Another from Iceberg61
Hey, Sass. I've just had one of those a-funny-thing-happened-on-the-way-to-the-forum moments. I was on the way to the newsagents to buy a Sunday paper when a police car screeched to a halt next to me. Two burly officers leapt out and told me that I had to attend an identity parade.
'What?' I said.
'Oh, it's nothing to worry about, sir. We just need you to make up the numbers. Plus we'll give you £25 for your trouble (about $45 in your currency).
So I shrugged. 'Er, okay. How long will it take?'
'Not long, sir,' the copper said as he ushered me into the back of the car.
Seven minutes later the car arrived at the Police station. I was hastily led to a room where six other men ranging from what appeared to be mid-forties to early-fifties were already stood against the wall holding a numbered board across their chests. It was like the line-up in the Usual Suspects. One of them did actually look like Kevin Spacey!
I was handed board number four and took my place in numerical order.
I thought it strange when the police gave me a baseball cap to put on before I entered the room, but all the men were wearing an identical
one - black with a red Nike tick across the front.
I wasn't sure whether the 'witness' was going to just stare at us from the room behind the glass mirror and pick out 'Mr Nasty.'
As I pondered this, the door opened and two police officers (one a gorgeous-looking lady) brought the witness in. My eyes darted right to see a plain-looking woman, maybe late-thirties, early-forties, appearing more than apprehensive. The police lady told her to relax, take her time, and walk slowly along the line and say the number of the man who she recognizes.
She nodded nervously, took a deep breath, then moved one slow step at a time as if she were a pallbearer at a funeral.
Her blue eyes met mine. She seemed to hesitate. Then she waked on until she reached the end of the line. Then she turned and came back, looking into the eyes of each man, but spending a second longer lingering at mine. I noticed her mouth tighten but I tried not to worry. I didn't know this woman. I'd never seen her in my life before this moment. I just comforted myself with the thought of £25 for nothing.
They left the room. A few seconds later a diffent policeman came in and collected the baseball caps (much to my relief). My spikey hair shot up like an aroused hedgehog as it was released from the flattening confines of the pesky cap. The copper then gave us all a pair of round John
Lennon-esque sunglasses to put on. It was then that I noticed all the other blokes were as bald as a coot.
I suddenly felt like the hen being cornered by the fox.
The door opened again and plain-Jane was brought in once more. I noticed that she hardly glanced at number 1 ... number 2 ... number 3 ...
'That's him, officer. This is the man. Number four. I'd recognize that spikey hair and those round shades anywhere. He's the latest xhamster member to join SassyBri's friend's list!' she shrieked.
She lunged at me. I flung my arms up to protect myself. Luckily the policewoman dived on her and brought her to the floor. I looked down and the policewoman had one of the firmest, roundest pair of butt cheeks I'd seen in ages. Nice arse, I thought. Typical me.
As she grappled on the floor, trying to gain control of the screaming woman WWE-style, the other men were led out of the room, some in tears, others casting envious glances my way. Number 6 threw his board on the floor at my feet and whispered 'bastard' at me.
About thirty seconds later, the WWE bout was over and Miss Sexy Arse had dragged a handcuffed Miss Psychopath out of the room. PC Plod, full of apologies gave me three ten pound notes and said I could keep the change for my troubles. Another policeman came in carrying a chilled bottle of Krug champagne and a tray with five flutes.
'Congratulations, Mr Sweeney,' he said as he popped the cork and gave it a little shake. I suddenly felt like the winner of the latest Grand Prix as I was drenched in a jet spray of champagne.
Then the police were treating me like a long-lost friend, all chatty, chummy, congratulating me for making the SassyBri friend list. Then one of them said, 'Hey, Gaz, is that correct? You actually had a dream that SassyBri was ... you know, actually, giving you head.'
I was surrounded by three policemen all waiting for the horny details. Then WPC Best-arse-in-the-policeforce re-entered the room full of apologies for the outburst of the witness.
I smiled and raised my glass to her while hoping she would turn around and give me another glimpse of tight-bum-in-trousers.
During the following ten minutes, the five of us polished off the bubbly and I told them about the pending lawsuit from Julianne Moore - AND Rachel McAdams and how they are insisting that they were the Mouth Masters and Hand Honeys.
'What?' I said.
'Oh, it's nothing to worry about, sir. We just need you to make up the numbers. Plus we'll give you £25 for your trouble (about $45 in your currency).
So I shrugged. 'Er, okay. How long will it take?'
'Not long, sir,' the copper said as he ushered me into the back of the car.
Seven minutes later the car arrived at the Police station. I was hastily led to a room where six other men ranging from what appeared to be mid-forties to early-fifties were already stood against the wall holding a numbered board across their chests. It was like the line-up in the Usual Suspects. One of them did actually look like Kevin Spacey!
I was handed board number four and took my place in numerical order.
I thought it strange when the police gave me a baseball cap to put on before I entered the room, but all the men were wearing an identical
one - black with a red Nike tick across the front.
I wasn't sure whether the 'witness' was going to just stare at us from the room behind the glass mirror and pick out 'Mr Nasty.'
As I pondered this, the door opened and two police officers (one a gorgeous-looking lady) brought the witness in. My eyes darted right to see a plain-looking woman, maybe late-thirties, early-forties, appearing more than apprehensive. The police lady told her to relax, take her time, and walk slowly along the line and say the number of the man who she recognizes.
She nodded nervously, took a deep breath, then moved one slow step at a time as if she were a pallbearer at a funeral.
Her blue eyes met mine. She seemed to hesitate. Then she waked on until she reached the end of the line. Then she turned and came back, looking into the eyes of each man, but spending a second longer lingering at mine. I noticed her mouth tighten but I tried not to worry. I didn't know this woman. I'd never seen her in my life before this moment. I just comforted myself with the thought of £25 for nothing.
They left the room. A few seconds later a diffent policeman came in and collected the baseball caps (much to my relief). My spikey hair shot up like an aroused hedgehog as it was released from the flattening confines of the pesky cap. The copper then gave us all a pair of round John
Lennon-esque sunglasses to put on. It was then that I noticed all the other blokes were as bald as a coot.
I suddenly felt like the hen being cornered by the fox.
The door opened again and plain-Jane was brought in once more. I noticed that she hardly glanced at number 1 ... number 2 ... number 3 ...
'That's him, officer. This is the man. Number four. I'd recognize that spikey hair and those round shades anywhere. He's the latest xhamster member to join SassyBri's friend's list!' she shrieked.
She lunged at me. I flung my arms up to protect myself. Luckily the policewoman dived on her and brought her to the floor. I looked down and the policewoman had one of the firmest, roundest pair of butt cheeks I'd seen in ages. Nice arse, I thought. Typical me.
As she grappled on the floor, trying to gain control of the screaming woman WWE-style, the other men were led out of the room, some in tears, others casting envious glances my way. Number 6 threw his board on the floor at my feet and whispered 'bastard' at me.
About thirty seconds later, the WWE bout was over and Miss Sexy Arse had dragged a handcuffed Miss Psychopath out of the room. PC Plod, full of apologies gave me three ten pound notes and said I could keep the change for my troubles. Another policeman came in carrying a chilled bottle of Krug champagne and a tray with five flutes.
'Congratulations, Mr Sweeney,' he said as he popped the cork and gave it a little shake. I suddenly felt like the winner of the latest Grand Prix as I was drenched in a jet spray of champagne.
Then the police were treating me like a long-lost friend, all chatty, chummy, congratulating me for making the SassyBri friend list. Then one of them said, 'Hey, Gaz, is that correct? You actually had a dream that SassyBri was ... you know, actually, giving you head.'
I was surrounded by three policemen all waiting for the horny details. Then WPC Best-arse-in-the-policeforce re-entered the room full of apologies for the outburst of the witness.
I smiled and raised my glass to her while hoping she would turn around and give me another glimpse of tight-bum-in-trousers.
During the following ten minutes, the five of us polished off the bubbly and I told them about the pending lawsuit from Julianne Moore - AND Rachel McAdams and how they are insisting that they were the Mouth Masters and Hand Honeys.
11 years ago
