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The Sexual Enlightenment of Bradley Jacobson

By Cat Kearns

Section: Arts

October 1, 2007

Officer Jacobson knew that in order to earn the respect of the other cops on the force, he would have to successfully receive oral sex in his squad car. But not just any blowjob would do;

no, it had to be with speeders, preferably young girls rendered malleable with the threat of a multi-hundred dollar fine. Stories of these accomplishments, or speed-sucks, as they were known, were swapped most mornings in the locker room, before the morning briefings. Jacobson was always painfully conscious of his silence.

It wasnt as though anyone outright said it. Jacobson, its been six months since your wife left. You should get some head, do you good. But he caught the others looking at him, all of them: the older guys struggling into their uniforms each morning, the cocky rookies some years younger than himself. The way Landis and Weiss, perched by the water cooler like two gossipy birds, would stop talking suddenly every time he came in. Those were the two who'd covered his jurisdiction for the month hed taken off to look for Louise. They still resented him for those weeks of overtime.

But Jesus, would they rather be in his position? Come home one night to find the apartment empty and most of the stuff gone, a note on the stove detailing exactly how dissatisfied she was with her life, the wedding ring found discarded somewhere near the sink? And by the end of that month, when he finally found her after weeks of searching, the guy she turns out to be shacking with: some forty-year-old fart hed twice before had to wrestle into the drunk tank. Its not you, Brad, shed claimed, its me. Uh-huh. Then why him?

But that was all over. Hed finally accepted she wouldnt be coming back. He was back on the beat, back in the game. He liked his job, he really did. He didnt mind the shitty hours, the donut jokes, the sidelong glances as kids shuffled past him on the sidewalk. The way people glanced at him at a party and changed their tone, as though he would bust them if they were honest in his presence. Not that hed been to many parties recently. Even though high school was well behind him, he still wasnt exactly popular.

But if they could see him now. Pimply, skinny Brad Jacobson grown up to be a decent-looking guy of medium height, who (he believed) made his Vermont State Police uniform look damn good. Who carried a .38 ca Smith and Weston in his side holster and knew how to use it. Who did his job well and liked it, which everyone knows is a pretty rare situation for a relatively young (though fast approaching thirty) man who never went to college.

But the Louise thing had been a blow to his ego. If theyd had a fight or something, sure, he could blame her. But this had come out of nowhere, and he was afraid of what it said about him and his ability to satisfy women. The distraction with speed-sucks – and it was only a distraction, nothing more – was a healthy escape. He was convinced it was the solution to all of his problems. Not only would it help his self-esteem, but more importantly, it would give him something to talk about with the guys at work. It was his biggest blockade when it came to conversation. Lack of something to talk about.

Which was the issue with picking up women in the first place. He couldnt even talk to the drunk girls at the bar downtown, the one on six-oh-three South Prospect Street. Stoned Crow, it was called, or The Crow for short. Not that he was there frequently or anything. He just liked, you know, to be on the lookout. Stakeout, perhaps, if the terms not too creepy.

Once he actually did manage to pick up a woman there. A real looker she was, too, with bleached blond hair and nicely toned legs clad in elastic stretch pants. He had wondered if she did yoga. Turned out she did meth, wrapped in neat little plastic packages she called her boys, God knows why. He hadnt been able to decide how the guys at the office would handle that one, and ended up dropping her off outside of a rehab clinic on the outskirts of Burlington, not too far from the district she insisted she lived in, should she refuse the clinic. Or they her.

After the meth-head fiasco, hed taken a break from women. But every other week he was on call four days in a row, then had three days off it was hard not to be bored with all that free time. To not wish there was someone to distract him from the thought that, yep, this was the Beginning of the End. The years when your looks are finally beginning to fade, when youve passed your sexual peak, when youve begun the slow descent into pointless existence. When your back hair begins to appear and your balls begin to sag. Nice.

Now his days consisted of endless patrols, halfhearted curses when a speeder flew by, the grim chase, the routine ticketing. Even his sirens sounded lazy. Hed gotten into the habit of checking himself out in the rearview mirror, looking to see if he was developing crows feet or grey hairs. Sometimes he mentally recounted the scenes in Legally Blond, (a movie hed once watched under protest on Louises insistence) just to see if the thought of Reese Witherspoon could still make him hard.

He was, in fact, conducting this exact test at the moment the white Malibu struck by, heading East, opposite his direction. He saw a girl in the front seat, evidently singing along to the radio. She was alone.

He forgot about Reese and pulled an smooth U-Turn on the empty highway, lights screaming. The girl knew right away she was caught and slid to the roads shoulder in silent submission. Probably turned off the radio.
He took a little longer than usual to get out of his car, trying to control his excitement. He was going to do it. He was really going to do it this time. She was alone, it was night, he was in the mood. Of course he couldnt just demand it (you never demand it), but drop a few subtle hints and youd be surprised at how quickly women pick up on these things.

At least, that was what hed heard.

She was younger than hed originally thought, looked about eighteen or nineteen, with black hair in ringlets and -oh, priceless- big, impossibly blue eyes. He angled his flashlight beam through the window and saw cleavage.
Hello, he said. Not a greeting he usually gave speeders.

Evening, Officer, she responded in a trembling voice, the voice of a girl who was scared and trying very hard not to show it. Hed heard it before, many times.

Where you going so fast, missy? Missy being a favorite term of his for attractive female drivers.

Home, to Shelburne. I was visiting a friend.

License and registration. As she fumbled for them he added, Were you drinking with this, uh, friend?

She shook her head quickly, rummaging through her strappy purse.

No, sir.

As she passed the cards through the open window he allowed his fingers to brush hers for a moment. She pulled away quickly and looked down, waiting for him to leave.

After running the license, he learned her name (Marissa Stills), her stats (53, 130 pounds) and her marital status (single). No tickets on record, three warnings.

When he returned to her car he noticed shed put on lipstick.

Marissa, he said, raising the brim of his hat so she could see his face, Id like to show you something. Would you step out of the car, please?

She obeyed – she had to – and came out. She was a head shorter than he, even in heels. Her outfit suggested the friend was male. He noticed her shivering a little in the October chill.

Why dont you step into my car, he said casually. Itll be warmer.

She nodded slowly, her big eyes fixed on the ground.

In the car, he removed his hat, tossing it lightly in the back seat, and opened up the dashboard. As he reached across her he was very much aware that if he turned his hand around he could undo the buttons of her blouse. He realized he was sweating slightly.

Here. He closed the dashboard and handed her the speeding chart hed extracted, placing it gently in her hands. The limit here is 35 miles per hour, and you were going 54. That puts you at 19 miles over He slid his finger down the chart and stopped. Meaning I could ticket you for 158 dollars.

She merely looked at him, her blue eyes vacant. After a moment she seemed to think he wanted her to react, and her features twisted into something resembling surprise. Oh, she said.

Yeah. Probably not a charge you want.

Definitely not, she agreed, appearing confused.

He looked at her for a long moment, and she looked back: helpless, lovely, entirely clueless. He tried to think of the stories the guys told, but to the best of his memory this was about the point when things were supposed to pick up on their own. At least, in their stories things never seemed to come to a standstill of absolute awkwardness.

Um, he began, and stopped. She waited patiently. She really was very attractive, even in her imperfections. Her mascara was streaked a bit along the bottoms of her eyelids, making her eyes look heavy and shadowed. A few zits on her forehead that werent quite eclipsed by her makeup. A small sweat stain under her left armpit, but even that was turning him on.

Still, she made no move. He could think of nothing to say and only imagined her reaching over, fingering the belt of his uniform and reaching downOh, Jesus. No need to think about Reese.

His nerves broke. Im going to let you off with a warning this time, he said brusquely, rubbing his hands together. I just thought you should know the risks youre taking, going so fast. Next time you wont get someone as nice as me.

She did not throw herself into his arms with gratitude, as hed half-hoped. No, she smiled shyly, her lips pink. Thank you, sir.

All right. He placed his hands on the steering wheel. You watch yourself, now.

I will. Have a good night! After fumbling a moment for the handle, she let herself out and swayed -no, she was walking, but he could swear she had swayed- back to her car. He watched her pull away, carefully following the speed limit, and he considered tailing her home, just to punish her a little. But he lacked the energy to even turn on his ignition and remained still in the dark. Another story to not tell the guys tomorrow morning.

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