I obviously had a thing for uniforms and guns and ended up on a couple of dates with another cop I met in one club, then left and saw him in another one that same night. He was persistent and I really wasn’t interested, so I made him work for the date and wouldn’t give him my phone number. Instead, I gave him my email address and corresponded a few times before actually feeling comfortable enough to call him.
He invited me over to his house for lunch one day, which was nice because I could leave quickly afterwards. What I didn’t realize was that he lived in one of the worst neighborhoods in the area and his house was surrounded by a huge wall with security gates, etc. I felt like I was at Hotel California – you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave without anyone letting you out. But since he was a cop, I felt that he was probably safe, so I overlooked that part and made an evening date with him.
Unfortunately, he never took me out on a real date and invited me back to the Compound. He made dinner, but he seemed a little freaky and rehearsed, blasting Enigma on the stereo and trying to seduce me. I’m not even sure we actually kissed, because I don’t remember. I do recall using his bathroom and wondering whose long hair was on his floor and how long it had been there.
I wish I could get into more detail with this one, but all I can say is I think he liked his cats better than me. They got more attention and probably got more out of the date than I did. As it turns out, he was Crooked Cop’s best friend, but I hadn’t met Crooked Cop yet.
Years later I ran into him a couple of times when I was married. He was doing the same exact thing he always did – at a club getting shitfaced and trying to pick up women.
Shortly after I graduated college and began a professional career, I went through a cop dating phase. I suppose it had to do with ending up in abusive relationships, and psychologically I was attracted to law enforcement types, because it made me feel safe.
Sitting at the bar in a small club with my girl friend, this guy walks up to order a drink and we start talking. He was maybe five years older than me, not at all what I would normally be attracted to, but for some reason I was attracted to this guy. He told me his name was John, and he was a DEA agent. Ah-ha! Now that explained the attraction.
Supposedly, John was “working” while we were sitting at the bar. I can’t remember if he was actually drinking or not, and at the time I didn’t think to put clues together. We exchanged numbers, kept in touch, he came to my house, left me gifts at my door when I wasn’t home (nice body lotions and shower gels), flattered me with compliments, and always said that I was a “good girl.” He’d never been married and no kids, and within three weeks I was beginning to fall for this guy. The problem was, his job required him to work so many hours that I rarely got to spend any real time with him.
Sex was okay… and I only say okay, because John had a slightly smaller than average Johnson. But since I wasn’t used to being treated like a queen, I dismissed that part of the relationship. However, John really enjoyed being with me, and once when he was doing me from behind, he got off in less than a minute. He said I wiggled my hips a certain way or something and it just got him off. I had no idea what he was talking about, but okay.
About a month into this situation, I’d told my Aunt Paula about him and wanted her to meet him. In my own naïve mind, John could be “the one”. Aunt Paula and I went out to dinner one night, then decided to have a cocktail at the bar. Some guy that was good-looking but a cocky asshole started speaking to us. He mentioned that he was a police officer in a certain city, and I told him that I was seeing a DEA agent that worked with his department. He started asking me questions, I gave him John’s name, and he said they didn’t have anyone that works for his department by that name. I insisted that he worked “with” the department, not “for”. He still insisted, so then he asked me to describe John to him. When I did, he said, “That’s Daniel xxxx.”
I said no, his name is John. He described more things about John, like how he spoke, what he drove, etc. He said, “No, his name is Daniel, and he’s married with a baby on the way. And he’s not a DEA agent. He’s a cop for our department.”
My jaw dropped. Aunt Paula and I looked at each other, and she said, “I don’t trust this guy. You need to give John a call.”
We left the place and went somewhere else – and the cocky cop either followed us there or coincidentally showed up. A total creeper, he wouldn’t leave me alone. He kept insisting that John was someone named Daniel with a pregnant wife. At the time, cell phones weren’t like they are today, so I used a pay phone to call John. He didn’t answer, so I left him a message that this cop guy was insisting he’s someone else and this needed to be explained to me immediately. Paula and I left, and I went home pissed off.
When I arrived home, there were messages from John to please call him, that this guy was just out to get him. John rushed to my house immediately and convinced me he married a woman because she had terminal cancer and she needed his insurance – but they are not in an actual marriage. He also said he really did work for the DEA, and he did admit his real name was Daniel. Apparently, “John” was his working name, because he was undercover and couldn’t reveal his true information.
He was very convincing, so I believed him for the time being. However, my Spidey senses told me to look into it more. Another relative knew someone else John/Daniel had dated, so we had a very long discussion in which I learned he did have a wife that he was in a real marriage with, she did not have cancer, she was pregnant, and he’s basically the biggest liar and player on earth. I was floored that someone his age would take the time to make up a bunch of shit for no reason. Everything he’d told me was a lie, and I was heartbroken.
Being that I was still in my 20s and my dark side was more prevalent, I put together my own undercover disguise and a “care package” to have delivered to his wife to prove he’d been cheating on her. Within minutes, I received an angry phone call from him. He tried using his threatening cop tactics on me, but I called his bluff.
I later found out that during the time we were seeing each other, he had sat in the parking lot of my apartment complex waiting to see if I had other men coming to my house. Now it made sense why he kept saying that I “was a good girl.” Too bad he was a bad boy… so bad that he ended up getting fired for stealing drugs from informants.