South of Bikini 4 The Game is Afoot
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BetrayedChapter 9: The Game's Afoot free porn video
The weeks passed; March, April, and into May. I won't dwell on the mechanics of the surgery or post-op. Either Angie or Dianna was at my side almost constantly, but never together. I don't want to say I 'juggled' them, but it was sometimes a delicate balancing act. I was head-over-heels for Dianna, but couldn't deny my feelings for Angie. How could I choose between one or the other? In truth, the choice might not be mine to make; I might end up with neither.
Dianna, especially, was much more emotional than I had ever seen her before. She fussed over me, telling me how much she flat-out adored me. Then she would burst into tears for no reason I could see. Hey, I thought I was supposed to be the victim of raging hormones around here! I certainly appreciated her raw display of emotion for me, yet I couldn't help but wonder; was there more behind her tears than just love?
My nose looked... pert — another new descriptor I thought I would never use about myself. It was still a touch swollen - and numb; they told me that goes away after about a year. OK, I liked my eyes; sue me. Everyone else was crazy about them, especially when they were made up. My cheekbones and lips were both fuller. It was scary to see people I knew and cared about just stare at me, speechless, captivated. I knew I would get used to it — I had to get used to a lot of things — but at the time, it was still new.
The rest of the body was new, too. I had already been wearing a corset every day before the surgery, so that didn't make a difference. The results were different. Angie and I were both on target to have twenty-inch corseted waistlines by the time of the show. Dianna's corseted waist was already eighteen inches - the bitch. Paul was absolutely ecstatic.
The prosthetic breasts were gone. I was a full DD-cup all by myself; well, me and Perma- Plast. They looked huge at first; but then, so had Dianna when I first met her. That was one more thing I was getting used to in a hurry. It was nice to be able to show off my cleavage — a modest amount at work and more on my own time. My backside had filled out just as nicely.
This is one of those little joys women never tell men; only each other. There had been a few occasions — becoming more frequent with time — I had walked past some guy in the office or on the street, traveling in the other direction. In a second or two, I heard a thump or clang as he walked into a wall, file cabinet or light pole because he wasn't watching where he was going. If any woman tells you that doesn't bring a smile to her face, she is lying to you.
The physical transition was surprisingly easy. The mental transition — with the understanding I would not be changing back — was much harder. It took a while to get beyond the angst and anguish. How could I abandon all that I had been? I came to realize I hadn't. Intellectually, I was still the same person, doing much the same routine. The packaging was different. The perceptions, both internal and external, were different. The emotions also were different; in part, due to the hormones. Over time, my perception on a whole was one of gain, not loss. Remember that hot fudge sundae? What if you could eat from it every day, never lose your taste for it, and never gain an ounce?
Upon returning from Post-Op, I surprised even myself how quickly I wrapped my mind around work. I had watched CNN and CNBC while I was recuperating. I had seen some report or other about the continuing drought in the western U.S. and Canada. As soon as I was up and around, I booked a flight west to talk to some of the farm groups that had appeared on television.
I heard first-hand from them how bad the situation really was, minus the candy-coated coverage the corporate-owned networks had given the story. I called the office immediately and ordered STG to gobble up Winter Wheat futures like Pac-Man. About a month later, the Department of Agriculture announced the harvest would be down about twenty percent, due to the drought. Harvest gold turned into real gold for us as the price of Winter Wheat skyrocketed.
Most people had not anticipated how bad the Asian Bird Flu epidemic would be, nor how it would affect poultry prices here. It was simple; after having to destroy a significant percentage of its poultry population, China would need to re-supply itself with untainted chickens; a lot of them. We bought poultry futures — and made out like the fox guarding the hen house. Essentially, China caught a cold, the rest of the world sneezed, and we cornered the market on tissues.
Those trades, on top of the oil deal, had made this a banner year for our company — and the year wasn't even half-over. The Christmas bonus checks were gonna fill everyone with holiday cheer this year and they were looking at STG as their 'Santa'. The guys in Strategic Trades were calling my instincts eerie; Twilight Zone stuff. They claimed it was like Lance never left; that he cloned himself into me, somehow. I just smiled and thanked them for the lovely compliment. I didn't mean to intimidate them. I had worked with some of them three years; they just didn't know it.
I thanked my lucky stars I was so good as a commodities trader; Sam Spade, I wasn't. Memorial Day was two weeks away and I didn't feel any closer cracking the case than before my surgery. Angie, and I were in rehearsals for the fashion show. Dianna had gone to visit a girlfriend in Los Angeles, but promised to be back in plenty of time. Paul was not worried by her absence. As a veteran of previous shows, he was confident she knew what he expected of her and would "come up to speed" quickly.
I was grateful for the respite from throwing Angie and Dianna together. Then again, perhaps I needed to throw them together to force one or the other to show her hand — if, indeed, either was in league with Jeff Spencer. No one in my inner circle had given the slightest hint of being in on a conspiracy. There were no signs coming from outside, either. Was it all a desperate ruse on the quarterback's part? C'mon, Guys; I can't make the bait any riper, juicier, or more tempting. On the other hand, maybe I can...
Rob and Jim had one of those society charity things to go to the third Saturday of the month. The Mayor and most of the City's movers and shakers would be there, including those in the various sports franchises. To the boys, it was a given that Angie and I would accompany them. In fact, they put it to us exactly that way — at the Executive Staff Meeting Thursday morning. They were at a loss for our reaction. What do you mean the invitation took you completely by surprise? It doesn't take you three days to get dressed, does it? You know those guys who go berserk with an assault rifle in the workplace? I'm beginning to understand... Anyway, I had more important things to dwell on at that moment. I didn't have a thing to wear... or did I?
I must have stared at the dress a hundred times, hanging there in my closet. You want to talk about guilt? I had left messages for Dianna at the number she gave me, but she hadn't called me back yet. Sure, I could have cruised Michigan Avenue and found something else. My instincts were nudging me; there was something about this dress and its connotations to the unfolding conspiracy that made it the perfect choice. If this be my 'Maltese Falcon', let me wear it well...
Oops! Perhaps a little too well. I was now bigger on top than Dianna. I had gone the whole route; salon, then the red calfskin corset and matching thong, sheer black hose, the dress itself, and the jewels. I wouldn't need the coat; it was unseasonably warm for May (this, in a city where it is not unheard of to see snow the second week in June, then ninety-plus degrees by the Fourth of July). I overflowed the bodice provocatively. The skirt fit my tush snugly, too. Then again, if I was chumming for sharks, why do half- measures?
Rob looked positively dashing in his black tie and tux. In line with the marine analogy, he gasped like a fish out of water when he first laid eyes on me. It took a very stout straight- arm to his chest to bring him back into focus and away from his all-too-obvious advance. We were doing the 'star turn' all the way; he helped me into the back seat of the limo, then seated himself next to me. We picked up Jim and Angie, then sipped champagne on our way to the City Cultural Center on Washington Street, formerly the Central Library.
"I knew I would see you in that dress sooner or later," Angie gushed. "My God, Girlfriend; if you take a deep breath, you're gonna bust right out of it, you shameless hussy, you!"
"And this," I retorted with mock cattiness, "from someone whose body makes a Donatella Versace original look like Frederick's of Hollywood?"
Actually, Angie was stunning in the fuscia satin bustier-style sheath. We had fled the office immediately after the Thursday morning meeting and found it in the couturier salon at 'Needless Markup'. Her eyes glazed over when she saw herself in it in the three- way mirror. Those eyes filled with tears when she read the price tag. She wept openly when I put it on my platinum card.
"Listen, puta," I had teased, "you got me into this mess three months ago. I'll be damned if I'm going it alone."
I had kissed her softly on the cheek to soften the faux blow.
"Besides," I had cooed, "you deserve it."
There was more champagne and canapés when we arrived, plus an honest-to-God string quartet in the main salon and a harpist in the smaller 'Conservatory' — what, once upon a time, had been the Reference Room. This was rare air, even for someone who has been in the corporate culture for a while. There is something intimidating about rubbing elbows with people whose last names appear on public buildings and corporate logos, not to mention packages of hot dogs or bacon. Angie was already on Cloud Nine and I was working on getting a leg up.
Apparently, we were perceived as some kind of visiting royalty, on loan to the two investment wunderkind of the hour. Boy, did we get the double- and triple-takes! Rob and Jim were basking in the glow of attention they were receiving, both for their achievements and their choice of companions. Astute politician that he is, even the Mayor had compliments to pay, citing us as "a shining example of what makes The Great City of Chicago great." Considering the direction of his gaze, I wasn't sure if he was referring to our investment successes or our bustlines.
One of the many things I admire about Rob Nelson is his utter selflessness when it comes to giving credit where credit is due.
"I would love to tell you it was some well-planned grand strategy on my part," he began, turning my way. "In fact, it was really..."
He paused in mid-sentence as he felt the increasing pressure of my stiletto heel on his instep. I shook my head imperceptibly, then hugged his arm tightly and inhaled deeply, inflating my chest to epic proportions.
"... a spur-of the moment thing, which I credit to my companion, Lisa Layne," he ad- libbed. "She and her friend, Angelina Torres, were generous enough to take time off from their careers in Hollywood to visit Jim and myself this past few months and lend their moral support. You know how it is; when your muse beckons, you follow."
He's quick on his feet, too. I like that in a man. I couldn't have asked for a better cover story. Since they would not be able to place our names, faces, or anatomies to any big- budget Hollywood productions, I was sure our new admirers would rush home that night and check their other DVDs.
This was not some sudden attack of modesty on my part. I was seeing other 'movers and shakers' — of the gridiron variety - interspersed throughout the crowd. My instincts had flashed me a warning; this might not be the best time to take a high profile. Then again, in this dress, with my push-up corset, I couldn't help but take a high profile.
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