The Girls Of Club Cache: Lena For Hire free porn video

The Girls of Club Cache: Lena for Hire By Diana Kimberly Heche Part 1: Lena The music filtered through the brick walls of the club and pulsed nondescript and muffled in the back alley way. It burst forth with sudden clarity and volume as a cook swung open the back door of the kitchen, slinging a bag of garbage into the adjacent dumpster. Nervous, I was hyper aware of every sound around me and would stiffen momentarily every time this happened. "Shake it off Lena" I told myself. Taking a breath, I regained my composure and focused at the task at hand. I smiled up at the man in front of me, trying to convey both sex and warmth. Seemingly unsure as I was, he pushed the money into my hands. I dropped the wad into my purse in a single motion with out bothering to count the crisp new bills. A wave of humiliation washed over me which I just as quickly pushed out of my mind. Now was not the time to have second thoughts. I pushed him gently into a sitting position onto a seat in the back half his enormous boat of a SUV. Kneeling in front of him, wordlessly I unfastened his belt pulling his pants and underwear down around his knees. His hard ready cock sprang forth waiting stiffly for me to begin. I squeezed my eyes into a tight squint which obscured my surroundings into featureless blur. Only the hard swollen dick remained in my sight. Somehow, that seemed better. Clearing my mind I moved my tongue slowly over the tip of his penis, bringing my lips down gently onto the head. I wetted the tip with my warm lipsticked lips before pushing down further and slowly on his swollen member. My tongue worked inside my mouth pressing on the underside of his cock. He moaned almost imperceptibly as I let my lips slide further down his shaft taking his entire penis into my mouth. I moved up and down on his shaft pressing my lips and tongue even tighter, moving slowly at first, then increasing in pace. His hands rested on the back of my head, guiding without pressure as I sucked more quickly on his engorged dick. After a moment more, I could feel his hips lifting from the seat as he wanted to explode into my mouth. I released his dick from my lips, his shaft now glistening from the moisture of my mouth. I placed my thumb over the tip of his cock as though I, if he really wanted to, could keep him from exploding right there. Very carefully, I slid the rubber over his penis, beating him off slightly in the process, but not wanting him to shoot before I even got it on. I turned my back to him and swayed my hips side to side suggestively as I slid my silk black panties slowly down my legs. My jet black suspender panty hose enclosed around the top of my waist, leaving my ass exposed in the semi-darkness of the vehicle. My dick now swung free, which he tentatively fondled. I lowered myself slowly onto his lap, sliding his dick into my ass gently as I could from this angle. Although I had fingered myself with lubricant not ten minutes ago, his cock was long and wide, and I couldn't trust what a sudden thrust would do. I felt his head slide up against, and finally past, my now relaxed sphincter. I slid further down, squeezing my hole and cheeks tightly. Reaching with the hand that wasn't holding my skirt up, I caressed his balls, rolling them gently in my fingers. He had slid nearly all the way in before exploding in body shaking waves. I was quite certain he would blow the condom clean off. I let him sit there, squeezing my hips with his hands, until his penis became soft and squeezed out of my tight hole. As he relaxed, his hand ran down the back of my hosiery clad leg, across the tops of my feet perched in the high black patent leather heels. The leg and foot fetish that attracted him to me in the first place had not subsided even if his sex drive temporarily had. Pulling a baby wipe from my purse, I stroked him clean and into a semi-hard state before pushing his underwear back toward his crotch signaling that, despite his on coming wood, we were through. As he adjusted his clothing and checked himself to re-enter the club, or leave - I suspected the latter - I made note again of his wedding band. It was that single piece of metal that made me feel confident enough to have sex with him in his car in the alley behind the club. It was common wisdom that married men, with reputations to keep, were very little trouble. If the club, on the other hand, caught me back here in light of their stringent stance on no sex near their property, now that would be trouble. As he adjusted himself, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My breast forms and gel bra were still well in place, making round mounds of flesh stand up and spill out of my top. My tiger print top and black skirt, were a little loud for my usual taste, but clung to my body in a tight curvy inviting shape, made that much more so by the curve of my legs into the high stilettos heels. I brush the locks of blonde hair from my face long enough to see that, slight lipstick smearing aside, my make up was still impeccable. I was, I had to admit despite my strong feelings of modesty over my looks, a beautiful girl when I worked at it. He was very gentlemanly and walked me around to the front of the club. He explained to me in earnest but nervous tones that he would like to see me again but didn't know when and how. It was cute in a way. He was a married man, who had just paid for sex, yet he didn't want to offend me. I grabbed his hand and rubbed his wedding band and told him I understood that certain ... other obligations ... may slow him down. I offered as parting words, "I'll be here. You have my number". He turned and I watched him walk away before going in. The mountain of a bouncer stationed out front smiled at me as I approached. The bouncers, and the club in general, were very protective of the girls. For as much as we needed the club, the club to be what it was, needed us just as much. I swung the open to an explosion of sights and sounds. It was Saturday night and Club Cache was in full motion. Disco pulsed, lights swirled, and the beautiful women strutted around in clothing so revealing and sexy they would be illegal anywhere else. For this club was known for a single thing - it's palm sweat inducing girls and its manic dance beat. But of course, these weren't just any women, and this wasn't just any dance club. The women that went to Club Cache were there to shine. Many were TG performers, a good number lived as women - some out in the open as transgendered, some not. There were a smattering of part time cross dressers who were encouraged and appreciated by the scene, but most here lived for the illusion - with butt and breast implants, curvy hips, and lips as collagen plush as pillows. A good number were professionals and could be discreetly taken back home for a price. But no matter how they fell along the spectrum, they were serious. There was no wobbling along on heels here, these women moved with confidence. Men, largely straight, came to this club just to see women more sexy and inviting than anything they would find out in the "regular" clubs - six inch platform heels, skirts as tight and smooth as liquid, breasts spilling out of the tightest of tops. And they danced like no tomorrow. Such was the life in the city's most popular TG club. I sat down at the table next to my newest friend and one of my accidental roommates, a woman known only by the single moniker "Jazz". Jazz, actually was known as Jasmine for quite some years before moving down from San Francisco. Upon arrival she discovered she was one of several Jasmine's that were regulars at this and other clubs in the area. Not one to be like anyone else, she quickly altered what she was to be called. And "Jazz" fit her well. Jazz, all leggy five ten of her, was unlike me in every way you could imagine. She was a full time pre-op transsexual with some tens of thousand of dollars of surgery. She occasinally called herself "Everything But The Girl" an offhand allusion to a band she enjoyed while at the same time indicating that her male equipment was intact and functional. But no matter, she was absolutely and brilliantly beautiful. Jazz had grown up in Brazil and word was spent a good deal of time doing modeling of some kind. Although she wouldn't exactly deny it, she never made it clear what that modeling career entailed. Any attempt to engage her in that conversation was met with a wave of the hand indicating boredom. But it was clear to me after knowing her for a short time, that the boredom was feigned - a screen. Whatever went on in Brazil was going to stay there. I reached into my purse and quickly counted out the money I had been given. Not bad, huge tip. I signaled for the waitress, a petite pretty woman with very large, breasts, still hard and straining the skin from recently being implanted. I ordered a drink and admired her as she gave me a smile and a wink. She had been working here for years and each week she seemed to be getting better looking. She like Jazz, was "Everything But the Girl" and had no problems operating as a woman during the day. Then there was me. I couldn't be more different than the two of them. And I, unlike them, found myself in this world quite by accident. Well, more accurately, found myself permanently in this world, quite by accident. I had been a cross dresser, successfully, for years. I was slightly built, had a surprisingly feminine face when make up was applied and knew enough of the tricks to pass in virtually every situation. I went out occasionally, but no more than a couple of times a month, and tried to stick to TG clubs. And unlike Jazz or my other new roomate Darcy, there was no rolling out of bed and being taken for a woman for me. Although highly successful at it, I required hours of time to transform into Lena. And my transformation required privacy and space, which was a luxury I hadn't been afforded often, but took whenever I could. And it was a single misstep in this area that lead me to where I am now and altered my life fundalmentally. The waitress brought back my drink. I sipped it, it was strong, good. Jazz was talking to a man who said he was a fan of hers and came out to Cache every Saturday night to catch her act. He crouched down beside her chair to put himself at eye level. His tone became more intent, his volume quieter. It was obvious to me that he thought he was going to be one of the rare men who take Jazz home. Good luck young man, you're going to need it, Jazz prefers skirts. I swirled the ice cubes around, clinking the against the side of the glass. I watched the girls and the men who chased them, move about the room. This was now the tenth night in a row I had been in this very chair. Mere weeks ago, I came to Cache once or twice a month. But that seemed lifetimes ago now. Before spending almost every waking hour as Lena, before accepting money for sex, before finding myself submerged in a world that I only had a passing understanding of just weeks ago .... ******* Four weeks ago, my life situation could not have been more comfortable or more different. I had just completed my junior year of college, and things were looking bright for the upcoming year. I was living with the daughter of the Dean of Student Affairs, and both daughter and mother saw me fitting into her long term plans. And I deserved it, I very much appeared to be a very good catch - I did well in school, was polite, and looked to go places. And while it was was never really articulated, it was understood that Dean Anne Wasiolek would pull strings behind the scenes to help place me in a comfortable starting position in one of the larger advertising firms - a big help in a business noted for making you scrape your way up from the bottom. Karen Wasiolek, her daughter, was heading toward a bright future as well. She was a shoe in to be accepted into law school and it was fairly certain she would be sticking her foot into politics like her father. And complete the power family circle, her father, a renowned lawyer had spent much of his career as a lobbyist at the state capitol, but now worked on the Mayor's pet project - the Civic Police Task Force - a liaison group between the police and various citizen groups. Just by simply staying the course, I had a chance at a very nice life indeed. All I needed to do was not fuck up. Like many bad days, this one started benignly enough. It was an early summer evening and I had the apartment to myself for at least another week. As much as I cared for Karen, it was nice to be alone. Since she moved in with me, it was becoming extremely difficult for me to become Lena. I was feeling more and more guilty about hiding the truth. Although I was able to easily rationalize the reasons, there's a point where omission quietly slides into deception. The point of my telling Karen that her boyfriend, Carlton Scott, could become woman that got hit on at malls, had now slid way past simple omission. There was no way to explain faked poker games and fishing trips that never really happened. Like many men, I was hiding the existence of the other woman, and in this case, that other woman was me. But on this particular night, Karen was not at the forefront of my mind. Having the house to myself, I planned to fully pamper myself and head out on the town as Lena. I filled the bath tub and sat soaking in a bubble bath to soften my skin. Placing my foot on the edge of the tub, I carefully ran a razor over my legs, which because of hair remover I used from time to time on them and on my face, were not very fuzzy to begin with. Standing up I pushed my penis between my leg and shaved my pubics into a nice triangle shape. I lead Karen to believe this was because I taped my groin when I went running and didn't want to pull the hairs off. In reality, this didn't make much sense, no one tapes a groin sprain that high, but she never pressed the issue, so I just left it at that. I put a silk bathrobe over my shoulders and sat in front of the mirror to carefully apply my make up. I was lucky, my face was usually baby smooth so I would be able to use just enough make up to give me a clean feminine look without the heaviness. I plucked my eyebrows just a touch, I had to strike a careful balance between having nice eyebrows as Lena, but not having too much of the feminine arch as Carlton. I then brushed and blended the make up until satisfied, then applied the final touch, a light red stick. Time to get dressed. I combed out the blond locks of the wig and placed it securely on my head. I would style it later. Or maybe not, the tousled hair falling over my eyes seem to convey a sexiness. I wrapped the waist cincher around my midsection, clasping it tight. I pulled out a pair of shiny, black suspender panty hose, my favorite kind these days, and stuck my arm all the way to the foot of each carefully inspecting for runs. Satisfied that there were none, I rolled them carefully, and slid them over my smooth lotioned leg slowly. My toe pointed outward, I took the time to feel the cool sensation of nylon slide up my legs. I chose a small black mini, and a shimmering blue and black top. The bra and gel pads I used were situated nicely, pushing my chest upward, exposing the tops of my breasts in just enough eye catching cleavage to attract attention. I ran my hands down the sides of my hips, with the cincher and the hip pads. I felt curvy. To finish off, I slipped my feet into a pair of black shiny strappy platform heels. Final inspection. After all these times of looking at myself this way in the mirror, I never quite could believe how good I looked. I often thought it was, perhaps, more my thinking I was this much of a woman than an actual reality. But after a few trips out a Lena - being hit on and pursued - there was no longer any question in my mind. And in a nod to my work, and to my ego, I said to my reflection "I'd fuck me". Grabbing my purse, I headed out to the club. I hadn't been to Club Cache in some months and it was nice to be back. It was nearly midnight by the time I arrived. I had stopped off for a drink a a quiet bar not far from here where I was chatted up by two men. As was the case tonight, sometimes I become so intoxicated with the fact that I can be a desirable woman, I lose my head, and at the very least, track of time. Now I would never get a seat. Through the crowd, Darcy, one of the prettiest six foot women one would ever want to see, motioned to me. She had a table in front and an extra chair. I sat down next to her kissing her on each cheek, as was the Euro-style greeting popular with the girls here. Darcy had taken a liking to me, despite the fact that I was an infrequent visitor the club. I was very grateful for this. Breaking into the tight circle of regular girls, was not an easy task. Part time cross dressers, no matter how nice looking, were not always warmed to immediately by regulars. Not that there wasn't a definite friendliness toward most of the "part time sisters", but I detected an unspoken hierarchy from the first time I was here. Girls like Darcy were at the top of this hierarchy. Darcy turned to her right and introduced me, "Lena, have you met Jazz before?" I had not. Meeting Jazz for the first time was a breathtaking experience. The Brazilian beauty smiled electrically at me, I could feel my head go light from the sheer power of her looks and flawless body, which seemed to house an energy of personality waiting to burst from her shell in shards of light. "I've seen your show," I made gesture to the stage where various performances were minutes from commencing, "I take it since your sitting here, and not backstage, you won't be performing tonight." She shook her head, laughing, "My snake is broken." This as I would later learn as I spent more time with Jazz, was a typical tactic of hers - the surreal misdirection accompanied by the distinct air that this portion of the conversation was over. As the house lights flickered down, I was left wondering how someone or something could break a snake. We sat and drank our drinks as the series of lipsyncers, and the occasional dancer, bounced about the stage. The acts were punctuated by banter from the host, a woman with a four foot beehive that called herself simply "Dragon Lady". They were, as all the acts that crossed this particular stage, attractive and quite good. They all crackled with energy. Some of the girls in the audience would walk onto the floor and slip a dollar into an article of clothing. Having watched this ritual countless times before, I noted that seemingly only the hottest girls were doing this. I had to wonder if walking onto the stage under the lights in front of the crowd, even if for just a moment, was as much about 'look at me' as it was supporting the girls dancing. When all was said and done, the girl who did a funny, but very sexy, send up of pop teen idol Britany Spears, won the night. I applauded enthusiastically like the rest. And with a flip of a switch, the music was back on and the dance floor was quickly filling. Darcy grabbed me by the hand and we danced away. There were handfuls of guys dancing, but a larger number of the girls dancing with each other. I felt a brush from behind to find Jazz was dancing behind me, pressing herself against my ass. Darcy moved in, and I found myself grinding between the two women. I played it up by grinding right along. With Jazz's firm breasts against me, I could feel the strains of my penis as it ached to spring loose from its tucked away position. Darcy said playfully, but in a voice that I interpreted to mean clear intent, "We should take this little sexy girl home". The prospect of being in bed with Darcy and Jazz, this woman of impossible beauty, made me dizzy with desire. I told myself not to get worked up, this was never going to happen, and I tried my best to push the idea from my head. After dancing on and off all night, at around 3:40, they seemed to have had enough of the club for the night and invited me along for breakfast. There was a late night breakfast place, quite a scene unto itself, that was friendly to the girls and a few blocks away. Still spinning from my lusty haze, I asked them if it'd be better if we went over to my place and I cooked them something up. They smiled at each other in a way that I wasn't quite able to read. "Breakfast sounds fantastic" purred Jazz. ****** Not long after I we got back to my place and I finished whipping up some eggs did I realize that food wasn't what was the primary item on the menu. I felt a pair of hands around my waist and the feel of breasts pushed against my back. Darcy had started licking around my ear lobes and from the feel of her probing squeeze and hot breath, I knew she was ready to go. Darcy pushed me lightly onto the kitchen table and was working my panties over my hose. From my lying position, I lifted my ass off the table to assist her. The plate on the table clattered to the floor spilling the remainder of the eggs everywhere. I didn't care, I reached up and squeezed her large breasts in my hands, greedily kneading. Once the panties were gone, my hard dick finally sprang free after being tucked away aching with desire for so long. I waited with great anticipation for her to place my shaft between those pouty full lips. Darcy leaned over me kissing me deeply. She reached around grabbing me behind my knees and lifted slightly. It was at this moment with alarm and, odder yet, anticipation, that I realized I was not going to get my dick sucked, I was in fact going to be made into a woman. Jazz walked over and began working her lubricated finger in and out of my ass slowly. Involuntarily I moaned, it felt good in my virgin ass. She slowly worked a second finger past my protesting sphincter. "Oh this pussy is tight" she whispered, "I can't wait to take some of this". Darcy slid her panties down releasing a surprising large dick. I felt some trepidation at the concept of it sliding in my tight unexplored ass. "I'll be nice, little girl" she half whispered and half moaned as she inserted her throbbing member into my hole. I felt a brief jar of pain. Jazz, hearing something she liked turned up the radio by the stove and slipped out her clothes completely. Her large soft breasts bounced once freed from her bra. I marveled at juxtaposition of the perfectly shaped body and the penis hanging between her legs. Darcy had now lifted my panty hose clad legs and wrapped them around her. I was surprised at my flexibility. She was slowly pumping my ass with her large cock and I slid gently back and forth across the table, the gel bra making my breasts bounce in my shirt. Jazz walked to the head of the table, and steadying my head, placed her dick in my mouth. Despite the fact that I now had a cock in both my ass and mouth, I felt excited, sexually charged. I was being fucked as a woman. And fucked by two beautiful women. I liked it. My sphincter relaxed more as I became more aroused, and Darcy pumped me harder. I reached up and grabbed Jazz's dick and worked my hand up and down and I took her deeper in my throat. All three of us moaned with pleasure as the songs on the radio seemed to weave perfectly into the scene of sex and pleasure. Not one of us heard the car pull into the drive way. I saw them first. Jazz had removed her dick from my mouth momentarily and I turned my head to the left to lie it against the table. The girls faced each other, and neither one of them could see through the kitchen door all the way down the hall. But I could. There they stood - the Wasioleks - speechless, shocked, opened mouthed. The front door was still ajar behind them and they were gripping a set of luggage, unable, or unwilling, to put it down. I had often heard about moments frozen in time, but had never experienced one such as this. My mind was in as much shock as their's must have been, because I was unable to move or say anything. The only way indicator that time passed at all was the steady rhythm of sliding back and forth on the table as Darcy fucked me for all their eyes to see. Several things then happened at once. It was at this moment Darcy, her pelvis slapping against my ass in a hard fuck, exploded her load and moaned in release, "Ohhh, you're my little bitch with a tight little pussy". It was at this moment that Jazz, who had been dancing around the kitchen, felt something was wrong, followed my gaze, and turned toward the door and faced them - a completely naked Greek goddess with a penis between her legs. It was at this moment that realization crept across the Wasiolek's faces. This was not some blonde who had invaded Karen and Carlton's apartment getting done on the kitchen table. This blond, who was dressed and looked like a pretty girl in her own right, was in fact me. It was at this moment I realized my life as I knew it was over. Karen fled from the room in tears, followed by her mother calling out her name. Only the father, now shaking with rage so intense that hot salty tears squeezed from his eyes, remained. Darcy had pulled out of me, and the girls were now scrambling to put their clothes on. Karen's father walked in. He spoke in low level tones, trying his best to keep his lid on. "I don't care if you live here or not. You, and your ... lady friends ... are getting out now. You sir are finished. And I mean you are finished." I was. I motioned for Jazz and Darcy to go upstairs, in a very short moment we grabbed every essential of mine we could, fleeing my own apartment like thieves. As we pulled out of the driveway, the words of Karen's father rang in my head, "... and I mean you are finished." ***** In the coming weeks I received a notice from the University that I was under consideration to be expelled from school. The hearing would take place in the fall. A paper that I had written - two semesters ago - had been declared plagiarized. It wasn't. But a paper, very similar to it, written several years before "appeared" in Dean Wasiolek's office with a note accusing me copying large portions of its ideas. I had never met the person who wrote this paper, nor could I get my hands on it easily. I could try to fight it in the face of the evidence - strong - but nevertheless, false. But that would require facing a Dean who was out to destroy me. I'm not a stupid person, I was not unaware of the sheer size and scope of what just happened. For a paper bearing any similarity to one I had written a year ago, to turn up - in the middle of the Summer this shortly after the "Karen incident" - spoke of the full weight of the Office of Student Affairs bearing down on a single student. Me. This took time, planning and manpower. It spoke of an office willing to do whatever it took to squash me. And my single defense? Proving one of the university's celebrated Deans had a grudge because she caught me, not only cheating on her daughter, but cheating by getting fucked by two girls with dicks on the kitchen table of her daughters apartment. I would likely still be kicked out, but with this indiscretion woven into the fabric of daily gossip. Sometimes the medicine is worse than the cure. No, I wasn't going to fight it. I was now out of school with a cheating black mark on my record. But that is not where it ended. As I walked into the kitchen, the phone rang. It was Karen's father. Caller ID identified it as coming from his office, and when I picked up the phone, the buzz of the work place could be clearly heard in the background. His tone was friendly and casual, which after seeing him the other night, disoriented me and set the alarm bells of in my head. "Listen, Carlton. I was doing some routine file work and found a screw up. Somebody around here mixed up one thing or another and attributed a cocaine conviction to you," his voice was smooth and snake like, "Since I know for a fact that you didn't have a record, there's no real need to worry. It is easy enough to clear up, there are plenty of accompanying court and parole papers that will clearly show that this conviction is not yours," he paused. I could feel he was about to deliver the punch, "I'll take care of it for you, but it may take a little time. You will probably have some trouble with getting into other schools," Other schools. I grimaced as he un subtly laid out just how screwed I was, "or getting a job, so have them call me, I'll straighten it out." Shell shocked, I thanked him. There was nothing for me to gain pissing him off further. I put down the phone. What was I going to do now? I had been living with Darcy and Jazz for a few weeks now, basically rent free. I had nowhere else to go and left this number and address as my point of contact. My parents lived on the other coast, 3,000 away and would have taken me back home under any circumstances, but I was not ready. I didn't know if, or how, I was going to explain all of this. For now, I was choosing not to. Darcy walked into the kitchen, frowning when she saw my face. "What's the matter?" I sat down, brushing the locks from my eyes and crossing my legs with a light swish of nylon. I involuntarily looked checked my feet, making sure my nail polish was still pristine. They looked good in the sheer hose and strappy high heels I was wearing. Having moved in with Darcy and Jazz, I was Lena a large portion of the day, days at a time. There was nothing overtly said, but the two girl were very disinterested in my Carlton persona, and as I discovered as time went on, disinterested in men in general. Being Lena made the living situation easier, and as a non-paying guest in their home, I wanted to make things as easy as I could. But it wasn't just that either. Darcy, and to a much lesser extent the aloof Jazz, helped Lena. They hadn't always been surgically altered to perfection, and knew scores of tricks and tips to perfect the illusion. I had always passed, but now I looked prettier, sounded better, and was able to sustain my womanly existence for days at a time. And I had to admit, it would have been exciting if the circumstances weren't so strange. That said, I was able to look good in clothes such as shorts and t-shirts, something I was never able to pull off before. Answering Darcy's question, I explained the contents of the conversation I had with Karen's father. She confirmed what I had been thinking at the time. The father is either lying to me, or that he would actually "clear my record" in due time. It was too risky otherwise. Any dime store lawyer could pull enough records to show it was a mistake, and Karen's father is probably smart enough to wipe it before it comes back to haunt him. This will go on just long enough to make me suffer. Although it was nearly one o'clock, she was still in her night gown. This was a late night crowd and we hadn't been up for long. Darcy leaned back, stretching her arms behind the chair, opening her mouth in full yawn. Her large pert breasts lunged forward invitingly under the sheer material, straining it to its limit, allowing me to look on them in their clarity and fullness. Her panties showed through as just a strip of material, undoubtedly a thong in the back. I, as I did many days when I looked upon the two beauties that lived here, felt my dick swell partially with desire. Against my will my mind wandered back to feeling of her sliding inside of me pushing open wide my quivering hole. I wanted that feeling again. "Why'd you do it Lena?" Darcy's non sequitur caught me off guard, pushing me out of my day dream. "Do what exactly?" I replied. Somewhere in my mind I noted half heartedly that I spoke in a feminine voice almost all the time now, "Why did you risk taking us back to your place?" I furrowed my brow, "Because I didn't expect them to be back for a week. And I NEVER expected the whole family to walk in the door. That never happens". "No, that's not what I'm asking," Darcy continued, "Why did you risk the relationship with Karen at all. We might have had second thoughts, had we known". I believed her. The sexual heat from that night had never been recovered, and although I suspected I had heard sex between Jazz and Darcy taking place, I was no longer included. Part of it, I assumed, was because I was so very out of sorts lately. But now it was dawning on me, as I took a moment to look past my own nose, that they were a more than a little miffed at being put in that situation. They were exceptionally beautiful women who get that feedback every day and the royalty of Club Cache and the scene in general. I put them in a situation where they were looked upon by the unsuspecting Wasiolek's as abberations, oddities. I became hot with shame as I realized what had transpired. "Look. I'm sorry I put you girls through that." As if sensing an apology, Jazz had now appeared in the kitchen from nowhere, "I thought it was safe," I paused, "It's difficult to explain. But when I go out as Lena, I feel like everything I do is okay because it is so separate from my other life. I couldn't begin to explain my need to dress like a woman, no less my need to feel like a woman ... be touched like one to Karen. Cartlon would have neve cheated. But Lena is not Carlton. So I go out and do what I have to do, what my psyche urges me to do, and then quietly go back to my other life," I reflected for a moment, "which I don't seem to have now". "Yes, what are you going to do?" asked Jazz flatly. I felt the unspoken words 'because you can't stay here rent free forever'. I pondered the question for awhile. They waited. Nothing moved in the kitchen but the sweeping second hand of the wall mounted clock. I didn't know what my options were, but none of them seem appealing to me. What I needed to do was run away from my life. I needed to get away from Carlton while I sorted things out. Maybe get away from him altogether. I made up my mind. "I want to submerge. I want to go all the way." For the first time since I moved in with them, they looked at me with a sparkle in their eye. Part 2: Submerged I gulped down my drink quickly as I pondered the line that I had just crossed. I had been paid to fuck. Prostitution. My mental state notwithstanding, it had been surprisingly easy to do. Through the filter of my recent encounter I looked around the club watching men everywhere talking to the girls. How many of these would end up as couplings of payment? It was known that many of the girls who came here were professionals, but it was very difficult to tell which ones. The entire dance of sex for hire was extremely discreet and subtle. Before coming tonight, in between assuaging my fears, Jazz explained to me exactly how I should play it. I was to let a guy or two chat me up for a while and get a feel for how ready they were. Jazz noted that after being hit on for as many years as she had been, you could almost smell the sexual desire in these men. She explained that when subtly trying to "close the deal" for sex, straight guys were better than gays and married guys were the best, but not to worry so much about the gay guy rule, because there were very few of them here. Despite the unseen "plumbing" of the girls, this was a club after all, full of beautiful women. Following Jazz's guidance, I was able to work my way through the situation with minimal clumsiness but maximum nervousness. A thirty-something, well dressed professional oozed desire for me and was actively chasing me all night. I was flattered, yet fearful of the potential impending sex and embarrassed that I was going to ask him to pay. I let him buy me drinks to steel my nerve before I asked him if "he'd been with a special girl before". Earlier, Jazz had explained to me - in no uncertain terms - to let him know what gender would be found beneath the dress. It was rare, but some men weren't able to put together what was going on here. Others assumed, wrongly, that, in cases such as Jazz, breasts and hips meant nothing down below. I was pretty enough, she pointed out, that I had better disclose. Earlier my pursuer introduced himself as Terrance. I explained to Terrance that we could go to his car, if he "really wanted to get to know me", but I may require "a good bit of cab fare" as I lived very far from here. I flushed with embarrassment. It was slightly - slightly - more sophisticated innuendo than a street walker asking for a "date". His eyebrow raised for a moment, but comprehension crept across his face along with a smile. Fifteen minutes later, I had his cock in my mouth. Thinking back on the memory, I couldn't help but think how surprisingly profitable the whole thing was. A girl could make quite a bit of money this way. If she could live with herself, that is. Darcy now sat down beside us. She peered into my eyes as if trying to gauge my state of mind before speaking. "I saw you leave and come back. How'd it go?" she asked. "Well, I can start contributing toward groceries." I answered somewhat evasively. She glanced at me probingly for a moment longer before saying "Good." Living with Jazz for so long, evasive answers must be a way of life for her. She switched gears, "Listen I spoke to Warrington about your getting the hosting job," she jerked her thumb over her shoulder indicating Warrington Culpepper, owner of the "Warm Kettle" was mulling about somewhere in the club. I instinctively looked over her shoulder for Culpepper as I reflected on how I really needed this job. Darcy and Jazz had been letting me live expense free for quite some time now and I know the tab was adding up. Add this to blowing out my credit cards to get a wardrobe for being Lena almost every day, and I was a girl in need of a steady income. It was that extreme need of cash that pushed me into sex for money tonight. A hostess at the Warm Kettle would be a decent start to paying back my debts. The Warm Kettle was one of the oldest restaurants on this side of town and in the throes of change. Facing declining clientele and failure, Warrington came up with a simple plan; cater to the scores of t-girls who passed by his window every night. He saw the success of the "trans-friendly" late night breakfast place, and using the same strategy decided to be the place to go before the club. Warrington had begun visiting Cache to get the word out about the upcoming change and get a feel for what kind of atmosphere would be best for this crowd. He was also informally interviewing for positions, as he planned a largely TG staff. "He likes me quite a bit," Darcy paused smiling, "so he said he give you a chance. He's thinking about changing the name to 'Hot-T'." All three of us laughed. "Hot-T" sounded like cheesy T-shirt shop or a t-girl porn site to me. "I hope he's not sold on that one, too silly, too obvious," Jazz giggled forth. We all laughed heartily again. "In any case," Darcy finished, "I told him you'd meet him tomorrow at around noon. Can you swing that, Miss future 'Hot T?'." I nodded I could, and we laughed again. As I watched Darcy chuckle over her drink, the wheels of my mind were turning. I was intrigued by the smile Darcy gave when she said straight laced, father of two, ex-city councilman, Warrington Culpepper liked her quite a bit. "Liking" Darcy quite a bit was a very specific concept for me. For a moment my mind's eye jumped to the scene: Warrington on Darcy's bed, pants down, face down, while Darcy fucked him from behind - her breasts bouncing wildly while he muffled his moans in the down pillow. I smiled wondering if one of the muffled moans I heard behind her closed door, while getting myself a late night drink from the refrigerator, were his. Very possibly so. Darcy rarely took men home, except to get something from them she wanted, and when she did, she never took bottom. Jazz was the same way. Many of these men thought things were going to go one way, but through the sheer charisma and beauty of the girls, would find they were going another. I'd fallen under that spell, that's how I was here in the first place running as far from my male persona as I could. ****** The morning of the Warm Kettle interview I woke up early determined to look my best. I took a nice long bath, shaving my body slowly and carefully until not a single hair could be seen. Taking out my favorite scented body lotion, I spread the moisturizer over each inch of my naked flesh, running my hand back over each part several times to ensure that I was smooth and silky. To make sure everything was just so, I had laid my clothes on the chair the night before. I held up the satin black panties and rubbed the cool fabric against my face before sliding them on. The silky material was snug and inviting against my penis. I felt myself grow hard as I moved about and the panties rubbed against my dick. Resisting the urge to bring myself to a climax right there, I pushed my stiffened rod between my legs with great difficulty and tucked it away. I then reached for a corset like girdle hybrid that I had recently purchased with funds I really didn't have. But this thing was known to do wonders. I squeezed into the binding undergarment, clasping each of the metal eyelets closed tightly, forcing, squishing, and coercing my body into an hour glass feminine shape. The cups of the corset also squeezed and pushed at additional flesh, so that my breasts were already filling out a good portion of the built in bra. I smiled as I realized once finished, I would have nice full breasts today. Feeling sexy and turned on, I forwent the panty hose, and grabbed a garter belt and stocking from the drawer. Positioning the belt, I slowly slid one stocking over my freshly shaved, silk smooth legs. The nylon felt cool and sensual and it encased my legs in a sheer black layer, emphasizing the long, curvy sexiness of each leg. I pulled the stockings into place, clasping them in the button hook of the garter belt. I ran my hand up each leg, charged with the feel of the sheer material to my touch. Taking the dark blue skirt from the chair, I wiggled my hips from side to side as I raised the tight form fitting mini over my legs and ass. Once on, I checked my legs and rear from different angles in the mirror. The pulling of the corset made my ass stick out just far enough, round, sexy and inviting. The curvature of my hips to my waist also looked feminine and pleasing. I put my gel breast forms in the cups of the corset, and as I suspected, my breasts leapt out, nice round and inviting - I had to be a round C cup easily. I slipped a slightly low cut blue sleeveless sweater and was pleased to see the how nicely my cleavage had formed - eye catching but not overwhelming. To complete the sexy, but professional look, I put on an open blue jacket that matched the skirt, and slipped my feet into a pair of closed toed sling backs. Having not needed wigs for quite a number of years now, Darcy had given me all of hers last night. I chose mane of luxurious, very real, sandy blond locks. I had always had a nice wig, but this one was simply amazing. I ran my fingers through it feeling the soft feel of the real hair. I checked myself out yet again. Even without a speck of make up on my face, there would be no doubt in anyones mind that was a woman staring back from that mirror. I placed myself in front of the vanity mirror and carefully applied the make up to complete the package. Finishing off with my favorite frosty brown lipstick, I was very pleased with the outcome. Jazz and Darcy were both up drinking breakfast shakes when I came into the kitchen. I had been living with them for sometime now, almost always as Lena, but I had never seen them just stop to take me in as they did now. I must have looked particularly good this morning. Their eyes sparkled with a mixture of pride, and if I was wasn't mistaken, lust. They complimented me on how I looked, which I expected them to say to build my confidence, but I was surprised to hear the enigmatic Jazz go a step further, "You remind me of me some years ago. You look very nice," there was an almost dreamy sound to her voice. I took a moment to grab a breakfast bar and puzzle over this statement. I shot a look toward Darcy, but her face gave no clues. I knew asking for clarification from the resident mystery woman directly would leave me with more questions than answers, if I even got a response at all. But still, I was intrigued. Jazz, like me, was still quite young, and from what I could piece together, has been a t- girl since she was at least a young teen. With her and Darcy's help, I was prettier and more accomplished than ever, but, still, I can't imagine she was ever like me. I was man who liked to be a woman occasionally, and was lucky enough to be good at it. No matter what shell Jazz was born in, she was always meant to be a girl. In the back of my mind I made a note to myself that I was going to get to the bottom of the vast unknown that was Jazz. But for now, I had to go meet Warrington. Both girls told me again how good I looked and wished me a sincere good luck - although, if I my understanding of Darcy's relationship with Warrington was correct, I didn't so much need luck as I needed not to screw up. ****** Arriving early, I found a spot fairly close to the Warm Kettle, but remained in my car to take in the world from behind my sunglasses and get into the interview mode. Being on this side of town during the day was quite different. It was far more flat and mundane under the unforgiving eye of the sun. The energy which crackled in the night air was missing in the light of day. Objects which did not belong to the excitement of the night life and receded into darkness out of respect, now sat awkwardly and embarrassed in in the open light; dumpsters, shoe shops, the tacky awnings of back alley tailors, all projected the dullness of daily life. The Warm Kettle had never been an establishment that catered to a lunch crowd, so Warrington Culpepper had to unlock the door to let me in from the inside. He was taller, and more handsome than I anticipated. Whenever I saw restaurant owners, I imagined them to have started in one of two professions - chefs or bartenders. Culpepper with hair just now showing the first signs of grey and fit build, his warm smile yet and clear assessing eyes, struck me as the latter. He took my fingers lightly turning top of my hand skyward. For a brief moment I thought he was going to kiss the back of it, but he just gave it a gentle shake. He invited me to sit down and asked a few cursory questions about my experience as a hostess. I gave him pat answers about not having a lot of experience as I had not been Lena for long, but being a quick learner with a passion for the job, I would pick it right up. He listened politely, but he wasn't fully engaged in my answers. I realized as long as the WK had been around, he had heard a thousand variations on this very speech. "Well, it's not brain surgery," he said finally, lazily interrupting me, "and you are obviously intelligent and ...pretty enough to fit the requirements of the job." I smiled relieved. It is one thing to believe you are going to get the position, it is another to hear it. "So, now that we have that settled," he said, seemingly as relieved not to listen to another "hire me" sales pitch as I was to be done interviewing, "why don't you tell me a little about yourself? Darcy tells me you became her roommate some weeks ago when you were dealt a fairly harsh and, it sounds like, devious hand." His tone was matter of fact as if he were talking about my getting a parking ticket. I started, looking up at Warrington sharply. What was it he was doing here? What kind of question was that? "I hadn't realize that Darcy had told you so much about me," I answered. "Oh, don't be alarmed," he said in that same matter of fact voice, "After so long in this business, I like to know a little about, and get a feel for, the people working with me. It's not directly job related, granted, but after the third or so time an enraged ex husband or such shows up and makes a scene, chasing off the paying customers, you want to try to weed that out ahead of time. Also," he added, "I am catering to a new, quite unique, clientele, I am just trying to get a handle on the community ... motives and so forth. You know, so I don't alienate any one accidentally." He waved his hand about languidly dismissing his intrusiveness as common place. I was still shocked, and now, more than a bit wary. How much of my recent life did he know about? And to what end? He drove on unfettered by the onset of my discomfort, "In any case it sounds like this job came in the nick of time. You're out of funds and your credit cards are about maxed," I was finding him as hard to read as Jazz. This was the politician - the ex- city councilman in him. "And if I understand correctly, you may have to get wrapped up in some legal bills to clear your name of this drug thing". His information concerning my false drug record wasn't exactly true, but it was at this point that I knew he had all the information he was inquiring about already ... at least all of the information as filtered through Darcy's perception of me and my circumstance. He was no longer, and probably had never been, asking anything. He was leading this conversation somewhere very specific. I noted a subtle change in his demeanor as well. His eyes more openly searched me, the curves of my breast to the skin peaking above my stocking right below the hem of my skirt. I began feeling more self-conscious about my clothing, questioning the choices I made. I found myself trying to tug my hemline downward as I pretended to smooth my skirt. I was handed an instant lesson in how it was to feel vulnerable over choice of clothes. I was fearful and vaguely angry at the same time, despite probably having done it a hundred times as a male. "You're blushing a little. And you haven't said a word. Can I get you a drink from the bar?" I nodded. Although nothing overtly was transpiring here, at least yet, a drink to take off the edge would be nice ... and I needed a moment away from his gaze to think. As he walked across the spacious restaurant floor to the bar my mind tossed the events around. Warrington had established that he was aware how precarious my situation really was. I had no money, was in debt, and it was the sheer goodwill of Jazz and Darcy that had kept me afloat so far. But how long would that last. I had already desperately had sex for money fearing that I was at the end of my financial rope with them. He also understood that the situation that placed me here - getting fucked as Lena in front of the entire Wasiolek family, the drug charge and school expulsion, had isolated me from my family and the rest of my prior world. Yes, he knew how much I needed this job. As I watched him mix two stiff drinks, I was certain he understood that I was not a person who could afford the word "no". He returned, handing me my scotch and water. Standing close, his hand was now on my shoulder and his crotch nearly in my face. I could see he was straining his slacks with the stiffness of a hard on. He clinked his glass of brown liquid - rum and coke I suspected - against my glass. "Listen, to be frank," he began again, not moving from his standing position over me, "I need someone with a few more skills than just a plain hostess. I need someone who will help fill the need of what I saw going on at Cache." His body twisted slightly toward me, the bulge in his pants nearly touching my cheek. Not even certain why myself, I found that I was unable to move. "Darcy explained how you were willing to do a little ... extra ... at the club the other night for ... grocery money. I have found men who have that very need with a special girl like you, but are afraid to go anywhere near clubs like Cache. I am hoping we can make a grocery money from them. I'm sure it would be far more profitable for you than the hostess job - if you get it mind you. What do you say?" He reached up and unzipped his fly. His stiff cock fell out and brushed my cheek. His proposal was on the table: if I want the hostess job at all, then I would have to turn tricks for him. And I couldn't be sure, but based upon how much he knew about me in advance, he could in league with Darcy. An answer of no could mean no job, no money, no place to live. My mind, dazed, slogged through the equation muddily. And there he stood, stiff and waiting, dick in my face, wanting to test "the goods" and seal the deal. My choice was before me. With hot tears welling in my eyes I reached behind him grabbing his butt cheeks with both hands. I turned toward him all the way and pulled. His cock slid into my mouth suddenly, almost causing me to choke. I tried to hold him in place, but he was too excited, pumping away, fucking me in the mouth. His hands were now grabbing the back of my head hard while he pumped away in my mouth. Unable to hold the saliva, I felt spit drip down my chin as he went back and forth shoving himself deep into my throat. Tears of shame flowed freely now as I listen to his grunts as my face was being smashed into the coarse hair of his pubics. I had a distant thought of how my make up was being ruined. He pulled out of my mouth and pushed me guidingly to the floor. With one hand he yanked up my skirt as he pulled down the panties that I had taken so much time to pick out. Please god, I thought, don't rip them. I was on all fours scrambling for my purse with my left hand. "Condom, condom" was all I could seem to say, my voice now shaking. He was not pleased, but ripped open the package and roll the rubber quickly over his dick. Not waiting a moment later he jammed his dick into my hole. I screamed with pain as the sharp sensation burned. This stopped him for a moment, and he began probing more gently. I had the wickedly self loathing thought that he realized he was damaging the merchandise - and I was too valuable for that. He pushed in more gently, but it still burned in my ass as he pushed his cock further and further. I rocked back and forth with each slam of my ass, tears flowing and puddling on the tile below. As he sped up there was nearly and angry feel about his fucks. Was it lashing out for taking hard cock from Darcy how many ever times? Was it the financial decline of the Warm Kettle? I stopped thinking and let my mind go blank of he shoved his cock deeper and deeper, spreading my anus with pain. And finally, thankfully, with one last pump - face turned toward the ceiling - he exploded in my ass. Warrington Culpepper had now broken in his girl. After fucking me a degree shy of rape, Warrington did not seemed bothered by the tears I had shed, or the fact that I was an obvious wreck. He pulled me up kissed me on the cheek, and told me I was going to be his best girl. He sent me in the bathroom to pretty up, and sent me on my way with a schedule for the next week. The restaurant was not due to convert for a couple of weeks, but he wanted me to help him with the hiring process and ideas for the change over. When I got home, thankfully, Darcy and Jazz were not there. I couldn't face them - especially Darcy. I wrote them a note that told them I got the job, didn't feel so great and would probably sleep and went to bed. I cried myself to sleep. They apparently abided by my wishes, for when I woke up, it was nearly 9:00 a.m., if I didn't get a move on it I was going to be late. A sense of dread flowed over me as I got dressed to head to the Kettle. The events of yesterday were with me very tangibly as I moved about sorely from the rough sex the day before. As I dressed, I found myself putting on sexy and coquettish clothing. High sling back heels, a short black tight skirt, and a low cut blouse with my largest gel pads and padded bra creating ample cleavage. I was at a loss to explain, after feeling as uncomfortable as I did yesterday from the looks ... and the forced sex ... why I would look inviting for him again. Had I just accepted my fate without any fight? Was there a secret place I had not accessed that wanted to be taken? Am I just giving up and becoming whore? I was confused and ashamed and stood immobilized in front of the mirror. I placed a finger under my eye to prevent tears from flowing out of my eyes. Thankfully, they never came. When I arrived at the Warm Kettle the second day, I used the key Warrington gave me to let myself in. He didn't appear to have arrived yet, but I heard his distinctive grunting from the kitchen area. I swung the door open and gasped audibly. On the large table used for food preparation situated in the middle of the table was a girl I recognized as Brandy, one of the girls who was rumored to be a professional back at the club. She was lying on her stomach, naked and spread eagle, and Warrington was lying flush on top of her, his hips rising and falling as he shoved his dick deep into her ass. Their flesh vibrated in unison. He moaned and grunted out "tighter than any pussy" interspersed with her screams of "fuck me baby, fuck me baby!" I must have been the only one who thought this situation was wildly out of place, for both Warrington and Brandy looked at me as I entered, both locked eyes with me in an oddly conspiratorial manner, but neither moved from the carnal act they were engaged in. With a great moan, and Brandy making convincing orgasmic noises of pleasure, Warrington lost his load. He lay on top of Brandy motionless for a moment, and said simply "Brandy, this is Lena, Lena, Brandy. Brandy is our new bartender". And so it went. The next few days a variation on the same theme unfolded. Each night I would drive around until I was sure Darcy and Jazz were at the club, and sneak straight to bed, rising before they did. Each day Warrington hired and fucked each new girl - most of the time making me watch as he claimed I was "part of the hiring process" and this was "part of the hiring". I knew it was part to humiliate me and part to keep me off balance, but realized it was largely to leave me with no illusion as to what was going on, and no illusion as to what I was to be. In a particular crude display of his new found power over me, he had one of the girls bend me over the bar and fuck while he placed his penis in my mouth while he casually sipped a drink. He said he wanted to make sure I was "broken in" for the customers. As this girl pushed her dick in and out of my ass, moaning wildly with pleasure, my mind was able to drift miles away. I never considered leaving. I was indeed broken. And after what seemed to be a whirlwind of girls come in and out of that door, and seeming a endless succession of witnessing Warrington bang beautiful t-girl after t- girl, it came to an end. We hired a full staff of eight - two cooks, a bartender, one hostess, and three waitresses. The Warm Kettle - Warrington now figured the name had a hidden meaning to it and decided not to change it - was ready for business. Part 3: Darcy I had been successfully avoiding Jazz and Darcy for nearly a week. It was actually far easier than I had anticipated. With their late nights out and late mornings rising, our contact had been limited to passing, albeit, friendly comments which didn't give away the deep turmoil I was feeling these past few days. And in this household where anything could be happening behind closed doors, the sanctity of the bedroom was well respected. Remaining there most of the day ensured my privacy. In anticipation of earning money soon, I had taken out more cash on my nearly broken credit card and was contributing toward food and rent. Since it was well known I was broke my contributions were seen as a generous gesture and kept the household humming along on a note of good cheer, despite my lack of appearances, or the fact I didn't feel cheerful at all. This is why I was so startled to awaken to find Darcy standing in my open doorway. I looked over at my clock. Six a.m. From the looks of her outfit, an all black one piece clingingly tight mini-dress - making her luscious blond locks and curvy body stand out that much more - she was probably just coming in for the night. As much as the focus of my resentment and inner chaos was directed toward her, I still had a single thought: god she's tall and beautiful. How can someone this amazing have ever been a boy? As my brain moved further from sleep reclaiming its clarity, I suddenly felt naked. Not in the literal sense, for I was wearing a nightgown, but I was not made up or anywhere close to being in my Lena persona. The only thing that spoke to my feminine side was the lingerie I chose to sleep in. I didn't want Darcy to see me this way. But even as I was feeling this, a voice in my mind clearly wondered when exactly it was that Lena became the face to the world and Carlton became incomplete nakedness ... something to be hidden. Darcy leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms, "When you avoid someone for a day, maybe even two days, its not noticeable. When you avoid someone for a week, they catch on. Especially ..." she paused and her eyes narrowed, "since I would guess you and I would want to chat". The discomfort of my appearance subsided a bit as indignation rose in its place. "I would assume," I dragged out the word 'assume' to place sarcastic emphasis on it, "that you and your confidant Warrington would have discussed everything you would want to know." Like clouds rolling across the horizon her facial expression swept from mild annoyance to puzzled concern, "You're angry with me and hiding out for a week because I told Warrington a little about you?" She remained in her leaning position against the door. "If a little bit about me includes telling him everything about the fiasco that got me here and my financial situation ... letting him know he had the upper hand for your little plan ... the I guess it is 'a little bit about me' that I'm angry about." I could stand it no longer. The story of the past week bubbled forth and I told it to Darcy in excruciating detail, leaving out not one bit of pain, not one iota of humiliation. Her expression of agitation was now replaced by anger. She listened carefully, only interrupting a single time to ask a question. When I had finished I found myself shaking with pent up anger and hurt. Darcy moved over and sat down by my bed. She smelled faintly of alcohol. She gently grabbed my chin to look me straight in the eyes. "Yes, I told him some of .. most of ..." Darcy paused, regrouped her thoughts, and began again, "I told Warrington a bit about you to emphasize how much you wanted and needed the job. I did tell him about your ... grocery money experience ... but that was just to drive home the point. I'm sorry, I should have never told him that. It was mistake, it was too personal of a thing to tell him. I screwed up," She paused again, getting a grasp on her own anger, "but believe me when I tell you, I did not know any of this was going to happen. I thought the job was just that, a job. No more, no less. The Warm Kettle being used as a front for a brothel is a shock to me as well". She fell silently into thought once again, but the puzzles she was working in her mind didn't seem to resolve themselves. "What are you going to do?" She asked earnestly. It was my turn to think. After a spell I told her "Go to work, I guess ... make enough money to quit the Kettle and move on." Darcy spoke up adamantly, "You don't have to put yourself in that situation. Jazz and I can afford to go a little longer without money from you.