FORBIDDEN CRAVINGS (A Steamy Collection)

The judge barely glanced at me and she was a middle aged Chinese woman who looked like she hated the world. I guess night court probably sucked for judges, maybe it was a punishment for them or something. Anyway, so far as I could tell, her mission was to get people in and out of her courtroom as fast as humanly possible. I swear, she didn’t spend longer than thirty seconds on anybody and then she’d snap her fingers impatiently for the next case. “ ... you’re charged with one count of solicitation,” the judge sighed. “How do you plead?” “Um ... Guilty, your honor,” I said. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to...” “The State of Washington imposes a five hundred dollar fine,” she said. “Next case...” “But I don’t have any money,” I blurted and she stared at me then, making me feel like some kind of bug. “You have until 10am to pay the fine or you’ll spend fourteen days in the county jail. Is that clear enough for you?” “Yes ma’am.” At least I got my phone call, although I waited until seven that morning to use it, and I had to be crazy, but... “Yeallo.” “Bob?” I giggled nervously. “Hi, um ... It’s me, Candy? From last night?” “Candy?” He cleared his throat. “The Motel Eight?” “Oh, right,” he said. “You stiffed me when I came back.” “I got arrested. “Oh.” We shared a pregnant pause. “Soooo ... Why are you calling me, Candy” “I was kinda wondering if I could borrow five hundred dollars.” Click “f**k!” I looked at the phone and the cop leaning against the wall grinned at me. “You got five hundred dollars I can borrow?” “You want to call anyone else?” he asked, kinda sarcastically, and I thought about calling Dylan. I felt sort of mad at him and for a lot of different reasons. “Yeah.” I picked up the phone again and he gave me another thirty-five cents. “Hmmmm... ?” a sleepy voice sort of hummed. “Who’s this?” “Paul,” he said, making sounds I can only describe as snuggly. Like he was holding the phone and curling up next to a warm, black body after a long night of hot s*x. “Paul who? Where’s Dylan? What are you doing there?” “He’s sleeping,” the guy sighed. “Well, wake him up!” I yelled. Click “f**k!” I slammed the phone into the cradle and the cop, a big sheriff’s deputy, clucked his tongue. “Troubles at home?” he asked. “Come on, we’re done here.” “Yeah,” I agreed. I was pretty done. “They’re gonna love your ass in county,” the man said, sliding his hand down my back to squeeze my butt. “f**k you too,” I breathed, jerking my hips away from him. “Right,” he chuckled. “Keep that good attitude, cocksucker. You’re gonna need it.” “Yo! Is that David Hathaway?” another deputy called out, holding up a phone and covering it with the palm of his hand. “Right here,” my cop replied, grabbing me by the arm as we stopped walking through the office. “His fine’s been paid,” the deputy said. “Take him down to processing, they got the paperwork.” “Who paid it?” I asked, blinking with confusion, but the guy didn’t say anything else.