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Subject: {ASSM} Reversion {Varkel} (M+m+b+g+f+F+) [14/21]
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Reversion

a Novel by Varkel
Spring, 2002



Chapter 14: Adults


"Have you two tired of being kids yet?"

We were lounging at breakfast: Clara, Alice and myself.  Elaron
had prepared omelets for us and now perched with his two helpers
on the sink rim to hear our praise, long teeth exposed in his
monkey grin.  The praise was unstinting because the omelets,
cooked Western style with green pepper, pimento, onion, ham and
cheese, were delicious.  I had noticed the capuchins liked them
too.  In fact Elaron was likely waiting for us to vacate the
kitchen before calling in a dozen of his fellows to consume the
next batch.

"What's the matter, Clara?" I asked, having decided that the two
golden bites remaining on my plate were just too much.  "Are you
getting tired of shepherding teenagers?"

"Teenagers!" she scoffed.

"15 and 13," I reminded her.

She sniffed.  "70 and 70 is more like it."

"Don't forget," Alice cautioned, "I waited two years before
following him."

"I included that.  Let me rephrase my question.  Are you two
growing tired yet of small stature, relative weakness and little
respect?"

"Yes!" declared Alice instantly.  I looked around in surprise.
Her eyes burned into mine.

"Rosalind?" I asked.

She grimaced.  "The other night a guy suggested Rosalind should
send her kid sister home."

I covered my mouth before turning back to Clara, whose own eyes
were twinkling.  But I had endured similar slights.  I shook my
head and sighed.  "About another three years, wouldn't you say,
Clara?"

"I would say another three months."

"Huh?" -- from two wide-eyed faces at once.

The woman straightened up, expression suddenly serious.  "In
regard to your plans for Fernworks, Tim: have you thought how
much more difficult they'll be to implement from a body of 15
apparent years, with the help of a 13 year-old?  You'll have to
command men, take charge of multi-million dollar operations.  A
25 year-old admitted genius might be conceded such authority, but
never a teenager, not in 1950."

I stared at her.

She stared back, continuing, "I don't think you want to wait
until you're 25."

"Your nanobiots ..." I began, suddenly perceiving her objective.

"Can increase your height to two meters and give you the
shoulders of a weight lifter, while adding deliberation to your
movements.  Look under _Protoplasmic Supplementation_."

I turned to a blank wall, fingers busy on my outer thighs.  Dimly
I heard Alice ask, "What about his cock?" and the answer, "That's
up to him.  Perhaps you'd like to hear what it can do for _you_!"
Alice mused, "I don't care to be tall as Rosalind, but her other
things, now ..."

I quit listening to them.  Soon I discovered that I didn't even
need Clara, except perhaps to admire me.  Through my built-in
computer I could order almost any kind of change in my own body.
I leaned over the table, chin in hand, staring at the wall.  The
opportunities were endless, I saw, from one example specification
after the other.  Turning the forefinger into a hard-nailed
screwdriver was duck soup, requiring about two hours.  Supplying
a diamondoid coating just under the torso epidermis, tough enough
to deflect bullets, would take a few weeks, mainly because the
formation of diamond was slow when using processes not harmful to
flesh.  Increasing one's mass to lengthen bones and to bulge
muscles would take the longest because the material had to come
from somewhere: that is, through the mouth.  You'd have to gorge
constantly if you were in a hurry.

As to the cock, ha!  Nothing but soft tissue in that organ.  Want
one a meter long?  Possible -- but provide your own wheelbarrow to
transport it.  Want one of negative length: that is, a pussy?
Possible, too, but only after a _lot_ more thought!

What about Alice?  Longer bones and more flesh required the same
as for a man: eat like a starving wolf for a few months.  In a
woman's case the extra flesh was recommended just _below_ the
shoulders.  And when adjusting bones don't forget to widen the
pelvis for ease of childbirth in case you're a do-it-yourself
type.  Ugh!

Programs were offered for various protoplasmic objectives.  Two
meters, I remembered, were 6'7", a bit _too_ tall.  I asked for
six feet, or 183 centimeters, and 77 kilograms, which is just
under 170 pounds.  I'd worry about "deliberate movements" later.

Almost immediately I was hungry again.  Those last golden bites
vanished.

* * *

In the next two months Alice added about a year in apparent age
for each week, as did I.  She developed lovely, firm breasts
early on and then concentrated on filling out her limbs.  I admit
I too initially focused on adult sexual characteristics, and
after two weeks I possessed a pendulous ball sac beneath a
flaccid five inch cock that stiffened to just under eight inches.

"I've decided against body hair," she declared one evening when
we showered together.

I had asked her about that, although not in complaint.  She was
then fully-grown physically but her face retained a childish
cuteness.  She had become a striking young woman with long,
slender legs and generous hips.

"Evidently you have too," she observed.  "You haven't added to
the blond fuzz on your calves."

"At least I have pubic hair," I retorted, cupping her mature,
bald labia.

"You could do without it, you know," she responded.  "I suppose
you'll grow a mustache too as another affectation."

"How wonderful it is to have hair growth under conscious control!
I'll bet the people of the 24th Century hardly notice it."

She nodded agreement.  "Because they won't have our advantage of
a lifetime's shaving."

We had been examining each other's bodies daily since the onset
of our unnatural growth, measuring our height against a mark on a
doorjamb just as we had when we were children the first time.
And we were similarly impatient, although small increments were
noticeable every day.

Because of its relative gradualness, our new growth did not
dramatically enhance our sexual performance with each other.  We
coupled with greater frequency, however, and I did begin to
appreciate the novelty of fucking Alice's larger body with its
long legs that wrapped around me tightly at the moment of her
climax.

"It's large enough," she commented when I once proposed
increasing the size of my cock to ten inches.  "You don't want to
be a freak like that Gregor, unless," she added with a twinkle,
"you have a yen to savor yourself."  I had thought of such an
experiment, of course, but I decided that, however intriguing, it
was still masturbation, of which I had no need.

"Have you thought of what else you might do?" she asked with a
peculiar glint in her eye.

"You mean the SUPLSORG program?"

She laughed guiltily and looked away.

"Alice ..." I began in my most horrified tone.

"I knew it!" she snarled.  "You think it would be grotesque and
disgusting, don't you!"

I blinked, surprised by her sudden attack.

"I'll tell you what's disgusting," she proclaimed.  "_Everything_
is always easier for men!  You can hang an extra cock anywhere
you want: hips, elbows ... _nose_!"  She laughed, eyes dancing.
"Can you imagine a guy with a functional cock for a nose?  The
program even puts two nostrils in it."

"Ugh!"

"Social customs must be a _lot_ different in the 24th Century!"

"Clara explained that," I said, taking a reasonable tone.  "They
want to encourage more sex -- really more conception."

Her lip curled in disgust.  "They wouldn't need it if they hadn't
passed that law against in-vitro fertilization."

I nodded.  "Their culture is a curious mixture of logic and
prejudice, like all human societies.  Alice, you know what these
supplementary sex organs are really for."

"Group sex," she said, then sighed.  "I guess we should save them
until we have a compatible group."

"I take it you read how they furnish more intense and enduring
climaxes."

"Yeah.  I read it."

"Well, if women's climaxes were any better, I don't see how they
would survive."

She grinned.  "Don't be jealous, Timmy.  Bend down here and stick
out your tongue.  I'm ready for a woman's climax."

I slipped around between her legs but paused with a grin of my
own.  "Did you note the _Cunnilinctus Enhancer_?  Forgot the
program name."

"The what?"  Her fingers suddenly beat a tattoo on my shoulders.

"It's under SUPLSORG."

"Wow!" she exclaimed after a moment, adding, "A man _or_ a woman
could do that, though it would mainly be done to benefit a
woman."

"That's why it has _cunnilinctus_ in the title."  I had to laugh.
"Remember the old joke, about the most popular man in the world?"

"Ah, yes.  He could breathe through his asshole."

"And part his hair with his tongue."

She frowned at me.  "But this doesn't change his rectum.  It
makes a nostril between his shoulder blades."

"I guess with my harem around me, I ought to consider it, eh?"

She sniffed.  "Well, if you do, I want to be first."

* * *

Alice reacted well as my cock grew.  "At last!" she exclaimed,
fucking me vigorously when it had reached typical adult size.
But it quickly grew thicker and longer, apparently to her
delight.  "Oh, god, Timmy, it fills me so _intensely_!"

At the full predetermined size it was agreeably fat, she said,
but not so long that it hurt her.  She complained, however, that
she could not fit it into her mouth as easily as before, that
holding the teeth so widely separated became tiresome.  I
suggested she grow her mouth larger, but she dismissed that
notion with scorn.

"I intend to have a cute face this time around," she insisted,
"and that precludes a wide mouth."  She grinned at me
speculatively.  "Rosalind should have no trouble with it.  I've
seen her almost swallow that poet's cock"

"Is his fatter than mine?"

"It's about the same girth, Timmy, but you're an inch longer."

"You know that from personal experience, I take it."

"Of course I do.  Now stop talking and get on top."

"I want to slurp on you some more," I objected.  "You've acquired
a marvelous twat."

"Marvelous how?"

"Well, ah, the texture is silkier ... and I believe it's more
resilient, more compressible.  I know I love to tongue it."

She stared at me.  "Do you think it's larger?"

I blinked at her.  "You know, that's an interesting question.
Doesn't an empty cunt more or less close up inside?  How can you
get smaller than closed up?"

Her eyes glinted.  "Do you mean to say you never noticed any
difference in tightness?"

I shrugged.  "Only in virgins."

"Well, put it in and see if it feels tighter now.  I think you
have the largest one in my experience."

"How about Gregor?"

She looked away, frowned and shook her head, taking a deep
breath.  "You'll laugh."

"At what?  At Gregor?"

"At me.  Truly I can't remember if Gregor did us or not."

"We're you drunk?"

"On cock."

"Semen is intoxicating, you think?"

"Perhaps not, but _sex_ obviously is!  Come on, Timmy.  Kiss me
and give me a ride on your magic wand."

Once more I mounted the exciting young woman, but as I penetrated
the slick tightness, I heard Clara's voice from the doorway.

"Save some for me, Timmy."

When I looked around Alice pulled on me impatiently.

"Not now, Clara!" she protested.  "Give me a few minutes.  I'm
expecting a big one."

The "big one" arrived soon upon a strenuous series of full
strokes.  Alice yelled without inhibition and wrapped her legs
tightly around me.  My point of no return was rapidly
approaching.  Clara caught my shoulder and disentangled me from
Alice, who growled wordlessly at the interruption.

The woman pushed me onto my back with the explanation, "I want to
taste it."  Her lips quickly covered the tip of my erection while
her tongue flitted at the hole.  With a yelp I gushed almost
immediately, smearing her mouth and chin.  She opened wide for
the next spurts, taking them completely within her mouth.  After
pumping the residue onto her tongue, she swallowed the mess.

"That was mine!" Alice objected with a pout.

Clara could not respond, because my distended cock filled her
mouth.

I realized I would get little sleep again that night.  My
changing body had developed an amazing capacity for sex.  I was
convinced I could fuck any three women to exhaustion.  I thought
of Rosalind at that point, the third member of my harem who had
been visiting her mother downstate throughout my period of
unnatural growth, and smiled at the prospect of surprising her,
shocking her with my new body.  As Clara and Alice argued about
which of them would have me next, I wondered how Rosalind might
respond.

* * *

"Do you have a cold, Timmy?  You sound hoarse."

It was Rosalind on the phone announcing her return to Chicago
after two month's absence.  My voice was indeed different from
what she remembered; I was now a grown man.

"Nothing catchy," I replied.  "May I come over?'

"That's why I called, silly.  I've missed you.  I'd like you to
spend the night, if you can get away."

"Spend the night?  Do you have a new linguistics treatise for me
to peruse?  Have you translated _Fannie Hill_ into Gothic?"  I
winked at Clara and Alice, watching from the living room.

"Translated _what_?"  She laughed.  "Do you know a gothic reader
who cares for dissolute English tarts?"

"Perhaps not, only for dissolute doctors of linquistics.  Are you
ready to dissolve, Ros?"

"Oh god, Timmy!  My mother would hardly let me out of her sight.
I melted every candle in her house.  Please hurry.  A little boy
will feel like a horse."

"A little boy?  You may be disappointed there, Rosalind."

"Huh?  Don't tell me Alice has worn it down to a nubbin!"

"Not exactly.  All right.  I'll be there in an hour with a
toothbrush.  And I'm glad you're home, Ros."

"Oh, me, too; me, too!"

"Tch! Tch!  Such grammar!"

"What will you tell her?" Clara asked after I hung up.  "You'll
have to say something."

"That's obvious," I replied.  "What do you suggest?  The truth?"

"She already suspects a lot, Timmy," Alice spoke up from the
couch.  "She knows that we're responsible for her big boobs.  And
after her experience with us in Washington, she's ready to
believe anything.  She once accused us of being witches from
outer space, but she was drunk at the time."

"Men are not witches," I protested.  "They're warlocks."

"Do tell!" Alice responded snidely and returned to her book.

"She already knows we're from another time," said Clara as she
straightened my collar.  "Perhaps you should tell the entire
truth, Tim.  I assume she wants to take up the apprenticeship you
offered.  In fact I suspect she wants to join our team to remain
near you, and I have no objection to that."

"Me neither," Alice piped up.

I asked, "But do you think she's prepared to accept the reality
of our powers?  Time travel is the stuff of fantasy stories,
something she can comprehend after a fashion.  But we're involved
in much more than that."

"That's true, Timmy," Clara replied, "but she'll have to learn
the truth at some point.  I'll leave it up to you.  But whatever
you tell her, don't lie."

"I wouldn't do that," I declared,  "She might be frightened to
hear the story all at once.  I'll play it by ear."  I chuckled.
"By ear!  My ears are about the only parts that haven't changed.
The most immediate problem is this new body of mine.  How will I
explain that?"

Clara pulled me into a light embrace, her cheek against my upper
chest.  She caressed my back with a roving hand and confided in a
low voice, "She'll like the new you, Timmy.  You've retained your
old magic, but there is now so much more of you."

"Enough to go around?" I asked, nuzzling the top of her raven
head.

"More than enough," she replied and tilted her face upwards for a
kiss.

I went upstairs to shower.  Outside it was a hot day in late
summer, but the interior air-conditioning had not prevented the
stickiness resulting from an intense fuck with Clara.  Physically
I was equivalent to a twenty year-old, past my sexual prime
according to those who reckon that apex at eighteen.  But I was
indefatigable.  Not that I was newly driven by constant sexual
urges; I was no hornier than before.  The fact was that I could
fuck for hours, enjoying it all the while, with numerous splendid
climaxes.  On more than one occasion in recent days I had
alternated between Alice and Clara without respite until they lay
limp on the mattress, too utterly spent to be more than mere
passive receptacles for my rigid cock.  That performance may have
contributed to their willingness for Rosalind to become a
permanent member of our group.

It was past nine and dark had fallen when I arrived at Rosalind's 
apartment ten minutes earlier than promised.  In response to my 
light rap Rosalind flung open the door in excitement, but her 
eager, happy expression quickly dissolved.

"Who ... who ...?" she stammered, eyes widening in the beginnings
of recognition.

I stood speechless before her with limp arms at my side and
shuffled nervously, playing it "by ear."  Her eyes grew round and
her mouth opened in wonder.

"You can't be --  Does Timmy have an older brother?"

I said gravely, "I'm not Tim's brother, Rosalind."

"But, but ..."

When I moved to embrace her she stepped back quickly with a
frown.

"I don't know you," she declared firmly, then added in a weaker
voice, "Do I?"

"Yes, you know me and I know you ... in every sense.  I'm all
grown up, Ros.  It's hard to explain, but it's a fact."

"T-Timmy?" she asked tremulously with parted lips.

I nodded.  "Yes, my dear."

"You can't be Timmy!  Grown up in two months?"  She shook her
head in a wild grimace.  "Don't be silly!"

"Why not?  Silliness has its place sometimes."

She ducked her head.  "That _sounds_ like Timmy.  But you're
taller than I am.  You can't be human, not if you are -- were --
Timmy!"

"I'm as human as you," I protested.  "I could get you pregnant,
if I wanted."

"If you wanted!  Don't I have something to say about that?"

"I'm sorry," I apologized.  "What I mean is that I'm not an
alien, that I'm just Tim as an adult."

"I think I prefer the other one," she declared.  "He was
improbable, but still more believable than -- than you."

"I've only changed physically, Ros.  I'm the same person as
before.  What's happened to me is the same as the growth of your
breasts, only on a larger scale."

"Clara did this, didn't she?  Is she the alien?  Did she create
you somehow?"

Rosalind's fear transformed to defiance.  She assayed me from
head to foot.

"She did a good job, I must admit," she sneered.  "You could pass
as an ordinary human."

"Even in front of an X-ray machine."

"No kidding -- as good a job as that!"  Her sarcasm was thick.
Actually I had lied.  The diamondoid armor around my torso would
be only too apparent to X-rays.  That may have been a mistake.

"Because I am human!" I protested again.  "I have a mother and
father in Indiana."  I hesitated.  "Ros, you already know about
us."

"Oh, yeah?" she sneered.  Her voice sobered.  "I'm beginning to
realize I know nothing."

"You've already guessed the main fact," I said in a calm voice,
deciding to admit as much as she was willing to accept.  "I'm
from the future."

"Oh?  Do you know H. G. Wells?  Did you borrow his time machine?"

She spoke snippily, staring up at me from beneath lowered brows.

"Wells died four years ago," I told her.  Like the witch-to-
warlock, sometimes I am full of irrelevances.

This one bore unwelcome fruit.  She asked, "Did my Timmy die two
months ago?"

I thought a moment before answering.  "In a sense the 15 year-old
body is gone, Ros, but it's hardly dead.  Every molecule is still
here, plus a lot more.  And the mind is the same, the mind that
loves you."

Her lip curled, though perhaps more with longing than disgust.
"Damn you, Tim!  I _liked_ the impertinent little shit who sat
down beside me in the cafeteria two years ago."

I smiled.  "I remain impertinent as ever, Ros.  For example, did
you know that you have a brown mole just inside your upper butt
crack?"

Her eyes narrowed.  "On which side?"

"The, ah, left."

Her lips began to form a grin.  I saw the old Rosalind return,
ready for any adventure.

"I have no time machine, Ros," I said softly.  "I can't go back.
You're stuck with me."

"Am I?  What's next?  Are you going to change some more?"

She placed a palm on my chest, tentatively as though I might
disappear in a poof.  I drew her to me with hands firm on her
hips.  She did not resist.  I was now taller than she.  Our noses
almost touched.

"No," I said with my lips grazing hers.  "I'll remain like this."

We kissed like old lovers.  She hesitated at first but then
became passionate.

"I recognize the kiss," she murmured into my neck after a moment.
She wriggled against me.  "Are you grown up all over?"

"I think you'll be pleased," I replied, cupping one of her large
breasts.  "Alice says I'm larger now than your poet."

She began to unbutton my shirt as she stared intently into my
face.  The tip of her tongue protruded as she bit lightly upon
it.  Apparently she was nervous.

"Is Alice also grown?" she asked, pulling the shirt tail from my
trousers.

"Yes," I said.  "Her body is fully mature, although she decided
to retain the face of a young girl."

"She decided!"  Rosalind stepped back suddenly.

"I can explain," I assured her.  I reached out to palm her cheek.

"No, no," she responded, pressing my hand to her lips.  "You can
tell me about it another time.  Just promise me you won't turn
into a monster."

"I'm as human as you.  I won't change again."

I shrugged to assist her in removing my shirt.  She ran hands
across my chest, upper arms and shoulders.  She savored the touch
of my flesh with her face expressing pure wonder.

"My god, Tim!"

I grinned and clenched my arm into a bicep pose.  "You like it?"

"My god!"

"Don't get carried away."

"I'm sure you could do it."  Wondering eyes turned up to mine.
"Are you the Holy Spirit who has come down to impregnate me with
the savior?"

"_What_?"  I had to laugh.  "I didn't know you were religious,
Ros."

She undid my belt and pulled aside my trouser top so forcefully
that the buttons flew off.

"I was 14 before I realized what that meant.  But you're right.
I'm not religious."

She fell to her knees before me, jerked down my trousers, then
the underpants.  The clothing gathered around my ankles.  I heard
her gasp at my half-erection.

"You're an Adonis!" she cried, her hand enclosing me and
withdrawing the foreskin.

I asked whimsically, "Where did you ever find a classic Greek
with dick intact?"

"You mean the statues?  I know: they're broken off -- noses too.
But _this_ isn't broken!"

"I'm no Adonis, Rosalind.  I tell you I'm human, your human."

"Oh, god, I don't care whether you're human or not!"

She took my limp cock into her mouth and greedily sucked it to
straining erection.  She had easily engulfed the boy's cock many
times.  I had wondered what she might do with the new eight
inches.  Working her head side to side, she took in almost the
entirety.  Practice on the poet?

I stood with knees slightly bent, my fingers in her soft hair.  I
knew her intent and did not attempt to withhold my pleasure.

"Be careful, Ros," I cautioned.  "I shoot more nowadays."

She continued sucking noisily, heedless of my warning.  Her hands
moved eagerly up and down my thighs.  She had about half my cock
in her mouth when I grasped her head and yelped with the first
spurt.  Although she recoiled slightly in surprise at the force
of it, she did not release me but continued to suck with head now
motionless.  Two more blasts quickly followed the first, choking
her, forcing her to back away, but a fourth one splattered her
face.  She looked up at me with jism streaming from her nose and
cheeks, oozing from an open mouth and drooling down her chin.
She finished me by hand, grinning in triumph.

"You're a mess," I observed, stoking her hair affectionately.

She rose to her feet and rushed to the bathroom without a word.
I soon heard water running in the sink.  I stepped from my
tangled clothes and climbed onto the bed to await her return.
The room was dim, illuminated by a street lamp through the window
shade.  Rosalind was splendidly naked when she reentered the
room, large breasts bouncing, and crawled onto the bed to cuddle
in my arms.  Her breath smelled of toothpaste.

"Will you be my guy, Timmy?" she whispered into my ear.

"You'll have to share me," I replied, stroking her head like a
beloved kitten.

"I know," she said plaintively.  "I know."

She clung to me possessively, somberly quiet, so unlike the gay
young woman who had just sucked me off.

When she finally spoke her words surprised me.  "What you said
about getting me pregnant.  I believe it -- with _that_ much come!
Will you do it?"

I kissed her cheek with a pleased chuckle.  "Not tonight."

"Will you leave me?"

"If you mean, will I _drop_ you, the answer is, 'No.'"

She pulled on me, wanting me to mount her without foreplay.
"Make love to me, Timmy."  She sighed and kissed me desperately
as I penetrated her.  Weeping softly as I stroked her with
increasing force and speed, she thrust back gamely and held me
tightly with her arms.

"Don't ever leave me," she cried.  I responded with kisses that
she accepted greedily.  She became wild, scratching and screaming
when her first orgasm struck.  She lay quietly only after four
more.  I moved to get off her.

"You haven't had your pleasure yet, darling," she protested,
clutching to me.

"But I did," I corrected her, "over by the door."

"No, no.  That's not enough.  Pretend you're making a baby."

I resumed, slowly this time for my own satisfaction.  She
caressed my body with arms and legs.  She kissed my face and
cooed to me in encouragement until I felt the magic tingle.

"Yes! Yes!" she exclaimed when I came, seeming to share my
pleasure.

We slept little that night.  Rosalind regained her old
playfulness and in the near darkness we frolicked like genuine
lovers.  I think I amazed her with my ability to sustain an
erection even after numerous orgasms.

"I'll conquer you," she announced as we grappled, but in the end
it was she who wearied and fell exhausted into a slumber.  I
remained wide-awake, cuddled to her long body as she lay on her
side facing away from me.  I inhaled the feminine scent of her
hair and explored her flesh idly with the tips of my fingers.
She was special to me.

I awoke to her call.  She stood fully clothed at the foot of the
bed with the morning sun shimering through her auburn hair from
behind.

"Let's get started, Tim."

I stretched and smiled.  "At what, Rosalind?  You're not dressed
for my game."

"We'll do that later, maybe down at the lake."  Her hand went to
her crotch.  "I haven't felt this way since ...  Oh god, Timmy!
A pussy that loves _you_ needs to stay in practice."

"I'll keep you in practice."

"That's what I mean.  I want to get started being with you, Tim,
as a member of your ..."

"Family?"

Her head drooped.  "Harem."

I studied her.  She looked up, returning my gaze inquiringly.
She said, "That's what it is, isn't it -- what it's always been?"

I nodded complacently.  "I think that now I can keep three women
satisfied."

Her face twisted.  "Kindly don't _brag_ about it, please!"

"No.  I won't brag about it."  I sat up in the bed.  "Will you
move in with us, Rosalind?"

She sighed.  "I guess I'll have to, won't I?  But what will the
others say?"

"They've already agreed, the ones who have a voice in it."

She stared at me and chuckled incredulously.  "Implying that you
have children in that house -- or slaves?"

"Wait and see, my dear.  How about pouring me a coke while I get
dressed?"

* * *

A day or two later Rosalind arrived at Clara's place shortly
after supper complete with clothing, books and typewriter all in
the trunk of her taxi.  She would sleep with Alice or me
temporarily, mostly with Alice, I understood.  I carried up the
typewriter but left the rest of her stuff to the girls.  Clara
didn't want the taxi driver in the house.

When the three of them came into the kitchen for a beer --
Rosalind is fond of that stuff -- she looked around with approval.
"What a house!"

"Oh?" Alice countered.  "Isn't your mother wealthy?  I would
expect hers to be far more impressive."

"Well, it's bigger.  I mean, this one is so _clean_!"  She smiled
at Clara.  "I'm amazed that you'd go to so much trouble just to
welcome me."

I had to burst that bubble.  "It's always this clean, Ros.  Even
_I_ can't throw my shorts on the floor and expect them to stay."

"When you wear any," she retorted dryly.

"I expect I wear them more often than you wear bras."

Her eyes lit.  "So you've noticed!"

"Noticed what?"

She smiled.  "I love the expression on a man's face when he sees
them bounce."

"You mean, this look?" I said, leering pointedly.

She responded by rocking her shoulders.  Indeed they waltzed all
over her chest!  All three females laughed at my new expression.

"But you have an advantage, Tim," she said, smiling indulgently.
"For you I'll take off my shirt."

She suited action to word.  The halter-top popped over her head.
Big, pale tits rippled out, unrestrained and bouncing.  Again I
was treated to female laughter at my expense.

"A month ago that would have annoyed me," said Alice, presently
wearing a housecoat.  Her hand riffed through the front buttons.
It flew open to expose mammaries of comparable size and fullness.
The principal difference was nipple color.  Rosalind's were
pinker, as one would expect with reddish-brown hair, while
Alice's were tan in accord with a light brunette.  Both sets were
mouth-watering.  On both girls the shoulders and torso were well
rounded and smooth with no trace of the underlying rib array that
sometimes mars upper chest perfection even in plump women.  The
skin of both was creamy with the faintest lace of blue.  Rosalind
exhibited a light dusting of freckles and several prominent moles
on her shoulders.  I would wager that in a few weeks probably the
freckles and certainly the moles would be gone.

Rosalind shook her head in appreciation of Alice.  "I've already
told you how stunning you look!  You could've made them larger
than mine if you wished, couldn't you?"

"I suppose," Alice admitted demurely.

"If either one of you were much larger," I interjected, "you'd
need 20 more pounds on your ass as a counterbalance."

I should've known better.

"How crude!" sneered Rosalind.

Alice sniffed.  "Would you believe I talked him out of a 15-inch
cock?"

Rosalind's eyes grew large as marbles.  "Good heavens, he said it
_was_ 15 inches!"

"I what?"

The females exploded again in laughter.  I started to protest
that they all three knew everything about my eight-incher, but
Rosalind stiff-armed Alice's shoulder in an inimitable feminine
gesture.  "They say that's why women are poor judges of
distance."

They laughed even harder.  I didn't get it.

Clara smiled in sympathy.  "Do you feel out-numbered, Tim?"

I grinned unhappily.  "Am I destined to be the odd man out around
here?"

She lost her smile.  "Hardly.  You are the reason our little
group exists, Tim, and that will remain true no matter how large
it becomes."

The two young women fell silent, regarding me speculatively.

Clara continued.  "Rosalind will come to see that too."

Our new member shrugged.  "Believe me, I already do."

* * *

An hour later a blood-curdling scream reverberated inside the
house.  I happened to be holding forth atop Clara.  Because of
our new physical maturity the old sex games have undergone
revision.  I bounced to my feet with the alacrity of reflex.
Nothing compares with a full-bore female scream to fix your
attention.

I made it into the hall in time to see a small bundle of fur fly
down the stairs.  Almost instantly a nude Rosalind popped out of
the girls' bathroom, big tits jiggling.  I froze.  Her mouth was
wide open and foaming -- literally.

"Did you see that?" she yelled and pointed down the stairs, foam
dripping from her chin.

Alice, at the foot of the stairs, answered for me by demanding,
"What's wrong with Alazar?"

Rosalind stared back and forth between Alice and me.  I felt
Clara at my back.  Fingers on my thighs brought the information
to my retinas that Alazar was currently located in the
maintenance closet, having entered there eight seconds ago.

Into the impasse I asked, "Did he do something to your mouth,
Rosalind?"

"Oh!"  Her hand flew to her face.  "I was brushing my teeth."

"And what happened?"

She blinked rapidly.  "Was that a _monkey_?  That was a monkey!"

"Actually a capuchin," I responded.  "His name is Alazar."

She shook her head as if recovering from a punch.  "Excuse me one
second."  She turned back into the bathroom, from which emerged
the sounds of spitting and gargling.

I said to Alice, still at the foot of the stairs, "Some kind of
practical joke?"

She sniffed.  "Not one of mine.  I was reviewing the history of
the Fifties, considering how Sputnik might affect our plans for
space."

I looked over my shoulder at Clara.  She returned my gaze
blandly.  She's been known to indulge in gentle teasing but
prefers more to worry about the impact of new information.

I mused, "Apparently Alazar surprised her, and --"

"Surprised, you bet!"  Rosalind had returned to the hall.  The
foam was gone but her eyes were fiery.  "You try brushing your
teeth while something wet licks right up the middle of your --"
She paused in evident recognition.  "It had to've been his
_tongue_!"

"He licked _what_?" I asked.

But Rosalind was grinning narrowly down the stairs.  "You trained
a monkey to perform cunnilingus?"

Alice replied indifferently, "That one didn't need any training."

Again Rosalind shook her head.  "What's going on here?  You keep
a monkey as a pet?"

I sighed.  "We planned to explain everything tomorrow morning,
after a good night's sleep.  But I guess Alazar has let the cat
out of the bag."  I looked at Clara.  "Do I understand correctly
that he, ah, attended Rosalind without invitation or permission?"

Clara sighed also.  "I'm afraid so."  She moved past me to peer
down the stairs.  "Alice, do you want to oversee his punishment?"

"Oversee what?"

I looked over Clara's shoulder into an upward-directed glare.

The girl demanded, "Why does he need punishment?  He's only
behaving as _you_ taught him."

"He merits it for presumptuousness."

Alice's lip curled.  "Do you really think you can explain the
difference between familiar women and strangers?"

"Perhaps not.  But I can require him to get my permission
beforehand."

"Oh," murmured Alice.  She grinned darkly.  "And let you monitor
who uses him."

Clara sniffed.  "I have other methods for that."

"Well," Alice concluded, "_I_ think he merits no punishment.  We
depend on male presumption."

Rosalind's head had been turning back and forth during the
argument.  Now she sniffed as Clara held her piece, "Imagine
needing a monkey for that!"  She cocked an eyebrow at me.  "Have
you been so distant, Tim?"

I shook my head.  "_That_ in fact is the least of his duties.
Put on your robes, ladies, and let's reconvene in the kitchen.
Clara, I think it's time for another demo, even if you can't show
the sparrow until tomorrow morning."

* * *

By three inches and 15 pounds Rosalind was our largest woman.
She enthralled the capuchins.  Though casting covetous eyes at
Rosalind's Valkyrie skin whenever exposed to him, Alazar remained
true to Alice -- did I detect Clara's fine hand in that? -- but
almost every member of his company of either sex waited upon Ros
whenever she deigned to permit it.  I even caught Melita licking
the back of Rosalind's head.  I'm pleased to report that when the
monkey saw my expression, she broke off and ran out of the room.

Rosalind obviously returned the affection, but I believe she
enjoyed the wasps more.  I discovered it in an interesting
manner.

Passing Alice's room one afternoon about a week after Rosalind's
arrival, I spied the two girls together on the large bed, naked,
indulging in a lezzy 69.  The room door stood wide open.
Carelessness?  A very slight bit of fingerwork would have told
Alice that I was computing on my own bed, likely to walk down the
hall at any moment.  This was an invitation, I concluded.

Alice was reversed atop Rosalind, the latter's long legs hanging
off the end of the Hollywood bed.  Throwing my robe on a chair, I
presented myself between them, rubbing Alice's bent forehead with
my flaccid dick, just beginning to stiffen.  Proving to my
satisfaction that indeed an invitation had been intended, she
raised her head enough to gobble me into her mouth.  A few expert
tongue strokes soon effected a full stand.  When I withdrew, she
charmingly held Rosalind's labia apart for me to enter.

Perhaps the larger girl was not party to the invitation.  She
stiffened and burbled under Alice's groin.  Both hands released
Alice's hips and descended upon me in exploration.   What she
found must have been satisfactory.  Her hips began to roll.

Alice and Clara will not often indulge me in this exchange of
mouth and pussy.  Apparently the pussy owner objects to the
frequent withdrawals while the mouther necessarily loses her
concentration on sensations from the other end.  But this time it
worked.  When I put back into Ros the fifth or sixth time, all
three of us came, howling and twisting.  I do love that contrast!

I backed away and sat against my robe in the chair.  "Thank you
very much, ladies, for thinking of me."

Alice sat up, slithering her buttocks away from Rosalind's face.
Seminal fluid dripped from her chin.  Her eyes widened with
indignation.  "Thinking of _you_?  Of all the conceited comments
I ever --"

"You did leave the door open," I explained with a grin.

"He's right," said Rosalind, raising her wet face and matching my
smile.  "Ooo, I _do_ love a cock and a tongue together!"

"So we gathered," agreed Alice dryly.  Her eyes narrowed
thoughtfully.  "You know how interested we all are in your
welfare, Tim.  We want to protect you.  So I warn you, in the
future when you come upon two women making love, it is hazardous
in the extreme to assume they want a man to horn in."

"'Horn in,'" repeated Rosalind.  "The exact words!"  She laughed
at her own wit.

Alice sighed, her eyes dropping.  "Of course, you did make
yourself such a lovely cock!"

Rosalind chimed in, "It's hard to imagine anyone rejecting it."

I said with a smirk, "That thought never crossed my mind."

Alice leaned forward, swiped a finger between the other's labia
and raised it, dripping.  She grinned.  "And now we have an even
better reason for our dry bath."

I protested, "You don't need to douche for _my_ benefit.  Today
I'm harmless."

"I refer to the hygienic advantages," Alice remarked.  "Out of
bed, Ros.  They're on the way."

The two girls bounced to their feet on the carpet and stood
completely nude, arms slightly spread away from hips, eyes
twinkling at me expectantly.  A white streak appeared on one of
Rosalind's thighs and began its descent.

As interesting as those long, round thighs were, a thrumming in
the hall distracted me.  Suddenly a huge mass of wasps, forming a
tight cloud large as a heavy man, swept into the room, fluttering
the hair on my arm as they curved over my chair.  The cloud split
into two approximately equal parts.  In a moment each girl was
covered, head to toe, in a writhing and glittering mass of wasps.

"Oh, god, oh, god, that tickles!" proclaimed Rosalind, twisting
slightly.

"Hold still!" warned Alice.  "Be sure to keep your fingers spread
and your hands away from your body."

Their teeth flashed when their mouths opened to speak, admitting
enough light to reveal red tongues in sharp contrast to
wasp-covered faces.  Everywhere else on their bodies not one
glimmer of pink skin was evident, not even their nostrils,
although I had to assume the insects left airways open.

The wasps attended only upon the females; none approached me even
when I stood up in a mixture of awe and consternation.  I opened
my mouth to demand an explanation, but at that moment the wasps
withdrew from Alice completely and from Rosalind everywhere but
her groin and inner thighs.  They could not have been in contact
more than ten seconds.  Most of them departed from the room,
passing around me with enough speed to create a short-lived
breeze.  I'll confess I flinched back slightly.  Shortly the
clump in Rosalind's groin rose to join the remainder hovering in
the air.

"Now the bottoms of our feet," Alice declared brightly.

Both girls pitched themselves onto the bed, rolled on their backs
and extended their feet off the side.  The wasps divided into
four small masses, one coating the sole and toes of each foot.

Rosalind's feet twitched and jerked.  "Oh, god, I can't stand
it!"

I had once driven her to distraction with a feather in the arches
of her feet.  I dared to stoop for a closer view.  The wasps
writhed between toes and all along the bottom.  I distinctly saw
their mouthparts working on skin in the manner of houseflies
sucking the moisture from peach slices.  In a few seconds the
insects lifted away and buzzed out of the room.

I arose to find both girls regarding me with dancing eyes.

"Whose idea was this?" I asked.

"Mine!" declared Alice proudly.  She regarded me with a
suggestive sneer.  "Only a few people can benefit from a dry
bath."

"A 'dry bath,' is it?"  I laughed harshly.  "I certainly agree
with you about the 'few people.'  How many do you know with
trained _vespidae_?"

"That's not what I mean.  Clara doesn't use them, for example."

I nodded.  "That figures.  Clara loves water."

"Nor that either!" she asserted testily.

I shrugged.  "Okay.  Congratulations then to you and Rosalind."

She actually snarled.  "Damn you, Timothy Kimball!  People need
_willpower_ to take a dry bath."

"Willpower?" I said curiously.  Of course I knew what she was
getting at, but it's fun to tease her.

Instead of explaining, however, she only smiled.  "Try it,
smarty.  The controls are under _Active Skin Hygiene_."

"Maybe I will later," I admitted, thinking I wanted privacy for
the first trial.

Rosalind grinned at me.  "Let us know how you get along."

"Oh, we'll know!" Alice asserted with a laugh.

Did you ever let a housefly crawl up your arm, tasting the skin
cells for sweat?  It feels rather relaxing, or so I had always
thought.  But let fifty thousand insects do the same and the
sensation is entirely different.

Nothing I ever felt tickled half so terribly!  A few seconds of
it were about all I could stand.  But I had noticed the footnote
in the instructions:  _Use Temporary Tactile Blanding if the
stimulation is too intense_.  With the myriad clawing of 300,000
feet and sucking of 50,000 mouths reduced to the equivalent of a
gentle zephyr it was pleasant enough -- and satisfactorily brief.

The process certainly works.  I had deliberately let my underarms
get whiffy.  When the wasps left, they lifted all the odors with
them.  In the mirror my nose sparkled.  I have never felt so
clean.

When I first witnessed her dry bath, Rosalind was two weeks away
from activation of her 24th Century biological computer.  _She_
is the one with the willpower!

* * *

I answered the doorbell on the first of September.  It was Agent
Smith of the FBI.  "May I come in?" he asked, pushing toward me.

But I wasn't a little kid any more.  I didn't budge.  "No," I
said flatly, blocking the door.

I saw his fist form but he didn't cock it.  He swallowed
something instead and stopped, his face about six inches below
and in front of mine.  "You _are_ Timothy Kimball?"

"So what?"

"Go get your clothes on.  You're coming with me."

"What should I pack?"

"Nothing."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll find out."

"Forget it," I said with finality.  "Get out of my doorway."

"If you don't cooperate I'm authorized to arrest you as a
material witness."

"Will you shoot lower this time?"

He took a deep breath and backed up a pace.  "Are you gonna
cooperate?"

"No."

His hand flashed into his coat and reappeared holding a blue
steel revolver, snub-nose, in 1950 probably a .38.  "Get your
hands up and come out on the stoop."

Not only was I now beefier and stronger, my reflexes were faster.
An interesting fact about double-action revolvers is that the
hammer must travel farther than the trigger that cocks it,
meaning that the mechanical advantage is with the hammer.  My
hand started up as ordered but streaked across between us and
closed around his weapon, thumb clamped behind the hammer.  I
don't know if he tried to fire it or not.  Probably he did from
reflexes of his own.  But I twisted the piece out of his hand
before he could fully react.  I doubt if the partner waiting in
the car on the street saw it.

I stepped back and leveled his own weapon at a point between the
huge eyes.  "Now you may come in, Agent Smith."

I had to tell him again and gesture with the pistol before he
recovered enough to lurch after me.  I closed the door.  "Go on
upstairs to the first door on the right.  I'll be right behind
you."

"Wh-what are you gonna do?"

"Get dressed.  That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

Alice called incredulously from the den, "Is someone with you,
Tim?"

"Agent Smith of the FBI," I replied.  "He's coming upstairs to
help me dress."

"How'd you do that?" asked the FBI man, looking back over his
shoulder at me as he climbed the stairs.  His expression was
still one of shock.

"You broke an elementary rule, Smith...  That's it.  Go on
through the door."

"What rule?"

"Don't draw down on someone within arm's reach.  Surely you
learned that at Quantico."

"Where?"

Didn't the FBI train its agents at Quantico in the Forties?

"Never mind.  Sit down on the bed and stay there."

He obeyed as if in a daze.  I laid his pistol on the dresser and
reached for street clothes.

"Tim, what the hell?" asked Alice in the doorway.  Behind her I
could see Clara and Rosalind.

"It seems I'm going away with Agent Smith."

"Where?"

"I'll find out."

"Just you?"

"So far as I know.  What about that, Smith?"

"He only wants to talk to you," was the answer.  The agent
goggled at my women, all barefoot but wearing robes similar to
mine.

"He who?"

Of course I received no answer.  Buttoning my shirt, I said,
"Agent Smith is authorized to arrest me as a material witness if
I don't cooperate."

"But whose gun is that on the dresser?"

"Agent Smith let me hold it.  You know how I feel about armed men
in the house."

I slipped my stocking feet into loafers and took up the revolver.
"Come here, Smith."

"You'll regret this," he warned but obeyed.  I could see him
tensing.  Did he expect me to blow him away?

I opened the cylinder and let the six cartridges slide into my
hand, from there into my pants pocket.  I presented his weapon to
him by the barrel and said gravely, "I believe this is government
property, Agent Smith.  Put it back on your belt, if you don't
mind."

He took the revolver, pointed it at me for a moment, then slipped
it under his jacket.  I turned my back to him and went out into
the hall among the women, where I quickly kissed and hugged each.
"This should be interesting," I murmured to Clara just before
turning to the stairs.

The FBI agent's footsteps thudded behind me.  I felt a curious
elation, part fear and part triumph.  According to the advice of
the 24th Century, if he shot me in the back, the worst I might
experience would be equivalent to the blow of a fist, plus a
bruise and a dimple of destroyed outer epidermis above the
diamondoid layer.  If he shot me in the back of the head,
however, I'd be just as dead as anyone else.

I had his bullets -- the in-use set, at least.  I listened in vain
for the sounds of reloading.

He closed the front door behind me.  Letting him draw abreast as
we stepped down to the front walk, I held out my closed hand.
"Here's some more government property."  His hand under mine
caught the cartridges, which he transferred to his own pocket.

I expected some denunciation from him.  He surprised me.  "Who
the hell are you?"

"The man you want," I answered.

"Shit!  I saw you naked up there.  If you're a 15 year-old boy
I'm Atlas's next customer."

It took me a moment.  This was the era in which a fellow by the
name of Charles Atlas appeared in all the comic books to
advertise his method guaranteed to give you muscles like ...
well, me.  I chuckled.  "What's the matter: don't you believe in
dynamic tension?"

He mumbled under his breath, "This assignment gets weirder and
weirder."

I had to respond, "What I don't understand is why the FBI expects
people to cooperate when it refuses to tell them anything."

He took a deep breath.  Instead of replying to the implied
question, he motioned to me.  "Get in the back seat, will you?"

We stood beside an agency car.  I obeyed.  He sat abreast of the
driver and away we went -- about five blocks.  We pulled up behind
another car of identical make, model and color.  One side of the
street contained a large empty field.  On the other side was a
high concrete wall.  A metal telephone booth with wire-reinforced
windows nestled against the concrete.

Smith handed me a card and a nickel.  The card was blank except
for seven numeric digits, hand written.  I looked up.  "You want
me to call this number?"

"_I_ don't give a shit if you drop dead.  The director wants you
to call that number."

"Watch it, Smitty," warned the driver, a man I'd never seen
before.

The director, eh?  I began to get a glimmer.

"Close the booth door," Agent Smith called as I left the car.

The sun-lit booth would have been stifling had I obeyed.  I
ignored the order, dropped the nickel, listened to the single
"Bong!" and dialed the number.  On the second ring a woman
answered, "Operations."

"Operations, eh?  Is this a hospital?"

Pause.  "I think you have a wrong number."

I repeated the number, then said, "You may be right.  I didn't
think I wanted a hospital."

"Well, you didn't get one either," she retorted.

"Maybe the problem is that they didn't tell me what to say."

"Say your name."

"Timothy Kimball."

"One moment."

The line remained open for a few seconds.  I could hear other
women's voices.  A switchboard?  Was she looking me up in a list?
Then I heard a pop and a click followed by a telephone ringing.

A different woman said, "Blair House Three."

"This is Timothy Kimball."

"One moment, sir."

I waited, wondering whether human operators were really any
better than the machines one had to listen to so often in 2002.
A little better, I decided; at least I had the potential of
diverting a human from her prescribed path.  Confusing a machine
was difficult and the rare success unsatisfying, as in besting an
idiot.

A third woman said, "Please standby, Mr. Kimball.  He'll speak to
you in about ten minutes."

"He who?"

Her voice sounded surprised.  "President Harry Truman, of
course."

"Suppose I don't want to speak to him."

Pause.  "Many don't."

"Well, then --

"But they speak anyway.  The Secret Service will fetch you here
in person if necessary."

"Is it against the law _not_ to speak to the president if he
wants to hear from you?"

"It might as well be.  How old are you?"

"15."

"Oh.  Now I understand.  Just hang on to the phone, Timothy.
Think what you can tell the guys afterwards!"

"Look," I said with a sigh, glancing at my wristwatch.  "It's
four oh seven here in Chicago.  I'll wait till four seventeen,
then I'm hanging up."

She paused again.  "Are you sure you're 15?"

"And if I were 70?"

"It wouldn't make any difference.  If _he_ wants to talk to you,
you have to talk.  If you hang up you'll only delay it and cause
inconvenience to a lot of people."

"Tell him I'm waiting another nine minutes.  Then all you people
will just have to be inconvenienced."

"I'll see what I can do.  And Timothy, you are well on your way
to becoming a rude boy."

I chuckled.  "Thank you, missy."

She sniffed.  A moment later I heard the ring of high heels,
receding.  Yes, a human on the other end of the line beats the
hell out of a machine.

I waited.  So did the four men in the two agency cars.  Smith
watched me steadily.  Did he expect me to bolt and jump over the
concrete rail?  Apparently only another empty field extended
beyond it.  I tried to remember what had become of this oddly
empty area in the next 20 years but couldn't.  I was about to
call up the appropriate platt map, but was interrupted  by the
phone.

After another click a man said, "Is that you, Tom?"

"No," I responded.  "The name is Tim."

"Oh, yeah.  Listen, I'm touching all bases.  Does Inchon work?"

It was Truman.  I said, "Yes, sir."

I had expected this and had the display ready for a single
command.  I read from the blue sky beyond the field, "Unable to
appreciate the magnitude of resources available to MacArthur, the
North Korean leadership ignored his probe landings on the outer
periphery of islands around Inchon. On September 15, 1950, he
commanded the daring invasion of Wolmi-do, the largest island in
Inchon harbor, followed immediately by capture of the city
itself, catching the communists on the flank and cutting the
lines of supply and communications to the bulk of their forces at
the Pusan perimeter.  The trapped men either surrendered or fled
in panic.  Two weeks later UN forces had returned to the 38th
parallel."

Truman was silent for a moment.  Then he chuckled.  "Your use of
the past tense is uncanny.  What are you reading from?"

I didn't answer that.  Instead I told him, "Here's the proper
tense.  On November 24, MacArthur will tell the world his troops
will be home by Christmas.  Don't believe him."

Again the man was silent for a moment.  "What does that mean?"

"The troops won't be home."

"Implying ... what?"

"Mr. President, history will find the results acceptable.  The
decisions you will make, considering all the facts available to
you, will be judged as reasonable."

"That's reassuring," he noted dryly.  "Tell me why you're not
more forthcoming."

"I think you already know.  Too much advance knowledge will tempt
you to decide on a different fate."  I grinned darkly.  "I could
disclose every detail to the FBI agent who forced me to this
telephone and it would make no difference to anyone.  But I can't
tell you because you can make such a tremendous difference.  I'm
sure you're aware, for example, that some of the things you could
do might start Word War Three."

"And that doesn't happen?"

"No.  I'll tell you this much.  World War Three never does
happen, and by 1993 the United States is recognized as the
world's only superpower."

"Now that _is_ reassuring!  Who's the forceful FBI agent?"

"His name is Smith, from the Chicago field office."

"Did he black your eye too?"

"No.  He drew his gun."

The man chuckled.  "What is your problem with the FBI, Tim?"

"The same as yours with J. Edgar."

"Yes.  Like master, like man.  Thank you, son.  Stay in touch."

"Good-bye, sir."

Back at the car I stood beside the open window.  Smith asked,
"You speak to him?"

"Yes."

He jerked his head toward the back.  "Get in."

"What was this all about, Smitty?  Why'd you have to force me out
here to a phone booth?  I can't believe you people don't know my
number at home."

He stared at me.  After a bit he said, "I'll tell you when we get
there."

I got in the car, which started up, backed away from the one in
front and pulled out around it.  I saw a man leave the other car
and walk to the phone booth.

We returned over the same five blocks.  Smith got out of the car
as I did and joined me on the front walk.  He said in a low
voice, "We secured the line to that phone booth.  Everybody and
his brother's got a tap on your home line."

I thought about it.  "Thanks for the tip.  That's the right way
to deal with your subjects, Smitty.  To show you what I mean,
here's something for you.  You remember Agent Halleck?"

"Yeah."  He added dryly, "I remember."

"Tell Avery not to fire you.  Tell him I said so.  Tell him I
decided you were just doing the job they taught you.  If he
doesn't believe you, tell him to call me."

His eyes went blank at first, then narrowed.  "You squealed on
me, did you?"

"To the _man_."

"Oh, shit!"

I shook my head.  "Take it easy, Smitty."

He watched me enter the house.  All three women met me at the
door.  It seemed they were anxious about me.  Amazing what a set
of hovering females can do for your self-approval!  Clara
downloaded my record into a viewer and passed it around.

Sitting around the kitchen table, all of us in robes, I told
them, "I expected Truman to call about the Inchon invasion.
What's interesting is Smitty's little revelation at the end.
Clara, do you know about bugs?"

"Bugs?  Of course.  I use them all the time."

I chuckled.  "Pretty good name for them, actually.  I'm talking
about electronic listening devices, tiny microphones with wires
to the outside.  Until they shrink the transistor we don't have
to sweat tiny transmitters."

"I know about them," said Clara calmly.  "We had two in this
house."  She got to her feet, took a table knife from a drawer
and prized up a wire from the paint atop a molding over the sink.
"For example, they put one on the end of this."

I stood up.  "Good god!  Why didn't you tell us?  How long has it
been there?"

"About two years ago, shortly after the Russians tried to kidnap
you, a man from the city with papers all in order gave us what he
called a 'Fire Inspection.'  He installed two microphones.  As to
why I didn't disturb you about it, the reason was lack of
necessity.  I removed and destroyed his microphones before he was
off the property."

"Did you get them all?"

"Yes, I did.  The wasps did a sweep."  She chuckled grimly.  "And
otherwise we would've heard about it long ago."

"I suppose so."

I took a deep breath, did a turn around the room and paused to
look at them.  "Ladies, the time has come to disconnect."

Clara smiled.  "Just say the word."

My eyebrows went up.  "Don't you think a little planning is
required?"

"Not just to disconnect from the government.  I've already set it
up."  She lowered her voice.  Her eyes sparkled like those of a
kid playing who's-got-the-button.  "One of my secret identities
has bought us another house, and I know how we can disappear into
it right under the FBI's nose."

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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