       It Happened One Halloween — A Romance Between Halloweens
                              Copyright by Joesephus

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Synopsis: As a US Attorney tries to build a case a reporter tries to
build something else.  This is a very slow story and what little sex
there is doesn't start until Chapter 3.

Codes: MF slow rom
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I would like to thank CopyCarver, and SweetErika for their help in
getting this story readable. The mistakes that remain are mine.


This story was written with MS Word.  I used things like bold and italics
to make dialogue more understandable.  Those were lost when I converted 
this to TXT format.  If you wish to read the version with the formats
You can find them posted on other sites.  I would suggest you search 
for the title and Joesephus.

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Chapter 1



Crammed into my tiny cubical at the San Antonio Express-News, I admired
my copy of last week's paper one more time, before I returned to
studying the email. With an effort of will I clamped down on my
daydreams. Our email system provides the location of incoming emails
and this one had set off career fantasies. The words were simple:

"I read your story on Halloween. I think you'll be interested in
meeting me. You said you are a second-degree black belt. If you'll
reply to joesephus @ gmail dot com with a time and the name of your
dojo, we could meet there."

It was the hidden sender address that had gotten my full attention.
Now, why would someone, probably a lawyer, in the United States
Attorney's office want to meet with a reporter? Why would he make such
a clumsy attempt to try to hide his identity?

He referenced my story, and while I was inordinately proud of it, it
was because it was not only my first by-line but it was also on the
front page! Okay, it was the front page of the lifestyle section but
still it was above the fold. I didn't write the mundane headline, "Keep
Your Kids Safe While They Trick Or Treat," and I would have chosen a
larger and more distinctive font for the byline, "by Morgan Madison."

I'd tried to avoid most of the clichés by giving real-life examples of
what had gone wrong for friends and employees of the paper. I'd started
with my own worst Halloween.

When I was in fourth grade, all my friends were sated from the sack of
our neighborhood and had gone home. I remained hungry for new
conquests, so I went alone to a near by subdivision, South Shore
Estates. The houses there sold for more than six times what the ones
around me did; I was certain I'd make out like the pirate of my
costume, and I had!

My shopping bag was completely full and I'd just left their gates when
I was accosted by two older boys. "Looks like you got real haul" the
larger of them said.

Like a fool I held it out to show my loot. "Yes, the people there are
real generous."

His hand snaked out and grabbed my sack. At first I though he just
wanted to see what I had, but he wouldn't give it back. When I demanded
it, he hit me, hard, in the stomach and knocked me to the ground,
bringing tears to my eyes.

"Nothing better than taking candy from a cry baby!" he said turning his
back on me in contempt. "Come on, we've got all we need," he yelled over
his shoulder as he jogged off.

Just before the others ran I yelled, "I'm going to call the police and
they'll put you in jail!"

I ran all the way home, where my father got in the car and cruised the
area, looking for the boys. We didn't find them, and when he got the
whole story of where I'd gone alone... well, he took his board of
education and applied it to my seat of knowledge. I hadn't mentioned
that last part in the article, but I did say he enrolled me in Ta Kwon
Do lessons where I eventually got my second-degree black-belt.

My article ended with the normal warning that you didn't have to
suspect your neighbor's cookies but must take reasonable care with
strangers.

On reflection, I thought perhaps my closing line --"all children should
be taught what a real policeman looked like and that they should be
instructed to go to them if they were ever in trouble"--might have
struck a cord with my not-so-secret prosecutor.

I hoped the overall tone of my article had conveyed the impression that
I was pro-law enforcement, which I had been ever since that night. I may
have come from a blue-collar family and gone to a blue-blooded school,
Columbia School of Journalism, but I was as red-blooded as any in the
red state of Texas. My neighborhood in Corpus Christi was only a couple
of miles from the big Naval Air Station, so we had a lot of sailors and
Marines for neighbors. Our family always supported the troops!

I took a deep breath and tried to get my excitement under control. The
United States Attorney is a political appointment and the main office
for this district is here in San Antonio. I didn't think for a second
that Jimmy Seton, a starter on the 1983 Championship Longhorn baseball
team, would be contacting a rookie reporter like me. I knew it would be
one of the junior staff members, not even a full Assistant US Attorney.
Still, a solid source in that office could get me out of the lifestyle
section and into hard news reporting.

I had to be very careful. The guy was trying to set up a very private
meeting and probably wouldn't acknowledge that he was a Fed. What I
couldn't know was if this would be a sanctioned meeting or if he was
out on his own. With only the routing information I couldn't determine
who in that office had sent the email. But it was pretty common for
prosecutors to try to get the press on their side to influence the jury
pool. If this was one of the newer prosecutors, he might be looking to
build a relationship with someone who would give him some column space,
something more established reporters with more senior sources might not
do. I called up our morgue to search for pictures and bio data of all
the lawyers in that office, and I tried to guess which one I was hoping
to meet.

I gave myself a mental shake. I was building castles in the sky again,
and I hadn't even seen the guy yet. It could be nothing... but my heart
was still beating fast as I pressed the send button to set up the
meeting. I also had my fingers crossed. I'd recognized one of the new
guys. He wouldn't know me but I knew a bit more about him than his bio.

I made sure that I got to my dojo early to see if I could spot someone
who looked out of place. My contact was unmistakable, not many men wear
a men-in-black outfit to a dojo. I only got a glimpse of his face before
he turned his back to me. A glimpse was all I needed. It was Tyler
Gonzo. I'm a Texan, fourth generation, and I love the things that Texan
love. I'd been dove and duck hunting from the time I could hold a
shotgun. I never missed a football game in high school and missed it
when I was in NYC.

I mention this by way of explaining that while I loved football as much
as any Texan, my first love was basketball. I'd never met Tyler. He came
from across town and went to Miller High School, the "tough" school. I
went to King and was a freshman when we played Miller for the district
championship. We got creamed. The reason was Tyler Gonzo. He was a
senior and a one-man army. I hated what he did to us, but I'd loved
watching him play. He had already signed with Sam Houston State
University, but I'd been surprised that he hadn't gone with one of the
bigger schools. Now, as I studied his back, I decided it was probably
his height. He was tall, but not for a basketball player. I guessed
6'3" or maybe 6'4"

I walked toward him, extended my hand and said, "Hi Tyler, I'm Morgan
and I'm glad to finally meet you in person, even if you did ruin my
childhood."

He turned, his look of shock turning to something else as he blurted,
"You're a girl!"

I stared at him with my mouth open. No, I wasn't 'offended' by his
'sexist' comment. I'm used to being mistaken for a man because of my
name. My standard comeback was "Yes, I know, but there was a beautiful
woman named Morgan Fairchild about the time I was born, and Morgan
Freeman wasn't a star then."

The reason I was gulping like a goldfish was that Tyler had become the
most beautiful man I'd seen in my entire life. My heart was f?uttering
and I experienced a sensation deep in my groin I'd never felt before,
including the two times I'd had sex.

I was incapable of speech. All I could see were the most expressive
eyes I've ever seen in my life. They were a light hazel with flecks of
green and I think I could have stared into them for hours. I've never
been unable to understand the word 'besotted, ' but now I was so
besotted I didn't realize that he was mumbling excuses until he said,
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come... This whole thing was crazy," and
started to leave.

When I grabbed his arm I had no idea what I was going to say, I just
knew I couldn't let him leave. "Don't let your chivalry get in the way;
you know I'm a black belt. Can the case you're working on really be that
dangerous?"

I had no idea why I'd said that, it just sort of popped into my head. I
continued to babble, "Look, I believe in journalistic impartiality as an
item of faith, but I come from a law and order family and I'll make sure
you get a fair break in anything I publish."

Tyler looked confused, but at least he stopped trying to leave. I saw
those beautiful eyes blink several times, and I knew he was reassessing
his decision. I was prepared to beg, but he stopped pulling away.

The silence extended and I clamped down hard on my diarrhea of the
mouth as I watched him think. Finally, nodding his head slowly, he
said, "I'm working on a case that involves smuggling and selling
slaves. It's pretty unsavory and I guess I was a little reticent about
getting a woman involved." He had the slightest accent and I loved the
deep bass that delivered it.

I broke in, "Who would be more sympathetic than a woman to the plight
of those poor women?"

It was like I'd flipped a switch in him, his whole demeanor changed and
I saw an ardent crusader. "A lot of people don't see prostitution as a
crime and even more don't like to deal with anything that hints of
immigration. This isn't a very popular issue..."

I'd heard of the pimps selling each other prostitutes called "the slave
trade," but I'd always considered it wild hyperbole, certainly not
worthy of making it a federal case. Still, I would have supported gun
control if that's what it took to keep him talking. "I can't say I know
very much about the issue. Have you cleared this contact with your boss,
is this background or deep background? I swear to God that I'll protect
your identity either way. I'll go to jail until I rot before I reveal a
source."

He looked a little disconcerted, "Uh, I did tell my boss that I was
coming to meet you, but I didn't expect to be discussing my case..."

I cut him off. "I do understand, you just wanted to meet me and feel me
up... uh, I mean out..." Tyler had very fair skin and I've never seen a
man blush that hard. I was shocked by my faux pas, but his
embarrassment was so profound I don't think he noticed my own blush.

Then I saw his eyes widen and I was relieved that he knew I hadn't
tossed in a gratuitous sexual innuendo. "Look, why don't you go back to
your boss and tell him that you have the most sympathetic reporter in
San Antone who is just dying to do anything she can to get your side of
this issue out."

I whipped out my card and jotted my home and cell phone numbers as I
said, "This is a big deal for me. Normally a reporter as junior as I
doesn't get a chance like this. This could be my big break. Please, how
about it, to balance breaking my heart back in Corpus..." I saw a
strange expression on his face and continued, "I'm a big round ball
fan. When you eliminated King my freshman year it broke my heart, so
don't you owe me something?"

I expected a smile; instead I got a funny thoughtful look. With a slow
nod he said, "Yeah, I owe you. I'll talk to my boss and give you a call
to let you know what he says. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you
with my remark about being a woman. I was just startled, and I don't
want you to think I'm some sort of sexist pig. Some of my best friends
are women." He finished with a weak grin.

I tried to make professional and determined eye-to-eye contact.?I gave
it up and pleaded, "Be sure you call me, Tyler..." I tried for my
firmest voice and continued, "... or I will be calling you!"

His grin disappeared, he nodded and rushed off. I walked, on wobbly
legs, into my dojo and collapsed into the first chair I saw. What had
just happened to me? I've never reacted to a man like that. I'd had sex
with two men and both times were such disasters that I hadn't dated for
years after each one. The first was during my junior year, after prom.
It was painful and quick, which is more than I can say about the hell
that followed. My blood-soiled panties were taped inside his locker
with the others in his "collection." He never asked me out again, but
for the rest of high school I got crude and lewd comments. I was
branded "an easy lay" and that drove me out of the state for college.
Columbia was a great choice but I would have gone to Rice or UT if high
school hadn't been such hell.

My second attempt at making love was at Columbia, again in my junior
year. He was the first guy I'd dated there, and we'd dated for months.
He never put any pressure on me until, out of the blue, he asked if we
could make love. I was sure I was in love and I trusted him. It was
worse than the first time, awful in a whole different way. We spent
almost two hours getting him hard and he went soft before he came.
That's when he told me he was trying to find out of if he was pure gay
or bi. Guess which way he decided.

I hadn't found anyone interesting enough to date since. Not that guys
were storming my gates asking for dates. I'm not God's gift to men. I'm
tall, almost 5'9" and raw-boned. My face won't stop traffic but it might
attract a few horses. My hair is so unruly I can't find a beautician who
will take me as a regular. I guess the most flattering word to describe
my figure would be fit. I do go to the gym three times a week and run
four miles three days a week, generally in under thirty minutes.

All that exercise makes me hungry so I carry a few extra pounds... in
all the wrong places. Boobs? I'll never forget a "JOKE" someone "let"
me overhear before I graduated from Columbia. A young man had gone to a
department store to buy a bra for his new wife. The saleswoman asked him
what size and the man was clueless. The woman asked if his wife's
breasts were about the size of melons, and the man shook his head.
Cantaloupes drew the same response, as did grapefruits and oranges.
Finally the woman asked "about the size of eggs?" The man's face lit up
and he answered "Yes! Fried!" That one really hurt. I do have boobs, but
they're too small for my frame. Okay, only one of my boobs is a fried
egg. In addition to everything else, my boobs are vastly different
sizes. My right is an A cup.

As I sat, I thought about how I was going to get Tyler interested.
People were always telling me I had a sparkling personality; maybe I
could get someone to snooker him into a blind date. I was still
thinking about it the next day at work when he called me.

"Morgan? Would you be able to meet me and my boss for lunch? I don't
know if you've heard of Alamo Café. It's across town but I think
you'll like it. It should also be private."

"Will this be on the record or off?"

"It needs to be off, but if we can work things out, I think you'll have
a series you can be proud of."

My heart was beating so fast my fingers throbbed with my pulse, making
it difficult to write down the directions to the place. When I arrived,
Tyler was already there, seated right next Jimmy Seton himself. I hadn't
expected that. It threw a monkey wrench in my plans to flirt, to the
best of my limited ability, during lunch.

After our entrées were served Mr. Seton casually said, "Morgan, I have
a rather unusual proposal for you. I've looked at your impressive
academic honors, and I've not only read what you've published here but
what you published in the Columbia paper. You have a real talent, and I
expect you to have a national audience in a few years. I want your help
and I think we can help you get that national column. We have a serious
leak in our office. Someone is delivering very sensitive information to
one of the more brutal prison drug gangs. It's resulted in several
deaths and we haven't been able to narrow it down, beyond that it must
be an attorney in my office."

I felt my eyes get wide and my competitive juices kicked into high
gear. "Just what are you offering, and what sort of restrictions are
you going to place on me?"

Mr. Seton gave me one of those smiles politicians seem to be born with,
"What I'm asking is that you pretend to date Tyler for a few months. I
expect you to hear a lot of information and, subject to your
journalistic standards, you're free to publish all of it. In fact, our
hook is that we'll want to make certain that you do publish a few of
the things you hear."

I felt a hollowness form inside, the worm was wiggling; I just had to
make sure I didn't get hooked. "I won't betray a source and I certainly
won't help you to set up someone for criminal charges..."

Mr. Seton's smiled grew bigger, "Of course not. Look, what we're doing
is closely compartmenting information about this gang. We're also
making it obvious that we're tightening security. It won't take our
leaker long to figure out that he or she can use you to send
information to the gang. Oh, we might protest the publication of
sensitive information publicly, which will help both our careers. Based
on what you publish we'll know who our guilty party is. Our only
restriction is that you not reveal our deal until next Halloween or
until we charge someone, whichever comes first."

Oh, that worm was wiggling and I was getting so hungry. I bit my lip to
keep from blurting out Yes! "I don't suppose there's any problem with
discussing this with my editor first?"

I think my heart stopped beating as I waited for Mr. Seton to answer.
Just when I was about to say I didn't need to talk to her he said, "No,
I don't mind. But I will ask that you limit this information to her and
perhaps the publisher, no one else. I'll give her a call to alert her
about how important this is. I have to admit, I was a bit skeptical. I
thought Tyler was just trying to find an excuse to date a very
beautiful young woman, but after reading your work and talking to you I
think you're a perfect choice. Besides, maybe seeing you on Tyler's arm
will give some other girls ideas. I keep telling Tyler that all work
and no play..." He paused.

"I'm sorry Morgan, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I've known Tyler
since he was an undergrad working as an intern in my office. Normally,
I wouldn't agree to something like this that had a social element, but
I have every confidence that Tyler won't cross the line between
business and private life. You don't need to actually date, just
pretend to when you're around people from my office. Will you be able
to do that?"

I started to speak and my voice didn't work, I finally managed, "I
think I can force myself, I'd do anything for the sake of a story." I'd
tried to make it sound ironic and funny, but it came out forced and I
saw Tyler wince. I was so flustered that I couldn't think of a thing to
say to fix what I'd said.

Just as I was about to simply blurt out that I'd hoped Tyler would ask
me out on his own, Mr. Seton stood and announced that he was leaving.
"I have an important meeting to prepare for and I don't want anyone to
see us together by chance until you and Tyler have established
yourselves as a couple. Thank you, Miss Madison. This is important."

As soon as he'd left, I turned to Tyler to try to explain what I'd
meant. Before I could say a word he said, "I want to assure you that
I'll be very proper. If you meet someone after we've established
ourselves as a couple, I'll let it be known that our relationship has
morphed into close friendship. After that, you can bring your boyfriend
with you."

"No, I don't want to do that!" I blurted. Before he could react I
rushed to add, "It'll be much better if we just date, unless you have
someone you're interested in seeing..."

He looked down at my almost uneaten plate, "If you really want to hear
about how inept I am at g?tting a real date, I'll talk until you finish
your meal."

I had finished. As I said, I carried a few extra pounds and this was
not a low-cal meal. However, I would have eaten three orders if it
meant that Tyler would keep talking to me. I began eating, slowly. I
rationalized that eating quickly is a sure way to gain weight.

"No, I'm afraid I'm not very good around women..." He then proceeded to
prove just how false that was. I've never met such a charming,
interesting and funny man or woman in my life. I was hanging on his
every word and laughing like a school kid at his smallest jokes. By the
time I'd finished eating, I knew I was totally infatuated with the man.

I also felt like a bloated whale. I've never understood women who are
bulimic, but I did consider a quick trip to the lady's room. Then I
thought about what I'd do if someone heard me. Besides, I needed to get
to my editor stat!

I practically ran to my editor's office only to find she'd already
talked to Mr. Seton. We had a private meeting with the publisher where
we worked out the logistics of the project. I'd always heard about
circles of power, but I never expected to see the wheels work. Despite
external appearances they work very well indeed.

At the end of the meeting the publisher cleared his throat nervously
and said, "I'm not happy with some aspects of this deal. I want to make
it very clear that if you have any reason to think that you've been
given false information I want you to say so in your article. I'm
especially not happy with the dating aspect of it. I certainly don't
want you to feel any pressure to go through with it..."

My editor interrupted, "I think that if I'm reading the signs right,
Morgan looks at the dating as one of the big incentives. Am I right?"

I tried not to blush as I nodded.

The publisher continued, "Don't let your personal emotions taint the
story. Lay out the facts and let the chips fall where they may. Despite
my reservations, I want this story. No matter what position you take on
legalizing drugs, these prison gangs running the drug trade here are
vicious thugs. Since you're new to San Antonio, you might not know the
Essa is the worst of the lot. Their name has two meaning one is sort of
a shorthand for 'our thing.' The other is a mangled 'SA' to show they're
from San Antonio. I can't support a war on prostitution, but if they're
forcing women into it, that's just another reason to put an end to
them. Forced prostitution is slavery."

He continued, his voice heavy with real passion. "I've been a member of
the Boston-based American Anti-Slavery Group for several months. I've
been looking for ways to get them more publicity. They have an
excellent website, but most people refuse to believe that slavery still
exists!"

When I heard that, I tried not to drool. Not only a good story but a
topic that's one of the publisher's pet causes? This story could find
national legs! We met for another hour, working on ground rules, before
I was given a green light. I would continue to be based in the Lifestyle
section, but my main focus would be working with the US Attorney's
office. I was practically floating as I went home, this was the sort of
assignment that a reporter normally didn't get until they'd been working
for ten years and I was getting a shot in my second year!

I called Tyler as soon as I got back to my desk. He asked if I was free
the next night and I was waiting on the curb for him at six when he
picked me up in one of those "unmarked" solid black SUVs with heavily
tinted windows.

As we sat in the back seat an agent drove us all over San Antonio,
frequently talking to someone in hushed tones over the radio. Frankly,
it scared me. I've seen things like that in the movies and always
thought they were melodramatic. This wasn't, and no one could miss the
tension between Tyler and the driver. Within minutes, I was swiveling
my head just like they were. I don't know how long I'd had a death grip
on Tyler's arm before I became aware that I was holding it. Strangely,
once I became aware that he wasn't pulling away I f?lt safer. It
annoyed me, I've never been the wilting lily type, but it was only with
determination that I kept from snuggling into him for comfort. It got
better, but the more I learned about the Essa the more I understood
that if this was a game, it was a deadly one.

It was full dark when I saw the agent reach up and punch the garage
door opener. A few seconds later we pulled into the driveway of a
perfectly normal looking house. Without even pausing, we drove right
into the garage and the door closed behind us before we came to a full
stop.

There was an airport type metal detector at the door between the garage
and the house, and as I learned later, all the other entrances were
sealed. All this added to the surreal effect of sitting down in a very
ordinary den to meet the person I was here to interview.

Her name was Lupe and she looked about fifteen, perhaps sixteen. My
Spanish is at the level of "where is the bathroom," so Tyler translated
for me. After a few pleasantries I asked her age and was suspicious when
she said nineteen.

"Oh yes, my papers said I was fifteen not eighteen when I flew here,
but that was to help get me through customs. If I were stopped they
would treat me as a juvenile. That meant I'd probably get little of no
jail time."

Despite the aura of innocence, I had trouble seeing Lupe as a
prostitute, I think it was her eyes. I wondered how she was lured into
it. When I asked, she began her tale.



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Chapter 2: Lupe's Journey



I was very nervous when the two gringos arrived. I knew what kind of
danger I was in, but I was determined to protect others from what had
been done to me.

The woman didn't speak Spanish so Tyler, who had asked me to meet with
her, was there to translate. After a few standard questions the lady,
Morgan, asked me to tell my story as I wanted. She said she'd ask more
questions if she needed to when I was finished.

I looked at Tyler. I trusted him, I was still alive and by this time I
could read men. I took a deep breath and tried to remember the innocent
girl I'd been when this journey to hell began. I had been so unworldly
back then.

"I'm from a small village in Peru. When I finished my school I didn't
have anyone I wanted to marry so my girlfriend and I went to Lima to
look for work. It didn't take long for one of the drug men to approach
us to be mules. The pay was fabulous, two thousand American dollars,
enough to buy a nice house back in my village. We weren't hard to
convince.

"They sent us by plane, the first one I'd ever been on, to Caracas,
Venezuela. Since Caracas is an oil center, there are a lot of people
working on temporary assignments at oil company headquarters in
Houston. Unaccompanied children flying to Houston to meet parents don't
draw as much suspicion from US custom agents as do adults on flights
from Peru or Columbia.

"From the time I agreed to smuggle drugs, they had me practice
swallowing large grapes and small figs whole. There is a trick to doing
that, but once you learn it's not hard, and it's a skill that I needed
later. After we landed in Caracas they took us to an apartment were we
watched the pellets being prepared for us. They used two condoms to
seal each pellet, then dipped them in a sweet sauce that had something
in it to give us constipation. The whole process was timed. We were
given a marker pellet first and then we waited ten hours before we
began swallowing real ones. That was horrible-- for the next twelve
hours we drank nothing, ate nothing but pellets. Our stomachs would
bloat and one of the men would massage us to help the pellet move into
our intestines. I swallowed 114 pellets before I passed my marker,
which was the signal I was ready to leave.

"I was cramping when I boarded the plane at 9:00 AM for a flight
scheduled to land a little after 1:00 PM in Houston, Texas. I can't
tell you how miserable I was. When the airplane started to take off, I
was terrified. I swear as I was pushed back in my seat, I could feel
every one of those pellets inside m?. They hurt like nothing I've felt
before or since.

"I knew there were other mules on the plane, but I've never felt so
alone or so scared. Because I was supposed to be fifteen, I had a tag
announcing that I was to be met at Houston by a relative. I didn't know
it, but the stewardess in charge of me worked for the gang. She kept a
constant eye on me. She made sure I didn't eat my in-flight meal and
only gave me glasses of ice to quiet my hunger. I thought I was just
lucky, but I was carrying a cargo worth many thousands of dollars and I
was well guarded.

"About an hour before we were due to land, I began to feel the need to
go to the bathroom. We had been warned that if that happened we were to
use the toothpaste we'd been given to clean the pellet and to re-swallow
whatever we passed.

"I was terrified. Each pellet we swallowed had been carefully weighed
and counted. We were warned that if we didn't deliver the full weight,
not only would we be killed but our families would be killed too.

"When I could stand the pressure no longer, I took my travel bag
containing my toothpaste and went to the airplane's bathroom. As I'd
been instructed, I kept my panties on as I strained to pass the pellet.
When it came out, I washed my waste from it and my panties as I'd been
taught in Caracas. It was only when I checked before I started to
swallow it that I noticed that the condoms had opened.

"I'd been scared before, but now I couldn't control my water. Although
nothing had been said, everyone knew what happened if the condoms
broke. The mule would die even if they were rushed to the hospital. I
had overheard one of the men making the pellets talking about a mule
who died in the United States. The team at the other end had gutted him
like a fish to get the heroin then dumped his body in the trash. He
hadn't received last rites or even a Christian burial. His soul had
gone straight to hell.

I didn't know what to do; I did know that I couldn't just dump the
pellet in the airplane toilet. It might be found and US Customs would
know to look for me.

"I seriously thought about swallowing it. Even though I knew it would
kill me, at least my family would be safe. I've often wished I had, but
I was too scared of going to hell. Not only would I die un-shriven, but
to swallow it knowing it would kill me would be suicide, a mortal sin.

"I'm not ashamed to say I prayed until the voice of the pilot told me I
had to return to my seat. I had taken a vomit bag to the little restroom
and I carefully wrapped the pellet and took it back to my seat. I was so
scared, but I washed as well as I could. I was so afraid that some of
the powder had gotten on me and one of the drug dogs would smell it.

"As soon as I left the plane, I told the stewardess escorting me that I
had to go to the bathroom. In the stall I flushed the pellet. When I
came out I told the stewardess that I had been a bit sick to my
stomach. It was only when she offered me the spray that deadens the
nerves in your throat to help swallow, that I knew she'd been watching
me.

"I broke down and cried. She was almost as scared as I when she
understood that I'd flushed the pellet Part of her job was to make sure
I brought all the pellets to my contact. She was also scared because she
said if we delayed too much getting to customs it would make them
suspicious. She gave me a crushed pill to calm my nerves and watched as
I carefully washed my hands and arms to remove any trace of the powder.
She did not walk me all the way to customs, but had alerted my contact
somehow as I retrieved my luggage.

"I cleared customs without any sort of search and in public my contact
looked like the lonely, loving father he was pretending to be. As soon
as we reached the motel, he became a monster. He slapped me very hard
several time and called me all sorts of names. He made me strip, the
first time I'd ever done that in front of a man, and he stuck his
finger into me to see if I was trying to hide the pellet.

"Once he was convinced that I wasn't hiding it, he stopped hitting me
but he never stopped ber?ting me. However, by that point his words had
little effect. I needed to pass the first pellet. I expected to be
given a honey pot to pass it into. Instead, the man watching me forced
me to squat, naked, in the bathtub. He closed the drain and watched me
grunt out pellet after pellet. My waste mingled with my "cargo." He
wore a swimmer's nose plug to block the fetid smell of my waste coating
each pellet. I was not offered one. When I had passed all I could, I was
forced to wash my waste from each pellet, I was not offered plastic
gloves. Then, still naked, I went back to the bedroom and lay uncovered
on the bed while I watched the pellets being weighed and tallied. As I
lay there waiting for the next pellets to pass, the men would leer at
me and make comments on my body. I tried to relax so my body would be
ready to pass more soon."

I looked over at Morgan and when I saw her expression, I broke down and
wept in shame, my head bowed, my hands hiding my face.

Tyler spoke smoothing words, and he said something that made me feel
better. "Aren't you glad that after all you've been through you can
react like a normal woman and not what they tried to make you?"

I nodded my head and continued telling my story

"The process in the bathtub was repeated over and over for twelve hours
until I had passed all of the pellets. Seeing them as they came out,
covered in my waste, I could not imagine that sane people would
actually snort the cocaine or inject the heroin I had dumped into that
bathtub. As great as my fear, I still pitied those so addicted to the
white powders.

"When the last pellet had been cleaned and weighed, my real nightmare
began. The man who picked me up at the airport announced that I had
cost the gang almost fifteen thousand dollars for the pellet I had
flushed. I was responsible and if I didn't pay they would kill me and
all my family.

"Of course my pay for this run was forfeit, and since I'd proved
unreliable, I would not be allowed to be a mule again. I was told that
the only way I could earn the money would be by becoming a whore."

Tyler interrupted me. "The pellet that you flushed was probably talc or
some other harmless white powder. It's a common trick used on young
women to force them into prostitution, or men into virtual slave
labor."

I nodded, "Yes, when I heard a man talking about tricking another
woman, I decided that I would risk coming to the FBI. I didn't trust
the local police, or even the DEA. I had been forced to service too
many of them. However, the last FBI agent who used me had a gang
tattoo. I thought if they were faking an FBI agent in San Antonio
perhaps they could be trusted here.

"I should tell you that we only stayed at one city for a couple of
weeks, before moving. That was so we couldn't get close to any of the
regulars, and I suppose, also to give the regulars new blood. The FBI
arranged to bring my family to this country, and so far they've
protected us, but I get ahead of my story."

After Tyler translated our interchange Morgan said she needed to go to
the bathroom. While I waited for her to return I thought about the rest
of what I needed to tell her. As bad as the trip had been, my hell only
began when I'd finished my job as a mule.

"I remembered how cold and empty my belly felt when he said "It's time
to start your new life."

"I fought back tears, but I wasn't surprised that I was being told I
would have to be a whore. Because, while I was a virgin, I couldn't
count the times my mother or some other older person warned that a
young girl who made the trip 'up North' always ended up selling her
body. It was used like American children hear about the monster under
the bed. I heard, but it didn't sound as hard as working in the fields.

"Perhaps because when I pictured myself in that role, I thought of it
as wearing fabulous clothes and being a pampered mistress to a series
of virile and handsome young men who fought for my favors. Besides, I'd
known too many young women who had returned from El Norte and told about
making ten or even fifteen dollars an hour cleaning hou?es or taking
care of little children. They all spoke of living in mansions with all
their expenses paid by powerful Yankees. They also swore that they
returned with their virtue intact.

"The harsh reality was that as I lay naked on a filthy bed, I listened
as several phone calls were made offering my virginity and my services
as a whore. After one call, I was forced to stand in front of a
computer camera. Standing next to the bed where I would start my new
profession, my breasts were fondled. I was then forced to bend over and
open myself for inspection of my privates by an unseen buyer.

"Many times I'd taken a chicken or a duck to our market to sell for
cash. I know how those animals felt as I stood there. I remember
telling myself that as the daughter of a farmer I knew that life
doesn't always work out as you plan. Sometimes the rains come at the
right time and the harvest is good. Sometimes they don't come and the
harvest is not good. Worst of all is when they come during the harvest
and all is spoiled. I knew my harvest was spoiled and there was nothing
I could do about it.

"I was only mildly interested when I heard my virginity sold for two
hundred dollars, but I was scared when I first saw the man who would
take it. He was very old, probably fifty, and what he lacked in hair on
his head, he made up for with the size of his belly. I didn't know then
that when the man is fat you should always try to be on top.

"He took my hand and led me to the bed. He had me lie down in the
center. He took off his pants, but he left his tee-shirt on. With one
hand he began to play with himself, the other went between my legs and
began to rub me. I was very dry, so he leaned over and drooled spit on
my cunt before he began to rub me again.

"I closed my eyes and I tried to pretend I was someplace else, but I
could hear the drug smuggler making comments. My customer, who later
became my first whoremonger, laughed at me as he continued to rub me.
Once, when his dry finger rubbed my nub very hard, I flinched and
closed my legs. His response was to spit on my slit again make me
spread my legs wider and raise my knees.

"I'll never forget when I felt that first tingle. I was embarrassed and
I felt my face flush. I expected more laughter but for the first time he
spoke soothing words. I was grateful and shifted to get more comfortable
as he continued to rub my private place. After that, instead of spitting
on me, he would occasionally slip a finger inside me to get it wet with
my own juice and spread that all over my bottom.

"I remember taking a deep breath when I thought my body was ready for
what he wanted to do. I expected him to crawl on top of me, but instead
he began to massage my breast. I didn't like it. Even though he was only
the second person to put his finger in me, touching my breast seemed
more intimate and I didn't want that.

"All I really wanted was for it to be over, so I opened my eyes and
looked up at him with what I hoped was a seductive expression.
Miraculously, my voice didn't crack as I told him I was ready. He asked
me twice if I was sure, and both times I nodded that I was.

"After the second time he moved over me. I remember feeling his belly
before I felt his cock. I expected it to hurt when he entered me, but
it didn't. It didn't feel good exactly, more like having an itch
scratched. He didn't put all his weight on me that time, and after a
few minutes of pumping he had me kneel on the bed while he took me from
behind. He used his hands on me to make me cum twice for him, but he
never came.

"When he'd had enough he just slapped me on the bottom and told me that
it was time to go to work. He offered me to the drug man for fifty
dollars but that piece of shit didn't want me. I can't tell what it
felt like to know that the man who had watched me lose my virginity
didn't think I was worth fifty dollars.

"I hid my pain. I was determined that they wouldn't see my tears. I
stood there as they discussed how much the whoremonger would pay the
drug runner each week until my debt was satisfied. Finally they agr?ed
on twenty-five hundred up front and five hundred a week until my debt
was paid off. I remember thinking that at that rate I should be free in
about six months. But you're never free. They always have some reason
not to pay you, or you begin using drugs. I've never seen a single girl
pay off her nut and go free, not one."

Morgan left the room, and Tyler brought me a bottle of Inca Kola. I was
touched by his thoughtfulness to provide this touch of my homeland.

When Morgan returned I told the rest of my story.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

I sat back when Lupe finished her story and wondered how I'd write this
up for a family newspaper. When I'd told Lupe I needed to go to the
bathroom, it was true, but I also needed to compose myself. I'd never
heard of anything like the horror she'd experienced as a mule. I also
wanted to absorb and evaluate what Tyler was translating. Lupe used
enough broken English so that I was pretty sure she knew he was being
accurate. Then there was that last qualifier she'd tossed in about
being safe "so far." I had very good vibes about Tyler personally, and
now those were matched professionally. If the man wasn't my perfect
knight in shining armor, well, I hadn't seen any rust marks.

I was even less prepared for her dead eyes as she told of what she'd
been through as a prostitute. I couldn't imagine servicing thirty men
in one day. The worst was when she told of being confined to a tiny
room and not knowing what her next customer would look like or what he
would do to her until her door opened. Only now that it was over did I
realize that I'd sat spellbound through the whole tale. I don't know if
it was Tyler's translation or a natural eloquence on her part, but I'd
felt like I'd been there. This was going to be one hell of a story.



-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 3: Morgan's Quest

It took me almost four weeks to realize that Tyler wasn't quite perfect.
In fact he was driving me crazy. Oh, I'd gotten four great stories out
of our relationship, but I was seriously considering buying a vibrator.
Tyler would take me to some nice place for dinner, then to a movie or
some loud dancing club. If we talked, it would be all business, except
at meals. He was a member of the clean-plate club. Okay not really, but
as soon as I finished eating our personal conversation was over. So I
ate slowly and I cleaned my plate... and I'd gained almost four pounds.

The more I discovered about him, the more I admired him. He was a real
Horatio Alger story, the only child of a single mother. She died of a
lingering disease just before he went into seventh grade. He never
said, but I think it was AIDS. Alone with no other relatives, he became
a ward of the foster care system. One foster dad introduced him to
basketball and that proved to be his ticket out of the barrio. He'd
been promoted to an Assistant US Attorney and then to a lead attorney,
just a few months out of law school. The US Attorney's office was
filled with green lawyers looking for experience, but to reach his
level that quickly was almost unprecedented.

On his first case Tyler was expected to be little more than research
assistant. Then both the senior and the lead attorney were riding
together when a car ran a red light and hit them on the first day of
the trial. The trial was an attempted murder by a gang member at the
Federal prison in Bastrop. When the two US Attorneys didn't appear, the
defense lawyer asked for a mistrial. Tyler stepped in and discovered
everyone was one of those people who excelled in the courtroom. Many
brilliant lawyers would become physically ill at the thought of facing
a judge and jury. Tyler made special connection with juries, and wasn't
rattled by even the most fearsome judges.

This gang case was his first major investigation. He had a whole gaggle
of lawyers and staff assigned to him. All that was great, but in his
ever-so-proper behavior towards me, I hadn't been kissed until earlier
tonight. That was only because I a?ted very out of character.

We were hosting a small post-Thanksgiving dinner party at Tyler's
apartment. Sitting around a fireplace sipping drinks, the conversation
ebbed and flowed. Tyler and I were on the couch and he had his arm
around me as he does when we're around others from the DOJ. Out of the
blue, one of the other attorneys said, "You know, you guys have been
dating for a month and I've never seen you kiss."

Tyler jumped right in, "Morgan's an old fashioned girl and you know how
they are about public displays of affection..."

I interrupted, "Oh no, I'm not. I thought it was one of those Hispanic
things," and I proceeded to lean over him and give him the best kiss
I'd ever given anyone. I didn't plan to pull back until he knew he'd
been kissed! When he began to return it, I felt my life pass before my
eyes. When he stopped, I felt so boneless and breathless that I
collapsed on the sofa. Can Tyler kiss! You might have heard the cliché
that a kiss made my toes tingle? Well, that's not a cliché. I was
flushed and I couldn't make my eyes focus. My toes were clenched so
tight they hurt. Kicking off my shoes I tucked my legs under me, and
leaned my head on his shoulder to gather my wits. I just was so
frazzled I only heard the end of what his friend was saying.

"... in public I'm not sure you'd survive if you'd started sooner."

I could feel Tyler fidget. He might be great in the courtroom, but he
always needs a few seconds to gather his thoughts before he responds to
normal repartee. So I blurted, "All my life I've heard about Latin
lovers, but I never believed it. They must have been talking about
Tyler! You should see what he's like in private."

That's when I made a real faux pas. I thought I was just going to give
him a loving pat on the leg, but I patted a little higher than I
intended. He almost bolted from the couch when I discovered that he
enjoyed that kiss as much as I did.

So why did he spend most of the drive home apologizing? I didn't know
how to react when he said that in order to keep the target from being
suspicious we'd have to kiss from time to time. I wanted to shout "it
doesn't just have to be in public," but something about his tone made
me rein in my excitement. Why are men so difficult? Why can't they be
open like women?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Nothing can look as dead as Texas in February. I looked out my
apartment window at a dreary, drizzly day. It dismal out, it was almost
enough to brighten my mood. I was in love, in love for the first time in
my life, and the man wouldn't... wouldn't what? Certainly we kissed,
passionately. Between work and our "dating" we'd spent more time
together than most couples do in two years. We talked, endlessly, and
at meals we'd bared our souls. My theory about eating slowly didn't
work, I've gained over fifteen pounds and I can't seem to lose them.

"He won't treat me as anything other than cover!" I announced to my
empty room. Valentines Day was a week a way and I'd already discarded
all sorts of schemes to let him know how I felt.

I sighed heavily and picked up my cell to call Jenna. Our weekly talks
were always on Saturday because we sometimes talked for hours, and
minutes on Saturday were free. When Jenna answered, we spent some time
catching up as former roommates and best friends will do. Jenna was
still in New York, but married and already expecting their first. She
finally lost patience and nailed me to the wall.

"Okay, Morgan, we've talked for twenty minutes and you haven't
mentioned Tyler once. If you'd broken up you'd be crying and if he'd
taken you on a real date you'd be bubbly, so what are you going to do?"

"I don't know! I'm guess I'm finally ready to ask for advice. My
current thought is to manipulate a Janet Jackson type "wardrobe
malfunction," but I'm afraid that instead of exciting him, he might die
of laughter."

Jenna laughed, then said, "I've never understood why you were so
sensitive about your boobs. They aren't that much smaller than mine and
I've never had any complaints."

"Give me a break! With all the weight I've put on, let's say I've gone
from a blood type of A and negative, to barely A and a B."

Laughing Jenna said, "Oh Morgan, and I bet you're still buying for the
A cup, aren't you? I guarantee that if Tyler isn't gay he'll love your
boobs. Did any of your boyfriends ever complain?"

I snorted, "No boy's ever touched them, much less seen them. The only
non-medical person to see them was you. Jenna, Tyler's such a beautiful
man, how's someone who looks like me ever going to get him interested?"

Jenna's voice turned serious. "We've talked about this forever. You're
a strikingly attractive woman, especially now that you don't look like
someone trying for the heroin chic look. If you're really serious about
Tyler, tell him."

"And what am I supposed to do if he says he isn't interested? How could
I continue to go out with him?"

"You'll know where you stand and you'll act like a professional. Who
knows, even if he's not interested now, seeing how you handle rejection
might impress him. But I still have a crisp hundred dollar bill that
says he's nuts about you."

The conversation continued in the well-worn grooves created over the
last six or seven talks. Then I blurted out, "I got drunk at his place
last night."

There was a long pause and I knew that Morgan was trying to form her
words. She knew the only time I'd gotten drunk in my life was the day
after my last sexual experience. With her voice full of concern she
asked, "What happened?"

"We were putting on another little dinner party at Tyler's place and
just before the last couple left I downed two glass of port on top of
two margaritas. I didn't declare my undying love, but I thought that if
I were drunk I could lose enough of my inhibitions to make a pass at
him. My fall-back plan was to grovel at his feet, begging him to take
me to his bed."

"What happened?"

I didn't have to pretend I was falling-down drunk, much too drunk to
drive, and I knew that Tyler had a least one past the legal limit, so I
figured at the very least I'd spend the night in his bed. I did, and he
slept on the couch! When he put me to bed, I tried to pull him down on
top of me. He was extricating himself, when I passed out. A perfect
gentleman, damn it! He was even there with hot coffee and aspirins this
morning. I can't be sure but I think he woke me with a kiss to my
forehead. The forehead for Pete's sake! What kind of man wakes a girl
with a peck to the forehead?"

Jenna laughed, "One who is kind and considerate of a girl with a
hangover. Has the implication of a good morning kiss escaped you? I'm
sure you weren't at your best and he still kissed you."

I grinned. Jenna can always make me feel better. "I did feel like
Sherman's Army had marched to the sea through my mouth. Do you really
think that was a good sign?"

We talked for a bit more and then, after we said good-bye, I gathered
every ounce of my courage and hit my speed dial for Tyler. You've heard
the expression "your heart in your throat?" Well my heart wasn't in my
throat, but I could certainly feel the arteries in my neck throbbing.
My heart was beating so hard I was sure he'd hear it... if he answered.
In an instant my mouth had turned so dry I wasn't sure I'd be able to
speak. I screwed up my face as the memory of this morning flashed
through me.

As soon as he'd left the bedroom, saying he was going to fix us
breakfast, I'd bolted from his apartment, too embarrassed to let him
see me. I don't know what he was thinking about me, but in making this
call I knew I was crossing my own Rubicon. Our relationship either had
to grow, or... or... or somehow I'd have to find a way to continue
without the man who Plato said I'd lost in our primeval state, my other
half, the man whose soul had been joined to mine forever.

The phone rang again and I tried to reassure myself that if Tyler was
indeed the other half of my being, then I was the other half of his. Oh
God, please let it be so.

"Hello Morgan, are you okay?"

Damn caller ID! "I'm fine, a little embarrassed about last night."
Then, before m? rationalizer could stop me with a million excellent
reasons to delay, I blurted, "We have to talk. Would you mind coming
over here, I'll fix you dinner..."

There was a long pause, Then I thought I heard anguish in his voice
when he said, "Sure Morg, I'll be there in about an hour. I'll be happy
to pick up something if you don't want to cook..."

As his voice was trailing off my mind was working at warp speed. An
hour! How could I possible be ready in an hour, much less fix anything.
Besides I didn't have anything to fix. "That would be great, I'll see
you in an hour."

For the next hour I was a whirling dervish of inefficiency. I didn't
manage to get my place clean, myself fixed up, or seductive music
picked for what I hoped would come later. I was trying, unsuccessfully
for the third time, to apply my lipstick and simultaneously fix the
botch I'd made of my hair when the doorbell rang. I blotted my lips,
stuck my tongue out at the horrid image in the mirror, took a deep
breath, squared my shoulders, and marched in dirge-time to meet my
fate.

Tyler had a large sack that gave off the most tempting aromas of my
favorite Chinese dishes. I took it from his hand, set it on the dinning
table, turned and launched myself into his unsuspecting arms. I don't
know if it was reflex or surprise but as he hugged me to him, with
singular fierceness, sparks of passion dissipated the gloom I'd lived
under all day.

I silently thanked God that while men might be able to hide their
emotions they can't hide their desire. Judging from what I felt, Tyler
really desired me. I leaned back and pulled his head down to make him
kiss me. Have I said that Tyler's kisses curl my toes?

I don't know how long it went on, or when his hand moved to my bottom.
I just knew that when I became aware of it, I broke the kiss and leaned
back a bit. Then looking into those incredible eyes, I reached under the
full skirt I chose for this very reason and pulled off my panties. I
moved back into his arms and as our lips met I folded them into his
back pocket. He didn't understand the symbolism of what I'd done, but
he certainly didn't miss the message.

In a feat of impressive strength he swept my bulk up in his arms and
carried me to my bedroom. He sort of stumbled as he laid me out on my
bed but that was the only stumble he made. As he lay beside me, he
consumed my being as his lips touched mine. I wasn't aware that he'd
lifted the loose sweater I'd picked until I felt the first set of lips
to ever touch my breast. He'd taken most of my left into his mouth and
the warmth melted any resistance to having him see my deformity.

As he moved to my right, my nipples were so hard they were painful.
When his tongue circled my areola, a static charge shot down to my sex.
I grabbed his head by his ears and pulled his mouth up for a kiss. Then
I did it again when I felt his kisses start to move south. As much as I
wanted to experience the mysteries of oral sex, at that moment I felt I
would die of emptiness if I didn't have him inside me.

I reached for his zipper and made a mess of it. He pulled back a bit
and I felt him open his pants just before he moved over me. I pulled my
skirt up out of the way and opened my legs to let him into me.

My breath whooshed out as he plunged all the way into me without
hesitation or searching. A very distant portion of my brain wondered I
was too big down there until I marveled at how aware I was of the shape
of him inside me. I swear I could not only feel the head, but the tube
that ran the length of the organ inside me.

Tyler pressed our pubic bones together and my clit screamed its
pleasure. At the same time he pulled back from our kiss and suddenly my
sightless eyes were lost in the wonder of the beautiful soul that shown
through his whiskey-colored eyes. I was no more capable of speech than
I was of flight, but the language of love needs no words. Our eyes
spoke and our souls heard truth deeper than any other form of
communication.

The sex act continued as our bodies sought ever more complete union,
but our eyes were so lost ?n each other that the most massive orgasm
I've ever experience almost went unnoticed. I was much more aware of
the throbbing that I knew signaled his pleasure, but through it our
eyes never so much as blinked. My whole universe had shrunk to the
incredible soul behind those impossibly deep eyes.

At some point I became aware that not only was my soul linked to his,
but that his heart was filling me with the most incredible essence. No
sooner was I aware of his essence leaving me than I knew I could
contain no more joy, no more happiness. In a fierce possessiveness I
pulled Tyler to me. I wept tears as pure as the bliss that ran down
from my center to stain my sheets.

For too short an instant, I felt my love joined to me body and soul.
Then, I felt an unwanted tenseness in his body. He hadn't slipped from
me, but I knew he was bracing himself to say something he didn't want
to say.

"Don't say it. Please don't say anything." I pulled him to me with all
my might and my tears felt hot on my cheek. I couldn't stand the
thought that I might have now made love three times and the fourth time
might be with a fourth man. I couldn't let Tyler make this our only
time.

"Morg, I should never have done this. I do need to tell you some things
about my past that will change your opinion..."

I cut him off, "This is the third time I've done this and you are my
third man. If you plan to destroy what I think we have, please wait
until our year is up. I've done everything I could to get you here." I
squeezed him to let him know exactly where 'here' was. "And I want you
to come back often. I know there's nothing in your past that would
change that."

I took a breath, "Even if there is, please don't destroy what we have
now. I promise that even if there's something so terrible that I
wouldn't want to continue, right now I can't stand being another
one-night stand." I paused again, "Please, Tyler, Please don't do that
to me."

I felt his tension ease and he hugged me to him. I felt cherished and
loved. I also felt a tiny bit guilty. I was pretty sure I knew what
Tyler wanted to tell me and I didn't want to let it ruin this moment.

I also didn't want him to know just how thoroughly I'd checked him out.
I'd used every bit of leverage that being a reporter for a major daily
gave me. I now knew that his mother had several arrests for
prostitution, and that she probably died of AIDS. I knew Tyler had been
arrested and spent some time in youth facilities. Those records were
purged, but his school records weren't. Most importantly, I knew that
shortly after his mother died he turned his life around and became an
inspiration to other troubled kids. I also knew that there was no birth
record for his mother anyplace in the country. She was either illegal or
had changed her name.

I was glad that he finally wanted to share his past with me, but not
now, not when we were joined, not when I was still trying to show him
that I was the other part of his being. I knew my search for my other
half was over, and I wanted him to realize the same thing.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The last six months have been the happiest in my whole life. My columns
have been a big hit locally. There's been interest in publishing them
nationally, and I've even had a book publisher calling. Instead of
straight news stories, I've tried to show the human side of the
characters on both sides of this battle. I've interviewed gang members
in jail or prison, and passed along the stories of the people who put
them there.

I still have no idea if Mr. Seton was any closer to finding the leak in
his office. The only thing I hadn't been able to do was to privately
interview any current sex workers. I knew that I didn't stand a chance
of talking to them at the various places where they worked. I'd even
staked out one of the "Live Models" places, but I never saw a girl
alone. They traveled in groups and I figured one of the girls was
probably a gang member.

On the personal front, things were going great with Tyler. We'd had
bumps and even ?ome knock-down-drag-out-fights, but we hadn't broken
up, walked away, or resorted to our professional relationship to keep
our personal one going.

Two weeks after we first made love we had the
take-the-guy-home-to-meet-the-parents. It was weird, but part of it was
that I'd never brought anyone home. My parents had met my other
boyfriends, but the significant ones were in high school and college.
You don't have a high school beau for a sleep-over and my college
"friend" never left New York.

I'd spent hours on the phone preparing my parents for the visit. My
folks are blue-collar, but smart and funny. Part of the problem is that
much of their humor is, uh... shall we say not politically correct. Then
there's the N word. My parents are of different races, it doesn't matter
which is which, but the N word is used regularly by my parents in
public... and no one is offended. Hispanic and ethic white jokes
flow... look my parents went through a lot of hell from all sides of
the racial wars, and they don't have a prejudiced bone in their bodies;
they just don't have a "sensitivity" one either.

Tyler, as you might expect, is very careful about what he says. To say
I was terrified would be a bit of an overstatement, but not much. I was
already deeply in love with Tyler, but it was important to me that he
like my family. Not only am I immensely proud of my parents, they're my
fans. The first few hours were so stiff and unnatural. Everyone was
walking on eggshells and it was driving me up the wall.

Finally I turned to Tyler and said in a horrible Spanish accent, "Hey
man, are you really a Spic, or did you just change your name to cash in
on the affirmative action goodies?"

Tyler gave me a questioning look and I replied with one that said, "I
dare you." Then he launched in an equally bad accent.

"Hey man, my mother was a wetback who had a fifteen-minute meaningful
financial relationship with an albino gringo, so what you expect me to
look like?"

Bless their hearts, my parents didn't hesitate a second before they
burst out laughing. What followed was hours of ethnic humor, none of it
mean, but the type of things that show people are comfortable with who
they are and how you'll accept them.

We had serious talks that weekend, and Tyler was grilled at length
about his intentions and qualifications to date their Oreo. Before the
weekend was over they had established a mutual admiration society. We
started going down every couple of weeks. Six weeks ago Dad asked Tyler
if he could call him son.

I had tears in my eyes, and Tyler's voice was husky when he responded,
"Sure, Dad."

If I had any complaint it was that I didn't want to go home as much as
Tyler wanted to take me. Last month Tyler made two trips down to Corpus
without me, just to spend time with my folks. He told me that I had no
idea what it was like to never have a family.

Frankly, I thought one of those trips might have been an old-fashioned
"ask for my hand" kind of visit but Mom told me they spent the whole
weekend dove hunting, and planning a deer hunt. I was mildly pissed I
wasn't invited for the hunt or the planning. I'd gotten my first deer
the day before I had my first period. Thank God, dad had taken me home
right after my kill. I still shudder to think what it would have been
like to start without a woman at the hunting camp.

I finally decided that it was more important for Tyler and Dad to bond
than for me to be with them on opening day. It also meant that my hints
of "special date" around our Halloween anniversary had been ignored.
Deer season opens on November 1st.

That's the only other thing that has been less than perfect lately. I
will not ask Tyler to marry me, and no matter how many hints I drop he
won't pick up a single one. We've been dating for almost a year... I
count the time from our professional date, even if Tyler doesn't. The
only weekends we don't spend in the same bed are the ones in Corpus. So
now you understand why I'm not as anxious to go down there as I might be
under different circumstances.

I dropped yet another broad hint today. ? asked Tyler to be sure and
bring me some ice, and make sure it was the kind I've been looking for.
Okay, not the greatest example but I've done all the easy stuff like
window shopping for endless hours in front of jewelry stores, dragging
him to every wedding I could get invited to, and even asking his advice
on buying a house as a single person. How can someone so smart be so
dense?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

When Tyler arrived Friday night, he had a large bag of ice and a gleam
in his eye. He also brought some take-out from our favorite Chinese
place. After dinner we watched a rather sexy chick flick I'd picked
out. I should have expected something when Tyler carried an ice bucket
and a couple of cokes with us back to the bedroom.

Still, as I undressed for bed I didn't suspect a thing. I just admired
his wonderful body and wondered why I'd overeaten earlier when I knew
what we'd be doing a few hours later. As he slipped under the covers
with me, I ran my hand over his silky smooth skin, feeling the hardness
of his muscles underneath. We kissed and touched and I was more than
ready for the main event when Tyler moved down between my legs. I love
the way Tyler makes me feel with his tongue. Still, I wanted something
more substantial than a tongue when I felt his swirl around my opening.
Then, without warning I felt something hard and very cold penetrate me.

My eyes shot open and I wasn't quiet sure what he'd done, when I felt
the same thing happen again. "What is that, it feels..." I wasn't sure
just what if felt like but something inside me was very cold!

He didn't raise his head or move his mouth, but I felt that same
sensation a third time, and I KNEW it was too cold to be natural. I was
squirming but I still didn't understand what was going on. Then I saw
it!

Tyler reached over to the ice bucket and quietly picked up a handful of
little ice cubes. He'd just put ice cubes inside me! For several seconds
I didn't know how to react, when I felt a whole series of new cubes
enter me. It was cold but I was suddenly hotter than I'd ever been. I
grabbed Tyler by his hair and pulled him up to me.

In one thrust he was fully inside me. Now I felt both the ice and the
heat of him inside me. My body was going schizophrenic. I stretched my
neck up to kiss him, but all I could do was pant. I strained against
him and I had a massive orgasm, but Tyler didn't stop. Instead he
leaned over and grabbed a huge handful of ice, pulled out of me for a
second and filled me, first with ice and then with himself.

I felt the cold melting in his heat. I felt the icy water running out
of me and soaking the sheet beneath us and I couldn't form coherent
words. My orgasms had taken charge of me and I was trapped by them.
Grasping his arms, I clung to him like I was drowning. I lifted my back
off the bed while my orgasms convulsed me so violently I looked like one
of those bobble head toys.

Tyler was thrusting hard into me and with a final hard thrust, he
arched his back and for the very first time I heard him roar. I don't
think I've ever been able to feel him actually shoot cum inside me, but
I did this time.

Later, after we'd changed the sheets, Tyler held me, occasionally
giving me loving pats until I was almost asleep. So close to sleep that
at first I didn't hear what he was saying.

"What are your plans for Halloween? That marks the end of our
agreement. How do you want to celebrate it?"

I went from warm and fuzzy to icy cold in an instant. I know I'd
stiffened for a second but my reaction was to seek his warmth to remove
my chill. Tyler wasn't going to dump me, the idea wasn't even worthy of
a passing thought.

"We could go up to Austin and take part in the party on 6th Street."

I felt his head nodding, and then he said, "I've always wanted to take
a cruise. They have a one-week cruise leaving Galveston which would
have us at sea on Halloween. How would that sound?"

I was so conflicted that I wasn't even aware of what I said until after
I'd blurted, "Oh, I couldn't do that. Dad would?kill me if we took a
trip like that and weren't married."

As soon as I'd said that last word I wanted to dig a hole in the bed
and disappear. Instead, summoning all my courage, I looked up at his
face. There was no expression at all!

"Okay, well it was just an idea. I guess 6th Street sounds like fun. Do
you have any idea what you want to wear?"

I wanted to hit him, I wanted to cry, I wanted to throw him out of my
bed, and I wanted to cling to him for dear life. Instead I tried to
calmly discuss costumes and Halloween plans.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

For the last week, Tyler has disappeared. Oh, I talk to him on the
phone frequently, and I get text messages but I had to throw a tizzy
fit to get him to join me at the costume shop to make sure our costumes
fit. Now it's almost closing time on Halloween and there's no sign of
him.

I was having the hardest time not wondering if my faux pas three weeks
ago about marriage and the Halloween anniversary didn't have more
sinister undertones. I knew that Tyler loved me, but he refused to make
any long-term plans, any plans at all for that matter. Just as I saw him
round the corner, I saw a low-rider gang style car speeding past me down
the street.

I couldn't breathe as I saw a kid stick a big gun out the passenger
window. Just before the car passed Tyler, I heard the shots. I saw an
invisible giant hand lift him off his feet and slam him into the wall.
For an eternity I saw Tyler twist and recoil against the wall as bullet
after bullet tore him apart.

I was running to him before I was even aware that the car hadn't sped
on but was screeching to a stop. I reached him, cradled his head in my
arms, and saw blood foaming at his mouth.

His eyes were dim, I don't know any other word to describe them; the
lively spark, the twinkle I loved, wasn't there. My vision narrowed and
all I could hear was how hard he was working to take a breath. His pain
was more than I could bear.

I saw the concentration of a drunk trying to appear sober, as he
managed a single word "Apartment," and his head lolled away from me.

After a second he managed to turn back to me. His eye were wide and
beseeching as he whispered urgently, "Run Morg, RUN!"

I was terrified by the lack of strength in his order, but the National
Guard couldn't have made me move. Something else did. One of the young
men was standing over us, calmly inserting a new clip in his pistol
before pointing it at Tyler's head.

I threw my arm out to protect him just as the kid pulled the trigger. I
heard the shot, I heard the sound of it striking before I realized that
I'd been shot, but what I was most aware was the blood that was
erupting from Tyler's forehead.

At that moment my fifteen years of martial arts training... deserted
me. Fortunately my reflexes didn't. There was no form or grace as I
launched myself at the tattooed gang member. There was no art as I
kicked as hard as I could at his crotch. I didn't hear his scream, but
I did know I'd broken his pelvic bone and I somehow managed to grab his
pistol.

I've never been much of a pistol shot. It didn't matter as I shot the
gang-banger in the face, then began shooting at the car he'd been in.

It had started moving before my first shot. Then it swerved and crashed
into a parked car across the street. I didn't stop shooting until the
gun clicked empty.

I heard sirens, I saw people running, but I wasn't there. My head felt
light and the world was very far away. For the first time I was aware
of my pain. I looked down and was confused by the amount of blood on my
blouse. I felt weaker and ever more confused. I knew Tyler was dead, but
could I be dying too? I tried to sit down but it was more of a collapse,
and my last thought was that if we hadn't been married in the eyes of
men in life surely God wouldn't hold that against us in death. He
wouldn't keep us apart now.

I woke up feeling entirely too much pain to be dead. It took a few
seconds to realize that I was in a hospital but I was instantly aware
why I was there. My arm was im?obilized, and I was aware of the floaty
feeling of narcotics trying, unsuccessfully, to make my pain hazy. I
just wished the drugs did something for my real pain. Tyler was gone!
How could my beautiful Tyler be gone?

I screamed. I screamed until my vocal cords collapsed at their abuse.
How could God have left me here when Tyler was gone?

People began to materialize like in a Sci-Fi movie. My editor was
there. My parents were holding my good hand. All their mouths were
moving but I couldn't hear them over my screams.

A nurse appeared. "Honey, I don't want to give you anything else
because it might hurt the baby."

A cooler of ice water wouldn't have been more effective. The urge, the
need to continue my primeval scream was frozen. Baby? What baby could
she mean? I turned to her, my eyes pleading, my vocal cords incapable
of sound.

"You didn't know? You're pregnant. We ran the tests when you were
brought in. You're going to be fine. You lost a bit of blood, the
bullet nicked a vein, but they got the bleeding stopped before it was
serious. You have a distal ulna fracture. It's the less common break
but it's not going to require anything more than a cast for about six
weeks. You'll be able to hold your baby when it's born.

I could feel my tears, "Oh, thank you God! If I can't have Tyler I can
have something of him."

After a few seconds of silent prayer I asked, "What's being done about
Tyler. I want to make the funeral arrangements. Is that going to be a
problem?"

A professional mask fell over the nurse's face. "He is in bad shape.
They took him back into surgery an hour ago. We're not sure he's going
to make it. So you will need to be prepared for that."

"He's not dead? I saw the bullet hole in his head... Oh God what did it
do?"

With her professional face very much in place she used a dulcet voice
to say, "Oh that wasn't serious at all. Your ulna deflected that
bullet. It did little more than give him a nasty gash just below the
hairline. He was wearing a vest but the Essa used armor-piercing
bullets. They tore up his chest and left lung. He lost a lot of blood
and was still bleeding after the first surgery."

"Can I go see him? When he's out?"

"The doctors want to keep you overnight, just for observation, but as
soon as he's out I'll take you up to see him in a wheelchair."

Mr. Seton chose that moment to materialize. After he explained how the
shooting had uncovered their mole, he asked if I had a key to Tyler's
apartment. I did, but I asked why.

"Tyler was conscious in the ambulance and kept saying he wanted you to
go to his apartment. It was all he'd say, almost a mantra. I've checked
with the hospital and if you have a nurse and an ambulance to take you
there and back, they'll clear the visit. It seemed so important that I
thought it might be a good idea if you went while he's in surgery. They
told me it'd be several hours before they'd be out. If you think you're
up to it..." His voice trailed off.

So, we all traipsed off to Tyler's apartment. When we got there, I
briefly thought about asking Mom and Dad to wait outside. I was certain
that there would be evidence that I'd spent the night there frequently.
Then I thought, "Duh! I'm pregnant-- they know that I'm doing more than
chastely kissing Tyler goodnight."

I was doing my best not to break down as I was wheeled into his living
room. The place was saturated with Tyler. My heart couldn't stand the
thought that we might never be together here again.

I couldn't contain a gasp when I saw what Tyler wanted me to see. There
on the middle of his dining room table was a large gaudy Halloween sack.
It was chock full of Godiva and Richard Donnelly chocolates. I'd told
Tyler of my secret vice of buying very expensive chocolates, but the
sack of candy wasn't what made me weep. Sitting on top of a boxed
Tortuga Rum cake, another of my favorites, was a small velvet box.

My hands were trembling as I opened it to see the most beautiful ring
that I've ever seen... at least a dozen times! It was the one I
pointedly admired, but that Tyler had never seemed to notice? Now he
was in surgery, he might die, I was pregnant, and I couldn't tell him
how much I wanted to be his wife.

Only an Englishman's' mastery of understatement would have called me an
emotional wreck. Without looking or being aware, I'd opened a bar of
chocolate and scarfed it down on the way back to the hospital. To eat
one of those divine chocolates without savoring it showed just how
distraught I was.

Twenty minutes after I got back, Tyler was wheeled into ICU. The
doctor, in his green scrubs, came over to take my hand.

"I think he's going to be fine. There were some little bleeders that
looked bigger than they were, but we got them and I'd say his condition
is now good. He normally would come around in about an hour or two, but
I'm going to keep him under until tomorrow afternoon. Why don't you let
us get you back to your room? You can get your clothes, go home, get
some rest, and then get all fixed up before he wakes up."

I made them take me to see him first. I kissed his lips around the tube
in his mouth, and I felt the breath that proved my love lived.

A little after one the next afternoon I was at Tyler's bed side,
popping Donnelly chocolates like popcorn when Tyler began to come
around. It took a few minutes for him to become coherent. When he did,
his first words were, "Do you have any idea what you're eating?"

If I'd guessed for a thousand years I would never have thought those
might be his first words. I held out my left hand with the ring on it
and said, "Yes, of course I'll marry you."

Tyler gave me a weak smile and said, "I won't ask you yet. Do you
understand what you're eating?"

I know I shouldn't have been irritated, people coming out of anesthesia
can say all sorts of crazy things, but to say he wouldn't ask me hurt.
It hurt deeply.

He must have seen it in my face because he said softly. "Morg, you know
I love you. I can't imagine life without you. I read that passage in
Plato you referred to all the time and I know that you are my missing
soul. But first you have to decide if you can forgive me."

"What are you talking about? It wasn't your fault we got shot. I don't
blame you for that!"

"Not for that, but for what you're eating. I'm the one. I'm the one who
stole your Halloween candy when we were kids. My mother had just died
and I was mad at the whole world. I never knew you were a girl. It
changed my life. I'd been in tons of fights when I was younger. You
know I did some time in TDCY for putting other kids in the hospital for
making comments about my mother. But, I'd never stolen anything. I had a
dream that night of my mother telling me that she was ashamed of me, and
I decided to change."

His eyes pleaded with mine before he continued. "I've spent years
trying to figure out how to make it right and when I saw your column I
was going to let you give me a few licks. Then I saw you, and I just
couldn't. I wanted you in my life and I wouldn't risk losing you. Will
you forgive me? If you will, I can finally ask you to marry me."


-----------------------------------------------------------------------
                          The End

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