0 comments/ 191311 views/ 10 favorites Crisco By: Julius700 I never thought working in the kitchen was a great girl getter, but after last weekend, I am completely convinced. I went down to Santa Cruz on Friday to visit a childhood friend on Christmas break. Carol and I basically grew up together, as I lived down the street from her until 10th grade. We never hooked up, aside from some early "doctor" experimentation. Not that I wouldn't have! Carol is quite attractive and exotic (she's half Philippine), with dark, lush hair and a pouty mouth. She definitely gets her looks from her mom, Sandi, who even at 45 turns heads. Sandi has beautiful, voluptuous hips that beacon like a siren when she wears high-heels. Carol's mom and dad met when he was stationed in the Philippines, and he is ten years older than her mom. He is often away on hunting trips around Christmastime, and this season was no different. I have to admit, when I lived down the street from them, Sandi was the first woman I found attractive, and I could never understand why Carol's dad spent so much time away from the house. At least some of the reason why I hung out with Carol was due to Sandi. When I got to their house, exhausted from a drive of stop and go traffic, Carol and Sandi rushed out to help me unload the 2 bags I had with me. Carol had been recounting all of the adventures from her semester, and was visibly flushed from the excitement of being home. Sandi looked as if she hadn't aged a bit since my sophomore year of high school, and embraced me warmly as she always had. This time, though, a slight shiver ran down my back as my hand touched the small of hers and beginning of what had to be the ideal female derriere. We sat in the living room for the rest of the evening catching up on the past year's happenings. Carol was going to run some errands on Saturday, and visit a couple of her girlfriends, and Sandi mentioned that she planned to bake cookies. Given the option of hanging out with Carol's gossip corner or baking cookies, I wisely offered to help Sandi with the baking. Not that I knew anything about cookie baking, but Carol was getting up early the next day and I was in need of some sleep. After a goodnight hug from Carol and Sandi, I retired to the room they had set up for me and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. The next morning, I awoke to the smell of cookies and realized I had slept in until 11. I came out showered and dressed to the kitchen to find Sandi in a silk robe kneading dough. With each press, her robe briefly flitted open to reveal a lacy black bra. I hadn't even had breakfast and I was already thinking about something else! Sandi greeted me: - How's our sleepy boy this morning? Carol left about an hour ago, and I didn't want to wake you for the first set here. If you want, you can take over kneading here. I'm getting sore wrestling with all of this dough, and I could get you a cup of coffee and a sample from the first batch while you work. As I took the dough, Sandi lightly took my hand and pressed firmly into the dough. - This is the kind of pressure you need to apply. -Do you feel that? She asked as her breast briefly gave my back a tingle. - I think I can manage, Sandi, I practically whispered. -Good, because after you finish that you can help me grease up the pans, Sandi said without the least bit of innuendo. By now, I had all but forgotten about breakfast, and began working out my frustration on the clump of dough. Suddenly, Sandi's hand was on mine again. - Hey, not so hard, big boy. More like this. With both of her breasts lightly touching my back, she began to knead with my hands. I by now had absolutely no grasp on the situation about to unfold. Instinctively, I turned around and set my hands on her curvy hips. - Oh, you are a big boy now, aren't you, Sandi said in a husky voice. - Sandi, I growled, I have wanted to ravish you and that incredible ass of yours since the 6th grade. - Talk is cheap, Sandi countered. The rest of the conversation was cut short by our lips colliding in a passionate embrace. I soaked in her luscious scent while our tongues tangoed away. By now her hands running down my front, unbuttoning any button in their path. I began to urgently search for the tie strings of her robe. After what seemed like an eternity, I found myself in my boxers with Sandi standing before me, her lacy bra the only piece of clothing remaining on her tan body. Her nipples jutted forth, straining at the lacy material. With my gaze firmly centered on the bikini-waxed cleft between her hips, I mentioned that I had not had any breakfast yet. With a wiggle, Sandi levered herself onto the breadboard almost squarely on cookie dough. -Why don't you try my dough? Sandi slyly smiled. I spied a bowl of icing next to her arm, and a smile crossed my lips as well. After dipping my fingers in the bowl, I began applying drips of icing up Sandi's toned calves and across her thighs. Smiling wickedly, by now, I began following my trail up both of her legs, alternating between the two and working my tongue with excruciating slowness towards its ultimate goal. Sandi was by now moaning slightly, and I looked up to see her head thrown back in a lip-biting look of ecstasy. By the time I reached her almost hairless slit, Sandi's clit jutted forth in anticipation. With the remaining icing on my fingers, I began to sensuously coat her vaginal lips while avoiding her clit. Sandi arched her flawless hips in anticipation, desperately trying to get relieving friction to her engorged clit. I was merciless. My tongue swirled around her labial lips down to the cookie dough and back up to the hood, never once touching her clit. Sandi's breath came in little gasps, as she began begging me to make her come. As her juices began to mingle with the cookie dough, I finally wrapped my tongue around her clit while inserting my icing coated thumb into her tight opening. It was like a dam had burst. All at once, Sandi's thighs began shaking uncontrollably, and her mouth opened into a perfect circle. A deep-throated moan began to emanate from her lips, and the convulsing walls of Sandi's vagina threatened to cut the circulation off to my thumb. Her thighs constricted around by ears, until her moaning seemed like an underwater roar. The whole time, I managed to hold onto her clit firmly with my tongue. When I could hear again, and remove my thumb from her velvety vice grip, I noticed a pool of her juices glistening in the cookie dough. I looked up to see a glazed, dazed Sandi staring down at me. -I have never cum like that before. My entire vagina was electrified! You've grown to be quite a man. -You don't even know the half, I said, as my confidence jumped a notch. Sandi slid down from the cookie dough, leaving two perfectly sculpted imprints with her bottom. She caught my glance and said, - Why don't you look at the real thing? As she turned around, I was graced with her small pelvis swinging around her heart-shaped buttocks, the white flour traces contrasting nicely with her tan skin. I was completely entranced. I spanked each cheek lightly, flour poofs rising with each slap. Sandi grabbed the counter top, and arching her back, she began to sway suggestively with each spank. -Come on, honey, I see your baguette. Why don't you put it in my oven? As I approached her enticing backside, with the intent of sliding into quickly from behind, I noticed the wet cookie dough on the counter between her hands. - Let me teach you how to knead dough, before we bake, I said. Using her petite hands, I slowly began molding a phallus, complete with a swollen mushroom head. Sandi continued swaying her hips, and my own cock began to truly enjoy being sandwiched between her buns. As our dough phallus neared completion, I could feel Sandi's wetness on my balls, and her puckered anus on my shaft. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a bottle of Crisco oil on the shelf beside me. With one hand still helping Sandi build our dough dong, I grabbed the Crisco and reluctantly removed my shaft from her buns. - Why don't you see how our big cookie fits in your luscious, little pussy, I growled. I watched in fascination, as Sandi began working the mushroom head past her hairless lips. As the head disappeared, Sandi's face registered a sensuous smile of satisfaction. More and more the phallus disappeared, as Sandi began to fuck herself in earnest with our dough dong. Her lidded eyes opened wide in surprise as I began pouring streams of Crisco oil down her buttocks. Her free hand momentarily reached around to pull one of her buns aside, making a larger channel for the Crisco stream to find and Lubricate her puckered anus. -Ah you naughty boy, said Sandi, I know exactly what you are up to. My husband has never tried that with me. Her breath caught momentarily as my finger penetrated the outer ring of her nether hole. Slippery with Crisco, my finger was quickly up to the second digit and then the knuckle. Sandi increased the speed of her dildo, and her shallow breathing audibly filled the room. -Oh, yeah, put it in my ass, honey. I'm ready for anything now. As I replaced my finger with the head of my cock, Sandi impatiently pushed back, trapping the tip with her dilated sphincter. I began to push forward, getting accustomed the delicious, tunnel-like feel of Sandi's ass. Looking down was almost sent me over the edge immediately. Here was my engorged cock half engulfed by one of the most beautiful asses I had ever seen. I quickly looked up to yet another tantalizing site. Sandi was bent over the counter, back arched, eyes closed, with a look of intense bliss on her face. She was biting her lip again, moaning softly in her throat. I began thrusting gently, taking cues off the sensual hues of ecstasy washing over her face. Her arm was working the dildo at a more leisurely pace now, and I glimpsed her fingers occasionally straying to her clit. The whole time, my cock was tightly and completely ensconced in her anal passage, each thrust a journey anew into snug, slippery, friction. Suddenly, Sandi began ramming the dildo past her swollen pussy lips and thrusting her ass back at a frantic pace to meet my invading cock. She stopped biting her lip to announce to the entire block that she was going to cum. This time, I did not have hearing protection from her thighs. Sandi let forth a tremendous wail, momentarily crystallizing my lust and restraint into a fiery haze. I looked down one last time as my cock pounded into Sandi's ass, her cheeks reverberating from each impact and traces of flour bouncing off her tan flanks. My balls let loose a torrent of semen deep in her depths, a growl escaping my lips as I gripped her hips with both hands to keep of falling. I temporarily lost feeling in my legs, and drunkenly withdrew my member to paint the last drops on Sandi's quivering ass. Carol commented on our large cookie later that evening. -Mom, how did you guys make that? It almost looks like a snake rolled into a cinnamon bun. Sandi nodded with a smile. -He'll have to teach you some time... Crisis „I'm not sure it's for me," he said softly, one hand playing with the leaves of the pottet plant he was sitting next to as he stared at it in thought. His chest expanded slowly, and then contracted as he sighed, his chocolate brown eyes flicking towards me for a fraction of a second, then resting on the plant once again. The fingers of his other hand tapped restlessly against the concrete of the stairs he was sitting on. He made me feel helpless, but not in the good way. Heaven knows I enjoyed the feeling of being tied to his bed, ropes digging in my wrists, powerless to stop him from beating me, or fucking me senseless, or both at once. But there was always the safeword if the pain overwhelmed me, if I couldn't take the scene. I'd never had to use it, but the knowledge was there. Now, I wished someone would whisper the safeword for this scene into my ear, so I could stop it, make it all go away and be happy with him forever. In ignorant bliss. "You've said that before," I told him. My own voice sounded scratchy to me, almost shaking. I was scared. "What do you mean by it exactly? Has it gotten too intense for you? Or can you... can you still not stand the thought of hurting me? I thought you had gotten over that." "I have. I did. I... I don't know." He raised his hands and buried his face in them, and I resisted the urge to touch him comfortingly. This was not the time, much as I'd have liked to soothe him. It broke my heart to see him like this, conflicted and torn, and knowing that I was the source of it all. "It's so complicated," he said through the hands covering his face. "I'm sorry." "Sorry about what?" I dreaded the answer and closed my eyes in anticipation, my body tense. But the answer didn't come. Instead, I felt his hand tentatively touching my shoulder. "You couldn't live a Vanilla life, could you?" The question didn't catch me completely by surprise; after all, this was at the core of the entire dilemma. Still, it was a shock to actually hear him ask it. I could feel my pulse accelerating, and it became harder for me to breathe as I struggled to answer. "I don't know. I could try. Is that what you want?" "You would be unhappy." It was a statement, not a question, and I nodded weakly. It was no use arguing the obvious. I craved submission. I wanted, needed it to be a part of my life, and I'd told him that before. His hand squeezed my shoulder comfortingly, and I heard him say what I knew was true. "I don't want you to be unhappy." "I would be unhappy without you," I blurted out, desperate not to lose this argument. I heard him sigh again and looked up at him, to find him looking back at me just the same. "You're trying to manipulate me." "I don't want to lose you!" I was so aggravated that I jumped up, looking down at him with blazing eyes from my standing position. He didn't avert his eyes. He was slightly shocked by my behavior, I could tell, but still understanding. "Who says you're going to?" he asked me, keeping completely calm, and I immediately felt very silly. "Well you should have said that," I said lamely and sat back down on the stairs. He elegantly slid down three steps, until he was immediately behind me, and put an arm around me, pulling me against him. I'd always loved the feeling of protection that his broad chest conveyed to me, and so I leaned against him thankfully, calming. "I don't want to lose you either," he whispered into my ear, and I turned and slid my arms around him. I clung to him, and he held me, and we sat like this for some time. Not moving, barely even breathing, just together, enjoying the feeling of being close to each other. But it was impossible to pretend that everything was good for longer than a moment when there was still a big issue between us. "So what is it then?" I finally whispered. "What is it that bothers you about it?" He let out his breath and relaxed his arms, still holding me, but not as tightly. He closed his eyes, briefly, then opened them and looked into the distance. "There are parts about it that I like. You know that. But there's been things... things that haunt me at night. Some scenes that my mind just keeps replaying over and over, and they bother me more each time." "What scenes?" I asked him timidly, and he told me. Such as the first time he had made me bleed. It had happened quite by accident, during one of those times when I had been moody and stubborn, at my worst. I had been sucking his cock, carelessly, unmotivated, and scraped him quite painfully with my teeth. He had withdrawn, looked down at me for a moment, then slapped me with so much force my head felt like it was going to come off my shoulders. I had immediately suppressed any sounds of pain that I might ordinarily have made, lowered my head, and waited. But when I glanced up at him after a moment, I had found him staring at me in horror. He hadn't broken scene, but continued on, getting a moist cloth and wiping the blood from my nose and lips. I hadn't realized it was there. He had taken care of me, silently, until the bloodflow stopped, then continued the blowjob despite the fact that I had difficulty breathing. But that had been the punishment for my moodiness, and I had accepted it without complaint or resentment. "I should have stopped the scene," he said quietly, his hand stroking my back comfortingly. "It wasn't right. I should have stopped the scene there and then, and I should have apologized and held you while I washed your face. Not like that. It wasn't right." "I didn't mind." "But I did. I realize that you were fine, that it wasn't a big deal to you. But for me –" he broke off and shook his head helplessly. "But you're getting better," I argued. "You learned from it, and you know better whether to continue a scene. You won't make this mistake again." "I'll make others." "Everyone does though. It'll get better, I promise." "I hope so." He grimaced. One of my hands travelled upwards to run soothingly through his hair, while my mouth kissed along his jawline, urging him to continue. "What else is there?" The time I had been left waiting in the dark. I had been tied to the bed, knots secure and tight without cutting off my circulation. He had been a boy scout, and he was excited about this new use for his knowledge. He had gagged me as well, something we hadn't tried before but that I had been eager to experience. It was night, a thunderstorm outside, wind blowing the raindrops against the window full force. He had been in the middle of teasing me, running a featherduster along the insides of my thighs, the feeling more agonizing than I could ever have imagined. I was raising my hips, longing for his touch, quivering with anticipation – when the lights had suddenly gone out without warning, and I felt like I was thrown into pitch black, icy cold, endless depths of water. I had told him before that I was scared of the dark. It was a phobia, something I just couldn't get rid of. At that particular moment, the fact just hadn't come to his mind, and before I could stop him, he had left the room hastily with the promise of getting candles. It started almost immediately. My body felt completely rigid at first, I was frozen, unable to move. Then, I could see them, the faces of terror that made me unable to stay in any dark room for longer than a few seconds. The images of any scary movie I had ever seen, any ghost story I had ever been told, melting together and forming my personal terror. My breath started to come in tiny gasps, and the noise terrified me even more. I was drawing their attention to me. My body started to shake despite me desperately trying to think of something other than the terror. Rapidly, images started to flash and melt back into the dark, cut up bodies, psychopaths intent to make me suffer, ghosts, demons, anything horrible my trecherous mind was able to come up with. I heard ghost sounds, maniacal laughter, the last breaths of dying people. And then he was back, stumbling blindly into the room, the all too real sounds making me jump. I needed confirmation it was him. I finally dared let out a sound through my gag, a loud moan that was made almost inaudible as it left my mouth. "It's just me, love." The flicking of a lighter illuminated his face, but it was so ghostly and frightening that I almost wished it hadn't happened. He managed to light a candle, setting it down on the nightstand, but in the motion of lighting the second one, he caught the expression of my eyes in the flickering candlelight and froze. "Oh, shit. Oh god, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He hadn't known what to do first, light more candles, release me of the gag or undo the knots of my bonds. He had opted for the bonds, the well-tied knots falling apart as he pulled, and I had jumped into his arms, wrapping my shaking body around him and burying my head in his shoulder and the tension slowly started to fall away from me. He had muttered soothing words, carefully removing the gag and then lighting two more candles while I was still clinging to him. The way he took care of me was excellent, giving me his full attention, making sure I was comfortable and apologizing over and over again as he held me protectively. But the damage had been done. I was a terrified mess, and he felt incredibly guilty for putting me in this situation, for leaving me alone when he should have known better. "Once again," I said, "that is something you've learned from, right?" He nodded slowly. His hand was playing with the small golden crucifix around his neck while he looked at me in thought. "There are so many things I'm scared of screwing up," he said. I hugged him tightly. "Me too. The one in charge isn't the only one who can mess up a scene, you know. There are things I could fuck up easily, and I'm scared of that happening as well." "But I'm responsible for you," he argued. "That's how it works as soon as you submit to me, I am responsible for you. I need to care for you." I didn't like the way he kept on focussing on his guilt, and opened my mouth promptly to guide his thoughts in another direction. "But overall... not counting your fear of screwing up, I mean... overall, you have liked this so far, haven't you? We have had some really good things together, and I want there to be more." "Yeah," he said softly, looking at me again, suddenly smiling slightly. "Yeah, you're right. There have been things I've enjoyed – thouroughly – and I wouldn't want to miss any of them." "So that means what, exactly?" "For us?" His fingers twisted into mine as he took his time looking into my eyes. "I think," he said finally, softly, "that I might be able to handle it. If you're willing to be patient with me. Give me time to think about what I might enjoy doing to you." My heart clenched briefly in joy. I had no trouble accepting his conditions, I would have done just about anything in my power to keep the two of us together, and happy. "That would be wonderful," I smiled at him and he gave me a broad, relieved smile in return. We both knew that there were issues we still needed to work on, but the mosst important decision had been made, and it made the both of us feel suddenly ten times lighter. "Besides," I grinned, "I know there have been times when you definitely enjoyed yourself. Like the time we were both thinking of, smiling at each other now. He had really gotten into beating me for the first time. My ass was red as fire and felt just the way it looked, my knees were wound and scratched from crawling, and my jaw was tired from the sheer amount of oral pleasure he had made me give him earlier. My whole body was sore and thouroughly used, and I felt wonderful. He knew it, too. His body was lying on top of mine, his weight pressing me down and forcing my quivering thighs apart. He had denied me any pleasure up to this point, had teased me and left me needing, and I was bursting with sexual energy. I wanted him badly, my entire body on fire and ready to receive him. My wrists were straining against the ropes that held them, not out of a desire to get free, but simply because my body was arching up and against him without my will. "Please," I begged, and he drove into me with all the force he could muster. I let out a scream before I could help it. I was slick with need and took him in easily, his hands grabbing my hips to keep them still while he drove inside me repeatedly, so impossibly hard, making waves of heat radiate through my body. I thought the ropes were going to burst, so hard was I pulling against them by this time. I met his thrusts as well as I could with my body. He lowered himself to kiss me, groaning into my mouth as our bodies slid against each other, a film of perspiration covering the both of us. My legs wrapped around his hips in an effort to pull him deeper, to increase the sensations that were flooding me even more. It didn't take long at all for me until my hips started to jerk uncontrollably and I cried out, clenching hard around him. I felt like I was filled to the brim with some fiery liquid and it was burning me alive. I gasped and shook, and a second later he was there with me as well, pushing hard inside me one last time before he clung to me desperately, pouring himself inside me. I couldn't feel my body at this point, I was numb all over, but I simply closed my eyes and felt as if waves were crashing down above me and soothing the burning. It was a while before our shaking bodies calmed down, and before either of us was able to move. His weight crushed me as he lay fully on top of me, exhausted and satisfied, only moving his arm once to tug on the ropes, so I could pull my arms free and hold him, stroking his damp back. He rolled off me at last, very slowly, propping his head on his hand so he could look at me, a smug smile on his face. "That was pretty good, wasn't it?" Crisis The day the attack happened, everyone was in shock. How could 90% of the population have been eradicated all at once? How could they have struck the planet with such brutal efficiency? They were supposed to be their friends. The government officials were quick to respond and managed to get their sister-planet to stop attacking their world after about eighteen hours of debating, negotiation and politics The first few months after the attack everything was in chaos. The strike was very well planned and very little loss of property happened, but the loss of life was immense. For the moment they were safe, but the planet did not have a high enough population to run cities. After just a very short while, the ruling began that all methods of birth control would be outlawed, abortions would not be available, and that the impregnation squads were to begin recruiting immediately so they could deploy and repopulate the planet. Every woman was required to identify themselves with a permanently imbedded wrist band. The bands were designed to identify with an easy color coding to ensure the quickest impregnation possible for each woman. Cream meant fertilization was impossible because they were either too young or old. Pink meant the womb was fertile and would accept seed at any time. Red meant the womb was resetting during menstruation, and Purple meant the woman had been successfully bred. Martin was a new recruit and was looking forward to his first shift as one of the impregnation squad. Since he was a new recruit, he was on the fertilization front rather than on security. Only those who seemed to have problems impregnating women would end up on security, as the impregnation front was much much funner. The security officers controlled the gates to ensure no other family members tried to come through the impregnation area, or that any riots began. They wore full body armor and were armed to the teeth with several guns, multiple storage pockets for ammo, a baton and a sword sheathed at their side. The fertilization front however did not mean that their job wasn't as risky as the security officers. They wore only a black t-shirt and black pants with a black belt and black shoes. But if any of the women past the gate put up any sort of a struggle, it was their duty to subdue the women without hurting them using only handcuffs issued to each of the fertilizers. He was told it was hit or miss as to whether any particular grouping of women would put up more of a struggle than another, but he was kind of hoping he would get the opportunity to subdue at least one on his first day. The thought to him turned him on immensely. Martin took his paperwork to his senior officer to show that he was a very fertile young man so that he would be able to begin his first day on the job. With a short nod his superior sent him on the bus and after an hour they were in the city they were going to handle for the day. He pushed aside his secret hope of having to take down a woman as he assisted with the lining up of the pads and setting up with the confirmation tables that the doctors used to confirm the status of the fertility bands on each of the women. He lined up where he was ordered and waited for the women to come in. As they were filtered through the doctor's exam stations, he noticed with a look of remorse that some were turned away with either red, purple or cream bands, but the majority were directed through to the lockers and then the pads. After about thirty minutes of women coming in through the front gates to either be filed inside the city square or turned away, one woman began screaming as she was filtered inside. Immediately his senior officer directed him to assist with forcing the woman to comply and he sprang into action. "NO! I Don't want you to! You can't make me!" The woman screamed as Martin grabbed the woman by the waist and began to haul her over to the lockers and pinned her there with his body as he reached back to grab one of the sets of handcuffs on his standard issue uniform. She struggled against him the whole time and the force he held over her went straight to his groin. He managed to grab one of her hands and slip a cuff on, securing the other restraint to a bolt just on top of the waist high locker. "NO!" She shrieked as he let up some of the pressure on her back as he pulled out the other restraint and forced her second arm above her head securing it in place. He caught his breath for a moment as he stepped back and admired her form bent over the lockers. He wished he could simply pull her skirt up over her face and push her panties aside to fuck her right then and there, but that would be against protocol. With a sigh he simply reached for her zipper on her skirt and then guided them gently down to the floor, forcing one of her legs up and then back down as he guided the skirt under her foot, then reaping the action with her second. He handed the skirt to one of the assistants who folded it neatly and stuck it in a locker. "You sick son of a bitch! I'll kill you for this!" The woman bellowed as he reached now for her blouse and unbuttoned all of the clasps on the back that held it closed. "How dare you you motherfucker!" she screamed as he lifted one arm of the skirt up to the cuff above her head. He repeated the action with her other arm as well, then reached down and slid her panties to her ankles, forcing her feet up one at a time so he could hand those too to the assistant. "Hush now dear." the elderly matron said as she folded the panties neatly too and stuck them in a locker. "You must do your duty my dear, for the planet. The less you struggle the easier it will be." The graying woman patted the back of the woman's head gently brushing back on her curly brown hair. "Fuck you you stupid old two bit whore!" she spat with venom at her elder. "Honestly now my dear, you really are being unreasonable about this whole thing." Martin just smirked as the young woman actually spit at the dressing assistant. She could be as feisty as she wanted for all he cared, that would make it more enjoyable for him. The old woman stood up straight again and patted martin on the shoulder. "You teach her a lesson, you hear me sonny?" "Yes ma'am. I plan to." was all he replied as he unsnapped the fasten on her bra and pushed it back up past her hands onto the cuffs. Just then the young woman tried to kick him but missed instead managing to lose her balance and crush one of her hips against the side of the locker as she cried out in pain. He quickly lifted her into a more comfortable position and settled her feet back down on the ground as he gently rubbed her hip where it was beginning to bruise. "What's your name?" he asked as he tried to alleviate her pain by rubbing the bruise. "Fuck you." was all she spat. "That's a stupid name. My name is Martin. Are you sure you don't want to tell me yours?" "Fuck you Martin." "I plan to yes thank you for the offer." He smirked as she scowled at him and he reached up and removed one of the cuffs from the holder, sliding the clothing past as he did so. He pulled her free arm behind her back and held it there so she was still unable to move as he removed the other cuff entirely and secured it to the other behind her back. "Since I am going to be taking you up on that offer, I'd like to know what name to yell out in bliss as I unload my sperm inside you." With that he pulled on her arms and hauled her into a standing position again, pushing out her breasts in front just slightly as he held her arms in place with his hand on the cuffs. At this point all she could manage was a slight choked sob. "You really are beautiful" He said as he reached up with his free hand and gently pinched one of her nipples. "A Baby would really enjoy sucking on that tit. Are you sure I can't know what the name of my future child's mother is?" "I'm going to puke" she blurted as she made a gagging sound and he let up on some of the pressure allowing her to bend over just slightly and breathe freely. "I can see you are really wound up about this." he said as she bent over sharply as she dry heaved a few times. "No shit asshole" she blurted between heaves. Nothing came up but her body was having the reaction to stress anyway. She sank to the ground slowly and he sank with her, not letting up on his grip on the cuffs behind her back. "What's your name sweetheart?" He asked again as the assistant began to pull her hair back in a ponytail to keep it out of her face. There was no answer for a long time as he gently ran his hand in a circle on her back. Slowly she sat back up and glared at them both. The assistant gave her a glass of water which she sipped slowly. Eventually with him glaring back at her she relented. "Justine." was all she said. And with that he guided her back to standing and began the walk over to the pads. "Have you had anyone try to fertilize you before?" he asked as he reached to the handcuffs and undid them to slide them into the holes to lock for her hands. "You mean have I been fucked?" She spat at him as he locked her second hand into place. He simply made eye contact and nodded once at her. "No." she admitted as she looked away. "So you are a virgin?" "Yes" she choked again as she began to out and out sob now. Martin's cock began dancing in his pants at the thought of taking her virginity. now the only question was, was it going to be him to mount her today? He looked up and waved his senior officer over. "Yes Private?" he asked as he came over "Permission to speak sir?" Martin asked of his senior officer. "Granted." "Sir, this girl has told me that this is her first fertilization ever, and I-" he was cut off as his senior officer glared at him. "And you were hoping you would be able to be the one to take her virginity?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow. "Yes Sir!" Martin just stood at attention eagerly awaiting the response. "I'm surprised. Most of the guys on their first day on the job want something nice and easy. You've taken the challenge she has displayed so far quite well." He rubbed his chin for a moment as he pondered the decision. "Go for it Private." "Thank you sir." Martin said and shook hands with his senior officer for a moment before he turned of to deal with another private a few feet away. "You son of a bitch." Justine cried out. "I told you I was a virgin and you want to claim it from me. Why aren't you helping me?" "Because I want to pop your cherry with my cock and bust a nut inside you. It's your job to get knocked up, and it's my job to do it to you." Martin stated matter of factly and she just started to cry again. After a few minutes she began to really pull at her restraints trying to get loose but Martin just watched her, knowing there was no way possible she could get out. After a few minutes Martin watched as the Lubricator began to make the rounds and watched as Justine's eyes went wide as the small probe was inserted and lubricated. Once the Lubricator was done, he bent closer and inspected his work then walked onto the next. "So I never asked you yet." Martin began as he first took off his shirt. "When exactly was your last period?" Justine cried even harder for a moment as she watched him disrobe. "Are you going to answer me?" he asked as he unbuttoned his jeans She sobbed even louder again, but answered with a strangled "Ten days" The thought made him even harder and he rubbed himself through his pants in front of her. He debated for a moment, and decided to completely undress in front of her, knowing it would terrify her even more. He smirked as he unzipped his pants and then pulled them to the ground and stepped out of them. He grabbed himself through his boxers and smiled as her eyes went wide watching what he was doing. Then he grabbed the top of his boxers and pushed those down to the ground too. "No" Justine cried out and strained against her bonds again "That's too big for me! You can't!" Martin just smiled as he stroked his ten inch cock slowly a few times and walked back behind her and positioned himself at her opening. "Please!" She cried out as she felt a small amount of pressure from the head of his cock. "Please don't! NO! You can't!" "But I can, and I will." He replied as he rubbed his cock across her slit. "Please no! No! No! Don't!" she cried over and over as he caressed her slit with his cock. "You know you want me ball deep in your cunt you bitch. You want this more than I do you fucking virgin." He taunted her as he reached up and spread her pussy lips a little with his fingers. "No!" she kept repeating over and over and over again as he chuckled to himself at her fear. "Yes." he said as he slowly inserted one finger and laughed audibly as she screamed. "Take it out! It's too big!" she shook against her restraints and cried louder. "You don't know too big. That was my finger." he said as he slid his finger back out and rubbed some of the lubrication on the head of his cock. He positioned himself behind her again and said "You're gonna be gorgeous with a fat pregnant belly with my baby in it." just as he began leaning forward, dipping his head into her opening just slightly. "No!!! I don't want to!" she cried out just before he grabbed her hips with both hands and ramming himself in full hilt. She screamed louder than any scream she had let out previously. "Oww! Stop! Stop! Stop" she bellowed as he pulled out slightly. She screamed again when he rammed himself in a second time, hitting her cervix. When she let her breath back in she began changing "This isn't happening. This isn't happening. No. No. No!" He gave her a moment to get used to his girth and then pulled out slightly before ramming it back in with her next cry of "No" once he was fully sheathed in her pussy again she let out another cry of pain. He had decided right then that he liked the sound of her pain so he pulled out fully, ignoring her protests as he inserted the tip again and then rammed it in her like the first time. She screamed again, so he did the same again and again until all he was getting was little moans of discomfort from her and then just began thrusting. He sank his cock into her over and over and over while she cried that she didn't want this to happen, she didn't want a baby, she didn't want his baby, she didn't want her belly to grow, she wanted her virginity back, she wanted her mommy, she wanted to go home. His pace quickened and thrusts got harder as he got more and more turned on with her cries of pain and displeasure. The more she cried the hornier she got. Eventually he was so hot that he couldn't just thrust anymore, he had to join her with the mantra. "Yes!" as he thrust in then pulled out slightly. "You Whore." He thrust back in, and slowly out. "Take it all" as he rammed it in and straight into her cervix again, causing her to buck in pain. He continued fucking her like that for several minutes before he bent over slightly and reached forward for her clit. "No!" she cried out as he caressed the nub of flesh with his finger. "No!" "Cum on my cock you little whore." he spat at her as he continued stroking her clit with the rhythm of his thrusts. She kept screaming and crying at him the whole time, feeling she had been being raped for hours. Eventually, even when her body betrayed her and she had an orgasm she kept crying that she did not want this. With her denial of the pleasure of the orgasm, he kept stroking her clit until she came again. He still did not let up and she came finally a third time. He smirked at her cries of dismay after torturing her through three orgasms, and when his balls began to tighten and his cock began to twitch inside her, he thrusted with wild abandon. He straightened his back and stopped fingering her clit instead to grab her hips instead, grabbing big meaty handfuls of flesh and squeezing them painfully as he buried his cock inside her with a spasming jerk. Burying himself full hilt in her unwilling pussy, he moaned in ecstasy as his body began to pump his semen inside her. He pushed back just slightly and rammed back in, causing her to cry out in pain again, as he continued to fill her body full of his seed. "Knocking you up bitch." He said as he continued to squirt inside her over and over with smaller and smaller thrusts as the sensation was just too much for him now. "Pussy, so, tight" He grunted out as he pushed himself inside her fully and left it there as his cock twitched and began deflating inside her. He stood behind her with his hands full of her flesh for several moments as he came back down from bliss. He slowly began pulling out and releasing his grip on her hips and she cried out in pain as the blood rushed back into where he had gripped. "Fuck yeah you are a good fuck you stupid whore." he said as he pulled himself completely out of her. He stroked himself lightly as he finished shrinking down. Justine continued to cry and sob as he watched the blood and cum start leaking down her legs. The assistant brought him a nice warm wet towel to clean himself with and she cleaned justine slightly too, causing her to wince at the touch. "Can I go home now?" Justine asked as he looked up to realize it was the old assistant who was cleaning her. "Oh no dear, we aren't finished yet." Justine looked back in horror at the assistant as she just tottered off to the next girl. "What?" Justine asked as she pulled against her restraints again, her energy picking up yet again. "You are going to be held here for a second and maybe third fucking." Martin said as he began to slowly stroke himself back to hard again "At least. I'm banking that I can probably manage to fuck you a fourth time even." Justine's eyes went wide. "How is that even possible?" "Viagra is cheaper than in-vitro fertilization bitch." Martin closed his eyes slightly as he started to get hard again. "You see, we are paid to fuck girls pregnant on a regular basis. You don't think we'd just stop at one fucking and let you go to hope for the best do you?" "But- NO!" Justine stammered as she began to hiccup. "Sure you might be good and fertile today, that doesn't mean we can risk the chance you might not have gotten enough of my cum inside you to knock you up though." He stroked himself a few more times as his member grew in size as he became fully erect again. "No!" another hiccup. "Yes. You WILL be pregnant by the time you go home tomorrow." "Tomorrow?" she sobbed. "Yeah. Tomorrow, It's already dark, I have a few more fucks left in me before we can let you leave. It'll be tomorrow before you go home." "What?" she began to gag. "Don't worry though, you'll be back here next week to make sure you're good and knocked up." "What?" Justine asked between the sobs, she was shaking now and Martin could hear her gagging. He grinned. "You stupid or something? You're gonna get knocked up no matter how many times I gotta fuck you. Sarge gave you to me, so each time you come back I'll be the one fucking you. Stupid Bitch." He felt his cock jump as he heard her vomit on the front of the table she was still strapped to. He stroked himself and watched her as her body shook with heaving again and again. The assistant was there in an instant cleaning Justine's mess and wiping her face. "There, there dearie." and patted her head causing her to begin another bout of dry-heaving. The moment she had completed wiping things down, he positioned himself behind her and shoved himself in again, she choked and coughed first before she began screaming again. Crisis - Annette As Always first things first. I thank my LadyCibelle and Techsan for their patience, proof reading, editing skills and of course encouragement. I'll add that we don't always see eye to eye, so I take full responsibility for any cock-ups in this story. * The idea for this short story came from reading stories by two other writers, my friend Dynamite Jacks "Babysittin' Blues" and Dr_Knows "All My children" both enjoyable reads. The story bears no real resemblance to either story but I thought the reader might like to know what sent my mind off in this particular direction. This can't be happening. It was a day like any other. I'd been out of the office visiting the different sites where my building crews were working. I run a small building maintenance business. We had in the past done some new builds, but finding suitable sites had become a real pain in the arse. Repairs and the odd extension to private houses turned the money over quicker. Anyway, as I arrived back at the office, some guy is waiting for me. He stood up as I entered the room and asked me, "Are you Mr. Steven George Best Harding?" "Yes, I am," I replied. I got a feeling I knew what was coming next. We have the odd dissatisfied customer and it wasn't unusual for folks to sue over it. Normally we managed to sort things out amicably. So amicably in fact that it wasn't unusual for those same moaners to come back to have another job done. So, you see, I wasn't particularly bothered. There was no way I was going to let whatever this was about go to court. "I have a summons here for you sir. You are cited as co-respondent in the divorce of Mr. and Mrs. Powers and I have another summons issued in the name of Mr. Powers charging you with alienation of his wife's affections. And then there is a third claiming back payment of child support for the two children that Mr. Powers claims you sired." With that the guy slapped three envelopes into my hand and walked out of the office. I didn't say anything other than to confirm my name; I was just too shocked to say anything else. My secretary/receptionist Jean came around her desk, took me by the arm, lead me into my office and pushed me down into my chair. Then Jean picked up the phone and called my solicitor. "Manny, get you arse over here to Steve's office, now! The shit has hit the fan big time. He's going to need you." Manny must had said something back to Jean. "I don't give a monkey's arse what you're doing, you big lump of lard. Get yourself over here now and start earning that bloody retainer Steve pays you or I'll personally cut your bloody balls off." Jean doesn't mince her words. That's why I had her running the office. I employ a rough crowd. None of the guys would ever dare to talk back to her, Manny amongst them. "Stay there, boss. I'm going to make a cup of tea, then we'll see what all this shit is about." ++++++++++++++++++ I suppose I'd better tell you a little about myself. I'm Steve George Best Harding. (My dad was into football. No, I never was - I couldn't kick a ball straight if my life depended on it). I'm thirty-five years old and have been married to my Annette, the oldest of three sisters for the last fifteen of them. We've got two children, Rebecca, who's five, and Christina, who's four years old. No, we didn't plan on waiting all that long to have children; we started trying to have a baby from the first day of our honeymoon and, boy, did we try. But it turned out Annette had some internal abnormality - don't ask me, I'm not a bloody gynaecologist; I didn't understand a word of it. It was nothing they couldn't get around; the end result was that Annette wouldn't be able to conceive in the normal manner. Once the problem was diagnosed, things were fairly easily rectified. The doctors just pointed us in the direction of the nearest IVF treatment centre. After a few months of messing around, an implant finally took and Rebecca popped into the world nine months later. As soon as possible after the birth, Annette went back to the clinic where they implanted a couple more embryos and Christina soon joined our happy little family. Annette and I still enjoy a ... um, hectic sex life. I think Annette reckons we are going to prove the doctors wrong one-day. Hey, I'm happy to help her, although it can be quite tiring sometimes. Although it could be Annette just enjoys sex. I know I do. The problem that I had by then was that Annette is what you might call very possessive and extremely jealous. Christ, it took years for her to get used to the idea of Jean working with me. Jean and Annette are great friends but if Annette got the wrong idea she'd go bloody bonkers. But now, I had her sister's husband claiming that I was the father of his two small children and apparently actively suing me over it. Shit, if Annette got wind of this she would bloody kill her sister and me. Jean, of course, realised the implications of the solicitor's visit. Jean knows Annette and me intimately. She also knew that it was all smoke, that there was no way I would ever cheat on Annette, but the slightest hint to Annette and God knows what would happen. ++++++++++++++ I think I sat in my office in a state of shock. Jean returned with a couple of mugs of tea. Then she opened the three envelopes and read the contents, huffing and puffing as she did so. "Jesus, that's bloody impossible," she suddenly exclaimed. "Steve, you haven't done anything I don't know about, have you?" I looked at her. "There's a bloody DNA test here that claims to prove you are the father of Emma's twins." "No bloody way. What do you think - I've got a bleeding death wish or something?" I replied. "It doesn't make sense. It's got to be a mistake." Jean commented as she looked through the rest of the papers. "They say here that Malcolm Powers is definitely not the father of either of the children. Look, they must have got the samples mixed up. How the hell did they get a sample from you anyway?" "Buggered if I know. But they can get DNA from cigarette ends and off beer glasses and things nowadays, can't they? That's what the police do, isn't it?" I suggested. "No, damn it. I know where he got it. Remember a few of months back Malcolm was on about that bone marrow donor register. Didn't he talk you into going on it? Something about leukaemia and bone marrow donations." "Shit, yes, I remember. He conned most of us at the golf club into signing up for it." "The crafty bastard! He must have been looking for a DNA match. Did you mention it to Annette or anyone at home?" Jean asked. "I don't think so. There was nothing to it. They just took a blood sample that's all. I figured I wouldn't tell Annette about it unless I got called to make a donation. But I doubted that would ever happen." "Well, that's where the bastard got what he thinks is your DNA, from that bloody blood sample, but they must have gotten the samples mixed up somewhere along the line." Just then Manny arrived and quickly Jean filled him in on what had happened. Manny being Manny and a solicitor to boot immediately assumed I was guilty. Why do solicitors assume that everyone is as sleazy and devious as they are? Manny started harping on about hiding my financial assets so that Annette wouldn't be able to take me to the cleaners in the divorce settlement. Manny knew Annette just as well as Jean did. "Look, Manny, I'm not the father of those kid's. I've never shag ... um, sorry Jean ... slept with Emma or anyone else come to that, since I started going with Annette." "Well, that's not what this DNA report says," countered Manny as he thumbed through the papers. "Well, they've messed it up and got the samples mixed up or something," I shouted at him angrily. "I doubt it, Steve. This is one of the top labs in the country. They do all the police work. I can't see them making a mistake." "Well, they fucking well have this time." I was livid now and I forgot my manners by swearing whilst Jean was in the room. "Look, for those kids to have my DNA, I would have to be their father. Since I've never had sex with their mother, then there's no fucking way I can be their father. So then those bloody tests have got to be wrong." It was nearly 7 P.M. by then, way after the time I usually arrived home. Any moment I was expecting Annette to call and enquire where I was. "Jean, do me a favour and ring Annette. Tell her we're caught up in something that I've got to get sorted out by this evening. I don't care what you say but I can't see her until I've got an explanation for this mess." Jean called Annette at home but there was no answer. I was really worried. Annette should have been home cooking my evening meal. Had she already heard about all this and walked out on me without waiting to hear what I had to say. I wouldn't put it past her. With Annette's temper, it's act first and ask questions later. Christ, I caught a beer in my face once when one of my client's wives gave me a peck on the cheek in the pub. She was thanking me for getting a job done well within the time it should have taken because they were having a family party. Once the client explained things to Annette, she was very sorry for misreading what she had seen. Annette is from Irish stock. They can be very ... um, physical. Well, Annette demonstrates that in bed quite often. Jean began dialling another number. "Who are you calling now?" I enquired. "Jean's mother. If the shit has hit the fan, she'll know." Jean spoke to Annette's mother but I gathered she wasn't there. My mother spoke to Jean for some time; Jean was just saying things like, "Uh, hum" and "I see" in reply. Then she hung up. "That doesn't make any sense." Jean said, "Apparently Annette is with Emma because Emma's husband has walked out on her. Surely Emma knows why he's gone. I'll phone her. She must have told Annette that you're not the father and Annette must have believed her. So it looks like your problems with Annette could be over before they began." "Oh, yeah, and Emma could be lying in a pool of blood. Did you think of that?" "In that case, why isn't Annette around here killing you as well?" "Good point. Ah, hold on, Annette would never leave the kids on their own." I must admit I was feeling somewhat relieved, so some joviality crept in. Jean made the call. "Oh, halloo Annette, It's Jean from the office." "Steve was worried and wondering where you were actually." "Yes, I heard. Your mother told me. But do you know why?" "Ah, well, yes, Steve knows as well. Someone delivered a couple of summonses here this afternoon." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Jean was telling Annette about the summonses. What the hell was the girl playing at? "Okay, ten minutes. Bye." Jean put the phone down and turned to me. "Take it easy, Steve, I've just realised what has been going on here. But I think I'll let Annette sort this mess out. Where is that bottle of Scotch you keep hidden in here? I think you're going to need it." +++++++++++++++++++++ Well, there it was. If you haven't sussed it by now you're as thick as I was. It turned out that Emma had the same problem as Annette. It's a genetic thing apparently. The trouble for Emma was that Malcolm Powers had a problem as well. I don't know how they did it, but somehow the two girls persuaded someone in the IVF centre to use Annette and my spare embryo's, and implant them into Emma. Two embryos took so Emma gave birth to twins. So what was the outcome? Well, legally I'm financially responsible for Emma's children, Christ they are my kids really, But I'm suing the IVF clinic over that one. Manny reckons we'll take them to the cleaners. I have my doubts Malcolm and Emma got back together eventually. I just can't understand why the girls didn't involve Malcolm and myself in the surrogate implant plan in the first place. Christ, I'm glad Malcolm isn't the physical type though, because he towers over me. But then he's an accountant - they always think money first, don't they? Annette and I are divorced. Shit, she really could have dropped me in it big time. The girls let it slip that they were planning to try the same thing with their other sister. Christ, I would be financially responsible for a bloody football team by the time they finished. The question now is how long I'm going to stay divorced from Annette. Christ, I love Annette, but she really needed to be taught a serious lesson. Hey, look, being single for a few months won't do me any harm. I've been laying all those women who have offered since I got married to Annette and she can't say a bloody thing about it. I see the kids two or three times a week and sometimes a stay over, well quite often actually. Yeah. you get the idea. Annette walks around me like she's treading on broken glass so I don't think she will dare stray on me. I figure we'll get married again about Christmas time - we've been talking about it and I should have sown enough wild oats by then. And, of course, with any luck I should remain the dominant partner in our marriage afterwards. Life goes on. Crisis Management I glanced over at her for the fiftieth time. Two rows ahead of me, two machines to the left. I quickly forced myself to look back at the row of TVs hanging from the ceiling, not wanting her to catch me looking at her again. Not that she had any idea I was even alive, mind you; maybe I was more afraid of being embarrassed by someone else catching me ogling the ultra-fit redhead with the ponytail effortless gliding away on the elliptical machine. So instead I kept sneaking peeks every 30 seconds. If nothing else, she was great motivation—I could run twice as far, and with less effort, on the days when I could see her from where I was working out. I was pretty sure her name was Bree or Brianna, from a distance I'd overheard other women in the club call her that. She was pretty friendly with some of the other women; there was a pretty regular crew of both genders that worked out in the second-floor midtown gym over lunch every day. There were plenty of little groups of men and women who were at least friendly if not actually friends. There was very little interaction between the men and women, however, and it wasn't just because of separate locker rooms. No, it was sexual politics—most of the men in here were either single or at least open to the possibility of having a new partner, if just for the very short term if you catch my drift. Most of the women, on the other hand, worked as professionals in downtown offices (rates were pretty steep for an administrative assistant) and were either married or in a relationship. Brianna was no exception; she wore a diamond the size of a raspberry on her left ring finger. Since most of the women were attractive, physically fit and financially self-sufficient, they were extremely enticing to us guys. It was best for everyone just to keep one's distance. There were other beautiful women too, but for me Brianna was the only one that mattered. Her legs were long and lean as she strode on her machine; from time to time a glimpse of her belly would show, so tight you could see the individual abdominal muscles when she bent forward. Her tight exercise clothes always strained around her bust; her breasts seemed to be rather large for someone so lean. It was possible that they were augmented, but frankly I didn't care. Her ring suggested she had access to plenty of money, but that was just one of a dozen of ways she was out of my league. There seemed to be no chance that I'd ever get to see those lovely, hidden mounds of femininity. Brianna began to slow down, cooling down. In a few minutes she stopped, wiped the machine with a towel, and headed towards the locker room. On most days, when Brianna left my motivation plummeted as well, and I would often end my workout within minutes of her. I would usually rush to shower and change, then linger out in the reception area hoping to catch one more glimpse of Brianna in street clothes as she headed out. Somehow, she usually managed to miss me. On the rare occasions where I had seen her leaving, the image of her in her well-tailored business suits, with very short skirts displaying plenty of dynamite leg and inevitably matching pumps, did little to curb my enthusiasm. On this day, though, I kept striding long after she departed, lost in my own thoughts. This morning Eric, two years younger than I and in the cubicle next to me, announced his engagement. I like Eric—we've spent a lot of time together, in the office and out. For a while we would go out on the town together regularly, and I was actually with him when he met Heather. She was damn hot, and she was a nice enough girl too; now Eric was going to marry her. I was jealous—not so much of Heather specifically, since her personality was definitely a better match to outgoing Eric than to me. No, I was jealous that he wasn't going to be lonely anymore. I work too much, and I know it. I have a good, high-profile job, with a six-figure salary that I keep by working 60, 70, sometimes 80 hour weeks. I used to have a girlfriend; we lived together after college, and I suppose part of me assumed we'd eventually get married. We never had any problems while we were in school, but once I started working and putting in long hours to keep my job, she started to feel abandoned. Eventually she gave me the "I don't know you anymore" speech and left. That was, what, three years ago? I wasn't even too upset at the time; the strain had been building up for a while. I figured the offices during the day and the bars at night were full of beautiful girls; I was actually kind of excited for the chance to see what maybe I had been missing. But I wasn't making a lot of money at the time, and I soon found that without it the girls that caught my eye seemed to have little use for a dime-a-dozen peon like me. I guess I was shooting for the stars in the girls I went after as much as they were in the men they hoped to find, but the result was just one rejection after another. The girls were all trolling for bigger fish—like me now I suppose, but I am left with a lingering bitter taste in my mouth from those days. Now as soon as a girl finds out that I'm doing well, I feel likeit's not me but my money that she's attracted to. I'm trapped in a dilemma of my own making; I don't trust girls I meet really like me not my money, and consequently I don't ever give them the chance to prove otherwise. Plus I really do work a lot; sometimes I tell myself its better this way, that a girlfriend or wife would just be another demand on time I don't have. But when I'm sitting in my apartment at night hunkered down in dim light before my computer screen, I can't hide from the reality of my loneliness. At least for a while I had companions in my loneliness, but now Eric was getting married. Now I was even alone in my aloneness. I kept striding an brooding until I suddenly realized the gym was nearly empty. I glanced at the wall clock: 1:30. Yipes! I'd been on the machine for an hour. I quickly rushed to the showers, dreading the baneful scolding awaiting me from my Blackberry as it was overwhelmed with messages for me. Oh well...it wasn't like I wasn't going to work until seven or eight o'clock anyway... ------------------ I went home that night and resolved that I would try, again, to go out socially and meet people, any maybe give someone a chance to show me she saw more than dollar bills when she looked in my eyes. That was my honest intention. I had no way of knowing that on before the week was out Wall Street would plummet, losing ten percent of its value, and another ten percent the following week. Panic resounded up and down Manhattan. When I went home from work on Friday I shared the subway with hundreds of employees of the investment banks whose offices seemed to surround mine; who would have thought that before the weekend was up two of those banks would be forcibly merged with commercial banks by the Fed, and another would fail outright. People who expected to be going to work on Monday instead went to the office on Sunday to clean out their cubicles, suddenly and unexpectedly unemployed. Shock waves reverberated up and down the city. Six weeks later at my own company, people who had been dreaming of big Christmas bonuses were getting pink slips instead. Those of us who stayed on had to wonder whether they might not have been the lucky ones, as most of our workloads doubled or tripled overnight. Eric wasn't let go, but he was transferred to another, lower position in another department, at about a one-third cut in pay. Me—I might as well have given up my west side condo, because for a month I was at the office so much I might have been better off just sleeping at my desk. It was so bad that my boss insisted that I go home no later than 7:00 at night for fear I would kill myself with work (karoshi). One thing I did keep doing for myself was to work out at lunchtime, only it wasn't doing much to control my stress anymore. The increased stress didn't help, but the real problem was after that first horrific weekend, Brianna stopped showing up at the gym. It was pretty pricey just because of the real estate it occupied, and if you had been laid off I would imagine it was a luxury you couldn't afford. I didn't know where she worked, and I suppose it was possible that she moved or something, but given the timing it seemed most likely she'd been one of the thousands of suddenly unemployed New Yorkers. Once regularly packed, the gym was barely half-full now; many who did not cancel their memberships outright weren't able to get there regularly anymore because of increased workloads. It made it a lot harder to get motivated than it used to be, and I started to gain weight. With all the constant stress, I found myself really looking forward to Eric's bachelor party. I hadn't gone out at all since the financial crises began and was more than ready to forget about it all with a night of drunken debauchery. Even the wedding had been affected by Wall Street; originally slated for next summer, Eric's fiancée was laid off and they decided to move up the wedding so that he could put her on his health insurance, just in case their birth control failed. I wasn't standing up in the wedding per se; I was going to be an usher instead. I knew Eric's best man a little, once or twice he came out with us back in the day. From what I knew of him, I was sure he'd have some... entertainment... lined up. I was expecting that the whole lot of us would hit a few bars and then hit a strip club. In fact, when it became clear that everyone was hitting it hard and it didn't look like we'd be leaving the apartment at all, I was disappointed and was heading into a vodka-induced withdrawal. Then suddenly about quarter after ten the doorbell rang, and the best man seemed very excited about answering it. He buzzed in the voice at the speaker and a few minutes later from the other room a heard a soprano voice purring "Hey guys!" The men I had been playing poker with glanced at each other knowingly and threw in--whatever was coming next promised to be better than this. Already a crowd was milling around a statuesque blonde in a long overcoat standing in the doorway. I heard her say "My name is Deena and I'm here to make sure everyone has a good time!" There were wolf whistles from the others--they seemed to have a better idea of what to expect than I did. "But I hope you don't mind...I brought someone with me. She's new, and she's here to observe before we let her do her own gigs. Wouldn't want to disappoint any of you fine gentlemen, now would we?" I froze. Brianna from the health club peeked in behind Deena in the doorway. "Hi," she said nervously, looking very uncomfortable. "I'm Tiffany." Tiffany? Not Brianna? I knew I didn't have the face wrong, I'd spent too many hours admiring it at the gym. Maybe I'd heard the name wrong, or more likely, she was using a stage name. "Now if you could show me to the bathroom so I can get ready...I'll be right out..." she promised. The host showed her to a room where she could change, Tiffany following behind, trying to get out of the roomful of lusty stares as quickly as possible. In the meantime, tables were hastily pushed aside and chairs moved so that there was a circle around an open spot in the floor. One chair was placed in the middle of the circle--special treatment for the groom. The host reappeared and quickly went around topping off drinks for anyone that needed one. After about five minutes, Tiffany/Brianna appeared in the hallway, trying not to be seen, carrying a small portable CD player. She turned to her left, looking for a plug, finding one, and suddenly the air was filled with unmistakably stripper music. Twenty conversations ended at once, and the persistent underlying murmur that had hung in the air all evening ceased as all eyes turned towards the hall. Suddenly Deena stepped out from the darkened hall, striking a pose while wolf whistles sprung from around the room. She was dressed like the prototypical sinful schoolgirl; white blouse tied up short to reveal her belly, unbuttoned to show a decorative red bra. The red matched the plaid of the ultra-mini pleated skirt she wore, so short it didn't quite cover her cheeks completely even when standing straight up. She playfully licked her finger, pretending to look naive, then whipped around so her back was to us, bent over and grabbed her ankle so that the skirt raised high and showed us her g-string. Then she stood and strutted towards the circle we had made, touching every man she passed along the way. When she got to the edge of the circle, she put her arms at her hips and accused "and are you the guest of honor?" He nodded with a mix of embarrassment and expectation; someone volunteered that his name was Eric. "Eric...are you sure you want to get married? I mean...don't you know what you might be...missing" And with that she launched towards him, kicked her leg up high, and swept it clean over him as he sat in the chair. He blanched in surprise. "Aww, did that scare you? Here, let me make it feel better." And with that she turned her butt to him, lowered down, and buffed the crotch of his pants by making tight circles with her ass. That got the crowd going. She launched into a well-practiced and choreographed routine, teasing Eric with every opportunity, even doing the thing where she dropped her bra onto his face so he was actually the last to see her large, clearly augmented breasts. She stripped down to the g-string, then ended by sitting in his lap and doing everything she could to get him hard. She was pretty good, but although she was attractive and knew how to work a bachelor party, I was only half paying attention. Just like at the gym, I kept stealing glances over at Brianna, uh, Tiffany, and she didn't look any more comfortable. I saw her gulp once or twice as she watched how Deena worked, and it just looked like she wanted to be anywhere in the world but here. I could not imagine her being the one doing the stripping and the teasing--but I would have loved to be proven wrong. When Eric was uncomfortably erect, she stood, put her arms over her head as if to say "ta-daa," announcing the end of the dance. It also made her breasts jut out that much more, making our mouths water like starving men staring at a steak. She knew this of course, and jiggled them slightly just to rub it in. Everyone applauded--well, except for Tiffany (Brianna?). Deena then announced "That's it for the show boys. I'll be in the back, though, if anyone wants a private dance for tips. One at a time, though, please." Then she grabbed the groom's hand, dragged him out of the chair and with her down the hall. "The groom's is free," she added as she headed down the hall. The man next to me elbowed me in the ribs. "Private dance for tips...good one." "Huh?" I asked. "Private dance...clever." My confused look must have told him I had no idea what he was talking about. "Don't you know how this works? Officially, she's done what we paid for. But now she's giving blow jobs in the back--for a hottie like that, probably a hundred bucks a shot. That's the 'private dance.' Obviously, she can't advertise that she does it, or they might call try to nail her for prostitution. But in the back, door closed, who's to say what she did or didn't do, eh?" I smiled and nodded, but my mind had just officially been blown. The thought of Tiffany dancing was one thing, but the idea of her sucking me off for a C-note...my mind could just not compute the concept. Perhaps Tiffany's couldn't, either, for five minutes later she stormed out from the hallway, wearing her overcoat, looking like she'd seen a ghost. She made a beeline for the door and let herself out without so much as a word to anyone. ---------------- I was useless the rest of the weekend. Brianna, or was it Tiffany, working for an in-house stripper service? Maybe doing blowjobs on the side? But she had been introduced as a new girl observing, and by all appearances she had been appalled by the extra services being offered. But I would pay a lot of dough just to get her to show me those wonderful apples that I'd tried to imagine a thousand times as they jiggled provocatively under a sports bra. When Monday rolled around I asked Eric as nonchalantly as I could muster if he could ask his best man for the phone number where he'd hired the entertainment from. Eric had more important things to think about that week of course, but on Wednesday I lied and told him I was hosting a bachelor party the week after and needed to know soon; he had the number for me Thursday. Deena had been hired through an outfit called "City Deluxe Escort Service." I looked them up in the phone book. They had a small ad with a stock picture of a sexy blonde. Bullets on the ad advertised "Escorts...special event companions...we do bachelor parties..." and so on. Instead of going to the gym at lunch, I found the most secluded spot I could find in midtown and called the number. "City Deluxe Escort Service," said a cheery female voice on the other end of the line. "Uh, yes...I would like to...uh..." How exactly do I ask this? "Um, I was at a bachelor party recently, and there was a dancer from your service?" "Yes, we do bachelor parties. Would you like to book an entertainer?" she asked helpfully. Perhaps I wasn't the first nervous caller she'd dealt with, which made me feel better. "Um, yes, but I was wondering...I really liked the person we had. Is it possible to request a specific entertainer?" "Certainly sir, if she's not booked already. What was her name?" "Tiffany." "Ah yes, Tiffany is very popular. Let me see her calendar..." Somehow that didn't fit with what I'd observed. I interrupted "Um...might you have more than one Tiffany? This girl was new, I guess? She was actually observing or something at the party I was at..." "Oh," she said, her practiced routine derailed. "It's certainly possible, we're always hiring new girls and I don't always know them very well. Let me check the list..." there was a pause as she did something on the other line. "Well, it seems we have not one but three Tiffanys. I don't know how I'd know which is the one you saw..." "This one had bright red hair," I volunteered. "Ah, you're one of those redhead guys, huh?" "Sorry," I said sheepishly. "Don't be. Can you imagine how awful it would be if there was just one woman that every man in the world wanted? Besides, redheads are rare--if you'd have said blonde, well, that's 90% of our staff. Hold on." There was a pause. "Ah, this must be the one. Hired a week ago, bright red hair. Hmm...she's pretty, too. I can see why you'd want to see her again." She must have had pictures she could refer to. I imagined a book with pictures of girls in dancewear, with a provocative picture of her in it. I cleared my throat and swallowed hard. "Oh!" she said suddenly. "Um, Tiffany is listed as burlesque-only, were you aware of that?" "Um, what does that mean?" I wasn't really sure what burlesque meant, but I gathered that it meant something less than stripping. Now it was the girl on phone's turn to stumble for proper words. "Um...it means that...she will do stage shows, but no private dances." Ah. Now that I was in on the code, I understood that she'd dance, but no blowjobs afterwards. Somehow, it helped reduce the dissonance between the pedestal she occupied in my mind and the fact that I was booking her to strip for me to know that she wasn't turning tricks on the side. I wondered if "burlesque" also meant she wouldn't take her top off, but then I realized I didn't care. I was smitten with this girl, I had the money, and I was lonely and overworked--she could have read Shakespeare to me and it would have been worth whatever it was going to cost. I booked her for Friday night. Crisis Management -------------- I actually left work at five on Friday; I don't know if I'd ever done that before. But my boss was encouraging of me doing something for myself--he needed all the work I got done, and that wouldn't happen if I worked myself into the hospital. In fact, he decided to follow my lead and left with me. I might have been better off at work, though, because I was a wreck waiting for 8:00 to come around. I meant to have a leisurely dinner but in my excitement downed it in 20 minutes. I went home to clean my condo, but the housekeeper had been in and there was very little that needed to be done. I had an hour-and-a-half to kill. I switched on the TV for the first time in months and flipped up and down through the sixty channels I had no idea why I still paid for since I never watched them, but nothing could distract me from brooding about what was to come. When the buzzer finally went off, my hands were shaking as I rose to buzz her in. I opened the door a crack and peeked out so it wouldn't be as obvious that I was watching the elevator door. My heartbeat spiked with every ding, but it seemed like it stopped at 20 other floors before finally she stepped out. I sighed as she walked down the hall, looking at numbers on doors. Her red hair was loose and flowing, and under her long coat I saw bare calves and strappy fuck-me heels. The only thing that kept her from looking like an angel out of a movie as she seemingly glided down the hall was the boom box she carried in her left hand. I waited until she was about 20 feet away, then opened the door and stepped out. I gulped in awe of the vision of the woman of my fantasies. "Mike?" she asked in a cold, businesslike tone, stepping up her pace to close the distance. "You must be Tiffany" I croaked, "come on in." I gestured towards the door. She took one step in and froze. She whirled on me, and accused "where is the party?" "Oh," I said, taken aback, having forgotten about the lie I'd told the escort service. "Um, the bride called off the wedding, and I thought it was too late to cancel you. I thought maybe some of the guys would show up anyway, but I guess they weren't in the mood to celebrate. Is it a problem if it's just me?" She sized me up with great suspicion, not answering at first. She knitted her brows for split second, which I think meant she had the feeling of having seen me somewhere before but couldn't place where. Finally she said "it's your money, but don't get any bright ideas. I have mace and I WILL use it." "Of course," I swallowed. She turned and entered. I followed and closed the door. "Did you need a dressing room or something?" I asked. "No," she answered. She had put down the stereo at my kitchen table and was already taking off her coat. Underneath she wore one of the bright jewel-tone suits with the short skirt I'd admired whenever I'd seen her in the lobby of the health club. "Where do you want me to go?" "Oh...over here." I moved the coffee table aside and sat on the couch. She carried over the boom box, placing it on the table, and standing in the space. "Ready?" she asked coldly. Deena had exuded enticement; she had made all the men in the room want her, from her voice to the way she carried herself, before she ever started to dance. Tiffany gave off a vibe of counting the seconds until she could leave. She stood before me not in a way that got my juices flowing, but like she was standing in line for bread. And yet, in my smitten-ness I could easily overlook these things. "Uh, sure," I said. I was finding it hard to breathe just with her standing so close to me. She took a step and pressed play with her long, bony finger. I suddenly realized that her fingers were bare--the huge diamond that had always adorned her finger at the gym was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps, like the stage name I was sure she was using, this was something the service had coached her to do. After all, it's hard to create the illusion that the dancer can't wait to have unbelievably nasty sex with you if she's wearing a wedding band. Tiffany crafted no such illusion anyway. When the music started, she stated to dance, but she clearly wasn't a stripper. She danced like a raver, the difference being that one maximized the pleasure of the dancer, the other maximized that of the observer. Still, it was Brianna/Tiffany, moving that lithe body that I'd admired as it ran hundreds of miles without moving an inch. She unbuttoned her jacket right away, holding her hands to the back of her head and swaying her hips like a disco diva. Then she pumped her hips up and down in a slight arc; she was nice enough to turn around and show how this movement accentuated her ass. She started to go low, low, low as she pumped, lifting her skirt to let her down. Eventually it was up around her waist, and I could marvel at the toned glutes, having fallen almost completely free of her thong, as they pumped in rhythm. I'd never seen her this close before. Her skin had the fine porcelain tone of most real redheads, with the faint pink blush of life glowing through from beneath. She didn't seem to have very many freckles for how fine her skin was. She suddenly stood and turned towards me. She looked down in my general direction as she unbuttoned her blouse while shaking her hips in a vaguely salsa style (to music that wasn't even remotely salsa). I looked right at her, but she avoided eye contact with me--I think she was looking at my knees, of all things. When the last button was free, she spun in circles, lifting the blouse off her arms so that it twirled above her. Then she let it fly to the side. She was wearing a lacy black bra with red trim underneath. She demurely crossed her arms to cover her chest, then slowly slid her hands down those tightly toned abs I'd marveled at from afar. She had a small silver hoop in her navel that I had never seen before; maybe she took it out to exercise, or maybe it was new. She danced around some more and then started working at the zipper at the side of her skirt. She actually came a little closer to me, her side to me, teasing me by playing with the zipper and lowering it a half-inch at a time. It was giving me a raging hard-on. Finally she let the zipper down and pushed the skirt down her lean, shapely legs in a movement that was, well, a lot like touching her toes. It figured that her most stripper-like motions were those that were most similar to exercise. Now she danced in her lingerie. She would face me for a minute, then turn her back to me for a minute. Her eyes weren't focused on anything; it was like she was dancing in a club of her own imagining. She repeated the low bending dance, now that much more impressive as I could watch her ass the whole way down. When she popped up, she slipped first one strap of her bra from her shoulder, then the other. She maneuvered to free her arms from the straps, but kept it clasped around her torso. It was slipping, though, and I could see a good amount of cleavage as she danced. The space between her breasts seemed to have more prominent freckles, as did the insides of her thighs. Then she turned her back to me, making a big show of releasing the catch on her bra. It came loose, but she kept the bra from falling by pinching it with her arms. She turned back towards me, and used it like a mini curtain, shifting it back and forth while she did too; like a good burlesque, it gave the impression that one could see much more than actually one could. Finally, she stopped, held out her arm and tossed the bra towards me. For a split second before she crossed her arms over her chest again I could see her breasts. They were round and firm, with the finest delicate pink nipples you could imagine. Then tantalizingly they were gone. She turned three quarters away from me, arms still crossed over her chest, peering at me over her shoulder. She looked so much like the classic Betty Grable pinup pose I suspected it must have been intentional. Either way, however, the show seemed to be over. I started clapping. Self-consciously, she reached to retrieve her bra, covering her breasts with her other arm. She turned her back to quickly put it back on, then quickly pulled on her other clothes. Her eyes showed a sense of relief; I was willing to bet this was her first dance, but she didn't know I knew that. I didn't know if the relief was from the fact that she thought her newbishness wasn't apparent or if it was just because it was over. I thanked her for coming by and apologized again for not having a bigger audience. The dance out of the way, she was more relaxed, and she started to say it was better that there were fewer people then caught herself. I tipped her a C-note as I showed her out, which surprised her and she was actually civil to me for the first time. After she left I locked the door behind her, the shut off all the lights, lay down on my couch, and closed my eyes. I then replayed the entire dance in my mind as best I could remember it. I thought back on every curve, every move, every inch that I'd seen of her body. I played it back in my mind, then rewound the tape in my head and started again, over and over and over. ------------- The sunlight woke me in the morning. I felt a pain in my neck as I straightened; I'd fallen asleep on the couch, and now I'd have a crick in my neck all day. I headed to the shower slowly, lost in thought, then took a leisurely breakfast. Normally, I would have headed in to work, but today was Eric's wedding. But my thoughts weren't on that, they consisted mostly of: so now what? Do I book her again? I mean, anyone could have told you that I didn't get my money's worth, yet to me it had been priceless. What I remember of the wedding was nice. It was good that I had something else to occupy my day, or I'd have spent the whole day brooding about her. As it was, thoughts and recollections interrupted my perception of the events going on around me, hence my uncertain memories of the event. Back at work on Monday, there was so much to do I didn't have time to think about her again. But when I went to work out at lunchtime, in the place where I'd spent so much time staring at her beauty, thoughts of her were overwhelming. The more I thought about her, the more I fixated on the fact that she wasn't wearing the ring I'd always seen in the gym. I knew I desperately wanted it to mean something, which is why I was trying to so hard convince myself it didn't. Even if it did, my relationship with her was what--her first customer? If anything, that would probably cement my total lack of a shot at her. The one thing I could do, though, was hire her again. I knew it was weird, but I called the agency again on Wednesday anyway. "Hello...I'd like to hire a dancer for this Friday night." "Certainly," said the same voice as last week, "any special requests." "Yes...a new girl, Tiffany, a redhead." "Just a moment...(pause)...OK, I see her, but you know she's Burlesque-only?" "Yes that's fine." She proceeded to take down my address and credit card. She must book lots of gigs, it didn't ring a bell that it was the same address to which she'd been sent a week ago. Not so with Tiffany herself. She was due at 8:00, but at 7:30 I got a phone call from a number I didn't recognize. Some people don't answer calls like that, but I get lots of calls from people I do business with at odd hours from numbers I don't recognize, so I just answer it. She was calling to confirm the address. "Is this Mike?" "Yes," I replied. "Hi, this is Tiffany from the City Deluxe Escort Service? Did you order an escort this evening?" "Yes." "OK, good I thought I had the wrong address." There was a long pause, before she continued "did you...order an escort last Friday, too?" "Yes, I'm the same guy. I liked the show so much I wanted an encore. Is there a problem with that?" Another pause. "I guess not--it's your dime. I'll be there in 20 minutes." When she arrived, she was wearing a frown. While still in the hall, she told me "I hate to disappoint you, but I've only got one routine. It's going to look exactly the same as last week." "I'm OK with that," I replied as she breezed past me into my condo. "I said I liked it so much I booked you again, didn't I?" "Well, I just feel like you're getting gypped by not getting at least a new dance, but truth is I'm kind of new at this..." "I said its fine...really." She looked at me, convincing herself that I was indeed fine with her repeating last week's performance. Finally she said, "well, when I realized it was you again I quickly grabbed something else so at least I wouldn't be wearing the same outfit again. Do you have a bathroom where I can change?" I nodded and showed her to the bathroom. When she came out, she was wearing a white shirt tied at the midriff but a bustier underneath and a basic black miniskirt. Perhaps she had learned something from watching Deena after all. And she still didn't have any rings on her fingers. She flipped on the music and indeed, it was very much the same routine. Maybe it was because she'd done it before, or maybe because she'd danced for ME before, but she seemed more comfortable this time. She certainly didn't give off as strong of a vibe that she hated what she was doing, and it seemed more natural. The best part was at the end, where this time she held the bra out at arm's length before tossing it in my lap. When she crossed her arms over her chest, she wasn't quite as quick about it either, so instead of getting a split-second look at her marvelous breasts, I got a wonderful topless view for five, maybe ten full seconds. She actually gave a half-smile when I applauded this time, and she didn't even turn around when she put her bra back on, giving me another quick peek at her fine, porcelain breasts. "I hope that was worth seeing a second time" she said in a voice suggested she doubted it. "It was to me," I said honestly. "Well, I guess that's all that matters then." "Did it...bother you to have...a repeat customer?" I asked tentatively. I could already tell I would want to see her again, perhaps next week already. She thought for a moment. "No," she said, pausing again, then added, "I guess it's a compliment that you'd pay to see my show again. I guess I just don't understand why you'd think it was worth it." Because I'm totally smitten with you, I thought. "I just do," is what I said. I tipped her again as she left, and I watched her fine legs recede all the way down the hall to the elevator. I closed the door with a sigh. So close and yet so far. ---------------- All week I resolved to NOT book her for a third week in a row. As each day passed, my resolve eroded in the face of my lust. Thursday I gave up, and found myself calling the agency again. "Hello," I said, confident now in what I was doing, "I would like to request an escort for Friday night. Specifically, there's a new girl named Tiffany, a redhead. I would like to book her." "Yes sir," said the same voice, "just a moment." The moment took longer than it had the first two times. "I'm sorry sir, but Tiffany is no longer employed with City Deluxe. But we have lots of other fine redheaded escorts..." she started to rattle off some names and descriptions, but I wasn't hearing any of it. No longer employed with City Deluxe? Once again, the object of my abject desire had, for all intents and purposes, disappeared from the face of the earth." "Uh...no, thank you, I'm sure you have some lovely ladies, but I really wanted Tiffany," I said absently, mind still reeling. I flipped my phone closed and stared at it. Had she...gone to another agency? Maybe gone to work at a strip club? Not likely, I realized...fact was, even I knew she wasn't a very good stripper--she just had the most amazing body... In my mind I flashed back to her dancing in my living room, flashing me her breasts, the soft skin of her legs as she stood before me, the fine sculpted abs... Every minute of her two visits I replayed in my head. I thought about how she looked when she walked down the hall, about the way she had called me to make sure she hadn't gotten the address wrong... Called me. SHE HAD CALLED ME! I flipped open my phone with great urgency and started scrolling through the list of calls received. Why the hell hadn't this dawned on me before? There were thirty saved numbers before I found one that said "local call" and was received about 7:50pm on Friday. It didn't show me a number, but it did give me a "call back" option, so that's what I did. I was nervous as a groom as the phone rang--would this be her number? The agency? Who would answer the phone? It turned out nobody did. I guess whoever it was didn't recognize my number, either. A voicemail message kicked in, saying "You have reached xxx-xxxx. I am unable to take your call right now, but if you leave a message I'll get back to you." "Uh...yes...uh, Tiffany? This is me, Mike again. Listen, I called the agency because I wanted to book you again for this Friday night, but I was told you don't work for them anymore? Do you work somewhere else now, or are you freelancing maybe? Anyway, I'd love to have you come back for another encore tomorrow. Please call me at xxx-xxxx. Bye." I ended the call, feeling like I'd sounded like a fool--or maybe just that I was one. I had an important meeting that afternoon, and I was afraid she might call back during it so I set it to vibrate. With 20 minutes left I got a call, and I got all excited--for nothing. It was a stupid vendor that called me every Thursday--I was so focused on Tiffany I'd forgotten all about him. I went home and had a quiet, somber dinner, but the phone would not ring. I tried her number again, got the same voicemail, but didn't leave another message. I had a hard time falling asleep that night, thinking the woman of my dreams was out there somewhere, but I had no idea where. --------------- 3:00 Friday I got a call. I had been putting out fires all day, so I'd been on my phone almost constantly and wasn't even checking who it was when I picked it up. "Hello" I said tersely. "Hello, Mike?" I immediately recognized her voice, even though it sounded different, like it was upset about something. "Oh, hi...Tiffany?" I said, putting down my papers and sitting back in my chair. "Hi...listen, I got your message, and no, I don't work for City Deluxe. In fact, I'm not working at all right now..." "Well then, would you consider freelancing? I'd love to have you come by again this week, and I'll pay you the full fee I paid the agency before..." "I guess I can, I mean it's not like I signed a no-compete clause or something." No-compete clause? She sounded a lot more like a banker than a stripper. Which would have fit with why she would have frequented a mid-town gym at lunch hour. Desperate times call for desperate measures maybe? She continued "but I'm not set up to take credit cards or anything..." "Not a problem--I'll make sure I can pay in cash. Would that be OK?" There was silence for a moment as apparently she considered. "Yeah, I guess that's OK. 8:00?" "That would be great. See you then." I ended the call with leaping heart. One, I was getting my weekly dance after all. And two, I knew for sure I had her number. As soon as she got off the elevator, though, I could tell something wasn't right. Watching her walk down the hall as always, she carried herself differently. She looked like someone trying hard to keep herself together. She smiled weakly when she came close, trying to hide the feelings inside. Her mascara appeared smudged. "I've got a little treat for you," she announced with all the resolve she could muster. "But I need to freshen up a bit first." "Not a problem," I said unevenly, having no clue what to do in this situation. "Take as much time as you like." She smiled again wanly and retreated to my bathroom. I sat down, feeling, well, guilty. She appeared upset; if she were a friend or even an acquaintance I would ask if something was the matter. But my only relationship to her was...I guess you would call it professional. It seemed like the LAST thing she would want, given the signs I had noted indicating her distaste for the work she was doing, is to have customers pry into her private affairs. Crisis Management She was in the bathroom for quite a while it seemed. When she came out, she looked more composed. It was also immediately apparent what the meant by a treat--she was dressed in a smoldering hot French maid costume. It was dancewear of the kind they sell in adult bookstores intended to spice up marriages, but it was better quality than some and so it didn't look like a cheap Halloween costume. It was black with a squared-off neckline that showed ample cleavage, a very short skirt puffed out with a very visible white ruffle-thing, and silk stockings--real ones, with the line up the back and held up with straps by an as-yet unseen garter belt. I sprang an instant woody. "Wow," I said slowly. "I thought you might like it. My ex always did." As she moved to start the boom box, my head was spinning. Ex? Ex-what? Again, she was wearing no ring--one might have assumed she meant ex-boyfriend, but perhaps she really meant ex-husband. The music started in and she started to perform. I say perform and not dance, because she made no effort to keep in time with the music. Instead, she was just trying to tease me; slinking in front of me, giving me peeks of this and that then snatching them away from view. She seemed much more natural just teasing me with her considerable assets rather than trying to be a stripper. This was a hundred times hotter than that canned routine she had been doing. She bent over, shoving the ruffled ass in my face, and pretended to dust my shoes. She squeezed her cheeks alternately, and the insides of her thighs tensed with each pulse. I could just imagine her sitting herself down on my erection. Oh, man. She put down the duster and slapped her cheeks playfully. Then still bent over, but looking back at me sideways, she undid one of the snaps holding up her stockings, then the other. My dick felt like it was going to burst through my fly. Then she turned to face me and bent her right leg, planting her black pump right next to my thigh. Then she sensually unsnapped the other garter and slowly ran the stockings down her leg, gathering them as she went until they were neatly rolled up at her ankle. She ran her fingers up the leg and back down again, as if the lovely, shapely stalk wasn't able to call enough attention to itself. Then she lifted the leg and hovered it right in front of my face, pointing the toe down. And she held it there. Or at least, it felt like she was holding it there. In fact, it seemed like she was waiting for something--what? I glanced up at her; she was watching me--another noticeable change from prior performances. It felt even more like she was waiting for me to do...something. What? My heart was thumping. I'm sure it made the passage of time feel even that much slower than it was. But I felt like I was being expected to do something, and she was waving the leg in my face until I did it. So I did the only thing I could think to do. I gently kissed the inside of her calf. Maybe that was it, because she started moving again. She planted the other leg, and put the left up next to me. She unsnapped the garter, but in my peripheral vision I could see her lips pursed tightly. She reached for the stocking and started to gather it, but no sooner had she started than I heard a sniffle. A split second later, the floodgates opened. She bolted for the bathroom, trying to hide the fact that she was bawling her eyes out. My dick got soft faster than a pricked balloon (sorry about the pun). I really blew it, I thought. I'm no strip club aficionado, but even I know you're not supposed to touch the talent. I remembered how concerned for her safety she'd been the first time she came; I'd finally gotten her to feel comfortable and really give me a memorable show, and now I'd blown it by kissing her leg. Now the girl that starred in every single one of my fantasies was bawling in my bathroom. Nice going. I sat there for a few minutes, berating myself. I expected to see her fly out of there like a bat out of hell, but she didn't; she seemed to be holed up in my bathroom instead. Do something, you idiot, I yelled at myself. What? I dunno, but don't just sit there like a dumb-ass doing nothing and then regret it forever. She's still here... this is your only chance. And so with absolutely no idea what I was going to do, I got up and headed towards the bathroom. I paused outside the door. I could hear sobbing coming from inside. The door was closed, or at least as far as my bathroom door closes. The lock hasn't lined up for years; since I live alone and work all the time, I've never made any attempt to fix it. Maybe she had tried to lock it and maybe she hadn't, but either way when I gently touched the door it opened easily. Slowly, deliberately, I eased the door open. I made noise to make sure that she knew the door was opening. When it was half open, I peeked my head in gingerly. She was sitting in a ball at the foot of the john, with her left leg tucked under her chin and gripped firmly with both arms as she wept. She was so miserable still wasn't sure she knew I was there. In slow motion, I eased the door open the rest of the way, then crept in with an exaggerated tiptoe. I stopped about halfway in, where I leaned against the sink. Her bawling scaled back to sobs; I felt like she was attending to my being there without wanting to lift her head. "I'm sorry," I said softly, eyes to the ground. "I shouldn't have done that." "Don't apologize," she sniffed at length, "you didn't do anything. I'm the one that should be apologizing." "I...I kissed your leg," I protested, "I'm not supposed to touch you..." "Pfft," she interrupted. "I don't have a problem with you kissing my leg. But I was stupid...I shouldn't have worn this outfit. I...I used wear this and dance for my husband. When you kissed my leg..." there was a pause as a fresh wave of tears welled up "it was exactly the way HE used to..." I waited, letting her cry. "I take it you recently separated, or divorced?" I asked gently. "If only it were that simple," she complained bitterly. I remained silent, hoping she would elaborate. After a time, she added "the last three months have been hell. I knew my life was pretty good, but I didn't know how good until it all started falling apart. It's unbelievable how quickly it's all unraveled." "I'm sorry to hear that, Brianna," I blurted, trying to imagine what she might all be referring to. She whirled toward me, black mascara streaks down her cheeks. "What did you say?" she demanded. I was caught off guard. What DID I say? What, was she some kind of psycho? "I said I'm sorry?" I said defensively. "No," she persisted with a tone approaching panic, "you said I'm sorry, BRIANNA. How did you know my real name?" Oops. Lost in my thoughts, I had slipped and called her Brianna instead of Tiffany. "Ah. Yes, well...you don't remember me, do you? Well, I used to work out over lunch hour at that gym over on 53rd. I used to see you there almost every day. Then all of a sudden you just stopped coming." "Yeah, that was me," she snorted sarcastically, burying her face again. "That was one of the first things to go. God, that gym seems like a million years ago now." "What happened?" I asked. "Let's see..." she answered savagely, "what happened. Well, first I lost my job. I was an account manager at Layman Financial. When the mortgage market crashed, all of us doing investment banking were suddenly billions in debt. The government stepped in to save all the other investment banks, but for some reason they just let us go down in flames. Five thousand employees just in my office, and all of us out of work overnight." "Oh," I said sympathetically. "At first I wasn't too worried. I figured I was one of the lucky ones. My husband was a vice president at a major hedge fund, I was sure we could live on his income at least for a while and barely notice the difference. I thought maybe it was even a sign, that maybe it was time to start a family or something. And then one day he just didn't come home from work. He sent a courier to the house with a message--I can still remember exactly that it said: Dearest Brianna: I'm sorry that it has to end this way. I shall always love you, and believe me that I really didn't want this to end, especially like this. But with today's economic crisis, many things have suddenly changed. I must leave this country at once; I will be returning to Brazil, starting over. I wish that I could bring you with me, but I am afraid it cannot be so. I shall always cherish the time we had together. I hope that you will find someone else that will love you as much as I did. Love and sadness, Paolo "Ouch," I added. "I was devastated. What the hell was he talking about? He had a green card, why did he suddenly have to leave the country? He hadn't given me any indication that there were even any problems. In the next few days the pieces of the puzzle started filling in. Eventually it was all over the news: the company he worked for was a giant lie, the biggest Ponzi scheme in history. Criminal and civil charges were filed against company officers, including Paolo. Since he was probably going to be on the hook for recouping some of what investors lost, I was informed that all of our assets were frozen. They said I could keep living in our house, but I couldn't sell any of the furnishings or access our savings. Not that there was much savings left, mind you. He left most of his stuff, maybe packed like he would for a business trip, but he DID manage to withdraw most of the money we had in the bank. " she spat. " A lot of that was MINE!" "Wow," I said. "So my dearest husband turned out to be a coward that skipped the country rather than face the music, leaving me with all these bills and no way to pay. I sold my wedding rings to pay the first month's mortgage but with no job and our assets frozen I had nothing else I could sell to pay the bills. And the bills kept coming, and coming, and coming. I had no idea how much we had in credit card debt. I had to make minimum payments or the interest rate would triple. I was desperate--I applied to a hundred jobs in a week. Useless--everyone was laying off, nobody was hiring! It got so bad that one day I actually clicked on the banner ad on the job site that said 'Ladies, make $3,000 a week exotic dancing.' That's how I ended up with City Deluxe. I thought, I'm in good shape, I can probably handle doing a little dancing. But when they sent me to observe this other girl--it wasn't just dancing, it was like prostitution. Officially it was just dancing, but in reality if the girl wasn't following that up by giving blowjobs on the side, the customers would complain." She sniffled. "I did three gigs. The first two were for you. Then I did a bachelor party last Saturday--I could tell they weren't too excited about my show, and really weren't too happy when I wouldn't suck them off. I guess they must have complained, because in Tuesday's mail I received a letter saying I had been terminated." "I used to think I was a hotshot account manager," she wailed, unable to hold back the tears much longer, "instead I'm not even good enough to keep a job whose only requirement taking off my clothes! I don't have the money for the mortgage, and so it's only a matter of time before the bank starts foreclosing and I end up out on the street..." She broke down into full-scale crying. It was no wonder she was so upset. It broke my heart to hear her story, and yet at the same time it made my heart leap just because she was telling it to ME, up until now a stranger. I guess there's a lot to be said about being at the right place at the right time. "You don't have the right attitude to be a stripper," I said quietly, "...and that's a good thing." When she was able to choke out words, she said "how do you figure?" "Strippers," I declared, "I think they view men as pathetic. They think like, all you need to do is a little of this and a little of that and we fall over ourselves to give you all of our money. To be successful as an escort, you have to view men as your own stupid little playthings. You can't think of it like, I'm sucking dicks for money; you have to think of it like, men are dumb Neanderthals that can be led around by the little head, and if you played with our penises long enough we'll do anything you want." She was silent. "You don't think like that; you don't depersonalize men, and you don't want to be objectified yourself. Being an escort was never going to be a good fit for you." "Great," she said sarcastically, "so I'm not cynical enough to be a stripper. Fat lot of good that does me." "So what do you need right now?" "What do I need?" she replied in near hysterics, "what don't I need? Someplace to live might be a good place to start..." "No, I mean, RIGHT now," I said calmly, "what do you need to get through this week." "This week..." her sobs grew quieter as she thought, "I need $500 for the minimum payment on one of my Visas. That's the only reason I'm here --I wasn't going to return your call until I looked back over the bills and saw that one was coming due on Tuesday. Turns out THAT wasn't such a good idea, now was it?" I reached in my pocket for the $500 I was planning to pay her for the show. I pressed it into her palm, saying "all right...this will get you to Friday..." She looked at the money, but then tossed it down on the ground. "I can't take this. I didn't do my job, I don't deserve to be paid. And I'm sorry, I'm just not in any mood to finish the job right now." "An escort," I said gently, "is legally paid for her time only. What is done with that time...is subject to negotiation. You came to my place and have been her for...an hour. Thus, legally, you have fulfilled your obligation and are entitled to your fee." She said nothing. I think she knew I was technically correct, just as she knew she was clearly not delivering the goods promised. What she didn't have any way of knowing was that the chance to get to know a little bit about the real Brianna was worth far more to me than any dance. "So with that settled," I continued, "what is your legal status? Have you hired a lawyer yet?" "Hired a lawyer? For what?," she asked, confused. "Not that I have any money anyway, but do you think I need one?" "That depends, but I would think so. What are you planning to do about Paolo?" "I'm not planning anything. It appears I have been ditched." "Yes, but legally you are still married, which is why your assets are frozen. If you were to divorce him, you could separate your finances from his. I should think you might want to do that before any monetary judgments are brought against him." "Maybe, but even if I could afford a lawyer, which I can't, how do you serve papers to someone that's in hiding in another country?" "I think I've heard about this before--the note he sent may actually help you. Do you know if there's been a warrant issued for his arrest?" "Yes. The police came by to serve him, but I told them I had no idea where he was other than probably somewhere in Brazil." "That's actually good. I think if you can prove he's abandoned you, you can start divorce proceedings. That is, if that's what you want to do..." "You think I'd want to stay married to him after what he did to me?" "I wouldn't, but love can be a funny thing...when it comes to love, I would never take anything for granted. But if that IS what you what, I'll make some calls Monday morning. I know some lawyers, I can get a recommendation for you." "That's nice of you to offer, but I still can't afford to pay for one." "If you can't get one to defer payment until the divorce goes through and you get some assets back, I'll spot you the fee. Nah...nah..." I headed off any protest before it picked up steam. "I have plenty of problems of my own, but money is not one of them. I know you'll be good for it eventually." She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again. She was reading the firm look on my face. "You're going to insist, and it's pointless to try to argue with you, isn't it?" "Pretty much," I agreed. She sighed. "OK. Call me Monday and I'll speak with a lawyer." I smiled and nodded. "Thank you," she said softly. "I'm happy to help," I replied, knowing my reasons were far more selfish than she realized. ----------------- I got a referral from Eric's best man, who was a lawyer but only did corporate stuff. I called the guy he recommended and explained what I knew of the situation. I told him that I would pay any up-front costs, but he said in this situation he'd defer his fee until the settlement went through. Then I set up an appointment for her and phoned her to tell her where to be and when. On my way to the subway at 6:15 my phone rang. "Hi, Mike? Its Brianna," she said pleasantly, "is this a good time to talk? I don't know how long you usually work." Perhaps she was a workaholic, too. A lot of people would just assume you'd be home from work by six. "Brianna! Yes, I'm actually on my way home right now. How did it go with the lawyer?" "Great. You were right, he's going to file on the grounds of abandonment, and with the outstanding warrant I should be able to get a ruling in a lot less time than it usually takes. Not only that, but he's going to contact the judge in the civil case--it's not going to do any good to hold the house towards damages and then have the bank repossess it while the case is in court. He thinks they should be able to arrange for the mortgage to be paid out of the frozen assets while the case is being heard." "Hey, that's great!" "It's a start. I still need to come up with a way to pay utilities and credit cards. And eat...that's OK, I've been living on Ramen for three weeks already, what's a few more..." "Ramen...ugh. That stuff's terrible for you." "Yeah, but a full meal for fifty cents! Can't beat that. Kind of feels like being in college again." "Nuh-uh. You're going to get scurvy or something. I have to buy groceries tonight anyway--I'm going to buy you some, too." "No you're not," she protested. "Yes I am," I answered, "even if it means I have to mail them to your lawyer's office to get them delivered! Once in a while is fine, but you can't live on Ramen alone!" "Mike, stop. You've done enough for me already..." "Look, I can imagine that it's hard to feel helpless and accept assistance, especially from someone you barely know. But you are in need right now, and I have more than enough to meet your needs! Someday, maybe you'll return the favor, if not to me then someone in a similar situation. But for now, please--for your health, meet me at the grocery on Broadway and 95th in a half-hour." There was silence. "Please? Don't make me beg, it'll make a big scene here in the subway station." "OK," she said quietly. "Broadway and 95th, half hour." I stopped by my place to change, then went to meet her. I could see her from a block away, glowing like a radiant angel in the misty evening. She had on jeans that fit her like friggin' glove with high boots that looked expensive, but what do I know--I can't tell a Prada from a Panda. She had on a tight shirt with a fitted, short blazer; both ended at the waist, so when she bent over, a thin strip of her midriff became visible. She smiled and waved when she saw me. Then we went through the store together. She picked out some fresh fruits and vegetables and few staples, no more than maybe 20 bucks worth. I in the meantime picked up darn near everything in sight, easily $150 worth--except I was only planning on keeping a third of it for myself. I knew she needed more than she was buying, but was too proud to ask. After checking out, she took her re-usable cloth canvas bag towards the subway--that's when I said "are you going to be able to carry all your bags?" Crisis Management "I only have this one," she said. "No you don't," I disagreed, plopping down three of my four. "These are yours, too." "No, Mike..." "I don't even eat half of this stuff! But it was hard enough to talk you into letting me buy you anything, I knew you'd try to play it as light as possible, rather than buy what you really needed--right?" She kind of half-frowned and sighed. "Right" she agreed with resignation. "So I did the shopping for you, that's all." "Why are you doing all these nice things for me?" she quizzed. Because I worship the ground you walk on? I bit my tongue, and instead shrugged "I'm a sucker for redheads?" She giggled--and then let me help her carry the bags to her place. It was two subway stops from me, near the top of a high-rent high-rise. She and Paulo must have been pretty well-set; I know I couldn't have afforded that place, probably not even on twice my income. It must have been quite a change to go from that to nothing. I helped her unpack, and now that her kitchen was restocked she insisted that since I'd bought the food, the least she could do was cook it. And so I sat at the breakfast bar and chatted while she made us dinner. I don't know what it is she made, but it was so flavorful it was a long time before I realized it was meatless. "Are you a vegetarian?" I asked, "I guess I should have asked if you ate meat before I bought any." "It's OK. I'm not a strict vegetarian; it's just that I don't usually need meat. I'm sure I'll eat everything eventually." Somehow it was after nine before I headed home. And as she sent me off, she gave me a hug and peck on the cheek. I eschewed the subway and walked the whole way home, completely unaware of the rain drumming on my head. --------------- I thought of her the whole week, but I couldn't think of a good reason to call her. Friday afternoon I was sitting in my office in a most unusual state for me--I was counting the minutes until quitting time. I thought of the Fridays before, and that this week I had no plans whatsoever. I wished I would be seeing Brianna. That voice in the back of my head returned. Stop sitting there complaining and do something about it! You have her number, for crissakes. I knew what I wanted...I just felt sure she was going to refuse. Well...maybe if I was proactive about it... "Hello," she answered when I rang her phone. "Hey Brianna, its Mike. Any news?" "Not since Monday. More bills, no interviews." "Hang in there," I encouraged. "Say...maybe you can help me with a problem." "After all you've done for me, the least I can do is try. What's up?" "Well...I hate eating alone, yet that's what I do every single day. I know this person that I think is also be eating alone--it would make sense that we join up for dinner, ya know? But there's a problem--she's a little short of cash these days, and she won't let me pay her way because she feels I've done too much for her already. So how do I get this person to join me for a friendly little dinner without having to arm-wrestle about the fact that it might cost me five bucks?" "Ooh, that is a tough one," she answered, pretending my question was hypothetical. "You see, girls don't like to feel like they owe a guy something. Or maybe I should say they don't want a GUY to feel like SHE owes HIM something, ya know what I mean? A girl doesn't want to be in a situation where she might feel pressured into doing something she otherwise wouldn't choose to." "You know, that makes perfect sense," I responded as if we were debating a point, "but what about the guy? He can promise up and down until he's blue in the face that he doesn't feel like she owes him anything--she's not really going to believe him, is she?" "Probably not," she agreed. "She's too afraid of what might happen down the road. But that pretty much leaves the guy screwed, doesn't it? I mean, that pretty much means there's not a damn thing the guy can do to convince her he just wants to go to dinner, and not anything else?" "Oh, he might be able to convince her of that in the short run--but what if it changes? What if it keeps happening? At some point, doesn't the man start to feel like maybe she DOES owe him something?" "Maybe," I agreed, "I could see where that might happen. I could also see where it might NOT happen. Either way, it's a future outcome--something not knowable in the present, right? Isn't there an old saying about not crossing bridges until you come to them?" "Yes," she said softly, "but we don't want to hurt a man's feelings by rejecting him. It's better to just not go down that road." "There's one problem with your logic," I countered. "It may hurt the man's feelings to be rejected, but that doesn't take into account that that's as true at day one as it is down the road. I don't think it has anything to do with what the guy feels. I think it's easier for a girl to reject a man before she really knows anything about him, before she is able to truly imagine him feeling hurt. No man's feelings are being spared here—it's just easier for the woman." "I see," she replied, continuing as if this were a debate. "And what solution do you propose to this dilemma?" "I dare you," I replied, "to have dinner with me tonight." "Ooh, a challenge," she cooed, "I HATE backing down from a challenge. But you forget, there is still the guilt issue..." "Easily minimized," I said dismissively, "I'm not talking Chez Lafitte here. I'm talking let's grab a beer and wings at a sports bar or something like that. Something low-cost and low-key." "Well," she hesitated, "as long as it's low-cost and low-key, I accept the dare." We agreed to meet at a chain place located on the second floor of a building overlooking Times Square. She came in a soft knit sweater with a short black skirt, opaque black tights and the same boots from Monday. The sweater hugged her curves, and her legs in those tights...goddamn if she didn't look like a million dollars in damn near anything. We had a nice dinner. She told me more about Paolo, I told her about the last girlfriend I'd had. We talked about our families, background, college, jobs we'd had. Eventually our stories intersected at the gym where I used to watch her working out over lunch. "Yeah," she said wistfully, "I miss the gym. I mean, I have all kinds of time to exercise now, so I run when the weather is good enough and do stuff around the house. Our building even has some basic weight machines we can use, but I don't have any place where I can really do good pilates anymore." "You mean like the thing that looks like the rack?" "Yes," she smiled, "I mean like the things that looks like the rack. Those things are amazing for toning your core." She unconsciously patted her firm tummy as she spoke. I certainly couldn't think of a better testimonial than that. I wished she would be back at the gym, too, not just because it was another place to see her but because my own workouts had slacked so badly since she wasn't there inadvertently motivating me. I'd have been happy to pay for her to come back to the gym, too, but I knew she'd never allow that. It felt like there was some sort of line that one had to cross to go from paying for a few groceries to paying for a gym membership; I think you could safely call Brianna and I friends at this point, but clearly that was all. The safest thing I could think of to say was "Yeah, I wish you were still coming too--the place is never more than half-full anymore." "Really? You used to have to wait in line to get a machine." "Not anymore. You weren't the only casualty of this economic crisis." I thought for a moment, then impulsively blurted out a half-formed idea. "You know...I have an individual membership, but it's only like twenty bucks more for the family plan. If you pretended to be my girlfriend, I could upgrade and get you a card." "That would be lying...I couldn't do that" she said, but her tone indicated that she might be willing to consider bending if it meant getting her beloved gym back. "Technically, yes," I agreed, "you'd probably have to tell them that you lived with me. I guess that would mean that any future mailings they sent would end up in my box--actually, that kind of seems like a bonus to me. I dunno, we used to do that kind of stuff all the time when I was a kid. My aunt and uncle would take a car full of us cousins to the Y and pretend we were all their kids so we could use the pool. They're pretty much hurting too right now--at this point I think they'd be happy to take an extra 20 and run, you know?" "Maybe you're right," she said hesitantly, "but I just don't feel right..." "Meet me there Monday at 11:30," I persisted, "I'll do all the talking. That way you won't have to lie at all." "I'll think about it," is where we left it. -------------- Monday, I went to the gym at 11:30 not knowing if she'd be there or not. At first she wasn't; I sighed and checked in with my card. I went in and changed, and just because I wanted it so bad I swung by the front desk on my way to the exercise room. There she was, sitting in the foyer, red hair in a ponytail, wearing stretchy workout pants and carrying a small gym bag. "Hey!" I said, genuinely surprised. She got up smiling. "Sorry I'm late," she said, "problem in the subway." "No problem," I said, heart suddenly lighter. We went back to the membership desk where I added her to my account as my "girlfriend." As I walked her towards the women's locker room, she whispered to me "thank you once again, but I'm only doing this on one condition. I'll only use the gym when you're here. I know I have a card, but I still consider myself as a guest here, and it's not right for a guest to be here if her host isn't. So I need you to promise me you'll let me know if you're not able to make it, and I won't come on those days either. OK?" "OK," I agreed. I could see it made her feel better to act like she were a guest. But talk about a bonus for me--she had her whole day free, she could easily have come to gym any time she wanted, but by her own choice she was going to be here the same time as me. She came back out wearing a familiar black-and-pink matching shorts and sports bra combination, only instead of ignoring my stares, she made a beeline for me. She'd spent at least as many hours in this gym as I had, but she was acting like a three-year-old in a crowd, sticking close to me like I was the only person she knew. I on the other hand had a workout buddy, and what better workout buddy than the hottest babe in the gym? She took the guest thing to the extreme, insisting on taking the machine next to mine, refusing to do machines if I was on weights or vice versa, and so on. As a result we both had to adjust our routines to better mesh our workouts. She even showed me how to use her pilates machines; I had to, or she wouldn't use them and that was the main reason she was here. The first time I tried them, I couldn't bend over without pain for three days. For the next several weeks things went on like that. I saw her at the gym every weekday, and we met for a casual dinner on Saturday. I couldn't ask for more—I had a friendship with the woman of my dreams. And yet as every day passed, more is exactly what I wanted. That phone conversation we'd had when I challenged her to have dinner with me--it kept coming back to me. It wasn't that I felt like she owed me anything; everything I gave her I gave her freely and would happily do so again. Yet as we spent more time together, I couldn't help but wish that she wanted me more like the way I wanted her. In many ways, getting to know her made it worse; before it had been unrequited puppy love to a woman I viewed as impossibly perfect. Now I knew her and became aware of some of her faults, but I that didn't make me like her any less. Maybe the hardest part of all was that the dream of having a relationship was now absolutely imaginable—but just being able to imagine something does not make it so. My heart skipped a beat every time I saw her, but to her I was just a nice guy. Don't get me wrong, I would much rather have a platonic relationship with her than none at all, but it got harder and harder to hide my deepening feelings for her when there was no sign of any romantic attraction in return. Once in a while she might give me a peck on the cheek, but even that felt more euro-friendly than anything else. Once I had argued with her that rejecting a man from the get-go was no less hurtful than rejecting him later down the line. It was starting to feel like I was proving myself very, very wrong. In some ways, the holidays were coming at a good time. Brianna was going back home to Boston, I was headed back to the Midwest. Saturday fell on 20th; at dinner, Brianna surprised me by having a little present for me. It was thin and flat; when I opened it, she had done a drawing of me in pastels, much like the caricature artists you see at fairs. It was a good likeness of my face, especially since she had done it from memory, only my body was that of Superman, with an oversized blue chest and tiny red cape. I had no idea she had such artistic talent. "Wow." "Do you like it?" "It's...amazing." I said, astonished. "Well, it seemed appropriate. If I hadn't run into you, I don't know how I'd have made it through this fall. I'm sorry I couldn't afford a frame for it." "Well, thank you," I replied. "I didn't know you were so talented!" She just shrugged. Then in a serious tone, she said "the lawyer called today." "Oh?" "He said the divorce could go final as soon as the week after Christmas. Once it does, I'll probably have to move out of the house and the courts will take receivership. It sounds like they'll try to bundle our debt with the equity in the condo, so I'll finally be free of bills and should get a little of our savings back. But I'll have no place to live, and of course I still don't have a job." "So what are you going to do?" I asked. "I may have to live with my parents for a while," she said softly. "So..." I said slowly as the implications sunk in, "you might not be coming back from Boston when the holidays are over..." She smiled sadly and put her hand gently on the back of mine. "No. I love New York, but it's just not possible to keep living here with no income..." I nodded, and tried my best to smile. She had a kind, sympathetic look in her eyes. Suddenly, it seemed like maybe she understood far better than I realized the depths of my feelings I was harboring towards her. "I'm going to keep looking. I really do want to come back to the city. But I've been looking for months now, and still no one is hiring. At this point I don't when, or even if, I'll be coming back." "I'll miss you at the gym," I croaked around the frog suddenly infesting my throat. "I'll keep in touch. I'll call you when I'm back in town. And if you're ever in Boston, you'd better call me! OK?" "OK," I smiled hollowly. I'll keep in touch--perhaps the most-repeated lie in the history of civilization. It's not that we don't want to, it's just that most of us never seem to get around to actually following up, and deep down we know it even as we promise otherwise. We parted in Times Square. She hugged me earnestly. I knew she really appreciated me--just not in the way I wished she did. "Thanks again for all you've done for me, Mike," she spoke softly into my ear. Then we left, going separate ways. I trudged home in a fog. Walking in the door and taking off my coat, the little package fell out. I picked it up and again unrolled Brianna's drawing. Stealing the frame from a picture of my old girlfriend and I on a camping trip years ago, I put her drawing in the frame and hung it on the wall. This, it seemed, would be my lasting reminder of what might have been. ------------ I left for home on Tuesday. It was good to be out of New York for the holiday, especially while I got used to Brianna having passed out of my life yet again. We never had what most people would call a relationship, but I was just as sad as if it had been a breakup because it meant giving up the dreams I had held for so long. I thought a lot about Brianna and what she might be doing Boston while I was away. I wondered what her parents were like, her brother and sister, the friends from college she was looking forward to seeing. I hoped she was having a nice holiday, she sure had a rough year. As for me...well, I guess I was just alone again. As you might have predicted from what I've already told you, I was back to work on the 27th. I ran into Eric, and he invited me to a New Year's party. I didn't decline right away in case I changed my mind, but I wasn't in the mood to go. He tried to convince me that some of his wife's friends would be there and weren't married, but I knew that didn't mean they'd be coming alone. I imagined I'd be the only one there by myself, the lonely loser. I stayed home, and actually fell asleep on the couch before midnight, so it woke me up when my Blackberry buzzed two minutes into the new year. Brianna had sent me a text. It simply said Happy New Year Mike. I texted back HNY 2u 2, rolled over and went back to sleep. About 11 that morning I got another text. Do u work tomorrow? January 2 fell on a Friday, so a lot of places had elected to elongate the holiday. Not us. Yes I replied. Her response was Can u meet me at the coffee shop below the gym at 5? I stared at the message for a long time. The coffee shop below the gym? Why was she back in New York? She had told me she wasn't sure if she'd be coming back at all. In fact, I got kind of worried. Of course. Everything OK? I texted back. Not to worry was the response. A one-day workweek is useless anyway, and knowing that I was unexpectedly meeting Brianna (and not knowing why) after work made it more so. By 5:02 I was at the coffee shop. Brianna was already there, sitting at a table for two in a wool coat, tight jeans and those boots again. She smiled a big smile and waved at me as I came in. I smiled and headed towards her with some uncertainty. I certainly didn't expect that she would stand up, throw her arms around me and hug me, but that's what she did. I had no idea how to take it. "It's certainly a nice surprise to see you here," I ventured cautiously. "I came back to sign the final papers. As of today, I'm officially divorced!" "Congratulations," I said, not sure if that was the appropriate response or not. "I wasn't sure I was going to be able to come back, but the lawyer you found me convinced the judge that it wasn't reasonable on the 29th of December that I vacate by the 31st. I have until the end of February to pack up before they take receivership." "Well that only makes sense. So you have eight more weeks in New York? That's great! What are you going to do?" "This month, I'm still going to try to find a job. I don't have that much to pack, really; I got my clothes, personal belongings and the kitchen stuff in the settlement, but the other furniture was claimed by the court." "Well I'm really happy to hear that," I said, while deep down I wasn't sure what to make of it all. Part of me was ecstatic at getting to see her for another couple months; part of me wanted to stay away, as it would be that much harder when she did leave. "So how was your holiday?" I asked, changing the subject. "Great," she said, "it felt good to see my family again. Some of my old friends were also back for the holidays. I went out with a few of them during the week between Christmas and New Years. Kind of felt like old times." "Sounds like fun," I commented. "It was, but something kind of funny happened at one of the bars though. You know, I haven't been out unescorted for a long time, so I forgot how guys in bars are. I was sitting there, waiting to flag down a bartender to order another drink, when this guy behind me suddenly pokes his head in. He introduces himself and asks if I'm seeing someone. The first thing that crossed my mind was that I was married. I had to remind myself that I'm not anymore, so my second thought was well, I guess not. But then I thought about you. I mean, we've really just been friends, but we've done a lot of things together. I mean, you could easily have called some of them dates, you know? So my third thought was, maybe the answer really was yes after all." Crisis Management "What did you tell him," I asked with undivided attention. Brianna, thinking of our time together like they might have been dates? "Oh I would have told him yes no matter what," she replied easily, "I had no interest in being picked up." "Ah," I said, "the mysterious mind of a woman." "Not so mysterious," she answered. There was a pause before she elaborated. "That wasn't the only time I thought about you. You know, when I first met you I was still in shock over Paolo leaving me. I still thought of myself as being in a relationship. As the reality began to sink in, well, you were there to fill a lot of the void. It wasn't until I was in Boston that, for the first time, I really started to feel alone. I mean, if I was feeling down and wanted to talk, or if I had a plugged sink and needed someone to help plunge, I could just call you and you'd be there to help me, doing the things Paolo might have done before. But when I was back in Boston, I realized I didn't have anyone I could just pick up the phone and call like that. Sometimes you don't realize how valuable something is until you lose it." I didn't know what to say; I must have kind of blinked blankly at her. What was she trying to say? I knew what I wished she was trying to say, but I figured I was just hearing what I wanted to hear. The last thing I wanted was to make a fool of myself by guessing wrong. "I'd like to go for a walk," she declared to break the silence, "would you come with me if we caught a cab to Central Park?" "Sure," I said. But that got me thinking even more...she's never wanted to do anything like that before. She hailed us a cab, but neither of us said anything on the ride. We both looked out the windows to avoid looking t each other. When we got to Central Park, I habitually reached for my wallet, but she gestured that I should keep it in my pocket. "I have money again now, remember? I don't need to be a charity case anymore." "OK," I said easily, getting out of the cab and letting her pay. Maybe that's why she seemed so... different. Now that she had money again, she had independence. She got out of the cab, and tucked her arm under mine. Huh? "Let's go," she declared. We headed in to the park. It wasn't too bad for January; cold enough to see one's breath, but not so cold that you chilled to the bone. There had been enough sun and above-freezing temperatures that the sidewalks were clear. We walked in silence for a few hundred years, such it was starting to feel awkward, if only because it was not like us to walk arm in arm. She broke the silence by asking "so you didn't tell me how your holidays were?" "Fine," I said. "I keep meaning to stay in touch with my family more often, but it seems like when I get busy at work, I just don't get around to it." "Mmm hmm," she hummed, encouraging me to continue, but I didn't know what else to say. We walked along quietly. "You got my text on New Years," she commented. "It woke me up, actually. Eric invited me to a party, but I didn't feel like going and ended up falling asleep on the couch." She nodded. "That doesn't really surprise me." "That I fell asleep on the couch?" "That you turned down an invitation to a party," she clarified. "I'm that predictable?" "I'm guess I'm just getting to know you well enough." There was a long pause. "I was actually AT a party when I sent that." "Oh?" I asked. I was surprised she'd have thought to send me a text while at a party. I'd have thought she had plenty of other things to occupy her attention. "Yeah...luckily my friend Sarah's husband was on active duty so I had someone to go with. I talked to a lot of people I knew at the party, and their reaction was just WEIRD. When I told them about the sudden divorce, they were generally sympathetic and offered to help; I was expecting that. But then nearly every one said something along the lines of 'look on the bright side, now you get to date again.' And it wasn't even so much WHAT they said as the WAY they said it...like they were jealous of my freedom to date other people. I HAVE the freedom, and I don't know that I WANT it." I didn't know what to say so I chose to stay silent. "When Paolo left me completely out of the blue, it really hurt. I mean, I never expected anything like that. When your trust is betrayed like that, it just really, really makes it hard to trust again, you know?" "I would imagine," I agreed. "It takes most people a year, or more, before they feel ready to date again, did you know that?" "I've heard that," I agreed. I thought of a few guys I knew who dove into the dating scene even before their divorces ever went final, but they were only after sex. None of them had any interest in a real relationship for a long time afterward, if ever. "So anyway, back at this party I found myself avoiding other people and sticking close to Sarah. She asked me what was wrong. I told her it was freaking me out, all these people that seemed envious of me being single again. It seemed like they wished they could be dating other people. I have that freedom, and I don't want it." Brianna explained "So Sarah said to me, 'I remember when my sister got divorced, she said the same thing. She seemed to be meeting nice guys left and right, but she always said she wasn't ready to pursue anything with them. Finally I asked her what she was waiting for--when would it be time to try starting over? She said, when it didn't hurt to think about it anymore.' But then Sarah said, 'what if that day never comes? Look, you've been hurt—it's probably going to be hard to trust again, whether that's today or in twenty years. Sometimes you've just got to get back on the horse that threw ya.'" "Then she said something that really stuck with me," Brianna continued. "She said 'I'm not telling you to go out and start dating every man you see--just be open to it. It would be a real shame if the right man found you at the wrong time, and you let him get away just because you didn't feel ready yet.'" "I asked her 'How would I know if it's the right man?'" Brianna continued. "She said 'I don't know--what were the things that were most important to you when you first met Paolo?' So I thought back to when we first met. A lot of people asked me what I saw in him, maybe because he was from Brazil and our backgrounds were so different. I would tell them he had all the things I wanted in a man... he was kind... generous... someone you could really count on if you were ever in need. As I went through the list, I seemed like I was wrong about Paolo on all counts; he was tall, dark and exotic, and that was about it. But all those other things that I thought at the time made him attractive—it seemed like with every quality I listed there was this chime going off in my head, saying 'it may have been Paolo, but that IS just like Mike, you know.'" We both stopped walking. I turned to face her, and she put her arms around my waist. Our gazes met. There was a tinge of fear in her eyes. "So what are you saying?" I asked quietly. "When I was in Boston... I was surprised by how much I thought about you... how much missed having you around. Mike, I... I know you've wanted more from our relationship for a while now, and I've just not been ready for that. You've been really wonderful about it--you've not pushed me or pressured me, even as you've done one nice thing for me after another." I said nothing, just looked into her eyes. "I realized I can't expect you to do that forever. You're a real, genuine nice guy Mike, and some girl out there is going to be smarter enough to jump all over you when she finds you. I realized that I'm taking a chance one way or another. I'm taking a chance if I get involved in a relationship again, but I'm also taking a chance that if I just sit around and wait to feel ready, that option might not be there for me anymore. " She felt warm and wonderful in my arms. "Brianna," I said, "I... I don't know what to say. I mean, yeah, I've wished we had... a deeper relationship. The LAST thing I'd want is to do something that would make you uncomfortable. There's no one that would ever compare to you in my eyes...I'm not going anywhere." "You're very sweet," she smiled nervously, "and I know you mean that now. But I can't count on it staying that way forever. If I keep pushing you away, eventually you'll find another girl that won't. And then what—do I end up living the rest of my life wondering what might have been if I hadn't been such a chicken?" "You're not being a chicken," I demurred, "you're being smart, trying to protect yourself. That's one of the things I LIKE about you. You know, it's easy for me to get into a new relationship, I've been single for three years. You're in a very different position, and I understand that. It's OK you need some time. I'll be here... when you feel ready to move to the next level, I'll be waiting for you. OK?" She gave me a faint smile, but the look on her face seemed relieved. Surely she didn't think I would reject HER, did she? Instead of answering my question, though, she closed her eyes, craned her neck up towards me, and out lips met for the first time. My heart tried to somersault out of my chest as our lips touched. She backed off a bit, looking at me with big doe eyes to see my reaction. I reacted by immediately kissing her again. Then I felt her sigh in relief and lay her head on my chest. We stood there, holding each other, for a very long time. ------------ That day in Central Park was the beginning of the next stage of our relationship. From that point on, we were officially dating. Most aspects of our relationship grew and blossomed rather quickly; it seemed like once she made the decision she would trust in me and get involved in a relationship again, the rest came easy. Well, with one exception. There was one aspect that lagged significantly behind the rest: we would kiss and we would cuddle, but that was the extent of our physical intimacy. Sure, I wished we were having sex, but I was too overjoyed to honestly, truly be with her to get too upset about it. We would lay with her on my couch, embracing, kissing. I would sneak my hands up under her shirt and touch her warm waist. She liked that, and in some ways that was the problem; I think when I started touching her skin it turned her on, only that then freaked her out. She would withdraw, stop kissing me, tucking her head in to my shoulder so as to avoid looking me in the face. She didn't ever come out and tell me to stop, but she didn't have to. Her body language clearly communicated that she was no longer comfortable. The first time I told her that I loved her, she freely and easily responded in kind, yet her aversion to physical intimacy remained. It was a mental block now, and she knew it and felt bad about it. One time as we lay on my couch she said to me "I'm sorry Mike, I don't know why I'm having such a hard time with this. It's really weird—I mean, I would never do this, but I could imagine myself meeting someone at a bar and having sex with them. And I'm obviously in a relationship again. But for some reason I just can't seem put the two together yet--it's like I could handle sex if it didn't involve a relationship, and a relationship if it doesn't involve sex. I know it makes no sense, it just all still overwhelms me when I think of putting the two together." "I said when you feel comfortable and not before, and I'm not going to change now," I replied. I was getting plenty of love and affection--kissed, cuddles, hugs--it's just that my dick was not in on the loop. February came and went, and Brianna stayed in New York. The civil court trying her ex-husband decided to stay the case until the criminal proceedings were concluded, on the grounds that if he and the other company executives were convicted of criminal negligence, it would be a lot quicker to decide the civil case. She successfully petitioned the court to sublet what had been her own house from the court until the case resumed. She took a part-time job at a department store to help pay the bills while she kept applying for other jobs. There still wasn't anyone hiring. All the while, our relationship kept growing. I sensed that her trust was growing, and I felt confident that it would eventually overcome her fears of intimacy. I expected that our physical relationship would involve a gradual, step-by-step process, which was my experience in the past. Our romance was unfolding differently in a lot of ways, though. Still, it caught me by surprise when the final barrier came crashing down, pardon the pun, with a bang. My birthday is at the end of March. I insisted that she not buy me anything, in part because of her finances, but also in part because I didn't need anything. I'm hard to buy for; I spend most of my time at work (although much less so since Brianna and I became an item) so on those rare occasions where there is something I want I just go out and get it. So when she cooked a candlelight dinner for my birthday, I just assumed that WAS my gift. We had a nice dinner, sat down on the couch and started making out. After snogging for a while, she stopped for air, and I distinctly remember thinking there was something strange I couldn't put my finger on about the way she looked at me. I can only describe it as if you were looking at an expensive purchase and asking yourself whether this is really what you want, given how long it will take you to pay for. Then suddenly there was twinkle in her eye and she said "I need to go to the bathroom. I'll be back in a bit. Why don't you see if there's something good on TV?" Nodding, I dismissed any thoughts about the look and started flipping channels while she went. It wasn't unusual for us to watch something on TV together while she curled up in my arms. I loved to run my fingers through her soft red hair while she lay on me. I stopped five or six times to give a brief watch to something before deciding to see if I could do better. Just about the time I realized she'd been gone for kind of a long time, she was back. She snuck up behind me and covered my eyes with a fluffy white towel. Her hands smelled flowery but not too sweet, like expensive lotion should, as they held the cloth over my eyes. "I'm back," she purred like a sexy kitten. She pulled my head back so I was facing the ceiling, then bent over and kissed me from behind the sofa. She slowly pulled the towel away and tossed over the back of the couch, but even if I had opened my eyes, all I would have seen was a curtain of red hair. She slowly raised her head, then all at once flipped her hair back so I could see. I could only see her in periphery at first, so the first thing that registered was that something was different about the way she looked her than when she left. I turned my head to see what the difference was, and immediately did a double-take. She had sauntered out poured into the same tight French Maid costume she had worn on that ill-fated night months ago. Or, given how things had turned out for me, maybe I should just say "fated." "Whoa," I managed to say. She wore the dress and fluffy white underskirting, but this time around she wore no hosiery at all and had on black heels with ankle straps like a showgirl might wear. She strutted around the couch to face me, teasingly running her fingers along my arm on the way round. "Remember this little outfit?" I swallowed hard, my dick suddenly stiff like a two-by-four. "Oh yeah," I said. She knew she looked good; I mean, she put lots of time and effort into maintaining her body, and she took rightful pride in the results. Not in an I'm-better-than-you sort of way, but in an I've-earned-everything-I've-got kind of way. She did a half-spin to face me, standing with one leg straight and one slightly bent like a model might. She effortlessly lifted one foot and shut off the TV with the point of her heel. "I was thinking about your birthday," she purred, "and I realized I have some unfinished business to take care of. Some time ago, you paid for some services that were never delivered. Tonight seemed like a good time to set that straight." "Um..." I stammered. Half of me was jumping out of my skin; I'd never seen anything sexier in my whole freaking life. But the other half was panicking, remembering how she'd broken down in tears the last time she wore this getup. Yes, that was when her separation was fresh, but still, what's going to happen if my responses remind her of Paolo again? "Now, I have a little rule. If you want to see the show...put your arms up on the sofa where I can see them..." she waited while I moved to the center of the couch and put my arm up along the seatback. "Very good. Now the little rule is that you have to keep your arms right where they are. No matter what I do, you have to keep your arms right where they are or the show is over. There's a no-touching rule here, and it will be strictly enforced. Understand?" "Yes ma'am," I replied. Unconsciously I licked my lips in anticipation; it seemed I was gonna get another strip, and I had high yet reasonable hopes that when I got the chance to adore her soft lovely breasts again, they wouldn't be going back into hiding after five seconds. "Good," she said as she began to tease me mercilessly. "Do you see anything you like?" she purred as I squirmed. My erection was pinned awkwardly in my pants, and wanted to straighten, but when I made the slightest move to try to adjust it she tilted her head with a warning look. I think it made her feel even more powerful that the erection she was creating was simultaneously arousing and uncomfortable. She moved smoothly and gracefully, inches from my knees. Her moves were sort of dancing, but they were also sort of how you might imagine a charmed python might emerge from its basket. I know my python was a charmed as it could get. She would bend over and grab her ankles, making her thighs tighten like bow strings, then give me an extended cleavage shot on the way back up. She put her leg next to me like she had the first time she wore the costume, stoking her smooth legs from top to bottom. She held her foot in front of me again, and I kissed my way as far up the leg as I could reach without removing my arms from the couch. She watched my kiss my way up the smooth skin, letting me get to the middle of the inside of her high, but not any further. She bit her lower lip and flashed her eyebrows at me. "Do you like looking at my legs?" she whispered in a husky voice. Yow! I felt her hand on my thigh now, moving upward. She had no trouble finding my bulge; I might as well have been trying to hide a telephone pole in them. "Hmm. This is interesting. I wonder what this could be?" she teased. I groaned in unbridled lust. She let go, turned her backside to me, and in one quick zip motion whipped the underskirts down to her ankles. She did a little dainty ballerina spin, then kicked them into my face. Then she parting her knees she bent way down, with her hands disappearing tantalizingly below the skirt. It seemed like she might be touching herself; she eyed me with mock pity as I tried to see THROUGH the damn skirt. She slowly lifted up the front of her skirt to show a black dancer's thong, complete with little clasps on the side for easy removal. At first I thought they might be a memento of the three weeks where she was working as a stripper, but then realized she never took her panties off dancing. It dawned on me that perhaps her relationship with her ex-husband had been more adventurous than I had imagined. In the meantime she touched the crotch of her panties, rubbing them gently, making a face of pure self-pleasured bliss. Just as quickly as the turned it on, she turned it off, enjoying my discomfort? Her eyes were pure devil-vixen. She stood up, slipping the straps of her dress off of her shoulders so they formed a straight line with the square neck. She hooked the edge of the neckline on her thumbs and thrust her hands out and slightly down, flashing me two wonderful, bare breasts before hiding them behind the dress again. Wow. For a moment it flashed across my mind that it was interesting that she wasn't wearing a bra under the dress, which would have lengthened the striptease, but I was quickly distracted by new developments to pursue the thought further. She had turned her back towards me, and was reaching behind her to catch the zipper running up the back of the dress. She played with it, lowering it an inch, teasing me, lowering it again, teasing me. The dress kept getting looser and looser, but she kept it from falling by squeezing with her arms. Then all at once she let go, flaring her elbows out to the sides while running her fingers through her hair. She did kind like a march in place while she did this, only each step involved crossing one knee in front of the other leg. The dress slipped down below her breasts. Crisp Darkness Amber sat in her chair with a sultry attitude. Her hair was frazzled. She smelled of sex and sweat. Not 15 minutes before they had arrived, her and her guest had pulled over in a desolate spot off the highway and hopped out of the car for a quickie. After tasting him while he drove, she simply couldn't resist a quick romp. Tristan pulled over, got out of the car and ran over to the passenger door. After opening, he took her hand and pulled her out. Flipping her around, Tristan pushed Amber against the cold car and lifted her black dress. He slipped inside and thrust hard and fast. Clouds of mist erupted from their mouths as they moaned into the night's air. Amber's breasts rubbed up against the cold car and her nipples were tiny pebbles filled with pleasure and aching with sensitivity. She came with a cry and had to be held down to keep Tristan's cock inside of her. After she finally finished bucking, she turned and lowered herself. Using her mouth and her hand, Amber expertly sucked on Tristan's cock. With only a couple of strokes, hard and slow, his cock erupted inside of her mouth. She tried to catch it all but some drizzled out onto her hand. She moaned and licked her fingers. As she drank her water, she caught the taste of him once again and smiled. Realizing she hadn't even glanced about the restaurant, Amber looked for her waiter, aching for a drink harder than water. Dark and romantic, the restaurant smelled of spices and was lit by candlelight. She looked into Tristan's eyes and winked, and found the waiter approaching behind him. Watching the way he moved, she couldn't help but be turned on again. Graceful even with his tall and strong figure, she couldn't stop staring once her eyes had discovered him. "Can I get you anything to drink?" he asked as he laid down two menus. "Yes, I'll have a rum and coke." Amber had almost forgotten Tristan was there. "What are you going to have babe? Babe?" Amber seemed in a daze as she stared into the waiter's blue eyes. "I need something hard to drink. Is there anything you can suggest?" "Personally, I love our 'Nasty Bitch.' It has Tequila and Cointreau orange liqueur. Hit's like a heart attack." "I'll have two." she said as she bent over the table lending a view of her large breasts. Seeming like he didn't even notice, he left quickly with a nod. Amber continued her stare as she watched his back move away. "Shall I lend my napkin to you Amber?" Tristan said abruptly. "Why?" she asked confused, her eyes finally drawn off the waiter. "Because you're drooling. You couldn't take your eyes off him." Amber laughed uncomfortably, "I'm sorry about that Tristan, he just was a very attractive man. I'll stop looking I swear. Now what do you want to eat?" She tried to change the subject but the aura of her wanting continued its hold. Tristan leaned in over the table and whispered just enough so that she could hear, "Did you want to fuck him? Is your pussy wet right now Amber." Tristan's whispers were not those of jealousy, but arousal. Leaning in and whispering back she said earnestly, "Yes my pussy's wet. And yes, I want him to fuck me. I don't know if I'm still turned on from our escapade or if it's just the night's air, but I can't help my cravings" As if on cue, the waiter returned with the drinks and asked if we were prepared to order. Tristan brushed him off and told him we needed a few more minutes. After the waiter left, Tristan leaned back in over the table and with a glint in his eye whispered once more. "Amber, if you want to get fucked, go seduce him. But fuck him nearby. I want to follow and watch." The thought of her seducing anyone other than Tristan was a mystery to Amber. But as the idea ran through her head, she found it more and more arousing. What would she say to grab his attention? How would he kiss, touch her, would he lick her pussy, if she'd suck his dick, how they'd fuck and in what positions, what his face would look like as he came? All of these thoughts and more raced through her mind and with the open invitation from Tristan and the idea of him watching her, she decided that this fantasy would come true. "I'll do it. But when you watch, don't get too close." Amber stood up, downed one drink followed by the other, and made her way to the restroom. Looking at herself in the mirror, she stared into her own eyes. Confused by guilt and arousal, she tried a smile. Amazingly, it was convincing. Her black dress was sultry and her makeup was in tact even after she had sucked Tristan's cock and fucked him. Reaching into her purse, she reapplied some red lipstick. With another forced smile, she left the restroom with her guilt and looked forward to her next meeting with the waiter. Finding him at the bar, she walked slowly towards him. Her breaths and heart beat quickly seemed to echo in the tiny restaurant. The drinks had indeed hit like a heart attack, and the low lit restaurant suddenly blurred out of focus. All she could see was him, almost in spot light. He caught her glance as she approached and returned it. After what seemed ages of staring into one another's eyes, she finally reached him. Leaning into him, Amber pressed her breasts against his chest. The restaurant was noisy so it seemed like just another attempt to get an order in. "I want to give you a tip for those drinks you suggested. Come with me." she whispered into his opposing ear, crossing his body with hers. She licked his lobe and let her hand lower to stroke his cock. Finding it hard, she looked into his eyes; smiled and turned around. Before she began her walk, she backed into him, letting her ass stroke his length. With a groan and then a sigh of dismay as she left him, the waiter began to follow Amber. The cold air slapped her in the face and it melded with rampant anxiety. She looked back over her shoulder to make certain he was following. Amber also checked to see if Tristan was behind her as well. Neither were there. Standing for a few moments, she couldn't help but wonder if her antics hadn't worked. What if he didn't come? How embarrassing would that be? Would they leave the restaurant, or stay and eat? It had been difficult to get the reservations, but would she be able to face the waiter if he did not come out? How was she going to face him even if he did come out? Regret streamed through her and she turned towards their car in fear. "Where are you going?" said the waiter as he grabbed Amber's arm. "Come on." Grabbing Amber by the hand, he led her around the building and past a dumpster. There lie a dark alley between the back of the restaurant and another large building. Both sides were blocked by dumpsters so nobody could see. Amber couldn't have asked for a more perfect hiding spot. After walking midway down the alley, the waiter pushed her against the wall and pulled her top down. "I want to see these tits you've been throwing in my face." Amber had no bra on and her breasts lit only by the moon, felt a hot breath. He cupped and licked the nipples, biting fiercely after hard sucks. "The second I saw you inside, I knew that you'd be a good little slut. But I have to say you have incredible tits." He went back to tasting them and worked his way up her chest to her neck. Sucking and biting, he left hickies on both sides. He was rough and uncaring how she reacted. He treated her as an object, nothing more. Turning his back to the wall, Amber pushed onto her tip toes and forced her tongue into his mouth. He kissed back with one hand on the back of her head, forcing her into him and the other moved to her ass; grabbing hard. After a few seconds of kissing, it seemed he was bored and pushed her down onto her knees. "You're going to suck my dick, do you understand me slut?" he said as he unbuckled his belt. All Amber could do was nod and whimper. The cement was cold and hard, but she couldn't keep her eyes off his hands as he unzipped his pants and took out his cock. For a second Amber looked at it in admiration. It wasn't especially long, but thick. She wondered how she was going to be able to wrap her mouth around it. She didn't wonder for long, as one hand braced on her shoulder and the other cupped her head and forced her mouth onto him. Amber immediately noticed the smell and taste was different as she lapped her tongue up and down his shaft. He was hard as a rock and tasted of salt and musk. Amber took the head of this man's cock into her mouth. Realizing she didn't even know his name, she pushed deeper onto him. The width stretched her mouth. Normally she easily slid over the head of Tristan's cock, but she struggled with this one. Pushing deeper still, she found it much easier after she had passed the massive head. He groaned with every inch she took. After about five or six inches of this thick beast she found the base of him. The cock touched the back of her throat and somehow she enjoyed the feeling. "I'm surprised you can take my whole cock, little slut of mine. Most bitches can only get the head down." The waiter grabbed a fistful of hair and began fucking her mouth with vigor. The wetness streamed from her lips and down her chin and she had to hold his legs to brace herself. She moaned each time he thrust into her, loving the lack of control. Sighing, he reached down and picked her up. Pushing her face against the cold concrete of the restaurant, she looked down the alley. A dark figure stood there watching them. She knew it was Tristan. The figure had his hand down his pants and was stroking himself. There was no turning back now, but somehow she imagined Tristan smiling, coaxing her onward. Her dress was pushed up and now Amber's tits and ass were bared to the night. "Tell me you want this cock. Tell me to fuck you, my little whore. Beg me for it." he rasped, his cock pressed against her ass. She whimpered as the man yanked her hair down to see her words. After looking into his foreboding eyes, she whispered, "I want your cock. I want you to fuck your whore." Surprised even by her own voice, she reached under her legs and grabbed his cock. Guiding it to her pussy, she relaxed and realized she was sopping without even being touched. Relaxing her muscles, Amber let this stranger's cock stretch her. Finally, irritated by the wait and starting to be affected by the cold, he grabbed her hips and thrust inside. "That's it, that's what my slut wants isn't it?" he spurted out. Each word followed by a hard thrust that shook her body to it's core. "Well answer me SLUT!" he said impatiently. "Yes! This is what I want. A nice fat cock inside of me. Fuck me harder!" And harder he did, ramming from head-deep to the base with each stroke. Their moans clashed in the black night's air, each one mingling as the creators were. "When I fuck my slut, I want her to moan loudly. Moan for me bitch." He reached around and groped one of her tits. His other hand still pulled at her hips harshly. Amber's hand drifted down and began circling her sensitive clit. An orgasm surprised her and she screamed out. The stranger's hand moved from her breast to her mouth and covered it, without missing a thrust. A finger forced it's way inside and she swirled her tongue. Amber moaned over his finger. "That's what I thought. I knew my little slut loved this cock. Tell me you're my whore. Look at me and tell me you're my whore." he said. Amber could only whimper. SMACK! A hand came thundering down onto her ass, "When I ask you a FUCKING QUESTION, YOU FUCKING ANSWER ME. Now tell me that you are my whore." he said, his strokes were getting faster and harder. "I....I...am...your.....whore." his pace quickened even more and his hands felt like anvils the way they groped. "Again bitch. LOUDER. I know you got it in you little slut, down here in an alley getting fucked by a stranger while your boyfriend sits inside clueless. Tell me you're my whore again bitch." "I...am...uhhhhh...your....whore." with each word it was matched by a pound, their skin slapping together echoing in the night's air. With her words he pumped ferociously. He grabbed her shoulders and forced her back on him as he thrust. With a few hard thrusts, he held her down on him and filled her pussy with his cum. He didn't moan or say a word, and then he put his cock away. He pulled his pants up and buckled as Amber simply lay against the cold cement wall. Before he left, he threw a card at her and said, "if you ever want to be fucked like that again give me a call my sweet little slut." Amber sat there in that dark alleyway, illuminated only by the moon. Her dress rested on her hips. She sat down on the cold granite, her pussy was sore and was leaking cum. It began to drip down her thighs. She felt shame but found a smile on her face. She watched the waiter pass the dark figure she assumed was Tristan, and they shared some barely audible words. "Thanks Alan, I bet she got a kick out of it." Tristan's voice echoed. "I'm sure she did Tristan. She only came once, I guess I don't have your touch." the waiter said. Amber had no concept of how they knew one another. "Eh, practice makes perfect I guess." she heard in Tristan's voice a grin. "Same time next week for your wife?" "Definitely. She's been aching for a stranger and she's seen your picture. I saw her touching herself." Alan laughed and glanced back at Amber. Looking back at Tristan, he said, "Take it easy buddy. That Amber of yours is a wild one. Maybe next time we'll both have her." "I think it might take a little work for that one, but I'll see what I can do. Catch you later buddy." They shook hands and Alan the waiter moved back towards the restaurant. Tristan walked slowly towards Amber. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out some napkins and handed them down to her. Nothing was said as she cleaned off. He helped her up, fixed her dress, gave her his jacket, and they walked silently to the car. Once in the secret confines, Amber looked over at Tristan. "You set that whole thing up?" "Yup." "How'd you know that I'd go for him?" "Nobody knows my baby like I do. I know you inside and out." his grin was slight. A little jealousy leaked out even though he had practiced this moment over and over. "I need a meal, a hot shower and a you." "Way ahead of you baby. I've got a hotel room, a pizza, and a bottle of red waiting for us." he said with a glance over at her before turning the car ignition. The sound blasted through her and suddenly brought reality. Amber leaned her head against the cold glass. They drove off quietly into the night. Criss Cross It is bright. The sun is out. The sky is blue. There are no clouds. The year is 1262. It is summer. The weather is hot and dry. Below is the desolate region of plateaus, valleys, ravines and rock formations that will one day be known as south-eastern Utah. Today, the area is under the nominal control of a small community of people known as the Bahloo. A small group of people are walking through a narrow steep canyon. There are two men in front. They appear to be Native Americans with straight black hair; they are dressed in drab pale brown robes and wearing moccasins. Their names are Qextel and Windtogn. Qextel is the high priest of the Bahloo. Immediately behind them is another man, whose name is Dresden, dressed as the first two and pulling yet another man, whose name is Kwondoong. Dresden has a rope that is attached to a collar on Kwondoong's throat. Kwondoong is naked except for a black hood that covers his entire head. His hands are bound behind his back. Behind him is a woman; her name is Roxneng. She wears a brightly colored robe that is actually too large for her. She has to hold the robe up off the ground as she walks. Behind her are two more men dressed as the first two. Their names are Weendeng and Onquetzl. Onquetzl is Qextel's son and next in line to be high priest. No one is speaking as they walk. They follow the crevice for several hundred yards then turn into a large opening in the rock wall. They walk down a corridor for about fifty feet and reach a vestibule. There are four openings in the vestibule. They go into the second opening from the right. They walk through a short hallway and into a large chamber with a low wooden ceiling. There are two small rooms at the back of the chamber. Each room has a log beam above the doorway and a seat carved out of the rock on the back side. Each seat is covered with a straw mat. In the middle of the room is a large device with two seats. The seats sit back-to-back with a column between them reaching almost to the low ceiling. Starting at the top of the column and protruding through the ceiling is a dark opaque greenish crystal. There are four small doors, two above each seat, arranged around the crystal. The device has a ceramic look to it -- a dull dirty flat white coloring -- smooth surfaced with no seams. There were two indentations for feet, two armrests and a cradle in the back for the occupant's head. On the wall is a panel with seven wooden switches. When everyone in the group is inside the room, Qextel points to the woman, Roxneng. Weendeng moves forward and gently takes hold of her left arm and escorts her to the seat that faces the two small rooms. She removes her robe and hands it to Weendeng. He folds it over his arm. She is now totally naked. He helps her as she sits in the seat. She positions each foot in the indentations in the floor, places her arms on the rests and leans her head back into the cradle. Weendeng looks back, and nods at Windtogn, who is now standing by the panel. Windtogn pulls the first switch on the right. Two clamps roll out and secure her ankles. He pulls the second switch and two clamps roll out and secure her arms. The third switch is pulled and a clamp rolls out around her neck. Weendeng looks at her and verifies that she is secure; he steps back away from the woman and lays the robe on the mat in the room to the left. Then he walks out of the chamber back into the vestibule. Onquetzl and Dresden take hold of the arms of the naked man. They unbind his hands, remove his collar, and maneuver him into the other seat and locate his feet, arms and head just as had been done to Roxneng. Windtogn pulls the first switch on the left and two clamps roll out and secure his ankles. The second and third switches are pulled and his arms and head are secured in the same manner. Dresden pulls the hood off. Kwondoong has an anxious look on his face; he looks around the room. Onquetzl and Dresden leave the room back into the vestibule. Qextel looks at Windtogn and nods. Windtogn walks around and drops open the wooden panels on the ceiling. They are mirrors that angle between the seats, and their occupants, and the crystal in the middle of the device. Windtogn moves back to the panel and pulls the middle switch. He walks over and stands next to Qextel. A low pitched hum begins. The room shakes a little. Kwondoong stops fidgeting and looks at Qextel. The device begins to vibrate. A light appears in the crystal and it begins to increase in intensity. It continues to increase until a beam begins to appear in each mirror. The beams angle down directly onto the face and the stomach of the occupants of each chair. The intensity continues to increase until it was so bright that Qextel and Windtogn each hold a hand over their faces. Kwondoong and Roxneng each squeeze their eyes shut. This goes on for about ten minutes. Kwondoong and Roxneng both disappear into the brilliant glow of the light. Finally, the light's intensity begins to decrease and the two begin to reappear. In another ten minutes, it is over. The middle switch on the panel rises back up to its original position. Qextel looks at Windtogn and nods. Windtogn returns to the panel and pushes the three left switches back up. The clamps on Kwondoong's seat retreat. He stands out of the seat, and rubs his wrists, arms and neck. Windtogn goes into the back room, and retrieves the colorful robe. He brings the robe to Kwondoong and places it over his shoulder. Kwondoong tightens the straps on the robe. He steps over to Qextel. They each reach out with their right hands and touch each other's left shoulders. They both turn and look toward Roxneng, who is still clamped in the seat. Onquetzl and Dresden return to the chamber and stand on either side of Roxneng. Windtogn pushes the three right switches back up. The clamps all retreat. Onquetzl and Dresden take hold of Roxneng's arms and stand her up. She tenses and resists their help, but they are too strong for her to fight. They take the collar that had originally been on Kwondoong and place it around her neck. Dresden gets the rope that is attached to the collar and hands it to Kwondoong. They walk out of the chamber leaving Kwondoong and Roxneng alone. He takes her into the back room on the right. He pushes her down so that she is bent over with her hands on the seat. He walks behind her, pulls his robe apart, probes her with his hands between her thighs and massages her, pulls out his member and slowly pushes into her from behind. He takes her vigorously for several minutes, capping it off by filling her with his cum. He steps back, closes up his robe, takes the rope attached to Roxneng's collar and stands her up. He takes a cord from a pocket in the robe and binds her wrists behind her back. He pulls her out of the chamber by the rope attached to her neck and leads her back into the vestibule. The group lines up in the vestibule just as they had entered it earlier, except that Kwondoong, wearing the colorful robe, is now pulling the naked and collared Roxneng. They all walk back out into the canyon. At the end of the canyon everyone stands aside so that Kwondoong and Roxneng can continue on. They walk down onto the plain and eventually out of site. Everyone else then turns and walks back up into the canyon. They disappear out of sight. *** Fast forward to a little over five years ago -- the name on the door says 'Dr. Fredrick Marshall, Archaeology Department.' Dr. Marshall is seated behind a large mahogany desk that is immaculately neat and tidy. He has been with the university for over forty years and is nearing retirement. Today, he will be making his last study site assignment to two young girls in the department. They each have outstanding academic credentials but are extremely inexperienced. He has appointed his imminent successor, Professor William Hodgkins, as their advisor. The project involves a newly discovered site in a remote section of southeastern Utah. It is very small and ancient. He expects that not much of value will be found -- it is not that far off the main highway. More than likely, it has been pillaged by several hundred years of grave robbers. He has assigned his older and more competent teams to other projects with more potential. These young ladies will be able to get their feet wet on this one. Dr. Marshall calls Professor Hodgkins on the phone. "Bill, this is Fred. I'm getting ready to interview the girls, and then I will send them to your office." "Thank you, sir. I have the packets ready with the site maps and initial assessments. I think we will try and visit the site this weekend. It's only a couple of hours away; the van can hold all the equipment plus the three of us." "Good. These ladies have a lot of potential. Train them carefully. In four or five years they could become your top students." "I am ready. You have placed them in the right hands, Dr. Marshall." Dr. Marshall grins, clicks the receiver, and then he asks, "Hello, Miss Newton. Please send the young ladies to my office." Hodgkins is sitting at his desk. He leans back in his chair with his hands behind his head and props both shoes up on his desk. The old man is getting senile. I am the best he has and he wants me to advise a couple of freshman sluts. Well, maybe I can get some sack time with them in between the times they are stumbling around in the desert. *** Two weeks have passed. The two girls are at the dig site inside the cave. Their advisor is out in the crevice, leaning on some rocks and napping. At this time, he has had neither in the sack. And the prospects do not look so good. This will require his best effort. The girls notice a vestibule behind some rocks and debris. They push two large boulders out of the way, and then clean some of the debris. They walk into a large vestibule which has four openings. They walk into the first chamber on the right -- not much there. There are a couple of broken benches and some broken pottery. The walls are bare. They move to the second room on the right and find a large device with two chairs. It is covered with dust. They look over at the glyphs on the wall and begin reading. After just a few minutes, they look up at each other and each smile very big. They have deciphered some of the glyphs and they knew that they have a discovery of epic proportions. *** Mary Carter is very beautiful by almost anyone's standards. She is medium height with a voluptuous build, has medium length blond hair and very blue eyes. Mary is very intelligent. She is in the Science College and is majoring in Archaeology and minoring in Psychology. On a more personal level, Mary is quiet and aloof. She has no social life to speak of. There are no men on campus that can come close to matching her intellect, and she has a hard time staying interested in any of them. Hardly anyone at the school knows who she is anyway, and she likes it like that. She is always working in the computer lab or in the library on some research project or another. Oddly, she has applied for a one-year furlough from her studies so that she might travel. The application is in Professor Hodgkins' office awaiting his approval. Jane Wilkinson is at home this morning getting ready to go to school. She has to meet early with her best friend Mary before classes begin. Jane is also beautiful. She is skinnier than Mary, has dark brown hair and pale brown eyes. Her legs are long and curvy. She dresses to make men look at her. She is also very smart and has risen to be Professor Hodgkins' chief graduate student advisor. She is majoring in Archaeology and minoring in Macro Physics. And it is no coincidence that both she and Mary are best friends and team mates on the archaeological dig near the Canyon Lands National Park. The dig has produced some incredible finds that Mary and Jane want to show to Professor Hodgkins. Their friendship sparked at their very first introduction when this assignment was given to them. They have worked the dig with uninterrupted ferocity ever since. They are planning on how to convince the professor to travel to the site with him. Even though he is still the academic advisor on this project, he has not been to the site in over three years. Mary is walking across the campus and runs into Jim Edmonson. He is one of the underclassmen who have assisted with the site dig. He has been focused on the living areas while Mary has spent more time on the technical aspects of the work. "Mary, I see that you have cancelled our trip to the site tomorrow. What's up?" "Not a problem. It's just that we are convincing Bill to go out and inspect the sight. We wanted to get him there without an audience. It needs to be a real inspection. We were afraid that if everyone is there Bill will turn this into a classroom. It will help us greatly if we go alone." "Sure, Mary, I was just wondering. By the way, do you have a date for the party tonight? I would be glad to take you. I mean, if you don't mind an underclassman escort." "I'm sorry, Jim, but I do have a date for tonight. Thanks for asking; considering you don't even know me all that well, I really appreciate it. I would have liked that. But I will be leaving in a few days on a furlough. I don't know when I will be back to school." Jim looks disappointed, "I'm sorry too, Mary. I would like to get to know you more. You seem to be a nice lady. Anyway, I'll see you tonight. Bye." Mary smiles and walks on. He called her a lady. He can only be a couple of years younger. Jim turns and watches her as she walks. She is nice to watch as she walks. Jim realizes that she is only a couple of years older than he is. He feels a bit foolish. Mary meets up with Jane at the Commons. Jane is sipping some coffee and has a Danish pastry. Somehow, sweets never affect her waist line. Jane sees Mary and says, "Hi, do you want some of this pastry?" "Are you kidding? I will just smell that and put on ten pounds." Mary sits down. "You aren't going to believe this. Jim Edmonson asked to take me to the party tonight. I hated to decline. He is such a nice kid. He called me a nice lady. I almost felt like he thought of me as his mother!" "I would say Jim is like every other kid on this campus. They would gladly trade their mothers and their fathers as well, to get a chance at you." "Are you serious?" "Mary, are you serious? Don't underestimate the power that your physique holds, especially to a kid like Jim. He will mature someday and be a good man for most anyone. Maybe we can help him out in a few years." "I suppose." Mary looks off ponderously. She goes on, "Is everything ready for the trip?" Jane looks around and then speaks a little softer, "Shh! Yes, the three of us are going to leave tomorrow early in the morning. The van is already loaded. Of course, he still tells us that his attendance is tentative. You play the major role in this one. Have you got your date set up for tonight?" Mary frowned, "No, I'm going to do it this morning before class. He has been dropping hints about this party for a couple of days. I have tried to put him off in a most seductive manner. I have used my introverted demeanor to my advantage on this one. He has been cautious up to this point. Today I will submit to him and accept the invitation." The he that Mary is referring to is Professor Hodgkins himself. He goes by the name of Bill. He is politically astute and has connections in many places; ever since he succeeded Dr. Marshall, he has always been able and willing to call on those connections to help him in his climb to the top. Bill is also well hung; and this fact is well known all over campus. He uses this to his advantage and has found his home in the college campus lifestyle. Bill is arrogant and rude on top of all that, but he always manages to find a girl to do his bidding almost at the drop of a hat. However, he has failed to woo either Mary or Jane into his bed or to any other location where he would gladly have his way with them. In addition to being a misogynist, he is also an incredible narcissist. His bedroom walls and ceiling are all lined with mirrors. He has them there so that he can watch himself in action; the object of his action is rarely, if ever, a concern for him and he will usually position them so as not to disrupt his view of his own reflection. *** Mary and Jane meet up again after lunch. Mary's date with Bill is a go; she will be attending the party with Bill. Mary suspects that, somehow, this date will end up at Bill's home where she will have at least one sexual encounter with the department head. She won't be the first but she intends to be the last. Mary is outside the cafeteria sitting on the steps. Jane walks up and sits with her and asks, "So, I hear the date with Bill is on." "My, news travels fast doesn't it? The deal was set only twenty minutes ago." "What did you expect? Let's recap: you have been in the Archaeology Department for five years. Bill has hit on you at least a half dozen times per day during that time including calls to you while on summer break. He has probably shot enough jiz while dreaming about you to fill a tanker truck. And now, out of the clear blue sky, you relent to a date. I'm amazed he didn't drop dead of shock." "Jane, I would've thought your knowledge of men like Bill would be much deeper than that. He doesn't recognize rejection. To him, I was just delaying the inevitable. There is no girl that can resist his charms. At least, that's how his mind rationalizes it. Now that we two are going out, he can trumpet his success at luring me onto his list of conquests. And don't you forget I'm the one who predicted that he would hit on me before he hit on you. He's saving the best for last." Jane bows her head low and humbly says "I submit to your greater knowledge of psychology." Mary puts her hand on Jane's head, "Rise, lowly grasshopper. Hey, this guy is a text book narcissist. There is hardly a second semester psychology freshman that couldn't figure him out." "Maybe I should have taken psychology. Apparently it can aid me in assessing potential sex partners." Mary looks pensive. "Jane, are you sure we want to follow through with this? I mean, after all, someone might consider what we are doing to be unethical or even illegal." "Mary, Mary, Mary. Let's think for a minute. We are on the edge of one of the greatest archaeological discoveries since King Tut's tomb. You and I were assigned to this project as an afterthought, and now we are on the cusp of something that is near historic proportions. The only thing standing in our way is Bill. You yourself have deduced that he will pull the rug out from under us, take all the credit, and relegate us as some meaningless triviality. And he has the clout and the connections to do that very thing. What we are doing does not involve harming anyone, it prevents a great injustice of immense proportions and will, ultimately, allow the university to get the publicity due to the discoveries we have made. Of all people, you are the one who makes the great sacrifice. Bill will end up in a scenario he dreams about, or at least, very close to his dream." Jane smiles wryly. "Anyway, we have gone over this a thousand times. This is the best way to get the best outcomes for the most people." Jane pauses. "You know, this is not a perfect world. We are already at a disadvantage having to work for this pinhead. We have the ability to make this right. It's going to be difficult. But we need to take the chance. We will never, ever have a chance like this again. I will tell you -- I am not going to live out my career kowtowing to morons like Bill Hodgkins." Mary looks down at the steps. "Yeah, I suppose. This is the only way. Bill will do anything he can to get all the credit for this one, I know that's true." Mary bites her lip then looks up at Jane, "I'm good Jane. I'm going to get through this. Thanks for the pep talk. Don't let me be stupid again, okay?" Criss Cross "Mary, you know I'll be there for you no matter what. Now, we need to get back on track. We have a very important step to complete tonight. Are you going to make it through tonight's activities okay?" Mary shrugs her shoulders and goes on, "We plan on being at the party at about 7 o'clock. I suspect that means it will be more like 8 o'clock before we actually get there. He should be at his most despicable by then. It's not likely that we will be staying there long, though. I hope I can retain my senses about me long enough that I don't choke him." "He would just consider that rough foreplay." Jane laughed when she said that and got Mary laughing with her. Mary stood up and waved, then walked away and went back to her apartment. Jane watched Mary walk away. Mary had to make it -- this was too important to just give to someone like Bill alone. Jane was not going to settle for second best. Mary had to play her part. *** A few hours rolled by and it was party time. Jane got there early and started mingling with the other early-birds. She was still a little worried about Mary. Mary was still at her apartment getting ready. She had determined that this would all play out as planned, she outfitted herself just for the occasion: under her tight fitting black dress were black stockings and a black garter belt, and a low cut lacy black bra. These made quite the contrast with her pale complexion. She knew this would distract Bill all the entire evening, but it wouldn't knock him off his game. She had to be tough, because tonight was going to be an ordeal. She knew it wasn't going to be easy. Mary hears a knock at the door -- that would be Bill. He is a very stylish twenty minutes late, just as she had deduced. She opens the door. "Would you like to come in for a minute? I am not quite ready." "Yeah, just like a woman. It's a good thing I didn't come too early. I hate waiting." "Oh, come on. I will just be a couple of seconds." She ducks back into one of the back rooms making sure to sashay in the most provocative way. She makes a little racket and comes back out. Bill ogles her all the way to and from the door. "You know, it ought to be required that all women wear slinky black dresses in public. It will sure make me look that much better to have a sexy dame hanging on my arm." Mary looks at Bill. What did you say? A sexy dame -- is this the Roaring Twenties? Are you Diamond Jim Brady with his moll? "I'm ready now. Let's go." Mary walks out to the patio. Bill follows and closes the door behind them. Mary saw that Bill had driven a new BMW to pick her up. "Are your shoes clean? I don't want any crud on my carpeting." Mary looked at him but did not say what she wanted to say: No Bill, I stepped in dog shit in the yard just on purpose so I could smear it all over the floor mats. "Bill, I will be very careful with your car. Don't worry." "I need to be attentive when girls are in this car. Most girls just can't appreciate a fine machine like this one. Do you know how much I paid for this baby?" No, but I'm sure I'm about to find out. "I really don't know much about cars. Is there something special about this one?" "This is a BMW. This is a cutting edge driving machine. How could you not know about the expense of a vehicle like this?" "I'm sorry, Bill, I am just not interested in fancy cars." "I have so much to teach you. This is really going to be a challenge for me tonight." Yeah, Mary thought, I know how you feel. Mary didn't talk much after that. Bill just kept checking every now and then to make sure Mary wasn't damaging the car in any way. When they finally arrived at the party, Mary breathed a sigh of relief. So did Bill. Mary had known this was going to be a long night. Bill knew that his car was still clean. Jane rushed up to Mary as soon as she walked in. Jane looked Mary over from head to toe. "Mary, you pulled out all the stops on this outfit. Did you have to give Bill oxygen when he saw you?" Jane was tickled to see Mary dressed up this way -- she was at the top of her game and she would need to be to get Bill properly prepped. Mary dryly replies "No oxygen necessary. But he will probably stop at the CarMax store and wash and vacuum the carpet and seats after he has dropped me off. I think he spotted a micron of lint in a crease in the seat lining. Jane, I tell you the truth, I may not survive this tonight. If I barf in his car, he may have to be committed." "Hang in there Mary. It will soon all be over. Just a couple more days and Bill will become a new man." Mary shrugs her shoulders and walks on in to the party. Bill is already inside chatting. Mary walks up to him. "Aw, there you are. Show everyone your outfit. What do you think fellows? She really wants me, don't you think?" Mary looks at him with a shocked expression. It is going to get worse. He slaps her on the ass. "The good thing, though, is the black dress hides the cellulite. See, you can hardly make it out." The men chuckled. Mark Madden, from the IT Department, observes "Bill, you have hit the mark tonight with this one. She's a doll." Doll? Here we go again, Mary is thinking, I'm going to need that barf bag -- I won't be able to make it to the car. Another man, Jeff Montgomery, gets closer to Bill and whispers loudly in his ear, "Check out that rack. There is enough silicone there to outfit a 747." Mary bristles with that one. All of her assets are natural. On the positive side, at least she had two more men to add to the list of those she would never date in the future. The ladies purse their lips. Mary rolls her eyes around the back of her eye sockets. She looks over at Jane. Jane clinches her fist in an expression of 'hang in there.' Jim Edmonson walks up to Bill and stares him in the eye, "Mr. Hodgkins, you may be the department head, but you can't treat Mary like this. And how can you let them talk to her like that?" How gallant, Mary thought. Bill rolls his eyes, "Kid, if you know what's good for you then you'll turn around and walk away." Mary looks at Jim, "Go ahead, Jim, I'll be all right." She smiles sadly. Jim turns, gives Bill a hard look, and then he walks away. Bill talks with the group some more, but Mary's thoughts wonder and she did not pay any attention. That is until Bill starts punching her on the shoulder and says "Right, Mary, Mary are you listening? Mary what are you doing?" Bill grabs her arm and pulls Mary over by one of the windows. "Mary, you have got to stay focused. You're embarrassing me in front of my friends. And who was that dweeb that challenged me?" "His name is Jim. He is a very capable student who has been a great help to us at the dig." "Wow! Tomorrow, he is going to be an ex-student." Mary looks at him in disgust. She wants to tell him where to go and leave. But she knew she had to hang tough. "I'm sorry, Bill, I will pay attention. Let's go back to the party." She will have time later to help Jim. Now she must stay to the plan. "Okay, let's go see Jane. You know her, don't you? She wants to talk about the trip at the Indian joint." "Bill, please, it's a Native American archaeological site." "Yeah, that's what I said -- an Indjun' site." "Not tonight, okay? Jane has setup a meeting for early tomorrow morning. Everything is already to go. We will just go over some pointers, but most of the action will occur when we get there. Jane and I have some show-and-tells that are really going to impress you." "Mary, that's excellent. Your head should be cleared up by then." "What do you mean by that?" Mary could feel her temperature sizzle, and it was not an amorous heat. Of course, Bill was oblivious to her "Hey, Mary, I tell you what. This party is going nowhere. Let's go on back to my place. We can enjoy ourselves much more without these lowlifes." Mary knew that was coming, but it was earlier than even she had predicted, "I'm not sure. We just got here Bill. Can't we stay a while and talk?" Bill pokes his finger into her dress between her breasts and pushed them back and forth. "I know what you want. I have what you need and can deliver. Come on. This will be a chance of a lifetime for you!" Mary pulls his hand out of her dress and holds onto it with both her hands in what, she suspected, he would interpret as a 'yes.' However, she is thinking: I have got to get the barf bag; where's a potted plant when you need one? She was going to try and hold on to that until she got back into the BMW. It would cap a perfect evening. "Okay, Bill, let's get out of here." Bill's eyes light up. He has hit the jackpot; or, more correctly, he will hit the jackpot very, very shortly. They walk out and to the parking lot. Bill takes Mary over to the passenger door. He wraps his arms around her in a bear hug embrace. He slips his right hand down the middle of her butt. "I know you aren't wearing any panties tonight. I'm taking that is a good sign." He squeezes her butt cheek twice, then opens the car door and nearly pushes her in. Mary is wondering how any woman could stand this cretin. But she had no choice. And this would be the very worst part. She had to be alone with him. She would be so glad when they were finally at the dig. They drive off. Bill talked some but Mary tried not to listen. She would rather have been jabbed with a sword than to talk to Bill. But Bill had other ideas. Bill is wondering why Mary is so quiet. She had never been a big talker in the five years he had known her. How could she resist his charm, he thought? She and Jane were the only two that had done that. He blurts out "I have some belly dancing music on the stereo at home. Your outfit should be excellent for a demo." Mary is dumbfounded. So now he is going to start his BDSM stage of life. And she gets to be his first sub. She squeezes the door handle with her hand just to keep herself from opening the door and jumping out. "So, let me get this straight. You want me to dance. Dance - really?" "Of course, it must be any girl's dream to dance for good ole' Bill." At this point, the door handle had her hand impression forged into it. "Bill," she says gritting her teeth, "that sounds wonderful." Bill thinks this is going to be good. They reach Bill's house. It was a ranch house, fairly large for one person, bricked and landscaped nicely. Mary assumes that someone else had picked the house out for Bill; Bill had no taste whatsoever. They go inside. The living room is large. There is a large sofa on the other side of the room, a wing chair with its back to the door and a recliner in the opposite corner. The wall to the right has two more wing chairs. A hallway and kitchen go off to the left. The curtains are drawn on the large bay window in the front. There is a door in the rear of the room, presumably to the outside, and it has a curtain that completely blocks any view. The middle of the room has a wood floor and, apparently, that is to be the dance floor. Mary hears some music; it sounds mid-Eastern. This must be it. Bill goes down the hallway; he shouts back to Mary, "Hold on just a few seconds. I will be right there." Mary walks in, taps the wooden floor a couple of times, and walks over and sits on one of the wing chairs against the wall. Bill comes back into the living room wearing some sort of house robe; he has his pajamas on -- maybe he thought he was some debonair playboy. He looks at Mary who is still seated. "I hope you got warmed up while I was changing. I had the music on for you." "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought it might be nice if I just wing it." "Yeah, I like that: a dancer who does improv." He sighs and goes over to sit on the couch. "We should get started now. You may dance." Mary is boiling again. I may dance, he says. What a pig. Then she settles down for a second and rethinks her position. Maybe I should go ahead and do this. The sooner I get this over with, the better. Anyway, this is a small price to pay for the great prize that awaits. "Okay Bill. Are you comfortable?" "Yes, I am." There are some controls on an end table next to the couch. He turns one of the knobs and the music volume comes up a little louder. Mary begins to sway her hips from side to side. She holds her hands at her side close to her legs, and then starts moving them up and down her side. She rotates around so that her behind is facing Bill. He mumbles something that she couldn't make out. As she sways, she starts pulling her dress up, slowly, until she has it up to her waist. She keeps swaying back and forth waving her bare behind framed by the garter straps at Bill; she looks over her shoulder and asks "How do you like that?" in a sultry voice that must have cut him into pieces. He does not answer, nor does he even blink. He is taking all of this performance in. She keeps moving around and around, pulling her dress higher and finally over her head. She tosses it on the couch opposite from Bill. She continues to move around while reaching behind her to unlatch her bra. She pulls one breast out and then the other. She tosses the bra on top of her dress. Bill says, "That was good. Now it's time for you to come here." He pulls his robe open, sticks his hand into his pajama bottoms and pulls out his hunk of muscle. Mary's eyes open wide. She gets down on her hands and knees and crawls over to Bill -- just like a good slave girl. She takes his cock in her right hand and begins licking its underside. Within a couple of strokes she has it in her mouth and she slowly moves her tongue back and forth. She looks up at Bill. He has his eyes closed. She hums in a low pitch and feels him stiffen up a little more. Bill pulls her up onto his lap. He touches her neck with the fingers of his right hand; he moves them down between her breasts and down to her belly and between her legs; He starts rubbing her pussy. Mary begins to breathe deeply and Bill massages her back and forth. Bill pulls her down, aiming her pussy over his cock. Mary rides him hard, up and down, up and down. He runs his hands up and down her sides, over her butt cheeks. He snaps the straps on her garters a few times and gives her one good slap with his open palm. Mary squeals. Bill says, "Get up and follow me." Mary stands, Bill walks back to the bedroom with Mary behind him. All the mirrors make Mary a bit dizzy. He stands behind her. "Climb onto the bed on your knees, hold onto the headboard with your hands." She does. He takes his cock, rubs it twice, and then he pushes it back into her. He continues pumping her for several more minutes. He unsnaps the garters from the stockings and lays them onto her back. Then he gives her a sharp slap on her right butt cheek. Mary's eyes got huge. That really stung. Bill looks at Mary's ass and thinks: this ass needs a good spanking. He slaps her other butt cheek. Suddenly, he can feel her squeezing his cock tightly and he knows the finale is coming. Bill says, "Kneel down on the floor, open your mouth and stick out your tongue -- quickly now." Mary does so. He seems to be so bossy. Bill puts his left hand behind Mary's head. He pulls back and forth on his dick until streams of warm cum start shooting into Mary's mouth, onto her face, in her hair and anywhere else he felt like. She swallows what she could. Then it was over. Mary sits down on the floor for a second before getting up and walking back into the living room; she starts putting her clothes back on. He walks back into the bedroom and changes back into his party clothes. She had never had one like his before. No wonder he was so arrogant. He was incredible. Bill puts his cock back into his pajama bottoms and closes up his robe. Bill is thinking that Mary must be overjoyed that she has finally reached the pinnacle of mankind. He looks at Mary and says, "I bet you never had one like mine, have you?" No need in being humble. "Bill, I can safely say that this was a unique experience. I thought the dancing was a nice touch. It would be a shame if we couldn't do this again sometime soon." "You danced nicely. You have a figure for slave dancing." Mary is stunned. This was a complement. It is a complement coming from Bill. Is this the same Bill who was the super narcissist? On the other hand, Bill was looking at Mary and thought she has had the time of her life. Bill wonders how she could ever have someone else besides him. She must still be delirious with bliss. Mary wonders if he was going to ask her to sleep over tonight. She did not have to wait long. "Are you ready to go? Do you want to go back to the party?" Mary looks at him and answers "No, thanks, Bill. I have your cum all over my face, in my hair, on my chest, on my belly -- I don't think the other people would appreciate seeing all that. I would like to go home. You worked me over pretty good." "That's what they all say." What an attitude he had. Mary may still need the barf bag. But, on the other hand, Bill did know how to handle his women. It would be a grand prize if you could only replace what was in his head with something that resembled intelligence. Wouldn't that be something? Bill drops Mary off at her apartment and walks her to the door. He gives her a small peck on the cheek and a light tap on the ass. He goes on back to the party. She could only imagine the tails of conquest he would tell. Jane would fill her in later. The worst was over. Tomorrow will be a much better day. *** Mary did not sleep too well that night. She met up with Jane in the hallway outside Bill's office in the morning. He was not in as of yet. "Mary, we heard some pretty wild stories last night. You seem to have made quite an impression with Mr. Wonderful." "Yes, I suppose. I danced, I crawled, I sucked, I bounced, I followed, I rocked, I got spanked, I was pasted with jiz, I swallowed and it was done. His arrogance reigned supreme. But I can tell you this: when this little adventure turns out the way we think it will, it will be one of the most cunningly successful coups of all time. I have no doubt now. Forgive me for being weak yesterday." Jane put her arm around Mary's shoulders, "Mary, you don't need to apologize to me. We are going to get through this like the team we have always been. I'm ready to hit the road. It's almost 8:30; I wonder where our peerless leader could be?" Just then, they see Bill enter the building and walk down the hall toward his office. His gait is slow and easy. He smiles at all the ladies and has a cheery hello for all. He walks up to Mary and Jane and says, "Good morning, chicks." Chicks? "Why don't we go in so you can brief me on this boondoggle?" Jane looks at Mary and whispers, "I may need your barf bag if it's not already full." They both giggle, and follow Bill into the office and sit down across from him. Jane begins, "Thank you for your time, Bill, we have made some pretty significant finds at the site. We have followed up with some intense research in several disciplines. We think this could be an archaeological find of immense proportions -- maybe suitable for an article in the big journals -- maybe several articles." Bill responds, "That sounds impressive. Let's hear what you have." Bill is looking at Mary's breasts. Jane wonders if he is really paying attention. Jane goes on, "Okay, as you know, we began researching this dig five years ago. Some desert hikers ran across the opening which had originally been hidden by some rock slide debris. They ventured in a few feet in a hallway. From there, they exited and notified Dr. Marshall, who, fortunately for us, was an acquaintance of one of the hikers. The area was secured before any more evidence could be disturbed. The site we found was more pristine than one would normally expect considering it was so close to the highway. Being notified in such a manner offered us a great advantage." Criss Cross "Yes, I remember the story. This was the last dig assignment that the doctor handed out before I took over the reins." "That's right. Mary and I evaluated and inspected the site thoroughly over the next several days and developed a dig plan. There is a small village approximately five hundred yards from the initial cave. The village is very small, being inhabited by no more than twenty-five people at any given time. We found no evidence of any children. The time frame for the village was between years 1100 and 1400. The cave itself appears to have been used exclusively as a ritual location." "Are you sure about the date range?" Mary speaks, "It is, of course, an approximation. There were so few people and no children, so we didn't find as many relics as we would like in order to make a more accurate assessment. But we believe the range wraps around the actual period of occupation. What is most troubling for us in this regard: we were unable to find any evidence pointing to the origins of this small group or why they left. The beginning is abrupt; the ending is abrupt." Bill asks, "So, what do you know about them? It's odd that there would be no children at a permanent habitation location for so many years." Jane answers, "Our underclassman team is working the village. We felt that was a bit less of a priority at this point because of the discoveries we had made in the ritual caves. The bulk of our knowledge is there. The ritual center was used for several purposes. But two of the rooms have been the focus of most of our work. We have found two devices that are technologically advanced well beyond the knowledge level of the era. One is the 'Levitation Device.' In this room is a device that can lift and move objects. The second device is a 'Stimulation Device.' This device was used to psychologically adjust the brain to promote certain desired characteristics. These were mainly sexual in nature and promoted male dominance and female subjection." Mary continued, "We don't know exactly what they used the 'Levitation Device' for, but we have some idea of the activities surrounding the 'Stimulation Device.' In this case, two subjects, one male and one female, sit in two chairs on the device, and it is activated. Light beams and magnetic waves are transmitted from a unique crystalline structure. The crystals are volcanic in nature. But they are imbedded in sandstone. It's a paradox -- we haven't yet worked out the specifics on that question. The crystal, when activated by light, emits the 'rays', so to speak, which modify some of the brain cells and produces the enhanced sexual effects. The subjects are then released and go on to whatever they go on to. We suspect it was used in ritual weddings between neighboring cultures -- probably for political advantage." Bill thinks for a second and observes, "So you have two working devices that date from six hundred to nine hundred years ago?" Jane responds, "Yes, that is correct. The fact that they are both operational is the key. It would be an astounding find for the department. Just think of the notoriety. We have taken extraordinary measures to keep this under wraps." Mary says, "We think our research has reached a sufficient level as to go public. That's why we have asked you to take a quick trip to the site and see for yourself. We think you will be astounded. We don't want to publicize this until you see it first. This will be big -- we don't want it to look like we are going around you." Jane looks at Mary and says, "Would you excuse us for a minute. I would like to speak with Bill privately before we continue to the demo." Mary gets up and walks out into the hall, closing the door behind her. "Bill, the 'Stimulation Device' is an incredible tool. Mary has volunteered to be the submissive for a test run. I would like for you to be the dominant. Just think of it, a trial run on an ancient relic. The archaeological world would be turned upside down. And just think of who would end up on top. This device will provide you with a submissive that would do your bidding -- and, I repeat, your bidding has no limitations." Bill sits back in his chair and smiles; this has piqued his interest. He had wanted to find a good bitch for some bondage action. She had seemed a bit resistant last night, but now..., hmm. "You two are really laying it on thick here. But, you know, the university could use some good publicity. And I wouldn't mind the notoriety." Bill's mind is spinning. This is great. But how can I get the credit and put these two into the footnotes? "I tell you what. Let's do the test. I will evaluate the results and maybe contact a ghost-writer I know. He will draft an article for me. And, of course, you two would get the credit you deserve as my advisees on the project." Jane says, "I will leave that to you. Mary and I are researchers. We just want results. You can handle the publicity part." Bill smiles. This is too good to be true; they are going to leave it all to me. He says, "Good. Then when do we leave?" "We are already packed. We can get in the van and hit the road right now if you like. It's a day trip; we'll be back by supper time." *** Jane is driving the van. Bill is in the front seat telling Jane about his exploits from over the years. Jane is contemplating asking Mary for a spare barf bag as she listens to Bill ramble on. Mary is in the back of the van tinkering with some of the research equipment and notebooks. Jane sighs and tells Bill, "Don't you want to nap a bit before we get there? We will have some climbing to do to get to the site." Bill looks disgusted and says, "I know where the site is located. I will be just fine." Mary comes up behind him, runs her hand through his hair and half-whispers in a sultry voice, "Hey, come on back here. Have you ever had a blowjob in the van heading for a dig?" Bill, as a matter of fact, had not. He pulls off his seat belt and follows Mary back. Jane sneaks peaks in the mirror. In just a manner of minutes, Mary has taken off her t-shirt and is flipping her breasts back and forth for Bill's amusement. He is sitting in a side seat that is conveniently just across from a large metal plate that provides him with a reflection. Mary goes down on him and sucks him off in grand style. Jane listens as he groans in delight. A few minutes later, he comes back up to the front seat, latches on his seat belt and tells Jane, "Wake me up when we get there. I need to catch some 'Zzzz's.'" He lays his head back on the head rest. Mary looks up at Jane in the rear view mirror, crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue. Jane is thinking: now that was above and beyond the call of duty for Mary. I will have to pay her back for that one. And I will. *** Finally there, Jane thought. Jane and Bill walk down into the site. Mary had gone on ahead. The site was not overly large. In the village there were eight buildings sites surrounding a small commons area. Jane had surmised that the courtyard was the ceremonial meeting area. It appeared that it had been covered when the area was populated. Jane and Bill walk down to the cave entrance; that is where Mary said she had been working. Bill walks ahead of Jane (sounds normal for Bill) as the corridor dips down and goes underground. It was dark. Up ahead they see Mary in a lighted chamber. When they reach the chamber they see she had four lanterns set about it to provide the illumination. The room was large but had a low ceiling. Bill almost had to stoop. There is a finely carved set of chairs in the middle with large oversized arms and small indentions for feet. The chairs are side by side and the occupants would be back-to-back when seated. There is a large bluish-green crystal on top of a long wooden shaft standing between the chairs. The shaft fits tightly between the backs of the chairs. On the ceiling are five wooden doors -- one in the middle directly above the crystal, two directly above the seat on one side and the other two directly above the other seat. In the back of the chamber are two small openings about six feet deep. There is a large wooden beam stretching across the opening right-to-left. It is about six inches thick and ran about six inches below the ceiling. There is a small shelf in the back of each opening. It is all as the girls had recorded in the notes. Bill thought this would make his efforts to take all the glory for the find a bit harder. Mary looks at Jane, "I think I have everything set up just as you instructed. The only thing left is to fit us in our chairs." Jane looks at the two chairs and at the crystal. "Yes, everything looks in order." Bill says "So, this is it. It looks kind of dusty?" Jane looks perturbed, "Bill, it has been sitting here for several hundred years. We are about ready Bill. We will need your help in just about five minutes." Bill rolls his eyes, "I could have waited up in the fresh air for a few minutes. You broads are so inconsiderate." Broads? "I don't understand why I don't get more respect than I do. I certainly deserve more." Jane says, "Okay everyone; let's start over here." She points to some hieroglyphics by the door. Bill and Mary stand by her and watch the pictures as she spoke. "This room is one of two ritual rooms within this complex. The other rooms were antechambers and storage rooms. Bill, Mary and I have been working in the two of these rooms; we have made some significant discoveries." "Outstanding." Jane looks at Mary and grins. "This room is named the 'Stimulation Room.' That is a rough translation. This language is difficult. It is more of a character based language similar to the East Asian language groups. But I digress. The hieroglyphics here describe the process and the significance, as near as we can translate it. The 'Stimulation Room' mechanism that sits in this room was used for sexual enhancement purposes. It increases the male propensity to control and lead. It increases the female propensity to follow and obey. It was designed during a time when cultural group leaders were exclusively men and traded women as slaves and wives for political advantage. I have been able to get this unit operational. We are going to try it out. Bill we would like for you and Mary to be our first two subjects. You two have developed a bit of a relationship. The machine will enhance your relationship in ways you will not believe. This was a room that was used often." Bill spoke up, "That sounds good. Not that I need any enhancing, but Mary might gain some femininity from this." Mary, frowning, glances over at Jane who was trying to suppress a giggle. Jane looks back to Bill and says, "Okay, let's get the demo going. Bill, would you open the doors above each of the chairs? Mary, you sit in this chair and let's get it adjusted for you." Mary climbs onto the chair placing each foot into the impressions on the bottom and put each arm on the arm rests. Jane reaches down and jiggles some of the structure at the bottom of the foot rests. Bill opens the doors. There were mirrors behind each door that appeared to be directed between the chairs and the crystal. They each had a slight concavity. Bill looks at them but says nothing. Bill watches Jane making the adjustments and asks, "When do you get this going?" "Just a second Bill, as soon as I'm done here, we will get you seated." Jane walks up beside Bill and whispers, "Bill, this is a special gift from Mary for you. She wanted you to be the first to enjoy it after its discovery. It was designed to enhance the sexual sensations that each member felt in a mutual sexual coupling. It will be an incredible experience for you." Jane hopes that Bill would just cooperate and keep quiet. Her work requires her undivided attention. Bill shakes his head and said, "I should have never approved this boondoggle. It sure is dirty in here. All right, what do I do?" Jane takes his wrists, "Sit down in the chair behind Mary." Bill moves around and seats himself. Jane says, "Put your feet into the indentions and I will adjust them to make it more comfortable." "Well that would be good. This thing was not made for a normal size person like me." "That's right, and that's why I need to adjust it. Now, hold still." "Just don't grope me while you're there." "Don't worry Bill, you're safe with me." Jane's comment dripped with sarcasm. Jane finishes up and stands. She took each of Bill's arms and places them on the arm rests. She adjusts his head back to touch the back of the chair. She told Mary, "Lean your head back, we are about ready." Jane reaches up and opens the door above the crystal. There was some light shining behind it. She hands a gag to Mary, "You should put this on now. I can help you if you need it." Mary puts the large ball into her mouth and latches the strap behind her head. Bill pans, "This isn't the first time, is it?" He laughs. He looks back at Jane and asks, "What's the gag for?" Jane says, "This may bounce around a little. The foundation has a slightly spherical top so the chairs may roll a bit. Would you like a gag too? It might keep you from biting your tongue." "I'm not going to wear one of these -- ever." Jane smiles, "Okay, suit yourself." She looks at her watch and says, "Okay, you two, sit tight. We have about fifty seconds to go and the test ride will begin. Hold very still and let me activate the machine." Neither Bill nor Mary move. Jane goes to the panel on the wall and pushes up the three switches on the right. Mary's wrists, ankles and neck are surrounded by clamps that hold her securely in place. Bill looks around trying to see what is going on. Jane tells him "Move your head back in place." He puts his head back into the cradle; she pushes the three switches on the left side of the panel. Bill's ankles, wrists and neck are secured just like Mary's. Bill looks down at the clamps, "What is this? Get these things off of me." He pulls on them. Mary sits still without moving a muscle. Jane tells him, "Bill, you have to sit still. The clamps are to keep you from getting injured. Now relax and let's start." Jane pushes the middle switch up. A low pitch hum begins. The room shakes a little. Bill stops fidgeting. The chairs begin to vibrate. The light in the crystal above the chairs increases intensity. It continues to increase until a beam begins to appear in each mirror. The beams angle down directly onto the face and the stomach of the occupants of each chair. The intensity continues to increase until it is so bright that Jane turns away and holds a hand over her face. Bill and Mary each squeeze their eyes shut. This goes on for about ten minutes. The intensity of the light peaks; Jane can see neither Bill nor Mary. Mary is holding her eyes tightly shut. She feels an almost magnetic tingling throughout her body. She cannot feel anything around her as if there was no gravity. Bill gets dizzy and tries to open his eyes. The brilliance of the light is too much. He sits back and feels like he is rising into the air. Finally, the light's intensity begins to decrease. Slowly Jane begins to make out the other two as the light begins to diminish. In another ten minutes, it is over. *** Jun Xia Ting has lived on the side of a mountain for most of his life. He has operated a martial arts school for half of that lifetime in these remote mountains. It is a by-invitation school. Jun sought out the best from all around the world. He has a knack for finding achievers. This term's class of eight students represented four continents, seven countries and both genders. The lifestyle of the students is spartan. Sacrifice is the prime ingredient for success in the real time exercises. The requirements are difficult but Jun seldom has a student who does not eventually make the grade. His students go on to be effective leaders and teachers. They all continue the legacy. It was just two years ago that Jane Wilkinson had completed her course of study. She had been an outstanding student. So much so that they worked out a special assignment that was unique in the school's history. Like her, his 'hobby' is archaeology, and he had specialized in Native American history. He had told her about the site that she and Mary had been assigned to. He had been there as a part of an earlier small expedition twenty years before. The visit was soon forgotten and no follow-up trip was ever scheduled. But he knew about the history of it for there were similar sites all around the world. Today was going to be a great day. Jane and Mary had succeeded in deciphering the hieroglyphics. Beyond that, they had learned the science behind the site. Soon they would be coming to Xia Ting's home in the mountains and they would hear from him some great stories about the culture that had produced those devices. Jane had described their work. Best of all, she was going to complete her special assignment. Not only would he hear about their current dig site, but he would get to congratulate her personally on completing her studies with the school. Jun is sitting in his study. This week's work is in-class and leaves Jun some time to catch up on other work. There is a knock at the door. A young Chinese girl quietly walks in and up to Jun. She kneels on the floor and bows. Jun speaks to her and she responds. He nods. She stands and leaves. Jun gets up and walks out of his study and down a long corridor to a locked door. He takes a tarnished key from his pocket, unlocks the door and walks in. He closes the door behind him. There is a short hallway that opens up into a larger room. He walks up to a computer station on the near wall. He clicks a few keys, punches the mouse a few times and looks up. A light comes on. He gets up and leaves the room. He would be back here in a short time. *** The crystal has gone completely dark. Bill's head is rolling around as he tries to focus. Mary has passed out. Mary is still wearing the ball gag. Jane asks, "How do you feel?" Bill looks at his hands, front and back, and answers, "It worked." "Did it really? I knew it would!" Jane's excitement for the moment has just about exploded. "Yes, yes, it's a great success. I can't believe it Jane. I can feel it -- it was extraordinary! I can feel it inside me. I am the man. I am the king." Bill begins to laugh. Jane says, "Tell me something -- anything. Something to let me know it's really you." Bill responds, "You silly-ass bitch. Get over here and get me out of this thing -- right now!" They both laugh. Jane pushes the switches that release Bill's clamps; the clamps retract. Bill rubs each of his wrists and gets out of the chair. "I cannot believe it. This thing actually worked. I can see that I am in this fine body and I still can't believe it. I can feel the power; I can feel it! What about my silly slut Mary?" "She has passed out. According to the hieroglyphs, that is to be expected. She won't be out too long. Come on, let's go to the 'Levitation Room' and get it ready." They walk out of the chamber quickly. In just a few steps, they reach the 'Levitation Room.' It is about the same size as the 'Stimulation Room.' There is a large flat circular platform in the middle of the room. It is constructed from the same ceramic material has the device in the 'Stimulation Room.' There were three large circular dials on the wall. Each had five equally spaced grooves etched around the diameter. To the right of the dials is a large wooden button. Directly above the platform in an opening in the ceiling is a dark opaque greenish crystal. It is smaller than the one in the 'Stimulation Room.' Jane asks, "How clear is your mind? Do you remember what we need to do here?" Bill answers, "Yes, it is all clear. That is incredible. It is all clear!" "Good." They go to work. Bill reaches up and rotates the crystal a few millimeters. Looking at it closely, there are small etch marks on the crystal that line up with similar etch marks in the ceiling. He has aligned the marks. Criss Cross Jane looks at her notebook and adjusts each dial based on computations she had made in her notes. She measures them carefully for position between the major marks on the diameter of the frame. After a few minutes, they look at each other. Jane says, "Are you ready to get Mary." "You bet. This is going to be great!" They walk toward each other and embrace. They kiss, rather clumsily, and then pull apart laughing at each other. Bill observes, "That was more awkward than I thought it would be! It must have been your fault." Jane pulls his hand and says in a serious voice, "Come on, Mary is waiting." They walk back to the 'Stimulation Room.' Mary is starting to wake up; she slowly moves her head back and forth. She looks down, still gagged and clamped into the chair. Her eyes open up wide and she screams (muffled by the gag). Bill and Jane walk back into the room. Jane says, "Our sleepy head is awake!" Mary is livid. She tries to talk, but she cannot because of the gag. Jane looks at her and says, "Well, how do you feel? Has that submissive feeling permeated your body? Apparently, Bill is ready and able to take you as his new slave." Mary turns red with anger. She wants to respond, but the gag prevents her from speaking. Bill says, "Maybe we should remove the gag." Jane responds in mock timidity, "Okay, if you think that is best." She moves over by Mary and unlatches the gag and takes it out of Mary's mouth. Mary shouts, "What in the hell have you done to me?" Jane looks astonished, "What do you mean?" "You know exactly what I mean. What have you done? Look at me. This is not me. How did you do this? This is not me." "Mary, what do you mean 'this is not me?' You seem confused." "You damn well know what I mean. I am not Mary. I am Bill. What did you do to me?" "Bill, did you hear that? Mary claims that she is not Mary but that she is you. What do you think of that?" Then a look of concern comes onto her face; she turns to Bill, "If she is you, then who might you be?" Bill looks at Mary and says, "She looks like Mary. Maybe we should take her pants down and see how big her dick is. I know how big mine is." Mary screams. "You two are crazy. You can't seriously think that I am going to let this indiscretion go unpunished. Get me out of this thing -- now! You are both removed from this project as of this moment!" Jane looks at Bill, then at Mary and confesses, "Yes, Mary it is true. Actually I should call you Bill, or, I know! You are 'Bill who is now Mary.'" Jane looks at Bill. He nods. "Yes, that will do, let's call you Bill-Mary." Jane looks back at Bill and says, "Bill, that must mean that you are Mary, is it true?" "It must be. This world could not handle having two Bills. Why don't you call me Mary-Bill? Is this getting too confusing?" "Not to me. How about you Bill-Mary? Is this working out the way that you had thought?" Bill-Mary growled, "You cannot leave me like this. I will have both of you expelled from the program. I will have your records removed. You cannot do this to me. It is illegal! You will both be arrested and tried and put away for a long time. Aaaagh! Mary you get back into that chair. Jane you run this machine again and get me out of Mary's body. That's a direct order from your superior!" "I'm sorry Bill-Mary. First of all, you are now superior to no one. As a matter of fact, you never really were ever superior to anyone. Don't flatter yourself. Secondly, as far as I know, this process is irreversible. I'm afraid you will have to make the adjustment on your own." "Aaaaaagh! This is not acceptable. Get me out of this chair now! You two will never live this one down." Jane grabs Bill-Mary's hair and looks sternly into her eyes, "Listen to me, you son-of-a-bitch. Not only we are not going to undo this, we aren't even done with what we are going to do to you. Let me explain: this device is more than a sexual enhancement tool; this machine is an ancient transmutation tool. You are now in Mary's body and she is in yours. Just like that. The hieroglyphs say more than what we told you. They told us that the society here subdued their rivals in a very unique manner. They started by selecting and training certain woman as agents to undermine their enemies. When the time was right, they would arrange for a talk, 'peace talks', with one of the local leaders. When he would come, they would force him into the device along with the agent. They would exchange bodies. She became the sacrifice in some respects. And she became the new leader. As his replacement, she would help keep the peace by cooperating with the high priest. He, on the other hand, would go back as a submissive -- either serving the new leader, or serving to whomever he chose to sell her. It was a sweet deal. Mary and I have ended your time as a leader and as a lecher. You are now going to go down a new road. You are now the slut. I hope you are ready!" Bill-Mary shouts, "No, you can't do this! No, you can't!" Mary-Bill walks up behind her and applies a chloroform-soaked rag across Bill-Mary's mouth and knocks her out. Jane releases the clamps. She and Mary-Bill quickly bind her hands and feet into a tight hogtie. Mary-Bill picks her up like a bag of groceries and carries her into the 'Levitation Room' and places her at the center of the platform. He and Jane lie down on either side of her. Jane takes a small electronic box from her pocket. She touches a red switch that activates the device; she flips a small black switch. A low pitch hum begins. A dim light begins to glow in the crystal. The room shakes a little. The light in the crystal in the ceiling increases intensity. It continues to increase until a beam begins to shine down onto the platform. The intensity continues to increase until it is so bright that it envelopes all three people. The intensity is so bright in the room that their forms disappear. Finally, the light's intensity begins to decrease. In another ten minutes, it is over. The platform is empty. *** Jane looks around. Everything is hazy. She rubs one eye and tries to focus on the surroundings. It is a dark room. There is a table with a computer at one end of the room and a man is seated there. She looks up -- there is a dark opaque greenish crystal directly above her head. "Ni hao," the man said. Jane thinks for a second; he is speaking Mandarin. She looks over at him. It is Jun Xia Ting. She smiles and gets up. She walks around to Mary-Bill and awakens her. Mary-Bill stirs around and stands up. She says, "Where are we?" Jane answers, "We are somewhere in south-central China. Actually, I never was too sure exactly where it was. Come with me and meet my old friend." Xia Ting stands. He looks sternly at Jane. "Ni hao ma." Jane looks at him, smiling, "Wo heng hao, xie xie. Ni na." "Wo heng hao, xie xie." Xia Ting laughs. "Very good, you have been working on your Mandarin." "Thank you, Professor Jun. I know a little Mandarin." She holds up her hand squeezing her thumb and index finger together to visualize the amount of knowledge she actually has of the language. "No, no, Jane, I am Ting, please, call me Ting. Who is your friend?" "Ting, this is Mary who is now Bill. She is the female who entered device in the 'Stimulation Room.'" "Ah, it is so nice to meet you Jane who is Bill. I knew that you and she would make the old machine work again. No one else has ever been able to translate the glyphs. You have done an outstanding job." Mary-Bill smiles and replies, "Thank you. Jane has told me about you. I am pleased to meet you." "And now, Jane, let's meet your other friend. She appears to be stirring. Did you have to bind her so? She looks so uncomfortable." Jane and Ting walk back to the platform. Bill-Mary is twitching a little. Ting looks at Jane and says, "zhe ye ge nu ren mei li." Jane thought for a few second and replies, "Yes, she is quite beautiful." "Oh, you do not answer me in Mandarin?" "I'm sorry, we've been very busy. My learning is not great as of yet. We present her to you as our gift and as the completion of my special project." Ting laughs and looks back to Bill-Mary. He walks to the desk, opens the drawer and pulls out a ball gag. He walks back to Bill-Mary and quickly inserts it into her mouth and attaches it behind her head. She cannot move because of being hogtied -- it is very tight. Ting stands and pulls a chain with two shackles from a pulley down to the platform. He unbinds Bill-Mary's hogtie and quickly (and expertly) wraps her wrists with the shackles. He looks back at Jane and says, "I use this platform for many things!" He smiles and stands. Ting pulls the chain and, slowly, Bill-Mary is pulled up. When he stops, she is fully standing on her toes hanging from the shackles. Tings takes a small knife out of his pocket and quickly shreds the clothes that Bill-Mary was wearing. He picks up the scraps and throws them into the fire place. He wielded the knife with such dexterity that there is no mark anywhere on Bill-Mary's body. Nevertheless, Bill-Mary is now completely naked and dangling helplessly. Ting walks back to Jane and pulls a long skinny switch from his belt. "Look at this, Jane. I have developed my technique so well using this switch, that I can inflict the greatest of pains but leave no damage, no scar, no bleeding, and no bruising on the skin. I am sure you two can calculate the physics involved. But the technique is such that the switch never touches the skin; it is only the force that is transferred to the body. It is a delicate line between this and cutting the person in two. Let me demonstrate." He walks back to Bill-Mary, stands behind her in a near trance. He then swings the switch toward her back. The motion is so quick that it is hard to even see it move. Bill-Mary screams in pain twitching in her shackles. There is no mark on her back. Ting swings the switch again with the same result. Ting walks back to Jane, "See, it is a most useful technique for discipline, especially for the unruly student. It has the added advantage of no permanent damage to the student." Jane smiles and says, "Ting, you have an unruly student on your hands. My notes to you did not exaggerate. Mary-Bill can vouch for everything I say." Mary-Bill looks at Ting. "I can tell you: this student will be a worthy challenge for you. I wish you the best of luck with her." Ting goes to the door and shouts something down the hall. Two young ladies come into the room and bow before Ting. He points to Bill-Mary. They walk over to her, lower her and release the shackles. They half-walk and half-carry her out of the room. Ting comes back to Jane and Mary-Bill. He looks at Jane, "You have done well, my student. Your special assignment here is complete. I know that you have so much more to accomplish and I wish you well." He bows at Jane and turns to face Mary-Bill. "You have sacrificed much to give up that beautiful body. I commend you on your inner strength and your loyalty to your friend. I know your combined future is filled with great achievement." He bows to Mary-Bill. "If you two will now excuse me, I must attend to my own new special assignment. Very soon she will call me 'ba ba.' That means 'daddy' in Mandarin." He smiles, turns and leaves the room. Jane and Mary-Bill look at each other and giggle. Jane walks over to Mary-Bill and holds his arm. "Did it hurt you to see you up there being beaten?" Mary-Bill sighs, "I don't know. It was a weird feeling. I almost felt those lashes. It was almost exciting. But, you know, I enjoyed the part where I knew it was Bill up there. He was such a jerk to me and to every other woman in the world that he knew. It was fitting." Jane squeezes his arm, "We need to go back now. We have some more work to finish. You will feel better when we get this behind us." "You're right." They both walk over to the platform and stand where Bill-Mary had just been whipped. Ting comes back into the room, "Are you ready?" Jane replies, "Yes, Ting as you know, we have more work yet to do. I would humbly like to ask for you a favor." Ting replies, "Speak freely." "We have a friend who is coming to your school next year. While he is here, please allow him a night alone with Bill-Mary. We know that he would appreciate the opportunity." "Ah, yes, I remember. His name is Jim Edmonson. Does he have a special connection to her?" "Yes. One night should be good enough for him to relieve his frustrations." "I understand. Very well, your wish is granted." Mary-Bill speaks up, "Ting, may I ask you a question?" "Speak freely." "You have known about much of the work we do here. I know you dabble in archaeology, but what is your real connection to what we do?" "That is a good question Mary who is now Bill. I am glad that you have thought this through. My name is Jun Xia Ting. I am currently the high priest of the Bahloo peoples. We still exist. We still perform the services that we perform. Those services are limited to those who find the key, who discover our methods and who have the courage to make the sacrifices." Ting nods and walks to the desk. He makes a few clicks on the keyboard and punches the mouse a few times. The crystal begins to glow. He says, "Have no fear; your friend Jim Edmonson will be treated very well when he is here. Until we meet again: zai jian, Jane; zai jian Mary who is now Bill." Jane replies, "zai jian, Ting. Enjoy your gift." Bill-Mary says, "Good-bye." Ting bows, turns and walks away. Jane pulls the controller from her pocket and twirls a few dials on it, and then she presses a black button. A low-pitch hum begins. *** Jane and Mary-Bill sit on the side of the platform back at the dig site. It has been a long day. Jane stands and looks at Mary-Bill, "We need to go back to the 'Stimulation Room' before it gets much later. We still have a long drive back to the university." "Yes, I know. Do we need to 'shut down' this thing?" "No, it can't operate without my controller. Come on." They both walk out of the room and head for the 'Stimulation Room.' Jane says, "Let's get up into the machine, I can run it from the controller." Mary-Bill says, "I'm ready. This is a tough body to live in! I can't imagine how a man can cope with such an ego as this one had." "He's learning how to live without it right now!" Jane has automated the entire process. They sit, the clamps engage, the light begins to shine brightly, the light fades again, the clamps disengage and it is done. Now it is Jane-Bill and Mary-Bill-Jane. The new Bill and the new Jane stand and look at each other. Bill says, "I love you Jane." Jane says, "I love you Bill. We are done here, aren't we?" "Hasn't it been great? I have got to say we have a win-win-win. Don't forget that the old Bill got just what he wanted, too: domination, submission, bondage, some whippings. It's just that a few minor details have been altered, but they are all there somewhere!" "I feel better being a woman again. Will it be odd for you to screw yourself?" "Mary-Bill-Jane, I have just a bit of the misogynist of the old Bill. A small amount, but just enough to enjoy it!" Mary-Bill-Jane thinks for a minute and reflects, "So, we have Bill who is now Mary, after having screwed Mary who became Bill but is now Jane, left behind with Ting who is the high priest. In the meantime, Jane who is now Bill is going to take Mary who was Bill for a while but is now Jane, and pump her until he fills her with his man-juice. Does that about cover it all?" "That was good. I think you got it. But don't forget, Ting, who we will visit again shortly, will help our friend Jim take Mary, who is Bill on the inside, and thereby relieve his frustrations in what could be an incredible twenty-four hour ordeal." "Now I'm confused again. Can we just leave?" They both laugh and walk out of the site hand in hand. *** It has been six months since that day at the site. The big announcement came. The school entertained a small press conference: site excavated in the hills of south-eastern Utah. Some evidences of habitation. Found a few ancient mechanical devices. Hieroglyphics are nearly impossible to decipher. Site is being deactivated at this time and will be monitored by staff personnel. There had been a few questions about the whereabouts of Mary. Bill showed his copy of her furlough request which he had approved. Bill said he thought she was vacationing in the mountains somewhere. Jane missed her, but her life had been changed by her recent marriage to Bill. Now the husband and wife team led the department and were championing new study sites all around the area. The university was getting attention in the world of archaeological study. *** It is night time. Bill's house is dark, except for a dim light in the bedroom. Bill and Jane are in bed. The mirrors are gone and the walls look like the walls of a real bedroom. The blankets are thrown about. They are cuddling. Bill says, "It's early in the morning where the new Mary is now. Do you think Ting has turned her around?" "He seemed to be very thorough in his teaching methodology. On the other hand, the personality that the new Mary started with was pretty well engrained. We should visit them again soon." "Yeah, the machines still work. I put all the controllers in a trunk in the attic. Ting would enjoy our visit." "Are we in the clear?" "Of course. There has been no discontinuity in our service to the university. As far as anyone knows, Mary left on her sabbatical and will likely never return. There is no one who will be able to translate the glyphs in the room without the baseline we were given by Ting. He is happy that he has a new play toy. And, other than Bill's extraordinary personality improvement, we have continued in our new status just as before. No one cares because nothing of significance has really changed. No one is going to look because no one is not where they are supposed to be." "As always, you are right. Now let's quit talking about Ting and Mary. I want you to screw my lights out." She reaches her hand down between his legs and tickles his balls with her fingertips. Bill rolls over and wraps his arms around Jane. They begin to kiss passionately. *** The morning sun is shining into Ting's bedroom. Ting and Mary are in bed. Each of Mary's wrists and ankles are tied to each other. Her knees are drawn up almost to her chest with her ass in the air. Her head is on the bed. Ting sits beside her with his left arm wrapped around her waist. He looks down over her broad ass. He holds his switch in his thumb and index finger on his right hand. The other three fingers are tickling Mary's pussy lips. She is twitching. Ting smiles. He slaps the switch on her ass. She yelps and cries, "Ba ba, xie xie." There is no mark on her skin. He rubs her pussy some more and then swings the switch again. She yelps and cries again, "Ba ba, xie xie." His smile grows bigger. As before, there is no mark. Her answers are translated as 'Thank you, daddy.' Her Mandarin vocabulary is improving. It would appear that the training is going very well. *** Bill and Jane are under the blankets holding each other. They have made love tonight and now are going to fall asleep in each other's arms. Bill has his arm wrapped around Jane's back. Jane is resting her arm on Bill's chest. She looks up at him and he down at her. Their eyes twinkle at each other. As we fade to outside the house, all is dark except for the dim light in the bedroom window. We hear her say, "Good night, Jane-Bill. I love you." He replies, "Good night, Mary-Bill-Jane. I love you, too." Then they say together, "Good night, Bill-Mary." And out goes the light while the crickets chirp. Crisscross Wednesday: Doug: The doorbell ringing at 9:45 that Wednesday evening initiated the unraveling of my wife's deception, although she did not realize it yet. I answered the door to find myself facing a man and a woman dressed in reasonably normal business attire, although the clothing was somewhat out of style and obviously well-worn. I immediately got the idea that these two were with the police; not so much from their appearances, but from the fact that this was the week that Frank and I had agreed upon to execute our campaign of payback. "Good evening, Sir," said the woman. "Are you Mr. Douglas Franklin?" "Yeah, I am Doug Franklin. May I ask who you are and what this visit to my house at this time of evening ... unannounced as well, I might add ... is all about?" I had to play the ignorant fool, even though I had a good idea what was coming next. "Who is it, Honey?" came the voice of Joyce, my wife ... the lying, deceitful ... well, anyway ... she had been really nervous all evening ... more about her later. She was wiping her hands on a kitchen towel as she came into the front room into which the front doorway opened. "I don't know yet ... Sweetheart," I said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. As she came up beside me, she had a frown on her face. "Are you Mrs. Joyce Franklin?" asked the woman at the door, shifting her attention from me to my wife. The man with her still had not said anything and looked bored--if anything--with the whole situation. "Look," I said, trying to feign annoyance and cover my inner glee at what I suspected this was about, "you have been asking questions here on my front porch and have yet to tell me just who you are and what this is about." With a resigned sigh, the woman withdrew her hand from her shoulder bag; and the man behind her pulled his hand out of the inside pocket of his sport jacket. When they both flipped their hands in what appeared to be a synchronized and practiced manner, two police badges caught the illumination of the front porch light fixture. I heard Joyce, my wife, groan to herself as the woman said, "I am Detective Sergeant O'Neal and this is Detective Scurry, and we are investigating an assault that occurred earlier today. And we would like to ask you and Mrs. Franklin some questions." I had practiced my put-on expression of surprise a couple of times over the past few days in front of the mirror, and now was the opportunity to see if it went over without arousing any suspicions. "What assault? And why would you believe that my wife or I would know anything about such a thing?" I said with rising irritation--also well-practiced--in my expression and voice. I glanced around to look at Joyce and saw that her face had lost all color and that she wore an expression of stark terror. She was looking away from all of us and appeared to be about to hyperventilate. The male detective spoke up at this point. "The assault took place early this afternoon, resulting in severe trauma to the victim. In one of his few lucid moments before he went in for surgery, he identified Joyce Franklin as the primary witness to what happened to him. This has also been corroborated by several other witnesses at the scene of the event in question." Still pretending ignorance and surprise, I said, "Who was this ... victim? I mean ... my wife ... the primary witness ... what ...?" At this, I paused--just as an honestly startled husband should pause--and continued to play the role of the ignorant fool, as part of the scene that was now bringing my wife's little secret world down around her ears. "Mrs. Franklin, what is nature of your relationship with a Mr. William Gerardo, and what were you and he doing together when he was assaulted in the back parking lot of the Newton Motel on King Street this afternoon?" asked the Detective Sergeant O'Neal. Well! That was blatant. She was obviously going for shock and awe. There is was; out in the open. No getting away from it now. Joyce let out an anguished sob and it appeared as if she were going to pass out. I just turned my head slowly back toward my wife and looked at her with an expression of curiosity and surprise (at least I hope I did okay with those looks), that slowly turned to alarm and then anger, as she began to bawl openly and back away slowly from me. **** Friday: Frank: Fridays are usually a bit less hectic than the other work days in the week, so I was not particularly busy that day in the middle of the afternoon when my secretary, Jan, told me that I had a call on line 1. "Frank Simmons," I said. "Mr. Simmons, this is Deputy Gibson, with the Cherokee County Sherriff's Office. Could I schedule a few moments of your time this afternoon or evening?" said the husky voice on the other end of the call. "Deputy Gibson, I don't understand. Just what is the nature of your request?" I asked, already realizing that Doug must have held up his end of the bargain already if I was getting a call like this one. "I'd rather wait and tell you in person, Mr. Simmons. Could I drop by your residence later to speak to you this afternoon or evening? Also, it might be best if Mrs. Simmons is available for this as well; in fact, she really needs to be there for this meeting," he said somewhat evasively. I was glad that he could not see the smile of satisfaction on my face as I said, "Well, I must say that I am confused, but curious. Of course, you may come by. Is 7:00 okay? My wife, Sybil, works during the day, but she is usually at home in the late afternoon and evening. We both should be home by the time you get there." "7:00 p.m. it is, Mr. Simmons. See you then." And then the connection was broken. I hung up the phone, swung my chair around, stood up, and took a deep, satisfying breath as I gazed out the window of my office. "Tonight, Bitch. It all comes out in the open tonight," I thought. Then I realized that I would have to play out my part completely. I would have to call home to alert Sybil to the coming visit of a Sherriff's Deputy or else she might suspect ... rightly ... that I was setting her up. The home phone rang four times and went to voicemail. This was strange; Sybil was supposed to be home by this time of the afternoon. Maybe she was simply in the bathroom. I called again five minutes later and got the same result. I waited ten more minutes and then I left a message telling her that I would be home at about 6:15 and told her about the call from Deputy Gibson and my lack of knowledge about anything concerning the pending visit. As I hung up, I grinned to myself as I thought about how oh, so like an unsuspecting husband I had sounded as I had left that message with just the right amount of concern in my voice. **** Back to Wednesday: Doug: I had allowed the fury that had built up within me to be let out in the form of ranting and yelling at my cowering and crying bride. To ensure that I did nothing more than scream, I made sure to vent my feelings to the fullest all while Detectives O'Neal and Scurry were still around to serve as protectors of Joyce, and witnesses to my restraint in not getting physical with her. After I had finished my histrionics and had visibly calmed down, and after giving the detectives all the answers that I could provide, I had left the front room and gone upstairs. There, since I had already pretty well decided what I was planning to pack to take with me, the hasty packing of clothes and toiletries was easy. Then I had to make a great show of leaving. It did not take long before I was stomping down the stairs dramatically with my suitcase in hand and my backpack with my laptop computer and some documents I would need for a few days. Joyce was still caterwauling on the sofa in the front room. As the story had come out, with the help of the two detectives, it would seem that my wife had been to the Newton Motel twice in her life. On both occasions, she had been there to have sex with one Bill Gerardo. The end of the second visit had been rather more eventful than she had ever imagined or expected. It would seem that, after Gerardo and she had left the motel room today and had split up to go to their separate cars, a hooded man had appeared from behind a van parked next to Gerardo's Lexus, surprising Gerardo when he was turned toward his car. The unidentified man had carried a baseball bat in one hand and had not appeared to care that Joyce saw him. For the next few minutes, the hooded man had beaten Gerardo severely, badly bruising his ribs, breaking his left arm and right leg, and paying special attention to Gerardo's groin area once the victim was on the ground. Following the beating, strangely, the assailant had not attempted to rob Gerardo. He had simply looked up at Joyce with the bat propped on his shoulder and had shaken his head at her. Joyce, for her part, had remained frozen in place and speechless with terror. After the hooded man had turned and run to the lot of the adjacent convenience store and had disappeared behind it, several people had begun to notice the wounded Gerardo and one or two had come over to help. Two others had simply stood back and taken cell phone pictures and video. People had finally noticed Joyce standing there, recognizing that she had been there with Gerardo, and several phones had captured her image. According to witnesses, she had finally broken free of the grip of her terror and had turned in panic to get into her Corolla. It had take quite a bit of frantically trying to get the key in the lock before she was able to get the door unlocked and open, and then to scramble in and get the car started. Once the engine had finally turned over, she had sped away from the lot, with one or two people's phones capturing images of her car, including her license place. It seems that, according to Detectives O'Neal and Scully, Mr. Gerardo had drifted in and out of consciousness on his way to the hospital in the ambulance and had said the words, "Joyce" and "Amy" alternately. He had been awake only once in the regional hospital's ER long enough to answer a couple of questions for police and mention Joyce Franklin's name before he was being wheeled into surgery. "So, Mrs. Franklin ... once again, I need to ask ... what was the nature of your meeting with Mr. Gerardo?" Detective O'Neal had asked with an expressionless look at my wife. "I ... I ..." she had swallowed and had looked at me with the saddest expression I had ever seen her wear. She had then whispered, "Doug ... I am so sorry ... I ..." Then she had looked away and begun crying again. Only when I had begun yelling at her, asking what the hell this had all been about had she finally relented and admitted that she had been at the hotel with Gerardo for sex, but I had been too incensed to listen to her when she had tried to say, "But it is not what you think ..." Yeah, I had thought; right out of the infidelity manual of instructions, under things to say when you get caught cheating. That was when I had begun to put on my show of going upstairs to pack and leave. I was remembering all this as I drove away from our home of the previous four years--one year of living together followed by three years of supposedly happy marriage--after only about a half hour following the arrival of the two detectives. Now, I was headed to my already-arranged hotel room for a week's stay. Regardless of how things turned out when all this was over, I needed to be away from the house right now in order to keep alive the subterfuge. I also had to prepare myself psychologically to carry through on my part of the agreement with Frank. I had to get my 'game face' on. **** Forward to Friday again: Frank: When I got home Friday afternoon, after having received the call from Deputy Gibson, I discovered several not really surprising--or unexpected--things. First, Sybil, my wife of eight years, was not there. Her car was not there either. After I had dropped my gym bag and had stopped in the kitchen to grab a Yuengling out of the fridge, I had looked at the wall phone in the kitchen and had seen the blinking light--no doubt indicating my voicemail message from earlier. Passing through the den, I got the impression that something was slightly out of kilter, but I was still too jacked up with anger to dwell on it. I climbed the stairs to our bedroom and sat down on the bed to take off my shoes. I stripped off my shirt and tossed it toward the hamper--missing it, of course. I took down my pants and, when I went to hang them up in the closet, I noticed that Sybil's clothes were gone. I sighed and turned back to the bedroom. Looking in her dresser, I saw that all her underwear and stuff was gone too. When I got back downstairs after dressing in some slacks and a polo shirt, along with my moccasins and no socks, I then realized why the den had been different--several knickknacks, pictures, and other items of Sybil's were missing. Ah, well. Good riddance, I guess. I should have been sad; after all we had spent a quarter of our lives together. But I was still just too pissed at the time; and, after all, I still had a part to play in front of Deputy Gibson when he got here in a little while. **** "Mr. Simmons," Deputy Gibson asked, "when did you find out about your wife's affair with Mr. Philip Avery?" "My wife's ... what ... affair? Avery?" I put on the well-practiced confused and surprised look. "You mean ... my wife is cheating on me? Who ...?" Then I gave a visible deep inhalation of breath, closed my eyes for a second, and did my best to appear to be trying to remain calm--although I was laughing my ass off inside. Finally ... "Before you said anything just now, Deputy, I had no idea that my ... wife was having an affair." Then I opened my eyes and looked at him, after having rubbed my eyes with the forefinger and thumb of my right hand; the forefinger and thumb that I had coated in Tabasco sauce right before the Deputy had rung my doorbell. My eyes were now visibly red and tears were forming when I addressed him. "I guess that her ... lover ... is this ... what did you say his name was ... Avery?" He nodded slightly. I whispered as I sat down heavily, "No. I ... I had no idea." "May I speak to Mrs. Simmons, Sir?" Gibson asked. "Maybe she can shed some light on our investigation. Is she here? We will need her statement as well." I shook my head and tried to appear dazed. "She ... when I got home, she was gone; along with all her things. I ... I guess she has left me. That's all I can make of this." Now was the time to switch gears emotionally, if I were to carry this off for the benefit of the Deputy. It was time for the aggrieved husband to strike out in righteous anger. "Just WHEN did the Sherriff's office begin investigating the dalliances of slut wives who whore themselves out while their ... BELOVED and trusting fools of husbands work to provide for them?" I stood and began to pace and wave my arms to add to the dramatic look of things. Then I paused to give the Deputy my best snarling look. He was obviously a veteran of many of these types of situations, as he was not fazed a bit. In fact, he looked slightly bored by the whole thing. "Mr. Simmons, we do not investigate cases of adultery, or 'dalliances,' as you call them. But we do investigate matters when those dalliances may be the instigating cause behind felony aggravated assault and battery, and possibly attempted murder," he said without raising his voice one bit. But he was watching me closely as he said all this. Once again, I put on the surprised look. To quote Captain Renault from the movie, Casablanca, silently in my head, "I'm shocked, shocked to find that gambling is going on in here." "Deputy, I am shocked ... absolutely shocked to find out that my wife has been cheating on me. But, do you really think that she hurt her lover; tried to kill him?" I asked, knowing how ridiculous it sounded. Deputy Gibson almost smiled as he drawled out, "Noooo. I don't think that she did anything like that. What I am trying to find out is just who else might have had a motive to do something like that. For instance," here he looked piercingly at me, "the aggrieved husband, maybe?" Okay, it's Oscar time! "Wh ... I ... Deputy, I assure you; I had no idea that this ... affair was going on. And I CERTAINLY am not a violent man. And just when did this assault supposedly take place, if I may ask?" Deputy Gibson paused for about ten seconds; obviously gauging my response and thinking about just how much to tell me as he assessed my possible guilt in this matter. "It took place at a motel parking lot out on Lone Tree Road at about eight-thirty yesterday evening. "It seems that the motel has a bar attached to it; and the victim, Mr. Philip Avery, was a regular there, often meeting with Mr. Simmons, I am sad to report." Deputy Gibson really did not look sad at all about telling me this. Then he continued. "He had only had two drinks yesterday evening, in the company of your wife, I might add. They both seemed agitated, according to the bartender. They finished their drinks, and then he walked out to his car in the parking lot just a few minutes after she had left on her own. "An eyewitness in the parking lot says that a man wearing a black ski mask, and wielding what looked like a baseball bat, assaulted Mr. Avery by striking him high in the back. Then, once the victim was on the ground, the masked man proceeded to beat Mr. Avery all over his body. He avoided the head, but seemed to take particular delight in striking Mr. Avery's testacles." Here the Deputy paused and seemed to wait for me to show some sign of emotion--maybe shock, outrage, or guilt. "It's been our experience, Mr. Simmons," Gibson continued again, "that this type of attack, and the physical targeting of the beating, is indicative of a cuckold husband taking his revenge on his wife's lover." I couldn't help myself. I actually flinched at the word 'cuckold.' But, other than that, I was able to maintain my expression, combining innocence and incredulity at my circumstances. "Deputy," I finally said, "I ... I am still trying to process all of this, so forgive me if I sound strained right now. I mean ... what with my wife leaving me ... and finding out ..." I let my voice trail off. Nodding in feigned sympathy, the Deputy gave me a look that hinted at the idea of, 'Go on ... and?' obviously looking to see if I would rise to the bait and maybe confess to something. "I can assure you that I had no connection to the incident you have described last night ..." I said with a sigh, "other than the connection that you have alleged about my ... wife's knowledge and ... relationship with this guy, Avery. But, last night, I was in my office with my office manager, Janet Barkley, finalizing our business tax filing documents until almost ten p.m. Just contact her, and she can verify my whereabouts during the time frame that you describe." Deputy Gibson simply nodded and said, "Yeah; I already talked to her just after you left your office this afternoon and before coming over here. She already provided you with your alibi." Now, I had to show anger in order not to give away anything else. "What do you mean; you ... you already talked to her? Then, what was all this about asking me all of these questions, and hinting that maybe I was involved?" "Hey, hey, Mr. Simmons," Gibson said, now stepping back and leaning back a bit to give himself some room to react if I got violent with him. "We have to check out everything in these cases. And, you have to understand that, based on many past cases of this type, the aggrieved husband is usually the primary suspect until something else comes up." "And now, I presume, something else has come up? I mean now that you know where I was during this assault?" I asked, still showing anger, but demonstrating restraint as well. Crisscross "Let's just say that we now need to pursue other avenues of investigation, and leave it at that ... for now," he said. Ah, still trying to rattle me. "Well," I had to do the 'indignant' bit now. "If you have anything more to suspect me of, and you wish to ask me anything, you can do so through my lawyer!" "Calm down, Mr. Simmons," Gibson said, with the upraised hands, trying to pretend that he meant to ease my hurt feelings with his gesture, and still not raising his voice. "I don't think it will come to that. By the way, if Mrs. Simmons DOES contact you, I would ask that you tell her to contact the Cherokee County Sherriff's Office, and I would ask you to let me know too about any contact with her." At this, he handed me his card. "Anyway, that's all I needed tonight. I truly am sorry about the situation with you and your wife; and the way you had to find out and all. I'll be going now." With that, he put his Stetson on and walked to the door. As I was about to close the door on him, he turned around toward me and said, "Remember, now; if y'all hear from Mrs. Simmons, we really would like to talk to her." I just nodded and he turned to go. I closed the door behind him and breathed out slowly. This time, I went back into the dining room and pulled down the Wild Turkey instead of going into the kitchen after a beer. Taking my first sip, I silently toasted Doug and smiled; the boy had come through for me; just as I had for him. Thinking of my now-departed slut of a wife, I said aloud, "Sayonara, Bitch." **** The next Wednesday: Frank: The swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated did not seem to be a magazine that fit in with the tone that a divorce lawyer's office might seem to want to set. But, hey; I'm a guy; and I like to look. So I was thumbing through it as I sat and awaited the start of my appointment. I had checked in with the receptionist at the domestic law office of Chantal Hawk, a divorce attorney well-known for her ruthless pursuit of the well-being of her client. Word was out that she especially hated cheating wives; and the message had spread loud and clear about her among the aggrieved married male population here in Woodstock and all around Cherokee County. Other attorneys, some judges, and even a few law enforcement types quaked in their boots when she was around; or, sometimes, just when her name came up in conversation. It was now Wednesday of the week following the violent events that had surrounded the affair of my wife and since she had pulled her disappearing act from my life. I had called to make this appointment and gotten it confirmed for today. Following that call, and after getting my confirmation that my initial deposit to her account via my credit card had cleared, Ms. Hawk had emailed me with a list of steps that I needed to take immediately to protect my assets and myself. If you have read any of the 'cheat' stories on the internet, then you know about closing any joint accounts, cancelling credit cards, dividing savings and checking accounts, changing insurance and retirement account beneficiaries; all the hateful and financially devastating things that must be done during the lead-up to a divorce. During all of this, I had also called Doug. He needed to know about my appointment, specifically the timing. I had deliberately arrived about half an hour early for the appointment so that we could do our own little dance of deception. As I thumbed through the magazine, looking at the babes in their swimsuits, I became aware of another person entering the office and approaching the receptionist. "Excuse me, but I may be in need of a good divorce lawyer," said a male voice; one that I knew already, but I had to pretend that I did not. I had to force myself not to look around. "Of course, Sir," answered the receptionist. "And just how did you hear about Ms. Hawk?" and on and on the questions went; she was doing her bit to verify the effectiveness of Chantal Hawk's marketing and advertising scheme while she began to gather the prospective client's initial information. After about three or four minutes of this, the receptionist told the guy, "If you would just fill out these forms for us, we can see about getting you an appointment with Ms. Hawk. She's booked up today and tomorrow, unfortunately; but we shall see what we can do about getting you in to see her on Friday." With obvious sadness and hesitation in his voice, the guy said, "Oh ... okay." Pause. "Uh, do you have a restroom I might use?" "Sure," she said to him. "It's in the main hallway of this office complex; out the door and then to your left." That was my cue. I gave the guy about a twenty-second head start before putting my magazine down and standing. I smiled to the receptionist and told her, "I need to hit the gents' before I go in. Please tell Ms. Hawk that I am still here." "Sure thing," she said, smiling at me as I turned to go out to the main hallway. In the men's room, I saw him finishing his business at the urinal. I checked the only stall in this small men's room to ensure that we were the only two there, while he washed up at the sink. I turned back toward him as he dried his hands and asked him, "You okay?" Doug turned to me and gave me a strained smile. "Yeah," he said, "I just ... it still ... I never knew that I had that much rage in me till now. I have never harmed another human being the way that I did last week." He had been looking away slightly as he had said this. Now he looked at me directly and said, "It kinda scares me. You know?" I nodded and said, "Yeah, I know. Look," I had to ensure that he was on track here, "we now have a legitimate reason for knowing one another; I mean meeting at a divorce lawyer's office. Can you keep this up as we go back inside there?" Doug nodded and said, "Yeah. Yeah, I can." Then he blew out a puff of air to signify that he was trying to keep calm. I grinned at him to reassure him. "Look, Doug; your situation is different from mine, and we both know it. Just remember, when you get to that third page of the questions on those forms ... you know how I told you ... where they ask about counseling and the possibility of reconciliation, then you ..." **** Six Months Later: Doug: I am not usually a bar fly, but this night was the six-month anniversary of the venture that Frank and I had begun our adventure together as a way to satisfy our mutual rage and get our balls back. When Frank had shown up at my work place that first time and introduced himself to me, I had been fat, dumb, and happy; living the life of a carefree man with a good job and a beautiful and loving wife. Life couldn't have been better; or so I thought. Frank had asked me to meet him after I got off from work, as he had some information that I needed to know. When I frowned at his evasiveness, he had said he would buy me drinks and dinner if I would simply listen to what he had to say. I hesitated, but, hey--free drinks and dinner don't come my way very often. And this might have been a new customer--although eccentric, maybe--seeking my business. So, I had agreed. That evening, my bright, happy world was no longer bright; nor was I happy after he finished with his tale. "He drugged her, Doug. You have to remember that, and keep that foremost in your mind. She did not set out to cheat on you," Frank insisted. He had shown me pictures and transcripts that his PI had given him in a report of the investigation of Frank's cheating wife, Sybil. I had not been aware, up to that point, that my wife, Joyce, actually worked with Sybil, or that they had become more than simply passing acquaintances. Joyce had actually begun to go to lunch with the slightly older Sybil. It also appeared that on those days in recent weeks when Joyce had begun to stop for drinks and "time to wind down" on the way home from work, she had been doing so in the company of Sybil as well. Evidently, Frank's PI's surveillance of Sybil--and the subsequent electronic eavesdropping that went along with that--had resulted in information relating to Joyce at that point. Joyce, it seemed, was shocked when Sybil had begun to let slip hints about the older woman's running around on her husband, Frank. While shocked, Joyce has still been somewhat excited and intrigued by all of this; but only from the point of view of someone who had been reading romance novels since her teens. I knew now that Joyce had seen all of this as excitingly naughty on Sybil's part. But Joyce would not have actually indulged in any extramarital behavior on her own; still, she could enjoy hearing about Sybil's exploits and promising to keep them 'just among us girls.' The two women had been stopping for drinks for about two weeks together when, one afternoon, two men came over to their table and asked to join them. Joyce had been about to refuse, when Sybil had simply scooted over and told the two men that certainly they could join them. Joyce had been noticeably upset, according to the PI's report, but Sybil had been visibly enjoying herself. Joyce had left shortly thereafter, but the report went on to say that Sybil had adjourned to a room in the motel building adjacent to the bar with both men. They had remained there for approximately two hours. The following week, Joyce and Sybil were once again at the same bar after work. The same two men, now identified in the report as Bill Gerardo and Phil Avery, had come into the bar a few minutes later. They had once again asked to join the women and Sybil once again had acquiesced. The report documented that Joyce and Sybil had left the table for a few minutes to go to the ladies' room. During that interval, one of the men, Bill Gerardo, had removed what looked like a small vial from somewhere in his clothing and had poured its liquid contents into Joyce's drink, stirring it with his finger. He had then said something to Avery and they had high-fived and smiled as the ladies had returned. About twenty minutes later, after having finished her drink and reaching for her purse, Joyce had appeared to be slightly uncoordinated in her movements. Sybil had sought to ascertain her welfare, getting a confused look and response from Joyce. The two men had offered to help get Joyce to a place where she could lie down and recover before attempting to drive anywhere. The PI's report indicated that, unsurprisingly, the men had just 'happened' to have a motel room available next door. **** "Yeah, I know he drugged her--the first time; Gerardo, I mean," I said. "It was her letting him blackmail her into coming back a second time without being drugged that pissed me off. But what REALLY gave me a case of the ass was the fact that she did not trust me enough to tell me about what was going on and let me help her out of the mess she had gotten into with that shit bird..." I had to take a sip of my drink to calm down. "I'm her husband, for God's sake. She is supposed to trust me enough to let me defend her; to take care of her. What kind of a man does that make me if I can't protect my own wife; if she doesn't even trust me enough to let me?" We remained quiet for a moment as we each looked at our drinks on the bar before us. "So, you and Joyce still working things out; I mean despite all of that?" Frank asked me. He was nursing Wild Turkey neat, while I was enjoying an Arrogant Bastard Ale. "Yeah; I'm still pissed at her a little bit, though," I said as I took another pull on the larger-than-usual bottle. "But I'll get over it soon. I got her into rape trauma counseling right after things came out in the open. And the outfit that handles her counseling also does couples marriage counseling, so we have been doing that as well for the past ten weeks." "Doug, you know that Sybil was deep into it with those two jokers. She probably was the one who had suggested using date rape drugs on your wife," Frank said to me, still trying to offer support. "Yeah, I know. We went over that together months ago. By the way, did you ever hear from Sybil?" I asked. "Nah," Frank responded and then took another sip. "It's as if she has vanished from the face of the earth. But, when her money runs out, I expect I will hear from her; or maybe from a lawyer acting on her behalf. Meanwhile, I still have that divorce paperwork that I started with Chantal Hawk. "Chantal says that I can modify the grounds for a divorce from 'adultery' to 'irreconcilable differences;' or even to 'abandonment' if the bitch stays out of touch for long enough. No skin off my nose either way." Frank was obviously still carrying a lot of anger around with him. Frank would never admit, and I wasn't going to be the one to tell him, that he could only be that angry if he still carried around some quantity of love for his ex, despite her cheating ways. Yeah, I had picked up a couple of tidbits of knowledge about that kind of thing during the counseling sessions. "Well," I said with a grin, "at least you got the formal separation paperwork in, so that you are legally free to lower your white count if you need to without getting a counter suit for adultery." Frank grinned back at me and lifted his glass in my direction. "You got that right!" Then he took another sip and looked off into space for a couple of seconds. "Let me ask you," Frank went on, "are you and Joyce finally back to doing ... you know ... the deed?" I smiled and simply nodded. I was not going to go into details about our sex life after all this had come out in the open. It had taken a couple of months before we had finally gotten together for sex after all of that; and only after she had been in counseling for a while. But, Man! The changes! It was as if Joyce could not do enough for me in her guilt-ridden efforts to make things up to me. I mean; she was now giving me blow jobs regularly; and swallowing, even; something she had always refused to do up to this. And I had finally gotten her ass! It turns out that the son of a bitch, Gerardo, had been the first one to the summit--so to speak--on that one. But I was taking advantage of it now. I just had to make sure that I did not overdo it. Movement behind us, along with a clearing of a throat, made us turn away from the bar together. A woman stood there in a VERY sexy dark green cocktail dress. It showed off quite a bit of her ample cleavage and revealed quite a bit of thigh due to the slit up one side. Frank and I both were speechless as we gazed at this vision of ... what is that British term? Oh, yeah ... 'sex on legs.' "So," she said, "you two DO know each other, it seems." Something clicked; a stirring of recognition; then it hit me. "Uh, Sergeant O'Neal, as I live and breathe. Wow! I never suspected that a policewoman would look as nice as you do off duty!" I was trying to keep my tongue from doing two things; letting it run away with itself and give away what Frank and I had done together; or hang out in an obvious display of lust at this vision standing before us. "Actually, it's Lieutenant O'Neal now. But that is just the name I go by professionally. When I am out with my husband, I am simply Mrs. Gibson," she said, just as a well-build and well-dressed man stepped over to join her. I did not recognize him, but I detected that Frank suddenly stiffened. "Hello, Mr. Simmons," the man said. "I see my wife introduced herself to you." Then he looked at me and stuck out his hand. "Jeff Gibson," was all he said as I took his hand and shook. He had a purposeful, but not overly aggressive grip. Frank cleared his throat and said, "Doug, this is the Deputy Sherriff Gibson I was telling you about who investigated the case involving my soon-to-be ex-wife back a few months ago." I raised my eyebrows and did not say anything to that. "And I investigated the case involving Mr. Franklin and HIS wife for the Woodstock PD right about the same time," said Lieutenant O'Neal ... well, Mrs. Deputy Gibson, I guess. She looked slightly amused as her gaze went to Frank's face and back to mine. I was working very hard to keep my expression neutral. "Doug and I met at the office of my divorce lawyer," Frank interjected. "Since we discovered that our wives knew each other and had been ... uh ... involved with the men involved in those incidents that happened at that time, we stayed in touch. Now, we meet once in a while to share the misery, so to speak." "Except," I took up the case, trying not to let this drag out. "Frank's wife simply ran off and disappeared. My wife and I are trying to patch things up and move on." Lieutenant O'Neal smiled thinly at me and said, "Well, Mr. Franklin, I am glad to hear that you and the missus are trying to fix things. By the way, we still have an open case file on the attack on Mr. Gerardo." She paused to see if I would respond. When I simply grimaced and took a pull from my beer bottle, she went on. "He is still in rehabilitation for his leg, but it appears that he will have a limp for the rest of his life. His arm is doing well, though. It is a good thing he is right-handed." I did not really give a shit about the recovery, or lack thereof, of Bill Gerardo. But I simply nodded. "His wife, Amy, divorced him and took their two kids; along with a huge chunk of his finances. It also seems that his reproductive organs, while still functional, are somewhat lacking in potency at this point. It looks like the low motility rate of any sperm that his body generates will make it difficult for him to have any more children, should he decide to remarry." She seemed to carry an air of satisfaction about that herself. I guess even cops, if they are female, want to see slug-butt cheating men get their due. "Yeah," piped up Deputy Gibson. "And, Frank, if you ever have any contact with your ex, let her know that we still have the case open concerning the attack on Mr. Avery. His injuries were not quite as extensive or severe as those to Mr. Gerardo, but he still had quite a lot of medical expenses. These hit right about the time that his wife, Wendy, hit him with divorce papers as well." Frank grunted and said, "Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy." Both Deputy Gibson and his wife alternated looking at each of us as the silence grew. But neither said anything; they simply sported amused expressions. Finally ... "Well, y'all have a nice night now; you heah?" said Deputy Gibson as he took his wife's hand and led her out the front door. Frank and I turned back to the bar and drank in silence for a few minutes before he looked around and spoke softly to me. "You did make sure to get rid of that bat, didn't you?" **** AUTHOR'S EPILOGUE: I had always wanted to try my hand at a 'Loving Wives' story, being inspired by some of the greats, almost-greats, goods, and even the mediocre writers of that particular genre. I would like to take this opportunity to thank, for my inspiration, those in the following list of those who have written before about 'Loving Wives.' The list is not all-inclusive, as there are others. But these are just some of my favorites over the years: Just Plain Bob, beermaker, Denham Forrest/The Wanderer, DG Hear, Daghda Jim, ohio, K.K., patricia51, nici, Troubador, Papatoad, IronDragon, Curious2c, CPete, DanielQSteel1, Rehnquist, Agena, Matt Moreau, SW MO Hermit, HeavyHeartLaments, Just Anybody, Whiteone_Redone, angiquesophie, capecodmercury, Charley Ace, Murphy621, Scorpio044, A.A. Nemo, Azpiri, Barneyr, BDad, BigK10, Big-R, BLBBones, bobfr, Blue88, Britease, BrotherJohn, BTTap, bucksilver, Cageytee, CarterCounty, carvohi, CeeeEsss, Chagrined, Charley Bear, ChilleyWIley, Coaster2, dab10, DangerouslyDead, DeYaKen, DFWBeast, Dr_Know, DoctorWyldcard, EMiamiRiverRat, fawguy88, Francis Macomber, Friskee_cpl, GaryAPB, geronimo_appleby, GToast, h20wader, hansbwl, happyhugo, Harddaysknight, hawkeye007, Headhuntertales, Huedog2, itmgr2010, imhapless, Jack Straw, Jake60, jezzaz, Jidoka, JimBob44, Josephus, juanwildwone, Katmai, Kenn Ghannon, Kezza67, Laptopwriter, LeapYearGuy, LikeGoodWine, Longhorn07, lucsmith, LynnGKS, maninconn, Mandy01, MarvinS, MattblackUK, MendonFishers, MortonGrange, MrRobbur, Nakedsub, Night Scribe, NTropy586, OldHideki, oshaw, PostScriptor, PTBzzzz, Pultoy, qhml1, radk, RealDoc, RobConnor, RPSuch, S-Des, Salamis, SaxonHart, Sid0604, Slirpuff, Slow_n_Gentle, Spykke, StormX, thecelt, Tabooteller, TheUnoriginalist, Tx Tall Tales, valeriahart, vastiesmith, Woodmanone, writingdragon, x_JohnDoe_x, and zeke81. Crisscross Thanks to all of you for hours of great reading and inspiration. **** THE END