Amazing Grace Part Seven Chapters 25 28
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Double Take, Part Seven: Amazing Grace, Double Jeopardy free porn video
Double Take
© 2003 by Nom de Plume
Episode Seven: Amazing Grace, Double Jeopardy
What a difference a fraction of an inch makes!
Sandy Lane reflected on this as he brushed the loose powder off
his nose. When it was a centimeter smaller, with a slightly
different curve to it, his nose had given him the face of a
beautiful girl. Now, although he was still nice-looking, nobody
would be mistaking him for Ashley Vaughn.
Standing side by side at the his-and-her vanities in their new
master bathroom, they made quite a sight. Ashley Vaughn, her
breasts taped down, was wearing a pair of Sandy's boxer shorts as
she tugged at her man's brown wig. And Sandy, dressed in a bra
and panties, was applying the finishing touches to his makeup,
his long blonde hair still wet from his lilac-scented shampoo.
Sandy trembled with anticipation as he stepped into their
enormous walk-in closet to pick out his ensemble for the day. He
hadn't worn a stitch of women's clothing since his accident off
the Redondo jetty, and he had put on a good ten pounds following
his return to competition surfing. Still, his swimmer's body was
lean and lithe, and he had maintained the ritual of removing all
of his body hair, which gave him a psychological edge in the
water.
Let's see, what to wear... he spied a cotton jumper, white with
little pink flowers, and a matching pink T-shirt hanging next to
it. Perfect for an afternoon of shopping after a lady's lunch. He
looked through Ashley's shoe racks and found a pair of pink
canvas espadrilles that ought to look cute with his outfit. He
was holding one of them up next to the dress to make sure they
were the right shade of pink when he felt Ashley's arms around
his waist.
"You're gonna have to wear nylons to make those fit," she said
with a giggle.
"That's okay," he said without a trace of embarrassment. "They
turn me on."
"That's what I love about you, Sandy. It takes balls for a guy to
say something like that."
"Right now, my balls are a problem," he said, looking down at the
growing tent his panties.
Ashley watched as he pulled on the T-shirt and stepped into the
jumper. He tied the strings behind his back into a loose bow,
like he had been doing it all his life. The dress fit him
perfectly, except for a tell-tale bulge in front.
"Try to think girlish thoughts while I dry your hair," she said,
steering him back to her vanity. He sat down on her tuffet and
closed his eyes while she went to work with her brush and dryer.
"This is gonna be so much fun!" Ashley said as she ran the brush
through his golden hair. "I can't remember the last time we did
this!"
In fact, it had been almost six months. Sandy's spectacular
return to professional surfing had coincided with the meteoric
rise of Ashley's acting career. Released from her Wet Girls
contract, she had snared a part in a made-for-TV movie based on a
true-crime story, and her brilliant performance as the victim of
a cheating husband had catapulted her onto the cover of People
Magazine. That same week, Sandy Lane was splashed all over Sports
Illustrated, which featured a cover story about his astonishing
return to the pinnacle of men's surfing.
They were one of the hottest twosomes in America, and it was
becoming impossible for them to go anywhere without being
besieged by autograph-seekers and paparazzi. Although they were
not yet married, they had sold their homes and bought a house on
the beach near Playa del Rey. They loved their new place, but
escaping from it was becoming more and more of a challenge. So
when Ashley mentioned for the umpteenth time how much she missed
going out like a normal couple, Sandy had solved the problem by
redefining what was normal.
"There's no reason we can't go out like everybody else, as long
as we make sure nobody can tell who we really are," he told her.
"Well, duh! How are we going to do that?"
"I'll be the girl and you can be the guy."
Needless to say, Ashley jumped at the suggestion. Fortunately,
she had saved the wig and prosthetic nose fashioned for her by
the Wet Girls makeup department, and they were both bouncing off
the ceiling as they began their preparations that morning. Fixing
Sandy's libido had been job one, and Ashley thought she had taken
care of the problem after she made love to him twice before they
got out of bed. Evidently the prospect of dressing up in her
clothes was as exciting for him as it was for her.
After Ashley finished drying and styling his hair, she pulled it
back behind his ears and tied it with a pink ribbon that matched
the flowers on his jumper. At the sight of himself in the full-
length mirror, the bulge in front of Sandy's dress became more
pronounced. Ashley sighed as she lifted up his dress and pulled
down his panties.
"This is not very lady-like," she said as she teased his aching
cock.
Sandy groaned as she kneeled down and began coaxing another
orgasm out of him. Stiff and sore, his exhausted penis held out
until Sandy's eyes wandered over to the half slip and suntan
pantyhose waiting for him on his vanity. The prospect of wearing
them sent him over the edge, and he succumbed with sweet
anticipation to the pleasures that lay ahead.
***
Lieutenant Goering greeted Detective Halani as he came off his
Hawaiian Airlines flight from Honolulu. The lieutenant's LAPD
credentials had enabled him to bypass security, and he was
pleased to see that Detective Halani had carried his luggage on
board. Within a few minutes, they were driving down Century
Boulevard in an unmarked car.
"If my daughter hadn't left People Magazine in the john, I never
would have figured it out," Lieutenant Goering was saying as they
drove towards Playa del Rey. "It turns out that Sandy Lane was
acting as a stunt double for Ashley Vaughn at the time of the
Cruz murder."
"So he lied to you about not having his nose fixed."
"Among other things. I'm still not sure how it all went down, but
we have enough to hold him for suspicion of first degree murder."
"What about the girl?"
"At a minimum, she's a material witness. Maybe an accessory after
the fact. We'll read him his rights, and see if she volunteers
anything."
"What's the plan?"
"They live a few minutes away from here, in Playa del Rey. We've
had a crew outside since yesterday. They haven't left the house
since they came home last night. I thought we'd pay them a
visit."
The lieutenant's radio squawked. "The subject's vehicle is
backing out of the driveway."
"Stay with them. Don't let them see you. Call me back when you
find out where they're going."
***
Ashley and Sandy were unrecognizable as they strolled through the
Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica. It was so wonderful,
walking hand-in-hand without being hounded for autographs by
total strangers, with no cameras or microphones stuck in their
faces.
They stopped from time to time, pretending to window shop at
little boutiques as they stared at their reflections in the plate
glass windows. They were slightly overdressed compared to the
other shoppers, Ashley in her black shirt and slacks and Sandy in
his dress and nylons, but those who noticed probably took them
for tourists. Each indulged in secret thoughts as they studied
the handsome couple in the windows.
Why does he dig this so much, Ashley wondered to herself. I mean,
putting on guy's clothes is no big deal for a girl, we do it all
the time. For me, pretending to be a guy is cool, but for Sandy,
pretending to be a girl is... hot. She looked over at him. He had
stepped out of one of his espadrilles to scratch an itch through
his stockings.
Sandy blushed self-consciously as he stepped back into his shoe.
She's looking at me like I'm a fairy, he said to himself. Why do
I dig this so much? Look at me, standing here in one of Ashley's
dresses. What must she think of me? How can she respect a guy
who's such a sissy?
"You know, I think I've got this all figured out," Ashley said at
length.
"What do you mean?"
"I'll tell you over lunch. Hungry?" Ashley took his hand and led
the way to an Italian restaurant with outdoor tables, under a
trellis festooned with hanging plants. They studied the menu and
agreed to give it a try.
"Two," she said in her guy voice to the maitre'd, who seated them
at a quiet table. She ordered them each a glass of Chardonnay,
and waited until they were alone before she took Sandy's hand.
Her engagement diamond sparkled on his ring finger.
"Tell me what you're thinking," Sandy said, suddenly feeling very
vulnerable.
"How many women have you been with?" she asked softly.
"I dunno," he answered, surprised by the question.
"Come on, you must have some idea. You told me you lost your
virginity when you were sixteen. That was almost ten years ago.
How many girls have you slept with since then?"
Sandy had no idea.
"I'll bet it's at least a hundred, right?"
"I guess."
"So it's safe to say you like girls."
"You might say."
"Then I think I know why you dig this so much."
"Why?"
"You're crazy about girls, you're good-looking enough to pass for
one of us, and you've got the balls to do it. So you can't resist
the chance to see what it's like sometimes. It's elemental
logic."
"It's gotta be more than that."
"Why?"
Sandy hesitated.
"Don't hold back. We're on the verge of a major breakthrough
here. Tell me what's on your mind?"
"Your little theory doesn't explain why I've got a hard-on right
now."
"Another one? Sandy Lane, you're incorrigible!"
"It just makes me so hot when I dress up like this," he blushed.
"Can I let you in on a little secret? It makes girls hot, too."
"What?"
"I get a rush when I put on a new dress, or when I'm wearing sexy
lingerie. We all do. It's part of the fun of being a girl."
A waiter appeared to take their orders. When they were alone
again, Ashley pressed ahead with her analysis. "Being a guy at
heart, you have only one thing on your mind at all times, which
is sex of course. So it's natural that you're gonna get off on
this." She sat back with a triumphant look on her face, as if she
had just invented the theory of relativity.
"Okay, Professor Vaughn, you've got me figured out. How about
you?"
"Me? I dig dressing up like a guy because it's cool. Women do it
all the time. Nobody thinks twice about it, because we don't have
your hang-ups."
"That's not what I mean. Why doesn't it turn you off when I dress
up in your clothes? I mean, how can you respect me like this?
Sometimes I think you like me more as a girl than as a guy."
Now it was Ashley's turn to blush. "I used to think I was gay,"
she said quietly. "Big hairy guys just turn me off for some
reason. I never really enjoyed sex until I met you."
"But when we're in bed, I'm a guy. Even when I'm wearing one of
your nightgowns, I'm definitely a guy," he said defensively.
"Don't I know it! There's something so hot about making it with a
beautiful guy who's soft and sweet, like you."
The chattered away for hours, happy just to be with each other
and to share once again their incredible secret. They were
lingering over coffee and ice cream when two men approached their
table. Ashley had never seen either one of them before, but they
both looked vaguely familiar to Sandy. Oh shit.
The men stood a few feet away from the table, looking confused.
"Sandy Lane?" one of them finally said.
"No, this is rocky road," Sandy said, taking a dainty spoonful of
ice cream.
Goering looked bewildered, but Halani saw right through him.
"Sandy Lane, you are wanted in connection with the murder of
Buster Cruz. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you
say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have
the right to talk to a lawyer..."
SANDY LANE TRIAL STARTS TODAY
Honolulu - Sandy Lane, the dominant surfer on the men's
professional tour, goes on trial today for the first degree
murder of rival surfer Buster Cruz. Lane, 25, was indicted
after a two year investigation for the sensational killing
of Cruz at a Waikiki Hotel. A former Hollywood stuntman,
Lane was disguised as a woman at the time of his arrest.
Police had been pursuing a mystery woman in connection with
the unsolved murder, and they expect to prove that Lane was
similarly disguised when he lured Cruz to his hotel room
and shot him in revenge for an altercation at a surfing
tournament.
Sandy sat impassively next to his lawyer, a smooth-talking black
man named Dexter Boyd, as the Deputy District Attorney gave his
opening statement to the jury. "The evidence will show, ladies
and gentlemen, that the defendant lured Mr. Cruz to his suite at
the Halekulani by disguising himself as a woman and pretending to
be a Hollywood producer. At some point, Mr. Cruz thought she, or
he, wanted to have sex with him, because his trousers had been
removed when she, make that he, shot him in the genitals. As he
lay bleeding on the floor, the defendant shot him again, in the
face, with premeditation and malice aforethought."
Ashley, dressed in a severe black suit, sat in the front row of
the courtroom, which was packed with spectators and the media. To
the nation, it was the most sensational trial since O.J., but to
her, the whole thing was like a bad dream. At least the DA had
decided against prosecuting her, lacking enough hard evidence to
go after her as an accessory or an accomplice. The only other
familiar face in the courtroom was Grace, their old friend and
confidant from the Wet Girls crew, who had flown in from Los
Angeles to support them.
The publicity had done wonders for Ashley's career, of course,
and she was now the most sought-after actress in Hollywood. The
producer of her next picture had agreed to shoot around her as
the trial date approached, and she was determined to be there for
Sandy, no matter what happened. Although they had never discussed
it, in her heart she knew that Sandy had killed Buster Cruz, and
that he had done it to protect her. She kept up a brave front as
the trial progressed, but inside she was dying.
Sandy looked like a fish out of water in his suit and tie. His
hair, cut short for the trial, was a shade darker now, and after
six months in jail, his perpetual tan was long gone. The judge
had refused to release him on bail, and the combined deprivation
of Ashley's love and the feel of the ocean had precipitated the
gradual erosion of his soul. When the District Attorney refused
to accept any plea that would result in less than a life
sentence, Sandy had resolved to go to trial, and to take his one
shot in a million at regaining his lost freedom.
As the case progressed, the evidence against him piled up like
logs on a bonfire. It was all circumstantial, but it was
devastating: the video of Buster Cruz's assault established
motive, the record of Sandy's air travel to and from Honolulu
established opportunity, the testimony of Goering and Halani
about his lies and evasions impeached his character, and the
photos of him in women's clothing at the time of his arrest added
fuel to the flames. The only good news was Dexter Boyd's
successful effort to exclude some damning DNA evidence found at
the murder scene, the result of a snafu at the crime lab that he
was cleverly able to exploit.
Although Dexter Boyd was known for his flights of oratory, he was
also a skilled courtroom tactician. After the government wound up
its case, he requested that his client be allowed to spend the
lunch recess with him in an adjoining witness room to enable them
to go over his testimony. The revelation that Sandy Lane would
take the stand, and the surprising absence of Ashley Vaughn from
the courtroom that morning, brought the spectators to a fever
pitch and they scattered for the two hour recess.
The members of Dexter Boyd's entourage were carefully screened
before they passed into the witness room to meet with their
client: only Boyd, another lawyer from his office, and a
paralegal were allowed to enter. After the guards locked the door
behind them, everything happened with remarkable speed and
efficiency.
First, Ashley removed the wig and glasses that had disguised her
as a member of Boyd's legal staff. While she was taking off her
skirt and blouse, Grace the makeup wizard removed the files from
her paralegal's bag and produced a cosmetics kit from its false
bottom. Meanwhile Sandy had taken off his suit and tie and was
staring longingly at Ashley in her bra and panties, and she was
staring back at him the same way. "Go ahead, but make it quick,"
said Boyd, who didn't miss a trick. They rushed into each others'
arms and embraced, knowing it might be for the last time.
"Oh Sandy, if only none of this had ever happened," Ashley cried.
"Then I never would have met you. No matter what happens now, it
was worth it. Now come on, be a man," he said gently. "I've got
to make myself beautiful."
***
When the trial resumed after the noon recess, Ashley Vaughn was
back in her front row seat, but all eyes were on Dexter Boyd as
he took center stage. The defendant sat next to him, looking
nervous.
"Counselor, is the defense ready to proceed?" the judge asked.
"Yes, your honor."
"Call your first witness." The young man seated next to Boyd at
the defense table got up from his chair and walked over to the
witness stand.
"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but
the truth?" the clerk intoned.
"I do."
"Please state your name for the record."
"My name is Ashley Vaughn."
Pandemonium broke out in the courtroom. The deputy district
attorney was on his feet, shouting "Your honor, we object to this
travesty. I don't know what Mr. Boyd's game is, but this looks
like another one of his well-known tricks."
The judge was incredulous. "If this is Ashley Vaughn, then who is
the woman sitting in the first row?"
She stood up and said, 'I'm not a woman. My name is Sandy Lane."
Total bedlam ensued. The judge banged his gavel again and again
until the ruckus died down. The deputy district attorney was
shouting "Objection!" and the spectators were falling all over
themselves, trying to get a better look as Sandy self-consciously
tugged his skirt down over his knees. Opaque white and flesh-
colored tights under sheer nylons masked his body hair, and the
wig which Ashley wore into the witness room had been styled by
Grace into a layered shag. Most amazing, the little loops which
Grace inserted into Sandy's nostrils had recreated Ashley's
turned-up nose ? the same technique employed on Judy Garland for
her role as Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz.
"Mr. Boyd, you'd better have a very good explanation," the judge
said.
"If your honor will grant me a little leeway, I think it will all
become clear."
"This is a travesty!" the prosecutor shouted. "Mr. Boyd has
turned this courtroom into a drag show!"
"Your honor, this is a murder trial. A man's life is at stake.
The defense maintains that this is a case of mistaken identity. I
demand the opportunity to demonstrate my client's innocence."
"Go ahead, Mr. Boyd, but I warn you, you are on very thin ice."
Dexter Boyd walked over to the witness stand and stood a few feet
away from Ashley, who was fidgeting nervously with her short
brown wig. "Miss Vaughn, how long have you and the defendant been
dressing up in each other's clothing?"
"It started out as a gag on the set of Wet Girls two years ago.
We've been doing it off and on for fun ever since."
"Have you ever appeared in public dressed up like each other?"
"Many times."
"And on the day of the defendant's arrest, he was wearing one of
your dresses and you were pretending to be him, were you not?"
"That's right."
"Now, where did you spend Thanksgiving the year before last?"
"At home, in the Hollywood Hills."
"I believe Detective Halani and Lieutenant Goering testified that
you were in New York."
"They were mistaken. I was supposed to be in the Macy's parade,
but I was coming down with a bad cold, so Sandy took my place."
A clamor swept through the courtroom, and Halani and Goering
shook their heads in bewilderment. "Thank you, Miss Vaughn. Your
witness."
The prosecutor sprang out of his chair like a tiger. "Miss
Vaughn, did you kill Buster Cruz?"
"No."
"Did you know that a man identified as Sandy Lane flew to
Honolulu a few days before the murder?"
"I heard that here in the courtroom, yes. But it couldn't have
been Sandy. He was in New York."
"Then how do you explain the fact that he bought a ticket to
Honolulu and checked into the Royal Hawaiian Hotel?"
"He didn't. Someone must have scammed his identity. He was always
buying junk over the Internet, and I warned him that could
happen."
"I see. How convenient. Did you know that Sandy Lane had an axe
to grind against Buster Cruz?"
"You mean because Buster killed Toby Goodfin and threatened my
life?"
The prosecutor recoiled as a clamor swept through the courtroom.
"Your honor, I move that the last answer be stricken from the
record."
"On what grounds?"
Dexter Boyd was on his feet. "Oh, no you don't. You've opened the
door, and if you don't pursue this line of questioning, I will."
"This is an outrage! The defense is trying to put the victim on
trial!"
"Why are you so afraid to let the jury learn the truth about
Buster Cruz? So you can railroad my client?"
"All right, gentlemen," the judge broke in. "I'll allow the
answer to stand. Proceed with your cross-examination."
The deputy district attorney seemed tongue-tied. A moment ago, he
had the jury eating out of his hand. Now, they thought he was
trying to hide something from them. "Miss Vaughn," he finally
asked, "did Sandy Lane ever say anything about wanting to kill
Buster Cruz?"
"No. But a lot of other people wanted him dead."
Rattled, he asked a fatal "why" question: "And why was that?"
"Lieutenant Goering told me that Buster Cruz was a murderer, that
he cut the brake lines on Toby Goodfin's car. Buster swore that
he'd kill me too."
"Your honor, I move to strike the answer as unresponsive
hearsay."
The judge, who was hanging on every word, ruled before Dexter
Boyd could respond. "I'll allow it under the dead man exception."
"I know Sandy didn't kill him," Ashley went on, "but whoever did
it, saved my life."
The prosecutor decided to quit before she did any more damage.
"No further questions," he said.
"Redirect?" the judge asked Dexter Boyd.
"No, your honor. We recall Lieutenant Goering."
The lieutenant returned to the stand as Ashley took her place at
the defense table. "Your honor, now that the charades are over,
can the real defendant sit where he's supposed to?" the
prosecutor asked in exasperation.
"Certainly, your honor," Dexter Boyd said smoothly. "Thank you,
Miss Vaughn. Sandy, come back up here."
The spectators in the courtroom, and millions more watching on
TV, were spellbound as Sandy and Ashley traded places. After they
both sat down, Dexter Boyd moved in for the kill.
"Lieutenant, as you sit here today, can you tell me to a moral
certainty whether the person you interviewed a few days after the
murder was Ashley Vaughn or Sandy Lane?"
"No," he said with a shrug.
"So your entire testimony about the statements allegedly made to
you by the defendant is in doubt. One more thing. Where is Sandy
Lane right now?"
"He is sitting next to you."
"Are you sure?"
The lieutenant hesitated. "I'm not sure of anything anymore."
"The defense rests."
SANDY LANE FOUND NOT GUILTY OF CRUZ MURDER
Honolulu ? After deliberating for less than an hour, a jury
acquitted professional surfer Sandy Lane of the murder of
Buster Cruz. In a stunning development that brought howls
of protest from the government, defendant Lane and actress
Ashley Vaughn switched places during the noon recess, and
reappeared in court wearing each other's clothing. "All my
client had to do was walk out of the courtroom in his skirt
and high heels," defense attorney Dexter Boyd told the jury
during his closing argument. "Instead of escaping, he
stayed to prove his innocence." Although Lane never took
the stand, the resulting confusion was enough to create
reasonable doubt in the minds' of the jurors.
That evening, Dexter Boyd hosted a celebratory dinner for Sandy,
Ashley and Grace at Duke's, a surf-themed restaurant overlooking
Waikiki Beach. Sandy was ravishing in a flowing skirt with a
halter top, a flower tucked behind his right ear to signify that
he was spoken for. Ashley, dressed in a billabong shirt and
khakis, couldn't keep her hands off him.
After they toasted Grace for her miracles, Sandy thanked Dexter
Boyd once again for getting him off. "Only one thing worries me.
What if the cops decide to go after Ashley now?"
"I don't think they will. But if they try, all you have to do is
tell them what really happened that night. They can't go after
you again, Sandy. That would be double jeopardy."
And so they lived happily ever after...
By the author of The Jessica Project,
Mckenna
- 05.01.2022
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