Hot on the Trail:
Who in the World is Celeste802?
By BackRub
Copyright © 1996
Last November, someone calling themselves "Celeste802" posted a parody of "Celestial Reviews." For two, maybe three days a small number of people on alt.sex.stories wondered it who it might be. This is the story of how we discovered the culprit.
Warning: this story contains explicit sexual content. Do not read further if you are below the age of consent in your community or such material might offend you.
Tammy Ng and Backrub, Erotic Investigators
in
Hot on the Trail: Who in the World is Celeste802?
by
Backrub and Tammy Ng
November 27.
It was a quiet night. Too quiet. Well, maybe not so quiet. There was the sound of Tammy's hand sliding up and down my handsomest feature, oiled and glistening.
"Backrub, why do these backrubs always turn into ass rubs and then front rubs?"
"It helps me forget."
"Forget what?"
"I've forgotten."
I haven't forgotten. It's a woman, of course. The hardest thing to forget.
I peered into the screen of my computer while Tammy continued to study anatomy, up close and personal. She paused to slide my cock back and forth over her breasts.
"Of course, I've got it!"
She paled. "Herpes?"
"No, the solution to the case we've been working on."
"Thank goodness."
Her hand started moving again. I shivered.
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Aren't you going to tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"The solution to the case!?"
"Sure. First, here's a tissue, there's still a little spot on your cheek."
"Thanks."
"Here's what happened. Professor Plum used his lead pipe on Miss Scarlet in the Conservatory, then whacked Mrs. White with his candlestick in the Billiard Room. Meanwhile, Colonel Mustard was shooting his pistol into Mr. Green in the Ballroom. That left..."
"Mrs. Peacock!"
"... alone with the aptly named Mr. Peacock in the Library."
"Amazing. To think she offed her own husband."
"Somewhat unusual in our sort of cases."
"I'll say. How did you think of the solution?"
"It just came to me."
I shivered again.
Our pleasant wrap-up of another successful case was interrupted by a knock on the door.
Tammy jumped up from between my legs, licking her fingers as she approached the door.
"Who could that be at this hour?" "This month's rent. Let the mystery guest in, why don't you?"
Tammy opened the door. The swinging door revealed a primly dressed woman, a woman whose neat appearance contrasted strongly with the stark fear on her face. She staggered into our little office and collapsed into one of the leather covered chairs facing my desk.
"You're a lady with a problem. One you don't know how to solve."
She looked suddenly relieved.
"How did you know?"
"That's the only kind of woman that walks through my door." Except for one, long ago.
Tammy sat down demurely in the other chair, having quickly rebuttoned the front of her blouse. I continued to steal glances at her legs as I spoke with our new guest.
"What's your name, dear?" Tammy was about to offer her a tissue, then thought better of it.
"Celeste801."
"That's kind of an unusual name..."
"I come from a large family."
"Oh."
"And what seems to be the problem?" I wanted it out in the open right from the start, but didn't want to bother unzipping again.
"I've been parodied!"
"This is serious. Tammy, start taking all this down."
Tammy dropped to the carpet between Celeste's legs.
"Of course it is, how can I show my face on a.s.s. again?"
"Did you say how can you face your ass again? Have you tried turning around and looking in a mirror?"
"No, not my own ass, a.s.s., alt.sex.stories. The Usenet newsgroup devoted to wannafuck messages and spam. Occasionally it becomes cluttered with erotic stories that interfere with the enjoyment of the normal postings. I try to give some guidance to the readership of the group by telling them what is worthwhile reading. I've toiled long hard hours, at least my husband is long and hard, sweating over my reviews. Sometimes I have to read and reread these stories to see whether their content deserves reporting to my devoted following. Just a little to the left, dear.
I try to be fair and objective. But..."
"It's the kind of business where you tend to make enemies."
"Yes. The sloppy punctuators, the grammatically incorrect, the fetishists. I suppose I'm really a crusader at heart."
"Didn't you expect this someday?"
"Yes, and I tried to protect myself. I laced my reviews with gentle humor and encouragement. Apparently it wasn't enough."
"So, let's see this parody."
She handed me a two-page printout and Tammy walked over, crawled into my lap, curled up in my arms and we began reading together. Tammy ran her fingers along my arm and I ran my open palm up and down her always-fashionable- in-New-York black tight-encased thighs.
With Tammy's skirts, there's always lots of thigh to caress. She paused, turned her head and kissed me on the cheek, nuzzled her nose against my beard and then continued reading along with me. I continued stroking my favorite thighs.
snickered, then broke into a full laugh. I shook with laughter beneath her causing my cock to rub against her ass. She leaned into me a bit closer and continued reading as my hand began to slide up her short skirt. My thumb reached her...
"Ahem!"
"Oh, sorry. So just what's the problem here? What's wrong with parody? Who would care about Regis Philbin if Letterman wasn't constantly showing him up to be such a dork? People make fun of celebrities all the time and they 'cry all the way to the bank."
"Hugh Grant!"
"Gulp!", said Tammy.
"William Shatner."
"Oprah Winfrey."
"Arnold Schwartzenegger."
"You spelled that incorrectly, dear," chimed Celeste.
"But whoever it is, is funnier than I am!"
"Yeah, well whoever this is <smirk> is funnier than we are, too. Hell, this is funnier than Saturday Night Live has been since at least 1985."
"That's not saying all that much," Tammy noted. "What really gets me is that I have no idea who this is. I see myself as a mother confessor to my writers and I have no certain idea of who this is. I'm the curious type and I think it's someone I know from my writers or readers. Considering how well written this parody is and the generally poor quality of writing talent on a.s.s., I think it can only be one of two people: SooNH, or Deidre Ng."
"My sister! My sister writes erotica on the internet! My sister writes better than I do!"
I'd always wondered why, when we visited dd's apartment in Brooklyn the computer chair always had a damp spot and smelled like some one had been consumer testing vibrators on it.
"So, this parody writer goes under the name 'Celeste802.' We'll find her, or him, or whatever..."
Celeste unhooked her legs from the arms of the chair She straightened her skirt and stuffed her panties into her pocketbook.
"Here's my number. Please contact me when you solve the case. I know you can help me. Oh, I'm so glad I came, here!"
We walked down the street from our office to the Old Towne Tavern for dinner, some beers and to think the case through. After we settled down I excused myself and headed off to splash some water on my face. As I walked down the narrow back corridor my way was blocked by a young woman: 5'6", thin but very athletic, short dark hair, full lips and very strong legs made very visible by a tight, mid-thigh cotton dress.
But it was her eyes that grabbed me, literally. I couldn't avert my eyes for a minute. She locked onto me and walked forward. I wondered if this is what deer felt like when confronted by headlights.
She grabbed me by the front of my shirt and guided me into a walk-in cloak room filled with winter coats. In the back she pushed me against the wall, undid my pants, wrapped her fingers around my cock and stroked until I was hard, never letting her eyes leave mine. She rose and kissed me, hard and passionately. I could feel a need in her as she pressed against me.
Then she lifted her dress to reveal that she was not wearing panties. She crawled up and over me until she could impale herself on my cock. My legs locked and she began fucking me, grinding herself against me, sliding up and down my pole, licking and nibbling my neck and pulsing with growing pleasure. I held her ass in my hands and rubbed it as we moved her up and down my cock and her pelvis ground itself hard against me. Her tongue licked my neck and I felt a slight pinch. Suddenly I felt as if I was being fucked twice. She started to come just as I heard...
"Hey!!! Get your undead fangs out of my man!"
Tammy was standing beside us pushing a cheap crucifix into the mystery woman's face. The mystery woman cursed, mumbled something about the East Side, dismounted from me and walked off in a huff.
"Will you pleeze stop thinking with your dick all the goddam time? That was a vampire who was about to turn you into her early dinner!"
"I'm not sure that..."
"Look, I know that almost nothing in 'New York' magazine is true, but the rumors and gossip are important to our work. Didn't you read the "Vampire Hangouts Between 14th and 34th Streets" article I left in your inbox?"
"Um, no."
"Sometimes you are hopeless."
Then she paused and a familiar mischievous grin came across her face.
"She didn't let you come, did she?"
"Well, you...."
I was interrupted by Tammy dropping to a squat in front of me, her skirt now riding all the way up her thighs. She took my cock and began sucking it.
"Now, who's cock is this?" she asked as she stroked it and looked up at me.
"Yours..." She knows me far too well for this, or me, to last very long.
"And who has the only pussy and mouth this cock is allowed in unless it's absolutely necessary for work?"
"You do..." I was starting to tighten and shiver.
"And whose tongue are you going to come on right now..."
She looked up at me, her blouse open, her braless breasts exposed, her tongue flat and wide and stretched out. She ran it under the head of my cock and she stroked me. I contorted in pleasure, snapped my head back and forced myself to look as I spurted onto her sweet tongue and into her mouth. She immediately engulfed my rod, slurping loudly right through my orgasm and after shocks. Afterward she rose, held me close, and kissed me so I could taste my own saltiness.
"By the way, you never seemed religious. Where'd you get the crucifix?"
"How soon they forget...don't you remember playing 'Catholic School Girl' the other night?"
I'd forgotten the details so we walked downtown to Tammy's apartment, she changed into a plaid skirt and white shirt and we spent the evening jogging my memory.
November 28.
We spent the day calling some old contacts and booking travel arrangements. After dinner we took the subway to Park Slope to pay an unannounced visit to Tammy's older sister, Deidre Ng. Tammy had been distracted all day. She looked the way I do when I know I have to go out and put a bullet in someone I know. Tammy was concerned that there was a part of her sister's life she hadn't known about. Maybe there was a reason she was being so secretive, other than being some oversexed intellectual.
As we made our way up the three flights to dd's Tammy still had the determined look in her eyes. In one fluid motion she slid her key into the first lock, then into the second, then the third and the door opened. A cat came running toward us, Tammy glared at it and the feline made a 90 degree turn off behind a couch. I expected there was some history there. Tammy gave me a look that said, "Stay here," so I took off my battered trench coat and took a seat in dd's kitchen as she moved toward dd's closed bedroom door. She knew her business and her sister so I sat back to listen. I heard the door open but not slam shut again. I checked out the scotch sitting in a shelf in the kitchen and kept an ear open.
"Hey!!!"
"Well, well, well..."
"Don't you believe...in calling, or knocking..or making a reservation?!"
"Caught in flagrante delicious, eh dd?"
"Would...you...please...leave..."
"Not until I've asked you a few questions, dear sister."
"I can't concentrate...when you're standing there...watching us..."
"Oh, you mean you can't...cummmm all over your boyfriend's dick, riding it like that, when someone's watching? Hey, studly, I'll bet you don't have any problem staying hard at the thought of my watching, do you, big boy. Bet you'd like me to join in. Dream on hardstuff, but you'd like it even better from my perspective. If dd were facing you instead of me you could see her rubbing her clit while she rides your, actually very nice-looking, cock."
"Tammy, of all the creepy things...you've..."
"So, you've been writing nasty stories for alt.sex.stories?"
"Actually, it's a bit more than that...I've been... publishing...our letters to each other." dd's voice sounded like Tammy better finish the interrogation soon.
"You published our letters!? About first blowjobs? About my seducing that cute guy, finding out he was a virgin and then sucking him in the school darkroom?!"
"Ye-e-e-s...could you please leave now and yell at me later? I really want to cum now."
"Not so fast Little Miss Cumstories, what about Celeste802? Who is it?"
"How should I...know? They only...published that one take-off on 'Celestial Reviews'...and..."
"And what! Do I have your permission to search you hard disk?"
"I don't care! Would you just get the hell out of here so I can...finish..."
"Keep her for another fifteen minutes, studcakes. She likes being eaten about five minutes after she comes."
Tammy reappeared in the kitchen.
"Tough job, Tammy. Can I smell your fingers?"
But we still had work to do. We moved to the living room and with Deidre and her squeeze in the background sounding like guests on Rikki Lake's "Couples Who Make Way Too Much Noise During Sex" show, we searched dd's hard drive. Celestial Reviews, the one Celeste802 piece, but nothing else that matched. Tammy slid a disk into the drive and copied everything containing her name and then we left.
Later, back at my place we settled down to a couple of scotches and hard copy of dd's collected works. This led to my giving Tammy a backrub, which led to an assrub, which led to a clit rub, which led to the next morning.
Saturday, November 30.
The next stop in our search for this electronic phantom. The five-hour ride into New England was relatively uneventful. An hour of driving. Then Tammy was squirming in her seat. I grabbed the wheel while she pulled off her tights and panties and slid a pillow under her ass. I oiled my fingers and slowly massaged her pussy lips as she drove. Her right foot on the accelerator, left leg bent and spread with her bare foot resting on the seat, I rubbed and fingered her pussy with one hand and rubbed her bare thighs with my other.
Unbuttoning her blouse, I added tonguing her nipples until she got close and I wanted to be able to watch her come. I could feel her thighs starting to pulse and shiver, neuromuscular conflict between her impending loss of control and her maintaining control of the nerve function between six or seven brain cells in the rational and visual parts of her cortex and the muscles controlling her foot on the accelerator, or if the need arose, the brake. She kept her eyes on the road but kept stealing fleeting glances at me, like a tease, knowing I wanted the eye contact. She bit her lip as I quickened my rubbing her clit, pulsed her back and came, squirming against the seat and pressing her wet pussy against my large soft hand. I moved closer to her, kissed her bare shoulder and continued rubbing her bare thighs for many minutes longer.
She reached into my lap, unzipped me and wrapped my favorite fingers around my cock. I glanced at the clock and reached for the FM radio buttons when the meaning of Saturday 1:00 P.M. sunk in. I had an idea.
The familiar voices filled the car.
"Hello and welcome to 'Car Talk.' We're Click and Clack, the Tappett Brothers, known to the IRS and local teamsters as Tom and Ray Magliozzi. We're here to answer your questions about cars, car maintenance, hair sprays and the Answer to Life, the Universe and Everything. Before establishing that my brother Tommy doesn't remember last week's 'Puzzler,' let's get right to the phones."
As the NPR philosopher-mechanics of the air began not answering their first caller's question, I rummaged around in Tammy's pack for the cell phone. I dialed the number from memory. That's the thing about growing up in the sixties, smoking pounds of pot, serving an intelligence agency (sic) for six years and then coming back to the States. I can't remember which drawer I keep my socks in but I remember the call-in number for the NPR station in Boston.
"Hello, you're on Car Talk."
"Hi, this is...um..her, what the hell, Backrub from New York. Actually, we're on the Mass Pike right now heading east."
"Backrub from New York? Do you know Shiatsu from San Francisco?"
As the Brothers Magliozzi cracked up I began to wonder whether this was such a good idea.
"So, what's your question, 'Rub?"
"Let's say you're driving east on the Mass 'pike approaching Amherst, and you're with 'someone special' and you're in a 1974 Saab 99, which is quite comfy..."
"The fuel injected model?"
"No carbureted."
"Good, the fuel injected model that year was horrible."
"Anyway, the special someone thinks its a comfy car but also wants to find someplace where you can, er, be alone, if you know what I mean. Anyplace in the area you would suggest?"
"Whoa! This is a family show, even though the family may be the Simpsons! You're going to ruin our image with a question like that."
"That's not possible Tommy," laughed Ray.
"OK, just to get you out of here and us out of potential trouble with the FCC...is there still an FCC or did Newt defund them also? We haven't gotten any threatening letters from them lately and..."
"Tommy! Don't rant! What my doddering brother is trying to say is: Pull into any parking lot at UMass, they couldn't care less what you do. But don't say we sent you! And don't ride like my brother!" (Both laugh loudly, bang on countertops)
Tammy swerved to make the exit ramp and within another ten minutes we were parked under trees in a far corner of a huge lot at the above-referenced campus. I was sitting in the back seat. Tammy was straddling me, kissing me over and over again softly and sweetly, but certainly not chastely. She held my cock in her hand and gently squeezed and rubbed it as she slid the head of my cock back and forth over her pussy lips. Inserting no more than the very tip, she used the silky soft but firm head to massage her lips and clit. I could feel wetness and my cockhead getting moist. She slid herself up and down my cock and then, without warning, slid me inside in one smooth motion. We both gasped and kissed deeply. I held her ass in my hands as we fucked steadily grinding ourselves against each other. I slid a finger into her ass and she called out. She whispered into my ear, asking me to empty my balls into her. She whimpered, said my name over and over again and came hard against me. I pushed up into her, held her very tight and came, looking into her eyes and tasting her lips.
We pulled into the long gravel road leading to the somewhat rustic house at around 3 P.M. The red Miata and the Range Rover parked in front suggested that the woman we sought was home. Before announcing ourselves, we decided to check the place out a bit. We didn't notice anyone inside as we peered into windows. A garden in back, winding down for the winter. A Nordic Track and some other exercise equipment in a side room. Nice place. Lots of books strewn about and lots of bookshelves. Well read. We quietly let ourselves into the back and listened for people and sounds as we crept or skulked into the home of SooNH. As we walked down a wood floor corridor we heard the clicking of keys and a woman's heavy breathing. Tammy moved ahead slowly and then stopped, motioning me ahead slowly. As we peered into the room we could see facing half away from us a striking blond woman with long hair writing distractedly at a Mac, her body twitching as she tried to write. Kneeling between her legs was a man of about 40, sucking her pussy with quite some enthusiasm. She appeared to be torn between giving it up to his ministrations, and dedication to whatever she was writing.
"Robert, I love it, but I need to get this out tonight before the guests arrive."
"Mmmmfph!"
"I know it tastes good, but I can't write and..."
Tammy backed up against me and I slid a hand down and up her skirt. She whispered, "You are bad!" but her own had come behind her and began rubbing me from outside. I unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans to give her something to keep her hands busy. I began to rub my cock against her bare ass, just where she held it.
Soo's self control was stronger than ours. She grabbed her lover by the hair, whispered something to him and he stopped and rose, looking dejected and very horny. He started to leave and we beat a hasty retreat out the back door, also having been deprived of release.
We watched him leave in the Rover and waited five minutes before ringing the bell. Soo answered after a minute, dressed in a beautiful robe that looked like a Navaho blanket.
We introduced ourselves and she led us into the living room.
On the coffee table I spotted several volumes from the "Beautiful Cooking" series and printed copies of several of Celeste801's reviews, and a copy of Celeste802's parody, with handwritten notes...
"So, what do you know about this 'Celeste802' character?"
"Just what I read on a.s.s."
"Are you going to make that lame joke twice in the same story?" Tammy asked, glaring at me.
I let my partner/lover's remark sit and went on.
"But right here you have all of Celeste801's reviews, a copy of the parody, and your own handwritten notes!"
"Look I value my privacy and...how did you even locate me?"
"There are only three red Miatas registered in the entire state, and two of them belong to accountants. Anyway, we're pretty sure you know more than what you're telling us!"
Before Soo could respond, Tammy had whipped out her Home Shopping Network leather cuffs, grabbed Soo's wrists and slapped them on with Velcro (TM). We both grabbed her and slid her down on her stomach on the floor. Before she knew what was happening, her wrists were lashed to her heavy oak coffee table. We each grabbed a very shapely ankle and applied the other pair of late-night-mail-order bondage accessories, had her legs spread-eagled and tied to a chair and her sofa. We pulled off her robe and she was...delightful. I made a mental note to reread all of her stories two or three times when we got back to New York.
The sight of her twitch and strain against her bonds when I slapped her ass made a big dent in my professional demeanor.
"So you won't talk, will you? We'll see about that!"
"Is he for real?" Soo asked Tammy.
"Most of the time."
I slapped her again, and she twitched again. I spanked her repeatedly and I noticed that she was starting to grind herself against the floor.
Tammy, ever observant, noted,"You know, babe, this only works if the person does not want to be spanked."
"Oh yeah, well take that (slap!) and that (slap! slap!)" Soo was starting to breathe like someone who had been getting her pussy licked thoroughly fifteen minutes ago, didn't get off and now had some nut spanking her very nice ass.
Tammy, deciding to take a different tack, sat on the floor in front of Soo, grabbed her head and drew her pussy up against and under Soo's face. From the look on Tammy's face this wasn't going exactly as I had planned. I reached underneath Soo and began fingering her pussy and ass.
"OK, so, we'll get you very high and we won't let you come!"
you ever seen a woman laugh when she has another woman's pussy in her mouth? Well it was like that. Didn't do much for my professional credibility. I tried to remind myself of my goals as Soo's hips made movements that I don't ordinarily associate with stopping fingering a woman's pussy and ass. Soo ground her pussy against my hand and squirmed from my finger sliding deep into her tight, and very very nice ass. The muscles in her back stood taut and head shook as she ate Tammy. She pulled against her bonds and I wished I had another hand to take out my cock.
I adore the sound of a woman coming with a full mouth, in this case, full of Tammy. Soo may have been limited to muffled cries, but Tammy was not nearly so reserved, looking into my eyes across Soo as she shivered and came.
"Nnnnhhhh!" said Sooo.
Funny, I always thought it referred to New Hampshire.
On our way out we passed a group of people coming up the path, apparently arriving for the party Soo had mentioned to her friend. A cop, a bearded guy in a flannel shirt, jeans and work boots carrying a large wooden dildo, a tense-looking housewife, two college kids, and a beautiful bronze woman from the Caribbean who touched Tammy and called her 'darlin' as we passed.
"The Village People for the '90's?" asked Tammy as we slid back into the car.
Sunday, December 1.
We didn't wake up until 8 A.M. and didn't get out of bed until 9:30 A.M. Use your imagination.
A beautiful day for a drive out to Long Island. Back to the small North Shore village I used to live in. Before Tammy Ng, before cheap gin and expensive trouble. We passed the old 1895 grey house I used to live in, the back yard with swaying trees where I used to sit and think through quiet cases, sipping 18-year-old single malt scotch. The place where everything used to be simple, before the changes.
We parked in front of the familiar old grocery store, a storefront whose windows held posters extolling the direct correlation between drinking Budweiser and attracting women with large breasts, the lunch specials and Ben & Jerry's. Inside, the grizzled old man behind the counter looked up from the sandwich he was slowly wrapping for the only customer in the store. His eyes shone with a combination of surprise and disapproval.
"Backrub, I don't know whether to shoot you or hug you."
"You got a piece?"
"Not as nice as the one you got next to you."
"Then maybe you better hug me Mac."
The old man came around the counter as the customer activated a set of jingle bells on the door as he left. I didn't even see the left hook coming. I saw Tammy start to move and then stop.
"Maybe I don't have a gun, but I still got my fists!"
"Hey! What'd you do that for!" I mumbled, rubbing my jaw.
"You may have saved my son, but you still sent my nephew up the river!" "Your nephew, Mac, was a con artist who bilked elderly couples and I was a cop at the time. They don't mix. Someone had to take the fall. He deserved the seven years he got."
"Well, it ain't fair. He's still got two years in stir and he can't even write books to make money, like most normal white collar crim'nals."
"Look, Mac, that's ancient history, we're here to see Timmy. I need his help on a case and he owes me for the 'Toys 'R Us" caper."
"Who's the dame with the nice gams?"
"Tammy Ng, Bobby MacMillan. Mac, Tammy."
"Ditch him, babe. He's a loser who's going to end up face down in an viaduct with a bullet between his eyes."
"Viaduct?" asked Tammy. "Why not a chicken?"
"Backrub's been ask'in for it his entire life."
"And most of the morning."
"Oh, one of them smartass modern dames. I'll bet she likes to be on top, too."
"Oh, Backrub, you told him about me."
"Mac, can we can the classy repartee and see Timmy?"
"Yeah, yeah, he's around back and upstairs, right where you left him last time. Oh, and you still take hot sauce on the ham-egg-cheese sammich?"
"Yeah, Mac."
Timmy wasn't exactly 'right where I'd left him.' When I'd last seen Timmy MacMillan the Harvard Ph.D. cum Deadhead druggie had gone relatively straight. Instead of spending his time traveling, operating a home drug lab and maintaining a taste for the illicit, he'd put his energies into computers and had started his own small software and virtual reality R&D firm, as well as maintaining his own internet server, jerry.com.
We walked into a large room that had more hardware than I'd ever seen in one place. A mini trade show with servers, PC's, Macs, printers and stereo equipment. The Grateful Dead were still flowing out of the speakers, and Timmy was still wearing a bandana around his head.
"Backrub, long time, man. Who's the sister with the great legs?"
I repeated the introductions. Tammy smiled demurely. Timmy looked her up and down.
"Timmy, we need your help on a case. We're looking for someone on the internet. Celeste802."
"The phantom satirist on a.s.s. Far out."
"You know about this?"
"Sure, not much happens on the sex-related functions of the internet that I don't know about. Since you saw me last, I've created my own little empire. I started up alt.binaries.pictures.erotic.lassie, alt.sex.bigtits, alt.binaries.sounds.peeing, the Peeper's web page, the Flemish Erotica CD's, all kinds of stuff. Big bucks selling CD's and charging people for downloads. Whoever Celeste802 is, she has class. I could make a fortune scanning her pussy and selling the files to thousands of desperate college students. By the way, sweetie, I could make you a star. Your face could launch a thousand 18-year-old hearts."
"I think I already launch a 40-year-old pretty effectively every night," noted Tammy.
"Timmy, if you wanted to trace someone like that, how would you do it?"
"But how do you do it?" asked Tammy.
Timmy grinned. "What's it worth to you?"
"A couple thousand from our client."
"Shit, I can make that in a good afternoon. I'll tell you what, Tammysweet. Let me do a few digital photo's of your sweet pussy and ass and we'll call it even. You'll become my girlfriend on one newsgroup, a cheerleader on another, and I'll paste Winona Ryder's face on your body..."
"Timmy, I don't think we want to know about this. We still have an account with CompuServe."
"The one thing I won't let you photograph is my face." After we had completed our, or at least Tammy's part of the bargain, Timmy set to work.
"OK, the first thing we do," he said as he clattered away, "is hack into AOL and plant a little bitty worm in their system. That worm will send us an identifying message when Celeste802 picks up their mail. Then we'll send them a mail message as bait, sit back and wait."
We sat back and waited. Six hours and two six packs later, along with Dead concert tapes covering each night from July 4 through July 20, 1973, Timmy's AOL account came to life.
"You've got mail!" said America Online.
Timmy moved back to the PC that had just announced mail call and opened the incoming email message. He looked it over, saved it printed it, and left AOL's software.
"Backrub, come quick!"
I felt Tammy take me completely into her mouth as her finger slid into my ass.
"I just did."
"Now we go back in the back door," said Timmy.
Tammy voluteered her pocketbook sized tube of K-Y jelly and Travellers Aid Society dildo (just fill with hot water from any tap). Timmy regretfully declined.
"The worm I planted just sent us an automatic message when 'Celeste802' picked up her mail. The message includes aol's internal account number for the person, so even if they're not in the member directory, I can get them internally through aol's account files."
Tammy and I lost interest until Timmy paused and we saw him staring at the display. We joined him in staring at the lines from AOL's account files.
"Farm out," said Timmy.
"Well, I'll be," said Tammy.
"Never a dull moment," I noted.
"Now what do we do?" Tammy asked.
"Well, Celeste801 hired us to find our who wrote the parody. She hired us because she was hurt that someone had written the parody. She'll feel better if she knows who it was, and in this case, she might even be flattered when she finds out. I think some kind of final confrontation with the perp is necessary."
"Why's that?" Timmy inquired.
"Because this is a detective story, and detective stories require final confrontations. Look, I think I read somewhere that this particular perp likes John LeCarre novels. Let's send this message..."
I moved over to the keyboard and typed in this message:
