Starsky did not think of himself as sexually inexperienced. He wasn’t, in fact. It wasn’t bragging to say he was quite good in bed, and he didn’t mind saying so himself. He’d even go so far as to say he was more experienced than average, and pretty adventurous besides. A few times before he joined the force, he’d gone out and exchanged handjobs with anonymous men in backroom bars. Starsky had never admitted that to anyone, not even Hutch, and never planned to. He never expected to go any farther than his decade-past short stroll on the wild side.
And then he met Sandra Lee.
She looked sweet, with her pixie hair, big brown eyes, and short, soft frame. He’d heard more than one stranger exclaim that she looked just like a china doll, rudely acting like she wasn’t right there to hear it. That sort of thing seemed to happen to her all the time. One idiot at Huggy’s had nudged after Sandra left for the bathroom and made a joke about mail-order brides. He and Huggy had shared the pleasure of showing that guy the door, but Sandra had no trouble proving people wrong if they assumed Asian women were dainty and demure. She was a union officer and organizer on top of her nine to five job, with half a dozen stories of getting knocked down on picket lines, and she delighted in going far beyond what Starsky’s understanding of women’s lib had been before he met her. Continue reading →
