Band On The Run Part I: The Riot free porn video

Band on the Run Part 1: The Riot by [email protected] Blatant 2.8 is... Samuel Clocker- Lead Vocals & Toners Eric Jobs- Lead & Rhythm Guitar, Vocals, PLS Jessie McFarlane- Bass, Waterharp & Percussion, Vocals Snipe - DigiCubes, Percussion, Vocals It was our first stadium, and we were psyched. Sam had on his ripps with the tussles that flew out and delivered droplets of Run to the crowd every time he twirled like a mad Persian, and he did that a lot. It wasn't exactly legal, but as soon as a planet outlawed it, the creators tweaked the formula a hair and bought us all another six months. Fortunately the wheels of legislation were slow. Sam screamed above the high-pitched whine of my guitar and I dipped down the virtual neck to harmonize, trying to keep my picking as legato as his languorous voice. He'd set his personal lighting system to bathe him in blue in honor of a lick he'd stolen from Baby Horton. I'd set mine to the color of red punch, because I thought it looked nice. We did pretty well for a band that couldn't afford professional PLS management. Jessie came pro-stage for his solo. The lights hit him and left us. The golden light played off his blond hair enveloping him with a sort of angelic halo. He had a baby face anyway that girls loved. I wondered who got more action, him or Sam. They might come for the red-headed wild child, the lead singer, but often ended up with sweet and sexy Jessie, despite themselves. Sam and I exchanged a grin and watched Jessie lay down some rich tones all the way down the neck till he hit the sub-tones which faded nearly beneath the consciousness of the audience. Snipe raised both arms high in the air, cubesticks at the ready, steel barbs dangling from his bird-catcher gloves, catching the light with each move. He fell down hard on the cubes and the lights and the smoke and the lasers erupted like the birth of a Universe. I jammed through the first three chords, backing off only when I heard Sam's voice descending from above. Jesus, he had a voice! In mid-punch, the lights left us and we were left in the stink of our own sweat and excitement. We were on a high, playing well, working the crowd, working ourselves into a feverish pitch. It was the biggest crowd we'd ever played. The holo-stage lit up across the floor with life-like versions of us rocking. I know... it's about the music. Well, what do you think got the people in here? They came for the music; they stayed for the show. We had the best selling downloads for six weeks straight on one side of Europa, and now we were trying to parlay that into something bigger. Our manager had been hinting about Inser for weeks. Our rebellious sound, neo-revolutionary lyrics had caught on with the youth, all suffering under the rigid wheels of an inflexible political system. I wasn't sure about playing in such a place, to be honest, but Snipe called me a wuss and that was that. Actually, it wasn't until Jessie plied me with New Earth bourbon and convinced me it was a chance of a lifetime that I relented, but let Snipe think what he wanted, the snaggletooth bastard. We made our way to the holo-stage and got into position. When the laser wheel lit above us, distracting the crowd, we assumed our rightful place. The holos switched off and there we were, same sound, same artificial lighting. The crowd knew that holos were restricted by technology, restricted to the stage, so when Sam rushed forward and didn't stop.... Didn't stop! But flew out over the crowd, his rough, oil-slick green snake boots grazing heads and hairs (bufonts and mohawks galore), the audience went dead silence in shock, and then erupted with a noise that sounded like an exploding steam factory. The sheer white noise of one hundred thousand people all cheering and clapping and screaming in a strange cathartic harmony completely drowned out our rigs. We might as well have stopped playing, but it didn't matter. We'd made our point. We weren't no ordinary fucking band! Blatant 2.8 rocked! Weeks later the kids would still be talking about us. "How'd they DO that!?" We could do no wrong now. All we had to do was finish the show, leave them with a finale and an encore (or two) and we were golden. All we had to do was not fuck anything up and we would have a hundred thousand new fans all with Pop Pages, all linked to us and our merchandise and our downloads. Even on a bleachwater, police state planet like this, we'd make out like bandits. The audience went funny then. When a hundred thousand bodies move as one, it's no small event. And this was a strange, erratic sideways move. A blurp, I thought. But after a few minutes it happened again. And this time I felt an ELF tone. I checked the lights of my rig and then Jessie's. I tried to get Sam's attention, have him check his PPA and see if the lights were golden. Then it happened yet again. The crowd drove forward and began to break apart at the edges like a disturbed bee-hive. What the fuck was going on? I could feel the ELF tones hitting now, one after another, driving the crowd into a shark-blood frenzy. They were rushing forward, rushing to the side, tearing the stadium apart. In shock, I saw bodies fall from the balconies. Granted it was only about fifteen feet to the next balcony, but a fifteen foot fall was enough to break a leg or crush the skull of whoever broke your fall. Sam and I looked at each other. He'd seen it, too. I saw the same confusion on his face that I felt on my own, twisting and unpleasant. Jessie shook his head, studied his bass, studied his rig, looked at us with a shrug. He made a swift retreat to the cubes and his face went white. I backed up and saw Snipe hammering away at the beat pads. I felt each punch, the bass drum like a second more powerful heartbeat reverberating through my body. Then I spotted the ELF cans clamped to each cube. What was he thinking? No wonder the audience was going mad! I saw Snipe's eyes and saw how jagged he was. He was out there, grinning from ear to ear, drumming harder than ever, punching the ELF cans with a crazy vigor. He was out of his fucking mind on flex! There were a few moments where we tried to wind everything down. Jessie cut the cube system and Snipe's drumming went flat. He snarled, unstrapped himself and launched himself at the power supply. I thought we might have to jump him, but the decision was made for us. From far away came the sound of sirens. The show was over. Now we just had to get out alive. * * * While Sam wandered the floorboards yelling "Fuck!" over and over, I sat with our host, Michael, who for some reason always seemed to have his hands on one of us. He was harmless. People of the fourth gender usually were. I never understood them, of course, and Michael hadn't been able to explain. They liked being surrounded by sexy men and women, though the men were usually effeminate, but they never had sex with them, only with themselves. It was good for guys like us, of course, because any girl who "dated" a fourth gender would find themselves sexually frustrated in no time. As Michael explained it, they liked touching and kissing and voyeurism, but were somewhat repelled by the sex act itself. Like another species, was all I could think. Snipe was cackling softly in the corner, still coming down off the flex, Jessie sat cross-legged in the corner like a rabbit watching events unfold. "Fuck! He fucked us!" Sam pointed to Snipe. "You fucked us! We had it fucking made and you fucked us, you... you... fuck!" Snipe peeked out from beneath his sharp black bangs and stifled a crazy laugh. I saw it coming, but was slow to stop it. Sam launched himself at Snipe. Maybe I didn't want to stop it. Maybe I agreed with Sam. Maybe no one realized how bad a position we were in. Maybe that's why it was Michael who pulled Sam off Snipe, his arms flailing at empty air, his spit finding an empty floor. Snipe scrambled away with only minor bruises. In all honesty I always figured if it came down to a fight between the two, Snipe was just insane enough to come out on top. Sam let out a long shrieking cry of rage and frustration. "Watch the voice," I cautioned, and Sam's hands snapped to his throat with alarm, massaging his scraped vocal cords with such tenderness it struck me as a contradiction to his rage from just a moment ago. Sam began to wander the floorboards again, same circles as before, trying to catch his breath. "Feel better?" Jessie asked from his corner, curling himself tighter into one of those yoga positions he so adored. He liked wearing the tights, too, though I always suspected it was just to get the groupies into them and have them poke their pretty little asses in the air. Sam shook his head. Michael swam up behind him, lifted that shock of red hair and gave him a little kiss on the back of his neck, then wrapped his arms around him and cuddled. Sam glanced at me and rolled his eyes. Jessie suppressed a giggle. "So, Michael," I said, "exactly how fucked are we?" Michael let go of his red-headed prize and tended to me, curling his arm under mine like I was his escort to the cotillion. "Oh, Darling, you are, as we used to say when I thought I was third gender, the dried cherry of a young boy on his first day in prison... stuck, fucked and waiting to be plucked." "How long do we have?" He pursed his lips, which glistened with something, I wasn't sure what. Strange planets breed strange people who keep strange habits. "Well, I have a Jew hole which should buy you a couple of weeks. After that... " he sighed heavily, "I won't be much use." "A... a Jew hole?" Jessie wondered. "A crawlspace, a hiding place from a rigid fascist government," I explained. Michael put his chin on my shoulder and whispered so only I could hear, "You're a smart one, but darling I like 'em dumb." A line from an old movie. I couldn't remember which one. I thought it was a remake of "Nation's Planet" with Guy McFarlane. "The first search is thorough, but I can get you through that. The second search gets nasty." "How nasty?" Sam asked. "It doesn't matter how nasty," I provided, studying Michael's cool eyes. "He'll turn us out before then, won't you?" Michael closed his eyes, sighed and inhaled, filling his nostrils with my smell. I wouldn't think it was a pleasant experience; I was still drenched with sweat from the stage and from our escape, but he seemed to enjoy it. "What? Why?" Jessie whined. "Because he wants to stay alive," I answered. Michael regarded us all with a matter of fact expression. "It's nothing personal, Darlings." Sam grumbled. "Nice fucking planet you've got here." Michael, always the wit, replied, "I was born here. What's your excuse?" "It doesn't matter," I said. "And it's not his fault. The point is, we've got to find a way off this fucking planet." Michael cooed from my shoulder. "There is only one way off this planet and that's the way you came down." "If we can make it to the elevator, it's international territory, right?" Sam asked. I shook my head. "We'd never make it that far. The bio-scanners read heat signatures, pheromone signatures, you name it." "We should've run there straight from the show," Sam said. I was about to offer myself up as a scapegoat when Michael saved me. "If you had, you'd already be in custody. Ten minutes after the riot broke out, the planet went into lock down." "The... the entire planet?" Jessie gasped. "Certainly. Happens all the time, though not as much as it used to." "Will the second search be sooner or later?" I asked Michael. "Well... later, I think. You're not state criminals, after all... yet. I mean, your crime wasn't intentional, and they don't think they'll have any difficulty finding you. You're just a bunch of musicians, after all." "How do you lock down an entire planet?" Jessie whispered. Michael continued, "Practice. Anyway, the second search will be reluctant as it's very intrusive and has a tendency to boil the brains of some innocents, if there really is such a thing in the government's eyes." "Microwaves?" I wondered. "Some kind of probes, I really don't know. But they're very thorough and very unpleasant if you happen to be standing in the wrong place of your home when one surges through." "But if it's so thorough, why wait?" I asked. Michael grinned. "Free trade. Killing people makes bad P.R. for the companies that trade here." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "On the other hand, every day we're in lock down costs them billions of dollars, so they won't be that reluctant." I sat in a corner and sank into thought. They guys continued to pepper Michael with questions. I didn't follow the conversation until Jessie said something that struck me. "Couldn't we... somehow mask our bio-signatures or something?" No, of course we couldn't, but.... "Is this planet part of the James convention?" Michael put a finger to his lips. "No, but such things are frowned upon." "If I could get my hands on a green machine-" "A green machine!" Sam shouted. "What are you, crazy?" "The only way through the checkpoints is past the bio-scanners. We can't mask our heat signatures, but we could change them... maybe." "No one's fiddling around with my genes," Sam grumbled. I blanched, because my idea was a lot more than just fiddling around. "What did you have in mind, Dear?" Michael asked. I shook my head. Michael hugged me. "If you have an idea...." "Yeah," Jessie added. I took a long time. I didn't want to say what I was thinking. I didn't like what I was thinking. I didn't want to do what I was thinking. "I did my thesis on... genedors." That's where I'd met Sam, in fact. He was studying art. I was on my way to becoming a genastic surgeon. He'd stumbled up on stage at a neighborhood club, drunk out of his mind and begun singing. He'd stolen my girl with those pipes of his, but all I could think of was how his voice would sound with my guitar. I touched the pack on my hip, my familiar buddy, my voice, my claim to fame. I wanted to eject it now and strum a few chords, but a room full of fucked people were waiting for a solution. "Becoming second gender would alter our pheromones and our heat signatures enough to get to the elevator... I think." "Be-becoming second gender?" Sam wheezed. "It doesn't have to be perfect, just different enough. We'll probably be checked, but Michael here seems like the guy that can get us some kick ass credentials, and that should carry us the rest of the way." Michael nodded and fell deep into thought. "Getting a green machine won't be easy. Borrowing one would be easier." I didn't like the way he said "borrow", but who was I to judge? "I'd only need it overnight. The virus is easy to fix, it's the genetics I'll need to research a little, but it's pretty basic. It shouldn't even trigger any security alarms on the net. It's all public domain." "I'm not letting you stick me with some fucking... magic potion," Sam said. I noticed his hands had made it down into his pockets, close to his balls. I would've laughed if I hadn't wanted to do the same thing. "I'm not letting you... I'm just not." Jessie remarked quietly in the corner. "I don't know. I don't think being a girl would be so bad." Snipe started to growl. The flex had worn off and he was starting to see the gravity of the situation. He was not so shy with his response; his hands were down his pants, making direct contact. "No. Fucking. Way," Sam said. "No fucking way am I becoming a girl." Michael came to the rescue. "Boys, boys, that's just one solution. One island in a sea full of possibilities. If you say it's not an option, then it's not an option." That seemed to relieve everyone a little, until he added. "So... who's got a better idea?" Our silence made the decision for us. * * * Michael's face hovered above me, smiling softly, his cheek swollen and blackened with a bruise. I tried to sit up. My temples began to throb. I quickly decided moving was overrated. I collapsed back into the pillow and decided to let the ecliptical spots swimming before my eyes settle down before trying again. After a short rest, Michael helped me to a sitting position. The stim packs had done a good job, but I still felt wobbly. I tried clearing my throat, tried speaking. It was weak, but audible. "How are the others?" "They're not awake yet." Michael's grim demeanor chilled me. "We need to talk." We'd been sedated for three weeks. Four would've been better. I was still in an enormous amount of pain. I felt as if I'd run six marathons back to back. I was exhausted. Every joint ached. Every bit of skin felt overly stretched and sunburned. My lips and nipples were throbbing, and I felt I like I'd been squeezing hot coals between my thighs. The first thing that struck me was my smell. I didn't stink. Michael and his landlady had given us all sponge bathes twice a day. According to Michael, she'd even taken it upon herself to style our hair and run us through a weekly manicure and pedicure regiment. I thought the old girl needed to get out more, but I appreciated her time. I just didn't smell like me anymore. I couldn't put my finger on it exactly, the aroma from my pits, my breath, my hair, my newly grown genitals... it was just different. The odor of my sweat was wrong, somehow lighter than before, but let's not kid ourselves, I was no spring garden. It's like the difference between the girl's locker room and the boy's. It's different, but can you explain how? I hunched over the table, pressing on my pulsing temples. Norma, Michael's landlady, set a large cup of coffee before me on the table, and when I looked up to thank her, I burst into tears. That was a surprise. I wasn't unhappy or afraid, and I certainly wasn't in that much pain, but there I was sobbing and sniffling and when Norma slung her portly arms over my shoulders, it just made me worse. I apologized profusely, but there was nothing to do but let the moment pass. Norma consoled me, while Michael sipped his tea non-chalantly, as if he'd played this scene before. "It's okay. There's nothing to be sorry for. It's just where you are right now." I thought she meant the kitchen, but soon inferred a deeper meaning. "Where I am?" Norma smiled. "Your cycle, Sweetheart." "Did-did the bio monitors say that?" Norma clucked like a fat hen. "I don't need any monitors to tell me that." I couldn't wrap my mind around what was happening inside my body; eggs, fallopian tubes, pregnancy.... I decided not to deal with that just now. Better to turn my thoughts to our predicament. Michael's eyes switched back to mine. "I have some bad news." "They... they haven't given up?" I saw now that Michael had a short gash healing on the side of his neck as well. Tears sprung to my eyes again. They were coming faster than I could wipe them away. I was so grateful to him for protecting us. It was a weird type of love I'd never experienced before. "No," he admitted. "No, they haven't." "But-but it's been weeks?" "Yes, three," he agreed, more glum than ever. "There are several things you need to know. First, the body count has risen to over a hundred." I blinked. Body count? "Now don't blame yourself. We know what that really means, but even though we know, we don't always know, if that makes any sense. Even people who mis-trust their government believe their lies when it's public enough." "Over... a hundred?" I whispered. It was a fucking concert. We were just trying to entertain some people and make a few bucks. Since when did rocking become a life or death occupation? Michael scooped up my hand. He was not a large man, but I was aware of how much larger his hand was than mine. The heat of his palm, the softness of it, how it squeezed and enveloped my fingers, comforted me in a way I couldn't have anticipated. I had the sudden urge to curl up in his lap like a kitten. I was starting to see his attractiveness. "It wasn't your fault, Eric. You and your mates didn't kill anyone. When the police responded to the 'riot', they sprayed sealant on anything that moved. Some of those people suffocated. Do you understand what I'm saying?" I nodded and let the tears crawl down my cheeks until they curled under my upper lip and trickled into my mouth. The salt of them tickled my tongue. I was suddenly aware of a powerful hunger. "We're no longer just a bunch of musicians, are we? We're state criminals now." "Yes." "And the second search is coming soon, which means you have to put us out." For the first time Michael's blase expression darkened with something all too human. Guilt, shame... he was hurting and I wasn't helping. "I'll... hold out as long as I can, of course." I fixed my eyes on the left side of his cheek where the black and blue bruise had swollen his jaw. "First thing." Michael shook his head. "What?" "You said, 'first', meaning there's more." Snipe sauntered in, whistling, a glass of chocolate milk in one hand, propaganda comics in the other. He froze when he saw me, his eyes wide, his throat bobbing. Michael raised an eyebrow. "Yes, well... that's the other." While my diminutive frame was swallowed by Michael's normal sized chair, while I tried desperately to ignore the pendulous sensation of breasts shaking and jiggling and swinging beneath my oversized sleep shirt, while my overly sensitive nipples transformed soft silk into the consistency of burlap, Snipe stood there, male and comfortable and without a single change. He was still his old male self, and I was going to dig my newly painted nails into his throat and choke the life out of him. * * * You might think a girl just waking up in a girl body feels sexy and feminine and delicious, but imagine yourself waking up in the morning. Do you really feel that way? I did not feel sexy. My breasts felt flat and sweaty on my chest. My ass felt two sizes too large. My hands felt like the hands of a child in a world that manufactured coffee cups and doorknobs for giants. I was short. My voice was flat and high and whiney. My hands didn't know where to go. My thighs felt fat. My ankles were swollen. I did not feel sexy, though Norma assured me that such things would pass. She was right, I knew. In a few hours or a few days, should we live that long, I would probably feel normal. And I'd no longer be bursting into tears and having flashes of anger and anxiety. Actually, in a few days, so Norma politely informed me, I'd be having my first period. The timing couldn't have been better. Here we were trying to escape a planet that was trying to kill me, and my automatic panties would be vaporizing blood clots and.... Add it to the list of things not to think about. Sam and Jessie were awake and looked like I felt. Worn out, beaten, though I had to admit they'd come out darling as Michael had exclaimed. Norma had grown Sam's hair out to long waves of auburn curls. His... or rather her skin was pale with faint sprays of freckles that darkened and sweetened her complexion. The sharp cupid's bow of her upper lip was so pronounced, it put mine to shame. I realized that she was actually much prettier than me. That revelation stung. Jessie was the effervescent blonde, her hair so light it was almost white. It was straight and long and beautiful, and it seemed to absorb all the light in the room, without leaving much left for the rest of us. I didn't recall any retro routines in the code I'd created, but it was almost as if she'd regressed ten years. The baby fat was still present in her cheeks, and her complexion was that of fresh milk, white and smooth and creamy. Her bright blue eyes played peek-a-boo with her long lashes. I was starting to feel rather homely. Norma, ever the intuitive matriarch, noticed my reaction. We had a new plan, based on the old plan. I was reasonably certain that us three "girls" could beat the scanners at the elevator gates, but now we had to get Snipe past them as well. This would involve a little hacking on my part, and a lot of pride swallowing on behalf of us all, except Snipe, of course, who seemed oblivious. Sam and I decided to go out and perform some reconnaissance, and set things up for tomorrow's escape. Which meant, we had to be "girls" outside, and not give ourselves away. We were fortunate in that people had a tendency to accept things at face value. We were unfortunate in that the fashion of this planet took center stage in its culture. Girls were girly and sexy and competitive, and wore clothes and jewelry and makeup that emphasized those qualities. Norma dressed and painted and adorned Sam and I to match the cultural expectation. Which meant, makeup, heels, skirts, small tops, cupping and lifting bras and lots of dangling jewelry. Every finger had a ring; every ear lobe had four. While Norma worked on my face, she spent time cooing in my ear, her voice soft and maternal, comforting and hypnotic. She had personalities for us all. I would be the girl next door, smart and funny, but also sexy and serious. My hips were better than the others and that was more attractive than most girls guessed, she said. She planted glasses on my nose, which had no real function but were purely aesthetic, though I had to admit it put a focus on my eyes like never before. I was depressed that my eye color was brown, which seemed to me to have very little impact, but by the time she got through coating my lids with rich golds and subtle browns, my eyes had been transformed to that of a goddess. She'd somehow lifted the outside corners of my eyes, giving them an Asiatic charm, while the sparkle and glisten of my lips was enough to penetrate even the darkest shades of a policeman. By the time Sam and I left the house, our heads were swimming in femininity. We felt strangely at home among the other women, judging each by our own standards, though we were having to construct them from scratch. Sam's legs were longer than mine (though mine had better shape, according to the gospel of Norma), which made walking beside her a challenge. I seemed to be constantly rushing up to meet her, which made my breasts bounce more, which garnered more attention. I was trying not to notice the eyes of every man that walked past us. They flipped from Sam to me and back again. I often found their gazes fixed well below my face and that made me want to wear a jacket and pants, but that would've made us stand out from the crowd. Norma was right. In being noticed, we went practically unnoticed. At the gates I hacked into the network and found the security protocols. It wasn't hard, though it impressed the hell out of Sam. "I didn't know you knew how to do that." I glared at him. His clear green eyes were trimmed in Christmas tree colors, green eye shadows, dark green mascara and feathery soft reds framing the whole package. His beauty made it difficult to be stern with him. There was plenty of male lust left in me to cause wanton longings. There something about a clean, polished girl that makes you want to get her dirty, tip her off her platinum pedestal and make her grunt and sweat and groan. I sounded bitchy, even more so than I intended. "Who do you think programmed all our PLS's? Who do you think set up the security on all our files? None of you liked the idea of giving away our music, so someone had to learn that stuff." Actually our download security was better than the gate security. Companies might be quick to upgrade, but governments were notoriously slow. Sam let out a weak, "... sorry," and sniffled. I was surprised to find tears in her eyes. I think she was equally surprised. She wiped them away and jutted her bottom lip out just enough to insinuate a pout. Suddenly I felt horrible. I don't know how the big lump in my heart got there, but there it was. I was starting to think being a girl consisted of crying all the time. My expression of shock and confusion triggered her expression, and we both blinked and met each other's gaze. We were sharing one thought and that was, 'What in the hell was that?!?' "Wow," Sam whispered and I had to agree. "No wonder girls are like that. They can't fucking help themselves." Everything was so damned emotional. It didn't even seem to matter what the emotion was. Feeling sad? Cry. Feeling empathy? Cry. Feeling afraid? Cry. Feeling pissed off? Cry. I tried shutting off the bio-scanners, but they clicked right back on. I tried cutting their power supply, but they re-routed and found a new one. There was no turning them off. I managed to pause them for two seconds, and that took some major hacking and programming and leaving my fingerprints all over the code. It would take a lot longer than two seconds to get Snipe past them. I erased my prints and took another tactic. I programmed the scanners to re-direct three quarters of an inch for twenty minutes, starting at noon the next day. That was the best I could do. They'd still be able to get a lead on our bio-signatures, but it would be weak. This meant two things: one, we had to get in the left line to the elevator gates; and two, we would have only twenty minutes to get past them before they self corrected. On the way home I filled Sam in on the rest of the plan and he nearly gave birth to an elephant right there in the street. He objected, refused, spit, cursed and drew far too much attention. He wasn't being very woman-like, but he didn't care. "I'm not fucking do it! No fucking way!" I drew him close, the sweet sting of his perfume filling my nostrils, making me want to nuzzle against his neck and bury my nose in his hair. I whispered violently into his ear and pinched his arm with my small grip. "It's that or we spend the rest of our fucking lives in fucking jail!" He pressed his painted red lips together until they turned white, and the roses in his cheeks came to full bloom. He was pissed, and he'd never looked more beautiful. * * * In the night, alone in the dark, with nothing to do but think, with nothing to do but lay in my new squishy, lumpy, soft, fat body, I did what I suspected we all did: explored. I ran the flat of my index finger across my lips. They were just lips. They felt the same, perhaps a bit more sensitive. I pressed the flat of my cool palm against my cheek. There was no beard stubble, and that fact alone made it softer. The nearly invisible peach fuzz softened it all the more. Hair felt like hair. I'd always had long hair, so this was nothing new, even if there were a few more curls, and more of the aromas of flowers and melon and who knew what else. I stroked my arms. Soft, yes, but mere arms. Thinner, yes, but they moved as arms moved. I touched my collar bone; it was bone beneath skin and had the same hard and rubbery consistency as always. Hands were hands, fingers were more slender, yes, but joints were joints and palms were palms. The nails were new, but not so different, except for the red polish. There was the shock. The color that women applied. On the fingertips and toes, on the eyes and the lips and the cheeks. The perfume they applied, on the hair, the pits and the nape of the neck and the wrists and sometimes, perhaps, even the backs of the knees. The breasts could not be denied. These were not the same. These were new and different, yielding and tender, soft and malleable like some warm clay, but still just flesh. Nipples did what male nipples had did, but to a degree that was certainly foreign, and with a sensitivity that was exciting, to say the least. I pressed them together, pulled them apart, ran my fingers around the areolae which were surprisingly soft, ultra soft, as soft as tissue paper, as soft as water. What a contrast to the hardening nipple. Little ripples of pleasure ran through me, making my shoulders shudder. They ran up my spine, down to my painted toes and all points between. I rolled one nub between finger and thumb and found that my bottom lip had curled up and under my teeth. It felt delicious. How odd to find pleasure in such foreign territory. It was no longer just about the dick. It was about so much more. The entire body seemed built for pleasure. The tummy, where my soft hands caressed, the hips, where my soft hands grabbed and pushed, as if attempting to push them down and away. Legs that separated so easily, so eagerly, flopping on to their sides as fingers dove down, expecting to find the rod that I'd always known, even though I knew better than to expect it. I found a new and mysterious organ, flesh, flesh and more flesh, folds upon folds, curtains that reluctant seemed to reveal the stage. I was wet inside, but not outside. I transferred moisture from one area to the next, whetted the stone, and then a slick flood of juice coated everything. Of course I was familiar with the structure, with the sensation transmitted by blind fingers, groping in the dark, but I'd only ever felt female flesh through my fingers before, only ever heard the moans, only ever saw the squirming and the smiles and the strange anguished expression that looked painful but was not. I had experienced all this as an outsider. Now I was delightfully aware of every sensation. I dipped my fingers inside and was surprised to find that the sensation was not unlike stroking, but from the inside out. And like my missing friend, there were areas where the motion of the hand was more important than the touch itself. It was only a matter of time, of course, before I almost involuntarily sought out that little nub of pleasure that made me gasp aloud upon its discovery. I bit my lip and took an oath of silence, but my fingers sought it out again, and again. Time slipped away as I was bathed in sensation, awash in pleasure from multiple sources, one hand slipping from breast to belly, tweaking and caressing, the other dedicated to its cosmic nub. I lost it several times. Too many folds, too much slick flesh. But after a groan of frustration, my prize presented itself again, a little jewel more valuable than all of the diamonds in the Universe. And after a long time, I couldn't be sure how long, the tension began inside and tensed and tensed as I rubbed and whined and found a way to stimulate both nipples at once with the length of my arm. Now I had it, all the sweet spots lined up in a perfect synchronized row. I swore not to change a thing, to keep the exact same motion on the exact same spots with the exact rhythm, because I'd gotten close and lost it twice before, and the world be damned, this time I was going to make it happen. And happen it did. It erupted from inside, and burst through me in delightful wave after convulsing wave. And guess what... cumming was cumming. The same wrecking spasms of joy, but deeper, less localized. These waves washed up and down my body using all my erogenous zones as an ingenious highway. For the first time I began to appreciate the complexity of the female body. Maybe it was complex for a reason. It took time, but the time was worth the reward. I knew somewhere in the other rooms there were two other girls finding this out, and somehow I knew that having these experiences would bring us closer together. They were sort of my sisters now, and though that should seem odd, it didn't. I'd never been as close to Sam or Jessie as a woman can be with another woman, where all our secrets could be revealed. Men kept secrets from men, and only revealed them by accident. Women revealed them by design and purpose... to other women. Sleep overtook me before I could reflect further upon it. Orgasms, good orgasms, make for good sleeping. * * * So, there we were, carrying out our master plan. Heels and hoses, anklets and bracelets, ear rings and nose rings, hiked up skirts and panties, hoisting bras and short blouses with lace, with ribbons, with cute little bows, our faces stained with fresh makeup, lipstick and gloss, blush and eyeshadow, dark mascara eyes and shaped brows, our hair in curls, in short bangs with flyaway strands, hanging in our eyes, tickling our necks, looking like the groupies we were pretending to be. And trying desperately to conceal our udder humiliation. The only way to get Snipe past the scanners was to mask his bio- signatures with ours, and how does one do that without looking as if one is doing that? By hanging and fawning and kissing and cuddling all over him. Snipe, dressed in a burgundy velvet suit, with his bandanna and his colored hair, with his rings and his expensive shoes, certainly wasn't complaining. Whether or not he was enjoying it could be debated, but he was smiling, and he was blushing. He didn't seem to mind the fact that the girls hanging on him were his band mates, all formerly male. Sam was behind him and grabbing at his ass cheeks rather harshly, I thought, whenever he seemed to enjoy himself too much. I hung on one arm and did my best to be vapid and silly and to call his new fake name out again and again with silly questions. "Maxie, are we gonna ride the elevator? Maxie, will you write a song for us? Maxie, can we get a room with only one bed?" I put a lot of effort into not vomiting. I jumped up regularly and gave him baby-bird kisses on his cheek, trying to smear the heat signature of his face, and more than once, I'd found lips rather than beard and that pissed me off all the more, but I couldn't show it. I had to pretend to love it, and so I squealed and called him naughty and whispered what the cops certainly assumed was a request to duck behind the barrier for a quick fuck, but which was really barely inaudible threats about which garden tool I was going to use to castrate him. Jessie seemed to have it the easiest or was the best actor. Her bright and happy face was wall to wall smile and blushing cheeks. I had to admit, she looked hot in her heels and miniskirt. The list of things I wouldn't do to a groupie like that would fill a thimble. She did not give Snipe pecks on the cheek and little happy sighs, but full on kisses. Even Snipe seemed surprised at first, but her delicate tongue seemed to ease his apprehension. The way her small hands fell into his pockets, the way her head fell upon his shoulder, the way she encouraged his teeth to nibble on her neck made me wonder if we might have to keep them from wandering off behind a barrier. I kept a sharp eye on the time. At precisely noon, we launched drunkenly forward into the path of the scanners and prayed for the best. Us three "girls" enveloped our prize rock star as best as we could, cutting in line as if we were just simply too important to stand with the riff raff. Surprisingly it worked. We were given the rock star treatment. People grumbled, but no one outright challenged us. We each handed over our credentials, which were easy forgeries. Who needed secure documents when you had scanners that could memorize and analyze the freckles on a person's bum with esca-scopic lenses? The three of us smiled and flirted with the border people. Jessie even turned and dropped her wallet out of her purse and watched as two guards swarmed to reclaim them for her. She stood there, her hands in the air as they scrambled around her heels, their eyes slithering up her body like snakes, up and across her legs, fixating on her ass and breasts. She had gotten the most bosom out of the three of us, for which I was both jealous and grateful. We had twenty minutes and we'd already spent ten just getting to the tables. It was another ten just getting our credentials sorted. We were out of time and I knew it. The scanners would be self-correcting and it wouldn't take much to read Snipe's body. We covered him with our curvy figures, draped our arms around him, declared our love for him, kissed and hugged him, and tried to drag him forward to the gates. No alarms. No bells. No whistles. We were at the gates and nothing had gone wrong. Maybe I had miscalculated the scanners. Maybe they weren't as good as I thought. Maybe we had longer than twenty minutes. We were tense, but relaxing. We were through the gates and had the doors of the elevators in sight. Jessie oohed and ahhed as her eyes climbed up the shaft up into the sky. I gave Sam a quick glance and a smile. Sam nodded and sighed with relief. "Hey!" Someone called out from behind us. A male voice. An angry male voice. "Hey! You!" Maybe we'd just dropped something. I turned with a flip of my hair and as sweet a smile as I could manage. The face of the cop told me what I didn't want to know. He came for us, sealant pistol at the ready. Four more joined him. We'd been made, or Snipe had, because if the scanners had been able to recognize our new signatures, than we would've been clocked the second we hit the streets. Jessie's big blue eyes filled with panic. Sam's nails dug into Snipe's neck, causing Snipe to let out a growl of complaint. I looked at them, looked at the cops who were picking up speed and intensity, and looked ahead to the elevator. The doors were just rolling closed. "RUN!" Our heels held us back. The three of us tripped, stumbled, clicked and clacked across the walk toward the elevator. I heard the pops of the guns and waited for the sting and the stick, but it never came. I risked a backwards glance and realized they were not aiming for us "girls" but for Snipe. One of them fired his weapon and Snipe went down. His ankle was glued to the concrete walk. Jessie ducked back to help him, but Sam grabbed her before she could. She cried, "Noooo" the entire way into the elevator, and was still clawing and scratching as we forced her through the doors. As the doors rolled shut, we saw four cops fall on Snipe, his fists and his feet giving them hell, while theirs did the same to him. End of Part I