This story contains sex; if you have problem with that or you are underage then by all means don't read it. "It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul." From the poem "Invictus" By William Ernest Henley "Rock an' Roll" By Quiet Savage Part 1 - "Found at the Water's Edge" "Sex", said the female caller, "got your attention don't I?" "Yes, but I not sure what that has to do with what we're talking about here." Kate's voice came over the radio. "Sex is power. Men are led around by that thing, they need it, a girl can use that to get whatever her heart desires." "I thank you for your insight", Kate said, "but I think we'll be moving on" "Will you tell them to turn that off, Bruce." Eve said from behind her dark shades. She looked sexy in her 2 piece bathing suit, the top a tube the lower made in the style of boy shorts with clip-ons to hold up the leggings that encased her long lean legs; the whole suit in a leopard skin print. All she was missing was a set of Josie and the Pussycats sex kitten ears. Beside her beach chair sat a pair of black open toe marabou feather mules. Not the usual beach shoes and the sand would really fuck them up but that's the kind of world she lived in. Somehow, it seemed amazing that she had escaped the horror of white lipstick. She has accoutrements of an owned woman- on her wrist was a bracelet held on by a small lock with a gold chain connecting it to her wedding ring. There was a gold toe ring. She had a silver tongue stud with a gold ring around it and on her ass was a tattoo of matching rings marked "Eve" and "Bruce." As if in response to her request she felt him sidle up behind her and reach around, molesting her breasts through her suit. So many things had changed since that talk with Kate. Chief among these was the fact that she realized that she did love her husband. It was a frustrating angry unwelcome love, a feeling she barely understood, call it codependence if you want, but, it was a deep real feeling nonetheless. Her own sexuality seemed so foreign to her now. Even though her mind from time to time did drift to other men (or for that matter women) she was devoted to her husband. She had a very particular fetish- not heterosexual, not homosexual but Bruceosexual. She was not without her problems- she had the body of a female and she enjoyed sex with her husband but for some reason she still identified internally as a man. She had a bad case of what they call in the biz "gender dysphoria." Bruce too was just as into her. Like somehow he had put an order in for the perfect woman in some cosmic register and got exactly what he wanted. And after a few tweaks and mental adjustments the mind was perfect too, at least from his point of view. She was loving, affectionate, and loyal with good teeth and a shiny coat. She was even a bit on the needy side in a way that makes a fellow like Bruce feel wanted. The unusual way that she had come to this life and body may have helped as she didn't understand the intricate ins and outs of the female mind. She only understood, and could emulate, the surface details about how to be a woman: how they act and look, how they put on their makeup and such, but, not why they do it or how they feel about it. To her a kiss was a kiss, a fuck a fuck and a blow a blow. And not only was she alienated from what once was her fellow man, by reason of human sexuality, but also she lacked any comradery with her new found fellow woman as even THEY KNEW and would not accept her. Really the perfect woman, because, this too drove her deeper into her dependence to Bruce. She hated leaving a child so young alone as they left the beach but this was something that needed done, after all it was her job. And as Bruce pushed her from behind into the car her last memory was a blond tuff of hair running on the beach and then she was lost in the moment. His hands pushed up her top, exposing her breasts, and accidentally caught a seam making an audible tare. Bruce pushed her into the seat, his tongue invading her mouth. One arm around him, her other arm pushed down on the bathing suit, but taking off this beast would not prove so easy, instead she pushed the whole deal, suit and stockings, down her hips and legs bringing her perfectly made man formed cunt into view. Now, anybody walking by could clearly see what was going on, but, even if they stopped and gawked, eyes pressed against the back window, all they would see would be a husband and wife passionately making love; because, there was no longer any evidence that she was anything but a woman. Her clothing now around her ankles she pushed herself against the side window spreading her knees apart, offering herself to him. Hunching up behind her he found his mark and entered. He pushed deep into her allowing a second for her to feel the fullness of him before retreating, then again and again and again slamming into her with what seemed like little thought for her. As the feeling built in her she began to reciprocate pushing back into him to meet his thrusts, proving her excitement, her need for a man and the cock he provides. Soon she was working it, trying desperately to achieve that elusive reward by giving it to him. "You're a fucking animal", Bruce growled, "my pet wife." But, it wasn't clear that she had heard him as she used her body the way they had built it to be used. The feeling inside her artificial cunt was sharp, she was immensely aware of it and her own body. She could feel each thrust in her. The beads of sweat forming on her skin. His hands on her hips. The weight of her breasts heaving with each stroke of her body. The car a rock'en no one came a knock'en and she felt the now familiar finish inside, being sprayed by Bruce's cock. She bit her lip in frustration. She had come so close that time, so fucking close she could taste it, so close to cuming herself. As he pulled up his shorts and began to exit the car she mentioned her ripped top on the floor, Bruce tossed her a roll of duct tape from the glove box. She couldn't patch a ripped seam with duct tape! "Figure it out!" was all Bruce said. As they returned to their towel and beach umbrella, two large silver "X" pasties over the nipples of her enormous breasts she could hear the Kate show continue. "Military force", the caller grunted, "it's the only real power. It's what validates a nation and gives it legitimacy. If a country makes treaties it can't back up then it has no right to exist. It's like saying you're a pacifist when you have yet to prove you can win the fight." "Hmmm?" moaned Kate, "But is the military the power itself? Or is it just a tool like a nail driving hammer or a rotary cheese grader." The Kate Show, it was sweeping the nation. The restless self-made millionaire had grown bored of just buying expensive things for herself and now wanted world influence. Her insane ramblings, once the private stock of a handful of people, had gone national and now it was said she had the ear of kings and king makers, as well as her audience of millions. Not that she didn't have competition but they had a way of... well... encountering problems. Like the Working Class talk show host from the Wolf News Network Kate framed up with a sexual harassment charge to the tune of millions. Then there was the morning radio "shock jock" that was taken off the air after Kate's friends in the FCC had put fine after bogus fine on him. Some were not dealt with so gingerly like the big fat one that became an addict after he went to old St. Bernard's and somehow was put on the wrong pills. As her competition diminished her own ratings only grew. Bruce returned to the blanket after finally doing something about the show, the radio now blaring a canned corporate pop song by a fem boy band. She stared intently at the book trying to ignore the staring eyes of the passing men (and also trying to suppress her own increasing pleasure at being the center of their attention), some laughing at her "bathing suit." Bruce moved in asking her just what was so interesting on the page. "It's just", she slowly started," I can't follow this writer, she introduces some elements I don't understand and here she adds the element of children and that doesn't go anywhere." "And" she added, "some of these plot twists? This writer really keeps you on your toes." "Some of us like our women in heels" Bruce joked. He had to give her a little shake to get her to snicker as well. Just then a distant thunder broke the calm of the beach. All necks strained as two army helicopters came flying up the beach, their angry wings beating the air into submission. A mixed lot these two an old style Super Cobra, some antique anachronism from a national guard hanger or maybe a museum piece out for a joy ride and a fresh new AH-64F-VTCAD Apache just off the production line. It was not uncommon in these days for the military to put on such a display of power. And flying this low? This close to the beach? That's clearly what they were doing. Just as they passed Bruce's towel the almost slow cycling of machine guns was heard. And these gunners, it seems, were putting on a show because it was a constant stream of tracers. The choppers peeled off gaining altitude as they went out to sea. Immediately two ropes fell from the balcony and, as sirens blared in the distance, the gunmen rappelled down and screamed away on generic sport bikes. A few hours later Bruce, Adam and Eve wove their way back into the hotel, past the troops with their body armor, Uzi submachineguns and new bullpup rifles. Eve was exiled to the bathroom as Bruce turned on the TV to watch what he had already seen with his own eyes. While this was not the first group of media savvy revolutionaries it was the first so dedicated to getting their exploits filmed and then broadcast. The revolution was going just swimmingly (from the rebel's point of view at least), it started a year ago on a Tuesday in grand over the top style. The first attack went right to the belly of the beast- a few men appeared on the street, using those planter barricades outside the building as a foundation they laid a ramp. Then a pick-up, its engine pumped up but still straining under its load, came screaming down 10th street. Launching itself off the ramp hundreds of people in the J Edgar Hoover Building lost their lives that day. And that was just the first of 12 attacks to take place across the country within a four-hour period. But things had settled down now. There were only one or two attacks a week most of them small, like the one Bruce and Eve witnessed. But, because of the media's speed, omnipresence, and sensationalist nature each attack, even a small one, seemed to the public as bad as a stab to the eye. It was a fact the revolutionaries were counting on to undercut the collective will of the nation. Not that the signs of the revolution hadn't been there before the attacks- raids on some gun stores in Michigan, a running gun battle on the streets of Pennsylvania, an armored truck robbery in California to name a few. But until the bombes went off and the revolution was undeniable the public refused to blur their eyes and really see what was going on. However, the truck and car bombs were not the first mass indication of the revolution, because, in the week leading up to Black Tuesday there was a series of assassinations and murders. But, there was some disconnect between the motives of the revolutionaries and those of the assassins. It was pretty obvious by this part of the story what the revolutionaries wanted, however, the assassinations seemed more or less random. Not directed at one group or type of person, all kinds of people got it from low-level street punks to the social elites. The standard line had become to not see or even understand the subtleties- it was all part of one movement and they were all enemies of the state. But for Eve, sitting on the beach with her cheap dollar store novel, knowledge of the murders may have proved hopeful, because it seems, some of those assassinations revolved around her and her story. A fact she didn't know, after all, girls don't read the papers. To Be Continued... Copyright 2005 Quiet Savage Quietsavage@yahoo.com /~qsavage/