Chapter Seven...

The Present...

Leaning over the sink to get a better look at my face in the mirror, I used a damp washcloth to remove the last traces of cum from my face. Why some men liked to come on my face baffled me. Baffled me but didn't disgust me. Actually, though cum in the eyes stung, I preferred it when a client came in my mouth or on my face instead of between my legs when I was in a hurry. Cleanup went much faster. 'Much faster', I thought as I cleaned my breasts to wipe off the last trace of cum and spit which had dripped onto them.

Exiting the bathroom, my client's eyes followed me as I walked to the minibar. The smell of pot had been heavy in the room since I'd arrived despite the sliding door to the balcony being open. I shook my head when Steven offered me a hit.

"I'll stick to alcohol," I said as I poured two mini bar bottles of bourbon over ice. I've enjoyed pot. I've smoked cigarettes. I have nothing against pot or tobacco. I just don't want my hair, skin and clothes smelling like their smoke.

Steven was my only client today. He was younger than my usual clients. In his low-thirties and in town for some conference. I still had over an hour before I could leave. Steven was relaxed now in his chair, just toking away. Sipping from my glass, I asked Steven if he'd like me to fix him a drink. He nodded and requested a bourbon and coke.

While fixing his drink, I noticed one last bottle of bourbon sitting in the refrigerator. I couldn't leave it all alone by itself, so I added it to my glass. Three bourbons would make me silly but, hey, I wouldn't be driving after I left. Handing Steven his drink, I sat on the couch opposite. He was a new client to Marla's service and I was unsure what he liked. Would he spend the rest of our time together smoking pot? Would he want me to suck his cock until he came on my face again? Whatever... It was up to him. I wasn't in a hurry to initiate more sex. I was paid no matter what he wanted to do.

I was still naked. I crossed my legs and leaned back into the couch. I was in no hurry. The bourbon was making me as relaxed as Steven looked. Steven's cock was flaccid. I'd know if he was getting horny again by the hardness of his cock. We spent several minutes in silence. Steven rolled another joint while I continued to sip bourbon.

I decided it was going to be up to me to start a conversation. Where are you from? Why are you in the city? For how long? I didn't bother asking if he was married. The lighter skin on his ring finger where he'd removed his ring told me that. More minutes crept by as we talked about nothing while Steven became more stoned.

Steven's cock was still flaccid when he asked me to spread my legs. I rested my feet on the edge of the couch and did as asked. Steven pulled his chair closer to the coffee table separating us until we were no more than five feet apart.

"Pull your lips apart."

I did so with a finger of each hand on my lips.

"Damn, you have a beautiful pussy. So pink..." Steven said in a dreamy voice. Shit! How many joints had this guy sucked down before I arrived? Didn't know... Didn't care...

I like to think I look good between my legs. My slit is pink with small inner lips. Until I met Sandra, I thought my pussy was representative of what all girls had. Though Sandra was much shorter than me, her slit was longer than my slit. Her outer lips were fatter than mine and much darker. Her inner lips were dark with large, protruding flesh that I loved to suck on. Since then, I'd been with other ladies and had discovered that pussy, like girls, come in all shapes and colors.

"Let me watch you play with that beautiful, pink pussy."

Pulling on my mound with one hand to stretch my slit up so Steven had a better view, I started touching and rubbing my fingertip slowly over my clit while he watched. I began to slowly slide my finger up and down my slit. My pussy was wet from the lubricant I'd used before coming to the room. My finger penetrated my pussy easily.

I'm not sure how long I masturbated for Steven, but damn, I was exciting myself as I slid a second finger inside my pussy. My hips began slowly undulating as my fingers went as deep as I could push them. I was wet and it wasn't from the lubricant as I began to increase the speed of my finger-fucking my pussy.

Steven was content to toke and watch as I drew closer and closer to my orgasm. It wasn't often I masturbated in front of an audience and it added to my excitement. Closing my eyes, I thought of Sandra and how she touched my pussy... Fingered me. While I continued to finger fuck my pussy with the fingers of one hand, the fingers of my other hand began to touch and circle my clit in a way that, from experience, I knew would do what was required to push me over the edge. The wet sounds from between my legs told me I was already close...

It surprised me how quickly I brought myself to orgasm. Steven might have thought I was acting when I moaned out a long, strained, 'ohhhhfuuuuccckkkk...' as my body tensed and my trembling thighs closed over my hands but... But, when I opened my eyes after my orgasm was over, I saw I didn't need to wonder what Steven thought. He'd fallen asleep! Damn! This was a new experience for me. I'd never had a client fall asleep before!

I picked up the glass that had dropped to the carpet from his hand and checked that the joint was out so it wouldn't burn his fingers before I went to the bathroom to clean my wet pussy and dress. Maybe I should have woken Steven, but the idiot was so stoned I doubted he'd even know I'd left early. Besides, the poor guy looked like he needed sleep more than sex. I couldn't just take money and call it Steven's gift to me, so I lost money but I was in a hurry and being able to leave early was great.

**********

It wasn't another client I was in a hurry to meet. I'd found a tiny efficiency apartment for rent only two blocks away from my brownstone. I wanted to rent it before it was snatched up. It was very small, but the rent was well within the budget for a temp agency worker, which was what Mom and Dad thought I was doing. The apartment manager was meeting me in... I checked the time and knew I'd be early.

The place I hoped to rent would be where Mom could come to visit me. I was already calling it my 'Mom Apartment'. A place I could trek to and meet Mom after she'd called ahead. No way would she believe I was making enough on a temp's salary to afford my spacious brownstone apartment. I was comfortably aware I could afford both apartments easily. I was also aware that not having to go home every night to my parent's house would make earning even more money possible.

For some months now Marla has been offering me clients on weekends and at night. No pressure, just keeping me aware of the money I was turning down. Nice amounts of money for what I called Cinderella Dates because the night assignments all ended at midnight. Anything past that and Marla negotiated the price upwards. Way upwards...

An hour later I was handed the keys to my new, newest, apartment. Tomorrow would be my nineteenth birthday and I was ready to leave the nest...

Marla was thrilled to know I'd finally made the decision to move to the city when I called her from the train taking me home. She was ready to book my first Cinderella Date for Friday! "Slow down, Marla," I laughed. "Give me a few days to move some things into my Mom Apartment first."

If Marla was thrilled, Mom wasn't when I told her and Dad that night over dinner and showed them the key and lease. My Mom immediately began listing all the reasons I shouldn't move out. I had free room and board under her roof, I could save more money for college faster if I decided on going. She choked up, got quiet, then bravely smiled and said she was going to be glad instead of sad. She'd had me in her nest for a whole year when all of my girlfriends from high school had already moved away or were in college. This, of course, segued to the oft-heard talk about when I was going to get a better job, go to college, meet a boy, get married, and start cranking out grandchildren for her to spoil while she was still young enough to enjoy them...

"Cut me some slack, Mom! You had me when you were my age. You're still in your thirties! I think I have a few more years to give you grandkids before you're old and decrepit. Can't I just have some fun while I'm a teenager?"

******************

Four days later, I knew something was out of the ordinary when Marla texted to ask that I visit her office after my last client of the day. Usually, we communicate via phone and texts. Sometimes two, even three weeks, might pass between visits. It felt like I was being called to the Principal's office, but, unlike in High School, I couldn't think of anything I'd done wrong. In high school, I had the opposite problem. During my walk to Mrs. Owens' office, I was wondering which of the many things I'd done wrong was the reason for my being called onto the carpet.

When Marla handed me a letter and showed me the contents of a large package, I knew it was something unusual. But at least I wasn't in trouble. Looking in the box again after reading the letter, I just shook my head in disbelief. There are times when even a whore just has to ask, "What... The... Fuck?" This was one of them.

The instructions in the letter which had come with the package were clear enough. I was to arrive early enough to dress and set the scene... How I was to act... But I couldn't help myself! Looking at the contents of the package again, I started laughing.

We were in Marla's office, and I stopped laughing when she frowned across the desk. But I couldn't help some girly giggles as I read the instructions again. "If you can't control yourself when the client is in the room, maybe I should give the appointment to another of my girls," Marla observed with the same frowny face.

Thinking of the very large fee the client had offered, I shook my head. "No. No, I can do this. It's just something I've never even thought about." I looked in the package once more and pulled an item out. "I'll look like an idiot."

"Yes, well... I'm sure the money will make you feel better. Ours not to reason why and all that... Just try it on to see if it fits." Minutes later, after I re-entered the office, Marla looked at me then made a down motion with a finger. I got on hands and knees and at another finger command shuffled through a complete 360 turn. When next I looked, Marla had her hand over her mouth to hide a grin. She didn't laugh, but there was definite mirth in her voice as she declared that it fit me. After clearing her throat while regaining control of her facial expression, she asked, "So, do you want the assignment? It's a little later in the day than usual for you but now that you've moved into your 'Mom Apartment'," Marla air quoted, "I didn't think that would matter."

For the last four evenings, I'd busied myself moving clothes and other things from my bedroom in my parents' house into the tiny efficiency apartment that Mom and Dad would think was where I lived. I bought groceries to put on shelves and in the refrigerator to further the impression I lived there. Mom, of course, had to drive into the city with a carload of my things to check out my new digs. She liked the neighborhood but wasn't impressed with the efficiency. Mom would have been impressed with my other apartment, but I hoped she'd never find out about my much more spacious brownstone two blocks away. I especially hoped Mom would never find out what I did to earn the money that let me afford it!

My Mom Apartment was a complete lie. But so had my life been for the last ten months. My parents thought I worked office jobs through a temp agency. While technically Marla did run a temp agency out of which I worked, on the rare occasions I was requested to meet a client at his office I expected to be bent over a desk or to open my legs on a couch instead of opening a filing cabinet.

"I'll take it," I declared.

After changing, I took the package home with me. This evening as I got out of my taxi, I saw Danny walking towards me from the direction of the subway stop. I waved, but didn't wait for him before entering the lobby. I'd given up on the nerd. He just wouldn't talk! He seemed to like me... After all, what wasn't to like about me? But when I met him sometimes in the lobby or in the stairwell, he liked to look at me when he thought I wouldn't notice, but he'd barely say two words to me!

I usually run the stairs for the cardio and to help keep my leg muscles toned. This evening I took the elevator. As soon as my door closed behind me, I bent my knees and reached down to take off my 'fuck-me' stilettos. Entering my living room, I took a moment to enjoy as I stretched my little piggies out on the thick, soft carpet that had cost me more money than I ever thought I'd pay for a rug. Setting the package on my coffee table, I sat on the sofa and massaged my feet. God, that felt so good...

I could easily have stretched out on the sofa and taken a nap. I was tired. I'd had three clients today. Times and distances between places we met had worked out perfectly. Going from place to place, man to man... Satisfying each of them... It was positively exhausting! It was after 5pm, past the time I told my parents I left work as an office temp. Telling my mom the plausible lie that my 'bosses' didn't like employees taking personal phone calls during working hours, I kept my phone turned off most of the day. Turning my phone on, I checked for messages. One from my mom asking me to call back after work.

Hitting the auto dial, I hiked my short skirt up more and began unhooking hose from garter belt. Mom didn't want to talk about anything important. Her 'baby girl' hadn't slept in the same room she'd had since she was a baby for five nights. Mom just wanted to hear my voice. I'd just had my nineteenth birthday, but something told me I'd still be Mom's baby girl when I was forty.

Wiggling out of my dress and garter belt, I laid them on the cushion next to me and began rolling my hose down as we talked. My Mom's a talker. She'd keep me on the phone all night talking about nothing if I let her. Naked now, I padded into the kitchen with my purse. In a small drawer, I kept even smaller plastic baggies. Setting my phone to conference call so I could still hear and talk to my mom, I put the phone on the counter. Fishing between my pussy lips I found the string and pulled out the tampon I'd inserted to prevent leaking cum from wetting my dress. My dry-cleaning bill was high enough already! I dropped the tampon into a baggie and sealed it up before tossing both into the kitchen garbage can.

Washing my fingers off, "Mom, I just want to hang out in my new apartment this weekend... I have more of my stuff here than in my room now and... Okay, I'll come home for Sunday brunch..."

Remembering other duties while I was in the kitchen... The change of coins in my purse I'd collected during the day and all bills other than hundreds went into the large, lacquered box I'd found at an antique shop. Opening the large, decorative metal container on the counter marked FLOUR, I tossed more hundreds on top of the pile already inside. Opening the smaller, matching decorative metal container marked SUGAR, I selected four brightly colored condoms and pushed them into the small, side pouch inside my purse. My clients don't always ask for condoms, but two of my clients had today. It's best to have more than you'll need than not enough when at work.

Gathering my phone and clothes, I went to my bedroom and inspected each article. The dress was good for another wear, no cum stains. Sniffing the armpits, I hung it up after a quick spritz of fabric freshener. My black hose showed no sign of runs but, picking with a fingernail at what might be dried cum, I shrugged and carried the hose and garter belt into the bathroom. Running warm water in the sink, I added a splash of mild soap and left the hose and belt to soak.

I completed these tasks while giving 'Yes', 'No' and 'Really?' responses as required while Mom kept rambling on. Sitting on my bed I inspected my heels and wiped them off with a Shammy before wrapping them carefully back in their box. I gave my little piggies another good rub before I played the hunger card and the need to fix something to eat as an excuse to end the call after having to give Mom a fictitious menu of what I was going to eat.

Twenty minutes later, after a quick shower to wash my hair and to give myself a good scrubbing between my thighs, I was finally where I'd wanted to be since spreading my legs for my last client... Lying in my tub, relaxing in hot water with bubbles tickling my nose. I'm in love with my huge, oversized tub. Even stretched out full length I could lie immersed in hot water without my head or feet touching the sides. I'm six feet tall, so that should give you some idea of my beloved tub's dimensions.

After adding more bath oil to the steaming water, it was Inspection Time... Fingernail polish looked good for another day. Feeling my mound, pussy lips and legs, I made a mental note to make an appointment for a waxing this weekend. Continuing my inspection, I raised my feet until my little piggies rose up through the bubbles like two submarine periscopes. My toenail polish passed inspection. Down periscope! Dive! Dive! Dive!

Later, after a quick shower to wash off bubbles, I ate the only thing I felt like making for my supper. I munched on Pop Tarts while drinking milk from the carton. Something Mom would have yelled at me for doing. I saw no reason to dirty a glass when milk came in its own glass. Surfing TV channels, combing out my damp hair, rubbing skin lotion on my knees and elbows... I felt I already had a full evening without having to cook!

"Don't judge me," I told Imaginary Mom, who was sitting on the other side of my couch and frowning at my diet. "I know how to cook, but spending all that time cooking for just one is so much trouble!" Big frown. "I'll cook something healthy tomorrow night. Promise!"

Surfing TV channels and shopping online on my computer while drying my hair took the last of my energy. Turning off the lights I went to bed. In the dark, lying in my bed, I couldn't help laughing when my thoughts took a weird turn. Contrasting my days of sex, cocks and cum with my nights of TV shows, Pop Tarts and an empty bed...

**********

I'd planned on sleeping late. My first appointment today wasn't until noon. Unfortunately, Marla had other ideas and her call woke me at 8am.

"Oh, good. You're awake," Marla said in her cheery voice.

"I am now," I grumped but my sarcasm either went right past her or she chose to ignore it.

"I have a client who insists on meeting you today. You've met him many times. It's Tim. I explained you were already busy, but he insisted and offered triple his usual fee. I can send another girl to your first appointment if you agree to see Tim at his office."

Triple the usual fee Marla charged for my time? No wonder she was ready to rearrange my schedule! I sure as hell wouldn't mind the extra money, but I thought meeting at his office was a bit strange if he wanted enough sex to make that amount of money worthwhile. I agreed to see Tim and Marla hung up after giving me instructions.

Standing at my kitchen counter, I munched Pop Tarts with my morning coffee. I couldn't figure out why Tim was so eager to see me. Especially at his office. Except for our first time, we'd always met at a hotel. Shrugging, from a closet I dug out the large sports bag I've had since high school. A boyfriend and I had used the excuse of learning how to play tennis at the high school tennis courts as a reason to slip away from parental supervision.

Tennis wasn't what we were interested in at the time. Instead of playing tennis, we studied biology and anatomy under the bleachers of the high school football field. I couldn't help smiling as I remembered those good-old-days of trying to stay quiet and hidden from those around us who were using the athletic field for non-sexual activities. But I had other things to do today that required my boobs and pussy. Everything I needed for my special afternoon client fit inside the bag.

I wouldn't have time to come back to my apartment between appointments. I'd need to take the bag with me while meeting my morning client. Deciding to continue the sports theme, I put on what would pass as clothes for tennis. Not wearing a bra would have to supply my nod to sexy. If anyone asked, I could claim I had a tennis date after my 'business' meeting with Tim.

Walking into the Coffee Clutch for a better breakfast than Pop Tarts, I was greeted as usual by 'Bob'. Bob wasn't Rodney's name, but the manager had had an extra name tag a previous employee had left behind, so Rodney was now Bob to everyone. We'd flirt every time I was in the shop when he was working. Bob would always ask me if I'd dumped my boyfriend yet and was ready to date a 'real man'. Meaning him...

From my previous attempt to date Greg while trying to keep my life as a working Call Girl secret, I'd learned that was a recipe for disaster. I'd made up an imaginary boyfriend to refuse Bob without bruising his feelings. A shame really. Bob was a pleasant and tall Black guy who was one of the few men I've met who were taller than me even when I wore my high heels.

In the taxi to Tim's office building, I was still wondering why Tim insisted seeing me today when we already had a meeting scheduled only a couple of days away. What was also a surprise was Tim's reminder for me to pass myself off as a prospective German investor who needed legal advice. That would be easy. My height and blonde hair proclaimed to anyone looking that I had some Nordic heritage. Also, it turns out I have quite a knack for languages, too. Surprised the hell out'a me since I rarely studied in high school, but after three years of taking German as a foreign language for the easy C grade, I had a decent command of the spoken and written language.

Stopping in front of Tim's secretary's desk, "Guten Tag, Frau Phillips. Ich habe ein Treffen mit... Sorry, I say I have meeting with Timothy Duncan."

"Yes, Fräulein Fälschung. One second..." Fälschung was my private joke when I was passing as German. It roughly translated to 'fake' in English. Many clients I met at their office wanted people to think I was something other than an American whore there to give the boss a Nooner.

Ms. Phillips dialed Tim to tell him, "Your eleven o'clock is here".

Tim appeared, and I was struck by the change in his behavior from our previous meetings. Nervous, eyes darting everywhere and... I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He greeted me and then surprised me again by inviting Ms. Phillips to come with us and to bring her Notary Stamp. I wasn't sure what the hell was going on. I wasn't sure what elaborate fantasy Tim was acting out. Did he want Ms. Phillips to join us in a threesome? I looked at her for the first time as a potential sex partner. Not quite to my taste, but I'd done worse. I decided to go with the flow. After all, I've gotta keep the client happy.

I spoke in broken English and 'forgot' at times, slipping into German to ask, 'Where is the nearest train station?' and other nonsense. I played along and signed papers as Tisla Fälschung, the name I used meeting clients at their offices. The papers seemed to be written in German, but I didn't have time for more than a glance before Tim would have me signing another. I thought this was taking play acting to the extreme.

Once Tim decided enough papers had been signed and notarized, he made a pretense of looking at his watch and informed Ms. Phillips she could go on to lunch. He wouldn't be needing her. He was going to answer any questions 'Fräulein Fälschung might have,' before going to lunch himself. No threesome after all...

Once the door had closed behind Ms. Phillips, Tim collapsed onto the couch on which we'd had our first fuck. Agitated, he got up almost as soon as he was seated. Going to his desk he brought out a bottle of scotch and a glass out of the top drawer. Knocking back a shot, he slumped heavily onto his chair behind the desk. This was not the Tim I was used to meeting.

"Tim, what the hell is wrong with you? What's going on?" I asked.

"I'm fucked, Viv," Tim replied in a sad voice and shrugged. "I'm so fucking fucked. I really thought I could do it. I thought I'd be long gone before anyone found out."

"Do what? Go where? Why am I here? Signing papers?" If anyone looked less likely to want a Nooner it was Tim as he knocked back more scotch.

Tim's voice was slow but not slurred by alcohol. "I needed someone I could trust. God help me, between my family and my co-workers, I can't think of a single, fucking one I can trust." Tim looked at me with sad eyes. "Does that tell you what a complete fuck up my life is? I trust a Call Girl more than my own wife..."

Tim put his hands over his eyes and, Fuck Me! he started crying! I've never had any experience of seeing a grown man cry. Tim wasn't sobbing, but when his hands fell to his desk, his cheeks were wet and tears ran down his face into his salt-and-pepper mustache. I went to his side, put my hand on his shoulder and gave him a good shake, "Tim... Timmy! What's wrong? Tell me! What the fuck is going on?"

"Call me Timmy again, Viv. I loved it when you did that." Tim closed his eyes and smiled sadly. "I haven't been called Timmy by anyone after my Mother died..."

God help me, he's breaking down again, I thought as I watched fresh tears well up in his eyes. Forgetting the glass, Tim took a pull straight from the bottle.

"Timmy, please tell me what's wrong," I begged, shaking his shoulder harder.

"I just wanted out, Viv," Tim said in a voice that pleaded with me to understand. "Out of this job. Out of my marriage. Out of my fucked-up life! I was going to take the money and run to somewhere far away. Live the rest of my life in peace. Now it's all gone... They know, Viv. They don't say anything, of course, but I know they know. Yesterday my briefcase was searched when I left it in my office to attend a meeting. I'm sure my office was searched last night. But they couldn't get into my safe," Tim said with a note of triumph in his tone. "I screwed those assholes by changing the combination. But it's only a matter of time before they make me open it! Probably today! Fucking bastards!" Tim picked up the bottle again.

"I'm dead, Viv," Tim repeated again and slumped back in his chair, defeated. He muttered while more scotch went past his lips, "I'm a real walking dead man. The people I stole from... They don't forgive. Even if I gave back the money... But, they won't get the money back! The way I hid it? Not a goddamn dime!" Tim sounded victorious at this thought, straightening up in his chair, but then he slumped back again, defeated.

"Viv, you're the only one I can trust. They wouldn't have tipped their hand by searching my briefcase yesterday if they weren't going to move. I should have run last night but everything was in my safe! I couldn't take the chance they'd search me when I left yesterday after work! The mail room here... They'll look at anything I mail. I just know I'll be searched today before I take two steps towards the outside door. But I'm going to show those bastards!"

Agitated again, Tim opened the center drawer of his desk and took out a thick envelope. Picking up the file binder where he'd placed the papers I'd signed and others, he put the envelope inside the binder and tried putting the binder in my hand. "Viv, take it! Find a mailbox somewhere and mail the letter as soon as you can! Don't open the envelope, just mail it. I put enough in there to nail these assholes to the wall! I've worked here over twenty-five years. I know where all the skeletons are buried!"

Tim kept thrusting the binder at me until I took it. He began telling me to put it in my bag. "Mail the letter, Viv! And the other papers? Never let anyone know what you have! No one, Viv. Promise me! Mail the letter and keep the papers secret! Promise me, Viv!"

"I promise, Timmy." Hell, I'd promise anything to get out of this madhouse. I opened my bag and pushed the thick binder inside. Tim took a couple of steps towards his office door, no doubt wanting me to leave, then he stopped.

"Viv, be careful. If you figure the papers out, be very careful. If you can't figure them out... Burn them. Toss 'em away."

"Figure what out, Tim?"

"I'm so sorry to get you involved, but I needed those papers out of my safe and the letter mailed. Took me forever to think of a way to hide... No matter, now. But I can't take the chance I'll be searched leaving the building, and the papers taken. If you figure them out, have a wonderful life, Viv. Don't end up like me! Wait. Wait, Viv," Tim called out as if just remembering something.

I watched as he went to his knees behind his desk. Tim pulled a fake, wooden file door open to reveal a steel safe door. I heard him mutter, 'I'll show those assholes!' again while dialing the combination. When the lock disengaged, he pulled the door open and told me to bring my bag over. I put my bag next to him and my mouth dropped open as bundle after bundle of money came out of the safe to be stuffed into my bag. Tim was stuffing too fast for me to keep count, but there was a shitload of bundles.

"I put money aside. Money my fucking family didn't know about. I can pay you for getting you involved. For mailing the letter," Tim told me, as he pushed the mass of bills deeper into the bag until he could get the zipper closed. "Think of it as your severance pay! I'd rather you have it than those goddamned vultures I have as a family. Fucking kids won't even talk to me unless they're asking for money.

"I'm dead, Viv. But I'm gonna screw 'em all. There's enough in the letter to put my fucking partners in jail and those I stole from won't get a penny back," Tim laughed as he stood up. I didn't have experience with dealing with crying, laughing, crazy men. Wherever Tim was at in his mind, I never wanted to go there.

"Years in jail and not a penny," Tim repeated in triumph, then grabbed my forearms, "I'm a dead man, but I screwed them all! You've been the only good thing in my life the last few months, Viv. I would have tried to take you with me. If you figure out what I put in the papers, I hope you have the life I wish I'd had."

As quickly as triumph had flooded Tim's voice, now there was only sadness as he picked up the bottle of scotch again. "One for the road, Viv," Tim laughed. "I'm sorry you're involved, but I had no one else. No one! What a fucked-up mess my life is… If you figure it out, promise me you'll have fun with your life. Don't let your life end like mine." I thought Tim was gonna break down and cry again, but he pulled himself together to take another healthy pull from the bottle. Gripping the long bill of my tennis cap, he pulled it low over my eyes.

"Keep your head down and don't let 'em follow you," were Tim's last words as he pushed me out of his office. I heard the door lock engage behind me.

I was confused beyond flabbergasted. But I kept my head down and decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator to the lobby. Leaning against the wall in the stairwell, I gathered my wits and tried to figure out what the fuck had just happened. Staring at my bag, I wondered what the hell was in there. If I'd taken the elevator, I might have already been in a taxi and away before...

Instead, Tim got to the sidewalk before I did.

The screams had stopped, but out of the buzz of voices, I gleaned what had happened. I stared at the legs that were all I could see between two parked cars. I looked up and counted floors to the broken window. I knew whose office was on that floor. I should have stayed and told the police what I knew. Olivia would have. But Viv wanted to get the fuck out of here! Too many questions to answer and too many truths to admit if Viv stayed.

I turned and walked away. I didn't think of going in any particular direction. I just walked. The heavy bag suspended from my shoulder finally reminded me that I had a destination I should be going towards. I turned in the direction of the hotel and then remembered what Tim had said. 'Don't let 'em follow you.' Paranoia moved into my vacant, confused brain.

I had plenty of time to make my next appointment. Tim hadn't kept me for even an hour. I had time to go back to my apartment and drop off what Tim had asked me to carry out of his building. I was trying to flag down a taxi when my paranoia flared up again. I thought of the police. Taxi drivers kept logs of when and where they picked up fares and the destinations they took them to. Ms. Phillips would give the police my name and description. A name that they'd learned was fictitious. I imagined the police asking taxi drivers, 'Did you pick up a tall blonde with a large bag and where did you take her?'

Taxi cabs were out. The hotel my next appointment was in was far closer than my apartment. I'd hoof it to my next appointment. But with every block I walked closer to the hotel, I took more notice of how many cameras there were. Traffic cameras. Store cameras watching the sidewalk in front of the store... Cameras were everywhere! With nowhere else to go, I kept my head down and tried to hide my face as much as possible with the bill of my cap. In this way I continued towards the hotel, my every step recorded into computer memory somewhere. It would take time for someone to follow my trail that way. I just needed someplace I could go and hide out for a few quiet hours, while sorting out what the fuck was happening.

I knew the hotel's layout from previous occasions of meeting clients there. Entering from the pool's entrance allowed me to bypass the front desk. I kept my head down and went straight to the room via the stairs. Whoever had set up this tryst had already paid for the room and had included the key card with the letter of instructions.

Once in the room, I headed straight for the mini-bar and poured the contents of the first bottle my hand touched into a glass. Tossing it past my tongue and down my throat without swallowing, I savored the burn. A second shot followed. Oh, fuck. Bourbon and vodka mixed! That's gonna bite me in the ass soon, I thought, when I looked at the bottles on the counter while feeling the two shots burning in my stomach. I shrugged and played bottle roulette again, not looking at what the third bottle contained before pouring it into the glass and tossing it back.

I wasn't stumbling around drunk, but I was definitely feeling calmer when it was time to set the stage for what was to come. I kept expecting a knock on the door by my imaginary pursuers, but as time passed, I began chiding myself for being paranoid over nothing. But then I'd imagine people looking for the tall blonde who'd been the last to see Tim. People who'd scared Tim so badly he'd committed suicide. I needed a way to throw 'people' off my track. Off the track of a tall blonde carrying a large bag. I needed a way to disappear in a city filled with damned cameras before I went anywhere near my apartment.

Hollywood might have you believe that six-foot tall blondes are a dime a dozen. We're not. Especially when we're carrying around a large sports bag. I'd stand out immediately in any camera recording. I wasn't normally one who lived in a world of paranoid delusions. But I had experience being a young teen wanting to disappear from parental eyes. For several months, I'd been living a dual life. Becoming adept at lies and deception. I began thinking... By the time I started to set the stage following my client's instructions, I had the bare bones of a plan formed. All I needed was a few more hours of undiscovered freedom and to please my client so Marla wouldn't have cause to suspect anything out of the ordinary from my behavior.

I kept replaying everything which had happened in Tim's office. What had I touched? Were my fingerprints even now in the system? Ready to bite me in the ass if I was ever arrested in the future and my prints were run... Tim had held the door open for me coming and going... I'd touched the papers I'd signed but they were in my bag... I hadn't even sat down while following Tim about the room. If I'd touched anything, I couldn't think of it. Paranoia strikes deep. I dug out the small bottles of liqueur I'd tossed into the trash. The bottles and the glass I'd touched went into my bag. I wiped the door handles to the room and anything else I might have touched. I kept my hands to myself afterwards.

Setting out full water and food bowls and the bag of treats where my 'mate' would be sure to find it, I changed into my costume. When my mate opened the door to our room, I was curled up on the bed. My instructions were to remain curled up on the bed with my face away from the door and pretend I was asleep until my mate woke me up. Also, I wasn't to speak when he woke me. I heard the person lock the door and move around the part of the room I couldn't see.

When he 'woke' me, it was by pawing at and sniffing my furry ass. I was surprised to see he had put on a mask and cosplay attire much like mine. Growling, spitting and hissing, I followed instructions and fought back hard enough that my fake claws left red streaks on his skin. I finally let him pin me to the bed and yowled like the cat in heat I was dressed as when he mounted me through the slit cut in the costume.

Really? Ya just gotta ask yourself sometimes... What kind of life are you living when getting fucked as a cat is the least weird part of your day?

Both of us acted like cats for our remaining time... Neither of us saying a word. Meows and body language our only communication. Crawling on hands and knees about the room. Pretending to eat and drink from the bowls I'd set out. Grooming each other with our paws. We took turns feeding each other the treats in the bag. Tasted like cut up pepperoni. I certainly hoped it was pepperoni, and I wasn't eating real cat kibble!

My grooming of the man behind his mask was concentrated on rubbing furry paws over a dick that would grow hard quickly under my stroking. The man behind the other cat mask was certainly turned on by having his furry dream come true, mounting me twice more when my grooming paws had hardened his dick again. We'd screech and yowl and fight until I surrendered to be mounted again.

As our time ran out, I followed the last instructions and curled up on the bed once more. I pretended to sleep as the man moved unseen about the room again. Only after hearing the sound of the room's door closing did I move. I didn't take time to clean the fur of cum. I just pushed my costume back into the bag on top of the cash I hadn't counted yet. I didn't want to even think about anything connected with Tim and what he'd done.

Examining myself in the bathroom mirror, I knew a damp washcloth wasn't going to be enough. Three cum loads had been left inside me without my having a chance to clean. I saw the reflection of dried and drying cum smeared from pussy lips to knees in the mirror. After getting the temperature as hot as I could stand, careful not to get my hair wet I stepped into the shower. The shower head could be detached from the wall. I pushed two fingers of one hand as far into my pussy as I could before scissoring them open.

My other hand directed the water stream from the shower head up my pussy gape. After douching my pussy as clean of cum as I could, I turned off the water and exited the shower. Only after I was dry with a tampon inserted to stop any future cum drips did I wipe everything down to remove fingerprints and continue to dress. I simply refused to contemplate going home with 'cat cum' spotting my panties. The tip money I'd found in an envelope on the bed next to me when I 'woke' went into my jeans pocket.

I wiped down everything I'd touched or might have touched in the hotel room and bathroom again. One good thing about being a cat? I wasn't leaving behind cum stains. All our sex had dribbled down my thighs and was inside my cat costume. Wearing cat paws meant no fingerprints. Hopefully, all I'd leave behind at the hotel would be fuzzy camera recordings of a woman with a long-billed cap hiding her face.

Once dressed, I left the hotel for the nearest subway stop. There was nothing I could do if someone at a later date used camera recordings to follow my path. I didn't try to hide. I kept my head down and walked. Taking the subway that let me off close to a train station far away from my apartment, I got on the next train and rode it past my normal stop. I left the train two stops past my parent's house. I had about fourteen miles to walk. I would gladly have walked twice that distance because, away from the city, I could walk those miles completely out of the view of any cameras. Yeah, you better believe I was paranoid by now... I just hoped I was being paranoid enough.

Keeping off the main roads, I walked on neighborhood streets. For the first time in hours, I began to relax among familiar suburban sights and sounds. Kids tossing footballs, chasing each other in games they'd made up. Sounds of lawnmowers coming from several directions... I hadn't realized how keyed up I'd been until the tension began to leave my muscles. Thanking God I was wearing tennis shoes instead of my usual stilettos, I stretched out my long legs and began eating up the miles. It wasn't yet fully dark when the neighborhoods became familiar. My childhood friends and I had ridden bicycles all over these streets. Taking memorized shortcuts through backyards, I was outside my parents' house just after the streetlights began coming on.

My parents were glad to see me. Home is where you can just show up and you're never turned away. My mom gave me a hug. Though her eyes narrowed in a disapproving look when she felt I wasn't wearing a bra, she didn't say anything in front of Dad. I said I'd gotten lonely in my apartment and on the spur of the moment had decided to come visit. Mom immediately began pulling leftovers from the refrigerator. Piling more food than I'd eaten in the last three days onto a plate, she put it into the microwave.

Dad eyed the large bag I'd set on the table and grumpily asked what was in it... If I was moving back in. "Just got rid of your skinny ass. If you move back in, I can't chase your mom around the house, nak..."

I stuck my fingers in my ears, "La-La-La-La-La!! No, no, no, I don't want to hear this. Crap! Now I've got this picture of you two in my brain! I need psychotherapy!"

Dad just laughed. Mom blushed but I noticed she didn't deny anything. Eww...

I said it was just dirty laundry before my brain was fully engaged. Bad move! A terrible thing to say, I realized, as Mom grabbed the strap, saying she'd do it. I grabbed the strap also, and we engaged in a tug-of-war. Mom saying it was no trouble and I saying I was an independent woman now and I'd do my own laundry. Mom finally let go of the strap while Dad was still chortling at my description of myself as an 'independent woman'.

"Well, Miss Independent, I see you're not too independent to turn down our food," Dad said as the microwave beeped.

"I'm independent, Dad. Not stupid," I said, as my stomach rumbled at the thought of food, any food, that wasn't more Pop Tarts.

Mom was just itching to grab my bag to do my laundry. I kept the bag close during a quiet evening of chess and watching TV with homemade milkshakes. This peace and quiet was just what I needed after my screwed-up day. Dad has a metabolism that allows him to drink shakes every night without gaining a pound. I'd inherited that same genetic quirk. Mom sat quietly, no doubt in anticipation of the day when Dad would gain weight at just the thought of ice cream like she did. As for me? "Just wait till you have kids! Then we'll see how much ice cream you can eat then," she gloated.

The next morning, I changed into different clothes. I'd left behind many outfits in my closet more suitable for Winter wear. It was cool enough in the early morning that what I wore wasn't going to draw attention. My hair bunched under a hat... Large sunglasses... I stuffed the sports bag into a rolling suitcase. Outfitted for maximum camouflage, I rode the train and slouched back into the city.

I let out a huge sigh of relief when I closed and locked my apartment door behind me. Tim had warned me not to be followed. I had no doubt that I'd thrown anyone who might try following my trail completely off my track.

I hoped...

Chapter Eight...

The Present...

I sat on my couch, staring at the bag on my coffee table.

Tim had committed suicide three days ago. Since then I've tried hard to act normal. On the subway, on the street, I felt as if I was being watched, being followed. I started bunching my long hair up inside wide-brimmed hats to hide my blonde hair and face from cameras. I slouched and wore flats to disguise my height. I was constantly looking over my shoulder. My paranoia lessened a little with each day but... But I still jumped if there was a noise behind me.

Marla heard about Tim. She seemed to believe my story that I'd been in a taxi headed for my debut in CATS! when Tim must have jumped. I'd told her that Tim seemed depressed and wanted a blow job but had sent me away immediately after coming in my mouth. It had already been reported on the news that the police had officially ruled Tim's death as a suicide. Marla seemed satisfied that there wouldn't be an investigation and had let the matter drop.

I wanted to drop the matter also. As in, drop this stupid fucking bag into a deep river! I'd pushed the bag under my bed and for three days had tried to ignore it. Tonight, I'd decided to look. I just couldn't make my hands reach for the bag's zipper. Screwing up my resolve, I reached to unzip the bag. The stale odor of cum and sweat hit my nose. It had been hot in that much fur. I pulled parts of my cat costume out. There wasn't a single washing instruction or tag on any of the items.

For a brief second, I thought of having the costume dry cleaned... Fuck no! My dry cleaner would never look at me the same if I brought a cum covered cat costume into his establishment. With no better idea of what to do, I filled my tub with warm water and squirted a generous amount of dishwashing liquid in before adding the costume. While pushing the parts around in the sudsy water to get them completely wet, I just hoped the fur wouldn't begin to molt or whatever it is fur does.

Leaving the costume to soak, I returned to my staring match with the bag. The bag won, and I began pulling out the bundles of cash Tim had stuffed in. The first bundles were all hundred-dollar bills. I started counting bills. The more I counted, the more excited I became. When I reached fifty it seemed like half of one bundle, so I figured there were 100, hundred-dollar bills in the bundle. I got my calculator and... Holy Fucking Shit! Ten thousand dollars a bundle!!! I quickly pulled all the bundles out of the bag and stacked them on my coffee table. Twenty bundles. That meant... I got my calculator and whooped for joy! Two hundred thousand dollars!!

I got off the couch to dance around the room. I slid on the exposed sections of my waxed hardwood floor in my socks like Tom Cruise in that movie I couldn't remember the name of. I danced with my knees pumping high and fast like what's-her-name in Flash Dance. I shook my money maker all around my kitchen! Then I sobered up and stopped. It was like I was celebrating that Tim was dead.

I flopped down on my couch and just looked at the pile of cash on my table. I was sad Tim was dead, but Oh My God!! I was thinking of the shops I could go to... Fuck that! I started thinking of the cities I could travel to, to shop in! Paris, London, Rome... I was planning my itinerary when Imaginary Mom's voice dropped the C-word on me. College.

"C'mon, Mom," I pleaded with Imaginary Mom. "I wanna shop! There'll be plenty of money left over for college. I just won't go to Rome." Frowny face.

"Okay. Okay! Just a few shops here in the city..." Stern frowny face.

I sighed. Nineteen years of being my mother's daughter trumped a few days of living independently in the city. I flopped against the back of the couch with my hands over my eyes. "Well, what do I do with it then," I asked Imaginary Mom. "I can't just take the money to my bank! How do I explain where I got it from. Say that I robbed a bank? The teller would love that!"

I might not know much, but Dad loves TV crime dramas, and I've watched enough with him to know that the IRS tracks large sums of money being deposited and withdrawn from banks. Or is it the DEA... No matter... When no better inspiration struck, I carried the cash into the kitchen. Opening the large decorative tin labeled FLOUR, I crammed the bundles on top of my tip money. The top wouldn't close. I had to re-stack the bundles in laid out precision to get them to fit so the top closed.

"Okay," I said in resignation to the smiling Imaginary Mom at my shoulder. "College is paid for." Leaving the kitchen, I whined, "Being a responsible adult sucks!"

To take my mind off the woes of responsibility, I reached into the bag and brought out the last item. The binder. I held the letter Tim wanted me to mail. The envelope was thick with papers and as I felt it, there seemed to be two hard items in the center of the papers. From the shape, my first thought was computer thumb drives. That made sense if Tim was going to pass on information about his partners to... I turned the envelope over and read; Federal Office Building, Attn: J. Chamberlain, US Federal Attorney...

Oh, shit! Fuck! That was as far as I got before tossing the envelope back onto my coffee table as if it had burned my fingers.

"Son of a bitch, Tim! What the fuck is going on," I asked the air around me. Sure as shit you don't mail a, 'Hi, how are you. Just thought I'd drop you a line,' letter to Federal Attorneys at their office. I sat staring at the envelope and I had another thought. It was definitely sure as shit that a Federal Attorney would be curious how a dead guy is sending him mail! Curious enough to try and find out who mailed the fucking letter and my fingerprints were all over that damned envelope!

My TV crime drama education failed me. Would rubbing the envelope hard on the sofa cushion wipe my fingerprints out of paper? I didn't know. What I did know was I didn't want to apply for a job in ten years where my employer might require a criminal background check. If even one fingerprint of mine survived on the envelope... It would be pretty fucking funny to have FBI guys showing up with questions about why my fingerprints were on a dead guy's mail.

I gingerly picked up the envelope and carried it to my bookshelf. Opening an old-looking book I had no intention of ever reading but looked good on the shelf, I closed the book on the envelope and stuck it back on the shelf. I'd worry about how to mail it another day.

I began looking at the papers in the binder, and they made absolutely no sense at all. Ten papers were in German. These had my signature as Tisla and a notary stamp. I put those in one stack. One paper had two columns of nonsense. Ten nonsensical sequences of letters, symbols, and numbers in each column. I set that next to the German papers by itself.

Twenty papers were in English. These seemed to have been just randomly selected from other files. They were numbered. Two sets of ten pages. But no two pages seemed to talk about the same subjects. They formed a third and fourth pile.

Tim had repeated over and over that if I could figure this out... What? He hadn't told me. Though, what he had said hinted at good things if I did. I started reading what I could of the pages written in German and... What the fuck! It was all wrong. Sure, it looked like German. These were German words and all, but it was like someone had used a German/English dictionary to pick out words at random.

Sentences were constructed wrong. Sentences didn't even make sense! Different verb tenses in the same sentence. Some words I had no idea of. Three years of high school German didn't mean I knew all the words and especially not German legal words which I assumed some of these were. I needed a better dictionary than my pocket English/German dictionary still on a shelf in my parent's home.

I realized I needed more than that as I held my head in my hands. I needed a nerd. I sat in sad contemplation, staring at my floor and then I began to smile. Just ten feet or so below me lived a smart college nerd who liked to stare at my butt...