Venetian Blinds - Part 1 free porn video

Venetian Blinds - Part 1 Chapter 1 - A Pair of Gumshoes Through the large window behind her desk, Trish gazed out at the city. The sunset poured across each slat of the Venetian blind, casting familiar shadows throughout the office. The normally drab, gray concrete of the city was bathed in an orange glow, as the sun seemed to light the sky on fire. Gradually, the streetlights began to flicker on for the long night ahead. Trish grinned, and poured herself a shot of Tennessee whisky. "This is so surreal, Sam," observed Trish as she downed her shot. "Could we be any more stereotypical than this? We're like Phillip Marlowe and Sam Spade, but in the twenty-first century... and one of us is even named Sam." "Don't look at me. You're the one with the cheesy hat and overcoat," Sam chuckled. Sam was a classic clothes horse. He was tall and had the body of a professional athlete. He looked great in anything, and he always wore very expensive suits and shoes, but never a hat. "Yeah, well, I'll be sure to let your sister know what you really think of my hats." "Whoa now, keep me out of it. I officially retract my remark." Patrisha Lynn Koffi and Samuel Edward Baxter were partners of a small, but very successful, private detective agency. They specialized in servicing very high profile clients who wanted to keep very low profiles. The two had met each other several years ago while working as inspectors in the city police department. They had worked on few cases together and developed a mutual respect, which evolved into both a professional and personal friendship. When Trish left the department to go private, Sam followed a couple of years later. Both of them had become frustrated with the incompetence, corruption, and hypocrisy of the bloated bureaucracy. There were plenty of good cops on the force; but when it came to management, it seemed that the higher one's title, the less qualified one was. In Trish's view, too many political flunkies wanted fancy titles and salaries, but not the actual jobs that went with them. Trish's parents had immigrated to the United States from Ivory Coast before she was born. During her early childhood, her family once was attacked by a group of street thugs, and despite her father's valiant efforts to fight them off until the police arrived, Trish's mother was severely injured. Had the police not arrived as quickly as they did, she and both of her parents might have been murdered. Trish's mother suffered brain damage as a result of the attack, and afterward, she never was the same. For all practical purposes, Trish's father had to raise his daughter on his own, as well as take care of his wife, who was a shell of her former self. The police officers who responded made a great impression on young Trisha (as her parents called her back then), and she vowed to her father to become a police officer when she grew up, so that she could protect people like her mother, and put criminals where they belong. Her mother died while Trish was in college studying criminal justice. Her father lived just long enough to see her graduate college and rise through the police ranks to become an inspector; but he hadn't taken care of himself after his wife's death, and his health gradually declined. Trish collectively blamed all criminals for what happened to her family, and her reaction to that tragic day predominantly shaped her philosophical and political views as she matured. It was through her friendship with Sam that Trish met the girl who would become her wife, Sam's younger, transsexual sister, Amy. Amy was feminine in the fragile, vulnerable way, which had triggered Trish's protective instincts, as well as her love. Amy's health had been poor during most of her childhood, which caused financial difficulties for her parents, over which the two often argued. When Amy began high school, she informed her parents that she was transitioning and would be living as a girl, and that put additional strain on the family. Her parents didn't actually disown her, but they were far from supportive of her situation. Sam, ten years Amy's senior, and the eldest of the four children, was the only one in Amy's corner. He brought Amy to live with him, to get her away from an emotionally toxic environment at home. As a child, Amy always had looked up to Sam; but after he rescued her from an unsympathetic household, she practically worshiped him. Being focused on her career for so long, Trish had never before allowed time for romance, but she fell in love with Amy on the day they met. When Trish decided to leave the police department and establish her own agency, it was Amy who decided that a real private detective needed an "authentic gumshoe hat, just like in the movies." She bought one for Trish, then another, and another; and Trish has worn those hats to work every single day. Trish always wore her hair in a relatively short, natural afro, which her hats completely covered. On rainy days, and on most days during the cold months, Trish also wore long trench coats. That, combined with the hats and her tall, athletic build, gave her a masculine appearance, at least to anyone who couldn't see her face. While her facial features clearly were feminine when viewed up close, Trish had the face of a wise, sophisticated, grown woman, as opposed to the soft, innocent, girlish features of her wife's face. Trish closed the Venetian blind and put the bottle of whisky back in the desk drawer. Considering what she had to deal with on some days, it was often necessary to take off the edge by downing a shot or two of eighty proof, before going home to Amy. She folded her trench coat over her arm, pulled her hat from the rack, and pulled it down just above her eyes, with a slight tilt of the brim. "Had enough, huh?" asked Sam. "Yep, had enough. Got plans? I could have Amy set a third plate... it's baked cod and lobster tails tonight." "Sounds delicious, but I have to check on something tonight; the Hammond case... could take hours." "That one keeps getting weirder." "Amen." "Goodnight Ms. Koffi," smiled Daisy, their secretary. "See you tomorrow, Daisy." Trish remembered how unusual that name had seemed when they hired Daisy. Sometimes, you'll hear a name that you thought would've gone out of fashion a century ago, then someone with that name becomes famous, and it's right back in vogue. Trish couldn't recall anyone famous named Daisy, but she and Sam were fortunate to have her. Daisy was one of Amy's few friends from a local transgender support group that the two occasionally attended. Like Amy, Daisy had a naturally feminine face and build, and she had trained her voice well enough that strangers never suspected that she was biologically male. Amy had told Daisy about the open position, and convinced her wife and brother to interview her, even though Daisy didn't have a college degree. Also like Amy, Daisy had gone through a socially difficult transition, and with only a high school diploma, she found it challenging to find work that satisfied her. She was so grateful for the trial opportunity, that she refused to address Trish and Sam by their first names, despite their asking her to do so. Daisy threw herself into her job, always being the first one in and the last to leave. She was a fast learner, and it didn't hurt that she was a self-taught phreaker and computer hacker. She quickly impressed Trish and Sam, who hired her on a permanent basis, with a substantial raise in salary. Whether it was a pre-existing fetish, or the influence of Trish's hats and trench coats, Daisy gradually began dressing in 1940's attire. It began gradually, as though she were testing the waters for office appropriateness; but before long, her shoes, dresses, hats, and even her hairstyles were straight out of black-and-white films noir. She wore them on a daily basis, having combed every thrift store in the city for the not-so-latest fashions. She also started using 1940s and film noir slang terms around the office, such as "palooka," "tomato," "sap," and "dame," which Sam found charming. Initially, Trish suspected that it might've been some rather elaborate trolling of her gumshoe hats, but she eventually accepted the behavior as Daisy simply being herself. Daisy even brought in a huge, black 1940s rotary telephone, which was placed in a prominent position on her wooden desk. The receiver was heavy, and Daisy often held it with both hands to dramatize it's bulk, but she loved it. She had re-wired it so that it connected to her computer via a USB cable, making it a glorified VoIP headset. She also found a functional, black, vintage, manual typewriter at an antique shop, which, along with a paper notepad and a wooden index card box, completed the retro appearance of her workstation. While she never used the typewriter for actual work, she would fire it up if someone in the waiting area got too loud on a cell phone call, driving them outside. As with her phone, she somehow wired the keys to the motherboard of a modern computer keyboard, which she installed underneath the typewriter. It would function normally, typing on sheets of paper, while also serving as an input device for word processing software, via USB and Bluetooth. There was no disguising the wireless mouse, regular keyboard, and the enormous monitor on her desk, but she kept her laptop computer hidden in a desk shelf, using a quick-detach docking station for easy mobility. She also had a modern headset tucked away, for when things got too busy to keep up pretenses with the antique phone. Daisy's computers and mobile phones (both cell and satellite) were state of the art tech, and she had all of the necessary hardware and software for probing the most obscure corners of the deep web and dark web with as much anonymity as possible. Her penchant for collecting "gizmos," as she affectionately called them, consumed the bulk of her disposable income. Trish slid into the arms of her coat, tied the belt, and walked out. She was cautious and aware of her surroundings at all times. When outside, she always scanned the area for random thugs, as well as those who specifically might've resented any of her recent investigations. Like most other nights, she drove home without incident, stopping at the wine store for something that paired well with seafood. Business steadily had picked up over the past few years, and she thought that someday she might be able to afford converting part of their basement into small wine cellar. For now, they had space to keep only a few bottles on hand, so her stops at the store on the way home were quite frequent. Walking through the front doorway of her home was comparable to being transported to an alternate universe. It was a fairytale world, a twist on the stereotypical 1950s household that never really existed, but that often is idealized in pop culture. As usual, Amy was waiting to take Trish's hat and coat as she came in from the garage. Then came the obligatory kisses as Amy wrapped her arms around Trish's neck. Trish was a tall woman, and even when wearing high heels, Amy had to reach up a bit to kiss her. After what felt like several minutes without air, Trish finally had to pry her excessively affectionate wife away from her mouth. "Damn, woman; we've been married for seven years, and you still kiss me like it's our honeymoon!" laughed Trish. Catching Trish off-guard, Amy went back for seconds, wrapping her arms tighter this time, and lifting up one leg behind her, forcing Trish to support most of their combined weight. Their tongues were twisted around each other, as Amy repeatedly moaned directly into Trish's throat. Again, Trish had to fight for her life, using a combination of leverage and her superior strength to pull Amy off of her without knocking her down. Trish couldn't help laughing again. "Baby, I'm glad to see you too!" Amy was trying not to laugh at herself. "I've missed you so much Mistress! It's been hours since you've made sweet love to me! Please take me now, right here on the floor!" Amy went in for thirds, but Trish was ready this time. "Sam's here. I invited him for dinner. He had to take a call, so he's still in the garage." That had the effect of a cold splash of water in Amy's face. "Mist..." Amy lowered her voice to a whisper. "Mistress, why didn't you tell me?!" Amy began straightening her apron and hair. "Because it's not true. I invited him, but he had work to do. I just had to cool you down a bit. You should've known I would've called you beforehand." Amy gave Trish a coy glance and whined. "That was a dirty trick, Mistress. Now the moment is gone. You've dampened all the passion!" "Baby-doll, how about you dampen a glass with some of that wine I brought home and serve it to me in the study." Without saying a word, Amy curtsied and scampered off to the kitchen with the wine. Trish kicked off her shoes and left them on the floor by the door. She walked through the house, toward a spare bedroom converted into a home office that Amy had dubbed her Mistress' "study," as though they lived in a mansion. Amy also referred to the den as the "library," because that's where the bookcases were located. The couple lived in a nice house in a nice neighborhood, to be sure; but the house wasn't quite nice enough to have rooms with those names. Trish dropped her blouse, slacks, and belt along the way, just letting them fall wherever, knowing full well that the laundry fairy magically would appear and snatch up her clothes when no one was looking. Wearing only her panties and a bra, and carrying her shoulder holster, she plopped down at her desk, booted up her computer, then hung her holster on the back of her chair. By the time Trish had logged in, her enthusiastic maid was placing a coaster and a napkin on her desk, followed by a glass of Sauvignon blanc. "Mistress, this isn't the Riesling you brought home, because it hasn't had a chance to chill. It's chilling now, so I'll serve that with dinner, if this bottle doesn't last." Amy gently draped a silk yukata, which her Mistress often wore to dinner, over the back of a guest chair in front of Trish's desk. Then, she got down on her hands and knees, crawled under her Mistress, put her Mistress' dinner slippers on her feet, and crawled back to the front of the desk. "By the way, dinner should be ready in about thirty minutes, Mistress," Amy dutifully reported. Trish looked up from the monitor and raised her eyebrows. "Speaking of 'Mistress,' why is my maid still on duty at this hour? And where's Mrs. Koffi? I expect my own wife to join me for dinner tonight, if that's not too much trouble for her." Normally by this time, Amy would've switched gears from obedient maid to devoted housewife, but she still was dressed as a maid. "Yes, Mistress! Sorry, Mistress! I'll go change right away!" Amy repeatedly curtsied as she backed out of her Mistress' study, then she scampered upstairs to put on a suitable dress and heels for dinner. Trish smiled and shook her head. "I have one silly, little waifu." Amy had an insatiable fetish for wearing maid uniforms, and an even stronger obsession for waiting on her wife like a paid domestic servant. When the two began dating, and these tendencies of Amy's became apparent, they initially disturbed Trish. By no means was Trish naive; she was very much aware of kinks, fetishes, and BDSM. Both as a civilian law enforcement officer and as a private investigator, she had seen more than her fair share of other people's private lives; and she also had done some extensive research on the broad subject of BDSM for an exceptionally difficult police case. She was aware that there were healthy and unhealthy sides to BDSM, and that not everyone who owned a ball gag and a riding crop was a danger to society. In fact, most weren't. However, Trish did not consider herself to be, by nature, a lifestyle dominant or sadist. She always had been a natural leader, professionally and personally, and she clearly wore the pants in her pseudo-lesbian marriage. Still, it took Trish a while to accept, and become comfortable with, Amy's overtly submissive tendencies. Amy normally was so withdrawn, distant, shy, and introverted around others, that her private kinkiness came as a surprise to Trish. Trish initially felt guilty about letting Amy be herself around her, as though she were taking advantage of Amy's weakness. Over time, as their intimacy as a couple developed, and as their communication progressed, Trish eventually understood Amy, and accepted her submission. It wasn't a weakness at all... it was just Amy's way of being sensual. What bothered Trish was that she began to enjoy it herself more as time passed. To prevent things from getting out-of-hand, Trish did set some ground rules for their relationship. Amy was allowed to curtsy and address Trish as "Mistress" or "Ma'am" only in private, and only when Amy was on maid duty and in uniform. Primarily, this was during weekdays, when Trish was at work and Amy was cleaning house. Trish insisted that Amy the housewife, not Amy the maid, would join her for evening meals. In theory, this seemed like a reasonable compromise to Trish. In practice, the only difference in Amy was the uniform, the curtsy, and the use of verbal formalities. Otherwise, Amy the housewife was just as much a love slave as Amy the maid. Fortunately (from Trish's perspective), Amy wasn't insistent that Trish participate in sadomasochism or bondage and discipline, at least not until very recently. To be more precise, Amy knew that certain things made Trish uncomfortable, so she didn't push. Had Trish been into S&M or B&D, Amy would've loved being a total pain slut for her. But, as long as Amy was allowed to serve and obey the woman she loved, she seemed to be content with that, and Trish didn't see the harm in letting Amy express her submissive tendencies by way of housework and waiting on her. In fact, over the course of seven years of marriage, and a year of dating before that, Trish had learned to appreciate the benefits of having an obsessively submissive housewife with a functional penis. Aside from a few vibrators and dildos, which many couples enjoy using, the only other sex gear that Amy convinced Trish to use was Amy's impressive collection of collars. Amy tried her best to claim that these were necessary components of her maid wardrobe, but Trish officially ruled that they were D&S gear. However, because they weren't actually used for B&D or S&M in their household, they didn't compromise Trish's limits, so she allowed Amy to wear them. For all these years, Trish never would allow herself to physically restrain her wife with ropes, chains, chastity devices, or gags; because, as someone who considers herself a protector, that would cross psychological and philosophical lines for her. However, letting her kinky, tranny wife wear collars and high heels with padlocks seemed like harmless, sexy fun. While her adorable wife was temporarily occupied changing clothes, Trish looked up the files on the Hammond case on which Sam was working. It concerned a large, wealthy family, with missing persons, cheating spouses, asset disputes, and multiple drama queens. Officially, both Trish and Sam worked all cases and got proportional fees, but usually, one or the other was the lead on any given case, and this was Sam's. If the bullshit got too deep on a case, they'd work it fifty-fifty, but it was rare that any single case had enough field work for both of them. They always double-checked each other's research, though, as a matter of quality control; four eyes are better than two, and all of that. The oddest thing about this case was that the two family members who had hired them seemed to be the least cooperative of the bunch. Hopefully, Sam had a good lead tonight. Trish heard Amy clip-clop back down the stairs and rush into the kitchen, so she shut down her computer. She put on her yukata and downed the last few drops of wine, leaving the glass for the maid to deal with later. On her way to the dining room, Trish noticed that the clothes she had dropped on the floor a few minutes ago had vanished, and she couldn't help but smile. Tonight was entirely routine. This was Trish's life now, and she considered herself blessed. Chapter 2 - Stakeout A week later, Trish and Sam were on a stakeout for one of Sam's cases. Stakeouts were rare, but they always did those together, both for safety and to stay awake. Sam slowly parked the car on the opposite side of the street, and he and Trish settled in for what could turn out to be an all-nighter. They had driven around the block, taking photos here-and-there. All that was left to do was wait. Having exhausted all conversation about the case itself, Sam brought up the obvious. "So, what's been eatin' atcha?" Trish cocked an eyebrow. "It's that obvious?" "No, just to me." Trish leaned back in her seat and sighed. "Wife/wife stuff." "Yeah, I'd already figured that part. But if you don't wanna talk about it, I can just tell you about my last date with Susan." "'Last', as in 'most recent' or 'final'?" "The latter. She showed up for our date Thursday wearing flip-flops. I had to cut her loose on general principle." "Ouch!" chuckled Trish. "You poor baby! How do you cope?" "I just take it one day at a time. Once the initial pain of betrayal subsides, the healing process can begin. Someday, I might even allow myself to love again." "Mmm-hmm. You're an inspiration." "Nah, we had a great time. I took her to this little playhouse where mostly college kids do avant-garde theater. I had planned to take her to a restaurant after, but she was so impressed that she immediately invited me back to her place instead." "Slick move," acknowledged Trish. "Speaking of avant-garde theater... back in college, I once sat through a production of Hamlet set in the Antebellum South." "Dear God!" Sam laughed a little too loud, before regaining his stake- out composure. "They played it straight all the way through... not a trace of camp. Granted, I was buzzed going in (I had to be), but I've never laughed so hard." The two continued keeping an eye on the area as their chuckling eventually died down. "So, you know how submissive your sister is around me." "Yep." "And you know that she's kinky." "Not intimately, but yeah." "And you still want to hear what's eatin' at me?" "Hey, you always let me use you as a sounding board for my shit. True, it's different because she's my sister, but I'm still here for you... both of you. It's either tell me, or pay a therapist." Trish paused for a bit. Even with Sam, discussing her marital business was awkward, and she wasn't used to feeling awkward with anyone. "For the past two days, I've been doing a lot of research and reading about alternate lifestyles. Amy and I had a long talk three nights ago... hours long... about her kinks. I was sitting in the middle of the bed, and Amy was kneeling next to me, wearing a short, sexy nightgown and a black leather collar. She loves wearing those locking collars, and I figure they're harmless enough... just kinky symbols of her devotion. Anyway, she brought up the issue of chastity. She wants me to lock her into some contraption." Sam didn't interrupt. He knew this was difficult for Trish to talk about, even with him. He also knew that his sister had fetishes and kinks, but he didn't know how far down the rabbit hole Trish was going to take him. He wasn't the nosy type, but his little sister and his best friend were the two persons for whom he cared the most... more than all others combined. He'd take a bullet for either of them; but right now, he just needed to be a good listener. "Amy started showing me these chastity cages on various websites, explaining the mechanisms and why she finds the practice erotic. She wants me to be her 'keyholder' and decide when she has to wear one, and for how long. She was all excited, but I felt confused. Simultaneously, I was aroused and sick at my stomach. I felt guilty and disgusted at myself for imagining my wife locked into such a humiliating device. I stared at those cages and belts, not to mention other things on those websites, and all I could think about were the millions of unfortunate souls throughout human history who were forced into bondage. Soldiers defeated in wars and taken as prisoners, tricked political enemies or unwanted family members sold into slavery, or even kidnapped strangers who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time... so many human beings have had their lives stolen and been forced to endure horrible things that most of us can't relate to on any level. And there's Amy, my soul mate, making a game of it; actually wanting someone to bind and control her because she finds fun in it." The sprinkling turned into rain. It wasn't coming down hard enough to obscure their view, but it made it difficult to distinguish sounds from outside of the car. Sam glanced over at Trish, who was starting straight ahead through the windshield at nothing in particular, just eying the scene. "I don't think of myself as a prude, but isn't BDSM making a mockery of all the real suffering that so many have had to live through? I mean... setting aside the Hebrew slaves in ancient Egypt, the American slaves before Civil War, the countless girls forced to be concubines of Japanese emperors, and so on; doesn't this girl understand that there are sick fucks in this very city, right now, who would beat her and force her into a life of prostitution, given the chance?! And she expects me to be the one holding the key in her kinky little game, playing the evil oppressor?! What does that say about her opinion of me?!" Trish paused again, looking around the area. Sam hadn't stopped scanning the area, but his mind was locked into to Trish's exposition. He looked forward, inhaled, and let out a loud sigh, non-verbally indicating that it wasn't yet time for him to say anything, but also acknowledging that Trish was sharing some very heavy relationship shit with him. "But Heaven help me, I couldn't ignore how sexy Amy looked, with that thick, leather collar locked around her little neck. She's my wife. We love each other. We can have sex any time, any way we want. She'll do anything to please me, and I'll do anything to please her. We're happily, voluntarily married; we don't have to force ourselves on each other. I trust her, and I don't have to keep her bound. So tell me, Sam... why does my baby want me to keep her locked up? I know it's erotic to some people, but it scares me that Amy has wanted this type of thing for as long as we've been a couple. It also scares me that I might even enjoy it, if I allow her to talk me into it. I already feel like I'm taking advantage of her, letting her call me 'Mistress' when she wears a maid uniform. I convinced myself that I was doing that just for her sake... that I didn't want to spoil her fun, so I played along... met her halfway, as spouses do. Now, I think I've made a mistake letting things go that far, because I'm way too comfortable with her subservience. I mean, where does this shit end? Will she eventually want me to chain her up and whip her? You know how I am. I'll never be able to do that!" The rain had softened a bit, but the wind had picked up. After a minute or so, Sam broke the silence. "Well, no wonder you've been distracted." "Apparently, my allowing her do her daily maid cosplay isn't enough anymore," lamented Trish. "When you two married and Amy moved out, I actually had to hire a part- time maid. She spoiled me rotten." "Tell me about it! Don't think I don't appreciate the side benefits of her maid fetish. But as we've grown into our marriage, she needs me to actively dominate her as much as she submits to me. She's good at anticipating my desires, but she's been wanting me to be more deliberate in telling her what to do. Truth is, she treats me so well, that I don't have to ask for anything. What she really wants is for me to give her direct commands that she can obey in a formal manner. Amy wants me to be strict with her and control her on a full-time basis. Chastity is just one step. I know she'll continue to want more if I agree to that." "And you still can't bring yourself to blatantly dominate her, because you'll feel like you're potentially abusing her?" "Yes. Well, maybe not anymore, and that's what's confusing. I'm starting to get used to being married to a servant, and that's why this whole situation bothers me so much. The old phrase 'absolute power corrupts absolutely' comes to mind." "I can't fault you for your caution. You and I have seen people do a lot of crazy shit to each other. People can get drunk on just a little bit of power." "Exactly. You don't even have to be a crime lord or the dictator of a country. Look no further than those ass-hat political appointees we used to work for back on the force." Amen," agreed Sam. "Complete tools. They were handed positions that they weren't even remotely qualified for, and they let the authority go to their heads. That's the main reason we're sitting in this car." "I never want to turn into a tyrant, especially not with Amy." Trish wanted to make Amy happy, and she would do almost anything for the girl; but she couldn't bring herself to be mean to her, even if it was within the scope of consensual eroticism. "I get that, but do you think that's a legit concern with you two, especially considering that you're so aware of it?" "Realistically, I don't see that happening to me, but I've never had the desire to dominate someone that way, so I have no experience to fall back on. I can't relate to it; I can't find my bearings. Even the thought of a kinky role playing scene makes me uncomfortable. A full power exchange lifestyle is beyond my comprehension. Yet, Amy talks about these things like we're choosing wallpaper or bathroom tiles. Besides, even if I were inclined to be a 'domme,' that would be a lot of responsibility for me to take on. She gets so into it, that she easily could get lost in 'subspace' at any time. I'd always have to be the one to take my foot off the gas as we approach the threshold. I trust Amy's intentions, but not her capabilities. We don't even need the context of BDSM. You know how impulsive she is, just generally. In certain ways, she'll always be a teenager, if not a child, and we've discussed that. She knows how she is, but she's always trusted my responsibility and maturity to compensate for her carelessness, just as she trusted you before." "Ah, yes. I've been there. She's as adorable as a teddy bear, but not nearly as responsible." Had anyone other than Sam said that about Amy, Trish would've been offended, but she allowed herself to laugh. Sam was the one person who could directly relate. "I explained to her that if I were to agree to assume a more overtly dominant role in our marriage, that I'd expect her to grow up more. If she wants to be my submissive, or whatever, I won't tolerate immaturity, carelessness, or recklessness on her part." "I'm guessing that she actually liked hearing you talk that way?" Trish slowly nodded her head. "She did. She did, indeed." "And do you think Mistress Patrisha's dominant influence would turn Amy into a mature, reliable adult?" "Not a chance," moaned Trish, as she rolled her eyes at Sam. "But she's so cute when she tries something and fails, like a kitten that miscalculates a pounce." Sam just smiled, and got back to focusing on the stakeout. He knew exactly what Trish was talking about, and there was nothing worth adding. Intellectually, Amy was a genius. She loved school and excelled in every subject, especially languages and math; but she didn't make any friends and mostly kept to herself. While Amy (named 'Andrew' by her parents) was born male, she never felt like a boy and displayed feminine tendencies early on. Her parents discouraged this, to the point of causing Amy to withdraw from socializing, both within and outside of her family. Her older brother Sam was the only person she trusted. In her later childhood, Amy's parents worried that she might have been autistic, so they took her to a clinic to be examined. In various intelligence quotient tests, her scores were among the highest recorded for her age. While the specialists determined that she wasn't autistic, she seemed to have trouble taking things seriously enough or embracing responsibilities that most children her age were eager to accept. It was assumed that it was just a phase, but she never grew out of it. However, one perceptive psychologist noticed Amy's attempts to hide her femininity when her parents were present, and he brought in a psychiatrist who specialized in transsexual therapy. Her preliminary diagnosis was that Amy might be transsexual, and she recommended that her parents schedule regular psychological exams for Amy, but they rejected the doctor's advice. Sam was upset with his parents' attempts to ignore their daughter's psychological health and to get her the help she needed. While he was living at home, he protected her as much a he could, without going to war with his parents and two other sisters. Years later, when Sam had his own place and was in a position to offer Amy a room, their parents allowed her to move out and stay with him while she finished high school, presenting herself as a girl. Since then, there's been a slow reconciliation, thanks mainly to Sam's diplomatic efforts. But for most of Amy's teenage years, their family was divided. The rain let up, and the remainder of the night was uneventful. As is the case with most stakeouts, this one was more about confirming what didn't happen than what did. While nothing was resolved, neither with Sam's case, nor with Trish's marriage, talking to Sam did help Trish organize her thoughts and feelings. One can never place too much value on having a best friend, and hers just happened to be her brother-in- law.