It's not that serious

I’m standing on a darkened street. 
my eyes are rimmed with khol, my lips shiny with blood wine colored gloss,
my dreds are pulled into two low buns at the back of my head.
I am dressed in a red and black striped corset,
short black skirt with a slit up the back,
and appropriately uncomfortable shiny black patent leather 6 inch fuck me stilettos whose steel grommets accents wrap scandalously up my ankle…
 

We are way past the do you know why I pulled you over, where are you coming from, where are you going song and dance.  It is flawless until we get to the registration part.
 

See I brought my car a while ago and didn’t register it until that Tuesday.  I have the paper work proving that it is registered in my binder… that is on my futon… at home along with my proof of insurance.

So now I am trying to prove that I am not a whore and the car is mine.  Frantically searching for my cell phone in my purse so I can ask Marlene to bring me the papers, pulling out things like a leather collar and nipple clamps while telling him my entire life story or at least the part about buying the car, the breaking up of my relationship, moving to a new place, working seven days a week and the reason why the car was not registered sooner.

The officer informs me of all the fines and penalties that I am facing

I get  angry…

I admit I behave badly.  I am really looking forward to play time with Mister…. seriously I am  going through withdrawl for a while.  And the thought of having my car taken away, fined 1,300 dollars for not having my proof of insurance on top of the possibility of not being able to see Mister was more than I could handle.

I get emotional.
 

Maybe it’s the massive amounts of cleavage
Maybe it’s that I’m about to cry
Maybe it’s the fact that beginning throws of crying makes the massive amount of cleavage dance like a hula girl on the dashboard of some teenagers first hand me down or maybe his first teenage hand me down but he softens.

Look I want to believe you but you don’t have any paper work or any proof that this is your car.
 

At this point the phone rings and its Mister who sounds a little worried and wants to know where I am.  I apologize to the officer and take the call and explain what’s going on… when I hang up I tell the officer that I’m going to get scolded for running late and speeding.

 

Where were you going again exactly?
~********

Where is it?

~I give him vague directions because I do not know the street address.

He gives me a look boarding on incredulity You don’t know the street address?

~I give him an equal look of indignation I’m a woman I drive by landmarks.

So what exactly is ********? 

~Um

A club a dinner what?

~It’s a

A social event, a dance hall?

~It’s…

A rave?

~It's...What ensues is a nearly 15 min conversation about the nature of bdsm, dispelling the myth that it is all about sex, the importance of safe,sane and consensual,  basics on submissive and dominate relationship, power and exchange and overview on the psychology involved in play.
 
So what are you?

~Right now… a Submissive Switch.

Ahh that makes sense. That should be helpful with balancing out your A type personality.

~You really think I have an A type personality? I’m clearly if not blantly appalled.
 
Raises an eyebrow....with incredulity

~Okay okay you're right

 

He laughs and it’s a real laugh.
And he lets me go… even tells me that I can continue onto  ********* instead of going home to get my paper work first.  Tells me to drive slower, wash my rear window so I can see (if I’m being followed by the police) and tells me his name and where the station is and in case I am stopped again his card.

About 20 mins later (cause I went home and got my paperwork) I’m gripping onto the St Andrews Cross screaming/moaning my new mantra.

and for a brief moment I can’t help but smile because the sheer visual of myself dressed up like that defending myself, my sexual preferences, and the legal status of my ride is stranger than fiction
and what’s even stranger is that I think that officer knew exactly where and what ******** was and I think