The Greatest Lie

by Alexandra Rios

 

Chapter 12

My Own Worst Enemy

 

Let’s face facts. The so-called the "War On Drugs," "Just Say No," and all the other anti-drug campaigns are complete failures because they ignore reality: getting high is fun.

College students drink and take drugs to break a boring routine; the poor do it to escape from intolerable misery; esthetes to explore a new place in their minds or bodies. Whatever the immediate impetus, the impulse to get high is about as primordial as that of propagation or perpetuation.

And the dangers are overstated: unless you are shooting heroin or smoking lots of crack, you’re really not in immediate danger of killing yourself. If recreational drugs were so dangerous, then half of my parents’ generation would be dead, right?

 

But when you wake up in the condition that I was in after my night out at Quest, you might well wish that you were dead. If the Feds really want to curb drug or alcohol abuse, they shouldn’t waste their time telling people how bad it is to get high. They should remind people about shitty it feels to crash, to be strung out, or to wake up really, really hung over.

The drug warriors would have been preaching to the choir when I awoke the Sunday morning after my night out with Alec.

When the first shafts of glittering winter light drove through my eyelids I pulled an unfamiliar down duvet over my head and shut my eyes tight against the light. The sun’s sparkling rays seemed only to increase the intensity of the throbbing behind my eye sockets. My tongue was swollen, dry, and seemingly glued to my parched and rough palate. My eyes squinted through a crust of dried tears and mascara. I was unwilling and a bit afraid to open my eyes and see where my binge had landed me.

But my mind whirred back through the fragmented images and impressions of the night before. Eyes still firmly shut, I collated them into a coherent memory and deduced where I was.

My suspicions were confirmed when I peeked and saw my classmate Alec snoring nearby, smiling contentedly in his dreams.

No wonder he was so happy, I thought. He had intoxicated and seduced his beautiful young classmate on their first date, and his buddy Peter had no doubt gotten lucky with my friend Tran. I was only too familiar with the feelings of power and achievement that he was feeling: after all, I used to be a guy.

But now I was a girl, and I reproached myself for having wasted my post-op virginity on a guy I never really liked, much less felt attracted to. Which, I wondered, was smaller relative to the rest of mankind: his cock or his mind? I felt like an idiot, a dumb freshman that had been snared and conquered by a smarmy, patronizing upperclassman.

I slipped quietly out of bed to pee and see how my new equipment had fared in it first skirmish. My pussy was tender, and the slight discharge that customarily followed dilation was now noticeably increased.

I felt used and more than a little hung over. I wrapped a towel around my hair and took a long, scalding shower in his spotless and luxuriously appointed bathroom. There were lots of costly toiletries, but none were obviously feminine. I rifled his bathroom drawers for a Tampax, but there was none: there was no sign of a resident girlfriend.

By the time I emerged from the bathroom I felt a little better.

Unfortunately, the bed was empty. That meant there would be no stealthy escape from this scene: Prince Charming was up and about. Then I noticed the aroma of sizzling bacon and eggs wafting through the room. My pompous debaucher was cooking breakfast: an awkward interlude was impending.

I decided to get into the scenario. I called out a cheery "Good morning," and stepped into the kitchen, modestly draped in a bed sheet.

"That smells fantastic," I lied. I really prefer fruit and yogurt to a traditional starch- and fat-laden breakfast. "Do you have anything else I can wear?"

"Wow, you look like something out of one of my dreams," Alec said. "Draped around you, that sheet looks like the gown of a fairytale princess."

"Until I trip on it and break my neck. How about some sweats or something?"

"Bottom drawer on the left, help yourself."

I found a Minnesota sweatshirt that was long enough to cover me to mid-thigh, and rolled up the sleeves. Alec said, "I thought you wouldn’t wear Golden Gopher sweatshirts?"

"I can’t wear a little black party dress on Sunday morning. Would you want me to look like a little slut?"

"I wouldn’t want that," he said with a wink. (NB: I don’t know whether Fictionmania can post lettering in italics. We’ll just have to burn that bridge when we come to it. [I have a work-around, if it should be necessary.])

I blushed crimson at his comment, and my resentment poured out in a flood. "I wouldn’t have come over if you hadn’t given me so much to drink. I’m not used to those martinis, and I didn’t know what I was doing. So I’m sorry if that makes me a little slut. I mean, an under-aged little slut. But what does that make you?" I asked accusingly.

Alec looked crushed. "I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant."

"Well, that’s what you implied, and it really hurts. First you got me so drunk you had to carry me up the stairs, and you had intercourse with me when I was half passed-out, and now you’re insulting me." Tears filled my eyes. It was partly an act, to flush him out, but I really was insulted.

"I didn’t mean it that way! I thought that you wanted to . . . I mean, that you wanted me . . . and I wouldn’t have done anything, if you hadn’t wanted me to. I guess I just fooled myself. I’m sorry," he said with apparent dejection. .

I decided that I had deflated him enough and it was time to give him some slack. "No, I probably would have wanted to, if I had been in any condition to decide," I lied. "Just maybe not so soon. It feels like we just did it because we were drunk, and on our first night out. You know, that’s really not the way I am."

"I’m sorry, I keep on forgetting how young you are, because you think and act like someone my age. It’s O.K. We’re not in high school anymore. Whenever two people feel that way about each other, I think that’s the right time, whether it’s the first date or whatever. I always liked you, even when we were arguing about that first case, and I really wanted to be with you, and I hope you feel the same way about me."

He embraced me, and I tilted my head back to invite a deep kiss. When I opened my eyes, still blurry with faux tears, I saw his eyes were locked on mine with a look that I had never seen before. I tried to catalogue the look that I saw in his eyes. I wondered: is this love that I’m seeing in his eyes?

"Anyhow, it was really sweet of you to make breakfast for us. I’m starving."

"Let’s eat," Alec replied, setting the table and serving me.

I beamed with satisfaction. I had manufactured a lover’s quarrel, and I had triumphed. I wondered how Tran was doing with Peter. Doing great, I speculated: she’s much more experienced, and lower maintenance than I am.

After breakfast, I felt a lot better. No food and too much booze the day before had left me really frazzled. Alec’s cholesterol feast had seemed to absorb some of the leftover ethanol byproducts.

I asked, "So, can I at least get a ride home."

Alec grabbed me playfully and asked, "Do you really have to leave, already?"

"I have homework. Don’t you?"

"Tons, but all work and no play makes Alec a dull boy." He pulled me down onto his rumpled bed and began fondling me. I decided to give in as a reward for his earlier penance and pulled the drawstring of his sweats. I let him pull my top over my head.

In that blind, vulnerable moment when the neckline of the sweatshirt was stuck on my head, he let go, leaving my arms pinioned above my head. He said, "Gotcha!"

I panicked for fear he’d uncovered some clue to my pre-op past. But he only kissed my breasts playfully before helping me free myself, face flushed, from captivity. Then he kissed me and said, "You’re beautiful."

I kissed him back and then pushed him onto his back. My lips searched out his cock and I took him into my mouth.

I love to suck cock. It’s an easy and less messy alternative to intercourse, and hell, after Bill and Monica, I don’t really even consider it sex. I mean, how could it be? You can do it fully dressed!

Sucking cock is really more like a compromise between making out and sex: it’s neater and faster. Besides, I wasn’t too crazy about repeating the painful initiation of the night before, mush less giving my trannie-phobic friend a daylight close-up of my still somewhat unfinished labia.

The immediate and intoxicating hors d’oeuvre of precum indicated that this would be a brief and easy encounter—he was fully locked and loaded.

With a small cock like Alec’s, a blowjob is not even really hard work. He was small enough so that I could take his cock and balls in a single mouthful and still breathe. Alec must have dated some really uptight girls. He was not accustomed to my street-honed expertise in the oral arts.

At first, he aimlessly twitched his hips and groaned with pleasure. He was so overwhelmed by the soft, wet sensations of my mouth and lips that his body knew no effective response.

I clamped his hands over my head, and got him into the rhythm of plunging my head down over his upthrusting hips. With my hand guiding his, he learned to control my head and synchronize the dipping of my head with the upward thrusts of his cock.

Despite his initial fumbling, he quickly got into it. Guys love the feeling of mastery of manipulating a beautiful face over their thrusting cocks, and I love the feeling of painless submission that I get for my side of the bargain.

Plus it’s easy, especially when, like Alec, the guy’s cock isn’t so huge that you have to fight the gag reflex with every plunge of your head.

Between his groans and grunts I heard him cry, "I’m going to cum in your mouth! Oh, no!"

I guess that wasn’t included in his previous lovers’ repertoire, but duh, that’s the point, isn’t it?

He climaxed manfully, and his cock quivered and geysered into my mouth.

I sucked him and squeezed his balls, and he writhed in ecstasy. The cum felt great splashing onto my vodka-desiccated throat. I said "M-m-m-m" with feeling.

Alec gasped "Oh, my God! That was fantastic," and lay completely still.

I got up and gargled, flossed, and borrowed his toothbrush for thorough gum cleaning. I applied make up, borrowed some oversized sweatpants, and put my dress away. I turned to him and said jokingly, "I think I hear church bells. Time to wake up!"

He shook himself awake, looked at his watch, and said, "Oh, my God, I’m late!"

"You’re kidding, right? I mean, your whole conservative thing is like, about wealth preservation, or is it, like, religious?"

"Well, I’m not really that religious, but the whole family goes, so I have to."

"Wow! Talk about the high price of being rich!"

"You know, it’s just how I was raised. I don’t really mind. I like the music."

"God, I hate it. So, what’s your choice of ‘opium?’"(NB: I take it Alex is quoting: "Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people." Karl Marx: A Contribution to the Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right, preface [1844].)

He looked puzzled. I hinted, "You know, like, Marx and all that."

He was completely nonplused. "I mean, which religion?"

"Lutheran. Missouri Synod."

Now I was stumped.

He added, "That’s the extra-strict kind. What are you?"

"My mom’s Swedish, so she must have been Lutheran, but she’s like, completely agnostic, so they sent me to Roman Catholic Sunday school. I did really great there. When they asked me the name of God, I responded ‘Zeus, Athena,’ and named the other ten of the Hellenic Pantheon. (NB: And of Wotan, Freya, and the rest of the Aesir? O Schmerz! O Schmerz! Solche Verge§lichkeit! [Sorry, I’m just being facetious.]) The nuns whisked me straight home. After that, we only went, like, once a year on Easter, and after I was confirmed, we really went hardly at all." (NB: Let’s just assume Alex found time to take a confirmation class and memorize his catechism. It isn’t really necessary for the story.)

 

I thought about Tran’s priest. "Never!"

"Well, I have to go to keep the family happy. So what’s with your family?"

I replied "Dad was such a good Catholic that, last year, he just dumped my mom for one of his grad students. My parents got divorced, and I got in such a big fight with my Dad that he never wants to hear from me again. Now he’s in Switzerland with a big-money biotech job, and my mom’s back here with all the debts. She’s broke, so it’s just me and my scholarship that's keeping me here. That’s why I have to go study now. Can you pick up Tran and give us a ride home now?"

"Ah, er, I’m running a little late. You know, I can’t miss the offering plate. Both God and Mom would be displeased. Can I call you a taxi?"

"Forget it, I’ll take the bus. Remember, I’m poor. I gotta get a grant just so I can eat this summer." And, also, maybe so I can get myself back to Phuket for some more surgery, and wild times in Thailand, I added to myself.

"O.K. I’ll just have to hurry."

As he showered, I inspected his knickknacks: Alec in an extended family photo, lost in a sea of white faces in front of a secluded, tree lined lake cottage; Alec in golf clothes, clutching a gaudy trophy; Alec in a graduation gown, between his beaming mother and father; Alec on horseback, riding with a buck toothed, horsy-looking girl. Alec was the guy who had everything, born with a silver spoon stuck up his ass.

As I looked at the evidence of his privilege, and compared it to my desperate poverty, I began to hate him, and myself. I helped myself to the change he had left scattered on headboard, scrawled a curt note good-bye, and took off before he got out of the shower.

As I shivered through freezing bus ride back to my shabby apartment, I wondered whatever possessed me to get into this awkward and dangerous liaison. Oh well, I consoled myself, at least his cock fit my unfinished pussy. It had worked, sort of.

Tran showed up a half-hour later, chauffeured by Peter. "How did you rate a ride? That prick Alec offered to call me a cab."

"I think he has ‘yellow fever,’" she replied. "I like your new friends even better than the old ones." She giggled appreciatively.

"Poor Alec was worried about being late for church with Mommy. I think you got the better of the two."

"But you got the richer one. Peter told me that Alec’s family is rich, like royalty. I think you found a sugar daddy, if you play it right."

"Oh, forget it. He’ll date and marry the girl his Mommy approves of, and that won’t be me. If they ever figure out we’re post-ops, they’ll freak out. We’ll be lucky if we only get dumped. So just forget about it," I added.

"So how was the sex?" Tran inquired.

"Nice and tight, from what he said. Felt like a secondary vaginoplasty without anesthesia to me."

"Yeah, it hurt a lot, even with his little dick. It hurts less to do it the old way."

"I guess we had better check the damage," I said, slipping out of my borrowed sweats and reclining with my stent and lubricant."

"You mean fucking is not enough dilation? It’s not fair!" Tran complained.

My interior was still lubricating from the unaccustomed activity of the night before, and it was swollen and tender. I winced with pain as I pressed past the threshold of the ring where scar tissue conjoined the former penile flap and the colon tissue. "Tran, you’re not going to believe this. I think my ring is even tighter."

"I know just what you mean. It feels even narrower. Ow!"

"God, what are we going to do? We can’t have sex with anyone."

"And now, they are going to expect it."

"If they ever call us again," I replied gloomily.

"We have got to get back to Thailand for that surgery! I am going work all night if I have to, and get my research project done. I gotta get that next grant for the Thailand research!"

I spent the rest of the day writing up summaries of interviews for my Transsexual Sex Workers Research Project, while I helped Tran study for the GED high school equivalency exam. After her umpteenth math problem, she threw her papers on the floor and snarled, "I’m sick of this shit. Why are you ruining my life with these fucking equations? All I need to know is cock plus pussy equals fuck."

"So you can think great thoughts while you’re getting fucked! It makes the sex so much more interesting."

"You’re making fun of me."

I responded: "Education’s good for that, too."

"Good for you, bad for me," Tran whined.

"Tran, you can’t make your living on your back forever. Besides, we do need to get back to Thailand so Dr. Sanguan can finish our surgery, and the Thai’s are not going to give us visas to be whores. They’ve got plenty of them already. We need a reason to stay, and money to travel and to live on. Our ticket to Thailand is this grant I’m applying for. And if I get it, the work’s going to be great: we’ll have to spend our full time in katoey bars all over Asia. If you want to be on the grant, you have to get into school here, and to do that, you have to pass the GED and the SAT. So, think of it as a means to an end. So try this equation on for size: studying plus school equals full-size pussy."

"I think I’ll stay home and be Peter’s wife."

"Oh please! We blew that completely by fucking them the first night. Guys like that will probably never call again."

The intercom buzzed.

"Did you order in dinner already?" I asked.

Tran shook her head.

You don’t just take unexpected deliveries when you live on our part of Hennepin. In response to my brusque inquiry, the voice over the intercom announced, "Flowers for Miss Rivers."

The shivering delivery man had to lug the mass of blossoms up three flights of stairs to our squalid apartment. The bouquet filled our tiny rooms with a delicious, spicy aroma.

I found a card dangling beneath the canopy of fragrant blooms. It read:

"Thanks for joining me for breakfast. My apologies for not taking better care of you. Call me if I deserve another chance."

"Love, Alec."

I don’t want to sound like a poster child for the cut flower industry, but the arrival of my first bouquet of roses completely turned me around on Alec. My feelings of estrangement and resentment bordering on contempt were swept away in a wave of involuntary emotion. Despite myself, I felt a warm glow of appreciation.

One feels one must be beautiful and desirable to have warranted being presented such delicate and costly blossoms. I was mightily tempted to immediately call Alec and forgive him his transgressions of the night and the morning.

Tran demanded "You’re gonna call him, right?"

I replied "Of course I will, but not yet. He has to have a night of uncertainty and tension: penance for his sins of last night and this morning. He’ll be desperate by the time I call him tomorrow. I will reel him in like yo-yo: but you have to throw the yo-yo down and let it spin before you bring it back up again."

"You are right, but you are so cruel."

"Life’s cruel, Tran. Get back to work. I’ve got hours of work, and class first thing tomorrow. He can wait."

When I woke up the next morning, the heat in our apartment was off. Tran had stolen all of the covers and was splayed out over three-quarters of our lumpy, shared bed. I was freezing and miserable. I warmed myself against Tran's slumbering body, and she recoiled from the touch of my chilly bones against her warm flesh. God, it sucks to be poor.

But when I opened my eyes, the flowers were still in glorious bloom, reminding me of poor Alec’s unrequited passion. Poor baby, I thought, as I drifted back to sleep, warmed by Tran’s exquisite and toasty-warm flesh pressed against mine.

After experiencing the luxury of Alec’s bathroom, I hated the shower in my Hennepin apartment. It rattled and spit in sporadic, rusty spasms, and alternated between icy and scalding with the flushes of my neighbors' toilets. The curtain was stiff with age, the tub was gray with wear, and the tile was lined with spider-web cracks and brown grout. I recalled enviously the hot, luxurious waterfall in Alec’s condo. God, I thought, I’ve got to get out of this shithole.

It was still early, but I called. I got his machine. I purred a message. "I got the flowers. That was really sweet. But if you really want to apologize, you’ll have to do it in person. Bye."

Tran is not a morning person. She began to grumble dreamily, and I jumped on top of her and roused her from her reverie.

"No, just another minute, please Alexandra."

"Up! Now!" I straddled her and shook her shoulders roughly.

She grimaced and whimpered, "Leave me alone."

"You can’t sleep. We have to meet with Mark Whitman about your priest lawsuit. It’s our ‘Plan B’ for getting enough money for our operations."

My friend Mark Whitman was, as usual, in his tiny law review editor’s office at the law school. Under his strict supervision, a couple of second year students in Epstein’s clinical law class had researched the Minnesota District Court system for cases of sexual abuse by clergy. Their search had tracked down Tran’s old priest, Father Tom.

Mark said "His name is Thomas Roarke. He’s a defendant in a case that’s already pending in the Ramsey County District Court. We sent a demand letter to the Archdiocese of St. Paul and Minneapolis, but so far all they’ve done is hire the biggest law firm in the Twin Cities, and demand that Tran appear in Court at a hearing. I checked the Court calendar for more on the hearing. The hearing is to be on a motion to sever, or split up all the claims that have been filed against the Archdiocese for Roarke’s misdeeds."

"Why do they want to do that?" I asked.

"Who knows? But based on who the Church’s lawyers are, most likely it’s hardball litigation tactics. It’s more expensive to try each case separately, and the Church has more money than the victims. Also, each victim’s story tends to corroborate that of the others. If you separate the victims’ cases from one another, the story makes less sense, and Roarke’s actions and the Church’s lack of response don’t make such an obvious pattern. Plus, they probably are hoping to intimidate Tran into dropping her claim"

"Do I have to go to the Court?" Tran asked nervously.

"If we don’t agree to produce you voluntarily, they’ll subpoena you. Then, you have to go."

"What did you get me into?" she asked accusingly. "I told you the priests are too powerful."

"Wait a minute. Why would the Court sever the claims?" I asked.

Mark replied "They’ll say it’s lack of common issues of law or fact; prejudice to a party; or judicial efficiency. But I think it’s just they think they can beat the plaintiffs down better if they take them on separately. The plaintiffs’ lawyer told me she’s got twenty-three cases against this creep, and the more publicity the case gets, the more victims come forward. She keeps trying to add the new victims to her case, and the Church keeps trying to split them up. Typical game of litigation chicken, to see who’s got bigger cojones."

Tran looked puzzled. "Balls," Mark clarified.

"So is the church going to pay me? I don’t want to go to Court. I don’t want anything to do with lawyers. I just want money."

"They have ten more days to respond to the letter you sent them."

"I want my money before I go to Court," Tran insisted.

"That might look bad," Mark cautioned.

"I don’t care how it look, as long as money is green. Twenty five thousand dollars; then I go to court."

"I’m sorry Tran, I can’t make that call for you. It would be unethical."

"Gimme his number, I call the lawyer myself."

As we left, Tran fumed, "Your lawyer friend Mark is no good."

"He’s only a law student, not a lawyer, and he’s worried that if you demand money before you testify, it will look like you are a paid liar. Why are you so scared of going to court? If they won’t pay, then you’ll have to sue! You’ll have to go to court then"

"I already went to court."

"What for?"

"I got caught hooking on Hennepin. I was eighteen. I got public indecency. My lawyer was no good, made me take plea."

"Was it in juvie or regular court?"

"Hennepin County. It was a real court. I was in county jail. It was horrible: the guards, the other prisoners." Tears streamed down her face.

"This is different. It’s just to get money, not about jail."

"I don’t want to go to court. Help me talk to the Church’s lawyer."

I called and made for an appointment at the law firm of Maestre and Fenton.

Tran and I dressed in our most businesslike clothes and took a bus to an imposing marble tower on South Sixth. We glided up fifty floors in a mahogany paneled elevator to a mahogany paneled lobby, where the elegant hush was punctuated only by the ping of constantly arriving elevators and the constant murmur of the receptionist. The place reeked of intimidating wealth and power.

After a wait that was almost, but not quite, insulting, a smooth talking, handsome lawyer approached: Eric Olson. "I’m sorry for the delay, but we are just crazy this morning. Come right this way."

He led us down a brightly lit corridor, lined with secretarial stations on one side and bright, windowed offices on the other. Everyone was bustling about efficiently. People in cubicles were cradling phones as they clicked away on their computer keyboards. Others studied stacks of paper.

Eric looked back and noticed me goggling. "Never seen the inside of a law firm before? It’s always like this: even nights and weekends. Here, step in this conference room."

We took seats in the richly appointed conference room. Eric courteously offered us coffee or sodas and then curtly placed our order to some unseen assistant. He opened a folder and casually shoved a sheaf of papers across the glossy table at Tran. He offhandedly remarked, "Before we get started, I’d like to hand you this. It’s a subpoena to appear to testify and produce documents on April 10. Ramsey County District Court, Department 42, 9:00 A.M. Take a look at the papers and if you have any questions I’ll be glad to answer them. Or if you’d like, you can go over them with your own counsel."

Tran said, "That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to go to Court. I just want to get a settlement about the things that priest Roarke did to me when I was young. I wrote a letter about it. I brought a copy."

"I know what’s in your letter, it’s right here in your file." He patted the manila folder. "There are some things that we want to ask you about. That’s why I am so glad that you have come to visit us. Of course, it is always a pleasure to be visited by such lovely young ladies as you." He smiled like a predator.

Tran blurted, "It’s what I said in the letter. My friend Alexandra helped me write it because my English writing is not too good, but it is what happened."

Olson’s fawning smile hardened into a grimace at me.

Tran went on: "I don’t like to talk about it, but Father Tom made me do things with him when I was nine or ten, until I was twelve. He touched me and made me touch him."

Olson nodded, and when Tran hesitated, he commanded: "Ms. New, I know this is difficult, but you’re going to have to tell me the details. Your letter is very vague. "Who, what, why, where, and when."

Tran answered defiantly, "He put his penis in my mouth, and inside me." Olson arched his eyebrows skeptically.

Tran snarled, "I mean there." She pointed beneath her waist. "Twenty times, at least, I can’t remember exactly: after services and confession, usually in the cloister. He told me never to tell, that God would punish me." She was choking up, on the verge of tears. "Just give me money and I won’t go to court like the others. I don’t need that much money and I don’t have a lawyer to pay. I just want my money now. And no court." She buried her head in her hands, sobbing.

"I’m sorry Ms. New, but that’s just not how things work. We have to investigate your charges. I’d like to believe you, but we can’t just accept your word or anyone else’s, even if you are such a beautiful young lady. These are very serious charges, that a priest forced a young girl to have sex: very serious." He thumped the table to emphasize "young girl." "We have to find the facts. And that’s why we want you to go to court: to talk about the facts."

Tran looked up, her face streaked with tears. "I don’t want to talk about such things in front of all of those people. It’s bad enough that it happened. I don’t want to relive it. Please, help me."

"Look Ms. New, I know twenty five thousand dollars doesn’t seem like a lot of money." He waved his hand expressively, as if to suggest that twenty five thousand wouldn’t have bought half of the contents of this one conference room. "But if you multiply that twenty five thousand by all of the other baseless claimants that have emerged to malign Father Tom and the Church, now that a single isolated incident of priestly misconduct has been established, it turns into ‘real money.’" He pounded the table again to emphasize real money.

"And ‘real damage’ (thump, thump) to the reputation of Father Tom and the Church. So we can’t just pay anyone who comes in off the street, or jumps on the coattails of some lawsuit, no matter how sad her story is. We need to scrutinize each story individually, because each story is so ‘very different.’" His fists thumped the table again to emphasize "very different", and his eyes narrowed as he glared at Tran with suspicion.

He turned toward me. "So while we will need Ms. New in court, and will pay her travel expense and a witness fee, at the present time, I can offer her nothing more than an opportunity to tell the truth. And perhaps you as well, Ms. Rivers, as the admitted author of this letter."

Just then, the door opened and a young kid pushed in with a beverage cart. In my imagination, I saw a clerk furiously typing a subpoena for me. It was obviously time to go. I said, "If that’s all you’ve got to say, we won’t need those beverages. We’ll see you in court." I got up.

"No please, I’d just like to go over a few things with Ms. New, in regards to her, ah, testimony." Tran started to settle back into her seat, but I jerked her up and dragged her toward the door.

Olson demurred, but in a placating tone: "You don’t need to leave now. I’ve put you down in my calendar for an hour."

I replied, "And I’m sure you’ll bill your client for the whole hour. But we’re done!"

I slammed the door and dragged Tran toward the elevator. She started protesting, but I hissed "Be quiet, I know what I’m doing."

She hung her head. "I can’t go to court again."

I cuddled and comforted her in the freezing, filthy bus, but I knew my comfort was a lie. She was going to court. And it was going to be a bad day for her. But, I, imagined, it was going to be an even worse day for Eric Olson. I called Mark Whitmore to ask for the name of the lawyer for the other victims, and told him about our visit.

"You went where?" he asked, incredulously. "Into the lair of the lion? I imagine you came out with the subpoena, and nothing else."

"Well, partly true. I think I came out with some information. I think I know where Olson’s going with the subpoena on Tran."

"You never can tell what happens in court. What did he say?"

"He was really focused on the fact that Tran was a female, and how that made her case so different. I don’t think he figured out she’s a trans. He thinks Tran’s always been a girl, and is going to try to use her testimony to impugn the other victims’ claims through the dissimilarity between her claims and theirs."

"Serves him right for not taking her deposition first. Oh, well, haste makes waste. Alexandra, remind me never to litigate against you. You’re wicked."

"Poor Tran, she’s going to be terrified in court."

"It’s going to be rough, but after they hear her story I think Tran’s testimony will be over fast. Let’s call Nora Hofberg. I think she’s going to have a new client at the end of the day."

Hofberg’s office was a walk-up on a side street off Hennepin, above a furniture store. It was a far cry from Maestre and Fenton. The reception counter was unattended, so Mark called out "Nora, are you out to lunch?"

She lumbered into view, a stubby, bespectacled, forty-five year old, with stiff, unkempt gray hair, unstyled and cut short. She wore a baggy, pilled sweater and mismatched plaid pants.

"Whitman, good to see you. Have you sold out to the enemy yet?"

"Holding out, doing clerkship next year; Seventh Circuit."

"God help us all: you, working for a bunch of mercenary neofascist judges."

"‘Revolution from the inside out,’ is my motto."

"Revolution, my ass," she cracked jovially. "Who’s this young woman you’re bringing into our corrupt world?"

"My good friend and colleague, Alexandra Rivers, and has she got a story for you."

"In that case, welcome to my world." She cleared away stacks of paper from two chairs and beckoned us to sit down. She peered over the mounds of files and papers on her desk owlishly as I started into my tale. She laughed uproariously and clapped her chubby hands with glee as I recounted Olson’s clumsy efforts to do a "back room deposition" on Tran.

"You mean, when Roarke raped her, she was a boy?" I nodded.

"That’s fabulous, incredible. He’s going to step into shit up to his neck, right in court, and he won’t even know it until he’s picking it out of his nose!"

"I can’t wait. Where is she? I have to talk to her."

"She’s really terrified of going to court. She got arrested for soliciting prostitution a couple of years ago and got plea-bargained to public indecency. That’s her only contact with the courts."

"Well, there’s no way that’s coming into evidence. Prejudice exceeds probative value." She slammed down her hand with crack like a gavel. "When can I meet Ms. New? I need to get retained, and prep her for testifying."

"We only live a few blocks away. But after this morning, I don’t know if I can get her to another law office."

"Well, there’s no law against lawyers making house calls."

"She doesn’t want to do this, but she really needs the money. Our operations didn’t go that well. I mean, they’re not really done."

Nora interrupted, "You mean you’re a trans too?"

"Yeah. I’m sorry, I mean, what does that matter?"

"Doesn’t matter a bit to me. It’s just that the lawyer should know all the relevant facts. And in this case, that fact is relevant," she said with a grimace.

I joked, "Well, I guess all of this means we’re passable."

"Fooled Olson, but you can’t fool everyone," she said with a snarl.

"Have you got a problem with transsexuals?"

"I don’t have a problem representing transsexuals. Hell, I don’t have a problem representing child molesters either. But that doesn’t mean that I have to admire you."

"Pardon me, I was under the impression you were gay."

"Your being trans and my being gay doesn’t exactly make us sisters: quite the opposite. Sexuality is a choice, but gender is destiny."

"I couldn’t agree more. Tran and I were destined to be women."

"I don’t buy it. To be gay is to be faithful to one’s gender and ones sexuality, and to be trans is to betray one’s gender in the pursuit of sexuality. Instead of coming out of the closet, you went back in and came out wearing your sister’s clothes. You’re a cop-out."

"You think being transgender is so easy? You have no idea what we go through!"

"So now you’re through it, and instead of fighting the male/female hierarchy, you have morphed yourself into a Barbie doll: perfect face, body and hair. We’re never going to change sexist stereotypes by impersonating them."

"I’m not impersonating anything. I have made my body conform to my brain." I looked at her squat, masculine body, and couldn’t resist adding "Just as you have. But we’re just different on the inside."

Nora snorted with contempt. "Well, it doesn’t matter to me. And it’s damn convenient for this case. Is Ms. New another boytoy like you?"

"I let you judge for yourself." I rang to warn Tran, "I’m coming up with our new legal team."

Nora introduced herself curtly and then announced, "O.K., if you want to work with me, sign here. I advance the all expenses and take them off the top. After that, we split one third of any judgment or settlement to me, two thirds to you: same deal as my other clients. I call all of the shots in the litigation."

Tran looked at me with bloodshot eyes. "Alexandra, you said I would not need a lawyer."

"Look, Ms. New, you’re not going to get a penny out of the Church without me. So you can sign or you can forget it."

"I’d rather just forget it. Go away." She hung her head.

"So this priest raped you as a child and wrecked your life, and you are just going to walk away?"

"My life is not wrecked. I was happy until you lawyers came along. I’ll just tell the other lawyer I was a boy and he’ll forget about me."

"It’s your choice, but we lawyers are not going to leave you alone. You are going to be in the case as a witness or as a plaintiff, but you are going to be there. If he doesn’t subpoena you, I will."

Tran looked trapped and scared. She whispered, "O.K. I’ll sign."

"Here is how we are going to play this." She outlined the ambush she planned for Olson. She was clever, confident and utterly ruthless. In her hands, the truth was a truly dangerous weapon.

When she left, I asked Tran "Now, don’t you feel better? You have the meanest lawyer in town!"

"She doesn’t care about me, only about winning. I’m worried she will ruin everything."

"Tran, it’s not like things are that great. We’re broke and trapped ten thousand miles and about ten thousand dollars away from being able to function sexually."

"I’m worried something bad will happen if we go against the priests."

"You’re being superstitious. It’s gonna be fine," I reassured Tran. But I wasn’t so sure. Nora was a transphobe of a different sort, and Maestre and Fenton looked like a powerful and resourceful opponent. The battle wasn’t over yet.

I returned to my endless mound of homework, and Tran to her GED studies. I had just finished my umpteenth follow-up call on Transsexual Sex Worker interviews when the phone rang.

"Let’s screen it," I advised. It was Rick, who left a message ranting at us about messing up his and Randy’s heads at the hockey game, and then finished up with a demand that I call.

"How to Win Friends and Influence People," I remarked sarcastically, and Tran snorted in agreement. As we rewound the tape, the phone rang again. Again, we screened the call.

It was Alec, who began tentatively, "Thanks for calling this morning. You didn’t have to, but I was glad you did. I wanted to ask you . . . well, I wanted to apologize in person, like you said in your message, and I was wondering when I could do that? Like, any time would be good for me, how about now?"

I grabbed the phone. "I just walked in," I lied. "Thanks for the flowers. They really made my day."

"How would you like to make my day?" he responded.

I put on an offended air. "What kind of question is that?"

"I’m sorry," Alec stammered. "I mean . . . would you like to go out to dinner?"

"I don’t know. When?"

"Right now, I’ll be right over."

Tran nodded affirmatively, but I answered "Teri had a really hard day today. I think she needs my company."

"I know Peter’s been trying to call her for the last half hour. If you say yes, I’ll hang up so he can get through to her."

"Well, for a friend, OK. And don’t offer to call me a cab!"

"Never again, I promise."

I dressed schoolgirl chic: tight black sweater, a long woolen black skirt, an open pea jacket, and high-heeled black boots. I accentuated my mid-winter pallor with ultra-faint mascara and pale lipstick, and brushed my hair back behind a headband. I looked like a Goth goddess. Alec stopped dead in his tracks when I opened the door for him. I loomed over him as he stood on the step below me. He had to stand on tiptoe to graze my cheek with a chaste kiss.

I knew I had him where I wanted him.

He squeezed my hand in his as he walked me to his car, and opened and closed the door behind me. God, this was new: he was treating me like a lady. We had reservations at a dark little Italian place, where Alec rated a quiet table in the back.

"Do they know you everywhere?" I asked enviously.

"Yeah especially at the places that my family owns. I always get good service here at Mona Lisa."

The sommelier uncorked a gilt-labeled bottle. He intoned, "Barolo, ’88. A very fine vintage."

Alec swirled the claret, and inhaled the bouquet. "Perfect, thank you, Vittorio."

"To a new beginning for us," Alec toasted and clinked my glass.

"To new beginnings," I answered.

"You know, Alexandra, from the first moment I saw you, I have wanted to be with you."

"You certainly got my attention from the start," I answered politely.

"I have to tell you something, and I don’t know how, but I just can’t stop thinking about you. I mean, I haven’t really stopped thinking about you since the first time we met, and since you left the other morning, I have just felt this emptiness."

"And now that I am with you, I mean, do you feel like, you know, not empty?"

‘That’s it: I’m un-empty. I want you to be with me always."

More like, full of it, I thought, but I said "I’m glad I make you feel that way, but Alec, I do have ambitions and desires of my own. And I’m not nineteen yet. I’m too young to really settle down."

"We can take it slowly, but I really want you to stay with me. You know, move in. I am worried about your living in that apartment."

"What about Teri? It’s my apartment, but she’s been staying with me? I couldn’t do that to her. Besides, I need it for some interviews I’m doing for research. I don’t think you want a bunch of weirdoes like the ones in my study coming to your apartment."

"If I know Peter, he’s making the same proposal to Teri. But I don’t know if my condo association will allow visits by your weirdoes."

"That’s my project. It’s going to be published in a journal."

"You’d better keep the apartment for that. But live with me." He looked at me quizzically. "There’s so much about you I don’t know."

Oh, yeah, I said inwardly. "I really care about my studies. I’m going to be published, you know."

"You’re so precocious, and ambitious. But I guess that’s one of the things I love about you."

Wow, I thought, is this it? Is this how girls fall in love, and end up married? I was in terra nova, totally untrained for this aspect of life as a woman. I was flattered, and a warm glow filled me from deep within, but in that part of my brain where I analyze my unfolding life, I spotted a trap. Don’t go there, it seemed to be warning me.

I blushed and smiled shyly. "What else do you love about me?"

"Everything. I’m crazy about you."

I had to say something, so I said "I really like being with you too."

"Great, then you can move some stuff right in. Whatever you need doubles of, I’ll buy. I mean, you can use my Visa."

"You’re so sweet. Are you sure you want to put up with me?"

"No, but I’m sure I want to find out." He clinked my glass again. "To us! And to finding out about one another." I clinked his glass and responded, "To us," but didn’t join the second part of the toast.

We ate a lovely dinner and worked through the delicious Barolo, and by the end I felt warm and cuddly and he was happy and amorous. We staggered into a Rite Aid and he bought me toiletries and some pink velour sweats that fit. I was tipsy, but in control this night, as I went to bed with Alec. Now, instead of a martini-fueled mania, I was driven by a desire to imprint myself indelibly on his emotions.

He caressed my breasts, and stroked my tummy and mons gently, almost reverently. He suckled on my nipples like a hungry baby as I stroked his fine blonde hair and sighed appreciatively. Between breathless kisses, he whispered in my ear "I love you."

I responded with the obligatory "I love you too."

With that, he clumsily tried to disrobe me and himself, alternating between fumbling attempts to undo my bra clasp, and his own belt buckle. I shifted and pulled at my clothes to subtly help him, without appearing to be too cooperative.

When I was bare to my lace panties, his fingers began a relentless exploration. I remembered the painful vaginal intercourse and the swollen condition of my insides, and I was thankful for the panty liner that I wore full-time because of the constant post-dilation discharge: it would give me the excuse I needed to avoid another painful vaginal penetration.

I whispered, "Sorry, I have my period."

"That’s O.K.," he said as he slipped my panties down.

But I resisted, protesting "I don’t want to do it when I am this way." In reality, the thought of him banging at the battered, swollen ring inside my vagina made my cringe with the expectation of pain.

"Let me suck you," I offered, and pushed him back on the bed. I slipped my lips over his small, but rock-hard penis. He gasped as my warm, velvety tongue and soft, wet lips encircled the silken skin of his boyish penis. When I swallowed his balls, he trembled with ecstasy. I flicked, licked, and spanked my lips, but still he could not come.

Finally, he gasped, "I need to be inside you."

"You mean you want do Greek?"

"What?"

"You know, sodomy?"

"That’s not what I what I wanted, or meant," he said, as his penis deflated.

"It’s OK, I’m not offended."

"You’ll do that?" he asked incredulously.

"You know, some girls in high school, if they had their period, or wanted to save their virginity, you know, people just did it. It’s O.K. We could do it if you want to."

Actually, I wanted it, too, for I wanted to corrupt his puritan soul. Just as I will never lose my taste for being fucked anally, so, I believe, most active participants will never forget, or willingly forbear from enjoying the delicious and forbidden intimacy of sodomy.

"I’ve never tried it. But, I could try."

"OK, just relax while I get ready." I went to his bathroom and lubed myself, and then kneeled between his legs and sucked him hard, and slipped on a condom, and slathered it with lubricant.

""I haven’t done this for a long time, and it hurts, so let me slide down on you, but remember, please go slowly."

He nodded in silent acquiescence. I pressed my slippery rectum against his slender, tapered cock head. It entered swiftly and easily, much faster than I expected. The abrupt entry overwhelmed the counter pressure that I applied onto his entering cock, and a familiar crackling of pain wracked me.

I cried out "Aaaagh, oh no," but he was so inexperienced, and his cock was so slippery and narrow that as I lost control, he slid all of the way in. My sphincters rebelled at this, and I thrashed my head involuntarily. My blond tresses fanned over him as I collapsed atop him. My breasts onto his heaving chest as my lips met his in an anguished kiss.

As I kissed him, my interior adjusted to his modest size. As my grimace of pain faded I smiled and gave him a softer kiss, and lied "It’s been so long that I guess I forgot how."

Now, I was comfortable and his throbbing cock gave me a familiar warm buzz inside me. "O.K., you can do it harder now."

Alec lacked the mass, strength or endurance that Rick got from his hockey conditioning. As he bounced me atop him I could not help but think of the delicious smack of Rick’s thick, sinewy thighs against my soft, rounded flesh. Where Rick utterly dominated me from every position, Alec was struggling under the weight of my slender frame; so I said, "Now I want you on top."

I scissored my legs smoothly to the side and rolled him on top of me, doggy style.

"God, that feels great," he said. "It’s so warm and smooth inside of you: so tight. Is it O.K. for you?"

I just murmured "M-m-m-m" and raised my ass higher so he could plunge deeper into me. My interior warmed and moistened with the rapid, short strokes of his cock in my colon. My interior became engorged and molten as his friction produced vernal glow within me.

As his momentum built, I felt my flesh molded like sculptor’s clay in his grasp, and fantasized that he was an artist who had created me, a modern day Venus de Milo, in an ecstatic rapture of inspiration. I was his idealized vision of perfect beauty, and all the more exquisite since my beauty had been fashioned by the hands of men.

He began panting and moaning and crying out "Oh, oh, oh, I’m going to cum!" I squeezed my cheeks around his cock as it erupted, and he collapsed in exhaustion on my back, baptizing me with his sweat. His chest heaved a few breaths in silence, and then he intoned, "That was fantastic! Was it good for you?"

"It’s different, but I kind of like it sometimes." God, it had only been about a week since I had Rick that way, and I had been positively craving it, but for Alec’s benefit I said, "It’s not something I would want to do regularly, but it’s kind of exciting, in a naughty sort of way."

"It almost seemed like it was hurting you."

"It does, but then it starts to feel good. I just can’t explain it. I mean, if I hadn’t ever done it before, I probably wouldn’t, but now that I have, it’s O.K. sometimes, isn’t it. I mean, you don’t think I’m too weird about it, do you?"

"Well, I probably never would have tried it without you. Let’s just say it’s one more reason I’m so happy I found you. You are fantastic in every way. I would never have figured you for such an adventurer."

I blushed, and pouted, and protested, "Don’t start putting me down again."

"Not a chance," he replied, and gave me a caress and a kiss, and said "I love you all over, inside and out." He gazed into my eyes, and I could see that he felt what he said.

I forced a look of innocence and acceptance onto my face, and whispered, "I love you too."

We rested, and cuddled and chatted, and eventually started talking about the future. "I’m pretty well set," Alec said confidently. "I just have to pass my law classes, and that should be no trouble unless you mess up the curve in Epstein’s class." He punched me playfully. "Then the bar exam, and then off to the slave mines of Maestre and Fenton."

I shuddered at the recollection of my unpleasant morning in that office. "What’s that?" I inquired with feigned innocence.

"The big corporate firm where Peter and I have offers. We’ll put in a couple of years at a buck twenty-five per, then I’ll go in-house to the family store. After I’ve been general counsel for a couple of years, I’ll hire Peter to replace me and move onto the board. Sound good to you?"

"It sounds like, Master and Whatever is pretty hard work. Why don’t you just go right to work for your family business?"

"You have to get the right experience, meet the right people. Maestre represents the power elite of the Twin Cities. It’s a good connection for me. You’d like the people there. And they’re always looking for bright kids like you, if that’s what you’re interested in. I could ask my mentor about a summer job for you."

"No thanks," I said emphatically. "I am still hopeful of getting this grant."

"What’s that all about?"

"Well, I have been meaning to tell you. If I get it, I will be going to Thailand for the summer. And Tran is going with me."

Alec looked distraught. "Do you have to go?"

"Only if I want to eat this summer."

"But I’ll get you a job: if not Maestre, then for my family."

"That’s nice, but you have understand. I’m going to be published in a peer-reviewed journal. I’ll be one of the youngest people to do that, ever. It’s really something special."

"Do you have to go?"

"I want to go. I mean, I have to if I want to get the grant and keep publishing."

"Oh yeah, I forgot. You’re the girl Einstein. But what am I supposed to do? I’ll be stuck here studying for the bar exam and working."

"I’ll be back for the fall semester. I still have to graduate."

"Thailand’s so far, and so dangerous. Why there?"

"That’s the grant I wrote. It’s that or nothing."

"Oh well, I guess I’ll be busy anyhow. But I’ll miss you. And now, I’ll be counting every day until you leave."

"That’s sweet."

"And every night." He kissed me again, and we drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, Alec made me feel as desirable as he had made me feel cheap after our first night. He took my breakfast order and made me just what I wanted: oatmeal, yogurt and fruit. I used the make up and cleansers he had bought for me, and dressed in the chic warm-up clothes that he had bought.

Of course, he insisted on giving me a ride home, and walked me to the door. Eyeing my tawdry neighborhood critically, he said, "I think we should try to find you a new apartment. My family owns hundreds of them. In fact, I think they own this one, but it’s the worst!"

We kissed tenderly, and I bounded up the stairs. My heart felt as light as my feet.

But my mood sank as soon as I opened the door, for there was Rick, eating a piece of toast as he stood over my kitchen sink. "Security system here stinks," he mumbled though a mouthful of crumbs.

"What are you doing here?" I asked in an outraged tone.

"Waiting for you, of course." I marched to the door, but he bounded there a step ahead of me and pressed me against it. "Stop that, you’re hurting me," I cried.

"You don’t think you’re hurting me?" he replied.

"You dumped me, you bastard," I hissed.

"You didn’t have to jump right into that law school wimp’s bed, did you?"

"As if you didn’t jump into someone else’s bed? Oh, please!"

"O.K., then." He threw himself to his knees at my feet. "Please. Give me another chance. I just can’t stand to lose you."

"That’s not the same as wanting me, much less loving me. Alec loves me."

He rose to his feet, clutching me tight in his thick, firm arms, and pressing my breasts against his bulging pectorals. "C’mon, I know you miss me. I could tell from that look you shot me at the game. I can tell from the look in you eyes now."

I closed my eyes to hide my feelings, but the mist that had formed on them squeezed into a tear that dripped to my cheek, which Rick kissed away.

"See, I’m right," he cooed. "Mr. Law School may love you, but you don’t love him." I couldn’t deny it.

"You hurt me so much," I admitted, bursting into sobs. "I just can’t stand it anymore. I mean, what Tran and I did in that movie, we had to do. I couldn’t stand staying as I was, and you weren’t going to write a check for my surgery."

"But how am I supposed to feel, seeing you with that scumbucket on top of you."

"How do you think I felt? You know, that bastard had really raped me in real life, last year, and then I had to make the movie with him."

"I’ll kill him!"

"Don’t bother, he’s not worth it. But you have to see how it was for me. And to have you dump me over it? It’s just too much!"

"So I made a mistake. You’ve made mistakes too!"

Oh, was he right about that! And I was about to make another one.

"So what are we going to do about it? You were so public about dropping me. I’m sure the whole team knows you dumped me. Everyone knows."

"So we can’t tell anyone," he said, as he carried me, unresisting, toward the bed. The secrecy and illicitness of our encounter intensified my desire: I had to let him have me. I melted into his embrace, and as his lips crushed mine, the feelings of loss and abandonment that I had endured in the past week were expelled like a breath of stale air. When I could at last breathe again I felt like a drowning victim seizing her first breath of air.

When he broke off from that first kiss, through swollen lips I murmured, "God, I missed you so much."

Rick buried his head in my already disheveled hair and whispered hoarsely "I need you, now."

"Then take me, now."

He swiftly disrobed me of the clothes that Alec had so recently given me. As they tumbled in a pile on the floor I felt a twinge of remorse. But not enough to hesitate.

Alec’s tentative lovemaking had left me craving Rick’s overpowering strength and boundless energy, and his tiny cock had merely stimulated my desire for Rick’s daunting member. But it had to be in my ass, and so I was compelled to make a further confession.

"Rick, I never told you, and I realize it was wrong, but I have to tell you now: My vagina’s still too small for you. We’ve been doing it the old way, and we have to keep doing it the old way. " He looked puzzled.

"You mean all those time, I’ve been in your ass?"

"I’m sorry . . . It’s so hard . . . so embarrassing . . . I just hate myself." I was blinded by my own tears.

"No, it’s O.K. I’m the one who should be sorry. I should have been more careful with you."

"You’re great with me. And I want you now more than ever."

He kissed me again, more gently, as my sobbing subsided. When I had recovered, I slid my head down his taut chest and took his stiff cock in my mouth. His musky flavors awakened my passions. After a few gentle bobs to lubricate him, my mouth reveled in an appetizer of luscious precum.

Then I began blowing him with all of my pent-up energy and desire, banging his thick cock-head past my tonsils and into the warm wet reaches beyond. The soft mucosa writhed and spasmed as I suppressed my gag reflex.

These exertions returned tears to my eyes, but these were the tears of ecstasy and passion. My ass began to buzz with anticipation of his manly penetration, as though Alec’s ineffectual efforts had been a mere hors d’ouevre.

I quickly sheathed him with a condom and lube, and threw my legs over his bulging shoulders.

He pressed against me, and said "I remember, I’ll start slowly."

I smiled and nodded, and gazed into his eyes as he pressed forward. I was still tingly and tender from Alec’s penetration, so I buzzed with sensation from the first moments. Rick cupped my breasts tenderly as he inched forward, and the sensations merged somewhere near my heart to melt me from within. His steady penetration of my body’s core lit a slow flame within me which he fanned from outside by caressing my skin. He built the heat within me; I felt myself boiling with passion and sensation. I wanted more.

"Please, fuck me harder, more." He nodded confidently, and began slashing in and out like a power tool on High. The heat from within me went from red, to yellow, to white, to blue hot, like a star cycling from a cloud of hot dust, to a fireball twirling in a cosmic dance around an even hotter twin star. The familiar objects of my room spun around me like planets in this galaxy of heat, energy, and pleasure.

From within I heard my own voice trilling in ever rising arpeggios of ecstasy, accompanied by the timpani of his hard flesh crashing against mine in a slapping, jolting bass rhythm. As he reached a pinnacle, he slowed, and pulled back, and we both smiled, for we knew that delayed release only heightened the ultimate pleasure.

As he slowed, my internal organs struggled to find their natural order, and squeezed against my swollen colon. I groaned with pleasure at this pressure from within.

"Are you O.K.?"

"No, a lot better than O.K.." I smiled. "Put you finger in me. See how tiny I am?"

He slipped his thick finger in my vagina, and then slid in another. "I could probably fit if I was careful." He gently pressed his fingers onward, and as the poked my inner ring I winced.

"Careful. That’s the problem. Aaahh," I cried as he tried to enter further. "No, no more."

"Oh, sorry. Is that like, your cherry?"

"I wish. It’s a scar from the surgery. That’s why I can’t have regular sex."

"Oh, no! You mean never?"

"Not until I get it fixed. I have to go back to my doctor in Thailand."

"You poor thing. Why didn’t you tell me?"

"I don’t know. It’s like, embarrassing to talk about."

"It’s O.K. We still have this."

"Hm-hm. Do it hard, again."

"O.K., but roll over on your stomach."

I pointed my toe and swung my leg over his head, and felt his massive cock turn inside me like a giant key in its lock.

With one hand grappling my breasts and the other fingering my pussy, Rick increased the power and speed of his thrusting thighs, crushing the breath from my lungs in a gasp with each lunge. His heaving breath warmed and tickled my ear, and like white noise, dampened the cacophony of the slap of his flesh against mine, and the squeaking and rattling of my wobbly bed.

At last, he came, with ten jackhammer-like blows that knocked the breath from me, and sent my bed crashing from its legs with a jolt and a thud to the floor. From the apartment below, an angry voice called out "Knock it off up there!" Rick and I both began giggling hysterically, his still hard cock wiggling in my ass.

Finally, I composed myself enough to say, "I can’t believe you broke my bed. How am I supposed to explain this to you-know-who. He’s like, the landlord, you know."

We burst into laughter.

"Tell him that you and Tran were having a pillow fight."

That imagery started our laughter anew. As we convulsed in still more giggles his cock slipped out from within me.

"That was terrible," I joked.

"I’ll try harder next time," Rick replied.

"I’d better have the landlord reinforce the building first."

"What the hell, let’s just demolish it. The place is a dump, anyhow."

"I need to pee, and inspect the damage," I said, climbing over him.

As I passed above him, he grabbed my buttock and said "Looks just as good as new."

I showered myself squeaky clean, and freshened my makeup. I wanted to look perfect for a beautiful and romantic good-bye. But when I emerged from the bathroom, he was dressed and halfway to the door.

"Not even a kiss good-bye? That’s really back to business-as-usual."

"Oh, sorry. I was going to wait. I just noticed the time. I’m late for a team meeting."

"I’m so glad you could squeeze me into your busy schedule," I said sarcastically. "That magic moment sure disappeared swiftly."

"I’m sorry, but you know, I’m not really into the relationship stuff. I really like you, and the sex is dynamite, but it’s hard for me to do the romantic thing."

"Well, it’s kind of hard for me to do the sex without the romance: at least a little," I replied.

He took me in his arms and kissed me. The smells and tastes of fresh sex were still on him, and my fresh scrubbed and brushed body only accentuated the contrast. As the kiss lingered, his hands began exploring me again, and I felt his penis hardening and pressing through his jeans and the fabric of my robe.

I broke off the kiss and said "Save it for later, you have a team meeting, remember?"

"Thanks for reminding me," he said. "Is that a better good-bye?"

"Perfect," I replied.

"I’ll see you tomorrow at tutoring."

Of course, we would see one another, but he would have on his tough guy airs and would treat me like a past, and discarded conquest, at least until our next furtive tryst. He could not publicly reconcile with a girl he had rejected as damaged goods. And I did not want to place my faith in Rick’s fickle passion, and endanger the predictability and safety of Alec.

On the other hand, I adored Rick’s sexual athleticism, and feared the day that Alec would discover, confront and reject me over my past. So for a time I lead a double life, sleeping with both of them, enjoying the sexual fulfillment, but feeling guilty and duplicitous toward the faithful Alec. I had two lovers: one who didn’t really know me, whom I did not love, but who loved me; and another, who knew me all too well, and whom I loved, but of whose love I was uncertain.

Tran had followed my example and had resumed a furtive liaison with Randy. One day she mused, "I feel so guilty, I think I am going to fuck somebody else."

"Why would you do that, and add even more complexity?"

"Because then I would be just sleeping around and not cheating on anybody."

"Tran, you’re a genius. But when are you going to find the time, or the energy?"

"That’s the problem. I can’t."

Hopping between two beds, and living the rest of our lives, made us both ridiculously busy. I coached Tran through prep for the high school GED and the SAT, and sanitized her résumé for her applications to the Universities of Minnesota and Chang Mai. I finalized the findings of my transgendered sex worker study(NB: no caps unless you are giving the exact title, then the title goes in italics as well.), Finch signed off on it and we submitted it for publication. At the same time, we submitted my grant application for the Thai sex worker research.

Meanwhile, Doe vs. the Archdiocese of St. Paul and Minneapolis lurched through the court system, bringing ever nearer Tran’s date with her subpoena from the Church’s lawyers—and I hadn’t had the heart to tell Tran that the Church’s law firm was Alec and Peter’s future employer.

When I told Nora that we were going out with future Maestre associates, she bristled with fury. "Typical delusional TS behavior. You adopt the appearance and sex roles required by a society that nevertheless rejects you. For God’s sake, you are sleeping with the enemy. No wonder no one likes TS’s! You defraud the straight world, at the same time as you betray gay society. I say, pick a side, and stick with it!"

I tried to excuse myself. "We didn’t know they were going to work at Maestre. It’s just bad luck."

"You didn’t know you were going to bed with a rich, right wing bastard? Oh, C’mon!"

She was right, of course. I wanted nothing more than for Tran and I to pass stealthily into the straight world and live as full-fledged women. But to Nora, I replied "Just because we don’t want to fight every fight that you do, that doesn’t mean that we can’t fight together when we are on the same side."

"You know what? I am never going to trust anyone who sleeps with the enemy. You just want to hide what you are under that make up, and those implants, and that artificial vagina. I don’t trust people need to wear masks."

"It’s not a mask, it’s who we are."

"Then you are a couple of nut cases that belong in an asylum. But I don’t really think so. I think you are just a couple of queers who couldn’t face the facts, and have figured out how to fool yourselves into thinking that you can blend in. Well, I got news for you. You can’t."

"Then why are you willing to help Tran?"

"She’s going to help me put the screws to that idiot Olson. So bring Ms. New in, and we’ll go over her testimony one last time."

Tran met for a last time with Nora, and nodded in agreement as Nora bullied the words she wanted out of Tran’s hesitant mouth, and warned her against feeling comfortable or friendly toward Olson.

"He’s going to try to trick you into saying what he wants you to say. Just keep it simple. Don’t volunteer anything. Make him work for everything, especially that you were a boy when Father Tom started to abuse you. Give me a chance to object before you answer anything. If you don’t know what to say, then say that you don’t understand the question. If you want me to ask for a recess, then, I dunno, drum your fingers on the witness stand. Got it?"

"I think so. But I am nervous. There is so much to remember"

"Do you know any yoga?"

Tran shook her head. "OK, well just try this. Take a deep breath after every question, and before you answer."

"OK, I’ll try."

"You’re going to be fine. I’ll take good care of you."

Tran emerged from her last session with Nora downcast and apprehensive. "I don’t think Nora likes me. She thinks I’m stupid."

It’s not that," I said. "She’s just naturally impatient, and she doesn’t like transsexuals."

"She is so gross, she looks like a fat old man. I guess I just don’t like lesbians." Then she smiled sexily, winked and said, "Except transsexual lesbians," and we kissed.

We spent the night seeking comfort in one another’s arms. After we awoke from our nightmares we dressed in the chic silk blouses and blue suits, which we had just bought with Alec’s Visa, and went to the Ramsey County Courthouse. Grimly, I mused at how proud Alec would be of our conservative attire, and how shocked he would be at the strange coincidence that had placed us at odds with his future bosses.

The Court was packed with lawyers, clergy, press and witnesses. Olson glared at me and smiled at Tran, as he rose to the podium. Maestre’s legal arguments emphasized the differences between the case of Ms. New and those of the other plaintiffs in Doe v. Archdiocese, and argued that each plaintiff had been affected, if at all, at different times and in different ways.

Nora rubbed her stubby fingers in glee at Maestre’s incompetent arrogance, as Olson ventured deeper into the unknown terrain of Tran’s life. The central argument of Maestre’s defense was that plaintiff Teri New, as a female alleged victim, undermined the allegedly common features of the case, as all of the other alleged victims had been male. That, according to Maestre, was only the most obvious difference. The alleged incidents had occurred over several decades, against alleged victims ranging in age from five to seventeen, and had involved everything from fondling, to seduction, to outright forcible rape. The alleged sexual crimes lacked enough facts in common to justify trying the cases jointly. If the Court lumped the complaints of all the plaintiffs together, it would confuse the jury and complicate the case. It would unfairly cast the Church in a prejudicial light as a perpetrator of a mass crime, rather than a victim in its own right of alleged, and certainly isolated incidents of bad behavior by one of its priests. Every plaintiff’s case should be considered separately: each by its own jury. As Olson spoke, the battalion of Maestre lawyers nodded in unison, and Nora suppressed a grin.

After Olson concluded, Nora rose and said, "Since learned counsel for the Archdiocese has made so much of Ms. New’s putative differences from the rest of my clients, I’d like to suggest we proceed directly to her testimony. I’ll reserve my argument for closing. Counsel, I believe Ms. New is your witness."

Olson looked surprised and rose to the podium. He stood shuffling his papers.

Tran walked uncertainly towards the witness box. She looked lost and nervous. As the bailiff escorted her the last few steps, she looked back at me with the face of a condemned prisoner going to the gallows. She nodded silently after the oath, answering softly only when ordered to speak.

"Ms. New, you and I have spoken before, have we not?"

"Yes, once."

"And you have written to the Archdiocese?"

"Yes, my friend Alexandra helped me with a letter about Father Tom."

"What did you say about Father Tom in that letter?"

She turned to the judge. "Do I have to talk about this with all of these people?"

"Yes. You are obliged to tell the truth, as you were sworn," the judge said sternly.

She whispered, "He made me have sex. After confession!"

"How many times?"

I don’t remember all of the times. Many times."

"And how did he make you have sex?"

"In my mouth, and inside me."

"And this was when you were a young girl, nine to twelve years old?"

Tran looked frightened, but answered as Nora had drilled her. "No."

Olson looked irritated and contemptuous. "Well, how old were you when you say these things happened?"

Tran answered, "Nine years old, until I was twelve."

Olson addressed the Court, "Permission to treat the witness as hostile?"

"Very well, counsel, but let’s move this questioning along."

"Well, how do you answer my question. Do you claim that Father Tom first had sexual intercourse with you when you were nine year old girl?"

"I was nine, but . . . ."

"But what?" Olson interrupted.

"I wasn’t a girl then."

"What were you?"

"I still had a boy’s body. I mean, I was always a girl, but I looked like I was a boy."

"Your honor, I’d like a recess. This is the worst sandbagging I have ever encountered."

"Ms. New is your witness, counsel. If you were prepared, you might have known this before now, and avoided this waste of time." Olson’s face reddened with rage and embarrassment, as Nora stifled a chuckle. "OK, half-hour recess. But you are going to finish with this witness today. Return in one half-hour, Ms. New. Until then we are adjourned."

In the witness room, Nora clapped her hands with glee. "Perfect, I love it. Now, let’s see how Olson blunders next. Ha-ha."

Tran was ashen-faced and silent. Her eyes were moist and frightened. "I can’t go back there. It’s so shameful, talking about those times in front of all of those people."

"Tran, we are what we are. Those people are going to either despise us or accept us on the basis of what’s happening in their own heads, not on anything you do or say." I tried to finish on an upbeat note: "Nora says you’re doing great."

When we returned from recess, Olson resumed his questioning in his ingratiating, unctuous mode. He asked Tran, "How did you come to see Father Tom?"

"In confession, I told him I wanted to live as a girl. Father Tom told me that he would help me do that. To help me learn to be a girl I should lie down with him."

"And then you had sex with him like a girl?"

"He told me what to do, and I did it."

"When you first spoke with him on this subject, did you consider yourself to be a boy or a girl?"

"Girl."

"And now?"

"Girl. Now maybe a woman."

"So before, during, and after that time, you have considered yourself to be a female?"

"Yes."

"Just as you asked of Father Tom?"

"Yes."

"So you don’t contend that anything that Father Tom did caused you to become the woman you are today?"

"No. I was always this way inside, and now the outside matches the inside." Tran had become confident, almost cheery in the interchange.

"Assuming that Father Tom ever did what you claim he did, in what way do you claim that it harmed you?"

"I don’t know."

"So you can’t pinpoint any way in which the alleged actions of Father Tom damaged you."

Nora rose angrily, hissing "Objection, calls for a legal conclusion," but it was too late.

Tran, in a near trance, had already answered, "No."

"I have no further questions at this time," Olson simpered obsequiously.

Tran rose, but Nora interjected, "I have just a few questions for you. Ms. New, who was the first person with whom you had sex?"

"Father Tom."

"Over what period of time did Father Tom and you have sex?"

"About two years."

And during this period you were living at home with your parents, as a boy?"

"Yes."

"What occurred that caused you to stop having sex with Father Tom?"

"He stopped asking me."

"At what age?"

"About twelve or thirteen."

"And at that point, were you beginning to have puberty?"

"Yes."

"And how did you feel about the sex stopping?"

"I felt bad."

"Why?"

"Because I hadn’t become a girl. I was turning into a man. That’s why Father Tom didn’t like me any more. That’s when I knew Father Tom had lied about helping me become a girl."

"Did you run away from your family home and live on the streets starting at age thirteen?"

"Yes."

"Why did you leave home?"

"My father made me leave, because of what had happened with Father Tom. He said I had shamed my family."

"And during the period of time that you were having sex with Father Tom, did you have sex with anyone else?"

"No."

"Since that time, have you had sex with other men?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

Tran looked like a deer in the headlights. "I don’t know."

"Estimate for me."

Her head hung down and her speech was barely audible: "I can’t."

"More than a hundred?"

Tran nodded.

"More than a thousand?"

Tran was silent.

"I didn’t hear you." Tran nodded through closed, tearful eyes, as Nora continued

"Did you have sex with men for money?"

Tran was mute and her head hung, motionless.

"Isn’t it true that you were charged with prostitution and pleaded guilty to public indecency?"

Tran nodded weakly; then she hung her head in shame.

"You have to answer out loud, Ms. New."

Tran answered with a barely audible "Yes."

The judge interjected, "I think Ms. New has testified enough today."

"That’s O.K. Your Honor, I have no further questions," Nora replied gleefully.

"O.K. Ms. New, thank you for your testimony. You may step down."

Olson rose, saying "One minute, Your Honor!"

But the judge said to him harshly, "If you have any more questions of your witness, you may ask them tomorrow, but I would strongly advise against it."

The judge motioned to the bailiff, who guided the beleaguered Tran back to her seat. When she squeezed my hand, I noticed it was shaking and wet with her tears.

The judge declared, "We’ll conclude these proceedings tomorrow, but I want to advise you counsel of my strong tentative inclination to try all these matters together, as Ms. Hofberg has suggested. These matters have more in common than the Church’s counsel had suggested." Olson protested, but the Judge silenced him with an impatient wave of his hand.

"As for tomorrow, Mr. Olson: If you should wish to continue to oppose plaintiffs’ motion to join matters for trial, I would suggest you enter into evidence facts that support the dissimilarity of the cases rather than such striking similarities." (NB: The object of an action should be expressed by an of-phrase rather than by the possessive case.) He banged his gavel to signal the end of the proceedings.

Nora gathered her papers, grinning victoriously. "That was great," she whispered, "What a great set up. I fucked that twit Olson twice in one afternoon." She chuckled with self-satisfaction.

I was horrified, and asked, "How could you humiliate Tran so? You promised that you would object to the evidence about the prostitution."

"I would have, if Olson had been smart enough to figure it out and ask her. But instead he gambled by arguing that Tran hadn’t been damaged, and she fucked up and gave him what he wanted."

I protested, but Nora cut me off and snarled "I get to call all of the tactical shots in this case, and I didn’t say I wouldn’t introduce the details of her sordid life myself. She had stipulated away her damages. I had to rehabilitate her."

"Some rehabilitation! You damaged her even more. Look at her!"

"Look, in case you haven’t figured it out, I don’t really care about Tran’s or your feelings. You and Tran are so proud of your feminine mystique; well then, learn to live with the whole truth about it. It’s not my problem. I don’t really give a rat’s ass about her feelings. I only care about winning, and I just won this skirmish big time."

Tran sat alone, her head in her hands. Her chest heaved with labored breaths.

I sat next to her and said as gently as I could, "Tran, it’s time to leave now. It’s over."

"Just leave me here. They can take me away to jail. I want to die!"

Nora said confidently "They not going to take you away. Most likely, they’ll take Father Tom away, after I’m through with him. Ha!"

I shot back, "Look what you’ve done to her! How can you live with yourself, doing that to your own client? No wonder everybody hates lawyers!"

"I know what’s best, and I do it. And I do it very well. Now let’s go."

I guided Tran through the echoing courthouse corridors. Our heels clattered on the terrazzo floors like the rattle of a tumbrel rolling to the guillotine. The ravening horde of the Fifth Estate awaited us outside the Courthouse. A knot of reporters and photographers had gathered at the top of the steps, shouting questions and flashing strobe lights.

Nora stopped to savor her moment of glory, but Tran shielded her face from them as we hurried by. We thought we had gotten away when we caught the bus home. But when we got there, the phone was ringing.

I picked up.

Alec’s voice sounded angry and confused. "Why didn’t she tell us?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Haven’t you seen the seven o’clock news?"

"We just got home."

"Teri and you are all over the news. And it’s really bad news. We already talked to Olson about what happened in court. Teri really blew it, saying all of that stuff about her sicko childhood."

"You know Olson?"

"He’s our mentor at Maestre. God! How could she keep a secret like that? Peter is like, suicidal!"

"You never asked us."

"What do you mean, us? You, too?"

"Yup. Me, too."

"The sex change operation, the prostitution?"

"Yeah, and don’t forget the porno movie."

"Oh, God. This is terrible! I can’t talk about it now."

"That’s O.K. We never have to talk about it, as far as I’m concerned." I hung up. I didn’t expect to hear from Alec again, and didn’t really care.

For the next few weeks, the phone was strangely silent. In a way, it was a relief for me. My tumultuous first year at the University of Minnesota was winding down, and I welcomed the relative quiet.

I aced my exams and finished my articles. Though Alec and Peter had totally disappeared from our lives, Rick and Randy hadn’t. Our temporary celebrity only intensified their lust.

Tran gradually recovered, but her brush with the legal powers-that-be left her intimidated and embittered.

My exposure to the art of trial advocacy made me certain that I would never pursue a career in law—the career of a successful trial lawyer leaves too many run-over corpses in its trail. The Church and the Law are both harsh and unforgiving to their supplicants, and in both a prayer can be answered with a blow, as Tran’s had.

Now that I felt a career in law was not for me, I awaited the approval of my grant with greater anticipation. Finch had assured me it was a sure thing. But when I called, I sensed disappointment in his voice.

"Well, you got it, but it’s not exactly what we wrote up. The foundation thinks you should use local people as your research assistants. There’s no grant money to support Tran."

"Well, there’s no way I’m leaving her. She just got her admissions to Chang Mai and Minnesota. She’s worked so hard, and she’s really had a bad time."

"Well, that’s fine, but there’s really no more money. It’s only $5,000." It was barely enough for one plane ticket, tuition and living expenses. "O.K. Thanks, I’ll think of something."

Tran looked devastated. "There’s no money for me to go to Thailand?"

"The grant is short of the money, but you’re still coming. I’m not going to let you dump me at this late date, Ms. Teri New. We’ve been through far too much for that."

"No, it’s O.K. It’s your grant, you go. I’ll be fine here. I’ll start running my ad again, taking calls."

"You can take all the sex calls you want after we get our vaginas properly finished. Then we can do some proper whoring together! In the meantime, have you still got Pavel’s phone number?"

"Yeah, why?"

"’Cuz we’re making a sequel: Post-op Transsexual Hookers!"

Tran smiled at me, and I gave her a hug. "Don’t worry about a thing. As long as we stick together, nothing can stop us."

(NB: Witnesses lose it on the stand every day. Does the fact that Tran said, "I don’t know," at an inopportune time preclude any attempt to describe the harm done her on subsequent examination?

If Nora is good, can she still include Tran in part of any award? I don’t know whether you want to let this ficticious case continue, but could it be realistic that Tran be awarded damages even though she had been badgered into tears on the stand?

On the other hand, if Nora is indeed any good, her pretrial conference would have had to go into the specifics of what harm befell Tran as a result of the actions of Father Tom. For example, the molestation set into motion a chain of events that led to Tran to run away from home.

Nora could brief Tran that the alienation of parental affection and the destruction of family bonds could be main damage claimed, without having to question Tran about her life of prostitution and arrest. (But Nora could cross her fingers as she said that, and think, "I’ll hold that arrow in my quiver, just the same."

Is it credible that Nora could accept Tran as one of the plaintiffs to a class-action suit if Tran had no idea of how she could have been harmed and why the way in which she was harmed warrants her inclusion into the class of plaintiffs in this case, unless, of course, Tran were of such tender years or unsound mind she could not understand such a question? Can Tran be smart enough to get a GED and so dense as to not understand the word rape?

I suspect that Nora would have briefed Tran on the meaning of the term carefully enough to get Tran to say, "He raped me!" before she would let Tran near the stand. I also suspect Nora might understand Tran’s unease around courts, and reluctance to take the stand. Shouldn’t a lawyer brief an obviously nervous client to answer "I’m too upset to answer that now," and ask for a moment to regain her composure? If Nora were really clever, she might even have briefed Tran to give Nora a hand signal—Rescue Me!—to warn Nora to step in if Tran should feel afraid she’s about to turn on the waterworks or go into hysterics. For example, "Drum your fingers on the arm of your chair if you think you are about to lose it, and I will swoop in and ask the judge for a recess."

You seem to know something of the workings of courts. Do you want to talk about all of this, or just push on?

By the way, it’s still a great story.)

TBC

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Alexandra Rios. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.