BOOTY CALL BUST
Today’s contributor fears her ‘sexual freedom’ will put her behind bars
Some say I’m a “freak,” but I prefer to think of myself as sexually liberated. Quite simply, I love doing what I want, when I want. Sometimes, however, this can backfire on me. One night, I was feeling super frisky. I called one of my booty calls, who always comes through for me in my time of need. I decided it would be fun to have a little rendezvous right in my car.
I picked him up and we parked on a quiet street. Things got hot and heavy pretty fast. My legs were in some crazy positions, the dirty talk was flowing—we weren’t holding back at all. Suddenly, we heard loud beeping. I froze and looked up to see an NYPD van backing up to park alongside my car.
Immediately, I started hyperventilating. We were both naked from the waist down, and our clothes were scattered throughout the car. As we scrambled to get decent, four cops got out of the van, armed with flash lights and circling the vehicle. I can only imagine how intimately those officers know us now.
When we finally got dressed, we rolled down the window to speak with them. I couldn’t even say a word—all I could imagine was myself in an orange jumpsuit being someone named Big Tasha’s bitch. Thankfully, the officers were nice enough to give us a lecture and let us off with a warning. I still stick by my mantra, but from now on my “sexual liberation” will take place in bedroom.
