Ovid 13: The Agent free porn video

Almost eight weeks ago, I promised a new Ovid in three weeks or so. So what happened? Well, an unexpected illness followed by surgery and a hospital stay slowed me down. Although I was in the hospital for less than a week, I just didn't feel like finishing the latest Ovid tale. Well, I'm fine now, and the story is finally finished. It's the first Ovid story in several months. I try to alternate between an Ovid story and a non-Ovid tale, but after I finished Deity 2, County Fair just demanded to be written. Then I had the obligation to write Gate of the World for the Fictionmania Bake Sale. So now, it's back to Ovid. Fictionmania, Nostromo, Jenny Adams, TG Stories, and Pyrite all have standing permission to archive this story. So with all that out of the way, it's off to Ovid again... -The Professor Ovid 13 - The Agent By The Professor Labor Day weekends are always a big deal in small towns. It's the weekend everyone tries to get in all the summer fun that they'd put off for three months before the days got too short and the fall winds promised the onset of winter. Our family was no different. Jerry was out of town. He had gone to Norman with a couple of his friends to see an Oklahoma football game. I've always liked football, but I wasn't asked to go. After all, what do girls know about football? Wouldn't Jerry have been surprised if he knew that I had played high school ball and had even been a walk-on our Freshman year at Notre Dame! Of course, I was a guy then, but Jerry didn't know that. Some days it was hard for me to believe that I had ever been a guy. Being Cindy Patton had just become so normal. When I looked at Jerry, it was almost impossible to remember the days when we were fraternity brothers and I had known him as Randy. And Steve and Carl had been Mike and Michelle so long that some days, it was hard for me to remember what their names had been when we were all in college together. There were times when I almost forgot that I hadn't actually given birth to them. And speaking of birth, there was little Ashley. I actually had given birth to her, and as terrifying as it had seemed when it was happening, I counted giving birth as the most single meaningful thing I had ever done with my life - new or old. Still, in spite of the joys I derived from my new life as a woman, I missed little things, like sitting down to watch a football game. Even when Jerry was home and watching a game, it seemed there was always something going on that kept me from watching the game. After all, I was a mother with three young children, and a woman's - or more specifically - a mother's work is never done. All three of my children were in the den watching TV. Well, Mike and Michelle were watching. Ashley was just crawling around, happing to be with her siblings. They were watching "Clash of the Titans." I had always considered it a waste of good special effects, but the kids loved it. I suppose it was aimed at their age group. I wondered what they would have thought if they were told that Zeus or Jupiter wasn't a bearded figure in a toga as the film showed, but rather was a well- groomed, middle aged judge and... No, come to think of it, maybe the movie wasn't that far off. The Judge did have a beard, although it was neatly trimmed and very dapper. And although he didn't wear a toga, in his judicial robes, I could almost imagine him throwing thunderbolts from the ancient seat of power at Mt. Olympus. And I should know about those things. After all, he was my boss. As for me, I was just puttering around the house, enjoying a leisurely Saturday morning of a three-day weekend. The rest of the weekend was going to be busy. Our church was having a picnic out at Sunset Beach, and Jerry's crew over at Duggan's IGA had a similar event planned for Labor Day at Sooner Park. Actually, even Saturday afternoon was going to be busy. I had to take the kids and do some last minute shopping for school. They would be starting classes again right after Labor Day. As I said, a mother's work is never done, so I wouldn't be sitting around enjoying any football games this weekend. So that really just left me the morning to relax. It would be a morning without the skirts, heels and hose I had actually become accustomed to in my short years as a woman. I could lounge around in a pair of shorts and a tank top, sandals, my hair barely combed, and no makeup while I enjoyed a cup of freshly brewed coffee. So of course, just as I settled down at the kitchen table to drink my coffee and read the paper, the doorbell rang. My displeasure with being interrupted evaporated when I opened the door and saw Susan Jager standing there. Unlike me, she was dressed in a business skirt and blouse. Every hair was in place and her makeup was so good I would swear she had been doing it all her life. I suppose lawyers had an image to project - even on the weekends. I wouldn't have been surprised to find that the male lawyer Susan had once been always made sure his casual attire was suitable for a round of golf at an exclusive club. Susan carried no golf clubs though. Instead little Joshua, her infant son, squirmed with purpose on her arm looking for his mother's breast. I had to grin. Susan had weaned him off breast milk already, but the little guy did not want to be denied. He had the same strong will that had made his mother a successful lawyer in two different lifetimes. "Come on in," I greeted her. "Coffee's fresh." "I could use a cup," she groaned. "I actually had to see a client this morning - with Josh here in tow." I nodded sympathetically as I poured her a cup. Usually her husband, Steven, would have watched little Josh if Susan had a Saturday meeting, but he was at the game with Jerry. Since becoming a man, Steven had become a huge football fan. Of course, in the reality that was Ovid, he had supposedly played high school football. "I'm finally understanding what the term 'football widow' means," Susan commented once Joshua had been placed on the den floor to crawl around with his best friend, Ashley. She leaned back in her kitchen chair, only at the last minute remembering to cross her legs in a ladylike fashion. I smiled to myself. We all had little relapses like that - especially when we were stressed. "Yeah," I agreed. "It's tough for me to even watch a game with Jerry. He doesn't think I know anything about the game." "Of course not," Susan replied. Then deepening her voice in a mocking imitation of Steven, she said, "Besides, you have to have played the game to really understand it." We laughed. Of course, that was a running joke with Steven and Susan since both of them were well aware that Steven had actually been a cheerleader - a female cheerleader - in high school and not the running back he was supposed to have been. "Men!" I commented dramatically, drawing another laugh from each of us. Then Susan looked at me seriously. "Would you be male again if you had the chance?" she asked quietly. It was a question I had asked myself many times. When I had first come to Ovid and had been transformed into a woman, I would have done anything short of selling my soul to be returned to my male form. To suddenly find myself a woman with a family and all had been terrifying. The first time I had had sex with Jerry... well, let's just say I was more frightened than I had ever remembered being in my life. But things change. I suppose in a way, many women are frightened the first time they have sex with a man. After all, men are bigger and stronger, and the idea of having a hardened part of them splitting the folds between their legs must terrify any number of women. Jerry had proven to be a gentle lover, though, taking care of my new needs in a way that had made my transition easier and more pleasant than I could imagine. "No," I said honestly. "This is my life now. I can't imagine being without Jerry and the kids. How about you?" Susan sighed. "I guess I have to agree with you. There were a few times when I was pregnant that I would have gladly traded back, but seeing Josh that first time made it all worthwhile." "That's good," a voice called from the open patio door. "I'd hate to think that my best friends in Ovid weren't happy." "Diana!" Susan and I called together, turning to face our goddess friend. Oh, as usual, Diana had an entirely new appearance, but the mischievous twinkle in her bright blue eyes was a familiar sight to us. This time, the goddess had chosen a statuesque Scandinavian appearance. Over six feet tall with pale blonde hair plaited into a long French braid, she moved with the grace of an athlete. She looked as if she belonged in the Norse pantheon instead of the Greco-Roman one. "Got a cup for me?" she asked, smoothly sliding into an unoccupied chair at the kitchen table. I wasn't surprised to see her. It had been a busy time in Ovid, and Diana saved her visits for the stories that those times generated. "I suppose you want to hear about our recent brush with the FBI," I said when we were all settled. After all, that story was the most interesting one by far in Ovid over the last few weeks. "Of course," she replied with a smile as she took a sip of her coffee. "Unless you know a better story..." "Oh, I think that one will do. Do you want the story now?" "No time like the present," she laughed as I started into my familiar trance... *** I had mixed emotions when I received the call to be in my Agent-in- Charge's office in an hour. On the plus side, it got me off stakeout duty. I was only an hour into a four-hour shift, watching a rundown warehouse down by the river to see who showed up. After three days of watching and waiting in a sweltering unused warehouse office across the street, I was beginning to think the pushers who owned the crates of uncut cocaine inside the warehouse we were watching were on to us. There was a chance they'd just leave the stuff there and let us swelter for weeks watching for someone who would never come. I can say one thing for drug dealers - they know when to cut their losses. On the minus side, no agent likes to be called into his boss's office. And the fact that I was being pulled off an assignment to see him did not bode well. I had never been the most popular agent in the Bureau with the powers that be. I presumed that whatever I was being called in for wasn't good. "Jeez, who did you piss off?" Grady Lacroix, my partner for the stakeout shift asked. The question should have been who else did I piss off. Obviously, an agent with my pedigree wouldn't have been stuck on a stakeout in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, in the summertime if he had pissed off a lot of people in his career. "It's probably a sign that my promotion to Assistant Director has come through," I drawled as I picked up my suit coat and my uneaten lunch. "In your dreams, pal," Grady chuckled. He was a Cajun who was purely happy to be in Baton Rouge, but he knew an agent like me with a string of degrees from fine Eastern colleges could only be in Louisiana as punishment. I'd never make it beyond Special Agent in the Bureau - not in this lifetime, at least. I supposed that was one positive thing, I thought as I drove the short distance from the river warehouse area to the Bureau's modest offices. There was no way they could send me anyplace worse. In the four years I had been in Baton Rouge, I had had enough crawfish and Dixie Beer to last several lifetimes. Baton Rouge translates as "red stick", and it was obvious the Bureau had jammed that red stick right up my ass when they sent me to Louisiana. And it wasn't that my record had been all that bad. At one time, I had been on the fast track in the Bureau, so I had skills and resources that had helped get my last two bosses promoted. I had kept my nose clean and done my job, and the Bureau had rewarded me by not flushing me any further into oblivion. I knew though that one more misstep and I was toast. So what was so important that I had been pulled off stakeout? Bruce O'Connor, the Agent-in-Charge for just the past three months, seemed to actually like me. He was a youngish Southern boy from Houston, and he seemed to think I might be able to help him get back there in a position of authority. So I really didn't think I was being called in for an ass chewing. So what was going on? "Mr. O'Connor is in the conference room," the receptionist told me. I looked at her to see if she knew what this was all about, but she shrugged it off. Apparently she didn't know either. Not that she would have told me if she did. Bruce had two other men seated with him. One of them I knew - he was Norman Allison, one of the Bureau's top experts in industrial espionage. He was pushing sixty now and the years hadn't been good to him. He was paunchier and grayer than I remembered, but the scowl on his face when he saw me meant he hadn't forgotten our earlier association. The other man was unfamiliar, though. He was tall - I could see that even from his seated position. He was in good shape despite his silver-gray hair. His well-pressed dark suit fit him well - almost like a military uniform - and made me feel just a little underdressed as I became aware of my heat-wilted suit. His stern stare made it apparent he was sizing me up. "Baxter, sorry to pull you off stakeout," Bruce said with a small smile which indicated he knew how much I - like all FBI agents - hated stakeout duty. He motioned to Norman Allison. "Baxter Blaine, this is - " "I know Mr. Allison," I said as coolly as I could manage. I didn't offer my hand and neither did he. "And this is Admiral Nepper of Naval Intelligence," Bruce continued unruffled. Unlike Allison, Admiral Nepper rose to his feet and shook my hand. His grip was firm without being too firm. He looked me straight in the eye. I liked that in another man. I returned the favor. "Admiral." Bruce handed me a folder and motioned me to a chair. I noted all the others already had similar folders. "We've asked you here today because you may have some special insights in a case these gentlemen are working on." Bruce was a little uncomfortable. What was there about the case that had him concerned? I opened the file before me, spotting a photograph directly on top. When I saw the man's face in the photo, my blood ran cold. "Andre Papivassilou," Admiral Nepper stated. "Also known as 'The Greek.'" He hadn't needed to speak. I would have recognized Andre's picture anywhere. Granted, he was older now, the nearly-black hair now about half gray and showing signs of thinning. His face was a little wider, and there was a sagging beneath his dark eyes. The photo was a little grainy, and I could see it had been taken by a surveillance camera. "When was this taken?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady and my hand from shaking. "Two days ago," the Admiral replied. "He had just arrived in Tulsa. That shot is from one of my men who was on stakeout at the airport." Stakeout at the airport? Then they had been waiting for The Greek. Allison shifted uncomfortably. It was obvious to me that he didn't want to be there. The fact that Naval Intelligence had snapped the picture told me why. Whatever The Greek was up to, Allison was the logical man to be on his tail. But he must have lost him and Naval Intelligence had picked up the scent. It had to be an embarrassment for Allison. That fact alone had made my day. "We called you in because you know The Greek better than anyone else," Bruce explained. The Admiral remained impassive, but Allison shot Bruce a nasty look. Bruce knew when to shut up. Besides, he had stated the obvious. I did indeed know The Greek better than anyone else. I gave him a faint nod of acknowledgement on that point. "As you know," the Admiral continued, "Mr. Papivassilou has been engaged in a series of industrial espionage activities since his termination from the CIA. He's very good at his game though, and this is the first confirmed sighting of him in nearly five years." I could have pointed out that a better man - me - could have tracked The Greek down. Andre must have chuckled the day he found out Allison had the primary responsibility for catching him. That meant he would be able to do whatever he wished since Allison couldn't catch a tenth grader cheating on a history test, let alone a master spy like The Greek. "So why is he in Tulsa?" I asked. "I would expect him to be in the Silicon Valley or near a defense contractor." "So would we," the Admiral agreed. "Look in the folder at the sheet on Vulman Industries. It's a defense contractor headquartered in Tulsa. Vulman has made some important advances that have military applications. We think The Greek has been hired to get them." "For who?" "That doesn't really matter, does it?" the Admiral asked laconically. It was enough of a put-down to teach me to keep my mouth shut for a while. I scanned the page he had referenced. Vulman was primarily a provider of parts for the auto industry, but the classified information on the firm indicated that they had developed some sort of fuel pump that had extended the range of our military aircraft. To the casual observer, it was mundane stuff, but to a foreign power, it was big. Imagine being able to park an aircraft carrier off the coast of a large land mass and fly to a target heretofore well beyond the normal range of an attack aircraft. Or imagine being a ruler of a Middle Eastern country and finding that your one export - oil - could now be made thirty percent more efficient, decreasing the need for your crude. One of the most important technological developments in a decade was coming out of a small company in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I looked up at the Admiral. He now favored me with a smile. "So you understand the importance of this device." I nodded. "It's incredible." "We believe this is what Mr. Papivassilou is after," the Admiral concluded. "And he already has a two day start on us." "What do you want me to do?" I asked. I could feel blood rushing through my system as it hadn't in years. I was being given another shot at The Greek. "We want you to find him and stop him..." the Admiral explained, adding, "...by any means." I couldn't believe what I had just heard. The Admiral had just asked me to do what I had waited a decade to do. I was going to get a chance to kill Andre Papivassilou. As the meeting continued, I got still more good news. I wouldn't be reporting to Allison. I'd be reporting directly to Admiral Nepper. I didn't mind being seconded to another agency. As far as I was concerned, the Bureau had done nothing but screw up every effort to catch Andre for years. Naval Intelligence couldn't do any worse. At last, the meeting ended. Allison just grunted at me and left the office with Bruce. I understood he was now out of the picture, sent back home to Washington with his tail between his legs. I had no doubt that Admiral Nepper was the cause of it. The officer must have had powerful friends on the Hill or in the current administration. Someone with substantial power had gotten the Director of the FBI to relinquish control of this case to Naval Intelligence. It didn't happen every day. That left the Admiral and I alone in the conference room. "Where do we begin?" I asked. The Admiral produced a map from his pocket. "You begin here," he replied. I looked at the circle that had been drawn on the map. It indicated a patch of what was probably farmland an hour or two out of Tulsa. I frowned. "But there's nothing there. I thought this Vulman Industries was in Tulsa." The Admiral smiled. "You'd find the Tulsa address is nothing but a mail drop." "Does Allison know that?" The answer wasn't important to the case. I just wanted to know how far out of the loop that idiot Allison was. "No." "So there's a defense plant out there - in the middle of nowhere?" I asked. "There is a hill, overlooking a valley," the Admiral continued, ignoring my question. "You'll see what I mean. It's just a few miles past this junction." He pointed at the intersection of two secondary roads. "There's a turnoff there. Your target will be there at ten o'clock tomorrow morning to make contact with a local agent. Don't bother to ask how I know. Just accept that I have my sources. You'll be there to stop him." "Stop him?" The Admiral smiled. "By any means possible. Don't bother waiting for the local agent. He isn't important. Just get your man." As much as I wanted to kill Andre, I was becoming a little uncomfortable with the answers the Admiral was giving me. He never once said, "kill him", but the implication was there. And he had to know my background. He had to know what killing The Greek would mean to me. I would be there alone - unusual in itself for such a mission. There would be no one around to stop me from killing him. All I would have to say was that he pulled a gun and I shot him in self-defense. "Admiral, what is it that you aren't telling me?" I asked at last. "Son," the Admiral began, although I thought I was a little old to be his son, "the mission you're being sent on is more important than you could ever know. I can't explain things to you now, but believe me when I tell you that you will come to understand it before long. I know we just met, but I'm going to have to ask you to trust me on this." I knew I would get no more from him. Of all the intelligence community, Naval Intelligence is, in my opinion, the most professional. Members of some agencies might dole out a little additional information just to show you how knowledgeable they were. Not the NI boys. And Admiral Nepper was a perfect example. We talked for a little longer, mostly about logistic issues. He already had a chartered plane for me to take me to Tulsa where I would pick up a rental car and proceed directly to the rendezvous point. I couldn't imagine for the world why Andre would be meeting someone in such an isolated spot, but the Admiral was so certain that he would be there that nothing more needed to be said about it. I was actually excited for the first time in years as I hustled out of the office. I was going to be given the opportunity I had been certain was beyond my grasp - I would finally be able to end Andre's life. I had no intention of taking the bastard alive. I had waited too long and sacrificed too much to let Andre live. I was so wrapped up in the thought that I nearly bumped into Grady on the way out. "Grady, what are you doing here...?" I began, wondering why he was off the stakeout. My voice trailed off when I saw why. There was blood on the front of his suit. "Oh Jeez, Grady, you're hurt!" He shook his head wearily. "Not me, my friend. It's Jack Kelso's blood." "Jack?" He nodded. "Yeah. Jack took the rest of your shift. About an hour ago, a couple of hard cases showed up at the warehouse. We called for backup and tried to stop them. They tried to get away. We got both of them. One's dead and the other was taken to a hospital. But they got Jack, too." I hesitated. I didn't want to ask, but I had to. "Is he...?" "He'll make it," Grady assured me. "He took one in the side - large caliber - but it didn't hit anything vital." We all grow up with the expression "he dodged a bullet." I literally had. If I had continued on the stakeout, it could have been me with a bullet in me. In all my years at the Bureau, no one had ever taken a shot at me before. It was a chilling feeling to know how close I had come that day. It made me feel more vulnerable than I had felt in years. But I had to shake that off. I had a mission of my own to complete, and misgivings and second thoughts were not going to help me accomplish it. The trip to Tulsa early the next morning was uneventful. It was a calm summer morning when I caught the Bureau's chartered plane. Getting from Baton Rouge to Tulsa wasn't all that easy on commercial flights, so I was happy to have the special treatment. Once in Tulsa, I picked up a smallish Dodge sedan from the rental agency and made my way out of the urban area and into the Oklahoma countryside. There wasn't much traffic, so I had a chance to think back on how long I had known Andre. When I had first met him back at Georgetown University, I had never dreamed then that I would be on my way to kill him in a few years... George was a little older than me, and he had the apartment right across the hall from mine. I had noticed him in the building back in Georgetown. We would nod and speak to each other, but I didn't even know his name. We formally met one day when I had locked myself out of my apartment. I was rattling the knob in frustration, wondering where I had left my key when George came along. "Locked out?" he had asked in that laconic tone he often used. I stifled the impulse to make some smart comment. Of course I was locked out. Why else would I be shaking my door in frustration? Instead though, I replied, "Yeah. Say, can I use your phone to call the super?" The super managed three buildings in the area and could usually be reached only on his cell phone. George considered my request for a moment before offering, "Here, let me try." He slipped in front of me, producing a strip of metal about the size of a credit card. To my amazement, he shoved the card into the latch plate and jiggled it a time or two. The door opened as smartly as if he had used a key. "How did you do that?" He shrugged. "It's not that hard. This is an old building and an old lock." "Then anyone could break in here," I gasped. "Not really," he replied. "The front door has a pretty good lock on it, so to break in, you'd have to have access to the building. But you should hit the super up for a good dead bolt. That's what I have." "In any case, I really appreciate your help," I told him as my frustration ebbed. "Can I offer you something as a reward? A beer maybe?" He smiled. "A beer would be welcome." So over a beer, I learned about Andre Papivassilou. He was the youngest son of a wealthy Greek family - or at least Greek by ancestry. He was a native-born American, although thanks to his parents, he also spoke fluent Greek (and six other languages I learned later). His family had made their money in the shipping industry, and his father was well known throughout Europe. He had turned down a chance to go into the family business. His three older brothers really didn't need his help. So with his father's contacts, he had managed to get a job with a government agency after graduating with a degree in engineering from Penn State. "So what are you doing at Georgetown?" I asked him. "This isn't much of a school for engineers." "No," he laughed. "But it's an excellent place to get a Masters in International Affairs. My agency sent me here for a little polishing." I hadn't asked him any more about that. He quizzed me on my studies. I told him that my twin sister and I had each graduated from the University of Virginia and had both decided on Georgetown for law school. "Plan on setting up a partnership?" Andre had asked. "Hardly," I replied with a grin. "Barbara and I both want to be lawyers, but we've got different careers planned. She wants to go into private practice and I plan on working here in Washington." He smiled. "You plan to be a faceless bureaucrat?" "I plan to be an FBI agent," I replied proudly. For as long as I could remember, I had wanted to join the FBI. Oh, it wasn't for the glamour. I knew better than that. It was just that I had been brought up in a family where money wasn't that important. It never is when your family has more of it than they could ever spend - and mine did. And like many wealthy Eastern families, a career in public service seemed right. Granted, the FBI was a little unusual. Most wealthy scions ended up over at State or on some Undersecretary's staff, but I wanted the Bureau. Andre and I talked about that for a while, and he finally told me that the agency he worked for was the CIA. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Best friends that we soon became, I was more than a little pleased when Barbara became interested in Andre. She had always viewed guys her own age with disdain, preferring older, more sophisticated men. Andre was ten years older than us, so he was just about the right age for Barbara. It was a slow and deliberate courtship, and by the time Andre got his Masters, they were married. It left Barbara a year short of graduation from law school, but that was all right with her. She wanted to be with Andre far more than she wanted to be an attorney. Law school was quickly forgotten. Life was good for all of us for the next few years. I graduated from law school and went to work for the Bureau while Andre and Barbara were assigned to the US Embassy in Bonn. We talked frequently and wrote even more. Barbara was deliriously happy with Andre and looking forward to the day when he was out of the field and they could start a family. Then it happened. I will never forget the day my supervisor called me into the office to give me the news. Barbara was dead. It had happened in Berlin. Those were the closing days of the Cold War. The Democratic Republic of Germany was fighting for its very existence as communism crumbled throughout Europe. It would be another year before the Berlin Wall fell, and the Soviet-sponsored German state was lashing out like a wounded animal. It caught my sister with a dying swipe. Andre had been given an assignment in the East Germany. A high-ranking member of the Stasi, East Germany's intelligence agency, wanted to defect. He had his ticket in hand - information on a new lens developed in the East. The lens would improve the focus of lasers, an important aspect of both the communications and the defense industry. Andre and Barbara had entered East Germany as tourists - an innocent married couple on a holiday. The supposed defection was a trap. East German officials had set the whole thing up to capture an American agent who could be used as a bargaining chip in the shakeup they knew was sure to come when East Germany collapsed. But some thing went terribly wrong. I supposed I would never know the entire truth, but I did know that Andre apparently decided it was better to escape alone than to be imprisoned with Barbara in the dying communist state. According to the official reports, he was only able to save himself. Barbara was killed in the escape attempt. Both sides chalked it up to one more botched operation. No one got what they wanted. The East Germans lost a bargaining chip and our side lost the new lens - if it even existed at all. But I lost more than anyone else. I lost the only family I had left. Andre had traded her life for his own, and I swore to myself in my supervisor's office that day that I would make certain he paid for his cowardice. And now the day of reckoning had come at last. A decade later, Andre would be brought to justice for the death of my sister. My life might be ruined by my actions that day, but so what? It wasn't that much of a life anyway. I had tried to make a case for punishing Andre for what had happened that day so long ago, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. It was just one of those things, everyone tried to tell me. So I made a pest of myself, calling in every favor I could in the Washington establishment. My family had a reputation - or so I thought. But my parents were dead and I had no close friends in power. It wasn't long before I was considered a pariah - a loose cannon who was an embarrassment to one and all. I found my career in shambles as I was quietly shuffled to smaller and smaller Bureau offices far away from the centers of power. As for Andre, he went free. With the collapse of communism, he left the CIA and became an independent agent, his talents furnished to the highest bidder. Industrial espionage had become his forte, and in a few years, he was at the top of his game. No one had even had a lead on him for several years. Until now. I tried to imagine as I drove what it would be like to kill him. The picture Admiral Nepper had shown me showed a man who was older with a little more gray in his thinning hair and a few more wrinkles on his tanned face. But his clothing was expensive. He was prosperous - a top independent agent. It would be a pleasure to take all of that away from him. I hoped he begged for his life. It would make my revenge all the sweeter. When I came to the spot the Admiral's map had indicated, I wondered if I was in the right place. The location was on a low hill, looking down into a valley. I had no idea what the number of the road I had taken was. The map had been hand-drawn and indicated no numbers. I checked my regular Oklahoma map and thought I had a rough idea of where I was, but there shouldn't have been the sizeable town I could see sprawled out along the floor of the valley. I got out of the car and pulled out a pair of binoculars to look down at the town. It looked like a pleasant place, much like some of the small towns that dotted the Virginia hills near where I grew up. It was hard to make out details, as the numerous trees were in full summer foliage, hiding many of the town's details. Only church steeples and a few buildings in what appeared to be the business district rose above the level of the trees. This had to be the town where Vulman Industries had its manufacturing facility, I realized. But it was too big to not appear on the map. Don't get me wrong. The town was only ten or perhaps fifteen thousand in population, but even a town of that size should have been prominently displayed on my map. In other parts of the world, there are secret towns, I remembered. Chen- he, the headquarters of the South Korean Navy was missing from many early maps. In Russia and China, there were dozens of towns that had no presence on the maps. But this was the United States. Secret towns just didn't exist - or at least they hadn't since Los Alamos during World War II. But there was no war going on now. Surely the government had no secret project brewing that would justify keeping a town of this size secret. It had to be just a flaw in the map. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car engine approaching the turnout where I had parked. The town was no longer important. Instead I had to get ready for Andre. I rushed back and climbed into the car. It wouldn't do for him to recognize me. It was exactly ten in the morning when the rented Buick pulled off and parked behind my car. That was Andre all right. He knew that he would have the advantage over his contact by being behind him. If things went wrong, he had left himself enough room to swing past my car and get away. To lure him from the car, I had to appear ready to meet with him face- to-face. I also had to keep an eye out for the man he was supposed to meet, although the Admiral had assured me that it wouldn't be a problem. Apparently he had gotten word to Andre that the meeting would be an hour earlier than originally scheduled. I wasn't sure how he had managed that, but I had confidence in his assurances. So I stepped out of the car without turning to face Andre. I heard his own car open and heard the soft crunch of gravel under his feet. I was leaning down into the car seat, as if rummaging through some papers. Never once did I look up at him, depending instead upon my hearing to determine his approach. Smoothly, I turned to him, my gun in hand. I had half expected to find Andre with a gun in his hand as well. My luck held though, for his weapon could still be clearly seen as a small bulge inside his jacket pocket. He tipped his sunglasses forward and calmly muttered, "Baxter, is it really you?" It had been years since I had last heard that voice - since the funeral of my sister, in fact. The voice was still the mellowed, cultured baritone that I remembered. And he acted as if it was no surprise to see me there instead of his contact. "It's me," I replied. "And what is the gun for?" Andre asked innocently. "Surely you don't need a gun with me, old friend." I chaffed at his amused tone. "I need the gun because we aren't friends anymore. I intend to kill you, Andre." If I had really expected him to cringe in fear and beg for his life, I would have been disappointed. He smiled a thin smile, shaking his head slowly. "Baxter, you are not a murderer." No, I wasn't - at least not in my heart. But the thought of Andre living while my sister was in her grave was too much to bear. And this was a sanctioned kill. I had nothing to be concerned about, did I? But I found it necessary to explain the obvious. "You caused Barbara's death." Andre's eyes dropped and he issued a soft sigh. "Do you think I would not have gladly traded places? If I could have died so that she had lived, I would have done so." "You had that opportunity," I reminded him. "You could have protected her - let her get away. Instead you ran and she was shot." "You have it in the wrong order, Baxter," he corrected me. "She was shot and I ran. She was dead before she hit the ground." "That isn't how the report reads," I reminded him. "Not exactly," he admitted. "But that is what happened. The report was written by others who wanted to protect their own incompetence in planning the mission." "But even if that were so, you had no business taking Barbara on that mission. She had no training." "On that we are in agreement," Andre told me. "She volunteered, you know - insisted actually. You know how Barbara could be. There was a social function in East Berlin. We both had to attend, but I was to break off for the mission. Barbara said it would look more natural if we remained together. It would look as if we were just an innocent couple. She was right, of course, but I tried to talk her out of it. She won in the end. She always did. Your sister could not be dissuaded once her mind was made up." "The report says you went in as tourists." "And I must once again tell you that the report was written by others," Andre reminded me. "We left the Hungarian Embassy that night in our own car. It wasn't difficult to make our rendezvous. It was only a short distance from the embassy. I sensed trouble at one, but Barbara had no instincts for the game. She moved suddenly, panicking the opposition. Shots were fired. Baxter, she was caught with at least three shots to the chest. Anyone of them would have been fatal within minutes. You must believe me." I didn't know what to believe. I only knew what I wanted to believe. I had spent over ten years hating Andre for causing the death of my sister, and I wasn't going to stop hating him on his say so. Andre was a good actor - the best spies often are. He could have been acting when he denied responsibility for Barbara's death, I thought. Besides, even if it didn't happen the way I had believed, he still wasn't blameless. He could have found another way to make the rendezvous - a way that didn't involve my sister. But there was a sadness in his eyes that I couldn't dismiss. The Andre I had once known was full of life. This man was a tired, middle-aged man who looked despite his words as if he didn't much care if I pulled the trigger or not. Perhaps I had been a little harsh in my judgment. Barbara and Andre had always been happy together, and I knew he had loved her deeply. I couldn't wait forever, though. I had to either shoot him or not. If I didn't shoot him, the last decade was without meaning. I would have wasted much of my life for nothing. All the poor career moves, all the broken relationships with the women I had dated, all the intense hatred I had allowed to command my life, would be wasted. I takes so little strength to pull a trigger, but so much willpower that it can feel as if the shooter is trying to move a boulder. I felt my trigger finger twitching, and in a strangely drawn-out moment knew that I was about to pull the trigger. In seconds Andre would be lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Why couldn't I shake the feeling that by killing him, I was doing him a favor? "Stop right there!" Both Andre and I turned to see a policeman standing only a few yards from us, his own gun trained on me. He was locked in a serious stance, and even the mirrored sunglasses he wore couldn't block the intensity in his face. Slim and perfectly attired, from his trooper's hat down past his crisp blue-gray shirt, dark blue trousers and gleaming shoes, he looked like the model of a perfect police officer. "Federal Officer!" I called out with as much authority as I could muster. "Stand down." "No, you stand down," he said calmly, an authority in his voice that practically demanded obedience. I could get off a shot, I knew. I could kill Andre on the spot. But I would pay for it with my own life. There was no way I could stop the police officer from firing at me, even if I had wanted to. I could have turned my gun on the policeman, I supposed, but I had no desire to kill an innocent officer. And in spite of the futility about my life I was beginning to feel, I had no desire to die. I gave Andre a look of regret and reluctantly put down my weapon. "Good decision," the officer approved. "Now lay the gun on the ground." I did so. "Stand away. You, too, sir," he ordered with a nod to Andre. Then he added, "And remove your own weapon, too. Put it on the ground." In a practiced move, Andre removed his gun with two fingers, placing it on the ground and backing away. We both stood back from our guns as the officer deftly picked them up. "Into my car." He nodded at a police cruiser that just couldn't have been there a few minutes before. I had not heard the car approach. How had it gotten there? "Both of you into the back." I looked over at Andre, then back at the officer. "Aren't you going to check him for other weapons?" "I'm now unarmed," Andre aid with a tired sigh. "He's now unarmed," the officer echoed. "But you can't know that!" I argued angrily. "What about standard police procedure?" "He is no longer armed." It was spoken in the same calm manner, but it was a pronouncement that was somehow irrefutable. I wasn't sure how or why, but the officer knew without question that Andre was not armed. Meekly I slid into the back seat next to Andre. "What about our cars?" I asked when the officer had gotten in behind the wheel. "They'll be taken care of," was the reply. "Just relax," Andre murmured to me. As a reply, I shot him a nasty glare. Andre should have been dead; I should have killed him. Why had I hesitated? The punishment I had hoped and dreamed for him for more than ten long years had been within my grasp. All I had to do was squeeze the trigger. Why hadn't I? I wondered as we rode silently into the town I had seen in the valley. Was it because a small part of me wanted to believe him - to believe that he hadn't been as responsible for my sister's death as I had imagined? Or was it the memory of our long friendship, started back at Georgetown and nurtured through the years of my youth? Or was it something else...? Perhaps it was something else, I admitted to myself. In my years with the Bureau, I had never fired my gun in anger. That wasn't unusual for an agent. Many agents went through their entire careers without using their guns except for practice. I had thought I could kill Andre without a second thought. I still think I would have done so if the police officer hadn't stopped me. But I wasn't cut out to be a killer. Even Andre had remarked that I was not a murderer. I had needed to pull the trigger for closure, but I hadn't really wanted to. Now the chance was over, I realized as I saw the large, freshly painted billboard that welcomed us to Ovid, Oklahoma. Ovid? I had never heard of a town by that name. Granted, I wasn't terribly familiar with Oklahoma, but I had driven through much of the eastern part of the state before. I knew the names of dozens of Oklahoma towns, but not Ovid. It looked to be a town of some size. It looked much like other farm towns I had seen in that part of the country. Numerous small businesses crowded shoulder to shoulder along the four-lane boulevard that the highway became. Tall, stately oak trees lined the sidewalks and neatly trimmed houses could be seen up the side streets. The only thing that appeared a little odd was that everything looked a little too neat and clean. Lawns were uniformly trim, buildings were freshly painted, and the roads even lacked potholes and cracks. It was like a small town as envisioned by Norman Rockwell or John Falter from one of their old Saturday Evening Post covers. Andre noticed it, too. I could tell because he was turning his head with interest at each new sight. He kept it to himself, though, and it was just as well. I had no interest in talking with him. I might not be able to kill him as I had planned, but I wasn't ready for rapprochement. It was just as we turned off the highway following a white and green sign labeled "Business District" that I noticed my first ghost. At least that's what I thought when I saw her. There were three young girls, early teens in age, walking down the street together. They were laughing and giggling, their towels and small bags evidence that they were on their way for a swim. Each of them had the same fresh-scrubbed youthful look, and each had a ponytail of varying blonde hair. But one of them was different - very different. Her hair was no less blonde and her smile no less alluring, but I could see through her! No, that's not quite right. I couldn't exactly see through her, but I sensed that I could tell what should have been hidden by her body. It was if the grassy lawn behind her could be seen right through her. I know the explanation isn't clear, but it was something that had to be experienced before it could be truly understood. "Look!" I called to Andre. I didn't really want to speak with him, but I needed confirmation of what I had seen. Andre turned. "What is it?" "Look at those three," I pointed at the girls as the car slid slowly past them. "Tell me what you see." He turned to watch them recede from our vision. He shrugged. "I see three young girls. What was I supposed to see?" "Did one of them look... odd?" "No." It was my turn to shrug. What was I to do? Tell him I had just seen a ghost? I slumped back into the car seat and Andre did the same. Something just didn't feel right, I told myself as we pulled up in front of a stately if somewhat modest building which declared itself to be "City Hall" in chiseled granite above the entrance. First of all, this town of Ovid shouldn't even be there, I reasoned. If it had been, I would have heard of it - or at least it would have been on the map. And then there were the "ghosts." What the hell were they anyway? I had to call my office and get someone working on this. I still had my cell phone, so I speed dialed the office. But as I got out of the car, my phone pressed to my ear, I heard nothing in the receiver. I speed dialed again. Still nothing. "Your phone won't work here," the officer - I now saw from his nametag that his name was Mercer - said. "It's tied to a satellite," I explained. "It doesn't need a cell." "But it won't work here," he argued. And he was right. That was strange. It should have worked anywhere. It utilized the most up-to-date technology we had. I looked at Officer Mercer questioningly. "You'll understand soon enough." I took him at his word. There seemed to be nothing else I could do. I followed him into the building, just ahead of Andre. We'd get Andre booked and then we could argue about jurisdiction and I could call Baton Rouge. We were escorted into a courtroom. The room was almost empty except for an attractive blonde sitting alone in the visitor's gallery and another woman - a brunette - seated at the front of the courtroom. I presumed it was to hold a quick arraignment for Andre, so I followed without question. I was more than a little surprised when I was led to the desk at the front of the courtroom where the attractive brunette in a lemon- colored women's suit stood to greet us. "Thank you, Officer Mercer," she said, and the officer nodded and stepped away. Then she turned to Andre and me. "I'm Susan Jager. I'll be the attorney for both of you today..." "Wait a minute," I said with a smile, holding up my hand. "I think you're a little confused. I'm not on the docket today. Mr. Papivassilou here is my prisoner and I assume we're here for his arraignment." She smiled back at me. "No, Mr. Blaine, I'm afraid it's you who are confused. You and Mr. Papivassilou here are both charged with loitering and - " "Loitering!" I shouted. "What in God's name are you talking about, woman? I'm an FBI agent and this man is my prisoner. And since when have loitering charges been lodged against individuals under these circumstances?" Andre was practically laughing. I was sure he had no more idea what was going on than I did, but my discomfort was obviously giving him cause for amusement. "Mr. Blaine, I suspect you have noticed things aren't always what they seem in Ovid." She said that to me as she looked directly into my eyes. I almost shot off my mouth again, but I stopped as her eyes drilled into mine. As I got control of my anger, I realized what she was talking about. I had been stopped from killing Andre by a police officer who shouldn't have been able to sneak up on us so quickly and quietly. I had seen people who were nearly transparent. I was being tried for loitering of all things in a town that shouldn't exist. And come to think of it, I had never heard Officer Mercer call in my name, so how did this pretty young attorney know it? "Loitering is a serious charge in Ovid," she went on once she had seen I was willing to listen. And by listening, I knew she wasn't really telling me how serious a charge loitering was. Instead she was telling me I was in deep shit whether I knew it or not. I was beginning to understand how Alice must have felt just before meeting the Red Queen. "Excuse me," Andre interrupted, shaking his head. "This man was just about to kill me in cold blood and he is going to be brought up on a charge of loitering?" The Jager woman sighed. "I don't think you were listening either. You are both being brought up on loitering charges. Now listen to what I have to tell you because the Judge will be out here in a few moments. If either of you are frivolous or disrespectful, he'll throw the book at you. And you must believe me when I tell you that it can bee a very thick and heavy book." I chuckled. "You make this judge of yours sound larger than life. What's the worst he can do - double our fine to a hundred dollars each and court costs? This is some sort of a scam, isn't it? Maybe you didn't hear me before, Ms. Jager. I'm a Federal agent, and if this turns out to be some sort of elaborate con, you and your judge and that police officer over there are in a lot of trouble." Her eyes were locked on mine. "Suit yourself, Mr. Blaine. But let me tell you that when the door to the Judge's chambers opens, you may want to change your attitude. I'll do whatever I can for you, but in the final analysis, you will determine your own fate." I snorted and sat down. Andre sat as well. We didn't get to sit long, though. Before Ms. Jager could come up with another retort, Officer Mercer called out, "All rise! Municipal Court of Ovid, Oklahoma, is now in session, the honorable Judge presiding." I stood more from habit than respect. From my attorney's description, I might have expected a judge right out of the Old Testament. Instead he looked fairly ordinary as judges go - perhaps a bit more distinguished than the norm for a small-town municipal judge, but that was about all. He was not terribly tall - six feet or maybe a little less. He had a neatly-trimmed beard, mostly dark brown in color but with a trace of gray. His hair was of a similar color. He wore gold-rimmed glasses which gave him a studious look. Then I noticed his eyes. His eyes were blue, the color of icy waters. When he stared at me, I felt almost as if I was already being judged. Given what was about to happen, that was probably the case. Perhaps Ms. Jager was right, I thought. It would not be wise to annoy this man. "Be seated," he called out as he took his seat at the bench. His voice was deep and authoritative. We all sat quickly. But had he told us to run around the room three times, I think we would have done so without thinking. Such was the power in that voice. "Officer Mercer, what is our first case this morning?" In reply, Officer Mercer laid a folder in front of the Judge. And yes, I meant the capital letters. The Judge was entitled to them as I was soon to find out. I found myself wondering when Officer Mercer had found the time to make up a folder on us. He hadn't been out of my sight from the moment I had first seen him. "Since the charge is the same for both of you," the Judge said, "we might as well try both of you together." "Your Honor!" Andre jumped up to my surprise as well as to the surprise of our attorney. "I must protest! I am being tried on a minor charge while this man..." He pointed at me. "...attempted to kill me." I wasn't about to let him get away with that. I was suddenly on my feet as well. "Your Honor! This man is wanted by the Federal Government for espionage. I ask that I be allowed to contact my superiors at once and have him taken into Federal custody." To my surprise and dismay, the Judge seemed more amused by our ranting than deliberate. "Such odd behavior," he commented, "for two men who used to be such good friends." Now how had he known that? "And what would you have accomplished had you killed him, Mr. Blaine?" "I..." I suddenly realized I had no answer for the question. The thought of killing Andre had long since taken on a life of its own. I had imagined killing him in a variety of ways in a number of settings, but I really had given little thought to what I would accomplish by the act. Would it have brought Barbara back? Of course not. Would it have enhanced my career? Probably not, even if I had shot Andre clearly in the line of duty. Yet he deserved to die, I reminded myself. He was a coward who had cost my sister her life. "Killing seldom accomplishes what the killer had hoped," the Judge said rather softly. "As a law enforcement officer, you should have known that, Mr. Blaine. There is a price to be paid now - and you will pay it." I found for some reason that any verbal response I might have had died on my lips. But I remained standing, almost as if I had forgotten how to sit. He turned to Andre. "And you, Mr. Papivassilou, don't think that we are unaware of your purpose in coming here. You have hired yourself out to the highest bidder, no matter what the consequences of your actions. Well, today your actions have created consequences which will fall upon you." "Your Honor, perhaps we should..." our attorney began, but I would never know what she was about to suggest. The Judge silenced her with a subtle motion of his hand. "Ms Jager, I have wasted your time by asking you to defend these two men today. Their conduct is indefensible." I nearly spoke up, but something told me to keep my mouth shut. The Judge had an angry scowl on his face, and it might be better to accept judgment and move on, I thought. Of course, if I had known what justice in Ovid meant, I might not have been as passive. "I find you both guilty," the Judge intoned. "And it is my duty to exact upon the two of you the harshest penalty I can." Part of my mind was asking what was so harsh that it lay within the prerogative of a city magistrate? After all, the charge was only loitering, as trumped-up a charge as that might be. What was the worst he could do? A stiff fine? A couple of days in jail? But as much as the rational part of my mind tried to assure me that his was a minor incident, some feral part of my brain was insisting that Andre and I were about to experience something beyond our understanding. The Judge began to speak, but the words were not familiar to me. It sounded a little like Latin, but the accent reminded me more of modern Italian. This was not the Latin I remembered from listening to priests or hearing in a classroom. This was Latin, I realized suddenly, as it must have once been spoken in the Forum of Rome when the Roman Empire ruled much of the civilized world. It was melodious and vibrant. I didn't have much time to think about the words he was uttering, though. I was too busy watching Andre. He appeared to be changing, almost as if the outlines of his body were blurring. The middle-aged sag that his facial muscles had experienced was suddenly gone, and his face became lean and handsome and younger. He appeared to have grown several inches, so he was now taller than I. His thinning, graying hair was suddenly fuller and dark blonde in color, trimmed in a conservative cut. His clothes changed as well, becoming crisper although still casual, and I could see the muscles rippling and expanding on his arms. There was something on his white polo shirt that I couldn't quite make out. Then I was able to see the embroidered shape of a gold eagle on the pocket. Underneath, I could see the words "Ovid High School Track Team." The expression on Andre's face changed suddenly from one of panic and confusion to one of strength and confidence. It wasn't until the changes appeared to be complete that I began to realize my own body was changing as well and had been as Andre changed. I suddenly realized that Andre hadn't gotten much taller. Instead, I had become shorter. And my body felt... different. It felt smaller, weaker, more... more... ...feminine. I probably would have known right away that I was now female even if I hadn't found myself in heels, nylons and a dress, but my suddenly feminine attire was like the exclamation mark at the end of a sentence. I could feel my heels slightly elevated and the extra pressure that put on my toes. I could feel the air moving over my legs and the strange sensation of sheer nylon against smooth legs. The skirt of my dress was so light it almost felt as if I was wearing nothing at all below my waist, and I felt suddenly exposed and vulnerable. "So I'll suspend the fine this time, Mrs. Cameron," I heard the Judge speaking in an almost friendly Oklahoma drawl. "Try to drive a little more carefully next time." I jumped at the sound of his gavel, feeling the spring of hair around my ears and on the back of my neck. Then I felt an arm slip around my waist. I was too stunned to do anything about it. A male voice whispered in my ear, "You see, Julie, there was nothing to worry about." The Judge had left the bench. I honestly didn't see him leave, but in any event, he was gone. So for that matter was Officer Mercer. I looked around, panicked. The blonde in the visitor's gallery was just walking out of the courtroom, and my attorney was stuffing papers in her briefcase as she watched me out of the corner of her eye. I couldn't help but think there was a little smile on her lips. I slowly got away from the man's arm and faced him. It was Andre - or perhaps I should say it was the man I had watched Andre turn into. There was no panic on his face as there had to have been on mine. He looked calm and collected, and his eyes were looking at me in a way that could only be described as intimate. I felt my new face flushing. Whatever had just happened was not what he thought had happened. To him, everything was obviously very normal. Then a thought struck me. The attorney knew. Susan Jager was obviously part of what was going on. I had to talk to her - alone - before she left me with this man who had been Andre. "Uh..." I began, hearing for the first time the sweet, feminine voice that was now mine, "would you excuse me for a minute? I need to talk to... Susan." "Sure!" he replied brightly. "I'll just go use the restroom. Then I'll take you to lunch to celebrate your brilliant victory in court and get you back to work before Cassie gets upset with you." He might as well have been speaking in the strange foreign language the Judge had used for all the sense it made to me. Victory? Lunch? Cassie? What was going on? As he left, Susan Jager looked up at me. The smile was still on her face, but it was a smile of amusement. Her eyes spoke of sympathy for what I was going through. "What happened?" I asked. "You're a girl," she replied. Well, ask a stupid question... "I know that, but why?" I asked through gritted teeth. "How? What do I need to do to change back?" "I don't know that he'll be in the restroom long enough to answer all of those questions," she replied, "but I'll do my best. The why is because the Judge decided you should be a girl. Don't feel too bad. My guess is that three quarters of the men who face him end up as girls." "There are others he's done this to?" I wanted to know. "Look, if you ask more questions, I'm never going to be able to answer your first batch." "Okay," I agreed. "Just tell me how I get changed back." "You don't." Now I knew how a bug felt when it hits a windshield. "What do you mean I don't? I can't be this. I'm not a girl." If I had been expecting sympathy, I would have been very, very disappointed. "You most certainly are a girl," she said firmly. "And you'll be one for the rest of your life. Look in your purse." She nodded at a black leather purse that was resting in the seat I had recently occupied. "That will tell you who you are." With shaking hands I picked up the purse. The feel of the leather on my smaller fingertips somehow made my new existence more real. I had a purse. Only women carry purses. Therefore... "Here, let me help," she said, a little more sympathetically as she saw me fumbling through the unfamiliar bag with my lengthened fingernails getting in the way. She pulled a large wallet out of the purse. Opening it, she told me, "Your name is Julie Cameron." Come to think of it, I knew that. The Judge had called me Mrs. Cameron and the man who had been Andre had called me Julie. "You're twenty-six years old," she continued. "Judging from the wedding picture in here the man with you is your husband." "My what?" I screeched. "Look, don't freak out," she advised with a soft touch of her hand on mine. "Remember, this is forever. You have no choice. Play along until you get used to it." That was easy for her to say. She had obviously been female her entire life. I wondered what she would think if she suddenly found herself turned into a man with a curvy blonde for a wife. I was on the verge of telling her that when the former Andre sauntered back into the room. "You ready to go, Julie?" he called. "If we're both going to have time for lunch, we need to get going." Before I had time to protest, he wrapped his arm around my small waist and gently ushered me to the door. I had only a moment for a backward glance at Susan Jager who was following my dilemma with a hint of a smile. Play along, she had said. I supposed I had no choice for the moment. Andre was certainly doing a good job of that. He was acting as if there was nothing wrong in the world. I was beginning to feel as if I had been surrounded by madmen, and there was nothing to do about it but play along. Playing along wasn't the easiest thing in the world to do. My body had changed so radically that every move I made seemed to bring new, strange sensations. There was the movement of fairly long hair along my shoulders and the back of my neck. Then there was the feel of breasts bobbing up and down. Sure, they were secured in a bra, but that didn't stop them from moving completely. As for the feel of a skirt and nylons, I nearly blushed from embarrassment. First, I was blushing because it was embarrassing to be wearing something so feminine, but I was also disturbed to find the feel of them against my new skin was actually fairly pleasant. But the strangest part of those first few minutes was when we reached the h