Cliche

I paused for effect – just staring at her for a good two minutes, neither of us flinching or even blinking as far as I could tell.

"I think that I'm interested – but only if I get some personal information about you," I said with my own evil smile.

"What does that have to do with anything?" she asked – but not in a standoffish manner; rather in a playful one. I got the impression that she was not immune to my dimples and smile.

"Are you married?"

"No."

"Steady boyfriend?"

"No."

"What nationality are you? I really can't place your look, and you are the most exotic woman that I have ever seen."

She paused for a moment – at first I thought that she wouldn't answer but she did. "According to my DNA test – you'll have to have one too since we need to have it on record for forensic purposes, and to know about medical conditions or possibilities, although your ancestry automatically comes with the results – I am about half Dutch, including my last name of Ketjen, about 1/4 Native American, and about ¼ Vietnamese, with 1% sprinklings of other nationalities."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty."

"Will I regularly be working with you?"

"Yes."

"My final question is how did Kathy tell you to greet me?"

Bridget chuckled "You really are a bad ass S. O. B., aren't you?"

With that she stood up, slinked more than walked over to me, pulled me up out of my chair with as much ease as a man her size could, and then planted a scorching kiss on my lips. Then she pushed me back down in the chair. "That was from Kathy, not me dipshit. Now either commit right now, or get out.

"Oh, I definitely commit," I chortled. "Where do I sign up?"

The rest of the day was filled with paperwork handled by the other woman at breakfast, a young cute little Asian woman named Thanh who spoke English well but with an accent; an inspection of and acquaintance with the weapons and other equipment available to field operatives provided by an already hired male operative named Jake; and a rundown by Bridget and Jake of the pervasiveness of the problem of human trafficking and what the main tactics that we would be using were. I was gung-ho by dinnertime – not just for Bridget, but for achieving Traffic Stop's objectives.

The next day, Sunday, I called one of the two guys that I shared a fleabag apartment with. I asked him to send me the few clothes and personal items that I gave a shit about on Tuesday, when he received an express package from me with the cash for accomplishing that, as well as my share of the next month's rent. I told him that he needed to get another border, which he had no problem with because there were plenty of people interested, and the other roommate and I never got along. I got the money to accomplish these obligations from Bridget, sent it out express on Monday, and got my package on Thursday.

Given my military background and fighting history, I didn't really need much instruction. However I did take getting in shape even more seriously than I had at any other time in my life, including sparing sessions with all of the other male operatives (with protective headgear and gloves). After two months of training my weight hadn't changed but I had developed even more muscle. I also thought that I was making progress in wooing Bridget. While there was no doubt that she was in charge, she was always very friendly toward me, and I swear that sometimes she gave me sultry looks.

I became particularly close to one of the other operatives named George Preston, nicknamed "Rock" and only answering to that name. Rock was about my size – probably an inch taller and fifteen pounds heavier – and we had the same basic outlook on life. Since staring at Bridget's fine ass and thighs, and beautiful face, during the week was getting me hornier than hell, on weekends Rock and I would go into Tucson and either pick up a couple of sluts who had apartments there, or if we struck out prostitutes. We always used condoms for pussy fucking, but one woman who I picked up three weekends in a row had tits similar to Kathy's and no condom was needed for the titty fucks I had with her.

Just to be clear, when we did pick up prostitutes we made sure that they weren't victims of human trafficking. One – Rose – was coy in providing answers. We finally identified ourselves and found out that she had a pimp who was – which is true of all pimps I'm sure – not nice to her. A scar on her face and bruise on her arm were from him. He had a stable of six girls, including Rose.

We coerced and sweet talked Rose into leading us to her pimp – Victor.

After Rose identified Victor, Rock and I approached him. He was bigger than either of us, but fat too, and really ugly.

"Victor, we hear that you don't treat your girls right – care to comment?" I asked, not in a nice voice.

"Who the fuck are you?" he snarled, exposing a .38 on his belt.

"We're the guys who are going to break up your organization unless you convince us that you're a good guy, asshole," I snarled back.

Victor stupidly went for his gun. I bent his hand back, breaking his thumb, as I removed it from his hand. Simultaneously Rock hit him so hard in his jaw that some of his teeth ended up in a different zip code than his prone unconscious body.

"OK dude," Rock said, "only one of us needs to convince Victor to leave town and we go pick up his girls and any that want us to we provide counselling for. The other can enjoy Rose's charms. How about two out of three 'roshambo?'"

I usually lost in rock, paper, scissors, but I was feeling lucky. "OK, you're on," I grinned.

I lost the first two; Rock went off with Rose with a big grin on his face; and I dragged Victor inside what was obviously a rundown first floor apartment that he used as his office. I threw the bullets from his .38 into a trash can and put the gun in a mailbox. I threw water on his face to wake him up.

"What...what...the...fuck," he stammered as he started to come to.

"Now listen to me Victor, and listen closely. In a week my friend and I will be back. If you aren't out of Arizona – the entire fucking state – when we get here you are a dead man. Got it?"

"What the fuck...who are you to tell me..." he started to say somehow getting some false bravado back. I interrupted him with a smash to his balls.

As Victor groaned I lifted his head up by his hair. "One week Victor, got it?"

He nodded his head.

"Say it Victor, one fucking week!"

He said it.

I had walked a few steps away from his rundown "office" when I heard an expected noise behind me. Without looking I kicked backward hitting the charging Victor in his stomach. When I turned I saw a eight inch blade in his left hand (his right still hurt from where I broke his thumb). I grabbed his arm, flung him into a brick wall, and then with his hand still on the knife handle jammed it into his heart. I relieved his pockets of the money he had collected from his prostitutes.

Victor gulped in the throes of death as I left. Once Rock was finished with Rose we picked up four of the five others of Victor's girls and brought them to a shelter and gave them information about who they could contact if they wanted out. I split Victor's cash between them.

***********

On our first assignment, Bridget, Rock, Jake, and I travelled to New Mexico by private plane. Our computer gurus, including Corey, had determined that a cell of human traffickers in Las Cruces was active. Jake was the perfect guy to act like a clueless businessman just looking for a good fuck when he went into the whorehouse that had been identified as run by human traffickers. Jake identified the female victim he thought would be most forthcoming and instead of fucking her when they got into a back room gently interrogated her in Spanish, the only language that she spoke. Jake sent Bridget a text confirming that the place was run by traffickers.

For an operation like this we only used hand guns, Tasers, helmets, and bulletproof vests, no heavy weaponry. Bridget and Rock busted their way into the back of the establishment while I boldly entered the front and the two guys in the lobby foolishly pulled guns on me. Well, they tried to pull guns on me. However, my Desert Eagle .50 AE was already drawn and I blew them both away as the women in the lobby shrieked. Although I didn't know Spanish I had been told what to say, and in both Spanish and English I assured them that I was there to help them and that their days under control of traffickers were over.

I stayed in the lobby facing the hallway to the back of the establishment. I heard a few muffled shots from the rear – I couldn't effectively use a suppressor on my Desert Eagle because the only ones available were so bulky, but Bridget and Rock had .380s with suppressors, and Jake had an easily concealed Beretta Pico (with no silencer). Two guys came running down the hallway. They looked like customers, not traffickers, but my instructions were to detain them – which I did, including by putting plastic cuffs on their hands and feet. I also pulled the shades at the front of the establishment and put a "Closed" sign that we had brought with us on the front door.

About twenty minutes after I entered, and the sounds of gunfire had stopped, Bridget, Rock and Jake came into the main lobby, leading four women, two guys who were likely johns, and an employee with a shoulder wound. They plastic handcuffed the guys who were likely johns.

Bridget calmed the women – a total of twelve – both in Spanish and English. Rock interrogated the johns and Jake convinced the employee to call the owner and tell him that there was a problem at the establishment.

We moved all of the women, the johns, and the dead bodies to the back of the whorehouse. I removed the "Closed" sign and Bridget and Rock waited inside while Jake and I took cover behind parked cars outside, Jake having retrieved his own Desert Eagle from our Jeep.

The slimy looking owner and two henchmen armed with AK-47s came tearing up to the whorehouse. Jake and I snuck behind them unseen and as soon as the owner cautiously opened the front door Jake executed the henchman on the right and me the one on the left. The owner quickly surrendered when Bridget stuck a gun in his face.

We knew that we didn't have long so we called our waiting bus. Bridget and I took the twelve women with us in the bus to Albuquerque to a charitable organization that helps relocate or get jobs for victims of human trafficking. Rock and Jake took the employee and owner back with them on the private plane to our facility near Tucson. The private plane returned to New Mexico to pick up Bridget and me in Albuquerque once we had safely delivered the women to the charity.

Like I said, Traffic Stop was not a charity. We didn't work within the law any more than the traffickers did. Once all the information that could reasonably be obtained from the owner and the employee – including information on how to access the owner's ill-gotten gains in his bank account (which money was anonymously donated to the charity that helped the female victims) – the two of them took a trip into the desert that they did not return from.

***************

Since we had successfully pulled off the first major operation we celebrated. More people than not got drunk, or at least near-drunk. That included Rock, me, and Bridget. At one point in time during the celebration Rock grabbed Bridget's ass. She didn't complain, but I did. I gave Rock a less than gentle push and growled "keep your fucking hands to yourself."

"She's not your woman Bertil so don't give me shit," he growled shoving me back.

"She will be some day, though asshole, so like I said keep your fucking hands to yourself," I snarled, again shoving him.

That started a fight. No one was willing to get between us as we pounded the shit out of each other. While I wasn't losing the fight, it was looking like I wasn't going to win it either, because Rock was the only guy I met since I was sixteen that could go toe-to-toe with me. Mercifully before we killed each other Bridget came from another room with a carbon dioxide fire extinguisher and blasted both of us.

In case you don't know it, carbon dioxide from a fire extinguisher doesn't just deprive a fire of oxygen – it cools it; cools as in capable of giving frostbite if you're hit too long or too directly from the carbon dioxide spewing out of the extinguisher.

Rock and I only needed to be hit once with the spray from the fire extinguisher. It instantly disinterested us in fighting any longer. As we were being treated by laughing co-workers for our bruises, cuts, and cold spots, Bridget got as nasty as a near-drunk could get. "What the fuck is wrong with you two morons fighting over me. I'll choose who can touch me and who can't and if I ever have a relationship with either of you two retards I'll be the one to decide, not some juvenile fight."

With that Bridget stormed out of the room.

Rock and I made up – and confessed we were each the toughest guy we had ever fought and that there probably would have been two losers and no winners if we continued – and the party continued, sans Bridget.

Everyone was back to normal the next day, although Rock and I would have tender spots and cuts for quite a while.

Within the next month the pace of our operations really picked up. It was clear that Rock and I were the most effective two person team and we went on three successful "adventures," as we euphemistically called them, by ourselves, and rescued eight female and three child victims and dispatched nine traffickers. Other five and six person teams were also active.

Then came our first trip abroad, to Southeast Asia, although it was a scouting mission more than an active one, especially since it would be difficult to bring firearms with us although we could bring less-than-lethal weapons. I was very pleased that Bridget chose me to accompany her. Rock was pissed, but by now since we were best buddies he actually wished me well.

The conversations that I had with Bridget on the plane were not normal. It was clear that we were flirting with each other. When we got to the hotel and I found out that we had the same room I didn't really give a shit that I was exhausted from the long trip.

As the door closed behind us and Bridget was facing into the room she flippantly quipped "Hey – there were supposed to be two beds in the room. We need to contact the front..."

That was as far as she got. I spun her around and gave her the most scorching hot kiss that I could muster. She made no attempt to dissuade me. When I finally broke the kiss and stared into her dichromatic eyes they were dancing.

"Are you looking for a fuck buddy or a relationship Johansson?" she snarled, calling me by my last name for the first time in months.

"Actually, Ketjen," I responded in kind, "for the first time in my life I'm not looking for a good fuck. I'm looking for real love. I feel differently about you than any other woman in my life – shit I fell for you the second that I laid eyes on you and since then you have only become more desirable to me. You're smart, dedicated, strong, audacious, and have more smoldering sexual energy than a stick of dynamite; how could I not love you?"

"Right answer, Bertil," she snickered, and then planted her own version of a sizzling hot kiss on me.

And so in earnest began my relationship with Bridget Ketjen. After almost ripping each other's clothes off we rolled around on the king size bed in our room like a pair of jungle cats as we marvelously fucked each other into oblivion. Despite my fatigue my first orgasm was the most intense in my life, and based upon Bridget's reaction it had to be at least in her top five. We immediately fell asleep but awoke a few hours later and for the first time in my life I made love to a woman rather than just fucking her.

Our rhythmic tender movements combined with our exchanges of kisses and gentle twisting or rubbing of body parts, resulted in the most emotionally satisfying experience of my life. We again fell asleep in each other's arms, and when we awoke the sun shone brighter, the air smelled better, and the birds chirped more sweetly (at least in my mind – I doubt that there were really any just outside the window) than at any other time in my life.

With a big grin Bridget said "You know I do believe that you actually love me and are not just looking for a good fuck."

"Actually, I both love you and am looking to you for a good fuck," I replied with a smile and with a twist of one of her supple nipples.

"That's good, because that's what I'm after too, even if you are too young for me," she giggled – at least as much as both a stone cold fox and killer is capable of giggling.

We orally pleasured each other, fucked again doggy style with lots of groans, moans, swear words, and spasming as we climaxed, and then showered and got ready for the work that was ostensibly the reason for this trip – although I was beginning to wonder if that was only a secondary criteria as we amorously washed each other under the shower stream.

Our six day trip to Southeast Asia ended up being enormously successful.

We got loads of useful information from law enforcement in three different countries, got even more information from informants who were paid by international anti-trafficking organizations, and actually participated in a raid that freed a dozen Vietnamese women.

Even more important to me was that Bridget and I bonded. Neither of us had ever felt the way we felt now at any time in the past. Not only were we completely in sync physically when it came to copulation (it seemed that my cock was molded with her pussy as a model), we were simpatico emotionally and intellectually.

When we got back to base camp in the morning Tucson time nine days after we left everyone could tell that there was something different. After just seeing our faces Rock pulled me aside and mumbled "You dog – do you have her locked up?"

"I sure as hell hope so," I mumbled in reply with a big shit eating grin.

"I hate you," he snickered, and then gave me an ear-to-ear smile and a playful punch on the arm.

Bridget is not one to allow gossip and innuendo to lower morale. As was her normal M. O., she took the bull by the horns. After lunch she called everyone that wasn't out in the field together.

"So no one has to waste any time by asking themselves 'If,' or talking behind our backs I want to make an announcement. Bertil and I are a couple. We will be sharing the same bed for the foreseeable future and a wedding may even be in the offing," she announced, looking fiercely at me when she said "wedding," something that we hadn't specifically talked about. I simply grinned.

After a few more pronouncements she dismissed everyone and I took my gear and clothes to Bridget's room.

That night when we stripped for bed Bridget got the first demure look on her face that I had ever seen – not the strong, audacious, visage that she normally presented. "Did I embarrass or shock you when I mentioned a possible wedding Bertil?" she cooed.

"Actually, Bridget, if given the chance I would have married you the first day we met. If you're foolish enough to wed me, I'm smart enough to ask you," I snickered.

Then I broke contact and took a small piece of aluminum foil off the dresser as she kept asking "What are you doing...what is that?"

After I had fashioned the piece of aluminum foil into a cheap ring I got down on one knee and with maybe the first emotional tear in my eye since I was a kid asked "Bridget Ketjen, will you do me the honor of marrying me and improving the quality of my life a hundred fold?"

"Slip that expensive ring on my finger and I'll tell you," she said as tears started forming in her eyes too. Once the ring was on she said "Fuck yeah, I will," and threw herself on me so that we were rolling on the floor laughing.