Ginger And Mister Fogey free porn video

"Ginger & Mr. Fogey" by Jennifer Brock In this sentimental story that captures the loneliness that the Holiday Season means to many of us, an unlikely friendship forms between a curmudgeon and a free spirit. It was a rainy miserable Wednesday night in October, so Mabel's Diner was mostly empty. Except for a couple of teenagers cooing in the corner booth, Bradford Fogarty was the only customer in the place. He was sitting at his usual stool at the counter, having a bowl of Mabel's delicious mushroom soup. The door opened and a chilly breeze blew in, so he looked up to see the source of the disturbance. The person who'd entered paused in the entrance to remove her transparent hooded raincoat and hang it on a peg. It was dripping wet. It was obvious what line of work she was in; she looked almost like a caricature. She wore hot-pink platform go-go boots that matched the color of her ultra-short mini skirt. Her top was a tight white halter top that was on the verge of becoming see-through in the rain. Her face might have been pretty if it hadn't been slathered in makeup. The requisite gold hoop earrings hung down under her reddish brown spiky bob. It was just his awful luck that she slinked her way over and parked her shapely behind on a stool next to his! She waved at Mabel, who was filling ketchup bottles on the other end of the counter, and smiled at Bradford, revealing straighter, whiter teeth than he would have expected on a common streetwalker. She purred, "Hiya, Mister! Want a date?" Mabel was a tough old battleaxe. She'd been running the place for over forty years her way, and didn't take backtalk from anyone. She came over and placed a coffee cup in front of the new arrival and then filled it without needing to be asked. "Ginger, leave Mr. Fogarty alone. You know the rules: you can come in here but you can't work my customers, or I call the cops." Ginger pursed her lips into a pout. "You mean this grumpy guy here?" She slowly took a deep breath and turned her puppy-dog eyes at her counter neighbor. "I'm not bothering you am I, Mr. Fogey?" He nervously cleared his throat and tried not to notice her cleavage as she leaned toward him. "Um, I guess not. But it's 'Fogarty.'" She giggled. "No, I think you look more like a 'Fogey.'" She ran a finger along the front of his shirt, and that just made him look down again. She caught him and winked. "Nice, aren't they?" He blushed and tried not to understand what she meant, but then she just got blunt. "I mean, you've got to agree that these are a fine looking pair of titties." She gave them a squeeze. "And they are a treat to more than just the eyes. If you're nice to me, I might let you touch them. And if you're very very nice, you could get a chance to wrap your lips around the most succulent thing you've ever tasted." Mabel interrupted. "Ginger; that's enough! Leave him alone, or you can't have a slice of pie with your coffee tonight." She pointed at her display case. "And the flavor of the day is peach, your favorite." Ginger cooled. "Okay, Mister Fogey, you're safe for now. I'll just have to settle for knowing that I'm not the only one sitting here thinking about a sweet and juicy piece of pie." She let him finish his soup in peace. *** Bradford ran into Ginger again at Mabel's a few more times over the next few weeks, and she always made a point to tease and flirt with him, even if there were other guys there who were more likely to buy what she was selling. He still never smiled, but she interpreted that as a challenge. It got to the point where although he still wasn't exactly comfortable with her attention, it had become familiar. But after she'd been doing it for a month or so, everything changed. At around midnight, Ginger came into the diner pulling a large rolling suitcase behind her. She told Mabel that she'd been chased out of the bus station again, and asked to use her bathroom to change. Mabel said it was okay, and even let her use the employees' bathroom behind the kitchen so that she wouldn't tie up the public restroom. The person who emerged nearly an hour later looked completely different. It appeared to be a young man in baggy khakis and an Irish cable-knit sweater. His slicked-back hair appeared to be a darker brown than Ginger's, and instead of her sparkling green eyes he had dull brown ones hidden behind horn-rimmed glasses. If he hadn't been pulling Ginger's suitcase, Fogarty would have thought that this was someone else. "Why are you dressed as a guy?" It was weird to hear Ginger's laughing voice come from this masculine shape. "It's kind of complicated. This is who I am officially. I still live at home while I'm going to school at City College, and they'd never accept me as female, so I have to keep my real self a secret until I can afford to live on my own. It sucks, but it's my only real option for now." Bradford was dumbfounded. "So you're really a guy? You look so believable as a woman! It was all fake?" Boy Ginger seemed offended. "You're thinking about my amazing tits again, aren't you? They are still here; they're just strapped down. There's nothing at all fake about my figure. I grew my perfect 34B's and delightful rounded ass the same way other girls do, through hormones in my bloodstream. The only difference is their hormones were homemade and mine were store-bought. And they don't come cheap, let me tell you. That's the main reason why I have to turn tricks, to get money for my 'mones." "Couldn't you try a more legitimate, less dangerous line of work?" Mabel joined the conversation. "I've tried talking her out of it, too. But she's still young and foolish." Bradford realized that Mabel wasn't at all surprised. "You knew that Ginger was this other person all along, and you never said anything?" Mabel shrugged. "I know a lot of things about a lot of people, but they're not my secrets to share." Ginger cleared her throat, and then spoke in a new tone of voice that was slightly lower in pitch and had lost her slightly nasal squeak. "Can you see anything I missed, Mr. Fogey? There was one day last week I didn't realize I still had my earrings in until I was almost home. There would have been hell to pay." He checked and couldn't see any evidence of Ginger remaining. "No, you look like a boy as far as I can tell. Hey, what's your real name, anyway?" He rolled his eyes. "You know my real name; it's Ginger. That's the real me. But if you really want to know, my name when I look like this is Jack." Jack gave Mabel a kiss on the cheek and then left to go lock his suitcase up at the bus station and then head home. *** The next time Ginger came into Mabel's when Bradford was there, he felt more uncomfortable than usual with her flirtatious teasing. She seemed to notice that he was flinching a little at her touch, and guessed the reason. "What's the matter, Mr. Fogey? Did finding out that I'm not 100% girl weird you out? Don't worry; it's really small." Mr. Fogarty looked at her. "What?" Her answer nearly caused him to snort his coffee out his nose. "My penis. It probably scares you to realize that you're attracted to someone who has one. I was impatient and wanted to develop quickly, so I tricked the pharmacist into giving me extra pills (I told him I'd accidentally dropped the bottle in the toilet) and I exceeded the recommended dosage for a couple months. My boy parts shrank a little too much, and now they have almost no sexual function. That's why I can't go after the big money from guys looking for chicks with dicks and have to do straight work. I've got this medical adhesive, it's like industrial strength rubber cement, and I use it to make my parts look right. At night in the poor light you'd never know you weren't looking at a genuine pussy. Sometimes I even glue a tampon string down there so the johns won't wonder why they have to do me in the ass. The worst part is that when I finally can afford my surgery, they'll have to do the more invasive version, and there's a chance I won't get any sensation. But I tell you what, when I do get my surgery I'll look you up and give you the ride of your life. In the meantime you'll just have to imagine what it will be like, but if you can't wait that long I do give phenomenal blowjobs." Ginger realized that she'd been talking for way too much and shut up, smiling at Bradford and licking her lips. He wasn't sure how to react, so he just shrugged and returned to eating his soup. He supposed that it really didn't matter if Ginger wasn't completely female, since he wasn't going to accept any of her offers anyway. It didn't take long for things to get back to some kind of normal. A week later on the day before Thanksgiving, Ginger came into Mabel's while Bradford was eating his turkey sandwich, and she was flirty but somewhat restrained. She got all serious for a moment and gave both him and Mabel warm hugs, and told them she was thankful for having them in her life. *** The following Wednesday started out fine; Ginger seemed as happy-go- lucky as ever. But at the end of the night when she went through her metamorphosis, Jack came out of Mabel's bathroom with a noticeably black left eye. The bruise must have been hidden under Ginger's makeup. Fogarty spoke up. "What happened to your eye? Did one of your 'clients' hit you? You really need to find a less dangerous line of work. We worry about you." Mabel nodded agreement. Ginger (Bradford had gotten used to thinking of her as Ginger even when dressed as a boy) waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, this? No, I got it from my old man a couple days ago. No big deal." Mabel was alarmed. "Your father hit you? What an asshole! You need to move out of that house." Ginger shook her head. "I can't afford to go anywhere else. Besides, it was my own fault, really." Mabel shook a finger at her. "Unless you actually asked him to hit you, that is not true." Ginger shrugged. "No, really. I'd gotten lazy and complacent. I had this pale pink nail polish on, and I thought it was close enough to my natural color that it wouldn't be noticeable. But my pop caught it, and told me not to be a sissy faggot and smacked me upside the head. If I'd just taken five minutes to clean my nails, it wouldn't have happened." Mabel was aghast. "That's so wrong. You are not going back there tonight. I'd hate to imagine what he'd do to you if he saw your breasts. You're older than eighteen, right?" "Twenty next March. But I think you're overreacting. It's not like it's the first time he ever hit me. I just need to keep on my toes." Ginger was still unconvinced. Mabel untied her apron and came around from behind the counter. "Sweetie, I was like you once. I was getting beat by my man, and I thought I deserved it. I thought that if I could just do better the next time he wouldn't have to hit me. And then one day he didn't like the way I cooked his steak." She lifted her left foot and put it on the stool next to Ginger, and then she hiked up her skirt and rolled down her support hose. She ran a finger along a jagged white line that ran down her thigh. "You see this? This is where my bastard husband stuck a knife in me. The doctors said that if it had taken the ambulance one minute longer to get to me, I would have bled to death. A violent man like your father cannot be reasoned with. You're going upstairs with me tonight. I'll kick my cats off the couch and it can be yours until you can find a better arrangement." Ginger was shaken by Mabel's story. "Um, I appreciate the offer, but I'm allergic to cats, and my medicine is at home." Mabel was desperate. "Hey, Mr. Fogarty! Have you got space for a houseguest?" Bradford was torn. He treasured his privacy, but it really did seem like Ginger was in imminent danger at home. He looked down at his wedding ring. One of Helen's major causes was a group that protected battered women. What would she think of him if he sent Ginger back to her abuser? "I've got room. You can come home with me. But I have two conditions. First, you've got to quit your job. If we're working on making your life safer, you'll need to find a legitimate way to earn your money." Ginger scowled. "I'm not sure what else I'm qualified to do." Mabel had an idea. "You can work here; I'll teach you how to be a waitress. I usually end up pretty busy at holiday time. And if I find I don't need you come January, with experience waiting tables, there will be loads of places you can get work." "I guess I could do that. But I'm not sure if some other place will hire me as a waitress when my official ID says I'm John L. Peters, junior." Fogarty said, "Then we'll just have to get your official ID changed. I have a friend who's a lawyer; I'll give him a call and see what it takes to get that done." Ginger smiled. "You'd do that for me, Fogey? Thanks. That means a lot. What's your other condition?" He chuckled. "You've probably noticed that I don't get along with most people. So I don't want you to have any guests over if I haven't met them." Ginger gave them both a hug. "I guess I can do that. I think you guys are the only friends I have who know I'm a girl, anyway." So the plan was settled. Jack called his folks to tell them he was staying at a friend's and wouldn't be home that night, and then Ginger got her suitcase and followed Mr. Fogarty out. She asked where he was parked, and he told her he didn't have a car; cars were Evil. His house was only five blocks away, and he told her that walking is good for one's health. The place turned out to be a classic hundred-year-old townhouse in a neighborhood that seemed to be in the process of gentrification. On the inside, Ginger thought it seemed to match Fogey's personality; everything looked kind of worn out and run-down. It smelled faintly musty and the colors were very drab. The first floor had a formal living room where every piece of furniture except for one chair was piled with newspapers and junk mail and assorted things, and a dining room crammed with junk, but the kitchen was spotless. Ginger's room was off of the kitchen; it had probably originally been intended for a maid, but it had been updated at some point. It was decently-sized, with a nice big closet and its own attached bathroom. The d?cor was vaguely "old lady" with its mismatched antique furniture and crocheted bedspread. Bradford apologized that the room was cold. He hadn't heating it, since no one was using it. He had to fiddle with the radiator to turn it on. He left her to get settled and then disappeared for a little while. When he returned he had some things for her: a key to the front door, an index card on which he'd written the address and the phone number, a little laminated card with just the code for disarming the alarm for her to memorize, and a sheet of paper that he stuck on the refrigerator door with a magnet. He told her to write down anything that needed to be bought, like if there were groceries he was lacking, or bathroom products she needed. He then gave her a brief tour of the rest of the house, showing her the door to the basement in case a fuse blew or something, and brought her up to the second floor to show her which room he'd be in if she needed something. The stairs continued up to a third floor, but he didn't think there was anything up there she'd want. He said goodnight and retired to his room. Part of her wanted to explore the house, but she'd had a long day so she opted to turn it as well. She thanked him again and went back downstairs. *** Bradford came down the next morning to find Ginger sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of Cheerios. She was wearing nothing but a pair of red lace panties and her glasses. He'd only seen her in her horn-rims when dressed as a boy, but in her current state of undress they just looked cute. He stood dumbfounded for a moment before finding his words. "Why are you naked?" Ginger shrugged. "I like to brush my teeth in the shower - it saves time. And I can have cleaner teeth throughout my day if I wait until after I eat breakfast. So I came to the table wearing what I slept in." "Couldn't you at least cover yourself?" Ginger sat up straight and arched her back. "Why? Do you not like looking at pretty things? Or do you think my tits are ugly? Is that it?" She screwed up her mouth into a pout and made sad puppy-dog eyes at him. "No," he stammered. "They're quite lovely. That's not the point. It's just inappropriate to go around uncovered." She smiled at the compliment. "Thank you, but it's not like we're out in public or something. We're in the intimate privacy of your home. It just seemed like too much hassle for me to put something on just to eat my cereal, only to take it off again immediately afterwards. I'm going to skip my morning classes and grab a taxi to go back home and move my stuff out, so that means getting dressed in boy mode. The girls really hate being strapped down, so I thought it would be nice to let them have some air for a little bit before today's torture. Does that seem so bad?" "When you put it that way, you almost make sense. But it's still wrong." She turned to face him. "If your problem is that looking at me turns you on, that doesn't have to be a bad thing." She shot a glance at his crotch to look for a reaction. "Don't think I'm just a tease. If looking at my tits makes you want to touch them, go ahead. I willingly offer you any part of my body you wish to use: nipples, fingers, lips, tongue, even my tight little hole. You're helping me out here, and I'd love to help you however I can." Bradford had stepped behind a chair. "I appreciate your offer, but no thank you. You can stay here free of charge for as long as you need to, with no strings attached. You don't need to feel obligated. I'm not looking for anything sexual at this time, so could you please ease off a little? Besides, you're practically young enough to be my daughter." Ginger got up and planted a kiss on his cheek. "That's for saying 'daughter.' I thought you were put off by my whole gender thing, but if it's just the age difference, it's not too big a problem. How old are you, anyway? Fifty? You see fifty-year-old bankers with twenty-year- old hotties all the time, so why not you?" "Actually, I'm only thirty-seven. But that's not the point. Could you just let this whole thing drop?" "Really? You're that young? You need to seriously work on your style, Fogey. You look way more used up than you ought to. But since you said such sweet things, I guess I can let it drop, for now. I finished my cereal, anyway. So now you can stop trying not to look at my tits and check out my ass as I go back to my room." Then she did just that, setting her bowl in the sink before slowly walking away. Bradford could not tell if the sexy way she was swaying her hips was exaggerated or if that was just the way she always walked. Just as she hit the doorway out of the room, she quickly turned her head back over her shoulder and waggled a finger at him. "Caught ya!" He blushed and hurried out of the room, forgetting that he never actually got his own breakfast. Ginger showered and dressed in her boy clothes, and then Jack called a cab. He brought Ginger's empty suitcase and had the driver take him to his parents' house. His father was at work and his mother was out, so he was able to pack up all his things without being interrupted. He started with clothes that were unisex: tube socks, sneakers, t-shirts, sweats, some pullover sweaters, and then filled up the suitcase with a couple pairs of pants and some shirts that he could wear to school, but he left most of his old clothes and shoes behind. He packed up as many of his school books as would fit in his backpack, and put a couple others in the case with his laptop. He then searched through the house for a box or bag or something for the rest of the things he cared about, finally settling on plastic grocery bags for his books, his CDs, a couple of treasured childhood toys, and some of his bathroom stuff. He thought about taking his TV and stereo, but figured that his father might call that theft, so he left them. He considered writing a note to let them know he moved out, but that felt too impersonal. He called his mother's cell. "Mom? There's something I need to tell you." The distress in her voice was obvious. "What is it, Honey?" "When you get home, my stuff will be gone. I'm moving out. Anything I left behind you can get rid of, donate to charity, throw away, whatever." Jack tried to sound as casual as possible. "This is so sudden. Where will you go?" She was getting a little frantic. "Don't worry about me, Mom. For now, I'll be staying with a friend. But I'm sure I'll get my own place soon enough." He regretted having to lie to his mother, but it had become second nature. "I'm about to start a part-time job during my term break, so I should be okay." "It doesn't sound like you were really ready. Are you sure you want to do this now?" Ginger let the wall drop a little. "I'm sorry, but this is something I had to do. A couple of friends helped me realize that it just wasn't healthy for me to stay there. And it was getting exhausting having to pretend to be someone I'm not all the time. I love you, Mom, but it's just time I left." "Honey, I don't understand exactly, but I'll always be there for you if you need anything. Let me know your new address and I'll forward your mail." "I already changed my billing address for my phone and my bank account and I'll tell the school today that I moved, so you can just throw away any mail than comes for me. If you need to contact me, you've got my phone number. I've got a cabbie with the meter running, so I'd better go. I'll leave my key in my room. Bye, Mom." All of Jack's things were loaded into the taxi, and they returned to Fogarty's house. He'd already gone somewhere, so Ginger had to unload and pay the guy all by herself. She debated skipping the rest of her classes and staying home all day, but there was only a week left of school, and then the semester finals, so it was too important to miss. After her classes, Ginger stripped off her Jack clothes, took a shower, and put on her favorite mini-dress. She looked around the house to see if Bradford was home, and found him taking a nap in his chair in the living room. She let him sleep, and decided she'd try to make dinner for him to show how much she appreciated him letting her live there. She poked around in the kitchen to see what ingredients were available. The kitchen was very well equipped. There was a fancy gadget for just about every culinary task, and the cookware was high-end, professional- grade stuff. It seemed to be the kitchen of someone who loved to cook, so it was odd that the cupboards and refrigerator were stocked with mostly pre-made instant foods and other processed junk. She added some fresh produce to the shopping list, but that would only be useful for future meals. Ginger settled on trying to do a basic spaghetti Bolognese, adding some browned hamburger meat and a few spices to a jar of Ragu she found in the pantry. It was one of the first dishes Jack's mother had ever shown him how to make. Ginger preferred a more experimental approach to cooking over working off a recipe, but she figured her host would probably appreciate something more familiar. When it was almost ready, she went into the living room and woke him up with a gentle touch and a soft voice in his ear. She didn't think he'd have liked to be awakened with a kiss; he was more of a Sleeping Grumpy than a Sleeping Beauty. It took a few minutes, but he finally came around. She led him into the kitchen, where she'd set the table with dinner for two. She smiled. "I just wanted to show you how much I appreciated you letting me stay here." He was impressed. "Thank you. But you didn't have to do this. You can stay as long as you need to, without needing to repay me." He loaded his fork and took a bite. "This is very good." "I did my best with what you had in stock. I'm not a bad cook, if I do say so myself." Ginger took a sip from her water glass. "Ideally, I'd serve this with a nice red wine, but I couldn't find any. Where do you keep your wine?" Fogarty's face took on a frightening expression. "I don't have any. Alcohol is Evil. I should have mentioned it before, but I'd rather you didn't bring any alcohol, or other recreational drugs, into my house." Ginger was confused. She'd found a wide assortment of stemware appropriate for all sorts of wines and cocktails while she was searching for wine. Why would a teetotaler have so many ways of drinking booze? It didn't make sense, but she could tell he was serious about it. "Okay, Fogey. No drinking in the house. It's probably best anyway. I'm not sure if it could get you in trouble if anyone found out, since I'm under twenty-one." He relaxed a little. "I don't want to seem like I'm just being negative tonight, but do you have to dress like that?" She looked at him innocently. "Like what?" He cleared his throat nervously. "Well, you have toned down your makeup, and it makes you look much prettier. But you're still dressing like a ..." he couldn't bring himself to say the word. "Well, you know. Like you were still doing that." Ginger blushed a little. "Thank you for the compliment I heard in there somewhere. But the thing is most of my clothes are like this. I didn't have many opportunities to be myself, and a limited budget. So I mainly got sexy things I could wear when working, or going clubbing. And I do have a couple bikinis, from when I spent last summer pretending to be working an internship just so I could leave the house in a suit and tie but then I'd change and go hang on the beach. I have one dress that's not quite as sexy, that I wear to appointments with my doctors, but it's just the one and it's dry-clean only. So is it okay if I wear my sluttier things until I get a job and can afford to buy some more?" She leaned forward as she was pleading, giving him an enticing view down her cleavage that wasn't entirely accidental. Bradford had a little trouble staying focused, but he shook an unwanted thought out of his head. "I guess that's not so bad. But that one dress you mentioned - could you wear it tomorrow. I called that lawyer I told you about, and he'd like to come by to meet you. Will you be back from school by four?" Ginger gave him a hug. "I'm done at 2:30, which should give me just enough time to be ready by then. Thank you again." She added a little kiss on his cheek. Fogarty excused himself and went upstairs. Ginger cleaned up the dishes and put the leftovers in the fridge. She was in an awesome mood about how things were going, but then her phone rang. The call was coming from her parents' house, so she let it go to voicemail so it wouldn't bring her down. She waited until morning to listen to it. It was a message for Jack from his father. "It was a chickenshit move clearing out while no one was home instead telling us to our faces. I hope you're proud of yourself. Your mother is in tears wondering what we did wrong. Me, I could care less. I'd have been proud of you if you'd just been a man about it and told us you were grown enough to be out on your own, but the pansy-ass way you did it just has me disgusted. So in order to force you to grow a pair, I'm going to teach you a life lesson here that actions have consequences. If you're grown up enough to move out, you're grown up enough to pay for your own college. You've got about a month to figure out how you're going to afford your next semester, or you're dropping out, unless you're willing to admit that you're still a boy and not a man, and you apologize and come back under my roof and live by my rules." It sucked, but he was right. It was time to grow up. Ginger figured she'd probably have to take at least a semester off until she'd gotten a job that could cover her tuition. To give up and go back home would be too big a step backwards, even if she wasn't sure her father would beat her for it. She was just really sorry for making her mother cry. *** The following afternoon, Ginger followed Fogarty's advice and wore her most conservative outfit, a maroon knit wrap dress with a v-shaped neckline that only revealed a little hint of boob, with sheer hose and her lowest heels, a pair of three-inch wedge sandals. Sparkly CZ studs went in her ears, and she wore a simple gold cross necklace that had been a present from her mother. She had the time to paint her fingernails to match her dress and took extra care on her makeup to ensure that it wasn't too whorish. Bradford was amazed. She was absolutely beautiful, but he didn't dare tell her; she'd probably take it as permission to try to seduce him again. He downgraded and simply told her that she looked nice, but that still earned him a dangerously close hug and a kiss on the cheek. He breathed in her perfume, an exotic scent that seemed to combine fruits, flowers and spices. The doorbell rang promptly at 4:00. Ginger was introduced to Adam Stone, a well-built fortyish blond guy in a tailored suit. They shook hands and then they all went to the kitchen table, and Sam opened his briefcase. "Brad, could you give Ms. Peters and I some privacy for a bit?" He took out a manila file folder and handed it to him. "Take these letters up to your study and look through them. Tell me if any require action on our part." Fogarty took the file and left the room. Adam waited a couple minutes to make sure they were alone before speaking. His tone and posture shifted from friendly to hostile instantly; he was definitely a lawyer. "First, I want you to know that if this is some scheme to get his money, it's not going to work. I'm in control of the finances. So if you're just having sex with him to get rich, you might as well give up now and go home." Ginger tried asserting herself right back at him. "Okay, Mister. I don't know where you get off accusing me of being some kind of gold- digger. For one, I'm not having sex with him, not that it's any of your business. For two, I don't know what money you're talking about. Sure, this is an expensive house, but Fogey, Mr. Fogarty that is, lives on Spaghetti-O's and dresses like a slob. I don't think he has any money. And for three, I thought you were coming here to help me with some personal matters, but now I'm not sure I want your help." Stone looked her over suspiciously. "You really don't know who he is? I guess Mrs. Pinski was telling the truth. She said you were a decent person, but I've never believed that the proverbial 'hooker with a heart of gold' was based in any kind of reality." She placed her palms on the table. "Wait. Who's Mrs. Pinski and what's she got to do with me? And did Fogey tell you I was a hooker? I'm going to march up there and tell him to stop talking about me behind my back." She stood up, but Stone grabbed her arm. "Don't. He didn't tell me. Mrs. Pinski (I believe you and Brad met in her restaurant) checks in with me every now and then to tell me how he's doing and she mentioned that there was a hooker who came in every so often to chat with him. And when she told me the other day that she sent you home with him, I put two and two together and asked if you were the hooker. Don't get mad at her either; she didn't confirm your identity easily. And then I got a call from Brad that you needed to change your name, and he thought you also ought to get a restraining order against someone." Ginger slowly eased back into her chair. "I hadn't thought about that, but maybe that is a good idea. Hey, don't change the subject! Does Fogey know you're spying on him? And you've got Mabel doing it, too?" Stone sighed. "Yes, he knows. He picked me. I'd better start at the beginning. Are you familiar with the 'Rusty and Scooter' books?" "The kids' books about a boy and his dog? I loved those when I was little. Why?" Adam smiled. "They were written and illustrated by B.B. Fogarty, as in Bradford Benjamin Fogarty, the guy whose house we're sitting in." Ginger's jaw dropped. "This grumpy old guy I've been teasing for the past few months is a famous author? Holy shit. But those were such fun, happy books and he's so dreary. It doesn't seem possible." "He stopped writing some time ago. But the seven books are doing well enough in reprints that he's living comfortably off the royalties. And that's the money I assumed you were after. But you seem genuinely surprised by this, so I apologize for assuming the worst of you." He stuck out his hand for her to shake. "I guess I accept your apology. But that doesn't explain why you're spying on him." "You've mentioned his state of mind. He's been through worse bouts of depression. He wasn't taking care of himself. To avoid being committed to a psychiatric facility, he gave me power of attorney and control of his funds. Now I make sure his bills get paid on time, and I check in with people like Mrs. Pinski to make sure he's eating. I have a cleaning woman coming in every two weeks, but he won't let her into all the rooms. Maybe you've noticed. I worry about him." Adam looked up at the ceiling, toward where Fogarty was. "But his taking an interest in your situation is a good sign. It's the first thing he's actually cared about in a long time." Ginger wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "It sounds like you were just looking out for him. You sound like a good friend, so I can't really be mad at you for trying to protect him from me. So can you really help me with my name thing, or was that just a trick to get me to talk to you?" He took another folder out of his briefcase. "No trick. I have the forms right here." Ginger shyly asked, "Did they tell you why I need to change my name?" Stone matter-of-factly replied, "You're transitioning from male to female. Brad didn't tell me - have you had your SRS yet?" "Not yet." She sighed wistfully. "But it sounds like you've done your homework. You used the right terms for stuff." "Unfortunately for you, in this state you can't get your birth certificate adjusted until after your surgery, so this will be just a name change." He shrugged. "I'm a civil rights lawyer primarily, but I've handled cases like yours before." He took her information to fill in the form, convincing her that she should go with "Virginia" as her official first name and keep "Ginger" as a nickname; that way it would look less like a stripper name to the judge. She asked if it would be okay to pick "Isabel" as her middle name, so she could always be a "V.I.P." He laughed and said the judge probably wouldn't notice. He then brought up the subject of a restraining order. Ginger explained the whole story about her father hitting his son whenever he didn't think he was being manly enough. Adam gave her a hug and told her that no one deserved to be treated like that. He got furious for her and asked if she wanted to press charges, but she didn't want to put her mother through that. He said he understood and then shared a story of how he waited until his own father had died before he told his mother he was gay. Ginger was surprised, but not completely. It explained why he was so empathetic. They had a good cry and then went upstairs to tell Fogarty they were finished. He was sitting in a room on the second floor Ginger had never been in before. It was decorated as an office, with a desk, a file cabinet and a couple large bookcases, all in solid oak. Fogarty was reading the papers Stone had given him, and looking something up on a computer. He explained that they were letters from charity organizations seeking donations, so he had to decide if he wanted to give to any of them. Adam told him he'd call him back later in the week for an answer. Then he turned to Ginger and said he'd try to get her an appointment with a judge as soon as possible. Almost as an afterthought he told her she'd need to dress in something a little more professional so the court knew she was serious. Bradford spoke up. "She's already in her most conservative dress. Could you put some money on my debit card so I can take her shopping this weekend?" Adam took a good look at Ginger. "I have another idea. I think she's about Helen's size. Could we go see if one of her suits would fit?" Ginger felt Fogarty grab her hand and clutch it tight, as though it were the only thing keeping him from drowning. "It's okay, Fogey. I can just go to a consignment shop or something. I don't need to borrow things from this Helen, whoever she is." Adam shook his head. "You didn't tell her about Helen, either? Can I tell her?" Bradford just nodded his head without speaking. Adam brought them all into the master bedroom and had the other two sit on the bed. He then walked over to the nightstand and grabbed a framed photograph and brought to Ginger. It was a wedding couple. "That's Brad and Helen at their wedding." She could barely recognize him. The guy in the picture was younger, probably around her age, and he was smiling. But she could see traces in her eyes that this young man would grow to become her Mr. Fogey. The bride was a beautiful blonde with long flowing hair. Ginger liked this woman already, if only for defying the convention that a bride always needs an updo. "Where is she now?" The way Fogarty was squeezing her hand, and the expression on Stone's face said it all. She was dead. "What happened?" Adam sniffled. "Just before 1:00 am on New Year's Day, 2004, Brad and Helen were driving home. They'd been at a party at the Ritz thrown by some publishing bigwigs. A drunk in an SUV slammed into the side of Brad's little Jag and crushed it. The ambulance arrived in time to save Brad, but Helen didn't make it." He wiped a tear. "She was one of my best friends. The asshole went to jail but it isn't even remotely fair." Ginger turned and just held onto her friend. "I am so sorry." The aura of sadness that always seemed to surround him suddenly made perfect sense. "I apologize for every name I ever called you, every time I teased you, every inappropriate gesture. I am so sorry. I didn't know." All three of them wept for a while. Then Adam broke the silence. "Anyway, that's why there's a whole closet full of things that aren't being worn." He crossed the room and opened a door. "I think it's time someone got some use out of them. What do you say, Brad? Can we let Ginger try on some of Helen's clothes? I don't think she'd object." The desperate soul clinging to her loosened a little. "Um, okay. But I don't think I can watch. Not right now." He let go and stood up. "You can take anything in there that you want. I'm going downstairs." Ginger gave him a little kiss on the cheek. "Thank you. I promise I will treat everything with the respect it deserves." After Brad left, Adam told Ginger to see if one of Helen's darker skirt suits fit, and to pair it with a pale blouse. He then left her on her own to explore the closet. He didn't want to leave his friend alone in his current state of mind. He worried that he might try to go for a walk or something. The closet turned out to be more like an actual dressing room. It was big, with hanging racks, and built-in chests of drawers, and rows of shoe shelves, a bench to sit on, and a three-way full-length mirror. It even had a window. Ginger was torn between the excitement of being allowed to try it all on, and the sadness that came with knowing it all belonged to a dead woman. She checked tags and learned that Helen was indeed almost her same size. She usually took a 9 or 10, and Helen was an 8, but they were both Mediums. Regrettably, Helen's shoes were two sizes too small for Ginger's feet. Ginger stripped to her bra and panties and methodically tried on blouses, skirts, and jackets. She decided to limit herself to just finding an outfit to wear for her appointment, and she could come back and explore later, maybe when Fogey was in a better mood or out of the house. She found a nice pinstriped charcoal suit in a wool blend that fit well and wasn't too horribly out of style, but the skirt wasn't lined. It needed a slip. She found Helen's lingerie drawers, and hit the jackpot. Not only did she have exquisite taste in lacy finery, but it turned out she was also a 34B. Everything would fit Ginger perfectly. She decided to change completely from the skin out, in one of Helen's silk bra and panty sets, an ivory lace half slip under her skirt that matched a camisole for under her slightly sheer white blouse, and a pair of sheer black stay-up stockings instead of her cheap pantyhose. She buttoned on the jacket and slipped her feet back into her own shoes. She crept down the stairs, and walked in on the two men chatting in the living room. She did a spin like a runway model and asked them if the outfit would work. Adam asked if she had a pair of black pumps, and she dashed off to her room and returned with six-inch stilettos on her feet. She laughed and said she knew they were too much, but they were her only pumps. Adam said he'd put some money on Brad's card and he could take Ginger shopping like he'd wanted, but only for shoes. Bradford himself had remained quiet throughout Adam's critique. He was just looking at Ginger and she couldn't tell what he was seeing. He finally said something, telling her to wait there, and he ran upstairs. He came back a few minutes later and handed her a small box, saying that he thought they would work better. She opened the box and saw a beautiful pair of pearl earrings, and a matching pendant. She swapped out her earrings, and then he helped her with the clasps on her necklaces. Adam approved the change. He was impressed with Brad's eye for fashion, but since he was an artist he shouldn't have been too surprised. Ginger went to her room and changed back into her original outfit. She asked Adam if he wanted to stay for dinner, but he had a previous engagement and had to leave. Bradford offered to treat her to dinner at Mabel's, so she accepted. She needed to go talk to Mabel about work anyway. When she got out her faux rabbit jacket, he vetoed it, saying that it was too short for her dress. He went to his hall closet and handed her a long red wool overcoat that fit her perfectly. She thanked him and took his arm for the five-block walk. Mabel was pleased to see them come in together. She also told Ginger that she looked much prettier when she wasn't all tarted up. It seemed weird eating in a booth instead of their usual counter stools, but it seemed more appropriate. The food was excellent as always, and afterwards Mabel took Ginger into the back room and had her try on uniforms, and they talked about her schedule. While her college was still in session, she'd be working nights, switching over to days when she became more available, which would coincide with when Mabel expected the increased holiday business. It worked out nicely for everyone. *** On Saturday morning, Ginger wanted to do something nice for Fogarty to thank him for everything. She dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, some of her boy clothes that she didn't mind getting dirty, and set herself the task of cleaning up the mess in the living room. She started by collecting newspapers into a bundle so they could be recycled. Maybe he'd been deliberately saving them for something, but she didn't care; they were an unruly fire hazard. She had a couple of serious bales tied up by the time he came down for breakfast. Bradford wasn't quite sure how to react. He was uncomfortable with her going through his things, but he also knew that it was probably a good thing to get the room in order. If he really wanted a girl to feel at home in his house, he was going to have to let her make his cave more welcoming. She could tell he was a little uneasy, and told him to go back upstairs, and she'd call him down when she was finished. Even though it felt a little weird to be ordered around by a houseguest, he did as he was asked. Ginger found some mail that looked like bills that hadn't been opened. She wasn't sure if they were important, so she called Adam. She explained what she was doing, and he congratulated her for getting Bradford to accept that his house needed cleaning. He said that any bills she found would be outdated; everything that needed paying was now sent to his office directly. He told her to gather all the old bills and junk mail into a trash bag; he'd call and have a shredding truck come by in the late afternoon. He also said that she deserved a reward for tackling the job, so he said that instead of sending her out shoe shopping with some money on Fogarty's debit card, he'd come and get her on Sunday and take her out himself, and they'd hit the designer shoe boutiques. Ginger accepted his offer. She'd just been expecting to go to Payless. The more things she hauled out of the room, the more things beneath the piles were revealed. The room was actually nicely furnished. She discovered a stylish loveseat and a lovely hand-carved coffee table. When she finally cleared the way to the far wall, she found that the room's original fireplace had been kept in excellent condition, with a modernized gas insert. But the biggest surprise was that hanging from the mantelpiece were two quilted Christmas stockings, nicely embroidered with the names "Helen" and "Brad." At first she thought that it was kind of sweetly romantic that he'd chosen to put up his dead wife's stocking for her. But then the scope of how much mail and papers she'd had to remove hit her, and she remembered that the accident had been on New Year's. It wasn't that he'd put up her stocking; he'd never taken it down. And as she cleared more of the room she found more Christmas decorations that had been left in the room for six years. There was a nutcracker on an end table, a pretty porcelain nativity set in the bay window, a snowman that danced and sang when you squeezed his mitten tucked beside a chair, and a dead poinsettia on a plant stand in the corner. Besides bills and advertisements, and catalogs from years ago, she also found some mail that looked personal, so she started making a pile off to the side. She wasn't sure how to sort unopened envelopes, so she went upstairs to find Fogey. He was sitting in his office reading a book. She apologized for interrupting, and then asked his permission to open his mail so she'd know what to do with it. He thought a moment and then told her to just throw it all away. She sighed and went back to work. She didn't like his request, so she felt free to reinterpret it. Sure, it would have been illegal for her to open his mail, but once he said to throw it out it became garbage, and TV detectives go through people's garbage all the time, so it must be okay. She categorized the personal mail into five little piles. One pile was Christmas cards, mostly from 2003 but a few from later years. Next there was a bunch of condolence cards and sympathy letters about Helen's death. Ginger got a little weepy reading all the lovely thoughts, and wondered if that many people would care if she were to die as suddenly. She hoped nothing happened to her before her name change went through; she'd hate to have a male name on her gravestone. She made a mental note to ask Adam if her parents could bury her as Jack anyway. The third pile was as uplifting to read as the last had been depressing. It was fan letters from little kids, sometimes addressed to "B.B. Fogarty," sometimes to his characters "Rusty and Scooter." Those were a lot of fun, especially the ones where the little kids sent in crayon drawings of their own version of the characters. The fourth pile was also about his books, but they were from grownups, usually his publisher asking for an update on his schedule. The last pile was the creepiest; it was for all the letters addressed to Helen. Ginger didn't feel comfortable opening those. She bundled up each of the four piles in twine and hid them under her bed until she found a better place to keep them. She almost ran out of time, as the shredding guy showed up before she was done sorting everything, but she finished by the time he was done with the newspapers. With all that paper out of the way, all that was left was an insane amount of dusting (with accompanying sneezing), a lot of vacuuming, and a liberal spraying of air freshener to kill the mustiness. She left up most of the Christmas decorations, since it was December after all, but she took down the stockings, so Fogey wouldn't be reminded too much of Helen. At first she just took down the one with Helen's name on it, but that made his look too lonely. She folded them up and put them in the linen closet in her bathroom, for lack of a better place. While in the bathroom, she saw in the mirror that she looked an absolute mess. So she showered and dressed in one of her own cami tops and a pair of Helen's jeans, and put on her gold hoops and a little makeup. She thought she looked casual and not too whorish. It was nice feeling like a regular girl. Fogarty was so engrossed in his mystery novel that he didn't notice when she came in. She softly walked right up to his chair, leaned down and called out, "Hey, Mr. Fogey!" He lifted his eyes from his book and found himself looking directly into her cleavage. She was also braless, and the contour of her nipples was evident beneath her top. Struggling to crane his neck and keep eye contact, he tried fruitlessly to regain his composure. She teased him for a little while longer, and then explained that she was ready to show him what she'd done. She followed him down the stairs, and put her hands over his eyes before the living room doorway came into view. He tried to ignore the breasts pressing into his back, but he knew they were there. On the plus side, it was almost enough to distract him from his woes. The room looked better than it had in years. He told Ginger he was impressed with her work. He commented that he'd almost forgotten his holiday decorations had been under there. She joked that she was half expecting to find a Christmas tree hiding in the corner. He told her that she'd have to clean the dining room to find that, and she wasn't sure if he was kidding. *** Adam came over after lunch on Sunday and was similarly pleased with Ginger's efforts. He told her that since she'd cleared out six years of clutter, it was worth six pairs of shoes. He drove her to a couple of different high-end shoe shops. Several hours and a few thousand dollars later, Ginger had a fancy new assortment of designer footwear. She was leery of getting so many expensive shoes, but he pointed out that is she was going to be raiding Helen's closet of name fashions, she'd look out of place with $50 shoes on her feet. She just shrugged and accepted his judgment. But when she was trying on an absolutely gorgeous pair of Manolo Blahnik boots, she glanced at the price tag and nearly fainted. A realization hit her, and she sat down in tears. Adam asked what was wrong. Between sobs she said that she shouldn't be wearing shoes that cost so much when she didn't know how she was going to afford her tuition for the next semester. The price of the boots was over half what she needed to come up with. He told her not to worry. He'd have to talk to Bradford about it, but he was pretty sure he'd be okay with lending her the money. They'd work out the details and sign some papers, but in the mean time, he'd make sure her school got the money to make sure she'd stay enrolled for the next term. Ginger was overjoyed and gave him a big hug and a kiss right there in the store. She thanked him, but asked why he wasn't concerned any more that she was some kind of gold digger. He said that she was definitely doing positive things for his friend, so even if she was only in it for the money it was more than worth it. She stuck her tongue out at him and pouted. Adam laughed and said he wasn't quite ready to let his guard down completely, but he didn't think a gold digger would have dealt with the messy living room herself - she'd have hired a maid. When she got home, she put most of her shoes into her closet, except the Jimmy Choo pumps Adam had told her to wear for their date with the judge. He'd gotten them an appointment the following afternoon, and she wanted to break them in a little ahead of time so she wore them around the house. She felt like dressing up for dinner so she changed into a pretty red dress and put on more mascara and eye shadow. She called Fogey into the kitchen and he told her she looked very nice, and even held her chair for her. While he stood there, she leaned into him, touched her hand to his cheek, and gave him a full kiss on the lips, with just a hint of tongue at the finish. He backed away from her as soon as he was able to think clearly. "Why did you do that?" She stepped towards him and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Because I think you're a great guy, and you deserve to be kissed." She briefly thought about kissing him again, but he was too rigid. "You've done so much for me: giving me a place to live, getting your lawyer to help me change my name, giving me all those new clothes, and now making sure I've got the money for my school. I just wanted to show my appreciation. You've pretty much taken care of everything I need, so I thought I'd do what I could to help you with your needs. I spent a lot of time spying on guys when they thought I was one of their own, so I know that this needs attention." She ran her other hand across the front of his pants, and she could tell that at least a part of him understood her meaning. "And I am ready and willing to attend to all of its needs." He had to push her away more forcefully. "Please, stop." He held up the back of his left hand and Ginger flinched. He realized what she was thinking too late. "Oh, no! I'm so sorry. I forgot your history. I wasn't going to hit you, honestly. I was just trying to show you my ring." He moved closer and took her into his arms for a warm hug. "Are we still friends?" She nodded and tried not to cry. "Okay. Friends is good enough, I guess." Her soft curves pressed against him were getting difficult to ignore, so he released her and went back to his chair. "Look, I appreciate what you were trying to do, but I never cheated on my wife when she was alive, and I'm not going to cheat on her memory now. These pork chops you made smell delicious, so can we please eat before it gets cold?" She sat down. "I'm not sure how it's cheating when the vows clearly state 'til death do you part,' but I guess I can let it go. I just really wish I could help you as much as you helped me." He gestured at the table. "This here is helping. You've been cooking excellent meals since you moved in, and the cleaning job you did today was incredible! You are really doing a lot for me." She swallowed a mouthful of mashed potatoes and then got a serious expression on her face. "But it just seems so superficial. Because of you, I'm out of my Dad's house so I don't live surrounded by fear all the time anymore. I guess I was just hoping that I could do something so that you didn't need to live surrounded by sadness, even if only for a little while." He gave her a half-hearted smile. "That's a sweet sentiment. Thanks but unless you can bring Helen back to life I don't think you can erase my sadness. She was my life, and without her I am incomplete." Ginger chewed her dinner in silence for a while before speaking again. "It's very romantic to have a love that strong. I hope some day someone loves me that much." "I'm sure that's likely. Any man would be lucky to have you. You're intelligent, sensitive, beautiful, and an excellent cook. This is really good!" He had nearly cleaned his plate. She blushed at his compliments. "Well, I can't take all the credit. You have a very well-equipped kitchen. If you're okay with me asking, was Helen a gourmet cook?" He gave a wistful sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose to hold back a tear. "No, it's fine. I'd love to tell you about her. I think she would have liked you." He gave a little chuckle, "But actually the chef in the family was me. She worked late hours, but I'd be home all day up in my studio, so I'd be the one cooking ninety percent of the time. Since I've been living alone, I just haven't had the energy to cook anything too ambitious." "You'll have to cook something for me sometime. I'm curious to taste what your artistic mind can create." She licked her lips, just a little flirtatiously. "What kind of work did she do? I know she had a lot of nice business suits." "She was a lawyer, but most of her clients couldn't pay much. She liked to champion the underdog. She worked for a non-profit. Most of her fancy wardrobe was paid for by Rusty and Scooter. She did love her clothes! But she'd give you the designer-label shirt off her back if she saw you were shivering, and think nothing of it." He closed his eyes and remembered her face. "She was a beautiful woman inside and out." "She sounds like a truly lovely person. There aren't enough of those in the world." Ginger thought about how unfair the world was that an asshole like her father got to live but this kind lady had to die. Bradford continued. "Why, even at the end she thought of others before herself." He sniffled as a tear rolled down his cheek. "After the crash, her last words to me were, 'Brad, are you all right?' She had a piece of steel poking through her abdomen, but her first instinct was to check on me. That's the kind of person she was." Ginger was weeping a little, too. "What were your last words to her?" He took a sip of his water and tried to keep his voice steady. "I think I said something like 'Yeah,' and then I passed out. The next thing I knew I was waking up at the hospital and they were telling me she didn't make it." Ginger couldn't help herself. She had to get up out of her chair and go hold him tightly. "That's just awful!" She felt really sorry for him. It seemed like he was still mourning Helen because he never really got any closure. He needed a chance to let her go. She let him cry in her arms for a while before she went back to her seat. "I don't think the Helen that you described would have wanted you to be alone forever." But he didn't feel like talking about it anymore and went up to bed early. *** The next day was a very busy Monday for Ginger. She began the day in boy clothes, went to four classes, then came home at lunch time and had to turn into a girl in less than an hour. She'd traded her ace bandage for one of Helen's sports bras, so at least releasing her boobs from their binding went faster. She took a quick shower just to wash the gel out of her hair, but she didn't have enough time for her usual red rinse, so she had to go see the judge as a brunette. She was still working on her makeup when the doorbell rang. Her roommate came downstairs and answered it, and then he and Adam went to fetch her. They both agreed that she looked very nice, and Fogarty added that any judge who couldn't see that she deserved to be treated as a woman was blinder than the statue of Justice outside the courthouse. She thanked him and gave him a little kiss on the cheek for luck. Ginger nearly freaked out when the guard at the security checkpoint before they could enter the courthouse asked to see ID, but then Adam was super-smooth and showed his special lawyer ID card and explained that she was with him, and they were there to address a problem with her identification. He signed them both in, and the guard let them pass. They just needed to run their bags through an X-ray machine to make sure they weren't carrying anything dangerous. They went up an elevator and down a hallway to a very government-looking room with a couple benches and a clerk behind a counter. Adam gave their names to the clerk and said they had an appointment with Judge Owens. She checked a clipboard and told them to have a seat. They had to wait on the bench for ten or fifteen minutes, but it felt like hours. A door in the side of the room opened and an older woman in a blue dress waved at them. Adam stood up and led Ginger to the door. The woman clasped his hand. "Adam, it's good to see you again!" She seemed friendly. Adam turned to his client. "Virginia, might I introduce Her Honor Judge Beryl Owens." Ginger was surprised. She'd thought this lady was just a secretary or something. Weren't judges supposed to wear robes all the time? She shook her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Your Honor." The judge showed them into her chambers, a big office decorated in heavy oak furniture. When the door was closed, she looked Ginger over. "I take it you are John L. Peters, junior?" Judge Owens caught the look of surprise in her eye. "Mr. Stone sent over all the paperwork on your case ahead of time. This seems fairly straightforward. You understand that even though you would now be legally allowed to refer to yourself as 'Virginia,' the laws of our state require your official sex to remain Male until such time as you've had gender reassignment surgery?" Ginger nervously replied, "Yes, ma'am, I mean, Your Honor," and did a half-curtsy. The judge let out a lithe laugh. "It's okay, honey. I'm not that scary." She signed one of the papers in several places. "Okay, this may take a few weeks to process, but once that's done your new name will be registered. Has Mr. Stone told you what you need to do next? You'll need to pay to run an announcement in the newspaper so that all your creditors will still be able to find you." Adam spoke up. "Your honor, we'd like to request that you waive the requirement to publish the announcement. I've got the papers here that show no outstanding debts. We believe that it would cause undue embarrassment to Ms. Peters' family." The judge nodded. "On the subject of her family, I understand you'd also like to take out a restraining order?" "Yes, your honor." Adam couldn't hide the disgust in his voice. "John L. Peters, senior has on numerous occasions gotten violent with his only child, and expressed strong homophobic tendencies. We feel that especially in light of Ms. Peters' transgendered nature, he poses a serious threat to her well-being." The judge looked Ginger in the eye. "You are accusing your father of having assaulted you, but I couldn't find any complaints on file. Why didn't you press charges against him?" Ginger shrugged. "I didn't think anyone would believe me over him. He's the upstanding citizen; I'm the twisted little pervert." Judge Owens signed the papers. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Honey. You're just made a little different from other girls. Don't ever let anyone make you think you have any less value than everyone else!" "Thank you, Your Honor." She had to fight to keep from doing another little curtsy. Adam wished the judge a merry Christmas and a happy new year, and they left the courthouse. Ginger had a couple errands she wanted to run before heading home, so she had him drop her off at a subway station.HHonor." " *** That night, Bradford had a strange encounter. He awoke in the middle of the night with the sense that he was not alone. He heard a whispering voice that he couldn't quite identify tell him not to turn on the light. The presence moved closer and whispered to him again, "Can you smell my perfume?" He closed his eyes and inhaled, filling his nostrils