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She smiled so damn brightly, and then turned and left. Our fingers slowly parted.
The next night, we went back to where Juan originally met up with her, but she was nowhere to be found. We never saw her again.
Had I been anything other than a stupid boy, I would’ve better appreciated her extra efforts. Even as naïve as I was then, part of my brain read all the gyrations, the twisting, and the writhing, skeptically. But looking back from the vantage point of a man nearly fifty years old, part of my brain likes to think she was genuinely caught up in the moment. Perhaps she was emotionally invested in giving me a good time, while taking one. Could it have been an act? Of course. But why bother? Ed and Juan said she was very “vanilla.” (Pun intended.) That she just sat up, wiped off, and said, “Send in the next.” Ed refused, which is why she came to the door naked.
Writing this story, memories of her fly at me so fast I have to swat them away. She was so well spoken, certainly not stupid, and definitely nobody’s fool. Was she a college student, working her way through to graduation? Was she just down on her luck and needed quick cash? One can go nuts thinking of the endless possibilities.
I suppose if there is any one moral to this story, it’s that there is no substitute for professionalism! We’ve all heard clichés about the hooker with the heart of gold, or the beautiful woman down on her luck who turns to prostitution. I’ve dealt with many hookers over the years as a police officer in Grand Crossings district, on Chicago’s South Side (never contractually), and I have never seen a prettier, classier prostitute. Never.
My friends and I will always jeer, “Ah, there’s no such thing!” But after a moment’s reflection, I always say, “Well, you know, there was this one girl, once … a long time ago …”
SOLDIER
I was that which others did not want to be.
I went where others feared to go and did what others failed to do.
I asked nothing from those who gave nothing,
and reluctantly accepted the thought of eternal loneliness, should I fail.
I have seen the face of terror, felt the cold sting of fear,
and shared the sweet taste of a moment of love.
I have cried, pained and hoped, but most of all …
I have lived times others would say were best forgotten.
At least someday I will be able to say I was proud of what I was—
A Soldier.
—Read by CSM Charles B. Morris,
Congressional Medal of Honor,
29 June 1966 RVN, at his retirement ceremony in 1985
To Protect and Serve
Shakir Rashaan
The mantra of any officer worth their shield is “to protect and to serve.”
Well, I’m not an officer yet, but I’ve lived by that mantra ever since I was a little kid, when I stood up to a bully who tried to take my best friend’s lunch money in third grade. In high school, my sheer height and size made me an imposing presence, and the female friends I had swooned and bragged over having me as a “bodyguard.”
Sometimes it is better to be in the right place at the right time … and come to the rescue of the right person. A sexy-ass woman would be preferred, of course. You know, just in case she wanted to show her “gratitude” in her time of distress.
I never thought I would put that mantra to good use, or knew just how I would be protecting and serving.
I left my criminology class on a Friday, walking down to the parking lot to get in my car and head to my internship at the Zone 5 Precinct in downtown Atlanta. I was looking forward to some fun over the weekend, taking my mind off concentrating on criminal profiles and trends for a change. I took the internship at the Special Victims Unit because I wanted to be a detective when I graduated. I considered myself lucky to be selected as one of the interns, even though the work was tedious and repetitive. The way I saw it, this was a way in to be where I wanted to be, and it was only for half the school year, so I was cool with it.
Especially when I found out that I was assigned to Detective Berrera’s detail about a week into the internship. She was one of about three female detectives in the unit, and it was lust at first sight for me.
Seeing her every day after class was well worth the trip.
Detective Berrera was a stunningly beautiful woman. She stood about five foot eight with a rich caramel complexion and had curves to die for, even though she kinda hid them under the pantsuits that she wore most of the time. I guessed it was part of the persona of the female detectives in SVU to try not to be overly sensual or sexual, considering the type of cases that they were trying to solve. She had a natural beauty, you know, the kind that makeup only enhances. She was pretty without makeup, I mean really pretty, and I had her pegged for around late thirties, early forties or so, but she definitely didn’t look like it. I often found myself daydreaming during class or at the precinct about seeing her out somewhere away from work, just to see if there is a softer side to her, something more exotic, maybe even freaky.
