INTRODUCTION The story you are about to read is a sequel to "The Export" by Jacki Pett. If you have not yet read the original three-part classic, I strongly urge you to do so now. You don't HAVE to read that story first to enjoy this one, but why deny yourself the pleasure?

I've been reading TG fiction on the net for a little more than two years and "The Export" was one of the first stories I read. The story was so shattering, had such an emotional impact on me, that I literally couldn't sleep for days afterward. What made it so hard to take was the utterly horrible situation the victim, Laura, found herself in at the end. Never being one to leave good enough alone, I started a campaign to encourage Jacki to write a sequel and extricate Laura from her awful situation. I was able to get in touch with Jacki, but she evidenced no interest in doing a sequel. I let that situation simmer for almost two years when, finally, I decided that if Jacki wouldn't write a sequel, I would ask her permission to do one myself. Please note that, although I am a professional journalist, I have never written a fictional story before. I submitted an outline of my story idea to Jacki and got her approval to proceed last summer.
This story just about wrote itself, primarily because I have been thinking about it for so long that all the twists and turns were pretty much worked out in my mind long before my hands touched the keyboard. In no way do I claim this story to be a match for the original. I do not have the flare for the dark and foreboding and titillating that Jacki has. What I hope I have produced is a fun story that will satisfy the casual reader, as well as fans of the original. Please write a review to let me know if I succeeded or failed.

I would like to thank Jacki Pett for producing the original story and being kind enough to allow me to attempt this sequel; Kelly Ann Rogers, another of my favorite writers, for encouraging me to try my hand at fiction writing and watching over my shoulder during this project; Nalofilk, the consummate professional, for her expert proofreading of every word written here; Hans Staden, without whom chapter three would have been incomplete; and the many wonderful folks on the FM Hyperboard who answered so many of my stupid questions in connection with this story. I couldn't have done it without all of you.

Finally, please note that there is a Portuguese/English phrase addendum at the end of the story with translations of the Portuguese words and phrases that are not translated in the body of the story. Warning: most of those words and phrases are somewhat salty!

 

The Return

by Bluto

 

Chapter 5 - Preparations

It was Saturday morning and Laura had had another good night's sleep.

The movie was as funny as she had expected and Joe E. Brown's "Nobody's perfect" line made her laugh out loud. Harold was good company, she felt so relaxed and comfortable and... safe around him. Kind of like an older brother or maybe something more?

No, she thought, better not think about that. Better to figure out what she should call herself. Laura was out and John was out. Her mother's name was Olive, mmm, out. Of course, the easy solution was Johnnie. That's just a variation on her real name and it would fit a man or a woman. Just then there was a knock on her bedroom door.

"Hey sleepyhead, what do you want for breakfast," Harold yelled through the door.

She opened the door and said, "Johnnie."

"I beg your pardon," Harold replied.

"My new name, when all this is over," she said. "Johnnie is almost my real name but it will fit a woman as well as a man. What do you think?"

"Naw, too unimaginative," he said. "You need a whole new name and I've thought of the perfect one for you."

"What?"

"Jugs," he said. "You know, like what they called Raquel Welch in 'Mother, Jugs and Speed.' A perfect fit."

Harold was just fast enough to avoid most of the flying objects hurled at him from Laura's room.

Laura dressed in the green tracksuit, which Harold had laundered for her and a Sailor Moon T-shirt he loaned her. She once again applied full make-up: ruby red lipstick and enough eyeshade to emphasize her huge green eyes. And once again she wondered why she felt compelled to do so for no good reason. By the time she and Harold finished breakfast they could hear Daisy blowing her horn from the driveway.

"I've got a few errands to run myself," Harold said as Laura dashed from the kitchen. "I'll meet you later at the Zingmans' house."

Harold was happy he didn't have to accompany two women on a shopping trip.

Daisy drove a sporty Mitsubishi and she liked to drive it fast. She was a vivacious little woman in her mid-50s who liked to talk and always said what was on her mind. Some people thought she dressed too 'young' for her age, but Laura thought she looked just right.

"Well, Laura, it's so nice to meet you," she said as she sped down the road. "Herbert didn't tell me you were a knockout but what do you expect from a gynecologist? He spends all day looking at women's pussies and not their faces."

Laura had to arch her eyebrow at that statement.

"Oh, come on, girl," Daisy said with a laugh. "What good is it to be married to a gynecologist 25 years if you can't make a dirty joke about it?"

"I guess you're right, Mrs. Zingman," Laura said. "Are we getting close to the store?"

"It's Daisy, child, and the store is just down this street."

They arrived at a large, modern shopping mall and Daisy parked in the lot reserved for Dillard's employees. She led Laura to the women's department chatting and gesturing all the way, hardly allowing Laura time to respond.

There they met Catherine, a large, pleasant, black woman who was in charge of the department because it was Daisy's day off.

"We got a live one here, Cat," Daisy said. "You take her measurements while I go find some things I think will fit."

Catherine got out her measuring tape and went to work.

"Let's see, bust - 36", waist - 22", hips- 35". Honey, are you a model?" Catherine asked. "Oh it's going to be fun dressing you."

Cat and Daisy acted like a couple of little girls sharing the newest Barbie doll, oohing and ahing every time Laura tried on a different outfit. They were both impressed by her beauty, her athletic body and her complete tan.

"You are so firm and toned," Daisy said. "I'll bet you were a cheerleader in high school."

"No," Laura said, not thinking. "I was a baseball player."

"Baseball, you mean softball, don't you?" Cat asked.

"No, I played baseball with the boys," Laura said, realizing her mistake. "Title IX, you know."

"Harumpth," Daisy snorted. She was all for equality of the sexes, but she wasn't sure she liked the idea of a beautiful girl like Laura playing such a rough sport. "And what did the boys think about that?"

"Oh my," Laura thought. "She doesn't know I used to be a man."

"I don't think they liked it because I wasn't very good," she said. "I mostly sat on the bench and when I did get into a game they stuck me in the outfield (which was actually a pretty accurate summery of John's baseball career.)"

In three hours of shopping Laura got five skirts and matching blouses, three dresses, two pairs of boots, a pair of Women's Reeboks, three pairs of jeans, a leather bag, bras, panties and a new pink track suit. To wear that day she got a Miu Miu satin blouse and wool skirt combination. Neither Daisy nor Cat noticed Laura occasionally casting a wistful glance in the direction of the men's department. When the bill finally came Laura knew it would be more than $1,000 even with Daisy's discount.

"Daisy," she gasped. "I simply can't let you spend this kind of money on me."

"And if I don't buy it, who will?" Daisy asked, as she handed her Dillard's card to the cashier. "If it'll make you feel better, call it a loan and pay me back when you can."

"Great," Laura thought. "And what if I decide to go back to being a man? I'll be saddled with owing Daisy all this money for clothes I can't even use."

Next, Daisy took Laura to the third floor where Dillard's had a beauty salon. They each got a shampoo, style and dye job, along with a manicure. Once again Daisy paid for everything.

"You and your husband seem to be very good friends with Harold," Laura said as they sat under the hair dryers. "How did you meet him?"

"Where are you from, Laura?" Daisy asked.

"Texas, originally," she said. "But I've spent the last five years in Brazil."

"Harold's a very well-known person in Peoria," Daisy said. "Have you noticed that everywhere he goes people greet him by name?"

"Yeah, that's true," Laura said. "Everyone acts like he's an old friend. Is that because he used to be on the police force?"

"Partially, but mostly because he was a football hero," Daisy said. "He played for Bradley back when they had some very good teams and he was the best player on those teams, at least, that's what Herbert tells me. He set records for yardage at Bradley and for the Missouri Valley Conference."

"I've always followed football rather closely and I've never heard of him," Laura said.

"My, you must have been quite a tomboy as a child," Daisy said. "You weren't even born when Harold was in college and were probably just a baby when he played for the pros. And, being from Texas, football around here would have been just small potatoes to you, anyhow.

"Remember, Peoria's not that big a city, more of a large town, really," she continued. "After his senior year they had a parade for Harold right down Main Street. He came back after he finished his professional career and he could have had any job he wanted, but he decided to join the police force so he could help people. He stayed on the job 15 years and he was a wonderful policeman."

"Why did he leave the force?" Laura asked. "He gave me some cock and bull story about police work in Peoria being too boring, but I'm not sure I believe that."

"Ah, I can imagine why not," Daisy said. "Harold doesn't like to talk about himself and puts on his Mr. Spock act. But it was all over the news so there's no harm in telling you. About four years ago two detectives killed a man they were attempting to arrest. As is usual in such cases, they had a hearing before the police board of review. At the time, Harold was a member of the review board and the whole case stank. The detectives claimed self-defense because the man came after them with a box cutter. Only the man had been handcuffed with his hands behind his back and they shot him 11 times. The box cutter had a ¼" blade and, as Harold pointed out, he had the box cutter because the detectives neglected to search him for weapons. The two of them could have easily overpowered the man without use of deadly force, but they claimed he was high on drugs.

"One other detail: the man was black and the two detectives were white. The review board dismissed the case and let the detectives go without even a warning. Harold went ballistic. He accused the police department, the mayor, anyone associated with the case of racism and quit the police in protest. He doesn't have many friends on the force anymore, he went against the cop's code of watching each other's backs, but a lot of us think even more of him now for standing up for what he thought was right."

Once again, Laura was impressed.

"There aren't many men like Harold, are there?" she said.

"A man like that is very rare," Daisy said. "Now, what say we have some lunch. Where do you want to go?"

"Does this shopping center have a Starbuck's?" Laura asked.

"Of course," Daisy answered.

"I'd like to go there if you don't mind, " Laura said. "I hear they have a Sumatra coffee that's supposed to be very strong and I'd like to try it."

***

 

The recycler was only open half a day on Saturdays, so Harold had to hustle for a full load of cardboard and to drop it off before noon. He made $28.37.

Next it was to Bradley University to meet with Al "Buddy" Fleming, the super nerd. Harold didn't know anyone who knew more about computers. He also knew Buddy was a full-fledged flake who wasn't averse to some innocent hacking. Even though he was only 24, Buddy had worked in the computer department six years and had access to some powerful equipment. Harold had met Buddy when he took a computer 101 class in night school and Buddy was the instructor. Buddy went ape when he realized Harold was in his class because he was a fan - not of Harold's football career, but because he used to wrestle part-time under the name Harry "The Grappler" Lee, a name Harold hated even more than Harry "Legs" Lee. Buddy was a big pro wrestling fan and as a child he'd seen Harold in a match with Jerry "The King" Lawler at the Gardens (Harold lost, but he wuz robbed!)

Harold entered Buddy's office and found him eating lunch—sardines and mayonnaise on white bread and a Big Red soda. Buddy had a piece of fish on his chin.

"Hey, Buddy, what's up?" Harold asked, as he took a napkin to his friend's chin.

"Ah, nothing much, Harry, it's been real dull." Buddy was one of the few people Harold tolerated calling him Harry. Buddy was a human stork, 6'2" and 170 pounds, with a long beak of a nose, a reddish-brown thatch of hair and no fashion sense.

"I've got a favor to ask, pal," Harold said. "I want you to look up county records for the last four or five years for any big land or property purchases involving the names Tina Foshe, Ben Rompat and, first names only, Jack and Connie, oh, yes, and Justino Brevard. Also any businesses using the words 'export' or 'the loft.' Can you do that?"

"Hell, Harry, ask me something hard," Buddy said. "That information's all part of the public record."

"I know, but it's Saturday and the Hall of Records is closed and I want this info as soon as possible," Harold said.

"It'll take a few hours, what with my duties here," Buddy said.

"Fine," Harold said. "After you're done meet me later at Doctor Zingman's house, there's someone I want to introduce you to."

***

 

After lunch and a little more shopping Laura asked Daisy to take a short detour downtown before going back to her home.

"Sure, Laura, no problem," Daisy said. "I can't deny anything to someone who had two cups of that awful coffee."

"Back in Brazil, that coffee would be for children and old ladies," Laura said. "By the way, you never answered my question, how did you and Herbert meet Harold?"

"Herbert met him while he was still playing football and they've just gotten closer over the years," Daisy said. "The clever Jewish boy and the clever black boy, they like to call themselves. When Herbert had to give up his practice, Harold called some friends and got him on at the clinic right away. Is it any wonder we love the guy?"

"More than his ex-wives did," Laura said.

"Oh, he told you about the dingbat and the gold digger, eh?" Daisy said. "They were both bad news, I tell ya. One was so dumb she'd burn water trying to boil an egg and the other was money, money, money all the time. But they both were bra busters and I guess you know that's what Harold likes."

Daisy grinned and nodded at Laura's breasts.

"Yes, Harold told me what his preferences in women had been in the past, but he also said he was trying to change," Laura said rather uncomfortably.

"Hey, don't worry, kid, I didn't mean anything," Daisy said. "Harold is a perfect gentleman and, besides, you're much too young for him. What are you, 19, 20? He's got a daughter older than you."

"I'm 29, thank you," Laura said, irritated that yet another person thought she was 10 years younger than her actual age. "And a man is the last thing I'm looking for right now."

Daisy just smiled and nodded her head again.

They eventually wound up downtown by the river at the same boutique clothing store where Tina and Connie had taken Laura to be outfitted for export.

"Why are you going to my competitor?" Daisy said. "Don't tell me you want more clothes."

"No, not at all," Laura said. "There's someone here I want to see."

They entered the small building and were almost immediately greeted by a sharply dressed middle-aged woman wearing a nametag that said, "Hi, my name is Rene."

"May I help you ladies today?" Rene asked graciously.

"Hello, I'm Laura and this is Daisy," Laura said. "I don't know if you remember me but I was here one day about five years ago with Tina Foshe and Connie. We bought a lot of clothes, but I soon left town so I never came back. I've been out of the country the past five years and lost touch with Tina and Connie. I was wondering if you could help me find them again."

Laura was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea. What if Rene was part of the gang? What if Rene warned Tina and Connie that she was looking for them?

"Laura, yes, I remember you," Rene said. "You were such a shy, unsure young thing back then, but you look all grown up now, if you know what I mean. The only address I've ever had for Tina is a post office box, but I do have her phone number on my Rolodex. Want some scrap paper to write it down?"

Laura took the scrap paper and wrote down the number after Rene found it.

"555-6728," Rene read. "You know it's funny but I don't think I've seen any of the young ladies Tina brings over here more than once. Seems all of them must leave town."

"When's the last time you've seen Tina or Connie," Laura said.

"Oh they were just here the other day," Rene said. "They had a really young one with them this time. I think Cissy was her name."

Laura thanked Rene for her help and she and Daisy left for Daisy's car. Daisy hadn't said a word in the shop and she wasn't used to being left out of the conversation.

"What was all that about?" she asked. "Who's this Tina and why are you so anxious to find her?" Daisy knew Laura had some kind of problem but Herbert had been very closed-mouthed about it. He could be that way at times.

Laura was lost in her own thoughts. She decided that Rene was too open and at ease to be part of the loft's operation, but she wondered why Rene wasn't at least a little suspicious about Tina and Connie's relationship to all the repressed young women they brought to her shop.

"I guess money quenches a lot of curiosity," she said out loud.

"What was that?" Daisy asked. "Hey, what's going on here?"

"Oh, sorry, Daisy, I wasn't paying attention," Laura said. "It's a long story that I really don't want to go into now. But I will tell you that Tina is responsible for something very bad that happened to me and I need to find her to talk to her about it."

The next stop was The American Men and Women's Gym, in the heart of the business district. This was the place Connie took Laura to work out and meet her girlfriends. However, none of those seven women were there this day and the manager said she hadn't seen Connie for a long time and believed she had joined another gym. Laura gave her Harold's phone number and the manager promised to put it on the bulletin board with a note to her friends to get in touch.

It was now time to return to the Zingman house. Daisy was full of questions and she wanted some answers.

By the time they got there, Harold and Buddy had already arrived. Harold was sitting on a sofa in the living room enjoying a scotch and soda, while Buddy was downstairs troubleshooting the doctor's PC. The ladies brought the bags in from Dillard's and the other stores and twirled around to show off their hair and manicures and Laura's new blouse and skirt.

"Very nice outfit," Harold said, as he looked at Laura approvingly. "Kind of sexy, but not slutty."

"Quite a different experience from the last time I went shopping in Peoria," Laura said. "Why didn't I realize then that they were putting me on display for sale?"

Daisy couldn't take it anymore.

"WILL SOMEBODY TELL ME WHAT IS GOING ON?" she shouted.

"All in good time, my sweet," Doctor Zingman said. "Laura, what would you like to drink?"

"If you have any rum, I'd like a Cuba Livre, err, a rum and coke, please," she said.

Herbert went off to make the drink and pour a white wine for his wife. Just then Buddy emerged from the basement.

"Hey doc, there's nothing wrong with your computer, I just had to reboot the... WOW!"

Buddy had seen Laura.

He was frozen in place, his eyes as large as saucers; his mouth gaped open with a little line of spittle hanging from his lower lip. It was sort of like the effect Minerva Mink had on the Warner Brothers.

"Don't worry, folks, Laura always has this effect on the weak-minded," Harold said with a chuckle.

"Amazing, and all this time I thought Buddy was gay," Doc Zingman chimed in. "Be careful, Harold, it looks like another might replace you in young Mr. Fleming's affections."

This light banter seemed to knock Buddy out of his stupor.

"Aw, come on, Doc, I ain't no queer, I just never been on a date with a girl is all," he said. "Harry is my ideal. That's why I got a Harry Lee memorial room back at my folks' house."

"Yes, I'm the Fearless Fosdick to his Lil' Abner," Harold said. No one but Herbert got the reference. "I hate it when nobody gets my clever cultural asides."

"Who is she, Harry?" Buddy begged. "She's so pretty. She looks like Chase Masterson on 'Deep Space Nine' only without the nose ridges."

"And you look like Jerry Lewis in 'The Nutty Professor,'" Laura said. "Only without the shoe polish black hair."

"Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha," Buddy guffawed. "Like I haven't heard that one before."

"She's the person I wanted you to meet," Harold said. "Tell her what you found out today."

"Oh, okay," Buddy said. "I didn't find any real estate purchases with the names you gave me, but I did find a possible, a former farm on the outskirts of the county bought a little more than a year ago by a concern DBA The Loft Exports. It's 50 acres and three buildings in the middle of nowhere and they got it all for $150,000, a steal. And I have the address."

Laura was ecstatic.

"I'd kiss you if you weren't so darn tall, handsome," she said.

Buddy bent over and puckered up but she pushed his face away with her hand. The room broke out in more howls of laughter.

"I've got some good news, too, Laura," Harold said. "I talked to one of my few remaining friends on the police force and I think I know who Jack might be. He told me about a PI named Jack Mitchell who fits physically. He has a clean record but he is a bodybuilder, even won a few contests. And best of all, the address on his business card is the same as the one Buddy found for The Loft Exports."

"All right!" Laura exclaimed. "And you're not too tall to kiss."

With that, Laura grabbed Harold's head in both her hands and kissed him on the lips.

Harold turned as red as a black man can and Laura demurely turned her head.

"DAMN IT, WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?" Daisy demanded, mercifully interrupting the awkward moment.

Harold, Laura and Zingman spent the next twenty minutes filling Daisy and Buddy in on the story to date.

"She was a man?" Buddy said.

"Sold into slavery?" Daisy said.

"Killed a man in Brazil?" Herbert said. He hadn't heard that part before.

"Yes, it's all true and I have agreed to help her bring the people who did this to her to justice," Harold said.

"Count me in," said Herbert.

"Me too," said Daisy.

"Me three," said Buddy.

The friends spent the next several hours drinking and trying to decide on a course of action. A direct assault on the new loft was out of the question since they had no idea what kind of security was in place, yet they'd need a lot more evidence before they could go to the police.

"If we could get Buddy in there, I bet he could get some incriminating evidence from the records on their PC, if they have one," Harold said.

"Wouldn't evidence obtained that way be inadmissible in a trial?" Daisy asked.

"Yes, but we wouldn't be using it in any trials," Harold said. "I'd show it to a judge I know and get a warrant to legally raid the place."

"Well, remember, they've got a girl there now just about ready for export," Laura said. "We need to get her out before they send her to Brazil."

On and on the discussion went and it was well after dark by the time Laura and Harold got home. They were both a bit tipsy, but Harold insisted on driving and got them home without incident.

As Laura unpacked her goodies in her room, Harold checked for messages on his answering machine. He found one of particular interest:

Hello. This is Ben Rompat.

I, I have thought over what you told me and I'm ready to help. Please call me as soon as you get this message. Good-bye.

***

 

Connie was worried.

Jack Mitchell had been out all day on the far reaches of the farm property digging a deep hole with the help of his two goons. They lined the bottom with lye and covered it with a tarp. It was all ready to receive their expected guests.

"I don't like this," Connie said to Jack, as he relaxed from his labors on a chaise lounge. "You don't really think they're going to believe Rompat, do you? Why should they?"

"Why?" Jack said. "Because they have to. I'm sure they'll find this place sooner or later, but then what are they going to do? Laura can't go to the police, she's wanted for murder. And they can't just come busting in here, they have no idea how well-defended the place might be. No, they'll take Rompat at his word because otherwise they'd have to spend weeks spying on us to find an opening. And when he leads them here tomorrow, we'll be waiting."

"I just wish we didn't have to kill her," Connie said. "Maybe we could offer her some money."

"We've already gone over this," Jack said, as he walked over to Connie and started rubbing her shoulders. "If we give her money, we run the risk of being blackmailed from now on. This operation just doesn't generate enough profit for that."

"Do you think we can trust those two goons of yours?" Connie asked, as she began to arch her back in pleasure."

"Those boys are dumb, but they are loyal," Jack said as he slipped Connie's blouse off. "Give them $5,000 apiece and they'd kill their own mother. Besides, do you want to go a few rounds with Harry 'Legs' Lee?"

"No, thanks, lover," Connie said as she pulled Jack closer to her. "I'd rather go a few rounds with you tonight."

 

Chapter 6 - Love Actually?

Harold called Rompat and the former doctor agreed to take him and his crew out to the new loft the next day, Sunday, at 9:00 PM. Rompat assured Harold that no one would be at the facility except the nurse, Margaret, and she always went to bed by 9:00.

Harold quickly got in touch with Herbert and Buddy and they agreed to meet at the Zingmans' house at 8:00PM, pick up Rompat at his ratty apartment and then go to the new loft.

"Do you trust Rompat?" Laura asked. "I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him."

"Doesn't matter if he's lying or not," Harold said, as he retrieved a box from under his bed. "If he tries to take us on a wild goose chase we'll know because we know where the loft is really located. And if he's taking us into an ambush, well, I, at least, plan to be ready."

With that, he took the old box into the living room and opened it to reveal a steel blue .38 police special and two boxes of ammo. The Peoria police had switched to foreign-made automatics long before Harold quit, but he never gave up his revolver.

"Beautiful and reliable," Harold said, as he began to clean and polish his weapon. "Laura, you were able to put a cap in Paulo's ass, do you think you could do it again?"

"Sure, no problem," she said. "Do you mind checking out Celeste's gun to make sure it's in good working order?"

"Go get it and bring it here," he said. "And, by the way, I see you kept the blonde streaks in your hair. They're nice."

"I thought you'd never notice," she said, as she went outside to retrieve her gun from the truck. "I kind of like it this way."

As she left, Harold had a random thought, "Wonder why the 'Texas Girl' needs me to check out her gun?"

In a flash Laura was back with her little 6.35 mm automatic. She handed it to Harold and then she put a CD she had bought earlier that day in the living room player.

"What's that?" Harold asked as he polished their weapons.

"'Pot - Pourri De Samba' by Araketu," she said. "New music from Brazil. I got it from a third-world gift shop at the mall. You like?"

"It's kind of loud, but very nice," he said as he checked the Taurus' action. "Never seen this brand of gun before - made in Brazil, I guess - but it looks fairly simple to operate."

They said nothing for a few minutes, then Harold noticed that Laura was staring at him.

"What's up?" he asked.

"When you look at me, what do you see?" she asked.

"Huh?"

"You heard me, Harold, when you look at me what do you see?" she asked again.

"I see a very attractive woman who's starting to bug the hell out of me," he said with some irritation.

"You mean you see a very attractive woman who happens to be a man, don't you?" she said.

"Oh, good grief," he said, putting the pistol down. "I didn't mean that at all."

"Then why were you embarrassed when I kissed you back at the Zingmans' house?" she asked. "You turned red as a beet."

"You were embarrassed, too," he said defensively. "You turned your head."

"I was only reacting to your embarrassment," she said. "Harold, you must understand that wasn't just a silly kiss. That kiss meant a lot to me. It was the first and only time I have EVER kissed a man when I wasn't forced, coerced or playing a game. I'm not at all attracted to men, but, for some reason, it felt right to kiss you. Was it that horrible to you?"

Harold knew he had to be very careful what he said next but, being Harold, he said it anyhow.

"Laura, when I was much younger I went to see a movie called 'Sunday Bloody Sunday'," he said. "It was critically acclaimed and starred Glenda Jackson and Peter Finch. At one point in the movie, Finch, a distinguished, award-winning actor, walked up to a young man, looked at him for a moment, then kissed him right on the lips. It was the first time I had ever seen two men kiss and I was revolted. When you kissed me, I must confess, I had a flashback to that movie."

"So kissing me was revolting?" Laura asked, her voice trembling.

"No, no, of course not," Harold said. "It was anything but revolting because I can't think of you as a man. Maybe if I'd known you when you were John it would be different, but all I've ever known is you, Laura, and to me you are all woman. Thoughts of Peter Finch just came to me unbidden."

At that point the music on the CD turned to a slow samba number.

Laura walked up to Harold and pulled him to his feet.

"Do you samba?" she asked, as she placed one of his hands in her hand and the other around her waist.

"Not since junior high gym class," he said.

"Then it'll be just like riding a bike," she said. "The beat is ONE - two - three - FOUR, ONE - two - three - FOUR, remember, it's syncopated and the rhythm is irregular."

The two of them started moving together through the living room and after a few awkward moments, Harold did, indeed, remember his old lessons. They worked up a sweat there in the living room, dancing to tune after tune, hugging each other closer and closer.

Harold was starting to pant and Laura's eyes were sparkling.

"Hey, Harold," she said. "You're about to get another kiss from a man."

"Fuck Peter Finch," he shouted, and crushed his lips to hers.

***

 

Laura stood starring open-mouthed at the framed item on Harold's bedroom wall.

"Filho da puta," she said. "It's a dollar bill."

Laura had put on another one of Harold's tent-like T-shirts, this one from the Grand Victoria Casino. She watched him, as he lay prostrate on the bed, destroying a whole forest of trees with his snoring. In spite of the racket, Laura would still be lying next to him but for the need to pee and douche.

"No wonder his wives left him," she thought, as she sat next to him and rubbed the rock hard muscles in his back. "Still, lovemaking like that would be worth the racket."

Just then Harold awoke with a moan.

"Ugh," he said. "What train ran over me?

"The scotch and sex express, baby," Laura said cheerfully, as she kissed him on the ear. "You, sir, are one hell of a man."

"Oh, God," he said as he sat up, "what did I do?"

"You fucked me three times, Superman," she said as she rubbed his neck. "I must have had a dozen orgasms."

"So much for my vow of celibacy," he said. "I haven't had sex for more than two years."

"You're going to have to leave the nunnery, all right," she said. "Two years? No wonder you filled me to overflowing with come."

"Please, Laura, this is serious," he said. "I didn't even use a condom."

"What's the matter, are you afraid I'll get pregnant and sue you for child support?" Laura said, only half-joking.

"Good God, woman, you've been having anal sex with a perverted South American for years," he said. "What about AIDS?"

"Paulo wasn't very clean with his teeth but he was as scared of AIDS as you seem to be," she said. "He always used a condom when we had sex until I tested HIV-negative several years in a row. When's the last time you were tested?"

"I told you before I have a problem with casual sex," Harold said, ignoring the question. "My old pastor would say I have a 'sex demon' in me. I see someone I like and the next thing you know I'm in the bed with her. That's led to two lousy marriages and too many pointless affairs to mention. Now here I am having sex with someone I just met two days ago."

"It was sex between consenting adults," Laura said, seriously. "What's wrong with that?"

"I don't want any more one-nighters," Harold said. "I'm looking for a deeply-felt, long-term relationship, or nothing at all."

"Oh, and a relationship like that is out of the question with me because I'm really a man, right?" Laura said, her temperature rising.

"Well, you said it yourself, you're not attracted to men," Harold said, feeling all the while like he was talking himself into a corner. "What if we get into a relationship and some time later you decide that you don't like playing the woman and want to be a man again? I don't want to be with one of the boys."

That was the last straw.

Laura stood up and angrily pulled off the T-shirt, treating Harold to the awesome sight of her butt necked body.

"Then have a good look, HARRY, because you are never going to see this again," she screamed as she grabbed a magnificent breast in each hand. "I think I'll get Doctor Zingman to cut these puppies off and attach a mechanical dick between my legs. Then you and I can go trawling the local pubs for the big-tit bimbos you seem to love so much!"

With that, Laura stormed out of Harold's bedroom, slamming the door with such force that his framed first dollar fell to the floor. She ran to her room, shut that door, flung herself on the bed and started to cry.

Harold sat on his bed for a long time, wondering what to do. He called himself being honest with Laura, but he realized he'd been way too harsh. He knew Laura was in a very confused state of mind, so why in the world did he have sex with her? And three times at that? (Although he did have to smile at that thought.)

After mulling things over for what seemed like an eternity, Harold got up and dressed in a clean pair of sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt. He walked across the hall to Laura's room and knocked on the door. He could hear her still sobbing inside.

"Laura, we need to talk," he said.

"I have nothing to say to you," she said, from inside the room.

"Laura, please, I want to say I'm sorry, I want to apologize, but I don't want to do it to a closed door," he said.

"And I said... wait a minute," Laura answered and two minutes later she opened the door. She had put on her new tracksuit and the old Carnival T-shirt. Her eyes were red but she seemed to be under control.

"Dammed female hormones," she said, as she rubbed her hand across her eyes. "I cry at the drop of a hat since I've been taking them, but if I stop taking them I'll start getting hot flashes."

"Bummer," Harold said, then he asked, "mind if I sit down?"

"It's your house," Laura answered, and Harold sat in a sturdy wooden chair. "You know, Harold, old boy, what we did last night was the first time I've ever willingly had sex with a man. In spite of being fucked by Jack and so many times by Paulo, last night felt like the first time and, believe it or not, I felt like a damn virgin. Isn't that a riot?"

"Laura, you don't have to..." Harold started to say, but Laura raised her hand to make him be quiet.

"You'll get your turn later," she said. "I want to talk now. I owe you an awful lot, Harold, more than I can ever repay. And now we're going into a situation we may not get out of alive. And don't tell me I'm being overly dramatic. I know the kind of people we're dealing with, especially Jack, and I know they wouldn't hesitate to kill us both to protect themselves. You know it, too, or why else are we going carrying heat? I don't have any money. I have nothing, except for this mutant body. So I gave it to you. No, I don't find men attractive and maybe, when it's all said and done, I will try to live as a man again. But you are the best, the most decent person I have ever met and I just wanted to do something for you. I'm sorry I came on to you like a floozy and I guess I deserve it if you were repulsed."

Harold was floored.

"Wow, Laura, I don't know what to say," he said. "I'm a selfish asshole. That's what comes from living by myself and keeping my own council for so many years. I was so worried about my own problems, I wasn't thinking about yours. You seem so natural and easy with your femininity, I didn't consider what a big move what we did last night was for you. All I could think about was my own silly vow. I don't buy the idea that I'm somebody special, I don't deserve the gift that you gave me."

"You sure don't, asshole," Laura said. "Believe me, if we weren't going up against Jack and his friends tonight I wouldn't have anything to say to you. You've got a lot of making up to do."

"I'll do anything you say, Laura," Harold said sincerely. "Let me make up for disparaging your gift. How about if I kissed your feet?"

"Oh, it wasn't totally a gift," Laura said with a giggle in spite of herself. "I wasn't lying about the orgasms. I've had inadvertent ones before, but this was the first time I really enjoyed them. You are a hell of a lover when you just let yourself go, slick. And there might be time for foot kissing after we're done tonight."

Harold looked at Laura and smiled.

"Friends?"

"Friends," she said.

"Then how about some breakfast, friend?" he asked.

"Pancakes?" she asked. "And maple syrup?"

"You got it," he said. "Bet you didn't eat that in Brazil."

"No, I never did and I missed it," she said.

 

***

 

In addition to the pancakes, Harold and Laura had link sausages, eggs, orange juice and tea. It was a delightful meal and the tension from earlier in the day was broken.

"Okay, kid," Harold said, as he sipped the last of his tea, "tomorrow you make the breakfast."

"I don't think you'd like my breakfasts," Laura said. "John ate out at every opportunity and Connie and Tina didn't deem cooking as one of the female skills I needed. Waste of time for a rich man's sex toy, I guess."

"What about in Brazil?" Harold asked.

"Isabelle did all the cooking on the plantation," Laura said. "And, until recently, the only thing Celeste would allow me to do in the kitchen, besides my English classes, was make myself a sandwich. They almost starved me while I was at the loft so I could lose weight and fit into a woman's clothes and I was so afraid of displeasing Paulo I ate like a bird to keep from gaining weight."

"Well, I don't want to be responsible for turning you into a fat slob," Harold said, with a chuckle.

"And I don't intend to become one," Laura said. "Once this heavy breakfast settles I'm going to exercise. Want to join me?"

"Why not?" Harold said. "Nothing else to do."

Laura got her exercise tape. She no longer used the Jane Fonda tape from her days at the loft. She now had "Tae Bo Impact. Full Contact Workout" by Billy Blanks.

"I'm surprised Paulo allowed you to have this," Harold said, as he examined the tape. "Isn't this kind of aggressive?"

"Paulo was a fool," she said, as she started to warm up. "He was a lot bigger than me and he had the buzzer, so he didn't think there was any way I could physically threaten him."

"Ah, live and learn," Harold said. "Hey, let's take this to the basement. I've got a tape player down there and a home gym."

The basement was spacious enough to contain a weight set, exercise platform, a speed bag and even an old tackle dummy from Harold's football days.

"Too bad you have the dummy," Laura said with a grin. "I was going to practice my kicks on you."

Laura went through 30 minutes of the tape and Harold was impressed with the enthusiasm of her punches and kicks.

"No wonder you're built like a brick shithouse," he said. "Glad to see all those curves of yours aren't just the result of surgery. Have you always liked to work out?"

"John tried to be an athlete, but he wasn't good at anything," Laura said, as she paused to catch her breath. "Baseball, soccer, track, don't even mention basketball or football. Strangely, he was good at boxing, at least as far as the technique and the workouts. But when I tried an actual bout I got my ass kicked so that was the end of that."

Harold smiled and nodded and suggested they try some weightlifting. He was once again impressed with Laura's fitness. She could bench press her own bodyweight and do deep-knee-bends with 200 pounds for reps.

"Very good," said Harold, while he did some curls. "Did you lose a lot of strength with the female hormones and weight loss?"

"After a week or two in the baby room my strength was down to nothing," Laura said. "I swore I'd never feel so weak and helpless again. It's taken a long time, but I'm just about as strong now as I was as John and a lot more fit. I just can't develop obvious muscle because my body produces almost no testosterone. So, how much can you bench?"

"My best in competition was 400 pounds, but that was 20 years ago," Harold said. "Besides, I always preferred the Olympic lifts, you know, the snatch and the clean-and-jerk. I made the US Olympic Team in 1980, but that's the year we boycotted the games so I never got to go."

Their workout done, Laura and Harold showered, individually, and changed. It was still a long time until they had to be at Doc Zingman's house so they spent the rest of the afternoon watching pro football and Harold's tape of "The Hunchback of Notre Dame," the 1939 version with Charles Laughton.

"I love this movie," Harold said, with almost childlike glee. "I identify so much with Quasimodo. He's so ugly and strong, yet so gentle and well-spoken."

"So, I guess that makes me Esmerelda," Laura said, as she snuggled close. "But you're not ugly. In fact you're rather handsome, for an asshole."

"Eh, can we just leave it at that?" Harold asked. "No offense, but I don't think either of us wants a repeat of last night."

"Don't worry, baby," Laura said. "I'm not going to rape you. If we ever have sex again you're going to have to do the begging."

"Boy, you must really hate Rompat for what he did to you," Harold said, after a pause.

"No, I'm actually grateful for what he did," Laura said.

"Why, because you really wanted to be a woman all along?" Harold said with surprise.

"Nao, of course not," Laura replied. "But if Rompat hadn't castrated me, and I'm pretty sure he wasn't supposed to do that, my dick would have still worked and Paulo might never have gotten tired of me. I'd probably be in Brazil right now getting fucked up the ass."

"That's one way to look at it," Harold said. "But never repeat that to anyone else."

"Why not?" Laura asked.

"Because some slick lawyer could use a statement like that to argue that you weren't forced to become a woman," Harold said. "They could say the loft was only fulfilling your unspoken desires and all the surgery, brainwashing, discipline and kidnapping was just for your own benefit."

"Agora a vaca foi para o brejo!" Laura exclaimed. "Harold, don't tell me you are a lawyer on top of everything else."

"Pre-law and music history was my double major," he said. "Not bad for a dumb jock."

"You are far from dumb, my friend, just thoughtless," Laura said. "Is there anything else you're hiding from me?"

"Remind me to show you my Nobel Peace Prize when this is all over," he said. "For now it's getting close to 8:00 PM. and we've got to go."

 

Chapter 7 - Confrontation/Conflagration

There were five of them riding in Doctor Zingman's new Nissan Quest that night: Zingman at the wheel, Harold riding shotgun, Rompat and Laura uneasily sharing the passenger seat and Buddy Fleming bringing up the rear.

Mrs. Zingman threw a fit when it was decided that she wouldn't be coming along, but, this time, Herbert put his foot down.

"No, Daisy," he said. "This is too dangerous for you. Besides, we need you here at home to call the police if you don't hear from us by midnight."

It was a long drive to their destination and the first few miles were driven in silence. Rompat continuously stole glances at Laura, but turned his head when she tried to return his stare. Laura was once again in full make-up, along with a cleavage reveling blouse and some very tight jeans. She told Harold if she got killed on this mission she was going to make a pretty corpse.

Finally, Buddy had something to say.

"Hey, Rompat," he said, in his sing-song voice. "Are you the one who turned Laura into a woman?"

"Well, err, I guess you could say that," he stammered. "I admit now that it was the wrong thing to do, but you have to understand, I was under severe financial pressure at the time."

Laura looked at Rompat and almost snarled at him. Rompat was beginning to wish he'd thought to bring along a ½ pint of whiskey.

"I was just going to say you do good work because Laura is a knock- out," Buddy said. "Do you think you could make me look that good?"

"You have to have something to start with, Buddy," Harold chimed in.

"Oh, ah, I didn't really have that much to do to Laura, err, John," Rompat said. "There was relatively little surgery on her face."

"No, Rommy here just gave me some breasts and killed my dick," Laura said. "Isn't that right, Ben?"

"Well, err, ah," Rompat said, as he began to sweat.

"The only reason Rompat is ratting out his friends is he hopes to avoid jail time," Laura said. "But I hope they throw the book at him, anyhow."

"Wow, you're really mad at him, aren't you?" Buddy asked. "I'm confused. I go to a lot of transsexual web sites like Fictionmania and Story Site and they have all kinds of stories there about men forced to become women. Most of them are changed by magic or science fiction but some of them are changed by plastic surgery, like Laura. And they're all so happy to become women so they can put on make-up, and wear dresses, and pee sitting down, and go out with men."

"Buddy, I knew you had a screw loose, but I had no idea you'd lost your entire fucking mind," Harold said. "How can you be so insensitive?"

"It's okay, Harold," Laura said, as she held Buddy's hand. "Buddy's just a little confused and misinformed. This is real life, Buddy, not fiction. I think the thing that bugs me the most about being female is the need to pee sitting down. On the other hand, I'm vain enough to love getting reactions like the one you had when you first saw me. And, of course, I don't have to worry about periods or childbirth. But whether I enjoy being a woman or not isn't the point. The point is I had no choice in the matter. I was abducted and operated on against my will so Rompat and his friends could make some money. That is wrong any way you look at it and I will never forgive them for that."

At that moment, Zingman spoke for the first time.

"We're here," he said.

Zingman drove the SUV up the long, winding driveway to the front of the main house, then around the barn and the cottage. No other vehicles could be seen anywhere. When everyone was assured they were the only ones there, the doctor parked by a large tree and turned out his headlights. It was a moonless night and the only discernible illumination was coming from the second floor of the main house and some sunken lights in the sidewalk leading up to the door.

"Man, this is spooky," Buddy said.

"Later for that," Harold said, as Zingman turned on a small cabin light. "Everybody, check your gear and let's go."

Harold had his faithful .38 in a shoulder holster, a cell phone in one pants pocket and a pair of handcuffs in another. He carried a nightstick in one hand and a baton flashlight in the other. Laura had her Taurus automatic in the new purse Daisy had bought her, along with a flashlight and a can of mace Harold gave her. Buddy looked like a cross between Batman and Ironman. He wore a silver motorcycle helmet and some body armor he'd bought secondhand from a survivalist store. He wore a 'utility' belt with several large pouches around his waist and it was filled with handmade flash bang grenades, smoke bombs, a small taser and a bowie knife. He carried a laptop computer with his own personal "cracking" program and an angled flashlight, the kind the British secret agents always use in the movies. Zingman had a double- barreled, 12-gauge shotgun he had inherited from his father.

"Herbert, stay in the van and keep a lookout," Harold said. "Are you sure that antique even works?"

"It hasn't been fired since 1963, but I'm sure it's in good working order, my boy," Zingman said.

"Well, if you see anybody coming, use your cell phone to speed dial me," Harold said. "And don't shoot your foot off."

With that, Harold, Laura and Buddy walked up to the main house with Rompat in the lead. Rompat used his key to open the door. After Harold had made sure it was closed he barred it with a chair.

"Don't turn on any house lights until we're sure the cost is clear," Harold said. "Use your flashlights until I say otherwise. Rompat, is there a basement?"

"Yes," Rompat said. "It's only used for storage and the door is in the kitchen."

Harold went to the kitchen and barred the back door as he had the front. He tried the basement door and found it locked. Rompat told him he didn't have a key to that door as he never had any reason to go down there. The door couldn't be barred because it swung open to the basement so Harold put his ear to the door and listened for a minute or two. Not hearing anything, Harold decided it was probably empty.

Harold sent Buddy and Rompat to look for Connie's PC, while he and Laura went upstairs to see if Cissy was still there. They climbed the central stairway and encountered several locked rooms. Rompat had told them that the rooms had combination locks on the doors that could only be opened from the outside. The first door Harold opened with the combination was empty, but there was a figure on the bed in the second.

Harold and Laura both trained their flashlight beams on the figure and it began to stir.

"Huh, who's there," came a high-pitched voice. "Connie? Tina? Jack, is that you? You promised you were going to leave me alone tonight."

Laura turned the beam of her flashlight to her own face.

"No, honey, it's not any of those people," she said. "I'm John and he's Harold. And we've come to take you away from this place. What's your name?"

"Cissy," came the shaky reply.

"No, sweetheart, I mean what's your real name, the name you were born with?" Laura said. "Do you remember?"

"Cha, Cha, Charles Harris," the trembling voice said. "Oh my God, please don't hurt me. They'll punish me for remembering my real name."

Laura ran to Cissy and held her in her arms.

"No, baby, don't be afraid," she said, as she stroked the frightened little creature's head. "Nobody's going to hurt you any more. Harold, these rooms are cut off from the world. There are no windows. I'm sure it will be okay to turn on a light."

Harold had his doubts, but he searched for a light switch and flipped it on.

The room was a fantasy in pink, something for a 14-year-old girl to envy and enjoy. The walls were pink, as was the furniture and the sheets on Cissy's bed. The walls were adorned with posters of boy-bands and supermodels and the dresser was piled high with cosmetics, hair care supplies and fashion magazines. There was a large closet full of trendy, colorful clothing and the dresser drawers were stuffed with flimsy, delicate underwear.

In the light Harold could finally get a good look at Cissy. She was a tiny thing, shorter than Laura and no more than 100 pounds soaking wet. Her blonde hair was worn short, in a pageboy cut and her incredible face was almost elfin in character. Harold wouldn't have been surprised if she'd had pointed ears.

"You said your name is John," Cissy said to Laura. "How can that be? You're beautiful."

"Because five years ago they did the same thing to me that they've done to you," Laura said. "They plan to sell you and send you to Brazil to live with a horrible man, but I'm not going to let them."

"You can fill her in later," Harold said. "Right now we need to get out of here."

Cissy got out of the bed and stood up. She was wearing nothing but a very sheer, very short teddy and a pair of see-through panties, pink, of course. She had tiny, bee sting breasts suitable for a teen-aged girl and long smooth legs. But between those legs she sported a small but distinct penis.

Harold immediately turned his head, only to be treated to the sight of the near-necked Cissy in one of the room's full-length mirrors.

"Get her dressed, Laura," Harold said, as he covered his face and headed for the door. "I'll wait for you outside."

"Is he your man?" Cissy asked. "He's very nice."

"Yes, he is very nice, isn't he?" Laura said. "And no, he's not my man. Not yet."

Laura shooed Cissy to the closet to find some clothes.

"Lord, I wonder where they got this one?" Laura thought. "I'd swear Cissy wasn't more than 15 at the most, but that can't be."

Cissy put on a Polo blouse and a pair of low rider jeans that exposed her belly button and the tops of her panties. She looked like any other teen-aged Brittney Spears wannabe, in spite of the little surprise hiding in her crotch.

Suddenly, Laura and Cissy heard a shout from the hallway: "DAMN IT, TURN OFF THAT LIGHT!"

Rompat had led Buddy to the den and an unassuming little PC that he assured the nerd was the one Connie used to conduct loft business. Buddy set up his laptop and prepared his cracking program.

"Well, this shouldn't be too hard," he said, as he tried to hold his flashlight and connect the two computers at the same time. "Boy, I could use some more light."

With that, Rompat said okay, and turned on a main switch that converted the whole house from night to day. He flicked the switch off again when he heard Harold's scream, but the damage was already done as the main light was Jack's signal to move in.

Harold stormed down the stairway with Laura and Cissy scampering right behind. He was determined to tear a new asshole into whoever turned on that light, but before he could there was a pounding on the front door.

BAM, BAM, BAM.

Harold immediately pulled out his .38, while Laura grabbed her automatic and Buddy had his hand on his bowie knife. Rompat and Cissy cowered behind a sofa.

One kick from a heavy foot splintered the door and Jack strode confidently into the room. In one hand he held a 9mm automatic aimed at the back of Doctor Zingman's head; in the other he held the doctor's shotgun. Connie and Tina followed them into the room holding their own flashlights.

"Drop your weapons you pitiful cowboys," Jack said. "Or your friend here gets one in the neck."

"Sorry, Harold," Zingman said. "The bastard snuck up on me."

"That's okay, doc, it could happen to anybody," Harold said. "But Jack seems to forget that we have a hostage of our own."

"What, Rompat?" Jack said. "It was time for that old lush to retire anyway. We'll find someone to replace him, easy."

"Tina?" Rompat said warily from his hiding place.

This standoff might have lasted half the night, except the lights came on again and in the doorway behind Harold stood Ed and Fred, the backwoods twins. They were big and ugly with slightly pointy bald heads and identical bib overalls. Every inch of visible skin was covered with tattoos of the most disgusting sort. More importantly, they each sported identical .44 magnums and had Harold and his friends trapped in a crossfire.

"Ugh," Laura said. "These boys look like the road show company of "The Hills Have Eyes."

"Haw," Jack crowed, "some ex-cop. They were in the basement all along, being real quite like and you didn't even know. Now drop those guns!"

Ed (one earring and a full beard) took Harold and Laura's guns, while Fred (two earrings, a nose ring and no beard) grabbed Buddy's utility belt and helmet. They herded Harold, Laura, Buddy and Zingman to the center of the room and gave the sobbing Cissy to Margaret, who had just arrived from her cottage.

"Well, Connie, long time no see," Laura said. "I guess this is going to be the final betrayal, isn't it?"

"Shut up," said Jack. "I don't want to hear anything from you."

"Oh Laura, Laura," Connie said. "Why did you have to come back here? You were lucky enough to get away from Brazil, why couldn't you have just disappeared?"

"I wanted to see how my old girlfriend was doing," Laura said sarcastically. "I thought we could go shopping, play with some dolls, maybe go work out at the gym or get fucked in the ass by Jack together. Are you and Jack here still an item?"

"Bitch, I told you to shut up," Jack said, and hit her in the face with the back of his hand.

Laura's knees wobbled and she saw stars from the powerful blow. Five years ago she would have collapsed into a blubbering heap, but not now, not after all she had been through. She gathered blood and spittle in her mouth and spat right in Jack's face.

"Why you!" Jack said, but before he could hit Laura again, Harold stepped between them.

"I told you before, redneck, you don't beat up on women while I'm around."

Jack smiled, then, without warning, punched Harold in the gut with all his might.

Harold groaned and bent over. Then he looked up at Jack and grinned.

"Nice one, fairy," he said. "Now put down that gun and I'll show you something."

"Enough," Tina said. "Enough already. I've called Justino and he should be here any minute so we can get this business over with."

"So, you intend to kill us all," Laura said. "I guess I should have expected as much. How do you plan to get away with it, Tina? Doctor Zingman's wife is waiting for him to call in by midnight and the tall kid's parents will be looking for him, too. If you give up now you might get just 20 years in prison. But four murders are going to get you the death penalty."

"I'll take my chances," Tina said. "Besides, you're the one who got the killing started with Paulo in Brazil."

As if on cue, Justino chose that moment to walk through the ruins of the front door.

"Ah, how do you Americans say, 'the gang's all here,'" he said. "I have been waiting a long time for this moment."

"Hey, Justino, cabrao," Laura said. "Vai to mar no cu, filho da puta."

"Chupe meu pau," Justino spit out as his face turned red with rage. "Posso lamber sua buceta?"

"Creio que sim," Laura said, as she sneered at him and rubbed her crotch.

"I've got to learn Portuguese," Harold thought.

Justino turned from Laura with a huff and opened a small briefcase he carried with him.

"Here's $100,000 cash for the lovely Miss Cissy," he said. "And another $50,000 for Laura, dead. But who are these other people? I am not paying anything for them."

"Don't worry Mr. Brevard," Jack piped up. "We've got a big enough hole to bury these other scum, too. No charge to you."

Margaret brought Cissy over to Brevard and he grabbed her arm with an iron grip. But, whether it was from watching how bravely Laura was reacting to the situation or whether there was still some man left in her somewhere, Cissy decided she wasn't just going to go along with the program. She bit Brevard on the hand so hard that she drew blood and he screamed like a 12-year-old girl in childbirth. Then she jumped on him like a wildcat, scratching and biting and hitting him with her tiny fists.

All eyes in the room were fixed on Justino and Cissy and before anyone else could react and activate her controller, Buddy reached in his pants leg where he'd hidden another flash bang grenade, and tossed it in the direction of Jack and his goons.

The grenade went off on impact with blinding light and deafening noise and everyone in the room was disorientated except Buddy and Harold, who had anticipated his friend's action and shielded his eyes and ears. The goons dropped their guns to cover their eyes, but Jack still held on to his 9mm.

Harold dashed to Jack and pushed him backward over a sofa, then flipped a heavy credenza on top of him and kicked his gun away.

"Grab the guns, Buddy," he shouted, as he leaped on both goons at once and brought them down in an old wresting move.

Buddy saw Harold's .38 on the floor in front of him and reached for it—only to come face-to-face with a snarling nurse Margaret. They both had the weapon, but Margaret was much stronger and swung Buddy around like a mastiff with a toy in its mouth.

"Yow, lady, what are you, Godzilla's grandmother?" Buddy hollered, as he held on for dear life.

By now Tina and Connie had regained their senses and were about to enter the fray when Laura stepped in front of them. She grabbed Tina by her long hair and tossed her over her hip, smashing her into a glass- topped table. That gave Connie enough time to grab Laura from behind. Connie was a bodybuilder, two inches taller and at least 20 pounds heavier than Laura, but Laura had an advantage - she didn't fight like a girl. Laura grabbed the thumb and index finger of Connie's hand and pulled them apart until Connie yelled and let go of her grip. Then she took a step back and smashed a straight right hand into Connie's face.

"Let's see how many of those boxing lessons I remember," she thought, as she held up her dukes.

Harold was holding his own against the goons. They were barroom brawlers and they were tough, but they knew little of real fighting techniques. Harold was able to avoid their wild swings and did some damage with his handcuffs, which he'd pulled out and was using like brass knuckles. He found his old nightstick where he'd dropped it on the floor and used it to send Ed to dreamland. Then he broke Fred's nose with his open palm and cuffed him right hand to left leg. Suddenly, he saw Jack diving at him out of the corner of his eye. The detective's momentum drove them both into the next room. They scrambled to their feet and faced one another.

"Well, boy, looks like you're going to get that fight you wanted after all," Jack said, as he aimed another roundhouse kick at Harold. This one grazed Harold's chin before he could block it. Harold was breathing hard from his exertions. He was getting very tired.

Buddy had a death grip on the pistol, but Margaret was too strong and she was slowly aiming it at him. She was foaming at the mouth and saying things about how all men were no good and how she would punish him for being a man. Buddy saw that their struggle had brought them close to his utility belt so he decided to try something desperate. He released his grip on the gun and dived for the belt. Margaret pulled the trigger and fired a hasty shot that missed. She took time to aim and fired again as Buddy picked up the belt, but the bullet glanced off his body armor. His shoulder would be sore for a week, but he was able to retrieve his taser from the belt and gave the evil nurse a taste of 50,000 volts before she could fire once more. She fell to the floor face first as if she'd been pole axed.

Connie was no fighter and Laura had been using her face for target practice.

"Got any more lessons to teach me now, Connie?" Laura taunted, as she popped her again on the chin. Connie's eyes were closing and her teeth were loose.

"Please, Laura, please," she begged. "I was always your friend. It was Tina and Jack who insisted you had to go to Brazil."

What Connie saw and Laura didn't was that Tina had picked up Doctor Zingman's old shotgun and was aiming it at Laura's back.

"What kind of friend allows her friend to be sold into slavery?" Laura asked.

"The kind of friend who doesn't want a stupid freak like you for a friend," Connie said. "Do it Tina!"

With that a tremendous explosion rocked the room. When the smoke cleared Tina was writhing on the floor in a pool of blood, half of her face blown away. The old shotgun had backfired and Tina would never lead men to their doom again. One look at what had happened to her partner and all the fight went out of Connie. She sunk to the floor and sobbed uncontrollably.

Laura grabbed the little 6.35mm from the floor and went looking for Harold.

Meanwhile, Justino and Cissy had both recovered their senses and the old man was trying to drag the little she-male out the door.

"Oh no, little spitfire," he said as he turned and shook her like a doll. "I'm getting out of here, but you are far too valuable to leave behind."

When he turned back to what had been the door he was greeted by the unpleasant sight of Buddy holding the .38 he'd recovered from the unconscious Nurse Margaret.

"Let the girl go and reach for the sky, Pilgrim," Buddy said in his best John Wayne imitation. All Brevard could do was glower at the nerd, while little Cissy gave him a really big smile.

Jack was playing it smart. He realized that Harold was the stronger man, so he kept his distance and used his longer reach and quicker hands to land telling blows on the ex-cop's face and body. Harold's nose and mouth were bleeding, he could see out of only one eye and his breathing was labored.

"You overrated has-been," Jack sneered. "This will teach you to stick your nose where it doesn't belong. Why don't you just lie down and die?"

"Mister," Harold replied, "maybe I'm too stupid to collapse, too ugly to die. I'll let you figure that out later. Right now I've got a job to do and I'm going to do it."

From somewhere deep within, Harold got the energy to smash into Jack like he was taking on the defensive line at a bowl game. He picked up the detective and tossed him head-over-heels back into the main room. Jack landed awkwardly on his back and knew right away that something was broken. But he landed next to one of the .44 magnums so he picked it up and aimed it at Harold.

CRACK!

Jack was still aiming the gun at Harold, but he hesitated. Then a trickle of blood started pouring through a tiny hole in his head and he slumped to the floor, dead. At last, Laura had her revenge.

"That was some mighty good shooting, Texas Girl," Harold said, as he hobbled into the room and stumbled into Laura's arms.

"You're a mess, you old goat," Laura said, as she showered his pulpy face with kisses.

 

Chapter 8 - Conclusion - One Year Later

"Okay, what did I leave out?" Harold asked. "Oh yes, Doctor Zingman had tripped up his evil counterpart, Rompat, on his way out the door and forced him to tend to Tina's wounds until the ambulance arrived. Brevard tried to talk Buddy into letting him walk and promised him a sack full of money but that didn't do the old pervert any good. The only thing Buddy had eyes for was the lovely Cissy. All that was left at that point was to wait for the police to come and sort things out."

"And that's how we get to the trial of Tina and Connie today," said Vickie. "Or, at least, the sentencing of Tina and Connie."

"And a whole lot of shit in between," said Jeremiah. "So, when am I going to meet this Laura in person? I want to talk to the world's most famous he-she myself."

It was an unusual day at the Lee homestead. Both of Harold's children were in his house at the same time for the first time in more than 10 years. They were here to see Laura and Laura was in town because of the trial. After the conclusion of the court proceedings, Laura had gone to visit the Zingmans and their 'adopted daughter', Cissy. She had seen Harold with his children during the proceedings and insisted he allow her to visit with them later to get acquainted.

Both Vickie and Jeremiah were eager to see her, but for different reasons.

Vickie, Victoria, was the child of Harold's first wife, the dingbat. Fortunately, she took after her father in academics as well as looks and held a master's degree in music from the University of Cincinnati. She also taught at the school and played flute in the Cincinnati Orchestra. Her mother still lived in Peoria and Harold had never had a problem seeing his daughter anytime he wanted, until she went away to school and a job. As one might expect, Vickie was his favorite.

Jeremiah, on the other hand, was the child of the gold digger, who left town to find another well-off husband as soon as her divorce from Harold was final. Harold never saw much of his son while he was growing up and he could imagine the nasty things his ex told the boy about him. Jeremiah was an indifferent student, perfectly happy with Cs and Ds, although he could do better. He took after his mother's side of the family physically and was 6'6" and skinny. However, like his father he was an athlete, in fact, he was one of the top five rated shooting guards coming out of high school this year and was about to begin his freshman season at the University of Louisville. He'd never tell his father, but Harold was the only reason he went to college instead of declaring for the NBA draft. His mother had visions of a multi-million dollar contract dancing in her head, but Harold was overjoyed those plans were put on hold, at least for now.

"Yeah, I wanna talk to Laura and see what makes him tick," Jeremiah said. "Because anybody been through what that dude's been through has got to be fucked up."

"Watch your mouth, boy, you ain't grown yet you know," Harold said, as he prepared some cold drinks for his family. "Do you talk like that in front of coach Pitino?"

"I be cool in front of coach, Pop," Jeremiah said, with a silly laugh. "Besides, he knows I be a playa."

"And enough with the Ebonics," Harold said. "When you're in my house please use plain English or else I won't understand a word you say."

"That would be like him speaking with his tongue tied behind his back," Vickie butted in. "Speaking real English is too much of a challenge for him."

"Aw, you think you're white, anyway," Jeremiah said.

"Pipe down, both of you," Harold said, in exasperation. "I thought you wanted to know more about Laura."

"We sure do," said Vickie. "So tell us, are you in love with her?"

"Wow, you sure don't pull any punches, do you," Harold said. "I'd have to answer that question with a strong... maybe. I mean, no offense, but Laura and I have a lot more in common than I had with either of your mothers, a lot more than I've had in common with any woman. We like weightlifting and football and cigars and old movies, plus she never asks me for money, she's well traveled, she plays the piano, has a wonderful sense of humor, is brave and loyal and intelligent and on and on and on. On the other hand, she's 21 years younger than me and..."

"And SHE'S a man," Jeremiah jumped in. "A WHITE man at that."

"What difference does her race make?" Vickie asked.

"A lot if you've spent your whole life standing up for our race like Dad has," Jeremiah said. "What about that whole 'quitting the police force because of racism' thing? Then you turn around and want to marry a white person a few years later? Why? Have you two done the nasty? Done a little horizontal dancing?"

"I didn't say anything about getting married," Harold said defensively.

"Answer my last question," Jeremiah demanded.

"And I won't be cross-examined in my own house," Harold said. "Besides, I'm not going to speak of such things in front of my own children."

Vickie and Jeremiah exchanged knowing looks.

"They did it," Vickie said.

"And it must have been pretty good," Jeremiah added.

Harold slammed a scrapbook on the living room table. It was fairly new, but it was already stuffed full of newspaper and magazine clippings and other printed information.

"Moving right along," Harold said, as he sat between his son and daughter, "I've been keeping this record of Laura since right after we first met. Vickie, you've seen most of this, but a review will bring both you and your brother up to speed."

Harold first turned to a page torn from the "Peoria Journal Star:

International Kidnapping: Mutilation Ring Uncovered In Peoria County

 

In a case that local authorities say is unprecedented, it has been revealed that a local group doing business as The Loft Exports, Inc. has for more than 10 years been kidnapping young men, forcing them to take on the role of women and then selling them as sex slaves in South America, principally Brazil.

 

This had continued completely unknown to local law enforcement authorities until one of the victims, John Warren, of Houston, Texas, now known as 'Laura,' was able to escape his captors in Brazil, make his way back to Peoria and recruit help to expose the illegal operation. The confrontation with the kidnappers was a bloody one, with one of the criminals killed and several seriously injured. Laura, as Warren currently prefers to be known, did not go to the police at first because he is wanted for murder in Brazil for killing one Paulo Constanza, a coffee plantation owner to whom Laura was sold more than five years ago.

 

"This is an extraordinary case which is apparently all true," said Richard Green of the State Department. "We will have to work together with the FBI, Immigration, local and state officials and, of course, the Brazilian government to get a satisfactory resolution of this situation. There are American citizens being held against their wills in a friendly foreign country and that cannot be allowed..."

 

Next Harold turned to a long, well-illustrated article from "Newsweek."

"Recovering the 'Angels of the Amazon'" - In an unusual sting operation carried on in the nation of Brazil, State Department operatives, with the help of Brazilian officials, recovered more than a score of Angels, the term the media has come up with for young men kidnapped from the United States and forced to live as women in virtual slavery in Brazil.

 

This bizarre crime had its mundane beginnings in Peoria, Ill., where carefully chosen young men were lured to a seemingly innocent location with singles ads and there groomed with a combination of drugs, torture, brainwashing and plastic surgery to be willing sex slaves for wealthy South Americans with, to say the least, peculiar tastes.

 

"We were not told why they were doing this to us or what their real plans were for us," said John 'Laura' Warren (see picture, left). "We were made to feel helpless and alone and the only thing we could do was go along with this crazy scheme."

 

As it turned out, Laura (as Warren prefers to be known now) was the Trojan Horse that toppled the entire operation. She escaped her captors in Brazil and helped bust the Peoria operation. Then, using records taken from the kidnapper's computer and the forced cooperation of the gang's South American contact, one Justino Brevard of Sao Paulo, Brazil, Ms. Warren organized a get-together of slaves and masters in Rio De Janeiro. She served as the bait for the affair, Brevard being forced to tell the other slave masters they would be treated to a show featuring her punishment for killing her 'owner' during her escape. They gathered in the ballroom of a prestigious downtown hotel and at the height of the festivities American and Brazilian agents staged a raid and netted two dozen slave owners with their 'girls.'

 

"We couldn't have done it without Laura," said Brazilian field operative Hans Staden, who coordinated the operation. "She jeopardized her safety to assure that others could get out of the same nightmare she'd escaped."

 

There are rumored to have been as many as 100 Angels exported to South America over the years by the gang. The State Department promised that every American taken against his will will be returned or accounted for...

 

On to the next page, a personal letter:

From: Laura Warren, Sao Paulo, Brazil To: Harold Lee, Peoria, Ill. -

 

Hello Gramps:

I don't know if you've heard but all criminal charges against me have been dropped by the government of Brazil. I got a presidential pardon, no less, in recognition of the great injustice done to me and my fellow Americanas. By the way, unlike the last one, the current president is NOT related to Paulo. We are proceeding with plans to sue every slave owner for our pain and suffering, but that could be a long process down here. What our lawyers hope to do is get a settlement from the Brazilian government and then leave it up to them to get the money back from the perverts. I don't know if the Brazilians like that idea, so wish us luck. More than 80 of us have been found so far and even a settlement in the millions of dollars won't go very far. Not to mention if they try to pay us in reals! Even if you combine this with the proceeds from the civil suit we are going to file against the loft's assets, it's simply not going to be very much.

 

Believe it or not, several of the guys want to stay in Brazil. Dr. Solo has volunteered to perform free SRS on any victim who wants it and several are taking him up on the offer. They're like Kelly Ann, who can't stand to be separated from Raul, her tamale man. I think I'm going to be sick! Write to me soon.

 

Love, Laura

PS - Still working on that new name.

PPS - Yes, I KNOW tamales come from Mexico, not Brazil. Tell that to that fool Kelly Ann.

The next page Harold turned to was another excerpt from the local paper:

SLAVERY SCANDAL CAUSES SHAKE-UP IN PEORIA POLICE DEPARTMENT

Long time Police Chief Peter Newsom and all his top aids were fired yesterday by Mayor Jerry Bright. The move was made in a housecleaning effort due to general dissatisfaction with the police force over their inability to find the large kidnapping and mutilation ring that had operated in Peoria with apparent impunity for more than 10 years and was broken up last Fall through the actions of private citizens.

 

"To think that an operation that big was allowed to tragically ruin the lives of so many people over so many years," Bright said, from the steps of City Hall yesterday. "It's a disgrace. The police should have been onto this years ago and the Chief must take the lion's share of the blame."

 

Recent polls have suggested that public opinion was swinging against the mayor himself due to the scandal and it is speculated by City Hall insiders, speaking on condition of anonymity, that the Mayor might have fired Newsom out of a desire to protect his own political career.

 

Interviews of candidates for the police chief job are scheduled to begin next week. One name that keeps coming up for the position is former policeman and Bradley football hero, Harold Lee, who was one of those instrumental in capturing the kidnappers and shutting down their operation.

 

"If nominated, I will not run, if elected, I will not serve," was the only thing Lee would say for publication on the subject...

 

"I think you should have taken the job, Dad," Vickie said. "You can't stay mad at the Peoria police forever."

"I'm not mad at the Peoria police, sweetie," Harold said. "I just don't want to get involved in police work anymore. Let someone else do it."

"And did you have to steal that quote from William Tecumseh Sherman?" Vickie added. "Bad enough you appropriated that 'Too dumb to collapse, too ugly to die' line from Stan Lee."

"I only steal from the best, darling," Harold said with a goofy grin.

Next, Harold showed his children a copy Laura sent him of a proposal from Random House, the prestigious publishing firm:

Dear Ms. Warren:

As per our various conversations, we are prepared to offer you the sum of $1,000,000 as prepayment for your life story, exclusive to us. We will expect a rough draft within one year after you have examined and signed the contract as satisfactory. The contract will also contain monetary bonuses for completing the rough draft six months, three months or one month sooner than specified. We hope to hear from your representative soon.

 

Regards, Edward R. Mobley, Publisher, Random House

 

"Oh, yeah, Dad, I remember hearing something about a big book contract," Vickie said. "So this is the real thing. One million dollars, wow!"

"I told you, this is just a copy," Harold said. "Laura sent me e-mails from all over the world to get my help and suggestions for the book. She says I'm going to get a credit. It ought to be in stores by Christmas."

"And how much of that million is he going to give you?" Jeremiah asked.

"None, she offered, but I didn't want any of it," Harold replied. "Laura needs that money more than I do. She's still making trips to Brazil to help find the last of the loft victims and she travels all over this country trying to help those victims who are having a hard time adjusting. She's even talking about forming a non-profit agency to help other men who have been victimized by gangs other than the loft. This forced fem thing is much more widespread than anyone knew."

"Well, that makes at least two million dollars Laura's made this year," Jeremiah said, with a big grin on his face.

"Yeah, I figured you'd be all over THAT news," Harold said, and turned to the next page in the scrapbook.

It was the August issue of Playboy Magazine and right there on the cover, as big as life was... Laura. She was pictured in a mock-up of the famous flying skirt scene from "The Seven-Year Itch," blonde Marilyn wig and all. The cover said, "12 page Exclusive Pictorial, Inside Laura Warren, The World's Most Beautiful Transsexual."

"I'm pretty sure this is the first time in its 50+ year history that Playboy has had a feature pictorial of a man," Harold said.

With the article, Harold had attached a printout of an e-mail from Laura:

Dear Perffesser:

I wanted to tell you before the news hit People Magazine or Entertainment Tonight. I have been offered $1,000,000 to appear in a pictorial for Playboy Magazine and I am seriously considering doing it. Now, I know the first thing you're going to say: NO FUCKING WAY. Particularly since Tina and Connie's trial will be starting soon and I shouldn't be doing anything to give the impression I'm benefiting from what they did to me. Well, my lawyer assures me that, along with Rompat's plea-bargained testimony, the case against them is so overwhelming it doesn't much matter what I do, they are going down.

 

Truth to tell, after what happened to Tina at the loft and Margaret being sent to the booby hatch and Rompat getting 10 years in spite of his testimony and Brevard being deported to Brazil, never to return, and Jack and Paulo being dead and almost all of the victims being found. I don't feel the need for revenge anymore. It wouldn't bother me if Tina and Connie weren't even convicted. I just don't care anymore.

 

I'm in the media spotlight now and, lord help me, I'm going to ride it for all it's worth. What am I going to do for a living after this all dies down? Marry a rich guy? Go back to a sales job with Well's Products? I'd love to play the piano for a living, but I know I'm not good enough for that. Maybe after I make all the money I can; you'll show me how to invest so I can lay on my ass all day like you.

 

And don't worry about all those other men seeing my necked butt. You'll always be my one and only old goat.

 

Love, Laura

 

As good as Laura looked in real life, with the aid of the famous Playboy airbrush and special lighting, she looked like something from out of this world in the magazine.

"Wow, Dad, she could be a model," said Vickie.

"Not going to happen," Harold said. "She tells me this was a one time thing."

"If that's a man, I'm Queen Latifah," Jeremiah said as he carefully studied the centerfold. "You know, Dad, every reporter I talk to is so worried about what I know about you and your relationship to the great Laura that they hardly bother to ask any basketball questions anymore."

"Oh, you poor thing," Harold said, sarcastically, as he snatched the magazine away from his son. "Time for some video."

Harold inserted a self-recorded tape into his VCR and a record of Laura's national television appearances came on. Most of the programs were edited to less than a minute each and they included: The Today Show, Charlie Rose, Nightline, Live with Regis and Kelly, Jay Leno, David Letterman, The View...

And a much longer excerpt from Laura's appearance on the Oprah Winfrey show—

Oprah: "So, Laura, have you decided if you are going back to being a man or not?"

Laura: "I'm still working on it, Oprah, there are so many pluses and minuses involved. I'm not even sure what kind of a man I'd make anymore."

Oprah: "Well, audience, would you like to find out what kind of a man Laura would make?" (Murmuring from the audience) We have backstage, right next to Stedman there, Ronald Sims, Oscar winning Hollywood make- up artist. Yesterday he fixed Laura up like the man she used to be and then she spent the day in the company of one of our lovely staff members. They went on a Chicagoland date, which included a movie, dinner at one of our fine restaurants and front row seats at the Bulls game. Here are some excerpts from the experience."

At this point there's a five minute compilation from Laura's day as John.

Oprah: "okay, here's what Laura or, I guess John is what I should call you when you look like that, looked like when Ronald got through with her. Your breasts were taped close to your body, you wore men's underwear, with a small sock strategically placed, a three-piece suit and tie, a beard and mustache and a conservative hat. We trimmed your hair a bit and dyed it black and gave you brown tinted contact lenses and clear eyeglasses to disguise those green peepers of yours. What do you think audience? (Cheers and applause)

Laura: "It was really weird, especially when I looked in the mirror. Was that me? It didn't look like Laura, but it didn't really look like John either. I think people accepted me as a man, but every now and then I'd get a funny look and I'd wonder what they were thinking. I kept wanting to use the ladies room and that almost got me in trouble. This waiter wanted me to order food and pass judgment on the wine and I'm just not used to doing those things anymore. Oprah, it could very well be that my days as a man are finally over.

Oprah: "Well, welcome to the sisterhood, Laura (she hugs Laura as the camera pans the audience to show several women crying). And, Laura, there's one other thing. Please look backstage to your left. Stedman, get out of the way!"

From backstage came a middle-aged couple. They were shy and somewhat hesitant. Laura recognized them instantly but they seemed somewhat unsure of themselves.

Oprah: "This is Laura's father, Mr. Sam Warren and mother, Mrs. Olive Warren. Laura, how long has it been since you have seen your parents?

Laura: "Oh, my God, it's been more than 10 years! Mom, Dad, I'm so happy to see you. I'm so sorry for the terrible things I said the last time we were together. Can you forgive me? I guess you can see I've changed."

Mrs. Warren: "Oh John, I mean, Laura. We don't care about all the cross words and ill feelings of the past. Son or daughter, we're just happy to have our baby back. From now on we're going to be there for you...always."

Mr. and Mrs. Warren were crying, Laura was crying, Oprah was crying, Stedman was crying, everyone in the audience was crying...

Harold even noticed a little moisture in Jeremiah's eyes. At which point the doorbell rang.

"That will be Laura," Harold said, as he handed his son a handkerchief. "You two get yourselves' ready while I let her in."

Since Laura had already eaten dinner at the Zingmans', Harold was going to offer cigars and cognac, but he settled for sherry and hot appetizers.

"No cigars," Vickie said, firmly.

"Hello, Vickie," Laura said, with a sincere smile. She had talked to Vickie before and they had hit it off right away. Laura had changed from the conservative suit she wore in the courtroom and now sported a maroon corduroy pleated skirt and matching jacket from Aphrodite. The skirt was short enough to show off a spectacular pair of legs to go with her spectacular chest.

"And this, of course, is Jeremiah," she said as she gazed up at the tall youth. "My, you're even more impressive in person than you are in your photographs."

"Ah, er, I could say the same for you, mam," Jeremiah said, suddenly tongue-tied. All at once, his earlier bluster and confidence was gone. "Where, uh, where did you see a picture of me?"

"Oh you're kidding, right?" Laura said, sweetly. "Why you've been all over the sports magazine covers, as one of the top five high school shooting guards in the county. They say you're the last piece in the puzzle Pitino needs to get the Cards back to the Final Four."

"Is that what they say?" Jeremiah said, as his voice cracked. "Well, there is no 'I' in team, you know. We all have to work hard together and bla, bla, bla..."

Harold noted with amusement that it took about 30 seconds for Laura to have his son eating out of her hand.

"Every woman knows," Harold thought, as he filled the wine glasses. "Let a man talk all he wants about himself and you've got him hooked for life."

The Lees and Ms. Laura had a lovely evening together. Laura even brought along a transcription of Mozart's Flute and Harp Concerto for flute and piano accompaniment. She played the piano, while Vickie sight-read the flute part. Harold and Jeremiah rewarded the women's effort with applause and cheers. Harold couldn't believe his son was actually enjoying classical music!

At about 9:30 PM Vickie said it was time for she and her brother to leave. They were spending the night at her mother's house and her mother still believed in early-to-bed. Jeremiah would have just as soon stayed to see what Laura and his Dad were up to, but Vickie dragged him out the door. Harold had to laugh every time he saw his children together. Vickie was so short and Jeremiah was so tall he always called them Mutt and Jeff. Neither of them understood the reference.

"They're two wonderful children," Laura said, as Harold re-filled her glass. "And you always told me Jeremiah was difficult. He's a doll!"

"Don't let him fool you, he was on his good behavior," Harold said. "Wait 'till you see him next time."

Laura got a sort of far away look in her eyes as she kicked off her high heels.

"This has been quite a significant day," she said.

"Yes, although I really think Tina and Connie got off lucky with just 20 years," Harold said.

"I wasn't talking about that," she said. "Did you know that Buddy and Cissy plan to get married?"

"Say what?"

"Buddy just proposed over at the Zingmans' earlier today," Laura said. "I asked Daisy and Herbert not to call you so I could give you the news."

"Ye gods," Harold said, as he slapped his forehead. "Neither one of those kids seem to be real marriage material. What are the legal ramifications?"

"It's fairly simple, really," Laura said. "The State of Illinois, with the strong backing of the US Government, will allow any loft victim to start life over again as whichever gender we feel most comfortable with. For whatever reason, Cissy has fallen in love with Buddy and intends to have SRS so she can be a woman for him. Then she will be issued a new birth certificate and become Mrs. Fleming, all legal- like."

"Incredible," Harold said. "I don't see how it can work, but they say love conquers all. I just hope they don't plan on living with Buddy's parents. That boy makes enough money to support a family of his own."

"As you know, Cissy is an orphan," Laura continued. "Of all the loft victims she's the only one for whom we've never been able to find any kind of relative. We're not even totally sure when or where she was born."

"Yeah, she adapted to the whole forced fem thing rather quickly," Harold said. "I think she was leaning in that direction from the start. I'm just glad Herbert and Daisy have been so nice to her. They treat her like the daughter they never had."

"Family's important," Laura said. "I saw that with you and your children today. Harold, did I ever tell you I have a son?"

"You might have mentioned you got a girl pregnant once in passing, but you never said anything else about it and I don't like to pry," he said.

"Yes, he's 11 years old now," she said. "His name is John Jr., can you believe it, and he still lives in Houston with his mother. All I knew was I got a girl knocked-up while I was a freshman in college. I called her a whore and refused to have anything to do with her or the child. She just took him and went out of my life. I considered myself lucky because she didn't press for child support. And I went on about my business."

"Didn't you say that was part of what estranged you from your parents?" Harold asked.

At this point tears were streaming down Laura's cheeks. She had to stop talking while she tried to get control over her sobs. Harold sat next to her and held her hands; his own eyes beginning to mist over again.

"Yes, Harold, that's true," she finally said. "This whole nightmare, all the things that have happened to me, I believe happened at least in part because of what I did to my child and his mother. I've always tried to figure out, why me? But I see it now. Before the loft took me, I was a lot like Paulo, in my own way. Not as brutal, of course, but, like him, I thought I was superior just because I was a man. Call it God, call it fate, call it what you will, but there was a reason for what happened to me. I once told you I went through five years of a living hell. Well, now I realize it was more like five years of purgatory, which, I believe, have made me a better person.

"After the Oprah Show, my parents told me they had finally managed to get in touch with John's mother and they were helping her and the boy out. They showed me his picture. Harold, he looks just like me when I was 11-years old! I'm setting aside part of the money I made from the book and from Playboy into a trust fund for him. When the time comes, I want him to go to whatever college he desires. I don't want him growing up to be a selfish bastard like me. If there's anything, ANYTHING, I can do to keep that from happening I'll do it."

"Any chance you'll ever see him in person?" Harold asked. "A boy his age needs a father more than anything else."

"That's true," Laura said with a wry laugh. "But it would be kind of hard to go up to an 11-year-old boy and tell him I'm his father. Maybe when he's a little older."

"So, does this mean you are finally resigned to being a woman for the rest of your days?" Harold asked.

"Yes, I am," Laura said, with a sigh. "That bit on Oprah really opened my eyes. I make a ridiculous-looking man now and a much better looking woman. I'll admit being a woman still feels like I'm playing a role or a game. But then, we all go through life playing roles to some extent. Don't you agree?"

"Yeah," Harold said. "We're all wearing masks and we seldom take them off."

"And now that I know about my son, I don't feel the need to hold on to my male identity mask anymore," Laura said. "John Warren will not simply cease to exist."

"So, what are you going to call yourself?

"Believe it or not, I'm going to stick with Laura," she said, as she ran her finger over the rim of her wine glass. "I know that's the name Tina and Connie gave me, but, so what? Like I said before, I'm done with revenge and ill feelings and this is the name I've been known by for so long, I might as well keep it."

"I still like Jugs," Harold said, as Laura playfully kicked him in the side. "So, I guess there's just one more question."

"What's that?" Laura asked.

"What's going to be your sexual orientation?" Harold said. "Do you still find yourself unattracted to men? Are you going to go the lesbian route? Or are you going to be neutral and just give up on sex?"

"Actually, I've found a man I am attracted to," Laura said as she stood up to take the used wine glasses to the kitchen sink.

"Yeah? Who? Some Hollywood actor you met at Hugh Hefner's house? Some billionaire philanthropist who wants to help you with the less fortunate loft victims?"

Laura slowly walked back toward Harold, unbuttoning her blouse as she approached him.

"Who? Guess."

 

The End

 

ADDENDUM

Portuguese/English translations:

babaca - asshole
veado - faggot
a Americana bonita - the beautiful American
grupo de samba - small group of samba players
puta - slut
verdade - true
Estamos fudidos - We're fucked
merda - shit
vagabunda - slut
vaca - bitch
ola' - hello
Filho da puta - Son of a bitch
nao - no
Agora a vaca foi para o brejo - Now the cow went to the swamp (believe me, it means something in Brazil.)
cabrao - bastard
Vai tomar no cu, filho da puta - Fuck you, son of a rotten whore
Chupe meu pau - Suck my dick
Posso lamber su a buceta? - May I lick your pussy?
Creio que sim - I think so

 

  

  

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