Betrayed, Chapter Ten free porn video

Betrayed By Cherysse St. Claire (c) Chapter Ten: Everything That Has A Beginning... I would have loved to be waiting at the gate at O'Hare when Dianna de- planed from L.A. that Sunday night. I had to settle for the Baggage Claim Area. Those people working for the Transportation Security Administration have no sense of humor. I guess at eight dollars an hour, they can't afford one. Then again, the other passengers were treated to quite a show, right there in front of the carousel; the knockout brunette and blonde hugging and kissing like something right out of a Vivid video. It was going to be our place that night, not her studio in Lakeview; I wouldn't take "no" for an answer. She hesitated only a moment, then acquiesced willingly. My lover seemed genuinely relieved at the prospect. She was cuddled up next to me, her arm through mine, the entire trip down the Kennedy Expressway into town. We didn't utter a word, allowing the nearness of our bodies to speak volumes. I was having a hard time reconciling her reaction to me with the growing body of evidence suggesting she was setting me up for Jeff Spencer. Dianna was tense, agitated. Whatever the cause, she did not want to talk about it. We were just exiting at Ohio Street when the cell phone rang. It wasn't my cell; either of them. The ring tone was some downloaded Hip-Hop clip. I glanced down at Dianna's purse. She stared out the windshield. "Ignore it," she stated matter-of-factly. "But," I began, "it might be..." She spun her head to glare at me. "Ignore it!" she barked sharply. "I am. You have my undivided attention tonight. I will not share you with anyone - especially not Angelina Torres." BUS-TED! Well, not really. Dianna already knew Angie was my Personal Assistant. She also knew I had had sex with the lovely Latina that first night at Rob's condo because I had told her everything about that afternoon and evening. Since then - and the dust-up over my 'date' with Daniel - she hadn't pressed me about subsequent liaisons, just as I hadn't probed her about her business. It had been an unspoken agreement between Dianna and myself to spend our time together focused on each other, not externals. Given my conflicted feelings for the two women, I was thankful for that. Perhaps that dynamic had changed in Dianna's mind. Once inside our door, the gorgeous shemale attacked me as though she hadn't had sex in a year. We didn't so much have sex as engage in a prolonged, frantic fuck, replete with bruised ribs, love bites, pinched, sore nipples, and stretched, aching holes. Afterward, we lay together, spooned, with me in her arms. We were both shivering; physically and emotionally spent. Dianna murmured into my ear. "Would you tell me about you and Angie if I asked?" I continued to stare straight ahead. "Would you tell me about you and Jeff Spencer?" I responded, taking a shot in the dark. Behind me, I felt her body momentarily tense. "I deserved that," she replied. "Before I say anything else, I have to know; do you love me? "Yes," I avowed, "without reservation." "Do you believe in me?" she continued. I was glad she phrased it that way. There is a fine line between 'believe in' and 'trust' - if only in my own mind. At that point, my answers to the two would probably have been different. Perhaps she sensed that before she worded her inquiry. "Yes," I repeated. "Then believe in this," she intoned with feeling. "In the three months we have been together, you have become my life, my reason for living. I have never told that to another human - ever. I never thought I ever would. My lifestyle doesn't lend itself to deep emotional attachments. I got lucky with you - very lucky. "Do you remember what I told you in the beginning, at the restaurant? 'A week, a month, a lifetime; it makes no difference. When it's right, it's right; you just know it.' We are right. We belong together. I didn't know it that first time, when we met at the club. I have known since that fabulous Valentine's Day weekend, though. Every day, I thank God for sending you to me." "I can't get enough of you," I affirmed softly. "In the beginning, it was wonderful; just you and me, forget about anything and everyone else. Then, things started getting... complicated. You were with me a lot after my surgery and I loved that. Now that I'm becoming more... well, more like you... and I wanted me to be, I feel like we are drifting apart. I hardly ever see you as it is. Then, you left for L.A...." My lover kissed me softly on the nape of my neck. "You haven't seen me because I have been trying to stay away from you," she explained. "It's not because I don't love you; it's because I do." "That makes no sense, Dianna," I complained petulantly. "It's about you and Jeff Spencer, isn't it? Look, I know he's a lot bigger than me - in that way; probably a better lay, too...." She grabbed my shoulder and pulled me over to face her. "What did I just tell you?" she scolded. "You are everything I could have ever hoped for in a lover and life partner. If I had my way, you wouldn't be able to get rid of me. Things HAVE gotten complicated and yes, it involves you and that freak. I don't even want to know how you know how big he is. I have a feeling the answer would make me sick. "Let's clear the air about Mister Jeffrey fucking Spencer, shall we? Ignore that wonder rod of his for a moment. Have you noticed how big the rest of him is, how well developed? He has been on steroids since he started college; he admitted it to me. That is how he got to be such an All-American stud on the football field. Off the field, it was just the opposite. Oh yeah, he had a nice-sized dick and probably a pretty good set of balls - at one time. The steroids have been fucking with that. He needed the Little Blue Pill just to get it up. "That all changed a few months before I met you. His white bread girlfriend - your ex-wife - convinced him to get a penile implant! Now, whenever he wants to have sex, all he has to do is pump himself up. I'm sure it feels just fine in your ex's pussy, but he goddamn tears me apart every time he fucks me." "Then why do it?" I wailed. "Why not just kiss his ass good-bye, leave that place, that life if you have to, and come home to me?" My lover just stared at the sheets for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "That's the complicated part, Baby Doll," she stated solemnly. "I can't... I don't want to go into all of it right now. I know that isn't fair, but I'm trying to protect you. Please don't press me on it. I can tell you this much. The steroids have fucked with his head, too. You haven't seen him when he loses his temper; you don't want to." "Dammit, Dianna!" I exclaimed. "Stay away from him. If I even suspect that bastard is beating you, I swear I will...." "STOP IT!" she shrieked. "That is exactly why I didn't want to tell you anything. There is just enough 'man' left in you to do something really brave, and noble, and stupid. He would pound you into the woodwork like a ten-penny nail, then go out for pizza and beer with the boys. I know what I'm doing, Baby. I'm a big girl now; I can take care of myself." "You don't have to," I avowed. "WE can take care of you. I'm in this too, remember? I would give it all up - the job, condo, clothes, car, everything - to keep you safe. I have more than we will ever need to live on. We can go anywhere; just walk away from all of it - together." Dianna kissed me tenderly on the lips. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "You would do it, too, wouldn't you?" she sobbed. "You really do know how to push all the right buttons. Just remember you said that." Dianna and I showered and dressed together Monday morning. She insisted on taking a cab back to her place; she didn't want me anywhere near it. I reluctantly kissed her good-bye, then put her in the cab. After that, I went to work. I was an emotional wreck all week. Angie and I had done our final rehearsals with Paul. He told us Dianna had met with him separately. I was excited about - and dreaded - the upcoming weekend. I stayed away from trades completely; I didn't trust my instincts at all at that moment. I had called Dianna several times - and left messages on her voicemail. She hadn't called back. I spent most of Friday standing before my window, arms folded under my chest, staring down at La Salle Street. I didn't even hear Angie come up behind me around four o'clock. She slipped her arms around me from behind and hugged me to her. I was grateful for the human contact and backed myself closer to her. "You are wasting your time here, Mija," she purred soothingly. "You are a thousand miles away right now. Rob, Jim and Shirley are already gone. Most of the staff is chomping at the bit, ready to bolt for the holiday weekend. What do you say we blow this pop stand early, too? We'll go over to North Pier, have greasy ribs and Hurricanes at Dick's Last Resort, lick each other's fingers clean, throw napkins up into the ceiling fan and insult the other guests like the wait staff does. We can watch the boats dock, pick the one we like most, accost the owner, and convince him how much cooler he will look cruising the lake this summer with us laying on his deck, sunning ourselves in our skimpiest thong bikinis. Then we can go back across the street to your place and fuck our brains out. Does that sound like a plan?" Damn it, it did; all of it. God knew, I needed something to break the tension I had been feeling the last five days. Getting drunk and disorderly on Hurricanes at Dick's would certainly fill the bill. We could even add to our growing collection of tulip glasses in the kitchen cupboard - if we didn't drop them, staggering across the street to my building. The thought of having sex with her wasn't exactly a turn-off, either. Damn me for thinking that! I had been in bed with Dianna five nights before, telling her I loved her. Now, I wanted to take Angie home and rock her world - and let her rock mine. Who would I be betraying? Dianna? Angie? Or both? I turned to take her in my arms. "Angie," I began, "it sounds wonderful; every rum-soaked, rowdy, in- your-face minute of it. I'm just not sure cheap, meaningless sex with you is such a good idea right now. Haven't you ever thought about finding someone who...." In all the time Angie and I had worked together, I had never seen her burst into tears like that. She broke free from my embrace and ran from my office, sobbing. I dashed after her, as fast as my heels would carry me. She had already grabbed her purse and was locking her desk. I placed my hand on her arm. She jerked hers away, not even looking at me. This time I grasped both biceps firmly and turned her to look at me. In our heels, we were almost exactly the same height. "What?" I questioned firmly. She struggled to free herself, avoiding my gaze. "Let go of me!" she shrieked. "Go find some other bimbo to toy with." "You are not going anywhere until you tell me what this is all about," I intoned evenly. "I can't believe," she wept, "that is all I mean to you after everything we've been through and done together. 'Cheap, meaningless sex?' So, I was just the little office slut all this time. I am such an idiot. Well, you are right about one thing; I feel really cheap." I uttered the only intelligent thing that came to mind at that moment. "Huh?" "If you have no objections," she hissed, "I'll just move back to STG Monday morning. I'll send Debbie up here to replace me. You'll like her; she bends over in a light breeze." "TIME OUT!" I roared - well, with as much authority as my voice had anymore. I yanked down, hard, on her arms. She dropped into her chair like a sack of potatoes. I perched on the front edge of her desk, glaring down at her. She glared right back, defiantly. "What I was trying to say was," I pronounced carefully, marshalling my thoughts as I went, "haven't you ever wanted to find someone who really meant something to you? You made it clear to me, right from the beginning; you could have any man you want. I'm sorry if this sounds shallow of me, but I'm tired of being just another of your casual conquests. I know it's only been three months since I separated from Susan, but I want - need - something more than that now." Angie stared at me, mouth agape, then shook her head as though trying to clear it. "Let me get this straight," she growled with equal slow precision. "You thought you were just another casual fuck to me?" I nodded. The slap came out of nowhere, stunning me. "How could you?" she wailed. "As good as you look, as sexy a slut as you have become, you can be such a man sometimes!" "What was I supposed to think?" I screamed. "When I told you I could have any man I wanted," she screamed back. "You were supposed to know I meant I wanted you. I have wanted you since the day I first laid eyes on you - long before I knew there was a 'Lisa'. Once I found out she existed, I knew I couldn't live without you." "But you never told me that!" I protested emphatically. "I shouldn't have to!" she railed. "Girls are supposed to understand these things." I beat the air ineffectually with my fists. "Words count, Angelina," I responded, more measured. "I am not a mind- reader, as much as I try to be. Susan didn't say the words and look what happened to us. Then again, she probably didn't feel them in the first place." D?j? vu. Angie came off her chair, wiping away her tears. She took my hand and helped me to my feet, then wrapped her arms around me tightly and put her face right in front of mine. "I feel them," she sniffed, "and I'll say them. I love you. I want you. I need you, as much as the air I breathe. You are my life. What do you have to say to that?" I was honest to a fault. "Words fail me." She tilted her head slightly to one side and leaned closer. "Good answer," she softly sighed, parting her lips. "Fuck Dick's. Let's cut to the chase." *** Angie and I spent all Saturday morning and early afternoon in a Hispanic salon on the Northwest side. My work took a lot longer than hers. My already-bleached hair was long enough now; she mandated it was time for extensions. By the time the stylist was finished, my hair was just as long and curly as my wig had been. Although our colors contrasted like night and day, our styles complimented, as did our makeup and nails. "I could have done you myself," my lover assured me confidently, "but I had to get ready, too. Besides, it's a lot more fun to watch you get done up for me this way. My panties are drenched." We met Paul and Kitty at their booth in the mezzanine-level vendors' area at the Hilton on South Michigan Avenue. As we came up the escalator, Angie and I both gaped at the far-flung assemblage of fetish apparel and gear; booth upon booth, row upon row, extending throughout the mezzanine and into the ballroom where the pageant would be held. He escorted us towards the backstage area while Kitty took charge of the booth. As we traversed the vendor area, there was a seemingly-endless array of leather and rubber clothing, shoes and boots, whips, paddles, chains, restraints, dildoes, butt plugs, vibrators, bondage furniture, even medieval-style iron cages, up to and including an honest-to-goodness 'iron maiden' - minus the spikes. Paul's was not the only booth featuring corsets, but as far as I was concerned, it might as well have been. All of it was brand-new and for sale. The vendors were mostly fresh-faced, intelligent, superbly knowledgeable about their craft, wares and the market they served - and as matter-of-fact and enthusiastic about it all as though they were vending hot dogs and soda from a curbside cart. Angie and I stared at each other and shook our heads sadly - wondering what we had been missing in our lives all this time. "And this is all for the boys?" I questioned Paul, fingering an exquisitely-tooled pair of black patent thigh boots with wicked six- inch stiletto heels. "Hardly," he chuckled. "Look around you. You are not the only women here; just the sexiest." "Don't you dare let Kitty hear you say that," I teased. "She'll have you trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey all night!" "Promises, promises," he sighed. Dianna was already backstage, applying her makeup. I had dreaded this moment for months; the two women I adored, coming face-to-face. How was I going to get past this moment? How would I be able to look either in the eye again? "Hi Dianna!" Angie beckoned, hugging the beautiful brunette and bussing her lightly on the cheek. "Hi Angie!" Dianna returned, a warm smile on her lips. "How's our girlfriend? Let me take a look." Posing for her was not a problem; I was rooted to the floor in shock. The sensual shemale examined my makeup and nails, then my hair. "Nice work," she commented appreciatively to the Latina. "That 'do is fabulous. You, or your daddy?" Angie shook her head. "Lupe did it. Pap? was busy setting up his booth. He'll stop by after the vendors' area closes." I must have looked really stupid standing there, eyeing the two apparently old friends back and forth. Angie slipped her arm through mine and patted the back of my hand with her other hand. "It's okay, Sweetie," she chirped. "I've known Dianna forever. I grew up in the scene - kinda like an 'army brat'. That's how I got my taste for gorgeous T-girls. Isn't that right, Dianna?" It was Dianna's turn to kiss Angie on the cheek. "Until a few months ago," she purred, "I would have said I've never had anyone as good." Angie beamed. "I know exactly what you mean, Girlfriend!" Scene... hair... daddy.... "Angelo!" I groaned, holding my face in my hands and shaking my head. Both gorgeous girls broke out in laughter. "There's hope for you yet, Mija," Angie giggled. "Maybe you're not such a 'man' after all - although a girl would have grasped the obvious a lot sooner." She turned to Dianna. "Is... everything ready for tonight?" Dianna winked and smiled. "Everything." "I can't wait," Angie gushed. Can I sit down now? I'm feeling faint.... There were three large trunks under our portion of the makeup table. Each bore the name of one of Paul's three models. Dianna's was already open at her feet. Angie and I each retrieved our own, then began donning our first costume change. The show was to begin at five and extend ninety or so minutes, featuring the three of us, plus models from other vendors. There were so many vendors and models, each of us would have four passes down the runway in four different outfits. Dianna was doing a special solo finale to close the show. The final competition to crown the next Mr. Gay Leather would commence at seven. I peeked out through the curtain at the edge of the stage. Lance and Susan were seated at the end of the catwalk. They were the special guest MCs who would announce the models, the outfits they wore, and the vendors they represented. Their presence had guaranteed press coverage, plus a camera crew from the local independent television station that televised the team's games. Gee, no pressure there. If this was, indeed, the time they had selected to destroy me, they would do so in print and on the ten o'clock news - for everyone in metropolitan Chicagoland to see. Sipping pi?a coladas in Fat Tuesdays on Duval Street, clad only in a skimpy string bikini and high-heeled sandals, would be just as good as the charter-boat thing, wouldn't it? It was daunting to stand backstage and listen to the applause the first models were receiving. The butterflies in my stomach had metamorphosed into vultures who were thumping away with their wings and picking me apart at the same time. I received my cue and hit the runway in white calfskin corset, collar, and forearm-length gauntlets with black patent trim, matched with white calfskin lace-up thigh boots with black patent scrollwork overlays and five-inch stiletto heels. Dianna had coached me on 'Attitude' and I had it to burn. Look at me wrong and I'll bite it off at the root! Angie was right behind me in a purple calfskin corset mini-dress with matching platform sandals. Dianna followed Angie in a red patent corset combination like mine, with coordinating thigh boots. The applause from the previous models had continued to wane as I took the stage. By the time all three of us were on catwalk - just a second or two - the only sound was the music pounding from the loudspeakers. The seconds seemed like hours. I could tell Susan remembered me from the previous weekend. She looked none too pleased to see me again. I couldn't detect so much as a glint of anything else, but you never knew with Susan.... It was the silence of everyone else that was really damning. Code Blue! Code Blue! Get the crash cart. Charge paddles to three hundred. I need one cee-cee of Eppie, push. Then I looked at the faces. I don't think I had ever seen so many bulging eyes and gaping mouths in one place. The applause began - and swelled to thundering proportions, overwhelming the sound system and causing the massive central chandelier to rattle. I had already made my turn and passed Dianna on my way towards backstage. She winked at me. Oh, yeah, Baby; JUMP-START that heart! The applause came quicker and louder with each successive pass down the runway. That did wonders for my self-confidence. Gee, if the commodities thing doesn't work out.... I heard the heated exchange between the third and fourth costume changes. It was coming from the wings on the far side of the stage. I crept around the backside and approached the two angry voices; one male, the other female. "Damn it, you said you would have him here," the angry male challenged. "I swear, if you cross me on this, I'll make you wish you had never been born - in either gender!" "He is here," the female spat. "I have him chillin' 'til the finale. He doesn't suspect a thing. Believe me; no one will ever forget it - just like you wanted it." "Yeah? Then where is he? Show me, or I'll...." I hurried around the corner and grabbed Dianna's arm. Jeff had an empty rocks glass raised in the air, poised over Dianna's head. It was heavy enough to deliver a crushing blow to her skull. Then again, if it shattered as he hit her.... "Sweetie," I urged, "we have to get you changed for the next set. Hurry up now. Hi Jeff! Nice to see you again." "Lisa, WAIT!" he barked. "We need to talk...." "We'll hook up after the show, 'kay?" I cooed. "Right now, I've gotta get my girlfriend here ready for our next pass down the runway. See you!" I hurried Dianna backstage before either one could utter another word. She pulled me up short and spun me around. I could tell she was about to 'read' me about something. Whatever it was, I just didn't have the stomach to listen to it right then. I placed an index finger to her lips and patted it a couple of times, partly to shush her and partly to buy a moment or two while I collected my thoughts. Finally, I spoke. "Just... do what ya gotta do, okay?" I muttered resignedly. "I don't want you to explain it to me; just do it. Whatever it is, it isn't worth you getting hurt for. That would hurt me more than anything else. I swear to God, if he does hurt you, I will personally hunt the sonofabitch down and kill him. I don't care what you say." Dianna's eyes welled with tears. She gently stroked my cheek and brushed my lips with hers. "I love you." She murmured, then turned and ran back to the dressing room. We had altered the order of our appearance with each pass down the runway. On our final appearance, Dianna led off in a leopard-print calfskin bustier-style corset with matching thong, collar, armpit- length gloves and stiletto-heeled thigh boots. Angie followed in a deeply-plunging shocking pink patent bustier-style corset mini-dress with sheer black seamed stockings, perched atop shocking pink patent platform sandals with six-and-a-half-inch heels. I brought up the rear in the ankle-length hobble version of that style, in black patent with red patent flame appliqu?s. The bodice plunged so deeply, if I inhaled too much, my nipples would pop right out of the top. That wouldn't be a problem; I was cinched down to nineteen inches and could barely draw a breath. As I minced my way down the catwalk in my six-and-a-half-inch red patent stiletto stilts, I was getting light- headed from lack of oxygen. I couldn't hear the music over the thunderous roar of the crowd. We held hands with Paul in our middle and took a bow, then made our way backstage. "Hurry up, Dianna," Paul urged. "You have to get changed and onstage for the wedding number." "Chill," Dianna reassured him. "I've got it under control. You go out front and enjoy it with Kitty. We'll take care of everything back here, 'kay?" Dianna hustled him off. I was leaning against a post. Black spots were dancing in my vision. Angie detected my distress. "You poor thing!" she cooed. That dress must be a killer. Here, let me help you sit down by the makeup table. I don't know about you, but I'm parched. Dianna, let's get us all something to drink." Sure; just sit down. Easier said than done in that dress; it didn't bend much, if at all. I was more or less perched on the edge of the chair, unable to stand up or move around much. I became aware of a cell phone chiming insistently, inside my purse. It was Lance's phone. As I answered, I noticed there were about a dozen missed incoming calls. "Are you all right?" my lawyer exclaimed. "I've been trying to reach you for almost two hours. Is everything okay?" "Yeah," I assured him, "everything is fine." "You sound funny," he observed. "Winded. Kinda high-pitched, too." "I, uh, just ran a marathon," I replied. "I'm still trying to catch my breath." "Are you someplace really public? Like, a lot of people?" "Yeah," I responded warily. "Why?" "Listen to me very carefully," the lawyer intoned slowly. "Go home. Lock the door. Stay there - alone. The investigator intercepted a call earlier between Jeff Spencer and his contact. She told him everything was ready to go, just as they had planned it. Lance, she told him she's scored a hit of GHB. They are planning on drugging you, then doing who knows what. Don't eat or drink anything! Got it?" Angie and Dianna were returning at that moment. Angie carried two champagne flutes; Dianna, one. My eyes darted back and forth between the two, not believing what they were seeing. "I gotta go," I told him. "I'll call you later." I hung up, flipped the lid closed and slipped it back into my purse. Angie handed me a flute. I accepted it cautiously, as though handling a snake. She raised one eyebrow quizzically. "Anything important?" she inquired musically, glancing toward my just- stowed cell phone. "Not anymore," I replied wearily. I felt utterly defeated. Both my lovers smiled at me disarmingly. Angie raised her glass. "Well, what shall we drink to?" I drew a blank. I don't think anyone in history has raised their glass and pronounced: "Here's to Treason!" I had no intention of being the first. At that point, I really didn't give a shit. I just shrugged my shoulders a bit - and chugged the glass. Hmmm; Moet White Star, Extra Dry. Well, if ya gotta go.... I idly wondered: what was the current market value, in U.S. dollars, of thirty pieces of silver - split two ways? I felt really spaced out, detached, like I didn't have a care in the world. Dianna was more beautiful than I had ever seen her before. She was dressed in a black tuxedo waistcoat with tails, black satin bow tie, and old-fashioned top hat, over a severely-cinched black patent corset, black fishnet stockings and black patent ankle-strap platform sandals. The 'bride' was bent over a bondage 'horse' before her, wrists and ankles securely locked, legs spread invitingly. The wedding dress didn't fit all that well; I think it was intended to look cheap, trashy. Then again, the bottom half was flipped up over the back anyway, so what difference did the fit make? I'm certain the garishly- applied makeup didn't soften the image at all, either. The expression on Dianna's face was so serene, as though she was realizing the culmination of her greatest wish. I was so accustomed to the feel of her eight-inch clit inside me, I could clearly visualize every millimeter sliding in and out of my eagerly-waiting love nest. The curtain came up to the strains of Billy Idol's White Wedding. Dianna consummated her 'marriage' with impassioned fury, driving in and out - amid the roar of the predominantly gay-male crowd. I happened to catch Susan's face amid all those others. She was recoiling with a look of horror and disgust. Funny; I thought she would be relishing this moment of ultimate triumph. Jeff Spencer was certainly eating it up. The look of sheer joy on his face told me he was loving every thrust. His massive twelve-inch bionic boner jutted out proudly, angled down between the legs of the horse - as Dianna plunged into his ass again and again. She was certainly enjoying giving it to him. I cherished the memory of her in me - and was more than a little envious. The curtain came down as the music faded. Chantal and Mimi hurried onstage from the opposite wing, disengaged their friend and hurried her off in the direction from which they had come. Angie clung to me, holding me up, both of us out of sight in the near wing. I was, once again, dressed in that lovely lavender suede suit and mules that I loved so much. If anything, Angie's white suit looked better on her now than it had that Monday afternoon three months before. "Baby," she cooed in my ear, "the girls are gonna get Dianna out of here. We have to go, too - right now." We slipped out the side door and into the mezzanine proper as the pandemonium exploded around us. Hotel security and Chicago PD were running in every direction, searching for the fleeing, scantily-clad 'models'. So, too, were the photographers and camera crew who had to make their deadlines. Hell, with a scoop like this, their editors and producers would hold everything! Meanwhile, two young, attractive - if somewhat provocatively made-up - professional women slowly made their way toward the Michigan Avenue entrance. One had obviously had a little too much to drink. *** I awoke to sunlight on my face. It was streaming in through the east- facing windows of my bedroom, overlooking Ogden Slip. Angie lay next to me, her head propped up on her arm. She gazed down at my awakening form, smiling so serenely. "Good morning, Mi Coraz?n," she murmured. "Do you feel okay? No ill effects, I trust?" "I wouldn't be tossing the word 'trust' around so casually right now," I replied groggily. Suddenly, the memory of the previous night flashed into my head. "Dianna...." I exclaimed, sitting bolt-upright in bed. Angie stayed my moving body with a gentle hand to my chest. "Safely out of town," she admonished, then added: "We had to. Every cop and sports fan in the city is gunning for her right now. This is WAY worse than Hugh Grant and Divine Brown." I stared down at the blankets, puzzled. I remembered everything so vividly - but I thought, with GHB.... Angie shook her head, reading my thoughts. "Valium," she corrected. "Not enough to knock you out immediately. Just enough to make you... tractable - so I could get you to the car without you making a fuss. I'm sorry. After that stink you raised about Jeff Spencer beating Dianna, and what you were going to do about it, we couldn't risk you doing something impossibly noble like you always do - and getting hurt really bad. We were trying to avoid that. That is what this whole thing has been about from the beginning. For the record, Jeff got the GHB in his drink. I don't think he will remember a thing - at least, not until he has to take a shit." I brought my knees up to my chest, wrapped my arms around them, and rocked. Angie put her arms around me. "You deserve to know everything, from the beginning," Angie purred soothingly into my ear. "Dianna told me some parts I didn't already know. Some of the rest is guesswork, but I think it's pretty close. That Friday night at Ringers when you first met Dianna probably would have been your first, last, and only time together. As she put it, you were just another 'freak' to her then. She had a good laugh at the way you stormed out of her place afterward. "Jeff Spencer went to Ringers that night, too - looking to score with her. Susan had been ranting in his ear all week about how you had left her high and dry - as though you owed her and her lover a life. He needed a good lay without having to listen to her whining. He spotted you and Dianna leaving the club - and recognized you immediately. "He confronted her the next night and fed her some line about you having fucked him over on some deal or another. He told her he would make it worth her while to 'play' you. He wanted her to get in good with you, get you to dress up in girly clothes, then get pictures of you being fucked in drag by Dianna. She was okay with it at the time. To her, it was just making a little extra money from one freak fucking over another. Once they got that 'dirt' on you, Jeff and Susan would then be able to blackmail you into dropping the divorce and go on as before - with them shacking up whenever they felt like it and you supporting them financially. Just to make sure you were 'on board' with their little scheme, he was planning to beat the shit out of you after he took the pictures." "Susan knew?" I growled angrily. Angie nodded. "That's what he told Dianna," she confided. "Actually, I think she knew what Jeff wanted her to know. At that point, he would have had a hard time explaining how he knew Dianna was a T-girl without casting suspicion on himself. Most likely, he told her he had seen you out with another woman, and that it looked to him like it had been going on for some time. When she saw you and Dianna outside Morton's - and saw how beautiful Dianna was and how lavishly you had obviously pampered her - Susan was ready to believe you had been cheating on her longer than she had been cheating on you. She was insanely jealous! Dianna told me she felt on top of the world when Jeff told her that. As possessive as Susan is, I can't imagine her just giving up without a fight on a more personal level. Did I miss something?" I told Angie about the incident in front of the office that Monday morning. She pursed her lips, smiled, and shook her head in amazement. "As much as I hate the bitch," she murmured, "I'll give her this; she is a girl after my own heart. When she sees something she wants, she goes out and gets it. She never followed up?" I shook my head. Angie nodded gazing speculatively into the distance. Then, she re- focused on me. Again, this part is guesswork on my part. That's probably the time Jeff dropped The Bomb. Maybe he told her he had had Dianna followed and found out she was a shemale. Discovering she had lost you to a 'man' would push a woman like Susan right over the edge. She would have agreed to anything Jeff planned from that moment on. That's why I really despise the cunt. She sat back, kept her nose clean, and let Jeff do all the dirty work. I'll bet she didn't even want to know the details - as long as he got the job done." "I didn't sense that Dianna was on board with all this," I pointed out. "Did I misread her that completely?" Angie rested her hand on my cheek and shook her head. "My dear, sweet Baby," she intoned. "You have no idea the kind of effect you have on a woman - especially after she experiences men like Jeff Spencer. He made her call you that Friday and set up the date that night, to start the scam rolling. After that magical Valentine's Day weekend, Dianna was ready to give up The Life completely and camp out on your doorstep. I would have, too. Apparently, you also set her straight on what the real situation was between you, Susan, and Jeff. True?" I nodded my head in agreement. "The next time Jeff contacted her, she told him he could keep his money and his bionic dick; that she was keeping you," Angie resumed. "That's when things started to get really nasty. It wasn't enough that he slapped her around. It wasn't his first time by any means - nor his last...." Angie gazed off towards a corner of the room again, marshalling her thoughts. "Sweetie," she continued. "Girls like Dianna have to do... stuff to survive; illegal stuff. They can't get regular jobs; no one will hire them. Jeff knew about a public-assistance scam Dianna had run; not 'Welfare Cadillac' level, but serious. He could have dropped a dime and gotten her sent to prison - in her case, a men's prison. Do you have any idea what it means to a T-girl to have her hair shaved off and have to live as a man - and be the communal fuck toy?" I shivered. "I think I have a pretty good handle on it now," I admitted. "Poor Dianna," Angie lamented. "She was in an impossible situation; torn between her love for you and her fear of a fate worse than death. At that time, she knew nothing of the kind of connections and clout you had. She perceived Jeff as being the stronger of the two - and that he could wipe the floor with you. She wasn't about to let that happen. She did the only thing she knew how to do." "What was that?" "She knew she couldn't protect you in your and Jeff's world - as a 'man in a dress.' So she had to bring you into her world - all the way in. That was one place where she made the rules and called all the shots. She told Jeff about the fashion show, and how it would be the perfect time to set you up. He agreed; he loved the public humiliation aspect. That bought her some time to carry out her plan. "He had to have told Susan. She would have been the one to set up the publicity appearance and make certain the photographers and television crew were on hand. Oh, how they must have been looking forward to destroying you publicly! Of course, all that time they were expecting to see a man in a dress. I don't think either one had any idea you could be so totally transformed, and be so convincing as a woman. Dianna knew - and knew it was her only way to save both of you from them." "I can't believe your involvement in this was all a coincidence," I stated flatly. Angie blushed, staring down. "It wasn't," she admitted. "I knew almost from the start. Remember I told you I grew up in the scene? I had blown off my date for Valentine's Day - he kept me waiting once too often. I went to Ringers to catch the show and chat with some of my girlfriends. I watched 'Lance' and Dianna go into the dressing room - and you and Dianna come out. Only someone who had been in the scene for a while would have recognized you and 'Lance' were the same person. Then again, I had fantasized about you en femme for so long.... Oh, God; I wanted you so badly at that moment I almost came on the spot! Then, when you went outside - and that guy followed you - I was insanely jealous." "Wait a minute!" I exclaimed. "You acted completely surprised that Monday afternoon when I indicated I wasn't a 'cherry' anymore." Angie winked and beamed a smile my way. "I sure did, didn't I?" she cooed. "Pretty convincing, too, if I do say so myself. Anyway, while you were gone on your 'date', I sidled over to Dianna and complimented her on her new 'girlfriend'. She gushed about you, went on and on about the day the two of you had had, how you had spoiled her, how she was falling in love with you, and that she was going to transform you totally. She didn't tell me anything about the plot that night. She was stunned when I told her you were my boss. I offered to help in your transformation and she couldn't have said 'YES!' any faster. "You didn't tell her about your personal interest in me, did you?" I inquired. Angie shook her head slowly. "It was wrong of me; I know," she spoke ruefully. "I had wanted you so long. Then, seeing you as 'Lisa' - something I had been craving all that time.... No honor among thieves, huh?" I just shrugged my shoulders a little bit. "Later," Angie continued, "after she had had it out with Jeff and he had begun blackmailing her, she saw the whole thing coming apart. She knew she was going to need a lot of help - and she confided everything to me. Of course I told her she could count on me. I don't know at what point she suspected my motives were about more than my friendship with her. A girl just knows, Mi Amor. I think by that time she had begun to believe no matter how much she loved you, she wouldn't be able to keep you. You were too deeply entrenched in your world - a world in which she felt she was an outcast. To her credit, she didn't begrudge me winning you. Yesterday, she told me if she couldn't have you, she didn't want you in anyone else's arms than mine." Tears were streaming down Angie's face. "Did you say to her," she sniffed, "something to the effect that you 'would give it all up, everything, to keep her safe'?" I stared at the sheets and nodded. Tears were welling up in my eyes, too. "Baby," Angie cried, "Dianna asked me to remind you of that. That is exactly what she did; she gave everything up - including you - to keep you safe. She said it wasn't much, compared to what you had done, given, and meant to her, but it was the best she had to offer. "Mi Amor, please don't hate me for what I am about to say. I have never seen anyone sacrifice herself so selflessly for someone else as Dianna did for you. I love her like my own flesh and blood for doing it - but I'm not sorry she's gone. I have wanted you for my own for so damn long. Now that I've got you... damn it, I know I love you every bit as much, if not more. I just pray to God I never have to prove it that way!" Angie clutched me tightly, her body wracked with sobs. That made two of us. *** No official mention was made by the team of the incident at the Mr. Gay Leather Pageant; nor did any account find its way onto the local news. It was announced Jeff Spencer was going into rehab for a dependency on painkillers and would probably miss training camp. Of course, it was all over the Gay community, which meant it was all over the city. The switchboards at the local radio sports and talk shows were lit up like Christmas trees for weeks. Later, it would be announced that, with regret, the team was dropping Jeff Spencer's contract - presumably, over the 'morals' clause. After that public relations debacle, Susan left the team's front office, and Chicago, "by mutual consent". I guess publicity people are like baseball managers, too; she signed on with the Miami organization within a week. I suspect the deal had been done before she even packed her bags. Miami had an up-and-coming QB prospect whom they believed to be another Dan Marino. Jake Prescott, three years out of USC, had it all; the size of Bobby Douglass, the stamina of a racehorse, the eye of an eagle, and a rifle for an arm. All the sportswriters were touting him as The Next Big Thing. Knowing Susan, he already was. A few months later, there was a small article on Page Three of the Tribune. Des Moines police were investigating the shooting death of Jeffrey Glenn Spencer, former football star and Chicago sports legend, whose body was found in his room in a transient hotel in downtown Des Moines. Spencer had been attempting a comeback with the Des Moines Demons of the fledgling Continental Football Association. Autopsy results would be forthcoming, a police spokesman announced, but a preliminary Coroner's investigation indicated the fatal wound may have been self-inflicted.... Angie and I found that boat we liked. We accosted its owner, too - in the office next door to mine. Rob hadn't had any idea he was going to buy a boat until Angie and I slinked into his office and closed the door. She perched on the edge of his desk. I slipped into his lap, wrapped my arms around his neck, and fed him the pitch exactly as Angie had presented it to me. Well, not exactly the same way. So, the firm came into possession of a 'company yacht' (nothing like Bill Wirtz's Blackhawk, but nice enough to cruise the lake and small enough to tie up in Ogden Slip). Rob and Jim had a blast weekends, hobnobbing with the other Boat People. Angie and I kept up our end(s) of the bargain, getting fabulous tans on deck and making our bosses look really good in the process. I didn't need Angie to tell me where Dianna went. Armed with the Internet and her Social Security Number - plus the suspicion her trip to L.A. had not been a coincidence - I tracked her down in West Hollywood. Angie was not thrilled with my proposed trip, but acquiesced. She knew I needed closure. She also made me promise faithfully I would come home to her before making any lasting decisions. I found her sitting on a stool at the bar in Club 7969 on Santa Monica Boulevard. I didn't think the place was anywhere near as nice as Ringers, but it had a function and served it. God, she still looked good! It was as if time stood still for both of us. We spent a long weekend in bed together, just as it had been before; concentrating on the here and now, not externals - or the past. Before I left her, I made sure I set her up - with a trust fund, two-bedroom condo, and car of her own. I wanted her to understand she could be anything she wanted to be - and not dependent on anyone or anything to achieve it. This time, I made sure I had her cell phone number, too. When she dropped me off at LAX, we just kept touching each other, not wanting to break the magic of the moment. The feeling was still strong, and has been every time I've called. I still have my life and job in Chicago. I won't deny Angie keeps me happy. There are a million things, big and small, I love about her. She isn't afraid to tell me how much she loves me, either. STG and I have made the firm phenomenally successful; a 'name brand', both on LaSalle Street and worldwide. I've made a ton of money for myself, too. Angie and I socialize publicly (and intimately) with Rob and Jim, but still reserve that special, very private relationship for each other. We have not gotten married and probably won't while we both still work for the firm. We need to keep up appearances at the office; such a union would lead to some really embarrassing questions we wish to avoid. If we are being less than honest with our co-workers, I hope we are at least being honest with each other. Sometimes, I have my doubts. When she wants me that way, the Little Blue Pill is there to help. Yes, it works for 'pickled' T-girls just as well as sixty-year-old would-be Lotharios. She has jokingly suggested perhaps I should get an implant, too. Then again, she has also suggested I go the other way entirely - and not in a joking way. I admit that thought has a definite appeal, but what would that mean to us? Rob is happy with the status quo but I don't think Jim is. My instincts tell me he wants more from Angie. Angie hasn't voiced any desire to change a thing, but she does enjoy our little foursomes a lot. Sometimes, when I see the way they look at each other.... Rob looks at me the same way and Angie doesn't object - but then, why would she? Lately, she and I have been 'honeymooning in Viagra Falls' less and less. There I go, being a 'man' again. We don't need to, Silly - do we? Should I have The Talk with her? Do I need to? For someone who has placed such high stock in the value of words, why am I afraid to ask them? Am I more afraid of the answers? Why does my life have to be so damn complicated? Then again, maybe it doesn't. There were times, very late at night, when I stood on our balcony, gazing down at Ogden Slip and the lake beyond while Angie slumbered peacefully in our bed. I imagined myself on the sun deck at Fat Tuesdays on Duval Street, clad in my string bikini and heels, sipping a pi?a colada and listening to island music. The sun shown brightly, the air was hot, and everyone was looking forward to the rain shower that would descend from the heavens at five PM, as it always did. I could see in my mind the old movie theater a bit farther down the street, where they now do drag shows. Then I pictured those mesmerizing brown eyes and wondered if that kind of life would appeal to her. Would she be willing to do it again; give it all up, everything, to keep me safe, secure, and happy in her embrace? Would I? As the lawyers say: "asked and answered" - at least, in my own mind. I ached for her then. I still do. Just let go - and see where the current takes you. *** Special thanks to Matt Jones for his timely contributions on Chicago lore, past and present. My sincerest appreciation to my legion of knowledgeable fans who had enough faith in me to refrain from sniping at the unfolding plot until the fat lady sang.