I had only been intimate with one woman in the last five years. A combination of a lack of opportunities to meet women of ANY kind with a loss of appetite for sex as my appetites for alcohol and fast food had taken over.
But then came my health kick: - I shunned Burger Bars, massively reduced my alcohol intake, and shed the weight. Within months I had definitely pulled my belt in well over an inch, and had to buy trousers another size down.
My libido was returning with a vengeance as I got my sexual confidence back. The question was: How to get some pussy.
My job involves a heck of a lot of walking. I am a Civil Enforcement Officer in central London, which means basically moving drivers on who are badly parked or loitering on Single Yellow or Double Yellow Lines or other such places, helping customers pay for parking in PBP and P&D bays, and so on. I have done the job over two years.
Most of our work is customer focussed - advising members of public and motorists rather than slapping tickets on windscreens but certainly we do that as well. Naturally a few bad apples give the rest of us a bad reputation but on the whole, we do an honest and decent job in the interests of the motorist.
The work requires a certain amount of what the English call BOTTLE - or courage. It also requires what we call NOUS (pronounced
nouse
) or common sense. Threats are common, verbal abuse is to be expected and occasionally violent confrontations occur. Needless to say most of us are men and few women do the work, partly (at the risk of sounding chauvinistic), because of the emotional stability you need, the thick-skinned insensitivity to verbal abuse, and the ability to take control.
A common greeting amongst us had become, "How's yer sex life?".
The Bangladeshi and Indian boys tended to see prostitutes or were married, or both; the Africans varied from being morally upright and married, to shagging anything that moved; the European guys generally had a girlfriend or a wife at home that they would not talk about, keeping their private lives private.
On the rare occasions a woman passed through among us she would generally pick up a clique of followers who would huddle at break times in one corner. This seemed to always tend to be ethnically determined. A black, British girl would attract the black, British boys, an Indian girl would attract all the Indian boys around her. The possible exception was the Polish girls. They tended to get on with everyone and be more socially aware and universally friendly. They certainly handled themselves more professionally when faced with risque banter. But generally none of them lasted very long.
Then along came Seema. Five-foot six of attitude and sassiness. I hated her almost instantly. I initially made the effort until I realised she was never going to give me more than a cursory "good morning" in response to my warm greetings each day. So I learned to tap other people for info or gossip and learned who got on with her and who did not. All I knew was she was engaged, but very friendly with the Asian boys at base.
Over time I built a dossier of evidence against her:
Bad tickets she had issued, some which I had learned of as I had had to deal with the angry drivers on street who had received the Penalty Notices. Then there were the indiscretions with one lad at work. I say "lad" as he is twenty-one but looks seventeen and I am late thirties. I had caught them kissing in the locker room and even had a camera phone snap they did not know about. The final icing on the cake was when I looked into a Mews off a main road, one day, to see her at a distance snapping photos of a car on a Single Yellow Line and then proceed to write the ticket on her Hand-held computer. The driver ran back to the car screaming that he was just leaving. She began printing the ticket. They argued, too far for me to hear their exact conversation. She must have insisted she had the photos already and he lashed out, slapping her.
The autopilot kicked in as it always does in this job. I flew at him like a stealth-sprinter from behind, utterly silent, but she looked over his shoulder to see me running towards them and her eyes widened. This tipped him off someone was behind him. I judged the distance and slowed myself down so that as he spun around anti-clockwise to swing a right fist at me I was able to throw my weight to my left and hook my right arm up and around his right forearm, then expertly clamping his left arm as well and pulling him into an arm lock. I held my fists hard above my own shoulders to hold him and yelled at Seema to call Code Red. She panicked, fumbled her radio and did so without much in the way of style or professionalism.
She seemed to have a brain fart when calling the location.
"Conduit Mews, junction Craven Road!" I growled. She repeated what I said down the radio.
The Radio Controller confirmed Police ETA was five minutes and a Supervisor would be there in one minute from around the corner.
I held the driver, a big white guy, and asked him why he needed to hit a woman.
"The fucking bitch took the photos before writing the ticket. That's not right!"
I knew she had done a dodgy on him but I pretended to act horrified and let go of him, glaring at her.
"Is this true?" I demanded.
"No!" she pleaded, "I fired off two snaps as the ticket printed!"
I demanded to check her camera and hand-held computer and took a test photo of her DAP screen. Her time and date stamp showed the camera was one minute ahead of the DAP's date and time.
"The Dodgy Little CUNT!" I thought.
She looked at me guiltily but stony-faced, almost defiant in fact. I winked at her whilst the driver was not looking.
I deleted the test photo I had taken and showed the driver the photos of his car and the time on the ticket. They matched. He held the PCN and then I calmly said, "Now here is the deal. I cannot confirm or deny that my colleague has done anything wrong but I do know if you are arrested then we all waste a day down the Police station and I do not want that, so I have a proposition."
The man looked at me like a child ready to obey his father (and here was a guy over a foot taller than me and ten years my senior!).
"Before that Supervisor over there reaches us," I pointed, "We need to agree that she declares the ticket as a
HANDED TO DRIVER
, and you agree to pay it, and she agrees not to charge you with assault, and I agree not to accuse you of attempted assault on me."
Then I turned to Seema, "And we downgrade this from Code Red to Supervisor Assistance."
Seema looked at me amazed. She even smiled a little.
"Fucking cunt!" He growled at me, "Yeah, okay! You're a tough lil bastard tho' incha?"
I shrugged at the compliment, "Being my size you learn to duck."
He was a proper hard man. I could tell by the Resident's badge on his windscreen, he was from East London, and a particularly rough part of it. Old school Gangster type. Maybe his dad went to school with Ron and Reggie Kray or something? - That sort of bloke.
So then the Police screeched up in a marked unit seconds after our big, fat bastard Supervisor got our story about what had happened.
The driver meekly told the Supervisor "Yeah, I'll pay the ticket." So we shrugged and told the Coppers that we were grateful but the problem was resolved.
I explained that Officer 'seven-six did not wish to press charges as no real harm was done and the customer was going to pay the sixty quid fine for leaving a car on a SYL unattended.
The Police Officers left without batting an eyelid. It saved them paperwork. The marked unit crackled and popped over the cobbles and then roared off down the main tarmac'd road.
"Their Starbucks must be getting cold." Said Seema, thinking she was the wittiest person on planet Earth all of a sudden.
I glared at her, whilst saying for Wahid's benefit, "Yo boss, thanks for coming, but d'ya think maybe with colleagues as dumb as this in future I should let the Police enjoy their Starbucks and I should have left you in peace to finish your donuts and milkshake?"
"What really happened?" He asked, suddenly curious.
"I do not want to go on record with it. But if ANYTHING comes back on us after today I will have to decide on whether to save my own arse or cover for her cute little butt instead."
Wahid was a wise old Supervisor, he knew what I meant but was discreet enough to keep his mouth shut.
Seema gave me a look, a flash of anger, then settled down again. I still held her camera in my hand.
We returned to base and I formulated a plan.
As she freshened up in the Ladies' washroom I made some phone calls and scribbled some notes.
She entered the room and scanned the empty tables and chairs. She had to do her paperwork and it had to match my report. Would she sit near me or not?
She strolled to my table and sat right next to me.
