A Boston Cop and a Homeless Woman

"Get down! He has a gun," yelled someone in a Texas bar.

With nearly every customer armed and dangerous, with it not only legal to carry unregistered firearms and concealed weapons in Texas, nearly every customer pulled their guns and were ready to return fire.

# # #

"I'm lost. Can one of you help me," I asked verbally interacting with them while playing the part of a tourist when I grew up in nearby South Boston and knew Boston better than any cab driver?

Literally taking their temperature to see how dangerous they were by their demeanor, I looked from one man to look at the other.

"I'm trying to find Newbury Street. I turned down this alley thinking that this was a shortcut. I know it's around here somewhere. Just point me in the right direction and I'll be on my way," I said while observing which man I needed to watch as my biggest threat.

I've learned that it's not only the biggest men who are the most physical threats. Sometimes, it's the smallest men who feel that they have something to prove and are more violent to prove it. There may be a man who holds a grudge against the police, against, the military, and/or against the Navy SEALs. Especially when the odds are stacked against me and when I'm without backup, that's why I take my time assessing the danger of the situation.

As if he hated me because I was white, the big man looked at me with attitude. Yet, a mistake of underestimation on his part, clearly, not noticing my Navy SEALs tattoos, he didn't see me as a threat to him. With my hands clasped behind my back, perhaps, he would have felt differently about me had he seen my SAP gloves. Like the gloves that Ray Donovan wears when he's about to kick some ass, coming in handy when I'm trying to knock some sense in someone's head, I also have a baseball bat like his, too, in the trunk of my car.

"Lost? Say what? Get outta of here before you get hurt man," said the black man, the obvious spokesman for the group. "This is none of your damn business. Newbury Street is a couple of blocks over that way," he said aimlessly pointing in a vague direction. "Get lost. Beat it. Scram."

Intent on ruining their violent sexual party, I smiled while looking from one man to the other man. Then, while looking to my left, I saw the big man out of the corner of my eye make a threatening move towards me from my right. Clearly ready to jump me from behind and attack me, as he stepped closer, I turned to confront him. His mistake, he was within my reach and within my striking distance now.

"Let go of the lady," I said taking a threatening step forward and addressing them all.

Stopping him dead his tracks, when I turned to face him and showed him my concealed, weighted, gloved hands while knowing that the other three wouldn't interfere in his fight, he froze. When the big man laughed, the other three men laughed, too. Clearly, they had no respect for me or for anyone.

"Say, what? Let go of her," he said laughing. "Who the Hell are you to tell us to let go of her. We're not done with her, yet. The party has just started," he said with a booming laugh. "I've always wanted to gang bang a pretty, blonde, white woman with big tits," he said with another booming laugh. "You can have a turn with her, too, after we've finished with her. We'll give you sloppy fifths," he said laughing and causing them all to laugh, too.

Yet, all they accomplished was to make me angry. The last thing that anyone wanted to do is to make a Navy SEAL angry when he's about to fuck you up. Giving me even more determined motivation, I was ready to take my revenge for the helpless woman who couldn't take the revenge herself. I was ready to take my revenge for them touching and feeling her everywhere through her clothes. I was ready to take my revenge for them stripping her naked against her will.

# # #

I don't know why I did it, I usually don't, perhaps from watching Denzel Washington in The Equalizer as Robert McCall, one too many times, I set my watch. I held my hidden kubaton in my left hand and with a lightning quick, fluid motion, catching him by surprise, I struck the big man square in his throat with deadly force. As he bent forward coughing, choking, and gasping in pain, not done with him yet, with him showing me his chin, I hit him with a devastating, right uppercut.

Done. All done. That was it for him. He fell backwards hard. No longer a threat, he was done. On the ground and on his back unconscious when the back of his head hit the pavement with a thud, the two Hispanic men turned and ran. As if he was trying to scare me, the skinny, white guy took a step forward to threaten me with his puny, little knife.

Laughing to myself, I suddenly thought of Crocodile Dundee when he pulled out his knife after being threatened by a man with a much smaller knife.

"What the Hell is that? That's not a knife. This is a knife," I said lifting my pant leg and pulling out my big, 12", razor sharp and shiny, tactical, Bowie knife."

Then, when I turned to confront him, grabbed his forearm, and pressed the pressure point, he dropped his knife, screamed in pain, turned, and bolted, too.

Over before it even started, I looked at my watch to stop the time. Denzel would have been proud of me. With just one jab of my kubaton and one devasting uppercut, it took all of five seconds to put the bully down and defuse the situation without having to call for backup, without having to arrest anyone, and without having to kill anyone. Moreover, all in a day's work, I didn't need to fill out any unnecessary paperwork, make a court appearance, and blow my cover.

"Are you okay, Miss," I said turning to face her.

As if brushing off their paw prints, she brushed off her clothes.

"Yes," she said rubbing her red cheek. "Except for where the man slapped me across my face, I'm okay."

# # #

I picked up her blouse from the ground, wiped off the dirt, and handed it to her. Get dressed," I said. "There's a diner just around the corner. Are you hungry? You look hungry. I'm hungry and I definitely can use a cup of coffee," I said. "I've worked up quite the appetite saving your ass. You're welcome," I said with a laugh. "Now, let's eat, shall we," I asked?

She laughed, too.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank God for you. You appeared out of nowhere just in time. After stripping me naked against my will, the four of them were about to have their wicked, sexual way with my naked body. Gross. That's so gross. Why are men so violent when it comes to sex?"

I shrugged.

"Men are animals. Men think that they can take what they want, when they want it, and that all women want the same thing," I said suddenly feeling guilty that I was a man and that I, too, was an animal.

With me from Boston, talking to her in my proper, Boston accent, the King's English, I talked to her in the way that James Spader as Raymond Reddington would have talked to Megan Boone as special agent Elizabeth Keen.

She smiled, put on her blouse, and pulled out a sweater from her bag to cover what the torn blouse that no longer covered of her big, white brassiere and her long, sexy line of cleavage.

"I haven't eaten today or yesterday," she confessed with shame while holding her stomach. "I could eat," she said with a grateful smile that I not only saved her from being savagely raped but also that I saved her from starvation and was going to feed her, too.

I entered the diner and took a table by the window. With one eye on her and my other eye on the sidewalk, I kept watch to see if the big man staggered out of the alley or to see if his friends had the stupidity to return. Relieved that it was over, none of them walked by the diner. Either he was still unconscious or they went the other way. A smart move on their part, clearly, his three friends were too cowardly to return.

# # #

"What's your name?"

She smiled again while lighting me up with bright, blue eyes. Fluttering my heart, her smile could light up a room. Pretty, even in her disheveled appearance, she was even prettier up close and especially when she smiled. I could only imagine what she'd look like if she was cleaned up. An instant attraction, there was something about her that made me continue to stare at her. Unable to stop myself from looking at her, love at first sight, I was already falling in love.

"Susan," she said. "Susan Jill Parker."

I laughed.

'A familiar sounding name, where have I heard that name before,' I wondered.

I stuck out my hand to shake her hand. I just wanted to touch her to make sure that I wasn't dreaming. She was so damned beautiful.

"I'm Mike, Michael Joseph Sullivan," I said feeling compelled to tell her my full name after she told he her full name. "Even though just your first name would have sufficed, do you always answer with all three names," I asked?

She laughed with a shrug.

"Do you know how many Susan Parkers there in the world? It's a common name. Adding the Jill sets me apart from the others and adds a bit more description to my identity," she said.

I nodded my head to show her that I understood.

"There are probably as many Susan Parkers are there are Michael Sullivans," I said with a laugh. "Sullivan is a common name, too, especially in Boston."

She laughed, too.

"Besides, Susan Jill Parker is my writing name. I'm known world-wide by that name. I write personalized erotica for fans for a small fee or at least I did when I had a computer and wasn't homeless," she said with a sad, little laugh.

# # #

I looked at her with curiosity. I looked at her with sexual lust. After seeing her stripped nearly naked, I looked at her with horniness and lustful, sexual desire. I sexually wanted her in the way that I had never sexually wanted any woman before.

"How does someone who looks like you become homeless," I asked while trying not to stare at the big impressions her huge breasts made in her sweater. "I'd imagine that there'd be many men who'd love for you to live with them. Granted, most men would have a sexual agenda but there must be some men out there who'd love to have someone like you in their lives and who'd take care of you with no strings attached."

'I know that I would,' I thought but didn't say.

She exhaled a big breath, rolled her eyes, and made a face.

"With me still single and unattached, I haven't found him yet," she said with a sad, little laugh and with a shrug. "Besides, sex for room and board. I've been there and have done that. No thank you," she said. "I'd rather be homeless. At least I'd have control of my life. I'd rather be panhandling on the streets than being a sexual slave for some fat, perverted, sweaty slob."

While wringing her hands, she said a truth of what all beautiful women must endure.

"The only thing that matters to them, most men would love to make out with me while feeling me through my clothes. As you witnessed today, most men would love to strip me naked. Most men would love to hump my mouth, fuck my pussy, and pound my ass because they think they own me for giving me a roof over my head and putting food on the table. No thank you," she said again. "I'll pass," she said shaking her head and waving her hands.

Then, as if she was thinking about the plight of her deplorable, little life, a look of sadness took hold of her face. She suddenly looked so sad. She looked as if she was about to cry. She looked as if her dog just died.

"After losing my job as a business manager for a famous modeling agency on Newbury Street, no longer able to afford my rent, the cost of living is too high in Boston to live there. A desperate move, yet, my only move, on June 9, 2011, I moved from my beloved Boston to live with my whore of a mother, Natty, Nasty Natty, in Hershey, Pa. God help me. That was a mistake," she said. "An ex-stripper and prostitute, my mother is still and will always be an all-around whore."

She fell silent again as if pausing in thought.

"Knowing Boston like the back of my hand, stuck in Hershey without a car, and with everything unfamiliar, I never knew where I was. Able to walk anywhere and everywhere in Boston, with everything spread out and far apart, I needed a car in Hershey. The mall in Harrisburg, where I knew I could find temporarily employment, was 25-miles away to the south. Finally, three months later, on September 11, 2011, we experienced the great, 100-year-flood. The Susquehanna surged more than 30' over its banks and flooded everything.

Seemingly embarrassed by the condition of them, making due without skin cream and/or nail polish, she played with her unmanicured fingers before folding her arms across her breasts and moved her hands beneath her arms to hide her hands. I felt for her. Someone like her always had her hair, nails, and clothes just so. It really must have been hard on her to be homeless and to live on the street like an animal.

"With us living in a basement apartment across the street from the river, before the flood waters receded, we had water up to the ceiling," she said with sadness. "McDonalds had flood waters over its roof and had to be demolished and rebuilt. The Hershey Zoo was underwater. Unable to save some of the biggest and heaviest of them, so that they wouldn't needlessly suffer, some of the animals had to be shot and removed after the flood waters receded."

She paused and fell silent as if reliving the flood.

"We lost everything. We weren't allowed back in the building until a month later after the flood water receded and the building inspector inspected the building and deemed it safe to enter. By then, sitting in a pool of home heating oil, swamp water, we couldn't salvage anything. Yet, typical of my mother, God love her, the whore that she is," she said slowly shaking her head. "Spreading her legs and opening her mouth, she befriended the FEMA inspector and moved in with him, while I lived in a shelter and ate my meals at a mission," she said.

Seemingly, always needing to do something with her fingers, I watched her play with her napkin.

'I thought of her fondling the head of my cock while I felt her big tits and fingered her erect nipples. I know that it was nasty of me to think that after all that she's been through but seeing her naked made me horny. Seeing her naked ass, naked tits, and naked pussy, made me want to have sex with her,' I thought while trying not to stare at the impressions of her big breasts.

"After befriending a woman at the shelter, in February of 2012, a kind, elderly, Mennonite woman who volunteered at the shelter offered me her spare bedroom. Eventually, my role turned from squatter to home healthcare worker when she was no longer able to care for herself. When she died, I had to make a decision where to go. Going back to what was familiar, I returned to the only place that I know, Boston."

Seemingly lost in thought, as if reliving the memory of the flood again, she paused.

"I used my last dollar to buy a bus ticket and returned to Boston. Unable to find a job and with the rents sky high, I was still homeless," she said. "Only, homeless in Boston was better for me than being homeless in Hershey. At least I knew where I was and where everything is. Besides the coffee cup donations were better," she said with a little laugh.

# # #

The waiter appeared at the table with menus.

"Do you need a minute to look over the menu or do you already know what you want," he asked looking from me to Susan and back to me?

She looked at me as if asking my permission to order what she wanted to eat. I nodded my head with a smile and a shrug.

"Go ahead," I said. "Order whatever you want," I said. "Whatever you don't eat, they'll box up for you to take with you. They don't have steak or lobster here but they make a good breakfast," I said with a laugh.

She handed the menu to the waiter.

"Breakfast. I want breakfast. I love breakfast. Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day," she said sitting back in her seat and smiling with the anticipated excitement of soon to be eating food.

Not even having to look at the menu, with her not having eaten in two days, I knew what she'd want to eat.

"Let's start with some pancakes and French toast with extra syrup, sausages, bacon, eggs, two, fruit salads, two orange juices, and lots of coffee," I said. "And a dozen of those donuts to take with us," I said pointing to the display of donuts on the counter.

# # #

"I'm not married," I said getting that out of the way in case she was wondering. "I've never been married and, presently, am not in a relationship. My work is my life. I live alone," I said with sadness. "Hoping to make me as miserable as my married friends are, my friends are always trying to fix me up with their friends and their relatives."

Curious how what I just volunteered would sit with her, I sat quietly while sipping my coffee and watching her eat in the way of a starving animal.

"I live like a Monk," I said while thinking of how Denzel Washington lived in Charlestown, Massachusetts as the Equalizer in The Equalizer 1.

I thought about my small apartment with no curtains on the windows, rugs on the floor, or pictures on the wall. It definitely needed a woman's touch to make it feel like a home. As if I was trying to duplicate how I lived in a military barracks, I succeeded. There was nothing frilly or fancy about my living arrangements.

Nothing in the apartment showed my personality. None of any furnishings in the apartment meant anything to me. Every piece of furniture was purchased from a second-hand store. Nothing fancy, I had a bed and a cot in the other room, a table and two chairs, a couch, a reclining chair, a couple of lamps, and a TV. The empty room, I used for storage.

Putting it all out there, after she made it clear how she felt about men putting a roof over her head and feeding her, nonetheless, I hoped she'd accept my offer to live with me, even if for only one night. I wasn't like other men who only wanted her for one thing. I wanted everything. I wanted a relationship.

I wasn't like other men who wouldn't treat her with respect. I've always had a soft spot for women, especially tall, blonde, busty, and good-looking women with big, blue eyes. I'd love her in the way that she's never been loved before. I'd take care of her as if she was not only my lover but also my best friend.

"I have a spare bedroom with a cot and a door with lock that I can give you for the night or for however long you need it. The bathroom has a lock on it, too. Getting you safely out of the elements, at the very least, you could take a shower and after, we can go shopping for some new clothes," I said.

No wanting to let her go, no telling if I'd ever see her again, I paused while hoping she'd say yes.

"All that I ask in return is that you make me breakfast," I said with a little laugh after she confessed that breakfast was her favorite meal of the day. "Always in rush, I never take the time to eat. I grab a cup of coffee and a donut on my way to work. Instead, having my breakfast in the car, I'd have breakfast with you."

With daily breakfast on the table, I hoped to temp her with food to come home with me. Yet, expecting her to balk and decline my offer, especially after she confessed about how she felt about men expecting sex. After offering her a roof over her head and food to eat, I was surprised when she readily accepted coming home with me.

"I'd like that. I could make you breakfast and whatever meal you wanted," she said with a smile. "Thank you for your kindness. Thank you for saving me. Thank you for breakfast and for your generous offer of giving me a place to live, if only for one night, and for offering to buy me some much-needed, new clothes. I'd love to get rid of these rags," she said looking down at her stained sweater and her torn blouse with her brassiere exposed.