The man who knew how to have a good time
Weekly disclaimer: If you’re easily offended by sexual perversion, don’t read any further.
So there I was, minding my own business. . . when my partner and I received a call about a man with a gun at a strip club. We got all excited and headed out. For street cops, “man with a gun” is the kind of call that gets everyone’s blood pumping. Add a strip club as a background and it’s got potential to be real interesting. So away we went.
We turned off the highway service road into the club parking lot. Two employees at the front door jumped up and pointed to the back of the club. I sped along the side of the building toward the back. When I hit the corner, two more employees waved like mad to get our attention. I turned toward them, and they pointed toward a man standing outside a car about thirty feet away, at the rear of the building.
My partner and I jumped out with our weapons drawn. The employees yelled, “He’s got a gun, he’s got a gun!” I went one way and my partner went a different way so we’d have two angles on the guy. I yelled at him to put his hands up. He was frantically trying to unlock his car door. I saw that he didn’t have a weapon in his hands, so I holstered my pistol and grabbed the guy’s arm.
This dude was trembling. But he wasn’t just shivering with excitement, this guy was like, vibrating. Sweat dripped off his face onto his shirt. He wouldn’t look at me, and his hands shook like he was having a seizure. His keys jangled, he couldn’t get one anywhere near the keyhole.
This was on a cool night, in a neighborhood known for PCP sales and use. Guys high on PCP have a tendency to act weird, sweat profusely and beat the hell out of cops who try to arrest them. So I was a bit, as we say, “hinked up.”
My partner grabbed his other arm. I told him, “If this guy resists at all, take him straight down.” My partner nodded, and we pulled the guy’s arms behind his back. He didn’t resist. I threw the cuffs on him. He just stood there, sweating and shaking. Real fast, I checked his pockets and waistband. No gun.
The employees ran up to us. One of them said, “Man, he had a gun or something! When I told him to leave the club he pulled a long black square thing out of his pocket!” But I hadn’t found a gun. I kept searching, and when I checked his pant legs and boots I saw something weird.
A rectangular black plastic box, about six inches long, was hanging from two wires by his right foot. I grabbed the box and looked it over. No words were on it, but it had two dials on the front. I turned it over and saw an open battery compartment with no batteries. On the ground next to the guy’s feet were two AA batteries. What the hell was this?
I asked the employees, “What did this guy do?”
“He came in about an hour ago and acted normal at first, but a few minutes ago he started banging his head on the wall and punching himself in the crotch! I told him to get out and he pulled that thing out of his pocket, so we backed off and called 911. He was making weird noises and crap, we didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him.”
This was interesting, I had never had a call where a guy in a strip club pounded his head on a wall and punched his junk. I held the plastic box with one hand and followed the wires back to the guy’s pocket with the other. I was genuinely curious to see what the wires were attached to.
Surprise! The wires didn’t go to the guy’s pocket, they went to his waistband near his zipper. I gave the guy a confused stare and asked him, “What the heck do you have in your pants?” He looked down and didn’t answer. I unbuttoned his pants and pulled them open. The wires went into his underwear. I tugged on the wires, and the guy’s eyes bulged.
“Crap,” I mumbled as I pulled a pair of surgical gloves out of my back pocket. Then I told my partner, “We can’t put him in the car until we find out what he’s got in his underwear.” Then I grabbed the front of the guy’s underwear, pulled it out and took a look.
The wires somewhere I couldn’t see. I pulled on the wires again. The guy’s eyes almost popped out of his head and he threw his hips forward to get the pressure off. I asked him again, “Man, what the hell is in your underwear?” He still didn’t say a word.
My heart sank, because I knew that I was going to have to do something extremely unpleasant. My partner was a rookie who hadn’t completed his probationary period, and I guess most senior officers would have made him do it. But he was a sharp guy and great young officer, and I wasn’t the kind of guy to pass on unpleasant tasks to others. Besides, I already had gloves on and my hand on the guy’s underwear. So I might as well do it.
I told my partner, “Hold him still so I can pull this thing out.” He planted his feet and grabbed the guy’s arms. I wrapped the wires around my hand, pulled the guy’s underwear as far out as I could and yanked downward and out. The poor guy’s eyes almost popped out of his head and he tried to jump forward, but my partner held him in place. I pulled harder, the wires went slack and two items popped out and flew through the air toward me. I barely dodged them. If I hadn’t, I would have immediately stripped off and burned my uniform right there in the club parking lot.
The two items hung suspended on the wires. My partner looked over the guy’s shoulder to see what they were, and the employees crowded in for a better view. The guy put his head down and didn’t say a word. After a moment of stunned silence, my partner, the employees and I burst out laughing.
At the end of the wires were two vibrators, one regular size and one mini. I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure the little vibrator was butt-sized. This guy apparently had both of them shoved up his colon. The plastic box was a remote control.
I mentally put the pieces of the puzzle together. As far as I could tell, this guy got high on PCP, stuck these two vibrators up his anus and hit the strip club. While he was in the club, he turned the vibration control up too high and couldn’t handle it, then couldn’t figure out how to turn it down. The orgasmic pleasure must have been excruciating! That’s why he started banging his head on the wall and punching his crotch. When the employees told him to leave, he pulled the control box out and they thought it was a gun. He fiddled with the controls as he rushed to his car but still couldn’t get the vibrators turned off. Eventually he tore the batteries out, but was so freaked out and stoned he couldn’t open his car door. That’s when we showed up.
In the end, I left the double vibrator on the driver’s seat of the guy’s car and we took him to jail. When we arrived the jail doctor asked if anything was wrong with the guy, who was still sweating like a pig and still hadn’t said a single word. I told the doc, “He’s high on drugs and had two vibrators up his ass.” The jail doctor apparently heard two words, “drugs” and “ass.” He thought the guy had drugs stuck up there, so he refused the prisoner and made us take him to the hospital. It wasn’t until we were actually at the hospital that I read what the doctor wrote and realized he had misunderstood me. I was furious that the doc had wasted our time, because I thought this guy belonged in jail, not a hospital. Then the nurse took the guy’s vital signs. His pulse rate was still over 200, over an hour after we arrested him. This dude was way high, on something bad. We left him at the hospital.
This guy was a true connoisseur, a master of blending drugs, strip clubs, his lower intestine and high-tech sex toys into an unforgettable experience. I’ll always remember him as the guy who knew how to have a good time.
Filed under: Cops | 15 Comments
Tags: jail, perversion, police