I knew it was eventually going to catch up with me.  No, not my middle age flab—jury duty.  I had successfully evaded my citizen responsibility for 3 decades.  I guess my excuses over the years were believable:  I didn’t get my allowance this week.  My tummy hurts.  My panties are itchy.

On January 5, 2012, I fulfilled my civic duty by reporting downtown to the Los Angeles Supreme Court building.  Two hundred of us were herded into a large room where we were instructed to have a seat, review the juror handbook and remove our dentures.

After an hour of waiting for my name to be called, I sleepily drifted into a scene from my favorite courtroom drama, Law & Order Special Victims Unit. There I was, attempting to solve a case with sexy triumphant Detective Olivia Benson, Season 4, the one where she has short boy hair and her clothes are super tight on that excellent body of hers. We’re in the office sitting at her desk looking over files and no one else is in the huge space. I get butterflies in my stomach each time she says the word “perp.”  She smells of gardenias and has coffee breath but I don’t mind because I just ate a bag of Doritos. She stands up and paces a bit and then asks, “Palacios, what do you think our next move should be?”

I can’t help but focus on her shiny badge hanging lustfully low on her hip and I think: god, I want to lick that and suck her big toe.  I’m nervous but I get the courage to reply, “I think your next move should be, on top of me, Detective Benson.”  I say as I bat my eyes and hold in my stomach.

She walks towards me slowly flashing me her sensuous smile.  “Take off your clothes, kitten.”  I quickly unzip, unbutton and I realize I’m wearing an old bra and some ratty underwear.  I gasp in horror.  Detective Benson sees my shame and scoops me up into her arms and whispers, “That’s ok, kitten, I like cochinas.”

Intoxicated by her bilingual tongue, my body goes limp and my hand accidentally brushes over her gun.  She spins me around and throws me up against the wall, face first, and slaps cuffs on me faster than I can say, “If the glove don’t fit, you must acquit.”

“You touched my gun.  Now I must punish.”  She says firmly as she presses her body against me.  I feel her mound rubbing my ass and her breasts touching my back.  I silently pray I don’t fart.

“Do what you have to do for justice, Detective Mistress.  Make me put on an orange jump suit.”  I tell her as my loins tingle with her hot breath on my neck.  “Set my bail at one million dollars.”  Our hearts race with excitement. “Make me clean the holding cell with a toothbrush.”  I feel our orgasms building.  “Oh for the love of Perry Mason, lube me up and shove that double-headed vibrating gavel inside me!”  I scream out as we begin to climax.

I feel someone tapping my shoulder and then I hear a woman’s voice, “Miss, miss, I think they called your name.”  I slowly open my eyes and see the same Latina who sat by me when I arrived in the morning.  She’s pointing at my name tag.  “They called your name a few times for a jury. You better go check.”

I look around for Detective Benson but she’s evaporated into the recesses of my porno mind.  I shake my head a bit, stand and make sure my zipper is up.  As I’m about to walk over to the front desk, the woman who woke me up asks, “You kept whimpering and you shouted,  ‘double-headed vibrating gavel’, what is that?”

I smirk and reply, “Justice.”

Book Monica Palacios for your upcoming university and cultural events that focus on: LGBT, Chicana/Latina, Theater, Women, Gender, Performance, Race, Class, Sexuality, Vegetarian Food.