I Always Knew She Was Broken
Chapter 20: Making Ready for the Campaign

Copyright© 2009 by Maxicue

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 20: Making Ready for the Campaign - Childhood friends and first loves reunite after twenty years. Though as different as day and night, they realize true love defines them. Bess, a highly successful escort drags Joe, a nebbish lawyer, into a world of intrigue. Joe wouldn't have it any other way.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   mt/ft   mt/Fa   Mult   Consensual   Romantic   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Cuckold   Group Sex   First   Oral Sex   Anal Sex  

Doc took care of my nose, stopped it up, set it and left a bump and a slight curve--subtle but it changed my look. He shaved my pate and cut my hair short and doused it with dye. The guy had a ruddy face from years of alcohol, a slight stoop creating a hump on his back and a pot belly hanging from an otherwise slim frame. He concentrated deeply--nary a word emerged from his mouth. I felt in good hands.

On the other hand his daughter talked a mile a minute telling me about meeting Bess, "The most beautiful woman I ever saw," and how they talked for hours, "about all kinds of stuff, but ending up talking about the Pig." The Pig was what the 20 year old dirty blond haired skinny ball of energy called her abuser. Like Bess talking to her about the Pig, he became only a short detour from the encounter as she described it. "She bathed me and fed me and bought me cool clothes, but none of the really sexy ones I wanted. She brought me to a fine beauty parlor and when I looked at myself I thought it must be someone else. Of course with Bess standing next to me I didn't look like much, but even still I never looked better. She was so right about the outfit. I looked refined! Imagine that!"

Actually she still looked refined. Her dad in a rare moment of conversation told her so.

"Yeah, I realized I could look like a business lady and it got me a job hostessing in a really nice restaurant, not even some family place, but nice. I get along with the waiters, and even if they're mostly queer they're cool and I'm kind of glad they're not interested, you know, because I'm going to school during the day studying accounting and business and someday I'll run a swank place like where I work. I'm usually not such a loudmouth," at which her dad shook his head and smiled, "but meeting you, cause Bess told me all about you and she's right, you are cute, and thinking about her and what she did for me and dad and everything, how we're talking and it's like we're friends again and Dad never seemed happier since Mom died, well, I'm excited okay? Anyway, it's great meeting you and I wish I could stay longer but I gotta go to work. Send my love to Bess. Bye." She bounded out.

Though painful, I joined the biker and Doc for a chorus of laughter. "I've seen her at work," said Doc. "She's as quiet and gracious and listens to everybody. She's a great hostess." Smiling, he shook his head, contented.

This time sitting shotgun the biker and I travelled further out of town to a rundown house. A Harley chopper rested in the driveway. His wife and daughter came out to greet us. "It's an honor sir," said the pretty and voluptuous sixteen year old daughter. She hugged me. I admit to a subtle erection. His wife looked like a filled out and toughened version of the daughter sixteen years in the future, retaining the sexiness.

A soft dinner—my teeth felt loose—contained sparse conversations. "So you wear no club name," I commented to the biker. His arms covered with tattoos suggested he rode with the Vandals. I recognized the initials DTK/LAMF as a Queens gang motto: "Down to Kill Like a Motherfucker," on his bicep in the shape of a shield with a snarling snakehead emerging from the center.

"They fucked with my family. I realized my mistake," said the biker.

"You're not talking about the Vandals?"

"No. They'd never do that. The Angel's of course. But I felt like the whole thing stank. And I might have started a war if Bess..."

A man of few words, he found it unnecessary to finish the sentence. He communicated clearly.

In the morning after a restless night on the sheet upholstered sofa, we headed to Philadelphia for my flight. A new set of clothes filled a well used suitcase. I dressed in unobtrusive and cheap casual clothing. The chill in the early winter air kept the plastic shelled winter coat zipped to my Adam's apple. I enjoyed dressing well, so along with the balding blond scalp, the lump and slight twist of the nose, the cheap sunglasses hiding my matching black eyes, the clothes made me feel well disguised.

Left on the curb at the airport by the biker, I struggled with the large heavy suitcase and the smaller but heavily weighted case to check in and deposit them for transport and headed to the gate. Along with the weight I felt relieved of the burden of me. I'd even detached from the fancy attaché, a longtime companion Lisa gave me when I went to the other side.

However a small green backpack the biker gave me had a hundred or so pages from the anti-King magnum opus which I planned on perusing to distract time on the flight. I bought a Spin magazine, the closest music magazine to the music Tom and my son exposed me to available along with an Ed McBain police procedural and a Ludlum spy thriller for further distraction, the books to get my head inside the crazy intrigue I found myself. Eric Ambler might have been a better choice—a poor schnook caught within the crossfire seemed more appropriate—but alas the book store had none of his works. Spring water ended my purchase. I tossed down the painkillers using the water to help swallow.

The pills helped alleviate the pain of flight on my damaged sinuses, but it hurt like hell anyway. I felt a little less like I would die.

Reading the documents on the King, I got to know the man who impressed me then fucked with my true love. No denying his ambition, the guy carefully climbed the ladder. His parents had been wealthy and careful, managing to sustain the family's profits through the depression. His dad had the vision to escape the temptation of the stock market and invested in essentials like foodstuffs as a distributor and actually profited from their relative scarcity caused by the dustbowl. However by the time the King reached college age everything crashed. The father's partner destroyed the father's reputation and stole the company. His parents died in an auto accident, a collision with a tree caused supposedly by alcohol.

An insurance policy and being top of his class kept him in school and he graduated from Harvard Business School. Connections there brought him into an executive position in the plastics industry. He became vice president in charge of research and ended up taking over companies associated with materials involved. Increasing success led to him becoming COO and then CEO of the slowly forming conglomerate. The massive company resembled a Frankenstein monster built of dying businesses given life.

The aggressive takeover policy became most apparent when the company his father created and lost became the first company diverse enough from the plastics company to transform it into a conglomerate. The King cut off the head but retained the body. Somehow the asshole who destroyed his father suffered a similar fate, and before the man's immolation in an accident with a gas truck, his daughter died of an apparent suicide. A note attached to that moment read, "Possible love interest in high school?" It made me tremble. It made me notice the date of the material. The earliest date coincided to less than a week after Bess disappeared. I wondered if my new boss knew the source of information. I wondered how much damaging information flooded into the Justice Department at that point. Clearly the information presented a dangerous man. But the timing made me worry for the first time about Bess. Was she as dangerous? Being brilliant and complex and beautiful and damaged, could she be monstrous?

 
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