The alarm clock rang, and I pulled the sheet over my head and reached for the clock. I shut the noisy thing off and rolled out of bed to slowly stumble to the bathroom. My head was pounding with a hangover, while my ass was sore from last night's vicious fucking by Detective Norman. I groaned and looked into the mirror, where I saw an image with bloodshot eyes, and I groaned again. I popped several Excedrin and brushed my teeth, then climbed into the shower to let it try to revive me.

A self-examination in the shower convinced me that although I was sore from the cop's rough treatment, I was not hurt. I couldn't call it an assault because I didn't try to stop it, and was turned on by his attention. I admitted to myself that I willingly let him use me, and I enjoyed the rough sex. Shaking my head, I blocked any thoughts of my whorish scene from my mind.

I felt much better after the long shower and put in some eye drops to clear my red eyes. Afterward, I took out a clean syringe and filled it with 5 mg of Premarin and pushed the needle into my ass cheek. At first, I was scared of the needle and was squeamish, but now it is a weekly ritual. The hormones were slow to take effect, but they had aided my appearance over time.

I slipped into a pair of white panties and a matching bra from my dresser, I pulled on a new pair of nude pantyhose, and stepped into a set of white go-go boots. I selected a white mini dress with princess seams and a Peter Pan collar from my closet. A struggle ensued for a minute, but I eventually zipped up the dress and managed to button the bloused sleeves. I took a bit too long doing my makeup and snatched a checkered oversized cap to rush out the door.

I raced down the street to the stop where my bus had just pulled up. Mr. Popodoplis, the Greek bus driver, gave me a quick smile as I quickly climbed the steps, but sat down slowly in a second-row seat. I lit a cigarette as I looked out the window and listened to the city wake up on a summer Friday morning.

After I unlocked the door, I quickly checked my makeup, made coffee, sorted the mail, and then began to update the books. About 9:30, I finished writing the checks for Mr. Stineman to sign when he walked into The Leader.

"Good Morning, Ronnie."

"Good Morning, Mr. Stineman," I replied, looking up from the check register.

"What a beautiful morning. I was watching channel 8 news this morning, and the weather is supposed to be wonderful this weekend."

I smiled at the happy man. Mr. Stineman was not very tall, somewhat overweight, with a touch of gray on his temples, and wore horn-rimmed glasses. He always wore a gray suit with a thin black tie and a white handkerchief. Many times his wife purchased him different color suits or ties, but he always returned to his gray suits and black ties.

"Well, look at you! Please, stand up!"

I blushed and rose in response to his request. He reached out and took my hand to lead me from behind my desk, and then had me pirouette to show off my outfit. He leaned, first, to the left, then the right, to appraise my outfit.

"Ronnie, that is a remarkable outfit! Absolutely, stunning."

"Oh, Mr. Stineman! I wondered if you would even notice me," I lied, since I often caught him watching me.

"I see you made coffee," he said after checking the light at the base of the pot. "We need something sweet. Here is $5. Please, run to Roselyn's Bakery and buy us a Sweetheart Coffee Cake."

"Sure thing, Mr. Stineman. I'll be back in a few," I said as I took the offered money. I snatched up my purse, slipped on my checkered cap, and headed out the door.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, I suppressed a giggle. It seemed Mr Stineman must have had a good night with Mrs. Stineman. He was always in a good mood, but today he was beaming! I walked in the bright sunshine along Kentucky Avenue toward the little bakery down the block. A little bell rang as I entered, and a woman in a paper hat and apron greeted me warmly. I ordered the coffee cake and was soon on my way back to the newspaper office with the sweet.

Upon returning to the office, I cut the cake and took a piece to Mr. Stineman, who was on the phone talking to a client about an advertisement. As I set the cake down along with his change, he waved and mouthed "thank you". I retreated to my desk to complete balancing the books and readied my call list for the afternoon.

Around 11:45, the phone rang, and I answered, "This is The Leader. Miss McBride, speaking. How may I help you?"

"How large of an ad would I have to buy to get you to have lunch with me?" the voice on the other end replied.

"Tim! You called. I can't believe it," I said excitedly.

"Why? I did say I would call you today. I wanted to know how you were feeling."

"Oh, a bit of a hangover, but I am alright now," I whispered into the phone, watching to see if Mr. Stineman was looking at me through the window, separating our offices.

"Glad to hear it. When do you go to lunch? My treat," he cajoled.

"In about 15 minutes."

"I can pick you up?" Tim offered.

"Why don't we meet in the park? It's just down the street from my office. I'll meet you there."

"Alright, I'll pick up a couple of burgers and drinks, then I will meet you there. You remember what my car looks like?" he quizzed.

"Jeez, get over yourself and that car," I teased. "Yes, I remember your brand new, red Oldsmobile," I giggled.

"See you soon. Bye."

"Ok, Bye."

I quickly finished my afternoon call list, and I straightened up my desk. I leaned into his office and told Mr. Stineman I was leaving for lunch. He nodded and continued to review the layout of next week's ads. I popped open my compact, adjusted my oversized cap to one side, then dashed out of the office.

I walked down the sidewalk to the little park a block away, and there on a bench, I saw Tim. The handsome, blonde policeman stood when he spied me and offered me a seat on the bench. As we ate lunch, we chatted about the weather, the latest music, and our misadventures in high school. I sipped my Coke when I noticed the time.

I popped up and said, "Hey, I've got to jet!"

"Ronnie, I'm sorry you got sick last night. I was hoping you would've had a good time," Tim said, standing.

"Oh, I did. The Famous Door was groovy! I had a good time."

“When we left, you didn’t look like it.”

I looked down at my white go-go boots. "It was my fault, I drank too much, and way too fast."

"That's my fault," he claimed. "I knew Detective Norman was a drinker. I should have stepped in."

"I was surprised by him. He seemed to enjoy himself," I said, scanning the park.

"Who, Norman? He likes to drink."

"No, he... seemed to enjoy... ah... the girls," I mentioned.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, first, he was checking out the red-haired waitress. And then, he was checking me out."

"Everybody was checking you out," Tim grinned.

"Tim!" I shouted and hit him playfully on the arm.

“That’s assault, you know.” He grinned down at me. He stopped and became serious, glancing up at the City-County Building in the distance. “Norman was in VICE, but they received too many complaints about his brutality. It seems he was roughing up homosexuals. He was transferred to Robbery-Homicide.”

I bit my lip and thought for a moment. “Maybe he is a latent homosexual. You know, hates himself.”

Tim chuckled. “I find that very unlikely from what I’ve heard.”

I glanced up at him, knowing he was wrong. I smiled, stood on my tiptoes, and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I've got to split.”

“Can I call you?” Tim raised his hand to wave goodbye as I dashed down the street.

“Yes!” I shouted back.

The afternoon went quickly. I said goodbye to Mr. Stineman as he locked the office door and walked to the bus stop. Once there, I stood by the crowded bench, lit a cigarette, and scanned the rush-hour traffic. I ignored a horn that honked down the street. The horn honked again, and I saw a metallic green sedan pull up alongside the bus stop.

Detective Norman leaned to look out the passenger side window at me. “Get in.”

I tossed my cigarette to the sidewalk, crushed it out, and stepped into the car. The Chief Detective pulled into traffic away from the bus stop. We sat in silence for the first few blocks, and I looked out the window. He reached into his suit jacket to pull out a pack of Camels and offered me one. I shook my head no, but he popped one in his mouth, hit the lighter on the dash, and replaced the pack.

After he lit his cigarette, he spoke, "Where do you live?"

"On Troy, off of Meridian. There's the Apex building," I explained.

"I know it," he said, and turned southward.

I crossed my legs, folded my arms, and kept my eyes averted. I wanted to make sure I didn't signal I wanted any advances.

"How about we stop for a drink?" he asked, blowing smoke out his window.

"It's a bit early," I replied.

"I need one."

"Just drop me off at the next corner. There's a bus stop."

He ignored me and drove on. In a couple of blocks, he turned into The Lotus Garden, a Japanese restaurant that advertised a lounge in red neon. The big man got out of the car and opened my door. Reluctantly, I exited and followed him into the lounge.

We sat in a booth, and an attractive, mature Japanese woman took our drink order. After she returned with our drinks, the Lieutenant leaned back and gazed at me. I returned his stare, silently.

"Care for something to eat?" he asked.

"No, thanks," I replied coolly.

He sat in silence, finished his drink, and motioned for the waitress. The woman acknowledged the request and soon returned with another whiskey. Detective Norman leered at her as she walked away.

"You would look good in a Japanese dress," he commented.

"She's wearing a 'Cheongsam'; it's Chinese."

He snorted and picked up his cigarette. He tapped one out and held it out for me. I folded my arms and shook my head no. He shrugged his shoulders and lit one up.

The Asian woman returned and asked the Norman if he wanted an appetizer. He politely said, "No thanks," and turned to me. “She thinks we are on a date.”

“She thinks you’re my father.”

"I'm not."

I glanced up at him. "No. You're not."

"I'm also not a boy, playing cop."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Horstmeyer. He'll eventually grow up and become a 'good' cop," he explained.

"Tim's a good man. He's been around. He fought in Vietnam, went to college, and he's made detective already."

"He has potential, but he's not a man."

I reached across the table and took a cigarette. I slipped it between my lips, and Norman lit it for me. I leaned back, took a long drag, and purposefully blew smoke at the ceiling. I shifted in the booth, crossed my legs, then tugged at my dress hem.

I took the final sip of my drink and said, "Can you take me home now?"

He tapped the end of his cigarette in the ashtray, "Give me a minute," he said, and sipped his whiskey.

"I'm going to the restroom."

He nodded and continued to smoke. I made my way through the lounge to the back, where the restrooms were located. I entered one of the stalls and relieved myself. I stepped out, washed my hands, then checked my look in the mirror. I freshened my lipstick when the door opened.

Detective Norman entered the restroom and leered at me in the mirror. I replaced the lipstick in my purse and returned his gaze with a deadly stare.

"You shouldn't be in here," I warned.

Norman turned the bolt in the lock with a heavy click. He pressed against me, and I was forced back against the restroom's countertop. He easily lifted me onto the counter and leaned down.

"Norman, please don't," I whispered.

He held my face with both of his hands and crushed his thick lips against mine. My heart skipped a beat, and I pulled my body against his. He pushed my head backwards and I tasted the whiskey on his breath as he forced his tongue into my mouth.

"I'm not in love with you," I managed to whimper.

I raised my knees and threw my thighs wide to clutch his sides, letting him come nearer to me. I savagely kissed him back, letting myself be lost in the passion. He reached down to push up my white mini dress; his rough, calloused hands ripped my pantyhose from me. I struggled from his embrace to meet his eyes. I searched his eyes for mercy, but he merely grunted and reached for my white panties.

"Wait, please!" I begged. "Just a moment."

I jerked my purse out from behind me. I desperately searched through it and found the small, plastic bottle. By the time I retrieved the bottle, Norman's huge cock was out and pointed between my legs. I squirted the clear lube into my palm and began to rub his shaft, lubing it the best I could. He grunted with pleasure.

He pulled my panties down, then raised my legs higher to expose my ass. Norman pressed the helmet of his cock against my hole and shoved. I gritted my teeth so as not to scream. The lube had helped, but Norman was still large; he pushed his member into my body.

"Fucking Mary!"

I nodded at his words.

"Slut!" He continued to thrust deep into me.

"Yes," I admitted it and gripped his arms.

"Cunt!"

I moaned, hearing the word.

He pushed his entire weight down on me; his cock drove deeper into my hole. I feared the whole sink would collapse under our weight, but it held as he wildly bucked against me. His cock rubbed against my spot, and the pleasure was unbearable. I groaned. Soon his breathing changed, he began to pant, and his face grew red. With a grunt, he pulled out and blew his load. A stream of thick, pungent man cum sprayed on my hairless member.

I lay there panting, feeling his hot seed on my body; it seeped down between my balls and thighs. He reached over to the paper towel dispenser and tore some out. He wiped his cock off, zipped up his pants, and tossed the used paper into the trash. He unlocked the door, then stepped out of the woman's restroom. I managed to roll off the countertop and struggle to the door. I locked it and began to repair my appearance.

After a few minutes, I crept back to our booth and sat down. Norman finished his drink, crushed out a cigarette, and stood up. He left twenty dollars on the table, and we left the restaurant's lounge with his hand on my back. I sat in the car and watched the streets go by; Norman drove and didn't say a word.

A few minutes later, we pulled up to my apartment building, and I got out of the car. I started to lean down to say goodbye, but he drove off down the street. Once inside the building, I pressed the third floor in the elevator, and the doors shut.

The weekend passed without me hearing from Tim or Detective Norman. It was Thursday night of the following week, when I opened the evening newspaper to find the headline "5 Dead in Raid!" The article below stated that on Wednesday night, the IPD raided a warehouse suspected of harboring an auto parts theft ring. The suspects did not surrender, and a gunfight erupted. During the violence, several suspects and officers were killed. The names of the officers were being withheld until the family members were contacted.

I checked my watch and realized I had not missed the local news. I turned on my portable Zenith television and switched the dial to Channel 8 news. The anchorman spoke briefly about the officers being killed in the raid, but offered no further news than that the officers were experienced. The newscaster began stating the Police Chief would be conducting a review of IPD procedures, when there was a knock at the door. I pushed in the power knob and answered the door.

"Hello, Ronnie, may I come in?" Tim asked politely.

"Oh, Tim!" I exclaimed and hugged him tightly. "I just heard the news about the raid."

"Yeah, it happened last night," he said, cradling me in his arms.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he said quietly, stepping into my apartment.

"What's wrong? Tim, what's wrong?" I led him to the couch and we sat down.

"Detectives Scott and Cordova, you remember them from the nightclub, ah... Rex and David? Both were shot in the raid."

"Oh, Tim! I am so sorry. They seemed so nice. How are they doing?"

"I just came from the hospital. They are both in intensive care; they're as well as can be expected, I guess." He leaned his head forward in his hands.

I put my arms around Tim and tried to comfort him, but I am not sure it helped. I sat quietly with him. I knew the best thing I could do was be there for him.

He lifted his head and looked at me. "There's more. Lieutenant Norman was one of the officers killed. He's gone."

Tim closed his eyes and bowed his head. I was stunned. I rose and walked to the dinette set. I felt nauseous.

"How... how did it happen?" I asked Tim.

"The Lieutenant led the squad through the door. He took two slugs in the chest. He was dead before he hit the floor."

I closed my eyes to say a prayer for the large, obnoxious man. Tim came up behind me and put his strong arms around me. I turned to bury my face in his chest and cried.

Tim and I dated briefly; however, we broke up months later. I continued taking hormones and had plastic surgery to increase the size of my breasts. A couple of years later, I underwent sex reassignment surgery. After that, I moved to Switzerland, where they recognized my legal status as a woman. I live there still, writing for a woman's magazine.