The Moon Shines Darkly

Bjorn needed to adjust his stance. His knees, straining from kneeling for so long, screamed in agony. He gasped, as much in pain as in pleasure.

He clasped her hands, fingers interlocking, and pushed them stretching beyond her head as he fell forward. She arched her back, breasts jiggling as they reached for the stars, pressing warmly against his chest. Her legs wrapped tightly around him, locking him in a prison of 19-year-old flesh.

“Hhhnngnggghhhh…” he grunted, shuddering as the climax washed over him. His fingers unlocked as he slowly regained consciousness, breathing ragged.

“Hey!” someone barked menacingly, and Bjorn found himself awash in a spotlight’s burning glare. Instinctively, he shielded his eyes, the girl clutched her chest protectively a moment too late for discovery.

“Officer Williamson of Bender PD. Who are you?” the angry voice left no margin for sympathy. “On your feet!”

Bjorn scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could, but clearly not fast enough. The spotlight grew in size, a clear indication that Officer Williamson was approaching rapidly.

“My name is Bjorn Haraldsson, Officer. I’m the caretaker of this cemetery.” Bjorn, not knowing what else to do, thrust his hands in the air, his manhood slapping his thigh and leaving a sticky trail of coitus running down his leg.

Bjorn was pretty sure he heard a chuckle. Sure enough, Officer Williamson had backup. “Hey Rick, maybe you should ask this guy if it’s his birthday, since he’s wearing the suit and all.” Laughter rang out across the cemetery’s headstones. 

Officer Rick Williamson sighed. “Sir, don’t you think you could find a more private place to do…whoever that is.” Then Rick saw the young brunette as she moved to sit up. “Oh wait, is that…?” Williamson turned his head, clicked his transceiver, and declared, “2-Ricky-12. I’m on that 10-70. I think it might be a 647b. It’s her again.”

Bjorn, on the verge of arrest, couldn’t help himself. “Officer, what are the codes you just used? Am I being arrested?” 

“How about we head back to the caretaker’s cottage and I’ll tell you,” Williamson replied. “Get some pants on, and then turn around and place your hands behind your head.” 

Bjorn took a deep breath, desperately trying to steady his nerves. He reached down for his pants, popped his feet in each leg and hoisted them up. He reached out to help the girl when Officer Williamson barked again for him to turn around and place his hands on his head. She’d have to fend for herself.

The handcuff’s cold bite chomped down on Bjorn’s wrists. “Listen, this is as much for your safety as it is for mine. Bill, grab the girl and come along.” Both policemen giggled thinking Bill was going to get a free squeeze on this barely-clothed young cutie.

“I think I’ll pass, Rick. Who knows where she’s been…since last time we picked her up at least.”

Bjorn, wearing only his pants, was pushed towards the caretaker’s cottage. He could grab his shirt, shoes and blanket tomorrow. Hopefully, tomorrow.

The old cottage’s front steps creaked as the group clambered up, Bjorn nodding at the door. “It’s locked.” Williamson flipped his chin at the other officer, seeming to indicate that the young woman should be taken to their cruiser.

Alone with Bjorn, Williamson spoke up. “We can conduct our business here then. Tell me what you were up to tonight. How do you know that young lady? Do you even know how old she is?”

Oh shit! Bjorn thought, heart sinking at the idea she might actually be underage. “Hey man, her Frenemies profile said she was 19. I’m not trying to do anything illegal.”

“Frenemies, that’s the dating app?” Williamson asked, jotting notes on his mini notepad. 

“So you’re just into the one-nighters?” One of Williamson’s eyebrows rose suspiciously.

“I’ve been married– and divorced– twice. I got sick of the regular dating apps because all the women on those are looking for serious relationships and thought I was just there to cheat on my wife.”

“Were you?”

Bjorn chuckled, thinking that’s exactly why he was single now. “Yeah. At one point I was.”

“So you’re saying you don’t know that girl?” Williamson looked up, scrutinizing Bjorn’s response.

“I only met her a few hours ago. We went to Charlie’s Diner for burgers and then back here. She was all into the idea of doing it in a graveyard.” Bjorn added for good measure, “we were just finishing up when you crashed the party.”

Williamson didn’t look impressed. “Yeah, I heard you finishing up.” Bjorn broke into a big grin. Why do men do that– even in a moment of danger, they act like conquering heroes when their promiscuity is recognized by other males?

“Look,” Williamson continued. “We got called out on a 10-70, that’s a prowler call. Someone must have seen you creeping around in the graveyard and thought you looked suspicious.”

“But you added another call number,” Bjorn inquired, “What was that other one you said?”

“I added a 647b, the call for possible prostitution in progress.” 

Bjorn’s knees turned to jelly. “No way! That’s totally not what is going on here. I met that girl on a dating app yesterday, we ate burgers, and came back here to fool around. She never asked for money and I never offered.”

“You see,” Williamson responded, sucking in air through his teeth, “We’ve picked– I’ve picked– her up on suspicion of soliciting johns before. How do I know that’s not what’s going on here?”

Bjorn, desperation bubbling out, blurted “go ask her yourself! She’ll tell you!”

“Ok, calm down. Take a seat on the stairs and I’ll go ask her.” Williamson helped Bjorn sit on the top of the cottage’s short staircase, not too worried since Bjorn was still cuffed. He turned and headed over to the patrol car.

Williamson came back half an hour later. Officer Bill Whoever was with him, as was the perky brunette. She was uncuffed and clothed but looking defiant and righteously pissed off. Two other men had joined the party, walking just behind the trio of cops and teenager hooker. One of them looked to be about Bjorn’s age, around fifty, and the other was an enormous hulk of a man, like an NFL linebacker. Both wore suits, but the older man’s probably cost twice Bjorn’s yearly salary.

Williamson strolled up, helped Bjorn to his feet, and unhooked his cuffs. Bjorn gingerly rubbed his sore wrists, and then his shoulders which had cramped from holding his hands squeezed behind him for so long. 

“What’s going on here?” Bjorn asked, wondering what kind of mess he’d gotten himself into. His friends had warned him that dallying with these meet-for-sex apps would get him in trouble. Seems he was in a heap of it right now.

Williamson started to say something when the older man casually strolled forward. “Bjorn Haraldsson, is that your name?” He did not offer a hand to shake. He was tall and thin and looked like he knew his way around a day spa. He was pretty much the opposite of Bjorn– short, muscular, fingernails perpetually caked with dirt from cemetery work.

“That’s my name. Who are you and how are you involved with this…situation?” What else was Bjorn supposed to call it? He didn’t even know what was going on. 

“My name is David Pendergast, owner of AlphaMecari, the automobile company.” His snooty posture and glaring eyes told Bjorn he should know who and what that meant. Bjorn simply shrugged. Rich assholes and overpriced cars weren’t his thing. 

“Nice to meet you. Question stands though- what the fuck are you doing in this mess?” 

“Well, it seems it’s you who’ve fucked your way into my mess of an 18-year-old daughter.” 

Oh fuck. The two police officers giggled as quietly as possible.

“Her profile said she was 19.”

“Did it now?”