First And Ten, Part 3 free porn video

First and Ten; Part 3 Nancy Cole Chapter Ten Desperately needing some time to think, I took to walking the crowded city streets. Conner, who'd accompanied back down to the lobby, asked if he could join me. I didn't need to be clairvoyant to know that he wanted to speak to me but not there, not in the middle of a federal building. Unable to find a good reason to say no and not wishing to be alone at the moment, I acquiesced with nothing more than a shrug. In silence we headed toward Broadway where we made a left, mingling with other pedestrians who scurried by without giving either of us a second thought. I, on the other hand, took to looking in their faces, wondering if any of them had ever found themselves having to make the sort of life altering decision that I'd just been hit with. Of course not, I sadly concluded. Special Agent Moore's fantastical plan was the sort of thing that only Hollywood writers dreamt up, not an aging federal bureaucrat. No one in their right minds could imagine such a thing, much less expect another seemingly sane and rational person to buy into it. Upon reaching Fulton Street, I paused. Looking off to my right I caught sight of a vast empty space filled with nothing but sky, a rare thing in this part of the city. As if drawn toward it I made my way west, crossing Church Street when Fulton came to an abrupt end. Only when I reached a chain link fence randomly adorned with faded photos, hand drawn notes and wilted flowers did I stop. As captivating as the azure blue sky was, my eyes were drawn to the gapping pit that lay just beyond the fence, a scare that reminded me that sometimes reality can be far more fantastic, and infinitely more brutal than the most imaginative work of fiction ever penned. "They should have left it as it was," I stated in a quite voice without taking my eyes off the workers in the pit who were doing their best to erase all evidence of an event that had stood the City on its head. "I agree," Conner stated solemnly. "Still," he added looking over to where I was standing, head bowed low as I watched the activities in the pit, "life does go on." Upon hearing that tired old clich?, I glanced over at him. "Where'd pick up that little pearl of wisdom, FBI school?" Unable to help himself, he flashed me a shy, almost apologetic smile. "Sorry. Creative writing has never been my forte." Taking up my wanderings once more, I slowly made my way along the fence. "What is your forte, Special Agent MacMasters?" "Well, if the past two days are any indicator, getting people into trouble seems to be about it." Regarding him out of the corner of my eye while sweeping a few stray strands of hair back behind my ear, I couldn't help but smile. "I suppose you've got a really super great explanation that'll explain how your boss came to know everything about me right down to the type of toothpaste I use." Before speaking, Conner heaved a sigh, looking up at the vacant sky to our right as if searching for guidance. "Jordan, I am really sorry I got you into this. I wish I'd kept my mouth shut." "But you didn't, did you?" "No, I didn't," he stated glumly, dropping his gaze down to the sidewalk before him. "When I heard you mention that you were a history student at NYU, I found myself wondering if you were in any of Lange's classes. I couldn't believe my luck when the registrar's office confirmed that you were. That, together with what your sister told me about you on Sunday over lunch as well as your tour of duty in Afghanistan all added up, providing us with a nifty solution to a problem that had been bedeviling our office for months. Naturally I mentioned this to Moore on Monday morning. As a routine matter, he told me to pull your military records. That was when we, or should I say I, found out about, well, you know." After giving Conner's explanation some thought, I came to the conclusion that had I been in his position, I probably would have done the same. "So, who came up with the idea of pawning me off to Khalje as a dancing boy?" I asked without bothering to look over at him. Trusting his hands in his pockets, he took to kicking an imaginary stone down the street with the tip of his shoe. "I guess everything sort of all fell into place. I mean, without having to even think about it, we all realized that you were the perfect candidate." Stopping, I turned to face Conner. Caught off guard, he had to back peddle a few steps. "Did any of you bother to really think this through? Has anyone bothered to consider what it is you're asking me to do and what it'll mean for me? Did you? Did Moore?" As I stood there in the middle of the street, doing my damnedest to control the anger that was welling up within me and losing it, all Conner could do was to sheepishly stare down at the pavement between us, unable to find an answer that would satisfy me or even look me in the eye. Sensing that he took my question to be rhetorical, I spelled it out to him in simple, if somewhat colorful terms that left little to the imagination. "If I buy into your harebrained little scheme, I'm going to have to announce to the world that I'm a transsexual, or a transvestite or some such thing. Then, I'm going to have to publically renounce everything I believe in, my country, the men I served with, and even my own, personal convictions, pretending to be against a war that's being fought to keep this," I stated sharply as I motioned toward the open pit behind me, "from ever happening again. And if that isn't enough, you want me to become a play toy for a middle aged gay Afghani egghead who, according to you, is hell bent on leveling this city." Whether he meant his response to be cute or if that's just the way it came out, he peeked up at me and nodded. "I guess that pretty much sums it up." Dumbfounded by Conner's response, all I could do was stand there before him, mouth agape, torn between slapping him silly and fleeing down the street, screaming at the top of my lungs. I did neither. Instead, I threw my hands up to my forehead, firmly planting them on either side of my temples. "My God! I cannot believe I'm even considering this!" With that, I took to pacing back and forth before Conner, bent over with my arms folded tightly across my chest, muttering to myself as I did so. "I must be as fracking mad as you fracking people." Not knowing what else to do, Conner stood stock still as he watched my antics, concerned and amused all at the same time. For my part I stopped every so often as I passed in front of him, looking up in his eyes before shaking my head and taking up my nervous pacing and mutterings once more. "I'm mad! I have got to be fracking mad." Finally, having worked off a fair amount of my righteous anger, I stopped my pacing. Standing before Conner, I suddenly found myself unable to look up into his eyes as I asked him the only question that really mattered. "Is this really that important? I mean, is what I'm about to do going to make any difference?" Conner's response wasn't quite what I expected. Instead of launching into a long winded oration about God, country, defending democracy or some other such blather, he took me by the shoulders and gently spun me about until I was once more looking at the gapping pit that marked the spot where the World Trade Towers had once stood. After standing there in total silence for a minute, maybe two, I sighed. "You know, this isn't fair," I muttered quietly without taking my eyes off the site where nearly 3,000 innocent lives had come to a swift and violent end. "Sorry, Jordan," Conner whispered. "Sometimes life just isn't fair. Bad things do happen to good people. My job is to do whatever I can to keep that from happening." Having let my anger run its course, I took to walking once more, grasping the strap of my shoulder bag while I stared down at the sidewalk before me. Without a word, Conner fell in at my side, patiently waiting for me to say something. We'd gone about a block when I came to the realization that there was nothing more to say. What I needed now was time to think as well as an opportunity to talk to Emma. Not only did I need her council, advice and solace, I knew that anything I did, especially something as radical as what Moore was proposing, would have an impact upon her in so many way, none, I imaged, that would be good. While standing on the corner of Liberty and Church, waiting in the middle of a crowd of people for the light to change, I peeked up at Conner. "I hope you realize that I had to skip lunch in order to scamper downtown and meet with your boss." Picking up on my less then subtle hint, Conner nodded. "Oh, I suppose I could spring for something to eat. It's the least the FBI can do." "I assure you, dear sir, if I do buy into this insane scheme of yours, the government is going to need to pony up for more than a simple lunch." As we stepped off into the street, Conner nodded. "That goes without saying. Having spent a little time with one of the Wallace sisters, I've already come to the conclusion that getting on your good side is going to be an expensive proposition." Surprised and pleased to find me quietly reading on her sofa when she got in from work, Emma greeted me a with warm, sisterly hug before stepping back and giving me a knowing smile after taking in my appearance. I had little doubt that she was adding things up and coming up with an answer that didn't even come close to explaining why I was there and dressed as I was. Rather than spoil her cheerful mood, I said nothing for the moment, joining her instead in the kitchen as we poked about in search of something for dinner. Not that I was particularly hunger. As I had at the deli where Conner and I stopped for a late lunch, I picked at the food before me as my mind kept going back over the events of the day and the decision I'd been asked to make. Emma, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy having someone to talk to over dinner as she chatted about her day and what she and Conner had done Sunday afternoon, unaware that I'd spent most of the afternoon with him. That doesn't mean she was oblivious to my rather dour mood. It wasn't until I reached out for the bottle of wine in order to top off my glass that my sister decided the time had come to find out what was bugging me. "You know, that's your third glass," she stated trying to make her comment sound as if it were nothing more than a casual observation. It wasn't of course. It was her round about way of asking me what was bothering me. I didn't answer her right off. Instead, I emptied the bottle and took a sip before easing back in my seat. "I saw Conner today." My remark, delivered with a deliberate casualness, caught her totally by surprise. "Conner? My Conner?" I couldn't help but chuckle over the way she viewed that man, relating to him as if he was already an established part of her life and not simply someone she was just getting to know. After regaining her balance, Emma did her best to maintain an air of nonchalance, as if my seeing Conner were an everyday occurrence. It wasn't, of course. Just as she knew all my little quirks and habits, I understood the way her mind worked. "M, before you go getting your knickers all in a twist, the reason he called me isn't even close to what you're thinking," I stated dryly before taking another sip of wine in an effort to fortify myself as I prepared to tell my sister about my visit to 26 Federal Plaza. "Okay," she replied, regarding me suspiciously as she took up her own wine glass. "Why don't you tell me what it was about?" And so I did. Chapter Eleven The air of confidence I wore as I strolled across the lobby of 26 Federal Plaza was paper thin. Underneath that flimsy veneer was a quivering lump of mush. I'd made my decision, one that would turn my quiet little world inside out. What I was being asked to do, to become, would do more than simply change my life. In the eyes of many I'd become an outcast, a pariah in more ways than one. As a self-proclaimed cross- dresser, if in fact that's what I really was, at best I'd be regarded as something quite different and apart from the rest of society, at worse I'd be considered a pervert. Still, as difficult as that was to stomach, the need to ingratiate myself to people who were hell bent on visiting the sort of death and destruction that I'd been a witness to in Iraq to a city I'd come to love was repulsive. Whether or not I'd be able to do so convincingly was a question I could not answer. The best I could do, I finally concluded, was to accept my fate and make one, bold, leap of faith. Unfortunately, it wasn't going to be that easy, for this was no leap of faith. That trite little allegory applied to an act that required a person to do nothing more than close his eyes and take one bold step into the unknown. The journey I was embarking on would be both deliberate and arduous, more akin to climbing a vertical rock face than pitching oneself it. Even now, having resolved to buy into Moore's absurd proposal, I found myself having to push my way forward every step of the way, fighting off an overwhelming urge to heed a niggling little voice in my head that kept screaming don't. Don't get off the subway. Don't pass through those doors. Don't go up to the 23rd floor and say yes. Don't. Of course I ignored it. And in all honesty, I couldn't say with any degree of certainty why, exactly I forged ahead with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man marching off to his own execution. Conner found me seated off to one side of the lobby, lost in my own thoughts. His expression, like his greeting, betrayed his hesitancy. "We didn't expect to hear back from you this soon," he admitted as he was signing me in again. "Well, you know what the say about bad news, dead fish and house guests," I replied as I slipped my driver's license back into my wallet and dumped that in my shoulder bag. "What's that?" "The longer they're around, the more they stink." At the elevators we waited till we were able to board an unoccupied car. As it began to ascend to the 23rd floor, Conner turned to me. "Did you see your sister yesterday?" Despite the knot in my stomach that grew tighter with each floor we passed, I decided to have some fun with him. "Yes I did." He waited several seconds for me to continue. Realizing that I wasn't going to say anything more, he nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "And?" he asked hesitantly. "Oh, we enjoyed a lovely meal together and sipped some wine," I mussed whimsically. "Jordan, you know what I mean." Unable to torture the poor man any longer, I glanced over at him out of the corner of my eye. "If you must know, I told her about this preposterous cloak and dagger scheme of yours." "And?" He asked once more, no longer making any effort to mask his growing frustration over my antics. "Needless to say, she was quite appalled." "Was she angry with me? I mean, she's didn't blame me for this, did she?" "No Conner. I blamed you." The look on his face was priceless. I let him stew a bit as we stopped on a floor that wasn't ours where Conner politely wave off the group of people who'd been awaiting to go up. When the doors were closed again I decided I'd had enough fun with Emma's boyfriend. "Not to worry, Romeo, my sister isn't upset with you." "So our date for this Friday is still on?" "Yes, Conner, it's still on, though I dare say you've a lot of making up to do. I'm afraid you're going to have to pop for more than a dirty water hog dog and soda from the first street vender you come across." The smile he gave me lit up the elevator car. "Jordan, whatever the price, it'll be worth it. Men get a kick out of making up to their girls." Rolling my eyes, I shook my head and gave him one of those, you've got to be kidding me looks. "Really? I didn't know that." I guess Special Agent Moore took the self satisfied grin on Conner's face as a sign that I'd told him on the way up that I'd work for them instead of the real reason behind it, for Moore greeted me in a manner that was a far cry from the previous day. He even stood up when I entered his office and offered me his hand. Recalling some of Emma's advice, instead of using a handshake as a test of strength as some men tended to do, I simply lay my hand in his and gave it a light squeeze. "We didn't expect to hear back from you until next week at the earliest," Moore stated, mirroring Conner's sentiment. Unlike Conner, I didn't hit Moore with my bad news, fish and houseguest comment. Instead, I took a seat and got down to the issues at hand. "Special Agent Moore, before we get started," I stated with confidence in an effort to mask the trepidation I felt over the whole matter, "there are some things that I need to make clear and that you, or should I say the FBI, has to agree to." Easing back in his seat, Moore took a moment to study me as he clasped his hands over his stomach. "Such as?" "It goes without saying that this assignment, if that's what you're calling it, is going to be very difficult for me in so many ways." "That goes without say. These things are always difficult for the informant," he stated before giving me an opportunity to fully explain myself. "I don't think you do," I shot back in a manner that caused Moore to blink. "Besides the normal risks that I imagine a person working as an informer runs, I'm quite new to this." For his part, Moore assumed I meant working for the FBI. "Of course we know that. Most of the informants we use have never worked with the Bureau prior to their first assignment." Realizing he wasn't following what I was saying, I shook my head. "That's not what I'm talking about." "Then what is it you are you talking about?" "This," I stated indicating my female apparel with a sweep of my hand. "Being female." Making no effort to hide his confusion, Moore looked over at Conner, who was just as puzzled as his boss. Unable to provide an answer, Conner shrugged, causing Moore to ask me to explain. "I've only been doing this, that is dressing as a female, for eleven days and then, only when I was with my sister." Not wanting to muddy up the already murky water, I decided to skip the Sarah Roth story. "You mean to tell me you're not living full time as a female?" Amazed that he didn't know that, I felt like giving a mock gasp of horror and screaming, 'Oh my God! The FBI doesn't know everything?' Instead, I confined my response to Moore's question with a self satisfied smile, which, judging by Moore's expression, accomplished the same thing. "Needless to say," I continued, "there are more moving parts to this operation of yours that you haven't factored in yet. In order to pull it off, I'm going to have to begin by adopting a life style that I'm not at all sure is suitable or appropriate for me." Totally flummoxed, Moore turned to Conner who returned his boss's stare. When the two men finally managed to look back to where I was sitting, patiently waiting for them to recover from their shock, Moore sat upright in his seat, resting his clasped hands on his desk. "Ah, I'm afraid I'm going to have to apologize. I thought, I mean we thought that you were, were . . ." In an effort to save his boss, Conner finished Moore's statement. "We thought you were a transsexual." "Quite frankly, gentlemen," I admitted candidly, "I'm not quite sure what I am. Until I had a better handle on this whole gender thing, I had been planning on keeping this to myself and continue living as, well, a guy." Unable to help himself, Moore asked the obvious. "But how could that be possible? I mean, you don't look anything like . . ." The opportunity to have a bit of fun at Moore's expense was simply too good to pass up. Dropping my chin a smidge, I gave him the most beguiling smile I could manage as I looked back up at him through my lashes. "I know. Scary, isn't it?" I doubt if scary was the word that was going through his mind at that moment. Fortunately, he didn't share it with me. Easing back in his seat, Moore brought a hand up to his chin, rubbing it as he factored in this new bit of data to his scheme. "This could be a problem." If there was one useful thing I learned while in the Army, it was spotting an opportunity when it came my way and knowing how to take advantage of it. Realizing that Moore hadn't given the mechanics of how I would get from point A, where I was at the moment, to point B, a trusted and loyal follower of Dr. Khalje, I seized the initiative. Without batting an eye, I began to enumerate a list of conditions that needed to be met if we, or more correctly I, was going to be able to pull this off. That I was making up this list on the fly without a clue as to whether everything on it was relevant to the task at hand wasn't important. They were important to me and, at the moment, that was all that mattered. To his credit, Moore made note of everything I asked for. Even when he grimaced whenever I mentioned something that he was not comfortable with, he made no overt objections. I guess he realized, as I did, that this was an unusual case that would require methods and solutions not normally taught at the FBI Academy at Quantico. Sleep did come easy that night, which was no big surprise. As I lay there in my bed, staring up at the ceiling of my dorm room, I found myself having to deal with more than the events of the day and my recently discovered, or should I say rediscovered, gender issues. There was the whole question of my life and where this little plot of Moore's would take it that had to be dealt with. Despite his best effort to create the impression that the task of snooping on Dr. Khalje was a very limited and low key operation, I knew better. Moore was anxious to get me on board, promising to do all he could to meet my conditions with greater enthusiasm than I'd expected. It was what came after the FBI was done with me that really concerned me. Even if no one outside of a select circle of agents knew of my clandestine activities, I could never again be nothing more than a simple nameless and faceless college student. The need to play the role of a guy transitioning from male to female in a very open and public way would pretty much rule that out. Even if, when all was said and done, I decided that living my life as a female wasn't for me, I'd always be viewed by my fellow students as something different, a person who didn't fit into one of those nice, neat categories that we are so fond of assigning people we knew. In short, my life would forever be changed. The question before me that night was quite simple. Was that such a bad thing? It took but a second for me to answer that one. Looking about my dark room, I found it was a perfect analogy for my life. It was small, quiet, bereft of any color and quite lonely. A Spartan hoplite would have felt right at home living here. Were it not for my weekly pilgrimage to my sister's, my days would be all but indistinguishable. There was another, less well defined force compelling me to accept Moore's strange proposal. It was a longing to matter, to be relevant once more. It was a need that had gone unfulfilled since I'd left the Army. As a medic with a combat unit I'd been important, a respected member of a team. My presence alone made a difference to men who were never more than a hairbreadth away from a sniper's bullet or an insurgent's bomb. The same could not be said of my current lot in life. Were I to be abducted by aliens the only people who would miss me would be Emma and Eric Hoffmann, a twenty year old kid from Long Island who frequently copied my European History notes and was the closest thing I had to a friend at NYU. I guess I saw Moore's offer as something of a lifeline, a chance to salvage a soul that was adrift in a sea of indifference by providing me with an opportunity to once more be part of something significant. I know that may not strike many as being a sound reason for volunteering for something that I should have been doing out of a simple sense of patriotism, but having made other, more crucial life altering decisions for even baser reasons, I concluded that my motives for going forward with Moore's scheme would suffice to see me through the coming ordeal. They'd have to be. After all, they were the best I could come up with that I would be able to share with my sister without causing her to become totally freaked out by the real reason behind my decision, one I wasn't quite ready to accept myself. Chapter Twelve It didn't take very long for Conner to contact me and arrange our next meeting. Two days after my second visit to 26 Federal Plaza my cell phone came to life in the middle of a Friday morning lecture on the English Civil War, rousing me out of a sound sleep. Even with the phone set on vibrate, my sudden and rather spasmodic response to it was sufficient to attract the sort of unwanted attention that did little to earn a student points for class participation. At least it kept me from missing the professor's description of the beheading of Charles I, always a high point in English history and a timely reminder to me of what can happen to people when they screw up. I returned Conner's call as I was making my way to my next class. It seemed Special Agent Moore had been quite busy since we'd last met, for Conner informed me that everything was set and that we, meaning them I guess, were ready to kick off the operation. When I told him that I was free to meet with them downtown that afternoon, Conner informed me that Moore wanted to keep my visits to their offices to a minimum. Instead, he asked where and when we could meet in private. With this being Friday, and knowing he had a date with M, I saw no harm in suggesting that we use her place. In addition to providing us with a place where we could talk freely, meeting there would give me an opportunity to slip back into character. Though Conner pretty much knew everything there was to know about me, I didn't want to muddy up an already confusing situation by spending time with him as a male. I waited till noon to call my sister, asking her if it was all right for me to meet with Conner at her place that evening even though I'd already made those arrangements. Fortunately, I didn't need to go into a long winded explanation as to why I needed to see him, though I did have to endure the usual concerned sister lecture she was so fond of giving me every time I got myself involved in something she thought was risky. With that taken care of, I was free to refocus all my attention to my academics. Yeah, right! It was mid-afternoon when I arrived at Emma's. Any thought of returning to my dorm room in order to catch up on some reading or spending time in the library researching a paper that was due in a few weeks went by the wayside. The anticipation of slipping out of my male mufti and into some of the things I'd bought at Macy's the previous week was far more compelling than I cared to admit to, even to myself. While I had little doubt that I'd soon come to view dressing as a female as little more than a necessary evil, at the moment it was something I looked forward to. With all kinds of time on my hands, I decided to indulge myself and take a nice, long hot bath. Unlike my usual dips in the tubs, I raided Emma's bathroom to steal some of her lavender scented bubble bath. Silly, I know, but what the heck, I told myself. If I was going to do this, I was going to go all the way. That thought, one more appropriate to my Army days, caused me to pause. What, exactly, did all the way now mean? Announcing to the world that I was going to live as a female and then doing so? That was a given. Mingling with people whose views I did not agree with? Obviously. Playing a game of cloak and dagger for which there were no rules? Most definitely. But what else? Just how far was I going to have to go in order to wean the sort of information out of Dr. Khalje that special Agent Moore was seeking was an open question I didn't even care to think about at the moment. There'd be plenty of time over the next few months to agonize over that. For the moment, immersing myself in a warm tub of scented water was the only thing that mattered. Everything else would simply have to take a number and wait patiently in line. Emma came breezing in not long after I'd finished dressing. Excited over spending an evening alone with Conner, she wasted little time chatting with me. Instead, after a quick hello and hug, she scurried back to her room to shower and change. Conner arrived shortly after that wearing grey wool dress slacks, a light blue shirt with button down collar sans tie and a navy blue blazer. His casual attire and the smell of freshly applied aftershave told me he'd also taken the time to shed his day wear for something more appropriate for a night out on the town. Following a friendly greeting, we settled in the living room and got down to business. "You'll be happy to know that Special Agent Moore was able to talk the folks down in D.C. into accepting your conditions," he stated with a self-satisfied flourish. The expression on my face upon hearing this must have mirrored my astonishment, for he gave me a funny look. "Excuse me, Jordan, but am I missing something?" Doing my best to recover, I shook my head. "Ah, no." "You're not doing a very good job of convincing me," he countered betraying a hint of a smile. Figuring he could be trusted not to relay everything I told him back to Moore, I decided to fess up. "I hope you realize that I was flying by the seat of my pants on Wednesday when I was coming up with that list. I mean, at that point I'd put even less thought into what this little covert operation of yours would require than Special Agent Moore did." Unable to help himself, Conner chuckled. "Well, I'm here to tell you, you certainly had us fooled. Moore spent all day yesterday on the phone with the Counterterrorism Division and the Directorate of Intelligence in D.C. trying to convince them that your demands were both reasonable and necessary." Just to be sure I understood everything Conner was telling me, I went over what we'd discussed on Wednesday. "Let me get this straight. The FBI is going to find a Manhattan apartment for me, take care all my tuition, books and other fees not covered by the GI Bill, give me a monthly stipend and, on top of all that, pay for any expenses associated with this, ah, transition of mine." "Not only that," Conner added with a broad grin, "but we're also giving you one of these," he announced as he pulled a credit card out of his pocket and handed to me. Astonished doesn't even begin to describe my expression as I took the credit card, already embossed with my name on it. "But how . . ." "You gotta remember who you're dealing with, Jordan. That's especially true when you go to charge something on that little puppy." "What exactly am I authorized to charge?" "School expenses, basic items of clothing, an occasional meal and anything related to the apartment, provided it's within reason." I flashed him a devilish grin. "I don't suppose the Bureau would view a sixty inch HD plasma TV as a reasonable expense, would they?" "I seriously doubt it." We were both enjoying a good laugh over that when the buzzer to the downstairs door sounded. Before I could come to my feet, Conner looked down at his watch, then over at me. "Ah, Jordan, I, ah, hope you don't mind but, I invited someone over here tonight who'll be working with us over the next few months to stop by and, ah, well, fill you in on his role." Thinking nothing of it, I went over to the intercom, pressed the button to release the downstairs door and without waiting for him to say a word, told the new visitor to come right up. I should have known Conner was holding something back by the sudden change in his demeanor. Not that it would have made any real difference or lessened the shock I experienced when I opened the door and found myself face to face with Aaron Stone. Awkward doesn't even begin to describe the next ten minutes or so as Conner informed me that Aaron, who'd passed himself off as a self- employed website designer when we'd first met, was actually a CIA officer who was serving as a liaison officer to the FBI's Counterterrorism Division. "Khalje is a naturalized American citizen living and working in this country, which makes any investigation into his activities a matter for the FBI," Conner explained. "The groups he is working with, however, are located in Afghanistan and Pakistan, organizations that the CIA track and, ah, well, deal with. To insure that nothing slips through the cracks, the FBI have people working with the CIA and they in turn, have people like Aaron assigned to our office here, passing on information their agents in the field come across that might have an impact on the New York metropolitan area." "Okaaay," I replied softly. "That I understand. What I don't get is how, exactly, does Aaron figure into what I'm going to be doing." "Besides being new to our office here in New York, Aaron has been maintaining a low profile in order to keep people who have issues with the CIA involved in domestic operations from getting all bent out of shape. That makes him a perfect cutout." "A what?" "A go between, Jordan, an intermediary who can pass any information you come across back to my office without you having to go there or contact it directly. By going through Aaron, it cuts down on the chances of someone connecting you to the FBI." The best I could come up with was a simple, "Oh." Throughout Conner's explanation I couldn't bring myself to look over to where Aaron sat in silence, no doubt studying me carefully, trying to figure out how he could have been so wrong about what I was. Conner was just about to go into detail as to how we were going to work together when M made her appearance, attired in a short black skirt, three inch heels and a white, long shelve, v-neck sweater that hugged her figure. Like me, she was taken aback when she saw Aaron. Not sure what to do, Conner looked back and forth between Emma and I, wondering if he should tell my sister what Aaron was doing there or wait for me to do so. Still unsettled by this new development and not quite sure what to say, I found myself unable to respond to Conner's pleading stares. To his credit, Aaron stepped into the void. "Conner, why don't you go ahead and take off with Emma. I'd like to talk to Jordan." I suspected that he wanted to add 'alone' to his suggestion but quite didn't feel right doing so. Not that I could blame the poor fellow. I mean, twelve days ago he would have given anything to be in a position such as this. Now, I had a sneaky suspicion given a choice between being locked up in a cage with a pack of rabid Rottweilers and spending time alone with me, he'd opt for the Rottweilers, hands down. I don't know why, but as M was getting ready to leave, I got up, crossed the room to where she was standing and gave her a hug. Sensing my nervousness, she leaned forward and whispered in my ear. "Are you going to be okay?" Pulling away, I managed to muster up a brave little smile that didn't fool my sister. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Now, run along and have fun." With M and Conner gone, I suddenly felt very vulnerable as I closed the door, turned, and leaned against it, eyeing Aaron who was seated across the room from me returning my gaze. I guess he noticed my forlorn expression, for he once more stepped to the fore. "You know, I haven't eaten yet. Have you?" "No, I, ah, was planning on fixing myself something here before heading back to my dorm." Coming to his feet, Aaron shove his hands in his pockets and looked down at the floor as if thinking about something before shyly peeking up at me through his lashes. "Do you like Italian?" "Doesn't everyone?" I hadn't meant my response to be funny or cute, but I guess that's the way Aaron took it, for he gave me a wisp of a smile. "Great, then it's settled. I know a great little place in Little Italy that can't be beat." With that, he slipped on his jacket and ushered me out the door before I had a chance to find a reason for not going. Chapter Thirteen In the taxi neither one of us spoke, which came as no big surprise. What I did notice on our way to the restaurant and once we'd arrived there was Aaron's manner of dealing with me, treating me as if I really were female and not something that was, at the moment, betwixt and between. I could only assume that he was responding to me in that way because that's how he'd first come to know me and, given my current attire, found himself unable to do otherwise. My hesitancy probably also played a part, leaving him little choice but to take the lead in everything we did, thus casting him in a very traditional male role and allowing me to relate to him in a manner that wasn't very different from the way I did when I was with my strong willed and domineering sister. Even when it came time to order at the restaurant, he took the initiative by ordering a bottle of Chianti and plate of fried calamari for the both of us. The wine was especially welcomed, for it took the edge off my nervousness and served as a most enjoyable lubricant, loosening my jaw and tongue. By the time we'd nibbled our way through the squid, I found myself wanting to talk to the man seated across from me, something I'd gone out of my way to avoid doing the first time we'd dined together. "So, what's a nice boy like you doing rooting for a team like the Cowboys?" Picking up on my efforts to engage him in a friendly conversation, a boyish grin lit up Aaron's face. "Oh, the team sort of grew on me while I was in college." "And what college was that?" "Texas A and M." Unable to help myself, I leaned over, brining my right hand up to my chest as my eyes flew open in mock astonishment. "Oh-my-God! You're an Aggie?" With a twinkle in his eye and a broad smile, he raised his wine glass in salute. "Guilty as charged, and proud of it." "Tell me, did you actually wear those silly brown boots and spurs?" "I'll have you know, I've still got 'em." Caught up in the moment, I allowed my mouth to run off before fully engaging my brain as I cocked my head to one side and flashed a beguiling smile. "I'll bet you look cute in them." The expression on Aaron's face was all I needed to see to know that I'd strayed into territory that he'd been hoping to avoid. Not quite knowing what to say, but desperate to keep from slipping back into an awkward silence, he hesitated as his mind worked at the double quick to find something to say. "So," he began slowly as he averted his gaze and set down his wine glass, "are your Giants finally going to break 500 this weekend or are they going to slip further into obscurity?" Seizing the opportunity to salvage what promised to be an enjoyable evening, I snickered, "Oh, please! The Jets versus my Giants? It's no contest." Leaning over the table, Aaron made a show of looking around the room. "I'd be careful what I said around here. A lot of people in this neighborhood are Jet fans." Picking up my wine glass, I took a sip. "Being a Cowboy's fan, I imagine you'll be rooting for the poor, hapless Jets." Leaning back, Aaron assumed a rather nonchalant attitude. "Oh, it really doesn't matter to me. Ordinarily I'd be pulling for any team that was playing against the Giants but, seeing how they're not going to pose any real threat to my unbeaten Cowboys this season, it really doesn't matter to me who wins." That was all it took to get me going. With all the finesse and charm of a cheetah taking down a wildebeest, I pitched into Aaron, defending the home team and trading humorous barbs with him as we settle down to a most enjoyable and lively debate over good food and fine wine. My weekend started out pretty much as the previous one had, with me showing up at M's early in order to change before heading back to Macy's. The big difference was that I no longer needed her help when it came time to fix my hair and do my own makeup. Granted, I still had a great deal to learn when it came to the last two items, but at least I wasn't making a total mess of it. Nor did I hesitate at the door as I had just seven short days ago even though our first stop on this day was at a hair saloon where M's stylist would do her best to bring some order to my sadly neglected mane. Having never received the sort of pampering I did at the hands of Emma's hairdresser, it was a strange experience, one that I'd need time to get used to. My only regret was that I, being something of a total neophyte when it came to style and fashion, allowed my sister and her stylist to do whatever they thought would be best me. The end result, while quite fetching, pretty much made it impossible to comb it into something that didn't scream, 'Ahoy! Here be a girl!' Of course, since I was already on track to begin my long march out of the closet starting on Monday, it really didn't matter. If anything, it would announce to the world that I was serious about what I was doing. At Macy's we hit the women's department with a vengeance, scooping up all of the clothes I'd tried on the week before but had rejected because I'd seen no need for them then. Unable to help herself, M joined in the fun, creating something akin to a two person feeding frenzy. We were in the midst of picking through the racks, trying to find a nice pair of dress slacks in her size when M asked me in a rather off handed manner how my Friday night had gone. Not having to give the matter any thought, I smiled to myself. "It was fun," I announced nonchalantly. Not paying any attention to my sister, she looked over to where I was standing and with raised eyebrow, replied with a simple, "Oh?" the sort of 'oh' that should have alerted me that an over active female imagination was kicking into overdrive. Oblivious to the fact that I'd just wandered into a minefield of my own making, I continued. "We chatted about school, tomorrows games and this and that. Nothing really earthshaking." I guess it was the tone of my voice, or perhaps even my expression that caused Emma to make a leap of logic. "You like him, don't you?" As startling as her statement was, it was that knowing smile on my sister's lips that really threw me when I finally did stop what I'd been doing and turned to face her. My fumbling efforts to deny anything of the sort failed to impress her. Grabbing my arm, she pulled me away from the rack of clothing I'd been poking through and dragged me through the store. "Come on, little sister of mine. You and I need to have a little chat." Over coffee at the Starbucks on the third floor, Emma managed to wean something of a confession out of me. I had enjoyed spending time with Aaron, and it wasn't simply because of the food, wine and conversation. Though all of that played a part, especially the Chianti, it was the manner in which he treated me that made the evening a unique experience for me. "I really don't know what to make of it," I honestly confessed while staring down at my hands, which I held tightly clasped in my lap. "He made you feel special," Emma explained. "It's nice to be admired, to be wanted by someone like that." Her comments caused me to look up at her, wide eyed in panic. "But Emma, I'm . . ." Raising her hand, my sister stopped me before I could finish my thought. "Jordan, don't say it. Don't even go there. You've got to stop thinking like that." "Like what?" "Like you're some sort of strange, contemptible alien specimen. You're not. While everything may not be exactly as it should be, in the eyes of the world you are, for all practical purposes, a woman." "But I'm not?" Drawing herself up, my sister made a show of looking about the room. ""Who says you're not?" I knew what she was trying to say, but I wasn't buying into it. "I'm sure if you asked Aaron, he'd beg to differ with your assertion." "Then tell me, dear little sister of mine, why did he treat you as he did last night?" When I didn't answer her, a warm, sympathetic smile crept across my sister's face. Reaching across the small table, she placed a hand on my arm. "I can't even imagine what your going through, Jordan. There is, however, one thing I am sure of." Slowly I peeked up into her eyes. "And what's that?" "You're embarking on a journey of self discovery, one I venture to say is long overdue. Just where it's going to take you, and what you're going to find out about yourself along the way is impossible to say. All I'm asking you to do is to be willing to accept what is and don't try to fight it just because you're afraid of what others might think or say about you. Remember, they don't know what's going on here," she stated as she touched my forehead with the tips of her fingers, "or here," as added as she lowered her hand and place it over my heart. "Have a little faith in your own judgment and trust your feelings. If you believe in yourself and who you are, others will believe in you." As sound as her advice was, I couldn't help but think that there was one major flaw in her argument, one that I didn't have an answer to. Just what, exactly, was I at the moment? Since I really didn't have the foggiest, I decided that there was little point in dwelling on that troubling issue at the moment. Instead, I gathered myself up and pulled together something resembling a smile. "Well, sweet sister of mine, I suggest we concentrate our attention on more important matters." "Such as?" "Shoes!" I exclaimed with more enthusiasm than I felt. "I can't very well go traipsing about campus barefoot, now can I?" My rather clumsy attempt to sidestep the issues she'd been trying to drive home didn't escape her attention. She did, however, know me well enough to appreciate that I'd taken every word she'd said to heart and would, over time, give them the serious attention they demanded. Besides, I think she was just as anxious as I was to hit the shoe stores where I hoped to find myself a nice pair of leather boots, brown leather boots. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note from the author: This is the third part of an ongoing story. Once more I would like to thank those who were kind enough to point out my errors in the first two installments. I must admit, I find the comments by you, the readers to be quite interesting and useful. I encourage those of you who read stories here to share your thoughts with the writers you enjoy. Enjoy!