Hello and welcome to the latest stopping-off point on the Lesbian Cops blog tour. Please feel free to look around, but do be warned that dominant policewomen are watching you in case you step out of line…
When the call was put out for submissions for an anthology entitled Lesbian Cops, I immediately knew any story I came up with would have a US setting. That might seem strange, considering I live in London and was born in the North of England, but while we have a fine tradition of detective work in this country – the oldest police force in the world is British, after all – in my mind there’s just something so much more glamorous about American cops.
I blame television. Growing up in the Seventies, we were fed images of strong, feisty female detectives via American cop shows, the most iconic being Angie Dickinson as Pepper Anderson in Police Woman. These women drove round in fast cars, they fired guns, they took down perps and, if they were members of Charlie’s Angels, they did all this wearing very little more than a bikini. By contrast, British policewomen were represented by Anna Carteret in Juliet Bravo, in her frumpy A-line skirt and clumpy shoes. The issues covered were much the same – woman trying to be taken seriously in a man’s world, the bad guys getting their just desserts – but when you’re young and impressionable, imported thrills have a tendency to win out over home-grown realism.
But it’s not as though I haven’t had a little contact with American law enforcers over the years. I’ve been in a diner where uniformed cops were sitting at the counter with their coffee and donuts – one of those seminal ‘this is just like the movies’ moments every British tourist has to comment on – while in 2002, a friend and I were on a press trip to cover Bon Jovi’s Times Square concert to kick off the NFL season (don’t ask me how I wangled that one!) and crowd control for the event was being overseen by the largest group of police officers I’ve ever seen in one place. Simply asking one of them for directions confirmed these are men and women who exude authority and expect you to follow their instructions. Their tone of voice is firm, backed up by the knowledge they have a gun close to hand, unlike the British police. They provide the perfect template when you’re writing about a policewoman with innately dominant tendencies. (Oh, Ms Dickinson, you have so much to answer for…)
Officer Farley, the narrator of my story, Torn Off A Strip, is a small-town cop whose mundane night shift takes a twist when she and her partner are called out to a domestic disturbance. They quickly discover a hired stripper, dressed as a slutty policewoman, has tried to steal the birthday boy’s wallet, and has been handcuffed to the porch rail until the police arrive. Officer Farley realises the girl is “strictly amateur hour”, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t need to be disciplined…
They say all strippers have Daddy issues, but I can tell that isn’t true in Blondie’s case. From the way I’ve caught her looking at me, desire and confusion blazing in her big brown eyes, she is clearly struggling to deal with the fact she’s more attracted to women than men, and she hasn’t yet figured out what to do about it.
I know all she needs is a little guidance, a little help from someone who’s already walked that same path, and I’m just the woman to give it to her. I look at Hawkes, scribbling something in his notebook, and a wicked thought occurs to me. It means crossing a line, taking a risk that could see me thrown out of the police department if I’m caught, but I can’t help myself. The sight of her, restrained and ready to burst ripely out of that slutty costume, taps into every dark, dirty fantasy I have when I lie in bed at night and run my pocket rocket vibrator over my clit.
I tap Hawkes on the shoulder. “Tell you what, why don’t you take the guys inside and start getting more coherent statements from them while I get Blondie’s side of the story?”
He doesn’t look thrilled, knowing it’s going to take him a while to get even one version of the story straight, but he nods and starts to usher the revelers inside. When they’re all safely out of the way, I turn my attention to Blondie.
“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here.” Standing close to her, she smells of sex and some cheap dime store perfume. It’s an enticing combination; one I could breathe in for a while. “Why don’t you start by telling me your name?”
“Vixen.” When I stifle a laugh, she pouts at me. “I’m telling you, it’s Vixen Molloy. Check my ID. It’s in my breast pocket. I’d get it out for you, but…” She gestures to her bound wrists. She’s not being outright hostile, but there’s a challenge underlying her words.
Just as there’s a challenge in fishing her ID out of the cheaply tacked-on shirt pocket. Through the thin fabric I can feel the warmth, the softness of her breast, taunting me with its nearness. I retrieve the laminated card and squint at it. Sure enough, she’s called Vixen. I suppose it saved her the problem of deciding on a stripper name.
To find out exactly how Officer Farley deals with Vixen – and read stories by all the other talented authors on this blog tour, including J.L. Merrow, Teresa Noelle Roberts, Cheyenne Blue and Andrea Dale – you’ll need to get hold of Lesbian Cops, available now from Amazon and other booksellers. And you will respect her authority!