I can’t get her out of my mind. Everything about her haunts me constantly. Except her name. I can’t remember her name, no matter how hard I try.
It began a week ago. I had set up my favorite speed trap on the route outside of town, parked behind a billboard that hides my car from the southbound traffic. The limit is 45 mph at that point, and she went by me in a red convertible doing about 60.
“I’m sorry, officer, I got an urgent call from my mother and was rushing off to see her,” she said as I stood by her window examining her driver’s license.
“Why are you carrying a California license?” I asked.
“I moved to Florida in June and haven’t had a chance to change it yet,” she answered.
“Well, ma’am,” I replied, putting on my best “you’re in trouble” voice, “Florida state law requires you to upgrade your license within four months of moving in state, so I am afraid your documents are not in order. Please wait here.”
“Four hundred dollars!” she exclaimed, reading the ticket I had handed to her after writing it up against the dashboard of my squad car.
“Yes, ma’am,” I confirmed. “Three hundred for exceeding the speed limit by 15 miles per hour, one-hundred for the failure to update your license.”
“But, officer,” she sighed, “can’t you have a little compassion on me? I moved to Florida to help care for my mother. As I told you, I was in a rush to go see her just now.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. The law is the law.”
“Yes. Well,” she said in a sadly resigned tone, “luckily there is a higher law than the one you serve. The law of the human heart. That law obeys Me.”
“What?” I asked.
“The law of the human heart,” she repeated. “It is what gives Me the power to hypnotize you.”
I laughed. “I am a police officer, ma’am. You are not the first person to try some kind of ‘Jedi mind trick’ on me. It has never worked yet.”
“Did any of those others have legs like mine?” At these words she flexed her legs, which I could see very well from my vantage looking down into her convertible. They were magnificent- long and shapely, sheathed in shimmering black nylon. Her stockings ended in lace garters that caressed her milky thighs as they traveled up into her short skirt.
“N- n-no.” I stuttered.
“If you could take your eyes off Me you might stand a chance of resisting My hypnosis,” she said, “but I am too sexy for that to happen.” At these last words she tossed her head back so that her blonde hair flew in the breeze, her green eyes flashed like fire into mine, and her chin pulled back to give me a view into the shadowed valley of cleavage between her exquisitely full breasts.
“B-b-b-but…” I began to protest, my voice weakening.
“Shhh, pet,” she cooed. “Keep looking. Enjoy what you see. Listen to my voice. I am going to count backward from 10, and with each count you will feel yourself becoming more relaxed…”
She kept talking, but I don’t remember what she said. All I can remember is staring at her hungrily. Her eyes. Her mouth. Her beautiful hands. The luscious curves of her breasts. I couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to feel the heft of those breasts in my palms. To raise her nipple to my lips. To run my fingers over the silky counters of her calves and thighs. To kiss those inviting lips from which that voice poured like sweet honey into my ears.
“You love Me,” she said, her tone a musical singsong command, “You ever-increasingly, irresistibly and unerringly love Me. You could never do anything to make Me unhappy.”
“No, ma’am,” I agreed.
“Then get on your knees.”
I did so, stepping aside first so that she could open the car door and swing her legs out so that her feet rested on the roadside gravel. When she was settled, I knelt before her.
“Kiss my feet, slave,” she commanded.
I bent down and rained eager kisses on her black stiletto heels and nylon-stocking clad feet.
“Now give me that,” she said, pointing to my hand.
I held up the leather-cased citation pad and pen I had been holding.
“Just the ticket,” she commanded, “the carbon copy of the summons you wrote up for Me.”
I ripped out the carbon of her citation and surrendered it happily, smiling like a love-struck boy presenting his best girl a flower.
“Very good, pet,” she said, placing the copy together with the original and shoving them both into her purse on the passenger’s seat of her car. “I will dispose of those later. Meanwhile, what to do with you? Ordinarily I would wipe your memory clean of this whole encounter and spare you the humiliation, but you were so unreasonable that I don’t think you deserve that. No… I free you from My love spell- you can go back to whatever state of emotional numbness made you comfortable before. And you will forget my name and all identifying information about Me…the make and model of My car, My license plate. But you will remember everything else. Remember what the consequences are of failing to show a superior Woman the respect She is due.”
She pulled her gorgeous legs back into the car, closed her door, and drove off, leaving me still kneeling in the gravel.
Almost everything she said came true. I wrack my brains, but I can’t remember her name. I know her car was a red convertible, but I cannot remember the make or model. But one thing she said has not borne out. I am not free from her love spell. I yearn for her constantly; I worship her nightly with my body. I don’t think that it can be written off as the effects of hypnosis. Certainly, her hypnotizing me helped me fall in love with her. It taught me how powerful she is, how unlike anyone I have ever met, and focused my attention on the full intensity of her beauty and allure. But given enough time and the right circumstances I would have fallen in love with her in any case. Anyone would.
I am in hell. I wander the roads, looking for her. Hoping to encounter her. Yearning to be able to plead forgiveness. If she would just let me remember her name… even if she refused to see me again… life would be easier. Then at least I would know whom to address my prayers to at night.
The End
