Ovid 3: The Road Crew free porn video

Time to visit Ovid again. As usual, this contains some adult material (maybe PG-13), so use your own discretion. You may archive at any site, but please notify me of your intention to do so. Comments are always appreciated. Ovid III: The Road Crew By The Professor It had grown colder in Ovid through the month of December. The remains of an early December snow were still piled by the side of the streets and a gray sky threatened at least another four inches before evening. I had grown up in Pennsylvania and had laughed at snow and ice from the time I was old enough to drive. But I was male then. Being changed into a woman with two small children tends to change one's perspective about such things as icy roads. I had a lot of errands to run before meeting my husband, Jerry, at Northside Elementary for the twin's Christmas pageant. As I headed for my car in the municipal employee's parking lot, I looked at my watch. If I could change one thing about being a woman, it would be to make larger watches fashionable. What idiot ever convinced women to wear these petite little watches with a face that you needed a microscope to read? I smiled to myself. Other than that and a couple of other things, like periods, I found I was actually enjoying my new womanhood. Court had gotten out early, so I was able to finish up some paperwork and take the afternoon off. I needed the time. I still had a lot of Christmas shopping to do, and stores in small towns like Ovid don't stay open late like the malls in bigger cities. Thank god I had a Christmas list from Jerry and the kids. I wouldn't have had the foggiest idea what to get them. Although they knew me as a constant in their lives in my role as wife and mother, I had known them in their present personas for only a little over two months. Even with the list, though, I wouldn't have a lot of time. If I hurried, I might have time for a - "Lunch?" I turned at the sound of a musical voice, a voice I would recognize no matter what body she wore. "Dina!" I exclaimed, forgetting that she no longer called herself Dina Luna. Dina had been an attractive Hispanic woman. She had decided to change herself for Susan's wedding. "Goes better with the dress," she had said. The woman who stood before me was a tall, well-proportioned redhead with pale Irish skin in a lovely emerald green dress. She wasn't dressed warmly enough for the day, but when you're the goddess Diana, I guess warding off the cold isn't a big problem. She was stunning as always. She flashed here emerald eyes (which, of course matched the dress) at me and said in a light brogue, "What do ya' say, lass? A bite 'o lunch perhaps? And remember, it tisn't Dina now, it's Diana O'Moon." I laughed, "What? No Irish last name for 'Moon?'" She snorted in disgust, giving up on the brogue as well. "I'm afraid not. The Irish language sounds like someone clearing her throat. The word for moon is something like 'gealach.' I don't even know if I'm pronouncing it right, so let's just stay with O'Moon." "Fine with me," I smiled. I knew why she had done it. We had both been in Susan Henderson's wedding, and she had chosen green dresses for the bridesmaids. As Dina, Diane had fretted that the dress didn't look that good against her dark skin, although she loved the dress. I had see the wheels turning the whole week before the wedding. Sure enough, when she showed up at the rehearsal, she had picked a new look that went well with green. "So how about lunch?" "Diana, I'd love to, but I have so much Christmas shopping to do," I protested. "I thought I'd just grab a quick sandwich and fight the shopping crowds at March's" "No need," she said with a teasing grin as she pulled a small sheet of paper out of the air. "Vera is holding a few packages for you at March's right now. This is the list." "You've done my shopping for me?" I practically squealed. "Let me see the list." She handed me the list. It was virtually identical to the one I had in my purse. "But how did you...?" "What's the good of being a goddess if you can't use a little magic to help your friends? See, now you have time for lunch." And that's how we ended up at the Greenhouse, waiting for our lunches with a glass of wine each. I normally wouldn't drink at lunch, but since I wasn't going back to work that day, I figured I might as well. I needed to celebrate the unexpected and successful conclusion of my first Christmas shopping as Cindy Patton. "Okay," I said after we had ordered, "you want something, don't you?" Diana looked around the room in mock innocence. "Oh, nothing, really. I just thought since you had a little time, you could tell me a story." Telling a story to one of the gods consisted of falling into a trance for a few seconds in which we would virtually relive the exploits of one of Ovid's newest residents. Although to someone who casually looked at me, it would appear that I was in a trance for only a few seconds, entire days and weeks would go by for Diana and I. "Okay," I relented. After all, she had done all of my shopping for me. It was the least I could do. And besides, it was actually a lot of fun. "Is there something in particular you'd like to hear? We had a college girl from Omaha through the other day who got herself changed into a three month old baby boy." She scrunched up her face. "Ugh! Not my kind of story. Even if they remember their past lives, all they can think about is where's mom for the next meal and how long before I'm potty trained? Besides, I hate the taste of the baby food." "Well," I ventured, knowing very well the story she wanted to hear, "there was a state road crew through here a few weeks ago." "Right!" she said brightly. "I heard about that. It was just before Susan's wedding, wasn't it? Well, come on, girl, tell it!" "Okay," I said relaxing for the coming trance. "It seems there was a pothole just outside of Ovid..." *** I had a teacher in high school who used to say to me, "Marty, not very many ditches are dug by hand any more." That was his was of trying to motivate us to get a good education. Well, I'm here to tell you he was wrong. A lot of ditches are dug by hand. I know it for a fact, because I've dug plenty of them. And when I'm not digging ditches, I'm filling potholes or raking concrete or doing any of a number of tiresome, dirty jobs for the Oklahoma Department of Roads. My teacher was right about one thing, though. He said I couldn't avoid digging ditches if I didn't get a good education. I hate it when he's right. It isn't that I wasn't smart. Hell, I had an IQ that meant I could have been a rocket scientist if I wanted to, but I didn't. All I wanted was to have fun, and man, did I ever have fun. I lost my cherry on my fifteenth birthday. She was a Junior - a year ahead of me - but Jeez, could she fuck. And she was just the first. By the time I dropped out of school in the middle of my Junior year, she was just the first out of about twenty. I started drinking at the same time. Not too much at one time, but you know, just drinking. It wasn't hard to get booze. All you had to do was hang around some of the older guys, and they'd buy it for you. I didn't drink much anymore. It was too hard to get up the next day and go to work with a hangover. Besides, drinking was an expensive habit, and expensive I couldn't afford. Okay, so if I was so smart, why did I drop out of high school? Was it because I was more interested in sex? No, not really. Sex was extracurricular. I never had to cut class to have sex. Was it the drinking? No, I didn't drink any more than a lot of my fellow students. Was it because I was stupid? Well, a case could be made for that. To be completely honest, though, I was bored. Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. I thought I was too smart to be in school. I was wrong. By the time I wised up, I was nineteen and working too hard to keep myself fed to take the time to go back and finish my education. It's a shame, too. What's the old line Marlon Brando has in On the Waterfront? "I coulda been a contender; I coulda been somebody." My folks didn't really give a rat's ass. They had six kids to raise, and I was just number four. My big brother, Billy, he was into drugs. He was really fucked up, and mom and dad knew it. He got a lot of attention. The rest of my brothers and sisters were just like me - unmotivated. One of my brothers and one of my sisters finally graduated from high school, but the other two sisters got knocked up and dropped out. Me? Well, I've gotten a little education on my own at least. As long as I can remember, I've loved to read. I'm probably the only guy digging ditches for the State of Oklahoma Department of Roads who's read most of Shakespeare's plays. I knew I had to be the only one that well-read who had been digging them for ten years. I mean, I wasn't all bad. I didn't smoke. I just never liked cancer sticks. And I didn't do drugs. Or sure, I had tried pot. Bor-ring. Heavier drugs I stayed away from. I didn't need drugs to be a loser. I could do it just fine without them. The girls had pretty much gone away by now. The ones who used to be interested in me weren't anymore. I was a loser. And the ones that were interested in me were bigger losers than I was, so I wasn't interested in them. Working on a road crew was about as high as I figured I'd ever go in life. I mean, it had its advantages. The pay wasn't bad, and since the state did a complete background check, I didn't have to compete with illegal aliens for the job. About the only guys who got into this sort of manual labor were the dropouts and the illegals. Everybody else had too much sense. At least, I thought to myself as I looked out the truck window at the cold December landscape, it wouldn't be too rough today. We had gotten a pretty easy assignment. We were going to fill a couple of big potholes out on a stretch of state highway that didn't get a lot of use. The truck was loaded with cold patch, a tar-like substance that can be applied to a road in winter. It doesn't hold like the hot tar you see in the summer, but it makes the road a little smoother until a permanent patch can be made. Our supervisor had gotten a call from some judge who said he had to get his Lincoln realigned after he hit one of those potholes. When a guy like me calls up to complain about a road, nobody gets too excited, but when a judge calls up, a road crew looks like a fire company at a four- alarm fire. We had been dispatched out of our home base in Muskogee, so we were a little out of our normal territory, but as I said, when a judge says jump, we jump. I was surprised there weren't more than four of us on the crew. Actually, two guys could have handled it, but our supervisor jumps when somebody important tells him to. Brad Blackstone was driving the truck. He and I had been told to go on out to the site and wait for two other workmen who were being diverted from another job. That was fine with me. Brad and I were pretty good friends. We had worked together and played together for over a year. I guess it was because we were two of a kind. Like me, Brad was pretty bright to be working on a road crew. Unlike me, I got the idea he wasn't here because of a lack of motivation. There was something in Brad's past that had driven him from Chicago to Oklahoma, but I didn't know what it was. He never talked about it, or his family or anything else. The only thing I really knew about him was that like me, he had never graduated from high school. It was as if he didn't want anybody to know anything about his past. Whatever happened, it must have been serious, I thought. My job for the day would be sentry. Every road crew needed to have somebody standing out on the road in an ugly yellow safety vest with that pole sign that said Slow on one side and Stop on the other. That was the easiest job on the crew. I had drawn that job because I was on light duty since I had pulled a back muscle a couple of days before. I'd probably take crap from the diggers since sentry was easy. "Who's digging today?" I asked Brad. He shrugged as he brought the truck to a stop next to the road. "I don't know," he said. "Just as long as it's not the Asshole Twins." "Right," I agreed. The Asshole Twins weren't really twins. They weren't even really related, but they were assholes. Mack was the brains of the pair, although he probably had more cunning than intelligence. He was about my height - six feet - but with a spare tire around the middle. You wouldn't figure a guy could get pudgy doing what we did for a living, but Mack managed. His partner was Bear. Bear was about as tall as Godzilla, and he was the brawn of the outfit. Whatever Mack said, Bear did. I didn't even like to think about everything that might entail. Almost for certain it included selling drugs, but I was sure there were plenty of other unsavory activities for them to be involved in as well. I tried to ignore their sidelines. It probably wasn't safe to get involved. Brad was busy looking at a map. He would stop every few seconds and look around. "Shit!" "What's the problem?" I asked. "We're lost. That's the problem." I looked at the map. It was a highly detailed, official department map. "How can we be lost?" "I don't know," Brad said angrily, pounding his fist against the door. "Damn! Now Murray is going to be pissed." Murray was our supervisor. "Well, where are we supposed to be?" I asked, more than a little concerned. This job might have been shitty, but I needed it. Crews that wandered around lost didn't keep their jobs very long. "Right here," Brad said, pointing at an intersection between two state highways. "I passed County Road 12 five miles ago. This intersection should have been at least a mile back, but there's no intersection here. And see that town over there?" I saw the town he was speaking of. It was a small town, maybe ten or twelve thousand, nestled in a little valley below. "Yeah?" "Well it ain't supposed to be there," he told me with a heavy sigh. Every truck carried a mobile radio. I picked ours up and said, "Unit thirty-six to base. Come back." I released the call button to wait for a reply, but all I got was static. "Here, give me that," Brad demanded, pulling the radio out of my hand. "Unit thirty-six to base. Come back." I don't know why he expected it to work for him when it wouldn't work for me, but he was disappointed. He got the same static in reply that I did. "Ain't that a kick in the ass!" he growled, thrusting the radio back into my hand. Yeah, it was a kick in the ass. What it meant was that we were lost with a full load of tar and sand, and two diggers were going to be someplace else waiting for us without hearing anything about where we were. The final result of the snafu was that Brad and I would probably have to get back to state Maintenance and let Murray chew on our butts for not being where we were supposed to be. Great. "Hold on," Brad said, suddenly a little calmer. He was watching a white extended cab pickup truck approaching us from behind. It appeared to be a state vehicle. At least maybe we'd all be lost together. The truck pulled up behind us and two men got out, one tall and one gargantuan. "Oh shit!" I breathed. "It's the Asshole Twins." "Shit don't say half of it, brother," Brad muttered. We hopped down out of the truck to meet our diggers. They looked to be about as pissed as we were. To make matters worse, they both looked like they had had a busy night of parties before they came to work. Bear's face was flushed, and Mack's face was the color of a stop sign. "So where's the fucking pothole?" Mack yelled, as if it were our fault that it wasn't there. "Don't know," was Brad's terse reply. Brad had taken a dislike to Mack the minute he met him, almost six months before. He had never found any reason to change his first impression. I think if it wasn't for the ever-present Bear, Brad would have taken Mack out months earlier. "Well what the fuck are we supposed to do?" Mack asked, exasperated. "How should I know?" Brad asked, leaning back against the truck. "Did you radio in?" Mack demanded. "We couldn't get through," I replied, although the question had been addressed to Brad. Mack didn't like Brad, but me, he hated. It was almost as if he hated anybody who was smarter than he was. That meant he hated an awful lot of people. I think I was pretty close to the top of his list. Mack looked at me, as if trying to think of a snappy comeback. It took him a while, but he finally said sarcastically, "You mean a smart kid like you can't figure out how to use the radio?" Kid. Mack was about thirty, and I was only a couple of years younger. Kid my ass. "Try yours," I told him. I liked that. It was a challenge, so he had to accept it, but it also sounded like an order. I guess Mack realized it, too, because he took a few seconds to respond. At last, he must have figured that if he got through, he would show me up, because he pushed the Talk button on his radio. I was actually relieved when he was greeted with the same static Brad and I had heard. "So now what?" Mack asked, his arsenal of ideas exhausted. Brad looked up at the sky. It was already mid morning, and gray storm clouds were starting to gather. "The forecast said maybe snow this afternoon," he said. Snow was a problem. In Oklahoma, a few inches could become deadly as the winds swirled the snow into tall drifts leaving glare ice on the road where the snow had been. "Look," I suggested, "there's that town over there. Why don't we go over there, get a phone and call Murray?" No one questioned that suggestion. It meant that Murray would have to make the decision. That got all of us off the hook. "Good idea," Mack agreed. "I could use a cup of coffee." Bear grunted his agreement. Grunting was about all Bear ever did. He was even dumber than Mack, if that was possible. "Okay," Brad said, taking charge. "We can go down in your truck, Mack." Mack's truck was a standard state Dodge with an extended cab, so we could all ride together. Mack looked a little uncomfortable, but finally agreed. "Let me move some stuff around," he said, sauntering off toward the truck. He moved a briefcase out of the back seat and put it in the shotgun seat. He threw the keys to Bear and ordered, "You drive." I was thankful the trip was short. Extended cab pickups are okay for short trips, but Brad and I were practically eating our knees in the small back seat. In five minutes, we were driving into the town. A small sign with the picture of what looked like and eagle flying past an oak tree greeted us. "Ovid Welcomes You!" the sign proclaimed. Underneath was a list of the usual civic clubs and their meeting dates. Typical small town stuff. "Where the fuck is Ovid?" Mack asked, rattling his map. "Right here, I guess," Brad said laconically. I had never heard of Ovid, and as an Oklahoma native, I thought I had heard of every town over five thousand in the state. This one was a new one on me, though. It was a pleasant little town, clean and fairly well kept. Winter is the worst time of the year to form an opinion of a town in Oklahoma. Everything is brown and gray with a dirty look to it. The trees always look like there isn't any way they'll leaf out again in the spring. Even the people look like they aren't alive. The only saving grace in December is the Christmas decorations on the street lamps and buildings. Ovid wouldn't exactly take any prizes for their displays, but the red and white candy canes and green Christmas trees hanging along light poles on the highway strip made the town look a little better. "Stop there!" Mack told Bear, pointing to a small cafe which declared itself in neon to be "Rusty's Best Burgers." "Burgers?" I questioned. "So I'm hungry," Mack growled in challenge. "So I suppose you want to go someplace where you can get an espresso and discuss philosophy?" "Burgers will do fine," I agreed reluctantly. At least I could get a cup of coffee. Mack got out with the briefcase still in his tight grip. "What have you got in there?" Brad asked suspiciously. Brad and I had talked about the Asshole Twins many times, and we suspected they might actually be selling drugs to the crews. Somebody was, we were told, but Brad and I had always stayed away from drugs. We also told no one about our suspicions regarding the Asshole Twins. It was none of our business. "My lunch," Mack muttered. Brad looked Mack in the eye. "Look, I want to know, are you guys dealing? Because if you are, I don't want to be here with that shit." "Of course not," Mack sneered. "Then how about opening the case?" "No fucking way!" Brad made a step toward Mack, and I followed, but before Brad could get to the case, Bear stepped in between. "He said no fuckin' way," Bear boomed, uttering what I suspected were his first words of the morning. We could see his arm muscles tighten as he doubled his fists. I don't know what would have happened next if the police hadn't interfered. I think Brad would have gone after Bear. That would have left me to take Mack. I think I could have done it, but now, I'll never know. We were all startled by the sudden short whine of a police siren, and turned as one to see a black and white police cruiser had pulled up directly behind our truck. None of us had even heard the car drive in. "Shit!" Mack yelled and turned to run. He never had a chance, though. The cop was a blur of motion, running after him and grabbing his shoulder faster than any of us could blink. Mack turned, as if to hit the officer, then lowered his fist and appeared to be almost in a trance. I wondered why Bear hadn't run, but then I noticed that he, too, was standing as if in a trance. "What the hell is going on here?" Brad asked in a voice barely above a whisper. He, at least, seemed normal. "I don't know," I replied in an equally quiet tone. The cop turned to face Brad and me. He was tall, maybe six three or so, and wore mirrored sunglasses. I wondered why since it was such a cloudy day that it seemed almost dark. In spite of his run to catch Mack, he wasn't even breathing hard, and not a hair was out of place. It was if he had just strolled over from his car to meet us. "Into the car, guys," he ordered. "Officer," Brad began, "our truck is a state vehicle and - " "Don't worry about the truck," the cop interrupted. "It'll be taken care of." "But the keys..." Brad protested. "I said it would be taken care of," the cop said in a tone that allowed no further argument. With a shrug Brad headed for the car, and I followed him. Mack and Bear were already in the car. They were both still in some sort of trance as they sat together in the back seat. They had arranged themselves so I could squeeze in next to them while Brad got in front with the cop. As we were driving away, I noticed something odd. There was another cop, or at least he looked like a cop, getting into our truck. He was wearing the same grayish blue shirt as the cop who had picked us up and, in fact, looked like his identical twin. The truck started right away and pulled out of the parking lot behind us, but I remembered seeing Bear pocket the keys, so how did he get it started? Bear and Mack looked like they were taking a mental vacation to the Caribbean, so they didn't notice any of this, but Brad did. He just gave a small shrug that only I saw. We drove off the highway down another business street. Gas stations and fast food joints gave way to one-story offices and small shops. After only a few blocks, we were in the main business district of Ovid. It consisted of one main business street, called unoriginally "Main Street," and a few businesses on the intersecting streets, but these trailed off after a block or so. A block or so west of the business district stood a gray granite building with Greek columns in front. The words "City Hall" were carved into the granite above the columns. There was an Oklahoma flag flying next to the US flag in the grassy area in front of the building. It looked like your typical Midwestern municipal building. The cop hadn't said a word to us. He hadn't read us our rights or explained why he had taken us in. I had no doubts, though, about what was in Mack's briefcase, and I was pretty sure the cop knew, too. But how had he known? And where had he come from? One moment, the four of us were ready to go at each other in the parking lot of some burger joint, and the next minute, there was a cop there ready to haul us in. It had to be some sort of a setup, but I couldn't figure out what. I looked at Brad in the front seat. He had the same suspicious look I was sure I had. "Let's go, guys," the cop said, motioning us out of the car. Mack and Bear led the way, almost as if they knew where they were going. Brad and I fell in after them with the cop, holding the briefcase, bringing up the rear. We walked into an area that looked familiar. It wasn't because I had been there before, but I had been in places like it. It was a police station. But the odd thing is that there was no one there except us. Usually, even in a small town like Ovid, there would be a couple of cops around. One would be on the front desk and another dispatching. I mean, even a town this size had to have a couple of police cars in motion all the time. It was almost with relief that I saw another cop standing near the last cell in the cell block. He had the same tall, lean look of the other cops I had seen in Ovid. It was almost as if they were all the same guy. Maybe the government had a secret cop factory someplace where they made these guys, I thought with a weird little mental twist. He was waiting for all of us to file into a cell, I realized. Mack and Bear marched dutifully toward the cell, but our escort suddenly put a hand on my and Brad's shoulders. "You two come with me," he ordered. We were ushered into a small room with a conference table and a half dozen cheap conference chairs. "What do you think is going on here?" I asked Brad after the cop had left, closing the door behind him. "It's not a good idea to talk," Brad told me. "They may be listening." "They? They who?" I asked, plopping down in the nearest chair. "They - the cops. This is an interrogation room." I looked around, then laughed. "What are you talking about? This is just a conference room. Look, there's no one-way glass and the furniture is too nice." "Haven't you ever been in a police station before?" he asked calmly. I shrugged. "Well, yeah, a couple of times," I conceded. "I mean, it was just minor stuff, though." Brad sat next to me and looked at me with his most serious look. "Okay, Marty, we'll play it your way. This is serious business. Do you know what was in that briefcase?" "No," I replied, "but I can guess." Like I said, Brad and I had suspected the Asshole Twins of dealing. What was it? Pot? Coke? Something with initials? I didn't know, and I didn't want to know. Brad nodded. "So can I. Now, you're the cops here in this little tank town and four scruffy guys show up out of nowhere with a briefcase full of illegal shit. What makes you think they'll believe only two of the guys were dealing?" I shifted uncomfortably. He had a point. Before I could answer, the door opened. It was the cop again, only this time, he was accompanied by an attractive woman. She was about five six or seven with long brown hair and a nice, athletic build which her gray dress accentuated and her matching gray jacket did little to hide. She had a conservative, professional look about her, emphasized by the glasses she wore, the one-inch heels, and the attache case which she placed on the desk. That chore ended, she extended her hand, first to Brad and then to me. I noticed there was an engagement ring on her other hand. The good ones are always taken. "I'm Susan Henderson," she said crisply. "I've been appointed as your Public Defender." "Have we been charged with anything?" Brad asked innocently. "Not yet," she conceded, "but it looks like you will be. Possession of drugs is the most likely charge. Your trial has been set for three this afternoon and that's bad. The Judge hates afternoon sessions and never schedules them, but the seriousness of the situation demanded it." "Wait a minute," I interrupted. "What trial? I mean, I don't know that much about the law, but how can this be happening so quickly? It's not like this was a traffic offense or something." She shook her head, looking almost uncomfortable with the way it moved across her ears and the side of her face. "You're right about that, but there's a lot you don't understand yet. Justice is pretty swift in Ovid. If you know what's good for you, you'll take all the help I can give you and not ask too many questions." She was young, but sounded tough, almost as if she had done this hundreds of times before. I hadn't had much experience with lawyers, but I was rapidly gaining confidence in her. Brad wasn't as convinced, though, as he asked, "Don't we get the chance to get our own lawyer? I mean, no offense, but you look like you just got out of law school." She gave a wry smile and replied, "Don't concern yourself, Mr. Blackstone. You and Mr. Collins here are in good hands. I have all the experience you'll ever need." Somehow I believed her, but Brad went on, "Look, lady, I don't want to go down for something I didn't do." She seemed to wince at the term "lady," but she recovered quickly. "You almost sound as if there was something you did do that we should be concerned about." It was as if she had hit Brad between the eyes with a hammer. All the bravado flowed out of him, and he slumped back wordlessly into his chair. Not for the first time, I wondered what there was in Brad's past that he was trying to hide. "How about you, Mr. Collins?" "No misgivings at all, Ms Henderson," I said laconically. She frowned for a minute. "You seem to have a better command of the language than I would have expected. Have you had some college?" "No, ma'am," I replied. I wished that I did have some college. Then maybe I wouldn't be digging ditches. "I just read a lot." She nodded. "Good. You and your friend here seem to have a much better demeanor than those two oafs you were with." "Are you defending them, too?" I asked. "No. They will be tried separately. Believe me, that is to your advantage." I believed her, but I couldn't figure out what was going on. Why were we being tried so quickly on such a serious offense? Why weren't we being tried together? Had the Asshole Twins confessed? That didn't seem very likely. Had they feigned innocence and tried to shift the blame to us? That seemed very likely. Still, I was happy I wouldn't be on trial with them. Guilt by association and all that. When Brad and I said nothing, she continued, "Now, let's get down to the facts. That briefcase is loaded with cocaine." She paused for a moment before observing, "I notice that neither of you seem very surprised." "We're not," Brad answered for us. "You guys want to tell me what happened?" she asked. We told her the entire story, switching off to verify each other's statement every now and then. She took a page of notes, stopping occasionally to ask a question. When we had finished, she sat back in her chair. She looked me straight in the eye and said, "Now give me one good reason why I should believe you." "Is that a rhetorical question?" I asked. Her eyebrows went up. "Rhetorical? My, you are well read, aren't you? And no, it isn't rhetorical." "But I thought you didn't have to believe us to defend us," Brad observed. She shifted uncomfortably. "I suppose I don't, but I feel as if I can do a better job for you if I'm convinced of your innocence. Face it, things don't look good for you. There's fifty thousand dollars worth of cocaine in that briefcase. For all the court knows, you were getting ready to split it up and distribute it. Your two friends will try to pin it on you. You are trying to pin it on them. Usually, the courts decide everybody was involved. Punishments for drug dealers in Ovid can be very serious." "Look, ma'am," I replied, "Brad and I were just doing our job. We don't know anything about drugs. We don't use them and we don't sell them. You can look in my bank account or see how I live, and you'll know I don't make extra money selling drugs. Brad's the same way. We were just questioning them on the contents of the briefcase when the cop stopped us." She was silent for a moment, looking back and forth at Brad and I with her big blue eyes. Damn, I would have given anything to be worthy of a woman like her. She had it all: intelligence, poise, looks, and an education. For at least the thousandth time in my life, I realized what a mess I had made of everything. Here I was, scruffy, uneducated, nearly broke, and now facing jail time for a crime I didn't commit, all because when I was fifteen, I decided having fun was more important than having goals. At last she sighed and said, "Okay, guys, we'll go with what we've got, but it isn't going to be easy. I'll be back here at a quarter 'til three. Then we go to see the Judge." We were led to a cell as far away from the Asshole Twins as possible, for which I was grateful. Those bastards had gotten us into more trouble than I could ever imagine. I tried to get some sleep, but I was too worried about the trial. Brad must have been the same way, for I could hear him tossing and turning in the bunk above me. I wondered what was in Brad's past that our attorney had speculated about. Maybe it was just woman's intuition, but she sensed something about him. I had never asked Brad, but I couldn't imagine Brad ever doing anything wrong. He was a real straight arrow. I finally dozed off. It seemed like only a few minutes though, before the cop who had picked us up called in, "Okay, you two, on your feet. The Judge is ready to see you now." Why was it, I wondered as I pulled myself out of the uncomfortable prison bed, that whenever someone in this town said "the judge," it sounded more like "the Judge" with a capital "J?" We were led out of the police station through the parking lot to the court wing. A receptionist smiled at us as we walked by. I did a double take at her because she seemed almost transparent. I don't mean like a ghost in the movies or anything. It was just that if you looked at her long enough, you could somehow tell what was obscured by her body. I thought my eyes must just be tired and playing tricks on me until Brad whispered, "Did you notice anything odd about the receptionist?" "Yeah," I whispered back. "What's going on here anyway?" "No talking," the cop said brusquely. He brought us to a halt outside a room with a bronze sign in front declaring it to be Courtroom 1. We waited there silently until I heard the outside door open. I looked around and saw another cop bringing in the Asshole Twins. The other cop left them in our cop's care, turned and returned to the police area, but I thought as he went that he looked enough like our cop to be his twin. Great, we had twin cops to go with the Asshole Twins. Mack and Bear were both unnaturally quiet. It was as if they were still in some sort of a trance. I didn't question it, though. I was just as happy to not have to talk with them. I had thought that we were being tried separately, so I wasn't happy to see them. Then, an unpleasant thought crossed my mind. What if they were there to testify against Brad and me? Our attorney was probably right. It was going to come down to our word against theirs. The outside door opened again, only this time, there was the click of high heels. I turned and saw Susan Henderson approaching us with a look of grim determination on her face. "I thought you said we were going to be tried separately from them," Brad challenged with a nod toward the Asshole Twins. "No talking!" the cop yelled. Our attorney turned to the cop and said, "Officer Mercer, I need to talk to my clients for a moment in private. I'll be personally responsible for them." "All right," he agreed reluctantly, motioning to an adjacent conference room. "In there. But when the Judge is ready, I have to take them in right away." She nodded. "I understand." When we were seated and the door to the conference room closed, she began, "First of all, you are going to be tried separately, but you'll all face the Judge for sentencing at the same time. Your friends have already been tried and found guilty of possession of drugs. I know that sounds confusing, but the court system is a little different here in Ovid." The way she said it, it sounded as if she was Alice speaking of Wonderland. I was really starting to get a bad feeling about this. She must have noticed, for she continued, "Look, I had lunch with the Judge's secretary. She told the Judge about my meeting with the two of you. He always listens to her, so he agreed to meet with me earlier this afternoon. I've tried to get you the best deal I could." "Like out of here and on our way home?" I ventured. "If I can, but that may not be possible," she cautioned. Terrific. Brad and I were about to be punished for something we didn't do. The Asshole Twins were probably going to testify against us to get lighter sentences. At least no matter what happened, maybe Murray could get us out of here. Murray! We had forgotten to call him. He'd probably fired us by now. "Look, Ma'am," I began, "we need to call our boss. He's probably looking for us right now." She thought about it for a moment before replying, "That may not be a good idea." "But we'll be in a lot of trouble!" She shook her head. "Don't worry. It will be taken care of. Besides, I think I heard the courtroom door open." She rose and opened the door. Although my vantage point wasn't very good, I saw another cop who looked like our Officer Mercer leading one of the homeliest men I had ever seen out of the courtroom. He was tall with a face that was almost unnaturally elongated. He seemed to be hunched forward, almost as if he found it difficult to walk. He coughed, making a rumbling sound almost like a horse. Then, he was gone, but I thought I heard a cry even more like a horse outside the building, followed by a clopping sound. When our attorney turned back to us, she was quite pale. "Is there something wrong?" Brad asked. She shook her head. "No, it's just that I don't think the Judge is in a very good mood today. Both of you need to be on your best behavior if we're going to come out of this okay." The courtroom was very professional, almost to the point of being intimidating. At the bench sat a middle-aged man of perhaps fifty or a little more in the black judge's robe. He looked very scholarly in his gold rimmed glasses, but I could see there was an unhappy scowl on his face. He was shuffling a stack of papers as we were taken to the defense table. The Asshole Twins were seated in the gallery directly behind us. The only other spectator in the gallery was an attractive young woman. She was blonde and appeared to be in her mid twenties. She was dressed in a stylish brown suit. I wondered why she was in the courtroom. Maybe she was the attorney for the Asshole Twins. No, I thought, she wasn't sitting with them or even acknowledging their presence. Maybe she was with the local paper, assuming Ovid had one. The judge looked up and rapped his gavel. "Court is now in session. Next case is the People versus Bradley Blackstone and Martin Collins." He looked sharply at our attorney. "Does that satisfy your desire for proper court procedure, Ms. Henderson?" She actually smiled. "It's a start, Your Honor." The judge actually smiled back. I wondered what was going on between those two. It was as if they were both enjoying a joke that we weren't able to understand. "All right," the judge said, motioning for Brad and me to stand. When we had done so, he continued, "Mr. Blackstone and Mr. Collins, the court has already determined that your two associates bear the full responsibility for the possession and attempted sale of drugs. The question remaining before this court is your role in this entire affair." "Your Honor," Ms Henderson began, "the defense would like to stipulate that Mr. Blackstone and Mr. Collins had no knowledge of the contents of the briefcase and - " "I'm well aware of that," the judge interrupted gruffly. Then to us, he asked, "Did either of you have any inkling that these other two men were dealing drugs?" Brad and I were both silent. Yes, we both knew what they were up to, but it wasn't our business. We didn't want to get involved. "Didn't want to get involved, eh?" the judge said, almost as if he could read our minds. Come to think of it, I realized, maybe he could. "We didn't know for sure," Brad offered. "Didn't know for sure?" the judge repeated loudly. "But you suspected." It wasn't a question. "Well, I guess," Brad allowed. "You guess!" the judge sneered, removing his glasses and staring at us. "Of course you guess. Wasn't that part of the reason you call them 'The Asshole Twins?'" "Not really," I replied truthfully. "We do that because... well, they are assholes." There was a sudden giggle which came from the direction of the blonde. "While I might agree with that," the judge said, looking sternly in the direction of the blonde, "you know very well that they were involved in illegal activities." Again, Brad and I were silent. Our attorney stepped in. "Your Honor, while they may have suspected illegal activities on the part of these other two men, without proof, they were under no obligation to report them." "And so, you are asking for...?" the judge said to her. "Clemency," she replied. But the judge shook his head. "I will not grant clemency." Clemency? I wondered. Since when was not reporting someone a crime? Was this Nazi Germany or something? I could see the same confusion on Brad's face. "I will, however, be lenient," the judge continued. "Now, I want all of the accused to approach the bench." Brad and I did so reluctantly, but Mack and Bear did so as if they were zombies, with a shuffling, mindless cadence. When we were all in place, the judge did something I had never expected - he began to speak in Latin. I didn't know what he was saying, but I recognized a word or two from my readings. As he spoke, I felt something almost like a chill in the room and felt my skin tingle. I wanted to see how the other guys were reacting, but for some reason, I couldn't turn my head. It seemed as if the lights were getting dim as well. I nearly panicked, wondering if something was physically wrong with me. Maybe the anxiety of the trial was having an effect on my body. Then suddenly, everything was normal again. The Judge, for I somehow realized he did indeed rate the capital "J", rapped his gavel and gruffly muttered, "Court is adjourned!" Do you remember the scene in the old science fiction movie, Forbidden Planet, where the ship has just dropped out of hyperspace and everyone is stumbling around groggy rubbing their heads? That's the way we all looked. Brad was rubbing his neck; Mack was looking around as if he had no idea of where he was, and Bear was... well, Bear was Bear. He just looked like he was not sure what planet he was on. Me? I felt kind of light-headed. I wasn't really myself. If only I had known then exactly how true that was. "I'll walk you to your car," Officer Mercer said, making it sound more like "Go to your car - now!" We didn't argue, but Mack at least was back to being his old obnoxious self. "Can you believe it? They let us go!" "Yeah," Bear agreed, "but what about the brief-?" "Quiet, you moron!" Mack ordered. Odd, I thought, but Mack's voice sounded a little higher. I looked at Brad. He was still looking as if he was a little dazed. Also, he looked somehow different. I mean, he was still Brad, but he looked a little taller than me, and we were both the same height. Also, his hair looked a little curly instead of straight, and it appeared to be a couple of inches shorter than usual. My hair, on the other hand, felt a little longer. I reminded myself to get a haircut before the weekend, assuming we still had jobs. I looked at my watch. It was a little after four. We still had time to call Murray. "Let's find a phone," I said to no one in particular. "We can still call Murray." "Who's Murray?" Mack asked, his voice higher still. I looked at him. His brown hair seemed somehow lighter. "Who's Murray?" I repeated. "I'm talking about the guy who's going to fire us if we don't call in." Mack laughed a high pitched laugh. "Oh, Myra, quit joking around." Myra? Who was Myra? "Here you go," Officer Mercer said, opening the door of a car I had never seen before. It was a Pontiac Grand Prix, dating from the early eighties. My dad had had one similar to it when I was a kid. It was a piece of shit then, and age had not improved this one. Its plum colored metallic paint had faded badly, and there was a rough, unpainted smear of Bondo over the wheel wells where it appeared to have rusted, probably while Reagan was still President. "What's this?" I said to Officer Mercer in a voice that didn't seem to be my own. "Get in, Myra." I felt a strong arm grip me from inside the car and pull me down into the front passenger seat. I turned to see Bear behind the wheel, holding onto my arm, only he wasn't really bear anymore. Instead of the greasy dark brown hair that had probably helped to give Bear his nickname, his hair was now blonde, and cut extremely close to the scalp. He was actually a little better looking, with clearer, younger features than I remembered. And if anything, he was bigger than before. Officer Mercer closed my door. I felt almost as if he had awakened me from some weird dream, but if so, I had fallen back asleep into an ever weirder one. I looked around into the back seat. Brad had changed still more. He was now a little taller and slimmer with dark, curly hair and deep brown eyes instead of his normal blue ones. He looked almost as if his ancestry was Italian instead of the English I knew it to be. Also, he was younger, looking perhaps sixteen. But the real changes were happening to Mack. I knew it was Mack because he was still wearing the denim coveralls he had been wearing all day. Only now, they bulged out in odd places, notably at the hips and chest. He still had his normal face, but it looked a little softer and more rounded now. His hair, though - it was long, falling both in front of and behind his shoulders in soft blonde curls. As I watched him, his face began to change, becoming more and more feminine by the moment. Then I could see traces of lipstick and eye shadow appearing, as if they were being drawn on his face by some invisible artist. I looked back at Brad, but he was looking at me with wide eyes. Why? What was wrong with me? Then I felt the changes. I had been so intently watching the other three that I had paid no attention to what was happening to my own body. I felt something tickling the back of my neck, and a sudden weight on my head. Then there was a small pinching sensation at each of my ear lobes, and I felt an odd weight there, as if something was swinging back and forth at the bottom of my ears. When I blinked my eyes, it was as if there was something dark on my eyelashes, causing them to be thicker. There was a sudden taste, almost a sweet perfumed taste, on my lips. Blonde hair began to cascade down my back and over my shoulders. But it was the rest of my body that I could actually see. My gray work shirt was now a tightly-knitted white sweater, which did nothing to disguise two mountains growing on my chest. It was almost as if they were heavy balloons heaving up and down as I gasped in surprise. At the end of the sleeves were two delicate, feminine hands with long red nails. My jeans had fused into a single tube of leather, which was shrinking up toward my expanded hips, leaving behind two feminine legs encased in dark nylon. I lifted a foot far enough to see a black pump with a two-inch heel covering a dainty foot. Jesus H. Christ! I screamed inside my mind, this just wasn't possible! I had been changed into a girl! "Usual place?" the mountain of a teenager Bear had become said. No one said a word. Brad I and were too busy staring at each other, and the buxom blonde girl Mack had become was too busy snuggling against Brad to say anything. "Jack, Damn it! I'm talking to you!" Bear said sharply. As the only other male in the car, Brad thankfully took his cue. "Yeah, sure the usual place." Bear turned the car sharply through a wide metal gate. I could see the name Sooner Park in black wrought iron letters at the top of the sign. It had started to snow as we made our way down into a small forest of oak trees. Without warning, Bear wheeled the car into a secluded side road, sliding slightly on the thin coating of new snow. He put the car in park, and wordlessly slipped his meaty paws under my sweater. "Stop it!" I screamed, surprising him so much that his hands actually retreated. "Hey, what's the problem?" a high-pitched voice called from the back seat. I looked around to see Brad frozen in shock and a blonde bimbo unzipping his fly with her face no more than a foot from his crotch. "Yeah, Myra," Bear agreed. "What's the fuckin' problem?" I was almost relieved to see he was hardly a class act no matter what body he wore. It gave me a sense of stability in a topsy-turvy world. Bear had given me my cue, though. I was obviously Myra. I had to come up with an answer. Let's see, what was the most devastating response to this any girl had ever given to me. Think! "Uh," I began, "I... I've got the cramps." Bear looked stricken. "Yeah," I went on, getting into the spirit of the thing. "I'm getting my period!" "But it ain't time for your period," Bear protested. "It's early!" I insisted. "Oh, shit!" He slumped into his seat and hit the dash with his fist, rattling the entire car. Then his face brightened, as if the one thought he would be able to manage all month had finally crawled through his thick skull. An evil grin appeared on his face as he turned to me. I wasn't going to like this. "Then blow me." I knew I wasn't going to like it. Think again! I had to be able to outwit this dunce. Yes! I had it! "You don't understand," I wailed, "I don't have a tampon. I'm going to bleed all over the seat." I figured the car had to be his, and piece of shit that it was, it had to be his pride and joy. The thought of menstrual blood all over his cheap seats was enough to offset the need to have his raging hard on sucked. I could see in his eyes that he couldn't wait to get me home. "Oh crap!" That was from the girl in the back seat. I looked back at her and saw her, arms folded in disgust. Brad, on the other hand, looked at me with something resembling relief. Although he had said nothing, I knew that Brad and I both knew that this was not the same reality we had been a part of only a few hours before. Bear dropped me off first. In spite of the fact that I was probably his girl, the need to get me out of the car before I bled all over his precious upholstery outweighed any other strategy he might have had. We had pulled up in front of a white two story house in a nice, middle- class neighborhood. Since the winter day had already turned dark, I could see through the windows into lighted rooms. The house looked warm and cozy. I didn't care if there was an axe murderer living there. Anything was better than spending another minute in the car with this newer, younger Bear. "Wait, I'll walk you to the door," the girl in back said as I opened the car door. I nearly stumbled getting out of the car in my new high heels. At least thank God they weren't any higher. This was like a nightmare. I could imagine Bear getting out of the car to chase me while I stumbled in unfamiliar shoes. "Take your books," Bear said gruffly without even looking at me. I looked at the floorboard beneath my seat and saw a small book bag and a woman's leather jacket next to it. I grabbed both and started unsteadily toward the house we had pulled up in front of. If I could have managed, I would have run to the door. Anything to get away from Bear. "What the hell is wrong with you?" the blonde who had been Mack whispered loudly to me as we walked to the door. "My period," I said tersely. "Bullshit!" she said. "Your period is never early. It's always the same time as mine, and that's not for another two weeks." Oh, goody. There was something to look forward to. She pulled my arm. "Look, Bull is pissed at you now, and you know what that means." I didn't, but I had a pretty good idea. "Myra, he's the best catch in the school. He was already being looked at by college scouts this last year, and he's only a Junior. He'll probably be listed as the top football prospect in the nation for center after next season. And he's crazy about you. Play your cards right and you'll be the wife of a pro football player. You know what that means, don't you?" Sure I did. It meant that a drug-running scumbag like Bear was being rewarded by being turned into a hotshot college football prospect while innocent little old me got to be his would-be blushing bride. The Judge was behind this. Oh, excuse me, Mr. Judge, but I think you got your wires crossed. I'm the good guy; he's the bad guy. "Myra, say something!" Okay, it was time for me to do something to recover this situation before I made a total fool of myself. Thus far, I was only about an eighty percent fool. I tried the old tired smile look. "Hey, I'm sorry..." (I had no idea what her name was). "I just don't feel good, okay?" It worked. She melted a little and put her hand on mine. "Okay. I'll call you later. I'll back up your story with Bull. Everything will be fine by morning." We smiled at each other. Then, with a little wave, she ran back to the car. She barely got the door slammed before Bear's, or apparently now Bull's tires squealed away from the curb. Great. I was a girl with a mountain of a boyfriend who thought he was Mario Andretti. I got to the door and read the bronze plaque on the door. It said: The Smithwicks. So apparently that was my last name in this strange new reality. Smithwick. Myra Smithwick. I sighed. I guess it was better than Hermione Grubbermeister. So I had a full name. That was one problem solved. Next problem. I didn't have a key. Or at least I didn't think I did. I checked the pockets of the leather jacket. No key. I was freezing out here and the snow was starting to come down harder. Finally, I rang the doorbell. I was greeted by a forty-something woman with brown hair just starting to go gray. She was dressed in a conservative white blouse and navy blue skirt and looked as if she had just gotten home from work. She had a kindly look, but it was marred by flashes on concern and bottled-up anger. Also, she was one of the transparent people. "Myra!" the woman said with honest concern. "Where have you been? It's been snowing hard for over an hour, and you promised to be home early. And where is your key?" This was a new experience for me. When I was in high school, I came and went as I pleased. Mom was a waitress and often worked late, and dad's schedule was always screwed up, too. I'd get home, fix myself something to eat, and then take off to party. Nobody cared. What was this woman doing getting so steamed up? I could take care of myself. Then, remembering my recent experiences in the car, I realized that maybe I couldn't take care of myself so well after all. "I'm okay," I said emphatically, but actually a little warmed by her concern. "I was just out with some friends." "You were out with that Bull Brewster, weren't you?" she asked sternly. Then, without waiting for an answer, she continued, "I wish you wouldn't spend so much time with him. I really don't think he's a very nice boy. Some of the other mothers have told me he doesn't treat girls very well." I could testify to that. So, this woman was supposed to be my mother. No surprise there, I guess. I knew I was being chewed out, but I didn't seem to mind. For one thing, we agreed that I shouldn't spend so much time with Bull Brewster. As far as I was concerned, one second with him out of the rest of my life (either life) was one second too many. I didn't answer her, though. Until I learned more about who I had become, I didn't want to appear out of character, so I just listened. My "mother" didn't seem to be looking for answers from me anyway. "And where is your key?" she demanded. "Uh... I don't know," I replied. I was confident with that answer. I didn't have the slightest notion where my key was. "You didn't leave your purse somewhere, did you?" Oh shit! I was a girl now, and girls carried purses. I must have left it in Bull's car, I thought. How would I get it back? There was a sick feeling in my new stomach. Mother was going through my book bag, and in a moment, she produced a small brown leather purse. "Well, at least your purse is still here. Did you lose you key out of... Oh, no. Here it is," she said, producing a small ring of keys. "Why didn't you use it?" I felt the sick feeling going away. At least I wouldn't have to get my purse back from Bull. "Well, I guess - " "Oh, never mind," she said with a sigh. "Now I need your help in the kitchen. Your father will be home from the plant any minute now. But before you come in to help me, get out of that outfit. You know your father hates it." Gee, I thought, he and I were going to see eye to eye on that. I couldn't wait to get out of this outfit. Thank god girls wore jeans. There had to be a pair in Myra's room, if I could just find her room. Finding "my" room proved not too difficult. All I had to do was find the bedroom done in pastels with a closet that looked like the Frederick's of Hollywood warehouse. Didn't this Myra own anything that wasn't sexy and either way too tight or way too short? I managed to find a red and white University of Oklahoma sweatshirt, a pair of jeans, and some tennis shoes with, of all things, pink shoelaces. It looked like the most conservative stuff in Myra's wardrobe. Oh well, I sighed to myself, it was better than a leather skirt and high heels. This was my first chance to get a good look at myself, and I wasn't pleased with what I saw. I was about medium height. I was very attractive in a cheap sort of way. My hair was too blonde, probably lightened. I wore way too much makeup, especially around my deep blue eyes. My outfit looked as if it had been painted on the large breasts, tiny waist, and flared hips. My legs, as the old saying goes, went all the way down. I looked as if I should be singing that old Julie Brown song, "I'm a Blonde." I had to tone this look down in a hurry. I stripped out of my sexpot outfit, finding to my disgust that my underwear consisted of a black lace bra and French-cut panties. Also, I was wearing a garter belt and stockings. I wondered if "mom" knew about all this hot babe stuff under the skirt. I was sure she probably did, but what could she do? Chastity belts had been out for centuries, and I was sure Myra wasn't the only high school girl wearing something this provocative. In fact, when I had been in high school, I had known quite a number of them - some of them, ahem, quite well. Was that what kind of a girl I had become? That didn't sound very promising. I remembered when some of my sisters had started dressing this way. It hadn't taken them long to end up pregnant. I certainly had the body for this kind of an outfit, I realized. I was blonde with deep blue eyes and that peaches and cream complexion that other girls would kill for. As for makeup, Myra apparently liked a lot of it. I managed to look at the size of my bra. It was a 36D. Pretty hefty for a - what - sixteen year old. The entire body would be a candidate for a centerfold in a few years. I could see it now. Here she is, Playmate of the Year - Myra Smithwick. Thank you. My turn-ons are sexy guys with tight buns and my turn-offs are girls who go after my guys. When I get out of reform school, I want to be a rocket scientist. It was enough to make me want to throw up. At least, I thought, the sweatshirt and jeans would tone the look down a little bit. I slipped on the sweatshirt, relieved to see that it was baggy enough to disguise at least a little of the voluptuousness of the breasts. The jeans were another matter, though. I had to tug them over my now-ample hips since my waist was so much smaller. These weren't the kind of jeans I was used to as a guy. They clung to every part of my lower anatomy like paint. It was better than the skirt, though. I added the sweat socks and tennis shoes, and that made me feel a little more normal than seeing those small, dainty feet with their red toenails. I looked in the mirror at the final effect. With the makeup, long blonde hair, and large hoop earrings that I had no idea how to remove, no one would mistake me for a man, but at least I didn't look like the crown princess of the bimbos anymore. "Myra, I need your help!" Okay, I thought, time to play the part. I was going to have to be Myra Smithwick - maybe forever. I guessed I would have to play her well until I could figure out what else to do. As I slowly walked down the stairs, I kept thinking how unfair this was. I was an honest guy, yet here I was in the body of a bimbo while Bull was still male. Maybe the Judge had made a mistake. I mean, he changed four people all at once. Maybe Bull was supposed to be the blonde, and like Brad, or rather, Jack, I was supposed to still be male. That would have made a lot more sense. "Mother" was in the kitchen, doing about four things at once. I could smell the aroma of meat cooking, and could see three salad bowls laid out filled with lettuce and tomato wedges. A vegetable - it looked like green beans - was in a bowl, ready to be served, with a dollop of butter melting down over it. My stomach growled. Male or female, I began to realize I had eaten nothing since an early morning breakfast with Brad. "Here," she said handing me a bowl of steaming potatoes. "Mash these, and make drinks for everyone. I just talked to your father, and he'll be here any minute." I took the potatoes without question and began to mash them. As a bachelor, I knew my way around a kitchen when I had to, although I would usually settle for an unhealthy portion of a burger and fries either alone or with somebody like Brad, washed down with a couple of beers. My ersatz mother was bustling so vigorously that I wondered what kind of a man my "father" was. Did he expect this type of service every night? Maybe he was like that guy in the Julia Roberts movie who insisted all the towels be straight. I shuddered at the thought. On top of Bull the Ape Man, that's all I would need - a domineering father. I had visions of him with Bull, the two of them smoking cigars, while my "father" told him, "That's right, son. When I turn her over to you, you be sure to keep her in line, you hear?" The rumble of the automatic garage door brought me out of my waking nightmare. I nearly dropped the potatoes in the process. "Myra! I think those potatoes have been mashed enough. You haven't even started to make drinks. Oh, never mind, sit down. I'll do it." The door between the kitchen and the garage opened, and for the first time, I saw my "father." He appeared to be about the same age as my "mother." He stood about six feet tall, I guessed, given that I appeared to be about five four. He was relatively trim with just the hint of middle age spread. He was wearing a dark suit and a conservative tie. He had short hair that was mostly gray with a matching mustache. What impressed me most, though, were his eyes. Like mine, they were blue, but although they looked tired from the stress of a long day, they had a warmth that made me regret the terrible things