It Happened One Halloween — A Romance Between Halloweens Copyright by Joesephus ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Synopsis: As a US Attorney tries to build a case a reporter tries to build something else. This is a very slow story and what little sex there is doesn't start until Chapter 3. Codes: MF slow rom ----------------------------------------------------------------------- I would like to thank CopyCarver, and SweetErika for their help in getting this story readable. The mistakes that remain are mine. This story was written with MS Word. I used things like bold and italics to make dialogue more understandable. Those were lost when I converted this to TXT format. If you wish to read the version with the formats You can find them posted on other sites. I would suggest you search for the title and Joesephus. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 1 Crammed into my tiny cubical at the San Antonio Express-News, I admired my copy of last week's paper one more time, before I returned to studying the email. With an effort of will I clamped down on my daydreams. Our email system provides the location of incoming emails and this one had set off career fantasies. The words were simple: "I read your story on Halloween. I think you'll be interested in meeting me. You said you are a second-degree black belt. If you'll reply to joesephus @ gmail dot com with a time and the name of your dojo, we could meet there." It was the hidden sender address that had gotten my full attention. Now, why would someone, probably a lawyer, in the United States Attorney's office want to meet with a reporter? Why would he make such a clumsy attempt to try to hide his identity? He referenced my story, and while I was inordinately proud of it, it was because it was not only my first by-line but it was also on the front page! Okay, it was the front page of the lifestyle section but still it was above the fold. I didn't write the mundane headline, "Keep Your Kids Safe While They Trick Or Treat," and I would have chosen a larger and more distinctive font for the byline, "by Morgan Madison." I'd tried to avoid most of the clichés by giving real-life examples of what had gone wrong for friends and employees of the paper. I'd started with my own worst Halloween. When I was in fourth grade, all my friends were sated from the sack of our neighborhood and had gone home. I remained hungry for new conquests, so I went alone to a near by subdivision, South Shore Estates. The houses there sold for more than six times what the ones around me did; I was certain I'd make out like the pirate of my costume, and I had! My shopping bag was completely full and I'd just left their gates when I was accosted by two older boys. "Looks like you got real haul" the larger of them said. Like a fool I held it out to show my loot. "Yes, the people there are real generous." His hand snaked out and grabbed my sack. At first I though he just wanted to see what I had, but he wouldn't give it back. When I demanded it, he hit me, hard, in the stomach and knocked me to the ground, bringing tears to my eyes. "Nothing better than taking candy from a cry baby!" he said turning his back on me in contempt. "Come on, we've got all we need," he yelled over his shoulder as he jogged off. Just before the others ran I yelled, "I'm going to call the police and they'll put you in jail!" I ran all the way home, where my father got in the car and cruised the area, looking for the boys. We didn't find them, and when he got the whole story of where I'd gone alone... well, he took his board of education and applied it to my seat of knowledge. I hadn't mentioned that last part in the article, but I did say he enrolled me in Ta Kwon Do lessons where I eventually got my second-degree black-belt. My article ended with the normal warning that you didn't have to suspect your neighbor's cookies but must take reasonable care with strangers. On reflection, I thought perhaps my closing line --"all children should be taught what a real policeman looked like and that they should be instructed to go to them if they were ever in trouble"--might have struck a cord with my not-so-secret prosecutor. I hoped the overall tone of my article had conveyed the impression that I was pro-law enforcement, which I had been ever since that night. I may have come from a blue-collar family and gone to a blue-blooded school, Columbia School of Journalism, but I was as red-blooded as any in the red state of Texas. My neighborhood in Corpus Christi was only a couple of miles from the big Naval Air Station, so we had a lot of sailors and Marines for neighbors. Our family always supported the troops! I took a deep breath and tried to get my excitement under control. The United States Attorney is a political appointment and the main office for this district is here in San Antonio. I didn't think for a second that Jimmy Seton, a starter on the 1983 Championship Longhorn baseball team, would be contacting a rookie reporter like me. I knew it would be one of the junior staff members, not even a full Assistant US Attorney. Still, a solid source in that office could get me out of the lifestyle section and into hard news reporting. I had to be very careful. The guy was trying to set up a very private meeting and probably wouldn't acknowledge that he was a Fed. What I couldn't know was if this would be a sanctioned meeting or if he was out on his own. With only the routing information I couldn't determine who in that office had sent the email. But it was pretty common for prosecutors to try to get the press on their side to influence the jury pool. If this was one of the newer prosecutors, he might be looking to build a relationship with someone who would give him some column space, something more established reporters with more senior sources might not do. I called up our morgue to search for pictures and bio data of all the lawyers in that office, and I tried to guess which one I was hoping to meet. I gave myself a mental shake. I was building castles in the sky again, and I hadn't even seen the guy yet. It could be nothing... but my heart was still beating fast as I pressed the send button to set up the meeting. I also had my fingers crossed. I'd recognized one of the new guys. He wouldn't know me but I knew a bit more about him than his bio. I made sure that I got to my dojo early to see if I could spot someone who looked out of place. My contact was unmistakable, not many men wear a men-in-black outfit to a dojo. I only got a glimpse of his face before he turned his back to me. A glimpse was all I needed. It was Tyler Gonzo. I'm a Texan, fourth generation, and I love the things that Texan love. I'd been dove and duck hunting from the time I could hold a shotgun. I never missed a football game in high school and missed it when I was in NYC. I mention this by way of explaining that while I loved football as much as any Texan, my first love was basketball. I'd never met Tyler. He came from across town and went to Miller High School, the "tough" school. I went to King and was a freshman when we played Miller for the district championship. We got creamed. The reason was Tyler Gonzo. He was a senior and a one-man army. I hated what he did to us, but I'd loved watching him play. He had already signed with Sam Houston State University, but I'd been surprised that he hadn't gone with one of the bigger schools. Now, as I studied his back, I decided it was probably his height. He was tall, but not for a basketball player. I guessed 6'3" or maybe 6'4" I walked toward him, extended my hand and said, "Hi Tyler, I'm Morgan and I'm glad to finally meet you in person, even if you did ruin my childhood." He turned, his look of shock turning to something else as he blurted, "You're a girl!" I stared at him with my mouth open. No, I wasn't 'offended' by his 'sexist' comment. I'm used to being mistaken for a man because of my name. My standard comeback was "Yes, I know, but there was a beautiful woman named Morgan Fairchild about the time I was born, and Morgan Freeman wasn't a star then." The reason I was gulping like a goldfish was that Tyler had become the most beautiful man I'd seen in my entire life. My heart was f?uttering and I experienced a sensation deep in my groin I'd never felt before, including the two times I'd had sex. I was incapable of speech. All I could see were the most expressive eyes I've ever seen in my life. They were a light hazel with flecks of green and I think I could have stared into them for hours. I've never been unable to understand the word 'besotted, ' but now I was so besotted I didn't realize that he was mumbling excuses until he said, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come... This whole thing was crazy," and started to leave. When I grabbed his arm I had no idea what I was going to say, I just knew I couldn't let him leave. "Don't let your chivalry get in the way; you know I'm a black belt. Can the case you're working on really be that dangerous?" I had no idea why I'd said that, it just sort of popped into my head. I continued to babble, "Look, I believe in journalistic impartiality as an item of faith, but I come from a law and order family and I'll make sure you get a fair break in anything I publish." Tyler looked confused, but at least he stopped trying to leave. I saw those beautiful eyes blink several times, and I knew he was reassessing his decision. I was prepared to beg, but he stopped pulling away. The silence extended and I clamped down hard on my diarrhea of the mouth as I watched him think. Finally, nodding his head slowly, he said, "I'm working on a case that involves smuggling and selling slaves. It's pretty unsavory and I guess I was a little reticent about getting a woman involved." He had the slightest accent and I loved the deep bass that delivered it. I broke in, "Who would be more sympathetic than a woman to the plight of those poor women?" It was like I'd flipped a switch in him, his whole demeanor changed and I saw an ardent crusader. "A lot of people don't see prostitution as a crime and even more don't like to deal with anything that hints of immigration. This isn't a very popular issue..." I'd heard of the pimps selling each other prostitutes called "the slave trade," but I'd always considered it wild hyperbole, certainly not worthy of making it a federal case. Still, I would have supported gun control if that's what it took to keep him talking. "I can't say I know very much about the issue. Have you cleared this contact with your boss, is this background or deep background? I swear to God that I'll protect your identity either way. I'll go to jail until I rot before I reveal a source." He looked a little disconcerted, "Uh, I did tell my boss that I was coming to meet you, but I didn't expect to be discussing my case..." I cut him off. "I do understand, you just wanted to meet me and feel me up... uh, I mean out..." Tyler had very fair skin and I've never seen a man blush that hard. I was shocked by my faux pas, but his embarrassment was so profound I don't think he noticed my own blush. Then I saw his eyes widen and I was relieved that he knew I hadn't tossed in a gratuitous sexual innuendo. "Look, why don't you go back to your boss and tell him that you have the most sympathetic reporter in San Antone who is just dying to do anything she can to get your side of this issue out." I whipped out my card and jotted my home and cell phone numbers as I said, "This is a big deal for me. Normally a reporter as junior as I doesn't get a chance like this. This could be my big break. Please, how about it, to balance breaking my heart back in Corpus..." I saw a strange expression on his face and continued, "I'm a big round ball fan. When you eliminated King my freshman year it broke my heart, so don't you owe me something?" I expected a smile; instead I got a funny thoughtful look. With a slow nod he said, "Yeah, I owe you. I'll talk to my boss and give you a call to let you know what he says. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you with my remark about being a woman. I was just startled, and I don't want you to think I'm some sort of sexist pig. Some of my best friends are women." He finished with a weak grin. I tried to make professional and determined eye-to-eye contact.?I gave it up and pleaded, "Be sure you call me, Tyler..." I tried for my firmest voice and continued, "... or I will be calling you!" His grin disappeared, he nodded and rushed off. I walked, on wobbly legs, into my dojo and collapsed into the first chair I saw. What had just happened to me? I've never reacted to a man like that. I'd had sex with two men and both times were such disasters that I hadn't dated for years after each one. The first was during my junior year, after prom. It was painful and quick, which is more than I can say about the hell that followed. My blood-soiled panties were taped inside his locker with the others in his "collection." He never asked me out again, but for the rest of high school I got crude and lewd comments. I was branded "an easy lay" and that drove me out of the state for college. Columbia was a great choice but I would have gone to Rice or UT if high school hadn't been such hell. My second attempt at making love was at Columbia, again in my junior year. He was the first guy I'd dated there, and we'd dated for months. He never put any pressure on me until, out of the blue, he asked if we could make love. I was sure I was in love and I trusted him. It was worse than the first time, awful in a whole different way. We spent almost two hours getting him hard and he went soft before he came. That's when he told me he was trying to find out of if he was pure gay or bi. Guess which way he decided. I hadn't found anyone interesting enough to date since. Not that guys were storming my gates asking for dates. I'm not God's gift to men. I'm tall, almost 5'9" and raw-boned. My face won't stop traffic but it might attract a few horses. My hair is so unruly I can't find a beautician who will take me as a regular. I guess the most flattering word to describe my figure would be fit. I do go to the gym three times a week and run four miles three days a week, generally in under thirty minutes. All that exercise makes me hungry so I carry a few extra pounds... in all the wrong places. Boobs? I'll never forget a "JOKE" someone "let" me overhear before I graduated from Columbia. A young man had gone to a department store to buy a bra for his new wife. The saleswoman asked him what size and the man was clueless. The woman asked if his wife's breasts were about the size of melons, and the man shook his head. Cantaloupes drew the same response, as did grapefruits and oranges. Finally the woman asked "about the size of eggs?" The man's face lit up and he answered "Yes! Fried!" That one really hurt. I do have boobs, but they're too small for my frame. Okay, only one of my boobs is a fried egg. In addition to everything else, my boobs are vastly different sizes. My right is an A cup. As I sat, I thought about how I was going to get Tyler interested. People were always telling me I had a sparkling personality; maybe I could get someone to snooker him into a blind date. I was still thinking about it the next day at work when he called me. "Morgan? Would you be able to meet me and my boss for lunch? I don't know if you've heard of Alamo Café. It's across town but I think you'll like it. It should also be private." "Will this be on the record or off?" "It needs to be off, but if we can work things out, I think you'll have a series you can be proud of." My heart was beating so fast my fingers throbbed with my pulse, making it difficult to write down the directions to the place. When I arrived, Tyler was already there, seated right next Jimmy Seton himself. I hadn't expected that. It threw a monkey wrench in my plans to flirt, to the best of my limited ability, during lunch. After our entrées were served Mr. Seton casually said, "Morgan, I have a rather unusual proposal for you. I've looked at your impressive academic honors, and I've not only read what you've published here but what you published in the Columbia paper. You have a real talent, and I expect you to have a national audience in a few years. I want your help and I think we can help you get that national column. We have a serious leak in our office. Someone is delivering very sensitive information to one of the more brutal prison drug gangs. It's resulted in several deaths and we haven't been able to narrow it down, beyond that it must be an attorney in my office." I felt my eyes get wide and my competitive juices kicked into high gear. "Just what are you offering, and what sort of restrictions are you going to place on me?" Mr. Seton gave me one of those smiles politicians seem to be born with, "What I'm asking is that you pretend to date Tyler for a few months. I expect you to hear a lot of information and, subject to your journalistic standards, you're free to publish all of it. In fact, our hook is that we'll want to make certain that you do publish a few of the things you hear." I felt a hollowness form inside, the worm was wiggling; I just had to make sure I didn't get hooked. "I won't betray a source and I certainly won't help you to set up someone for criminal charges..." Mr. Seton's smiled grew bigger, "Of course not. Look, what we're doing is closely compartmenting information about this gang. We're also making it obvious that we're tightening security. It won't take our leaker long to figure out that he or she can use you to send information to the gang. Oh, we might protest the publication of sensitive information publicly, which will help both our careers. Based on what you publish we'll know who our guilty party is. Our only restriction is that you not reveal our deal until next Halloween or until we charge someone, whichever comes first." Oh, that worm was wiggling and I was getting so hungry. I bit my lip to keep from blurting out Yes! "I don't suppose there's any problem with discussing this with my editor first?" I think my heart stopped beating as I waited for Mr. Seton to answer. Just when I was about to say I didn't need to talk to her he said, "No, I don't mind. But I will ask that you limit this information to her and perhaps the publisher, no one else. I'll give her a call to alert her about how important this is. I have to admit, I was a bit skeptical. I thought Tyler was just trying to find an excuse to date a very beautiful young woman, but after reading your work and talking to you I think you're a perfect choice. Besides, maybe seeing you on Tyler's arm will give some other girls ideas. I keep telling Tyler that all work and no play..." He paused. "I'm sorry Morgan, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I've known Tyler since he was an undergrad working as an intern in my office. Normally, I wouldn't agree to something like this that had a social element, but I have every confidence that Tyler won't cross the line between business and private life. You don't need to actually date, just pretend to when you're around people from my office. Will you be able to do that?" I started to speak and my voice didn't work, I finally managed, "I think I can force myself, I'd do anything for the sake of a story." I'd tried to make it sound ironic and funny, but it came out forced and I saw Tyler wince. I was so flustered that I couldn't think of a thing to say to fix what I'd said. Just as I was about to simply blurt out that I'd hoped Tyler would ask me out on his own, Mr. Seton stood and announced that he was leaving. "I have an important meeting to prepare for and I don't want anyone to see us together by chance until you and Tyler have established yourselves as a couple. Thank you, Miss Madison. This is important." As soon as he'd left, I turned to Tyler to try to explain what I'd meant. Before I could say a word he said, "I want to assure you that I'll be very proper. If you meet someone after we've established ourselves as a couple, I'll let it be known that our relationship has morphed into close friendship. After that, you can bring your boyfriend with you." "No, I don't want to do that!" I blurted. Before he could react I rushed to add, "It'll be much better if we just date, unless you have someone you're interested in seeing..." He looked down at my almost uneaten plate, "If you really want to hear about how inept I am at g?tting a real date, I'll talk until you finish your meal." I had finished. As I said, I carried a few extra pounds and this was not a low-cal meal. However, I would have eaten three orders if it meant that Tyler would keep talking to me. I began eating, slowly. I rationalized that eating quickly is a sure way to gain weight. "No, I'm afraid I'm not very good around women..." He then proceeded to prove just how false that was. I've never met such a charming, interesting and funny man or woman in my life. I was hanging on his every word and laughing like a school kid at his smallest jokes. By the time I'd finished eating, I knew I was totally infatuated with the man. I also felt like a bloated whale. I've never understood women who are bulimic, but I did consider a quick trip to the lady's room. Then I thought about what I'd do if someone heard me. Besides, I needed to get to my editor stat! I practically ran to my editor's office only to find she'd already talked to Mr. Seton. We had a private meeting with the publisher where we worked out the logistics of the project. I'd always heard about circles of power, but I never expected to see the wheels work. Despite external appearances they work very well indeed. At the end of the meeting the publisher cleared his throat nervously and said, "I'm not happy with some aspects of this deal. I want to make it very clear that if you have any reason to think that you've been given false information I want you to say so in your article. I'm especially not happy with the dating aspect of it. I certainly don't want you to feel any pressure to go through with it..." My editor interrupted, "I think that if I'm reading the signs right, Morgan looks at the dating as one of the big incentives. Am I right?" I tried not to blush as I nodded. The publisher continued, "Don't let your personal emotions taint the story. Lay out the facts and let the chips fall where they may. Despite my reservations, I want this story. No matter what position you take on legalizing drugs, these prison gangs running the drug trade here are vicious thugs. Since you're new to San Antonio, you might not know the Essa is the worst of the lot. Their name has two meaning one is sort of a shorthand for 'our thing.' The other is a mangled 'SA' to show they're from San Antonio. I can't support a war on prostitution, but if they're forcing women into it, that's just another reason to put an end to them. Forced prostitution is slavery." He continued, his voice heavy with real passion. "I've been a member of the Boston-based American Anti-Slavery Group for several months. I've been looking for ways to get them more publicity. They have an excellent website, but most people refuse to believe that slavery still exists!" When I heard that, I tried not to drool. Not only a good story but a topic that's one of the publisher's pet causes? This story could find national legs! We met for another hour, working on ground rules, before I was given a green light. I would continue to be based in the Lifestyle section, but my main focus would be working with the US Attorney's office. I was practically floating as I went home, this was the sort of assignment that a reporter normally didn't get until they'd been working for ten years and I was getting a shot in my second year! I called Tyler as soon as I got back to my desk. He asked if I was free the next night and I was waiting on the curb for him at six when he picked me up in one of those "unmarked" solid black SUVs with heavily tinted windows. As we sat in the back seat an agent drove us all over San Antonio, frequently talking to someone in hushed tones over the radio. Frankly, it scared me. I've seen things like that in the movies and always thought they were melodramatic. This wasn't, and no one could miss the tension between Tyler and the driver. Within minutes, I was swiveling my head just like they were. I don't know how long I'd had a death grip on Tyler's arm before I became aware that I was holding it. Strangely, once I became aware that he wasn't pulling away I f?lt safer. It annoyed me, I've never been the wilting lily type, but it was only with determination that I kept from snuggling into him for comfort. It got better, but the more I learned about the Essa the more I understood that if this was a game, it was a deadly one. It was full dark when I saw the agent reach up and punch the garage door opener. A few seconds later we pulled into the driveway of a perfectly normal looking house. Without even pausing, we drove right into the garage and the door closed behind us before we came to a full stop. There was an airport type metal detector at the door between the garage and the house, and as I learned later, all the other entrances were sealed. All this added to the surreal effect of sitting down in a very ordinary den to meet the person I was here to interview. Her name was Lupe and she looked about fifteen, perhaps sixteen. My Spanish is at the level of "where is the bathroom," so Tyler translated for me. After a few pleasantries I asked her age and was suspicious when she said nineteen. "Oh yes, my papers said I was fifteen not eighteen when I flew here, but that was to help get me through customs. If I were stopped they would treat me as a juvenile. That meant I'd probably get little of no jail time." Despite the aura of innocence, I had trouble seeing Lupe as a prostitute, I think it was her eyes. I wondered how she was lured into it. When I asked, she began her tale. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 2: Lupe's Journey I was very nervous when the two gringos arrived. I knew what kind of danger I was in, but I was determined to protect others from what had been done to me. The woman didn't speak Spanish so Tyler, who had asked me to meet with her, was there to translate. After a few standard questions the lady, Morgan, asked me to tell my story as I wanted. She said she'd ask more questions if she needed to when I was finished. I looked at Tyler. I trusted him, I was still alive and by this time I could read men. I took a deep breath and tried to remember the innocent girl I'd been when this journey to hell began. I had been so unworldly back then. "I'm from a small village in Peru. When I finished my school I didn't have anyone I wanted to marry so my girlfriend and I went to Lima to look for work. It didn't take long for one of the drug men to approach us to be mules. The pay was fabulous, two thousand American dollars, enough to buy a nice house back in my village. We weren't hard to convince. "They sent us by plane, the first one I'd ever been on, to Caracas, Venezuela. Since Caracas is an oil center, there are a lot of people working on temporary assignments at oil company headquarters in Houston. Unaccompanied children flying to Houston to meet parents don't draw as much suspicion from US custom agents as do adults on flights from Peru or Columbia. "From the time I agreed to smuggle drugs, they had me practice swallowing large grapes and small figs whole. There is a trick to doing that, but once you learn it's not hard, and it's a skill that I needed later. After we landed in Caracas they took us to an apartment were we watched the pellets being prepared for us. They used two condoms to seal each pellet, then dipped them in a sweet sauce that had something in it to give us constipation. The whole process was timed. We were given a marker pellet first and then we waited ten hours before we began swallowing real ones. That was horrible-- for the next twelve hours we drank nothing, ate nothing but pellets. Our stomachs would bloat and one of the men would massage us to help the pellet move into our intestines. I swallowed 114 pellets before I passed my marker, which was the signal I was ready to leave. "I was cramping when I boarded the plane at 9:00 AM for a flight scheduled to land a little after 1:00 PM in Houston, Texas. I can't tell you how miserable I was. When the airplane started to take off, I was terrified. I swear as I was pushed back in my seat, I could feel every one of those pellets inside m?. They hurt like nothing I've felt before or since. "I knew there were other mules on the plane, but I've never felt so alone or so scared. Because I was supposed to be fifteen, I had a tag announcing that I was to be met at Houston by a relative. I didn't know it, but the stewardess in charge of me worked for the gang. She kept a constant eye on me. She made sure I didn't eat my in-flight meal and only gave me glasses of ice to quiet my hunger. I thought I was just lucky, but I was carrying a cargo worth many thousands of dollars and I was well guarded. "About an hour before we were due to land, I began to feel the need to go to the bathroom. We had been warned that if that happened we were to use the toothpaste we'd been given to clean the pellet and to re-swallow whatever we passed. "I was terrified. Each pellet we swallowed had been carefully weighed and counted. We were warned that if we didn't deliver the full weight, not only would we be killed but our families would be killed too. "When I could stand the pressure no longer, I took my travel bag containing my toothpaste and went to the airplane's bathroom. As I'd been instructed, I kept my panties on as I strained to pass the pellet. When it came out, I washed my waste from it and my panties as I'd been taught in Caracas. It was only when I checked before I started to swallow it that I noticed that the condoms had opened. "I'd been scared before, but now I couldn't control my water. Although nothing had been said, everyone knew what happened if the condoms broke. The mule would die even if they were rushed to the hospital. I had overheard one of the men making the pellets talking about a mule who died in the United States. The team at the other end had gutted him like a fish to get the heroin then dumped his body in the trash. He hadn't received last rites or even a Christian burial. His soul had gone straight to hell. I didn't know what to do; I did know that I couldn't just dump the pellet in the airplane toilet. It might be found and US Customs would know to look for me. "I seriously thought about swallowing it. Even though I knew it would kill me, at least my family would be safe. I've often wished I had, but I was too scared of going to hell. Not only would I die un-shriven, but to swallow it knowing it would kill me would be suicide, a mortal sin. "I'm not ashamed to say I prayed until the voice of the pilot told me I had to return to my seat. I had taken a vomit bag to the little restroom and I carefully wrapped the pellet and took it back to my seat. I was so scared, but I washed as well as I could. I was so afraid that some of the powder had gotten on me and one of the drug dogs would smell it. "As soon as I left the plane, I told the stewardess escorting me that I had to go to the bathroom. In the stall I flushed the pellet. When I came out I told the stewardess that I had been a bit sick to my stomach. It was only when she offered me the spray that deadens the nerves in your throat to help swallow, that I knew she'd been watching me. "I broke down and cried. She was almost as scared as I when she understood that I'd flushed the pellet Part of her job was to make sure I brought all the pellets to my contact. She was also scared because she said if we delayed too much getting to customs it would make them suspicious. She gave me a crushed pill to calm my nerves and watched as I carefully washed my hands and arms to remove any trace of the powder. She did not walk me all the way to customs, but had alerted my contact somehow as I retrieved my luggage. "I cleared customs without any sort of search and in public my contact looked like the lonely, loving father he was pretending to be. As soon as we reached the motel, he became a monster. He slapped me very hard several time and called me all sorts of names. He made me strip, the first time I'd ever done that in front of a man, and he stuck his finger into me to see if I was trying to hide the pellet. "Once he was convinced that I wasn't hiding it, he stopped hitting me but he never stopped ber?ting me. However, by that point his words had little effect. I needed to pass the first pellet. I expected to be given a honey pot to pass it into. Instead, the man watching me forced me to squat, naked, in the bathtub. He closed the drain and watched me grunt out pellet after pellet. My waste mingled with my "cargo." He wore a swimmer's nose plug to block the fetid smell of my waste coating each pellet. I was not offered one. When I had passed all I could, I was forced to wash my waste from each pellet, I was not offered plastic gloves. Then, still naked, I went back to the bedroom and lay uncovered on the bed while I watched the pellets being weighed and tallied. As I lay there waiting for the next pellets to pass, the men would leer at me and make comments on my body. I tried to relax so my body would be ready to pass more soon." I looked over at Morgan and when I saw her expression, I broke down and wept in shame, my head bowed, my hands hiding my face. Tyler spoke smoothing words, and he said something that made me feel better. "Aren't you glad that after all you've been through you can react like a normal woman and not what they tried to make you?" I nodded my head and continued telling my story "The process in the bathtub was repeated over and over for twelve hours until I had passed all of the pellets. Seeing them as they came out, covered in my waste, I could not imagine that sane people would actually snort the cocaine or inject the heroin I had dumped into that bathtub. As great as my fear, I still pitied those so addicted to the white powders. "When the last pellet had been cleaned and weighed, my real nightmare began. The man who picked me up at the airport announced that I had cost the gang almost fifteen thousand dollars for the pellet I had flushed. I was responsible and if I didn't pay they would kill me and all my family. "Of course my pay for this run was forfeit, and since I'd proved unreliable, I would not be allowed to be a mule again. I was told that the only way I could earn the money would be by becoming a whore." Tyler interrupted me. "The pellet that you flushed was probably talc or some other harmless white powder. It's a common trick used on young women to force them into prostitution, or men into virtual slave labor." I nodded, "Yes, when I heard a man talking about tricking another woman, I decided that I would risk coming to the FBI. I didn't trust the local police, or even the DEA. I had been forced to service too many of them. However, the last FBI agent who used me had a gang tattoo. I thought if they were faking an FBI agent in San Antonio perhaps they could be trusted here. "I should tell you that we only stayed at one city for a couple of weeks, before moving. That was so we couldn't get close to any of the regulars, and I suppose, also to give the regulars new blood. The FBI arranged to bring my family to this country, and so far they've protected us, but I get ahead of my story." After Tyler translated our interchange Morgan said she needed to go to the bathroom. While I waited for her to return I thought about the rest of what I needed to tell her. As bad as the trip had been, my hell only began when I'd finished my job as a mule. "I remembered how cold and empty my belly felt when he said "It's time to start your new life." "I fought back tears, but I wasn't surprised that I was being told I would have to be a whore. Because, while I was a virgin, I couldn't count the times my mother or some other older person warned that a young girl who made the trip 'up North' always ended up selling her body. It was used like American children hear about the monster under the bed. I heard, but it didn't sound as hard as working in the fields. "Perhaps because when I pictured myself in that role, I thought of it as wearing fabulous clothes and being a pampered mistress to a series of virile and handsome young men who fought for my favors. Besides, I'd known too many young women who had returned from El Norte and told about making ten or even fifteen dollars an hour cleaning hou?es or taking care of little children. They all spoke of living in mansions with all their expenses paid by powerful Yankees. They also swore that they returned with their virtue intact. "The harsh reality was that as I lay naked on a filthy bed, I listened as several phone calls were made offering my virginity and my services as a whore. After one call, I was forced to stand in front of a computer camera. Standing next to the bed where I would start my new profession, my breasts were fondled. I was then forced to bend over and open myself for inspection of my privates by an unseen buyer. "Many times I'd taken a chicken or a duck to our market to sell for cash. I know how those animals felt as I stood there. I remember telling myself that as the daughter of a farmer I knew that life doesn't always work out as you plan. Sometimes the rains come at the right time and the harvest is good. Sometimes they don't come and the harvest is not good. Worst of all is when they come during the harvest and all is spoiled. I knew my harvest was spoiled and there was nothing I could do about it. "I was only mildly interested when I heard my virginity sold for two hundred dollars, but I was scared when I first saw the man who would take it. He was very old, probably fifty, and what he lacked in hair on his head, he made up for with the size of his belly. I didn't know then that when the man is fat you should always try to be on top. "He took my hand and led me to the bed. He had me lie down in the center. He took off his pants, but he left his tee-shirt on. With one hand he began to play with himself, the other went between my legs and began to rub me. I was very dry, so he leaned over and drooled spit on my cunt before he began to rub me again. "I closed my eyes and I tried to pretend I was someplace else, but I could hear the drug smuggler making comments. My customer, who later became my first whoremonger, laughed at me as he continued to rub me. Once, when his dry finger rubbed my nub very hard, I flinched and closed my legs. His response was to spit on my slit again make me spread my legs wider and raise my knees. "I'll never forget when I felt that first tingle. I was embarrassed and I felt my face flush. I expected more laughter but for the first time he spoke soothing words. I was grateful and shifted to get more comfortable as he continued to rub my private place. After that, instead of spitting on me, he would occasionally slip a finger inside me to get it wet with my own juice and spread that all over my bottom. "I remember taking a deep breath when I thought my body was ready for what he wanted to do. I expected him to crawl on top of me, but instead he began to massage my breast. I didn't like it. Even though he was only the second person to put his finger in me, touching my breast seemed more intimate and I didn't want that. "All I really wanted was for it to be over, so I opened my eyes and looked up at him with what I hoped was a seductive expression. Miraculously, my voice didn't crack as I told him I was ready. He asked me twice if I was sure, and both times I nodded that I was. "After the second time he moved over me. I remember feeling his belly before I felt his cock. I expected it to hurt when he entered me, but it didn't. It didn't feel good exactly, more like having an itch scratched. He didn't put all his weight on me that time, and after a few minutes of pumping he had me kneel on the bed while he took me from behind. He used his hands on me to make me cum twice for him, but he never came. "When he'd had enough he just slapped me on the bottom and told me that it was time to go to work. He offered me to the drug man for fifty dollars but that piece of shit didn't want me. I can't tell what it felt like to know that the man who had watched me lose my virginity didn't think I was worth fifty dollars. "I hid my pain. I was determined that they wouldn't see my tears. I stood there as they discussed how much the whoremonger would pay the drug runner each week until my debt was satisfied. Finally they agr?ed on twenty-five hundred up front and five hundred a week until my debt was paid off. I remember thinking that at that rate I should be free in about six months. But you're never free. They always have some reason not to pay you, or you begin using drugs. I've never seen a single girl pay off her nut and go free, not one." Morgan left the room, and Tyler brought me a bottle of Inca Kola. I was touched by his thoughtfulness to provide this touch of my homeland. When Morgan returned I told the rest of my story. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- I sat back when Lupe finished her story and wondered how I'd write this up for a family newspaper. When I'd told Lupe I needed to go to the bathroom, it was true, but I also needed to compose myself. I'd never heard of anything like the horror she'd experienced as a mule. I also wanted to absorb and evaluate what Tyler was translating. Lupe used enough broken English so that I was pretty sure she knew he was being accurate. Then there was that last qualifier she'd tossed in about being safe "so far." I had very good vibes about Tyler personally, and now those were matched professionally. If the man wasn't my perfect knight in shining armor, well, I hadn't seen any rust marks. I was even less prepared for her dead eyes as she told of what she'd been through as a prostitute. I couldn't imagine servicing thirty men in one day. The worst was when she told of being confined to a tiny room and not knowing what her next customer would look like or what he would do to her until her door opened. Only now that it was over did I realize that I'd sat spellbound through the whole tale. I don't know if it was Tyler's translation or a natural eloquence on her part, but I'd felt like I'd been there. This was going to be one hell of a story. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 3: Morgan's Quest It took me almost four weeks to realize that Tyler wasn't quite perfect. In fact he was driving me crazy. Oh, I'd gotten four great stories out of our relationship, but I was seriously considering buying a vibrator. Tyler would take me to some nice place for dinner, then to a movie or some loud dancing club. If we talked, it would be all business, except at meals. He was a member of the clean-plate club. Okay not really, but as soon as I finished eating our personal conversation was over. So I ate slowly and I cleaned my plate... and I'd gained almost four pounds. The more I discovered about him, the more I admired him. He was a real Horatio Alger story, the only child of a single mother. She died of a lingering disease just before he went into seventh grade. He never said, but I think it was AIDS. Alone with no other relatives, he became a ward of the foster care system. One foster dad introduced him to basketball and that proved to be his ticket out of the barrio. He'd been promoted to an Assistant US Attorney and then to a lead attorney, just a few months out of law school. The US Attorney's office was filled with green lawyers looking for experience, but to reach his level that quickly was almost unprecedented. On his first case Tyler was expected to be little more than research assistant. Then both the senior and the lead attorney were riding together when a car ran a red light and hit them on the first day of the trial. The trial was an attempted murder by a gang member at the Federal prison in Bastrop. When the two US Attorneys didn't appear, the defense lawyer asked for a mistrial. Tyler stepped in and discovered everyone was one of those people who excelled in the courtroom. Many brilliant lawyers would become physically ill at the thought of facing a judge and jury. Tyler made special connection with juries, and wasn't rattled by even the most fearsome judges. This gang case was his first major investigation. He had a whole gaggle of lawyers and staff assigned to him. All that was great, but in his ever-so-proper behavior towards me, I hadn't been kissed until earlier tonight. That was only because I a?ted very out of character. We were hosting a small post-Thanksgiving dinner party at Tyler's apartment. Sitting around a fireplace sipping drinks, the conversation ebbed and flowed. Tyler and I were on the couch and he had his arm around me as he does when we're around others from the DOJ. Out of the blue, one of the other attorneys said, "You know, you guys have been dating for a month and I've never seen you kiss." Tyler jumped right in, "Morgan's an old fashioned girl and you know how they are about public displays of affection..." I interrupted, "Oh no, I'm not. I thought it was one of those Hispanic things," and I proceeded to lean over him and give him the best kiss I'd ever given anyone. I didn't plan to pull back until he knew he'd been kissed! When he began to return it, I felt my life pass before my eyes. When he stopped, I felt so boneless and breathless that I collapsed on the sofa. Can Tyler kiss! You might have heard the cliché that a kiss made my toes tingle? Well, that's not a cliché. I was flushed and I couldn't make my eyes focus. My toes were clenched so tight they hurt. Kicking off my shoes I tucked my legs under me, and leaned my head on his shoulder to gather my wits. I just was so frazzled I only heard the end of what his friend was saying. "... in public I'm not sure you'd survive if you'd started sooner." I could feel Tyler fidget. He might be great in the courtroom, but he always needs a few seconds to gather his thoughts before he responds to normal repartee. So I blurted, "All my life I've heard about Latin lovers, but I never believed it. They must have been talking about Tyler! You should see what he's like in private." That's when I made a real faux pas. I thought I was just going to give him a loving pat on the leg, but I patted a little higher than I intended. He almost bolted from the couch when I discovered that he enjoyed that kiss as much as I did. So why did he spend most of the drive home apologizing? I didn't know how to react when he said that in order to keep the target from being suspicious we'd have to kiss from time to time. I wanted to shout "it doesn't just have to be in public," but something about his tone made me rein in my excitement. Why are men so difficult? Why can't they be open like women? ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Nothing can look as dead as Texas in February. I looked out my apartment window at a dreary, drizzly day. It dismal out, it was almost enough to brighten my mood. I was in love, in love for the first time in my life, and the man wouldn't... wouldn't what? Certainly we kissed, passionately. Between work and our "dating" we'd spent more time together than most couples do in two years. We talked, endlessly, and at meals we'd bared our souls. My theory about eating slowly didn't work, I've gained over fifteen pounds and I can't seem to lose them. "He won't treat me as anything other than cover!" I announced to my empty room. Valentines Day was a week a way and I'd already discarded all sorts of schemes to let him know how I felt. I sighed heavily and picked up my cell to call Jenna. Our weekly talks were always on Saturday because we sometimes talked for hours, and minutes on Saturday were free. When Jenna answered, we spent some time catching up as former roommates and best friends will do. Jenna was still in New York, but married and already expecting their first. She finally lost patience and nailed me to the wall. "Okay, Morgan, we've talked for twenty minutes and you haven't mentioned Tyler once. If you'd broken up you'd be crying and if he'd taken you on a real date you'd be bubbly, so what are you going to do?" "I don't know! I'm guess I'm finally ready to ask for advice. My current thought is to manipulate a Janet Jackson type "wardrobe malfunction," but I'm afraid that instead of exciting him, he might die of laughter." Jenna laughed, then said, "I've never understood why you were so sensitive about your boobs. They aren't that much smaller than mine and I've never had any complaints." "Give me a break! With all the weight I've put on, let's say I've gone from a blood type of A and negative, to barely A and a B." Laughing Jenna said, "Oh Morgan, and I bet you're still buying for the A cup, aren't you? I guarantee that if Tyler isn't gay he'll love your boobs. Did any of your boyfriends ever complain?" I snorted, "No boy's ever touched them, much less seen them. The only non-medical person to see them was you. Jenna, Tyler's such a beautiful man, how's someone who looks like me ever going to get him interested?" Jenna's voice turned serious. "We've talked about this forever. You're a strikingly attractive woman, especially now that you don't look like someone trying for the heroin chic look. If you're really serious about Tyler, tell him." "And what am I supposed to do if he says he isn't interested? How could I continue to go out with him?" "You'll know where you stand and you'll act like a professional. Who knows, even if he's not interested now, seeing how you handle rejection might impress him. But I still have a crisp hundred dollar bill that says he's nuts about you." The conversation continued in the well-worn grooves created over the last six or seven talks. Then I blurted out, "I got drunk at his place last night." There was a long pause and I knew that Morgan was trying to form her words. She knew the only time I'd gotten drunk in my life was the day after my last sexual experience. With her voice full of concern she asked, "What happened?" "We were putting on another little dinner party at Tyler's place and just before the last couple left I downed two glass of port on top of two margaritas. I didn't declare my undying love, but I thought that if I were drunk I could lose enough of my inhibitions to make a pass at him. My fall-back plan was to grovel at his feet, begging him to take me to his bed." "What happened?" I didn't have to pretend I was falling-down drunk, much too drunk to drive, and I knew that Tyler had a least one past the legal limit, so I figured at the very least I'd spend the night in his bed. I did, and he slept on the couch! When he put me to bed, I tried to pull him down on top of me. He was extricating himself, when I passed out. A perfect gentleman, damn it! He was even there with hot coffee and aspirins this morning. I can't be sure but I think he woke me with a kiss to my forehead. The forehead for Pete's sake! What kind of man wakes a girl with a peck to the forehead?" Jenna laughed, "One who is kind and considerate of a girl with a hangover. Has the implication of a good morning kiss escaped you? I'm sure you weren't at your best and he still kissed you." I grinned. Jenna can always make me feel better. "I did feel like Sherman's Army had marched to the sea through my mouth. Do you really think that was a good sign?" We talked for a bit more and then, after we said good-bye, I gathered every ounce of my courage and hit my speed dial for Tyler. You've heard the expression "your heart in your throat?" Well my heart wasn't in my throat, but I could certainly feel the arteries in my neck throbbing. My heart was beating so hard I was sure he'd hear it... if he answered. In an instant my mouth had turned so dry I wasn't sure I'd be able to speak. I screwed up my face as the memory of this morning flashed through me. As soon as he'd left the bedroom, saying he was going to fix us breakfast, I'd bolted from his apartment, too embarrassed to let him see me. I don't know what he was thinking about me, but in making this call I knew I was crossing my own Rubicon. Our relationship either had to grow, or... or... or somehow I'd have to find a way to continue without the man who Plato said I'd lost in our primeval state, my other half, the man whose soul had been joined to mine forever. The phone rang again and I tried to reassure myself that if Tyler was indeed the other half of my being, then I was the other half of his. Oh God, please let it be so. "Hello Morgan, are you okay?" Damn caller ID! "I'm fine, a little embarrassed about last night." Then, before m? rationalizer could stop me with a million excellent reasons to delay, I blurted, "We have to talk. Would you mind coming over here, I'll fix you dinner..." There was a long pause, Then I thought I heard anguish in his voice when he said, "Sure Morg, I'll be there in about an hour. I'll be happy to pick up something if you don't want to cook..." As his voice was trailing off my mind was working at warp speed. An hour! How could I possible be ready in an hour, much less fix anything. Besides I didn't have anything to fix. "That would be great, I'll see you in an hour." For the next hour I was a whirling dervish of inefficiency. I didn't manage to get my place clean, myself fixed up, or seductive music picked for what I hoped would come later. I was trying, unsuccessfully for the third time, to apply my lipstick and simultaneously fix the botch I'd made of my hair when the doorbell rang. I blotted my lips, stuck my tongue out at the horrid image in the mirror, took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and marched in dirge-time to meet my fate. Tyler had a large sack that gave off the most tempting aromas of my favorite Chinese dishes. I took it from his hand, set it on the dinning table, turned and launched myself into his unsuspecting arms. I don't know if it was reflex or surprise but as he hugged me to him, with singular fierceness, sparks of passion dissipated the gloom I'd lived under all day. I silently thanked God that while men might be able to hide their emotions they can't hide their desire. Judging from what I felt, Tyler really desired me. I leaned back and pulled his head down to make him kiss me. Have I said that Tyler's kisses curl my toes? I don't know how long it went on, or when his hand moved to my bottom. I just knew that when I became aware of it, I broke the kiss and leaned back a bit. Then looking into those incredible eyes, I reached under the full skirt I chose for this very reason and pulled off my panties. I moved back into his arms and as our lips met I folded them into his back pocket. He didn't understand the symbolism of what I'd done, but he certainly didn't miss the message. In a feat of impressive strength he swept my bulk up in his arms and carried me to my bedroom. He sort of stumbled as he laid me out on my bed but that was the only stumble he made. As he lay beside me, he consumed my being as his lips touched mine. I wasn't aware that he'd lifted the loose sweater I'd picked until I felt the first set of lips to ever touch my breast. He'd taken most of my left into his mouth and the warmth melted any resistance to having him see my deformity. As he moved to my right, my nipples were so hard they were painful. When his tongue circled my areola, a static charge shot down to my sex. I grabbed his head by his ears and pulled his mouth up for a kiss. Then I did it again when I felt his kisses start to move south. As much as I wanted to experience the mysteries of oral sex, at that moment I felt I would die of emptiness if I didn't have him inside me. I reached for his zipper and made a mess of it. He pulled back a bit and I felt him open his pants just before he moved over me. I pulled my skirt up out of the way and opened my legs to let him into me. My breath whooshed out as he plunged all the way into me without hesitation or searching. A very distant portion of my brain wondered I was too big down there until I marveled at how aware I was of the shape of him inside me. I swear I could not only feel the head, but the tube that ran the length of the organ inside me. Tyler pressed our pubic bones together and my clit screamed its pleasure. At the same time he pulled back from our kiss and suddenly my sightless eyes were lost in the wonder of the beautiful soul that shown through his whiskey-colored eyes. I was no more capable of speech than I was of flight, but the language of love needs no words. Our eyes spoke and our souls heard truth deeper than any other form of communication. The sex act continued as our bodies sought ever more complete union, but our eyes were so lost ?n each other that the most massive orgasm I've ever experience almost went unnoticed. I was much more aware of the throbbing that I knew signaled his pleasure, but through it our eyes never so much as blinked. My whole universe had shrunk to the incredible soul behind those impossibly deep eyes. At some point I became aware that not only was my soul linked to his, but that his heart was filling me with the most incredible essence. No sooner was I aware of his essence leaving me than I knew I could contain no more joy, no more happiness. In a fierce possessiveness I pulled Tyler to me. I wept tears as pure as the bliss that ran down from my center to stain my sheets. For too short an instant, I felt my love joined to me body and soul. Then, I felt an unwanted tenseness in his body. He hadn't slipped from me, but I knew he was bracing himself to say something he didn't want to say. "Don't say it. Please don't say anything." I pulled him to me with all my might and my tears felt hot on my cheek. I couldn't stand the thought that I might have now made love three times and the fourth time might be with a fourth man. I couldn't let Tyler make this our only time. "Morg, I should never have done this. I do need to tell you some things about my past that will change your opinion..." I cut him off, "This is the third time I've done this and you are my third man. If you plan to destroy what I think we have, please wait until our year is up. I've done everything I could to get you here." I squeezed him to let him know exactly where 'here' was. "And I want you to come back often. I know there's nothing in your past that would change that." I took a breath, "Even if there is, please don't destroy what we have now. I promise that even if there's something so terrible that I wouldn't want to continue, right now I can't stand being another one-night stand." I paused again, "Please, Tyler, Please don't do that to me." I felt his tension ease and he hugged me to him. I felt cherished and loved. I also felt a tiny bit guilty. I was pretty sure I knew what Tyler wanted to tell me and I didn't want to let it ruin this moment. I also didn't want him to know just how thoroughly I'd checked him out. I'd used every bit of leverage that being a reporter for a major daily gave me. I now knew that his mother had several arrests for prostitution, and that she probably died of AIDS. I knew Tyler had been arrested and spent some time in youth facilities. Those records were purged, but his school records weren't. Most importantly, I knew that shortly after his mother died he turned his life around and became an inspiration to other troubled kids. I also knew that there was no birth record for his mother anyplace in the country. She was either illegal or had changed her name. I was glad that he finally wanted to share his past with me, but not now, not when we were joined, not when I was still trying to show him that I was the other part of his being. I knew my search for my other half was over, and I wanted him to realize the same thing. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- The last six months have been the happiest in my whole life. My columns have been a big hit locally. There's been interest in publishing them nationally, and I've even had a book publisher calling. Instead of straight news stories, I've tried to show the human side of the characters on both sides of this battle. I've interviewed gang members in jail or prison, and passed along the stories of the people who put them there. I still have no idea if Mr. Seton was any closer to finding the leak in his office. The only thing I hadn't been able to do was to privately interview any current sex workers. I knew that I didn't stand a chance of talking to them at the various places where they worked. I'd even staked out one of the "Live Models" places, but I never saw a girl alone. They traveled in groups and I figured one of the girls was probably a gang member. On the personal front, things were going great with Tyler. We'd had bumps and even ?ome knock-down-drag-out-fights, but we hadn't broken up, walked away, or resorted to our professional relationship to keep our personal one going. Two weeks after we first made love we had the take-the-guy-home-to-meet-the-parents. It was weird, but part of it was that I'd never brought anyone home. My parents had met my other boyfriends, but the significant ones were in high school and college. You don't have a high school beau for a sleep-over and my college "friend" never left New York. I'd spent hours on the phone preparing my parents for the visit. My folks are blue-collar, but smart and funny. Part of the problem is that much of their humor is, uh... shall we say not politically correct. Then there's the N word. My parents are of different races, it doesn't matter which is which, but the N word is used regularly by my parents in public... and no one is offended. Hispanic and ethic white jokes flow... look my parents went through a lot of hell from all sides of the racial wars, and they don't have a prejudiced bone in their bodies; they just don't have a "sensitivity" one either. Tyler, as you might expect, is very careful about what he says. To say I was terrified would be a bit of an overstatement, but not much. I was already deeply in love with Tyler, but it was important to me that he like my family. Not only am I immensely proud of my parents, they're my fans. The first few hours were so stiff and unnatural. Everyone was walking on eggshells and it was driving me up the wall. Finally I turned to Tyler and said in a horrible Spanish accent, "Hey man, are you really a Spic, or did you just change your name to cash in on the affirmative action goodies?" Tyler gave me a questioning look and I replied with one that said, "I dare you." Then he launched in an equally bad accent. "Hey man, my mother was a wetback who had a fifteen-minute meaningful financial relationship with an albino gringo, so what you expect me to look like?" Bless their hearts, my parents didn't hesitate a second before they burst out laughing. What followed was hours of ethnic humor, none of it mean, but the type of things that show people are comfortable with who they are and how you'll accept them. We had serious talks that weekend, and Tyler was grilled at length about his intentions and qualifications to date their Oreo. Before the weekend was over they had established a mutual admiration society. We started going down every couple of weeks. Six weeks ago Dad asked Tyler if he could call him son. I had tears in my eyes, and Tyler's voice was husky when he responded, "Sure, Dad." If I had any complaint it was that I didn't want to go home as much as Tyler wanted to take me. Last month Tyler made two trips down to Corpus without me, just to spend time with my folks. He told me that I had no idea what it was like to never have a family. Frankly, I thought one of those trips might have been an old-fashioned "ask for my hand" kind of visit but Mom told me they spent the whole weekend dove hunting, and planning a deer hunt. I was mildly pissed I wasn't invited for the hunt or the planning. I'd gotten my first deer the day before I had my first period. Thank God, dad had taken me home right after my kill. I still shudder to think what it would have been like to start without a woman at the hunting camp. I finally decided that it was more important for Tyler and Dad to bond than for me to be with them on opening day. It also meant that my hints of "special date" around our Halloween anniversary had been ignored. Deer season opens on November 1st. That's the only other thing that has been less than perfect lately. I will not ask Tyler to marry me, and no matter how many hints I drop he won't pick up a single one. We've been dating for almost a year... I count the time from our professional date, even if Tyler doesn't. The only weekends we don't spend in the same bed are the ones in Corpus. So now you understand why I'm not as anxious to go down there as I might be under different circumstances. I dropped yet another broad hint today. ? asked Tyler to be sure and bring me some ice, and make sure it was the kind I've been looking for. Okay, not the greatest example but I've done all the easy stuff like window shopping for endless hours in front of jewelry stores, dragging him to every wedding I could get invited to, and even asking his advice on buying a house as a single person. How can someone so smart be so dense? ----------------------------------------------------------------------- When Tyler arrived Friday night, he had a large bag of ice and a gleam in his eye. He also brought some take-out from our favorite Chinese place. After dinner we watched a rather sexy chick flick I'd picked out. I should have expected something when Tyler carried an ice bucket and a couple of cokes with us back to the bedroom. Still, as I undressed for bed I didn't suspect a thing. I just admired his wonderful body and wondered why I'd overeaten earlier when I knew what we'd be doing a few hours later. As he slipped under the covers with me, I ran my hand over his silky smooth skin, feeling the hardness of his muscles underneath. We kissed and touched and I was more than ready for the main event when Tyler moved down between my legs. I love the way Tyler makes me feel with his tongue. Still, I wanted something more substantial than a tongue when I felt his swirl around my opening. Then, without warning I felt something hard and very cold penetrate me. My eyes shot open and I wasn't quiet sure what he'd done, when I felt the same thing happen again. "What is that, it feels..." I wasn't sure just what if felt like but something inside me was very cold! He didn't raise his head or move his mouth, but I felt that same sensation a third time, and I KNEW it was too cold to be natural. I was squirming but I still didn't understand what was going on. Then I saw it! Tyler reached over to the ice bucket and quietly picked up a handful of little ice cubes. He'd just put ice cubes inside me! For several seconds I didn't know how to react, when I felt a whole series of new cubes enter me. It was cold but I was suddenly hotter than I'd ever been. I grabbed Tyler by his hair and pulled him up to me. In one thrust he was fully inside me. Now I felt both the ice and the heat of him inside me. My body was going schizophrenic. I stretched my neck up to kiss him, but all I could do was pant. I strained against him and I had a massive orgasm, but Tyler didn't stop. Instead he leaned over and grabbed a huge handful of ice, pulled out of me for a second and filled me, first with ice and then with himself. I felt the cold melting in his heat. I felt the icy water running out of me and soaking the sheet beneath us and I couldn't form coherent words. My orgasms had taken charge of me and I was trapped by them. Grasping his arms, I clung to him like I was drowning. I lifted my back off the bed while my orgasms convulsed me so violently I looked like one of those bobble head toys. Tyler was thrusting hard into me and with a final hard thrust, he arched his back and for the very first time I heard him roar. I don't think I've ever been able to feel him actually shoot cum inside me, but I did this time. Later, after we'd changed the sheets, Tyler held me, occasionally giving me loving pats until I was almost asleep. So close to sleep that at first I didn't hear what he was saying. "What are your plans for Halloween? That marks the end of our agreement. How do you want to celebrate it?" I went from warm and fuzzy to icy cold in an instant. I know I'd stiffened for a second but my reaction was to seek his warmth to remove my chill. Tyler wasn't going to dump me, the idea wasn't even worthy of a passing thought. "We could go up to Austin and take part in the party on 6th Street." I felt his head nodding, and then he said, "I've always wanted to take a cruise. They have a one-week cruise leaving Galveston which would have us at sea on Halloween. How would that sound?" I was so conflicted that I wasn't even aware of what I said until after I'd blurted, "Oh, I couldn't do that. Dad would?kill me if we took a trip like that and weren't married." As soon as I'd said that last word I wanted to dig a hole in the bed and disappear. Instead, summoning all my courage, I looked up at his face. There was no expression at all! "Okay, well it was just an idea. I guess 6th Street sounds like fun. Do you have any idea what you want to wear?" I wanted to hit him, I wanted to cry, I wanted to throw him out of my bed, and I wanted to cling to him for dear life. Instead I tried to calmly discuss costumes and Halloween plans. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- For the last week, Tyler has disappeared. Oh, I talk to him on the phone frequently, and I get text messages but I had to throw a tizzy fit to get him to join me at the costume shop to make sure our costumes fit. Now it's almost closing time on Halloween and there's no sign of him. I was having the hardest time not wondering if my faux pas three weeks ago about marriage and the Halloween anniversary didn't have more sinister undertones. I knew that Tyler loved me, but he refused to make any long-term plans, any plans at all for that matter. Just as I saw him round the corner, I saw a low-rider gang style car speeding past me down the street. I couldn't breathe as I saw a kid stick a big gun out the passenger window. Just before the car passed Tyler, I heard the shots. I saw an invisible giant hand lift him off his feet and slam him into the wall. For an eternity I saw Tyler twist and recoil against the wall as bullet after bullet tore him apart. I was running to him before I was even aware that the car hadn't sped on but was screeching to a stop. I reached him, cradled his head in my arms, and saw blood foaming at his mouth. His eyes were dim, I don't know any other word to describe them; the lively spark, the twinkle I loved, wasn't there. My vision narrowed and all I could hear was how hard he was working to take a breath. His pain was more than I could bear. I saw the concentration of a drunk trying to appear sober, as he managed a single word "Apartment," and his head lolled away from me. After a second he managed to turn back to me. His eye were wide and beseeching as he whispered urgently, "Run Morg, RUN!" I was terrified by the lack of strength in his order, but the National Guard couldn't have made me move. Something else did. One of the young men was standing over us, calmly inserting a new clip in his pistol before pointing it at Tyler's head. I threw my arm out to protect him just as the kid pulled the trigger. I heard the shot, I heard the sound of it striking before I realized that I'd been shot, but what I was most aware was the blood that was erupting from Tyler's forehead. At that moment my fifteen years of martial arts training... deserted me. Fortunately my reflexes didn't. There was no form or grace as I launched myself at the tattooed gang member. There was no art as I kicked as hard as I could at his crotch. I didn't hear his scream, but I did know I'd broken his pelvic bone and I somehow managed to grab his pistol. I've never been much of a pistol shot. It didn't matter as I shot the gang-banger in the face, then began shooting at the car he'd been in. It had started moving before my first shot. Then it swerved and crashed into a parked car across the street. I didn't stop shooting until the gun clicked empty. I heard sirens, I saw people running, but I wasn't there. My head felt light and the world was very far away. For the first time I was aware of my pain. I looked down and was confused by the amount of blood on my blouse. I felt weaker and ever more confused. I knew Tyler was dead, but could I be dying too? I tried to sit down but it was more of a collapse, and my last thought was that if we hadn't been married in the eyes of men in life surely God wouldn't hold that against us in death. He wouldn't keep us apart now. I woke up feeling entirely too much pain to be dead. It took a few seconds to realize that I was in a hospital but I was instantly aware why I was there. My arm was im?obilized, and I was aware of the floaty feeling of narcotics trying, unsuccessfully, to make my pain hazy. I just wished the drugs did something for my real pain. Tyler was gone! How could my beautiful Tyler be gone? I screamed. I screamed until my vocal cords collapsed at their abuse. How could God have left me here when Tyler was gone? People began to materialize like in a Sci-Fi movie. My editor was there. My parents were holding my good hand. All their mouths were moving but I couldn't hear them over my screams. A nurse appeared. "Honey, I don't want to give you anything else because it might hurt the baby." A cooler of ice water wouldn't have been more effective. The urge, the need to continue my primeval scream was frozen. Baby? What baby could she mean? I turned to her, my eyes pleading, my vocal cords incapable of sound. "You didn't know? You're pregnant. We ran the tests when you were brought in. You're going to be fine. You lost a bit of blood, the bullet nicked a vein, but they got the bleeding stopped before it was serious. You have a distal ulna fracture. It's the less common break but it's not going to require anything more than a cast for about six weeks. You'll be able to hold your baby when it's born. I could feel my tears, "Oh, thank you God! If I can't have Tyler I can have something of him." After a few seconds of silent prayer I asked, "What's being done about Tyler. I want to make the funeral arrangements. Is that going to be a problem?" A professional mask fell over the nurse's face. "He is in bad shape. They took him back into surgery an hour ago. We're not sure he's going to make it. So you will need to be prepared for that." "He's not dead? I saw the bullet hole in his head... Oh God what did it do?" With her professional face very much in place she used a dulcet voice to say, "Oh that wasn't serious at all. Your ulna deflected that bullet. It did little more than give him a nasty gash just below the hairline. He was wearing a vest but the Essa used armor-piercing bullets. They tore up his chest and left lung. He lost a lot of blood and was still bleeding after the first surgery." "Can I go see him? When he's out?" "The doctors want to keep you overnight, just for observation, but as soon as he's out I'll take you up to see him in a wheelchair." Mr. Seton chose that moment to materialize. After he explained how the shooting had uncovered their mole, he asked if I had a key to Tyler's apartment. I did, but I asked why. "Tyler was conscious in the ambulance and kept saying he wanted you to go to his apartment. It was all he'd say, almost a mantra. I've checked with the hospital and if you have a nurse and an ambulance to take you there and back, they'll clear the visit. It seemed so important that I thought it might be a good idea if you went while he's in surgery. They told me it'd be several hours before they'd be out. If you think you're up to it..." His voice trailed off. So, we all traipsed off to Tyler's apartment. When we got there, I briefly thought about asking Mom and Dad to wait outside. I was certain that there would be evidence that I'd spent the night there frequently. Then I thought, "Duh! I'm pregnant-- they know that I'm doing more than chastely kissing Tyler goodnight." I was doing my best not to break down as I was wheeled into his living room. The place was saturated with Tyler. My heart couldn't stand the thought that we might never be together here again. I couldn't contain a gasp when I saw what Tyler wanted me to see. There on the middle of his dining room table was a large gaudy Halloween sack. It was chock full of Godiva and Richard Donnelly chocolates. I'd told Tyler of my secret vice of buying very expensive chocolates, but the sack of candy wasn't what made me weep. Sitting on top of a boxed Tortuga Rum cake, another of my favorites, was a small velvet box. My hands were trembling as I opened it to see the most beautiful ring that I've ever seen... at least a dozen times! It was the one I pointedly admired, but that Tyler had never seemed to notice? Now he was in surgery, he might die, I was pregnant, and I couldn't tell him how much I wanted to be his wife. Only an Englishman's' mastery of understatement would have called me an emotional wreck. Without looking or being aware, I'd opened a bar of chocolate and scarfed it down on the way back to the hospital. To eat one of those divine chocolates without savoring it showed just how distraught I was. Twenty minutes after I got back, Tyler was wheeled into ICU. The doctor, in his green scrubs, came over to take my hand. "I think he's going to be fine. There were some little bleeders that looked bigger than they were, but we got them and I'd say his condition is now good. He normally would come around in about an hour or two, but I'm going to keep him under until tomorrow afternoon. Why don't you let us get you back to your room? You can get your clothes, go home, get some rest, and then get all fixed up before he wakes up." I made them take me to see him first. I kissed his lips around the tube in his mouth, and I felt the breath that proved my love lived. A little after one the next afternoon I was at Tyler's bed side, popping Donnelly chocolates like popcorn when Tyler began to come around. It took a few minutes for him to become coherent. When he did, his first words were, "Do you have any idea what you're eating?" If I'd guessed for a thousand years I would never have thought those might be his first words. I held out my left hand with the ring on it and said, "Yes, of course I'll marry you." Tyler gave me a weak smile and said, "I won't ask you yet. Do you understand what you're eating?" I know I shouldn't have been irritated, people coming out of anesthesia can say all sorts of crazy things, but to say he wouldn't ask me hurt. It hurt deeply. He must have seen it in my face because he said softly. "Morg, you know I love you. I can't imagine life without you. I read that passage in Plato you referred to all the time and I know that you are my missing soul. But first you have to decide if you can forgive me." "What are you talking about? It wasn't your fault we got shot. I don't blame you for that!" "Not for that, but for what you're eating. I'm the one. I'm the one who stole your Halloween candy when we were kids. My mother had just died and I was mad at the whole world. I never knew you were a girl. It changed my life. I'd been in tons of fights when I was younger. You know I did some time in TDCY for putting other kids in the hospital for making comments about my mother. But, I'd never stolen anything. I had a dream that night of my mother telling me that she was ashamed of me, and I decided to change." His eyes pleaded with mine before he continued. "I've spent years trying to figure out how to make it right and when I saw your column I was going to let you give me a few licks. Then I saw you, and I just couldn't. I wanted you in my life and I wouldn't risk losing you. Will you forgive me? If you will, I can finally ask you to marry me." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- The End If you've enjoyed this story, or hated it or anywhere in between. Please drop me a note and tell me what you thought. Don't worry about how well you write. I'm the one who is trying to learn to write, not you I don't care about spelling, grammar or anythig other that your thoutght joesephus@gmail.com