Barford File 2 - The Betancourts - Chapters IX And X - Final Chapters free porn video

IX: Training Daze Harvey Betancourt kept his eyes closed, his mind in an almost Zen-like state, as his wife continued to run the buzz of her old-school clippers over areas of his head. Glenda was almost done shaping his hair to resemble the look of the eager new recruit that was a day shy of being shipped out to Europe. Only back then, he wasn't as pleasantly well-built, nor as tanned, as he was now. The radio played a Benny Goodman swing tune as Glenda worked. He remembered swinging Glennie around to this particular tune at a USO- sponsored dance. He remembered her as having the best natural appearance of any girl he had ever met growing up. He also reminisced over how they had locked eyes for the longest moment as the sea vessel that carried the troops to Europe pulled out of the docks. He was on the edge of the boat, looking down upon Glenda with worried expressions. In that moment, they thought it was going to be the last time they would ever see each other. With every day spent languishing in a barracks prior to the forthcoming drop into Holland, he imagined a German bullet would cut his hopes of returning home short. That as he died, he'd only have the memory of that last look from Glenda to remember his childhood sweetheart by. A cruel fate during a fight for freedom that he had believed in enough to place his own life on the line. Not all of the friends he had made during his time in Holland survived the war, though. One of them was an affable clown of a soldier named Teddy Grimes. He was among the platoon soldiers that participated in the capture of the Grave Bridge, but while Harvey was shipped back home after being injured during the firefight, the uninjured Teddy was among the men who were ordered to capture a Nazi-held bridge at Nijmegen after making a sea crossing using boats provided by their british allies. Although the nearby british tanks provided them with a smokescreen, a survivor told Harvey afterwards that the boat Teddy was on was annihilated by a mortar shot. He remembered hearing Teddy scream in pain before a hail of bullets...fired by uniformed Hitler youth on the nearby shore...silenced him. "Harve?" He finally heard his wife's voice through the haze of tragic memories. "Hey! Eyes front, soldier!" Glenda was in Harvey's lap as she held a large mirror in front of his face. Examining Glennie's work, he definitely approved of the restoration of his wartime post-haircut appearance. She was able to maintain the side part in his hair, as well, giving him a very handsome look overall. "How's that for the look of a freshly-certified physical trainer?" Glenda mused, grinning. Harvey chuckled as she brought the mirror down. "You know what the worst part of basic training was for me, Glennie doll?" Glenda tilted her head to the side. "Drill Sergeants shouting in your face?" "Heh...you remembered," Harvey responded. "I don't wanna be like that with anyone I work with." Glenda shrugged. "Who said you had to?" "Oh, I dunno," Harvey answered. "You know, the whole 'no pain, no gain' thing. Made me wonder if I could ever be a really good phys-ed guy." "Well, you did succeed in getting certified, didn't you?" Glenda replied consolingly. "Don't write yourself off so quickly. Drill Instructors have their own style for a reason. You don't have to be the same. Just...put your own spin on the Harvey Betancourt workout thing. Be nice...until it's time...to not be nice." A smiling Harvey recognized her last few words as a movie quote. "'Road House'. Very appropriate." Glenda shrugged, smiling back. "Last film we actually saw in a movie theater before our age reminded us those days were done." Harvey nodded. "Now look at us. We could go back to the movies all over again." Glenda turned thoughtful. "If only others like us were so lucky." "Yeah," Harvey nodded again. "Just doesn't seem right. Seems like something ought to be said to somebody outside of town." "Which reminds me...there's someone I want you to meet sometime soon," Glenda remarked. "My first customer. Her name's Tamara. Seems she's got the inside track on the real movers and shakers in Bullchester. She's quite the soldier, too." "She anything like Rosa?" Harvey asked. "You mean...is she a 'dish', like Rosa?" Glenda raised an eyebrow knowingly, causing Harvey to feel a little embarrassed. "She's not as flirtatious, no. I don't think people like Rosa or Maude could be trusted enough for us to be able to share anything Tamara tells us with them, so I'd keep a lid on anything Tammy tells us about the so-called 'Sisterhood'. Let me ask you this, though, honey..." She leaned forward, still in his lap, deepening the view of the fetching cleavage Glenda had developed. "...if it meant losing everything we've gained since we were admitted into the Retirement Home, including our youthful restorations, would you still fight what I believe is Tamara's good fight? Because I sure would." Harvey was thoughtful. Being young and vibrant again seemed like a complete blessing to him, but he always figured that he needed to pay some kind of price. But if this price meant compromising the ideals that he had quite literally bled for while he was in Holland... "So would I, Glennie doll." He kissed her on the lips lovingly. "So would I." Glenda beamed happily as she gently rubbed a rejuvenated hand over her husband's cheek. "Your eyes have been locked on me ever since you came into my shop." He shrugged, smiling back. "Isn't that what a husband is supposed to do?" She then wrapped her arms around his head and pressed her forehead to Harvey's as she spoke. "Am I more of a dish now compared to..." "Oh, come on." Harvey had a feeling she was going to bring up a comparison to Rosa. "Why am I NOT surprised that you wanted to bring her up?" His tone turned regretful. "I said I was sorry." Glenda, however, giggled. "I know you did. I'm not sore. I promise. Besides...we got her back good, didn't we?" Harvey nodded, remembering the double-whammy he and Glenda had sprung on the oversexed cougar. "Yup, we sure did." Glenda's tone turned flirtatious. "Soooo..." She played with a lock of Harvey's hair teasingly. "...you think we should share her, like I said? She could be our dish." "Two soldiers and a floozy?" Harvey sounded surprised. "That dish would break!" They shared a laugh on this as a more tender song from the 1940s played on the antique radio. Harvey felt compelled to rise from the cushioned, old-school barbershop seat, taking one of Glenda's hands in his own. This particular song held great significance to him as he gently pulled her into a tender dancing stance. Initially, Glenda was puzzled, but upon recognizing the significance the song had in their shared memories, she easily acquiesced to the slow dance invitation. The song was Stardust, by Artie Shaw. They relived every last second of the moment in which they chose to step up onto the dance floor so they could begin their slow dance together. They were the first ones up there, and others followed suit as the song continued playing. Both of them knew that this song was playing when they chose to kiss each other for the very first time, confirming their mutual love for one another on an evening that they both believed would be their last together. Up until this very moment, they were platonic, childhood friends. Practically like siblings. From the moment they locked lips with each other, however, they knew the feelings they had for each other were deeper than either of them dared to believe. They had invited the chance, and upon mutually acknowledging it, they had welcomed it warmly. They knew the exact moment in the song when they chose to kiss, and they did so once again, this time more deeply and more passionately than they had done on the USO dance floor back in the '40s. Beyond the song, their passion for each other grew as they continued kissing deeply. After the stunt they had pulled on Rosalind Foxxe, however, their moment of growing passion was far more sensual than it was back in the 1940s. Harvey began gently groping at Glenda's left breast, while Glenda wrapped a thigh around her husband's waist. In the next moment, Glenda had wrapped both thighs...and both of her arms...around Harvey as her husband held her up with very little effort given his rejuvenated physique. She began to moan as they continued kissing. They both felt the onset of passionate perspiration as their lust for each other continued to grow. Their moment of building passion, however, was cut short by a tapping at the barbershop door. The tapping was noticeably rhythmic, emulating the 'shave-and-a-haircut' beat. Turning their heads towards the glass door, they saw a short-haired, wide-eyed and perky-looking blonde wearing a conservative one-piece dress. She had a large tablet device cradled under one arm. When they noticed her, she flashed a perfect smile. Quickly fixing her appearance, Glenda gestured for the woman to let herself in. Harvey mopped a bit of sweat from his brow as the jingling of the bells heralded the visitor's entrance. "Go on, say it! Say it!" the grinning woman chirped as the door slowly slid shut behind her. "TWO BITS! Hehehehe!" She held a hand out towards a visibly confused Glenda. "Hi! Shelly Piper. I'm Pam Merryweather's agent. Nice to meet you! You must beeeee...Rosie?" Glenda slowly nodded as she accepted the handshake offer. Shelly...who appeared to be perpetually hyper-caffeinated...then gazed around the interiors of the shop. "Wow! This place is SOOO old-school! Very stylish! You sure know a thing or two about 'retro'! Very nice," She then pulled out her tablet as she continued speaking her rapid-fire dialogue. "So as I said, I represent Pam's morning show, perhaps you've heard of it? 'The Merry Weather Show'? Housewives all over Bullchester watch that show every morning, and these days? People have taken to calling Pam the new Queen of Nice! Florence Henderson? Rosie O'Donnell? SOOO five minutes ago, I'm sure you'd agree! I mean...you've watched the show yourself, haven't you?" Glenda slowly shook her head, still mystified by the woman's wild-eyed, hyperactive nature. Shelly gasped. "You haven't?? It's only the top-rated show in its timeslot! We're on all week! You should catch an episode or two...maybe bring in a flatscreen TV so you and your clients can watch as they get their hair done! Oh, Goddess! What a SWELL idea! Whaddya think?" "Well, um..." Glenda responded after a moment of silence. "...that...kind of...goes against the 'retro' aesthetic, so...no flatscreens, sorry." Now it was Shelly's turn to look confused. "They had TV sets during World War two, didn't they? Couldn't you get an old CRT television and use a digital converter so you could watch present-day TV shows?" Harvey chuckled as he settled into a nearby seat at the waiting area. "I don't think that kind of idea is possible in our current budget. I mean...the place just opened." "And what's the best way to drum up new business? ADVERTISE!" Shelly loudly shot back. She then turned back to Glenda. "Look...all we wanna do is make your business a feature on our show. Pam comes in, we talk about the place a bit, maybe have a customer or two around, we'll throw in some clips of war stuff and movies during the piece, and maybe we can have you work on Pam's hair! So whaddya think? I figure we could come in on, like, Monday of next week? If it isn't too soon?" The look on Harvey's face indicated that he was clearly enjoying Piper's perpetually perky behavior as she continued to speak. Glenda needed a moment to consider the offer as Shelly quietly awaited the hairdresser's answer with wide, hopeful eyes. "Yeah, I...Monday sounds fine," Glenda finally answered. "So when will you..." "EEEEE! This will be an AWESOME episode!!" Shelly loudly and jubilantly squeaked. She then gasped aloud, wide-eyed, as an idea hit her. "We could use it to kick off 'Retro Week' on the show! Oh, Rosie! I bet your clientele would multiply! Maybe even...quadruply! We are gonna put your place in lights all over Bullchester! Call me later so we can work out the details," She paused a moment to quickly hand off a business card. "You won't regret this! Be sure to let your staff know about us!" Shelly then waved as she hurried back to the entrance door. "T-T-F-N!" Once Piper was gone, Harvey turned his look of confusion to his wife. "T- T-F-N?" Glenda giggled. "Ta-Ta, For Now." Although of everything Shelly had rattled off in such a rapid-fire fashion, she had to dwell on one aspect of her last bit of dialogue, which was the notion of 'letting her staff know'. Because it was clear that she had no staff. Glenda knew, however, that that had to change...but how was she going to get hairdressers to choose her place over the obvious melting pot that was the Butterfly Salon? She imagined that it was going to take more than just a mere 'Help Wanted' sign. On a hunch, she put such a sign up anyway before closing up later that evening. * * * The latter half of the day did not go well for Peter Sandberg at the 19th Precinct, and he knew why. As Bullchester was known for its particularly low rate of violent crime, pulling telephone switchboard duty was not as stressful as a command in a city with more significant problems. Still...it was a part of the job that the mild-mannered PAA hated doing. And as the Police Officer who was usually assigned to the switchboard...Dave Murray...had gone off-duty at noon, Lt. Drucker had Peter take over once he had signed back in after his lunch break. Peter had sat at the idle phone until it rang, and he was subjected to a bit of complaining that turned out to be a prank call from one of the uniformed officers. He even heard a bit of silent laughter coming from behind the officer's voice. Another officer had called, and when Peter had picked up, the officer berated him for making her wait. The civilian employee could practically feel the storm cloud over his head as he signed out for the day, even moreso for the final words Lt. Drucker laid on him before he left the precinct. "Heard you did okay today at the phones, thanks. Did you know Murray's retiring? I should talk to Captain Cicero and see about having you assigned there permanently. What do you think?" Peter didn't even look at him, nor did he say a word. He just left. Even as Drucker tersely responded to Peter's silence by yelling out to him to 'look him in the eyes and answer him next time'. As he walked to the bus, he daydreamed of alternate, and more satisfying, responses to Drucker's bullying. Yelling angrily in his face. Pushing him. Even hitting him. He had never acted on such responses, of course, as doing such things would easily endanger his job, which he had held for about six years. Drucker had been transferred to the 19th Precinct about two years ago, and he was the younger brother of an opportunistic Bullchester Police Chief who nepotistically helped him rise in the ranks. Peter was known for being attentive to his work. He never bothered anyone, and he was particularly good at easing the fears of any nervous complainant who had come in to file a report, the most popular type of which were the missing persons reports. Since Julia Stroud had been appointed the city's Mayoress, Peter noticed that the complainants were becoming a little more...unusual. Some of the men seemed to be embracing arguably feminine habits...and in some cases, appearances...for reasons they never brought up as they were filing their complaints. At the end of the day, he made a habit of walking through the city, and past a bookstore called 'Solstien Books' which would always be on the other side of the street. His city stroll would always end at the bus stop that was the closest to the Barford suburb house where he lived with his gray-haired, but lucid mother Marianne, an atheist who...despite being in her early 80s...was in no way senile. There were times when he was curious about going into the bookstore, but this was an urge he also never acted on, particularly when they began advertising about a feminist group which was apparently being organized there shortly after Julia Stroud had become the Mayoress. Mysteriously, however, the place had gone out of business, and was replaced by a radically different one. It was now, apparently, a lingerie store called Mistresses. That had particularly puzzled him. How could a place known for having a feminist organization suddenly become a shop that catered to erotic underwear? Peter had no answers, but he certainly wondered how the officers in the precinct would deal with this. He imagined that some kind of illegal activity would happen there, and the place would go under as quickly as it had been repurposed. It was also not his place to worry about such things, as he was merely a civilian with no authority to start official investigations, or even enforce the law. But it certainly wasn't unheard of for off-duty officers to go to such a place. In fact, he could think of a male civilian or two from his precinct command who could conceivably be lured in there. He himself always felt tempted to check the place out. Just...go in and browse, at least. He was certainly old enough to go in and do that, even if he was in the latter half of his teenage years. In the days leading up to this late afternoon, however, he never acted on this impulse. Although he was across the street from this new place, he stopped nevertheless, and stared upon the storefront thoughtfully. I'm just gonna browse. He rationalized to himself. That's all. Once he was within close vicinity of Mistresses, he stopped once again to take a deep breath, and then pulled open the door so he could step inside. The interiors were lit in soft, but erotic neon glows, and a loud dance beat could be heard as he looked around. Dancer poles? Plush seating? Isn't this supposed to be a lingerie shop? Within moments of his entering, he saw a large, tattooed black man with a bulky body step out of a door and then hurry over to him with a wary expression. "Hope you got ID, kid," the large man warned as he stepped right up to Peter. Nodding, the civilian worker pulled out his black wallet and he extracted his Police ID. The large black bouncer looked it over, and then handed it back to him, looking a little more sedate. "We're just openin' up," The bouncer noted. "Girls should be out in a couple o' minutes. Go on an' take a seat, if ya want." Peter attempted a bit of levity. "I...thought this was a lingerie store," He chuckled a bit. All that came out of the large bouncer's mouth was, "Nope." Seeing as how he had just stepped into what was basically a strip club, he stepped over to an ATM machine that was by the bar and he decided to extract $100.00 worth of $20 bills. After ordering a cup of soda from the bar, he stepped over to one of the purple-colored felt sofas and settled into it. Five minutes later, three erotically attractive-looking young ladies stepped out of a door and headed towards the mostly empty main dance area. The resident DJ announced them to be Alexis, Sparkles, and Zelene. Although all three of them looked alluring, it was the dark-aspected beauty of Zelene that had initially caught Peter's eye. Her face was completely made over to emulate the stylish skull-face makeups that were common in Mexico's "Day of the Dead" celebrations. The one-piece black swimsuit she wore was coupled with a black bolero jacket-and-hat combination as she began to sensually dance for the five patrons...Peter among them...that were already inside and waiting. The curly, curvy blonde called Sparkles...who had an almost cartoonishly big pair of lips...was the first of the three to reward Peter with her attentions as she writhed around in front of him. As he had a few singles from the change he was given for the drink, he slipped three dollars into her garter, after which she responded with an alluring air smooch before moving away. Alexis was demonstrating her apparent athleticism at one of the dance poles, swinging around it and hanging upside down at one point, undulating her body as she lingered. She caught Peter staring as she did this, and seeing as how the chump in the business suit watching her was not willing to give up a gratuity, she next stepped over to Peter with a hungry smile. "Mmmmmmh..." the saucy blonde purred as she began her exotic dance routine. "...I think it's getting hot in here." Peter just smiled, transfixed by her beauty, as she continued to dance in front of him. She even brought the cleavage of her large breasts dangerously close to his eyes and fetchingly rubbed them together. "You look tired," Alexis observed as she moved. Peter nodded. "Bad day." "Awwww...well, after I'm done, you could always call me over for a table dance," Alexis offered as she continued to expertly undulate in front of him. Peter nodded again, pulling out a $5 bill that was a part of his change. He then looked for a garter to slip the bill into... ...but Alexis leaned forward and grabbed the bill with her teeth. She then gave him an alluring wink, and then turned around to twerk her posterior dangerously close to his lap as the song playing came to an end. Pulling the gratuity from her teeth, she blowed a kiss to Peter and stepped away. His gaze then returned to Zelene, who was apparently a little more interested in entertaining a patron a few feet away from him. He heaved a thoughtful sigh as his gaze lingered upon the dark, exotic beauty. When Sparkles came back around to Peter, he only gave the curly blonde a glance, but kept his eyes on Zelene as she lingered in that area. Once Sparkles had migrated away, Alexis noticed Peter's gaze and stepped curiously over to him. "Did you want to see Zelene?" Alexis asked. Peter nodded. The saucy blond dancer smiled. "I'll go get her for you." She then hurried over to where Zelene was standing. As she did, a curvy woman in a skin-tight, caucasian-colored dress settled in next to Peter. In her hand was a tangy alcoholic beverage. Zelene gave Peter a glance as Alexis gestured to the civilian aide, and then smiled as she moved sensually over to him. The man she had been entertaining seemed to angrily protest, but this quickly sent the large black bouncer over to him to administer pacifyingly swift justice. The dusky, dark-haired entertainer definitely had curves in all the right places, and the swells of DD-cup breasts jiggled in their confinement as Zelene writhed sensually for the staring office worker. Her dark hair was decorated with flower heads as she continued moving. Once the song was over, Peter pulled out a $10 bill. Zelene settled onto one leg of his lap to allow him to slip the bill into Zelene's garter. Rising back up, she brought her lips very close to Peter's ear. "Gracias," she sensually intoned before beginning another dance routine in front of the off-duty PAA. This time, she found herself gyrating to the sounds of Los Lobos, performing their lively cover of La Bamba. When the song came to its more acoustic last portion, Zelene showed off well- executed belly-dancing skills. Zelene lingered her smile once the song was done as she crouched in front of him. "Table dance later?" "Uhh...s-sure," Peter replied, not noticing the woman next to him slowly shaking her head. Zelene seemed to ignore this woman the entire time, but when she finally glanced at her, the expression on her face was strangely wary. The smile returned when her eyes returned to Peter, and she gave him a wave before stepping away. The dark-haired woman next to the enthralled civilian couldn't resist the urge to lean over and speak into his left ear. "She looks nice, doesn't he?" Peter could pick up on the scent of liquor as the woman spoke, and he turned his head towards her curiously. Her soft, short brown hair was in attractively wavy curls above a pair of fetchingly-narrowed eyes. An amused smile was on her crimson-painted lips. Stylishly criss-crossed spaghetti straps held up the tight dress she wore over her flawless skin. Her question, however, sounded odd to Peter. "I'm sorry?" "I said, she looks nice, doesn't he?" the woman repeated, pausing for a moment to sip from her drink. This time, the civilian employee was able to hear every word of the question, which made him even more confused. "You mean..." "I know what I said, young man," the woman interjected. She then leaned in so she could speak, more discreetly, into Peter's ear. "That stripper used to be just as male as you are now." Naturally, Peter found this claim entirely hard to believe. He believed that if there were anything remotely male about Zelene, he would be able to pick up on it. The dancer's physique, for one thing, would be noticeably manly, and there would be a telltale adam's-apple lump at the throat. But why would this woman make such a claim in the first place? "Do you...work here?" Peter asked. The woman giggled in her amusement as she shook her head. "No. Is there a law preventing women from patronizing a place like this?" Peter just shook his head, keeping his attention on this woman. "No." "Do I have your permission to sit next to you and enjoy these dancers as much as you are?" She then asked, her tone laced with sarcasm. The civilian worker shrugged, a bit mystified over the sarcasm. "You can...you can do whatever you like. I'm not trying to be mean. I'm just...look, I had a really bad day, and I just..." "And you figured staring at half-naked ladies rubbing their mammaries in your face at the end of the day would make you feel better." The woman's tone remained sarcastic. "I'm sure that tip you gave her was money well- spent, too." "Lady...if you don't like what's going on in here, why are you here to begin with?" Peter challenged. "Because what goes on in here amuses me." The woman maintained her slight smile as she continued her impromptu verbal spat. "I also delight in seeing men like you behave like perfect fools around them. Tell me...how much money have you spent here so far?" Peter shrugged. "$20." The woman nodded. "And...you'll be spending another $20 for that one table dance when Zelene is free, right? Will you be including the tip in that?" "Yes." She raised an eyebrow at this. "Even after I told you that she used to be a man?" Peter was stone-faced. "What makes you think she used to be a guy?" "Oh, I know she was a guy," the woman definitively replied. "He used to be someone that lured women into captivity. He was with the human trafficking ring that that greek guy...Dimitri-something...ran right here in Bullchester." Now it was Peter raising an eyebrow. "And how do you know that?" The woman's expression was now dead serious. "Because he tried to capture me. But I turned the tables on that deceptive little spick bastard...and now? Here she is, making a living being the very thing his employers once forced captured women to become." Peter's gaze went back to Zelene thoughtfully. She eventually disengaged in her dancing during the music swap, and then turned to approach the civilian office worker. This gave Peter a glance at the dancer's crotch area. A small, but noticeable bulge could be seen. "I'll be right out, honey, if you still want that table dance." Flashing a full smile, Peter nodded in understanding, and the she-male turned and headed for the door to the dressing room. "Are you going to let her do that table dance, now that you know what you know about...him?" the woman next to him teased. Peter shrugged. "I...I guess..." "Well, there's no guessing about it," The woman slid a little closer to the unsure young man. "You either want to do it or not. You seemed a little more eager before I started talking to you about who she really was. Did you suddenly become homophobic?" The PAA looked mystified again. "Huh? No! I..." "You're not going to let a little thing like gender stand between you and your perverted fantasies, are you?" The woman looked entirely amused as she spoke, perhaps enjoying Peter's flustered expression as he tried to defend himself. Peter frowned over the accusation that he was a pervert. Rather than start a loud argument with this woman, he just shook his head and began to rise... ...and when the woman's hand grasped at his wrist, the clarity of his thoughts...and his resolve to leave, rather than be accused and humiliated further...suddenly became a jumbled mess which effectively held him fast as his eyes blinked rapidly. "No, no, don't go," The woman calmly and softly remarked. "Stay here with me. You want to stay here with me. You like my company. Have a seat, dear." Stay here with you... These were the only clear thoughts in his otherwise hopelessly scrambled thoughts. ...I like...your company... Once he had settled back into his seat, the mysterious woman in the nightclub dress released him. "It's been so long since I've had the company of a young man like you, pet. What's your name?" "P-Peter," he answered as the clarity of his thoughts began to return. "Peter Sandberg." The woman nodded. "And what do you do outside of here?" "Office worker," he replied. "19th Precinct." "Ohhh, you work with cops, eh?" The woman replied as she nodded slowly, and thoughtfully. "When is your tour? Morning to afternoon?" Peter just nodded, still a little thrown by what had happened to his mind. He figured he'd get some kind of a headache from the effect, but he felt no such throbbing. "Monday through Friday?" the woman asked next. The civilian employee again nodded. "And..." She seemed to think on this question before asking it. "...how long have you been working there?" "Six years." "Hmm?" The woman looked confused now. "Sex years?" "No, sex. I mean, SIX!" he quickly corrected himself. "Really?" She reached a hand up to extract a dislodged eyelash near his eye, rubbing her fingers on the skin beneath his eye as he did so, causing his mind to scatter a bit as the touch lingered on his face. "I distinctly heard you say 'sex years', as if being a sex worker is all you ever think about." Once she pulled her hand away, Peter shook his head a bit. His clarity of thought gradually returned as the mysterious woman next to him sipped at the drink she had purchased. He managed to make a lucid inquiry as they both watched the other ladies dance and writhe around. "So what do you do for a living?" When her eyes returned to him, she flashed a sly grin. "What kind of work do you think I do?" The civilian worker shrugged. "No idea." "Awww, not even a guess?" The woman feigned a crestfallen expression. She then placed a hand on his arm, sending his thoughts into a chaotic jumble once again. "Go on, Petra. Be a scared little sissy slut. Give me the first guess that pops into your head, no matter how ridiculous it might be." She pulled her hand away, and once again, he needed a moment to recover, shaking his head. It then occurred to him that the woman was waiting for an answer, and he obliged once his mind's lucidity was restored, although he sounded a bit nervous when he gave his response. "Uhhh...l-lawyer?" The woman laughed aloud. "I WISH!" She giggled some more before recovering. "You're technically on the right track, though. I'm a therapist." "Oh..." Peter nodded receptively. "I've been to therapists before. They're very helpful." "Mm-hmm," the woman responded. "And it's the therapist in me that makes me wonder why a young man like you would come in here and waste his hard- earned salary on exotic dancers." "Well...actually, I thought this place was a lingerie store," Peter explained. "I was just curious as to what the inside of the place was like." "Well...now you know," the woman amusedly replied. "And yet, you're still here. If you were looking for lingerie, they do have such garments for sale." Peter half-consciously nodded, returning his eyes to Alexis, who was fetchingly swinging herself around the dance pole a few feet away from where he was sitting. He felt a hand come down upon his arm, and his thoughts went haywire once again. His head bobbed down a bit as the woman angled her head towards the young office worker's ear. "Go buy some sexy lingerie before you leave," she spoke into his ear. "Wear it when you go to bed every night." His eyelids fluttered frantically as he struggled with the odd effects he was experiencing as the woman's hand remained on his arm. A devious smile was on her face as she came up with another command. "You want my help, Petra," she remarked. "You need to schedule therapy sessions with me." The woman finally pulled her hand away, leaving Peter looking very concerned now as his mind slowly restored its clarity. He then rose from his seat. "I...I have to go..." The woman had to resist the urge to giggle amusedly. "What about Zelene's table dance?" "I'll get one another time," Peter answered. He started to turn towards the door, but he then turned back to the mysterious woman, whose arms were crossed below the swells of her D-cup chest. "D-do you...hhhave a business card?" The PAA curiously asked. The visibly amused woman tilted her head. "Why?" "Because...I might wanna..." Peter's answer naturally sounded quite awkward as he tried to find the words. "...therapy." "I'll have to dig around for a spare card," the woman replied. "While I look for one, you can go get the lingerie you came in here for." "Huh?" He was momentarily confused, but in the next moment, he seemed to remember the urge. "Oh, right, right. I...I'll be right back." Asking the large black man guarding the front door about the lingerie area, the bulky, tattooed sentinel told Peter where to go, and he made his way towards the sales counter. The woman's eyes amusedly followed the young man as she procured a fresh business card from her pocketbook. A few minutes later, Peter returned to her, and she noticed that he had a bag with him. A meek expression was on his face as he stood before her once again. Smiling, the woman handed off her business card. Her other hand rubbed and scratched tenderly at Peter's hair, which sent his thoughts into another tailspin. Her lips once again moved close to his ear. "The name on that card..." she enticingly remarked. "...is all you're ever going to think about from now on. You will be everything I want you to be when you are not working at the precinct, my little Petra. You will do whatever I want you to do without question. You will tell no one about me. You don't know me, even if you hear my name from others." When she released him from her unnatural power once again, he needed a moment for his thoughts to recover, and he then looked at the business card, illuminated solely by the purple neon lights high above. VENETIA FOERST Therapist "I...I...have to go..." He gestured to the establishment's entrance as he backtracked. "...I'll call you, though." "Oh yes," Venetia responded, in her amusement. "You certainly will." He nearly collided with Sparkles, who was passing behind him, as he made his way to the entrance door, looking visibly nervous as the therapist observed her new plaything's departure. With an amused giggle, she returned to her seat and took another sip of her drink. A few minutes later, Zelene stepped over to her table curiously. The exotic dancer frowned in her confusion. "Where is the young man who was...?" Venetia shrugged, smiling. "You just missed him. He must have known something about you that I do, chico." After a moment, Zelene fearfully retreated to the dressing room without another word. Venetia just giggled over the former man's response. Noticing that Alexis was finishing her routine on the nearby pole, the smiling therapist stepped over to her and amusedly slipped a $20 into her garter. "Go buy yourself a bigger ass," Venetia remarked with a sultry wink. As Venetia lingered at her table, a radically shapely brunette with long hair spilling down behind her advanced on the idle therapist's table. The woman smiled cordially as she settled in next to Venetia. "Good evening. I'm Olivia Tench," she began. "I'm their boss." Venetia looked amused. "Did I do something wrong?" she calmly asked. "No, but the ears on my walls told me you're a therapist," Olivia answered. "I need your help. Do you have time to spare at the moment? Money is no object, and I can give you both one of our private rooms." A partial smile was now on Venetia's lips. "You should be aware that I charge extra for personalized therapy." Olivia responded with a partial smile of her own. "And you should be aware that you're being paid double whatever rate you're going to quote me." Venetia giggled, already curious. "What's her name?" "Coco," the radically-figured woman replied. "She's feeling...less than confident in her new role here." The woman in the tight white nightclub dress nodded. "And...what was his name?" "Tobias Betancourt," Olivia replied. "Card gamer and a computer hacker. Helped his parents rob their elders. Practically gave them the key to their bank accounts." "Mmmm." Venetia took a sip of her drink. "What a good boy he was." "Well...she and her best friend..." Olivia gestured to Alexis. "...are mine now, but that one doesn't need any additional help." Finishing her drink, Venetia rose up. "Show me the room. Give me one that has toys in it, if you have one." Similarly rising, Olivia gestured for the therapist to follow her. "And make sure we're not disturbed," Venetia reminded as she followed behind the radically shapely woman. "At all." * * * The good news was that the Help Wanted sign worked. Glenda Hemingforth was now looking at two young ladies who were visibly eager to become hairdressers. The bad news was that the both of them...one more than the other...did not look very bright. In fact, she had ironically attracted the attention of the kinds of young women she herself dubbed floozies. Both had large mammaries, too, but one of them...who had a wad of bubble gum in her mouth...had a pair that was slightly larger than the other. After looking at the applications she had created with the help of her husband, she stepped over to the anxious ladies, whose empty eyes were wide with attention as they sat like perfect bimbos in their seats. She looked to the big-haired platinum blonde first. "Debby...Bliss, is it?" "Yup, dat's me!" the blond bimbo...who was once a young man named Dennis Blake...chirped in confirmation. She followed up her confirmation with the flashing of a perfect smile. Glenda slowly nodded, visibly skeptical. She then looked to the other one, whose scented hairspray shaping her bright, wavy purple hair could be whiffed a mile away. "And you must be Lenore." "Uh-huh." She also flashed a full smile. She then gestured to Debby. "We're partners." "Aaaand...you say you taught Debby in what she knows of hair care?" Glenda asked. "Yup." She bobbed her head in confirmation. "Took awhile, she's a bit of a ditz, but...she caught on." Glenda smirked. "After...how many tries?" Lenore began counting out with her fingers, each of them topped with large, French-cut, bright lavender-painted fingernails. "Uummm...is twenty-six tries a lot?" Her head tilted to the side as she asked, a clueless look on her face. Glenda had to resist the urge to laugh. "You're both lucky I can be quite the soldier with hard cases. Right...on your feet, both of you." Upon a gesture from the hairdresser shop's resident 'Rosie', both airheads rose to their feet attentively. "First off..." She fired a finger towards Debby. "...lose the gum. Bin's over there." Debby groaned. "Ooooo-kaaaaay." Pouting, she stepped over to the bin and tossed out the thoroughly-chewed blob of pink-colored gum, and then stepped back over to stand next to Lenore. "I need you both FOCUSED," Glenda firmly reminded. "I see from your applications that you were entertainers at this 'Cinchers' place. Are you still working there?" Both former young men shook their heads. "Maggs said our act was growing 'stale'," Lenore griped. "Whatever that means. We just went onstage an' fucked around while people watched." "Hee hee...we don't just come onstage..." Debby chirped, grinning as she groped her crotch suggestively. "...we cum onstage!" They both giggled loudly at this. Glenda's giggle was more of a mildly amused one. Her face then became much more stern. "That is NOT FOCUSED!!" Glenda suddenly barked out, forcing squeaks of surprise from her two new charges. She knew how drill sergeants in the army commanded attention and respect from fresh recruits, and such an approach was clearly necessary here as she kept her stern and penetrating gaze. "I know you've both got air in your heads, but I'm about to fill that space with some hard knowledge! When I make a request of you, you will respond with a 'Yes, Ma'am'! ARE WE UNDERSTOOD?" "Y-yes, Ma'am!" they both haphazardly replied, standing at fearful attention. "BULLSHIT! I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!" she suddenly roared. "YES, MA'AM!!" the two she-male bimbos squeaked out, in unison. "GOOD! Because I'm not granting either of you bubble gum privileges until you perform to my satisfaction!" Glenda commanded as she began to pace around them both. "Now! You!" She fired a finger to Debby. "Get in that chair there! That hoshkosh on your head is hardly a standard coif for a place like this! By the time I'm done with you, you WILL look like a perfect Rosie! AND YOU WILL BOTH BECOME PERFECT ROSIES UNDER MY WATCH! UNDERSTOOD??" "YES, MA'AM!" they chirped in unison. "Now get that big ol' bubble-butt on that seat, airhead!" Glenda commanded, sending Debby swaying hurriedly to the chair, where she was able to slide her augmented bum tightly between the armrests. "You!" She pointed to Lenore. "I expect you to watch and listen to procedure! AND YOU WILL BE TESTED ON THESE THINGS!" "Y-yes, Ma'am!" Lenore fearfully replied, turning her attention to Debby as Glenda wrapped a haircutter's smock around her. The hairdresser then brought her lips close to the former Dennis Blake's ear. "I hope you're not sentimentally married to the appearance of this big hair of yours, because I'm about to torpedo it right off your head as if it were the Bismarck!" "Bi-Bismarck?" Debby looked confused. "That's the donut, right?" "EYES ON THE MIRROR!" Glenda barked, redirecting Debby's eyes to her own mirror image, which reflected her terrified expression, as Glenda began to demonstrate her skills, step-by-step, on the teased volumes of the airheaded bimbo's platinum blond hair. As Glenda worked, she shook her head, incredulously muttering, "Donut..." at one point. Despite her initially terse approach, Glenda gradually lapsed into instructor mode, and the girls proved surprisingly receptive. Of course, the biggest challenge was being able to get through to them both using words even their simpleton minds were able to understand... ...but what Glenda was not aware of was that her two charges were once lucid young men, both of whom were compromised by the spell of Sisterhood advocates. Dennis Blake's bimbo reawakening had been engineered by a woman named Judith Newlington, and Lenore was the result of her being influenced out of the unruly young man she used to be by Mayoress Julia Stroud. Prior to being let go from Cincher's as its nightly feature act, it was the club's owner Maggie...on a suggestion from the visiting Tamara Portnoy...who had subsequently suggested that her two saucy little bimbos find work at the new hairdresser shop. Maggie figured that the minimal experience that was given to Lenore, during their tenure as the club's nightly entertainers, would give them a bit of an advantage in learning the ropes. Tamara had also phoned Glenda to curiously ask if she was willing to train those who had little to no experience, to which Glenda responded in the positive. During their training, Lenore's eyes wandered a bit, and she caught sight of a trio of smiling ladies in uniform who looked familiar to her. "Ummm...Ma'am? Can I...ask you somethin'?" After all the instruction Glenda had been giving in remodeling Debby's hair, she figured she either needed amusement, or reinforcement of her need for full attention. "You may," She warily answered. Lenore pointed up to the black & white picture. "Who are those girls? I think I've seen 'em before." Glenda looked to the picture, and immediately recognized the trio of female entertainers. "Those are the Andrews Sisters. Why?" "The ANDREWS Sisters! Yeah!" Lenore seemed to light up at this confirmation. "My...my..." She seemed to try and recollect a memory which had been deeply suppressed by Mayoress Stroud's conditioning. "...I know about these girls from...someone. Someone who was at...Basty? Baloney? Somethin' like that?" Glenda raised an eyebrow in her sudden curiosity. "Bastogne?" "YEAH! That!" Lenore seemed to blink a bit, as if suddenly going dizzy. "I know I...I..." She blinked a bit more before her eyes went wide once again, looking around confusedly. "....u-ummm...what was I saying?" Glenda just gazed curiously at Lenore. It was obvious, by virtue of this unexpected reaction to a mere picture of the Andrews Sisters, that there was something more to this young woman than just an air-headed floozy. The hairdresser led Lenore to a seat and quickly provided her with a cup of cold water. It was clear that Lenore needed a moment to recover. "Are you okay?" Glenda asked as the brunette drained the water from the small plastic cup in one tilt. "Yeah...I...I guess I just...went stupid there." Lenore handed the empty cup to Glenda, who tossed it in the nearby bin. She then gestured for Lenore to rise. "Come on. I'm not done with either of you." As she did, the bells at the front door tinkled, compelling Glenda to turn her attention to the shop's newest visitor, who turned out to be a conservatively-dressed, brown-skinned woman. The dress reminded Glenda of '50s housewife fashions. "Hi!" Debby chirped excitedly, flashing a full smile. "Welcome to Rosie's Retros!" Glenda sighed. "Retro Rosie's. I'm Rosie," she corrected, her eyes still on the woman. "Sorry, uh...you caught me in the middle of training new hires. If you could just take a seat..." "S'alright," The woman raised a hand as she interjected. "I'm here for th' job, too. I do have hairdresser's experience, though, if it helps." Glenda lit up with interest. "You do? That's great. I've only begun my little training regimen. Might as well fall in." The brown-skinned visitor flashed a smile as she extended a hand. "Name's Pam Laverne." A thought occurred to Glenda which made her hesitate. "You say you have hairdresser's experience. Did this...experience...come from working at the Butterfly Salon?" Initially curious as to her potential employer's hesitance, Laverne then shook her head emphatically. "Noooo way. They all 'bout new stuff, an' that bores th' shit outta me. I'm old school. 50s an' 60s stuff, honey. Don't know much 'bout 40s 'dos, but I'd love t' learn." Glenda grinned, and finally extended a hand, which Pam accepted. "You came to the right place. I figure we could learn from each other. My real name's Glenda Hemingforth, but...well, while we're working, we're all Rosies here. It's a...style thing." Pam flashed a grin. "Sounds like fun t' me!" Glenda nodded in confirmation before resuming her instructor's expression. "Okay, now...let's get back to it. Got a lot of ground to cover here. Stick around. I'll be right back." Going into a back office for a moment, Glenda came back out with a plastic bust of a woman's head. Upon the head was a very realistic- looking head of long, straight brown hair. Pam recognized the bust as a hairstyling toy designed to be used by young girls. Seeing as how Glenda needed to train a pair of air-headed bimbos, she found the methodology particularly clever. As the lessons continued, Pam found Glenda to be an excellent teacher with a flair for discipline that manifested whenever it seemed that the attentions of the two busty young women were drifting. Whenever she deemed it necessary, Pam offered tips of her own, punctuating her interjections with 'let Momma Laverne show you lil' ladies a trick or two'. Between Glenda's foundations and Pam's impromptu assistances, the lessons seemed to catch on with Lenore and Debby. They were able to effectively demonstrate the techniques they were taught by the workday's end. It was now a question of amassing a consistently profitable run of clients. Hopefully, the promotion they would be getting through the 'Merry Weather Show' would warrant the desired results. * * * Sticking her head through the crack she had made in the door to the lap dance room, Coco found that the person she had been asked to entertain was a curvy woman wearing a tight silver club dress with spaghetti straps. When she regarded Coco through sensually narrowed eyes, she smiled. "Come on in, dear." She crooked a finger as she spoke, gesturing for the nervous-looking dancer to enter. "I don't bite. Much." Stepping inside, and closing the door behind her, Coco kept her curious eyes on the woman as she remained on the comfy sofa she was sitting at, still smiling at the former young man she had been paid to help. Lying idle on the long coffee table in front of her was a large, fat, flesh- colored latex dildo. "My name is Venetia," the alluring woman began. Coco's steps towards her were slow, but inescapable. Something about Venetia was drawing her in as she gestured to a folding seat that was on the opposite side of the coffee table, facing her. "Have a seat. Let's talk." "Talk?" Coco frowned in confusion. "I thought I was gonna do a dance for you." "You could do that, sure," Venetia replied as Coco settled into the idle seat that faced the mysterious therapist. "But...I'd like to talk to you first. That isn't against the rules, is it?" "No, but...why?" "I saw you out there dancing," Venetia answered. "You looked... unsure... of yourself. Like...something was holding you back. I wanted to know what that something was." Coco was understandably hesitant. It felt like a terribly personal question to ask after everything the young man she used to be had been through. Her head angled down thoughtfully and nervously. Venetia smirked. "Do you expect me to read your mind, Coco? Or would you rather I called you...Tobias?" The dancer's head shot straight up, her wide eyes staring in shock at the woman. "Wha...h-how did you...??" Venetia giggled. "A little birdie told me." Coco sighed. And this 'birdie' must have been Madame Olivia. "Soooo...you used to be a boy," Venetia amusedly continued. "And a really naughty boy, too. Trying to steal money from your grandparents." "Mmm...mom told me to," Coco began to fidget with one of the lengths of braids hanging down from his head. "I'm so bad." "Oh? Your mom had you do that, eh?" An idea fermented in Venetia's head as she spoke. "Not only a naughty boy, but a mama's boy, too," She then rose to her feet and moved next to Coco. "I bet you miss her changing your diapers for you...giving you a bath..." She placed a hand on Coco's bare shoulder. "...hearing you speak like a newborn child..." The former young man's mind was now an uncoordinated jumble as Venetia's unique ability...one that was no different from that of Agatha, or any of her angels...took hold. Coco's eyes fluttered wildly. "Brgzl...mrrplgrrbbblll..." Coco's eyes widened in her shock. "...w- wwrrrglllffprrrk?? WFFRRGZZZ HRRRPTKRRRLK??" "Get up and come sit with me on the sofa, Coco dear," She kept her hand on the bewildered, smooth-skinned dancer's shoulder as she rose up. Venetia then led her over to the couch, where they both settled in. Coco was quiet the whole time. She feared to try and speak another word. Her thoughts remained a jumbled mess as Venetia maintained contact with her. "This is what you get for being so bad to your grandparents," Venetia scolded, wrapping her arm around Coco's shoulders. The young dancer's body quaked with fear as the therapist spoke. "What do you have to say for yourself? Go on, speak!" "Hrmm...hrrrfrglkrrrg..." she tried, desperately, to form more understandable words, but it was clearly impossible for her mouth to do so. "Jgzzzlrrrph!! Mrrrlgarkrlgzrr!!" Venetia shook her head ashamedly. "I should keep you this way for what you did. Taking advantage of your grandparents like you did. Just take their money, right? They're too old to use it anyway. They've grown too senile. It's just gonna collect dust in those accounts long after they're dead, so why not? They're on the verge of death anyway, right? You're worse than bad, Tobias Betancourt. You're thoughtless. You're cruel. You deserve to be used like the slut you've become...and since you sound like such a baby, you're gonna need a pacifier." Reaching over to the coffee table that was between Venetia's sofa and Coco's now-empty chair, the therapist picked up the latex dildo lying upon its smooth black surface. She made sure to maintain her skin-to-skin contact with Coco as she did so. Still lost in the suggestive state Venetia was inflicting upon her mind, Coco's eyes stared upon the dildo that the attractive therapist held in front of her face. "This...and anything else that looks like this...is your pacifier. You will always want to take it into you however you can, because it makes you feel soooo horny. Soooo hot. Sooooo bothered. You want it in your ass. You want it in your vagina. You want it in your mouth. Pushing it in, pulling it out," Venetia spoke slowly and alluringly as she waved the phallic object in front of Coco's transfixed eyes. "In...and out. In...and out. You will never have enough of it. You're going to be ravenous for this. Especially for the live ones that you find between the legs of men, and she-males. No matter how large, no matter how small." "Blrrglphrr...." Coco muttered as she continued staring, lustfully, upon the dildo. She already wanted this thing inside her mouth. "...nrrrmlfflgrphik..." But then, Venetia tossed it back on the table and then placed her hands, firmly, upon Coco's face. "You naughty, evil little bitch," She angrily intoned. "You should pay back every cent you stole from your grandparents. Even if you never did. You owe them, you nasty slut. You'll never be satisfied until you've fucked and sucked all the money you can get out of your customers out there, and you're gonna give every little penny of it over to your grandparents. The only thing you get to keep is the cum they fill your belly with. Tobias Betancourt is gone. Now you're just Coco Cocklette, the most shameful, nasty, rug-munching, cock- swallowing, breast-sucking, ass-licking, hopelessly submissive little slut in the entire fucking place. You'll always be beneath everyone here because you're so shamefully bad, and you'll never be happy until you've pleased whoever it is you're pleasuring, even if it's your own co- workers...and you will want to make your body as sexy as possible. Bigger breasts. A bigger ass. That's all you deserve, Coco Cocklette. From now, until the day you fucking die." Coco's jaw hung open as her mind had been fed its enforced conditioning. Saliva leaked from one corner of the feminized young man's mouth as she stared listelessly forward. "And if you're going to act like a slut..." Venetia spoke right into Coco's ear now. "...you might as well speak like one. For the rest of your cum-sucking life." After a moment, Venetia's hands finally released Coco's face, breaking the deep connection to the former young man's mind. The feminized dancer then frowned to the attractively-dressed therapist. "Why the fuck did y- you...?" I can actually SPEAK again! Coco's inner voice confirmed as her eyes widened. But then, her eyes fell upon the idle dildo on the ground, which she was quick to reach down and grab. She gazed upon it hungrily. Venetia giggled upon seeing this, rising to her feet. She headed for the door to the private room as she spoke. "I'll just leave you to your cocklust. Have a hot and bothered night, bitch." Coco had already taken the head of the phallic object into her mouth as Venetia gently closed the door behind her. She then calmly stepped towards the door to the office that she knew Olivia Tench was occupying. The crafty Madame had a wry, knowing smile on her face as the sassy therapist stepped in and confidently swayed towards her desk. "Coco Cocklette, eh?" Olivia mused, pulling a bulky envelope full of money out of a desk drawer and pushing it towards Venetia. "I'm glad you're on our side." Venetia just smiled back as she took the envelope and gave Olivia a farewell wave. I'm not on anyone's 'side', sweetie. She replied to herself as she amusedly turned to leave the office. I'm my own bitch. * * * Even an ex-Marine as stoic as Jake Simonson had to react with disgust upon catching the horrible scent of the decrepit old woman staggering past Mistresses with only a shopping cart to carry the stuff Leslie Betancourt had acquired for herself since becoming a hunched-over, wrinkled, smelly old derelict. Leslie ignored the tattooed man's reaction as she continued pushing her cart forward along the sidewalk. "Trap," she muttered as she continued her slow progress. "All a ffffuckin' trap." Eventually finding another empty bench, the derelict looked around to make sure there were no police officers nearby, and then settled into the bench when she saw that the area was clear of law enforcement. She made sure not to rest herself across the length of the wide bench, realizing that was an invitation to yet another night in a jail cell if she were caught falling asleep on it. Maintaining a seated position on the bench, she reached over to a half- eaten donut that was atop the junk on her cart and munched on the stale food as she stared into space. Stars generously dotted the clear skies high above, with only the occasional wisps of gray clouds among them. They reminded Leslie of Christmas lights as she continued to stare into the night sky. Memories from her childhood began to manifest in her mind's eye as she unconsciously loosened her grip on the bad donut. * * * 7-year old Leslie Hemingforth managed to lock her brother Paul in his room so she could finally beat him to the presents on Christmas morning. Such was the ritual in the Hemingforth household. First one to the Christmas tree got first dibs on the presents. Paul had been a consistent winner for the past three years. Leslie figured it was time for a change, and by any means necessary this time because her father had always told her how deserving she was of all the best things in life, and that she needed to fight for it if she had to. Her mother, Glenda, was already seated on the sofa by the generously- decorated tree as "Sleigh Ride" played on the radio nearby. Alongside her was her father, Harvey. The both of them had steaming cups of coffee in their hands, and beamed at their young daughter when she reached the lower landing of the staircase of their suburban home. "Oooh!" Glenda observed in her surprise. "You beat your brother today!" "Yeah, we usually expect him down here first!" Harvey added, looking impressed. Leslie's eyes were already on the presents, however, and she spoke as she hurried over to the cornucopia of Santa's latest offerings. "Merry Christmas, Ma, Merry Christmas, Dad!" She called out as she moved. Both of her parents smiled amusedly as Leslie dug out the largest of her wrapped gifts and began pulling apart the paper concealment. Such was the anticipation of her reaction to her Christmas present that both Glenda and Harvey did not catch the loud pounding transmitting down the stairs from the door of Paul's bedroom. Pulling aside the wrapping revealed a large doll she had asked for, and she was initially elated...but there was something amiss about the package it was in. There was evidence of wear and stress. She knew that brand new packages were usually sealed with a thin layer of clear plastic. This one was not. At the same time she discovered this, giving her a moment's pause, Harvey's attention was finally diverted to the banging coming from the second floor, and it was accompanied by the sounds of her son yelling frantically. Curiously, he laid his coffee cup down and moved quietly to the staircase while Glenda seemed puzzled by Leslie's reaction to her largest Christmas offering, which was quite clearly on the list her daughter had written up prior to the big day. "This is..." Leslie began, figuring it out quickly. "...this is USED! You got me something that wasn't brand new??" Glenda frowned. "No, we got it from the Outdoor Emporium! That's not used, dear. The vendor told me so!" "The Outdoor Emporium??" Leslie knew exactly what kind of a place this was. "That's a FLEA MARKET!! Ma, they ALWAYS have cheap stuff there! Hand-me-downs!" "Leslie...a brand new doll like that is more of an expense than we can afford right now," Glenda firmly explained. "The doll in there should have everything that's supposed to be in a brand new package, so I don't think you should be complaining." As Glenda was justifying her position, however, Leslie was already looking through the stressed box for something. The doll was supposed to come with a certificate of ownership. But there was no such certificate. "Really??" Leslie looked back up at her mother angrily. "Where's the certificate of ownership?? It's NOT HERE, Mom!" "Glennie?? Don't let her touch another present!" Harvey angrily called down, in chorus with open sobbing that was coming from his son, who was following behind him. Leslie's blood ran cold upon hearing the sobbing. She rose up from where she was kneeling. Glenda was already on her feet in concern. Harvey immediately glared at his daughter as he approached her. "How could you lock your brother in his room?? Do you have any idea how ROTTEN that kind of a trick is to pull on a day like today??" Leslie's eyes were already welling up with tears. "But...he always beats me..." Glenda was similarly aghast. "What is WRONG with you?? First, you complain about us getting your presents from the Outdoor Emporium, which is a perfectly good shopping place, and then you lock your own brother in his room ON CHRISTMAS DAY??" Harvey was shaking his head in disbelief. "Haven't you ever heard that it's not the gift, it's the THOUGHT that counts??" Leslie was about to give another hopefully mitigating excuse, but Glenda was already resolute in her next action, which was to pull all of the gifts that they had gotten her away from the tree, setting them all aside. "This kind of behavior is unacceptable, young lady. You can just forget about the rest of your gifts, including that doll. Go to your room right now! And don't try to steal any of these presents afterwards. If we catch you with any of them, you'll be grounded!" A mixture of shock and rage was on Leslie's tear-streaked face as Harvey provided gentle consolation to his son. After screaming out angrily in her furious retort, Leslie began stomping back up the stairs to her room, where she slammed the door behind her and jumped onto her bed to sob uncontrollably. Thoughts of wanting to get back at her parents festered in her young mind. Obviously, the distinction of fighting for the best things in life wasn't always successful for her. Perhaps, in time, she could find a way to get her revenge...and not just for this one instance of cheap, Flea Market-bought Christmas gifts from her parents, but for ones that she got in the few years that followed as well. Being grounded for coming home late, poor report card grades, fights at school Leslie was similarly punished for... ...she would make Glenda pay for all of the misery those "reprimands" brought her. It was just a question of when she would be able to do so. * * * These memories played over and over in Leslie's head as she continued to push her shopping cart down along the sidewalk. She had risen from the public bench to continue her wanderings as she quietly reminisced. About an hour later, the homeless derelict passed at a storefront for an antiques business. She merely glanced at the window... ...but in doing so, an item presented within the window caught her attention. She stopped dead in her tracks and stared upon the item. It was the very same doll she had gotten...and was deprived of...in her childhood. This one, however, was in a sealed box. Mint condition. The price tag was obviously more than Leslie could ever hope to afford. After staring at the doll, which looked back at her from behind not only the clear plastic veil but the window of the antiques shop, Leslie came to the conclusion that the doll needed to be freed from her prison. By any means necessary. Among the junk items in her shopping cart was an empty bottle of champagne. She figured this would be more than enough to accomplish her next trick... ...which set off a loud cacophony of alarms when the bottle loudly and violently shattered the front glass of the antiques store window. This sent memories of her being scolded by her disappointed parents flooding into her mind, and she just stood there in front of the broken window like a zombie, staring back at the unspoiled doll. The loud alarms were soon singing in chorus with the sounds of police sirens on the flashing cars that had screeched in behind Leslie. The derelict continued to stare back at the plastic, lifelike eyes of the doll as they dragged her towards one of the police cruisers. That night, sleeping in her cell for what she was sure would be longer than a single night, the image of that doll...this one fully animated...was scolding the image of a 7-year old Leslie Hemingforth and sending her to her room as Leslie watched. Strangely enough, Leslie was released from her imprisonment two days later. As if someone wanted her to continue openly wandering and lamenting, pathetically, all over the city of Bullchester for the rest of her visibly miserable life. * * * = TRANSCRIPT - "The Merry Weather Show": "Retro Rosie's" Live Feed = (PAM brings us out of commercial break wearing WW2-era dress and a military-issue towel wrapped over her hair, concealing it) PAM: Eyes front, morning maggots! I am your Senior Drill Instructor, Pamela Merryweather, and you are at the position of ATTENTION! (winks) Such is the manner in which the staff here at Retro Rosie's, right here in downtown Bullchester, runs their tight shipful of hairdressers within this amazingly-decorated time trip to those uncertain days of yesteryear on the homefronts of the world! (ROLL TAPE - Retro Rosie's collage of shop decorations and hair care customers) PAM V.O.: We're obviously in peacetime, of course, but given the way the interiors look in this recently-opened establishment, you might get the feeling that your husbands are off fighting Nazi oppression on the European battlefields of the 1940s. While you'll find no guns or grenades here, you'll find plenty of scissors, hair dryers, and curling irons to create coiffures that would be right at home in a USO-sponsored dance hall. GLENDA: My husband and I have unique knowledge of the era. See...I was one of those housewives on the homefront while Harvey was shipped out with the rest of the 82nd Airborne Division in 1944 to take and hold a bridge in Holland. He was wounded, and he received the Silver Star, and a Purple Heart. PAM: Do you have those on display here? GLENDA: Oh heavens, no. My husband prefers to keep such decorations within arm's reach. PAM V.O.: Although the initial focus was to be wartime fashions from the 1940s, the recent addition of a more diverse hairdresser effectively added coiffures from the 50s and 60s. So if you ever want to look like the kind of girl that would attract the attention of Elvis Presley fans, or leather-jacketed greasers straight out of an Annette Funicello movie, this is the place where you can make it happen. You can likewise come here to have Rosie's hair care experts...all of whom share the same single identity of "Rosie", itself a nod to the legendary Rosie the Riveter...take you back to the Woodstock era where anti-war hippies were all the rage. PAM: So where are the "Make Love Not War" signs? GLENDA: (giggles) We only fight coif wars here, flower girl. PAM V.O.: And yes, even Private Pamela Merryweather herself became a fresh recruit to the coiffure cause, seeing as how I myself wanted to come out of my visit to the past looking like I had actually come straight out of the 1940s. By the time I was done, I was looking around for someone to share a swing dance with. P. LAVERNE: Our tours of duty are seven days a week, honey. So all them Bullchester sweeties out there, they can't give no excuse to NOT come down, know what I'm sayin'? PAM: And what do they think of the competition? DEBBY: WHAT competition?? LENORE: Yeah! That Butterfly Salon is SOOOO five minutes ago! GLENDA: I see us...as more of an option rather than a necessity. If they like modern fashions, then the choice is obvious. If they want retro styles, which I know they do NOT do at that Salon, they can come here. PAM: So come down to Retro Rosie's! THE ROSIES: BECAUSE WE CAN DO IT!! (BACK TO LIVE FEED) PAM: Now while the business may be relatively new, they are already seeing repeat business from patrons that they hope will become regular customers. One such customer is the radically curvy secretary to the Mayoress of Bullchester, and needless to say, she's already giving this business, in her words, a Congressional Medal of Honor. She'll find no disagreements here, of course, because I'm not only a daytime talk show hostess paying a visit to Retro Rosies... (pulls off towel to reveal a 1940s hairstyle) ...I'm also a very satisfied client! When we come back from our commercial break, we'll be sharing a nice cup of Joe with Tabatha Coffey, after which we'll serenade the Rosies with a visit from a surprise musical guest, who is himself a blast from the past! So keep that coffee pot warm! (DISSOLVE TO COMMERCIAL BREAK) X: Two Weeks Later... "Oooh, look, kitty!" Nicola Kapper shot a slender finger over to the storefront that caught her eye. "There it is!" "Mew?" Cher "Kitty" Merrywether's wide eyes curiously redirected to where her girlfriend was pointing, and saw what looked to be a brand new business. This one stood out from most of the other businesses in Bullchester. It was a restaurant of some sort, but the theme was clearly evident in the name that it was given: Totally Maid! "Hehe...told you I'd find it," Nicola giddily gushed to her significant other, whose soft waves of shoulder-length hair had been colored a bright lavender. The hairpiece Cher was wearing to keep the bangs out of her eyes had a pair of large plastic cat ears on them. "Ooh, look!" Cher observed as they closed the distance between them and the business. "There are maids in there, serving the customers!" "Well, duh!" Nicola amusedly chided. "Why do you think they call it 'Totally Maid'?" Cher just shrugged, smiling meekly as her lithe, feline-like body...covered in a tight, studded white blouse with a cute cat design on the front, and a pair of tight pink lycra sweatpants...continued to follow behind. "Didn't there used to be a sports bar around here?" The teenager curiously wondered aloud. "Yeah, but they went under," Nicola explained as they stepped to the front door of the establishment. "Good riddance. All that testosterone was stinking up the avenue." The sound of activity was all over the partially-packed interiors. On the large monitors at the bar were streaming TV feeds full of Japanese animated programs. Ladies young and old, dressed in the traditional black-and-white maid outfits, were going to and from the tables scattered all over the open area by the bar. Behind the bar, a man dressed from head to toe as a Butler was serving drinks. J-pop tunes blared from speakers above some of the tables, transmitting the perky melodies all over the main area. Within moments of their entry, a pudgy teen with a long mane of bright red hair stepped up to them and gave them a respectful curtsey. "Hi, Mistresses! Welcome home!" the young woman chirped, beaming a full smile. A name tag on the right breast of her uniform...which concealed a pair of firmly-held C-cup mammaries...read My name is RILEY! "Is it just the two of you?" "Yup!" Nicola confirmed. "Just me and my lil' kitty here." As Riley...who, like most of the other employees, was once a male troublemaker sentenced to feminization by the Sisterhood, this one the brother of the woman who inherited the business...led them to an available table, they saw another maid taking food orders from a table full of patrons. This maid had a pair of bunny ears on her head, and a convincing-looking bunny tail attached to her posterior. Unbeknownst to all, this bunny-aspected maid once worked at a retirement hotel called the Golden Sunshine, prior to being accused of raping a woman there. Only her handlers at a place called The Farm knew full well who this maid used to be. Once Riley had seated Nicola and Cher, she assured that a maid would come to serve them shortly before going back to her front post to welcome whatever new patrons stepped through the front door. After a few minutes, an older maid dutifully stepped over to them. Her hair was a mass of small pink curls, and her maid uniform looked very Victorian in appearance. Upon arriving at their table, she curtseyed low, and flashed a sweet smile. "Welcome home, Mistresses," the woman pleasantly began. "I am Maid Adele, and I hope my service will be satisfactory for you both tonight." A couple of tables away, another patron...this one with a head of long, blond hair, and a body clearly shaped for sex...gazed upon Adele Norris as she introduced herself to the new patrons. A wicked grin formed on her lips, remembering the pathetic man she used to be. The woman...Iris Fielding...wondered if she still had that ridiculous rug that was on his head when Arnold Betancourt first met her. As she placed a cigarette in her mouth and fished through her pocketbook for her lighter, the maid serving Iris...whose name tag read JOANNE, which was clearly the fitting name a meddling freelance photographer named Jonathan Eberhardt had been given once the Lady Agatha had finished feminizing him...dutifully returned to the table. "Would you like any more coffee, Mistress?" "As long as it's freshly-brewed," Iris replied, her eyes still on Adele. Joanne curtseyed. "Yes, Mistress." She then stepped away to submissively fulfill the request. Some of the offerings of the new establishment took the form of table games. The only exception were traditional, gambling-based card games which were prohibited. Board games and party games, on the other hand, could be requested and honored. Monopoly was permitted. Trouble, the game with the pop-o-matic bubble, was offered there. Stay Alive. Battleship. Dark Tower. Hungry Hungry Hippos. Jenga was a very popular option. It was the latter game that two other female patrons...one with a feminine appearance that looked to have been crafted over the course of a few plastic surgery sessions, and another that was extremely curvy, particularly at her posterior and at her chest...were engaging in as their tea cups cooled off. "I noticed an old friend of yours over there by the window," Lois Fryer observed as she looked around for a wooden piece to safely extract from the tower. "She looks awfully...catty, doesn't she?" Tamara Portnoy knew exactly who she meant as she waited for her tablemate to pick a piece to extract. "I'd rather you didn't remind me, Lois." Picking a piece to pull, she was able to do so without compromising the tower, extracting it with slow, steady pulls. "Some people just have to be reminded not to mess with perfection." Now it was Tamara's turn to scan the tower and find a piece of wood to safely pull. "Even if that perfection comes with a price?" "Tamara...if I told you once, I told you a thousand times," Lois gently chided as Tamara brought her hand towards a piece that looked safe enough to pull. "You don't know how good you have it, given the way you look now, and don't lie. I know a part of you loves it. Personally, I think you look amazing. Who gives a fuck what the haters think?" With a few careful tugs, Tamara was able to keep the tower standing after plucking the wooden piece. "Funny how all of those 'haters' are Divine Feminine zealots." Lois nodded. "And you couldn't give two fucks what they think anyway, do you? Now if you ask me, I figure maybe an extra tuck at your..." "NO," Tamara firmly interjected. "I'm done with body mods, Lois. No joke. This is what I've got. Take it or piss off." Lois seemed to be a bit surprised by this reaction. She had never imagined Tamara to become so resolute in her denial. "Jeez, fine! Okay! Won't bring it up again." In her irritation, however, she pulled a piece which sent the entire tower crashing down. "Aww, SHIT." Tamara just grinned amusedly. "Oops." Lois smirked. "You're still part of our little mallrat trio, you know. Just because I can't put you back under the knife doesn't let you off our little hook." Tamara's expression turned evasive. "Lois...if I have pressing matters elsewhere whenever you want to raid the mall, you'll have to settle for a duo." Lois just shrugged, smiling impishly as Maid Adele casually passed by their table. "Can't blame me for trying." Adele approached the swinging doors to the back room kitchen, where she was to personally begin crafting the food and drink orders Cher and Nicola had given her. Such was the uniqueness of the business. The maid servers did not merely hand the orders off to back room cooks and chefs. The maids were themselves the cooks and the chefs that poured the coffee into the mugs, crafted the casseroles, shaped the meat into hamburger patties to place on a steaming hot grill, and even prepared meals of a more exotic nature. All within the confines of a back room that had been crafted to look very much like a large kitchen in a suburban household. Air conditioning was state-of-the-art, and there were maids confined exclusively to cleaning duty to keep things tidy at all times. There were also a row of vanities to keep the maids themselves tidy, and looking professional. Once Adele had her table's meals ready to serve, she arranged them carefully on the large, hard plastic serving platter, and went back out. Three tables away from where the door to the kitchen area was, Glenda Hemingforth sat with Pam Laverne, chatting as they dug into their freshly-made casseroles. Glenda's head faced away from the kitchen door. "I can't thank you enough for helping me train Debby and Lenore," Glenda remarked after swallowing her mouthful of food. "With their mindsets, training would have lasted well over a month if it weren't for your help." "Happy to help, honey," Pam replied. "Got yourself a nice lil' place...an' business sure is boomin' since Pam Merryweather did her show there." "I'm just glad we were able to pull off that 'musical guest' thing," Glenda noted. "I have a feeling our electric bill's gonna be pretty big when we get it." "I already went over that with Pam's people," The brown-skinned hairdresser assured. "Wouldn't be very damn nice o' them t' bring down someone like Frankie Valli, an' not force us t' pay four seasons worth of electric bills, know what I'm sayin'? They told me...hell, I made 'em promise me...that they'd cover it." "Good, good," Glenda replied, sipping from her tea mug. "There's somethin' else you need t' be prepared for, too," Pam soberly noted. "If the business keeps gettin' as good as it is now, the competition might wanna steal you away. Could offer up a lot o' money, too." "If you mean the Butterfly Salon? They'll never have me," Glenda firmly responded. "No way I'm gonna work there. It's too..." She took a moment to think of the right word. "...dangerous." Pam nodded again. "Agreed." As they continued eating, their very petite-looking maid...whose breast tag sported the name Carol...dutifully returned to their table. "Is there any other way I can serve you, Mistresses?" Glenda shrugged, smiling to their server. "I think we're ready for the check now." Carol nodded, and turned away to tally up the expenses of her guests. As she did, a lingering male voice deep inside her mind...the voice of Buford James Thornhill, the drunken redneck she used to be...assailed her. This is so SILLY! Her male id complained, forcing a pause in her calculations. No it isn't. Her feminine id, deeply planted unto Buford's mind by The Farm, reinforced. It's just your head. Her female id seemed to repeat this sentiment as her eyes rapidly blinked for a moment, after which she resumed assessing the expenses for her hairdresser guests. Yes. Carol affirmed to herself, surrendering to her feminine id once again. It's just my head. * * * Jacob Simonson was understandably hesitant upon arriving at the Golden Sunshine Retirement Home. His curiosity had finally gotten the better of him after Olivia had given Jake the information he needed to be able to see his mother, Harriet. Upon settling his sleek black SUV in a parking space, Jake hurried towards the doors to the Retirement Home, and settled himself in front of the lobby's front desk, where Geri Ling stepped over to him, flashing a courteous smile. "Good evening, sir. Are you visiting someone here?" "Uhh...yeah," Jake answered. "Is there a Harriet Simonson here?" Geri immediately checked her computer monitor, swiping a finger upon the touchscreen monitor. "Lesseeee, Harriet, Harriet, Harriet Harriet Harri..." The smile then returned to her face upon spotting the name. "...ah, there we are." Her eyes returned to Jake. "Harriet Simonson's on the fourth floor, room 412." Jake nodded. "Thanks." And off he went, heading for the elevator doors. They slid open just as he arrived, and a pair of very attractive young women stepped out, their eyes now rooted to the ex-Marine's bulky physique. One of them...a busty, smiling platinum blonde...got back on the elevator as it closed up. The woman shrugged as she flashed a fetching smile of her own. "Sorry...just remembered I forgot something," She cooed. "Who're you visiting?" "My mother," Jake flatly replied. "Does this...mother...have a name?" The woman was already scanning Jake's body from head to toe. It was clear she had become interested in him as she began to slowly circle around the brown-skinned man. "I might be able to tell you whether she's here or not. I know everyone here." "You gimme your name..." Jake evasively began. "...and I'll give you hers." The shapely temptress giggled amusedly. "Rosalind Foxxe." She stepped up close to him as she purred the name. "Call me Rosa." "Harriet Simonson." A sly smile formed on Rosa's full red lips. "Is that what you want me to call you, honey?" "That's my mother's name," Jake tersely responded. "You said you knew everyone." Rosa stepped up close to him now. "I don't know your name, though..." She reached over to flick a switch which stopped the elevator's progress as it was coasting past the 3rd floor. "...but you could look like a Harriet." Jake fixed a look on Rosa that would have melted a thick block of ice. "Do you know her or not? Don't fuck with me today, lady." "Ooooh. Nasty boy." She leaned her back against his hard, tense body. "I like that in a man. You've got good ink on you, too. Lemme guess...soldier boy?" Jake smirked...and then reached over to flick the very same switch to get the elevator moving once again. "Pfft. You're no fun," Rosa griped. "Yeah, your momma's home. She's one of the new girls. Quite a looker now, too. She must've been a babe in her prime." The elevator doors slid open once again upon its arrival on the 4th floor, and Jake began to step out...but Rosa got in his way. "Aren't you gonna thank me?" She purred, this time rubbing her hands along his bulky arms. "I did what you asked, after all. Little Miss Rosa wants a reward...and she's gonna get it." The stern, ice-melting look returned to Jake's face. "Excuse me," He firmly remarked. But this only earned him a sudden and completely unexpected smooch from the clearly oversexed blonde as she pressed her full lips against his own, kissing deeply as her hands rubbed sensually beneath his tight, forest green Marine Corps T-Shirt. Pulling away, she rubbed a hand at his cheek as she stepped aside, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "I'll remember you, soldier boy." Touching the button that began sliding the doors closed, Jake lurched away from them as Rosa let out an amused giggle. Collecting his senses, he shook his head. "Damn!" The hall was silent, save for the sound of what sounded like... intercourse. Pants of pleasure, and moaning, from a room he passed. Fortunately, it wasn't from his mother's door number that the sex noises were originating from. Nearing Room 412, however, he began to hear the sounds of a Donna Summer tune. One of her earlier disco works, which she never expected his conservative and partially religious mother to listen to: Love To Love You Baby. Hesitantly, Jake gave the door a knocking which he hoped was loud enough to be heard over the music. A female voice from within the room called out "Comin', baby!" The sound of this voice alone raised suspicion. It sounded far too young to be Harriet's. Was that Kanesha? He thought. And then the door opened. It took a moment for Jake's astonished eyes to comprehend that what he was seeing was not Kanesha at all. Because this woman looked far too sexy to be Harriet's granddaughter. The woman standing there was attractively curvy, and her moist-looking hair was shoulder-length. Her face was very expertly and femininely made over, and gold earrings of an African design hung from her earlobes. The workout outfit she wore over her smooth brown skin...which was surprisingly free of wrinkles and liver spots...was tight and skimpy, the top portion straining against the swells of a pair of jiggling DD-cups. Jake had seen his mother's face a thousand times. He could identify it by the sunken cheekbones, and the gentle gaze that lingered around age- wrought wrinkles. It was the appearance of this younger woman's now wrinkle-free gaze that made it clear to the former Marine that the very attractive-looking woman he was now staring at was, in fact, his mother. She tilted her head to the side curiously. "Jake?" The ex-Marine could not find the words to speak. Any words he had contemplated had all caught in his throat. He just stood there, clearly struck dumb by what he was seeing. Slowly, a smile formed on Harriet Simonson's mouth. "I could hardly believe it myself," the rejuvenated Harriet began. "Thought they were tryin' t' poison me when I saw that pink shit comin' into the tub. I just laid back an' figured it was too late. Couldn't believe I was actually able t' stand straight up when I was done." "K-Kanesha?" Jake finally asked, still looking astonished. "Said she'd stop by next week," Harriet replied. "She called me after my second bath, so I still sounded, well, older," The rejuvenated woman then giggled amusedly. "Can't wait t' see th' look on her face when she sees how I look now." "Wh..." The words were still catching in his throat, but he finally managed to get another question out. "...did it hurt?" "Hurt?? Hell, no!" his mother responded. "Fact, I feel better than ever! Like a damn Goddess! Rosa helped." Jake frowned. "Rosa?" "Yeah! She's some hotshot, big-titty white bitch that lives here," Harriet responded. "Y' just missed her, too. She stopped by t' remind me 'bout Harve's workout. He's good, too. You'd like him. Was just on my way down. Say...why don't you come with? Maybe you two can talk about army stuff. He's a vet. Talks about those old wars. Maybe you could learn a thing or two." "Harve?" "He's the new phys ed guy," Harriet answered. "I call him Captain America 'cause he reminds me o' him," She stepped away to grab a bloated, heavy- looking gym bag, which she effortlessly slung over her shoulder. "So you comin', or are you just gonna stand there?" "Uhh...y-yeah," Jake replied. Their conversation continued once they had stepped into an elevator. "So yeah, Rosa was nice enough t' help me find my way around here," Harriet explained. "Son, when I first saw all these big ol' bimbo babes 'round here...Rosa, Maude, Blanche...it made me feel like they brought me to the wrong place, y' know? Like they took a wrong turn. But when I started changin', they told me that they looked just as old as I did when they first came here." "So they've got some kind of Fountain o' Youth here?" Jake wondered aloud. "Don't that strike you as odd? I mean, that they've got it here, an' nowhere else?" "Well...I'd hate t' be bathin' a newborn baby in that pink water," Harriet reasoned. "That's not what I mean, Mom," Jake countered, still finding it hard to believe that this much younger woman was indeed his mother. "I mean, why don't they share this with other retirement homes? Outside o' the Big Bull?" The rejuventated woman just shrugged, smiling meekly. "Limited supply? Who the hell knows? I ain't no damn water company." The elevator doors slid open once more, allowing Harriet and her son to step out. As they did, another busty platinum blonde stepped into the elevator with a very effeminate looking young man in tow. The woman's eyes locked on Jake as he stepped out. "Oooh..." the busty woman purred. "...I didn't think you'd get yourself a bodyguard so soon, Harriet." The rejuvenated woman smiled back. "This is my son, Maude." "Oh, really??" She flashed a more stern look to her diminished male companion. "Keep the doors open, Nigel." With a nervous nod, the young man went to the elevator buttons and flicked a switch as Maude jiggled flirtatiously over to Jake. One hand shook the ex-Marine's offered hand while her other openly rubbed at his chest as she looked up at him. "Mmmm...feels like I'm rubbing an iron plate," Maude gushed. "I envy whoever earns a taste of your stainless steel rod down there," She gave Jake's groin a squeeze in emphasis of her words. Jake just stared, somewhat incredulously, down at the platinum-haired cougar feeling him up. Maude's head turned to Harriet. "I don't suppose I could borrow this..." "NO," Harriet firmly interjected. "I was just gonna show him the gym, an' have him meet Harve." Maude amusedly shrugged as she stepped back into the elevator. "Can't say I didn't try. See you later, sweetie." Her eyes switched to Jake. "Nice to meet you, hot cocoa," They then went to Nigel. "Up." Once the elevator doors slid shut, Jake shook his head and sighed. Hearing the word 'cocoa', however, gave him an unexpected mental leap to the young exotic dancer at Mistresses that he had taken an interest in. A dancer that he knew had once been a young man. * * * It was over. Their risk had paid off, and in spades! Tobias beamed as he looked at the fresh new account he had started up as a result of the successful gold-mining, as his mother had put it, of the generous accounts of his grandparents, both of whom were still rotting away at the retirement home they had been left at. $6, 247.95. His cut of the caper, once the money had been split between him, his mother, and his father. There was more, but his father had insisted that some of Tobias's cut be put towards College tuition. Still...over $6,000 was a pretty big haul to the young man. He still couldn't believe they had gotten away with it. He could pay for the most expensive, most supreme Behemongers deck and still have plenty of money left over for six game consoles and a state-of-the-art computer upgrade. Half of the house was to be renovated as per his mother's cut of the spoils, and his father had already financed a means by which he could cover his bald spot with real, regrown hair rather than spend the rest of his life bound to the need for a toupee. He also junked the old station wagon in favor of a brand new SUV. Between the three of them, they still had plenty of money to burn, and they were all too eager to exploit the perk of their subtle heist. He recalled his mother's spiteful tone when she bragged of having Tobias leave a paltry $50.00 in the accounts of their grandparents once the emptying of those accounts was complete. Today was to be the first afternoon spent in a brand new patio setup that his mother had handymen establish for the house's backyard. A large white fence surrounded it, and a hot tub had been placed in the ground near an outdoor table that was shaded by a large, unfurled umbrella. Tobias could already smell the scent of meat as Arnold worked the grill of the barbecue area. Slipping on a sky blue tank top to go with his deep red shorts, Tobias slipped flip-flops onto his bare feet and descended the staircase, smiling contentedly. He could hear his parents...both of them...talking and gossiping and joking as he neared the door to the backyard. The gentle chorus of a lovely spring day filled his ears as he stepped outside. Rounding the corner from the door, Tobias approached his parents with a spring in his step. As he did, he could feel an odd weight flop around on his chest. His parents were engrossed in their conversation as Tobias stopped at the table. When Leslie and Arnold finally turned their smiling faces towards their son, their expressions changed. Now, they were wearing wildly confused expressions. "Mom?" Tobias's voice was strangely high-pitched. "Dad?" A hand went to his throat... ...and as it did, he looked down at the two large, round, jiggling bulges of flesh that now dominated his chest. * * * Coco Cocklette's eyes opened wide, the deep-toned sounds of Barry White's recitations taking her out of her sleep, as she had arranged on her nearby smartphone. As the weather was so warm, she preferred to sleep on top of the bedsheets rather than within them. The climate of a heatwave lingering over the Big Bull had given her bare body a visible and sensual-looking sheen of sweat. One of the perks of her visit to the Butterfly Salon was that she was able to give her radically feminine body's skin a perpetual shade of bronze. It was enough that the rows of beautiful-looking braids streaming down her back gave her hair a purely African appearance. She now had a skin tone that made her look no different from a light-skinned black woman. A veritable Vanessa Lynn Williams in the prime of her beauty. Only Vanessa's body was prudish...and quite frankly, pathetic...compared to Coco's own desirable frame. Such was the mindset Coco had embraced since finishing another evening spent with Venetia Foerst following Coco's visit to Dr. Parker Drake. Engaging her bank account through her smartphone, she curiously checked her funds, thinking about the dream that she had. Two straight nights working at Mistresses, in the wake of her modifications, proved particularly profitable for her. $3,069.00. Only a Nubian Goddess like me could earn so much. Coco thought to herself. Closing the bank app, Coco got right to work on establishing her divinity. She had practiced the procedure so often that she felt she could start doing it blindfolded. Spraying on a layer of that spicy, alluring perfume once her lipstick had been applied, she went into her dresser and pulled out a freshly-cleaned one-piece lycra dress, slipping it on over her sensually curvy body. The outfit was bronze-toned, with leopard-spotted outlines on the edges. The braids, all of which were decorated with beads, were routed through a large gold ring that would remain stationary at the top of her head. Grabbing her Egyptian-themed purse and a hoodie jacket, she was ready. The feel of the jiggling at her chest, and at her large posterior never failed to stimulate her as she stepped out of her room. Outside, she saw Adele Norris making her rounds in the second floor hallway. "Watch your step doin' my room," Coco advised as she donned the purple hoodie. "Cum puddles. Got all hot an' bothered again with my toys." "Yes, Miss Coco." Adele flashed a sweet smile as she went into the house's bathroom to get her cleaning work started. Today was one of her off-work days in her employment at Totally Maid!, so that gave her an opportunity to administer to the domestic tasks of keeping the house of a Mistresses exotic dancer consistently tidy. The costs of paying for a rideshare service were a pittance compared to most of her other expenses given the money she was earning. The mere act of sitting was stimulation for her nowadays, as she always felt like she was sitting on a soft cushion given how big her ass now was. As the car coasted through the Bullchester streets, she touched up on her own makeup as the vehicle neared her destination. As her compact was open, and a small mirror gave her a full view of her very attractive face, she stared upon the reflection, remembering in that moment how radically different her face once looked. Remembering a chat he had with Alex as his best friend showed off his ability to shoot hoops in his ultimately futile aspirations to become an athlete. That trace memory of being Tobias Betancourt even remembered Alex when he was younger. Remembered the mullet-haired, bespectacled bookworm that he used to be when they both started playing Behemongers games. "We're here, babe," the Brooklyn-accented voice of the rideshare driver called back, terminating all of those old memories and snapping Coco back to the present. Smirking, she exited the vehicle, opening the rideshare app to leave the driver the maximum tip percentage as he drove away. Coco could already hear a Lords of Acid tune playing as she neared the door. She recognized the tune as Let's Get High. Its pulse-pounding beat began the moment Coco pulled the door open. Once the door was closed, she was back in her racy, sex-charged, neon-lit world. Alexis was at a nearby pole, swinging quite athletically around it. She always boasted of being able to orgasm when she had her crotch pressed against it during her fast revolutions around the chrome-plated shaft. Coco gazed around at the patrons watching her come in, and she looked back at them as if they were lesser subjects that belonged beneath her as she passed, groveling for deep-seated desires that she would never fulfill. Best you'll ever get from me are lapdances, fools. Coco observed to herself as she fixed inviting gazes upon the men she passed on her way to the dressing room, and the men staring upon her... ...but when Alexis disengaged from her dance pole and stepped in front of Coco, the two sexy she-males locked lips and began groping each other as the crowds around them howled with obvious delight. The two generously-endowed exotic dancers then headed for the dressing room, walking side by side as the crowds continued to gawk at them. "I'm feelin' frisky tonight, Co," Alexis cooed, grinning lasciviously once they were inside the room. "Join me for a double dildo later?" Coco grinned back as she slipped out of her hoodie. "Keep it dry this time. No lube." "Ooooh..." Alexis gave the tip of her best friend's nose a touch with the tip of her moist tongue. "...guess I'm not the only one feelin' frisky. Oh...Madame Olivia's bringing Florian back in tomorrow night." Coco raised an eyebrow. "She must want to see her golden girls again." Alexis giggled. "Her exact words." She then pulled her bronze-skinned friend over to a large mirror, where the two of them could see their own head-to-toe reflections. Standing side by side, they gazed thoughtfully upon each other's sexually augmented images. Their expressions went neutral, as if they were manifesting the same thoughts. The same memories of the lives...and the genders...that they had forever forsaken. "I never imagined I'd wind up looking like this," Alexis quietly observed. "Me neither," Coco added. She then turned to her best friend. "Least we're makin' good money." "Mmmm." Alexis placed her hands, once again, on Coco's bare skin, rubbing them against her smooth, bronzed flesh. "You look so goddamn hot," Alexis cooed. "I wanna fuck you six ways from Sunday." "And I wanna feel your hands on me," Coco purred back. "All over me." "Mmmm, you horny lil' bitch," Alexis slipped her hands beneath the flesh- colored lycra dress. "Don't tempt me like that." A loud knock at the door interrupted their private moment, and Coco's eyes locked on the broad-bodied black man who opened it. "Someone wants a table dance from you, Lexy." Alexis smiled amusedly as she gave Coco one last kiss on her lips. "Back to the grind. Remember...double dildo after work." Coco nodded, grinning. "Fuck ya later, slut." Once Alexis was gone, Jake closed the door behind him as Coco continued to stare hungrily at him. He then slowly stepped over to the bronzed dancer. "You always come early. Your shift don't start for an hour," He intoned as he wrapped his arms around her. "Makes me wonder why." Coco seemed to melt on the inside as he stared down at her. "Hhh-hhi, Jake," She nervously cooed. His large, callous hands traveled over the former boy's smooth, bronzed skin, sending a rush of stimulation through her as she exhaled a shaky breath, closing her eyes passionately so she could feel this beast of a man's warm hands. She then grabbed one of those hands and moved it down to her large rump. "Don't you wanna squeeze the Charmin, baby?" Coco purred, pressing her body against his. "Only 'cause you want it," Jake answered, after which the digits of his hand began to grope at the augmented flesh of Coco's large ass, causing her to passionately moan. He also knew that Coco wanted one of her augmented mammaries squeezed at the same time, which had the bronzed dancer orgasmically writhing against him. In a moment of moral curiosity, however, both of Jake's hands went to either side of Coco's face, and he craned her head up to stare right in her eyes. "Why'd you do it, kid??" he irritably asked. "Why'd you steal from your own grandparents??" Coco couldn't help but giggle amusedly. "Mmmmommy wanted me to." She began to pant, savoring the feel of Jake's hands on her face. "And you didn't have a choice?" Jake wondered aloud, still cradling Coco's face firmly. "Were you forced?? Blackmailed??" Still grinning, Coco shook her head. "I was a baaaaad, baaaaad boy..." She then took one of Jake's fingers into her mouth and began sucking upon it, moaning as she did, after which she rubbed one side of her face against the open hand like a cat in heat. "...and now I'm a baaaaad, baaaaad girl." One of her thighs wrapped around his waist as she continued to stare up at him with a lustful expression. "Don't you like bad girls, Jake? I could be soooo bad for you." The ex-Marine seemed hesitant now. "Coco..." But the bronzed dancer pushed up with her other leg to wrap her other thigh around his waist, compelling the quick-thinking Jake to place his hands beneath Coco's augmented posterior so she could be held up, and against Jake. She gazed into his eyes as she panted. "Let me be bad for you, Jake," she cooed, resting her head on her shoulder as he continued to hold her aloft. "I'll do anything for you." Although the fate of Tobias Betancourt continued to bother him, Jake continued to hold this wildly attractive creature he had become in his warm, hard clutches. They remained close in each other's arms until it was time for Coco to begin her shift. He gave her posterior a sharp swat as she headed for the door to the dressing room. All the former boy did was to giggle amusedly as she disappeared behind the dressing room door. As she did, he recalled a discussion he had with his mother following her workout about Kanesha's chronically selfish nature. Harriet seemed to indicate that she was in dire need of a lesson in respecting one's elders. The idea of recruiting Coco to help out with whatever scheme his mother might have in mind now began to appeal to him. * * * Harvey Betancourt was thoughtful as the stream of shower water surged against his bare, well-toned and rejuvenated body. With a slight smile, he flexed a bicep. The last time he tried such a thing, the sharp pain that came with a muscleache seized his arm, proving that his body was incapable of such gestures. To be able to do such things once more was a blessing. His wife's Sisterhood concerns, however, perplexed him. He wondered if anyone insubordinate to the fascism Glenda suspected this group to be promoting would find themselves growing old and feeble, as they had once been. Such science-driven mysticism seemed insidious, sneaky, and cruel. These were not the values he had fought for when he was shipped to Holland with the rest of the Allied soldiers. Follow your Glennie Doll's lead, Harve. The retirement home's newest certified physical trainer ultimately resolved to himself. She's more of a soldier now than she ever was, and she's so much more of a dish, too! Cupping his hands, he had some of the water coming from the shower head pool up. It was totally clear and normal water, completely unlike the mysterious pink and foamy residue that had changed the lives of him and his wife so radically. It felt good to be strong, flexible, and healthy again. To be standing upright, without the need for a third leg. To be working out regularly, and to be keeping his body fit and well-toned. He had thought that they would be able to last another year. Two, at the most, before they would face the inevitable end of their life's journeys. Another two old-school warriors checking into that great permanent retirement home in the sky, where their souls would be forever content. He thought about the "plot" his own son was in on. Their computer accounts secretly emptied by his grandson after he and Glennie were abandoned at the Golden Sunshine. Harvey had to admit how sly a move that was. The odd thing was that Harvey would have been at peace with it, had they succeeded. In his old age, he was beginning to disassociate himself from the very concept of material possessions. From money, even, seeing as how he was on the verge of that threshold, where the almighty awaited. And yet, through a stroke of karma, he had been given a second chance at life. Technically by virtue of their abandonment. In a strange twist of fate, he now owed his own son for this unexpected boon that he would be able to share with his wife. He felt compelled to give his son a call once he had toweled down following his shower... ...but a sweet-voiced woman named Adele Norris had picked up the line. Apparently, she insisted that she had always lived there, which confused the rejuvenated war veteran. As Adele was too busy doing housework to continue Harvey's line of questioning, they ended the call. Harvey worked out the logic in his head as he slipped on a pair of boxer shorts. They must have moved away. He gently reasoned to himself. A brand new life. They must have tired of Bullchester and migrated away. I hope they're all happy where they are now. Tobias is probably going to become a decorated soldier on the digital battlefields, Leslie found her own lucrative new livelihood, and my son is still making good use of our car to take them wherever they want to go. As he sat in quiet contemplation of these reassuring thoughts, the door to their room opened. Glenda, who was still in her "Rosie" outfit, had an envelope in her right hand. She also looked puzzled. "What's wrong, Glennie doll?" Harvey curiously asked. "Honey..." She seemed hesitant to ask. "...have you been to any, uhhh...burlesque clubs? Strip joints? Exotic dancing?" Harvey's confused frown was much more pronounced as he shook his head. "No. Why?" Glenda indicated the envelope. "I just got a check from someone named...get this...'Coco Cocklette'." An incredulous expression was now on her husband's face. "Wow! What kind of a name is that?" "I thought it was some kind of a joke, but...it's real," Glenda replied. "It's a lot of money, too. I figure we'll just dump it in the ol' account." Harvey nodded. "How much?" Glenda pulled out the bank check and looked at the scrawl. "Three thousand sixty-nine dollars." "Three thousand??" Harvey's eyes widened. "That...that's big, all right. Why would someone with such a suggestive name be giving away money like that?" His wife shrugged. "An alias? Whoever it was didn't want to use her real name, I guess." "Or his." Glenda giggled. "A guy? Using an alias like 'Coco Cocklette'??" Harvey shrugged, smiling back. "No different from a soldier trying to get himself a Section 8 by wearing women's clothes." Stepping over to his wife, he wrapped his strong arms around the platinum, buxom blonde his wife had become in her rejuvenation. She smiled gently as she turned around, remaining in his embrace as she sighed out contentedly. "I still can't believe what's happened to us," Glenda observed aloud. "I suppose we owe it all to the ones who left us here, crazy as it sounds." "I was just thinking the same thing, Glennie doll," Harvey thoughtfully replied, gently rocking them both left and right in their embrace. "I was thinking about something else, too." Glenda released herself from the embrace upon saying this, and turned to her husband. "Something not as pleasant." Harvey nodded. "The 'why'." "There's a dark undercurrent to this city, Harve. I can smell it," The hairdresser asserted. "I think it's a cause worth fighting for, too. It's stupid to think that they would give us something this astonishing for nothing." "Honey..." He placed his hands gently on his wife's shoulders. "...whatever we do, we need to be careful about it. Like the dutch underground had done during the Nazi occupation of Holland in '44. Keep up appearances, but keep our ears open. If we have to meet, we do it privately." Glenda nodded in agreement. "I still have to introduce you to Tamara Portnoy. We've gotta come up with a reason to have her visit." "Or we can go to her," Harvey suggested. "Better idea," Glenda noted in her agreement. "If she feels her place is safe enough." Harvey settled his posterior on the side of the bed behind him. "What kind of a repayment do you think they'll want from us? Like you said, they wouldn't make us young again for nothing." Glenda settled herself beside her husband with a defiant look on her face. "Whatever it is, I'll be damned if I'm gonna go into it blindly." A smile formed on Harvey's lips. "Have I ever told you that it's those moments in which you sound so spunky and determined that I admire you the most?" Glenda smiled back, raising an eyebrow. "Even more than...Rosa?" Harvey laughed aloud at this. "You've got more substance than she does. You always have," he responded sincerely. "Well..." She turned more towards him and gently maneuvered him back against the bed. "...I have to confess that she may have rubbed off a bit on me, my little soldier boy. She showed me a few new tricks, and ol' Rosie wants to practice." The lascivious grin Glenda now had on her face indicated that if this line of 'practice' came from someone as oversexed as Rosalind Foxxe, he was in for a seriously stimulating evening. As she hovered over her husband, she began unbuttoning her jumpsuit. "Fasten your seatbelts," Glenda sensually purred, paraphrasing Bette Davis. "It's going to be a bumpy night." And as the night went on, the passionate moans of the wild loveplay that followed could be heard in more than that one room within the confines of the Golden Sunshine Retirement Home. As the homeless derelict that used to be Leslie Betancourt rolled her shopping cart past the front of the retirement home outside, she briefly entertained the thought of going in. In the next moment, however, she angrily spat upon the well-kept front lawn in disgust and continued muttering to herself as she slowly disappeared down the Bullchester sidewalk. Because she was convinced that the Retirement Home...like everything else in the Big Bull...was one great big trap. * * * BARFORD FILE # 1501 Family Name: Betancourt --**CASE CLOSED**--