FIRST CONTACT
Oedipus "Fast Eddie" Cronejammer felt the icy wind against his neck as he waited for the transport vehicle. So far he had waited 20 minutes, and nothing. He leaned back against the side of the deserted shop, which was composed of crumbling red bricks and a broken picture window featuring decapitated manikins - in other words about what you might expect in such a deserted area along the northern shore of the Detroit River. Most of the former residents had of course long since heeded Mayor Coleman Young's suggestion that they cross Eight Mile Road and keep heading north. The north was now thriving and was sprouting shiny skyscrapers right and left.
Finally a car slowed and came to a stop. Eddie was expecting a standard-issue transport van, not the Crown Vic that pulled up (the flatfoot's answer to limos). The tint in the glass was so dark that he could not see the driver's face or even if there were any passengers inside.
The driver rolled down the window on the passenger side, her eyes hidden behind the dark blue lenses of her shades. She was chewing gum, reminding Eddie of one of the state police villains in a hillbilly flick like the Dukes of Hazard or one of those Burt Reynolds classics, like Stroker Ace or Smokey and the Bandit.
She pulled down her shades to give the perp a glimpse of her baby blues. Nobody could resist those peepers, especially if they wore a control bracelet on their ankles and an arrays of electrodes implanted in their brains.
"Don't be a stranger," she said. "Come on in. I won't bite. Not unless you want me to, that is, and then I will eat you down to the bone and I'll even swallow that, if that is your desire.
She stuck out her hand. "Hi there, my Parole Officer name is Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. Suck on those eggs, Xena! Actually, Xena is Hippolyta's daughter in Greek mythology.
"Butcha doesn't have to call me Hippolyta. Actually, I'm just li'l ole Andrea Cappelitti out of Teaneck, New Jersey. Consider it an honor that I am telling you this. Most POs don't use their real name because of the danger. Most of my friends just call me Dirty Andy and I kind of dig that name myself."
"Well my friends all call me 'Fast Eddie.' I prefer the moniker 'E Rex' myself. Get it? Its a cross between Oedipus Rex and T Rex , not to mention E-Rection. Get it?"
"Oh yea, I get it. Hard to miss it, really. All right, E Rex it is then!
"Well, hop in, baby, I won't bite, not unless you want me to, that is. I'm your parole officer, in case you haven't figured that out yet. I'm going to give you a ride to my office. You wouldn't want to be led there by your ankle bracelet or the electrodes implanted in your brain, trust me. That can get to be a bit painful at times."
"Whatever you say, boss," E Rex said. He presumptuously climbed into front passenger seat of the Crown Vic and slammed the door shut behind him. He waited for Dirty Andy to drive away. Instead, she peered over her blue shades and he followed her gaze. She was waiting for him to put on his seatbelt.
Seatbelts are totally Squaresville, he thought in the argot of the '50s beat generation, as immortalized by Maynard G. Krebs, the beatnik artfully portrayed by Bob "Gilligan" Denver in the Dobie Gillis TV show or by Edd "Kookie" Byrnes in Sunset Strip. E Rex knew that neither of the these references would be lost on Dirty Andy, an obvious Baby Boomer. He wasn't sure why he remembered them himself. Probably the result of spending 20 or more hours watching TV Land for over 20 hours a week during the past two years, he supposed..
But E Rex didn't want to get off on the wrong foot with the PO that had been assigned to him, so he clicked himself in. Didn't want to break any laws on his first ride. At least not until he had "felt out" his appointed guardian.
The Crown Vic was a ride truly befitting the notorious 'AARP Rapist,' as the media used to call him, but not as often as he would like nowadays. It was about time he was accorded the luxury befitting a criminal of his stature. It had been a long time in coming.
Dirty Andy turned on the ignition. "And away we go!" she said in a passible imitation of the great Jackie Gleason.
By the time they got to Five Mile Road, Dirty Andy had taken off her state fuzz Smokey hat. Her red hair was rich and luxurious. It held the sheen that exists only in commercials on TV. She shook it loose and he could see her hair falling in slow motion over her shoulders and then bouncing back only to settle once again.
By the time they got to Phoenix Avenue, E Rex's rod was solid wood and throbbing painfully despite the massive cocktail of anti-aphrodisiacs they had given him just before discharge (or were they in fact aphrodisiacs?). He figured that they would wear off sooner rather than later.
By the time they crossed Albuquerque, Oedipus "E Rex" Cronejammer's "mental state" was reduced to that of his throbbing johnson.
By the time they got to Oklahoma Road, E Rex's prefrontal cortex was sound asleep and there was no longer anything holding back his baser urges, which the psychoanalysts called the id, may their discipline rest in peace.
"Well, don't be a stranger, honey," Dirty Andy said, patting the foot of Corinthian leather that separated their thighs . "I ordered up a rapist, baby. Now are you going to fill the bill or not?"
In response, E Rex's left hand finger-walked across the plush bucket seat and came to rest against Dirty Andy's standard issue khaki PO pants. He thought he might be pushing the boundaries governing the relationships between POs and their assigned pervs, but he had essentially lost voluntary control of his left arm. His hand travelled up Dirty Andy's thigh, which he began to squeeze and tease. He ran his hand up and down Andy's quivering leg, and she began to shudder and cry out softly.
He slid his hand up and over her inner thigh until it rested over her coochie. He could feel her dampness right through her cotton PO khakis. He cupped her nether mouth with his hand and began to squeeze it rhythmically. She cried out softly: "Yes, yes, yes, ohmigod. Don't stop, baby. Please don't stop."
He grabbed the key on her zipper and slid it open. Now nothing but her panties stood between his craving fingers and her precious, albeit post middle-age skin. He slipped his hand underneath her lace panties and began to run his fingers around her wet, wet labia. He found her throbbing clit at the apex of her vulva and teased it unmercifully.
Her breathing got deeper and faster, and she slid her right hand up E Rex's thigh. She curled her hand around his aching, yearning phallus. She now had complete control of her new client, as if his shaft were the stick shift of a stock-racing car.
She pulled down his zipper and ran her fingers over the damp spot in his jockeys. She well knew the source of that precious rain. She ran her thumb up and down the length of his cruelly clothed and straining shaft. She wrapped her hand around his rock-hard barrel and began to pump it slowly as she worked the underside of its hood with her right thumb, feeling the urgency of his imminent discharge and the trembling of his legs.
She bent her fingers so that her sharp nails bit into the tender skin of the AARP Rapist's straining phallus. She then slid them down his precious johnson, ripping his undies and casting them aside, exposing his naked schwantz to the cruel ministrations of her hungry right hand. Dirty Andy's eyes shifted to watch the thin lines of blood opening on E Rex's tantalized phallus. She then began to pump him in earnest. Just as he was about ready to shoot his seed all over the Crown Vic's windshield, she whispered, "Don't come."
