Chapter 3

As soon as I got off the phone with Paula after she had given me the terrible news, I arranged a flight for the next morning. Paula expressed appreciation, surprise and suspicion when I told her I would be in Eugene the next day. The suspicion, in her characteristic honesty and dislike for me she communicated immediately, concerned the money generated by the benefit concert being the lure. I told her I only wanted to find the fucker who destroyed the life of a woman we both loved and cherished, reminding her that I would begin the investigation nearly a week before any money would be available to me.

"Oh fuck, Joe, I'm sorry," she said, her voice broken by tears reflecting her and my broken heart. "You were good for her. You really cared for her. You made her happy in a way I guess I envied. And..."

"Paula," I said through strained vocal chords, "you were her strength, her back bone, her angel."

"But when she flipped out, you were the only one who could bring her back. She didn't need me. I didn't like you before, but I really hated you then."

A little over two years after we had first met, I brought Vy back to sanity and brought the wrath of Paula fully against me.

That first week in San Francisco we spent in bed together when she wasn't working on her third record or we weren't continuing the musical education we gave each other which ended up stretching the full week.

In the ensuing two years we had kept our odd relationship alive by writing letters to each other. On three occasions during that time we did manage to enjoy each other's bodies and conversations, a couple of wonderful weeks in Waikiki sandwiched between a return tryst at my mother's and a visit to Eugene, always too short.

But letter writing enabled our continuing love. I had never been much of a letter writer, but became one because of Vy. She insisted the main subjects would be either my cases or my sexual escapades. As you can tell from my past cases, these often intertwined. Thus Vy generated years before this memoir the seeds of its creation.

From the very beginning we shared everything sexual that happened in our past or currently (with the letters as well as during and after our trysts, our honesty and lack of fear of injuring egos helped to make sex amazing). Vy never discussed her sexual experience with women and with Paula in particular, the one gap in our sharing. Whether being specifically obfuscating for some reason or she never had sex with Paula, as I said earlier, she never said. I figured since she talked about every other sexual event in her life including her vivid fantasies which often constituted the body of her letters, despite Paula's probable desire to make love to her, it never happened.

Paula's culpability in Vy's mental breakdown, her manager and friend desperately wanting to expose "to molt" to the world pushing Vy beyond her breaking point, never got mentioned. Vy insisted I never blame her, so when Paula brought it up when she called to give me the terrible news, I didn't mention her responsibility. Of course at times I felt tempted to blame her, mostly in order to keep it from happening again, but not during the mournful phone conversation.

On paper, the tour looked to be incredibly exciting. Vy even called me on the phone when the tour was set, a rare event in our relationship.

Even more than their third album, their fourth sold well for a punk band, aided in no small part by Jello Biafra feeling guilty about ousting them from his label when Dotty made it clear he was not destined to get into her pants more than once in a particularly cruel manner. Even though they weren't on his label, he made sure they got great distribution and even attached a glowing review to the promotion. It was also their best record. Though still played at punishing speed and loudness, it wasn't as relentlessly fast with some really cool time changes in the middle of songs, and Vy's lyrics, which continued to improve with every album she made, became far more clearly articulated (for which I patted myself on the back). Still on the edge of screaming in her low for a female and untrained but perfectly in tune voice, somehow the lyrics could be understood. Her skills as a vocalist like everything else about her were unique and remarkable.

Sales totals in Europe and Japan bested American numbers, so the tour focused on those places. It started in Chicago with stops in other Midwestern cities before hitting East Coast cities, the last being in New York. They should have stayed in New York for a few days to get their wind after all those one night stands. Vy wrote me her first misgivings about the tour, mailing the letter at JFK airport before boarding a flight to Amsterdam, telling me how tired she was.

The next letter came from London. They had circled through Europe, moving south from Amsterdam with stops in Paris, a couple in Spain, Italy and Germany before hugely successful shows in Scandinavia where they actually played a performance on television and were interviewed a couple of times for radio and newspapers. Before her final European show, she wrote me about the triumph, but revealed her exhaustion and fragility.

All these moments are great, proof my work is being heard and appreciated and even loved. Why else would I be doing this? What worries me is that I'd give it up right now if I could be naked in bed with you, making slow love until I yelled at you to fuck me hard and scream my orgasm and feel you cumming in me and then lying back, basking in the warmth of our flesh, quietly talking and laughing until we fell asleep, your sticky penis against my big ass and your steady breath penetrating my messed up hair right through to my ear. That would give me joy. Fucked up, huh? Oh well. I can't wait to see you in Waikiki when this is all over.

Love, V.

(The tour had the band to stop in Honolulu after Tokyo, and while the others would have four days in paradise and leave for Eugene, Vy would stay for however long she wanted. I too couldn't wait.)

But what worried me about the letter wasn't the confusion about importance as much as the lack of vitality in the sexual vision. She would always go into great detail about the sex and throw in some wild and perverse activity, going on for over a page. Full of fun and sexy images, but not this time. This time she seemed too exhausted to even imagine anything beyond making me go harder just long enough to cum and then sleeping. No one would have noticed, maybe even I didn't and only what came afterward made my remembrance 20/20, but I think I sensed something wrong. Of course I couldn't do anything about it except get nervous.

Unfortunately their show in Sydney after a long flight and little rest ended up a disaster, escalating Vy's exhausted and unappreciative state. A fight broke out between some taunting assholes, dumb young soccer or rugby or Australian football goons and fans of "to molt" while they played in a big club, and the fans, trying to protect her, boxed Vy in and she freaked out. Not being an unusual situation which Paula had always brought her down from made Paula think her friend was fine, but she wasn't.

Tokyo is densely populated. After nervously walking though the bustling city, Vy had an in-store at a small punk boutique which we would laugh about later thinking that our leather and spike clad kid who had been instrumental in getting us together would have loved it, but the actual experience terrified her. She played a brief acoustic set in a corner and then signed records for many Japanese kids. The small space enclosing too many fans made them crowd close to her forcing Paula along with their translator to attempt some control and eventually removing Vy from the situation, leaving the rest of the band to carry on. Vy hung onto sanity by a thread.

The show at the largest venue the band had ever played was bizarre. Later we watched a video tape made by a friend of the translator's, copied enough times for each member of the band and the manager to have their own copy. One of the first things Vy wanted when she snapped out of her mental breakdown was to watch it. I didn't know how she would react, but I certainly didn't expect her to laugh. I never saw her laugh so much in my life. She jumped off the couch, pointed at herself, danced around, stared at the television and laughed. For some reason I didn't worry. She didn't act hysterical. Her laughter infected me, and not knowing what was so funny I joined in. She calmed down briefly and explained.

"God I look like a bad imitation of a chanteuse, singing the most maudlin song and weeping! And I'm just standing there! But I'm still screaming away like I always do. It's insane!"

Her on screen image began moving her head jerkily, which got the Vy beside me laughing again. Then the image of her collapsed while the music kept playing. Her laughter stopped as she watched herself become fetal. It was halfway through their set, but the onstage Vy didn't continue. For some reason the audience loved it. Similar to the James Brown routine where he collapses and is attended to, Paula entered from backstage and Dotty rushed from her drum stool to lift her up and guide her off, only she didn't break away and start dancing. She remained loose in their arms.

The middle of the next day after Vy's collapse Paula finally called me despite Vy saying little except my name from the moment she collapsed. Vy kept mostly silent except for saying "Joe" from time to time along with "please fuck me." Not pleased to say the least, Paula gave up trying to reach her and called.

I arrived in Tokyo the following evening. The rest of the band arrived in Honolulu by then. It was just Paula, Vy and me. As soon as Paula opened the door for me and I stepped inside, I saw Vy laying on the bed, her arms and legs spread, her face not quite smiling when she saw me.

"Take off your clothes and come join me, Joe," she said.

I looked at Paula who looked beaten.

"Hurry up!" said Vy, her voice too quiet to be demanding. When I remained frozen inside the door, Vy got even more impatient. "Get the fuck out of here, Paula. Go home. Leave me alone. Leave me and Joe alone. Go! Now!"

"I'm sorry," I said quietly to Paula.

"Fuck you," replied Paula and stormed out. She tried calling the hotel room a couple of times later, but when we didn't return her calls she stopped trying.

"Take off your clothes, Joe and come to bed."

I walked up to the bed and sat on the edge.

"Clothes off," Vy insisted.

"I don't know if I should," I said. "You're not feeling well."

"I'm fine. I'm tired. Please Joe. Hold me."

I took off my shoes and entering the bed, she insisted I strip naked again.

"You're sick, Vy."


"I ... I'm tired. My head's kind of muddled. We're in a hotel room in..."

"Tokyo."

"Tokyo. Cool. I knew that. Take off your clothes. Please." Her voice remained soft, like a shy child, something she never resembled before. I shrugged and disrobed. Once naked, she looked at me unhappily. "You're not even hard. What's wrong with me? Am I ugly?" she began crying. "I know, but I hoped you'd never see."

"No, Vy. I'm worried about you. You're sick. It's hard to get hard when you're worried. You're beautiful."

"Is it catching?" asked Vy with a half smile, her tears wetting her face.

"It's not that kind of sick," I said.

"Then get in bed," ordered Vy. I did, getting under the covers and slipping my arms around her. She felt warm. Her torso was covered by a long t-shirt, her nightie which she would wear on nights we would just cuddle. "I love you, Joe."

"I know," I said, sad that she said it. It wasn't like her.

"I love you Joe," she repeated.

"I know," I repeated.

"I love you Joe."

"I love you too," I said. It was true, but didn't need to be said, not to the Vy I knew.

She looked into my eyes. "What's wrong?"

"You're not yourself."

"What's wrong with me?"

"You're tired."

"I am. Help me to the toilet."

Once she had lowered her panties and sat on the commode I turned away.

"Don't leave me."

"I thought you might want privacy."

"I do. I have it. With you." She released her urine and excrement while she continued. "I'm scared, Joe. I feel them."

"Who?" I asked.

"I don't know. People. They're all in me. They're all at me. Their voices, their minds are all singing. Like humming. Their thoughts. Their wants. They want me to listen. They demand it. But it sounds ... I don't know ... Scary. I don't like it. Can you make them go away?"

"I don't know. What about my voice?"

"It's perfect," she said and I smiled. She smiled too. Was Vy returning? Once she finished evacuating she asked if we could shower together. "I want to be all fresh for you when you fuck me."

"Shouldn't we wait until you feel better?"

"Believe me I'll feel much better when you're fucking me. I want that big cock deep inside to dig away my sickness. Dig a well to make me well. Dig a well to make me gush. If your cock ever gets big again."

"It will, but I'm still worried."

"Me too."

The shower felt nice. I always loved seeing her naked. But she was weak. I struggled keeping her from slipping. For the first time we showered together and I didn't get hard. After I dried her and she tried drying me, we got back into bed, both naked, the sheet and blanket and our bodies keeping us warm. Her body draped over mine as I lay on my back. She kissed me gently and laid her head on my shoulder.

"You should sleep," I said

"I can't. The voices."

"I wish I had something to put you to sleep."

"Sing to me," she said.

"You're the only singer in this bed."

"Then talk. Tell me a story."

"Any story?"

"A dirty story. I want you to fuck me Joe, and if I can't turn you on, maybe you can turn yourself on. You like telling dirty stories."

"You like me telling dirty stories," I said.

"I do and you do too, because I remember how good you are. You tell good sexy stories."

"Okay. Once upon a time..."

"You need to invent a sex story?" said Vy looking up at me. She gave me a tap on my shoulder with her fist, testimony to her exhaustion, the one and only good thing about it.

"Just teasing," I said.

She laid her head back on my shoulder. I actually stalled to decide what to tell. Romantic seemed appropriate but was rare in my life.

"I met Kitty when I visited my old schoolmate Chen at his new apartment next to Chaminade University. It was sort of a house warming party and a plea for me to be a roommate combined. A newly constructed apartment, safe and secure, the offer tempted me. I lived in a pretty miserable hovel, but I really didn't mind it even if it never impressed the ladies. I like living in my own space.

"Chen didn't lure me in, but he did introduce me to his colleague Kitty, a fellow hair cutter at Paul Brown, a classy salon next to Ala Moana Shopping Center.

"For some reason Kitty and I hit it off. Though different in many ways, we found ourselves comfortable chatting about stuff. Even at the age of 18 I sensed the seductive nature of listening, so I talked enough to be somewhat impressive, but mostly had her talking about her life and hopes and what excited her.

"It got the ball rolling. When I walked her to her car after a long evening, she invited me to hike with her into Manoa Valley the following morning.

"After an early breakfast at the Waioli Tea Room, a funny Salvation Army owned eatery fairly deep in the valley, we left our cars there and began our walk. We kissed for the first time at the beautiful tall waterfall at the back of the valley."

"Sshhh," Vy vocalized.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Sound effects. White noise," said Vy and continued the effect.

"Save it for later. We would return to the falls at the end of the hike for more intimacy."

"Okay, but hurry it up."

"We took the long climb up to the ridge which led to the Pali pass that separated Honolulu from Kailua and the loved the beautiful view. Both sides spread out before us. She pointed down to a small group of homes on the Kailua side where she lived with her parents. We hugged and kissed as we stood above everything.

"The wind gusted too strong to stand there hugging for long so we sat and she straddled me. The kisses continued as we pressed our groins together. I could feel the warmth of her cunny and she could easily feel my hard-on pressing against it as we rocked.

"Unfortunately it wasn't a private spot, not exactly ultra popular, but a couple groups of hikers passed us, so we couldn't grope. I did manage to steal a feel of her small healthy breasts through her t-shirt unencumbered by a bra which they didn't need. Her nipples pressed visibly against the shirt's fabric, so I slid a finger across each. She pushed down harder against my penis and used her big healthy muscular ass muscles to move around.

"When we stood I raised a tent in my silky shorts. Looking down at it, she seemed to have mixed emotions, impressed, interested but shy. She took my hand and guided me back down towards the falls. The path got steep and treacherous enough to need both hands for balance so our hand holding ended.

"When we reached the falls," Vy resumed her sound effect, "our lovemaking resumed, but again we had company. Kitty removed her shoes and socks and jumped into the cold pool of water under the falls. I did the same, removing my shirt as well. After swimming around, we came together, her short thick legs wrapped around my legs and we discreetly pushed against each other as our tongues dueled.

"'I want to go skinny dipping, ' she whispered in my ear loud enough to be heard over the falls. 'Come on, ' she said and pulled me out of the water. I stood looking at her, a stupid, horny smile on my face, my penis half hard from the cool water keeping it from full extension, wondering if she planned to strip in front of the few people at the falls. 'Not here, silly, ' she said, sitting down to put on her shoes and jogging away. I enjoyed the movement of muscles on her big gorgeous ass until it disappeared.