One of the officers with a gun took a step forward and called out to me. “Ma’am, can you step slowly out of the vehicle.” It wasn’t a question.
I gulped and then opened the door, swung both legs out and stood, closing the door behind me. I saw their heads move up and down as they took in the sight of a tall naked woman stepping out of a sports car. I was glad their eyes were behind sunglasses too. “Wooo-eeh,” I heard one of them say quietly.
“Step to the front of the vehicle and put your hands on the hood,” the office instructed.
I had never been pulled over before, but I had seen enough of this on television. I stood by the side of the car bonnet and placed my palms flat on it. The low car and my high heels meant I had to bend at the waist to reach. Through my hands I could feel the warmth of the engine.
I heard one of the officers walk over, his feet crunching in the gravel and dust and, I thought this was unnecessary, he gave my shiny stilettos a gentle tap with his boots to indicate I was to spread my legs wider. I had no choice but to comply as I looked down at my dust-covered shoes.