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Scared

By: Olde_School_Expulsion



"Hockey players," the tall blond began as she grabbed the bottom of her blue cotton t-shirt and flipped it over her head, "aren't scared of shit!"

Then she kicked off the rest of her clothes and jumped. Elena and half of the other incoming freshman screamed, running over to the precipice to look over the ledge. The blond girl flailed her arms and legs out for half the fall before straightening to cut through the water's surface like a dagger.

Elena let out a gasp when the girl finally surfaced, unscathed by the rock formations that jutted out around her splash site. She flipped the bird to four male swimmers who had been taunting her from the ledge. She backstroked towards the near shore of the lake, apathetic to the fact that her tits and bush were showing to the fifty or so people who gathered to watch. Elena didn't understand why the girl had gotten into such an argument with the guys from the swim team, but she had clearly won. None of the swimmers followed her lead--in fact, they all retreated inside to the cafeteria after the jump.

One-by-one, Elena and her group stepped away from the precipice and walked back to the tables where they had been eating lunch. It was still summer, a good five weeks before the end of vacation. They were on campus for a weekend to get a preview of the dorms (the official program was called "The Great Escape") where they would be living this fall. The various athletic teams they'd seen perusing the cafeterias and using the shared dorm facilities were training during the off-season.

The cliff diving stunt became the most talked-about event of the weekend. It was re-told every time someone from the program ran into someone who hadn't been there to witness it. It was mentioned in almost every conversation they had whilst out on the town--and they did go out a lot: Elena found that this was the first opportunity for most of her companions to escape their parents' spheres of influence.

Elena made jokes about it, poked fun at the swimmers and the blond alike with the scathing sarcasm she'd learned to protect herself with from an early age. Despite the laughs, the image of the blond backstroking through the water stuck with her. On Sunday, she made some excuses to her new friends about wanting to see biology labs and history lecture halls and facilities for a couple other majors she wasn't studying. Elena wandered the entire campus. She didn't run into the blond girl.

In all, it was a fun and informative weekend. When it ended, she boarded the bus back to St. Paul to catch a midnight flight home. All the tours and all the people she met confirmed for her that she had made the right choice. Allenbach Lakeside University seemed like a truly odd selection for a reasonably accomplished Angeleno like Elena. Her grades gave her the pick of the Cal States and her demographics gave her a good shot at the mid to upper-tier University of California campuses.

Instead, she had chosen a near-unknown private school halfway across the country. No one would know her. No one would follow her. She couldn't explain why she put such a premium on that (she was a shy girl, short with her words) but it just seemed right that she start things completely new after high school. Make new friends, meet new people.

* * * * *

Elena took the Greyhound to St. Paul to claim her dorm room about two weeks before school started. The trip took two days. A flight would have been much faster and more convenient but it was significantly more expensive. It would have been cheaper if mom had given her money to book the ticket ahead of time--but such was life.

She lived with mom. Mom had fed her and clothed her, brought her to school, made her go to church--but mom was always broke. Dad was rarely at his house. He was constantly busy with his work life, living abroad for months at a time, helping new branches open overseas.

His checks filled in the gaps left behind by financial aid--at least, most of them, anyway. His most recent check came in late (some snafu with PayPal, he said; Elena didn't believe him, she'd never had a problem with PayPal before) and cost her her slot for the reserved rooms in the freshman building. Now, instead of rooming with Carla, a nice Minneapolis girl she'd met during the Great Escape weekend, she would be randomly assigned a domicile.

She followed the poorly printed out map of the dorms, and, with some help from the Mexican groundskeeper, found the entrance to building sixteen wedged between the gym and the pool. Three girls exited around the same time she entered--their headbands, track gear and duffel bags gave her a good idea of exactly which dorm she had placed in. She suddenly felt self-conscious of her extra weight as she held the door open for the girls, who hardly seemed to notice her. It was the first time she'd thought of it since leaving Los Angeles.

The building didn't have an elevator, which was awfully inconvenient. Her arms were numb by the time she'd dragged her suitcase all the way up to the top floor. She shook the strain out of her limbs and retrieved the key--a plastic card with a magnetized strip, just like they use in the hotels--that the university had mailed her. Room 602, the letter accompanying the key had said, your roommate: Jane Smith. Elena bit her lip. She regretted not trying to find Jane on Facebook. Knowing a few things about her would have made these introductions less awkward.

Elena opened the door and found the room to be exactly like the other she'd stayed in at the great escape. Two beds on either side of a window, with two desks, facing the walls opposite each other.

Jane was sitting at her desk, going over something in her laptop. Even seated, she looked tall. She had blond hair and blue eyes and thin, gaunt features. She wore a sports bra and basketball shorts and nothing else. Elena stopped. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end when she recognized Jane as the girl that had jumped in the lake and taunted the swimmers.

"Hello?" Jane said dubiously.

"Hi," Elena managed. "Um--uh--you're Jane, right?"

"Yeah," she said. She frowned. "Elena...Elena Watkins?"

Elena pushed forth a smile and set her backpack down on her desk. "Yeah," she said. She had meant for it to sound more enthusiastic. "That's me."

"You're black," Jane said.

She locked her knees and nodded, feeling awkwardly compelled to confirm what was already evident. "Have been my whole life."

Jane raised both brows and nodded along as though it were the most astonishing thing in the world. Then she turned back to her computer and resumed surfing the Internet.

* * * * *

Elena was taking six classes--a fairly rigorous schedule, even for a full-time student-- and spent most of her study time in the library rather than at the dorm. With Jane's cycle of daytime exercises, afternoon/night classes and weekend practices, the two girls hardly saw each other.

Elena spent her Wednesday (the only day she didn't have class) and weekend free time hanging out with Carla and her friends, instead. That started getting old fast. Carla and her friends enjoyed going to frat parties, which Elena discovered to be quite similar to the handful high school parties she'd been to in Los Angeles. There was smoking, drinking games and sex.

Elena didn't enjoy partying then and she really didn't enjoy it now. Still, she went along with it for a couple weeks. She played King's Cup at the Zeta Beta Tau house, tag-teamed with Carla for a couple games of beer pong, smoked a little weed with some Tri-Delta girls and had a some superficial conversations with other students that filtered in and out ("oh, what's your major? Where are you from? Los Angeles? Reaally?").

After a couple weekends out, she started to feel more like a bodyguard than a party girl. Carla was a lithe, well proportioned girl with red hair and Celtic features that drove the frat boys crazy. And she spent most of her time following Carla, stuck to her like a flower painted on a wall. Less people were interested in the fat black girl, though all of them respected the fact that she was a friend and deserved some attention too.

So Elena stopped going out on weekends. She started staying in or going to the library to get ahead on reading, then fell into patterns of behavior that were familiar and comfortable. She missed Carla, though. All her best times at Lakeside were, thus far, spent with Carla. When they hung out on Wednesdays, away from all the extraneous people that showed up on Friday and Saturday nights, they could really connect.

There was that, and the fact that Carla reminded her so much of an old friend she hadn't seen since junior high. Elena looked up from her fantasy novel and frowned. She hadn't thought of this in a long time, so long that she couldn't even remember...It hurt to even try, but she did and a quarry of jagged images and sounds came to her when she closed her eyes. There were flashes of red hair, roses in a garden that was nicer than anything her mother had ever planted, and scattered laughter that quickly turned to silent awe.

And then Sister Agnes was practically banging down the door of the shabby little studio apartment she and her mother shared. Agnes' face was red and splotchy as she shouted: I don't want her coming near my daughter again! Mom's reproachful expression as she shook her with both hands and hissed through her teeth: you don't want to go to hell, do you? The youth pastor that clapped her on the back of the hand consolingly: it's OK. I know you're confused, but God has a plan--

Of course he had a plan, and of course she would follow it. It wasn't like the church to be wrong about these things; the church was the only source of stability her mother's whirlwind of a life.

Elena was woken by her vibrating cell phone. She was still on the third floor of the library, by the window overlooking the quad. She wiped her eyes and folded her book shut while looking down on the yard below. The trees were beginning to wilt. Autumn was imminent. As a Southern California native, Elena had never seen true autumn before. Carla said that the woods were transformed and the colors were positively enchanting. She'd mentioned something about planning a camping trip for the Veteran's day weekend. Elena was excited.

She picked up her phone. "Hello?" Elena said.

"Elle!" It was Carla. Elena smiled. She thought the shorthand that Carla used for her name was adorable. She didn't remember that she had once almost punched a guy several years ago for using the same. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing," she said, folding the book closed and setting it down, "just getting caught up on some homework."

"Would you be interested in a date?"

"Uh..." Elena bit her lip. She didn't realize it at the time, but her heart had almost jumped through her throat. "A date?"

"Yeah, my friend Saul from high school. He goes to Twin Cities University and he's really cool. I thought I would set you guys up since it seems like you would get along well."

"Oh."

"Are you up for it?"

Elena nodded, more to herself than anyone else, as a sullen look settled on her face. "Yeah," she finally said, only then realizing that Carla couldn't see her nodding. "I'm up for it."

Elena met Saul at a coffee shop that was a fifteen minute bus ride north of campus. He was tall and broad-shouldered with a trimmed goatee and his hair combed into slick waves. He was handsome. She was impressed, though she got the feeling that he was not so impressed with her. She pushed the worry aside and tried to straighten herself as he smiled at her and sat down. Perhaps--no, hopefully--she was wrong; she'd never been too good at reading people, anyhow.

Over the next thirty minutes of sporadic, staccato conversation, Elena found that she and Saul had exactly one thing common: they were both black.

. . .

The cute summer dress she'd bought in LA proved to be a bit too thin for a late summer night in Minnesota. By the time she got back to building sixteen, she was positively freezing--her arms were shaking, her teeth, chattering, and her whole body had turned to goose-flesh. The halls of the building weren't much warmer and she practically ran up the stairs to try and get her heart rate up.

Going into her room felt like opening an oven door. The heater had been turned up to the mid eighties and Jane was curled up on her bed, naked except for bra, panties and a hockey glove, the range and durability of which she seemed to be testing by pumping her fist and flexing her fingers.

"Oh," Elena mumbled as she caught sight of her roommate. She should have been used to seeing Jane in various stages of undress by now--the hockey player slept in nothing but her unmentionables and had no modesty whatsoever about changing. Still, Elena's face ran hot as she walked in and turned her back to Jane's side of the room. "Didn't know you'd be here. I thought you had practice."

"Jenna Hoenig lost control on her skates and cut her forehead open on a goalpost," Jane said.

"That sucks," Elena said as she sat down on her bed.

"Coach decided to cut practice short." Jane's tone exuded disappointment. She flicked the glove off and tossed it onto her desk. "What a stinking oaf."

Elena looked over at her. "Is she alright?"

She shrugged. "Those injuries are never as bad as they make them out to be."

Elena stole another glance at Jane's body. If anyone knew about injury, it was Jane. Her skin practically crawled with scars--old lacerations, scrapes and burns--altogether, it fit perfectly with the profile of someone that lived most of their life outdoors playing full-contact sports. She looked away before Jane turned back.

"What did you just get in from?" Jane asked.

Elena grumbled. "A terrible date." She almost went on a tirade about Carla and Saul and race but stopped herself as she realized that Jane was hardly a sympathetic ear.

"Well?" Jane asked, looking up at her expectantly. "Was he dead ugly or something?"

She laid back and looked up at the ceiling. "I was just..." She frowned and thought of Carla. "Expecting something different, that's all."

"It's still kinda early for a Saturday night," Jane said. She stood up and walked over to the closet on the other end of the room. "Let's go out."

Elena watched her as she rifled through her tiny assortment of casual clothes. Jane had very few items in her closet that weren't sports gear or equipment for outdoor recreation.

"I don't know, I think I might stay in."

"Come on," Jane said as she kicked on a pair of faded jeans. "We've been roomies for like a month and we've hardly seen each other, much less gone out. I'll buy you a drink."

Elena scowled. "We're minors."

"We'll go to Rollo's. They serve anyone."

"...Rollo's?"

Jane's eye's practically bulged out of their sockets as she turned around from hunting through her pile of T-shirts. "You've never been to Rollo's?" She started waltzing over and Elena almost scrambled up before Jane had snatched her wrist. "You're going with me. No ifs, ands or buts about it."

She found that going out with Jane was completely different from going out with Carla. They walked past frat row and towards the boulevard of businesses that seemed to border campus and the rest of the town. Rollo's was a sports bar on the boulevard.

True to Jane's word, Rollo's served all. Elena saw several guys from her freshman composition class taking shots in a booth and Jane introduced her to four guys from the basketball team--Dave, John, Chris and Alex--who were drinking beers at the bar. They stopped and chatted with them for some time. Elena thought that Alex was particularly handsome, but found her tongue knotted in several different places whenever she got a chance to speak to him directly.

"So, what were you two doing this evening?" Alex asked as Jane and Elena finished their sixth shot of vodka. Elena had only intended on taking one, but Jane and Dave's incessant goading had pushed her into a second and a third. Each shot that followed required less and less effort on their part.

"Come on, I thought you'd know me after a semester of bio," Jane said as she slapped the shot glass down and yelled after the barmaid for another. "I don't have plans. I just skate from one goal to the next."

Elena hiccuped as she put her shot glass down. She had never been truly drunk in her life and that sixth shot felt like it had pushed her into unknown waters.

"That goal being?" Alex asked.

Jane wrapped her arm around Elena's shoulders and pulled her in until they were close enough to kiss. "To get take my new roommate out for a nice drink." She let go and Elena covered her face with her hands. The world was starting to spin. "After that, I hadn't figured it out yet. Maybe we can go to Golem?"

Elena looked up. "What's Golem?"

"Swanky club next door," Alex answered.

Jane nudged him in the ribs. "What do you say? Care to escort a couple of ladies to the dance floor, gentlemen?"

John crossed his arms over his chest. "Jane, you are hardly a lady."

She straightened in her seat. "Fuck you, John."

"One day soon, perhaps?" He countered with a crooked smile.

Alex laughed. "As much as I would love to, Jane, we can't. A couple of the other guys said they would be meeting us here."

"You wusses." Jane downed another shot and stood up off her bar stool, staggering for a minute before regaining her balance. She tugged on Elena's arm. "Come on, roomie, let's leave these losers."

"What?" Elena felt dazed as she followed Jane out of the bar. "Where are we going?"

"Golem. To dance."

Elena straightened at this. "Ugh, let's just go home."

"Oh, come on." Jane had an excellent method for whining without really sounding like whining. Her voice could be so commanding. "We'll only go for like thirty minutes. It'll be fun, I promise."

Elena scowled. "Me. Dancing. No. I can't."

"Anyone can dance."

She shook her head. "No. I can't. It's--"

Jane frowned. "What?"

Elena tried to form a word with her lips. She had meant to say stupid, but it escaped her now that Jane was staring her down with an incredulous look.

"Are you scared?"

Elena shook her head, more out of instinct than anything else. The world was still spinning hard.

"There's nothing to be afraid of. It'll be fun, trust me."

With that, Jane dragged her into Golem and Elena made no effort to resist. Not that there would have been a point in doing so--Jane was much stronger than she would ever be. Her fears and insecurities came to a halt just as they crossed the threshold into the club. Within, the club was crowded with ALU students and rumbling with the bass line of some forgettable hip-hop song.

Once they were on the dance floor, Jane's energy seemed to burst through the roof. She shouted along the hook to most of the thumping club songs and strutted her stuff with the pride and daring of a peacock in mating season. She was bold enough to pull random strangers--both male and female--from the sidelines and just start dancing with them.

Elena found Jane's antics to be downright hilarious and after a while, forgot herself long enough to join in.

* * * * *

The volume of school work Elena had to deal with really ramped up over the next few weeks. She had to put down a few of the novels she had been reading through and re-work her study schedule, which now involved a lot less time in the library and more time in the dorm.

She still studied and hung out with Carla on Wednesdays, but that night out with Jane had opened their relationship significantly. Elena now considered her to be a best friend. They had breakfast and dinner together almost everyday and often met for lunch on campus. Jane brought her to some of her Hockey practices, introduced her to the rest of the hockey team and even convinced her to take on the vacant post of team record-keeper.


Scared



During one of those practices, Elena looked up from her bio book (the coaches mainly needed her help in the play room, she usually spent most of practice studying) and noticed Jane staring up at the bleachers during a face-off. She frowned. It wasn't like Jane to be distracted. She lived and breathed hockey.

So Elena looked over he shoulder. There was one other person high up in the bleachers that day, a man that looked to be in his middle forties with a beer gut and shaggy hair pushed down under an old and ragged NASCAR cap. He glanced down at Elena with a look of disdain bordering on outright hatred and stood up and walked down the bleachers. She turned away and tried not to catch his gaze again as he walked into the tunnel for the locker room.

When Coach Waynhal called for a break from the scrimmage, Jane slipped off her skates and walked out to the tunnel. The rest of the team seemed to shy away from her and from the tunnel in general as they convened their huddle on the opposite side of the rink. Elena bit her lip for a moment of indecision before folding her bio book closed and stalking after Jane. She stopped just at the mouth of the tunnel when she heard the shouting voices.

"...I don't care!" Jane shouted.

"She's your mother, god damn it!"

"And you're not my dad, so you can't boss me around. You had my answer on the phone. I'm not going back."

"And why not? What have you got going on here that's so important? Your dyke hockey team? Your black roommate--"

"Shut up."

"--Was that her in the stands, watching you practice?" The man guffawed cruelly. "I always told Mary that she shouldn't have let you come here. These lib-tards have turned you into a fucking nigger-lover."

"Fuck you," Jane screeched. "Get the hell out or I'll call security. I don't ever want to see you again."

Elena started scrambling away as she realized that Jane was marching back out of the tunnel. Jane suited back up and skated with such fury and intensity that even players on her side of the scrimmage started to clear out of her way. She moved up and down the ice like a bat out of hell and made three wild slap shots at the goal before scoring on a fourth attempt. When her side was turned back on defense, she zipped after the puck, delivering a brutal body check that clipped Jenna Hoenig against the boards in the process.

Coach Waynhal blew her whistle and sent Jane home early. Jane thundered out of the rink and into the locker room. Elena grabbed her bio book and followed at a distance, stopping after she entered the locker room and heard the sounds of Jane's thrashing echoing. When she peeked around the corner, Jane had her locker door open and had already stripped off most of her gear and clothes.

Elena's gaze fixed upon the diagonal scrape scar that traced from the small of her back to the top of her ass. It was a familiar sight, one Elena had seen every morning when Jane got up for a run. She couldn't say why her eyes were always so drawn to it, but whenever it was visible, she just had to stare. She continued watching with rapt interest until Jane stripped off the rest of her clothing.

Then Elena remembered herself and ducked back around the corner. Even looking is a sin. She took a moment to clear her head then walked in with a heavy step to announce her presence.

"Hey," Elena said. Jane had just thrown on a shirt and looked thoroughly pissed--though her expression softened a bit when she saw who was talking to her. "What happened back there?"

Jane folded her arms over her chest and looked away. "I just want to go home."

"Will you talk to me there, at least?"

Jane crumpled into her bed when they got back to the room, her face was still red and caked with sweat. Elena took a Gatorade out of the mini-fridge and tossed it to Jane.

"So," she began, "Who was that?"

"Did you hear us?" Jane blanched as she asked. "I--My step-dad...god, he's such an asshole. I'm sorry--"

Elena smiled. "Don't be. Like you said, he's an asshole. That's not your fault."

The color returned to her face as she took a few swigs of Gatorade. "Elle, are you close with your family?"

Elena sat down on her bed and leaned back against the wall while facing Jane. "In what sense?"

"Your parents. Are you close to them? Are they still around, waiting for you back in LA?"

Elena nodded. "Well, my mom is, at least, though she's kinda useless. She's always been the type of person that could never really help herself."

"How so?"

"She can't hold a job long enough to get a better one, constantly relying on welfare or her latest boyfriend to fill in the gaps." she said with a sigh. One thing truly wonderful about this whole college thing was that it gave her very little time to think about her parents and their hopeless situations.

Jane's expression went stony. "Your mom lived on welfare?"

"Still does. Probably always will."

"What about your dad?"

Elena shrugged. "He works for some bank overseas. I see him on Christmas. Sometimes on my birthday. He sends money, a couple letters telling me how to live--as though he's been around enough to really give a fuck. Why do you ask?"

She wrapped herself with her arms, as though she were trying to hug and stabilize herself against something. The trouble in her eyes multiplied when she looked away.

"Jane?"

Jane rubbed her forehead. "I was taught to hate you when I was a kid."

"Me?"

"You're black. My mom wouldn't even let me go to school because of the black kids there. I was home-schooled. My brothers and sisters were, too."

Elena didn't know how to react to this, so she just leaned back and took it all in.

"'Blacks are ruining America'--that's what she used to say, all the time. I believed her." Her stony expression didn't waver but her eyes were filling with water. "I believed every word of it until I came here. I--"

Then the tears started to flow and Jane cupped her hands around her nose and mouth. The noises that escaped her were too fast to be sorrow, too deliberate to be confusion. It was rage and disgust and frustration and shame. And Elena couldn't just watch, so she moved to sit next to her roommate and comfort her.

Jane's voice turned ragged after five minutes of this. She cleared her throat and looked at Elena, who had wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "My mom has leukemia."

* * * * *

Elena and Jane were amongst the hundred or so people kicked out of Golem after the 2 AM closing time. The crowd tonight consisted mostly of hockey players, hockey fans and all their significants. The occasion? ALU's first game and first win of the season. Jane's usual antics were energized by the fact that she had scored the winning goal.

Elena had some parting words with the boy that had danced with her for the better part of two hours then chatted with Carla and her new boyfriend Ross, after they found them in the crowd. She was pleased to find out Carla was, in fact, a huge hockey fan.

Jane had her head nodded low and was still moving her body to the beat of the last song. Carla and Ross both laughed at Jane's antics (as they had been for most of the night) and Elena took it as her cue to escort the star player home. That proved to be difficult, as Jane had trouble putting one foot in front of the other. After three near-catastrophic stumbles, Elena took it upon herself to hold Jane by the arm and help her along.

"Thanks, Elle." Jane hiccuped several times as they cleared the crowd and half-walked, half-staggered back towards the dorms. "What would I ever do without you?"

"Fall down drunk, like you probably did before I came along."

She laughed. "Why didn't you ask that guy for his number?"

"Who?"

"He danced with you for forever. Ray? Was that his name?"

"Yeah." Elena frowned.

"You should have asked him." Jane was walking funny, tilting from one side to another, occasionally colliding into Elena and pushing her slightly offsides on the concrete sidewalk. "He was so into you."

She felt her face run hot. "Yeah. Maybe--"

"Maybe?" Jane was slurring her words hard. "No, no, he was so far past 'maybe' it might not have been in his dictionary anymore. He wanted to take you somewhere." She hiccuped and her tone started to rise with each syllable. "He wanted to do the no-pants dance with you. He wanted to--"

"Shh!!!" Elena hissed, pressing two fingers over Jane's mouth as the last of her words echoed between the gym and the pool building. "God, are you always so loud?"

"You should hear me when I fuck."

Elena giggled nervously.

"God, I love your hair." Jane leaned close and ran her hands over it.

Elena smiled. "I think we've had this conversation before."

"It's just so..." Jane was fixated for a while, poking at it, patting it, stroking it. "So much volume. My hair is flat and so boring. You know?"

Elena rolled her eyes.

Jane snorted as they walked into building sixteen. "Back to what I was asking originally, why didn't you ask him?"

Elena fidgeted as Jane strode past her and led the way up the stairs. "I don't know. I guess I thought he would have asked, if he was interested."

Jane laughed. "And just what love rulebook did you read that in?" She shook her head. "Sometimes I wonder how it is that I got home-schooled my whole life and you grew up in LA."

Elena bit her lip as Jane pushed in the door to their room. "So you really think--"

Jane gave an exasperated sigh and yanked her into the room. The door swung shut as she stood her in front of the mirror. "You're beautiful," she whispered huskily as she squeezed both of Elena's shoulders.

Elena looked down and tried to shy away. "I'm fat--"

"What?" Jane scoffed. "You're...ten, maybe fifteen pounds over?" Her hand ran down Elena's side, tamping down on her amorphous ALU sweater to define the curves of her love handles. "Hardly fat. In fact, a lot of people think it's sexy. I think it's sexy."

Elena looked down again and flushed. "Thanks, but--"

"Elle, come on, look at yourself. You're gorgeous."

Elena looked up, but it wasn't herself she noticed. Jane stood behind her, a full head taller, so tall that even the nebulous tangle of Elena's hair couldn't obscure the look on her face. All her skin turned to goosebumps as she suddenly became hyper-aware of things that had barely mattered minutes ago: the position of Jane's hand on her side, how tightly Jane was holding her shoulder, how Jane's face was so close to her that she appeared to be breathing in the smell of her hair...

"Jane," she said, biting her lip. She didn't know when she lost track of her breaths. They were coming out in rushed, shallow bursts.

Jane's hand edged over the hem of Elena's sweater and grasped her hip through her jeans with a vigor that made her squirm. She brushed aside some of Elena's hair and edged close enough to kiss her behind the ear. "Yes?"

"Stop," she breathed.

Jane didn't. Elena tried to brush her off. Jane held on tight. She shook and turned and managed to free herself for a moment before Jane grabbed her wrists and pulled her back until they were face-to-face with their bodies pressed tightly together. Then Jane kissed her, full on the lips.

It was a sweet, soft kiss, one that ended before Elena even had an opportunity to reciprocate. By the time it was done, Jane released her arms (which had lost the will to resist, anyway) and started caressing her back. She traced the outlines of her shoulder blades before gliding down to find the hem of her sweater and flipping it up over her head.

That gave Elena a moment without contact, enough time to back away until she hit the mirror. Her hair fell about in a genuine mess; several tendrils swayed before her face as she shook her head. "No," Elena said in her weakest voice as Jane tossed the sweater aside and took her hand again.

Jane pulled her back in and kissed her again. This time, Elena returned it, undulating her lips with the rhythm that Jane set, gasping and clenching when she felt Jane's tongue dart out to tease hers. When she ended the kiss on the lips, Jane started to plant new ones down her jaw and the side of her neck. Elena cried out with a groan that was part fear, part desire and entirely excitement as Jane's hands roamed her back and sides, kneading through her camisole and ruffling the garment enough to expose bare flesh.

"Don't," Elena cried as Jane grasped the hem of her camisole. She was spectacularly out of breath by now and new sweat was forming and beading down from the fringes of her hairline.

"Why?" Jane looked as though what they'd just done was the most natural thing in the world.

Elena shook her head as she felt the sum of her experience and conscience bear down on her. "I can't," she said. All that they told her, all that she could remember had made things abundantly clear: this was wrong.

"I've seen the way you look at me--"

Elena blinked. "You strut around practically naked all the time. I can't help but look!"

Jane cupped her breasts with her hands. Elena was awed. When did she take off her jacket? "I only kept strutting because you kept looking." Now she was unbuckling her belt. Then she was unbuttoning her pants. After that, she flipped her shirt and sports bra off with one swift motion. Elena blanched when she realized that she hadn't looked away for one moment of it.

Please, Elena mouthed. She couldn't pull her gaze from Jane's small, perky breasts.

Jane kept advancing, a look of inexorable lust on her face. "Are you scared?"

Elena didn't get a chance to affirm or deny. Jane captured her lips with a deep sensual kiss the sent shudders through her body. Strong hands gently held the sides of her head and fingers raked through her hair. She found herself voluntarily craning her head to give Jane better access and she groaned when Jane's hard nipples brushed the ridge of her collar bone. Her hands roamed Jane's back, and she found that her skin, for all its old scars and fresh hockey bruises, was much softer and more tender than she had imagined.

Jane went for the hem of her camisole again and lifted it up to get access to her belt line. No, NO! her mind screamed as Jane's fingers unclasped her belt and undid the fastenings of her jeans. But her body quivered and her legs obediently stepped out of the jeans, deserting them in a puddle by the mirror.

Elena groaned as Jane cupped her breasts and bit her lip when Jane took her left nipple in her mouth and teased it with her tongue. She opened her eyes for a moment and glanced their debauchery in the mirror. It was enough to make her conscience roil. What are you doing? How can you allow this?

So she closed her eyes again and tried to ignore the feeling of wrong that came from her mind and instead embrace what her body was telling her.

Don't, her fear told her when Jane started to lead her away from the mirror, towards the bed and towards the inevitable. You're not like her. You'll never be like her. Look again--the two of you could not be more different.

But her flesh betrayed. She followed Jane on legs as pliant as clay. Jane suddenly stopped when they were in front of the bed and kissed her hungrily. The hand that had been kneading her breasts and roaming her body moved down to her panties and Elena's chaste gasps and stifled groans became grunts of unmistakable pleasure.

You're making a mistake. But the sloshing sounds her pussy was making told her something entirely different. So she put her hands on Jane's sides and hooked her thumbs through Jane's panties.

"Yeah?" Jane asked mischievously between smooches. Her breath still smelled of forty proof vodka and Bacardi 151. In the moment, Elena couldn't have invented a sexier smell.

"Yes." Elena said breathlessly.

Then Jane toppled her onto the bed and all her fears disappeared.

. . .

When she woke early the next morning, Elena was only vaguely aware of her surroundings. She sat up and pressed down on her forehead with the heel of her hand, as though that could knead out the hangover headache beginning to form in the front of her skull. That's when all the details of last night began to come back to her.

She was on Jane's side of the room, in Jane's bed, with Jane next to her, face-down and asleep. She was naked. Under the covers, she was still wet and her pussy was sore--no, not sore, tender. Tender and raw from use, but in a sweet, pleasant way. It all added up to a moment of blind panic when she reconstructed all that had happened last night.

"Good morning," Jane said with a smug smile as she rolled over.

Elena looked over her shoulder at her. "I--Hey." What did you do?!

Jane planted a kiss on the left side of her lower back and kneaded the other with her right hand. "Did you sleep well?"

"I..." She couldn't talk. She couldn't respond to Jane's hands sweeping over her body and touching her in all those wonderful, familiar ways. She didn't feel like doing anything except crying.

"Elle?" Jane's voice rose from sleepy to panicked in one syllable. "Elena? Elena, what's wrong?"

She didn't resist Jane's attempts to comfort and hug her as she wept uncontrollably for ten minutes.

"They said," Elena finally said, though her voice was still wavering with anguish. "They said it would be terrible."

"They?" Jane was bewildered. "Who, Elena? Who said what?"

She had calmed significantly by the time she spoke again. She held Jane's hand tightly. "There's nothing terrible about it."

* * * * *

That day was Saturday. After settling down, Elena got into her normal routine of eating, studying and reading. Later on in the evening, she and Jane went out to some lame party that Carla's boyfriend's frat was throwing.

When they got back, it happened again, except this time, both of them were sober and Elena had no qualms with enjoying every minute of it. She groaned when Jane fingered her, swooned when Jane used her tongue and mouth and had a massive orgasm when Jane did both simultaneously. There was an interim of fickle, nervous moments before she could pleasure Jane in return. She soon found the process of reciprocating not nearly as difficult as she had imagined.

After a week and a half of passionate, wild, every-other-night sex, they pushed their beds together to create some semblance of a queen-size mattress.

Carla's camping trip on Veteran's day weekend gave them the first good opportunity to come out with their relationship. Carla and a couple of Elena's other friends were taken aback at first but were quick to accept. Jane's teammates were hardly surprised.

Life continued on, a frenzied mix of class, hockey games and romance. It wasn't until Thanksgiving was imminently upon them that Elena took the time to think on some of the deeper implications of their relationship. She hadn't heard from her father yet and her mother had sent her a card with her love and her best wishes, but no return ticket for any kind of holiday. That's when the idea popped into her mind. She confronted Jane with it after a stunning victory over University of Minnesota.

"No." Jane's voice couldn't have been more emphatic, but Elena still had ways of finding wiggle room.

"She's dying, Jane. She deserves a chance--"

Jane snorted. "Yeah and I'm sure she's still a cunt. I don't want to see her."

"I'll go with you."

She blinked. "Are you insane? My family will flip a shit if I show up with you."

Elena grinned. "And isn't that something you'd like to see?"

Jane smiled for a moment, then shook her head again. "Sorry, Elle, I just don't want to go--"

"Are you scared?"

Her expression hardened with displeasure and she replied, "Hockey players aren't scared of shit."

They were on a bus to northern Minnesota a couple of days later.



Scared Band: More than Friends



(Thank you Treborrobbo for editing my story) 

*

*Fire lights our Nights; Fire in the Soul ignites our Lives*

(In the story one main character will change how they think of another, alternating from he, she, or even it. This is due to their perspective changing.)

(The 167th aka The Sacred Band, is a mythical transgender specialized helicopter unit in US Army)

From the time I was in Middle School all I wanted to be was an Army Ranger. Not Special Forces, Delta Force, or a Navy SEAL -- a Ranger. That is why I am sitting on top of this mountain, less than a kilometer from a so-called neutral border getting ready to die. We've been tracking insurgents all along the border for weeks now and they set a trap we've walked into.

Now, if some cock-sucker would get off his ass and order in artillery and airstrikes over the border, I could slip out of here, but he's got his dick in his hand worrying about causing some kind of international incident. Instead I'm being told to 'hang in there' and help is on the way, but I know that is a lie.

Our relief force tried to punch their way to us a few hours ago and was stopped cold by the fire from across the border. I've got six men wounded now and it is only me and Specialist Dobson who are fully mobile. When dark comes in an hour, we won't be able to call in the artillery that is the only reason we are still alive, and then we get killed or captured.

I'm checking ammo when the call comes in.

"Ranger 337, this is Sierra Tango Eight, prepare for evac in three minutes," says this oddly passive voice. I'm Ranger 337 so I take some quick looks around to see what the hell is going on.

"Sierra Tango Eight, what is your vector?" I ask. "And where do you plan to land?"

"Vector: due west and there is a flat piece of rock ten meters from your designated position. We are landing there," the voice responds. I look over at the postage stamp sized area. WTF?

"We'll be ready," I say, because this is really the only option I have. I shout for Dobson to get ready for us to roll, the second something happens.

"Sierra Tango Eight be warned there is very heavy fire all around the area. Very Heavy Fire," I warn them.

"Understood," is the reply. Even as the link goes silent the mountainside begins exploding all around me. I duck down then I recognize the sound of the shells -- smoke. Dobson and I gather all the non-mobile wounded as close as we can to the landing zone and wait. It doesn't take long. I hear the helicopter storming up the valley and everything breaks loose.

I see an attack helicopter riding hell for leather straight up the valley just north of my position. Tracers lance all around it and the bird dances and shifts. I have only enough time to see the puff from over the border before spotting the SAM, then it hits the helicopter and it explodes into pieces. They didn't have a chance and I am feeling totally fucked.

The transport is on us before I hear it. The pilot whips over our heads, does a quick two-seventy and settles onto the small piece of rock. Two people jump out, one aiming to the back of the helicopter and firing a SAW, while the other one runs my way.

"Let's not hang around," the short newcomer yells over the whine of the engine. 

He, Dobson, and I grab up our worse wounded and we drag, stagger and tumble our way to the craft. The guy with the SAW jumps on last and pulls me close.

"Is that everybody?" he shouts. I nod. He relays that message over his headset. The helicopter rocks off the stone they'd been sitting on and starts to slip off the mountain.

And I mean 'slip' because it doesn't feel like we're flying down the mountain slope; so much as we were falling down the mountain. I swear I feel us bounce off of rocks several times on our way down to the desert floor, as well as having the pleasure of dozens of bullets buzz by. Only when we flatten out do I feel like we are actually going to live. I go up to the pilot to thank him.

"Hey there," I begin, putting my hand on the Sergeant piloting us, "thanks for the save. Who are you guys with?"

"167th", the pilot says in an even tone. I pull my hand back. It is the fucking faggots. I don't consider myself to be a bigot, but some things are just not right and if you were born a man you were a man and the same went for women.

If the pilot notices he gives no indication.

"We are taking you straight to the hospital Sergeant. No worries," the pilot tells me. I say nothing for the longest time. I am uncomfortable as hell being so close to so many fucking perverts still ...

"That helicopter, the one that was destroyed, was that part of the plan to get us out?" I ask.

"Not the destroyed part, but yes, someone had to draw fire so we could get in and get you out," the pilot responds with no emotion. Man, all I can think is how cold these people are.

"Who were they?" I inquire.

"Lt. Clyde McDermott and Sgt. Rihanna Clarke; Lt. McDermott was our flight leader," he tells me.

"Oh," is all I can imagine saying. It isn't like that guy hadn't known the risks. The thing was, despite seeing that helicopter die, this pilot had come to my rescue anyway. That was totally fucked up.

"Thanks," I repeat somewhat lamely. Honestly I want off the helicopter as soon as possible.

"Never Fail," the pilot responds; the motto of the 167th.

Several hours later I come out of the medical center, when I see the four members of our rescue helicopter standing around their bird. My first instinct is to walk away but then everyone else seems to be avoiding them too. I sigh and decide to do my civic duty. I walk over. They are all wearing their helmets when I go over, undoubtedly listening to their unit chatter.

"Sergeant," the pilot greets me, his eyes unreadable behind the darkened visor. Now I can see that he has tits and they are apparently a nice, silicon rack.

"No one died. Everyone got back in time," I grudgingly tell him/her/whatever it is.

"That's good to know, thank you," the pilot says. I look at his/her name tag, then I notice he has some of the fullest lips I've ever seen, with rich creamy dark skin.

"Gleason?" I ask. "You don't look like a Gleason."

"Dad was in Panama and married a Panamanian woman," Gleason explains. "You?"

"Huh?" I wonder.

"Your name?" Gleason grins slightly as he puts a hand on his hip.

"Grizzoli, Ted Grizzoli," I reply somewhat embarrassed. It is strange to think that this is a guy.

"Well Sgt. Ted Grizzoli, you are welcome." With that I get the feeling I've been dismissed. Then I feel stupid. They lost two friends today keeping my friends alive. They are grieving. I'm not sure why, but I pull a photo out of my vest, step up and hand it to Gleason.

He looks at it then at me. I wish he didn't have his visor down because I really wish I could read his expression.

"My daughters," I explain as he looks down at my five and two year old girls. "I get to go home to them because of what you did today." It is lame but it is all I've got. Gleason nods and puts it away in his vest. We are done here.

(Two years later)

I'm in some East African hell hole because another country has gone down the crapper and the UN wants to do something about it. There is a bit of an insurgency problem so they sent us. Still, our plan seems to be working so we all see the mission winding down here in a month or two. Everyone is biding their time.

I'm crossing the compound with my company commander Bruce Isakson. Now Captain Isakson is all about initiative and innovation. He's a bit of a pirate if you ask me. Still, I'm with him when we collide with Major Hayes, our battalion Intelligence Officer, and Captain Fallon of the 167th combat wing stationed with us. Fallon, who is a girl who looks like a guy now, is really pissed.

"Major Hayes, some of my people got shot and stabbed in a marketplace in the southeastern part of the city. I need some of your people to help me get them out," Fallon begins without preamble.

"Whoa," Hayes says, "we are not going to start a firefight in the middle of a crowded city over a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding? Sir, they've been violently and physically assaulted. Their lives are in danger," Fallon responds with barely contained rage.

"It must be a religious misunderstanding due to the condition of your people. I'll call the Chief of Police and let him go in and disarm everyone and bring your people out," Hayes tells Fallon.

"Disarm? To the native police who can't even guarantee my people's protection now? The Sacred Band does not give up its weapons," Fallon growls.

"They will this time," Hayes announces. Fallon stares at him. "I'll deal with this through the proper channels," Hayes says dismissively. Fallon salutes and leaves. Whatever business has brought the Captain and me this way vanishes.

We catch up with Fallon half way across base, storming about like nobody's business.

"Fallon," the Captain calls out. "What are you planning to do?" Fallon stops and stares at us.

"Arm the ground crews, go in and get them," Fallon admits.

"How about my Rangers and I go out on a little training mission instead?" Isakson says with a maniac gleam in his eye. Fallon regards him intently then nods.

"Let's go in ten minutes. I'll gather what intelligence I can," Fallon answers. Once more the 167th officer goes his way and the Captain and I go ours.

"Sergeant, if you want to bail out on this I'll understand. Of all people you can't really claim ignorance," Isakson tells me.

"It is a training mission Sir, what could possibly go wrong?" I grin back. Right then I am feeling like a pirate too.

The plan was very basic and risky, but it is what elite light infantry are made for. We have three teams. The Captain would drop at the farthest street corner, and work his way back to the shop the targets were held up in. I would drop into the closer street corner, and hold that until the evacuation began. The third team would rope onto he top of the building and secure it from the top down.

Once that was done, we would collapse in to the building and take everyone off the roof until we were all gone. We had no idea on enemy strength, but since it was a civilian area we had to follow the rules of engagement -- no firing unless fired upon. If we ran into trouble we were pretty screwed; no one was on deck to come to our rescue.

When I climb into my helicopter I notice Gleason right off the bat. I reach up and touch him on the shoulder.

"Funny seeing you here," I say haughtily. Gleason turns slightly and nods. With that we take off and wing it over the city. I could swear I saw Hayes running out and waving his fist at us.

We come racing over to our target, and as we swing around Gleason waves for my attention. We are setting up our repelling gear so I make it quickly over to him.

"I can land in there," he tells me. I think he is insane but I nod. Dangling off a rope sucks.

"If you are sure," I gulp. I tell the guys to put the ropes down. We are going in boots first.

Honestly I think we are going to die on the way down. The buildings look so close I feel I can touch them, right up until we hit the hard-packed earth. Without urging from me, my men race out into the whirling dust storm whipped up by the rotors. Behind me Gleason edges right back up into the sky.

I make sure we have the four corners covered, and then race to the storefront where the friendlies are hiding. I am glad they don't come rushing out to meet us. That would be a nightmare. They open the door when I arrive, men and women looking at me with pretty grim faces. The mob here wouldn't just have killed them; they would have done much worse.

"Who is in charge here?" I bark.

"I am," a tall, athletic black woman-looking person with a pistol addresses me. "Lieutenant Teresa Ross."

"Okay, we are going to hold the perimeter. Your group is going to be escorted to the roof and evacuated," I detail the plan for her.

"No," she says calmly.

"No?" I stammer.

"We won't leave you behind," the lieutenant insists. I lose it.

"Lady, are you insane? I'm a Ranger; this is what I do. You fly helicopters and you aren't in one right now, so get your ass moving!" 

She has the gall to smile at me. I am afraid I might hit a superior officer, when the Captain shows up. I outline the problem and he shrugs.

"Lieutenant, you will evacuate your wounded immediately, then choose two to stay behind for the last boat out of town -- acceptable?" he offers. The female officer agrees.

"Sir," I grumble to the Captain, "can you believe that crap?"

"Sergeant, elite is not only training, it is believing you are elite. In case you missed it, these twelve aviators beat off a mob of hundreds, with two pistols, an undoubtedly captured rifle, and wooden clubs. If they want to stay in my LZ to the bitter end, so be it."

I have no answer to that. Fortunately I don't have the time to hang around and look at their battered and bloody bodies. I have my men to attend to. The mob is getting frisky and a few shots go overhead as I make my way back to my team. Finally someone does the stupid thing of bouncing a bullet off one of my guy's helmets. We begin firing back.

The mob scatters, and the armed attackers have to stand their ground or go flee with them. Those who stick around we put bullets in. Like so much of combat, things go very, very fast or very, very slow. One second I've got fire coming from three directions and the next the Captain is telling me that the evacuation has begun and I'm to pull back.

There was no last stand at the Alamo. Once the locals see that we are pulling out; most of them decided to let us go. The diehards aren't enough to give us many problems. I climb aboard the last helicopter with the Captain, the hard-ass lieutenant and a few others. I look over and there is my Gleason.

"Home Gleason," I can't stop myself from saying. The Captain gives me a funny look but I shrug it off. Gleason's response is more subdued but then he was doing the flying. Getting home isn't too much fun though. Hayes blows a gasket. We were all going to get it, from the Captain to the lowliest Private.

He was somewhere in the middle of his tirade when the General walks in. Both the UN and the local authorities have already given him an earful. He doesn't say much. It turns out he didn't have to.

"Were some of my people in harm's way?" he asks the Major.

"Yes sir, but ..." the Major sputters.

"And your plan was to turn them over to the local authorities?" the General persists.

"Sir, we had to consider the UN Mandate," the Major answers.

"So your response was to let twelve of my people get slaughtered to appease locals and the UN?" the General growls.

"Sir, I was operating within our guidelines," the Major defends himself.

"Is that what they taught you at West Point, major?" the General snarls. "I don't think so. The Ranger patch is not a stepping stone to future advancement, it is a mindset. We take care of our own."

"They weren't Rangers," the Major blurts out.

"No Major, they are not. They rely on us to defend them so that they can save our asses when our asses need saving. We defend them and, major, you failed at that. Dismissed," the General barks. He turns to the 167th officer.

"Captain Fallon, if you need anything you know who to ask." Fallon salutes and exits.

Now the General turns his baleful gaze on me, the Captain, and the Ranger Lieutenant who had been on the third team.

"Don't go looking for any commendations on this one, damn you," he grumbles. "This was a damn foolish thing to do. Now get out of here." As we make to leave the old man adds, "Rangers lead the way." Quietly the three of us echo his sentiments.

(Present Day)

It has been a long deployment and I'm heading home to the West Coast on leave. My flight is one more in a long stretch of air miles I've put up in the past year, and I'm getting used to the fact that I am going to be safely in one place for a month. I find my gaze wandering over the passengers, because it seems forever since I've seen a woman in something besides battle dress.

Across the aisle and up one seat is a cute chick in a long plaid, pleated shirt and white blouse. She has shoulder length black hair and seems to be rocking out to her MP-3 player, which means she was probably too young for me. The waitress on the other hand is giving me some play, but I never seem to find the time to sneak off with her.

At the terminal I'm fighting for a cab when I bump into someone coming for the same ride. I'm about to tell them off, when I notice it is the cute girl from the plane. She has sunglasses on now but smiles at me.

"Share a ride?" I offer.

"Sure thing," she responds. "Where are you going?"

"North Lake," I tell her. "You?" 

"Somerset," she replies. She has a pretty face with fine Hispanic features and full lips. We tell the cabbie where to go and are riding for about five minutes, when I snap my head round to her.

"Gleason!" I gasp. She smiles and nods.

"You ..." I continue.

"I look like a girl; is that what you are trying to say?" she grins devilishly.

"I guess you do," I mutter.

"Flight suits don't do much for my feminine side," Gleason laughs. "When I get off base I like to express myself," she informs me.

"I dress like I did in high school," I admit.

"Me too," she laughs. I can't help but be weirded out by all of this. I was hot for a guy. Worse, I was hot for a guy I'd gone to battle with and she was sexy. What am I thinking?

"Why weren't your wife and kids at the airport to meet you?" Gleason asks. Somehow I get the feeling she senses my awkwardness. The question doesn't help much.

"She took the kids to her folks in Missouri," I inform her. "We've been separated for over a year now."

"Sorry," Gleason responds warily. She'd meant well.

"Don't worry about it," I smile. "Deployments are hard on any marriage. I guess she had enough of me being gone for months at a time. I'm not bitter."

"That's a good attitude. You've always been a good soldier who takes care of his own. You are good at what you do," she responds.

"Not as good as you Gleason ..."

"Angel; Ted, call me Angel," she smirks.

"Fine, Angel, you are the best pilot I've ever seen. If you weren't, I'd be dead twice over," I praise her. Angel looks away and blushes

"Thank you for saying that," she murmurs.

"What about your family?" I ask.

"Mom and Dad live in Somerset. Dad is former Army who put in his twenty-five. Mom raised the five of us," she said wistfully.

"Five? Damn that's a good size family," I tease her. She looks a little sad.

"My oldest brother died in the Middle East while in the Marines. I'm the second oldest... so I joined up too. My oldest sister went to college and works somewhere in Atlanta. My younger sister is married in town and my youngest brother is still in high school," she tells me.

"Sorry about your brother; that's tough. Still, I imagine your parents are proud of you. The 167th is a hell of a unit," I counter.

"No, my parents don't know what I do. I told them I got a job as a personal assistant that requires me to travel a lot," Angel confesses.

"Why did you do that?" I say bewildered.

"Mom would freak out all the time knowing I was in the Army, and Dad never got used to me being different. He keeps hoping I'll change, and I don't stand up to that belief," she sighs.

"Anything I can do Sergeant?" I offer.

"No, we are good," she tells me. I sat silently in the cab for most of the ride. Once we pull into my street something occurs to me.

"Angel, you can take a cab, but would you like it if I drove you to your house?" and even as I speak those words, I am not sure why I do. She looks at me with obvious curiosity.

"Sure," she says as we stop in front of my house. We unload our luggage, I pay the driver and we go up to my house. It isn't much; a little two-bedroom bungalow with a hot tub in back. Putting my stuff in the living room, we go out to the garage and pull the cover off my convertible. Angel whistles.




Scared Band: More than Friends



"My dad gave her to me before he died. I have a neighbor come by once a month and take care of her for me," I say patting my beautiful baby on the hood.

"Your car is a 'her'?" Gleason teases me. She does that thing where she plants a hand on her hip and tilts, so provocatively. The thing is, I don't think she even realizes what she's doing. I have to remind myself that Angel is a guy.

"What are you thinking about?" Angel taunts suggestively. I haven't answered her.

"Yes, I call my car a girl," I mumble.

"Is that all that's on your mind," Angel asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No," I deny, "I'm good." I pop the trunk and we put her luggage in. Within a minute we are rolling down the road to Somerset.

We are cruising down the road, top down when Angel looks over to me and raises her sunglasses, so I can see her sparking brown eyes.

"It is okay," she says in a conversational tone. "You can look at me if you like." I nearly wreck.

"No ... wait ... I'm not like that," I respond hastily. Angel grins and lets her eyes wonder forward. No way am I gay.

"If I was a girl," she asks after a while, "what would you like about me?"

"You have beautiful lips," I admit after a moment. Now that I've admitted it, this doesn't seem so hard. Angel smiles at me.

"I have really nice legs too," she offers, letting the wind play and pull at her skirt.

"I haven't noticed," I lie.

"Of course," she laughs. At least she doesn't call me a liar to my face. "By the way, the answer is 'no'."

"No?" I question.

"No, I'm not seeing somebody," she says in a lilting voice. "You are the type of guy that matters too; you don't poach on another man's territory."

"I never asked you that," I respond. "You are a guy and I'm not gay."

"Okay," is all she says in response. I hope I sounded convincing.

We pull up in front of Angel's place. I feel I can steel her for the visit.

"I'll help you with your bags," I offer. 

"You don't have to," she replies. "We can leave them for later, unless that is a problem."

"It is no problem," I tell her. We leave her bags for later and we climb up the steps to her family's place, hands free.

Angel knocks on the door and a matronly Hispanic woman answers. She looks at Angel, her eyes dart to me, then latch back onto Angel.

"Angelo!" she cries out and hugs Angel to her bosom.

"Hey Momma," Angel says somewhat awkwardly, then Mrs. Gleason notices me.

It is clear Angel's mother doesn't know what to make of this stranger.

"Hey, I'm Ted Grizzoli. Angelo and I are co-workers," I explain. She looks relieved and we shake hands. The three of us migrate into the family's living area, where a man who looks a bit like me, but twenty years older and twenty-five pounds heavier, gets up out of his chair and looks at the three of us.

"Angelo," he says evenly to his 'son', but his eyes rivet me. I know his type and I'm not afraid.

"This is Angelo's co-worker, Ted," Angel's mother introduces me.

Mr. Gleason comes toward me, so I meet him half way. We shake hands and he promptly tries to break my fingers in his grip. As I said, I know the type so I'm ready for him.

"Where'd you do your service son?" Mr. Gleason asks me. He must know my type too.

"I'm still in the Rangers," I grin. He chuckles.

"Armored Cavalry," he responds and we share that veteran's grin. "So how do you know my son?" At this moment I recall that I can't lie for crap.

There are a lot of things I could try to say, but any sergeant worth his stripes would know I'm lying without a thought.

"Why doesn't Angelo tell you about it?" I evade. I look over to Angel to see the conflict in her eyes.

"He's my boyfriend!" Angel blurts out. I'm suddenly wishing I was back on that mountain top being shot at by people I really don't like, as opposed to here. Dad glares at me, Mom makes a little gasp and tries to see me in a new light, and Angel/Gleason sidles up to me and puts her arm through my arm.

"Is that true?" the Dad asks me with a penetrating glance.

"It is just like Angel says," I choke out. Dad studies me carefully for what feels like an hour, and then gives a curt nod.

"Take a seat," he half commands, half offers. Angel and I take a seat, while the mother hovers around.

"If you are still in the Rangers how did you meet my son?" Dad asks again.

"Your son is in the 167th," I answer. Her Dad studies her, nods and says,

"I'm proud of you Angelo. You've done something with your life." Angel's grip on my arm tightens. She's never told her family about what she does and I've thrown that in the open now.

"What is the 167th?" he Mom inquires.

"They are a Special Forces unit of helicopter," the old man explains. Mom doesn't look pleased.

"Angelo, this is dangerous. You should stop this," she pleads. Angel's older brother died in service to his country.

"Momma, I'm really good at this and I save lives. I've trained really hard to be in the 167th, and it is my home now," Angel tries to explain.

"Esmeralda, we haven't always accepted Angelo's choices, but we should accept this one," the Father declares. In this family, this seems to be the end of the argument for now.

An hour later we are walking down the stairs to my car. Once I let Angel in and am around on the driver's side she hits me.

"Fuck you," she shouts. "You told them about my service."

"You said I was your boyfriend. What was I supposed to say? I found you under a rock?" I snap back. She has no immediate response to that.

"Now Momma is going to be worried forever," Angel gripes.

"And lying to her is so much better?" I shoot back.

"You didn't have the right," she insists.

"I agree, but I wasn't going to lie to your Father for your benefit. It isn't in me," I tell her.

I drive on unthinking and more than a bit pissed, when I find myself rolling into my driveway. I cut off the engine and we sit in silence for a minute.

"What are you going to do now?" I inquire.

"I guess I'll call my Sister and see if I can stay with her and her husband," Angel says dejectedly.

I know I'm going to regret this.

"You can crash in my kid's bedroom for a few days," I suggest off-handedly. Angel looks me over with inquisitive eyes.

"Are you sure it isn't going to be a problem Ted?" she asks.

"We are Army buddies," I answer. "We should be fine. Now, why don't we unload your stuff and go grocery shopping. I know there is nothing to eat in the house."

"Logistics is the heart of any operation," Angel agrees. Having a place to stay for a few days has taken a great weight off her shoulders. When we are back on the road I have to ask.

"Were you going to spend your leave at a hotel?"

"Well, Mom and Dad can only keep me around so many days before we clash, and I am not sure how my brother would accept me," she admits.

"Fine," I allow, "but you do your own laundry and if you borrow the car you put gas in it."

"Thanks Ted," Angel smiles. She's an Army buddy. She's a hot looking guy but I'm not gay. 

Shopping goes somewhat haphazardly. Let's face it, neither Angel nor I have had to look after ourselves for some time now. In the Army if you want food someone cooks it for you, if you want toilet paper it is there for you, and if you want cleaning supplies you get them.

In civilian life you have to take care of all that yourself, or in the case of Angel, ourselves. We quickly pile up a shopping cart, and still have to carry some things to the checkout. The girl at the cash register makes a crack about us not wanting to come out for a month, mistaking us for a couple. Angel giggles. What the hell? How does a guy giggle?

On the way back, Angel has me stop by a Quickie Mart, but for the life of me I can't think of what we've forgotten. On the way back Angel keeps giving me a smile as the wind whips through her hair.

"What are you smiling about?" I inquire.

"You are a good friend Ted. I appreciate what you're doing for me," Angel responds.

"No problem," I agree. "You've certainly been there for me."

"That was my job Ted," Angel counters.

"I think you once said I was good at taking care of my people," I joke. "Consider yourself one of my people."

"One of the guys?" Angel teases me.

"Of course," I cough.

"You won't regret this," she promises. I'm not sure what she means by that, and I'm definitely not sure why it makes me feel so uncomfortable.

We've gotten the car unloaded and things put away when we go to our rooms and finally change into 'around the house' clothes. I'm in a sleeveless grey t-shirt, grey sweat pants, and flip flops. I'm not really thinking about it until Angel comes out in a tight green t-shirt that highlights her gorgeous breasts and tight black drawstring short shorts. She's has no shoes on but clearly has a cock bulging in her pants. Angel notices me staring.

"Ted? Earth to Ted; would you feel better if I pulled it out and showed it to you?" she chuckles.

"What? NO! I'm okay," I express loudly as I look away. She comes into the kitchen and starts making some lemonade for us. Again we don't say much for a while, and I find myself in a strange state of being.

Sometimes Angel is like a guy; we talk about the same things, if in clipped tones. She'll prop herself up like she's a guy and her voice will deepen slightly. Then I turn and look at her and she's a girl, with that hidden quality to her face that only a woman has, and the way she turns and looks at me that highlights her cleavage.

I'm starting to be really uncomfortable when I find myself watching Angel walking into the den with some carrot sticks and blue cheese dressing. That's a nice, tight, well-sculpted ass that looks like more than a handful. I wonder why I haven't noticed it before, but then I guess because I'm not gay ... but damn, what an ass. Worse, right as she sits down she gives me a wink. How the hell did she know?

Our dinner decision is a cookout, with chicken and pork chops with some salad. Angel and I are going on about sports teams where I reveal her to be a uninformed idiot and she declares that I'm a brain-dead moron who thinks with his dick. We are laughing it up so I push it a bit further.

"At least I know what a dick is used for," I taunt her. She gets this glimmer in her eye.

"I know what your dick can be used for too," she teases right back. I glare for a moment then I laugh as well. "That's it," she smiles, "don't be so uptight. I'm not the enemy."

"I don't think you are the enemy Angel," I respond.

"Didn't you once?" she questions.

"I... I thought you were... a pervert," I confess. "I don't anymore," I go on to assure her.

"I know," she nods, then of all things she leans in and kisses me right on the lips. I don't know what to think or say. You would think that she would be uncertain too, but she looks totally confident with what she's done.

"Listen Angel, we are just friends," I warn her. I tolerate Angel, but that doesn't mean I think the ways she does and she needs to know it.

"Of course," she says pleasantly, before picking up cooked meat and going inside. God damn her and her swaying hips. If only she was a real girl.

We don't talk about the kiss most of the night and Angel behaves in a friendly, but not too friendly manner. She and I talk to about ten, when the jet lag starts kicking in on both of us.

"How long has it been for you?" she asks. I give her a look over.

"Sixteen months," I tell her, "since the last time my wife and I fought then made up. It was a long damn time ago. What about you?"

"Four years," she sighs.

"What the fuck? Four years ago? I thought..." I ask with real curiosity.

"The Sacred Band isn't a harem," she smiles. "Sure, some of us seek companionship, but most of us know we are in a combat unit, and we need to keep our heads and hearts on straight."

"I apologize," I respond. "I guess not everything you hear is true."

"No biggie; I've been a good girl since I graduated Flight School," she tells me. "Before then I was really bad though."

"Really?"

"Yes, I used to suck cock all the time. God I love a good, hard cock in my mouth," she moans. I am getting all worked up thinking about those luscious lips of hers wrapping around a cock and going up and down.

"Did you wife like to give you head?" she asked.

"Not really," I confess. "We were married right out of high school. She was the only woman I've ever been with."

"Damn you are a loyal little bastard," she says with some admiration. "No one has ever cared for me that much."

"It will happen Angel; give it time," I encourage her.

"Thanks Ted," she yawns. "I think I'm going to bed now." She gets up and goes to the bathroom, while I dump the dishes in the sink and run some water over them. I'll get to it in the morning.

One of the less pleasant parts of military life is that you tend to wake up early, so when you are on leave, your body still wants to wake up early. My eyes open up and I see the dark grey of morning starting to come through. I also see Angel come into the doorway. We meet eyes for a second then she walks up to the edge of my bed.

"Can we talk?" Angel asks me. I prop myself up on my elbows.

"Sure," I respond. Angel sits down close to me and looks perplexed.

"I have a problem Ted," she begins. She looks up and explains. "I want to have sex with you but I don't know how to ask you." What the crap... she's just asked.

"Angel you've told me and I can tell you it isn't going to happen. I'm not gay," I console her.

"Okay, I understand that, but can I suck your cock instead," Angel smiles softly.

"Ah... no," I reply.

"Come on Ted; it only has to be this one time. I really want to," Angel pleads, but with a seductive tint. I'm pretty sure I'm sending her back to bed -- her bed -- when she licks her lips.

Okay, I'm not gay, but I figure if all she wants to do is suck my cock once, I can get through this with my heterosexuality intact.

"Fine, this one time," I concede. I pull the covers back and move over so she can join me. Angel's eyes sparkle and her face lights up as she strips off her shorts and shirt and joins me.

Angle moves to kiss me but my dubious look stops her. Her hand runs down my chest to my stomach and she tugs at my shorts. I see the problem, so I reach down and work them off so that we are both now naked. She shrugs and turns her body down so that she is facing my cock. I'm already rising to the occasion when she starts blowing on it gently.

She wraps a hand around my cock and starts stroking it until it is sufficiently large enough for her to start licking the top of my head while pumping me with her hand. God damn, she's a whole lot better than my wife. I roll my head back and find myself staring straight into her crotch and her dick. It is semi-flaccid and bouncing with her movements.

I'm staring at it for I don't know how long, when I catch Angel looking up at me while she sucks on my top quarter like a lollipop. I look from her eyes to her cock and back to her eyes which are clearly defying me to do anything. Fuck you bitch! I reach out and put my hand around her cock and start to stroke it. Angle groans. Damn it, I'm not gay... I'm stroking another person's cock but I'm not gay.

Angel goes back to licking the tip of my cock, occasionally running her tongue around the circumference of my head. Now, I am not an idiot. I know a tutorial when I see it. As if giving me incentive, Angel suddenly swallows most of my cock in one mighty plunge. Feeling my head rub down the back of her throat is indescribable. She pulls up and smiles at me. Bitch.

I've shot a guy aiming an RPG at me; I've rappelled into a firefight, and stitched up a buddy with his guts shot out, so I should be able to do this. How bad can it be? I lick Angel's cockhead once, briefly and quickly. Angel moans like I've licked her cunt. I give it a few more passes and she responds with more vigor on my cock. I take the plunge and wrap my lips around her head, then suck lightly.

Angel is now rock hard in my hands, and mirroring her, I'm sucking up and down about two inches of her length, while stroking the rest with my hand. Occasionally Angel has to stop working on me to catch her breath.

"No stamina heli-babe?" I taunt her.

"Tease me all you want," she gasps, "but don't stop." She does step up her game though. She starts playing with my nuts, first rolling them around in her hands, then going down and sucking on each of them, one at a time. I'm willing to play with her balls, but I'm not up to sucking them. That doesn't deter her though. She takes up a finger and sucks on it.

Angel sneaks her hand down and puts it up against my anus. I tense up and Angel relaxes her pressure and waits until I relax again. Well, what is fair is fair, so I ready a finger and put it down between her cheeks as well. Angel is totally relaxed when I get there, and I have little trouble getting a fingertip in. Angel jumps.

"Does that hurt?" I ask her.

"Yes," she pleads, "but don't stop. Please don't stop." I push harder and her ass trembles. She's moaning non-stop now and really giving my cock a workout. Finally I let her press a finger into my ass. Damn that hurts but I swear it makes my cock harder as well.

With my finger going in and out of her ass and me sucking as much of her cock as possible, Angel starts to lose it.

"I'm cumming," she pants. Oh crap, what am I supposed to do? Somehow having her spray it all over my body and face is really unappealing. For some strange reason, swallowing her seed appears the best course of action.

I make my best effort to get her off quickly and I can feel her tensing up. The first burst hits the back of my throat and I nearly gag.

"Don't swallow!" Angel gasps. What the fuck am I supposed to so now with a mouth full of cum? Angel spasms several more times, before she pulls her mouth off my cock, and yanks me to her.

Angel grabs my shoulders and presses her mouth against mine. I feel her tongue trying to work its way into mine, so I let it and a mouthful of cum comes along with it. We swap fluids for several seconds, before Angel accepts most of her own sperm and swallows it. Angel looks like she's about to have a second orgasm as she looks at me with ecstatic eyes.

"Angel," I begin.

"Oh yeah," she says excitedly then dives back to my cock. She's going at it with gusto and I feel my own body temperature rising. I find myself casually stroking Angel's cock once more, and getting some reaction both with her cock and in her ministrations.

I reach down and stroke Angel's fine black hair.

"I'm about to come," I warn her between deepening breaths. She nods slightly and keeps at it. I feel like I rocket off in her mouth, and I half expect my semen to knock her back. Like a pro Angel keeps at it, gulping down rope after rope of my seed.

She props herself up and looks at me expectantly, her cheeks distended with my semen. Oh, what the hell. I pull Angel close and we kiss again, my cum gets swapped back and forth until once more she pulls away and gulps down most of it. Angle presses against me and kisses me on the throat and shoulder. I stroke her back and let my hand wander down to her ass.

"Angel we are never going to do this again," I inform her. She leans back and smiles at me.

"Of course, but could you do me one more favor?" she asks passionately.

"Okay," I respond cautiously.

"Would you fuck me up the ass," she asks me in the same way a girl asks a guy to buy her ice cream at an ice cream parlor. She wiggles her ass beneath my hand.

"This one time," I warn her. Angel nods in acceptance. I'm not going down the road of me not being gay. I've sucked dick and tasted cum twice and I want to fight for the shreds of my heterosexuality. I'm going to do this, get it over with, and get back to a normal life. Angle scrambles to the edge of the bed, leans over precariously and picks something out of her jumble of clothing.




Scared Band: More than Friends



She hands me a tube of lubricant and condoms. I cock an eyebrow at her. She tosses the condoms since our last blood tests would have revealed something wrong.

"Hey, I was hoping to get lucky," she confesses with a sheepish grin. She grabs my cock gently and starts stroking it. "Let me take care of this," and she pushes me back and goes back to my cock. Any hope of me not being able to perform again so quickly, is dispelled by Angel's lips and tongue.

Angel bumps her ass in my direction. I open the lube and put some at the top of Angel's ass crack. I let it ooze down and Angel shudders. I put some on my finger and press against her anus and let it slip inside, getting an even more violent reaction from her. I pull my finger out, put lube all over it and reinsert it.

"Yes," Angel moans. I start working it all the way in then going in and out rapidly. I'm getting really hard now so I don't know how much longer before we are going to go at it.

"More fingers," she pants. "Use more fingers." I pull out, lube up four fingers, and go at it with two this time. Angel yelps, but I'm getting the hang of this now so I go at it slowly and steadily instead of pulling.

When I get the third finger in successfully, and am moving in and out in a steady rhythm, she stops sucking.

"Let's do this; I'm ready," she gulps. I push her onto all fours, ass angled up.

"Put your hands up against the headboard," I order her. Angel looks at me with uncertainty but obeys. 

I lube up my cock generously because I'm looking at the size of Angel's expanded anal opening, and my cock and the physics isn't working out well for her. I push against her entrance.

"Take it easy," she says. I press a little harder, until I push through her immediate resistance. Angel grunts and I push harder.

"Easy," she repeats. I ignore her, stick it to her even harder and she cries out. "God Ted!" I'm now pushing all the way in and Angel's whole body starts shivering.

"You wanted to get fucked so be prepared to be fucked Angel. Do you have anything else you want to say?" I tell her in a menacing voice. Angel shakes her head.

I'm slamming her against the headboards with vicious, savage thrusts. Angel is crying and howling from the assault. I slap her ass a few times until it reddens, then I reach around and grab her cock in one hand and grasp a breast in the other. I'm jacking her off while twisting and pulling on her nipple.

Finally Angel mumbles something between he sobs.

"What did you say?" I growl to her.

"Harder," she repeats. I let go over her cock and grab both breasts, pulling on them and pinching them. Angel leaves one hand to stop her from hitting the headboard, and takes the other one down to start stroking her penis.

"Angel," I whisper to her, "I'm not fucking you hard enough. Get up on your hands and knees." She groans but does as instructed. I wedge my knees between her legs, grab hold of her arms at the elbows and pull her up until she's in my lap. I've got her bouncing up and down on my thighs and we are both fighting for breath.

I'm stroking one breast and stroking her cock with the other hand, while Angel is playing with her balls and mine while caressing the other breast. I'm so deep into feeling my cock drive up Angel's ass, that I miss her orgasm when it hits and her semen splashes my hand. My thrusts increase with intensity while she goes through her climax.

"I want to fuck you harder," I snarl into her ear. Angel's head bobs.

"Roll me over," she wheezes. I push her forward, take her thigh and roll Angel onto her back. She looks at me in a daze but manages to start raising her legs up. This I know what to do. I grab her ankles and put then on my shoulders.

Angel's head rocks back and forth as I bend her in two. I grab my cock and put it up against her now-gaping ass and push it back in. Angel groans but then surprises me by thrusting up to meet my intrusion. When I drill her deep she cries out again. She moans when I pull out, then cries when I slam back in, but she keeps meeting my thrusts. The whole sensation of her cries, scents, and beauty becomes too much and I shoot my cum deep into her bowels.

I roll to the side and Angel rolls to stay next to me, facing me. Neither one of us says anything for the longest time as we become sticky with our sweat and semen, not until our breathing calms down.

"Well, you certainly fucked me hard Ted. What got into you?" Angel murmurs happily.

"I'm not an idiot Angel. You've been working on me since we got to town. I'm not gay damn it," I tell her. She reaches out and strokes my cheek.

"Ted, you sucked my cock, swapped cum with me twice, and fucked me up the ass; you are not straight," Angel sighs patiently.

"I'm not gay," I persist.

"Ted, no one has turned you gay. That is not possible. You've been living with a mindset at odds with your nature. Besides, you may only be attracted to me, or only transsexuals," she smiles. "But, if you think I've done something wrong to you I'll go."

I stare at Angel for a few minutes and I can see uncertainty creeping into her eyes. She does not doubt herself; she doubts me. My first instinct is to get the hell away from this freak. The only problem is that Angel isn't a freak anymore; she's a person with a person's interests, loves and families. If she's not a freak then are any of them?

Then if she's not a freak what am I? Crap. I'm not heterosexual. I still love my wife. I probably always will but now I have Angel in my life. Funny how that worked out isn't it?

"Angel, how long have you been... decided that you wanted to be with me?" I ask. Angel blushes.

"When you gave me that picture I knew you weren't the man you pretended to be. I thought what you did was a nice gesture," she responds. "In Africa you trusted me to put you down in that alley, and that said much about your judgment and courage, but it was when you said 'Home Gleason' when we took off that made me want see you again."

"That? I was joking around," I chuckle.

"Exactly Ted. I knew how you felt about me, or how you thought you felt about me, but there you were, with bullets flying all around and I was the one you were thinking of," she points out. Well crap.

"Once I learned your wife left you I decided to give us a shot. After that it was pretty easy," she relates. "We had the same hometown, so I arranged to have leave when you took leave, and be on the same flight. I had to wait seven minutes so we could end up in the same cab too."

"If you ever give up the desire to fly, I'm sure someone could use you as an operations officer," I reply bitterly.

"I was happy you had a car," she continues slyly, "and the whole thing with my parents was totally off the cuff. In a way I wanted my father to approve of you."

"Weren't you worried I'd reject you?" I counter.

"No," she replies confidently. "You've got great taste in friends; you are loyal, honest and true, if somewhat confused by a few minor things."

"Like wanting to have sex with you," I respond.

"Hell no," Angel laughs. "Face it, I'm hot and if it wasn't for my dick you would have been all over me on the plane ride here. I knew you wanted me. All I had to do was make you realize that."

"So what am I confused about?" I wonder.

"The fact that you want to be with me; I knew I could seduce you, but Ted, I want to keep you," she confesses. How the hell does a guy respond to that? I push Angel on her back, lower my mouth to a nipple and start twirling it with my tongue.

"What does this mean?" Angel inquires. I lift my mouth long enough for a reply.

"I'm thinking about it." I work on her nipple for about half a minute, then the other, before Angel starts writhing on the bed and moans something.

"What did you say?" I question.

"Keep thinking," she sighs. I shift myself so that I'm resting between Angel's legs with her cock resting between us. I play with her nipples until she starts humping me. After a bit I work my body up until we are face to face. I kiss her deeply on those gorgeous lips.

"Stay the month and let's see how things work out," I offer.

"I'll take that," Angel accepts. Why shouldn't she? She's gotten everything else she's wanted so far. She rolls us over. "Ted, I have a problem."

"What is it?" I say lazily.

"You said I could only suck your cock once, but I've already done it twice, so what does that mean for us?" she smirks.

"Do you want to suck my cock again? Do you want me to have sex with you?" I scold her.

"Yes on both counts," she pouts, "though my ass still hurts, so I'd like to wait a while on that."

"I don't know," I murmur as I grab an ass cheek in each hand and squeeze, "it is damn luscious."

"Maybe I was safer leaving you sexually confused," she chuckles.

"How about we take a shower and get some breakfast?" I suggest. Angel presses up and smiles at me.

"I don't quite want to let you up, but I am a mess," Angel admits. "Care to join me?"

I follow her, remembering the last time my wife and I did this. It was a score of years ago.

In the shower we find the desire to eat, overcomes the desire to run hands over each other's bodies. I get dressed first and am in the kitchen figuring out which cereal to eat today, when Angel comes up and gives me a deep French kiss.

"Good morning Ted," she says nonchalantly.

I swat her ass. Angel turns and looks highly offended while she rubs her sore butt. I move up behind her, wrap my arms around her stomach and nuzzle her neck in the form of an apology, just like I used to do with my wife.

"Thanks Ted," she purrs as she wraps her arms over mine.

"What for?" I inquire.

"You'll figure it out," she sighs with contentment. I don't know what to think of that. All I'm doing is a little bit of domestic comfort... oh.

To Angel; hands of a surgeon and heart of a lion. 



Scared Camper



I'd gone camping with a couple of mates. We were getting in some fishing and a bit of riding on our dirt bikes through the back trails before some governmental asshole decides they're too dangerous and bans them.

There were several other tents scattered around at the camp site. Generally they were occupied by a couple or a group of friends, but there was one there that was occupied by a single woman. It was a very nice two man tent, and the reason she was there alone is because she had an asshole for a boyfriend.

That's not my estimation of him. It's hers. She'd arrived during the afternoon and set up camp and then hung around waiting for lover-boy to arrive. After a solitary dinner she finally managed to get him on the phone and I couldn't help but hear her part of the conversation. 

Boiled down, the way she saw the situation was this. He had insisted that they go camping for the weekend, even though she didn't want to. He had insisted that they travel separately, so that she'd have time to set up camp before he arrived. (Lazy bastard in my books.) Now he was saying he couldn't make it tonight and would try to get there tomorrow. 

What did he mean try? Would he be there or not? Probably not, as something had come up and he'd probably be busy all weekend. She should just enjoy her camping trip and not worry about him. 

That's the point where she told him what an asshole he was and the quality of the conversation deteriorated.

Actually, the quality of her conversation with the boyfriend wasn't the only thing to deteriorate. So did the weather. The weather bureau had forecast the possibility of some light showers overnight, but that didn't worry me and my mates. A bit of mud makes trail bikes more fun. It doesn't hurt so much when you come off.

The Weather Bureau must have got it wrong, because the clouds that were gathering were big and black and it looked as though we were in for quite a storm. As you can imagine, dusk came early and it wasn't long before it was pitch black outside. No moon and no stars, the only light available coming from the flashes of lightning overhead.

I took a quick walk before I intended to retire, to attend to natures call, and was wandering back to our tent when there was a really vivid flash followed by a nice loud clap of thunder that seemed to shake the ground.

I could have sworn I heard a scream when the thunder sounded, so I stood still for a moment, listening. I could hear this whimpering sound, like a puppy in distress, so I moved in the direction of the sound to see what the problem was.

The problem was the woman in the tent alone. I could hear her whimpering in there, and she sounded scared out of her mind. Maybe she didn't like storms.

She had some sort of light on in the tent, which made it easy for me to spot the front of it. I unzipped and stuck my head in. (In case you're wondering, no, I didn't knock. Not too easy to do on a canvas tent that's flapping in the wind.)

The young lady was curled up in a ball on top of a sleeping bag, wearing flannelette pyjama with a Mickey Mouse motif. Very cute, I thought them. 

"You OK?" I asked, which was a silly question, really. It was bloody obvious that she wasn't.

Her eyes popped open and she looked over at me and screamed again.

"Don't you touch me," she shrieked. "Go away."

Oh, brother, just what I needed. A terrified and semi-hysterical female. There was no way I could just leave her there to panic. I eased into the tent.

"Take it easy," I told her. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not even going to touch you. It's just that you seem a bit scared and look as though you need someone to sit with you during the storm."

The fact that I hadn't tried to grab her seemed to relieve her a little. That and the fact that there was someone actually there and she wasn't alone in the storm.

"I'm fine," she muttered, sitting up. "I'll be OK. You don't need to stay, although it's kind of you to offer."

"Yeah, I can see that," I said. "I think I'll wait for some more thunder before I make any decision."

"No, don't," she said quickly. "I'd rather you left."

"Why?" I asked.

She glared at me.

"Because you're a man and men only have one thing on their minds. There's no way I'll be able to relax while waiting for to decide to pounce on me."

That was giving it to me straight. I'd noticed earlier that she was a cute little thing, and the Mickey Mouse pyjamas only made her cuter. A very cuddlesome little thing.

"You wrong me," I told her, all injured innocence. "I had no intention of pouncing on you."

And I hadn't. I'd just wanted to make sure she was OK, but now that she'd brought the subject up. . .

"If it's all the same to you, I think I'll just sit here until the main storm has passed. And before you say anything, I'll ignore any suggestions that you might make suggesting I go away. Don't worry. It probably won't last long.

By the way, I'm Peter. And you're. . .?"

"Susan," she mumbled, "and I'd rather you just left."

I just grinned at her and before she could say anything else lightning flashed again and the earth shook from the thunder.

Scared of thunder or lightning or possible both. Susan just squealed and flung herself at me, burying her head against my chest and throwing her arms around my neck. I could feel her trembling. She didn't even notice that her pyjama bottoms and panties seemed to fall off. She just clung to me, trembling.

Being a gentleman, I didn't mention the way her clothes had seemed to come adrift. I just ran my hands up under her top and started massaging her back, soothing her. 

After a few moments she pushed back away from me.

"OK," she sighed. "I'm a bit of a wimp. But you can't stay. I don't know who you are and I'm not having a strange man in my tent all night. Anything could happen. I wouldn't be able to sleep from worrying."

"You worry too much about things," I told her. "Look at it logically. If I stay there are four possible outcomes. One, nothing happens and I depart peacefully in the morning. Two, you decide you want to sleep with me. Three, I seduce you. Four, I ravish you.

I assume you don't want to sleep with me right now?"

I laughed at Susan's emphatic refusal.

"In that case, you probably don't want to be seduced?"

Another refusal, just as emphatic as the first.

"Then either I would have to ravish you or leave you alone. If I leave you alone you'd probably stay up all night worrying that I was going to jump you, so for your own peace of mind I really should just ravish you right now. Then it's over and done with and you can relax for the rest of the night."

The impeccable logic I displayed failed to impress Susan. She suddenly realised that she was still being held by me, my hands still rubbing her back. She pushed against me, trying to get free.

"Thanks for the offer," she said, "but I'll pass. Go find some other woman to practice your charms on."

I didn't release her. Instead, I ran my hands down her back and over her bottom, taking hold of her cheeks. Susan blinked, suddenly becoming aware that she'd lost her lower clothing and not able to understand how.

"It was when the thunder went off," I told her. "You jumped at me so fast you must have jumped right out of them."

I won't say what she said to that suggestion. She actually had the gall to suggest that I must have helped to push them down. I was hurt. I gave her a spank on her pretty little bottom. 

"Really, such language," I gasped. "And from a pretty young thing such as yourself."

Susan repeated herself, further shocking my sensitive ears, and demanded that I let her go. Now!

Instead, my hands stared caressing her bottom, moving steadily towards areas that she didn't want me to approach. She tried to wriggle but wasn't really in the right position to do so. All she achieved was to rub herself against me.

She squealed when my hand eased between her legs and started stroking her. She also called me a few more names, which I manfully ignored.

Leaning forward against her I slowly compelled her to lie back down on the sleeping bag with me leaning over her, one hand playing down below while the other started undoing the buttons on her pyjama top.

Susan continued to wriggle under me, slapping at my hands and trying my patience, but nothing I couldn't handle. As soon as her pyjamas were open I started paying some attention to a very nice pair of breasts. Not over-abundant, but a nice handful.

Susan wriggled and squealed while I paid some serious attention to her body, warming it up for things to come. I could feel the heat coming from inside her and she was already quite wet, even if she didn't seem to appreciate my attentions.

Along the way I was able to drop my own trousers, and Susan now had a firmer idea of what was in store. After a while I moved properly between her thighs, poised ready for entry, but holding off for a bit, waiting.

I didn't have to wait long. There was another flash, followed by rolling thunder and Susan screamed and grabbed at me, neatly spitting herself against my cock as she did so. We were already moving together before Susan caught on to what she'd done.

"You rotten bastard," she stormed at me. "You did that deliberately. You took unfair advantage."

Maybe I did, but it didn't seem to stop her from enthusiastically meeting my cock as it drove into her. The awareness of me inside her and what my cock was doing to her was more than enough to drive out a little thunderstorm raging around her, and Susan responded magnificently.

We had settled into a mutually satisfactory rhythm almost from the word go, and we banged along very nicely. Susan felt absolutely marvellous wrapped around my cock and moving with me, and from the squeaks and squeals coming from her as we merged, Susan was quite satisfied with our progress. She was so engrossed in what we were doing that she didn't even flinch at the next lightning strike and thunderclap.

We weren't in a hurry. By mutual accord we seemed to agree to take our time and let things build gradually. And build they did. I could feel my own tensions slowly increasing, and the way Susan was starting to twist about under me, her tensions and excitements were rapidly climbing.

I started moving faster, driving in harder, while Susan started to gasp, pushing up to meet me, determined to reach her climax. I pounded in harder and harder while Susan was squealing, her legs wrapped around me and her arms almost throttling me she was clinging so tight.

When I finally let loose, Susan screamed, the sound lost in the crash of more thunder, and then she was shuddering and convulsing in her own climax.

I just lay there afterwards, holding her, still engaged. Susan finally gained enough composure to speak.

"You're a rotten swine," she grumbled. "I suppose you're feeling pleased with yourself for taking advantage of a helpless woman."

"I am," I assured her. "And now that you've been taken advantage of and nothing else can happen, you can go to sleep, ignoring the storm."

To my surprise, she did just that. Her eyes closed and she seemed to sag a little, snuggling close to me. I decided that her boyfriend wasn't only an asshole (her opinion) but an idiot.

Eventually I also dropped off to sleep. When I woke the storm was gone and dawn was breaking. Susan was sound asleep and didn't even stir when I arose and left. 



Scared Curious



Scared Curious: My First Weekend in Prison

Note: The descriptions and accounts in this story are fictional and do not portray any actual people or events. 



Like many of my misadventures, this one started with well intentioned scholarly research, was exacerbated by garden variety greed, fed by unbridled lust, and resulted in both exciting memories and deep regrets. I am still not sure if the former outweighed the latter.

As a then very newly hired assistant professor at a very prestigious eastern business school, I was the lowest of the low, politically and socially speaking and I got all of the tasks that were the academic equivalent of 'KP', or 'Kitchen Patrol' as it is known in the military. Grading essay questions was like peeling potatoes, and writing workbooks and exam questions for undergraduate courses was like cooking gallons of smelly cabbage, and proofreading upcoming articles and textbooks written by more senior professors (meaning any and all of my department) was like cleaning latrines. Toiling in obscurity was about as glamorous as my life ever got. 

One fine day, I was tasked by my supervisory full professor to develop a workbook exercise in highly targeted niche marketing for graduate students in his seminar class. This required a level of effort far above the normal grunt work, but was also a bit more interesting than most such assignments. The class was about applying traditional methods of market segmentation, validation, and contribution margin assessment but by using new and non-traditional online marketing tools and databases. The usual stale historical teaching exercises often centered on prosaic products like laundry detergents, and trying to demographically divide the market into singles, couples without children, couples with children, with lots of children, etc. and deciding whether to offer different formulations, container sizes and pricing, what stores to sell in and what in store pricing and marketing techniques to use, and what advertising messaging and media to use to reach the various consumer segments most efficiently to maximize sales and profit. My condescending colleague had challenged me to find something truly offbeat and unusual to both get the student's attention and to force them to think systematically and outside the box about something that was not part of their everyday experience. 

Perhaps it was my prickly reaction to his smugly superior attitude, or I was just more than normally irritable that day, but I decided to pick a subject that would meet his requirements perfectly, but might make him more than a little uncomfortable. Newly arrived on campus, I was just starting to get really plugged into the departmental and school wide gossip network, and the jungle drums were saying that this distinguished and buttoned down professor, though middle aged and married, had begun to seek the occasional liaison with a man or two, especially when his wife was out of town, or when he himself traveled to academic conferences. One such incident, related and perhaps partially embellished by the graduate student that had been brought along to carry the professor's briefcase and set up his presentation materials, had resulted in the great man coming back from a late night romp in the park near his four star hotel with mud stains on both knees, a bright red face, and a very unkempt look! 

Thus motivated by mild animus, I began to explore the world of online marketing and servicing of covert desire, to discover the more successful product offerings and learn the methods they used. I found such enterprises as escort service web sites, straight and gay hookup sites, flash mob orgy sites, cougar dating websites, furry dating sites, dominant and submissive matchmaking services, some unconventional picture sharing sites, and some very special subscriber only sites offering via video a live view of some activities that were way, way out on the bell curve in terms of low popularity but very high kinkiness. I found some of this stuff disturbingly stimulating and not just to my academic curiosity. 

Somehow I set a goal to find the largest and most underserved niche market, the one that could be most easily penetrated, so to speak, and that could yield the greatest profits if properly addressed. Once I had found this market and assessed its potential, I would craft an exercise that led the students through the same process of discovery. I originally thought that I might take a little academic license by choosing whatever made my supervising professor the most uncomfortable, but it turned out that no such skewing of my results was required. What I ended up discovering made me more than a little uncomfortable too. 

After lots of laborious searching of many relatively obscure journals and databases that the university luckily had 'all you can eat pricing model' subscriptions to, plus vigorously arm-twisting a grad school buddy that now worked for a giant search engine company and had special access to their data mineable treasure trove of data; and after weeks of hosting temporary survey sites that offered 'sociology surveys' about the user's sexual practices and fantasies, which then referred them to free porn advertising sites promoting other paid sites catering to their preferences, and writing several programs to crunch and collate the data and then use Bayesian inference to rank the various markets, I discovered what some marketers would call, perhaps preternaturally, the 'low hanging fruit' or 'juicy plums' of this sexual marketing underworld: men who were so far totally straight in their behavior, but avidly curious about the prospect of having sex with other men.

This group had no desire for a 'modern' and 'out' gay relationship that involved social interaction, dating, night clubbing, or cohabitation at all; they just wanted to try some new sex without any entanglements. In fact, ideally they wanted to just add this potentially thrilling sexual diversion secretly on top of their 'normal' lives, without disturbing their present situations at all. This surprisingly large cohort divided naturally into two main sub-segments: about 80% being men who were fascinated with the idea of performing fellatio as their only 'new' sex act, and the remaining 20% who wanted that and also wanted anal penetration by another man. Surprisingly few wanted to actively penetrate another man themselves, or to have another man fellate them.

Reflecting on my results made me consider my own history. I knew lots of gay men in undergrad and graduate school, and several of them had hit on me, but I was never really tempted. The baggage and 'overhead' of such a relationship seemed to totally outweigh any potential thrill in the act itself, not that there was anything wrong with that, of course. I built a decision model of the pros and cons of having male on male sex, based on both my feelings and the data I had compiled, and then re-surveyed many of the original respondents and lots of new ones to try to refine my model of the target demographic. Their preferences were clear in the data, even though the subjects themselves did not always describe their own preferences accurately.

I had experienced this before. I did a big project in graduate school for an international hamburger chain, and discovered that urban cusomters said they were choosing this chain's burgers over the competition for taste, quality, or fast and accurate service via the drive through window. In reality they were choosing them because they were the least likely to have the ingredients fall out into the customer's lap while eating in the car, and thus spoiling their appearance for afternoon meetings at work. 

I quickly developed a model for 'the real job the customer wanted done' so to speak. My select target group wanted to have the opportunity to perform fellatio on a man, or several men, with little or no chance of discovery by their family or normal social circle, little or no chance of contracting a disease, and little or no prospect of meeting the men in question again unless they specifically chose to. I validated this model through further questioning, and was able to determine the distribution function for what the members of the target market group would be willing to pay for such an experience, and the amounts were staggering: much greater than I would have guessed. The number of individuals in the target group was many times what I initially estimated, too. I had used the old marketing rule of thumb, likely perpetuated from old and suspect Kinsey data, of 3% to 5% gay males, but my survey work clearly found that more like 40% of all males who had not already experimented would like to try it, if and only if they could 'avoid the negatives' like discovery, disease, and awkward future social contact. 

I brainstormed some possible ways to deliver the experiences they desired, and estimated the costs involved, and discovered that there was the potential for massive profits. A little more thinking caused me to go back and learn more about the smaller group of men that would be willing to be fellated by another man or penetrate another man anally, as their participation could greatly increase profits. I then did an analysis of how best to reach both target groups via advertising in direct and social media, and what images were positive associations for them that I could use to develop an effective brand image for my service. 

By this time I realized this idea could be worth a lot more to me as a business venture than as an assignment for my supervising professor, so I developed another, tamer scenario for that in school exercise. But I also decided to make my professor one of the targets of my initial market testing for my new venture, figuring that he would be a good test case for a potential customer that I could observe first hand. I spent several weeks analyzing the target customer group's preferences in entertainment, food, wine, beer, and many other consumer products. This was a much more detailed and specific version of the old 'guys who buy pickups drink beer' but 'the guy who buys a Cadillac drinks scotch' and "the guy who buys a Porsche drinks expensive wine' kind of market analysis and planning. 

Soon I had three different promising experimental marketing campaigns to try by doing surveys in the vein of 'would you buy this if' variety, with teaser ads in the indicated promotional media. I tested all three, and the clear winner was promotion via search engine, given that the user was trying to be anonymous (sometimes successfully), a specific target list of websites and pages within those sites that the user frequented, and some geo-location inferred demographic data on age and disposable income. The clear branding image winner had to do with being sent to an unfamiliar and very different environment: a prison. There was an interesting trend in the data, in that a very small subset of the customers truly did want to be dominated and gang raped like a typical shocking nightmare prison picture, but there were not nearly enough of them to make a profit on. So the image that won out was a low security, 'club fed' kind of white collar prison that connoted not brutality but separateness and isolation from the normal environment, and was thus seen as a fertile ground for secret experimentation. Some customers wanted a little more or less domination than others, but that was easily delivered as a variation on the basic scenario. 

I was not sure I would be able to get to the test market stage without revealing myself and my plan to someone else, and that almost caused me to drop the whole idea. But I decided this was the era of the virtual corporation, the 'everything as a service' business model, distributed freelancing, and auction web sites for everything from hot shot shipping to art work to software coding, so I set out to deliver a high quality service with no traceability to me, in an efficient and profitable manner. 

The first step was a weekend vacation trip to find a lawyer who specialized in Caribbean corporation formation and tax avoidance vehicles. Although there was a potential traceable link to me there, it was a needle buried in haystacks of interleaving dummy corporations and shells, and it would require a massive effort just to track down and identify the one obscure lawyer at the end of the daisy chain, and then gaining that lawyer's explicit complicity to reveal my information and potentially lose most of his other clients and future practice as a result. 

Once that covert beachhead was established, it was not difficult to find the resources required and vendors that would deliver them transparently in return for wire transfer payments from shell corporations. The major hang-up was finding some folks with experience in the prison environment to make things realistic and keep things under control, and how to communicate with them effectively without revealing myself to them. I used to have a professor in graduate school that was fond of pithy and profound sayings as mnemonics for important principles, like for Occam's Razor, wherein the simplest explanation is often the most likely, saying 'when you hear hoof beats, think horses, first, then zebras last'. He had one saying that I think he called Samuel's Serendipity Suggestion or something like that, that said if you need to examine a wide range of solutions to a particular problem, start by examining the ones that are easiest for you to implement. 

So, I went back to my database of potential customers, and cross referenced my set of prospects with lists of corrections officers, prison psychiatrists, correctional social workers, and former administrators, wardens, and inmates of minimum security prisons. I found some overlap and some almost ideal workers, and by doling out consulting contracts and using Skype and voice masking and address spoofing technology to conduct interviews with dummy addresses and names, I began to put together a group that I thought would work. They got widely varying stories from me, none of them completely true. Some thought they were doing pre-production work for a reality television show, others though that they were setting up a deception psychology experiment, still others got hints that they were aiding in double blind testing of anti-psychotic drugs. None of them had even 40% of the whole picture, and only a few key personnel knew that they were involved primarily in delivering a sexual thrill for the customers, and none of them had any idea who I was or where I was. In fact, except for the real prison guards who supervised everything, most of the 'pitchers' and all of the 'catchers' were there because they were paying for the privilege, and they never wanted anyone to discover who they were, much less who I was.

I found several private prison facilities not far from centrally located DFW airport near Dallas that were suffering from the budget crunch that many state and municipal governments were in, and they were more than willing to rent sections of units or whole units for a weekend, a month, or a year, often for just covering their variable costs during the time period. These were built during the 'private prison boom' in the eighties and nineties and were now very underutilized. One of my consultants helped to develop the 'legend' for the customers that they had to report to the prison on Friday afternoon for a 'parole violation', and then would be held there until Sunday at noon. This allowed them to feel separate from their normal routine and free to 'be a little wild' inside the walls, and DFW was only one or two flights away from virtually any commercial airport in the US, making flights easy to find and relatively inexpensive. 

I sold the customers on the idea that there was very limited availability of 'positions' in each 'class' and required a 50% deposit to hold their place in line, setting the expectation that it might be months before they actually were selected for a 'session'. There were so many men willing to send a deposit that I was able to finance all the upfront costs easily from the deposit money I received. The costs of the weekends were low, and I was able to pay myself a big fee for my official role, as a paid consultant to a vendor of a vendor of an vendor evaluate 'customer satisfaction' and provide 'strategic direction'. There were profits left in the various shell corporations, to pay the various government fees and to pay the local island 'vendors' (usually relatives of those in the banking and other regulatory agencies of the island governments) for services that guaranteed discretion and silence. 

A retired police detective set up a process to screen all the applicants for criminal convictions and arrests, outstanding warrants, mental health warrants, peace bonds, restraining orders, and lawsuits; an underemployed clinical psychologist was happy to take a paying project to design a questionnaire to screen out folks who might be too unstable to make good playmates; and a couple of former physicians who had lost their licenses due to drug habits and fraudulent accounting rather than medical malpractice were happy to get paid to develop the protocol for remotely testing prospective customers and employees to screen out those with communicable diseases, and another protocol for further testing and examination when they arrived at the facility. This eliminated 99.9% percent of the risk of disease or medical incident while at the facility. A set of ironclad disclaimers and legal releases protected the shell companies and any employees or consultants (like me) from any actions and liability for injuries, and things were set up such that that any attempt at legal action by the customers would immediately result in the public disclosure of what kind of weekend they had wanted. And the only way a customer was ever likely to meet any of the people involved again was by signing up for another weekend adventure. My early business model assumed that less than 10% would be repeat customers. 

Suddenly it was time for the first test session. I limited it to five target customers, ten paying 'trusties' and two real prison guards. I found that three levels of 'domination' covered 99% of the wants of the target customers: most wanted to be mildly dominated, and some preferred something a little stronger but not outright physical abuse. For this first group, the five target customers that I selected all wanted the 'oral only' experience. Although I was tempted to observe through video cameras, I decided to maintain all the separation I possibly could, in case something unforeseen went wrong. My role was limited to only the official one, as a paid consultant to evaluate 'customer satisfaction" via event logs turned in by the 'guards and trusties' each evening and surveys of the 'prisoners' administered right after the event.

The chief guard that I selected flew in from Mississippi for each weekend session, and had the uncommon name of Montpelier LeRoy, and he was to do the initial indoctrination on each incoming prisoner. LeRoy and his assistant had no information on the prisoners at all other than their 'inmate number' which was assigned by me before they arrived. Imbedded in their number were some codes on exactly what kind of experience they had signed up for. After the standardized interaction set by the first script, LeRoy and his staff of paid trusties would play it by ear and try to deliver what the customer wanted. The first afternoon and evening were spent on medical testing including a blood draw, urine sample, and a physical exam. The results were to be rushed by a pathology lab overnight, and no prisoner was allowed to come in contact with anyone until those results were in. 

That first Friday, everyone arrived as expected and checked in. They followed standard procedure and went through the medical exams then each met with LeRoy and got their initial 'talking to' then had a simple meal in their individual cells and were then allowed to go to sleep. The initial lecture that each prisoner got came right from a Hollywood B movie prison picture script: 'I am the chief guard, I am in charge, keep me happy and you won't have any trouble, break the rules and you will have lots of trouble and pain.' That was all I knew and all I really wanted to know. The reports I received of the first Friday afternoon interactions were normal, and all the overnight medical reports were fine, except a couple of the 'inmates' had borderline high blood pressure, perhaps from anticipatory excitement. The noon Saturday reports were normal, no problems, no injuries, as were the Saturday night and Sunday morning updates. 




Scared Curious



I got the results from the outgoing customer satisfaction surveys early Sunday afternoon as most of the customers left to catch flights home. They were very positive, commenting that the setting made them feel comfortable and isolated from their normal lives and routine: that the medical and other safeguards were adequate to allow them to them relax and enjoy their adventures: and that the experience had been pretty much just what they were looking for. They said all the staff had been great and they used words like 'thrilling', 'exciting', and even 'awesome'. The only negative comments concerned travel scheduling and airline customer service issues. I was also very surprised to see that all of the five initial customers wanted to sign up immediately for another place in line to come back again. 

Two of the five surveys were so overwhelmingly positive as to be mildly suspicious. Both of them wanted to come back to do not just the 'oral experience' again but to go on to do the oral plus anal route next time. One used the term "The Full Monty", a phrase which I assumed came from the movie about male strippers who went all the way by being naked on stage; and the other called it "The Whole Enchilada" which I assumed meant roughly the same thing. The paid trusty staff surveys reported few problems: they had enjoyed giving the customers what they wanted, and said they could handle a larger group next time, and they were also ready to hold sessions at least twice per month.

After a two week break, I scheduled ten 'inmates' for the second session, and it got the same rave reviews, and this time four of the ten wanted to sign up again for 'The Full Monty' or 'The Whole Enchilada'. Once again the comments from those four surveys were so positive that I was a little skeptical about them. There seemed to be a 'halo effect', in that those four surveys had no negative comments at all, even about the airlines. I decided to do a little more analysis after a larger number of sessions had been run, and I had a more statistically significant number of surveys to work with. With the fixed costs spread out over ten paying customers, and even more paying trusties, the profit margin was fantastic. Running two sessions per month would net me a yearly consulting fee about 16 times my salary from the University, even after including some big fees for the attorney and his retinue of conveniently silent government officials. 

For the third session, I scheduled in my supervising professor, who was actually one of the earliest to put up a deposit after one of my finely targeted search engine pop up ads tickled his fancy online. On the Thursday before his scheduled weekend he was literally whistling while he worked, and asked me to cover his Friday class so he could leave early to travel for some 'ongoing education and training'. I readily agreed, but let him know he owed me a favor. When he came back the following Monday he was literally beaming, saying he never knew Texas could be so much fun. I said I was glad it worked out for him, but did not tell him that I was also happy to bank his fee. That same night, he logged onto the private and offshore hosted web page and put up another deposit, signing up for 'The Full Monty" like so many others.

The program almost ran on autopilot for two months, with every group giving good reviews, and I had a very pleasant moment of quiet reflection as I deposited my latest monthly consulting check, putting the program to date total for me at over $100,000, all of which would be dutifully reported to the IRS on a year end 1099 form from a perfectly legitimate corporation several steps removed from my nest of shell companies. I even had a passing thought that I should just shut things down now and be happy with what I had received so far, but the potential for more money, maybe a lot more money, egged me on. 

Feeling encouraged and expansive, I signed up for an expensive but highly recommended three day seminar entitled 'How to Grow Your Online Business 10X' and got lots of good ideas to try. The first on the list was trying to completely understand the 'customer experience' in order to make sure the customers would want to come back, and would allow you to develop a knowledge base from which to brainstorm new ideas for even more revenue. I immediately decided to re-prioritize my procrastinated in depth survey analysis. 

But it was the lecture entitled 'Undercover Boss' that got me to thinking long and hard. The speaker said you had to go undercover and experience what your customers did without any special treatment if you ever wanted to truly know your business and really grow your business. That was the seed of my coming misadventure, so to speak.

The latest group of attendees had included some choosing the oral plus anal option, AKA "The Full Monty' and they had reported complete satisfaction, and once again exactly four of the 'oral only' set reported almost unbelievably high customer satisfaction, and a desire to return for the 'full experience'. The word 'ecstatic' actually appeared in two of the survey forms. A few of 'full anal' group complained about the preparatory and on site clear liquid diet that my medical consultants had prescribed, but they said they realized the necessity and that the overall experience was so positive that they really didn't mind. The 'halo effect' was also observed again, in that these four happiest customers reported no negative comments at all, and all signed up for another place in line.

After a few more sessions, I sat down to do my in depth analysis of the survey forms, starting with trying to figure out how to track and minimize the reported problems. Having had the experience many times of people reporting things that were either untrue or not their real motivation, I tried to find factual data to compare to the complaints. The first thing to tackle was the airline issues. Using a flight tracking site, I soon discovered it was pretty easy to identify the most likely flights that any given customer would use, and I was able to confirm that there were indeed schedule and weather delay problems with all of the ones that recorded such complaints. The lost luggage was a little tougher, but after a call to a former student of mine who was now in the operations department at a major airline, I was able to track and confirm most of those reports, too, under the guise of research work for a student startup that wanted to provide baggage services to the airlines. The most interesting discovery I made confirmed the existence of a 'halo effect': many of the most happily satisfied customers had scheduling and baggage issues that they never even reported. 

I next looked at those especially 'happy campers' and looked for similarities to each other, and differences between them and the less satisfied group. I soon had some more data, but no conclusions yet. In each group of ten 'inmate' customers, there was always exactly one, two, three, or four of the ecstatically happy campers. Their surveys always reported a wonderful experience and their comments were full of loaded words like ecstatic, perfect, fulfilling, or transcendent. They had always signed up for the 'oral only' option, but all reported they wanted to come back and add the anal experience, too. Most curious was that only these specific respondents ever used the phrases 'Full Monty' and 'Whole Enchilada'; no one else ever did. And the distribution was consistent: when there were four such responses, it was always two saying 'Enchilada', and two saying 'Monty', and never four to zero or three to one. I also noticed that all of the 'happy campers' had selected mild domination. All of this data raised as many questions as it answered.

Another session in the seminar I had attended stressed frequent feedback to employees and frequent face to face interactions with them. Face to face meetings were not in my business plan, but I felt I needed to develop electronic substitutes. Using my disguised Skype identity, I interviewed the two 'real guards' that had worked on the sessions, and some of the 'trusties' who were in fact other paying customers. I went through the customer surveys and asked them for details on the customer's reported experiences and they gave me additional information and insight into the process. But when I tried to 'drill down' into the exact experience of the one to four super happy customers in each session, most of the staff could think of nothing special about those people, and many said they didn't remember interacting with them at all beyond the initial intake and medical exam. I consulted the activity logs and found all of these 'happy campers' had primarily interacted with either Montpelier Leroy, or his principal assistant, the only other real corrections officer, a guy from California named Picardo 'Mas Leche' Chingón. When I questioned them about these particular customers, they began to sound evasive.

I then spoke with them individually and assured them they were not in any trouble, in fact, these customers were overwhelmingly positive in their evaluations, but that I wanted to understand what they had experienced and why it was so positive for them. They still hemmed and hawed, using very unspecific phrases like 'they just seemed to respond well to the whole idea' and 'they really just got off on the whole thing' without giving me any real insight. They did say they liked working at my 'prison' and especially liked the extra money when there was no overtime budget in their regular jobs these days, plus they enjoyed having the weekend 'away from their wives'. They also said they really took care to show the inmates the 'kind of attention they really wanted.'

At that point I had to face the fact that I needed more data, and the only way to get it was to go the 'Undercover Boss' route. I sat down and had a stern talking to with myself: if I was representing to the customers that the risks were so low as to have been virtually eliminated and thus made the thrill of experimentation worth the considerable fee, so it followed that I had to put my mouth where my money was, so to speak, and try it myself, plus I might see some ways to make the enterprise better and even more profitable. 

I scheduled myself for a session during the upcoming University spring break. It was easy for me to enroll myself with even more than the normal anonymity, and I chose the 'oral only' option, to see if I could find out what was so positive for some of those inmates. I was the one that assigned the inmate numbers, and they used embedded codes in the six and seventh digits. In the sixth digit was the code for 'domination level'; 0 for none, 1 for mild, and 2 for strong but not abusive; we could add a 3 if we ever actually wanted to do gang rapes later. The seventh digit was coded 0 for oral only and 1 for oral and anal. The rest of the number was a numerical serial number group and a few random digits for as yet unused codes. 

No one knew about my little trip, and I even booked a circuitous route to another couple of cities, making DFW just look like a final stopover on the return trip from the Pacific Northwest. I arrived early Friday and rented a plain Jane sedan and drove around the location of the medium security prison facility, just trying to get a feel for the place. It was west of the airport and just south of a major freeway, tucked in between a small commercial airport and a big rail yard, and it looked like just another huge metal building in an industrial area. I pulled into the parking lot, and saw a big red awning covering a walkway from the parking lot to the building entrance. There was a wire fence all the way around the place, and coils of kinky razor wire on the top. It was stark and definitely out of my usual routine and experience. There were a few cars in the lot, mostly older models in need of some body work. 

It was still a few hours before my scheduled time to report, so I drove around an explored a little, planning to have lunch before I reported in, since I was definitely not on the liquid diet plan. There were lots of fast food joints around, but not much in the way of a fine dining establishments, and I ended up in a place that was near the old stockyards. It was basically a big barbeque joint with a small rodeo arena in the middle that served lunch and beer during the day and had dancing and rodeo acts at night. It was certainly my first rodeo, but it did sort of set a macho and sweaty leather tone for the rest of the day. I am not much of a drinker but I did put away a couple of cold ones and had a little buzz on when I reported to the 'facility'.

When I drove back into the prison lot, I was more than just apprehensive. Even though I knew far more about what was about to happen than any other of my fellow 'inmates' and new customers possibly could, my pulse was pounding in my ears and I could barely breathe when I stopped the car, and applied the parking brake, something I almost never do. Every sound seemed louder than normal and my every move seemed to be in slow motion. I still had one more hour to report without being late, and I sat frozen in my car, listening to my heart race. I wondered how many of my fellow inmates had already reported. As I understood the process, unless I ran into them on the way from my car to the entrance, I might not even see many of the other 'inmates' at all: I would interact mostly with the trusties. Finally inspiration struck and I picked up my cell phone, put it to my ear, and pretended to be talking to someone while I nervously looked around the parking lot. 

Another obvious rental car pulled up, found a parking space closer to the entrance than mine, and a young guy about 20 got out. He looked around with the same kind of nervous glance that I suspected I would exhibit in a few minutes. He locked some stuff in the trunk of the car, and walked into the entrance holding just one slip of paper in his hand. I knew that was his 'ticket' that he had printed from the website, which contained only his prisoner number and a series of other code numbers keyed to his prisoner number that confirmed that he belonged in this weekend's session. He had been advised to leave his wallet, phone, credit cards, jewelry, and anything else behind in his car, and to come in wearing only some light clothing, socks and shoes. As he got close to the entrance, the door opened and a short guy in a khaki uniform stepped out, holding the door open for him. The young guy froze, and just stood there, about ten feet from the entrance. I knew how he felt.

Finally he walked in though the door. The guard looked up at me, then walked back inside and let the door close behind him. I took about ten deep breaths, and was about to open my car door when another vehicle drove up, a big black Escalade SUV with Oklahoma plates, and parked way over on the far side of the lot, a spot chosen, I suspected, to minimize the visibility from the street. I would have driven a car without the vanity plates. A short guy in his forties got out, dressed in jeans and a crimson red polo shirt, locked the door behind him, and ambled over to the entrance. I waited a few minutes for another visitor to forestall my entrance, but no one showed up. I pushed open the car door and felt already exhausted from the effort. When I left the restaurant, I had already locked everything in the truck except my ticket and the rental car keys, so I forced myself to stand up and take the long walk toward the entrance. My heart rate seemed to increase with every step.

My footfalls sounded loud on the inclined ramp and pressure treated wooden deck that lead up to the door, and I pulled it open, not knowing what to expect. My first impression was like a waiting room in a discount tire store, with plastic chairs and old magazines like Southern Living and Sports Illustrated. The guard I had seen outside was seated behind a desk with a phone and a video monitor, and behind him was a big metal door that with a sign that said 'authorized personnel only'. I assumed I was about to be authorized, among other things. He looked to be about 50, and had a florid drunk's red nose and really bad skin, and a world class dusting of dandruff on his shoulders. I handed him my ticket, and he picked up a clipboard and compared my ticket to whatever was on the clip board, then picked up the phone and said "I got another special at the front."

He motioned for me to sit at one of the side chairs near his desk, and asked "Do you have anything in your pockets?"

I gulped. "Just the car keys."

"Let me have those and I'll log 'em in. You'll get 'em back when you leave." I suspected there were a few things I'd be leaving here that I would not get back. He put the keys in a bag, zipped it closed, and then stuck a pre-printed adhesive label on the bag and dumped it in a box on a cart behind him. 

I jumped a foot when the door made a loud buzzing sound and then was pushed open. A tall and very white guy with dark hair and a bodybuilder's physique in a different kind of khaki uniform held the door open and said "Come in," in a drawling southern accent with a deep and serious tone. I guessed this was none other than Mississippi's own Montpelier LeRoy. His shirt and pants were starched and crisply pressed, and his black shoes were buffed to a mirror polish, and everything about his uniform said macho and squared away. He had a big set of keys hanging from a loop on the left side of his wide black belt, and on the right was a big black nightstick with a sort of L shaped right angle extra handle on it. For some reason I stared at the nightstick with my mouth open and noticed it had the letters "PR-24" engraved into the side. My first impression was that he looked and sounded like the 'Jethro Bodine' character from the Beverly Hillbillies movie, but after ten more years in the gym and on the unit as a guard. His cop eyes pinned me to the spot like a butterfly in an insect collection, and he looked me over pointedly and continued, with a bit of a smirk, "Come on in, first timer."

I said nothing, but he might have heard me gulp. Was I the one that wanted new experiences? 

He laughed softly. He grabbed my arm like a bailiff placing a defendant in court and walked me to the infirmary, where he handed me off to an elderly physician's assistant in a white lab coat who drew some blood and took a urine sample, took my blood pressure, and pulse, and then had me take my shirt off and lie back on an exam table and then he hooked me up to a portable EKG machine. He twiddled a few knobs and pushed a button, and the machine made a harmonious beep and then printed a little strip of squiggles about six inches long, and I noticed that my inmate number was printed as the top of the strip. He peeled off some paper backing and affixed it to a folder he was holding. He gave me a big plastic bag to me put all my clothes in, including my shoes and socks, and then casually pulled on a pair of latex gloves and poked at and examined at every square millimeter of me, commenting almost like he was doing one of those autopsies on TV, although he did not seem to be recording what he said. "No tracks, no tats, no piercings. Hold still while I pat you down!" This was a considerably more invasive search than I had endured at the airport this morning, but he could be completely confident that I was not concealing anything in a body cavity. He asked me a few brief medical history questions, and then said "Here's your suit, flip flops, and your hygiene's" and handed me a maroon colored jump suit, some plastic sandals, and a little plastic bag, and told me to get dressed and sit in a chair by the door and wait for the "Good Ol' Boy", which I presumed meant Monty. 

The jumpsuit had my inmate number stenciled on it, and the sixth digit was 1, and the seventh digit was 0, meaning I was her for the 'oral option, with moderate domination'. The bag contained a toothbrush and some toothpaste, some mouthwash, a bar of soap, a disposable razor, a little travel sized stick of Old Spice deodorant, and a little hotel sized container of shampoo. I put on the jumpsuit and waited. I realized that the code of the front of the jumpsuits was like a combination of the scarlet letter and a pink triangle, revealing something about the man wearing the suit. I could read the codes, and had spent some time studying my 'classmates' and their backgrounds, again something the other inmates could not do, but I just could not resist doing. 




Scared Curious



After waiting a few minutes in the infirmary, Monty did in fact reappear, took me by the arm again, and moved me down the main hallway. We came to an intersection: there was one hallway to the right that was obviously well worn and I could hear lots of voices and noises coming from around that corner. We turned left, into a smaller and almost totally quiet hallway, with ten cell doors on each side. They had solid front walls with a door in them, with only one little window in the door, rather than the open iron bars I had envisioned. He stopped in front of one, took out his keys and opened it, and then pushed me in, loudly locking the door behind him. My pulse began to pound in my ears again, and my cheeks felt red. I knew I was at another kind of intersection. 

He stood me up against the wall and said "I am Monty, and you call me Sir! Not guard, not "CO" and definitely not Boss! I am in charge of this place and in charge of you. If you make me happy, your stay here will be good. If you don't make me happy, it will be hell. You just have to follow the rules, and I make all the rules. Someone will put a tray of food though that bean slot in the door in a little while for your supper, and then you can bunk in and get some sleep tonight. I am going to come see you bright and early in the morning, and we'll see if you can make me happy! I have high expectations for you, so don't disappoint me!" 

The door clanged loudly shut on me, and I had that moment that every prison picture I had ever seen tried to depict, but I now realized that none of them had even come close to conveying the enormity of the feelings I had, and I wasn't even a real prisoner! I knew I was going to get out at noon Sunday. Still I shivered involuntarily, and grabbed the thin and rough blanket on the little bunk and put it around me. It didn't help. I heard a few bumps and noises from neighboring cells, and about 6 PM a plastic tray of food was pushed through the little slot in the door. A steam heated burger, a scoop of mashed potatoes, some green beans, a cookie, and a bottle of Ozarka water. At least I wasn't on the all liquid diet. Sleep was late, and fitful. 

I was sound asleep when the door clanged open loudly and Monty walked in, pulling it loudly shut behind him. That wasn't the only thing that was loud.

"Rise and shine, inmate! I have good news and better news! You passed all your medical tests so you are ready for some action. The better news is that I am going to give you some extremely personal attention and very valuable training time. Don't waste this opportunity to make me happy, inmate!"

I felt like a little kid rubbing the sleep out of my eyes while standing in footie pajamas, but I was really a 28 year old assistant professor in a maroon jump suit. But that was about to change. 

"Skin out of that jumpsuit on the double, inmate, and turn around!"

I took the suit off in a trance, and soon found my hands loosely handcuffed behind me.

"Time to kneel down for some extended training, inmate!"

His hands on my shoulders pushed me down effortlessly. He took out his nightstick and used the end of it to push my chin up so I was looking right at him. 

"I am going to show you something I think you are really goin' to like, boy, and then you are going to show me something that I am really going to like, too. I can always spot talent, and I think you are going to be a real fine performer!"

With that, he took off his boots, socks, khaki pants, and underwear, leaving on his uniform shirt. My mouth dropped open, and I could only stare, slack jawed. If you had been casually leafing through a picture catalog of cocks, you would stop turning the pages and just stare at this one. You would probably turn down the corner of the page for easy reference next time. Viewed live and from about a foot away, it almost stopped my breathing. He put his feet about a shoulder's width apart, put his hands behind him in a stance like a parade rest, expanded his chest and threw his shoulders back, which had the effect of pushing his hips forward, so that that deadly dick was now even closer to me. 

My first thought was best described as penis envy, not that he had one and I didn't, like Freud once said women thought, but why did he have that incredible thing and I just had a relatively normal one. I knew statistically that mine was actually just about average, but that my perceptions had been skewed by watching too many porn films starring guys that were way, way above average. This thing was at least two inches longer than mine, and not yet fully erect. It looked amazingly thick and substantial. It seemed to have perfect proportions, in that the ratio of length to girth must approximate the 'golden mean' I remembered from math class as an undergraduate. Having read overstated stories about cocks as big around as beer cans with heads like billiard balls, I tried my best to be objective about this one. It was not as thick as the proverbial beer can, and it was not even as big around as one of those little cans of grapefruit juice that you see in the morning, but it wasn't very far off, and the head wasn't as big as even a tennis ball, but it was certainly bigger than a golf ball, and very impressive. It was also an amazing shade of pink, throbbing and filled with hot blood, and with some deep blue and prominent veins that almost seemed to pulse with energy. It was radiating infrared heat that I could feel on my cheeks, or at least my cheeks were turning very red, whatever the reason. He was circumcised, and the thing was so perfect it looked more like an artist's drawing in an anatomy book than a photo, much less a real cock a few inches from my mouth. All this took about three seconds to run through my head.

The next three seconds were more philosophical. I knew I wasn't really angry about the fact that he had that kind of cock. It wasn't as if I had it first and then he took it away from me, or that he could trade with me, or even that he asked for it in the first place. He just had it. And I wasn't really disappointed with my cock, as I had always enjoyed it, and I knew it was the best and only one I was ever going to have. I really shouldn't resent him having this fantastic one. I didn't hate it, I liked it, I glibly rationalized; and he seemed more than willing to share it with me! As a matter of fact, with my hands cuffed behind my back and him inexorably leaning closer, he seemed positively insistent that I share it. My own cock was suddenly doing its best to salute his, standing up as proudly as it could, and being the best that it could be.

He chuckled. "I knew you would like it, inmate! Just open that talented mouth and take a little time to get acquainted."

I was a guest, so it would be impolite to refuse, wouldn't it? Or was I the host, who couldn't refuse a guest? My pulse pounded through my head again as it touched my lips, the heat of it radiating onto my face even more strongly. My tongue touched the hot velvet surface, and I felt my nostrils flare, both at the strong aroma, and the need to stop the mouth breathing routine I had been using for the last minute or so. Every little parcel of its surface that I touched felt a little different, a little more magical, and I knew I could take my time and try to learn the landscape. I went on autopilot, and just explored. I heard my own breath whistling strongly through my nostrils, and I heard his breathing get louder too. Suddenly he moved forward about an inch, and I realized my mouth was full of its head, hot and throbbing. My heart pounded even louder as I felt the blood rushing in my ears. I sucked it gently, and ran my tongue around it, over it, under it, and on either side of it. Part of my brain said to think of it as a really big and highly engorged clitoris, but I knew this was a whole different animal. And animal was the operative word. 

He moved forward another inch, and suddenly my mouth felt stuffed full and even hotter. I instinctively sucked a little harder, and he whistled softly, and then said "Take your time, inmate. Enjoy it the way you want. Then when you get your bearings, I'll teach you a little more."

I was not sure I could take any more of it down into my mouth, as my jaws were straining on it. I began to move back and forth, bending slightly at the waist, closer to him and then farther from him, swirling my tongue at random. I was in a trance. I began to channel all the blowjob porn I had ever watched in the past, which was a lot. I just had a very different point of view right now. I paused and licked his balls, and they twitched. I sucked on them and he sighed. I was fascinated by the idea that I could make him respond to my actions. I renewed my efforts.

I had surely reached the limit of how much of him I could take into my mouth. I was little disappointed. He sighed. "That's all right boy; you are a bit of a small mouthed bass, aren't you? But there are other things you can do for me."

I took great pains to stimulate the head of him using my tongue creatively, by varying the suction and pace, and by turning and twisting my head from side to side while it was vacuum clamped to him. I increased the pace of my in and out motions, and soon tasted a trickle of fluid. It was surprisingly thin and watery, and faintly alkaline. 

"Oh, yeah, you are making some things happen there, boy. Go with the flow!"

He put the two longest fingers of his left hand on the back of head, gently discouraging the twisting motion. I responded with more suction, frequency, and tongue speed. He sighed. "You catch on fast boy!"

I kept up that pace for a while. I was enjoying it so much I didn't see any need to change a thing, and I lost track of time. But then I felt the head of his cock swell a little, and the shaft sort of snapped to attention a little bit more, like a jackknife being locked in place. A moment later a small amount of thick and salty fluid leaked into my mouth. Dilute but salty Roquefort salad dressing was my first impression, but with a few unknown flavors mixed in. Somehow this greatly stimulated my production of saliva, and suddenly I was drooling profusely.

He chuckled softly. "I knew you were a natural, boy!"

The two fingers became three, pushing a little more insistently against the back of my head. His legs began to twitch, like his knees were wobbling a bit. He put his hips forward and began a low groan, barely audible. The head of his cock twitched again, and a little more of that thick and sticky fluid leaked out, the taste stronger but not unpleasant. Now I was sure I knew what his come tasted like, and I felt pretty sure I was about to get some more. I just didn't know when. "You've got the scent now, don't you hound dog?" he murmured. "Follow that trail to the end and get it all!"

The three fingers became a whole hand, pushing against the back of my head more insistently. The low groans became a clearly audible growl. I continued my strong suction and tongue motion, but dispensed with the back and forth motion, just locking on to him and waiting for it. The leg shaking became a repetitive little micro dance move, ending in a strong thrust into my mouth. Suddenly the temperature of his cock seemed to spike, and I heard my own heartbeat pounding again. He made a noise like a rough cough, grabbed the back of my head with both hands and said "Oh, yeah, take it, boy!" and then a wild gush of the same fluid, but much hotter and stronger, filled my mouth and covered my tongue. I was assaulted by the heat and taste. It was so much more significant than those first two little dribbles. My tongue felt almost scalded with the heat and the saltiness of it. My throat burned and my eyes watered, and I realized that I needed to think about breathing sometime soon. 

I finally swallowed out of reflex, and took a big breath through my nose. I realized I was about to pass out from lack of oxygen, and took another quick breath. I then noticed that roof of my mouth was smarting and my throat was burning like I had just swallowed some really hot food without blowing on it to cool it off. Even I got the irony. But then the second big blast of come arrived, and took up all my attention. It was bigger than the first one, hotter, stronger, and ... better. Its arrival was no longer a shock. I savored it a moment, and then swallowed, anticipating another. I was not disappointed. The third was just like the second, but I think I enjoyed it a little more. I realized this was the response I was looking for; I had made it happen, and I was glad that it did. 

My heartbeat pounded again, and again I felt very light headed. I must remember to breathe. The fourth blast was a little less voluminous, but also denser and stickier. Was this going to be the last? I hoped not. I drastically increased my suction, hoping to encourage more production.

Monty chuckled again. "That's it boy, suck it all right out of me!"

He didn't have to tell me twice. I think it there were three more eruptions, but I was so intent on sucking, tasting, and swallowing that I wasn't sure. I know I sucked until there was nothing left, and I still wanted more. I then realized that I had shot my wad, too, all over the concrete floor.

Finally he said. "You got it all and a damn fine job, too. You just can't coach talent like that, I always say! Now the key thing to learn is not to stop your work when I come. Use that special mouth to get me hard again. Ideally, you should keep me hard and never let me go soft. We are going to give you another lesson."

I was willing. He reached down and took off my handcuffs. "I'm going to teach you how to use your hands, but don't you ever touch my dick or balls with them."

I put my hands on the outside of his thighs, which felt like tree trunks, and then licked the underside of his cock, going back and forth on the little cord that ran along the bottom of it. I flicked from the top all the way down to the bottom, then reversed and went back up, ending by taking the tip of him back into my mouth and sucking hard. "You've got good instincts, boy, you sure enough do."

Soon I was lost in the texture and taste of his responses to my work, and he was getting hard again. Not quite as hard as he was before, and not quite as big either, but soon the blood pounded in my ears just as loud as the first time. This time he was going to control things, not me. He put one hand on top of my head, and the other around my neck, thus completely controlling my head. 

"Concentrate on relaxing. I am not going to try to go all the way down your throat, you're not ready for that, but don't tense up. I'll make sure you can always breathe through your nose." 

He didn't choke me, or even bruise me, but his big hands on my head and throat made it patently obvious that he was totally in control. He took it slow, and I felt my jaw relax a little, and soon he was into my mouth further than I had ever accomplished. Feeling the pressure and friction, I realized it must be much more stimulating for him. It must have been for me too, because that feeling of light headedness and a pounding heart returned, as did my erection.

"I'm glad you like it, too." He whispered. Then he pushed my head down a few inches and held it at a funny angle, and then stood up on his tiptoes a little and stepped up the pace. It seemed to be working. My breathing became a little steadier, and my jaw and throat relaxed even more. I began to breathe through my nose as fast and deep as I could, making whistling noises through my nostrils. 

"Very good", he side softly. "Now put your hands on my ass, one on each buttock, and use them to control how far into your mouth I go. When you know I am just about to come, squeeze my butt cheeks with each hand. When I actually begin to shoot, use them to spread my buttocks apart, left from right, while still squeezing them."

He put one hand on my face, just lightly touching it, and reached down with the other had and began to twist my nipple. It sent a jolt right down to my dick, and I began to move with the rhythm as he moved in out of my mouth. I found it even easier breathe now; easily, automatically, and then I began adding some suction as he pulled up and stopped just short of pulling all the way out of my mouth. I used my hands to pull him in a little deeper than before, and I added some tongue as he started back in, and soon felt and tasted a steady and sticky trickle of thick soup. I knew exactly what that meant, and I was ready for it. 

He paused at the top of one of his arcs, grunted, and then slammed into me and held it, pumping a surprising volume of come into my ready mouth. It didn't feel as scalding hot or aggressively salty, and it was less bitter and sweeter than the last time, but it was still exciting as hell. I swallowed and sucked like a madman, and I realized his legs were about to cramp. Finally he stood completely still and I milked him like a hungry puppy. He finally broke the seal and stepped back. I took a huge breath in through my mouth and realized I needed more oxygen. I panted like a dog for a moment, my light headedness abating slightly.

He was all business again, putting his underwear and then uniform back on. "Outstanding for a first timer, inmate! I don't know for sure if it was beginner's luck or raw talent, but we'll find out. You'll get breakfast through the bean slot in a while, and then I'll bring a couple more playmates to see you. Tonight after supper, I'll come back with a few other inmates. I want them to observe your technique, and then you will get to see one of them have his dream come true. You will be watching him up close and personal, yes sir!"

He hitched up his belt, went out the door and locked it, and walked down the hallway, whistling a tune I did not recognize. I put my maroon jump suit back on. Suddenly I was very thirsty. I finished off the remains of my bottle of Ozarka water, then refilled it from the sink twice and drank both swiftly. I sat on the bunk and burped. It tasted like Monty's come. 

A breakfast tray appeared in the slot in the door, and I found I was hungry. It had scrambled eggs, a sausage patty with an almost overpowering sage smell and taste, a biscuit, an orange, and another bottle of Ozarka water. I practically inhaled it, refilled the water bottle and drank again. Then, suddenly fastidious, I brushed my teeth, washed my face with some soap and water, and lay back on the bunk and drifted off to sleep. 

I was awakened again by the loud clanging of my cell door. Monty opened it, stood outside, smiled, and motioned as two tall black guys walked into the room. I checked their inmate numbers. They were both 'paying trusties'. Monty said 'You fellows have some fun!" and locked the door.

They stood over me menacingly, hands on hips. "Get outta that suit and get on your knees, white boy!"

They then proceeded to berate me with ghetto argot like they had just caught a rerun of the movie 'Shaft' on late night TV. I couldn't tell a crip from a blood, but I was pretty sure they couldn't either. I had looked over their files in my preparation for this trip. One was an orthodontist from Atlanta, and the other a mid level insurance company executive from Philadelphia. But what the heck, if they were into role playing, I could try to enjoy that too. In fact, I was going to make them beg me for more. It was novel to be able to switch back from one cock to the other, and whenever one was about to pop, I switched over to the other one. Both of them had long cocks, but much thinner than Monty's, and they didn't get as hard, either. Using them for practice, I discovered that deep throat was not as difficult as I thought. I guess watching all that blowjob porn had some benefits I didn't count on. I am not sure that either of them had ever had it like that before, based on the noises they made and the looks I got. I kept them on the edge for a long time, enjoying being in control, and when I finally let them come, they both just about passed out. They didn't produce anything like the volume Monty did either, but I enjoyed it anyway. They headed out the door, no longer acting angry. I had a sore jaw, a raw throat, and a hard on, so I rested my jaw while I exercised my right hand, for stress relief. 




Scared Curious



Lunch arrived soon after that. I ate and drank robotically, put the tray back the slot, and passed out on the bunk. I slept soundly until I heard the supper tray arrive. It was a slight upgrade: Salisbury steak, fried potatoes, spinach casserole, a pear, a piece of chocolate cake, and the inevitable Ozarka water. I polished it off, took a major and surprisingly satisfying dump, and then brushed my teeth and washed my face again. 

I had just about drifted off to sleep again when the door clanged open and Monty ushered in three other inmates in maroon jumpsuits, and then loudly locked the door behind him. I immediately checked out their inmate numbers: two were coded for the oral plus anal option, with heavy domination, and the third was a paying trusty, who would do what Monty told him to. I was almost trembling with anticipation, wondering what Monty was talking about when he said 'dream come true'. Despite my excitement, my brain still functioned well enough to recall their files: The red headed inmate was a federal judge from upstate New York, and the blonde one was a grocery store owner from Utah. The trusty was a former embezzler from Puerto Rico. 

As usual Monty was in charge. "You guys are here to observe some amazing cock sucking techniques first. If you learn a tenth of what you see you will be much better than you were earlier this morning. After that, our oral virtuoso here will get to help me make Red's dream come true! Off with those suits, inmates, and on your knees. Juanito, you strip off and just stand there a minute."

Being naked on my knees in front of Monty seemed almost normal now, and certainly had some recent and positive associations for me. The red headed judge had apparently already become familiar with Monty's monster cock, and was looking at it fondly. But the grocery store guy was doing an even more astonished imitation of my earlier slack jawed stare, but he was drooling already. Monty laughed. "You watch and learn and maybe I'll let you suck it tomorrow!"

With that he leaned forward and touched his cock to my lips, and my response had already been programmed in, and I went for it, hungrily. My intensity surprised me, and I had to tell myself to slow down and use all my newly acquired tricks. I put my hands behind me as if they were still handcuffed, and methodically licked every part of Monty's cock, using just the tip of my tongue. Then, I used my whole tongue to lick his balls just as thoroughly, and then alternately sucked them in and out of my mouth.

Jaunito was moved to comment "El chupete sumpremo, ese!"

Monty laughed. "You ain't seen nothing yet, hombre'."

I took that as my cue. After a high speed tongue tease right on and slightly into the slit at the end of Monty's cock, I tried to relax my jaw and go for getting as much of it in my mouth as I could. I think I set a new personal record. I paused and looked up to see that every eye in the cell was on me, and I kind of liked it. I pushed down a fraction of an inch more, and then slowly moved back out, using my tongue all around as I did so. Monty sighed, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the judge moving his mouth to imitate my actions. I repeated the routine, not able to get it any deeper, but going back to the same depth and adding some suction and the occasional very gentle tooth contact. Monty drew in a deep breath at that new wrinkle. 

I gradually accelerated my pace, and noticed that Jaunito was rocking himself back and forth as if his cock was in my mouth instead of Monty's. I wasn't opposed to that, personally, as long as I got to finish Monty off first. That first little sluice of clear fluid triggered me to maximum excitement, and I felt my pulse pound in my ears and also in my now maximum erection. It felt great. I remembered Monty's preferences from before and left out the twisting and left to right moves and concentrated on sucking hard and getting more pressure and friction on his cock. I got almost instant feedback, as that thick and syrupy dribble began, and I began to drool. Monty began that almost sub audible groan, and I felt it through his cock as much as I heard it. 

I felt the head of the big cock swell and that little snap like a jack knife, and I knew what was coming, and I wanted it. I stopped all my motion, took him out my mouth momentarily and flicked my tongue on the tube on the underside all the way down and then back up, delighting in hearing Monty groan a high pitch sound almost of protest. I looked up to see his head thrown back and his eyes closed, and then looked over and made eye contact with the Judge, who was pale as a ghost, and looking right at me. I then took Monty back into my mouth, sucked with all my strength, and got ready for something hot and sticky to happen. It did not take long.

Monty must have liked having an audience, too, because what I got, although it must have been at least his third effort of the day, was hotter and more voluminous than this morning's lovely loads. I was enchanted, and did my best to let him know I wanted it all. He did his best to give it to me. I sucked so hard that I was afraid his balls would come out the end of his cock, but he indicated no distress. He said "Yes, get it all!" through gritted teeth, and soon I was sure that I had.

Jaunito was moved to comment again. "Bicho mate!" 

Monty laughed. "If that means drains my balls completely, then you are right!"

I kept up my motions, changing to a little more teasing routine, concentrating on keeping Monty hard and getting him back to a full erection again. Maybe the audience did stimulate him, because I was getting a very good response. As I remembered from before, he was not quite as big or quite as hard, but my professorial opinion was that it was still in the top 1 percentile. 

He looked over at the Judge, who was absolutely mesmerized, still staring off into space, and chuckled. "He did you a good turn too, Red, because I will be a just a little softer and not quite as big in a few minute when I make you dreams come true. He put his hand on my head. "Man that's good work!" Then he almost reluctantly popped it out of my mouth. I was certainly reluctant to let it go. 

"Okay, Red! Monty moved my bunk away from the wall out into the center of the cell. "Get up on that bunk on all fours." The judge was in a trance, and he complied, looking around apprehensively. Monty moved the redheaded judge around to that his knees were very close to the foot of the bed, and laughed again. "Juanito, stand up to the side of the bed and get ready to feed Red here your fine brown enchilada! I think he's hungry for it."

The judge groaned. Jaunito's cock, although not in the same class as Monty's monster, was certainly well above average too. It was uncircumcised and as the head began to emerge from the foreskin, it did sort of resemble a thick enchilada, and the Judge did seem to like Mexican food. He groaned again, and Monty said "Let's see if you learned anything, Red." The judge actually looked thoughtful for second, and then began almost a complete playback of my treatment of Monty. He certainly had been paying attention! And Jaunito began to get bigger and harder right away. 

Monty laughed again and grinned at me. "See, you set a good example and you helped your fellow inmate out!"

He grabbed the blond guy and pushed him down to his knees near the foot of the bed. "Just watch a second, Blondie!"

The judge was now lost in the task of sucking Jaunito's dick, but Monty was about to add another layer of domination for him. "Look at you on your knees sucking cock, Red, and I can tell you love it. You are a bad boy. And you know what happens to a bad boy, don't you?"

With that Monty began spanking the redhead, pretty hard. The slapping sound echoed through the little cell, and the judge's buttocks began to get very red. Then I noticed something else; the Judge now had a huge erection of his own, and his cock was as long as Monty's, just not as thick! 

Monty laughed. "Oh you like getting spanked don't you Red? We are going to have to step up our efforts, aren't we?" He delivered a few more whacks, and the Judge's cock got even harder.

Monty grabbed the blonde guy by the ears, and moved his face right to the Judge's now flaming red ass. "Kiss it and make it better, inmate!" The blonde must have placed himself in right category for submission, because as he kissed the Judge's ass, he got as hard as can be. 

Monty stepped up to the foot of the bed, standing just to the side of the blonde ass kisser. He motioned to me, and said "Stand over on the other side opposite Jaunito there. There is something I want you to see." 

I complied, and then Monty grabbed my shoulders and pushed me down to my knees on the floor, and then grabbed my neck and positioned my face right in the small of the Judge's lower back, and turned my face toward the foot of the bed. I notice two things immediately: first, the Judge's ass was covered with fine red hair, and second, Monty's cock was angry red and hard as a rock again. Whatever was about to happened was something that Monty was happily anticipating. 

Monty moved forward and laid his huge cock on top of the Judge's butt, then picked it up and slapped it against the red freckled flesh, and with that big thing, it really did constitute another spanking. The Judge groaned loudly, even though his mouth was full of Jaunito's tube steak 'enchilada'. 

"Okay, Blondie boy, time for you to French kiss that asshole and get it all wet and ready so I can make Red's dream come true." The blonde grocer, ever dutiful and happily submissive, stuck his chin in between the Judge's butt cheeks and began making slurping noises. In response, the Judge redoubled the slurping noises he was making on Juanito's cock. Monty looked at me and took my head in one hand and guided my mouth to his cock, and said "I suppose we should lubricate both surfaces, shouldn't we, inmate?" He didn't have to ask me twice. 

The little cell was filled with loud slurping noises, and Monty had a big grin on his face. "Okay, you inmates just watch this!" Monty pulled out of my mouth. 

I couldn't miss Monty's cock about six inches from my mouth and six inches from the Judge's ass, and Blondie leaned over the Judge and watched from the mirror image position on the other side. Jaunito watched just as avidly while pushing his cock in and out of the Judge's mouth. Monty put both hands on the Judge's ass and spread the buttocks with his thumbs like he was opening up a big clam. He saw I was watching intently, and said "I know you come when I come in your mouth. But what Red here is going to experience when I fuck his ass is ten times as intense. It will be by far the most amazing orgasm he has ever had in his life. Think about that. You may want to come back sometime and get the Full Monty too. But right now just watch and imagine what it would be like."

Monty maneuvered that huge cock right up the Judge's ass, and I was convinced he was never going to get it in there. But I knew intellectually that plenty of little 80 lb Asian porn stars had taken cocks just that big up the ass since they were teenagers, but still I watched trepidatiously as Monty pressed forward. The Judge made a noise just like a tiny Asian porn star as Monty pressed the issue. "Have you been doing your butt plug training like a told you to, inmate?"

The Judge popped Jaunito's cock out of his mouth momentarily and said "Yes Sir!" and then swiftly attached himself to Jaunito again. Monty began a slow motion dance that pushed a little farther into the bright red butt each time, and the Judge made whistling noises that made me think of 'the little engine that could'. 

When Monty got about a halfway in, Jaunito said "Pinche culero!" then grunted and quite obviously came in the Judge's mouth. The Judge made a gurgling noise, swallowing lustily, and Monty chose that very moment to ram his cock all the way home. The judge made a noise I am quite certain that I had never heard before, anywhere, and when Monty sort of moved left and right and pushed in a little more, he made it again, even louder. Monty pulled almost all the way out, and then slowly slipped back in, and the judge made a high pitched noise, as if his ass was a violin that Monty was playing with his cock.

After about ten such strokes, Monty pulled all the way out of the Judge, grabbed the blond guys head, and fucked his mouth a few strokes, and then plunged back into the Judge's ass. It stopped my breathing completely. I almost passed out, and the sound of my own pulse was a like a jackhammer in my ears, blotting out all rational thought. I didn't consciously realize I was next, but somehow my body knew, and it shivered. 

Monty pounded away at the Judge for some time, and then grabbed my head and slipped out of the Judge and into my mouth. The Judge immediately cried out "Don't stop! Don't' stop!" It took a second for it to register and then the tastes and smells on the huge cock attacked my brain and I was frozen in time. Luckily I didn't have to do much, as Monty was quite frankly fucking my mouth anyway he wanted to. As soon as I woke up and started to use my tongue on him, he popped out and back into the Judge. He alternated back and forth between the three orifices for some time, keeping the Judge right on the edge of coming. As a spectator, I could sense the incredible state that the Judge was in. I still could not wrap my mind around what it would feel like. 

Suddenly I heard Monty's telltale sub audible groan, and knew what was about to happen. The Judge must have to, as he started to mumble "Please, please, please" over and over. Monty drew in a big breath and got up on his tiptoes and grunted, then shoved himself into the Judge deeper than even before. He was holding my cheek down against the Judge's ass and I could almost feel the come blasting inside there. The Judge gave a cry somewhere between a rabid dog and a bat, and then shot a huge load out the side of the bed and onto the floor. He did not breathe for at least ten seconds, and then he made a huge intake of breath like a death rattle. Monty squeezed the base of his cock, I presumed to push anything left further into the Judge, and then pulled out and stuck his cock back between my lips. I inhaled it like a thirsty man at an oasis, trying to capture any drop of fluid that was there. Meanwhile he pushed Blondie's face back into the Judge's ass and ordered him to clean that up. Blondie must have liked the idea because his cock shot a load almost as big as the Judge had. 

The Judge was now muttering completely incoherently: I could not make out a word of it. Monty laughed smugly, saying, "That's the sound of a cream coming true, and I do mean coming!" 

The judge was still panting like a dog on a hot day, and Monty had the rest of us get dressed. After we were all up and dressed, we helped the Judge get back into his suit, and the other two guys supported him on the way back to his cell. When the door locked behind me, I realized I had a huge erection, and I jerked myself off, reliving the sight of Monty's cock pounding in an out of that hairy red ass, and then I shot come at least two feet away, and passed out on the bed, still naked. 

When I awoke I had no way to tell what time it was, but I knew it was time for me to take a piss. It was a large and happy one, and when I shook my cock afterwards it got a little bit hard and my nipples did too. I got out my 'hygienes' and cleaned up, shampooing my hair in the sink and using the soap to wash under my arms and around my groin. I made sure my ass was clean, and stuck a finger in to make completely sure. My cock got harder. Oh well, I wanted new experiences, didn't I? I brushed my teeth and used my little towel, then stretched a little bit and put my jumpsuit and my flip flops back on. Was I really leaving today? 

I sat on the bunk and thought about it. I had certainly had all the experiences I expected, and then some. I was not thinking about the business right now; I was still processing all the sex and the emotions. I had certainly learned that I had some responses and desires that I never knew about before. I had seen some things that I still could not explain, but I did know what "The Full Monty" was, and why some inmates would want to come back for it. Was I one of them?

A breakfast tray appeared in the slot, and I discovered I was hungry. It held a sort of egg and sausage sandwich, a banana, some yogurt, and even a little paper carton of orange juice, in addition to the ubiquitous Ozarka water. I inhaled it all, and drank three more refilled bottles worth of water. I put it back in the slot and in a few minutes it was collected. I guess it must be about 7 AM now. What would happen between now and the noon release time? What did I want to have happen?

The door clanged open and a short but muscular man with black hair and dark brown skin came in, dressed in still another kind of khaki uniform, also with a swagger, a set of keys and a nightstick. This must be Picardo 'Mas Leche' Chingon. I think I remembered that leche meant milk, so I wondered how he got the nickname. He smiled at me, a bit wolfishly. 

"Good morning, inmate! Monty sends his regards, but he has to tend to other inmates right now. Normally he picks a couple of prospects out each weekend for special attention, and I pick out two others, so usually we don't interact with the same inmates at all. But he was so complementary about your educational experience here that I wanted to meet you too. I wanted to make sure you knew that you could come back for "The Whole Enchilada" too, because Monty said you would be a natural for it!"

He began to take off his shoes. "Get out of that jumpsuit, inmate. I want to show you something."

Well, I guess I was getting a little 'bonus learning' this morning before my release, and one of the things I was about to learn, I was sure, was exactly how Picardo liked to have his release taken care of. My pulse pounded in my ears, and by the time I got my suit off, I had a pretty respectable erection myself. 

Picardo had left his underwear on, saving the 'reveal' until after I was naked and on my knees. I didn't mind at all, and when he did drop his pants, I had the same kind of reaction that I did to Monty's cock: I was amazed. It was not as long as Monty's, but it was much thicker at the base, but a little smaller at the top. It was almost an equilateral triangle, with a wide base at the bottom, tapering to a smaller shaft, and then a big mushroom shaped head on top. He was not circumcised. I realized that I was fascinated with this strange looking cock. Given my recently learned skills, I quickly realized that no one could ever deep throat this thing; the base was just too thick. It would sort of naturally stop itself about half way down. But I shivered at the realization that its wedge shape would just about completely fill my mouth with cock, leaving me to work only on the head and not be able to get my tongue out onto the shaft. 

By this time he had moved until it was only an inch from my mouth, and it smelled strongly of soap, trying unsuccessfully to mask a very powerful musky scent. In another second, I knew that the taste was musky and powerful too. I limbered up my tongue and explored. The taste and feel was very different that any of those I sampled yesterday. I now had a huge erection, for me at least.

He laughed. "Monty said you were a natural. Boy was he right."

He put his hands on his hips and just enjoyed my work, hopefully as much as I did. The feel and taste was excellent, if unusual, and I soon was testing the limit of how much I could take into my mouth. It was almost a perfect fit. I give myself up to it. Soon I tasted a thin and watery secretion, like Monty's but still very different. It egged me on. I took his balls in my mouth one by one, they were huge, and I could probably only get one in my mouth at a time. They were very responsive to my touch, they bounced and swelled and move around inside his scrotum. I liked them. 




Scared Curious



Soon I was back to concentrating on his dick, and I felt more than just a dribble of slick juice in my mouth. Once again in was very different than Monty, but it made me drool just the same, and it sent me round the bend into frenzy even more so than Monty's taste had. I had a clear goal, I wanted him to come, and I was pressing on to victory. He made a keening noise as I went on a full-fledged assault on his cockly senses, and the flow increased, and the taste got stronger. I was afraid he wasn't going to shoot at all, just dribble voluminously like this for a while. I felt a little pang of disappointment. 

But then he began muttering something like "aye, aye, aye" and a mighty quiver went though his cock like the vibration a subway train makes when it is leaving the station. The head swelled so thickly and so fast that it practically lodged itself in my throat, and I felt for a moment like a fish that had swallowed a lure, and couldn't spit it out. And then a huge gush of hot come flew into my mouth, and the last thing I wanted to do was spit it out. It was sweet and sour and hot and salty and soothing and exciting, all at the same time. I realized that milk was an appropriate nickname, steaming hot buttermilk. I swallowed it and felt the hot wave pass down my throat. A half pint of milk, it felt like, more than Monty had given me in three tries! And then he shot again, even more, and again even more still. I knew his balls were huge, but I had no idea he could produce this kind of volume, and it came with such force that his prostate gland must be rated at several horsepower. When his second spurt hit the back of my throat I came like a rocket myself. I then sucked him dry like a starving calf, also an appropriate metaphor. 

"Madre de Dios!" he exclaimed. He tried to pull back, but I was clamped on him like a vacuum vise, determined to get him hard again. I succeeded easily, and found ways to concentrate my tongue on his glans and slit, since I couldn't get to the sides of it anyway. He groaned and grabbed my head and fucked hard, not trying to force it down my throat, which would have been impossible, but certainly maximizing his sensations and communicating perfectly his urgency. I grabbed his ass cheeks like Monty had taught me and kneaded them like two loaves of brown bread. He grunted and came again, and I pulled his butt cheeks apart and this time I was ready for the volume, and sucked it down just as fast as he could produce it, which was still at a very impressive rate. I felt a sense of power and calm, and I knew he would not forget what I could do.

He finally pulled himself free and sat on the bunk, almost losing his balance; his brown face had turned white as a ghost. He gasped for breath, and looked at me with wild eyes, and then smiled. 

"Monty doesn't know the half of it, does he? If you come back, I will teach you to take my whole enchilada from behind, and you will know pleasure like you have never imagined."

I appreciated the sentiment, but I felt certain that his cock could never get all the way up my ass without killing me. He got dressed and walked out, Mr. Macho again. Perhaps it was for the best. I washed up again and drifted off to sleep, until the door banged open again and Monty walked in, tossed me the bag with my clothes and shoes, waited until I put them on, and then walked me out to the reception area. The guard gave me my car keys and then buzzed me out through the same door that had startled me so much on Friday afternoon. Monty tipped his hat and said "Y'all come back now, you hear?" and the door shut, leaving me standing on the little wooden deck.

I went down the ramp and walked across the parking lot back to my rented Chevy. I started it up and the clock on the dash said 10:30 AM. I guess they let me out early. There was a 1:30 flight through Chicago back to Boston, but I had signed up for a late afternoon flight that went direct to Logan. I drove to airport automatically, turned in the car, checked in early, asking for an upgrade to a first class seat, and got it. I went to the airline frequent flyer club. My carry on had a suit and tie and socks and underwear, and my toilet kit. I took a shower in the bathroom the airline club provided, shampooed my hair and shaved and put on my suit, and was suddenly back in my professor uniform, putting my carryon bag into one of the lockers provided. I felt strangely relaxed and comfortable. Since by now it was past noon, I went to the little bar and got a double scotch, with some ice, and sat back to survey the traveler's lounge. 

It was fairly empty on this early Sunday afternoon. Two guys sat in opposite corners, each arguing with someone on the cell phone, loudly enough for me to hear their side of the conversations clearly. A couple sat near the window, the man watching the planes take off and land, and the woman reading a magazine and looking bored. A nice looking woman about 30 strolled in and ordered a drink too. I smiled at her and she smiled back. Normally I am less than perfectly comfortable in most social situations, but I was now so relaxed that I just looked at her calmly. 

She leaned toward me and said "Were you at the Merchandise Mart yesterday?"

I smiled. "No, but maybe I should have been."

For me it was wistful reflection and perhaps the expression of a little regret, but she took it as a complement. She smiled again. "I'm Emily, Emily Beresford." I took her hand and shook it briefly, and introduced myself, volunteering that I was on my way back to Boston. She twisted on her stool and put something in her purse, I couldn't help but notice that she had a fine figure to go with her pretty face, and I was surprised and gratified to learn that my cock noticed her, too.

"I travel a lot; I am in fashion, and visit a lot of boutiques and department stores that carry our line of clothes." 

I smiled again, so relaxed that I was almost goofy, so I said the first thing that popped into my mind. "I might have inferred from how attractive you are that you were a model, or perhaps a pharmaceutical sales rep."

She smiled again. "One of my friends used to do that, but I could never stand to date Doctors!"

"I thought that was what every mother wanted for their daughters?"

She laughed. 'Not for me. Physicians have too much of a God complex, yet are often sexually insecure, and that's a turn off." She leaned into me and spoke softly, almost conspiratorially. "I like a man that is a little more open minded and intellectually oriented. What do you do?"

I laughed. "I am a newly hired professor at Harvard, but I am actively working on being more open minded." She smiled warmly, and then said, 'I have to go make a few phone calls. I come to Boston often. Perhaps next time I come I could call you and we could have dinner?

I gave her my card. "I think I would really enjoy that, Emily. We can explore how open minded we really are!"

She smiled widely. "It's a date." The she walked away, swaying very attractively. I watched her disappear into one of the little carrels where you could charge your laptop and have some sound proofing around you. 

Suddenly my eye focused on a tall man about 40 in a military uniform that had just come into the lounge. He walked with a confident step, and he made eye contact with me and smiled. I found myself wondering what he looked like without that uniform. I guess it was a brave new world for me.

They served drinks and nice meal in first class, and during the three hour flight I made some notes about my new business venture. One thought led to another, and I had several ideas for revenue enhancement. I also realized how lucky I had been to choose Monty and Picardo for the initial group of employees. They had qualifications that were certainly not detailed on their resumes. Even though they were very happy with the arrangement, I did not want to be so dependent on just two key employees to keep up my cash flow. I sketched out a plan to start at least two more 'facilities' in the US, and a further expansion into Europe and the Caribbean. I would have to be much more involved in choosing the next set of key employees, and be ever diligent to make sure the customer experience was excellent. That might require a lot of 'hands on' research but I suppose that's the price of success!



Scared Sara



Thank you Kttn, Yankee Dan and every_horizon for editing.

* * * * *

I stopped my bike in front of the registrar's office and cut the engine. This was my first day at college and I had butterflies in my stomach. I had chosen this college because it was almost six hours drive away from my parents' home and no one from my family had ever attended here.

I have this rebellious streak that gets me into trouble more often than not and absolutely refuse to do the expected... the expected being to attend the country's top university that most of my older cousins had gone to.

I took off my helmet and my dark, curly hair tumbled down my back. I have mixed parentage and my looks were exotic, so I've been told. I got my dark colouring from my mother and at 5'10" I got my father's height. 

I quickly parked and secured my bike. A scene of mild chaos surrounded me. Senior students greeting old friends, faculty members organizing new students, parents' dropping off children, or even escorting them to get registered. Quite a few new students were on their own looking lost trying to find their way around. Just like me, I thought. 

I walked quickly towards the Registrar's office, grabbing the documents I needed.

"Need some help, gorgeous?"

A guy was swaggering towards me accompanied by catcalls and whistles from his group of friends lounging about a few yards away. I ignored him and went on walking when he suddenly grabbed my hand.

"What's the hurry, babe?"

"Don't touch me," I answered coldly.

I wrenched my hand free, grabbed his wrist, then windmilled his arm causing him to land on his back with a loud thump.

Turning on my heel I quickly walked away hoping the idiot wouldn't want to pursue this further. I could hear his friends' howls of laughter in the background.

I registered and did all the course selection, got my schedule and accommodation details without too much trouble. I walked out of the building and started to look through all the documentation I'd received. I was trying to figure out the map to get to my apartment and not looking where I was going when I suddenly I bumped into someone.

"Oh! I'm sorry, excuse me!" I said startled. Looking up from my notes, I was confronted by the hostile eyes of the guy I'd tangled with earlier.

Oh, brother! I do not need this, not on my very first day at school.

"So, got everything sorted out?"

"Yes, thanks," I replied and tried to side step him.

"Hey, not so fast! I was just trying to be helpful." He grabbed my arm then dropped it just as quickly when he saw my glare.

"That's okay, I've got everything under control," I said trying to be pleasant. I just wanted to get away from the creep! I knew my earlier display had been noticed and didn't want to be branded a trouble maker.

I almost ran to my bike in my haste to get away from him. When I was just a few feet away from my bike, I heard rapid footsteps behind me. Damn! Why can't the idiot just let it go?

I side stepped quickly, put my foot out and bingo! The idiot tripped and sprawled all over the pavement. While he was dazed, I got on my bike, switched on the engine and roared away with a big grin on my face.

I knew that wasn't the end of it. I'd made him look a fool twice, in front of his friends and half the college and for creeps like him, revenge was going to be sweet. Well, fine. If he wanted war, I'll give him war!

College was turning out to be great. My lecturers were wonderful and my classmates cool. My room mate, Helen, a beautiful bubbly blond was doing an economics course. 

Helen was turning out to be a godsend for someone like me. I'm a sociable person generally but I have this perverse streak and like to provoke people just to see how they'd react.

From the moment I introduced myself to her on that first day, Helen just knew that my attitude was an act. I was having fun being impossible just to provoke a reaction and Helen's way of dealing with it was to treat me like a spoiled four year old... she ignored me! I love that girl!

"Sara, me and the guys are going to do the club round tonight. You want to come along?"

"Nah, don't think so, I've got this paper to finish."

"It's Friday night, for heaven's sake!"

"Anyway, your guys don't like me," I continued, pretending not to hear Helen's protest.

"Can you blame them?" Helen asked, exasperated.

"No," I grinned back at her.

"I really don't understand you. You're gorgeous with a body to die for, which you like to flaunt, by the way. I know you're a warm, caring person, and yet, you put on this bitch act, which makes people feel like slapping you as soon as you open your mouth! Why?!"

"I like to provoke people."

"Yes, like I said, why?"

"Its fun to see their reaction, you know? Most people are just so predictable."

"One of these days you're going to get a reaction that you won't be able to handle, mark my words. After all, since you've been here you've already made, like, how many enemies? Blake's gang are just itching to get their hands on you, you've alienated half your classmates, not to mention mine. You've beaten senior guys in your martial arts class just to prove you could, out raced the school's biker gang and you do all this without breaking a sweat and keeping that irritating grin on your face!"

"Yeah, I'm good aren't I?" I grinned.

"What am I going to do with you?" Helen asked irritably.

"You can leave me to finish my paper."

Helen glared at me and walked away.

I went to answer the door when the bell rang some time later since Helen was still getting dressed. I opened it and there were the 'three stooges' as I've labeled them. Lucien Neils, Barry Donahue and Mike Peterson. These guys were Helen's best friends at college and the four of them always hung out together.

Barry and Mike were in her Economics class whilst Lucien was doing Biotechnology, like me. She'd hooked up with them on the first day of school and now the four of them were inseparable. Helen was always trying to include me into their gang but because of my wicked tongue, the guys weren't too fond of me. And me being my perverse self, I needled them all the more!

"Hey... the three stooges are here. Come on in, Helen should be ready soon."

"The wicked witch of the west is in top form as usual" Mike said sarcastically. He was the one who usually replied to my needling. Lucien would roll his eyes and looked resigned, while Barry was too interested in Helen to notice anything.

"So, is the witch leaving her dungeon tonight to wreck mischief and mayhem on us poor mortals?" Mike continued.

"Not tonight dah-ling, I've got a paper to finish" flashing a saucy grin at them, I went back into my room.

"Are you sure you don't want to join us Sara?" Helen asked, sticking her head round the door.

"Yeah I'm sure. Have fun!"

I stood up after I'd finished my paper and stretched tiredly, suppressing a yawn. Boy, I'm bushed. I went out to go to the bathroom but just as I reached it, I thought I heard faint snores coming from the sitting room.

I went to investigate and found Lucien sprawled on the sofa sleeping. What the heck was he doing here? I thought he'd left with the rest.

I hesitated in waking him, he looked so peaceful sleeping there. His long limbs were stretched out all over the sofa, one leg trailing to the floor and a hand flung over his head. I saw his glasses on the side table.

I'd never really looked at him before and found to my surprise that he was actually quite good looking. I knew he was a good bit taller than me and his body looked fit. He had dark, burnished gold hair but I'd never noticed what colour his eyes were as it was always hidden behind his glasses. Now that his glasses were off, I could see his lashes were long and thick.

My, but he's quite a yummy specimen!

I kneeled down by the sofa trying to be as quiet as possible. I didn't want him to wake up and find me there, my reputation would be ruined! Very softly I touched his hair, the thick strands were so silky. I couldn't resist leaning up and lightly touched my lips to his hair. 

I sat back and continued looking at Lucien. He'd always been more tolerant and kinder than either Barry or Mike towards me. As I continued looking at him sleeping peacefully on the sofa, I felt uncharacteristically sad. Shaking my head I stood up quickly and walked away.

I've never had a boyfriend, not because no guy was interested but because I've never found a guy whom I could respect. For me, respect and honesty comes before love. In fact, I've always looked on my friends' love affairs more like 'lust' affairs rather than love. And the guys I could go for, preferred the dainty, ladylike girls. Not a tall, motorcycle riding, martial arts expert with a smart mouth.

So, to protect myself from disappointment, I pretended I didn't need anyone. I was a smart, confident, self sufficient woman.

Yeah right! Pure crap. Who am I trying to kid?

Laughing softly to myself, I thought about Lucien. He was a nice guy, in fact, even Mike and Barry were great. Since I started college, I've met quite a few guys I wouldn't mind getting to know better. Maybe because college guys were more mature than high school kids.

Except for guys like Blake Harrington and his gang. Blake was a final year student and he was the guy I'd tangled with on my first day. His parents were rich and with his money and expensive sports car, he expected any girl he showed attention to, to be grateful and fall at his feet, or in his bed, to be more exact.

The few times I'd run into him around school, him and his gang would make loud insulting remarks about me. He tried to be physical too but stopped after he heard about my fighting abilities. I ignored him most of the time but there had been instances when I'd been very tempted to beat the crap out of him. One of these days I just might.

I was also afraid of opening up my heart. My cousin Shari, who was two years younger than me, had been badly hurt by a real bastard. Hurt not just emotionally, but also psychologically and physically. On top of that, he'd left Shari pregnant with his brat. The bastard really messed with her head and Shari was still going through therapy. After what happened with Shari, I vowed to myself that I would never ever allow myself to be a victim. No man was going to do that to me.

Lucien opened his eyes slowly. He'd actually been awake when Sara kissed his hair. He pretended to be asleep to see what she'd do next. When she didn't do anything and he felt her looking at him, he wanted to open his eyes so that she'd know he was awake. But before he could do so, she'd got up and walked away.

He was very surprised when Sara kissed his hair. The soft kiss was so unlike the usual hard, sassy persona she showed the world. 

The first time he'd seen her was on the first day of school. When she'd taken off her helmet, he'd been thunderstruck by her sheer beauty. And her body! He knew guys got hard just looking at it. Her impossibly long legs and more than enough curves in all the right places, she was a knock-out!

When Blake heckled her, he wanted to come to her rescue until he saw that she was more than able to take care of herself.

That was the trouble with Sara. She was brilliant and drop dead gorgeous. She knew she was good and didn't mind showing it off. That bitchy, know-it-all attitude and sharp tongue made most people hate her.

Lucien had actually fallen in love with Sara from the first moment he saw her. At first it was her beauty he was attracted to but the more he got to know of her, the more he loved her. Her brilliant mind, her daring, her fighting skills, even her bitchy attitude.

He always thought that her attitude was just a front, no one could have been born so hard and spiteful. He pitied her when he saw her walking alone around the campus, and wondered what had happened that made her push people away, despite her many gifts.  

Well, at least, his theory about her was correct.

He got up and walked to her room. Outside her door he hesitated. What could he possibly say to her?

Oh, what the hell! He knocked softly on her door.

I was startled to hear the knock. Helen couldn't be back yet, it was too early, besides, I hadn't heard voices. It must be Lucien, what could he possibly want?

I opened the door a crack. "What?" I inquired rudely when I saw Lucien standing there. 

Blue eyes, he had dreamy blue eyes.

"Um... ah... um... are you okay?"

"Of course I'm okay. Why shouldn't I be?" I said glaring at him.

"Uh, of course. Sorry, just asking." He turned and started to walk away.

I opened the door wide and leaned against the doorframe. "Why were you sleeping on the sofa anyway? I thought you'd gone with the others."

Lucien turned back towards me. Damn, those blue eyes again! Get a grip on yourself girl!

Lucien could feel himself hardening as he looked at Sara. She was dressed for bed in short silk shorts with matching sleeveless top which bared her midriff. He could see her nipples poking through the soft material. Damn! Down boy. He hoped Sara wouldn't notice his hard on.

"Sorry. I really felt too tired to go with them tonight but Mike and Barry insisted I come along. When I heard you weren't joining, I asked Helen whether I could just crash on your sofa. I stayed up all last night and all day today finishing the paper Professor Atkins gave us. That the same paper you were working on?"

"Yeah."

"And you finished it, in what, two hours?" he shook his head in amazement.

"More like three. Tonight I was just compiling all the data, I'd done my research earlier."

"You're still amazing Sara."

"Of course I am." I gave him my usual cocky grin, the one that irritated the hell out of people.

"Um.. Sara, could we talk?"

"'Course we could. We're talking aren't we?"

"I mean seriously."

"Oh, you mean you telling me I'm amazing is not serious talk? Okay, I guess I could live with that" I said shrugging my shoulders, still grinning.

Lucien sighed. It was his usual sigh whenever I was being impossible. I grinned wider at that.

"Why did you kiss me just now?" he asked softly.

My grin abruptly disappeared and I started to blush. I couldn't meet his eyes.

"I didn't kiss you," I protested.

"Okay, you want to be technical about it, I'll rephrase my question. Why did you kiss my hair while I was sleeping on the sofa just now? Clear enough?"

"Except you weren't sleeping, were you? You were playing possum. Why? Were you hoping I'd go further and maybe kiss you somewhere else? So that if anything happened, you could say you were innocent and accuse me of seducing you? Is that it?" I was almost yelling at him but the anger was mostly directed at myself. I was horribly embarrassed.

"You are unbelievable," he muttered angrily, glaring at me. He turned and walked away.

"What?! What's so unbelievable?" I chased after Lucien. "I'm unbelievable because I refuse to be like the other silly girls and swallow the bullshit you guys constantly feed us? Unbelievable because I refuse to fall into the beds of all you high and mighty guys when you show us a little attention? Unbelievable bec-- umph!" Lucien had stopped abruptly and in my anger I hadn't noticed and bumped into him.

Lucien turned, one hand pulling me tight against him, the other at the back of my head and brought my mouth to his and kissed me! He was grinding his hips into me and I could feel his hardness through his jeans while his mouth plundered mine. He kissed me hungrily, his tongue mating with mine. I was so shocked I didn't do anything but just let him kiss me.

My god, he was hot! Who would have thought he had it in him? He was making me wet. I clutched his shirt trying to pull him closer and wound my arms around his neck, playing with his gorgeous hair.

Lucien's mouth slowly released mine. I opened my eyes and stared into his twinkling ones. Raising his eyebrows he asked, "So, are you ready to fall into my bed?"

Bastard! 

I pushed him away and yelled, "No! Not even in your dreams buster!"

"Too late, you're already in my dreams" he grinned.

"Well you can just stop dreaming then 'cause it ain't gonna happen!" I glared at him.

His hands reached for me but I slapped them away. "Don't Lucien. I'm warning you, I can and will break every bone in you body!"

Lucien sighed and looked sadly at me. "Why does every situation have to be a fight with you Sara? You liked my kiss just now, don't lie and tell me you didn't. With all your faults, I've always found you to be honest, brutally so sometimes. Let's have a little honesty now."

"Fine, let's be honest. Why did you want to kiss me anyway, with all my 'faults'?" I sneered.

"Why wouldn't any man want to kiss you Sara? You know what you look like. Even if you were covered up like a nun, men would still want you. Dressed the way you are now..." he shook his head slowly, his eyes dark with desire.

Damn! That was not the answer I needed. I crossed my arms across my chest and looked down, I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes. Tonight is not a good night for me, my throat was closing up and I could feel my tears starting.

Taking a deep breath, I blinked back my tears. I still couldn't meet his eyes. "Please leave Lucien. It's late and I'm tired. Just... please go" I said quietly.

I suddenly felt Lucien's arms surrounding me, pulling me gently onto his chest. Oh, it was so tempting to just let go and accept his embrace, but I couldn't. To him and any other man, I was just a sexy body, to be used and discarded. I will not let myself be used that way!

I stiffened and pushed him away. "Don't touch me!" I said through gritted teeth, looking at him. "Just because I liked your kiss doesn't mean I'm ready to fall into bed with you. Get out Lucien, just get out!"

He sighed again. "Stop sighing!" I yelled at him. "You think just because you sigh and look sad, I'll take pity on you and just do what you want?"

"Is that why you think I sigh?" he asked softly.

"I don't know and I don't want to know!" I said angrily and turned my back on him. I was hoping he'd take the hint and leave.

When I didn't hear any sound from him, I peeked quickly behind. He was sitting on the sofa looking down at his hands clasped together on his knees and he looked dejected. Why should he look so sad? I'm the one who's sad! I was getting angry again. Why won't he just leave?

I started to stalk back to my room. Lucien wanted to sit there the whole night then I won't stop him!

"Sara," he called softly. His voice sounded strained. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry what I said hurt you and I'm sorry I forced myself on you. I'm usually more tactful than this. There's nothing I can say to excuse my behaviour tonight."

I had stopped when he started speaking but still had my back to him. I didn't know how to respond.

I was getting cold though so I walked quickly to my room and grabbed my robe. By the time I got back to the sitting room, Lucien was at the front door about the step out.

"Lucien wait!"

He turned to look at me uncertainly.

"Why don't you have a seat and let's try and talk like two rational adults rather than spoilt kids yelling at each other?" 

He looked relieved and walked back.

"Would you like some coffee?" I offered.

"Coffee would be great" he replied smiling.

I brought coffee for Lucien and tea for myself then sat across from him. I noticed that he couldn't quite meet my eyes either. We both sipped our drinks, neither one quite sure how to start.

After a rather long uncomfortable silence, both of us started talking at once. It relieved the tension and we both laughed.

"Why don't you go first," Lucien offered.

"Actually, I don't really know what to say. I'm not even sure what tonight was about."

"Fine then. Let's go back to how all this started. I asked you why you kissed me, you haven't answered."