Daddy's strip search

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Humbert, you know what you should put in that book you're writing?"

"What do you have in mind, Sheriff?"

"You oughta have a chapter on strip searching."

"Strip-searching? Really?"

"Damn straight. Most folks got the wrong idea about it. Most folks think law enforcement officers are just trying to cop a cheap feel – you know, slipping a finger into a tight pussy for the fun of it. Nothin' could be further from the truth. Strip-searchin's important. It's a law enforcement tool just like lie detection or finger-printing."

"It's more than copping a feel. Perpetrators can hide all kinds of stuff in their body cavities. Have you got any idea of how much cocaine will fit in your average pussy?"

Hum shook his head.

"Would you believe up to fifty thousand dollars worth? We're talking street value now. Yes sir. Without even cramming."

"Really, Sheriff, I had no idea."

Hum and Sheriff Roche were strolling down Main Street looking for random criminal activity. It was a fine afternoon in Pisky, cool and sunny and the air was sweet indeed. It was a Saturday for loafing and the citizenry moved slowly, window shopping, poking around the court house, plain doing nothing. The most anyone felt like doing was watching the idle parade of girls in their summer dresses.

Hum was getting used to the star on his shirt, losing his self-consciousness about it. In fact, he enjoyed the little bit of celebrity he fancied the star gave him. Before pinning it on this morning, he polished it with tooth powder. If he and Lo hung out for another week in Pisky, he'd buy some nickel polish and do a first-class professional job of it. It wouldn't do for a deputy to be less than gleaming.

"Strip-searching is routine with us; we strip-search every perpetrator we pull in. Suppose we pull in a girl for speeding, let's say. If she's a drug user, she ain't gonna be wantin' to be busted for holding a gram of coke. That's a heavy bust and could cost her doing hard time. So she shoves her stash up her twat. If we catch her at it, we help prevent the spread of drug use which is destroying the moral fibre of the country and leaving it weak and vulnerable to the spread of Godless communism."

Roachy fixed Hum in a no nonsense stare, his hard look. "Searching body cavities is a lousy job but…"

"Somebody's got to do it, eh Sheriff?"

"How'd you know I was going to say that?"

"Lucky guess, Sheriff."

"How long do you expect it will take you to write your book?"

"Couple of months."

The sheriff went deep in thought. He had never rubbed elbows with a writer fellow who taught college as well. He was slightly awed. And the thought of being quoted in a book by someone like Hum was almost too good to be true. This might be his a venue to recognition. Maybe national recognition.

The more Roachy thought about it, the bigger his fantasy of national recognition grew. It took on mythic dimensions. He imagined himself being quoted on the proper technique for professional strip-searching.

He imagined that police departments all over the country would need the benefit of his wisdom. His name would come easily to mind whenever and wherever strip-searching was mentioned. Maybe even – dare he think it – he might get an invitation to appear on a TV talk show to dispense his wisdom and knowledge to the broadest possible audience of all. The Billy Gerson Show? Was he setting his sights too high, he wondered.

He could paint the scene on the giant, canvas of his imagination. Vivid. Clear. He could hear the Gerson Show theme music filling his mind. And "Heeeer-r-r-rr-r's Billy". The monologue. The star announcing his special guests for the evening.

"… Shecky Green. And then we have a surprise guest. A law enforcement officer from Pisky, Iowa, who's an expert on strip-searching (audience: 'OOOoo-o-o-o.') His name is Vernon Row-shay, Sheriff Vernon Row-shay. So stay tuned." Exit music. Golf swing. Switch to a commercial message.

Hum was saying, "I never knew strip-searching was routine. Is it done routinely on a national basis or is it left to the discretion of various local jurisdictions?"

"Local jurisdictions mostly. It's routine with us because we get a lot of mileage out of it, Humbert. But still most folks don't appreciate it."

"Why is that?"

"Lemme give you an illustration. About two years ago, I had to strip-search a group of girls in the senior class. There was maybe twenty of them. Well, you shoulda heard the ruckus people made. There was even editorials about it in the Pisky Post. Went on for quite a time. I got a file of newspaper clippings back in the office. Ask me to show them to you. Might help you with writing that chapter."

"What was the reason for the strip-search, to begin with? Do you recall?"

"Oh sure, like it was yesterday. Y'see, one of the girls was given a new watch for her eighteenth birthday and she thought it was stolen. We were called in and we told the students that, whoever stole the watch better turn it in. No questions asked, we told them, so long as we got the watch. And we told them we was goin' to strip-search all them, if the watch didn't turn up. Well, we didn't get the watch."

"We marched them girls to the gym where they undressed in the locker room. Then I examined them one by one. I wish you could have seen that, Humbert, cause it was quite a sight. I doubt that there's ever been a case of strip-searching on such a large scale. All those girls were eighteen and ready to graduate. Big tits on some of them."

"I took over the office of the Phys Ed instructor and they came in one at a time. Some was real eager. They just spread their legs and shoved their bellies toward me. Kinda surprised me – but it shouldn't have. Studies on early sex show that a majority of girls become sexually active at age thirteen. But up to this time I never had much to do with girls that age."

"They sure did like the strip-searching though. I'd give them one finger, and sometimes two if I figured they could take it. A couple of those gals clamped down on my finger and moaned. One of them started moving her ass back and forth and giving my finger a genuine work-out. You can see that a gal like that could sure give you a lot of trouble."

Hum nodded. His imagination was on a trip. He kept thinking of all the kinds of trouble he could get into with twenty hot senior high schoolers. He agreed one hundred percent with the sheriff; the situation was rife with trouble-making potential.

"What about their – er – ah – rear…"

"Assholes? Sure. After checking their pussies, I'd have them bend over a chair and I'd check them out. Sometimes you can just do a visual but I don't believe in it. You gotta be sure and there's no better way than getting a finger right up there where the sun never shines."

Hum nodded some more. While they strolled and talked, Hum became conscious of the girls on Main Street and the tight jeans they wore. As the sheriff held forth on the need for a thorough, two-hole search Hum studied the bottoms of a pair of girls who swung out of the Sears store and sauntered in front of him and Roachy.

Hum's attention was captured by the way the jeans seam divided the ass and plunged between their bottom cheeks. Hum's concentration was complete and he even felt a little tingle as the sheriff did a three minute number on the relative tightness of teenage assholes.

"Vaseline's best," the sheriff was saying, "but some departments recommend K-Y Jelly. The important thing is to use some lubrication. Crisco works just the same as any other and it's well to keep in mind if the department is trying to economize."

"One little gal liked that finger up her butt so much that she started to swing on my finger. I almost forgot where I was and began to shove my finger in and out. But I recovered in time."

One of the girls walking in front of them chose that moment to drop some coins and she had to bend from the waist to pick them up. Hum thought his heart would pound out of his chest as he watched her bent over. Blood raced to his crotch.

"That newspaper fellow from the Pisky Post was indignant about that part of the strip-search. He didn't know why we had to do assholes. I set him straight. I told him that we was looking for a stolen watch and if I could get the right time by looking up an asshole, I'd look up an asshole."

"That newspaper had a field day when it found out about my deputy, though. I had to fire him because he embarrassed the department. Billy-Bob went plumb ape-shit before that day was over. He didn't have to do any of the dirty work. I had that all to myself. All Billy-Bob had to do was clean up after. And that was his undoing."

"By the way, Humbert, if there's an opportunity to do a strip-search this afternoon, I'd sure favor it if you lend a hand. Nothing beats hands-on experience and it would do a lot for the chapter you're going to write on that subject."

"Where was I? Oh yeah, Billy-Bob. Well, you have to understand that we take the professional approach and that means we use sterile plastic gloves when we examine a suspect. And you never use the same glove on two different girls. 'Taint sanitary."

"The day I strip-searched the twenty girls, I had a big garbage can handy and it was lined with a large Hefty bag. Soon as I finished with one girl, I snap off the glove and toss it in the Hefty before pulling on a clean glove for the next suspect."

"Well sir, when the job was done and we was cleaning up, Billy-Bob grabbed the Hefty and hauled it to the dumpsters around back of the building. He was gone for maybe a half hour and we missed him. I and one of the other men walked around back and found Billy-Bob. He was sitting on the ground with his back against the wall behind the dumpster. His head was in the Hefty. He was sucking that pussy fragrance from those plastic gloves into his nose."

"His cock was in his hand and he was wacking off like he was trying for a mention in the Guinness Book of Records. Never did see a guy so worked up. He'd take a hit of that pussy smell and then he'd take another hit and wank his tool some more. I shouted at him. 'Billy-Bob,' I said, 'you're embarrassing me and the whole department. Stop it,' I yelled."

"It was like talking to the wall. Well sir, finally, he reached into the Hefty and took out one of those gloves. He first passed it under his nose and then he stuck his cock into it. That did it. His cock fairly exploded into that glove. He came and came. Afterwards, he just sat there completely exhausted and with a silly grin on his face. And that's where the Post reporter found him."

"Wasn't nothing I could do to help him. The Post would have yelled 'cover-up'. He had to go for the good of the force."

"Whoops, hold 'er there, Humbert. I think we got ourselves a perpetrator." While Hum watched, the sheriff dashed through the pedestrian traffic and collared a pretty blonde girl. She was wearing an expensive blue mini dress – not a Saturday knockabout. Hum had noticed her before. She was a standout and her mini revealed an exquisite pair of tanned legs… long and shapely.

She couldn't have been more than eighteen. Her eyes were a cornflower blue and her hair was the color of wheat in bright sunshine. At the moment, she was angry and she was letting the sheriff know it.

"Spitting on the sidewalk?" cried the incredulous and pretty blonde girl. "You've got to be joking, Roachy. Come off it. We all know how you love to strip-search, and I'd like to oblige you any other time, but I have stuff to do this afternoon. Like having my hair shampooed and trimmed. And I've got to do some major shopping for my grandfather. Pick on somebody else, why don't you."

"Missy Fairchild, I'd advise you to come along and not make any trouble for yourself or your grandpa."

"Sheriff I was tearing at a candy wrapper with my teeth and a tiny piece of paper came off in my mouth and yes – I did spit it out. Sheriff, that piece of paper was a speck, no bigger than a lousy little bread crumb. That does not constitute spitting on the sidewalk, or littering, nor any other kind of breaking your silly laws. Sheriff…?"

Missy Fairchild saw from the steely look on the sheriff's face that she was losing the argument.

"Aw, shit!" she said. Then raised her face to the ultramarine sky and asked the timeless question, "Why me, God?"

"Okay, Sheriff," she said. "But do me a favor? Make it fast this time. I really have a lot to do this afternoon."