Ed and I kept our affair secret until I graduated the academy and was assigned to a precinct downtown. Shortly thereafter, he was promoted to lieutenant and assigned to homicide uptown.
We mainly saw each other on weekends, then on a whim a few months later, we flew to Vegas, got shitfaced drunk, and got married at the Elvis Chapel of Burning Love.
Our marriage was tumultuous, to say the least. We both worked long, grueling hours, and to my surprise (okay, maybe not that much of a surprise) Ed continued sleeping with half the women on the force and had the other half waiting for him.
He looked a lot like Scott Glenn in Silence of the Lambs.
He had these brooding eyes and Kennedy jawline. And he was a freakin’ acrobat in the bedroom. I swear, he would pick me up and twist me around like a pretzel and have his cock in one end of me and his fingers in the other.
We had amazing Kama Sutra level sex. Too bad it wasn’t good enough to save the marriage. We separated after two years, then finally got around to divorcing a year later.
Because of my degree, I was able to fast track to detective after just two years in uniform. I got my shield and was assigned to Vice.
If you don’t know what Vice means in police terms, it’s the division that deals with fun stuff, those human vices that someone at some point deemed immoral, illegal or not in the best interest of the community.
Things like gambling, prostitution, drug use, or pornography typically fall under the heading of Vice.
I always thought they should have called it the Department of Beating Your Fucking Head Against the Wall because that’s what it felt like we were doing most of the time.
You bust one hooker and two more pop up.
You break up one gambling ring over here and three more pop up over there.
You bust one guy for pornography and ten of his perverted buddies come out of the woodwork.
I hated working in Vice, mainly because the rumor was I had been hired for my physical attributes rather than by brain and investigative talents. I’m tall, with long legs, big tits and a round ass you could bounce a quarter off of (that’s what Ed used to say, though I’m still not sure what it means).
“Next time we need someone to go undercover as a hooker, get McAfee to do it,” one wise ass said in the morning meeting. I introduced his balls to my knee after the meeting, an act that didn’t score me too many points with the boys in the squad, but was applauded by the two other females unfortunate enough to work there.
I also felt sorry for most of the girls we busted for prostitution. Most of them were runaways or castoffs that were peddling pussy because it was the only way they had to survive.
Some of them reminded me of me in my younger days. Without ambition and the chance to do something with it, there but for the grace of God go I.
And I would have made a lousy prostitute.
I love a good cock as well as the next gal, but I don’t have the patience to dicker over price and terms, no pun intended.
So, I put my head down and did the best job I could as a Vice cop. And yes, I did put on a tight halter top, stiletto heels, pancake makeup, and a miniskirt that barely covered my ass a few times to go undercover.
And though I’d never admit it to anyone, I did like how sexy wearing those slutty clothes made me feel.
And I liked how men would literally stare at me with their mouths hanging open when they saw my big tits struggling to break free of the halter and my round ass hiking up the miniskirt.
And my long legs, toned from running three miles a day, looked fucking killer in the fishnet stockings.
I stopped by Ed’s place wearing the outfit one night, and even though we were still angry from the divorce, he dragged me into the bedroom and we had the best sex of our entire relationship.
Ed just pushed the halter down around my waist so he could get to my big tits and lifted the miniskirt up over my ass. He had my panties off before I even knew what was happening. Then he bent me over and fucked me from behind while I held on to my ankles and tried not to scream.
I remember looking up between my legs, seeing his long cock sliding in and out of my dripping pussy, his balls dangling and slapping against me. I couldn’t resist reaching up and hanging on to his balls as he jackhammered into me. Like I said, Ed was a cheating asshole, but the Kama Sutra had nothing on us.
I still had that outfit. Maybe I’d pull it out someday if the situation warranted. Of course, I’d have to shave my legs and trim my cooch first. Things have been a little slow down there, if you know what I mean.
Anyway, back on topic…
After a couple of years in Vice, Ed stopped by my place one evening out of the blue. I was a little surprised because Ed was supposedly in a serious relationship with a woman named Greta Vance who worked in the district attorney’s office.
Ed never showed up at my place unless he was horny and looking to tap a little ex-wife pussy. I was not averse to a little romp for old time sake, but when Ed came in with a serious look on his face, I knew he wasn’t there to have his pistol cleaned, so to speak.