Chapter 9

1980

I was sent to Paris with a team from the American pharmaceutical company I was working for. The French Franc had crashed, and we were looking at acquiring a French lab at a bargain price.

I hadn’t been to Europe since the end of the war. It was wonderful to see the recovery, there was barely a bullet hole to be found. At the same time, the memories were painful.

There were phone books for the whole region in the hotel; in an idle moment, I looked through them for Mari. And I found her.

My heart seemed to stop for a moment, then sped up. My hands trembled; I was amused at my powerful reaction just reading her name on the page, when it might not even be her.

I phoned the number, and I heard her sweet voice for the first time in 45 years. I went to her apartment, wondering what we’d feel to meet again; it was intense. Our shared trauma, and our love was still powerful. To the outside, we were two grey old women, insignificant and dried up.

We kissed, kissed as the lovers we once were; we didn’t have sex. We were both past that, and she had a partner, a younger woman. We just talked, sat together, held hands.

I moved to Paris soon after that, and we lived together platonically for almost 10 years.

As the old fighting men paraded in their uniforms on their special days, Mari and I sat in our apartment unacknowledged. Except by each other.

“We should be there too.” Mari said, waving at the TV screen. “Strutting along in our uniforms, high heels and underwear!”

“I’d only wear a corset, net stockings, and a pushup bra.” I laughed.

It was great to be with her, I treasured out time together. Mari died at 75, and I was with her.

To the reader, this is probably disappointing, boring, not worth the page space. I have to include it though, because it was a powerful event in my life.

2022

I was torn; if I stayed with Hank, I’d fall in love for sure. He was everything I wanted in a man.

He prowled the woods beyond the fence with his dogs and his gun. He talked to me, listened to me, fucked me, and as long as I gave him plenty of stimulation, supplied enough juice to keep my brain close to full power.

When I adored him, he adored me in return. I’d been there before; it felt so good, a primal need to form an alliance with a sexual partner, to go the whole way. The beautiful trap.

What did I bring though? What did I have to offer in return for his protection, and the accompanying risk to his life and property?

I looked good, and we sure had great sex. My womb was barren, even if I’d wanted children I could not offer him that. I wanted to start working, I’d earn well. He had no need for money though. Hank had plenty of nookie available, there were women crawling all over his little fiefdom. The fact was that I really had nothing to offer him that he didn’t already have.

When he looked into my eyes; his trauma seemed to fall away. Even if it was just for a minute, that was something. His big cock got hard, he let me suck him, kiss him, ride his great black rod as he fondled my firm white tits. He fucked me sitting, standing, doggy, missionary, cowgirl, scissors.

I massaged him, bit him, licked him, fingered his anus, sucked his balls, and extracted the precious goo from his wonderful penis, his great balls. He made me come, and come, and come. You’d think after all the men, women, and fucking I’d done in my century of life that would no longer affect me as it did. The reality was that it wasn’t the good sex that was causing the dreaded emotion, it was the emotion that made the sex so good.

Yes, I could love this man so easily; I seriously considered packing my bag and slipping away, down the road again, anonymous.

I knew that as time went on, and the wild excitement would ease into a more sustainable interaction, his balls would produce less. No one man could keep me at my full capacity for long. I’d have to compromise and let myself decline a little, or I’d have to supplement with other supply. How could I suck other men off if I was in a real relationship?

I didn’t need to be at 100% if I didn’t work as a doctor. If I wanted to take a job at the hospital though, then just for ethical reasons I’d have to be at my best.

The lawyer got back to us; the FBI agreed to an interview without naming me. I would just have a witness number. However, they demanded I take a polygraph.

“What if they ask me my age?” I asked.

“Just tell them.” She advised me, “They will see that you believe it, and they won’t. Most likely they’ll throw out the whole thing and give up on you after that.”

Hank drove me to the state capital where there was an FBI field office. I sat in a small room at a simple table with a woman opposite.

She was 40ish, attractive with very short dark hair, a sharp little nose, and dark brown eyes. She attached a few stickers to me, wired to a small box that was also connected to her laptop. She told me to put my hands on the table, and she held them in her own. Her touch was light, soft, almost sensual. She looked into my eyes. I looked back. There was something very sexy about her, I felt a strong attraction, which was odd.

Her eyes widened as she stared at me. “Oh; you’ve been touched.” She declared.

“What?” I blurted.

“Never mind, it’s not pertinent to this interview. We can talk about that afterwards if you like.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I’m Connie, the polygraph.” She told me, “Now, please tell me about the events prior to the fire at the Fisel institute in 2010. I don’t need to know about you, I need to know about everyone else.”

I told her everything I could remember; not about the science, no one was interested in that. She wanted to know who the patients were, the staff, about the explosion, the fire, and the men with guns. Most importantly, who was our principle financer.

“I never met him, but I was told the funding came from an aging Russian oligarch called Manovich.” I told her. “His company would have been on the hook for a 9 figure sum. And now I have to ask you something; how did you find me?”

“Facial recognition.” She told me. “You were wanted because investigators found 38 bodies but not yours.”

“So those men who kept turning up, they’re FBI?” I asked.

“I assume so, the guys can be lazy about filing reports when nothing happens.”

“If you have my recent picture, you must have recovered the institute files.” I said.

“Yes.”

“Then you know who I am.”

“Yes, we know.”

“And you have my medical records. How it was done.”

“We do; only no one in the agency can understand it.”

“I could.”

“No doubt, and there are others who could too; a decision was made to seal it all.”

“A cover up?”

“If you like; there is such a thing as information deemed too dangerous to be public.”

“The basic science is in the public domain. Someone else will figure it out eventually.”

“Sure, eventually.” She conceded. “There are a lot of researchers trying to do what you did, and no one has gotten anywhere. If anyone has success and publishes, well then the world will be different. For now, it’s believed to be impossible.”

“It doesn’t actually work in a clinical sense; I was the only survivor of the experiments.” I told her, “A treatment that kills 98% of patients is not a treatment.”

“Interview is concluded at 5:23PM on April 22, 2022.” She said, and she switched off the recording devices.

“I know; still, the decision was made. Gisella Poetz died in the fire.” Connie told me. “Dorothy James is a clever 25 year old doctor. No one will know differently. OK?”

“Ok.” I agreed. “What did you mean, I was touched?”

“That’s not an FBI thing, just something I know from my personal pursuits.” She told me.

“And? Can you tell me more?”

“He’s complicated.” She said quietly, “He is a sort of demon, with power to heal.”

I broke out laughing, I couldn’t help myself.

Connie just smiled; “You asked, I told. I don’t expect you to believe it.” She said with a shrug. “I will scrub your photo and the records from our database.”

“You can do that?”

We were standing now, and she took my hand again.

“Yes. You know how FBI agents are always ‘special agent’? Well, I’m VERY special agent. I wouldn’t normally be interested in a case like this, I just I wanted to meet you. Actually, I would really like to know you, um, better. I find you fascinating.”

“Come to Hank’s place, hang out and have a meal with us.” I suggested.

“I’d like that.” She said with a lovely smile that really had no business existing on the face of a fed.

I put in my application at the hospital near Hank’s place and was accepted as an intern there. The hours were horrible and I had to work with patients. It was great though; I was alive, I was happy, I had a home, a lover, and I was out of danger.

I thought.

The perimeter alarm went off late one night; Hank slipped out and I looked through the monitors to see two armed men cut through the fence at the far end of the compound.

They had no chance; Hank shot them both.

I called the Sherif and Connie. The men were still alive and armed, so we did not approach; Hank just covered them from a distance until the law arrived. One bled out and died. The other was in our hospital under guard until Connie got there the next day. She had several young male agents with her, and a small ancient Asian man in a sharp suite that didn’t look right on him.

“Will he live?” she asked me.

“He’s stable.” I told her, “He hasn’t spoken a single word. I doubt you’ll get anything out of him.”

She frowned; “There has to be a leak at the bureau. There’s just no other way they could have known where you are just when we did. We take that very seriously, Dorothy. This is now a national security case. Tell me more about his condition, I want detail.”

I pulled out the man’s charts and x-rays, and we spent an hour going through it.

“You seem anxious.” I noted.

“I have to do something I really don’t want to do.” she told me quietly. “Hit men, a mole at the agency, this is really dangerous shit. Top end national security and all that. It’s my job to get the information out of him, and It’s going to hurt.”

“Hurt who? Him? No one cares.”

“Not him, it’s going to hurt me.” She said. “You’re not the only one with a secret, Dorothy.”

Then she went into his room alone, leaving two agents to guard the door. The feed from the prisoner’s monitors went dead.

I was still there when she came out a half hour later; she seemed odd, subdued, her team took her away, and I didn’t see her for a couple of days. The other agents were around, doing their thing, asking questions all over town, towing a car that was left nearby, writing in their notebooks.

Hank was not well; the episode triggered a lot of old trauma, and made him a bit frantic. He couldn’t sleep, he paced around with the dogs half the night, and I was getting really worried.

“Quiet, what do you hear?” He whispered to me as we lay in bed late in the night.

“Dogs panting, the refrigerator.” I said.

“No helicopters?”

“No.” I said, stroking his wide naked back.

“Shit, it’s happening to me again.” He moaned. “I’m gonna have to take the meds, but then I won’t be sharp if there’s another attack.”

He’d told me that the drugs make him impotent; that would be a disaster for our relationship, because I’d have to find my dose elsewhere. We hadn’t had sex since the attack three nights before and I was already feeling bad.

I moved closer, running my hands over his shoulders, back, and ass. He rolled over, and his cock was throbbing with energy in my hands.

“When I’m like this, I’m, well, I get really frantic.” He told me, “Are you ready for that?”

He lifted up and pushed me onto my back, he loomed above me with wild eyes yet gentle hands.

“Oh yeah baby, give me all you have.” I told him, I need it!”

“Really?”

“Oh yes, really.”

Then we were on each other; he was wild, hard, rough, almost crazy. I’d had a lot of men, all sorts of men. No one did it to me like that before.

He took my ankles in his hands, I reached for his hot penis, and put it into myself. I was more than ready for it.

It felt good, as usual; filling me, reaching deep inside as his strong body settled into place between my open thighs. And then, as my vagina got wetter, he started to go at it. Harder, faster, like a madman.

He bounced me across the bed, pulled me back, fucked the shit out of me, his big frame driving his big cock in and out at a machinegun rhythm. His muscles rippled, his hands held me tight, he was amazing, and rather frightening. This wasn’t the gentle lovemaking we’d done before. This was another Hank, a wild crazy fucker. He was Jekal and Hyde; and Hyde was doing me good. My long pale limbs were flailing around him, I was helpless, attached to a roller coaster of wild sexuality as that big cock used me.

I came hard, he wasn’t fazed. He kept fucking, he had to be on top, there was no changing positions or anything. He made me come again, he was my hero, my man, my mountain of muscle, and that big hard cock never faltered.

He finally came, and it was a release of more than semen; it was a release of tension. The orgasm was his remedy. And I needed it too, it was a great dose.

He groaned as he ejaculated inside me, and after his spasms ended, his wild eyes returned to normal, his face relaxed into the man I knew again.

“Shit baby, are you ok?” he asked softly, his rod soft now and still inside me.

“Yes, very ok.” I assured him with a kiss.

And then he slept; the dogs and I stayed in the room, guarded him, it was our turn to look after the safety of our man.

This was what I could give him; he slept soundly, because he knew I was as paranoid as he was. I stroked his wide damp back, and he sighed as his big strong body relaxed.

Hank was a trained soldier. He had guns, strength, and a big powerful body. He could creep like a cat, pounce like a lion. Yet he was a wreck afterwards. I wasn’t like that at all; I could kill the captured man as easily as pouring a cup of coffee, and I knew I’d hardly feel a thing except satisfaction.

He is a human; I’m a monster.

I looked into the security monitors, considering my options. There was a hit out on me; there was no way to know when or where it would come from next. I couldn’t stay with Hank.

I should break away while I still had the will. I could keep this name and move to a state where I could practice medicine privately without suffering through an internship. Avoid registering on any database.

Unattached, I could go back to sucking off strangers, or find a few regulars like I did in medical school.

Or, since I could still pass as a teenager, I could get another name and go back to high school. Start fresh, fuck random teenagers, and try to avoid being found again. It would hurt; I was used to that, I could take it.

What about Hank though? He was my opposite really. He was all physical strength, practical manual skills. He was old and tough physically and at the same time vulnerable emotionally.

I’d committed to work at the hospital; I liked it here. I had good prospects and my ID was usable. A whole life was there for me. Friends, colleagues, a career with good pay, respect, a home, 2 dogs, and a good man.

It seemed so close, yet so out of reach. How could I find the source of the danger, and kill him? Because I would do it if I could.

Connie came to the house the next day, accompanied by the small ancient silent Asian man in the ill fitting suite, who she introduced as “Rinpoche”. She was back to her confident self again, striding along energetically, her eyes sharp and her words clear.

“I know everything now. I know who is selling our information, and how to prove it. I know who is paying to eliminate you, I know where he is too. I know enough to get them.”

“How?”

“It’s magic.” She said with a laugh, as if it was a joke. “The man Hank captured was paid to kill you. He’s a contract killer, he’s killed many men, a couple of women, and even children. I know this, but I can’t prove it in court, he’s been quite careful about leaving evidence behind. He’ll do a year or two for cutting through your fence while carrying a gun, then he’ll be released.”