Constant in All Other Things: Chapter 04 (Patreon)

For the archives: Constant in All Things 1: Chapter 04. This is the most current version of the story.

Constant in All Other Things

Chapter 4

by

Fakeminsk (fakeminsk@gmail.com - https://www.patreon.com/fakeminsk)

“Friendship is constant in all other things

Save in the office and affairs of love:

Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues;

Let every eye negotiate for itself

And trust no agent.”

Much Ado About Nothing

Synopsis:

Sometimes even in witness protection, high heels and tight jeans aren't enough to keep a man safe, especially when the enemy draws near. But just who is the real enemy?

What has gone before:

David Saunders saw something he shouldn't have: his boss, pharmaceutical magnate Jeremiah Steele murder the son of a rival.  Placed in witness protection, an assassination attempt forces David into hiding. Agent Katherine Smith has him adopt the persona of Cindy Bellamy, a twenty-year old girl. He is put through a short but intense period of feminine training before leaving the security of a safe house for the first time.  Almost immediately, they realise they’re being followed….

One: One of the Dark Places of the Earth

The second longest relationship I ever had lasted three months.  Her name was Akiko.  She was this cool Japanese chick, a professor up at the university.  After about a year into my new life, into being this corporate climber and rising young star, giving the real, normal relationship thing a try seemed a good idea. Julia had been fun and all and lasted nearly two months, but it wasn’t what I’d call a relationship, you know? She was gone, anyways, after Tom and I had had our night with her.

            So: Akiko, God. She was brilliant, that kind of blistering intelligence that makes a woman dead sexy.  And I’ll be honest: the Japanese thing didn’t hurt either. She reminded me of Sakura. The way I took so much pleasure in fucking Akiko every which way speaks volumes, I think. I liked it rough with her.  I liked being in control with her.  Normally I’m pretty chilled about what happens in bed, but not with Akiko. It’s what did us in, in the tend. Looking back, I can see how unfair I was to that woman, really.  I channelled way too much unresolved issues into that goddamn relationship.  No wonder it didn’t work out.

            But it’s not like I was entirely to blame.  I was only twenty-three for chrissake and still trying to figure out who the hell I was now that I’d been thrust into the so-called normal world.  I was younger than her by more than a decade, the same age if not younger than some of her grad students.  There’s no way it could’ve ever worked out, and she must’ve known that.

            All this was before I hit Indigo Tech and all, still working off my debt to Tahir by bartending and working door as a bartender. That’s how I met Akiko: she was on a hen night, some messy girls’ thing with penis-shaped straws and sparkly hats, and some assholes got a bit touchy-feely with the bride-to-be, got a bit racist with Akiko and her friends.

            Let’s just say those guys were nice and apologetic by the time I got through with them.  Afterwards, Akiko broke away from her gang to say thank you.  Thank you turned into a drink.  That drink turned into… more.

            And fuck me, but did she ever give great head.  I’ve never known a girl so enthusiastic to go down on a guy. She brought a real artistry to the job, know what I mean? And the sexiest thing was that she seemed to get off on it herself. By the time I’d return the favour she’d be sopping wet, and sometimes all it took was a single, cat-like lick at her pussy to bring on her first shuddering orgasm.

But if I had to pick out one thing I took away from that relationship--one thing she really did for me, Akiko--it was a love for reading.  Akiko taught English lit, specialized in something or other with a healthy side of whatever critical theory was fashionable and marketable that month. Post-post-historicism, she’d say, and smile wryly.  Or Neo-gender theory, critical pushback against the liberalism of the past decades. She also told me that with a wry smile.  She explained almost everything about herself with a wry smile, as though everything she told me was a subtle joke only she really understood.

            And she might’ve liked her men young, but she loved her literature old.  Beowulf, Chaucer, Shakespeare.  You ever have someone softly whisper bits of the Canterbury Tales into your ear--while gently riding your cock?  It’s sexier than it sounds.  To this day, I can’t lie in bed on an April morning and listen to the rain gently falling without growing hard.

            In any case, you know those long Sundays that just seem to go on for ever?  The ones spent lying together in bed, having slow sex and talking about nothing and dozing off and having sex again?  We’d lie twisted amidst the bedsheets and she’d read out snippets of whatever was at hand, I’d listen and gently stroke her small breast or grip her thighs and pull her back into my embrace.  To this day, snippets leap back into mind at the oddest times, literary words forever mingled with the scent of jasmine and the faded impression of her smooth skin beneath my touch.

            “And this also,” I whispered beneath my breath, watching the headlights trailing us in the rear-view mirror, “has been one of the dark places of the earth.”  Funny what pops into your head when you’ve got the hired agents of a megalomaniacal magnate chasing your ass.  Especially when that ass in wearing satin and lace.

             K didn’t seem all that perturbed by the pursuit.  She didn’t change her speed or make any sudden turns or anything.  Her grip stayed relaxed on the wheel as she drove us along the outskirts of the city centre.  Her eyes, however, were bright and alert and kept a careful eye on our followers.  The asshole behind us was good . . . but not that good.  Under the false neon dawn of passing shops and restaurants, the car was easy enough to pick out.  Sure, he didn’t ride our bumper but the traffic was light and he cut some of those corners just a little too sharply.  After a couple kilometres and a few unnecessary but inconspicuous changes in course, the car was still behind us.  It wasn’t just a fluke.

             “You going to lose him?” I asked.

             “In a Honda Civic?” K answered, cocking an eyebrow.  “Besides, I do not believe we need to worry.”

             Now it was my turn to raise a finely-plucked eyebrow.  “K, we’re being fucking followed by fucking assassins.  I’ll be honest: I’m a little worried.  What’s there not to be worried about?”

             She shrugged.  “If the people in that car are indeed agents of Mr. Steele,” she said, “and they truly believed that Mr. Saunders was in this car, they would have driven up beside us a few kilometres back, especially as we passed through one of those quite industrial areas.  They would have overtaken us and opened fire on this car until everyone within it was dead.”

             I gave a low whistle.

             “The fact that they have not shot at us yet leads me to believe that they are merely following us on suspicion or whim.  Hopefully they will soon realize that there is nothing more to this car than a middle-aged woman and her young niece.”

             “Huh.”  Could it be this crazy Cindy disguise gig was actually working?  Go figure.  “So, where we going then?”

             Auntie flashed me a big smile. She tapped the dashboard of the car, indicating the battery level.  “Well, we’re not going to reach the Clinic tonight, I’m afraid. Car needs a charge. You hungry, dear?  Let’s grab some munchies and eat in the motel room.  How does that sound?”

             “Sounds great, Auntie!”

Two: A Peck on the Cheek

We pulled in at a cheap motel on the other side of town at around ten-thirty.  The smell of drive-through fast-food drifted up from the back seat.  I was getting antsy again, imagining with great pleasure peeling off the goddamn waist-cincher and digging in to some nice, manly burger and fries.  I also liked the idea of getting my cock out and letting my balls breathe again.  It was starting to feel cramped and sweaty down there.

             “Check us in under my name,” K said, handing me a wallet.  Her name, I discovered on the drive over, was Wendy Jones.  I guess “Auntie” came from my mom’s side or something.  “Get us one bed, a double.”  At my surprised look she continued:  “We are auntie and daughter and we drive a cheap car.  It is sensible that we share a bed.  Just act . . . normally.  We plan to leave early tomorrow.”

             “Why do you want me to check us in?”  I fought to keep the tremor out of my voice.  Checking-in meant talking to someone.  Just because I’d mastered that particular fear didn’t mean I was looking for excuses to go out of my way and do the Cindy thing again.  “Why the hell can’t you do it?”

             “Because,” she answered, pulling her handgun from the recesses of her jacket, “I will be keeping an eye out. . . just in case.”  Keeping the weapon hidden, she smiled.  “Besides, you need the practice, dear.”  Our pursuers had either gotten bored or clever.  We hadn’t seen them for the last three-quarters of an hour, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still out there.  With a sigh I flipped down the sun shade and checked myself in the vanity mirror.

             You’re not looking too shabby, baby, I thought, pursing my mouth and slathering on another layer of lipgloss.  The gooey-sweet taste tingled on my lips and set them a-glistening.  I very carefully touched up my mascara, still awkward with the wand and half-convinced I was about to take an eye out.  I fluttered my lashes under the weight.  I’ve always had slightly effeminate lashes, long with a bit of curl.  One girl I dated for a few weeks, she laughed at their length, even balancing a toothpick across them once after a few pints down at the local pub.  “Wow, you’d look just great with a little mascara and eyeliner,” she gushed.  “I could do wonder with your eyes!”  She might’ve been a makeup artist or some goddamn thing; I can’t even remember her name, only that she had gorgeous eyes herself.  They looked awesome looking up at me with my dick in her mouth.

             Now, looking at Cindy through half-lidded eyes I saw that long-ago one-night stand proven right.  I blinked once, languidly, and concentrated on those beautiful emerald depths.  This isn’t a big deal, that gaze insisted.  You look good.  Those horny bastards in there’ll fall over themselves trying to rent you a room.  They won’t be checking out your chin or nose or shoulders.  You can do this.  Cindy can do this.

             Cindy Bellamy gave herself a final wink and flipped the shade back up.  She pulled a red lollipop from her purse and slid it into her mouth.  “I’ll be back in a sec’, ‘kay Auntie?” she said.  She gracefully stepped out of the car, though the long drive must have left those lithe legs cramped as she tottered momentarily before finding her footing.  Finding her balance she strode briskly towards the check-in office, purse bouncing off her hip in counter-step to her stride.  The click of her heels sounded clear across the parking lot. A brisk January wind pulled at her hair and sleeves, and she hugged herself against the cold. Lights shone behind the curtains of a few rooms, and the muffled sound of a TV turned up too loud reached her ears.  Back at the car her mom popped open the trunk and began to pull out their few bags and cases.

             Cindy paused at the door to check her reflection, tucking a wayward bang back behind her ear.  The blonde-haired girl’s earrings spun and glittered in the glass.  The door chimed as she stepped into the office.

             The place stank of winter damp and greasy food.  Her nose wrinkled as she gingerly stepped around a fat, insolent cat stretched out in front of the door. There were cameras dotted around the room, but only one tracked her movement—the others hung limp and dead from their mounts on the wall. The room was lit by a single, old lamp in the corner, leaving most the room in semi-darkness. She felt a little less confident approaching the counter but took some solace in the dim lighting. The young man behind the counter sat deep in his chair, legs propped up on a banged-up metal cabinet.  Attention fixated on an old, flickering screen mounted to the wall, he didn’t even acknowledge her presence.

             With the volume set so high, he probably hadn’t heard her entrance.  The colours on the screen bled together and contrasted sharply, rendering the show--some kind of music video--in lurid detail.  Cindy bit her lower lip, clearly unsure what to do.  Her hand hovered uncertainly over the counter bell before pulling back.

             She pulled the lollipop from her mouth.  “Um . . . excuse me?”  Her soft voice went unheard under the loud blare of the television.  Cindy nearly stamped a dainty foot in frustration.  “Hello?”

             If the man was aware of Cindy, he gave no sign of it.  He idly poked at a button on the remote.

             After glaring at the back of the man’s head for a moment, Cindy slid the lollipop back into her painted mouth.  She leaned up against the counter and rested her chin in the palm of her hands.  She watched the man for a little longer and then idly reached out and, with a deft flick of the hand, knocked over an overstuffed stationary basket.  Pencils and pens cascaded over the counter and rained down on the man’s head.

             “What the hell?” he exclaimed, spinning around in his chair and leaping to his feet.

             Cindy gave a long draw on the candy in her mouth, languorously rolling her tongue over the sweet sphere before pulling it out with a wet pop.  She eyed the candy indolently for a second before her eyes wandered over to the attendant.  Her lips parted in a glossy smile.  “Hi!” she said, and the fingers of one hand danced in a cute wave.  She seemed completely unaware of the fact that her arms, drawn together at the elbow, pushed up her massive breasts and gave an even better view of the cleavage barely hidden by the low V-neck.

             The young man’s eyes went wide.  “Uh . . . hi!”  His eyes struggled between her tits and face, but if she noticed she seemed unconcerned.  “What can I, um, do for you?”            

             Cindy’s eyes sparkled with merriment as she took in his flustered appearance.  The poor thing was hardly older than a boy, his unshaven chin patchy at best and his cheap white cotton t-shirt stained with old food.  He made an unconscious attempt to smooth down his hair and met with little success.  She made a little moue.  “Oh, it’s just so annoying!” she said.  The boy jabbed at the volume control on the remote, nearly dropping it in his haste.  “My Auntie and I,” she said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the car with her lollipop, “we’re driving off into the country but we had some car problems, you know?  Now we’re, like, running majorly late?  And there’s no way we’ll get there tonight, so we kinda need a room.”

             She leaned forward conspiratorially, her breasts crushing up against the counter top, and the boy eagerly moved closer.  “I mean, this really sucks.  It’s not like I want to head out there in the first place, I’m totally a city girl, you know?  And now I’m stuck spending the night with my aunt!  Ugh.”

             He gave a tentative smile.  “That sounds, ah, horrible.”

             Cindy shrugged.  “Yeah, but what’re you gonna do, eh?  Family!”  Her tone firmly summed up all the major problems of the world with that one word.  “But she’s paying the bills so I guess I shouldn’t complain.”  She flashed her aunt’s credit card before the boy. 

             “Yeah, I know what you mean.”  The attendant seemed to relax a bit.  It was an easy topic to relate with.  “My mom’s got me working these weekend shifts or she’ll kick me out, she says.  I’ve gotta pay my room and board, can you believe?  God, she can be such a bitch sometimes.”  He took the card from Cindy, and flushed red as her finger slid along the inside of his palm.

             Her smile didn’t change, though, innocent as ever.  “Yeah, my auntie can be a total ball-breaker too, you know?”

             He looked at her curiously.  “Ball-breaker?”

             “Oh, my brother,” she stammered.  “He’s a little younger than me?  But totally over-protective?  But yeah, Mom pushes him really hard sometimes.”  She gave him a little wink.  “He’s a nice kid . . . a bit like you.”

             “Ah . . . thanks,” he stammered, quickly looking down to hide his growing blush.  “We, ah, have a couple of rooms left.  What would you like?”

             Cindy toyed with her hair.  “Well, it’s kinda gross but my aunt wants a room with just one double bed.  We’re gonna share.  Like, ick.  I mean, she’s all sweaty in her sleep and she snores!  But money’s tight, and she’s paying . . . .”  She gave another idle shrug. 

             “Well, uh. . . .”  The boy tapped a couple of buttons on a keyboard.  “I’m not really supposed to do this, but maybe I can help you out.”  His face burned red as he kept his eyes glued to the computer screen.  “It’s getting kinda late and we normally don’t get too many people after eleven.  We still have a couple double rooms left. How about I put you in one of those, and charge you for the single?”

             Cindy gave a little squeal of glee.  “You’d do that?”  She even gave a little hop of joy, and the boy was hard-pressed to pull his eyes away from the way her exposed curves quivered afterwards.  But then she stopped to think a moment, pressing one pink fingertip to her lip.  “But . . . you’re not going to get in trouble, are you?”

             He chuckled.  “Nah.  And it’s not like I love this job or nothing.”  When Cindy looked doubtful he made a few more taps on the keyboard.  “Listen, what I’ll do is I’ll book you and your mom into room 4--that’s a single room--but I’ll give you the keys for room 12, okay?  It’s got two singles.  It’s not like anybody’s going to want it tonight, anyway.”

             It only took Cindy a minute to fill in the paperwork and for the payment to go through on the card.  She slid her mother’s card back into her purse and gave the boy a big smile.  “You’re really sweet, you know that . . . .”  She looked at him inquisitively.

             “Ah, Tim.”  He stuck his hand out.

             “Cindy,” she said, meeting his hesitant but strong handshake with her soft grip.  “You’re a nice guy, Tim.”  And then, eyes fluttering wide with surprise, she quickly leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek.  His unshaven skin felt coarse against her lips.  “See you!”

             He called out to her at the door.  “Uh, Cindy?  Yeah, listen . . . uh, I mean, you don’t have to or nothin’ . . . I’m done work at midnight.  I don’t suppose you’d, like, want to grab a drink with me after work?  There’s a bar down the road . . . .”

             Cindy gave him a sad look over her shoulder.  “I’m sorry, Tim.  I . . . can’t.”

             Tim looked away.  “Nah, I understand. . . .”

             “No, it’s . . . ,” she rushed to say.  “It’s my aunt, otherwise I totally would.  We’re leaving early tomorrow, you know?  I better not be out late or anything.”  She offered a tentative smile.  “You understand, yeah?  Family?”

             “Yeah, family,” he said ruefully, and smiled.

             “See you around, Tim.”

             “Bye, Cindy.”

Three: Proof of My Manliness

My head felt like it was going to explode.

             There were all kinds of shit going on in there.  I was furious with K for sending me into that office.  Some part of me wanted to turn right around and take that fucking kid by the throat and beat the living shit out of him.  I know Tim didn’t deserve it.  He really didn’t.  But I was still pissed off.  Then there was a lot of self-loathing and disgust going on as well. Obviously.  I hated myself right then; I really did.  I mean, God damn it, I’d just kissed a fucking guy! 

             Foremost in my thoughts, though, was Ken. Ken was my first kiss.  Believe me, that’s the kind of shit can really mess you up when you’re a teen.  What with all the other craziness going on at that time, dealing with that kind of nonsense just seemed really unfair.  Now I’m thinking that maybe I never really dealt with it at all.  Things were so crazy back then it was easy to take things you’d rather not think about and kind of push them off to the side and try to forget.  But you never do, I guess.  You always remember your first kiss.  Mine came from another fucking guy.  That was also the last time a guy had kissed me.  Until tonight.  Only tonight, he hadn’t kissed me; I kissed him.

             Or rather, Cindy had.

             “Did you get us a room, dear?”

             I glared at K as I stormed over to the car.  ‘Heel-toe’ and ‘straight feet’ and ‘small steps’ were forgotten in my anger.  I was walking like a goddamn linebacker just then.  “Yeah.  Room fucking 12,” I growled.  I grabbed half the bags off the ground before remembering that there was no fucking way Cindy could carry all that shit.  “This way, Auntie.”  I fought to get my voice back under control, to push the anger back, and pretended to struggle with the weight of the luggage I carried.  Two trips and we had our bags piled up outside the room.  We worked in silence, but I could feel K’s eyes watching me carefully.

             I used the key to let us into the room.  It took two tries; my hands were shaking.  The motel room was like every other cheap-ass room I’d even been forced to spend a night in, with bad carpets and yellowing wallpaper.  Some unidentifiable, vaguely unpleasant smell hovered in the air.  There were two single beds separated by a small cabinet, a bathroom opposite the entrance, and some really bad art over a small table next to a mirror. 

             The moment the door clicked shut behind us I started to claw away at Cindy.  The sweater nearly ripped as I tore it over my head; I had one heel on and the other went flying across the room when I kicked it off.  My chest heaved with the hurry to be free of this feminine prison.  I probably would’ve tried to yank those tits off, too, if there’d been a seam to find.  I had the goddamn waist-cincher half-unzipped and my jeans unbuttoned at the crotch when K’s voice suddenly cut through my desperate effort.

             “David!  What the hell are you doing?”

             I glared at her from beneath a twisted mess of blonde hair.  “This charade is over, K!  No more Cindy.  No more bloody mincing about in fucking heels!”  I struggled with and yanked off the second shoe.  “I’ll take my chances with the killers, thank you very much.  At least if they get me, I’ll die with some goddamn pride!”

             I thought maybe she’d try to talk me down, or get all angry and bossy.  Instead, she just watched me thrash about.  Slowly her lips started to twitch up at the edges.  Her eyes sparkled with the effort of restraint.  She couldn’t hold it in anymore: K burst into loud peals of laughter.

             “It’s not fucking funny!” I yelled, gesticulating wildly with the dainty shoe still clutched in my right hand.  This just sent her into deeper hysterics.  She was nearly doubled over, clutching at her side.  I’d never seen her laugh before.

             “It’s not funny, dammit,” I insisted.  I caught a look at myself in the mirror.  Brandishing that heel like a wicked weapon, with one tit popping out and that wig hanging over my face like a headbanger’s mop . . . I looked ridiculous.  I couldn’t even walk with those jeans down around my knees, and my cock, overjoyed at the loosening of its bonds, strained mightily against its silky restraint.  I slowly pulled off my wig and dropped it to the floor.  Damn.  I did look kind of funny, especially with my face all red with anger and those veins popping out at the temple.  Hell, even I couldn’t take myself seriously, especially with all that makeup on.

             “Sit, sit!” Still struggling to regain her composure, K gestured to one of the beds before half-stumbling over to our bags.  She pulled a bottle out of a side pocket and tossed it to me.  “Just . . . relax.  Take a deep breath, David.  Have a drink.”

             I didn’t need a second invitation.  I cracked open the bottle--Jack Daniels, God, this woman understood exactly what booze each part of this relocation required--and a moment later she brought over two cheap plastic mugs from the bathroom.  She swallowed a chuckle as I grimly poured us each a stiff drink.

             “Bottoms up,” I stated.  We clinked out mugs together and pounded the booze back in one.  The strong burn of the whisky down my throat was exactly what I needed.  JD was a manly drink.  I really wanted to feel manly right then.  Even as I sat there still wearing panties and hose with tits half-spilling out of a lacy black bra.  I poured both K and myself a second.  We shot them back without a word, but I was very much aware of her eyes watching me over the rim of her mug.

             When I went for a third drink, she gently held back the bottle.  “Care to talk about it?”  She sounded halfway between Agent K and Auntie.  I was starting to wonder who the hell she really was.

             “Not really.  No.”  I pulled the bottle from her grip and poured myself another.  She held her mug out for a refill.  The third shot went down very smoothly.  I wanted to get drunk.  Check that; I wanted to get fucking drunk.  She hadn’t drunk hers, though, watching me curiously.  “What?”

             K shrugged.  “I am just gauging how drunk you have to be before feeling like you have recaptured enough of your masculine pride to tell me what is wrong.”  She raised her cup in my honour and drank it back.

             I really hated her sometimes.  “Fuck you, K.”  I refilled our cups.

             She looked around the room.  “I thought I asked you to get us a single room?”

             “Who knew Cindy could be so persuasive?”  I sneered bitterly.  “The little shit in there thought he’d do us a little favour.  I think he liked me.  Her.”

             “Ah.  I see.”

             She didn’t.  She really didn’t.  “Don’t fucking presume to know me, K.”  We touched cups and solemnly knocked back our last drink.  I screwed the bottle tightly shut and tossed it over onto her bed.  The unseen clamp wrapped around my temple slowly began to loosen.  I reached back and unhooked the bra as I talked.  “You’ve got a profile on me.  You’ve done all this research and shit.  But you don’t know me.  You have no idea what I’m feeling.”  Without support those fake breasts bobbled free.

             K averted her eyes with only the slightest of smiles.  “Then why don’t you tell me?”

             I continued to glare at her as I crossed the room in my stocking feet.  I grabbed the bag that K packed for me and found a t-shirt.  It hugged my curves and didn’t even reach my navel, hanging off the massive orbs it barely restrained.  The nipples clearly poked through the thin material, dual punctuation on either side of the emblazoned ‘Hot Stuff’ written in brilliant, sparkly pink.  Fucking hell.

             Without answering her I stomped into the toilet and slammed the door behind me.  I peeled off the jeans and those damn pantyhose and tossed the panties in the corner.  My bladder was screaming for relief, as were my balls.  After a particularly angry bout of masturbation I cleaned myself off, wrapped myself in a towel and stormed back up to K.  She was still sitting where I had left her.

             “You have any idea how this is fucking with my head, K?”  She watched me from her seat as I stalked back and forth across the room, ranting as I went.  In a torrent of angry words I explained what had happened back in the motel office, about Tim and Cindy.  She waited patiently for me to finish. When I finally flopped down onto the bed she handed me another drink.  I hadn’t even seen her pick up the bottle.  I certainly didn’t feel it but suspected I was getting very, very drunk.

             “I don’t want to dress up and act like a chick anymore, K!”

             “Very few men would want to do what you are doing, David,” K said.  Her voice was calm and soothing, motherly once again.  “And even fewer could manage it half as well as you have so far.  I already told you: you are doing very well.  You can do this, Mr Saunders.”

             “That’s easy for you to say, K.”

             “I realize that.”  She hesitated a moment.  “Tell me, what was it that made you so angry?  Was it the kiss?”

             I felt my face redden and glowered at her.  “What the fuck do you think?  Yeah, that’s damn well part of it.  A big part of it.”

             “But it was just a little kiss to the cheek, right?  How is that a big deal?”

             “It’s a big deal to me, okay?”

             Her eyes stayed fixated on me for an uncomfortably long time, as if she were processing difficult thoughts.  I tried to ignore her by rummaging through the clothes she’d packed for me.  There wasn’t a hell of a lot in there, and I was expecting it to all be stupidly girly, but buried away at the bottom I found a pair of jogging pants.  I eagerly pulled them on.  Despite riding a hell of a lot lower on the hips than anything I’d normally wear, they were blissfully comfortable after wearing those jeans all day.  Between the joggers and that ludicrous t-shirt I had something like a yard of toned midriff left exposed.

             Finally running out of patience, I turned back to K.  “What?  What the hell is it?”

             “David, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

             “I thought your damn federal profile covered everything.”

             “No, not everything,” K answered.

             “Fine then.  Ask away.”

             “Have you ever kissed another man before?”

             I slowly sank down onto the bed.  “Yeah,” I admitted.  “How’d you know?”

             “It was a hunch based on your reaction.”
             I looked at her quizzically.  “Really?  Why?”

             “Tell me, this previous kiss . . . were you young when it happened?”

             I nodded, curious where she was going with this. I’d never told anyone about Ken. Didn’t see much reason to talk about it, to be honest. Just like most things in my past, I was perfectly happy leaving them there. So I’m really not sure why I told K.  It must’ve been the alcohol.

             “Yeah.  About thirteen.  It was my first kiss.”

             The fact that it was my first seemed to take her by surprise.  “Was it your only kiss with another man?”

             “Of course!” I exclaimed.  “What do you think I am, some kind of fag?”  Hell, I don’t even have any memories of being kissed or hugged by any kind of father figure or uncle or anything.  I never really got to know my dad . . . my real dad, anyway.  So the stubble on Tim’s face?  That was the first time I’d felt anything like that up against my lip or cheek.  My fingers drifted to my face, and I still felt the phantom tickle of the boy’s skin against mine.

             She looked annoyed by my response.  “I am not suggesting anything, Mr. Saunders.  I simply find such a strong reaction to such a small action a little surprising.”

             “I kissed a fucking guy, K!”

             “It’s common in many cultures for men to show such levels of intimacy.”

             “Yeah?  Well, not in mine.”

             “Did you enjoy kissing that boy?”

             The question took me by surprise.  I didn’t know whether she meant Ken or Tim.  It didn’t matter.  The answer would’ve been the same either way: “No!”

             “Really?”  She eyes me curiously.  “I just wonder, David, whether under the stress of the last few days and through the forced role-playing of Cindy, if perhaps you are being forced to confront some aspects of yourself you have long tried to ignore?”

             I eyed her warily.  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

             “All the women, Mr. Saunders.  The macho posturing.  And today, Cindy flirting with the only two males she has met . . . .”

             “Just fucking say it, K!”

             “Could it be, Mr Saunders, that you are in some kind of denial?”

             I stared at her in stunned disbelief.  Slowly, my lips twitched into a small smile until finally, I too burst into laughter.  “What, you think I’m gay?”

             K didn’t seem amused.  “I think there is a possibility you have some repressed homosexual tendencies, yes.”

             That just sent me off into another burst of laughter.  Holy shit, but this woman cracked me up.  “You really think I’m. . . .”  I couldn’t even say it.  And the look on her face was so serious!  I stumbled to my feet and spread my arms wide before her and dropped my pants.  “Behold!  Proof of my manliness!”

             “Mr Saunders, please.”

             “Nah, check it, watch this.  Right now, I’m thinking of you, yeah?”  I gave her a lascivious grin as my dick rose to attention, strong and proud.  I really was thinking of her as well.  God, I’d love to see what the real Agent K looks like.  In the meantime, the imagination was doing a damn fine job of filling in the gaps.  I pulled the jogging pants back up and covered up, though there was no hiding the tent I’d just popped.  “I mean, seriously K, you think I’m some homo?”

             She didn’t seem much impressed by my display.  “I think there is a possibility, yes.”

             Releasing a sigh, I flopped down on the bed opposite her.  “K, you can believe whatever the fuck you want.  I don’t really care.  I really don’t.  Though if you think a day of dressing up in chicks’ clothing and flouncing about as Cindy is going to turn me to the other side, you really don’t know me at all.

             “Hell, how’s this, I’ll even tell you something I’ve never told anyone else: I actually wondered if I might be gay too, when I was a kid.  Seriously!  The kid I told you about, the one who kissed me when I was a teen?  His name was Ken.”  I flopped back on the bed, speaking to the ceiling.  It was very distracting how, once they stopped wobbling about, those heavy breasts flattened beneath the t-shirt and weighed heavily on my chest.  I quickly told her about Ken and about how I beat the crap out of him.

             “And after I made up with Ken, there was a part of me . . . I mean, there really was a part of me . . . that wanted to be that way for him.  I dunno why.  To make up for hurting him?  Or maybe because I really, really didn’t want to lose his friendship.  I mean, fuck, K--friends, you know?  They’re one of the only things really worth fighting for.”

             I linked my hands behind my head and released a deep sigh.  Why the hell was I telling her any of this?  There were only one, maybe two people I’ve ever been this open with before.  “But I couldn’t.  I really couldn’t.  I looked at Ken and, yeah, I felt very protective.  I cared for the guy.  But he didn’t do anything for me, if you know what I mean.  And Ken damn well knew it.  If he hadn’t been so honest I probably would’ve been messed in the head for a hell of a lot longer than I was.”

             I felt a bit nauseous, and it wasn’t the alcohol.  I really didn’t like thinking about my past much.

             “So, you really want to know why I was so angry, K?”

             “Yes.  Please,” she answered, in a tone that I couldn’t quite place.  I was tempted to sit up and have a look at her face, but I also really wanted to get this off my chest while I was still in a talking mood.  It didn’t happen often.

             “See, this is the thing.  I mean, really, if I was that insecure about my masculinity, K, d’you really think I’d be going around with these fucking things?”  I hefted those udders stuck to my chest.  “The reason I can pull off the Cindy thing so well is because I know she isn’t me.  I don’t enjoy it--hell, I damn well hate it--but Cindy’s like a completely different person.  What she does doesn’t really reflect on me, you know?”

             “Then why did that kiss make you so angry?” K asked.

             I sighed.  “Because it made me feel sick, touching my lips to that boy’s cheek.  Even after everything I’ve said, it made me sick to my fucking stomach.  And it shouldn’t have.  It really shouldn’t have.  A lifetime ago I almost put a friend--hell, he was more than a friend, he was probably my first real friend--in the hospital because he freaked me out.  I didn’t understand him . . . although at that time I didn’t really understand myself either.

             “But that was over ten years ago!  I thought I’d grown since then.  I kept in touch with Ken over the years.  Him being gay really didn’t matter.  Or so I thought.  Only now, I find out I’m still the same pathetic homophobe I was when I was a kid.  I thought I’d figured myself out years ago.  And now Cindy’s showing me that I haven’t.  There’s still somewhere inside of me that’s scared and insecure--a part of me that’s freaked out by something as stupid as a guy kissing another guy.

             “So, yes, K, that really pisses me off.  I hate myself for being weak.  And worse, I’m angry at myself because it feels like I’m betraying the memory of Ken.”

             “Memory?”  Her voice was surprisingly soft.

             “Yeah.  Ken died a few years ago.  He fought the good fight but the disease finally got him.”

             “I’m sorry, David.  AIDS?”

             “Nah.  Cancer.  The idiot smoked—like, so much.”

             K shook her head.  “You were right, Mr Saunders.  I don’t know you after all.  Come on, the food is getting cold.”

Four: A Teenage Boy’s Wet Dream

Things got a little weird after we ate.  The food itself pissed me off.  I hadn’t really paid attention at the drive-through window, focusing intently on being the most convincing Cindy I could possibly be.  Now I was finding out that K, damn her to hell, had bought ‘healthy’ food for me.  God damn those healthy-eating initiatives!  I wanted a burger and fries, not some fucking salad.

             Once I’d calmed down, K coerced me back into Cindy-practice mode.  She insisted I slip the waist-cincher, heels and wig back on, though she didn’t seem to mind the jogging pants and t-shirt.  Thing is, even dressed-down like that I still looked like a flirty coed, back from a game of Ultimate Frisbee or something.  K taught me how to clean the makeup off my face, apparently a very important ritual for young women concerned with keeping their skin healthy and smooth.

             It was still weird, looking at myself in the mirror and seeing Cindy, though I didn’t feel quite as sick to the stomach anymore.  The lack of heavy makeup made a huge difference.  My features lost their softness, returning to familiar rough edges, and I was almost disappointed to see my eyes fade back to their normal green.  The dichotomy between face and body, though, really freaked me out.  Those curves just looked way too real.

             Halfway through dinner my throat tingled and my voice broke, similar to passing through a second puberty.  Fifteen minutes later I sounded like a man again.  For the first few minutes my own voice sounded strange to my ears, which was a little disconcerting.   It was getting late and exhaustion was catching up to me, but K wasn’t quite done yet.  She insisted we squeeze in another hour of training before bed.  In a repeat of the time spent at the safe house, K had me prancing back and forth across the room, this time in a pair of pumps with slightly higher heels.  I was so tired I was starting to feel hazy again.  I couldn’t even muster up a defence against her drill-sergeant ways and numbly did as she asked.  She had me incorporating gestures into my walk, and I held my wrist just a little limper than normal, or bit my lower lip with uncertainty, or toyed with my hair . . . she directed and I acted.

             The whole thing got pretty damn boring pretty damn fast.  I actually found drifting into a hazy autopilot myself and thinking about Tim.  Poor little shit.  He seemed like a nice enough kid.  Cindy wasn’t the girl for him.  I checked the time and saw that he’d be finishing his shift in another fifteen minutes.  Ten to one he was secretly hoping Cindy would change her mind and sneak away from Auntie and grab a drink with him.  Maybe that wasn’t the only thing he was hoping to grab tonight.  I wondered if he’d go home and jerk off thinking about me.  For a moment that seemed kind of funny; then it seemed kind of sick.

             Eventually K relented and it was time for bed.  I was almost ready to fall over, and it wasn’t because of the heels.  When I went to strip that damned cincher off K stopped me.  “Training,” she said.  “Your body can keep practicing as you sleep, even if your mind can not.”  Then she handed me something flimsy and pink.  “And wear this to bed, please.”

             I clutched the gauzy fabric in my hand.  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, K,” I grumbled, and as always she wasn’t.  Personally, I like to sleep naked.  I usually do.  It’s different for girls, apparently.  They sure as hell have more to choose from when it comes to nightwear.  K had just made my first choice.

             Cindy, it seemed, liked to be a little naughty.  That’s what I would call the stretch lace babydoll (and matching panty, for fuck’s sake) K handed me.  The underwire shoved those tits back up in my face and the hem didn’t even clear my ass--and the short slit that went up to my waist showed off even more.  The fabric clung to me in a distressingly silky way.  Not only did I feel total fucking gay wearing that damned thing--I somehow felt more naked than if I hadn’t worn a thing.  K’s plain, long t-shirt seemed almost matronly (and far more comfortable) in comparison.

             I was too tired to be horny, even at the sight of a partly-naked K.  My bits made a noticeable but reasonable bulge in those skimpy panties.  With a sigh of relief I crawled under the covers, only mildly put off by the weirdly slick feeling of my shaved, lingerie-clad body sliding between those stiff, starched sheets.  Fuck it.  I just wanted sleep. That goddam underwire better not jab me during the night.

             K turned off the lights.  “Goodnight, Cindy.”

             “Goodnight, Auntie.”

             Sweet dreams, right?

             The lights had been off for all of five minutes before we heard the urgent, quiet knock at the door.  I had been drifting in that heavy-limbed zone between wakefulness and deep sleep; with a jerk I snapped fully awake.  I heard K drop quietly to the floor between our beds.  There was the very faint click of a safety being disengaged.

             “Cindy?”  The whispered voice sounded familiar.  Tim?

             I glanced back at K.  “It’s the boy from the office,” I said in a low voice.

             She gestured for me to move forward.  Her silhouette faded into the shadows. 

             I padded over to the door.  I only hesitated a moment before cracking it open.  “Tim?” I whispered in a low, hoarse voice.

             “Cindy?”  Damn, but I didn’t sound much like the girl from before.  I opened the door a little further.  Any doubt he had was dispelled at the sight of me.  He couldn’t see me well, standing as I was mostly in darkness, but the flutter of the babydoll around my bared legs was enough.  I kept one hand over my crotch, though.  Nothing ruins a teenage boy’s wet dream like the sight of an unseemly bulge in a girl’s panties, yeah?  Fortunately the darkened room kept my face mostly obscured.

             Bless the little punk, but he finally managed to drag his eyes away from the sight of those massive jugs resting half-uncovered in their lacy pink cups.  “Tim,” I whispered, “I told you I can’t. . . .”

             “It’s not that,” he interrupted me, his voice full of urgency.  “There’re some cops or something asking questions about you!”

             That certainly caught my attention.  Standing behind that door naked but for a pair of fake tits and a flimsy scrap of semi-transparent nylon, I suddenly felt horribly vulnerable.  Fuck.  Fuck!

             “They came in just after my shift.  I didn’t see it but they were flashing a picture and badges around and asking about anyone who’d booked in tonight.  The late night guy checked the records and told them you were in room 4.”  Still standing outside, he glanced to the side.  “They’re in there right now.”  His eyes found mine, and I was stunned by the genuine concern I saw in there.  “Listen, Cindy . . . I don’t know what’s going on.  I think you’re in some kind of trouble.  And I probably shouldn’t get involved.”

             No, you shouldn’t, you stupid little punk.  You’ll just get yourself killed.

             Tim smiled bashfully, his eyes flashing in the pale light of the outside lamps.  “But I also think you’re one of the most amazing girls I’ve ever met,” he said.  “And whatever’s going on, I wanted to let you know that.”  He glanced to the side again.  “Uh oh.   I think they’re almost done over there.  I better get the hell out of here.”  And then, with a final sweet smile, Tim said, “good luck,” and took off.

             I closed and locked the door behind him.  Shit.

             A moment later K leapt into action.  “Get away from the door,” she hissed, grabbing a small suitcase from the floor.  “Say ‘ah.’”  It didn’t occur to me protest as she shoved that fucking rod down my throat again.  I was feeling out of it from that ‘most amazing girl I’ve ever met’ comment.  Everything went cold and numb again.  K then ushered me into the bathroom.  “We do not have much time,” she said, starting the shower.  The hiss of falling water filled the room.  “Get undressed.”

            My throat all bunged up with that crazy spray, I couldn’t argue or ask what the hell was going on.  I quickly stripped.  To my surprise, she stripped down to her bra and panties.  “Once they find you missing, they will begin a systematic search of every room in the motel,” she said.  “We’re going to give them Cindy.  This is it, Mr Saunders.  You’ve done it twice now.  This is your final test.”

            She shoved me into the shower.

Five: A Thousand White-Hot Needles

The first time I had sex I was sixteen.  It wasn’t a great experience.  What it was, that first time, like so many other firsts in my life, was fucked up.  A high school bush party, one of those big ones out in some shitty stretch of land on the outskirts of town that some kid’s parents own.  All the usual shit was there: bonfires, burning bright under the crisp night sky; kegs and cases of beer; coolers overflowing with ice and girly drinks, and forty-ouncers of the hard stuff; and teenage hormones.  Oh yeah, lots of the last thrown into the mix.  The air was thick with it.  All swirled up and made complicated in that pressure-cooker high school kind of way. 

            I was the new kid in school, a bit of a bad-ass and an outsider, but I knew enough of the cool kids to get an invite to a thing like this.  Thing is, I wasn’t there for the fun of it.  I was there for Muna.  Sweet Muna, with soft mocha eyes and dark skin as smooth as silk.  She was dating this guy called Karl, this Aryan fucker, a right proper asshole who fancied himself a bit of a badass as well.  And Muna . . . yeah, sweet Muna, she was one of the nastiest pieces of work I’ve ever met.  But I had to get to know her better.  A lot better.

            So I swaggered into that seething pit of teenage alliances and social dramas and walked straight up to the King of the whole shitpile.  Karl didn’t much like me.  I didn’t much like him either and let him know exactly what I thought.  Those other kids, they must’ve thought I was drunk out of my mind.  I was cold sober.  Karl knew it as well.  It didn’t take much to goad him into a fight.  The dude was tough; he knew how to fight.  I was tougher; I fought harder.  And afterwards I had Muna.  She knew a winner when she saw one.  Some girls figure it out young.  God, I hated her.  The sight of her made me want to puke.

            She was my first. I did it for Sakura; she needed me to get to close to this seventeen-year-old bitch, and the best way for that happen was for me to give up my virginity, apparently. She damn well knew how to get her hooks in me, that Muna.  She took charge and that night was awful, fucking awful, and it left its indelible mark on me. Muna saw potential in me, and she wanted it for herself, and she set about controlling me the only way I think she knew how: with her cunt.

            A cunt not unlike the one I currently held in my hand.

            I stood in a slight state of shock, holding this disembodied pussy in my hands and feeling it slowly warm beneath my touch.  I still couldn’t talk but it didn’t make much difference; I couldn’t think of anything to say.  The shower had been a quick one.  K had clambered in and knelt before me and before I quite knew what was happening she was shaving my crotch bare.

            Then she dragged me back to the bedroom and gave me a little shove.  I was sitting numbly at the edge of the bed.  She was kneeling between my legs.  “Do you trust me, Mr Saunders?”

            I gave a mute nod, staring blankly at the vagina I held in my hand.  I thought it was kind of cute, as far as vaginas go.  It had the same rubbery feeling and slightly grey colour that the artificial breasts first had before bonding to my body.  After Muna I quickly discovered that every girl’s pussy was a unique creation.  I had a sinking feeling that the one in my hand was Cindy’s.  Go figure.  Cindy’s vagina was cute.

            “I’m sorry, David,” K said.  I wondered why, turning my attention back to what she was doing.  Too late I saw her smear that pungent amber goo across my scrotum, penis and inner thighs.

            What the fuck was she doing?  I gave a muffled cry of horror as I felt the initial tingling sink into my balls.  It probably wasn’t safe for me to talk yet but I couldn’t keep a whispered “oh God please no” from escaping my lips.

            K handed me a pillow.  “Bite down on this,” she said, eyes filled with sympathy.  I glared back at her with hatred and snatched the damn thing from her.  “I fucking hate you,” I hissed, before singing back into the softness of the bed.  The tingling in my groin grew warm.  I whimpered, unbidden tears leaping to my eyes.  I shoved as much of that damn pillow as I could into my mouth until I nearly choked on it.  I tried to focus on something to distract me from the coming pain, but there wasn’t time, I couldn’t concentrate, not with that burning in my crotch and the stifling weight on my chest.  Still, at least I knew what was coming.

            No, I didn’t. A thousand white-hot needles being slowly pushed into my motherfucking gonads--that’s what it felt like.  I howled into the pillow and my entire existence became white, searing pain.  I writhed on the bed and bucked against the strong arms that held me down.  Something popped in my side, the early injury from the attempted assassination. Tears streamed down my face and inside I silently pleaded and begged for the pain to be done, for the torture to end, for it to be over….

            And then it was, and K was down between my legs holding something over the numb spot my groin had become.  Drained of strength, I couldn’t have forced her away even if I tried.  My breath came in ragged gasps as my sweat-drenched body rapidly cooled.  By the time I found the strength to sit up K had already pulled away.

            “Are you okay?” she asked in a soft voice.

            I blinked away the tears and gave a curt, angry nod.

            “I’m sorry, Mr Saunders.  I had hoped that it would not be necessary.  But we may not have another chance to quite so convincingly throw off our pursuers.  Have a look, Cindy.”

            I had to strain to see past those tits, but I could just make out a rounded, lightly furry mound where my boys used to be.

            Was it safe to talk yet?  Somehow that seemed a minor concern compared to my bits down below.  “K,” I asked in a weak voice, “are they. . . .”

            K hastened to convince me that everything was fine.  “Your . . . equipment, is perfectly fine, Mr Saunders.  They are merely hidden away behind the prosthetic.”

            They certainly didn’t feel fine.  In fact, what I could feel down there felt fucking weird and wrong.  When those breasts first warmed to my chest I was gradually hit with the very disconcerting awareness of sensations coming from several inches further out from my chest than I was used to.  And now . . . I had no idea what I was feeling; my mind couldn’t process it yet.  I reached down with one tentative hand but K held me back at the wrist.  “No time, Cindy,” she said, with a tight little smile.  She pulled several articles of clothing from the suitcase.

            “Let’s get you ready for the big show.”

Six: The Feral Grin of a Predator

The knocking on the door was loud and insistent.

            Cindy secured the chain before daring to open the door.  “Y . . . yes?”  Peeking through the crack she saw a very determined, very official-looking man standing impatiently outside, and an equally serious-looking woman waited behind him.  “Can I help you?”

            “Federal agents,” the man stated.  “Special Agent Fosters.” He jerked his thumb at the figure behind him. “And this is Special Agent Abimbola.”  His eyes widened in surprise at what he saw.  “Uh, miss.  We need you to open the door, please.”

            Cindy face glowed bright pink despite the cool air wafting in from outside.  “It’s, um, not really a good time. . . .”  She looked back at the room and down at herself and her blush deepened.  From behind her came the sound of water running in the shower.  “Please, officer, couldn’t this wait until morning?”

            His eyes glittered, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. The man held out his badge.  “I’m sorry miss,” he said, sounding anything but. “But I really must insist.”

            After glancing at the badge, blinking confusedly at it, she reluctantly unhooked the chain and stepped back.  The door swung open and the two officers strode into the room.

            Her long, slender legs shimmered in sheer white stockings as she skittishly flounced across the room.  Flustered by the unexpected interruption, Cindy tottered unsteadily in four-inch ankle-wrap stilettos, the impossibly thin heel accentuating the smooth, lean curve of her calves.  Thin white garters strained tautly across her slim derriere as she carefully bent down to collect the insubstantial red gown tossed haphazardly across the pushed-together beds.  She fumbled to slip into the garment as the man gazed with open admiration at this vision of young beauty.  There was nothing innocent about the sheer merrywidow to which the garters attached, nor in its plunge front over which her bountiful breasts spilled. In the dim light of the room, her makeup glimmered beautifully, and her golden-hued skin drew a warm contrast with her lingerie.

            She finally managed to pull on the gown, though it did little to cover her.  The layers of sheer fabric did little for her modesty; rather, it simply added to the seductive allure of those hidden places.  The halter gown left her entire back open and one leg slid sensuously free of the high slit.  The gown also did nothing to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing any panties.

            Cindy nervously smoothed down her front with a lightly trembling hand.  Her eyes glistened with barely-repressed tears and her lower lip trembled, much like a young child caught doing something naughty.

            The man who had spoken at the door stared openly at the space between her legs.  “Miss--?”

            “Cindy,” she said, velvety pink lips parting in a timorous smile that disappeared almost immediately.  Her face had an almost luminous sheen in the dimly--one could even say romantically--lit room.  “Um, Cindy Bellamy.”  She nervously crossed her arms beneath her breasts, uncrossed them, and finally tangled her fingers in the mesh fabric of the gown over her veiled muff.

            The man’s eyes swept the room as an amused smile danced along the female agent’s full lips. She held a tablet and was tapping in names—no doubt running a search. “The motel office has a Miss Cindy Bellamy registered in room four, along with Wendy Jones.  Mother and aunt?”

            Cindy chewed on the corner of her lip.  Brilliant green eyes ringed in smouldering hues shone beneath thick, improbably long lashes.  “I knew I shouldn’t have taken it.  Oh, I knew it!”

            The man raised an eyebrow.

           “The boy at the counter.  Tim.  He was so cute and shy, and nice, and he offered to put me in this room instead and only charge me for the cheap room, and I didn’t want him to get in trouble but I didn’t think he would, and it’s just this one time, I promise, and . . . .”

            “Easy there, Miss Bellamy. Please.”  The shimmering dusting across her exposed neck and breast drew his gaze.  He licked his lips and something dark entered his eyes.  “And your. . . aunt?”

            Cindy shook her head.  Those long, dangling earrings flashed and danced beneath the sweeping curtain of blonde hair.

            “Miss Bellamy?”

            She nibbled on her lower lip for another moment before answering.  “I’m not here with my aunt, okay?”  Her voice sounded hoarse with petulant frustration and teary embarrassment.  “I registered under her name but she’s not here.”  She jerked her thumb towards the bathroom.  “I’m with . . . him.”

            The evidence was clear to see.  An open bottle of wine and the two half-finished glasses, one whose rim was ringed with pink lip-prints.  Bed sheets half drawn back but slightly ruffled in the middle, as if someone had been laying there in waiting.  An unopened condom lying in wait on the nightstand.  A messy trail of men’s socks and boxers led into the toilet.  Recently lit candles were scatted around the room, the naked flames dancing in the cold January air from outside.  Sweet, floral perfume wafted from the nervously fidgeting girl standing half-naked before Agent Fosters, even as her nipples tightened and grew erect in the cold air. 

            The muscle in the man’s jaw jumped. He released an angry grunt. He looked aside to his partner, who shrugged.

            “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Miss,” the man said. He did not sound sorry.  The way his eyes raked across her suggested he’d much prefer to disturb her some more.

            Cindy took a hesitant step back.  “Is there some kind of problem?” she asked, clearly concerned.  “Is there any danger?”

            He grinned and shook his head.  “Nothing you have to worry your pretty head about,” he said.

            “Really?”  Her lips split in a hesitant smile.  “That’s a relief.”

            The woman spoke for the first time.  Her face was beautiful though severe, and she offered a wide smile that fell very short of her eyes as she examined her target.  “While we’re here. . . .” she suggested.  By the tone of her voice she didn’t sound in any hurry to leave, which only intensified Cindy’s nervous blush.  Her eyes kept slowly sliding over the contours of the young girl’s body before settling over the shadowy area between her pale thighs.

            Agent Fosters sighed.  “Yeah, go on.”  He reached into his jacket and pulled out an 8x10 photograph.  He approached Cindy and held the image out for her to see.  “We’re looking for this individual.”

            She carefully examined it, absently chewing on the tip of her hair.  “Is she dangerous?”

            The man's jaw clenched.  “Yes. Very.”

            “Oh my.” Cindy eyes were wide with fear. “I guess it's good then that you definitely look like you can take care of yourself.”

            The door to the toilet cracked open.  “Hey, Cindy!” called out a deep, baritone voice.  “You comin’ or what?”

            “Maybe we’ll just leave you to it,” the man said. His eyes seared across her a final time: lips, tits, pussy. He smiled, the feral grin of a predator. “Have fun.”

            Beneath her striking makeup Cindy blushed a hot, fiery red. 

            The man and woman stepped out of the room.  The door locked behind them.  Cindy leaned against the shut door, closed her eyes and released an exhausted sigh.

            When I opened my eyes, I steeled myself for what came next.

            With deliberate, careful steps I crossed the room.  I pulled out one of the cases K had stowed beneath the bed.  She’d left it unlocked . . . just in case.  When I lifted the lid the weapons inside shone dully in the faint light.

            The gun settled comfortably in my grip.  I slotted in the magazine and disengaged the safety and chambered the first round. 

            I’d put up with a lot over the few days.  I’d endured enough.  Sometimes you lay back and put up with the bullshit life throws your way.  And sometimes, you tell fate to go fuck itself and take charge of your situation.

            K stepped from the bathroom, her firearm held low but ready.  Without hesitation I levelled the gun at her.

            She raised one eyebrow inquisitively.  “David?”

            “Care to explain, Agent K,” I asked, “why the feds were looking for you, not me?

To be continued. . . .