The Time I Thanked a Cop

Thanks for reading. No AI was used for this story, even in the editing process; all errors are mine.

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If someone had told me a month ago I'd be having a fling with a man nearly half my age, I'd have laughed. If they had told me he also happened to be a cop, I would have been tempted to slap them. I mean... no. Justno.

Law enforcement and I hadhistory.

It was mid-morning and I was out hanging flyers for our community art fair, attempting to operate an inadequate stapler over my head when a male voice said, "Need a hand?"

I bashed my fist against the stapling arm a few times in rapid succession, frustrated, unable to get the right angle or leverage. With a huff, I said, "I really just need about six inches."

After a long pause, he said, "Tall guy at your service. Here, give me the stapler."

I managed to get two wonky staples far enough in to keep the paper in situ above all the other announcements plastering the pole. Satisfied it wasn't going to fly away, I glanced back, holding the stapler out to my new helper.

My blood froze and my heart hardened.

He was about six feet of fit male in a police uniform who looked to be in his late twenties.

Short dark hair, pale eyes and skin, very Caucasian.

Unaware of my sudden discomfort, his lips were pressed together in a smile-suppressing way that made me suspicious.Moresuspicious. I reviewed the last minute.

Holy mother of God.I blushed and broke out in a cold sweat.I just need six inches? What was I thinking?

Although. Hecouldhave made a joke aboutonly six inches?, or where I would prefer those six inches to be placed, or any number of vile and sexually repellant jokes.

Hehadn't.

I took a breath and watched as he easily pressed the staples into the telephone pole. Miraculously, it wasn't jammed. "Hey, thanks for not making a joke just then. About the six inches."

He handed me the stapler and for a moment, I got caught in his grey-green eyes. Which of course was completely inappropriate because, a. he was a cop, and b. he was probably only a few years older than my son.

"I won't lie," he said. "In another time I would have. Now I save those jokes for people I know."

"Admirable restraint," I said with a little bow of my head. "The women of the world thank you."

He had an open smile that spoke of confidence and equanimity with the world. "You're their representative, are you?"

"Only on Tuesdays."

He smiled and held out his hand. "I'm Reese."

He had a nice hand. A strong, hard-working hand with calluses and scars.Not like a cop's hand, I thought. I spent too long looking and he transformed his open hand into a fist. "Ah, you're the health-conscious type. Fist bump."

I did not want to shake with himorfist bump him because I was not a friend of the police. I did not greet law enforcement with respect or pride, but wariness. I did not make nice with the people I couldn't trust.

Still, I was not a bitch, and that won out. Our fists kissed and I said, "I'm Minnie."

His mouth hung open for a beat. "Like, Mouse? Driver?"

"My mom's favorite aunt was named Mickey."

Reese's eyebrows rose in comic sympathy. "Wow. Huh."

I shrugged off the tragedy of my name. "These things happen. Thanks for your help."

I was turning away when he said, "Do you have more to hang?"

He looked pointedly at the canvas bag holding my supplies and I was sure he was about to tell me that,actually, it was against the law and now he was going to arrest me.

But he said, "Would you like help?"

"I think I'm done for today," I lied. "Are you supposed to be helping me? Don't you have brown people to harass somewhere?"

He actually blushed and looked down at his boots. "I'm not one of those types. And I'm off duty."

That's when I noticed he was wearing a uniform, but not the belt, gun, or radioaccoutrement. "Then why?" I gestured to his uniform.

"I just finished talking to my niece's third grade class."

Waterbrook Elementary was three blocks down the street. I immediately felt a wash of alarm that this very pleasant looking and friendly man was being sent out to teach children that police were pleasant and friendly when they very clearly, as an organization, were not. It was false advertising to set up the next generation to be complacent against police brutality, to consolidate power for the state.

"I hope you were honest with them," I said. "Or can you even be honest? Probably that would defeat your purpose."

Reese blinked at me. "I mean, they're third graders. It's career day." He shrugged. "Obviously I'm not going to get into the ins and outs of the racism and bigotry and power struggles. I didn't even bring my gun."

I grudgingly gave him credit for that.

Also, he was nice to look at, in spite of the uniform. "Fine. You can help me. But only because you're tall and not wearing a gun."

"It's calledcarrying," he said, grinning like he'd just won the lottery.

"It's a fucking accessory that's got its own purse that straps to your waist. Youwearit."

I walked away, shaking my head and trying like hell not to be charmed by this young man. I was past the age where I should feel fluttery about being in the company of a man,anyman.

In my heart, I was well on my way to the freedom of cronehood, the sisterhood of women who had aged out of the biological influence of men. Or something like that. I didn't really have all the details, but I liked how it sounded.

"Can I carry your bag?" Reese asked.

"No. Thanks. It's light."

"How about the stapler."

"It's also light."

He took two long strides to catch up to me. "It's not about the weight, Minnie. It's about sharing the load. You're making me feel useless."

"That sounds like ayouproblem," I snipped, and immediately regretted it. "Sorry. I didn't

mean to say that out loud."

His hands rose placatingly. "It's fine. You're right. It's a guy thing. Or, I don't know, I kind of think it's a human thing. Everyone wants to feel useful to the people they love."

"Whoa, whoa,whoa," I laughed. "Back it up. There is no love here," I said, finger dancing back and forth between us.

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm referring to agape love. Universal God-love. Neighborly love."

"Oh. Oh my. I see now. You're abible thumper."

His eyebrows went up expectantly and he regarded me with his head tipped as if waiting for something.

"What?"

"I wanted to see if that was meant to stay inside as well. I mean, since we're not fans of bigots."

My face went incandescent with heat and shame. "I'm sorry, that wasn't fair."

He waved it off. "I'm guessing you're reacting from experience. That's almost always the case. So, cops and religion. Anything else get your hackles up?"

A sharp laugh escaped me. "You don't want to know. This world is a shit-show. Religion been hijacked by bloodthirsty warmongers, our democracy is turning into a techno-serfdom, and our physical environment is being used up and left poor to feed an intelligence that isn't evenreal. That could be ended with an off switch."

To his credit, Reese did not look horrified by my laundry list of world concerns. We walked for a few beats, then he said, "You know, there's a common thread in all of those things."

"Yeah, humans."

"I was thinking,love of power."

I regarded him from the corner of my eye. "You've got layers, Officer Reese. Here, let's hang one by the bus stop."

As he was stapling into the pole, I noticed he wasn't wearing a wedding band. "Is there a future Mrs. Officer Reese in your life? You seem like the kind of guy who attracts the marrying type."

He laughed, but there was an edge of discomfort to it. "Not so far."

"Why not? Not that I think young men should be in a hurry to get married or anything. Your frontal lobe literallyjustfinished developing."

"Thanks?"

We continued walking. He kept the stapler.

Picking up the conversational thread I thought had been clipped, he said, "It's just that my tastes run a little...contraryto the marrying type."

A little spark of hope flickered somewhere inside of me, which was utterly ridiculous because he could mean anything. "I hope you aren't talking about underage girls."

"God,no."

"You're not gay, and you don't seem like much of a player," I said speculatively.

"Icouldbe gay."

"Bi, maybe. Aren't we all?" I laughed. "But seriously. Why not the marrying type?"

His face was bright red, which of course ignited my remaining tinder of curiosity. It was interesting because hecouldhave let the topic drop, and hehadn't.

"The marrying type wants to settle down and have kids right away. I don't feel like I have much in common with the marrying type. Or women my age in general," he admitted.

My heart commenced an alarming jackhammering in my chest.Women his age?

Suddenly, I was very aware of how much cleavage was visible in the V of my button down top and the fact that my hair was a curly ginger tragedy because I showered before bed last night and slept on it wet.

But why does it matter?Nothing was going to happen with this guy, and it wasn't because of a lack of confidence on my part. I took care of myself and I knew I was aging well. I looked closer to thirty than forty-five without needing to dye my red curls or shoot up with toxins.

It was just that young men didn't usually come on to me, and, quite unexpectedly, that old cascade of hormone longing swamped me like I was a teenager. It felt like taking a hit of a drug I quit a long time ago: familiar, heady.

Mouth suddenly gone dry, I managed to squeak out, "That's unfortunate," and it was meant for the both of us.

"Not really," Reese said, raising his chin and giving me a meaning-laden look. "There's a whole world out there full of grown women who aren't my age."

Dang."A-hem. Yes. Yes, there is. I'm sure women everywhere adore your presence. And you have your uniform going for you, even if your employer is questionable."

"Maybe you can ask for me. Itisa Tuesday."

I laughed and handed him a flyer to hang. "Why am I getting the feeling you've decidedI'dbe a nice distraction from women your age?"

His smile was wide when he turned back to me. "Because Ihavedecided you'd be a nice distraction from women my age. I'm not complicated."

A small part of my brain wondered if I was being pranked, but there wasn't anyone else around. The remaining parts of me were already celebrating this titillating turn of events with a flush of arousal that made my nipples hard and my panties damp.

Technically, there wasn't any reason I couldn't spend a few hours with this young man; it

wasn't as if we weren't single, consenting adults.

And yet.

He was law enforcement, and I resented everything they represented in my country. Poweroverinstead of powerwith. I couldn't give in, even for a nice guy.

"You're cute," I said dismissively, walking on, "but I don't have sex with law enforcement."

"That's probably a good thing. There are groupies, you know."

"Seriously?"

He nodded. "At the bar we hang out at. Why won't you make an exception for me?"

"As much as you might restore my faith in men, I just can't. I can't give in on this."

"What happened? Did you have a bad arrest or something? No judgement," he said quickly, holding up his hands.

I laughed. "Actually, it was my uncle's wedding reception. He was a sheriff, and all his sheriff buddies were there. I was six."

"Six!Damn. You really hold a grudge." He radiated an admiration that warmed the cockles of my crone heart.

"I was at the drinks table and a sheriff in dress uniform offered to pour for me. He told me,just say when. The cup was full and I said,that's good, that's enoughand he kept pouring until it flooded the table. Red punch on the wedding-white tablecloth. Six-year-old me was shocked an adult would do that and terrified I'd be blamed. He laughed, said, 'you should have said, when,' and walked away leaving me with the mess."

Reese dropped his head into his hands. Then, dragging his hands down his face, he said, "What did you do about it? The mess."

"I don't remember, honestly. Probably I ran and hid. I don't remember anything else after that. I don't even remember the wedding. My parents made me familiar with a belt from a young age."

"Mine, too."

"Do you think it's right? I mean, can that be love?"

We walked half a block while Reese gathered his words and dealt with whatever emotions the topic brought up.

Finally, he said, "All I know is love cannot be violent. It can't. The two are fundamentally incompatible, and anyone who says otherwise has succumbed to the pragmaticmight makes rightbullshit." He shook his head. "People feel the injustice when you exercise might over them. They feel it in their bones, in their DNA." He shrugged. "I became a cop because I wanted to show my community something different. I wanted tobedifferent."

"And are you? Is the police force safer for everyone because you're on it?" My voice came out sounding more demanding than I intended, but I desperately wanted him to say,Yes. Yes it is.

He took my intensity in stride. "Power is a funny animal."

Disappointment.

"But I try."

That'll do."I learned a lot about power that day at the wedding. In fact, that one incident impacted how I related to authority and to men for, oh," I looked at the invisible watch on my wrist, "my entire life."

He glanced over at me. "Not all cops-"

Impulsively, I halted him on the sidewalk with a finger to his lips, surprising us both. But I really didn't want to hear him say it. Whateveritwas. I didn't want justifications or softening of feelingsorfacts.

Only, when my finger met his lips, a zing of energy zipped down my arm and further warmed parts of me that were usually ice cold around law enforcement. Parts of me that developed metaphorical spikes when in the company of that kind of power.

The spikes had withdrawn and were nowhere to be found as the moment stretched out, his soft green eyes curious as they held mine. I didn't know what he saw, but I knew what Iwantedhim to see, and it wasn't a grown-ass woman who would come unraveled at the retelling of a forty-year-old childhood trauma or a man defending himself.

I pulled my hand away, wishing my cheeks didn't feel like heat beacons on my face. "I know not all cops are dicks, I know not all men are assholes. Iknowall of that. Only men can influence and change other men, and the louder youNot-Allguys get about how unacceptable the bad guys in your midst are, the better off we'll all be.Think of it as fighting social entropy."

Reese nodded and his gaze went distant as he considered. I'd always appreciated a man who took his time to think things through in the moment. Usually you didn't see that until around their fourth decade. But there was a strength to creating a pause to slow things down and understand a situation. To taking the time to get around the back of an idea, not in a performative way, but because the man was genuinelythinking.

Uhg.I didn't want to think Officer Reese was sexy, and Idefinitelydidn't want to be impressed by him. He had no right to upset and overturn all the tables of my past experience.

Alas, all attempts to raise my spikes were fruitless.

What if... What if I took him home and had my way with him for a few hours? What if I rewarded him for being the good guy he was fighting an ingrained culture to be?That seemed like a crone-like thing to do. It wouldn't be sex with a cop, it would be thanking a good guy for being a good guy.

Who knew? Maybe he'd also be good at sex.

Maybe he'd be open to learning.

Finally, he said, "I can get behind fighting social entropy, I think we all can. We men tend to be problem solvers, after all."

"And are you authorized to speak on behalf of All Men?"

"Only in my capacity as a diplomat when treating with the Tuesday representative of All Women."

I chuckled, "Good enough."

Pausing to hang a flyer, I realized my house was just a block away; without consciously meaning to, I'd been leading us back to where I'd started.

I took the stapler from Reese and dropped it in my bag. "Follow me."

A minute later he trailed me up my front walk.

"What's this?"

"My house."

"And why are we at your house Citizen Minnie?"

Before I could answer, Rena, my neighbor, popped her head out her screen door, asking, "Is everything okay, Minnie?"

"Peachy," I confirmed with a thumbs up, knowing I was going to get questions later. Law enforcement weren't frequent visitors in our middle-class neighborhood.

She disappeared into her house and I resumed, "We're here because you're about to get lucky, Officer Reese."

My son and daughter were off at University and the house was quiet. Bruce greeted me on the porch with a meow and wove between my legs while I unlocked the door, then casually strolled in with his tail high, showing us his asshole, making us wait.

"Cute cat."

"Ha. Don't let him hear you call him that. He's fierce, not cute."

"Fitting since his mistress is fierce, too."

"That's the cronehood you're sensing," I said, leaving my shoes on a mat by the door.

Reese laughed as he followed suit. "Cronehood? At your age? Nah. I don't buy that. You've got at least a decade and a half." He was wearing one black sock and one blue sock.

"Maybe, but I'm joining young. Early adopter. I'm done with men."

In retrospect, saying that didn't show much self-awareness on my part, since I was standing in the foyer with a man I specifically brought to my house for sex.

And now that I had him here, standing inside my door, I didn't know what I was supposed to do. With kids in the house, I'd never brought a stranger home like this before.

Reese didn't have the same problem. His smile turned slightly mischievous and he stepped closer. "At least hold on to your application until later today. The crone sisterhood can have you after we're finished here.Ifyou still want to join early."

Finishedimplied aStart, and my body was on fire in anticipation of theStart.

Reese stood directly in front of me and examined my dusting of freckles while he brushed errant curls back from my face. The thought that I should be self-conscious of my burgeoning crow's feet and those few early silver strands evaporated when his thumb drifted over my lower lip, quickly followed by his mouth.

The heat of his lips, tongue; the lingering coffee taste of him; the woody scent of his cologne; the press of his arms as he drew me into his body... My eyes slid shut and I was utterly swept up in the sensation of making out with Officer Reese in my dim foyer.

He was slow and attentive with an underlying hunger that took me back to sex in my twenties. It was better now, obviously, but the newness of having sex was still a thing back then.

Reese's hands drifted low and suddenly I was being lifted. My arms circled his neck, my legs circled his waist, and I was very glad he wasn't wearing his utility belt. Then again, I'm 5' 7" and I've got long legs that didn't have much purchase on his narrow hips. His big hands on my thighs solved that problem and pulled my center against the hard ridge at the front of his trousers.

He pulled his mouth away and in a low voice asked, "Where's your bed?"

Out of habit, my first inclination was to chide him for presumptuousness, but wasn't that why he was here with me? Because he didn't like girls his own age? Because I'd brought him home with me? Because I absolutely wanted him to fuck me like I was still in my twenties, too?