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NOTE: I decided, as an experiment, to write a gender-flipped version of my previously-published story "Private Eye." The plot is nearly the same, though I wrote new sex scenes appropriate for the gender-flipped characters. I hope you enjoy this experiment and this story! - PPF
Part One: Virgins Need Not Apply
Andy sent me the Craigslist ad over Facebook. -Photographer needed for private investigation firm. Must own camera and working car. Virgins need not apply.-
I wrote him back after checking out the ad and the rather generous hourly wage. -Ha ha, looks like just the job for me.-
-Are you going to apply May? You have a camera and you have something resembling a car.- My truck, passed down through three older siblings already, was more rust than vehicle. But it was, by definition, a working car.
I typed back: -Maybe! I could use the money.-
There was a gap in the conversation as I browsed my friends' Facebook pages. There were a lot of pictures of parties: red cups, dark rooms, duck faces and peace signs for the camera. I tried not to feel jealous. My Facebook page was entirely photographs of trees, of birds, of the trails surrounding campus. It was my third year at college, and I still spent more time pointing my camera lens at nature than at prospective dates.
Suddenly, a message from Andy popped up: -When are you coming home?-
Now this was interesting. I was on my laptop in my room, and I could hear Andy through the door watching television on the living room couch. But he didn't know I was here! This was the perfect opportunity. My roommate and I had something of a prank competition going on. Yesterday Andy had stolen all of the towels out of the bathroom while I was showering. I wound up holding a loofah over my pussy and the bathmat over my tits as I ran to my room, right in front of Andy's gang of gay friends. If you didn't know Andy and I, you might assume this was flirting. But I met Andy through his boyfriend, Rob. Searching for roommates online, Rob had remembered me from a portrait photography class, and offered a room in the two-bedroom apartment he shared with his boyfriend. I lived with Rob and Andy for a full year before they split up. It turns out Andy's name was the one on the lease, and Rob moved across town near the river.
I might have met Rob first, but over the last year Andy and I became great friends. We both loved to watch weird old movies (my favorite: Repo Man, Andy's favorite: Top Secret), eat popcorn with hot sauce (me: Tabasco, Andy: Mad Dog), and laze around in our underwear. Andy was like a living sculpture, with thick black hair, clear skin, and abs that somehow showed through the loosest of T-shirts. He claimed to be the only Korean gym-rat on campus. But of course, Andy was gay, and I had absolutely no chance with him. So to me he was like one of the girls. We hung out constantly, so much so that my other friends blamed Andy for my lack of dating.
"No guy thinks he can compete with Andy!" said my friend Celina. "They assume you're together. By the way, are you together? Is he bi, or totally gay? Is he into me?"
This, by the way, is how all my conversations about Andy went. Even my mom said she was waiting for the day that Andy fell in love with me. It was embarrassing. But worth it, for the friendship.
I took some time thinking up a reply to Andy's message. For all the ways he tried to be badass, Andy had a jump reflex like no one else. If he saw a spider, or heard a creaking floorboard, or didn't know you were behind him when you said hello, he would jump about three feet into the air and scream. I knew now how to pull the perfect prank.
I replied: -I'm up at the library working on an assignment. I won't be back for a while.-
In the living room, Andy laughed at something on the TV. I decided to wait a bit before I lept out of my room. It was hard though to not laugh and spoil the surprise. Honestly, the suspense before the prank has to be the most rewarding part of it.
Meanwhile, I opened a stealth tab on my laptop and quickly flipped through my various online dating profiles. Last night I'd felt desperate and sent out about twenty or so messages. There were no replies. I stared at the portraits who popped up as my matches. Beautiful women, in tank-tops beneath redwoods, in tight pajamas snuggling their dogs, in bikinis at the beach. I'd been on some first dates recently, but nothing promising.
Meanwhile, I opened a stealth tab on my laptop and quickly flipped through various online dating profiles. There were all the usual neanderthalish grunts from random men. 'Hey.' 'Hi.' 'Sup?' 'Hey.' And then a few wordless, faceless pictures of abs, and of course a random dick pic. Last night I'd gotten desperate and actually messaged some of these faceless, monosyllabic men back. But something about my replies- maybe it was the word monosyllabic?- just killed the conversation. Despite all I'd heard about horny men trolling for easy women online, I'd received not a single message back.
I didn't know what I was doing wrong! I tried to search out for all the cute, nerdy men of my dreams, the quiet ones who wanted to spend an evening watching scary movies on the couch, or reading a good book before getting distracted by making out. And I'd gotten a few first dates. But nothing promising. No heart-fluttering, no googly eyes, no love at first sight.
It's not like I was lacking in social skills. Just this past weekend, I'd met a psychology major at the 24-hour Thai restaurant. He was a tall guy with a beautiful brown eyes. He had this quiet smile and dimples that just made me blush. We'd talked, we'd flirted, we walked out into the parking lot bumping shoulders... and then as we said a lingering goodbye, and he leaned in for a kiss-
I left.
I didn't want to leave!
But there was this voice in my head warning me that a first kiss leads to a date with a second kiss, which could lead to an invitation to his room, which could lead to sex.
And here was what I hadn't told even my best friend Andy.
I was a virgin.
I was a virgin on a college campus surrounded by beautiful, interesting, intellectual men. I was a virgin with a ripped roommate who brought even more muscular, intellectual men into our apartment! I was a virgin with no good excuses except for the fact that I was embarrassed to be a virgin, and I knew the first time would be awkward and unsexy and...
Well, honestly, I was probably still a virgin because I thought about it too much!
Closing the dating websites, I noticed that Andy wasn't watching TV anymore. I listened for footsteps- the floorboards of our old house are as creaky as they are drafty- and heard none. In fact, I heard nothing from behind the door. Andy had to be on the couch still, probably with his headphones in, watching something on his laptop.
I suck silently to the door. Slowly, slowly, I turned the knob, trying to not make a single noise. Inch by inch I opened the door, peeking through. Perfect, Andy's back was turned to me as he lay on the couch. Just as I thought, he had his laptop on the coffee table and his earbuds in. He was totally captivated by what he was watching, which seemed to be a romantic gay film. Two men were kissing, grasping at each others' bodies. They were... naked. One of the men, muscular with flawless dark skin, started kissing down the other man's body, taking a nipple between his lips. His hand swept down over the other man's taut belly, then around to grab a handful of ass.
Oh my god.
Andy was watching porn!
Oh, this would just be too embarrassing.
How perfect!
I was about to leap out to scare Andy, when I noticed that my roommate wasn't just watching porn. One hand rested on his tight white t-shirt while the other moved over his gym shorts. I could see that Andy was breathing heavily, his shoulders rising and falling. He still had the back of his head to me. I could see the rise of his cock within his gym shorts, his hand feeling out the shape of it, stroking the shaft and then rubbing the head. On the laptop, one of the men, a red-head, lay back on white sheets while the other man licked his cock from balls to tips, over and over. On the couch, Andy let out a little moan. With one hand he reached down between his legs and started gently kneading his balls. With the other he stroked his cock, still tented in his gym shorts. I could see his hips rising a little with each stroke.
My own hands were moving down my body. With one hand I squeezed my breast and teased my nipple. The other hand was crawling down, down towards my pants, where I could feel my pussy already wet.
Wait, what was I doing? I blinked, took a deep breath. I needed to close the door, give Andy his privacy. No wonder he asked when I was coming home. He was horny and bored and- oh my god, he was now removing his gym shorts.
Beneath, Andy wasn't wearing underwear. He pulled his shorts down, and the waistband caught on the head of his cock. As he pulled more, his cock sprung free, slapping against his tight abs. Andy's cock was enormously swollen, the head like a huge pink strawberry. Andy licked his fingers and rubbed the saliva on the head of his cock. Precum glistened at the tip. With his thumb, he rubbed the precum down to the base of the head. On the laptop, one man was eagerly swallowing the other's cock, taking it down into his throat in hungry bobs of his head.
Andy groaned in pleasure. His hips bucked the air as he stroked his cock. I could see the effort he was making to hold back from cumming. He timed his strokes with the bobbing of the man's head on his screen. Andy reached down and grabbed his balls with his other hand. He ground his ass down against the sofa. I would have to sit on that sofa later. I wondered if I would be able to smell his body there, his sweat, his exertion.
Now on the laptop, the redhead was standing behind his partner in front of a mirror. He had his partner's hands against the mirror, and was reaching around and stroking his cock like a madman. I could see both of their reflexions in the mirror, all their lithe muscles taut with passion.
I suddenly noticed my own hand was pressed firmly against my pussy through my jeans. I felt like my panties were soaked through. I could smell my own smell of sex. I yanked my hand back as if I were touching a live wire. I couldn't believe what I was doing. And yet, I had not closed the door.
On the laptop, one of the men came all over the mirror. As the other man stroked his cock, huge ropes of cum shot out, smearing over their reflection. Like a starving man, his partner kneeled down and started licking the cum off the mirror's surface.
Andy groaned again and thrust his hips into the air, his hand firmly grasped around his cock. His other hand pulled up his shirt over his abs, and he pinched one of his nipples. As he started to cum- pumping even faster, even harder- his feet kicked against one side of the couch and his shoulders slid over the edge of the other arm. Cum gushed onto his abs, white strands pooling into his belly button. His head finally dropped, and I suddenly realized he was facing me, albeit upside down, staring openly at him masturbating on the couch. But luck was with me- Andy's eyes were closed in pleasure and release.
I'll admit, I still didn't close the door right away. I looked at the upside-down face of my roommate for a split second longer. His mouth was pursed open, and his tongue darted out and licked perspiration from his full lips. Relief had smoothed his beautiful face, with his high cheekbones and dark eyebrows. I had a sudden urge to kiss him. Or to take off my jeans and soaked panties and plant by pussy down on his mouth. Squirt all over his chin when I climaxed.
Oh god, what was I thinking? I stepped back into my room and silently closed the door. I just prayed Andy hadn't opened his eyes in time.
I scanned my room for an escape plan. Andy still thought I was up on campus.
The window of my room opened on a little side yard maintained by our landlord, and then the sidewalk and street where my old beater of a truck was parked. I grabbed my laptop, my backpack, and my camera. I gently placed my goods outside the window, then squeezed out myself.
My truck was infamous in our neighborhood. Its peeling red paint left rusty patches like some sunburnt cow. Its engine started with a gunshot, whined like an injured buffalo, and coughed like a starving artist with tuberculosis. It was, in other words, not a great getaway vehicle.
Instead, my legs shaking and my panties still soaked, I scurried down the sidewalk. There was a coffee shop I liked a few blocks away. I'd spend some time there and then walk home. As I walked down the sidewalk, I practiced the neutral face I'd have to keep up when I came through the front door. But I kept picturing Andy's face instead. Upside down, flushed with erotic energies, biting his lip as he came. I shook my head. I would have to calm down before I reached the coffee shop. I could feel my nipples prodding out of my shirt like goddamn antennae.
I'd gotten things under control by the time I reached Coffee & Pie, a coffee shop and bakery I'd been visiting since I'd first moved in with Rob and Andy. It was a real local's joint, visited by families and retirees rather than college students. Other than myself, of course.
Coffee & Pie was hidden in a strip mall in between a Brazilian Jujitsu school and a private dental practice. I guess if you got your teeth knocked out in Jujitsu you could get fixed two doors down, then celebrate with a slice of home-baked pie. The coffee shop was an unassuming little square of a place, just a glass counter filled with pies, a couple of tables and a single lumpy couch. But it had great wi-fi, it was quiet, and I was in love with a boy who worked there.
Well, I should amend that.
I wanted to be in love with him. The truth was, I'd hardly talked with him. He had sandy brown hair kept messy in that artfully tousled way. Bold black glasses framed these warm blue eyes. In the morning his strong jaw was freshly shaved, but if he was working in the afternoon or evening he had a perfect five-o'clock shadow. You could tell, just by the way he peered out at the world, that he had a great sense of humor. He had a tattoo of a dragonfly on his right forearm, and a little scar above his left eyebrow. He smelled like cardamom.
I didn't even know his name.
Here's the limit of our conversation each time I come into the coffee shop to relax or work:
"I'll have a latte and a slice of pie."
"The pear pie is especially good right now."
"Sounds great."
"That'll be $5.50."
"Here you go."
"Have a nice day."
"You too."
Then I sit down and eat my pie and drink my latte and try not to look at him.
Once- just once- there was a variation to the conversation. It was the first or second time I'd brought my new camera with me. I'd scrimped and saved for this camera, foregoing coffee for two months. I was very proud of it, and brought it everywhere to show off. When I asked for my latte, the boy behind the counter said he hadn't seen me in a while. I told him I'd been saving for this camera, and that segued into a little conversation about photography. He said his mother was a photographer, but he had no talent for it. Instead, he was going to the local community college to figure out what he wanted to pursue in life.
All the while my heart was beating out of my chest and I kept thinking, 'Ask him out, ask him out, ask him out!'
I finally got up the guts to introduce myself. I said, "My name is May."
And just as he took my hand in his, a customer walked through the door. The loud ringing of the bell above the door covered the sound of her name. And before I could ask again, the customer was ordering a carafe of coffee and a dozen pies for their office. It was too late.
So now I fell back on the old conversation, all business, too embarrassed to introduce myself again.
I opened my laptop and noticed the Craigslist ad was still open. -Photographer needed for private investigation firm. Must own camera and working car. Virgins need not apply.-
Well, I had a car and a camera. And that last sentence had to be a strange joke. I had some time to waste, so I decided to apply. I opened up my resume, added a few updates, and selected some good photographs to go with it. Thinking of the old detective noir films my mom had loved, I selected black and white photographs with heavy shadows. Many of them were of Andy, my usual subject. There was one of him standing shirtless against a blank white wall of our apartment. The sun was low in the sky and casting these incredible dark criss-crossed shadows from the picture window at the front. He was holding a white sheet about three inches below his bellybutton, so you could see the contours of his muscles pointing down towards his crotch. The shadows of the window frames and the shadows of the sheet intermingled into a sort of rorschach test ink-blot. His pale skin, his black hair, all played into this intricate chaos of light and dark. He looked damn sexy, too.
I noticed, suddenly, that the coffee shop boy was behind me looking at the screen. I closed the window, my face turning beet red. "Here's your latte and pie," he said, bending down and placing the plate and mug next to my laptop. He was wearing this tight striped shirt, unbuttoned at the top, and even tighter black jeans. As be bent over my eyes drifted to his ass, its shape within the black jeans a sort of extension of my chiaroscuro photography.
I blinked, yanked my eyes away, and mumbled a thank-you. I just couldn't get anything right today!
I sent off the application, then read some articles for class while enjoying my pie and coffee. The articles were all about architectural photography. Different theories on how to shoot a building. We had a big architectural photography project coming up that I'd been procrastinating. And now I was even more distracted. I felt my eyes were magnets turning towards the ass or abs of any man I saw. I kept remembering Andy touching himself on the couch. I kept thinking about how clumsy I was in staring at the coffee boy's ass. I decided I would never look at a man again. I would buy thick sunglasses, the ones you wear during an eclipse. I would take a vow of silence, so I could never say something embarrassing. I would sequester myself in a cell in the most isolated nunnery in the world. I would-
An e-mail popped up from someone named Marshal Saint-Claud. It had a simple message:
-I received your application. The job is yours if you want it. Meet me tonight at 8:00 at the office. - Marsh-
There was an address and a phone number.
I immediately messaged Andy online. -Holy shit, I got the job!-
-Detective May!- he replied. -Ready to take pictures of husbands fucking their mistresses?-
My face blanched white, then burned. I hadn't thought of just what my camera would be pointed at. 'Virgins need not apply,' I thought. Andy was probably right. Then again, I had a picture of Andy with his hand wrapped around his cock in my mind. Maybe this job would help me get my mind off of certain other things.
-I'm heading home,- I typed to Andy.
-See you soon!-
Part Two: Shots Fired
With a shot, and a whine, and a desperate cough, my truck pulled into the office park. It was nearly eight, and the parking lot was empty. A single light shone in an office window up on a third floor. The whole office building was built Mission-style, with adobe white walls and odd, fortress-like roofs. I felt like a thief invading a castle.
I walked up the stairs and rang the bell at the door. A voice inside said, "Come in!"
Inside was less an office than a single room. Half the space was taken up by a long desk covered in piles of folders, binders, and loose papers. On the wall was a framed poster for the film 'The Girl from Ipanema.' And in the center, sitting in the only chair in the room, was Marshal Saint-Claud, or Marsh as I'd come to call him.
Marsh, I would learn, was a product of tragedy and survival. His father's side of the family was dragged to America in the slave trade, but escaped into Indian territory. His mother's side fled from the black trains of Germany to Mexico, then over generations bled across the border into the southwestern U.S. He had mocha skin, a proud European nose, the jawline of a 1950's movie star, and the black eyes of a shark.
"Listen," he said to me by way of introduction, "I was born able to solve a Rubix cube in thirty seconds flat, but I don't deal well with people. I can hit bullseye with a revolver blindfolded, but I can't promise to be nice or kind or even really very human. I'll forget your name, but I'll pay you on time. My name is Marshal Saint-Claud. Do you want the job?"
There was one more thing I didn't mention. Marshal was stunning. Cold, leonine, handsome, though he didn't seem to put any effort into it- no product in his hair, no labels on his clothes. He had an odd felt hat, what I'd later learn was an old English cricket hat, cocked at an odd angle on his short-cropped curly black hair. His fingernails were chewed down to the quick. And yet his absolute beauty could not be denied.
I nodded, and put out a hand that wasn't shaken. "I'm May. I brought my camera and my car."
I decided to not mention my virginity.
"Okay, Molly," Marshal replied. I couldn't tell if he was joking or not. Those black eyes bore into me. No wonder he was a detective, he looked like he could take me apart like a puzzle and put me together behind his back. "You drive, I'll navigate. We have a job tonight."
Marshal grabbed a trenchcoat from the wall and led me out the door. I pointed out my truck. He stared at it for a while. "Not very nondescript," he muttered, but he got in the passenger seat anyways.
I started the truck, wincing at every groan, and Marshal began navigating through unlit back streets. He filled me in on the job.
"I've been hired by a local real-estate agent who thinks his wife's cheating on him. He's noticed that his keys to the houses on market go missing at night, when the wife's supposed to be attending AA meetings."
We drove around the sleepy suburbs. Each time we came to a house for sale, we'd slow down. Marsh knew which ones were his targets. If the lights weren't on, Marsh would sneak out of the car and peek through the windows. I admired his athleticism. He'd leap over a hedge or climb over a high iron fence without hesitation.
Finally, we found the right house. It was at the end of a cul-de-sac of identical cookie-cutter homes. Half of them were for sale; two others had Uhaul trucks parked in the driveway. A few houses had their lights on, but only one had a For Sale sign still stuck in the manicured lawn. Marshal had me park a few houses away. We sat in the back of the pickup truck in the dark of the night. Above, a few clouds caught the silver light of the moon. There were frogs seeking answers in the bushes. A cool wind caught at my hands as I adjusted my camera.
"Can you get a shot?" Marshal asked.
I trained the camera on the lit window on the bottom floor of the house. The curtains were open. I zoomed in, and I could see a woman sitting on a couch.
"I see her!"
"Shh! This is a private investigation. We don't need the neighbors to start poking into our business. Just keep your eye on Cassidy and tell me what she's doing"
I watched the man through my camera lense. He was well-built, with broad shoulders and the shadow of a beard on his square jaw. He looked like he'd played football, or maybe rugby, in college.
I watched the woman through my camera lense. She was one of those middle-aged women who still look twenty, every ounce of fat burned away, every wrinkle smoothed down through pure effort, and a neckline like a swan. She wore a white tank-top and black yoga pants, clothes that should have made her look like someone grocery shopping at three in the morning. However, the tank-top clung to her round, perky breasts and I assumed that when she stood the yoga pants would stick to her ass like fuzz on a peach. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, completing the look of someone who could pass for a college student sleeping with the professor, or a soccer mom fucking the young coach.
"I think she's just watching TV," I whispered.
Marshal nodded. "I shadowed Cassidy at some AA meetings. I believe she's got a date with a young guy she met there. Someone your age, actually." He looked at me in the darkness. The moonlight gleamed on his skin, but his eyes were all in shadow.
I searched for a reply. "I think it's something in my generation. I know of a bunch of college guys dating older women. I heard the sex is great." I tried to keep a sardonic look on my face, and hoped Marshal couldn't see me blush.
Marshal laughed. "Makes it tough for you, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess," I chuckled nervously.
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
"What?"
Marshal shook his head. "Sorry, I told you I'm no good at social skills. I guess that was an inappropriate question."
I took a moment to look at this man who had hired me. I'd assumed he was much older than me, but in the moonlight it was difficult to tell his exact age. His face was expressionless, mask-like, and yet fine-boned, so that I had to search it to tell his meaning. And the more I gazed at Marsh's face, the more I suspected he was both younger, and less invincible, than I had first thought. He wore a trenchcoat over an unbuttoned shirt and brown chinos. An odd combination.
We waited on the back of the truck for over an hour. I kept glancing through my camera at our target, and updated Marsh. Other than that, there was no effort at small talk.
"She's checking his phone."
"She's watching TV again."
"Oh! She just got up! To... use the bathroom."
"She's watching TV again."
"She's texting. She looks disappointed."
Marshal swore. "I'm guessing the date was canceled. He's probably at a frat party instead."
I asked, "Should we do this again another night?"
Marsh took some time to answer. His eyes scanned the darkness, as if looking over his options. "No," he said. "I want to end this now."
Marsh took out his phone. "I've been following Cassidy on Tinder, too," he said. "If she's riled up for a date, she's not going to leave until she gets what she wants."
He began swiping. I tried not to stare, but I was curious about who was popping up on his account. It seemed to be women like Cassidy, approaching middle-age but still fit. A lot of them were holding surfboards or standing on top of boulders. Finally he found his target. He swiped right.
"It's a match," he said with a grim smile. As he texted, he read aloud to me. "I can be there in... twenty minutes. See you soon, baby."
I was aghast. "Wait, you're going in there?"
Marshal nodded. "That's why you're here. I can't be the lady's date and take pictures." He thought for a minute. "Well, I guess I could, but that would be pretty suspicious."
"Is this legal? Is it allowed? Aren't you, technically, the one forcing her to cheat?" I noticed my voice was high, and my heart was beating fast. I couldn't believe what I'd gotten myself into.
Marshal shook his head. "Cassidy's a philanderer. If she's not fucking a freshman boy, she's fucking someone else. Just take pictures and don't make any noise."
He stood up from the tailgate and stretched, rolling his broad shoulders. "I'm going to change in the cab. Don't look."
I kept my eye instead on the camera, and on Cassidy. She was pacing excitedly now, checking her phone for new messages. I'll admit, I felt a little bad for the woman. She looked like a puppy about to go for a walk. She didn't realize that the man holding the leash was also going to sell her to the pound.
I glanced back for a moment, forgetting what Marshal told me. I saw his silhouette in the truck cab. He took off his black cap. The moonlight glinted from bare skin beneath. I looked away, ashamed of myself. Marshal having a bald spot was none of my business. But it did add to the mystery of his age. Was he a young man acting like an aged detective, or an older man in a young man's trade? Finally, I heard the car door opened. Marshal walked out.
He wasn't wearing the trenchcoat or loose shirt anymore. Instead, he was dressed in a dark blue suit, slim and well-fit. The blazer was buttoned over an orange v-neck pullover, with a white button-down shirt beneath cinched by a bright blue tie. He had a matching blue pocket-square, and black framed glasses. On his head he wore a tight-brimmed gray fedora. Furthermore he had applied a fake beard, dark and trimmed nearly into a five-o'clock shadow. He looked unrecognizable: professional, collected, and, I'll admit, handsome as the devil.
"Don't stare too long," he said in his humorless voice. "And don't get any ideas."
It was too late. My heart was racing, and the excitement of being out late with a handsome, powerful man, spying on a woman fucking around with college boys was having an effect on me. I hoped Marsh couldn't see my nipples poking out against my thin college sweatshirt. I took some deep breaths.
Marsh told me to wait until he was inside, then take pictures through any exposed window. "We want pictures of anything that shows obvious cheating. The more salacious, the better." Finally he took from the car a small blue gym bag.
I had to only wonder at what lengths this detective would go. I would soon find out.
Marshal strutted down the block. Even his walk was different, a confident runway march that showed off his strong frame and tight ass. He knocked at the door at the end of the cul-de-sac, which opened immediately. He stepped inside.
I trained my camera through the distant window. Marshal held Cassidy's hand in his. He kissed the back of it. I took pictures. Cassidy laughed wryly, and Marsh's face broke into a sloppy, schoolboy grin, more emotion than I'd seen all night. He looked at Cassidy coyly, then purposefully turned to look at whatever Walmart portraits were framed on the walls. He seemed to be ignoring her purposefully.
Cassidy took the bait.
She approached Marsh from behind, and wrapped her arms around his chest. She kissed the side of his neck, and continued to kiss him as he turned around. She took a step forward and pressed Marshal against the wall. Her kisses were deep and aggressive. Her hands roamed over his body, unbuttoning his blazer and reaching down to touch between his legs.
Click. Click. Click click click. I took pictures.
Marshal, meanwhile, was not playing the innocent. He too was aggressively grabbing at Cassidy's body. Through my lense, I saw him reach down and undo her belt. He unzipped her pants and slipped a hand through the open zipper. She felt for his cock, straining against his pant leg, and teased it through the fabric.
Suddenly Cassidy took a step back. She looked around the room suspiciously, then looked right at me! "Oh, shit!" I scrambled down into the truck bed.
Cassidy approached the living-room window. She grabbed the curtains at either side and pulled them shut.
I realized quickly that, despite my racing heart, I was in no danger. I was sitting in the dark an entire block away from Cassidy. Furthermore, the darkness outside must have turned the window into a mirror. Still, I'd have to find another window to take pictures through.
I leapt down from the truck and ran as quietly as I could towards the house. A narrow path led through a gate to the tiny backyard. I slowly opened the gate and crept into the backyard. It was mostly a concrete patio with a brick barbecue and three square feet of grass. There was a sliding glass door (blinds pulled shut) and a small kitchen window. However, the height of the window would keep me from seeing anything but Cassidy and Marshal's heads.
I climbed up onto the brick barbecue, thankful that no motion-sensing lights were turned on. From this height, I could see through the small window into the kitchen and the living room beyond. I brought up my camera and adjusted the zoom.
Marshal sat in a loveseat I hadn't seen from my previous angle. He had taken off his blazer and pullover, and the bottom buttons of his white shirt were loose, so that beneath his dark glistening abs were exposed. His belt and fly were opened. I could see bright orange briefs underneath.
Cassidy stood a small distance from him. Though unbuttoned, unbelted, and unzipped, he was obviously in command. He motioned for her to stay where she was, then reached down and unzipped his gym bag.
As he bent over, I saw Marshal glance briefly towards the kitchen window. I took a quick picture, knowing a small green light would shine for a moment. He winked. I realized then that Marshal had moved to the loveseat once the curtains had been closed in order to set up this shot. I really had the perfect angle, from the kitchen through a short hallway. And with my camera zoom, it was like I was standing in the room with Cassidy and Marsh.
From the bag, Marshal pulled a large black dildo. It was realistically shaped, if proportionally bigger than any cock I'd seen. It was capped by a large head and even had veins molded into the sides. He crooked a finger, and bid Cassidy towards his lap.
As Cassidy stepped forward, she lifted her tank-top over her head. Her breasts stood out from her thin frame, round with huge dark nipples. She hooked her thumbs into the band of her yoga pants and in two steps was completely naked. She turned towards the back of the house and I got a look at her long, narrow body, the grooves of her muscles, her taut belly like an 18-year-old's, a dark triangle of hair above her tight pussy. She sat down on Marsh's lap, her legs straddling his thigh.
Marshal wrapped one arm around her chest, reaching up and taking one round breast in a firm hand. With the other hand, he started teasing her with the tip of the black dildo. First he ran the head of the dildo from her knee, slowly, up her thigh. As soon as he reached an inch of her pussy, he pulled away. He repeated this move on her other leg, but again circumvented her crotch, and instead traced the dildo up her belly towards her breasts.
Cassidy started bucking her hips against Marshal's thigh. Her nipples stood out from her breasts, and a blush had spread over her chest and up her neck. I could almost see her pulse leaping at her severe jawline.
Marshal pulled Cassidy so that her back rested flush with his chest. I could imagine his erection pressing through his briefs against her tight ass. With his free hand Marshal reached down and spread her legs apart. Her pussy lips glistened, winking open. I stared at her pussy, not believing what was just before my eyes. I then glanced at Marshal, who was staring with urgency at the window. I realized with a shock that I hadn't been taking pictures. I started clicking away.
Marshal teased Cassidy's nipples with the head of the dildo. He circled her luscious breasts with it, then ran it between her breasts. Cassidy grabbed her breasts and pressed them against the dildo as he ran it up and down through them. She was panting wildly.
Marshal reached down and started rubbing Cassidy's pussy lips, getting his fingers wet with her juices. They opened to his touch like a morning flower. He slipped a finger in and started slowly fucking her with it.
At the same time, he raised the big black dildo to her neck, drawing a line from her collarbone to her open lips. Eagerly she wrapped her lips around the head of the dildo, sucking on it. Her hands massaged her breasts and her belly convulsed with pleasure.
Marshal began furiously rubbing at Cassidy's clit while he moved the dildo in and out of her mouth. Cassidy's legs were shaking. She gripped both arms of the loveseat with vice-like hands. She was going crazy.
Nevermind the effects on me!
If seeing Marsh dressed to the nines had warmed my loins, seeing him fuck Cassidy's face with a dildo and her pussy with his fingers was almost causing my nipples to bore two holes in my sweater. In my crouched position, the crotch of my jeans was pressed directly against my pussy. I started spreading my knees a little more, tightening the jeans fabric against my once-again soaked panties. I was honestly worried I would have a stain on my jeans by the end of the night. I wanted nothing more than to undo my jeans and beat my clit into submission, to fuck my fingers until I climaxed. But I kept my hands on my camera and kept taking pictures.
Through my lense I saw Marshal lift Cassidy from his lap. He circled around her and bent her over so that her face was pressed into the back of the chair. Her ass was level with my camera, the two perky cheeks blushed red. Marshal got down on his knees and grabbed her ass in his hands. He leaned forward and started licking her pussy from behind, digging his face between her thighs. With one hand, Cassidy reached back wildly and grasped his head, pressing him deeper into her pussy.
Marshal squeezed Cassidy's ass cheeks as he buried his face deeper. Cassidy looked over her shoulder with a wild gleam in her eye, her mouth opened in pure pleasure. Click! Click! I took more pictures.
Marsh stood, wiped his face with his shirtsleeve, and picked up the black dildo again. With one hand he grabbed Cassidy's ponytail and forced her face into the back of the loveseat. With the other hand, he pressed the big black head of the dildo against her pussy lips. He started moving the dildo slowly, just the bare tip of it, into and out of her pussy. With the other, he kept her head firmly pressed down. Through the lense, I could see Marsh's own cock straining against his underwear.
Marshal kept moving the dildo back and forth, still putting barely any of it into Cassidy's pussy. Each time he pushed the dildo forward, just another quarter inch or so entered. But as more of the dildo went in, he increased the pace. Soon the entire giant head of the dildo was vanishing into Cassidy's pussy, then getting pulled back out. It glistened with her pussy juices. Cassidy's legs and pert ass shook in pleasure and desire for more. Faster now, he pushed and pulled the head of the pussy in and out, in and out, and again another quarter inch, another inch, another three inches of the huge dildo vanished into Cassidy's pussy.
Even from outside in the backyard I could hear Cassidy's cries of fierce pleasure.
Cassidy reached back with a hand, groped the air wildly for a moment, and then found the waistband of Marshal's briefs. She yanked it down and wrapped her fingers around his swollen cock. As Marshal fucked her pussy with the dildo- now a full half of the monster pumping in and out- Cassidy pumped his cock. Her face was still pressed into the sofa, her full breasts swinging beneath her bent body.
Finally Cassidy could take no more. Her legs shuddered as she let out a primal scream and climaxed. Marshal pulled the big wet dildo from her soaked, loose pussy. As he did so, Cassidy flipped around on the loveseat, leaned forward, and absolutely swallowed Marshal's cock. The entire length of it vanished down her pale throat. Marshal let out his own cry and grabbed the back of Cassidy's head. He kept her face pressed against his crotch, his cock buried deep, for a moment more, and I could only imagine him cumming, releasing down Cassidy's throat. Then Cassidy sat back on the loveseat, exhausted. A little white cum had dribbled down her chin. She scooped it up with a finger and sucked it into her mouth, her eyes on Marsh the whole time. Grinning lasciviously, she wiped her lips with the back of a sweaty palm.
Marshal pulled his cock, now limp, back into his briefs. He zipped his pants and buckled his belt. Buttoning his shirt as well, he walked towards the kitchen. I continued to watch him through my camera lense though I was done taking pictures. There was a confidence, a swagger to him, like a pirate done raiding a queen's pleasure boat.
Marsh washed his hands and face in the kitchen sink and gave a meaningful glance into the backyard. It was time to go.
However, behind him, I saw Cassidy stand up. She had taken something from Marsh's gym bag and was stepping into it. She walked into the kitchen as well, wearing a huge purple strap-on. From the backyard her voice was muffled, but I heard her say, "Time for round two. Take off your pants, pretty-boy."
Marshal turned around at the sink. In front of him, Cassidy's naked body glistened. She had taken lube from the bag as well, and now squirted a small dollop onto the shaft of the strap-on. With one hand she stroked the strap-on, spreading the lube over its glistening length. Cassidy face was like stone. She said, "This time I'm in charge. I want you to take down your pants and bend over the sink."
Marshal shook his head. I heard his muffled voice reply, "I'm done for tonight, baby. I need to get back to my studies."
Cassidy shook her head. "I don't think so. You had a good time being boss-man out there. Now it's my turn. Now your ass is mine."
All the talk of power was getting to her. Cassidy's nipples stood out and her face was flushed with erotic energy. She started walking towards Marshal.
Again Marshal said no. "I'm all done for tonight. I'll be heading out."
He started to edge around Cassidy, but the kitchen was small. She laughed and pushed him back to the sink. Then she reached over to the counter and grabbed a knife. "How about a little roleplay? You're a real-estate agent getting a house ready, and I'm an intruder looking for action. You need to close the deal by opening up those ass cheeks."
Marsh gave a wild look out the kitchen window. My heart was pounding and my own erotic energies had vanished. I quickly fumbled with my camera, then aimed at the window.
FLASH!
The light erupted over the backyard and into the kitchen. Cassidy looked up towards the window. "What the hell?" she asked. Once again I took a picture with the flash on. Cassidy raised a hand over her eyes, blinking rapidly. "Is there someone out there? Taking pictures?" Her confusion started to turn to anger as red blushed over her face.
Marshal didn't waste a moment. He bowled into Cassidy, laying his shoulder into her stomach. Cassidy tumbled to the floor. I heard the knife clatter onto the tile kitchen floor. Without a look back, Marsh grabbed his gym bag and fled out the door.
I, too, was running towards the front yard. Together, we charged towards the truck. I jumped into the driver's seat as Marsh hopped into the passenger's. In the rearview mirror I could see Cassidy standing slumped in the lit front door. My truck gave a shot, a whine, and a cough- and then died. Silent but for the frogs.
"Shit!" Marsh swore. "Start the fucking car!"
Cassidy started walking towards us, still buck naked. Moonlight ran like water over her bare tits and thighs, and glinted from the knife in her hand.
I turned the key again. I heard the shot, the whine, the cough- and then the grumpy rumble of the engine. I slammed the accelerator and we shot down the block, half on the sidewalk half on the road.
At each turn away from the cul-de-sac, my heart slowed a little.
Marshal, too, was calming down in the passenger's seat. I heard his deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth. There was a smell of fear, sweat, and pussy.
We slowly wound our way through the night, back towards her office. Once again, Marshal navigated. For some time, those were the only words between us.
I felt, though, like I needed to talk about the evening. Flashes of the night, like pictures in my camera, kept popping up before my eyes. Marshal with Cassidy in his lap, fucking her mouth with the dildo. Marsh's face buried in Cassidy's pussy. Cassidy holding the knife.
"Mashal, I-"
"Marsh."
"What?" I asked.
"Marsh," he replied. "Those close to me call me Marsh."
"Okay. Marsh, I... I'm glad you're okay."
"Me too," Mash replied, once again in his voice without emotions. "You did good, kid. Now keep your eyes on the road, I'm going to change."
And beside me, Marsh undressed. I kept my eyes on the road, but my brain was busy analyzing what was happening in the side of my vision. Marsh reached up and took off the gray fedura. In a sudden streetlight, I saw his tight curly hair, cut very short, not with a bald spot, but with a large mean-looking scar running halfway across his scalp. I tried not to see anything else after that.
Part Three: Consequences
Back in his office, Marsh counted out a stack of hundreds and passed them to me.
"Let's upload the photos, and then I've just got paperwork to do."
He cleared a space for my camera on his crowded desk, then plugged it in and clicked 'Upload All.'
"There are some, um, non-professional pictures on there," I told Marsh, thinking of the photography assignments of trees, flowers, and architecture.
"I'll sift through them," Marsh said. Idly, he picked up something black from her desk. "You ever use one of these?"
It was a revolver, black and shiny. Involuntarily, I took a small step back. "No! But why didn't you bring that tonight?"
Marsh shook his head. "If I had shot the lady, we wouldn't get paid." He gave a little snort and a half-smile. "I guess you shot her instead."
I couldn't help what I said next. "Well you got a shot off too."
There was a moment of silence in the room. My face flushed. Then Marshal laughed, a loud, awkward, honest laugh.
"You're good!" he chuckled. "I'll definitely call you for the next job."
Marsh handed me back my camera. "I've got an hour or so of paperwork to do-"
I stammered, "Okay, I'll head home."
"Oh!" Marsh looked surprised. He straightened the brim of his cricket cap. "Yeah, that makes sense. It's late."
"Oh, were you..." I trailed off. I could not read my employer's expression.
"Well, I was going to suggest we get Thai. There's a 24-hour place around the corner."
"Yeah, I've been there!"
*****
Part One: Virgins Need Not Apply
Andy sent me the Craigslist ad over Facebook. -Photographer needed for private investigation firm. Must own camera and working car. Virgins need not apply.-
I wrote him back after checking out the ad and the rather generous hourly wage. -Ha ha, looks like just the job for me.-
-Are you going to apply May? You have a camera and you have something resembling a car.- My truck, passed down through three older siblings already, was more rust than vehicle. But it was, by definition, a working car.
I typed back: -Maybe! I could use the money.-
There was a gap in the conversation as I browsed my friends' Facebook pages. There were a lot of pictures of parties: red cups, dark rooms, duck faces and peace signs for the camera. I tried not to feel jealous. My Facebook page was entirely photographs of trees, of birds, of the trails surrounding campus. It was my third year at college, and I still spent more time pointing my camera lens at nature than at prospective dates.
Suddenly, a message from Andy popped up: -When are you coming home?-
Now this was interesting. I was on my laptop in my room, and I could hear Andy through the door watching television on the living room couch. But he didn't know I was here! This was the perfect opportunity. My roommate and I had something of a prank competition going on. Yesterday Andy had stolen all of the towels out of the bathroom while I was showering. I wound up holding a loofah over my pussy and the bathmat over my tits as I ran to my room, right in front of Andy's gang of gay friends. If you didn't know Andy and I, you might assume this was flirting. But I met Andy through his boyfriend, Rob. Searching for roommates online, Rob had remembered me from a portrait photography class, and offered a room in the two-bedroom apartment he shared with his boyfriend. I lived with Rob and Andy for a full year before they split up. It turns out Andy's name was the one on the lease, and Rob moved across town near the river.
I might have met Rob first, but over the last year Andy and I became great friends. We both loved to watch weird old movies (my favorite: Repo Man, Andy's favorite: Top Secret), eat popcorn with hot sauce (me: Tabasco, Andy: Mad Dog), and laze around in our underwear. Andy was like a living sculpture, with thick black hair, clear skin, and abs that somehow showed through the loosest of T-shirts. He claimed to be the only Korean gym-rat on campus. But of course, Andy was gay, and I had absolutely no chance with him. So to me he was like one of the girls. We hung out constantly, so much so that my other friends blamed Andy for my lack of dating.
"No guy thinks he can compete with Andy!" said my friend Celina. "They assume you're together. By the way, are you together? Is he bi, or totally gay? Is he into me?"
This, by the way, is how all my conversations about Andy went. Even my mom said she was waiting for the day that Andy fell in love with me. It was embarrassing. But worth it, for the friendship.
I took some time thinking up a reply to Andy's message. For all the ways he tried to be badass, Andy had a jump reflex like no one else. If he saw a spider, or heard a creaking floorboard, or didn't know you were behind him when you said hello, he would jump about three feet into the air and scream. I knew now how to pull the perfect prank.
I replied: -I'm up at the library working on an assignment. I won't be back for a while.-
In the living room, Andy laughed at something on the TV. I decided to wait a bit before I lept out of my room. It was hard though to not laugh and spoil the surprise. Honestly, the suspense before the prank has to be the most rewarding part of it.
Meanwhile, I opened a stealth tab on my laptop and quickly flipped through my various online dating profiles. Last night I'd felt desperate and sent out about twenty or so messages. There were no replies. I stared at the portraits who popped up as my matches. Beautiful women, in tank-tops beneath redwoods, in tight pajamas snuggling their dogs, in bikinis at the beach. I'd been on some first dates recently, but nothing promising.
Meanwhile, I opened a stealth tab on my laptop and quickly flipped through various online dating profiles. There were all the usual neanderthalish grunts from random men. 'Hey.' 'Hi.' 'Sup?' 'Hey.' And then a few wordless, faceless pictures of abs, and of course a random dick pic. Last night I'd gotten desperate and actually messaged some of these faceless, monosyllabic men back. But something about my replies- maybe it was the word monosyllabic?- just killed the conversation. Despite all I'd heard about horny men trolling for easy women online, I'd received not a single message back.
I didn't know what I was doing wrong! I tried to search out for all the cute, nerdy men of my dreams, the quiet ones who wanted to spend an evening watching scary movies on the couch, or reading a good book before getting distracted by making out. And I'd gotten a few first dates. But nothing promising. No heart-fluttering, no googly eyes, no love at first sight.
It's not like I was lacking in social skills. Just this past weekend, I'd met a psychology major at the 24-hour Thai restaurant. He was a tall guy with a beautiful brown eyes. He had this quiet smile and dimples that just made me blush. We'd talked, we'd flirted, we walked out into the parking lot bumping shoulders... and then as we said a lingering goodbye, and he leaned in for a kiss-
I left.
I didn't want to leave!
But there was this voice in my head warning me that a first kiss leads to a date with a second kiss, which could lead to an invitation to his room, which could lead to sex.
And here was what I hadn't told even my best friend Andy.
I was a virgin.
I was a virgin on a college campus surrounded by beautiful, interesting, intellectual men. I was a virgin with a ripped roommate who brought even more muscular, intellectual men into our apartment! I was a virgin with no good excuses except for the fact that I was embarrassed to be a virgin, and I knew the first time would be awkward and unsexy and...
Well, honestly, I was probably still a virgin because I thought about it too much!
Closing the dating websites, I noticed that Andy wasn't watching TV anymore. I listened for footsteps- the floorboards of our old house are as creaky as they are drafty- and heard none. In fact, I heard nothing from behind the door. Andy had to be on the couch still, probably with his headphones in, watching something on his laptop.
I suck silently to the door. Slowly, slowly, I turned the knob, trying to not make a single noise. Inch by inch I opened the door, peeking through. Perfect, Andy's back was turned to me as he lay on the couch. Just as I thought, he had his laptop on the coffee table and his earbuds in. He was totally captivated by what he was watching, which seemed to be a romantic gay film. Two men were kissing, grasping at each others' bodies. They were... naked. One of the men, muscular with flawless dark skin, started kissing down the other man's body, taking a nipple between his lips. His hand swept down over the other man's taut belly, then around to grab a handful of ass.
Oh my god.
Andy was watching porn!
Oh, this would just be too embarrassing.
How perfect!
I was about to leap out to scare Andy, when I noticed that my roommate wasn't just watching porn. One hand rested on his tight white t-shirt while the other moved over his gym shorts. I could see that Andy was breathing heavily, his shoulders rising and falling. He still had the back of his head to me. I could see the rise of his cock within his gym shorts, his hand feeling out the shape of it, stroking the shaft and then rubbing the head. On the laptop, one of the men, a red-head, lay back on white sheets while the other man licked his cock from balls to tips, over and over. On the couch, Andy let out a little moan. With one hand he reached down between his legs and started gently kneading his balls. With the other he stroked his cock, still tented in his gym shorts. I could see his hips rising a little with each stroke.
My own hands were moving down my body. With one hand I squeezed my breast and teased my nipple. The other hand was crawling down, down towards my pants, where I could feel my pussy already wet.
Wait, what was I doing? I blinked, took a deep breath. I needed to close the door, give Andy his privacy. No wonder he asked when I was coming home. He was horny and bored and- oh my god, he was now removing his gym shorts.
Beneath, Andy wasn't wearing underwear. He pulled his shorts down, and the waistband caught on the head of his cock. As he pulled more, his cock sprung free, slapping against his tight abs. Andy's cock was enormously swollen, the head like a huge pink strawberry. Andy licked his fingers and rubbed the saliva on the head of his cock. Precum glistened at the tip. With his thumb, he rubbed the precum down to the base of the head. On the laptop, one man was eagerly swallowing the other's cock, taking it down into his throat in hungry bobs of his head.
Andy groaned in pleasure. His hips bucked the air as he stroked his cock. I could see the effort he was making to hold back from cumming. He timed his strokes with the bobbing of the man's head on his screen. Andy reached down and grabbed his balls with his other hand. He ground his ass down against the sofa. I would have to sit on that sofa later. I wondered if I would be able to smell his body there, his sweat, his exertion.
Now on the laptop, the redhead was standing behind his partner in front of a mirror. He had his partner's hands against the mirror, and was reaching around and stroking his cock like a madman. I could see both of their reflexions in the mirror, all their lithe muscles taut with passion.
I suddenly noticed my own hand was pressed firmly against my pussy through my jeans. I felt like my panties were soaked through. I could smell my own smell of sex. I yanked my hand back as if I were touching a live wire. I couldn't believe what I was doing. And yet, I had not closed the door.
On the laptop, one of the men came all over the mirror. As the other man stroked his cock, huge ropes of cum shot out, smearing over their reflection. Like a starving man, his partner kneeled down and started licking the cum off the mirror's surface.
Andy groaned again and thrust his hips into the air, his hand firmly grasped around his cock. His other hand pulled up his shirt over his abs, and he pinched one of his nipples. As he started to cum- pumping even faster, even harder- his feet kicked against one side of the couch and his shoulders slid over the edge of the other arm. Cum gushed onto his abs, white strands pooling into his belly button. His head finally dropped, and I suddenly realized he was facing me, albeit upside down, staring openly at him masturbating on the couch. But luck was with me- Andy's eyes were closed in pleasure and release.
I'll admit, I still didn't close the door right away. I looked at the upside-down face of my roommate for a split second longer. His mouth was pursed open, and his tongue darted out and licked perspiration from his full lips. Relief had smoothed his beautiful face, with his high cheekbones and dark eyebrows. I had a sudden urge to kiss him. Or to take off my jeans and soaked panties and plant by pussy down on his mouth. Squirt all over his chin when I climaxed.
Oh god, what was I thinking? I stepped back into my room and silently closed the door. I just prayed Andy hadn't opened his eyes in time.
I scanned my room for an escape plan. Andy still thought I was up on campus.
The window of my room opened on a little side yard maintained by our landlord, and then the sidewalk and street where my old beater of a truck was parked. I grabbed my laptop, my backpack, and my camera. I gently placed my goods outside the window, then squeezed out myself.
My truck was infamous in our neighborhood. Its peeling red paint left rusty patches like some sunburnt cow. Its engine started with a gunshot, whined like an injured buffalo, and coughed like a starving artist with tuberculosis. It was, in other words, not a great getaway vehicle.
Instead, my legs shaking and my panties still soaked, I scurried down the sidewalk. There was a coffee shop I liked a few blocks away. I'd spend some time there and then walk home. As I walked down the sidewalk, I practiced the neutral face I'd have to keep up when I came through the front door. But I kept picturing Andy's face instead. Upside down, flushed with erotic energies, biting his lip as he came. I shook my head. I would have to calm down before I reached the coffee shop. I could feel my nipples prodding out of my shirt like goddamn antennae.
I'd gotten things under control by the time I reached Coffee & Pie, a coffee shop and bakery I'd been visiting since I'd first moved in with Rob and Andy. It was a real local's joint, visited by families and retirees rather than college students. Other than myself, of course.
Coffee & Pie was hidden in a strip mall in between a Brazilian Jujitsu school and a private dental practice. I guess if you got your teeth knocked out in Jujitsu you could get fixed two doors down, then celebrate with a slice of home-baked pie. The coffee shop was an unassuming little square of a place, just a glass counter filled with pies, a couple of tables and a single lumpy couch. But it had great wi-fi, it was quiet, and I was in love with a boy who worked there.
Well, I should amend that.
I wanted to be in love with him. The truth was, I'd hardly talked with him. He had sandy brown hair kept messy in that artfully tousled way. Bold black glasses framed these warm blue eyes. In the morning his strong jaw was freshly shaved, but if he was working in the afternoon or evening he had a perfect five-o'clock shadow. You could tell, just by the way he peered out at the world, that he had a great sense of humor. He had a tattoo of a dragonfly on his right forearm, and a little scar above his left eyebrow. He smelled like cardamom.
I didn't even know his name.
Here's the limit of our conversation each time I come into the coffee shop to relax or work:
"I'll have a latte and a slice of pie."
"The pear pie is especially good right now."
"Sounds great."
"That'll be $5.50."
"Here you go."
"Have a nice day."
"You too."
Then I sit down and eat my pie and drink my latte and try not to look at him.
Once- just once- there was a variation to the conversation. It was the first or second time I'd brought my new camera with me. I'd scrimped and saved for this camera, foregoing coffee for two months. I was very proud of it, and brought it everywhere to show off. When I asked for my latte, the boy behind the counter said he hadn't seen me in a while. I told him I'd been saving for this camera, and that segued into a little conversation about photography. He said his mother was a photographer, but he had no talent for it. Instead, he was going to the local community college to figure out what he wanted to pursue in life.
All the while my heart was beating out of my chest and I kept thinking, 'Ask him out, ask him out, ask him out!'
I finally got up the guts to introduce myself. I said, "My name is May."
And just as he took my hand in his, a customer walked through the door. The loud ringing of the bell above the door covered the sound of her name. And before I could ask again, the customer was ordering a carafe of coffee and a dozen pies for their office. It was too late.
So now I fell back on the old conversation, all business, too embarrassed to introduce myself again.
I opened my laptop and noticed the Craigslist ad was still open. -Photographer needed for private investigation firm. Must own camera and working car. Virgins need not apply.-
Well, I had a car and a camera. And that last sentence had to be a strange joke. I had some time to waste, so I decided to apply. I opened up my resume, added a few updates, and selected some good photographs to go with it. Thinking of the old detective noir films my mom had loved, I selected black and white photographs with heavy shadows. Many of them were of Andy, my usual subject. There was one of him standing shirtless against a blank white wall of our apartment. The sun was low in the sky and casting these incredible dark criss-crossed shadows from the picture window at the front. He was holding a white sheet about three inches below his bellybutton, so you could see the contours of his muscles pointing down towards his crotch. The shadows of the window frames and the shadows of the sheet intermingled into a sort of rorschach test ink-blot. His pale skin, his black hair, all played into this intricate chaos of light and dark. He looked damn sexy, too.
I noticed, suddenly, that the coffee shop boy was behind me looking at the screen. I closed the window, my face turning beet red. "Here's your latte and pie," he said, bending down and placing the plate and mug next to my laptop. He was wearing this tight striped shirt, unbuttoned at the top, and even tighter black jeans. As be bent over my eyes drifted to his ass, its shape within the black jeans a sort of extension of my chiaroscuro photography.
I blinked, yanked my eyes away, and mumbled a thank-you. I just couldn't get anything right today!
I sent off the application, then read some articles for class while enjoying my pie and coffee. The articles were all about architectural photography. Different theories on how to shoot a building. We had a big architectural photography project coming up that I'd been procrastinating. And now I was even more distracted. I felt my eyes were magnets turning towards the ass or abs of any man I saw. I kept remembering Andy touching himself on the couch. I kept thinking about how clumsy I was in staring at the coffee boy's ass. I decided I would never look at a man again. I would buy thick sunglasses, the ones you wear during an eclipse. I would take a vow of silence, so I could never say something embarrassing. I would sequester myself in a cell in the most isolated nunnery in the world. I would-
An e-mail popped up from someone named Marshal Saint-Claud. It had a simple message:
-I received your application. The job is yours if you want it. Meet me tonight at 8:00 at the office. - Marsh-
There was an address and a phone number.
I immediately messaged Andy online. -Holy shit, I got the job!-
-Detective May!- he replied. -Ready to take pictures of husbands fucking their mistresses?-
My face blanched white, then burned. I hadn't thought of just what my camera would be pointed at. 'Virgins need not apply,' I thought. Andy was probably right. Then again, I had a picture of Andy with his hand wrapped around his cock in my mind. Maybe this job would help me get my mind off of certain other things.
-I'm heading home,- I typed to Andy.
-See you soon!-
Part Two: Shots Fired
With a shot, and a whine, and a desperate cough, my truck pulled into the office park. It was nearly eight, and the parking lot was empty. A single light shone in an office window up on a third floor. The whole office building was built Mission-style, with adobe white walls and odd, fortress-like roofs. I felt like a thief invading a castle.
I walked up the stairs and rang the bell at the door. A voice inside said, "Come in!"
Inside was less an office than a single room. Half the space was taken up by a long desk covered in piles of folders, binders, and loose papers. On the wall was a framed poster for the film 'The Girl from Ipanema.' And in the center, sitting in the only chair in the room, was Marshal Saint-Claud, or Marsh as I'd come to call him.
Marsh, I would learn, was a product of tragedy and survival. His father's side of the family was dragged to America in the slave trade, but escaped into Indian territory. His mother's side fled from the black trains of Germany to Mexico, then over generations bled across the border into the southwestern U.S. He had mocha skin, a proud European nose, the jawline of a 1950's movie star, and the black eyes of a shark.
"Listen," he said to me by way of introduction, "I was born able to solve a Rubix cube in thirty seconds flat, but I don't deal well with people. I can hit bullseye with a revolver blindfolded, but I can't promise to be nice or kind or even really very human. I'll forget your name, but I'll pay you on time. My name is Marshal Saint-Claud. Do you want the job?"
There was one more thing I didn't mention. Marshal was stunning. Cold, leonine, handsome, though he didn't seem to put any effort into it- no product in his hair, no labels on his clothes. He had an odd felt hat, what I'd later learn was an old English cricket hat, cocked at an odd angle on his short-cropped curly black hair. His fingernails were chewed down to the quick. And yet his absolute beauty could not be denied.
I nodded, and put out a hand that wasn't shaken. "I'm May. I brought my camera and my car."
I decided to not mention my virginity.
"Okay, Molly," Marshal replied. I couldn't tell if he was joking or not. Those black eyes bore into me. No wonder he was a detective, he looked like he could take me apart like a puzzle and put me together behind his back. "You drive, I'll navigate. We have a job tonight."
Marshal grabbed a trenchcoat from the wall and led me out the door. I pointed out my truck. He stared at it for a while. "Not very nondescript," he muttered, but he got in the passenger seat anyways.
I started the truck, wincing at every groan, and Marshal began navigating through unlit back streets. He filled me in on the job.
"I've been hired by a local real-estate agent who thinks his wife's cheating on him. He's noticed that his keys to the houses on market go missing at night, when the wife's supposed to be attending AA meetings."
We drove around the sleepy suburbs. Each time we came to a house for sale, we'd slow down. Marsh knew which ones were his targets. If the lights weren't on, Marsh would sneak out of the car and peek through the windows. I admired his athleticism. He'd leap over a hedge or climb over a high iron fence without hesitation.
Finally, we found the right house. It was at the end of a cul-de-sac of identical cookie-cutter homes. Half of them were for sale; two others had Uhaul trucks parked in the driveway. A few houses had their lights on, but only one had a For Sale sign still stuck in the manicured lawn. Marshal had me park a few houses away. We sat in the back of the pickup truck in the dark of the night. Above, a few clouds caught the silver light of the moon. There were frogs seeking answers in the bushes. A cool wind caught at my hands as I adjusted my camera.
"Can you get a shot?" Marshal asked.
I trained the camera on the lit window on the bottom floor of the house. The curtains were open. I zoomed in, and I could see a woman sitting on a couch.
"I see her!"
"Shh! This is a private investigation. We don't need the neighbors to start poking into our business. Just keep your eye on Cassidy and tell me what she's doing"
I watched the man through my camera lense. He was well-built, with broad shoulders and the shadow of a beard on his square jaw. He looked like he'd played football, or maybe rugby, in college.
I watched the woman through my camera lense. She was one of those middle-aged women who still look twenty, every ounce of fat burned away, every wrinkle smoothed down through pure effort, and a neckline like a swan. She wore a white tank-top and black yoga pants, clothes that should have made her look like someone grocery shopping at three in the morning. However, the tank-top clung to her round, perky breasts and I assumed that when she stood the yoga pants would stick to her ass like fuzz on a peach. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, completing the look of someone who could pass for a college student sleeping with the professor, or a soccer mom fucking the young coach.
"I think she's just watching TV," I whispered.
Marshal nodded. "I shadowed Cassidy at some AA meetings. I believe she's got a date with a young guy she met there. Someone your age, actually." He looked at me in the darkness. The moonlight gleamed on his skin, but his eyes were all in shadow.
I searched for a reply. "I think it's something in my generation. I know of a bunch of college guys dating older women. I heard the sex is great." I tried to keep a sardonic look on my face, and hoped Marshal couldn't see me blush.
Marshal laughed. "Makes it tough for you, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess," I chuckled nervously.
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
"What?"
Marshal shook his head. "Sorry, I told you I'm no good at social skills. I guess that was an inappropriate question."
I took a moment to look at this man who had hired me. I'd assumed he was much older than me, but in the moonlight it was difficult to tell his exact age. His face was expressionless, mask-like, and yet fine-boned, so that I had to search it to tell his meaning. And the more I gazed at Marsh's face, the more I suspected he was both younger, and less invincible, than I had first thought. He wore a trenchcoat over an unbuttoned shirt and brown chinos. An odd combination.
We waited on the back of the truck for over an hour. I kept glancing through my camera at our target, and updated Marsh. Other than that, there was no effort at small talk.
"She's checking his phone."
"She's watching TV again."
"Oh! She just got up! To... use the bathroom."
"She's watching TV again."
"She's texting. She looks disappointed."
Marshal swore. "I'm guessing the date was canceled. He's probably at a frat party instead."
I asked, "Should we do this again another night?"
Marsh took some time to answer. His eyes scanned the darkness, as if looking over his options. "No," he said. "I want to end this now."
Marsh took out his phone. "I've been following Cassidy on Tinder, too," he said. "If she's riled up for a date, she's not going to leave until she gets what she wants."
He began swiping. I tried not to stare, but I was curious about who was popping up on his account. It seemed to be women like Cassidy, approaching middle-age but still fit. A lot of them were holding surfboards or standing on top of boulders. Finally he found his target. He swiped right.
"It's a match," he said with a grim smile. As he texted, he read aloud to me. "I can be there in... twenty minutes. See you soon, baby."
I was aghast. "Wait, you're going in there?"
Marshal nodded. "That's why you're here. I can't be the lady's date and take pictures." He thought for a minute. "Well, I guess I could, but that would be pretty suspicious."
"Is this legal? Is it allowed? Aren't you, technically, the one forcing her to cheat?" I noticed my voice was high, and my heart was beating fast. I couldn't believe what I'd gotten myself into.
Marshal shook his head. "Cassidy's a philanderer. If she's not fucking a freshman boy, she's fucking someone else. Just take pictures and don't make any noise."
He stood up from the tailgate and stretched, rolling his broad shoulders. "I'm going to change in the cab. Don't look."
I kept my eye instead on the camera, and on Cassidy. She was pacing excitedly now, checking her phone for new messages. I'll admit, I felt a little bad for the woman. She looked like a puppy about to go for a walk. She didn't realize that the man holding the leash was also going to sell her to the pound.
I glanced back for a moment, forgetting what Marshal told me. I saw his silhouette in the truck cab. He took off his black cap. The moonlight glinted from bare skin beneath. I looked away, ashamed of myself. Marshal having a bald spot was none of my business. But it did add to the mystery of his age. Was he a young man acting like an aged detective, or an older man in a young man's trade? Finally, I heard the car door opened. Marshal walked out.
He wasn't wearing the trenchcoat or loose shirt anymore. Instead, he was dressed in a dark blue suit, slim and well-fit. The blazer was buttoned over an orange v-neck pullover, with a white button-down shirt beneath cinched by a bright blue tie. He had a matching blue pocket-square, and black framed glasses. On his head he wore a tight-brimmed gray fedora. Furthermore he had applied a fake beard, dark and trimmed nearly into a five-o'clock shadow. He looked unrecognizable: professional, collected, and, I'll admit, handsome as the devil.
"Don't stare too long," he said in his humorless voice. "And don't get any ideas."
It was too late. My heart was racing, and the excitement of being out late with a handsome, powerful man, spying on a woman fucking around with college boys was having an effect on me. I hoped Marsh couldn't see my nipples poking out against my thin college sweatshirt. I took some deep breaths.
Marsh told me to wait until he was inside, then take pictures through any exposed window. "We want pictures of anything that shows obvious cheating. The more salacious, the better." Finally he took from the car a small blue gym bag.
I had to only wonder at what lengths this detective would go. I would soon find out.
Marshal strutted down the block. Even his walk was different, a confident runway march that showed off his strong frame and tight ass. He knocked at the door at the end of the cul-de-sac, which opened immediately. He stepped inside.
I trained my camera through the distant window. Marshal held Cassidy's hand in his. He kissed the back of it. I took pictures. Cassidy laughed wryly, and Marsh's face broke into a sloppy, schoolboy grin, more emotion than I'd seen all night. He looked at Cassidy coyly, then purposefully turned to look at whatever Walmart portraits were framed on the walls. He seemed to be ignoring her purposefully.
Cassidy took the bait.
She approached Marsh from behind, and wrapped her arms around his chest. She kissed the side of his neck, and continued to kiss him as he turned around. She took a step forward and pressed Marshal against the wall. Her kisses were deep and aggressive. Her hands roamed over his body, unbuttoning his blazer and reaching down to touch between his legs.
Click. Click. Click click click. I took pictures.
Marshal, meanwhile, was not playing the innocent. He too was aggressively grabbing at Cassidy's body. Through my lense, I saw him reach down and undo her belt. He unzipped her pants and slipped a hand through the open zipper. She felt for his cock, straining against his pant leg, and teased it through the fabric.
Suddenly Cassidy took a step back. She looked around the room suspiciously, then looked right at me! "Oh, shit!" I scrambled down into the truck bed.
Cassidy approached the living-room window. She grabbed the curtains at either side and pulled them shut.
I realized quickly that, despite my racing heart, I was in no danger. I was sitting in the dark an entire block away from Cassidy. Furthermore, the darkness outside must have turned the window into a mirror. Still, I'd have to find another window to take pictures through.
I leapt down from the truck and ran as quietly as I could towards the house. A narrow path led through a gate to the tiny backyard. I slowly opened the gate and crept into the backyard. It was mostly a concrete patio with a brick barbecue and three square feet of grass. There was a sliding glass door (blinds pulled shut) and a small kitchen window. However, the height of the window would keep me from seeing anything but Cassidy and Marshal's heads.
I climbed up onto the brick barbecue, thankful that no motion-sensing lights were turned on. From this height, I could see through the small window into the kitchen and the living room beyond. I brought up my camera and adjusted the zoom.
Marshal sat in a loveseat I hadn't seen from my previous angle. He had taken off his blazer and pullover, and the bottom buttons of his white shirt were loose, so that beneath his dark glistening abs were exposed. His belt and fly were opened. I could see bright orange briefs underneath.
Cassidy stood a small distance from him. Though unbuttoned, unbelted, and unzipped, he was obviously in command. He motioned for her to stay where she was, then reached down and unzipped his gym bag.
As he bent over, I saw Marshal glance briefly towards the kitchen window. I took a quick picture, knowing a small green light would shine for a moment. He winked. I realized then that Marshal had moved to the loveseat once the curtains had been closed in order to set up this shot. I really had the perfect angle, from the kitchen through a short hallway. And with my camera zoom, it was like I was standing in the room with Cassidy and Marsh.
From the bag, Marshal pulled a large black dildo. It was realistically shaped, if proportionally bigger than any cock I'd seen. It was capped by a large head and even had veins molded into the sides. He crooked a finger, and bid Cassidy towards his lap.
As Cassidy stepped forward, she lifted her tank-top over her head. Her breasts stood out from her thin frame, round with huge dark nipples. She hooked her thumbs into the band of her yoga pants and in two steps was completely naked. She turned towards the back of the house and I got a look at her long, narrow body, the grooves of her muscles, her taut belly like an 18-year-old's, a dark triangle of hair above her tight pussy. She sat down on Marsh's lap, her legs straddling his thigh.
Marshal wrapped one arm around her chest, reaching up and taking one round breast in a firm hand. With the other hand, he started teasing her with the tip of the black dildo. First he ran the head of the dildo from her knee, slowly, up her thigh. As soon as he reached an inch of her pussy, he pulled away. He repeated this move on her other leg, but again circumvented her crotch, and instead traced the dildo up her belly towards her breasts.
Cassidy started bucking her hips against Marshal's thigh. Her nipples stood out from her breasts, and a blush had spread over her chest and up her neck. I could almost see her pulse leaping at her severe jawline.
Marshal pulled Cassidy so that her back rested flush with his chest. I could imagine his erection pressing through his briefs against her tight ass. With his free hand Marshal reached down and spread her legs apart. Her pussy lips glistened, winking open. I stared at her pussy, not believing what was just before my eyes. I then glanced at Marshal, who was staring with urgency at the window. I realized with a shock that I hadn't been taking pictures. I started clicking away.
Marshal teased Cassidy's nipples with the head of the dildo. He circled her luscious breasts with it, then ran it between her breasts. Cassidy grabbed her breasts and pressed them against the dildo as he ran it up and down through them. She was panting wildly.
Marshal reached down and started rubbing Cassidy's pussy lips, getting his fingers wet with her juices. They opened to his touch like a morning flower. He slipped a finger in and started slowly fucking her with it.
At the same time, he raised the big black dildo to her neck, drawing a line from her collarbone to her open lips. Eagerly she wrapped her lips around the head of the dildo, sucking on it. Her hands massaged her breasts and her belly convulsed with pleasure.
Marshal began furiously rubbing at Cassidy's clit while he moved the dildo in and out of her mouth. Cassidy's legs were shaking. She gripped both arms of the loveseat with vice-like hands. She was going crazy.
Nevermind the effects on me!
If seeing Marsh dressed to the nines had warmed my loins, seeing him fuck Cassidy's face with a dildo and her pussy with his fingers was almost causing my nipples to bore two holes in my sweater. In my crouched position, the crotch of my jeans was pressed directly against my pussy. I started spreading my knees a little more, tightening the jeans fabric against my once-again soaked panties. I was honestly worried I would have a stain on my jeans by the end of the night. I wanted nothing more than to undo my jeans and beat my clit into submission, to fuck my fingers until I climaxed. But I kept my hands on my camera and kept taking pictures.
Through my lense I saw Marshal lift Cassidy from his lap. He circled around her and bent her over so that her face was pressed into the back of the chair. Her ass was level with my camera, the two perky cheeks blushed red. Marshal got down on his knees and grabbed her ass in his hands. He leaned forward and started licking her pussy from behind, digging his face between her thighs. With one hand, Cassidy reached back wildly and grasped his head, pressing him deeper into her pussy.
Marshal squeezed Cassidy's ass cheeks as he buried his face deeper. Cassidy looked over her shoulder with a wild gleam in her eye, her mouth opened in pure pleasure. Click! Click! I took more pictures.
Marsh stood, wiped his face with his shirtsleeve, and picked up the black dildo again. With one hand he grabbed Cassidy's ponytail and forced her face into the back of the loveseat. With the other hand, he pressed the big black head of the dildo against her pussy lips. He started moving the dildo slowly, just the bare tip of it, into and out of her pussy. With the other, he kept her head firmly pressed down. Through the lense, I could see Marsh's own cock straining against his underwear.
Marshal kept moving the dildo back and forth, still putting barely any of it into Cassidy's pussy. Each time he pushed the dildo forward, just another quarter inch or so entered. But as more of the dildo went in, he increased the pace. Soon the entire giant head of the dildo was vanishing into Cassidy's pussy, then getting pulled back out. It glistened with her pussy juices. Cassidy's legs and pert ass shook in pleasure and desire for more. Faster now, he pushed and pulled the head of the pussy in and out, in and out, and again another quarter inch, another inch, another three inches of the huge dildo vanished into Cassidy's pussy.
Even from outside in the backyard I could hear Cassidy's cries of fierce pleasure.
Cassidy reached back with a hand, groped the air wildly for a moment, and then found the waistband of Marshal's briefs. She yanked it down and wrapped her fingers around his swollen cock. As Marshal fucked her pussy with the dildo- now a full half of the monster pumping in and out- Cassidy pumped his cock. Her face was still pressed into the sofa, her full breasts swinging beneath her bent body.
Finally Cassidy could take no more. Her legs shuddered as she let out a primal scream and climaxed. Marshal pulled the big wet dildo from her soaked, loose pussy. As he did so, Cassidy flipped around on the loveseat, leaned forward, and absolutely swallowed Marshal's cock. The entire length of it vanished down her pale throat. Marshal let out his own cry and grabbed the back of Cassidy's head. He kept her face pressed against his crotch, his cock buried deep, for a moment more, and I could only imagine him cumming, releasing down Cassidy's throat. Then Cassidy sat back on the loveseat, exhausted. A little white cum had dribbled down her chin. She scooped it up with a finger and sucked it into her mouth, her eyes on Marsh the whole time. Grinning lasciviously, she wiped her lips with the back of a sweaty palm.
Marshal pulled his cock, now limp, back into his briefs. He zipped his pants and buckled his belt. Buttoning his shirt as well, he walked towards the kitchen. I continued to watch him through my camera lense though I was done taking pictures. There was a confidence, a swagger to him, like a pirate done raiding a queen's pleasure boat.
Marsh washed his hands and face in the kitchen sink and gave a meaningful glance into the backyard. It was time to go.
However, behind him, I saw Cassidy stand up. She had taken something from Marsh's gym bag and was stepping into it. She walked into the kitchen as well, wearing a huge purple strap-on. From the backyard her voice was muffled, but I heard her say, "Time for round two. Take off your pants, pretty-boy."
Marshal turned around at the sink. In front of him, Cassidy's naked body glistened. She had taken lube from the bag as well, and now squirted a small dollop onto the shaft of the strap-on. With one hand she stroked the strap-on, spreading the lube over its glistening length. Cassidy face was like stone. She said, "This time I'm in charge. I want you to take down your pants and bend over the sink."
Marshal shook his head. I heard his muffled voice reply, "I'm done for tonight, baby. I need to get back to my studies."
Cassidy shook her head. "I don't think so. You had a good time being boss-man out there. Now it's my turn. Now your ass is mine."
All the talk of power was getting to her. Cassidy's nipples stood out and her face was flushed with erotic energy. She started walking towards Marshal.
Again Marshal said no. "I'm all done for tonight. I'll be heading out."
He started to edge around Cassidy, but the kitchen was small. She laughed and pushed him back to the sink. Then she reached over to the counter and grabbed a knife. "How about a little roleplay? You're a real-estate agent getting a house ready, and I'm an intruder looking for action. You need to close the deal by opening up those ass cheeks."
Marsh gave a wild look out the kitchen window. My heart was pounding and my own erotic energies had vanished. I quickly fumbled with my camera, then aimed at the window.
FLASH!
The light erupted over the backyard and into the kitchen. Cassidy looked up towards the window. "What the hell?" she asked. Once again I took a picture with the flash on. Cassidy raised a hand over her eyes, blinking rapidly. "Is there someone out there? Taking pictures?" Her confusion started to turn to anger as red blushed over her face.
Marshal didn't waste a moment. He bowled into Cassidy, laying his shoulder into her stomach. Cassidy tumbled to the floor. I heard the knife clatter onto the tile kitchen floor. Without a look back, Marsh grabbed his gym bag and fled out the door.
I, too, was running towards the front yard. Together, we charged towards the truck. I jumped into the driver's seat as Marsh hopped into the passenger's. In the rearview mirror I could see Cassidy standing slumped in the lit front door. My truck gave a shot, a whine, and a cough- and then died. Silent but for the frogs.
"Shit!" Marsh swore. "Start the fucking car!"
Cassidy started walking towards us, still buck naked. Moonlight ran like water over her bare tits and thighs, and glinted from the knife in her hand.
I turned the key again. I heard the shot, the whine, the cough- and then the grumpy rumble of the engine. I slammed the accelerator and we shot down the block, half on the sidewalk half on the road.
At each turn away from the cul-de-sac, my heart slowed a little.
Marshal, too, was calming down in the passenger's seat. I heard his deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth. There was a smell of fear, sweat, and pussy.
We slowly wound our way through the night, back towards her office. Once again, Marshal navigated. For some time, those were the only words between us.
I felt, though, like I needed to talk about the evening. Flashes of the night, like pictures in my camera, kept popping up before my eyes. Marshal with Cassidy in his lap, fucking her mouth with the dildo. Marsh's face buried in Cassidy's pussy. Cassidy holding the knife.
"Mashal, I-"
"Marsh."
"What?" I asked.
"Marsh," he replied. "Those close to me call me Marsh."
"Okay. Marsh, I... I'm glad you're okay."
"Me too," Mash replied, once again in his voice without emotions. "You did good, kid. Now keep your eyes on the road, I'm going to change."
And beside me, Marsh undressed. I kept my eyes on the road, but my brain was busy analyzing what was happening in the side of my vision. Marsh reached up and took off the gray fedura. In a sudden streetlight, I saw his tight curly hair, cut very short, not with a bald spot, but with a large mean-looking scar running halfway across his scalp. I tried not to see anything else after that.
Part Three: Consequences
Back in his office, Marsh counted out a stack of hundreds and passed them to me.
"Let's upload the photos, and then I've just got paperwork to do."
He cleared a space for my camera on his crowded desk, then plugged it in and clicked 'Upload All.'
"There are some, um, non-professional pictures on there," I told Marsh, thinking of the photography assignments of trees, flowers, and architecture.
"I'll sift through them," Marsh said. Idly, he picked up something black from her desk. "You ever use one of these?"
It was a revolver, black and shiny. Involuntarily, I took a small step back. "No! But why didn't you bring that tonight?"
Marsh shook his head. "If I had shot the lady, we wouldn't get paid." He gave a little snort and a half-smile. "I guess you shot her instead."
I couldn't help what I said next. "Well you got a shot off too."
There was a moment of silence in the room. My face flushed. Then Marshal laughed, a loud, awkward, honest laugh.
"You're good!" he chuckled. "I'll definitely call you for the next job."
Marsh handed me back my camera. "I've got an hour or so of paperwork to do-"
I stammered, "Okay, I'll head home."
"Oh!" Marsh looked surprised. He straightened the brim of his cricket cap. "Yeah, that makes sense. It's late."
"Oh, were you..." I trailed off. I could not read my employer's expression.
"Well, I was going to suggest we get Thai. There's a 24-hour place around the corner."
"Yeah, I've been there!"
- Next page: Page 02
