THE TWO BUTCH COPS dropped the fully uniformed Roberta on her oversized bed in a dark room. One of them, by the name of Giggs got amusive while removing Roberta's shoes.

"Night-night Sarge, sleep tight, you 'dude.' "

Her partner, Morrison, looked on and teased back...

"Like she can hear jack-shit — she is out for the count, 'bro,' — what were you expecting, the worm in her tequila bottle to reply back to you?"

"Was that a worm, Morrison? I thought it was your fat, alpha-clit."

The two laughing butches closed the room-door and they started to get puerile trying to poke each other's lumbus in the hallway — this turned on Morrison, and she grabbed Giggs — and they both started kissing and began arousing each other's crotch before Giggs beseeched...

"Let's go to your place."

Morrison replied, "Sure dude, but tonight, if you ever fake an orgasm looking like a mongoloid she-bitch — I will strangle you in your sleep, and later take a dump on your corpse-face in the morning!"

Like Roberta, Morrison was also part of the deviated, butch-lesbian, subculture clan and was a follower of the Lingam-Initiative, a spiritual cult that derived from India, growing in popularity worldwide — where a new-age ontology guru preached that the butch neo-males will be the next, evolved male species, once when the 'one generation freaks of nature' — the Intersexuals — became extinct in years to come...

That reckoning day would come according to the Lingam-Initiative cult when their neo-males' clitorises would develop into the size of full-grown penises — and they would then be at the helm of the lesbian strata hierarchy as the alpha-superiors.

The cult had encouraged the devotees to gain control of their 'evolution process' — and to become the early innovators of the alpha neo-male lifestyle — for its ascendance strata above the rest of the majority populated, dominatrix gender and of the remaining beta-butches.

Roberta drowsed deep on the bed, to the din of her laughing friends outside the room door.

Seconds later, Lilya stepped out of the bathroom and she noticed Roberta passed out on the bed. She peeked out of the window, seeing the boisterous, drunk, butch cops — provoking the neighbour's barking dog by reading to it the Miranda before they drove away, giggling...

The albino girl removed her clothes and lay naked beside Roberta — she hugged Roberta, stroking the cop's hair from the back. She then recalled an incident at Larrie's Bar earlier...

*

Walking with a slight limp without her forearm crutch and was still recovering from her pain-management of the gunshot injuries — the drunken Sergeant Jensen gaited unsteadily from the barstool to the washroom, with an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips.

The butch cop found both the toilet stalls occupied after a slight actuation — while waiting, she had an urge to smoke. She fished for the lighter in her pants pocket — but dropped the Zippo on the washroom floor. Roberta crouched over to pick it when one of the doors swung open outwards. Roberta was hit on the head by it, and she stumbled backwards. Wanda Callahan stepped out with a bewilderment reaction, she apologized...

"Opps! Sorry Rob, are you okay?"

Roberta held her head looking vertiginous — both from the bump on the head, and the alcohol intoxication. "Ooh, feeling woozy." Wanda was quick to grab her and backed Roberta...

"So sorry, come on, lean on the wall."

Roberta met her gleaming eyes — and she grabbed the blond cop and kissed her passionately. Wanda backed off when the inebriated Roberta began groping her bosoms, and she accorded out with laughter...

"Whoa, take it easy Sarge, we are all drunk here."

Roberta raised her palm as a sign of apology, but she could not stop her liquid courage palavers. "When I am drunk, that's when I am stupidly brave. It is funny though, I never asked you out for a coffee and such, Wanda, even when all the opportunities were right there before me. You were the only girl whom I always wanted to be with since we stepped out of the Academy. Now, we are even fuckin' working in the same precinct — but somehow I never got the guts to ask you out, Wanda."

Roberta finished blabbering with a sigh, while Wanda was still flushed after hearing her colleague. The disquieted Wanda now laughed nervously, and kissed Roberta's cheek — before she responded as nothing happened...

"Let's get out Rob — and, get more beers."

"Screw the beers, I just want you."

Roberta tried to kiss her again — but, Wanda placed her palm in between their lips...

"No Rob, stop I can't — I am with someone."

Roberta looked at her in disbelief, and jealousy crept in...

"Who is it? Is it one of the Dicks out from your hawkshaw department?"

Wanda turned to the mirror and fixed her make-up...

"No, I don't date cops."

"Who then, Wanda, I am curious?" pleaded with a defeated weak smile.

Roberta really wanted to know and she got persuasive, yet was jocosely jesting. "Tell me to damn it, how long have you been fooling all of us here, with this double identity, playing your detective gumshoe games?"

The blonde then laughed...

"About less than a year — but, I am not telling you anything more beyond that, then, the bitching-chick inside you will make you wanna gossip — and before I know, I will soon be this big-bimbo joke-of-the-day to all you guys at work as always," she candidly laughed more while dabbing on her lipstick.

"Fuck that, now who is this special person?"

Roberta joined in with pretentious laughter as she thought...

'Who is this contemptuous douche bag who was better than an Alpha neo-male, hero-cop — that deserves to get a special girl like Wanda?'

Roberta soon poked her hips playfully, but Wanda's lips were sealed. "Yo, I am your good friend, tell me now, please."

It was after more pleading and teasing, it finally made the blonde policewoman talk...

"Okay. My boyfriend lives across my apartment — we have been seeing each other a lot since she moved here from Washington."

"Hmm, okay, she is not a cop, so what does she do? Come on now, tell me, Wanda, I am a busybody."

"Promise, you will not laugh — well, she is a horticulturist — and she has just started her own landscaping business here."

It silenced Roberta, with more thoughts...

'So, the douche bag horticulturist has the big dough — and Wanda fell for it — what a stupid bitch!'

Roberta laughed out loud despite promising not to laugh, and then she mocked rascally...

"That is really great, having someone skilled with her hands, so how did she trim your bush lately? Was it some triangle or a Hitler?"

Wanda laughed and she played along, "Asshole! This is the very reason — I like to leave my private life private because everything is toilet-humour to you fuckin' butches."

Both Wanda and Roberta left the washroom giggling away hysterically.

"Okay, I am sorry and I will not tell a soul, but Wanda seriously — you chose a bush trimming landscape-artist over me?"

"Rob, shut up — or I will personally shoot you, in your other foot."

The second stall door soon opened, when they both left the washroom. The albino stalker by the street-name of Snow White peeked out.

*

The brokenhearted Roberta folded inward later — and sat alone, betrothed the bottle of tequila in front of her. She was sadly observing everyone in the mirthful mood of socializing and even romancing — glancing occasionally at Wanda Callahan at her table, drinking with a few detectives, while she was busy talking on her cell phone — and laughing with her 'boyfriend' at the other end of the line.

Roberta downed the tequila shot, and she kept refilling her glass — she would kill to be in Wanda's lover's shoes — but for four years, it was the same hesitation that held her back — it was a little too late now, as she only became bolder into her Alpha neo-male persona after receiving her sergeant promotion.

She felt inadequate again to deserve someone as 'special' as Wanda — just like the tequila bottle on the table — her debased life, it was half empty...

Everything and everyone then moved fast in the bar — and occasionally the spinning slowed down, like when she glimpsed out of the bar's window, noticing Wanda was still on the cell phone in the street — before she hailed a cab and left to be with her 'special' one. More tequila shots refilled her glass, Roberta drank more until she passed out on the table — and next thing she heard was, the laughter of Giggs and Morrison while driving her home — the ceiling was spinning when she opened her eyes again after her cop buddies dropped her on the bed.

She laid in darkness and soon, she felt someone was making love to her — it felt corking with the soft fillip hands, touching her all over at the right spots — whoever this succubus was, she did not want the arousing indicant to stop.

*

Roberta's eyes opened to the bright daylight, from her drapeless window, while she switched off the pesky alarm clock. She sat up on her side of the bed with a throbbing hangover and noticed that she had slept naked — which never was her habit.

She needed to piss really badly — when was the last time, she thought? She recalled bumping onto Wanda in the Larrie's Bar's washroom, but she did not use the facility — as she was too busy getting jealous over a horticulturist.

Roberta left the empty bed and hurried to the closed bathroom door, warm drops of piddle trickled onto her thighs while she passed by a chair — unnoticing that her uniform was neatly folded, her holster belt with her pistol, hung on the chair.

The bathroom door then opened — the naked Roberta stared speechless at an old newspaper cutting, stuck on the medicine cabinet mirror — the headline divulged an incident that happened, many years ago...

'HOSPITAL SERIAL RAPIST DEAD.'

It was about Javier Monroe, who was Roberta's first kill when she was about ten.

Fear then scurried out to clutch her palpitating heart, only to realize that someone was actually present, in her dark bedroom last night — and, was sleeping next to her on the same bed with her. That someone could also have easily slit her throat and left her bleeding to her death.

Her fixated eyes were staring at the paper stuck on the mirror with reverie imagination of her own death — that had uncontrollably, made her pee on the spot that she stood.

With hot urine dripping in her inner thighs, Roberta then stepped closer to the mirror and also saw redden marks on her neck, left shoulder and both of her breasts. She examined the love-bites all over her body...

Even being a national hero-cop, she felt that she was losing control of her life, at that edgy moment — she was once again like the unsecured nine-year-old self — who had suffered severe trepidation — inside the Buick that was about to plunge off a cliff.