By On the occasion of our 20th anniversary
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
Unlike some women, I have no trouble meeting men whom I'm attracted to. I dig cops, and there's always a cop around when I need one. I can usually find a looker at the local bar where they hang out and score meth, the Tarnished Shield. If I don't feel a cop there, I just veer diagonally across busy intersections until one catches my eye.
I thought I'd experienced the full range of lawman lovin' until I met Brad. He was the cop to beat all cops, and several unarmed civilians as well.
It wasn't in the Tarnished Shield that I met him, but another Costa Mesa bar I frequent, Blow's Clown Lounge (their matchbooks read, "Come to Blow's"). He was working undercover, but I could tell by the way he packed his heat that he was all cop.
I gave him a come-hither look, and hither he came, with a pickup line I never tire of hearing:
"Will you be my heroin mule?"
"Maybe, if you pack me right. Is that a Glock .380, or are you just glad to see me?"
A couple of Bloody Rodneys later, we repaired to the back seat of his Crown Victoria, where he entered me without a warrant. Woo, momma! Was he the best I ever had? Let's just say that Brad is the man who put the dick in interdiction.
Irrational bongos toiled in the distance as he urged me on: "C'mon, baby, squeeze me tighter than a doughnut hole!"
When we came, my eyes rolled right back in my head.
"You know, like that, your peepers look like two cocktail onions. You're just another badge groupie, aren't you?" Brad asked, with a disdainful laugh, suddenly Mr. Cold Steel. I felt like a trampled gardenia, but I wasn't going to show it.
"Yeah? Well, I faked my orgasm."
"That's okay. I faked putting my condom on."
He'd played me like a violin. No, more like a tambourine, really. Meanwhile, the bongos had stopped. I looked up to see five Latin percussionists staring in the windows at us. While Brad gave them what-for with his pepper spray and nightstick, I gathered my clothes and slipped away.
I haven't seen him since. He didn't even give me his badge number, but I feel I have to see him again, that under his smug Kevlar exterior there beats a heart as true as English oak just waiting to cry its sap out to the right woman. Please tell me how to get through to him.Ina Tizzy
I'd sure like to win that dream date with Commie Girl. Can you give me any tips to put me at the head of the pack?Chris Isaak