Team Spirit: The Second Half Ch 11-15 free porn video

TEAM SPIRIT: THE SECOND HALF By Meps98 CHAPTER ELEVEN When Anthony dropped me off at Bob's house, there was this little old lady waiting there for us. She gave me quite a looking over, which was hardly surprising seeing as I was dressed for the club in a short turquoise skirt, blue scoop front top, 5" heels and a push-up bra, like I need a push-up. She was a little reluctant to let me in but I talked her into it, showed her my driver's license to seal the deal. He had left me a list of jobs sitting on the kitchen table, but they were all minor stuff. There was also $500.00 for grocery shopping. I went to bed right away so that I could get an early start on Tuesday. It was a little unsettling, being alone for the first time in almost four years. Unfortunately, it was windy and I jumped at every creak and groan. Eventually, I turned the TV to a dead station and let the hiss drown out the background noise. That's a little trick I learned when traveling with the Wranglers, though in the past I turned the TV to the wall so the extra light didn't brighten the room too much. This time, I left the set facing me, the glow was comforting, like a night light. I was asleep in about fifteen minutes. The list was finished by Tuesday evening and I did a particularly good job, if I do say so myself. I didn't want Bob to think I was slacking off because he wasn't here to supervise me. I made a light supper and went straight to the pool, alternating swimming and sitting in the hot tub until almost 11:00 p.m. It was relaxing but not nearly as much fun without Bob. In fact, the whole day had been a little off without him. I assumed it was because I wasn't used to being alone but the more I thought about it, the more I missed him. Being here at his house had become more that not being at the club. At first, it had all been about what I was getting away from, the dancing, the whoring, Anthony. But recently, it was more about where I was going to, to be with Bob, the semi-normal life we lead when I'm here. I stay up late watching a movie on cable, not wanting to go to bed. I end up falling asleep on the couch and wake up at 3:23 a.m., my head resting on a drool soaked throw pillow. I shuffle off to bed, careful not to wake myself so much that getting back to sleep would be difficult. Thankfully, it works and I drop off right away, warm and cozy. With all my work done, I decide to dedicate Wednesday to me, to do and eat and watch what I want. It starts off with a long, hot bath with some bath salts I bought yesterday. It's kinda like the hot tub but smells nicer, no chlorine. I think it's lilac or rose, either way, not bad at all. I was tempted to get one of those scented candles but decided it was just too girly. After drying off, I sit on my bed and polish my nails. They were looking a little shabby and I never get the time at the club to do them right. Anthony keeps me busy from morning to night and I'm so tired at the end of the day, I just want to crash in my bed and get as much rest as I can before it all starts again the next day, then he bitches and moans about me not keeping up appearances. I barely have time to slap on a coat of polish between sets at the club, but today, I've got time to strip everything off and do a quality job. Once the polish is dry, I get dressed and fix waffles for breakfast, with a couple of sausages on the side, plus a mix of orange and pineapple juice. Bob turned me onto the juice blend, it's the best. I wonder what he's doing now? As a general rule, morning television sucks. It's full of talk shows loaded with women bitching about men. Could I tell them stories! Some of the cooking shows are interesting but most of the rest is crap. Even the sports shows keep running the same highlights from last night, the same ex-jocks spouting off about the subject of the day. That's why I've picked out a lineup of DVD's to watch for the next few hours. No popcorn though, I'll save that for later. The first one is "Live Free and Die Hard." I heard that it was sorta cartoony but I liked the other three, plus Bruce Willis was looking gooood in the recent issue of "People" so I figure, what the hell. As the movie plays, I catch myself glancing at the couch where Bob usually sits when we watch TV or movies. I hope he's alright, whatever he's doing. He hasn't called ... not that he said he would or anything. It'd just be nice to hear his voice, make sure he's safe, you know, find out when he's coming home. I decide to concentrate on the movie and am soon wrapped up in the fights and explosions, though the female bad guy looks really hot in her costume. I wonder what I'd look like in that outfit? It'd be tight in the ass but my tits would make up for that. The credits are rolling just as the doorbell rings. What am I supposed to do? No one has ever showed up here since I started visiting weekly. What would Bob want me to do? Maybe it's Anthony? Maybe the little old neighbor lady, checking on me since she knows I'm alone. I get up and walk to the door, slowly dropping my head down to look through the peep hole. When I see who it is, I scream and throw the door open. "I did not want to just barge in ..." I cut him off by jumping up and hugging Bob around the neck, my head on his chest. He stands there for a moment, then puts his arms around me. "And hello to you too Honey. Is everything alright?" I look up at him. "It is now." I reluctantly let go and we walk inside. He sees the tail end of the credits on the television. "What have you been doing while I have been away?" "Everything you wanted me to do. The laundry is done, folded and put away. I washed and polished the kitchen floor. The bathrooms are ..." "I am sure that you have done an admirable job on all of the tasks I gave you." I stand a bit taller when he says that. "However, I need to speak with you concerning my recent trip. Please have a seat Honey." I sit down on the couch and Bob sits next to me, not too close though. He picks up the remote, turning the DVD player and television off, then places the remote on the coffee table and turns a little to face me. "I have been out and about, attempting to confirm the story that you told me about your ... transformation. I am happy, and in many ways totally surprised, to say that I believe you." "OH THANK GOD!" I want to jump into his arms but he reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place. Instead, I take my left hand, cover his and start to cry with joy and relief. He lets me go on for a moment or two, then slides closer and hugs me, gently patting me on the back. I turn my head, laying it on his shoulder and return the hug, still sobbing. It's like a damn burst inside me, releasing all the pent up fear, anger, frustration, and humiliation that has built up since I came to work for Anthony. He keeps holding me and patting my back until the tears end. I push back away from him and he releases me. "Why do you believe me?" I ask. "It was a number of things, some large, some small" he replies, settling back to his spot on the couch. "There was the botched attempt to create the 'Honey Sweet-Lay' identity that we had already discussed. I managed to get a look at the police files concerning the discovery of drugs at your house and your subsequent disappearance. It both matched up with what you said and was so full of holes that clearly someone created this offense from whole cloth. In addition, I checked out your story about being a Wrangler Girl for the Super Bowl three years ago. Were you aware that there are a number of web sites dedicated exclusively to the Wrangler Girls?" I shake my head "No". "Neither was I, though I guess that I should not be surprised. It turns out that you are a minor celebrity among the group of presumptively men who worship the Wrangler Girls." "A celebrity?! How do they even know me?" "They do not know you by name. You are simply the 'Mystery Girl' who showed up out of nowhere, performed at the Super Bowl and then disappeared, never to be heard from again. There are a number of pictures of you on these sights, of varying quality plus some amateur video, also of varying quality, but there is no doubt, taken as a group, they prove that you were there, just as you said, looking slightly older than you do today. These Wrangler Girl 'fans' know just about everything there is to know about the objects of their obsession, but to them , you are a complete blank. Some of the sites have interviews with other girls who appeared with you, telling a story similar to yours about how you joined the group for just one game, though there is some rather unflattering speculation as to how you managed that." He reaches out and pats my knee. "I would say that you performed as well as, if not better than, the other girls." I blush. "Thanks. I put in a lot of work." "It showed. In reading the blogs and other interactive portions of these sites, I would say that the best of these people are barely above the legal description of stalkers. The worst of them ... well, it is a good thing that your identity as the missing Wrangler Girl is not known to them, otherwise you would be extremely busy at the club." I shudder to think about it. I hope Anthony never finds out about this. Bob continues. "I also did a preliminary investigation of Dr. Hanson, her operation and her staff. They are all female, vary in attractiveness and share one amazing trait, they each look to be half, if not one third to a fourth of their respective ages. There is a woman who works there part time, your Ms. Baker, who would appear to be in her late twenties, but is actually over eighty years old. Good genes can not explain that." He leans back towards me, taking my hands in his. "Most importantly, I spoke with Billy Joe Coleson. He confirmed everything you said, more or less." "No! He'd never talk! What did you do, put a gun to his head?" "No. I put a gun in his hand." "Huh?" "In researching Mr. Coleson, I discovered he had an interest in guns, fancies himself a good shot. I decided to use that interest to get him alone and question him. I also discovered that he has a home game post-victory celebratory routine where he visits a particular bar for a drink. I managed to cause a small disturbance which got his girlfriend briefly out of the picture and introduced myself to him using the alias of 'Richard Johnson, dealer in exotic and unusual weapons'. He was interested enough to invite me out to his ranch for a demonstration of my inventory." "But you don't have any of that kind of inventory, at least not around here." "Correct Honey, but I have certain contacts who do. I rented some equipment from one of them and played the salesman role. By demonstrating my superior ability and regularly praising Josh Thomas, along with comparing him unfavorably to Josh, I was able to get Billy Joe rather agitated. Throw in a generous helping of high alcohol beer and he said quite a bit about Mr. Thomas, mostly derogatory and insulting, but very helpful." "I know Billy Joe, he's no genius but he should be smart enough not to say anything, no matter how pissed he got. He knows what Hanson might do to him, what she did to me. He wouldn't risk that." "If he was sober, yes, but he was under the influence of a special type of beer." "What's so special about it?" Bob doesn't answer right away. "Do you remember the first time you used my hot tub?" "Yes." "Do you recall that we had a lengthy conversation?" I think a moment. "I know we talked awhile ..." "But you can't remember what we talked about." "Yeah! ... How do you know that?" "Because your wine was mildly spiked with a drug, not exactly a truth serum, but it does amplify the effects of the alcohol, making a person more ... talkative while muddling the memory after the conversation is done." I jerk my hand from his. "YOU DRUGGED ME?!" "Mildly Honey, mildly. It was necessary. I needed to find out the truth about you. To your credit, you never said anything about your transformation." "But you drugged me! How am I supposed to trust you after you've done something like that?" "To be perfectly honest, I see your point." "What? ...You're just going to agree with me?" "Well, when you are right Honey, you are right. Keep in mind, of course, that I did not need to tell you about the drug or my use of it on you. Also, that both you and Anthony were keeping a very large secret from me, rather badly it turns out. But if my investigatory techniques, which I am employing to help you, lead you to mistrust me, I am afraid there is little I can do about it." I'm not sure, but I don't think there was an apology in there. He really should apologize for drugging me, even if I wasn't telling him the truth. It's not my fault that I had to lie to him. If he hadn't done it though, we probably wouldn't be here now, trying to figure a way out for me. What do I say about this? I get a sly idea. "Apology accepted, Bob. Go one with your story." He lowers his head slightly and cocks one eyebrow, looking up at me through faintly narrowed eyes. "Apology accepted?" "Yes. Now go one with your story." I hold my breath, waiting for his response. He shakes his head and quietly laughs. "Fine. Thank you for being so understanding." He bows ever so slightly towards me. I start breathing again. "The dose that Billy Joe received was larger than yours, not only because of the size difference but I needed him to be more willing to talk. Subtle insults and challenges to his manhood would only go so far but the evidence I tracked down indicated he had a strong need to feel respected or deferred to. Since I had demonstrated I was an excellent marksman, it was unlikely that he would attempt to assault me to try and get back at me for my understated digs. The alcohol and drug combined to create a heightened need on his part to 'take me down a peg' and since the only thing he knew about me was my stated admiration of Josh Thomas, he chose to attack me by revealing the truth about you, hoping to crush me by crushing my 'idol'." "I guess that makes some sense." "Alcohol, in excess, helps a person do stupid things. Combined with the drug, stupidity is almost assured. The trick was to create the environment where I could influence what idiotic thing he did, which was telling me all about his involvement with Dr. Hanson, Anthony and you. In the end, it was hard to get him to shut up. I had to admit he was right about you being a terrible person and deserving all you got in order to put an end to our conversation. He really does not like you, now or then." I remember several of his recent visits to me at the club and how they went. "Don't I know it. What did you do next?" "I returned the equipment to my contact, paid the bill and drove home, which brings me to here and now." He spreads his arms apart, palms up. "So what happens here and now? Can you help me out of this mess?" "I would say mess is a gross understatement Honey. But yes, I believe I can. As I suspected, Billy Joe Coleson was the weak link in the conspiracy. I now know a great deal about what happened" he gives me a hard look "and why. Dr. Hanson, for all her brilliance, has made some errors, possibly many errors. Further investigation is needed. This may take awhile Honey, certainly weeks, maybe months. As I told you before, you must be patient, must be strong, but I am confident that you can handle it." "OK, Bob" I sigh. "What choice do I have?" "You can say 'Yes' or 'No' Honey, the biggest choice possible. If you say 'No', you will return to the life you know, the life you have lived for the past three years and will continue to live for the foreseeable future. If you say 'Yes', you are placing yourself in my hands, at my mercy if you will, trusting that I will do what is necessary to maximize your chances of escape from Dr. Hanson and return to some kind of normal life. I am not guaranteeing success nor that you will once again be Josh Thomas when this is all over. We are stepping into the unknown, down a dark road that will likely be difficult both physically and mentally. I can not promise anymore than that. It is your choice Honey and I will not try to talk you in or out of any particular option. It is your life." "It may be my life but if I say 'Yes', you're going to be taking some big chances with your life. Amy Hanson is stone fucking nuts. God knows what she would do if she found out what was going on. She could kill you ... or worse." "It is a risk I am willing to take. Besides" he winks at me "I am retired, I have nothing else to do. Gotta keep busy." I so want to fuck him right now. I don't know if it is the gratitude or what but he seems so ... desirable right at this minute. I close my eyes and wait, hoping the feeling will fade. It doesn't. I can feel my nipples swelling and hardening with each passing second, my pussy getting moist. It's not even close to the time for me to drink Anthony's jiz, so that's not it. I need to get out of here. I open my eyes and stand up. "I need to think about this for a bit." Bob stands too. "Perfectly understandable, Honey, take as long as you like." "Thanks. I'm gonna go to my room to ... ah ... think." "Be my guest." I hurry to my room, close the door, go to the bathroom, turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face. Four times. I slowly straighten up and dry my face. The front of my blouse is soaked, but I'm feeling more in control. I close my eyes and picture Bob. There's something there but it's not as strong as it was a few minutes ago. It must be my hormones or something. I'd say it was that time of the month but I don't have periods, about the only aspect of being a girl I don't get to 'enjoy'. I've never asked either Hanson or Anthony about it, but I never ask about anything, just do as I'm told. I look at myself in the mirror, wet hair plastered to my face. There never has been a choice, not really. I square my shoulders and march back to the living room. Bob is sitting on the couch. He glances at me as I enter the room. "Honey, is something wrong?" "Yes." "What is it?" "No." "I am confused. Is there or is there not something wrong?" "No, there is nothing wrong. My answer is 'Yes', let's do it." He smiles ... a wide, tight smile. His eyes aren't smiling though; they are wide open and bright but intense. I've seen that look before, on the face of a son of a bitch middle linebacker just before he smacked me to the ground. CHAPTER TWELVE I'm between sets early Friday evening. The club is fuller than normal, I think there is some kind of religious convention in town, which always swells our crowd. Dallas isn't Vegas but it's as close as some of these guys are ever going to get to Vegas. Away from home, the wife and three point five kids and away from their convention buddies, they come to Anthony's to practice a little hypocrisy. It's always funny to watch from the stage when a couple of guys recognize each other and dive for cover. They don't realize they are protected by Mutually Assured Destruction; Mr. A can't rat out Mr. B without admitting he was in the same place doing the same thing. Same deal for Mr. B. I'd turn them both in to their priest or bishop or iman or whatever, if I could. Cheating bastards. Unfortunately, I got a little too close to the crowd during my last set and either Mr. A or Mr. B. got a good grip on my costume and tore it. I'm sitting here backstage trying to repair the damage. We've got a decent sewing kit back here for just such emergencies. I'm actually pretty good at this. Some of the other girls ask me to do their repairs, offering me money. What am I going to do with money? Anthony will just take it. I do trade favors though. They'll do one of my sets for example or sneak me some decent junk food, like Godiva bars. I just adore their chocolate! My mind keeps drifting back to my last conversation with Bob before I left on Thursday morning. "Honey" he said. "I will likely ask you many questions in the future about what happened to you while you were imprisoned at Dr. Hanson's clinic. I will also ask about what is happening currently at the club, what is Anthony up to and so on. It is vital that you tell me the absolute truth, no matter what. My plans will rely on that information so it must be accurate. Regrettably, I will tell you nothing about my plans. Not what I plan to do, when or where. Nothing at all. You can ask, but I am letting you know right now, there will be no answer. I am aware that this is difficult for you but I am more concerned about operational security and ultimate success than any temporary discomfort you may experience. Keep your eyes on the prize. Until I am ready, keep Anthony and Dr. Hanson happy, unless I say otherwise." I agreed to do it his way, though I don't understand why I have to be left in the dark. It's not like I'm going to tell anyone anything, I'm not some dumb blonde bimbo. I test the just repaired seam - it seems tight enough. I might just take some of my club clothes to Bob's next week. Not an actual costume or one of the dresses, but maybe a short skirt or tight top or both. See if I can get a rise out of him. * * ** * ** * ** * * I think the time at Bob's has been good for Honey. Her attitude seems better. Can't put my finger on exactly what's different. Her dancing is just as good as before. I get no complaints from her customers, in fact a few say she's particularly enthusiastic. She does whatever I tell her to do without any back talk, not that she ever would. I solved that problem right away the first week she was here, though the Doc had to work her magic on that broken arm. Something just feels different somehow. Maybe she's getting along with the other girls better. Honey had always been a little stand-offish when it came to mixing with them, which didn't make any difference to me. Now, when I go back to the dressing room, she's likely to be talking with a couple of them, getting tips about make-up or clothes or other girly shit like that. She also seems to spend more time getting ready for her weekly trip to Bob's, hair and make up, that sort of thing. Just as long as she keeps him happy and the money rolling in. * * ** * ** * ** * * We're sitting on the couch, at opposite ends, feet propped up on the coffee table, near enough for me to play footsies if I wanted to - which I don't. Though it would be interesting to see how Bob reacted, purely out of curiosity. The television is on, some PBS program about Afghanistan. Bob's half watching, half reading some papers in a binder. When I asked him what they were, he just put his index finger to his lips and said "sshhhhsss", which is his current sign for "I'm not telling". I understand why but I don't have to like it. I'm just going to sit here and put on my pouting act, arms crossed, head down on chest, lower lip thrust out. He looks over at me. "You may change the channel if you wish, Honey." "No thanks. It's your house so we do what you want." Keep those arms tight. "As you wish." He goes back to reading. Shit! Either he didn't notice or doesn't care. God! He can be soooo frustrating some times! I give up and pick up the newspaper to read the sports page. An ad insert falls in my lap. It's from Kohl's, a three day sale. There's this very cute dress on the front page so I set the paper aside and start to page through the ad. They've got a lot of stuff on sale, some of it very pretty. I fold the page over and put my thumb next to a particularly nice halter style dress. "What do you think about this?" I hold it out towards Bob. He looks up from his paperwork, reaches out and angles the ad so that he can see it. "For me or for you?" "Hardy har har. For me, silly." "It seems a little fancy for around the house." "Sure, but we might go out for supper again ... maybe. And I could, you know, wear it and ... look nice." "But you already have a nice dress, that ivory one with the red in it." "OK, I have one nice dress, but I can't wear it for everything." "I do not see why not. It is a perfectly good dress and you look quite attractive in it." "But I'd look attractive in this one too." He looks at me with that cocked eyebrow, pausing as if considering something. He's silent for like half a minute. "Yes ..." he says quietly, his eyes not focused on me but looking out in space somewhere. "Yes what?" He snaps back to earth. "Yes, go buy your dress and we will go out to eat, probably next week or the week after, I am not exactly sure when but we will do it soon." "Great! I'll do it first thing tomorrow when they open. The girls say you have to be there early to get the best stuff." "What girls?" "You know, the girls at the club, the other dancers. Candi and Sherri and Michelle and ..." "I was not aware that you were friends with the other performers." "Well Candi certainly is. The others are just ... we just talk sometimes, you know. They're nice girls." He nods his head. "I understand." He returns to his binder. I sigh and get up to fix supper. Men just don't get it sometimes. * * ** * ** * ** * * I'm taking my usual swim after supper, dressed in a bikini I bought a couple of weeks ago. If you wear the same suit all the time, it gets worn out quicker. If you alternate, both suits last longer. I'm sure I read that somewhere. Bob's sitting at the table on the deck, watching me. I keep trying to get him into the pool but he just won't do it. I'd push him in, but he doesn't seem to be the type who would find that funny and I'm not ready to take that chance. He's ready with my robe when I get out. "Thanks." "You are welcome, Honey." We walk back to the table and he pulls my chair out for me, as usual. The first time he did that, I didn't know what to do. It had never happened before. It took me a few seconds to remember that's what a gentleman does for a woman. Nothing like that ever happens at the club. Here he always opens the door for me, pulls out my chair, all the best manners. At first it felt weird, but now I kinda like it. I used to do that sort of thing with women when I wanted to impress them, but it usually faded away the longer I was in the relationship. Bob never misses a chance, even if he's using his cane. The cane comes and goes. Some days he has a real hard time getting around but he does it by himself, won't take my help at all. It's male pride, pure and simple. They can be idiots sometimes. Tonight he's walking fine. I sit down and he rubs my shoulders through the robe. He's got surprisingly strong hands but he knows just where to touch and how hard. I bet he could give one hell of a massage. Maybe some day ... "Would you like something to drink, Honey?" "White wine if it is not drugged." "You will not let that go, will you?" "No." He turns to go to back to the house. "Women" he says with mock disgust. I hope it's mock disgust. He should know that I'm just kidding. He brings a glass back, looks me in the eye, takes a small sip, smiles and places it in my hand, brushing my fingers with his. I relax; he knows I'm joking around. He sits down and stares at me as I take a drink. It's a little unnerving. "What?" I ask. "To what are you referring?" "You're staring at me like you've got something on your mind. What is it?" He doesn't answer right away but chews on his lower lip a few seconds and drums his fingers on the table top. That usually means he's undecided about something. It never lasts long with Bob. "I have some questions for you." I sit back in my chair and cross my legs, letting the robe slip open, giving him a good look. "Shoot." "These are different questions than before. They have nothing to do with any plans. They are about you personally." 'That's fine, go ahead." "Very personal Honey." I take another drink. "I got it, ask away." "You are in a unique situation, the first in all of the history of the world as best as I can determine. You are a man who lived a full and complete life as a man, with no desire to be anything else other than a man, who became a completely functioning woman, down to your DNA. No operations, no imitation vagina, no breast implants, no artificial hormones. You are as much a woman as any female on the planet, more so than some. You are a woman with memories of being a man." I don't think I like where this is going. It's not something I think about. In fact, I try not to think about it. Bob keeps talking. "I realize that you were not raised as a woman. You have no memories of tea parties, dolls, playing dress up or other stereotypical female childhood activities, but you are as close as any man ever has come to knowing what it is like to have been both a man and a woman. You are in the position to answer so many questions men have as to what it is like to be a woman, how do they think, what do they think, what exactly is the view from the other side of the bed, so to speak. Your experiences since the change have been, to be blunt, horrifying, but you may be able to separate those experiences from the basic status of being female and what that means." "So, what's your question?" I quietly ask, pulling my robe across my body. He leans across the table. "What is it like to be a woman?" "It sucks." "Does it suck to be you, in your situation, or suck to be female in general?" "The whole GOD DAMN THING SUCKS!" He doesn't seem to be surprised or shocked by what I just said. "I apologize for asking you to describe your feelings. I knew that it would be difficult for you to be analytical about your situation, given how you have been treated. Perhaps in the future it may be possible. Once again, I apologize." I stand up, pushing my chair back. "I'm going to bed." "Good night Honey. Pleasant dreams." I don't reply, just walk straight into the kitchen, through the living room, into my bedroom, closing the door behind me and flop, face first, on the bed. Pulling myself up to the head of the bed, I roll onto my side, hug the pillow and quickly fall into a fitful sleep. I'm sitting on my bed at the club, dressed in the Naughty Nurse costume, short, white uniform dress, buttoned in the front, lapels cut down almost to top of my stomach. White stockings with elastic tops and 5" "fuck me" pumps. A push up bra has my tits so far up and out that the dress barely contains them. My hair is in a big bun with a white nurse's cap pinned to it. I slide to the edge of the bed, stand up and walk around the room, first checking the window and then the door. They are both locked. I go back to the window and look outside. The Wranglers are scrimmaging out in the parking lot. I watch a couple of plays, then they all stop, turn towards my window and wave at me. I weakly wave back. The quarterback takes off his helmet. It's Josh Thomas. I duck down below the window, hoping he doesn't see me but in a few seconds I hear someone in cleats walking down the hallway towards my room. Whoever it is slowly opens the door, then steps inside. It's him ... or me, still in uniform. "Hello, Honey. I like your outfit." He sits down on the bed and pats it with his left hand. "Why don't you come on over and sit your fine ass down next to me." "Like hell I will!" I say, but start to strut towards him, rolling my hips and bouncing my tits. I bend way down, sticking my ass out as the dress rises, revealing my thong covered pussy. I edge back until I make contact with the bed, then sit back. Once upright, I wriggle closer to ... him until our legs are touching. I look up at him. He's not as big as Anthony but he's still much bigger than I am. "Now, isn't that better, Honey?" "No! What's going on here? Why are you ... I ...whatever, here?" "I'm just here because Billy Joe says your one hell of a fuck, thought I might try you out. You must have been expecting me; you know how I love the nurse thing." He reaches out and grabs my knee. I want to push his hand off, or slap his face but I don't move, can't move. "We can't do that! We're the same person. How are you even here? I don't understand..." He quickly reaches up with his left hand, grabs my hair and roughly pulls me to his mouth, kissing me, forcing his tongue deep into my mouth. I don't resist at all, just kiss him back, the stubble of his day old beard scraping my face. He turns to face me, still kissing, and forces me back onto the bed, laying on top of me. I involuntarily spread my legs wide as he pushes his hips forward, grinding against my crotch. He breaks the kiss and pushes himself up on his arms. I gasp for breath. "What are you doing?!" "Oh, I think you know Honey." The dress is up around my waist and he gyrates his hips, rocking against my fabric covered cunt. It feels so good, I can't help moaning, then I bit my lip to try and shut up, but he heard me. He starts laughing, but it's not friendly at all. "I knew you were just a whore Honey, just like Billy Joe and Anthony ... and Hanson said." "I'm not a whore! She did this to me! To us!" He backs away from me until he's standing next to the bed. Maybe he's done and will leave me alone. He starts to unbuckle his pants. "I don't know what you're talking about, Honey. I'm still here, still all man..." he drops his pants. His ... my ... cock bouncing in front of him, as hard and as big as I have ever seen it "...still with all the necessary equipment to fuck you till the cows come home." He climbs back between my legs, reaches up and tears my panties clean off in one jerk. He plunges his index finger into my pussy. "And you've got the necessary equipment too." He starts to push his finger in and out as I squirm on the bed. "No! Stop! You can't do this! Hanson did it to me, made me a weak girl." He stops probing my cunt. "And what did you do to stop her?" "Huh?" "What did you do to fight her? To stop her from doing this to you?" "I don't underst..." He leaps on top of me, his legs pinning my arms down, his body looming above me, his cock pointing between my eyes. "YOU DID NOTHING! You just sat there and did what you were told! Day in and day out!" "I tried to run away but..." "OH, 'RUN AWAY', how manly! You didn't do shit until it was too late! By the time you 'ran away', you were making love to that fucking vibrator fifty times a day. Remember your vibrator? You rubbed that thing up and down that tiny nub of a dick, sticking it up your ass, until you orgasmed, then started right up again. The only time you weren't fucking yourself with it was when you ate, slept or ... danced." "I was just exercising, trying to get better. How was I to know that..." "'Exercising' in 4" heels is dancing you idiot! What a fucking pansy! You deserve everything she did to you!" "What do you know?! If you hadn't raped her, none of this would have happened." He slapped me, hard. I started to cry. "I don't rape women. Sometimes they may not like it at first but they come around. It's just a game all you bitches play. I'll show you." He reaches down and grabs my throat, slowly squeezing harder. I try to ask him to stop but he stuffs his cock in my mouth, forcing it in as far as it will go. Again, my body is on autopilot and I start to suck, lick and slurp on his dick, trying with all my might to swallow the whole thing. It only takes a few seconds and my nose is buried in his hairy crotch. "There, didn't I tell you? You were giving me all this shit when all you really wanted was to suck my cock down to the root. Well, now you've got your wish." He starts to rock his hips back and forth, fucking my mouth. He moves faster and faster, banging the back of my throat with each thrust. I look up at him. He's got an evil grin on his face. I've seen it before. When I had sex with someone and there were mirrors available, I liked to do it so I could watch myself screwing. That's the look. It's a hell of a lot different being the subject of that look. He keeps banging away until I feel his cock swell and he starts shooting his cum down my throat straight to my stomach. He pulls out so that the last few spurts go up my nose. I gag and choke, trying to catch my breath. "Wasn't that fun, Honey? Let's try something else." He rolls off me, reaches around my waist, flips me over onto my stomach and pulls my hips up until I'm on my knees, face against the mattress. He's behind me, rubbing the head of his still hard cock against my pussy lips, pushing it in just an inch or so and pulling it back out, over and over. "You want me to fuck you, don't you?" "NO! Leave me alone! This is your fault, you bastard! I wouldn't be here if you hadn't been such a jerk! You and your big ego! If you had just given a little thought to how you treated women, I'd still be a man." "True but then you couldn't enjoy this, now could you?" He pushed his big cock deep into my vagina, right up to the hilt, in one continuous thrust. My eyes crossed as I gasped, fighting a losing battle against the rush of pleasure, the electric sensations running up my spine straight to my brain. He held my hips and began a slow, rhythmic fucking, pulling out almost the whole way, leaving just the tip of the head inside, and plunging all the way back in with each stroke. Each time, I pushed back against him, urging him on. I've raised my self up on my arms so that my back is parallel with the bed, my boobs bouncing with each thrust. After a minute or two, he starts to increase his pace, grunting with the effort. I push back harder, moaning and groaning as my smoldering pussy catches fire. He leans down against my back, reaches around me from both sides, grabs my dress and tears it apart, buttons flying away, freeing my tits. He grabs them with both hands, mauling and pulling at them as he fucks me faster and faster. It's getting harder to form complete thoughts, all I can think about is sex, fucking and ... more fucking. By now, we are both just rutting animals, grunting, groaning, sweating, panting, crying, begging, and cursing. I feel as if I am about to have the greatest orgasm of my life. I'm being man handled by Josh as if I'm a rag doll. Just as I'm about to cum, he leans close to me ear and whispers. "You're a cunt, Honey Sweet-Lay, a fucking whore of a cunt. That's all you were, are or ever will be." I wake up, heart pounding and sweaty. My bikini bottom is down around my knees and my top is hanging around my neck. My left hand is grasping my right boob while my right hand is buried in my wet twat. I quickly pull both hands away, holding them in the air in front of me. I roll my head to the left to look at the clock. It's 3:12 a.m. * * ** * ** * ** * * "Honey, what are you doing up at this hour?" I am laying curled up on the couch in the living room, wrapped in a blanket, head resting on a throw pillow, the television turned on, tuned to ESPN but the volume is low. "I'm sorry, Bob. I didn't mean to wake you." "You did not" he yawns, "I was going to the bathroom and heard the television. I thought that I had accidentally hit the timer or something and came out to check on it." He sits down on the couch near my feet. "Is there something wrong?" I sit upright, still clutching the blanket around me. "I had a ... weird dream. I didn't want to go back to sleep because I might end up in the same dream, so I came out here to watch TV and try to stay awake." He puts his arm around my shoulder. "Was it a nightmare?' "Sort of ... it was scary, but that wasn't the worst of it." "Do you want to talk about it?" I lean against him, so that my back is resting against his chest. He wraps both arms around my waist. "Not yet, maybe later." We stay like this for several minutes, him gently holding me close to his chest. "I cry a lot more" I say quietly, not looking up at him, just staring off into space. "Excuse me?" "I said that I cry a lot more. You asked about what it was like to be a woman. I don't know if it's because of being at the club and all or just hormones, but sometimes my emotions are just all over the place. Sometimes I'm OK but mostly it's sadness, so I cry a lot ... at night." "You do not have to talk about this Honey, if it upsets you." "It's all I can think about since you brought it up and that fucking dream. I've been laying here, practically making a list in my head. Besides the obvious stuff, the tits and pussy, there's just a whole lot of shit that's different. I'm so much smaller and weaker than I was, almost everything scares me. If anything bad happens, my first thought is how to get away. When I was Josh Thomas, most of the time I went looking for trouble. I think it hurts more when I get hit. I used to take quite a pounding and get up for more but now one punch from Anthony and I'm down in serious pain." "That could just be the size and strength differential. Anthony is nearly three times your weight. You did not run into many 700 lb. players on the field." "No, I didn't" I giggle "But it still hurts." "I am not surprised; most studies indicate that women are more sensitive than men. They also are better at picking up emotional cues." "Yeah, that's another thing. I'm better at guessing what someone else is thinking or going to do. I can read a person; particularly Anthony or Hanson, better than I used to, though that could just be survival instinct taking over. Sometimes when I'm on stage, I can point right at the guy who's likely to give me trouble before I'm thirty seconds into my set." "What about emotional relationships?" "I've had hundreds of fifteen to twenty minute 'relationships', what do you want to know?" "That is not what I meant, though your point is valid. Due to your unusual circumstances, you have not had the opportunity to form a healthy relationship with another person." I wriggle my back against him. "Until now." "I do not know if you could call our relationship a healthy one." "Yeah, about that. Why aren't you fucking me?" I hold my breath, waiting for his answer. "Do you ... want me to?" "Sometimes ... yes ... it could be ... you know ... nice." He doesn't say anything for several moments, each one a small pin prick in my heart. He clears his throat. "Not that I haven't given the possibility considerable thought ... considerable thought mind you. I came to the conclusion, Honey, that it would be best that we avoid ... romantic entanglements for now. A ... physical relationship could cloud my judgment, something we both want to avoid." "You remember I said I'm better at reading people now?" "Yes." "Bullshit." He laughs. "You could be correct Honey, but it is my decision and it will not change ... for now." We'll see about that buddy. "Fine. Anyway, that's part of the list why it sucks to be a woman." "I beg to differ Honey, there is nothing in that list that leads one to the conclusion that it 'sucks' to be a woman verses a man." "What do you mean? Women are so much weaker, we can't defend ourselves. Men push us around, paw at us all the time! If I was still a man, I wouldn't have to take that." "You have valid complaints Honey, but they are limited to your situation at Anthony's not your status as a woman." "But it is so god damn humiliating!" "Alright, let us start there. Let me ask you a few questions. Do you think you can answer them truthfully?" "Sure." "Good. First question, when Josh Thomas was in a relationship with a woman, do you think she felt humiliated." "No, not really ... at least not most of the time." "You mean until you did something to humiliate her?" "Yeah" I reply quietly. "We will skip that for now. Second question, do you think your partners at that time enjoyed having sex with you?" "Hell yes!" "Good. Third question. Do you sometimes enjoy sex as a woman? Remember, be honest, keeping in mind that you just said that you have considered having sex with me." I was trapped. "Yes, sometimes I enjoy it but only because Hanson made me that way." "I understand, but you admit that sex as a woman can be enjoyable, yes?" "Yes, what of it?" "You will see. Fourth question, was Josh Thomas the strongest man in the world?" "Of course not!" "The strongest player in the league?" "NO!" "The strongest player on the Wranglers?" "No." "The offense?" "No, look I see where you're going..." "The backfield?" "OK I got it..." "Answer please." "NO!" "So ... uh ... Ninth question. Do you think that there were women in the world who were physically stronger than Josh Thomas, who were faster, who could lift more weight, run farther and so on?" "Yeah, probably." "So strength of an individual is measured along a continuum, with a mix of men and women ahead of Josh Thomas on that continuum and a mix of men and women behind him." I start to object but Bob raises his hand. "Admitting that the ratio of men to women stronger that Josh Thomas is weighted in favor of the men and weighted in favor of the women for those weaker than him." "OK." "So far, so good. Eleventh question, though that last question was more of a statement on my part than a question ... but I digress. Was your mother a good mother?" "Hey! What's my mother got to do with...." "It is a simple question, was she a good mother?" "She was a great mother! The best!" "Was she smart?" "Very!" "Loving?" "Yes." "Accomplished?" "Sure." "Attractive?" "You watch it! Are you saying..." "Just asking if she was a nice looking woman. I am not insinuating anything." "OK. Yes, she was beautiful." "Tough?" "She could be, sometimes, if necessary." "Seventeenth question. Would your answers be the same if I asked the same questions about your grandmothers?" "Uh, wait, let me think... ... yeah, pretty much the same, though I'm not sure how good looking they were, I mean I thought they were beautiful, but every kid thinks that about their Grandma." "And tough?" "Yes. Talk about tough, my mom's mom, Gram, you didn't cross her, not if you wanted to see tomorrow." "Eighteenth question. Did you know your mother and grandmothers well? "They all raised me." "So 'yes'?" I nod my head. "Penultimate question. Would you say they were strong, confident, socially well adjusted people, living life to its' fullest?" "Absolutely" "Twentieth question.......ready?" "Is that the twentieth question?" "No, just making sure you are prepared to think about it." "Go on." "Given all the prior questions and your answers, is it not fair to say that one's sex has nothing to do with your place in life or the world but what you do with the opportunities presented to you. Any human being can live a good or bad life as either a man or a woman ... it is all up to you." "But I am a whore at ..." "We are working on that. Is there something intrinsically humiliating about being a woman? Was your mother humiliated at being a woman? Your grandmothers? Or did they seize the opportunities presented to them. Different opportunities than those presented to men perhaps but men's opportunities would have been equally limited by their sex and the standards of their world." "Is that the twenty first question?" "No, a clarification of the twentieth question. How about an answer Ms. Sweet-Lay?" "What was the purpose of all this?" "You know as well as I do Honey, you are no fool, at least I hope you are not. Men and women are equals, some better than others but it is their individual differences that make them good or bad, not their sex. You say you are weak but that has nothing to do with your sex. I know a number of women who I would think twice about taking on in a fight. You could be as formidable as they are, you just lack training. But strength is not just physical, it is mental, it is moral, it is will power, none of which depends on you being male or female. Plus, you have already admitted that you can enjoy the physical aspects of being a woman, so sex as a woman must be as good as sex as a man." "Uhhhh ... maybe ... well, better." His eyes widen. "If any one is qualified to make that statement, Honey, you are. I defer to your expertise. Do you have an answer to question twenty?" "Yes, you're right. I may not like being a whore at Anthony's club but I guess there's nothing wrong with women, in general. I know a lot of really good women." "Then I suggest that you use them as role models for now. I have no idea when we will be in a position to attempt an escape from Dr. Hanson, so you might as well start becoming the best person you can be with what you have to work with. No matter what happens down the road, you will be better off for the effort." He looks over at the clock on the VCR. "It is too late to go back to bed. How about we get dressed and go out for an early breakfast?" I turn to face him, lean in and kiss his cheek, holding it for a second or two. "You're on." CHAPTER THIRTEEN That early morning conversation with Bob stuck with me. How would my mother deal with my situation? My grandmas? Gram would have been kicking ass and taking names from the start. She was about five foot nothing, 100 pounds soaking wet and possibly the toughest person I ever knew, man or woman. If she thought she was right, nothing would stop her. There was this one time when I was sixteen and promised to cut her grass, then blew the job off to go swimming with some friends. When I got back, she was standing in the driveway, legs spread and arms crossed. She started giving me shit about responsibility and keeping promises and I told her to shut up ... though with a little more colorful language. She grabbed my ear, jerked my head down to her level and drug me into the house, damn near tore it off. When we got to her kitchen, she let me go. I was stupid enough to take a swing at her. She ducked it, came up underneath with a sneaky right and caught me square on the jaw. It was like being hit with a rock. Her old hand was just bone and muscle. I went down on my ass. She grabbed the other ear, told me to get out and not come back until I was ready to apologize. I was so embarrassed. A seventy year old lady almost half my size had knocked me down. I thought she would call my mom, tell her what happened and then all hell would break lose at home, but the call never came. She kept the whole thing quiet, just between us. It took me two weeks to swallow my pride and apologize. She accepted it and we never spoke about it again but she told me something at the time that I had forgotten all about. "You're a good boy" she said, "but you're headed down the wrong road. Just because you can play football doesn't make you better than everyone else. If you don't start behaving yourself, things won't go well for you. I won't be around forever to keep you in line." She died two years later, lung cancer. Never could kick that cigarette addiction, but she fought to the end. Turns out, she called it right. Bob told me not to cause any problems with either Anthony or Hanson, he needed time to think. He didn't want some kind of conflict between me and them to complicate matters, things were tough enough as they were. I played it normal at the club, did what I was told, what I was expected to do. I started being nicer to the other girls though, talking with them more, helping with costumes, make up and stuff. I didn't get much of a response at first but they came around a little. They had thought that I was Anthony's "favorite", getting all the best sets, not having to work the crowd as often with lap dances, all my "special" customers. I didn't tell them the truth. How could I possibly explain not just quitting because of the abuse? It was hard enough for Bob to believe me, the other girls never would, not even Candi. I just told them I'd try to make sure they got better treatment but that ultimately, it was Anthony's call. Everything was routine for a couple of weeks. I hadn't seen Hanson for over six weeks, which was unusual. She'd usually drop in every two to three weeks, just to watch me dance. I think she occasionally brought someone with her for me to have sex with. It would almost always be a bad one, rough, violent and kinky. Then there were the six month check ups when I'd spend a week or so back in the clinic, getting shots and pills and learning new routines from Ms. Baker. But not a sign of her recently. No news is good news. I was at Bob's two weeks after that strange dream. I was relaxing in the hot tub, a glass of wine next to me. Bob was sitting at the table, as usual. It had been a bad day for him, more seizures than usual. He'd actually fallen once but caught himself on the couch. He let me help him up, which surprised me. He'd also gotten a phone call, a first since I'd been coming here. He took it in his office and I was vacuuming at the time so I didn't hear anything. The dream had been on my mind. "Bob?" "Yes?" "Do you think that I could have ... stopped all this from happening to me?" "You mean all that Dr. Hanson did?" "Yeah, that." He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of water. "Certainly there were several times, mostly early in her scheme, where you could have thwarted her." "Gee ... thanks." "Did you not want the truth?" "Sure ... it's just ... remember that dream I had awhile ago?" "The one where you did not go back to bed?" "That one. In it ... someone said I didn't do anything to stop her." "Well, you did not." "You're not helping, Bob." "I think that you may be asking the wrong question, Honey. Yes, there are many things that you could have done, but Dr. Hanson's plan was sheer brilliance. Her infiltration of the Wranglers, her ability to get management on her side, their application of financial pressure on you to comply with her treatment plan, the use of Billy Joe Coleson as a threat to your job, the unqualified success of her treatments on the rest of the team, and finally, her ability to isolate you from the world and accelerate your transformation, all quite masterful. After that, she screwed up left and right but the consequences have not struck home yet. So the question is not could you have stopped her, but were you likely to be able to stop her. The answer to that question is no, you were not likely to have stopped her. She counted on your years of being a team sport player, accustomed to taking orders and following them, not without the occasional grumble and a bit of rebellion now and then but, by and large, you did what you were told. Once you came under her complete control at the clinic, you were done for. It is no small miracle that you managed to avoid your drugs and clear your head. Her people had gotten lax. Of course, by then it was too late. Your semen addiction was fully implemented and all chance of anything beyond a temporary escape was gone. Was this person in your dream accusing you of cowardice?" "I'm not sure what I ... he meant, it's just haunted me a bit since then." "I would not take it seriously, Honey, it was only a dream." "I guess you're right." "Perhaps this will improve your mood. I have decided, with your consent of course, to take you to dinner tomorrow night. You will get a chance to wear that new dress you bought." "That's great! Where are we going?" "A little restaurant not too far from here. It does require a reservation so we will need to be there by 7:00." "Are you going to be well enough to go?" "I will manage Honey, I will manage." * * ** * ** * ** * * It was a very nice place. Bob opened the door for me and we walked in. We had parked around the block and even though he was still using his cane, Bob was getting around a bit better. The lobby had several cushy chairs, but there was no one waiting for a table, Wednesdays aren't usually that busy for most restaurants. He stepped up to the maitre de, who nodded and bowed ever so slightly. "Good evening, Sir, Madam. Welcome to 'Toulouse', may I assist you?" Bob returned the nod and bow. "Good evening. We have a reservation for 7:00 o'clock." The maitre de lifted his head just enough to look over Bob's right shoulder at me. I'm wearing the light pink knot front dress I bought two weeks ago. It's made of matte jersey, with a fit-and-flare style; the skirt is loose and flirty, stopping two inches above my knees but is snug around my hips and waist, wide straps over my shoulders. The bodice is not too revealing, certainly nothing like I normally wear. Some women might think I'm showing more cleavage than I should but Bob likes it and that's all I care about. He did buy me a red shoulder wrap to wear tonight because the restaurant might be a bit chilly. He said that any place that requires a coat and tie tends to keep the temperature down so that the men are comfortable, which means the women are cold. I never noticed that when I took women out on dates but then I wasn't wearing a slinky mini-dress and a thong. All and all, I think what I'm wearing is pretty conservative. The maitre de's face doesn't react to me but his eyes do, the pupils dilating. He's turned on. I turn just a little bit to the left and give him a shy smile. His breathing picks up ever so slightly. It's amazing what a pretty girl can do to a man with just the smallest action. I still remember the type of things that got my motor running when I was a guy. It was almost always the little things. A quick brush with the fingertips against the arm, leaning in close to whisper in the ear, the "accidental" bump against the crotch with the grab of the arms to keep from "falling", the light touch when moving through a crowd. Now that I'm on the sending side instead of the receiving, it's fun to see what I can do. I don't get much practice at the club, it's hard to be subtle on the stage and nothing is subtle when they get me alone in my room. However, when I'm out in public like a regular person, I can try out all the tricks the other girls tell me about. I've tried a lot of them on Bob but didn't get much of a reaction. I thought I was doing them wrong but it turns out that Bob's just a tough room. I get all kinds of reactions when I go shopping, particularly at the grocery stores. Horny teenage stock boys are like shooting fish in a barrel. This maitre de has seen a lot of great looking women in his time, but I've got his attention. Bob slides a few inches to the right, blocking his view. "The name is 'James'." He reluctantly looks down at his reservation book. "Yes, Sir, please follow me." He turns and leads us into the dining room. I step up close to Bob, not wanting to take his arm but I want to be close, should he stumble or something. We get a small table near the middle of the room. The maitre de pulls out a chair for me. I gracefully sit and look up at him over my left shoulder, smiling again. "Thank you." "You are welcome Madam, enjoy your meal." He took the opportunity to enjoy looking down my dress and getting a good view of my boobs. I turn my attention back to Bob. He's sat down, resting his cane against the chair next to him. He's smiling at me but doesn't say anything. "What?" "That was very nicely done, Honey." "What did I do?" I ask, using my innocent voice, letting the pitch rise at the end. Candi showed me that one. Bob chuckles. "The way you were working our maitre de. I would have let it continue out of sheer curiosity, but since I am hungry, it was brought to a premature end." "I don't know what you are talking about." I lean forward a few degrees, improving his viewing angle immensely. His smile grows bigger. "You really have the coquettish girl down pat. A hint of innocence, the enthusiasm of youth, the barely restrained sexuality ... it is all there. If you were free to regularly mix with the general population, most males would not stand a chance." He takes a sip of water. "I wager that if I could drop you in any high school in the country, you would be the most popular girl there within a month, six weeks at most." Another sip. "Assuming the other girls did not kill you out of jealousy." "Oh I'm getting along a lot better with other women now. I took your advice." "Which was?" "You remember, to try and become the best person I could even with the 'limitations' of my situation. I'm just trying to be the kind of person the women in my family would approve of, ignoring what I do at the club, of course." "Of course. I am guessing that your presence tonight should guarantee us prompt service, at the very least." * * ** * ** * ** * * "Good evening, Dr. Hanson." "Good evening, Andre. My usual table please." "Certainly Madam, follow me please." I haven't been here for a few weeks. "Toulouse" is one of my regular stops but I have been out of town for two weeks. I've never been much of a cook, why spend the time when you can afford to have someone else do it for you. That means I either eat out a lot, order takeout or pick up prepared food at the grocery store. Normally that kind of a diet would not be good for my figure but that's not a problem for me. Andre pulls my seat out for me and I sit down. Normally he would fawn over me a little, which is annoying, but his attention is elsewhere tonight, looking towards the middle of the room. My preferred seat is off to the side with a view out the window. It is something to watch while I eat. As Andre strolls back to the front door, he makes a detour to stop at a table with two people, a man and his presumably younger companion, I can't tell for certain. It is difficult to say how old the man is and all I can see of the woman is the back of her head ... though there is something familiar about her. * * ** * ** * ** * * "Everything is very nice, thank you ... Andre. The waiter came right away and has already taken our orders." "I am glad to hear that, Madam. Please let me know if you need anything." He nods at me and then nods at Bob. "Sir." He walks away, back towards the front door as Bob helps himself to some bread. "Told you so" he says between bites. "It's like they want us out of here fast." "Far from it Honey, they want you to stay the night but they also want you happy, ergo the exceedingly prompt service. I suspect that Andre will check on us at least once more before we are done. I believe that our soup and salads are already here." Our water arrives with a platter holding the first course of our meal. Bob ordered a vichyssoise and garden salad. I decided to try their Caesar salad and saut?ed mushrooms. The chef must have busted a gut to get everything done so quickly. We eat in silence, but I am aware of the waiters frequently walking by our table. I sneak a quick look at Bob, who's looking back at me with a lopsided smile. He's aware of it too. I return his smile. "This salad is very good. I wish I could make one as good." "I imagine that if you ask, Andre would only be too happy to give you a guided tour of the kitchen with a brief lesson thrown in for good measure." I'm tempted to do it, if only to see what would happen. * * ** * ** * ** * * I prefer eating alone. Actually, I prefer doing most everything by myself, never been much of a people person. Perhaps, more accurately, I am not a stupid people person. Compared to me, most people are fools and I do not suffer fools gladly. Certainly I have colleagues, even some whose work I respect, but dealing with inferior intellects is tiring. Sometimes I find it almost unbearable that I can not publish my recent discoveries but the world is not ready to know the truth. Small minds imposing unreasonable rules and regulations on scientific progress forces true visionaries, such as myself, to operate in the shadows, scrambling for funding wherever we can. Thankfully, the Wrangles don't ask any questions. They just accept the results and reward me for my success. I look around the restaurant as I eat my meal. It is not very crowded, which is normal for a Wednesday. They are mostly older couples and individua