I heard the siren before I saw the light. My heart jumped in my chest. I felt my blood run cold. I searched my mind to try to remember how I'd been driving. I found my mind was blank. There was an intersection back there... Had there been a light?

I'd instinctively touched the brake, and now I heard the cop cars' tires squeal on the wet road behind me. This was just getting worse.

I pulled over to the side, as slowly and carefully as I could. We were on a major thoroughfare, but the traffic that night was light. It was about nine pm. The rain had finally let up. We were only a couple of miles from my house.

I waited nervously and watched my rearview mirror. I couldn't see inside the police car, but his searchlight was flooding light into my car.

I reached over for my purse, to try to find some tic tacs or some gum. Then I thought better of it and put my hands back on the wheel.

After a while the officer got out of his car and approached me. He was young and lean, with short blond hair. He walked carefully, with measured strides, every step calling out authority.

I realized my window was up and clumsily rolled it down.

"Ma'am," he said, "may I see your license and insurance?"

I grabbed my purse and began searching through it, also looking for that gum.

My license was in my wallet, but I couldn't seem to find the papers for our insurance. Or any breath mints, or gum.

"Officer," I smiled nervously, "I think my husband has the insurance..."

"You should always keep a copy in the car," he told me sternly.

"Yes sir," I stammered. "I'm so very, very sorry."

He clipped my license to a clipboard he was holding in his hand. I saw that he was writing.

"Officer," I ventured, "can I˜can you tell me what I've done?"

He looked at me. "You don't know?" he asked.

"I˜I guess I was speeding...?" I asked.

He shook his head and turned and pointed back down the road. "You see that light down there?" I nodded dumbly.

"Do you remember what color it was when you went through?"

I didn't. I stared at him.

He clipped his pen down and put his hand on the door handle of my car. "Ma'am," he said, "I'm going to need you to step out of the car."

I felt my stomach drop.

"Why?" I asked. My voice sounded awfully loud to me.

"Step out of the car, ma'am."

I swallowed. "Officer, please," I told him, "My husband is expecting me..."

He pulled the car door partway open. "You need to step out of the car, now, miss," he said.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and put one foot down on the ground. "Could you please tell me what this's about?" I realized my speech was sounding slurred. "I really have to get home, now..."

He pulled the door all the way open. "Step outside, ma'am," was all he said.

I swallowed and stood trembling to my feet. I hoped nobody would see me standing out here like this.

I suddenly felt dizzy and had to catch myself on the car. I watched him write a note down on his pad. "Please, officer," I said, "I haven't been drinking tonight..."

"I'm going to have to have you take some tests," he replied. He glanced at me. "I can smell it on your breath."

"I mean," I stuttered, "I haven't had too much to drink, just one or two."

I felt so stupid, having been caught in such a stupid lie.

"Yes, ma'am." He was still writing, and not looking at me.

I was so nervous. I could feel myself start to hyperventilate. "Please," I begged him. "I was supposed to have been home at eight. My husband is going to be very upset."

"Ma'am," he said, "please step over to between the cars." He pointed where he wanted me to go. I put my head down, and tried to walk where he was pointing. My heel caught on something on the road. He tried to catch me as I fell, but wasn't fast enough. I fell flat on my face. My skirt and blouse where soaked in the water standing on the road.

"Oh, God," I moaned. I felt myself begin to cry. He helped me to my feet.

He handed me a white cloth and I wiped my hands and face.

"Ma'am," he said, when I was through. "I'm going to have to ask you to take some tests."

"Oh, please," I cried, "please don't make me do that..." I glanced at him. "Can't you just...?" but I couldn't think what to ask for him to do. I wanted so badly to just go home. I thought again about the people driving past us on the road. Everyone in my neighborhood, I thought, uses this road to go home.

"No ma'am," he said. "You're detained on suspicion of DUI. If you don't comply with my instructions, I'm going to have to handcuff you and take you in."

I swallowed. The thought was terrifying.

Maybe, I thought, if I just do well enough on the tests...

"What," I stammered, "what do you want me to do?"

He put his clipboard on his car. He showed me. "Put your head back," he said, "put your heels together. Close your eyes..."

He made it look so easy.

He glanced down at my shoes. "Do you want to take those heels off?" he asked me.

I looked at them too. I shook my head. The road was wet.

I tried to do like he had done. But as soon as I closed my eyes I began to feel like I was falling. I couldn't seem to balance properly on my shoes.

"Do you want to try again?" he asked.

"Officer, it's my shoes," I told him.

"Do you want to take them off?"

I shook my head. I'd get my stockings wet. It was bad enough the front of my dress was wet. How would I explain that to my husband? He could never know I'd been stopped like this.

I tried again. This time I thought I did a little better, but I knew that I was swaying, and I couldn't touch my nose, like he had done.

I realized this wasn't going well.

He stopped me. "Open your eyes, please, ma'am. Ma'am, can you see my pen?" He held his pen about nine inches from my face. I nodded.

"Officer?" I asked, "Officer, what's your name?"

"Officer Robinson," he replied, impatiently.

"Officer Robin... Robinson, can I please try again?"

He shook his head.

"Officer," I said, "I'll take off my shoes." I slid one foot out of my heels and put it down on the wet road. I felt the water soak through my stockings. It was cold. "Officer, can I try again?"

Fuck my stockings, I had thought; I HAD to pass these tests. I couldn't afford to go to jail on any charge, much less DUI.

Finally he looked at me, he looked into my eyes. I was standing awkwardly, one foot higher than the other. I opened my mouth to speak to him, but he interrupted. "Ma'am," he said, "I need you to follow this pen. Follow it with your eyes." I looked at it. It was hard to focus with the bright lights shining on me from his car.

"Can you see it?" he asked. I nodded dumbly. I still was standing awkwardly, one foot down on the road. The water was seeping up my stocking.

"Follow my pen with your eyes," he instructed. I followed it as carefully as I could, but it was hard to follow, as he moved it back and forth. Finally he slapped it down. "Ma'am," he said, and there was something in his voice. Disgust. I had a feeling I'd just failed another test.

I felt like the ground was about to open, and swallow me up.

"Ma'am," he said, "I have one more test I want you to do."

"What?" I asked. Again, I realized, I was talking much too loud.

He looked down at my feet. "I need you to either put your shoes on or off for this."

I looked numbly down. I couldn't seem to decide which was better for me to do. My wet foot was cold, now. I noticed that I was shivering.

"Ociffer," I said. I found I was having trouble saying it after saying it so often. "Officer, can you tell me what to do?" I looked hopefully up at him.

He shook his head and took my arm. "Ma'am," he said, "at this time I'm going to ask you to turn around..."

I felt this shock of fear. "Why?" I yelled, wondering what he was about to do to me.

"...taking you under arrest for DUI..." His hand was hurting me. I jerked away.

"No!" I said. I felt panicked. This couldn't be happening to me. I needed to go home. My husband would be furious... "No!" I cried again. I tried to struggle free.

He pulled my arm back behind me and twisted me around. I felt my head go forward; next thing that I knew he had me bent forward over the hood of his police car. I felt him standing there behind me. I struggled, crying. "Please," I cried, "don't DO this to me!"

I felt him trying for my other hand, but I avoided him. "Please," I cried, "just let me TALK to you..."

I felt my free arm strike his hand, and he pulled up my other arm, until I felt pain shooting through my shoulder.

"Please," I cried, "STOP doing this."

He caught my other wrist. "Stop resisting!" he yelled at me.

I was panting from my efforts. Finally I put my head down on the car. The metal felt cool against my cheek.

I felt him struggle with his handcuffs. I tried to pull away again, but he was holding me too tightly.

"Ma'am," he said, "you just bought yourself another charge..."

He pulled me around and sat me in his car. He keyed his mike and called for backup.

I sat there crying while he tapped into his laptop. He touched a button on a camera mounted on the dash. I realized he'd been taping me.

Finally he sighed and looked over at me. "You want me to call your husband for the car?"

I shook my head and started bawling. He would kill me, I thought. I'd never felt so humiliated.

He sighed again. "I'll have to call for impound," he said, "You'll have to pay to get it out."

I couldn't answer him. I swallowed. We didn't have the money. We wouldn't have it til my husband got paid again next week. And then I realized something else. How would I get out of jail that night?

I tried to stop my crying. "Officer... Robinson," I said. "Please, you've got to understand my situation..." I caught my breath and swallowed. I tried to catch his eye.

"My husband," I continued, "he thinks I have... a problem. He's threatened me before... I'm afraid he's going to leave me. And my job..." I couldn't finish. The fact was, I couldn't afford to miss another day of work that month.

He had looked away from me. He started typing on his laptop.

I looked at him. I swallowed. I cleared my throat. I sat up straight up, or tried to. I arched my back. I glanced down at my chest. I saw my breasts looked nearly naked, through the wet fabric that was clinging to my chest.

"Officer," I said, "Officer, would you look at me?" He paused his typing, but he didn't turn his head. His eyes had turned to me, though.

I straightened up. "Officer," I uncrossed my legs. "Officer," I said, "I... I really can't get arrested right now..." I looked at him. I watched his eyes. I pushed my chest out further. I leaned back and moved my legs apart.

He keyed his mike. He cleared his throat. "...Request for backup status..." I heard him say.

I was crushed. I couldn't believe I'd just done that˜offered myself to him, I mean. But even worse, I was crushed that he'd turned it down.

"Ma'am," he started, but at that moment another cop car pulled up beside us. There was an older, heavier man in the other car. He gazed at me. I looked down and closed my legs. Even in my state, I felt a little shame. I saw that the low-cut, frilly bra I'd bought that day was showing clearly through my blouse. And worse yet, my nipples were poking out. I'd been planning to surprise my husband with it, when I got home.

"What's the problem, Kent?" I heard the older man call out.

"Uh," officer Robinson replied, "she was, uh, resisting a little..." He pushed his door open and got out of his car.

I watched him walk over there, one hand resting on his gun. He put his arm on the hood of the other car and leaned down. I couldn't hear them talking, but I knew, of course it had to be about me. I saw him gesture in my direction, and I closed my eyes. He'd left the driver's side door open, and the car light was on.

I started feeling dizzy, and I wondered if I looked as slutty as I felt.

I realized I was very drunk, and I felt the tears roll down my cheeks again. I couldn't even wipe my eyes myself. I felt so helpless and alone.

I cried like that a while, imagining myself in jail, my husband finding out. What would I tell my boss at work?

Officer Robinson opened the door next to me. He was smiling. I felt like throwing up. "Officer Smith is going to bring you in," he said. "I'll stay here until the wrecker comes." He looked genuinely relieved, to be rid of me.

He pulled me out and put me into the back of other car, tears still streaking down my cheeks. It smelled bad back there, like someone had thrown up, and someone had used Lysol to try to cover it. The smell made me feel that much more nauseous. The other officer didn't say a word, and I was too ashamed to speak. Robinson shut the door, slamming it. "Good riddance," he must have thought.

I tried to think about my situation. What am I going to do? I wondered.

I turned my head as the car began to pull away. I wondered if I should have asked Robinson to call my husband, after all. How was I going to get out of jail tonight if no one knew where I was? And then I realized I'd left my purse behind.

"I left my purse!" I yelled. Again, I realized, I was talking much too loud.

"Officer Robinson will get it for you," the older cop replied. "He'll bring it to the jail, or release it to your husband..."

"No!" I cried, "Don't let him call him!" I don't know why I said that; I'd just been thinking I should have called.

But Officer Smith said nothing. He ignored me and continued to drive. That made me start up again.

Finally I tried to pull myself together. Tears, and even mucus, were running down my face.

"Officer," I sniffled, "Could I have a cloth or something?"

He paused. Then: "Sure," he said, "Want me to pull over?"

I nodded numbly. There was this partition between the front seat and the back.

"Uh-huh," I said. "Please."

He pulled over on a quiet residential street, underneath some trees. He got out and opened the door beside me. He had some tissues in his hand, and handed them to me. I stared at them, foolishly. I even tried to move my hands.

Then he laughed out loud, at the mistake. He asked me if I wanted him to wipe my face.

I nodded. What else was there to do? I was too subdued to ask him to un-cuff me. I felt a little silly, having a grown man wipe my face. Like a little baby.

But at the same time it sort of felt good. I so much liked having him be just a little nice to me. I sniffled a thank you, and then put my face down in his hand, and blew my nose into the tissues in his hand.

When I was finished, he wadded up the tissues and put them away somewhere. Then he stayed there looking down at me. I wanted so much for him to like me; I was glad when I realized he was looking at my chest.

I inhaled. When I let out my breath, I sort of trembled, which made my breasts shake.

I started to say something (I don't remember what) but then I heard him saying something first.

"You know," he said, "I sorta feel bad for you. Officer Robinson told me a little bit... about your situation."

I looked up at him, and when he smiled I couldn't help but smile back. I felt just a little better then. I noticed how much younger he appeared when he smiled at me like that.

We sort of smiled at each other for a while, and then I looked down. I was looking at my dress. You could see right through it. No wonder he had looked.

"Listen," he said, "Do you want to sit up front so we can talk?"

I eagerly nodded yes, and he put his hands on my arms to help me out. He helped me up and sat me down again, touching me on through my dress. I admit his large strong hands felt good on my body when he was touching me like that. I shivered from the cold, and the wet clothing sticking to my breasts. I glanced down and saw my nipples had become erect.

He sat down heavily beside me. He shut the door. Suddenly it was dark in there; the only light was coming off the dash.

"You must be cold," he said. He switched the heater on.

Would it be so bad? I wondered. He really wasn't ugly...

I scooted in my seat, and crossed my legs so I could face him. I realized I was missing both my shoes, and my stockings were wet and dirty. My skirt was wet all down the front, and even my panties felt damp.

"Thank you," I said. I could hear my own breath, while my eyes adjusted to the dark.

"I talked to Kent," he said. "I think I talked him out of the resisting charge..."

My eyes went wide. I'd forgotten that. I opened my mouth to talk, but he spoke first.

"So," he said, "this your first arrest?"

I just froze then, the way he said it just made me feel so bad. I felt myself start to cry again.

"If you want some friendly advice," he said, "you'll call your husband the first chance you get."

He paused. I saw him turn his face. "The jail is really over-crowded, and under-staffed. I heard it's taking them twenty four hours, even with a lawyer."