0 comments/ 73019 views/ 19 favorites The Parade By: Lissette It was a beautiful late summer day. Just enough of a chill in the air when the wind blew to warn you that autumn would be here. At the last minute, I decided to attend the parade. I tried to get the other girls in the office to go with me, but they weren't interested. I really didn't care that much about the fact that our city's team had won. I really wanted an excuse to get out of work early. Well, that is not quite true. My nephew Steve is seven and he just adores baseball and the New York Mets. I knew that I would score big points with him if I told him that I had been at their congratulatory parade. I am only 5'1" so I was happy that I had on my heels that day. I thought they might help me get a better view. I was wearing a short skirt and a tight blouse that accentuated my full breasts. I have very large nipples that are incredibly sensitive. If I get the least bit aroused, they immediately stand at attention. My waist is tiny which just makes my breasts seem larger. My legs are tan and firm. Since it was still pretty warm, I was not wearing hose that day. My hair is long, all the way down my back. I had broken up with my boyfriend about four months ago and I was still not dating anyone new. Don't get me wrong. I had plenty of offers from various men who told me that it was a sin that my beautiful sexy body was not being given the proper attention. I had dated Mario, my ex, for three years and I really had thought that he was "the one." That is until I caught him in bed with my best girlfriend. My mind decided to take a sabbatical from men, but my body was not always cooperative. I found that I got aroused so easily during this time. I used my vibrator practically every night, and mornings too on the weekends. It helped, but nothing can take the place of a hard cock ramming you when you really need it. I finally made it to the street where the parade was going to pass. The crowd was unbelievable. Already people were about twenty deep, pressed together so tightly, eagerly waiting for the baseball heroes to pass. I found a spot in the thick of things. I kept standing on tiptoe to try to get a glimpse of what was going on. I started to get bored after awhile and I thought about turning and going home, but I was pretty much pinned in place. There were people on all sides of me, pressed against each other. I can get claustrophobic and I think I started to panic a little. I must have looked scared. I heard a very deep voice behind me say "breathe deeply."There was something about his voice that was commanding, yet reassuring. I tried to turn to say "thanks", but there was no room. Suddenly, a huge cheer went up from the crowd. The team had been spotted and they were slowly making their way down the street on a huge, decorated float. The crowd, acting as one unit, surged forward. I felt myself lose my balance and start to topple forward. I was truly scared. I had read too many stories about people trampled accidentally by mobs. Before I actually fell, the strange man behind me grabbed me with both of his hands by my waist and he helped me regain my balance. Again, I tried to turn to see him, but he was too close so I murmured thanks again. This time he didn't say anything. I expected him to release my waist as soon as I was upright again, but he continued to hold onto me. I thought it was a little strange, but seeing as how he had potentially just saved my life, I didn't say anything. I glanced down at his hands and were shocked at how large they were. They were massive. His skin was the color of café au lait. His hands were well manicured and looked soft, yet very powerful. I thought of my girlfriend Angie who claims that the size of a man's hands are directly related to the size of his cock. I smiled to myself. The team was getting closer and the crowd was getting rowdier. The tall stranger wrapped his entire left arm around my waist and dropped his right arm to his side. His arm gently brushed the bottom of my breasts. I could feel my nipples start to get hard and I hoped that he didn't notice. It seemed a little odd to me that a perfect stranger was holding me so closely, but it certainly made me feel safer. I am not sure when I first realized it. It is one of those things where you tell yourself that you must be imagining it. I could feel the man holding onto me get a hard-on. Because he was so much taller than me, his very large, very hard cock was pressed against the middle of my back. I tried to move forward a little, but there was no room to move. His arm gripped me tightly. I was shocked that my body started to respond to the feel of his erection against my back. I told myself that this was insane. A stranger was practically molesting me and instead of screaming, I was getting aroused. I felt his right hand go up under my skirt and slowly begin to massage my ass. I gasped a little and I knew he could tell he was getting me hot. I was wearing a thong so he had instant access to my ass. Very carefully, he moved the lace away and he began stroking the outside of my pussy. By this point, I was whimpering a little bit, but no one was paying any attention. My knees got weak and he tightened his grip around my waist. He gently pulled the thong to one side and he stroked my clit. He was very gentle at first and then he started rubbing hard. By this point, my nipples were rock hard. My pussy felt like it was on fire. I knew he could feel how wet I was and I was embarrassed to think that he could probably smell my scent. With one quick movement, he spread my lips and inserted his long thick finger in me. I cried out but everyone's attention was on the team still slowly proceeding down the street. I was incredibly scared but so turned on by this point. I tried to meet the thrusts of his finger. He took that as a signal and in an instant he had inserted two more fingers in me. I moaned softly. It felt so good to have something inside of me that did not require batteries. He pulled his hand out much too quickly. I really wanted to come. I was panting and I tried to pull myself together. I heard him unzip his pants and I realized he was going to fuck me right there on the street. The crowd was still fixated on the approaching team so no one was looking at us. He again reached up under my skirt; this time he tore the lace thong apart so he could enter me. His roughness scared me and I thought about screaming to call attention, but I really wanted it. It had been so long since I had been fucked I didn't care if a total stranger was about to take me on a New York City street. I wanted to turn to gaze upon the hard cock that was going to penetrate me but he wouldn't let me turn around. I could tell that it was very large and unusually thick. I could feel the heat from it against my back through my blouse. In one swift movement, he put his hands on my waist again and this time he lifted me a foot off the ground. I am sure that to others it might have looked like he was trying to give me a better view of the parade. He gently lowered me until the head of his cock was pressed against my pussy. My skirt hid what we were doing. As hot and wet as I was, he couldn't enter me. He was simply too big. I was amazed. He had opened me up with his fingers and still he couldn't quite enter me. I was dying to see just how big this man was. He put me down for a minute. I assumed he had given up. Without warning, he lifted me again and literally impaled me on his throbbing cock. This time I cried out and I didn't care who noticed. He was in me deeper than anyone or anything had ever been. He was stretching me. I was terrified that he would tear me or injure me in some way. I gasped for breathe. Again the only words he said to me were to breathe deeply. I felt so helpless. I was afraid to move. My feet were dangling off the ground. My body was impaled on this massive cock. I tried to relax and when I did, my pussy involuntarily started to convulse around the massive thing inside of me. Beads of perspiration had formed on my face. I could tell he wanted to thrust but he was fighting the urge because he didn't want to hurt me. Weakly I murmured, "please.. please fuck me." He needed no more encouragement. He quickly walked and pushed into the crowd. He was still inside of me. He carried me along like a limp rag doll. Within seconds, he found an alley and we ducked in there. Alone with him, I wanted to see his face. I tried to turn, but he pushed my face away. I was facing a brick wall. There was a very large cardboard box and he laid the top half of my body over it. My legs were jelly. He lifted my skirt and pulled out of me suddenly. I caught my breath for an instant and then he entered me again forcefully. I started to cry. Part of me was horrified that I was allowing myself to be taken in an alley by a stranger. Partly I cried because it felt so incredibly good. He held my waist and rammed me with his gigantic cock over and over. I could feel myself stretch. Each time he pulled out, I could hear a rush of air. His cock filled me so completely and tightly that it created a vacuum. Sometimes he would let me calm down and relax a bit before he rammed me again. Other times he did it quickly. Each time I felt the head of his cock at the opening of my pussy, I bit the side of my jaw to distract myself from the pain I was about to feel upon his penetration. Although I had never been fucked this roughly before, it did feel good. I came many, many times. He stayed hard for what seemed like hours. I didn't know how much more I could take. At one point, he played with my ass and I thought he was going to fuck me there with his cock. I begged him not to because that would surely kill me. Instead, he inserted two fingers in my ass as he continued to ram my pussy. Periodically he would pull hard on my nipples and squeeze my breasts. His hand left red marks on my skin. Finally, I felt his body tense and he came in me. He flooded me with his hot cum. I could actually feel it explode in me. Mixing with my own juices, it ran down the sides of my legs. Helping me up, he partly carried and guided me back to a street where he hailed a cab for me. Still he forced me to look straight ahead. I pleaded with him to tell me his name, but he wouldn't answer me. A cab stopped and he opened the door and gently put me inside. The cab driver asked me where I wanted to go and I quickly gave him my home address. I turned to finally see the man's face, but he was already walking down the street, his back towards me. The Parade I had just turned 34 a week earlier on a sunny day in May. A week later the "exhibitionist bug" left me with the obsessive desire to go about outside fully nude. I'm brunette with a plain face and a short (but not boyish) hair style. One just does not find too many lesbians with long hair and makeup. We don't like that stuff. It's artificial beauty. Anyway, that's enough about me. My girlfriend and I were sitting on the back porch of our vacation rental home one day not too long ago. She mentioned the up-coming event. "The parade's gonna be good this year. I saw some of the old cars that will be in it." "You like 1920's cars." "They're cool," she replied. "Have you ever noticed how many guys wear speedos?" "I don't know. I don't pay attention to the guys." I chuckled then replied, "I forgot, you're a lesbian." She chuckled and retorted, "what gave it away?" "You pay too much attention to the women." "Stephanie, I don't want them. I'm in love with you." Danielle and I had met almost a year ago to the day. Both of us had been spectators at the pride parade in this same small resort town. "You wore a cami top and denim shorts that day." "I remember that, Steph. You couldn't take your eyes off my ass." I giggled again. "I'm betting a lot of women won't be able to take their eyes off my ass." "OH?" she replied. Her eyebrows raised. "I wanna walk the length of the parade wearing absolutely nothing." Danielle broke out laughing. Her hysterical laughter continued unabated for several seconds. "Who are you gonna call when you get arrested?" "You," I said. She shook her head. Her face beamed. For me it was a game of outdoing the next girl. Past parades had featured bikini clad marchers. I had made up my mind to go fully nude. "I won't let you do that, Steph." "March with me then," I replied. "No way," she retorted. There was a long, pregnant pause as we stared at one another recalling past parades. I had gone to one wearing jogging shorts and sports bra, and to another clad in just string bikini with triangle tops. I had never marched but instead had ogled marchers. Danielle, clad in denim shorts and cami, stood alone just a few feet away to my left. I couldn't take my eyes off the then stranger. "Suit yourself." "Stephanie, if you don't mind me asking, why are you doing this?" "Because, it's an alternative lifestyle that appeals to me," I replied. "Okay, so why not just go to a resort where they allow it?" she answered. "I have been to such places. I once spent a week at Berkshire Vista." The fact is I like my body. At thirty-four I could still boast a flat tummy with no cellulite in my legs. Firm, round boobs would be sure to attract some attention. My 5 foot 5 inch tall, 120 pound frame carried very little body fat. Another reason is that I enjoy catching the sun on every square millimeter of my skin. The promise of a hot, sunny day made me think I'd hate to ruin the tan with white spots. The parade began on schedule at 10 with the antique cars in a procession. The sound of their horns split the air. Behind them came bunches of balloons and those carrying banners. Twirling a baton as I had done in highschool, I brought up the rear. My fully nude body provoked whistles and an occasional shout of "woo hoo" Throngs of spectators lined the sidewalk to enjoy the procession. Some celebrated coming out. Some of the lesbians in the crowd whistled. Catcalls came out. "Hot looking babe alert!" shouted a female voice. Everything I did was calculated to call attention to my body. I began to sashay as if wanting to covey the message that I have a nice ass. The baton twirl that I had mastered years earlier before coming out excited the crowd. A high leg raise flashed pussy at a crowd of horny lesbians. I was really into it. As I came to the opposite end of the route the surprise awaited me. Danielle, who had come out against my act, stood in the street wearing absolutely nothing. Of course the site of her modest boobs out there pleasured me. "I thought you weren't gonna do it. you said 'no way'." "I couldn't let you have all the attention." Danielle Byrd had become the love of my life. Lost romances hurt but losing her would really hurt. I giggled. She responded in kind then watched me dress hurriedly. The peculiar thing thing was that I dressed in her blue tank-top and black Levi 512 denim Bermuda shorts. That left her to put on my dark blue T-shirt and denim shorts. We headed quietly back to our vacation home. The Parade I was down Center City on a warm June afternoon with a group of my friends, just walking around and enjoying ourselves. I had not been out of the house much lately so when they called me up and asked if I wanted to come down here with them, I jumped at the opportunity. I knew of course what today was; it was the day of the Philadelphia gay pride parade. Two of my friends happened to be lesbians, one of them was gay and one of them was bisexual so I was assuming their main objective for coming here was to attend the parade. I didn't' mind, so long as I was out of my house. Not to mention I obviously was not against that lifestyle if they were my friends. Sure enough, after walking around for a while we found ourselves on South Street where the parade was taking place. My friend Jess, the bisexual girl turned around and smiled at me. "You're okay with this right? Sorry we didn't tell you," "Yeah it's' fine don't worry about it," I replied. "I'm just glad to be outside." I was drawn in by the wide variety of different people that were here and how they seemed to have their own cultures about them all; it was nice to see so many people gathering here to stand up for what they believed in and have fun. There were gay men, the ones who were a bit flamboyant and obvious about it and there were dudes like' Jimmy who I never would have suspected was gay until we started talking to him and he told us that he was. There were girls that were together, lesbians and plenty of people that were bisexual too but most importantly, I realized I was not the only straight heterosexual person attending this yearly parade. There were also quite a few transsexuals, cross-dressers and the like walking about. They were perhaps the most interesting to me; the transvestites and' cross-dressers with their crazy costumes and outfits or maybe they would have been labeled as drag queens? I didn't' really know the difference and I did not exactly care either so I shrugged it off. The transsexual women did not dress that way' at all; they were not cross-dressers and that was why. I understood that much at least, that transsexuals were men who felt as if they had been born in the wrong body and chose to female hormones to become women, the way they felt they should have been born. I had a lot of respect for them; it took a lot of courage to make decisions like that. If I had ever been faced with such a choice I wasn't' sure I would be able to figure out the right decision. We made our way down South Street from 2nd' all the way up to about 15th street in the area that was known as the Gay district. They called it such as it was the one section that had the most gay clubs and' bars. As we continued walking, I noticed a transvestite a few feet away from me kept looking back at me and smiling and winking at me. She was obviously a man dressed as a woman; it was not hard to tell. A simple look at her face and though she looked feminine, you could still see the masculinity if you paid close attention. She had black curly hair that went down just past her shoulders, and her arms were bigger then a real woman's arms would likely be. That was another dead give away to me anyway, I could not deny I was getting' a little freaked out at how she kept checking me out but I did my best to pay it any attention. I didn't' want to come off seeming like some homophobic asshole just because someone was sizing me up a bit. After the parade ended, we all made our way into a nearby club to continue the fun and it seemed as though that was where everyone involved in the parade was heading; including my admirer. As I sat at the bar sipping a glass of Jack and Coke I watched my friends on the dance floor enjoying themselves together. It was nice to see, and I would be out there with them; but I didn't' have anyone to dance with. I would rather sit here and watch them then go out there and dance by myself. I jumped in surprise at the feeling of a hand on my shoulder and turned around to see my admirer was now standing over me smiling; this was awkward, "Hey there," she said. Her voice sounded strangely high, not as masculine as I had expected it would sound. But' there was still that hint of flamboyance there that reminded me, on top of the masculine facial features, that this was not a real woman. "H-Hi," "Mind if I take a seat?" Reluctantly, I shook my head and even went as far as to pull out a seat for her trying to be a' gentlemen'. I realized then maybe that had not been a good move. I might have given her the impression that I was interested; no, I shrugged it off trying not to be such a douche bag anymore now. "So what's a cutie like you doing here all alone?" "Uh...well, I'm not here with a date. Just some friends," "Oh I see," Hell, nothing wrong with having a little conversation right, I had no problem with talking to this person. We continued talking for a while and I learned her name was Leslie as a cross-dresser and Lenny as a man; she was 37-years old, a lot older than I was and had been cross-dressing a very long time. I noticed she kept making the occasional move on me here and there but it was no big deal really. I told her my name was Tom, I explained to her my current dating situation; I was single, but only after having recently ended a two' year relationship with a girl I thought had loved me. I had given up a lot for this person in the time we had been together, but apparently she'd' had no gratitude because I had walked in on her having sex with another man about a month ago. It hurt like hell; but I was not going to linger on it because life was too short. I was trying to move on with my life, "That's a shame," she said as I finished my story. "You're a very nice man, very cute too; anyone who cheats on a guy like you is undeserving." "Thanks," I smiled. She slid off' of her stool and I was a bit shocked when she suddenly sat on my lap and leaned in closer to me. I could smell cigarettes and alcohol on her breath as she leaned in to kiss me and before I could protest she was sliding her tongue between my lips. I finally pulled away and pushed her off' walking towards the bathroom to wash my face and try to forget that had just happened. As I walked into the rest room and turned on the sink, I sighed, trying to erase the image from my memory. The bathroom door opened and in she walked, taking me completely by surprise; I opened my mouth to remind her she could not be in the men's room only to remember that she technically was a man so she was' allowed to go in here if she wanted. In fact, she would probably get in trouble if she went into the woman's bathroom before she'd' get in trouble for coming into this room. "What are you doing," I asked as she pushed me away from the sink and turned it off before backing me up against the wall. "I really like you; and I would love to show you how good I can make you feel in comparison to that bitch who' cheated on you." I had no room to protest before she once again crushed her lips against mine, and sliding her tongue into my mouth. I felt her sliding her hand up under my shirt and teasing my nipples while squeezing my cock through my pants with her other hand. She broke the kiss and I was about to try and' push her off again when she started kissing, licking and sucking my neck; my weak spot. I groaned at the feeling of her lips and tongue against my neck as she sucked and bit, leaving a rather large hickey in the place of her lips. I couldn't' believe it but my cock was actually getting hard now to my own surprise. She backed away now and pulled me towards one of the stalls, pushing me in and shutting the door behind us. I could not believe I was about to have sex in a bathroom stall, let alone with a cross-dresser. Couldn't' even blame the alcohol since I really was hardly even' buzzed at this point. She pulled shirt over my head and hung it on the hook on the door before pushing me against the wall and licking my nipples. I moaned as she licked and sucked on them for a few seconds while undoing my belt and pulling my pants down to my ankles. Now, she was sucking on my right nipple while teasing the other' which was wet from saliva, then running that hand down to stroke my cock while keeping her mouth trained on my right nipple. She seemed to enjoy the reaction she was getting from me by licking it, When she finally stopped, I watched as she started to slip out of her pants and underwear and exposed her rather large cock; damn was she big. Not exactly long really, but she was thick; she had to be about six inches long and very thick. She placed both hands on my shoulders and pushed me down to the floor on my knees so that her cock was right in front of my mouth now. She moved one hand to my head and pulled me towards her, her dick pressing against my lips; I opened wide and she thrust right down my throat making me gag a little. She wasted no time, throat fucking me and I was making the sounds that I was use to hearing from girls who were sucking my cock, it felt weird to know that I was the one sucking dick rather than someone sucking mine. I acknowledged the strange sensation that came with performing a blowjob for the very first time; her cock head was hot and spongy and tasted like urine but the taste was not really off putting. I could feel her balls against my chin and saliva running down my chin and over her balls. She pulled her dick from between my lips and I gasped for air as she pulled me to my feet and pushed me face first against the wall. She started running her hands up and down my back while kissing me between the shoulder blades and I could feel her cock rubbing against my asshole. "Y-You're supposed to use lube; aren't you?" "Don't worry baby," she whispered. She backed away and grabbed her purse off the floor reaching into it and digging around then stopped and sighed. "Damn it, I must have forgotten to bring it." I sighed in relief, seeing this as my chance to get out of this unscathed with my butt-virginity still intact, safe and' sound. "Guess we can't do it then," I said trying to sound disappointed and waiting for her to back away from me so I could pull my pants up. It didn't' happen though; she smiled and laughed before kissing my neck. "Honey, you think that would stop me? It's called improvising, I know how to do it don't you worry." "Shit," I thought. I wasn't' getting out of this I realized as she spit on her hand a couple of times and started rubbing her saliva all over her cock. She got down on her knees and spread my ass cheeks and I felt her tongue diving into my asshole. I jumped in shock; she was giving me a rim job. It felt surprisingly good but still very awkward and I wished there were a way out, When she stopped, she stood up and spit on her hand again rubbing her cock again before pushing it against my hole again. "Ready?" "Do I have a choice?" "Now, now try to act like you're interested; I'll make it feel good I promise," With that, she slammed right into me and I bit my lip trying not to scream as I reached up over the top of the stall and grabbed the sides of it squeezing until my hands turned red and sore. My asshole felt as if it was on fire, burning as she pushed her entire length deep into me until I could feel her hips against me and I knew she was all the way in. "Oh fuck," I groaned in pain as she pulled about halfway out and then thrust right back into me again. What little preparation she had done had done me good, it still hurt though; real lubrication would have helped a lot more. As she fucked my ass nice and hard I felt myself adjusting to the feeling of fullness and soon enough the pain had subsided enough that it was starting to actually feel really' good. I felt my own dick beginning to rise, pushed between me and' the wall and the head was starting to swell. I started moaning and breathing heavily as she continued ramming me harder and harder. I felt my cock spasm and my entire body went into a fit of shakes as I started to cum, long ropes of semen spurting from my cock all over the wall and the floor. I was a bit surprised at how hard I had came but I had to admit it had probably been the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced in my life. Leslie continued fucking me, grunting and' moaning louder now and as she drove herself balls deep inside of me one last time I felt her explode as she began to pump he full of her thick hot semen. She leaned into me, breathing in my ear and resting her head on my shoulder as I remained pinned to the wall waiting for her to back off. We were both sweating very heavily, She kissed me on the neck and pulled out and I could feel her semen running down the back of my legs. She fixed herself up a bit and I sat down on the toilet, trying to catch my own breath as she headed for the stall door. She stopped and turned around to face me, smiling at me. "Thanks for the fuck sweetie," she said before blowing me a kiss and then walking out of the bathroom, leaving me there feeling embarrassed and humiliated; but strangely relieved. The Parade It was the dead of winter. It was night. It was cold. I was standing with a group of friends on the sidewalk downtown waiting with hundreds of other people for the annual winter parade. We were bunched together tightly between the buildings behind us and the barricaded street to the front. It seemed that the longer we waited, the more people were crammed into this small space and the colder it got. There was a low murmur of conversation in the crowd as we all tried to ward off the biting cold by talking. It wasn't working. Children were on parent's shoulders, couples had their arms around each other, and we all were kind of moving in place trying to warm up. All of a sudden I was jostled and pushed from behind and slightly to my right. I looked back to see a woman's face framed in a parka. She was staring straight ahead, but talking to a man to her right. She was wearing one of those thin, shiny, highly insulated coats that were in fashion now. And her left breast was pressing against my arm. More jostling and I could feel the outline of her breast as it moved against my arm. I looked back and she quickly glanced at me, then looked away. "What's going on?" I thought. "She's with a guy. Why is she...?" More movement as the whole crowd seemed to squeeze tighter. I could feel her hips press against me. I moved my arm slightly to rub against her breast. Nothing from her. I wondered if something was really happening that wasn't accidental. I moved my right arm down to my side and reached out with my hand to touch her left leg. I felt a slight movement toward me. I rubbed her leg with my gloved fingers and I could feel her leg moving against my hand. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her move her mittened right hand up to her mouth and as she did that, she turned slightly into me. She was blowing into her mittened hand to warm it. Her breast was now firmly pushed into my upper arm and her back was to her friend. It was still cold as hell, but I was beginning to warm up. Somebody said something about the parade coming from the right. We all turned our heads trying to see anything. She pushed me and put her left hand on top of mine against her leg. I could see her looking down the street to the right as she moved up and down on her tiptoes. She was definitely rubbing herself against me. Then we saw flashing lights and heard sirens as the police cars and fire engines leading the parade came toward us. As they passed by, the noise was deafening. She pulled my forearm into her crotch and began yelling with the rest of the crowd. "This is really fun!" I could hear her yell almost in my ear. My cock stiffened. With her right hand near her mouth, her arm was shielding the view from anyone on her right, particularly, her friend. She began to squeal and yell, and bounce up and down with excitement with my forearm firmly between her legs. I raised my hand up to cup her sex and my upper arm pushed harder against her breast. She continued to bounce up and down as the bands and floats passed by. I reached down with my left hand and pulled the glove off my right hand. I quickly put my hand back where it had been. She had on some sort of spandex tights and I could feel her pussy almost as if she had nothing on. I pushed my fingers hard into her crotch and she squealed and hollered louder while continuing to bounce, now on my hand. I was watching the parade like everyone else and could not see where she was looking or who could see what I was doing. All of a sudden she put her left hand under my forearm and pulled it tightly into her breast. "Go! Go! Go!" she hollered, her voice mixing in with the din of the crowd. Was that for me, I wondered? What the hell, I thought. If I get caught, I'll just lose myself in the crowd. I began to saw my hand back and forth in her crotch as she bounced up and down and rubbed her tit against my arm. I heard "Uh.... Uh..." in between the other words she was hollering and she began to move her crotch back and forth in rhythm with my hand as she continued to bounce. How the hell could people not know what was going on? I asked myself. It must have been that we were packed tighter than sardines and everybody was moving trying to see the parade through the people in front of them. Our movements were just like everyone's except that my hand was hard against her pussy. A particularly festive float passed by that brought a collective "Oh..." and "Ah..." from the crowd. She grabbed my arm tightly and stopped bouncing. She pressed and held her pussy hard against my hand and I could hear her say "Ohhh.... That's beautiful! So good....!" She moved her left hand down and pulled my hand hard into her pussy again. She said, "Yes... Yes... Good... Good... Isn't it pretty?" All of a sudden her pussy pulsed against my hand and her hips jerked slightly. A couple of more "Uh... Uh's..." and she let go of my hand. I didn't know what to do. She had just come on my hand in the middle of a crowd. I glanced over my shoulder at her. She had her head turned and was saying something to her friend. I moved my hand away from her crotch to my side. She continued to hold my upper arm and press her breast against me for the rest of the parade. Eventually, the parade was over, but I was still hard. I had to do one other thing before the opportunity was lost. As the crowd began to loosen, she released her hold on my arm and turned away to leave. Still in the tight crowd, I moved against her, grabbed her left hand, and pulled it against my cock. I could feel her grab at it as much as she could through my pants. I slid my right hand into the crack of her ass and pushed. She squeezed my cock hard and then she was gone. I heard someone calling my name. It was as if I was in a trance. I couldn't tell where the voice was coming from. Again, I heard my name, louder this time. I turned and saw my friends clustered near the curb. "Hey, we're going. What are you doing? Get over here." I turned and followed them as they began to walk back toward the car, and I thought "This was a great parade!" The Paradox of Perfection She jacked in for the third time this evening, hearing her cable modem screaming as it made the connection. Lori had kept the sound as a reminder of her first days on the 'Net. Ironically, in those days the sound of her modem and "you've got mail" were about the only things her computer spit back at her. Now, well, now everything came back. Especially buzz, buzz, snip, snip. Sounds, smells and textures were as important as the flat pictures on the wall screen in front of her. In recent years, video had far eclipsed words, sounds and other experiences in the minds of the masses. But not to Lori. Some of her favorite toys made such stirring sounds. A low, insistent hum of one kind of hair clippers. The high-pitched blender effect of another. She chuckled. Yes, this cruise on the 'Net she'd hear that blender when she met Sandy. But her joy faded as her attention returned to the worries of the last few days and to the message she had to send soon. What was she going to do about Paul? In all her years, she had somehow managed to avoid this dilemma. Maybe she had just been lucky. Or maybe she had been good at keeping her cyber friendships at arm's length, ephemeral enough to allow for a convincing charade, but deep enough not to get her busted by the reality police. In a way, her adventures into cyberspace had been a lucky lark, just perfect. She wasn't a techie, never had been. She had signed on to the now-bankrupt America Online service more than a decade ago, hearing there were some interesting images, thinking perhaps she might find some inspiration for the latest piece of corporate sculpture she'd been commissioned to create. The money was good, but she hadn't yet reconciled with artistic vs. financial realities. So her bank account was filled, her artistic soul empty. She hadn't been able to work up something even in clay. Searching the image library, staring at fuzzy jpegs on her 12-inch monitor she'd come across a startling series of women. They wore buzz cuts or crew cuts or no hair at all. She couldn't stop going through them, one after the other. Again and again. She discovered a fascination lurking in the depths of her psyche. Something she'd never considered. Some people found high heels and garters erotic. Some people preferred hairy chests or big breasts, brown eyes or blue eyes, round Rubenesque figures or Twiggy matchsticks. Her sexual tastes were catholic, a little of this, a pinch of that. But online she found a deepening fascination -- passion -- for the idea of haircuts, especially short haircuts. She found herself drawn to the look on others, she found herself reaching out to touch the soft brush of hair cut close on the nape and around the ears. She added a bare or almost-bare nape and ears to the usual list of erotic suspects. Ah, the nape, an area of ticklish, electric pleasure too often ignored in careening world where the soft caress, the slow tease had become a lost art. She began to wonder about this erotic pull. While the origins of the attraction had probably buried itself in her puberty, she needed to explore it. Why? What was the intellectual appeal? Certainly the sharing, an act of care requiring two. So did the idea of power transfer, the whiff of domination and submission, though she wondered just who was the master in a haircut scenario. Then there was the transformation, the new her that emerged each time. And, of course, the ritualistic aspects, the ceremony that's a given in many fetishes. Ah, that human need for comfort in repetition. Her hands, her sensitive, creative, hands, wanted to feel the soft, stiff brush of that boyish crop, perhaps a crewcut or even the velcro briskness of a buzz cut. She craved to feel it on her head, on others' heads. She needed to sit and watch while she was shorn. Eventually, she realized she wanted to be the barber as well, to accept responsibility for planning the shearing. Her arousal wasn't surprising; she'd always loved adventuresome looks on others. She was shocked, though, to discover others shared her fascination. But that was so long ago, when LnghrdLori, as she called herself, was just a cyber infant. Before she realized the World Wide Web was the biggest playground ever invented. Her play in the early days of America Online had been so simple, so easy. It was both a window into a world she didn't dare explore in real life and and dead end. She just became the woman she thought would be most appealing to others with the fetish online. All she significantly altered was her physical description. In reality, her honey-brown hair had always been cut in a long bob, shoulder-scraping. Thick, full, soft, but nothing too distinctive. It remained that way to this day, years and years later. Boring, predictable, safe. In the early 21st Century, the haircut had become the Establishment equivalent of Nancy Reagan's red suit in the '80s and the hair bands of First Ladies Hillary Clinton and Tipper Gore during the '90s. Online, though, she became whatever she pleased, anything but Establishment. That was, of course, before the government forbid anonymity on the 'Net. That law almost made her pine for the days of a cyberspace filled with just text and images, not video and audio. When she signed on in 1994, she strung a few lines of description into something America Online called a "profile." It was simply stunning how many people believed the attributes suggested there and how they filled in the blanks she left with whatever they wished. Or more accurately, Lori recalled, whatever they needed in their lonely little lives. She was straight, gay, short, tall, even black and white, depending on her mood that particular month. Most often she was Lori with the long, thick blonde hair reaching down the small of her back. Somehow, that stereotypical image seemed to attract both men and women who wanted to be erotic barbers. Otherwise, she stayed relatively true to her self. A woman interested in art, literature, music, someone easy to meet online, but not easy to engage. Night after night she sat alone in her darkened office and connected with people all over the world. Only recently, she recalled, the shrinks had come to realize the cancerous cultural destruction of what they called "connected isolation." Over the years she'd had dozens of encounters. All ran along the same model. She met someone, exchanged a furious correspondence, entered into haircut fantasies acted out online or in those letters and then disappeared. Usually in a matter of weeks. It was perfect. She could indulge in her eroticism in the safety of her home office, but never actually make a commitment. Technology, the god of the modern world, gave her this opportunity. And it became her soulless religion. She signed on every night, looking for entertainment, getting off on the kindness of strangers so willing to believe her every lie. The stories became redundant. So many of them had so little creativity. But she was addicted, she needed that easy fix, that easy entertainment, that connection without responsibility. She often told her cyber lovers their words had driven her to enact their fantasies in real life. Of course, the only thing to touch her hair had been the German shears of her stylist, Marco, and then only for her inch trim every other month or so. Once addicted to being jacked in, she couldn't leave. Not even when it became problematic. How problematic? Very. Playing the part of LnghrdLori on the 'Net had become infinitely more complicated since Bill Gates and his partner Steven Spielberg added real time video and audio to the mix. Yes, she thought, William Gibson's '80's novel, "Neuromancer," had largely become reality. Gibson had become a national icon after his death at a fairly early age. Lori considered this a blessing. He had not been forced to live the future he envisioned, unlike so many other science fiction writers. Lightning faster than the latest Yossarian microprocessor chip struck Gibson down during the early days of jacking in, before the safeguards in place now. It ran from his phone line into his brain, frying it at 28.8 baud, something the neo-Luddites never failed to mention when they decried the culture of Cyberspace. And it was a culture. The only culture. People could jack in through their computers, creating a world only with their minds, much like Gibson prophesied. What had been altered by Spielberg, Gates and company was the interactive part. For most people, the 'Net wasn't interactive, but merely entertainment. People wired up their cortexes and simply sat back and sucked in whatever drivel passed their way. Though the medium always promised more, this passivity never surprised Lori. After all, when she first played online there had been a very few who provided the images and text to entertain the masses, who were content to sit back and eat the flavors they were fed rather than actually cook up something interesting. But some people -- ambitious people like Lori -- did jack in to connect. And Spielberg and Gates had made sure their entertainment was addictive by tapping into the fantasy centers of the brain. So while it was her very "real" image (or so the government thought) up there on the big screen, her actions became whatever she imagined. And she imagined hundreds of haircuts and liaisons over the years. There was that lull, of course, when she almost thought she'd have to play BrwnhrdLori online -- her real self. The government outlawed anonymity on the 'Net after the scams of 1999 that led to the ruin of a number of mutual funds. The law was simple: At least once a year, a person was required to go to the 'Net Drivers License Center to have an image imprinted. So each time someone jacked in, only their real image would appear on the giant wall screens that had become ubiquitous in every living space in the land. That meant no more playing longhaired blonde Lori. She was busted. Unless she dyed her hair or actually got a buzz her online life had ended as surely as Gibson's during that lightning storm. Lori had never merged her fantasy life and her real life in such a tactile way. A buzz cut? She didn't have the courage. And she knew her corporate sculpture clients would never commission someone with a such a style. She had to be Establishment. So LnghrdLori disappeared for a while because she was unable to match her real life look with her cyber life image. But then Lori discovered somebody who knew somebody and she got a bootleg copy of the program. It was 20 years old, the result of technology for a long-forgotten B-movie called "Terminator 2." Plugged in, it allowed her to morph her features into that blonde. Perfect. Technology once again to the rescue. Lori, never a techie, discovered herself actually musing that the recently rising revolt of those desiring to pull the plug and go back to real life seemed overrated. Why live an imperfect reality when you could live a perfect fantasy? She remembered a 16th Century quote: "Science without conscience is the ruin of the soul." What fools those idealists were, she laughed. She began spending more and more time online, teasing people everywhere with the image of the longhaired blonde who so craved a haircut. She was an unrepentant seducer, though never a finisher. Over the years, many of her cyber relationships had ended acrimoniously when she refused a face to face meeting overture. Then she met Paul. And months later, Sandy. Fantasy had never been like this. Oh, Paul. Such a kind, intelligent, honest and witty man with an insatiable fetish and a creativity to indulge it in so many ways. She liked the way his mind worked in their conversations about their fascination. And then she came to respect his sensitivity and his ability to fantasize disparate scenes. Their first fetish adventure had been typical: a barbershop and a boyish cut. He was almost shy at first, only touching his toe into the sexual aspects of the desire to be cropped. Gradually he got bolder. There was a crop before a crowd in a beauty salon. A buzz cut alone in an apartment after a long, lingering lunch. Then came their first tentative steps into more erotic waters: A serious d/s haircut that began with her loose in leather and left her just plain lathered. Then there was the time he took her to a virtual villa in Tuscany, had her serenaded and fed a lengthy Italian meal then guided her out onto a balcony overlooking vineyards and a river. There, he softly removed her top, her bare breasts spilling out as he sat her down. He snipped slowly, almost sensually, allowing her hair -- the blonde hair she didn't really have -- to slide down over her breasts. He picked some that had curled around a nipple and with a flourish tossed it to the wind. She watched as it floated on the gentle evening breeze. Though the technology didn't allow for the neuro transmission of such feelings -- there were just the images created in their brains projected onto the screens -- she felt her nipples harden in real life as the cut progressed. This time, he brought her down to a simple buzz cut. In the afterglow, she had second thoughts about how far this cyber relationship had gone already, but she continued on, enchanted by his ability to fantasize new haircut scenes time after time. Next time, for instance, he transported her beside a flowing brook in a Pacific Northwest forest, fed her a picnic and a bottle of wine, then slowly peeled away her clothes. He had her kneel, her heels against her buttocks, facing downstream. And then he carefully snipped one handful of hair after another, tossing it into the water as she watched it slip downstream, gone forever. The other night, he'd taken her to a virtual museum, showing her wonderful Renaissance paintings, then brought her to an apartment for dinner. Then they'd undressed and they sat, facing each other on the floor. Smiling he wrapped his legs around her, then coaxed hers around him. His hardness rested against her soft hairy triangle. He pulled out a pair of clippers, kissed her gently on the cheek. He ran them from her nape, covering the soft brush he left with kisses. Then he handed them to her and buried his head against her soft breast. She realized what he wanted and provided it, running the clippers up his nape. They traded the clippers back and forth, locked by their legs, the hair falling over their skin, their eyes meeting, then turning away, their smiles coming easy. Of course, it wasn't real. Except on the big screen each sat facing alone at home. That scene, so romantic, so enticing, had brought her back to reality. She had to tell Paul. He'd busted her, without even knowing it. Paul knew the haircuts turned her on. What he didn't know is that only the haircuts turned her on. Not Paul. Because Lori liked girls, not boys. Online she could be indiscriminate in her tastes, sitting for whatever barber indulged her fantasy. In real life, though, she never fantasized about being with a man. She could leave their sessions, now three times a week, and it didn't intrude on her real life. Another reason why cyber life was so perfect for Lori. What Lori didn't know was cyberspace was perfect for Paul as well. But a different kind of perfect. Perfect because it was so real for him. She didn't know that after their night on the floor shearing each other Paul had actually gone out and had a barber buzz off his thick, straight black hair in real life, just as she had done in virtual life. He never confessed his buzz, something he feared would cross an unspoken line. And it was months until he had to get his image redone at the 'Net Driver's License Office. So she didn't realize fantasy and real life had merged for him. Cyberspace was perfect for Paul in the same reason it worked so well for so many of the insecure, the unhappy and the unattached. Therapy for the dysfunctional was how one futurist had described it. And the quip wasn't an unkind crack, but an explanation why the 'Net might have an extra benefit: socialization for those who hadn't found it early in life. Paul fit the bill. He grew up shy, lousy with women. He was handsome, but he'd never learned the art of conversation and courtship and after college he'd retreated. His real-life relationships were spastic, often ending badly. He'd turned to the cyber cafe for companionship. It was perfect. And so real. Paul recalled reading a story in the Sunday New York Times perhaps a decade ago in which one of the self-proclaimed experts declared being online was a passing trend akin to CB radio, only with typing. How wrong that fool had been. Cyberspace was real, as real to him as the musky smell of sweat under his arms when he first met Lori online. His job as a salesman had been drastically changed with the advent of audio and video. He traveled by modem now and since he was so efficient, he had plenty of free time. And a free 'Net account. So he jacked in as one of the original cyberspace cadets fishing for ladies in need of a buzz, and, he laughed, jacking off once he reeled them to that big wall screen. Back in the 1990s, he would have been labeled a "get-a-lifer" for his infatuation with being online. Here in the 21st Century he was merely in the middle of the flow, better connected than your average Jack. Being online gave him that confidence, that inner voice he'd never discovered -- or created -- in his youth. Of course, that didn't mean he was any more successful shooting Cupid's arrows by computer. He'd been through cyber relationship after cyber relationship before meeting Lori. She was the one, the lone gem in the midst of the rude, the foolish and the patronizing. Increasingly, he became unable to distinguish between his cyber life and his real life. And since his business was over the 'Net everything fit into a neat package. What he didn't know was that he was suffering from 'Net Syndrome, unable to distinguish the illusion he was living on that screen from his life. It was as if a person in the old days -- when people dreamed -- had awakened to believe he had lived those dreams. So Paul began telling his clients about Lori, the new romance of his life, a stunningly cropped blonde. What Paul didn't know in this little game of Cyber Clue was that Lori was meeting Sandy, the cyber love of her life, online tonight. He'd been pining for a real life meeting for months when one of his rare business trips brought him to Lori's coast. Ironically, that opportunity arrived just as Lori had finally decided to meld her real and cyber lives. But with Sandy, not Paul. Sandy approached Lori one night when they were both in a cyber coffee shop for artists. Lori felt a little uneasy in this virtual place. Most of the others there were real artists, people who painted, wrote and sculpted for the sake of art, not the pleasure of some gray hair in a gray suit who thought his corporation could gain a little class -- and maybe a better image with investors -- by plopping a piece of art in its lobby. She worked for those bottom line types, the meek and adventure-challenged. She'd always wanted to do something more, but the money was easy. Sandy, meanwhile, fit the artist profile more clearly. She was a playwright who'd done the starving waitress bit and now was having her first taste of success in the lesbian regional theaters that had sprung up around the country. With three plays produced, she even harbored hopes of playing Soho, which had eclipsed Broadway as the mainstream choice of audiences around the turn of the century. Best of all, Sandy had the fetish. Bad. She wore her hair short, off the ears, bangs and cropped, but not shaved in back. It had been growing for the last six months, she told Lori, an admission calculated to tease. It worked, of course, and now Lori had decided to suggest a real life shearfest when Sandy came to the coast to supervise rehearsals for her newest play. The Paradox of Perfection Their play online had reached erotic peaks Lori didn't think possible. Often, horny and wet after a haircut session with Paul she jacked in to Sandy's favorite places, looking for relief. They made love with abandon, inventing places in virtual space, their artists' imaginations not constrained by the limits of the physical Earth. Lori had forgotten how many times she had writhed on the floor before the big screen, jacked in, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through her naked body. Oddly, the haircuts were not the major focus of their play. Their relationship ran both deeper and shallower than that. Oh, they whipped out the clippers and the shears and Sandy loved to pull Lori's virtual blonde hair. But, frankly, Lori realized Paul was better at the barber game. Oh Paul. Lori finished with Sandy this night. They'd given each other matching buzz cuts this time. First Sandy cuffed Lori to a barber chair before a 50-foot wide mirror, stripped her, massaged her shoulders with lotion and then mercilessly clipped her. Fast. Efficient. Ear to ear. Nape to forehead. Relentless. Military. Once buzzed, Lori sat sated, her hand resting between her legs. She didn't move, even though she knew Sandy was breathing hard, begging to jump into the chair. And when Sandy finally made that leap, she grabbed the porcelain handle and pulled it back, splaying the chair as if she wanted a shave. But she really wanted to be laid out for her Lori. She really wanted her head at that low level, her tongue flicking up in an upside down, vertigo world where the clippers came at her from above, Lori's sweetness just barely within reach. Now it was time to meet Paul, a reversal of the usual evening's order. She would look him in the eye and tell him. Well, ok, she'd look his virtual projection in the eye. But when the time came, she simply couldn't do it. All she could do it say she was meeting an online friend next week. When Paul said could they make it a threesome and take some of the nervous energy out of it, she simply agreed and gave him directions. She didn't sleep the next several nights. And she didn't jack in. How could she have offered him the address? How could she robotically have told him the time Sandy was coming? But there was no stopping it now. She'd been living the perfect fantasy life. She'd found the perfect mate, the perfect barber online. She had everything she wanted, everything she desired. Intellectual conversations, great sex, stunning haircuts and a very comfortable and fulfilling life. All online. Yes, it was just online. Over time, she increasingly had come to the 'Net for all her cognitive stimulation. Once, she read a book a week. Now, it was maybe one a month. Once, she arranged beach parties for her friends in the small town. But there hadn't been one since she met Paul last summer. Paul. Sandy. Hair. Fantasy. Clippers. Real life. Virtual life. It had become a blur. Perfect, yet somehow hollow. Each encounter demanding yet another encounter. More variety, more creativity, more isolated connection. Maybe subconsciously that was why she had said yes to Paul's visit. Maybe she wanted to bridge the gap between perfection and life, between virtual and real, between loving yourself and loving a mirage. She realized she'd been drawn into the 'Net far more than she admitted to herself. She didn't really know Sandy or Paul. She just knew them online, a mistake made by so many of the cyber mates she had dismissed so easily in the past. The knock. Who, Lori though sitting on the couch, would arrive first? Who would be the one sitting in the living room, jaw dropping when that second, unexpected knock arrived. She opened the door. Nightmare. Maybe, she was finally sleeping. No, this was real. Painfully real. There stood Sandy, the Sandy she knew from the 'Net, lithe and tall, her hands on her hips, a questioning scowl on her face. Next to her was Paul, handsome, muscular Paul, arms folded across his chest. "A brunette?" Paul said. "A bob?" Sandy accused. "A Tipper Gore bob?" The last question/accusation landed like spit on Lori's cheek. "Come in," Lori said sheepishly. "I'd planned to introduce you, but I guess that's not necessary now." A nervous giggle didn't dampen the ugly tension. The next few minutes became a blur of unanswered questions and unfocused recriminations. Finally, Lori guided them both to the couch, handed each their favorite drink. She knew from cyberspace, after all, everything about them. Well, almost everything. For Sandy it was a glass of red wine. For Paul, a few fingers of Scotch. Lori joined Sandy with a glass of wine. Appetizers awaited on the coffee table. Before she sat, though, she walked to Paul, stroked his face kindly and said softly: "Please forgive me." Then she moved to Sandy, brushing her bangs -- they were shaggy -- away from her face, kissing her softly on the lips. "Sorry, my love," Lori said. Then she sat down and explained everything. Paul's face grew red when he realized the girl of his dreams had eyes only for women, at least in real life. Sandy mouthed the word betrayer when Lori outlined her barbering adventures with Paul. Eventually, though, the drinks and good old human curiosity controlled. They realized they had plenty in common, not to mention haircuts. And their conversation eased into a give and take, with each plucking ideas as they floated through the group. Hours passed and slowly the conversation turned to hair. Paul pulled at Sandy's shag, now creeping down her neck and well over her collar. Sandy reached over and grabbed a handful of Lori's brown, exclaiming "And all this time you had a damn bob!" "Not for long, my dear!" The crack, almost involuntary, caused a thudding silence. Looks were exchanged. "I know a good barber," Paul cracked. "Yes," Sandy said, "he comes with a five-star recommendation. And since it would seem that three feet of blonde won't be hitting the floor, a foot of brown will have to do." Lori froze. The truth was she had become increasingly aroused as the threesome flirted. But she also didn't want to hurt Paul. She only had eyes for Sandy. It was time, she thought, for real life truth. "Sounds wonderful," Lori said. "But Paul..." "I know," he interrupted. "After you're done I'm to, uh, go smoke a cigarette out back and leave you two alone." Lori smiled. He was more perceptive than she'd realized. "No," she said, "a virtual cigarette. Nothing real. I think I'm going to want you around for a long time. As my barber." The friendship that has been the basis of their relationship cushioned the harsh reality for Paul, but he still couldn't hide his disappointment. That vanished quickly, though, when Lori walked into the room and handed him a brand new set of professional barber's tools. Clippers, shears, combs, cape. Everything. All the toys he'd secretly been caressing at home. Alone. Lori beckoned and the two followed. Through a door they entered a large room, perhaps 50 by 50 with 30-foot-ceilings. All in white. In the center sat a stainless steel chair, gleaming, lit by lights Paul could not see. "Clothes outside," Lori commanded. They walked in and Lori took a seat, the steel cold on her bare cheeks. She placed her feet firmly against the filigreed footrest. As she did, her image, shivering a little from fear and anticipation, projected onto all four walls. A virtual canvas. "I think I know what you intend. And I think you know what I need," Lori said looking up at Paul. "I realize my cruelty to you may lend itself to a certain reckless revenge. I understand. " "I think I'll be able to live with an imperfection or two. I may even come to love them. As I hope you will come to love me in whatever way we can share." With that, Paul nodded to Sandy, picked up the gleaming silver clippers and dug into the hair at Lori's right ear. It fell, plopping over the chair arm and her breast. He worked slowly, his hand guiding her head with a gentle subtlety that she had never appreciated in cyberspace. In fact, those "perfect" haircuts, so enabled by the best technology minds and dollars could offer, paled to this one. She clenched the chair arms as he began working over her other ear, her nipples already taut, her moistness a foregone conclusion. Eventually, he moved behind her, saying not a word, letting what whirring blender hum speak for him. Ah, how much better it sounded ricocheting off the walls rather than buzzing out of speakers. He pushed her head forward and the clippers glided up her nape and right over her crown, throwing a hunk of brown down before eyes she raised to level as he finished. When the hair cleared, she saw Sandy sitting cross-legged in front of her, mouthing a kiss up at her, then smiling and running a hand back through her own thick hair. "I'm next," Sandy whispered. Lori smiled. "But first," Paul said gently, "we give you a real haircut. All the way. Like by the brook. Or on the floor." Those images flickered in Lori's mind. The real present, though, was more intriguing than the virtual past. She returned in time from her daydream to see Paul gently set the clippers at her forehead and guide them back towards her neck this time, the vibration causing her to squirm in a chair she found increasingly uncomfortable. As he finished that pass, Paul ran his hand over the stubble, sending chills like Lori had never felt coursing down her spine. Lori reached up to feel the velvet softness. Oddly, she wasn't the least bit shocked to be surrendering all her hair, hair that hadn't changed more than a couple of inches in length over a decade. Then it was over, her hair lay at her feet, some tickling the ankles of Sandy, still sitting rapt on the white floor. LngdhrdLori was gone forever. Unfolding a shining silver straight razor Paul assured her he was proficient. The hairline around her nape was lathered and shaved. And yes, nicked. Twice. Paul apologized, but she felt he intended the little pricks, reminders that all was not pleasant or perfect in the real world. When he had finished, Paul retreated and headed for the door. "Hey, just a minute," Sandy said. "The shop's not closing is it?" "No," Paul said, unable to conceal a Cheshire cat grin. "Well, get back here." Sandy kissed Lori deeply, running her hand slowly down her breast, then cupping between her legs. Sandy knew. Lori had already been sated. She gently guided Lori out of the chair and to her spot on the floor, then swung around into the now wet, warm chair. Her image flashed on the walls, a melding of the real and the virtual that only Lori could truly appreciate. Paul took his time with Sandy. No buzz for her. Just a very sharp crewcut, shaved smooth to the skin at the nape and the sideburns and graded to perhaps a half inch at the forehead. Very precise. Very military. Once, when he stepped in front of Sandy, Lori thought she saw a flash of something. Then when he stood, splay-legged before her, using the flat topper comb to get it just so straight, Lori was sure she saw it. Sandy had reached out and gently stroked him. Now, there wasn't anything subtle about Paul's excitement. It flew for all to see, but then that was expected. What wasn't expected was Sandy's reach, an obviously experienced reach. What? Lori wondered, is going on? When Sandy stepped from the chair, wrapped her arms around Paul and gave him a lung-lashing with her tongue, she admitted the reality. "What you didn't know about me," Sandy said smiling and winking at Lori, "is that I like girls...and boys!" Lori laughed. Actually laughed out loud. It broke whatever tension possible between the threesome. The tables had been turned on her. Her perfect girlfriend was as paradoxical as the idea that you could connect, really connect, by jacking in over a computer. "And he is such a fine man, isn't he Sandy?" Lori said. "Yes, " Sandy replied, "he may do. But he is far too shaggy. Especially in this room." With that, Sandy plucked the clippers from their perch. Paul, drunk with the pleasure of being barber to two strong-willed, creative women, hopped in the chair. Sandy wasn't particularly professional, but she was effective. His fate was a quarter inch buzzcut with a few chunks buzzed out here and there. Imperfect, but perfect enough for Paul, who grew ever more aroused. When Sandy set down the clippers, three stages of buzz were represented on the wall screens. Buzzed close. Precision crewcut. Boyish velcro. The permutations were endless. Sandy began the stroking, reaching over to rub Lori's smooth nape and beckoned Paul to join her. Then Lori tried Paul's velcro. And Sandy's stiff brushcut. And from there, things just moved as naturally as if they had known the truth about each other all along. They learned that jacking in might yield a connection, but only in person could they explore the infinite depths of each other. Something they did well into the next morning. Ah, the next morning. Talk about a new day dawning. Paul declared that he had jacked in for the last time. Real life, he said, had proved infinitely more interesting. Lori decided her hands had created their last work for a corporate benefactor. She glowed with new inspiration. From the head down. She already had ideas for her first subjects off the corporate dole. Sandy had rehearsals to attend. But she, too, began working in a new direction on a play about women...and men...and the paradox of perfection. The Paralegal Copyright 2003. As the author, I claim all rights under international copyright laws. This work is not intended for sale, but please feel free to post this story to other archives or newsgroups, keeping the header and text intact. Revision to the text (such as the basis for another story) is acceptable as long as the original author is given credit and the resulting story is distributed free of charge. Any commercial use of this work is expressly forbidden without the written permission of the author. This is a work of fiction and is not meant to portray any person living or dead, nor any known situation. This story contains themes of bondage, spanking, date rape, anal sex, and BDSM. It is meant for adults only and is not to be read by person's under the age of 18, or the legal age in the county/state/country in which the reader resides. If you would like a Microsoft Word version of this story (a much better read), please contact me at the link below. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I was at my desk at work. The Sanders brief was due at five p.m. . . I didn't have a chance. When the phone rang at just after two, I answered it as I always do: "Patricia Changuris, may I help you?" A male voice said: "Hi. My name is Tom. I'm calling about your ad in the paper?" I blanked out for a moment. Then I said, "Oh." My current roommate was leaving at the end of the month, and I had placed the add a couple of days before. I wanted another woman, but many men had called since Monday. Most I simply blew off. This one I didn't. I said to him: "I'm pretty busy right now. Can you give me your number and I'll call you back tonight? Then maybe we can talk." I wrote his number on a Post-it pad. I left at seven p.m. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= "Hi," I said. "Hi." It was eighty-thirty p.m. and he stood waiting in my doorway. He looked 5'10" and athletically built. His eyes were dark and so was his hair. I wanted to touch him. When I got home, I had forgotten about his phone call, and worried only what I'd wear the next day. The Post-it note was stuck to the outside of my wallet. I saw it getting change for my roommate Marie, and almost groaned. Marie laughed. "Go ahead," I warned. "Laugh. See who laughs last." I spanked her on her bare rear end as she danced away. I would miss Marie. "Come on in," I said to Tom. Tom walked in. He looked at my jeans and my tee-shirt. I had not dressed up for him. Marie, I knew, had her ear glued to the inside of her door. "You here alone?" I shook my head. "Show me around?" I showed him around. When I was done, we sat down opposite each other on love seat and chair, and talked for an hour and a half. "So, do I get the place?" he asked. "The place is mine," I said, smiling. "You know what I mean." I shifted, but not out of discomfort. "Actually, I'd wanted another girl." "A guy can protect you better," he said. "From what?" I said, laughing, but he was right. Many times at night, being down here on the second floor, I felt unsafe. The patio door gave me frightmares. "Please?" he said. "Maybe." "I'll take you out to dinner." "When?" "This Saturday night?" This was fine for some back and forth banner, but then I said yes and he looked surprised. "Yes?" I couldn't control my grin. He knew that I liked him. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Saturday night I wore blue dress slacks and a blue dressy blouse. Not fancy on the outside, but underneath I was. Underneath I wore a black push-up bra and black panties from Victoria's Secret. Brand new Victoria's Secret panties and bra. This, on our first date. He picked me up at seven o'clock and we went to Red Lobster for dinner. How he guessed I loved sea food is a mystery to me, because I never told him that. Afterwards, we went to Ginger's Irish Pub on 7th Avenue, and drank shooters and beer. We shot pool. I never drink. But I do shoot pool. Growing up, I had four older brothers and no sisters. I shot pool from the age of nine, and sometimes I beat them all. Except my brother Michael, who was more interested in me then he was in pool. With him--when alone--I learned to play strip-eightball instead. Michael was very good at pool. At the table I beat Tom three times and let him beat me once. He was very good and not used to loosing to women. He was a little irked. I was a little drunk. At a few minutes to midnight, we left the pub. In the parking lot, at his car, he unlocked the doors with a flick of his hand. He opened my door and held it for me as I turned to get in. I kissed his lips. He seemed surprised. I was being a tease. "Tease," he said. "I'm not teasing," I said. Or perhaps I was. I was pretty drunk. Either way, he put his arm around my shoulder and I put my arm around his, and when I came away from his mouth later on, I could scarcely breath. You should have felt my heart. "Now do I get the place?" he asked. "I still want a woman," I said, and then laughed. "Just not like that." He played with the front of my hair and curled locks of it over my ear. I liked his touch. "Maybe," I said. He placed his hand on my breast. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= At fifteen, I had size thirty-four breasts and my cup size was C. That's the largest I ever got. My weight is now steady at one hundred and ten pounds, and I wear size thirty-two. I am often embarrassed about that. I was embarrassed that night. "They're nice," he protested as I removed his hand. "They're small." "So what?" Incredibly, I determined he meant it. "I'm just uncomfortable," I said standing between the rows of empty cars. "Let's get inside." We got inside and he kissed me again. I kissed him back. He placed his hand on my breast and I didn't remove it this time. I let him go inside. I let him unlatch my brassiere. I let him undo the buttons on my blouse and I moaned when he sucked on my nipples. Then his hand found my thigh and moved between it and my other thigh . . . and it was time to leave. I redressed myself and he snickered turning over the engine. Come on, I thought. I have to straighten out. If anything, it added to my heat. "Can you hear me now?" he teased. "Stop it!" Laughing, he got onto 34th Street and took the Queens-Midtown tunnel. I fumed all the way home. I was hot. No . . . what I was, was horny and bursting. At the turnoff to my street, I said, "You're not coming up." "I'm not?" "No," I said. "You're not." We both fought down laughter. "Please?" "No." "Pretty please?" We made out at my curb. "Ummn," I said, finally freeing my mouth. He had his hand on my panties. "You're coming up." "I am?" "You am." He laughed as I straightened my clothes. Inside, we made it past the closed front door and then went back to the closed front door. My back was pressed up against it. "Ung, God," I moaned as he ground me with his erection. "I am so horny!" He carried me into the living room, then down the hall to my bedroom. Marie was out of town. "Do I get the place," he whispered. "The place is yours." "Including the bed?" Oh, God. . . yes! He put me down on my bed, sitting up, and unbuttoned my blouse. I went for his zipper. "Take that out," he said, "and you have to suck it all the way." I looked up, distressed and apprehensive. I thought that he meant it. "I do," he warned and it made me shiver. I rubbed him instead. When my blouse was off and he had my brassiere, I let him stand me up. "I'm not--" I got out, before he shut me up. His finger was in my mouth. "Ethuse be?" (Excuse me?) "Shsss." I sucked on his finger. One-handed, he unbuttoned the top of my slacks, lowered the zipper, then let them fall off my hips. It took little work. They pooled around my feet. Still with his finger in my mouth, I let him put the other hand down the back of my panties and hold my rear end. I was one step from madness. "How long?" he asked. "Voreber!" (Forever!) "A guy? Or your roommate?" I wanted to cry. "Vy Voovade," I said and he removed his finger. "How long since a guy?" A long time. "A long time," I said. He was silent a time, then he said: "I plan to fuck you, you know." Oh, God . . . please! "Please!" I said. And then he fucked me. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= "Ow," I moaned into my pillow, long, low and extended. I ached. No . . . I ached! Beside me, Tom stirred on the bed. I couldn't move my hands, I couldn't move my feet. Both were immobile. I had never before been tied up. "I ache," I protested. "No, I mean, I ache!" Tom gave a little laugh. "It's not funny," I whined, although it very well was. My ass felt like an exploded hand grenade. "You want some more?" "No!" I exclaimed, the absolute truth, and he laughed. "I don't believe what you did to me." He rolled over and placed his hand in the small of my back. It didn't hurt there. "I have never been spanked before." "You have now." "I know," I said. And so humiliatingly. I lifted my head. "Please let me loose." He shook his head. "Please?" "No." "Why not?" "I like you this way." "Tom," I said, almost emitting a laugh, "we just met!" His hand ran gently over my rear end. I felt the heat. I felt the sting. He put his fingertip in the top of my crevice and slid it down between my cheeks. "Stop that," I said. "And let me up." His finger entered my rectum. "Tom!" "Raise your behind." "No!" I exclaimed. So he raised my butt for me. "Tom . . . this is degrading." I took a sharp intake of breath and looked back over my shoulder. No one had ever done that before either. "What are you doing?" I said. He removed his face. "I have to explain?" I stared at him, aghast. "That's . . .that's . . ." "Pleasurable?" he said. "No!" Yes! "Stop it," I said. He continued on. When I was moaning and shivering some few minutes later, he got off his knees and squat low over my ass. I had never been done there before either. Not by a man. His hands spread my cheeks and he touched me on my anus with his cock and I violently shivered. I wanted this really bad. But I was being raped. "Tom," I pleaded, "Please. No." He held where he was. He was barely inside me. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked. From his tone, I knew that he would. If I asked. "Please," I said. "I've done enough." Hadn't I done enough? "I won't do this," he said, "unless you want me to." Oh, God . . . I wanted him to so badly. But I said, "No, please. Let me up." And he let me up. =-=-=-=-=-=-= I was at my desk one week later and on another case. My bottom had welts on it but no longer hurt. I no longer hurt inside. Then the telephone rang. I sat there and stared at it. It was three o'clock. "Hello? Patricia Changuris." "One last time. Yes, or no. I won't call again." Please don't do this, I thought. This is so not fair. I asked him to hold. "He won't you know," I slowly whispered, the handset under my chin. I was so depressed. I punched the flashing button. "No," I said, and then I said, "Yes. But I won't have sex with you again." But of course, that wasn't true and he knew it. THE END The Paralegals Introduction When I started this story, I had no idea that I'd end up writing two versions of it. But, that's what I did. In this version of the story, called 'The Paralegals (Rachael's Version), Rachael, who is one of the two main characters, finds herself struggling over some big decisions. The resulting conflict is debated by two different voices in her head. Each one represents different facets of her personality; and, each one what to be in control. In the version I originally conceived, Rachael narrates the story from her point of view. For the most part, her dialog is pretty straight forward. Rachael's Version is a bit more comedic than the original and I didn't know which version you would like. I've posted the both so you can decide for yourself. Enjoy. Maximillian Excaliber Chapter One – In Court It was about 3:30, late in the afternoon on a Thursday in the last week of November. The weather outside was unseasonably cold. I was sitting at our table in the courtroom waiting to see what Willard Sanders, the attorney for the plaintiff, Lilly Rossi, was going to do next. My name is Marty Gordon. I'm forty-eight years old; weigh in at two-hundred pounds even, I am five feet nine inches tall. I have a 'stocky' build that is, except for my legs, not very muscular. Both my hair and goatee are brown, which I keep cut short and neatly trimmed at all times. Most of the time, I have brown eyes. I say most of the time because when I put in long hours at work, they are usually bloodshot. In my opinion, I'm not very handsome, but to be honest, I'm also not ugly either. What I'm trying to say is that in my I'm think I'm just plain average. That particular day I was dressed in a navy blue classic, two-button business suit and a white shirt. My tie was dark blue with white stripes. On my feet I wore black socks and black, monk strap shoes. There were four of us at our table. To my immediate right sat my partner, Rachael Wolf. Rachel is the other paralegal on the team. She's forty-two and, since I've never been good at guessing women's weight, I won't even try. However, considering she has a figure that would make a playboy bunny envious, it really doesn't matter anyway. Her hair, which is black and wavy, flows down past her shoulders. She has pale, almost alabaster white skin, and brown eyes. If I had to compare her to anyone, I'd have to say that she reminds me of a full figured version of Monica Bellucci. She also is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. Next to Rachael was our boss, Samantha Roberts, the firm's head and only attorney. I'm not quite sure of our boss's age but I think she's about thirty-six. She's a little skinny for my taste. Hell, I'll bet she doesn't weight an ounce over a hundred pounds. Finally, at the far end of the table sat Vincent Rossi. "Vince", as he liked to be called, was the defendant in the case and our client. Suffice it to say that he was obviously male and with a name like Rossi, you can bet he looked Italian. Moving along, at the table to our left was Lilly Rossi and her legal team. Her team was comprised of Lilly Rossi, her lawyer and a paralegal. Lilly, by the way, is herself, a successful (if not ethical) divorce attorney. Next to her at their table was her mouthpiece, Willard Sanders. And, next to Sanders was his paralegal, a quiet little man whose name I can't remember. Sequestered in the Witness room was Gloria Lemons, the self confessed adulteress of the affair and potentially the most damning witness they had. Before this mess started, Samantha, Lilly, Rachael, Gloria, Vince and I used to be good friends. Now, as sometimes happens, we've divided into two camps. On one side was Samantha, Rachael and Vince and myself. On the other, the unlikely team of Lilly and Gloria. It was the first day of trial and Lilly was about to take the stand. Her attorney said to the judge, "I call to the stand the plaintiff, Mrs. Lilly Rossi, your honor." I was somewhat surprised, I had just assumed that he'd present the video, it would be shown, and we'd all go home. Then I could start enjoying my long holiday weekend, Rachael could do whatever it is she does when not working herself to death, Samantha could sulk, and poor Mr. Rossi could cry himself to sleep while he tried to figure out how to pay our bill. Although something told me he wasn't going to be able to pay it. Lilly had been smart enough to get him to sign a prenuptial agreement giving her everything in the event he committed adultery. I expected this to be the first and last day of what had promised to be one of the shortest divorce trials in history. The evidence in the case was so strong it was sure to be a slam dunk win… for Lilly and her attorney! But then she did have what, in my mind, was indisputable video evidence of the husband's infidelity with his mistress, Gloria Lemons. You might be interested to know that Gloria also just happened to be Lilly's best friend… that is until Lilly caught them in bed together! Unsurprisingly, things started exactly as I expected they would. Sanders went straight for the jugular! "Mrs. Rossi", he began, "In your complaint you said, and I quote, 'I was sure that Vince was having an affair'; is that correct?" There was an appearance of anger on Lilly Rossi's face when she replied, "Yes." "Were your suspicions correct?" Sanders continued. His voice had changed from professional to soft and conciliatory. Meekly, she replied, "Yes." "How do you know they were correct?" With an almost a triumph look expression on her face, Lilly Rossi answered, "I have proof!" "What kind of proof do you have?" Sanders asked. His tone showed no change of emotion. She answered, "I recorded them together." "What do you mean you recorded them together? Was it an audio recording? Were you there when the alleged act of infidelity occurred?" Judge Judith Hastings asked, interrupting. Sanders frowned. For, while it wasn't common knowledge to the public, it was well known to those of us working in the court system that the judge had recently developed a dislike for his client. I looked over at Samantha and then at Rachael, both were smiling. We all knew that Judge Hastings was hoping Lilly would admit to being present during the act. If that happened, then Samantha could claim that Lilly had, at the very least, given consent to the act and possibly even been a willing participant. Either way, the allegation of adultery would be effectively nullified. Unless, of course, Lilly said she was hiding at the time. There was a faint smile on her face that couldn't conceal the scorn hidden behind it as Lilly replied, "No; I mean, before I left the house I hid two cameras in our bedroom. They recorded the whole thing." Still looking at the judge, Lilly said, "I brought the cameras here with me today." "Why did you use two cameras?" inquired the judge curiously. To which Lilly responded, "For a couple of reasons. First, one might always fail. And second, I didn't know exactly where in the room they might be. If I had used one camera, it might not have captured the bitch's face" "You know better than that Mrs. Rossi." The judge interrupted. "You will restrict your testimony to the facts and not embellish it in any way." The judge warned sternly. Sanders approached the bench. In his hand he held four evidence gags. Two about a foot in diameter and two were just large enough to hold a single compact disk each. "At this time, your honor, I'd like to enter into evidence the videos and cameras Mrs. Rossi is talking about. I also request they be marked 'Plaintiff's Exhibits 26, 27, 28 and 29.'" Vince Rossi turned to Samantha and asked angrily, "Why don't you object or something? You said she only had one video, not two." "The truth is Vince that I just found out this morning. I knew about the first one, but not about the second one. Sanders pulled a fast one on me. He sent the two videos over all right. But one video he labeled "Original" and the other he labeled "Backup Copy". I just assumed that the second video was a duplicate of the one labeled "Original' so we never looked at it. I tried to keep it out; but, the judge said that, while she was sympathetic, it was my responsibly to examine "ALL" the evidence. She's right, it's my fault. I let him get one over on me." Samantha replied. Vince looked at her, anger in his face. I guess he realized she'd been tricked because he calmed down and then asked, "How bad is it?" "As bad as it gets!" She told him somberly. In a voice too loud, he exclaimed, "FUCK!" "WHO SAID THAT?" The judge yelled sternly and looked right at Vince. And then before he could answer, she looked around the room as if looking for somebody to blame. "Nobody did it? Well, the next time it happens 'Somebody' is going to be in contempt." Then the judge turned to Lilly and said, "You may continue Mrs. Rossi." I looked over at Vince. He was red faced, teeth clinched and tight lipped. The judge had given him a break. I could tell he knew it wouldn't happen again. Smiling again, Lilly said, "I hide one camera on the television stand under the TV and the other I placed atop the large dresser on Vince's side of the bed. " "Mrs. Rossi, I'm confused. If you placed the second camera on top of the dresser as you say you did, how did it go undetected by Mr. Rossi and Ms. Lemons?" asked the judge. To which Mrs. Rossi responded, "I guess they were too busy screwing each other to notice it!" Laughter ensued throughout the entire courtroom; and, a few bangs of the gavel later, the Judge Hastings ordered that cameras be produced. The evidence bag containing the camera was opened. The camera was removed from the bag and held up for all to see. For several seconds, silence filled the courtroom as all eyes stared at it. The camera, it turned out, was designed to look exactly like a vibrator. There were a few snickers from the audience. "That's a camera?" the judge asked. I could hear the disbelief in her voice. Unashamed, Lilly replied, "Among other things." There was an outburst of hysterical laughter after which the judge, who had turned red faced, probably from embarrassment, was forced to order a recess. As soon as we left the courtroom, the bailiff walked up to Samantha and handed her a note. She read it and then said, "Don't go anywhere. I'll be back in a second." Samantha led Vince outside, presumably to calm his nerves. Meanwhile, I said to Rachael, "Have you seen the second video?" I hadn't. Down the hall, someone opened the door to the courthouse letting in a rush cold of wind. It must have blow right up her black dress because she shivered suddenly and I saw her teeth start chattering. "No. Have you?" Rachael replied. I took off my suit jacket and put it around her, then answered, "Nope. But I heard Samantha tell Vince that it's worse than the other one." "Thanks." Rachael said, and then she added, "Jesus Marty, how much worse can it be?" Before I could answer, Samantha walked up. Vince wasn't with her. "Where's our client?" Rachael asked. A worried look upon her face, Samantha replied, "In the bar across the street getting a drink, he'll be back in a few minutes." "What was that note about?" Rachael inquired. Then she sprung it on us, "That was from Judge Hastings. She let me know that when court resumes, she intends to let Sanders show the second video. Then recess for the holiday weekend. If you had any plans this weekend, cancel them. We're all working!" "But we've already checked out of the hotel and what with the holidays, we'll never get another reservation!" I told her as I thought to myself, 'There goes my weekend!' Going into 'boss mode', she instructed, "Don't worry about that, it's all taken care of. You'll both be staying at Vince's residence. He's going out of town for the weekend and has given us full run of the place. He told me the place has four bedrooms. One bedroom is being used for storage and he is sleeping in another one. After what happened to him, he doesn't want to go near the master bedroom and doesn't mind if you use it. You two can figure out who gets it when you get there." Samantha paused as if waiting for us to say something. I think we were both in shock. When we said nothing, she continued. "Your first priority is to watch both of those videos. Since we haven't had a chance to analyze that second video, look at every frame of it and see if you can find anything to help us. Then I want you to examine the bedroom as if it were a crime scene. If that doesn't pan out, go over the entire file again. " "Are you going to be joining us?" Rachael asked. "I can't. Jimmy's still sick and I'm not going to leave him with the babysitter that long." Jimmy was the name of her three-year-old son. "I'm going drive home when court ends today but I'll keep in touch with you by phone. I'll call you when later and see what, if anything, you've come up with. While you're working at it from this end, I'll be going over both videos and the affidavits again." It was my turn to ask questions. "What if we can't find anything? Then what will we do?" "I know you two. You'll find something. You always do." At that point the bailiff opened the courtroom door and called everyone back in. Before she turned to walk to the door, Samantha handed me something and said, "Here's the keys. Go on! Get moving you two and don't let me down!" Two hours later, after we realized that the GPS in Rachael's car had gotten us lost for the third time, we found someone to give us directions and located the place. Five minutes after that, we were walking in the front door of Rossi's house. Chapter Two – Change Of Venue The first thing that struck me when I walked in the door was that the place was filled from wall-to-wall with sports trophies. The second that grabbed my attention was the 65" plasma TV to the left as soon as you walked in the front door. No sooner had I sat first batch of our bags down than Rachael hurried past me. From the way she seemed to be moving about the room, I could tell she was searching for something. Jokingly, I said, "Didn't you go before we left?" "I'm looking for a phone book, smart-ass. Do you want Italian or Chinese?" I responded with, "Hookers or food?" "Food," She replied. "I wouldn't know how to expense the hookers." I countered, "How about 'Expert Witness?" "And what am I to tell the auditors when they ask what area of expertise they had?" She asked playfully. I answered, "Forensic Knot Expert." "You're kidding right?" I told her truthfully, "You could always try it. I read about this guy in Great Britain last year. He's a member of the International Guild of Knot Tyers & Forensic Science Society." "Okay, I'll bite, how does that make a hooker an expert witness?" While taking off my jacket, I said, "Well, a couple years ago, before you joined the firm, I was on this case involving a man whose wife found out he had been seeing a prostitute. When I interviewed him, he told me the hooker he saw specialized in Bondage and Domination and that she knew more knots than a sailor did. I figured he knew what he was talking about because he was a retired rear-admiral in the navy." "Hookers as expert witnesses, huh? For both our sakes, I hope it doesn't come to that; but if it does, you'll be the first one I let know." I decided to change the subject, "I'll finish unloading the car; and then, I think I'll take a look around. It might be a good idea to know where everything is… particularly the bathroom!" When Rachael didn't respond, I looked at her to see why. She had found the phone book and was busy searching through it. There was a phone in the living room. After she'd located what she'd been looking for, Rachael picked up the phone and started dialing. I could hear it ringing on the other end. A second later, she was talking to someone. While she was busy on the phone, I went out to the car and retrieved the rest of our bags. After I brought them inside, I started setting up our laptops on the coffee table. About five minutes later, Rachael hung up the phone. During that time, she'd made two calls. "Samantha's said to tell you that things went about how we expected they would in court. Luckily, there were no more surprises. She's about half way home. She said she'd call about midnight for an update; that is, if we don't call her first. Also, the food should be here in an hour. I hope you like Philly steak and cheese sandwiches, French fries and coleslaw." I smiled. Steak and cheese sandwiches are one of my favorites. "Great!" Seemingly satisfied, she stood there deep in thought for a minute. Then said to me… "I was just thinking. She said we could have free run of the place. Why don't we figure out how to use that overpriced entertainment system of Vince's and watch the videos on it? That way we won't have to spend any more time staring at these tiny laptop screens than I have too." I'd gotten so caught up in what I was doing that I had completely forgotten about touring the place. It was just about the time I deciphered the workings of the entertainment center that our dinner showed up. As you can imagine, all we talked about was the case. We finished eating, cleaned up the trash; and then, began analyzing the videos. I had intended to start with the video neither of us had seen. Within seconds, I knew that I must have put in the wrong one by mistake because the image on the screen showed a clear, unobstructed, wide angle view of the bed. The video we were supposed to be watching had been taken from the television stand at the end of the bed. "Sorry," I said to Rachael embarrassingly when I discovered my mistake. I was in the process of getting up so I could swap it out with the other one when I heard her say, "Let it play. Maybe we'll see something we missed the first time." "Okay." I said and sat back down. As I resumed watching, it occurred to me that the images on the screen reminded me a great deal of the late night soft-core porn I occasionally watch on the satellite back home. There was Vince, lying on his back atop the bed. He appeared to be nude. Gloria walked in the room, bent down and placed her hands on either side of his head. Then she kissed Vince passionately on the mouth. The kiss lasted for over a minute. After breaking the kiss, she stood upright and then began slowly undressing until she too was totally nude. I guess she wasn't in the mood for foreplay because Gloria wasted no time in climbing on the bed and into a kneeling position over him. Once there, Gloria, who was facing him, lowered her weight until it looked as if she were sitting, on top of him. The way I saw it, her legs were straddling his waist and their pelvises were touching. Were the video from the camera on the dresser the only evidence, as unlikely as it seemed, there might have been a slim chance Samantha could have argued that the couple on the screen had not actually be having sex. The placement of Gloria's legs was such that there was really no way to tell if actual penetration was occurring. The logic being, if there was no penetration, then there was no infidelity. To be quite candid, Samantha would have had a better shot of convincing a motorcycle cop that she just threw up beer vomit on that she hadn't been drinking! A half hour later, the video was over. I looked over at Rachael. For some reason, she had a flushed look on her face. "Learn anything?" I asked kiddingly. Rachael giggled and replied, "Besides that fact that Gloria is a screamer? No, not really. You?" The Paralegals "Yeah, he went to bed with his watch off." I told her. Puzzled, she inquired, "How is that relevant?" "It tells me Rossi planned on sleeping when he got into bed that night. A lot of guys who are getting into bed for just a booty call don't bother taking off their watches. A man will usually take his watch off just before he goes to sleep or prior to getting into the shower." She smiled. I knew what she was thinking. "Don't go getting your hopes up. That doesn't really prove anything." And the truth was it didn't. But it did seem to indicate that Rossi might have been telling the truth about why he got into bed in the first place. I put in the second video and started the player again. The screen filled with the image of a naked woman, straddling, what appeared to be a naked man. Because she was leaning forward slightly, I could clearly see in vivid detail every inch of the woman's wet pussy as she bounced her ample ass up and down on the engorged penis beneath her. Therefore, there was no mistaking which was a man and which was a woman. Two things dawned on me then. The first was that the way the camera was positioned, the only thing I could see was the back of her head. The second was that her upper body, even though moving, was blocking the face of the man she was erotically coupling. "This is useless!" I said to her. "I don't see what Samantha is so worried about." It took her a few seconds to respond. When I looked over at her, I realized that her eyes were transfixed, almost hypnotically, on the screen. Agreeing with me, Rachael said, "Neither do I; she's blocking the man's face entirely. In fact, how do we know who she is? This could be a video of anyone." But then she stopped and exclaimed, "Oh fuck!" I looked back at the screen and understood immediately why. Almost as if on cue, the woman on the screen leaned far backwards towards the camera and placed the palms of her hands on the man's legs just above his knees. In the same motion, Gloria arched her back upwards slightly. Then she tilted her chin high into the air. In that moment, everything lined up perfectly… his face, her face, the camera. That's when Rachael and I knew, beyond any doubt, who the two people on the bed were. The couple on the screen was fucking was indeed Vince Rossi and Gloria Lemons. I looked at it and exclaimed to Rachael, "Well, there goes the case! The camera doesn't lie!" Chapter Three – Ab Inito (From the Beginning) For the next several hours we sat there watching the videos over and over again. When that didn't get us anywhere, I took the DVD player from one of the bedrooms and hooked it up to the television so we could watch the both side by side in split screen mode. None of which helped us at all. For example, one thing we learned was that both videos were definitely two recording of the same event but from two different angles. Another thing was that they were also of such good quality that they equaled any professionally made porn movies I've seen. I'd like to say that I am speaking strictly from a photograph point of view, but I can't. The simple fact is I stayed with a massive hard-on the entire time I was watching them. By twelve o'clock in the morning, I was tired of sitting there with a hard-on so I tried to convince Rachael that we were getting nowhere watching the videos. For some unexplained reason, she seemed hesitant to stop. However, she relented so I wrote off as stubbornness. That's when we began going over affidavits in the case file and butted heads like a couple of goats. "I'm telling you, Vince is lying! There's no way it could have happened the way he said it did." I told her. She looked shocked. "What makes you say that?" Rachael opened her briefcase, took out a notebook and started writing in it. "What are you doing?" I asked. She looked at me expectantly, "I'm starting a list of your objections." That's my Rachael, organized to a fault. "We've been friends long enough for me to know what Vince is and is not capable of." I told her candidly. Rachael conceded, "Alright, I believe you. But, my intuition is telling me that was set up!" "Even in the face of all that evidence?" I pointed to the coffee table containing the case files. "Sanders, has not one, but two videos. To top it off, he's also got corroborating testimony from Gloria, who I might add, hasn't changed her story a bit from day one." Then a thought occurred to me and I asked, "Hey, you didn't ask her about it did you" She laughed, "No, she came to me." "Well, what did she say?" Grimly, Rachael answered, "She denied it. Her whole story seemed rehearsed. I got the feeling that Gloria was trying too hard to convince me she'd slept with Vince. " "I thought you two are friends? Don't you think she'd tell you the truth?" I pointed out. Sourly, Rachael responded, "We were Marty. But, apparently, even friendship has its limits." "Huh? Rachael explained, "Think about it, Marty. Gloria knows that Lilly is an attorney and as such, an officer of the court. If it ever came out that the two of them were in cahoots to defraud Vince out of half the marital estate, the best thing she could hope for is a stiff fine and disbarment. They'd both be facing a hefty prison term for perjury." Rachael was right, that was reason enough to keep anybody's mouth shut. "So what makes you think Vince is telling the truth?" I asked once more. With a genuine tone of perplexity in her voice, Rachael replied, "I can't put my finger on it but there's something just not right with those videos. The whole thing looks setup, contrived even." "I didn't see anybody holding Vince down. His hands didn't look tied to me. Remember, the camera doesn't lie, does it?" I reminded her. Rachael suggested, "Just because we couldn't see his hands doesn't mean they weren't tied." "Do you really think that Vince, a man, was overpowered Lilly, a woman, and tied to a bed?" I asked. Then the obvious occurred to me. "That would mean Lilly is an expert with ropes and knots. Rachael added, "That plus be a lot stronger than she looks!" "Hum, is she a dominatrix?" Laughing, Rachael replied, "Not that I know of; but, it is possible." "Possible is not good enough. Tell me how she did it. Explain to me exactly how a woman her size overcame a man and tied him to a bed. After you do that, then you can tell me how Gloria, another woman, molested him." Rachael, hesitated a few seconds then said, "I can't tell you how Lilly tied him up; I don't know yet. As to how Gloria screwed him, that was the easy part!" It was the most outrageous thing I'd ever heard. "Easy part? Are you serious?" "Sure. The hard part was tying him to the bed; the rest was a piece of cake." Rachael was silent. I could tell she was thinking. "The reason you don't know is because it can't be done." I told her. But since I was supposed to be considering all possibilities I said, "But, just for the sake of argument, let's assume that Lilly did manage to tie Vince up. You still have to explain the erection he had?" She smiled, "Every heard of messaging the prostate?" "Isn't that a myth?" Rachael laughed, "Nope, it's a scientific fact." 'Where did you learn about that?' I thought to myself; but, I decided not to ask. "If Lilly or Gloria had done that to him, why didn't Vince say anything about it in his affidavit? Better still, why didn't we see one of them it on the video?" Making eye contact with me, Rachael queried, "How many men do you know would want it to become public knowledge that a woman stuck her finger, or possibly even a foreign object, up their ass? Would you? And, as to why we didn't see it on the video, it could have occurred before the video started." "I see your point. The problem is, in either case, he didn't say it; we didn't see it; and, therefore, we can't prove it. So what's left?" Rachael responded, "I don't know, maybe one of them slipped him a Viagra or something?" "I didn't see him swallow anything; did you?" But I knew she hadn't so I continued, "Even if one of them did, once again, Vince didn't mention anything about it in his affidavit. So we have no reason to assume otherwise." Rachael suggested, "There is another possibility. It might have been a purely a response to physical stimulation. Anyway, there are other ways for a man to get an erection, you know!" "Like what?" I asked. Almost seductively, Rachael suggested, "Maybe Vince just simply became aroused when Gloria got on top of him? Tell me; if an attractive, desirable, naked woman started rubbing herself on all over you wouldn't you get aroused too?" "No!" I lied. She looked at me disbelievingly. So what did I do? Did I confess and tell her the truth. Hell no! I told another lie. "Take it from me; the only time a man will get aroused is if he wants a woman." Without hesitation, Rachael asked, "Is that a fact?" "That's right!" She laughed and said, "Why don't I believe you?" Maybe it was because I was lying through my teeth! But, I had to say something. "Let's assume, again for the sake of argument that you are right and, by some as yet undetermined means, either Lilly or Gloria did manage to "get it up" for him." She interrupted, "Or both!" "Okay. That's possible, kinky, but possible. I won't quibble over that one. How do you explain the fact that Vince didn't just buck her off of Gloria as soon as she climbed on top of him?" It didn't surprise me in the least when she said, "Because once she was up there she locked her ankles under his legs." "So? I've known women who've done the same thing. That doesn't prove anything." I replied. Then I thought about it and it occurred to me she might be right… at least on that point. Pride, however, kept me from telling her. Inside, I really didn't want to admit that Rachael could be right. It just offended my masculinity to think that a woman, any woman, could overpower a man and get that much control over him. Hoping it would put an end to the debate, I summed it all up for her. "Just admit it. Vince screwed Gloria; Lilly screwed Vince after she caught them on video. And, Samantha got screwed when she took the case!" But Rachael wasn't throwing in the towel, "You're wrong Marty. There's more to that video than either of us are seeing. The only explanation I can think of is that Vince is telling the truth!" "Prove it then. If you can convince me, you can convince a jury." Rachael looked at me long and hard before speaking again. Something was going through her mind. Then she said to me, "You really mean that?" There was an excited, almost devious, tone in her voice. "Absolutely!" Then she asked, "I thought men liked to feel in control. If I prove I'm right, wouldn't you feel as if I was threatening your masculinity? The last thing I want is something to affect our relationship." 'What?" I thought to myself, 'is it me or is she taking this whole thing way too seriously?' Then I came up with what I thought was a safe response… "Rachael, don't worry about it. I trust you. Do whatever it takes." Since she seemed happy, I wrote the whole thing off to the fact that she was probably just as tired as I was. 'After all', I thought to myself, 'women can be so emotional at times.' "Why don't we figure out whose sleeping where?" I suggested. She agreed and we began touring the bedrooms. When we got to the master bedroom, I recognized it immediately from videos we had watched. No sooner had I opened the door than Rachael said to me, "I'll take the guest bedroom." We hadn't even stepped into the room yet. One look at the dresser on the far wall told me why. The entire dresser, including all the little cubbyhole slots built into the mirror, was covered in sex toys of various shapes and sizes. The toys weren't on the videos because the camera wasn't aimed in their direction. As you can imagine, it became clear to Rachael and I how Lilly could have hidden the camera in plain sight without it being noticed. "They are kind of intimidating aren't they?" I said, kidding her. Undaunted, Rachael replied, "No, I just thought if you slept here you might develop a new perspective on things." I agreed. Then I told Rachael that I was going to take a shower and go to bed. I brought my bags into the room and set them in the bottom of the closet out of the way. Then I closed the bedroom door and locked it, more out of habit than security. Fifteen minutes later, clean and dry I lay down on the bed. After I turned off the lamp on the nightstand, I tried to go to sleep. According to the clock on the nightstand, it was 2:15 in the morning and even though I was tired, I couldn't sleep. Lying there in the dark, I had time to reflect on the day's events and began wishing that I hadn't been so stubbornly argumentative with Rachael. She was the last person in the world I wanted to hurt. I knew that lately I had been becoming increasingly frustrated with myself for not having the courage to tell her how I felt about her. The reason was that I was afraid she might not feel the same way about me. But now that it was beginning to affect our working relationship, I had to do something. "Time to man up!" I said to myself and made my decision. In the morning, I would apologize to her; and, no matter what the consequences were, tell her how I really felt. It was like a weight being lifted from my mind and immediately I began to relax. Soon after that, I started drifting off to sleep; and, a hazy image began unfolding before me. When it became clearer, I could see Gloria repeatedly taking Vince's love muscle deep inside her moist womanhood. She was moaning wantonly like a banshee in heat. Vince, who was bound both hand and foot to the bed, was an unresisting prisoner of her desires. As she continued ridding him, I drifted further and further into the realm of unconscious and my erotic dream. Then, as if by magic, I was teleported onto the bed underneath her. When I gazed up at her, Gloria looked me straight in the eyes as if nothing had happened and proceeded feverishly riding my erect member. 'My God', I thought to myself, 'this stranger is fucking me!' and rather than succumb to my desires I tried to throw her off me. But I could not, my wrist were tied to the headboard. Confused, in my mind, part of me wanted to resist and part of me didn't. Half halfheartedly, I attempted to roll over, hoping to tumble her off the bed but soon discovered I could not. My ankles were, as I said, were likewise bound to the foot-board. It wasn't so much the desire to escape as the frustration of failed attempt that caused me to try to buck Gloria off of me again. Desperately, I pushed my hips as hard I could high into the air. That too failed when as soon as I raised my hips, Gloria simply moved her ankles beneath my legs and locked herself into position atop me. When I realized that all my efforts to escape did was aid her in fucking me by driving my rigid member deeper inside her, I stopped moving completely. The longer it went on, the more pleasurable it became. And, as the pleasure increased, so too did increase my confusion. Was I being assaulted, tormented, or ravished? As I was trying to make up my mind, again as if by magic, Gloria disappeared to be replaced by another. It was Rachael! When that happened, all doubt disappeared. I wanted this. I wanted her. Even if Rachael tied me to a bed and mercilessly fucked me like a mad woman; I wanted her! But it was not to be; because, just when I was about to begin thrusting myself into her, like an unwelcome interloper, the dark void of dreamless sleep came to me. What I had, at first, thought to be a nightmare had turned into the most erotic, if not disappointing, dream of my life! And so I slept. Sometime later, I was awakened out of a sound sleep when I felt my wrists being pulled to the bedposts at the head of the bed. Since I had been lying on my right side, I was forced to roll over onto my back as my right arm went towards the headboard. 'Was this a dream or was it real?' I asked myself. Immediately I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw just before being pulled completely onto my back was the dim red glow of the digital clock on the nightstand. It was 6:30 in the morning and still pitched black outside. What light there was in the room came from the LED from the alarm clock and the now cracked open doorway. There was a nightlight in the hallway just outside my room. "WHAT THE FUCK?" I exclaimed and began thrashing about on the bed only to find that there was something wrapped around each of my ankles. And again I asked myself, 'Is this a dream?' Then, for a split second, I caught sight of a figure moving in the darkness towards the foot of the bed. I felt something tugging at my ankles, pulling them in the direction of the foot-board and they too were bound unmovable. The whole process of tying me up couldn't have taken more than five seconds. What's more, the speed at which I had been tied up was fast that all I could do was I lay there in shock. Once the initial shock wore off, I began spouting obscene threats of violence at whoever was in the room with me. When the light came on revealing my attacker, I could not have been more surprised. Half thinking it was all a dream, I was actually expecting to see Lilly Rossi or Gloria Lemons or both standing over me. The last person in the world I expected to see was Rachael! And then something told me that it was all very real! Chapter Four – Disjunctive Allegations Have you ever heard the old adage that a picture is worth a thousand words? Well, if that's true, then a demonstration has to be worth a million. Marty had been a little too argumentative the night before and I decided it would take more than just argument to convince him who was right. So I thought to myself, 'What better way than a live demonstration?' If he wanted proof, I was going to give it to him. Once his eyes now adjusted to the light, Marty could see me. You should have seen the look on his face. I don't know what surprised him more, the fact that I was standing there, or the way I was dressed. You see, while he had been sleeping, I had changed into a pair of red boy-shorts and matching sports bra. I keep them in my workout bag for those times when I'm on the road and want to exercise in my hotel room. I learned the hard way not to wear them in public. They're a wee bit risqué for that. Not that I care, but it's kind of difficult to maintain a professional reputation when know professionally makes 'Beaver Run' jokes after seeing you jogging on the treadmill at the gym. Perhaps I better explain. That particular little ensemble of sportswear shows every, and I do mean every, curve of my body in almost pornographic detail; but, they were the only things I had that were tight fitting enough to allow me to move around without making a sound. All of which explains why when Marty saw dressed that way, he lay there silently for several seconds looking at me. He turned red in the face when he realized I could see what he was doing and tried to cover up by asking, "Rachael, are you out of your ever loving mind? How did you get in here? I had the door locked." "I picked it with the filler from a ballpoint pen." I answered, ignoring his question about my mental state. I wasn't so sure about that myself! Perplexed, he asked, "But how?" "There's a safety feature built into the locks installed in most houses. It's a hole about a sixteenth of in inch located on the doorknob." I went to the door. The Paralegals "See, on this side is the lock," I opened the door, "On this side is the hole. It's there in case you lock yourself out of an interior room. All you have to do is stick something rigid in there and push until you hear a click." I demonstrated by pressing the button on the doorknob locking the door. Then I shoved the pen filler in the hole on the other side until I heard a clicking sound. Immediately the button popped out indicating that the door was unlocked. "See?" Astonished, Marty exclaimed, "Well I'll be damned! I never knew that." Anticipating what his next question would be. I explained… "My little brother locked himself in his bedroom when I was babysitting him once. I had to call the fire department to get him out. A fireman showed me. So are you convinced yet?" Either Marty didn't understand the question of he was playing dumb because he asked, "Convinced of what?" "That it is possible for a woman can overpower a man!" I replied triumphantly. As Marty struggled with his bonds, he asked, "Couldn't you have made your point some other way?" "You're the one who said prove it to you, remember? And no, I couldn't. Anyway, you still haven't answered my question." Marty said nothing. Instead, he began struggling with his bonds trying to free himself. But I had done a really good job of tying him up. Amused, I stood there and watched him. After about half a minute or so, he appeared to gave up. "Finished yet?" Frustrated he said to me, "Alright, you've made your point. It is possible for a woman to overpower a man. You can untie me now. But that still doesn't prove that Lilly had the knowledge or skills to do the same thing to Vince. Does it? While you're untying me, you can tell me where did you learned to tie these damn knots anyway?" "Don't go anywhere." I said, then laughed and headed out the door. As I left the room, he called to me, "Hey, wait a minute; aren't you going to untie me." "Not just yet. I'm not through with my demonstration." The sound of the bed shaking half way down the hall told me he was trying to get loose again. He stopped long enough to yell to me, "At least tell me where you are going?" "Don't worry; I'll be back in a minute and answer all your questions!" I said reassuringly. The bed began squeaking again telling me he was trying again to get loose. "You might not want to struggle against those ropes too much. Those are slipknots. The more you pull on them, the tighter they become!" I went to the bedroom, picked up, and emptied my suitcase on the bed. Then I took the suitcase into the living room and filled it with items I knew I'd need in order to continued the demonstration. The spring in my step indicated that I was really was enjoying what I was doing. When I reentered the room carrying my suitcase, Marty ceased his attempts to free himself and said, "What do you have there?" I didn't respond but rather sat it down on the bed and opened the suitcase. "The list, remember? And I've got a few pieces of evidence." I removed the list of his objections I had made from the suitcase and held it up for him to see. He didn't say anything. "Let me start from the beginning," I said and began showing Marty some of the certificates I'd discovered in the living room, "After you went to sleep, I went over the file again and then watched both videos a few more times. Well, just like before, I didn't find anything useful. But then I got tired and decided to take a break. So I put on a pot of coffee; and, while I was waiting for the pot to finish, I decided to look at that shrine to outdoor life they call a living room. That's when I figured out who the great outdoors-man in the family really is. I'll bet when you walked in the door and saw all that junk on the walls you thought the same thing I did and that Vince, being the man, was the great white hunter. Am I right?" He nodded. "That's what I thought too. Well, brace yourself. We were both wrong. Vince isn't the one who loves the outdoors; Lilly is. Vince is just what he looks like, a city boy." His jaw dropped open. One by one, I began showing him the certificates I'd placed in my suitcase. "It gets better. Not only is she an expert fisherman, hunter, marksman and mountaineer, but she's also been a scoutmaster for the last twenty years. That means that is she skilled enough with knots to be qualified to teach them. Ergo, even if she's not an expert, which the evidence indicates she is, Lilly most definitely has the skills and experience needed to tie somebody up quickly." Finished showing them to him, I placed the certificates carefully back in my suitcase. Next, I retrieved three books I removed from the bookshelf in the living room and held them up for him to see. "Now to answer you second question as to where I learned to tie those knots holding you. They came out of these books." I waved them back and forth dramatically. "They were on the bookshelf in the living room." One was a book entitled 'Outdoor Survival'; the second was the 'The Scoutmaster's Handbook', and the last was a book dedicated entirely to the use of ropes and knots entitled 'Knots and Ropes and Their Uses'. "And in case you're wondering who they belong to, their Lilly's. I know that because her name is stamped in the flyleaf of every one of them." "There are plenty of knots in these books that could have used. Once I found one that would do what I needed, it took me less than fifteen minutes to figure out how to tie it. I used the shoe laces from my running shoes for that. The next thing I had to do was determine exactly where to place the ropes and how to secure them. That's when I decided to make a late night trip to Wal-mart to buy some rope and a few other things. We'll expense that later. Anyway, after I got back from Wal-mart, I used the bed in my room to figure that out exactly where to tie the ropes. Since both beds are similar, it only took thirty minutes more of practice for me to feel confident enough to give it out on you." I paused, and then said boastfully, "By the way, tying you up was a lot easier than I expected it would be." Marty just stared at me in disbelief. "Need more convincing?" I asked. He didn't answer. "I take it that is a yes then?" Again there was no answer. So, I looked at the list, then put the books back into my suitcase and began taking out items and laying them on the bed. Curiously, Marty asked, "What are you going to do with those?" He was referring to the two home video cameras I had just placed on the bed next to him. I had picked them up also during my late night shopping spree at Wal-mart. "You said the camera doesn't lie. Maybe it doesn't; but I can prove that sometimes it doesn't tell the whole truth. Want to find out if I'm right?" If he had said no, I would have stopped there. Since I was having fun, I was thrilled when he replied, "You've got yourself a captive audience. Proceed." I laughed. I laid my notepad and pen over on the dresser; and, then I closed my suitcase and placed it out of sight in the hall. Returning to the bedroom, I picked up the cameras and checked the batteries in each to make sure they were fully charged. Next, I turned the LCD viewfinders on each camera around so that images being recorded could be seen from the front of the camera. Then, I made my best guess as to where Lilly had placed her cameras and put mine in the same positions on the dresser and television. I was luckily to find that the store still had in stock not only a video output cable for one the camera I put in the closet but also an extension cable. I used the cables to connect the camera's outputs to the plasma television. Then I switched on the television and selected the input for the camera under the television. It took a few adjustments but I finally got the field of view of each camera looking almost exactly the same as they were in Lilly's videos. That accomplished, I carefully turned both camera's viewfinders around so they were facing the bed. Meanwhile, Marty, who seemed intrigued by my activity, waited quietly. I guess he wanted to see what I was going to do next. As I headed towards my notepad, he broke his silence, "Now what?" "Now we go down the list." I replied. "You said, 'I didn't see anybody holding Vince down. His hands didn't look tied to me'." "Let's see if you're right." I said as I approached the head of the bed. Once there, I reached behind him with my left hand and pulled the pillow from behind his head. "It would be easier for both of us if you raised your head. Vince might not have been given that choice; or, they could have just pulled him up by his hair. How do you want to do this, the easy way or the hard way?" Deciding to take the easy way, Marty raised his head. When he did, I gently placed the pillow under his head and then stepped back so he could see the camera on the dresser. He looked at it and then at the television. "Do you see any ropes?" I asked. Stubbornly, her replied, "No, but that still doesn't prove anything. They couldn't be seen if they weren't there either." "But I've made my point. While the camera might not lie, it also doesn't necessarily tell the truth either. Does it?" Begrudgingly, he conceded the point and I moved on. "Now what was it you said next?" I looked at the notepad again. "Oh yes, here it is… 'How, then, do you explain the erection Vince had?' and I then said, 'Have you ever heard of messaging the prostate?' Look over at the dresser. I'll bet I can find something over there that could get a rise out of you!" Then to prove my point, I walked over to it and picked up the biggest vibrator I could find. It was at least eighteen inches long and two and a half inches wide. "Do you feel adventurous enough to find out?" Marty tensed up suddenly. "You wouldn't dare!" "No, I wouldn't." I confessed, "And seriously I doubt they did either." I confessed, and then put the oversized phallic back on the dresser. "But, no pun intended, that brings to the next item on the list." "When I suggested that one of them gave him something you said, 'I didn't see him swallow anything.'" I reached into my pocket and produced small plastic bottle half full of red syrupy liquid. "Do you know what this is?" I held it up him to see it. He examined it, laughed and then said mockingly, "Spanish Fly! You're joking; right? That stuff doesn't work." "One thing I can tell you is that somebody living in this house thinks that it does. I found this bottle in the kitchen cabinet. There were eight others just like it there. They were on the same shelf with the coffee, tea, and soda. Unless I miss my guess, somebody's been mixing it with the soda to hide the taste." As I saw the pillow move, indicating to me that Marty was trying his ropes again; he said to me, "What makes you say that?" "This particular brand of Spanish Fly just happens to come in three flavors: cola, cherry and, my personal favorite, strawberry. Want to take a guess what flavors of soda were in the cabinet next to it?" Marty looked up as if in thought, then answered, "They wouldn't they be cola, cherry and strawberry by any chance would they?" "Good answer!" I said excitedly. Being argumentative again, Marty insisted, "That still doesn't prove anything. Maybe they just bought it and haven't had a chance to use it yet?" "Nope, somebody's used it. Or, do you have a better explanation as to why this bottle was a quarter empty when I found it?" Avoiding my question, Marty said, "Alright, I'll concede that point. But let's assume for a moment that you are right. If Gloria gave it to him, how did she do it without the camera seeing? For that matter, you also haven't proved to me that it works." "I'm not sure it does. But, but there is a way we can find out. You can try some while I show you how she got him to drink it?" Of course, he could always say no! But something told me Marty wouldn't. Looking skeptical, he replied, "Go ahead. But don't be surprised when it doesn't have any effect on me." The instructions were printed in tiny find print on the bottle and it only took me a second or so to read them. I unscrewed the cap on the bottle and then said… "You sure you want to do this? I don't know what this stuff could do to you!" Marty grinned and challenged me, "If it were dangerous, it wouldn't be on the market. Besides, my guess is nothing at all. Just in case though, promise me you won't start laughing if it does." "I think I can handle it." He laughed, "Very funny!" "Okay, here we go!" I told him and then began lifting the bottle to my mouth. Seeing what I was doing, Marty cried out, "Hey, I thought I was supposed to drink that. What gives?" I paused. "Just watch and learn!" Then, I poured a quarter of the small bottle's content into my mouth. I hadn't intended to drink any myself; but, most of it went straight down my throat. It was bitter. Since there was still some left in my mouth, I bent down over Marty in the same manner that Gloria had over Vince in the video. Then, I placed my hands on each side of his face. Using my thumbs, I gently pressed on his nostrils until he was forced to open his mouth for air. When he did, I placed my mouth firmly upon his and opened my lips. The remaining liquid in my mouth went straight into his. I released my thumbs and instinctively, Marty swallowed as and took in several deep breaths through his nostrils. When our mouths parted, there were a few drops running from the right side of Marty's mouth. He must have felt them because he said to me, "Better not leave any on my lips; it'll show up on camera." There was a sly grin on his face. "You're right. I hadn't thought about that." I was about to reach up and wipe them off when he added, "I didn't see her do that in the video." "Then how did she…" I started to say but the answer came to be before I finished. Meanwhile, I thought to myself, 'Oh, so you want to play. Is that it Marty? Okay, I'll play with you!' "I'll bet this is what she did." I said and began using my tongue to lick the liquid from his lips. Yummy! Needless to say, it was definitely a turn on. I was about to stop, when out of nowhere, a wave of what I can only describe as burning desire swept over me. In less than two seconds I went from Luke warm to burning hot. My head was spinning; and, to top it off, I had suddenly developed an itch between my legs that was demanded to be scratched. The first thing that I thought was, 'Wow! Is it hot in here or is it me?' because it seemed to be getting very hot in the room. The second thing was, 'Where did that itching come from?' Yes, I knew where it was. But didn't know at the time what had started it. I was so surprised that I stopped immediately and to regain my composure so I could get back to my demonstration. I might have been successful had Marty not said as soon as I broke contact, "Sure you got it all? You wouldn't want to leave any behind for the camera." 'Like that, did you?' I asked mentally. "Maybe I better try again?" I said and then kissed him squarely on the mouth. 'I know what you're doing Marty!' I thought to myself as we kissed. 'But do you know what a can of worms you are opening up by doing it?' Yes, I knew what he was doing. Of that you can be sure. The big question is did I know what I was doing? The answer is yes. I did. I had some self-control left; though not much. I could have stopped. I didn't want to. But I could have and almost did. Although for the life of me, I don't know why. But when his lips parted and our tongues began to intertwine as we kissed passionately, the thought fled from me and I became even more aroused. And, as my arousal increased, so did the itching between my legs. My heart, which had been racing wildly, slowed a bit as I broke the kiss. When it did, again reality crept its ugly head back in. I took a few deep breaths and instantly, my head started to clear long enough for me to hear Marty's voice saying, "Like I said, what are you going to do if the stuff doesn't work?" Desperately I tried to concentrate. 'Think damn it! What were you going to do next? Oh yes, the list! Go down the list!' And then an argument broke out in my head between what I can best describe as 'Horny Me' and 'Professional Me'. 'Fuck the list! I want to fuck Marty!' Horny Me said. Then Professional Me said, 'You're not supposed to be fucking Marty dumb-ass. You're supposed to going down the list!' 'Hey, maybe we can do both?' Horny Me suggested. But then Professional Me took charge and ordered, 'Stop acting like a cougar. You know you can't do both! Show a little self-control and just go down the damn list like you're supposed to!' 'But I don't want to! Aren't you even tempted just a little?' Horny Me said defiantly. Finally, Professional Me ended the argument when she said, 'Of course I am. But I know how to control myself. Now stop arguing with me and do as you're told!' And so, for the time being, it looked as if Professional Me had won. "Before I answer that, I have a few questions for you. Tell me, do you still think that having a desirable naked female rubbing on your pelvis wouldn't arouse you?" And somewhere in my brain I heard the words, 'Say yes. Marty, say yes!' It was Horny Me talking. Marty grinned, "Never happen!" 'That's the same thing! Isn't it?' Horny Me asked to which Professional Me replied, 'Yes! Now shut up I'm trying to think!' "And do you still contend that the only way a man will get aroused is if he wants a woman?" I asked. He smiled and said, "That's right!" Without saying a word, I peeled off my sports bar and stood there nude from the waist up. As I did, thought to myself, "Tell me Marty, do you think I'm desirable?" I baited him. After which Professional Me demanded, 'Hey, what are you doing?' 'Just trying to find out how much; that's all.' said Horny Me slyly. Marty stared in disbelief and Professional Me said to Horny Me, 'You shouldn't have done that. Look at him. What are you going to do if he doesn't like what he sees?' 'There's only one way to find out.' Horny Me informed. Confused, Professional Me asked, 'How's that?' 'We'll just have to show him the whole package.' Answered Horny Me. And then, before Profession Me could protest, I took off my boy-shorts and I stood there now totally naked before him. There had been nothing underneath them. Indignantly, Professional Me chastised, 'Now you've done it! Look at him! He thinks were so ugly that he's gone speechless!' 'Bet you're wrong!' insisted Horny Me. To which Professional Me retorted, 'Bet I'm right!' 'All right, let's ask him.' They said together "Well, tell me Marty, do you think I'm desirable?" Finding his voice, he replied, "Yes. Very desirable." Professional Me said doubtingly, 'Maybe he's just saying that because he doesn't want to hurt our feelings?' "How do I know you're not just flattering me?" I asked. Nervously, he replied, "Trust me, you are." Professional Me wasn't satisfied. "I don't believe you. What proof do you have?" I said teasingly. Embarrassed, he answered, "You know I can't prove that!" 'But I can. All I have to do is pull the sheet off of him so we can both see.' Suggested Horny Me. But Professional Me was frightened, 'Wait! Don't do that! I don't want to know.' 'Trust me. I know what I'm doing.' Horny Me responded. "I don't believe you. Maybe I better see for myself?" And then, before he could say anything, in one motion I pulled the sheet off him exposing his now semi-rigid member. 'Do you believe me now? I told you he likes us!' Asked Horny Me. Unconvinced, Professional Me said, 'That doesn't prove anything. He's not even completely hard.' Even so, she couldn't take her eyes off the thing. The Paranormal Pursuit Doctor's Hill and Willis had been partners for a long time as paranormal investigators. Now in their 60's, each had seen enough strange things to make an ordinary person fearful. But in the past year, occurrences had become more frequent, and curious in their nature. They first noticed the change one day, when their secretary had an encounter of her own. It was a quiet afternoon, when the secretary noticed a cold breeze. Wearing a light blouse and sweater, the sudden chill was enough to make her hair stand on end. Then came the noise. The doctor's heard it too, but each dismissed it. It was a low groan; sounding almost satisfied. It sounded as though it came from beneath Miss Janine's desk. She looked down, past her exposed knees, and saw nothing. Shrugging, she went back to typing. That's when she felt it - as though something had grabbed her breast softly. She looked down, and noticed what looked like a hand print, pushing against her blouse and massive breast. Now fearful, she tried to swat it away, but the handprint vanished. Miss Janine; a redheaded, curvaceous girl of 24, had worked for the doctor's only for a few months now. And, truthfully, she was a wretched employee; but since she looked identical to their favourite red-headed, voluptuous tv secretary, they loved to keep her on. She had seen some strange things - like the slimy resident ghost who roamed the halls at night - but she was very confused by the present encounter. Had an invisible hand just groped her right breast? Almost in cue with her thought, the invisible hand returned. Kneading her f-cup breasts, the invisible thing seemed to have hands everywhere. There were the handprints on her breasts, pushing her back into her chair; there was definitely something sliding up her thigh, and now, the buttons on her shirt were being popped open. She was silent with awe. Her shirt flew open, exposing her breasts, now clad only in a plain black bra. The bra was ripped from her body as her skirt was hiked up her thighs. Feeling something.....large pressing against her pussy, Janine finally yelled out for the doctors. "Guys!! I think you should see this!!" The doctor's flew from their offices to see their gorgeous secretary, completely nude, seemingly being thrust into by an invisible partner. She rocked back in the chair moaning as the ghostly lover pushed his massive invisible erection deep inside her, faster and faster, while still hands pulled on and kneaded her tits. Her nipples, hard with arousal, seemed to point straight at the old professors, as they watched on in shock. Luckily, Hill had his cell phone ready, and took a video of the event. Janine, now with her legs propped up on her desk, seemed to be loving it. Her pussy lips were open wide from the invisible cock that drilled her, and she gripped the arms of her chair for support. Her tits had never been treated like this before - she was loving it. Willis, who had never married, couldn't take it anymore. He pulled out his cock and started jerking off. Janine looked over and grinned, moaning louder for effect, to tease the old man. Hill, still holding the camera, followed suit, stepping closer to the girl for a better shot. The old doctor's were right at her desk, when Hill decided to join in. He reached over to grab her tit, when everything stopped. Janine stopped rocking in her chair, the low grunting that had been echoing off the walls disappeared - the ghost, it would seem, didn't want company. Janine, who had been enjoying the ride, was annoyed. Looking over at these two old, fat, disgusting men, she decided to finish the job, at least for her own satisfaction. The trio fucked for an hour. Janine never left her chair that day, but she sucked and fucked both of the old boys until they came on her face. Her red hair had streaks of white throughout, and her huge tits had globs dripping on them from her chin. Janine was made a full-fledged member of the team that day, having the most intimate paranormal encounter of the three of them. But that wasn't the last time Janine would play a pivotal part in the operations. Like I mentioned earlier; paranormal encounters similar to this were suddenly on the rise. While Hill and Willis, the old investigators, had just clued in, people across the world had already found themselves with sudden strange lovers. For instance, a young woman in France, a week prior to Janine's encounter, had found herself in the company of a centaur one evening. While out hanging her laundry, the petite blonde saw a large, handsome man approaching on horseback. But she was shocked to see he was his own horse - a large equine body with his human torso. Suffice to say, his LARGE, equine body caught her eye, just as her slender, petite frame had caught his. Without any words, he approached. Without hesitation, she dropped to her knees and began to rub and suck on his massive erection. He grunted and moaned and she licked the long shaft, then played with the head. For some reason, whenever people had these encounters, they really didn't seem to notice how bizarre the whole scenario is. But this French woman, so eager to play with her centaur lover, was far too engrossed with finding new places on the massive cock to lick and tickle to be concerned with much else. Suddenly, the centaur stomped the ground. She knew something was ready - he trembled as she moved to the tip, putting her mouth over it, licking his hole. Suddenly, he came. Her mouth was not ready to contain the load, and she pulled her head back in reaction. White cum sprayed over her face and hair, shooting a steady stream for seconds straights. She thought the cum would never end, as she held her eyes closed, feeling the pressure of her lover's cum against her cheek. He stepped away, as she stay knelt on the dirt, cum dripping and soaking her dress. She wiped the slime from her eyes to see the centaur walking away. With a grin, he looked over his shoulder and waved, and she smiled, knowing he would return. Standing and returning to her house, she didn't care that her neighbours had watched the whole thing. She licked the cum from her lips and stripped off her dress as she walked the front walk. She wondered when the centaur would return.