Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Story Codes: WiP=Work in Progress, I'll probably move it to the appropriate
folder when it's finished to my satisfaction.

   Pedo you know.  Pheb=Ephebophilia, or Sexual Attraction to/activity with
Young Adolescents, and Hebephiles are preferential to late teens-young
adults.  Basically, this spans the development from boyhood-to-young adult
with sexual abuse throughout.

   Also, it's pretty much exclusively male activity (At least in the
beginning characterization.) So, if you're looking for under-age girls
being assaulted, I hate to disappoint you.  There's also no nepiophilia
(Infant-toddler) in the age progression.

   Spre is short for Spree, and Stat=Statutory for victims below the age of
consent.

   Homo-Fear=Homophobia, Fetishized, and/or exploited, in this case.

   Now, this is a work of fiction, any resemblance to events, people, and
semi-precedents are purely coincidental, and unintentional.  There are also
brief allusions to Real Life television serials, and legal bureaucracies,
unaffiliated with the author.  Copyrights applicable to their respective
owners.

   Detective {FM NS.  Mb-M, Mole, Pedo-Adul, Anal, Stat-Rape.}

   "State your name for the record." I looked away from her.

   "Curtis Cooper." I faced the camera, "I'm aware of my rights, and waived
them so I could explain my actions." Back to her, "Now, this isn't an
excuse, I guess you would think of it as Motive, but I don't want you to
think I'm bucking for an Insanity defence.  That's why I don't need a
lawyer, I'm guilty, and that's what I'll tell the judge, when it comes to
that.  Until then, I just want to get this off my chest."

   "Go on." She nodded.  Tiny little thing, not a big tough cop, which is
probably handy for talking to victims without intimidating them.  Nice
sensitive face, kind of reminded me of Jennifer Love-Hewitt, only with
brown hair, and not so much bust.  They specialize in sexual, and child
abuse, which is probably how they tracked me down, and I was here instead
of a regular squad.  Normally it would be a bad idea to put her in with a
spree rapist, but I'd made it painfully obvious that she's not my type.

   I sighed, "Well, I figure you connected the dots through my Victims. 
That's how you work, isn't it?  See what they have in common, make
connections, try to trace the motivation from the Bottom up?" She nodded,
"Of course, and you had to have noticed that I didn't make any effort to
conceal evidence.  I can tell you right now, the DNA from the Lab Tech
swabbing my mouth is going to match the semen I left in them.  Those that
reported it, if you hand me that legal pad, I'll go ahead, and write down
the rest, so you can charge me with them all."

   I laughed, "I kind of hate the cliche' that we 'Want to get caught' but
of course, I'm done, and I don't care what you do with me.  Send me to
jail, with all the other rapists, to drop the soap in the showers, or bunk
me up with a big billy badass that has no access to women?  Ha!  I'm
looking forward to it.  Of course, I did my homework, read up on it, mostly
on the internet.  It really helped me plan, and with your Profile.  To send
you off on wild goose chases, false theories, I'm sure you consulted with
the FBI at some point, brought in a Profiler?"

   Another nod.  "Yeah, it's pretty easy to lead you by your own
assumptions, knowing what I do about how you're trained to think.  When you
send this tape to your shrinks, I can tell them right now they got played
by an amateur.  I barely passed High School Psychology, the rest I got from
articles, and studies they posted online.

   But of course, you were looking for a Disorganized Pathology. 
Anger-Retaliatory sociopath?  Poor impulse control, no moral compass, or
empathy, not a psychologically savvy counter profiler.  That's how I
concealed my Motivation, I picked it because it's easiest to emulate, and
hardest to predict.  'Strangers', 'random' timing, and locations, Victims
of Opportunity, so it would take longer for you to connect the ones that
reported.  Revenge, of course, but calculated, planned, and executed with
precise organization.  Which begs the question, Revenge for what?"

   I turned the yellow pad around, and pushed it back to her.  "Here's your
list.  How long did it take you to profile them?  You no doubt made the
connection immediately, as soon as you had 2 reports.  Back to our school,
classes we had in common, maybe eventually some incident reports?  All
antisocial bullies, there must have been lots of victims in common, quite a
list to narrow down before you came knocking at my door."

   I held up my wrists, just like I did when she came to interview me as a
witness.  "You got me," I repeated, "But only after I'd gotten them all."
She looked back down at the pad, neatly numbered, and spaced.  "5 of them,
every man who ever abused me."

   "Which brings me around to to the beginning.  My first time, I was 7. 
Didn't even think about sex, I was kind of sheltered, my pop didn't have no
porn in the house, always fucked mom behind closed doors, never made a
sound that I heard, or my little brother, or sisters.  Years of Denial,
controlling what I was exposed to, could see on TV, except the little
misinformation I got in school.

   You know, they were among the PTA members, and petition signers that
kept Sex Ed out of schools, then finally fell back to requiring parental
consent?  I had friends in Health class, that's where I got snatches of
talk, second hand, filtered through the euphemisms, and omissions.

   They say 'Ignorance is bliss,' and I was a happy child, until I ran into
the other consequence of it.  Knowledge is power, especially over the ones
that got none.  So, I'd lost my last baby tooth, and at least started
growing out all of my adult ones, except the wisdom teeth." I ran my tongue
over my molars, on both sides, remembered back to before I had quite so
many.

   So, my first was a boy, older, more misinformed, just about ready to
graduate to middle school.  He pretended to be my friend, and as soon as we
were alone, he started showing me things.  I mean that first day, he'd been
taught so well, and I was so ignorant I played along.  First, "Are you
circumcised?"

   Never heard of it, then he explained that some boys have skin around the
end, while others have it cut off when they're babies.  You know, back
then, they did it out of hand, because of some myth about urinary tract
infections.  That was probably my first abuser, I was never able to track
down.  The officious doctor that mutilated me as a matter of policy.  I
wasn't Jewish, or Catholic, it wasn't a dogmatic requirement of the
Pentecostal/Anabaptist church I went to.  That's all I knew about sex, it
was sinful, from the devil, and led to hell.  I guess they had that part
right." I shook my head.

   "So, he showed me his, and he was hard, tenting out his pants even
before he started undoing them, and taking it out.  Then, he started
pulling it, to make it pop back, and forth over the head.  I'm sure not
even having one, you've seen a foreskin in all your years."

   "Uhem," she cleared her throat, "Of course." She looked extremely
disturbed by this, and interested, if not fascinated by the unforced
confession.

   "So, anyhow, he showed me how to do it, and the very next afternoon, he
told me about adults.  How they get hair on it, which I never seen, I
assumed even women were basically the same.  Hairless, stood up to pee,
except the breasts which I had no concept of.  Mom nursed all of us, but
sent the older kids out of the room when the baby got hungry, or pumped
milk while we were at school.  I thought it came from the store, all she
told us was there was milk for babies, and milk from the carton.

   Of course, he took me to see him.  The man who showed him all this,
groomed him, and taught him how to groom other boys when they got old
enough.  Or too old, my buddy aged out.  I never saw him again, or found
out his last name, which is why he's the only one not on the list." I
sighed, "Huh, I even feel sorry for him, another victim like me, I'm sure
he went through much the same things, up to the point of acting them out
the way I did.  For all I know he became another offendor, though not like
me.  I bet there's never been another like me."

   I tapped the top of the list, "That's him, I made sure he was brought to
justice, but I'm sure it wasn't connected with my other crimes.  I wore a
different mask, and went about it more Power-Reassurance.  Ironically,
because of your Statute of Limitations, he can't be charged with what he
did to me, so it's good that I made him pay before calling the police. 
They found him bound to a chair, on top of the case of polaroids, raped,
and unconscious when I left him.  He's also the only one I wore a rubber
for.

   I studied pedophiles first, he was preferential, of course.  7-10, at
least for me, the other boys in the photos looked about the same.  I
couldn't count all of them, or I didn't take the time to sort them out by
the date, and name.  I didn't have to stalk him, or break in.  He hadn't
changed, except to get older, still hid the key in the same place, so we
could let ourselves in.  You're welcome.

   He just molested us, serially, I believe, and took the pictures.  The
first time we met, then a last one, after a couple years of growth.  He
sent that away, or met in person to exchange it to his friend.  Your
department never suspected there was a network, did you?  That as soon as I
got too old for him, he had another, at least 1 more to graduate to.

   He was across town, I had to bike, and bus to him, after that first day
when he took me to see him.  Or, he came to pick me up, in another
neighborhood, where nobody knew what my father looked like.  He wasn't just
old enough, he looked like me, only grown up, right down to the
circumcision scar on his shaved penis.  Not even stubble, maybe he used
Nair.  I never saw how he took it off, but instead of Big Brother, he
played Daddy, and liked Anal.

   At first, he just showed me how to finger myself, watching him do it,
then worked up to making me fist him, carefully cutting my nails, working
his pinky into me, then bigger fingers until he was up to his thumb.  He
stopped when I started cumming, for real.  Not just shooting blanks, but
ejaculating.  He told me I was outgrowing boy games, but fucked me that
last time.  Before that, he sent me home with a little dildo.

   I don't know the brand name, not that I looked, but in retrospect, I
find it amazing that they make such realistic ones that little.  I would
think for dilation, you want to work your way up in size, but even back
then, it must have been illegal to market a product so obviously perfect
for pedophiles." I held up my pinckie.  "Twasn't much bigger than mine at
the time, just starting puberty.  What other purpose would there be for a
toy penis the size of a 12 year-old's?"

   "No," she shook her head, "I neveh seen nothing likeat." I ignored the
double-negative.  She picked up the notes, and put on some half glasses,
"So this was," she moved it in, and out of focus, and squinted.

   "He's not on the list," I shook my head, "The one that got away. 
Whenever I got back to Mississippi, he was gone, either arrested, or moved.
I don't,.."

   The door opened, next to the mirrored window, "Detective."

   She looked at me, Hard.  "Hah!" wondered when he, or she would show
themselves, "Doctor..?"

   "Attorney," she shook her head, "USA Eileen Cavanaugh." She held out her
hand, shook both of mine, and pulled me up, "It's time to take you to the
Magistrate for Arraignment."

   "Fine with me," I didn't really need the Detective, just the camera, and
a microphone to give my statement to.  Or explain my statement, my mixed
media series in pain, fear, and sex.

   "You heard I'm pleading guilty." She nodded, and led me out to the
observation room.

   "Deputy?" She held up my cuffs to unlock them.  "About that," I followed
her, unfettered, but the Sheriffs following in case I tried to fight my way
out of the building, full of Officers.  "I'd like you to take a look at
this, and sign it if you agree."

   In an empty office, there was a desk, 2 chairs, and a paperclipped
document between them.  "What's this?" I picked it up, and started reading.

   "An agreement of limited immunity, in return for information regarding
other criminals." I read along, pretty much the gist of all the legalese.

   "How limited?" I kept reading.

   "It depends," she shrugged, and sat down, "We don't have all the
particulars, but I'll have you sign that when you're done with it, and work
out the exact nature between your plea to the Magistrate, and Sentencing.
Probably in 3-5 weeks."

   "Until then?" I shrugged, and took the pen.

   "Holding, jail." She waved her hand in circles at me, "I'll try to get
you solitary if you'd rather not go to general population." I'd never been
arrested before, so this was all new to me.

   "Either way," I leaned down, and signed it, above her signature, below
the line for the Notary Witness.  She came in from the door, and signed it
as well, then left.  She checked her watch, "Have a seat, we have a few
minutes actually." She pulled out some more documents, and worked on them
without talking.  "I heard you wish to talk to a psychologist, is that
right?" Yankee accent, she didn't look up.

   I shrugged, "I'm kind of curious, if I can talk to the profiler."

   She nodded, still writing.  "She's flying down.  We requested a woman,
since you're more comfortable with them."

   "How's that?" Not really, I could care less.

   "Well, it's part of the profile, which is incomplete at this point, but
suggests you have issues with men."

   "Of course," I scoffed, "I affected that profile, did you listen to the
whole interview?"

   She shook her head, and looked up, "I came in late, while you're talking
about being Molested."

   I sighed, "I HAD ''Issues''," I dropped my fingers "With the men who
abused me.  That was all of my victims, I just affected your Anger
Retaliatory internalized homophibic pathology to throw off your Profilers
long enough to get them all."

   "Except the second one, the sodomizer?" She finally looked up, and
swapped papers in front of us.  So, I nodded.  "That's the one I'd like to
talk to you about, when we have the chance.  Since he's not in custody, if
you can lead the FBI to him, we might be able to get a federal case out of
it, and finalize the Immunity deal."

   "Limited Immunity," I corrected.

   She sighed, "I don't know how much the Judges will be willing to waive.
This is Mississippi, and due to the sexual nature of the crimes, it will
come down to the sentencing judge, who'll be determined by the Magistrate's
Clerk."

   "Right," By then, she had her papers in a folder, and the Deputies were
leading us to the elevator.  "So, no promises, but I can sever the
interstate cases to Federal jurisdiction.  No promises on the local ones
that led the county to you.  Specifically your ex-classmates."

   "Well," I shrugged, "I was planning to serve the punishment for all of
them, anyway." No telling if I would survive in Prison, or how long, but at
least I was prepared, and experienced enough to get my licks in, before
they get their dicks in.  With a little luck, I might start my own
rape-gang, or take one over.

   They cuffed me, from behind before the elevator stopped, led me across
the covered bridge to the courthouse, and I had to wait while she talked to
the Judge.  I won't recount the proceedings, they should be on record.  He
noted my Plea, the agreement, waiver of representation, and told me I could
ask for a lawyer at any time.  He even "Strongly Suggest"ed I consult one
before Sentencing.

   Doc {MF NS, mm, MM...  Rape, Viol, Homo-Fear, Bash.}

   She didn't look like a doctor, or a "Supervisory Special Agent,"
reaching out to shake my hand, "Jankowikz, if you like you can call me
Elle'." Trust building, first name basis, friendly, casual.

   "Or Doc?" Works better for me, and tells her I'm not likely to forget
the nature of our relationship.  More like Secret Agent, not the sort of
person you'd pay attention to.  Kind of plain, not un/attractive,
'Business-casual' dress, not a suit, kind of modest, not revealing, muted
green that matched her eyes, dull brown hair in medium length curls that
just brushed her shoulders.

   She nodded, "I watched the tape," and got out a folder.  My file, "Would
you mind verifying the information for accuracy?" Name, DoB, current
address, copy of my divers' license, birth certificate, fingerprint card,
DNA profile, criminal history up to the Arrest, arraignment, and
pre-sentencing.  It'd be a couple weeks before I saw the second Judge.  A.
Hawthorne, didn't say whether it was a he, or she.

   "Looks all right," She pointed to a hilited line on the confirmation,
attesting that it was all accurate.  She took it, smiled, and handed me
another folder.  "What's this?" The Notary was back, came around to sign,
and deliver that one.

   "Your preliminary profile," she chuckled a little, "I have to admit, you
had us going for a couple months." I set it down.  "That's your copy, I'm
sure you'll find it informative, especially what we got right."

   "Lilia?" I read, and flipped it shut, "Why don't we talk about it
first?" We had all day, here in my cell, she sat in a folding chair they
set up, while I sat sideways on my bed.  I thought I might end up
stretching out, the perverbial Couch if it turned out to be that kind of
session.

   "It's actually 'Leeleea'," she enunciated distastefully, "There's no
'Il' sound in Polish." Personal, more trust building.

   I acted more relaxed than I felt, tried to hide my fascination in her
profile, and the others who worked on it.  "So, what'd you figure out?"

   "Age was right, though you should know it was based on the impulsive
disorganized appearance of your crimes.  Even if we had suspected the level
of planning, and organization, that would have adjusted it too high.  We
estimated 14-20, too young to cruise the bars, but old enough to drive."

   "Geographic profiling." I nodded.

   "In reverse," she agreed, "You were all over town, and the suburbs, so
we suspected you were an opportunistic cruiser, smart enough not to 'Shit
where you live,' so striking away from your work, school, or home. 
Possibly evolving to proto-Power-Assertive, if you'd gained enough
confidence to learn Charisma, or develop a ruse." Like Bundy.  "Unemployed,
and/or a dropout, we didn't expect your high grades, pre-college courses,
or SAT scores."

   "No," I grinned, "Of course not." It's a lot easier for an intelligent
meticulous planner to act like a random idiot than the other way around.

   "If you don't mind me asking," she laced her fingers together in her
lap, "How do you identify, sexually?"

   I sighed, "I don't.  I was pretty fucked up, didn't even get to that
part yet, so I found myself incapable of normal sexuality."

   "Impotence?" she winced a little, looked like she was expecting a
negative reaction.

   "Physically?  No." I shook my head, "It all still works, as much as
you'd expect of a nineteen year old male," I glanced down at her fingers,
"Single?" I grinned.

   She didn't even react, "Fantasies?"

   "Other than the vengance, violent pseudo-sadistic plantacy, largely
auto-erotic."

   She grinned, "Narcissitic?" In recognition.

   "Maybe a little," I grinned self consciously, "Not malignant, I took
some satisfaction in what I did, though.  Getting my own Justice, fooling
you guys long enough to, concealing the first couple victims, and leading
you to your false conclusions.  I slept better than I ever remember last
night, in satisfaction."

   "I see you got a private cell," she looked around, but it's not like I
had a chance to decorate.  The toiletries in a bag by the sink on the back
of the stainless seatless toilet, no Razor, a folder with some documents
with my profile on top of it, short golf pencil, no sharpener, or eraser.
Shower clogs instead of shoes with laces, just a vecro strap across the top
under my bed.  Pillow, sheet, plastic mattress, rough blanket, nothing to
hang myself by, unless I manage to break the plastic under the cage around
the light.  No bars, sliding steel door with a chicken wired window, slid
open.  Guards walking back, and forth out in the hall.

   "For my protection," I nodded, "Federal witness, can't have me murdered
in custody before I can finish my testimony, because I raped some men."

   "Let's talk about your rape." Not my rapes.

   I laughed, "Which one?"

   She sighed, "The boys you assaulted, I saw your case files, the level of
rage, and brutality was inconsistent with just humiliating them.  So, what
did they do to you?"

   I took a breath, "Yeah, they raped me.  It was back when I was still
going to see da', uh Ronald, my second abuser.  I was pretty introverted,
stuck in my head, and the bullies picked up on it.  Then, I got hard in the
locker room, so they made fun of me for it, called me 'Fag,' and went
through my stuff to prove it.  They found the dildo, the little one Ron
gave me, I was stupid enough to carry it around with me, scared my parents
would find it while I was at school.

   Of course, this only confirmed their accusation, and." I close my eyes,
and tried to swallow the lump in my throat.  "Yeah, they uh, raped me with
it."

   "What happened to it?" I caught my breath, shook it out of my head.

   "I don't know.  Maybe they kept it, or destroyed it, or whatever.  I
lost it after that, for all I know it got kicked under the lockers, and
somebody else found it, like the Janitor." I didn't go into how I destroyed
it, she'd have a field day with the symbolic self destruction, inverted
Castration Angziety.

   She nodded, "Could you give me a description of it?" She unfolded her
hands, and got out a pen.  "We have our analysts searching for possible
manufacturers, but so far haven't heard anything about something like
that."

   "Sure," I closed my eyes, "Uh, I was a kid back then, so the scale is
kind of fucked up, but it was pink, some kind of molded plastic, and
extremely realistic.  I don't know if it was custom, or mass produced, it
didn't have any mold lines, but it had a small head, with a cleft, pisshole
divit, no foreskin, or wrincles, no veigns, either, but it looked
remarcably like a small, detailed hard plastic penis." I opened my eyes, "I
guess it must have been about yay long, and about that big around." About
3-4"x3/4".  "Somebody went to a lot of work on it, though."

   "Thanks," she put the cap back on the pen, and tucked it back in her
jacket.  I'm sure I could have wrestled it away from her, and maybe even
killed her with it, before they could stop me.  Burgundy blazer, by the
way, didn't look like FBI at all.  She could have passed for a secretary,
or receptionist, something like that, and not the kind most guys would
think to hit on.  "Just out of curiosity, how did you go about targeting
them?  I know what you did, but leading up to that point, you did manage to
make them appear entirely opportunistic, like strangers."

   "They still hung out together," I laughed, "Chris still lived at home,
so I discovered him first, but then I followed him to the sports bar, where
he met with Trey.  Sorry, Charles the 3rd, they called him 'Trey'." She
nodded.  "Anyway, it took all of a week to track them to each other, get
some idea of their routines, where they worked, hung out, liked to drink,
how their families moved around them.  Not completely predictable, but
they're largely absentee, spent more time with each-other than their wives,
and kids.

   All of them got married, I guess girls do like jerks, IDK if any of them
grew out of the antisocial stage."

   She interrupted me, "When did the assault occur?" She caught my
expression "In school, when did they Rape you?"

   I laughed, "Did you pick up on the timetable?" I glanced at the profile
folder, "I had to finish it quick, not just because of the investigation,
but because the Statute of Limitations is about to run out.  The 5 year
anniversary is in a little more than a month, so I had to make sure they
were charged before that."

   "Oh yeah," she remembered, "They picked up the other 2 last night. 
They're in general population." Maybe I can get out of here, then, get in
one of their cell blocks...  "No," she shook her head, "There's no way
you'd be placed anywhere near them." I laughed, Profiler, of course.

   "You're pretty good at this yourself," I noted, "How long have you been
with the unit?"

   "This is my first field assignment," she nodded, "I don't know how much
you've read, or seen on TV, but you know shows like Criminal Minds, and
Hannibal are heavily dramatized, right?"

   I nodded, "Well, I didn't think you had an Emo hacker on your team," or
a Goth forensic tech, for that matter, "I also noticed things like they
always get there in the nick of time, the 'Un-Subs' have a tendancy to
conveniently accelerate so they can show 2, or 3 crime scenes per episode,
and the racial demographic is suspiciously broad with an attractive Female
bias." No offence.

   She laughed, "Too bad your record would prevent you joining any Law
Enforcement agency, if you ever get out of Prison, but most of what I was
talking about is the fact that we don't fly out the entire squad in a
private jet every week.  Most of it is done in the office, by
corrospondence.  They send in Crime Scene photos, witness statements, and
we compile a profile to send back.  We almost never go into the field,
engage in exciting high speed chases, and gunfights, or personally make
arrests, much less every single one of them.  But, they take liberties for
entertainment value, probably because the shear mass of phone calls, and
messages we pass around as the vast majority of our work is about as
interesting to watch as Langley redacting documents."

   Wow, run-on much?  "I take it you've watched it?"

   "I've consulted with the writers.  E-mails mostly, I don't hang around
with Shemar Moore or anything." Ah, so that's her type, eh?  "I love the
show, I do, and they're mostly consistent with the Pathology, with our
help, but the group dynamic, and how we actually work is totally
fictional." She thought, "Actually, it helps if we don't broadcast our
actual techniques to everyone, but it's gotten a lot more efficient with
the advent of telecommunications.  Our networking catches the vast majority
of federal criminals, pathologically predictable, or otherwise."

   "Uh," we looked up at the door, "Agent, J..." Couldn't remember her
name.

   "SSA," she corrected, "Jankowikz."

   "Yeah," he straightened, "We got to lock down for Dinner, so you'll have
to come back.

   "All right," she gathered her things, and the Deputy held me back with a
hand while she walked out on her broad heels.  He searched me, flipped back
the bedding, mattress, and through the pictures to make sure I hadn't
grabbed a paperclip, or something to fashion a shotgun out of, then stepped
out to have the gate closed.

   Feds {MMF NS...}

   "Agent Alvarro," he made a point to grip my hand as hard as possible. 
"FBI." Not sure if it was Napoleon Complex, or attempted Trust/Intimidate.
Like the Hollywood "Good Cop/Bad Cop" only not dumbed down for the viewers.

   Anyhow, he wasn't going for Trust.  Get me defensive, after the rappor
L. worked up, so I'd turn to her for emotional support, or something like
that.  She stood behind me, and he looked over for confirmation, but I
couldn't see her expression, nor response.  "Have a Seat."

   Probably so I wouldn't look down on him, back to the room with a bench
to sit on, across from a couple folding chairs.  Muscular, Fed Suit, not
black, but his buzz cut was starting to grow out, and he was working on a
mustache.

   She came around to watch my reaction, no mirrored window, or camera, one
of them may have been recording.  I stepped over the bench, and gently
rested my cuffs on the table.  "Special Forces?" I sighed.

   "Captain," he shook his head, "USMC." Hu rah!

   "Iraq?" I guessed.

   "Stateside, Military Police Investigator, transferred over to the Feebs
after my tour." Nonchalant shrug, leaned back, turned over to L.  "You're
right, Lee, sharp as a tack!"

   "How about you," I smiled over at her.

   She smiled back, "I was a Criminal Psychologist, mostly worked in rehab,
therapy, until I got accepted to Quantico." She stepped around, "Jorge here
helped me with a case, and applied, but doesn't have much direct
psychiatric experience."

   "Trainee," I smiled at him, "So why did they send you?" Back up to her,
rubbing his shoulder, but watching me.  Transparent, really.  A series of
tests, Male/Female dichotomy, rage assessment, emotional reactions,
attraction?  Nothing triggering, I saw Napoleon Complex, but the eye
contact, between them, and her point of focus gave it away.  He was a
shitty actor, she was better, but too curious to hide it.

   Hitting all the buttons, size disparity, racial demographic, would I
compete, agress, flirt, or avoid?  No.  Just some guy, and I had his
number. A grin, "Must be some shot, eh?"

   "I qualified," he nodded, "you?"

   "Never even held a gun.  Seen them on TV, cops' belts, not really my
thing." Her expression, just realized I'd fished back, and got a bite, I
winked at her.

   "What is your 'Thing'?" Not to be underestimated, though.  I expect that
MPI is the equivalent of Detective, I don't know, but he picked up on me
trying to get him talking about guns, and deftly evaded.

   "Don't really know," I grinned even wider, "I haf been in the revenge
business so long, I do not know what to do with the rest of my life."

   He lost his tough exterior, "Hahaha," then straightened up a little. 
"All right, I can see you're not to be underestimated."

   She looked confused.  "Inigo Montoya." I told her, and her eyes went
'oh.' Hispanic hero archetype, maybe a little nerdiness there.

   "So, you were bullied too." No question, "So when you grew up, enlisted,
took a level in badass?  That why you brought him." She sighed.

   "Is that what you did?" he dropped the Pretence, "Bruce Wayne makover,
became an Avenger?"

   Justice League, they had cartoons.  The Nerd Test, should be almost
impossible to resist the correction.  "Dantez complex." He looked over at
her, almost as tall, in heels.

   "The count of Monte' Cristo." She looked back, "All right, game, set
match, shall we get down to brass taps?"

   "Tacks." She rolled her eyes away from him.

   "What do you want?" I shrugged.  Okay, it wasn't the racial thing, they
sent in a ringer to better relate with me.

   "Quantico got back to me, since I'm already on the ground, I can take
care of the Federal investigation.  So first, do you know Ronald's last
name?"

   "Didn't catch it.  I know where he lived, though, five years ago, so I
can show you so you can follow the paper trail." And maybe we can go on a
field trip.

   "What's the address?" Cute brown notepad with a pen in the side.

   "I don't remember," I rolled my eyes, "I didn't think about it, did I
mention he had me convinced we were in love forever until he got what he
wanted, and kicked me to the curb?" He looked up, okay, some homophobia
there.  "Easy there, I'm not gay, I was just confused." He set it down,
open, but held onto the stub of a pen.

   She went to get a city map.  Had to get let out.  "So," I made
conversation, "What's your story?"

   He shrugged, "Grew up in San Antonio, didn't hate cops, enlisted to get
out of the Barrio, worked my way up to a Commission, got out, and joined
the Bureau." He rolled the Rs a little in Barrio, that was about all the
accent I heard from him.

   "What was this job with L.?" I got the feeling she hated 'Lili,' but
he'd called her 'Lee.' She came back, empty handed while he told his war
story.  Galveston-Houston corridor area Narcotics taskforce, she came in as
a consultant for some Dominicans with a sex traffic, and forced
prostitution ring.  They worked together, caught the Bad Guys, dated for a
little while, it didn't work out.

   "Old news," she shrugged, "We couldn't work together with the Conflict
of Interest, but it was like a weekend, and we moved on." In other words,
the Bureau didn't have to know about it.  "We caught the guy, Picaristic
Sadist, real Anger Exitation kind of guy with Drug Control from the
Smuggling end of the organization." Hook them so they don't run, or fight
back, and maybe torture them with needles a bit.

   "Hard trade?" I guessed.

   "Pay for Rape," he nodded, hard faced again.  "And you?"

   My face must've given me away.  "Yeah," I looked away.  "After my first
rape, I stopped being so fun for Ron, so he sold me to a Sadist.  He took
me out of State, up in the Ozarks, chained me in the root cellar, and raped
me ever night until I killed him in his sleep."

   "Oh?" She sat down, sympathy all over her face.

   "Yeah," I wiped an eye, "That's where I got back into town from, I
figure Ron skipped with the money.  Kind of lost track of time there, but
it was only a couple months.  Hitched back in 1 ride, as soon as the
Trucker heard my story."

   "Wow," she shook her head, "Okay, did he torture you?"

   "Branded me," I didn't show her, "Threatened to burn me if I didn't
cooperate, when we get out, I think I can show you where the cabin is."

   "How did you get free?" He looked fascinated too.

   "Jabba'd him," I laughed, a little, "Got the keys off his belt when he
stopped struggling."

   "Wait," she looked up, "So when you yoked, what's his name, hang on I
have the list right here."

   "Trey," I nodded, "You mean how I choked him instead of gagging him? 
Yeah, the gag slipped, so I went with it, that's the reason for the Thugee
knot in the ligature mark.  It was supposed to be an improvised ball-gag."

   "Why did you do them in that order?" He was smart enough to ask. 
Despite myself, knowing he was brought in because of similar personality
traits, I was starting to like him.

   "Smallest to largest," I laughed, "To simulate growing confidence. 
Otherwise, it would have been pretty arbitrary, so I decided to go with a
false lead."

   "You didn't have confidence issues, then." This back, and forth was
getting a little tiresome,especially knowing it was calculated to keep me
talking, but it might have been from force of habit.  They've run this
routine before.

   "Not really, I mean, I had already killed." I lifted my hands, "Self
defence, seriously, life, or death, he would have escalated to raping me to
death, and finding another victim, I couldn't have been the first."

   "Well, we'll run the MO through VICAP, but one case at a time." She
nodded, obviously thinking it was too good to be true.  "Did he give a
name?"

   "Sir, Master, take your pick." I shrugged.  "I'm guessing he's a shallow
grave type, dumping ground nowhere near his place, but all together."

   "Why?" Not much profiling experience.

   "Which?" I shook my head, "Never mind, he liked to cuddle, so he'd
probably visited them at least until they started to stink.  No sign of
Necrophilia, but I wouldn't put it past him.  He's self conscious enough to
get me from the Pedo network, though, so I doubt you'll find a string of
local missing boys."

   "A Pedonet," she corrected me, "You wouldn't know about that, but they
just discovered an Undernet, old school dial-up, MoDems, BBS systems,
businesses to cover the low bandwidth." Or, maybe I would, but I didn't
give it away.  "We didn't publicise it, but they just raided a kiddy porn
studio disguised as a Telemarketing company.  Or a former victim dropped it
in our laps." She ran on.

   They brought a map, I found the street, and swept my eyes right over the
distinctive yards.  "Sorry, it's all 50s Cookie Cutter split-levels in
there." Nice Satellite printout, Google Earth?  Clearly saw the brick
mailbox pillar next door, and the old lady's wildflower gardens on the
other side.  "Somewhere around there, this side of the street."

   "Let's see if we can get you out in our custody as a witness.  There's a
lot of legal paperwork involved," she rolled her eyes, "So, it could take a
few days.  What was the name of that USA?"

   "Sorry?" I shook my head.

   "Sorry," she got out her phone, "The United States Attourney handling
the Federal case."

   "Cavanaugh," I forget her first name, never used it.  "I think."

   They left, I made it back to be greeted by a stale baloney, and knockoff
Velveta on white with a mustard packet, warm milk carton, and a pat of
butter on waxed paper, for no apparent reason.  No knife to spread it with,
the paper soaked through, so I used the mustard packet to spread it, licked
it clean, but left it unopened.  Then, I kicked back to read my profile.

   White male, aged 14-20: right, couldn't really chose my victims, and I
was trying to conceal my level of organization.

   ...Nowhere near the victims.  Lifelong, or long term resident of the
area: Close, recently returned, and fucking pissed.
No previous victims: Wrong, my first was unconnected, because of
different M.O, and victimology.  Older, bound at home, the childporn stash,
and probably as yet unexhausted leads to his other victims.  I didn't find
my picture, much less take, and destroy them, but that would just support
my story.  They didn't find his computer, though they might bring up his

phone records.

   Even with over a year gap, the only consistency was the sodomy, which
isn't that rare, and the Perpetrator, of course.  Okay, a mask, but the
first was obviously to conceal my identity.  The other 2 that reported
where blitzed from behind, assumed strangers of opportunity, so the obvious
reasons self consciousness about appearance, and/or subconscious denial.

   Right, that's further down.  "Conceals some facial flaw, or disfiguring
feature, real or perceived." Intentional misdirection.

   Internalized Homophobia: In denial of his sexual urges, represses, and
wanders to distract himself from them.  Hates himself because of his
sexuality, so displaces, and punishes his victims for it.  Accuses them,
calling them homophobic slurs, such as "Faggot" and was also quoted by both
victims as saying, "There, you like it."

   Of course, that was a verbatum repetition.  Only half reported, because
of homophobia, but the injuries were too severe, and 2 needed medical
attention.

   Escalates: Seeking stronger victims to prove his masculinity, may become
more consistent with his victims as he realizes the particulars of his
attraction.  May also accelerate, but insufficient data points to establish
a period, and the opportunistic nature of selection may skew timing.  Short
cool-down between victims (3 weeks) suggest a spree.
Oh so much wrong, she swallowed that beautifully.  Or they, there were 2
other names involved in the analysis, and by the order of signatures, one

of the men was considered senior.

   Impulsive, and Disorganized: Incapable of planning due to self conscious
denial.

   I had to laugh.

   Flashback {MBb CP Anal.  MF Fant Solo.}

   I remember the buzz of the camera, Nicky touching me, already hard. 
Daddy moving around us, playing with himself, as smooth as us.  Nicky was
already cumming, for real.  Peeing milky drops that dripped off, wetting
his foreskin, and making the tip glisten when he pulled the skin back over
it.

   Not this time, he was fingering me, like he did, licked his finger to
get it wet.  He held my leg up, kept pulling my soft little pinky.  I
wondered why I didn't get hard, but he reached up, made me suck his thumb,
then him while he worked it into me.  He wiggled it around until I was
ready, and then he went back around to pick both of my legs up.

   The camera flashed, and buzzed again.  Daddy started peeing, white, and
thick, squirting it on my privates, so Nicky could rub it in my butt, and
move back in.  I cried, but Daddy told me "It always hurts the first time,"
and took more pictures.  He clipped them up, on the spinning thing, like
tickets at a diner.

   I woke up, hard.  Light shining in under the steel door, shutter over
the small square window.  I didn't want to think about that, or any boy, or
man.  Maybe a woman, not my mom, or sister, neither.  I guess that cop
lady, with the thick local accent, she was pretty enough.  She really
seemed to care, I saw it in her face, when I was telling her my story,
sometimes mad, but through most of it, she seemed about to cry.

   She didn't, I never saw her smile, sincerely.  I wondered what that
looked like.  What she looked like naked, I'd only ever seen them in
magazines, the first that day I met Nicky, and he invited me over to his
house.  I shook my head, remembered looking at the naked ladies, their
boobs, how big their nipples was, how strange they looked.  Their faces,
smiling at the camera, mouths open, smiling, their bright white teeth.

   It always took a while, but I had time, and the hardness wasn't going
down.  Their flat crotches, probably shaved, or dipilitated some other way.
No real snatch shots, soft core, old Playboys with just a few peeks at
their lips, together, between the tops of their thighs.  Finally, it came
out, and I caught it.  I ate it, licking, and sucking my fingers.

   I still couldn't sleep, had no idea what time it was, so I got down with
my feet on the bed shelf, and did pushups until I was good, and tired
again.

   Diner {MF-M NS}
Soundtrack: J.  Cash - "Ain't no Grave" (Can hold my body down.)
I basically got to Ride Along, cuffed, and point at the house.  Toys out
front, I have to admit feeling a little discomfort with children being
there, as if the building was Haunted by it's former occupant.  A simple
split level, with another like it to one side, except for the extensive
"Wild" flowers in neatly bordered plots, and on the other side, in green
siding, with a pillar of bricks around the mailbox.  And across the street,
up, and down it, most of the neighborhood was the same design, or mirror
image of it once, though long enough ago for some Extentions to be built,

and upgrades to the respective yards.

   We went out to a late lunch/early dinner, I ordered the Chicken Fried
Steak, and eggs, protein after a few days of Jail Food.  I'd work off the
fat, and carbs when I got back with an extra workout.

   She sat across from me, back in the corner of the booth, while Alvarro
came in after, sat behind her, on the end, and pretended not to pay
attention.  Armed, even scooted all the way back, he could shoot me without
hitting her if I tried anything.

   We talked, but because of the public place, we had to censor the
conversation.  Children played, and fought with each other right behind me,
too close to even broach the subject.

   I couldn't help but think of this like a Date, it might have looked that
way to anyone looking over, the waitress coming by to top off my sweet tea,
her Coffee, and Club Sandwich.  I don't remember much of the conversation,
small talk, mostly about her "Ex," sitting right behind her, grinning self
consciously.

   She didn't look, knew he was there, and buttered him up.  "Great bod,
but a little too nerdy, once I got to know him." His smile dropped,
"Actually," she pushed up imaginary glasses, "We didn't have enough
interests in common, and he'd bore me with comic books, super hero
complex."

   She looked up, self conscious at her slip, took a bite, and chewed to
cover it.  Can't really turn off The Doctor archetype, she was so invested
in.  "So, it was more of a weekend fling, than a Relationship.  No hard
feelings though, we can still work together, and there's no jealousy with
his wife."

   I looked over at him, he shook his head, so I looked down, and picked at
my gravy.  Too filling, I finished my eggs, choked down the meat, didn't
really touch my potatos.

   Couldn't take it to go.  They didn't say, but I figured this little part
of the field trip wasn't Sanctioned.  Out, and back, don't give me any
opportunity to Escape, and go on a Rampage, become a Fugitive, start a
manhunt.  Even uncuffed, they spread out, covered me, looked around.  She
payed, followed me out, I walked around back, and almost ran into some
rapper types.

   I had to laugh a little at the Racial demographics.  A Black, Hispanic,
and white guy, in denial.  All Vanilla Ice, skewed cap, really needed to
invest in a belt, baggy jersey, Baby Blue.

   "Remember to tip?" I looked back, and she was looking around, paranoid.

   "The fuck you care?" I tried to step aside, but the white guy put his
hand up on my chest, and they fanned around me.

   "Tax, Holmes." The Latino pulled open his shirt to show me his gun, "You
ain't sposta park here." Southern accent, except for 'Holmes.'

   Then, I realized I was behind the wigger, twisting his arm, and had the
other around his neck before I realized I moved.

   "Drop 'em!" Alvarro, right next to her, both pointing their guns.  I
side stepped, putting my shield between me, and his friends, but their guns
came up slowly, pinched between their fingers, pointed down, sideways
before clattering to the ground.

   "Fuck off!" I pushed him into them, and backed away, arms up.

   They ran, leaving their guns.  She dropped them in the trunk while he
locked my hands in front, and pushed me head in.  He slammed the door, and
drove.  "Stupid," I don't know if they saw us pull up, get out, the cuffs
come off, or the way they escorted me around the building.  Regardless,
it's such an obvious 'Not a Cop Car,' Unmarked, but might as well have been
a black, and white with the lights on top.  Government plates, not just
state, said Fed right next to the number, but I guess they did back in,
just an empty holder in the front.

   "Tank/CC," he scoffed, "D'jou get aload of that fucking Spic?" Obviously
pissed, "Probly watched too many Gangsta videos." He shook his head.

   I got it, the stereotype was an insult to his race, and he grew up wit'
dat shit.  "CoD?" I changed the subject, and sat in the middle to look at
him in the mirror.

   "Pft," he looked back, "Cash on Delivery.  All that about Special Forces
making it 'the most realistic FPS ever?' Pure marketing.  A .380 does not
do more damage than a .45." Worst Episode Ever.  "Why'd you do that?"

   "Bullies," she said, "He touched him."

   He saw me nod in agreement, and we got back without incident...

   "Special" Victims {MF, NS M-M, Homo-Fear, Anal Rape...}

   "Good news," Eileen, that was her name, "Curt.  The locals said this
judge is reasonably sensitive to sex abuse victims, and he reviewed your
tape, as well as took testimony from your friends from the Bureau.  Now,
he's going to run for some office, no official declaration, speculation
about Congress, or State Supreme Court, and there's rumors about a 'Tough
on Crime' stance, so it could go either way, but I'm optimistic."

   Okay, "What's our strategy?"

   Sigh, "It's a sentencing hearing, you're pleading Guilty, so all you
have to do is Allocute.  That means,"

   "I know, nothing but the truth..." I ain't ignernt.

   "I'm basically stand-in for your representation, but all I have to do is
stand at the table with you.  We've got a deal, all it needs is finalized,
but it's his court.  So, he can overturn it, or in part, and pass sentence
on any of the 4 crimes.  It helps that you're counter-reporting for your
Rape, and they're suspected of several Hate Crimes in the metro area,
mostly bashings.  They've been on the news, other victims are coming
forward, though only to repute their Homosexuality, and none have reported
any sexual abuse."

   "Okay," I ran it over, and over in my head, and the thing is I don't
think they're really the type.  Homophobes, to be sure, but I might have
been an isolated situational rape, with the obvious object triggering the
escalation.  The symbolism may even have scared them.

   They weren't there, I'd have to testify in their trial, which is all 4
of them together, but after taking them individually, I should be able to
stand up to them together, surrounded by bailiffs, and the like.  I still
felt scared, that abstract nightmare horror where I don't even know
specifically what the fear is of, which just makes it worse.

   "4 Counts Rape in the first degree, Sodomy in the second degree, 2
counts aggravated assault, and 1 Attempted murder."

   I said "Guilty, Guilty, Guilty..." except for the last one, "I wasn't
trying to Kill him!"

   Ellen consulted with the DA, and the judge.  They agreed to drop that
charge as part of the plea agreement, then the judge told me to describe my
crimes in detail."

   "Well, uh," I coughed, unsure where to start.  "After my Rape, I went
out of state for a while, and when I came back, I saw my abusers on the
street.  I followed them, for several weeks, and waited for opportunities
to catch them alone.  I intentionally made it look like a Spree Rapist to
throw off Profiling long enough to assault all four, and was fortunate
enough that the first was not reported, until I confessed in police
custody.

   He always ran, or jogged to his gym, and back for cardio, along this
trail parallel to Fairgrounds Street.  I waited for him where it passes
under hiway 55.  I had a kit, including a mask, and a knotted gag tucked
into the bib pocket of my sweatshirt.  I tackled him, forced the knot into
his mouth, and overpowered him from behind.

   I worked out too, extensively since 9th grade, except for a couple
months off while incarcerated in Arkansaw." An oblique reference to being
held as a sex slave.  The lawyer said he'd reviewed the tape, and notes
from my interfiews with the feds.  "Without binding him, I was able to hold
his arms, bend him over, and force his face in the dirt.  He had elastic
waist track pants on, which I pulled down, and managed an erection from the
excitement.

   Now, I was not attracted to him, nor any of them.  This was not about
sex, but revenge, I'magine much like happens in prisons to establish a
pecking order.  I wanted to make him feel violated as he had made me, and
had fantasized about it for years enough to be physically capable of the
sodomy, despite how repugnant I find the very concept.  As it was with the
others.

   I left him, still gagged, and ran through the tunnel before removing the
mask.  Then cut alongside the highway to the street to be dismissed on
sight as another jogger until I could return to my car, parked at the
dealership back lot.

   I targeted them in order of size, Chris always was self conscious about
his size, and compensated with exercise.  Next came Larry, who works in a
building downtown, and used the Parking Garage.  After seeing where he
parked, I waited until the space on the drivers' side was empty, and backed
in to assure concealment.  I blitzed him as he opened the door, gagged him
to perpetuate the false profile, and threatened him with a knife which I
planned as an escalation.

   I used it to cut his belt, said "I'll kill you you fucking faggot," just
as he had said to me, but had no intention of doing so.  My motive was to
punish them, and I had decided that killing would be counterproductive to
that motive.  I wanted them to suffer the shame for the rest of their
lives, as I have to, live with it, and now that I am caught, know who, and
why.  It was always my intention to come forward, if the police did not
connect it to me eventually, but I sat on it a while, to let the fear, and
victim mindset sink in.  Fortunately, the police were able to come to me,
after I victimized the other two.

   I did not wear a condom, for any of them.  I was kinda curious if any of
them would report it, but in cutting his pants, he was discovered, and
eventually had to explain it.  The third victim did not report, though he
may have conferred with his friend about the similarity of the attacks.  I
caught him at home, predictably arriving before his wife, who was out
taking their children to practice, and lessons, as well as some shopping.

   I only know this, because I stuck around to see what happened.  He must
have gotten dressed, and not reported it, so I left.  Anyway, I tackled him
at the door, forcing him with my momentum, and kicking it shut behind us. I
threatened him with the knife, cut open his pants from crotch to waistline,
and and also nicked him a little because he was struggling.  I gagged him,
and raped him from behind, holding his arms as I had the previous two.  I
also repeated the line "There, you like that, faggot," as he had said to me
earlier.  I also left him gagged, but made my secape before he could untye
it, or make his escape.

   Trey was the leader, and may have been warned by his partners, because
he took apparent precautions.  His level of awareness rose noticably to my
following him, but he didn't see me.  I believe by this point they may have
compared notes enough to realize I was targeting them specifically if not
why.  I believe the police were picking up on the pattern as well.

   However, he let his guard down with his mistress, or he was more
concerned with being seen by his wife, or her husband.  Regardless, he
relaxed as he left her, undiscovered, and made his way home to drink, and
smoke marijuana on his porch.  I managed to get behind him on the bench
without being heard, but the knotted cloth I used like the others slipped
down off his chin, and he managed to pull me over onto the porch, but I
landed on top of him, and forced him down.

   I gripped it in one hand, but couldn't tye it, or move it up from his
throat to his mouth.  So, I had to knock him unconscious, or pull my knife
out of my pocket, and kill him.  I elected to use his ash-tray to knock him
out, but he was just stunned long enough to get his pants split, and force
him to comply with the knife at his throat.

   He complied, and gained an erection from the assault, so I ridiculed him
for enjoying it, and reached around for grip while I raped him to
ejaculation.  He did not ejaculate, and as my last victim, I didn't wear a
mask at all.  I grabbed his face, and forced him to look at me.  Because of
the concussion, he wound up at the hospital when his wife found him, passed
out again with a brain bleed.  His other injuries where discovered before
they revived him.

   He admitted being assaulted, but falsely reported the mask, and not
recognizing me, I can only speculate to avoid admission of the motivating
incident.  I do not apologize for these crimes, I will not do anything like
this again, and I throw myself on the mercy of this court."

   He asked me questions, before passing down the sentence.  Specifically,
about never doing anything like this again, so I told him that I was abused
as a child, but as an adult, I have no intention of being abused again.  He
asked if the DA was satisfied as far as the plea agreement.  He said he
was, so the judge cleared his throat, looked at the cameras in the gallery,
and said:

   "As these crimes were soley motivated by homosexual rape, and
imprisoning the defendant would only serve to perpetuate the cycle of
homosexual rape, I accept the agreement of immunity in return for assisting
the United States Attorney's office in the investigation of a serial sex
offendor still at large.  I suspend your 4 consecutive sentences of 15-25
years in a facility to be determined by the Mississippi Department of
Corrections until such time as you break said agreement in act, or
falsehood.  I hereby remand the prisoner to the custody of the Federal
Bureau of Investigation, this court is ajurn'd." And dropped the gavel.

   That bit made national news, though not exactly the "Landmark Ruling"
they claimed it to be, on account of it being a perfectly legal plea
bargain, instead of a judicial ruling.  Of course, people in the south
didn't see it as such, and though there were no riots, there was a brief
escalation in gay related violence until the hubub died down, and people
found something else to be upset about.  Some reality star said something
to get the plug pulled on their show, and there was a hue, and cry about
censorship, it was forgotten in a couple months.

   My apartment was still taped up, Crime Lab sticker over the door.  Li'
explained that they searched it for evidence after I surrendered. 
Apparently another waiver of my rights, my neighbors didn't look at me,
when I looked back, but gave me the stink eye behind my back.  I joined the
Feds at their motel the next day to go over the "case."

   Juana {MMFG NS.  MG Mole, Pseu, Pedo.}

   {Storycode Note: Pseu is for Pseudo-pedophilia, sexual abuse of an adult
who appears childlike.  Also, I couldn't maintain the purely Male-on-male
demographic, so here's where it transitions to more heterosexual
activities. I may sever these when I move them to the appropriate folder.}

   "Horrhei!" She ran, squeeling, and jumped into his arms.  I looked
around the Bus Station, people just looked away, going back to whatever,
not all that unusual a scene.

   Except he kept kissing her, longer than one would call fatherly.  Not
'French', both mouths closed, but I fidgeted, uncomforted until he set her
down.

   "Juanita," she turned, and held up her hand, "Garcia-Alvarro." Somehow
precociously mature, from that little introduction.  I looked over at her,
Husband?

   "How old is she?" She giggled, squinting up at me.

   "27." she let go, "I'll explain after we get out of here." Her eyes
widened, looked around, dark, and large.

   I shrugged, and waited, while she got her bag from under the bus.  I
couldn't see any sign of growth, of course the ruffles of her blousey
jacket could have covered up her chest, but she had slim hips too, for a
Latina.  Short hair, black as her eyes, not much longer in the back than
her bangs.

   I sat up front, Li' drove, her bulky purse, and round duffle packed
away. Jorge' hugged, and kissed her, she sighed, and cuddled with him while
we talked.  "I 'ab Callman's Syndrome," she shrugged, "It runs in my
family, my great onkel neber grow up, but he got old.  The doctors traced
it to a recessive." I watched the road, her voice was still high pitched,
and accented, but I didn't have to try and reconcile her mature talk with
her young appearance.

   "My pituitary don' work.  It es the gland that controls the whole
Endochrine system, so I would'ab needed Hormone Therapy to grow up.  I
decided not to, so I only haba daily regiment of pills to prevent
Osteoperosis, orr othor complications."

   "Okay?" What do you say to something like that?  As much as I understood
it in mixed Spanglish, and medical jargon.  The hotel wasn't far, and
Jorge' already got the ajoining suite for them.  They were tight lipped
about who we were picking up, he called her "My Juana," but didn't go into
their relationship.

   Li' must've watched my reaction, I don't think she can help playing that
little game, it's part of her personality.  She reads people, everyone,
even those of us who have earned her Trust, after years, like Jorge'.  She
fishes, throws out bait for us to bite on, then sees what she can reel in.
I'm not sure how conscious she is of it.

   "How long have you known them?" I watched hers', but she picked up on
it.

   "I was called in on her case," she nodded confirmation.  Dropping her
pistol on the table, she sat down, in the chair, while Jorge' did the same,
on the couch.  Then Juana, next to him, her little automatic tucked under
her arm.  She took it apart, a cleaning kit from her duffel, and unrolled
her clothes to pull a small tube from the center.

   "I came heer from Zucre', to Bailer." she busied herself, taking it
apart, cleaning it with brushes, and little squirt bottles of oil, I didn't
smell any burnt odor."

   "Did you shoot someone?" I asked.

   She smiled, and squinted, "No', jus' maintenance." I'd seen the others
doing similar things, including her husband's little black rifle locked in
the trunk.  "The Hospitals in my contre', they din' 'ab the medecin to
diagnos, an treat me, so they sen me heer." She slipped a metal tube from
the package, open on 1 end, and side, then pulled the barrel out, with a
spiral of metal twisted around it.

   "Is that a silencer?" Set aside, there was a tiny hole in the front,
threaded for the barrel to stick through.

   "Sopressor," she nodded, "The maker colls it a 'Moran Muffelorr'." She
brushed around the helix, and squeezed drops of oil in.

   "So," Jorge' took over, "She kind of came with a Rapunzel Complex," she
nodded, and kept tinkering, "Alone in a strange country, unfamiliar
language from being basically held in her childhood villa, by her
overprotective familia.  I doubt you even heard of the Sucre' Garcias, but
they are like Nobility there, descended from Don Garcia, and very wealthy,
for their country." 1st-3rd world, of course.  'Wealthy' is relative
between them.

   Li' interrupted, "Inbreeding between the families may have concentrated
the recessive." Couldn't help showing off her knowledge, she doesn't like
not being the smartest on in the room.

   "See," or 'si', "when I come heer, a nurse took adbantage of that.  I
was sheltered, homeseek, culture chocked, and confuse' by all the doctors
tol' me." She screwed the barrel back in, clipped and slid it onto the
frame, "He knew Espanis', he talk to me, an seduce me.  He was berr' good
at it." She rolled the 'rr' "ask me about me familia, make me remembor,
until I start to cry so he coul' hog me, and he kees me.  He do this, over
a week, and touch me more an more.  I theenk I let heem for affection,
lonle' and homeseek.  He know how old I was, 18, so it was no' ileegal, but
he still exploite' me.  I was leetal, an don no' anything, so I migh as
well be a girl, and that was he want, of corse."

   I nodded, and she might have gone on, if the internet phone didn't ring.
Li' went to answer it, and set up for "Conference call" with webcam mikes
around the table, and the computer set in the middle.

   High tech, it was like a tablet, with a keyboard you could stand it up
on, she had it up sideways in the center, so it was more like a portrait
than a wide screen.

   "That him?" I couldn't see the screen, so I came around.

   "Yeah," dark oriental guy, "Dr.  Young, Curt Cooper."

   "Hi," I waved at the camera.

   "Nice to meet you," he lied politely.  She got up, so I could sit down,
and sat on the end of the bed.  "Our network has been going over what you
gave us, in parallel with the Fibs' analysts, and telecommunications.  We
don't have an ISP on him, or actually, they didn't keep records over a
couple years old, but the LUDs tracked him to known BBS numbers for the
Undernet."

   "Luds?" I guessed he ment the pedonet, since Li' explained how they're
like Terror Cells, we have to trace them one-at-a-time like the pedophiles
that use them.  She mentioned him, in passing about how he backtracks cases
from the most recent to the origin.

   "Phone records, it's dialup MoDems, old school tech, from before we had
Cyberspace, and the programs to analyze it.  Makes the network harder to
track, since it's not always on, users call up, and crossload, rather than
streaming IRT."

   "Okay," I shrugged, "I'm not all that computer savvy, so I'll take your
word for it." I could surf, text, and chat, that was about it.

   His eyes opened enough to roll, then glanced over at a corner of the
screen.  "Is that a Buzzgun?"

   Juana held it up.  ?  He nodded to me.  "Semi-auto, but the same, jes."
A bit confusing, because she was on the other side of the screen, from the
window he must have had their webcam in.

   "Anyway," he looked back, "The closest node was in the Big-Bend area."

   She smiled, and Squinted, "Thas why I come in," she nodded, "we think a
new player come in, 2 years ago, sex traffic, with a local militia.  'New
Rangers', they say they help the Border Patrol, but really they guereyas."

   He nodded onscreen, "I know the type."

   Li' leaned into the camera, "They changed their MO consistent with
Curt's Timeline.  Stopped chasing them back across the border with
automatic fire, and ATVs.  The USPB started finding bodies.  Men, Illegals,
and semi-legal Coyote's shot to death with Shotguns, Submachine, and Rifle
fire.  Some executed with the same .45.  Also the women, but raped, and
dumped at tertiary scenes, no children.  Tracks of them, but no bodies, all
disappeared."

   "So you suspect they're kidnapping for sale?" he guessed.  "May be, I'll
see if I find any on the other end, through the Childporn."

   "We'll have a Tacteam on standby in case we need to do a Raid." She got
up.

   He signed off, so she shut down the call, and clipped the screen over
the keyboard, and plugged it in.

   Power-Reinforcement {MM Rape, MF Cons}

   I must have made a sound, because he woke up, before I was on him.  He
struggled, moaned muffled by the tape over his mouth, but I got it around
his wrists, bound him, and dragged him out of the room.  Down the stairs,
he struggled, but I was too strong for him.  I pushed him into the
basement, rushed after him to prevent him from pulling way the tape.

   I knocked him down with a blow, the musty moldy stink seeping through
the nylon over my face, and my view changed.  From the side, standing over
him, hooded, masked, gloved, he grunted, and moaned.  Moved slowly, dazed,
and started crying.

   I closed the lower door, knowing the sound wouldn't travel far, went to
the crawlspace, pulled open the panel, and grabbed the plastic bin.  He was
chewing on his wrists, and the bin burst open, knocking him down, and
scattering the pictures.  "Why?" he sobbed.

   He knew why, the abuser didn't have to say anything, just grab his hair,
a handful of pictures, and slapping him with them.  I remember getting
hard, I think it was his helplessness that turned me on.  He'd gained
weight, gotten older, I'd never been attracted to the way he looked, even
when he had me convinced we was in love.

   I stripped him, untied my pants, and pulled them down.  Kicked him when
he tried to get up, while I unwrapped, and put on the rubber.  I beat his
face with it, forced him sideways over the chair, and spanked him, until I
got too horny to keep from holding him, forcing myself inside, raping him
as hard as I could.

   "Curt," she shook me, "Curtis wake up." I was crying, sobbing, and she
held me.  "It's all right, just a nitemare, calm down." I remembered the
terror, how frightened I was of myself.  First a dull fear in the
background, then rising, overpowering as I escalated, and disassociated
from my crime.  At the end, he looked like me, on the floor, bent over,
screaming hoarsely, but higher pitched.  The way my cries echoed in the
basement when I was a boy.

   I babbled it out, left out the part about his face changing, he looked
like Alvarro, briefly while I was dragging him down the stairs, then back
to Ronny as he tumbled down.  I never fantasized about him before,
especially not like that, raping, beating, and humiliating him for what
someone else had done.

   That's what kept me crying, until I became aware of her.  Beyond her
soothing voice, her arms around my head, warm softness against my face, her
perfume.  I hadn't even thought of her that way either, maybe that other
Detective, from the first interview, the dirty blonde, with the sensitive
face.  What was her name?

   I pulled my face away from her chest, aware that my harness had
returned, thankful it wasn't pressed against her, into her.  She took my
head, turned me back, wiped under my eye with her small rough thumb.  "It's
okay." She kissed me.

   I froze, conflicted, confused, held my hand still on her chest.  Where
she put it, then felt down under the covers, through my underwear, gripping
my hardness.  They felt weird, through her nightshirt.  No bra, soft thick
warm cotton shorts over her hip, almost on my other hand, but not crushing
it into the bed.  She twisted, took my hand, and pressed it in front of
her.

   "Are you okay," she looked at me, her eyes dark in the light from beside
the drapes, "With this?"

   "I don't," I thought, looked at her.  "I guess, huh, there's nothing
wrong with finding out." She looked, pretty I guess.  For the first time,
she was never really ugly to me, I just, never thought about her, as
anything but "Lili." She smiled, sighed, and nodded.  "Lilia," had I ever
said her name, right before?  All a sudden, I liked the way it sounded,
loved how I said it, heard it in my voice.  It didn't even sound like a
ditzy name to me any more, just Hers'.

   I kissed her, felt around the front of her shorts, the unfamiliar
flatness there, what was missing.  So warm, I turned, pushed the blanket,
and sheet down with my other hand.  She moved, lifted her hips to pull her
night shirt up.  I looked down at them.

   So soft, not very large, if I'm any judge.  Pale, no tan lines that I
could see in the dim light.  She reached into my shorts, pushed them down,
and stuck them behind my balls, I had my leg up for her.

   I had no idea what to do.  With her, them, she squirmed again, pushing
down the blue flannel with the arm under her, pulling on my dick, slipping
the skin up so I could feel it bunch around the head.  I just felt them,
the slight bulge in the middle, firmness to stiff beads I rubbed with my
fingers.  They were large, compared to any man's I had seen.

   She let go of me, pulled her legs up to work her shorts down, kick them
off.  Then, she got on me, moving me over on my back, and pulling her
nightshirt off.  She looked strange, I looked her over, bending sideways to
turn on the light.  Too wide on the bottom, narrow on the top, and the
strange round swells in front, swinging when she moved, hanging next to my
shoulder.

   She brushed them over me, in my face, kissing me.  I closed my eyes,
felt her lift off my belly, reach between us, taking me, and rolling a coat
of rubber on by feel.  She was panting, like she'd been running, and her
face looked focused.  I kissed her chin, making her smile, still slipping
me around behind her.  Then slowly, she rocked back, her boobs rolling on
my chest.

   I could feel her, tight through the sleeve between us.  She sat down,
feeling my chest, eyes closed, biting her lip.  I just watched her, felt
her feel the line of muscle on my chest, playing with my nipples, rubbing
them hard.  I felt hers, so soft, and heavy in my hands, hanging over me.
She felt over my shoulders up my biceps, squeezed them, gripping to rise
up, then sink back down around my wrapped hardness.

   We didn't say anything, and I thought about it, what it must be like for
her.  Muscle, that's what she likes.  Like Shemar Moore, Alvarro, and now
me.  Of course, I bulked up.  Lifted weights, built up the strength to
overpower, restrain, but I didn't want to think about that.  That was
wrong, it should be what doesn't feel right.  Not this, I's just
unfamiliar, but that was the real turn-on.

   And who she was.  I was glad, because she understood me.  I never
expected that, first her analytical diagnosis, of course, but as a baseline
for her to empathize, sympathize, feel what I did to understand how it
affected what I did.  It confused me when she told me that was the only
advantage she had over them.  They can't do that, or dehumanize their
victims so they can abuse, exploit, and kill.  That's how she gets to know
them, better than they understand themselves.

   I wasn't that to her any more.  A perpetrator, a suspect.  I was me, and
she, did she love, me?  Her chest shook in my hands now, she was grunting,
looked, I don't know, what I could see in her face.  I'd never seen her
like that before, it wasn't anger, there was pleasure, but not the sadistic
joy in pain, fear, and control that had always been my experience.  Hard,
intense, but not brutal, or rough.

   Her eyes flew open, and she looked down on me.  Relaxing, she sighed,
took a deep breath, and sighed again.  Tried not to moan, I could see her
holding it back, so she swallowed, and tried to breathe.  Now I could see
it, in her eyes.  The hard concentration was gone, she wasn't even focused,
just staring down dreamily, and I realized she had gotten her release.

   I wondered how that felt, even as I felt mine building, busting up into
her, but getting caught by the condom.  I regretted it a little, wished I
could feel inside her better, wondered if she would have minded, my sperm
going into her, getting pregnant, having my child.

   Oh my god, I had never thought anything like that before.  She layed
down, letting me slip out, then curled up beside me, holding my shoulder in
her hands.  Her panting slowly got slower, deeper, less ragged.  I think I
fell back asleep before her...

   Morning {MMFG NS}

   Jorge' chuckled, shaking his head.  "Can't say I'm surprised." Lili got
up with the sheet, ran for the bathroom.  "About time you did something
about the tension." He set a couple cups of coffee on the bedside, some
sugars, and sweeteners in the empty cubbies of the holder, and took a sip.
He left, still laughing, he closed the door between our rooms.

   The rubber felt nasty, slimy and alien, so I pulled it off, mixed sugar,
and sweetener, and took them into the bathroom.  "Lili?" She peeked around
the curtain, so I handed her hers.

   "Thanks, uh." She pushed it back, and didn't go on.

   I dropped the seat, and hung down.  "What did you say about denial?"

   She paused, long enough to nod to herself.  "Doesn't change anything. 
I'm sorry, if."

   "Don't be," I laughed.

   "Was that your first," She didn't say which of the selection of firsts
it could be.

   "Yes'm," I rubbed down my face, "All of them.  First time I've been with
a woman," seen breasts that close, felt them, "First time I had sex. 
Consentual sex, as an adult."

   "Well," the water sound changed, and she pulled back the curtain.  It
was turned to spray the back wall, and she stepped out.  "Better get
cleaned up," she grabbed a towel, and bent to pick up the bedding.  "We'll
probably head out this morning."

   So I did, and thought about her, naked.  Kind of a snap-shot, in my
head. Soft bodied, I can't think of a better word.  A little swell in the
belly, not hard, nor flat, or fat, really.  Her boobs hung down, a little.
Not real saggy, but I thought about them.  Tits, never really even thought
about them before.  Other than vague curiosity as a boy, why mom had them,
what they were for.  I shook my head, and squeezed out the last of the
shampoo.

   They were hers, though, part of her.  I guess the newness was kind of a
turnon too, but, that's what I loved about them.  "Huh," that word again.
"Love." That sounded weird, but not wrong.  It felt nothing like what he
forced into my head, made me say 'I love you, daddy.' I felt a little sick,
so I said "Lilia." To myself, it made me feel better.  I wrinsed off, got
out, took the cap off my coffee, and downed the rest, drying off.

   She was dressed, clipping her gun to her belt.  "Uh," I shrank back
behind the doorway, "Sorry." Held the towel in front of me.

   "S'o que'," Juana shrugged, and went back in her room.  I waited for the
doors to close before I grabbed my bag, and dug out some underwear.  Lili
picked up her jacket from the chair, her credential holder from the
dresser, and slipped it into a pocket.

   They never really unpacked, so really just had to get dressed, drop
their laundry into a plastic bag, and load up the car.  "Juan" drove, in
blue jeans, a tee shirt, and ballcap with no logos.  It didn't occur to me
how tomboyish her haircut was, with the frilly jacket to conceal her little
pistol, kinda wondered if 'he' had that little spook gun on her, or packed
somewhere.

   I shook my head, and got in back with Lili.  "I, uh." she whispered in
my ear for privacy, "Do this, sometimes." Jorge' ignored us, riding
shotgun, I saw his .45, and badge before he put his windbreaker on.  Pretty
warm morning, they turned the AC on.  She sighed, "I get, pent up,
emotionally on some cases, and sometimes I displace to someone who seems
available, if it's not totally inappropriate."

   This was another new side of her.  The real Lili, I guessed, stripped of
her professional detached affect.  Not SSA Jankowikz, but the person inside
that was too emotional to show, on duty.  "That's all it was," I agreed,
and swallowed.  A mix of relief, and disappointment, IDK, I guess.  Not
really used to feeling any of this.

   "Oh!" she touched my chest, "Not just that, I like you.  Really care
about you, but, last night...  That was pent up sexual tention.  Huh, eh.
I." actually stuttered a little, for once at a loss for words, "Shouldn't
get aroused by all this, so I surpress it.  I have to, but I can't always
Hold it, too long."

   "I understand," I hugged her, felt her hair on my shoulder, and neck,
rested my head on hers, and payed attention to the softness under my arm.
Not the nagging guilt.  I hated to lie to her, even though we hadn't
discussed it since yesterday, after hanging up with that oriental doctor.
It still lurked back there, cold, and heavy.  I didn't want there to be a
lie, or secret between us, or make her leave by telling her.

   It was too much like the secrets before.  'Our little secret's.  I knew
we couldn't report this to her bosses, the Bureau, she wasn't supposed to
do things like this, with guys like me, or Alvarro.  I looked at the back
of his head, down, working on something, I guessed.  The half grown
undershave, ex-marine, trying not to look like one.  He stank of the fed,
towed around a sign on a trailer.  FEDERAL AGENT!>

   Not like her, you'd never think it, everyone checked her credentials,
she always had them out, predicting it.  I bet she did well undercover.  I
mean, professionally, if she ever did it.  Kind of prudish, to hide the
needy giving sensuality she showed me last night.  I let out a breath,
hugged her tighter, and remembered.

   I ran up to my apartment, grabbed some clothes, and stuff.  Didn't have
any luggage, really.  My laundy sack, and ex-bookbag, disk player, a
notebook, and handfull of pens.  Still had a few pages of stalker notes,
but didn't take the time to destroy them.  Or even check, didn't they
search the place?  Take them as evidence?  I didn't even bother locking
up...

   Texas {MMFG NS.}

   We stopped in Dallas, a field office they had there, and waited in the
car with "Juan" while they went in.  Unarmed, they locked up, and I was
self conscious of the fact that I had no idea where her little spook gun
was.  A quiet little pop, probably wouldn't even go far outside the car,
and the little folding knife she had clipped to an inside pocket.

   At first I thought about Trust, how I was here, watching her walk back,
and forth, smoking.  Like a 12 year old, boy, since we were going up
against someone I'd told was preferential to them, it made sense.  In the
parking lot of a federal police building, right in front of Justice Way,
waiting for somebody to come, and try to bust 'him.'

   "Surreal," I sighed, got out, bummed one.  She smiled, but didn't
squint. "Why do you do that?" I asked.  She made that ?  face.  "Sometimes
you squint when you smile." At first I thought it was an affectation, to
look cute, like a cartoon.

   "Oh," she did it again, "Is a reflex, from me condicion." Jorge' told
her the room smelled 'Stale, but not too bad,' when she sniffed loudly as
we arrived, yesterday.  Another actually Diagnostic symptom of Kallmann, I
looked it up.  Some Hypopituitary Hypogonadotropes had normal sense of
smell, about 50/50%.  If they didn't, then it was called Kallmann's.

   She flicked it away, and got back in, before someone came to bust me for
smoking with 'him.' I'd quit, during my whole growth in preparation of what
I done.  I tried not to want it, but seeing 'him' the same apparent age I'd
started, after the seniors raped me, it was too much to resist.  My last
one, I swore, but I finished it.  At least it was a Light.

   They came out, with a small cart.  I helped them load it, a heavy duffel
with long stiff weights inside, "What-all's this?" and full pockets all
around the sides.

   "A little tactical gear.  UH!" he helped me drop it in, then put the
boxy plastic cased rifle on top.  "We're supposed to avoid confrontation
with these guys, but Juana says they're well armed, practiced, some of them
military trained, so if it comes to that, we should be prepared."

   Lili' updated us on the way, in back with Juana, I turned around in the
seat for an improvised meeting.  Back in professional mode, the backup team
was going to assemble an HQ somewhere between Alpine, and Marfa, south of
the hiway, she showed us the general area of the map.

   Joint Task-Force, nobody else from the Bureau, Texas State Police, ATFE,
USBP, overseen by Homeland Security (umbrella Department for most of the
sub-agencies.) No Terrorism angle, but if people were being smuggled across
the border, killed, taken, and distributed as sex slaves, that was also a
possible conduit for sleepers, cells, and arms.

   It was pretty important that some of us got vests, and weapons more
appropriately sized, Juana especially.  I doubted she'd be able to fill out
a full size vest, and use a big shotgun, though just looking at what she
carried around, I didn't doubt her capability, despite her looks.

   "Sorry?" I looked back at Lili'.

   "Pay Attention." She frowned, "This is important, since you're the least
tactically trained, and experienced member, you are going to hang back, and
be under protection at all times." She nodded seriously, a worried
expression on her face.  "We can't risk you, if at all possible, because of
your status as a Protected Witness.  You're for the purposes of this
investigation an intelligence asset, and if we get who we're there for,
instructions will be given to all members preventing you any opportunities
for Revenge."

   "Hey, ah." I stopped, shut up.  Her face hardened, and she glared.  I
started before I realized how I felt when she used the Trigger word.  "All
right," I nodded.  I didn't want to, do anything like that, ever again, but
who knew what I was still capable of?  Surrounded by heavily armed
Militiamen, probably getting myself killed trying to do something stupid.
"I understand." Seriously, trying not to look relieved at the realization
that it wouldn't come up.

   I only ever even thought about offending against those that raped me,
and now all 5 were in Prison, or Jail.

   "Okay, now a slight change of subject, but the DEA loaned us some of
their choppers, and they did some FLIR flyovers of the area of the Ozarks
you indicated.  So far, nothing's turned up, though it's all based on your
theory that he had bodies, and buried them where he could visit them." She
sighed, "It was a long shot, anyway, but the Treasury Department did find
some Moonshiners, and Meth labs, so at least it wasn't wasted resources.

   Billy hasn't found anything on his end yet, but these things take time."
She caught my look of confusion.  "Sorry, Dr.  Young." Had they, I bit back
jealousy.  No, of course not, not her type.

   After the briefing, or whatever, it got quiet.  Then boring, so I had
Juana hand me my bag from the floor, and got out my CDs.  Didn't need the
tape adapter, the one labeled "Workout" was mostly Danzig, but I skipped
past the intros to "Killer Wolf," "Tired of Being Alive," and "The One," to
track 13.

   {Soundtrack - "Thirteen" (J.  Cash rendition.)} I remember, Jonny Cash
was playing during our first Date, a different song, but I looked to see if
she reacted.  I like this version better anyway.

   "The man in Black," Dr.  Jankowicz looked back, "Eh?"

   "I went through a phase," I turned back, disappointed.  Good traveling
music, I guessed.  The road rolled by to the beat, and acoustic guitar, and
I swallowed a lump in my throat.  I skipped back, after the music started
to fade...

   {Soundtrack - "Blood and Tears" (Lucifuge)}

   I felt heartbroken, so I guessed the song kind of helped, the somber
ballad matching the way I felt, and everbody listened, so I didn't have to
talk.  It let me think.  How could I tell her, I knew I had to, felt the
need, like a lump weighing down my heart.  How could I get her alone?

   "Danzig?" Jorge' asked, after it switched back around.

   "Yes'r," I nodded, "His second album," I wasn't getting anywhere anyway,
"Solo, it was kind of old when I got it, but kind of spoke to me, whenever
I was in my depressed/weightlifting stage." What he called a Bruce Wayne
Makeover.

   "Some of my friends were into him," he nodded, "Misfits, really, and the
Offspring.  I liked Black Flag, and Minor Threat better, always thought
they was less, 'Oh yeah, baby tonight'."

   Never took him for a Punk, but I guess I could see him in a Mohawk, if
not a bomber jacket, and skinny suspendors.  "Straight edge?"

   He laughed, "No, we drank, smoked, fucked, typical under-ragers, even if
Ian sang against it.  'Dude!' Hahaha.  Rage Against the Machine, Sepultura,
that kind of stuff." Of course, Hispanic, he pronounced the 't' in
Supultura almost like a 'd'.  "And Metalica, everyone listened to
Metalica."

   "Yee'," Juana interrupted, "Can we go to the next restop?" She pointed
at a sign going by.

   "Sure," he signaled, and changed lanes.

   Tea Rooms {Mm...  Cons Anal.}

   Another memory dream, 'Hustling' that summer I ran away, hitch hiking,
making money, and earning rides from the bikers, and truckers, and
travelers that thought I was pretty enough to pay for.

   I thought I was gay, but really worked out my 'daddy' issues, mostly
soft trade.  Not letting myself get raped by consenting, telling myself I
liked it.  They were nice enough to wear rubbers, or get me some, the few
that wanted to be fucked.

   Not really a Nightmare, but still the uneasy discomfort in the back of
my head.  It was Dirty, of course, mostly bathrooms, or sleeper cabs,
pulled over or in back parking lots.  I thought that was sex, how it was
supposed to feel, that I enjoyed it.  I was that fucked up.

   So, I didn't wake up crying this time.  I felt her, next to me.  Saving
money on adjoining rooms, a double bed for each, neither of us took the
chair, or the floor.  She sniffed, hugged me, and went back to snoring
lightly.  I was hard, and the clock on the TV read 4:17.  I sighed, turned
to her, and kissed her.

   She woke up, kissed back, felt my hardness, down to it under the covers,
and rubbed my leg with hers.  "Hmm!" She scooted up, pulled my head down to
her warm soft chest.  I was getting used to them, her boobs.  I loved their
softness, her broad soft nipple, hardening in my lips, kissing, and sucking
it.  "Oh!" she rubbed my hair.  Out of her reach, she caressed my hardness
with her smooth thigh.  Shaved, last night, she kept a neat patch of fur in
front, and I rubbed the firm ridge through it.

   I was learning, she showed me how it made her hard, pushed the little
nub out so I could feel it through the hot skin, puffing out with blood. 
Like a foreskin, I pinched it out with my fingertips, and rubbed it gently.
"hah." She sighed, like a whisper, and shivered a little.

   I felt down, between her lips, felt them moistening, sweaty, and went
down for my first taste.  It felt cool, with the covers pulled back,
goosebumps prickling out on my neck, shoulders, and back.  Kissing down her
belly, it's not really fat, but soft, with tiny hairs I could barely feel
on my nose, and lips.  "Hm!" She tried not to moan, make too much noise,
and wake up our neighbors.

   I curled her hairs around with my tongue, then lapped at her plump
folds, dug out her clit, and kissed it to suck it in.  "OohH!" She didn't
even try to hold it back.  She tasted salty, sweaty, and I could smell her.
Not fishy at all, like I'd heard of.  Or anything else, she smelled, and
tasted like Lilia, and I loved that.

   I lapped lower, deeper, tasted her, what's the word for a woman's juice?
I didn't want to stop, and ask her, sure there was some clinical sounding
term with a bunch of Greek sylables.  Not strong at all, I had to pay
attention to it to even taste it, a subtle tangy flavor, I guess?  I
committed it to memory, didn't want to forget, lapping back up to her clit,
and sucking it in.

   More like a nipple, but split on the bottom.  More than a head, the
pisshole right under it, hidden in the folds, and puffy warm ridges.  I
felt around, slipped a fingertip in, careful not to scrape with the nail.
"uh, huH!" She panted, "ah..." Breathless, whispery, but still music to my
ears.  Just like the feel of of her hands in my hair, the insistent humping
into my lips.  I pressed deeper, brushed her lips with my knuckles, and
fucked her with my finger.

   She tightened, "nH!" squeezed at my finger like an ass when he busted a
nut, or whenever I did, fingering myself.  Nothing came out, of course, but
I felt her tiny split head twitch in my lips like a pulse.  She got louder,
"Huh Huh Huh!" Moaning, and coming against my face, around my finger. 
Still climaxing when I slipped out, kissed my way up her belly, and chest,
and neck, and chin, and mouth...

   "No," she turned away, and crossed her legs, "Put something on." I
sighed, so ready to fill her with my love, but took the time to find one,
unwrap it, put it on.  I turned back to her, up on one arm, watching me. 
She lay back, let me get on top of her, and wrapped her legs around mine
while I tried to feel my way in.

   This fucking thing, too insensitive, she had to take me in her hands,
and guide me.  She pulled her legs up, rolling her hips, so I could fuck
into her.  I bought mine around, under her until my ass started to cramp.
Rolling over, She got up on Her knees, so I could hold Her hips from
behind.

   Open to me, I could see her ass, but I slipped down lower, back into
her, and pulled her hips to fuck her harder, faster.  She grunted, gasped,
and we abandoned the soft slow gentle lovemaking for good hard animal
fucking.  I didn't last much longer before I sank in, filled the rubber,
and wished again that I didn't have it in the way.

   "Li," I fell beside her, panting, "Lia." She rolled over, spooned up
against me.  I kissed her shoulder, hugged her.  "I love you, Lilia." She
froze, I could almost feel her go cold, even as I shrank in the clingy
rubber.  "Wh?  What's wrong?" She sighed, rolled over to look at me.

   "I," she looked away, then back, "I'm sorry, I should have known better
than to get you emotionally attached." She squirmed, my bicep under her
neck, and against her shoulder.  Another sigh, "I like you, I do, and I
care about you, but." She tightened her lips.

   "But, you don't love me." She closed her eyes, and nodded.

   "Sorry," I blinked, felt a tight knot in my throat.  She kissed me, just
a peck on my lips, and rubbed the side of my face.  "I shouldn't even have,
done this.  Huh, I just, it was weak of me, and unfair to you."

   I got up, threw away the rubber, and started the shower.  "Look," she
followed me, "I asked you if,"

   "I said I don't KNOW!" I put my hands up, patted her shoulders for lack
of something better to do.  The fear left her face, "I just, damn it, I
didn't think, UGH!" I let her go, and pulled the sliding door across the
tub.  I didn't mean to slam it, but my hands where shaking, so I punched
the tile, and felt pain stab through my pinky.  "FUCK!"

   I didn't hear the car door, or her driving off.  But, when I came out,
she was gone, and the Alvarros watched me cry.  "Whahappen'?" Juana asked.

   "I said the wrong thing," I sobbed.

   Just 3 little words.

   Desensitivity {MM Str8 Cons.}

   She came back, and I could see she cried too.  I wanted to tell her, and
it hurt worse, knowing this was the worst time, so I bit it back.  She
hugged me, said "I'm so sorry," so I kissed her forehead.  The Alvarros
knew, I told them about how I fell in love and she, she didn't feel the
same way.  That's what the fight was about.

   The worse part is what I let happen.  I showed her my anger, at her.  I
never wanted her to see that, to see fear in her eyes, afraid of me.  Could
I turn into one of those ragaholics, a wife beater, or a beater of
girlfriends?  I knew I had gotten pretty low, thought that was the bottom,
I couldn't sink any deeper.  But of course, it can always get worse.

   So, he kind of shocked me out of it.  I was certainly surprised, and the
women too.  But it was his idea, Lilia agreed with it, "In principal," and
even Juanita consented.  I hadn't really thought about their relationship,
and the challenges of her basically being a grown woman in a stunted little
girl body.

   So, he told me about an "OP." Undercover, he got into a pedophile ring,
and trouble when they tested him.  "If you're so evil, kill this kitten!"
He laughed humorlessly, and shook his head in his hand.  "They put me in
with this kid, couldn't have been more than about nine.  I couldn't, touch
him, or even look at him, and I told him not to say anything, but the
little whore busted me, and they had to come bail me out."

   "So?" I looked around, but the women were watching him.  Lili had her
'Fascinating' Dr.  Spoc face on, searching his.

   "So," he sighed, and looked me in the face, "I think I need you to help
me desensitise myself."

   "How," I shook my head, "Can I?" Oh.  Looking around, Lili smiled, and
nodded at me.  Then Juanita, then Jorge', looked serious, determined.

   "I might, help you, work past your feeling for me too." Lilia added.

   "I," stopped, "Uh," thought.  Damn, this is awkward.  "Okay, I guess."
If they'd had time, I would have suspected she was behind this, put him up
to it, manipulated him somehow.  But she was as shocked as I was, we all
were, she wasn't that good at acting.

   They left us alone, together, and we just kind of stood there, looking
at each other.

   "So," he shifted uncomfortably, "What, how does this usually go?"

   "Well first," I thought, "How far do you wan to go?"

   "I don't know, not," he laughed at himself, "Not That fat, you know..."

   "It's okay," I touched him on the chest, "Relax, sit down, not everbody
is into the buttfucking." I laughed.  We'd call them when we'd done it, to
our satisfaction.  Let them have a nice long brunch.

   "Usually, pedophiles like to start by desensitisation." I untucked my
shirt.  "Get their victims comfortable with Nudity." Pulled it over my
head.

   "I'm not playing the Victim." He shook his head, even more uncomfortable
with that.

   "No," I laughed, "Of course not." I started undoing my belt, and pants.
He didn't look down, kept his eyes on my face.  "You can look down," I held
them open, "Hesitation, and avoidance can be as much of a giveaway as
failure to, perform." He looked at my chest, but his eyes stopped before
they even got to the front of my boxers.

   "Pedophiles can tell," I sighed when he looked back up at my face. 
"Often, that's how they find each other, pick up on the way they look at
kids." I dropped them, "Or don't." Kicking them off, I turned to the
bathroom, "Come on."

   I started the tub, slid the doors over to the other side, got in, and
plugged the drain.  "Another thing we can do is shave.  A lot of guys do
it, to feel younger, like boys again, since they were whenever they started
the pathology." I wet my pubes, and scrubbed some lather up with the small
bar of soap.  "Go ahead, and get undressed."

   He did so slowly, still very hesitant, and modest.  "Watch me," I
kneeled out of the water, and shut it off, "You ever shaved your privates
before?" He shook his head, and I grinned as this thin little mustache. 
Like a teenager, a lot of men like him couldn't grow much, maybe a little
scrub on their chin, or a labrette.  Of course, some are harrier than
others, he had quite a bit on his ripped midriff, and a little patch in the
middle of his chest.

   I shook the head in the water, tapped it on the side, and pulled some
pubes out before I could sketch another swath off.  "Don't worry about
getting it up.  I mean, thinking about it just reinforces the Impotence,
and anyway, a lot of guys don't get aroused when they molest." Keeping it
clinical, this was an acting lesson, not a seduction.  "Mostly
Opportunists, it's not even sex to them, but a sexual compulsion.  They're
attracted by Weakness, Vulnerability, even if not aroused by it."

   The head clogged again, one of those girly ones with like 5 blades,
close together, and a broad head with 2 strips of moisturiser.  "Try to
remember what it was like, when you were just starting, to masturbate. 
That's a common grooming game anyway, they tell the boys 'this is how you
do it, here, let me show you.'..." I yeached up, but he stepped back,
covering himself.

   "There, you see?  That's the kind of reaction that gives you away." I
didn't try again, but kind of liked the game.  The way Li' throws something
out there for you to respond to, or the Nerd Test, how he made the
'Mistake' of calling Batman an Avenger, so I'd correct him.

   "Relax," I scraped away another strip.  "Think about your early
fantasies, the girls in the magazines, or catalogs, or whatever you looked
at when you were first starting.  Got it?" He nodded.  "Yeah, that should
help you remember your youth, what you're trying to tap into, portraying a
Peter Pan complex."

   He sighed through his nose, and closed his eyes.  "Good," I looked down
at his shrunken hairy dinkle.  It started to, not harden, but relax, a
little, stop trying to crawl up inside him in revulsion.

   "You know," he smiled, eyes closed, "I kind of went through this before,
with my Juana." He said, like Yueh.  "At first, I was turned off by her,"
he looked down at me, "You know, her condition."

   "How young she looks," I nodded.

   "Yeah, uh." He covered his chubby self consciously.  "It wasn't until I
fell in love with her that I started being able to overlook her looks."

   "Good," I felt some stubble with my fingertips, and went back over them
with the freshly cleaned blades.  "That's good, think of that."

   "That's another reason why I thought of this," he blushed!  Or his face
darkened under his tanned skin.  He had trunks lines, but never got all
that pale, even where the sun don't shine.  "We can't, I don't really have
sex when she's around.  She doesn't enjoy it, never really did.  She does
it with me, whatever doesn't hurt, but just for me.  She doesn't mind me
being with other women, to satisfy myself, as long as I'm honest with her.
She's Latin, but she got over the native jealousy from our culture.  She
just doesn't want me to lie to her."

   "Very mature," I lifted my thickening dick, and scraped around it. 
"Think of her, then, if that helps." He nodded.  "Now watch.  You have to
pull everything tight, up, down, to the sides so the blades don't catch the
wrinkles, and cut them, just like your face." I demonstrated, only much
loser, of course.

   I sat down, wrinsed, and noted that he managed to maintain his partial
erection, even while watching me.  Burrito dick, the skin on the end
wrincled shut like a tortilla, thick, but short.  Kind of not unlike his
dark dwarven build, I'd have to arm wrestle him some time.  Maybe let him
win, after this, to reinforce his masculinity.

   "You're going to have to touch me," I got up, and sighed.  "Them, if you
ever have to take it that far.  I took his thick powerful arm, slowly
brought it toward my fresh smooth crotch, and he didn't look away.  His
breathing gave him away, shallow, and nervous, and it started creeping up
again.  "Try to think of it like touching yourself.  You've touched a dick
before, played with it.  Did you have any hair on it when you started?"

   "No." The backs of his fingers touched my pubis.  Above my hanging dick,
but he didn't snatch it away.  "Good," I let go, and got out.  "Don't worry
about shaving right now," I left the water, and grabbed a towel.  "Come
on," I wrapped it around my waist, and led him back into the main room.

   Cheap-o.  Knights Inn, an old one, white walls, concrete, shitty fake
stonework, like allpaper, but on the cabinets, cracked, and peeled in
places.  A lot of darkish blue, some of it faded around the windows.

   I sat on the bed, patted it next to me.  "Sit down." He crossed his leg
over, uncomfortably, but didn't stop me, taking his hand, putting it in my
lap.  "Feel it?" I rubbed it over my slowly growing hardness.  His mouth
tightened, so he didn't have to nod.  "Go ahead, get it out." I rubbed his
hairy thigh, slowly moved it out of the way while he gingerly untucked the
towel, and pulled it out of the way.  "Just like when you were a boy." He
nodded, closed his eyes.  "Touch it, you know what to do."

   Rough hand, I lifted his softoff with my fingers, pulled the skin back
to expose the head.  He pulled it, standard grip, a little sideways being
the next lap over.  "It's so big!" I pitched my voice higher, falsetto,
like I was younger.  "A lot of guys like to have their masculinity
reinforced." I switched hand, back grip to squeeze the base, and pump some
blood into it.

   He tried that, the more comfortable grip, and pulled me some more. 
"Yeah," I nodded, "That feels better." He slowly hardened.  "Try to think
about Juanita," I lifted him, and bent over, "Or whatever." He tasted clean
enough, even around the head when I rolled the skin back with my lips.  He
let go of me, inhaled, and let it out slowly, patted my shoulder, then
rubbed it a little, moaning slightly.

   Jorge', I thought, this isn't gay, or abuse, just a couple straight
guys, working through some issues.  Teaching, learning, releasing some
tension.  That helped me not trigger any flashbacks, stay detached, even
while pulling out all the tricks I learned.  I wilted.  This wasn't sex,
any more than rape, or other kinds of abuse.  I worked his fat hardness
deep into my throat, gagged against it to massage the head, and smelled his
pubes.  Jorge', it's just Jorge'.

   "Oh," he rubbed my head, "God but you know how to suck a cock!" He
grunted, then layed back, and just let me do it.  I picked up the pace,
pinched around the base with my thumb and a finger to stroke him.  Losetend
my lips to let the skin pop wetly in, and out, kiss around the head, and
lapped at it with the side of my tongue whenever it was exposed.  Right
across the sensitive cleft, the ridges around it, until he stiffened,
grunted, and splashed wetly into my mouth.  I turned around, grabbed the
trashcan and spit it out while he caught his breath.  Then I went to the
sink to wash out my mouth.

   He came, and grabbed his pants.  "Thanks," he straightened up, "Uh,
man." Hesitantly patted my shoulder, and went out to get dressed.

   Displacement {MMFG NS.}

   "Feel better?" Juana looked up brightly from the table, but didn't get
up to hug, and kiss him publicaly.  They kind of kept it down, except the
excited display at the bus station.  Too many questions to answer, drawing
that kind of attention with the apparent age difference between them.

   I had to think about that now, since she was just starting to look like
Juanita to me.  Or Juan, now.  "Si," he rattled off something in rapid fire
Spanish, and sat down next to her.  They kept talking, quietly, for some
privacy.

   "How'd it go?" Lili studied my face.  I sighed, grabbed a menu, and a
bussboy came to clear the empty dishes.

   I sighed, "I cleared my head," leaned over to kiss her cheek, "we need
to talk." I pulled back, raised my voice again, "I'm not hungry, so we'll
go pack." She cashed out, her check, the Alvarros would handle theirs. 
"What's up?"

   I sighed, "I need to tell you something," I evaded, and gathered my
thoughts on the way across the parking lot.  I recognised a change in the
party dynamic, now some of the discomfort might be displaced between
Jorge', and I, away from me, and Lilia.  With my feelings out in the open,
that just left my residual guilt, the unspoken secret, the lie I let get
too far out of hand.

   "All right," she closed the door, "What is it?"

   I went next door to the Alvarros' side, and grabbed a smoke from her
pack.  Lighting it, I sighed, went back, and deliberately sat on the couch.
"Huh, I, don't know where to begin.  All right, I do, see I started the
interview back at Jackson, bragging about my crimes, and it got away from
me."

   She held up a hand to stop me.  "This is about Ronald." I blinked.  She
nodded, "You know he got a Drivers License under that name?  I brought it
up to campare with the sex-offendor registry, it was a long shot, since his
prints weren't in the system, until I re-ran them, and got a hit since his
recent arrest.  it sometimes takes days, or even a couple weeks for them to
get entered into Vicap, but I've known for a while now that Ronald Douglas
is another alias for your first victim, already in custody."

   I relaxed, sat back, and just let my head swim with it until she stopped
talking.  "So, you knew." I took a deep breath, and let it out slow,
hopefully she'd say something instead of nodding.  The pause dragged out
until I had to say something.  "So, this whole trip is a wild-goose chase,
there was no second abuser, and why did you let me," why was I crying,
"Uh?"

   "Sh," she was holding me, "Sh sh sh." She petted my head, "I'm sorry,"
she lied, "I didn't tell you, because I didn't know how well you would play
along, but the Alvarros have been after this, organization for years.  They
managed to raid one of their Sweat Shops, but the leaders got away, and the
case went cold.  Texas State kind of lost interest, until we 'discovered'
this tentative link, but people, and agencies are more dedicated if it's
Sexual exploitation, so." She sighed, "I used you, your case, really, to
get this task force together, and wrap it up."

   I sat up, "So," my greatest fear was that she'd violate my deal, and
send me back to serve out my sentences.

   "Don't worry about it," she kissed me, "Dear." She kissed me longer, and
deeper, and I wondered if that was some sort of trigger.  Then, I stopped
wondering, overcome again.  Not sexually, I didn't get off, before, but it
wasn't sexual.  I don't want to use the L word again, after it caused so
much trouble earlier, but I was just happy to be holding her again, tasting
her mouth, smelling her perfume, and hair, and Her again.

   That manipulative bitch.  Don't get me wrong, that's part of what I
loved, who I was in love with.  Again, this emotional roller-coaster, she
walked out on me, then was back, the distance, then affection, then
detachment, then intimacy.  Hot and cold, the Doctor, and Mrs.  Hyde.  I
never understood it, like a battered wife running back to her abuser, but I
don't have to.  Knowing about it doesn't change the way I feel, the relief
at her taking me back, the tears of joy from being in her arms again.

   "Come on," she wiped them away with her thumbs again, "let's get
packed." She got off my lap.  Asked about the Ozarks.

   "No," I admitted, "Sorry.  I ran away, hitched across the river, around
Arkansaw, and Missourah, came back before school started, but I never got
imprisoned in a hillbilly's cellar."

   "Knew it!" she stuffed unfolded things into her bag, "You never got
reported missing."

   "No," of course not, "My folks thought I was away at Wrestling Camp." I
wanted to be a 'Hunk' at first.  Make myself more attractive, for men,
thinking I was Gay.  "Huh, then I came back to plot my Revenge."

   "The timeline was off, too." She nodded, "You said the statute of
limitation was up, then it was a couple years..."

   "Yeah," I thought I'd played her, "How long have you known?"

   "Suspected?" she stopped to look around my face.  "Since I met you,
talked to you in person.  You were still riding out your Narcissistic
episode, and the best way to manipulate a Narcissist is to let them think
they've won."

   "Of course," I rolled up my jeans, the clean pair.  I kind of thought I
was doing the same thing, letting her think she'd completed the profile, or
corrected it with the new data.  "So you use the Bureau too." I didn't ask.

   "It's not really like that," she dropped her bag.  "Look, you don't know
what they're like.  So fucking officious, they train us for Profiling,
getting into the worst criminals' heads, then keep the best, and brightest
looked up in an office." She stopped, caught herself, straightened up, and
relaxed.  Locked down.

   "But," I grinned, "Perhaps you've said too much." Took her arms, and
kissed her.  My only question is, how she got past their Profilers.  "You
said it yerself, the best way to get a Narcissist to open up, is to let her
think she's won.

   "How long have you known?" I lay back spent, and drove the inevitable
pillow feeling out.  After the brief cry, it wasn't a gentle lovemaking,
but a pent up grudge fuck.  Hard, almost brutally so, almost taking
pleasure from each other.  Like we raped each other, at the same time. 
Fight/fuck.

   "Could you be more specific?" She caught her breath, and rubbed my
chest. She didn't say anything about my freshly shaved privates.

   "About your narcissism." She laughed.

   "What?  that I'm awesome, and under-appreciated?" She scoffed, "Only
since my first day at the Bureau!  Narcissistic tendencies, actually.  They
brought it up in my first interview." She nodded on my arm.

   "They still accepted you?" I wondered.

   She shrugged, "I wouldn't have gotten in without some confidence, and
drive.  It's not the sort of thing they eliminate you for, they just keep
an eye out for certain behaviours." She lifted her head, "You know the
definition of a Personality Disorder?" I shook my head.  "If it affects my
daily life, interferes with my work, it's something I have to manage too,
because overconfidence can lead to failure." She said it as much to
herself, like a mantra.

   "That why they keep you locked in the office?  Probably so you would'nt
go rogue on some delusion of grandeur." I scoffed.

   "Hey!" she slapped my chest.

   "What do you think this is?" I laughed, and sat up.  "Look around you,
does your pattern recognition really not turn inward?  How many agencies
are joining us on this wild goose chase?  Yeah, I lied, but you fucking Ran
with it!" She sighed, rolled her eyes, and didn't actually say what I saw
in her face.  I was right, and now she knew it.  "Not Malignant, though." I
compromised.

   "I'm not a sadist, or psychopathic, but yeah." she shook her head, "I'm
manipulative, and take advantage of peoples' weaknesses.  It's part of my
job!"

   "You just can't turn it off." I noticed.

   "Huh," she sighed, "I Am a profiler, I'm just good enough to get paid
for it."

   "So," I kept my momentum, "let me take a stab at this.  You're into big
broken men, I was actually perfect for you.  After what I'd done, gotten so
cocky about it, bragged about playing you right to your face, you just
couldn't leave it at that."

   She scoffed, "Who's getting delusions of grandeur, Now?"

   "Ha ha, not as grand, I'd say, but you couldn't resist manipulating me
back.  I guess you've got some Empathy, under there," I waved my hand at
her, "Somewhere, because you're still capable of caring, and showing it
whenever I cry." Just picked up on that, the place still stank of fuck
funk, "But I challenged you, and you dove right on me."

   "Okay, yeah." We had to get up, the Avarros came back, so we took turns
showering, and packing.  "Of course," she kept it up, "I can Sympathize
with another Narcissist."

   "You bring out the best in me," I called her "Lily." Just to see her
reaction.  She snapped, tried not to show it, but didn't take the bait.  I
stepped into the shower.

   True Story {Mb-m Pedo-Hebe Mole Anal}

   "So," she held me in the back seat, "You want to tell me the Truth?  It
might help with a more accurate Pathology."

   I sighed, and she squeezed my shoulder.  The Alvarros chatted, off, and
on in Spanish, pretty much ignored us, and we kept out voices down. 
"Ronald was his second alias, after he moved across town, to the
split-level.  I guess Nicky aged out, or moved on.  I never saw him after
that.  He went by 'Teddy' before that, or that's what his neighbors called
him.

   Nicky did most of the, well he played with me.  Escalated from mutual
masturbation, to oral, fingering, fucking me.  Teddy mostly just watched,
jerked off, and of course he liked to take pictures.  He came on me, so
Nicky could use it for lube.  He didn't have a Digital camera, just the
Polariod, and a scanner.

   For his computer, and old beige 486, this was back in the 90s, the
Pentium was top of the line, but he showed me how to surf the net, whenever
Nicky wasn't there.  Dedicated line for his modem, one of the old style
hang up ones." I made the Phone sign, and pushed it down on an imaginary
cradle.  "He used AOL with the internal modem for just legal surfing.

   The dildo was a present, after he moved.  Again, no idea where he got
it, I didn't see any molding equipment, or any sign that he sculpted it
himself.  Most of the time I was over there was for sex games, he called me
'Cory," and I called him 'Daddy.' I was encouraged to play with it, when he
wasn't around, I kept it in my bookbag so mom, and dad didn't find it, but
he never had me get it out.

   He fucked and molested me, let me sit on his lap while he scanned in
pictures, and uploaded them.  He also taught me to groom other boys, seduce
them, and bring them over.  I said it was 'too hard,' but really, I never
even tried.  I didn't want to, it was like homework, or whatever, but
really I was jealous of him.  I thought we were in love, and I saw how he
abandoned Nicky after he switched to me."

   I shook my head, "I don't know if he intentionally played us against
each other.  I think he practiced that MO for practical reasons.  A guy his
age, cruising for victims, grooming them, hanging out where there was a
good selection would be suspicious, so it was safer to have the last go
out, and recruit the next.  Definitely preferrential, one boy at a time,
even while he groomed the next, knowing he'd get too old, start growing up,
and preparing the next early.  I guess that's why he started so young.

   He didn't even start paying attention to me until I was about 9, and
really enjoying the anal abuse.  I had all my teeth in, that was important
to him, and Nicky was starting to shave.  He lost interest in him, and
playing us against each other like that is where the jealousy probably set
in.  It was my turn, now I was the favorite, and I didn't want to give that
up.  That's why I guess I never approached other boys, at least
subconsciouly, I realized they would replace me, and I didn't want it to
end.

   He lost interest anyway, not because i started growing up, but after the
rape, it was triggering.  I started crying, flashing back when he touched
me, and he couldn't get it up.  Definitely not a sadists, it was 'love' to
him, or at least his twisted sense of it.  I never told him I lost the
dildo, why I didn't like it any more, and I guess crying like that made him
feel like an abuser.

   Not having another victim lined up, I guess there was nothing to keep
him there.  One day, I came over, and he was gone.  The house was empty,
and I started displacing.  Then, I looked for other boys, gays, I was in
High School, and joined the Wrestling Team.  I never stopped looking for
him, though, and when I started driving, I followed him from his work.  He
didn't quit his job, some sort of telecommute, I'm not sure, but I remember
the company, and I guess he had to go in for his paycheck, or whatever.

   My fantasies were getting a lot more violent by then.  I was lifting
weights, and jerking off.  Fantasized about the boys on the wrestling team,
all of them were either straight, or too closeted to show it, and I lacked
the confidence to seduce any of them.  The boys who raped me had graduated,
and I became a junior.

   Anyway, I watched his house, the boy coming in back, and where he got
the key to the basement.  I guess he preferred that layout, the underground
level, so he could be as loud as he wanted, no windows for somebody to peek
in.  I stalked him, and that's where my revenge plantacy started.  Jealousy
of the other boy, negative reinforcement from the rape, and wrestling.

   When he was gone, I broke in, found his stash, checked out the layout,
and jerked off thinking about it.  Eventually, I worked up the couRage to
come back at night, broke in through the basement, and went up to attack
him in his sleep.  Power-reassurance, totally, but then I broke down to
humiliating him, psychological torture, and verbal abuse.  I raped him, and
left him with the evidence.

   It was summer, and you're right, I wasn't kidnapped.  I ran away,
idealised it as "Looking for that special someone," but really, I guess I
was fleeing, everything.  Running away from myself, the rape, and abuse,
trying to reconcile it with my sexuality.  I 'hustled,' protitution with
men to survive, and for affection.  Bikers, truckers, tea rooms, and I
stayed with this guy up on the Arkansaw/Missourah border.

   It wasn't like I described, he wasn't a sadist, but a closeted gay guy.
It wasn't a shack, but a farmhouse, his family was gone, and he inheireted
it, but sold the fields to his neighbors, and just kept the farmhouse.  It
was actually pretty loving, but over those weeks, I started realizing that
I wasn't gay, and my rage against my abusers really started to develop.

   I started dreaming about it, and jerking off thinking of raping them. 
All together, bound, impossibly staying hard, and cumming in each one.  So,
I left, he let me go, got me a ride with a friend, and lover of his that
stopped by from time to time.  A trucker, we had sex once, on a sleepover,
and he had me fuck him.  He liked it rough, and even had me tie his hands
behind his back.

   Anyway, I started working out, hard core.  Imagining my future victims
while I was wrestling, how I would physically control, and dominate them. I
did research, into Rapists, Pedophiles, the pathology of profiling, and
came up with a plan to exploit you.  Sorry," I hugged her, "The Anger
Retaliatory profile.  Heh ha!  It really was too easy to make it look
random, and opportunistic.  The Homophobia, I didn't really have to fake. I
guess, you know the rest."

   She nodded, mouth tight when I alluded to her professional failure.  It
shouldn't have been that easy, for a rank-amateur with a high school
education, and internet research to fool the BAU.  "I know you're Passive
Aggressive," Takes one to know one, "Co-dependant, emotionally attached,
and your romantic ideation.  You're really more the Power-Reassurance type,
but self aware enough to hide it, disguise it as an impulsive disorganized
opportunist."

   Nothing I didn't know, even admitted as much, but she was talking to
herself, thinking out loud, adjusting the profile in her head with me here.
"Think you've mostly gotten over your violent revenge motivation?" I waited
for her to scoff, or laugh, tell me how I was wrong, but she just looked at
me for an answer.

   "With your help," I smiled, and kissed her.  "I don't think I'm gay any
more, and I'm starting to move onto, more hetero-normative fantasies."
She'd just called me passive-aggressive, that should have made her more
rational against such blatant flattery, but she still had that blind spot,
for herself.  The eye can't see itself, her mind is incapable of analyzing
her, especially when I appear to be supporting her self image. 
Confirmation bias, I could still tell her what she wants to hear.

   HQ {MMFG...}

   We stopped at the top, it was fairly early, not hot yet, but definitely
tumbleweed country, though I hadn't seen any.

   "Look maw!" I'd joked on the way down, "A tree!" They laughed, and a few
minutes later, Juana squeeled, "A Hill, I saw a hill!" Flat prairie, with a
hole in it.  Jorge' called it a "Caleechee mine," but an open pit, instead
fo shafts, and tunnels.  Way down there, some remains of equipment, a broad
rectangular roof, and some smaller buildings.  Dark vehicles, dodn't see
any people.

   Juana, and I flipped down our butts, and got back in, the chalky white
walls, whatever they were probably wasn't a fire hazard like the endless
sea of dry brown around it.

   The others strapped into Armor, didn't get me any out of their big bulky
duffle, and Juanita's was downright cute.  Jorge' tightened it around her,
crossing the straps front, and back, then she velcroed her long black spook
gun to the side, little handle around the hooking around the front, right
about the level of her ribs, I guessed.

   Jorge', and Lili' checked each others, twisting, and flapping their arms
up, she shifted her chest around, getting her boobs straight, I guessed. 
"Now, we ain't going into a firefight," Jorge' looked at me seriously, "We
hope, but I want you to get down in the back, behind me, just in case."

   "Yessir," I nodded, seriously.

   "These, are our boys, but they might not know that, and given the
operational situation, they're probably on high alert.  That's part of why
we're up here, plain sight, out of range, let them know we're here, and
they'll probably meet us on the way up." She handed him a cap, with FBI in
big reflective looking letters, already wearing hers, and they velcroed on
patches as well.

   "Herr the' come," a cloud started spiraling up from around the pond at
the bottom.

   He dug his rifle out, unclipped the scope, and held it up to track them.
"Unmarked, Blazer, or Bronco, might be USBP, or DEA, looks like.  Border
Patrol, I'd bet.

   "$20 on NARCs." He clapped her hand, then passed her the scope.  "Nope,"
she shook her head, "I.C.E, definitely."

   "Fair enough, you bet before you looked."

   Turned out to be Texas State Troopers, they looked at each other, and
shrugged.  Not in uniform, they were in mixed camo, some of it looked like
leaves, and branches, other faded military, green, and tan, some black. 
Unshaved, not looking like Agents, or officers, but acting official.

   "Jankowicz, Alvarro?" The driver got out, hand up on his pistol, belted
over his jacket.  "Who's this with you."

   "My niece, and a consultant." Lilia' stepped forward, and shook his
hand. "Jankowicz, Supervizory Special Agent in Command.  I'm here to take
over the operation."

   "Yes ma'am." He shook, and saluted her, then looked around self
consciously.  Nothing on the horizon, I could see.  "We'll escort you
down."

   You'd think the locals would notice another 'Militia' assembling, but so
far, no response.  She went in for breifing, and some scruffy
'not-officers' showed us where we could unpack.  The main building was
poured cement, a little darker grey than the white limestone that was
everywhere.  I guessed all the Caleechee ran out, or I didn't see anything
else.

   There was some equipment, a giant hopper you could drive a truck under,
ramps up to the top, and some trailers.  Not like mobile homes, more like
construction, or whatever, but that's where they took us.  "All be staying
with me onkel," Juana told our guard, "He's with EsEsEh Jankobish."

   I stifled, a laugh, coughed it away.  It almost sounded like
'Honkobitch!' "Sorry," I cleared my throat, "Dusty down here."

   "Pick some empty berths," he nodded up the stairs, so we walked up.

   "Yessir," I felt like saluting, or something, "Show them where, what?"

   He smirked.  "Yessir?" He laughed, "Wher' you from, son?"

   "Missipi," I scoffed.  He thought I sounded like a redneck?  He looked
like Boss Hog, on a hunting trip.  Ducks, I figured, from the shotgun he
had slung on his shoulder.

   "Gechaself settled, an don't wander 'round." He turned, and headded for
his open top jeep.  Not like a military one, a Wrangler, with some kind of
pipe welded in the middle of a brace across the back instead of the
tailgate, or spare tire, and the backward seat I'd rode in.

   Tactical Training {MM NS.}

   He had a little shotgun in that "Tac Bag" of theirs.  Legal length,
first he just showed me how to unfold the stock, some Drills, to reload it
from the loops of a belt I buckled on, he told me how to treat it.  Always
as if it's loaded, even empty in a safe position.  Never point it at
anyone, or anything I don't want to get shot.  I told him I'm not an idiot,
and he said this was basic discipline.

   He pointed around the camp, or base, or whatever.  Showed me how
everyone was doing it, and I picked up on it whenever I saw it for a few
days after that.  They always handed pistols over, slide locked back,
handle first, barrel pointed away from them.  Whenever I didn't have
anything better to do, I ran drills, reloading, clearing jams, solid dummy
rounds, except when he had me clear on the other side of the lake.

   Juana took me out, with her little gun.  Silenced, she made sure I
understood to always have "Eyes, and Ears" on, meaning protection, but we
left the ears off so she could talk me through it.  They had a short range
set up, with a trap, and metal cutouts of torsos, and heads to shoot at. 
"Plinking," it didn't chirp like a movie gun, but made a loud snap you
could still hear the Plinks over.

   Had to stop, and clean it every 50 rounds, or so, though it got louder
after about 20-30.  In between, Jorge' had me "Pattern" the shotgun, at
various ranges.  Against the smooth white wall of the mine, he made sure I
leaned in, pressed it tight against my shoulder.  "You don't want it to
slap back, and break your collarbone." No, I didn't.  Even with my ears on,
it was loud as hell, and my hands went numb after a few shots.  I got so I
could reload it in several seconds, even with my hand smarting.

   In the offtime, we played a lot of Counterstrike VI, most of the camp
did, since we didn't get much reception down here, except for scheduled
windows for official traffic when a satellite flew over.  We could drive up
to the rim, and get sketchy cell reception, but it's not like I had anyone
to call.

   I got to where I had a basic idea how big the shot spread was at various
ranges, and how deep it would go in the Calichi.  I didn't realize that was
basically Spanish for Limestone.  I could even hit a man sized target at
75' with a pistol, if I took the time to aim, with both hands, a deep
breath, and careful aim.  Even if my groups were like 6=10" depending on
how many shots.  By the time I emptied a Baretta, my hands were shaking so
much, I was missing a lot.

   So, they didn't trust me with a handgun, and I had to carry my shotgun
around unloaded unless I was practicing.  We never got attacked, anyway. 
They went out, connected with the New Rangers, made some in-roads, and
reported back, but I stayed down in the pit.  Lilia was busy, full time,
coordinating, planning, and information processing, as she called it.  Not
like we could have fooled around even if she had enough time for a full
nights' sleep, there was just a partition up between our bunk beds, and
everone elses, in the portable.

   We talked, when we could, and I could see the wear, and tear on her, for
the week and a half before we had to leave.  For court, it was another
couple days drive back to Mississippi, and since I was in her custody, she
had to take me.  Not like she mined, the Alvarros stayed behind, and called
in to keep her posted.

   She sighed as soon as we pulled away from the rim, and down the dirt
road.  "Fuck, I need a break!" Her language got worse, and worse, she was
snapping at everyone, and I just didn't do anything to provoke her.

   "I can drive," I offered when we got to the pavement.  Still the back
end of a back road, most of an hour out from the pit before we even got
that far.  "If you want to get some sleep."

   She pulled over, said "Thank you," before practically grabbing me, and
kissing me at the roadside.  We din't get out, climbed over the seat, and
got out clothed open for a quick frantic fuck before I got out, fixed my
pants, stretched, and smoked.  Fucking Marlboroughs, all anybody brought
except for the occasional Winston, which are even worse.  I kept an eye out
for the first gas station, or convenience store, anywhere they might sell
Salems.

   How the fuck anybody fucks in back seats is beyond me.  I mean, the
Impala was about as roomy as it gets, and she's not large, but it was still
clunky, and uncomfortable just getting the rubber on.  When I came out,
packing my smokes, she had the car running, and the window down.  "You can
smoke on the road." I went around, and got in on the other side.

   I lit up as soon as we cleared the parking lot, and rolled down the
window.  She held out a couple fingers.  "Let me have a drag," when I
didn't get it.

   "Didn't know you smoked," I handed it over.

   "Lot of stress lately," she blew out her nose, and just let it hang in
her mouth.  After a while, she took it out, flicked it against the window,
and took another drag, just kept on driving.  So, I got another one out.

   "You know," I hesitated, "I've been thinking..."

   "Oh yeah?" she didn't scoff, but flicked the butt out, and hit the
button for the window.  It rolled up automatically, for anyone, of course.

   "You ever have," I took a breath, "Rape fantasies?"

   She looked over.  "Oh," she scoffed, "That's what you've been thinking?"

   "Now, hear me out." I held the button to roll up mine.  "You know, the
best way to get over Control issues is to let it go.  Not completely, mind
you, but maybe under the right circumstances."

   "Controlled circumstances?" She shook her head.  "Sounds more like your
fantasies."

   "Not any more." I said seriously, waited for her to look over again. 
Patiently, she pretended to ignore me, a while, but I just let her think
about it.

   She sighed, "What kind of rape, you know Anger-Exitation is out of the
question, right?"

   "You know I love you," I put my hand on hers, and she looked at it. 
More than a glance, stared at our hands on the wheel, then back up at the
road.  "Power-Reassurance?"

   "Power," she shook her head.

   "Yeah?" I nodded, took her hand, "That's what it's about.  You have to
give up, some.  I swear, you're addicted to it, and I've seen your need for
Power overcome your better judgement." She frowned, doubtful, but didn't
look over at me again.  Avoided it, kept her eyes locked on the
straightaway, between cars, the way she usually drove.  Granted, the major
lapses in judgement led to, where we were now.

   She sighed.  "Well, I don't want to be humiliated, that's for damned
sure," she glanced over, quickly, and turned her hand over.  I held it in
both of mine, kissed it.  "I, hehahah!  I guess that's what passes for
Romance, in our kind of relationship."

   "What," I kissed her fingers, "Kind of relationship," some more, "Is
that?"

   She rolled her eyes.  "You think you can pull it off?" She laughed.

   "I missed you," I held her hand to my chest, "So much." It got so I
couldn't even jerk off, any more.  Like, a few days, at least.  Her eyes
softened, a little, and the tenseness relaxed in her jaw.

   "Yeah," she looked over, "I know." I saw the caring, for a moment in her
face before she looked back at the road, gripped the wheel, and started
tensing up again.

   We made an unexpected stop, at a gun store.  I didn't ask any questions,
not that I wasn't curious, but she was still moody.  Snapped at me for
trying to put some music on, said "I can't hear myself think."

   So, I followed her in.  The old guy behind the counter called her
"Lynn!" said "Long time no see."

   "Yeah," she laughed, and hugged him.  Old guy, country santa claus type,
in the off season.  On about august, it was hellacious hot out, but they
had the AC cranked up.

   "Sorry," she stepped back, "moved up to DC."

   "That where ya went," he mused, "What keni do ya for?"

   "Airsofts," she turned to the back.

   "We shuffled stuff around," he grabbed his keys, "Few years back.  Who's
th' kid?"

   "Rookie," she followed him to some cases with cages over the windows,
"We need to do some tactical training, so realistic simulators'd be nice."

   "You know we carry the good stuff, got some Glocks the LEOs is fond of
round here.  The Staters buy 'em." Law Enforcement Officers, and State
Police, respectively.

   "How much for the Beretta 92s?" She nodded, flipped a price tag around.
"Springer, you got Gass Blowback?"

   "Got these AEG Hyrbids, not in Baretta, though.  USP, and Sig, thow."

   "I'll take a couple these," she pulled the slide, "and you still got 12
gauge Blanks?"

   "Uh huh?" He unlocked a drawer, and pulled a couple small boxes.  "I cut
the price to cost, fer a old friend."

   "Thanks," she took the pistols, "I'll take a case of shells, and say, a
thousand rounds of beads." She handed them to me.  "Lock these in the Tac
bag," she handed me the keys, and pulled out a card.  He had one of the old
fashioned slide machines, and was fitting a receipt into it when I pushed
the door open.

   I set them in, then the folded shotgun on top, zipped it up, got in, put
the windows down, and smoked.

   Reassurance {MF "Rape." RP TV.}

   Didn't have to stalk her, of course, but I kind of got in the mood.  My
place, actually.  She wandered around, shook her head at the mess, and
straightened up.  Never really a neat freak, but they took everything of
possible value, left the larger pieces of furniture, scattered the clothes,
books, and bedding around.

   She kept glancing at the windows, but a storey up, its not like she knew
which ones to check, and after dark the lights drowned out anything she'd
seen.

   Walmart sweatsuit, no mask, but I had the hood up soon as it started
cooling off.  I had court tomorrow, first statements, my victims pleading,
probably wouldn't admit to Guilt.  I shook my head, climbed back up to the
roof to grab a smoke.  Definitely my comfort zone, less than a month ago,
I'd snuck out to attack Trey, just in case they were watching my place. 
Hard to believe it was so recent, and I was the same person.

   I flicked the butt over the other side of the ridge, crawled down to the
gutter, and peeked over.  She had the patio door open, so I crawled over to
the other side, but didn't see her.  I breathed low, and slow, so even I
couldn't hear it, and waited.  There she was, pulling a light jacket on
over her tank top, she closed, and locked the door, then left.

   I waited, gave her time to get down the steps, looked around, and turned
sideways at the edge of the roof.  Been a while since I'd done this, so I
was careful, hanging my legs down, holding the gutter with my arms, slowly
sliding down to feel for the railing, blindly with my feet.  I leaned back,
jumped, and swung in to drop at my balcony.

   "Huh!" 15-20' up, pretty dangerous, even with practice, but some real
fucking strong gutters to hold my weight, No cheap folded sheet steel, and
ring shanks every 3-4 feet, but an L shaped flange, bolted down all the way
to both ends of the roof, where the hoppers, and pipes carried them down.
Muggy as hell too, I wiped my face on the hood.

   No problem breaking into my own place, the latch doesn't have a key, or
anything to unlock it from out here, so I pulled the jimmy from under the
milk crate in the corner.  They didn't think to steal that, and she didn't
drop the stick in the grove before she went out.  Good, I wiggled the
ribbon of metal through the weather stripping, won't have to climb through
the shower window, and felt around for the little hook.  I flipped it up
with a grunt, and slid it open.

   Didn't wear gloves, would have been pointless anyway.  It looked better,
if still pretty stripped.  No TV, or any other kinds of electronics, but at
least there wasn't trash, and clothes all over the place.  Looked like some
kids partied in here before, left some graphiti on the walls.  I ignored
it, went in the bedroom, saw she unpacked, a few sets of underwear in the
top drawer.

   Clean, I sniffed, and rubbed it on my face.  Playing the role, but I got
a dirty little thrill from it, anyway.  Never really did this before,
wouldn't be the same with a jock strap, or even a pair of boxers.  I
giggled, untied my pants, and rubbed them on my hardness.  Not too much, I
wanted to save myself, so I went in the bathroom.

   There, on the floor, kicked under the edge of the cabinet, I almost
pounced on them.  Bra, and panties, and older pair, but they smelled like
Her!  Nose dive, I couldn't stop giggling, and almost got off rubbing my
head in the cup of the bra.  Then, I got another idea.

   Looking in the mirror, I realised how broad her hips were, compared to
mine, how generous her bottom.  I pulled them out, switched them around,
and stretched them over my hardness.  Twisting my hips around, I grinned,
maybe they'd stretch, enough.  I kicked my shoes, and sweatpants off, and
stepped into them.

   They were pretty damned tight, I didn't figure on my thick hard thighs,
but I got them around my waist, turned around, and gasped.  They looked
obscene on my hard muscular ass.  I mean, round, but flat on the sides, not
like Her beautiful firm, yet soft globes I ached to fill my hands with,
pulling Her onto me.  I rubbed my cheeks through them, and gave myself a
good swat on each.

   "Hm," I turned to face myself, "I look good in pink!" I stuck out the
top, like a dark upside-down heart, and twisted my head.  "Huh," never
noticed that before!  I was trying to see how much I could let out the
straps on the bra, when I heard a thump, and keys slapping the door.  I hit
the light quick, and shrank back.  My heart pounded in excitement, when She
opened the door, and carried a brown paper sack in to set it, and a six
pack on the counter to the kitchen.

   She looked over at the patio door, "Huh," shrugged, "Must've forgot."
Not sure if she ment me, or herself, probably both, knowing her.  I wanted
to wait, watch her fall asleep, but the panties were really cutting into my
thighs, so I felt in my pants for the pocket, pulled out the rubber, and
unwrapped it, careful not to make a crinckling sound.  I held my breath,
slipping the front of Her underwear down to roll it on, and she walked in
to the dresser, pulling off an earing.

   "Hh?" She glanced up in the mirror as soon as I stepped out of the
darkened doorway, but I had my hand over her mouth before she could let
that gasp out in a scream.  "hmMRH!" She struggled, twisted, and elbowed me
in the side of the neck.  I almost let go, then grunted to a punch to the
body.  Her feet left the floor, when I got an arm under hers, twisted, and
jumped on the bed, throwing her under me.  She struggled, scratching at my
hand, but didn't slap the bed twice, then twice again.

   Our safety signal, I had to make it possible for her to tell me it was
too much, even fighting as if for her life, and preventing her from
screaming.  With my weight on top of her, I pulled my arm out from under
her, grabbed her wrist, and pulled it away from my hand.  I had to hold it
pressed into the bed, and grab her other one before she could pull back the
tape.

   "RHHHE!" She bucked, twisted, and fought, but I was too strong for her.
I got on her back, forced her arms around behind her, and brought her
wrists together.  Mine was bleeding, from 3 deep scratches, but I used my
legs to pin her upper arms, so she could just pull at the front of my
sweatshirt.

   "Sh," I whispered to her, "It's okay, I don't want to hurt you." I
pulled the roll from my pocket, barely a foot left on it, enough to get
around her thin wrists a couple times.  I bent over.  "I love you." Right
next to her ear, I kissed her cheek, but she twisted, flopped her head
around, turned the other way.  "Relax, it's me.  I know you love me too."

   "NRH!" She shook her head.

   "I didn't mean to scare you, but now we can be together." I pulled her
hair back from her face.  "Don't you recognise me?" She blinked, tears,
real tears I never though I'd see from her eyes.  She beat her head against
the bed, one, two, three times.  I stopped, waited to see if she did it
again.  "What's that, are you trying to tell me something?"

   She just lay there, panting, looking up at me in the corner of her eye.
Then she closed it, lifted her head, and shook it.  'No.' She relaxed,
still panting, but slower, and slower.  I gently rubbed her back, felt up
to her shoulders, felt the tension there, and rubbed at he knot I felt in
the side of her neck.

   "Let it go," I broke character, a little.  "There's nothing you can say,
or do, you can't control this situation.  So, you might as well enjoy it.
Remember,) I kissed her shoulder," this is all for you."

   "Nhnhn!" She wimpered, and another tear rolled down the side of her
nose. I kissed her temple, felt out along her shoulder, slipped the slim
strap around it, and gently lifted her onto her side.  Air sucked in her
nose, then slipped out, I think it was a sigh.  She was shivering, "Oh," I
rubbed her arm, "Are you cold, sweetheart?" She shook her head, weakly,
shallow pants through her nose, but didn't make any other sound.  "I'll
warm you up."

   The side of her boob exposed, I slipped the thin deep red fabric the
rest of the way off, rubbed my palm around it, and felt her nipple harden
in my fingers.  "There," she felt hot, "You're warming up.  You like it,
does this feel good?"

   "nh," she squeeked quietly.  Half shook her head, didn't open her eyes.
I bent to kiss her shoulder.

   "Let me get this off," I tried to sound concerned, "you're burning up!"

   I had to roll her to the other side, slip it off her other shoulder,
over her boob, then back, and forth to work it down her body.  I followed
it down with kisses, on her arms, shoulder blades, spine, the small of her
back.  Fingertips almost brushing my throat, I felt a thrill, realizing
she'd already drawn blood with her nails, but they just curled limply under
my chin.  She was really shaking now, jumped when I twisted the straps
around my fingers to snap first one, then the other.

   I had to lift her hips, gently to pull it down her legs.  One had to the
small of her back, while I was back there, I reached behind me to slip down
the pair I was wearing.  I pressed behind her, rings burning around my
thighs like ligature marks, and pressed the rubber into the back of her
panties.  "Feel that?" Whispered to her, "Feel how much I love you?" I
kissed her earlobe, slipped my fingers behind it to hold the back while I
pulled the tiny pearl stud out, pinched between my teeth.

   "You're so beautiful," she stopped responding, just breathed, shivering.
Helpless, I wondered what was going through her head.  Was she just acting,
or playing the role?  Paralyzed with fear, too terrified to move, and why
was she shivering like that?  It wasn't like cold, even her back was
flushed, it spread like wings, feathered between her ribs, and a deep
triangular pool in the small of her back.

   I'd never seen her like this.  Sure, turned on, even hot, but not
burning, and restrained, unable to do anything, force me to bring her to
climax with a quickness.  I teased her, slowly eased her panties down, felt
behind her, practically dripping, and hotter than I would have imagined
someone getting, and surviving.

   "Did you faint?" I gently tapped her between the legs with three
fingers.

   "nH!" She jumped, and her eyes flew open.  I rubbed it, and she sighed,
slipping my middle finger to brush her folds, the tiny hardness within. 
"Nw!  unh, f'mh, f'me nwh!" She bucked, scooting back a bit, and bumping my
hip with her bottom.  "Ahn!" Another 3 finger swat, harder, and she winced,
hitting the bed with her head, twice.

   I didn't want to stop, so I took my hardness in hand, and sank into her.

   "Yh!" She grunted, then again, and again, as I stuck it to her, hard,
but slow.  Dragging it out of her for another rough stab.  I held her arms,
hands clenched into fists, and hauled her onto me until I couldn't take it
any longer, and fucked as fast as I could.  She burst, moaning loudly
almost immediately, and I pulled the tape off so she could breathe.  She
yelped, then screamed, "AieAieAie!" with the thrusts and I pulled out right
before I came, slipped off the rubber almost before the first spurt lept
out of me, and the rest splashed hot, and wet on her shaking ass and back.

   "Augnh!" Or something likeat, I didn't pay much attention to the sounds
I made, sure didn't mean anything in any language I ever heard.  Why, if my
childhood pastor heard me speakin in them tongues he woulda thought me
taken by the spirit if it weren't for the bound woman, panting, and
fainting under me.  I almost passed out m'self, but I put a hand down, on
the bed, and ripped the tape with my fingers, between her wrists.

   "Ah Gahd" I set down, and tried to kechma breth.  "Huh huh, huh!"

   "Ohhh," she rolled away, put a hand to her face, smeared my spent lust
on her forehead, and into her tears.  "Eough!" She shuddered, and flicked
it away.  Running to the bathroom, I hear the tap running, in the dark.

   "Oh," I got up, "I'm sorry, hunny," hit the switch, "I'm so sorry."

   My face burst before I registered seeing her whirl around.  "Fucker!"
She punched me next, and I stepped back, arms up defensively.  She fell,
catching her face, and sobbing on her knees on the floor.

   "Oh, sweetheart," I got down and held her.  For once, I petted her head,
hushed her, told her it was all right.

   "God!" She hit my shoulder with the bottom of her fist.  "That was
fucking intense!" It took her a while to catch her breath.

   Bath {MF NS.}

   She lay back, my legs around her, and over hers.  I scooped up water,
and splashed it over her chest.  She caught my arm, lifted it to gently
kiss the scratches across the back, one-by-one.  "You never been abused."

   "No." Didn't even shake her head, or lift it.  She was exhausted, spent.

   "You ever able to identify with the victims?"

   "No!" She realised, and weakly lifted her hand to her face.  "Huh!" she
sighed, "So that's, I never want to feel that again."

   "What was it like?" I knew, but she had to remember it, process it.

   "I don'," she paused, "I'do.  It was like a K hole."

   "A what?" I leaned my head over to look at her from the side.

   She laughed weakly, "Ketamine, god I forget how young you are!  Back in
the nineties, 'Special K' was all the rage, I tried it, once."

   "And that's what it's like?" I guessed.

   "Huh!" she wiped a wet strand out of her her face, "Not really, kinda?"
She opened her eyes, turned, and kissed me.  "You know," she licked her
lips, and looked at me sideways, "Payback's a bitch, right?"

   "Yeah," I swallowed a big ole lump of Fear, "You know I do."

   Jackson {MF...}

   Court was mostly a Bust, they pled 'Not Guilty' of course, and they
didn't need me to testify.

   USA Cavanaugh was there, and she updated me on the "Spin-off" cases from
my deal.  They found Nicky, now in his low 20s, cruising an elementary
school.  A girl reported him, little sister of another victim, after he
exposed himself to her, took her clothes off, and touched her.  More
victims were starting to turn up, he confessed, at length, and named names.


   Fortunately, my alleged sale to another ephebophile was after our
experience.  So, he couldn't expose the lie our deal was based on.  His
abuse by "Teddy" was before mine, so before the Statute of Limitations. 
Actually, my relationship ended a little over 4 years ago, but I didn't
want to go through with it, not just because he was my second abuser.  I
really didn't want to serve my sentances, especially now that I'd found
love at last.

   She left me, after transfering custody, I have no idea where, or what
for.  We had to call her, but I wasn't under arrest, so I waited out front
of the courthouse, and smoked.  She had at much threatened to 'rape' me,
but I expected her to wait.  Plantasize, and get it together for a perfect
scene, strike when I least expected it.

   I have to admit, the abstract fear, and anticipation was exciting.  I
tried to think about what she might try.  What type was she, or was most
appealing to her?  Anger-Exitation, I thrilled.  Dominance, Power, maybe
some light torture.  She'd need a dungeon, of some sort.  A place to
control the scene, bind me, lock me up.  The false story about being held
in the Ozarks really seemed to arouse her, in retrospect I realized that's
what I'd seen in her face when I'd made that up.  Now that I could
recognise it.

   Power-Assertive, definitely, but that would give it away.  The car,
machismo, ploy like Bundy.  She pulled up, so I grabbed the folder, and
flicked off like the third but, sitting there, nervously smoking, and
fidgeting.  "So," I mad conversation, "How did you get into all this?" I
looked around the new car, she must have exchanged it at the motor pool at
the local office.

   She sighed, "When I was in high school, I, there was a serial, in all
the news.  He kidnapped women, strangled them, if there was rape, they kept
it out of the news, but it got me thinking about men like that.  I was
curious, so I started researching Serial Killers, especially the Sexually
Motivated types.' The ones she's attracted to.

   "Where was this?" I realized I knew next to nothing about her.

   "Cleveland," she looked over, then back at the road, "That's where I
grew up."

   "Any siblings, both parents?" I was interested.

   "Older brother, younger sister, father, mother, they're still together."
She sighed, "My dad was Secret Service.  Mostly Counterfitters, not
protective detail, but he taught us to shoot, especially my sister, and I.
He first told us about Bad Men, and to watch out for us.  He bought me my
first gun when I was 14, and I was a target shooter in high school.  I
didn't keep any of my trophies." She grinned, self consciously, "From
competition."

   "My brothers' in the Service now.  Kind of the family business, he's
assigned to a Senator, in DC."

   "Is that where you live?" When you're not out chasing a Phantom, and
tilting windmills.

   She shook her head, "The Regional Office, in Atlanta." I didn't know
they had BAU outside of Virginia, but I guess it makes sense.  "A lot of
cases down in Florida, but also as far north as the Carolinas, and east to
the Mississippi." The river, I guessed.
   ...