When you're growing up, being a journalist sounds like a respectable job. The movies always have that intrepid reporter who stops at nothing to uncover the hidden conspiracy or reveal some secret government cover up.
In real life, hell, it's just another factory, except instead of lawn mower engines or 747s, reporters churn out paragraphs. The bosses don't care about how in-depth or how important the stories are, just how many.
Such is the way my life ended up. In a small city with a population struggling to break 20,000, career choices were pretty limited. Most everybody works at "The Plant", slaving away 80 hours a week at that sweat shop, doing the same repetitive tasks day in and day out.
I went to school with the goal of avoiding that fate, only to come to the realization that print journalism wasn't much different, except for that fact that we were expected to be able to read and write.
I ended up with the courts and cops beat. It sounds exciting, except that there's not much in the way of crime around here. All in all, life sucks.
The day started off like any other. I strolled into work to check the court schedule. The day editor, Sue, flagged me over.
Sue was a short redhead with a petite body and legs to die for. She was an older woman, but she hid her age well. I still find it hard to believe she has a teenage son.
"This woman keeps calling for you," she said. "She won't leave her name or number, she just keeps asking for 'the guy who does the police reports.'
"I got so sick of her calling that I finally told her, 'Look, if you got in trouble and you're trying to keep it out of the paper you can forget it.' I think I came off bitchy enough to get her to leave me alone for a while," she laughed at herself. She was the easiest boss in the world to work for, but she knew how to sound bitchy over the phone to get her way.
"Thanks, Sue. I'll take care of her if she calls again."
Sure enough, ten minutes later, my phone rang.
"Are you the fellow who does the police reports?" The voice on the other end was low and heavy and just a bit sexy. She sounded a bit nervous too.
"Yes, ma'am, what can I do for you?"
"Oh, it's so foolish!" she began. Her voice started to break up. It sounded like she was holding back tears.
"We were parked off the side of the road when we just lost control. I should have just went straight home, but I ... I didn't.
"Then that police officer caught us. He scared the daylights out of me. If my husband ever finds out ... You ... you won't put it in the paper, will you?"
What the hell was she talking about?
"Well, I'm not sure I understand what you're talking about. What were you pulled over for?"
"We weren't pulled over ... we were parked. This fellow from work I've been ... I've been ... seeing. I know I shouldn't have. I have two kids! But we were, you know ... fooling around ... and..."
"Okay, I think I understand now. Were you ticketed?"
"No, no he just told us we were on private property."
"Well, in that case it just depends on whether or not he made a report. I'll go to the police station and take a look. If there's no report, then you should be okay," I reassured her.
"Oh thank you!" Her voice changed and she sounded a hundred times happier. "That woman I spoke with earlier was so mean. She said she'd make darn sure that whatever I did made it in the paper."
"Right, well, if there's no report there's nothing for me to write about," I said. "Give me your name and I'll look for it."
"Do you really need to know that?" She hesitated.
"Well, I have to know which report you're talking about. If I'm going to help you, I'll need your name and the name of the fellow you were with."
Silence. I decided to try another tactic.
"Otherwise, we'll just print everything, there's no way for me to help you if I don't know who you are."
She relented and gave me her name and the name of her paramour. "Gloria Stockholm" music to my ears.
"Is there a number where I can reach you?"
"No," she said. "I'm at work. I'll call you back."
"Call me at about 10, I'll be in meetings all day."
And that was that. I rushed out the door, I had to get to the courthouse before 4 p.m. to pick up the reports and I was running late.
"Gloria Stockholm" I got a slight hardon just thinking about her and that sexy voice, imagining what she looked like ... and what I could do with this information.
At the police station, I thumbed through the reports. The usual petty thefts and harassment complaints. I don't think there's a man or woman left in this town who hasn't been charged with second degree harassment.
My heart jumped with I saw it. The name of Gloria's paramour jumped out at me. The cop had made out an incident report. There was no charge filed, it was just a record he responded to a call about a suspicious looking truck pulled over on the side of the road. They were on private property so he told them to move along without incident.
That was it. That and the truck's registration information.
I photocopied the report. It totally wasn't something we'd bother to report, not even in a small town rag like the one I worked for, but I had plans...
Gloria called at 10 p.m. sharp.
"I've got bad news for you Gloria. The police officer did file a report. It's pretty graphic. It says the two of you were 'engaged in heated sexual relations' when he found you," I lied.
"Oh no! I can't believe it! Why?" she sobbed. "Why would he write that?"
"Don't be to hard on the cop. He's just doing his job," I said. "If something ever happened to you, let's say your boyfriend beat you up later in the night, there's a report filed that documents the two of you were together. He's just doing it for your protection."
"But this could ruin everything," she protested. "If my husband finds out ... my children! You've got to keep it out of the paper!"
"Well, I'm afraid it isn't up to me, you called my editor so many times she's going to be looking for that report now. In fact, she told me to make sure whatever happened gets into the paper," I said. Sue's bitchy act was paying off in my favor. I could paint her as the bad guy in this and Gloria would find it all quite believable.
Gloria began to sob.
"Listen, maybe I can help," I said. "But I can't talk about it here, can you meet me somewhere?"
"I get off of work at 11," she said.
"That's good. Do you know Benji's?" I asked. Benji's was the first bar you came to from the plant exit. Of course, she knew it. "Meet me there after work."
I quickly filed my stories, then I did a little research and made a few printouts in the graphics department. I gave the night editor an excuse as to why I was leaving. I told him the desk sergeant asked me to come back because one of the detectives still had a couple of reports on his desk. Then I headed off to Benji's.
I waited outside my car for about five minutes. It was a cool night, but warm enough to be comfortable without a jacket or sweater.
A woman pulled into the lot and approached me. She was gorgeous. She was older, in her 40s -- maybe late 30s, short, petite and flaming red hair. I felt my cock swell in my pants as I prayed that this was her. She was wearing denim short shorts, a tight white top and white tennis shoes.
"Gloria?" I asked.
"Yes, that's me," She said. I recognized the voice immediately.
"Let's talk," I said as I opened the door of my car for her.
"Here's the report," I said. I showed her a doctored version of the report that I had made using the real report as a model. It was a steamier version of the original, and I added her name, address and phone number instead of "Person Number 1" as she was called in the original. It used all the police jargon that I was used to from reading these things, so it sounded perfectly authentic.
"I ... I can't believe this is happening," she said. "You've got to keep this out."
"I could keep it out," I said. "But my editor will be looking for it. If she goes to the police station herself and finds this, she'll be mad at me for lying to her and for concealing the report. I could lose my job."
"Please," Gloria begged. "You've got to help me. I know I made a mistake. I should have thought about my children. It was stupid. Please, help me."
"I'm afraid it's just not worth the risk to me," I said coldly. "I would have to be getting something worthwhile in order to take a big risk like that."
Gloria's face turned cold.
"Worthwhile," she said tersely. "You mean money." Her tone of voice changed completely. She was cold and almost angry.
"No, Gloria, I don't want your money," I said, almost laughing.
I put my hand on the bare flesh of her leg. Her muscles were tight and firm. "You're very lovely you know."
My legs were shaking, but my cock was as stiff as a pipe. I was nervous as hell, but I gathered up my nerve and leaned over. I gave her a soft kiss on the jaw.
"N ... no!" she said. "That's how I got into this mess. I already made one mistake." She pushed my hand off her leg.
"Are you sure about that decision?" I said, sternly. "I have the power to keep this story out of the paper, but I can make damn sure it gets in."
"What do you mean," she asked? Her voice was unsure. I could hear the fear and trepidation again.
.... There is more of this story ...