It is 9 o'clock on Friday night, and all I can think is how screwed up my life is. I've been looking forward to my date all week: I spent an hour getting reading, transforming from my conservative librarian style to my weekend slut look. My dress shows enough to be interesting.
Not interesting enough, though, since my date tonight was really a break-up dinner. Now I'm driving home at about 80 mph, brimming with frustration. I need a good fuck, and I'm afraid my vibrator isn't going to be good enough tonight.
I'm getting an early start on a masturbatory fantasy- maybe the deliveryman tonight- when I see the lights behind me. Great, a cop. I finally realize how fast I'm going. Shit, this is a problem I really don't want to deal with.
I pull the car off the road, roll the window down, and start looking for my insurance card.
"Good evening, ma'am," comes a deep voice, "you have an emergency?"
"No, sir," I say. "Just a bad date."
He asks for my paperwork and takes it to his car. I've never been pulled over before, and I'm pretty nervous.
"I'm going to have to ask you to step out of your car, ma'am," comes the voice again.
I open the door and climb out, my dress inching up to show the top of my stockings and the beginning of my garter belt.
"Have you been drinking?" he asks. I finally look at him now and see he is an incredible piece of man- all muscle. I can barely breathe looking at him.
"No, sir."
"I'm going to have to ask you to prove that. We're checking all our speeders tonight."