from her beaming face, was the largest cock she had ever seen outside a zoo or a farm. It dangled, languid and limp, over a large set of balls. Washington's cock was indeed eight or nine inches, and still limp. The thing has a slight curve and pointed slightly to the boy's right. It's circumcised head flared wide like an angry purple fist at the end of his anaconda-like organ.
