Everybody Hates Me

My name is Martin Blake. I am that guy. What I mean is that I am the guy that everybody hates. Right now I am in the Central Division Police station waiting for my favorite detective, Carla Ramos, to arrive and take my statement. Carla and I go way back. What I mean is I have had dealings with detective Ramos on several other occasions. She knows what I am and we sort of have an understanding.

So what am I? I am an unmarried, middle-aged guy who is sexually active and not ashamed of it. I am good-looking and in great physical shape. I wear only the most stylish and expensive clothing. I have a great job, drive an expensive car, and do not want for money. I love sex and I am very good at it.

What is the problem, you ask? Well, I guess it is because I will only have sex with married women. Not just any married women, just the ones who meet my standards. Most single women are looking for some sort of commitment that I am unwilling to give. I am not interested in having a steady, regular partner. I definitely do not want a wife and or a family. Single women are usually, but not always, looking for something.

Married women on the other hand are a bit different. Yes, they are looking for something, but there is usually no commitment attached to it. They want a bit of excitement in their dull lives. They crave some affection or love, just for an evening, that they cannot get at home. They want to experience sometime nasty for a change. They are bored out of their minds, or they are tired of being ignored. I could go on and on, but you get the picture. The important thing is that they don't want me, they just want to use me. And I let them.

Of course, I don't really understand why people hate me. I guess I am trying to rationalize what I do. I do not pursue married women. I don't pursue any women at all. I am friendly and I am congenial. I try not to be nasty, rude, or impolite unless it is necessary. I have never blackmailed, threatened, or drugged a woman to have sex. I have never schemed or manipulated a woman to get her to bed.

The police station always seems to be busy at this time of night. Yes, I have been here before. After what seemed like an hour, but was quite less, Detective Ramos graces me with her appearance.

"What is going on, Martin? Did some irate husband assault you again?" She plopped down in her chair and did a taste test of her machine coffee.

"No! It is a hell of a lot more serious, at least it is to me. I think I need your help."

"Did you stop by the medical facility?"

"Damn it, Carla. Get serious for a minute. I don't want to get railroaded and you are the only one who can help me."

"What the hell do you mean by 'railroaded'?"

"Earlier this evening I spent some quality time with a married lady who called herself Wanda. I have no idea what her last name is. Everything seemed fine for the first two hours and then it went to hell. We were getting ready to leave the room when I noticed that she took a pill from a small bottle and swallowed it. Jokingly, I asked her if it was the morning after pill. She giggled and replied 'no silly, it is Ecstasy.'."

"Well, I will admit Martin, it is getting a bit interesting. Go on."

"I asked her why she was taking it now instead of before, and she replied that she wanted to enjoy the sex without being drugged up. I gave her a confused look. She sat down and explained to me that she was going to wait a half hour or so and then go to the City General Hospital and report that she had been drugged and raped. That way her husband could not accuse her of cheating on him and he would comfort her instead of criticizing her."

"That is the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of. Was she serious?"

"As far as I could tell. I mentioned to her that I could be arrested for rape and she just laughed. She said that she didn't even know my name, so nobody would ever know."

"Martin, I thought that you only picked up the smart ones."

"Me too. Hell, she wasn't even blonde."

"You are in the database, aren't you?"

"Yep! With a hobby like mine, there is no way that I could avoid it."

"I see your problem. In a couple of hours, we are going to get a report of a rape and the DNA will identify the rapist as Marin Blank, Esq."

"Can you help me?"

"I thought that you would be smart enough to protect yourself against something like that?"

"I am, sort of."

"What does that mean?"

I pulled out my android tablet and set it on the desk with a mischievous grin on my face.

"Damn, Martin! Do you tape your episodes with these women? That seems a bit perverted, even for you."

"I don't do it for the sex. Do have any idea how easy it is to get blackmailed and shaken down by some of these proper housewives. I do it just to cover my ass, like tonight. Do you want to see it or not?"

"Okay! Can you fast forward through the sex parts and just go to the end?"

"Absolutely!" Things were quiet for a few minutes as Carla watched the fiasco take place.

"Okay, Martin. You win! I'll make a quick copy of this and then you are free to go. I got all the information that I need."

I had a cup of that machine coffee and she was back five minutes later. I signed a few papers and got my tablet back. Before I left I looked over my shoulder and said "You are not going to watch that are you?" I think I saw her stick her tongue out and grin at me.

[]---[]

True to her word, Detective Ramos was able to take care of almost everything. I did have to come down to the station to make a few statements and sign a few more forms, but that was about it. While I was there I happened to see Wanda and a man that I assumed to be her husband. Things did not look as if they were going well for her. I stayed back so that she would not see me.

Carla was looking at me a bit funny before I left. "You looked at the video didn't you?" I swear she blushed a little.

"Well, now I at least know what the attraction is." I think she was smiling.

[]---[]

Things went on as normal for several months, and then I hit another problem. She was attractive, although a bit overweight, and seemed completely normal until we got to the room. We never did get around to doing anything of a sexual nature. She broke down crying as she started to undress and I ended up just sitting and holding her. Things seemed to deteriorate over the next two hours. She hadn't drunk that much and there were no drugs involved as far as I knew. My normal afternoon experiences usually consisted of quick, comfortable, consensual sex. I was unequipped for these. There was a constant babbling that meant absolutely nothing to me. In desperation, I called Carla.

Twenty minutes later there was a knock on the door.

"Are you Martin?" I just nodded affirmatively.

"Detective Ramos said you needed some help. I am Sarah Phillips from the suicide prevention unit. Do you want to fill me in on what is happening?"

It was easy to see that Sarah Phillips knew what she was doing and ten minutes later she asked me to quietly leave, after instructing me to stop by the station and fill out a few forms.

I couldn't figure out if I did the right thing for this woman or if I contributed to her problem by picking her up. I wanted to make her feel better, not worse. Seducing unhappy women was getting to be a depressing hobby.

[---]

Occasionally, I would stop by the Pickle Bar for a quick drink. The Pickle Bar was the local police joint. This is where they congregated after work and for special occasions. To all the cops, I was a perp and they jokingly treated me as one. It was good-natured fun.

It was late on a Friday night when Freddy the bartender from the Pickle called my cell. That had never happened before.

"Martin! This is Freddy down at the Pickle. I need your help."

"How can I help you? You must have twenty cops there right now."

"It's Detective Ramos. She is smashed. Totally out of it. I got her in the back room right now. She doesn't want any of the guys to see her. She asked me to call you."

"For what?"

"She wants you to come to get her. She is embarrassed I think. If you park in the alley, we can take her out the back door.'

An hour later I had a passed-out Carla Ramos sleeping it off in my bed. The first time I ever had taken a woman to my apartment. Women are for hotel rooms, my apartment is for me. I slept on the couch.

I had pastry and coffee ready the next morning when she finally woke. She didn't say anything for the first half hour.

"I need a shower."

Thirty minutes later she was in better shape. She looked good in a pair of my old sweats, but I didn't have a hair dryer for her. She towel dried it the best that she could. I just sat and stared at her.

"My husband served me with divorce papers. His twenty-two-year-old secretary is pregnant."

"Do you need a place to stay?"

"No! He moved out. The rent is a bit high, so I will probably have to find another place later. I am good for now, but thanks for the offer."

[]---[]

Winter was fast approaching. I was not cruising as much as I used to. I think I was getting tired of the game, but it was a hard habit to break. I was coming out of the Mayflower Hotel with my latest hot wife, and there was three inches of snow on the ground. My Lexus was about a hundred feet across the lot. I took out my fob and hit the remote start button, from the hotel entrance.

The explosion was deafening. My beautiful white Lexus was virtually gone and the cars on either side were on fire. Being the gentleman that I was, I called an Uber for my lady friend, and then I called Carla. For some reason I wanted her to know. She was there, thirty minutes later. All that was left, by that time, were two burned-out cars and a hole where the Lexus was.

She gave me a ride home, but I didn't get a whole lot of sympathy from her. As far as she was concerned it was something that I should have been expecting to happen eventually. I did ask her to stay the night, but she just laughed.

[]---[]

I decided not to replace the Lexus. For the next couple of months, I was using Ubers. I got used to it and pretty soon it felt very natural. My hunting excursions were now about half of what they used to be. Some evenings, I ended up at the Pickle Bar with Carla. Occasionally we would go out to eat. Gradually we found that we were going out to eat more than we were going out to drink. We still never slept together.

I was still out cruising for desperate housewives when Carla was not free.

It was late on a Friday and I had just left a satisfied customer at the Mayflower. She wanted to stay and shower, so I said my goodbyes. My Uber was just pulling up when I was suddenly struck from behind. It hurt Like hell and I found myself on the ground looking up at a big guy wearing a baklava and swinging a baseball bat. I took about three more good solid hits before I heard a loud screeching noise like a siren. My assailant quickly left and I found the Uber driver standing over me, with his phone in one hand and an emergency alarm in the other.

I don't know how I got to the hospital. The first thing I noticed was Carla sitting in the chair aside from my bed. How did she know? I knew that I was going to end up getting the same old lecture from her about my avocation. I ended up with two cracked ribs and quite a few bruises on my arms and legs. Luckily none of the swings hit my head or my gonads. I guess it was good that the Uber driver responded as he did. I could still walk, feed myself and go to the bathroom. They only kept me for three days.

Carla stayed at the apartment with me for a couple of days, but there was still no sex.

[]---[]

I was fast losing interest in unhappy housewives. I was beginning to think that it was more trouble than it was worth. I needed a hobby. I actually went online and started looking for something, anything. I was even getting bored with work. I invested wisely and I didn't waste my money on stupid stuff. I had enough to live on.

So I stopped cruising for unhappy wives and everything went to shit anyhow.

I got the call from City General Hospital. Carla had been shot four times and was in the emergency. I got the call twice. One call came from the police station and the other from the hospital. Carla had listed me as her emergency contact. I didn't know that.

Carla had led a task force that broke up several of the local prostitution operations within the city. One of the primary culprits held her personally responsible for his arrest and decided that retribution was required. He shot her four times, point blank before her partner was able to put him down. She didn't have a vest on. Since she had me down as her primary contact, I didn't have any problems being able to stay with her.

The first few days she was out of it. As the drugs wore off, she became a lot more responsive. We seemed to be jabbing at each other constantly about who had the worse situation; her job or my hobby. It was never resolved.

She was at the hospital for two weeks and at my apartment after that. While she was there, I took it upon myself to move all of her stuff from her apartment to mine. I didn't ask. She didn't complain.

She got a medal and the option of taking a disability retirement if she wanted it.

[]---[]

No, I didn't end up getting roasted at the stake like most of you wanted. I did however give up any and all desires to seek out married women. That was a past life.

Right now I am sitting on the porch of my villa in Porto, Portugal. It was her idea, not mine. I was opting for Panama, but Carla rules. I promised to protect her from getting shot and she promised to keep me away from married women. Actually, she said all women, married or not. We both developed a fondness for rose wine. This is a good place for it. The funny thing is that Carla speaks Spanish, but we ended up in Portugal.

Guess what; not everybody hates me.