Eric Olafson Midshipman Vol 4 Part 78 NEWPORT ACADEMY
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St. Searle's Academy: The New Class - Part 9 free porn video
She was now a society madam supplying call girls to the rich and
powerful, but for decades she was the most feared man in America. Here it
is: the secret history of J. Edgar Hoover.
ST. SEARLE'S ACADEMY: THE NEW CLASS - part 9
by BobH
(c) 2017
- 18 -
Unlike many of her colleagues in Congress, Senator Abigail Carson had
never before set foot in the establishment discreetly housed in the
beautiful 19th century town house in Washington's Georgetown district she
now found herself in. But then she had never felt the need to avail
herself of the service provided by its proprietor Helen Masters, a
society madam who supplied high-end 'escorts' for the rich and powerful.
The room in which she was waiting for Helen to arrive had been carefully
decorated and furnished in period-appropriate fashion, Abigail sitting on
one of two sofas arranged on either side of a low, highly polished table.
The door opened and there she was, Helen Masters, dressed only in four
inch heels and a silk wrap, thick silver-blonde hair cascading down over
her shoulders. Behind her stood a tall, muscular, dark-haired man, with a
thick moustache who was naked save for the towel around his waist. He had
one arm around her waist. As Abigail watched he slid his free hand inside
Helen's robe and grabbed her breast, his mouth seeking hers. Their kiss
was passionate, then Helen tore herself away, laughing.
"Naughty, naughty," she said. "I have to take this meeting."
She strode into the room, her hairy beau trailing after her, and seated
herself on the sofa across from Abigail with a satisfied sigh.
"I'm sorry about that," she said, not looking at all sorry. "Sergio is so
passionate that sometimes it gets the better of him. Tea?"
"Thank you, yes."
"Sergio, do be a dear and make tea for us both will you? Thanks."
After Sergio had departed, Helen Masters curled her legs up under her and
smiled. She was beautiful, as every woman who had been a pupil at St.
Searle's was, but hers was a curvier, more voluptuous beauty than would
be found on more recent graduates.
She looked a lot like Marilyn Monroe, which reflected the period when her
own idea of what constituted female beauty would have settled. Thanks to
the transformation process they retained their looks longer than other
women did so Helen didn't look a day over forty, but Abigail knew she was
more than a decade older than that. She wondered what the reaction of
Helen's clients would be if they ever learned the attractive woman they
dealt with had once been J. Edgar Hoover.
"I assume this is about my recent scheme to acquire Virginia Chapford's
ledger?"
"Your attempts to undermine her can't go on like this, Helen. You have to
stop."
"Or what? Was that a threat? I still have a lot of resources at my
command if you try anything."
"So have we, magical resources you can't even dream of...."
This was a bluff. Mostly.
"...but no, that wasn't a threat. Not yet. I'm here to iron out our
grievances and to return your agent to you."
"Deborah Wu? What have you done to her?"
"Nothing. But she's been expelled, of course. Having put her in the
situation you did you have a duty of care for her. She's your
responsibility now."
Helen considered this for a moment, then nodded.
"Fair enough," she said, "but how do you propose we resolve our
grievances? Do you even know what my grievances are?"
"Not really, no. Just that despite Virginia giving you what you asked for
and helping set you up as a society madam, you've been a thorn in her
side ever since."
"That's so typical of Virginia, sending you here to negotiate without
giving you all the information you need. Hmmm, where to begin to make you
understand? Why not at the very beginning?"
"Yes, why not?"
Helen paused for a second, gathering her thoughts before she spoke.
"I was born in 1895, the Victoria era. It was that era that shaped my
values. From my blessed mother, may God rest her soul, I learned that it
was men's responsibility to protect women and to keep them from harm. I
had no time for women personally, but I never forgot that lesson. When I
became head of the FBI I purged the bureau of women, who I believed were
safer at home tending to the needs of their husbands rather than getting
involved in such matters. And from that time until my apparent death, the
FBI had no female agents."
"Some would consider that rather sexist."
"I prefer to think of it as protective. In the early 1930s one of my
agents noticed a pattern to the apparently random disappearances of
various low level criminals over a number of years. His investigation led
him to St. Searle's, where criminals went in but they didn't come back
out. He had no idea what was going on and neither did I when his report
landed on my desk. Even so there was something about this situation which
I felt demanded my personal attention. So I ordered a raid on the school.
Four car loads of fully armed agents sped into the grounds at first light
and we stormed into the place. Despite searching the building from top to
bottom we found no men at all, only teachers and pupils, all of whom were
female. Which is not to say we found nothing. In the basement, stored in
boxes, we discovered a lot of strange artefacts. Even I could see they
were ancient. I confronted the headmistress about them, demanded to know
why an Englishwoman was running a school over here that had stuff in its
basement that belonged in a museum. She told me she was a collector of
allegedly magical artefacts and that she set up the school to take
advantage of one which turned out to possess real magic."
"The stone statuette."
"I didn't believe her when she told me what it could do - who would? -
and that she ran the school to turn criminals into productive members of
society. She said she could prove her claims. All I needed was to do was
bring a low-level criminal to her, and to come alone. To this day I don't
know why I agreed, but agree I did."
"And you saw that man transformed into a teenage girl."
"It gave me the chills. As always, Virginia kept the word that activates
the statuette to herself so there was no point me confiscating it, but
then I didn't want to. She had already established the perfect set-up and
I immediately saw the possibilities. Sometimes you have to offer
criminals immunity from prosecution followed by protection in order to
get them to testify against other criminals. The idea that they could
subsequently live free lives with any protection the state offered being
funded by taxpayers had always stuck in my craw. Here was the solution to
that problem I'd been looking for. So began a long and fruitful
partnership. I provided the criminals, first via the FBI and later via
the Federal Witness Protection Program run by the US Marshall's office,
and Virginia got her pupils. And sometimes those I sent her weren't
criminals but enemies I wanted gone. She didn't like that, but accepted
it as part of the quid pro quo - I could always shut down St. Searle's,
after all. Ah, here's Sergio with our tea."
Sergio brought in a tray bearing a silver teapot, sugar bowl, and small
milk jug, along with bone china cups, saucers, and a two-tier plate of
pastries. He laid this on the low table between the two women. Before
straightening up he leaned in to share a kiss with Helen, his hand once
again slipping inside her wrap to fondle her breast. It was a full ten
seconds before he came up for air and she waved him away.
"Oh he's incorrigible!" she said, shaking her head and laughing,
obviously pleased. "He can't keep his hands off me. I like that in a
lover. But then when you're as beautiful as we are you're entitled to the
adoring attention of men. It's our due, don't you agree? Were you a good-
looking man?"
"The women who knew me back then seemed to think so."
"I looked like a toad," said Helen, pouring their tea. "Being gorgeous
took some getting used to and even now, after all these years as Helen
Masters, I still sometimes have to pinch myself. Pastry?"
"No thanks."
"Good, more for me. Being able to eat as much as we want after reaching
physical maturity without putting on weight is a part of the spell that
transformed us I've really come to appreciate. I often wonder why
Virginia doesn't tell us about that while we're at St. Searle's. There
are all those fourth years there watching what they eat when they don't
need to."
"It's all about teaching self-control. Gluttony isn't very 'ladylike'."
"Ah yes, and teaching us to be 'ladylike' is what St. Searle's is all
about, isn't it?"
"That's not a bad thing," said Abigail, sipping her tea. "When we're
first transformed we have no idea how to function in society as females.
Our four years at St. Searle's gave us invaluable training."
"Yes, that's true."
"Getting back on topic, you were telling me about your deal with
Virginia. What was the other part of the quid pro quo?"
"The other part was that at any time I chose I could be transformed and
pass through the school, too. I had no desire to become a teenage girl,
but I wanted to keep it as my escape of last resort, just in case I ever
needed it."
"Clearly, you did."
"Yes, but before that, having learned magic was real, I wanted to find
something that gave me the option of a more agreeable transformation. It
took a long time, but in 1951 an FBI agent named Arthur Dale began
investigating reports of a mysterious medallion that fit the bill. I
assume you've heard of the Medallion of Zulo?"
"I have. According to legend, it was created in West Africa. Two people
touching the medallion at the same time will essentially switch bodies
since it will transform each into a copy of the other. Touching a garment
worn by someone else to the medallion will turn the wearer into a
physical copy of that person. Transformations take around thirty minutes
to complete. Once someone has transformed, the medallion will not work on
that person again until twelve hours have elapsed. Did I cover
everything?"
"All the important stuff, yes. When Agent Dale's report crossed my desk I
marked it 'Director's eyes only'. I then issued a physical description of
the medallion and ordered every agent to be on the lookout for it. I
didn't tell them why, of course, but they were instructed to handle it
with extreme care. Given the resources of the FBI this eventually bore
fruit and for a period of several years in the 1950s I had the medallion
in my possession. There are situations where a male agent isn't going to
get you the access a female agent, so for a long time it had occasionally
been necessary for male agents to take on special undercover assignments
as women or drag queens. Sometimes those assignments lasted years. The
medallion enabled me to put trained agents in situations that called for
a woman without having to put actual women at risk. They were sworn to
secrecy about the medallion, of course."
"Is that all it was about, or were you turned on by the idea of male
agents having to take on female roles?"
"I used to tell myself it was only about protecting women, but that was a
lie. You're right. I found it a huge turn on. As for the medallion, I
thought I'd have it for ever but it's a powerful instrument of fate and
won't be chained. One day it was just gone. I never did find out who or
how, but somebody stole it. Bad news for those then on assignment, who
were stuck as women, although many of them later married and had children
so perhaps not as bad as it could've been."
"Or perhaps they were just making the best of a bad situation. It was the
1950s. Their options were more limited than they are today. Respectable
women were supposed to get married and raise families."
"Whatever. Anyway, fast forward a few years and someone fell into our lap
able to do everything the medallion can. He had no more idea why than
anyone else did, but his abilities made him an invaluable asset so we put
him to work. In fact I set up a whole section based around him - Section
13 - and gave him the codename Agent Z. That was my little joke of course
since I was the only one who knew about the Medallion of Zulo.
Unfortunately, those I tasked with running Section 13 turned against me.
William Karlen and Johanna, that bitch of a wife of his, let word of
Agent Z get out to the leaders of the rest of the US intelligence
community claiming he was a freak of nature - which for all they knew he
was. We're only talking half a dozen people, but they were a very
important half a dozen. The Karlens leveraged the clamour for access to
Agent Z to get Section 13 split off from the FBI and made an autonomous
unit whose services any intelligence agency could call upon. I very
rarely get outmanouevered, but just like that I no longer had control of
him; they did. As extreme Cold Warriors - more so even than me - I'm sure
they had their own plans for him, but if so those plans didn't come to
anything. because. Like the medallion itself, it appears Agent Z can't be
locked down permanently either. Last I heard he was in the wind."
"There's something I don't understand. You say you had no desire to be
transformed into a teenage girl, that you went looking for some way of
achieving a more suitable transformation. With both the medallion and
this Agent Z you had that. Were you never tempted to use their power on
yourself?"
"I was, but as Director of the FBI and an internationally recognized
figure I could hardly become someone else just like that. No, I was
saving any transformation I chose until either I was ousted as Director
or I became old and retired. I wanted to transform both of us then, both
me and Clyde."
"Clyde Tolson. So he *was* your lover?"
"He was the love of my life. The times we lived through required us to be
circumspect about our relationship, but the elite social circles we moved
in gave us a little more leeway than the average citizen then had. In
1964, Clyde suffered a stroke. He was never the same after that. If ever
I needed Agent Z or the medallion it was then, but the medallion was gone
and the Karlens denied me access to Agent Z for what they described as my
'personal, non-governmental use'. I've never hated anyone as much as I
hated them then. I kept Clyde employed in the FBI, even after he became
too old for police duty and passed retirement age. Then, in early 1972,
we found the medallion again. My old order for agents to keep an eye out
for it had never been rescinded and one of them turned it up. This was
it, this was our chance to be young and healthy once more. Which is when
Clyde dropped his bombshell. He told me he considered the medallion
unnatural and ungodly. He would not stop me from using it on myself, but
he wanted nothing to do with it. I pleaded and pleaded with him to change
his mind, but he was adamant. He was then 71 and I was 77. I'd already
had a few health scares and was feeling my years. I knew this was my last
chance, so I took it."
"Wait. If you had the medallion, how did you end up becoming a pupil at
St. Searle's?"
"Patience. I'm getting to that. So, anyway, there was this young, 22 year
old hustler named Donnie Lannister who'd been robbing his johns then
killing them. He got caught and would've been facing the death penalty if
I hadn't used my position to make the charges go away. All I asked in
return was that he meet me at my house. He was young and gorgeous, oh so
very gorgeous, and he naturally assumed I wanted his body. I did, but not
in the way he imagined. Being tied to the bed was a bit kinkier than he
usually went in for but hey, I had saved him from the chair and he would
get bragging rights about having done it with J. Edgar Hoover."
"You used the medallion on him."
"Of course I did. Why waste that beautiful body by executing it when I
could have it for my own. I touched the medallion to his flesh, felt the
electric tingle, and then watched as I transformed into him, and he into
me. When he realised what was happening he screamed and struggled, all to
no avail. All he achieved was giving himself a massive, fatal, heart
attack. The death of FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover was a major event. His
body lay in state in the Rotunda of the U.S. Capitol, where Chief Justice
Warren Burger eulogized me. Immediately after the death I became Clyde's
live-in carer so I was there beside him at my own funeral, which was a
surreal experience. I listened as President Nixon delivered another
eulogy and called me 'one of the giants, whose long life brimmed over
with magnificent achievement and dedicated service to this country which
he loved so well.' Donnie was buried in the Congressional Cemetery in
Washington, D.C., next to the graves of my parents and my sister, who
died in infancy. I'd have preferred it if the spot had been kept open for
me for when I actually go to meet my maker, but since I was young,
healthy, and alive I couldn't really complain. I was now Donnie
Lannister, and I had my whole life ahead of me. Clyde retired from the
bureau on May 4th, the day of my funeral. I cared for him until his
eventual death in April, 1975, at the age of 74."
"I'm sorry. That must have been hard for you."
"It was, but it was also a liberation of sorts. After his funeral I moved
to San Francisco, where I became part of the gay scene with a vengeance.
I'd always been somewhat buttoned-up and repressed sexually, like most of
those of my generation, but for the next three years I gave myself over
to hedonism with complete abandon. I quickly grew to love the bathhouses
and very soon lost count of the number of men I had sex with.
Then I got sick."
"Ah."
"It would be a few more years before AIDS was formally named and the
nature of the epidemic identified but people were dying before then. It
was time to call in my marker with Virginia, my escape of last resort."
"You didn't have the medallion any more?"
"I thought I did, but it was gone. As usual. I had myself delivered to
the Ronald Clinic, as instructed. By now I was a pale, shrivelled shadow
of my former self, Donnie's beauty eaten away by the disease. They took
photos, blood samples and the like for the autopsy they needed to fake -
official records would record Donnie Lannister's body as having been
cremated after this - then Virginia arrived with the statuette. I was
astonished. It was the first time I'd seen her since we'd made our deal
all those years ago, and she hadn't aged a day. Though this
transformation wasn't what I wanted, I was out of options. Which is why
in late August of 1978, shortly before the start of the new school year,
I became 14 year old Helen Masters, St. Searle's latest pupil. I wanted
to know the secret of her youth, but Virginia refused to tell me. She
claimed she didn't know. Then there were my FBI files. When I discovered
she had them I was furious. I wanted them back, but again she refused.
When I graduated from St. Searle's and then from university, Virginia
helped set me up in my current line of work, as she had promised as part
of our deal. I was impressed. The former pupils of St. Searle's are a
group with more influence and power than I'd realised. Of course, the
reason I chose this particular preofession was because of the
opportunities it gave me to build files on people and to exert influence.
I'd had my few years of excess and wild abandon; now I wanted to get back
to what I did best. Power is a drug which once tasted is very hard to
give up, and I'd wielded it for decades. Again and again I demanded
Virginia return my old files, and again and again she refused me. As I
got older I also got increasingly obsessed with finding out how she
stayed young. My beauty won't last forever without that secret, after
all, but she refused me that, too."
"So acquiring the ledger was going to be your way of forcing her hand?"
"Of course it was. There are a lot of girls at St. Searle's who were
sworn enemies in their previous lives, but they have no way of knowing
that. I was either going to email a copy of those names to every one of
them or, if Virginia killed their internet access, have a small plane fly
over the school and drop leaflets the next time they have a sporting
event there. Can you imagine the chaos that would result? The current
head girl and her girlfriend wouldn't be so lovey-dovey if each knew who
the other really was, for example."
"Most of your old files are now past their 'sell-by' date as regards
stuff that would still be useful to you," protested Abigail, "and
Virginia wasn't lying about her eternal youth. Until recently she really
did have no idea why she doesn't age."
"Until recently? So she knows now? Then I want that secret from her."
"No need. I'll give it to you now for free. Three hundred years ago a
group of witches sold their souls to a demon for eternal youth. Thanks to
the deal being sloppily worded Virginia unknowingly got included.
However, since she hadn't been a part of the deal or sold her soul she
didn't have to pay the price. Unlike the witches. If you want to make the
same deal with the demon I'm sure we can uncover his name and the details
of the summoning spell."
Helen studied her face closely, as if trying to determine the truth or
otherwise of Abigail's words, then she sighed.
"So you're saying my old files are now useless and I can't get eternal
youth unless I sell my soul?"
"I am, yes."
"Assuming I believe you, where do we go from here? How do you propose we
make peace?"
"In the words of President Lyndon B. Johnson, maybe it's better to have
you inside the tent pissing out rather than outside the tent pissing
in...."
The following day, as John Thompson drove her from Albany airport to the
school, Abigail Carson reflected on her meeting with Helen Masters and
what had resulted from it. She and Virginia would have a lot to talk
about when they met.
John dropped her off outside the school's main doors when they arrived
and she made her way to Virginia's office. She arrived just as Lucy
Costello, the former Sal Buscemi, was leaving. The girl looked stunned.
Abigail frowned, wondering what had shocked her.
"What's wrong with Lucy?" she asked on entering the office.
Virginia Chapford looked up from her laptop, then spun it round on her
desk so the screen was facing Abigail.
"This," she said, hitting a key.
The paused news report started playing.
"...has turned himself into police and recanted the testimony that put
alleged mobster Carmine Grazini behind bars. This is footage taken
earlier of him arriving at the police station."
Abigail stared at the image on the screen in disbelief. She recognised
the hulking, overweight figure immediately, but how could it be him? It
was impossible, but there was no denying the evidence of her eyes....
It was Sal Buscemi.
*****************************
To be continued....
*****************************
Notes:
1) Arthur Dale's 1951 report on the Medallion of Zulo can be found in my
story ALTERED FATES/X-FILES: THE SCAM here on FM.
2) The story of Agent Z and Section 13 can be found in my AGENT ZULO
sequence of tales, of which there's one more to go.
Avriella
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