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Two of a Kind

By: Nexxus



Anabell stared at the ceiling.

"Do I have to?" she asked

"You know its time as well as I do." the doctor replied.

"What if...what if I can't? What if he...what..." Anabell trailed off, she knew it was useless.

The doctor leaned closed and in her most convincing voice said "I know you can. YOU know you can. We've reached the plateau Anabell. It's time."

Anabell sighed. She knew the therapist was right. She also knew this would more than likely be her last visit here. This time her sigh had some quiver attached, she felt like she was leaving home for the last time.

"There's no need for drama Anabell. Just do it like we said and you'll be fine. You'll BOTH be fine."

* * * * *

1:35 am. "How did it get so freakin' late?" Rick asked himself. Once again he was arriving home from work at some ungodly hour. "If I don't get a handle on this I'm gonna have a heart attack before I'm 40," he thought. He quietly slipped into the house and made it upstairs in the dark. His wife was in her all too familiar position, fetal with the covers pulled up to her chin. "I wouldn't blame her for never wanting to have me again, what kind of romantic marriage is this?" He pondered his wife's slow distancing from sex, and thought maybe she had just tired of him. "She used to be pretty adventurous," he remembered, but lately she seemed to be sending out signals telling him to back off. Or if they did fool around it was quick and void of any creativity. They had lost their bond.

Rick was assaulting himself for the lack of communication and time together that seemed to be separating himself and his wife more and more these days, but he didn't feel like it was ALL his fault. "I know I'm hardly around," he thought, "but would it kill her to stay up late ONE night for me?"

After 5 years, things were pretty shaky and Rick was starting to wonder if it would ever work out.

Rick had heard about this therapist from a girl at work who swore by this woman, he thought he might call her tomorrow and see about joint counseling.

Now dressed in only a pair of boxers he laid down as quietly as possible in the bed. His wife didn't squirm or acknowledge his presence in any way so he lied there on his back and tried to fall asleep. He had just drifted off when the dream took over. THE dream was starting off as usual, he was coming back early from lunch (God forbid he ever took a full hour!) and the warehouse was empty. He figured everybody was still out. That's when the order bell rang and the first order sheet came out. He grabbed it and tried to fill it but it was about 20 items and he couldn't find anything. Then the bell started ringing again and all of a sudden the orders were flying out at him, hitting in the face, the chest, he could feel them literally scratching against his skin.

Then the scenery started to change. Slowly it dissolved and he was lying in a hammock it was beautiful outside and he had a cat on his chest. The scratching was replaced by the feeling of little cat claws kneading him gently. Now the cat was moving down, but he didn't understand what was happening, he tried to look down but he wasn't sure if he was asleep or awake. He started to wake up but couldn't focus. Finally adjusting to the darkness and an awakened state he looked down and took a deep breath. "A..." he started.

His wife looked up and put a finger to her lips "shhhhh...not a word, or I go back to sleep."

Rick slapped his lips shut tight.

He secretly wondered if moaning and whimpers of ecstasy were considered words, because, Goddammit, he was only human and this felt sooooo good.

He watched in amazement as his wife dangled her long hair over his thighs and gently stroked his cock. She would dip her head down occasionally and lick his balls or shaft.

"This isn't my wife," he thought. "Aliens have come down and now occupy my wife's mind. Okay Aliens, 1 more hour then you have GOT to go!" Rick almost laughed, then thought of the consequences and stopped. Focusing on baseball was a better idea.

As his wife continued her tongue bath on his lower section Rick started rubbing her shoulders trying to get her to move up to him and see if she would climb on. As if reading his mind she stopped and looked up. She got up on her knees and sat back on her heels. She was wearing a teddy with buttons down the front. It was too small and barely contained her huge firm breasts. She grabbed the teddy in both hands and yanked. Ripping it completely open, buttons flying everywhere, she exposed those gorgeous globes to him.

Still afraid to speak, he relayed his enthusiasm with a wide eyed stare and heavy breathing. She started squeezing her tits and moaning deeply. She stuck her thumb and forefinger in her mouth and then used them to twist her already hardened left nipple. She slowly walked forward on her knees until her wet, glistening pussy was positioned over Rick's rock hard dick. She grabbed it roughly in one hand and started massaging the opening to her cunt with it, sliding the huge purple head back and forth between her lips, shaking each time it scraped over her clit. Rick couldn't take it anymore, he grabbed her curvy hips and slammed her down on his cock. she flung back her head and screamed. He let out a low animal growl and proceeded to bounce her up and down like a weightless doll.

Each thrust sending wave after wave of electric shocks through her sweaty lust filled body. As if on cue, Rick shoved with all his might as his wife came down on top of him. The force sent her into fireworks mode as she came like never before.

Grabbing Rick's chest and digging her red fingernails in and drawing blood, she bucked and bucked, losing focus balance and a lot of fluid all over Rick's shaking thighs. She collapsed on top of him heaving against his quickly rising and falling chest. He could barely speak, spent as he was, but he managed to utter one sentence that he was sure would make no sense to her. "We don't need to go to the therapist anymore, Anabell."

"How did you know?" she said right before she passed out.

Two of a Kind



Andrew Weston was not a man to trifle with. Neither was Alison: his stepdaughter. It was as if they had been fashioned from the same cloth and they understood each other perfectly: often trying to outmaneuver each other in a game of one-upmanship. Both were self assured and attractive to look at. 

Alison, now eighteen and in her last few weeks of high school, had inherited her mother's grey eyes and her natural father's mahogany locks, which had grown long enough for her to bundle up in a knot on top of her head, making her appear much older than she actually was. 

Andrew was only an inch or so taller than Alison: standing 5'10." 

His former wife, Anthea, had left him seven years ago. Andrew still hated the bitch even after all these years. 

He had remarried a buxom blonde, named Rebecca. 

He had married her on a whim. He did not actually love her. 

She was, if anything, a trophy wife: but her beauty and expertise in the bedroom had beguiled him all the same. 

After the marriage, Alison became bitter and resented this new man in her mother's life. 

She fought constantly with her stepfather and would go out of her way to create discord within the family home, in an effort to split them up. 

Feelings of resentment and to a lesser degree, desire, would surface within Andrew whenever he looked at his stepdaughter. 

It was his opinion that the girl could be a real cock-teasing bitch, if she felt that it served her purpose: not at all unlike his first wife. 

Over time, the continuous father / stepdaughter conflict seemed to fuel the type of relationship, which ran deep with sexually charged overtones. 

Alison now tuned in to her stepfather's licentious sexual appetite, would often find great enjoyment playing the cock teasing bitch that had it within her power to infuriate and arouse him as ever the whim took her. 

When Alison became the Captain of her High School cheerleading squad last year, she had made a point of bringing home the other team members to practice in their living room, often in their briefest outfits. She would watch her stepfather watching her and the other young women as they went through their athletic routines. He would watch with sustainable relish his stepdaughter's high leg kicks, exposing her scant black latex panties and the inner part of her slim thighs and tight buttocks and, in turn, she would give him the 'I know you want to fuck me' smile. 

The thought had occurred to her and more than once, that she would like to do just that very thing with him: however teasing him, making him want her badly and then cutting him off was, simply put, much more fun. 

After watching Alison's teammates go home, Andrew found Alison still parading around in the same short skirt and brief top, only now she had removed her bra, so that her 16 DD sized tits swung free. Her nipples were now outlined and visible, as they peaked through the white material of her cheerleader crop top. 

Andrew smiled at her malevolently, but still held his ground. 

One afternoon Andrew came home from work early to find his stepdaughter with some unknown male in her bedroom. 

She appeared to be getting ready to go out and, as the door was slightly ajar, Andrew felt it within his perfect rights to watch her as she continued to dress.

She was wearing a matching light blue, low cut bra (which did nothing to support those large breasts); a thong, which disappeared into her butt crevice (he noticed this as she turned away from him) and a suspender belt. He continued to watch as Alison rolled a tan colored stocking up one of her shapely legs. 

His breath caught in his throat as he observed her touch the bare skin above her stocking top with the tips of her fingers, using long languid strokes: back and forth; back and forth, repetitively. The visual display obviously meant as a sexual come-on, to tease her male companion.

Alison caught sight of her voyeuristic stepfather's reflection in the lower section of her vanity mirror, but gave nothing away that would to indicate to him that he had indeed been spotted.

She bent over, slipping the remaining silk stocking onto her other foot and, ever so slowly, brought it up stopping just short of mid thigh, affording him the unfamiliar sight of her all-but-naked orifice, both cheeks taut and round; and he felt the familiar throb of desire pulsating in his groin once again.

"Damn! She was a hot piece of arse," he thought to himself, wanting nothing more at this point than to thrust his cock into that tiny hole and fuck her until two weeks from Tuesday.

Alison, on the other hand, saw this moment as an opportunity to tease him unrepentantly with what she knew he wanted most and what she would forever deny him. Her! She casually walked over to the male in her room, took his hand, and used it to scoop one large breast out of its holder. The male squeezed her breast and Andrew watched as his stepdaughter threw her head back in unabashed pleasure. She then maneuvered herself so that she sat square on his lap, legs apart, facing him. She whispered something in his ear and he grinned.

Prolific jealousy resounded deep within Andrew.

He watched as the man lowered his hand and saw it disappear between his stepdaughters open legs and cussed under his breath.

He watched as she reached down, unfastening the man's jeans and placed her hand in the opening and heard him groan. Andrew recognized the groan which escaped from somewhere inside the stranger. He had made the same sound a number of times himself, whilst fantasizing about shooting his load inside of his little hellion.

She reached behind her back and undid her bra clasps and, as she brought the straps down her from her shoulders exposing her copious flesh to his rival, he shifted and felt the instinctive and somewhat irrational stirring of real anger.

It was at this point that she waved to him in the mirror and laughed aloud, allowing him to know that she was fully aware of his presence. She stood up, easing herself backwards away from the man's lap; walked over to the door and gave it an almighty kick, slamming it in his face.

From inside the room he heard her mutter, "Dickhead."

He narrowed his eyes, overwhelmingly vexed by her dismissive attitude. He was sexually aroused, frustrated to the point of kicking in the bloody door and now, very, very angry. 

The sound of the garage door opening and then closing again told him that Rebecca was now home. Rebecca threw the car keys on the coffee table and, upon seeing her husband standing, obviously fuming, whilst staring at his stepdaughters closed bedroom door: and recognizing the telltale signs of what she believed to be yet another argument, asked: "What happened this time?" Andrew was dismissive of both the question and his wife. He looked at her briefly and stated, in a tone that rang of ire rather than ardent desire: "come into the bedroom with me: now." 

There was no lovemaking between them anymore. The sex was raw, rough and emotionless, and simply a means to an end for Andrew. Once he had reached climax phase, the sexual need was sated, and he had no more need of her, he simply left the room. Rebecca watched him leave and then rolled on her side, drawing her knees up so that she took on the appearance of a rather large embryo. 

Two days passed, but the incident between Alison and her stepfather remained foremost in their minds: Andrew, because he still badly wanted to fuck that smug smile right off her face and Alison, because in her eyes she thought she had won: yet again. Neither brought it up with the other. That evening, Andrew sat in the family living room attempting to watch TV. He was bored... and horny. 

Rebecca was out at a fundraising event and would not be home for several hours. 

Alison lay cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV: wearing the tightest denim jeans she owned and a white crop top: one size too small, which rode higher up her back whenever she wriggled to get more comfortable. 

Just the sight of her was enough to arouse him further and the memory of that self satisfied smile on her face as she slammed the door on him two days ago only added further fuel to the growing fire. Alison acutely aware of her stepfather's observance of her: closed her book and decided to play fast and loose with his emotions yet again. 

She rolled over on her back, bent, and separated her knees about 10cms. She goaded him with her eyes daring him to move, touch her; do anything at all. She afforded him a contemptuous smile as she noticed his countenance change suddenly to raw lust. Andrew observed her as she slowly, deliberately raised the crop top to expose her ample cleavage and overfilled white broderie angles bra. Come on, her eyes taunted nonverbally and when she brazenly continued her visual assault on his senses by placing both her hands on either side of her breasts and pushing them together , then in a tone which dripped of sexual perversion, she whispered "you want me badly, don't you...come and get it, then... Fuck me... you know you want to." 

He swore under his breath. 

This bitch had teased him for long enough. 

He raised himself up off the couch without saying a word and strides the eight steps to where she lay. 

No longer taking into consideration her comfort or her willingness to participate further in the game she had initiated, he reached down, yanked the white garment over her head, and threw it across the room. 

She stood up and screamed at him, "Wait until I tell mom about this. You are so fucked!" 

Andrew gave her a wry smile and retorted, "No. Not yet, but I intend to be, believe me, and your mother will never know. You don't really want her to find out just how much of a whore you really are, do you?" 

Alison was furious and lunged at him, but he caught her arms laughing maliciously as she struggled against him. He threw her backwards against the wall pinning her to the spot with the front of his body. He grabbed for her hands and fought to bring them both together above her head and once that had been accomplished the strength in his left arm alone held both hands in place leaving his other hand to roam her body at will. He deftly undid the two hooks holding her bra in place. With nowhere for the cotton material to actually go, it simply hung there about her chest region, although not holding or supporting her tits anymore. It was his intention to make her suffer: he wanted it so badly he could taste it. He wanted to cause her pain: he also wanted to hear her yell out his name, begging for release: driven by blind need. 

He twisted one of her nipples between his fingers and she winced in pain. 

Alison struggled violently against him and even tried to bring her knee up aiming for his balls. She hoped it would throw him off affording her a rare opportunity to get away from him but he was astute enough to deflect the attack by turning sideways quickly so that her knee struck his right hip instead. 

Bringing her into submission would not be easy. 

He considered actually knocking her out cold, but dismissed the idea just as quickly. 

Alison was breathing hard and fast from their tussling and her loose bra had somehow found its way to rest on her shoulder giving Andrew his first look at her perfectly formed DD breasts, which hung high due to the position of her arms. 

He cupped her left breast in his right palm and felt the soft, spongy flesh defining her womanhood between his spread out fingers as he kneaded her. 

He groaned loudly. His senses took hold of him. 

Alison, still struggling against him and turning wildly to get away from him was unwittingly arousing him more and more with every sweep of her hip across his engorged cock. 

The fire rising in his loins genuinely seemed to engulf him with a savagery that made him draw back from her lest he ejaculate prematurely. 

He could take her now very easily but he wanted more time with her. 

With her hands still held above her head and her left breast beginning to take on a separate identity of its own: Alison slowly began to revel in the masculine strength of the man who held her pinned to the wall. 

He was beginning to get to her. She could not allow that to happen. Competitiveness made her change tactics. 

She decided to use her feminine wiles: go all soft and pliable for a while: catch him off guard. She relaxed against the wall. 

Andrew was not a stupid man. He sensed her change in tactics was a ploy to catch him off guard, but he also knew that her compliancy, though probably short lived, was a bonus and he intended to use it to its fullest advantage. He used his free hand to undo the fasteners of her jeans and pulled them down, tugging on the material one side at a time until the top of her jeans reached just below the junction of her thighs. She was wearing black lace panties underneath. 

Alison, acutely aware of what his next move would be, moved one foot closer to the other, but the move was ineffectual. 

His hand slid into the front of her panties and easily penetrated the space between her clenched thighs. 

She gasped as she felt the rough skin of his forefinger grazing her clit as he stroked back and forth caressing her sensitive regions. Her breath caught in her chest and the intensity of the friction in his strokes caused her to involuntarily part her thighs, bend her knees outwards slightly and rock against his hand. None of her high school lovers had ever made her experience anything close to this level of arousal. 

The internal battle raged on as Alison's body wanted to keep experiencing the exquisite sensations he was evoking; but she also could not allow him to keep the upper hand for much longer. 

Andrew, sensing victory, released her hands and knelt before her. 

He pulled her lace panties all the way down her legs along with her jeans. He was rock hard and the ache was now close to unbearable. He undid his zipper freeing himself from the confines of his clothing: his intention: fucking her senseless. 

Alison chose that particular moment to step out of her ankle high clothing, and pushed heavily on his shoulders, hard; causing him momentary loss of balance and he fell backwards. She tried to escape, but he caught her ankle: she tripped and fell to the floor. He was on her like white on rice. 

"Ah, no you don't," he stated as he caught her hands once again and raised them back up above her head. 

He placed both his knees between her thighs, keeping her partially open to allow himself easy access. 

He lent forward just enough so that he could begin rubbing his cock against her feminine folds, teasing, and at the same time, showing her he was in total control. 

Intense desire rose up within her and this time she finally submitted to him. 

He drove his aching cock into her wet and welcoming scabbard, sheathing himself in her, until he felt the very neck of her womb against his head. 

She arched up into him, but whether from pain or pleasure he could not tell: nor did he really care. The bitch had been asking for this, for months. He withdrew and thrust again. He felt her lift her legs and wrap them around his hips, her muscles tightening around his cock as the convulsions of her orgasm hit her. 

Andrew felt a familiar sensation: pre-orgasmic need; and it ran through his entire body making him thrust into her harder, faster and with much greater urgency: feeling her muscular contractions only served to heighten the desire to offload and he went over the edge into oblivion. 

Alison lay beneath him totally spent and more than a little put out that he had been able to get the better of her like that. 

As Andrew lifted himself off her, she heard, "So: you cock teasing bitch, game over now." 

It was a statement not a question. 

"Yes... Ok...you win...this time at least...but this is not the end of it, you arrogant bastard," came her reply.



Two of a Kind



"It doesn't have to be him! He is your kind; I can sense that. But a male? No cubs can come from him. If he is here there must be others of your kind. Let him lead us to them, be our guide. A kitling his age is surely capable of that. But you can't claim him, My Lord, the clan would revolt."

Cavel's lips curled into a sharp sneer and he cuffed the cat on the head. "Do not threaten me."

His voice held a deep snarl and the other cat sank to his belly as soon as Cavel spoke. Saulle's defiance of just moments before was absent as he arched his neck so he could gaze up at his leader, his eyes flicking between the hard lips and the glowing eyes. His face quivered as he fought to stay still.

"I am alpha. I say who joins and who does not. And if I say this boy will join our clan then you will act accordingly! Did I question you when you found Nallelija? We do not choose our destiny; the gods do that for us. For some mysterious reason they have made the Carthera so that we are each a half of one soul. This is my business, not yours. If you choose to forget that you forget your place. That will not be tolerated."

Saulle's face dropped in submission as he leaned forward and rubbed his cheek on Cavel's leg. His muscles were tense as he begged forgiveness with his body. Cavel could tell he still did not agree with him but Saulle understood the danger he was in. If he continued to challenge the kitling Cavel would make him regret it.

Towering over Saulle, he let the other man grovel. He had never before taken such a stance and enforced his dominance in such an overt manner. His nose quivered as he scented the smell of the newcomer's fear and anger as he continued to ignore Saulle. Cavel was a quiet leader, one who led by strong will and strength of character, but not autocratic obstinacy. It was a hidden side of him for the most part, but if he felt the need was great enough his will brought to bear was a frightening thing.

"Leave us!" Cavel ordered and the slight body of the younger man flinched back as he instinctively tried to leave even as Saulle crawled backward.

"Stop!" Both Saulle and the other one froze. The order had been full of alpha overtones and commanded instant obedience. Cavel glowered at the stranger and pointed at the bench in the corner of the tent. The youth slunk past them warily, his pace slow in defiance. He spun around to walk backwards so that he could watch Saulle and Cavel, his gaze flicking between both them warily.

"Go, Saulle, and tell the others my words. I do not want this to happen again," Cavel said. His voice lowered and became a throaty hiss. "He is mine." His black eyes promised violence to any who dared oppose him. Saulle nodded before slinking backward gracefully as he eased his body past the loose tent flap.

Cavel turned his gaze to the nervous and angry youth. He was still agitated, breathing hard with his mouth just barely open as he scented the air and the little one in front of him. "What is your name?"

The youth simply folded his arms over his chest and glared back at him. The hard look in his eye wasn't empty bravado. Unlike many his age in Cavel's clan, his body was whipcord thin with lean muscles, flat and hard. His body was one developed from constant hard use just to survive in the hot steamy jungle. He was alone and now vulnerable, no matter how competent he was in the dangerous jungle that surrounded them. Just as his body was vulnerable to the stares of Cavel's clan in ways that made Cavel want to scratch out the guard's eyes. The only thing keeping him decent was a short breech clout

"You will tell me your name," Cavel ordered. The words came out laced with all the power of an order of a strong alpha. It appeared the youth was struck with a sudden urge to obey and his hands came down to his sides, clenching into tight fists as he fought it for long minutes and then failed.

"Bashta," he said resentfully.

"Do you know what I am?" Cavel infused power into every word. Apparently his newest member was going to be difficult. Instinctively Cavel felt the need to dominate Bashta, but he wasn't totally sure if it was because of the aura of power Bashta had himself or if it was because Cavel felt that the youth was his mate. He needed to keep him close and Bashta's resistance made him irritable.

"Alpha," Bashta acknowledged with a sneer. With an example of a supreme act of will he pulled his eyes from Cavel's, focusing on him but not held by a more dominant male. No one Cavel had ever met had been able to look away once he locked gazes with them. 

"Beyond that," Cavel prompted. "Deeper."

Cavel's voice held nothing but a faint order that time. He wanted the youngling to figure this out of his own accord. He kept his gaze deliberately soft and avoided direct eye contact. He felt satisfaction as Bashta studied him; he knew what the youngling saw. He was tall with a powerful body; wearing a loose pair of linen pants tied at his waist and a button down shirt left open, hanging from wide shoulders and showing his muscular chest and stomach. Cavel knew he cut an imposing figure compared to the youth's whipcord lean form.

He was much bigger than Bashta, though their heights were the same he was much bulkier, though not fat. He was a man comfortable in early adulthood, strong and virile. Just having those eyes wandering over his clothed body was enough to set Cavel off. Bashta's nose almost quivered as he took in the scent of arousal that permeated the tent.

"Something." Bashta shook his head nervously and looked down, avoiding looking at Cavel any longer. "I don't know what though."

Cavel pressed him with his words but made sure to keep his distance physically. "But you feel something."

Bashta nodded but his eyes were restless, darting around the room, still avoiding eye contact with Cavel. Someone without the advantages Cavel had would think him perfectly relaxed. His hands were resting gently in his lap instead of crossed over his chest but his legs weren't stretched out in relaxation. He kept his weight balanced on the balls of his feet and was ready to run, if Cavel interpreted the lightning fast glimpses toward the door right. Cavel's eyes narrowed as he took a few steps to the right, blocking the path to the door.

Bashta's entire body stiffened. He glared at Cavel. "What do you want with me? I was not harming you or yours."

Pausing, Cavel thought about that. He had been alone for so long; he needed to keep Bashta with him until they could bond. Dominant by nature, he had fought to control his clan even though he had no mate and had not yet bonded when his father died. He was the leader of a Jaguar clan from southern California and only the force of his dominance, even without the strength of his Carthera side manifested, held them together.

But something, some instinct inside him told him now was not the time to pressure his little cat. He was strong alone but he had never found another black jaguar before now. He had to go carefully with Bashta. The jaguar clan was small at first, easily controlled after he established his dominance but most of its adult members were paired off as it grew steadily over the years. 

He ached with the missing part of his soul as he watched pair after pair in his clan become bonded as he presided over the ceremonies. He felt the need to bond his mate no matter the cost but he had just enough control to stop himself from doing something foolish. Though, if he didn't want Bashta to go running he would have to think of something else to keep the youth close.

***

He was trapped on the bench while the large man stood silently, staring at him. He shifted uncomfortably. Seeming to come to a decision he pulled a stool over. Bashta grimaced when he stayed between him and the door. "My name is Cavel. We are here on an expedition of sorts."

Bashta kept his eyes moving around the room in between flashing the man angry glares as he looked for any opportunity to get away. He didn't care why they were violating his territory anymore. He had been harming no one when he followed them through the trees, watching. He had avoided all the humans who had come near his home but something about the man in the lead had intrigued him. He had felt something when he entered his territory and Bashta had made directly for the group, though he was too far away to hear or see them. Somehow he knew this man was close.

He had watched, unable to leave until this man had stared straight at him this afternoon and sent one of his kind with claws up the tree Bashta was hiding in. He was so shocked coming face to face with a transformed one of his kind again that he had frozen and let them herd him to their camp. It wasn't until they trapped him in this stifling cloth prison that he woke up to the tingling sense of danger he felt. He wanted to leave but he knew the big man could stop him, even without his fawning cat to help. Bashta's helplessness pissed him off.

"What does that have to do with me?"

"I need a guide. Someone who knows how to travel in the jungle and who will be able to take care of my men. I cannot afford to fail and I need help from someone I will be able to trust. In other words, you."

"Not interested. I don't care why you are here or what you want." Bashta put his hands on the bench, ready to stand up.

"That's why you've been following us for two days now?" Cavel cocked his head and smirked.

"I always make sure interlopers are not messing up my territory," Bashta snarled.Did he think he was something special? He wasn't, not matter how attractive he was.

Territory was a sensitive matter to most Carthera and they didn't lightly enter the land claimed by others of their kind. This was something Bashta knew and didn't hesitate to thrust in the face of the arrogant man. He knew he struck a blow when Cavel winced and looked guilty.

"I'm leaving." Bashta stood up, moving assertively toward the tent flap. Cavel stood up so fast his stool fell over. Moving quickly, he took the single stride left between them and put his hands on Bashta's lean chest. Neither man was able to hide their shudders at the sensation of a link flaring just enough to give them a taste of each other. Cavel's breath caught and came out in a moan. Bashta flushed, his tawny skin just barely showing pink but the flush covered his bare chest and flowed up his face.

Cavel moved into his space even further, his hands sliding up and into Bashta's thick black hair that fell in a heavy curtain about his shoulders. It was slightly coarse and the tugging pulled his head back. As their fronts collided he brought his hands up to curl around those muscular arms holding him so possessively and moaned. He drowned in the sensation of damp hot skin touching his but the second Cavel's lips closed over his Adams apple he jerked away.

"No!" Breathing hard Bashta stumbled back several steps. "Stay away from me!" His eyes were wide and he looked panicked, trembling and glaring at Cavel.

"Shit!" Cavel ran his hand through his own short cropped black hair. It was just long enough the humidity was making it curl and he tugged on the ends. "I'm sorry. I didn't intend on anything." He frowned. "I know I shouldn't have done that."

Bashta was still glaring at him, "I am not... not, whatever it is you think I am. I bow to no one, least of all a weak Carthera that pretends to be human." His scorn as he raked a heated glance over Cavel's clothes was just as visible as the slight heated flare in his eyes when he caught sight of a pink nipple standing firm and unhidden from the widened gap in his shirt.

"Pretend to be human?" Cavel looked affronted, his mouth and grim line as he glared at Bashta "We are human and we are also more. Humans are our brothers, not something to look down on. They are not that different from us."

Bashta shook his head. "You are just as strange to me as they are. You come here with your boxes and bags of things and disrupt the rhythm of the jungle with your very presence. You hide from the air and the sounds," Bashta gestured dismissively at the tent wall, "as if you think this could actually protect you.

"I've never understood the humans who dared to come here and I don't care to. Loud, destructive, and oft times poaching treasure hunters." Bashta was getting angry as he thought about the desecrations he had witnessed over and over; he glared at Cavel. "Your so important mission is to find the Temple, right? The fabled legend of a temple dedicated to the Jaguar that is hidden deep in the jungle beyond the rim of light. And you expect me to lead you there because surely the fact that you are the only one of my kind I've seen would make me overlook the fact you are as greedy as a weak minded human."

Bashta's hands were clenched into fists that he flexed as he spoke in a sharp hiss, "You will get nothing from me. Not a guide and not... not that." One of his hands came up to cover his neck as his eyes flashed. "I bare my neck to no one! Now move!"

Cavel didn't instantly move and Bashta saw red. His lips curled up as he snarled and charged. Cavel took him down as gently as he could but it took several minutes before he managed to pin the hissing youngling who cursed him even as Cavel straddled his hips and forced his arms above his head. Bashta tucked his chin and glared as he continued to struggle though he knew he couldn't get away. His very nature forced him to fight.

A spotted face poked through the door. "Hey Cavel, need a hand?" Piscel asked with a grin.

"No! Get out!" Cavel snarled. The head instantly withdrew but they could hear Piscel snickering outside the tent.

"Now, I can understand your anger at the way my men forced you here. And I shouldn't have touched you like that," Cavel frowned, "no matter how much I wanted to. But I am not a treasure hunter! Yes, I know the legends. The rubies, ebony, gold, the fire stones, and other hoards of the many offerings to the Jaguar are well known. But that is not what I seek."

"Right, like I am just going to take your word on that!" Bashta snarled, straining to get his arms off the ground but failing as Cavel slammed them back down after he got them up just an inch.

"It's the truth!"

Cavel got in Bashta's face. "My people are dying," he hissed. "Right before my eyes they are fading and I can do nothing. Nothing! I have to reach the Temple, the Room of Echoes and the oracle. I don't want material things; I want a way to save my clan before our young die from whatever sickness has struck them down. Each day I waste going in circles looking for the Rim of Light. I cannot let our brightest hopes for the future, innocent beings who are just beginning life, fade away. I could not bear for any of our kitlings to suffer or pass beyond if I can stop it.

"When I contacted others of our kind an elder of another clan told us the legend of this Temple of the Jaguar. She was a very wise woman and I believed in her. She also told me that my own fate and happiness depended on finding the Temple before the next moonless night. It will be here in less than a week and I have no idea if I am any closer to the temple than when I began. I am fighting this horror totally blind and I need a guide." His voice trailed off and he whispered, "I need you." He stared into Bashta's eyes.

When Bashta didn't respond Cavel's eyes closed as he hung his head. He let go of Bashta's hands, swinging his body off him and slumping on the floor, cradling his head in his hands. The bitter tang of fear and despair tainted the air. Bashta sat up and moved back a little but he didn't immediately try to leave. He rubbed his wrists and stared at the beaten down man in front of him. For that was what Cavel was, his strength as an alpha stripped from him by the threatened loss of his clan. Unable to lead them to safety, failing his people was not an option for the leader of a clan. To do so was unthinkable. It shook Bashta's surety in his own argument.

His own mother had held on long enough to see him grown just beyond a kitling and smart enough to protect himself before she went off and took to the jungle as an animal. It didn't take long for her to pass beyond his land and he never saw her again. Losing her just a year after his entire clan wasted from an incurable illness it had made Bashta wary and bitter. He had lost his littermates to the sickness before they could ever grow out of kitling days and the memory of their suffering still haunted him. Cavel's pain brought all those suppressed feelings to the surface and finally Bashta could not handle the pounding silence.

"You swear! Swear upon your honor and clan that you seek only a cure," Bashta snapped.

Cavel's head came up, his eyes red rimmed and raw with every emotion stripped bare, "I swear. I swear upon my honor as an alpha of the Jaguar clan, upon my role of protector and heart of my people, upon my bond as..." he paused, and then shook his head. "I cannot swear that yet. But everything I am I would give if it would save my clan. Whatever you need from me to believe what I say is true I will give you."

Bashta looked at him gravely, searching his eyes. He nodded reluctantly. "I believe you." It would be so much easier if he didn't though. He was uncomfortable as he watched tears fill Cavel's eyes even though they didn't fall.

"Then you will lead us? To the Temple of the Jaguar?"

Bashta took a deep breath. His clan's law, before they were wiped out, was that no outsider be taken to the Temple, ever. It was protected at all costs but Bashta was convinced he needed to help this man. His instinct was to trust him and more than once his instincts had been all that saved his life as he lived alone in the jungle for years. He would be wary though.

"I will. But that's it, just as your guide." Bashta looked around the tent and wrinkled his nose. "There is no way I will stay in one of these smelly ovens on the way though. I will come to you each morning."

Cavel was hesitant to agree to let Bashta out. If he was lying...

Bashta snorted. "You couldn't lie if you wanted to, could you? Everything you think is shown on that face of yours." He shook his head. "It's my turn to reassure you with a vow of my own, I guess. On the spirits of my mother and my lost clan, I swear I will do everything in my power to help your clan."

He stood up and his head brushed one wall of the tent. "I will not stay trapped in these smelly things though. You will have to trust me." He could see Cavel weighing his sworn promise.

"I guess I am trusting you to guide us to the Temple so I will have to also believe that you will return as you say. If I keep you here like a prisoner that wouldn't go very far to demonstrating my faith, would it?" Cavel's desperation was fading and his natural cunning and quick mind were no longer drowned beneath his fear and despair. Bashta could almost smell the changes. Cavel stared at him, his eyes glowing slightly as sweat beaded on his brow.

"Okay, definitely a good idea for us to leave this tent." Cavel got to his feet and with a few glances over his shoulder, led Bashta from the tent. Several of his clan members loitered close. Their eyes shined in the dim light that filtered through the jungle canopy to penetrate to the ground level as they watched the pair emerging from the tent.

Bashta immediately took a deep breath, smelling the heady mix of flowers, dying leaves, and damp soil. To some it would be unpleasant but to him it was comforting. In the jungle you couldn't always see what was around you but he had learned to use his ears and his nose to stay safe. The call of a startled bird or the smell of rotting meat could alert him to a predator just as the buzz of honeybees could lead him to a rare sweet treat.

Bashta straightened up and stepped away from Cavel. He stopped when one of the men standing to one side snarled at him in warning and his claws flexed out. Even in the fading light of the coming dusk Bashta could see the tawny yellow of his skin and black rosettes that flowed from his temples and down his neck to disappear under his shirt. Cavel took a few steps sideways to stand in front of him and snarled at the aggressive guard.




Two of a Kind



"Stop that, Mackent. I thought I made myself clear." Cavel huffed and glared at the man who sheathed his claws and took a few steps back. "Bashta is under my protection. He has agreed to be our guide and you will treat him as an honored guest. He may come and go as he pleases."

"My Lord!" Saulle pushed through the gathered clan. Cavel pierced him with a single glare that stopped him dead in his tracks but did not stop the sneer on his face or the bite of his disastrous words.

"The youngling is hardly likely to be of any use. We need a real man who actually knows what he is doing in the jungle." Saulle glared at Bashta.

"I will not repeat myself again," Cavel warned harshly. "Back down, Saulle. Now!"

His words had goaded the young man and he stepped out from Cavel's shadow and met the glare of the second in command. "I don't need you to protect me. Your clumsy guards would never be able to catch me if I took to the trees."

"Catch you again, you mean, right?" Saulle said as he smirked.

Bashta flushed and snarled. "I didn't even try to get away from you earlier. You wouldn't be able to follow me if I didn't allow it."

Saulle scoffed at him, rolling his eyes. "A kitling as young as yourself shouldn't be allowed more than two steps from his mother's tail. I hardly intend to reduce myself to playing a child's game of hide and seek. Go tell one of your betters we seek to speak with an actual adult about your so called sacred temple."

Bashta's body went rigid. His lips rose up over his teeth and he hissed. Turning abruptly he charged from the clearing, leaping up the nearest tree and disappearing into the canopy so fast his body seemed a blur, even to the mated jaguar's enhanced senses. The entire camp stood motionless in shock for the few seconds it took Bashta to disappear.

***

Cavel's breath was frozen in his throat as his gaze shifted from the swinging branches that were already settling to Saulle's smirking face. His body began to shake and his eyes were riveted on his second in command whose cocky expression faded into fear as he took in the sheer rage in Cavel's eyes. The entire group remained motionless until Cavel took one step toward Saulle; as soon as he moved they shifted away, leaving a wide space around the hapless victim of Cavel's fury.

"You fucking idiot! You have no idea what you have done in your insolence!" Hissing, his hand swiped out as he stood over Saulle who had sunk to his knees. Blood splattered from a split in Saulle's bottom lip from the strong blow he did not even try to avoid. Cavel was alpha and held Saulle with the force of his eyes and will alone. His animal nature detected threat from Saulle and demanded he put the weaker man in his place.

"His entire clan is gone. I just heard him swear to guide us to the Temple on the spirits of his mother and his lost clan. HIS ENTIRE CLAN!" Cavel roared. He hit Saulle again and broke his nose, sending a spray of blood across the ground.

"He has been alone here, in this jungle without any help to stay sane, for what could have been years. He would have suffered from isolation and just the struggle to survive on his own had to have been more than you have borne in your entire life. He will be a part of our clan; he is already a part of me. Just as you knew Nallelija as your mate, I know him for my mine. I told you that before we ever entered the tent. You chose to ignore me.

"I can feel some of what he does already; loneliness and fear, determination and dedication to his honor. Not an hour ago I warned you that he was mine and you were not to challenge him. Do you think to know better than I what is right for this clan and for my mating? Do you think to challenge me?" 

Saulle shook his head frantically and said nothing, his eyes downcast as he shook in fear. He was a strong warrior and smart, but Cavel could tell from the way he acted that he felt threatened and that made him lash out at Bashta. As his mate, the young man would be alpha to Saulle. Of course with his power he would be the moment he transformed even if he had not been Cavel's mate, but Saulle could not feel that. No matter what his reasons, disobeying a direct command would not be allowed.

"You are close to banishment," hissed Cavel. "I will not tolerate anyone in my clan who does not know their place. Let us see then how well you would survive alone and without the succor of our family like my mate has endured."

"No please, My Lord," Saulle said painfully through his bleeding lips, "I... I will--"

Cavel cut him off. "You will apologize, on your knees, if Bashta comes back. If we lose him as a guide and any of our kitlings die I will personally skin you and nail your hide to my wall in a warning to any who would think to question me."

Saulle blanched; Cavel did not make idle threats. If he said he would skin him he would take a knife and do it personally, unless Saulle's mate did it herself. Their kitlings were the most important thing, nothing else mattered. If it took him kneeling to Bashta, that was what it would take and Cavel knew that Saulle knew that. Cavel would not allow dissension in his clan and his mate would be second in command after they bonded. Saulle had to accept that before he did something Cavel would not be able to overlook and he would have to kill him.

"Am I perfectly clear?" Cavel hissed.

Saulle crouched down further, abasing himself. "Yes, My Lord."

Cavel stared into the trees where Bashta disappeared. Breathing hard, he turned sharply and stalked into his tent, an abrupt slap of his hand shutting the flap. For several long moments the men in the clan stood motionless before moving quietly to their places around the camp. All talk was kept to a whisper and no one looked directly at Saulle where he remained kneeling in his disgrace.

***

Bashta was making his way quickly through the trees after he left the camp, locked in his memories and the swamped again by the despair of losing his entire clan. His first instinct was to flee to safety and security in one of his hiding places in the jungle. He had become so used to being alone; the camp full of men had rattled his composure. Humans had always made him nervous, his mother had taught him to avoid them as a kitling but the years he had been without his clan had changed him. He wasn't easy in the company of other Carthera anymore either; especially fully grown males now that he had matured. He had seen the posturing in his own clan but as a kitling it had made little sense.

Leaving the relatively wide path that he frequently traveled between the rivers and his hunting areas, Bashta climbed up a tree using vines and convenient branches. He was careful to take a slightly different path each time to each of his hiding places so that no worn patches on the bark or scarred vines would betray his presence. He was almost out of the canopy when he stopped at a wide platform made of woven branches, vines and leaves.

He bypassed the soft perch and went about ten feet higher in the tree until he penetrated the treetop. Looking about, he enjoyed the breeze ruffling the hair around his shoulders. To the east were the high snow topped mountains and to the south the mighty Amazon. The rest was jungle as far as his eye could see. He looked back the direction he came from the camp and saw nothing. No flocks of birds were flying out of the treetops, disturbed by followers. He was safe.

Spending a few more minutes enjoying the wind, Bashta stared at the falling sun that was sinking into fluffy clouds. Sunset cast a blushing pink along their edges in the same shade as his mother's favorite giant water lilies. Bashta remembered her laughing as he gingerly balanced on the bank to pluck one for her and ended up falling in the water instead. A tear dripped down his cheek but he angrily dashed it away. 

It did him no good to cry over his lost loved ones. He had cried over and over when his mother left him; it certainly hadn't made him less alone then and it would not help him now. Ignoring the sunset, Bashta carefully made his way down the slender branches to his waiting nest.

***

Cavel's head was twisting around madly as he scanned the jungle. He looked at the sentry. "Any sign?" He had ordered anyone who saw Bashta to send him a message immediately or bring the youth to him if he would agree to come into camp. Saulle saw the glower Cavel sent his way and had slunk off to a boulder on the far side of the camp from his tent as soon as he got up.

"Nothing."

Cavel frowned and turned to face the thick jungle. Dim light from the rising sun, giant trees, dangerous animals all made it a treacherous place for those who didn't know how to survive. The scents triggered ancient instincts in him but did not help him find the Temple. The pull to explore it's depths tugged on his inner animal but it was a green maze that he could not find their way out of. 

His chest heaved in a great sigh. "Damn it! What in the hell am I going to do?"

He turned back around and watched the men working efficiently. His tent was the last thing to pack and it was being folded up into its bag right then. His hand went up to his hair and Cavel tugged on it in frustration. He had no idea what direction to go in. The mountains would be the best place to look for a temple in his opinion. but what did he know? He'd never been to one, not even one of those Jewish places in the city. He cursed again.

"Maybe you should trust in my word."

Cavel gasped and spun around. "How did you? Where did you?" he stuttered and then trailed off. Bashta looked very wet and very cool in just his loincloth perched on the branch above his head. Water trickled down from his long hair and over his chest muscles to drip off one nipple. It was all Cavel could do not to moan and jump him in front of everyone. Suddenly the room behind his zipper was all too small.

His clan stiffened in surprise. Bashta had appeared in their midst as if by magic. Cat like ears, noses, and eyes that were better than a human's meant that they were particularly good at knowing when anything approached them. But he hadn't made a sound and none of them had caught his scent or seen him approach. It was startling.

Bashta jumped lightly to the ground, landing with a gentle thump. "I made a promise. I don't go back on my word." He glared at Saulle who shifted guiltily. Cavel cleared his throat and Saulle's eyes closed as his ears flattened. His hunched shoulders and stiff posture as he approached the young man were anything but threatening. Cavel's eyes flared as he dropped to his knees in front of him, acknowledging his higher rank.

Slowly, with his jaw clenched, Saulle tilted his head back and looked up at Bashta. His adams apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his neck bare and exposed to the young man. "I apologize for my words yesterday. I did not mean to insult your clan's memory or offend you in any such way." His words skirted the truth; he had meant to insult the youth but not in such a way. 

Filial devotion to one's clan was ingrained in a Carthera from birth. To lose your entire family, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends all at once... it was unthinkable to their kind. Not only had Bashta survived alone, he had stayed sane and fulfilled his clan's duties. Mate or not, that was deserving of respect.

Bashta looked at Cavel and then down at Saulle. The man's shoulders were almost twice as wide as his and even kneeling his head was still chest high on Bashta. He didn't urge the man up immediately, instead he stood quietly for a long moment. Their eyes locked and Saulle was forced to look away, leaving Bashta firmly in control. Everyone relaxed when he nodded. 

"Apology accepted." 

Saulle stood up next to him but his body language was as non-threatening as possible. He moved away slowly, glancing a few times at his alpha to make sure he was appeased. Cavel gave him a nod.

"Are you ready to go yet?" Bashta looked around the campsite and Cavel did too. Unused to the jungle or not, they had cleaned up remarkably well, removing all signs of their stay from the jungle clearing other than the small charred place from their evening fire. Every other man was weighed down with a backpack supported over one shoulder.

"We are."

"Good, let's see how well you can keep up." Turning Bashta walked off without any other words of explanation or direction. Cavel gestured for his men to follow.

They had been traveling a few hours when Bashta stopped. "We rest in the middle of the day."

Cavel was approaching him when Bashta turned away abruptly and scrambled up the closet tree. Cavel was left watching him gracefully move from tree to tree away from the clan. He sighed as the lean muscles in the tan back bunched and flexed before he disappeared from view. Cavel had a disgruntled frown on his face when he turned around.

Piscel laughed. "Your little mate isn't exactly cooperating is he?" Cavel scowled which only seemed to make him grin bigger in his spotted face. Cavel made a disgusted sound and flopped down on the ground next to him. Getting mad wouldn't stop his casual disrespect, Cavel used to follow Piscel around back when they were younglings and the irreverent jaguar used to get them in trouble all the time. The more serious someone was the more he tended to act out to drive them crazy.

"Saulle has made this so much harder. He won't even talk with me, I tried all morning."

"I wouldn't assume that is the whole reason he is acting like that," Piscel said thoughtfully as he pushed back his sweaty blond hair. "Do you remember how much work I had to get Keana to give me the time of day? We both knew what the whole mate situation was, we had known each other our whole lives, and she still put me through hell."

Cavel opened his eyes and looked over at Piscel who was shaking his head. "Your point being?"

"Well, other than the fact that a man's mate just seems destined to make him miserable, your mate is younger than you, has lived alone for years without any clan, and probably has no idea what he is feeling. Couple that with a whole group of males he doesn't know inside his territory and you hovering around him? Being too pushy will just make you job harder and backfire on you."

Cavel bumped him with his shoulder, "Well what would you suggest then, Mr. Love Doctor?"

Piscel rolled his eyes then looked unexpectedly serious."Slow down. Court him. Talk to him, find out what he likes, who he is."

Cavel was skeptical. "Okay, but first doesn't he have to talk to me so I can find all that out? I tried everything to get him to talk to me this morning and he just ignored me or ran away before I could get close enough to say anything."

"Maybe that's the problem. He feels chased. That's making him want to escape you, not get closer. Be coy."

"Ignore him?"

"No! Gods, you're bad at this." Piscel took a big drink of water and then passed his water bag over to Cavel. "Look at him, smile, be open for him to talk to you but let him get used to you first. Let him come to you once some of his nerves wear off."

Cavel passed the water bag back. He ran a rag over his sweaty forehead. "I don't know about this. Are you sure?"

Piscel smirked. "Do I not have a mate and two kitlings at home?" He winced as soon as the words left his mouth.

"God, look at me worrying about this when your kitlings are sick and in danger. I'm sorry Piscel. I really am focused on getting a cure for them, not just on getting a mate."

Letting his breath out in a sigh, Piscel nodded. "We all know that, Cavel, really. You're doing your best and that's all any of us can ask. We all are. We'll find the cure; Bashta will get us to the Temple in time."

***

Bashta walked back toward the group he left behind during the midday rest. He had made his way to a small hollow in a nearby tree and spent the hottest time of the day resting and thinking. The clan, other than the rude jaguar, seemed friendly. They didn't talk to him much or get too close but each had smiled at him at least once and they spent the morning hike working together well. If their mood was somber he could understand. Their hearts were back with their families, even as their bodies and minds were focused on finding something, anything, they thought would help them.

Their leader had him completely confused though. Bashta was unable to take a deep breath around him, as if it were stolen each time a glance or look passed between them. There were a lot of those too. Every time Bashta looked up it seemed like Cavel was trying to get close to him, invading his space and talking to him. Unable to control the feelings, he avoided him, refusing to look up. It didn't stop the sensation he had of eyes on him and that made him irritable.

Even worse was the desire to actually let the man closer. It was as if his body craved his touch and the effort of resisting made him twitchy. He wouldn't say he liked his solitude but he had grown used to it. It felt like his body was turning traitor. These strangers would leave once they had what they wanted and he would be alone again. It would only hurt worse if he allowed himself to get used to them.

The afternoon was different from the morning. The men were the same, pointing out things and asking him what they were, complaints about the heat and the bugs. They kept putting a nasty smelling spray over their bodies but the insects proved hardier than their liquid.

"Hey, Bashta, how come you're not swatting like the rest of us?" Mackent asked.

Bashta glanced over at him where he was scratching a red welt on his neck. He smirked at the man. "Guess they just don't like me." He shrugged and hopped on top of a fallen log, walking to the end and jumping off, landing lightly on the balls of his feet. 

"Dude, how do you do that? Don't your feet hurt?"

"No, why would they?" Bashta looked at his bare calloused feet, tougher than leather from an entire life in the jungle. Rough bark, rocks, most thorns didn't bother him. He glanced at Mackent's feet encased in brown hiking boots.

"Just looks painful, is all."

Bashta shrugged again. "Your foot coverings don't look that comfortable to me. Besides, I'm used to it after twenty years barefoot." He stepped up on a smooth rock and then reached up to a tree limb, pulling himself over the jungle floor and the small patch of rocky ground. "Besides, it makes it easier to hold on to the tree limbs."

Sure enough his bare toes were curled around the edge of the branch and he had much less trouble than the clan men who tried to follow him up in the trees rather than walk on the pointy rocks that hurt even through the soles of their boots. Treads meant to work on mud and gravel slipped and skidded on the smoother branches. For several hours Bashta led the way deeper into the jungle, heading toward a tributary of the mighty river that flowed through its heart.

From time to time he could feel those heated eyes on his back again but that was it. To his confusion the alpha didn't approach him or try to lead him into conversation again. He seemed to be... ignoring him. That made Bashta a little angry. Here he was, leading this group of outsiders to his people's most revered ancestral site and he was acting as if Bashta wasn't even there. 

He snorted; let the cocky jerk try to lead his men without him. He'd not reach the Temple before the next season, much less the next moonless night. He grew more and more disgruntled as the evening fell. Disgust with having that feeling grew as well. Once he decided to stop them for the night he was unable to stand it and just needed to get away.

"I'll be back early. Be ready to go before the sun rises so we can get as far as the river before the midday rest," Bashta said to Cavel. He kept his eyes on the ground and refused to look into those watchful eyes.




Two of a Kind



"We'll be ready." 

Bashta nodded and turned to leave. A warm hand touched his bare upper arm above his red and black armband. He turned back, their bodies less than a foot apart.

"Would you like to stay for a meal with us?" Cavel kept his hand on Bashta's arm. A heat spread from that small point of contact went deep into his stomach. His breath quickening, Bashta dared to glance up. His breath froze at the desire he saw when their eyes locked. His tongue darted out to lick his lips quickly and Cavel's grip tightened, the fingers flexing in small caresses.

"I... not tonight."

Cavel's face showed his disappointment as he let Bashta go. "See you in the morning then." He turned and walked away, leaving Bashta feeling unaccountably cold as he stood apart from the quietly chattering men. He blinked and remained motionless for a moment, seemingly unaware of the watching clan. Shaking his head, he disappeared into the twilight.

***

"I bet that was hard," Piscel said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You did good today."

"Did I?" Cavel asked bitterly. His mate had walked away, again.

"Oh yeah. He'll be bugging you before you know it." Piscel grinned. "Here's your meal." He handed Cavel a steaming bag of re-hydrated stew and a fork.

"Oh goody!" Cavel looked into the jungle where Bashta had disappeared before he sat down morosely on a log to eat alone.



Two of a Kind



Hi folks, please be forewarned. This is a very long story. I haven't written one of those in a while and i keep getting e-mails asking for them, so as fall approaches and we all have more inclination to sit down in front of the fire with a nice long read, I decided to indulge. Those of you who want a quick story with a lot of sex scenes should probably skip this one. Also I have to warn you that I am again without the services of my regular editor and definitely in the market for a new one, so any experienced combat editors out there can feel free to contact me. I think that Callie did a good job here but she's back in school and doesn't really have the time. I must also regretfully inform some of you that I had told that I'd probably start slipping brief interludes that will lead up to this year's Halloween story in, that this story because of its length will not include one of those. Lastly look out for a bunch of old friends in this story. SS06

* * * * * *

"Hey, Will, have you seen this one yet?" yelled my best friend and office manager from the large shared space outside of my personal office."

I looked up from my computer screen and glanced in his direction. I took a sip of my now warm wild cherry Pepsi and looked at the clock on the wall of my office. I realized then that I'd missed lunch again. It seemed to happen a lot when I really got into a project. 

I wiped my eyes and let them adjust to focusing on something other than the computer screen that was right in front of my face. "What?" I grumbled as I stood up and stared in his direction.

Danny was my exact opposite. We were so different that our close friendship amazed even me.

Danny is six foot four and weighs closer to three hundred pounds than to two hundred. People often make the mistake, because of his bellicose voice and aggressive yet friendly demeanor, of thinking of Danny as a former athlete. They think that is the reason for his bulk. They're wrong. Danny's bulk is all donuts and fried chicken. He has very little muscle it's all lard.

Danny is probably the least athletic man I know. He once missed three days of work for a back spasm that he got while bending over to tie his running shoes. 

On the other hand, I'm five foot ten and weigh a hundred and seventy pounds. I actually have a gym in my house and work out every day and run at least six miles every morning. On days when the weather isn't good, there are two treadmills in our gym.

Danny is a friendly and outgoing person. He constantly talks to every member of our team. While doing that he keep each person on the straight and narrow project wise, but also makes sure the keep them on the healthy side of stress and burn out. His impromptu parties and lunches make our office a fun place to work. He's also in charge of hiring and counseling employees. He's the first person they see when they walk in every day and the last person they see before they go home.

I on the other hand rarely talk. I'm usually so involved with whatever I'm working on that I hardly ever leave my office. The only things that can ever get me out of my office are meetings with clients, Danny forcing me, or my wife. But since my name is on the door, I'm the one who fires people when it's necessary or unavoidable.

I wander over to Danny's desk. It is of course the opposite of mine. The funny thing is that we have the exact same set up. We both have two HP touchscreen computers powering three monitors.

In my case one PC and two of the monitors are for running AutoCAD. I'm an architect so I keep all kinds of designs and specs on that computer. In my case, the design computer isn't networked. It isn't even connected to a printer. If I need to transfer anything from that computer or print anything, I use a flash drive to transfer it to the other PC. That one is used for general office stuff and internet access.

Danny's system is of course outfitted differently. He has one monitor for office stuff. He has another monitor for internet stuff and his last monitor is for him to watch TV on. 

My office is pretty stark. Except for a few photos on the wall of my wife, it is pretty much unadorned. I could take those pictures down and everyone would think the office has never been occupied.

Danny's desk is cluttered with every souvenir and collectable piece of crap you can find. His desk blotter proudly proclaims that a neat desk is the sign of a cluttered mind. He smiles at me as I approach.

He's staring at his internet monitor and grinning from ear to ear.

"Why didn't you tell ME at least?" he asks, pointing a finger that is still greasy from the Coney dog he's eating.

"Tell you what?" I ask.

"That Becca is making the transition from modeling to movies," he gushes as if he knows everything.

"Because the only transition that Becca is going to make is from modeling to motherhood," I said. "At least once a week, she tells me that she wants to have a baby and soon."

"She's high," he spits out. "She needs to grab all of the dinero she can, while she's got that body. Then the two of you can sit back and get fat together, later on. Shit, any woman can lay back and spit out a kid. The trailer parks are full of girls who aren't even out of high-school and have a couple of kids. But how many women can say that they were a genuine super model?"

I looked at him as if I was puzzled. 

"Will, think about it," he said. 

"I don't get it," I told him. 

"Shit, Will, you've been working too hard, dude" he said. "There's millions of trailer trash hotties out there, but how many super hot models are there? It's a case of rarity, dude. Do you get it now?"

"No," I said. "I know at least ten or twelve women that you'd call supermodels. I don't know anyone who lives in a trailer though."

"Grrrrrr," he growled at me.

"Besides, what makes you think Becca wants to go into film?" I asked. 

"This encounter that I got from one of those super-secret internet entertainment sites," he said. "They have all of the news that most of the celeb media doesn't get or can't run."

He clicked his mouse and I watched as a nearly six foot woman ducked out of a building, trying to avoid being seen. She was clutching the hand of a shorter greasy looking guy, with glasses and a general unkempt appearance. She wore a hat and a long trench coat and kept sticking her hand in front of her face to obscure it from being seen. She was holding the man's hand and trying to avoid the reporters and photographers.

"See," said Danny. As we watched the reporters swarmed the woman, firing question after question at her. It just seemed off to me. Normally, Becca would always stop and politely answer any questions that she was asked. She was very grateful for what she did for a living. Even if it sometimes meant that she lost a bit of her privacy. We also had a pretty good way of dealing with it. Becca had two sets of ID. 

One set that she used while working, that proudly proclaimed her as Rebecca Miranova. The other set that named her as her actual legal name Becca Temple. After a shoot, she'd just throw her hair in a ponytail, take off her make-up, throw on a baseball cap and get onto a plane as a tall and thin but unassuming wife of an up and coming architect. She'd even taken classes with several speech therapists and could for a few moments hold a conversation in which she'd sound like a typical Midwesterner.

But there on Danny's monitor she sounded like a formerly Russian supermodel and she wasn't taking any time to answer any questions. 

"See," said Danny again.

"Okay, Dan, work with me, here," I said. "What did you see in this interview that makes you think she's going into film?"

"Well she's clearly trying to avoid the reporters," he said. "Your wife doesn't do that. She even let's high school reporters interview her. She's nice to everyone. Two, look at that little nerdy dude that she's with. He's obviously some kind of movie producer. That's why there's all of this secrecy. They're discussing exactly the kind of film she needs to break into acting. A lot of models try to go into film and let's face it, they suck. Just because they're good at being a mannequin, or strutting their tiny little asses down the runway, it doesn't always translate."

I watched the monitor again and saw Becca duck into a car with the man. The alarm bells went off in my head then as once they got inside of the car the camera caught a fleeting glimpse of her leaning over to kiss the man. 

I didn't need to drag Danny into it so I pretended I hadn't noticed it. He was so busy making plans for my wife's movie career that he hadn't seen it. 

"Danny, I missed lunch," I said. "I think, I'm going to call it a day."

"Sure, you're the boss," he smirked. "You get to just up and leave in the middle of the afternoon on a fucking Wednesday. Bosses often do that and..."Oh I get it," he said smiling broadly.

"You want to go home and give your hot assed wife the bone train. Just seeing my little video here has started your salmon swimming upstream, huh?" he quipped.

"Whatever?" I said.

I grabbed my coat and my laptop from my office. I stopped and downloaded my work files onto a four gigabyte flash drive. I have a similar setup at home so I can work there for a while if I feel like it.

I smiled and waved at several of my employees on the way out. Once I got to out parking lot, it was easy to spot my car. It was the only screaming yellow 2013 Mustang GT around. Becca thought it was odd that my car wasn't like my outwards personality. 

I guess she thought of me as shy and studious, so my car should be something understated that doesn't stand out as well. It's pretty simple. From the time that I was a kid growing up, I loved cars. I had hundreds of Hot Wheels cars and tracks to run them on. Of the more than a hundred toy cars, at least thirty of them were Mustang variants. 

Once I got my license, I drove the family car for a couple of years but when I went away to college, I had choices to make. My dad's biggest factor in picking a car for me was budget. He told me that I had x amount of dollars that he'd pay for a car for me. It was enough for me to get a nice, new small car. I told him I'd wait until the end of the summer and save the money that I earned over the summer too. He thought it was very responsible of me.

At the end of the summer between the money dad was offering and the money I had saved, I shocked my dad. I didn't get a new car. I got a six year old 1999 Mustang GT. When I drove it home, my mom didn't bat an eyelash. She looked at my dad who was still sputtering in outrage.

"What did you expect?" she asked him.

Since that first car, I had never driven anything else. Every car I've ever owned has been a Mustang. After trading that first one in after my first big payday as an architect, I've managed to keep every other one I've earned.

Something about the design of the car and what it symbolizes strikes a chord in me. Mustangs say America and freedom and unbroken continuity. Since 1964, Ford has produced the Mustang. Unlike a lot of Muscle cars, they've never gone away. The Challenger, the GTO, the Charger and the Camaro have all become popular again. As of late, the car companies are trying to grab the market of people who are interested in Muscle cars again. The Mustang has been here since it all began. It's the only one of those cars that has always been here. There are more Mustang clubs across the country and the world than almost any other car type.

Another thing about the car that I really love is that it can be the ultimate ice breaker. From both strangers I meet on the street to clients I meet for business, the car gets a response. It just pulls something out of people in the way that a Toyota or a Volkswagon or for that matter a Saturn, simply doesn't.

My thoughts on that day weren't on the car though. As much as I ordinarily loved driving, my mind was on other things.

The only thing I loved more than that car was my wife, and my feeling was that unlike my car, she wasn't mine alone. Most of us know where we fit in the world. We all rise to a certain level like water. When the ice melts in the spring and the rivers rise, we know that eventually those same rivers will go back to the levels that are appropriate. At the same time if the summer is particularly hot and the levels drop, we know that only a few rains will bring them back close to where they usually are.

I guess it's the same way with people. As much as I love her, in the back of my mind, I've always thought that Becca was too good for me. I always felt like she'd settled. And to be truthful, I've always felt that one day, she'd leave me for someone who was on her level.

I guess that's why, I've never really commented or participated much in her conversations about us having kids. As much as I'd like to have children, I've always thought it would be a mistake for us.

I don't think I could handle being one of those dads who only see their kids every other weekend. There's also the fact that I want my kids to have as normal a life as possible. And to have them dragged around the world according to Becca's schedule wouldn't allow them to do that. 

Becca had pretty much been able to dictate when and if she travels. Right now she's on the top of her game. Clients are willing to locate her shoots here in town or very close. And when she does have to travel, we usually go as a vacation. 

There's also the fact that I know most of the photographers she works with. Most of them have been to our home at one time or another and they all know exactly how I'd react if one of them were to try something with her.

But in the end, I guess it all comes down to faith and trust. In every relationship, both parties have to be able to trust their partners. They have to have a clear understanding of what they can and can't do to stay in that relationship. There are some lines that just can't be crossed with some couples.

Becca and I know several couples, mostly from her side, who have very liberal views on their marriage vows. Some of them are into swinging or simply have open relationships. Becca knew going in that I wasn't like that. I get jealous at the drop of a hat. The funny thing about it is that Becca does too.

In fact, it was Becca's jealousy that actually made me realize that the two of us might have a future together. 

Five years ago, I got a commission to design and build a new wing on a house for a guy in California. He loved the designs and I worked with the contractor to make sure that everything came out the way we wanted. After the renovation was complete the owner decided to throw a huge party to show off his new space. I was invited and went back out there for the party. He had several university students who interned for him at the film studio he worked at, working the party as well. 

One of those interns was my sister Ava. There were so many actors and models and entertainment types at the party that normal people stood out simply because no one could tell who we were.

I was just getting out of a failed relationship with my college sweetheart and wasn't looking to meet anyone. Ava like a good little sister was always on the lookout for someone she thought would make me happy. I turned her down. I didn't want to meet anyone. I did have conversations with several very famous people of both sexes, but I didn't stay with anyone at the party for very long. I figured that being famous, they had better things to do than talk to me.

I gravitated to the side of the house where there were fewer people. I spent time looking at the host's art collection. I was lost in one of his Warhol prints. Mostly because it took me a while to get a perspective on it that actually made it seem more like art and less like junk. Then she came into the room.

I have to admit that I gave her more than the once over. I looked at her body. She was tall, a couple of inches taller than me. And she's built deceivingly. Her breasts are fuller than they appear when she's clothed. And she has some hips on her. No one would ever accuse her of being top-heavy and she's never going to grace the cover of "Bubble Butt" magazine. But she has some very alluring curves.

I think the thing I spent the most time studying was her face. Beeca's features are so interesting that I could write a book about them. Her eyes are luminous. So much so, that they appear to glow when she's happy. Her nose is almost an after-thought. It's so tiny that it looks like God took one look at what he'd made and said, "Shit, she has to breathe too doesn't she?" So he just threw a nose between her eyes and above her mouth.

Her lips are thick and full and naturally a dark rosy color. There are times when it looks as if she's wearing lipstick, when she actually isn't.

And then there's that mane of long thick brown hair. Her hair is too thick and too heavy to move. Becca's hair could be a weapon. It isn't like those women you see on TV where every time they flick their heads, their hair flits around. 

Becca's hair goes nearly to her ass and it's like ballast if she turns her head hard enough to move all of that hair it's going to knock the shit out of someone or something.

When we first met, Becca still had a very heavy Russian accent. "Take peecture. Lasts longer," was the first thing she said to me. 

"Sorry," I blurted out. I quickly left the room. I moved back towards the host's large garage for safety. First, because I wanted to look at his collection of cars again; and secondly because I really wanted to compare the actual house to the model of it that I'd made to show him the design.

Just as I was comparing the angle of awning over the sun balcony on the model, to how it actually turned out on the actual house, I sensed someone behind me.

I turned and looked into those bottomless eyes. "Why are you going where I go?" she asked.

"In both cases, I was in the rooms first," I said. "Are you accusing me of reading your mind?"

"Not accusing anything," she said. "Am just tired of being stared at."

"You should get used to it," I said. "You're so beautiful that people just get lost looking at you."

"Three years ago, people called me..." she looked as if she'd drawn a blank. "What is word for long neck deer?"

"Bambi?" I asked. 

"No, dear with long, long neck not normal deer," she said emphatically.

"Oh, a giraffe," I laughed.

"Yes," she said bestowing one of her dazzling smiles on me. "I was waitress and...I was terrible waitress, but this is California. You know how that goes. There are beautiful and tall women everywhere. The ones who can sing become singers. The ones with big boobs become actresses. The ones who like to fuck become prostitutes."

I looked at her because I'd never seen her in a movie. And her voice was too heavy yet at the same time to scratchy to imagine her having a pleasant singing voice. 

"The rest of us..." she began again. "The ones who can't do any of those things are models."

I breathed out a sigh of relief. There were far too many questions going on in my mind. I truly had imagined that she was some kind of high priced hooker. I was sure that even though my annual salary was in the mid six figures, I couldn't afford her.

"What is this toy?" she asked pointing to the model. "Where did you get it?"

"It's not a toy," I said. "It's an architectural model. It's like a 3-D representation of what the house was supposed to look like when the remodel was done."

"Oh..." she said. "I thought you were going to bring out your G. I. Joe collectibles and say that they all lived in this house. My photographer Joey is the beegest nerd. He has hundreds of Star Wars dolls...Sorry, they are not dolls. They're ACTION FIGURES." Then she laughed and if I hadn't been attracted to her before then, her laugh would have won me over.




Two of a Kind



"Why do you have this dollhouse...I mean architectural 3-d model?" she asked smiling. "Are you a nerd too?"

"No, I'm and architect," I said. "I designed the house. That's why he invited me to the party."

"So you're not..." she began.

"Nope," I said. "I'm not some famous guy."

"Then you're not trying to act like you're too cool for the room?" she said in shock.

"Nope, I'm just a regular guy. I'm not really comfortable in big parties, so I tend to move away from the crowds."

She slapped her hand over her face. "So when you said that I was beautiful, you really meant it? It wasn't just some boollshit line?"

"Nope," I said. "It was just my opinion." She was becoming more and more animated and my ability to accept what I considered irrational behavior, even from a woman as beautiful as she was, had worn out, so I went back inside the house.

Once there I looked around the room and wondered what I was doing there. I waved at my sister who was carrying a tray of drinks and quickly slipped outside and left the party.

A few days later, back at home, I answered my phone absent mindedly while staring as usual at the designs I was doing for a building.

"Yeah?" I said as I spoke into the phone.

"That is not polite way to answer phone," she said. I was shocked. I knew instantly who it was, but couldn't figure out how she'd gotten my number or why she'd call me. I figured very quickly that she must've gotten my number from the guy who held the party and she probably wanted me to do something with her house.

"How can I help you?" I asked.

"Now you sound like you are working in a store?" she laughed. "You left the party before we were finished talking. I had to track you down."

"Why?" I asked. "You're some kind of model or entertainment person. You live in California and I live in Illinois, just outside of Chicago. I design buildings and homes. It's not glamorous and you probably make a lot more money than I do. I'm a normal boring guy. I do normal boring things. You can probably walk down your street and talk to twenty or thirty millionaires or famous people the same way I walk down my street and talk to my mailman or a bag lady."

"So what are you trying to say?" she asked in a huff.

"I'm trying to say that we're not the same kind of people. We don't travel in the same circles. We don't do the same things. We don't like the same things and you'd be wasting your time," I said.

"So now you've changed your mind and you don't like me?" she asked. "I'm not beautiful anymore?"

"I didn't say that," I said.

"But what you're saying is that when we looked at each other, there was no spark and I was imagining the whole thing?" she asked.

"Well, no, I'm not saying that either," I stuttered.

"Have you thought about me at all since then?" she asked.

"Well..." I said tentatively.

"Well what?" she asked.

"Okay, I thought about you some," I said. "But what does..."

"You only thought about me some?" she asked. "I've been obsessed with you. It's lucky for you that my friend Ava had your number. She told me I should call you."

It was really strange but we started dating on the weekends. Either I would fly to California or she would fly to Chicago. It got to the point that the five days between the weekends were torture for both of us. And thank God for unlimited phone packages because there were some nights when I'd call her when I first got home and we'd stay on the phone for three or four hours or until one of us fell asleep.

It was actually the telephone that made me realize that we had a problem. Apparently one night Becca called me and my phone was busy. She then called Ava and her phone was busy too. She called us both back an hour later and both lines were still busy. Becca doesn't do jealousy well. She left her apartment and drove to Ava's dorm. She stormed in and started calling Ava all kinds of names and tried to fight her.

Two of the guys who lived in the dorm room next to Ava had to come in and restrain Becca until she calmed down. When she did calm down she wouldn't listen to anything Ava had to say. She just stormed out and drove right to the airport with no luggage and got on the first available plane. Luckily Ava had the foresight to call me.

When Becca showed up cursing and screaming at me, I was ready for her. 

"You bastard," she yelled. "I loved you."

"I still love you Becca," I said calmly.

"No you don't," she hissed. "Or you wouldn't be spending all of your time talking to chunky girls."

I looked at her and shook my head.

"If you love me, you have to promise me that you won't ever talk to her again," she screamed.

"I can't do that Becca," I said.

"I knew it," she screamed. "You love her don't you?"

"Yep," I said. "And I have for a very long time."

"How long?" she asked she was calming down.

"About twenty two years," I said.

"But she's only twenty three," said Becca.

"Well, I was kind of jealous of her when she was first born," I said. "Here, let me show you something." She was still angry but I got her to come over to my couch. I showed her the photo album I'd gotten ready for her.

As she looked through and saw pictures of me growing up she also saw a lot of photos of Ava. 

"She's your..." she began. She had the biggest smile on her face. Then she turned red.

"Yep, Ava is my baby sister," I said. 

"Neither of you ever said anything about that," she hissed. Even as she whined she snuggled herself in and wrapped her long arms around me. "I feel so stupid," she gushed.

"No you don't," I said. "You feel warm and soft and..."

"Stop that," she smiled. She pulled my hands out from under her sweater. "You have to call Ava, first."

"Why so I have to call my...chunky sister?" I asked.

"Oh please don't tell her I said that," she whined. I dialed the phone and handed it to her. After a few minutes of them chattering away she handed the phone to me.

"Hey sis," I said.

"Will, that woman is crazy about you," she said.

"I feel the same way about her," I said.

"So maybe you should do something about it," she said.

"I'm trying to, but she won't let me take her clothes off," I laughed.

"No stupid, I meant something permanent, like getting married and having kids," she said.

"Ava, that's ridiculous. Becca is going to be one of the top models on the planet. She has a very bright future ahead of her. In a few years she won't even remember me. You know it, I know it and she knows it. You act like I'm supposed to change both of our lives by just saying, Hey, Becca, ya wanna get married? Don't be..."

"Yes!" yelled Becca from across the room.

She snatched the phone and started kissing me. I was totally shocked. I had no idea what was going on. I didn't even realize that she'd been listening to me. I hadn't listened while she was talking to Ava so I guess I thought she hadn't either.

As I pulled into my long driveway, I realized that the car had gotten us home on its own. I don't remember leaving the freeway at my exit. I don't remember whether or not I stopped at stop signs or even if I ran through any red lights. I'd been so lost in my memories of meeting Becca and the early days of our relationship. 

It's funny. I never spend much time thinking about how we got together. But now that it's probably going to end it's all I can think about.

I got out of my car after grabbing the laptop. I closed the car door and noticed that she'd already noticed me. The transformation is amazing. One second she's lying there on a lounge chair in front of our pool. She's the very epitome of beauty with a light sheen of suntan oil on her body. The tabloids would probably pay money for this shot of one of the world's most beautiful women relaxing during her time off. In the next second, she's looked across the yard and seen me and she jumps up and trips, barely avoiding an awkward fall in a clumsy tangle of thin arms and super-long legs. The super model's poise and grace are lost in the frenzy of a woman who has clearly missed her mate.

"Hmmm," she says hugging me. "Home early. I think someone missed me." She presses her body against me in a full on hug. She doesn't give my clothes or her tanning oil any thought. "

"Let's go upstairs," she growls.

"Becca, I might need to work for a little while," I whine.

"At the office, you work," she said. "At home, I'm your job. So yeah, let's get upstairs and do some work."

"Well what about dinner?" I asked.

"There's a phone in the kitchen," she smiles. "I'll use it to make pizza."

Ten minutes later we were in our room thrashing away at each other. Becca has very unusual tastes when it comes to sex. I think that most people have the wrong idea about her. Most people think that because they've seen her on the covers of so many magazines or so many entertainment shows, that they know her.

They don't. It's strange to hear men talk about her as they look at a magazine cover. They believe that because she's photographed a certain way, that they can tell what she's like. 

Becca and her mom came over here from Russia after her father was killed in an industrial accident. He worked in a stamping plant over there and a press malfunctioned. The piston, under incredible pressure, ruptured the side of the cylinder it worked in and a huge shard of metal hit him in the head. From what she tells me it happened so quickly that he died instantly.

She and her mother came to the US, after that. Her mother had trouble finding work at first. She ended up working for an Aunt of hers who'd been in the country for a long time and owned a cleaning service. Her aunt no longer had to do any cleaning. She just scheduled the women who did. 

Becca thought that would be the best job in the world. She wanted to be like her aunt and just sit in an office and tell others what they had to do.

When she turned 18, Becca got a job with her aunt too. After starting out, and getting fired, for being the world's worst waitress. She'd turned to her aunt, who gave her a chance. She was cleaning a hotel room and the guest who had the room noticed her. The woman was a modeling agent, the rest was history.

But where the world saw a glamorous sexy model, I saw my simple little Russian girl wife. Becca loves to kiss. And she likes to fuck but that's all. She thinks oral, whether getting or giving is kind of dirty, so we don't do it very often. We've never done anal. I'd tried it a few times before we got together, but it's not really something that I miss.

I guess despite the fact that frat boys the world over are staring at posters of my wife and imagining that her sex life is probably off the chain, she's still the girl her parents brought her up to be. I think that most of those frat boys would be disappointed too. Our sex life is probably way too "vanilla" for them, but it's perfect for us. 

For us sex isn't about trying fifty different positions or wearing costumes and spitting on each other. We aren't into swinging or role playing or costumes. Sex for us is about connecting. It's about putting my dick in her pussy and us rubbing against each other until the line between what's her and what's me, blurs.

So as she sheds her clothing and drags me into the bed, we already know what we're going to say to each other and how we're going to say it. She lies down on the bed waiting as I strip and kiss her on her upper thigh.

Where most women would be aglow at the thought of getting their pussy eaten, she just stares at me.

"Honey, you've been at work all day," she whines. "We don't have time for that foolishness, get up here."

Apparently I'm not moving quickly enough for her. She grabs my hand and drags me onto the bed where she quickly straddles me, mounts me and starts the process by reaching behind her-self and grabbing my dick. She lines it up with her already wet slit and pressed herself forward. Both of us let out sighs as my rampant erection slides home.

"It's been too long," she gushes. 

"It's been six hours," I laugh.

"See what I mean," she quips. After that we're too busy kissing and rubbing for any of our words to make sense. When both of us are spent and Becca is doing some very un-sexy snoring, I crawl from the bed and go into my home office. 

I pride myself on being a good judge of people and I can't for the life of me, see any sign that she's cheating on me. When she looks into my eyes and tells me she loves me, I believe her. When she awakens and walks naked through the house until she finds me and drapes herself across me, I can't imagine her even speaking to another man let alone kissing one.

The thought of her fucking some greasy little guy and making a fool of me, upsets me.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," I told her reaching for her and running my fingers along one of her mile long legs.

"Is there something that you want to tell me about or talk to me about?" I asked her. "She looks away for a second as if she doesn't want me to see her face."

"No," she said at first. "Well, there is something, but I need time to figure out how to bring it up."

"Just say it," I told her.

"No I can't," she said. "This is going to be hard because it's just not something we've talked about and I just don't want to risk messing us up. A lot of my friends..."

And that's when I went on alert. I knew what a lot of her friends did. A lot of her friends were so God damned full of them-selves that they figured their shit didn't stink. A lot of her friends weren't married. A lot of her friends who were married still figured that they could fuck around on their husbands because they were so God damned beautiful that their husbands would be stupid to let them go.

I guess a lot of people might agree with them. I can hear their rationalizations in my head. "Okay, so she screwed another guy. She still comes home to you. And it's not like it happened often. It's just something happens every once in a while. And you can do it too."

No thanks, I think. We got married to each other. We didn't say vows that allowed us to bring other people into the marriage and then stay together. I suspected from the beginning that our marriage wouldn't last, but I loved her so God damned much and I wanted to believe her so badly that I went for it anyway. And now all of my chickens were coming home to roost.

The next morning I felt worse. There was a nagging doubt in the back of my mind. Becca's evasiveness had only fed it. Before now, there had never been anything that she needed to figure out or think about before she talked to me about it.

I already knew what was going on. The bloom was off of the rose. The honeymoon that we'd been on for the past five years was over. My darling Becca was bored with our life or maybe she just needed to spice it up. She was trying to decide whether to tell me or not. Maybe what she'd done had been a brief affair and she just wanted to come clean. Maybe it was something she wanted to pursue and she either wanted me to step aside or to allow her to do it.

Those four words she'd uttered yesterday had told me the whole fucking story without her having to actually say anything. "Most of my friends..." she'd said.

I should have finished the sentence for her. "Most of your friends are whores." Sure the world sees them as actresses or models or whatever, but they were all women who screwed around with every guy who struck their fancy. The ones who were married either participated in the game or looked the other way hoping that it wouldn't last for long and that she'd come back. Maybe the bitch would buy me a sports car or some trinket as a reward for my forgiveness.

To me those guys were wimps. I was thinking about that Dokken song, "Breaking the Chains," as I drove in to work that next morning.

Danny waved at me as I walked in. I called him over and he followed me into my office.

"Danny, remember when your sister got divorced?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Her husband was cheating on her. It was a real shit-storm. She's still not right in the head. She doesn't even date. It's really fucked up. She's still Hetero but she hates men. Every guy we set her up with comes back vowing to never date another divorced woman and..."

"Do you remember the lawyer she used?" I asked interrupting him.

"Fuck yeah," he smiled. "That bitch was a shark. She cut Ed up and had him begging to only give Elaine half of everything and he still..."

"Can you get me an appointment with her or have her call me," I said.

"What for?" he asked. "Do you know someone who's considering a divorce?"

"Yeah," I said. "Me." His eyes bugged out.

"But why," he whined. "Rebecca loves you. Maybe it's a mistake. It's probably just a rumor or some type of Hollywood gossip. Whoever told you something was probably lying because they're jealous of what you two have and..."

"Danny the person who alerted me that something was going on was you," I said.

"Me," he said. "You can't fucking trust me. I'm full of shit. I've never liked me and I know me pretty well."

"Just get me the phone number," I said. Danny walked out of my office looking at me over his shoulder and shaking his head. A short time later he came back in and brought me a piece of paper with a phone number on it. 

I dialed the number and after speaking to a receptionist and then an assistant I was connected to Sally Hawks.

"Hawks," she said answering the phone.

"Ms. Hawks, I think I need a divorce," I said tentatively.

"What do you mean think?" she spat. "You either want a divorce or you don't."

"Well I don't want one," I said. "But..." I hesitated.

"What makes you THINK that you NEED a divorce?" she asked in a softer tone.

"Yesterday a friend of mine showed me an online video of my wife dodging reporters and getting into a car with another man. Once they got in the car, she kissed him. Who knows what else they've been doing, but the kiss was enough for me."

"So do you have any proof that anything is going on other than the online video?" she asked. "And wait a minute, why would there be video of your wife online and why would she be dodging reporters?"

"My wife is Rebecca Miranova," I said.

"Your wife is a fucking super model?" she said sucking in a breath.

"Yes," I said.

"So, now I understand why you called me," she hissed. "She's probably screwing every Hollywood hunk she can find. And you're tired of it. You've decided to take the bitch for every God damned nickel she has and..."

"No," I said softly. "I do okay financially. I don't want or need anything. I just want to get out of the marriage."

"Are you out of your God damned mind?" she asked. "You're willing to walk away from money? What planet are you from?"

"Look, I still love Becca," I said. "I'm grateful for the time we had together. But I won't be a fool for her or anyone else. If she wants to do whatever it is she's doing, I just want out."

"Well first you need to get some kind of proof," she said. "We need to hire a PI. Are you going to shake some cash loose from the money tree or should I get you someone cheap?"

"I've already told you, that I do okay financially," I said. "Maybe I should hire my own PI and get back to you once I have the evidence."

"Okay, do that," she said. "I got the idea that she was thinking about how famous my wife was and how much it might do for her career."

As soon as I hung up the phone my phone rang again. On the other end of the line was my current client, Alex Blake. After chatting for a few moments about some things he wanted me to add to the design, he asked me if I was okay.

I don't know why but I told him without telling him the details what was going on. "Whoa been there, done that," he said. "It's one of the roughest things you can go through."

"But your wife is so beautiful," I said. "And she's..."




Two of a Kind



"She's my second wife," he added. "I met her as I was going through something with my first wife."

"I know you're in advertising," I said. "But you just don't seem like the type for cheating and all of that."

"Oh I never cheated," he said. "But my wife and most of the country thought that I did. I had to get a really good PI to get me out of it. Do you want her number? She's the best there is at what she does and she's a friend beside that. I can't guarantee you that she'll take your case but talk to her anyway."

I wrote down the number and told him I'd call her.

* * * * * *

Sarah

My name is Sarah Price. I'm the best there is at what I do. At this point in time, what I do seems to be being clumsy and ungainly. 

Just as I lay down for my afternoon nap, the phone rang. I flailed away at the bed trying to get up. I felt like I'd swallowed a watermelon whole. After a few moments of useless flailing I managed to push myself up into a sitting position and guide my swollen feet to the floor. By the time I got to my feet and got my balance, the phone had stopped ringing. 

Stifling a curse I waddled over to the phone to check the caller ID and see who'd just called me. The number was a very familiar one. It was work. I wondered what they were calling me for. I was now a full partner at the Arturo Rios Investigations Agency that I'd worked for, for what seemed like forever. 

I hit the redial button and he picked it up immediately.

"Sarah, I know you're on maternity leave," he said in his smooth Spanish accented baritone.

"I'm sensing a hidden BUT in there, Boss," I said.

"Well, I have a case that might be right up your alley," he said. "It deals with a high profile client or clients, some doubt about guilt and a need to handle it quickly and quietly."

"What do you have?" I asked. 

"The client is William Temple," he said. "He was referred to us by Alexander Blake and was told to ask for you personally."

"Temple...Temple," I said. "The name doesn't really ring any obvious bells. I feel like I should know him but I don't."

"Google him," said Art. "He's a pretty famous architect. He's done a lot of commercial stuff and also some homes for very rich or famous people."

"Nope that's not it," I said straining my memory. 

"Well his wife is Rebecca Miranova," said Arturo.

"The tall skinny Russian super-model," I spat. "That's it. I just saw them a few months ago. He's re-doing the house Alex has in Florida, right?"

"I guess..." said Arturo. "Uh Sarah, you're kind of tall and skinny yourself so it sounds funny hearing you say that about someone else. And I think you have her beat in the uh...upper body development."

"So what does he want?" I asked, still smiling at Arturo's compliments.

"I don't know," said Arturo. "You know how some clients have a suspicion that something is going but they really aren't sure whether or not they want you to find something? This guy is one of those. Maybe you should call him and make the decision on whether or not you want the case yourself."

"Okay, I'll call him," I said.

I dialed the number and as soon as the phone was answered I knew I'd be taking the case. My cousin Savannah would have called it premonition, but everyone knows Savannah is crazy. From the second the man's voice hit my ears, I saw myself sitting with him and his wife and some other people. I also knew that this case was going to be a weird one.

"Sarah Price," I said. "Can you tell me a little bit about yourself and the case? I think we've met before briefly."

As he spoke about his marriage and his wife, my heart broke. I got the feeling that this man loved that woman with every fiber of his being. He wanted more than anything else in the world to be wrong. But he had too much pride to allow his suspicions to just die. He needed to know.

Before he finished talking about the things he'd hoped they'd do together and how the thought of her lying to him or hiding something from him hurt him, I was hooked.

"Will, where are you?" I asked.

"I'm in Chicago," he said. "How long will it take you to fly here?"

"We're probably not going to fly," I said laughing. "We're in Chicago too. Isn't that weird? I met you at a party for Alex Blake in California, but we both live in the same city. Give me your address or a location and a time to meet. I assume that you work normal hours, so probably sometime after five would be better for you, right?"

"No," he said. "I own the company I work for. And I'd rather not have Becca getting suspicious. If I suddenly change my schedule, her radar would go up immediately. She's pretty jealous. From what I remember of you, I hope you don't mind me saying it, but you're an attractive woman. It would not be good for Becca to see me with you. So perhaps a time during working hours would be best. Perhaps you could come here. That way if Becca did happen to see us, I could simply say that you were a client."

"Okay, that sounds fine," I said. "Let me give my partner a call and we'll come right over."

As I hung up the phone, I had another feeling. I could tell that beneath his suspicions, Will really loves his wife. But strangely enough, from what he said about her, I got the impression that she loved him too. It was hard for me to imagine a woman that beautiful being jealous of other women being around her husband. But from the way he talked about her, it seemed as if he's experienced her acting on that jealousy.

There was definitely something going on here, I just needed to figure out what it was, in order to help him.

I picked up the phone and dialed a number by heart.

"Crestwood Performance, Darla speaking," said a cheerful voice. The voice oozed sex appeal and vitality. If I was a man, I'd probably already have a woody trying to imagine what the woman behind that voice looked like.

I smiled thinking about it, because I realized that I was probably as bad as Rebecca Miranova. Despite the sexy sounding voice I knew that the woman on the other end of the phone was a fat sixty year old woman. I'd picked her myself. She really was as cheerful and as loving as her voice sounded like, though. All of her grand kids loved her.

"Hi Darla," I said trying to match her cheerful tone.

"Sarah," she gushed. "How are you? How's that baby coming along?"

"It's crushing my spleen and making my feet swell," I quipped. "Can I speak to him? Or is he in some kind of meeting?"

"He's still working on the dampeners for the tri bar grills," she said. "But I have instructions to ALWAYS put you through." I smiled just thinking about it.

"Okay but don't tell him who it is," I said. I heard the line click over and it rang twice before he picked it up in a bored sounding voice.

"Chris Harris," he said.

"Sarah Price," I said. "Although technically since we're married I guess I could say Sarah Harris."

"Uh Oh!" he said. 

"Whuh Oh?" I asked. "What are you Uh Ohing me about mister?"

"You're the detective, Sweetheart," he said. I could imagine the smile on his face as he spoke. "But even I can tell what's going on, here. You called me and you didn't use your, "Honey I need you to brings me home a pint of Hagen Daz" voice. "You're also not screaming so it's not an emergency with the baby. That means that you probably have a case that you need or want my help with, but I thought that you were taking the rest of the time until the baby was born, off."

"Okay Smartass," I said. "Maybe you should be the detective and I should be the engineer."

"You suck at CAD," he said. "How long will I need to take off and where are we going?" he asked.

"You're going to do it?" I squealed.

"Sarah, since the day we met, I've never said no to you, have I?" he asked. 

"Well, this might be the first time," I said knowing it wouldn't be. Every time I thought about how Chris was always willing to drop everything for me, it gave me a warm feeling all over. I guess that more than anything else it just showed me how fucked up the world was. All of us, searched for that warm feeling. No matter how rich we were or how poor we just wanted to be loved.

In my business, I got to see and deal with a lot of cases where people had lost that warm feeling or had given it to someone else. Sometimes, their mates would go to any lengths including murder to punish the person that stole it from them.

"I'm coming home now," he said. "I'll tell Jenny that I'll be gone for a few days. I'm pretty sure they'll all think it's something with the baby. If they don't I'll just take some of my vacation time."

"Okay, Honey," I said. "I'll see you soon." Even as we hung up the phone, I thought about what we'd be doing later. At this point in my pregnancy, I was horny as hell. It seemed like a long time since I'd been able to show Chris how much I love him. It seemed like it, but it was actually only last night that he'd spooned himself behind me while rubbing my swollen belly. He'd been somewhat innocently rubbing that cocoa butter lotion around my stomach to prevent the stretch marks that pregnancy often produced. As usual, his touch sent flames through me. I don't remember whether it was him or me who gradually moved his gentle hands down below my belly. But I do remember my legs opening up as wide as a barnyard gate so he could push his throbbing dick into my steaming innards.

My pregnancy hadn't even slowed our sex life down, let alone stopped it. 

* * * * * *

Becca

I love America. I love the people, the food, the way of life and everything else about it. I think though, that most of all, I love the way they deify useless things. Back in Russia, where I'm from, I was a typical farm girl. I was always covered in mud and up to my ankles in pig shit. I wasn't smart enough to get a job in the city and I have no computer skills. That kept me down on the farm with no chance of escaping the back breaking labor involved. 

People look at me funny and they can't imagine me mucking out stalls or cleaning up after animals. They tell me I'm too pretty for that. But in Russia, they look at things differently. When I was younger, I wanted to be a ballerina. I soon grew far too tall for that. The truth is that I also wasn't a very good dancer although I loved ballet and practiced a lot. I just wasn't graceful enough and by the time I hit my teens I was taller than most of the male dancers. 

There are only so many things that a tall, pretty girl can do. I was too clumsy for basketball or volleyball and my limbs though long, lacked the strength for those sports as well. My father, especially, told me not to give up on basketball. It was in my genes he said. I guess he thought that since he played professionally and was on the Russian Olympic team, that it would be something I could do as well.

After he got too old to play basketball my father retired to the family farm and also worked in the factory where he lost his life

I was the only one of his daughters to take after him in terms of genetics. My other sisters are shorter, stockier and curvy like our mother. I envy them the way they're built, with their large breasts and curvy backsides. As we grew up all of the local men looked at them lustily. Very few men looked at me that way. My sister often joked that I, with almost no breasts and my tiny rear end, was built like a very tall boy.

With no skills, ballet and sports were out. My lack of feminine attributes meant that marriage was an unlikely outcome. So I was farm help. This too wasn't in my future because being very tall with spindly limbs meant that working around the farm took its toll on my body a lot easier than it did to the stockier, more strongly built women. 

I actually heard some of the members of my family laughing about me when I wasn't around. They said I was useless. I was like a giraffe. I was a tall ungainly creature with no other purpose than as a curiosity.

So when my mother decided to move to America, I came with her. I started out waitressing and I was a truly terrible waitress. I think my delivery rate was probably fifty/fifty. That means that fifty percent of the time I got the plates to the table without spilling anything.

Anyway I was only a waitress for about nine days before I went to work for my aunt. I only cleaned rooms for a few weeks before I became a model. That too was due to spillage. There was a woman who came into the hotel to stay. She had a couple of fashion magazines. I thought she might be crazy or gay because she kept staring at me and looking me up and down. That just isn't polite; especially not in public. But there she was, sitting in her room staring at me again, when fate intervened. 

I was cleaning the room next to hers and I spilled water all over the carpet. Just then the hotel manager came out and started screaming at me. The woman in the next room just smiled as my boss continued to yell at me.

"Is she fired?" she asked.

"Hell yeah!" shouted my boss.

"Good," said the woman. "I think she could be very successful as a model. And if things go her way, maybe she'll come back here in a couple of years and buy this place and fire you.

Things went really well for me. As I said, here in America, they love useless things. My modeling career grew by leaps and bounds. After a couple of years I really could have bought out the little hotel that I'd once been fired from. But something else happened. 

That something was that I fell in love got married and became a liar. Meeting Will was one of those moments in life that lasts forever. As a model, I was always meeting actors, male models and athletes. I found all of them boring and plastic. Perhaps it's because athletes, models, actors and musicians all make their living entertaining people. While they all have to have some type of skill or quality that separates them from normal people, usually that skill isn't what makes them famous.

What usually makes them famous is their ability to make sure that they are the center of attention. They can play it up or they can try to tone it down but it always comes down to them and not necessarily their skill at what they do for a living.

As an example let's look at Tim Tebow. How could a guy with his uhm...skills as a quarterback captivate us for that long?

So I went on a few dates before just deciding that men in the entertainment industries just weren't for me. So when I first met Will at a party, I assumed that like a lot of men there he was just trying to pick me up so he could add me to his list of conquests. I actually got angry at him because I liked him from the beginning. And I just didn't want him to be an asshole. By the time I figured out that he wasn't, he was gone.

We eventually did hook up and more. We found a way to make our lives, as different as they are, fit together. Actually it was easier than it seems. I simply didn't take any assignment that would separate us for more than a day or two unless Will came with me. And every year he makes more money and becomes more famous and it bothers me. 

Will has the idea that I work so hard because I need to make millions of dollars and set the fashion world on fire. I've been trying to find a way to tell him that he makes more than enough money for both of us. I'm a simple Russian farm girl. All I need to be happy is my husband. I'm more than ready to walk away from all of that. I want to settle down in our beautiful house and have babies. 

I'll give Will enough time to get over whatever funk he's in. And then I'll tell him. He'll just have to get used to the fact that his wife is no longer a famous supermodel. I smile at the thought of being just plain old Becca Temple.

* * * * * *

Sarah

I liked him as soon as I saw him. He reminded me so much of Chris that it was uncanny. Another weird, quirky thing was the fact that he drove up to his office at the same time that we did. He was driving a 2013 Mustang GT. Chris was driving his 2011 Mustang GT. Of course Chris also had a 2012 Shelby GT 500 that was a hand me down from Alex Blake (read Billie Jean for details)

As soon as they saw each other they were fast friends. They were talking cars at a rate of about a mile a second until they got into Will's office and discovered that they both used similar CAD systems. The only difference wwast hat Will used the architectural version and Chris used the version designed for Automotive manufacturing.

I had to clear my throat loudly, several times to get them back to the reason for our business.

Since I hadn't had a chance to fill Chris in on his new friend's case, he was hearing it for the first time. Knowing him the way I did, I could see the anger and disgust on his face as Will spoke. I also knew from his history that my husband empathized with betrayed husbands. (read Private Eyes) 

The saddest part of the whole interview though was that from my knowledge and experience dealing with literally hundreds of cases involving betrayal and infidelity, I could tell that Will was in a great deal of pain. Most husbands, in these cases, just want proof of the spouse's indescretions so they can either, divorce them and keep the lion's share of their assets, or so they can have leverage over the spouse in the future if they stay married.

A few use the evidence to force the spouse into actions that would otherwise never have occurred. Will was none of those and he was probably hoping for something I couldn't give him. As he showed us the video of his super model wife, it just seemed as if he wanted us to prove that there really was nothing going on between her and the greasy little man. I think he wanted us to give him evidence that would lead to saving his marriage. The problem was that most people have an innate sense of what is right and wrong with their relationships. Usually by the time you suspect something in going on, it has already progressed to the point of no return. I hoped that in Will's case that wasn't true. But years of experience told me something different. 

Marriages and relationships can be the strongest of unions. They can bond two people from different families or different races or different cultures together in ways are superior to and stronger than blood ties. But for all of their strength, it doesn't take much to ruin them, often when that wasn't the intention. Women often fall victim to just a few words of flattery, if caught at a time when they are emotionally weak. The most pius, most resolute woman still loves and needs to hear that she is attractive and sexy. Sometimes hearing it from someone other than her spouse increases the effect until she's done something that can't be forgiven.

Men are even worse. A glance at a set of partially visible breasts or even a fully covered but especially rounded ass has ruined many a marriage and destroyed families.

My suspicion that day already ran towards the fact that a super humanly beautiful woman had simply made an all too human mistake and it was going to cost her a man who loved her intensely.

For the first time ever, I was hesitant to accept a case. Maybe my pregnancy was making me more emotional. Maybe I just didn't want to be there for the fallout when Will was destroyed by the proof we'd surely be providing. He reminded me too much of Chris.

I remember intently the pain my husband went through and the tentative nature of the early days of our relationship. There were so many days that I got the impression that Chris hated me and all other women because of what his ex had done to him. There was also the fact that Chris was pretty strong emotionally and he'd had time to absorb the shock of what was going on in his marriage. He'd loved his ex, but that love was nothing compared to what we have now.

Will on the other hand was just beginning to suspect this. He really didn't know what was going on and was in some respects in denial. He was asking for proof, but hoping for confirmation that nothing was going on. What he really wanted was to find out that his wife still loved him.




Two of a Kind



I had the feeling that if we did our job, we would shatter a very good man; possibly beyond recovery. I tried to think of a reason that we couldn't take the case. I thought about passing it to someone else, using my pregnancy as an excuse. I just needed to find a way to word it.

But for the first time ever, Chris accepted the case.

"We'll do our best," he said shaking Will's hand. I was shocked as he patted Will on the back. "Whatever she's doing, we'll catch her and get you proof."

"We'll check in with you on a daily basis," said Chris sounding exactly like me. "We always try to keep our clients in the loop."

As Will walked us back to the car, I didn't say much. Something just felt wrong. As soon as we drove away, Chris asked me what was wrong.

"What do you mean?" I asked. 

"Sarah, I love you. And I know you," he said. "It's not like you to be so quiet. Normally you're the one who feels bad for the clients. You're usually the one who assures them that we can get the goods and ease their pain."

"Honey, this feels off," I said.

"Oh shit," he said. "Have you been talking to your cousin Savannah again? Whatever happened to my clinical, by the book, just the facts, detective wife?"

"What's wrong with Savannah?" I asked. 

"Nothing," he said. "If you look past the fact that she's bat shit crazy."

"She is not," I said, knowing in my heart that he was right. 

"Sarah, she forced a guy to marry her after suing him for paternity of a child that wasn't even his," he said. 

"Nuh Unh," I said. "He married her because he loves her and they're the happiest people I know except for us. Savannah just has a persuasive nature about her and a gift for getting people to see things her way. Plus Savannah is partially psychic. Most of the women in my family are."

"Oh yeah," he said. "If Savannah is persuasive, then Evie is just nuts. I swear she's bipolar. And then there's your aunt Angela, who's either a full fledged witch or certifiably crazy. I'll let you pick the one you believe in. You're the only one who's sane, Honey. So don't start talking like Savannah."

I laughed and kissed him.

* * * * * *

Chris

As soon as I stepped off of the plane in L.A. I missed my wife. I missed my car almost as much. I'd originally thought about dropping in on Alex and borrowing one of his Mustangs but number one, I didn't plan on being here for that long. And secondly my mission here was all about stealth. There was no reason to alert everyone in the area that I was there. I didn't know very much about the people I'd be watching. But of course that would change and hopefully very soon.

I pulled out my iPhone as I stepped into the rental agency. I needed the automotive version of Wonder Woman's invisible jet. I needed a vehicle so stealthy that it would make me impossible to see or at least to notice.

Stepping up to the counter I smiled back at a young woman who stood there. 

"Let me guess," she said. "You want a Camaro?" My eyes narrowed with the insult, but I maintained my smile.

"A Challenger SRT?" she asked.

"Sweetie, you're going backwards," I said. 

"A Mustang GT-H?" she said excitedly. Then disappointment colored her face. "They're all out," she said. "They never stay on the lot for more than twenty minutes. That's why I offered you a Camaro. We've got a buy one day get two free on the Challengers."

"Actually, I had something different in mind," I said. She leaned in as if we were sharing a secret.

"I need a tan or gray Toyota Camry," I said. She looked at me as if I was joking. Then erupted in laughter. When she saw that I was serious, she stared at me again. 

"What did you do?" she asked.

"I just asked for a..." I began.

"You don't look like a guy who'd get caught dead driving a car with so little personality that we keep losing them on the lot. Are you hiding from John Law or something?" she asked in a conspiratorial tone. 

"Did you rob a bank? Are you undercover?" she asked. "What are you? CIA? FBI?"

I leaned across the counter and put my face very close to her ear. I could almost feel her body vibrating with excitement. 

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," I whispered. She jerked her head back and smiled at me. She reached down into a drawer and have me a form to fill out.

After I was done filling it out. She looked at it. "Chris Harris," she laughed. "You might as well have written John Smith." she giggled and went over to a board on the wall and got a set of keys. 

"Okay, Mr. Harris," she winked her left eye dramatically. "Here are the keys to your Toyota. Good luck finding it."

I walked out lf the office wondering if everyone in California was crazy. I walked out through the lot to the spot she told me the car would be in and didn't see it. I walked around the lot and came back. I had the right spot. Then I noticed exactly how well I had chosen. The car had been there all along, but it was so boring that I'd failed to notice it twice. It was like distinguishing Kentucky blue grass from any other variety of grass from a distance. The car just blended into everything. I would definitely remain unseen in that car.

I called the office and spoke to Sophia. Sophia was a new hire at the agency. But she'd already proved her value several times. Sophia didn't work in the field. She stayed in the office and handled Internet operations. 

"Hey Soph," I said. "What do you have for me?"

"Well Chris, your fat friend, as usual, was half right. The guy's name is Hugh Joel Peters. And he is a producer. But only if you consider porn to be movies. If your friends wife is mixed up with him, he might as well go ahead and file because any woman who plays around with Hugh Joel Peters is going to get fucked."

"Alright, Soph, good work. Where can I find Hugh Joel Peters?" I asked.

"Usually in a senior citizen's pants," she said. "But most of them don't still work and you have to..."

"Ha ha ha!" I said. "Am I going to have to tell Sarah that you're sexually harassing me again?"

"No sir," she said. "Then I'd have to sexually harrassment her again too and you know I find her really sexy, but I just don't do pregnant, yuck!"

"Address please," I said through clenched teeth.

Using my iPhone as a GPS unit I got turn by turn directions to Peters' condo. Obviously he either wasn't getting a lot of money making porn movies, or he was spending it on something other than living space because the place would have to be renovated to count as a slum. I cased the place carefully, making sure that no one noticed me looking at it. At this time of the day, there was really no one about. The long black car from the video, a stretched Benz was parked in the back. The gleaming car told me that Peters did have SOME money. Maybe he was just careful what he spent it on. 

The unit Peters stayed in was connected on both sides to the adjoining units. That meant that he could only get out through the front or the back. Since his car was parked in the back I chose to watch from there. I parked near the closest cross street. Since that would give me the best vantage point. To make tailing him easier, I placed one of my magnetic tags under his rear fender through the wheel well. The tag was synched with a locator app on my phone. I could follow that car anywhere and he didn't seem to have another one.

I walked back down the alley behind the house and got into my invisible Toyota. Luckily I had practiced finding it, but I had to look really hard to locate it because it blended in so well. I watched the back of the building for about an hour and nothing untoward seemed to be happening. After about an hour, I decided to take a closer look. 

I crept back down the alley to the condo and leapt to the top of a big trash bin. From there I climbed to the second floor window of what had to be Peter's place. I looked inside of the window, being careful to make sure that no on could see me. Sarah hated it when I did things like this. She usually had me just plant a tiny camera and move back to the car. But that was a waste of time because those cameras were expensive and I'd just have to climb my ass back up here and get it later.

As I looked through the window I almost fell off f the ledge I was on. I quickly reached inside of my jacket pocket and pulled out my phone again. Hugh Joel Peters, was busy ramming his huge old Peter inside of Will's super model wife. And if she wasn't already making porn, she should have been. 

Rebecca, as I watched attempted to get her lips around the head of Hugh's dick. She was holding it in both hands and trying hard to force her lips around it. Finally she gave up and pushed him back onto the sofa they were lying on. She mounted him and I was amazed as her pussy stretched to take in the giant organ. Slowly she slid down his huge greasy Batpole until their pubes met. Then she started grinding away at him. Her eyes seemed to roll back in her head as she moved her vagina up and down Hugh's pole.

"It hurts," she said with a grimace on her face. 

"Just shut up and take it, bitch," he said. He slapped her tight, tiny little ass and she began to wiggle it even more. She leaned over and started kissing him as she moved her ass up and down porn star-like. 

Hugh rolled her over and got on top of her. He spread her legs and lined up with her slot. He pushed his way inside of her slowly but forcefully. He pinned her legs back and started to fuck her in earnest. He gave her short rapid strokes at first and then started to really pound her. The look on her face was a mixture of emotions. I swear I saw pleasure, pain and disgust all at the same time. After a while of him sawing away at her, I could tell that her body betrayed her. Her legs closed around his waist and she began fucking him back vigorously as her orgasm neared. Her moans and his combined as they matched each other stroke for stroke. Sweat poured down their backs as she urged him onwards.

Suddenly, Hugh stiffened and tried to pull out. The effort of staving off his orgasm was immense. He had to force her to unclasp her legs.

"No!" she screamed. "Do it inside of me. I want it."

"Are you crazy?" he hissed. He ripped himself free of her and sprayed his semen over her small but prominent breasts and long tight tummy. He directed the last blast of it all over her pretty face. Her vagina stayed alarmingly agape after he'd removed his obscenely large organ from it. It resembled the reddened mouth of a hungry animal. 

She jumped up and began trying to suck it again. This time it was his eyes that rolled backwards with pleasure as her nimble tongue lathered the head of his dick, scooping up the last traces of sperm. 

"Oh baby you do that so well," moaned Hugh Joel. "On your knees," he yelled gesturing towards the couch.

"Please no," she whimpered. "That hurts too much!"

"If you're going to get used to it, we have to do it," he yelled. "And stop trying to tell me what I can and can't do. Who owns your ass?"

"You do," she said. I was having trouble making out the feelings behind her words, but one thing was sure. Hugh had some kind of leverage over her. Blackmail might have been the motive, but with all of Rebecca's super model money, I'd have thought that she could have easily paid off any blackmail attempts. Unless Hugh Joel simply wanted super model pussy more than money. Maybe it was both.

As I watched Rebecca slowly got down on the sofa with sweat dripping off of her glistening skin. She put her head down and her ass in the air and grit her teeth together as Hugh reached onto the coffee table for a tube of some sort of lubricant. He smeared it around her butt and on the head of his penis. Then he lined the huge organ up and slowly forced it into her tiny hole with her grunting and screaming the whole way.

"No," she screamed. "Stop. I can't take it."

"You say that every God damned time," he smirked, continuing to push himself forward.

"How the fuck did you get up there?" said a voice from behind and below me. "Are you some sort of ninja?"

I dropped silently back down landing without too much noise on the rim of the trash bin. Then I dropped onto the dirty ground of the alley. 

I came face to face with a bum. As my eyes scanned his face, I could tell that for all of the dirt and grime that covered him, this guy wasn't a real bum. For one thing the dirt and oil on his face was in random spots. It didn't cover most of or all of the face as it would have on a genuine homeless guy. For another, the face beneath the fake grime was clean shaven. How many bums shave?

Even more evidence to support my theory was the clothes he wore. They were torn and disheveled but they didn't stink.

"Who are you?" he asked. "Where you learn to move like that?" As he leaned towards me, I lurched drunkenly off balance. His reflexes betrayed him as he reached out to try and steady me, thinking I was about to fall. I turned the momentum of my seeming fall into a powerful kick that caught him in the stomach and lifted him off of his feet. He landed on his back painfully besides the trash bins.

"Holy fuck," he moaned to no one. "It's been years since I saw that shit." he was talking to no one though and slow to get to his feet. As he took off on the direction he'd seen me run he was still unsteady on his feet. By the time he emerged from the alley, I was lying down on the floor of my invisible Toyota's back seat covered by a blanket. I watched him through a slit in the dark blanket as he looked in both directions finally shaking his head and walking away.

Even as I watched him walking back down the alley rubbing his sore hip, I smiled. I stayed in the back seat and pulled out my phone. I emailed the video to Sophia and told her to relay it to Sarah.

I climbed into the front seat of my Toyota and started the motor. I was nearly in an accident. The car coming down the street jammed on its brakes and narrowly avoided hitting me, as I pulled into traffic. I was so used to my Mustang's quick acceleration that the Toyota's anemic lack of power and slow take off, caught me by surprise. 

Several times as I drove down the broad California avenues, I was tempted to get out and walk or simply flog the car to get it to go faster. I had to force myself to remember that I'd chosen the car for stealth not speed.

An hour later, I was sitting at the bar of the hotel I'd picked to use as a base. I'd ordered a Dos Equis Amber to celebrate getting the evidence on Rebecca.

My phone chirped beside me. I picked it up and answered it knowing who it was.

"Hey Honey," she said. I could feel the emotions behind the same phrase across all of the miles that the phone lines and cell towers spanned.

"I love you, Sarah," I gushed. "I couldn't help it."

"Love you too," she said. I felt that too. "Good job!" she said. "I guess being pregnant has slowed me down. Maybe it just made me stupid. I watched Rebecca last night until long after dark. Like we agreed on, Will pretended to go out of town on a sudden business trip, leaving her alone. Maybe she knew she was being watched and slipped out the back way, but I swear I never saw her leave the house, let alone fly to California. It's a good thing we're a team...oh and Chris...I forgive you."

I was suddenly on edge, knowing she was up to something.

"You forgive me for what?" I asked.

"For shooting your stuff in me and getting me pregnant, just so you could crack the case instead me," she quipped. I could feel the mirth and the warmth in her voice.

"What can I do to make it up to you, Honey?" I asked, playing along with her.

"Do it again," she gushed. "Chris, Honey, this case is over. I miss you. You can come home. All we have to do now is break the bad news to Will. He's going to fall apart. He really loves that whore."

"Been there, done that, got the T-shirt," I said. "Maybe I should be the one to tell him."

"Why?" she asked. "I'm the actual detective. You're just my bumbling, lovable flunky."

"Someone is going to get her delectable ass spanked as soon as I get home," I hissed. "I'll give you flunky."

"You promise," she cajoled.

"Seriously, Sarah," I said. "I really think that I can explain this one better. I can tell him how I felt when I went through what he's going through now. I can explain to him how even though he feels like it's the end of the world. It actually might be the very best thing that ever happened to him. I know it was for me."

"How was that good for you?" she asked. "Chris you were miserable, Honey. Don't you remember?"

"Yes Sarah, but it's also how I met you," I said. "And any pain I went through was more than worth it for what you make me feel every day."

"Awww, somebody has some pregnant pussy waiting for him," she gushed. "Just hurry up and get your ass home...Oh shit!"

"Sarah, are you okay?" I yelled. 

"Yeah, Honey," she said acidly. "I'm fine. You were definitely right. The bitch must've slipped by me. She just pulled back in driving a car I didn't even know they had. She has on a pair of shorts and a long T-shirt. She even has a couple of bags of groceries, like she just hopped out to the supermarket, grrrrrrr."

"Sarah, why are you growling?" I laughed.

"Because I hate to admit that you were right about all of this. I am definitely not psychic. I have to remember to go by the facts like I always have. I am definitely not like Savannah or my Aunt Angela."

"But at least you're not crazy and bipolar like Evie either," I laughed.

"Evie is the sweetest girl ever," hissed Sarah.

"Yeah until she nuts up," I said.

"She only nuts up as you put it when some woman gets too close to Chance," said Sarah. "She loves him. And for your information, if some skank started trying to move in on you, I might make Evie seem perfectly sane, now get your ass home."

As I hung up the phone that innate sense of warning that had been drummed into me as a child went off. I scanned the bar and didn't see or sense any immediate threat but I was wary. Before I crossed the bar headed towards the door my gaze lingered on a big guy with his back towards me. I stopped two tables away from him. The bar wasn't busy so there was no one between us.

He sat there drinking his beer and I noticed that he had another one unopened on the table beside him. It was my brand.

"I don't always drink beer..." I said loudly.

"According to my sources you fucking do," he sneered. "And you always drink Dos Equis."

"So you have pretty good sources," I said. "Should I get ready to rrrruuuummmmmbllllllllllllle?"

"Let's not," he said. "My ass still hurts from the first time. I was hoping we could sit down and talk about this, sonce we're kind of working the same case but from different angles. And you need to know you're wrong. You're about to fuck up some people's lives and really badly if you don't listen to me."

There was this almost John Wayne-like nobility about those bloodshot gray eyes. I'm really good at reading people, so I decided to at least listen to him. If I didn't like what he had to say, or he tried to stop me from leaving, I could always put him on his ass again."

* * * * * *

Clyde 

As I watched, the young man in front of me moved over to my table and settled almost bonelessly into the chair across from me. He grabbed the beer by the cap. At the same time he smiled at me and fiddle with his phone. And then made a big show of showing me that the phone was turned to vibrate so we's be undisturbed. As he settled down I tried to very stealthily move the gun I'd been aiming at him under the table back into my hidden holster, so he wouldn't notice the movement.

"That's not very nice," he said, leveling his cool blue eyes at me. The look he gave me and the tone of his voice let me know that he'd noticed what I'd done. There would be no surprising this one. The very coolness he exhibited scared the shit out of me. 




Two of a Kind



Everything I'd found out about him scared the shit out of me. I doubt that even his wife knew as much about Chris Harris as I did and she was no joke herself when it came to detective work. Of course most of what I knew he wasn't allowed to tell anyone. Most of it was buried so far in hidden military records that Barack Obama couldn't get at it.

For all that the man across from me looked like a surfer boy who'd somehow lucked into an engineering job, he was a mother fucker. 

From what I'd been able to find out, Chris was an army brat. His dad worked for military intelligence somewhere in the pacific area. Military intelligence means his dad was some kind of spy. Now his old man's gig might've been as simple as getting to know the locals and providing a safe house for covert operatives where they'd be less likely to be discovered, or it might've been a whole lot less wholesome. 

I do know that from the time he could walk Chris was studying Kung Fu in China. He had to be really good to survive because every kid in every one of his classes would have wanted to beat the fuck out of the white guy. Chris apparently studied several different forms of martial art but was exceptional at something called drunken style. He had supposedly taken the art to a new level. That explains the fact that even with my military background and training he had knocked the fuck out of me without raising a sweat.

What I'd perceived to be clumsiness on his part, that lurching move that seemed like he was about to fall, had been him closing the distance between us to prepare me for the kick. And then his set up and execution. His execution alone had made me seem like a girl scout in an MMA fight. And then he was gone before I even got my head out of my ass and back on my feet.

When I came out of that alley expecting to see him rapidly beating feet with only elbows and asshole visible, I was shocked again to see only an empty street. I shook my head in disbelief. Usain Bolt isn't that God damned fast. My body may not be that fast anymore, but my brain is still world class. Actually it's better than world class. I have a true photographic memory. 

Normally when people talk about a photographic memory the correct term is an Idectic memory. That means that they can remember facts and words and terms and numbers forever. My memory is different. I can stare at a scene or a page or a picture and store that picture in my mind forever. So as I stood there looking at the scene, I memorized every detail of it. And once I got back to the apartment I'd rented for this investigation, I slowly dissected the picture. There were eight condo units on the block and all of them were inhabited. They had a very strong homeowners association and hacking their files was easy enough. It took me only twenty minutes to find out that none of those units had been sublet recently. There was also the fact that there was no need for him to rent or sublet a condo if he was only trying to get some dirt on the same asshole I was. 

In fact we might be after the same thing. With no businesses on the street and the condo eliminated, that left only the vehicles. There were fifteen of them. Of the fifteen vehicles, none of them had been reported stolen. I got that information from a friend of mine who worked for the local PD. Twelve of them were privately owned by locals. Three of them were rented. One was rented to temporarily replace a vehicle that had been wrecked. That left only two cars and one of them was rented by a woman. 

That got me a name. I was sure the name he was using was faked. But I decided to run it anyway. I have a friend in the FBI that I served with. I asked him to find out as much as he could. When he called me back less than a half hour later, all he said was, "Leave that motherfucker alone."

I pressed him and called in a couple of favors. All he gave up with was to check MI. He and I have a captain we served under who went into Military intelligence. It took me three or four hours to get him on the phone. He wouldn't talk over the phone. He left wherever he was, bought a smartphone, set up a burner e-mail address off of his base, e-mailed me the file and deleted the account. He'd had me set up a temporary account as well, using all fictitious information. I copied the file onto a flash drive, deleted the account and came back to my rented apartment to read it. I was told to unplug my computer from the Internet before viewing the file. After I looked at the file, I deleted it. 

Chris Harris was carrying out covert ops or aiding in them before he was old enough to drive. He only stopped when his father retired and moved his family stateside. Then he'd gone to college got married, got divorced, got remarried and now served as sort of a detective's assistant to his wife. The woman was probably one of the best PI's on the planet. The fact that she was drop dead gorgeous didn't hurt either. I was sure that Chris was here on a case.

As he looked at me, waiting for me to say something, I took him in as I was sure he was doing with me. His sandy blond hair was perhaps a little too messy, but that was the way they wore it now. His two or three day beard growth was also just at the border of good grooming. And he sat there, slumped in the chair as if he wasn't aware of anything around him. But his movements in the alley and his ability to notice me putting away my gun told me otherwise. 

I was still mystified as to how the hell he'd climbed up to that fucking window. His ability to drop to the top of that trash bin and make very little sound seemed to defy gravity. And he made all of it seem so simple. It actually seemed like anyone could do it without very much effort. The previous evening after Peters had left, I'd taken a tape measure to the scene. It was impossible. The top of the trash can was just less than five feet high. The window ledge was a little bit more than sixteen feet straight up from there.

Just to grab that ledge with his hands would have meant jumping at least a full foot higher than necessary to dunk a basketball and he'd somehow gotten his feet on it. I would not underestimate Chris Harris again. That was why I'd brought the gun.

"So Chris, why are you following Hugh Joel Peters?" I asked.

"My client is married to the woman," he said nonchalantly. He looked at his phone as if checking to see if any important calls had come in while we'd looked at each other.

"No he isn't," I said. "Tell your client to forget all about any of this, before he ruins his life."

Chris started laughing. "It's been fun talking to you, Clyde," he laughed. "It appears we have some of the same friends."

I was shocked. Most of the information on me was pretty well hidden as well. "How...?" I asked.

"You have good people," he said. "You checked me out and found me. I have good people too. I ran your prints from the beer bottle. That's why I grabbed it from the cap. You're Clyde Waitt. USArmy special forces retired. Your wife died two years ago. I'm really sorry about that. It was apparently a suicide. But somehow, I think it wasn't and you're following HJP because it has something to do with your wife's death."

"You're good," I said. "But Chris I'm not after Peters. I'm after the man that Peters gets his stuff from. And my wife did kill herself, but it was totally my fault. That's why I want you to tell your client to just forgive and forget. He'll be happier in the end."

"If I'm going to do that, you're going to have to give me a damn good reason," he said. "Will is going to need some proof that's going to wipe out the memory of that video I sent my wife."

"I have a plan," I said. "And the first part of my plan will give irrefutable proof to your client. You could probably help me with it."

"Why the hell would I do that?" he asked.

"Because you're basically a really good guy," I said. "And once you know what's going on you're going to want to prove to your client that what I'm saying is true. Once you know what's going on you're going to want in on it."

It took me over forty minutes to explain what was going on and even then he had trouble believing it. He was full of questions.

"How the hell could he do that?" he asked. "Wait a minute...Isn't that illegal and unethical and...Forbidden?"

"All of the above," I said. "And technically I don't know how to explain it, except to say that he fucking did it."

"Shit," he said. "We're going to have to take HER back with us. I don't need him so after we get them, what happens to him to get you further up the food chain is on you."

"Agreed," I said. His participation on my plan increased the chance for it's success.

He whipped out that iPhone again. This time he dialed a number. "Honey....No, I'm not at the airport. I'm not coming home quite as early as I thought. There's been a complication. Don't show that video to Will just yet. Oh shit, well tell him not to open that e-mail. I'll be home as quickly as I can."

He hung up the phone and looked at me. "Can you get us a plane?"

"Of course," I said. "All we need to do is scout our location. Figure out how many guys Peters will have with him. Come up with the appropriate counter measures for them. Figure out how and when to attack them. And then execute the plan. Then we can..."

"We're doing this now," he said. 

"But..." I began. 

* * * * * *

Will

I'd spent the previous two nights with Danny. The only thing I'd told him was that Becca and I needed some space for a few days. 

"Are you insane?" he asked. "Why would anyone EVER need space from HER?"

We'd come in to work this morning as usual, although to be truthful my heart wasn't in it. What was the point of designing a house or a renovation for someone else, when my own house wasn't in order. Shit, my heart wasn't in order and that was messing with my head. 

I looked over my list of e-mails before trying to look over my latest assignment. Most of what I found was spam. I checked my phone list and there were ten messages from Becca. Okay, I listened to all of them. I just needed to hear her voice. 

Here in the privacy of my office, I didn't really have to be strong and stoic. I could be human. And I could admit to myself that I was hoping with everything I had that she was innocent and that Chris and Sarah wouldn't find anything.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that there were reasonable explanations for what I'd seen. He could have been a client or the director of another modeling agency. They could have run into each other at work and he had offered her a ride to the airport or some other place. Once she got into the car they had both looked down to find their seatbelts at the same time and that brought their faces together. There were all kinds of possibilities.

Becca loves me, I thought. And she doesn't need me. She makes a lot more money than I do. She could just leave at any time she chooses anyway. She could simply forget about me and move on with her life without giving me a backwards glance.

I listened to her first message. "Will, call me as soon as you get a chance. And don't work too hard. Honey don't try to memorize every detail of everything at this stupid conference. The main reason to go to these stupid things is to get away from work and relax. I love you, bye."

She'd called back a couple of hours later. "Will, Honey, I wanted to clear something up so don't be angry with me. When I called before I wasn't saying that your architectural conference was stupid, I just meant that it's stupid that it's keeping us apart. That's why I don't take long assignments, Honey. I don't like it when we're apart for too long. I love you, Will. More every day."

She certainly didn't sound like she was cheating on me. All of her messages were like that but they kept getting angrier and more depressed that I hadn't called her back. And Jesus, we'd been away from each other for only two days. How would she act when it had been months. I started to call her, but told myself not to. I needed to be strong. But on the other hand if she wasn't doing anything...

I tried to get back to work but I kept drawing the same things over and over and it just seemed wrong. I felt like I'd lost my perspective. Then finally my mind went back to that e-mail. They couldn't have found anything so quickly. I was sure that it was just Sarah or Chris checking on to tell me what was going on. 

But any news was better than no news. So I clicked on it. There was an attachment in the e-mail. My mind went back to one of the most basic things you learn about the Internet. Never click on any attachment, unless you know and trust the source. I trusted Sarah, so with barely a thought I clicked on it.

It was a video file and what a video. I went through the full spectrum of emotions as I watched my wife having sex with the greasy little man. She attempted to suck his dick and failed because the greasy little man had a baseball bat between his legs. As impossible as it seemed, she couldn't get her mouth around the head of it. But it wasn't for lack of trying. Just that part would have been enough to end my marriage, but the video continued. After trying to give him a blowjob, which was something I'd just gotten used to going without, Becca fucked him. It wasn't like what we did. It was faster, more brutal and more vigorous. 

That pissed me off because she was alway saying things to me, like, "Slow down. This isn't a race. I want to feel you." 

I understood now what the bitch had meant. She needed things to go slower because compared to that thing, my normal sized dick was like a fucking microbe. If I didn't move more slowly she wouldn't know it was there.

Surprisingly enough, she didn't seem to be screaming and getting off, the way she did with us. It seemed more like it was just a physical thing. In the back of my mind, I could already hear the bitch telling me that it was "just sex" with him, but we made love. Yeah right, bitch. That was just like your Russian ancestors claiming they were only stockpiling nukes, just in case.

Well, baby, I thought. From now on you can have all of the "Just sex" that you need. But you won't have anything with me.

I got angrier and angrier watching the video. After a while she started to get into it, despite the fact that at first she didn't seem to be enjoying it. Towards the end, it seemed like she was really locked in and fucking him back. When he got ready to shoot, he tried to pull out and they argued about it. She actually wanted him to cum in her pussy. He reminded her that for her to get pregnant wouldn't be a good thing. He shot what must've been a gallon of sperm on her tits. Surprisingly she jumped up and started licking his dick clean. 

I was irate. The sense of anger and betrayal running through me was so acute that I literally started to sweat. I understood then where the expression, "Hot under the collar," came from. 

There were so many things I felt at that moment. I felt angry. I felt betrayed. I felt stupid. I felt lied to. I felt pain. And surprisingly hidden in the back, though I didn't want to admit it. I still loved her. That made me angry with myself. Most of all I just wished I could go back in time and for none of this to have happened, because now that it had, my self respect would never allow us to fix this.

Strangely enough, although every frame of that God damned video hurt me, I couldn't look away from the screen. My normal shy yet happy expression had morphed into a rictus of anger as I glared at the screen. Things only got worse then as I noticed that the greasy horse hung little man wasn't finished. I watched as my soon to be ex-wife dutifully got on her hands and knees and stuck her ass in the air. Becca has never even allowed me to think about touching her anus with my finger. "That's nasty and disgusting, you pervert," she'd told me when I brought it up. But here she was letting that bastard ram his human telephone pole of a dick up her ass. And when she just knelt there and let him do it, it was too much for me.

I snatched a heavy crystal paper weight off of the desk and launched it through the monitor. Unlike in the movies there was no shower of sparks. There was only noise as the LCD screen cracked and the monitor fell off of my desk. Since it was cabled to the other two monitors they slid dangerously towards the edge of the desk too. I reached out to grab them as two or three people rushed into my office to see what had happened.

"I'm fine," I yelled before anyone could say anything. "Don't worry about me, I'm just having a bad day. Go back to work, but thanks."

As soos as Danny closed the door, I pulled out my phone and called Ms. Hawks.

"Mr. Temple," she said when she got on the line. "You've had a chance to talk to your wife and you've decided against going ahead with the divorce, right. Let me tell you it's a good thing. Sometimes we have to realize..."

"File the fucking papers," I hissed. "I want that bitch served today. I want her cheating ass out of my house immediately. I want a restraining order, a PPO, CCW, CRT, NFL, and the AFLCIO. I want the whole fucking alphabet."

She spent a good fifteen minutes trying to calm me down. She faxed over a power of attorney form that I signed and faxed back. It would work until we could get together and actually submit official notarized documents that would stand up in court. 

The purpose of the papers was so she could act on my behalf in my absence. She thought that I was emotionally distraught and I needed to take some time off and just get away before I did something stupid. I leaped up from my chair then. The ringer of my phone, added to my emotional instability had scared the shit out of me, almost literally. I checked the screen and saw that it was Sarah.

"Hey, Sarah," I said. "You guys are as good as advertised. Just send the bill..."

"Will, don't look at that e-mail," she said at the same time as I was talking.

"It's a bit too late for that Sarah," I said. "Everything is already in motion." 

"Well pull it all back," she said. "Chris called me back and said. That we should wait. He found out something that might change things and..."

"Sarah did you see that video?" I asked.

"Unh huh?" she said.

"There's no changing that. I can't forgive that," I said.

"But what if she wasn't doing it willingly? What if she was drunk or blackmailed into it? What if she was hypnotized?" asked Sarah.

"What if the sky wasn't blue?" I asked. "What if lollipops grew on trees? What if monkeys flew out of my ass? None of that would mak a difference either. You're a good woman Sarah. Chris is really lucky to have you. I wish I had someone like you. But all I have is that lying, cheating, slut that I married.

* * * * * *

Clyde

This was all just wrong. It didn't make sense. If things were this easy, anyone could just do whatever the fuck they wanted. We drove to the warehouse that Peters made his movies in. Chris went to the pizza place down the block and ordered a large pizza.

"Please tell me you're not going to eat that before we go in?" I asked. It was my experience that eating a large meal before any type of op made you sluggish and dulled your reaction time.

Chris though at least twenty years younger than my 52 years, looked at me as if he was taking me to school and I was in the slow class.

"Watch and learn grasshopper," he smirked.

He messed his hair up even more and stuck a Detroit Tigers baseball cap over it so the brim obscured most of his face. He yanked his pants down a couple of inches until I could see the top border of his underwear. I shook my head in disgust, but realized that it was the way most of the kids wore their pants nowadays. 

Then he grabbed the pizza and walked straight up to the door of the warehouse. After a few long moments a huge guy opened the door and glared at Chris.