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Back Home, One week later.By FinalStand. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.There is something worse than waking up and not knowing where you are: you could wake up and not know who you are.Note: World Events Stuff ~ aka Why things are happening in Cáel's lifeThe phone was from Iskender. His boss, Oyuun Tömörbaatar (OT), the former UN ambassador from Kazakhstan and now the informal and unrecognized UN representative and chief diplomat of the Khanate to the same august body, wanted to talk with me, immediately. OT wasn't being diplomatic at the moment, that would come later.{Now this is going to get convoluted}Any inquiries to the Khanate that didn't also include immediate official recognition of the Khanate currently were being steered my (and Hana's) way. For all the behind closed doors crap, he had me, his loyal ass-monkey mutton-head. I held faint hope that this latest meeting would work out to my benefit. For the meeting, I traveled light, only Naomi (the Amazon) and Chaz (British SRR) watched over me.Now fathers who know me, hide their daughters. I'd earned my 'scoundrel' reputation. T. Sarangerel, OT's daughter, was in the room when Iskender ushered me in. She gave me an uncertain look, I shrugged and she smiled. It took me 3 nano seconds to figure that out, OT was scoping me out as a potential son-in-law. I was in Temujin's Inner Circle and a man who he trusted (a rarity). Any union with me would strengthen OT's clan's standing in the new regime.The genetic footprint Temujin, and his immediate family collectively, had put down in the 13th and 14th centuries CE today was vast. He needed that to make his plans for the internal reorganization of the Khanate work. The old republics would go away, to be replaced by a system akin to the Byzantine 'themes, the re-organization of regions based on the recruitment of the Tumens.The Khanate was aiming for an 'Autocratic Republic' ~ a term invented in the 19th century. My use of this terminology was based on my gut instinct, Alal's host of memories involving every form of governance, and my experience with human nature. That clued me in to what Temujin was up to, his Greater Plan. He wasn't going to form a false-front government. He was going to retain the decision-making powers and do so openly, thus 'Autocratic'.He also planned to have a bicameral legislative branch. The Upper House would be based in Tumens and bureaucratic leadership, intellectual standing, religious sects, and tribal entities. This body would be based on merit, not primogeniture. The Lower, main chamber, would be a democratically-elected assembly (aka a democratic republic) that advised him on policy matters, thus 'Republic'.All the power would remain in the Great Khan's hands and would be exercised by his genetic descendants (which some geneticists estimated as being as high as 25% of the Central Asian population.) Marrying into that extended family would be easy, the 'family' itself would have a vested interesting in supporting a state that benefited them.Men and women could exercise power in the government through marriage alliances, identical to the manner Hana was working through me. Being surrounded by very populous countries in various states of belligerence, empowering women wouldn't be an issue since every willing mind and pair of hands mattered. Outsiders who shone through could be offered a spouse and brought into the ruling elite since polygamy was permissible.In the Khanate there would be universal compulsive suffrage (everyone 18+ was legally required to vote) to decide on the representatives in the new legislative body. Everyone was expected to fight, so everyone voted. It would be modeled on the Duma of early 20th century Imperial Russia. Unlike the ill-fated Tsar Nicholas II, Temujin would be much more attentive to the voice of the people, in the Information Age, he had to.Or so I hoped. I spewed forth my ideas to OT who didn't agree, or disagree with my vision. Perhaps Temujin and I did share a bond that went beyond obligation. OT then pulled a 'Pamela'."He told me he knew immediately you were his brother when you and I shared that vision," he commented out of nowhere."His words: You (Earth and Sky) are the old. He (meaning me) is the new. He (me again) will show us the way." My, that was nice, obtuse and not at all helpful. What did OT want? My good buddy, the Great Khan, wanted to cash in on Hana's and my sudden popularity. His most pressing need remained 'time'. He needed to have a cease-fire in the wings when his offensive resumed the next day.The Earth and Sky had moved, well, the Heaven and Earth to get the Tumens and their accompanying national armies up and running after only a two day respite. Thanks to me, Manchuria was a mess. The Russians had carried out my 'Operation: Funhouse' with mixed, mostly positive results.Dozens of smaller Chinese military police units along the border went, 'inactive' was the term most often used in the media. They didn't disarm, yet they didn't fight the Russians either. They sat back and let events unfold. The issue wasn't the Chinese's willingness to fight and die for their country. It was the schizophrenic government in Beijing.The PRC didn't want to wage a war with the Russian Federation at that moment. The Khanate was the priority. There were two fundamentally incompatible courses of action favored for dealing with the Russians:One large group advocated a passive Option A: let the Russians step in and shield the three remaining provinces making up Manchuria that were still in Chinese possession. Later, China would use military, economic and political means to edge the Russians out, once the Khanate was dealt with.A sizable faction favored a more aggressive Option B: play a game of chicken with Vladimir Putin. Tell the Bear not to come across the border while threatening him with a bloody and pointless (for him) guerilla war if he did intervene. Events on the ground were not providing a lot of support for that school of thought,However, this split at the highest levels of leadership left the local and regional commanders to try and muddle through as best they could. To the local commanders defending the Amur River side of the Chinese-Russian border, common sense dictated that they not oppose the Russian crossings, because the Russian 35th Army would kill them.All their military units had gone west to the Nen River line. With no heavy weapons and little air support, the People's Armed Police (PAP) (paramilitary) and the Public Security Bureau (regular police) units would be wiped out for little gain.Russia's GRU (Military Intelligence) sweetened the pot by allowing the police units to remain armed and in formation. It could be argued that they weren't even committing treason. At any time, they could throw themselves into the battle, or form the core of a resistance movement. 'Conserving your strength' had been a hallmark of the Communist Chinese struggle against the Imperial Japanese and Nationalists forces from the 1920's until 1945 and it had served them well.For the party officials, civil authorities and the People's Liberation Army (PLA), Army Air Force (PLAAF), and Army Navy (PLAN) who had gone with Option B, things weren't working out. In the north of Heilongjiang province at Morin Dawa/the Nen River line, the regional commander of the ad hoc forces facing the Khanate decided to duke it out with the Russian 36th Army as well. He was boned from the get-go.The PLAAF's overall command and control had been badly disrupted in the first few hours of The Unification War and had never fully recovered. Of the 22 air regiments that the PLAAF had started the war with in the Shenyang Military District (NE China), only 5 remained as effective formations flying, on average, a meager 20% of their original complement of advanced Shenyang J-16's, J-11's, Chengdu J-10's and Xian JH-7's aircraft.Replacing their aircraft losses meant sending up aged Shenyang J-8's (rolled out in 1980) and Nanchang Q-5's (in 1970) to fly and die in droves fighting their technologically superior Khanate foes. To add insult to injury, China's fleet of 97 Su-30MKK/MK2's (built in Russia) had suffered numerous suspicious mechanical and electronic failures, rendering them either flying coffins, or space holders in bomb-proof shelters.Furthermore, of the forces arrayed in the far north, only two of the five air regiments were responding. Two of the other three had begun displacing south into the Beijing Military District and preparing to defend the capital city. The fifth formation had another problem, North Korea (, more on that later.)In opposition to those two Chinese air regiments (roughly 60 aircraft of mixed types) stood seven complete and fresh Russian air regiments (over 400 front-line aircraft) and that didn't include the regiment and elements of the Far East Naval Aviation which was ALSO watching North Korea (, again more on that later.) The latter was of small comfort to the forces trying to hold the already compromised Nen River line.Behind those valiant troops, along the much more defensible Amur River line, the commander of the key city of Heihe sided with the Option A group and let the Russian 35th Army cross the river unopposed. By the time the PLA commanding general of the 'Nen Force' (the 69th Motorized Division and the subordinate 7th Reserve Division) figured that out, he was already in a shooting war with the Russians. So his supply lines weren't in danger, they were lost.The final indignity took place at Zalantun. The commander of the 3rd Reserve Div. had died during the attempt to recapture Zalantun. His replacement died when his helicopter was shot down as he was coming to assume command. In the absence of these officers, the divisional chief of staff told his men, including two hastily hustled forward mechanized brigades, to put down their arms. That meant 'Nen Force' was completely cut-off and surrounded.One battalion of the 36th Russian Motorized Brigade (yes, too many 36's running around) disarmed the Chinese troops while the rest, plus the 74th Independent Motorized Brigade raced for the prize, the city of Qiqihar. The last major mechanized formation of the 36th Rus. Army, the 39th MB was following them. However, instead of manning Qiqihar's defenses, the Chinese garrison in that city was waging war on its own populace.It wasn't only in Qiqihar; chaos reigned throughout Heilongjiang province. The Provincial Head of the Communist Party, Wang Xiankui, supported Option A. The Provincial Governor, Lu Hao, went with Option B. Both figures were rising stars in the PRC. Wang had ordered the still forming Reserve Divisions and the PAP units to disperse, thus avoiding any untimely confrontations with the Russians.Lu, without consulting Wang, ordered the same forces to launch a violent crackdown on all dissident forces, specifically all racial minorities. (It turned out that Lu was also a member of the Seven Pillars and his witch-hunt was aimed at getting the Earth and Sky organization operating in Heilongjiang).For the men and women on the other end of those phone conversations, there was no 'right' answer. Lest we forget, their organizations were already degraded by the Anthrax outbreak. Both men were powerful and represented China's future leadership, so if the person in charge at the ground level obeyed the wrong one, they could be assured of being roasted by the other.Some did try to do both, repress and disband at the same time. That meant that in the process of making mass arrests among an already war-fearful and plague-fearful populace, the law enforcement infrastructure began disintegrating.The problem with Lu's/7P's plan was that there was no 'revolutionary' organization to round up. That wasn't how the Earth and Sky operated in North-East China. They remained in tiny sabotage and reconnaissance cells. While they were scurrying for cover from the police crackdown, an opportunity presented itself.The afflicted minorities were getting furious with their treatment. These minorities saw themselves as loyal Chinese, yet they were being dragged out into the streets, put in detentions centers and (in a few cases) summarily executed. Being less than 10% of the overall population, resistance had never crossed their minds. It seemed all that those defenseless people could do was pray for Russian intervention forces to arrive.Within that mix of fear, betrayal and rage, the E and S discovered a way to start the dominos falling. The small, well-armed and well-trained E and S cells began ambushing police detachments. Weapons from those dead men and women were turned over to the pissed off locals before the cell went off to stalk the next police unit.Wash, rinse and repeat. It became a perverse and bloody case of wish fulfillment. Lu and the 7P's had been looking for an insurrection and they started one. Even though a miniscule portion of the population was involved, from the outside looking in, it reinforced the Putin Public Affairs initiative that portrayed Putin (and his army) as coming in to restore order to a collapsing civil system, which he was helping disrupt.From Moscow, the PRC's indecisiveness looked like Manna from Heaven. For the massive numbers of Russian soldiers riding through the Manchurian countryside, it felt like they were rolling into Arkham Asylum. Unlike the NATO countries' professional armies, Russia remained a largely conscript force whose normal term of service was only one year. These unseasoned troops could never tell if the local military, military police and police would attack until they rolled up on the Chinese units.At the start of that Day One of Operation: Funhouse, the Russian ROE (Rules of Engagement) was 'Ask and Verify'. It was tactically advantageous for the belligerent Chinese forces to lie about their intentions, then begin shooting at the Russians when they got close enough to hurt them. By Day Two, the standard front-line Russian soldier had adjusted that ROE to 'if they look at us wrong, light their asses up'. By Day Three, the officers had stopped trying to enforce Moscow's ROE orders.That was fine for the combat and rear echelon support troops because both the Chinese and Russian governments had another series of problems and they all centered around Pyongyang and Kim Jong-un's declaration that North Korea would intervene as well, without letting anyone know who he was 'intervening' against. To keep everyone guessing, the North Korean' People's Army was massing on all three borders, facing off with the PRC, Russia and South Korea. To prove his diplomatic intentions, Kim pledged to only mobilize half of his reserves, merely 4,250,000 extra men and women to go with his 950,000 strong standing army.It didn't take a military, or economic genius to realize the North Korean's chronically 'near death' economy was stampeding off a cliff. The Democratic People's Republic of Korea (DPRK) was in the middle of an oil crisis and Kim was increasing their fuel consumption by 400% while decreasing his workforce by 10%. To put it in perspective, the US unemployment was around 6%. Now imagine that in one week's time it would become 26%. One week, no severance packages. Would the population become unsettled?But wait, it gets better. The Secret War was colliding with the Real World in more places than Manchuria. Setting aside the assassination attempt (Grrr) of Hana Sulkanen, my fiancée, six Nipponese elders (two women and four men) appeared in the personal quarters of the Japanese Prime Minister on the first full night of 'Funhouse' and relayed their urgent requests.Those six were the Head of the Six (formerly Seven) Ninja Families and they were there at, my urging. Cause I'm an idiot and requiring the deaths of Romanians in my personal crusade obviously wasn't enough. Now I was asking the Japanese Defense Forces (JDF) to pony up as well. So take a deep breath and put on the hip-waders.You might be wondering why I would want the JDF, see, there was part of Operation: Funhouse that was hitting a predictable snag, namely the Korea People's Navy Force (KPNF) and the uncertain determination of the PLAN:The KPNF's vessels were rather old, small and crappy. They also had a love affair with anything that could launch a torpedo and they listed over 700 of these floating deathtraps (only 13 of which could be classified as surface warships) and the fanatical crews to take them into battle.The PLAN's numbers were far more realistic and the fleet generally more modern. Only their North (18 surface warships) and East Fleets (22 plus 5 'elsewhere') could play any role in an upcoming FUBAR, and both fleets were heading out to sea, mainly to avoid the sporadic, but increasingly effective Khanate air strikes.The FU to be BAR'ed was the Russian Far East Fleet (RFEF) (6 warships strong, ) that had seized on this crazy idea (per my suggestion) to sail south, around the Korean peninsula so they could land elements of the 55th Guards Red Banner Marine Brigade (the 165th Marine Regiment and the 180th Marine Tank Battalion).Theoretically they were going to be the 'Southern Shielding Force' that would interpose itself between the Khanate and Beijing. It should surprise no one that the RFEF's flotilla was unequal to the task of taking their destination, the port of Qinhuangdao, by amphibious assault. Fortunately for the Gods of War (which did not include me), there were five other navies involved.Meanwhile, South Korea was having kittens because their always crazy northern kin were slathering on the insanity. (In how many Buddhist countries do people flock to the temples and pray that their neighbor attacks someone, anyone else, but them? That wasn't a religious conundrum I wanted to deal with.) N.Korea mobilizing meant S.Korea had to mobilize, which sucked down on their GNP as well.Besides, N.Korean dams and coal-powered plants kept the lights on in Seoul. Erring on the side of caution, the S. Korea (aka Republic of Korea, ROK) Army suggested calling up only one million of their three million person reserve force in order to assure Cousin Kim that this was a purely defensive gesture. It didn't work. Kim Jong-un castigated the ROK for antagonizing him, despite his declaration that he 'might' feel like invading the South in the immediate future.Into the emerging crisis, the ROK Navy could sortie nineteen small surface ships. Japan's Navy wasn't up to its old imperial standards, but could still deploy 45 surface warships. The 800 lb. gorilla in the room was the core of the 7th Fleet stationed at Yokosuka, Japan, the USS carrier George Washington and her 14 escort vessels.If the George Washington was the gorilla, RIMPAC 2014 was King Kong. 22 nations, 50 ships, including the USS carrier Ronald Reagan were engaged in war games in the Central Pacific. With them were 5 vessels of the PLAN, had Kim Jong-un just kept his mouth shut, this wouldn't have been an issue. Hell, if the Khanate had not come into existence and launched its Unification War, but he had and they did,To show the US was taking this escalation seriously (without tipping their hand that they knew about Funhouse, Carrier Strike Group One (CSG 1) (the Carl Vinson +10) was rushing across the Pacific from San Diego. CSG 3 (the John C. Stennis +2) was being assembled hastily so that they could rendezvous with CSG 1 ASAP. So many brave souls running toward the danger, sometimes I hate myself.So now does it make sense that I found myself in a room with a US Senator tasked with riding herd on me?Anyway, there were the other three navies still unaccounted for, Taiwan / the Republic of China (ROC) (22 surface ships), Vietnam (7) and the Philippines (3). Taiwanese involvement was easy to explain, the PRC refused to acknowledge them as an independent country and probably never would.The Vietnam People's Navy was tiny in both numbers and tonnage. Five of the vessels were 1960's Soviet frigates. What Vietnam did have was a huge grudge against the PRC. The PLA invaded Vietnam in 1979 and devastated the northernmost provinces, killing as many as 100,000 civilians.The PLAN had walloped the VPN in 1974 (technically South Vietnam) and again in 1988. Out in the South China Sea were two island archipelagos; the Paracel (occupied by a small PLA garrison and claimed by the PRC, Vietnam and the ROC) and Spratlys Islands (disputed by Brunei, Malaysia, Philippines, the PRC, the ROC, and Vietnam).The Philippines had a grand total of three frigates (all between 50 and 70 years old). 99% of the time, they faced a hopeless struggle enforcing Philippines' South China Sea claims, except they were now experiencing that 1% where the PRC found itself in a life and death struggle. Even then, the PLAN's South Sea Fleet was hands-down the biggest player with 26 surface warships centered on the Carrier Liaoning.Except (and there always seems to be an 'except') virtually all the PLAN's naval aviation had gone off to fight the Khanate and it wasn't coming back, ever. In the air, the Philippines was next to useless. What did they have of offer in the struggle for the South China Sea? Bases. The ROC and Vietnam had much more to bring to the table.The Vietnamese People's Liberation Air Force (VPLAR) had about 50 front-line aircraft and 175 nearly obsolete models ~ the same models the PLAAF was now piloting. The ROC Air Force could put up 325 almost-new fighters that were now superior to their opponents on the mainland. Why would I give a shit?Things cascade. The Khanate Air Force took a two-day long deep breath as Putin's 'Policeman that only looks like an invading army' started their intervention. Forty-eight hours later, the Khanate started the fourth stage (the first lunge, defeat the PLA's counter-attack then the second lunge) of the campaign.Their initial air power was still skating on thin ice where maintenance was concerned. They need more time to thoroughly rest their pilots and bring all their top-flight equipment to 100% working condition. Against them, in two days the PLAAF's assets increased by over 250 fighters.In turn, the Khanate had added their constituent state air forces plus nearly 80 new cutting edge air planes and 25 drones. Phase Four saw rolling airstrikes all along the forces massing in front of the northern and central Tumens. For a few hours, the PLA thought they knew what was going on.They were wrong and this was where my meeting with OT came in. Jab with the right, cut them down with the left. The left in my case was Tibet. Yeah, Tibet. Economic value = not nearly enough. From the very start of the war, a small number of seemingly inconsequential air strikes had seriously eroded the PLA and PLAAFs combat power in the Tibetan Plateau while leaving the roads, bridges and towns intact.Common military logic dictated that the Khanate had to punch their way further east into Qinghai (to the south) and Gansu (to the north) provinces. That was where the population and industry where. Farther east were even greater numbers of people and factories and the Khanate forces in the North hadn't been strong enough to threaten to cut off the Qinghai-Gansu front. Then the Russians showed up and the Khanate forces threatening that flank doubled overnight.The PLA hastily reinforced their northern flank, using troops from their strategic reserves. The move resulted in incredible attrition by airpower to the freshly equipped formations. The PLA was about to get flanked, but not from the north. Southwest of Qinghai was Tibet. A third of the Khanate's mobile forces now swept around in a huge left haymaker to the south.My job? I needed the 'Free Tibet' forces in the US and UK to provide public and moral support to the Khanate move. As Khanate Special Forces seized crucial bottlenecks in Tibet, they needed the locals to keep their 'liberators' informed of PLA presences and undermine any attempt to create a guerilla movement.The five Tumens dedicated to being the Schwerpunkt (point of maximum effort) of this flanking maneuver were going to be on a tight timetable if they were going to surround the PLA forces in Central China.My plan was to convince the Tibetans that the PRC's 55 years of occupation was coming to an end and the Great Khan wanted to sign a 'Treaty of Mutual Respect' (my invention). This would require both the Khanate and Tibet to recognize each other's right to exist the moment a cease-fire was reached. That was it. No 'armed presence', or 'mutual defense' agreements.The treaty would be formally signed in Lhasa, the Tibetan capital, when the city was safe ~ as determined by the Central Tibetan Administration (the Tibetan Government in Exile, CTA). Riki came up with an additional sweetener and proved she was quickly adjusting to our group's extra-governmental capabilities.
Putting lives back together after the battle.By FinalStand. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.Either you embrace Change and are destroyed by it, or you resist Change and are overwhelmed by it. What is your choice? (The Politics of 'Not' Being Dead)The rest of the trip was made in silence. They dropped us off at the edge of Miercurea Ciuc, home base of the 61st Mountain Troops Brigade, of Professor Loma and from whence all this craziness had originated. The meeting was already awkward before I arrived. It only got worse. Where to begin? Well, Russia, the United States, the UK, Romania, Hungary and Ireland were now all interested parties. And I had gained two personal distinctions:1.) Not only was I now heralded (and not really joking anymore) by some sources as Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege, I was thereby re-awakening old nationalistic and territorial fears. Hungary didn't want a Prince, yet they did have an anemic Monarchist party. I might not be a Hapsburg (the last royal house of Hungary), but I could possibly be misconstrued as a long-lost Árpád scion (first King and founder of the Hungarian state), which would be even better.A crisis was looming in my ancestral crucible. It seems I already had a webpage in Budapest and six hundred "friends" within 24 hours. Worse, they had some pictures of me. Besides being 'of regal bearing' in the descriptions, I was sexy-hot and a soldier of fortune, a modern day 'Wild Geese, (Goose?)' who was wanted for questioning in a, or perhaps multiple, murder(s) involving either a duel over a woman's honor or killing a dozen armed gangsters who prayed on young innocents newly arrived to the big city.I wasn't alone. My trusty companion was A.) an ascetic Jedi Mistress (my own, personal Yoda), B.) an ancient witch schooled in the necromantic arts (apparently the reason I couldn't die), or C.) a Cold-War Era SMERSH (too much James Bond) assassin repaying an old debt to the descendent of an anti-communist partisan she'd killed years ago, eerily close to the truth for once. That, plus the TEK investigation, were Hungary's main points of concern involving me.2.) I was now a person involved in significant events for half a dozen nations on the world scene.Let's start with Romania. Okay, foremost, I was responsible for the single deadliest day in modern (post-WWII) Romanian Land Forces history. There was no covering this up. Close to one hundred men and women had died in combat, and then you added the forty-some dead Amazons, many of them apparently tortured, and this was a political and public relations nightmare.No one doubted their troops behaved heroically. That wasn't the problem. The political conundrum was how could they explain Ajax and his fifty seasoned killers penetrating into central Romania with no one being aware of the danger? A few politicians wanted to blame Székely nationalists (by that, they meant the ethnic minority who 'vaguely' wanted Transylvania to rejoin Hungary), except they had me, the Hungarian Prince, leading the charge.Life would have been so much easier for them if I had died. Yes, I could read the minds of those politicians. Screw a girl, then her younger sister, and then his wife, who all say they love me, and you'll recognized the emotional intent a father directs your way. (I'd only done that once, and once was enough.) I was getting that vibe again.Unfortunately for them, I wasn't dead and three big time foreign governments (and Ireland) seemed really curious about me, my performance and my mortality. So dragging me out back for a firing squad wasn't going to happen. Riki Martin of the US State Department was there and she told me a representative of the US Military Mission was on his way up to debrief me. Russia's sexy military attaché was still on site and looking happy for some reason. Flaviu, who had some experience with me, was soon to be gone; replaced by some person who had some serious lettuce before his actual name and didn't know me from didly. Not good.The UK had one of their diplomats coming up as well, just so I didn't get lonely. They weren't driving up with the Irishman, or the American. No one considers their carbon footprint in a crisis, I swear. But wait! It gets better. My Romanian Special Force dudes had brought the rest of their company (around a hundred new buddies) with them, they seriously didn't want me to get homesick and wander off (because, you know, I liked living and freedom).The Romanian army shouldn't have worried. It seemed that there were some US Army Rangers with NATO in Kosovo, Albania, or Bosnia and Uncle Sam was expressing a desire for them to 'stop by'. Maybe they could share their C-130 with the British paratroopers who were equally concerned about my well-being. I just hoped everyone was going to play nice when the Spetsnaz arrived. Putin was suddenly (and surprisingly to me, anyway) my new pal. I had a feeling I'd soon be discovering my secret Russian heritage if I wasn't careful. I was thinking maybe I could squeeze an Order of Lenin, or a Hero of the Soviet Union out of him. I heard they both looked nice, were obsolete and came without an actual pension.If Katrina wouldn't let me write off this calamity as PTO, I was going to be irate. I was on the verge of having a large family to support after all, unless you considered me marrying a billionaire's heiress to be compensation enough. The only group involved who weren't trying to actually see me was the Khanate.Temujin most likely had some shamanistic mojo that would let him know if I croaked. That bit smacked of paganism, so it was kept under wraps because he had to appear dutifully Islamic for the masses. Still, some koumiss would have been nice. Heck, right then I could have gone for an 'atta boy', perhaps even a 'two thumbs up'.Oh yeah; the general of the 4th Romanian Division wanted me to stop by when I had the chance (if I didn't, he'd send men to kill me, or so it was insinuated). The 61st Mountain Troops was part of his division's combat command and if the General Staff went looking for someone to crucify, he was making damn sure it wasn't going to be him.It occurred to me that I could send a handsome-looking Spetsnaz (if there was such a thing) to go in my place. They were brother Slavs, right? I was sure that between the 'Fall of the Berlin Wall', Moldavian Independence and Romania joining NATO, they would have much to discuss. Out of the blue, Pamela smacked me on the back of my head, Jethro Gibbs' style. My 'more-evil Russian doppelganger' idea must have been poorly thought out.Before I could implement that silliness, or trigger the big brouhaha, there was a preamble: I had three compatriots. Of greater importance, I had three heavily armed/gravely-serious bodyguards who wouldn't surrender their weapons and/or abandon me. So I thought "play nice" thoughts to myself.Diplomacy, sovereignty and legality all reared their ugly heads. I wasn't really an Irish diplomat. My paperwork was still valid, but the Romanian government hadn't permitted my entry into their country under the standard diplomatic protocols. Ireland wanted to talk to me about that, why was I running around armed and killing people in two Central European countries? I was acting more like an Irish adventurer from the 17th century, than a genteel civil servant from the 21st.Then there was the niggling little complication that involved me, my friends and our criminal possession of military-grade hardware. Chaz had the dubious excuse of being an official British government agent on assignment. That meant he could hope for a prisoner exchange within the next decade. Rachel and Pamela were private citizens with painfully sketchy proofs of US citizenship.When the Romanian legal system finished buggering them, it would be off to Hungry and its serious inquiry into all the dead bodies we'd left in our wake. Who was I kidding? What I was really worrying about was how many members of the Romanian penal system would die when they escaped. Their flimsy identities gave no clue to how dangerous they actually were. Hell, they'd beat me home.I had the added difficulty of Ireland and their questions about who the fuck I was and why I had their gold filigree on something I didn't deserve sitting snugly in my back pocket.So first off, this new band of 'Eagles' wanted to disarm and separate us."Don't insult me," I scoffed. "I am your Prince. Don't make me explain it to your widow.""I'm not married," the Lieutenant snarled back, daring me."Well, rush out and marry somebody. I haven't got all day. We don't want me to be caught in an idle boast now do we?" I grinned. Verbal sparring apparently wasn't in his repertoire."What?""Shut the fuck up, Carl," Chaz blithely inserted himself into the conversation."But you don't even speak Romanian," I countered. "How do you even know what I said?" The Romanians didn't know English, but they knew Carl. The tension between us ebbed."By the expression on the officer's face, Hercege," he winked. "It's universal to the brotherhood.""Who is he with?" The officer questioned me."You and he are the same," I answered."You cannot go any farther armed," he returned to his mission parameters."I don't envy you going in and telling the Colonel to come out here, but so be it," I held my ground."We could kill you and take them off your corpses," he studied my reaction."You are the second handsome man to tell me that today," I shook my head. "I'll tell you what I told him: 'you sure are cute, just not my type'." Pause then laughter."You are a madman," the lieutenant snorted. "I'll go talk to the Colonel."I was a jerk, loved maidens and was a master of bullshit. Did that make me a modern day Minotaur? The lieutenant came back out, then ushered me inside; Riki had to wait for the moment. He motioned my team come along. In the staff room of the 61st were a handful of officers and several suits."Mr. Nyilas," the Colonel gazed upon me. "I don't know what to make of you.""You and my Mother both," I mumbled. Despite the somber atmosphere, a few of the men and women let their moods lighten. They didn't hold my levity against me. I'd been there, on the battlefield and if humor was how I dealt with the experience, so be it."Ha," the greying man mused. "It is wholly my fault that I disregard most of the information you supplied my staff. You were unerringly accurate in your assessment of our enemy's capabilities. I know my men and I know how good they are. Veteran commanders can barely describe what my troops endured. You warned us and I didn't believe you. I was wrong and my men died because of it," he sighed."Sir, I do not believe you could have done anything else and succeeded," I interrupted."Succeeded? Is this what you consider success?" he hardened."Absolutely, Sir. Had you been slower to respond, those men would have most likely come here, to Miercurea Ciuc, and you would have fought the same battle, except your civilians would have been caught in the mix," I lied.If Ajax had escaped he'd have hunted me down. The location would have been irrelevant to him. How he knew where to be was a question for later and something to be presented to smarter, more experienced minds."Perhaps," he allowed. "They were heading north when we encountered them.The Alal in me was going back over the plan. It had been sound."Sir, you had every reason to doubt my military experience and to believe I exaggerated the threat. I was right and I take no joy in that, nor do I think anyone can hold your decisions against you," I stated.Now he gave a bitter laugh. Yes, they could hold all the deaths against him."We both know your men and women didn't die for their country, they killed for it. Quite frankly, I believe they killed some of the most vicious creatures to ever walk the face of the Earth. Fuck them for taking so many of us. Pile their bodies up and burn them," I suggested."They deserve no more Romanian soil than a spot to inter their ashes," I concluded."You do not sound like any diplomat I've ever met," the Colonel regained his gruff exterior."I'm not. I'm a fraud. I know as much about Ireland as I do about being a prince," I confessed. "That said, I didn't come here to kill anyone. I came to save lives.""How has that worked out for you?" a sitting woman in a suit questioned, in Romanian. She was slender, waspish and didn't sound comfortable speaking English, though she knew enough to get by."I am not a fortune-teller. I don't know how this is going to work out," I said."That's not what I asked," she prodded."Yes it was," I corrected her. "You wanted to know if I thought the price of your dead countrymen was worth the life of me, my friends and the lives of your countrymen I came to save. I can't measure the promise of those lives against the loss of all the dead. Don't play games with me. I'm have a degree in Philosophy and I eat morally ambiguous people like you for lunch."Pamela laughed aloud and lively."Kimberly and Katrina would be so proud of you right now," she chortled."I don't think you grasp the deep pit your find yourself in, Friend" the suit stayed chillingly calm."Oh, I think we all know we both screwed the pooch big time," I smirked. "The difference is me and mine are all happy to be alive after two of the most trying, fun-filled days of our lives. You want to throw us in prison. The Hungarians want to throw us in prison. I'm sure if I get back to the States, they will want to put us in prison too. Have I missed anyone?""I'm glad you will confess. It will make it easier on us," she grinned like sexy weasel."Wait," Rachel put a restraining arm on me. "I've wanted to say this for some time." To the weasel, "Blow it out your ass, dipshit.""Rachel, you don't know what she said," Pamela faux-gasped."I don't know the words, but I know what he meant," Rachel glowered. She missed Charlotte so much, she was willing to court pain and death. "I want to go back in time and slap her mother repeatedly for not strangling her in the crib. Is that succinct enough?""I apologize for ever meeting you, Rachel. I've brought you to a bad end," I gave her a tender look."It's okay. I never thought I'd live long enough to sleep with you anyway," she smiled back.Phifft, sigh. It was so sad that I recognized the sound of a low-caliber, silenced round."Listen up, dipshit," Pamela snickered. "Good one, Rachel. If you don't believe the next one is going through your skull, you clearly haven't been listening to us. You are fucking with the wrong monkeys. You have this bizarre idea that if I kill you, your government won't replace your worthless, bullet-riddled hide with someone we find more agreeable. My grandson sent in motion a half million combatants a few hours ago, he nearly died leading your soldiers against your nation's enemies and you want him to kiss your shoes as if you matter at all in the grand scheme of things?" she snarled. "Think again."No one was moving because Pamela had her silenced 22 Beretta out and pointed at Weasel's head. The SF's were caught flat-footed, as was everyone else. No guards came rushing in because the closed doors further muffled the sound. "I think this is a good time for us to get a drink," Chaz advised as he slowly reached out and lowered Pamela's gun hand.It was Pamela's gunboat diplomacy yet again. She hadn't meant to kill the women. Hell, she'd been a random target of opportunity. What Pamela had done was clear up the doubts in the room. Everyone on the staff could self-consciously let themselves off the hook for not being in the front lines, risking themselves with their comrades. Thanks to Pamela, they too had confronted violence.'Crazy' Grandma had fired off her piece and everyone sighed with relief when Chaz got her to lower it. I was pretty sure Chaz was in on this dangerous game. It resided with the Colonel as to how to resolve this hiccup in our dispute."Mr. Nyilas, why don't we take a walk outside, just the two of us?" he 'requested'.I nodded because I'm not always as dumb as I look. He was letting my people off with incredible temperance and I could honorably send them away. They'd scoped out the scene and believed I'd be safe enough. He, in turn, had an excuse to take a step away from his political watchdogs."I think that is for the best," I nodded. "Do you want me to leave my guns behind?""No, Mr. Nyilas, we might run into trouble out there and one of my Captains has suggested you are a man who can take care of himself," he replied. That was very nice of him indeed. If I did do something stupid, he had a ton of troops about who would make my regrets rather temporary. I decided to behave as if I had a passing acquaintance with sanity.His first questions were about the fighting at the ruins. I peppered our exchange with my interest in what had happened to the advance force of the 22nd. It was bleak news, yet the Colonel felt a sense of relief. He was coming to accept the lethality of his enemies, which in turn, led to an understanding, if not acceptance, of the carnage his men had been subjected to.He was in a cycle of context, grief, context. He'd gambled on me and men died. Once the battle was joined though, his soldiers had done precisely the right thing under considerable stress. He could be proud without dishonoring the dead. Only Pamela and I had engaged Ajax earlier. Only I had talked with the man.The Colonel had to look into my eyes to get the spark that led to understanding the mind and ruthlessness of his opponent. The name 'Ajax' never came up. That was more than a rational mind could accept at the moment. He knew his men had fought and killed the best and that helped him cope a tiny bit. Our interview ended when the first of the unwanted guests arrived.Only when I walked inside did it occur to me that this had been my first soldier to soldier chat. We had respected one another and discussed matters like men who knew the score. That was depressing in its own right. It was well passed nightfall when we went back inside. In our absence, Riki had started to redeem my existence. My salvation lay in Romantic Americana Symbolism.Translation: I was a Horatio Alger, a working class kid raised by a widower father, who earned a scholarship to a quiet New England college, graduated near the top of my class and gotten an excellent job (salary and benefits not disclosed). That was the was the first part of the Americana, proof positive that America was still the land of opportunity and a place where poor children could still reach the highest levels of society (umm, okay?).The second Americana Part: my Father had been murdered in a case of mistaken identity. Those heavily-armed foreign corporate/rogue governmental-sponsored terrorist mercenaries (their exact origin was shrouded in double-dealing misinformation) had ruthlessly murdered my Pa to cover up their error. Like any true Son of the American Dream, I had sworn vengeance.The Symbolic Part: My compassionate, understanding government (the good governmental servants of Republican Democracy, not the bad, hires the covert, secret, black-bag, unaccountable private contractors/ pawns of the Wall Street Elite bureaucrats) allowed me to participate in a multi-national taskforce. These selfless guardians of the freedom had formed a coalition which had hunted down the villains.With the priceless assistance of two Central European countries, who currently had to remain nameless (cough: Hungary and Romania), we'd achieved a final, violent confrontation in which my allies and I had emerged bloody, scarred, yet victorious. Once more, free men and women had answered the call of duty and some had made the ultimate sacrifice.See, I had a good government that cared enough about me to let me become a gun-toting menace to the civilized world. Like a Hollywood Western hero of the 1950's, 60's and 70's, I had taken personal revenge against the forces of wickedness, exit the railroad tycoons and cattle barons, enter the shadowy world of private security forces and uncontrolled corporate capitalism.
A day in the life of rural Hungary.By FinalStand. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.'Here be Dragons' wasn't always a tourist gimmick."I didn't say you could have a drink," the Vizsla commented."Oh, my apologies," I shrugged. I put the stein on a nearby table and waited."Have a seat," she directed. I came up to her table and examined the three empty chairs. I held back until she pointed to the chair opposite her. I sat down, but didn't make eye contact. Instead, I examined the various paintings and photographs on the walls. It was an old place."You killed Matthias, even though you knew he worked for me," she uttered."I can confirm that information to be correct," I looked her way. That, wasn't what she expected."Why?""Why what?" I countered. There was a method to my madness; this was going to be a lesson in competence, and what happens when you don't respect it."Why did you kill Matthias?""I needed a reason?" I tried to look pensive. "Maybe I didn't like the cut of his facial hair?""Do you think this is a joke?" she replied dryly. "The Black Hand always avenge our own.""Damn," I looked perplexed. "No one told me that when I arrived. Can we call Matthias's extermination a 50/50 bad call, both ways?""Matthias was my cousin," the Vizsla continued."My condolences," I sighed. "The next Black Hand douche-bag the Amazons waste, I'll have them ask if he's related to you first. How's that?""You are so not likely to have that opportunity," she pointed out."Oh," I laughed, "you are so wrong about that.""You are far stupider than I had been informed," the Vizsla's eyes narrowed."Nope. You and your cast of 'Dumb and Dumber' have been treating us like idiots since we touched down at Ferenc Liszt International, so I'm pretending to be that simpleton sock-puppet just for you, Vizsla. You've added to that by heaping disrespect and derision on my people," I grinned."You tried to have me and my entourage murdered and Matthias paid the price for that. Everyone knows I'm here. And after your bungled attempt to have me killed, no one is going to believe you did anything but murder me, if I don't show up eventually. Now do you prefer the stupid me, or the brighter than normal me?""If you think acting like a smart-ass is somehow endearing, you are mistaken," she let me know."Whatever," I shrugged. "You called this meeting. What do you want?""Beyond killing one of my lieutenants, I wanted to know what you are doing here?" she studied me."I would like to leave now. I'm wasting my time here," I responded."I want answers," she pressed."You have been given the answers to both your talking points, Matthias died because of your orders and I am here looking for three lost Amazon bloodlines," I replied."That seems bizarre," the Vizsla expressed her doubts."Bizarre? You are talking to the sole male Amazon House Head in three thousand years," I reminded her. "Besides, you only just now finished telling me how the Black Hand look after their own. The Amazons are the same way; we have lost kin who need to be made aware of their background.""What do we do about Matthias?" the Vizsla asked."In all honesty, had he not personally threatened to stab a member of my team, I would have settled for kicking the crap out of him. He put a knife to Ms. Martin's throat. That assured his death sentence. I think the Host will be willing to accept my hypothesis that Matthias was acting on his own initiative, which should settle the matter."And just like that, the expediency of the Black Hand shown forth. The truth of the matter was that he had acted on the Vizsla's orders. Unfortunately, that would have meant my side would have come after the Vizsla and she would have had to avenge his death, lots of needless bloodshed. So Matthias posthumously became a rabid dog gone rogue and one who ended up crossing the wrong people. No vengeance required by anyone. We could get back to business."That is settled. So, what do you want from your new allies?" the Vizsla inquired. A certain level of cold-blooded ruthlessness had been required to achieve her spot in the Black Hand. Likewise, honesty was the best policy when dealing with casually lethal people. They didn't like self-important asses wasting their time."I need to find an individual named 'Branko'. He has kidnapped a young lady who is one of our lost Amazons. We don't require any aid, but if you could leave Selena with us, it would be appreciated," I requested."What are you going to do when you catch up with this 'Branko'?" she questioned."I'd like to say I am going to buy her back, but I think we both know that is a pipe-dream. He's not going to like me interfering in his business, so I'm going to kill him, and any other bastards who are in close proximity," I confessed. She studied me for over a minute."Do you wish a piece of advice?" the Vizsla said."Of course," I nodded. It cost me nothing to acknowledge her vastly superior experience."Take a step back," she advised. Seeing that I didn't understand, "If you recall every single death by your hand, you will go mad. You don't possess the detachment of a true killer, Cáel. Not every member of the Black Hand is an assassin.Your driver, Josef, is from a long line of Black Hand members. He doesn't have what it takes to get close and personal in order to kill a human being, so he drives and provides security. He still matters and serves a necessary function." That was almost nice of her. The advice was based on her decision to keep me around as a useful tool. Going nuts would derail that."There is the life we wish to lead, and the life we must lead, Vizsla," I recalled. There was so much there, whirling around in my skull, it took me all this time to find the link I was looking for. Recall every single death by my hand, "On January 26th, 1847, the Black Hand Chapter House of the Wolf in Verona was wiped out, there were no survivors.""If you say so," she regarded me oddly."Yeah, look into it. Then come back to me when you have the right questions," I stood up. "And 'Branko'?""I will relay information on this individual to Selena. We should have something by the time you get back to Buda," she got out before one of the bodyguards came running our way.He had his H and K MP5 out and was in deep conversation with his ear piece."Our two spotters failed to respond correctly," he told the Vizsla in Hungarian. She gave me another quick once over."My people?" I rose slowly.The Vizsla gave the man a subtle hand gesture. Seconds later, pushing Alkonyka ahead of them, Pamela, Selena and Josef came running through the door. Pamela and Selena had our duffels. Two more Black Hand materialized from a back room.The Black Hand was actually a small outfit. Each Chapter had two or three houses, each with four or five true assassins and maybe six times that in support personnel/recruits in each location. That meant the entire Black Hand organization numbered less than 1000. They had several thousand peripheral contacts across their sphere of Europe and they could purchase some sort of private security given time. But their best protection was their hidden nature and small size. That also meant what we had was what we had. There was no Black Hand SWAT team on the way.Working with hand gestures alone, the Vizsla was directing us to a trap door behind the bar. Josef's phone rang. He hesitantly answered."It is for you," he offered it to our host. She took it. Halfway through the caller's diatribe, she shot me a suspicious look."Why don't you ask him?" she stated, then handed me the phone."Hello Nyilas. Do you know who this is?" the man on the other end stated, in Mycenean Greek."Yes, I do. What do you want? I'm kind of busy here?" I grinned. It was laughing at death all over again."I can relieve you of your pressing schedule. You and the other Amazon step outside and I'll make it quick.""No can-do Studly," I smirked. "If I go out there, it is going to take a while.""I sincerely doubt that.""Don't sell yourself short," I jibed. "I figure clipping off those bull-sized testicles of yours is going to take some work. But I do promise that after I make you a eunuch, I'll use a condom when I bend you over and make you my bitch too. Was there anything else you wanted to know?""No. I think we have a mutual understanding," he laughed. "I'll be seeing you soon." He hung up."Who was that?" Vizsla inquired. She wasn't alone in her curiosity."Ajax," I beamed confidence. I was confident my tenure on this Earth was ending real soon."I think we should be leaving," Vizsla suggested."Selena, help Alkonyka get her sister back," I requested. "I'll catch up when I can. Pamela, you do what you feel you need to do. Vizsla, they are after me, so I'm going to keep them busy while you get away," I explained.No useless 'you don't have to do this' nonsense. She knew the score, I wasn't a member of her outfit and she wanted to live. She did do me one favor. She gave another hand movement. Selena slit Josef's throat in a surprise motion.He didn't die right away. Selena's slash made bleeding out inevitable, but he'd be a while in dying. Odds were, that only Vizsla and Josef knew in advance where we were meeting. Whatever payoff the Condottieri had put in his bank account wasn't going to do him any good. Selena bent over his still-thrashing body and removed his pistol."I will bring you Angyalka Lovasz," Selena pledged. Pamela and I were gearing up. Ajax and his buddies were going to be coming for me any second now. Alkonyka gave me one more worried look before she vanished into the secret basement. "Don't be late," was the last thing Selena said before going down into the darkness. Pamela made sure the trap door was covered up.Lust and Bullets"We've used Butch and Sundance," Pamela checked her L42 Enfield Sniper Rifle. It was the weapon Pamela had trained with and used for longer than I'd been alive, old yet very effective even today."Heat?" I offered up. "You can be De Niro and I can be Kilmer.""Nice. Michael Mann really had a way of killing people," Pamela grinned, then pumped her eyebrows. "Too bad I end up dead in this one.""We'll avoid airports, you should be safe," I joked. Three explosions rocked the building, shooting glass throughout the place. Fortunately, Pamela and I were hiding behind the bar."Let's go," she whispered over the din. Charging out the front door seemed pretty suicidal to me, but Pamela's copious battle lore was something I had the utmost faith in. I respected her judgment and followed along. There was a method to her madness. Two 40 mm grenades had taken out the two cars parked in front. A third launched grenade had blown open the door.The petrol in the cars equated to flaming wreckage and a huge smoke screen. It was broad daylight, no night vision goggles. The flames made IR useless and the smoke temporarily obscured regular vision. The machineguns going off around us scared the crap out of me. It was my old buddy, suppression fire: they weren't shooting directly at us.Metaphysically, Ishara was dueling with Ares. There was a low stone wall, a little over a meter high, that separated an adjacent field from the inn's gravel parking lot. Right as we got to our side of it, three of Ajax's boys came up on the other. Pamela and I remained perfectly still, crouching tightly against our shelter.Two knelt and fired several bursts from their H and K HK416 (Wow! Germany's newest killing machine, they looked slick) into the closest open windows while the third one fired a grenade in. Again, we remained perfectly still. We were about two meters from those three. The drab color of our hastily donned dusters, the congested air and our stillness combined to save us from their notice.The second after that grenade went off, the three vaulted the wall and rushed the building. From the cacophony of the battle, they were storming the building from several directions at once."Quick, go find that guy with the machinegun," Pamela whispered over a feral grin. How was I going to do that?The old fashioned way, I leapt over the wall and ran away from all the flames, explosions and the continuous widespread fusillade of assault weapons fire. I was partially bent over as I ran. I'm still a big guy though. The machine gunner was in a shallow dip in the meadow 30 meters away, on the edge of the woods.He saw me, shifted his MG4 (fuck Ajax and his crew for having the best Bang-Bangs) minutely and unleashed hell my way. In hindsight, the 1st round flattened against my duster as it impacted my upper left thigh. Round #2 hit the duster again, coming below my vest, but hitting my belt (every bit of leather helps).The #3 556 mm slug hit my vest due south of my belly button (Fuck!), # 4 landed a few centimeters up and to the right, taking in both the duster and my ballistic vest. The #5 round clipped my lower side of my right ribcage. The resulting force sent me spinning back and to my right.Honestly, as I landed hard on my back (no rolling with the blow this time), I thought a midget mule team had kicked me in the guts. Apparently, I made a convincing mortally wounded human being. He stopped shooting and Pamela got pissed.I learned a few things at that moment: you do not get used to being shot; you can never appreciate the value of good body amour enough; you can never understand the true value of a sniper until your life is totally in their hands; and damn, Pamela was exceptional. Pamela put a bullet through his nasal cavity in that split second between him exposing himself with his muzzle flashes and deciding to put a few more bullets into my prone form.Pain dictated that I lie where I was. Survival instincts overrode that. I went to my side, pushed up and resumed my crouched stance. Then I was running once more until I could throw myself beside his corpse. I was stunningly calm. Machineguns, snipers, I had to cover Pamela's run across the meadow. I didn't stay by the dead gunner.I grabbed his weapon, some spare ammo and quick-stepped it to the wood line. I rapidly assessed the best spot that could provide cover from each flank. That was where I went down, cradled the device and started shooting at any muzzle flash I could see. The moment I opened fire, Pamela began her own sprint.Unlike my mad dash, Pamela took evasive maneuvers, serpentine, which worked out well when one sniper figured out she wasn't one of them. He/she had two shots at her before she dove past me. Her mien was one of intense, emptiness? She gave me a quick pat-down to make sure I wasn't gushing blood, took a deep breath and then smirked."Come on, Dummy!" she laughed. "We still have a shot at a sequel.""Shot, sequel, you are a laugh riot," I wheezed as I stood, abandoned the MG4 and joined her as we both ran deeper into the woods. A few shots zinged past us before Ajax's crew realized we were in full-on flight mode. They weren't going to waste the bullets.This was the point where archaic and modern warfare diverged. In the olden (pre-Pamela, ow! How did she know what I was thinking?) days, when your enemy broke and ran, it was relatively easy to run them down and slaughter them in their panic. If a few men tried to stem the tide, they would be quickly overwhelmed.After the invention of rapid-fire rifles, that changed. Suddenly, headlong pursuit could be incredibly costly. All it took was a small, resolute band to find some sort of hard cover and they could buy minutes, or even hours, for their retreating brethren. Sure, if you were willing to pay the butcher's bill, you could storm their position.But you had to understand, each defender could fire and work the bolt action in under three seconds. You reloaded your magazine with a prepared clip ~ maybe five more seconds. Ten men could put 150 bullets down range per minute as long as their ammo held out. Sending men into that kind of firepower was murder; very few troops could sustain their attack under those conditions.Ajax's resurrected Mycenaean's were tough enough to do it. Ajax's problem was their finite number. Despite catching Ajax off-guard with Pamela's mad plan, her ungodly skills and a great deal of my pain, we had only managed to kill one so far. The great unknowns were terrain (we didn't know where we were,) and my luck.As Pamela and I ran through the forest at a good clip, we began to make out a specific background noise. It was a river. Not a creek, stream, waterfall, or dam, a river."Did you pack your jet ski?" Pamela snorted."I left it in the car. You said it was so '1990's'," I panted back. A few more footsteps and,
Asian Wars BrewingBy FinalStand. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.[World News]It was the happenstance of another conflict that encouraged Turkish solidarity and Khanate action, the Crimea. Russia had opened a serious door to the Abyss by annexing the Crimea from the Ukraine by force. Technically, Russia had violated Ukrainian sovereignty by seizing that region.The Russians (with tacit support from China) put forth the political notion of 'lost territory'. Thus Vladimir Putin had unwittingly 'green lighted' the greatest consumption of 'lost territory' in the history of mankind. Following Putin's reasoning, all Temujin was doing was reuniting the widely separated pieces of the Great Khanate. His invasion of Xinjiang and Nei Mongol were also part of that policy.The 'Carolina Reaper' spice in this chili was a group called the Crimean Tartars. It didn't get too much press in the West, but in the spring of 2014, the Crimean Tartars, a Turkish ethnic minority, attempted to do to Russia and the new Republic of Crimea what those two had done to the Ukraine. They declared their own autonomous state within the Crimea.Russian security forces quickly squashed that movement, and in doing so, managed to incite the Turkish Republics and the minority Turkish populations living inside the Russian Federation. It was a low grade irritant to the Turkish people that would, in time, have dwindled into being yet another indignity, much like the Uyghur struggles for independence. By the dictates of Fate alone, it was the right irritant at the magic time for the Khanate.The Turkish people were being reacquainted with the clarion call of Pan-Turkish Nationalism. It was an idea that was over 100 years old and rather discredited in most circles, treated as an anthropological discipline, but not as a political ambition. But there were now three igniters for the Khanate Phoenix.The dismissive treatment of the Crimean Tartars was the smallest spark, yet also the most crucial in that it reminded your average Turk that for 100 years, they had been the victims of secular, oppressive regimes, the Soviets (Russian) and the Communist Chinese. That oppression was still living its fifteen minutes of fame.The second factor was the boogeyman of the West that had been burning bright-hot over the past twenty years, the Islamic Identity movement. It wasn't just fanatics running around the Syrian Desert, or the Afghan/Pakistan border. It was a strong undercurrent in the Muslim world that recalled the halcyon days of the Caliphate.The original Mongol Khanate hadn't championed any religious doctrine. It had been the Mongol-Turkish successor states that had turned Islam into a weapon to strike down their enemies. That was the history that Temujin and the Earth and Sky were embracing. This was both a jihad and a struggle to reassert their ethnic identity.The Russian Federation had arrogantly discarded Turkish appeals. Turkish nationalists were incensed, but they were never big fans of Russia anyway. It was the commuters on their way to work who found this utter dismissal to be insulting. It was the Imams who spoke out against still more sectarian oppression. It was the journalists who wrote a few scathing articles about the new Russian imperialism.When that tiny core of Earth and Sky seized power in those four countries, their power was more ephemeral than substantive. The important factors working against them were that they had relatively little power in those countries and no organized political support. (They had been a secret society, after all.) What they did have going for them was an antsy, dissatisfied public and an on-edge military.Remember, the Chinese had launched a series of apparently unwarranted attacks into their nations only forty-eight hours ago and had given these countries some trumped up claims of combating terrorism. The militaries of Kazakhstan and Mongolia discovered that they were at war before sunrise. Not knowing the score, unengaged PLA border units began clashing with their Mongolian and Turkish counterparts.In War as in Love, the same rules held true. The quality of your 'game' was secondary to who approached the girl first. If the girl was on the prowl, you were the answer to her desires. Unless the second guy to show up was remarkably superior, she'd stick with the one who recognized her qualities first.Girls are not nearly as shallow and superficial as guys would like to believe. Unless she's looking for a three-way, she'll take the guy she feels is the least likely to stick with her for the night, rather than become a date-jumper herself. (If she is a party girl, all bets are off.) For the militaries of Kazakhstan and Mongolia, they were about to be that 'second guy' to get to Lady Victory if they didn't get moving.If they hesitated much longer, they knew they'd get clobbered. The unknown person talking to them from the Ministry of Defense was saying that their countries were at war. Shots were being fired. If those generals and colonels had believed there was still time for rational discourse, they would have realized they were engaging in madness.But every second that passed increased the likelihood of planes being caught in their bunkers, runways being cratered, their troops being caught in their barracks and their reserves left unarmed in their homes. The Khanate was broadcasting that a State of War existed. The legitimate governmental infrastructure hadn't adjusted yet, so those militaries went into 'pre-emptive' strike mode.[End World News]So the UN was meeting in Special Session, trying to figure out what had gone wrong in Central Asia. The UN representatives of Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan didn't know what was going and as seasoned diplomats, they kept their mouths shut. Only four people in the UN knew the real score.One was my old friend, Oyuun Tömörbaatar, Kazakhstan's Permanent UN Representative. He was fresh off the jet back to New York and most likely, the Khanate's silent ambassador. The other three didn't include the US. No, two of them were Sir Grant, Her Majesty's Representative, and David Donoghue, Ireland's Representative and member of the Illuminati, the O'Shea faction.There also was yet another 'slight problem'. The former Mongolian Representative seemed to have vanished and his Youth Panel Advisor was handing over his own bona fides, which no one at the UN could confirm because the Mongolian Capital, Ulan Bator, was in the midst of a regime change. Until then, Tuguldor Batjargal could speak and talk, but not vote.That news wasn't all that relevant to the Amazons. To the US and the Brits, it was critical. The US Cabinet was still assembling and had no specific orders for their UN Ambassador yet, so it fell to the United Kingdom to make the first move. From the minimal expressions Delilah and Chaz were slipping our way, the Amazons were getting 'Brownie Points' with at least one world government.I had little doubt I was gaining status in Temujin's eyes too. I had delivered diplomatic contact in less than eleven hours, even if it was the British, and not the Americans, putting forth the first feelers. I was soul-sick looking over at Katrina and Elsa. They respected my pain by not congratulating me on a successful diplomatic stratagem.St. Marie had already honored my initiatives by agreeing to send help to the ninja. I doubted such a mission was in the Amazon War Plans Manual. In their past, Amazons always fought alone. Even allies were little more than different factions fighting the same enemy. In the past two weeks that had changed.By my interpretation of events, the Augurs had bound us to the Earth and Sky. By conception, I was tied to the Illuminati. I had manipulated my birthright via Vranus to intertwine the blood of House Ishara with that of the 9 Clans. Was I making a difference, not only within my Amazons, but to the World at large?Maybe I was. I would have been happier if I wasn't being such a spaz, stumbling from one encounter to the next, hoping I was doing the right thing. I would have settled for doing the least harm. To survive this, I had to get back to my roots, ambitious playboy. I was going to let people down because of my sexual ambitions. Okay.If I suddenly began to embrace traditional Western morality it was going to break me. I had to prioritize. I was giving women, trapped in the ghostly place between the outside World's secularism and Amazon spiritualism, immortality. I had two unborn daughters and one unborn son who might actually want me around as they grew up."Cáel?" Helena beckoned me. I hadn't heard her come in. I had no idea she was here, which implied another disaster had befallen people in life I cared about. She foisted a box on me. It was wooden, about 30cm x 30cm x 10cm. It had a simple latch that I flipped so that I could look inside. Inside was,"We, the Isharans, decided that if you are going to make a pledge to this outsider woman, then you should give her something of us," she explained. "We were unaware of you making other arrangements, so three of us examined a few of the artifacts Krasimira had transferred to Havenstone and decided on this."I put the box down on the side table. The necklace inside was beautiful, fragile and ancient-looking."It was the gift of a Parthian princess to an Isharan Emissary from, we think it is from the 2nd century," Helena explained. She meant 2nd century CE.The artifacts transferred must have been from the repository of the Amazons, location unknown, that had been held in the Isharan vaults. My House had anticipated my mind-splitting day and selected an engagement gift for Hana Sulkanen."The small selection of rings was unpromising, so, we figure she knows you are unconventional," Helena shrugged.I began crying. I hugged her, then motioned Buffy over to share in the 'family' moment."You are getting married?" CIA Officer Cresky ruined the mood."Yes. I proposed marriage to Hana Sulkanen and she has accepted, but circumstances interrupted my search for the ring," I interlaced deceptions with the truth.I did not mention the timing of the arrangement in order to buy Hana some time to prepare for the CIA rectal probes coming her family's way. I had forgotten the company I ran with."Officer Cresky, if I may?" Chaz spoke in a smooth, yet lethal intonation. "I suggest you circle-file that bit of data." Cresky looked his way, still so sure he knew better than the rest of the room."Very well," Chaz nodded to Cresky. "Before you trip over your own arrogance, think about what we are doing here? Highly equipped mercenaries operating without concern for legal prosecution, bio-terrorism on a scale to rival the European colonization of the Americas, and a military conflict on your soil involving perhaps seven hundred well-armed, experienced light infantry and Special Forces, does any of that ring a bell?""Thank you for that summary, Mr. Whoever-You-Are," Cresky smirked. That lasted about two seconds before FBI Agent Vincent stepped over and landed a painful Gibb-slap (that is from NCIS) to the back of Cresky's head. "What the fuck!" Cresky spat as he stood up, spun around and began to draw down on Vincent.Whoa, we are a fast crowd. Cresky's sixth sense kicked in just in time to realize every Amazon, two of the three Brits, two of the Illuminati and Virginia all held guns pointed at him. Vincent hadn't even bothered to defend himself."Everyone put their guns away," I stated calmly."Let me shoot him," I added with a vicious gleam in my eye. "I've got diplomatic immunity.""Good point," Delilah responded gleefully. "Chaz, go get some of those curtains. We'll used them as a drop cloth. I'll call housekeeping.""I like this plan," Buffy jumped in. "I think we can stuff his body in the refrigerator.""I'll make sure to leave a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door when we leave," Helena finished up our murderous conspiracy. They weren't done with Cresky. Color Sergeant Chaz Tomorrow strode purposefully to the closest drapes and yanked them down with no effort."I'm afraid I can't let you do this," Vincent extended a palm to Chaz.I couldn't begin to describe how stupid that was, had Chaz not been a consummate professional. He dropped the curtains, moved past Vincent and returned to his station by the MI-6 leader who was continuing an unbroken telephone conversation. No sooner had we re-holstered our firearms,"Sulkanen eh?" Senior Field Officer George Cresky looked back at me.The entire time Deidre, Riki, Javiera, Katrina and Captain Moe were on their phones, giving and receiving information from their various organizations. That explained the lack of refereeing from the people with authority, unless you counted on me to be in charge. No one was. The ATF guy had open his laptop and was streaming some data with Elsa looking over his shoulder.The ICE agent was playing phone tag with his brethren in Arizona. They were trying to figure out who all those dead Chinese guys were and how they had gotten into the country, with all their freaking armory. With old Jonas still waiting for his bail hearing, the ICE guy was also juggling the Homeland Security inquiries that Javiera couldn't deal with at the moment."George," I shrugged. "I'm not going to threaten you. It is pointless. You think you are the smartest man in the room. I think you are the fifth smartest and that's only because I've recently experienced a lobotomy that gifted me with five thousand years of life experiences. My money is on Katrina being smarter than Javiera, but I don't really know her yet.""Who do you think is fourth?" George scoffed."Riki, of course, moron. I only rate her below Javiera and Katrina because she even remotely believes I might be Irish," I chuckled."No, I don't," Riki corrected me in a brief interlude in her phone conversation."What about me?" Delilah mused."If you were smarter than me, you would be halfway to Heathrow by now," I pointed out."Damn it!" Delilah snapped her fingers, conceding me this round."Agent Loire, I see you aren't arguing with him," Virginia prodded her colleague."I learned some time ago that I don't need to possess the highest IQ to get the job done. Smart people screw up just as often as dumb ones," Vincent related. "I'm a big believer in common sense and the remarkable ability for most people to ignore it.""Thank you for that wisdom, Sir," I bowed to Vincent. "I'm glad today hasn't been a total waste.""You are saving lives," Virginia brought up. By the looks I was getting from the 'talkers', they agreed with her. I didn't."By all means, when I've actually saved a single soul, let me know," I countered unhappily."Wakko Ishara," Wiesława got my attention, "we need to be going."Making it to Hana on time was on my wish list, so I gave the various female authorities a quick acknowledgement, grabbed the box, and then made for the door. For a split second, I almost made it out the door with only two bodyguards (Wiesława and Saku), almost."Cáel? Where do you think you are going?" Buffy inquired.I was head of a First House of the Amazon Host, a Prince of Hungary, a diplomat from the Pugnacious Nation of Ireland and, a prospective sex toy to the Illuminati."Run for it!" I urged my two companions as I raced past them."Son of a Bitch!" Buffy yelled after me. "Get him!"I really am a bad influence on most of the people I meet. And the three of us were safely ahead of the pack until I had to stop to pound on the elevator button. The reactions of Nikita and Skylar saved me. Nikita put her hand on her piece and took two steps my way. Skylar turned the other way, trying to figure out what we were running from.Buffy collided with her, became tangled up and they fell over together. Helena, coming right behind Buffy, leapt over those two and ended up impacting with Nikita. Helena landed face-first on Nikita's back. Wiesława, Sakuniyas and I fled into the elevator and hit a button for a lower floor."What are we doing?" Wiesława inquired in a nervous tone."I don't want to walk around with a freaking army, Wiesława," I confided. "I want to have a bit of intimacy when I meet with Hana.""Why didn't you tell our sisters that?" she reposted."Would they have listened?" Saku snorted. "Amazon, would you have listened if he insisted you stay away?""I, " Wiesława looked from Saku to me then back to me. "No, but why are we running away from his 'First'?""Child, this oddity I understand," Saku studied me. "Before battle, we would kick the heads of dead enemy scouts around to ease the tension. It was a nonsensical thing to do before facing death. Whatever else I dislike about this one," she gave me a sign of her approval, "he does not shy away from the fight, nor deludes himself into thinking a fight is not coming.""He is easing his nerves," she concluded."That is the nicest thing you've ever said about me," I gave her a respectful nod."I was wrong to doubt you were the grandson of Alal," she explained. "That was one of the things that drew me to him, I loved battle too much and he loved it not at all. We complimented each other."The elevator opened up on the tenth floor and off I ran. The Odd Couple was on my heels."Where are we going?" Wiesława asked."The service elevator. There must be fifty people in the lobby waiting for us and I'm not pulling a Butch and Sundance," I huffed. Those two didn't get it. Pamela would have.Not only did I have to find the service elevator, but I had to find someone in Facilities or Housekeeping because this elevator wasn't for guests and had its own key code. I found the elevator first. The doors opened. It was Pamela."How the?" I huffed as I jumped on board."Rachel fitted you with a tracking device, Chumley," Pamela joked. The four of us were heading down into the bowels of the hotel and, hopefully, an unguarded exit."Damn it!" I groused. "Tennessee, you need to keep me abreast of such things.""Don't Tux your tail between your flippers and waddle away," Pamela chortled."This isn't nearly as much fun when they don't get it," I reminded her."Be patient," Pamela snickered. "I'm sure their curiosity is eating them alive."
Promises To Keep. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. Note to readers: There is a bit of mangling of the Iliad going on. My apologies to Homer and the countless singers before him who carried the Iliad down through the dark centuries until the Greeks figured out how writing works. “Never judge a friend by what they give, but of how much of themselves they give.” (From the floor of Katrina's office) First thoughts, I was on the floor where I had fallen, surrounded and being manhandled in the tenderest way. That was a romantic means of relating to my mummification. Those little Band-Aids that had been applied when I woke up from my coma had failed the 'Cáel is a Smeckle-head' test. All the crud they had pumped into my system and amperage they had channeled through my muscles was not the same as eating and exercise. Having a sexual romp with two ladies? My Goddess made plans for my body that my caloric bank account couldn't afford, thus me passing out. Unlike my time with Miyako and Estere, I had a feeling my two sofa-buddies were ovulating. Fatherhood was on the way. How my infant would survive the continuous poisonous assault on the augur's lymphatic system was beyond me. Her guardian, let's just say I dealt with sneaky bitches/Dot on a regular basis and leave it at that. "He is awake," Tadêfi alerted the room. "You must leave so I can deliver my message to him in the privacy he requested." "I am almost done," a different Amazon voice stated. She was the medico dealing with my wounds. By the aroma, she had slathered on two coats of the healing goo that was becoming as comfortable to my nostrils as my soap-on-a-rope. A few more rounds of adhesive tape and the exodus from the room began. I hadn't opened my eyes because I was unprepared for the looks of anger, disappointment and concern surely leveled my way. The door shut and my eyes opened. "The Conqueror, the Champion, the Friendless and the Foe have all escaped the Land of the Endless Black Sands and returned to the Sunlit Realm," Tadêfi whispered upon my lips. Huh? That was it? Seriously, four freaking titles without, And here came the rest, faces. Faces with eyes and eyes with a purpose. Names, not names I wanted to hear at the moment. Bad fucking news all around. It couldn't be something helpful like the identity of the next High Priestess, No, that would be good fucking news. Okay, time to turn this frown upside down. I could make this work for me. How, I wasn't sure. "Thank you," I responded to Tadêfi's plea of understanding. Outside of having impregnating sex with me, the Sex-Master, Timothy was going to Nerf-shoot me for that, she'd endured spiritual, mental and physical grief and torment to be with me here today. She waited, kneeling beside my head. "Kiss me," I requested. It was a moist act, full of compassion and understanding. I racked my mind for the names and their importance. "Who was Shammuramat?" "I don't know, but this helps, right?" Tadêfi expressed her need to make the reward for the sacrifices to make sense. Five dead sister-augurs. They had to find that son-of-a-bitch! "Tadêfi, we are back in the fight," I grinned. "You and your sisters have given the Host a mighty weapon in the upcoming struggle." I knew that to be true because I knew who and where the Conqueror was, I knew he wasn't ready to be revealed, his enemies were closing in and he was ignorant of that fact. I was going to have to rain on his parade to save his life. The five augurs hadn't died futilely. The Weave of Fate had shielded the man and it took the augers' fanatical devotion to cut the threads and expose the truth the Host needed most. The Champion, hell, I knew who he was. I chuckled. Tadêfi was confused. The Champion was coming to kill me, me and a bunch of other Amazons, because blood feuds tend to run both ways. The Foe. He was easy enough. Granddad. The Bastard just wouldn't stay dead. I had a clue to what was going on now. I wasn't sure how useful that knowledge would be. Still, knowledge is knowledge. That thing crawling around inside my brain? No help there. That left Shammuramat. That name was familiar. Even when I finally placed it, I didn't understand her role in things. Why her? "Krasimira," I called out. I struggled to sit up and with Tadêfi's help, I did so. The Keeper and two guardians entered as well. One, Sikia, hovered over her companion/augur. "What is the link between Shammuramat and the Host?" I inquired. I saw no recognition in the Keeper's eyes. "She was the first ever "independent" queen of a nation-state, Assyria." Krasimira sat on the sofa and retrieved her tablet from inside her robes. She began working with the electronic history of the Amazon race. "9th Century BCE," I added. Slowly others migrated back into the room. Buffy, Katrina (not good and not happy), Elsa (really not good) and Desiree. Pamela leaned against the door sill, neither in nor out. Katrina sat behind her desk. The phone came out and whispered conversations began in earnest. I had shoved us straight into a war which looked like a free for all at the moment. No one trusted anyone. No one could afford to. I had to change that. The only saving grace was that it appeared no Secret Society had planned for the Protocols to abruptly end a week and a half ago. "Ah, I found it," Krasimira spoke up. Because I'm me, it was at that moment I finally realized that someone had put me in my biking shorts in an effort to provide me a modicum of modesty, with the benefit of blood being smeared on the inside. "She abandoned the Host, she was put under a death sentence for killing her twin sister who was chosen to lead House Anat over her." "Anat?" I queried. "The other dead First House," Krasimira sighed. "They were renowned for their berserkers. Some would drape themselves in the entrails of their enemies in the midst of battle to increase their ferocious appearance." "Oh, how sweet, what was Ishara known for?" I was surprised I'd never asked. "Ishara were the emissaries of the Host," Krasimira informed me. With the Amazon practice of killing embassies sent their way, the extinction of my house made much more sense. "What does this mean?" Desiree took charge of matters since Katrina was still busy on the phone. In a few short weeks, Desiree's prestige had definitely increased. Katrina was her sister in more than name now. "Where to begin, Fine, why don't we refer to the Mycenaeans by their proper Amazon name?" Everyone but Buffy was glancing about nervously. "You used the name, didn't you?" Elsa rubbed the bridge of her nose, dreading the response. "Yes, " I answered. "Because no one warns him of shit," Pamela huffed. "You assume an Amazon education with no basis in reality. You act like he grew up with our fairy tales and phantasmal histories. Everyone in this room, but Buffy," she acknowledge my First, "knew he spoke our language and the accompanying risk. Still, no one warned him." "You didn't warn him," Desiree skewered Pamela with a glance. "Not my job, Buttons," Pamela chuckled. "I relish the rest of you being made to look like idiots too much to be useful to Cáel unless it really matters. So he invoked an ancient malediction. What is the worst that could happen?" "I'm going to make a huge deductive leap, am I the reason the Achaean hero Ajax and his boys are back from the dead and coming after us for some Ako-level vengeance?" I groaned. (That's the 47 Ronin for us Westerners) Silence. "That's not your fault, Sport," Pamela snorted. "Mano-man, was I a dumbass for doing nothing. I'll take the blame for that one ladies. Damn Cáel, you would have to pick the Unconquered One, wouldn't you?" "Who is this guy and why does he hate us?" Buffy interjected. Pause. "Our ancestors poisoned his wine so that, in his angry haze, he mistook his own men for his enemies and slaughtered them all, back during the Trojan War. Afterwards, he committed suicide in anguish over his crime, Death opened his eyes at the last, he saw our treachery and managed to curse us as he died," Krasimira informed the lot of us. "And my using that word brought him back? That sounds, weak," I grunted. "The word would not have been enough," Tadêfi comforted me. "There must have been some sort of rift in the curtain of Reality that allowed the others to slip through. I don't understand how, oh no," she gasped as the pieces came together. "I'm willing to believe that was the price of doing business," I petted Tadêfi's cheek. "Please enlighten us," Elsa grumbled. "I need to find the Earth and Sky ambassador and set up a new meeting. Using what Tadêfi has gifted me with and the sacrifice of her fellow augurs, I can secure an alliance for us if only I can make up for the whole stunt Troika played," I grinned. "Any ideas?" "We could call them," Pamela produced my phone. "Seems some lady named Hana Sulkanen has been trying for days to get in touch with you. She hunted down the owner of the necklace, they talked about your current physical state, courtesy of Odette, and the owner of the necklace has expressed a continued interest in meeting you, and only you. It would appear that they really don't trust the rest of our merry little band since your first disappearance." Hana, and here I had killed her step-brother, the one she despised. An unexpected benefit of civil discourse, my People's chance of survival had doubled. Pamela lobbed my phone and I caught it. "What of the other two?" Tadêfi pushed down on my euphoria. "Was the Foe dead as well?" A quick look at Pamela told me she knew the answer to that. "The Foe is complicated," I lied. "His return was an inevitability, so we count that as a draw. The Champion, bad news. Let's put Shammy in the 'maybe' column and the Conqueror is a win for our side." A Berserker Queen, fresh from the Underworld, who we were honor-bound to kill, or the 'other lost heir to a dead House' that was going to make us cobble together some nonsense to bring her back into the fold. If I wasn't the male leader of a spiritually significant All-Girls social club/paramilitary outfit, I might have been daunted by my prospects of achieving the latter. "The thing going on inside your head?" Elsa asked. That explained her presence. My mental capacity was still suspect. Was I still me? Could I flip out with no warning? "It is still there. I still have no idea what happened to me, or what the results might be. This means I'm going into battle wounded and that's that," I stated. "Are you acting in the best interest of the Host," Elsa studied me. "I am not sure," I confessed after half a minute's introspection. "So many of you are fuck-nuts; I'm not sure what acting responsible is for this set," I added jokingly. "As it stand, you lack the authority to pass judgment on me, Elsa. I promise you that if I feel I'm losing control, I will turn myself in." "Saint Marie would feel better if you stayed here," Elsa insisted. "Is the SD declaring war on House Ishara?" Buffy rose to the challenge. "We (by that she meant my fellow Isharans) have discussed the matter and talked to our best neuroscientist. She cannot definitively tell us Cáel isn't Cáel, so there is no reason to constrain him." Whoa. In our best prospect's educated opinion I was not-not me. Legions of English teachers weren't going to like that. "I have the answer for that," Katrina spoke up. "I owe Cáel and I would pay that debt now. He expressed a desire to see my niece, Aya. Do you still wish that Cáel Ishara?" "More than ever, but the Council is meeting," I sighed. "Buffy is your (dead word spoken), your apprentice," Katrina suggested. "Appoint someone to stand with her." That was more than good advice. Buffy was a woman and, to those who knew of her, as fierce an Amazon as ever lived. That was what Katrina was telling me without telling me. "I choose Daphne Pile, if she will accept, to stand by Buffy's side," I announced. Buffy would need someone who was passionate for my cause and who spoke Old Kingdom Hittite. Buffy still didn't, and the chance of the Council speaking English on her behalf was non-existent. "That is Daphne of House Cotyttia," Pamela corrected me. Who Cotyttia was? I had no idea. I was stupid to think Daphne's actual Amazon surname was Pile. Daphne wasn't even around. Executive Services was functioning fine without me and that meant Daphne had a work queue. "The Thracian Goddess of Sex, Orgies, War and Slaughter," Krasimira gracefully filled in my ignorance. Another whoa, why wasn't she my matron goddess? Tadêfi hauled off and slapped me. The action seemed to take everyone, Tadêfi included, by surprise. "I don't know why I did that," Tadêfi wailed out in despair. I did. It didn't take telepathy to figure out what I had been thinking. To prove my point, Pamela laughed. I cupped Tadêfi's jaw. "Worry not," I cooed. "I had that coming, Dot Ishara," I dodged another one, "isn't happy with me right now." Recall, Tadêfi was hooked up to an old-fashioned party line with the Beyond. "Animaniacs," Pamela snorted. "I so love you. It is my deep and abiding pleasure to have you as my Grandson." "I'm not your grandson," I countered. "Well, I say you are. Now be quiet and accept the shame," Pamela's eyes danced with amusement. "That makes me, Daphne and Brielle incest," I pointed out. "Amazons don't have an incest taboo," Pamela retorted. Duh. They are all women, no chance of seven fingered, Cyclops babies. "Ah, women, misunderstanding and pain, Buffy, would you check out Quebec and see if I'm still wanted in that province for bestiality. It could be important later," I commanded. "Bestiality?" only one woman failed to mutter, sputter or exclaimed. "The complainant in question is not that pissed at you anymore," Katrina's rolodex mind kicked in. "I believe she expressed a desire to question you about some missing accoutrements though." My splitting headache meant I had to think about that, ah yes, her dress uniform. It was/had been Canada Day, thus her having an official function and thus me cheating with the girl from across the hall in the Mountie's bed. I'm an idiot alright and my ability to keep an eye on the clock needs improvement. My last image of her, frothing at the mouth (she was a tad more possessive than I had anticipated) as she screamed out insults in Quebecois French concerning my lineage, personality failings and the treasured parts of my anatomy. She punctuated various parts of that deranged episode by hurling articles of her clothing over the border at me as I turned (once I had good Ole US soil/pavement under my feet) and tried to get us back together. Yes, I had them, just not in my Box of Failed Romances. Acting on hopes of reconciliation, I had the uniform dry cleaned, placed in a dress bag, and the boots polished; both currently occupying space in my closet. At least the Alburgh-Noyan Crossing guards (it is a dual Canadian-American post) appreciated me evading/begging forgiveness long enough for them to see her in only her bra and panties. I imagine they didn't normally get much excitement there. "Katrina, " I began. "Yes, Maya forgives you too, though she scored an 'At Risk' for reliability. Anais sounded genuine," Katrina related. Anais was the Mountie. Maya was the Guyane Française university student from across the hall, the one I was caught cheating with. I had told her I was Anais's brother. Maya was also a super-exceptional cook. "Cáel Ishara, who are these women we are talking about?" Sikia demanded. 'We', that didn't take long. We were now a 'we', which in Amazon meant 'male, you're my property'. "I have a sideline job as an Amway distributor," I replied. "I give crappy customer service." "You give awesome customer service," Katrina riposted. "That's the problem." "Sikia, you are not the first Amazon Cáel has stuck his dick into. You are probably not the tenth," Elsa dripped with frustration. Quick count: Rhada, Buffy, Oneida and Gael, I was only going to count the penile-vaginal penetrations. "They are only numbers five and six, thank you very much," I defended myself. "So much for your 'intern, no sex' policy," Desiree muttered. "Cut me some slack, I work with stone-cold, Olympic level athlete foxes 24/7," I griped. "I am a sexual being too, I have needs." "What about the 'End of Internship' hunting shindig?" Desiree pulled a flawless 'Katrina'. "Oh, it is still on. With my 'do or die' learning curve, it is going to be so much more fun," I grinned. "And, okay, no more Amazon sex until then, sorry Rachel." "Except for house members," Buffy insisted. "No exceptions," Elsa demanded. "I'll keep an eye on him," Pamela resolved the issue. "No more Amazon boinking for him." She was such a liar. She was also a highly accomplished liar because everyone bought it. On with my life. Stage one: exit Katrina's office. Done deal, no problems. Stage two: set up meeting with the Earth and Sky. They wanted to meet on their ground. Since I was the uncertain factor in these negotiations, I agreed. I was bringing one, Pamela raised four fingers, four people with me. Who? Outside of Pamela, I had no idea. Stage three: going to medical and putting on my business suit, it was a new one and very, very nice. I was moving up into serious majestic magnate territory. I also picked up buddy number two, FBI Special Agent Virginia Maddox. Why had I chosen a federal agent to accompany me to a meeting between two secret societies? I hadn't a clue. Sometimes you have to roll with these things. In the lobby, I picked up number three, Delilah, Mom's MI-6 operative/baby-sitter. Compassionate, caring people were surrounding me all the time. It gave me this sensation of a 'down home' environment no matter where I went, if down home was Gaza, or Donetsk. I think my entourage/lifestyle observation teams had grown to encompass six cars. I was in no condition for riding my bike, so that recourse was denied me. Taxi? One, most were hard-working stiffs like my family who didn't deserve to be caught in a noontime, drive-by assassination attempt. Besides, with my luck I'd meet the guy from Qatar again, the one with the sister with cute eyes. That reminded me, I gave Nicole a call. "How are you doing?" she quickly inquired. "Good," I lied to a past master of shattering perjury. Pause. "I'm surrounded by girls with guns, tailed by your clients, some part of a Federal Task force and some people who I don't know yet. Hold on." I put my hand over my phone. "Delilah, are you packing heat?" I asked softly. She opened her jacket revealing paired revolvers in shoulder holsters. I didn't recognize them so the Brit gave me the 4-1-1. "Ruger Alaskans," she grinned. Bing! Now I recalled them. The girl who taught me to shoot once read some reviews of that beast on her laptop while I gave her a slow, passionate screw from behind. She became all hot and bothered, wiggling, squirming and generally having a grandiose time with my cock deep within. I repeat, this girl really loved guns, a huge cerebral G-spot for her. Oh yeah, the Ruger Alaskan is what you get if you are worried about Grizzly bears popping their heads through the tent flaps late at night. Delilah was probably packing 4 80's. Her guns would turn 250 kilograms of pissed off ursine into an excellent throw-rug in about two shots. In an urban environment, well, maybe she thought the New York Giants were actually giants, or something like that. Two were overkill, unless you expected someone needing to borrow one. "Just checked. I remain the only one unarmed in my personal carnival of carnage, " my words trailed up to an unintelligible mumble. I was mumbling because suddenly four handguns were casually offered up for my use (Tiger Lily was holding one over her shoulder as she drove), in the same way you'd offer up some Nicorette to a man jonesing for a smoke. Rachel was kind enough to hand me my familiar Glock-22 and Ruger 38 caliber with their accompanying holsters. Two spare clips followed, then I stashed the lot. I scratched my calf. It took me a second to realize I was reaching for my pistol. No, not the one at my hip, or my ankle, but the one, in my boot? "Now that you've been handed firearms of dubious origin, can I get back to questioning you," the FBI agent intruded upon my ruminations. "We were discussing that list of people that are visiting a morgue instead of a court room. What can you tell me?" "Bye Nicole. Miss you. Being interrogated by a blonde FBI lady with a whips scar on her eyebrow and eyes that could scare a badger back into its hole. Later," I cut of my lawyer's fierce demand that I keep my mouth shut. "Nothing useful that wouldn't implicate myself and others in a criminal conspiracy," I answered her. "There is no way I'd name anyone else I suspect of involvement. I feel no guilt over what has happened, so no remorseful confession, and that is based on my belief that cosmic justice has been achieved." "You can't create lists of people for execution," Maddox persisted. "That negates the whole justice system and the principle of innocent until proven guilty." Wow! Except for the two of us, every other person in the car snorted their derision of Maddox's presumptive naiveté. "Do you even believe the tripe spilling from your pie-hole?" Delilah mocked Maddox. "I'm in law enforcement. That means I enforce the laws, not interpret them, or choose which ones I want to obey and which ones to ignore," Virginia fought back. "Love, that's crap and you know it. You are an agent of the US government. You bomb, drone-strike, overthrow lawfully elected governments and assassinate in your nation's best interests," Delilah countered. "You selectively enforce your Constitution when it suits you." "I'm law enforcement, not the military or foreign affairs. Know the difference," Maddox glared. "The pay master is the same, you willingly collect your thirty pieces of silver; get off your high horse because you are in the shat now, Agent Maddox. I haven't known this crowd an hour and I know for a fact that you are the only US citizen onboard," Delilah chortled. "I don't know their bleeding nationality, but I doubt it is on the UN Charter." Maddox turned to me. "That was succinct and rather accurate," I murmured. "Special Agent Maddox, I have the sneaking suspicion that you are with us because FP (federal prosecutor) Castello feels you can handle this, Umm, unusual set of circumstance. I promise you this, it is going to get worse." "Why don't we test this quaint theory?" FBI Lass challenged us. "Jail, bail, and I'm waking up in Rio de Janeiro in two days," I sighed. "I have a few thousand in the bank, live in a hole and own my father's home, when it clears probate. Only you know I'm flight risk. A dozen people will vouch/lie about my character and that's that. All you've succeeding in doing is making enemies when you need friends." "There is still a matter of multiple people dead under suspicious circumstance," she said. "Imagine for a second that Cáel admits to creating a hit list," Pamela began. "He would never give up the names of the other people involved. He didn't kill anyone, or say 'kill them'. Now what? You still have an abysmal case to put before a judge. Add to that, the mitigating factor of a raped girl. You get to break her down until she's a cooperating witness because she's the only one who can provide you with Cáel's motive," my mentor continued. "Good for you and your team. She gets to betray the man who tried to save her. Cáel promised horrific retribution if any of those in the now-dead crowd hurt her. That is rather unlike him, he normally forgives when given the least excuse. I don't give a damn about women's rights, or the rights of rape victims. I really could give a shit about human rights for that matter. Wronging me is the surest way to early retirement. It is not a matter of strong versus weak, or right versus wrong. What matters to me is who I can trust. I don't know you, thus I don't trust you. I trust your government to be so much chicken shit. I base this on the lack of public torture and execution. I want the families of dying criminals paraded in front of those cock-suckers before the condemned finally perish in agony. I want to see thieves get their forearms hacked off, trial by combat, and respect for your elders. I want to see public officials being sacrificed upon the altar of Jehovah when they leave office. I want to see a system of justice with a soul, not law books thicker than an aircraft carrier's hull. A government 'of the People, by the People, for the People' should be the sole guiding force for your culture and we both know that's never going to happen. I admire your soldiers; not because they are brave and combat effective, they are. I admire them because they are fighting and dying for elected officials and a population that can't locate Afghanistan, or Iraq on a map, can't tell the difference between a Sikh and a Muslim, and thinks 'Pashtun' is an exotic piece of furniture. I admire them because they are better human beings despite you, not because of you," Pamela was coming to her crescendo. "Basically you people, by that I mean most of the human race, are dangerous in your idiocy, arrogance and pride in your ignorance. Not one of you should be allowed to use weapons, or play with fire. For you, unrestricted voting is a crime right up there with inventing, disease prevention, bilingualism and anything that perpetuates your educational system." "Lady, why are you so angry with the world?" Maddox studied Pamela intensely. I wished her luck with divining and then unwrapping that lady's mind. "I hold dear to my heart anyone's hunger to learn, honesty when it hurts and love no matter what the cost, so I find myself alone most of the time," Pamela grinned. "Above even those, I adore humor in the face of ridicule, condemnation and adversity. You can dodge bullets and parry knives. Humor always strikes home," she finished. "It is the perfect weapon." "Liar," I smiled. "You like high performance automobiles too." Did she? I didn't know. "Only with a 2X4 pressing the accelerator as it races toward the lip of a canyon," Pamela bantered back, "with Ursula K. Le Guin strapped in the back seat." "Who?" I inquired. "She's an author. I take exception to some of her work and unwillingness to appreciate the fusion of exceptional feminine characteristics with power positions," Pamela answered. "And your critique of her life's work is an exploding car at the bottom of a cliff?" I smiled. "Starting uncontrolled wildfires and littering, two of my favorite activities," she laughed. "I'll stick with blondes and brunettes, and red- and raven-haired, bald has its own appeal, green and purple have their own kink going on, " I joked. "Wait! We were talking about people being murdered and you two are cracking jokes?" Maddox rumbled. "I had a dream about tying them together with nylon cord and tossing them off the back ramp of a transport aircraft, and watching them fall, and fall," Rachel sighed dreamily. "Atta girl," I play-punched Rachel's shoulder. "What is your part in all of this?" Maddox turned to Rachel. "I'm the head of his bodyguard detail," Rachel gave her confession of the damned. "And you want to kill him, " Virginia struggled to keep up. "Given time, you will too," Rachel promised. "According to his pre-employment records, only one woman he's had a sexual relationship with hasn't wanted to at least hurt him," glaring at me, "badly." "The nun doesn't want me dead!" I vocally protested. "It is so wrong that you are proud that of over 200 women you've slept with, TWO have not, at some point in knowing you, wanted to maul you and one of those is in the 'forgiving' business," Rachel chastised me. Virginia had an answer for my madness. Her phone came out and she hit speed-dial, work. "Ms. Castello, this is Special Agent Maddox, do you have a moment?" Virginia calmly asked when she finally wrangled my current-favorite fed's attention. "You do now? Thank you. I'd like to know what the fuck have you done to me? This assignment is nuts. Either I'm part of some elaborate prank, or I'm in an S U V with escapees from the looney bin." Ten seconds later Maddox gave me the phone. "Stop it. I've upheld my end of the bargain, so behave," Javiera ordered. Man, she'd shot me straight to the core and we hadn't even slept together yet. Clever, clever girl. "Yes Ma'am," I swore. "I'll do my best to buffer Special Agent Maddox from the truth." "I'll have to accept that," Javiera conceded. "Give Maddox the phone back." A brief conversation later and Maddox was no better off than when she started. Thankfully we parked in front of the Kazakhstan Consulate in New York, giving us all an excuse to face facts. Maddox was feeling compelled to ask questions she didn't want the answers to, and that we didn't want to answer. Saved by work. "Kazakhstan Consulate? Why are we here?" both Virginia and Rachel asked. "Oh! This is going to be good," Pamela leaned forward excitedly. "Change the course of human history," I answered with a great deal of confidence I didn't feel. See, I had knowledge critical to the Earth and Sky. That knowledge was also something they wanted kept compartmentalized, so they might take exception to it being possessed by an outsider. Oh, so that's why Pamela earlier insisted on four ladies being with me, so we could shoot our way out if things turned ugly. I hugged my mentor. "Thank you, Pamela." "You are coming along nicely, Mr. Potter," Pamela patted my cheek. "Your praise leaves me suspicious, Professor Snape. Besides, if I'm going to die, it helps me to know you'll go first ." "That was uncalled for," Pamela chided me. It was the 'Snape' role she rejected. "Snape gave up his life for Harry, Dumbledore died for Draco," I countered. "Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that," Pamela shone with joy and pride. "You act like I have a choice," I sighed. "Touché," Pamela nodded. "I see what you mean about these two," Maddox addressed Rachel. "Oh my God," Delilah laughed. "You wove Harry Potter into a life and death conversation and it made sense. I am probably going to die, but I'll die knowing I have lived." "Not you too?" Maddox glared at Delilah. Rachel just shook her head. We exited the car, settled ourselves out. Rachel took point, Delilah took one flank while Pamela took the other. By happenstance, I ended up in the middle, yeah right, with Virginia covering my back. "You stay here," Pamela put a hand on Rachel's shoulder. "You'll need to lead the team in if someone 'pumps up the volume'." Interesting euphemism for 'when people start killing people'. "What are we doing today?" Miyako 'appeared'. She'd been walking down the sidewalk toward us, the Kazak Consulate was a townhouse, but her presence hadn't registered. "I require your pledge of silence on what is to transpire. No death is intended," I stated calmly to Miyako. "I didn't know you were versed in ninja contracts, much less spoke Japanese?" Miyako responded. Blink. "I didn't know I spoke it either, " I mumbled. "No sweat," Pamela tried to hustle us along. "He's a quick study." Yeah. I didn't feel it apropos to point out I hadn't heard myself speaking Japanese, or understood that my words had some secret meaning. "How important is this to my people?" Miyako asked. Now that I was paying attention to it, I could make out that she was speaking in her native tongue. "If they don't think we can be trusted to not speak of what is to transpire for a week, they are going to kill us," I related my suspicions. "My mind and heart are joined in this decision." "I give you my pledge," Miyako nodded. She looped her arm in mine. "Does anyone care to enlighten me?" Maddox prodded. Whoa. It seemed that, beside me and Miyako, only Pamela spoke Japanese. "Special Agent Maddox, no matter what, don't give up your gun, when we say run, run, and shoot to kill because they will be trying to kill us," I informed her. "Does the term 'extraterritoriality' mean anything to anyone here?" Maddox snapped. Her nervousness was totally understandable. I stopped at the top of the steps, looking over my shoulder. I nodded. Pamela, Delilah and Miyako nodded as well. "Hold on, I can't believe I'm saying this. Does anyone have a back-up I can use?" Maddox groaned. Rachel quick-stepped forward and handed over a 22 automatic pistol then a spare clip with a smooth, practiced motion that suggested that SD swapped weapons all the time. Maddox didn't miss the casualness of the gesture. The firearm and magazine disappeared. "Fine, we will never discuss the laws we just butchered, ever, and if I die and any of you make it out alive, I will seek revenge at whatever cost FROM WHEREVER I AM," FBI girl growled. "One of us," Pamela smirked at me as I touched the doorbell. It opened promptly. We weren't on a crowded street, we were on their stoop and a security camera was pointed right at us. We were invited in and two rather Caucasian-looking gentlemen (Kazaks are a mixed bag of Turks and Cumans) were waiting with the doorman. They looked tough in that they took personality lessons from saddle leather. "You will place your weapons there," the more charismatic of the two spoke up. He was pointing to a side table that looked large enough for the task. "No," was the most courteous response I could muster. He didn't look surprised. He didn't look much like he was breathing, or blinking either. "Go," he pointed to the door. I looked to Pamela. "Well, that didn't take long," I grinned. I felt out the necklace under my shirt and pulled it over my head. "Please return this to its owner in the spirit it was given." He took it. The doorman opened the door and out we went. Rachel was back in our GL550, using the door as possible cover. She said we could take our seats and away we rolled. Maddox looked apoplectic. She had prepared herself for the Wild, Wild West, not a doe-see-doe at the door. In her mind, I had wound her up for nothing. My phone rang. "Cáel Ishara, there seems to have been a diplomatic miscommunication," a male native Turkish-speaker said in heavily accented English. "The person you are meeting must be approached in the spirit of peace." "No, I understood you perfectly," I assured him. "We aren't the Brownies, or the Girl Scouts, Buddy. I don't know, or trust you and you don't know, or trust me, yet. I will compromise though. I will respect your traditions. I will enter your home unarmed. In turn, everyone in the building will line up outside on the street except for the person I'm supposed to meet. Is that acceptable?" Pause. "Do you hate these people, or like them?" Maddox grumbled. "With you, I can't quite tell." "That would not be acceptable," the man finally responded. "Perhaps an alternative. You come in, alone yet armed." "Nope. Due to the efforts of people far smarter than me, I know pretty much who I am meeting, so I am either very rude, insane, or bear a message that is worth my life," I countered. "Your personal safety is guaranteed," was the counter-offer. "That is a false promise, not because you lack honor, or respect for me, but because you are from a wise and noble lineage with a historical propensity of cutting to the heart of any problem." By that, I meant they'd cut my heart out. "What I expect is for every one of you to hold the future of the Earth and Sky above any such concepts as personal promises, hospitality, and honor. I am even putting my faith in your willingness to put the survival of the Earth and Sky over your own well-being," I riposted. "If the message is so crucial, you should be willing to come alone," back at me. "It isn't important to me," I stated. "Listen, a war is about to break out. Unless we both want to be found all alone in the outhouse masturbating when the headsman comes, one of us has to blink. Today, it is you. Tomorrow you may be able to return the favor and mess with my head." Pause. "Your koumiss is getting warm." "We'll be right there. We apologize for the delay. Traffic is murder these days, or a close facsimile thereof," I gave a little back in the humility department. "Tiger Lily, " "On it, Ishara, Wakko Ishara. I've been circling the block," Tiger Lily had anticipated my antics. Sure, I acted like I had no game plan, but I never wasted people's time. Maybe if I developed an actual game plan I could do even better. "Wakko Ishara?" it was Delilah's and Maddox's turn to share a 'what the?' moment. "May I explain the sacred names?" Rachel requested of me. "I have a feeling these two might become a fixture." "By all means, Rachel. Our trust runs deep," I trusted Rachel with more than my life; I trusted her with my future. "Wakko, as in you're the nutty one?" Delilah made a stab at our arcane nomenclature. If you use small words does that make it gnomenclature? Pamela winked at me, psychic twin grandmother powers activate! "We need complementary rings," Pamela remarked. Sweet! "Cáel Ishara is differentiated as Wakko Ishara, Ishara, first of House Ishara, is Yakko Ishara, and, " Rachel began. "The Animaniacs? Your code names are the Warner Brothers and their sister Dot?" Maddox gasped. "You are beyond nuts." "And the Goddess Ishara is named, by House Ishara and House Ishara alone," Rachel made some warding appeal against divine punishment, "as Dot Ishara." Maddox's face shown with disbelief. "Following Cáel Ishara into battle has been one of my greatest pleasures," Rachel stared at Maddox. "I never knew insanity could be so liberating, or that laughing at death could be such an aphrodisiac." "When did you two go into battle?" Delilah wondered. "In a morgue, fighting to retrieve the body of his fallen father so that our enemies could not desecrate it," Rachel explained. Ah, the walls of Troy, fighting over the spoils of the dead. "You mean when I face-planted?" I grinned at Rachel. "Even without a weapon, your instincts were good, forcing our enemy to commit to multiple angles of coverage even though your efforts were foiled by a footing failure. Your rushing their leader was even more heroic in that you were unarmed and using your body as a decoy, knowing your enemy's superior skill would stop him from shooting you," Rachel smiled my way, sex. "Let me get this straight," Miyako finally spoke up. "You charged an enemy unarmed then stumbled and failed. They were armed?" "Yes, with a 3 57 Magnum revolver and a 10 gauge sawed-off automatic shotgun, in tight confines and close range, oh, and no cover." Maddox replied, then to me, "I read the report." "Then you repeated the action a few minutes," Miyako. "Less than a minute later," Maddox clarified. "A minute later, wow! You are as fearless as we've heard. Please don't die before we have a baby," Miyako gave me a quick hug. If you cover a zeppelin with uranium paint, can it still fly, or does it sink to the center of the Earth? Ninja babies, We had returned to the stairs at the Consulate. This time the door swung open upon our approach. "Is there some drug you are all taking to bask in this shared fantasy life?" Maddox mumbled. "One of us," Pamela retorted. "One of us." "One of us," I joined in. It helped cut the tension. The bodyguards were present right where we'd them last time. They ushered us up the stairs to a second floor sitting room that ate up half the floor. There were two men there; radiating that subtle assurance that a half-dozen killers were close by. The man standing was Iskender, the E and S emissary from Dad's funeral. I broke all decorum, strode to the man, locked arms, hugged him tight and patted him on the back. "Thank the spirits you are here," I whispered, "all this lack of dick is making me a bit stir-crazy." "Ah, yes, it is good to see you again too," Iskender imparted as we broke our embrace. His boss, the guy on the sofa, shot me and my Kyrgyz buddy a sharp look. The Main Man was clearly Mongolian and must have thought blank, white walls exhibited too much empathy. "Koumiss," the boss offered. I sipped it from a simple, yet regal drinking mug that probably hit the kiln 200 years ago. "Mare, or yak?" I inquired as I handed the cup around. Iskender came first, but it was clearly my intention that we all partake. It was more a matter of the host's pledge of sanctuary than me wanting to share the koumiss. It tasted like thin, lightly chilled, bitter beer with a vanilla-almond milk shake-chaser. "Mare, of course. Please sit," he offered. He defined the suggestion by slipping off the sofa onto the layered carpet rug. He was semi-reclined, so we followed suit. "We should pray for the protection of the spirits," was the suggestion that wasn't a suggestion. It was his itinerary. He clapped his hands and from beyond a curtained partition came this really sensual Mongolian chick carrying a large brass bowl. She flicked her eyes at me and an instant connection was formed. She liked to bark like a dog under the full moon, okay, I'm not sure where that came from. "Nice woman," I told the leader. "She looks like she has seen many winters." Whoa! Where the fuck did that come from? I got a shocked reaction from Iskender. The Leader looked pissed, if a flake of paint on the white wall indicated anger. The girl blushed like what I said was an incredible turn on. "She is my daughter," the Leader pointed out. Way past swallowing my foot. My ankle was tasty. "My name is Oyuun Tömörbaatar. My faithful Iskender, you know. This is my daughter T. Sarangerel. She is studying at N Y U and is not entertaining marriage proposals at this time," he slapped down his boundaries. Somehow 'I only want to sleep with her' didn't sound like the right response. Wait! Saying his 'daughter had many winters' was a marriage bargaining opening move. What the fuck! "What I meant was that surely many men have died trying to come before you," I back-pedaled. More happy looks from the daughter. More paint peeling from the dad. Pamela made sure more koumiss was going around. Getting drunk could hardly hurt at this juncture. Sarangeral placed the bowl between us. It was filled with clear, cold water undoubtedly collected from a mountain-fed glacier. "Let us cleanse our hands in the water so that we may speak with clarity," O. Tömörbaatar said. We dipped our fingers and, for a second, I saw him. Not 'O', but HIM. "It is good to finally meet you Ferko Ishara Cáel Nyilas," the man said. My Spidey senses told me he was feeling less 'good' about this meeting every second. "How can your people and mine better get along?" 'Let me impregnate your daughter', would probably get my skull split open. "No time for that," I replied. "I know where HE is. The Seven Pillars have found a way to search the Weave and are closing in. You must act with haste." Whether it was disbelief, or old schooled Ku Chun in the art of gambling, the older man gave no outward reaction. "Where is he?" O. Tömörbaatar asked in a gentle tone. "I can do you one better," I steeled myself for the unknown forces I was invoking. I put my hands on the bowl's lip and looked in. Several seconds later, he did as well. For a moment, nothing. It was like a ripple in reverse. The first earth tremor I barely noticed. The ripples grew and grew until I felt the whole row of townhouses would come crashing down. Wind snapped the locks on the windows, flinging them wide open and tearing at the curtains like streamers in a hurricane. Then we saw HIM clearly. HE stopped driving this old, beat-up Peugeot and was pulling to the side of a desolate stretch of highway. HE could sense something yet couldn't pinpoint the source of his unease. We definitely got the impression this wasn't his first taste of this experience, the Seven Pillars. He was young, maybe my age. He looked like an educated man turned vagabond/boundless traveler. HIS eyes, his eyes had a depth that were a microcosm of what I'd glimpsed in Ishara, Dot Ishara's unshielded glance when we first met. All lingering doubts vanished in my mind. "I know that place," O T muttered, his eyes fixated on the only feature in the vacant expanse, a road sign, in Chinese. Yikes. "I know that place." The image faded. Our meeting venue was intact. Whatever I felt transpire, I had shared with O. Tömörbaatar alone. "You have work to do," I stated as I cleared my throat. "I will leave you to it." I stood. "What do you wish for this gift?" O T reached out and touched my sleeve. "When the time comes, maybe you can help us," I replied. "A man who asks for nothing can expect anything," O T smiled for the first time. "Go." I did not take a fear-free breath until the cars started up and we pulled away. He'd let us live. Even with that priceless piece of magical insight, he'd let us live. "I'm still stunned we got out alive," I sighed. "I wasn't really sure he'd take the news as well as he did." No one said anything for a minute. "Why would he have killed us?" Delilah inquired. "You, I understand. I don't know what you communicated to that young lady, but the old guy wasn't happy about it. He was going to kill us over that?" Pause. "What did the rest of you see and hear?" I looked around the cabin. Pamela appeared worried. "I didn't know you spoke Chagatai," Miyako smiled at me. "You are full of surprise. I only caught a word, or two, and none of it made sense." "MRI," I groaned. "Magnetoencephalography," Pamela said in the same breath. "Mine is better, Boyo." "What is going on?" Rachel upped her alertness level. "We need to take Cáel to a hospital that has a Magnetoencephalography device," Pamela insisted. "He's spontaneously speaking languages he didn't know moments earlier, " Maddox put things together first. The rest nodded at her assessment. "We'll need to have his records from Havenstone sent over as a baseline." Poor Virginia, the absurdity of my life was sucking her in. "I'll call Katrina," Rachel informed us. I was a mental case once more. At least my input was still being solicited. "How many guns do you have on you?" Pamela zinged me. The answer was obvious, two. My Glock and my back-up. That didn't seem right. "Ah, two?" I responded. "Yeah, something is happening to your muscle memory as well," Pamela shook her head. "What exactly does that mean, and what's wrong with Cáel's brain?" Delilah studied the group. "It means he could spontaneously pull out his gun and start shooting us?" Pamela confessed her uncertainty. "I don't know. We'd better figure out which impulses are his guiding light right now before that happens." "I don't even know how to begin reporting this," Maddox muttered. "Cheer up. Our Cáel is still currently in charge. Did you appreciate how he lured in that young Mongolian girl? That's classic Cáel," Pamela comforted the crowd. I was saved from a straightjacket because I was a 'Playa'. (Meadowlands Medical Center in far off New Jersey) I'm not political. For me, that means I am completely and utterly dedicated to whatever doctrine that the cutest political campaigner in front of me endorses. Fifteen minutes on the internet and you can fake it like a pro. Be careful to be with the winning team when the results come in. Nothing makes a political chick go wild like sneaking into the candidate's office and screwing her on the newly elected/re-elected figure's desk. Let her scream out her idol's name. Odds are neither of you will be welcomed back afterwards anyway. Why politics now? Javiera called some people. I had a sneaking suspicion that someone I knew and trusted got in touch with my 'Aunts' as well. All I knew for sure was the Hospital's Administrator's phone began ringing off the hook and I'd become the hospital's number one priority. The hospital staff was visibly irritated with the clout raining down on their heads for about an hour. Once they digested my Havenstone records, all of that changed. Holy 'Published in The New England Journal of Medicine', someone had drilled a micro-surgical hole in my skull in the middle of a wrestling match with no resulting cerebral scarring. THEN this unknown device shot into my skull with pinpoint accuracy and pumped a ghastly amount of energy into my cerebrum. They were fascinated. They were so fascinated I heard two medical technicians mutter about where the Zombie Survival Guide could be found. They triple checked my vital signs, again. I was still as much alive as when I checked myself in. There was a rumor that a fire ax disappeared from a stairwell close by, but not one confessed to the deed. I was speaking in languages I had no reason to know? They were surprised I could contain my mouth drool. It was somewhat disheartening to hear three seasoned physicians discuss what probable scenarios could explain me still being in a non-vegetative state, or alive for that matter. Some poor nurse had to ask. "Do you feel an unnatural, interest in human brains?" she whispered when she though no one was close by. "I'm not sure what you mean," I whispered back. "I always respect a woman's intelligence. Sex is a cerebral passion. What's the point if you can't communicate with your partner?" Pamela slapped me upside my head. That disturbed just about everybody else in the vicinity and my mentor was promptly exiled from the room. I was curious about what havoc she was perpetrating on this establishment. My condition had gotten her past all the heavy security and I knew without seeing that someone high ranking had misplaced their ID badge. Maybe Pamela was the love-child of Batman and Cat woman. Before you think that's comic fanboy talk, recall what my life was like at that moment. Tests ensued. The staff decided that Havenstone employed a bunch of quacks and snake charmers. Two hours later, they found out they were wrong. Larger battery of tests, same results. I was the second coming of Christ, back from the dead, or a zombie living in a convincing state of denial. Some folks wouldn't let that go. Pamela had proved to be prophetic. Her pet gizmo finally provided a new picture of what my neural pathways were up to. If there is any doubt, 'I've never seen that before' is not what you want to hear one of North America's experts in the field of neuroscience say. The first educated opinion was that I suffered from chronic traumatic encephalopathy, that meant I was hit in the head a lot. Normally that diagnosis comes in the midst of an autopsy. I was having paralytic seizures. They had me juggle a squeeze-ball, then two and finally three. My perfect performance frustrated them. Women find relatively simple carnival tricks to be seductive. Pluck a card from a girl's bra gets you both to some dark corner, hungrily looking for the rest of the deck, I speak from experience. Next up at bat: 'I was possessed', I shit you not. Holistic medicine was right on board with the team. Was I influenced by a supernatural power? Yes I was. So claimed the majority of people on Earth. Did I receive specific instructions? Yes, and so did practitioners of Voodoo/Vodun on three continents. I added that I attempted to evade said instructions when I could. Did I have 'evil' impulses to hurt myself, or others? Huh? For starters, my matron goddess was more of a 'fucker' than a 'fighter' and her instructions were always suitably vague, the same way a Philosophy professor would give you a ten word pointless sentence on Friday and expect you to have a 250 page doctrine on Monday morning. That hit home. Too many normally smart people take a philosophy class in college hoping for an easy-A. Some teachers love dissolving those delusion, sitting back and watching your hopes and dreams of task-free weekends go down the drain. The more obscure the discipline, the more perverse the desire. That is why you always pick a teacher of the opposite gender (if in doubt, use a gay/lesbian test) and keep 'sex for grades' on the menu. Was I suffering from optical illusions, or phantom noises? Straight to the point, yes, I saw and talked with ghosts. So did the Long Island Medium, the casts of Ghost Hunters, Paranormal Witness plus George Anderson and Chip Coffey. To my credit, I didn't do it for profit, or in order to influence people. Was I seeing ghosts now? I was in hospital, so odds weren't bad. I had every non-ghost raise their left hand. No ghosts. Was my paranormal dementia pre- or post-brain trauma? Did seeing a college student being called before his class and successfully accused of plagiarism on his senior thesis, turning him into one of the Restless Dead count? No? My 'disputed' abilities were all post-college employment, thank you very much. Did the ghosts possess me/tell me to do things? I was not possessed and, discounting sexual bondage and my current work venue, had never been possessed. From my limited exposure, ghosts wanted to not be alone in the afterlife, to be guided to a final resting place with others of their kind/family/friends. None had taught me languages, asked me to steal something, or kill anyone. Had any done so, I would have denied them. Such actions were immoral and I could still freely differentiate between right and wrong. I preferred to commit wrong on my own initiative and making me do good was a chore most sane people abandoned after a few days. I took a Rorschach test. The results were predictable because I had taken old 'R' several times before. Just like every other time, I'd mixed up sexual innuendo with a psychological test to seduce the test-giver, everything reminded me of intercourse. I changed it up with this girl. I gave her numbers. Sometime after I was long gone, they were going to figure out the ink blots were numbered after whichever erotic positions from the Kama Sutra I was reminded of at the time. I knew that wasn't being helpful and I was certain I wasn't a brain specialist. I also knew Rorschach wasn't the key to solving my woes. Final remaining hypothesis, I was utilizing 30 % of my brain capacity with three independent patterns emerging, not the usual 5 %. For that to work, my brain had to be oozing out my ears because brains generate a terrific amount of heat. My temperature was a steady 37.3 C (99 F) and my ear channels were free of obstruction. Hey man, cleaning your ears is quick and easy. Don't risk turning off a date with misfortunately located ear-hair and wax. How was my brain shedding the heat? Their solution, let's do a Spinal Tap. No way. I'd seen that band and they were all extremely fucked up, even for old guys. I wasn't going down that road. They insisted. I suggested that I consent to the procedure with the condition that I received no pain killers/sedatives of any kind and I got to grab and hold onto the testicles of my two, current, least favorite doctors. When they realized I was deadly serious and immovable on the issue, they came up with a new plan, no Spinal Tap. Gutless sissies. Into this vacuum of information, a brainstorm emerged (besides my inexplicable one). They would talk to me, no more interrogations, an actual verbal exchange. They couldn't come over and start flapping their gums like some punk rock band with no talent. They were suddenly worried about 'concerning' me and 'agitating my unstable state'. I pray to Goddess Ishara that one day soon they play back the tapes of their early hours working on me and pay close attention to my facial expressions of shock, horror, fear and depression as they clearly and openly talked about me as if I was the Fiji Mermaid. But hey, a few of them were kinda cute, so in the final analysis all that emotional trauma worked its way out. Hospital highlights: (Understand, I was lying on a table while various specialists prodded and talked about me as if I wasn't there. To strike back at reality, I throbbed my penis every time this cute Parasitologist looked at it. Finally ) Female Chief of Neurosurgery: "Did anyone think to study changes in is body's nervous system?" (Guilty looks all around) Neuro Surgeon: "What are all these needle marks?" Havenstone Medico, "Those are muscle stimuli insertion sites. They kept his musculature from atrophying while he was in a coma." Neuro Surgeon: "Let me get this straight. This man had a lightning bolt go off in his head and part of your healthcare regimen was to run a constant current of electricity throughout the rest of his body." (Scathing looks at the Medico from everyone else, jackals) HM: "He has retained excellent muscle tone." Neuro Surgeon: "Have you even taken the Hippocratic Oath?" HM: (offended) "Of course not, he's Greek." Neuro Surgeon: "What does my patient being Greek have to do with anything?" HM: "Not him (pointing at me). Hippocrates, he was a Greek. Cáel is Magyar/Irish Gaelic." Neuro Surgeon: "Helpful, that's not. He seems to have a great deal of bruises and scarring, some of it certainly received over an extensive period of time. Is this your work?" HM: (in a positive note) "No. It has not been my pleasure to spar with Cáel yet." Neuro Surgeon: "Isn't he a bit, big for you?" &
Of Funerals and Families; Part Two. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. “Birthed by stars, in immortal light, so why do we assume we pass into Darkness.” A maniac conducted the orchestra, while every section fought for dominance without a thought to the opera unfolding under its twittering cacophony. That is how it felt as I steeled myself for the service, but my musings were a fantasy. I had a swirling company of my twenty inductees, two Amazons, plus Rachel's detail and Esmeralda coordinating all the traffic. Pamela was absent. Buffy was the one in charge, deciding who got how close and under what level of scrutiny. The presence of law enforcement was made obvious by our vigilance, with mutual hostility being declared. The government was catching up with how they'd been screwed over. They couldn't prove a thing yet, although they had missed an entire day trailing after me. They also had new leadership. Pamela had expelled Theodora with the simple application of Conflict of Interest. Nicole and Pratt had joined me in my suite, so I was suitably armored when the Feds made their next run at me. I had stepped up in the world, so I was rewarded with a new attack plan. Her name was Assistant Federal District Attorney Javiera Castello, and two seconds of eye contact made precisely transparent what a hurricane she was going to bring to my life. Sex? Oh yeah, she was already figuring what penitentiary to send me to so she could make monthly visits. An impressive dicking wasn't going to save me this time. She was professional, polite and courteous concerning my mourning without being false. Theodora's strategy assumed I was the man who graduated from Bolingbrook a few months back. My history was clear and muddy enough to be real. I was what my documentation said I was; until Havenstone. Theodora had waved the flags and charged the barricades only to discover too late that my defenses weren't manned by a lone yahoo with a bow and arrow, but with mortars and machineguns and her troops had been scattered, her plans shredded. Javiera had my measure now. I was a Prince. Of what, she didn't know yet. She was going to find out. Not out of some fatalistic curiosity, but because that's where the bread crumbs led. Dad was what he appeared to be, that plot of land was relatively worthless and two groups of professional killers had fought and died dragging my father either away, or to safety. I work with some scary-smart ladies. "Ms. Castello, would you care to travel with me to the service?" I turned to her at the last moment. I was a clever puppy, good with women and I wasn't trying to be a politician. Javiera took my gesture for what it was; an olive branch. I was offering to be less of an obstructionist, and she was willing to forgo retribution for my earlier stunts. Five minutes down the road in the stretch limo, I could see the question eating Javiera up inside. She was honoring my melancholy; I could almost hear Dad saying, 'Son, you have company' as a persistent reminder to his petulant teenage slacker that I was a member of the Human Equation. "What do you want to ask me?" I gathered my civility to the fore. Nicole shifted so that we were making eye contact. "Is there a limit to how many questions?" she started off with. I didn't say 'One and that was it'. "I've been told it will take us thirty-two minutes to the cemetery," I looked at my watch. "That gives us; twenty-six minutes," I offered. "Why all the hostility?" led the charge. "A variety of people consider my life to have some value. For a few it is personal. For most, they attach a more esoteric price tag on my existence," I replied. "That is vague enough to be useless," she gently scolded me. Oh, I could see that both Javiera and Nicole were about to play Nutcracker with my heritage until it was the consistency of warm peanut butter. "I am the member of not one, but two secret societies," I kept steady eye contact with her. Yes; there was that look I was slowly becoming accustomed to; that one that conveyed 'what you said made no sense, so why aren't you lying to me?' "Which ones?" Javiera rebounded quickly. "Perhaps we should discuss this at a later time," Nicole reposed. "Nicole," I patted her knee, "how would you feel if you got Javiera murdered?" "That thought shouldn't even be;” she stated. "Nicole, I'm worried enough about you. People know I like you, so they may not kill you for looking in the wrong trash bin," I explained. "She doesn't even have that rather tenuous screen." "Was it one, or both secret societies that shot and killed your father?" Javier continued. "Without a doubt it was an accident. The all-female group was simply scouting the location out as part of forming a contingency plan," I said. "The other group showed up to kidnap my father to interrogate him; I'm not going to tell you why." "The first group identified themselves and the second group began shooting. In the process of grabbing my father, they shot him three times. In the process of taking him to one of their cars, the living lady engaged them in a final firefight. They abandoned my father and left." "You seem to know a great deal about what happened," Javiera noted. "I've seen the footage the first group took from their helmet cams," I told her. "Is there any way I could see that?" she prodded. "By no human means I can think of," I shrugged. "Feel free to ask that extremely venomous lady sitting next to you. Her name is Rachel," I made the introduction. "She remains under the impression that killing people around me will somehow save me from myself," I added. "I not only trust her, I trust her with the lives of my daughters." "You don't have any children we are aware of," Javiera wondered. "Rachel knows what I mean," I gave a lopsided grin. Rachel knew alright. I wasn't asking her to save me with that statement. I was asking her to save my future. "What is with all the women? I'm a believer in gender equality. You seem to lack any male employees, period. Is this a permutation of a harem?" Javier opened another line of investigation. Rachel and Buffy quickly snorted their amusement then returned to their not-so-subtle aggression. I was sure my chauffeur, Tiger Lily, was snickering it up too, beyond the glass. Sigh. "That was uncalled for," I frowned at the Fed. "Five Google searches and you should know all about Havenstone's hiring practices. Ask what you want to ask. Don't try to trick me. I am definitely not in the mood." "Why are you in charge; a male over Havenstone employees that certainly have more skill and experience at; just about everything?" Javiera came clean. "Put on your hip-waders," I groaned. "This is going to suck." I waited until I had her undivided attention. "A long time ago, I killed a group of really bad people," I grunted. I could see that she wasn't buying it despite her interrogation senses saying I was being truthful. "When I say a long time ago, I mean about 2500 years ago." Sigh. "Before you start tossing Thorazine at me, all you need to accept is that every one of those women around me believes that to be true." "So this is a cult?" Javiera inquired bravely. "Put it this way. I'm sure you practice a martial art of some kind. You probably have a chromatic belt that you are rather proud of. It will not help you. These women are professional killers. I'm pretty sure there are a dozen unidentified corpses that could be attributed to these two." I already knew that Buffy killed some guys. Rachel? She was a team leader, so I was willing to have faith in her ability to remorselessly end another person's life. Javiera must have volunteered for my personal fiasco. "Are you being held against your will?" she looked so vigilant and intent. "I can get you out." "No," a dry chuckle. "I'm; not good; getting by. There is no way in Hell I'm leaving Havenstone. I can hardly kill all the people responsible for my father's death if I did that." "If you seek personal vengeance, I will be forced to bring every legal power to bear to stop you," she felt bound to threaten me. "Don't stop being you on my account, Ms. Castello," I finally managed a smile. It was sincere and Javiera knew it. "Who? Maybe I can catch them before you do?" she offered me an escape clause. "You will know it when you see it," I took a deep breath. "Do not try anything at the funeral," she warned me. "Law enforcement will be all over the place." She really wanted to screw me in prison. I knew those things. "I'm not going to kill them there," I assured her. "They will be the ones running for their lives though." "How is that going to work?" Nicole finally broke my silence. "I have 27 ladies willing to kill on my command," I exaggerated. "When I tell those men I know they were responsible and that they should run for their lives, they are going to run for their lousy stinking lives." "But you are not going to give the order to have them killed," Javiera stated. She was getting my measure now. "No, but they don't know that and being horrible human beings, they will assume that I will have them murdered over my father's grave," I turned positively wolfish. "They will run and they will keep running because of you and yours, Javiera. They won't have guns because they don't want to be arrested," I finished. "Why are they afraid to be arrested?" Javiera was putting the puzzle together. That was our deal after all. "I can have repeated, heavenly sex on a train with a nun," I confessed. "I'm pretty sure I can arrange to have a scumbag killed in prison." "I think we can both agree my client is under a great deal of stress at this time," Nicole intervened. "I think we can agree your client is not Al Capone, much less Osama bin Laden," Javiera allowed. "I still think he is exceedingly dangerous." "Dangerous? Dangerous is dating in this town," I groaned. "Went out late last night to a dance club, met two sweet girls visiting the Windy City, stepped outside and they tried to kill me." "Do these two count as 'public'?" Buffy snarled. She meant Javiera and Nicole. Pratt was in another car and the only others with us were Rachel and me. This was going to hurt. "No," I sighed. Wham! The Charlie Horse from Hell! "That's why you have bodyguards, you jerk," Buffy nearly cried. "Ah; we were with him," Rachel tapped Buffy's upper arm. "Oh." Long pause. "I; I apologize," Buffy said sheepishly. "I had no idea you were getting smarter." That was probably the best apology I was going to get. It was still my fault. "You do it out of love, Buffy," I rubbed my arm. Buffy gave me a heartbreaking smile. "Was that domestic violence, or assault?" Javiera snarled. "Neither one is allowable under Illinois law." "It is a Human Resources Team-building tool," I lied. "In some places it is called Obedience Training, or Negative Reinforcement." "I have never seen another human being take a beating like Cáel can," Rachel complimented me. "He is also incredible in the bed room," Buffy added on. Javier didn't know what to make of the menagerie of 'not-normal' women who hung around me. She locked eyes with Buffy. "I mean Really fantastic," Buffy licked her lips. Nicole nodded in agreement. "I can't use any of this," Javiera muttered after several minute of silence. "It is all a type of shared delusion; with fourteen dead bodies attached to it." "Ah, the guy with both femoral arteries shot out made it? Whoa, we've got some top notch surgeons in this city," I nodded. "Yes. As opposed to those two men who had their heads shot off," Javiera added bitterly. Reminding her that poor Horace of the Burnham PD had done the deeds was pointless. "Who died?" I attempted some reciprocity from Javiera. She'd read through every public aspect of my life and had talked to me for less than ten minutes. She excelled at her craft; punishing lawbreakers. "I conclude you know the name of the three dead women and the one living one," she began, "because we haven't a clue who they really are. Their cover identities aren't perfect. We simply can't get anything about them behind the fallacy of their existence." She waited. "If you can help us put the wounded woman in some sort of shared protective custody, I can probably 'suggest' that she be more cooperative," I counter-offered. Rachel nodded. "The eight other bodies at the house;” Javiera shook her head. "Four were dead and by that I mean reported dead from four to nine years ago. The rest; Hell, they were all twisted fucking savages. Every one of them had Interpol warrants out for them, for questioning. No accusations seemed to stick to them: misplaced evidence, dead witnesses and falsified death certificates." "Does this mean anything to you?" Javiera paused to get some more information. "Yes. Reference the men running for their lives," I nodded. "Cáel?" Rachel cautioned me. "This is not something you can rush into." "Actually, it was you who clued me in, Rachel," I looked at her. "Given an opportunity to have only one gun of a given type, would you choose one you knew intimately, or a totally random one?" was my rhetorical question. Professionals trained with a large variety of weapons, yet every Amazon I had met had a preferred weapon; one that if they could have it with them, they would. "The Zastava M2," Rachel nodded. "It is not used in too many places and only Peru in this hemisphere. Someone really loved that gun; enough to bring it from whatever killing field where he was currently employed to my home," I said. "Since the other likely culprit passed on a chance to kill me last night, I am sure enough to pick a fight." (Holy Cross) It had to be odd in so many ways for the people who knew Dad and, to a lesser extent, me. They gathered by the graveside. It wasn't much. Dad had been cremated as had Mom. They had these small granite markers; no headstones for them. They had been so much in love. All they wanted is to be laid to rest, side by side. Mom had insisted on cremation. I thought I knew why, but it had done no good. The true oddity was obvious. The islet of normalcy was the small funerary party with me. My Aunt; my Father's Sister; was here and somewhat in shock. She and Dad hadn't been close; so much unsaid. When my Grandparents died, Dad was only nineteen and Stella was sixteen. Stella's lifelong friend had moved to Maryland a few months previously. Stella reached out to her friend, her friend's parents talked to Dad and Stella went to off to be a mariner. Seeing her occasionally as I was growing up was the extent of our relationship. The priest did his thing. I wondered what Christ thought of this mystic fur ball that was the amalgam of my life. My hope was that he was quietly urging me to do the right thing. The Padre finished, the co-workers and neighbors came by to give their condolences and then ran the gauntlet. The gauntlet? Yes, the herd of Amazons, O'Shea kin and four other clumps of people who I didn't know, yet undoubtedly would soon. Selena and Miyako were present along with a third female who looked luscious in a burqa-shaped covering and a diaphanous veil. Javiera, Pratt and Nicole were somewhat out of place with their lack of arrogant lethality. A limo driver came to take Stella away. "I have some issues to deal with, Aunt Stella," I comforted her. "Vér a vér." It had been ages since she'd heard Hungarian so she wasn't sure what I meant, but she knew it was bad. One of my O'Shea aunts was coming my way until the menace of the closing Amazons halted her. The others had no clue what they were about to behold. I doubt outsiders had ever been privileged to witness anything like it. This was a declaration; it was my mission statement. Ishara did not hide. I took off my coat, folded it, placed it on the damp grass then knelt on it. Buffy stepped up with the bowl of incense and followed my 'coat to keep your knees clean' stunt, sitting perpendicular on my right. Helena followed suit on my left, placing a shroud over my head and leaned over the bowl. Gamble number one: the incense lit up instantly. Gamble number two: it really did burn my eyes; no more Desiree slapping me around. I was sure she'd be heartbroken. Gamble number three: while using my nifty little Amazon blade to gather my tears, I managed not to cut myself. The inductees were much more impressed when they realized what I was doing under my head covering. The next step had me pulling back the shroud, standing up, and striding over the burning bowl of incense. Helena called out the first name. The lady didn't need any prodding. The Amazon walked over to my coat and knelt. Helena wrote down her name and handed her the slip of paper. My Keeper motioned to the bowl. The first applicant placed her named slip of paper on the embers. The simple message flashed up and was consumed. That was unlooked for. I declared her old self dead. With my tears, I opened her eyes to our ancestral history and with blood, I brought her into our future. She had entered House Ishara. She wasn't the only one crying either. What Rachel and her team thought was unknown to me. They were being hyper-vigilant. Esmeralda kept stealing glances our way. Things went along with joyous solemnity until the fourteenth woman, Alicia, knelt before me. Helena handed the paper over, the Amazon dropped it on the incense and nothing happened. I was about to move on to the next part of the ritual when I caught sight of that. Buffy, Helena and the lady were all staring at the offending bit of tinder. I bent over and, with my index finger, pushed it into the embers. Nothing; no heat, or fiery consumption. I put some spit on my finger and pushed again. This time it burned me. The paper was fine. Damn it; 'Come on Ishara!' I screamed mentally. 'Can't I have a simple bit of theater without you mangling someone's dreams?' There was no supernatural scolding, or retort. "Alicia, Ishara believes you have not yet finished your walk outside our House," I consoled the woman; Alicia Holt. As she stood up, faced gripped with disbelief, Buffy rose and took her away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alicia shoot me a poisonous look. Buffy had anticipated this and was making sure the woman didn't make a scene. The last six women were even more nervous than the previous thirteen. Thankfully, Ishara was accepting of the remainder and we all transited to the group celebratory hug. Act one has passed safely, Act two had an unexpected bump and here came round three. The 'dignitaries' started swooping in. Outside of the O'Shea's, none of the guests wanted to have another group behind them, or hemming in them. Two of the groups held back and since one was composed entirely of Asians, I was betting the other group was the Egyptian Rite. One of my now four aunts came forward. My small crowd of Isharans gave her barely enough room to approach the grave. She placed a green rose upon my Mother's small marble marker. I wondered what my Mother would have thought of her sisters finally finding her; green rose? Who made green; probably the same sick son of a bitch who made female clones of himself? The other three followed suit, placing the roses in a radiating sunburst on the small piece of marble. Through the wall of Illuminati security came; the Missing Link. Oh My God. I had heard of V-chested males, but this was insane. I swear his upper arms were as big as my thighs. The problem was the hips and legs of the body didn't match-up to the torso, arms, neck (or lack thereof) and shoulders. The upper, steroid-addicted half belonged to a two meter tall giant. The lower half belonged to, maybe, a subpar man of a meter and a half This monster didn't have a receding hairline (actually, he did); he had a receding forehead. In homo-sapiens, if you roll a marble off their heads, it drops and hits the eyebrows. On this guy, it was a gentle ski-slope all the way down. "This is your Uncle Carrig," Brianna; I thought it was Brianna; made the introductions. I dialed up my Irish. Carrig meant; meant; 'rock'. Not 'the Rock' as in Dwayne Johnson. No, it meant 'rock' as in 'lump'. I had an Uncle Lumpy. How the fuck was I going to explain this at the next high school reunion? The answer was obvious. I'd parade out my four lava-stoked volcanic aunt-hotties and no one would be able to see old Uncle Lumpy over their sexual radiance. Perhaps being created in the form of a disfigured Neanderthal made Lumpy furious with the world. That might be why he wanted Grandpa to stay dead. Maybe; oh hell, Lumpy had serious family issues, as in he wanted to hump my aunts who only wanted to hump me. "Hello Uncle Carrig," I started out. "Thank you for; " "Shut up," he sneered. "I came here to see your whore of a mother one last time, not listen to your prattle." "Carrig, don't," Fiona intervened. "He is family." He took a deep breath. "I know why all of you want him in the Family," he snarled at his sisters. "Behave, or leave," I relayed in a far calmer voice than I felt. "I'll leave when I'm good and ready," Carrig turned his hate back on me. He put a finger to his nose and cleared his sinuses. The resulting sputum he launched at my Mother's tiny rock reminder was dead-on the money, gooey, white and full of phlegm. I looked at that defilement. This red-hot poker of rage seared through my mind. Instead, I laughed. It started as a stuttered utterance but grew and grew into a rich, resounding conquest of death and despair. "Wow, Unc; that was kind of pathetic," I chuckled. "It is impossible to imagine you ever breathed the same air, much less hold any genetic resemblance, to the greatest criminal mastermind of the past millennia. Seriously, spitting on a piece of stone was the most your orangutan-like, sloped-headed pea brain could come up with?" "After that (cough) brilliant bit of diplomacy, he's probably glad he's still dead and didn't have to witness your infantile blunder," I added. He was getting pissed; torn between his desires to pummel me, rip me to shreds, or storm off like a raging King Kong. "You know, when they killed Grandpa, they told me he made a noise like a stuck pig," I mirthfully met his hateful glare. "For a moment, they thought they'd killed the wrong man." "They suspected you and Granddad were in the next chamber, him ramming you up your sissy-ass for the umpteenth time because you are nothing but a ball-less wonder of a cast-off eunuch," I kept taunting him. "Then they recalled that you always squealed like a piglet, not a full grown boar, so they completed their mission and left," I refused to flinch before his vile hatred. "You think you are funny?" he leaned in and hissed. "I think you need a breath mint; and I am hilarious," I grinned. "I also think I'm the son Granddad always wanted, not you." That was me being mean; really mean. "We are not done," his eyes narrowed. "Take your pulse," I mocked him. "When it stops, we are finished. Until then, brush, use mouthwash and floss between meals. Your halitosis is truly offensive and worse, I think you are aware of it, yet still you refuse to respect other people's personal boundaries." "We should go brother," Deidre beckoned. She couldn't hide her amusement at his discomfort and humiliation. Uncle Carrig pivoted and back-handed her. Deidre went flying, but my idiot kinsman didn't have long to savor his win. I hit him with two lightning blows. My first thought was that I had dislocated a few of my fingers from hitting his jaw. Wasn't there a Bond villain like that? Carrig turned on me, a feral fury brimming just beneath the surface. "That's a breach, you cocky, snot-nosed punk," he sneered. Mass carnage was in the offing. "You remain painfully ignorant, Uncle Carrig," I took a half-step back. "Take your punishment now, or later," he coughed. "It makes no difference to me." "First off, Carrig, timing should be a poignant concern. Second, you have only now expended a great deal of your meager brain power convincing everyone here we are related; kin; O'Shea's," I explained. "Also, can I have my knife back?" "Knife?" he blinked suspiciously. "Yeah, the knife I left in your chest," I pointed. I said I hit him twice. Uncle Lumpy looked down and, sure enough, my handy little 10 cm blade was between his second and third rib on the right side. I hadn't wanted to kill him. I had wanted to hurt him and apparently failed at that; while sticking a blade almost up to the handle (Amazon personal blades have no hilt) into him; "What; how?" Lumpy was slowly clueing in that he might be in some trouble. "Brother," Brianna stepped up; shooting me a sultry, 'bend me over the closest headstone and bang me like your Goth prom date' look. I actually didn't go to my prom, Goth chicks are fun and Brianna didn't have panties on. Trust me; I have ESP concerning such things. Of more immediate concern; "Carrig, don't pull out the knife," she placed herself between us, facing him. "You will bleed all over the place." "I'm about to ram it down his ass through his throat," he snarled, clearly educationally challenged. I'd left the blade there for that very reason; not have him fountain blood all over the gravesite. "How long is the blade?" Brianna asked me. She already knew the answer. "10 cm," I was polite, "as is the knife every other Amazon carries." "Reach around and pull out the blade when I tell you," Brianna requested. "I will keep pressure on the wound." I had serious doubts she had an MD associated with her name which meant she knew something I didn't. I also had a more pressing conundrum. Per instructions, I was about to be pressing against Brianna's backside with the added benefit of a free hand. "So, do you want me to pat them, or give them a good rub?" I whispered to Brianna. I'd let he decide what treatment her ass was about to receive. "I figure if I reach around and massage your breasts, Carrig will lose it." "Cáel, take a firm hold. Be doubly sure you are ready before we begin," Brianna instructed. It wasn't the Di Vinci Code, but Carrig wasn't about to conquer a Denny's Kid's Menu (it has little games on it) anytime soon either. Brianna wanted double penetration and, in the name of renewing family relations and my inability to resist any available woman for more than a few days, I complied. Then the horror came crashing in; I hadn't had sex all day and it was almost 10 am. "Don't move, Uncle," I cautioned him. I used those words to conceal the sound of Brianna's skirt zipper going down. I used my other hand to gingerly grab my weapon; the knife; jeesh. Brianna spread her legs wider so that the tension kept her apparel from slipping down. My free hand went inside and got to work. Fortunately, Brianna's hands pressing above and below the wound distracted Carrig from her cute, precious whimpering noises. I must be a total dick. I was stroking my aunt/clone mother with two fingers and teasing her bunghole with my thumb while pulling a knife from my uncle's chest. What is wrong with me? For that matter, Ishara could stymie the ambitions of some poor 'Runner', yet decided her prime minion doing this was a good thing? I work for some screwed up people; dead and alive. "Okay, I'm about to do it," I warned them both. Brianna was kind enough to roll her hips forward and ass up for more direct access. The blade came out, two fingers thrust into her depths, Carrig grunted more in annoyance than any physical distraction and Brianna gasped with piteous need. Before Carrig could start to connect A to B to C, I withdrew my fingers and zipped Brianna up. As I started to withdraw, Brianna acted like my loins were velcroed to her posterior. "Bad Girl," I quietly gave her a risqué reproach. She let me go. Then it hit me like a meteor; I had caused Brianna to orgasm, and hard, with one touch. In fact, she was still roughly riding through it. The mental discipline needed to mask her arousal was impressive. She had no control over her aromatic qualities, Lumpy's nostrils were working fine and his hateful, beady rodent-like eyes latched back on me. "I'm going to kill you," he screamed. Carrig definitely wanted to screw his sisters and they had certainly been denying him. I was curious how that had been accomplished. As he shoved Brianna aside, my suspicion about the seriousness of my wound to his chest was confirmed. I hadn't punched through his heavy corded muscle tissue; with a 10 cm blade. Fuck a duck. If Uncle Carrig got those horrifically huge paws of his on me, I'd be paper-mâché in a hurricane; turned into veal; the very tenderized kind. That wasn't going to happen because of a little factor called crowd density. Most notably, he was in the midst of a passel of Amazons invested in my well-being. A sliver of the O'Shea family dynamic took hold. As usual, it sucked to be me. The four O'Shea ladies rallied around Carrig, cautiously pulled him back then ushered him into the steely embrace of their security. Why did that mean it sucked to be me? In a momentary visual exchange, I understood what Lumpy instinctually sensed when he showed up today. His reign as the place-holder for me was coming to an end. The second my Aunts recruited me over to their side, he was a goner. Obviously they had all the real intellect on that side of the clan. Poor Lumpy merely stomped around and acted like the socially maladjusted homicidal maniac he was. Once the journey to Grandpa's house began, he would cease to have any value whatsoever. Behind his animalistic, dull eyes, we shared that. Tragically, but most likely by design, Carrig couldn't develop a new set of skills to adapt to the situation. The best example I could come up with was; Imagine the last of the super-large amphibious predators confronting the first of the true dinosaur apex carnivores. Somewhere in that tiny amphibian brain, it knew it was screwed. Evolution simply hadn't left it an 'out'. It couldn't get bigger, faster, or more ferocious. It had maxxed out those traits for that model. Nope, it was toast and nothing could save it. As I processed that, the rest of that train of thought came tumbling down. Lumpy was a dead man. He'd hit one of his sisters in front of me which was precisely what they wanted. Deidre hadn't come by my place on Monday to warn me that Uncle Blockhead was trying to kill me. She was prepping me for the knowledge that they had killed Lumpy; to save me. Those incestuous nightmares had trotted Uncle Carrig out like a Barnum and Bailey Sasquatch, to loud acclaim and fanfare. Before I could do some in depth research/check to see if this was the 'real' Sasquatch, he would vanish aka be killed to save me. Well played ladies. They should have taken into account I worked for Katrina Love. Katrina undoubtedly played three-dimensional chess on-line so she could lure out the true Vulcans trapped on Earth. My aunts' straw man wasn't going to cut it. Back to the reality that included my father never again enjoying my meandering thoughts over dinner. Back to the other curious 'real' players as they moved in, having soaked up my ceremony and our O'Shea family struggle. If there as a benefit in that misadventure, it was the look on the faces of the two most distant groups. The ambassadors had on their poker faces. I was two decades away from having a chance of deciphering them. Foolish mortals, both groups had brought women with them though. That was not to imply that women can't keep secrets; they are among the experts. It wasn't secrets they were defending though; it was the interaction between Brianna and me that opened them up. If you are a woman and you see a man bring a different woman to orgasm with his fingers in under ten seconds and you are NOT intrigued, you have been sexually neutered. Even if you are a lesbian, you want your lover to pick up that technique. From the level of interest coming my way, I could tell what their bosses/associates really thought of me. The lady who was already thinking how to pull me aside at the reception was also projecting that I had piqued her co-workers, despite their feigned disinterest. The one who was plotting out how to disguise herself as a maid, so she could hide in my bathroom closet until I came in for a shower this evening. Then the feigned interrogation/instructional demonstration could begin, which told me they had chosen to not leave Chicago today despite previous travel plans. The three assholes won the social dare contest and approached me next. They were cool, somewhat disdainful and not a party to the murderous program that led us here today. They were still Condotteiri, thus my enemies and slayers of my Dad. "Mr. Nyilas," a smooth talking Canadian male began, "I wish to pass on the condolences of; " "I know it was you," I broke in. The Canadian; Ottawa, I thought; stopped talking, allowing me to vent. "You killed my father, you fucks. Now here is your 'I got drunk and stuck my cock in a meat grinder only to discover some other moron plugged it in' bullet to the brain. I am not only Cáel Nyilas, I am Cáel Ishara and Cáel, grandson of Cáel O'Shea," I narrowed my vision to menacing slits. "I will let you figure out which Goddess is Ishara as well as the convoluted genetics that has resurrected male Amazons. I want you to know that my father was the Head of House Ishara. You killed a Factor of the Illuminati, the 'Voice' of one of the Nine Clans, one of your own Generals, a Grand Master of the Egyptian Rite, a Ba Wang of the 7 Pillars, or a Chosen Son or Daughter, of Earth and Sky "That's right," I let the fear sink in. "This goes beyond a breach, Dumbass. You BROKE the Truce and have ended the Protocols by killing an Amazon leader. I'm sure claims of ignorance by your Generals will be taken for the empty blathering they are. It is time for your blood to soak the sacred soil of my father's place of entombment." Having buried him and his two cohorts in a rockslide of truth, my final bluff passed unrevealed for the empty threat it was. I could see by the looks in their eyes. Amazons didn't care about law enforcement. They would kill those three, vanish into the surrounds then slink back to their secret compounds. It was how the Condotteiri thought Amazon's worked. "Or," I grumbled, "Are you going to make me and my sisters hunt you down and work for it. Killing you with our knives is going to be;” I was saying when their retreat began. I was going to say 'messy'. Those three took a half-dozen steps back then ran for it. Now the stage was fully set. The three members of the Nine Clans came next. I took a totally different tone. Selena stepped up to speak, bowing as she started to speak. "We wish;” she started. There was a lot of interrupting going on today. "Please do not bow to me," I requested softly. "We have fought and it seems inappropriate to me that, without there being a martial decision, we cannot be sure who should be more respectful to whom," I suggested. Selena quickly switched gears. She and her two female companions were now openly staring at me. "My Sith Lady is most likely preparing for trouble at my most vulnerable point," I told Selena. "I'm much more trouble than I first appear," I added. A hiccup in the conversation took place. "You are the male Head of an Amazon House; how?" Selena questioned. "My father and the fathers before him carried the genes of the original Ishara. When Her daughters died out, the legacy fell to me," I explained. Really smart girls; really, really smart girls. "You do not have any daughters, so your first born daughter will be the next Head of your House," the Hashashin noted quickly. "Of any line?" Ah, the siren call of 'please have unprotected sex with me, Mr. Studmuffin. Not only will I walk bow-legged for a week afterwards, I'll have a political tool to use for a lifetime.' "Yes, that is true. Please understand, unless you can catch a thrown tomahawk with your feet, I can't say you are at the top of the list," I sighed. "Speaking of the acrobat of my dreams, how are you doing Miyako?" I knocked away at the barrier between our respective groups. I could hardly be considered an Amazon if I wasn't stacking the odds against the Condotteiri, now could I? On came that child-like Nipponese girl's smile that made me want to double-check her ID for proof of age. "It is recovering nicely. Thank you, Ishara-sama," she smiled warmly. "May I see?" I inquired. Miyako nodded so I went down until I was balanced on the balls of my feet. She deftly slipped out of one of her shoes, placed her foot on my knee then began rolling up the pants leg until the bandage was revealed. In the past few hours my medical knowledge had not increased one iota. I was pretty sure that Miyako knew what this doctor's visit was really all about. I gently massaged her leg from ankle to knee, examining it for flaws and weaknesses. I received some manna from Heaven when I stumbled upon a muscle spasm in her foot arch. I worked it out in under thirty seconds and she gave me a musical murmur of relief when I was done. I put her shoe back on and rolled down her trouser leg. "I would still like you to see our medic if you could spare the half-hour," I offered as I stood. "If it would ease any misconceptions about our first encounter, I will do it," Miyako changed her mind from last night. My next neural misfire was 'Did I pack enough condoms to do all these girls I've been promising to fuck since I got here?' "Estere Abed," the thinly-veiled applicant to be the mother of my first child introduced herself. I was at my father's funeral, I'd been hit with the realization that my incestuous aunts are going to emasculate the uncle I'd just met before they kill him, and I was talking to a woman with skin the color of well-seasoned Oak, eyes as dark as expresso-roasted coffee beans (so deeply brown they were almost black), a pale turquoise, virtually transparent pretend-burqa, with inner, skimpy clothing bits keeping her barely street-legal and visualizing what our daughter would look like. "I am of Kurdish extraction," she lowered her head minutely. Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding! Not only was a-bed something I was seriously considering with this woman, Estere was a Kurdish name of Old Persian extraction. It meant Ishtar; who was the advanced incarnation of Ishara. Bitch; aimed up at my Matron Goddess and Ancestral Mother turned Dominatrixes of my soul. "How; how mystically convergent that is," I grumbled. "I apologize. Me and my matron Ball-buster are exchanging psychic barbs at the moment. Had you somehow predicted this would have happened, I would be happier. With my luck though, this is accidental from the perspective of the mortal plane, thus a point of incredible annoyance to me right now." "Do you often talk to your ancestors?" Estere inquired politely. "Only after I've done something bad," I groaned. "Usually my Goddess is short on instructions yet always ready with 'I told you so'." "How can she chastise you for doing wrong if she fails to give you direction?" Estere was so sincere. I had to keep in mind she was a professional librarian with the nasty habit of misfiling people's lives. "I can tell you don't deal with the Spirit World much," I gave a sad grin. "The last time she gave me a prod, I was staring down a life sentence in a dog cage; after I was condemned, not before." "You escaped," she reminded me with a sparkle. I gave a harsh laugh. "No; no, I didn't," I said. "I'll prove it." I lashed out at Estere. She turned my strike aside and was about to do something I assumed would be unfortunate for me when she restrained herself. "See, Estere, you've been doing this most of your life. I'm a college kid who had a good fortune to meet and be guided by a series of stellar women." She nodded. She didn't understand yet she wanted to remain sympathetic. "I'm playing catch up in an incredibly lethal chess match," I continued. "My advantage is I'm not fuck-nuts crazy like the rest of you people. I don't mean to insult you. I simply want to make it clear how I feel. All the societies are spiritually malformed blights on reality; evil, twisted and predatory." "But you like us," she observed. "I'm going to Hell," I risked much by brushing her nose with my finger from brow to the edge of the veil. "I might as well enjoy the journey." Since I returned with all the fingers I started out with, I could tell she appreciated my caress. Our other guests were getting restless, so I had to end our interaction there. A lone man approached. He looked to be a Turkish/Mongolian mixture and he was uncomfortable with the way the situation had developed. I doubt I had offended him. It was much more the scope of this informal meeting had gone way above his pay grade. As he was from the Earth and Sky, the Amazons' hostility simmered. I countered that by being as civil as possible. The emissary, Iskender, gave his condolences, I thanked him for his respect and entered into a small conversation. When he figured out who the Magyar were, he smiled. Iskender was a Kyrgyz, a Turkish people from Central Asia, and we bonded over our male progenitors having saddled up on our nomad ponies, making Eurasia tremble. I was putting forth the effort to make him feel welcome. That was the message for him to take home. Not all the Amazons were going to have their knee-jerk reaction to the E and S's goal. Next came the Seven Pillars, mainly because the Egyptians seemed ready to wait for the grass to devour them before coming my way. Now I had to pillage the vaults of my crafty interpersonal skills to do this correctly. Two men, endowed with as much racial supremacy as Ursula, if not more, introduced themselves. Slight bowing, polite English and the proper, rehearsed words flowed from their mouths. They didn't look down on me; the reason being that behind their perfect civility, they considered me and mine to be inconsequential. The nice female of an indeterminate South Asian lineage had that haunted look of someone made to do horrible things just to survive. A flash of the macabre dumped a memory of her strangling homeless people in some back alleys with barbed wire; so it would hurt them both; training, Seven Pillars style. "Thank you for paying your respects at my father's grave," I started. They hadn't, btw. "I only ask for two things, please," I added humbly. "May I see her palms for a moment?" I asked the man. The woman was clearly a servant; some sort of Palace Guard/Fuck Slave. The leader nodded. The girl was never consulted. Her hands came forward and they rolled so that I saw the scars on her palm; screw you, Ishara. I don't want to care about her. My day planner was more than full with anguish as it was. No answer. "I appreciate it," I smiled. I waited, keeping eye contact. "Was there something else?" the leader finally gave in. "Oh yes," I smiled and nodded. "Don't get in our way. Behave, stay put on that rotting, rubble pile of a decadent and faded civilization you call Heaven and let us do what needs to be done." "Is that clear enough, or do I need to send you both home with your irradiated testicles in jars?" I kept politely smiling and nodding. I was threatening to make them eunuchs with the bonus of having their precious genetics rendered useless. The girl was giving off minute reactive tremors. That was okay. I had been anything, but quiet. Twenty Amazons were ready and willing to make my threat a reality. I wasn't sure how they would break into Fermi Labs for the radiological material, but their resourcefulness never failed to amaze me. The two guys from the Seven Pillars were standing there, not sure what to do next. I had insulted and threatened them; emissaries. Didn't they realize Amazons had been killing poor bastards entreating them for peace for several millennia? "Beat it," I snapped with authority. "I'm done with you. Take my words back to your masters and pray they excuse your gutless reaction. Don't let the airport hit you in the ass." Ugly American? I was the God Damn Bearded Woman/Dog Boy American and their facades were finally fraying around the edges and not the least because going home and telling their bosses my exact words was going to be; well, the positive spin they put on it had better be impressive. They left with their confident poise while the Egyptians approached with a bit of trepidation. Calling me erratic and volatile was being overly kind. My bet was the older male was in charge, but my age and lusty actions convinced them to put the younger woman forward. The younger male bodyguard wasn't even paying attention to me. If the shit went south, he knew he was a goner. "Greetings Cáel Ishara, it seems," she offered my hand to shake. In Old Kingdom Egyptian he said; "May the Blessed Isis bring understanding to this greeting," I countered. Both she and the old man blinked. The rest was in the Egyptian of Ramses and Seti. "It is wonderful to see you speak our sacred tongue; or a close proximity," she smiled. Not only was she generally happy, she was also pretty sure a very unfortunate confrontation was not in the offing. The bodyguard knew of the language but not enough to make out what was being said. The young lady and old man were more than happy to switch to this rare form of communication. We chatted. Things like funerary rites, thoughts on the afterlife and the role of the supernatural in the modern world all came up. No secrets were exchanged and we actually went over some ancient jokes and ribald tales. Buffy's coughing brought us out of our reverie. They taught me the proper Egyptian Rite greeting and farewell, departing in peace. The Amazons were stirring. It was time to head to the cars then on to the wake. "I do not understand you," Javiera grumbled. "You insulted multiple people, including threats of death and dismemberment. You struck and stabbed; something, but not before he knocked a women nearly three meters. I am not even sure that; relative of yours qualifies as human." "I don't know how to approach you and that woman/aunt/whatever," she continued. "Was that incest, public sex, or sexual assault since I didn't hear her give permission for you to do; that?" Whoops; jealousy. Nicole was a half-step back so she could hide her insidious smirk. She already knew I was a bad, bad boy. "I don't know if this makes it better, or worse, but that; those women are not just my aunts. They are the genetic duplicates of my mother and if you think it is funny that they look to be about my age; you wouldn't be alone," I sighed. "Is your mother dead?" she seethed. "Normally, I would take a Death Certificate, mortuary report and a grave marker to be enough. Not with you." "When I was seven years old I saw her very sick in the hospital. I never saw her die, or the cremation, so with my crazy life I'm not going to swear that she's no longer of this Earth," I confessed. "The only one who would know for sure would be; " "Your father," Javiera answered. I began crying all over again. That was it. When I wanted someone dead, I was going to personally put a stake in their hearts, starting with me. This shit has gone down the rabbit hole. In that transitory micro-burst, I flipped. Not to crazy. I had spent my life believing in what was real; working out, girls, books, literature and art; things I could touch and feel, even if it was the air escaping my lungs as words, notes and sounds sprang forth. Now I had to take things on faith. Not 'faith' as in the calculated possibilities which is what most people really meant. I had to accept that there were things beyond my senses that I could not measure, or codify, and move my life forward understanding the total lack of a solid foundation I was basing my actions on. I needed to see Aya so much it hurt. "Are you going to arrest me?" I hiccupped. I was done bawling like a bereft child for a while. "For what?" Javiera snapped. "If I took this insanity before any judge I know, I'd be on Administrative Leave, if not out of a job altogether." "Oh yes," Nicole winked at me. "I was so looking forward to parading out the four identical aunts and the uncle/part-primate." Javiera shot Nicole a dirty look. "We need to go," Buffy reminded me. The only snag was the FBI guys, backed up by some Chicago PD, who intercepted Javiera as she walked with me to our limo. She had to separate for a minute to assure them she hadn't been kidnapped. After some rumbling, we were gifted with one FBI 'bodyguard' for Javiera. That was laughable. If a psychotic fit seized us, there would be two dead government officials instead of one. "Did you really stab that guy?" Special Agent Street Moslin asked once we were on our way. "My family believes in tough love," I muttered. "What sort of organized crime outfit are you with?" was next. "Pre-teen beauty pageants," I sighed. "You wouldn't believe how cutthroat they are." "It is a crime to lie to a criminal investigator," he countered. "And if this was an interrogation," Nicole sizzled, "you would have to Mirandize him." "He has already been Mirandized," the puppy yipped. "Oh? On the charge of Criminal Conspiracy to commit; clarify the charge for me," Nicole grinned. Street looked to Javiera. "What? Special Agent Moslin, consider yourself to not know a damn thing about what is going on and proceed from there," Javiera informed him. The poor bastard looked perplexed. "I will put your situation in context. The woman to my side (Rachel) is about to slit your throat. The woman (Buffy) next to Ms. Lawless is going to snap your neck. They do not give a crap that you, or I, are federal agents. The issue is not what will you do, it is which one gets to you first," Javiera glared at him. "Clear?" SA Street wasn't done yet. "They will get away with it because I suspect they already have such a contingency worked out," Javiera educated him. Javiera was yet Another really clever lady. "Call for our back-up vehicle, pull into a private driveway where you cannot legally follow us, abandon the vehicle, get picked up and leave the city on a private aircraft to another nation," Rachel sounded bored. That was so nice of her to assist Javiera out that way. "Thank you," I told Rachel. "That was very helpful of you." "I want the male to shut-up," Rachel answered. "He's grating. Worse, he's making me wish Pamela was with us and that is so wrong." I held up a finger to forestall Street. "Honestly Dude, she's is not messing with your head. She wants you to shut up, so please be quiet," I urged him. I conceptualized the assessment he was making. Crap. "Guy, whatever workout routine you think gives you the edge is what she does to warm up in the morning," I pleaded. Street had the 'she's only a girl' look about him. "Her combat training is with live rounds, real weapons and a plethora of scrapes, cuts and broken bones. I have little doubt that she's killed people, some in cold blood." "You being Top Shot at the local range and a Judo Champ isn't going to cut it," I emphasized. "You think she's some kind of Special Forces operator?" he mocked me. Javiera and Nicole got nervous. I didn't. Beginner's Amazon Psychology; male opinions do not matter. Rachel and Buffy weren't insulted because he was a chattering chimp and nothing more. "Have you ever heard of an all-female Special Forces unit?" I prodded. "No," he snorted. I kept staring; and staring; and then the idea began creeping in. "Where do you train?" Street looked at Rachel. Rachel was looking at him, not 'at' him. "Please Rachel," I requested. That was really for Javiera's benefit. "Physical training started at age five, weapons training at nine, survival testing at twelve, craft training at fifteen, and acceptance at nineteen," she rattled off in a monotone. "I am thirty." "What is 'craft training'?" Javiera inquired. "Learning to kill people and destroy things," she began. "My specialties are small unit tactics, security operations, electronic countermeasures and Recon Sniper," Rachel replied. "I am an accepted close combat trainer and handheld weapon expert. Do I need to explain any of that?" Pause. Street snorted. "Do you ever sleep?" Street joked. Rachel looked to me then rolled her eyes. "Yes. Six hours; every day unless duty intervenes," she said. "Right; so, what martial arts style do you practice?" he asked. "Not one you have ever heard of," Rachel took a deep breath. "Try me," Street entreated. "I've practiced with several." "Male, do I look like I enjoy talking to you?" Rachel glared. "To alleviate your obvious confusion, I do not. If you wish to lower the hostility level, hand me your pistol and the sap at your back. Your possession of said weapons in the presence of Cáel complicates my job. This is almost as irritating is restraining myself from taking them from you like the infant you are." "You think you could?" Street challenged her. "I was with the 82nd Airborne in Afghanistan." "Special Agent Moslin, she doesn't care. You might as well have told her you were a weekend security guard at an amusement park," I reasoned. "In her mind, being born with a penis renders all your accomplishments so much hyperbole; kind of how her having tits lowered your respect for her as a fighter." That successful ended that diversion. (The wake) Life was wonderful. I walked in the door of the Marshal Fields Jr. Mansion, Charlotte pulled me into a vacant side room and handed me a secure phone. She mouthed the name of the person on the other end. "Hayden," I sighed to my High Priestess. "Ishara (not using my first name was a bad sign), I have heard a report that you have declared war on the Condotteiri," she gave me the 'I'm going to skin you alive' purr. "Yep and I urinated on the Seven Pillars too," I confirmed. "Don't worry about the Illuminati. I've got that alliance sown up." "I'm going to have a member of the Nine Clans give me my first born, Ishara daughter, so that prospective alliance looks good as well," I added. "I even managed to be diplomatic with Earth and Sky. It is not even noon yet either. No need to thank me. Knowing you are thinking passionate thoughts about me is enough." Charlotte looked like her eyes were going to bug out. "We are clear on the fact that there are fifty two other houses in the House, aren't we Cáel?" Hayden murmured. "Hey now," I reposed, "you said to not pick a fight inside Havenstone. You didn't say anything about these sons of bitches on the outside. I also added nineteen new members. Ishara rejected one who I now think was a closet Man-hater's man-hater." "I want you to come back to Havenstone immediately and keep your mouth shut," she commanded. "The Council will be rightly furious." "With me?" I asked. "Of course with you," Hayden growled. "With the aid of the Federal Assistant Attorney, I received computer discs with extensive and sensitive data on Havenstone, including pictures and locations of Sydney and Marilynn, your daughter and granddaughter," I lied. "The feds seized the Condotteiri's private jet." Silence. "What? Why am I only now hearing of this?" Hayden inquired with a deathly calm. "Do you want me to work with the feds to finish hunting down those last two killers while I send someone back with the data?" I persisted. An oddly longer pause. "Katrina insists there is no data," Hayden seethed. "Of course there is no data," I snapped back. "Unlike you, I'm loyal to EVERY MEMBER of the Host, not just the ones I approve of! If I had something that important, it would be on the way to you, if not already in your hands. My House Head has been murdered. Support me; don't support me. It doesn't change that reality. You have lowered your worth in my eyes, Hayden. We will talk of this when I return." And I hung up. Charlotte kept gaping at me. "Do you think I was clear enough, Charlotte?" I asked her. "Yes Ishara," she whispered. "I doubt a single ancestor misconstrued your wrath." That stopped me in my tracks. A rank and file Amazon using my house name was perfectly acceptable. A Council 'equal' saying it was the equivalent of your pissed Mom yelling out your entire name. "You agree with me?" I blinked. "Had it been Fatima, Beyoncé, or Ngozi there would be no debate," Charlotte answered. "I don't like you; okay, beyond your physical magnetism I do not like you. You are still the Head of House Ishara and we believe that the ancestors move through you." By 'we' I imagine she meant Rachel's SD detachment. A social paradigm presented itself. Amazons were surprisingly democratic for such an ancient society. Their bonds of sisterhood gave them greater liberty than any other group I'd heard of. All could take their grievances to the highest authority. They could hate me and die for me at the same time, in the same way Charlotte could be honest at that moment. I was her superior in rank yet her equal in blood. "You realize that if you tell Buffy about this she'll beat me black and blue," I teased Charlotte. "No can do, Ishara," she chuckled. "She's your sister and, quite frankly, you wove this disaster and if anyone deserves to remind you of the trouble you've wrought, it is her." "I would call you a heartless Amazon, but that's kind of redundant," I glowered playfully. I couldn't hide with Charlotte in the side room forever. It was my father's wake after all. Out I went and there was Buffy waiting for me. "We have a problem," Buffy murmured to me as I headed to the main reception area/family room. "There are some questions concerning your Aunt Stella and the Ishara legacy." "Thank God," I muttered. My crisis was momentarily sidelined. I moved into the gathering, letting Helena and Buffy bring the Amazon to my corner. "Quick and easy," I stated as the last one j
Of Funerals and Families; Part Two. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. “Birthed by stars, in immortal light, so why do we assume we pass into Darkness.” A maniac conducted the orchestra, while every section fought for dominance without a thought to the opera unfolding under its twittering cacophony. That is how it felt as I steeled myself for the service, but my musings were a fantasy. I had a swirling company of my twenty inductees, two Amazons, plus Rachel's detail and Esmeralda coordinating all the traffic. Pamela was absent. Buffy was the one in charge, deciding who got how close and under what level of scrutiny. The presence of law enforcement was made obvious by our vigilance, with mutual hostility being declared. The government was catching up with how they'd been screwed over. They couldn't prove a thing yet, although they had missed an entire day trailing after me. They also had new leadership. Pamela had expelled Theodora with the simple application of Conflict of Interest. Nicole and Pratt had joined me in my suite, so I was suitably armored when the Feds made their next run at me. I had stepped up in the world, so I was rewarded with a new attack plan. Her name was Assistant Federal District Attorney Javiera Castello, and two seconds of eye contact made precisely transparent what a hurricane she was going to bring to my life. Sex? Oh yeah, she was already figuring what penitentiary to send me to so she could make monthly visits. An impressive dicking wasn't going to save me this time. She was professional, polite and courteous concerning my mourning without being false. Theodora's strategy assumed I was the man who graduated from Bolingbrook a few months back. My history was clear and muddy enough to be real. I was what my documentation said I was; until Havenstone. Theodora had waved the flags and charged the barricades only to discover too late that my defenses weren't manned by a lone yahoo with a bow and arrow, but with mortars and machineguns and her troops had been scattered, her plans shredded. Javiera had my measure now. I was a Prince. Of what, she didn't know yet. She was going to find out. Not out of some fatalistic curiosity, but because that's where the bread crumbs led. Dad was what he appeared to be, that plot of land was relatively worthless and two groups of professional killers had fought and died dragging my father either away, or to safety. I work with some scary-smart ladies. "Ms. Castello, would you care to travel with me to the service?" I turned to her at the last moment. I was a clever puppy, good with women and I wasn't trying to be a politician. Javiera took my gesture for what it was; an olive branch. I was offering to be less of an obstructionist, and she was willing to forgo retribution for my earlier stunts. Five minutes down the road in the stretch limo, I could see the question eating Javiera up inside. She was honoring my melancholy; I could almost hear Dad saying, 'Son, you have company' as a persistent reminder to his petulant teenage slacker that I was a member of the Human Equation. "What do you want to ask me?" I gathered my civility to the fore. Nicole shifted so that we were making eye contact. "Is there a limit to how many questions?" she started off with. I didn't say 'One and that was it'. "I've been told it will take us thirty-two minutes to the cemetery," I looked at my watch. "That gives us; twenty-six minutes," I offered. "Why all the hostility?" led the charge. "A variety of people consider my life to have some value. For a few it is personal. For most, they attach a more esoteric price tag on my existence," I replied. "That is vague enough to be useless," she gently scolded me. Oh, I could see that both Javiera and Nicole were about to play Nutcracker with my heritage until it was the consistency of warm peanut butter. "I am the member of not one, but two secret societies," I kept steady eye contact with her. Yes; there was that look I was slowly becoming accustomed to; that one that conveyed 'what you said made no sense, so why aren't you lying to me?' "Which ones?" Javiera rebounded quickly. "Perhaps we should discuss this at a later time," Nicole reposed. "Nicole," I patted her knee, "how would you feel if you got Javiera murdered?" "That thought shouldn't even be;” she stated. "Nicole, I'm worried enough about you. People know I like you, so they may not kill you for looking in the wrong trash bin," I explained. "She doesn't even have that rather tenuous screen." "Was it one, or both secret societies that shot and killed your father?" Javier continued. "Without a doubt it was an accident. The all-female group was simply scouting the location out as part of forming a contingency plan," I said. "The other group showed up to kidnap my father to interrogate him; I'm not going to tell you why." "The first group identified themselves and the second group began shooting. In the process of grabbing my father, they shot him three times. In the process of taking him to one of their cars, the living lady engaged them in a final firefight. They abandoned my father and left." "You seem to know a great deal about what happened," Javiera noted. "I've seen the footage the first group took from their helmet cams," I told her. "Is there any way I could see that?" she prodded. "By no human means I can think of," I shrugged. "Feel free to ask that extremely venomous lady sitting next to you. Her name is Rachel," I made the introduction. "She remains under the impression that killing people around me will somehow save me from myself," I added. "I not only trust her, I trust her with the lives of my daughters." "You don't have any children we are aware of," Javiera wondered. "Rachel knows what I mean," I gave a lopsided grin. Rachel knew alright. I wasn't asking her to save me with that statement. I was asking her to save my future. "What is with all the women? I'm a believer in gender equality. You seem to lack any male employees, period. Is this a permutation of a harem?" Javier opened another line of investigation. Rachel and Buffy quickly snorted their amusement then returned to their not-so-subtle aggression. I was sure my chauffeur, Tiger Lily, was snickering it up too, beyond the glass. Sigh. "That was uncalled for," I frowned at the Fed. "Five Google searches and you should know all about Havenstone's hiring practices. Ask what you want to ask. Don't try to trick me. I am definitely not in the mood." "Why are you in charge; a male over Havenstone employees that certainly have more skill and experience at; just about everything?" Javiera came clean. "Put on your hip-waders," I groaned. "This is going to suck." I waited until I had her undivided attention. "A long time ago, I killed a group of really bad people," I grunted. I could see that she wasn't buying it despite her interrogation senses saying I was being truthful. "When I say a long time ago, I mean about 2500 years ago." Sigh. "Before you start tossing Thorazine at me, all you need to accept is that every one of those women around me believes that to be true." "So this is a cult?" Javiera inquired bravely. "Put it this way. I'm sure you practice a martial art of some kind. You probably have a chromatic belt that you are rather proud of. It will not help you. These women are professional killers. I'm pretty sure there are a dozen unidentified corpses that could be attributed to these two." I already knew that Buffy killed some guys. Rachel? She was a team leader, so I was willing to have faith in her ability to remorselessly end another person's life. Javiera must have volunteered for my personal fiasco. "Are you being held against your will?" she looked so vigilant and intent. "I can get you out." "No," a dry chuckle. "I'm; not good; getting by. There is no way in Hell I'm leaving Havenstone. I can hardly kill all the people responsible for my father's death if I did that." "If you seek personal vengeance, I will be forced to bring every legal power to bear to stop you," she felt bound to threaten me. "Don't stop being you on my account, Ms. Castello," I finally managed a smile. It was sincere and Javiera knew it. "Who? Maybe I can catch them before you do?" she offered me an escape clause. "You will know it when you see it," I took a deep breath. "Do not try anything at the funeral," she warned me. "Law enforcement will be all over the place." She really wanted to screw me in prison. I knew those things. "I'm not going to kill them there," I assured her. "They will be the ones running for their lives though." "How is that going to work?" Nicole finally broke my silence. "I have 27 ladies willing to kill on my command," I exaggerated. "When I tell those men I know they were responsible and that they should run for their lives, they are going to run for their lousy stinking lives." "But you are not going to give the order to have them killed," Javiera stated. She was getting my measure now. "No, but they don't know that and being horrible human beings, they will assume that I will have them murdered over my father's grave," I turned positively wolfish. "They will run and they will keep running because of you and yours, Javiera. They won't have guns because they don't want to be arrested," I finished. "Why are they afraid to be arrested?" Javiera was putting the puzzle together. That was our deal after all. "I can have repeated, heavenly sex on a train with a nun," I confessed. "I'm pretty sure I can arrange to have a scumbag killed in prison." "I think we can both agree my client is under a great deal of stress at this time," Nicole intervened. "I think we can agree your client is not Al Capone, much less Osama bin Laden," Javiera allowed. "I still think he is exceedingly dangerous." "Dangerous? Dangerous is dating in this town," I groaned. "Went out late last night to a dance club, met two sweet girls visiting the Windy City, stepped outside and they tried to kill me." "Do these two count as 'public'?" Buffy snarled. She meant Javiera and Nicole. Pratt was in another car and the only others with us were Rachel and me. This was going to hurt. "No," I sighed. Wham! The Charlie Horse from Hell! "That's why you have bodyguards, you jerk," Buffy nearly cried. "Ah; we were with him," Rachel tapped Buffy's upper arm. "Oh." Long pause. "I; I apologize," Buffy said sheepishly. "I had no idea you were getting smarter." That was probably the best apology I was going to get. It was still my fault. "You do it out of love, Buffy," I rubbed my arm. Buffy gave me a heartbreaking smile. "Was that domestic violence, or assault?" Javiera snarled. "Neither one is allowable under Illinois law." "It is a Human Resources Team-building tool," I lied. "In some places it is called Obedience Training, or Negative Reinforcement." "I have never seen another human being take a beating like Cáel can," Rachel complimented me. "He is also incredible in the bed room," Buffy added on. Javier didn't know what to make of the menagerie of 'not-normal' women who hung around me. She locked eyes with Buffy. "I mean Really fantastic," Buffy licked her lips. Nicole nodded in agreement. "I can't use any of this," Javiera muttered after several minute of silence. "It is all a type of shared delusion; with fourteen dead bodies attached to it." "Ah, the guy with both femoral arteries shot out made it? Whoa, we've got some top notch surgeons in this city," I nodded. "Yes. As opposed to those two men who had their heads shot off," Javiera added bitterly. Reminding her that poor Horace of the Burnham PD had done the deeds was pointless. "Who died?" I attempted some reciprocity from Javiera. She'd read through every public aspect of my life and had talked to me for less than ten minutes. She excelled at her craft; punishing lawbreakers. "I conclude you know the name of the three dead women and the one living one," she began, "because we haven't a clue who they really are. Their cover identities aren't perfect. We simply can't get anything about them behind the fallacy of their existence." She waited. "If you can help us put the wounded woman in some sort of shared protective custody, I can probably 'suggest' that she be more cooperative," I counter-offered. Rachel nodded. "The eight other bodies at the house;” Javiera shook her head. "Four were dead and by that I mean reported dead from four to nine years ago. The rest; Hell, they were all twisted fucking savages. Every one of them had Interpol warrants out for them, for questioning. No accusations seemed to stick to them: misplaced evidence, dead witnesses and falsified death certificates." "Does this mean anything to you?" Javiera paused to get some more information. "Yes. Reference the men running for their lives," I nodded. "Cáel?" Rachel cautioned me. "This is not something you can rush into." "Actually, it was you who clued me in, Rachel," I looked at her. "Given an opportunity to have only one gun of a given type, would you choose one you knew intimately, or a totally random one?" was my rhetorical question. Professionals trained with a large variety of weapons, yet every Amazon I had met had a preferred weapon; one that if they could have it with them, they would. "The Zastava M2," Rachel nodded. "It is not used in too many places and only Peru in this hemisphere. Someone really loved that gun; enough to bring it from whatever killing field where he was currently employed to my home," I said. "Since the other likely culprit passed on a chance to kill me last night, I am sure enough to pick a fight." (Holy Cross) It had to be odd in so many ways for the people who knew Dad and, to a lesser extent, me. They gathered by the graveside. It wasn't much. Dad had been cremated as had Mom. They had these small granite markers; no headstones for them. They had been so much in love. All they wanted is to be laid to rest, side by side. Mom had insisted on cremation. I thought I knew why, but it had done no good. The true oddity was obvious. The islet of normalcy was the small funerary party with me. My Aunt; my Father's Sister; was here and somewhat in shock. She and Dad hadn't been close; so much unsaid. When my Grandparents died, Dad was only nineteen and Stella was sixteen. Stella's lifelong friend had moved to Maryland a few months previously. Stella reached out to her friend, her friend's parents talked to Dad and Stella went to off to be a mariner. Seeing her occasionally as I was growing up was the extent of our relationship. The priest did his thing. I wondered what Christ thought of this mystic fur ball that was the amalgam of my life. My hope was that he was quietly urging me to do the right thing. The Padre finished, the co-workers and neighbors came by to give their condolences and then ran the gauntlet. The gauntlet? Yes, the herd of Amazons, O'Shea kin and four other clumps of people who I didn't know, yet undoubtedly would soon. Selena and Miyako were present along with a third female who looked luscious in a burqa-shaped covering and a diaphanous veil. Javiera, Pratt and Nicole were somewhat out of place with their lack of arrogant lethality. A limo driver came to take Stella away. "I have some issues to deal with, Aunt Stella," I comforted her. "Vér a vér." It had been ages since she'd heard Hungarian so she wasn't sure what I meant, but she knew it was bad. One of my O'Shea aunts was coming my way until the menace of the closing Amazons halted her. The others had no clue what they were about to behold. I doubt outsiders had ever been privileged to witness anything like it. This was a declaration; it was my mission statement. Ishara did not hide. I took off my coat, folded it, placed it on the damp grass then knelt on it. Buffy stepped up with the bowl of incense and followed my 'coat to keep your knees clean' stunt, sitting perpendicular on my right. Helena followed suit on my left, placing a shroud over my head and leaned over the bowl. Gamble number one: the incense lit up instantly. Gamble number two: it really did burn my eyes; no more Desiree slapping me around. I was sure she'd be heartbroken. Gamble number three: while using my nifty little Amazon blade to gather my tears, I managed not to cut myself. The inductees were much more impressed when they realized what I was doing under my head covering. The next step had me pulling back the shroud, standing up, and striding over the burning bowl of incense. Helena called out the first name. The lady didn't need any prodding. The Amazon walked over to my coat and knelt. Helena wrote down her name and handed her the slip of paper. My Keeper motioned to the bowl. The first applicant placed her named slip of paper on the embers. The simple message flashed up and was consumed. That was unlooked for. I declared her old self dead. With my tears, I opened her eyes to our ancestral history and with blood, I brought her into our future. She had entered House Ishara. She wasn't the only one crying either. What Rachel and her team thought was unknown to me. They were being hyper-vigilant. Esmeralda kept stealing glances our way. Things went along with joyous solemnity until the fourteenth woman, Alicia, knelt before me. Helena handed the paper over, the Amazon dropped it on the incense and nothing happened. I was about to move on to the next part of the ritual when I caught sight of that. Buffy, Helena and the lady were all staring at the offending bit of tinder. I bent over and, with my index finger, pushed it into the embers. Nothing; no heat, or fiery consumption. I put some spit on my finger and pushed again. This time it burned me. The paper was fine. Damn it; 'Come on Ishara!' I screamed mentally. 'Can't I have a simple bit of theater without you mangling someone's dreams?' There was no supernatural scolding, or retort. "Alicia, Ishara believes you have not yet finished your walk outside our House," I consoled the woman; Alicia Holt. As she stood up, faced gripped with disbelief, Buffy rose and took her away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alicia shoot me a poisonous look. Buffy had anticipated this and was making sure the woman didn't make a scene. The last six women were even more nervous than the previous thirteen. Thankfully, Ishara was accepting of the remainder and we all transited to the group celebratory hug. Act one has passed safely, Act two had an unexpected bump and here came round three. The 'dignitaries' started swooping in. Outside of the O'Shea's, none of the guests wanted to have another group behind them, or hemming in them. Two of the groups held back and since one was composed entirely of Asians, I was betting the other group was the Egyptian Rite. One of my now four aunts came forward. My small crowd of Isharans gave her barely enough room to approach the grave. She placed a green rose upon my Mother's small marble marker. I wondered what my Mother would have thought of her sisters finally finding her; green rose? Who made green; probably the same sick son of a bitch who made female clones of himself? The other three followed suit, placing the roses in a radiating sunburst on the small piece of marble. Through the wall of Illuminati security came; the Missing Link. Oh My God. I had heard of V-chested males, but this was insane. I swear his upper arms were as big as my thighs. The problem was the hips and legs of the body didn't match-up to the torso, arms, neck (or lack thereof) and shoulders. The upper, steroid-addicted half belonged to a two meter tall giant. The lower half belonged to, maybe, a subpar man of a meter and a half This monster didn't have a receding hairline (actually, he did); he had a receding forehead. In homo-sapiens, if you roll a marble off their heads, it drops and hits the eyebrows. On this guy, it was a gentle ski-slope all the way down. "This is your Uncle Carrig," Brianna; I thought it was Brianna; made the introductions. I dialed up my Irish. Carrig meant; meant; 'rock'. Not 'the Rock' as in Dwayne Johnson. No, it meant 'rock' as in 'lump'. I had an Uncle Lumpy. How the fuck was I going to explain this at the next high school reunion? The answer was obvious. I'd parade out my four lava-stoked volcanic aunt-hotties and no one would be able to see old Uncle Lumpy over their sexual radiance. Perhaps being created in the form of a disfigured Neanderthal made Lumpy furious with the world. That might be why he wanted Grandpa to stay dead. Maybe; oh hell, Lumpy had serious family issues, as in he wanted to hump my aunts who only wanted to hump me. "Hello Uncle Carrig," I started out. "Thank you for; " "Shut up," he sneered. "I came here to see your whore of a mother one last time, not listen to your prattle." "Carrig, don't," Fiona intervened. "He is family." He took a deep breath. "I know why all of you want him in the Family," he snarled at his sisters. "Behave, or leave," I relayed in a far calmer voice than I felt. "I'll leave when I'm good and ready," Carrig turned his hate back on me. He put a finger to his nose and cleared his sinuses. The resulting sputum he launched at my Mother's tiny rock reminder was dead-on the money, gooey, white and full of phlegm. I looked at that defilement. This red-hot poker of rage seared through my mind. Instead, I laughed. It started as a stuttered utterance but grew and grew into a rich, resounding conquest of death and despair. "Wow, Unc; that was kind of pathetic," I chuckled. "It is impossible to imagine you ever breathed the same air, much less hold any genetic resemblance, to the greatest criminal mastermind of the past millennia. Seriously, spitting on a piece of stone was the most your orangutan-like, sloped-headed pea brain could come up with?" "After that (cough) brilliant bit of diplomacy, he's probably glad he's still dead and didn't have to witness your infantile blunder," I added. He was getting pissed; torn between his desires to pummel me, rip me to shreds, or storm off like a raging King Kong. "You know, when they killed Grandpa, they told me he made a noise like a stuck pig," I mirthfully met his hateful glare. "For a moment, they thought they'd killed the wrong man." "They suspected you and Granddad were in the next chamber, him ramming you up your sissy-ass for the umpteenth time because you are nothing but a ball-less wonder of a cast-off eunuch," I kept taunting him. "Then they recalled that you always squealed like a piglet, not a full grown boar, so they completed their mission and left," I refused to flinch before his vile hatred. "You think you are funny?" he leaned in and hissed. "I think you need a breath mint; and I am hilarious," I grinned. "I also think I'm the son Granddad always wanted, not you." That was me being mean; really mean. "We are not done," his eyes narrowed. "Take your pulse," I mocked him. "When it stops, we are finished. Until then, brush, use mouthwash and floss between meals. Your halitosis is truly offensive and worse, I think you are aware of it, yet still you refuse to respect other people's personal boundaries." "We should go brother," Deidre beckoned. She couldn't hide her amusement at his discomfort and humiliation. Uncle Carrig pivoted and back-handed her. Deidre went flying, but my idiot kinsman didn't have long to savor his win. I hit him with two lightning blows. My first thought was that I had dislocated a few of my fingers from hitting his jaw. Wasn't there a Bond villain like that? Carrig turned on me, a feral fury brimming just beneath the surface. "That's a breach, you cocky, snot-nosed punk," he sneered. Mass carnage was in the offing. "You remain painfully ignorant, Uncle Carrig," I took a half-step back. "Take your punishment now, or later," he coughed. "It makes no difference to me." "First off, Carrig, timing should be a poignant concern. Second, you have only now expended a great deal of your meager brain power convincing everyone here we are related; kin; O'Shea's," I explained. "Also, can I have my knife back?" "Knife?" he blinked suspiciously. "Yeah, the knife I left in your chest," I pointed. I said I hit him twice. Uncle Lumpy looked down and, sure enough, my handy little 10 cm blade was between his second and third rib on the right side. I hadn't wanted to kill him. I had wanted to hurt him and apparently failed at that; while sticking a blade almost up to the handle (Amazon personal blades have no hilt) into him; "What; how?" Lumpy was slowly clueing in that he might be in some trouble. "Brother," Brianna stepped up; shooting me a sultry, 'bend me over the closest headstone and bang me like your Goth prom date' look. I actually didn't go to my prom, Goth chicks are fun and Brianna didn't have panties on. Trust me; I have ESP concerning such things. Of more immediate concern; "Carrig, don't pull out the knife," she placed herself between us, facing him. "You will bleed all over the place." "I'm about to ram it down his ass through his throat," he snarled, clearly educationally challenged. I'd left the blade there for that very reason; not have him fountain blood all over the gravesite. "How long is the blade?" Brianna asked me. She already knew the answer. "10 cm," I was polite, "as is the knife every other Amazon carries." "Reach around and pull out the blade when I tell you," Brianna requested. "I will keep pressure on the wound." I had serious doubts she had an MD associated with her name which meant she knew something I didn't. I also had a more pressing conundrum. Per instructions, I was about to be pressing against Brianna's backside with the added benefit of a free hand. "So, do you want me to pat them, or give them a good rub?" I whispered to Brianna. I'd let he decide what treatment her ass was about to receive. "I figure if I reach around and massage your breasts, Carrig will lose it." "Cáel, take a firm hold. Be doubly sure you are ready before we begin," Brianna instructed. It wasn't the Di Vinci Code, but Carrig wasn't about to conquer a Denny's Kid's Menu (it has little games on it) anytime soon either. Brianna wanted double penetration and, in the name of renewing family relations and my inability to resist any available woman for more than a few days, I complied. Then the horror came crashing in; I hadn't had sex all day and it was almost 10 am. "Don't move, Uncle," I cautioned him. I used those words to conceal the sound of Brianna's skirt zipper going down. I used my other hand to gingerly grab my weapon; the knife; jeesh. Brianna spread her legs wider so that the tension kept her apparel from slipping down. My free hand went inside and got to work. Fortunately, Brianna's hands pressing above and below the wound distracted Carrig from her cute, precious whimpering noises. I must be a total dick. I was stroking my aunt/clone mother with two fingers and teasing her bunghole with my thumb while pulling a knife from my uncle's chest. What is wrong with me? For that matter, Ishara could stymie the ambitions of some poor 'Runner', yet decided her prime minion doing this was a good thing? I work for some screwed up people; dead and alive. "Okay, I'm about to do it," I warned them both. Brianna was kind enough to roll her hips forward and ass up for more direct access. The blade came out, two fingers thrust into her depths, Carrig grunted more in annoyance than any physical distraction and Brianna gasped with piteous need. Before Carrig could start to connect A to B to C, I withdrew my fingers and zipped Brianna up. As I started to withdraw, Brianna acted like my loins were velcroed to her posterior. "Bad Girl," I quietly gave her a risqué reproach. She let me go. Then it hit me like a meteor; I had caused Brianna to orgasm, and hard, with one touch. In fact, she was still roughly riding through it. The mental discipline needed to mask her arousal was impressive. She had no control over her aromatic qualities, Lumpy's nostrils were working fine and his hateful, beady rodent-like eyes latched back on me. "I'm going to kill you," he screamed. Carrig definitely wanted to screw his sisters and they had certainly been denying him. I was curious how that had been accomplished. As he shoved Brianna aside, my suspicion about the seriousness of my wound to his chest was confirmed. I hadn't punched through his heavy corded muscle tissue; with a 10 cm blade. Fuck a duck. If Uncle Carrig got those horrifically huge paws of his on me, I'd be paper-mâché in a hurricane; turned into veal; the very tenderized kind. That wasn't going to happen because of a little factor called crowd density. Most notably, he was in the midst of a passel of Amazons invested in my well-being. A sliver of the O'Shea family dynamic took hold. As usual, it sucked to be me. The four O'Shea ladies rallied around Carrig, cautiously pulled him back then ushered him into the steely embrace of their security. Why did that mean it sucked to be me? In a momentary visual exchange, I understood what Lumpy instinctually sensed when he showed up today. His reign as the place-holder for me was coming to an end. The second my Aunts recruited me over to their side, he was a goner. Obviously they had all the real intellect on that side of the clan. Poor Lumpy merely stomped around and acted like the socially maladjusted homicidal maniac he was. Once the journey to Grandpa's house began, he would cease to have any value whatsoever. Behind his animalistic, dull eyes, we shared that. Tragically, but most likely by design, Carrig couldn't develop a new set of skills to adapt to the situation. The best example I could come up with was; Imagine the last of the super-large amphibious predators confronting the first of the true dinosaur apex carnivores. Somewhere in that tiny amphibian brain, it knew it was screwed. Evolution simply hadn't left it an 'out'. It couldn't get bigger, faster, or more ferocious. It had maxxed out those traits for that model. Nope, it was toast and nothing could save it. As I processed that, the rest of that train of thought came tumbling down. Lumpy was a dead man. He'd hit one of his sisters in front of me which was precisely what they wanted. Deidre hadn't come by my place on Monday to warn me that Uncle Blockhead was trying to kill me. She was prepping me for the knowledge that they had killed Lumpy; to save me. Those incestuous nightmares had trotted Uncle Carrig out like a Barnum and Bailey Sasquatch, to loud acclaim and fanfare. Before I could do some in depth research/check to see if this was the 'real' Sasquatch, he would vanish aka be killed to save me. Well played ladies. They should have taken into account I worked for Katrina Love. Katrina undoubtedly played three-dimensional chess on-line so she could lure out the true Vulcans trapped on Earth. My aunts' straw man wasn't going to cut it. Back to the reality that included my father never again enjoying my meandering thoughts over dinner. Back to the other curious 'real' players as they moved in, having soaked up my ceremony and our O'Shea family struggle. If there as a benefit in that misadventure, it was the look on the faces of the two most distant groups. The ambassadors had on their poker faces. I was two decades away from having a chance of deciphering them. Foolish mortals, both groups had brought women with them though. That was not to imply that women can't keep secrets; they are among the experts. It wasn't secrets they were defending though; it was the interaction between Brianna and me that opened them up. If you are a woman and you see a man bring a different woman to orgasm with his fingers in under ten seconds and you are NOT intrigued, you have been sexually neutered. Even if you are a lesbian, you want your lover to pick up that technique. From the level of interest coming my way, I could tell what their bosses/associates really thought of me. The lady who was already thinking how to pull me aside at the reception was also projecting that I had piqued her co-workers, despite their feigned disinterest. The one who was plotting out how to disguise herself as a maid, so she could hide in my bathroom closet until I came in for a shower this evening. Then the feigned interrogation/instructional demonstration could begin, which told me they had chosen to not leave Chicago today despite previous travel plans. The three assholes won the social dare contest and approached me next. They were cool, somewhat disdainful and not a party to the murderous program that led us here today. They were still Condotteiri, thus my enemies and slayers of my Dad. "Mr. Nyilas," a smooth talking Canadian male began, "I wish to pass on the condolences of; " "I know it was you," I broke in. The Canadian; Ottawa, I thought; stopped talking, allowing me to vent. "You killed my father, you fucks. Now here is your 'I got drunk and stuck my cock in a meat grinder only to discover some other moron plugged it in' bullet to the brain. I am not only Cáel Nyilas, I am Cáel Ishara and Cáel, grandson of Cáel O'Shea," I narrowed my vision to menacing slits. "I will let you figure out which Goddess is Ishara as well as the convoluted genetics that has resurrected male Amazons. I want you to know that my father was the Head of House Ishara. You killed a Factor of the Illuminati, the 'Voice' of one of the Nine Clans, one of your own Generals, a Grand Master of the Egyptian Rite, a Ba Wang of the 7 Pillars, or a Chosen Son or Daughter, of Earth and Sky "That's right," I let the fear sink in. "This goes beyond a breach, Dumbass. You BROKE the Truce and have ended the Protocols by killing an Amazon leader. I'm sure claims of ignorance by your Generals will be taken for the empty blathering they are. It is time for your blood to soak the sacred soil of my father's place of entombment." Having buried him and his two cohorts in a rockslide of truth, my final bluff passed unrevealed for the empty threat it was. I could see by the looks in their eyes. Amazons didn't care about law enforcement. They would kill those three, vanish into the surrounds then slink back to their secret compounds. It was how the Condotteiri thought Amazon's worked. "Or," I grumbled, "Are you going to make me and my sisters hunt you down and work for it. Killing you with our knives is going to be;” I was saying when their retreat began. I was going to say 'messy'. Those three took a half-dozen steps back then ran for it. Now the stage was fully set. The three members of the Nine Clans came next. I took a totally different tone. Selena stepped up to speak, bowing as she started to speak. "We wish;” she started. There was a lot of interrupting going on today. "Please do not bow to me," I requested softly. "We have fought and it seems inappropriate to me that, without there being a martial decision, we cannot be sure who should be more respectful to whom," I suggested. Selena quickly switched gears. She and her two female companions were now openly staring at me. "My Sith Lady is most likely preparing for trouble at my most vulnerable point," I told Selena. "I'm much more trouble than I first appear," I added. A hiccup in the conversation took place. "You are the male Head of an Amazon House; how?" Selena questioned. "My father and the fathers before him carried the genes of the original Ishara. When Her daughters died out, the legacy fell to me," I explained. Really smart girls; really, really smart girls. "You do not have any daughters, so your first born daughter will be the next Head of your House," the Hashashin noted quickly. "Of any line?" Ah, the siren call of 'please have unprotected sex with me, Mr. Studmuffin. Not only will I walk bow-legged for a week afterwards, I'll have a political tool to use for a lifetime.' "Yes, that is true. Please understand, unless you can catch a thrown tomahawk with your feet, I can't say you are at the top of the list," I sighed. "Speaking of the acrobat of my dreams, how are you doing Miyako?" I knocked away at the barrier between our respective groups. I could hardly be considered an Amazon if I wasn't stacking the odds against the Condotteiri, now could I? On came that child-like Nipponese girl's smile that made me want to double-check her ID for proof of age. "It is recovering nicely. Thank you, Ishara-sama," she smiled warmly. "May I see?" I inquired. Miyako nodded so I went down until I was balanced on the balls of my feet. She deftly slipped out of one of her shoes, placed her foot on my knee then began rolling up the pants leg until the bandage was revealed. In the past few hours my medical knowledge had not increased one iota. I was pretty sure that Miyako knew what this doctor's visit was really all about. I gently massaged her leg from ankle to knee, examining it for flaws and weaknesses. I received some manna from Heaven when I stumbled upon a muscle spasm in her foot arch. I worked it out in under thirty seconds and she gave me a musical murmur of relief when I was done. I put her shoe back on and rolled down her trouser leg. "I would still like you to see our medic if you could spare the half-hour," I offered as I stood. "If it would ease any misconceptions about our first encounter, I will do it," Miyako changed her mind from last night. My next neural misfire was 'Did I pack enough condoms to do all these girls I've been promising to fuck since I got here?' "Estere Abed," the thinly-veiled applicant to be the mother of my first child introduced herself. I was at my father's funeral, I'd been hit with the realization that my incestuous aunts are going to emasculate the uncle I'd just met before they kill him, and I was talking to a woman with skin the color of well-seasoned Oak, eyes as dark as expresso-roasted coffee beans (so deeply brown they were almost black), a pale turquoise, virtually transparent pretend-burqa, with inner, skimpy clothing bits keeping her barely street-legal and visualizing what our daughter would look like. "I am of Kurdish extraction," she lowered her head minutely. Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding! Not only was a-bed something I was seriously considering with this woman, Estere was a Kurdish name of Old Persian extraction. It meant Ishtar; who was the advanced incarnation of Ishara. Bitch; aimed up at my Matron Goddess and Ancestral Mother turned Dominatrixes of my soul. "How; how mystically convergent that is," I grumbled. "I apologize. Me and my matron Ball-buster are exchanging psychic barbs at the moment. Had you somehow predicted this would have happened, I would be happier. With my luck though, this is accidental from the perspective of the mortal plane, thus a point of incredible annoyance to me right now." "Do you often talk to your ancestors?" Estere inquired politely. "Only after I've done something bad," I groaned. "Usually my Goddess is short on instructions yet always ready with 'I told you so'." "How can she chastise you for doing wrong if she fails to give you direction?" Estere was so sincere. I had to keep in mind she was a professional librarian with the nasty habit of misfiling people's lives. "I can tell you don't deal with the Spirit World much," I gave a sad grin. "The last time she gave me a prod, I was staring down a life sentence in a dog cage; after I was condemned, not before." "You escaped," she reminded me with a sparkle. I gave a harsh laugh. "No; no, I didn't," I said. "I'll prove it." I lashed out at Estere. She turned my strike aside and was about to do something I assumed would be unfortunate for me when she restrained herself. "See, Estere, you've been doing this most of your life. I'm a college kid who had a good fortune to meet and be guided by a series of stellar women." She nodded. She didn't understand yet she wanted to remain sympathetic. "I'm playing catch up in an incredibly lethal chess match," I continued. "My advantage is I'm not fuck-nuts crazy like the rest of you people. I don't mean to insult you. I simply want to make it clear how I feel. All the societies are spiritually malformed blights on reality; evil, twisted and predatory." "But you like us," she observed. "I'm going to Hell," I risked much by brushing her nose with my finger from brow to the edge of the veil. "I might as well enjoy the journey." Since I returned with all the fingers I started out with, I could tell she appreciated my caress. Our other guests were getting restless, so I had to end our interaction there. A lone man approached. He looked to be a Turkish/Mongolian mixture and he was uncomfortable with the way the situation had developed. I doubt I had offended him. It was much more the scope of this informal meeting had gone way above his pay grade. As he was from the Earth and Sky, the Amazons' hostility simmered. I countered that by being as civil as possible. The emissary, Iskender, gave his condolences, I thanked him for his respect and entered into a small conversation. When he figured out who the Magyar were, he smiled. Iskender was a Kyrgyz, a Turkish people from Central Asia, and we bonded over our male progenitors having saddled up on our nomad ponies, making Eurasia tremble. I was putting forth the effort to make him feel welcome. That was the message for him to take home. Not all the Amazons were going to have their knee-jerk reaction to the E and S's goal. Next came the Seven Pillars, mainly because the Egyptians seemed ready to wait for the grass to devour them before coming my way. Now I had to pillage the vaults of my crafty interpersonal skills to do this correctly. Two men, endowed with as much racial supremacy as Ursula, if not more, introduced themselves. Slight bowing, polite English and the proper, rehearsed words flowed from their mouths. They didn't look down on me; the reason being that behind their perfect civility, they considered me and mine to be inconsequential. The nice female of an indeterminate South Asian lineage had that haunted look of someone made to do horrible things just to survive. A flash of the macabre dumped a memory of her strangling homeless people in some back alleys with barbed wire; so it would hurt them both; training, Seven Pillars style. "Thank you for paying your respects at my father's grave," I started. They hadn't, btw. "I only ask for two things, please," I added humbly. "May I see her palms for a moment?" I asked the man. The woman was clearly a servant; some sort of Palace Guard/Fuck Slave. The leader nodded. The girl was never consulted. Her hands came forward and they rolled so that I saw the scars on her palm; screw you, Ishara. I don't want to care about her. My day planner was more than full with anguish as it was. No answer. "I appreciate it," I smiled. I waited, keeping eye contact. "Was there something else?" the leader finally gave in. "Oh yes," I smiled and nodded. "Don't get in our way. Behave, stay put on that rotting, rubble pile of a decadent and faded civilization you call Heaven and let us do what needs to be done." "Is that clear enough, or do I need to send you both home with your irradiated testicles in jars?" I kept politely smiling and nodding. I was threatening to make them eunuchs with the bonus of having their precious genetics rendered useless. The girl was giving off minute reactive tremors. That was okay. I had been anything, but quiet. Twenty Amazons were ready and willing to make my threat a reality. I wasn't sure how they would break into Fermi Labs for the radiological material, but their resourcefulness never failed to amaze me. The two guys from the Seven Pillars were standing there, not sure what to do next. I had insulted and threatened them; emissaries. Didn't they realize Amazons had been killing poor bastards entreating them for peace for several millennia? "Beat it," I snapped with authority. "I'm done with you. Take my words back to your masters and pray they excuse your gutless reaction. Don't let the airport hit you in the ass." Ugly American? I was the God Damn Bearded Woman/Dog Boy American and their facades were finally fraying around the edges and not the least because going home and telling their bosses my exact words was going to be; well, the positive spin they put on it had better be impressive. They left with their confident poise while the Egyptians approached with a bit of trepidation. Calling me erratic and volatile was being overly kind. My bet was the older male was in charge, but my age and lusty actions convinced them to put the younger woman forward. The younger male bodyguard wasn't even paying attention to me. If the shit went south, he knew he was a goner. "Greetings Cáel Ishara, it seems," she offered my hand to shake. In Old Kingdom Egyptian he said; "May the Blessed Isis bring understanding to this greeting," I countered. Both she and the old man blinked. The rest was in the Egyptian of Ramses and Seti. "It is wonderful to see you speak our sacred tongue; or a close proximity," she smiled. Not only was she generally happy, she was also pretty sure a very unfortunate confrontation was not in the offing. The bodyguard knew of the language but not enough to make out what was being said. The young lady and old man were more than happy to switch to this rare form of communication. We chatted. Things like funerary rites, thoughts on the afterlife and the role of the supernatural in the modern world all came up. No secrets were exchanged and we actually went over some ancient jokes and ribald tales. Buffy's coughing brought us out of our reverie. They taught me the proper Egyptian Rite greeting and farewell, departing in peace. The Amazons were stirring. It was time to head to the cars then on to the wake. "I do not understand you," Javiera grumbled. "You insulted multiple people, including threats of death and dismemberment. You struck and stabbed; something, but not before he knocked a women nearly three meters. I am not even sure that; relative of yours qualifies as human." "I don't know how to approach you and that woman/aunt/whatever," she continued. "Was that incest, public sex, or sexual assault since I didn't hear her give permission for you to do; that?" Whoops; jealousy. Nicole was a half-step back so she could hide her insidious smirk. She already knew I was a bad, bad boy. "I don't know if this makes it better, or worse, but that; those women are not just my aunts. They are the genetic duplicates of my mother and if you think it is funny that they look to be about my age; you wouldn't be alone," I sighed. "Is your mother dead?" she seethed. "Normally, I would take a Death Certificate, mortuary report and a grave marker to be enough. Not with you." "When I was seven years old I saw her very sick in the hospital. I never saw her die, or the cremation, so with my crazy life I'm not going to swear that she's no longer of this Earth," I confessed. "The only one who would know for sure would be; " "Your father," Javiera answered. I began crying all over again. That was it. When I wanted someone dead, I was going to personally put a stake in their hearts, starting with me. This shit has gone down the rabbit hole. In that transitory micro-burst, I flipped. Not to crazy. I had spent my life believing in what was real; working out, girls, books, literature and art; things I could touch and feel, even if it was the air escaping my lungs as words, notes and sounds sprang forth. Now I had to take things on faith. Not 'faith' as in the calculated possibilities which is what most people really meant. I had to accept that there were things beyond my senses that I could not measure, or codify, and move my life forward understanding the total lack of a solid foundation I was basing my actions on. I needed to see Aya so much it hurt. "Are you going to arrest me?" I hiccupped. I was done bawling like a bereft child for a while. "For what?" Javiera snapped. "If I took this insanity before any judge I know, I'd be on Administrative Leave, if not out of a job altogether." "Oh yes," Nicole winked at me. "I was so looking forward to parading out the four identical aunts and the uncle/part-primate." Javiera shot Nicole a dirty look. "We need to go," Buffy reminded me. The only snag was the FBI guys, backed up by some Chicago PD, who intercepted Javiera as she walked with me to our limo. She had to separate for a minute to assure them she hadn't been kidnapped. After some rumbling, we were gifted with one FBI 'bodyguard' for Javiera. That was laughable. If a psychotic fit seized us, there would be two dead government officials instead of one. "Did you really stab that guy?" Special Agent Street Moslin asked once we were on our way. "My family believes in tough love," I muttered. "What sort of organized crime outfit are you with?" was next. "Pre-teen beauty pageants," I sighed. "You wouldn't believe how cutthroat they are." "It is a crime to lie to a criminal investigator," he countered. "And if this was an interrogation," Nicole sizzled, "you would have to Mirandize him." "He has already been Mirandized," the puppy yipped. "Oh? On the charge of Criminal Conspiracy to commit; clarify the charge for me," Nicole grinned. Street looked to Javiera. "What? Special Agent Moslin, consider yourself to not know a damn thing about what is going on and proceed from there," Javiera informed him. The poor bastard looked perplexed. "I will put your situation in context. The woman to my side (Rachel) is about to slit your throat. The woman (Buffy) next to Ms. Lawless is going to snap your neck. They do not give a crap that you, or I, are federal agents. The issue is not what will you do, it is which one gets to you first," Javiera glared at him. "Clear?" SA Street wasn't done yet. "They will get away with it because I suspect they already have such a contingency worked out," Javiera educated him. Javiera was yet Another really clever lady. "Call for our back-up vehicle, pull into a private driveway where you cannot legally follow us, abandon the vehicle, get picked up and leave the city on a private aircraft to another nation," Rachel sounded bored. That was so nice of her to assist Javiera out that way. "Thank you," I told Rachel. "That was very helpful of you." "I want the male to shut-up," Rachel answered. "He's grating. Worse, he's making me wish Pamela was with us and that is so wrong." I held up a finger to forestall Street. "Honestly Dude, she's is not messing with your head. She wants you to shut up, so please be quiet," I urged him. I conceptualized the assessment he was making. Crap. "Guy, whatever workout routine you think gives you the edge is what she does to warm up in the morning," I pleaded. Street had the 'she's only a girl' look about him. "Her combat training is with live rounds, real weapons and a plethora of scrapes, cuts and broken bones. I have little doubt that she's killed people, some in cold blood." "You being Top Shot at the local range and a Judo Champ isn't going to cut it," I emphasized. "You think she's some kind of Special Forces operator?" he mocked me. Javiera and Nicole got nervous. I didn't. Beginner's Amazon Psychology; male opinions do not matter. Rachel and Buffy weren't insulted because he was a chattering chimp and nothing more. "Have you ever heard of an all-female Special Forces unit?" I prodded. "No," he snorted. I kept staring; and staring; and then the idea began creeping in. "Where do you train?" Street looked at Rachel. Rachel was looking at him, not 'at' him. "Please Rachel," I requested. That was really for Javiera's benefit. "Physical training started at age five, weapons training at nine, survival testing at twelve, craft training at fifteen, and acceptance at nineteen," she rattled off in a monotone. "I am thirty." "What is 'craft training'?" Javiera inquired. "Learning to kill people and destroy things," she began. "My specialties are small unit tactics, security operations, electronic countermeasures and Recon Sniper," Rachel replied. "I am an accepted close combat trainer and handheld weapon expert. Do I need to explain any of that?" Pause. Street snorted. "Do you ever sleep?" Street joked. Rachel looked to me then rolled her eyes. "Yes. Six hours; every day unless duty intervenes," she said. "Right; so, what martial arts style do you practice?" he asked. "Not one you have ever heard of," Rachel took a deep breath. "Try me," Street entreated. "I've practiced with several." "Male, do I look like I enjoy talking to you?" Rachel glared. "To alleviate your obvious confusion, I do not. If you wish to lower the hostility level, hand me your pistol and the sap at your back. Your possession of said weapons in the presence of Cáel complicates my job. This is almost as irritating is restraining myself from taking them from you like the infant you are." "You think you could?" Street challenged her. "I was with the 82nd Airborne in Afghanistan." "Special Agent Moslin, she doesn't care. You might as well have told her you were a weekend security guard at an amusement park," I reasoned. "In her mind, being born with a penis renders all your accomplishments so much hyperbole; kind of how her having tits lowered your respect for her as a fighter." That successful ended that diversion. (The wake) Life was wonderful. I walked in the door of the Marshal Fields Jr. Mansion, Charlotte pulled me into a vacant side room and handed me a secure phone. She mouthed the name of the person on the other end. "Hayden," I sighed to my High Priestess. "Ishara (not using my first name was a bad sign), I have heard a report that you have declared war on the Condotteiri," she gave me the 'I'm going to skin you alive' purr. "Yep and I urinated on the Seven Pillars too," I confirmed. "Don't worry about the Illuminati. I've got that alliance sown up." "I'm going to have a member of the Nine Clans give me my first born, Ishara daughter, so that prospective alliance looks good as well," I added. "I even managed to be diplomatic with Earth and Sky. It is not even noon yet either. No need to thank me. Knowing you are thinking passionate thoughts about me is enough." Charlotte looked like her eyes were going to bug out. "We are clear on the fact that there are fifty two other houses in the House, aren't we Cáel?" Hayden murmured. "Hey now," I reposed, "you said to not pick a fight inside Havenstone. You didn't say anything about these sons of bitches on the outside. I also added nineteen new members. Ishara rejected one who I now think was a closet Man-hater's man-hater." "I want you to come back to Havenstone immediately and keep your mouth shut," she commanded. "The Council will be rightly furious." "With me?" I asked. "Of course with you," Hayden growled. "With the aid of the Federal Assistant Attorney, I received computer discs with extensive and sensitive data on Havenstone, including pictures and locations of Sydney and Marilynn, your daughter and granddaughter," I lied. "The feds seized the Condotteiri's private jet." Silence. "What? Why am I only now hearing of this?" Hayden inquired with a deathly calm. "Do you want me to work with the feds to finish hunting down those last two killers while I send someone back with the data?" I persisted. An oddly longer pause. "Katrina insists there is no data," Hayden seethed. "Of course there is no data," I snapped back. "Unlike you, I'm loyal to EVERY MEMBER of the Host, not just the ones I approve of! If I had something that important, it would be on the way to you, if not already in your hands. My House Head has been murdered. Support me; don't support me. It doesn't change that reality. You have lowered your worth in my eyes, Hayden. We will talk of this when I return." And I hung up. Charlotte kept gaping at me. "Do you think I was clear enough, Charlotte?" I asked her. "Yes Ishara," she whispered. "I doubt a single ancestor misconstrued your wrath." That stopped me in my tracks. A rank and file Amazon using my house name was perfectly acceptable. A Council 'equal' saying it was the equivalent of your pissed Mom yelling out your entire name. "You agree with me?" I blinked. "Had it been Fatima, Beyoncé, or Ngozi there would be no debate," Charlotte answered. "I don't like you; okay, beyond your physical magnetism I do not like you. You are still the Head of House Ishara and we believe that the ancestors move through you." By 'we' I imagine she meant Rachel's SD detachment. A social paradigm presented itself. Amazons were surprisingly democratic for such an ancient society. Their bonds of sisterhood gave them greater liberty than any other group I'd heard of. All could take their grievances to the highest authority. They could hate me and die for me at the same time, in the same way Charlotte could be honest at that moment. I was her superior in rank yet her equal in blood. "You realize that if you tell Buffy about this she'll beat me black and blue," I teased Charlotte. "No can do, Ishara," she chuckled. "She's your sister and, quite frankly, you wove this disaster and if anyone deserves to remind you of the trouble you've wrought, it is her." "I would call you a heartless Amazon, but that's kind of redundant," I glowered playfully. I couldn't hide with Charlotte in the side room forever. It was my father's wake after all. Out I went and there was Buffy waiting for me. "We have a problem," Buffy murmured to me as I headed to the main reception area/family room. "There are some questions concerning your Aunt Stella and the Ishara legacy." "Thank God," I muttered. My crisis was momentarily sidelined. I moved into the gathering, letting Helena and Buffy bring the Amazon to my corner. "Quick and easy," I stated as the last one j
Of Funerals and Families; Part One In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. “Victory is neither pointless, fleeting, nor soon forgotten. It is yours.” I have been warned that my Uncle wants me dead. My Aunts want me for; other things." "What do they want?" E asked. It was the whole 'men as a true asset' problem for her. "The whole repository of nefariousness;” Pamela started to explain, but then, "Double Word Score!" Pamela and I exclaimed excitedly then 'high-fived'. Yes, you spiteful Cosmos, I had found my soul-mate and she was a near-octogenarian with a macabre sense of humor; who also had a telepathic ability to know my mind. E looked totally lost in the exchange. "Yes; the whole repository of nefariousness was created to be sterile," Pamela picked up the conversation. "Which makes the very existence of Cáel here very noteworthy; virtually inexplicable," she mused. "What have the labs at Havenstone think of this?" Rachel worried. "I refused to go back in for any more tests," I met her gaze. "But it could be important," E joined in. "I will make it easy on you both; I'm a horrible person. I'm the Head of House Ishara and I elect to not put my fate in the hands of the same people who leaked my very existence to the Illuminati during the first set of tests," I stated. "Which is why I'm here in Chicago burying my Father, in case any of you missed it." "Certainly knowing what is going on is more important than the risk of further exposure," E persisted. She got kudos for sticking to her guns. "Esmeralda, I work for Katrina Love, Head of Executive Services," I responded. "By that I mean I have this nifty little glass table in a corner of her office. Me stressing over my genetics isn't really important. Katrina is on the case and I haven't been out of college for two months yet. If the difference between Havenstone getting in a fight with the Illuminati and keeping the truce is my blood sample, she'll let me know," I added. "As far as Ishara is concerned, Havenstone had an information leak that got a house member killed." "Do you have other family?" E inquired hesitantly. "Blood kin? Not in this country and certainly not anyone I could name," I sighed. "I case you are wondering, there are a grand total of three members on Ishara's roster." "Is the rest of your family safe?" E was trying to sound upbeat. "Safe? Of course they are not safe. They both work for Executive Services, Esmeralda. They were 'Runners' who I inducted into Ishara. They are Amazons of the Host and that means never being safe this side of the cliffs. Friday morning I presented them to our ancestors and they were welcomed as equals; as sisters to those who have the blood of Mycenaeans on their hands," I turned to look out the window. "What was it like?" Tiger Lily inquired. "The induction." "If you are looking for a vision of a stone hall with thousands of war-like Amazons holding me in judgment, you'll be disappointed," I recalled. "I had to create the ceremony from scratch; ash, tears and blood. "I felt strong enough about that instinct I let Desiree slap me until I cried enough tears. With Desiree's knife, I cut myself, they cut themselves and our blood mixed," I finished. "That is not how it is done," Rachel corrected me. "No," I stopped. "It is not how you do it. House Ishara has come back from the void that waits for all those who are dead and have no one living to recall them," I explained. "We are not the other Houses. We are both Love and Oaths and there is a lack of respect for each of those virtues in this World." "I never considered Amazons as overly romantic, but we are true to our oaths," Esmeralda was starting to bask in the openness of the exchange. "I do not doubt the integrity of anyone in this vehicle, except for me," I gave her a weary grin. "The failure of oaths is mine. Ishara was bound by an Oath and has failed in her pledge. You are wrong about the romance and I am sure you have misunderstood my definition. I live for the day when no sons are sent to the cliffs as newborns; Love, Esmeralda. Love." The hush pressed upon us until Tiger Lily pulled up in front of the Hotel Burnham. Rachel, E, Charlotte (from the second GL) and I went in. I wave the others back as I went to the desk. Rachel and Charlotte had grey duffel bags with 'stuff' inside. E had my minimal kit. "Cáel Nyilas with Havenstone," I introduced myself. Yes, I was in 'prison' gear. "Director Nyilas; welcome to the Burnham," he recovered quickly. "Which rooms do you wish to use?" Thank you, Helena, no I'm a damn Director. He twisted the screen so I could see the list. Eleven doubles and a Lakeview Executive Suite with two adjoining Deluxe Suites. "We'll use those," I indicated the Executive/Deluxe/Deluxe. "Very good, Sir," he nodded. "Will you be ordering room service? I'm afraid the Atwood restaurant has closed for the evening." "Sounds like a plan," I looked at his name tag, "Steve, or do you prefer Mr. McCabe?" "Steve will do fine, Director;” Steve started. "I will make it easy on you Steve," I sighed. "Call me Cáel. All this Director crap is for the benefit of people I barely know. I am here, in my hometown, to bury my Father; who was murdered yesterday." Steve paled. "The FBI gave me these spiffy duds. If any law enforcement shows up asking for me, give me a ring first." "Nyilas; from Burnham? I read about that," Steve seemed bemused. "The day shift Assistant Manager is from Burnham too." How wonderful, I thought sarcastically. Steven sensed my waning interest. "Your keycards, Sir; Cáel and my sympathy for your loss." "Steve, never miss a chance to tell your loved ones how you feel," I took the cards. "That is my biggest regret with my Dad. I didn't think about it the last time we talked." Steve gave a final nod. I rejoined my group and headed for the elevator. The rest was a tired blur. The rest of the group showed up, including Pamela. I called Nicole to tell her the situation then called Timothy despite the late hour to make sure he was okay. Timothy informed me that two 'psycho-chicks' stopped by as a kind of 'meet and greet'. I hit the small hotel fitness center with Mona, the fourth member of Rachel's team. It helped. What helped more was the constant reminder that I worked with smart people. Mona's mother was dead as well, killed on an undisclosed mission with the SD when she was ten. She could understand my sense of grief and confusion. We didn't cry and hug. It wasn't something she could do with a man. Give a decade, or two and she might come around. Instead, "Thank you for Constanza," Mona said quietly to me as we exited the center. "I measure a person's life in the lives we save; as well as the ones we take," I enlightened her. Before that moment, I didn't really consider killing people to be all that praiseworthy an endeavor. Today I had been in a situation where my life had been in immediate danger. I was glad the other guy ended up dead. Since I was prepared to keep acting stupidly, I was grateful for those who would murder people so that I could remain both noble of purpose and alive. "She is close to me; she helped me grow up after Mom was gone," Mona opened up a tiny bit. "Aren't you a bit angry with me?" I asked. "Initially, I was very angry. Then I heard your words and I knew you spoke the truth of the matter," Mona exhaled. "She should have died. She deserved death for what she said." "No one;” I started to comfort Mona. "For a member of a Faith that exults in the harshness of martial conflict, you spend an inordinate amount of energy struggling to keep people alive," Mona noted. "I'm glad I helped deal with those Latin Kings now. It was a mission worth doing." "What?" I stumbled. "Didn't Buffy tell you?" Mona regarded me. She smirked. "Yeah, we hunted them down late Sunday night and into early Monday morning. I doubt the few who escaped will ever be back." "Why haven't I; anybody heard about this?" I worried. Mona looked at me somewhat perplexed. "Cáel of Ishara, we always take the bodies of murder victims, cut them up, place them in large drums of acid and ship them to Canada," Mona informed me. "Ah; thanks for telling me that. Let's both agree to not let Buffy know that I know, okay?" I requested. "She'll get an inordinate thrill thinking she knows something I don't." "As you wish, Cáel of Ishara," Mona nodded gravely. (Tuesday Morning) Sexual addiction is somewhat like military service. It requires you to be alert to your surroundings, think on your feet, follow procedures and; most crucial to me; shows you how to remain functional with minimal sleep. In this case, five hours sufficed to clear out my cobwebs and make me incredibly horny. All of that was despite the layers of upsetting news being placed before me. Executive Services had gone over the feed from the four SD members. Inadvertently, Dad had fought on the 'right' side. The team leader died first. Her back-up put two men in the grave and wounded a third before they tossed a grenade on her. I looked at Charlotte as she gave me the news. We both had a 'what the' expression on our faces. Grenade? I kept doing my calisthenics. The second two-Amazon group killed three attackers on their side of the building then charged the back door. I wondered if Mom's Garden Dragon was okay. It was like a Garden Gnome, except it was a Dragon. Mom was odd that way. The attacking group had blown the front door and entered the first floor. The Amazons in the back decided to shoot out the lock instead. While transiting the kitchen moving forward, the second group took fire; from a Zastava M 21. I was confused. "It is a modern Serbian weapon," Charlotte filled in the blanks. "Dad was killed by Serbians?" I muttered. "No," Charlotte sighed. "No he wasn't." Another look from me as I started my standing push-ups. "That team member was wounded. The shooter was taken down by both of our teammates. At this point, three other attackers moved from your front room to the dining room, pinning our team down. That was when your father broke cover and assaulted the attackers. He had this large lamp and cracked it over the right shoulder of the closest man," Charlotte stated. I knew that light fixture Charlotte was talking about. It was a floor lamp, nearly two meters tall, made of glass and bronze. My physique was from my Father; broad shoulders and powerful arms. That 'large lamp' weighed over 30 kg and, powered by my father's upper body strength, I was betting the guy who was on the receiving end had have some of his bones snapped. "The man screamed in Bulgarian, his two companions turned to see what was happening and the Amazons advanced by fire toward your father," Charlotte continued. "Your father swung again," she looked at me, "connecting with the man's chest. In response, the other two shot him three times. He fell. The second team pressed forward, killing the man your Father wounded and wounding another. The last unhurt Amazon was killed trying to get to your Father while the survivor was concussed by the use of a second grenade. We don't have the video of what happened in the interim. When the last Amazon began moving again, the two remaining attackers had dragged your father out the front door. She pursued and fired. She wounded the undamaged attacker; and one of her bullets ended your Father's life. She was wounded in this last exchange of fire. The two men helped each other to a vehicle and left." I kept working out as I made an acceptable collage of my misery. "Does she know?" I whispered. "Does she; the Amazon? Her name is Sabina. I don't think she's been informed yet," Charlotte answered. "Unless it becomes necessary, don't tell her that her bullet killed my Father," I sighed. "The only thing that is important to me; to Ishara; is that she gave her all as did her sisters. My Father was killed by the men who first shot him. Had they escaped with my Father, they weren't taking him to a hospital, so he was as good as dead anyway. That is all that matters." "Yes Ishara," Charlotte responded with quiet reverence. Knowing nothing of Security Detail's procedure and tradition, I had tossed out an excuse to spare a valiant woman a terrible piece of news. Charlotte's demeanor suggested to me that it would be a kindness conveyed. A few minutes later, Rachel and Tiger Lily came in from their suite. Mona had been my guardian while I slept so she slept now. This was our signal to shower and put on some clothes before the group went downstairs for breakfast. Pamela presented herself as I was getting dressed. Esmeralda's arrival signaled our migration to the ground floor Atwood restaurant. As everyone glided into the elevator, I had a nostalgic moment for Odette. A normal, non-lethal, happy young lady. This all-encompassing seriousness around me was crimping my efforts to find the silver lining in this personal calamity. Ten seconds after exiting the elevator, Nicole angled toward us then we proceeded to breakfast. It took a little jockeying and refereeing by me to get the seating arrangements set. Nicole was on my left then Pamela. Rachel and E were on my right. Charlotte and Tiger Lily were across from me as orders were taken. "How are you holding up, Cáel?" Nicole put a hand on my lap. I had no immediate reply. "Lonely. Sad. Alone. Bereft of anger; it is pointless. I want to scream, rage, tear things up, throw things across the room and hear them shatter; but not really," I confessed. Suddenly, a strange essence infused my core. "No, that's wrong. I am not alone. We have suffered more, lived through worse and never wavered even in the face of death," I said in a ghostly whisper. That was really the last thing I wanted to say. Its origin was from an enigmatic corner of my mind I was resisting venturing into. 'Taking oneself to the cliffs' made a whole lot more sense suddenly. The Amazon prepared her daughters and granddaughters for her absence. She volunteered to make that trek. In her heart, she called out to her Ancestors to prepare them to accompany her on that final journey. That all sounded like comfortable spiritual mumbo-jumbo, safely quoted by a rational man under duress. The abyssal rift in that psycho-babble, makeshift patch over my emotional pain was I felt Vranus and Ishara standing at my shoulders. Vranus because his seemingly endless quest was finally resolved and he and his descendants would at last be welcomed into the halls of their kin. With me, he had succeeded and brought his people home. There was still the matter of the rest; the three sons of Arinniti and the elder warrior. Holy Crap; they were still out there, waiting to be shown the path home. My 'Evenly Holier Crap' moment was feeling the weight of the eyes of Ishara upon me. Not Ishara, the matron goddess of this; my House, but that ancient Amazon who had surrendered her personal name to oblivion to give her followers a sense of unity. No female was solely 'her' daughter; all the women of the house were equal in birth and station. It was that Ishara who stood at my shoulder and, beyond some perverse desire to look behind me to see how sexy she was, I felt I had her; not approval; her mandate. We had to be held to our oaths and would die to a woman (and man) for them. We were to give the Host a second chance to make things right. There would be no retreat. It was not in the Amazon psyche to fight the relentless, remorseless and bloody battle; to risk everything on victory with no thought of failure. It was not something guys were accustomed to, but had been the doom of men down through the ages. Whether too romantic, too stubborn, or too bound to our brother's in arms, men had embraced hopeless causes before; mostly perishing without fanfare yet with the exceptional impossible victory to give us hope. From time immemorial, male kin of the flesh and spirit had piled their corpses one upon the other, refusing the verdict of combat for the sake of brotherhood and every imaginable ideal. It was hardly a trait worth sharing with the sisters. They would understand the pieces; not the result. My lack of political ability would not be disability. I simply had to learn to fight; a lot better than I did at that moment. The echoes of this message inside my head, the chilled air that filled my lungs and balance restored to my heart was bizarrely unfrightening. It would be an affirmation of the 'first directive' oaths all the houses had sworn. It wasn't my place to raise all the 'Runners', or even a single one. It was my duty to initiate the 'Worthy', no matter their number. My actions were mine. I would not shame the other houses. I would not consider their prestige at all. It was not my place in the same way it was not their place to tell me what I could and couldn't do. It was a divine 'Go get 'em' and it felt pretty, freaking awesome. "Cáel, are you okay?" Nicole asked in a worried tone. She squeezed my thigh. I looked down at my hands. I was okay. "Nicole, I have the blood of Ahhiyawa champions on my hands. I feel it's sticky, sickening ichor and smell the copper-laden, metallic odor," I smiled. "I think I'm going to be just fine." "Who?" Nicole was even more concerned. "Someone who screwed with me a long, long time ago. They are all dead, but don't worry about the bodies showing up to bother anyone," I grinned. All the full-blooded Amazons had been very still. The word 'Ahhiyawa' appeared to scare them even more than my haunting actions. To the Amazons, the Ahhiyawa were the Mycenaeans in the time of the Iliad. The problem seemed to be that I had never heard any member of the Host use that term and I was suddenly curious as to why. "You seemed to have went away for a few seconds," Nicole joked lightly. "You do appear better rested, which is good. What is on the agenda for today?" "Get my Father's body, prepare for his cremation, arrange for the last Roman Catholic Church we attended to send somebody to the service and prepare my parent's plot," I ran down. "I imagine the police and feds will want to contact me again," I piled it on. "I want to see my home if the forensic guys let me. What do you think will be aimed at me?" "We'll check up on any family attorney you may have had along with probating your father's Will, if he had one," Nicole assured me. "As for the authorities, let's see what kind of warrants they are asking for before we move beyond a 'denial' defense." "Denial, as in me claiming I didn't do anything because, ya know, I didn't do anything," I gave her a sleepy smile. "How about we eat first?" We ordered, drank our coffee, tea and juices while remaining largely non-communicative. It wasn't until the food began arriving did I realize I'd 'misplaced' Pamela once more. As I tore into a big slab of ham, I looked over my surroundings for the first time. I gave myself a mental pat on the back when I spotted Pamela then the 'big picture' kicked me in the nuts. Pamela was dressed as a server, coasting about the room, filling drinks, getting appetizer and performing the tedious little chores that waiters and waitresses had to pull off flawlessly. The other wait-staff noticed Pamela, but since she was making their jobs easier and not taking their gratuities, they ignored her. They probably thought she was some industry expert. The plates were being cleared away when Pamela returned, back in normal clothing. She dumped a pile of ID's on the table. Nicole picked them up. "Chicago PD; Organized Crime Taskforce," Nicole read off then glanced to Pamela. "ATF, Homeland Security, FBI, FBI, Chicago PD; Homicide, Federal Marshall and Federal Marshall." "What?" Pamela said between bites of her veggie omelet. "I took their identification, not their wallets. Do you want me to go back for those too; and their keys?" "No. We have risked Mr. Nyilas' freedom enough for one meal," Nicole shot back. She took Tiger Lily's empty plate, dumped the ID's on it then covered the pile with her handkerchief. "Hello," this officious young lady greeted us. I'd been distracted by Nicole's malfeasance so I missed the hotel's new Assistant Manager's approach. It was turning out to be a great morning for visitations from my past. This ghost was much younger than the last ones. Our eyes met. It was easy to see that I was the man in charge being the only man at the table. "Director Nyilas, I hope everything is going well for you and your staff this morning," she smiled. "I would also like to convey the Hotel Burnham's condolences at the passing of your father. I too was born and raised in Burnham." I already knew where she'd lived most of her life. Most critically, I very strongly recalled where she'd gone to school; all 12 grades plus K. "Cameron Sanders," I stood and extended my hand across the table. "You look familiar." Of course she looked familiar. Cameron had publically ground my soul into the grit that ants stepped upon. Her verbal rejection had been a pivotal moment in my life. After that day, I had taken responsibility for my life both anatomically and academically. Recall how I had said I was once a 'nobody'. Here was living proof. Cameron and I had gone to the same schools from Kindergarten through our senior years. We'd even shared classes and it wasn't like I could be confused with all the other 'Cáels' we'd gone to school with; because there weren't any. The same goes for 'Nyilas'. I'd been shifting the boner in my pants for three solid years because of Cameron. She had been hot in high school and she was even better looking now; Brooke hot. For a second, my confidence wavered. In that heartbeat, I realized she was just another woman and I was no longer that guy. "Where you an upperclassman at Thornton Fractional North High School?" she queried. "Hmm; do you recall Jenny Forrester?" I countered. Cameron knew her African-American rival, no doubt. The tweak in her smile said as much. "I'm going out on a limb; you look like a DePaul girl." Cameron's eyes twinkled. Her eyes flitted down to where her class ring normally held court. She had taken it off for work neutrality. "How did you guess?" Cameron tilted her hip suggestively. Sex. "So I'm right?" I reposed. I had 'guessed' right because Cameron crowed about her decision to go to DePaul over all her other offers. "I have some family business to take care of, Cameron," I nodded. "Can we catch up later today and figure out where we've intersected before this morning?" Translation: I'm going to screw you. Not 'I want to', but 'I will'. I could normally figure out a woman in an evening. I had a three year backlog of data on poor Cameron. My Pivotal Goddess was an 'upfront' girl. Her façade was bravado backed by the fear of not measuring up; not being good enough. My mistake in High School was approaching her, hat in hand. Cameron felt best when someone took the tough choices away from her. If she didn't lead, she couldn't fail by her way of thinking. Dad had stood by me that night when he came home from work. I was a broken wreck of a teenage boy. Dad hadn't told me to toughen up and he hadn't been sympathetic. All he wanted to know was what I was going to do about it. What was 'I' going to do, as if I could be the master of my own fate. That was my Dad. The next day I started working out, eating better and taking better care of myself. He was dead; still dead yet my feelings over that had evolved. He was with my ancestors now, waiting for me and my sons and daughters. Looking at it that way, he wasn't really gone at all. "I'll see what can be done," Cameron smiled. I was going to eat her up. "Oh yeah, this plate was mistakenly delivered to my table," I indicated Pamela's illegal haul. "Could you see that it gets where it needs to go after we are gone?" Cameron shot me a sultry smile without even giving her task a casual glance. A hideous tip (kudos to Odette) was added to our over-priced bill and the ladies and I retired to our rooms. It was routine heading to our room. Mona waved us to silence. Then the 'bug hunt' began. Like every Amazon persecution of opposing 'life forms', they didn't play fair. The Amazons had placed electronic surveillance in the room before they left so when unwelcomed guests showed up while we ate and Mona 'slept' we could watch where they placed their goodies in our rooms. This was not a matter of throwing a fit and tossing the electronic devices down the garbage disposal. Oh no, not in Amazon battle lore. They found out what frequency your device was broadcasting on and backtracked it. According to Tiger Lily you can use a source point and a handheld device to triangulate the receiver. Then the fun begins. First, keep the original signal going. Put a subroutine of; oh, all kinds of credit card fraud in this case with the video file then call the appropriate law enforcement agency to bust the place. The subroutine would have no point of origin, so the Amazons would be safe. The spying agency would have a headache on their hands. Credit card fraud would require them to confiscate all the equipment because the threat posed was real, even if the tip was now suspect. This was the Amazon equivalent of fixating the enemy at one point; surveillance; while making their real move on another; the funeral. The average Amazon funeral was a private affair. My Security Detail was modifying plans for an Amazon dignitary's attendance of another Society member's funerary rites. Halfway through the deception plan, Special Agents Brock and John showed up at our door. With two law firms (Pratt's and Nicole's) dancing on their foreheads, they were being polite today and inviting me down to be questioned. I asked for Detective Lisa and Investigator Horace to be there. One: I didn't dictate who investigated me. Two: they were under Internal Affairs review. I agreed with 'one'; I would say 'nothing' to any number of highly qualified law enforcement operatives. I might give answers to the two I had mentioned. 'Two' was none of my affair. They could hope for some answers when they chose the review would be over. I was more than happy spending a lifetime not talking to them. Legalize was tossed around to the point Nicole yawned, pointed out none of them were attorney's with the United States District Court of the Northern District of Illinois; damn, that's some letterhead, and they could make no deals, grant no immunities, on their own. There was no talking to be done except for the ass-reaming the Court of Appeals was going to give both the Federal attorney who applied for the surveillance warrant and the judge who signed it. Low and behold, phones began ringing. As a patrol unit was making a raid on a room three floors down, a series of shots rang out. A gun battle ensued between the three armed men in the room, the two patrolmen (women actually) and the entire misfortunate event was caught on NBC Channel Five news. Occasionally I forget I work for fundamentally viciously sick fucks. My 'team' had sent the cops and the news crew to the spot and even supplied the ignorant housekeeper with the room card-key for the cops to break in with; a hotel room is not a private dwelling. Cops break in, do their 'freeze, we are the police' thing, but before the three feds in the room could reply, 'their' computer audio equipment let off a sound of bullets firing and ricochets echoing across the room. Nature took its course after that. The feds drew and both sides began shooting. No one died, but one ATF guy was going off to surgery. They would have all earned Purple Hearts if they had been in the military and a commendation no matter what; had two law enforcement agencies not shot each other up. The chase was on for the news crew who was desperately trying to get their station to show the footage before the feds grabbed the memory cards. Despite having had no part in that fiasco, Nicole immediately clued in that the moment our two feds ran off to help their comrades it was our time to leave. Did we go to the vehicles we came in? No. That would have exhibited a lack of paranoia my guardians would have found appalling. Two new car waited a block away. Had I been better at this game, I would have noticed the lack of functioning traffic cameras around us. Instead, I went begging to the local diocese of the Catholic Church. I plead my case. Mom and Dad were devout, raised me to be a devout Catholic yet when my Mother died, my father had never gotten over the trauma and me, being a young man, hadn't explored my spirituality yet; but I promised I'd get right on it when I returned to New York. The priest who handled the end of life stuff for the Church was sympathetic. He gave me the name of a local priest near my home I could talk to on my return. He also told me that he'd received a moving letter from a nun in Uganda about a deeply spiritual moment she had shared with me years ago, so he was onboard with giving my Dad a Catholic send-off. I wasn't sure if that was a sign to never touch a wannabe Nun again, or a reminder that nun's gave incredibly positive feedback on their sexual misadventures. I went with the latter. A few more calls, the choosing of the proper crematorium and I was through with the first part of that ordeal. Next came the funeral notification and invites. The Union would send some of Dad's closest co-workers and several neighbors said they'd show up as well. Flowers, clothes, wake; well, it couldn't be in my family home. The forensic team was gone and it was free for me to wander through, but the bullet holes and blood might put a damper on the ambience. In the midst of my worries, I got a call. A polite man named Winchell Sokolowsky offered me the Marshal Fields Jr. Mansion for my personal use. If there is any doubt, Chicago is Not the city of good Samaritans, the overly polite, or even the casually kind. Chicagoans pride themselves on being tough. We have plenty of good people who help out, volunteer and try to make life easier for their fellow man. That does not encompass giving a random stranger use of a multi-million dollar mansion. If I hadn't already been living in fantasy land, I'd have been busy figuring out which one of my few male friends was pulling this prank of on me, but no. "Can I inquire about the source of this largesse, Mr. Sokolowsky? Take in mind the incredible likelihood of a government agency most foul listening in," I cautioned him. "A family friend," he responded with an amused snort. Yeah, cause my Father's funeral was all chuckles for me. Since crab-women weren't likely to know owners of mansions, this had to be my aunts. Woot. "Thank you sir. My security people will be over to sweep the place before the city, state, or federal governments can crank out another search warrant. Thank you again." "That is not unexpected," Sokolowsky replied. "Until then." Rachel looked at me as if I'd done something absurd. She may have been right. "Did you just accept shelter from an individual we do not know; except that he is certainly part of the Protocols?" she stared at me. "Come on now," I chastised her. "It's for a funerary wake. I'm not taking three hundred of the lads out for a stroll, chasing savages up the Little Big Horn, or an Irishman deciding that Oliver Cromwell is a man of his word." I leaned in and winked to Rachel. "Besides Charlie; I got an angle." Pamela, who just happened to be walking by, gave me another high-five. Rachel was really learning to hate/dread those moments of synergy between Pamela and I. "I am not allowed to kill you and I am afraid I can't kill Pamela, but please don't think I don't want to do both," Rachel ratcheted up her displeasure. "Torn into itsy-bitsy pieces;” Pamela started. "And buried alive!" I finished. Another high-five. "You two are both insane," Rachel despaired. "That's the spirit," Pamela and my comeback to Rachel was in synch once again. To prove I wasn't heartless, I hugged Rachel. She froze, arms at her side, caught between warring impulses. I maneuvered her arms around until her hands rested on the back of my hips then rested mine on the small of her back. "Rachel, I cannot go back to a safe, faceless existence," I whispered as I planted tender kisses on her forehead. "To do so would be a betrayal of; me; Ishara." Rachel let go of her emotions and rested her head against my shoulder. "Why couldn't I be tasked to do something sane; like fight drug cartels, Maoist insurgence, or corporate hit squads in the Amazon?" she sighed. I moved my hands to her ass and gave them a nice fondle making sure to slowly grind her waist against my hips. Humping her would have been a mistake. That was sexual. I was giving her a bit of physical appreciation and nothing more. Rachel tilted her head up, I brought mine down until we were nose to nose. "Promise me you will try to stay alive, Cáel," she sounded almost mournful. "I will make a deal with you," I stated. "If I make it back to New York alive, you will consent to have sex with me." Rachel was confused, suspicious yet aroused. "None of this 'one hour' in some dormitory, or nunnery cell. I want everything; a light meal, some quality touching time and a minimum of two rounds of orgasmic sex." "Ah; not a scratch," Rachel counter-offered. I nodded, kissed her nose and she felt as if she'd won something. Rachel got ready to take us to our next stop. Pamela slipped past me. "Like shooting fish in a barrel," she whispered. I had never used that term out loud before. "That's what I would say," she clarified. She was my evil psychic twin grandmother. It was through a tireless group effort that I made it back to the Hotel Burnham at 4 p.m. Cameron made a show of being busy when I first came back. I was willing to be patient. While she puttered around, I flirted with the desk clerk and one of the baggage attendants; pale skin, blonde hair with freckles and light brown skin, black hair in a Nubian weave. This was the 'professional' lure. By presenting myself as a 'Man's Man' and garnering female adoration, I was clearly not (yet) that into her. The pressure was on her and Cameron didn't like pressure because pressure equated to the possibility of failure. Her advantages which were obvious to every other observer were not certainties to her. Contest time. "Director Cáel Nyilas," Cameron interrupted my joke to the two ladies, "I'm finished up for the day." I gave a quick smile to the women I was about to leave then turned on my personal demon. "Should I wait in the lounge until you change?" "No," I waved off her objections. "You can come up to my suite and then we can go to your domicile for you to change for a night out." Quick visual clue update: she lived at home with her parents yet dated enough that it wouldn't be awkward. It also showed me that she was uncomfortable about going to my room. She wasn't so enchanted she would do something stupid. I had the answer to that. I had made it a public declaration. Not only did my hovering troop had the news, so did her front desk. Nothing bad could happen to her if everyone knew where she was; right? On the elevator ride up it was just me, Cameron, Pamela and Esmeralda. The rest travelled on ahead. She took one rear corner so I took the other. I then let my leather-soled shoes slide down the carpet, lowering my overall height compared to Cameron. At some point, I began back-spinning my feet, pretending to be on the edge of falling on my ass. I smiled at Cameron and her eyes sparkled at the vaudevillian gesture. Know your prey and I knew way more about Cameron than was healthy for any girl. For instance, she loved Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton; more of a Keaton girl. She giggled then came to my rescue. She was wrapping me up in her arms while mine stayed safely away. "You are a bit of a joker," she teased me. "Your beautiful smile makes all that effort worthwhile," I truthfully pledged to Cameron. She sighed so contentedly. Behind her back, Pamela was loading a two-barreled hunting device, aiming at some surface-based, above ground structure with an open top and gave it both barrels while avoiding the imaginary back-splash. 'Looks like herring for dinner,' she mouthed with a wicked grin. Esmeralda was soaking it in. Hadn't I pounced on Rachel a few hours earlier? I was definitely hooking Cameron and reeling her in for some sexual deviant purpose; and Pamela was mocking the whole situation. E turned and faced the doors. "You seem like a really nice guy," Cameron murmured. "I mean that in a good way." "I can't see you as any way, but truthful and kind," I met her cherished countenance. "I imagine even harsh lessons are difficult for you to deliver." There; she had one last chance to figure out the poor schlub she'd crushed at the start of our senior year was me. "Being a leader can be very tough," she moped as she pressed into me. My mumbled offerings of affection and her savage reprisal had never registered with her. I was going to eat her alive. "How about I take care of you tonight?" I requested. She hesitated, not out of fear, but confusion. "Completely relax and I'll make the decisions for this one night. Your mind will be free to enjoy and discard at your pleasure." On most levels, Cameron was seeing this as a date. She was a 'dating' girl. She didn't give up the goodies until date three, if I was exceptionally good; date four, or five otherwise. I was about to dispose of that with a clever case of role reversal. My two staffers vanished as I entered my lakeside executive suite. A splendid view I thought I'd never be able to afford the last day; The 28th of December. I had enough money for a flight and a date picking me up at the airport. Bolingbrook had an inordinate amount of students stay the holidays and, by tradition, the graduating class hosted a New Year's Eve party for those students and the staff. I had told Dad about Havenstone and my infinitesimal chances of that kind of job. That was it. He patted me on the shoulder. There was no pressure to come back to Burnham after graduation if I didn't have a job lined up. It was my home if I needed it. So much was unspoken between us. I could tell he was proud; college; good grades; popular; happy. I shouldn't have taken for granted we'd get a chance to talk later. Back to the joy at hand. "So, what's it like working with your Dad?" I dropped into our causal conversation. I was in the bedroom, door open; really? Why do they put doors on those things? The 'Daddy' question could be taken two ways and I trusted Cameron to take it the worse way; and to be pissed. "My Father didn't get me the job here!" Cameron stormed in and insisted with a nice spirited mare stomp of the foot as emphasis. I 'just happened' to be naked, half turned away and a nice, highly suggestive pair of men's underwear in my hands. "What do you mean?" I was clearly confused. I turned a bit more toward her. Now she could almost see everything. "You; you have scars all over your body," she moaned. "I am a warrior, Cameron. This is the kind of man I am," I gave her a fierce, dominating gaze. "I fight for what I want and I brutally defend that which is mine. Who did you think I was?" Had Cameron been a fighter, that would have been the point she left the room. She was all up-front, bravado and a superior façade over an insecure, parentally driven trophy for their mantel place. My anger faded. It wasn't her fault I couldn't read her signs four years ago. I was still going to fuck her to the afterlife and back, but this time I'd be doing it as an informative journey. "I don't know anymore," Cameron tried to rally some sort of coherent rampart. "Come here," I beckoned her with one hand (the one without the underwear). Cameron shook her head. "Cameron, please believe me, there are things my staff would let me get away with; rape is not one of them. I won't touch you anywhere unless you give me permission." If you are a girl in the room at this point, you are toast. I just made it safe to touch my naked body. Sure, you have clothes on; for now, but not for long. Why? Women desire sex about as much as men do. Unless you are a vapid fashion model with substance abuse issues, men with non-disfiguring scars are an aphrodisiac. Add to that a hard-forged physique and men, sex is there for the taking. "I; uh;” she kept taking baby-steps forward. "I; Pam; Pamela is it?" "Yo," Pamela answered in a bored manner, knife in hand, then, "Whoa now!" she pointed her knife at my equipment. "Sheath that, young man. Put it under wraps right now." "I'm grown man, Pamela," I griped. I also put on my underwear. "Pluck the freaking pebble out of my hand, bitch, and then I'll call you an adult," Pamela sneered. Looking to Cameron, "Anything else Miss?" "No, thank you; no, wait. What do you do for Mr. Nyilas?" Cameron asked. "I'm his psychic medium," was Pamela's sage reply. That supernatural bogusness made Cameron happy. It shouldn't have. "Yeah, I kill his enemies then interrogate their souls," Pamela added with a nod. "It is highly rewarding work." Cameron's mouth gaped. "How about I shut the door and give you two kids some privacy." "What does she really do?" Cameron whispered to me. Part of me wanted to say 'she told you'. "She's my masseuse," I lied. I started putting my pants on (forgetting my socks) then fell/sat on the bed. Cameron came to my bedside. I rolled on my back and highly exaggerated the effort it took to pull them up. Cameron began giggling. "Hey, these are my 'skinny' slacks. I wouldn't laugh at you if our positions were switched." "Really?" she teased me. I laughed and she laughed along. "Cameron, think about it. I'm shirtless and definitely bra-less. I'm pretty sure I'd be too distracted by a multitude of your other assets to snicker," I countered. Cameron blushed and smiled. Ah, the visual image in Cameron's head was her, with jeans, racy panties and nothing else on while I hovered over her, relishing her attempts to conceal her charms. I shuffled back on the bed and resumed pulling my slacks up. Cameron followed, right into the danger zone. "Wait;” she put a hand on my abdomen. "What caused that scar?" So I told her. Okay, I gave her an abridged version of the truth. Fine, I lied like a big dog. I had the amazing habit of stumbling across women in need of saving. I bled for their virtue and honor, racked with intense pain before a violent victory was seized by my masculine hands. I was sure that Pamela and Rachel were hiding just outside the door, retching into waste baskets over the layers upon layers of my tripe. Around wound twelve, I was sure if I had asked Cameron to wear little lamb ears and a bell around her neck, she would have; had one been handy. To be fair, I wasn't fighting off legions of Green Beret. I was doing one better. I was using thinly-veiled caricatures of her High School enemies and nemeses. I was revealing their wickedness and pummeling them for their evil ways. There is a precious look a woman has when she miraculously discovers she is going to have the intercourse she's wanted yet somehow not recognized that need for until that moment. Cameron had that look, straddling me, skirt hiked up to her waist and vulva riding my cock (two layers intervening). We were out of wounds. "The rest are covered up," I explained in a predatory voice. Yes, Cameron was going to have sex and she had no control of events whatsoever and I hadn't even laid a hand on her yet. "Where?" she was suddenly baffled. "Pants," I kept it short and to the point. Cameron looked over her shoulder She reluctantly started to dismount so she could get to them so I made my move. I grabbed her hips in mid-dismount and rotated her around to reverse-cowgirl. Cameron began tugging off my pants with my legs raised high. My stomach crunches kicked in and I leveraged my torso up as well. I deftly moved her skirt up and went straight to the ass massage. Cameron's head shot around, eyes fearful. I had broken my word to not touch her without permission. Yes, I had lied to a girl; Now, I kissed her right on the lips, expertly delivered a delving French kiss and moved one hand to her right breast for an aggressive fondle. Cameron was really getting into it. Her nipples were highly sensitive. Her ass was humping like an over-eager sorority girl pole-dancing on Amateur Night. On cue, Cameron broke free and flew off the bed. "What; you; I thought we were going out?" she whined. She was horny as hell and didn't want to be held accountable at it. "Why are you running away?" I reclined back, solely in my underwear now. I was using my 'I'm disappointed in you' voice. Yes, I was 'guilting' a girl into having sex. Duh. I would never coerce a woman, or take one not in her right mind; that's using forces beyond her control. Guilt? Guilt has a foundation squarely in a woman's mind, just like humor, romance, common interests (feigned or not) and horniness. Girls can control guilt just like any other psychological trigger. It is called being shameless and I ought to know. Remember guys, it cuts both ways. Don't think so? You've had a girlfriend three whole months to the point she's staying over a night or two a week. One night, after your (hopefully) second round, you both discover it is that time of the month. 'Babe (or whatever pet name she has saddled you with), can you run to the store and get me some tampons and pads?' That, by the way, was not a question. She, for hygiene reasons, can't put her clothes on and go out herself. So, you go out to the Quick-Mart at 2 a.m. praying to God that none of your buddies are on a late night beer run and see you with your; stuff. You are not doing this for sex. She's not feeling 100% at the moment. Why are you? Guilt. She was at your place, making your Baloney Pony happy and this happened. You could send her out to the store. Not only is she not the only woman out there, many women understand guys getting freaked out about menstrual products. No, you feel guilty and risk the ridicule of your peers because it is your fault and you are not a dick-wad. And why did she ask you to do something that has nothing to do with you? Women are equally aware that guilt works, Baby. Back to our tale; "I'm not running away," sounded empty coming out of her mouth. "You said; touching." "I think you gave that option up when you crawled on top of me," I leered. "I clearly want to be with you, Cameron. You have given every indication you want to be with me, so I ask you again, why are you suddenly running away?" I kept after her. "I don't want to have sex; right now," again, she sounded weak. "Whatever happens, I go back to New York in two days," I met her shaky gaze. "You can set a time table if you like. The actuality of my life is relentless. I have things to get back to. If you are going to go, then go. I'll head out alone tonight, get a few drinks, come back early and grab some shut-eye," I shrugged. I went searching for my pants. See, she wasn't some random fuck. I wasn't leaving to replace her; making her a failure. I was hemming her in. I had the timeline. I had made my desires clear. There was no negotiation so while she appeared to have choices, she didn't and she knew it. For a girl who had spent so much effort working hard to not disappoint the main masculine figure in her life there was only one thing to do. "I don't want you to think I ever do anything like this," she propped up her morals while stutter-stepping back to the bed. "I feel I have a connection with you." Ah; the 'I have a connection with you' excuse. It would have been so appropriate if she actually remembered me. I pulled her onto the bed, went through the obligatory trying to push me off then we were back to the kissing and humping. Cameron turned out to be a 'use me' girl. That does Not mean abuse, it means she gets off being a responder to her partner's sexual directions. Caress her cheek, jaw and throat and she'd cup my chin, or massage my chest. Cameron was smart and a quick-learner. Her problem was a lack of a sense of adventure and an aversion to taking the lead. With the phantom applause of a hundred other male 'losers' who went to Fractional North High School, I ‘did' the queen who had been beyond us all only four years ago. The erotic twist to all that was with every sense of triumph and pleasure, Cameron mimicked me. Certainly we were both having a memorable time. I had to touch, lick, knead, and fondle every inch of Cameron's body. We both explored our nipple fetish, sixty-nined and engaged in some anal play; no penetration. I completed my first sojourn with the removal of the condom and the blowjob that had been the fantasy of countless hours in my home's upstairs bathroom. Cameron didn't just swallow; she savored and looked like she wanted more. Normally I cuddle beside my partner post-coitus. With Cameron, I lay on top of her at eye level. I put enough weight on her to let her feel pinned without real discomfort. "I have a confession," I gave her a sweaty-faced grin. "What?" she asked then gave me a peck on the lips. "We went to school together; same grade and everything," I enlightened her. "We even talked once." Cameron didn't know what to make of that. "I'll put that in perspective though. Do you believe that if you do something you do your best? Do you believe in craftsmanship?" "Cáel, you are scaring me," Cameron frowned. "Fifteen seconds and you can go," I conveyed with as much calm as I could. "Answer my question." "Okay; yes, I believe in doing your best. I believe in craftsmanship," Cameron played along. "Your words; 'never in a million years'." I related and waited. First there was the uncertainty and fear of the odd course our relationship had taken. It took a few seconds because so few pieces of the puzzle fit. "Cáel Nyilas; it was you; start of senior year; I had been," she muttered. Then came the real fear. "You must hate me." "I thought about it," I said, "but that isn't really me. See, you helped create me. Truth be told, you were only the catalyst. I did all the work." "A great many women helped. They were never a replacement for you. I was taught better than that by my first lover," I continued. "Still, I would be totally different if you hadn't casually annihilated my self-worth that September day." Pause. "Do you like the results?" "You really don't hate me;” Cameron was coming around. "It was high school. We all screw up in high school. According to a few studies, if you don't make a mess of high school, you are destined for failure," I related some real information. "You are getting hard again," Cameron gasped back to being okay with things between us. "Perhaps I should have warned you," I grinned wickedly. "I'm a sex addict." "Hey, Sex Addict!" Pamela shouted into the room. "There are some people out here to see you." "Good people, or bad people?" I shouted back. "Worse," Pamela replied. "The kind of people that want something from you." That was vaguely unpromising. "Cameron, take a shower and we'll talk about dinner when you get out. I think I need to take care of this," I sighed. Off went Cameron to the shower and on went my robe. In the main room, with a variety of levels of sexual tension, were sixteen women I didn't know. The Hotel Burnham has very nice suites, but they are not ballrooms. The room was pretty crowded, with not enough chairs and wall space getting sparse. They were all Havenstone women and I was willing to bet the average age was thirty-five; not my normal crowd. At least I knew why they were all there. Pamela suspected. Rachel and her team were clueless. "Hi, I am known as Cáel Nyilas," I greeted them. "A short history lesson and things will make a great deal more sense, so please be patient." The crowd was not pleased. I was a male and to a woman, the ladies had repudiated the world of men. They were all 'Runners'. It was the presence of Rachel's group that was keeping them civil at this point. "Twenty-five hundred years ago, as the Second Betrayal was ending, there was a small group of males who had proven themselves to the Amazon Host, taken into houses and their names were written on the Amazon Rolls," I started off. "Two of those males and three male children of one of the houses survived the massacre the female Amazons inflicted on their kin." That bought me a moment. Slaughtering your own babies, even male babies, wasn't something they would shrug off. "Well, if you know your Amazon politics, you know that the children of an Amazon who dies while in service of the Host becomes a member of the Host; so on and so on." The implications were sinking in as was the nervousness. "One of those men was a young warrior named Vranus of House Ishara. I am the sole surviving heir of Vranus. We are also here for the burial of my Father, who was murdered Sunday night. The next bit of Amazon politics. House Ishara was an extinct First House," I continued. "Oh shit," was uttered from half-dozen lips as they moved to the next, obvious step. "The succession to the Head of House for any House is elevation by your peers, accepted ritual combat and; the oldest surviving member of the House," I added. "By the Seven Martial Goddess; don't you have to be female? I mean; We are Amazons!" one of the 'Runners' yelled in disbelief. "Do you plan to add more males to your House?" one of the senior members growled. "Two things; it should not bother you one way, or another, and it is not MY House. It is the House of my Ancestor, Ishara. If this is going to be a problem, you are in the wrong room," I met her hostile glare ember for ember. That one headed for the door. "Wait," a fellow 'Runner' grabbed her arm. "You can't be going along with this Marsha?" the departing Amazon snapped. "I don't know this one, but I trust Buffy," Marsha countered. "Ok ladies, so that we are clear," Pamela sighed. "The next one of you to insult the Head of House Ishara, I am going to drag into the other room, kill you and cut you up into giblets for room service to take away," Pamela sounded positively disinterested. "I am not afraid of you," the departing one glared. "That would be a serious mistake," Rachel interjected quietly. Deep breath from me. "Listen, this is a highly improbable incident. I am not asking anyone to embrace the society you have rejected. In fact, I admire you for the strength it took to transition. I also ask you to accept the fact that I DO NOT want to be here, doing this, with any of you," I made one last effort. "Quite frankly, you man-haters scare me; being a man and all. You seem to think I have a choice in any of this. I don't. I am the heir of Vranus. I am the last known living descendant of the Amazon who chose the name Ishara for the sake of her house's unity," I stated. "I don't want to do this, but I'm not the kind of human being who runs away from my responsibilities." "Okay; Cáel of Ishara, why are we here?" Marsha said as she kept the other one from leaving. "Sixty years ago, the Amazon Houses swore an oath to the women who joined their cause. They lied to you. They have not kept up their side of the bargain. They have refused virtually all of you entry into the status as true, full-blooded Amazons," I explained. "And now you are going to rectify that; injustice?" the senior one kept mocking me. "Fine; you and me; one last chance," I sighed. "Look around you. Who do you see? The prettiest, the most pliable, the most power-hungry? If you can point out one woman in this room that doesn't deserve to be a Full-Blooded Amazon, leave now." "You didn't choose any of us," she responded. "Exactly!" I shouted. "I didn't choose any of you to be in House Ishara. Buffy Ishara and Helena Ishara did. Why? Because I don't know any of you, or your sacrifices and worth to Havenstone. I gave that duty to the two; and only two; member of House Ishara who would know who was the most worthy to be in a First House." "We are here to be inducted," one of the silent Amazons voiced with a dream-like quality. "Yes. Barring being rejected by Ishara, you will be inducted at my Father's graveside tomorrow morning," I stated clearly. "How many?" Senior questioned. "This time; twenty," I answered. "I have no agenda and no set number of 'Runners' to be inducted into House Ishara. It doesn't work
Oh My God! All their clothes vanished. What was I to do?In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..“Living every moment like it is your last is less attractive tomorrow.”(Still Wednesday)Katrina had left for wherever she snuck off to; I suggested to Aya it was a game room, Aya suggested it was as torture chamber; only to return when the next turn of the screws came. I was informed I had a visitor coming up by the name of Libra Chalmers plus a guest. Quickly enough they appeared. The guest turned out to be Brooke Lee."Who are these two?" Aya glibly spoke as the two Vassar girls walked into the room."Hello Libra," I greeted my almost date from last night. "Hello Ms. Lee," I said to Brooke."It's Brooke," Brooke smiled at me; she was hungry and scenting around for something remarkably like me."I'm happy to see you; oh; this is my guardian and protector, Aya Ruger," I made the introductions. "No lie, Aya has been keeping up with my workload while I've been on 'light' duty. Aya, this is Libra Chalmers and Brooke Lee, both from Vassar College. Brooke is Trent's friend and Libra had mercy on me Tuesday night and kept me from being a 'fifth' wheel.""I'm actually Trent's fiancé," Brooke corrected."Fascinating," I lied. Oh fuck, that was Not good."Cool. I'm happy to see the both of you, but what brings you to my office today?" I continued."Well, I showed up to ask for Trent and Libra asked for you," Brooke gave a sly smile."The thing was," Libra picked up the tale, "they were looking up Trent, but the front desk knew exactly who and where you were; so we came here first." My mind was busily working out how to pull Aya aside to give her a friendly warning when Katrina waltzed in."Ladies, this is my boss, Katrina Love, Head of Executive Services for Havenstone," I plastered a smile on my face."Katrina, this is Brooke Lee and Libra Chalmers. I met them Tuesday night," I kept things simple. Doom was impatient."Brooke is Trent's fiancé," Aya chimed in gleefully. She wasn't being malicious. She just didn't know any better. Katrina had been in the process of giving some congenial nods.She stopped and turned on a dime. Damn it."Really?" Katrina's interest was piqued."Yes," Brooke beamed. She brandished her engagement ring in Katrina's face. Better yet, Katrina 'ooh'ed and 'aah'ed then spun on me."Cáel, I didn't know Trent was engaged," Katrina pierced me with those lethal ocular devices."Yeah, I bet you didn't," I groaned. "I only found out a moment ago." Trent had lied on his dating survey; slash application to Havenstone. They kinda/sorta made damn sure we had no external female attachments. It meant less bodies to dispose of if things went wrong.I couldn't understand how they missed it then a curious custom/lifeline reared its ugly head."Brooke, that's your 'promise' ring, right?" I probed. "I'm sure Trent would get you a bigger rock for the actual engagement.""Yes," Brooke confirmed. "We've decided to make the official engagement when our families take the Christmas Holiday at Hilton Head."How could I express to Brooke that Christmas with Trent at Hilton Head was a rapidly vanishing dream? Katrina resumed her stroll to her desk."Katrina," I started my appeal. My argument was going to be that 'promise' rings didn't really count even though I knew her omission on his survey/application was bad enough already. Brian was different. If he chose to 'follow his career', she'd shed the prerequisite 17 tears and happily get on with her life. Girls like Brooke came looking and that wouldn't do."No," Katrina didn't even turn around. When she got to her desk, the phone calls began. Brooke was starting to realize something had happened. I gained a level of importance that extended beyond my bedroom sexpertise."Cáel, is something wrong?" Libra took my hand in hers."Trent may have neglected to mention some things during his job interview," I explained."Like?" Libra was getting concerned."Like the existence of Brooke," I answered. See, if Trent had written down his acquaintance to Brooke, Havenstone would have investigated her in the same way they investigated my mentor, Dr. Kimberly Geisler. She had admitted to the length, depth and termination of our affair.The issue of her teaching me anything besides sex had never come up."What?" Brooke grew indignant. Not with Trent, but with me. See, I was still a peon in her eyes and casting dispersions on her guy, who she knew and trusted."Brooke," I sighed, "did any Havenstone personnel talk to you about Trent?""No," she admitted."Every single woman I was ever with was questioned about me and my relationship to them," I explained. "Trust me; that was a really long list." Libra had the answer to that confusion. She pulled out her phone and got a busy signal; that would be Havenstone' now-active jamming devices."What's the number?" I asked Libra. She was momentarily annoyed; then suspicion kicked in. She gave me the number. Caller ID indicated it was Marla, Libra's sister. I gave the phone up."Marla," Libra began, "did anyone from Havenstone Commercial Investments ever talk to you about Cáel?""Umm, is he in trouble because of what I said?" Marla asked."What did you say?" Libra eyed me."I said he was a total asshole who broke my heart and given the opportunity I wouldn't mind watching he die a painful death," she confessed. "Only later did I realize I missed him and felt sorry about what I said.""Do you know if they talked to any of his other former girlfriends?" Libra inquired."I am absolutely sure they talked to at least one other person," Marla mumbled. Her Aunt."Who? I need to talk to them," Libra continued."That wouldn't be wise," Marla responded. "Suffice it to say they didn't give a glowing review either." Libra hung up and gave me back my phone."Cáel, do you have a problem with women?" Brooke glowered at me."Yes, there are so many of them," I shrugged. "That seems to be my main issue.""Cáel, how many women have you been with?" Libra mused."Around 200," I acceded."200! Holy Shit!" Libra gasped. Out of the blue,"Of those, how many have dumped you for cheating only to come back to you later?" Katrina postulated."Around 40," I recalled."That's my Daddy!" Aya crowed proudly."What?" Brooke boggled."Not what you think!" I insisted. "Not what you think!""Aya is my niece," Katrina explained. "Cáel is not her biological father. He is her friend, paternal guide and guardian.""Aya and I are in negotiations about me eventually marrying her mother, but I have assured her that is years and years off," I added."Cáel is not my real Daddy," Aya clarified. "He lets me pretend that he is.""Besides Cáel, does that 200 include the past month?" Katrina diverted the conversation."Well; 200 as in closer to 200 than 300," I grinned weakly."How did you graduate?" Libra followed along."I have a lot of stamina," I pointed out. Tessa Carmichael glided into the room."Brooke Lee?" she greeted the not-here-for-me girl."Yes? Do I know you?" Brooke was getting nervous and snippy."I'm Tessa Carmichael, Director of Human Resources for Havenstone. I handled the final interview process for Trent Grant," she smiled with deceptive warmth. She was furious. I could tell, having a long history with women in such moods."Is that Lee; L-E-E?" Tessa continued."Yes, what is this about?" Brooke persisted."You and Mr. Grant are in a long term relationship?" Tessa asked next."Answer my question," Brooke snapped. Thankfully Tessa wasn't Elsa."Trent lied on both his initial application and then twice in the interview process," Tessa relayed calmly."About dating me?" Brooke was confused."We will explain in a moment," Tessa smiled and patted Brooke on the upper arm.Brooke and Libra were more poised than I believed was warranted. Suddenly, I peeled back eleven days of experience and realized they assumed that Aya's presence was some sort of armor against violence. Whoops. Olympia Shore entered the room followed by Trent. Bright yet careless, he immediately clued in on the crisis."Brooke;” Trent mumbled. Olympia shut the door once Trent was too far inside to run."Trent, what is going on? They say you didn't list me as an acquaintance and somehow that's important," Brooke grumbled."I; um; I can explain," Trent was addressing; the room?"Be at peace, Trent," Tessa took over. This was her job and her fuck-up. "We only need your assurance that your relationship with Ms. Lee was terminated before you signed your contract with Havenstone Commercial Investments." Trent was looking for the right answer that would make everyone happy, but there wasn't one.Had he warned me yesterday that Brooke was his lady, I could have warned Brooke to NEVER come here. Trent hadn't done that because it would have necessitated him explaining to Brooke that he had denied her existence in order to get a cushy job. Trent had deluded himself into thinking he could have it both ways, probably because lying had always worked before."I think there has been a misunderstanding," Trent began. The most important thing in the world to Trent was Trent and he could outfox these backwoods feminists. "I am willing to submit my resignation immediately over this unfortunate mistake." That was a feint. Sadly, the important ladies had zero faith in his words and had already decided his fate. Moron.
Cáel's tombstone: For the love of women, women put him here.In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..
Cáel gets an offer that is too good to be true.In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..“People who forget their past are doomed to be blind-sided by it.”MondayI couldn't help but notice the similarity between myself and the other four new hires. We were all clean cut men, fresh out of college, fit and masculine. The 'men' part of the equation made sense. Havenstone Commercial Investments had come out of a long legal proceeding over their accused discriminatory policies.An undisclosed settlement had been reached plus they agreed to implement this new program to hire more men. For me that meant an employment opportunity with a Fortune 500 company despite my rather underwhelming collegiate career. Don't get me wrong; I had good grades. I also went to a college virtually no one had ever heard of, Bolingbrook College in New Hampshire.With me was Chinese-American Brian Fung from Harvard, blue blood Trent Grant from Carnegie-Melon, African-American Khalid Adzharia from MIT and Salvadoran-American Felix Melena from the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. For starters, they all had far better academic pedigrees them me, nicer toys, and better looking suits.The second they found out where I was from, I was dropped out of their conversation. They were bragging about their awards and accomplishments, their families and where they vacationed, professors who knew them on a first name basis and when they planned to get their master's degrees. Given time to take in our circumstances without the distraction of being part of their little club, something occurred to me.We were all freaking gorgeous. I don't mean cultured, handsome, or attractive to the opposite sex. I meant every one of us would be hit on in a nightclub in under five minutes unless we had a significant other hanging all over us. I was getting a sinking suspicion about what Havenstone considered 'crucial' for job performance and it didn't have anything to do with what alumni we were now part of.Here I was with my Father's dark good looks, my genetics an ancient blend of Bulgarian and Turkish with a recent addition of Irish Gaelic. My eyes, the legacy of my Mom, were a deep emerald green. The broad shoulders, narrow waist and powerful arms and legs were part heritage with a serious application of physical activity. I exercised constantly, swam whenever I could and cycling was my religion; the tougher the terrain, the better.Better yet, the brainiacs around me hadn't seemed to figure that out yet. Maybe they thought I was a 'legacy' hire, I had a relative on the inside. Nope. Mom died when I was seven and my Dad worked for Illinois Power and Light as a line runner. His sister, Aunt Stella, was a crab fisherwoman in Maryland and unmarried.A series of off-handed comments in the interview process suddenly came back to haunt me. I'd been asked about who I was close to, both presently and back in college. They wanted to know about my 'moral character'. Fuck it all, I'd filled out a dating survey! I'd never used a matchmaking service, but I bet if I logged on to E-Harmony, I'd recognize the questions.The door to the conference room opened and seven women entered. Ms. Tessa Carmichael had handled the interview process. Umami Lhasa was her Hindi assistant and all-around encyclopedia of all things Havenstone. The other five were unknown to me and, I had a feeling, unknown to my fellow new hires. We all stood. The other four smiled. I smiled too, but felt cautious."Gentlemen, it is time to begin. Today we begin your internship process and I'd;” Tessa got out before Fung interrupted."I was given the impression we were guaranteed employment, Ms. Carmichael," he spoke in a commanding voice. How stupid was this guy?"Academia is a sheltered environment, Mr. Fung. Havenstone is very much part of the real, visceral world and you can hardly expect to gain a six-figure salary with all the benefits based on your ability to impress men who have never created an iota of wealth in their lives," Tessa smiled. I hoped she eventually give it back to the orca she'd swiped it from."I was entertaining offers from several other corporations as well," Trent added his voice. "We were guaranteed employment. Our contracts state so." He seemed proud of his ability to read. Trent should have boned up on reading between the lines."Well, if you two wish to sign 'Termination of Employment' papers," Tessa sounded disappointed, "we will conceded to your wishes."At this point, the guys with a promising futures should have bailed. I didn't have options unless you considered 'do you want fries with that' to be a back-up plan. I was amazed the other four didn't see it."What we really want is a clarification of what this internship process entails," Khalid intervened.Tessa's smile became all happy bunnies again."Very well," she appeared pleased, "let's start by introducing your mentors. Mr. Fung, Ms. Julian Jameson has chosen you. She is our Senior VP in charge of Acquisitions, something you excelled in, I recall." Fung looked pleased. Julian was a foxy red-head somewhere in her mid-thirties."Mr. Grant, you have been selected by Olympia Shore, head of our Financial Investigative unit." Greying hair yet she looked like she ran marathoners down on a regular basis; she was tall, fit and svelte. "I understand you showed a talent for forensic accounting," Tessa continued. "Mr. Adzharia, you have been chosen by Ms. Phalli Chandra VP of International Finance."Where Khalid was patently African-American, his mentor was African, most likely central African, like Congo, or Cameroon. She was in her early thirties and sculpted in a way that made me think I wouldn't mind wrestling her even though I wasn't sure who would win. "You have an excellent grasp of linguistics as I recall.""Mr. Melena, Ms. Tia Pharos VP of Business Management has chosen to take you on." My bet she was Lebanese, or Palestinian, more Sematic than Aramaic. Still, her hair was thick, wavy and long, all the women seemed to go for the 'long hair' look for that matter. She was also the shortest mentor, perhaps one meter; seventy."You have all around high marks in your education. We think you will be a perfect fit." He smiled as did Tia. I thought they were smiling for different reasons. Maybe that was paranoia. "Mr. Nyilas," that was me; Cáel Nyilas, "you have been selected by Ms. Katrina Love, VP of Executive Services."I could hear the 'huffs' of my compatriots. Executive Services were basically gophers for the top tier of the corporation. ES was not the fast track to success. They got the limos and laundry for those who were. On the plus side, Katrina was a voluptuous blonde perhaps forty years of age, hitting all my key sexual triggers; basically, a conscious, breathing female. I didn't have low standards, I was a sexual omnivore.Given the chance I'd seduce every woman I came across, though not here, not today.After a short series of introductions, we split up to go to our various offices. It turned out that the mentor/internship relationship meant I would be working at her side, literally. I'd have a spot in her personal office for my work station, I would follow her to meetings and be on call 24/7 to assist her in all departmental duties."Thank you for the opportunity," I said when she finally gave me the impression I could speak."Aren't you disappointed you didn't get one of the plumb assignments; banking, or asset management?" she inquired while studying me. The gentle hum of the elevator was the only other sound."Hell, no," I blurted out then blushed. Katrina arched an eyebrow. "I mean, I think this is a great way to know the company. We get to go everywhere.""I like your enthusiasm," she commented. I couldn't tell if it was a positive thing. Beyond that, she remained non-communicative until we made it to her ornate, spacious personal office.Six young ladies followed us into the room, with the last one shutting the door."Ladies, this is our latest hire; Cáel Nyilas," Katrina began. "He's from some college in New Hampshire and, like the rest of you new hires, will be expected be working closely with me and each other."Did I mention they were all hot? I was familiar with some of the looks I was getting, too. Once, in high school, I had asked out the Class president who happened to be rich, pretty and smart. Her boyfriend had cheated on her so I thought I had a chance. I was a working class nobody and the look she gave me hurt as much as her words."Never in a million years," she mocked loudly. I was an insect, a bug and way beneath her notice. That was the look I was getting from these girls. Four years later, my acne was gone, I'd filled out nicely and physically I had gone from caterpillar to butterfly. That led to the other half of the vibes aimed my way. It was 'he's delicious' as one of my girlfriends put it."Daphne Pile, Dora Cartagena, Fabiola Dobrani, Paula Wadena, Violet Maza, and Theresa 'Tigger' Castro," Katrina made rapid-fire introductions. "Now that we all know each other, time to start filling all the orders in our cue. Until Cáel figures out what is where, who wants to ride herd on him?" I had mistakenly believed I would be working with Katrina.No one leapt at the opportunity."I'll do it," Fabiola Dobrani spoke up. She tried to sound upbeat for Katrina. They filed out of the office, each woman heading off in different directions, while I went to my tiny desk."What are you doing?" Fabiola sounded annoyed."I need something from my desk and to go to the bathroom," I informed her. She sighed in exasperation. I quickly retrieved a handful of rubber bands then raced to Fabiola. She pointed me at the closest bathroom; which was Katrina's personal one. In I went then I locked the door. My pants and underwear came off. I expediently made a rubber band chain then looped it around my hips and pinned my hard-on pointed up.That had become a serious problem when dealing with all these attractive women and I didn't need the distraction. Once dressed, I quick-stepped it to Fabiola who was tapping her foot."Let's go," she snapped. "We are working with Buffy today. We go with her and do what she tells us to do. Got it?""Buffy is in charge, I have a basic command of the English language," I replied. Fabiola shot me an evil look. "What? Do I look like a five year old, or are you normally this rude?""I'm not being rude to you," the women with a Mediterranean cast to her features reposed. "You've put us behind the other ladies. In case you haven't figured it out, that's a bad thing on our first day.""Am I to believe this is your first day?" I smirked. We stopped by another woman's desk. Did I mention that this corporation must raid beauty pageants for their staff? Buffy was a medium height brunette with long hair and a perfectly shaped oval face. Her eyes were the lightest shade of brown I'd ever seen, almost golden."I'm Buffy Dubois," she stood and extended her hand. I had a neural misfire. I took her offered hand, leaned down and kissed it. Whoops."Cáel Nyilas, Ms. Dubois," I gulped. Buffy weighed my gesture."Nice name," she grinned. "Call me Buffy. We go on a first name basis here.""Our first assignment for the day is to go to 1802 Exeter Tower and prepare the suite for the CFO at our San Francisco office coming in for one week," she informed us. I had no idea where Exeter Tower was and what any of this had to do with my Business degree. I accepted that a fat paycheck was a fat paycheck, so I put my confusion on the back burner.There was an amusing bit of posturing about who got to drive the company car down to the Exeter. Fabiola made a production of taking the keys and making me sit in the back, Buffy didn't want to drive."You aren't much of a man's man, are you?" Fabiola mocked me.I waited a second for Buffy to say something, considering that bordered on harassment. Fabiola snickered at me while Buffy looked out the window, bored."Was that supposed to mean something to me?" I replied smoothly. "I don't know you, you obviously don't know me, and your assessment of my gender potential is ridiculous.""Come on, 'New Hire', you didn't even go to a real school," Fabiola spat back."That's enough," Buffy coughed. Fabiola shot me a dirty look. I elected to not be childish, looking out the window instead. Driving the car turned out to be more of a disadvantage than the gem Fab thought it would be. Fabiola had to park the car while Buffy and I went up.The Exeter suite turned out to be a fully furnished apartment. The trick was turning the normal accoutrements into the specifics the client demanded. I didn't have experience with interior design. I couldn't say I was demeaned, being reduced to a glorified furniture mover. If Buffy was impressed by my ability to move chairs about, she hid it well.She even left me to my own devices while she went to the bedroom. I double checked the image she'd downloaded to the cellphone to make sure everything was where they wanted."Cáel, I need you back here," Buffy called out. Back I went, it wasn't like I had a choice. "We need to make sure the Feng Shui of the room is impeccable," she ordered."Yes, Ma'am; Buffy," I nodded. "Now let's assume for a second I don't have the faintest idea what you are talking about and go from there.""For now," she chuckled, "it means moving the bed where I tell you to." As I moved to the far side of the king-sized bed, contemplating the crushing weight of my student loans, I noticed Buffy had made a wardrobe adjustment.That was a kind way to say she had unbuttoned her blouse to her naval and her pale pink, lacy half-bra was clearly visible. I also saw the incisor of some predator hung from a silver chain around her neck. As she leaned forward, it swayed, playing ping pong between her boobs. I was carefully attentive to her instructions and even managed to ask a few questions like 'what is Feng Shui?'"It is the art of focusing energy upon positive and negative lines so that you promote, or disrupt, the harmony of an area and its occupants," she informed me. She back-flopped down on the bed in one of the least obfuscated suggestions of 'come get me' I'd ever seen. I stayed well away, sensing a trap."It's jaguar," Buffy tilted her head back and leered at me. Her shirt was wide open, her bountiful mounds jiggling slightly and her eyes were inviting. She was referring to the tooth pendant that was nestled between her breasts. I backed up toward the window."I'm sure there is a story behind that," I tried to wiggle some more breathing room from my collar."There is," she rolled over, her goodies still on display. "I shot it with my bow, skinned it and pulled the tooth from its skull." How sweet and informative."I'm glad I'm across the room then," I grinned back. "I'd hate for there to be a misunderstanding between you and I." Now she placed herself on all fours and stalked across the bed toward me."I don't think you are very interested in me," she pouted. Now I was mentally mapping out the time and distance involved in me getting past her and exiting this career-killer."You are my boss," I exclaimed as I started edging around the room. "I imagine you are very interesting, but I'm not the kind of guy who makes advances on every beautiful woman he meets." That was a total lie. I had the bad habit of making advances on ABSOLUTELY every beautiful woman I met."Where is everybody?" Fabiola announced after she waltzed into the room. Forget an Oscar, she wouldn't even get a Razzie from me for that patently false performance. Buffy huffed, rolled her eyes and shifted to the edge of the bed. She fixed her blouse properly then shot a witherin
Being known by the company you keep.By FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the podcast at Steamy Stories.Life exists in both seconds and years. Don’t ignore one for the other.I would like to thank the phone operator and Chief of the Burnham, Illinois Police Department for answering my questions, despite their bizarre nature.(Monday Night)I should have known to not have too good a time. My karma was wacky enough as it was. It was about to get worse in a way I should have foreseen. Ain’t hindsight grand?Inside of five seconds I knew how much sharing Libra and Brooke did; a lot. On the plus side, it gave me some wiggle room with Libra where sex with Brooke was concerned. On the super-plus side, Brooke was looking forward to ratcheting up our sex play. I took her to Libra’s experiences with all the extra bells and whistles.In this case it meant adding a blindfold and ball-gag to the hand restraints. Brooke handed me a high level of trust unexpected at this early moment in our sexcapade. With a quick empathic insight, I pulled her ball-gag down as her orgasm erupted. She rejoiced in the sound of her rapture echoing around my bedroom.I deceived her into her next climax by whispering a promise to release her then hammering her instead. The whole specter of powerlessness tore her up inside. Best of all, even as she spasmed beneath me, I released her cuffs then pulled up her mask. Her fingernails dug into my trapezius muscles. For over a minute, she clung to me with a deep hunger to feel my heat and sweat against her body.“My turn,” she rasped. I pressed my shoulders and head up so I could look into her eyes. She was waiting for this opportunity since she’d talked with Libra. Without question, she’d never been tied down before, or tied a man down and had her way with him. She’d manipulated men most of her life; that was old hat.This was primal, physical and forbidden. She was taking complete control of my person. God, I thought she’d orgasmed when she finished cuffing me to the headboard. Taunting, teasing and hot body contact followed as she put the ball-gag in. Sizzling lips sealed my fate as the blindfold was slipped in place.Having invested so much time using all my senses soaking up the hungry beast that Brooke possessed right beneath her urbane surface, losing my eyesight wasn’t a major drawback. For Brooke, this had all the benefits of anonymous sex in a blacked-out room with the bonus of her having the lights on for her use alone. My bet was she had studied stuff on-line.From being sure she wasn’t going to have sex with me when she first met, she had graduated to running naked across my living room for what turned out to be lemon slices. The ‘fumph’ of the Nerf gun made me assume Timothy shot her in the buttocks as she raced into my room. By the yip from Brooke, I knew Timothy’s aim remained frighteningly accurate.Lemon juice and cuts don’t mix, or, Brooke enjoyed watching my body jolt as said juice interacted with said 'workplace’ mistakes. Was I angry? Nah. Every hiss of pain was followed by lavished kisses, licks and hair lashings. I loved her long black hair draped over my body, flicked around whisk-like and tickling my nose.Brooke was learning my keystone technique; figure out what your partner wants and give them a quick sample. Don’t use any one thing too much; make it a treat and they’ll appreciate the taste they get even more. When Brooke finally sated us both, it was my turn again. We talked a while. She invited me to a friend’s place in the Hamptons which suggested to me the destination was more than some made-up place on TV.I promised to think about it. Brooke took that to mean she needed to work harder to convince me. I honestly had little desire to be trotted around as Brooke’s boy toy. Hoping that wouldn’t be the case relied a lot on faith. I wasn’t sure what I would have in common with any of that crowd, which guided me back to being a stuck up snob for treating a people as a social class and not as human beings.I took out my social anxiety on Brooke. Poor girl; three holes, ten positions and I’m not sure how many times I took her from frenzied peak to frenzied peak. All I knew was when she’d passed all points of previous primeval ecstasy, I finally released her. Brooke curled into a semi-fetal ball and began burrowing into me.“Happy?” I asked as I stroked her sweat-drenched hair. She nodded happily against my chest. “Are you glad you came over?” I continued. Brooke bit me because she knew I was teasing her. “Ow,” I grumbled. “I think we have a misunderstanding who is whose sex toy here.”“Do I need to bite you again?” Brooke mumbled into my chest.“Point taken,” I conceded. Brooke snuggled in even tighter. We wrestled out of bed, stumbled into the shower and took some time off with Timothy. He looked at us and smirked.“Cáel is going to be my boyfriend,” Brooke tossed out there. Huh?“What in God’s green earth makes you want to do that?” Timothy chuckled.“He’s been there when I needed him. Cáel is a real man and it has taken me having a really tough spill to realize that it doesn’t matter which alumni your Daddy belongs to, but what you put on the line for your friends that really matters,” Brooke enlightened us both.“Seriously Dude,” Timothy looked at me with pity.“Cut down on the awesome dicking until somehow polygamy becomes legal,” he added, but then, “Brooke, you know he’s seeing about a dozen different ladies, right?”“Cáel is looking for a serious relationship,” Brooke insisted. Timothy chortled because he knew the likelihood of me settling down was right up there with us sharing a White Christmas in the Bahamas.“Let’s go back to bed, Babe,” I redirected things to safer waters. “It is your turn to be on top.” Brooke, wearing one of my fresh t-shirts and nothing else, hopped off the sofa and let me lead her back to the bedroom for another round of 'not thinking about any other part of my fucked up life except the beautiful woman with me right now’ sex.Twenty minutes later, Brooke had encased my rod in her wanton elixirs, was gyrating her hips as she stroked my rod inside her vagina while keeping me bound, blind and muffled. My phone rang.“Should I get that?” Brooke teased me. She moved enough to seize my cellular device.“The number is unlisted,” she mused. “Who could it be?” I gave a muffled response. She removed the ball-gag enough for me to speak.“Work,” I repeated. “It might be work. I’m on-call 24/7.”“Damn,” Brooke undoubtedly pouted (still blindfolded). She answered the call then placed the phone to my ear.“Cáel, a Security Detail detachment is on their way to your quarters as we speak. You will recognized the code they will use,” Katrina’s icy calm voice informed me.“Katrina, what is wrong?” I inquired. Normally, I wouldn’t get an answer. Katrina’s tone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.“There has been an incident at your Father’s home in Chicago. We do not have clear intelligence at this time. I may have more when you get in,” she related.“Understood,” I replied. My passionate storm abated and I felt empty inside. Dad.“Cáel?” Brooke sounded worried.“We need to get dressed,” I murmured. I had to let Timothy know something was truly wrong. I needed to get Brooke home safely. I…I needed to know more than I did right then. Brooke uncuffed me quickly. I barely had my boxers on when there was a light series of raps on the door. I sprang up, opened my bedroom door, surprising Odette.She must have come back to work a few minutes earlier and was unwinding with some low-volume TV and some sofa time. Timothy was asleep already.“Odette, go back to Timothy’s room and warn him something bad may have happened. Go!” I warned. Odette scampered back. Brooke was at my back, trying to move into the main room.“Brooke, stay here. If something unusual happens, hide in the bedroom and don’t come out until the police get here. Do you understand?” I met her confusion with an iron stare. She nodded. There was another, more insistent, rapping at my apartment door. I crept up to the portal and gave a counter-knock.“Crab Fisher-woman,” a female voice said from the other side.“My Father’s Sister,” I responded. It was an imperfect code, but effective given the circumstances. I double checked through the spy hole, unlocked the door and let three SD Amazons inside. How bad was it? I doubted these ladies would know more than I did.“[OKH] Ishara,” the leader said, “we have orders to escort you to Havenstone immediately.”They weren’t blindly expecting me to follow instructions. They had a directive they were following to the best of their ability.“[OKH] Will a team be watching my domicile?” I asked. The leader nodded. “We need to take a female I have been with tonight to her dwelling before going on to Havenstone.”The SD team leader nodded again. There was no condescension, or argument. They were following orders as if it was my right to issue them. That was how bad things were. Time to get back to English.“Brooke, finish getting dressed. I’m taking you home,” I called out.Quite frankly, along with my desire to see Brooke back home safely was my instinct to not split up my guardians. Better a longer trip than two smaller, more vulnerable groups. I was in the process of getting dressed in the living room when Timothy and Odette came out.“Bro?” Timothy asked.“My Father’s home was attacked. I have no other details right now,” I explained with a sinking feeling in my heart. Timothy read my soul, came up and engulfed me in his mighty arms. Odette added herself to the heart-felt love-pile.“Do you want me to take Odette and head back to Queens for a while?” Timothy asked.He sensed we had limited time.“They,” and by 'they’ he knew I meant Havenstone, “will have a team watching this place. There are not enough resources to go back and forth to work. I wish I could tell what would keep you safe, but I don’t know anymore.”“We’ll stay put,” Timothy declared. Odette nodded. “We’ll be here for you when you get back. If any of these psycho-broads want to stop by from time to time, I won’t say no.” I shot a look to the security team leader and she gave a curt 'okay’.“You’ll need an overnight bag!” Odette squeaked. Off she went.Brooke finished getting dressed and came to my side. To your average Lothario, what she did might seem odd. To me, it was the normal refrain; Brooke shoved her panties into my jean’s pocket. That was a not so subtle 'Call Me’ for when I got back.“Three minutes, Ish; Cáel,” the leader updated me.My amateur guess was this was the team from across the street. They had back-up vehicles and personnel streaking down from Havenstone to provide extra security for my move.“Velma,” she gave me her name. A quick description was in order. The three Amazons all had Bluetooth devices, shooting glasses and steel-gray long coats that had to be uncomfortable in this upper seventies evening heat.Underneath, they had on light ballistic body armor on their torsos, arms, and legs. Even their dull grey, all-terrain boots looked armored. They had a hip holstered sidearm, most likely a back-up pistol at the small of their backs and a deadly blade, or three. Their main deterrence was their H&K UMP-40; my second favorite Amazon killing device.Timothy snuck off to get my toiletries, returning around the same time Odette trundled out with an overnight (or three) bag. There was a final round of hugs then Velma indicated it was time to leave. The fourth member of the team was stationed at the top of the third floor stairs. That gave her a good view of my hallway as well as the passage going up and down.Two SD’s to the front, Velma and the fourth watching our backs and Brooke caught between giddy and freaking terrified. Things got even more exciting when we hit the bottom of the stairs. Two more ladies were waiting. They put a trench coat on Brooke and she nearly collapsed. The freed up Amazon took my bag while the second put a trench coat on me.I grunted as well. This bitch had to weigh 25 kg. That was some serious ballistic and blast protection. The closest newcomer began attaching my pistol with hip holster on my side while Brooke was 'buttoned up’. I was slipped a few spare clips then was buttoned up as well.“I’m not sure I can walk in this thing,” Brooke gave me a weak smile.“Don’t worry,” I smiled, “I’ll carry you.” I slipped my arm around Brooke’s waist and, on Velma’s signal, we rushed out to the middle of three Mercedes Armored GL550s. The doors had barely shut before we were racing away from my favorite home. I walked Brooke up to her apartment, we hugged, kissed and she insisted I go to the Hamptons with her this weekend.I left with that promise unanswered. I didn’t ask the Security Detail to do anything else outrageous and they didn’t give me any crap about Brooke. Their vigilance didn’t end at Havenstone either. No; they formed a tight knot of outward hostility until we marched into Katrina’s office. Even then, they spread out over the Executive Services offices as an extended perimeter.Katrina’s office was another step up on the unsettling meter. It was Katrina, Saint Marie, Buffy, Helena, and a woman I didn’t know yet seemed to belong.“Excuse me?” Saint Marie shot a hostile look my way; actually right behind me.“Don’t mind me,” Pamela snorted. She was in the process of sneaking into the room.“I’m here for moral support,” she concluded then took a seat.“Cáel?” Katrina queried, as if I could somehow exile Pamela from the room.“What’s going on?” I began the meeting instead.“Your Father is dead,” Katrina reported. If someone ever asked me what it felt like to have an arm cut off, I could truthfully answer them 'Yes’. Dad.“From what we have been able to gather from the video and audio gear the four Amazon Security Detail team assigned to watch over him transmitted, the team was setting up a perimeter when three vehicles with ten men stopped on the juncture of Janus and Kerr streets and approached the house. The team leader made formal recognition and was attacked,” Katrina told me.“Are they okay?” I mumbled. I didn’t want to know how my Dad died. Had he been in pain? Which side had killed him? Would knowing make a damn bit of difference?“Three of the four members were killed,” Saint Marie interjected. “The team commander was killed instantly. The second died defending that corner of your Father’s domicile.The third member was killed attempting to rescue your Father. The surviving member stopped the enemy from escaping with your Father’s body, but was too badly injured to extricate herself and is now in police custody.”“What are we going to do about this?” I inquired. Pamela was a lying bitch.She’d lied to Brianna because the truth would have gotten me and Dad killed. Dad had still died, but Pamela had kept me alive.“There is nothing we can do,” the stranger spoke up. “Troika of House Šauška.”“You are joking, right?” I stared at her.“He was a male, not of…” Troika began to state.“You do know your Amazon law, correct?” I countered. She gave a curt tilt of the head. “Recount the means of succession to the Head of a House then please explain to the room how my Father, the descendant of Vranus, fits into all that.”Cha-ching!“Oh, by the Seven Goddesses!” Saint Marie jumped up. “They murdered the Head of House Ishara!” Katrina was already back on top; ahead of the game.“But what does that make him?” Troika pointed at me.“It confirms him as the Head of House Ishara. We can sugar-coat it and say Cáel, being the only 'active’ member of Havenstone 'represented’ the Head of House Ishara. By our traditions though, Ferko Nyilas was the lawful head of a 'First’ House. Certainly four days were not enough time to settle the manner in an acceptable way,” Katrina said.“At the very least, House Ishara would have been given 28 days to resolve any matters of succession internally,” Katrina pointed out. “There was no deception. Cáel worked for Havenstone, so was our active member. The existence of his Father was known. It is in his basic file. It was highly unlikely that ANY House wanted to bring another male into the mix so the matter of his ascension was left unquestioned.”“This is Casus Belli,” Troika stood up and declared in a firm voice. “I will inform Hayden. We must know the perpetrators of this act, Katrina. I will prepare to relate this breach of the Protocols to the other Signatories.”“To make sure I have this straight, I can defend any member of my family, no matter who they are, without violating the Protocols?” I questioned. “Can I kill them?”“That is correct,” Troika appeared confused. “Other Signatories cannot harm, or detain your family in any way.” I gave a bitter, hollow laugh. Dad…Dad wouldn’t have understood, but Mom would have, no doubt.“Troika…hell, everyone but Pamela and Katrina, I am Cáel Nyilas, grandson of THE Cáel O'Shea and those people who murdered my Dad very well may have been my family,” I felt like crying.That was good because I was crying. I had talked to Dad early Monday morning. I had been so nervous about not leaving any trace of Mom behind that I couldn’t recall if I said 'I love you’ to him. I’d never get the chance to make up for that oversight. As I began to take in the faces around me, I realized Ishara had gifted me with a respite. No one else knew who Cáel O'Shea was; yet.“Troika,” I started out. I could tell she was still having difficulty with the 'Man as someone worthy of stating an opinion’ moment. “When the Council decides that the Illuminati have breached the Protocols, do I have a deciding vote on what we do; since Dad was my family?”“No,” Troika clarified, “and what makes you think it was the Illuminati?” Pamela laughed at her.“Because I killed Cáel’s Grandfather when that man was head of the Illuminati; slit his throat and rendered him incapable of resuscitation. The rest of that twisted clan have only now discovered that there is a successor, genetically, to the Old Man and you are looking at him,” Pamela related in an amused tone.“Perhaps; just perhaps; they were interested in what happened to Cáel’s Mother and the man she mated with to produce Cáel…who also happened to be the Head of House Ishara and now leaves this man (me) as the last of his kind; coming and going,” Pamela finished, “for both the Amazons and the O'Shea family/the Illuminati.”Troika was having problems fitting all the puzzle pieces. Saint Marie cut to the heart of the matter because she listens to me.“If you go to war against the O'Shea’s you are being forced to fight your own family,” the Golden Mare stared at me in shock.“Let me get this straight,” Troika stood up, waving for silence. “When the O'Shea’s killed Ferko Nyilas, they murdered the Head of a First House. They also murdered a member of their own family by way of marriage.” She seemed totally flummoxed. Everyone agreed about how fucked up everything was. Breach? No Breach?“Welcome to life working with Cáel Nyilas,” Katrina declared. There was a pause.“I’ll let the professionals figure out the finer points of diplomacy. I have to go,” I said.“Were do you think you are going?” Buffy popped up. Until this moment, she’d had no role in affairs. My safety though…“I am going home to bury my Father, Buffy,” I announced. This was not a discussion.“Shouldn’t we take his body to the cliffs?” Troika suggested.“My Father will face the Afterlife with my Mother at his side. It was his wish and I’m not going to start dictating to my Ancestors now,” I sighed.I was trying to make light of my pain. By the looks on their faces, I was failing. I had barely exited the office, Buffy, Helena and Pamela in tow. The security team was closing in and my phone rang.“Cáel Nyilas,” I answered sadly.“Mr. Nyilas, this is Investigator Brewster of the Burnham Police Department. I need a few moments of your time,” a man’s voice requested. I hesitated. I looked at my watch.“Yes…Dad?” I finally spoke.“Mr. Nyilas, your father seems to have been murdered late this evening in a bungled attempted burglary,” he lied. It was a good lie.If he really believed a bungled robbery consisted of two heavily armed groups shooting a small residential home to pieces he was…nah, he was lying.“I’m on the next flight to Chicago,” was the response I chose. I had so many 'loser’ replies to choose from.“That would be helpful, Mr. Nyilas,” he told me. “Do you know when I can expect you?”“Ah…I have no idea when the next plane from New York to Chicago is, but if I can buy a ticket on it, I’m there,” I countered. Admittedly, me having a plane ticket for home would have been damn suspicious.“One last thing, Mr. Nyilas, do you have any idea why someone would want to murder your father? Anything you could tell us could be of great assistance,” he pressed.“Yes, I have a clue who murdered my Father and I’ll point you to the dead bodies when I’m done,” I snapped; quite literally and mentally snapped. Pause.“Mr. Nyilas, I understand you are upset, but do not do anything rash. Now, could your father have been murdered for anything you might have done, or are doing?” Det. Brewster kept is game face on.“We’ll have this chat when I get to Chicago. Until then, take care,” I said before hanging up.“Smooth,” Pamela gently chastised me.“I actually liked him going all 'Mafia Don’ on that cop,” Buffy countered.“I’ll arrange for Havenstone to get us transportation to Chicago,” Helena added.“No,” I countermanded her. “You two stay here and finish up business. Join me late Tuesday night, or early Wednesday morning.”By the looks Buffy and Helena gave me they were surprised…and proud. I was keeping to my 'Runner’ induction time table. My family would not be diminished by this tragedy. It would grow. Come Wednesday morning, we would add twenty new voices to Ishara’s war cry.“I’ll take the first commercial flight available,” I continued.“We cannot protect you on a civilian aircraft, Ishara,” Velma warned me.“They; the authorities are expecting me to show up at O'Hare, so I’m showing up at O'Hare, like a normal person,” I reminded her. “I’ll also need to know at what hospital they are keeping our sister.” Our sister; the sole surviving Amazon who nearly gave her life for Dad.The SD picked up on that immediately. Another leap had been made. I wasn’t a masculine monster, raging against a female warrior who had failed. By the tone of my voice, they knew I was in grief yet not overcome by it. She was the last member of the Host to see my Father alive and she might hold the closure I needed.“It will be done,” Velma decided. “We will have your team meet you at O'Hare.”“My team?” I asked.“Rachel; her team,” Velma clarified. That was enough good for me.“Oh, and get Pamela a ticket as well. I’d hate to have her mug another passenger and take theirs,” I sighed. Pamela patted me on the back; an 'atta boy’.(Monday Noon)(The hospital)That was not the first time I wondered about how fatal Pamela had been in her prime. In fact, I wasn’t sure that post-60 wasn’t her best time yet. The only mistake the police officer guarding the Amazon’s hospital room made was to sit in a chair. Pamela had long ago mastered the peon-craft that Rosetta had started to teach me.The policeman looked up, stared right through her then looked the other way. His gaze never swept back in my direction. She jabbed him quickly underneath both arms, paralyzing them for a few seconds. That was all she needed. Hers hand clamped over his eyes and on his throat, cutting off the blood flow to the brain before his hands could recover.He appeared to the outside world to have taken a nap. According to Pamela, we had roughly three minutes before he came around. Pamela kept walking down the hall as if nothing happened. I came ten steps behind, guarded by a gun-less Rachel as I entered the Intensive Care Unit. A few of the staff looked our way, but no one impeded our progress.According to the Duty Nurse, the Amazon had exited surgery barely an hour ago. Her eyes opened to slits as I approached her beside.“We stand before the Eye of the World,” I whispered. That meant surveillance. “I cannot tell you what is in my heart. My name is Cáel Nyilas. Does that name mean anything to you?”Her hand flopped. I put two fingers into her feeble gasp. One squeeze; yes. “I am grateful for your prowess and I share in your sorrow for those who will no longer fight in this life. Please heal and grow strong for this is the start, not the finish,” I completed. She squeezed my fingers once more. I stepped aside, letting Rachel take my place.They didn’t exchange words but communicated volumes. We slipped out of the room while the guard was still groggy. Pamela was nowhere to be seen. That proved to be pre-sentient when a group of people with the propensity to flash IDs caught up to me at the ground floor.Had the backdrop of this fiasco not been the death of my Father, I might have enjoyed the twitching/counter-twitching going on between Rachel, who desperately wanted any one of her guns, and the cops who were picking up on that desire.“Mr. Nyilas, I am…” and the introductions came pouring in.I had Theodora Chumwell and Brock Miklos, Special Agents of the FBI, John Rios, Special Agent with the ATF, Investigator Horace Brewster from the Burnham PD and Homicide Detective Lisa Capella from the Chicago PD.“We would like to talk with you,” Theodora took charge.“Can I ask a question first?” I raised my hand. That appeared to set them off their game plan.“Of course,” Theodora allowed.“Okay; FBI, ATF, a homicide detective from Chicago and the only law enforcement official who has any business being here,” I finished with Brewster.“I may not be a Rhodes Scholar, but this seems a bit extreme for the burglary/murder of a long-time employee of Illinois Power and Light. Does anyone care to fill me on what the hell is going on?” I looked over the group. “Oh, and thank you Investigator Brewster for your call. I know I didn’t take the news well.”“Was that the part where you said you would point to the dead bodies?” Theodora took charge.“Yes, I think that was the gaff I was referring to,” I agreed.“Why are you here, Mr. Nyilas?” Lisa Capella jumped in. She had decided to not go along with the FBI playbook.“I came to see the woman found alive in my family home,” I replied smoothly.“She is probably still in surgery,” Lisa gave a twist of the lips; sex.“Oh, she got out an hour ago,” I enlightened them.“Let’s take this conversation to FBI Headquarters,” Theodora 'suggested’; you know, in the way that really wasn’t a suggestion.“Have you gone to see that woman?” Lisa wouldn’t let up; good for her. It was upsetting Theodora and I’d already decided that Brewster was my go-to guy on this investigation.“Yes,” I responded to Lisa.“Isn’t she under police protection?” Lisa and Theodora blurted out together.“There was a policeman at her door,” I shrugged. “We went in and I talked to her.”“What did she say?” Theodora brushed Lisa aside.“Nothing. She had one of those tubes down her throat. Whatever I said…well, I was emotional,” I evaded. “She was barely conscious.”Lisa was urgently contacting her guy who was supposed to be watching the only person in custody they had. He claimed to have 'blacked out’. He couldn’t remember anyone coming in to see the woman and swore he hadn’t been unconscious for any length of time. He went in, checked up on the Amazon and she was fine; for someone who had been shot six times.“We should go to the FBI offices,” Theodora repeated.“I’m going home,” I sighed sadly. “I want to go home.”“It is still an active crime scene,” John told me. “There won’t be any civilian access for some time.” Translation: until they decided to give me the carrot instead of the stick.“Please, come with us,” FBI Special Agent Brock added his weight.“No. I’m going with Burnham PD,” I countered. “You can find me there.”“That’s not how it works,” Theodora upped her authority meter. Lisa had fallen back, trying to take in the bigger picture.Brewster was clearly trying to recall if he had ANY history with me, or my Dad, that would make me trust him over the others.“I may be a liberal arts major from northern New England, but I know how a larynx works,” I regarded Theodora. “Unless I choose to make a sound, it does nothing. Nothing is about to be all we have left to do and say.”“Don’t you want to help solve your Father’s murder?” Brock tried to sound both sympathetic and threatening at the same time. I was suddenly bombarded with the taste of Lime Sherbet and Jalapenos Ice Cream.“Really? Fine; I’m going to hang out with the only person in this room I know is working on my Father’s murder, not on their career,” I reposed.“We are all trying to…” Lisa got out.“You maybe,” I gave Lisa that much. “My Father made around $70,000 a year after twenty-six years for Illinois P&L. He had almost paid off the colossal debt built up by my Mother’s illness and my college expenses.”“As far as I know, he took out one loan his entire life; from a bank; and he paid it off,” I continued. “He was a lapsed Catholic, a member of the IBEW; Local 9, and he jogged. He barely used e-mail and had no close friends I am aware of. The only woman he loved was my Mother and he mourned her to the day he died.”“What about your activity?” Theodora inquired. We weren’t running off to her playground; yet. Handcuffing a grieving son would look bad and, by my attitude, wouldn’t make me talkative in the least.“I have the unfortunate habit of sleeping with every woman I meet,” I began.“So that’s over 200 erotic encounters. I get annoyed with people throwing their weight around,” I continued, “which is why you and I are getting off on the wrong foot, Special Agent Theodora Chumwell. I work for Havenstone Commercial Investments, getting paid an insane amount to fetch laundry and keep secrets. Good enough?”“No, it is not…” Theodora simmered.“How did you know about the existence of the woman upstairs and how did you know to come here?” Lisa interrupted.“I grew up in that house, know the neighbors and know this is the closest EMS center to home,” I lied convincingly.“Who are you?” Brewster decided that I wasn’t exiting the hospital gracefully so turned on Rachel. She didn’t speak, choosing to be creepy and brandishing a wallet instead. I kept forgetting that most full-blooded Amazons had minimal socialization with outsiders. Having graduated elementary school, everyone else knew this was a bizarre reaction.“Rachel Louis,” Brewster read off the license in the wallet. A normal person would have acknowledged that somehow; not Rachel. “You are Rachel Louis, aren’t you?”“Yes, she is,” I intervened. “Rachel is a co-worker at Havenstone and she is misanthropic misandrist.”There was a pregnant pause. The confusion wasn’t with 'misanthropic’. It was a grown-up word in usage with colorful police-types. It was 'misandrist’ that had them stumped.“Rachel is an unsociable man-hater,” I explained. “Standing at my side in this hospital is ten kinds of Hell for her.”“What kind of piece do you normal carry?” Rios asked her. Unsocial didn’t mean stupid.“I use a Glock-22 and Rachel carries a STI Perfect 10,” I answered. “We have been experiencing quite a gopher problem around the office.” I could have done better; I should have done better. I was just too tired inside to create an inventive lie.“Do have gun licenses for those weapons?” Mr. ATF kept prodding at our cover story.“It seems Ms. Louis; is it Ms. Ms. Louis?” Brewster continued. I flashed Rachel a look which she interpreted correctly.“Yes, my name is Ms. Rachel Louis,” Rachel replied. To me, “I find this distraction to be annoying. We should go.”“It would seem Ms. Louis has all kinds of…” Brewster got out before Rachel snatched the wallet from his grip with the speed of a Peregrine Falcon. Brewster had this stunned look familiar to crows, doves and starlings the world over as one of their kin passed into the next life in a flash. A combination of 'No you didn’t!’ with 'what the flock?’“Ah…” Brewster got out.“On that note, I think we will be going,” I shrugged. To Rachel, “You do not get out enough.”“Can I see your wallet again?” Brewster was still confused by Rachel’s rudeness. He was a cop for the love of God. People not wanting to go to jail do not snatch things from a cop’s hands.“I gave you my wallet. I am not to blame if you used its time in your possession unwisely,” Rachel counterattacked. “Unless there is a legal technicality, we shall be leaving. If there is a legal issue, here,” she produced a business card with a flourish, “is the contact information for our legal department.” Theodora took the card gingerly then read it.“Havenstone again,” she mused. “Are you sure this is the path you wish to take, Mr. Nyilas?”“Are you insane?” I trembled with emotion. “I want to be back in New York, working my queue and thinking about what my date and I will be doing tonight. I want my Dad to be alive. I don’t want to be thinking that the last time we talked I forgot to tell him I loved him.”“Path, you IDIOT!” I screamed at Theodora. Fuck it, I was crying again. “Not a damn thing any of you can do will bring my Dad back to me; so fuck off!” In a strange way, that was what they had been looking for. Not my wounded soul, but my rage and pain toward a World suddenly found to be cruel and pointless.Behind my crumbling façade was another worry. Outside in the parking lot were three Amazons with weapons ready to rush to my aid. It wasn’t that the Host was rash, or reckless, by nature. I was one of the fifty-six most important people in their society. Three other SD members had died in the defense of House Ishara already and they were damn sure those women would not have died in vain.I wasn’t leaving in federal custody willingly and if I walked out in restraints, I wasn’t sure if they would decide offing some law enforcement agents and staging my kidnapping was the best course of action. Remember, I wanted to bury my Father. They wanted to keep me alive. If those two goals collided, they would apologize after the fact.“Mr. Nyilas, I really believe we should…” Theodora got out then I brushed past her. It was a delicate moment and the chemistry between Rachel and I wasn’t lost on most of them. She was a bodyguard yet my servant too. It was professional tribalism; two words that don’t normally get along. Rios picked up on the other undercurrent.He recoiled from Rachel, retreating to buy space when/if Rachel attacked. Unlike the rest, he sensed that aggression by law enforcement would be met with lethal force. The Amazon didn’t care about the badge and the legions of fellow officers backing it up. She was fearless. Things weren’t over yet.“Mr. Nyilas, were are you going next?” Detective Lisa came after us.“I…I don’t know,” I muttered. “Where is my Father’s body? I know he wanted to be cremated and buried beside Mom…I guess.” Brewster came hurrying along.“He is at the Medical Examiner’s Office,” Lisa informed me. “Come with me.”“Why don’t you give me the address?” I sighed.“Do you and your buddy know your way around Chicago, Hometown Boy?” Lisa kept it up. She was hitting on me and lining me up at the same time.“How about we cut to the chase?” I looked at her with tear-soaked eyes.“We’ll take my cars; cars with an ’s’,” I offered. “I am a hometown boy. I’ve never had a reason to locate the Medical Examiner before. Since I have a boatload of angry women with guns who will not fit into your sedan and leaving them behind isn’t an option, mine is the only means of travel that makes sense.”Low and behold, the two cops looked at each other then followed Rachel and I to our little caravan. We were too close for the officers to have missed Rachel snapping off some quick, coded instructions to her team; most likely to hide the seriously illegal firearms. To say the Amazons were not pleased with my decisions spoke volumes to their concern for me and lack of police experience.Pamela, who had beaten us back to the cars, seemed privately entertained as always. Rachel was reluctantly sitting up front. Lisa, Brewster and I were in the second row and Pamela sat in back. Not only did the two not get a good look at Pamela, she was perfectly placed to do all kinds of mischief unseen.“So the woman upstairs works with you?” Lisa asked as we pulled out.“Where to?” Tiger Lily (I still wasn’t used to that name) requested of our Police 'buddies’. Lisa popped off the address. It was 'I’ll scratch your back, you’ll scratch mine’. Tiger Lily entered the data into the onboard computer and off we went.“No. She does not work for me, or my boss, directly. She was at my Father’s on my behalf though I was unaware of it,” I related.“Are you going to tell us what the hell happened?” Brewster prodded.“That I don’t know. I am not personally aware of anyone who would want to kill my Father, or me,” I answered.“Anyone who would want to get at me would come at me, not Dad,” I continued. “I don’t live in a fortress. It is a hardly spacious apartment near the East River. I share the place with my roommate, Timothy Denver, and a…companion by the name of Odette Sievert.”“Companion? Is she…a working girl?” Lisa went searching.“No, I use the term companion to indicate she’s too nice a girl for me. She’s sweet, conscientious and giving. My only wish for Odette is that she finds a guy who can appreciate her a hell of a lot more than I do,” I explained. “Timothy is my gay, body-building tattoo artist best friend. I’ve gotten the feeling he’s busted some heads in his time. Hardly anything noteworthy.”“Mr. Nyilas, have you ever considered that you live a very messy life?” Brewster pondered.“One does not 'consider’ what one knows to be true. One knows it to be true and moves on,” I grumbled. “Yes, I know I live a screwed up life.”“What about your friends here?” Lisa indicated the other three women in the vehicle. This elicited another groan from me.“Investigator Brewster; Horace and Detective Capella; Lisa, please call me Cáel. This is the point I accept that I am exhausted and not in any shape to make good decisions. I’ll plead the Fifth,” I confessed.“We already know you were in New York when your father was murdered, Mister…Cáel,” Brewster stated.“Everyone we’ve talked to says you and your father were very close. Barring some expensive Life Insurance policy being taken out on him, we have no reason to suspect you had a direct hand in his death. Not being a suspect, that implies you have no Fifth Amendment, or Miranda Rights to hide behind; just so we are clear,” Brewster schooled me.“I can make this game of footsy easy on all of you,” Pamela whispered. The officers jolted in their seats. “Cáel cannot talk to you for the very reason the Fifth Amendment exists.”“You are not like the rest of this menagerie,” Lisa noted.“Nah, I kill people for a living. The rest of the group has some code of conduct that keeps you two alive,” Pamela smiled.Those two didn’t know what to make of Pamela’s statement because it was so sincere yet incredible.“If Cáel tells you anything else he will be admitting to his involvement in a criminal conspiracy. Said conspiracy is why Ferko Nyilas is dead, but Cáel had nothing to do with it,” Pamela enlightened them.Fact digestion time for the two law dogs. Brewster recovered faster.“But why was Ferko Nyilas murdered?” he asked.“The men didn’t come to kill him,” Pamela kept talking about the tea and crumpets. “They probably showed up to escort him to a place where some far more important scumbags could talk with him.”“The all-girl squad was there and Ferko was caught in the crossfire,” Lisa mumbled. “Why was there a firefight if his life was in danger and both sides wanted him alive?”“Stupidity,” Pamela replied. “Give any group of people guns and then surprise them, stupid shit happens; I apologize Cáel.”“I don’t buy that,” Brewster said. “They simply started shooting at each other; no.”“Okay Horace, let me break it down for you. The ladies were told to go there and guard the guy without being told why. The men who showed up were most likely told to grab Ferko without knowing why either.”“That makes no sense,” Lisa protested.“Congratulations. That is why Cáel can’t talk to you anymore,” Pamela smirked. “This is the sort of crap he has inadvertently been caught up with; no fault of his own. If he did any of this on purpose, I’d kill him myself.”“He is some poor schmuck who only wanted a 7-5 job, to make tons of money and bedding a different girl every night,” Pamela teased me. “He’s no criminal mastermind, or even a convincing criminal. If he has a failing it is that he tends to merely beat up people who deserve to have their spleens ripped out instead. I’m training him to be smarter than that.”“Who are you?” Brewster gawked. Pamela gave a sinister smile. Lisa looked at me.“I’ve fought a woman with a twelve foot stick with a pointy bit of metal at the end with little thought to my personal safety. This lady (Pamela) scares me. She is with me because I have no means of stopping her and I put saving others a great deal of pain and suffering over my own unsettled nerves.”“Do you really think you are that good?” Lisa half-turned around to face Pamela.“Do you want your gun back?” Pamela offered up a police issue Glock-22, grip first. My kind of gun. How sad. I was too depressed to seduce Officer Lisa. Brewster reached around to check is firearm. It was still there, much to his relief.“How did you do that?” Lisa wondered as she retrieved and inspected her weapon. Pamela tapped Brewster’s shoulder with the man’s magazine. Brewster was aghast. She’d stolen his gun, taken out the ammo and returned it without him noticing.“I found it on the floor. The truth is a bit more expensive than you are willing to pay at the moment, believe me,” Pamela grinned.Why had Pamela showboated? She was buying me some mental respite. She was also exhibiting to the two police folks that there might be some truth to her outlandish tale of criminal conspiracies. Unlike the other Amazons, Pamela knew we had to maintain friendly relations with some part of law enforcement if I was going to bury my Father.(The Medical Examiner’s Office)So much happens in life we rarely put the timespan of events in context. Talking with a person in line who turns out to make your day better/worse, become a friend and/or a date. In a matter of a few seconds your life has been altered. Two minutes later and you would have missed getting the concert tickets where you meet your future; whomever.Two minutes sooner and you get caught in the 'speed trap’ instead of the other poor sap who you drive past as they sit on the side of the road keeping the patrol officer company. His/her insurance rate goes up while you have that extra money for later. Had we arrived two minutes earlier to the morgue; disaster aborted. Two minutes later would have equated to a frustrating mystery.Life was not so kind. It was the same group as before; Detective Lisa, Investigator Horace, Rachel and I. We had just added an Assistant Medical Examiner who was going over information garnered from the autopsy with the two cops. Pamela was 'checking things out’, whatever that meant. The key to it all was Rachel being Rachel.Security Detail are more than simply elite fighting-women. They are also bodyguards, security specialist and normally stack a third specialty into the mix. When Rachel spotted five armed people in the hallway right outside the Medical Examiner’s autopsy room, her alertness spiked. Only one was a uniformed police officer. Rachel was still gun-less.The two EMS personnel rolling an occupied body bag out on a gurney shouldn’t have had on their heavy jackets on a late June afternoon. The other two men were chatting about something. That wasn’t unusual. Where they were standing was; to Lisa’s experienced eye. Rachel’s heightened anxiety made Lisa double-check everything.Horace didn’t know what was wrong yet when Lisa’s hand came to rest on her piece, he put his hand on his Ruger SR45.“Excuse me,” Lisa called out. No one stopped moving. “Excuse me,” Lisa demanded in a louder voice. “I am Detective Lisa Capella, Chicago Police Department; Homicide Division. What is going on?”That was a reach. Bodies exit the morgue all the time. The two people with the body made sense. The two 'odd’ fellows weren’t breaking any law. In cop-talk, this was called 'gut instinct’. She produced her badge. There was a quick look by the two ambulance folk to the farther of the two 'talking’ men.That group were rather competent, just not competent conmen. The two EMS guys turned and tried to give Lisa a causal look.“What can we do for you, officer?” the designated diplomat asked nonchalantly.“Whose body is that?” Lisa inquired.“I’m not sure; all we do is pick 'em up and take them to the appropriate funeral home,” he shrugged.“Take ten seconds and show me the release order,” Lisa gave a chilly command. The cop at the far end of the hall; the one with the door that lead to the loading/unloading area, was starting to clue in that something wasn’t right.“Oh, by the Great Pumpkin, this is bad,” Brewster muttered under his breath like a thousand other fathers who engaged in the daily struggle to not curse at work so they wouldn’t curse around their children.“Of course, Detective Capella,” the diplomat nodded. “Is there a problem?” He carefully pulled out his smart phone and handed it over.Lisa wasn’t born yesterday. She handed the phone to me instead of looking at it herself. She was keeping her eyes on the guys with guns. They really did have an order to transfer my Father to a mortuary. Apparently I had requested this be done; without my knowledge.“Cáel Nyilas requested his father be taken to the Green Meadows mortuary in Cicero,” I informed Lisa, Rachel and Horace.“I need to talk to Mr. Nyilas,” Lisa informed them. “If I can’t talk to him, I can’t let the body leave this building. This is an ongoing investigation.” The 'diplomat’ was worried yet Lisa had given him an out. After I returned his phone, he called his off-site boss, who gave him a number which the diplomat gave to Lisa. Lisa called 'me’ without my phone ringing.Even so, 'I’ confirmed the authorization. The four gunmen relaxed as Lisa hung up.“One more question,” Lisa pulled a 'Columbo’, “was this a rush job, or are you all 'not ready for prime time players’?” The 'diplomat’ made one last lunge at deception.“Detective Capella, our work order is legitimate,” he shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what you mean?”“Funeral homes have their own uniforms; they do not dress as EMS,” Lisa deconstructed their illusions. “The bodies of murder victim are not released by the Medical Examiner until a cause of death is known and that information is released to the homicide detective assigned to the case; that would be me, if there was any doubt.Your two buddies down the hall could have read and critiqued the Magna Carta in the time it has taken for you to do your 'song and dance’,” Lisa pointed out. “Oh, and the real Cáel Nyilas is standing next to me. Whoever talked with me on the phone is going to jail too. Now I suggest the four of you face the wall, put your hands over your head, palms against the wall and no one will get hurt.”Darwin check time; they drew their guns. Of course they drew their guns. Why would they not draw their guns considering the farthest enemy was all of 4 meters away and the only immediately cover was my Dad’s horizontal corpse? Gurneys tend to be lightweight and mostly empty space.The quickest on the draw was one of the two 'talkers’. He whipped out a .357 Magnum revolver and popped two shots into the police officer next to him; right in the center mass at less than 2 meters; ouch. Rachel was next, making a diving front roll between the two cops, toward the two fake EMS guys. I was right behind her, except my plan was to vault Dad’s body and get at the second talker. I was not acting sanely.The second talker went in the next split second. He had brought a sawed-off automatic shotgun to the fight. His first salvo blew a chunk out of the wall next to Lisa’s hip. She was less than an eye-blink behind as she put two slugs into the 'diplomat’s’ armored chest. He was kind enough to drop his Mac-11 from his twitching fingers and into Rachel’s hands.Less than a single heartbeat later, the 'diplomat’s EMS buddy revealed his own Mac-11. His mistake was not shooting his first target; Brewster. He was tracking Rachel and me instead, hoping to catch us together in a spray of lead. The general feeling was that, for all his law enforcement experience, Investigator Brewster had never actually shot at anyone before.His cop instincts kicked into overdrive. The perpetrators appeared to be wearing body armor and possessed a small arsenal of illegal weapons. His aim tweaked up, he pulled the trigger and a .45 ACP round effectively decapitated his target; our first confirmed casualty. My encounter with the Latin Kings had been a lesson in poor tactical flexibility.This time, by unspoken agreement, the two talkers were exercising their tactical acumen as they began withdrawing toward the exit. With the short range, width of the hall and lack of cover, being shot at by a shotgun, or a .357 didn’t make much difference. I was trying to jump onto the gurney and launch myself at the two when my toe caught on the bottom of Dad’s body, turning my heroic rush into a face-plant on Father.The men’s cover fire worked on Lisa and Horace. Lisa, being more exposed, had to dive flat. Horace crouch-ran to Rachel. Rachel, with her submachine gun, was firing a steady stream of bullets from between the gurney’s top surface and bottom shelf. Her shots shattered shotgun guy’s shins and blasted off his knee caps.As that bastard screamed and toppled forward, Rachel emptied the magazine into both his thighs and his right hip. By the copious nature of the blood spray, an artery had been clipped, if not severed. Horace grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked me off the gurney, down to his side. Lisa fired off a few shots at the vanishing leader, but he was already out the door.Rachel was rifling the closest EMS’s headless body, looking for a fresh clip for the M-11.“Don’t,” Horace cautioned her. Lisa was running to the door.“Rachel, leave the gun and follow me,” I commanded.“Wait,” Horace called out. He was in an impossible situation. The bold Assistant ME began looking for any survivors, starting with the diplomat.Detective Capella was chasing after a possible cop-killer. I was already running after Lisa and Horace couldn’t ride herd on Rachel, catch me and support Lisa all at once. Rachel muttered [OKH] 'dirty goat’ at my fleeting form. I was sure its true meaning was far nastier.“Da-darn it,” Horace grimaced as he started rushing after the three of us.I doubted it was any consolation to Horace that Lisa shot me an evil look when I caught up to her at the loading dock. T
Being known by the company you keep.By FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the podcast at Steamy Stories.Life exists in both seconds and years. Don’t ignore one for the other.I would like to thank the phone operator and Chief of the Burnham, Illinois Police Department for answering my questions, despite their bizarre nature.(Monday Night)I should have known to not have too good a time. My karma was wacky enough as it was. It was about to get worse in a way I should have foreseen. Ain’t hindsight grand?Inside of five seconds I knew how much sharing Libra and Brooke did; a lot. On the plus side, it gave me some wiggle room with Libra where sex with Brooke was concerned. On the super-plus side, Brooke was looking forward to ratcheting up our sex play. I took her to Libra’s experiences with all the extra bells and whistles.In this case it meant adding a blindfold and ball-gag to the hand restraints. Brooke handed me a high level of trust unexpected at this early moment in our sexcapade. With a quick empathic insight, I pulled her ball-gag down as her orgasm erupted. She rejoiced in the sound of her rapture echoing around my bedroom.I deceived her into her next climax by whispering a promise to release her then hammering her instead. The whole specter of powerlessness tore her up inside. Best of all, even as she spasmed beneath me, I released her cuffs then pulled up her mask. Her fingernails dug into my trapezius muscles. For over a minute, she clung to me with a deep hunger to feel my heat and sweat against her body.“My turn,” she rasped. I pressed my shoulders and head up so I could look into her eyes. She was waiting for this opportunity since she’d talked with Libra. Without question, she’d never been tied down before, or tied a man down and had her way with him. She’d manipulated men most of her life; that was old hat.This was primal, physical and forbidden. She was taking complete control of my person. God, I thought she’d orgasmed when she finished cuffing me to the headboard. Taunting, teasing and hot body contact followed as she put the ball-gag in. Sizzling lips sealed my fate as the blindfold was slipped in place.Having invested so much time using all my senses soaking up the hungry beast that Brooke possessed right beneath her urbane surface, losing my eyesight wasn’t a major drawback. For Brooke, this had all the benefits of anonymous sex in a blacked-out room with the bonus of her having the lights on for her use alone. My bet was she had studied stuff on-line.From being sure she wasn’t going to have sex with me when she first met, she had graduated to running naked across my living room for what turned out to be lemon slices. The ‘fumph’ of the Nerf gun made me assume Timothy shot her in the buttocks as she raced into my room. By the yip from Brooke, I knew Timothy’s aim remained frighteningly accurate.Lemon juice and cuts don’t mix, or, Brooke enjoyed watching my body jolt as said juice interacted with said 'workplace’ mistakes. Was I angry? Nah. Every hiss of pain was followed by lavished kisses, licks and hair lashings. I loved her long black hair draped over my body, flicked around whisk-like and tickling my nose.Brooke was learning my keystone technique; figure out what your partner wants and give them a quick sample. Don’t use any one thing too much; make it a treat and they’ll appreciate the taste they get even more. When Brooke finally sated us both, it was my turn again. We talked a while. She invited me to a friend’s place in the Hamptons which suggested to me the destination was more than some made-up place on TV.I promised to think about it. Brooke took that to mean she needed to work harder to convince me. I honestly had little desire to be trotted around as Brooke’s boy toy. Hoping that wouldn’t be the case relied a lot on faith. I wasn’t sure what I would have in common with any of that crowd, which guided me back to being a stuck up snob for treating a people as a social class and not as human beings.I took out my social anxiety on Brooke. Poor girl; three holes, ten positions and I’m not sure how many times I took her from frenzied peak to frenzied peak. All I knew was when she’d passed all points of previous primeval ecstasy, I finally released her. Brooke curled into a semi-fetal ball and began burrowing into me.“Happy?” I asked as I stroked her sweat-drenched hair. She nodded happily against my chest. “Are you glad you came over?” I continued. Brooke bit me because she knew I was teasing her. “Ow,” I grumbled. “I think we have a misunderstanding who is whose sex toy here.”“Do I need to bite you again?” Brooke mumbled into my chest.“Point taken,” I conceded. Brooke snuggled in even tighter. We wrestled out of bed, stumbled into the shower and took some time off with Timothy. He looked at us and smirked.“Cáel is going to be my boyfriend,” Brooke tossed out there. Huh?“What in God’s green earth makes you want to do that?” Timothy chuckled.“He’s been there when I needed him. Cáel is a real man and it has taken me having a really tough spill to realize that it doesn’t matter which alumni your Daddy belongs to, but what you put on the line for your friends that really matters,” Brooke enlightened us both.“Seriously Dude,” Timothy looked at me with pity.“Cut down on the awesome dicking until somehow polygamy becomes legal,” he added, but then, “Brooke, you know he’s seeing about a dozen different ladies, right?”“Cáel is looking for a serious relationship,” Brooke insisted. Timothy chortled because he knew the likelihood of me settling down was right up there with us sharing a White Christmas in the Bahamas.“Let’s go back to bed, Babe,” I redirected things to safer waters. “It is your turn to be on top.” Brooke, wearing one of my fresh t-shirts and nothing else, hopped off the sofa and let me lead her back to the bedroom for another round of 'not thinking about any other part of my fucked up life except the beautiful woman with me right now’ sex.Twenty minutes later, Brooke had encased my rod in her wanton elixirs, was gyrating her hips as she stroked my rod inside her vagina while keeping me bound, blind and muffled. My phone rang.“Should I get that?” Brooke teased me. She moved enough to seize my cellular device.“The number is unlisted,” she mused. “Who could it be?” I gave a muffled response. She removed the ball-gag enough for me to speak.“Work,” I repeated. “It might be work. I’m on-call 24/7.”“Damn,” Brooke undoubtedly pouted (still blindfolded). She answered the call then placed the phone to my ear.“Cáel, a Security Detail detachment is on their way to your quarters as we speak. You will recognized the code they will use,” Katrina’s icy calm voice informed me.“Katrina, what is wrong?” I inquired. Normally, I wouldn’t get an answer. Katrina’s tone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.“There has been an incident at your Father’s home in Chicago. We do not have clear intelligence at this time. I may have more when you get in,” she related.“Understood,” I replied. My passionate storm abated and I felt empty inside. Dad.“Cáel?” Brooke sounded worried.“We need to get dressed,” I murmured. I had to let Timothy know something was truly wrong. I needed to get Brooke home safely. I…I needed to know more than I did right then. Brooke uncuffed me quickly. I barely had my boxers on when there was a light series of raps on the door. I sprang up, opened my bedroom door, surprising Odette.She must have come back to work a few minutes earlier and was unwinding with some low-volume TV and some sofa time. Timothy was asleep already.“Odette, go back to Timothy’s room and warn him something bad may have happened. Go!” I warned. Odette scampered back. Brooke was at my back, trying to move into the main room.“Brooke, stay here. If something unusual happens, hide in the bedroom and don’t come out until the police get here. Do you understand?” I met her confusion with an iron stare. She nodded. There was another, more insistent, rapping at my apartment door. I crept up to the portal and gave a counter-knock.“Crab Fisher-woman,” a female voice said from the other side.“My Father’s Sister,” I responded. It was an imperfect code, but effective given the circumstances. I double checked through the spy hole, unlocked the door and let three SD Amazons inside. How bad was it? I doubted these ladies would know more than I did.“[OKH] Ishara,” the leader said, “we have orders to escort you to Havenstone immediately.”They weren’t blindly expecting me to follow instructions. They had a directive they were following to the best of their ability.“[OKH] Will a team be watching my domicile?” I asked. The leader nodded. “We need to take a female I have been with tonight to her dwelling before going on to Havenstone.”The SD team leader nodded again. There was no condescension, or argument. They were following orders as if it was my right to issue them. That was how bad things were. Time to get back to English.“Brooke, finish getting dressed. I’m taking you home,” I called out.Quite frankly, along with my desire to see Brooke back home safely was my instinct to not split up my guardians. Better a longer trip than two smaller, more vulnerable groups. I was in the process of getting dressed in the living room when Timothy and Odette came out.“Bro?” Timothy asked.“My Father’s home was attacked. I have no other details right now,” I explained with a sinking feeling in my heart. Timothy read my soul, came up and engulfed me in his mighty arms. Odette added herself to the heart-felt love-pile.“Do you want me to take Odette and head back to Queens for a while?” Timothy asked.He sensed we had limited time.“They,” and by 'they’ he knew I meant Havenstone, “will have a team watching this place. There are not enough resources to go back and forth to work. I wish I could tell what would keep you safe, but I don’t know anymore.”“We’ll stay put,” Timothy declared. Odette nodded. “We’ll be here for you when you get back. If any of these psycho-broads want to stop by from time to time, I won’t say no.” I shot a look to the security team leader and she gave a curt 'okay’.“You’ll need an overnight bag!” Odette squeaked. Off she went.Brooke finished getting dressed and came to my side. To your average Lothario, what she did might seem odd. To me, it was the normal refrain; Brooke shoved her panties into my jean’s pocket. That was a not so subtle 'Call Me’ for when I got back.“Three minutes, Ish; Cáel,” the leader updated me.My amateur guess was this was the team from across the street. They had back-up vehicles and personnel streaking down from Havenstone to provide extra security for my move.“Velma,” she gave me her name. A quick description was in order. The three Amazons all had Bluetooth devices, shooting glasses and steel-gray long coats that had to be uncomfortable in this upper seventies evening heat.Underneath, they had on light ballistic body armor on their torsos, arms, and legs. Even their dull grey, all-terrain boots looked armored. They had a hip holstered sidearm, most likely a back-up pistol at the small of their backs and a deadly blade, or three. Their main deterrence was their H&K UMP-40; my second favorite Amazon killing device.Timothy snuck off to get my toiletries, returning around the same time Odette trundled out with an overnight (or three) bag. There was a final round of hugs then Velma indicated it was time to leave. The fourth member of the team was stationed at the top of the third floor stairs. That gave her a good view of my hallway as well as the passage going up and down.Two SD’s to the front, Velma and the fourth watching our backs and Brooke caught between giddy and freaking terrified. Things got even more exciting when we hit the bottom of the stairs. Two more ladies were waiting. They put a trench coat on Brooke and she nearly collapsed. The freed up Amazon took my bag while the second put a trench coat on me.I grunted as well. This bitch had to weigh 25 kg. That was some serious ballistic and blast protection. The closest newcomer began attaching my pistol with hip holster on my side while Brooke was 'buttoned up’. I was slipped a few spare clips then was buttoned up as well.“I’m not sure I can walk in this thing,” Brooke gave me a weak smile.“Don’t worry,” I smiled, “I’ll carry you.” I slipped my arm around Brooke’s waist and, on Velma’s signal, we rushed out to the middle of three Mercedes Armored GL550s. The doors had barely shut before we were racing away from my favorite home. I walked Brooke up to her apartment, we hugged, kissed and she insisted I go to the Hamptons with her this weekend.I left with that promise unanswered. I didn’t ask the Security Detail to do anything else outrageous and they didn’t give me any crap about Brooke. Their vigilance didn’t end at Havenstone either. No; they formed a tight knot of outward hostility until we marched into Katrina’s office. Even then, they spread out over the Executive Services offices as an extended perimeter.Katrina’s office was another step up on the unsettling meter. It was Katrina, Saint Marie, Buffy, Helena, and a woman I didn’t know yet seemed to belong.“Excuse me?” Saint Marie shot a hostile look my way; actually right behind me.“Don’t mind me,” Pamela snorted. She was in the process of sneaking into the room.“I’m here for moral support,” she concluded then took a seat.“Cáel?” Katrina queried, as if I could somehow exile Pamela from the room.“What’s going on?” I began the meeting instead.“Your Father is dead,” Katrina reported. If someone ever asked me what it felt like to have an arm cut off, I could truthfully answer them 'Yes’. Dad.“From what we have been able to gather from the video and audio gear the four Amazon Security Detail team assigned to watch over him transmitted, the team was setting up a perimeter when three vehicles with ten men stopped on the juncture of Janus and Kerr streets and approached the house. The team leader made formal recognition and was attacked,” Katrina told me.“Are they okay?” I mumbled. I didn’t want to know how my Dad died. Had he been in pain? Which side had killed him? Would knowing make a damn bit of difference?“Three of the four members were killed,” Saint Marie interjected. “The team commander was killed instantly. The second died defending that corner of your Father’s domicile.The third member was killed attempting to rescue your Father. The surviving member stopped the enemy from escaping with your Father’s body, but was too badly injured to extricate herself and is now in police custody.”“What are we going to do about this?” I inquired. Pamela was a lying bitch.She’d lied to Brianna because the truth would have gotten me and Dad killed. Dad had still died, but Pamela had kept me alive.“There is nothing we can do,” the stranger spoke up. “Troika of House Šauška.”“You are joking, right?” I stared at her.“He was a male, not of…” Troika began to state.“You do know your Amazon law, correct?” I countered. She gave a curt tilt of the head. “Recount the means of succession to the Head of a House then please explain to the room how my Father, the descendant of Vranus, fits into all that.”Cha-ching!“Oh, by the Seven Goddesses!” Saint Marie jumped up. “They murdered the Head of House Ishara!” Katrina was already back on top; ahead of the game.“But what does that make him?” Troika pointed at me.“It confirms him as the Head of House Ishara. We can sugar-coat it and say Cáel, being the only 'active’ member of Havenstone 'represented’ the Head of House Ishara. By our traditions though, Ferko Nyilas was the lawful head of a 'First’ House. Certainly four days were not enough time to settle the manner in an acceptable way,” Katrina said.“At the very least, House Ishara would have been given 28 days to resolve any matters of succession internally,” Katrina pointed out. “There was no deception. Cáel worked for Havenstone, so was our active member. The existence of his Father was known. It is in his basic file. It was highly unlikely that ANY House wanted to bring another male into the mix so the matter of his ascension was left unquestioned.”“This is Casus Belli,” Troika stood up and declared in a firm voice. “I will inform Hayden. We must know the perpetrators of this act, Katrina. I will prepare to relate this breach of the Protocols to the other Signatories.”“To make sure I have this straight, I can defend any member of my family, no matter who they are, without violating the Protocols?” I questioned. “Can I kill them?”“That is correct,” Troika appeared confused. “Other Signatories cannot harm, or detain your family in any way.” I gave a bitter, hollow laugh. Dad…Dad wouldn’t have understood, but Mom would have, no doubt.“Troika…hell, everyone but Pamela and Katrina, I am Cáel Nyilas, grandson of THE Cáel O'Shea and those people who murdered my Dad very well may have been my family,” I felt like crying.That was good because I was crying. I had talked to Dad early Monday morning. I had been so nervous about not leaving any trace of Mom behind that I couldn’t recall if I said 'I love you’ to him. I’d never get the chance to make up for that oversight. As I began to take in the faces around me, I realized Ishara had gifted me with a respite. No one else knew who Cáel O'Shea was; yet.“Troika,” I started out. I could tell she was still having difficulty with the 'Man as someone worthy of stating an opinion’ moment. “When the Council decides that the Illuminati have breached the Protocols, do I have a deciding vote on what we do; since Dad was my family?”“No,” Troika clarified, “and what makes you think it was the Illuminati?” Pamela laughed at her.“Because I killed Cáel’s Grandfather when that man was head of the Illuminati; slit his throat and rendered him incapable of resuscitation. The rest of that twisted clan have only now discovered that there is a successor, genetically, to the Old Man and you are looking at him,” Pamela related in an amused tone.“Perhaps; just perhaps; they were interested in what happened to Cáel’s Mother and the man she mated with to produce Cáel…who also happened to be the Head of House Ishara and now leaves this man (me) as the last of his kind; coming and going,” Pamela finished, “for both the Amazons and the O'Shea family/the Illuminati.”Troika was having problems fitting all the puzzle pieces. Saint Marie cut to the heart of the matter because she listens to me.“If you go to war against the O'Shea’s you are being forced to fight your own family,” the Golden Mare stared at me in shock.“Let me get this straight,” Troika stood up, waving for silence. “When the O'Shea’s killed Ferko Nyilas, they murdered the Head of a First House. They also murdered a member of their own family by way of marriage.” She seemed totally flummoxed. Everyone agreed about how fucked up everything was. Breach? No Breach?“Welcome to life working with Cáel Nyilas,” Katrina declared. There was a pause.“I’ll let the professionals figure out the finer points of diplomacy. I have to go,” I said.“Were do you think you are going?” Buffy popped up. Until this moment, she’d had no role in affairs. My safety though…“I am going home to bury my Father, Buffy,” I announced. This was not a discussion.“Shouldn’t we take his body to the cliffs?” Troika suggested.“My Father will face the Afterlife with my Mother at his side. It was his wish and I’m not going to start dictating to my Ancestors now,” I sighed.I was trying to make light of my pain. By the looks on their faces, I was failing. I had barely exited the office, Buffy, Helena and Pamela in tow. The security team was closing in and my phone rang.“Cáel Nyilas,” I answered sadly.“Mr. Nyilas, this is Investigator Brewster of the Burnham Police Department. I need a few moments of your time,” a man’s voice requested. I hesitated. I looked at my watch.“Yes…Dad?” I finally spoke.“Mr. Nyilas, your father seems to have been murdered late this evening in a bungled attempted burglary,” he lied. It was a good lie.If he really believed a bungled robbery consisted of two heavily armed groups shooting a small residential home to pieces he was…nah, he was lying.“I’m on the next flight to Chicago,” was the response I chose. I had so many 'loser’ replies to choose from.“That would be helpful, Mr. Nyilas,” he told me. “Do you know when I can expect you?”“Ah…I have no idea when the next plane from New York to Chicago is, but if I can buy a ticket on it, I’m there,” I countered. Admittedly, me having a plane ticket for home would have been damn suspicious.“One last thing, Mr. Nyilas, do you have any idea why someone would want to murder your father? Anything you could tell us could be of great assistance,” he pressed.“Yes, I have a clue who murdered my Father and I’ll point you to the dead bodies when I’m done,” I snapped; quite literally and mentally snapped. Pause.“Mr. Nyilas, I understand you are upset, but do not do anything rash. Now, could your father have been murdered for anything you might have done, or are doing?” Det. Brewster kept is game face on.“We’ll have this chat when I get to Chicago. Until then, take care,” I said before hanging up.“Smooth,” Pamela gently chastised me.“I actually liked him going all 'Mafia Don’ on that cop,” Buffy countered.“I’ll arrange for Havenstone to get us transportation to Chicago,” Helena added.“No,” I countermanded her. “You two stay here and finish up business. Join me late Tuesday night, or early Wednesday morning.”By the looks Buffy and Helena gave me they were surprised…and proud. I was keeping to my 'Runner’ induction time table. My family would not be diminished by this tragedy. It would grow. Come Wednesday morning, we would add twenty new voices to Ishara’s war cry.“I’ll take the first commercial flight available,” I continued.“We cannot protect you on a civilian aircraft, Ishara,” Velma warned me.“They; the authorities are expecting me to show up at O'Hare, so I’m showing up at O'Hare, like a normal person,” I reminded her. “I’ll also need to know at what hospital they are keeping our sister.” Our sister; the sole surviving Amazon who nearly gave her life for Dad.The SD picked up on that immediately. Another leap had been made. I wasn’t a masculine monster, raging against a female warrior who had failed. By the tone of my voice, they knew I was in grief yet not overcome by it. She was the last member of the Host to see my Father alive and she might hold the closure I needed.“It will be done,” Velma decided. “We will have your team meet you at O'Hare.”“My team?” I asked.“Rachel; her team,” Velma clarified. That was enough good for me.“Oh, and get Pamela a ticket as well. I’d hate to have her mug another passenger and take theirs,” I sighed. Pamela patted me on the back; an 'atta boy’.(Monday Noon)(The hospital)That was not the first time I wondered about how fatal Pamela had been in her prime. In fact, I wasn’t sure that post-60 wasn’t her best time yet. The only mistake the police officer guarding the Amazon’s hospital room made was to sit in a chair. Pamela had long ago mastered the peon-craft that Rosetta had started to teach me.The policeman looked up, stared right through her then looked the other way. His gaze never swept back in my direction. She jabbed him quickly underneath both arms, paralyzing them for a few seconds. That was all she needed. Hers hand clamped over his eyes and on his throat, cutting off the blood flow to the brain before his hands could recover.He appeared to the outside world to have taken a nap. According to Pamela, we had roughly three minutes before he came around. Pamela kept walking down the hall as if nothing happened. I came ten steps behind, guarded by a gun-less Rachel as I entered the Intensive Care Unit. A few of the staff looked our way, but no one impeded our progress.According to the Duty Nurse, the Amazon had exited surgery barely an hour ago. Her eyes opened to slits as I approached her beside.“We stand before the Eye of the World,” I whispered. That meant surveillance. “I cannot tell you what is in my heart. My name is Cáel Nyilas. Does that name mean anything to you?”Her hand flopped. I put two fingers into her feeble gasp. One squeeze; yes. “I am grateful for your prowess and I share in your sorrow for those who will no longer fight in this life. Please heal and grow strong for this is the start, not the finish,” I completed. She squeezed my fingers once more. I stepped aside, letting Rachel take my place.They didn’t exchange words but communicated volumes. We slipped out of the room while the guard was still groggy. Pamela was nowhere to be seen. That proved to be pre-sentient when a group of people with the propensity to flash IDs caught up to me at the ground floor.Had the backdrop of this fiasco not been the death of my Father, I might have enjoyed the twitching/counter-twitching going on between Rachel, who desperately wanted any one of her guns, and the cops who were picking up on that desire.“Mr. Nyilas, I am…” and the introductions came pouring in.I had Theodora Chumwell and Brock Miklos, Special Agents of the FBI, John Rios, Special Agent with the ATF, Investigator Horace Brewster from the Burnham PD and Homicide Detective Lisa Capella from the Chicago PD.“We would like to talk with you,” Theodora took charge.“Can I ask a question first?” I raised my hand. That appeared to set them off their game plan.“Of course,” Theodora allowed.“Okay; FBI, ATF, a homicide detective from Chicago and the only law enforcement official who has any business being here,” I finished with Brewster.“I may not be a Rhodes Scholar, but this seems a bit extreme for the burglary/murder of a long-time employee of Illinois Power and Light. Does anyone care to fill me on what the hell is going on?” I looked over the group. “Oh, and thank you Investigator Brewster for your call. I know I didn’t take the news well.”“Was that the part where you said you would point to the dead bodies?” Theodora took charge.“Yes, I think that was the gaff I was referring to,” I agreed.“Why are you here, Mr. Nyilas?” Lisa Capella jumped in. She had decided to not go along with the FBI playbook.“I came to see the woman found alive in my family home,” I replied smoothly.“She is probably still in surgery,” Lisa gave a twist of the lips; sex.“Oh, she got out an hour ago,” I enlightened them.“Let’s take this conversation to FBI Headquarters,” Theodora 'suggested’; you know, in the way that really wasn’t a suggestion.“Have you gone to see that woman?” Lisa wouldn’t let up; good for her. It was upsetting Theodora and I’d already decided that Brewster was my go-to guy on this investigation.“Yes,” I responded to Lisa.“Isn’t she under police protection?” Lisa and Theodora blurted out together.“There was a policeman at her door,” I shrugged. “We went in and I talked to her.”“What did she say?” Theodora brushed Lisa aside.“Nothing. She had one of those tubes down her throat. Whatever I said…well, I was emotional,” I evaded. “She was barely conscious.”Lisa was urgently contacting her guy who was supposed to be watching the only person in custody they had. He claimed to have 'blacked out’. He couldn’t remember anyone coming in to see the woman and swore he hadn’t been unconscious for any length of time. He went in, checked up on the Amazon and she was fine; for someone who had been shot six times.“We should go to the FBI offices,” Theodora repeated.“I’m going home,” I sighed sadly. “I want to go home.”“It is still an active crime scene,” John told me. “There won’t be any civilian access for some time.” Translation: until they decided to give me the carrot instead of the stick.“Please, come with us,” FBI Special Agent Brock added his weight.“No. I’m going with Burnham PD,” I countered. “You can find me there.”“That’s not how it works,” Theodora upped her authority meter. Lisa had fallen back, trying to take in the bigger picture.Brewster was clearly trying to recall if he had ANY history with me, or my Dad, that would make me trust him over the others.“I may be a liberal arts major from northern New England, but I know how a larynx works,” I regarded Theodora. “Unless I choose to make a sound, it does nothing. Nothing is about to be all we have left to do and say.”“Don’t you want to help solve your Father’s murder?” Brock tried to sound both sympathetic and threatening at the same time. I was suddenly bombarded with the taste of Lime Sherbet and Jalapenos Ice Cream.“Really? Fine; I’m going to hang out with the only person in this room I know is working on my Father’s murder, not on their career,” I reposed.“We are all trying to…” Lisa got out.“You maybe,” I gave Lisa that much. “My Father made around $70,000 a year after twenty-six years for Illinois P&L. He had almost paid off the colossal debt built up by my Mother’s illness and my college expenses.”“As far as I know, he took out one loan his entire life; from a bank; and he paid it off,” I continued. “He was a lapsed Catholic, a member of the IBEW; Local 9, and he jogged. He barely used e-mail and had no close friends I am aware of. The only woman he loved was my Mother and he mourned her to the day he died.”“What about your activity?” Theodora inquired. We weren’t running off to her playground; yet. Handcuffing a grieving son would look bad and, by my attitude, wouldn’t make me talkative in the least.“I have the unfortunate habit of sleeping with every woman I meet,” I began.“So that’s over 200 erotic encounters. I get annoyed with people throwing their weight around,” I continued, “which is why you and I are getting off on the wrong foot, Special Agent Theodora Chumwell. I work for Havenstone Commercial Investments, getting paid an insane amount to fetch laundry and keep secrets. Good enough?”“No, it is not…” Theodora simmered.“How did you know about the existence of the woman upstairs and how did you know to come here?” Lisa interrupted.“I grew up in that house, know the neighbors and know this is the closest EMS center to home,” I lied convincingly.“Who are you?” Brewster decided that I wasn’t exiting the hospital gracefully so turned on Rachel. She didn’t speak, choosing to be creepy and brandishing a wallet instead. I kept forgetting that most full-blooded Amazons had minimal socialization with outsiders. Having graduated elementary school, everyone else knew this was a bizarre reaction.“Rachel Louis,” Brewster read off the license in the wallet. A normal person would have acknowledged that somehow; not Rachel. “You are Rachel Louis, aren’t you?”“Yes, she is,” I intervened. “Rachel is a co-worker at Havenstone and she is misanthropic misandrist.”There was a pregnant pause. The confusion wasn’t with 'misanthropic’. It was a grown-up word in usage with colorful police-types. It was 'misandrist’ that had them stumped.“Rachel is an unsociable man-hater,” I explained. “Standing at my side in this hospital is ten kinds of Hell for her.”“What kind of piece do you normal carry?” Rios asked her. Unsocial didn’t mean stupid.“I use a Glock-22 and Rachel carries a STI Perfect 10,” I answered. “We have been experiencing quite a gopher problem around the office.” I could have done better; I should have done better. I was just too tired inside to create an inventive lie.“Do have gun licenses for those weapons?” Mr. ATF kept prodding at our cover story.“It seems Ms. Louis; is it Ms. Ms. Louis?” Brewster continued. I flashed Rachel a look which she interpreted correctly.“Yes, my name is Ms. Rachel Louis,” Rachel replied. To me, “I find this distraction to be annoying. We should go.”“It would seem Ms. Louis has all kinds of…” Brewster got out before Rachel snatched the wallet from his grip with the speed of a Peregrine Falcon. Brewster had this stunned look familiar to crows, doves and starlings the world over as one of their kin passed into the next life in a flash. A combination of 'No you didn’t!’ with 'what the flock?’“Ah…” Brewster got out.“On that note, I think we will be going,” I shrugged. To Rachel, “You do not get out enough.”“Can I see your wallet again?” Brewster was still confused by Rachel’s rudeness. He was a cop for the love of God. People not wanting to go to jail do not snatch things from a cop’s hands.“I gave you my wallet. I am not to blame if you used its time in your possession unwisely,” Rachel counterattacked. “Unless there is a legal technicality, we shall be leaving. If there is a legal issue, here,” she produced a business card with a flourish, “is the contact information for our legal department.” Theodora took the card gingerly then read it.“Havenstone again,” she mused. “Are you sure this is the path you wish to take, Mr. Nyilas?”“Are you insane?” I trembled with emotion. “I want to be back in New York, working my queue and thinking about what my date and I will be doing tonight. I want my Dad to be alive. I don’t want to be thinking that the last time we talked I forgot to tell him I loved him.”“Path, you IDIOT!” I screamed at Theodora. Fuck it, I was crying again. “Not a damn thing any of you can do will bring my Dad back to me; so fuck off!” In a strange way, that was what they had been looking for. Not my wounded soul, but my rage and pain toward a World suddenly found to be cruel and pointless.Behind my crumbling façade was another worry. Outside in the parking lot were three Amazons with weapons ready to rush to my aid. It wasn’t that the Host was rash, or reckless, by nature. I was one of the fifty-six most important people in their society. Three other SD members had died in the defense of House Ishara already and they were damn sure those women would not have died in vain.I wasn’t leaving in federal custody willingly and if I walked out in restraints, I wasn’t sure if they would decide offing some law enforcement agents and staging my kidnapping was the best course of action. Remember, I wanted to bury my Father. They wanted to keep me alive. If those two goals collided, they would apologize after the fact.“Mr. Nyilas, I really believe we should…” Theodora got out then I brushed past her. It was a delicate moment and the chemistry between Rachel and I wasn’t lost on most of them. She was a bodyguard yet my servant too. It was professional tribalism; two words that don’t normally get along. Rios picked up on the other undercurrent.He recoiled from Rachel, retreating to buy space when/if Rachel attacked. Unlike the rest, he sensed that aggression by law enforcement would be met with lethal force. The Amazon didn’t care about the badge and the legions of fellow officers backing it up. She was fearless. Things weren’t over yet.“Mr. Nyilas, were are you going next?” Detective Lisa came after us.“I…I don’t know,” I muttered. “Where is my Father’s body? I know he wanted to be cremated and buried beside Mom…I guess.” Brewster came hurrying along.“He is at the Medical Examiner’s Office,” Lisa informed me. “Come with me.”“Why don’t you give me the address?” I sighed.“Do you and your buddy know your way around Chicago, Hometown Boy?” Lisa kept it up. She was hitting on me and lining me up at the same time.“How about we cut to the chase?” I looked at her with tear-soaked eyes.“We’ll take my cars; cars with an ’s’,” I offered. “I am a hometown boy. I’ve never had a reason to locate the Medical Examiner before. Since I have a boatload of angry women with guns who will not fit into your sedan and leaving them behind isn’t an option, mine is the only means of travel that makes sense.”Low and behold, the two cops looked at each other then followed Rachel and I to our little caravan. We were too close for the officers to have missed Rachel snapping off some quick, coded instructions to her team; most likely to hide the seriously illegal firearms. To say the Amazons were not pleased with my decisions spoke volumes to their concern for me and lack of police experience.Pamela, who had beaten us back to the cars, seemed privately entertained as always. Rachel was reluctantly sitting up front. Lisa, Brewster and I were in the second row and Pamela sat in back. Not only did the two not get a good look at Pamela, she was perfectly placed to do all kinds of mischief unseen.“So the woman upstairs works with you?” Lisa asked as we pulled out.“Where to?” Tiger Lily (I still wasn’t used to that name) requested of our Police 'buddies’. Lisa popped off the address. It was 'I’ll scratch your back, you’ll scratch mine’. Tiger Lily entered the data into the onboard computer and off we went.“No. She does not work for me, or my boss, directly. She was at my Father’s on my behalf though I was unaware of it,” I related.“Are you going to tell us what the hell happened?” Brewster prodded.“That I don’t know. I am not personally aware of anyone who would want to kill my Father, or me,” I answered.“Anyone who would want to get at me would come at me, not Dad,” I continued. “I don’t live in a fortress. It is a hardly spacious apartment near the East River. I share the place with my roommate, Timothy Denver, and a…companion by the name of Odette Sievert.”“Companion? Is she…a working girl?” Lisa went searching.“No, I use the term companion to indicate she’s too nice a girl for me. She’s sweet, conscientious and giving. My only wish for Odette is that she finds a guy who can appreciate her a hell of a lot more than I do,” I explained. “Timothy is my gay, body-building tattoo artist best friend. I’ve gotten the feeling he’s busted some heads in his time. Hardly anything noteworthy.”“Mr. Nyilas, have you ever considered that you live a very messy life?” Brewster pondered.“One does not 'consider’ what one knows to be true. One knows it to be true and moves on,” I grumbled. “Yes, I know I live a screwed up life.”“What about your friends here?” Lisa indicated the other three women in the vehicle. This elicited another groan from me.“Investigator Brewster; Horace and Detective Capella; Lisa, please call me Cáel. This is the point I accept that I am exhausted and not in any shape to make good decisions. I’ll plead the Fifth,” I confessed.“We already know you were in New York when your father was murdered, Mister…Cáel,” Brewster stated.“Everyone we’ve talked to says you and your father were very close. Barring some expensive Life Insurance policy being taken out on him, we have no reason to suspect you had a direct hand in his death. Not being a suspect, that implies you have no Fifth Amendment, or Miranda Rights to hide behind; just so we are clear,” Brewster schooled me.“I can make this game of footsy easy on all of you,” Pamela whispered. The officers jolted in their seats. “Cáel cannot talk to you for the very reason the Fifth Amendment exists.”“You are not like the rest of this menagerie,” Lisa noted.“Nah, I kill people for a living. The rest of the group has some code of conduct that keeps you two alive,” Pamela smiled.Those two didn’t know what to make of Pamela’s statement because it was so sincere yet incredible.“If Cáel tells you anything else he will be admitting to his involvement in a criminal conspiracy. Said conspiracy is why Ferko Nyilas is dead, but Cáel had nothing to do with it,” Pamela enlightened them.Fact digestion time for the two law dogs. Brewster recovered faster.“But why was Ferko Nyilas murdered?” he asked.“The men didn’t come to kill him,” Pamela kept talking about the tea and crumpets. “They probably showed up to escort him to a place where some far more important scumbags could talk with him.”“The all-girl squad was there and Ferko was caught in the crossfire,” Lisa mumbled. “Why was there a firefight if his life was in danger and both sides wanted him alive?”“Stupidity,” Pamela replied. “Give any group of people guns and then surprise them, stupid shit happens; I apologize Cáel.”“I don’t buy that,” Brewster said. “They simply started shooting at each other; no.”“Okay Horace, let me break it down for you. The ladies were told to go there and guard the guy without being told why. The men who showed up were most likely told to grab Ferko without knowing why either.”“That makes no sense,” Lisa protested.“Congratulations. That is why Cáel can’t talk to you anymore,” Pamela smirked. “This is the sort of crap he has inadvertently been caught up with; no fault of his own. If he did any of this on purpose, I’d kill him myself.”“He is some poor schmuck who only wanted a 7-5 job, to make tons of money and bedding a different girl every night,” Pamela teased me. “He’s no criminal mastermind, or even a convincing criminal. If he has a failing it is that he tends to merely beat up people who deserve to have their spleens ripped out instead. I’m training him to be smarter than that.”“Who are you?” Brewster gawked. Pamela gave a sinister smile. Lisa looked at me.“I’ve fought a woman with a twelve foot stick with a pointy bit of metal at the end with little thought to my personal safety. This lady (Pamela) scares me. She is with me because I have no means of stopping her and I put saving others a great deal of pain and suffering over my own unsettled nerves.”“Do you really think you are that good?” Lisa half-turned around to face Pamela.“Do you want your gun back?” Pamela offered up a police issue Glock-22, grip first. My kind of gun. How sad. I was too depressed to seduce Officer Lisa. Brewster reached around to check is firearm. It was still there, much to his relief.“How did you do that?” Lisa wondered as she retrieved and inspected her weapon. Pamela tapped Brewster’s shoulder with the man’s magazine. Brewster was aghast. She’d stolen his gun, taken out the ammo and returned it without him noticing.“I found it on the floor. The truth is a bit more expensive than you are willing to pay at the moment, believe me,” Pamela grinned.Why had Pamela showboated? She was buying me some mental respite. She was also exhibiting to the two police folks that there might be some truth to her outlandish tale of criminal conspiracies. Unlike the other Amazons, Pamela knew we had to maintain friendly relations with some part of law enforcement if I was going to bury my Father.(The Medical Examiner’s Office)So much happens in life we rarely put the timespan of events in context. Talking with a person in line who turns out to make your day better/worse, become a friend and/or a date. In a matter of a few seconds your life has been altered. Two minutes later and you would have missed getting the concert tickets where you meet your future; whomever.Two minutes sooner and you get caught in the 'speed trap’ instead of the other poor sap who you drive past as they sit on the side of the road keeping the patrol officer company. His/her insurance rate goes up while you have that extra money for later. Had we arrived two minutes earlier to the morgue; disaster aborted. Two minutes later would have equated to a frustrating mystery.Life was not so kind. It was the same group as before; Detective Lisa, Investigator Horace, Rachel and I. We had just added an Assistant Medical Examiner who was going over information garnered from the autopsy with the two cops. Pamela was 'checking things out’, whatever that meant. The key to it all was Rachel being Rachel.Security Detail are more than simply elite fighting-women. They are also bodyguards, security specialist and normally stack a third specialty into the mix. When Rachel spotted five armed people in the hallway right outside the Medical Examiner’s autopsy room, her alertness spiked. Only one was a uniformed police officer. Rachel was still gun-less.The two EMS personnel rolling an occupied body bag out on a gurney shouldn’t have had on their heavy jackets on a late June afternoon. The other two men were chatting about something. That wasn’t unusual. Where they were standing was; to Lisa’s experienced eye. Rachel’s heightened anxiety made Lisa double-check everything.Horace didn’t know what was wrong yet when Lisa’s hand came to rest on her piece, he put his hand on his Ruger SR45.“Excuse me,” Lisa called out. No one stopped moving. “Excuse me,” Lisa demanded in a louder voice. “I am Detective Lisa Capella, Chicago Police Department; Homicide Division. What is going on?”That was a reach. Bodies exit the morgue all the time. The two people with the body made sense. The two 'odd’ fellows weren’t breaking any law. In cop-talk, this was called 'gut instinct’. She produced her badge. There was a quick look by the two ambulance folk to the farther of the two 'talking’ men.That group were rather competent, just not competent conmen. The two EMS guys turned and tried to give Lisa a causal look.“What can we do for you, officer?” the designated diplomat asked nonchalantly.“Whose body is that?” Lisa inquired.“I’m not sure; all we do is pick 'em up and take them to the appropriate funeral home,” he shrugged.“Take ten seconds and show me the release order,” Lisa gave a chilly command. The cop at the far end of the hall; the one with the door that lead to the loading/unloading area, was starting to clue in that something wasn’t right.“Oh, by the Great Pumpkin, this is bad,” Brewster muttered under his breath like a thousand other fathers who engaged in the daily struggle to not curse at work so they wouldn’t curse around their children.“Of course, Detective Capella,” the diplomat nodded. “Is there a problem?” He carefully pulled out his smart phone and handed it over.Lisa wasn’t born yesterday. She handed the phone to me instead of looking at it herself. She was keeping her eyes on the guys with guns. They really did have an order to transfer my Father to a mortuary. Apparently I had requested this be done; without my knowledge.“Cáel Nyilas requested his father be taken to the Green Meadows mortuary in Cicero,” I informed Lisa, Rachel and Horace.“I need to talk to Mr. Nyilas,” Lisa informed them. “If I can’t talk to him, I can’t let the body leave this building. This is an ongoing investigation.” The 'diplomat’ was worried yet Lisa had given him an out. After I returned his phone, he called his off-site boss, who gave him a number which the diplomat gave to Lisa. Lisa called 'me’ without my phone ringing.Even so, 'I’ confirmed the authorization. The four gunmen relaxed as Lisa hung up.“One more question,” Lisa pulled a 'Columbo’, “was this a rush job, or are you all 'not ready for prime time players’?” The 'diplomat’ made one last lunge at deception.“Detective Capella, our work order is legitimate,” he shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what you mean?”“Funeral homes have their own uniforms; they do not dress as EMS,” Lisa deconstructed their illusions. “The bodies of murder victim are not released by the Medical Examiner until a cause of death is known and that information is released to the homicide detective assigned to the case; that would be me, if there was any doubt.Your two buddies down the hall could have read and critiqued the Magna Carta in the time it has taken for you to do your 'song and dance’,” Lisa pointed out. “Oh, and the real Cáel Nyilas is standing next to me. Whoever talked with me on the phone is going to jail too. Now I suggest the four of you face the wall, put your hands over your head, palms against the wall and no one will get hurt.”Darwin check time; they drew their guns. Of course they drew their guns. Why would they not draw their guns considering the farthest enemy was all of 4 meters away and the only immediately cover was my Dad’s horizontal corpse? Gurneys tend to be lightweight and mostly empty space.The quickest on the draw was one of the two 'talkers’. He whipped out a .357 Magnum revolver and popped two shots into the police officer next to him; right in the center mass at less than 2 meters; ouch. Rachel was next, making a diving front roll between the two cops, toward the two fake EMS guys. I was right behind her, except my plan was to vault Dad’s body and get at the second talker. I was not acting sanely.The second talker went in the next split second. He had brought a sawed-off automatic shotgun to the fight. His first salvo blew a chunk out of the wall next to Lisa’s hip. She was less than an eye-blink behind as she put two slugs into the 'diplomat’s’ armored chest. He was kind enough to drop his Mac-11 from his twitching fingers and into Rachel’s hands.Less than a single heartbeat later, the 'diplomat’s EMS buddy revealed his own Mac-11. His mistake was not shooting his first target; Brewster. He was tracking Rachel and me instead, hoping to catch us together in a spray of lead. The general feeling was that, for all his law enforcement experience, Investigator Brewster had never actually shot at anyone before.His cop instincts kicked into overdrive. The perpetrators appeared to be wearing body armor and possessed a small arsenal of illegal weapons. His aim tweaked up, he pulled the trigger and a .45 ACP round effectively decapitated his target; our first confirmed casualty. My encounter with the Latin Kings had been a lesson in poor tactical flexibility.This time, by unspoken agreement, the two talkers were exercising their tactical acumen as they began withdrawing toward the exit. With the short range, width of the hall and lack of cover, being shot at by a shotgun, or a .357 didn’t make much difference. I was trying to jump onto the gurney and launch myself at the two when my toe caught on the bottom of Dad’s body, turning my heroic rush into a face-plant on Father.The men’s cover fire worked on Lisa and Horace. Lisa, being more exposed, had to dive flat. Horace crouch-ran to Rachel. Rachel, with her submachine gun, was firing a steady stream of bullets from between the gurney’s top surface and bottom shelf. Her shots shattered shotgun guy’s shins and blasted off his knee caps.As that bastard screamed and toppled forward, Rachel emptied the magazine into both his thighs and his right hip. By the copious nature of the blood spray, an artery had been clipped, if not severed. Horace grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked me off the gurney, down to his side. Lisa fired off a few shots at the vanishing leader, but he was already out the door.Rachel was rifling the closest EMS’s headless body, looking for a fresh clip for the M-11.“Don’t,” Horace cautioned her. Lisa was running to the door.“Rachel, leave the gun and follow me,” I commanded.“Wait,” Horace called out. He was in an impossible situation. The bold Assistant ME began looking for any survivors, starting with the diplomat.Detective Capella was chasing after a possible cop-killer. I was already running after Lisa and Horace couldn’t ride herd on Rachel, catch me and support Lisa all at once. Rachel muttered [OKH] 'dirty goat’ at my fleeting form. I was sure its true meaning was far nastier.“Da-darn it,” Horace grimaced as he started rushing after the three of us.I doubted it was any consolation to Horace that Lisa shot me an evil look when I caught up to her at the loading dock. T
Ash Men, Sins and the Will of the Ancestors.By FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the podcast at Steamy Stories.-You may outrun your sins, but never forget that someone will pay the toll-(Later Friday)“Having a bad day?” Pamela stopped our lesson.“I apologize. I am having trouble focusing on the lesson today,” I sighed.“Let us see if we can handle this dilemma,” Pamela took two steps back, signaling the end of this round of physical training. “In my experience, most internal issues can be resolved within five minutes.”“This should be fun then,” I smirked. Pamela smirked as well. “I was confirmed at this morning’s emergency Council meeting to be the sole heir, thus leader, of House Ishara.” With a slight dip of the head, Pamela acknowledged I’d surprised her. “I chose to stand for House Ishara; literally. I will not take the seat, or vote. I will hold the place for my first daughter of the Host.”“That last bit was your decision and your decision alone?” Pamela queried. I nodded. “Good, you gave up nothing you could hold onto while gaining honor for the practical choice, Cáel. What are your numbers now?”“Three,” I answered. Pamela’s look demanded an explanation.“I immediately brought Buffy and Helena into the House. Katrina has advised me to be cautious about adding too many too fast,” I stated.“Katrina’s agenda and yours are not the same, Cáel,” Pamela warned me. “You are the leader of a First House now. Katrina is responsible for the harmony of the Council and Havenstone. These are not the same thing.”“A woman in Katrina’s position has no friends. She cannot afford them,” Pamela told me.“I asked her to set up a commission to help select proper candidates for Ishara. She picks nine members and I have Helena representing us,” I informed her. Pamela shook her head.“You concede too much,” Pamela frowned.“Set an absolute date with a designated number of candidates. Make the date soon; a month; and the number 20. Keep the heat on the others. Don’t let them constrain you,” Pamela lectured. “That is not the Amazon way. You have made concessions to them. Now they must make concessions to you. You gain little by mollifying them.”“I am not sure that a pissing off Katrina and Hayden will increase my survivability,” I countered.“Irrelevant,” Pamela slapped the wall. “You are House Ishara now. What matters to you is House Ishara and its relationship to the Host. Tell me how being weak helps either.”“It doesn’t,” I bowed my head. My confusion dissipated and we got back to the lesson.Three more things completed my day. Pamela hung around me. I didn’t ask her to and I couldn’t figure a good way to tell her to leave. Secondly, I tried to see Hayden. She was busy. Katrina was out of the office. I knew the score. Finally, Buffy knew Havenstone’s HQ better than anyone. Together with Helena we gathered at a blind spot in their security and exchanged notes.We didn’t talk because our echoes could be picked up. My message to Helena and Buffy was clear: I wanted a list of twenty ‘Runner’ names by Monday morning. If Katrina and Hayden were stone-walling my process, we would induct twenty every three days until they relented, or something broke. Miraculously to me, Buffy and Helena didn’t bat an eye over this skullduggery.Katrina showed up for our 'end of day’ meeting, with my valise. The meeting was brief and perfunctory. I didn’t think Katrina, or one of her agents, had overheard my secret House plotting. She knew something was up because she knew me. We were on a collision course. There was no stopping it. We hated half-measures. No words were exchanged.On the way out, I learned I had a Security Detail assigned for my well-being. From what, I had no idea. Was I on Santa’s Naughty List; Robot Santa (à la Futurama), that is?Constanza and Naomi, I recognized. The other two I had seen briefly. Constanza looked like she’d rather be force-fed leeches than be anywhere close to me.“A moment please,” I requested from the group around me. Buffy was uneasy. Pamela was ignoring me, thus not giving me space.“Constanza, you hate me. I hate you. It was this way at six this morning and nothing a room-full of old ladies says alters that,” I said quietly. “I don’t expect you to respect me, tolerate me, or ignore my gender status because of what transpired. I do expect you to respect House Ishara. When I must stand for this House, honor it. Neither of us has a choice in that matter.”“I give you permission for nothing because I can’t dictate to your heart. It is yours and even this male understands yours is the heart of a true Amazon. My words will not change how you feel. I am okay with that because I have no choice. You are who you are. I request that you draw a line between me, Cáel, the unwelcome invader and the Head of House Ishara,” I asked.“You are nothing,” Constanza seethed. “Your words mean nothing. You are what you have always been; an abomination.”“Listen carefully,” Pamela said casually. “Talk like that again and you are dead. You are not dead because I can easily kill you. You are dead because you have brought shame to your House.”“You have called a member of the Council an abomination. This implies that all the other Council members are blind, fools, or corrupt. What will they do to you for making such an open, blanket accusation?” Pamela sounded bored. “You refuse to see that the Ancestors have spoken and this is their decision. Defy the Ancestors and you deny your heritage.”“Your name will be stricken from the rolls, you will be butchered like a sheep and your body burned. You will never see the cliffs in this life or the next. Despite you being a twisted mockery of all things Amazon; Cáel doesn’t know the true Amazon heart; he is trying to save your life. It is the person he is. He loves more than he hates. It is why he is winning.”“Who are you to speak to me this way?” Constanza spat at Pamela. Pamela was unfazed.“I am a 'cliff walker’,” Pamela replied. “I teach knife classes every day at three. I am a mother and grandmother. I am on a quest for my ancestors and I am looking for the six-fingered man.”“That…that is insane,” Constanza stammered.“Was it the kitten juggling, or the obstacle course for marshmallows?” I looked to Pamela.“No, it was the spot-checking for freckles in Rio de Janeiro,” Pamela regarded me seriously.“Do areolas count as freckles?” I looked hopeful.“You are both diseased,” Constanza shouted.I was still dealing with the wrongness of Constanza’s words when I experienced the sensation of Pamela moving beside me. Saint Marie may have been faster, but I wouldn’t swear to it. Constanza was pretty good too. Her mistake was knife-fighting 101; know your range. Constanza went for her pistol when we were all less than a meter apart.Pamela’s right hand sprouted her nasty little knife and scooped out Constanza’s left eye. Her left hand wrenched Constanza’s pistol from her grasp. Constanza stumbled backwards then fell, screaming all the way. Her left hand covered the gushing ruin of her left eye socket. The other members of the SD group had their guns pointed at us; Pamela and I.“No,” Pamela mused, “I don’t think areolas count since everyone has them.” Pamela wiped the blood and ocular bits off her blade on Constanza’s still thrashing covered calf. I picked up on her clues. I pulled out my phone and calmly called Medical, informing them that someone had insulted House Ishara and graciously only been robbed of their left eye.“She is coming with us,” Naomi informed me as her buddies closed in.“Pamela; gun,” I demanded. Pamela handed it over. For a second, everyone thought the situation was resolved. After making sure the safety was engaged, “Buffy,” and I tossed Buffy the gun. “No,” I met Naomi’s gaze. “I will not allow it.”“Cáel, this is not something you can deny.” Naomi was trying to be patient.“If I was Madi and Constanza called her diseased, and an abomination, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” I stared at her intently. “And if the next words your of your mouth are 'you are a male,’ I’ll personally order Elsa to cut out your eyes for compounding Constanza’s insult with this one.”“Cáel, I cannot let this pass,” Naomi insisted.“I’ll be okay,” Pamela touched my arm and tried to move past me. I stopped her.“I sincerely doubt my ancestor crawled back into the Greek camp thinking he’d save some of his sisters, leaving others to their fate. When I start abandoning any, I am no longer worthy of my blood. Stay put, Pamela.”“Naomi, let us pass, prepare to be attacked, or shoot me,” I met Naomi’s stare, “because here I come.” We pushed our way through the packed group into the elevator Dora had been holding. They even brought a sniffling, scowling Constanza along. Medical was first. The second the SD could hand their wounded comrade to the staff, they climbed back onboard.Elsa and five friends were waiting for us.“Saint Marie would like a word with you,” Elsa informed me. Since Saint Marie, the Golden Mare, was on the Council, I thought it wise to obey. She showed up looking really steamed.“Take the woman,” Saint Marie pointed to Pamela. “The rest can leave.”“I can’t allow that,” I stepped up. Saint Marie glared.“This is not an issue you can intervene on,” Saint Marie snapped. “She is not of your House.”“She is bound to me by the will of the Ancestors,” I proclaimed. Pretty much every woman was ready to tear my head off for that.“Saint Marie; Elsa, for the little amount of time you have known me, I have joked, been irreverent and even mocking of you and your ways. Look at me. Trust your instincts. Pamela is bound to me by the will of the ancestors,” I pledged.“How so?” Saint Marie studied me.“I cannot say,” I sighed. “Just because the Ancestors want something done doesn’t mean they make it easy for us to do. In my limited experience, they are rather obtuse about what they want and how they want that goal accomplished. You will have to take my word that Pamela and I share a bond.” There was a stand-off.“What was in the box the Arinniti showed you?” Saint Marie inquired.“You would have to ask them,” I answered.“I did. Now I’m asking you,” she persisted. Think.“They showed it to you, so you already know,” I stared.“Do you think that connection is possible?” Saint Marie posed. She meant 'did I believe I had a tie to man who lived 2694 years ago’ to the point we both fought with twin axes.“I don’t want to,” I sighed. “I want to live in a sane, scientific world that explains all this.”“Go,” Saint Marie commanded. Then, “Will Constanza regain the sight in her left eye?”“No,” Pamela shook her head. “She ignored the lesson and the warning. Next time, this will not be an issue.” It took my exiting the building to understand what Pamela was saying was 'you won’t find the body’. I also realized that Oneida was absent today; groan.“Cáel, why don’t you come home with me tonight?” Daphne offered. She was proffering her house’s protection as well.“I’m okay,” I grinned. “I’m going to keep to my old schedule as much as possible.”“Aren’t you worried?” Paula asked.“Worried about what? I don’t think any of the other Houses are going to kill me until I really screw up,” I snorted.“He has no idea?” Pamela scoped out the surrounding ladies.“None,” Buffy confirmed.“Care to enlighten me?” I hoped.“Have a good weekend, Cáel,” Pamela smiled. “Things will become truly interesting on Monday; believe me.”Yeah…like taking over an extinct Amazon 'First’ House wasn’t interesting enough. Things were going to get better; in the same way radiation burns were 'better’ than sunburn. I biked home, brushing a city bus and a BMW getting there. On the landing between the second and third floors I found an Amazon with baleful eyes; waiting.In front of my door was her psychic twin.“Can I get you and/or your cohort anything?” I politely inquired. Yesterday; the cold shoulder.“Thank you for the consideration. We will wait until our itinerary is clarified,” she nodded. I went in, catching the abrupt cut off of some 'O’ talk.'O’, as in Odette and Oneida. They were on the sofa, half-turned to face each other when I walked in. Oneida stood and gave the standard Amazon respectful nod.“Oneida was all screwed up inside about last night in the Park, so I was explaining some of the basic tenants of BDSM to her,” Odette blithely blathered.“BDSM? What do you know about BDSM? I barely know about it and I’ve been having non-stop sex for years,” I exclaimed.“Cáel of Ishara, did you do those things to Rhada in an effort to fulfill her dreams?” Oneida desperately pleaded. Worse, it was spoken in English.“I can’t talk about it,” I replied.“That is 'Cáel’ for 'yes’,” Odette intruded. “I began reading up on BDSM after you got the suspension rig,” was her saucy response to me.“Would you ever do that to me?” Oneida gave me those big doe-eyes as she sat down.No, she didn’t want a rape fantasy. That kind of submission wasn’t her thing. I paced around, stomped into the kitchen then back to the living room.“No Oneida, I would never do something like that to you,” I promised. “I like having sex; a whole bunch. I like the women I’m with to have a great time too.”“That means I figure out what really excites her and provide it because I normally want to have sex with that girl again,” I explained, neglecting the 'and again and again and again.’“Is it over between you two?” Oneida asked. She meant Rhada and me.“Oneida, did I ask you to come over today?” I countered.“Have I upset you?” Oneida’s lower lip trembled. 'Yes’ would make things so much easier.“No,” I lied. “Let’s look at this from another angle. How would you feel if Paula showed up at your domicile unannounced? You walked in and there she was.”“Oh,” she stood up again. “I apologize.” At this moment, saying nothing meant she’d leave. I’m an idiot.“Do you want to stay for dinner?” I offered. It took a few seconds for Oneida to forgive herself enough to accept my suggestion. Me raping Rhada less than 24 hours ago? We’d deal with that later, or so she promised herself.“Okay…if it is not too much trouble,” Oneida nodded.In came the doom and gloom duo and we ordered some over-sized sandwiches from an Italian Deli two blocks away. After the two walked through my place (again, I was sure) and the food arrived, the bodyguards relaxed into a close proximity of human beings. The freakishness continued as Odette bonded with the Amazon killers with tales of my sexual exploits.At the same time, I romanced Oneida in half a dozen languages. Storming those gates was going to take more time than I normally gave a single sexual encounter. Oneida kissed me. She loved kissing me. She was ecstatic about kissing me. She made it real clear there would be not petting; yet. Penetration wasn’t even on the (her) agenda.This didn’t meant I was accepting her marching orders. I was far craftier than that. My plan was one of 'setting an example’. I stood up; we were sitting on the bench press seat, shot Odette a sexy look then went to the kitchenette. We got something; whatever it was wasn’t important. The crucial activity was my surrounding Odette in my arms from behind.I kissed her neck, Odette wiggled her butt against my crotch and murmured happily. More kissing along the neck, ear and jawline ensued. Odette exhaled a happy breath, and twisted around in my grasp until we were face to face. An exhaustive French kiss finishing up with a few light pecks and led to us rubbing noses like Inuit.“Thanks buddy,” I smiled warmly at Odette.“She blue-balling ya?” Odette snickered.“Big time,” I muttered. Odette squiggled down my body then bit both my nipples through my shirt making me gasp.“That should do nicely,” Odette’s eyes were alight and she was super-pleased with herself. She smacked my butt then returned to the living room. I returned to Oneida. After a few seconds,“Does it disturb you to be treated like that?” Oneida murmured.“Like what?” I sounded so innocent. Trust me; this is a crucial relationship tool.“Like; like we would treat one of our males,” she looked for my reaction. I laughed.“The critical difference is that I can say 'no’,” I smiled. “Oneida, do you think the original Ash Men spent every moment not in battle, contemplating their place in the Universe?” Clearly, she had. “Believe me, men hunted, worked their crafts and chased female Amazons when they weren’t eating, or sleeping.”“Warfare is an emotional undertaking,” I had read that somewhere. “You can believe that with the battle safely won, your ancestors and my ancestors fooled around. They sang songs, wrote poetry, and created artwork for the ladies they courted. They wanted the attention of the strongest, bravest and most courageous mates, just like your ancestors did.”“I think I do know something about the Ash Men you don’t,” I prodded her.“What? I have studied them for many years,” Oneida was now more engaged.“What can you tell me about Vranus?” I asked. That stumped her.“I…nothing is written of his exploits,” Oneida admitted. “We know he was a young warrior for Ishara.”“Think about this, Oneida; Vranus was only twenty yet a member of the Host,” I started. She nodded. “He is shown with twin axes; no shield and no bow. That means he had to be very brave, rushing through the initial exchange of arrow fire and thrown spears to attack his enemy. His House probably directed him to large clumps of opponents, breaking their formations for the Host to exploit.”“That means he fought alone for several seconds until his accompanying Amazons could pick apart his foe,” I explained.“That must have been horrible,” Oneida frowned.“Not at all,” I protested. “He was trusted with a crucial task; to hold the enemy’s focus so the faster moving Amazons could attack their foe from multiple directions at once.”“The Amazons of House Ishara must have been very proud of him,” I fluffed out the fantasy. “From what you saw from my two exhibition with twin axes, it is very tiring. Vranus had to have absolute confidence his sisters were coming for him. They trusted one another, thus fighting as one organic unit. It was a synergy that included the best of both genders.”That last bit confused her.“Back then, most of the Host would have been of the same genetic stock from the time of the First Betrayal. Short and fast. The males of the region they took over were taller; the local men being even taller than the local women. That means you give men heavier and longer weapons. Your people would have favored bows, light shields and short spears; ranged, or quick in and out tools.”Was any of that true? Not a history major, so I have no clue.“Many of the Host at the time rode horses yet there are also pictures of them forming battle lines,” Oneida enlightened me then her own eyes expanded. “Males are always shown with solid round shields while the Host; women had the oval wicker shields.”“Lacking stirrups, the Amazons may have used the men to grapple with the enemy then rode their horses around the flanks, dismounted and engaged their opponents from the rear; Amazon style,” I grinned. It was. Amazons were all about out-maneuvering and confounding their foes. The Amazons hadn’t been callous with their males’ lives.At one time, chosen females had held the center line. Over time, as males joined, it was practical to adapt the solid wooden shields of their opponents for their own males and put them in the place where their upper body strength and size were of best effect. The unknown older male with Vranus had probably held his place in the battle line dozens of times.I doubt he complained, or even thought to complain. Who would have taken his place? A smaller sister, aunt, or daughter? Had other males objected? Sure, the battle line in Amazon tactics was not the place of glory. The striking arm were the horse-riders. Countless times adversaries had spent the last minutes of their lives with the echoes of horses, hooves and female Amazon war cries seemingly all around them.Some wise old dead fucker once said 'defeat starts in the mind’. I wholeheartedly believed in that; except my version was 'having sex with me starts with my insidious nature’.“Defeat starts in the mind,” I stared intently into Oneida’s eyes. Love poetry is a matter of emotional context, not actual words.I pulled Oneida to me, letting her straddle my lap because I desperately wanted her to understand my tortured soul. Grinding her vulva against my hard-on was totally accidental, as was our renewed French kiss and me grabbing two handfuls of her ass. There was no rushing of things. Oneida was a skittish mare and I had to keep her feeling safe despite her sexual peril.Any woman who bothers to get to know me knows I am not a complicated guy. Case in point: by the time Oneida was feeding me her left nipple, Odette already had the security types sweep my bedroom (again) then the three retreated to Timothy’s room and shut the door. Were Oneida’s guardians worried about Oneida’s carnal violation?No, why would they? Amazons had dick on demand. Virginity didn’t hold any religious significance for them; killing things did. With the speed and efficiency those other two Amazons made themselves scarce, I imagined they were happy that Oneida had stopped mooning over me and getting a good grip on reality. A righteous dicking was in the offing.Oneida’s open eyed, opened-mouth countenance when she found herself naked on my bed with a naked me hovering over her was precious. That look always was. It did necessitate a question.“Are you sure you want to do this?” I whispered. My aroused cock brushed along her thigh. The question was a courtesy.The answer was always the same because girls want to have sex. They also want to believe they have a say in the process from beginning to end. I say 'believe’ because sex done right is passion and passion is the rejection of reason. At some point in the seduction, intercourse becomes an avalanche. Logic can scream all it wants; the hormones are not listening.I slipped into Oneida’s velvety liquid embrace. She gave up a sigh of relief. She’d made the jump into intimacy. Any other explanation for what was going to happen would have implicated me as a 'Player’; which everyone else thought I was. Oneida had this romantic ideal of me that no amount of evidence appeared to shatter.Personally, I was starting to dread ever going to her bedroom. I wasn’t sure of her 'My Little Pony’ comforter would be a turn-off for me. I had done in it on Pocahontas and The Little Mermaid, so odds were I’d pull through in the clinch.“I am not hurting you, am I?” I moaned.Said for emotional impact alone. If I was causing a girl pain, I would have stopped first.“No,” happy murmuring, “I’m wonderful.” The most powerful organ human’s possess is the brain. Oneida was a 'talker’. She wanted to express her feelings during intercourse; not give to directions, but as an effort to increase her participation in the sex act itself.Slow, steady strokes followed, withdrawing my glans half way along her labia, moved up and down slightly then gradually pushed back in. Every entry held something new for her. I added to the process by tilting her thigh and leg forward so that my next penetration tantalized a whole new series of trigger points in her vagina.On the next pass, Oneida began her own experimentations, twisting and adjusting the angle of her hips as I worked my rod in and out. Oneida began crying. I wasn’t upset and that didn’t make me a callous bastard. She was shedding tears of joy and regret; joy because her first climax was in the offing; regret because she wish she had done this with me sooner.She had been a Havenstone employee so we hadn’t done the deed. We still had to keep our liaison secret. Why? I’d think of something. The real reason was pure politics. I never knew what wacky dame hated another wacky dame for reasons I couldn’t even get into, but I knew it would curtail my dating opportunities.I’d pay the price of deception later. What I couldn’t take was being denied sex without having done anything wrong first.“Am I making you happy?” Oneida gasped. No flippancy here; romance was the key.“You demand things from me few other women do,” I replied breathlessly.I wasn’t going to lie to her. Prettying up the truth was good enough and it made her happy. I also got something new; to her, not to me. She orgasmed. Whatever she’d been satisfied with before, I obliterated in a few quick, decisive strokes. OH GOD did she go off! It has happened to me before; the door being kicked in; just not in mid-orgasm. Guns being pointed at yours truly while the girl was in mid-scream was new.And Oneida was still carrying on and on.“I was trying to tell you!” Odette was screaming. “He does that to us all the time…please don’t shoot him.” The whole 'girl screaming at me in Old Kingdom Hittite’ was also new. My mentor preferred Minoan.“I have come back from Death,” Oneida rasped. Her skin was flushed deep red from her exertion, she had bathed us both in sweat and she was coming up with any form of vocalization from Goddess-knows where she had screamed for so long. She looked at me with love in her eyes; damn it. She looked and looked and looked and…finally noticed the two women at the foot of the bed.“Is; some; thing; wrong?” Oneida panted while gazing at her two guardians with worry. There was someone pounding on my apartment door.“Neighbor; door; I’m on it,” Odette called out. Seconds later the deadbolts clicked and the door opened. “Hello, Mr. Finnes.”“You God-damn Whore!” he screamed. “Where is that homo and his butt-buddy? The cops are on their way and this time you are all in the street.” He had a good head of steam on tonight. Slayer of Testicles #1 looked at Slayer of Testicles #2, nodded and left. “Who is this bitch,” Finnes got out. It was so wrong that I recognized the next sound.It was the barrel of a gun being inserted into a person’s mouth.“Listen and listen carefully,” SoT#1 spoke softly. “You are going back to your hovel. If I get word, or even a bad premonition, that you are causing this apartment a hint of worry, I am going to come back and end you in a fashion the New York City’s Coroner’s Office will find memorable.”“I do not care if you have to puncture both eardrums to drown out the noise. I am not a compassionate person. In fact, I am considered sadistic by those who know me well. Now go back home, tell the police who show up this was all a mistake and give a prayer of thanks to whatever deity you grovel before that I didn’t simply ram my firearm up your anus and decorate the ceiling in what passes for brains in your pathetic bone-sack of a body,” she menaced.There was a choking/gagging noise then the sound of heaving.“Mr. Finnes…are you okay?” Odette worried. As a wonderful counter-point.“Have you given me your seed?” Oneida asked hopefully. I was still hard. It had only been ten minutes of sex after all. I gently rocked my penis deeper in. “Oh,” she happily babbled.“Again?” SoT#2 questioned. I made a few more penetration cycles instead of speaking. “Do they train you in some sort of Sex Academy for this? Are there more males out there like you?”“Is having a viewing gallery a real damper on the mood?” I asked her while looking into Oneida’s eyes. I was actually proud of Oneida for not sending the other woman away.It showed me she respected the woman’s job. I also heard the apartment door shut.“Wow, your threat was nice and spooky,” Odette snickered.“Threat? Child, what do you think I do for a living?” SoT#1 asked.“You are one of those wacko, psycho-chicks Cáel Nyilas works with,” Odette was undoubtedly smiling.“Correct, I am one of those wacko, psycho-chicks…” SoT#1 left that hanging out there.“You weren’t playing with Mr. Finnes, were you?” Odette grew quiet. Pause. “There is really a job which allows you to do that kind of stuff?” Pause. “Can I apply?”“This is not something you apply…” SoT#1 began, but then, “I guess if Cáel wants to…”“Cool,” Odette was truly irrepressible.“If he does that, there will definitely be consequences and repercussions,” SoT#1 cautioned.“Oh, I think I had better stick with being his fuck-buddy,” Odette conceded.“Wise choice,” SoT#1 agreed. My bedroom door shut. SoT#2 had slipped out.Do you often have sex with an audience?“ I teased Oneida."Yes,” she answered matter-of-factly, “I do. Don’t you?”“Now that you mention it…” and I got back to the pleasure that encompasses so much of my life.(Note: some events in Chapter 18 happen before the events of Sunday Night. For the sake of the tale this sequence worked better in my eyes)(Sunday Night)“Cáel,” a voice purred over my phone.“Hey Nicole,” I greeted my lawyer not-quite a hook-up anymore. Also, unless you are SURE you know the female caller, don’t take a gamble with the name.“So, do you have something going on tonight?” she queried.“Nope. My normal engagement had to cancel so I’m sitting back with some friends who do not appreciate the depth of my depravity,” I sighed.“Canceled?” She laughed. “On you? Have your recovered from the shock?”“Actually, they had a death in the family and had to go to South Carolina,” I explained.“Oh…sorry,” Nicole apologized. “Well, if you are feeling lonely and neglected, you could come by work and do me a favor.”“I am feeling neither lonely, nor neglected, but I am certainly missing you right now. Give me a half hour and I’ll be there,” I promised. She thanked me and hung up.“Who is it this time?” Odette snickered. Man, I was becoming so used to her hanging around.“Nicole the lawyer,” I replied. I trekked back to my bedroom to prep. I opted for the 'Bad Boy’ look; worn jeans, high-top tennis shoes (equally worn), my Plant Smashers t-shirt (Quebecois ska band; yes, I will road-trip to another country for sex) and my Bolingbrook bomber jacket.Yes, I was going to an Ivy League Law firm dressed like a carjacker. Every other male was going to be dressed in finely-tailored silk and I had to stand out. Since I couldn’t outspend them, I was going to make them look like effete pussies by dressing like I just didn’t care what anyone thought. I was coming over to fuck Nicole and there would be no doubt about it.“Isn’t that chick rich?” Timothy teased me.“Yeah. I’m packing the glow in the dark Trojans tonight; cause she’s special,” I grinned.“Oh! I love those,” Odette squealed. She really needed to trust me less. I walked over, cupped her ears with my hand then kissed her on the forehead.I did the same to Timothy. His look suggested that I had best make a hasty exit before he kicked my ass. I caught a taxi a block away. It turned out he was from Qatar and he asked if I was sure about the address I gave him. I grinned then told him I could outrun 95% of the NYPD so was feeling good about my chances.He snorted, countering with 'If you were an Arab, they’d shoot you.’ Not to be outdone, 'I’d claim to be a Syrian anti-government protester; you know, because we all look alike to these Caucasians’. We laughed for a bit then he said he had a younger sister back in the homeland. I insisted I was immoral; a wicked man.'Was I religious?’ 'Only when it suited my purposes.’ 'Would I consider converting to Sunni Islam?’ 'Only if the girl was cute enough.’ He showed me her picture; dammit, she had a really beautiful face. I got her name, his name and the name of his mosque. I considered it. Yahweh, Christ, Bacchus (wine, an orgy and 'bull’ testicles; long story) and Jehovah all had reasons to barbeque my butt already.Why not add Allah to the mix, besides it being an incredibly stupid thing to do for a man in constant mortal peril like me? In theory, three of the four definitely had the possibility to be the same Omniscient and Omnipotent Galactic Being so the odds were I wouldn’t get too much more screwed.I finished up my journey imagining Buffy in a burqa. That evolved into a vision of me being force-fed a burqa; in private; where no one could hear my muffled cries for help. Buffy; murdering me; made me horny. I am a sick puppy.“Buffy,” I called her as I paid the cabbie.“What; huh; are you okay, Cáel?” Buffy muttered.“Yes, I’m fine. I was dreaming of you and decided to give you a call,” I related in a sleepy voice.“Oh…” she sounded affectionate.“Yeah. In the dream you were murdering me. It was so romantic; so you,” I related.“Shit-for-brains, do you have any idea what time it is?” Buffy turned all savage in an instant.“Hmmm…11:45?” I offered up.“Call me this late again when it is not an emergency and your dream will become a reality,” she growled.“You know you sound so…” and she hung up on me. I called Nicole and warned her I was at her building, pursued by two FDIC investigators and could she please come and rescue me. She snickered, came down and retrieved me, but not before the NYPD stopped by for a casual conversation and I hadn’t even been standing there two minutes.In my neighborhood you were lucky if you saw a patrol car every thirty minutes and short of offering them some crack cocaine, cheap nookie, or shooting a gun off, they never stopped. Was I my normally fuck-wad self? No. I told the man/woman team the truth. Some upper crust weenies I worked with dragged me off to Yuppie Hell. I hooked up with a lawyer who I screwed repeatedly in the Women’s bathroom and she was calling me for round 2.Second question (the first one was name/ID/reason for being in this part of town dressed like I was)? Was she paying me? 'No’. Was I practicing safe sex (female cop; married even)? 'Yes’. Was she the red-head at the door behind me? 'Yes she was and goodnight.’“What are you dressed like that for?” Nicole smiled.In her mind she already knew the answer; I had come here to fuck her; raw and primal.“Ballroom dancing was not on the itinerary you gave me,” I smiled. We went inside.“My co-workers are still here,” she hinted seductively.“Whoa now!” I protested humorously. “I am not here to pull a train; girls only.”Nicole nearly fell over laughing. She was so embarrassed by me and my attire, she dragged me straight to the conference room 'her’ team was working out of. Everyone else was eating. Two of the lawyers were clearly the top dogs; a man and a woman. The woman had a vague resemblance to one of the portraits I’d seen coming in; a legacy.The man screamed 'serial killer’. It probably made him one hell of a lawyer, but spooky to live with, or work for. The other nine people in the room were in two groups. Two were obviously paralegals. They dressed in what must have started out as clean, starched clothing from off the rack as opposed to tailored.The other seven were lawyers in their own dual set-up. My amateur guess was two different branches of law. This group was dressed in fine clothes now wrinkled from a long day’s work, plus it was a Sunday. They were not at their best yet they were still better than most of what I had. The most endearing part was how they looked at me.Even the female contingent thought that I was trash. I had certainly given them the opportunity. Seriously, they should have paid more attention to Nicole, her intelligence, competence and tastes. Come on now; there was no way she’d bring some grease-monkey from Flatbush to her workplace. They needed to engage their brains and not their social bias.A murmur slithered through the crowd. Amusement and condescension were the clear messages shot my way. I imagine the poor soul who delivered the food got less crap because he/she was providing a tangible service.“Nicole, who is this?” the woman asked. Sex.Outside of her being a soulless cancer on the hopes and dreams of mankind, she was an alluring forty-something.“This is my friend Cáel…” Nicole began, both her arms wrapped around my right arm.“Cáel Belafonte,” I interrupted. You could tell who the trial lawyers in the room were. Their expressions told me they knew I was lying.“Fascinating Mr. Belafonte,” Mr. Serial-Killer droned on. “What do you do?”“I am an Ichthyologist,” I met his gaze. “I’m involved in a twenty year study to determine the cause for the reduction in the size of Tuna fish scales.” That had them stumped.“That sounds like yet another great waste of government funds,” a young male lawyer with more bravado than combat-sex experience fired off.“Oh,” I shrugged. “Smaller scales, smaller full-sized Tuna, a spike in tuna prices and an eventual world-wide restriction on Tuna fishing, similar to the one currently covering virtually all whale species. Now, I doubt you know which people will decide who the recipient of those lucrative Tuna contracts will be, but I do. By all means; mock what you don’t understand.”“Government research project results will be in the public domain,” a woman joined the struggle.“Yes; and?” I asked in a bland tone.“Your research will be available to all kinds of commercial concerns,” male asshat grinned.“Your ability to show that you are as smart as any pre-law student must make someone, somewhere very proud,” I grinned back.Confused looks. Nicole was struggling to keep it together.“He never said he was in any manner part of the government, or a government program, Mr. Cherrie,” the female lead barracuda gave me her own hungry look. The guy looked pissed.“Oh, Mr. Belafonte, are you a private researcher, or a government one?” she female junior lawyer asked. “Heather Pulaski,” she gave her name.“Call me Cáel, Heather, and I am in no way associated with any government, I barely know what an Ichthyologist is and I’m certainly not one. Rude, arrogant people annoy me when they treat my friends like they are stupid; especially when they should know better. I can rarely stop myself from ridiculing them,” I grinned.“And now you think you are better than everyone else in the room for tricking us with this juvenile prank,” the Serial Killer sounded bored.“No. The lives of strangers are not my concern,” I bantered back. “I did what I did to make Nicole smile. If my antics remind the rest of you what a hotshot lawyer she is so much the better.”“Mr. and Mrs. DeYoung, Cáel, Cáel Nyilas, is a joker. He’s is also brilliant and just joined Havenstone Commercial Investments in their Executive Services Division,” Nicole bragged. She got points for the 'Executive Services’ part. More smirks; some people never learn.“Havenstone doesn’t employ too many men, does it?” Mrs. DeYoung said.Maybe she was looking for a Discrimination lawsuit.“Five men to be precise and two of us are out of the country,” I enlightened her.“So you are brilliant,” Mr. DeYoung seemed barely engaged; and was Mrs. DeYoung’s Mr. DeYoung. “What are your insights on DNA ownership, Cáel?”“DNA ownership is a fallacy,” I stated. “People are not pigs, soybeans, or corn. You cannot create a financial liability for your offspring because that amounts to slavery and is forbidden by the 14th Amendment to the Constitution. DNA is a person; their blueprint. Only the person owns it and they can’t even sell it outright.”“That is hopelessly naive,” he snorted.“Not really. If you apply an accepted price tag to every human being on Earth, the anarchy will begin. Crimes like murder, torture and mutilation are based on the concept that human life has an unspecified value. Give something a value and you can trade in it.”“Murder somebody? How much was their DNA worth?” I postulated. “I pay the cost, or somebody pays it for me. You are calling me naïve? I’m not murdering somebody. I’m repossessing their DNA. Mr. DeYoung, I’m not a lawyer, so I am not approaching this from a limited field of vision like you are. I live in the World.”“Oddly enough, I’ve had some recent encounters with real slavery and that has convinced me that I’ll go down standing up, thank you very much,” I grinned. “In case that was misconstrued; my DNA is mine, no legal precedent will change that and I’m more than willing to put bodies in the ground to keep it so.”“You sound like an anarchist,” Mr. Cherrie chimed in.“Nope. I’m independent-minded. There is a difference,” I indicated. “Just like you, anarchists don’t want to let me be me either.”“Laws exist for a reason,” Nicole chastised me.What she was really saying was 'you are here for a reason and it isn’t entertaining my co-workers’.“This is the point where the smart man goes 'yes ma'am, they do’,” I nodded to her.“Your young man is not stupid,” Mrs. DeYoung chuckled.“This young man knows what happens if he behaves,” Nicole bowed to her superior; her boss, not me.“Oh goodie,” I rubbed my hands together. “Are we about to do some file-sharing?”“Something like that,” Nicole laughed and off we went.All I could imagine was that Nicole had to be God’s Own lawyer at this firm to get away with the crap we’d just pulled. Honestly, I had other things on my mind. We coasted into her office, with her name etched on the glass door…with the glass walls and floor to ceiling glass windows. Just because, I picked up a water-smoothed stone on her desk; glass houses and all.“That is from the Canadian Shield; some of the oldest rocks on Earth,” she told me.“You are also going to have one of the most painful hard substance on Earth in your office if we don’t do something soon,” I teased.“Where do you want to start?” she leaned against her desk.Her office was small, but it was her own. Considering her age, it was another 'she rocks’ indicator.“Your lips,” I murmured. Nicole liked that. She pushed off the desk enough so our lips could lock. It was very nice.“The other lips,” I teased her. She liked that idea even more. Her black, mid-thigh skirt came up, I knelt and decided her scarlet thong was more than skimpy enough for me to work around. I let my hands run along her calves. Nicole hummed out her acclaim and was even happier when I began lifting both legs up.Before long, she was laying on her back, her legs were raised high and spread wide. Nice and easy was replaced by rapidly energetic and fiendishly cunning. Nicole was fighting back the tidal surge of her ecstasy.“What are you holding back for?” I slurped around my tongue-lashing.We weren’t in a bathroom stall this time. Nicole tilted her head up, gave me a simmer glance then embraced her orgasm.“Damn!” she screamed followed by a dozen slightly less vocal 'damns’. I gave her just enough time for me to shed my pants, roll down a prophylactic then I mounted her.Had there been any doubt of our forceful ardor, my heroic efforts and Nicole’s dynamism shattered them. Half of the lawyers I’d briefly met stopped by and peeked through the glass. I didn’t care and Nicole reveled in 'bending the minds’ of the onlookers. After a while, her office was not enough. That sofa in the executive reception area?I bent her over the art deco beast and pummeled her, and it, half way across the room. The bathroom? To be gender-equal, we screwed around in the Men’s room this time. Nicole and I revisited her erotic fantasy of being bent over in the toilet, ass fucked then completing the act with dispensing of the condom and a glorious blowjob.Our last encounter involved a men’s standing urinal, Nicole’s legs wrapped around my waist as I gyrated against her.“Oh my God!” she yelped. “I’ve got it. Put me down.” I put her down because the reason I was here was to crack the mental block she had found herself in.Me? I’d come for the sex and Nicole delivered in spades. She had upheld her side of our bargain. Now that I’d reciprocated, it was time for 'hook-up’ Nicole to become 'lawyer’ Nicole. She made herself somewhat presentable and quick-stepped in back to the conference room. I secured my cock and pants before following.Nicole was babbling in an eldritch dark-tongue similar to Lady Sauron relaying doom to her pack of Nazgûl. They responded with various other arcane invocations until their agreement confirmed that millions of voices had cried out in terror then been suddenly silenced. In my universe, female devotees of Evil were all black leather-clad gorgeous sex kittens who used their dark arts to increase galactic lecherousness.“Time to show you out,” Nicole gave me a sultry smirk. “Come on.” Arm in arm, we traveled closely to the elevators.“Hold the door,” a female voice commanded right as the doors began to shut on the two of us. Nicole put a hand out to keep us from a few more second of alone time.A Caucasian women with short brown hair and a fierce scowl entered first. An imperious damsel came in next. My heart stopped in shock while I barely registered on her radar. A dusky man, nearly my height came in last of all. The doors shut and down we went. I was spending too much time watching the woman and her two bodyguards as we all headed to the door and not enough with Nicole.“Don’t even think about it, Cáel,” Nicole teased. “That’s Ms. Brianna O'Shea, she leads our client’s team and she’s totally off limits.”O'Shea pulled a 'Katrina’ the moment after Nicole used my name. She spun in place so that she was now facing Nicole and me.“What was your name?” she asked with sugary smoothness I associated with Bolivian tourism officials; the nice ones. You know, the ones that thought using a truck battery attached to the jumper cables and your testicles was too much because a car battery would do.“Percival Fenris, ma'am,” I introduced myself. “I’m a product engineer for Cyberdyne Systems. My team is creating a process that uses constantly recycling colored sugar dust as a medium that will replace current LCD technology. We are calling it Pixie TV.” Nicole was giggling. I was feeling less giggly, mainly because I was staring at my Mother.Not my Mother-mother; the woman who gave birth to me and who had been eaten alive by cancer. No, this was my Mother the way she looked when she was twenty-five and in excellent health.“Ms. O'Shea, this is Cáel Nyilas. He is a good friend of mine,” Nicole cut through my obfuscation.O'Shea took several steps toward us, away from the exit. Her guardians kept up and were ratcheting up their vigilance.“Interesting eyes,” she noted. “What is your heritage?” Rude and scary. Even Nicole knew something was incredibly wrong.“Cáel, you two have the same eyes,” Nicole mumbled.“I was thinking the same thing, Ms. Lawless,” Brianna said. Huh?“You are a lawyer named Lawless?” I gawked at Nicole. “How did that happen?” Why had that not registered when I went to Nicole’s office? Oh yeah, her leading me in, eyes pleading for sex.“That is not relevant, Mr. Nyilas,” O'Shea kept coming.“What do you mean 'not relevant’? Are you saying you’d hire a male escort named Quick-fire Small-Penis?” I wondered. “If so, you are a more trusting soul than I.”“Why are you avoiding my question?” Brianna queried.“Why are you asking questions I clearly don’t want to answer?” I retorted.“Cáel, please don’t antagonize my client’s representative,” Nicole was playful yet concerned.“No problem Nicole Lawless, Attorney at Law,” I grinned to her. I gave her a secretive butt squeeze then made to leave. Miraculously, Brianna let me slip by. The deceptiveness of that kindness was revealed when I stepped outside and found the limo…with another bodyguard standing beside the front passenger door.O'Shea/Mom’s double was hot on my heels. As I turned and headed up the street, she grabbed my right arm.“Why don’t we go out for a late bite to eat,” she stated. I wasn’t being invited. I was being told.“No can do,” I shrugged off her hand. “I promised my Father to leave a recognizable corpse.”“What makes you think I have sinister intentions?” she questioned. There was a lot of that going around; not answering stuff, that is.“Why do you assume you aren’t giving off the same bad vibe as a half-dozen 18th Street gangbangers on a Meth binge?” I teased. Brianna made a hand signal and the three bruisers put their hands on their guns. The closest to me moved around me to block off that escape route.To be correct, the guy at the car door was African-American, around my height with maybe 10 kg on me. The two guarding O'Shea were a guy of Moorish decent and a woman of the English Midlands. I knew this because I was afraid and making shit up.“Was I supposed to be impressed with the quiet appeal of desperation you exhibited by playing patty-cake with yourself,” I kept smiling.“Or are these three supposed to scare me?” I chuckled. “Here…in downtown Manhattan; one of the few places on the planet Earth trying to rival London in video surveillance.”“Video evidence can be altered,” Brianna gave me a wicked gleam.“Was that supposed to be your Evil Henchwoman voice?” I kept snickering.“If so, get a refund from that mail-order firm you took lessons from,” I grinned.“You appear to be rather fearless, and obstinate,” O'Shea nodded. “Foolishly so.”“Lady, I’m staring into the face of my dead Mother who is trying to get me into a limo with three goombahs who think they are intimidating. They are not,” I pointed out.“This whole weekend has been a disaster, so me beating the crap out of those three, you and the driver isn’t going to change a damn thing,” I enlightened them. The Moorish guy extended a collapsible cane.“You seem very confident,” she informed me.“Of course I am,” I stated. “You haven’t spotted my bodyguard yet, meaning all of you are truly screwed.”“Why would you have a bodyguard?” she inquired.“Why would you want to know?” I countered.“Do you practice being irritating, or is an innate talent?” Brianna regarded me.“We can do this 'answering a question with a question’ thing all night long, except I have to be at work at six a.m. so how about you tell me what you really want to know and tell me why you look like; screw that; are my MOTHER’s clone,” I sighed.“Tell me about your genetic heritage,” O'Shea demanded. She was that kind of authoritative prick; actual penis not required.“I apologize. I don’t seem to have a handle your native vocabulary and your English-as-a-Second Language skills suck,” I sneered. “I should go home now.”Moorish guy blocked my egress. English chick was on my right flank, back to the limo and the street. The most pressing issue was a matter of privilege; O'Shea’s people thought they’d get away with breaking the law. The moment the Moor popped out is baton, it was 'on’. A baton is a weapon plus O'Shea and her bodyguard were blocking my
Ash Men, Sins and the Will of the Ancestors.By FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the podcast at Steamy Stories.-You may outrun your sins, but never forget that someone will pay the toll-(Later Friday)“Having a bad day?” Pamela stopped our lesson.“I apologize. I am having trouble focusing on the lesson today,” I sighed.“Let us see if we can handle this dilemma,” Pamela took two steps back, signaling the end of this round of physical training. “In my experience, most internal issues can be resolved within five minutes.”“This should be fun then,” I smirked. Pamela smirked as well. “I was confirmed at this morning’s emergency Council meeting to be the sole heir, thus leader, of House Ishara.” With a slight dip of the head, Pamela acknowledged I’d surprised her. “I chose to stand for House Ishara; literally. I will not take the seat, or vote. I will hold the place for my first daughter of the Host.”“That last bit was your decision and your decision alone?” Pamela queried. I nodded. “Good, you gave up nothing you could hold onto while gaining honor for the practical choice, Cáel. What are your numbers now?”“Three,” I answered. Pamela’s look demanded an explanation.“I immediately brought Buffy and Helena into the House. Katrina has advised me to be cautious about adding too many too fast,” I stated.“Katrina’s agenda and yours are not the same, Cáel,” Pamela warned me. “You are the leader of a First House now. Katrina is responsible for the harmony of the Council and Havenstone. These are not the same thing.”“A woman in Katrina’s position has no friends. She cannot afford them,” Pamela told me.“I asked her to set up a commission to help select proper candidates for Ishara. She picks nine members and I have Helena representing us,” I informed her. Pamela shook her head.“You concede too much,” Pamela frowned.“Set an absolute date with a designated number of candidates. Make the date soon; a month; and the number 20. Keep the heat on the others. Don’t let them constrain you,” Pamela lectured. “That is not the Amazon way. You have made concessions to them. Now they must make concessions to you. You gain little by mollifying them.”“I am not sure that a pissing off Katrina and Hayden will increase my survivability,” I countered.“Irrelevant,” Pamela slapped the wall. “You are House Ishara now. What matters to you is House Ishara and its relationship to the Host. Tell me how being weak helps either.”“It doesn’t,” I bowed my head. My confusion dissipated and we got back to the lesson.Three more things completed my day. Pamela hung around me. I didn’t ask her to and I couldn’t figure a good way to tell her to leave. Secondly, I tried to see Hayden. She was busy. Katrina was out of the office. I knew the score. Finally, Buffy knew Havenstone’s HQ better than anyone. Together with Helena we gathered at a blind spot in their security and exchanged notes.We didn’t talk because our echoes could be picked up. My message to Helena and Buffy was clear: I wanted a list of twenty ‘Runner’ names by Monday morning. If Katrina and Hayden were stone-walling my process, we would induct twenty every three days until they relented, or something broke. Miraculously to me, Buffy and Helena didn’t bat an eye over this skullduggery.Katrina showed up for our 'end of day’ meeting, with my valise. The meeting was brief and perfunctory. I didn’t think Katrina, or one of her agents, had overheard my secret House plotting. She knew something was up because she knew me. We were on a collision course. There was no stopping it. We hated half-measures. No words were exchanged.On the way out, I learned I had a Security Detail assigned for my well-being. From what, I had no idea. Was I on Santa’s Naughty List; Robot Santa (à la Futurama), that is?Constanza and Naomi, I recognized. The other two I had seen briefly. Constanza looked like she’d rather be force-fed leeches than be anywhere close to me.“A moment please,” I requested from the group around me. Buffy was uneasy. Pamela was ignoring me, thus not giving me space.“Constanza, you hate me. I hate you. It was this way at six this morning and nothing a room-full of old ladies says alters that,” I said quietly. “I don’t expect you to respect me, tolerate me, or ignore my gender status because of what transpired. I do expect you to respect House Ishara. When I must stand for this House, honor it. Neither of us has a choice in that matter.”“I give you permission for nothing because I can’t dictate to your heart. It is yours and even this male understands yours is the heart of a true Amazon. My words will not change how you feel. I am okay with that because I have no choice. You are who you are. I request that you draw a line between me, Cáel, the unwelcome invader and the Head of House Ishara,” I asked.“You are nothing,” Constanza seethed. “Your words mean nothing. You are what you have always been; an abomination.”“Listen carefully,” Pamela said casually. “Talk like that again and you are dead. You are not dead because I can easily kill you. You are dead because you have brought shame to your House.”“You have called a member of the Council an abomination. This implies that all the other Council members are blind, fools, or corrupt. What will they do to you for making such an open, blanket accusation?” Pamela sounded bored. “You refuse to see that the Ancestors have spoken and this is their decision. Defy the Ancestors and you deny your heritage.”“Your name will be stricken from the rolls, you will be butchered like a sheep and your body burned. You will never see the cliffs in this life or the next. Despite you being a twisted mockery of all things Amazon; Cáel doesn’t know the true Amazon heart; he is trying to save your life. It is the person he is. He loves more than he hates. It is why he is winning.”“Who are you to speak to me this way?” Constanza spat at Pamela. Pamela was unfazed.“I am a 'cliff walker’,” Pamela replied. “I teach knife classes every day at three. I am a mother and grandmother. I am on a quest for my ancestors and I am looking for the six-fingered man.”“That…that is insane,” Constanza stammered.“Was it the kitten juggling, or the obstacle course for marshmallows?” I looked to Pamela.“No, it was the spot-checking for freckles in Rio de Janeiro,” Pamela regarded me seriously.“Do areolas count as freckles?” I looked hopeful.“You are both diseased,” Constanza shouted.I was still dealing with the wrongness of Constanza’s words when I experienced the sensation of Pamela moving beside me. Saint Marie may have been faster, but I wouldn’t swear to it. Constanza was pretty good too. Her mistake was knife-fighting 101; know your range. Constanza went for her pistol when we were all less than a meter apart.Pamela’s right hand sprouted her nasty little knife and scooped out Constanza’s left eye. Her left hand wrenched Constanza’s pistol from her grasp. Constanza stumbled backwards then fell, screaming all the way. Her left hand covered the gushing ruin of her left eye socket. The other members of the SD group had their guns pointed at us; Pamela and I.“No,” Pamela mused, “I don’t think areolas count since everyone has them.” Pamela wiped the blood and ocular bits off her blade on Constanza’s still thrashing covered calf. I picked up on her clues. I pulled out my phone and calmly called Medical, informing them that someone had insulted House Ishara and graciously only been robbed of their left eye.“She is coming with us,” Naomi informed me as her buddies closed in.“Pamela; gun,” I demanded. Pamela handed it over. For a second, everyone thought the situation was resolved. After making sure the safety was engaged, “Buffy,” and I tossed Buffy the gun. “No,” I met Naomi’s gaze. “I will not allow it.”“Cáel, this is not something you can deny.” Naomi was trying to be patient.“If I was Madi and Constanza called her diseased, and an abomination, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” I stared at her intently. “And if the next words your of your mouth are 'you are a male,’ I’ll personally order Elsa to cut out your eyes for compounding Constanza’s insult with this one.”“Cáel, I cannot let this pass,” Naomi insisted.“I’ll be okay,” Pamela touched my arm and tried to move past me. I stopped her.“I sincerely doubt my ancestor crawled back into the Greek camp thinking he’d save some of his sisters, leaving others to their fate. When I start abandoning any, I am no longer worthy of my blood. Stay put, Pamela.”“Naomi, let us pass, prepare to be attacked, or shoot me,” I met Naomi’s stare, “because here I come.” We pushed our way through the packed group into the elevator Dora had been holding. They even brought a sniffling, scowling Constanza along. Medical was first. The second the SD could hand their wounded comrade to the staff, they climbed back onboard.Elsa and five friends were waiting for us.“Saint Marie would like a word with you,” Elsa informed me. Since Saint Marie, the Golden Mare, was on the Council, I thought it wise to obey. She showed up looking really steamed.“Take the woman,” Saint Marie pointed to Pamela. “The rest can leave.”“I can’t allow that,” I stepped up. Saint Marie glared.“This is not an issue you can intervene on,” Saint Marie snapped. “She is not of your House.”“She is bound to me by the will of the Ancestors,” I proclaimed. Pretty much every woman was ready to tear my head off for that.“Saint Marie; Elsa, for the little amount of time you have known me, I have joked, been irreverent and even mocking of you and your ways. Look at me. Trust your instincts. Pamela is bound to me by the will of the ancestors,” I pledged.“How so?” Saint Marie studied me.“I cannot say,” I sighed. “Just because the Ancestors want something done doesn’t mean they make it easy for us to do. In my limited experience, they are rather obtuse about what they want and how they want that goal accomplished. You will have to take my word that Pamela and I share a bond.” There was a stand-off.“What was in the box the Arinniti showed you?” Saint Marie inquired.“You would have to ask them,” I answered.“I did. Now I’m asking you,” she persisted. Think.“They showed it to you, so you already know,” I stared.“Do you think that connection is possible?” Saint Marie posed. She meant 'did I believe I had a tie to man who lived 2694 years ago’ to the point we both fought with twin axes.“I don’t want to,” I sighed. “I want to live in a sane, scientific world that explains all this.”“Go,” Saint Marie commanded. Then, “Will Constanza regain the sight in her left eye?”“No,” Pamela shook her head. “She ignored the lesson and the warning. Next time, this will not be an issue.” It took my exiting the building to understand what Pamela was saying was 'you won’t find the body’. I also realized that Oneida was absent today; groan.“Cáel, why don’t you come home with me tonight?” Daphne offered. She was proffering her house’s protection as well.“I’m okay,” I grinned. “I’m going to keep to my old schedule as much as possible.”“Aren’t you worried?” Paula asked.“Worried about what? I don’t think any of the other Houses are going to kill me until I really screw up,” I snorted.“He has no idea?” Pamela scoped out the surrounding ladies.“None,” Buffy confirmed.“Care to enlighten me?” I hoped.“Have a good weekend, Cáel,” Pamela smiled. “Things will become truly interesting on Monday; believe me.”Yeah…like taking over an extinct Amazon 'First’ House wasn’t interesting enough. Things were going to get better; in the same way radiation burns were 'better’ than sunburn. I biked home, brushing a city bus and a BMW getting there. On the landing between the second and third floors I found an Amazon with baleful eyes; waiting.In front of my door was her psychic twin.“Can I get you and/or your cohort anything?” I politely inquired. Yesterday; the cold shoulder.“Thank you for the consideration. We will wait until our itinerary is clarified,” she nodded. I went in, catching the abrupt cut off of some 'O’ talk.'O’, as in Odette and Oneida. They were on the sofa, half-turned to face each other when I walked in. Oneida stood and gave the standard Amazon respectful nod.“Oneida was all screwed up inside about last night in the Park, so I was explaining some of the basic tenants of BDSM to her,” Odette blithely blathered.“BDSM? What do you know about BDSM? I barely know about it and I’ve been having non-stop sex for years,” I exclaimed.“Cáel of Ishara, did you do those things to Rhada in an effort to fulfill her dreams?” Oneida desperately pleaded. Worse, it was spoken in English.“I can’t talk about it,” I replied.“That is 'Cáel’ for 'yes’,” Odette intruded. “I began reading up on BDSM after you got the suspension rig,” was her saucy response to me.“Would you ever do that to me?” Oneida gave me those big doe-eyes as she sat down.No, she didn’t want a rape fantasy. That kind of submission wasn’t her thing. I paced around, stomped into the kitchen then back to the living room.“No Oneida, I would never do something like that to you,” I promised. “I like having sex; a whole bunch. I like the women I’m with to have a great time too.”“That means I figure out what really excites her and provide it because I normally want to have sex with that girl again,” I explained, neglecting the 'and again and again and again.’“Is it over between you two?” Oneida asked. She meant Rhada and me.“Oneida, did I ask you to come over today?” I countered.“Have I upset you?” Oneida’s lower lip trembled. 'Yes’ would make things so much easier.“No,” I lied. “Let’s look at this from another angle. How would you feel if Paula showed up at your domicile unannounced? You walked in and there she was.”“Oh,” she stood up again. “I apologize.” At this moment, saying nothing meant she’d leave. I’m an idiot.“Do you want to stay for dinner?” I offered. It took a few seconds for Oneida to forgive herself enough to accept my suggestion. Me raping Rhada less than 24 hours ago? We’d deal with that later, or so she promised herself.“Okay…if it is not too much trouble,” Oneida nodded.In came the doom and gloom duo and we ordered some over-sized sandwiches from an Italian Deli two blocks away. After the two walked through my place (again, I was sure) and the food arrived, the bodyguards relaxed into a close proximity of human beings. The freakishness continued as Odette bonded with the Amazon killers with tales of my sexual exploits.At the same time, I romanced Oneida in half a dozen languages. Storming those gates was going to take more time than I normally gave a single sexual encounter. Oneida kissed me. She loved kissing me. She was ecstatic about kissing me. She made it real clear there would be not petting; yet. Penetration wasn’t even on the (her) agenda.This didn’t meant I was accepting her marching orders. I was far craftier than that. My plan was one of 'setting an example’. I stood up; we were sitting on the bench press seat, shot Odette a sexy look then went to the kitchenette. We got something; whatever it was wasn’t important. The crucial activity was my surrounding Odette in my arms from behind.I kissed her neck, Odette wiggled her butt against my crotch and murmured happily. More kissing along the neck, ear and jawline ensued. Odette exhaled a happy breath, and twisted around in my grasp until we were face to face. An exhaustive French kiss finishing up with a few light pecks and led to us rubbing noses like Inuit.“Thanks buddy,” I smiled warmly at Odette.“She blue-balling ya?” Odette snickered.“Big time,” I muttered. Odette squiggled down my body then bit both my nipples through my shirt making me gasp.“That should do nicely,” Odette’s eyes were alight and she was super-pleased with herself. She smacked my butt then returned to the living room. I returned to Oneida. After a few seconds,“Does it disturb you to be treated like that?” Oneida murmured.“Like what?” I sounded so innocent. Trust me; this is a crucial relationship tool.“Like; like we would treat one of our males,” she looked for my reaction. I laughed.“The critical difference is that I can say 'no’,” I smiled. “Oneida, do you think the original Ash Men spent every moment not in battle, contemplating their place in the Universe?” Clearly, she had. “Believe me, men hunted, worked their crafts and chased female Amazons when they weren’t eating, or sleeping.”“Warfare is an emotional undertaking,” I had read that somewhere. “You can believe that with the battle safely won, your ancestors and my ancestors fooled around. They sang songs, wrote poetry, and created artwork for the ladies they courted. They wanted the attention of the strongest, bravest and most courageous mates, just like your ancestors did.”“I think I do know something about the Ash Men you don’t,” I prodded her.“What? I have studied them for many years,” Oneida was now more engaged.“What can you tell me about Vranus?” I asked. That stumped her.“I…nothing is written of his exploits,” Oneida admitted. “We know he was a young warrior for Ishara.”“Think about this, Oneida; Vranus was only twenty yet a member of the Host,” I started. She nodded. “He is shown with twin axes; no shield and no bow. That means he had to be very brave, rushing through the initial exchange of arrow fire and thrown spears to attack his enemy. His House probably directed him to large clumps of opponents, breaking their formations for the Host to exploit.”“That means he fought alone for several seconds until his accompanying Amazons could pick apart his foe,” I explained.“That must have been horrible,” Oneida frowned.“Not at all,” I protested. “He was trusted with a crucial task; to hold the enemy’s focus so the faster moving Amazons could attack their foe from multiple directions at once.”“The Amazons of House Ishara must have been very proud of him,” I fluffed out the fantasy. “From what you saw from my two exhibition with twin axes, it is very tiring. Vranus had to have absolute confidence his sisters were coming for him. They trusted one another, thus fighting as one organic unit. It was a synergy that included the best of both genders.”That last bit confused her.“Back then, most of the Host would have been of the same genetic stock from the time of the First Betrayal. Short and fast. The males of the region they took over were taller; the local men being even taller than the local women. That means you give men heavier and longer weapons. Your people would have favored bows, light shields and short spears; ranged, or quick in and out tools.”Was any of that true? Not a history major, so I have no clue.“Many of the Host at the time rode horses yet there are also pictures of them forming battle lines,” Oneida enlightened me then her own eyes expanded. “Males are always shown with solid round shields while the Host; women had the oval wicker shields.”“Lacking stirrups, the Amazons may have used the men to grapple with the enemy then rode their horses around the flanks, dismounted and engaged their opponents from the rear; Amazon style,” I grinned. It was. Amazons were all about out-maneuvering and confounding their foes. The Amazons hadn’t been callous with their males’ lives.At one time, chosen females had held the center line. Over time, as males joined, it was practical to adapt the solid wooden shields of their opponents for their own males and put them in the place where their upper body strength and size were of best effect. The unknown older male with Vranus had probably held his place in the battle line dozens of times.I doubt he complained, or even thought to complain. Who would have taken his place? A smaller sister, aunt, or daughter? Had other males objected? Sure, the battle line in Amazon tactics was not the place of glory. The striking arm were the horse-riders. Countless times adversaries had spent the last minutes of their lives with the echoes of horses, hooves and female Amazon war cries seemingly all around them.Some wise old dead fucker once said 'defeat starts in the mind’. I wholeheartedly believed in that; except my version was 'having sex with me starts with my insidious nature’.“Defeat starts in the mind,” I stared intently into Oneida’s eyes. Love poetry is a matter of emotional context, not actual words.I pulled Oneida to me, letting her straddle my lap because I desperately wanted her to understand my tortured soul. Grinding her vulva against my hard-on was totally accidental, as was our renewed French kiss and me grabbing two handfuls of her ass. There was no rushing of things. Oneida was a skittish mare and I had to keep her feeling safe despite her sexual peril.Any woman who bothers to get to know me knows I am not a complicated guy. Case in point: by the time Oneida was feeding me her left nipple, Odette already had the security types sweep my bedroom (again) then the three retreated to Timothy’s room and shut the door. Were Oneida’s guardians worried about Oneida’s carnal violation?No, why would they? Amazons had dick on demand. Virginity didn’t hold any religious significance for them; killing things did. With the speed and efficiency those other two Amazons made themselves scarce, I imagined they were happy that Oneida had stopped mooning over me and getting a good grip on reality. A righteous dicking was in the offing.Oneida’s open eyed, opened-mouth countenance when she found herself naked on my bed with a naked me hovering over her was precious. That look always was. It did necessitate a question.“Are you sure you want to do this?” I whispered. My aroused cock brushed along her thigh. The question was a courtesy.The answer was always the same because girls want to have sex. They also want to believe they have a say in the process from beginning to end. I say 'believe’ because sex done right is passion and passion is the rejection of reason. At some point in the seduction, intercourse becomes an avalanche. Logic can scream all it wants; the hormones are not listening.I slipped into Oneida’s velvety liquid embrace. She gave up a sigh of relief. She’d made the jump into intimacy. Any other explanation for what was going to happen would have implicated me as a 'Player’; which everyone else thought I was. Oneida had this romantic ideal of me that no amount of evidence appeared to shatter.Personally, I was starting to dread ever going to her bedroom. I wasn’t sure of her 'My Little Pony’ comforter would be a turn-off for me. I had done in it on Pocahontas and The Little Mermaid, so odds were I’d pull through in the clinch.“I am not hurting you, am I?” I moaned.Said for emotional impact alone. If I was causing a girl pain, I would have stopped first.“No,” happy murmuring, “I’m wonderful.” The most powerful organ human’s possess is the brain. Oneida was a 'talker’. She wanted to express her feelings during intercourse; not give to directions, but as an effort to increase her participation in the sex act itself.Slow, steady strokes followed, withdrawing my glans half way along her labia, moved up and down slightly then gradually pushed back in. Every entry held something new for her. I added to the process by tilting her thigh and leg forward so that my next penetration tantalized a whole new series of trigger points in her vagina.On the next pass, Oneida began her own experimentations, twisting and adjusting the angle of her hips as I worked my rod in and out. Oneida began crying. I wasn’t upset and that didn’t make me a callous bastard. She was shedding tears of joy and regret; joy because her first climax was in the offing; regret because she wish she had done this with me sooner.She had been a Havenstone employee so we hadn’t done the deed. We still had to keep our liaison secret. Why? I’d think of something. The real reason was pure politics. I never knew what wacky dame hated another wacky dame for reasons I couldn’t even get into, but I knew it would curtail my dating opportunities.I’d pay the price of deception later. What I couldn’t take was being denied sex without having done anything wrong first.“Am I making you happy?” Oneida gasped. No flippancy here; romance was the key.“You demand things from me few other women do,” I replied breathlessly.I wasn’t going to lie to her. Prettying up the truth was good enough and it made her happy. I also got something new; to her, not to me. She orgasmed. Whatever she’d been satisfied with before, I obliterated in a few quick, decisive strokes. OH GOD did she go off! It has happened to me before; the door being kicked in; just not in mid-orgasm. Guns being pointed at yours truly while the girl was in mid-scream was new.And Oneida was still carrying on and on.“I was trying to tell you!” Odette was screaming. “He does that to us all the time…please don’t shoot him.” The whole 'girl screaming at me in Old Kingdom Hittite’ was also new. My mentor preferred Minoan.“I have come back from Death,” Oneida rasped. Her skin was flushed deep red from her exertion, she had bathed us both in sweat and she was coming up with any form of vocalization from Goddess-knows where she had screamed for so long. She looked at me with love in her eyes; damn it. She looked and looked and looked and…finally noticed the two women at the foot of the bed.“Is; some; thing; wrong?” Oneida panted while gazing at her two guardians with worry. There was someone pounding on my apartment door.“Neighbor; door; I’m on it,” Odette called out. Seconds later the deadbolts clicked and the door opened. “Hello, Mr. Finnes.”“You God-damn Whore!” he screamed. “Where is that homo and his butt-buddy? The cops are on their way and this time you are all in the street.” He had a good head of steam on tonight. Slayer of Testicles #1 looked at Slayer of Testicles #2, nodded and left. “Who is this bitch,” Finnes got out. It was so wrong that I recognized the next sound.It was the barrel of a gun being inserted into a person’s mouth.“Listen and listen carefully,” SoT#1 spoke softly. “You are going back to your hovel. If I get word, or even a bad premonition, that you are causing this apartment a hint of worry, I am going to come back and end you in a fashion the New York City’s Coroner’s Office will find memorable.”“I do not care if you have to puncture both eardrums to drown out the noise. I am not a compassionate person. In fact, I am considered sadistic by those who know me well. Now go back home, tell the police who show up this was all a mistake and give a prayer of thanks to whatever deity you grovel before that I didn’t simply ram my firearm up your anus and decorate the ceiling in what passes for brains in your pathetic bone-sack of a body,” she menaced.There was a choking/gagging noise then the sound of heaving.“Mr. Finnes…are you okay?” Odette worried. As a wonderful counter-point.“Have you given me your seed?” Oneida asked hopefully. I was still hard. It had only been ten minutes of sex after all. I gently rocked my penis deeper in. “Oh,” she happily babbled.“Again?” SoT#2 questioned. I made a few more penetration cycles instead of speaking. “Do they train you in some sort of Sex Academy for this? Are there more males out there like you?”“Is having a viewing gallery a real damper on the mood?” I asked her while looking into Oneida’s eyes. I was actually proud of Oneida for not sending the other woman away.It showed me she respected the woman’s job. I also heard the apartment door shut.“Wow, your threat was nice and spooky,” Odette snickered.“Threat? Child, what do you think I do for a living?” SoT#1 asked.“You are one of those wacko, psycho-chicks Cáel Nyilas works with,” Odette was undoubtedly smiling.“Correct, I am one of those wacko, psycho-chicks…” SoT#1 left that hanging out there.“You weren’t playing with Mr. Finnes, were you?” Odette grew quiet. Pause. “There is really a job which allows you to do that kind of stuff?” Pause. “Can I apply?”“This is not something you apply…” SoT#1 began, but then, “I guess if Cáel wants to…”“Cool,” Odette was truly irrepressible.“If he does that, there will definitely be consequences and repercussions,” SoT#1 cautioned.“Oh, I think I had better stick with being his fuck-buddy,” Odette conceded.“Wise choice,” SoT#1 agreed. My bedroom door shut. SoT#2 had slipped out.Do you often have sex with an audience?“ I teased Oneida."Yes,” she answered matter-of-factly, “I do. Don’t you?”“Now that you mention it…” and I got back to the pleasure that encompasses so much of my life.(Note: some events in Chapter 18 happen before the events of Sunday Night. For the sake of the tale this sequence worked better in my eyes)(Sunday Night)“Cáel,” a voice purred over my phone.“Hey Nicole,” I greeted my lawyer not-quite a hook-up anymore. Also, unless you are SURE you know the female caller, don’t take a gamble with the name.“So, do you have something going on tonight?” she queried.“Nope. My normal engagement had to cancel so I’m sitting back with some friends who do not appreciate the depth of my depravity,” I sighed.“Canceled?” She laughed. “On you? Have your recovered from the shock?”“Actually, they had a death in the family and had to go to South Carolina,” I explained.“Oh…sorry,” Nicole apologized. “Well, if you are feeling lonely and neglected, you could come by work and do me a favor.”“I am feeling neither lonely, nor neglected, but I am certainly missing you right now. Give me a half hour and I’ll be there,” I promised. She thanked me and hung up.“Who is it this time?” Odette snickered. Man, I was becoming so used to her hanging around.“Nicole the lawyer,” I replied. I trekked back to my bedroom to prep. I opted for the 'Bad Boy’ look; worn jeans, high-top tennis shoes (equally worn), my Plant Smashers t-shirt (Quebecois ska band; yes, I will road-trip to another country for sex) and my Bolingbrook bomber jacket.Yes, I was going to an Ivy League Law firm dressed like a carjacker. Every other male was going to be dressed in finely-tailored silk and I had to stand out. Since I couldn’t outspend them, I was going to make them look like effete pussies by dressing like I just didn’t care what anyone thought. I was coming over to fuck Nicole and there would be no doubt about it.“Isn’t that chick rich?” Timothy teased me.“Yeah. I’m packing the glow in the dark Trojans tonight; cause she’s special,” I grinned.“Oh! I love those,” Odette squealed. She really needed to trust me less. I walked over, cupped her ears with my hand then kissed her on the forehead.I did the same to Timothy. His look suggested that I had best make a hasty exit before he kicked my ass. I caught a taxi a block away. It turned out he was from Qatar and he asked if I was sure about the address I gave him. I grinned then told him I could outrun 95% of the NYPD so was feeling good about my chances.He snorted, countering with 'If you were an Arab, they’d shoot you.’ Not to be outdone, 'I’d claim to be a Syrian anti-government protester; you know, because we all look alike to these Caucasians’. We laughed for a bit then he said he had a younger sister back in the homeland. I insisted I was immoral; a wicked man.'Was I religious?’ 'Only when it suited my purposes.’ 'Would I consider converting to Sunni Islam?’ 'Only if the girl was cute enough.’ He showed me her picture; dammit, she had a really beautiful face. I got her name, his name and the name of his mosque. I considered it. Yahweh, Christ, Bacchus (wine, an orgy and 'bull’ testicles; long story) and Jehovah all had reasons to barbeque my butt already.Why not add Allah to the mix, besides it being an incredibly stupid thing to do for a man in constant mortal peril like me? In theory, three of the four definitely had the possibility to be the same Omniscient and Omnipotent Galactic Being so the odds were I wouldn’t get too much more screwed.I finished up my journey imagining Buffy in a burqa. That evolved into a vision of me being force-fed a burqa; in private; where no one could hear my muffled cries for help. Buffy; murdering me; made me horny. I am a sick puppy.“Buffy,” I called her as I paid the cabbie.“What; huh; are you okay, Cáel?” Buffy muttered.“Yes, I’m fine. I was dreaming of you and decided to give you a call,” I related in a sleepy voice.“Oh…” she sounded affectionate.“Yeah. In the dream you were murdering me. It was so romantic; so you,” I related.“Shit-for-brains, do you have any idea what time it is?” Buffy turned all savage in an instant.“Hmmm…11:45?” I offered up.“Call me this late again when it is not an emergency and your dream will become a reality,” she growled.“You know you sound so…” and she hung up on me. I called Nicole and warned her I was at her building, pursued by two FDIC investigators and could she please come and rescue me. She snickered, came down and retrieved me, but not before the NYPD stopped by for a casual conversation and I hadn’t even been standing there two minutes.In my neighborhood you were lucky if you saw a patrol car every thirty minutes and short of offering them some crack cocaine, cheap nookie, or shooting a gun off, they never stopped. Was I my normally fuck-wad self? No. I told the man/woman team the truth. Some upper crust weenies I worked with dragged me off to Yuppie Hell. I hooked up with a lawyer who I screwed repeatedly in the Women’s bathroom and she was calling me for round 2.Second question (the first one was name/ID/reason for being in this part of town dressed like I was)? Was she paying me? 'No’. Was I practicing safe sex (female cop; married even)? 'Yes’. Was she the red-head at the door behind me? 'Yes she was and goodnight.’“What are you dressed like that for?” Nicole smiled.In her mind she already knew the answer; I had come here to fuck her; raw and primal.“Ballroom dancing was not on the itinerary you gave me,” I smiled. We went inside.“My co-workers are still here,” she hinted seductively.“Whoa now!” I protested humorously. “I am not here to pull a train; girls only.”Nicole nearly fell over laughing. She was so embarrassed by me and my attire, she dragged me straight to the conference room 'her’ team was working out of. Everyone else was eating. Two of the lawyers were clearly the top dogs; a man and a woman. The woman had a vague resemblance to one of the portraits I’d seen coming in; a legacy.The man screamed 'serial killer’. It probably made him one hell of a lawyer, but spooky to live with, or work for. The other nine people in the room were in two groups. Two were obviously paralegals. They dressed in what must have started out as clean, starched clothing from off the rack as opposed to tailored.The other seven were lawyers in their own dual set-up. My amateur guess was two different branches of law. This group was dressed in fine clothes now wrinkled from a long day’s work, plus it was a Sunday. They were not at their best yet they were still better than most of what I had. The most endearing part was how they looked at me.Even the female contingent thought that I was trash. I had certainly given them the opportunity. Seriously, they should have paid more attention to Nicole, her intelligence, competence and tastes. Come on now; there was no way she’d bring some grease-monkey from Flatbush to her workplace. They needed to engage their brains and not their social bias.A murmur slithered through the crowd. Amusement and condescension were the clear messages shot my way. I imagine the poor soul who delivered the food got less crap because he/she was providing a tangible service.“Nicole, who is this?” the woman asked. Sex.Outside of her being a soulless cancer on the hopes and dreams of mankind, she was an alluring forty-something.“This is my friend Cáel…” Nicole began, both her arms wrapped around my right arm.“Cáel Belafonte,” I interrupted. You could tell who the trial lawyers in the room were. Their expressions told me they knew I was lying.“Fascinating Mr. Belafonte,” Mr. Serial-Killer droned on. “What do you do?”“I am an Ichthyologist,” I met his gaze. “I’m involved in a twenty year study to determine the cause for the reduction in the size of Tuna fish scales.” That had them stumped.“That sounds like yet another great waste of government funds,” a young male lawyer with more bravado than combat-sex experience fired off.“Oh,” I shrugged. “Smaller scales, smaller full-sized Tuna, a spike in tuna prices and an eventual world-wide restriction on Tuna fishing, similar to the one currently covering virtually all whale species. Now, I doubt you know which people will decide who the recipient of those lucrative Tuna contracts will be, but I do. By all means; mock what you don’t understand.”“Government research project results will be in the public domain,” a woman joined the struggle.“Yes; and?” I asked in a bland tone.“Your research will be available to all kinds of commercial concerns,” male asshat grinned.“Your ability to show that you are as smart as any pre-law student must make someone, somewhere very proud,” I grinned back.Confused looks. Nicole was struggling to keep it together.“He never said he was in any manner part of the government, or a government program, Mr. Cherrie,” the female lead barracuda gave me her own hungry look. The guy looked pissed.“Oh, Mr. Belafonte, are you a private researcher, or a government one?” she female junior lawyer asked. “Heather Pulaski,” she gave her name.“Call me Cáel, Heather, and I am in no way associated with any government, I barely know what an Ichthyologist is and I’m certainly not one. Rude, arrogant people annoy me when they treat my friends like they are stupid; especially when they should know better. I can rarely stop myself from ridiculing them,” I grinned.“And now you think you are better than everyone else in the room for tricking us with this juvenile prank,” the Serial Killer sounded bored.“No. The lives of strangers are not my concern,” I bantered back. “I did what I did to make Nicole smile. If my antics remind the rest of you what a hotshot lawyer she is so much the better.”“Mr. and Mrs. DeYoung, Cáel, Cáel Nyilas, is a joker. He’s is also brilliant and just joined Havenstone Commercial Investments in their Executive Services Division,” Nicole bragged. She got points for the 'Executive Services’ part. More smirks; some people never learn.“Havenstone doesn’t employ too many men, does it?” Mrs. DeYoung said.Maybe she was looking for a Discrimination lawsuit.“Five men to be precise and two of us are out of the country,” I enlightened her.“So you are brilliant,” Mr. DeYoung seemed barely engaged; and was Mrs. DeYoung’s Mr. DeYoung. “What are your insights on DNA ownership, Cáel?”“DNA ownership is a fallacy,” I stated. “People are not pigs, soybeans, or corn. You cannot create a financial liability for your offspring because that amounts to slavery and is forbidden by the 14th Amendment to the Constitution. DNA is a person; their blueprint. Only the person owns it and they can’t even sell it outright.”“That is hopelessly naive,” he snorted.“Not really. If you apply an accepted price tag to every human being on Earth, the anarchy will begin. Crimes like murder, torture and mutilation are based on the concept that human life has an unspecified value. Give something a value and you can trade in it.”“Murder somebody? How much was their DNA worth?” I postulated. “I pay the cost, or somebody pays it for me. You are calling me naïve? I’m not murdering somebody. I’m repossessing their DNA. Mr. DeYoung, I’m not a lawyer, so I am not approaching this from a limited field of vision like you are. I live in the World.”“Oddly enough, I’ve had some recent encounters with real slavery and that has convinced me that I’ll go down standing up, thank you very much,” I grinned. “In case that was misconstrued; my DNA is mine, no legal precedent will change that and I’m more than willing to put bodies in the ground to keep it so.”“You sound like an anarchist,” Mr. Cherrie chimed in.“Nope. I’m independent-minded. There is a difference,” I indicated. “Just like you, anarchists don’t want to let me be me either.”“Laws exist for a reason,” Nicole chastised me.What she was really saying was 'you are here for a reason and it isn’t entertaining my co-workers’.“This is the point where the smart man goes 'yes ma'am, they do’,” I nodded to her.“Your young man is not stupid,” Mrs. DeYoung chuckled.“This young man knows what happens if he behaves,” Nicole bowed to her superior; her boss, not me.“Oh goodie,” I rubbed my hands together. “Are we about to do some file-sharing?”“Something like that,” Nicole laughed and off we went.All I could imagine was that Nicole had to be God’s Own lawyer at this firm to get away with the crap we’d just pulled. Honestly, I had other things on my mind. We coasted into her office, with her name etched on the glass door…with the glass walls and floor to ceiling glass windows. Just because, I picked up a water-smoothed stone on her desk; glass houses and all.“That is from the Canadian Shield; some of the oldest rocks on Earth,” she told me.“You are also going to have one of the most painful hard substance on Earth in your office if we don’t do something soon,” I teased.“Where do you want to start?” she leaned against her desk.Her office was small, but it was her own. Considering her age, it was another 'she rocks’ indicator.“Your lips,” I murmured. Nicole liked that. She pushed off the desk enough so our lips could lock. It was very nice.“The other lips,” I teased her. She liked that idea even more. Her black, mid-thigh skirt came up, I knelt and decided her scarlet thong was more than skimpy enough for me to work around. I let my hands run along her calves. Nicole hummed out her acclaim and was even happier when I began lifting both legs up.Before long, she was laying on her back, her legs were raised high and spread wide. Nice and easy was replaced by rapidly energetic and fiendishly cunning. Nicole was fighting back the tidal surge of her ecstasy.“What are you holding back for?” I slurped around my tongue-lashing.We weren’t in a bathroom stall this time. Nicole tilted her head up, gave me a simmer glance then embraced her orgasm.“Damn!” she screamed followed by a dozen slightly less vocal 'damns’. I gave her just enough time for me to shed my pants, roll down a prophylactic then I mounted her.Had there been any doubt of our forceful ardor, my heroic efforts and Nicole’s dynamism shattered them. Half of the lawyers I’d briefly met stopped by and peeked through the glass. I didn’t care and Nicole reveled in 'bending the minds’ of the onlookers. After a while, her office was not enough. That sofa in the executive reception area?I bent her over the art deco beast and pummeled her, and it, half way across the room. The bathroom? To be gender-equal, we screwed around in the Men’s room this time. Nicole and I revisited her erotic fantasy of being bent over in the toilet, ass fucked then completing the act with dispensing of the condom and a glorious blowjob.Our last encounter involved a men’s standing urinal, Nicole’s legs wrapped around my waist as I gyrated against her.“Oh my God!” she yelped. “I’ve got it. Put me down.” I put her down because the reason I was here was to crack the mental block she had found herself in.Me? I’d come for the sex and Nicole delivered in spades. She had upheld her side of our bargain. Now that I’d reciprocated, it was time for 'hook-up’ Nicole to become 'lawyer’ Nicole. She made herself somewhat presentable and quick-stepped in back to the conference room. I secured my cock and pants before following.Nicole was babbling in an eldritch dark-tongue similar to Lady Sauron relaying doom to her pack of Nazgûl. They responded with various other arcane invocations until their agreement confirmed that millions of voices had cried out in terror then been suddenly silenced. In my universe, female devotees of Evil were all black leather-clad gorgeous sex kittens who used their dark arts to increase galactic lecherousness.“Time to show you out,” Nicole gave me a sultry smirk. “Come on.” Arm in arm, we traveled closely to the elevators.“Hold the door,” a female voice commanded right as the doors began to shut on the two of us. Nicole put a hand out to keep us from a few more second of alone time.A Caucasian women with short brown hair and a fierce scowl entered first. An imperious damsel came in next. My heart stopped in shock while I barely registered on her radar. A dusky man, nearly my height came in last of all. The doors shut and down we went. I was spending too much time watching the woman and her two bodyguards as we all headed to the door and not enough with Nicole.“Don’t even think about it, Cáel,” Nicole teased. “That’s Ms. Brianna O'Shea, she leads our client’s team and she’s totally off limits.”O'Shea pulled a 'Katrina’ the moment after Nicole used my name. She spun in place so that she was now facing Nicole and me.“What was your name?” she asked with sugary smoothness I associated with Bolivian tourism officials; the nice ones. You know, the ones that thought using a truck battery attached to the jumper cables and your testicles was too much because a car battery would do.“Percival Fenris, ma'am,” I introduced myself. “I’m a product engineer for Cyberdyne Systems. My team is creating a process that uses constantly recycling colored sugar dust as a medium that will replace current LCD technology. We are calling it Pixie TV.” Nicole was giggling. I was feeling less giggly, mainly because I was staring at my Mother.Not my Mother-mother; the woman who gave birth to me and who had been eaten alive by cancer. No, this was my Mother the way she looked when she was twenty-five and in excellent health.“Ms. O'Shea, this is Cáel Nyilas. He is a good friend of mine,” Nicole cut through my obfuscation.O'Shea took several steps toward us, away from the exit. Her guardians kept up and were ratcheting up their vigilance.“Interesting eyes,” she noted. “What is your heritage?” Rude and scary. Even Nicole knew something was incredibly wrong.“Cáel, you two have the same eyes,” Nicole mumbled.“I was thinking the same thing, Ms. Lawless,” Brianna said. Huh?“You are a lawyer named Lawless?” I gawked at Nicole. “How did that happen?” Why had that not registered when I went to Nicole’s office? Oh yeah, her leading me in, eyes pleading for sex.“That is not relevant, Mr. Nyilas,” O'Shea kept coming.“What do you mean 'not relevant’? Are you saying you’d hire a male escort named Quick-fire Small-Penis?” I wondered. “If so, you are a more trusting soul than I.”“Why are you avoiding my question?” Brianna queried.“Why are you asking questions I clearly don’t want to answer?” I retorted.“Cáel, please don’t antagonize my client’s representative,” Nicole was playful yet concerned.“No problem Nicole Lawless, Attorney at Law,” I grinned to her. I gave her a secretive butt squeeze then made to leave. Miraculously, Brianna let me slip by. The deceptiveness of that kindness was revealed when I stepped outside and found the limo…with another bodyguard standing beside the front passenger door.O'Shea/Mom’s double was hot on my heels. As I turned and headed up the street, she grabbed my right arm.“Why don’t we go out for a late bite to eat,” she stated. I wasn’t being invited. I was being told.“No can do,” I shrugged off her hand. “I promised my Father to leave a recognizable corpse.”“What makes you think I have sinister intentions?” she questioned. There was a lot of that going around; not answering stuff, that is.“Why do you assume you aren’t giving off the same bad vibe as a half-dozen 18th Street gangbangers on a Meth binge?” I teased. Brianna made a hand signal and the three bruisers put their hands on their guns. The closest to me moved around me to block off that escape route.To be correct, the guy at the car door was African-American, around my height with maybe 10 kg on me. The two guarding O'Shea were a guy of Moorish decent and a woman of the English Midlands. I knew this because I was afraid and making shit up.“Was I supposed to be impressed with the quiet appeal of desperation you exhibited by playing patty-cake with yourself,” I kept smiling.“Or are these three supposed to scare me?” I chuckled. “Here…in downtown Manhattan; one of the few places on the planet Earth trying to rival London in video surveillance.”“Video evidence can be altered,” Brianna gave me a wicked gleam.“Was that supposed to be your Evil Henchwoman voice?” I kept snickering.“If so, get a refund from that mail-order firm you took lessons from,” I grinned.“You appear to be rather fearless, and obstinate,” O'Shea nodded. “Foolishly so.”“Lady, I’m staring into the face of my dead Mother who is trying to get me into a limo with three goombahs who think they are intimidating. They are not,” I pointed out.“This whole weekend has been a disaster, so me beating the crap out of those three, you and the driver isn’t going to change a damn thing,” I enlightened them. The Moorish guy extended a collapsible cane.“You seem very confident,” she informed me.“Of course I am,” I stated. “You haven’t spotted my bodyguard yet, meaning all of you are truly screwed.”“Why would you have a bodyguard?” she inquired.“Why would you want to know?” I countered.“Do you practice being irritating, or is an innate talent?” Brianna regarded me.“We can do this 'answering a question with a question’ thing all night long, except I have to be at work at six a.m. so how about you tell me what you really want to know and tell me why you look like; screw that; are my MOTHER’s clone,” I sighed.“Tell me about your genetic heritage,” O'Shea demanded. She was that kind of authoritative prick; actual penis not required.“I apologize. I don’t seem to have a handle your native vocabulary and your English-as-a-Second Language skills suck,” I sneered. “I should go home now.”Moorish guy blocked my egress. English chick was on my right flank, back to the limo and the street. The most pressing issue was a matter of privilege; O'Shea’s people thought they’d get away with breaking the law. The moment the Moor popped out is baton, it was 'on’. A baton is a weapon plus O'Shea and her bodyguard were blocking my
Oh My God! All their clothes vanished. What was I to do?By FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the podcast at Steamy Stories.Living every moment like it is your last is less attractive tomorrow.(Still Wednesday)Katrina had left for wherever she snuck off to - I suggested to Aya it was a game room, Aya suggested it was as torture chamber - only to return when the next turn of the screws came. I was informed I had a visitor coming up by the name of Libra Chalmers plus a guest. Quickly enough they appeared. The guest turned out to be Brooke Lee.“Who are these two?” Aya glibly spoke as the two Vassar girls walked into the room.“Hello Libra,” I greeted my almost date from last night. “Hello Ms. Lee,” I said to Brooke.“It’s Brooke,” Brooke smiled at me - she was hungry and scenting around for something remarkably like me.“I’m happy to see you - oh - this is my guardian and protector, Aya Ruger,” I made the introductions. “No lie, Aya has been keeping up with my workload while I’ve been on ‘light’ duty. Aya, this is Libra Chalmers and Brooke Lee, both from Vassar College. Brooke is Trent’s friend and Libra had mercy on me Tuesday night and kept me from being a 'fifth’ wheel.”“I’m actually Trent’s fiancé,” Brooke corrected.“Fascinating,” I lied. Oh fuck, that was NOT good.“Cool. I’m happy to see the both of you, but what brings you to my office today?” I continued.“Well, I showed up to ask for Trent and Libra asked for you,” Brooke gave a sly smile.“The thing was,” Libra picked up the tale, “they were looking up Trent, but the front desk knew exactly who and where you were - so we came here first.” My mind was busily working out how to pull Aya aside to give her a friendly warning when Katrina waltzed in.“Ladies, this is my boss, Katrina Love, Head of Executive Services for Havenstone,” I plastered a smile on my face.“Katrina, this is Brooke Lee and Libra Chalmers. I met them Tuesday night,” I kept things simple. Doom was impatient.“Brooke is Trent’s fiancé,” Aya chimed in gleefully. She wasn’t being malicious. She just didn’t know any better. Katrina had been in the process of giving some congenial nods.She stopped and turned on a dime. Damn it.“Really?” Katrina’s interest was piqued.“Yes,” Brooke beamed. She brandished her engagement ring in Katrina’s face. Better yet, Katrina 'ooh'ed and 'aah'ed then spun on me.“Cáel, I didn’t know Trent was engaged,” Katrina pierced me with those lethal ocular devices.“Yeah, I bet you didn’t,” I groaned. “I only found out a moment ago.” Trent had lied on his dating survey - slash application to Havenstone. They kinda/sorta made damn sure we had no external female attachments. It meant less bodies to dispose of if things went wrong.I couldn’t understand how they missed it then a curious custom/lifeline reared its ugly head.“Brooke, that’s your 'promise’ ring, right?” I probed. “I’m sure Trent would get you a bigger rock for the actual engagement.”“Yes,” Brooke confirmed. “We’ve decided to make the official engagement when our families take the Christmas Holiday at Hilton Head.”How could I express to Brooke that Christmas with Trent at Hilton Head was a rapidly vanishing dream? Katrina resumed her stroll to her desk.“Katrina,” I started my appeal. My argument was going to be that 'promise’ rings didn’t really count even though I knew her omission on his survey/application was bad enough already. Brian was different. If he chose to 'follow his career’, she’d shed the prerequisite 17 tears and happily get on with her life. Girls like Brooke came looking and that wouldn’t do.“No,” Katrina didn’t even turn around. When she got to her desk, the phone calls began. Brooke was starting to realize something had happened. I gained a level of importance that extended beyond my bedroom sexpertise.“Cáel, is something wrong?” Libra took my hand in hers.“Trent may have neglected to mention some things during his job interview,” I explained.“Like?” Libra was getting concerned.“Like the existence of Brooke,” I answered. See, if Trent had written down his acquaintance to Brooke, Havenstone would have investigated her in the same way they investigated my mentor, Dr. Kimberly Geisler. She had admitted to the length, depth and termination of our affair.The issue of her teaching me anything besides sex had never come up.“What?” Brooke grew indignant. Not with Trent, but with me. See, I was still a peon in her eyes and casting dispersions on her guy, who she knew and trusted.“Brooke,” I sighed, “did any Havenstone personnel talk to you about Trent?”“No,” she admitted.“Every single woman I was ever with was questioned about me and my relationship to them,” I explained. “Trust me; that was a really long list.” Libra had the answer to that confusion. She pulled out her phone and got a busy signal - that would be Havenstone’ now-active jamming devices.“What’s the number?” I asked Libra. She was momentarily annoyed - then suspicion kicked in. She gave me the number. Caller ID indicated it was Marla, Libra’s sister. I gave the phone up.“Marla,” Libra began, “did anyone from Havenstone Commercial Investments ever talk to you about Cáel?”“Ummm, is he in trouble because of what I said?” Marla asked.“What did you say?” Libra eyed me.“I said he was a total asshole who broke my heart and given the opportunity I wouldn’t mind watching he die a painful death,” she confessed. “Only later did I realize I missed him and felt sorry about what I said.”“Do you know if they talked to any of his other former girlfriends?” Libra inquired.“I am absolutely sure they talked to at least one other person,” Marla mumbled. Her Aunt.“Who? I need to talk to them,” Libra continued.“That wouldn’t be wise,” Marla responded. “Suffice it to say they didn’t give a glowing review either.” Libra hung up and gave me back my phone.“Cáel, do you have a problem with women?” Brooke glowered at me.“Yes, there are so many of them,” I shrugged. “That seems to be my main issue.”“Cáel, how many women have you been with?” Libra mused.“Around 200,” I acceded.“200! Holy Shit!” Libra gasped. Out of the blue,“Of those, how many have dumped you for cheating only to come back to you later?” Katrina postulated.“Around 40,” I recalled.“That’s my Daddy!” Aya crowed proudly.“What?” Brooke boggled.“Not what you think!” I insisted. “Not what you think!”“Aya is my niece,” Katrina explained. “Cáel is not her biological father. He is her friend, paternal guide and guardian.”“Aya and I are in negotiations about me eventually marrying her mother, but I have assured her that is years and years off,” I added.“Cáel is not my real Daddy,” Aya clarified. “He lets me pretend that he is.”“Besides Cáel, does that 200 include the past month?” Katrina diverted the conversation.“Well…200 as in closer to 200 than 300,” I grinned weakly.“How did you graduate?” Libra followed along.“I have a lot of stamina,” I pointed out. Tessa Carmichael glided into the room.“Brooke Lee?” she greeted the not-here-for-me girl.“Yes? Do I know you?” Brooke was getting nervous and snippy.“I’m Tessa Carmichael, Director of Human Resources for Havenstone. I handled the final interview process for Trent Grant,” she smiled with deceptive warmth. She was furious. I could tell, having a long history with women in such moods.“Is that Lee - L-E-E?” Tessa continued.“Yes, what is this about?” Brooke persisted.“You and Mr. Grant are in a long term relationship?” Tessa asked next.“Answer my question,” Brooke snapped. Thankfully Tessa wasn’t Elsa.“Trent lied on both his initial application and then twice in the interview process,” Tessa relayed calmly.“About dating me?” Brooke was confused.“We will explain in a moment,” Tessa smiled and patted Brooke on the upper arm.Brooke and Libra were more poised than I believed was warranted. Suddenly, I peeled back eleven days of experience and realized they assumed that Aya’s presence was some sort of armor against violence. Whoops. Olympia Shore entered the room followed by Trent. Bright yet careless, he immediately clued in on the crisis.“Brooke…” Trent mumbled. Olympia shut the door once Trent was too far inside to run.“Trent, what is going on? They say you didn’t list me as an acquaintance and somehow that’s important,” Brooke grumbled.“I - um - I can explain,” Trent was addressing…the room?“Be at peace, Trent,” Tessa took over. This was her job and her fuck-up. “We only need your assurance that your relationship with Ms. Lee was terminated before you signed your contract with Havenstone Commercial Investments.” Trent was looking for the right answer that would make everyone happy, but there wasn’t one.Had he warned me yesterday that Brooke was his lady, I could have warned Brooke to NEVER come here. Trent hadn’t done that because it would have necessitated him explaining to Brooke that he had denied her existence in order to get a cushy job. Trent had deluded himself into thinking he could have it both ways, probably because lying had always worked before.“I think there has been a misunderstanding,” Trent began. The most important thing in the world to Trent was Trent and he could outfox these backwoods feminists. “I am willing to submit my resignation immediately over this unfortunate mistake.” That was a feint. Sadly, the important ladies had zero faith in his words and had already decided his fate. Moron.“All we need is for you to verify your relationship, Trent,” Tessa remained congenial.“I said I will quit,” Trent asserted. Trent was probably curious why his concession wasn’t working the way he’d planned.“It is not that simple,” Tessa sighed. “You see, when you submitted your final work contract, numerous people co-signed your accounting of events. These people will now be subject to severe criminal, financial and civil penalties.”“What?” Trent gulped. “What do you mean?”“Trent, we gave you a substantial signing bonus plus benefits and salary. Those people who verified your application are liable for fraud. That would be two of your professors, the Dean of the School of Economics at Carnegie-Mellon, your father, uncle, both the current and previous fraternity presidents and a State Senator.”“You can’t…that won’t fly. My family and those organizations have lawyers and they’ll fight this in the courts for years,” Trent rallied.“Because they all want fraud cases hanging over their heads,” Tessa looked at Trent as if he was an unruly schoolboy. “You, of all people, should appreciate how aggressive our Financial Investigative department can be.”“They are going to crawl over all the finances of everyone who we bring suit against. It will be a very public fight that we will gladly bring to the press. Professors will lose their jobs, election campaigns opened to public scrutiny and your personal banking - and everyone they have financial ties to - will be equally targeted.”“If you want, your termination papers are on the way. We have already contacted Legal, who are preparing briefs to file with the District, State and Federal Courts,” Katrina simmered.“Trent,” Tessa closed in for the kill, “if you state to us here and now that you are not now in, or plan to pursue a relationship with Ms. Brooke Lee, we can keep this indiscretion in-house.”That was the crux of the matter. At this point Felix and I would have fallen on our swords, admitted to the lie and stood by the lady. Felix was an asshole, but he was a 'face the world on his own terms’ asshole. I admired that about him. Brian and Khalid would have evaded, leaving Brooke to swing in the breeze, because that was the kind of men they were - they had a Life Plan and no silly emotional attachment was going to slow them down.Trent proved to be the latter type of 'man’.“I decided to not continue a romantic entanglement with Brooke some time ago,” he blatantly lied. The sharks in the room nodded politely. Brooke’s mouth opened in outrage. Libra was rallying to Brooke and I was rallying to them both.“Look, it is a 'promise ring’, not an engagement ring,” Trent created excuses. My arm wrapped around Brooke constricted painfully enough to distract her from Trent’s cowardice so she focused on me.“Wait,” I whispered. “Please wait.” My eyes must have projected my warning of caution.“So,” Tessa nodded sagely. “Your romantic relationship with Ms. Lee ended some time ago - say a year - and you were so past the relationship you forgot to include it on your list critically important people to be interviewed; the list you created and your sponsors signed off on.” Run, Trent! Sense the trap and make a break for the door. Go down swinging like a man!“Yes,” Trent gratefully agreed. Chicken-shit. What mattered here was Trent, followed distantly by Trent’s family name, buddies and academic mentors. I was willing to bet it was facing his family’s disappointment was the deciding factor for Khalid. Sure, he had an ego. We all did, but Khalid was equally proud of his parentage and racial background.He’d even had an ancestor in the 54th Massachusetts regiment in the Civil War. His ego had gotten him in trouble and he’d taken responsibility. Poor bastard. The girl was irrelevant. He’d have gladly bought his way out of the trouble if he could. Havenstone knew his weaknesses and dialed up the pressure until he acquiesced.“Trent!” Brooke squawked. Trent got points for hutzpah.“Brooke,” he patiently regarded his discarded baggage, “it has been over for some time. College is over and I let you know we had to move on. Please, it is time for you to let go.” Brooke’s mouth fell open and a tear streaked down her eye.“So Trent, Ms. Brooke Lee’s absence was more a matter of a well-established emotional detachment, not a personal oversight. We believe you,” Olympia agreed.“That would be correct,” Trent jumped on the life preserver offered by his boss.“I disagree,” Katrina stood up angrily. Nice acting. I would have believed it if I hadn’t already figured out the script.“Katrina, Trent is an indispensable member of MY team and his progression is something I am paying close attention to,” Olympia protected her body-shaped sperm dispenser.“No,” Tessa joined the attack.“I’ll take responsibility for this,” Olympia challenged her associates. “I’ll have Trent relocated to our East Asian section so he’ll no longer be a worry for you two.”They even used the word 'relocate’ and Trent was still grinning like a Christmas Elf on the 26th of December. Idiot.“Trent, how about we get you out of this poisonous atmosphere for a year, or two, and move you to a place where you can shine?” Olympia asked her victim.“That would be great, Olympia,” Trent’s relief came through. Cowardly, selfish shmuck.“Well, this meeting is over,” Olympia declared. She took Trent by the arm and led him out of Katrina’s office. I resisted the impulse to request Trent tell Khalid 'hello’ for me. Brooke turned to Libra, leaned into her and started sobbing.Why all the drama? Now Brooke and Libra, outsiders and long term associates of the vanished, could testify that Trent WILLINGLY threw himself off the face of the Earth. Khalid’s relocation might someday be a problem. No one would come looking for Trent after Brooke and Libra got done with him socially - and it was all self-inflicted, the ignoramus.It was all about loyalty here at Havenstone. My steadfast loyalty to Katrina, paid for in blood, was why I was still running around with the knowledge I possessed. For all my numerous, obvious flaws, there was a sliver of my personality they could identify with. Stepping in front of Leona wasn’t solely a matter of bravery.They acknowledged I was brave for doing it, yet the factor that mattered to them was that my bravery’s source was my loyalty to Katrina and her house. No one assumed I was suicidal - there was confidence that Tessa and Katrina would have screened for that, even though the majority of the Amazons didn’t like what they were doing.Khalid had let his balls outweigh his reason. Trent hadn’t shown physical cowardice; he was probably martially proficient. His flaw was a weakness of character. He saw every organization as nothing more than a vehicle for his personal advancement. In the rest of corporate civilization, that wasn’t so bad, but he wasn’t in the sane, morally-compromising, big business world.He was in Havenstone. They tossed a truckload of money his way, lured him away from other promising offers to reel him - all of us - in. They expected honesty (from us lowly males), loyalty to their company and devotion to their cause even though they had no intention of telling us what it was for some time. Fair - it wasn’t.“Katrina?” I got my boss’s attention.“Take the rest of the day off, Cáel,” Katrina responded. “Aya, you will be staying with me tonight. Cáel you need to be at Medical 11:00 pm.”“Thanks Katrina,” I nodded her way. I retrieved my crutches, gave Aya a kiss on the top of her head, another on her forehead, sealed with her hug.By the time we reached the elevator, Brooke was transforming from shell-shocked to righteously pissed. HE (whose name it wasn’t safe to mention) had the temerity to dump HER. She was going to socially BBQ his ass with the hidden benefit that ole Trent was about to be incommunicado for the next few months.“Cáel, what just happened?” Libra asked softly. “Who do you really work for?” Suddenly that little 'corporate confidentiality’ discussion I had with Trent had a new, sinister implication.“That bastard dumped me in front of a bunch of strangers!” Brooke seethed. If there was any doubt, I am a bastard too.“It was worse than that,” I consoled Brooke. “He lied about your intimacy so he could get this job.” I didn’t bring up the crap I went through because I didn’t matter in her world.“Did you lie about anything?” Libra asked.“I didn’t describe any of my relationships, but I did list everyone I had contact with,” I answered.“Why would they do something so bizarre?” Libra hugged Brooke.“I haven’t seen inside the minds of Human Resources, yet I get the feeling that Havenstone is a very closed system. Personal loyalty, honesty and accountability all rate highly with them. Havenstone doesn’t worry about personal embarrassment. The only people who are going to know are their staff and they don’t use such things in inter-office politics,” I explained.“How did you get a job here anyway?” Brooke snapped. She meant was, how did a knuckle-dragger like me get the same business opportunity as Brian, Felix, Khalid and Trent? She was lashing out in anger at the closest male - my background and name were irrelevant. I had nailed girls like this all the time. Anger leads to poor decision making which leads to her hectic hunt for her clothes in my domicile sometime after us having sex.“I proved to be just as good, if not better, than every other candidate,” I glared right back. Brooke didn’t want me apologetic, joking, or silent. She wanted me to be a strong, solid and unyielding. Why? Trent had just shattered the bedrock of her future and she was desperately seeking any foundation to set down on. It could be temporary, but had to be quick.“I don’t see how that is possible,” Brooke glared. Brooke was used to being pampered and catered to. It was her birthright.“That’s the difference between you and me, Brooke,” I met her stare. By Brooke, I meant Trent and we both knew it.“I have fought for everything I’ve earned and if I’ve learned anything it is to appreciate my good fortune.” Meaning women. The supposition was that I would never have undervalued, or abandoned, a woman as wonderful and complete as Brooke. I could see the mathematical calculations going on behind Brooke’s eyes.She was working out how many drinks she’d have to take before she could justify to the rest of the world she was drunk when I fucked her…while she got to full enjoy the experience. Oh…was I with Libra? Not only can guys not trust me with their girlfriends, girlfriends can’t trust their girl friends around me either.I’ve had girlfriend’s roommates invite me over to rendezvous with my girl only to discover my girl was busy…but the roommate wasn’t. Maybe I’m not a pig. Maybe I’m an amoeba - thoughtless and all-devouring.“Let’s go out for some drinks,” Libra suggested. Oh, I was having a three-way. Wait!“Maybe you could call Marla?” I looked to Libra. “Honestly, I don’t know either of you that well and she could help fill in some of the gaps?” Translation: Can we please make this a four-way?“Good idea,” Libra blushed slightly. Yay me! It turned out that Marla could be with us in an hour.The bar scene was dead - it wasn’t even five pm yet - so Libra put in an order for some liquor from a delivery service - huh? Libra asked me what I wanted to drink. I said I only drank moonshine, or, if that wasn’t available, turpentine. She promised me some aged Scotch. Libra and I sat patiently in the taxi ride to Libra’s place as Brooke bitched endlessly.I think what impressed Libra the most was my ability to engage Brooke successfully while she spat venom over the entire spectrum of all things 'Trent’. Men, college, Carnegie-Mellon, fraternities…Brooke heatedly ask if I was a frat-boy. I inquired if Beer Drinking Clubs counted and she chuckled. She jumped right back to the 'bitchy’, but we’d crested the wave.We three were working through the uncertain status of who would/should do what to who as we sat around Libra’s apartment. Added to that was Libra and Brooke using every tentacle of social media to castrate and castigate Trent. Trent made some half-assed counterattacks (he was on his way to the airport), his 'bros’ rallied to his cause, Brooke’s sorority rallied to hers, and billions of electrons died for no real purpose except to feed two people’s impassioned egos.“Cáel, could you get the door?” Libra requested. Since the two ladies were going full-blown agro on their phones and I was merely crippled, I hobbled to the door of Libra’s posh crib. It was Marla. I opened the door and her eyes rounded in surprise.“Cáel,” she mumbled. Her eyes flicked down, took in my bulge, my limp then followed me inside.“Is the leg - okay?” Marla asked. Libra waved while she kept talking. Brooke didn’t even do that much. I doubted Marla wanted an in-depth medical report.“It’s strong enough,” I grinned hungrily. That’s what she wanted to know.“Good,” she exhaled happily. She dropped her bag, leapt on me, her legs wrapping around my waist, her arms linked behind my head and her tongue darted into my mouth to play with mine.I staggered back while my hands cupped each of Marla’s jean-clad ass cheeks and began to knead them. Her crotch throbbed against my hard-on. Marla was quickly making these precious little throttled moaning noises heralding her sexual need. I was peripherally aware of the conversation in the room dying down.“I want to fuck,” Marla panted. Misinterpreting that was nearly impossible. Cleverly, I had done an earlier reconnaissance, spotted the bedroom while pretending to look for the bathroom. There was also a nice sofa in the entertainment room, just in case, plus the kitchen counter was at a fuckable level. I turned and limped to Libra’s bedroom carrying an encircling Marla.Since I wanted to fuck all three, I didn’t bother kicking the door shut. Erotic sound effects were fine. Leaving the door open was a magnet to their voyeuristic carnality. Soaking up Marla undressing was a cornucopia of information too. She wanted aggressive coitus, was soaking wet from masturbating on the drive down, and was expecting my ultimate effort.This was a combination of 'I’m lonely and it is your fault’ sex and 'make-up’ sex. I stole a glance at Libra’s bedside clock. Marla jumped backwards onto the middle of the king-sized bed. I pursued her as rapidly as my wound would allow. This didn’t even take a Year One effort from me. I pushed her down, she kissed the hell out of me, hands grasping my ears, and I sent my fingers after her pussy.My two fingers had trouble in their penetration - she’d been abstaining from sex for a while. I managed to scoop out some juices and rub them all over her clitoris. I really do have a gift for memorizing the sexual details of every woman I’ve encountered. It is a real pity there isn’t a Nobel Prize for that. There should be.At 58 seconds, Marla howled. She always had good lungs. I followed that up by pushing her arms over her head while she was still coming down from her climax. I rained down butterfly kisses on her triceps, just how she liked it. She was humping up against me and whining piteously as I kept working her over.“Cáel,” she moaned. “Fuck me, fuck me, I’ve missed you so much.” What can I say? A buddy once suggested that if I was less exciting in the bedroom, my ex’s might not hurt me so much. I laughed and asked him 'that wouldn’t be nearly as much fun now would it?’ I’m an idiot. Wait, let’s change it up - I am a passionate masochist.“Not yet, Marla,” I kissed her.“No,” she wailed. “Fuck me then we can do that…please?”“Do you forgive me?” I teased her. Marla bit her lip and looked away. She was still humping away like a bunny.“No,” she whispered.“You don’t have to,” I murmured. “Condom.” I worked down her body, getting a nice face full of her muff while I blindly sought out my pants, retrieved a line of condoms - I was really shocked to learn that most guys don’t walk around with ten at a time - tore one packet open and slipped it on.I do the 'one handed condom blindfolded’ act a lot - a whole lot. I rocketed back up her body, hooking her left leg as I rammed straight at her womb. Marla howled, first in surprise and pain then in orgasm number two. Marla was missing me far more than I had anticipated. She was so freaking sensitive. As her vibrations died down, I rolled us over so that Marla was on top.“Oh fuck yeah,” she panted. “Better than I remembered.”“Marla, are you okay?” Libra inquired from just out of sight. Marla began her rendition of bull-riding on my lap.“Ah - ah - ah - I’m so wonderful,” Marla laughed. “Thanks for finding Cáel for me. God, I’ve missed this dick.”“I didn’t find him for you, Little Sister,” Libra griped. “He’s my date.” Now I was a date.“Who - who do you - like better - Cáel?” Marla panted. I began strumming her clit.“I’ve never slept with Libra, Marla,” I informed her. I didn’t want to touch the word 'comparison’. If I was that callous, I might miss this chance to fuck Brooke. Libra was a given.That wasn’t my ego talking. If you want to nail an older sister, nail her younger sister. Marla’s antics were simply adding the audio-visual aids to make all of this a foregone conclusion.“Sorry,” Marla kept riding me hard while looking over her shoulder. “I found him first. He’s mine.” I used her distraction to put my other hand on her right nipple and massage it.Marla’s nipples didn’t need much biting, or even sucking. They were lively all on their own.“But you dumped him,” Libra strode into the room. Brooke stood in the door. “So he’s fair game.” Before you insult my masculinity for lying there and being treated like property by three stuck-up babes, do remember I was definitely fucking them all before eleven o'clock tonight.You go be He-man if you like. By soaking up a few irrelevant insults, I was going to exceed 300 fantastic ladies before the Amazons killed me and I was still going to go out like a true male of the species. Better yet -“We are making up,” Marla insisted.“Marla, hold on,” I intervened. “We aren’t here so I can fix things with you.” During the 'make up’ period, take the blame for the failure of the relationship - that leads you to sex, trust me. “Trent turned out to be a total Tool. He dumped Brooke instead of manning up and admitting he’d lied on his application. It’s only a damn job and there thousands out there. What a shmuck.”Balancing act time. I wasn’t one of 'them’ so insulting one of their social class was a dicey endeavor. You counter that with the fact that Trent had behaved like a douche, Brooke wanted the whole damn world to know she was a prize worth fighting for and finally doubling-down on Trent not being a man worthy of her affections. Low and behold, there was a man in front of her willing to prove that Trent wasn’t a real man - me!“I don’t want to have sex with you,” Brooke declared while enthralled with Marla’s buttocks bouncing up and down on my cock, which was visible half the time. Marla tossing her head around in the throes of passion was a nice touch. Between her gyrations, vaginal and clitoral stimulation and her nipple coaxing, Marla let out a soprano high note that damn near ruptured my inner ears.My current paramour collapsed on my chest. Libra came over and sat on the bed, level with my chest. Brooke was now halfway in the room - definitely convinced she wasn’t having sex with me while rubbing her tingling thighs together and certainly not getting wet. (Yeah, right.)“Mmmm,” Marla sighed. “You are the best guy I’ve ever been with, Cáel.”“Why in the hell did I ever screw us up?” I groaned. I knew why. Her aunt was sexy. I was lucky Marla never caught me banging any of the customers/other girlfriends in her shop. I repeat, girls love it when you take the blame. Brooke especially was getting into it. Marla was living proof I was emotionally unhealthy to hang around. To get around that, I had to be a bit of a sap.“Me neither,” Marla kissed my chest.“What did he do?” Libra pressed her sister. At this point, outrage is a good thing. See, this clears the board of any unanswered questions that can be deal-killers later.“He slept with Aunt Jeannine,” Marla kept raining down little kisses on me.“What!” Libra howled. “Why didn’t you say anything before now? Cáel, did you put my aunt down on your little sex survey?” Bringing out the broom.“It was too painful,” Marla started licking up my/our sweat off my chest. She was hiding her pain well.“Yes, I put her down on the application. Honesty is important in any relationship,” I gave Libra sad eyes. Honesty? From me? I can’t recall all the times I’ve looked into a girlfriend’s tearful gaze and said 'No, I’m not seeing anyone else. I only have eyes for you.’ I learned that 'only have eyes for you’ was a nice add-on when I turned 19. Hell, I’ve used those lines on three different girls in one night.What can I say? I wanted to keep having sex with them.“If you were seeing Marla, why did you sleep with Aunt Jeannine?” Libra groaned.“I was bitter, angry and self-destructive,” I 'confessed’. No, I was horny and she was a gorgeous, accessible Milf. Somewhere in the de-clothing process she threw out there that Uncle Whomever might be cheating on her. Worked for me.“Do you regret that now?” Libra asked.“Would you cheat on her again?” Brooke seethed.“I regretted when I hit on Jeannine,” I admitted. “Marla didn’t deserve that.” Marla purred like a cute, happy kitten. “Would I cheat this time?” I let that hang out there.“Yes…yes I would and that’s why I don’t want to give Marla and me another try until I’m a somewhat more reliable lover for her,” I sighed.“But why!” Brooke screamed. She was starting to cry - again.“I’m me, Brooke,” I shrugged. “Not only can I not say 'no’, I can rarely say 'maybe later’.”Humor, blame acceptance (I’m a dog) and yet 'not my fault because slutty girls hit on me’.“How can men be so heartless?” Brooke choked back another sob.“There are good guys out there,” I assured Brooke. Libra edged closer. Brooke moved to the edge of the bed. I reached behind my back, grabbed a pillow and put it on my lap.See, by covering up my crotch I was being considerate of Brooke’s sensibilities, proving, despite EVERY other piece of evidence indicating I was out for sex, I was only here for moral support.“You approached your relationship with honesty and clear intentions. Trent wanted nothing more than to use you to pad his portfolio,” I continued.“Face it, you’re beautiful, smart, cultured and have the best education,” I said. I hadn’t a clue how good Vassar was, or how well Brooke had done there. Also, call attractive women beautiful; they like the boost. Call beautiful women smart; it is not a complement they normally get. “You were the perfect choice.” Brooke was eating it up.“I’m not the perfect choice?” Libra nudged me.“You are from New England, Libra. Trent is from New York and was looking for a Southern girl to make himself look more cosmopolitan,” I appeared deeply serious. That bit was total bullshit. I had no clue about the geopolitics of the top 1%.As far as I knew about Trent, he was already too inbred with all the New York families, so a girl from Virginia was a safe bet for children with the appropriate number of fingers and toes. To be fair, Brooke was better looking than Libra, or Marla, but nothing short of torture would make me say that.“Yeah,” Libra mused, “Trent was always so superficial about that - but never in front of you Brooke,” she added.“I hate that I’m only finding all these horrible things about him now,” Brooke screwed up her face. She sat on the bed, was clearly uncomfortable - with the comforter - and then pushed farther onto the bed until she was next to my strategically placed pillow. Whatever animal I am identified with, the general consensus is that I’m a terribly lucky member of the breed.Marla spotted Brooke’s move and decided that a little bit of demarcation was in order. She snaked a hand und the pillow and began stroking my phallus. Marla was my bed-buddy. We had a history. She was also the youngest and the little sister of one of the other combatants. Rich, pretty, petty girls don’t share well - why should they?The doorbell rang. That would be the liquor store that made home deliveries…I had clearly been living in the wrong part of the world most of my life.“Marla, go get the door,” Libra commanded. “It is a delivery.”“Why?” Marla protested. “I’m the only one naked.” What was I then? Wearing a pillow?“Consider it a tip for the delivery boy,” Libra teased her sister wickedly. “Or, would you rather stay in a hotel tonight?” Marla muttered 'bitch’ as she slipped to the foot of the bed then left. It was time to hasten the undressing process.“I need to go to the bathroom and…clean up,” I told Libra.“Right around the corner,” she smiled. I brushed against Brooke as I left, pillow in place, and limped down the hall. The delivery boy wasn’t a problem. It was a girl, around 160 cm and 44 kg - a little thing with a hand truck and a case of whatever.“Hi,” she waved shyly.I had to wonder why she wasn’t more freaked out about a man wearing a pillow edging out of one room and down the hall. The look I was getting wasn’t your normal reaction. I felt really bad for myself that I’d never get promoted to a lifestyle what would allow this thing to be common place. Wait - my cock had something to say; reality and cranium be damned.“Hey Sexy,” I smiled at her. “When do you get off work?”“Dammit Cáel, I’m standing right here!” Marla snapped. The girl looked from the naked chick who was signing for the order then back to me - the almost naked guy.“Ah…this might not be a good time,” the deliver girl hesitated.“I know this looks bad, but nothing is going on. I have a girl who is a friend and her guy dumped her today so we’re just doing a little commiserating,” I perjured myself.“I didn’t drive like a maniac down here for only one round of sex, Mister,” Marla announced.“Oh - okay then,” she turned to Marla. “I’m sorry about your break up…Ms. Chalmers.”“Ms. Chalmers is my sister,” Marla stared at the girl somewhat impatiently.“Well then, I’m sorry for your sister’s unfortunate romantic entanglement,” the girl backpedaled.“My sister didn’t get dumped. It was her best friend, Brooke,” Marla explained.The service girl looked back at me, somewhat in awe.“How many women do you have back there?” she motioned to the bedroom.“Two,” shouted Libra. “Now give me my tequila. I want to be drunk before I fuck this guy.”“Aaahhh,” Delivery girl looked even more confounded. “Is there a problem?”“Ah, no. I’m simply not in their social class…and I sort took her little sister’s virginity,” I said.“That would be me,” Marla glared at the plebian - the one who wasn’t me.“And her aunt,” I completed.“At the same time?” the girl gasped.“No…” my interest was piqued by that vision though.“No!” yelled Marla. “He’s fucking me - again, and my sister and her best friend tonight. Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” she stared at the working stiff.“You don’t look like the average boy-toy,” D-Girl was clearly taunting Marla now.“I’m not. I’m property of a tribe of Amazons who use me for target practice,” I joked. Oddly enough, it was the truth but I didn’t expect her to believe that. “These are just some chicks I met at a bar - expect for Marla. I met her at college where she schooled me to a whole new level of ecstasy.” That made Marla smug and happy.“You - go,” Marla barked to D-Girl. “Where are you going?” she questioned me.“I need to go to the bathroom,” I told her.“Fine, but don’t go jumping out of the window like you did last time I saw you,” Marla warned me.“Wow…we are on the seventeenth floor,” I sighed. “I really don’t want you to scream and throw books at me yet I think plummeting to my death would still be my primary concern.”“Fine,” D-Girl shrugged. “I’m going.” She rolled her hand-truck to the door. Before Marla could shut it. “Nice to meet you…” Having a rather unique name rocks. I’ve been warned that come Paternity Suit time, it won’t be nearly so cool.“Cáel Nyilas,” I waved good-bye. “N-Y-I-L-A-S.” Marla slammed the door shut then put her back to it.“You are reprehensible,” she gave me the sultriest purr. Yeah, I was a bad, bad boy and those three were going to spank me with their kitties to put me in my place. Life can be thankless, demanding and unrewarding at times…I’m sure that will happen to me eventually. I stumped off to the bathroom, dropped my (unused) rubber in the trash, washed up, didn’t find lube but massage oil would do for tonight and returned to the bedroom.Oh my God! All their clothes had fallen off! What was I to do? Libra was in the middle, Brooke was closest to me, and Marla was unhappily on the far side of Libra. All were resting their upper backs and heads against the headboard. Brooke was drinking 'my’ Scotch, Libra had her tequila, leaving Marla with a Bordeaux.I put the pillow down by the foot of the bed, slipping my oily lubricant underneath the pillow. That was for later. I crawled/pulled myself up the middle. Libra was polite, if not sincere.“Take care of Brooke first,” Libra said.“I’d rather show her some things and let her decide what she likes,” I countered.Yes. I was telling Libra I was going to use her body as a surrogate fuck-toy to amuse her friend and by the look in her eyes, she was all for it.“I really don’t want to have sex right now anyway,” Brooke lied. In sex, only the top lips lie. An un-coaxed vagina glistening with arousal is about as honest a plea for sex there is.I deftly slipped on my next condom before 'tripping’ and landing my chin on Libra’s stomach.“Whoops,” I grinned at her. She gave me a famished look. “Well, since I’m here,” I eyebrow-pumped. My body backed up enough so that I was even with her labia. Keeping eye contact with Libra, I took my first tongue stab - rolling the tongue and penetrating her vagina like a mini-cock. Her lips parted and her chest inhaled deeply.Marla moaned wantonly, inspired by previous encounters with me. I didn’t let myself be distracted. This was Libra’s place, we all where here at her sufferance and Brooke had foisted me on her so now I was 'her’ guy. By girl-logic, that meant she went first and I better let everyone know she was first. All of this ignored me and Marla’s earlier romp of course.Libra was a naughty little slut. She tried to hide her hot spots from me using distractions and deceptions. It took me five minutes to figure out her game. Then I waited for the right moment.“I thought you said this guy was good, Maaaaaaa!!” Libra wailed to Marla. Libra was a clit-nibbler. I took that proffered bit of delicate femininity and made it my bitch.In the first few seconds I had realized Libra was an anal virgin. A few seconds after I ambushed her I decided to do something about that. Brooke being an anal virgin was a no-brainer. Neither woman was 'that’ kind of woman and they’d given Marla a tough time because of it - or so I imagined. I worked a third finger into her snatch. Libra was vocally expressive somewhat similar to her sister…and aunt.When I slipped one finger past her sphincter, Libra whelped then whimpered. She was far too busy building up to her climax to protest. She did tilt her head so that we could make eye contact again. She wanted to form the words to make me stop, but the pleasure robbed her of the necessary concentration.Libra’s fists balled up in the comforter, her head rolled back and she began escalating to her own operatic concerto. Man, I loved these Chalmers’s women and their arias.“What was that?” Brooke shook the amorously frayed Libra.“That was an orgasm,” Marla snickered. “I warned you that Cáel punched all my buttons.”“Libra, have you been faking it all these years?” Brooke gasped.“Mmmm…yeah - I guess I have,” Libra panted. “That was niccccce,” she murmured. “Cáel, do it again.”“No way,” Brooke grabbed my arm. “It is my turn!” So much for not wanting to have sex with me.Libra made a feeble effort to keep me in place. Brooke was insistent. I didn’t let her pull me into her lap, instead falling fully upon her body. She was momentarily put off by the scent of Libra’s cunt juices on my face, but quickly came around. We were kissing and licking each other’s faces in no time.The Scotch was good. I could taste it on her lips and inhaled it with her breath. I slipped into her vagina with minimal effort and no resistance. Trent had been getting the job done in the bedroom. That didn’t stop him from being a dunce and misusing Brooke. Slowly, as I kept easing in and out of her, Brooke began squinting. When she closed her eyes, I decided on what she needed.“What are you doing?” Brooke muttered as I began rolling us onto our sides. She was looking at me once more.“Close your eyes,” I whispered. She squinted again, but didn’t fully close them. When I withdrew my penis from her steamy folds, she stiffened.“I don’t like that,” Brooke insisted while her eyes remained slits.“You don’t want to do what you’ve done - with him, Brooke,” I murmured. “You want to do something new; something that says you’ve moved on.” She bought it. Brooke let me roll her over then pushed up into the classic doggy style position - which she claimed 'not to do’.She was confused when I pushed her hips back down to the bed. I carefully poised my body over hers, balancing on my right leg and both arms. Brooke didn’t know what to make of the first kiss on the back of her head. I wasn’t romantic - I was a dick to be shoved into her a few times to take her mind off of her pain. That was her opinion of me.'Fucks’ didn’t gently kiss you, caress your hair, neck and shoulders with his nose and lips, eliciting amorous noises from the girl they were gratifying. Brooke began radiate peace and contentment as I tenderly lavished attention on her. As a reward, she gave me what I wanted, namely her body plus an unspoken promise of a follow-up encounter.I had Brooke pushing her ass up against me after an indeterminate time. She had transformed from 'in control and basic’ to urging me to 'do what I will’ to her body. As predicted, Brooke was an anal virgin too. I pulled her hips back up then worked my cock in all the way into her vagina until her soaking vulva was pressed against my pelvis. A few careful strokes came next.My slamming hard into her cunt, caught Brooke and the others off-guard. Brooke grunted, started to protest then had her utterance stolen away by the next pile-driving thrust. After that, it was too late. I lost track of the number of Brooke’s orgasms. I didn’t really care. My goal was the fuck the Trent right out of her.The first time Libra attempted to intervene and save her friend, my fierce glower turned her back. The second time, Marla kept her from yanking on my arm. When I finally shot off, Brooke was past caring. I lowered us back down to the bed and began showering her with kisses again. She was making contented little moans then twisted her head around, requesting a bit of lip action.“Happy,” Brooke sighed dreamily.“I can tell,” Libra was a bit peeved.“Trent who?” Brooke giggled. Mission success! Oh, she’d be a few decades despising the bastard yet I had given her a far more passionate experience to balance out the pain and emptiness that had been inflicted on her.Women, don’t thank me. Thank my mentor, Kimberly, who taught me that a penis without experience and imagination was like a car without tires, or gas. It might attract attention, but then what do you do with the damn thing?“Come home with me, Cáel,” Brooke said between tongue tussles.“Brooke, I have a job, I need to be back at eleven tonight, and we do have some company, remember?” I reminded her - of the two ladies right next to us on the bed.“Me next,” Marla beamed.“I’m not a carnival ride,” I grumbled. I was. Fessing up wouldn’t help me negotiate later.“How about you three let me get cleaned up then, Marla, I want your ass again. I’ve really missed the way it turned you on,” I grinned seductively at the youngest woman. I wanted to have anal sex with all three. Brooke’s libido was too steamed up to hold out for long. Libra wanted more sex yet wouldn’t let me near her precious Heine until she saw Marla get all torn up.I confess I was strongly motivated by a desire to simply fuck those two up the ass because they were stuck-up bitches who looked down on me. I’m not perfect by any stretch of the imagination and I use sex appeal to get what I want - namely sex. I got out of bed, kissed Brooke on each buttocks then limped away to wash off.When I came back they were in a furtive discussion.“We’ve decided I’ll go next,” Libra purred.“Oh,” I stopped. “I’ll get dressed and be on my way now. Marla, I have my own apartment plus a place at corporate we can crash.”“Wait,” Libra sat up, caught between outrage and need. “What’s wrong with me?”“You are perfectly scrumptious, but there is a fundamental misunderstanding of why I am here,” I lectured them. Now to throw out a curveball. “I’m here for Brooke. She was the one betrayed by my co-worker. She didn’t deserve any part of that.”“If this is how you two (Marla and Libra) want to treat me, I’m gone. Brooke can find me if she wants me. Marla and I have a history, so I owe her - thus the invite. Libra, I like you, but I have to have my priorities before I think of myself and what I might want,” I explained. I was lying. Had it only been Libra and me, I’d have been nailing her until 10:45.If it was just Marla - ditto. Brooke - ditto again. The emotional dynamics became a little more complicated when it came to any two of them, but my stance would be the same. I was the guy. I stuck my dick in. If I didn’t get the sex I wanted, I would leave. If I pushed them too hard, they wouldn’t hesitate to show me the door. No one surrendered their decision making ability.They were still submitting to my lustful desires. Pointing that out would have not helped me achieve my objectives - namely the utilization of every condom in my stockpile.“Thank you, Cáel,” Brooke smiled at me with something akin to fondness. “Please stay.”“If you really want to have sex with Marla, I’ll understand,” Libra conceded.Before I even had a knee on the bed, Marla squealed happily and presented her ass for fucking. If the other two had any suspicions about the massage oil suddenly appearing in my hand, they kept their questions to themselves. Anal sex was nasty, dirty and degrading - something only 'those’ kinds of girls did. They had never experienced it.Had their boyfriends ever had a on a porno with anal sex, they would have yelled at their guys and made them cut it off. No one told Marla this. By the time one of the other girls in her social circle brought this up, all she could do was nod and keep her erotic achievements to herself.“Damn Marla,” I teased. “Have you not let anyone else back here since we were last together?”“I find it awkward to ask,” Marla whimpered as I worked my first finger deep inside. “Aaahhh - this only reminds me more of how much I’ve missed you.”“Try not to make me cum before I’m ready,” I begged Marla - points for me all around. The only thing a woman wants more than to control her partner’s orgasm is an orgasm of her own.“Ah - ah - ah, I’ll try,” Marla gasp-giggled. No, she was going to work my cock over with her rectal muscles with every trick she could recall.“That doesn’t look comfortable,” Brooke commented as I began working my second digit into Marla’s butthole. She had actually half-crawled over Libra to get a better view.I was about to develop an awkward moment of helplessness. I winced. Brooke caught it.“Are you okay?” Brooke touched my right forearm. The one that was pumping two fingers into Marla’s ass.“Um,” I sounded embarrassed. “My leg is killing me…I can’t…um…it is embarrassing.”“What is it?” Brooke insisted.“I need…ah…to coat my cock with massage oil so I can penetrate Marla the moment she’s ready,” I gulped. Totally false. There is no 'Golden Second’ for anal dicking. I could easily lube up my dick then penetrate Marla, but I selfishly wanted to get Brooke involved in some kinkiness.“Ah, okay,” Brooke acquiesced immediately. She doled out three squirts of oil into her palm then began coating my condom-covered tool. Her placing her face only centimeters away while she worked my to
Oh My God! All their clothes vanished. What was I to do?By FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the podcast at Steamy Stories.Living every moment like it is your last is less attractive tomorrow.(Still Wednesday)Katrina had left for wherever she snuck off to - I suggested to Aya it was a game room, Aya suggested it was as torture chamber - only to return when the next turn of the screws came. I was informed I had a visitor coming up by the name of Libra Chalmers plus a guest. Quickly enough they appeared. The guest turned out to be Brooke Lee.“Who are these two?” Aya glibly spoke as the two Vassar girls walked into the room.“Hello Libra,” I greeted my almost date from last night. “Hello Ms. Lee,” I said to Brooke.“It’s Brooke,” Brooke smiled at me - she was hungry and scenting around for something remarkably like me.“I’m happy to see you - oh - this is my guardian and protector, Aya Ruger,” I made the introductions. “No lie, Aya has been keeping up with my workload while I’ve been on ‘light’ duty. Aya, this is Libra Chalmers and Brooke Lee, both from Vassar College. Brooke is Trent’s friend and Libra had mercy on me Tuesday night and kept me from being a 'fifth’ wheel.”“I’m actually Trent’s fiancé,” Brooke corrected.“Fascinating,” I lied. Oh fuck, that was NOT good.“Cool. I’m happy to see the both of you, but what brings you to my office today?” I continued.“Well, I showed up to ask for Trent and Libra asked for you,” Brooke gave a sly smile.“The thing was,” Libra picked up the tale, “they were looking up Trent, but the front desk knew exactly who and where you were - so we came here first.” My mind was busily working out how to pull Aya aside to give her a friendly warning when Katrina waltzed in.“Ladies, this is my boss, Katrina Love, Head of Executive Services for Havenstone,” I plastered a smile on my face.“Katrina, this is Brooke Lee and Libra Chalmers. I met them Tuesday night,” I kept things simple. Doom was impatient.“Brooke is Trent’s fiancé,” Aya chimed in gleefully. She wasn’t being malicious. She just didn’t know any better. Katrina had been in the process of giving some congenial nods.She stopped and turned on a dime. Damn it.“Really?” Katrina’s interest was piqued.“Yes,” Brooke beamed. She brandished her engagement ring in Katrina’s face. Better yet, Katrina 'ooh'ed and 'aah'ed then spun on me.“Cáel, I didn’t know Trent was engaged,” Katrina pierced me with those lethal ocular devices.“Yeah, I bet you didn’t,” I groaned. “I only found out a moment ago.” Trent had lied on his dating survey - slash application to Havenstone. They kinda/sorta made damn sure we had no external female attachments. It meant less bodies to dispose of if things went wrong.I couldn’t understand how they missed it then a curious custom/lifeline reared its ugly head.“Brooke, that’s your 'promise’ ring, right?” I probed. “I’m sure Trent would get you a bigger rock for the actual engagement.”“Yes,” Brooke confirmed. “We’ve decided to make the official engagement when our families take the Christmas Holiday at Hilton Head.”How could I express to Brooke that Christmas with Trent at Hilton Head was a rapidly vanishing dream? Katrina resumed her stroll to her desk.“Katrina,” I started my appeal. My argument was going to be that 'promise’ rings didn’t really count even though I knew her omission on his survey/application was bad enough already. Brian was different. If he chose to 'follow his career’, she’d shed the prerequisite 17 tears and happily get on with her life. Girls like Brooke came looking and that wouldn’t do.“No,” Katrina didn’t even turn around. When she got to her desk, the phone calls began. Brooke was starting to realize something had happened. I gained a level of importance that extended beyond my bedroom sexpertise.“Cáel, is something wrong?” Libra took my hand in hers.“Trent may have neglected to mention some things during his job interview,” I explained.“Like?” Libra was getting concerned.“Like the existence of Brooke,” I answered. See, if Trent had written down his acquaintance to Brooke, Havenstone would have investigated her in the same way they investigated my mentor, Dr. Kimberly Geisler. She had admitted to the length, depth and termination of our affair.The issue of her teaching me anything besides sex had never come up.“What?” Brooke grew indignant. Not with Trent, but with me. See, I was still a peon in her eyes and casting dispersions on her guy, who she knew and trusted.“Brooke,” I sighed, “did any Havenstone personnel talk to you about Trent?”“No,” she admitted.“Every single woman I was ever with was questioned about me and my relationship to them,” I explained. “Trust me; that was a really long list.” Libra had the answer to that confusion. She pulled out her phone and got a busy signal - that would be Havenstone’ now-active jamming devices.“What’s the number?” I asked Libra. She was momentarily annoyed - then suspicion kicked in. She gave me the number. Caller ID indicated it was Marla, Libra’s sister. I gave the phone up.“Marla,” Libra began, “did anyone from Havenstone Commercial Investments ever talk to you about Cáel?”“Ummm, is he in trouble because of what I said?” Marla asked.“What did you say?” Libra eyed me.“I said he was a total asshole who broke my heart and given the opportunity I wouldn’t mind watching he die a painful death,” she confessed. “Only later did I realize I missed him and felt sorry about what I said.”“Do you know if they talked to any of his other former girlfriends?” Libra inquired.“I am absolutely sure they talked to at least one other person,” Marla mumbled. Her Aunt.“Who? I need to talk to them,” Libra continued.“That wouldn’t be wise,” Marla responded. “Suffice it to say they didn’t give a glowing review either.” Libra hung up and gave me back my phone.“Cáel, do you have a problem with women?” Brooke glowered at me.“Yes, there are so many of them,” I shrugged. “That seems to be my main issue.”“Cáel, how many women have you been with?” Libra mused.“Around 200,” I acceded.“200! Holy Shit!” Libra gasped. Out of the blue,“Of those, how many have dumped you for cheating only to come back to you later?” Katrina postulated.“Around 40,” I recalled.“That’s my Daddy!” Aya crowed proudly.“What?” Brooke boggled.“Not what you think!” I insisted. “Not what you think!”“Aya is my niece,” Katrina explained. “Cáel is not her biological father. He is her friend, paternal guide and guardian.”“Aya and I are in negotiations about me eventually marrying her mother, but I have assured her that is years and years off,” I added.“Cáel is not my real Daddy,” Aya clarified. “He lets me pretend that he is.”“Besides Cáel, does that 200 include the past month?” Katrina diverted the conversation.“Well…200 as in closer to 200 than 300,” I grinned weakly.“How did you graduate?” Libra followed along.“I have a lot of stamina,” I pointed out. Tessa Carmichael glided into the room.“Brooke Lee?” she greeted the not-here-for-me girl.“Yes? Do I know you?” Brooke was getting nervous and snippy.“I’m Tessa Carmichael, Director of Human Resources for Havenstone. I handled the final interview process for Trent Grant,” she smiled with deceptive warmth. She was furious. I could tell, having a long history with women in such moods.“Is that Lee - L-E-E?” Tessa continued.“Yes, what is this about?” Brooke persisted.“You and Mr. Grant are in a long term relationship?” Tessa asked next.“Answer my question,” Brooke snapped. Thankfully Tessa wasn’t Elsa.“Trent lied on both his initial application and then twice in the interview process,” Tessa relayed calmly.“About dating me?” Brooke was confused.“We will explain in a moment,” Tessa smiled and patted Brooke on the upper arm.Brooke and Libra were more poised than I believed was warranted. Suddenly, I peeled back eleven days of experience and realized they assumed that Aya’s presence was some sort of armor against violence. Whoops. Olympia Shore entered the room followed by Trent. Bright yet careless, he immediately clued in on the crisis.“Brooke…” Trent mumbled. Olympia shut the door once Trent was too far inside to run.“Trent, what is going on? They say you didn’t list me as an acquaintance and somehow that’s important,” Brooke grumbled.“I - um - I can explain,” Trent was addressing…the room?“Be at peace, Trent,” Tessa took over. This was her job and her fuck-up. “We only need your assurance that your relationship with Ms. Lee was terminated before you signed your contract with Havenstone Commercial Investments.” Trent was looking for the right answer that would make everyone happy, but there wasn’t one.Had he warned me yesterday that Brooke was his lady, I could have warned Brooke to NEVER come here. Trent hadn’t done that because it would have necessitated him explaining to Brooke that he had denied her existence in order to get a cushy job. Trent had deluded himself into thinking he could have it both ways, probably because lying had always worked before.“I think there has been a misunderstanding,” Trent began. The most important thing in the world to Trent was Trent and he could outfox these backwoods feminists. “I am willing to submit my resignation immediately over this unfortunate mistake.” That was a feint. Sadly, the important ladies had zero faith in his words and had already decided his fate. Moron.“All we need is for you to verify your relationship, Trent,” Tessa remained congenial.“I said I will quit,” Trent asserted. Trent was probably curious why his concession wasn’t working the way he’d planned.“It is not that simple,” Tessa sighed. “You see, when you submitted your final work contract, numerous people co-signed your accounting of events. These people will now be subject to severe criminal, financial and civil penalties.”“What?” Trent gulped. “What do you mean?”“Trent, we gave you a substantial signing bonus plus benefits and salary. Those people who verified your application are liable for fraud. That would be two of your professors, the Dean of the School of Economics at Carnegie-Mellon, your father, uncle, both the current and previous fraternity presidents and a State Senator.”“You can’t…that won’t fly. My family and those organizations have lawyers and they’ll fight this in the courts for years,” Trent rallied.“Because they all want fraud cases hanging over their heads,” Tessa looked at Trent as if he was an unruly schoolboy. “You, of all people, should appreciate how aggressive our Financial Investigative department can be.”“They are going to crawl over all the finances of everyone who we bring suit against. It will be a very public fight that we will gladly bring to the press. Professors will lose their jobs, election campaigns opened to public scrutiny and your personal banking - and everyone they have financial ties to - will be equally targeted.”“If you want, your termination papers are on the way. We have already contacted Legal, who are preparing briefs to file with the District, State and Federal Courts,” Katrina simmered.“Trent,” Tessa closed in for the kill, “if you state to us here and now that you are not now in, or plan to pursue a relationship with Ms. Brooke Lee, we can keep this indiscretion in-house.”That was the crux of the matter. At this point Felix and I would have fallen on our swords, admitted to the lie and stood by the lady. Felix was an asshole, but he was a 'face the world on his own terms’ asshole. I admired that about him. Brian and Khalid would have evaded, leaving Brooke to swing in the breeze, because that was the kind of men they were - they had a Life Plan and no silly emotional attachment was going to slow them down.Trent proved to be the latter type of 'man’.“I decided to not continue a romantic entanglement with Brooke some time ago,” he blatantly lied. The sharks in the room nodded politely. Brooke’s mouth opened in outrage. Libra was rallying to Brooke and I was rallying to them both.“Look, it is a 'promise ring’, not an engagement ring,” Trent created excuses. My arm wrapped around Brooke constricted painfully enough to distract her from Trent’s cowardice so she focused on me.“Wait,” I whispered. “Please wait.” My eyes must have projected my warning of caution.“So,” Tessa nodded sagely. “Your romantic relationship with Ms. Lee ended some time ago - say a year - and you were so past the relationship you forgot to include it on your list critically important people to be interviewed; the list you created and your sponsors signed off on.” Run, Trent! Sense the trap and make a break for the door. Go down swinging like a man!“Yes,” Trent gratefully agreed. Chicken-shit. What mattered here was Trent, followed distantly by Trent’s family name, buddies and academic mentors. I was willing to bet it was facing his family’s disappointment was the deciding factor for Khalid. Sure, he had an ego. We all did, but Khalid was equally proud of his parentage and racial background.He’d even had an ancestor in the 54th Massachusetts regiment in the Civil War. His ego had gotten him in trouble and he’d taken responsibility. Poor bastard. The girl was irrelevant. He’d have gladly bought his way out of the trouble if he could. Havenstone knew his weaknesses and dialed up the pressure until he acquiesced.“Trent!” Brooke squawked. Trent got points for hutzpah.“Brooke,” he patiently regarded his discarded baggage, “it has been over for some time. College is over and I let you know we had to move on. Please, it is time for you to let go.” Brooke’s mouth fell open and a tear streaked down her eye.“So Trent, Ms. Brooke Lee’s absence was more a matter of a well-established emotional detachment, not a personal oversight. We believe you,” Olympia agreed.“That would be correct,” Trent jumped on the life preserver offered by his boss.“I disagree,” Katrina stood up angrily. Nice acting. I would have believed it if I hadn’t already figured out the script.“Katrina, Trent is an indispensable member of MY team and his progression is something I am paying close attention to,” Olympia protected her body-shaped sperm dispenser.“No,” Tessa joined the attack.“I’ll take responsibility for this,” Olympia challenged her associates. “I’ll have Trent relocated to our East Asian section so he’ll no longer be a worry for you two.”They even used the word 'relocate’ and Trent was still grinning like a Christmas Elf on the 26th of December. Idiot.“Trent, how about we get you out of this poisonous atmosphere for a year, or two, and move you to a place where you can shine?” Olympia asked her victim.“That would be great, Olympia,” Trent’s relief came through. Cowardly, selfish shmuck.“Well, this meeting is over,” Olympia declared. She took Trent by the arm and led him out of Katrina’s office. I resisted the impulse to request Trent tell Khalid 'hello’ for me. Brooke turned to Libra, leaned into her and started sobbing.Why all the drama? Now Brooke and Libra, outsiders and long term associates of the vanished, could testify that Trent WILLINGLY threw himself off the face of the Earth. Khalid’s relocation might someday be a problem. No one would come looking for Trent after Brooke and Libra got done with him socially - and it was all self-inflicted, the ignoramus.It was all about loyalty here at Havenstone. My steadfast loyalty to Katrina, paid for in blood, was why I was still running around with the knowledge I possessed. For all my numerous, obvious flaws, there was a sliver of my personality they could identify with. Stepping in front of Leona wasn’t solely a matter of bravery.They acknowledged I was brave for doing it, yet the factor that mattered to them was that my bravery’s source was my loyalty to Katrina and her house. No one assumed I was suicidal - there was confidence that Tessa and Katrina would have screened for that, even though the majority of the Amazons didn’t like what they were doing.Khalid had let his balls outweigh his reason. Trent hadn’t shown physical cowardice; he was probably martially proficient. His flaw was a weakness of character. He saw every organization as nothing more than a vehicle for his personal advancement. In the rest of corporate civilization, that wasn’t so bad, but he wasn’t in the sane, morally-compromising, big business world.He was in Havenstone. They tossed a truckload of money his way, lured him away from other promising offers to reel him - all of us - in. They expected honesty (from us lowly males), loyalty to their company and devotion to their cause even though they had no intention of telling us what it was for some time. Fair - it wasn’t.“Katrina?” I got my boss’s attention.“Take the rest of the day off, Cáel,” Katrina responded. “Aya, you will be staying with me tonight. Cáel you need to be at Medical 11:00 pm.”“Thanks Katrina,” I nodded her way. I retrieved my crutches, gave Aya a kiss on the top of her head, another on her forehead, sealed with her hug.By the time we reached the elevator, Brooke was transforming from shell-shocked to righteously pissed. HE (whose name it wasn’t safe to mention) had the temerity to dump HER. She was going to socially BBQ his ass with the hidden benefit that ole Trent was about to be incommunicado for the next few months.“Cáel, what just happened?” Libra asked softly. “Who do you really work for?” Suddenly that little 'corporate confidentiality’ discussion I had with Trent had a new, sinister implication.“That bastard dumped me in front of a bunch of strangers!” Brooke seethed. If there was any doubt, I am a bastard too.“It was worse than that,” I consoled Brooke. “He lied about your intimacy so he could get this job.” I didn’t bring up the crap I went through because I didn’t matter in her world.“Did you lie about anything?” Libra asked.“I didn’t describe any of my relationships, but I did list everyone I had contact with,” I answered.“Why would they do something so bizarre?” Libra hugged Brooke.“I haven’t seen inside the minds of Human Resources, yet I get the feeling that Havenstone is a very closed system. Personal loyalty, honesty and accountability all rate highly with them. Havenstone doesn’t worry about personal embarrassment. The only people who are going to know are their staff and they don’t use such things in inter-office politics,” I explained.“How did you get a job here anyway?” Brooke snapped. She meant was, how did a knuckle-dragger like me get the same business opportunity as Brian, Felix, Khalid and Trent? She was lashing out in anger at the closest male - my background and name were irrelevant. I had nailed girls like this all the time. Anger leads to poor decision making which leads to her hectic hunt for her clothes in my domicile sometime after us having sex.“I proved to be just as good, if not better, than every other candidate,” I glared right back. Brooke didn’t want me apologetic, joking, or silent. She wanted me to be a strong, solid and unyielding. Why? Trent had just shattered the bedrock of her future and she was desperately seeking any foundation to set down on. It could be temporary, but had to be quick.“I don’t see how that is possible,” Brooke glared. Brooke was used to being pampered and catered to. It was her birthright.“That’s the difference between you and me, Brooke,” I met her stare. By Brooke, I meant Trent and we both knew it.“I have fought for everything I’ve earned and if I’ve learned anything it is to appreciate my good fortune.” Meaning women. The supposition was that I would never have undervalued, or abandoned, a woman as wonderful and complete as Brooke. I could see the mathematical calculations going on behind Brooke’s eyes.She was working out how many drinks she’d have to take before she could justify to the rest of the world she was drunk when I fucked her…while she got to full enjoy the experience. Oh…was I with Libra? Not only can guys not trust me with their girlfriends, girlfriends can’t trust their girl friends around me either.I’ve had girlfriend’s roommates invite me over to rendezvous with my girl only to discover my girl was busy…but the roommate wasn’t. Maybe I’m not a pig. Maybe I’m an amoeba - thoughtless and all-devouring.“Let’s go out for some drinks,” Libra suggested. Oh, I was having a three-way. Wait!“Maybe you could call Marla?” I looked to Libra. “Honestly, I don’t know either of you that well and she could help fill in some of the gaps?” Translation: Can we please make this a four-way?“Good idea,” Libra blushed slightly. Yay me! It turned out that Marla could be with us in an hour.The bar scene was dead - it wasn’t even five pm yet - so Libra put in an order for some liquor from a delivery service - huh? Libra asked me what I wanted to drink. I said I only drank moonshine, or, if that wasn’t available, turpentine. She promised me some aged Scotch. Libra and I sat patiently in the taxi ride to Libra’s place as Brooke bitched endlessly.I think what impressed Libra the most was my ability to engage Brooke successfully while she spat venom over the entire spectrum of all things 'Trent’. Men, college, Carnegie-Mellon, fraternities…Brooke heatedly ask if I was a frat-boy. I inquired if Beer Drinking Clubs counted and she chuckled. She jumped right back to the 'bitchy’, but we’d crested the wave.We three were working through the uncertain status of who would/should do what to who as we sat around Libra’s apartment. Added to that was Libra and Brooke using every tentacle of social media to castrate and castigate Trent. Trent made some half-assed counterattacks (he was on his way to the airport), his 'bros’ rallied to his cause, Brooke’s sorority rallied to hers, and billions of electrons died for no real purpose except to feed two people’s impassioned egos.“Cáel, could you get the door?” Libra requested. Since the two ladies were going full-blown agro on their phones and I was merely crippled, I hobbled to the door of Libra’s posh crib. It was Marla. I opened the door and her eyes rounded in surprise.“Cáel,” she mumbled. Her eyes flicked down, took in my bulge, my limp then followed me inside.“Is the leg - okay?” Marla asked. Libra waved while she kept talking. Brooke didn’t even do that much. I doubted Marla wanted an in-depth medical report.“It’s strong enough,” I grinned hungrily. That’s what she wanted to know.“Good,” she exhaled happily. She dropped her bag, leapt on me, her legs wrapping around my waist, her arms linked behind my head and her tongue darted into my mouth to play with mine.I staggered back while my hands cupped each of Marla’s jean-clad ass cheeks and began to knead them. Her crotch throbbed against my hard-on. Marla was quickly making these precious little throttled moaning noises heralding her sexual need. I was peripherally aware of the conversation in the room dying down.“I want to fuck,” Marla panted. Misinterpreting that was nearly impossible. Cleverly, I had done an earlier reconnaissance, spotted the bedroom while pretending to look for the bathroom. There was also a nice sofa in the entertainment room, just in case, plus the kitchen counter was at a fuckable level. I turned and limped to Libra’s bedroom carrying an encircling Marla.Since I wanted to fuck all three, I didn’t bother kicking the door shut. Erotic sound effects were fine. Leaving the door open was a magnet to their voyeuristic carnality. Soaking up Marla undressing was a cornucopia of information too. She wanted aggressive coitus, was soaking wet from masturbating on the drive down, and was expecting my ultimate effort.This was a combination of 'I’m lonely and it is your fault’ sex and 'make-up’ sex. I stole a glance at Libra’s bedside clock. Marla jumped backwards onto the middle of the king-sized bed. I pursued her as rapidly as my wound would allow. This didn’t even take a Year One effort from me. I pushed her down, she kissed the hell out of me, hands grasping my ears, and I sent my fingers after her pussy.My two fingers had trouble in their penetration - she’d been abstaining from sex for a while. I managed to scoop out some juices and rub them all over her clitoris. I really do have a gift for memorizing the sexual details of every woman I’ve encountered. It is a real pity there isn’t a Nobel Prize for that. There should be.At 58 seconds, Marla howled. She always had good lungs. I followed that up by pushing her arms over her head while she was still coming down from her climax. I rained down butterfly kisses on her triceps, just how she liked it. She was humping up against me and whining piteously as I kept working her over.“Cáel,” she moaned. “Fuck me, fuck me, I’ve missed you so much.” What can I say? A buddy once suggested that if I was less exciting in the bedroom, my ex’s might not hurt me so much. I laughed and asked him 'that wouldn’t be nearly as much fun now would it?’ I’m an idiot. Wait, let’s change it up - I am a passionate masochist.“Not yet, Marla,” I kissed her.“No,” she wailed. “Fuck me then we can do that…please?”“Do you forgive me?” I teased her. Marla bit her lip and looked away. She was still humping away like a bunny.“No,” she whispered.“You don’t have to,” I murmured. “Condom.” I worked down her body, getting a nice face full of her muff while I blindly sought out my pants, retrieved a line of condoms - I was really shocked to learn that most guys don’t walk around with ten at a time - tore one packet open and slipped it on.I do the 'one handed condom blindfolded’ act a lot - a whole lot. I rocketed back up her body, hooking her left leg as I rammed straight at her womb. Marla howled, first in surprise and pain then in orgasm number two. Marla was missing me far more than I had anticipated. She was so freaking sensitive. As her vibrations died down, I rolled us over so that Marla was on top.“Oh fuck yeah,” she panted. “Better than I remembered.”“Marla, are you okay?” Libra inquired from just out of sight. Marla began her rendition of bull-riding on my lap.“Ah - ah - ah - I’m so wonderful,” Marla laughed. “Thanks for finding Cáel for me. God, I’ve missed this dick.”“I didn’t find him for you, Little Sister,” Libra griped. “He’s my date.” Now I was a date.“Who - who do you - like better - Cáel?” Marla panted. I began strumming her clit.“I’ve never slept with Libra, Marla,” I informed her. I didn’t want to touch the word 'comparison’. If I was that callous, I might miss this chance to fuck Brooke. Libra was a given.That wasn’t my ego talking. If you want to nail an older sister, nail her younger sister. Marla’s antics were simply adding the audio-visual aids to make all of this a foregone conclusion.“Sorry,” Marla kept riding me hard while looking over her shoulder. “I found him first. He’s mine.” I used her distraction to put my other hand on her right nipple and massage it.Marla’s nipples didn’t need much biting, or even sucking. They were lively all on their own.“But you dumped him,” Libra strode into the room. Brooke stood in the door. “So he’s fair game.” Before you insult my masculinity for lying there and being treated like property by three stuck-up babes, do remember I was definitely fucking them all before eleven o'clock tonight.You go be He-man if you like. By soaking up a few irrelevant insults, I was going to exceed 300 fantastic ladies before the Amazons killed me and I was still going to go out like a true male of the species. Better yet -“We are making up,” Marla insisted.“Marla, hold on,” I intervened. “We aren’t here so I can fix things with you.” During the 'make up’ period, take the blame for the failure of the relationship - that leads you to sex, trust me. “Trent turned out to be a total Tool. He dumped Brooke instead of manning up and admitting he’d lied on his application. It’s only a damn job and there thousands out there. What a shmuck.”Balancing act time. I wasn’t one of 'them’ so insulting one of their social class was a dicey endeavor. You counter that with the fact that Trent had behaved like a douche, Brooke wanted the whole damn world to know she was a prize worth fighting for and finally doubling-down on Trent not being a man worthy of her affections. Low and behold, there was a man in front of her willing to prove that Trent wasn’t a real man - me!“I don’t want to have sex with you,” Brooke declared while enthralled with Marla’s buttocks bouncing up and down on my cock, which was visible half the time. Marla tossing her head around in the throes of passion was a nice touch. Between her gyrations, vaginal and clitoral stimulation and her nipple coaxing, Marla let out a soprano high note that damn near ruptured my inner ears.My current paramour collapsed on my chest. Libra came over and sat on the bed, level with my chest. Brooke was now halfway in the room - definitely convinced she wasn’t having sex with me while rubbing her tingling thighs together and certainly not getting wet. (Yeah, right.)“Mmmm,” Marla sighed. “You are the best guy I’ve ever been with, Cáel.”“Why in the hell did I ever screw us up?” I groaned. I knew why. Her aunt was sexy. I was lucky Marla never caught me banging any of the customers/other girlfriends in her shop. I repeat, girls love it when you take the blame. Brooke especially was getting into it. Marla was living proof I was emotionally unhealthy to hang around. To get around that, I had to be a bit of a sap.“Me neither,” Marla kissed my chest.“What did he do?” Libra pressed her sister. At this point, outrage is a good thing. See, this clears the board of any unanswered questions that can be deal-killers later.“He slept with Aunt Jeannine,” Marla kept raining down little kisses on me.“What!” Libra howled. “Why didn’t you say anything before now? Cáel, did you put my aunt down on your little sex survey?” Bringing out the broom.“It was too painful,” Marla started licking up my/our sweat off my chest. She was hiding her pain well.“Yes, I put her down on the application. Honesty is important in any relationship,” I gave Libra sad eyes. Honesty? From me? I can’t recall all the times I’ve looked into a girlfriend’s tearful gaze and said 'No, I’m not seeing anyone else. I only have eyes for you.’ I learned that 'only have eyes for you’ was a nice add-on when I turned 19. Hell, I’ve used those lines on three different girls in one night.What can I say? I wanted to keep having sex with them.“If you were seeing Marla, why did you sleep with Aunt Jeannine?” Libra groaned.“I was bitter, angry and self-destructive,” I 'confessed’. No, I was horny and she was a gorgeous, accessible Milf. Somewhere in the de-clothing process she threw out there that Uncle Whomever might be cheating on her. Worked for me.“Do you regret that now?” Libra asked.“Would you cheat on her again?” Brooke seethed.“I regretted when I hit on Jeannine,” I admitted. “Marla didn’t deserve that.” Marla purred like a cute, happy kitten. “Would I cheat this time?” I let that hang out there.“Yes…yes I would and that’s why I don’t want to give Marla and me another try until I’m a somewhat more reliable lover for her,” I sighed.“But why!” Brooke screamed. She was starting to cry - again.“I’m me, Brooke,” I shrugged. “Not only can I not say 'no’, I can rarely say 'maybe later’.”Humor, blame acceptance (I’m a dog) and yet 'not my fault because slutty girls hit on me’.“How can men be so heartless?” Brooke choked back another sob.“There are good guys out there,” I assured Brooke. Libra edged closer. Brooke moved to the edge of the bed. I reached behind my back, grabbed a pillow and put it on my lap.See, by covering up my crotch I was being considerate of Brooke’s sensibilities, proving, despite EVERY other piece of evidence indicating I was out for sex, I was only here for moral support.“You approached your relationship with honesty and clear intentions. Trent wanted nothing more than to use you to pad his portfolio,” I continued.“Face it, you’re beautiful, smart, cultured and have the best education,” I said. I hadn’t a clue how good Vassar was, or how well Brooke had done there. Also, call attractive women beautiful; they like the boost. Call beautiful women smart; it is not a complement they normally get. “You were the perfect choice.” Brooke was eating it up.“I’m not the perfect choice?” Libra nudged me.“You are from New England, Libra. Trent is from New York and was looking for a Southern girl to make himself look more cosmopolitan,” I appeared deeply serious. That bit was total bullshit. I had no clue about the geopolitics of the top 1%.As far as I knew about Trent, he was already too inbred with all the New York families, so a girl from Virginia was a safe bet for children with the appropriate number of fingers and toes. To be fair, Brooke was better looking than Libra, or Marla, but nothing short of torture would make me say that.“Yeah,” Libra mused, “Trent was always so superficial about that - but never in front of you Brooke,” she added.“I hate that I’m only finding all these horrible things about him now,” Brooke screwed up her face. She sat on the bed, was clearly uncomfortable - with the comforter - and then pushed farther onto the bed until she was next to my strategically placed pillow. Whatever animal I am identified with, the general consensus is that I’m a terribly lucky member of the breed.Marla spotted Brooke’s move and decided that a little bit of demarcation was in order. She snaked a hand und the pillow and began stroking my phallus. Marla was my bed-buddy. We had a history. She was also the youngest and the little sister of one of the other combatants. Rich, pretty, petty girls don’t share well - why should they?The doorbell rang. That would be the liquor store that made home deliveries…I had clearly been living in the wrong part of the world most of my life.“Marla, go get the door,” Libra commanded. “It is a delivery.”“Why?” Marla protested. “I’m the only one naked.” What was I then? Wearing a pillow?“Consider it a tip for the delivery boy,” Libra teased her sister wickedly. “Or, would you rather stay in a hotel tonight?” Marla muttered 'bitch’ as she slipped to the foot of the bed then left. It was time to hasten the undressing process.“I need to go to the bathroom and…clean up,” I told Libra.“Right around the corner,” she smiled. I brushed against Brooke as I left, pillow in place, and limped down the hall. The delivery boy wasn’t a problem. It was a girl, around 160 cm and 44 kg - a little thing with a hand truck and a case of whatever.“Hi,” she waved shyly.I had to wonder why she wasn’t more freaked out about a man wearing a pillow edging out of one room and down the hall. The look I was getting wasn’t your normal reaction. I felt really bad for myself that I’d never get promoted to a lifestyle what would allow this thing to be common place. Wait - my cock had something to say; reality and cranium be damned.“Hey Sexy,” I smiled at her. “When do you get off work?”“Dammit Cáel, I’m standing right here!” Marla snapped. The girl looked from the naked chick who was signing for the order then back to me - the almost naked guy.“Ah…this might not be a good time,” the deliver girl hesitated.“I know this looks bad, but nothing is going on. I have a girl who is a friend and her guy dumped her today so we’re just doing a little commiserating,” I perjured myself.“I didn’t drive like a maniac down here for only one round of sex, Mister,” Marla announced.“Oh - okay then,” she turned to Marla. “I’m sorry about your break up…Ms. Chalmers.”“Ms. Chalmers is my sister,” Marla stared at the girl somewhat impatiently.“Well then, I’m sorry for your sister’s unfortunate romantic entanglement,” the girl backpedaled.“My sister didn’t get dumped. It was her best friend, Brooke,” Marla explained.The service girl looked back at me, somewhat in awe.“How many women do you have back there?” she motioned to the bedroom.“Two,” shouted Libra. “Now give me my tequila. I want to be drunk before I fuck this guy.”“Aaahhh,” Delivery girl looked even more confounded. “Is there a problem?”“Ah, no. I’m simply not in their social class…and I sort took her little sister’s virginity,” I said.“That would be me,” Marla glared at the plebian - the one who wasn’t me.“And her aunt,” I completed.“At the same time?” the girl gasped.“No…” my interest was piqued by that vision though.“No!” yelled Marla. “He’s fucking me - again, and my sister and her best friend tonight. Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” she stared at the working stiff.“You don’t look like the average boy-toy,” D-Girl was clearly taunting Marla now.“I’m not. I’m property of a tribe of Amazons who use me for target practice,” I joked. Oddly enough, it was the truth but I didn’t expect her to believe that. “These are just some chicks I met at a bar - expect for Marla. I met her at college where she schooled me to a whole new level of ecstasy.” That made Marla smug and happy.“You - go,” Marla barked to D-Girl. “Where are you going?” she questioned me.“I need to go to the bathroom,” I told her.“Fine, but don’t go jumping out of the window like you did last time I saw you,” Marla warned me.“Wow…we are on the seventeenth floor,” I sighed. “I really don’t want you to scream and throw books at me yet I think plummeting to my death would still be my primary concern.”“Fine,” D-Girl shrugged. “I’m going.” She rolled her hand-truck to the door. Before Marla could shut it. “Nice to meet you…” Having a rather unique name rocks. I’ve been warned that come Paternity Suit time, it won’t be nearly so cool.“Cáel Nyilas,” I waved good-bye. “N-Y-I-L-A-S.” Marla slammed the door shut then put her back to it.“You are reprehensible,” she gave me the sultriest purr. Yeah, I was a bad, bad boy and those three were going to spank me with their kitties to put me in my place. Life can be thankless, demanding and unrewarding at times…I’m sure that will happen to me eventually. I stumped off to the bathroom, dropped my (unused) rubber in the trash, washed up, didn’t find lube but massage oil would do for tonight and returned to the bedroom.Oh my God! All their clothes had fallen off! What was I to do? Libra was in the middle, Brooke was closest to me, and Marla was unhappily on the far side of Libra. All were resting their upper backs and heads against the headboard. Brooke was drinking 'my’ Scotch, Libra had her tequila, leaving Marla with a Bordeaux.I put the pillow down by the foot of the bed, slipping my oily lubricant underneath the pillow. That was for later. I crawled/pulled myself up the middle. Libra was polite, if not sincere.“Take care of Brooke first,” Libra said.“I’d rather show her some things and let her decide what she likes,” I countered.Yes. I was telling Libra I was going to use her body as a surrogate fuck-toy to amuse her friend and by the look in her eyes, she was all for it.“I really don’t want to have sex right now anyway,” Brooke lied. In sex, only the top lips lie. An un-coaxed vagina glistening with arousal is about as honest a plea for sex there is.I deftly slipped on my next condom before 'tripping’ and landing my chin on Libra’s stomach.“Whoops,” I grinned at her. She gave me a famished look. “Well, since I’m here,” I eyebrow-pumped. My body backed up enough so that I was even with her labia. Keeping eye contact with Libra, I took my first tongue stab - rolling the tongue and penetrating her vagina like a mini-cock. Her lips parted and her chest inhaled deeply.Marla moaned wantonly, inspired by previous encounters with me. I didn’t let myself be distracted. This was Libra’s place, we all where here at her sufferance and Brooke had foisted me on her so now I was 'her’ guy. By girl-logic, that meant she went first and I better let everyone know she was first. All of this ignored me and Marla’s earlier romp of course.Libra was a naughty little slut. She tried to hide her hot spots from me using distractions and deceptions. It took me five minutes to figure out her game. Then I waited for the right moment.“I thought you said this guy was good, Maaaaaaa!!” Libra wailed to Marla. Libra was a clit-nibbler. I took that proffered bit of delicate femininity and made it my bitch.In the first few seconds I had realized Libra was an anal virgin. A few seconds after I ambushed her I decided to do something about that. Brooke being an anal virgin was a no-brainer. Neither woman was 'that’ kind of woman and they’d given Marla a tough time because of it - or so I imagined. I worked a third finger into her snatch. Libra was vocally expressive somewhat similar to her sister…and aunt.When I slipped one finger past her sphincter, Libra whelped then whimpered. She was far too busy building up to her climax to protest. She did tilt her head so that we could make eye contact again. She wanted to form the words to make me stop, but the pleasure robbed her of the necessary concentration.Libra’s fists balled up in the comforter, her head rolled back and she began escalating to her own operatic concerto. Man, I loved these Chalmers’s women and their arias.“What was that?” Brooke shook the amorously frayed Libra.“That was an orgasm,” Marla snickered. “I warned you that Cáel punched all my buttons.”“Libra, have you been faking it all these years?” Brooke gasped.“Mmmm…yeah - I guess I have,” Libra panted. “That was niccccce,” she murmured. “Cáel, do it again.”“No way,” Brooke grabbed my arm. “It is my turn!” So much for not wanting to have sex with me.Libra made a feeble effort to keep me in place. Brooke was insistent. I didn’t let her pull me into her lap, instead falling fully upon her body. She was momentarily put off by the scent of Libra’s cunt juices on my face, but quickly came around. We were kissing and licking each other’s faces in no time.The Scotch was good. I could taste it on her lips and inhaled it with her breath. I slipped into her vagina with minimal effort and no resistance. Trent had been getting the job done in the bedroom. That didn’t stop him from being a dunce and misusing Brooke. Slowly, as I kept easing in and out of her, Brooke began squinting. When she closed her eyes, I decided on what she needed.“What are you doing?” Brooke muttered as I began rolling us onto our sides. She was looking at me once more.“Close your eyes,” I whispered. She squinted again, but didn’t fully close them. When I withdrew my penis from her steamy folds, she stiffened.“I don’t like that,” Brooke insisted while her eyes remained slits.“You don’t want to do what you’ve done - with him, Brooke,” I murmured. “You want to do something new; something that says you’ve moved on.” She bought it. Brooke let me roll her over then pushed up into the classic doggy style position - which she claimed 'not to do’.She was confused when I pushed her hips back down to the bed. I carefully poised my body over hers, balancing on my right leg and both arms. Brooke didn’t know what to make of the first kiss on the back of her head. I wasn’t romantic - I was a dick to be shoved into her a few times to take her mind off of her pain. That was her opinion of me.'Fucks’ didn’t gently kiss you, caress your hair, neck and shoulders with his nose and lips, eliciting amorous noises from the girl they were gratifying. Brooke began radiate peace and contentment as I tenderly lavished attention on her. As a reward, she gave me what I wanted, namely her body plus an unspoken promise of a follow-up encounter.I had Brooke pushing her ass up against me after an indeterminate time. She had transformed from 'in control and basic’ to urging me to 'do what I will’ to her body. As predicted, Brooke was an anal virgin too. I pulled her hips back up then worked my cock in all the way into her vagina until her soaking vulva was pressed against my pelvis. A few careful strokes came next.My slamming hard into her cunt, caught Brooke and the others off-guard. Brooke grunted, started to protest then had her utterance stolen away by the next pile-driving thrust. After that, it was too late. I lost track of the number of Brooke’s orgasms. I didn’t really care. My goal was the fuck the Trent right out of her.The first time Libra attempted to intervene and save her friend, my fierce glower turned her back. The second time, Marla kept her from yanking on my arm. When I finally shot off, Brooke was past caring. I lowered us back down to the bed and began showering her with kisses again. She was making contented little moans then twisted her head around, requesting a bit of lip action.“Happy,” Brooke sighed dreamily.“I can tell,” Libra was a bit peeved.“Trent who?” Brooke giggled. Mission success! Oh, she’d be a few decades despising the bastard yet I had given her a far more passionate experience to balance out the pain and emptiness that had been inflicted on her.Women, don’t thank me. Thank my mentor, Kimberly, who taught me that a penis without experience and imagination was like a car without tires, or gas. It might attract attention, but then what do you do with the damn thing?“Come home with me, Cáel,” Brooke said between tongue tussles.“Brooke, I have a job, I need to be back at eleven tonight, and we do have some company, remember?” I reminded her - of the two ladies right next to us on the bed.“Me next,” Marla beamed.“I’m not a carnival ride,” I grumbled. I was. Fessing up wouldn’t help me negotiate later.“How about you three let me get cleaned up then, Marla, I want your ass again. I’ve really missed the way it turned you on,” I grinned seductively at the youngest woman. I wanted to have anal sex with all three. Brooke’s libido was too steamed up to hold out for long. Libra wanted more sex yet wouldn’t let me near her precious Heine until she saw Marla get all torn up.I confess I was strongly motivated by a desire to simply fuck those two up the ass because they were stuck-up bitches who looked down on me. I’m not perfect by any stretch of the imagination and I use sex appeal to get what I want - namely sex. I got out of bed, kissed Brooke on each buttocks then limped away to wash off.When I came back they were in a furtive discussion.“We’ve decided I’ll go next,” Libra purred.“Oh,” I stopped. “I’ll get dressed and be on my way now. Marla, I have my own apartment plus a place at corporate we can crash.”“Wait,” Libra sat up, caught between outrage and need. “What’s wrong with me?”“You are perfectly scrumptious, but there is a fundamental misunderstanding of why I am here,” I lectured them. Now to throw out a curveball. “I’m here for Brooke. She was the one betrayed by my co-worker. She didn’t deserve any part of that.”“If this is how you two (Marla and Libra) want to treat me, I’m gone. Brooke can find me if she wants me. Marla and I have a history, so I owe her - thus the invite. Libra, I like you, but I have to have my priorities before I think of myself and what I might want,” I explained. I was lying. Had it only been Libra and me, I’d have been nailing her until 10:45.If it was just Marla - ditto. Brooke - ditto again. The emotional dynamics became a little more complicated when it came to any two of them, but my stance would be the same. I was the guy. I stuck my dick in. If I didn’t get the sex I wanted, I would leave. If I pushed them too hard, they wouldn’t hesitate to show me the door. No one surrendered their decision making ability.They were still submitting to my lustful desires. Pointing that out would have not helped me achieve my objectives - namely the utilization of every condom in my stockpile.“Thank you, Cáel,” Brooke smiled at me with something akin to fondness. “Please stay.”“If you really want to have sex with Marla, I’ll understand,” Libra conceded.Before I even had a knee on the bed, Marla squealed happily and presented her ass for fucking. If the other two had any suspicions about the massage oil suddenly appearing in my hand, they kept their questions to themselves. Anal sex was nasty, dirty and degrading - something only 'those’ kinds of girls did. They had never experienced it.Had their boyfriends ever had a on a porno with anal sex, they would have yelled at their guys and made them cut it off. No one told Marla this. By the time one of the other girls in her social circle brought this up, all she could do was nod and keep her erotic achievements to herself.“Damn Marla,” I teased. “Have you not let anyone else back here since we were last together?”“I find it awkward to ask,” Marla whimpered as I worked my first finger deep inside. “Aaahhh - this only reminds me more of how much I’ve missed you.”“Try not to make me cum before I’m ready,” I begged Marla - points for me all around. The only thing a woman wants more than to control her partner’s orgasm is an orgasm of her own.“Ah - ah - ah, I’ll try,” Marla gasp-giggled. No, she was going to work my cock over with her rectal muscles with every trick she could recall.“That doesn’t look comfortable,” Brooke commented as I began working my second digit into Marla’s butthole. She had actually half-crawled over Libra to get a better view.I was about to develop an awkward moment of helplessness. I winced. Brooke caught it.“Are you okay?” Brooke touched my right forearm. The one that was pumping two fingers into Marla’s ass.“Um,” I sounded embarrassed. “My leg is killing me…I can’t…um…it is embarrassing.”“What is it?” Brooke insisted.“I need…ah…to coat my cock with massage oil so I can penetrate Marla the moment she’s ready,” I gulped. Totally false. There is no 'Golden Second’ for anal dicking. I could easily lube up my dick then penetrate Marla, but I selfishly wanted to get Brooke involved in some kinkiness.“Ah, okay,” Brooke acquiesced immediately. She doled out three squirts of oil into her palm then began coating my condom-covered tool. Her placing her face only centimeters away while she worked my to
Cáel gets an offer that is too good to be true.By FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the podcast at Steamy Stories.-People who forget their past are doomed to be blind-sided by it-(Monday)I couldn’t help but notice the similarity between myself and the other four new hires. We were all clean cut men, fresh out of college, fit and masculine. The ‘men’ part of the equation made sense. Havenstone Commercial Investments had come out of a long legal proceeding over their accused discriminatory policies.An undisclosed settlement had been reached plus they agreed to implement this new program to hire more men. For me that meant an employment opportunity with a Fortune 500 company despite my rather underwhelming collegiate career. Don’t get me wrong; I had good grades. I also went to a college virtually no one had ever heard of – Bolingbrook College in New Hampshire.With me was Chinese-American Brian Fung from Harvard, blue blood Trent Grant from Carnegie-Melon, African-American Khalid Adzharia from MIT and Salvadoran-American Felix Melena from the University of Michigan – Ann Arbor. For starters, they all had far better academic pedigrees them me, nicer toys, and better looking suits.The second they found out where I was from, I was dropped out of their conversation. They were bragging about their awards and accomplishments, their families and where they vacationed, professors who knew them on a first name basis and when they planned to get their master’s degrees. Given time to take in our circumstances without the distraction of being part of their little club, something occurred to me.We were all freaking gorgeous. I don’t mean cultured, handsome, or attractive to the opposite sex. I meant every one of us would be hit on in a nightclub in under five minutes unless we had a significant other hanging all over us. I was getting a sinking suspicion about what Havenstone considered 'crucial’ for job performance and it didn’t have anything to do with what alumni we were now part of.Here I was with my Father’s dark good looks, my genetics an ancient blend of Bulgarian and Turkish with a recent addition of Irish Gaelic. My eyes, the legacy of my Mom, were a deep emerald green. The broad shoulders, narrow waist and powerful arms and legs were part heritage with a serious application of physical activity. I exercised constantly, swam whenever I could and cycling was my religion; the tougher the terrain, the better.Better yet, the brainiacs around me hadn’t seemed to figure that out yet. Maybe they thought I was a 'legacy’ hire – I had a relative on the inside. Nope. Mom died when I was seven and my Dad worked for Illinois Power and Light as a line runner. His sister, Aunt Stella, was a crab fisherwoman in Maryland and unmarried.A series of off-handed comments in the interview process suddenly came back to haunt me. I’d been asked about who I was close to, both presently and back in college. They wanted to know about my 'moral character’. Fuck it all – I’d filled out a dating survey! I’d never used a matchmaking service, but I bet if I logged on to E-Harmony, I’d recognize the questions.The door to the conference room opened and seven women entered. Ms. Tessa Carmichael had handled the interview process. Umami Lhasa was her Hindi assistant and all-around encyclopedia of all things Havenstone. The other five were unknown to me and, I had a feeling, unknown to my fellow new hires. We all stood. The other four smiled. I smiled too, but felt cautious.“Gentlemen, it is time to begin. Today we begin your internship process and I’d…” Tessa got out before Fung interrupted.“I was given the impression we were guaranteed employment, Ms. Carmichael,” he spoke in a commanding voice. How stupid was this guy?“Academia is a sheltered environment, Mr. Fung. Havenstone is very much part of the real, visceral world and you can hardly expect to gain a six-figure salary with all the benefits based on your ability to impress men who have never created an iota of wealth in their lives,” Tessa smiled. I hoped she eventually give it back to the orca she’d swiped it from.“I was entertaining offers from several other corporations as well,” Trent added his voice. “We were guaranteed employment. Our contracts state so.” He seemed proud of his ability to read. Trent should have boned up on reading between the lines.“Well, if you two wish to sign 'Termination of Employment’ papers,” Tessa sounded disappointed, “we will conceded to your wishes.”At this point, the guys with a promising futures should have bailed. I didn’t have options unless you considered 'do you want fries with that’ to be a back-up plan. I was amazed the other four didn’t see it.“What we really want is a clarification of what this internship process entails,” Khalid intervened.Tessa’s smile became all happy bunnies again.“Very well,” she appeared pleased, “let’s start by introducing your mentors. Mr. Fung, Ms. Julian Jameson has chosen you. She is our Senior VP in charge of Acquisitions – something you excelled in, I recall.” Fung looked pleased. Julian was a foxy red-head somewhere in her mid-thirties.“Mr. Grant, you have been selected by Olympia Shore, head of our Financial Investigative unit.” Greying hair yet she looked like she ran marathoners down on a regular basis; she was tall, fit and svelte. “I understand you showed a talent for forensic accounting,” Tessa continued. “Mr. Adzharia, you have been chosen by Ms. Phalli Chandra VP of International Finance.”Where Khalid was patently African-American, his mentor was African – most likely central African, like Congo, or Cameroon. She was in her early thirties and sculpted in a way that made me think I wouldn’t mind wrestling her even though I wasn’t sure who would win. “You have an excellent grasp of linguistics as I recall.”“Mr. Melena, Ms. Tia Pharos VP of Business Management has chosen to take you on.” My bet she was Lebanese, or Palestinian – more Sematic than Aramaic. Still, her hair was thick, wavy and long – all the women seemed to go for the 'long hair’ look for that matter. She was also the shortest mentor, perhaps one meter - seventy.“You have all around high marks in your education. We think you will be a perfect fit.” He smiled as did Tia. I thought they were smiling for different reasons. Maybe that was paranoia. “Mr. Nyilas,” that was me - Cáel Nyilas, “you have been selected by Ms. Katrina Love, VP of Executive Services.”I could hear the 'huffs’ of my compatriots. Executive Services were basically gophers for the top tier of the corporation. ES was not the fast track to success. They got the limos and laundry for those who were. On the plus side, Katrina was a voluptuous blonde perhaps forty years of age, hitting all my key sexual triggers…basically, a conscious, breathing female. I didn’t have low standards – I was a sexual omnivore.Given the chance I’d seduce every woman I came across, though not here – not today.After a short series of introductions, we split up to go to our various offices. It turned out that the mentor/internship relationship meant I would be working at her side – literally. I’d have a spot in her personal office for my work station, I would follow her to meetings and be on call 24/7 to assist her in all departmental duties.“Thank you for the opportunity,” I said when she finally gave me the impression I could speak.“Aren’t you disappointed you didn’t get one of the plumb assignments; banking, or asset management?” she inquired while studying me. The gentle hum of the elevator was the only other sound.“Hell, no,” I blurted out then blushed. Katrina arched an eyebrow. “I mean, I think this is a great way to know the company. We get to go everywhere.”“I like your enthusiasm,” she commented. I couldn’t tell if it was a positive thing. Beyond that, she remained non-communicative until we made it to her ornate, spacious personal office.Six young ladies followed us into the room, with the last one shutting the door.“Ladies, this is our latest hire - Cáel Nyilas,” Katrina began. “He’s from some college in New Hampshire and, like the rest of you new hires, will be expected be working closely with me and each other.”Did I mention they were all hot? I was familiar with some of the looks I was getting, too. Once, in high school, I had asked out the Class president who happened to be rich, pretty and smart. Her boyfriend had cheated on her so I thought I had a chance. I was a working class nobody and the look she gave me hurt as much as her words.“Never in a million years,” she mocked loudly. I was an insect – a bug and way beneath her notice. That was the look I was getting from these girls. Four years later, my acne was gone, I’d filled out nicely and physically I had gone from caterpillar to butterfly. That led to the other half of the vibes aimed my way. It was 'he’s delicious’ as one of my girlfriends put it.“Daphne Pile, Dora Cartagena, Fabiola Dobrani, Paula Wadena, Violet Maza, and Theresa 'Tigger’ Castro,” Katrina made rapid-fire introductions. “Now that we all know each other, time to start filling all the orders in our cue. Until Cáel figures out what is where, who wants to ride herd on him?” I had mistakenly believed I would be working with Katrina.No one leapt at the opportunity.“I’ll do it,” Fabiola Dobrani spoke up. She tried to sound upbeat for Katrina. They filed out of the office, each woman heading off in different directions, while I went to my tiny desk.“What are you doing?” Fabiola sounded annoyed.“I need something from my desk and to go to the bathroom,” I informed her. She sighed in exasperation. I quickly retrieved a handful of rubber bands then raced to Fabiola. She pointed me at the closest bathroom…which was Katrina’s personal one. In I went then I locked the door. My pants and underwear came off. I expediently made a rubber band chain then looped it around my hips and pinned my hard-on pointed up.That had become a serious problem when dealing with all these attractive women and I didn’t need the distraction. Once dressed, I quick-stepped it to Fabiola who was tapping her foot.“Let’s go,” she snapped. “We are working with Buffy today. We go with her and do what she tells us to do. Got it?”“Buffy is in charge – I have a basic command of the English language,” I replied. Fabiola shot me an evil look. “What? Do I look like a five year old, or are you normally this rude?”“I’m not being rude to you,” the women with a Mediterranean cast to her features reposed. “You’ve put us behind the other ladies. In case you haven’t figured it out, that’s a bad thing on our first day.”“Am I to believe this is your first day?” I smirked. We stopped by another woman’s desk. Did I mention that this corporation must raid beauty pageants for their staff? Buffy was a medium height brunette with long hair and a perfectly shaped oval face. Her eyes were the lightest shade of brown I’d ever seen – almost golden.“I’m Buffy Dubois,” she stood and extended her hand. I had a neural misfire. I took her offered hand, leaned down and kissed it. Whoops.“Cáel Nyilas, Ms. Dubois,” I gulped. Buffy weighed my gesture.“Nice name,” she grinned. “Call me Buffy. We go on a first name basis here.”“Our first assignment for the day is to go to 1802 Exeter Tower and prepare the suite for the CFO at our San Francisco office coming in for one week,” she informed us. I had no idea where Exeter Tower was and what any of this had to do with my Business degree. I accepted that a fat paycheck was a fat paycheck, so I put my confusion on the back burner.There was an amusing bit of posturing about who got to drive the company car down to the Exeter. Fabiola made a production of taking the keys and making me sit in the back – Buffy didn’t want to drive.“You aren’t much of a man’s man, are you?” Fabiola mocked me.I waited a second for Buffy to say something, considering that bordered on harassment. Fabiola snickered at me while Buffy looked out the window, bored.“Was that supposed to mean something to me?” I replied smoothly. “I don’t know you, you obviously don’t know me, and your assessment of my gender potential is ridiculous.”“Come on, 'New Hire’, you didn’t even go to a real school,” Fabiola spat back.“That’s enough,” Buffy coughed. Fabiola shot me a dirty look. I elected to not be childish, looking out the window instead. Driving the car turned out to be more of a disadvantage than the gem Fab thought it would be. Fabiola had to park the car while Buffy and I went up.The Exeter suite turned out to be a fully furnished apartment. The trick was turning the normal accoutrements into the specifics the client demanded. I didn’t have experience with interior design. I couldn’t say I was demeaned, being reduced to a glorified furniture mover. If Buffy was impressed by my ability to move chairs about, she hid it well.She even left me to my own devices while she went to the bedroom. I double checked the image she’d downloaded to the cellphone to make sure everything was where they wanted.“Cáel, I need you back here,” Buffy called out. Back I went – it wasn’t like I had a choice. “We need to make sure the Feng Shui of the room is impeccable,” she ordered.“Yes, Ma'am - Buffy,” I nodded. “Now let’s assume for a second I don’t have the faintest idea what you are talking about and go from there.”“For now,” she chuckled, “it means moving the bed where I tell you to.” As I moved to the far side of the king-sized bed, contemplating the crushing weight of my student loans, I noticed Buffy had made a wardrobe adjustment.That was a kind way to say she had unbuttoned her blouse to her naval and her pale pink, lacy half-bra was clearly visible. I also saw the incisor of some predator hung from a silver chain around her neck. As she leaned forward, it swayed, playing ping pong between her boobs. I was carefully attentive to her instructions and even managed to ask a few questions like 'what is Feng Shui?’“It is the art of focusing energy upon positive and negative lines so that you promote, or disrupt, the harmony of an area and its occupants,” she informed me. She back-flopped down on the bed in one of the least obfuscated suggestions of 'come get me’ I’d ever seen. I stayed well away, sensing a trap.“It’s jaguar,” Buffy tilted her head back and leered at me. Her shirt was wide open, her bountiful mounds jiggling slightly and her eyes were inviting. She was referring to the tooth pendant that was nestled between her breasts. I backed up toward the window.“I’m sure there is a story behind that,” I tried to wiggle some more breathing room from my collar.“There is,” she rolled over, her goodies still on display. “I shot it with my bow, skinned it and pulled the tooth from its skull.” How sweet and informative.“I’m glad I’m across the room then,” I grinned back. “I’d hate for there to be a misunderstanding between you and I.” Now she placed herself on all fours and stalked across the bed toward me.“I don’t think you are very interested in me,” she pouted. Now I was mentally mapping out the time and distance involved in me getting past her and exiting this career-killer.“You are my boss,” I exclaimed as I started edging around the room. “I imagine you are very interesting, but I’m not the kind of guy who makes advances on every beautiful woman he meets.” That was a total lie. I had the bad habit of making advances on ABSOLUTELY every beautiful woman I met.“Where is everybody?” Fabiola announced after she waltzed into the room. Forget an Oscar, she wouldn’t even get a Razzie from me for that patently false performance. Buffy huffed, rolled her eyes and shifted to the edge of the bed. She fixed her blouse properly then shot a withering glance at Fabiola before getting back to business.After sending a final video of the apartment to the CFO’s personal assistant and getting her okay, we checked out our next chore and set to it. A good deal of it was getting laundry, specialty meals and even picking up kids from daycare/school. We did manage to do some actual corporate business. We ran some confidential documents, not trusted to the computer system, to the various big wigs who needed them.In eight and a half hours I had been a furniture mover, delivery boy, nanny, chauffer and glorified postman. Had it not been for my mountain of student loans, the insane salary and limited job prospects, I would have been disheartened. As it was, I was merely paranoid and confused. I was getting the subtle sense that the women I was working with were waiting for me to fail.I was confused because, with the bending over, strutting, lingerie model wannabes all over the place, how did they expect me to get anything done? My cock hurt – a lot. I was looking away so often I was afraid I’d get whiplash. These had to be the clumsiest women on Earth. Wherever I went, someone dropped something and had to bend over to pick it up.No, they could not bend at the knees. They had to reach over while keeping their legs straight. These weren’t the new hires either. The only one I saw before quitting time was Fabiola. Even she was pretty helpless. She kept losing her shoes and then pleading to me to help put them back on. No matter how hard she tried, I was not looking up her damn skirt.Finally Buffy 'released’ me, indicating my work day was over. That’s when the jackals closed in. From out of nowhere, all six of the new hires appeared outside Katrina’s office as I retrieved my valise. Had it not been for my mode of transit, I’d have left it there and made for the elevators instead of risk being cornered.“Is there a problem?” Katrina spoke up, sensing my reticence in leaving her office. I had to think fast.“Can I use your bathroom?” I turned and asked her. She indicated that I could. I went in and changed, ditching the rubber band nonsense – it hadn’t really worked.When I stepped out, the conspiratorial whispers among the new girls stopped. I even caught Katrina looking me over. See, I got to and from work on my bicycle. It was a really nice bike. Dad got it for me for graduation – as I said, I don’t come from money. Anyway, biking in a suit in New York City was kind of stupid and hard on the dry cleaning bill.The answer to this dilemma was biking clothes, which in June consisted of very tight shorts and a tight shirt (my helmet is with my bike in a nice secure area in front of our skyscraper). Now take into account I was in really good shape and, oh yeah, horny as hell with a 'sensational’ package (fine, one girl called it sensational – I chose to run with her literary license).1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6; yep, ab six-pack accounted for and there was the tube-snake running off to my left hip. Even my nipples on my broad pectorals were making an appearance (through the shirt). As a passing note, I have a really nice ass, or so I’ve been told, and these shorts don’t work well with underwear so I was going without.I mustered my courage and marched on the door.“Ummm…” Katrina purred. “Tomorrow – seven o'clock.”“Yes, Ma'am – Katrina,” I waved over my shoulder. The new hires parted for me, except for Daphne. She put a hand on my right bicep.“Cáel, we are going out for drinks to celebrate our first day,” Daphne smiled sweetly.“Thank you, but no thank you,” I shook my head. “I’m not into time travel.” I moved past her.“What is that supposed to mean?” Dora inquired. They followed me to the elevator.“It is a riddle, Dora,” I grinned. “If you six ladies celebrated your first day with the company, where and when did this celebration take place?”“Are you implying we are lying to you?” Violet glared.“I’m implying you six are treating me like an idiot and none of you are graduates of the NSA, CIA or the New York Academy of Fine Arts, Violet,” I glared right back.“You are not being a team player,” Theresa gave me a smug look.“Now we are back to me being treated like an idiot,” I sighed. “Let me see, each of you knew where your assigned person was, Buffy didn’t see the need to greet Fabiola, Fabiola knew where the car keys were kept, she knew right where the Exeter Building was without accessing our onboard navigation system. She found a parking spot in downtown New York City at ten in the morning in under fifteen minutes…shall I go on?”The hush was so pronounced that not only could I hear our elevators quiet whir, I could hear the noise from the ones on either side of us. The women exchanged nervous looks.“You could still come out and join us for some drinks,” Daphne jumpstarted things.“I’m seeing somebody,” I countered.“You don’t have a girlfriend,” Paula stated confidently. Yep – dating survey.“I met a nice female mime (might as well confirm my heterosexuality) and after an in depth conversation I think we have a lot in common so we are giving serious thought about going out tonight,” I lied. Oh, it was an obvious lie alright. I wanted it to be.“She could join us,” Tigger suggested. They were freaking relentless. Fortunately, the elevator doors opened and we exited onto the ground floor.“And that would make sense because on the first date I’d want to surround her with a bunch of women she doesn’t know and probably has little in common with…I don’t think so,” I mused.They watched me prep my bike, affix my helmet and pedal off to freedom while hovering around and trying to create a new game plan.“Let us know how the date goes,” Fabiola called out.“Like that is going to happen,” I muttered as I sped away.I had studied the route between the corporation headquarters and my domicile for three days and gone onto multiple chats with my fellow cyclists to get a feel for traffic flows, road construction and back alleys. This allowed me to get home in just under fifteen minutes. I lugged my bike up the three flights of stairs – my neighborhood was far from the safe confines of the skyscraper – and settled into my shared flat.The apartment was rather close quarters, but my roommate, Timothy (never Tim), was a descent sort. Timothy was an exercise-conscious, gay tattoo artist with a good professional reputation and he found my choice in employment amusing. Timothy said I was swimming against the current. I told him salmon did it every year. He countered with salmon don’t jump Angel Falls.I was starting to feel he was prophetic after only one day. I didn’t dwell on it too much. I did our laundry, picked up our common area then started in on dinner. That consisted of microwaving frozen vegetables and sausage and bacon biscuits. I left that to warm while I worked out. When Timothy walked in he laughed and shook his head.“You are the best boyfriend I never had,” he chuckled. “Did you do my laundry too?”“Yep,” I said. I put my tablet down and headed to the kitchenette.“Even the underwear?” he teased.“If that’s what you like to call it,” I teased right back.Timothy tended to dress like a Chippendale dancer on his date nights. Thankfully, he had the body for it. Double thankfully, we were both okay with our sexuality. At the start, he had told me he was coming off a long term relationship that imploded. I told him I was heterosexual who had a chronic problem with fidelity.(Tuesday)My mobile phone rang at three o'clock – in the a.m. It was Katrina telling me that I was to get my ass over to corporate, find Desiree and do what she said. Katrina hung up before I could ask for an explanation. Twenty-two minutes later I was back at work. I pulled my 'Clark Kent.’ then phoned Desiree Fredrickson who was already in the garage – level one.She was waiting for me, trying to look impatient, but I knew the 'threw on whatever was handy’ look from too many 'confused girls in the morning’ experiences. I looked at her grim countenance and decided to be professionally polite.“You have this spot at the right corner of your mouth,” I quietly informed her.While driving, she peeked into the rearview mirror and used her tongue to correct the dried drool problem. There was no 'thank you’ aimed my way.“What are we doing?” I yawned.“At least pretend to maintain the proper decorum,” she chided me. She did her best to stifle her yawn.That was the end of my instructional period until we pulled into a parking spot close to a police station.“Watch your mouth and remember they don’t like us,” Desiree warned.“Woman, is it going to kill you to tell me what’s going on, or am I going to have to figure this out with a Tarot deck?” I snapped back.Her eyes narrowed with anger as she turned on me.“Can’t you follow a simple order?” she growled.“Sure,” I sighed. “It isn’t like you want me to succeed anyway,” I groused. She huffed in exasperation then led me to the front of the precinct building.Due to the hour, the place was crowded with drunks, drug addicts and dealers, with a sprinkling of prostitutes and violent felons. The 'they’ who didn’t like us became obvious. The cops didn’t like Desiree and, by default, me.“We are here for Marilynn St. John,” Desiree stated.“Of course you are, Ms. Frederickson,” the female desk sergeant sneered. “It is Lady’s Night at some whore-hole so, of course, your princess ended up here.”“Just get her,” Desiree demanded. The sergeant kept sneering in a way that told us we were going to be a while. Desiree walked over to a corner and put her back to it.I decided to hover close by until the sergeant had a moment.“What do you want?” she regarded me. “Aren’t you with the trash collector?” I guess that meant Desiree.“She’s one of my bosses,” I shrugged. “This is my first – I guess now it is my second day on the job and I have no idea why I am here.”I put my politest, most girl-friendly demeanor forward. It worked.“Keep in mind you are picking up your boss’s trash, Kid,” she turned all matronly on me. “You need to stop hanging around all those poisonous bitches and get a better job.” That led to a discussion of my age, background and economic status of my family.She liked the fact that I was proud of my blue-collar background, single and polite. As an unexpected bonus the Sergeant had a single daughter; a freshly minted from the Police Academy policewoman. I gave her my mobile number and she sent someone to retrieve our charges. While we waited, she showed me a picture of her girl. The daughter was rather sexy.I told her mother that her daughter had a bright smile and a cute nose. Saying 'your pride and joy would look good handcuffed to my bed’ wouldn’t win me points. As the desk sergeant and I finished, out walked two wasted teen fashion queens with a female police escort.“Sign for the over-privileged skanks,” the Sergeant directed me.Desiree pushed me aside and took custody of Marilynn and her high society pal, Vienna Rothmore. The two young ladies joined us as we left the station.“Sorry to mess up your date, Desiree,” Marilynn snickered. Yeah…right, she was soooo sorry.“He’s not my date,” Desiree ground out. “He’s one of our new hires.”“Oh, cool,” Marilynn slurred. She reached up from the back seat and put a hand on my shoulder. “I want you to come home with me and help me test my sheets to make sure they are comfortable,” she giggled. “I have delicate skin.”“You also have a problem with substance abuse, taking things that don’t belong to you, and a lifetime of making poor choices,” I countered. “Sorry; I have to decline.”“You work for my grandmother. That means you work for me,” she protested.“I’m sure if you have your wonderful grandmother put your request in my work cue, I’ll get around to it,” I smiled.“You’re no fun,” Marilynn complained.“He’s not here to be fun for you, Marilynn,” Desiree finally intervened.
Cáel gets an offer that is too good to be true.By FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the podcast at Steamy Stories.-People who forget their past are doomed to be blind-sided by it-(Monday)I couldn’t help but notice the similarity between myself and the other four new hires. We were all clean cut men, fresh out of college, fit and masculine. The ‘men’ part of the equation made sense. Havenstone Commercial Investments had come out of a long legal proceeding over their accused discriminatory policies.An undisclosed settlement had been reached plus they agreed to implement this new program to hire more men. For me that meant an employment opportunity with a Fortune 500 company despite my rather underwhelming collegiate career. Don’t get me wrong; I had good grades. I also went to a college virtually no one had ever heard of – Bolingbrook College in New Hampshire.With me was Chinese-American Brian Fung from Harvard, blue blood Trent Grant from Carnegie-Melon, African-American Khalid Adzharia from MIT and Salvadoran-American Felix Melena from the University of Michigan – Ann Arbor. For starters, they all had far better academic pedigrees them me, nicer toys, and better looking suits.The second they found out where I was from, I was dropped out of their conversation. They were bragging about their awards and accomplishments, their families and where they vacationed, professors who knew them on a first name basis and when they planned to get their master’s degrees. Given time to take in our circumstances without the distraction of being part of their little club, something occurred to me.We were all freaking gorgeous. I don’t mean cultured, handsome, or attractive to the opposite sex. I meant every one of us would be hit on in a nightclub in under five minutes unless we had a significant other hanging all over us. I was getting a sinking suspicion about what Havenstone considered 'crucial’ for job performance and it didn’t have anything to do with what alumni we were now part of.Here I was with my Father’s dark good looks, my genetics an ancient blend of Bulgarian and Turkish with a recent addition of Irish Gaelic. My eyes, the legacy of my Mom, were a deep emerald green. The broad shoulders, narrow waist and powerful arms and legs were part heritage with a serious application of physical activity. I exercised constantly, swam whenever I could and cycling was my religion; the tougher the terrain, the better.Better yet, the brainiacs around me hadn’t seemed to figure that out yet. Maybe they thought I was a 'legacy’ hire – I had a relative on the inside. Nope. Mom died when I was seven and my Dad worked for Illinois Power and Light as a line runner. His sister, Aunt Stella, was a crab fisherwoman in Maryland and unmarried.A series of off-handed comments in the interview process suddenly came back to haunt me. I’d been asked about who I was close to, both presently and back in college. They wanted to know about my 'moral character’. Fuck it all – I’d filled out a dating survey! I’d never used a matchmaking service, but I bet if I logged on to E-Harmony, I’d recognize the questions.The door to the conference room opened and seven women entered. Ms. Tessa Carmichael had handled the interview process. Umami Lhasa was her Hindi assistant and all-around encyclopedia of all things Havenstone. The other five were unknown to me and, I had a feeling, unknown to my fellow new hires. We all stood. The other four smiled. I smiled too, but felt cautious.“Gentlemen, it is time to begin. Today we begin your internship process and I’d…” Tessa got out before Fung interrupted.“I was given the impression we were guaranteed employment, Ms. Carmichael,” he spoke in a commanding voice. How stupid was this guy?“Academia is a sheltered environment, Mr. Fung. Havenstone is very much part of the real, visceral world and you can hardly expect to gain a six-figure salary with all the benefits based on your ability to impress men who have never created an iota of wealth in their lives,” Tessa smiled. I hoped she eventually give it back to the orca she’d swiped it from.“I was entertaining offers from several other corporations as well,” Trent added his voice. “We were guaranteed employment. Our contracts state so.” He seemed proud of his ability to read. Trent should have boned up on reading between the lines.“Well, if you two wish to sign 'Termination of Employment’ papers,” Tessa sounded disappointed, “we will conceded to your wishes.”At this point, the guys with a promising futures should have bailed. I didn’t have options unless you considered 'do you want fries with that’ to be a back-up plan. I was amazed the other four didn’t see it.“What we really want is a clarification of what this internship process entails,” Khalid intervened.Tessa’s smile became all happy bunnies again.“Very well,” she appeared pleased, “let’s start by introducing your mentors. Mr. Fung, Ms. Julian Jameson has chosen you. She is our Senior VP in charge of Acquisitions – something you excelled in, I recall.” Fung looked pleased. Julian was a foxy red-head somewhere in her mid-thirties.“Mr. Grant, you have been selected by Olympia Shore, head of our Financial Investigative unit.” Greying hair yet she looked like she ran marathoners down on a regular basis; she was tall, fit and svelte. “I understand you showed a talent for forensic accounting,” Tessa continued. “Mr. Adzharia, you have been chosen by Ms. Phalli Chandra VP of International Finance.”Where Khalid was patently African-American, his mentor was African – most likely central African, like Congo, or Cameroon. She was in her early thirties and sculpted in a way that made me think I wouldn’t mind wrestling her even though I wasn’t sure who would win. “You have an excellent grasp of linguistics as I recall.”“Mr. Melena, Ms. Tia Pharos VP of Business Management has chosen to take you on.” My bet she was Lebanese, or Palestinian – more Sematic than Aramaic. Still, her hair was thick, wavy and long – all the women seemed to go for the 'long hair’ look for that matter. She was also the shortest mentor, perhaps one meter - seventy.“You have all around high marks in your education. We think you will be a perfect fit.” He smiled as did Tia. I thought they were smiling for different reasons. Maybe that was paranoia. “Mr. Nyilas,” that was me - Cáel Nyilas, “you have been selected by Ms. Katrina Love, VP of Executive Services.”I could hear the 'huffs’ of my compatriots. Executive Services were basically gophers for the top tier of the corporation. ES was not the fast track to success. They got the limos and laundry for those who were. On the plus side, Katrina was a voluptuous blonde perhaps forty years of age, hitting all my key sexual triggers…basically, a conscious, breathing female. I didn’t have low standards – I was a sexual omnivore.Given the chance I’d seduce every woman I came across, though not here – not today.After a short series of introductions, we split up to go to our various offices. It turned out that the mentor/internship relationship meant I would be working at her side – literally. I’d have a spot in her personal office for my work station, I would follow her to meetings and be on call 24/7 to assist her in all departmental duties.“Thank you for the opportunity,” I said when she finally gave me the impression I could speak.“Aren’t you disappointed you didn’t get one of the plumb assignments; banking, or asset management?” she inquired while studying me. The gentle hum of the elevator was the only other sound.“Hell, no,” I blurted out then blushed. Katrina arched an eyebrow. “I mean, I think this is a great way to know the company. We get to go everywhere.”“I like your enthusiasm,” she commented. I couldn’t tell if it was a positive thing. Beyond that, she remained non-communicative until we made it to her ornate, spacious personal office.Six young ladies followed us into the room, with the last one shutting the door.“Ladies, this is our latest hire - Cáel Nyilas,” Katrina began. “He’s from some college in New Hampshire and, like the rest of you new hires, will be expected be working closely with me and each other.”Did I mention they were all hot? I was familiar with some of the looks I was getting, too. Once, in high school, I had asked out the Class president who happened to be rich, pretty and smart. Her boyfriend had cheated on her so I thought I had a chance. I was a working class nobody and the look she gave me hurt as much as her words.“Never in a million years,” she mocked loudly. I was an insect – a bug and way beneath her notice. That was the look I was getting from these girls. Four years later, my acne was gone, I’d filled out nicely and physically I had gone from caterpillar to butterfly. That led to the other half of the vibes aimed my way. It was 'he’s delicious’ as one of my girlfriends put it.“Daphne Pile, Dora Cartagena, Fabiola Dobrani, Paula Wadena, Violet Maza, and Theresa 'Tigger’ Castro,” Katrina made rapid-fire introductions. “Now that we all know each other, time to start filling all the orders in our cue. Until Cáel figures out what is where, who wants to ride herd on him?” I had mistakenly believed I would be working with Katrina.No one leapt at the opportunity.“I’ll do it,” Fabiola Dobrani spoke up. She tried to sound upbeat for Katrina. They filed out of the office, each woman heading off in different directions, while I went to my tiny desk.“What are you doing?” Fabiola sounded annoyed.“I need something from my desk and to go to the bathroom,” I informed her. She sighed in exasperation. I quickly retrieved a handful of rubber bands then raced to Fabiola. She pointed me at the closest bathroom…which was Katrina’s personal one. In I went then I locked the door. My pants and underwear came off. I expediently made a rubber band chain then looped it around my hips and pinned my hard-on pointed up.That had become a serious problem when dealing with all these attractive women and I didn’t need the distraction. Once dressed, I quick-stepped it to Fabiola who was tapping her foot.“Let’s go,” she snapped. “We are working with Buffy today. We go with her and do what she tells us to do. Got it?”“Buffy is in charge – I have a basic command of the English language,” I replied. Fabiola shot me an evil look. “What? Do I look like a five year old, or are you normally this rude?”“I’m not being rude to you,” the women with a Mediterranean cast to her features reposed. “You’ve put us behind the other ladies. In case you haven’t figured it out, that’s a bad thing on our first day.”“Am I to believe this is your first day?” I smirked. We stopped by another woman’s desk. Did I mention that this corporation must raid beauty pageants for their staff? Buffy was a medium height brunette with long hair and a perfectly shaped oval face. Her eyes were the lightest shade of brown I’d ever seen – almost golden.“I’m Buffy Dubois,” she stood and extended her hand. I had a neural misfire. I took her offered hand, leaned down and kissed it. Whoops.“Cáel Nyilas, Ms. Dubois,” I gulped. Buffy weighed my gesture.“Nice name,” she grinned. “Call me Buffy. We go on a first name basis here.”“Our first assignment for the day is to go to 1802 Exeter Tower and prepare the suite for the CFO at our San Francisco office coming in for one week,” she informed us. I had no idea where Exeter Tower was and what any of this had to do with my Business degree. I accepted that a fat paycheck was a fat paycheck, so I put my confusion on the back burner.There was an amusing bit of posturing about who got to drive the company car down to the Exeter. Fabiola made a production of taking the keys and making me sit in the back – Buffy didn’t want to drive.“You aren’t much of a man’s man, are you?” Fabiola mocked me.I waited a second for Buffy to say something, considering that bordered on harassment. Fabiola snickered at me while Buffy looked out the window, bored.“Was that supposed to mean something to me?” I replied smoothly. “I don’t know you, you obviously don’t know me, and your assessment of my gender potential is ridiculous.”“Come on, 'New Hire’, you didn’t even go to a real school,” Fabiola spat back.“That’s enough,” Buffy coughed. Fabiola shot me a dirty look. I elected to not be childish, looking out the window instead. Driving the car turned out to be more of a disadvantage than the gem Fab thought it would be. Fabiola had to park the car while Buffy and I went up.The Exeter suite turned out to be a fully furnished apartment. The trick was turning the normal accoutrements into the specifics the client demanded. I didn’t have experience with interior design. I couldn’t say I was demeaned, being reduced to a glorified furniture mover. If Buffy was impressed by my ability to move chairs about, she hid it well.She even left me to my own devices while she went to the bedroom. I double checked the image she’d downloaded to the cellphone to make sure everything was where they wanted.“Cáel, I need you back here,” Buffy called out. Back I went – it wasn’t like I had a choice. “We need to make sure the Feng Shui of the room is impeccable,” she ordered.“Yes, Ma'am - Buffy,” I nodded. “Now let’s assume for a second I don’t have the faintest idea what you are talking about and go from there.”“For now,” she chuckled, “it means moving the bed where I tell you to.” As I moved to the far side of the king-sized bed, contemplating the crushing weight of my student loans, I noticed Buffy had made a wardrobe adjustment.That was a kind way to say she had unbuttoned her blouse to her naval and her pale pink, lacy half-bra was clearly visible. I also saw the incisor of some predator hung from a silver chain around her neck. As she leaned forward, it swayed, playing ping pong between her boobs. I was carefully attentive to her instructions and even managed to ask a few questions like 'what is Feng Shui?’“It is the art of focusing energy upon positive and negative lines so that you promote, or disrupt, the harmony of an area and its occupants,” she informed me. She back-flopped down on the bed in one of the least obfuscated suggestions of 'come get me’ I’d ever seen. I stayed well away, sensing a trap.“It’s jaguar,” Buffy tilted her head back and leered at me. Her shirt was wide open, her bountiful mounds jiggling slightly and her eyes were inviting. She was referring to the tooth pendant that was nestled between her breasts. I backed up toward the window.“I’m sure there is a story behind that,” I tried to wiggle some more breathing room from my collar.“There is,” she rolled over, her goodies still on display. “I shot it with my bow, skinned it and pulled the tooth from its skull.” How sweet and informative.“I’m glad I’m across the room then,” I grinned back. “I’d hate for there to be a misunderstanding between you and I.” Now she placed herself on all fours and stalked across the bed toward me.“I don’t think you are very interested in me,” she pouted. Now I was mentally mapping out the time and distance involved in me getting past her and exiting this career-killer.“You are my boss,” I exclaimed as I started edging around the room. “I imagine you are very interesting, but I’m not the kind of guy who makes advances on every beautiful woman he meets.” That was a total lie. I had the bad habit of making advances on ABSOLUTELY every beautiful woman I met.“Where is everybody?” Fabiola announced after she waltzed into the room. Forget an Oscar, she wouldn’t even get a Razzie from me for that patently false performance. Buffy huffed, rolled her eyes and shifted to the edge of the bed. She fixed her blouse properly then shot a withering glance at Fabiola before getting back to business.After sending a final video of the apartment to the CFO’s personal assistant and getting her okay, we checked out our next chore and set to it. A good deal of it was getting laundry, specialty meals and even picking up kids from daycare/school. We did manage to do some actual corporate business. We ran some confidential documents, not trusted to the computer system, to the various big wigs who needed them.In eight and a half hours I had been a furniture mover, delivery boy, nanny, chauffer and glorified postman. Had it not been for my mountain of student loans, the insane salary and limited job prospects, I would have been disheartened. As it was, I was merely paranoid and confused. I was getting the subtle sense that the women I was working with were waiting for me to fail.I was confused because, with the bending over, strutting, lingerie model wannabes all over the place, how did they expect me to get anything done? My cock hurt – a lot. I was looking away so often I was afraid I’d get whiplash. These had to be the clumsiest women on Earth. Wherever I went, someone dropped something and had to bend over to pick it up.No, they could not bend at the knees. They had to reach over while keeping their legs straight. These weren’t the new hires either. The only one I saw before quitting time was Fabiola. Even she was pretty helpless. She kept losing her shoes and then pleading to me to help put them back on. No matter how hard she tried, I was not looking up her damn skirt.Finally Buffy 'released’ me, indicating my work day was over. That’s when the jackals closed in. From out of nowhere, all six of the new hires appeared outside Katrina’s office as I retrieved my valise. Had it not been for my mode of transit, I’d have left it there and made for the elevators instead of risk being cornered.“Is there a problem?” Katrina spoke up, sensing my reticence in leaving her office. I had to think fast.“Can I use your bathroom?” I turned and asked her. She indicated that I could. I went in and changed, ditching the rubber band nonsense – it hadn’t really worked.When I stepped out, the conspiratorial whispers among the new girls stopped. I even caught Katrina looking me over. See, I got to and from work on my bicycle. It was a really nice bike. Dad got it for me for graduation – as I said, I don’t come from money. Anyway, biking in a suit in New York City was kind of stupid and hard on the dry cleaning bill.The answer to this dilemma was biking clothes, which in June consisted of very tight shorts and a tight shirt (my helmet is with my bike in a nice secure area in front of our skyscraper). Now take into account I was in really good shape and, oh yeah, horny as hell with a 'sensational’ package (fine, one girl called it sensational – I chose to run with her literary license).1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6; yep, ab six-pack accounted for and there was the tube-snake running off to my left hip. Even my nipples on my broad pectorals were making an appearance (through the shirt). As a passing note, I have a really nice ass, or so I’ve been told, and these shorts don’t work well with underwear so I was going without.I mustered my courage and marched on the door.“Ummm…” Katrina purred. “Tomorrow – seven o'clock.”“Yes, Ma'am – Katrina,” I waved over my shoulder. The new hires parted for me, except for Daphne. She put a hand on my right bicep.“Cáel, we are going out for drinks to celebrate our first day,” Daphne smiled sweetly.“Thank you, but no thank you,” I shook my head. “I’m not into time travel.” I moved past her.“What is that supposed to mean?” Dora inquired. They followed me to the elevator.“It is a riddle, Dora,” I grinned. “If you six ladies celebrated your first day with the company, where and when did this celebration take place?”“Are you implying we are lying to you?” Violet glared.“I’m implying you six are treating me like an idiot and none of you are graduates of the NSA, CIA or the New York Academy of Fine Arts, Violet,” I glared right back.“You are not being a team player,” Theresa gave me a smug look.“Now we are back to me being treated like an idiot,” I sighed. “Let me see, each of you knew where your assigned person was, Buffy didn’t see the need to greet Fabiola, Fabiola knew where the car keys were kept, she knew right where the Exeter Building was without accessing our onboard navigation system. She found a parking spot in downtown New York City at ten in the morning in under fifteen minutes…shall I go on?”The hush was so pronounced that not only could I hear our elevators quiet whir, I could hear the noise from the ones on either side of us. The women exchanged nervous looks.“You could still come out and join us for some drinks,” Daphne jumpstarted things.“I’m seeing somebody,” I countered.“You don’t have a girlfriend,” Paula stated confidently. Yep – dating survey.“I met a nice female mime (might as well confirm my heterosexuality) and after an in depth conversation I think we have a lot in common so we are giving serious thought about going out tonight,” I lied. Oh, it was an obvious lie alright. I wanted it to be.“She could join us,” Tigger suggested. They were freaking relentless. Fortunately, the elevator doors opened and we exited onto the ground floor.“And that would make sense because on the first date I’d want to surround her with a bunch of women she doesn’t know and probably has little in common with…I don’t think so,” I mused.They watched me prep my bike, affix my helmet and pedal off to freedom while hovering around and trying to create a new game plan.“Let us know how the date goes,” Fabiola called out.“Like that is going to happen,” I muttered as I sped away.I had studied the route between the corporation headquarters and my domicile for three days and gone onto multiple chats with my fellow cyclists to get a feel for traffic flows, road construction and back alleys. This allowed me to get home in just under fifteen minutes. I lugged my bike up the three flights of stairs – my neighborhood was far from the safe confines of the skyscraper – and settled into my shared flat.The apartment was rather close quarters, but my roommate, Timothy (never Tim), was a descent sort. Timothy was an exercise-conscious, gay tattoo artist with a good professional reputation and he found my choice in employment amusing. Timothy said I was swimming against the current. I told him salmon did it every year. He countered with salmon don’t jump Angel Falls.I was starting to feel he was prophetic after only one day. I didn’t dwell on it too much. I did our laundry, picked up our common area then started in on dinner. That consisted of microwaving frozen vegetables and sausage and bacon biscuits. I left that to warm while I worked out. When Timothy walked in he laughed and shook his head.“You are the best boyfriend I never had,” he chuckled. “Did you do my laundry too?”“Yep,” I said. I put my tablet down and headed to the kitchenette.“Even the underwear?” he teased.“If that’s what you like to call it,” I teased right back.Timothy tended to dress like a Chippendale dancer on his date nights. Thankfully, he had the body for it. Double thankfully, we were both okay with our sexuality. At the start, he had told me he was coming off a long term relationship that imploded. I told him I was heterosexual who had a chronic problem with fidelity.(Tuesday)My mobile phone rang at three o'clock – in the a.m. It was Katrina telling me that I was to get my ass over to corporate, find Desiree and do what she said. Katrina hung up before I could ask for an explanation. Twenty-two minutes later I was back at work. I pulled my 'Clark Kent.’ then phoned Desiree Fredrickson who was already in the garage – level one.She was waiting for me, trying to look impatient, but I knew the 'threw on whatever was handy’ look from too many 'confused girls in the morning’ experiences. I looked at her grim countenance and decided to be professionally polite.“You have this spot at the right corner of your mouth,” I quietly informed her.While driving, she peeked into the rearview mirror and used her tongue to correct the dried drool problem. There was no 'thank you’ aimed my way.“What are we doing?” I yawned.“At least pretend to maintain the proper decorum,” she chided me. She did her best to stifle her yawn.That was the end of my instructional period until we pulled into a parking spot close to a police station.“Watch your mouth and remember they don’t like us,” Desiree warned.“Woman, is it going to kill you to tell me what’s going on, or am I going to have to figure this out with a Tarot deck?” I snapped back.Her eyes narrowed with anger as she turned on me.“Can’t you follow a simple order?” she growled.“Sure,” I sighed. “It isn’t like you want me to succeed anyway,” I groused. She huffed in exasperation then led me to the front of the precinct building.Due to the hour, the place was crowded with drunks, drug addicts and dealers, with a sprinkling of prostitutes and violent felons. The 'they’ who didn’t like us became obvious. The cops didn’t like Desiree and, by default, me.“We are here for Marilynn St. John,” Desiree stated.“Of course you are, Ms. Frederickson,” the female desk sergeant sneered. “It is Lady’s Night at some whore-hole so, of course, your princess ended up here.”“Just get her,” Desiree demanded. The sergeant kept sneering in a way that told us we were going to be a while. Desiree walked over to a corner and put her back to it.I decided to hover close by until the sergeant had a moment.“What do you want?” she regarded me. “Aren’t you with the trash collector?” I guess that meant Desiree.“She’s one of my bosses,” I shrugged. “This is my first – I guess now it is my second day on the job and I have no idea why I am here.”I put my politest, most girl-friendly demeanor forward. It worked.“Keep in mind you are picking up your boss’s trash, Kid,” she turned all matronly on me. “You need to stop hanging around all those poisonous bitches and get a better job.” That led to a discussion of my age, background and economic status of my family.She liked the fact that I was proud of my blue-collar background, single and polite. As an unexpected bonus the Sergeant had a single daughter; a freshly minted from the Police Academy policewoman. I gave her my mobile number and she sent someone to retrieve our charges. While we waited, she showed me a picture of her girl. The daughter was rather sexy.I told her mother that her daughter had a bright smile and a cute nose. Saying 'your pride and joy would look good handcuffed to my bed’ wouldn’t win me points. As the desk sergeant and I finished, out walked two wasted teen fashion queens with a female police escort.“Sign for the over-privileged skanks,” the Sergeant directed me.Desiree pushed me aside and took custody of Marilynn and her high society pal, Vienna Rothmore. The two young ladies joined us as we left the station.“Sorry to mess up your date, Desiree,” Marilynn snickered. Yeah…right, she was soooo sorry.“He’s not my date,” Desiree ground out. “He’s one of our new hires.”“Oh, cool,” Marilynn slurred. She reached up from the back seat and put a hand on my shoulder. “I want you to come home with me and help me test my sheets to make sure they are comfortable,” she giggled. “I have delicate skin.”“You also have a problem with substance abuse, taking things that don’t belong to you, and a lifetime of making poor choices,” I countered. “Sorry; I have to decline.”“You work for my grandmother. That means you work for me,” she protested.“I’m sure if you have your wonderful grandmother put your request in my work cue, I’ll get around to it,” I smiled.“You’re no fun,” Marilynn complained.“He’s not here to be fun for you, Marilynn,” Desiree finally intervened.
We are so excited this week to have the incredibly talented and very funny, TV/Film MUA and skincare expert... Katrina Doran join us! The lovely Katrina has worked on some insane projects with HBO, DC and Disney. We love her work mantra which is on set 'it is not about you' everything in the film industry is about teamwork - our kind of gal! Join Katrina, Kim and Hannah as they have a frank discussion on working as a TV/Film MUA, the lows and the highs. What it takes to love the job (4am starts anyone?) Enjoy, WBCo x Find us at: www.westbarnco.com Follow us on IG: @westbarnco Follow Katrina IG: @skincare_katrina
Long time favorite lounge singer Katrina Love joins the Chrissie Mayr Podcast! Performing at the Villa Roma Resort in Callicoon, New York! Villa Roma is one of the few remaining resorts remaining in the Catskill Mountains, formerly known as the Borsht Belt Thank you to our sponsors! Feeling Anxious? Smoke your CBD! Go to Kushy Dreams and use the code CMP to get 20% off your order plus free shipping! https://kushydreams.com/ Treat yo self! Go to AdamandEve.com and use promo code CMP to get 20% off plus free shipping! Do you enjoy my video content? I use Streamyard and it's made the BIGGEST impact on my livestreams, videos, and clips! FREE 14 Day Trial if you use my referral code! https://streamyard.com?fpr=chrissie
Katrina Love is a positive mindset coach, psychotherapeutic trauma councellor life coach and an author. She is also the co-founder of a happiness wellbeing support group. The 'Influential Womens Podcast' discusses Katrina's work, personal experiences her mantras on staying positive in tough times including, tips on how we can cope in isolation. It is co-produced and presented by Nicki Bannerman, executively produced by Juliette Nicholls and audio produced by Saffron Mirza. Support us and help us keep making podcasts here: https://www.patreon.com/InfluentialWomenPodcast @nickihbc @pineappleaudioproduction @saffronmirza
Katrina Love is a Positive Mindset Coach, LIFECHECK Therapist, Columnist, Motivational Speaker, and International Corporate Trainer. She is the author of “LIFECHECK”, “The Later Dater”, “From Heartbreak to Happiness” as well as being a founding member of Happy People Solutions.Her philosophy and techniques are forged through personal life experiences of trauma and vicarious trauma and the impact that this has on the quality of everyday life and relationships with self and others. Combining her experience as a qualified Integrative Psychotherapeutic Counsellor and Life Coach she has developed a pioneering Personal Development Programme, that enables groups and individuals to learn how to reset their negative thought patterns, old behaviours and bad habits.Discussed in this episode:- Why the festive season is a stressful time for some people? - Why we sometimes just accept what's always been and keep behaving/accepting in the same way, year on year? - When it comes to the festive season, where we sometimes go wrong, generally, when it comes to managing our stressors?- A brief chat around: - Planning overwhelm - Money stress - Spreading ourselves too thinly. - Dealing with toxic family members. - Dealing with toxic work colleagues. - Overeating / Overdrinking. - Taking time for you. - Staying in the moment.- The overall benefits of taking positive action during the festive season.- What to look out for when looking for someone to help with therapy/life coaching.- Some of the myths we tell ourselves about why we can't get help with our mental health/life coaching.- The process Katrina takes clients through when working with them.- The benefits of working with a professional when it comes to your mental health /life coaching.DISCLAIMER: Always seek the advice of your doctor or other qualified health care provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition or lifestyle change. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have heard on the podcast or on this website. Always seek the advice of a legal or financial professional or other qualified provider with any questions you may have regarding a legal or financial matter. Never disregard professional legal or financial advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have heard on the podcast or on this website.Follow Katrina LoveWeb: www.lifecheck.loveEmail: katrina@lifecheck.loveInstagram: www.instagram.com/lifecheck.love/Facebook: www.facebook.com/katrinalovelovelifeYou can follow Ross Dean & Make Today Count at: Website: http://rossdean.com Facebook - https://facebook.com/rossdeanphoto Twitter
Natasha’s 40 year struggle with eczema and weight gain led to her quest to find answers as to why conventional advice does not lead to good health. She was shocked to find that all the accepted guidelines we are told to follow and currently perceived as fact, are just plain wrong. Desperate for answers to the question of what our bodies need for great health, she embarked on a research journey which included gaining a diploma in Nutrition. She has been working on eating plans with clients since 2014 in her business Wide Eyed Nutrition. Currently she runs corporate training and weekly groups coaching the importance of real food for great mental health in collaboration with Katrina Love, Psychotherapeutic Counsellor and Positive Mindset Coach. Their business is Happy People Solutions. Natasha’s ultimate aim is to educate to reverse the worldwide trend of increasing chronic illness.Mentioned in this show:- Why people usually come to Natasha for help with their nutrition. - Popular diets and their sustainability long term. - How you can still eat well and lose weight/feel great. - The mental health benefits of great nutrition. - What to look out for when choosing a Nutritionist to work with. - The importance of finding a plan that works for your own lifestyle. - How to deal with existing food cultures in the household that do not resonate with your journey. - Some of the myths we tell ourselves around why we cannot obtain better nutrition. - How to keep to a new style of eating, once you start. - How to surround yourself with like-minded people, for ongoing support.DISCLAIMER: Always seek the advice of your doctor or other qualified health care provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition or lifestyle change. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have heard on the podcast or on this website. Always seek the advice of a legal or financial professional or other qualified provider with any questions you may have regarding a legal or financial matter. Never disregard professional legal or financial advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have heard on the podcast or on this website.Follow Natasha Hodge at: Wide Eyed Nutrition: https://wideeyednutrition.com/Happy People Solutions: https://happypeoplesolutions.comEmail: natasha@wideeyednutrition.comFacebook - https://www.facebook.com/natasha.highonhealth/Podcast theme music: ‘March on’ by Silent Partner. Used in agreement with the Youtube Free Music Audio Library.
Imagine if a person you were dating said out of the blue that they did not love you or fancy you anymore? Mindset coach and therapist Katrina Love gives us fantastic insider knowledge on how to react to this potentially devastating situation. Know they self and love thyself seems to be the key, find out more here. #RadioGorgeous #Dating #Wellbeing Contact Katrina : Tel: 0044 (0) 7747 345 384 Email: katrina@lifecheck.love insta: @lifecheck.love
Covered in eczema, overweight and addicted to sweets, Natasha was in denial about her terrible diet. Now she is a convert to eating sensibly, listen to her story. Natasha has now become an nutritionist, she met charismatic coach Katrina Love and they have joined forces to create an eating plan which will make to feel and look fabulous. email: natasha@wideeyednutrition.com [www.wideeyednutrition.com](www.wideeyednutrition.com) Call: 0044 (0) 7762 136322 #RadioGorgeous #diet #nutrition
Linda: What's happening? Katrina: Nothing. Nothing is happening. Linda: Nothing is... Its not working. Look. Katrina: Look sideways. Linda: I'm sideways, why? Katrina: You have to stop it. You have to cancel it. You have to start again. Linda: That is odd. Why is it doing this? Katrina: I'm going to give you an important lesson in a moment. Linda: I forgot you're live. Katrina: Were not live. Its not live yet. No, we'll go laugh in a minute. Linda: Look. Katrina: We can just admire ourselves first though. Linda: Why didn't I click the rotation. Katrina: Its not live at all. Linda: How do you do this rotation thing? Katrina: Here's the situation. You have to type in the thing, and then turn the thing, and then press go live. You type in the thing, you turn the thing, you do the thing. That's the whole technical explanation. Linda: You type the thing, do the thing, and then ... Katrina: You type the thing, you turn the thing, and then you do the thing. That's the official Wikipedia explanation. Linda: I got it. I got it. Wait, I got it. Katrina: Webster, that's the Webster explanation for how to go live. What are you doing? Katrina: Don't text Seth. Who's Seth? Why are you texting Seth? Linda: I don't even know who Seth is. Katrina: We'll go live in a minute. Linda: You haven't started yet? Katrina: I'm going to give you an important postural lesson in a moment. Just hurry up and go live. We're not live. Linda: We are so live. Katrina: I haven't started, so we're not really live at all. I don't care if anybody's on there. I am not ready to be live, and so, therefore, we're not live. When I say that we'll be live, we'll be live. Linda: I'm pretty alive. Katrina: You're always alive. Katrina: Hurry up. Linda: I'm getting side tracked. Katrina: Put your [inaudible 00:02:15]. I have an important postural lesson to give you. It's for everyone's benefit. Linda: All right. Katrina: Ah-ha. Linda: Ah-ha! Wait. Okay. Katrina: Many important and serious things are going to take place here. There will be a blood ritual at the stroke of midnight. What time is it? What time is it right now? Linda: I think it's going to work. Katrina: Press play. It's a good rule, to go left. Linda: Left is now. Katrina: Left too, press play. Always press play. Linda: Left is now? Katrina: Sometimes you have to press pause. No can I teach you something? Linda: Yeah. Teach me that life lesson please. Katrina: What time it is, because at the stroke of midnight we must have a blood ritual. Linda: A blood ritual? Katrina: It's 11:56. Linda: This is the first time you're telling me of this blood ritual. But I'm all about rituals. Katrina: Just so you can see. Okay. If you want to record a very serious video for your business, a serious video. Linda: Mm-hmm (affirmative), yeah. Katrina: Serious? Linda: Serious. Katrina: Here's how you hold yourself. Firstly. Step number one, you stick your booty out. Arch that booty right out. Arch it out like you're trying to get some action up in there. Linda: You said serious. Katrina: I'm being serious. I'm giving a serious fucking tip about how to do good posture for a video, for your business. Linda: I'm good. Now- Katrina: Step number one, arch your booty out like you want to get something up in it. Linda: Arch your booty out? How do you arch your booty out? Katrina: What do you mean? Linda: You arch your back. Katrina: Yes, well you stick your butt out. Linda: Done. Katrina: I was just trying to say it in a fancy way. Arch your booty out, and then what that does- Linda: Life lessons from- Katrina: The Katrina Ruth Show. Linda: That's right. I mean how- Katrina: This is Katrina Ruth right here. Linda: The Katrina Ruth Show. Katrina: Step number one is you arch your bottom out. Lisa Michelle, how the hell are you appearing on both live streams at once? It's the voo-dooery. Exactly you park it out like your back broke. Linda: Okay I've done it. Katrina: You stick it out. Linda: I've done it now what? Katrina: Now step number two- Linda: I have my booty out. I have my chest out, what now? Katrina: Step number two is obviously bosoms out. Linda: But you already said bosoms out. Katrina: Well they kind of go out automatically when you arch your- Linda: You said arch your bosoms. Katrina: When you stick your butt out you kinda... You can't arch bosoms. How do you arch a bosom? Linda: That's what you said, arch your chest or something. Katrina: Pay attention. Linda: Paying attention. Katrina: Step number one is you stick your butt out, automatically that's going to make your breasts go out, but you should stick them out a little bit more to be sure. Linda: Well I'm feeling a little bit uncomfortable. Katrina: When you see your video on playback, you'll think that you have perfectly fabulous posture; and really you're going to look like the Hunchback of Notre Dam, I'm just teaching you how to look straight, and polite, and lady-like. So butt out, breasts out. Thirdly, what you want to do is you want to do is elongate your neck. Elongate. Linda: Like an ostrich? Katrina: Giraffe, or ostrich. You elongate your neck. Linda: I'm done, and now what? Katrina: You don't so crazy eyes. Nobody said anything about crazy eyes. Who said crazy eyes?[crosstalk 00:05:18] Elongate your neck, you want to tilt your chin slightly down- Linda: I can't do this without the crazy eyes. Katrina: Slightly down. Tilt your chin slightly down, but without- Linda: Now I got a double chin. Katrina: No looking like an alien. Thirdly, and I'm going to credit this to Amanda Francis because I learned to from her. Thirdly, you smile with your soul. When I do it, it looks creepy. That's how you have perfect posture when you're filming a very professional and serious video- Linda: This is a professional video. Katrina: For your business. Linda: Did you guys get that? The Katrina Ruth Show. Katrina: I'm just here to serve. Linda: From your soul? Katrina: Always from the soul. I'm just here to give helpful tips to entrepreneurs. Absolutely. Linda: What capes? Their talking about capes or something? Katrina: What are you talking about? Linda: I have no idea. Katrina: This is my initiation class cloak. It's for the blood rituals they happen every Saturday evening. Linda: So it's one past 12:00. What are these blood rituals? Katrina: Well we just drink the blood. Linda: No I don't do it. No, no, no, no, no. Uh-uh. No-no. Katrina: There were many important things that we came here to discuss. Linda: We actually had a lot of important things to say today. Katrina: Are you doing your posture? Linda: I am. I have my ostrich neck on. Katrina: See, it looks like we're just sitting in a normal relaxed, straight fashion. Actually, we are in excruciating pain, and it's the only way that it should be done. If your not hurting from all the arching and... Oh I forgot- Linda: The pain of being women. Katrina: I forgot to say you want to lift your torso up and twist it a little bit. Lift it up, twist it. So remember; butt out, boobs more, elongate your neck and torso- Linda: No ostrich eyes. Katrina: No crazy eyes, or ostrich eyes. And tilt your head down a little bit, keep yourself twisted. Linda: How am I doing guys? How am I doing? Katrina: It's roughly how it goes. Wait- Linda: Please tell me, how am I doing? Katrina: Stop. Linda: Life advice from the Katrina Ruth Show. Katrina: I forgot it something important. Hold the fort. Linda: Holding, holding. What do you got? Katrina: Just teach. Linda: Okay. You know what, really was the main reason we came on today. So much has been happening. We actually just finished a dinner party. Lou is that you? Katrina: Don't tell any secrets. Linda: Important, important, important advice; business advice. Katrina: Nope. I won't give in. I refuse. Linda: No. Why? Katrina: I'm not giving any business advice to anybody. Linda: But this is important business advice. What we were just doing. Katrina: I forgot my sceptre. Linda: We came... Katrina: Sorry, excuse me. Linda: Here's the thing. We were talking earlier, we had a very important message to- Katrina: It's a riding wand. Linda: This looks more like a spanking whip. Katrina: Yes it's for... you're not supposed to tell the secrets. I said no secrets. It is for spanking. I'm [inaudible 00:08:22]. Linda: Why do you have this? Katrina: Just for reasons. Linda: Would you mind sharing? Katrina: For emergencies. Linda: Its an emergency? Katrina: Well not right now, but it could be. Linda: It could be. Katrina: On occasion. I think you might have it the wrong way out maybe.[crosstalk 00:08:40] I don't know, do you? Linda: Where so you put this? Katrina: Oh well she's holding the right end. See I don't know. I just use it any which way I like. This one's rather pointy. Katrina: I refuse to give any business advice about anything. I think the advice comes from absorbing the essence of us. Linda: We were talking about the soul. It's about, you know? Katrina: The masks. Linda: The masks. That's right the masks. This is why we came on tonight, because- Katrina: Emergency spanking is always[crosstalk 00:09:07] Linda: It started from your live feed yesterday. Katrina: That was extraordinarily serious. Linda: You were throwing bread. She was throwing bread in here live feed. Go and watch it, you need to watch it. Katrina: Yeah, upon layer. Linda: Upon layer, upon layer, upon layer, upon layer- Katrina: That was the best presentation- Linda: It was. Katrina: That has happened in the history of the internet. Linda: I need to get on my knees and- Katrina: Oh that's what... Well, that's not what I meant. Linda: That's how good it was. Katrina: Well, are we wearing masks? This is actually the Katrina Ruth Show right here, and I'm Linda Doktar. Linda: I'm Katrina. This is Linda. Katrina: Face off. We did a face off. Linda: Well, heres the thing. Katrina: Earlier tonight we were talking about how impressed we are with ourselves. That's right you were talking... Excuse me, but somebody was watching videos of themselves perform amazing feats of athleticism, and announced to the- Linda: I was so inspired by myself. Katrina: And announced to the entire dinner party that she was so inspired by herself. Linda: I was. I was. Katrina: Its fair enough. Linda: I was doing trick on video, and I got really, really inspired by myself. Katrina: That's fair enough. Completely reasonable and professional. Linda: Do you ever get inspired by yourself? Because I think we should always... Katrina. Katrina: No, that's for the emergency spankings. Still has a tag on it, because I had to get inpatient. Linda: This really freaks me out, because I think this is a children's thing. Katrina: That's unfortunate. Linda: Is this a children's thing? Katrina: What kind of tricks... No, it's not- Linda: Is this for children? Katrina: No, I use this myself for professional reasons. Linda: You have two spanking equipment in your... Katrina: Just for business purposes. I don't want to [inaudible 00:10:50] Linda: Business purposes. Katrina: Can't talk about it right now. Linda: Okay. Were talking about masks. Katrina: We were going to talk about masks. Linda: And it started with you doing this... With bread- Katrina: The layers od the bread. Linda: The layers of the bread, and you were throwing bread in your live feed. It was actually a great analogy. You were talking about the layers of the masks. We're wearing these masks. Linda: Hey Kai. Linda: We're wearing these masks in life, and one of them really stood out. Katrina: Chocolate. Linda: No. Well that's just a [crosstalk 00:11:24] Katrina: The chocolate layer was the best layer. Linda: You know what really stood out for me? Why we're actually here? The Facebook masks. The Facebook masks. We're wearing these masks online; on Facebook, and we're showing the world this much. This much. Were painting this picture of who we are a little bit, but not who we are completely. Why are we doing that? Linda: Why are we doing that? Katrina: Venerability. Scared of being vulnerable. Linda: Are we afraid to be vulnerable? Are we afraid to really show the world who we really are? Katrina: Well you and I are pretty fucking transparent, and vulnerable. Are we still wearing masks? Linda: Well, were not wearing anything right now. Katrina: Capes. Linda: Yeah, but this is really the thing; being vulnerable and letting the world see everything. Everything? Because- Katrina: That's exactly what this is for. Linda: Why wouldn't you? Katrina: It's for when you need to show everything. Well heres the thing, can you actually show, or is it ever possible to show everything? Because- Linda: Can you? Katrina: You're not listening because you're pouting to the camera. I was thinking. I was in deep contemplative thought. How rude, rude an inappropriate. Katrina: The thing is, as much as you might try to be completely transparent and open; you're evolving right then and there in that moment. How much did I already shift on that one particular issue? That I was just bitching about right before we went live? Linda: Oh, That thing? Katrina: Yeah. Linda: You weren't bitching, it was a conscious tantrum. Katrina: That is the best expression in the history of time hashtag conscious tantrum. I was having the best conscious tantrum that I ever had. Linda: In the world. Katrina: Oh, I've had a few big conscious tantrums actually. Linda: Oh I have too. Katrina: Yeah we actually have a lot of conscious tantrums, the two of us. Today my children said... what did they say. I was saying to them well everybody get grumpy, because one of them was grumpy. And I said don't worry everybody gets grumpy, even mommy, even Serafina, and even Linda. And the two of them said, “No, Linda doesn't get grumpy." Linda: Linda doesn't get grumpy. Katrina: And I was like, “well you go listen to her audios.” Linda: Linda does get grumpy as well. Katrina: Linda has quite the conscious tantrum from time to time. In fact, we both have conscious tantrums to each other all the time. Do we tell Facebook about it? No we tell each other. Linda: We tell each other, but at the same time we- Katrina: We process it and we turn it into content and make money. Linda: Every time. Katrina: Like ninjas. Linda: Every time- Katrina: What costumes? This is my normal professional Saturday midnight blood ritual outfit that I always wear. Linda: And drinking blood. But heres the thing. We have our conscious tantrums, we get clarity, and it becomes content. It becomes growth, and we share that. Katrina: That's why they're a conscious tantrum. I had a conscious tantrum, it was more of a conscious hissy fit, an hour or two ago, didn't I? Linda: You did. Katrina: I expressed it. Linda: You were so cute. Katrina: I am cute. I expressed it, and I was pretty shitty about it. Was I conscious. I think I was just shitty. I think I was actually being quite immature with some of the things I was saying. Linda: No, but you were owning it. You were actually, owning it. Katrina: I did own it. I always own it. Linda: You even took responsibility to the pint where you said, "Is this my shit? Did I create it? Is this my shit?" Katrina: Oh no, you're thinking about a different conscious tantrum. [crosstalk 00:15:03] Linda: Oh, there's been multiple ones today. Katrina: That's a different one. I'm talking about, what was I talking about right there before I stormed off- Linda: All right then. Katrina: Right before I stormed off to the bathroom. Then I reframed, and reframed, and reframed. Linda: Reframed. Katrina: So I might have had two conscious tantrums today. Linda: At least, but that's okay. Katrina: It's fine. Its Saturday, I can do what I want. Linda: Every day you can do what you want. Katrina: That's, yeah, good point.[crosstalk 00:15:26] Linda: What kind of comedy I that? Katrina: Well done. Congratulations. Linda: I'm calling the Katrina Ruth Show out on some really, really- Katrina: I always do what I want. Its true. Well no, you're right. I had a small, I'm going to call that earlier one a small conscious dummy spit. The one that happened earlier today. Linda: And it makes it okay, because you add the conscious at the start. Katrina: It was more like a small conscious Waaa. I wasn't really having a tantrum. I was just stamping my feet and crying a little bit. Katrina: There's been no wine at all. It's a blood ritual. Linda: And I had no [crosstalk 00:16:01] Katrina: Blood ritual. Linda: I had no idea- Katrina: It was Karen O'Conners fault. She's been here all evening planning. Linda: Blame it on all the external. Blame it on all the external. Take no responsibility. Linda: Hello Anthony. Katrina: How rude. Well I had a conscious little cry. I was mildly upset and I said, "is this my shit." And you said, "yes it is." Linda: I did actually. Katrina: Earlier on today you had said to me "are you being stupid", and I was in an uncompassionate mode, because I was having a small anxiety moment so I just said yes. I was like yes you are being silly. Linda: Yeah, that's your own shit. Katrina: That was true though. Linda: Yeah, but how amazing was it that you- Katrina: And you work for it, you go through it. And then I had my conscious tantrum. That was what just happened in the last hour to two. Remember? Linda: Yeah, but its been more like every hour. Katrina: You know the one I mean. Linda: No. I need to write this down in my journal to remember. Katrina: It was the one that really fricken got to me. Linda: Yeah. Do it again? Katrina: Then I decided on some decidedly immature actions that I might take. Linda: And I said, “Is that what you really want to do?” Is that coming from a very conscious spite. Katrina: And I said, “yes,” like a teenager. Linda: And even the music's saying hello from the other side, Its like wake up Katrina. Katrina: I'm a conscious teenager. Linda: But it makes it okay, because you put the conscious in front of it. Always, every time when you put the conscious in front of something. Katrina: So it is what it is. I'm still going to do that, just so you know. Linda: So are you going to tell them about your tantrum? I mean one of them. Katrina: No I can't. Not at all. Linda: Okay, just though I'd check. Katrina: No. Linda: I know. Katrina: Sorry, mask on. Facebook mask on. But I referred to it. Katrina: Well we're not trying to help people at all. No we want to... Oh my god. Kenneth on...Let's bring it. Kenneth on Linda's live stream says... he says it in this voice exactly, “I know you guys are trying to be funny, but you know,” and he's nodding his head, “you know in order to really help people you need to really put your content together, and be sorta, kinda, coherent.” Sorta, kinda is definitely what you want to say before you use the word coherent by the way. Sorta, kinda, coherent. “And not acting like a bunch of drunk school girls.” Katrina: Well, how many are there. There's only two, where's the rest of the bunch? They already left. “This rambling is hard to follow, and to make sense out of.” That's what Kenneth Fitzgerald Cheney has to say over on Linda's live stream. Katrina: Well Kenneth, I'm so glad that you brought this to our attention, and I have many things to say. Unfortunately the remainder of the school girls already left. Thank you for referring to us as school girls, because we do look amazing. Linda: I take that as a compliment, by the way. Katrina: We look amazing. I'm just going to point out a small teeny little fact, can I? Linda: Go ahead. Katrina: So you said that's it hard to follow and make sense out of, which implies that its not worth staying for and you don't want to be here, but yet you're here and choosing to comment. Which makes you, bitch, you're a fan. Katrina: I had one glass of wine. I know its on you're live stream, but he's followed me for ages, so I'm taking him as part of my audience, and I'm just making [crosstalk 00:19:25] for him. Linda: Take them all. Take him. Take him. Katrina: At what point did we say we were here to help anyone? Oh, he's adding to it. “Well you guys are beautiful, but I mean your subject is tantalising. We're talking about masks, and.” And then he just finishes with an and. Listen to me. I am the only person on the internet whose allowed to start and finish sentences with an and. You can't just finish a sentence with an and, but we accept the beauty compliment. Thank you. Katrina: The subject is tantalising. I think what you mean is we are tantalising. We're talking about masks...”that's masks needed to..." Now you're repeating your words, which is starting to lead to the belief that you are the one who is a bunch of drunk school girls; because you've now said that masks needed need to be talked about. Continue, carry on. Linda: But what if this is not actually a mask? What id this is actually what happens behind the scenes? Katrina: It is. We were walking around all evening with our cloaks on. Linda: We were. We were. Katrina: I have photos of other people in cloaks as well. We do dome weird parties here. Kenneth is a bunch of drunk school girls. He said, "kinda, sorta, coherent." If you are going to use the word coherent in a sentence, I do believe that it should not be... what's the word? Should not be followed up by, but the opposite of that. You should not say the word coherent after saying kinda, sorta; because it kind od disputes the coherent. You're either coherent, or you're kinda, sorta you can't be both at the same time. Which one is it? Preface. You can't go prefacing your coherent with kinda, sorta. Linda: Hello Steven. Katrina: Hello Steven. Linda: Welcome. Katrina: Welcome. Linda: Were having very, very serious chats about masks. Katrina: Very, serious. Well it actually a fabulous point that Kenneth makes. He says we should have our masks on, but what you have to understand is that we legitimately were walking around like this, talking to each other. Linda: We actually were. We were. Katrina: And the others, who have already left. Send the invoice on over. I'll pay you in garlic. Linda: So, is there a rule that we have to show up a certain way on social media? Katrina: Well, apparently Kenneth has the rule book. Send it to us. Send it via fax. We want it by fax. Linda: Do you even have a fax machine? Katrina: I'm sure there's one somewhere on the [inaudible 00:21:55]. They might have one here. Katrina: I'm not an old drunk. I take great offence to that Leah. I'm drinking nothing but mountain water, and spring water. Linda: No, she said she's a drunk. Katrina: No she's interpreting drunk [inaudible 00:22:11], she says. What non of you realise is that I'm a fabulous actress. It's really 9:00 AM, and I just did a work out, and had a coffee, and I'm completely straight laced. Linda: Totally, but this is the Katrina Ruth Show. Katrina Ruth Show, she does what she wants, and I've just joined her show this evening. Katrina: Its very tiresome when the normal people... Don't you find its tiresome when the normal people come onto live stream and you have to try to explain life to them? If you though I was going to stay within some sort of boundaries, you though wrong. I wouldn't have done it if I thought it was somebody who I didn't know, but this is somebody who's followed my page. I pretty sure I blocked you awhile back Kenneth, actually. Let me get my laptop, I'm checking that right now. Linda: How many people are on your block list? Katrina: It's an unreasonable amount. Linda: Unreasonable amount, like hundreds? Katrina: Is my laptop there already? Linda: I don't know where you put your laptop, all I can see is spanking gear. Katrina: I think I lost it. Did somebody steal it? Linda: But heres the thing... Katrina: I'm not kidding I don't know where my- Linda: Hello Brendon. Katrina: All right listen to me. Linda: Listen. Listen Linda, listen, listen. Do you know that one? Do you know that clip? Katrina: People can't go around commenting on Linda's live stream when they've been blocked by me. As far as the masks go, what did you just say? You said something fascinating. Do you remember what it was? Linda: Oh my god, A lot of fascinating things come out of my mouth. I don't know- Katrina: I mean mostly what you say is fascinating, in fact 100% of the time its fascinating. Linda: 100% of what I say is fascinating. Katrina: That's why when you're up stairs in bed, I'm still listening to audios from you downstairs. Linda: In the same house. Katrina: And then audioing back before you make it back down stairs. Its like an ongoing walkie talkie system. Linda: We have this- Katrina: Where's the block list? Linda: Love relationship. Katrina: Love love. It's a love love relationship. Linda: It's always a love love. Katrina: Look at this, we look amazing no masks at all. Linda: But this is the thing- Katrina: As I was saying, it tiresome to have to deal with normal people. But you said something about, do we ever have a mask on? You said something. Linda: You know what Kat, and I want to tell everybody. When I started taking quantum leaps in my business, in my life, in every area of my life; you know when I did that? Started removing the mask. Started removing the mask and letting the world really see me, because- Katrina: Let yourself be who you want to be. Linda: I'm so tyres of wearing a mask. I'm so tired. I'm tired, I'm done. I'm tired. Who else is tired? If you're tired let us know, because I see so many people hiding. Katrina: Look. Linda: Oh, that is a lot. That is a long list. Katrina: No an unreasonable list. Linda: I got the inside stories. Katrina: She's looking at my blocked list right now. Linda: The block list. Katrina: Do you recognise any of these people? Heres one. Linda: Oh. I see so many people wear masks online- Katrina: Maybe I didn't block him, what a [crosstalk 00:25:24] I am. Linda: So many. But why? I want to even invite you to ask this question from yourself. Why are you wearing a mask? Katrina: The thing is, it is a fabulous point that he made. Having a go at us, and trying to school us on how to be more helpful online. Who said we were here to help anyway? But actually, were helping by being ourselves. And the point is, the whole mask conversation is about being whoever you are. Which means that sometimes, you know what? Sometimes you're just sitting around casually on a Saturday night, in your cloak, being a clown, and maybe that's who you are. And that's no mask. Linda: Exactly. And you know what? Fun is definitely part of life, and I've been suppressing fun. I've been suppressing that part. Katrina: Where sis you put it? Linda: I don't know. Katrina: Did you lock it away? I'll get you the key. I have the key. Linda: I did for a long time. Please, please give me the key. Katrina: [inaudible 00:26:25] Linda: She gave me the key to unlock the fun. Katrina: Heavy moment. Linda: I don't know if I'm ready for this. Katrina: It's a heavy moment. Let it out. I think I'm sweating underneath the cloak. Linda: I'm sweating. Katrina: I smell quite delightful. It opposite day. The most important thing is being comfortable being who you are. What if there was no point to anything. People might assume that we have a point to getting on this live stream, like why are they doing this? Where is this going? Linda: Its like where are the teachings? Where's the wisdom? Katrina: Right. So what id there was no point? Linda: What if there didn't have to be a point? Katrina: What if the point was you get to just be yourself? Linda: Kenneth. Katrina: Who ever you are in that moment. Linda: But see Kenneth, I am vulnerable and I also have different sides to me, just like everybody else; every single person watching this, we all have different parts to self. And me personally; I'm going to own up to a big thing now; I've been really suppressing the fun side of myself. Fun is one of my highest values, and I've been suppressing that in a major way. Katrina: Its true. You are very fun. Linda: And yeah you might see that behind the scenes, but have I really... You know even looking at my social media, have I really let the world in on the fun as much as I really am? Katrina: No. Linda: No. I haven't. Katrina: Have any of us? Linda: Have any of us? You know I see a lot of entrepreneurs showing up in just their messaging. Just this certain area of who they are. Katrina: Well people think that there's rules, even the people who think there's no rules. Which is our people essentially, who know that there's no rules, but they still think that there's rules. They still think, well there has to be some sort of purpose, or intent, or point, or I have to have an outcome in mind; but what id it was just living your life? Katrina: So tonight we had a small dinner party here. Imagine that everyone who came along to the dinner party was coming along thinking; what is my outcome or intention, or what do I have to make sure to achieve from being at Kat's house tonight. What goal must I accomplish, or even, how do I want to be perceived? Right? Linda: Yeah. Yeah. Katrina: Which is kind of what people are thinking for sure on Facebook. How do I want to be perceived? I want people to think I'm empowering or inspiring, or funny, or whatever it is. But then as soon as you start to try to be that, you're not that. Katrina: Imagine if everybody who came here tonight came along trying to make sure that they were funny, or entertaining, or perceived as being intelligent. It would be such an awkward, bizarre conversation. Linda: Yeah. Katrina: Whereas everyone just showed up, you know, on the back of a busy day, rushing to get here, a little bit late, or some people not late, whatever. But you know what I mean. Nobody's like let me now think about how to show up to the dinner party. Linda: Yeah, yeah. Katrina: They just come. Linda: Yeah. Katrina: And then we had an amazing evening. Which was a mix of hilariousness, and seriousness- Linda: Yeah- Katrina: And deep connection- Linda: It was all of that. Katrina: And other things. It was all of it. Linda: It was a polarity of everything. Katrina: Of course. Linda: Everything. Katrina: Of course, and it was total flow. Linda: And then we said we should do a live feed about masks. We should really let the world see who we really are behind the scenes. Katrina: I think I say that all the time anyway. Linda: With no other intention. Absolutely no other intention. We have no plan. Katrina: But that's the thing when you go on a live stream... I believe, when you get on a live stream its got to be the same as going to dinner with your friends. You just turn it on and you see what fucking happens. If you go on with the intention no I'm going to be; even if you get on and you try to be entertaining, then its like you're trying. Or you get on and you're like I'm going to be deeply inspirational, or deeply spiritual, or deeply serious. Or I'm going to sell my shit or whatever. Katrina: Well if you're practised at it you can still do it, but the ones where you literally press go live are the ones where the gold comes out. Katrina: Okay, we've made Steven's son throw up. Were sorry about that. Steven says, "I just joined you live, and one of my boys started throwing up." Linda: I hope your son is okay Steven. Katrina: We apologise. I hope he's okay. My daughter was throwing up earlier [crosstalk 00:30:55] Linda: He may not have thrown up because he saw us, but who knows. I don't know that. Linda: So heres the thing. What if you just showed up as you, had no plan and just allowed yourself to be you? Katrina: No intention. You are the point, what if the point was just being you? Linda: Being you. Not doing, but being? Embodying yourself. Katrina: Do you know what it comes down to? Do you know why most people will never do that in an online business? Linda: Why? Katrina: I don't know about the rest of Facebook. Is anybody even on Facebook to not make money anymore? Is that a thing. Sound ridiculous. But as far as online business, the reason why most people will never do this; they don't have the faith to do that. They won't trust to do that. Linda: They're scared of being judged. Katrina: They won't trust that they can just be themselves. Linda: Yeah, yeah. Katrina: And seal the business that they want, or get the results, or that people will even like them. So then they think that they have to do something, or be something, or be somebody. Linda: Exactly, put on that mask. Katrina: On masks. Linda: Exactly. The mask. Katrina: The mask. Linda: But dint we get tired of wearing the mask? Katrina: Throw it off, just throw it off. Linda: Throw it off. Katrina: Its not even a mask. It was a cloak. I only threw it off because I was so hot I thought I was having a menopausal... Linda: Oh you threw the whole thing off?[crosstalk 00:32:05] Katrina: I thought I was having a hot flash. It mother fucking hot in there. Linda: Is this wearing a mask? This is the not mask though. This is- Katrina: That's just a normal at home Saturday lounge affair. That's for lounging around on a Saturday evening at home. That's why we were wearing it earlier. We were wearing them for hours earlier when no cameras were on. Linda: We were, and you children were running around, and we were having a good time. Katrina: Every one was wearing one. We have many, because it's a normal thing to have many cloaks in your house. Linda: Of course, it is. They key is the whole point. Katrina: Okay. Well Kenneth is leaving, we're sorry to hear it. I don't know what else I got to say I think I've already said all my things. What else do you have? Linda: Well you know what? I know what it feels like to be terrified to take off your mask. I was even terrified today. And that was one of my little conscious tantrums that I had; silently behind closed doors, because I ended up posting on social media earlier today. I ended up writing something... Its still there, it still exists, but its set privately to just myself. I had it up for half an hour, its still there, but I had a freak out moment. I reverted and retracted, and all of a sudden; I haven't felt like this for a very long time; it was a fear of what are people going to think of me? Linda: It was a blog with the heading of, What really goes on in a Laptop lifestyle. What really goes on behind closed doors, and I shared some hilariousness over the last 36 hours, some bullet points of what's happened in my exploiting- Katrina: Craziness. Linda: Yeah. The craziness behind the scenes. And all of a sudden I'm like I don't have permission to share that. And I- Katrina: Freaked out. Linda: I freaked out, and I turned the settings to just me. I mean some people would have seen it already, but I might actually post it later I wanted to just sit with that. Katrina: You should post it. It was a fabulous post. I read the post. Linda: I sent it to Katrina. I had my conscious tantrum and I sent it to Kat and she said- Katrina: Well you audioed me and told me about it. So, then I went on your page. Then I was like but where is it, because I can't find it. There's nothing there. Linda: And I said I turned it on to private just to see me, because I wanted to process, but as I was... quite often when we're having these internal experiences we just- Katrina: Steven said he saw it. What did you think? Linda: Oh, you've seen it. Steven let me know what- Katrina: What did you think? I though it was a fantastic post. I thought it was really funny, but really insightful as well. And then Linda said, am I just being stupid? Linda: Am I being stupid? Katrina: And I said yes. Linda: Am I creating this story in my own mind? Katrina: Basically. Yes it is your story. You're allowed to have a story. Linda: I instantly picked up the phone and I verbalise what I was feeling. I verbalised and I let it out, and I wasn't bottling it up. I actually wanted to work through it. That's why I call it a conscious tantrum because somethings going on inside of me, and I always want to work through that. I want to process it. I want to sit with it- Katrina: You're allowed to have a tantrum. That's the thing, you're allowed to lose your shit. You're allowed to be stomping your foot or feeling upset, or feeling grumpy. Linda: Of course. Katrina: But the conscious aspect is if you choose that. I mean maybe you're allowed to just do that and you don't even have to process it all, or create growth from it. We just automatically do. We automatically turn everything into growth. Linda: Every single time. That's my commitment to myself, and my life, and my community, and humanity as a whole. Everything that I move through within myself, and as you know I turn that into content. I share myself very, very openly with the world. And I continue to find different layers of myself that I might not be sharing with the world. Linda: Do not even. Katrina: Sorry. Linda: What's this got to do with any of this? Katrina: Nothing. I'm just very reactive right now. Linda: But I love it. I love it because she's not wearing a mask. You're just being yourself. Katrina: I'm just sending a message.[crosstalk 00:36:34] Linda: You're just being yourself, and I love it. Katrina: I wasn't replying to any naughty messages at all. They just popped up. Linda: Has a saw it, I loved it. So raw and such a comical version of what can actually be so real. Thank you Heather. Katrina: Right. It was an amazing post. So- Linda: Thank you my darling. Katrina: So we definitely have conscious tantrums frequently. Or whenever they need to occur. Linda: Absolutely. Katrina: But we are amazing. We are. We should get an award. I'll get you an award. Linda: Can I have an award? You know what I saw - Katrina: Here it is. It's a blinged out[crosstalk 00:37:09] cushion. Linda: Oh my god, this is a moment to remember. I saw a clairvoyant a couple of years ago- Katrina: And she said you were going to receive a [crosstalk 00:37:14] cushion? Linda: No, she said that I was going to receive an award. Katrina: Well there it is. Linda: Like unexpectedly. Thank you so much.[crosstalk 00:37:26] Katrina: You've got one right there, but. Linda: I feel so blessed. Thank you. Thank you. Katrina: Can I just check if I got a message back? Linda: No. Katrina: I'm just going to have a quick look. Linda: What are you doing? I love it. You know what I love about you. I love that you are just being you in life, in business, on your live feeds, and behind closed doors. Oh my god. Oh Steven, sending love to your boy. I really am sending love to your boy. Hopefully he gets well. Katrina: We're trying to make an important and serious point. Linda: What's the point? Katrina: Don't remember. I got distracted. Linda: Clearly. Clearly. Katrina: It's about growth. It's about fucking growth. Let's say you lose your shit. Lets' say you get triggered as fuck by something. From now on, by the way when you say the words as fuck, you have to say as fuck. Linda: As fuck. Katrina: It official. I put it in the million in [maximo 00:38:42] trainings for everybody. So when you lose your shit, or you get triggered; I know for me anyway, and I know you're the same, because we always work through everything. That when I get triggered by something, or I get upset, or have a little conscious temper tantrum, or whatever it might be. That it always turns into growth and it always turns into- Linda: Every time. Katrina: An evolution of my own inner working and understandings. Linda: Every time. I honestly feel like- Katrina: You're always thankful. Linda: Yeah. Exactly, because we consciously choose to work through something it like were taking quantum leap after quantum leap every single day. And it's a choice of how we live life, I guess. Katrina: Sometimes you just feel like you're fucking over it though, right? Linda: Yeah. Katrina: Like sometimes it just feel relentless and you're just like really, can I just get to the flow bit now? But then its like that is part of the flow bit. I think what a lot of people don't understand about flow is that the uncertainty or the growth, the growing pains, the struggle, or the turmoil is inherent to the flow. And it actually is something to be grateful for because it always shows you your own areas of insecurity, or your own areas of wounding- Linda: Vicki. Katrina: Hey Vicki. Katrina: Or areas where you aren't fully owning your shit. Linda: Yeah. Yeah. Katrina: Areas where you may be looking outside of yourself for validation or self worth. So in the short term you might be "what the fuck. This happened and I'm shitty, or I'm triggered, or this person is getting to me, or whatever it might be." Then you rant on. We rant on to each other on an audio about it. Linda: Conscious temper tantrums. Katrina: We audio so much though, like all day every day. Sometimes it adds up to 40 or 50 minutes of audios or more a day. But then sometimes what interesting; lets say one of us would audio the other with an issue, and then the other person hadn't listened to it yet and hadn't got back to them. Then probably by later that afternoon there would already be a following audio like " right. So I fully processed it. I've figured it out"- Linda: Oh that only like 20 minutes later, normally. Katrina: That was like the situation here. Where I was kind of on the side telling you about it when we were ll sitting at the table. Linda: Yeah. Katrina: And then before we went live I cam ein and I started having a little temper tantrum about it again. Linda: Yeah. Katrina: And then I figured it out. Linda: All I was doing was just observing you, and you had worked every single bit out. Katrina: I worked it out. I figured it out. I figured out exactly why that came to show me a lesson. I went through several days of shit, of being shitty about this, shitty about this, shitty about this; does it mean this, or this, or this? And then I got to of fuck it's this insecurity inside of me, or its this area where I'm not fully owning something inside of me. Linda: How powerful is it, the fact that you can dive into yourself and own up to those part of yourself? Katrina: How do we answer that question? I thought you said you were leaving? You said like 20 minutes ago that you were leaving and now you're asking what audio. How do you answer what's audio? Linda: It's an audio message. It's a voice memo. Katrina: Its like there's visual and there's audio. In life there is visual and there's audio. Linda: Its a voicemail. Katrina: Audio means audio. Its auditory, you can hear it with your ears. That's what audio means. How can you ask what audio means? It like when you go to the movie and you can hear the sound. That means audio, or a song. I don't know how to answer that question, I'm even trying to be serious. Linda: You always make me laugh. You always make me laugh. Katrina: I'm being completely professional. You said we weren't helping people. Now I helped you. So there you go. Help somebody dear. Linda: Welcome to the Katrina Ruth Show. Katrina: Can I go to bed now? I've helped a person. I might go to bed anyway. Linda: No, no, no. No. But its beautiful the growth that comes from choosing to dive in and look at our shit. Katrina: It is, and it's fucking annoying sometimes, but then you're always grateful in the end. Linda: Always. Katrina: It isn't like you just feel like; what the fuck, why am I going through this again. And then you go I'm so glad that happened because it showed me this, this, and this. Linda: I even turned the fact that I found shit in my bags. I turned that into gratitude. Katrina: Yeah, that was thanks to Bull. Linda: Like literally found crap in my bag. Katrina: That's yucky. Linda: And I still came back. Katrina: That's unfortunate. Linda: Where it happened. Yeah. And you know every time, every time. Even now when I get triggered I instantly shift it into gratitude. I allow myself to feel, and I go "okay I'm choosing to be grateful because I'm being shown something that I get to learn." I get to- Katrina: Exactly. It always there if you're learning. Linda: Always. Katrina: [inaudible 00:43:42] Linda: Mickey. Katrina: Do we have anything to add? Linda: Are you asking them? Katrina: I don't know. I'm asking the universe. Linda: We always have. We could go all night. Imagine if we went all night. Katrina: We always do anyway, with or without the camera. Linda: We didn't even rook up for any teachings, we didn't rook up with an intention. We just rooked up. Katrina: That is the teaching, you are the point. Linda: You are the point. Katrina: Your best work will come out when you're not trying to be anything. When you just give yourself permission to be you, period, the end. Whoever you are in that moment. Linda: We are so incredibly, incredibly afraid to show who we really are, and that's a journey that I've taken myself. And I continue to get to learn more and more every day; as I'm discovering deeper parts of myself. We get so afraid of judgement from others, but why? Because there's going to be people out there who, people who judge you and don't like you regardless of what version or what mask you're putting out there. And knowing that whatever mask you're putting out there, you know that you're not being authentic and true to yourself. Not only to yourself, but the world. So what if you just allowed yourself to be you and fully own truth in your own soul, because there's going to be people out there who judge you and don't like you regardless. So why not just be yourself? Katrina: Exactly. You need to be fresh and ready for big training tomorrow Linda. She will be. I pinned tomorrow is a hundred thousand hours away. Linda: I'm good. Katrina: Dager be yourself. Linda: Hey Mel. Katrina: Hey Mel. Linda: Hey Mel. Linda: But that is really the message that come full circle. Be yourself. Take off your mask you are the point. You really are the point. Katrina: And help yourself, So be yourself now. Good bye. Linda: Good bye. Katrina: Have an amazing rest of the evening. Go be you. No filter, no BS. Linda: Go do you, because no one does you like you do. Bye.
It was a pleasure having Katrina in the lab. Please support her project.
Katrina struggles through her teenage years with her body, weight and self-image. She admits to dieting from very young and very unsuccessfully. Katrina delves into how she changed her life after a frightening situation in Australia. We also have lots of answers to your question ranging from how to do a behind the back arm reach and tips on proper headstand technique to whether or not yoga is appropriate for people with hip issues. The nutritional tip is regarding aspartame, an artificial sweetener, you won't want to miss this episode.