I have been in law enforcement for a little over fifteen years, and I have had many strange encounters in the past. You’re bound to have wild things happen when you deal with the public and the dregs of society on a daily basis. It is amazing what the human heart can conjure up to do to each other. If I wrote all the stories down for a book, it would most likely be labeled as a work of fiction. But the story I’m about to tell isn’t fiction. It happened one hot, humid night on a state highway just north of Magnolia, Mississippi. It was the most bizarre encounter of my career as a deputy sheriff.
By the way, my name is Tina. Like I said, I have been a deputy for over fifteen years. Being a female in a male dominated microcosm isn’t easy, but it is different than it was sixteen years ago. I have earned respect from my colleagues, although I had to work a little harder than most men would have to do to earn it. But I’m not bitter. I love my job. I love being on the thin line between good and evil. I don’t consider myself a hero, but I think of myself as being a little different than civilians. I may come across as a bitch to some, but I have a deep love for the rule of law. If I see you breaking it, then I will be forced to act. Sometimes you may not like the outcome, but sometimes you might. I treat everyone with respect…as long as they show me respect and courtesy. You’d be more likely to get out of a ticket if you are nice and friendly. If you’re argumentative and nasty, then I’ll let you plead your case in court. A little kindness can go a long way.
Not that I don’t enjoy a good fight. I kind of got used to the violence and I developed a taste for combat. Sometimes I would be a little rougher than I probably should have been, but I love the thrill of combat. Unfortunately, as I got older, instances that led to physical confrontation became fewer and fewer due to my experience being able to defuse potential explosive confrontations and my reputation for having a short fuse. Plus, I am now a shift supervisor. I just don’t get the hands on chances like I used to.
Late one summer night in mid-August, I was preparing to sign off after a particularly long, busy shift. I hate rotating to evening shift because it ruins the whole day, but I still have to go for a run at the city park. I’m not as young as I used to be, so I have to really work at staying in shape. Being fit is a must for a 37-year-old woman in police work, especially in a rural county. Your backup could be 30 miles away, so you want to be in good condition in case an event turns bad. So, even though I’m incredibly tired, I have to go for my run.
As I’m preparing to sign off the radio, I see a Volkswagon Beetle convertible out of the corner of my eye. The car runs a stop sign and turns directly into my path going the same direction. I slam on my brakes and nearly swerve into a ditch to keep from hitting this idiot! I think to myself, “Damn, this is all I need. A fucking drunk driver!” But what can I do? If I let the fool go, he could eventually kill someone. I just couldn’t live with myself if I let that happen. I turn on my emergency lights and siren and run the fool down. I had to get up to almost 110 miles per hour to catch the damn fool, and it took me a little over two minutes to get close enough to read the car’s Louisiana plate. I never would have guessed a Beetle would go that fast!
The driver continues on for another minute, and then I see his eyes look in the rearview mirror. This guy is either short…or a girl. The VW pulls sharply onto the shoulder and comes to an abrupt halt. I’m going so fast that I nearly hit the now parked car, but I stop before I do. I’m very pissed off by now. This idiot damn near killed me, and now he’s going to get an attitude with me? I take a second to calm down, radio in my position to the dispatcher, and I finally pull my hat on and approach the Beetle. I’m not at all shocked to see that the driver is a girl in her late teens or early 20s. What I am shocked about, however, is her immediate defensiveness!
“What did you stop me for?” She exclaims when I ask for her license and registration.
“Miss, you nearly hit me when you turned off Wheeler Rd. You ran the stop sign, and you were going 80 miles per hour in a 55 mph zone here on Hwy 61.”
“No I wasn’t. And I didn’t run a stop sign!”
“Well, yes you did. I have it all on my in car video.”
“Let me see it.”
“The video will be available for viewing when you go to court.”
“You’re going to write me a ticket? I almost hit you because you were going about a hundred! That was your fault!”
Now I’m getting really pissed off. This little bitch is insane! She’s going to blame her erratic driving on me? The nerve of this cxnt! I look at her driver’s license and notice that she is, in fact, only twenty years old. She is acting like an immature little brat. I bet she’s a ‘Daddy’s Girl.’ Plus, she’s from Louisiana. Those people think of us Mississippians as backwards hicks. Oh well, I’ll just let her stew a little while I write her a ticket.
“Ma’am?” I hear her voice behind me as I turn to head back to my car. I turn to see what she wants and I notice she is getting out of her car. The first thing I notice is how cute she is! She’s about my height and probably a little heavier than me. But she looks like she is in great shape. Her short blonde hair cut in a bob with bangs, blue eyes, and pale complexion are rare in southern Mississippi and Louisiana, so she has an exotic flair about her. She also has a bounce in her step. I know in an instant what she is doing. She’s going to play nice now.
“Please don’t write me ticket. I’ve already had a few and my insurance will drop me. And my dad will kill me!”
I think to myself, “Ha! I was right…a ‘Daddy’s Girl!’”
“I’m a cheerleader at LSU. If I lose my car, I won’t be able to go to school. I’ll lose my scholarship!”
I look at her and I see some truth to what she is saying, but it’s obvious she’s trying to play with me now. I say, “Miss, you were driving very erratically. There is no way I can’t write you a ticket.”
“Please don’t! I might lose my license!”
“I’m sorry. Now wait in your car, please.”
I turn again to get into my patrol car, and just as I start to close the door….
“You fucking bitch! You not reach your quota yet?!!!! If you weren’t in that uniform, I’d kick your fucking ass!!!”
Now I’m steaming! I toss my ticket book aside; get out of the car and storm up to her. “Miss, I’m only going to tell you once to get back in your car.”
“What if I don’t? This is a free country.”
“Miss, everything you’re saying is being recorded. I suggest you take the opportunity to get back into your car, or I’ll place you under arrest.”
“Fuck you, bitch!”
Now I’m at my wits end. I don’t want to arrest this damn fool. She really could get kicked out of college. I would hate that. Then an idea hits me. I’d love to kick the crap out of this little cxnt. She’s still running her mouth. My stomach flutters as the chance for a physical confrontation arises…I’d love to shut this cxnt’s mouth. Hell, I might even lose my job, but this bitch deserves an ass kicking. I think I’ll see if what kind of girl she is. Most likely she’ll just shut her mouth and get back in her car from embarrassment, but maybe she won’t. This might lead to something interesting. I retreat back to my car, turn the camera off and remove my wireless remote. Then I walk back to her.
“Okay, miss. My camera is off. You still want to kick my ass?” I ask her.
She looks at me for a moment, and then smiles. I fully expected her to back down, get in her car, and wait for me to finish writing her ticket. But she surprises me yet again.
“Not here. Your friends will be along shortly. If there was someplace private we could go, I’d love the opportunity to slap your face.”
This girl is beautiful. But what an attitude she has! I can’t believe she would stand there and say that to a law enforcement officer. But kids nowadays have no respect for authority. I suspect that her father probably never taught her any. But what do I know? I know my dad would have slapped the taste out of my mouth if I said what she just did to any elder.
“Okay you little tramp. You want privacy? There’s a golf course up the road about half a mile. We’ll have plenty of privacy there, as well as plenty of room.”
“Lead the way, you old fucking whore.”
I let my anger simmer as I drove to the golf course. I found the course maintenance road easily enough and drove all the way to the end of it. It’s unlikely anyone will stumble upon us here. Whenever I rotate to third shift, I use this spot to complete my paperwork, and sometimes to take an occasional nap. I’ve never been bothered in the past. I park my car and walk around to the trunk. I get my gym out and walk around to the rear door of the car and start removing my gear. First my gunbelt, then my shirt, my body armor and finally my boots and pants. I quickly slip into the back of the car and put on my running shorts and sports bra. I slip on my running shoes and lock all my gear in the trunk. All the while the little bitch is watching me.
“What are you doing? I want to kick your ass while it’s in your uniform.”
“I thought you wanted me out of it? That’s what you said, ‘if you ever catch me out of uniform…’”
“Fuck you, bitch!”
“I’m not going to get your blood on my uniform. It’s too expensive to dry clean. So I’ll just change clothes.”
“Whatever. I don’t give a fuck what you’re wearing when I stomp your ass, cxnt.”
“My, what a mouth you have. I’m definitely going to have to teach you some manners.”
“Fuck you! You ready, or are you going to run your mouth?”
I snicker a little to myself, and say, “Let’s go over here where you won’t get gravel up your ass.” I walk through the woods and emerge on one of the golf courses freshly mown fairways. This will be a perfect spot for a fight. There is plenty of room, the ground is soft, and there are no weapons for her to pick up. Perfect.
I turn to my opponent and take a good long look at her. She is cute as a button. And she looks like a cheerleader. Not the garden-variety high school cheerleader, but the athletic major college cheerleader. She looks like an athlete. This may be tougher than I thought. As I said before, we’re about the same height…around 5’5” but she looks slightly heavier than my 120 lbs, but not much. She has a compact, muscular build where I’m a little more feminine. Her pale skin contrasts greatly with my dark complexion as does her fair hair and my short dark hair. The biggest difference though is the age gap. She is seventeen years younger than me. That may be a huge factor over the next few minutes.
As we face each other, she kicks off her sandals. Since she has decided to go barefoot, I decide to do the same. I don’t want her whining about anything being unfair. I take off my running shoes and socks. Now we are basically in similar clothing. She is wearing a pair of cutoff blue jean shorts and a yellow tank top. I’m wearing blue running shorts and a white sports bra.
We size each other up for a moment, and then she slaps me in the face.
My cheek stings from the blow, but instead of recoiling, I rush her and grab her around the waist tumble to the ground. We roll on the damp grass for a moment, and then she struggles on top of me and starts throwing wild punches at my face and neck. I try to buck my hips to get her off me, but she is in a good, solid position. Her punches hurt like hell! Knowing that I won’t last long in this predicament, I drive a punch into her belly, just above her waistline. The impact is solid and the blow is devastating. A loud “Ommmph!” escapes her lips and she rolls off me and away.
I scramble to my knees and look to survey the damage. Unfortunately, when I locate it her on the dark fairway, it’s when she drives a fist into my chest. I stagger backwards and she collapses on top of me, even though she is still gasping from my stomach punch. I stop myself from falling backwards by wrapping my fists in her short, blonde hair. She instantly does the same to me. Now we are yanking each other’s heads back and forth trying to wrestle the other off balance. She begins to force me back onto my heels as I struggle to stay upright. It is becoming apparent that she is stronger than me, and the realization hits me that she can fight. I’m obviously not going to be able to overpower her. I’m going to have to resort to my vast experience to win.
I can’t let her get on top of me again. I know that. If she folds my legs under me with all her weight on top, this fight will be over soon. I can’t let that happen. With my hands still wrapped in her hair, I twist to one side and roll onto my butt. At the same time, I swing my legs around and wrap them around her torso and start squeezing. After a moment, she stops yanking my head, releases one hand, and starts pushing at my thighs. I squeeze harder.
Thinking now that I may have her, I squeeze even harder and demand for her to give up. Of course she refuses. After a few moments, she wrestles her way onto her side and slides her legs out from underneath her. She wraps them around my torso and we are again at a stalemate. I gasp for breath as I find out just how powerful a major college cheerleader’s legs are.
The full moon emerges from behind the clouds and washes over the fairway exposing our sweat-covered bodies struggling for supremacy in the dew covered grass. The heat and humidity of the day is rising from the ground and creating almost a sauna like atmosphere as we clench each other. Grass clippings stick to out sweaty bodies and we roll back and forth trying to vie for any opportunity to take control. The only sounds are those of the rural Mississippi night and our grunts, groans, and sharp intakes of air when the pain is poured on a little to harshly. It seems as if the world has stopped turning and we are alone in the vast emptiness struggling to gain control of the realm. Two finely toned machines working to gain any advantage to prove one of us is better than the other…neither of us willing to show any sign of weakness, because to do so would be to admit defeat. Both of us can feel the strength ebbing from our opponent’s bodies, but both of us sure we are on the verge of victory.
Like I said before, her legs are extremely powerful. If we remain in this lock for much longer, I feel she will simply overpower me. I don’t want to lose. I especially don’t want to lose to this little cxnt. But I feel that right now I am losing. I have to do something pretty fast or she will simply squeeze me in half. But what? I am virtually face up with her feet locked in front of my chest. My range of motion is pretty limited. I force my body onto one side and push forward with my legs as quickly as possible to keep her off balance. I do a half sit-up and reach forward and grasp her hair again and yank with all my might. The sudden violence of my move causes her to unlock her legs and when she does; I shrug them off and complete the sit-up. Now I’m astraddle of her with my legs locked behind her back. I keep my grip on her hair and start punching her in the face with my other hand. Her reaction is exactly what I’d hoped it would be…she panics. I feel her start pushing at my shoulder and pulling at my arms. She also starts trying to pull her head away from my grasp and my punches. She is tiring herself out. I pour on the pressure with my legs and constantly keep pulling her head towards me with her hair. The whole time I punch her mercilessly in the face. Eventually, she goes limp and rolls onto her side. I ride her down and keep squeezing, pulling, and punching. But her attempts to push me off are getting weaker and weaker. Now it’s time to punish this smart-mouthed bitch a little.
I work my way onto her chest and sit down. As I straddle the blonde, I keep my hand wrapped in her hair and I continue to punch her in the side of the head. Before long I hear her sobbing and saying that she gives up, but I promised her I would teach her some manners. I yank her head up by the hair and slam it down hard onto the lush fairway and I work my way up her chest until I’m nearly straddling her neck. I pin her arms under my knees and demand that she tell me that I’m a better woman.
“Fuck you! I give up!” She sobs from underneath me.
“Okay, have it your way,” I reply.
I slide my butt all the way up onto her face and release her hair. I quickly reverse positions and I am now facing her feet while my knees still trap her arms. I reach down and yank her shirt up as far as it will go to reveal a smooth, muscular stomach and small, perky boobs. I rise up slightly off her face and drive my fist into her belly several times. Her belly gets softer and softer with each punch and it is obvious she is beaten. But I’m not going to keep doing this until she learns the error of her ways. This girl needs to be taught a lesson in humility, and I plan to be a great instructor for her. I pound her defenseless belly until she is a sobbing, writhing wreck. Finally, I sit up off her face again, and ask who is the better woman?
A muffled, weeping voice replies, “You are. I give up. Please stop. I’m sorry….”
I drive my fist deep into her stomach one final time and then get off her. I look down at my victim and now I can only think of her as a poor, beaten little girl. I instantly feel sorry for what I’ve done. But I also know how easily the roles could have been reversed.
I walk to my car and get a couple towels out of the trunk and then walk back to where she is lying. She is curled into a fetal position, still sobbing. I sit down next to her and hand her a towel. I sit with her until she regains her composure.
When the sobbing subsides, I can’t help but ask why she wanted to do this. Her reply came as a little bit of a surprise to me. But as a woman, maybe it shouldn’t.
“I wanted to surprise my boyfriend by driving up from Baton Rouge unannounced. It was a surprise all right. I caught him in bed with my sister. I stormed out and just wanted to hurt something. I think I was trying to kill myself by driving like that. Then you stopped me and I wanted to beat the shit out of you.”
I had to chuckle a little at the last part, but I understood where her anger came from.
“I guess I’m going to jail now, right?”
“That all depends. Do you still want to hurt yourself?”
“No. I never really did. I just wanted to let off some anger.”
“Then no, you’re not going to jail.”
“I’ll go wait in my car while you write me a ticket.”
“I’m not writing you a ticket.”
“Why not?”
“Damn, girl…that was the most fun I’ve had in years.”
Now it was her turn to be a little surprised. “What do you mean? You enjoyed kicking my ass?”
“Not exactly. Win or lose, that was the best end to a shift I’ve had in a long, long time. Plus, you almost won. You know that right?”
“Yeah, I know. But you’re just a better fighter.”
“No, I’m just meaner.” I say with a grin.
We walked to our cars and prepared to leave. Before she got behind the wheel, she said, “I want a rematch. I’m gonna kick your ass next time.” Then she got behind the wheel and sped off into the dark Mississippi night, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust fumes.
Later that night, I went home and couldn’t sleep because of the excitement still welling within me! God, I hope I can feel like this again. With every new shift, I sit on the same highway around the same time, hoping that red Beetle convertible will run another stop sign.
