Nailed

The following afternoon, Tony met with Sgt. Jordan. He sat down in the straight-backed wooden chair beside her desk. She raked her fingers through her short sandy hair and said, "First, I need to establish something. Is Miss Lawrence your girlfriend?"

"No."

"So, what happened at the party?"

"Well, I passed out on the sofa. All know is what's on the video. And what my friends told me later."

Alcohol! she thought. The root of most campus crime. "You have the video with you?" "Yes." He handed her a USB flash drive. She plugged it into her computer, opened the folder and double-clicked the file. The video began with Tony flopped back on the sofa with his pants down and his penis exposed. At age 39, Sgt. Jordan was no ingénue, but she'd never beheld such an impressive a penis. Tony couldn't see the monitor but he took pleasure in the way this veteran detective's eyebrows jumped when the video began.

Then, at 4:37 Erica's face appeared. "Ooooooh! It's nice an' big an' tasty!" After she licked his glans, Sgt. Jordan scribbled a brief entry in a notebook. The video continued, showing girl after girl fondling but none of their faces appeared in the same view with Tony's penis. Erica stood out in that regard. The video ran for 11 ½ minutes and Sgt. Jordan watched it all. During much of the video, Tony's face was visible and his head always remained in the same position: rolled to his right with his mouth agape and eyes closed. It never changed. Even an imbecile could tell he was unconscious.

"So, which one of these young women is Miss Lawrence?"

"The blonde who licked my penis."

"That's what I thought. Okay, so, I'll contact Miss Lawrence and get her side of the story. And then I'll get back to you."

"Sounds good."

"Oh, I need a copy of the video." Sgt. Jordan opened another window then dragged and dropped the file.

Sexual assault is a vastly underreported crime. By some estimates, only 1 in 4 victims ever come forward. That Mr. Powell contacted FUPD was commendable in Sgt. Jordan's professional opinion. But personally, she was curious why. While an undergraduate she dated a college boy and later married him, so she understood the sexual psyche of that demographic. Complaining to the police that a girl licked his penis, regardless of the circumstance, didn't fit the profile of a typical frat rat. Erica's behavior, genital contact without consent, met the legal definition of sexual assault. But still, she still wondered why he came forward.

While the video was copying, she thought about asking: So, Mr. Powell, why are you making this allegation? But she held her tongue. That was a question a defense attorney might ask when, and if, the case ever went to trial. And Tony was musing too. He fancied that Sgt. Jordan would make a copy for her private collection.

* * * *

Late Friday afternoon, Erica's phone rang. It seldom rang. Most people texted, even her mom. She answered. "Hello?"

"May I speak with Erica Lawrence please?" It was an unfamiliar female voice.

"Speaking."

"Hello, Miss Lawrence, I'm Sergeant Jordan with the Frankson University police department. How are you this afternoon?"

"I'm fine." Erica assumed the call was a fundraising come-on, but that changed dramatically when the detective said, "You've been named in a sexual assault complaint. I need to arrange a time when you can come down to the station and speak with me."

In the blink of an eye, Erica's face felt hot and a heavy weight hit the pit of her stomach. She was stunned that Tony followed through on his threat. Five days had passed since he blocked her path on the plaza and offered to make a 'deal.' The anxiety resultant from that run-in had vanished but now it surged back with renewed vengeance.

"Miss Lawrence? Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"When would be a good time for you?"

She played dumb. "Um . . . who . . . I mean . . ."

"We'll go over the details when we talk in person. When would be a good time?"

Erica thought for a moment. "Next Tuesday afternoon?"

"That'll be fine. Do you know where we're located?"

"No."

"We're in the basement of the old library."
"Oh, okay. I know where that is."

"Just come on down and ask for Sergeant Jordan."

"I will."

"Have a good evening."

"I will."

Erica didn't have a good evening. Ordinarily, she didn't study on Friday nights. That was her time to socialize. But this Friday night was spent studying the laws pertaining to sexual assault. She booted her laptop and Googled 'sexual assault' then clicked the first search result, listing the various degrees of offense and the range of penalties for each. Erica was shocked to learn that what she did, a seemingly harmless penis lick without consent, was classified as a D felony with a possible sentence of up to three years in prison and a $5,000 fine. She stared blankly at the screen. Her brain went numb. I can't go to prison . . . no. . . no . . .

Erica started feeling ill. She stretched out on her bed. The waves of nausea finally subsided and she thought, I shoulda taken his deal when I had the chance. Now it's too late. This burden was too much to bear alone. Downstairs she went and found Jodie and Mandy seated on the sofa in the gathering room. "Whatsa matter Erica?" Jodie was very perceptive. She knew Erica was feeling great distress. Erica plopped down in a plush chair facing her friends. "You guys, you're not gonna believe this . . . "

Jodie and Mandy were aware that Erica licked Tony's penis at the party. Now she brought them up-to-speed on the rest of the saga: the encounter on the plaza, the telephone call from Sgt. Jordan, and what she discovered online. "Oh my God," Jodie said. "What're you gonna do?"

Erica shook her head. "I dunno. I'm scared to death."

"Lie. Make up a good story and stick to it." Mandy's suggestion was immediately adopted. Right then, the girls put their heads together and concocted a story to refute Tony's assertion that Erica licked his penis without consent. It sounded plausible. "Think it'll work?" Erica asked. "It better," Jodie answered. "It's all we've got."

* * * *

Sgt. Jordan motioned Erica toward her desk. "Have a seat. I'll be with you in a minute." Erica sat down in the uncomfortable straight-backed wooden chair beside the desk. While the detective finished up a bit of typing on her computer, Erica looked around at the windowless room: gray walls, dark metal file cabinets and four ancient wooden desks arranged side-by-side, all under glaring florescent lights, some of which weren't functioning. The place had the look, smell, and feel of a police station: drab, musty, fear.

Finally, Sgt. Jordan looked away from the keyboard and said, "How are you today Miss Lawrence?"

"I'm fine." Not. She was trembling inside.

"First, I need to establish something. Is Mr. Powell your boyfriend?"

"No."

"Here's the complaint. I'll let you read it." Erica took the paper, the police report, and began reading. The complaint was reiteration of what Tony told her on the plaza: he was unconscious and couldn't consent and Erica overstepped the bounds of the law by licking his penis. Once Erica finished reading, Sgt. Jordan said, "Okay, tell me what happened at the party." She leaned back in her squeaky chair, a nonthreatening posture.

Erica took a deep breath and began. "Well, Tony asked me if I wanted to hook up." (Truth.)

"You mean have sex?"

"Yes." Thereafter, her story was fabricated. "I told him okay but not 'til later."

"Why wait 'til later?"

Erica glanced at the male detective working at the next desk then spoke quietly, for Sgt. Jordan's ears only. "Well, you know how it is. I didn't wanna have sex then go back to the party all stinky."

Sgt. Jordan smiled and chuckled. "I hear ya!"

"Anyway, when I licked Tony's penis I figured it was okay 'cause we were gonna have sex later."

"So you thought his consent was still good even though he was unconscious?"

"Yes."

The detective nodded. "Have you seen the video?"

"No." (Half-truth. She'd seen only the short segment with her in it.) Sgt. Jordan turned the monitor toward Erica and double-clicked the file. The detective let the video play all the way through. While Erica watched it, Sgt Jordan filed papers in the file cabinets. Even in the digital age, police work involves mountains of paperwork.

When the video was over, Sgt. Jordan sat down in her squeaky chair and asked Erica a pointed question. "Were all those other young women in the video going to have sex with Mr. Powell too?"

"No."

"Then why were they fondling his penis?"

"Um . . . I dunno. They were just messing around?"

"And they did so without his consent?"

"I guess."

"And only you had consent?"

"Yes."

Sgt. Jordan chewed on that for a moment. "Were you jealous of the other women?"

"Why would I be jealous?"

"Well, they were encroaching on your territory."

Erica scoffed. "I hook up with lotsa guys-" (Lie. No, she didn't. Not ever.) "-he was just one more. No biggie." Sgt. Jordan choked back a chuckle. Mr. Powell certainly was biggie. Way biggie.

Erica was asked more questions, repetitive, she thought, but she stuck to her story. At the interview's conclusion she was asked to fill out, and sign, a sworn affidavit, stating her recollections of the events that Saturday night at the frat party. Erica left the police station feeling upbeat. Her story was good and she delivered it flawlessly. And it couldn't be disproven; a clear-cut case of he-said, she-said. A few days later Jodie and Mandy were summoned individually to speak with Sgt. Jordan. (Erica had listed them as corroborating witnesses.) But Erica wasn't worried; her sorority sisters were in collusion with the same fabricated story. All the bases were covered. No biggie.

* * * *

Sgt. Jordan conducted a thorough investigation. Not only did she interview Erica's witnesses, she went to Sigma Epsilon Xi to speak with its members. Among those who attended the party, all of them realized Tony was exposed and girls were taking liberties with his penis. But to the last man, none of them believed anything was amiss. Typical men, she thought. None of them could offer any corroborating testimony about whether or not Tony and Erica planned to hook up later. That was also typical of men: they don't talk much on personal topics.

Back at the station, Sgt. Jordan weighed the evidence. That Mr. Powell made the accusation was unusual. She questioned his motive but it was his legal right to file a complaint. In the other camp, when she spoke with Jodie and Mandy, there was something fishy about their testimony; both delivered the same spiel virtually verbatim as if they'd rehearsed it over and over. And their tone of voice and body language suggested they were nervous. In all fairness, that was understandable; police make some people nervous. But in her judgment, Erica's witnesses were lying. And then, there was the video: dozens of young women fondling Mr. Powell's penis without consent. And Miss Lawrence claiming to be the only one with consent? No. That wasn't realistic. She was just going along with the mob mentality.

To draft a probable cause affidavit would set in motion a chain of events that might severely impact Miss Lawrence's life. If the prosecutor agreed that sufficient evidence existed to file charges, court proceedings would ensue and she would be dragged into the public spotlight. And a felony conviction, either by trial or plea bargain, would remain on her record for life and jeopardize opportunities for employment, housing, and credit. And since the alleged crime took place on campus, she could face disciplinary action from the university, perhaps expulsion. Sgt. Jordan deliberated long and hard. She felt bad for Erica, truly she did, but her hands were tied. She couldn't let emotion interfere with her sworn duty. On her computer she pulled up the proper form, clicked the cursor in the first box and, with a heavy heart, began typing.

* * * *

When Erica walked out through the double doors of Weatherby Hall, she spied him at the same instant he spied her. Tony stood beneath the tall sugar maple, its spreading branches now bare in the cold November wind. Erica flipped up the hood on her blue anorak to hide her face. She flew down the seven limestone steps then scurried away across the plaza in the opposite direction, trying to distance herself from the creep. Tony had to jog to catch up. He stepped in front of her and stopped. She sidestepped and kept moving. He stepped in front again. This time she stopped.

"What now?" She was supremely pissed.

Tony held out a piece of paper. "Read this."

"What is it?"

"Just read it."

Erica snatched the paper from his hand and silently read the heading: Affidavit of probable cause. The form had boxes filled out with her personal information: name, address, birthday, phone number, height, weight, hair color, eye color, race, sex . . . How did the police get all this information? she wondered. Then she answered her own question: from the university's database. Below the boxes, three paragraphs described the particulars of the case. And below that, Sgt. Jordan's sworn statement that in her judgment, the crime of sexual assault had been committed. At the bottom was her signature. Erica was rendered speechless. The detective didn't buy her story. When the prosecutor's office received the affidavit . . . . Her brain went numb thinking about what came next.

Erica looked up from the paper and met Tony eye-to-eye. Her shocked expression told him she was right where he wanted her: backed against the wall. "You have one last chance to let me fuck you."

"It's too late for that." Her voice was meek. She was on the verge of tears.

"No, it's not." He explained: under state law, a sexual assault victim can decide whether or not to pursue charges, even after a police report has been filed and a probable cause affidavit drafted. "So, let me-" he moderated his verbiage "-have sex with you and I won't press charges."

"You swear to God?"

"I swear to God."

She set her mouth in a hard straight line. "All right. I'll do it. When?"

"Friday night. Nine o'clock."

"That's no good. I'm on my period."

"You're stalling."

Erica scowled and raised her voice. "You want me to prove it?!"

"Uhhh . . . no. A week from Friday, then."

Her expression, and tone, softened. "I'll be there."

There was no need for parting pleasantries. Erica turned abruptly and walked away. Unexpectedly, she felt inner calm and managed to chuckle at the absurdity of her predicament: either get fucked by Tony or fucked by the justice system. All because, in a moment of intoxicated indiscretion, she had fucked herself.

Had Erica taken Tony's deal when he first offered it, she wouldn't have become the target of a criminal investigation. Now, she was thankful for a second chance even though it was repugnant, the prospect of the creep's erection pillaging her vagina. But it was light-years preferable to the alternative. She shuddered at the notion of wearing an orange jail jumpsuit. Orange wasn't her color.

And she was thankful for the nine days to mentally prepare. On day two she made peace with the inevitable. It's only sex she told herself. Maybe he'll cum quickly and it'll be over with. Tony would enjoying fucking Erica. That was certain. But she was determined to minimize his pleasure by making herself unappealing. Three days beforehand, she stopped bathing. And on the appointed Friday night, she applied no makeup, didn't fix her hair and removed all jewelry. Reflected in the dresser mirror, an unwashed face looked back. Long blonde hair hung dirty, stringy, oily. She looked like a ragamuffin. She sniffed her armpit. Ripe! Curious, she reached inside her panties and probed her middle finger deep inside. When she sniffed that finger . . . phew! Perfect. And she dressed like a frump: plain gray sweatsuit.

Jodie, Mandy and a dozen additional sorority sisters joined Erica for the walk to Sigma house. There was nothing any of them could do while Erica was in Tony's room but they felt the need to be under the same roof to offer moral support. At Sigma, Erica opened the front door. It was never locked. The huge gathering room was packed just like the night of the party. But now, everyone in the crowd was male. Tony saw the girls enter the foyer and went to meet them.

"Glad you could make it."

"I'm not," Erica shot back.

He laughed. "Yer gonna fight this 'til the very end, aren't you?"

"You got it."

Erica's posse stayed in the foyer. Tony led Erica into an open area in the center of the expansive gathering room. "Right here," he said.

"Whatta you mean?"

"We're gonna do it right here."

She scowled. "Ohhh, no! I'm not gonna do it right here."

"Yes, you are."

She raised her voice. "No, I'm not!"

Tony spoke even louder. "Oh look! Here come the judge!" He held the only trump card and wouldn't hesitate to play it. Resistance was futile.

When Erica agreed to have sex with Tony, she assumed, and rightly so, it would be in private. Never in her wildest nightmare did it cross her mind that she was destined become the star in a live public sex show. She scanned the sea of male faces, bright with anticipation. By the looks of the huge crowd, a hundred or more, word had spread around campus that Sigma house was the place to be this Friday night. They stood four and five deep, shoulder-to-shoulder in a wide circle. Erica felt like she was center stage in a sports arena. Most of them were strangers but some she knew by name: Marcus from psych discussion and a half-dozen casual acquaintances from other classes.

Erica wasn't a prude by any means. She possessed a lean toned body she'd worked hard to achieve and enjoyed showing it in skimpy summer sportswear and her teeny weeny black string bikini. But she was very selective about who she allowed to see her naked. And never, not once, did she have sex in view of others. Lovemaking with Nathan had always taken place in absolute privacy. That scores of guys would be ogling her bare body was bad enough. But while having sex at the same time? This was too much. It was enough to make her break out in a cold sweat. But she had no choice but to stay and go through with it.

Glaring at Tony, Erica kicked off her shoes. She untied the drawstring on her sweatpants, pulled them down and stepped out of them. Trying to mentally block out the crowd, she drew a deep breath then hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her white cotton panties and peeled them off. She felt the heat of leering eyes upon her exposed lower zone.

Erica stood facing Tony, her arms hanging limp at her sides. She'd be damned if she was going to strip any further. He could fuck her like this. But Tony wasn't satisfied; he gestured toward her sweatshirt. "Everything, off." Erica took ahold of the shirt's lower hem and peeled it inside-out, up-and-off, then reached behind her back and unfastened the clasp on her plain white brassiere. When she pulled the D cups away from her chest, her breasts relaxed to their natural state of repose. A hush fell over the room. She didn't feel embarrassed. She was too enraged to feel anything else.

Tony liked what he saw. The only girls he was able to get were substandard in his opinion: a little chubby, small boobs, plain looks, too many moles. (He hated moles) But now, before him stood a statuesque blonde goddess who, despite her disheveled hair and body odor, personified femininity of the highest magnitude. Her flawless skin was tanned rich butterscotch save for the bikini shadow: small alabaster triangles framing her sizable rosy nipples and neatly coifed, naturally blonde pubis. Good, she's got pussy hair, Tony thought. He didn't care for the bald look. He liked girls with hair down there, not a forest, just enough to tickle his tongue. His ravenous eyes devoured her bounteous breasts, traced the curves of her trim waist and womanly hips and traveled all the way down her long lean legs.