Amanda's Worlds

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Can a woman with a personality disorder find happiness?
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imhapless
imhapless
3,586 Followers

When I, Ben Shaklee, graduated from Northwestern University's journalism school I was lucky to land a job with the Chicago Tribune. Ever since I was a kid, no doubt inspired by Clark Kent, Lois Lane, and cub reporter Jimmy Olsen in reruns of the old Superman TV show, and then enhanced by real life investigative reporters from the Washington Post and New York Times, I always wanted to be a newspaper reporter.

I went through the normal hierarchy for young reporters at the Tribune; obituaries, then local interest pieces, and then assisting on political stories both local and national. I got a big break when I was twenty six and still single, with no significant other. No one senior to me could stand the hours that would be involved, so I was assigned to ride with a Chicago Police late night crime squad. On a typical night we took off about ten p. m. and finished about five a. m.

After a testy start the cops on the squad - a sergeant, two Swat dudes, a uniformed policeman, a uniformed policewoman, a homicide detective, and a vice squad detective - warmed up to me. I wrote several very favorable articles about them that were published in the Metro section, never got in their way, and always brought coffee and donuts for all when we started the shift. They allowed me more and more access until I was almost treated like Richard Castle in the popular T V program.

While if this was a "True Crime" story I could relate many hairy and violent episodes that I witnessed and subsequently wrote about for the Tribune, by far the most unusual case I ever came across, which someday I might actually write an entire book about, was that of "Amanda's Worlds."

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

It was about two a. m. on a Wednesday morning when the squad, with a "No Knock" warrant, broke down the front door of a townhouse in a middle class neighborhood. It was a "first" in my experience when we entered a den on the ground floor where music was playing and saw a naked woman being fucked doggy style by one guy, and vigorously sucking another guy's cock. While the guy getting his cock sucked immediately broke away the guy pounding away doggy probably didn't see us right away because he kept going despite the order from the lead cop to "break it up."

The woman being reamed turned her head toward the lead cop and snarled "Let him finish," and then she reached her long arms in back of her and pulled the guy fucking her toward her. It was also obvious that she was doing something with the muscles in her crotch area because the eyes of the guy fucking her got really wide when her pelvis seemed to start vibrating.

All of us in the squad were stunned - stunned enough that no one immediately did anything but watch. Within seconds of when her pelvis vibrations started, the woman looked like she was having a convulsion, and the guy grunted and yell "Holy Shit," at least a dozen times. Obviously they had both orgasmed violently - certainly more violently than any orgasm I had ever experienced.

When the cops on the squad finally regained their composure they pulled the fucker out of the woman, and lifted her up. It was when she was standing, still naked, with cum leaking from her pussy and her eyes rolling in her head, that I got a good look at her. She was the sexiest woman that I had ever seen in my life.

The woman looked to be about thirty years old, five feet eight inches tall, maybe one hundred thirty pounds, with sleek thighs, prominent hips, and big tits with puffy nipples. Her hair was dark blond and shoulder length. Her eyes appeared to be dark blue, but since she was rolling them I couldn't initially say for sure. Her face wasn't classically beautiful yet cute, although it did look a little older than her firm body.

While the cops pulled the two men out of the den to begin interrogating them, I stayed in the room, mesmerized. The lone policewoman, Cathy Jenkins, in the squad went up to the woman with the leaking pussy and put an afghan that was lying on a couch around her, spoiling some of my view - but not all of it; I could still see one of her thighs and part of her pussy, and the cum slowly inching down toward her knee.

After she cuffed the woman, only Officer Jenkins and I were still in the den because apparently the two guys had gotten frisky and were being restrained by some of the squad members while others searched the rest of the townhouse.

"What's your name?" Cathy asked.

"What the hell is going on?" the woman replied, obviously still feeling the effects of her massive orgasm.

"I need you to cooperate, ma'am. Tell me your name."

"I haven't done anything wrong; fucking isn't against the law."

"I really need you to cooperate. If you haven't done anything wrong, tell me your name."

After a long pause and a few deep breaths "Amanda; Amanda Watkins," came out of her lips.

"Where are your purse and clothes?"

"Over by the bookcase."

Cathy walked over to the bookcase, picked up Amanda's very short skirt, thong, and skimpy top - there didn't appear to be a bra - and then her purse. As Cathy looked through the purse she asked "Why are you here, Amanda?"

"Because I needed to get fucked badly, and the two guys you saw me with as well as the guy upstairs looked like good prospects for ringing my chimes - which they did despite your rude interruption."

"Are you a prostitute Amanda?"

"Fuck no - just because I enjoy sex that doesn't make me a prostitute. I wasn't being paid, just having a good time."

After that exchange, Cathy pulled out an I. D. from one part of Amanda's purse. Cathy got a weird look on her face. She fished around some more and found two more I. Ds. in other parts of the purse. She walked up to Amanda holding them.

"How come you have three I.Ds. Amanda?" Cathy asked, fanning them out.

I walked over to the side, right next to Amanda so that I could plainly see the I. Ds. The one Amanda first focused on had her photo and the name Amanda Watkins, just like she had said. "That's me," she replied, nodding at the Amanda Watkins I. D.

"Well whose picture is this, then?" Cathy asked putting the Amanda Watkins one behind a second I. D. The second one had a photo almost identical to the one on the Amanda I. D. but the name on it was Shirley Blomquist. Amanda stared at it, blinked her eyes, and then got this funny look on her face. As she looked around the room, at herself, at me, and at Officer Jenkins, her look morphed from odd to terrified. She squealed, and then said "Where am I, and why don't I have clothes on, and why have I been handcuffed?"

Cathy Jenkins thought that it was an act. I wasn't so sure. Without responding to Amanda's inquiry Cathy put the second I. D. behind the third one and asked "Who is this?"

The name on the third I. D. was Joan Greene, and the photo sure looked like Amanda and the photos on the other two I. Ds.

Amanda's actions looking at the second I. D. were virtually repeated this time for the third I.D. Then her lips started quivering and she started softly crying. "I don't know what's going on. I want to talk to my husband Richard."

"Richard Greene?" Cathy asked.

"Yes - call Richard!" she whined.

Cathy went back to the purse to find a cellphone. There were three of them, one in each of the compartments that she had gotten the I. Ds. from. "Which one is yours, Amanda?" she asked.

"My name is Joan. I don't know what those two flip phones are, but the iPhone is mine. Richard's number is in the contacts."

"Where is Richard now?"

"He's on business in Los Angeles,"

"Just past midnight there," I said to Cathy. She nodded, scrolled through the menu and then pressed a button. She put the phone on speaker.

"Uh, shit, Joan. Why are you calling so late. I have an important meeting tomorrow," the obviously sleepy voice on the other end of the line said.

"Mr. Greene, this isn't your wife. This is Officer Jenkins of the Chicago P. D. calling on your wife's phone. We found someone who might be her in a precarious situation and want to confirm her identity."

"I'm OK, Richard, honey," Joan yelled. "There is some mistake; they've handcuffed me."

"What? What the hell is going on?" Richard snarled, now apparently fully awake. At that point Cathy turned off the speaker, and for the rest of the conversation I only heard one end.

After asking Richard to describe his wife, and when he would be back in town, and who his lawyer was, Cathy - obviously at Richard's request - put the phone back on speaker.

"Joan, honey. I'll be back as soon as my meeting ends tomorrow. In the meantime say nothing. John Braxton, my attorney, or one of his associates will meet you at the police station. Do not say anything, understand?"

"I won't Richard," she sobbed. "I love you - hurry back."

Cathy asked me to stand in the doorway to the den, with my back to her and Joan to block her exit in case she tried to flee. Then Cathy uncuffed her, helped her get dressed, then cuffed her again and put the afghan back on her so that her prominent puffy nipples were not visible through her blouse. I heard Joan say a number of times "These aren't my clothes - they look like a hooker's," while Cathy kept responding "They fit you though, Joan, and you have to wear something."

Once Joan was dressed, Cathy marched her out of the townhouse. The three men that had been found inside were on their knees in the living room, handcuffed, and being read their rights. The two that had been in the den were bloody, and still naked.

I rode with Cathy in the front seat of one of the squad cars, with Joan in the back. After Cathy put Joan in the car she handed Cathy's purse to me and whispered in my ear "I can't interview her since she asked for a lawyer, but you can. On the way to the station make nice with her and then ask her about the piece of jewelry in her purse."

This is probably a shock to anyone reading this, but sometimes the police skirt the law in questioning suspects. Go figure. I was going to decline, but my curiosity was aroused, I wanted to stay on Cathy's good side, and I figured that any judge worth a damn would consider me an agent of the police and rule anything that she told me inadmissible anyway, so I played along.

I established with Joan that I was a reporter, not a cop. I asked her a number of innocuous questions, and found common ground with her in discussing recent movies. Then I held up the expensive looking sapphire necklace in the part of her purse that the Amanda I. D. had been removed from. "Say, Joan, this is a really nice piece of jewelry. When did you get it?"

Without hesitation she responded "It's not mine. I've never seen it before."

"Why is it in your purse?"

"Someone must have put it in there."

Despite approaching the subject several different ways, Joan stuck to her story.

Joan was booked on possession of stolen property and prostitution just to keep her locked up for a while because the guys in the townhouse with her were known big time felons, who ran a burglary ring specializing in high end jewelry and gems, and they hoped that Joan could provide some worthwhile information.

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

That afternoon I made some inquiries about Joan with day shift cops at the station, and that night some more inquiries of Cathy. I didn't get much worthwhile information, but the situation had really piqued my interest so I latched onto the case like a bulldog. Thursday late afternoon I got some worthwhile intel from my most reliable source on the force, desk Sargent Melissa Nichols.

Melissa was a free spirited cop who at only the age of forty had already been through three husbands. After the third husband was history she had come on to me while I was doing a story at a cop bar and we spent three really nice nights together over the next week. She was about a seven out of ten on the looks scale but a 9+ on the freaky sex scale. If you ate Melissa's pussy once at the start of the evening you could do anything you wanted to her and she'd love it. After that first week we still got together about once a month, but neither of us looked upon it as anything serious or going anywhere - it was just a good way to trim our horns.

"Hey sexy; hat do you have for me about the Joan/Amanda/Shirley woman?" I asked Melissa while she was on break, making sure that no one else was around and then pinching her ass.

"You're gonna owe me three oral orgasms and a doggy fuck, stud," was her playful reply.

"That good, huh?" I chuckled.

"Yeah, that good!" she snickered.

"OK—deal as long as you shower and shave first" I replied, getting me a hard smack on the arm and a few choice curse words.

"You bastard. I shouldn't tell you for that - but it's too salacious not to tell," Melissa said with a shit-eating grin.

"I'm all ears," I chortled.

"Someone found a guy by the name of Eric Blomquist on one of Joan's flip phones and called him. Turns out he's husband number two. A little after noon today both husband number one and number two showed up at the station within five minutes of each other."

"What did they look like?" I asked, starting to salivate waiting for the juicy details.

"Well you know how gorgeous at least Joan's body is, so to no one's surprise Number one - Richard - is a flashy successful handsome businessman in a three piece suit. Number two - Eric - looks like he stepped off of a Viking ship. He's like six four, two hundred forty pounds of muscle, with blond hair, a chiseled body, and a face like Leif Ericson's. He looks like he could fuck any woman comatose. He's a long distance trucker."

"Did he punch out #1?"

"not right away; too many cops around. But some genius from the D. A.'s office gets the idea to have the three of them meet in one of the interrogation rooms to see what happens, and - I've seen the tape so I'm not shitting you - the woman first throws her arms around Richard and kisses him passionately, like Eric wasn't even there. Then - I still can't fucking believe it..."

"Get on with it, bitch," I snickered while I pinched Melissa's ass, "don't keep me in suspense."

"Impatient little shit, aren't you," she snickered right back. "So then when she's telling Richard how much she loves him and Eric is seething, she notices him. She gets this weird look on her face, then her eyes glass over for a second, then she yells "Eric, baby, I'm so horny, I need you so badly," and leaves Richard and literally jumps on Eric and as he's holding her up by the ass she starts smothering him with kisses, then reaches down with one hand and shoves it into his pants and starts playing pocket pool as this fucking snake starts growing in his crotch.

Melissa paused to take a breath and for effect before continuing.

"Then, one of the cops gets the idea that the prisoner - she's still under arrest but no longer cuffed - shouldn't be carrying on like this and tries to pull her away. Richard starts to help the cop. Eric knocks them down - one punch each. He gets Tasered, and just pulls the fucking electrodes out. When Richard hits the floor, Joan/Shirley/whoever the hell she is, starts screaming and retreats, and everyone forgets about Eric for a while.

After all of the commotion dies down and Eric promises not to hit anyone else she's in the corner of the room and says "What the fuck is going on here? Why am I here?"

One of the cops says "Don't you remember being arrested in the townhouse?"

"Yeah, but I was just fucking - and that's not against the law as far as I know." Then she gets this evil look on her face and walks over to Eric, who's standing there with his mouth wide open. By this time Richard and the cop who got knocked off his feet are getting back up.

"Hi big guy," she says to Eric, stroking her finger over his chest. "I'm Amanda; what's your name?"

"Eric looks like he just got punched in the gut by Mike Tyson in his prime, the D. A. who set this up realizes what a fucked up mess it is, and with lots of shouting and swearing Amanda is shuffled out of one exit and the two hubbies out the other," Melissa concludes, now out of breath.

"So what happened then?" I pled.

"No one is talking, anymore. Something about her seeing a shrink."

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

That was all that Melissa knew - I know that for sure because I interrogated her two nights later while my cock was buried in her pussy after I had eaten her out twice and in that position she'd tell me everything. I couldn't find out any more from anyone else either until finally after my stint on the late night task force ended, I got the green light from my boss to investigate it from all sides.

I got Eric's and Richard's addresses and phone numbers. Neither would talk to me. Eric looked like he might wring my neck so I made myself scarce. Richard threatened to sue, so I backed off from him too. I talked to the D. A.'s office and all that they would tell me was that "Jane Doe" as they now called Amanda/Joan/ Shirley, was still charged with felonious receipt of stolen property and bigamy to boot but was being evaluated by private and state shrinks.

I finally found out that the Court was holding a hearing on competency, and that the D. A. was likely to drop the charges if they were satisfied that Jane Doe had some sort of personality disorder. She had a Court-appointed attorney because it seems that both Richard and Eric had ditched her and she didn't have access to her own money. For reasons that I couldn't discern at the time the Court-appointed attorney was a big name partner with one of the three biggest firms in Chicago handling the case pro bono, and even paying the private psychiatrist's expenses, although she also was handling the case pro bono.

Attempts were made to make the hearing closed to the public, but I got the Tribune's First Amendment sharks involved. They made a deal with the Court and the parties that I got to sit in on the proceedings as long as I never reported the names of any of the participants, especially Jane Doe's (not that I would have known what to call her anyway).

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

Shortly after I got to the hearing room Jane Doe came in with her pro bono legal team. She was dressed in a blue business suit although the skirt was slit up the side almost to the top of her thigh, the blouse was low cut, and she had no pantyhose on. Her three inch heels matched her outfit completely. Her hair was perfectly done. I gulped. Something about her rang my chimes more than seeing any other woman in my life. Just before she sat down she turned and made eye contact with me - and smiled.

I gulped again and felt the pain in my groin from my cock swiftly inflating into contact with my zipper.

The State shrink took the stand first. He was completely unimpressive. I got the feeling that even the assistant D. A.s who were examining him thought that he was full of shit - it made me wonder why they were holding the hearing at all.

The private practice psychiatrist was a fifty plus year old woman who was extremely well put together, and though not beautiful was both attractive and dynamic. The examination by Jane Doe's pro bono hot shot attorney, a guy by the name of Bigley, and the private shrink's responses, were crisp."

"State your name for the record please."

"Doctor Merilee Brighton."

"What is your education and work history Dr. Brighton?"

The next fifteen minutes were taken up by Dr. Brighton going through her Harvard, Stanford, and Northwestern educations, her teaching position at Northwestern University Hospital, the hundreds of articles and studies that she had authored or participated in, and the awards that she had received. Not only was her background beyond-impressive, but her delivery was impeccable. By the end of that fifteen minutes the judge was nodding his head and it was clear that he would believe anything that she said.

"Have you had the opportunity to personally examine the woman who has been referred to as Jane Doe in this proceeding?"

imhapless
imhapless
3,586 Followers