This will be maybe a three or four parter. Here's the opening which sets the situation up and just starts the action. This is my first story post, so apologies if I've got anything wrong.
The Policewoman and the Tramp
By Ambush-predator
Part 1
Police Constable Kapila Nayar paced steadily down the leafy suburban road. It was a beautiful May morning: the sky was blue, the birds were singing and the flower-beds were unvandalised. It would soon be a hot day.
The day was beautiful for Kapila not only because of the sun, birds and flowers, though she was delighting in all those. It was her first day as a fully-fledged policewoman, having sailed through her probationary period with flying colours. This was the first day she’d been sent out on her own and this area would now be her beat. She might have welcomed somewhere a bit more exciting and challenging, but there was still plenty to do in these suburbs. What was more, here a brown face was distinctly unusual and a brown face beneath the chequered hat of a policewoman unknown. In fact she was only the second Asian female officer in the town and the first of Indian ethnic origin – so she was an ambassador not only for the Police, but also for her community.
A cyclist in full gear approached, saw her, wobbled and nearly crashed while getting a good look. Kapila had to bite her lip to stop herself giggling. She was fully aware that men found her pretty – well, beautiful and sexy – but she found some of their reactions comical.
Her radio bleeped. She recognised the voice of dear old Anne Higgs.
“Kapila – are you anywhere near Nightingale Avenue?” Anne was the only one at the station to still call her Kapila: all the others who didn’t call her PC Nayar called her Kappy, which nicely rhymed with happy, though also admittedly with crappy, which amused her. Kappy had memorised the layout of the streets on her patch and could instantly reply:
“Yes, Anne. Five minutes’ walk away at most. Why?”
“Good. Member of the public reporting anti-social behaviour opposite number 53.”
“Any details?” There was a slight pause.
“Actually, it’s a Mrs Hartington at number 53 complaining about a tramp lying or sitting opposite her house.”
“O.K..” Hmm, no great drama there. In all likelihood the tramp was doing nothing illegal and Kappy couldn’t see why she should satisfy Mrs Hartington by making the poor old tramp move from his position in “a nice part of town” to somewhere less nice. Still, she shouldn’t jump to conclusions. The tramp might be swearing or drinking or something, not that this was a no alcohol in public area.
She could see the tramp from a good distance. He wasn’t even on the pavement, but on the slightly raised green area half-sitting, half-lying on the grass, his back propped up by some kind of bag. He looked heavily-built and his clothes certainly were shabby. As she came nearer she could see they were also dirty, as was the tramp, who looked quite old – maybe about fifty. He had a bottle by his side but he was not drinking at the moment. He saw her and stared dully at her. She saw his face was ravaged by heavy drinking. Poor old man! What had brought him to this sad wreck?
She walked steadily up to him, smiling. He did not smile back. The glass bottle had contained premium cider, but was now empty. He stank, an acrid mixture of old sweat, sickly sweet and pungent farts, piss, alcohol and something else she didn’t recognise but didn’t like.
“Hi!” she said. He stared and said nothing. “Lovely day!” He still said nothing. Well, fair enough, she hadn’t really said anything either. The trouble was that it was pretty clear he was breaking no law and her mission made her feel uncomfortable. “Do you need any help?” He stared at her as if she was a dead rat come out of his shopping bag.
“No,” he said.
“Are you sure?” He looked at her with a kind of disgust.
“Don’t need nothing.” On an impulse, she squatted down so her face was at his level.
“My name’s Kapila. Really, if there’s any way I can help you, I will. There’s not much to do in a place like this.” This brought some reaction:
“You offering something? Asking for a fuck?” he asked. Repelled, she straightened up, realised she might have misunderstood him and anyway, her comment could have seemed to a maladjusted man like a come-on, and squatted down again.
“No, but within reason I’m offering to help,” she replied, “like, well, I could arrange a lift to the nearest homeless shelter.”
“I’m fine here,” he said, and coughed chestily.
“Oh, good. You’re moving this wretched nuisance on, then.” Kapila straightened up and turned round. The voice had been female, posh and not young. It had not lied. The woman staring coldly at her was maybe in her mid-forties, tall, flat-chested and dressed fashionably.
Are you Mrs Hartington?” Kapila asked.
“I am. Why?” Kapila felt like she was back in primary school with her least favourite teacher.
“I had a report that there’d been a complaint from a Mrs Hartington, madam, and I wanted to know if you were that person,” she explained carefully.
“Quite,” said Mrs Hartington coldly. “Now if you don’t mind, just get a move on and dispose of this thing. He’s quite inappropriate in a neighbourhood like this and when my husband comes with his lunch guests from work I do NOT want them seeing this.” It would have been easy for Kapila to show anger, but she used maximum diplomacy.
“Madam, on the face of it he’s doing nothing illegal. There’s no law against sitting on the grass or against looking a bit shabby. If he’d annoyed people, sworn at them or something, it would be a different matter. If a reasonable person would feel threatened by him, that’s something we can act on. But...”
“He certainly annoys ME!” Mrs Hartington interrupted. “But I quite understand. You’re determined to do nothing, you wretched little jobsworth, and waddle your fat bottom away leaving me with the problem.” Kapila took firm control of herself.
“Madam, please be reasonable. Did you feel threatened when you walked past him?”
“Walk past him? I did NOT walk past him. I drove past.”
“In that case, I’m afraid you couldn’t possibly have felt threatened by him. I’m sorry about your husband’s friends, but there’s really nothing I can do unless this gentleman here freely agrees to move on.”
“Fucking won’t!” said a phlegmy voice behind her.
“You haven’t heard the last of this, young woman!” Mrs Hartington declared. “I’ll be making a complaint in the strongest terms to your superiors and you will be carpeted. There’s some respect for social standing in this country, you may not yet have noticed.” With that she strode off, leaving Kapila fuming at the racist implication that she somehow wasn’t a full part of the country she was born in.
She turned back to the tramp and screamed.
Derek Brodie had not been pleased to see a porker marching towards him. They always meant trouble. Worse, it turned out to be some kind of fucking shit-brown job lecturing him and playing lady bountiful. He was half minded to bottle her. That’d teach her. When she squatted down like she was going to have a shit, then he took in the fact that she had class tits, pushing out her neat white blouse like they were trying to burst out, and when she straightened up for a moment he noticed her trousers were tight and there were creases helpfully pointing the way to her cunt. But the prissy curry cunt wasn’t going to open her legs for him. Fuck her. And fuck the horse-faced old boot who’d just come up.
The porker bitch turned round. Derek changed his mind. Fuck, that was an arse on her! Big, round, sticking well out, and in those tight uniform trousers you could see her piggy arsecrack nicely. She was getting hot under the panties arguing with the old cow and that was making her arsecheeks quiver.
His trousers had once had a zip fly, but the zip had broken. The stupid porker hadn’t noticed his flies were open or she’d have had an excuse to give him more aggro. He hadn’t owned underpants for years. Now as he stared at her great arse, his cock rose stiff, thick and smelly from his flies. He’d just had the idea he might put his hand around it and jerk off, trying to hit her arsecrack, when she turned round and saw it. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened. He shot his load. It splatted over her face and some went right in her prissy little mouth. She screamed. Screamed and spluttered.