by Brit Ryder
The rest of my night was low key. I grabbed a chicken salad for dinner and sat out on my deck, sharing it with Robbie, my neighbor’s cat. Most of the time, he’s a jerk. I drank only one beer with my dinner because I wanted my mind to be sharp today. My friend Jim called, but I just couldn’t tell him about my afternoon. I’ve decided to keep it my secret. He probably would have doubted my story anyway.
“I’m eating because I’m nervous,” he says.
“Why are you nervous? I’m the one taking the stand.”
“I know. We haven’t dealt with this judge before so we don’t know what’s going to happen.” He unconsciously rubs his glazed coated fingers on the side of his pants leaving a streak of white near his knee. I don’t point it out.
“I’m not worried. They have the evidence, we have the evidence, so relax. Who cares who the judge is?”
He snorts. “Yeah, well, I’m worried. I hate it when we fail at our job.”
“What are you talking about? We do our job. What goes on in that courtroom is not up to us. It’s up to the attorneys, the judge and the jury.” When did he lose his backbone? I slowly pace back and forth, waiting. Just as I make the decision to grab a quick cup of coffee downstairs, we are ushered inside. Just my luck. Now I’m going to have to wait. I pop a mint in my mouth and follow Carl in. We take seats behind the prosecution so that I can get to the stand quickly.
“All rise. This court is now in session. The Honorable Claire Weaver presiding.” We watch the judge enter the courtroom and my jaw drops.
“Wow. I’m glad I showed up today to offer you my support,” Carl whispers. We wait until the judge sits before we sit. I’m the last one to take my seat. The judge looks around the room, her eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second. I stare at her. Her hair is pulled back into a severe bun without a single piece out of place. She’s wearing glasses and very little makeup, her age indeterminate. I know under that black gown is a perfect body with full breasts, a tiny waist, and hips that like to grind against mine. Judge Claire Weaver is my mysterious woman. I do a double-take. And again. It’s her. My hips twitch for a second, confirming it’s her. “Had I known she was the judge who took over Judge Tulver’s spot, I would have come up here sooner. She’s beautiful.” I nod. He doesn’t even know the half of it.
She turns to the bailiff and asks what’s on the docket. We all know she’s very much aware of this case, but she’s doing everything by the book. She asks if both sides are ready for trial and invites opening statements. I can’t keep my eyes off of her. I get nervous the closer we get to my testimony. I know they will call my name soon. I wipe the tiny beads of sweat that have gathered on my upper lip. It’s one thing to have sex with a stranger, knowing you probably won’t see her again, but another finding out not only will you see her again, but she has power over you. The fact that my beautiful, mysterious woman happens to be a judge only makes me want her more. Everything is suddenly clear to me. She needed me to take control. She is a woman who makes important decisions every day. I was at the right place, at the right time to give her what she wanted. My confidence returns. She needed me. I gave her what she needed. She probably agreed to the hook up knowing what a full day in court she would be having today. I watch her up on her bench, poised and unreadable. I want her to look at me, but she hasn’t met my eyes since she first sat down. I look at my watch.
“Emery Pearson.” I jerk my head up and look around. I’m up. I glance at Claire and see her eyebrow raise slightly when I rise. Now she knows my name. I head to the stand, careful not to trip over my own feet. I muster up confidence and nod at her before I take my seat next to her, below her, submissively. The irony is not lost on me. I state my name and occupation for the record and adjust the microphone to fit me better. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that she is watching me. I turn to face her and she very briefly gives me that intense look that she gave me a few times yesterday. I gulp and swallow hard, anxious to get this over with. I’ve not been in this position before—obedient and compliant—at least not in the presence of a lover. I’m the one in charge. I’m the one they need. Thankfully, the beginning of the question and answer session is repetitive and my brain automatically takes over while my lust tries hard to ignore her. I address the jury when I answer the questions. Ultimately, they are who I need to convince. I’ll deal with Judge Weaver later. Maybe.
“Thank you, Ms. Pearson. No further questions.” I am dismissed and leave the stand. I surprise Carl by taking my seat again. I’ve never stayed to see a case all the way through. He waits a few seconds before questioning my motives.
“Aren’t you going back to the office?” he whispers.
“No, I want to see what happens,” I say.
“I’m leaving at lunch,” he says. I shrug. He shakes his head at me. He doesn’t understand and doesn’t need to.
When we’re dismissed for lunch, I know I won’t see her. She’s probably back in chambers, eating the lunch her assistant ran out and got before the break. I head down to the food trucks lined up on Tulane Boulevard. Street tacos aren’t easy to eat, but I have entirely too much energy to sit at a table. I find a windowsill of a law firm and make that my makeshift table. It’s a beautiful day and I’m in the shade. I wonder if Claire is thinking about me. She probably thought she would never see me again either. Claire. It’s the perfect name for her. Refined, classy, easy to shout out in passion or anger. I wipe my mouth on the tiny napkin and throw my trash away. I need to get back into the courthouse. I still have ten minutes so I make a quick stop in the bathroom to wash my hands and straighten out my uniform. I’m one of the few investigators who wears a uniform to court. Psychologically, I’m sure it helps legitimize my testimony for the prosecution to the jury. Secretly, I just love wearing it. It makes me powerful. I get a lot of attention.
There are more people in the courtroom now. I still manage to get the same seat. I want her to know exactly where I am. She was in control of me this morning. That won’t be the case this afternoon. I’ve already testified. I just have to sit back and wait until we’re dismissed for the day and find her, assuming she wants to be found. The case resumes and I study her. Her hair is still in a tight bun, but she seems more relaxed. I wonder what she is wearing under her gown. I picture her red dress from yesterday even though I’m sure it’s more of a tailored suit. The suit I’m picturing is just as delicious as the red dress. I can hike that skirt up and fuck her just the same. I shuffle around in my seat as the thought of taking her again swells my clit to an uncomfortable level. The uniform makes me look great, but it’s tight in all of the wrong places. My movements catch Claire’s eye, and she gives me a look that, to anybody else would seem perturbed, but I know what it means. I smirk. A ghost of a smile brushes across her full lips, but she squelches it and focuses her attention back on the case. This will last until at least tomorrow. It’s almost five and the courtroom is getting restless, including the jury.
She dismisses us a few minutes early. I head out, knowing I’m not leaving. Not yet. I walk over to a vendor closing up shop for the day and ask for a pack of cigarettes and an orange soda in a glass bottle. He throws in a pack of matches. After thanking him, I head out and walk over to the east side of the building. It’s where the judges’ offices are. I’m stalking her again. I lean up against a tree and light a cigarette. I inhale and hold the smoke before exhaling. The first drag is always the best. I loosen my tie and unbutton the top button. I will be sweating in a matter of minutes. I’ll give her until five thirty. After that, it’s up to her to contact me. She has my name and where I work. Of course, I do, too, but I feel like she should make the move. I look up and wonder which window is hers. I see her car out in the parking lot. At least I think it’s hers. Gray Audi, sleek, sophisticated.
I feel sweat bead and gather in the valley between my breasts. I loosen another button and roll up my sleeves. Six more minutes. That’s enough time for another cigarette. I light it and nod to a few suits leaving the
courthouse. I’m nervous that nobody has questioned why I’m here drinking an orange soda and smoking next to the judge’s entrance. I tend to be wary of people. Four minutes. For some reason, I look up at the windows again. That’s when I see her. She looks down at me and we stare at one another before she fades away from the window. I don’t know what that means. I take another drag on my cigarette and look at my watch. Two minutes. For a brief moment, I consider extending my stay another fifteen, but that would appear desperate. I might be anxious to see her again, but I’m not desperate. Ninety seconds. Another long drag. I start a countdown. At sixty seconds, I head to the judges’ entrance to recycle my glass bottle. There are entirely too many trash and recycle receptacles. Each container has a list of dos and don’ts and I can’t find glass on any of them.
“Try the middle one.” I freeze because I know that voice. I close my eyes and smile. I turn to face her. I was right. Her cream colored suit is extremely conservative, but I have a great memory of her curves underneath it. The first button of her blouse is unbuttoned. I see a mark on her neck and I know it’s from me.
“I was just leaving,” I say. She reaches out for my cigarette, her long delicate fingers holding it firmly, yet gently, until I relinquish control of it. I don’t want it to fall. She tilts her head up and to the side when she takes a drag so we can maintain eye contact. Her hair is no longer in a bun and I wonder if it’s because she saw me from the window and knew I would be waiting for her.
“I’m glad you waited,” she says. She crushes out my cigarette on the side of the ashtray and disposes of the butt. I shake my head at her wastefulness again. She waits for a group of people to walk past before she closes the gap between us. “I like your uniform.” She slips a business card in my breast pocket, the cardboard edge brushing my nipple as it hits its resting place. I stifle a groan and a shudder. She turns and walks to her car, avoiding eye contact with me. I wait until she drives away before I pull out her business card. It’s impressive enough, but what’s written on the back of the card is what interests me the most. It’s an address followed by instructions.
Dinner at 7 p.m.
Keep your uniform on.
About the Author
Brit Ryder (Kris Bryant) lives in Kansas City, Missouri. She enjoys reading, watching sappy romance movies, traveling, and spending time with her family and friends. When a spare moment can be found, she grabs the closest laptop and writes whatever comes to mind. Shameless is her first erotic novella.
Brit can be reached at [email protected]
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