Severance Pay (Chapters 7 Through 12 Of 78) free porn video

SEVERANCE PAY CHAPTER SEVEN I'm sure this feeling of being a Munchkin will eventually fade away but right now, it's as bad as ever. I can't even shop in the Young Adult section of the clothes store's for God's sake! Jessica ... I mean Mom, decided that the first thing we needed to do was buy me some clothes, since the only ones I had were what was at the lab. It turns out that I'm too small for the Young Adult clothes so I'm in the Junior's section. "What do you want from me ... Mom?" It grates on my nerves every time I call her 'Mom'. She's right, we need to start getting used to it, but it's still annoying. "I just want you to pick out some nice clothes Patricia, that's all." "I have. See?" I point to the small pile on the chair. "You've just got jeans, shorts and some t-shirt tops. You need something nicer than that." "You said the school has uniforms. What else do I need?" "You won't just be in school and at home. You need a complete wardrobe, like any young girl would have." "Aren't we supposed to be poor?" "No, not poor. More like temporarily lower middle class." "Then we should be shopping at Goodwill or other thrift stores." "We will, but shopping there is much harder than shopping in a Department Store. Here there's a wide selection of styles, fabrics and colors, you just need to pick something appropriate that you like. To shop for nice things at a thrift store, you need to be an experienced hunter. The choices are much more limited. You'll need to develop a real sense of style, an eye for a bargain, the ability to mix and match disparate items. If you can't handle a Department Store, you'll never handle Goodwill." I can't believe I'm saying this. "Why don't you just pick it for me?" I could end up looking like some kind of Barbie doll but that's almost better than shopping. "No self-respecting teenager willingly wears clothes bought by their mother. If they have a good relationship, they may shop together ... sometimes. Girls mostly shop with friends, something you'll likely need to do to avoid being ostracized by the other girls at school. Now go pick out a nice dress. I stomp off, heading down a long aisle of dresses on racks. Running my hand along the clothes, I can see that they are different styles and colors but they're all just ... dresses. I can't see why one is any better than another. It's like trying to read a foreign language. You recognize that there are different letters and words but you don't know what any of it means, it's all gibberish. When I reach the end of the row, I turn back to look at ... ugh, Mom and raise my hands in defeat. She waives her hand. "Look again." I sigh and turn back to the racks, looking closer this time as I work my way back the way I came. This is a complete waist of time, there is no way that ... okay, I like this color. It's more red than pink, think it's called 'Salmon'. I pull it from the rack and hold it up. "What about this one?" "It's pretty. What size is it?" I look at the label. CRAP! Too big. I stick it back on the rack and start to move on. "Don't be in such a hurry Patricia. Look around a bit. You might find the same dress in the right size." Pawing through the dresses, I see that there are several dresses the same Salmon color and same style. Looking closer, there's a size 2, Petite. "Here, I found one, let's go." "Try it on." "Aw come on! It's the right size." "Girl's sizes vary between manufacturers. You should also try on those jeans. The current style is skinny cut but you'll need at least one pair a little loser." "Why's that?" "For when you retain water." "Why would I retain water?" "Most girls do when it's ... you know ..." I still don't know what she's talking about and apparently she can see it on my face. "You know ... once a month." I shrug. She smiles at me. "Think about it for a bit." Swelling? Once a month? What would ... OH SHIT NO! "I can't ... but I'm not really ... can't I take something ... this isn't funny you know!" Mom is laughing at me. "The look on your face is priceless Patricia! What did you think would happen? You're a fertile young woman. It's all a part of the miracle of life." Miracle my ass! "No one said anything about having periods! I thought Thomas had done something about that!" "Like what? If you want to act like a real woman, you need to appreciate the full experience. If Thomas is correct, you have almost two weeks." Fucking great! I pick up the stack of jeans, throw the dress across the top and stomp off to the dressing room, Jessica following me. I scoot by the clerk and hurry into the dressing room, slamming the door behind me. "Is everything okay?" the clerk asks. "We're fine," Jessica answers. "Just a little ... PMS" she whispered, but it was loud enough for me to hear it. How the hell can I have PMS! How would she even know? What has Matthews told her that they haven't told me? I was feeling a little weird out there, guess it could be PMS, though I only know what I read about it. I hold up the dress in front of me. I don't know why I picked this one from all the other dresses out there. The color is nice, I had a shirt the same color several years ago, it was one of my favorites. That must be it. Still. There were other dresses the same color. Not the same color exactly, but close. There was that empire waist that was just a little redder and that cotton sheath a touch pinker. I hang the dress on the hook and start to undress. I'll just try it on, get this over with and go home. Bending over as I pull my shorts down my legs to the floor, I notice something on my back, barely sticking up above my panties. The room has several mirrors and this is the first time I've gotten a good look at my new body. I turn so that my back faces the main mirror and I pull the back of the panties down. It's a scrolling, frilly tattoo, about eight inches wide and two inches tall, V shaped, full of curlicues and loops, the point resting just above my ass crack. A tramp stamp. Why the fuck did she have to get a tramp stamp? How do I explain that? I better see if there are any other surprises. Removing the panties, I check out my ass and inner thighs. Thank God she didn't have work done on her pussy, no piercings. I lift the shirt off over my head and remove the bra, then slowly turn in front of the mirrors, lifting my hair off my neck. Can't see any more ink. I lift my hands to my breasts and carefully cup them. No bolts of lightning in my head this time. Stepping closer to the main mirror, I inspect the nipples. They're not pierced either, so it's just my tongue and two in each ear. Wait ... nothing in the nose either. That's a relief, now there is just one more ... Damn! Her belly button is pierced ... well, it could be worse. I step back to get a full view. I'm pretty well proportioned for someone my size, except for the above average rack. My legs are nicely shaped, strong thighs but not too muscular. Tight, round, full ass, smooth waist, good, strong, back and decent shoulders. I haven't got one of those supermodel long necks but it's not too short either. My face is ... oval, I guess. Not round but not square. Pretty chin, eyes nicely spaced, cute nose, particularly with the freckles. The hair could use some work. The color's okay but it's kinda stringy. Wonder what kind of shampoo and conditioner I've been using? My lips are not all plumped up, they're just normal lips but a real bright smile. When I smile, it's like my whole face lights up. That could be really useful. So could my boobs. Huh ... "my boobs". Too fucking weird. I'm startled by a knock at the dressing room door. "Patricia, what's taking so long?" CRAP! It's Mom. "I'll be out soon, just had some ... ahhh ... trouble with a ... zipper!" I quickly pull my panties back on and throw the dress over my head, pulling it down my body. Pausing to straighten my hair, I throw a smile at the mirror. Cute as a button. I step out of the dressing room. Mom is waiting right outside the door. "Now that is very nice Patricia, very nice indeed. What do you think?" "It's okay, the waist is a little loose." She reaches around the waist and gives a tug. "I hadn't noticed that, you're right. It's a shame, such a nice fit otherwise. I'll go and see if I can find something else ..." "Don't worry about it. It should be easy to fix. Split the seam on both sides, a little tuck and it'll be good." She gives me the eye. "What do you know about sewing?" I stop and think for a second, what DO I know about sewing? Nothing ... but if you look at the waist, it's obvious what needs to be done, how hard can it be, ya know? "Nothing Mom, but it should be easy. Split the seam right here a few inches, pull it taught and sew it up again. Problem solved." "We don't have a sewing machine." We don't? What self-respecting woman doesn't have a sewing machine? "I'm sure we can find one somewhere. We've still got to buy furniture yet, right? There's bound to be one at the Salvation Army, or Goodwill. Let's buy this stuff and get going." "Not yet, young lady. There is still the shoe department and then lingerie. You need at least a dozen more bras and panty sets, better fitting than the one you're wearing ..." She gives me the eye again. "Are you wearing your bra?" I blush. "No, but I was just ..." "You march right back in there and get dressed!" "Yes, Ma'am." We end up spending another two hours shopping for clothes. The fitting for the bra was the most embarrassing. The clerk took a bunch of measurements; turns out I'm a 34 DD. Pretty nice for someone only five feet tall and ninety five pounds. Right? Then she had me try on a bunch of different styles and fabrics, pinching and pulling each one. You think it'd be fun having your boobs mauled like that, but it wasn't ... trust me. I'm pretty sure Mom never stopped smiling the whole time. Eventually we bought twelve matching sets, different colors and fabrics. I was wearing the yellow satin set and the dress when we got to the shoe area. I had to admit, they felt a whole lot better than the stuff I wore into the store, the fit was much better, the support great, no boob bulge at all. We bought three pairs of saddle shoes, which are the basic shoes for St. Ann's school uniform. The clerk knew exactly what we needed; apparently they're the official supplier or something. I also got some running shoe's and cross trainer's for gym and some loafers for just regular wear. I was hoping we were finally done, but no such luck. "These are very cute, they'd go perfectly with that dress." "Mother, those are at least 3" heels! You know I've never ..." I look around the room, then drop my voice "... never worn heels before and I'm not about to start now." "Your dress requires a shoe with some kind of heel." "No, it doesn't." I walk over to a floor display. "These flats work perfectly well." "Why don't you try both on and we'll see what looks the best?" I want to argue with her but, somehow, I can't seem to muster up the energy. It's been a long day and she's probably worn me down. Still, I'd given in on the dress and the lingerie, I wasn't going to cave on the shoes. "No. No heels. I'm not some God Damn ..." "Patricia Taylor Conner! You will not use that kind of language ever again in my presence. Do you understand me?! EVER!" She's right, I screwed up. I'd been thinking like that all day but had managed to keep from actually saying it out loud. Saying stuff like that breaks character, which could be bad news for all of us. Even if she's right, I still hate to apologize. "Alright ... Mother. I am sorry and I understand. I won't say ... things like that again." She smiles at me. "That's my girl." She holds out the heels. "Now let's give these a try, okay?" I scowl at her. 'That's my GIRL.' How far is she going to push this? I've been playing nice all damn day and she wants more?! I start to protest but it dies on my lips. I reach out and take the heels from her, then sit down to change shoes. I do the flats first. As I walk around the shoe area, I twist and turn slightly, in an exaggerated feminine style. "See, these flats work perfectly fine." I step right next to her and look up into her face. God! I am so small! "Don't you agree?" "The flats are fine but now try the heels." I sit back down, remove the flats and carefully slip on the heels. There are no laces but there are a couple of ankle straps. I tighten them as much as possible, take a deep breath, then gingerly stand up. No wobbles. So far, so good. I take a couple of tentative steps. Fairly stable. I'm careful to use a heel-toe step. I'm sure that I read somewhere that heel-toe was the best and most lady-like. "Very good, very graceful. You're doing fine Patricia!" I don't feel fine, but so far, I haven't stumbled and snapped an ankle. After a few additional steps, I'm more confident. It's not exactly easy or second nature but it's not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. After completing the same course as I did with the flats, I again step right next to Mom and look up at her. WOW! I don't feel nearly as short! It's only 3" but it feels like a foot! I can't look her in the face or anything but it's a big difference. I could get used to this! She looks at me smugly. "Was I right?" I step away and check them out in the angled mirror near the chairs. My legs do look fantastic! All long and sexy. Maybe not exactly long ... but certainly longer and certainly sexy. I lift the hem of my dress slightly. "Do they have anything taller?" * * * *** * * * *** * * * We get back to Jessica's apartment after 6:00 pm that day. After shopping for clothes, we went to check out the house Daniel had rented for the "Conners" to live and then had done some furniture shopping at a number of second hand stores. We found a lot of neat stuff that will fit exactly with our cover. There was even a used industrial style Singer sewing machine with all the extras. Fixing this dress will be a piece of cake. I struggle with all the bags of clothes while climbing the stairs in my 4" heels. I'd have bought higher ones but Jessica insisted I get used to these before going any higher. 5" heels will be so awesome! It takes three trips but we finally get everything inside. The furniture we bought will be picked up and put in storage until we're ready to move in. I flop onto the couch, kick off the shoe's and rub my feet. They don't actually hurt, but it feels good to get them off. I'm gonna miss those extra 4" though. Mom sits down in the upholstered chair next to the couch, setting her purse next to her. "How do you feel Patricia?" "Fine. I'll need to wear those heels more to break them in but they'll probably be okay. I'd like to get some boots though, better ankle support. 5" heels in boots should be no problem at all." "No, I meant how do you feel about yourself, how do you think the day went, do you feel more comfortable now?" "I guess so. I don't feel much different, I'm still me, no real mental changes as far as I can tell. How do you think it went?" "Disastrously." I sit up on the couch. "Huh? We may have had a couple of arguments but that's only natural. We haven't had a chance to get to know each other yet, work on our rhythm as a team. We'll get there." She reaches into her purse and removes a small rectangular pad, about the size of a 3?" floppy disk but ?" thick. She hands it to me. It has a display with several buttons. The display shows the number twenty five. And it's pink. "Is this the Cerebral Balancer?" "Yes, it is. I had to push it all the way to twenty five Pink to get you to remotely cooperate with me, and you still fought me at that level." "Who the hell said you could fuck with my head?!" "You said you wouldn't use that kind of langua ..." I jump up from the couch and lean towards her. "FUCK YOU BITCH! What the hell gives you the right to screw with my head, out in public no less, without even warning me?!" I toss the remote at her, which she catches. "Partners don't do that kind of shit to each other! Partner's trust each other! Anything could have happened today! I might have died! For all you know ..." She pushes a button on the control and I can't talk anymore. I sit back down on the couch, folding my skirt beneath me as I do, back straight, hands folded in my lap. Mother stands up, sits down next to me on the couch and shows me the display on the remote. It reads fifty Pink. "Do you know what this means Patricia?" "Yes Mother." I heard my voice say that but it didn't come from my mind. My mind told her to go fuck herself. "What does it mean Patricia?" "It means that my programming is almost one hundred percent in control of my body while I can tap into Mr. Harris' subconscious mind, as needed." "Can Mr. Harris hear me?" "Yes Mother, he can." Damn fucking straight he can hear you. He can also beat the living crap out of you once he gets control of this body again and that's a promise. "Good. Four years ago, my husband Robert and daughter Alisha were killed in a drive-by shooting by a group affiliated with Raymond Hobbes." "That's horrible Mother! I'm so sorry! Is there anything I can do?" There she goes again, talking without me. "Thank you but, no Patricia, there's nothing you can do ... at least not yet." "How did it happen, Mother?" "They had the wrong address. They were looking for a rival drug dealer and came to our house instead. The morons confused North 28th Street with South 28th Street. "What happened to the murderers?" This should be good. "Nothing." "How is that possible?" Money and influence, that's how little girl. "Everyone who was a witness was either bought off or scared off." There's that too. "There also was some vital evidence which disappeared from the police evidence room. Ultimately all charges were dropped and all of them eventually left the country. All of this thanks to Raymond Hobbes." "So ... Mr. Hobbes didn't actually kill anyone." Ooooohhh, not the right thing to say, kid! "No, he didn't. He just made sure that the people who did kill my husband and beautiful, wonderful, daughter got away scott free. I can't find them, and believe me, I've spent a lot of money with private detectives looking for them, but I can find him, and it is now time for him to pay." "How is he going to pay, Mother?" "With your help and Mr. Harris' help, we are going to bring him down, destroy his empire, and put him in jail for the rest of his life. I'd kill him if I could ... but I don't think ... it's just not ... I've never ..." "I understand, but I don't think Mr. Harris is likely to help, he's very angry with you right now." She can feel that? "I'm not surprised. Mr. Harris seems to be angry most of the time, at one thing or another. Unfortunately, he is my best chance at getting justice for my murdered family, so I plan to prod and test him until he can do what is necessary to succeed." "And what is that?" "He's going to have to be able to open himself up to you and let you influence his thoughts and behavior willingly, yet still maintain control of his own capabilities." "That sounds difficult, Mother. Why not let me take care of it for you?" Yeah MOM, let little Patty do this for you. I see her hand reach out towards my face and feel it touch my cheek with the palm. I try to pull back but can't ... though I thought I felt just a little bit of a flinch right before she touched me, maybe it's my imagination. "I know that you would try your best Patricia, but there is just too much of ... you ... at this setting. You are too young and innocent to accomplish this by yourself. As much as I hate to admit it, Daniel is right. We need Harris' experience, his instincts, his guile, for our plan to work. So for us to succeed, I must succeed in persuading Mr. Harris to willingly behave like a teenage girl." "I'll do what I can to help you, both of you, Mother. You know that, right?" "Yes, I do." She leans in closer, her hand still on my ... our ... cheek. "You don't look anything like her, but when we talk ... when you have someone else's mind to work with ... you're so much like her." "How could I not be like her, you did most of the programming, didn't you?" "Thomas did the actual work but mostly at my direction. He had no idea what to do; he just knew how to do it. I still can't believe that he added that ... disgraceful, disgusting subroutine. I'll get it removed as soon as possible Patricia." "Don't bother. Who knows, I may need it some day." "Don't say that!" I hear myself giggling, then laughing. She's got a nice laugh, surprisingly full and hearty for such a small person. I can also ... feel the laugh, not just the physical sensations but there's a sense of ... lightness around me. I'm not happy, but I feel less pissed off. It's probably that sob story Jessica told about her dead family. Patty moves in towards Jessica, kisses her on the cheek, then primly settles back onto the couch. "I'm just kidding mother, you know I'm not that kind of girl. He's ready to listen to you now. Just try to get along together, okay?" "I'll try if he will." Jessica picks up the controller and pushes some buttons. Patricia fades away, leaving me back in charge. I look down at my hands, flexing my fingers and turning my wrists. I look up at ... mom. Huh, must not be in total control. She looks back at me, her face tense, concerned, the remote still in her hand. "Are we going to have any trouble?" I don't answer right away. Taking a quick inventory, I feel like I'm back all the way, fully me, but I didn't notice much difference when she had me at Twenty five Pink. "Show me" I say. She turns the controller so that I can see the display. It's Forty Blue. "All the way, then we talk." She hits a couple of more buttons and flips it in her hand so that I can read it. Fifty Blue. I honestly can't say that I can tell the difference but I'm not telling her that. If I did, it would never be Fifty Blue again. "Good. I'm sorry about your husband and kid. It had to be rough for you." "Rough? Rough?! Is that all you can say?" "Hey! You promised her you'd try to get along. I'm trying here!" "You heard that?" "Of course I did ... every word." She looks embarrassed when I say that. "It's not like I haven't lost people too ya know. My Dad died of cancer and my Mom in a car accident. I've had partners killed too. Life's a tough business, shit happens. You just gotta' ..." "Don't say I have to 'move on'." "Okay. I won't ... but you do." "What do you know about grief? Pain? It's expected that you'll outlive your parents but not your child and not shot down in front of you." She didn't mention that. Crap, no wonder she's so screwed up. "Look, I can't say I know how you feel cause I don't and frankly, I hope I never know how you feel. But I can tell you that you can't go into this thing hating your target." "What are you talking about?" "I'm saying that when you go undercover to infiltrate some group, you can't start out hating them because it'll never work. You're gonna spend weeks, months with these people day in, day out. If you hate them, they'll know it. Sooner or later, you'll slip. Doesn't matter how good you are, you'll slip. If they're smart enough to catch it, you're dead. End of story." "Are you saying you liked all the people you caught?" "Yeah, most of them. Your average crook is just like you and me, they got parents, families, friends, kids, hobbies. Hell, some of them go to church, regularly confessing their sins, then go right back out and do it all over again." "That hardly seems admirable." "No, it's not, but it's human. Crooks are people too ... just with a different sense of morality. When you're undercover, you want them to be your pal, to trust you, talk to you, to tell you those secrets they haven't told anybody else. They gotta like you ... and you gotta like at least something about them. There was this guy, Benny, a stone cold killer. Benny had this really dry sense of humor, cracked me up all the time. I loved hanging out with the guy and he loved being with me because of all the laughing I did. By the time that job was done, he'd told me of at least fifteen guys he'd croaked on orders from ... let's say the target cause it hasn't been that long ago. It damn near killed me to turn Benny in, but I did ... damn near killed him too. He turned on the guy, went into witness relocation last I heard, but he never forgave me. And I don't blame him, I wouldn't either." "It was your job to catch these people, to bring them to justice." "Undercover work is dirty work and it's not for everyone. You may find that sometime before we're done, you may have to be friendly with Hobbes. If I'm gonna try to be his daughter's friend, you may need to be his friend ... or at least attend school events together." "That will never happen, besides, the daughter is the target." "Hobbes is the ultimate target and there is no way to predict how this will all work out in the end. You have to be ready for almost anything." I lean forward, towards mothe ... Jessica, forearms on my thighs. "It's lonely, ugly work. The friends you make while under you'll likely end up betraying and your friends on the force won't trust you because you've been spent too much time with the enemy. The better you are at the job, the less the other cops trust you. They may seem like your best buddies and give you the occasional medal or award for a good job but, deep down, you make them uncomfortable because you're doing something they couldn't do, something they can't understand. They'll be happy as hell to use you ... but you're sure as hell not on their Christmas card list. You may be testing me but I'm also testing you. We don't do this until we're BOTH satisfied that the other can do the job." I sit up and stick out my right hand. "Agreed?" "Why is that necessary?" I drop my hand. "Because if either of us fucks up, we're both probably dead. I'm not gonna do this If I can't trust you and your not gonna do it unless you trust me. We're in this together, like it or not." "What about Thomas and Daniel?" "If we go down, they'll probably go down too, but we're the ones taking the biggest risk, we're the ones on the front line." "You mean you're taking the biggest risk." "No, it's the same for both of us; you're just as far behind enemy lines as I am. My job may be tougher, but it's both our asses on the line." A thought suddenly occurs to me. "In fact, if all this works out right, you'll be in worse shape than I will." "And how is that?" "Because I go back to being an old man, win, lose or draw. You stay the same. If someone comes looking for a teenage girl to take vengeance on for ratting Hobbes out, I won't be in there anymore. I'm back home in my rocking chair. You, on the other hand, don't have that option. You'll have to hide, maybe for a long time to come, even if this works, particularly if this works. Just cause Hobbes is in jail doesn't mean he can't get you ... and he'll have lots of time to think of ways to do it. In my case, he'll be looking for the wrong person." "What if you have to testify in Court? He'll know who you are then." "There's no way Daniel will put me up on the stand in front of a jury. How the fuck does he explain it? This old guy you see before you pretended to be a teenage girl and these idiots bought it? No jury would believe how it was done. I'm in here and I've still got some doubts that it's all a dream, ya know? I've got a sneaking suspicion that what we're doing isn't exactly kosher, from a legal stand point, but I think he's figured out a way to still use the info we get. I'll say this for Daniel Lipscomb, he's not your usual Federal Department of Justice attorney, he's got balls." "I'm not doing this unless we can get some usable evidence." "There's no guarantee I'll even get me foot through the front door. This is all a crap shoot. We may do everything perfectly and still have a dry hole." "Dry hole?" "It's an oil drilling term. You drill the hole but don't find any oil. It's another word for failure." "You seem to have taken a big risk Mr. Harris for such small chances for success." I smile at her. "Call me Patricia, or Patty if you like. You're right, but I like the odds. If this works, I'm pretty sure we'll find something that'll make it worth our while. The whole idea is so fucking crazy, no one would ever think to make a plan to stop it from happening. It's really brilliant." "If you can play your part, that is." "Yeah, that's true, and I'm willing to try ... if someone will just explain how the hell I'm supposed to do it! It's not like I've got a lot of experience sharing a body with another ... person, I guess. As far as I know, no one else has any experience either. If you've got an Owners Manual, I'll be happy to read it." "Daniel said it should be easy, at least it was for him." "Well then, maybe we need to talk with him. Before we do, I want to get some ground rules established." "What kind of ground rules." "About that thing." I point to the controller in her hand. She reflexively pulls it back towards herself. "Such as?" "I want some time every day at this setting, Fifty Blue. I'll need at least an hour or so everyday to just be me. It can be at night or the morning, but I'll need that time to get off the clock." "That sounds reasonable. Anything else?" "Yeah. I want it to stay at Fifty Blue when I sleep. I don't want any crazy shit sneaking into my head while I'm not awake to know it." "That shouldn't be a problem, though I'm not sure what kind of protection that gives you. I've never discussed that particular issue with Thomas. Is that it?" "No. One more thing, and this is the most important. No changing those settings without warning. I want a say in what's going on up here." I tap the side of my head with my right index finger. "That may not be possible. Part of my responsibilities is to evaluate how you behave at different settings. If you know what those settings are, it my skew the data." She could be right about that. "Alright. I'll give that one to you while we're still testing, but once we start the actual job, no changes without notice." She reaches forward, offering me her hand. "That sounds acceptable." I take her hand in mine. Jeez! I can barely reach around her fingers. "Deal. Partner." We shake on it. "Let's call Lipscomb." * * * *** * * * *** * * * "I thought you said it wouldn't be any problem, Daniel." "I did say that, Jessica. A man with Peter's skill and training should have no problem tapping the resources available to him." "But you said that you did it yourself." "Well, to be technical Jessica, I said that I could feel the influence on my mind. I didn't seek it out; it was more like an assault. Not particularly pleasant as I recall. It was everything I could do to keep from being overwhelmed. Thomas made some adjustments to the Cerebral Balancer and everything was fine, particularly at Fifty Blue." "How far did you go?" "I believe I topped out at Thirty five Blue." "Daniel, you should have told me about this! This is vital information!" "I'm sure that you and Peter can work all this out between the two of you. He has a very extraordinary record of achievement, quite impressive. How far did you go on the Balancer?" "Fifty Pink, but that was just to prove a point. He operated at Twenty five Pink and was still subconsciously fighting me hammer and tong." "Really! Twenty five Pink! Are you sure the Balancer was working? Perhaps Thomas should ..." "I already had him check it out. Both mine and the back-up are performing as designed." "I'm afraid I can't be of much help. Thirty Five Blue was my limit." "Peter will be very unhappy to hear this and frankly, I'm very disappointed in you Daniel. You can play lawyer all you want and weasel out of what you led me to believe but this is not a court room Daniel, this is a very dangerous game Patricia and I are about to start." "It is dangerous for all of us Jessica." "That may be true, but it is Patricia and I who will be at the pointy end of the stick, if something goes wrong, we'll get it first. It's not helpful if you're not being completely forth coming." "I'm sorry if you think that I was intentionally misleading you. I was just expressing my confidence in Peter's abilities. Is there anything else?" No, there's not. I'm not sure that I'd believe him even if there was. "No, not for the moment." "Make sure you keep me apprised of your progress. We need to move as quickly as possible." "We'll move when I say she is good and ready, and not a moment sooner, you do remember that was our agreement?" "Certainly Jessica, I defer to your expertise, I just wanted speed to be a factor in deciding how and when we start. Will that be a problem?" "I have no idea now; we'll be starting practically from scratch thanks to you. I'll let you know. Good-bye". I push the button on my cell phone terminating the call. Sometimes I miss the satisfaction of slamming down the receiver of an old style phone. It could be quite cathartic. "What'd he say?" asks Patricia. I turn to look at her hopeful face. I simply can't call her a "he" or some other masculine name or pronoun. I know that Peter Harris is the dominant personality, at least at this setting, but her appearance and sound is all female. Once Peter joined her, Patricia became alive again, just as she had been with Daniel. The addition of another personality lets her become fully aware and functioning. It's just extraordinary to see it happen. Too bad it's a male personality. "Not a great deal ... and none of it good." "What's that mean?" "It seems that Daniel was not completely truthful, or at least completely clear about his time in the Construct." "Guess I'm not surprised, he is a lawyer after all. Where does that leave us?" "Mostly on our own." "Fucking great." "It's not quite that bad. I did learn a number of things from our past trial." "Such as?" "Such as, if you saw the benefit of something, you accepted it quite quickly, like those high heeled shoes." "Wait a second, you said the control was at Thirty Pink or something like that when you had me try on those shoes. I'd never had done it if I'd had any say in it." "You had quite a lot of say in it. You were still arguing with me about it until you had a chance to experience life 3" further from the floor, then I could hardly stop you. Remember, you wanted boots with 5" heels." He actually blushed when I reminded him about his acceptance of the heels. He would not react that way if his wearing of the heels were completely compulsory. There was some willing acceptance at one level or another. "If you believe that something Patricia has, some knowledge, some insight, some influence, is helpful, you're more willing to accept it. Tell me right now, no lying or playing macho games ... will you wear heels again?" "If I have to." "Is that all? Remember, this is important, I need the truth." She looked away from me, grimacing, then glanced back at me after a few seconds. "Alright, fine. I did enjoy wearing them. You have no idea what it's like being so short! I mean, I'm only five feet tall for God's sake." "You're actually four feet ten inches." "That's practically the same as five feet!" "If you say so. Regardless, you saw the benefit of the heels and willingly wore them. You're correct, it likely would not have happened at Fifty Blue, so we have one example of Patricia's influence." "Okay, but you had to suggest it. How do I access her when I need her?" She had a good point. I won't always be around to prod her. We need to come up with some way for her to access more of Patricia's side of the brain without pushing the Cerebral Balancer too far into the Pink. "Have you ever tried meditation?" * * * *** * * * *** * * * I'm sitting on the floor in the spare bedroom at Jessica's apartment, surrounded by all the things we bought while out shopping, the underwear, the dress, the shoes, everything. I can remember how I felt trying them all on, how I was first reluctant and then I gave in and actually started to feel comfortable. Not enjoying it, but it didn't weird me out or anything. It's weirding me out right now, remembering how it felt. It's also weirding me out that I can look at all this stuff and think about wearing it again and it not bother me. I don't need to wear the dress but, if I have to, that's fine. Mom, crap, Jessica told me she'd leave the setting on Fifty Blue while I tried the meditation stuff, at least the first time. I've been sitting here for at least an hour, just trying to clear my mind, but it's hopeless. Every time, I keep coming back to the damn shoes. I actually liked wearing them, I still want to wear them. Is this permanent? When I go back to my old body, am I going to be a cross dresser? Lipscomb said I'd be able to go back and be right as rain but I know there have been changes in my mind, I can feel them. And it's been less than a day. What happens after a week? Two weeks? A month? Six months? How much of me will be left? Someone knocks on my door. "Yeah?" "It's me." I pop up off the floor, pushing my self into the air just by quickly flexing my thighs and back, then landing on my feet. God Damn! I'd never have been able to do that in my old body, even when I was young. I didn't even think about it, I just did it, easy as that. Was this what Thomas was talking about, the Lizard Brain? What other surprises are there? I open the door. Mom's standing there. "Are you okay? I thought I heard something fall." "No, I was just sitting on the floor, trying to meditate." "You don't have to sit on the ground, you can do it wherever you're comfortable." "Doesn't matter, it wasn't working anyway. I couldn't clear my head." "Well, it was just an idea. Meditation doesn't come naturally; you need to practice, often for years." "We haven't got years." "I know, I said it was just an idea. It's late, why don't you go to bed, get some rest, and we'll start fresh tomorrow? It's been a busy day." "You're telling me." I sigh. "Yeah, sleep sounds good." "There's a nightshirt in the bottom drawer of the dresser next to the bed. You're welcome to use it until we buy you something better." Like a black silk negligee? "That's fine, I'll see you in the morning. Is it still set on Fifty Blue?" "Yes, just as we agreed. Goodnight Patricia." "Goodnight ... Mother." She smiled when I said that. She's got a nice smile. Wonder why I never noticed it. Probably because she doesn't smile much. She closed the door and I stripped off my clothes, hanging them on the chair at the foot of the bed. When I pull the nightshirt from the drawer, it's clear that it's too large. Better get used to that kind of thing. After dropping it over my head, I climb into bed, pulling the covers around me. It only takes a couple of minutes for me to fall asleep. * * * *** * * * *** * * * "Yo! Chucky! Wake up dumbass!" Startled, my eyes fly open. I'm sitting in a car, parked outside a warehouse. It's the dead of night. It takes a couple of seconds for me to recognize where I am. Outside the old Beezo Company warehouse down by the docks. Except it doesn't look so old. It looks like it did ... thirty years ago. I'm sitting next to Tommy Flannigan in the cab of an old panel van. This is the first solo undercover job I ever did. What the hell is going on? "Come on Chucky my boy" he says as he opens the driver side door. "We can't keep our friends with the guns waiting, they might get nervous ... which would be bad for us all." He looks just like I remember him, a big, red-headed mick, large head, thick neck and hands that could crush walnuts. We're here to buy guns for the IRA in Northern Ireland ... at least that's what we were doing thirty years ago. What the fuck are we doing today? I look around, there's only the two of us at the dock. There's also a couple dozen cops in the warehouse next door, ready to spring into action when I give the high sign. The wire is digging into my crotch. The plan is that we go into the Beezo warehouse, meet the sellers, do a little business, the money changes hands, I say the code word "crackerjack", the troops come storming in and arrest everybody. We catch an IRA gun runner and his U.S. organization, his U.S. donors, the scum bags selling the guns, plus confiscate a lot of money and firepower. At least that was the plan back then. Things didn't work out so well. Tommy shuts his door and quickly walks to the loading dock, leaving me trailing behind. I leap out of the passenger side of the cab and hurry to catch up but he's already jumped up on the dock by the time I reach him. "Hold up Tommy!" I hiss. "Now don't you be having second thoughts, Chucky. We need to do this now. I can feel the long arms of John law drawing closer. We got a tight schedule and I mean to keep it." He strolls through the open bay door onto the warehouse floor. It's too late for me to stop him now. I jump up onto the loading dock and follow him. There's four other guys on the floor, along with a panel truck like ours. There's also two guys up on the walkway above us, armed with AK 47's. I didn't know about them last time until too late. Unfortunately, neither Tommy nor I are packing ... his idea, didn't want to scare the sellers. The biggest of the bunch approaches us and Tommy just smiles and raises his arms, waiting for the inevitable pat down. The guy does a quick, half-assed job, looking for weapons. After he finishes with Tommy, he moves over to me. I also raise my arms, holding them straight out from my shoulders. He does the same search on my, luckily spending little time on my crotch, missing the wire. I've found that one guy rarely gives another guys' junk a thorough search. He grunts when he's done with me and motions for us to come in. Tommy's all smiles and Irish friendship. He was one of the nicest criminals I ever met. We worked together for months before this night. I was trying to think of some way to stop this deal and get us both out of there alive but he was moving too fast. He'd already handed over the money and the sellers were quickly unloading the crates from the back of the van. Tommy slides up next to me and slaps me on the back. "Aren't they a crackerjack bunch of lads, Chucky?" I forgot. That's what happened last time. He said the code word and the team moved too early. We wanted everybody back in the van, not spread out on the floor. The other cops come streaming in, ordering everybody to drop their guns. Yeah. Right. The sellers start firing wildly, including the two idiots on the catwalks. The cops shoot at anything that moves. I immediately dive for cover behind a stack of boxes but catch a round in the leg. Tommy's ducked behind a fork truck, about thirty feet from me. "Are you alright Chucky?" he shouts above the gunfire. "No! I've been hit!" "Is it bad? We've got to get out of here my boy!" "No, I'm okay. You ..." just then, one of the cops runs over to me, grabs me by the collar of my coat and starts to drag me back to their lines. "Come on Sergeant Harris! Let's go!" A really brave thing to do, unfortunately, he broke my cover. I could see Tommy's face as I was being pulled away. He knew that I was the one who had betrayed him. He quickly looked around and found a .45 that had been dropped by one of the sellers who had been shot. He crouched behind the fork truck and fired at me. He hit the cop pulling me, who dropped to the ground, letting go of me. Tommy fired a second time, missing but the action stayed open, he was out of ammo. Dropping the gun, he charged out from behind the fork truck, red faced, screaming profanities at me. Reaching around the downed cop, I managed to find the pistol in his leg holster, pull it, roll over onto my back and fire at Tommy. His head exploded. * * *** * * * *** * * * I sat up in the bed, breathing rapidly, the nightshirt cold and clammy from my sweat. There was a pounding at the door. "Patricia! Patricia! Are you alright?! Patricia!" "I'm okay, I'm okay. Hang on a minute." I wait a few seconds until I can calm my breathing, then carefully get out of bed. My legs are a little shaky, so I wait until I'm sure I won't fall on my ass then go to the door and unlock it. Mom throws it open, bends down and hugs me. "What was wrong? You were screaming about killing someone. You had me scared to death!" "It was just a dream ... nothing serious." I start to push her away, then stop. I actually do feel better, safer, with her holding me like this. She pulls back a little so that she can see my face in the light from the hallway. "Do you want some warm milk? Hot chocolate?" "No, I'm ... I'm ... uuuhhhh ... yeah ... hot chocolate would be okay." She lets me go but keeps a grip on my right hand, leading me into the kitchen and onto a chair, only letting go when I'm settled into the chair. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk. "What happened? Did you have a nightmare?" "No ... it was just a dream ... nothing serious." She walks over to me, placing her hand on my shoulder. "Honey, you need to tell me the truth. This could be related to the transfer. I need to know everything." I take a deep breath, then sigh. "Fine. Yeah it was a nightmare, a really vivid one." "What was it about?" "It was one of my first long term, deep undercover jobs. The Irish Republican Army gun runners sting. We were just getting ready to spring the trap and everything went to hell. I couldn't stop it, even though I knew exactly what was going wrong. I tried to call it off, warn Tommy, but no matter what I did, everything happened just like it did thirty years ago. Tommy died." "Was Tommy your partner?" "No, he was the IRA man." "So why were you trying to stop it? Wasn't that what your objective was?" "NO! We wanted to catch them, not kill them! Catching Tommy was bad enough, but shooting him ... he had a wife and two kids ya know ... really cute kids ... and he loved them all so much." "Apparently not enough to stop being a criminal." "It's not like that. That's all Tommy knew, it was his life. He'd been in the IRA since he was just a kid. His Dad before him and his grandfather before that, though it wasn't the IRA back then. Either way, the family had a history. Tommy was a good guy, loyal, friendly, generous ..." "Terrorist." "One man's freedom fighter is another man's terrorist." "Surely you didn't approve of what he did?" "No ... but I understood it. I was still ready to bring him in ... but not kill him." She sits down next to me. "OH MY! You didn't say that you ..." "Shot him in the head? Yeah, I sure as hell did. It was him or me. The Board said it was a clean shooting ... even gave me a medal, though it wasn't a public ceremony, naturally." "Why not a public ceremony?" "Cause I was staying undercover." "Of course." "That was the first time I'd ever shot anyone, and it had to be Tommy, of all people. I'd been to his house, ate dinner with his family for God's sake! We used to go out drinking and close the bar down!" I start to cry. It had been years since I'd thought of that night and, even then, hadn't cried about it. Now, I couldn't stop bawling. Mom slides her chair next to mine, reaches over and hugs me. "That's okay sweetie, that's okay. Let it all out." It takes me at least three minutes to get control again, Mom gently rocking me the whole time. She lets go when I'm down to sniffling. "Do you often have nightmares about it?" "No, that's the weird part. I haven't thought about it for years ... well I've thought about it but it's not been a problem or anything. And I don't usually have nightmares ... at least if I do, I don't remember them." She stands up and walks over to the stove. "We'll speak to Thomas about it in the morning; we're scheduled for a check up anyway. For now, we'll have that hot chocolate and see if that helps." "Thanks, that'll be good ... particularly if you've got a shot of bourbon to go with it." She turns towards me, smiling and shaking here finger. "No alcohol for you, young lady." "Awwww Mom." CHAPTER EIGHT Matthews is hovering over me with some strange device while I'm stretched out flat on an examination table. Mom's sitting in a chair against the wall. Lipscomb's not here today, he's got some kind of meeting at the office. He told Mom that he's maintaining his regular schedule to avoid any suspicion, which is a good idea. The man covers his bases. So, why do I feel relieved that he's not here? I mostly like the guy, a bit of a golden boy for my tastes but he works hard. He's easily the most aggressive prosecutor I've ever run into, which is a point in his favor, and he's willing to do what it takes to get this job done, which is about ten points in his favor. However, since the transfer, I feel ... uneasy ... around him. I can't put my finger on it and there's nothing I can think that he did or said to explain it, but there's just this tiny, little, feeling in the back of my mind. It's probably nothing, part of the adjustment process. Matthews puts his mechanical thingy down. "Everything checks out one hundred percent, even better than Daniel at this point. How do you feel?" "Fine, fine, no problems." "Now don't say that, Patricia. Tell him about the dreams." "You call him Patricia?" "I call her Patricia because that is her name. We need to stay in character at all times." Matthews turns to me. "What do you call her?" "Mother or Mom, what else?" He smiles at that. "Very interesting, though not as interesting as your dreams eh?" "You knew about that and didn't warn me?" "I thought that I'd let it be an enjoyable surprise side effect." "Enjoyable?" said Mom. "Patricia had the most horrible nightmare last night." "Actually, there were three." I said. "I had two more after going back to bed. They weren't as bad as the first, but they were bad enough." "Oh Patricia, why didn't you wake me?" "What were you going to do about it? You needed your sleep and I knew we were coming here today." "I don't understand," said Matthews. "Daniel never had nightmares. His dreams were all positive, reliving some of his most erotic experiences, in great detail if he is to be believed." "Wonderful. I get sleepless nights full of terror and Golden Boy gets porn. How long does this last?" "I can't be certain. Daniel is still having them, though not as frequently, and his transfer was over three months ago. And they weren't the troublesome dreams you're having. There's no sufficiently large enough statistical sample for me to examine." "Great. Do you know why this is happening to me?" "It is just a theory. When your mind and memories were transferred, everything was swept up and moved. Daniel described the effect as a whirlwind." "That's about right." "Good. So, all these buried memories have been stirred up and moved and now they are just floating around in your mind. Eventually, they should all settle down, like the snow in a snow globe, and they will become buried again." "How long will that take?" asks Mom. "No way to be certain. It's not a side effect that I was expecting and, as I said, I only have a theory." "What's your theory as to why I get the bad stuff and he gets the good stuff?" "I don't have one ... maybe he's had more enjoyable sexual experiences than you." I'd certainly bet a dollar on that. "Is there anything you can give me?" "Hold on Honey," said Mom. "We don't want to use drugs unless absolutely necessary." "You don't want to use drugs, I'll take whatever works." "We haven't given mediation a fair shake yet." "Mediation should be good" said Matthews. "It will help settle things down in your mind." "And you know this how?" I ask. "Well ... I don't for certain, though it is logical, assuming mediation does anything at all. This is all experimental Peter, there are no guarantees. Testing can give certain indications and logical assumptions can be made from those results but there is always the possibility of surprises. So far, everything is proceeding as the theoretical model predicts. How a particular person adapts to the transfer depends on their individual capacities. Daniels' are different from yours, not better, not worse, just different. I agree with ... your mother, drugs should be avoided for now, their effects are ... unpredictable ... at this time. My suggestion is that you continue to prepare for the assignment and I'll continue to monitor your condition." That's the most he's ever said to me since we first met. Guess he's right. If I'm not pulling the plug then might as well keep working on my cover. Maybe I'll get lucky and tap some of those porno dreams. Matthews loosens the straps around my wrists and ankles. I pull my limbs free, sit up and hop off the table, landing lightly on my feet. These physical moves are coming more naturally every day. I sure as hell don't miss the pain. That reminds me. "How's my body doing?" "You mean the old body?" "Of course. Can I see it?" "Certainly." He walks over to a side door and opens it. "Come this way." He walks through and I follow him. There I am, laying on an inflatable mattress in a large hospital bed, a feeding tube connected to my stomach and a catheter in my dick. I'm bigger than I remember ... and older, a lot older. I lean in closer to my face. My eyes are open but dull looking. I move my hand back and forth over the eyes. The pupils react to the change in light but that's all, no movement, no reaction. "Is this normal?" "Yes, keeping in mind all that I said before about the transfer. Everything is as expected and predicted." "You take care of it Matthews. It may not be much but it's all I got." * * * *** * * * *** * * * I keep a watchful eye on Patricia as we leave the lab. It's clear that she's still extremely uncomfortable about being out in public. She was much more comfortable when we went shopping and the Cerebral Balancer was set on the lower and middle Pink numbers. It is possible that the shopping distracted her or maybe there was more to it than that. When you grow up as a woman, you learn how to deal with the possibility of physical injury or assault by men. It becomes second nature to be aware of your surroundings and keep your options open. Patricia was thrust into that situation without the benefit of those years of learning. I must admit that there is a little perverse satisfaction in seeing a man put in that position but Peter was a police officer, one of the good guys, at least relatively speaking, and he's doing this to help me. We can't make progress on any other issues until we deal with this personal security problem. It's possible that her comfort at the lower and middle Pink settings resulted from her subconsciously adopting these standard female safety behaviors. If I can give her some positive experiences in self-protection, she might gain enough confidence to move onto other areas. I look over at her in the passenger seat. She's practically cowering, shoulders and arms pulled close to her body. "How are you feeling, Patricia?" "I'm fine, just peachy keen." "Glad to hear it. I thought that you might still be worried about the safety thing, being such a small girl and all." "No ... no ... that's not a problem. I'm okay with that ... it's no big deal." "I was just thinking that if you still had a problem, that you might want to take a self-defense class." "What kind of self-defense class?" "I read in the newspaper that the local police are offering a three part self-defense program specifically for women. The first class is Saturday." "Yeah, I forgot about that." She visibly relaxes in her seat. "They've been doing that for years. Lots of women take them." "Are you interested?" "Well ... it might be interesting, you know, to see something like that from a woman's perspective. Not that I need it or anything." "No, certainly not." "I know how to handle myself, I've been in plenty of fights." "I'm sure you have. But it is probably good to get some practice, after all, you were retired." "Exactly! Practice! That's all I need! A few rounds and I'll be right as rain." "Then it's settled. Saturday, we both take the course." "You'll be there?" "I'm sure that I can learn a thing or two myself. It's best to be prepared." I reach over and pat her arm. "Thanks, Mom." I can hear the relief in her voice. * * * *** * * * *** * * * We had gone shopping a couple of times before the end of the week without much success. Patricia could not get into the right attitude until the setting was well into the Pink range. There is much too much Peter at the other settings and he refuses to let Patricia out, either that or he doesn't know how to access her at the higher settings. We've continued the meditation and she has gotten a little better but it hasn't helped the integration or the nightmares, at least not yet. It has been only five days since the transfer and we are moving into new territory, Daniel having been in only three days. Thomas approved of the self-defense class, he was certain that Patricia was physically capable of participating. He also said that it would be a good program test. I didn't have time to ask him what he meant by that as we were running late and Patricia did not want to be the last person there. When we arrived at the site, it was a local grade school. They had an old gym attached to the school. We were instructed to wear sweats and tennis shoes. I had some old gray sweats and Patricia was wearing a blue outfit. The top was a little low cut for my taste so I insisted she wear a t-shirt underneath. There were about fifteen other women milling around the gym when we arrived, gathered in groups of three or four. They were of various ages, but we seemed to be the only mother/daughter pair, with Patricia clearly the youngest and smallest one of the group. By the time the trainer called us all together, there were a total of twenty five women in the gym. There was a male trainer and another man in a heavily padded suit, including some kind of padded head gear. His hands and feet were free but the suit had padding sewn into the forearms, elbows, upper arms, shoulders, chest, thighs, knees and lower legs. He looked pretty well protected. Patricia and I had discussed this, including my theory that she was at least subconsciously accessing the female coping techniques for self protection when the Cerebral Balancer was set in the lower Blue range. She had agreed to at least start the class at Blue 15. The instructor clapped his hands, the sound echoing around the old gym. "Ladies. I am Officer Bill Simmons and this is Sergeant Nathan Tinker. We're with the Dade County Police Department, city of Miami and are here to help you all learn various ways to defend yourselves should the need arise. It is best to avoid physical confrontations when ever possible. Run away to live another day is always the first choice. The second choice is to give the assailant what he or she wants. Your wallet or purse isn't worth your life. Ninety nine times out of a hundred, you give them what they want and they're gone in less than a minute. You call us, give us the facts and we take it from there. This class is about that one time out of a hundred." He strolls to the middle of the gym, talking as he walks. "It is extremely unlikely that any of you ladies will ever need to use the lessons you will learn in the next three weeks, however many of our past participants tell us that these classes gave them peace of mind and confidence. We plan to teach you just a few, simple techniques, things that you can practice at home until they become second nature. With additional practice, you can string two or three together, which can be quite effective but usually that won't be necessary. Once most assailants discover that their prospective victim can defend herself, they move off, looking for an easier target. Now if you would all gather around the mat here, we'll start the class." He's standing on a large rectangular nylon mat, about 2" thick. The other man joins him, waddling slightly as he walks. "I need a volunteer for the first demonstration. Sergeant Tinker is going to do a classic attack. He's a trained instructor and is not going to hurt anyone and, as you see, it will be very difficult for you to hurt him." Tinker punches himself in the head and smiles. Most everyone laughs, some nervously. Patricia is silent. "Any one want to volunteer? Anybody?" No one moves a muscle. Officer Simmons moved into the crowd. "I promise, we'll take it easy. How about you young lady?" He's pointing directly at Patricia. Everyone near by moves slightly away from her, including me. I feel guilty almost immediately but it's too late, Simmons is standing right next to her in seconds. "Would you give us a hand? Everyone will get a chance before we're done today, you'd just be the first. How about it?" I can tell she wants to say no but she straightens up, sticks out her chin and throws her shoulders back. "Okay. Let's do this." She follows him back to the mat. Both officers dwarf her. They are both over 6' tall, with Tinker looking enormous due to the padded suit. Simmons positions Patricia about 5' in front of Tinker. "Now, he's going to try to grab you. You do what ever you want to fight him off. Remember, you can't hurt him so fight as hard as you can." He steps back away from them. "On the count of three. One ... two ... three." Tinker lunges at her, quickly grabbing her right arm and dragging her into his body. She's struggling and kicking but he easily picks her up and wraps his arms around her, across her chest. It may just be my imagination or all the pads, but I'd swear that he's coping a feel. Patricia is starting to panic. Just then Simmons steps in. "Okay. I think everyone saw that the young lady was at a distinct disadvantage this time but we can teach you some things to level the playing field. Let her go Sergeant Tinker." Tinker gives one final squeeze and drops Patricia to the ground. She quickly scoots away, then turns to face him, breathing hard. She looks scared, angry, humiliated and defiant, all at once. There are also tears in her eyes. The women around me are angry ... so am I, but it has to happen, she's got to get past this. Simmons steps in front of her and drops to one knee. "What's your name, Honey?" That's just a little too familiar. "Patricia." "Well Patty, next time, when he reaches for you, block his arm, like this." He extends his right arm, bent slightly at the elbow, then flings it hard to the right. "Just like that." He repeats the motion. "Got it?" She nods her head. He gets back to his feet and Tinker moves back into position. "On three. One ... two ... three." Tinker lunges again and Patricia does exactly what Simmons showed her to do. It made no difference. Tinker has her wrapped up again and this time, everyone in the room sees him squeeze her left breast. That's when all hell broke loose. * * * *** * * * *** * * * I forgot that the standard procedure is to take the weakest person in the room and use them as the first example. If you can get them to do it right, then everybody else gets confident. They know if that old lady or that little kid can do it, then I sure as hell can. I was the little kid. No matter what I did, it didn't slow Tinker down. The son of a bitch actual picked me up! Then he rubbed his crotch against my ass and cupped both my boobs. It was quick and maybe accidental, that he was just shifting me in his arms. But I heard him chuckle when he did it. When he let me down, I was so angry and frustrated, it was all I could do to not run from the room, but I wouldn't give