
===============================================================================
  LEGAL DISCLAIMER
===============================================================================

The following literary work is one of historic fiction. While certain elements
may be recognized as based on actual events, the characters and personal
events are fictitious. No actual persons were involved in the creation of this
fictional work, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is pure
coincidence.

Certain characters portrayed within this work are copyrighted to Gould (1993)
and Cormier (1988). The author wishes to express his deep gratitude towards
the aforementioned for giving him creative inspiration when still a young man,
and to stretch one's imaginations beyond one's own reality. For this, and the
countless other aspiring writers in the mainstream and underground markets
you've inspired, the author sincerely thanks you. No malice or slight was
intended by the willful inclusion of your marvelous creations into this work.

This work is intended for adults, and features situations, dialogue, and
descriptions that are unsuitable for minors. Please be mindful of your local
laws and customs in regards to distributing or dissemination of obscene
material. Thank you.

===============================================================================

                   Pain pays the income of each precious thing.

                        --William Shakespeare (Rape of Lucrece)

===============================================================================
  AN INVISIBLE EMPIRE
===============================================================================

  You can see us, but you do not know where we are.

  You can hear us, but you do not know what we are.

  You can even speak with us, but you will not know who we are.

  We are an invisible empire, a secret kingdom, and we rule the world.

                                 =======
  -----------
  PREVIOUSLY:
  -----------

  Stanley develops his gifts further, and cements his relationships with his
lovers. He also participates in a major agency operation that ends with mixed
results. A talent named Phillipa is recruited but at a cost Stanley regards as
"excessive".

  On a more personal level, both Viktoriya and Janet try for motherhood. While
Stanley naturally indulges the two women's every whim, each meets with varying
success. He also reconnects with an old classmate by the name of Jamie Young
during a trip to Las Vegas.

  In an ensuing dispute with the classmate's employer, Stanley commits a
blatant act of violence and attempts to cover up the incident with his powers.
The incident wins mild censure from Tseng, who issues a dire warning the
invisible empire is being watched by a powerful enemy.

  Stanley takes in Jamie and her daughter at first out of necessity, but he
soon treats them like he would family. Towards the end of the year 2000, he
begins assembling his own network of friendly contacts beyond the agency's and
the empire's control.

===============================================================================
  IT STARTED WITH A BANG 
===============================================================================

  The year 2001 has always remained bitter-sweet for our family. Everyone
experienced their share of joy and an equal amount of sorrow. I believed that
was the year my family became a family, but it came at a ghastly cost.

  I began the year by dealing with some old problems using unseen (and
unseemly) methods. The Sin Titulo gang, which retaliated against me and two of
my darlings for foiling their bank robbery earlier that year, had literally
disappeared from the face of the earth. All it took were some questions in the
right channels before they were living on borrowed time. Killing them
(physically) however, was a problem. I didn't need to be implicated in
anything unsavory, so I had to resort to a different method: I mind-wiped the
Sin Titulo.

  After I had tracked them down one by one, each gang-banger "died" in the
sense that I erased their episodic memories -- those types of memories that
held one's identity. I was rather crude in my methods at first (possibly
setting up the initial victims for aneurisms later in life) but I got
progressively more adept as I worked through their ranks. I surgically removed
almost all of their long-term episodic and explicit memories to insure me and
my darlings' would remain unknown. I left them with their semantic and
procedural memories (or what I could; as I said, I was over-zealous early on).

  The Sin Titulo were essentially hit with amnesisa. I released them without
their identification, photos, and credit cards (the cards I shredded as a
precaution, but I left whatever pocket money they had) where it was
convenient. The final few members of the gang let me practice my ability to
"mind-hop" from one victim to another through passive mind-sight. This way, I
didn't even need to touch someone before I could invade their mind. Scary
stuff. The gang-bangers had hidden themselves after their buddies had
mysteriously become retarded or forgetful. I tracked them all down and
mercilessly sacked their minds.

  In Detective Waters, I didn't make a new enemy, but instead made a new
non-empire "asset". Jacob Waters was only a robbery and assault detective, but
he knew a lot more about the seedier underbelly of San Francisco than I did.
He would be my first -- but not the last -- helpful 'normal' I would have a
working relationship with.

  Waters' information had revealed someone in the agency, my handler Brian Cox
(that wild man), was investigating me. Checking in on my activities and the
like. For all I knew, they had me under surveillance day and night while I
shuttled from one place to the next, checking in on my five darlings. Wait.
Did I say five? I meant six -- all six. Well, to be specific, six and a half.
You'll see why.

  One of the most pleasant surprises the week leading up to New Year's 2001 was
when I got a surprise visitor. I was in the tub, but fully dressed. I was
testing myself, shrouding my body with as much repelling force as I could
muster, and seeing if I could immerse myself in liquid without getting wet
when the doorbell rang. To my credit, the wall of water around me barely
wavered as I climbed out of the tub. I popped the drain plug with telekinesis
and answered the door.

  "Viktoriya?" I gasped as my Slavic siren marched in, bags in hand.

  'Kiss me you fool!'

  Viktoriya let drop her bags and threw her arms around me, driving me against
the wall with mad little kisses. I noticed she floated the bags neatly into a
small pile next to the old sofa. She was still pissed about the demolition
incident a few weeks before and she showed it, a demonstration which ended
with our clothing scattered all over the room. Afterwards, she admonished me
aloud -- a good signal that she was seriously concerned.

  "Don't you ever scare me like that again Stanislav!" She bit my ear
tenderly as to drive home her point.

  I was too spent to reply with anything save a grunt and a nod. I probably
should've paid more attention to my exhaustion, and kept my mental guard up,
but I couldn't. Not with the healthy naked girl straddling my cock. Viktoriya
immediately sensed I had a new squeeze toy and began pestering me about Jamie.
Yep. That holiday season was going to prove to be a bit hectic.

  I spent the more family-oriented Christmas with Jamie and Jillian. Jill
secretly coveted some toy doll about half her size. It was an easy snatch
since it cost upwards of $500 dollars; it was out of reach for most parents.
Her mother scolded me privately for spoiling the girl, but I didn't mind. By
now, I treated Jill as my own. Jamie knew of my other obligations and stayed
mum on her part. The one gift I knew she wanted was something I couldn't have
just picked up right off the shelf: she wanted a stable lifestyle. Instead, I
bought a small $1000 fifteen year T-bond (U.S. Treasury Bond) and gave it to
her for Jill's college.

  "It's not much," I seemed more unhappy about it than she. "But it's a start."

  "Oh you didn't have to." Jamie hid her disappointment well. "Thank you,
Stanley."

  Of course, I was no fool. There was a jade bracelet and necklace set Jamie
had saw once when we were browsing the Stonestown mall. It was unusual to see
a jade emporium in a Western mall, but one had opened recently to cater to the
upwardly mobile Asian population. Outwardly, she didn't express any further
interest in it, but I didn't get this far by not paying attention to what my
women desired. As Jamie placed the envelope in her purse, I telekinetically
snatched the jewelry box from beneath my coat in the corner.

  "I almost forgot," I murmured. "For mommy."

  Jamie turned and saw me with the box in hand. Her eyes lit up as she lifted
the lid, then promptly gushed.

  "What is -- OH?! Why Stanley! You remembered!"

  "How couldn't I?" I grinned wryly before I went on to say, "Especially if all
I could think of was you wearing just that."

  Jamie blushed as only she could and hugged me. I joined her and Jillian for a
quiet dinner with her family, and gave her as much a worry free Christmas as I
could. After we put Jill to bed, I met that lovely young mother under the
mistletoe and made sweet love. She teased me by donning little bits of jewelry
and luring me into her arms. Jamie silenced her screaming by covering her
mouth with mine when she came.

  By now, both Melanie and Viktoriya knew I'd been hiding Jamie in a nearby
apartment until everything got sorted out. However, neither woman had said a
thing to Janet for their own respective reasons. Melanie treated every other
girl with the sole exception of Shawn with equal jealousy. Oddly enough, she
was friendly with everyone at the same time. Little Chen was empathic to
Jamie's inner pain, but she said nothing for fear that Janet would have me
cast Jamie out of the household.

  Viktoriya could've cared less what I did with the other girls so long as she
could get a chance to "dyke out" with one every so often. My Baltic bi-curious
beauty initially set her sights set on Rachelle, but she was more than happy
to munch on Shawn's snatch when the chance arose. Now that she knew about
Jamie, she was maneuvering to get into her pants.

  'Imagine her body on top of my body, Stanislav.' Viktoriya licked her lips
lewdly. 'We'll make sure you never walk right again.'

  I rolled my eyes at her suggestion and groaned, prompting her only to grin
like a feral bitch in heat. Introducing Jamie to our debauchery would be
premature, so Viktoriya had to settle for Janet instead. My ladies Wu, Chen,
Viktoriya, and I started New Year's Eve at the Embarcadero's Equinox, the same
place I had taken Shawn to when we were younger.

  The chef had changed (for the better); unfortunately, the prices had kept up
with the times. Luckily, I had the money now to support such an extravagance.
After dinner, we partied through Union Square and ended with a moderately
reserved four-way in my old room. The first day of 2001 pretty much started
with Janet getting cunnilingus from Viktoriya. To this day, Janet is still
embarrassed at how easily she surrendered to Viktoriya's advances; it was a
foregone conclusion considering she was the only 'normal' at the event.

  I slammed all three girls with equal ardor. About the only argument that came
up was when I used saran wrap on Viktoriya. She and I had always done things
bare-backed because she was able to push fluid back out with her mind. And
despite our fucking around, we had remained with a limited set of partners.
Hence she was suspicious about wrapped cock until Janet reminded her that it
was for everyone's protection.

  "I mean you and Stanley have done this before right?" my First threw me a
concerned look. "Because if you haven't, you were taking big risks with
everyone missy."

  Viktoriya realized how close we both were to being exposed, so she made up a
lie.

  "I always had protection. So, we never bothered with this ... clingy paper."

  'Liar, liar, pants on fire.' I chided her mentally.

  'Fine. No pussy for you tonight, kisa.' Viktoriya was smiling despite her
thoughts. 'You've had enough!'

  Her thought-speech was sharp and acidic, but I knew she didn't mean it. I
grinned, pulled Vika towards my wrapped cock, and fucked the shit out of her.
Afterwards, I broke my personal record of three times in one night when Janet
and I bumped into each other in the hallway. As she stumbled back out of the
bathroom, I cornered her and had my way with her on the kitchen floor. I
suppose the spontaneity of that moment and a stroke of good luck were what
finally got my Jan knocked up.

  In the meantime, bids had come in on the condo's site. I sifted through them
and picked out the ones I knew who were flexible in regards to payment. I
wanted my contractors to be able to understand I was paying principally in
cash and a certain level of trust needed to be there. Shawn had forwarded me
the plans for what she termed "a solar girdle" that would collect solar
energy, store it in batteries, and turn it into practical electricity we could
use. I took one look at her schematics and knew I had one heckuva engineer in
the family. All in all, the new year began with great positive energy. Too bad
it didn't last.

===============================================================================
  WELCOME TO JAPAN FOLKS, WHERE THE LOCAL TIME IS ... TOMORROW 
===============================================================================

  A few things of note happened the summer of that year. First off, Janet was
about the size of a damn blimp thanks to her pregnancy (she was about seven
months along when I flew to Japan). Between her mood swings, her hectic work
schedule at the firm, and the pressure from her parents and our parents to
have a wedding before she popped, she was as much a handful as Jillian was.

  Thankfully, Melanie was around to help between classes. I thought about
introducing Jamie to Janet, but decided against it at the last moment. In
Janet's condition, there was no telling what any emotional distress would've
done. I wasn't risking a damn thing when it came to our first-born. I wondered
though, how long I could keep Jamie and Jillian apart from the others. I was
dividing my time so much, it felt like I was back in school juggling my
darlings all over again.

  What a fun time THAT was. I winced from the thoughts in my head and massaged
my temples. I was on a jetliner humming over the Pacific towards Japan.
Shawn's absence had made me miss her so much, that I took out a week towards
the end of July to visit her in Tokyo. When Viktoriya heard I was heading out
of the country, she reminded me that she was going to Rome with Cristobel for
a vacation around the same time.

  It was all eerily familiar to me. Rachelle started moving apart when she
moved (so did Janet, although I may have zapped my First so much that she grew
addicted to me instead) then fell for another man. I pondered the similarities
and prepared for the worse. I also wondered if Viktoriya knew how jealous I
was.

  'Oh, don't mind Cristobel.' Viktoriya beamed me a hint of slyness on her
mind. 'He'll behave kisa. And I'll have a surprise for you when I come back.'

  When the plane landed, I was in a daze and don't remember much save for
Shawn's bright baby blue eyes welling up with tears before she crushed my face
with her massive boobage. My poor pumpkin's cup size had finally stopped
growing -- at an H-cup. She took me back to her tiny little "rabbit hutch"
apartment amidst the Tokyo sprawl, and I settled in for a brief vacation in
Japan. I slept through most of the first day (which was technically tomorrow),
only to wake up around the local time of 10 P.M.

  "You missed dinner," Shawn sighed. "I wish you could stay longer Stanley.
Your body clock is all messed up!"

  "Yeah, sorry muffin," I had hopped out of the shower feeling refreshed but
was mildly shocked by how dark it was outside.

  "That's okay."

  She turned back to her books. I sat back and admired my plump lil' darling.
She still stood nearly as tall as me and had gotten a little wider as well. I
didn't mind, so long as she was healthy. I tilted my head. Wait a minute. No
... she seemed a little thinner. Shawn Ellen was still a plump girl, but her
waist had slimmed. Maybe she had nearly finished with her growth spurt and
started growing up. I remembered how I measured her lovely ass so many years
ago and immediately got an idea.

  "Hey sweet-ums," Shawn piped up, "There's some udon I --" she felt my hands
around her breasts "-- Stanley!!"

  "Hush, baby girl," I said. "Didn't you tell me there's a noise ordnance after
dark?"

  "Oh jeez!! Now?!"

  She tried squirming out of my grip to no avail. For me, I had just got up and
showered, so I was ready for action. Shawn was on local time and aiming to
wind down. This could work out, I chuckled to myself. I just needed to do all
the work. I bent her over the small desk in her room and undid her belt. She
kept silent as I pulled her pants down, revealing that ample apple-cheeked ass
of hers.

  I bit her ass once, twice, thrice; it took ten bites for me to go from one
side of her ass to the other (five per side). My plump darling had grown
indeed. My thirst wasn't slaked though. I wanted more. Shawn gasped as I
kissed her brown little shithole. I slapped her meaty cheeks and she squealed
softly. I sucked in her nutty, racy sex musk, and reveled in the days where
I'd fantasize about fucking her in the school's band room.

  "Oh jeez! Stop!" Shawn pleaded. "I'm crushing my books!"

  I stood up and pulled her to me. We kissed and I felt her hands reaching for
me. I pulled off Shawn's top and freed her two gi-normous tits. She lay down
on the tatami with a sigh and let me work my magic on her breasts and between
her thighs. Using the same trick of telekinesis on Jamie, I fattened up my
cock and plunged into Shawn's pungent hoary hole.

  "Umm--gwad!!"

  Her eyes widened like saucers. The feeling was definitely pleasurable. She
wondered what I'd done to fill her so completely now. I grinned at her look of
surprise, leaned over and kissed her while I bounced happily on my big cuddly
darling. Shawn's face flushed as I drilled her for a few minutes more before
she and I both popped. It was one of the few times that I was much more active
than my partner after a session. Shawn yawned and stretched lazily over me as
I continued to molest her.

  "Stop it, you dope!" She slapped my hands away. "I wanna sleep now."

  "Now you know how I feel 90 percent of the time," I laughed and gave her a
pinch on the meatiest portion of her ass. "This is sweet revenge!"

  Shawn sniffed and threw her entire weight atop me. I groaned from the
pleasure. I liked having her on top of me. It was like having a soft fluffy
fuckable blanket that made smart conversation. My dick sprung to life between
her legs and she glared at me.

  "Geez Stanley," Shawn mumbled, "Do you miss me that much?"

  "You bet I do," I ran my hands down her sides. "Oh yeah, you know that solar
wall of yours? It's been turning some heads at the fabrication company."

  "Really?" Shawn kissed my chest then became thoughtful. "Maybe I should do my
dissertation on that instead of quake reinforcement systems."

  "Maybe," I nuzzled her scalp. "How much of it have you written?"

  "I have my thesis ready," she said. "Along with a preliminary draft of my
plans. Why don't you finish 'em for me?"

  "That's cheating," I growled and felt her whole body jiggle with laughter.

  "I'm only kidding!" Shawn bit her lip shyly before she sprung a zinger on me.
"So, who's this Jamie person?"

  "Eh?" I almost pissed myself from fear. "Where'd you hear that?"

  "Melanie told me," she looked at me with mild disapproval. "She tells me
everything that happens back home."

  Great, I thought as my plump dumpling yammered on. Little Chen was spreading
gossip like wildfire. It was a wonder that Janet hadn't heard anything.

  "You know she's there when you screw around, right?" Shawn asked.

  "Yeah, I know."

  By now, I wasn't actively reading or scanning my darling's minds as often as
I once was. I found it to be invasive and jeopardized what actual trust there
was. Besides, after a few years I wanted to be surprised. Knowing what someone
thought before they gave me their audible answer really sucked the life out of
surprise parties and presents.

  For the longest time, I only used scanning in dire emergencies, when feeling
out design clients, or when I desperately needed to know something (and fast).
I suppose I sound like a hypocrite, but I'd stopped pushing my luck. I was
happy with the women I was with (or the ones I had retained) and I wasn't
about to troll for fresh meat.

  The only exception seemed to have been Jamie. My old class chum fell into my
circle out of necessity, but she stuck around since things were going great
between the two us. This, despite the fact she knew she wasn't the only woman
in my life. For me, I didn't mind her stripper's body. Of all the things that
Jamie left in Vegas, she didn't ditch exercising on the fireman's pole (later
installed at her place) and the horizontal pull-up bar. Even strippers knew a
good thing when they see it. But Shawn Ellen though ...

  "Well, if Yu-Ching's told you everything," I stopped to yawn then feigned
disinterest, "Then what's there to tell?"

  "Because I want to hear it from you!" My buxom angel pinched my cheeks
painfully. "Five wives?! Are you crazy mister? Does Vicky and Jan know about
her!?"

  "Barr--yerr--marr?" My lips were stretched taut by her stubby fingers. She
finally let go so I could speak clearly again.

  "Are you mad?" It was the only question I could think of, and the one
question I sensed the answer to already.

  "Well, I want to say yes!" Shawn was exasperated. "But no! I really don't
know!!"

  She bent her legs at the knees so I could see the soles of her feet. They
were pretty, pink, and still smooth like a young girl's. Shawn began picking
stray ends of her hair as if she was lying on a bed or something.

  "You're confusing me." I frowned, wondering if I had stepped over the line.

  I sensed Shawn wasn't mad. She felt I still loved her (true) and I wouldn't
cut our ties so abruptly (also true). Besides, she'd been through a lot worse
(very true). Her shock and surprise though, were genuine. It was like I'd
found a new piece of ass from nowhere. To bring her up to speed, I decided to
clarify a few things.

  "Well you remember Jamie right?" I murmured.

  "No, not really," Shawn sighed. "Why are you asking me?"

  "Think back. Rubenstein's class back at high school. The girl whose boyfriend
was stabbed at the Winter Ball during your freshman year."

  My plump petunia's eyes pitched down, her mind trying to recall old faces and
old places. Finally, the correct memory surfaced.

  "No way!" Shawn blinked. "Her? The girl who was the school slut?"

  "Whoa," I blinked. "Where'd you hear that?"

  "Well, it was just gossip, okay?" She saw I had gotten defensive. "Ashley was
spreading gossip everywhere and about everyone."

  "Well this is the first I'm hearing about it," I frowned.

  "Well, that's all in the past. I'm sorry I brought it up, Stanley."

  "All right," I grinned. "Don't worry about it. Just be careful what you say
all right? I don't want to belittle her in front of her daughter."

  "She has a KID?!" Shawn's eyes went wide again. "Melanie didn't say anything
about that!"

  "Oops." Damn Melanie. I cursed her blurry thought-stream, and her chatter-box
mouth.

  "Stanley!!" Shawn growled ferociously, "Did you?! I mean before Janet?"

  "Hey, don't you go spreading rumors now," I pinched her. "And no. The girl's
from a previous guy. I'm just -- taking care of the package."

  "That's awful!" I wasn't sure if Shawn meant me or Jill's father. Then she
asked, "What's her name? How old is she?"

  "She's five. Her name's Jillian," I said, "Jillian Chen. Jamie changed her
name at the county records office."

  I decided to level with her about Jamie's choice of the last name. However, I
omitted the various reasons why.

  "Wow." Shawn shot me a lopsided grin. "All I did was head outta the country
and you got a kindergartner for a daughter. I'm going to marry a wild man."

  "That's me." I gave her a sardonic grin. "Can you believe it?"

  She giggled and relaxed on top of me. Soon, she was snoring softly. I
listened to her breathing for a while longer then picked the big sleeping
beauty and carried her to bed. I took another quick shower and pinged
Viktoriya.

  'How'd Missus Dumbo take the news?' I saw Cristobel's face across the table
in sunny Italy. Viktoriya looked down and I saw she was at lunch. She was also
wearing a pretty damn low-cut dress.

  'Now Vika, remember what I said about those nick-names you make.' I scolded
her mentally.

  Viktoriya scoffed at me on our private channel. I saw right next to Cristobel
was another fresh faced young man and a sunny blonde. The four were sitting at
a street cafe.

  'What's it matter if they can't hear me? But tell me, kisa. How are things?'

  'Shawn was okay with it.' I came off more relieved than I wanted to. 'Jillian
was the only thing that took her by surprise.'

  'She's very cute.' I watched as Viktoriya took a sip of water and pass
furtive glances at the blonde and two men in her party.

  'Are you talking about Jill or the hottie you're having lunch with?' I
flashed her a thought-laugh.

  'N-yah! Mind your business nosy man.' Viktoriya thought mirthfully. 'How late
is it for you, Stanislav?'

  'It's around 11 right now. Night-time.' I replied.

  'Drat.' She displayed disappointment. 'Tune out lyubimy. I want to surprise
you.'

  'Promise you won't do anything crazy.' I made my concern evident. 'I got
enough worries already.'

  'Look who's talking.' Viktoriya shook her head and began to stand. 'But I
promise if you can be safe for me too.'

  'I will, sweetheart.' I thought wryly. 'Have fun! Because when in Rome ...'

  'Pfft! You're a poor comedian.' She pulled out her compact so I could see her
blow a kiss at me. 'As if I haven't heard that from you for the millionth time
now.'

  I grinned as I broke off contact. I puttered around Shawn's apartment and
found an old art pad and some pencils. Being the artists we were, she and I
would take about ten or fifteen minutes a day to sketch something quickly; it
was handy when we wanted to show someone what we saw, or how something in our
design would look like. While neither of us were exceptional artists, daily
practice honed our skills in drawing.

  I decided to push my gift a little more. Using remote viewing, I drew Shawn
nude as she slept in bed. I was normally pretty lazy about sketching, but
since I didn't have much to do (apart from worry about new plans and projects
waiting for me when I got back to work) I added as much detail as possible. I
darkened the details of Shawn's brows, hair, and outline of her enormous
boobs. After an hour, I was pretty tired from both drawing and keeping my mind
alert. I set the sketch pad down, washed the graphite from my fingers, and
crawled back into bed next to Shawn. I slept pretty well until someone gave me
a hard shove.

  "You screwball pervert." Shawn greeted me by pressing my drawing of her to my
face the next morning. "How DARE you draw me nude. And my tits aren't that
big!"

  "Oh sorry." My mind was a little sluggish. "I forgot something."

  She handed the pad back to me. I picked up a charcoal pencil, signed my name
in the corner and sunk back under the covers.

  "Oh very funny," Shawn growled. "You're going to get it now mister. Get up!"

  I heard her put the pad away then felt her hands on me. She flipped me over
and sat on my chest, her pudgy face was full of mischief.

  "Where do you wanna go today?" she asked me.

  "Anywhere but there," I flicked my glance down at her crotch.

  "Hah. You got that right!" Shawn put her hands on her hips and laughed. "Come
on you sleepy dope. I wanna show you around Tokyo."

  We spent the day touring the various districts of Tokyo. I was blanketed by
an impressive rush of signs, billboards, and general marketing. Tokyo was as
built up as New York, if not more so. Shawn didn't think it was much, but I
insisted on checking out the Tokyo Institute where she studied. We hit the
Ginza next and poked our heads into any shop that we fancied. Shawn and I
ended our day at Shibuya where something uncivil happened.

  If I had a lottery jackpot every time I went to a foreign city and some
ruffians or psychotics attacked me and my date, I'd be an infinitely wealthier
man. I was alerted to the event by a rising wave of fear and panic. I sensed
it easily as I watched Shawn buy some gummy sweets from a street vendor and
pop one in her mouth.

  The panic crested as Shawn searched for a second piece of candy for me. Then,
I saw the cause of the commotion. A crazed and disturbed man armed with a
bloody samurai sword turned the corner just a mere twenty or so feet from us.
I didn't know why or how he got such a thing -- I knew Japan had some of the
strictest weapon control laws on earth -- but he was armed and dangerous.

  I zeroed in on his mind and found a jumble of thoughts: hatred of foreigners,
hatred of his job, hatred of his love life, and what-not. He reminded me of
Michael Douglas' character "DEFENS" in the movie "Falling Down" except he was
Japanese and he was waving one sharp-ass blade. Someone had pushed the right
buttons and all of the man's self-control went out the door.

  Unlike that time with the inept thugs at West Portal, I didn't have time to
sugarcoat reality for Shawn. My plump dumpling looked up just in time to see
the madman charging her with his sword upraised and cursing in Japanese. Her
own scream barely crept past her lips when I caught the man's sword arm with
one hand and his face with the other. I didn't do anything too physical, but I
easily overloaded his brain. I took the sword from his loosened grip and stuck
it in a nearby trash bin. The man was babbling incoherently, frothing at the
mouth and crawling on all fours when Japanese policemen and emergency
personnel appeared to secure the scene.

  It was much different from my tussle at the bank back home. Here, I was
treated with a little more leniency. It wasn't a difference of cultures (or
appearances; the Japanese cops appreciated Shawn's cleavage as much as a man
would anywhere) but it was because I had practiced restraint. Viktoriya was
both right and wrong: perhaps I was becoming more ruthless, but I also
understood the importance of restraint.

  Tseng finally had his protege, I thought dourly. Shawn was no less emotional
than Janet, but she put on a braver face than my First. She hugged me tightly
once we were back at her place. While I was in the shower, she fired off an
excited e-mail that got me in a heap of trouble. As word got around back home
that I was involved in yet another dangerous scrape, Janet went ape-shit
ballistic.

  "What the hell are you doing?!" she cried over the phone.

  I had to sit down and reassure my First (long-distance) that no, I didn't
have a deathwish and no, she wouldn't be a widow before our first child was
born. By the time we were done, the charges to my phone bill were ridiculous.
Too bad video conferencing wasn't available -- not that it would've helped.

  "So that thing about the bank robbery?" Shawn asked me peevishly. "Are you
planning on becoming the neighborhood Spiderman or something, Stanley?"

  "Don't you start," I crumpled in the middle room, tired and weary.

  "I'm sorry," she knelt beside me. "It's just I never saw you do that before.
You were so cool!"

  I laughed despite myself. I never thought of myself as cool, suave, or
debonair.

  "I can totally brag now," Shawn went on absently. "My boyfriend can kick
anyone's ass."

  "Hey now," I pulled her down towards me. "None of that understand? It's not
my day job."

  "So what's the use then?" She teased my ears and pulled my hair playfully.
"If I gave you a list of people to beat up, could you do it?"

  Shawn Ellen had the temerity to laugh when I visibly frowned at her.

  "I'm just kidding!" she heaved a big sigh. "I miss the old Stanley. The one
who could joke around a bunch, and not just beat up people."

  "Maniacs aside, I can still be a laugh riot." I stuck out my tongue and
licked her sloppily on the cheek.

  "Eew! Yuck!"

  Shawn giggled and returned the favor. We kissed for a good minute or so
before she got on top of me. When I thought I was going to get some peace and
quiet, Viktoriya thought-spoke to me in a practical state of panic.

  'STANISLAV!!'

  I nearly winced from the vehemence of her broadcast.

  'Yes, milenky?' I replied as Shawn began nuzzling my neck and shoulders.

  'What's all this about in Freckle-Face's e-mail?!' Viktoriya was staring at
her laptop at an Internet cafe. She looked up and I caught her angry
reflection in the window. 'Are you okay?!'

  'I'm fine.' I thought dryly. 'Shawn's about to start, if you want to watch.'

  'Don't change the subject you liar.' Viktoriya's thoughts registered
distaste. 'I thought you only interrogate! Or are you trying to promote
yourself to be the muscle now?'

  'It's complicated, milenky.' It was getting hard for me to do anything save
mind-sight when Shawn began teasing my nipples.

  'Then explain it to me!' My Russian bride-to-be demanded haughtily.

  'Look, I've been working on my telekinesis on my own.' I thought back. 'Just
trust me. I'm getting better at it. I want to show you when I see you again.'

  'Oh.' Viktoriya's rage and worry diminished when she sensed I was trying to
tell her the truth. 'Okay. Well at least you have that.'

  'Yeah.' I groaned as Shawn began her trademark biting.

  'Well good then.' A feeling of relief came from Viktoriya. 'I'll leave you
two alone. I have to go now.'

  'Any place good Vika?' I inquired.

  'It's private.' She suddenly became coy. 'Just promise me you'll stay safe.'

  'I will.' I thought-spoke. 'You too okay?'

  'I will if you try.' Her tone was acidic. 'Speak to me tomorrow ... or when
you wake up. Bye lover.'

  'G'bye.'

  I rolled Shawn on her back and fucked her massive titties until I jizzed. The
rest of my time in Japan was uneventful. I did feel nostalgic when I came
across a clothing shop. I wasn't able to learn how to make kimonos or yukatas
but I remembered Rachelle had always wanted one. I had hazarded a good guess
on her size from the last time I saw her nearly three years ago.

  She was my age now; about 25 or 26. I inquired about a size for a "Western
woman" about "yay high". The clerk assumed it was Shawn. My plump dumpling was
browsing the racks but wasn't interested in dolling up in silk robes. She only
went to Japan for school, but she wasn't totally nutty about its heritage,
people, or culture. I did a bit of careful shopping and bought a peach colored
kimono. I was halfway positive the shop in Japantown was able to do some
alterations.

  "Who's that for?" Shawn asked me.

  "A gift for an old friend," I said simply. Or rather an old girlfriend, I
thought with a trace of longing.

===============================================================================
  WHAT'S GOOD FOR THE GOOSE IS GOOD FOR THE GANDER 
===============================================================================

  Of all the stupid things Viktoriya did, the most audacious was what she did
during her trip to Rome in '01. Specifically, she did Cristobel and his
boyfriend. Confused? Yeah. Me too. Here's what happened: I came back from
Japan, went to work for a few days, and then took a two day weekend to New
York City to surprise Viktoriya. Delighted (and forewarned when I used
mind-sight) she showed me her promised "surprise" after a light dinner at a
little Greek place in the Village.

  Her "surprise" definitely surprised me: it was a set of high-resolution
digital photographs of her in what appeared to be a sleazy Italian porn film.
No one was more shocked than I. Viktoriya sensed my jealousy before I even
said a word. She tried to explain as I tried to make heads and tails of it all
as she sat daintily by my side in her jeans and t-shirt.

  'It's not what you think.'

  "I don't know what to think," I scrolled through the set on her computer.

  The photos were a sexy little vignette. The girl (Viktoriya) and guy (I
assumed it was Cristobel) were frolicking in a richly decorated seaside
bedroom when another guy walks in -- I guessed the husband or something -- and
the three proceed to have a helluva time. I poured through the photos and
noticed that the photos began to focus more and more on Viktoriya's face. Of
the two men's faces, I saw little or nothing of once the simulated "action"
got started; most soft-core and erotic photography do not show pentration or
genitalia in the act of coitus.

  One shot showed Vitoriya's tongue dangerously close to both men's cocks while
another showed her face contorted into beautiful agony while she was
supposedly penetrated by both men at once. The whole vignette ended with a
fabulous shot of Viktoriya splayed out nude on the bed with both the guys
curled in fetal positions beside her (their faces hidden). I noticed that in
all her shots, particularly the last dozen ones, Viktoriya was looking right
at the camera. Right at me, I suddenly realized. Despite that part of me which
was aching with jealousy, I found myself a little aroused.

  "That's Cristobel." Viktoriya pointed out unhelpfully.

  "I thought you said he'd behave," I said dourly but hid my excitement. "Some
dancing partner Vika."

  "Oh Stanislav, you prude," she pulled up another folder and clicked on some
more files. "Crisotbel's gay."

  And that was supposed to make me feel better? Wait --

  "What did you just say?" I back-pedalled. "Who's gay?"

  Viktoriya pulled up a photo of a handsome European fellow brazenly kissing
another dark-haired guy. Both had good physique and looks women would die for.

  "His boyfriend's uncle is one of Rome's most famous erotic photographers,"
Viktoriya explained. "We took these for fun!"

  "I bet."

  "Don't pout," my Slavic siren scolded. "Since you love pornography so much, I
wanted to surprise you with some. Starring me of course!"

  "You mean YOU love pornography." I shot her dirty grin.

  "Don't be jealous." She let out a quick laugh. "Cristobel and Marcello had to
jerk each other hard in between shots. They couldn't even look at me or they
went soft!"

  I had to smile. My dusky Russkie felt my relief, and she needled me about it
with her own brand of smugness.

  "And of course Cristobel is gay. Why do you think I get along with him so
well?"

  "I dunno." I scratched my head. "What's that say about me?"

  'You're jealous, kisa!' Viktoriya thought-spoke as she straddled my lap.

  'Damn straight I am.' I felt foolish, but what she did still irked me.

  'Now you know how each of us feels too!'

  She kissed me gently on my forehead. I felt my embarrassment rise along with
a more physical part of my anatomy. I heard a theory once somewhere that when
men do not see their mates for some time, they generate a greater amount of
sperm when they mate. The idea, evidently, is to insure that the woman will
get his deposit, and to beat out some imagined rival who may have banged his
woman in his absence.

  I'm an architect and a telepath, but I'm not a scientist. I couldn't prove if
that theory was true or not, but I will say this: I fucked Viktoriya with a
renewed vigor as if it was our first time. My mind kept rewinding back to
Viktoriya getting double-teamed. I knew it was faked; the pictures showed no
penetration and there were no trace of body fluids at all.

  She showed me that part of her trip (mind-to-mind). While everyone was nude
for the shoot, Cristobel and Marcello pressed their dicks against Viktoriya's
body (for physical warmth) but the thought of penetrating a woman simply wore
at them throughout the shoot. I had regarded her shoot sleazy before, but the
whole thing was more artistic than it was obscene, and knowing her love of the
arts, I doubted I had much to worry about.

  Heck, Viktoriya was so scared of pregnancy when she was younger she didn't
even dare to mind-control other men. She wouldn't jeopardize herself
physically. Still, it was the "possibilities" that got me all hot, agitated,
and bothered. I wanted her more now, not less. I wanted to make her mine
again, and Viktoriya immediately became aware of it.

  My Slavic siren yielded to my advances when I reached for her. She sighed
with pleasure as I pounded her pussy raw. After the first time, I rested and
waited maybe a couple minutes before I went a second time. With each stroke, I
pounded my dominance back into her mind and body inch by aching inch. In
between her swooning and impassioned cries, Viktoriya egged me on as best she
could.

  When I climaxed for the third time, my mental defences creaked ajar slightly.
Viktoriya finally realized she might've stepped over the line but I was doing
my best to hide it. She and I didn't speak about it, because we dedicated the
day to her chores (laundry, shopping, unclogging her drain, etc.) and fucking
like wild beasts when the mood struck us. By the time I was ready to leave, my
testicles had been working overtime regenerating sperm. I was literally fucked
dry. Before I headed out the door for my cab, Viktoriya hugged me tightly.

  "I'm sorry if I hurt you kisa," she whispered softly. "I won't do that ever
again."

  "That's okay." I patted her bare shoulder. "I guess I should pay more
attention to you."

  "You should," she sniffled but added her thoughts: 'If you can. You barely
have enough time yourself!'

  "I'll make do." I kissed and bumped foreheads with her. "Love you much Vika."

  "Love you much Stanislav." Viktoriya embraced me, her fingers caressing my
neck.

  I finally had to leave when the cab driver began honking like crazy. Just a
little over three weeks after I came back home, I got a second surprise from
Viktoriya. She gave the news directly to me before she broke it over e-mail.

  'Stanislav!? Kisa?! Wake up!'

  Viktoriya's thoughts pierced my slumber and roused me from bed at 4:30 A.M. I
groaned. I hated that time difference separating us more by the day.

  'Wake up lyubimy!! I'm pregnant.'

  That got my attention. I sat up and realized that I was sleeping alone for
the first time in many weeks. I cleared my thoughts and made certain I was
awake.

  'What was that again?'

  'I'm pregnant! I'm pregnant!! I'm pregnant!!' Viktoriya's mind sang happily.
'Oh kisa, you're going to be a papa!'

  'Oh great, Vika.' I thought and headed to the restroom. 'Great news.'

  I knew I wasn't going to hear the end of her for a little while, so I might
as well get to work.

===============================================================================
  INTERLUDE -- THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM 
===============================================================================

  So Viktoriya was carrying my second child while Janet was having my first.
Not that it mattered to my parents. They were already bugging me about
marrying poor, swollen Janet before she gave birth to a bastard. All that (and
more) from my own father, a man who regarded Western organized religion a sham
to bilk money out of honest men and women through the tithe.

  I couldn't blame him though. There was considerable shame in bastard children
in the old days -- damn rustic peasant ideology. My father taught me
skepticism about theology and belief. His beliefs were summed up in one word:
secularism. It was a concept I took to heart. In contrast to my father, my
mother was more worried about Janet's physical and mental well-being, and
begged me to marry her before the shit hit the fan.

  Therein lay the problem: Janet and I didn't want to be married. First off,
the paperwork would make me a bigamist should the other girls insist on the
same arrangement. Secondly, we didn't really want to. You can call it some New
Age (or Millennial) Domestic Partnership bullshit or whatever, but we didn't
want to "marry" in the traditional sense.

  "Marriage -- pah!" Janet said in her best imitation of Patty Bouvier from The
Simpsons. "That's girl stuff!"

  I grinned at her audacity. Unfortunately, such bravado didn't last long from
constant verbal assault from both our parents. We finally relented and got
married at City Hall before a magistrate. It was so quick, my dad didn't even
need to put in the full $1.50 for the parking meter. From then on, my Form
1040 I filed every year thereafter had Janet Kam-Ling Wu as my wife.

  The next day (Saturday), I rushed Janet to the hospital. Several tense (and
painful) minutes after being admitted, she gave birth to a healthy 6 pound, 12
ounce baby boy. I was in a strange mixed state of elation, confusion, anger,
and disbelief. Janet cuddled the new arrival as he gurgled and cried. She
looked at me both with a fierce pride I hadn't seen before.

  "Stanley sweetheart," Janet said softly. "Come hold our son."

  I was so dizzy with excitement, I was afraid I'd fry his infant brain with my
touch. I took the peculiar precaution of donning a pair of latex gloves then
held the little bastard (er, son -- sorry -- it's my vernacular). After a
little while, I turned him back over to his mother. I had other things to take
care of (drawings for yet another development in Santa Clara County). Melanie
was nonplussed when I got back from the hospital. I mistook her quietness for
something else. I knew she wasn't all too happy when Janet and I got the
marriage license. Now to compound things, Janet just gave birth to our son.

  "Yu-Ching," I tried to comfort her. "Li dougei? Wo-dei douyou gamching-ge*,
okay?." [* Cantonese: You're jealous? But we have feelings for one another
too.]

  "I'm not jealous." Melanie preened her lustrous dark hair and shot me a
spiteful little glare. "But what about Jamie and Jillian? Don't you think it's
about time you told everyone about them?"

  "I'll get to that." I sighed and gathered her gently into my arms. "You're
the strong one. You're always so helpful."

  "Only because I keep all your secrets," Melanie murmured, "Is that why you
keep me around?"

  "Don't be foolish," I lifted her by the chin and winked, "You're my second
and you know it."

  Little Chen blushed and hugged me anew. She was my soulful Second; she and I
both knew it. I just hated assigning rank to people I loved. Melanie looked up
at me inquisitively.

  "So when are WE going to get married?"

  "I don't know," I pinched her. "Graduate school, get a job. Then we'll talk."

  "But I wanna be next!" she whined. "I don't want Viktoriya beating me because
she's pregnant now!"

  "Hey, this isn't a race. Besides, it's just a piece of paper." I sat her
down. "For taxes and all that. I made a promise to you, Jan, Shawn Ellen, and
Vika. I'm not going to break that."

  "No." Melanie managed a small, knowing smile. "You're just going to add to
it."

  She pirouetted on her heel before I could reply. My youngest darling headed
into the studio to go online and do god-knew-what on that (then) hefty
Pentium-4 desktop I used for work. She was probably downloading yaoi tentacle
porn again.

  'Stanislav? How is she?' It was Viktoriya asking about Janet. My brunette
beauty was sitting in a waiting room of what appeared to be a doctor's office.

  'She's fine.' I sat down wearily on the sofa. 'So is the baby. How about
you?'

  'Well OUR baby's coming along. This is just a follow-up.' Viktoriya glanced
down so I could see through mind-sight her stomach hadn't changed much. I
guess it took a little longer for her body to show changes.

  'You look glowing sweetie.' I grew uneasy as I thought of my next question.
'Did you tell your parents yet?'

  'No.'

  I sensed Viktoriya's apprehension as much as she felt mine. I chuckled
quietly and felt she understood the irony behind my thoughts. She was going to
be a parent (I just become one about four hours ago) and at the same time, we
were scared to death of confronting our own parents about our lives. Viktoriya
grew really reserved when the topic of her mother and father even nipped the
edge our conversations, so I sought to comfort her.

  'It'll be all right.' I felt my eyelids droop. Damn, I was tired.

  'You're sleepy Stanislav.' Viktoriya thought-spoke. 'Go lie down and let me
sing to you.'

  'You ... don't need ... to.'

  I yawned and lay down anyway. Her homespun little ditty was floating through
my mind when the phone rang. Good God. I rolled off the sofa like a dead log.
Kill me now ... like right the fuck now, so I could get some sleep.

  'Stanislav! Don't be so impious!' Viktoriya scolded. 'Think of Janna's son!
Think of ours!'

  'Sorry. Phone call. Catch you in ten?'

  'Twenty maybe.' She pinged back. 'I think it's my turn ...'

  I saw Viktoriya's vision dim as she rose to the nurse's wave. I stifled a
yawn and glanced at my clock. Twenty minutes then. I picked up the phone and
spoke.

  "Hello?"

  "Hello? Stanley bieu-guo?" It was a voice I hadn't heard in a while.

  "Oh hey. Aurora?"

  I brought the handset with me to the kitchenette so Melanie wouldn't
overhear. Not like it mattered. The place was as small as Shawn's "rabbit
hutch" (in the States, it'd be an SRO, or single resident occupancy) back in
Tokyo. The only difference was I had an outer room to call my studio.

  "Li jou-mut ngm lei tam wo-eh*?" she asked me in a soft voice. [* Cantonese:
Why didn't you come visit me?]

  "I'm a little busy here," I said matter-of-factly. "Besides, you know I don't
have much business on the East Coast."

  "Oh? Hai-meh*?" [* Cantonese: Oh really? (or the more modern net-speak,
uber-7337 version, "orly")] Her voice had an edge to it. "Auntie Aileen (my
mother) said you went to New York last year!"

  Uh oh, I thought. Goddammit. My mother and Melanie were fucking gossip
queens. I counted my blessings; at least my mother couldn't surreptitiously
"hear" my thoughts.

  "When'd she say that?" I asked.

  "New Years," Aurora earnestly sounded sad. "Bieu-guo wo hou gwajue lei-ah*.
Why didn't you visit?" [* Cantonese: I miss you a lot, cousin (please see
chapter 2 for a more detailed translation of what sort of cousin).]

  "Well I miss you too." That was a damn lie. "But I was busy."

  "You miss me? Really?" I heard her sniff over the phone. "Tell me how much."

  I rolled my eyes. Aurora was younger than Shawn, but older than Melanie. Yet
somehow, I didn't see Yu-Ching's ever growing maturity in my cousin through
her correspondence, or her behavior.

  "Lots," I said simply.

  "Did you like those pictures from last time?" she asked sweetly.

  I blinked, feeling a little panic. Melanie was on the same computer I used to
check Aurora's obscene mails. I relaxed when I realized I never saved any of
her images to disk. Aurora's last set of pictures were, to say the least, over
the top. I never knew how she found the time and inclination to do what she
did, which was shoving foreign objects into her cunt and ass, taking a digital
snapshot, and then emailing it to me.

  While I didn't mind the free porn, I did mind that her images were taking up
space in my inbox. My email address starting to bounce other emails back (like
those from Rachelle and Phillipa). Instead of getting a new email, I decided
to increase my email storage out of my own pocket.

  "Yeah," I decided to play along. "I didn't know you had it in you."

  "Stanley," she breathed, "I wish you were in me."

  Good god, I wanted to laugh. I had a little homewrecker on my hands. I was
deliberating if I should have Viktoriya pay her a visit when Aurora dumped a
mild bombshell on me.

  "I'm coming to visit you," Aurora said suddenly.

  "Oh yeah? When? And why?"

  "Soon!" she exclaimed happily. "And because I miss you. Besides, I graduated
and I'm trolling for an internship in publishing."

  "You mean like books and stuff?" I noticed Melanie peeking from a crack in
the door. When she saw me on the phone, she crept back in and closed the door.

  "Kinda," Aurora was thoughtful. "But I want your advice."

  "Uh, sure," I nodded despite the fact she wouldn't see me. "I guess."

  "Great!" She seemed glad.

  With a step-daughter from Jamie, a son from Janet, and a third child coming
from Viktoriya, I figured it would be best to break things off with Aurora,
and let her down easy. Or I could include her in the pack. I winced at the
thought. So I was going to violate bigamy AND consanguinity laws. How can I
lose before a judge? I soured at my own sarcasm as some rustling noises came
through the connection, followed by Aurora's voice.

  "Lemme give you my flight info," she said.

  I took down her flight number and bid her goodbye. I wrote everything on a
post-it note and placed it on my wall calendar. I distinctly remembered the
date I took her call: September 1, 2001. Ten days later, Aurora Kwong was dead,
along with many, many others.

===============================================================================
  2001-09-11-0852 INCIDENT 
===============================================================================

  After a few days at the hospital, Janet and our son Michael came to live with
me at 35th Avenue. My room was mostly cleaned out by now save for the barest
of necessities for the baby and mother. While the 43rd Avenue site wasn't
furnished with any furniture, some of the interior furnishings were complete.
The gas, electricity and water were running, so someone could live there in a
pinch. But with all the noise of construction, it was no place for an infant
or its mother.

  I busied myself juggling the books to fake my mortgage payments. As a
"private security contractor" I was able to throw in just enough money from
the difference of my actual paycheck at Ferguson to make the mortgage payment
each month. Judging from the insane amount the county of San Francisco asked
for my property tax (1 percent of a million was a load of dough -- and my
building didn't cost just a million) I knew I had to ask Tseng for some more
"odd jobs" to cover my expenses. Hence, I was more than a little distracted
and occupied when the shit hit the fan.

  I remember it was a Tuesday; I'd gotten up early to finish calling up the
interior decorator (this one hottie from my school, Gracia Kosugi, was
definitely fuckable material if I wasn't so involved already) and finalizing
some less-than-legal cash payments to my licensed contractors.

  Suddenly, an odd creepy feeling oozed its way up the back of my brain. It was
like something was missing, or that I'd forgotten to put on an undershirt to
keep my body warm. I thought I was just tired. I shook my head and crept to
the bathroom to get my water. Janet and the baby slept in the warmer inner
room and turning on the lights in the kitchenette would have awakened both of
them.

  As I stared in the mirror, the eerie feeling only got worse. Two presences
that I'd known and become familiar with for years had dimmed: they'd gone dark
forever. My mind went into action almost immediately with me mind-pinging
those I held dear in silent panic. I knew both Janet and baby Michael were
safe. I went down my list as quickly and as carefully as I could: Shawn was
fine in Tokyo; Melanie was still snoozing (she had a late class); Jamie and
Jill were still slumbering but they were slowly coming to; and Viktoriya --

  'Vika?' I stumbled back towards my bed in the dark, trying to find my mobile
phone.

  'Viktoriya?' I mind-pricked her once more. There was no answer. But I was
getting a slight buzz of mental activity. I felt my innards chill and my heart
skipped a beat. I pinged her repeatedly. I sensed she was alive. Why wasn't
she answering? I was about to dial her on my mobile phone when --

  'S--stani--slav--a?' Her thought-speech was weak and jittery, like she was
distracted and un-focused.

  'Vika?' I thought-spoke. 'Are you okay? I just had this awful feeling.'

  'Help ... me ...' I couldn't see her but I knew she was terrified.

  'Vika? What happened?' I thought-spoke. She didn't -- or couldn't -- reply.

  'Vika?' I grabbed my jacket, keys, and anything else I thought I needed.
Nothing.

  "VIKTORIYA!!" My shout startled the baby and he started crying. Janet
stirred, obviously agitated. I came back into the room, picked up little Mikey
and took him to the chilly outer studio.

  "Sssh little guy," I swayed him side to side. "You piss off your mother and
she'll have you for breakfast."

  Of course, my son didn't really understand me. Even if I spoke to him
mind-to-mind it wouldn't have done much (infants, I later learned, are
extremely susceptible to mind-control and are the easiest to mold into
whatever a telepath wants; it was for this reason alone that I'd left most of
the punishment to his or her mother when they were younger; I too, was human,
and could make mistakes I'd regret).

  Baby Mikey began fidgeting and crying as I bounced him gently. I had to be
careful. If I shook him too hard, his brain (and organs) would splatter like
those banditos I used to dust on the border. All this time, I sensed little
more from Viktoriya. I started to earnestly worry. My fiery little Cossack
cutie never minced words. When she wanted to speak her mind, she did. So what
was capable of staying her tongue?

  I decided to ping Faraz and see where he was before I called him normally. He
was in New York City. Maybe he could check on her. Unfortunately, that eerie
blackness I had felt earlier greeted me instead of his presence. He simply
wasn't there. Impossible. There was only one way that could happen. I turned
on the radio in my studio for some light music to soothe little Mikey and
that's when I heard the news about the attack. I fought the nausea that welled
up in me as the news hit.

  Two aircraft? Like jetliner aircraft? Or propeller craft like the one that
hit the Empire State Building during World War II?

  "Stanley? God, what're you doing up so early?" Janet was up, her hair made
for a great rock band cover.

  "Something just happened in New York." I handed our noisy son to her waiting
arms. "I have to go."

  "Go? New York?" She was bleary eyed and confused. "Why? What's going on?"

  I turned on the television in the inner room. The radio blared as well: 'Two
planes -- we're not sure how -- have just hit the two buildings of the World
Trade Center in New York City. Repeat: two planes ...'

  "Oh my God," Janet sat dumbstruck on the bed. She was automatically rocking
Michael as he wailed for attention.

  "I have to go," I turned to my First. "Vika's not answering the phone. I need
to check on her and --" I didn't need to finish before Janet spoke.

  "Go on." She said firmly. "And call me when you get news. I'll check on
everyone else."

  As I headed out the door, I thought-spoke to the one person who could get me
to New York City in the blink of an eye.

  'Ghost Light. This is Snake Charmer. I need a favor.'

===============================================================================
  CASCADE REACTION 
===============================================================================

  Twenty minutes later, I was in bleak, sunny Brooklyn near Viktoriya's
apartment. I nearly stumbled as I got my bearings.

  "Thanks."

  "Don't mention it." David stepped back cautiously. It had taken him twenty
agonizing minutes to answer my thought-call, realize it was me (and not a
nightmare), fully come around, displace his wife someplace safe, and check out
the current events before he picked me up on the corner near the Java Island
coffee shop.

  Because that part of Brooklyn where Viktoriya lived wasn't really a part of
David's "area", we displaced as close as possible and ran the rest of the way.
It was probably the first time he had put his hands on me willingly and
displaced us. Normally, he wouldn't dare approach me, for fear that I could
read his mind.

  "Do you need me here?" he asked.

  "Maybe," I said as I hurried to Viktoriya's building. "I don't know. Why?"

  "I snatched a few people before the towers started collapsing," David said
softly. "But there were still people in there. Some firemen ..."

  "Can you picture yourself trapped under a hundred thousand tons of rubble?"
my tone came off colder than I wanted.

  "No," the sandy haired displacer kept pace with me.

  "Then don't think about trying to go back." I felt immediately apologetic as
soon as I said those words. I quickly adopted a more sensible tone. "I'm
sorry, but just leave it to the pros. You'll need specialized breathing gear
for the fire anyway."

  "I know it's wrong for me to think it," David said quietly. "But you know
what's fucked up?"

  "No."

  "I'm glad I can get away," he pursed his lips. "And I don't want to go back
in."

  I had no good answer. Heck, given the choice, I wouldn't have gone in at all.
A chunk of building that large and which was missing so many support beams
would be condemned by building inspectors as unsafe. Wrecking crews would've
demolished before it collapsed. I was nearly caught in a collapsing building
myself when I tried to wreck my condo before rebuilding it, and in hindsight,
that was probably one of the dumbest things I ever did. As for the twin
towers, I just wished the emergency crews who went in knew that before they
committed themselves to their one-way trip. Poor fucking bastards.

  By now, we were at the front of Viktoriya's place. We slipped in when one of
the tenants came out for her daily jog. Before she could say a word, we were
out of earshot. David and I ran up the stairs -- Viktoriya lived on the fifth
floor -- and I knocked loudly on her door. Not wanting to wait for a response,
I placed my hand over the door knob and feigned using keys on the door. I
simply used telekinesis to unlock the tumblers. She wasn't home.

  "FUCK!!" I made a fist and punched a nearby wall.

  POP

  David displaced a bit away from me. I glanced at the hole I had made. So much
for Viktoriya's security deposit. Now I had to fix it -- after I find her.

  "Could she be at work?" David asked helpfully. "Or at her dance school?"

  The institute! Of course! I was still on West Coast time and wasn't thinking
New York City was some three hours ahead. Viktoriya had been up for a while;
she'd be at work, not at home. I wasn't thinking straight. I raised my hand
for silence, closed my eyes and pinged: 'Viktoriya?' 'Where are you, milenky?'
I reached out and felt her presence. She was alive but in ...

  "Manhattan," I glanced at David. "The Bartenieff Institute. Can you get me
there?"

  "Can't say," he said. "I've never been there before."

  "Then the closest insertion to Eighth Avenue and West 37th?" I snapped.

  "Time Square would be close."

  "Do it."

  I held out my arm, my hand shut into a fist. David frowned but nodded and
grabbed me by the arm.

  POP

  I looked around. We were in a side alley off the main street. I walked out
and saw people were moving away from Battery Park, moving north. Some were
fixated on the dark dust cloud of concrete and charred remains of the planes
and their passengers rolling ominously out from the event site like
pyroclastic flow from a volcano.

  I ignored the spectacle and started walking. I shifted my focus, pushing
attention away from me. I didn't need a panicky cop or something telling me
where I needed to go. I needed to reach Viktoriya, and may the foreigners'
gods help any 'normal' who tried to stop me. After a few blocks, I noticed
David was trying to keep up, but I didn't slow down even for a second. My legs
felt stiff and my joints and muscles started to ache. I desperately wanted to
TK-skate, but couldn't. I couldn't levitate or do anything else. Neither did
David try anything. He could've teleported as far as his eyes could see, but
he didn't. Such was the price for us remaining incognito.

  About thirty minutes later, I reached the institute. I sensed Viktoriya was
nearby. The doors were locked by an electronic lock. I cursed and
concentrated. I found the strut inside the door and snapped it in two. I
wasn't going to be dissuaded by mere metal at this point. I pushed into the
mostly empty institute. A scattering of students were rushing out in dancing
tights, most lugging bags. As I worked my way through the building, I passed
others glued to TV sets, or who were crying. The hallways were confusing, but
didn't do much to hide Viktoriya. Her presence finally magnified as I made one
final turn.

  "Viktoriya," I breathed with some relief. Despite the pain and numbness in my
legs, I jogged down the hallway and opened the door. It was a dance studio,
devoid of everything save --

  "Vika!" I shouted with relief. My Cossack darling was sitting awkwardly on
the floor, and I nearly tripped over myself to go to her.

  "Are you okay?" I asked, nearly breathless. Viktoriya looked up, eyes and
cheeks wet with tears.

  "Stanislav?" she whispered. I knelt as she took my hand into both of hers. I
felt something was horribly wrong.

  "Vika? Are you okay? What's wrong?"

  She began crying uncontrollably and couldn't stop. I held her and looked
around. The studio was empty save for me, Viktoriya, David, and a ruggedly
handsome man. I had seen his face before, if only in photographs.

  "You are Zanislav?" Cristobel pointed at me. "Vika's boyfriend?"

  "Yeah." I rocked her as she sobbed. "What the hell's going on?"

  "The two towers." The young man looked at me and gestured expressively.
"Boom!"

  "We heard." David nodded soberly and glanced at my weeping woman. "What
happened to her?"

  "She is --" Cristobel frowned and searched for the words. "Emotional. Very
crying."

  "We can see that," the displacer said with annoyance.

  Suddenly I heard Cristobel speak, much more eloquently, right into my mind:
'She is in psychic shock, friend.'

  I glanced at him but the gay Italian stud betrayed nothing.

  'You are a telepath?' I thought-spoke. 'One with the empire?'

  Cristobel's eyes flicked toward David; the displacer got the feeling he
wasn't needed any more and decided he could do good elsewhere.

  "Hey Snay--er, Stanley," David nearly referred to me by code name but caught
himself in time. "I'm going to take off. Do some stuff."

  "Gotcha." I nodded and murmured, "Thanks."

  He nodded and left the studio without another word. Cristobel watched the
door close behind David before he dared broadcast again.

  'I am like you friend.' The handsome fellow sat on a chair and thought-spoke.
'But I am from the Old World. You are from the New World.'

  'There's a difference?' My curiosity was piqued but I turned back to the
whimpering woman in my arms. 'Never mind. Tell me later. What's this about
Viktoriya? What happened?'

  'She was exposed to an empath?' The well chiseled man cast his gaze on
Viktoriya and me both.

  I sensed a POP and David was gone. Probably gone to check on his wife
Millie. I knew David considered this transportation a favor. I wondered what
he'd ask of me later.

  "Yes," I decided to speak aloud. "I know an empath."

  My touch by now had calmed Viktoriya enough that she was only whimpering now.
I soothed her as best I could and cradled her tenderly in my arms.

  "Sssh!!" Cristobel jumped out of his seat and locked the studio's door. 'You
want the world to know?'

  'Sorry.' I thought-spoke. 'I'm not used to your voice in my head.'

  'It's a small discomfort compared to what people would do if they find out
about us, no?' The Italian stallion thought back. 'I am more conversant in
what you call "thought-speak" than when actually speaking.'

  "Really?" I slipped into normal speech again.

  He uttered a short, heavily accented, "Yes."

  "About Vika." I rocked her gently. "What happened?"

  Cristobel started to explain: Empaths were typically receivers. They felt the
mood and feelings of others around them and instinctively "know" about it. He
had been told that prolonged close physical with one may occasionally "infect"
(that was the term Cristobel used) another psychic sensitive and give him or
her the same emotional sensibility.

  Viktoriya's breakdown stemmed from several things: her new susceptibility to
emotions; two plane-loads of people suddenly realizing they were going to die
a split second before being incinerated; the people in the trade center
buildings who died on impact (psychic echo); those in the buildings above the
point of impact (I learned later) who were doomed, injured, or dying; and the
witnesses -- those goddamned 'normal' witnesses who watched the whole thing
unfold -- concentrated their fear, terror, and what-else in a rising wave of
alarm and panic. They're the ones who mind-blasted my Vika: dumb fuck
'normals'.

  'She'll be all right after a while.' Cristobel regarded me carefully. 'You
are not an empath are you?'

  'No.' I thought back. 'How'd you know?'

  'Because you either do not care about what just happened, or you have no
susceptibility to emotion.' He observed thoughtfully.

  'I care ...' I started my thought then abandoned it, for I knew it was
untrue.

  Well, partly untrue. About an hour ago when I rushed out of my house clear
across the other side of the country, I'd only gave a damn about Viktoriya and
our as-yet unborn child. I could've cared less about anyone else. One thing
got me curious though.

  'If you're empire.' I glanced at Cristobel. 'Did you tell Viktoriya about
it?'

  'Partly. She knows I am a dancer. And that I can speak to her mind when we
are close, but nothing more.'

  'Why?' I wondered. 'If we are alike, then shouldn't we ... ?'

  'We do things differently in the Old World. Those like Viktoriya are
generally robbed of their gift at birth. They can become too dangerous.' He
explained as best he could. 'That fellow Singh (he was referring to Tseng;
Cristobel had his face in mind). He wants it that way. Please keep Vika
ignorant about the rest of us.'

  'What is he?' I thought it a joke. 'The emperor?'

  'Why yes.' Cristobel looked at me with mild surprise. 'You did not know?'

  'Say again?' I blanched at the handsome homosexual.

  'After deposing the last leader for his excesses.' Cristobel explained.
'Singh (Tseng) took over. He is very much our leader.'

  My insides froze up. Tseng was the leader of the invisible empire? A
million questions went through my mind. What was his interest in me? And what
was that about psychokineticists having their gifts taken? Tseng was one, and
he was possibly one of the more powerful ones. Then that policy didn't make
sense. Why did he refuse to see Viktoriya? Was it jealousy, and Tseng was
afraid of a rival? Or was he afraid of infringing on my domain? Or was it
something completely different and more nefarious?

  Viktoriya aside, Tseng was certainly playing with fire. He had exposed
himself to the agency almost without regard to his own safety, as if his
position wasn't important. At least, that's what I thought. Cristobel helped
me grab and pack Viktoriya's things from her locker as I pondered all of that
for some time. In the aftermath of this incident, I realized there was much
more at stake. The world was indeed an ugly place, and it was about to get a
whole lot uglier. And despite my apolitical leanings, I was to become the
source of some of that misery. It's something few knew about outside the
invisible empire, and something I wasn't too proud of.

===============================================================================
  FALLOUT 
===============================================================================

  Tseng and I were busy in the weeks after September 11. On our semi-public
side, he and I (along with a small support staff) were organized into the
Para-surveillance and Sensitive Investigation (or PSI; the letters were
coincidental, I think) division of the agency. It was even more hush-hush than
usual, like Tom Clancy's fictional Third Echelon. The Homeland Security bureau
that was formed later never knew about us or what we did. When the torture and
advanced interrogation techniques Senate investigation came up, we were never
mentioned. That made sense. We didn't need a detainee's cooperation to get
what we wanted.

  Although it was probably Cox's wet-dream (or the agency's higher-ups) to have
us mind-scan every suspect they brought in, several things proved to hamstring
their efforts: 

  (A) the agency wasn't wholly sure they could "trust" someone like Tseng, who 
had made it clear that he was quite independent and capable of backing it up,

  (B) the agency wasn't wholly trusting of me, as they saw me as his student,

  (C) neither of us could understand Arabic (I only knew enough to make 
awkward passes at Faraz's sister Ami), and

  (D) I was still personally pissed off because Cox and the agency screwed with 
me by insinuating to the San Francisco police I was involved with that bank 
robbery; I might've had ulterior motives they didn't know about.

  So "PSI" was fairly limited to interrogating prisoners who knew English or
were domestic terrorists. The agency directors were smart enough to put me
where I could use what "talents" I had shown to them. The agency was also
smart enough to entice me with enough incentive that if I didn't cooperate,
maybe all those girls I was slamming on an almost nightly basis might be in
danger. It was a good plan because it worked; bio-terror was something even I
couldn't foresee.

  Just days after the Trade Center attack, the anthrax letters started going
out. I didn't show it, but I was genuinely terrified. Unless one knew about
the infected letters beforehand, there was no way for any empire citizen to
instinctively "know" what was coming. Publicly, it's still murky about the
who, the what, and the why the letters started, but suffice to say that it was
stopped.

  All I can say is that the anthrax trace operation was Phillipa's first
mission (even though she was only fifteen at the time, a clear violation of
U.S. Child Labor Laws). She had been training for about a year or so, and
living with her aunt, Susan Roget, in New York City. Aside from regular
schooling, the agency employed her for "extra-curricular activities" under
Tseng's hidden supervision. I got the distinct feeling that the three formed
some kind of impromptu foster family. I suspected it was something for
Phillipa's benefit to help her fit into the invisible empire, the agency,
Tseng's personal agenda, or all of the above.

  Despite the fact Tseng had been the one who killed her Uncle Pauly and cousin
Patch, Phillipa was tolerant of Tseng; at first I suspected some mental trick
was being played on her. Later, I realized that the reedy red-head didn't
recognize Tseng due to several things: 

  (1) in the chaos, everything did happen quickly and she didn't glimpse Tseng's 
face through David's "portal",

  (2) Tseng didn't participate in field operations with Mirage using his 
code-name Talisman, but rather as a mindful mentor, and

  (3) the agency, Tseng, and I never told her the whole truth.

  In any case, Mirage snuck into the suspected facility with Ghost Light on
stand-by. David was there to yank her out in case something went wrong. I was
there to investigate the captives and perhaps, try to use my "limited"
mind-reading to assist Mirage in evading sentries (she was a smart girl; she
didn't need my help).

  David and I watched the grainy video feed as Phillipa spied on the lab, got
what was needed, and reported in. It all went without a hitch; FBI agents took
down the place without much trouble. I personally doubted if all that was
needed; I noted the bureau's tactics could've been greatly enhanced with my
psychokinetic abilities. Thankfully, there were no casualties. The suspects
were arrested and I never heard about them again.

  Before I headed back home, I spent a brief half-day with Phillipa and her
Aunt Susan. To say that they looked nothing alike would be an understatement.
Despite their differences, Susan Roget was mindful and attentive to her
niece's needs. Miss Roget was pretty for a woman in her fifties. I poked in
and around what memories I could read without alerting her. I found she was
the grand-cousin of a shitty author by the name of Paul Roget. Some manuscript
Paul had wrote had piqued her interest -- something about invisible people --
and Tseng found her through his investigations.

  The two found a common thread and discovered that the invisibility "myth" in
the Roget family was a "gift" which was passed on from one generation to the
next. Normally, it went from an uncle to a nephew, so the case with Phillipa's
Uncle Pauly and his nephew Patch made sense. What didn't make so much sense
was Phillipa. All that made her case all the more interesting.

  The frightened dirty teenager I had pursued, cornered, and coaxed out from
the barn in up-state New York was now a radiant beauty with soft white skin,
perky little tits, freckled nose, and frizzy red hair. Aunt Susan must've
noticed my stares because I caught her thoughts as they streamed from her:
'Can this young man be more obvious?' and 'Horny bastard.'

  I almost smiled. If Phillipa was eighteen, I would've fucked her rotten. But
since she was still a kid (and I wasn't), I simply gave Phillipa a tender hug
and flew back home on time (for once). There, I was just in time to assist my
mentor in some empire clean-up. Cristobel was right about empaths. Tseng and I
were busy locating and -- in a handful of instances -- neutralizing emerging
psychotics. There was that term again. I was ready to pounce Tseng if he even
suggested "neutralizing" Melanie.

  Thankfully, it was all "psychic" neutralization. My mentor introduced me to a
very quiet fellow named Feodor Pinzevesky who was a "stabilizer" (or some shit
like that -- I can't recall exactly). All I knew was that if I found an empath
who was reacting badly in the wake of the event, I pinged Feodor and he'd pay
that individual a visit. I never knew what happened exactly, but I knew there
wasn't any killing or dead bodies; I followed up on all of Feodor's visits
afterwards to make sure Tseng wasn't bullshitting me.

  On a more personal level, my best friend of ten years was dead. I confirmed
that when I called his widow. Faraz had started his job at the New York Stock
Exchange, but had gone to visit a colleague at a firm at the Trade Center that
particular morning. I like to believe that he died instantly when the first
(or second -- it's all a jumble) plane impacted, but more than likely he
probably saw that wall of fire, metal, and charred bodies coming at him a
split second before he died.

  Occasionally, I wondered how much he suffered, or if he even did at all as
his flesh and skin melted, his hair ignited, his bones turned to ash from the
incredible heat of gooey flaming jet fuel. From my later studies in structural
reinforcement in a post-9/11 world, I knew it was as if napalm had been
slushed through the whole building, roasting everyone alive. I never told
Ghandia about that, and hopefully no one else ever will. Sometimes ignorance
was bliss.

  Faraz wasn't the only one I knew personally who'd died. I got more bad news
in the hours after I'd found Viktoriya. I had taken her back to her apartment
in Brooklyn to recuperate that day. I put her to bed then puttered around and
waited. I needed at least three or four hours before I could call back home as
my method of travel wasn't exactly public knowledge. With Viktoriya asleep and
looking for something to do, I headed out to find a local hardware store and
bought some spackle and small can of paint.

  I came back in time to answer Viktoriya's phone -- twice. The first call was
from the institute's director, who wondered where my lovely Cossack cutie had
gone (I told her she was in shock from the attack; the director understood and
hung up) and the second was from the Lychenkos. They were surprised I answered
their daughter's phone; I reassured them she was safe and said she was resting
in the room from today's shock.

  It was early evening in New York while I sat bedside next to Viktoriya,
dividing my attention between the news feed on television and looking over
her, when my mobile phone rang. It was Janet calling and she had more bad news
from my mother. My cousin Aurora was on one of the other planes that had
crashed that day. My mother had gotten Aurora's flight info from my post-it
and found that the flight she was on was the one that crashed in Pennsylvania.
My resourceful Lady Wu did her best to distract my mother, who was wondering
where the hell I was. Janet herself was mildly surprised. All flights had been
stopped for a while, so how I was I able to get to New York on such short
notice?

  "Your contract work?" she asked in a hushed voice.

  "Something like that, yeah."

  "Be careful," Janet murmured, "Don't make me a widow."

  "I won't --" I gripped my phone so tightly I cracked its housing, "-- ever."

  Two days passed and Viktoriya's condition hadn't changed much. She ate, went
to the bathroom, and slept, but she was a shell of a person. I had to lead her
into the shower to get her cleaned up. Cristobel suggested that I get her away
from New York City to see if her condition changed.

  'It's the people here.' He surmised. 'I'm not an empathic-receiver and even I
can feel it.'

  I took him up on that idea. Cristobel, his boyfriend Marcello, and I
bullshitted the institute's director into letting Viktoriya take an extended
sabbatical. It was for her pregnancy anyway, so the director agreed. When the
planes were all flying again, I packed Viktoriya's things and we returned to
San Francisco. Once there, I put her up in the first finished unit (first
floor west) at our 43rd Avenue home.

  Despite her condition, Viktoriya wasn't empathic, hence I never called
Feodor. Her state of shock only afflicted her mind but no one else. And Feodor
wasn't the only one who could treat psychic wounds (although his method was
more of an exorcision rather than earnest rehabilitation), Melanie seemed to
have a healing touch as well because Viktoriya noticeably got better when ever
the young woman visited.

  Aside from Little Chen, Janet and Jamie both came to call at different times
(mostly Jamie, who was fearful of coming between Janet and me) to pay their
respects. By the end of the week, Viktoriya was well enough to push me around
again (we resumed many of our telekinesis exercises) although I sensed she was
still fairly fragile inside. My vixen from the Volga surprised me most by
remaining on her best behavior when Janet brought along little Mikey for a
visit (Jamie never brought Jillian until later). My dancing darling had been
humbled from both her pregnancy and her close brush with catatonia.

  On a related note, I was worried about Yu-Ching. From what Cristobel had
said, I was afraid she'd breakdown as well. However, I noticed while she was
surprised and saddened from the terror attack, she didn't get overly
emotional. I hypothesized it may have been personal affection. Viktoriya had
been living in the Big Apple for nearly four years whereas Melanie had only
visited it once (and briefly).

  Funerals and memorial services were held by those families who could reclaim
and recognize the bodies. Some, like my friend Faraz and my cousin Aurora,
only had empty caskets because "rescue workers" couldn't find enough of their
remains to fill a salt shaker. But at least my cousin was on the passenger
list; this meant her family got some kind of closure. Faraz's visit to the
World Trade Center was unauthorized and totally under the table. I only knew
about it by correlating my gift with the message he left on his wife's voice
mail.

  "He said he knew someone in a brokerage firm," Ghandia confessed. "He told me
he was going up there to see if he'd like working there."

  In the vain hope that he was still alive, Ghandia would call his number. Ten
days after 9/11, Faraz's voice mail reached its limit and took no more
messages. Me, Ghandia, his sister Ami, and his parents pretty much knew he
wasn't going to return our calls. Faraz's service was small and very private.
Only close friends and some family (those few who had left Saddam's Iraq) were
in attendance. In lieu of his body, there was an effigy of him wrapped in
white linen. Ghandia was in denial right up to the moment that the effigy was
hauled away by the iman (cleric).

  Up till then, she'd been quiet with tears running down her cheeks. The next
thing I knew, Ghandia broke down with such a cry of despair, I looked around
as if I was embarrassed to be next to the weeping widow. Ami nudged me so I
helped Ghandia up. The weeping widow bawled out on my shoulder as I did my
best to console her. Heck, I wasn't that close to her -- just Faraz.

  That's when I saw Rachelle at the mosque. She wore dark sunglasses and a
scarf that doubled as a hood covering. The black beauty was alone and dressed
conservatively. I still saw she had a killer figure. She saw me clear across
the mosque's small chamber and I locked eyes with her. I caught a stray
thought or two from her: shock at seeing me and Ghandia embracing then her
thoughts turned to the business at hand.

  As Rachelle walked up to us, I disengaged from Ghandia as politely and as
gently as I could. I sensed the two needed some time alone. If they didn't, I
did; I excused myself and rinsed my hands and face in the washroom.

  The close deaths hadn't affected me as much as I had thought. The sight of
Rachelle though, had awakened some bad memories. I thought I had gotten over
her. I had started a family (of sorts) and moved on, or so I thought. But some
feelings just never go away. They just lingered. As I stepped out from the
washroom, I ran right into her.

  "Oops. Hey, sorry about that." I composed myself and smiled wanly.

  "Drat. Ah no harm, no foul." Rachelle's hands were shaking as she rummaged
through her purse.

  "Doing good, Rachelle?" I asked a little too casually.

  "Yeah." She pulled out a cigarette and lit it as we walked outside. "And you,
Stanley?"

  "Can't complain." I glanced at her and asked, "Still smoke to keep thin?"

  "These?" Rachelle grinned nervously before she finished her answer. "Kinda.
Well, no. You're right. I should quit."

  She stubbed her cigarette and remained smoke free for the rest of the time I
saw her, although I noticed her whole body would tremble slightly.

  "Hey, I know this is a bad time to ask," I said slowly, "But it's been a
little while since your last email."

  "Yeah," she said, "Been busy and all that."

  "So, do you have a moment?" I managed a smile. "We should catch up."

  "Still the same old Stanley." Rachelle braved a laugh and brushed her hair
back. "Sure. Let's get some coffee."

  So, we talked a bit at a drinks cafe. She was a broadcast producer now,
working in some office in Los Angeles. She ticked off some shows she had
handled (none I recognized) before she asked me how I was.

  "Same old." I nursed my drink as I studied her carefully. Rachelle was a
little heftier now, although still attractive. She was conservatively dressed,
and I noticed that she wore rings on her right hand, but not her left. Had
something gone awry with Craig?

  While it was tempting to pry, I didn't ask as I told her about my work at
Feruson Graphics, then a little bit about the building on 43rd Avenue (it was
the first "baby" Shawn and I had, even if it was made of wood, concrete, and
light steel and weighed 1500 tons). I omitted a lot of other things. We sat in
an awkward silence for a while. I dug a bit into her mind and sensed she was
hiding something. Heck. We both were.
 
  "So how're you and Craig?" I pressed. I wondered if I could dredge things out
the old fashioned way.

  "We're okay."

  Rachelle was a little dismissive, evasive even. It was then I noticed even in
the interior of the cafe, she kept her sunglasses on. It caused me some
concern as I studied her face. I blinked and noticed there was a small crack
in her lip. It was minuscule but it wasn't noticeable unless someone really
looked for it. Having fucked and sucked those luscious lips of hers, I knew
exactly what I was looking for. I sat stunned as a I hazarded a guess as what
Rachelle was trying to hide.

  "We should double date," I said slowly.

  I didn't know how to proceed, but shaking Craig's hand again might do for a
start. I wanted to know what he was up to and how he could live with himself
striking a helpless woman.

  "Are you still with Janet?" Rachelle asked.

  I nodded but said nothing about our son.

  "I see." She lowered her gaze. "Maybe later. Here's my number. I'm staying at
the Parc 55 until Sunday."

  "I'll do that." I took her glossy card. It read: Rachelle Hollister,
Producer. 555-1821. There was an email (the same one she'd been emailing me
recently) but I didn't recognize the company. I realized that her name hadn't
changed. I glanced at her left hand again, if just to be sure. She wore no
ring.

  "Thanks for coffee," she said as she rose. "Keep in touch if I don't see you
later, okay?"

  "Sure thing, sugar."

  I replied so naturally that I didn't realize I had called her by the pet name
we both used years ago. Rachelle froze up and I thought she was going to hit
me. She gazed at me sadly from behind the glasses, and I sensed the maelstrom
of emotion and thoughts within her mind.

  "Same old Stanley." She turned to me and grinned for the first time in a long
while.

===============================================================================
  REDISCOVERING RACHELLE 
===============================================================================

  Despite all the death that had occurred, Rachelle ignited something I had
long repressed within me. I still loved her, and I sensed she still had
feelings for me. I agonized over Rachelle's card all day at work. Janet was at
home taking care of the baby, Viktoriya was starting to show, and Jamie was
more than eager for Jill to recognize me as her new father. So going out and
fucking an old high school girlfriend absolutely made sense.

  I was already pushing things with five girls, one of whom remained an
unspoken secret, so why the fuck not? I made a face and clone-stamped a new
set of corner braces for a T-junction on my computer. I shouldn't have been
thinking about Rachelle: her long tan legs. Smooth brown thighs. Soft tits
with those dark chocolate nipples. Her face and those little looks she'd give
me when I crawled on top of her and stuck her like a squealing little piglet.

  I slammed CONTROL + S and saved my project before I practically leaped for
the phone. I called Janet first, and told her I wouldn't be back. My desperate
horniness aside, I wanted definitive proof Rachelle was in trouble. A cracked
lip was hardly anything to get worked up over, but if she was really hiding
her abuse ...

  "That's fine," my First replied. "Yu-Ching wants to help with Mikey so we'll
be fine."

  My next call was to Jamie, telling her I probably wasn't able to stop by a
little later.

  "Oh that's all right I guess," she said softly. "Oh, and Viktoriya's here."

  "She is?" I asked surprised.

  'I am Stanislav.' Viktoriya's thought-speak made it a quasi-conference call.

  "Oh, Jillian wants to talk to you," Jamie said over the handset.

  I waited for the handset to be passed while Viktoriya continued to speak to
my mind. 'Jillian is very cute! Why did you not mention her before?'

  'Knowing what you want to do to her mother?' I scoffed. 'You'll scar her for
life.'

  'We'll never know until we try won't we?!' Viktoriya's capriciousness was
evident.

  'Vika, don't be so impetuous.' I scolded her in our silent tongue. 'At least
have our child first before you start cleaning carpets again.'

  'Bleyah.' She gave me a mental sigh. 'I'll die of boredom before then.'

  'Have Melanie get you some girl videos. Just play nice until then.' I begged
her. 'Janet still doesn't know about Jamie. Or Jill.'

  'You filthy brute!' Viktoriya feigned horror. 'Impregnating women left and
right!'

  I was about to correct her when Jillian came on and greeted me with an
excited cry of: "Daddy!"

  I grinned nervously. Her exuberance still freaked me out a bit. It was like
looking at a portal into the future: kids who would explode suddenly with
excitement.

  "Hey Jillian," I greeted her. "What'd you do today?"

  "Lots o'things --!" and she proceeded to talk for another five minutes while
I replied with "mmnn-hmm", "gotcha", "sounds cool" and listened with less than
half an ear while Viktoriya and I conferred.

  'Do you think Janna will agree?' Viktoriya asked me. 'A fifth wife? She
doesn't seem very forgiving. Her cunt has all the trademark features of a --'
She used a Russian term that was the equivalent of "anal retentive tight-ass
bitch".

  'I hope you didn't tell her that.' I soured. 'Janet eats babies. Your
babies.'

  'Myeh!' Viktoriya sniffed and began mentally teasing me with what she wanted
to do to Jamie. I was mildly surprised and impressed. I didn't know women
could bend like that. By now, Jillian had spent herself, so I decided to end
the call.

  "All righty, listen I gotta go," I said, "Please put mommy back on the
phone."

  "U'kay I luv'you bu'bye!" Jill passed the phone back to her mother.

  "Gosh she's a talker," Jamie and I both spoke at once, stopped and laughed.

  "Do you want to say 'hi' to Viktoriya?" she asked.

  'But we already talked!' Viktoriya transmitted through mind-sight, and I saw
she was shaking her head.

  "No, that's okay," I said. "I bet she's saying no."

  Jamie laughed, "How'd you guess?"

  I chuckled and was about to bid her goodbye when Jamie whispered into the
phone in a hushed voice.

  "Stanley," she murmured, "We have to talk tomorrow. Can you make it?"

  "Privately?" I asked. Through Viktoriya's point of view, I saw she was
teaching Jillian how to dance. Jamie was leaned over the sofa in her living
room.

  "Of course." Jamie's words bore sultry overtones. "I NEED to talk to you,
understand?"

  "I'll swing by tomorrow." I made a note to clear my day. "Promise."

  "Cross your heart?" Jamie breathed.

  "Hope to die," I replied.

  'You will if you do me after her!' Viktoriya growled into my mind unkindly.
'Me first kisa! You can rub my feet too. They're all sore and swollen.'

  'Fine.' I relented. 'I'll do you first before I leave for Jamie's place.'

  'Good Stanislav.' My dusky Russkie signed off. Naturally, no one else caught
that dialog between me and Viktoriya.

  "Okay, I'll see you then," Jamie whispered and hung up. As soon as she did, I
called up Rachelle.

  Man, I must be out of my fucking mind. The other line began to ring as I
drummed my fingers on the desk. Rachelle tonight. Viktoriya tomorrow to be
quickly followed by Jamie, and who knows what after. Well, I'll die happy, I
thought darkly as I turned my attention back to my current call. It had been
ringing for a little while. I was about to hang up after five more rings when
someone picked up.

  "Hello?" Rachelle came over the other line.

  "Hey Rachelle." I calmed myself. "It's Stanley. Free tonight?"

  "Um, wait." I heard the speaker brush against something before she spoke
again. "Tonight? I don't know. What time?"

  I glanced at the clock then said, "Seven how's that? I know a little place."

  "I think I can do that," she said.

  I asked her the one question on my mind since seeing her ringless hand:
"Anyone else coming?"

  "No." She sounded strange.

  "Hey are you okay?" I asked her.

  Rachelle didn't answer immediately. I heard a voice in the background and
wondered if that was Craig. I kept silent on my end and listened.

  "No one!" she suddenly cried out.

  When I heard that, I stood up in alarm. I heard sounds of a struggle over the
phone before the call went dead. Great. More trouble. I sensed Rachelle was
terrified and not surprised. For me, it clearly sounded more like a domestic
issue and not a robbery. I hesitated only for minute before I headed out the
door. The office phone I had used had blocked caller ID. There wouldn't be a
way to find out who called unless Rachelle talked. I headed down to the street
and hailed the first available cab.

  "Where to?" asked the driver.

  "Parc 55 on Fifth," I said and sat back, wondering how I should proceed.

  I decided to risk it and dipped into Rachelle's mind a bit using detached
mindsight. I found her view being jolted from one side to the next. I could
barely make out the fellow in the room, but I knew his skin was white. I also
knew I needed to hurry.

  "Hurry if you can."

  "I'll try, buddy," the cabbie replied, annoyed.

  "$100 if you get me there in five minutes," I snapped.

  "You're the boss."

  The cab lurched on a right turn, then a left, then straight ahead. We stopped
only briefly for red lights before the driver made some unscheduled turns
through some alleys. His time was a shade over five minutes but I didn't care.

  "Must be some date," the driver remarked as I stepped out and rifled my
wallet.

  I threw him two $50 bills and ran through the front doors. I didn't need the
front desk to locate Rachelle. That would've meant getting caught on camera. I
was still familiar enough with Rachelle's presence to find her though. I
jogged down the hallway on the ninth floor trying to zero in on her. I pinged
and got different results: a whore here and there (by 2004 as nearly 10 to 15
percent of the guests at any upscale hotel were in fact, prostitutes of male,
female, and trans-sex persuasion in and around the San Francisco area), and
the occasional business person or touring family.

  I finally found her room: 9306. The lock was secured by electronic keycard. I
put my ear to the door and heard almost nothing. However, I did feel
Rachelle's urgency. She felt she was in danger -- mortal danger. I suppose I
could've knocked, but I was so worked up from the trip and from her frantic
voice over the phone, I telekinetically slid the tumblers back and burst into
the room.

  The pasty faced fellow I'd met years ago at Faraz's and Ghandia's engagement
dinner had Rachelle by the neck. He was using a twisted bed sheet to choke
her. Even from the doorway, I could see her face start to turn into a pale
green-blue from lack of oxygen. My sudden entry really did a number on Craig.
As soon as I cleared the door, I focused a small telekinetic push backwards
and slammed it shut behind me. I wanted no witnesses.

  The pale-faced man started to shout but I shut him up by bounding across the
room and gripping his throat. He clawed at my face and beat at my chest but I
repelled his feeble attempts to fight me off. I focused my telekinesis on my
hand that now held him and shackled him to the floor. I applied more
telekinesis and pressed his upper and lower jaws together so he could moan,
but couldn't form words. I didn't need him to speak anyway.

  "Rachelle? Sugar?" I looked back and saw she was coming around. She was
coughing but she seemed all right.

  "Stanley?" The dark skinned beauty got up like she was drunk.

  I surveyed the room and said, "Get your things. Pack up. We're leaving."

  "What?" Rachelle swayed on her feet, dizzy and disoriented. "No, I can't
--!!"

  "Please don't argue, sugar." I prodded her mind gently. "You're hurt. Just
grab your purse and coat and wait outside by the door okay?"

  The mulatto winced as she obediently gathered her purse and a coat. As soon
as she was out of earshot, I turned back to the man I was holding to the
ground.

  "You can leave or stay. I don't care." I let my finger graze his cheek so I
could "mark" his presence. "But if I ever see you near Rachelle again, or if I
even think you're harassing her ..."

  I released my telekinetic grip on his jaws so he could talk.

  "Fuck you." Craig struggled but I quickly tightened my hold once more.

  "I ain't askin' for a favor, boy." I lowered my voice. "Consider this your
only warning. And if you call the cops -- well, you know what happens to
wife-beaters."

  I applied some pressure to neck and closed off his airway. Craig thought I
was choking him to death. I might as well have. I relinquished pressure as
soon as he fell faint. I knew Craig would be pissed once he woke up. He might
say I even kidnapped Rachelle, so I doused his memories: I became an unknown
loud noise.

  From Craig's point of view, he walked away from Rachelle to investigate and
when he turned around, she had fled. To explain him being on the ground, I
"suggested" that he drank himself silent. I still needed physical evidence
though, so I pulled open the mini-bar, opened a few bottles of alcohol,
splashed their contents over his hair, neck, and chest, and scattered the
bottles around him.

  I was sure a toxicology test would disprove my set-up, but I was also sure
there would be no such test. I wasn't going to kill Craig, and there would be
no police report from Rachelle or about her. I would take care of things. I
hadn't physically touched a thing at all, and Craig hadn't put his hands on me
at all. Still, I needed to appear 'normal', so I grabbed a hand towel from the
bathroom and covered my hands. I left the room using the hand towel as a
cover, and visibly wiping my hands clean. I found it unnecessary; Rachelle was
milling around in a daze.

  "Stanley? Wha'happened? Is'sit seven already?"

  "Yes that's right," I held the tipsy woman gently by the arm. "C'mon sugar.
Let's go."

  Getting Rachelle into another cab was easy; it was masking her disheveled
state that was hard. Instead of bringing her to a fancy restaurant as I had
intended earlier, I brought her straight to my new home on 43rd. Aside from
the unit Viktoriya was using, its companion unit (same floor, opposite side)
was operational.

  Despite my hectic schedule, I had moved almost all of my things here to (what
I thought) was a temporary location. Shawn, Melanie, Janet, and Viktoriya
hadn't picked where they wanted to live yet, so I figured I'd sort that out
later. I helped Rachelle into my working room and lay her down on the
fold-down sofa-bed. The bed was the same model as the one in Viktoriya's New
York City apartment. I liked it so much, I bought one myself, figuring I could
move it into my room later.

  Rachelle was a mess. I was amazed she had remained awake this long because
she blacked out as soon as her head hit the pillow. You may wonder why I
hadn't brought her to a hospital. Well for one thing, I didn't trust them. I
also didn't want records of her admittance. I guess I was still overly
cautious and paranoid from what happened with Jamie. And I was unsure how
Craig would react; I didn't want to leave a trail he could follow. I wondered
now how much the police would involve themselves despite all the precautions I
took.

  Well, we shall see, I thought. I had to have patience and see how things
turned out. All I knew was that I was part of the invisible empire and I took
care of my own -- be they gifted or not. I examined Rachelle's face and her
bruising. Her wounds were very much like Jamie's after Pincelli hit her. I
grabbed an egg from the refrigerator and plopped it into a pot. As the egg
simmered in the boiling water, I ran some towels through some hot water. I
wrung them dry and applied them gently on her arms and face. When I did,
Rachelle gasped and opened her eyes.

  "Stanley?" she croaked. "What happened?"

  "You were beaten." I chose my words with care, "Looks worse than it is
though. Are you in great pain?"

  "Just sore." Rachelle winced when she tried to adjust herself. "I feel awful.
And tired."

  "Okay. Relax and rest." I stroked her hand gently and spoke in a soothing
voice, "You're safe now. He won't bother you ever again."

  She closed her eyes. I could see tears well up as she fought the urge to cry.
I sensed her anger and embarrassment so I turned away to tend the egg on the
stove. When the water boiled the egg for a bit, I shut off the gas stove and
took it back with me with a dish rag.

  "Ouch!" She winced when I rolled the hot egg gently against her mocha skin.

  "Sorry sugar." I gave her an apologetic grin. "Should've warned you."

  "What're you doing?" Rachelle whispered.

  "It's an old wives' remedy," I explained, "Similar to a heat-pack. Helps
dissipate bruises by increasing your blood circulation."

  "Is it edible after?" she asked, "I'm starved."

  "I bet you are. Just wait a sec." I rolled the rapidly cooling egg on
Rachelle's cheeks and temple. Her eyes watched me as I finished. I felt her
body and mind relax a bit.

  "Here." I handed the egg to her. "I'll get you something for the shells."

  I grabbed a bowl and some napkins, passed them to her then headed back to the
refrigerator and filled her a cool glass of chilled water.

  "Better?" I sat beside her.

  Rachelle nodded.

  "So, I pretty much wrecked dinner," I smiled apologetically. "Let's order in.
What do you feel like?"

  "Anything's fine I s'pose," she said quietly.

  "All right." I patted her hand. I rung up a nearby Chinese place and ordered
some wonton and dumpling noodles, and some Chinese broccoli in oyster sauce. I
went out and was back in ten minutes. When I came back, I heard the shower
hissing.

  "Dinner's served." I unpacked everything on the table.

  The shower's hiss stopped and I could hear her call out, "Stanley? Do you
have towels?"

  "What?" I soured. "Right. Sorry. Gimme a second."

  I quickly slipped into Viktoriya's unit and grabbed two clean towels from the
linen closet. She wouldn't miss them.

  "Here." I handed them to Rachelle. She took them gratefully and closed the
bathroom door. When she came out, Rachelle was wearing just a bath towel. She
had donned the one of the pair of slippers I used when I stayed overnight to
work on the building interiors.

  "Is this where you live now?" she asked me.

  "Not exactly home is it?" I looked around.

  Compared to my old room, the unit was spartan and bare. Only some of the
lights had been installed and fluorescent working lights illuminated the
unfloored rooms. Spare wires stuck out from cut-outs in the walls and grease
pencil and spray paint marks delineated where future details were to go. I
considered myself lucky to have a table, chairs, and a drawer full of napkins
and disposable eating utensils.

  "It's different." Rachelle gave me a brave smile. "Doing some remodeling?"

  "Yeah." I took a bite from a dumpling and downed it before I could finish my
answer. "Working on it for some time."

  "Oh I see," she said. "What's your landlord got to say about this?"

  "I am the landlord," I replied and she nodded. I prodded her when I saw she
didn't touch her food. "Not your kinda thing?"

  "No, it's good." Rachelle pushed a wonton down and it immediately resurfaced
around her fork. "I just don't want to cause you any trouble."

  "Trouble? What trouble?" I asked as I pulled some condiments from a packing
box.

  "Craig may be a douche," she said quietly, "But his dad has friends in high
places."

  "Oh really?" I pricked my ears and then searched her mind. "How high?"

  "I don't know," Rachelle said with a defeated tone. "Just high. That's how I
got my job at the studio."

  "You'll be fine." I patted her hand. "If not, I'll do what I can to help."

  "You're too kind." She remained despondent.

  "What's wrong?" I tried to cheer her up. "Tell me."

  "Well, it's ..." Rachelle trailed off with a heavy sigh. She gathered herself
and resumed, "I know my job and all but it's not something I'm that good with.
I feel kinda lost to tell the truth."

  "Don't feel that bad." I suddenly remembered something. "Hey, I got something
for you."

  "Oh? What is it?"

  I got up and rummaged through the things I'd already moved here. I found the
package I was looking for. It was thrown in with a bunch of things labeled
"fabric samples". I thought it was foolish of me to include it but I wanted
anything and everything that could be used as examples for Gracia (our
interior decorator). But there it was, unopened, just like I'd bought just
today instead of a few months ago.

  "Here." I passed the package to her. "I meant to give it to you the next time
I saw you, but things kinda got busy."

  Rachelle grasped the corner then looked at me quizzically. "May I?"

  "Of course sugar."

  I shot her that trademark grin of mine and she blushed. Her slim dark fingers
put a little hole in the package and slowly tore it open. Rachelle's curious
look was replaced by one of confusion then surprise as the contents poured out
into her hand.

  "Oh -- my --" She gulped as her wide eyes saw the kimono I'd bought in Tokyo.

  "I kinda guessed your height and size and stuff." I managed a nervous laugh.
"Hope it fits; if not we can adjust it --"

  "J-town," Rachelle whispered.

  "Yeah you remember right?" I felt giddy from the memory. "Remember that shop
on the bridge? And, hey -- sugar, what's wrong?"

  I sensed she was fighting back the urge to cry, but that only made things
worse. I stood close by and touched her arm gently.

  "Hey, hey, hey," I said gently, "I'm sorry Rachelle. I didn't mean it."

  She looked at me with wet but happy eyes; I waited patiently for her to say
something but she only leaned close and hugged me.

  "Well look, if you hate the color that much," I joked good-naturedly, "I'll
help you exchange it. No problems, sugar."

  Rachelle drew back in shock. Then she saw my stupid face and cracked a small
smile. I laughed and ruffled her curly brown locks.

  "Stanley Chen," she hugged me and cried, "I shouldn't have ever let you go!"

  "Sssh darlin'," I held her close, "It's all good. No harm done."

  I blinked, surprised that Rachelle's sobs coming out stronger rather than
subsiding. Did I say something wrong? I dared a peek into her mind and found
that her life was pretty screwed up. Not as screwed up as Jamie's, but almost
as much. Soon after Rachelle and I broke up, Craig had moved in for the kill.
Rather than simple sex, he found controlling her more his thing.

  He helped her get a job at a low rent cable company, but it wasn't an act of
altruism. His father owned a stake in the business and Craig put Rachelle's
livelihood under his thumb. All that she bought and owned was, in a sick way,
owned by Craig. Living under that kind of stress, I saw why Faraz had asked me
if I saw Rachelle recently. Now that I had a chance to examine her closely, I
noticed her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks were shallow, and her skin was a
little discolored.

  "Seeing you and Ghandia was just too much." Rachelle hugged me so tightly, I
was having trouble drawing breath.

  "What?" I gave her an odd look, "Why's that?"

  "It -- it just made me so jealous." Her gaze dipped and avoided mine. "Am I
crazy Stanley?"

  While Faraz wasn't the closest person to Rachelle (he was close only through
Ghandia), having her own problems made her feel all alone just the same.
Seeing Ghandia so widowed made Rachelle (and later on, me) wish that Craig had
been the one killed instead of Faraz. I was never really interested in
Ghandia. We were never close and I only tolerated her (and her big Jewish
nose) because Faraz loved her so damn much. But after so many years, one can't
just cut ties so easily; I tried to understand it from Rachelle's point of
view and dealt with it as best I could.

  "No," I said, "You're not crazy."

  I fell into a silent gloom almost immediately. Talking about Ghandia simply
reminded me of Faraz. Neighbors of his own countrymen, Saudi Arabians, had
killed one of their own and didn't know it. It was like me killing Vietnamese
boat people in the Tenderloin simply because they got in my way. Where was the
sense in that? What kind of fool would let his self-righteousness blind him
from rational thought? I had gotten so riled from Faraz's death, I didn't
notice I was unconsciously crushing Rachelle with telekinesis.

  "Ugh, Stanley." I felt my black beauty fidget. "You're crushing me."

  "What?" I relinquished my grip immediately. "Oh, sorry."

  "That's all right. Rachelle touched my cheek gently. "It must be hard for you
too."

  I shook off the feeling. I didn't need it clouding my mental clarity.

  "I'm fine sugar." I kissed her hand. "I'm more worried about you."

  "Same old Stanley," she murmured, "You worry too much."

  "Maybe so." I let out a small laugh and stroked the small of her back. The
mulatto's next words came out slow.

  "What about her?" There was only one person she was referring to: Janet Wu.

  "Don't think about that," I murmured and kissed her. "This is our time."

  Rachelle didn't shy away, but she didn't respond either.

  "Can you hate me for being so jealous?" she asked softly.

  "Sugar," I rubbed her back, "I can never hate those I love."

  "What?!" She looked at me evenly, "You can't be serious about --!"

  When Rachelle saw my foolish grin, she shook her head and tried to pull away
from me.

  "C'mon sugar." I tickled her chin, "It'll be just like old times!"

  "Along with old hurt!" Rachelle glared at me. "I can't!"

  "Rachelle. Sugar," I calmed her as best I could, "Sit. I think you need to
hear me out."

  I lead my mulatto minx to the sofa-bed and sat her down. I took her hand and
started to explain. Okay, so I also did a little "persuasion". Sue me. I loved
her, she was in trouble, and there was only one way I knew how to do things. I
started with Janet (and left out the naughtier parts), moved onto Shawn
(ditto), Melanie (had to), Viktoriya (bimbo), and lastly Jamie (hubba-hubba).
Rachelle was completely cowed and blown away at my revelations.

  "Y--you're kidding me right?" She looked at me with fright in her eyes.
"You're a Mormon?"

  "Hell no." I made a face and replied, "You knew me from back when we were
dating; I don't care for church."

  "But what you're doing is --" Rachelle covered her mouth.

  "Sssh!" I put a finger to my lips, "It's called bigamy and it's illegal, but
only if paperwork is filed."

  She looked at me confused. "What do you mean if paperwork gets filed?"

  "Look, Janet and I have been researching this for some time now," I
explained, "She and I think we have it airtight because we're not going to
leave a paper trail."

  "What?! That's crazy!" My dark darling lay back, shaking her head. "You're
crazy Stanley, if you think you can marry that many women and get away with
it."

  I grinned and grazed her smooth tan thighs. "Wanna bet sugar?"

  Rachelle had the temerity to laugh. I didn't care if it was directed at me or
not; so long as she was smiling. I felt her old self slowly coming back. My
touch had the effect I wanted. She was relaxed now, her mind and body
susceptible to my words once more. Nevertheless, I sensed her reluctance. It
was only natural, I knew but I was pumped from all the running about. Having
my mocha-skinned mulatto alone with me in a room and so close brought back
both nostalgia, and a level of horniness I hadn't possessed since I was a
teenager.

  I cautiously extended a hand and rested my palm on her knee. Rachelle didn't
push me away, nor did she urge me on. I gave her knee a squeeze and I saw her
cheeks redden slightly. Thus encouraged, I began massaging her thighs and
calves. She groaned softly as I slowly worked over her body with my fingers.
It had been some time since the two of us were intimate, so Rachelle was
surprised that my grip was so much stronger. Actually, it was a combination of
practice (I had plenty) and my gift, especially telekinesis. Although I was
not as adept as Viktoriya with telekinesis initially, I was surprised how
skilled I became with it with constant practice.

  Rachelle's lovely legs trembled as my fingers danced over her dark brown
skin. When I sensed her doubts waning, I leaned down and kissed her gently on
a spot of her cheek that wasn't bruised. She gasped in surprise and her legs
clamped shut. I went slow, calming her down and stoking my dark darling's
inner lust. We hadn't seen each other in four years and I wasn't sure if (or
how) her habits and boundaries changed.

  As I kissed her neck and breasts, Rachelle sighed and signaled she was quite
content with what I was doing. I slipped my hands under her towel and she
responded instantly by grabbing me in the right places. I slipped the kimono
back into its pouch and put it gently on the ground. Rachelle smiled shyly as
I pulled off the towel that hid her nakedness and draped it neatly beside her
on the bed. Her twat was now a thick patch of curly fur, very much like what
it used to be except a bigger, thicker expanse. I bent down and sniffed. Her
familiar mocha musk came back to me and I felt my dick point to attention at
the scent.

  She gasped as I pulled her legs apart and kissed the sides of her thighs and
backs of her calves. Fucking five other girls on a nearly regular basis for
the past fourteen years had pretty much made me a seasoned pro. I teased her
freshly bathed legs and buttocks, not bothering to dive straight for her twat.
The room was a little chilly, so Rachelle pulled the towel over her like a
makeshift blanket. I didn't mind as my mulatto minx half-lay, half-sat her
nice long tan legs spread wide. I crammed myself in between her tender brown
loins and ate her out.

  "Oh fuck. That feels good," Rachelle sighed as she lay down on her back.

  I felt her whole body relax and wondered if I should ping Viktoriya. After
all, she did want to see Rachelle. But then again, Viktoriya was carrying my
child. There was no telling what the pregnancy was doing to her mind. Would
she get jealous, I wondered. Or would she... Forget it. I would leave
Viktoriya alone for tonight. After all, she was going to be the first one I
was going to see tomorrow. I'd speak to Vika about this then. Rachelle's cunt
had cracked open just a bit from my teasing. I slowly kissed the insides of
her legs; first one side then the other, and inched slowly towards that sweet
slice of mocha muff.

  "Oh Stanley stop," she whispered, "I -- I'm not on the pill."

  "I got that covered baby." I murmured then nibbled her clit such that it made
her cry out.

  As Rachelle was caught in the sudden throe of ecstasy, I used telekinesis to
yank a little box of saran wrap from the top of the refrigerator. The box flew
silently (and unobtrusively) under the sofa-bed. I gave the dark beauty a few
loving licks, savored her delicious cooze ooze, and tore a small bit of wrap
for my cock.

  Without any cooking oil, I had to improvise a little. I lay kisses on her
beautiful brown body as I crawled beside her so my head was level with hers. I
played with her titties and shrouding my fingers with the gentlest force my
mind could create, I slid a "fattened" version of my fingers into her vagina
and easily reached her G-spot.

  "Oh GOD!!" Rachelle's eyes bugged out as she sucked in her breath.

  "Feel good sugar?" I asked her with a wink.

  She nodded and kissed me tenderly while I jerked her juice box. With her fuck
musk now flowing, there was no need for lubrication. Her face registered mild
dissatisfaction when I pulled my shrouded fingers out, but only briefly.
Rachelle moaned with pleasure as I slid in atop her.

  "Oh yes. Oh fuck yes," Rachelle kissed me and put her arms around my neck.
"Just like old times."

  I grunted as I slaked my lust. I pumped her as she wrapped her legs around
me. I felt her thighs surround my waist and remembered the stupid things we
did so long ago. The handjob in Santa Cruz. The second time we did anal. The
dates we'd go on where'd we'd tried to sneak a quickie: at the playground, at
the school stadium, but most of all, in my old room. My old room. Where my
legally married wife and first-born son were living now. My black beauty
must've misread my frown because she pawed my cheeks gently and held my head
as I began to thrust harder.

  "Fuck me, sugar," the mulatto breathed hotly in my face. "Fuck me just like
old times. I want you."

  Rachelle ran her fingers through my hair and coaxed me until I climaxed.

===============================================================================
  INTERLUDE -- CHINESE SIX-COURSE MEAL 
===============================================================================

  The day after taking Rachelle back into my life, I was a busy man. I left
early and grabbed some things (without arousing Janet's suspicion) from my old
room at 35th Avenue, headed back to the unit at 43rd Avenue, peeked in on
Viktoriya (who threw a fit when she learned I had bedded Rachelle without
letting her in on the action -- go figure).

  Next, I took Rachelle back to her room at the Parc 55 so she could grab what
was left of her things (Craig had checked out and took mostly his things),
headed back to 43rd Avenue where Viktoriya invited Rachelle to stay the night
(three guesses why), spent the day with Jamie and Jill (Viktoriya traded my
time to get to know Rachelle -- a fair trade).

  I finally ended the night by spending time with my First wife and son, but I
was so tired, I mostly let the baby eat, sleep, poop, and drool on my face
(not all necessarily in that order). Backers of polygamy as the "ideal" male
lifestyle can suck my filthy uncut dick. I felt more like Ray Liotta's mob
snitch in "Goodfellas" than the king of the world. I seriously wanted to kill
myself so I could get a good night's sleep. Janet Wu of course, nearly saved
me that trouble.

  Viktoriya called her "Tom-Boy" behind her back, but I had another nickname
for my dutiful First. I called Jan the "three-strike" woman. This wasn't in
reference to baseball or even California's law of the same name, but rather it
was in reference to the three strikes I had done her wrong: my first strike
was Rachelle Hollister; my second strike was Jamie Yang (formerly Young) and
her daughter Jillian; and my third strike was bringing the aforementioned
women into the household.

  Janet stayed dutiful and devoted despite all three affronts, so I pretty much
didn't have much wiggle-room after that. Everything came to a head in less
than a month's time. It wasn't all Jamie's fault, but with Viktoriya, Melanie,
and Shawn knowing Jamie's existence and keeping it a secret for different
reasons, Janet was sure something was happening behind her back. So she asked
Melanie to help her bring some things to the 43rd Avenue building so she could
snoop around.

  My resourceful Lady Wu had a legitimate reason though: she wanted to see her
unit up close. By now, I had asked everyone for their preferences: Melanie and
Shawn immediately took the top-most floor, each for different reasons.

  Melanie wanted to cook and aside from being close to the rooftop garden, her
ventilation system would be running at full blast. The structural engineer
(impeccable work by a fellow named Jules Fontana -- yes this is a plug in a
porn story), Shawn, and I figured it would be best to build an easily
replaceable vent pipe from the top-floor east unit to the one side of the
building that wasn't covered by Shawn's solar wall.

  The larger pipe was the only thing that marred Melanie's unit but she didn't
mind. She painted a target on the side and fired spitballs at it when she was
bored. The wider pipe did give Yu-Ching's unit a slightly lower ceiling in
that part of the kitchen. Being the tallest one (i.e., my height) Rachelle
suffered a mild concussion once when she ran headlong into it when she was
chasing one of the kids around (for some reason, she was wearing heels that
time).

  Shawn wanted the other top-floor unit simply because she wanted to be near
the roof system she had so lovingly crafted. The drainage schematics she'd
drafted were perfected by Jules and included into the design of the solar
girdle-wall (heating some of the water for the plants at night). In fairness
to her great contribution, the others agreed.

  Up for grabs were the second and third residential floors (there was the
ground floor and a first residential floor above it). Janet was leery and
wanted to be on the same floor with me. However, I hadn't picked yet a unit
yet. Since I couldn't get the interior designer (fellow Berkeley CED alum
Gracia Kosugi) started until everyone had a unit, Janet gave up trying to
predict where I would stay and opted for the second floor's east unit.

  "It's about the middle," Janet said. "I'd figure I'd meet you halfway."

  "Thanks." I managed a grin. Of course, nowadays she claims I took great
liberty with her answer.

  Viktoriya had gotten quite comfortable in her unit (first floor west). Since
she was getting bigger by the day, she decided to stay put.

  "I'm quite comfy right where you put me kisa," she stated simply.

  "All righty," I rubbed her tummy gently. "But if you change your mind --?"

  "Stanislav, Stanislav, Stanislav!" Viktoriya scolded. "Don't worry any more.
I'm happy. Understand?"

  I wanted to add that Viktoriya's unit was one of those weirder set-ups. She
requested smoothed, curved vertices in her room, so I had to add some special
moldings on the tops of the rooms. Viktoriya also requested that the lights in
her room be inset or smoothed over with their housings. Later, I learned it
was so she could practice pushing balls with her telekinesis without any
protrusions getting in her way.

  'How are you going to hide that from the baby?' I thought-spoke with her one
day.

  'I hadn't thought that far ahead.' Viktoriya gave me a goofy grin. 'Don't
worry. We'll figure out something if he's not like his mama and papa.'

  'How do you know it's a he?' I grinned while not a peep of our conversation
could be overheard by the others.

  'Mother's intuition.' Viktoriya placed my hand on her enlarged belly. 'I
think he'll have your eyes, lyubimy.'

  We bumped foreheads and swirled once or twice in mid-air before settling down
for the night. Meanwhile, I personally opted for second floor west, right next
to Janet (she was happy) and right above Viktoriya (who licked her lips at the
suggestive turn of that phrase). I certainly didn't want to stay in the first 
floor east unit; it was directly over the door to the ground level parking 
garage. I figured even with sound-proofing, the noise would drive whoever stayed 
there batty. I proposed that it be used as a guest unit (or storage space) or 
until a better use could be found for it. Like the other units though, it was 
fully furnished, so anyone could live in it in an emergency.

  So, Janet (carrying Michael) and Melanie walked into this mess when I drove
back to 43rd Avenue with Rachelle and Viktoriya. I had been speaking with
Gracia about the materials and other furnishings, conferencing with Jules
(mostly about the piping in Melanie's room) and Shawn (I paid for all her
phone conferences on the project -- she wanted to put in her two cents in) so
I wasn't on my highest alert.

  Janet's first reaction when she saw Rachelle was, "What's she doing here?!"

  While I was trying to formulate an answer, Jamie (seeing the garage door
open) walked in with Jillian in tow. When Jill rushed up to hug me screaming,
"Daddy!!" Janet's resulting shriek was heard a block away.

  "WHO THE HELL IS THAT!?"

  Baby Mikey immediately started wailing. Melanie caught him in time as Janet's
legs wobbled and nearly gave way. Viktoriya supported her until she could lean
on a nearby car. My dusky Russkie then did her best to steer clear of my
rampaging First.

  'Uh-oh, kisa.' My Baltic beauty thought-spoke. 'Busted!!'

  Yeah, I felt my face grow hot. It was going to be one of those days.

===============================================================================
  ILLNESS 
===============================================================================

  Janet was understandably livid. She only calmed down enough to stop raising
her voice, which suited me fine for the moment; it only annoyed me and made
little Mikey cry. Still, it made me nervous. Her fury threatened to bubble up
again when she got it out of Viktoriya, Melanie and Shawn that they'd know
about Jamie and Jillian since last year and none of them had told her about
it.

  I suppose I could've apologized and take what was coming, but I didn't. I did
the one thing I knew I was good at: I tried to persuade her. I was stretching
it for sure but I only needed to sway my strong-willed Janet. I had one hand
on Melanie's shoulder and a second on Viktoriya. I surmised it had worked
before (in Shawn's apartment all those years ago) so I decided to risk it.

  I had worked too hard and too long to fore-go it all. If Janet decided to
leave, I suppose I could've kept going. Maybe even drown my sorrows in a new
woman. But I didn't want a new woman; I just wanted Janet to stay. Stay, so we
could make each other happy, or mad, or crazy. I wanted her to help me pelt
our kids with paint ball guns or bushwhackers if they misbehaved. I didn't
care what we did so long as we could grow old together. It was a hard sell,
but I pushed for it.

  Facing Janet's stern granite face like they were on trial, Jamie's and
Rachelle's faces were a mix of confusion, embarrassment, and (from Jamie)
fear. I realized later I was speaking Cantonese most of the time (sorry, no
dialogue here, because I couldn't even remember more than a tenth of it).
Melanie understood the whole thing (she doesn't like to talk about it) and
Viktoriya got the gist of it as I spoke.

  When I finished, I felt more dead than alive. The strain must've been getting
to me. Not only was I busy with my own building, but I was setting up a new
method of laundering more money. I went through Jacob Waters' mind to look for
some hints on money laundering and racketeering (well more the former than the
latter). I learned that if I owned a discount dollar store (where items sold
for a buck) and cooked the books, I could clean the dough I'd earned from the
border (all ten or eleven million).

  The process was easy: buy a bunch of crap from overstock and sell it for $1
(per item). This generates some sort of sales. Use the dirty money as your
investment, report it as revenue (how ever fantastic it was -- $500,000 meant
you sold 500,000 items), pay your damn taxes and ta-da: "cleaned" money.

  Of course, it didn't help that my "nest egg" became a "treasure trove" after
I spent three days in Cartagena and Medellin in Colombia. There, I assisted
Tseng and two other empire citizens (Galen and Kari -- these two are
geo-caching fanatics; they just completed their fifth trip around the world,
with junior in tow) in taking on La Corporacion. We went into town and came
out with a pretty neat cut.

  Galen and Kari were a complicated couple: he was descended from an Algerian
"pieds noir" (French colonist in Algeria), looked white, but acted like he was
right at home in Africa. She was a light skinned Nubian lovely who readily
spoke French and English as much as she did her own tongue (forget which one
exactly). Both were perfectly happy taking the drugs for resale. I took a
split of the money with Tseng (roughly 30-70, which still amounted to about
ten million for my share) and I took what weapons I could find. In the wake of
9/11, I had to be extra careful with cargo.

  Cash I could move easily; Galen and Kari could take care of their drugs and
Tseng ... well, he was Tseng. He'd find a way to get what he wanted.
Personally, I wanted to take some of the heavy stuff (to get familiar with
them) but decided not to. Where the hell was I going to store a 100 mm tankgun
(stripped from a new build Russian T-55)? Or Chinese made anti-aircraft
Silkworm (Stinger clones) missiles? Or Russian AT-8s? Or tele-guided MILANs?
I'll tell you what -- no where.

  As for the rest, I settled for two stolen M-82s (.50 caliber BMG
anti-material 'counter-sniping' rifle), a vintage M2 Browning Machinegun
(dating back to the Vietnam War), a dozen Russian AP-mines, a few automatic
shotguns, a crate of AK-74Us (with the then-new synthetic stocks) along with
their associated magazines, mounting rails, ammunition, and cleaning gear.
There were also some handy low-light night scopes. There was even a case of
experimental H&K G-11 caseless ammunition. I was eager to see how that stuff
worked since I was so focused on breaking firing pins and depressing safeties.
By now, my weapons stash on Masonic Street had gotten so ridiculous, the block
was liable to become a crater if the building caught on fire.

  My extra-curricular activities compounded the pressure when I applied for --
and got -- a new job at Ditomer Design. Not that Ferguson hadn't been good for
me in the year and a half I'd been with them but I felt I needed to expand my
horizons. At my new job, I wasn't simply a CAD-man but an actual architect
(with CAD drawing as my forte), so my new income was a little more (like
105,000 instead of 95,000). But that still barely covered my mortgage and
expenses.

  Janet's pending decision didn't help my situation. Rachelle and Jamie
(Jillian was at her grandparents for the day) were with me in the hall while
Janet conferenced with Viktoriya and Melanie. Because of her time difference,
Shawn e-mailed her opinion. However, Janet was in no way obligated to take her
opinion into account. Great apprehension filled me when we were called back
in. Janet looked unhappy, and rendered her decision: since I was such a damn
fool, Jamie could stay (along with Jill).

  "And Rachelle?" I asked. Janet's nostrils visibly flared, but at the corner
of my eye, I could see Melanie put a gentle hand on my First's shoulder.

  "She can stay too Stanley," my Little Chen said quietly.

  I nearly swore aloud with relief. I didn't know how, but Melanie managed to
convince my testy Janet once more. I never thought to ask Yu-Ching to do
anything like that crazy ever again; it explains why I spoil her so much now.

  "However, as a condition -- MY condition," my First suddenly chimed in, "I
want both of you to undergo AIDS/STD screening. No if's, and's, or but's."

  "What!?" Rachelle sprang to her feet, insulted. "Why I never --!"

  "This isn't just about you." Janet's voice was icy cold. "I don't want
anything to happen to our children, or their mothers."

  Rachelle's mouth instantly snapped shut while Jamie fidgeted under Janet's
stern gaze. Only the Asian beauty mumbled quiet acceptance; my black beauty
kept quiet, but if her looks could kill, they would've.

  "Thank you," I finally managed to mumble.

  "Oh, don't thank me just yet." A hateful little grin slipped over Janet's icy
demeanor. "The results aren't in yet."

  My redoubtable Lady Wu's gaze swept over a cowering Jamie and a defiant
Rachelle. I got the feeling from Janet that if either girl tested positive,
she'd not only kick them out, but she'd forbid me from ever touching her ever
again. Wow. Viktoriya was right. Janet can be a real bitch.

  'Told you, kisa.' Viktoriya gave me a rueful smile as she sat quietly beside
Melanie and Janet.

  As humiliating as her request was, it made sense. Jamie though, had been
preparing for this. She'd gotten tested a week before and had the paperwork
and results to prove it. When I asked her why, she confessed.

  "I -- I wanted to show you I was clean," Jamie stammered, "I want to have a
baby with you Stanley. I didn't want you to worry, especially --"

  I stopped her before she started blubbering. This was already hard enough.
Jamie didn't need to dredge up her old past. So, all that remained was for me
to take Rachelle down to the hospital to get tested. The mulatto felt
humiliated. I caught thoughts from her that I dared not repeat aloud. While I
had convinced Janet to let Rachelle stay, my dark beauty was nearly fed up
with my First's bitchiness. I guess there really couldn't be two queens in a
kingdom ...

  "What do you see in her?" Rachelle complained as we headed back to the car.

  "Jan's cool once you get to know her." I felt a little woozy. I had given a
little blood.

  And why not? To show my support, I underwent the same test as Rachelle. I
wanted to prove to Janet that I was fine too. Then, as an afterthought, I
decided to stock another pint of blood (my blood type, O-positive, could be
used by almost anyone). I was looking ahead, worried about Viktoriya's
pregnancy.

  "Yeah right," she sighed. "You know she's what broke us up right?"

  "Don't remind me."

  "Hey sugar?" I felt Rachelle's grip on my arm. "You okay? You don't look too
good, Stanley."

  "Me? Don't be silly." I managed to laugh, but it sounded like a distant
cackle made by another person. "I'm fine."

  "No, you look a little pale." Rachelle started to sound worried. "You sure
you want to drive?"

  "I just got a new project at Ditomer," I began rambling. "We're specialists
in arcology. Presentation next week. Won't Shawn be proud?"

  "Stanley?! Sugar!?" Rachelle's voice seemed far away now. Was it time to
sleep? It sure felt like it. I was tired. I wondered why the bed was so cold
though. Must be because it was made of concrete. I lay down and slept.
Rachelle can take care of things. Heck, any of my talented darlings could.

===============================================================================
  BEDRIDDEN 
===============================================================================

  I was dimly aware of what happened next. From what I could gather later,
Rachelle dragged me back into the emergency room with the help of a security
guard and an orderly enjoying a smoke break (hospital staff who smoke are one
of the greatest ironies in the health industry). After a few shots and a few
quick tests, the doctors slapped me with a $300 emergency room bill and sent
me to my new home to "rest".

  "Nervous exhaustion," was what one of the doctors said.

  I was pretty much out of it, but picked up thoughts and spoken sentences as I
drifted in and out of consciousness. I wasn't sure where I was; all I knew was
that there were people arguing.

  "Why'd you let him draw blood?" Janet snapped. "He didn't need to get tested,
or did he?!"

  "You selfish --!!" Rachelle held back her swearing, but nothing else. "He was
supportive. Stanley got tested because he wanted to! And how about you?!"

  "What about me?!" my First's voice rose appreciably. "I've only fucked one
guy for the past fifteen years! How many times did your 'ex' dive in
au-natural!?"

  "That's none of your damn business!!" Rachelle's voice rose to a scream as
she pointed at Jamie. "And how about her?! Why're you picking on me?!"

  "Don't look at me!" Jamie, trying to hide behind herself "I only --!!"

  "No one asked you!!" Janet shrieked.

  'Kisa! Wake up, please!' Viktoriya pinged me, hoping I was still in full
control of myself. 'Stop them! They're giving me a headache!'

  I heard her, but my mind was too sluggish to form any coherent thoughts.

  "You two-timing, conniving no-good--!!" Janet paused and swallowed -- 
likely to withhold the N-word. It was something one wouldn't want to say to 
someone of Rachelle's ethnicity.

  "Say it!" Rachelle stood with her hands balled into fists. "I dare you to say
that right now to my face!!"

  Oh thank God, I grew relieved as I caught up with everyone's trains of
thought. Rachelle thought Janet was only going to call her a 'bitch' and not a
'nigger'. Wait. I giggled soundlessly. That wasn't good either. By now, Janet
had rolled up her sleeves and stared down the bigger girl.

  "You. Stupid. Dumb --!!"

  "STOP IT!!!" The silence was as sudden and as surprising as who said it. I
knew that voice. I had been familiar with it since she was just a child.

  "Enough you two!" Melanie cried. "Don't you think you can help Stanley
guo-guo instead of fighting!? What's wrong with you two?!"

  Janet was flustered, "Melanie, I --!!"

  "Shut up!" Little Chen said tearfully, "That's all he does day in and day
out! He worked himself sick for you! All of you!! Don't any of you remember
why he did this in the first place?!"

  "Stanley BUILT this home so everyone he loves can be happy," Melanie glared
at all of them. "It's so he could be with us and be a family. Right now, you
two are just making his life miserable!"

  'Ouch.' Viktoriya tried to ping me again, then remembered I was unresponsive.
'Stanislav, if you can hear this, I think the little one just appointed
herself as your guardian angel.'

  That's nice, Vika. The thought-speech barely reached her as I focused blankly
at the room around me through half-closed eyes.

  "So, unless you want me to really lose my temper," Melanie said through
clenched teeth, "All of you GET OUT of my room and let him get some sleep."

  Huh, interesting. I guess I was in Yu-Ching's quarters. It's just that Jules
and the contractor hadn't put in her ventilation pipe yet. That could explain
why it was so warm.

  'Don't think about ventilation pipes.' Viktoriya finally picked up enough of
my thoughts as she departed with the others. I saw she was carrying little
Mikey in her arms. 'And don't worry, Stanislav. I will try and mediate if they
go at it again.'

  I barely remembered how to thank her in Russian. 'Spasee-ba.'

  'You're welcome, lyubimy.' She placed a kiss on my son - her step-son. 'Rest
now. You're in good hands.'

===============================================================================
  DUE RECOGNITION 
===============================================================================

  Thankfully, Rachelle's test results came back negative and I eventually got
my strength back. I breathed a big sigh of relief because trying to celebrate
New Year's 2002 was one of the most arduous things I'd done to date. I had to
do "ying-chou" to Janet's family (who wanted to spend the holidays with their
grandson), my family (ditto), and down the line I went: Melanie's family,
Jamie's family, Rachelle's family, Viktoriya's family (we flew to Indiana,
where we placated them with a sham marriage), and on and on until I ran out of
obligations.

  I thought I was going to get ill all over again. For the moment, Janet and
Rachelle settled on tolerating one another, if only for my sake. They avoided
one another when they could, but kept quiet when they had to be in the same
room. Until their rivalry died out, I didn't want to force the issue. I knew I
had to give them time. People changed as they grow older. Besides, one can't
have it all, but I had to admit I got pretty damn close.

  During my illness, I did my best to telecommute, falling back to do plans
where needed. Ditomer did not do construction drawings; that's what firms like
Ferguson are for, and what I chiefly specialized in. I learned later this
would come back to haunt me (but more on that later). The fallout from the
Trade Center's destruction continued. As soon as I was well, I was called away
to investigate the source of some possible bio-terror with the team. Once I
got back, I was (of course) flooded with business to take care of.

  It was around this time some exciting news occurred with Shawn. My plump
dumpling had been away when Janet and Rachelle finally met and had it out. I
was curious about how she voted though. Since I couldn't mind-read e-mail, I
dug a bit into both Shawn's and Janet's minds and tried to figure out how
Shawn voted. As it turned out, that whole voting idea pretty much upset the
old ties that the girls had developed.

  Originally friendly (or at least amicable) towards everyone (especially
Melanie), Janet began forming a deeper bond with Jamie out of the commonality
of being mothers. I suspected my First also found Jamie very much a
well-meaning doormat. While Janet was still friendly with Melanie, she was
more wary since Yu-Ching's outburst. It seemed no matter what Janet thought,
Little Chen would likely be on my side rather than her side.

  Viktoriya and Rachelle were friendly (although my Russian hottie was pretty
disappointed that Rachelle didn't muff dive) but to say they were close would
be a mistake. My Russian darling was equally friendly with both Shawn and
Janet (mostly because these two had muff dived, though that pretty much
stopped once they had children). She didn't mind Melanie, who was generally as
perverted, nor did she mind Jamie, who was (just barely) sexually permissive
after she had a few.

  Rachelle grew quite close to Shawn not simply because she had met her before,
but because my roly poly darling had sided with the mulatto. My dark beauty
appreciated Shawn's honesty and straight-forwardness. My mocha mate also had a
good relationship with Viktoriya. While I was still ill, Viktoriya had
accompanied her down to Los Angeles so she wouldn't have to face Craig alone.

  'Wait.' I thought-spoke when I learned of their plans. 'What if he gets
violent? You can't just punch him Vika. Not in the state you're in.'

  'I'll do more than punch him.' Viktoriya mused. 'I can probably floor him
with what you've taught me.'

  Well, I didn't want it to come to that. My Cossack cutie wasn't as
well-versed in how things were done in the empire. Simply pushing him down
with telekinesis wouldn't do. Nonetheless, I wasn't in much condition to
assist in person. So, I called on some help.

  Faraz's sister Ami was attending school in UCLA. She and Faraz had both
experienced backlash after the 1993 WTC bombing (and again in 1996). After
9/11, she was practically ostracized by all but her closest friends. She was
glad she could prove useful and still "American". Ami grabbed her stun gun and
pepper spray, and escorted both women until Rachelle got her things and left.
That show of support was more than enough to face down a coward like Craig
Simmons.

  Jamie and Shawn were the meekest of the group, but each for different
reasons. My beautiful Asian siren had a tough time fitting in between Janet's
strong-willed bullying and Viktoriya's salacious attempts to get her drunk to
dyke out. After Viktoriya had given birth (this was a few months later), Jamie
often accompanied the Baltic brunette to get back into shape (all the women
worked out but in different fashion: Shawn was content to swim like I did;
Rachelle, Viktoriya and Jamie preferred pilates and gym machines while Janet
and Melanie preferred calisthenics and tai-chi). One day, Jamie came back from
the gym with a rather shocked look on her face.

  "Stanley?" She nudged me. "Did you know Viktoriya was bisexual?"

  "Uh, maybe." I hesitated briefly. "I think she told me before. Why? What'd
she do?" I nearly added the word "now" to the end of that sentence, but
stopped myself just in time.

  "Because, I think she made a pass at me in the gym."

  "If she makes you uncomfortable," I patted her hand, "then tell her off."

  "Could you come with me?" she pulled me up. "She'd listen to you."

  So we both went to Viktoriya's an hour later and tried that. The next thing I
knew, I was sandwiched between a nude, undulating Viktoriya and a nude,
writhing Jamie as our bodies shuddered to a collective orgasm. Apparently,
Viktoriya and I were able to trigger a localized psychic event ourselves. It
was pretty cool.

  While Viktoriya's baby was in the same room, his mind was still thankfully
too undeveloped to be affected by a general psychic event; only a focused
effort would've affected him (later on, as I grew more adept at managing such
unexpected mental reactions when I kissed Viktoriya or Melanie, I always made
it a rule to have our children someplace else -- next room, another unit, at a
friend's house, etc. -- when I was intimate with one of their mothers; I
didn't want anything bad to happen to them). When we left, Jamie was still in
a mild state of shock.

  "I'd never thought that'd happen!" the Asian beauty confessed sheepishly.

  "Me neither." I put my palm against her ass. Jamie kept it there as we walked
back together.

  'See Stanislav?' Viktoriya gloated through thought-speak. 'Told you it'd be
fun!'

  'Ah-ha.' I thought back. 'But I can still walk.'

  'Braggart.' Through mind-sight I watched Viktoriya pick-up her baby to nurse
him. 'Next time, I'll fuck you into a cripple.'

  'Now who's bragging?' I felt giddy knowing my dusky Russian was feeling like
herself again. The doom and gloom she had felt weeks earlier in New York had
vanished.

  Jamie was more than happy to spend time with her daughter Jillian, with
Melanie, or with me. Her CS/IT (computer science information technology)
studies had been coming along great and she was rapidly getting the hang of
things. Jamie also wasn't idle; she was searching for entry level jobs at the
college as she completed her studies.

  Shawn, in the meantime, was shy simply because she wasn't as attractive as
the others; she could probably beat someone to death with those H-cup tits of
hers. She was also a bit clumsy except when she was playing the flute.
However, she possessed a sharp mind in her buxom body. And it was that
beautiful mind which got the attention of Architectural Digest (a well-known
magazine in our business), Architectural Record (our professional journal),
Scientific American (about inventors and inventions), and Popular Science (a
science and technology periodical).

  This was exciting news (for us design practitioners at least). Shawn's solar
wall design and drainage system (with Jules's assistance) for the rooftop
garden got noticed by a busy-body at the fabrication yard and he made some
calls. Since I had used our 43rd Avenue address for the invoice, I was more
than surprised that several official looking letters were addressed to a Miss
Shawn Ellen Horten. Curious, I made some calls to the editorial staff, and
between them, biointroscopy, and mind-reading, I found out what was going on.

  "Hey muffin," I called her late one night (early afternoon for her), "Did you
know Architectural Digest, the Record, and some other magazines want to
interview you?"

  "Interview me?" Shawn gasped. "Really? You're not pranking me are you
Stanley? I'm too old for that now."

  "Sure you are," I laughed. "Just like you're too old to enjoy pumpkin gelatin
and sweet milk."

  "Lucky guess Stanley." I heard her breathe into the phone. "How'd you know I
was havin' that?"

  Because I can spy through your mind, I thought. Instead, I chuckled and said,
"Because you have such a sweet tooth, cutie pie."

  Shawn giggled and I pictured her plump body jiggling cutely as she did. We
discussed when she could come back without jeopardizing her graduate studies
in Tokyo. From the work schedule, Gracia (our interior designer) was to have
the place done by the end of summer. We figured that would be the best time to
talk to the Digest (which was more of a fashion showcase than an actual
journal) whereas we wanted to prove the structural elements of the girdle-wall
and drainage systems to the Record.

  Since the Record was a professional journal, Shawn's article would have to be
reviewed and approved by a panel of three other licensed and practicing
architects or engineers; she already had enough to do at the Tokyo Institute
of Technology without doing more work. So, it was up to Jules (our structural
engineer guy) and me to test the girdle-wall and saw to it that the drainage
system on the rooftop worked. Run-off water (from the roof and rain and the
building's showers) was to be collected and recycled back into garden gray
water. But they'd also be funneled through part of the solar wall to collect
heat; the water could be used to insulate the house in summer (water is a
great heat-sink) and to keep the plants warm at night as heated gray water.

  Since the building's steel could bear a greater load, I was able to build a
small (light wood frame) pavilion in the midst of the garden and used soft
mats (from recycled tire rubber) to protect the roof from foot traffic.
Overall, the roof of the building could bear a great deal of weight -- more
than fifteen times the "standard" amount. Jules, like most structural
engineers, erred on the side of caution.

  It was all good. The only interruptions, aside from work at the firm, were
from the occasional agency calls, Rachelle's temporary move into my unit at
43rd Avenue (until her unit was finished by Gracia), Melanie's new job as an
apprentice chef at the Pacific Coast Club of San Francisco, Janet going back
to work and bitching (to me, who else?) about leaving Mikey with my parents or
her parents (everyone took turns), and Viktoriya's pregnancy.

  For a time, I shuttled back and forth from three places: Jamie's rented
apartment (so I could check on both mother and daughter until their lease
expired and their unit was ready), my old room (to be with Janet and Mikey),
and my new building (Rachelle and Viktoriya). Thus, I was extremely grateful I
was at 43rd Avenue when Viktoriya's water broke. Rachelle helped me drive her
to the hospital, where I expected her to be in labor for just a little bit.
However, Viktoriya wouldn't stand for it, nor did she have the patience. I
broke into a nervous sweat when some parked cars outside started up their
alarms; my Baltic siren was lashing out with her telekinesis.

  With some judicious and clever application of our combined gifts, we finally
formed an invisible telekinetic "bubble" over the baby and eased him out.
Milhail (essentially 'Michael' in Rumanian) popped out with such ease that
Viktoriya's discomforting cries quickly gave way to a relieved grunt. She
looked at me in surprise and asked aloud if "it" was out. I grinned and handed
her the wailing infant so he could nurse. Mother and child stayed at the
hospital just for a day before Viktoriya insisted on going home.

  'Maybe that old sow Janna still has milk.' Viktoriya dug up some old barbs as
I drove mother and child home.

  'Now Vika.' I scolded her in our secret tongue. 'You nurse him. I think it'll
be best.'

  'Who are you to say!?' She lashed back. 'I need a wet-nurse or baby formula
otherwise he'll chew my nips off! Or do you not care about me you heartless
beast?'

  Oh boy, I thought. Thankfully, I had some help on hand. Despite being saddled
with work and Mikey, Janet made herself useful by going to Viktoriya's place
to help out. I felt my panic grow anew when Janet moved into her new condo
across the hall. And it wasn't just Janet causing all my anxiety. By now, my
parents were very curious about my comings and goings. They were suspicious
how I could get that place at all; however, my worries were more about how'd
my parents would react to Viktoriya's son. I was sure they'd hit the roof if
they visited Janet at the new place and found Viktoriya bouncing Milhail on
her knee; despite his Eurasian features, the little boy was unmistakably mine.

  "You mean they'd blow their top like me?" Janet gave me a sour look. "It's
not personal or unseemly. Viktoriya's the perfect solution. She's home all the
time and I'm sure she can take care of Mikey."

  "You're so trusting all of a sudden." I managed a nervous laugh. "Should I be
worried you're cooking something up?"

  Janet sniffed and mumbled something under her breath. I caught the tail end
of it when I pounced her fleeing thoughts: 'Stupid Stanley.' 'Arrgh. I hate it
when I call him out when he's doing something sensible.'

  "What was that?" I prodded her.

  "I said," Janet said pursing her pretty lips, "That you marrying the six of
us could be the best thing to happen to me."

  Six? I wanted to hug her. Finally, Janet acknowledged Rachelle's existence,
although I sensed she didn't like it. I held my breath and eagerly awaited her
answer.

  "You look like you're about to have a heart attack Stanley." Janet eyed me
sternly. "What's the matter? Don't you believe me?"

  "No, I believe you." I grinned stupidly as she picked up Mikey and swaddled
him in a warm cloth blanket.

  "Don't get cocky with me," my First growled, "I'm just saying you set up a
network of moms for me. I don't have to do it myself."

  She eyed me warily as I automatically checked the baby's tote and made sure
everything Janet needed was in there: bottle, formula, wet wipes, powder,
diapers ...

  "You planned this didn't you?" Janet said suddenly.

  "What?" I was so distracted, I just looked at her in complete surprise.

  "I said, 'You planned this'," Janet repeated and sighed. "Damn. I can't
believe I'm a bloody Mormon wife."

  I skimmed her mind and relaxed. It was just my First being sarcastic and
bitchy.

  "That's right." I gave her ass a good slap and winked. "I was twelve and knew
I was going to marry a half-dozen brood-mares in ten odd years. Sire a school
bus full of kids too."

  "God you're awful," Janet made a face. "I wasn't making a joke. I was
serious. I can't believe Melanie sweet talked me TWICE into going along this
shit."

  "So you think it's a conspiracy now?" I teased her, "You'd also better watch
that mouth of yours. Gao-waixai di-jaei-lui*." [* Cantonese: You'll teach the
children bad behavior.]

  "Don't be a wise-ass mister." Janet glanced at Mikey then at me. "How can I
not be suspicious?"

  "You don't look the type," I wanted to laugh but her glare hinted to me that
she was serious.

  "Melanie's always on your side," Janet went on, "And you're always so in-sync
with Viktoriya, it's like you two plan everything ahead of time and act out a
script."

  My First was wandering into dangerous waters, so I steered the conversation
away as casually as I could.

  "Do you feel like a second-rate woman, honey?" I asked her.

  "Try fourth-rate," Janet replied angrily. "You've been fawning over Shawn
Ellen a lot lately."

  "Hey now," I held my wife and son close, "I don't play favorites. If you want
me to spend more time with you, I'll try. I just have plenty of ying-chou*."
[* Cantonese: social/family obligation]

  "Ying-dou lei yeem-a*!" she snorted but rested her head against me in
resignation. [* Cantonese: (no direct translation) Equivalent of 'Oblige your
obligations until you're shit-tired of 'em'.]

  "Thanks for the support Ling-Ling," I said with sarcasm.

  "I hope Michael never inherits your charm," my First huffed, "I can't imagine
what kinda crap that's going to put me through."

  "So you'll be a grandmother several times over," I winked and patted her ass
again. "More diapers and burping for you."

  "You obnoxious dick." Janet bit my cheek playfully before we headed over to
Viktoriya's place.

===============================================================================
  INTERLUDE -- REMEMBERANCES OF THINGS PAST 
===============================================================================

  Janet was correct about me; well, to a certain degree: I was a dick. I was
also sarcastic, selfish, sleazy, and a little insensitive when it came to
certain things, but I knew where to draw the line. Not fucking my recently
deceased best friend's wife would be one of those things I never did.

  Faraz's widow Ghandia was certainly vulnerable, but I didn't do a damn thing
about it. As much fun as it would've been to capitalize on her vulnerability
and bang the crap out of her, I felt I had already used up all of the leniency
Janet had. I wasn't going to push it. Besides, she was Faraz's wife. After
helping Ghandia move to a more affordable place in Brooklyn, she and I kept in
touch through e-mail and traditional Christmas cards. She eventually
remarried, but it took her a little while to get her life back together. 

  While I was in New York, I also dropped by Viktoriya's apartment, cleaned it
out for the next tenant, and filed a change of address form. Having given
birth to Milhail, Viktoriya was going to stay in San Francisco for a little
while. Secretly, I was elated. Finally, we were going to be together.

  All that elation evaporated though, when I called on my Uncle William and
Aunt Regina -- Aurora's parents -- in Newark to offer my belated condolences.
I hadn't gone to the memorial service in Pennsylvania where her plane crashed,
nor was I able to attend the services due to my hectic schedule and illness.
My incomparable Lady Wu certainly did a swell job keeping my mother and others
in the dark about where I was on September 11 and the few days afterwards.
Before I left, Aunt Regina gave me a small shoebox with Aurora's things.

  "Are you sure you want me to have this?" I asked.

  "Yes, certainly," my aunt nodded and murmured sadly, "She had some things she
only meant for you."

  "Oh." I accepted the box gingerly. "Well, I don't know what to say."

  "Just don't forget her," she said quietly. "She was quite fond of you."

  I bade my aunt and uncle goodbye and headed for the airport. With all the
extra security measures in place, I was tempted to toss the box away.
Ultimately, I was glad I didn't. When I arrived home, I checked Aurora's
shoebox. It was filled with a few sealed letters addressed (but never mailed)
to me at my old address, as well as a few photographs of me and her on the
beach in Kowloon. One unmarked letter had only a single photograph in it but
no letter.

  Curious, I inspected it more closely and found the photo was the one of her
topless and staring serenely at the camera with her dark doe-eyes. Aurora's
face appeared so calm and content, it was as if she knew right then and there
what she wanted, and who she wanted to be with. Well, it wouldn't do to have
the girls find this. I was about to shred it when I flipped the photo over.
There was writing on the back (dated 2001 August 20):

  DEAREST BIEU-GUO:

  I FEEL SO DUMB WRITING THESE THINGS
  WHEN I COULD JUST E-MAIL YOU. BUT I
  CAN'T. I DON'T EVEN HAVE THE COURAGE
  TO MAIL THEM.

  I'M COMING TO VISIT YOU SOON. I'M
  DONE WITH SCHOOL AND I WANT TO SEE
  YOU. I'VE MISSED YOU SO MUCH!!

  I LOOKED INTO CONSANGUINITY LAWS AND
  I THINK WE HAVE A CHANCE. I DON'T CARE
  IF YOU'RE STILL SEEING HER, I'LL BE
  CONTENT IF YOU JUST SAY, "YES" AND
  LET ME STAY.

  IF I CAN'T BE YOUR WIFE, THEN I'LL
  BE YOUR MISTRESS.

  YOUR BIEU-MUI ALWAYS, AURORA KWONG

  Foolish girl. Of course, she only knew I was seeing "someone". Still, it was
her love that touched me. That one torrid summer aside, I had no intention of
regarding Aurora as anyone except my cousin.  Still, it wore on me when I
realized Aurora didn't have a clue about me or my life. She died before she
could plead her case.

  I heard a "tap-tap" sound, and blinked. Water had gotten onto the photo
somehow. What? I realized then that I was crying. Her death was finally having
an effect on me, or perhaps it was the psychic backlash Cristobel mentioned. I
composed myself, wiped my eyes, and roused myself to action. After I washed my
hands and face, I stared longingly at the box sitting on the table.

  It wouldn't do to have the girls find this. But I didn't want to throw it
out. So, I made arrangements. I knew a girl at Carter Reprographics who
specialized in making etchings onto metal. She made a copy of Aurora's classic
beach bunny pose on a small metal tin. The tin was large enough to hold all of
Aurora's memories of me. I layered the inside with charcoal, covered it with
felt, then took the whole package to the San Francisco Colombarium.

  There, I bought a small cubby in a small shaded corner of the place, and
arranged for it to be kept up for as long as I could afford it. Visitors who
pass by now see a young skinny Chinese beauty in a string bikini etched on the
lid of a metal box. A small white card with clean black lettering: 

  AURORA KWONG
  B: 1979 JULY 9
  D: 2001 SEPT 11
  IN MY MEMORY YOU LIVE

  Every year since, I left a white rose at her alcove. Aurora's shrine became
an annual fixation for me. I never attended the big organized hate-rallies at
(what was to be termed) "ground zero", the Pentagon, or even the field in
Pennsylvania where my cousin's plane crashed. It wasn't her decision to die in
an empty field in the middle of nowhere. A group of dumb fuck 'normals' had
forced her fate on her, and I seethed over that feeling of powerlessness.

  So, I came to the Colombarium alone to grieve. From there on out, I would
take no chances when it came to the safety of my family. I made up my mind
that the world around the invisible empire would never impinge on it, or those
under the protection of one of its citizens ever again. For those who dared,
they would find themselves living on borrowed time.

===============================================================================
  MELANIE'S MOMMY MANIA 
===============================================================================

  By the start of 2003, the girls more or less understood my apprehension about
the up and coming wedding. Janet tried to relieve my tension by joking it was
a "mass marriage" (like that episode of The Simpsons joining the Movementarian
cult) but that hardly helped. Janet gave up after a few tries. My First had
many wonderful traits, but her snarky humor wasn't always appropriate.

  I couldn't blame her because she was also under considerable stress as well.
Janet had just bought her first home. With the salary she was pulling down (we
earned nearly a quarter million in combined income at this point) she was
itching to dump it into a mortgage so she'd have some equity instead of
sending it to the tax collector.

  Curiously, Janet managed to buy the two-story house right next door to my
building on 43rd. Her mortgage wasn't as much as mine, but it still stung. It
was also a bit odd; Janet's ready to live-in house stood right next to my
not-quite ready eco-condo. One day, as we were taking baby Mikey back in the
stroller, the discrepancy in building heights caught her eye.

  She leaned into my ear and whispered, "Golly Stanley, it's like my house is
kneeling down to give your house a blowjob."

  "Oh grow up." I shot her a mean glance.

  Janet giggled like a goofy girl and kissed me. It was just her weird sense of
esoteric humor, and I loved her more for it. Of course, there were other
problems besides new property. Way back at the start of 2000, Janet and I had
confronted my parents about Melanie (with spectacularly bad results). They
hadn't brought it up when my First and I legally "hitched" but I sensed they
were jittery as Melanie began officially hanging around me more and more.

  Yu-Ching had been working at the Pacific Coast Club as a part-time apprentice
chef (mostly on Fridays and weekends) so she wouldn't be home Friday and
Saturday nights (and Sunday afternoons). She hated it, but understood she
needed to keep herself trained and employed. We had come to that decision
years ago. While I could watch after Melanie now, I didn't want her to be
clueless and dependent if something unpleasant happened to me. Still, it upset
the schedule the two of us had set since we were children (grocery shopping on
the weekends).

  "I'm going to open my OWN restaurant one day," Melanie came home late one
Sunday evening.

  She threw her arms around me as soon as she got through the door of my unit;
until her condo was done, Little Chen would stay with me. I was holding little
Milhail in one hand while his older half-brother Mikey rolled happily on a
yoga mat Jamie had given me. Having experience with Jillian, she had some
great ideas (like putting the babies on a clean floor so they don't fall off
beds and stuff).

  Janet was working on a new case (something to do with health insurance
providers) and she needed her sleep. Apparently, so did Viktoriya. As tough as
she thought she was, her new son had pretty much obliterated her with his
constant demands.

  'Here. Take him.'

  Viktoriya pinged me with a curt message before she gladly passed me baby
Milhail. She then wobbled downstairs to her own unit for some much needed rest
and sleep. For the next few minutes, I congratulated my second son for doing
in a few months what it took me years to do: reign in Viktoriya's wanderlust
and get her to spend a quiet night at home.

  'Both of you are holy terrors.' I chuckled as the little infant continued to
agitate and wail.

  'Shut ... up ... Stanislav.' Viktoriya picked up on my thoughts and managed
to shoot off one last mental barb before she fell asleep.

  Now that Milhail was finally quiet, I didn't want to rouse him again so I
spoke in hushed tones.

  "Oh really?" I whispered to Melanie, "You do that and you'll be out every
night keeping ingredients ready for your patrons."

  Little Chen knitted her brow then wrinkled her nose at me. "You're such a
spoil-sport."

  I chuckled, shook my head, and gently rocked Milhail while watching him
sleep. Presently, Melanie's gaze fell on baby Mikey, who began stumbling
towards her. She laughed and knelt to be at his level to greet him.

  "Lei gumman diem-a xiao didi*?" [* Cantonese: How are you tonight little
boy?]

  Mikey babbled his baby-words happily as his soon-to-be stepmother picked him
up. Actually, I hadn't even figured how that would work. When I poured over
the materials I had on polygamous families, I found I only had the Mormon
model to go on; "The Golden Lotus" and "Tales of Genji" dealt little with the
modern family. Since I cared little for Western religion, I disregarded the
Mormon model. I wanted us to find our own way. The term "sister-wife" was
definitely creepy and didn't sit well with anyone at all.

  "Why don't you wash up," I said to Melanie, "Then you can play with Mikey
until he tires or you do."

  "Bet he'll be asleep before I am!" She grinned as she handed Michael to me.
Yu-Ching washed and rinsed her hands, then quickly took the tot off my hands.
We both sat down on the sofa-bed in the living room and fawned over the two
kids.

  My new place was slightly larger than my old room. It was arranged similarly
to the other seven units: a full-sized kitchen, a full bathroom (toilet, sink,
and shower in a tub) with a small laundry room next to it, a "living" room
that doubled as the dining area (merged organically with the kitchen), and two
small bedrooms with as many storage closets as I could practically add.

  Depending on the girl I asked, I got different opinions: Janet thought it was
cozy but small; in that, Rachelle shared her opinion. That made sense since
they were both accustomed to living in houses. Jamie thought it was an
improvement and loved it. My leggy Asian beauty's only other concern was where
to stuff the second kid we were planning on. I raised my brow at this since
her unit was one of units with the fireman-stripper pole in the corner of the
living room (Jamie loved doing her version of the pole-lympics).

  "Don't gimme that," Jamie smiled saucily, "It keeps this --" she rubbed her
ass against me "-- nice and firm."

  Viktoriya was fine with it as well, then wondered aloud if she could install
one as well (she eventually did settle on a different design that didn't run
all the way to the ceiling). My Russian bride-to-be liked her room in San
Francisco, and only complained about the overcast weather and relative quiet
compared to the bustle of the Big Apple. Still, her unit was certainly larger
than her place in Brooklyn. Viktoriya asked for full length mirrors, a rail,
and a specially prepared floor for her to practice dancing as well as flexing
and stretching.

  'I could give lessons here if you didn't mind kisa.' She thought-spoke the
day after the workmen finished her place.

  'Careful there sweetie.' I cautioned her. 'Everyone's doors are locked but
strangers can go down into the garage and do who knows what mischief.'

  'It's just a thought.' Viktoriya punctuated her displeasure by wrinkling her
nose.

  'If you want to do that.' I thought to her in earnest. 'I'll just get you a
studio in the city and you can do your teaching there.'

  'Get me a studio?' She knitted her brow and playfully pulled me towards her
with telekinesis. 'So you're a millionaire now?'

  "It's just a thought." I grinned and hiding my thoughts, I kissed her and
that was the end of that (for now). Only Melanie and Shawn had no opinions; my
plump pumpkin had only seen what Gracia had done to her unit via pictures and
second-hand accounts, but had yet to check the place out herself.

  Melanie was a strange little creature. Aside from making the fewest number of
demands on me (aside from fatherhood), she had a wide range of interests and
pursued everything with a sincere passion as only a precocious child would.
She'd taken up cooking because she found it was something that we'd shared
when we were younger. Seeing my fascination with Shawn's flute playing,
Yu-Ching learned the pei-pa (Chinese lute) as well as the Chinese zither on
the side while she attended City College and became quite good with both.

  Apart from Janet, Melanie was also the only one who could write calligraphy
at a collegiate level. I always marveled at her skill with the brush. Little
Chen's interest in the old and traditional might lead one to suspect she was a
neo-Luddite or something, but that could not be more wrong. Melanie knew a lot
more about computers and the Internet than most of us; only Jamie could equal
her once she finished her degree a few years later. My little darling also
constantly pushed boundaries; she was a Green Party member until they did
something that irked her, then she promptly became a Libertarian.

  Yu-Ching even played videogames (something only Andrew was semi-interested
in; both he and I pretty much stopped once we grew older). She bought an Xbox
after Halo came out and invite some of classmates (and friends of friends) to
her place for LAN'ed matches. Luckily, Rachelle and Jamie had nothing to
complain about: I knew the sound proofing I installed was worth it.

  My electric bill though ... that was another story. It nearly matched my
water bill. I never knew the utility company started billing me at business
rates once my kilowatt hours went over a certain limit. Even with the
environmentally friendly LED lights, appliances, and Shawn's solar wall,
Melanie's Halo parties racked up monthly electrical bills that ran in the
triple digits. That was Yu-Ching just being herself and I loved her for it.

  "What's daddy smiling about?"

  I blinked and glanced at Melanie, who was holding Mikey up and pointing him
at me. I was so lost in thought again, I wasn't paying attention to reality.

  "C'mon Mikey." Melanie bounced him gently. "Say ba-ba. Baa-baa."

  My first born son merely grinned and drooled on her hand. Michael wasn't
retarded, but he was a quiet kid. Melanie giggled and kissed him on his chubby
cheeks. Seeing her so content and in-tune with an infant in her arms spooked
me. Chen Yu-Ching was herself a child when I first met her so many years ago.
Was it so long ago? I did a quick mental calculation and the results gave me
pause. It was early 2003 now. Wow. Going on twelve years. And Janet? Going on
sixteen years. That was longer than some marriages.

  "Yoo-hoo, Stanley?" Melanie waggled my son in front of me like a maracas. "I
think Mikey needs a change."

  "Don't you know how to do that?" I jutted my chin at the stack of disposable
diapers on the table.

  "Fine," she sighed and got up.

  Diapers and babies were always a fun topic. While it would've seemed more
eco-friendly to use cloth diapers, the amount of energy and water used to
clean them to be re-used canceled out the benefits. Another thing about cloth
diapers was that they were lousy containing waste as they had no elastic band
around the tot's thighs. But even disposable diapers needed to be applied
properly, or you'd have a "shitty" disaster in the making.

  That's precisely what happened to my dusky Russkie that one time: Viktoriya
had offered to take care of Michael and Milhail while Janet was at work. Still
new to motherhood, she had wrapped Michael so loosely that the toddler began
dropping little brown nuggets all over her condo. I was wondering why there
were M&M's all over the place until I bent down to get a closer look. Luckily,
baby Mikey was content to play in front of the full-length mirrors in the
living room (and the floor was hardwood) so clean up was quick. Perhaps more
fortunately, none of us owned pets; it would've made the mess even messier.

  I watched Melanie as she took out Mikey's old diaper and cleaned his bottom.
I admired her slender fingers as she skillfully threaded a new diaper around
the toddler.

  "There," Melanie tapped the tape on his diaper, "Feel better now?"

  Mikey waved his stubby little arms and legs and tried to sit up. Yu-Ching
laughed and kissed his exposed belly. We carried the two kids into their cribs
and placed them face up. Milhail, being only a few months old, was now quiet
and sleeping. He was in a small sleeping suit that Mikey had used just a year
ago. I checked the cribs for loose objects, strings, cords, or small bits of
something they'd try to eat (kids put crap in their mouths like a drug addict
would with pills).

  I arranged the hush-puppies around the base of Mikey's crib (but not with
Milhail because he wasn't yet strong enough to push anything away from his
mouth and nose) and settled down for the night. Despite having her own unit
upstairs, she'd drop by my place to visit like if I was still living in my old
room. I found Melanie had beaten me to the shower.

  Her petite form was more or less "set" now. At 21, Yu-Ching would grow maybe
an inch or so more to her current height of 5'-2/3" (approximately 157 cm). Of
my six lovely treasures, she was the shortest, followed by Shawn and Janet
(both 5'-5/6" or about 166 cm). Next came Viktoriya and Jamie (about the same
height at 5'-6/7" or 168 cm). Rachelle was the tallest (she was as tall as me,
and I was 5'-8/9").

  Seeing Melanie in her naked glory awoke some old memories for me. She
reminded me of my late cousin. I had watched Aurora shower in Shek-Kou years
ago. When the storm let up, our bodies were sticky with sweat and grimy from
our sexual adventures. Aurora hopped into the shower with me. Her long black
hair hung down below her waist as we washed and explored the limits of our
young bodies. Seeing Melanie's long dark locks now, I was filled with a pang
of remorse. Would it have been better had I not slept with Aurora?

  "Lei-mong meh-yeh-a*?" Yu-Ching gazed at me. [* Cantonese: What the heck are
you staring at? (in this context)]

  We had both removed our clothing and were ready for a bath.

  "You know this is why you have your own place right?" I chided her and began
filling the tub.

  "But this is more fun." Melanie had wrapped her long lustrous hair into a
bun, and snapped a large shower cap over it.

  I immersed myself in the tub, tobe quickly followed by Melanie. Her sack of
hair whapped my face a few times when she turned her head.

  "I'm sorry," she was apologetic. "Maybe I should cut this short. It's
starting become a hassle."

  "Well not too short," I brushed my fingertips against her lithe young body.
"I like it."

  "You do?" She was kneeling between my legs, working up a lather with a bar of
soap.

  "You bet baby girl." I leaned close and kissed a spot not yet covered in
bubbles or foam. Melanie giggled as she turned around so I could wash her
back. I ran my fingers down her sides, feeling her breasts, and rubbing her
shoulders and sides.

  "Oh Stanley," she sighed, "Don't tease me like that. It's really late!"

  "So?" I rinsed off her smooth flawless back with a wet sponge and kissed the
base of her neck. Melanie shivered and leaned back into my arms.

  "You're so naughty," she scolded me as she scratched my arm gently, "Seducing
me when I was so young."

  "I'm just a dirty old man." I pinched her tender nipples softly. My little
darling gasped and kissed the bottom of my cheek as I rinsed off the rest of
her body. She wriggled free and turned me around.

  "Deng-wo xie ley-a*," she said. [* Cantonese: Lemme wash you.]

  I groaned as I felt her soft hands on my back and sides. Melanie lathered
then washed me off. As I felt her press her small breasts against my back, she
reached around and grabbed my stiff cock.

  "Ha-hah!" Melanie managed a dry chuckle. "Now I got you just like Janet
jie-jie."

  I chuckled too. Years before, I had told Yu-Ching how Janet had jumped me in
such a fashion. It was so long time ago, it was mildly surprising that she
suddenly sprung it on me again. Neither of us said anything but Melanie's
thumb began pressing down on the head of my penis, eliciting a delighted gasp
from me. She bit my sides gently as she began massaging my cock and nipples.
Having made love so many, many times, Melanie was as seasoned as any one of
us. She was a little more perverted when things got crazy.

  "I wanna see it," she whispered. "Cum in the bath water Stanley."

  "Hell no," I took her hands gently and turned around. "I got a better idea."

  Melanie complained only with a squeal as I hauled her out of the water. I
grabbed two large towels and took us to the bedroom. Once there, we toweled
ourselves dry.

  "Lei xiang deem-a*?" she asked coyly. [* Cantonese: What are you going to
do?]

  "What do you think?" I tickled her twat and kissed her.

  "O--wow--o--god--o--fuck!!"

  Melanie gripped my erect dong as I held her legs apart. She hissed with
pleasure as she guided me slowly into her warm, waiting cunt. My petite
darling was a little dry, but that soon proved to be moot as I formed a gentle
little force of telekinesis and "rolled" her Grafenberg spot. Melanie cried
softly as her pussy grew moist and loosened up. Her tight college girl cunt
sucked my cock in with a wet sucking sound. Melanie stared at me with wide
knowing eyes. I was fucking her raw. No saran wrap. No condoms. No pills. No
planning. My little darling quickly realized what that could mean.

  "Oh yes," she whispered with joy, "Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it!"

  I surrendered to her wicked wiles and wrecked that tiny tight ass of hers.
She kissed my cheeks and tips of my ears as I buried myself into her eager
little body.

  "Yea--fuck--yea-fuck," Melanie was panting endlessly in my ear.

  She took a cue from Viktoriya and raked my back with her stubby nails. I
wasn't expecting it, but the sudden pain didn't distract me; it only made me
hornier. Melanie emitted a muffled squeal as I redoubled my efforts. I pounded
her so roughly, the bed began to shake. Her baby chute contracted and quivered
as she came in a heated rush.

  "MWUAHH!!" she cried out softly. Melanie's whole body tightened and tensed as
she orgasmed; her empathy pulled me along easily. I dumped the contents from
my balls right into her without complaint.

  "Ohh! Oh!! Ooogh!!" She shook with pleasure as I ground my hips against hers.
"That felt so good Stanley. So good! I love you!!"

  "Hah." I kissed her neck content, "That's going to be a problem if you wind
up scoring."

  "Why?" Melanie asked wide-eyed, "I've been ready for like, forever!"

  "Sweetie, you're only 21," I said as I patted her thigh gently, "You're still
not settled into that job of yours yet."

  "Don't worry," she murmured and stroked my neck, "I'm fine with being a
housewife."

  "Now don't be like that." I propped myself up to avoid crushing her. "You'll
make a great chef."

  "Stanley Wei-Keurng Chen," Melanie dared call me by my full name, "Xi-doy
ngm-tong-le*. I can do a lot of things online and have children. Don't be such
a lao-bing*." [* Cantonese: Times have changed, and 'Old coot'.]

  "Ni-hen quai-ani*," I pinched her cheeks and she laughed. [* Mandarin: You're
so naughty.]

  "Lei gei-xsi hauk t'suo quok-yu-a*?" Melanie poked me in the stomach. [*
Cantonese: When'd you learn to speak Mandarin?]

  "It's a secret." I managed a smile.

  Actually, I hadn't done much at all. If an observant Cantonese speaker heard
enough Mandarin, he or she could pick it up easily. And Aurora, sweet innocent
Aurora, was half-Mandarin thanks to Aunt Regina (she was a buk-fong yun, or a
Northerner). Slamming little Melanie now was like boning my late cousin, only
Yu-Ching was so much more sweeter.

  Melanie was soon snoozing nude under the covers. I got up, dressed, and
headed back outside to the living room where the kids were. I crashed on the
sofa-bed once I had closed the door to the bedroom. It didn't last long
though. First one, then the other tot roused me with their agitated crying. I
felt pretty dead the next day. Ah, the joys of family.

===============================================================================
  MARRIAGE AND DISHARMONY 
===============================================================================

  Thankfully, Melanie didn't get pregnant. It was a peculiar situation for her.
It meant she was still ready for the wedding, but it also meant she went into
overdrive trying to fuck my brains out during the whole time. I played at
being asleep or just plain busy when Yu-Ching made passes at me. I suppose
Melanie's resemblance to Aurora was just dead-on from a few angles, and being
in Hong Kong wasn't helping.

  As for why were we there in Hong Kong? For the wedding of course. I had
forgotten that some of my grandparents were still alive in the former British
colony (at least on my mother's side). Since they wanted to see me get
married, I obliged them ... with six different weddings. And because we
couldn't help but arouse suspicion if the ceremony was held in the United
States, we all agreed on a (what we thought) clever way of doing things: we'd
resort to a traditional Chinese wedding feast. But to put on the show six
times was excessive! We had to do it once for each girl while the other five
would sit in as "maids of honor" (all whom I've no doubt dishonored) or on the
side-lines as mystery guests.

  As for the presence of the children, we had to simply make do. Michael was
nearly a year and a half old. He ran around and threw tantrums (he was still
teething) but Janet and I kept him on a short leash. Milhail celebrated his
first birthday just before leaving the country. Not surprisingly, Viktoriya
was more anxious than I about the trip; we didn't want to leave little
Milhail, but the risk of SARS (chicken flu) loomed over us the whole time. We
kept our noses and our rooms clean. My Russian bride splurged for freshly
steam-cleaned towels, and the hotel staff was happy to oblige.

  Jillian was the one who was most excited (apart from me). Eight years old,
curious, and having lived a sheltered life in Las Vegas (Jamie never showed
her the glitzy parts), my step-daughter put as much of a demand on my time as
any of the brides. Malls weren't her thing, so I scheduled a few half-days at
Ocean Park between festivities. Janet and Viktoriya didn't mind either as
Mikey and Milhail appeared to have thoroughly enjoyed themselves.

  Of course, that was just the logistics with the girls and the kids. Things
were trickier with the in-laws. Aside from getting my side of the family to go
along with it, we were also flying each of the girls' families out (their
friends came at their own expense). We then had to trick them into thinking
it's just that girl I was wedding that day.

  When my grandparents learned about my plans, they expressed rude shock such a
practice was still legal today (it wasn't under the new laws of Hong Kong
SAR). Still, they were supportive and gave me the final bits of advice and
methods I needed to make everything come together. I am extremely grateful for
their wisdom. But despite having almost all our bases covered, Andrew was
still had his doubts about the whole affair.

  "You still think you can pull this off?" he asked me.

  "Little too late for that now isn't it?" I gave him a sideways glance.
"You're MC-ing the final act in about a minute. Don't fuck it up."

  "Yeah that's great." Andrew stretched a bit. "I'm beat."

  "Me too. I'm damn glad this is the last one," I said, "Shawn's about ready to
faint. I can't believe she drew the longest straw."

  "She's a funny one. I can see why Yu-Ching likes her so much," my brother
added a chuckle, "Mom and dad are still talking smack though. They can't
believe you're doing this."

  "Wanna trade?" I asked in a jest, "You deal with that six-pack of harpies,
and I'll deal with mom and dad."

  "Hope they don't hear you say that," my little brother said and threw me a
grin, "Sachiko is already a handful when I even glance at other girls, not
that you'd made it easy all these years, a-guo*." [* Cantonese: Big brother;
colloquially, it could literally mean "bro" or "brah" in American slang but
here it is used with affection and genuine familial respect.]

  I nodded glumly but grinned inwardly. Sachiko Kosugi was Gracia's little
sister (born 1983, just a half-year younger than Andrew and Melanie). She had
shown up when Gracia was consulting with me about the building's interiors (or
whatever the hell we were working on at the time) and Andrew went a-ga-ga over
the pretty petite Japanese girl with the ever-so soft voice but spunky
attitude.

  I knew I shouldn't have intervened, but I felt sorry for my little brother.
He wasn't particularly ugly; in fact, he turned out to be taller and more
rugged than I was. However, he was shy. I was partly to blame: my constant
womanizing had belittled and overawed him when he was younger. When he'd work
up enough nerve to ask a girl out, they'd might go out on a pity date with
him, but he was clearly too shy to ignite any long-term interest in women.

  So (in what spare little time I had) I did my best to steer Sachiko into his
lap. After a brief mind-scan, I saw the two had something in common: both were
studying psychology and human behavior. Well okay, Andrew was studying
psychology and Sachiko was into bettering human behavior through bio-chemical
psychiatry. Both were anime-crazy (Sachiko was a cosplayer), so all it took
was a little serendipity and help from big brother. I mentally nudged Gracia
into a quick double-date (for us, it was business; I didn't touch Gracia at
all) and our two siblings hit it off a few weeks later.

  But back to my wedding -- er, wedding farce. All six of the girls knew we
couldn't commit a darn thing to paper, so we had to settle for something
earnestly traditional. It was a tradition to orally pledge one's loyalty to
the groom's and bride's parents by kneeling and ceremoniously offering a
sacred cup of tea.

  For the groom, there were two oaths he made: to his bride's parents, he would
promise to take in their daughter and to care for her and the children she'd
bear him (equivalent to death 'til us part); to the groom's own parents, he'd
swear that he would uphold and honor the family name (Cantonese culture is
patriarchal), to conduct no disreputable business in its name, and to teach
and raise the children from the union to adulthood.

  For the bride, she made equivalent oaths: to the bride's parents, she
promised to honor their family by doing nothing dishonorable in her husband's
name or household; she'd share in the hardships of her husband and in return
he'd share what joy he would earn; she would also swear filial piety to the
husband's parents, for (in the traditional method) they were now HER parents
(oiy-gaa-lui).

  By now, I had recited my oaths five times before over the course of ten days.
There was no question Janet would be first (the other five had drawn straws to
see who went next). Shawn flew out to Hong Kong from Tokyo, having gotten a
week's reprieve for the occasion. In addition to the in-laws, there were also
some very close friends and family. Only the closest confidants were let into
all six ceremonies though. Ami was one who knew what was going on. She even
gave me good advice: don't neglect any of 'em or take them for granted. Indeed
I wouldn't, for I was a happy man six times over.

  Cristobel was present only for Viktoriya's ceremony but he pretty much got
the gist of it. I was sure he wouldn't rat us out; besides, that man had
secrets of his own and understood our need for privacy. Cristobel spent much
of the time during Viktoriya's day in silent conversation with both of us.

  'Does that mean you're not coming back to New York, Vika?' The handsome young
man was outwardly cheerful, but he was inwardly apprehensive about Viktoriya's
plans.

  'Stanislav and I discussed it.' Viktoriya thought-spoke as she greeted the
guests as that day's bride. 'I'll be there just part of the time when Milhail
is older. It'll work out my friend.'

  'Who will I dance with when you're gone?' I heard Cristobel lament.

  'Why don't you try that blonde Vika tasted in Rome?' I suggested on our
private little discussion. Viktoriya and Cristobel both scoffed at my
ignorance.

  'Freya is a rhythmic gymnast.' Viktoriya explained. 'Different from what we
do.'

  She shot me a brief memory of that lithe lovely blonde contorting her body
into vulgar positions to keep a plastic ball adhered to her body. Interesting;
I realized now why my Slavic beauty was so interested in bending Jamie into a
pretzel that time they fucked.

  'STANISLAV!!' I sensed her embarrassment as I broadcast the thought to every
sensitive citizen in the room. Cristobel covered his mouth timidly to hide his
laughter as Viktoriya shot a glare back at him then at me.

  'Sorry about that.' I pinged.

  'Like Janna would say: You better watch it mister!' Viktoriya smiled like a
panther and began sashaying towards my parents with Milhail in one arm. I
grinned nervously despite what I'd done about two months before. My parents
had barely let the shock of my words settle in about what I intended to do
with my girls -- all six of them -- before I introduced Milhail by having
Viktoriya carry him in.

  "Mother Chen. I am Viktoriya. I present your second grandson, Milhail," she
said simply and plopped our son into my mother's shaking arms.

  As if to compound the problem, Jamie and Jillian came in, followed by
Rachelle (Janet and Melanie were sitting by me, ready to leap to my defence).
My parents recognized Rachelle but didn't know who Jamie was. After some curt
explanation, there was a period of awkward silence. My little brother Andrew
coughed nervously and apologized to Janet and Rachelle for the crap I'd put
them through.

  "That's my brother," he tried his best to break the silence, "He's a dick."

  "Hey." I punched his arm rather unkindly. "Watch your goddamn mouth."

  "Hey hush!" That was Janet. "You watch yours, mister!"

  Luckily, my mother didn't faint like she did last time, but my dad finally
had enough that he had to lie down.

  "Holy shit dude," Andrew joked with me later in private, "You pretty much
wowed dad with that one."

  All in all, everything went off without much of a hitch (at least on the
surface): the six beauties wore a slightly different colored cheong-pao on
different days. The bride for that day wore red. The others would have to wear
a different color. While the other girls were fine with two or three sets (red
and sunflower gold, although Jamie and Rachelle opted for blue and green as
well), Viktoriya grinned mischievously and snapped up six different colors
ranging from coal black to royal purple. Thankfully, all my darlings were
informed ahead of time not to choose white (color of mourning).

  After Shawn and I ended our six day wedding marathon, she changed back into
her gold cheong-pao (as did Viktoriya). We wanted one picture of all of us as
equals. None of the waiters or serving girls thought anything was amiss. As we
sat, I faintly recalled the dream I had once a long time ago. Back then, only
five of the six were there, but I'd grown fond of Jamie and Jillian I'd
thought nothing of including them into the gang.

  'Oh Stanislav? Dor-o-goi?' Viktoriya pricked my mind awake. 'Just a little
longer my love, and you'll die tonight a happy man.'

  'I don't aim to do that just yet.' I thought-spoke. 'Wait. What'd you mean by
that?'

  'There are SIX of us now kisa.' Viktoriya's thoughts were running amok at the
possibilities. 'What do you think we're going to do?'

  I felt a shiver go through me as she smiled saucily and leaned innocently
against Jamie. I saw the other woman jerk in surprise before she passed a
timid glance my way. From the way I grinned, the Asian hottie quickly blushed
a deep crimson.

  'Not all at the same time that's for sure.' I pinged her with sincerity and
took my place in the middle of the front row.

  'Why not?!' Viktoriya sharpened both her gaze and her thoughts towards me.

  'For one thing, I'm not twenty anymore.' I grew thoughtful. 'I can't do it
that many times in one night.'

  'Oh, just you wait.' Viktoriya tickled my mind with old memories. 'We'll team
up and put you under yet!'

  'You wouldn't dare.' I almost growled aloud.

  'Fine then.' She seemed resigned. 'I suppose I'll have to settle with one of
the others tonight.'

  'Don't do anything crazy now.' I reminded her.

  'Of course not! How dare you compare me to you, you vile beast!' Viktoriya's
thoughts wavered between the silly and the serious. 'Ravishing poor Melanie
while our son was asleep next door. You animal! I should castrate you.'

  'As if you weren't guilty when you jumped me and Jamie that time.' I stirred
her memory of the menage-a-trois between me, her, and Jamie.

  "Yuu-bei! Yut-yee-sam*!" CLICK. We continued our chatter despite the cameras.
[* Cantonese: Ready. One-two-three.]

  'You can't wholly blame me!' Viktoriya smiled broadly. 'I never saw you so
frisky before or since. Admit it Stanislav, you ENJOY watching me while you
plow us, you vile old pervert.'

  A flurry of flashbulbs gave me a good case of floaters and after-images. I
excused myself from the room and headed for the restroom. As I brushed by
Viktoriya, I shifted my focus on her sweet ass and telekinetically pinched her
bottom.

  'You shameless animal!' She pinged mischievously. 'You dare call yourself
Milhail's father?!'

  Viktoriya got up and followed me to the bathroom where she jumped me in the
stall. We were lucky that no one saw us. I held her up while I was standing in
front of the toilet, taking what was probably the longest silent whizz in the
establishment's history. Great wedding, eh? So, it was with shock and surprise
that I was served papers to appear in court about a year later in mid-2004.
Shawn had finished with her studies in Tokyo and she had moved into her
now-finished condo. I had just finished putting away the last of her moving
boxes when the mail came.

  "What the hell is this?!" I nearly lost my mind when I read the papers. The
Hortens had filed suit and accused me of being a bigamist.

===============================================================================
  FAMILY FEUD 
===============================================================================

  Janet and I had been careful. The only marriage license that existed was the
one she and I got back in 2001. So how exactly did Shawn's parents nab me?
George and Laura used the very invitations we had foolishly sent out as
kindling for the fire. They had contacted the Hollisters and then the
Lychenkos (the latter did thought it bizarre a second ceremony was held a year
after Milhail's birth). Thankfully, the Youngs proved impossible to contact
because of Jamie's name change.

  All that, and an accusation that a "suspicious ceremony" was held outside the
United States. Of course, it was all bunk. I suppose we could simply deny any
of the ceremonies having took place, but that would be perjury. Janet was
worried sick as three year-old Mikey toddled between his five other
step-mothers. Established precedent in bigamy cases allowed the state to take
the family's children away from the parents. That was what everyone was
concerned about now: the children.

  I pointed out this was an impossibility. In the case where the father
committed statutory rape by wedding (then bedding) teenage brides, the
children were often taken into state custody. Well, despite the borderline
crap I did when I was younger with Melanie and Shawn (and Janet to me), I had
"wedded" women, not young girls.

  "That's bull and you know it." I glanced briefly at Jamie before turning back
to my First. "They can't do that can they?"

  "I don't know." Janet was showing again. We had gone at it soon after the
wedding and she got knocked up a second time.

  "Maybe we were asking for it." I wanted to punch myself for being so obvious.
The invitations were a paper trail, but they were also part of the cover.

  "C'mon sugar," Rachelle chimed in, her words echoing my thoughts, "It's crazy
anyway. Who saves wedding invitations?"

  "A father would for an only child." Viktoriya whispered quickly as she
watched Milhail try to stand on his own.

  My black beauty looked towards Shawn and her gaze softened. "Oh, honey. I'm
sorry if I sounded mean."

  "That's okay." My plump dumpling had said little since the news broke.

  The seven of us were in Shawn's art-modern unit. The furniture was slick, jet
smooth and black, and very stylish; exactly as they appeared in that issue of
Architectural Digest. The only people there were me, the girls, and the tots.
Jillian was at my parents' place. They had finally come to accept her as their
own granddaughter. The only children with us -- Michael and Milhail -- didn't
understand a word that was said, which was all the better. They would've been
scared shitless that their mothers were now considered criminals, and they
could be forcibly taken away to foster homes.

  "What now?" Jamie wrung her hands. "Is there an out? I don't want to lose the
children Stanley!"

  I could see the Asian beauty was a nervous wreck. Jamie was about as advanced
in her pregnancy as Janet. I had nailed the two of them within the span of a
week. Apparently, I was a busy lad during our honeymoon in Oahu.

  "Not so fast, let's not get ahead of ourselves." Janet kept calm despite our
predicament. "They might have something worse; so far the invitations can be
taken as fakes or a fabrication."

  "But they have our names on them," Jamie said flatly, "And dates too."

  "Don't forget there were lots of photos," Melanie said glumly, "They're going
to use that against us aren't they?"

  "Only if they subpoena them," Janet explained. I could see her mind working
out the details. "And that'll probably happen only in a criminal case, and no
one's seen them right?"

  "They're on SD cards." Melanie looked between her and me. "I hadn't printed
them yet."

  "Well," I said as I knitted my brow, "I'll get some new cards and hide the
old ones."

  "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Janet put her hands briefly over
her ears for emphasis. She went to say, "All I know is that for a civil suit,
they'd have to dig through a lot of trash with private detectives, and not
count on the police for a search."

  "Oh God." Jamie buried her face in her hands. "This is crazy. We shouldn't
have --!!"

  "Have confidence, zaichik*," [* Russian: Bunny rabbit. Another pet name,
chiefly for lovers] Viktoriya interjected, "Stanislav and Janna will think of
something."

  "You sound confident." Rachelle passed her glance over Janet as she looked at
Viktoriya and me. "How can you be sure?"

  "I trust them," Viktoriya said simply. I hazarded a guess that my Cossack
cutie was sure I'd try my persuasion.

  'Why of course!' My dusky Russkie thought-spoke an affirmative. 'Now would be
a good time as any. But where do we start Stanislav?'

  My jaw tightened. I suppose we could do this our way. I began parsing the
details and organizing it in my mind as the others talked.

  "Well we don't have to worry yet." Janet was thoughtful. "I don't think it'll
hold up in criminal court unless there's another marriage license somewhere.
An invitation isn't a legal document anyway."

  Viktoriya and I conferred quickly and made sure our tracks were covered. The
sham marriage in Indiana had been done with a "persuaded" magistrate and a
fake license. I paid the clerk in cash but he never filed the license: my
dusky Russkie snatched it from the file using telekinesis while I blurred the
clerk's mind so he forgot to file the thing in his computer. Well, that was
one less thing to worry about. Viktoriya gave me a reassuring smile. I relaxed
as my dependable Lady Wu continued talking.

  "Look, I know it's hard for everyone," Janet said quietly, "But I'm going to
have to ask that you bite the bullet on this one, and disown Stanley for the
record."

  The others fidgeted nervously. Rachelle deliberately averted her gaze to
avoid looking at Janet.

  "If you're asked if you're married," my First knitted her brow, "You'll each
going to have to say, 'No'."

  "And the kids?"

  "A blood test will only be asked for paternity." Janet looked glum, "But I
guess it can be argued that paternity isn't evidence of bigamy. Just
bastardship."

  "What about you?" Rachelle asked suddenly.

  "What about me?" Janet kept her cool. "Legally, I'm his wife. I know it
sucks, but it was something our parents pushed us into."

  "I suppose divorce is out of the question?" Viktoriya interjected with a
different question to keep the two feuding women from each other's throats.

  "It won't matter." Janet shook her head, "If the invitations are going to be
the cornerstone of their argument, they were date-stamped, as was our marriage
license. It'll just alert them we're trying to hide something, which could be
just as bad."

  'Stanislav.' My Baltic beauty eyed me on the sly. 'We can take care of that
like we did in Indiana ...'

  'I suppose we can.' I was running through the different scenarios. Each had
different difficulties involved, and about a hundred things that could go
wrong ...

  "What? No, don't think of it like that!" Melanie exclaimed, "Stanley and
Janet jie-jie can't get divorced!! The taxes they pay if they're single will
bankrupt them."

  "Taxes are going to be the least of our worries," I said to her, "There's
jail time for convicted bigamists it seems."

  "Shawn Ellen, can't you do something?!" Melanie looked accusingly at my buxom
angel, "Talk to your dad!"

  "I never told anyone this, but my dad hates Stanley's guts." Shawn looked
sick as she responded, "He never liked him even as a boyfriend."

  "Lucky for me I'm not into him eh?" I grinned and tried to add some humor,
but the joke quickly wilted.

  "Now isn't the time." Janet put a hand on my shoulder. I took her hand and
gave it a squeeze. "Look, the case is going to pre-trial soon. I'll find us a
good lawyer and we'll do our best to keep Stanley and the rest of us out of
trouble."

  "But we got to --!!" I sensed Melanie's growing vehemence and it was being
directed at the wrong person. I decided to stop it before it got worse.

  "Stop it, Yu-Ching," I said gently, "This isn't Shawn's fault and pointing
fingers won't help. We need to be cool about it."

  "He's right." Janet patted my little darling's hand. "I'll ask around. Don't
you worry. We'll fight this thing."

  Melanie nodded slowly, as did the others. Thank God for the little things
though. Viktoriya and I made some headway on our own. Just a few days before
the pre-trial, the Lychenkos opted out of the suit. My Cossack darling
demonstrated her guile by berating her parents. She threatened to pull Milhail
away from them forever if they didn't "... drop this nonsense against the
father of her child!"

  The Lychenkos didn't know me well enough that I'd do more than that if they
continued to make legal threats against me, Viktoriya, and Milhail. They
agreed and we retired to the guest room for the night. As soon as we were
alone, my Russian lover clutched me tightly.

  'My god Stanislav.' Her whole body was trembling. 'I was never so scared in
my life!'

  'You were wonderful milenky.' I hugged her tenderly. 'I am glad I married
you, if only by a spoken oath.'

  The three of us flew back to San Francisco after a short weekend with
Milhail's grandparents. As lucky as we were with the Lychenkos, the Hollisters
proved a bit more difficult. I went with Rachelle to talk her family down from
the suit and things got a little rough. My dark beauty's answers weren't
clever enough to thwart all their suspicion. One of Rachelle's sisters (Tanya
or whoever the other one was) accused me of breaking up Craig and Rachelle.

  "That's true." I nodded and asked her plainly, "Do you know why?"

  "Because you're a selfish little man?" she snapped.

  "Maybe." I cleared my throat and hardened my tone, "But if you stop being a
whiny bitch for just a minute, you may have noticed Rachelle's skin doesn't
have all those splotchy bruises from the beatings Craig used to give her."

  There was a collective gasp as I leveled a stern gaze at the obnoxious young
woman.

  "I think that might've been a bigger issue than this nonsense," I snapped.
Rachelle looked at me with mounting disapproval.

  "Stanley! Please stop!" my black beauty hissed as her sister turned stormed
out of the room. Needless to say, the Hollisters showed me the door. They
begged Rachelle to stay but she shook her head.

  "No, I need some space." She waved them off. "I can't stand this!"

  We left quickly, but Rachelle was clearly exasperated.

  "I thought you were a smooth talker." She passed me a dark scowl. "Now you
just pissed off my whole family! How could you talk to my sister that way?"

  "How could they not know what you were going through with Craig?" I asked her
gently. "Didn't you tell them?"

  "They don't know," Rachelle sighed, "because I didn't."

  "I'm sorry." I patted her knee. "I'll apologize later, but things are really
ornery right now."

  "You don't say, Stanley!!" she groaned, "I'll never hear the end of this!"

  So damn Shawn's father. His single-minded determination to "rescue" his
daughter made him dangerously obsessed. He got it in his mind that I had
"kidnapped" his daughter Shawn to live in a (what he termed) "polygamist
compound" right there in cosmopolitan San Francisco.

  George Horten not only began looking into my personal life, he was digging
into my professional one as well. He had called up my boss at Ditomer Design,
told him I was being sued for bigamy, and got me fired for "not representing
the clientele Ditomer wished to cater to". The schism Mormons (the ones who
practiced polygamy) were apparently getting one bad reputation in building
circles. Of course, I didn't need to hear the call George Horten made to my
boss to know it was his doing; I knew it as soon as I scanned the older man's
mind.

  So that's where he had his weight, I thought. The was the same "friend"
Horten had hinted about when he wanted me to stop dating Shawn. The friend was
one of the senior fellows at Ditomer Design and my over-boss. Using my earlier
absence (due to my illness) as an excuse, I was "let go" for being an
unsatisfactory employee producing "work not designated". That was fine by me.
I didn't subscribe to the faggot-ass empty design theories being pitched all
the time at Ditomer. From my time at Ferguson, I was grounded in reality and
in how systems were built.

  In my mind, form had to follow function, otherwise, one was just drawing a
bunch of meaningless lines on a piece of vellum. Being daring and artistic
were fine if our firms were designing butt-ugly contemporary sculptures for
corporate headquarters, but architectural firms designed buildings that had to
withstand daily use by people. Ditomer was a firm formed of people who were
far removed from reality and I was happy to have nothing to do with them.

  In the meantime, Janet found us some lawyers through her co-workers and
friends. The lawyers we got were a team: one specialized in marriage and
estate law, the other in custody and family law. Both were good, sensible and
thorough. Though our story was pretty flimsy, our legal duo realized
immediately that the state had a similarly flimsy case.

  "It's the civil suit you should be worried about," the man named Eric Stanton
explained. "Those things can get out of control."

  "I agree," his partner, a hawkish woman by the name of Emily Rogers nodded.

  "Never mind the civil suit for now." I kneaded my own temples wearily, "Can
anything happen to our kids?"

  "I think not, am I right?" Janet squeezed my hand. "The state has to be
involved and you said there wouldn't be a criminal case?"

  "You're partly right." Stanton explained, "Some states have filed civil suits
before, but unless they can prove you've endangered them, CPS (Child
Protective Services) won't have authorization to do a darn thing."

  "Besides," the Rogers woman added quickly, "We can make the argument for
single parent custody."

  "I see." Janet managed a smile. "Thank you for putting our minds at ease. My
boss, Teddy, said you guys were good."

  Stanton and Rogers both grinned back kindly.

  "That's a relief." I looked at them, "But is there anything we can do in the
meantime?"

  Stanton nodded. "Yes Mr. Chen. Stay put, stay silent, and let us do the
talking."

  "Thank you then." I stood and shook their hands. Despite their professional
advice, I intended to do no such thing. I had my own way of doing things: the
empire's way.

  The case went before a judge (no jury) for a pre-trial hearing. The argument
by the plaintiffs (only the Hortens were there -- the Hollisters were absent)
was that while officially married to Janet, I had conceived another child with
Viktoriya. Now, I had absconded with their daughter Shawn, and "god knows who
else". The evidence was flimsy until their lawyer showed some snapshots from
our wedding ceremony. I showed up alone as my counsels recommended. Stanton
and Rogers maintained that I didn't need to add more gasoline to the fire with
the presence of the women.

  "This shows the defendant Mr. Chen, clearly participating in a wedding
ritual," their lawyer spoke.

  The photos were to the point. However, since there was no Westernized
garments, the judge had only to go by the color of the clothing and our faces.
Shawn was sitting next to me, but we were both staring straight ahead (we
showed no public displays of affection just to be on the safe side). Although
I recognized it as a Chinese wedding, the judge thought little of it as he
studied the pictures. Thinking (rightly) he was losing the judge's interest,
the Horten's attorney, a little ferret named Parker, pulled another piece of
paper from his folder.

  "Additionally you honor," he continued, "We've taken the liberty of making a
photocopy of Mr. Chen's marriage license in Hong Kong."

  I nearly jumped out of my seat. I had forgotten about that. To satisfy
Melanie's desire to frame something, I skipped down to the local records
office and bullshitted the clerk into giving me a blank marriage certificate.
Of course, after Melanie and I filled out the whole thing, she had framed it
and left it in her room -- a room she shared with Shawn. Of course, when the
Hortens visited Shawn that day before the wedding ...

  Motherfucker, I thought. Old man Horten was investigating me since Hong Kong.
I was inwardly furious, but hid it well. If I wanted, I could've reached
across the table and snapped Horten's neck with just a mild thought; I didn't,
of course. There was far less bloodless, and far more effective, methods of
dealing with people like George Horten.

  I looked at the judge and wondered how much I could blot out from his memory.
As I gathered the effort and concentration to cloud his mind, I sensed I was
jumping the gun. I relaxed and waited instead. The old magistrate's eyes
narrowed as he read the blurry photocopy.

  He glanced up at both parties and said, "This is all in Chinese. I can't read
a damn thing. Care to explain yourself Mr. Parker?"

  Parker shifted uncomfortably and offered an explanation.

  "If you have someone translate it your honor," he started weakly, "You can
get the gist of it."

  "Mr. Parker," the judge let the sheet of paper fall from his fingers, "Even
if you manage to translate it, the names of the bride and groom are in
Chinese. They have no translation. They have no pictures. And even if Mr. Chen
is as rapacious and bold as your client claims he is, he does not appear to be
stupid enough to admit that his name is on this license, understand?"

  I could've kissed the old Caucasian coot as he went on, "Now what else do you
have besides photos of people in a Chinese New Year's Parade?"

  I relaxed. This judge was no fool. He understood that Shawn's father was
unhappy about me eloping with his daughter. However, there was no clear
evidence of bigamy apart from the wedding invitations, which Horten could have
easily had printed up himself. Stanton and Rogers studied the opposition just
as carefully as myself. However, unlike them, Parker was an irrelevance I
could discard. I had George and Laura Horten in the room. As the pre-trial
hearing went on in the judge's chambers, I sifted through their memories,
looking for something -- anything -- I could use against them.

  As a rule, I never dug into anyone's life too deeply for fear of being
discovered. Just a slip of concentration and they'd be alerted that "someone"
(likely me) was spying on their mind. Now, I had no choice. I had developed my
technique over the years, so a 'normal' wouldn't really know he (or she) was
being mind-read. For a 'normal', it was very much like recalling memories and
not really knowing why save that I was staring intently at him (or her).
However, that staring suited me fine now. I ransacked the Hortens' minds
desperately looking for something incriminating.

  Sorting through the memories of the parents of a woman I was in love with was
something I didn't relish, but I hunkered down and went to work. When I
finally found what I was looking for, I felt nauseous. George Horten's
interest in Shawn was less than wholesome. It wasn't anything unsavory with my
plump darling; it was just a form of selfishness I vowed never to do to my own
children.

===============================================================================
  NEVER FUCK WITH A TELEPATH 
===============================================================================

  The pre-trial hearing went nowhere and Parker insisted on a trial, using the
invitations and wedding photos as evidence. It wasn't really his call, as
Horten demanded it. The worse was yet to come though. Since my parents were
there at the event, Parker served them subpoenas. Now, they would be
committing perjury if they lied. But unless they did, I was pretty much going
to get caught. I sensed George Horten would stop at nothing, so I arranged a
meeting. I called his house from one of the last few pay phones in the Inner
Sunset and asked him to meet at a nearby coffee house. Of course, I was
already there waiting for him when he and Parker appeared.

  "Sit down." I didn't look up as I went through my mail.

  After my firing from Ditomer and a week or so of panic, I applied at several
firms and gotten some receptive letters. Being on the cover of the latest
Architectural Digest didn't hurt either. I had four interviews scheduled for
next week. Actually, that dickish move by my boss at Ditomer hurt the firm
more than it helped, for in the feature about Shawn's solar wall and the
building, I was identified as a Ditomer employee. When prospective clients
later called, Gracia, Jules, Shawn, and the Ditomer human resources manager
had to direct them to my new firm.

  "So," George Horten said curtly and sat down across from me, "Ready to give
it up? Where's Shawn?"

  "She's hardly on speaking terms with the weasel who got the man she loves
fired."

  I pinged both Parker and Horten and felt their unease. Ah, I sensed the
reason behind the sudden nervousness. The weasel was wired. He was hoping to
catch me in a lie, or somehow incriminiate myself. So, we're going to play the
game without rules. That was fine by me; these two fools had no idea how much
trouble they could get into if I put my mind to it.

  "Whatever it is you're talking about," Parker went fishing for my mistakes,
"My client has no knowledge of. Please be more specific or show up with your
attorney."

  George Horten sat back, his face impassive, but I sensed his exuberance of
ambushing me. It was ironic. If he wasn't Shawn's father, I'd probably just
make him vanish. I might as well do that. Because what I was going to do was
far worse than a mysterious disappearance.

  "No need." I put away my mail and looked Horten straight in the eye. "I'll
make it simple, George. Drop this silly suit and things go back to normal."

  Silence. Parker and Horten looked at one another in confusion.

  "That's it?" George asked. "What about Shawn?"

  "What about Shawn?" I asked, "You're free to call on her anytime. It's not me
who's hanging up on you every time you try. It's not me who's refusing you
entry into what's essentially her home. I am more indebted to Shawn than she
is to me."

  Horten flinched like his face was slapped. I could sense his rage and anger
bubbling within. I was giddy with silent rage. This will make things go easier
if he makes a mistake. 'Normals' didn't think clearly when they got angered.
Saves me the trouble of planning his assassination too.

  "I'm going to ask once more." I smiled thinly. "Please drop your suit, Mr.
Horten. Let it go."

  Parker's eyes slid over to his seething client.

  "No."

  That was the answer I WANTED to hear. Later, both Melanie and Viktoriya both
remarked how grimly pleased I was in the days after George Horten's fate was
sealed.

  "Then we have nothing more to discuss." I rose and bowed. "See you in court,
gentlemen."

  Things occurred quickly after that. Using a job interview as a pretext (I
didn't say with whom), I drove down to Fresno and found the person I was
looking for. Once I completed the first few minutes of chatter, I had gotten
what I needed and I did my thing. I drove back up and got home in time for a
real interview the next day, confident that I had saved my bacon, but
extremely sorry for what was about to happen. I was about to gain freedom, but
Shawn was about to have her world shattered.

  By the time I started as a designer at a firm called Down-To-Earth a few
weeks later, I was going into trial. Through some clever persuasion, I managed
to head over to the civil court on MacAllister without appearing as a
dead-beat slacker the first few days of my new job.

  Parker opened with a tirade against my lifestyle, some of which wasn't
in-tune to the income I was supposedly reporting (actually, it was a
fabrication since I had the paperwork and taxes to prove it). He intended to
prove that I was in clear violation of not only bigamy laws, but also keeping
women and children in a "compound" along with a bunch of other crap (it amazes
me still what people sue over in civil court).

  Stanton and Rogers fired back by showing the issues of Architectural Digest
that featured Shawn's solar wall and the interiors of the house. The magazine
had done that piece a while ago. My plump petunia even flew out to San
Francisco for the photoshoot. Also in the feature: Jules Fontana and Gracia
Kosugi. The four of us posed in a group and as a couple (Jules with Gracia, me
with Shawn -- nothing kinky -- this wasn't a Hustler photoshoot) in each of
the furnished units.

  "Does this look like a compound to you, your honor?" Stanton asked.

  The judge didn't answer but I picked up his thoughts and nearly cracked a
smile: 'No sirree.' 'It looks better than my own house.'

  My parents would be part of the case, but the prosecution wasn't going to
start with them. Instead, Parker focused on the girls and sought to break open
the case using their testimony. Rachelle went on the stand first. Viktoriya
was still in New York City with Milhail. She wasn't due to come in to testify
until later. Janet and Shawn sat nervously in the chamber (Jamie had just
started her new job as an IT-tech and Melanie was working the country club
because both were scheduled to be called in later).

  "How would you characterize your relationship with the defendant, Mr. Stanley
Chen?" Parker asked her.

  "Friendly," Rachelle said curtly then smiled. Janet and our attorneys had
advised her well.

  "Ah I see," the counsel went on, "And are you intimate with the defendant,
Miss Hollister?"

  "I was," my dark beauty begrudgingly gave an inch.

  "I see." Parker mused, "Was this during the time that Mr. Chen was married?"

  Rachelle nodded and gave another point for the prosecution.

  "Are you aware that Mr. Chen is married?" the lawyer asked her.

  "Yes." Rachelle flicked her eyes to Janet. My First -- bless her -- grinned
bravely and dipped her head just slightly. I sensed Rachelle's great sense of
relief as she relaxed.

  "So you admit to adultery?" Parker pressed.

  "Objection," Stanton reflexively called out.

  "Sustained," the judge eyed Parker, "I thought this was a case about bigamy
counselor. Not a divorce case."

  "As the court pleases, your honor." The gray-suited lawyer turned back to
Rachelle. "So, you can say that you and Stanley are not in an exclusive
relationship?"

  Here was the kicker: Janet and Emily Rogers had wracked their brains on this
possible question all night, trying to impress on the others how the answer
would probably hurt or hinder my case. See, if there was an admission of some
sort of exclusivity, it could be likely construed as one of two things: 

  (A) a marriage of some sort, or

  (B) some sort of payment for exclusivity (which could lead to solicitation 
and prostitution charges).

  Rachelle though, knocked Parker's question out of the ballpark.

  "Stanley and I are not in an exclusive relationship," she said evenly.

  I sensed the pain as she said those words for a matter of public record.
Still, the record mattered little, especially if we weren't inclined to let it
dictate our lives. Rachelle knew I loved her, and I knew she loved me. It was
enough, and it would have to do.

  "So if someone were to ask you out on a date," an annoyed Parker continued,
"You wouldn't dismiss him -- or her -- out of hand because you have no terms
of exclusivity with Mr. Chen?"

  "That depends who's asking." Rachelle tilted her head thoughtfully.

  "Would you be willing to say, 'yes'," Parker pressed, "If someone asked you
out on a date, Miss Hollister?"

  "Again, that depends on who is asking." She regarded the skinny balding
counselor with pity, "Sometimes saying I have a boyfriend or fiance can be
handy when I don't want to be bothered by guys I don't like. You haven't gone
out on many dates have you, Mr. Parker?"

  I heard a sharp snorting laugh behind me as the courtroom buzzed with
chuckles and snickering. I turned around and to my surprise, found Janet
covering her mouth in a vain effort to compose herself.

  'What the fuck?' I mouthed my question to her. Janet read my lips and she
gave me a surly smile. She shook her head and sat back, pinning her gaze back
at the prosecution's table.

  "Mr. Parker," the judge appreciated Rachelle's sarcastic candor, "You're
beating a dead horse. I think you've established Miss Hollister is free to
choose whom she dates, if she chooses to date one individual or several, and
if she wants to tell a harmless white lie to a suitor she doesn't like; it has
no bearing on this case at this point. Have you more questions for your
witness?"

  "No, your honor." Parker was red-faced.

  Stanton's cross-examination was brief and to the point (and far gentler). It
carried us up to the lunch hour. All this time, Shawn didn't bother to look
once at her father. I sensed the conflicted feelings she had in her. Now, I
felt absolutely rotten that she was going to feel ten times worse before the
day was out. When they finally came, it was shortly after lunch. The judge
motioned for the bailiff to escort the two deputies to the bench.

  "George Martin Horten," the judge read the sheaf of papers, "I have here a
warrant for your arrest."

  There was a general uproar in the courtroom until the judge smashed his gavel
several times.

  "There will be order in this court!" the judge's voice came over the
audience's roar as the deputies "Miranda-ed" George Horten and hauled his
sorry ass off to jail.

  Wondering what happened? Here it is in brief: Remember Shawn's older brother?
The one who was killed in an "accident"? It wasn't a complete accident. See,
Shawn's brother was killed by another man in a fit of revenge. Her brother
(then a fourteen year old) was dating a girl his age. I don't know what George
Horten was thinking (well I sort of did and it still gives me chills) but
Horten had the hots for the young girl. He fucked her while she was
half-dozing on a mix of codeine and a little alcohol.

  When the girl started showing, the girl's father tried to confront Shawn's
brother when he was biking his way towards the girl's house. The older man
killed the boy by accident when Shawn's brother was run off the road; the
accident broke the lad's neck. Once the elder Horten realized what had
happened, he fled like the damned coward he was. Instead of owning up to the
truth and facing down his son's murderer, he chose to save his own ass. The
accident strained the Hortens' marriage, but it didn't break it. That was one
reason why the Hortens relocated to San Francisco; I'm glad they did, for that
was where I met my plump petunia.

  Meanwhile, the girl in Fresno gave birth. Her family covered it up as another
child, but the memories the girl had of George Horten were still there in her
mind. 'Dormant but present,' was the phrase. All I needed was to have her
recall the incident, and recall she did. With the remains of the son's
accident still on record and the available DNA, there was enough to bring
suspicion on Shawn's father with the similarities in gene alleles.

  What happened after was particularly devastating, especially to Shawn Ellen.
When she heard the truth, my normally jolly darling became unglued and
estranged herself from her father. Only Melanie (thank God for her) kept Shawn
from slipping into terminal depression. Shawn's mother -- Laura Benton --
divorced her husband soon after, citing that she could not abide living with a
sexual offender. With the civil suit brought on by the Fresno girl's family,
Shawn's old home in San Francisco was sold off to pay off the attorney fees.
All that seriously derailed George Horten's plans in court.

  Shawn never spoke to her father again, and both she and Mother Horten didn't
connect with the boy who was essentially Shawn's half-brother. Because it was
partly my fault -- and I didn't want Shawn going through her misery alone -- I
invited Mother Horten to live in the vacant guest unit until she and Shawn
were ready to face the world. The others agreed on the surface; I sensed a
modicum of jealousy from Rachelle that I treated Shawn's family with more
respect than hers.

  I was about to admonish her pettiness when I snapped my mouth shut. I had
set-up Shawn's father, I wanted to say. Before the words could leave my lips,
I came to my senses and kicked myself for being stupid. What my 'normal'
darlings experienced was separate from the empire.

  So, I swallowed my pride and apologized to Rachelle's sister (it was Tanya,
professional bitch-at-heart) soon afterwards. I even made nice (doing her a
favor) and hired the brother of Tanya's current boyfriend as an office gopher
for a summer internship. As I predicted, he sucked at his job, and I was glad
to let him move on once his term was over.

  As for George Horten, the last I heard of him was only in passing news. Some
inmates had attacked him in the prison shower and he died from a brutal blow
to his head, not to mention the plastic shivs (made from toothbrushes) stuck
in his heart, eyes, and testicles. But all that was down the road. After court
adjourned, I saw the judge speaking with Brian Cox out in the hallway. I
zeroed in on their thoughts and picked up some quick thoughts:
'Investigation.' 'RICO.' 'Grand larceny.' 'Agency.'

  "So what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" I looked at Agent Cox.

  "Ah, Mr. Chen." The judge extended his hand and I shook it. "Mr. Champion
here tells me the State Department and the country owe you a great debt in the
wake of 9/11."

  "It's always a pleasure, your honor." I nodded in what I hoped was a sage
manner. "Good to see the system in good hands."

  He nodded and headed off down the stairs. Once the judge was out of earshot,
I glanced at Cox who kept his hands behind his back.

  "So," I asked him casually, "Thinking about hitting me up for RICO
(racketeering influenced and corrupt organization) charges?"

  "No. Unless there's a reason to," the burly agent replied. Cox was cool but I
sensed his thoughts. He was thinking about bringing RICO charges against the
judge if he wasn't cooperative with the first explanation concocted by the
agency. The NSA was using a lot of CIA dirty tricks in the wake of the Trade
Center collapse. The big man knitted his brow and aimed a disdainful eye in my
direction.

  "What happened in there?"

  "Someone jerked my chain," I said simply, "I pulled back."

  "Sounds like you broke it." Cox looked around to make sure we were mostly
alone. "Do we have a place we can talk?"

  I skimmed his mind and knew what he was going to ask about: interrogating
some new detainees from god-knows-where. I guess they were secretly
transporting inmates from Guantanamo into the city for selective processing.
If you didn't hear about such flights, don't worry; you're not delusional or
missing security clearance about it. Ghost Light was the method of
transportation.

  "That depends on what." I stopped in a corner of the hallway. "What you do
you want?"

  Cox looked displeased with my meeting spot, but he made his proposal as
casually as possible. He slid a card with an address and a suite number on it
towards me.

  "It will be next week. Please be on time."

  "I'll be there," I said, "But see if you can get this cleaned up. I don't
need it hounding me."

  "That's what I spoke to the judge about," Cox said. "Consider it done."

  "And the usual retainer would help."

  "La Corporacion not enough?" My agency handler sounded as if he wanted to
make a joke, "You almost destabilized Colombia."

  "Be seeing you, Champion." I gave him a pleasant smile and walked away.

  I said nothing more to incriminate myself. I knew Brian Cox was a screw-fuck;
I went through his mind and verified Jacob Waters' story. Cox had met with
Waters about the bank incident and me. I didn't care why at that point (it
would've meant digging deeper, alerting Cox to my mind-probe) but I didn't
care. I just needed to be careful around the agency. Tseng was right: our kind
needed to be extra careful.

  For now, I had my fill of the 'normal' system of doing things, and of the
agency bailing me out when they needed me. As handy as that was, I needed to
be the one calling the shots. I finally realized why Tseng was so adamant for
our kind to remain independent and strong. Viktoriya was only partly right
when she said our "mental-selves" were better. No, we were better than them.
As an empire citizen, I maintained a discipline in my life many 'normal'
individuals would envy. Of course, as a counter-example, there was that
fuckwit David Reese, who used his gift without a care in the world.

  Brian Cox's activities spurred me to action though. I still had some
counterfeit bills from my "odd jobs". While I had been using them up as
reasonably as possible (most of the counterfeits used the same rag paper the
counterfeit pens couldn't detect -- that made sense since the inks, printing
presses, and paper formulas were in the hands of ex-Arab nation allies the
U.S. had supported decades earlier), I was sure the serial numbers would be
traced.

  Although the discount store scheme was interesting, I wasn't able to spare
the time (or had the inclination) to go into the retail business. Retail meant
having an inventory, which could be seized, sabotaged, or otherwise fucked
with. I wanted to minimize the potential avenues of the agency jerking my
chain, so I opted for the traditional service industries: laundromats, dry
cleaners, and a delicatessen franchise.

  The cleaning business was a given in San Francisco. With so many high-profile
business people and tourists, coupled with a high rate of renters, the laundry
business was pretty sure-fire. Taking a cue from my mother's obsession with
Solitaire, I installed a few pachinko machines to occupy the laundry
customers. It wasn't gambling (since the games were free and reset themselves
every five minutes) but the laundromats grew quite popular; patrons would tell
me they could gauge when their laundry was done by how many games they played.
As for the delicatessen business, I joined a sandwich franchise and opened up
two stores: one near Janet's old house (a shopping mall on Sloat Boulevard) to
cater to the student lunch crowd, and a second one in downtown removed enough
from the dregs on Market Street to nab business from the local McDonald's.

  Business was good. Several days a week, I'd check with the various store
managers and handle the money. I'd have the largest denominations from my
stash and swapped about half of the day's proceeds (my official excuse was
'allowance for the kids' although after exchanging hundreds and thousands of
dollars, that was starting to wear thin). It was still petty, but at least I
got rid of most of my fakes. The rest was real money (laced with traces of
cocaine, but still genuine) so I simply used it for daily expenses, or buying
the occasional precious metal ingot and stashing it away.

  By now, I had moved the cash pile from my old room to my new unit; it's a
good thing I was the building's architect and a telekinetic. I knew where I
could pull up the floor boards or remove ceiling panels to stuff the millions
in loose change (Tecate, Ojinga, and Colombia) I had left. After I had cleaned
the rest of my loot (that took quite a while), the places were profitable
enough that I didn't pull the plug. For a time, I even used the businesses as
a teaching tool in class (most licensed architects are required to teach or to
continue their education in order to keep their licenses; since I hadn't tried
it, I decided to try teaching at City College).

  See, design students sometimes threw themselves into projects without regard
to what was expected from them. In the one lesson plan I had created, it was
to design a combination business/residential unit -- a "micro plaza" -- that
included a variety of food vendors, cleaning services, places to exercise, and
light urban housing. Among the criteria of the project's program: nearly
everything had to be in walking distance. By exposing my students to actual
experiences (not necessarily food cooking), I hoped to have better prepared
them for the rigors of what was to be expected of them (unlike me, these
students were not "gifted" as I was and needed to work far harder).

  Of course, any student who opted to work was "expedited" and slotted some
extra hours (to avoid violating labor laws). I was a pervert, a telekinetic, a
mind-reader, a polygamist (case dismissed), a pedophile (once with Melanie --
and thrice with Shawn; it was break-up / make-up sex after she dated Scott and
she was practically eighteen), but I wasn't about to cross the Department of
Labor or the IRS.

  With the bigamy case against me dismissed; no criminal filing materialized.
Between the pressure being brought on by the agency and the lack of interest
on part of the state attorney general's and local district attorney's offices,
Parker wasn't paid. The case had floundered long before the judge threw it
out. The Hollisters backed down when they realized how much it would take to
win, and that they had no particular reason to go after me.

  Despite our earlier disagreements, I was feeling more gracious with them than
George Horten; I knew they were bullied into siding against me. Rachelle was
surprised I even paid their end of the legal bill (Parker's billable hours for
his clients were non-negotiable, and the court did not waive them for the
plaintiffs).

  "Please come and visit," I said to Rachelle's parents, "We'll be more than
happy to have you over."

  Rachelle was more than overjoyed. It was a far better outcome than she
expected.

  "Thank you sugar," she said, "For not holding a grudge."

  "'Course not," I smiled but I suspected there was a reckoning to come.

  I did a little more digging into George Horten before he died, and found that
Craig Simmons had made trouble for me again. He was the one who had been
keeping tabs on Rachelle, and it was he who had directed Horten to the
Hollister family. Looking back, I should've offed him and be done with it. But
at the time I thought I had done enough. I had torn apart what little was left
of Shawn's family, cowed the Hollisters and Lychenkos (okay, Viktoriya helped
with the latter but it was all good), and stepped so high above the law I
could've broken my neck. So, I didn't do anything with Craig Simmons. It was a
decision I'd come to regret later.

===============================================================================
  PRECIOUS MOMENTS -- VIKTORIYA 
===============================================================================

  2007 marked a mild milestone: it had been twenty years since I'd met my
lovely, capable First and yet we were still relatively young. She was only 36
(with two children) and I was just 32 (with a lot more kids to keep track of).
By now, our family had grown somewhat.

  Janet had two children: Michael (born 2001) and Frederick (born late 2004).
Melanie had her first child (er ...wait, wait, wait ... right, Norman) in
February of 2007. Shawn had given birth to Kady (born 2005) while Viktoriya
was totally fine with just having Milhail (born 2002) due to her business in
New York City. I knocked up Rachelle (after a little more trying) and she
surprised everyone by popping out a set of twin girls (Danielle and Janelle)
in mid-2005. Jamie had already gave birth to our own child Jenny in 2004 --
nine years Jillian's junior.

  My step-daughter suddenly found she had plenty of siblings to help with.
Luckily, there were enough moms around to keep the constant feeding, diapers,
burping, and agitated cries to a minimum. Jillian (like me) really only
enjoyed playing around with the babies and not the other stuff. Unfortunately,
as the common father, I couldn't pass on my responsibilities.

  What really got to me in 2006 was Viktoriya. My most daring darling was
moving back to New York City. After her initial sabbatical in 2001, she quit
the institute to take care of Milhail until he was old enough to be schooled.
But dancing was still on her mind and the Big Apple tempted her with its
secret palpitating heart. She went back to the motion studies institute as an
instructor and a dancesport competitor early in the year, just when Milhail
qualified for pre-school.

  Although she left Milhail in mine's and Janet's capable hands, it irked me
greatly. I didn't mind the extra responsibility, but I had earnestly enjoyed
our brief time together as man and wife.

  'I'll be back kisa.' Viktoriya bumped heads with me before she left. 'I
always do. You know that!'

  'Doubtless, I'm going to miss you terribly.' I thought-spoke.

  'Don't be surly Stanislav.' Her fingers brushed the corner of my eye and I
felt a warm wetness on my skin. She quickly admonished me. 'And don't cry.
Seeing you so will make Milhail think I'm leaving forever.'

  I could no longer stay with Viktoriya at the gate until she left because of
the new security measures, so I had to be content with seeing her off outside
the security gate. As we hugged each other, I leaned close to her ear and
whispered goodbye.

  "Dos vedanya*." [* Russian: Goodbye]

  "No," her voice nearly broke, "Only until tomorrow Stanislav. I promise!"

  Viktoriya kept me posted daily through mind-sight just as we did all those
years ago. I knew that once she was back in New York, she'd shack with her
"friend" Freya in the old Brooklyn neighborhood for a while. Why she did so
was no surprise (considering her secret Sapphic appetites); however, I also
knew Viktoriya was terribly lonely. Milhail would've been too if Jillian and
Michael hadn't kept him company. I wondered how long it would take for
Viktoriya to become homesick again.

  Still, there were other developments that kept me busy. Aside from my
professional and familial responsibilities, I had started a second personal
project in 2005 that was eating up more of my time. In an effort to keep my
mind off my absent Cossack lovebird, I engrossed myself in them. First and
foremost of them were my five other darlings (and their respective children)
...

===============================================================================
  PRECIOUS MOMENTS -- JANET 
===============================================================================

  Janet had left Friedman, Hoch, Brenner, & Glasser after some polygamist
groups began pestering her after the civil suit against me fizzled. Her
reputation was starting to taint her cases (another reason I'm not
particularly sorry George Horten went out the way he did) so she opted to go
elsewhere. Luckily, a bigger firm (Haeder and Reed) had noticed her track
record in earlier civil suits and they hired her once she was available. Along
with the bigger cases came more billable hours -- and a higher fee schedule.

  Much of my First's track record of course, was mostly me "looking into" the
parties she was involved with. Horten's case was merely a prelude to the
secrets I could unearth. I simply sat with Janet at public dinner appointments
with her clients and scanned their minds. Through them, I'd do some
"investigative work" on my lunch hour to dig up secrets and drop hints of it
when I could.

  To me, it was an exercise. For Janet, she thought I was a lucky charm. That
suited me fine. I loved my first darling enough that I'd do anything for her,
and she for me. Remember that house Janet had bought? She planned out a big,
big surprise for me on my 31st birthday. Janet decided to install an outdoor
swimming pool in her backyard so I could use it to exercise. She knew the
costs were nearly prohibitive, but did so out of her love for me.

  It started when Janet began noticing Shawn and I coming back late on certain
days. At first, Janet thought it was me spending a little more time with my
Anglo angel due to the recent events with the Hortens, or we were coming back
late from the City College of San Francisco (as noted, Shawn and I had to
either continue our education or contribute to it in order to keep our license
to practice). Janet herself took extra coursework from San Francisco State but
did so online, so she was home most of the time.

  However, as time passed, our "late nights" were fairly predictable. What made
it all interesting was Shawn and I often came back at the same time (and with
our hair wet from showering). Janet grew suspicious (and a little jealous) and
finally wormed it out of my plump dumpling that we've been spending our early
evenings at Rossi Pool.

  Rossi was one of the few indoor, heated pools in the city of San Francisco.
Every day, a number of hours were set aside for citizens to use it for lap
swimming or diving & "freeplay" (the latter can occur concurrently since the
deep end of the pool was used only for diving and the shallow end for seniors,
children, and physical therapy). I didn't like lap swimming since I could
propel myself through water faster simply using telekinesis. However, working
out normally even just a few days a week had started reducing my paunch, as
well as slimming Shawn's waist and belly. So, Janet decided to present me (and
the family) with our own pool.

  It wasn't big (her lot size was a small squat square -- my big building more
or less determined the rest of the lots on that block) hence she simply went
the way of a deep wading pool. Janet ordered the whole thing (online) and had
the workmen install and fill it one day. I took notice when I saw a trio of
workmen in jumpsuits at her house when I came home. I knew I hadn't scheduled
any repairs or construction, so I got curious. I pinged the crew lightly and
found out what they were doing. They greeted me when I introduced myself as
the houseowner's neighbor.

  "It's a surprise for her husband," one of the guys said off-hand, "That lady
couldn't stop talking about it."

  "Oh really?" I scratched my ear. "I guess she can get long-winded sometimes."

  "You bet." The workman all jostled, joked, and grinned.

  "Yeah well, we're done." The older foreman nodded towards the wood-slatted
eyesore in Janet's backyard. "She even requested to be filled so the lucky lug
can get his surprise when he gets back."

  "Oh that's nice," I said.

  A play pool in San Francisco? I almost laughed. Of course filling the pool
was expensive. Water in our city was billed twice. Once (at an exorbitant
rate) for how much is used and a second time for how much is expelled
(generally the same number). Hence our water bills in San Francisco were
generally four to five times that of other counties like Santa Clara or
Alameda.

  The thought of my First being generous made me giddy, and I decided to give
her a surprise welcome. I waited until Janet came home and pounced her when
she was peering over the edge. She let out an undignified shriek as we both
hit the water. I had used telekinesis to dampen the shock on both of us.
Still, being kerplunked into a big pool of chilly water as the sun set wasn't
the greatest feeling.

  My First spat out a stream of water as she surfaced and screamed, "Lei shouw
jou-a?!*" [* Cantonese: Have you gone mad?!]

  I laughed and pinned her to the side of the pool where I macked on her warm,
wet face and lips.

  "You maniac!" Janet slapped my face. "You've ruined a $400 pantsuit and made
me all wet."

  I laughed it off as I hauled her out of the water then out of those wet
clothes. Seeing Janet's hair wet, her make-up a blurry mess, and her petite
Cantonese body as she slipped off those damp clothes gave me a raging hard-on.
I seized her roughly by the wrist and before she could utter a surprised cry,
I fucked her raw on the grass next our new pool.

  "You brute!" Janet pinched my ears viciously, "Viktoriya's right. We should
have you neutered."

  We celebrated our 20th "meeting" anniversary with a home-cooked meal which we
ate off each other's bodies. Jan and I officially celebrated that night at the
Golden Gate Beach Chalet restaurant. After dinner, we both took a short, chilly 
walk down to the beach where we had spent our time together as kids.

  "Remember when I told you I'd be a pedophile if I slept with you?" Janet
embraced me at the sea wall.

  "Yeah you sicko." I pinched her bottom. "You screwed me up for life."

  "You immature fucker." Janet bit my chin playfully. "Can't you behave
yourself for just a minute? Some dad you are!"

  "Make me, liang-lui*." [* Cantonese: Pretty lady or pretty girl. Used alone,
it is considered a cat-call]

  I bumped noses with her. I was surprised at how much I had grown to tower
over my regal First. "But I'm glad things turned out the way it did."

  "Me too." She clutched me tightly. "Especially since I love you."

  "I love you, too." I returned her hug tenderly.

===============================================================================
  PRECIOUS MOMENTS -- MELANIE 
===============================================================================

  As happy as things with the pool (and everything else) turned out, Janet and
I discussed safety precautions in earnest. We both knew all the children
(except Jillian) were too young to be playing near one, so we made it a strict
policy to disallow them from coming into Janet's house until they reached the
age of six. It suited everyone anyway, since the eco-condo was safe and
secured from the outside.

  Melanie in the meantime, had moved beyond her job at the country club.
Instead of a part-time apprentice chef, she was now a special "guest" chef at
the Cliff House restaurant. This was due to her splendid ability to pick the
freshest ingredients, and produce the most scrumptious Asian fusion dishes in
quick order. The grocery trips we went on when we were children paid off as
Melanie would demand only the best ingredients. Her skill with the knife would
make any sadistic chirugurgeon proud; she knew which portions were good and
which weren't.

  It was good fortune Little Chen found work close to the condo. Not only was
she only a few blocks away (she could walk to work in 15 minutes), but I was
greatly relieved, for it spared her the dangerous drive on the oft foggy
coastal highway where the country club's entrance was located.

  Unfortunately, Yu-Ching developed something of a temper in her work-kitchen.
While she was patient and gentle with the children, junior and apprentice
chefs soon learned to fear her more than that British fellow on Hell's Kitchen
(Gordon Ramsey, that's his name right?). Melanie didn't just have a checklist;
she had a damn TIME-TABLE along with the exact portions of each dish. God help
any 'prentice chef if he (or she) fucked up in her kitchen. Even me, with my
affinity to grab the occasional thought from Melanie, and having cooked with
her for nearly a decade and a half, sometimes got in her way.

  "Out, out, out!" Melanie kicked me out of the kitchen when I was over at her
place once.

  Of course afterwards, she was apologetic. She quietly put baby Norman to bed
as I cleaned up our dishes. I sat down and hadn't closed my eyes for a half
minute when I felt Yu-Ching's weight on my lap.

  "Yuen-lieung wo-a dai-yieh*," Melanie slipped into archaic Cantonese when she
wanted to tiptoe back into my graces. [* Cantonese: Please forgive me sire.]

  My eyelids parted slightly and I saw her curled in my lap, just as she had
when she was a child.

  "Don't worry about it," I said with half an ear. I just wanted to sleep but
Melanie had other ideas. Encouraged by my casual forgiveness, she nuzzled my
neck tenderly. I groaned more from annoyance than from arousal. I drew an arm
around her and pulled her close.

  "You love me right?" I asked her.

  "Of--of course I do!" Melanie sounded shocked, "Why?"

  "Then lemme sleep okay?" I gathered her in my arms like a stuffed toy.

  I heard Little Chen sigh as I rubbed her belly. She had taken to doing
stomach crunches in addition to water resistance exercises in Janet's pool to
get her petite figure back. All that hard work showed. It'd been mere six
months since little Normie had been born and Melanie's stomach had flattened
back into shape. Only some minor stretch marks remained, but I thought it gave
her more character than she thought.

  I gently scratched her baby blemishes and drifted off into sleep. True to my
heart's fondest wish, Melanie didn't disturb me a whit. When I woke refreshed
the next day, I found myself tucked in tight with a blanket and had one of the
soundest sleeps I've had yet in some time. My youngest darling wife had taken
Norman downstairs to my place so his cries wouldn't wake me.

===============================================================================
  PRECIOUS MOMENTS -- SHAWN 
===============================================================================

  Across the hall from Yu-Ching's unit, my doughty darling Shawn was doing fine
despite the estrangement and recent death of her father. She and her mother
(now going just by her maiden name, Laura Benton) grew much closer after
Kady's birth. With Mother Benton taking care of Kady, Shawn was able to get
back to work at Forrester-Duncan (whose offices were actually two floors below
mine at Down-To-Earth).

  "Fo-Dunk" was an engineering contracting firm that did work with Pacific Gas
and Electric, one of Northern California's premiere utility companies. Shawn's
solar wall and its inclusion into my building was a big first step in the
clean/green technology industry. One of her first projects at Fo-Dunk was to
simplify the connections of her solar wall design so they'd be modular. She
eventually did so with my help (and Jules looking over our shoulders to make
sure we didn't make any mistakes).

  "Thank you Stanley." Shawn kissed me. Earlier that week, she handed in her
report and gotten some rave compliments.

  "Don't forget Jules pumpkin." I gave her ample ass a tender squeeze. "He
helped too."

  "I'm sure he'll settle for a handshake," she said quietly. My plump dumpling
had become less boisterous since her father's sordid end. When she smiled, it
was only because her daughter Kady had managed to burp, fart, cry, or gurgle.

  "I only kid." I pouted comically. "Forgive me, muffin?"

  "Of course." Shawn rested her head on my shoulder then added, "For you,
always."

  Kady was downstairs with Shawn's mother, Laura. I looked around, and making
sure we were alone, I pinched her bubble butt playfully.

  "Ouch!" Shawn glared at me angrily. "I said I forgave you! Why'd you pinch
me?"

  "What do you think?" I laughed and pulled her to the couch. My plump
dumpling's cheeks (both sets I knew) immediately flushed red.

  "Stanley, stop!" she cried as I pulled her pants off. She sounded so
concerned that I immediately stopped what I was doing.

  "What's wrong baby girl?" I asked.

  "I don't have any condoms, and I'm not on the pill," Shawn said flatly.

  "So?" I winked. "That's what food wrap is for."

  "Oh no you don't!" her eyes grew wide. "Some of it leaked out last time and
that's how we wound up with Kady! And her fat head nearly wrecked my vagina!
I'm not doing that again!!"

  "Damn." I glanced at her with a frown.

  Shawn had the easiest birth I'd seen. Those wide hips of hers really helped
with the delivery. My Anglo-angel was right though: our daughter Kady did have
a fat head. She was earnestly one of the most stubborn children I'd dealt
with. It might've been because Kady was unplanned. I planned for the other
kids (well most of them) but Shawn was happy being childless for a bit longer.
Our work-load had been steadily increasing with all the building that had been
going on, and children were little time-vampires. As the plump woman tried to
pull away, I decided to have a little fun.

  "C'mere you." I pulled her back so I encircled her body with my arms.

  "Whaaaaaat?" Shawn sounded annoyed. "I have stuff to do."

  "Really?" I kissed her neck. "I just wanna check your boobs."

  "Why?" Shawn turned her head partly so I saw her puzzled look.

  "Lumps, what else?" I gently fondled her fatty H-cups through her bodice.

  The plump young woman was healthy now and I wanted to keep it that way. Shawn
had breast-fed Kady; as much as my daughter loved her daily breakfast being
served from the largest pair of natural jugs in NorCal, I had personal
interest in them too.

  "You're always so horny, Stanley." Shawn sighed and pawed my crotch. "You
should just jerk off occasionally, y'know?"

  "Now why would I do that?" I asked and gently squeezed her fat tits through
the fabric.

  Shawn shivered a bit, but her voice held firm, "Because I read something that
if a guy cums twice a week, his chances of getting testicular cancer drops by
a good 50 percent."

  "So if I do the math correctly." I managed a chuckle. "I've dropped my
chances by like 5,973 percent?"

  "You pervert!" Shawn giggled softly and leaned into me as I massaged her
massive mammaries. The warmth of her breasts flowed through the sheer fabric
as I kissed the nape of her neck. She felt soft, warm, and pliant. No part of
her felt out of place or lumpy and having played with Shawn for so long, I
knew what was out of place. My Anglo angel rubbed my pants, stroking me hard.

  I groaned as Shawn's fingers dug at my crotch; we had learned that with a
little fabric or underwear, our skin was far more sensitive than simply
skin-to-skin contact. Something to do with the nerve endings. Whatever it was,
it was something Shawn and I had gradually shared with the others over the
years. Shawn slowly worked my balls and cock out of my pants (the skillful
little minx she was). I could feel her not only enticing me, but also checking
me up as well. My plump petunia didn't give great head, but she knew how to
handle my balls -- she learned the finer points directly from Janet. I relaxed
and my feeling of comfort passed from my mind to Shawn's as I held her. I felt
her weight as she slumped lazily into my arms.

  "Feel nice baby doll?" I asked.

  "Yeah." Shawn gave me a bubbly grin. Her hands were on mine as we reclined on
the sofa.

  "Just you wait." I snuck a free hand down her pants and buzzed her love
button with my gift. Using a little telekinesis, I pressed her sensitive area
from within while I leaked a thin stream of erotic thoughts and feelings to
her mind.

  "Oh god!" Shawn swooned as she grabbed a handful of my hair.

  "What's the matta'?" I brushed her hair back, "You feeling okay pumpkin?"

  "Oh--oh--oh," was all she could say as I TK-rolled her G-spot and buzzed her
mind. Shawn mewed softly as I pulled off her pants and top. I placed my Anglo
angel on her on her back and roved all over her body. Where I knew she'd be
sensitive, I stopped and kissed her with my soft lips and tickled her with my
tongue.

  Shawn's skin flushed red with excitement as I kissed her breasts lightly and
climbed on top of her. Shawn let out a short cry of surprise as I rammed her
raw, not caring if Kady would have another sister or brother in nine months.
My dumpling's whole body was rosy red as she came a total of four times over
the course of twelve minutes (heh - women).

  Once was enough for me though. I pulled out and sprayed so much spunk, it
dribbled over her fat titties and ran all the way down to her rose red cooze.
I basked in her warmth of her cute cuddly body for an hour or so and called it
a night. As much as I would've loved to spend the night at the girl's unit, we
were all more comfortable in our own respective units. For a loud snorer like
myself, it was a good solution; I kept no one awake, and my girls loved me for
it.

===============================================================================
  PRECIOUS MOMENTS -- JAMIE 
===============================================================================

  The unit just above mine was where Jamie, Jillian, and Jenny lived. My vixen
from Vegas had graduated in 2003 and began working on various websites as the
Internet boom re-surged after the '99 dot-com crash. Since she specialized in
general IT (information technology) all she pretty much did was stay on top of
networking protocols, Java and Java Script, communication products (Outlook,
Web-X, NetMeeting, and the like), and had most of the day to herself.

  While the youthful Asian mother worked odd hours, she also had the freedom of
doing pilates (or light yoga) when it suited her. It certainly helped her (and
Viktoriya) regain their lean athletic figure after giving birth. The current
company she was at, News Corporation, was a giant multi-national conglomerate
handling several well known web properties. Because she worked downtown, she
would often have lunch with Janet, Shawn, and me. Jamie was both bright and
eager to make up for lost time. The time Jamie felt she'd wasted in the late
'90s always seemed to haunt her.

  "Never do that again," Jamie would repeat over and over to Jillian when the
girl ran into difficulties or make an error. "Learn from your mistakes,
understand?"

  There was a sense of urgency the way the mother pressured the daughter as the
latter grew older. I tempered Jamie's roughshod attempts with a little more
sophistication. In every case, we both did our best for her. Jillian wasn't
aware that something was strange about her "real" father until she was a
little older. Because of her mixed step-siblings (Milhail, Kady, Janelle, and
Danielle), Jillian never gave her appearance much thought. Jill wasn't even
too conscious that her half-sister Jenny appeared markedly different from her.
And sometimes, like sisters, they'd did some crazy things when they were kids.

  "Dad!! We need some help."

  Jillian hauled three year-old Jenny into the room where Jamie and I were
pouring over Rachelle's latest disaster. My black beauty had a dead hard drive
and some files had for work were lost in limbo (Melanie and Jamie later set up
a private family server to back-up vital data and records). Thankfully, Jamie
was on hand to do some quick repair work (Yu-Ching was working at the Cliff
House that night).

  "What is it?" I looked up and saw Jenny's face was marked up like a crazy
clown. I chuckled as Jenny squealed excitedly and ran towards me, her eyelids,
lips, and cheeks each a different garish shade of red, green and black.

  "Jillian!" Jamie's tone came out a little harsher than I liked. "What
happened?!"

  "We were in the bathroom and we were playing." The pre-teen suddenly became
pensive. I sensed she was a little fearful of being punished.

  "I'll take care of this." I gave Jamie's shoulder an assuring squeeze.
"Should come off right?"

  "Yeah, I guess." Jamie scowled and asked Jillian sternly, "Did you play with
the nail polish?"

  "No, mom." Jill rocked on her heels as I strode between them, pulling Jenny
gently along.

  "Okay. Make sure you don't." Jamie turned back to Rachelle's dead drive and
cursed under her breath.

  Jenny squirmed and fidgeted as I rubbed her face gently with a diluted
Noxeema pad. It was a strong chemical for a toddler, but Jamie's make-up was
water resistant.

  "Mom's always so mean," Jillian said as she sat dejectedly in corner, "But
you're cool though, dad."

  "Now don't say that," I soaked a wash cloth to rinse off Jenny's chemical
laden face. "Your mom's doing her best. Just try not to give her too much to
do, okay? She's got her hands full with your sister and her job."

  "'Kay dad," Jillian replied as she caught Jenny by the arm.

  The tot was trying to wander back outside before she was completely cleaned
up. The little girl whined loudly until her older sister sat her on her lap
and mimicked a bouncing ride. For a kid who suddenly had a bunch of
step-mothers, Jillian was holding up pretty well. As part of her growing up,
Jillian knew to call her own mother (Jamie) "mom" but she called the others by
their first names after a suitable title (i.e., Mommy Janet, Mother Shawn,
Momma Rachelle, and so forth, but never an 'aunt' unless we were in public).

  With Melanie being the closest to Jillian's age (by a slim margin of thirteen
years), I was probably the most adamant on this topic. The generational divide
had to be drawn somewhere, and Melanie was as young as I was willing to go,
publicly anyway. Jillian was my little girl and that was that; I had promised
Jamie that years ago and I stuck with it.

  Jenny was finally cleaned up and she sped off to pester her birth-mother once
more. Thankfully, something had been done while I was scraping off a ton of
mascara and rouge from my daughter's face. Rachelle's hard drive was humming
but there was a data cable going from one tower to another.

  "It'll take a while." Jamie bounced her youngest on her knee, "But it'll
work."

  "Thanks sister." I winked and she blushed.

  Jamie kissed Jenny and wrinkled her nose when she smelled the chemicals used
to clean up the mascara mess. My Asian beauty smiled lop-sidedly at me and I
grinned stupidly back. She rubbed Jenny's cheek as she tried to squirm out of
her mother's grip. Jamie set Jenny down, who then proceeded to putter towards
me. When I reached for her, she squealed and zipped back to her mom. I saw
Jillian peek around the corner at the corner of my eye. I sensed that she saw
us in the room, and that we weren't mad. Jill retreated back into her room.
She probably had enough of Jenny for the day and was probably going online to
chat on her netbook before dinner.

  Kids today, I sighed inwardly.

  Things certainly had changed since my darlings and I were teens. Jamie
installed Net-Nanny on Jillian's machine and vigorously tracked where she was
and whom she was talking to. That, coupled with my occasional "light reads" to
know what she was up to meant Jamie's policy about boys was rigorously
enforced; Jill wouldn't start dating until she was in high school. As Jamie
put it: having a boy as a friend was okay, but a "boyfriend" was not. I wasn't
one to argue with Jamie -- even she had more experience parenting than Janet
-- so I followed Jamie's lead and backed up her play.

  "You know," Jamie cleared her throat and said, "You should tell Rachelle to
keep all that on a data drive. Swap it out if her system drive crashes. It's
less of a headache if it happens again."

  "You tell her that." I gave her a small grin. "You're not afraid of her too
are you?"

  "No," she was apprehensive. "It's just that, well, YOU know."

  Yeah, I thought. I did know. Janet still harbored a grudge against Rachelle
(and vice versa). The only reason things didn't break open into open sniping
was because I absolutely forbade it. It wouldn't do for the kids to choose
sides either, so that was the one thing on my mind when I knocked their two
heads together after another one of their shouting matches. However, the
Rachelle versus Janet divide was still evident and I was keenly aware who was
siding with who. Janet was the queen bee (there wasn't a doubt) but aside from
Jamie, there was precious little support in ostracizing Rachelle.

  In the effort of not rocking the boat, Melanie, Shawn, and Viktoriya all
treated Janet and Rachelle neutrally. Only Jamie, with her lack of
understanding how the others thought (coupled with her not knowing how the
rivalry started) decided to throw in her lot with Janet. Despite that (or
because of the guilt of it), she'd interact on Rachelle on a more limited (but
friendly) fashion behind Janet's back.

  "We could back it all up to tape." I threw out a sudden suggestion, "How's
about that employee discount of yours for a small server?"

  "Are you crazy?!" Jamie's eyes widened. "You want to get me fired?"

  "It was just a thought Jay." I chuckled and kissed her tenderly.

  Jenny whined for some attention and Jamie happily relinquished her to me. The
transfer was done by dinner-time and I hustled the computer across the hall to
Rachelle's place; my black beauty was out that day, having taken the twins to
visit her folks, and anticipating nothing could be done about her PC. I headed
back to Jamie's for supper. After dinner, I took Jamie out for one of our rare
evenings alone.

  Normally, I refrained from public displays of affection with any girl when we
went out as a group. It would've been a bit obvious what was going on.
Besides, if I paid attention to one woman, I had to do the same for the
others. It could easily get out of hand (especially when Melanie started up a
competition). However, when I got time alone with one of my darlings, I
lavished as much time on her as if we were dating exclusively.

  For Jamie, our time alone was a nice change of pace when she wasn't on 24/7
call for her IT department. Since she made time for me, I eagerly reciprocated
my time for her. That night, she dressed to kill and did it with the minimum
of clothing. She only wore a conservative black bikini that wasn't so
conservative once one knew that was all she was wearing on top. My sultry
siren kept warm with a short denim jacket. It showed off the killer body she
possessed (strip-dancing at home and the gym helped) and bared her lean
midriff for all to see.

  Her jeans were torn in just the right spots (heh-heh) and even with a thin
belt on, I could see her bikini line peek over the pant's top hem. Jamie
finished off her ensemble with a pair of low-heeled white leather pumps that
practically screamed "white-trash whore", except Jamie was very Asian** and
totally fuckable despite her "mom" status.

  [** Author's note: Some of you have asked why I've discriminated Janet and
Melanie from Jamie by using the term, "Asian". The simple fact of the matter
is that Janet and Melanie have retained their native cultural language whereas
Jamie hasn't bothered using it at all. Some first generation children do not
speak their parents' native dialect, although they can understand it (as
stated in Chapter 3). Externally, Jamie is Mongoloid; however, she is probably
more Americanized than the other two "Asian" girls, hence the generic
adjective.]

  The two of us hit some of the livelier places on Polk Street (between Sutter
and Post) and had a relaxed, if loud, night of carousing, dancing, and petting
in the corner of the club. Since I never drank large amounts of alcohol (I
stuck chiefly to Bloody Marys if pressed) I was able to watch Jamie as she
took in a few and got totally blasted.

  "Gimme --hic!-- me anud'der beb'bee," Jamie slurred as she threw herself on
top of me during the cab ride home.

  "Whoa Jay-doll, just wait a sec ..." I waved to the driver. "43rd and Geary."

  The cabbie started without another word. I calmed Jamie down with a brief
touch and kept her pacified and sitting on my lap. I noticed the driver tried
hard not to look into the rear-view mirror as Jamie took off her jacket,
revealing her athletic shoulders and back, then proceeded to give me a private
lap dance in the backseat of the car. For keeping the cab on the road and not
crashing, I tipped the guy a $50 bill. He could use some of that to buy a new
pair of pants after ogling my wife.

  I covered Jamie up and helped her stumble back inside her condo unit. The
Asian beauty was drunk but still extremely frisky. When I tried to usher Jamie
to the shower, she grabbed and pulled me into the living room. There, we wound
up fucking on the carpet for what seemed like the first time in a long, long
while. What a night that was!

===============================================================================
  PRECIOUS MOMENTS -- RACHELLE 
===============================================================================

  In contrast with Jamie's much improved life -- just across the hall from her
unit -- Rachelle was having a tougher time of things. After she left Craig,
there wasn't a good way for her to go back to her job in Los Angeles without
her slimy ex trying to worm himself back into her life. My black beauty quit
his company, but with her mediocre skills and lack of good references, it was
tough to land another job.

  Nonetheless, neither Rachelle or I were discouraged. I regarded video
production like book publishing: Rachelle just needed good product knowledge
and how to work it so people would watch it (or buy it; for broadcast, views
and audience reach determined advertisement volume). I encouraged her to take
some night classes to sharpen her skills and to expand her repertoire.

  "Get some good vocational stuff going," I suggested, "You said you know about
video editing right? Then do some more until it's second nature, sugar."

  "Oh Stanley," Rachelle returned the compliment, "You and the others are so
talented it puts me to shame."

  "Try not to think that way." I patted her hand, "Everyone's good at
something; you just need to find it."

  So Rachelle tried her hand at video editing soon after giving birth to the
twins. Jamie even grabbed some video editing software from her work to help
out (Melanie found the cracks to hack it so the license was freed). Rachelle
didn't do badly, but she didn't excel either. The problem was she could've
done better, but Rachelle often tried to goof off instead of putting in some
extra work to polish her pieces. I suppose I could've berated her, but that
wasn't really my way. If she wasn't doing what she enjoyed doing, no amount of
lecturing would've changed her habits; nothing short of complete mind-control.

  I didn't bother with that because that meant one of two things:

  (A) I spent every waking moment of my life consciously controlling her every 
action, not a happy situation, or 

  (B) I completely alter her memories and experiences that made Rachelle who 
she was.

  At her age (32) she was more or less set in her ways. And despite her light 
skin, she was not as favored as one might think; her family wasn't privileged.
Her father was a mill-wright, not a Boule, and Rachelle's mother was just a 
plain old secretary.

  Upsetting as it was, I had to accept my high-school honey for who she was (a
methodical thinker who got easily distracted). The alternative was to cast her
and our twin girls out of the house, and I wasn't going to do THAT. As
heartless as I was with strangers and outsiders, I took care of my own. So I
did my best to encourage Rachelle despite her penchant for being a
scatter-brain. One thing was for sure, she knew how to have fun. Rachelle was
into the little shops and Bohemian micro-neighborhoods all over San Francisco.
On one of our days together, she and I explored a small candy shop in the
Castro District with the twins in tow.

  The girls had a blast, munching on enough candy to give them a mild tummy
ache. Janelle finally threw up before dinner. This caused her sister Danielle
to cry out in alarm (I later learned the twins were empathic, but only with
each other). The rest of the day was spent cleaning up toddler vomit,
laundering clothes, and stroking their bellies until they felt better. Later
that night, Rachelle was bewailing herself for letting her babies get sick.

  "Don't blame yourself." I comforted her. "Kids get sick all the time."

  "I'm a horrible mother!" Rachelle sobbed. "A failure! I'm hopeless Stanley!"

  "Hush Ra-Ra." I held her. "You're a good mom. And you learned something
right?"

  "What?" she sniffed. "What did I learn?"

  I wanted to roll my eyes, but I maintained my smile. She was still thinking
as if she was a young woman and not a parent. Well, too late for that now.

  "Don't let them eat too much candy." I tickled her chin lightly until she
broke into a sad smile.

  Rachelle hugged me tightly and said, "You're so sweet."

  "Hey," I joked, "What'd we just discuss about candy?"

  "Huh?" she glanced at me quizzically. It took her a moment but she finally
got the joke. "Oh you and your word games."

  The twins were asleep (finally) and we had just a few more hours left before
I'd have to go. I stroked Rachelle's bare arm but she was hardly in the mood
(I admit the stench of vomit was a buzz-kill). So, I spent the rest of the day
checking out Rachelle's unit and seeing what needed to be fixed. Aside from
being the owner of the building, I was the landlord.

  While I was sure none of my darlings would, technically they each could sue
my ass for neglecting to fix their condos. Rachelle followed me around, and
the two of us fixed some of the odder systems in the condo. Because the
building used "tankless" heaters, fixing leaky pipes took a different
approach. For example, there wasn't a separate hot water pipe, but a section
of pipe that was specially built to be heated. Replacing it required shutting
off circuit breakers to prevent electrocution.

  My dark-skinned darling got her hands dirty, nosing around the basement and
under the sink. The two of us learning together got her back into the mood.
When the last of our tasks were done, Rachelle eagerly touched my hands and
arms, signaling that she was ready. However, I was a little too tired and
distracted. So, we compromised and did a little laundry. I marveled how much
clothing our twin girls went through. That, and the pressure from her job at
the Public Broadcasting Station (PBS) kept her awake at night. No wonder
Rachelle was often so harried and weary.

  Once the laundry was done, Rachelle was dead tired and completely wiped out.
After checking in on the twins, I scrubbed my hands, arms, and face again; the
stench of vomit tended to cling no matter how much one cleaned. Freshly
scrubbed, I made way to Rachelle's bedroom and found her in bed staring
vacuously at the ceiling.

  "You okay there?" I sat by her bedside and touched her forehead. Her
temperature felt normal, and I could sense she wasn't feeling woozy or ill.

  "I'm just tired." Rachelle threw me a weak smile. "Thank you, sugar."

  I grinned and clasped her hands between mine. My mocha-skinned mate was
lovely even after the twins' birth. There was talk of having a Cesarean, but
at the last minute, Rachelle toughed it out and squeezed out both girls with
little trouble. Having worked my gift with Viktoriya, I was (barely) able to
do it again with Rachelle. Thankfully, Melanie was there to calm her down;
Rachelle tends to hyper-ventilate when she panics.

  We sat for some time looking into one another's eyes, enjoying the rest of
our quiet evening. I stroked her brow and forehead, my fingers feeling the
little bumps and ridges of her beautiful face. As I did, I felt a mild sense
of unease within me. I hated myself for what I'd done to Rachelle, not merely
all those years ago, but also for taking her in. I wondered if it would've
been better to let Rachelle gone on her own way, let her find the happiness on
her own instead of forcing all this on her.

  After we had reconciled (over the violent objections of my First), the
mulatto and I gradually grew accustomed to one another once more. With a
little persuasion, much of the old love we had was rekindled despite Janet's
best efforts to snuff it out. Then before we knew it, the marriage came. In
another blink of an eye, Rachelle had bore lovely twin girls. And yet, I dared
to wonder about the possibilities.

  "What're thinking about?" Rachelle gave my hand a squeeze.

  "Nothing much." I managed a weak grin. "Should I be?"

  "I know that look." She stared at me with a knowing look. "You're thinking of
something. That's what makes you so smart. You're like the Energizer Bunny of
Brainiacs."

  It was my turn to laugh before I replied with, "Well, sometimes it's just
nice to have peace and quiet, both in and out of my head."

  Rachelle nodded as I realized what I had just said was practically the truth.
I watched her grab a little shut-eye and before we both knew it, she was
snoozing contentedly. I tucked her in, gave her a warm kiss, and after
checking on the twins once more, I headed downstairs back to my place before
the sun rose.

  While Rachelle struggled, everyone did their part to help her. Aside from my
beautiful darlings, I had another asset who helped immensely with the
children. Shawn's mother, Laura, was still staying in the guest unit at the
eco-condo (just across from Viktoriya's empty unit). She learned firsthand
that her ex-husband had been both right and wrong: I was a polygamist, but I
worked my ass off for that privilege (for what else could it be?). I also was
there for the children and their mothers, and provided whatever I can. My
personal habits were also exemplary by most Western standards.

  I had developed strict habits due to the peculiarities of my gift: I didn't
drink (alcohol and telepathy were a bad mix), I didn't gamble (or if I did, I
seldom lost), I never smoked (after I started noticing my gums and mouth bled
from the toxic smoke; Viktoriya quit long ago and Rachelle stopped at the
insistence of the others because it endangered the children's health), and the
only carousing I did was mostly with the kids (or with their mothers behind
closed doors).

  Then one night in late 2007, I ignored the strict boundaries I'd set and
threw all my self-imposed discipline out the window.

===============================================================================
  CALIFORNICATION 
===============================================================================

  Finals in "design studio" are a little different than the traditional
lecture/lab finals. There are no blue books. There're materials one studied
for, but there was also plenty of craftsmanship (for models and such) and
presentation (for the presentation boards, etc.) as well as a little flair for
flim-flam where one bullshitted the instructor to persuade him (or her) that
what you just spent 12 weeks of your life on was worth the grade he (or she)
was going to give.

  Of course, I always managed to be persuasive when I was student, but it was a
wholly different experience when I was on the other side. Being a telepath
didn't help, because I intrinsically scanned each student for their sincerity
(it kept me in practice when I did interrogations for the agency). But how was
I to translate that into a letter grade? I needed them to present and
demonstrate their dedication for that, just like any 'normal'.

  I got some practice at City College's design courses, but I felt they were
distinctly lacking in certain aspects. It was probably the student body. More
than half were not serious or had no idea what they wanted to do. Half of the
successes went on (I think in grave error) to the Academy of Art in San
Francisco (AOASF) -- a private school that taught (or tried to teach)
different aspects of design and techniques without any serious structure.

  While the AOASF was accredited in California, it didn't hold much esteem in
my mind. I believed in a more traditional path in education; I found myself
teaching undergraduate studio at my old alma mater, the University California
at Berkeley. The student body there was a little better (and a little more
focused) and I had quite a time toning down my expectations. I was assisting
two senior instructors, so in a way I was doing assistant teaching again.
However, fourteen years of this crap had indeed made me a more perceptive
student-teacher. I leveled with the students on the first day of the course.

  "I know this is probably the first studio you'll have," I began slowly, "And
it'll likely be your last if you're not serious about it."

  I studied them each in turn. "If you're horse-fucking around, or not totally
sure you want to be in design, or have two or more other classes this
semester, please do yourself and your GPA (grade point average) both a favor
and drop the course NOW."

  Of course, no one dropped out. Not with the education system mandating every
student must take twelve units of study to be considered "full-time" (this was
for financial assistance for tuition). I cheated my way through college by
being "gifted" and "persuasive" but it was still not a picnic for me. I could
only guess how hard it was for a middling 'normal' (like Rachelle) being
constantly under the gun to excel and perform.

  By the sixth week, the drop-outs were gone and only the desperate, the
hangers-on, and the earnest students remained. I was a 30-something
(specifically 32) college instructor; fairly young in most cases. Perhaps more
exceptional was that I was a heterosexual man in a field that was roughly 80
percent homosexual and 20 percent "everything else". Male designers who wore
starched shirts, ties, and slacks with sharp seams and WEREN'T gay were an
endangered species in environmental design.

  Perhaps it was the way I joked good-naturedly with the guys, or grinned at
the girls, or simply asked -- to the point -- what each student had to
contribute, but my section started getting popular. Out of pity, I even
started to build my own version of the final project out of scraps and some
materials I didn't need at DTE (I was able to write that off to the firm as a
"charitable donation" hence making that a tax deduction for my bosses at
Down-To-Earth). One of the other instructors asked me what the hell I was
doing, competing with the students in the class.

  I simply shrugged and said, "Ideas should be free."

  I harbored that ideal notion, despite the fact much of the invisible empire
was still hidden from me. I likened it to John Carmack's idea (one of DOOM's
creators at ID Software) that information should be free. Carmack had been an
advocate of a community where ideas were freely shared, as did I, to a point.
His concept of the Internet was similar to how I viewed the benign parts of
the empire.

  I suppose the only difference was that I actively combated parties I didn't
like. Mr. Carmack likely never fired anything except his virtual weapons on a
regular basis. Apart from what Cristobel hadn't told me, the only things I
weren't wholly sure about was Tseng and his role as our network's supposed
"leader" and whether or not he had killed Viktoriya's brother, Pyotr.

  But back to my studio: rather than simply sharing the ideas I had, I showed
my students. While this was akin to opening a door to having them just copy my
ideas, I gave them a quick lecture about incorporating the various attributes
into their final project.

  "Use this stuff as a jumping off point," I warned, "Don't just copy it
because it's simply from Graphics Standard**. Improve on it. I know you will
all be able to make something better than what's here." [** Author's note:
'Graphics Standard' is a volume of facility and spatial drawings and
measurements, updated annually, which architects and designers use in the
United States. The newest editions included provisions for the American
Disabilities Act.]

  "Age and wisdom are not substitutes for creativity and empathy for your
facility's final inhabitants," I lectured, "Think of how you would use it.
Think of how your family would too, as well as your friends."

  All this "chumminess" did pay off (especially since I nudged the most
promising students in the right direction with my gift). Of the twenty or so
students I had, they averaged about a dozen "A"s, and the rest came out with
"B"s. When the final presentations were over, my section had the highest
number of top-ranked students. I was proud not simply of myself, but of the
work these kids put in. I gathered my group together and gave them a last bit
of advice before I adjourned the final class.

  "Look, I know you guys and gals are all dying to take off for the holidays."
I wore my trademark smile and placed a bag with some Kodak fun cameras on the
table, "But before you do, take good snapshots of your projects. Keep all
those pictures organized for your portfolio."

  "Your work can be in electronic form or an album but keep one," I went on
preaching, "It may be a start for some of you, but I hope it will be a habit
for all of you. Good luck!"

  I bid them all goodbye and even shook hands with a few (keeping my desires
for some of the hotter girls in check). I ducked out to the office to file
their grades, did some more last minute paperwork, checked in on my own
projects at DTE, and decided to grab a quick bite to eat on the north side of
campus instead of heading straight home. I knew Melanie would be eager to
stuff us all until we're bloated. Her eight course meal during
Zhung-Chou-zheet* [* Cantonese: Mid-Autumn Harvest Festival] gave me and
Rachelle heartburn.

  The others (even Shawn from her days eating with Melanie and Janet) knew to
eat in small portions (the kids were simply finicky, so they'd stop eating
when they were full). I over-ate simply because Shawn's daughter Kady wouldn't
eat unless I did. And being the persuasive little trouble-maker she was, Kady
somehow got her other siblings to follow suit, giving my darlings new
headaches and disciplinary issues. Leading by example for a half-dozen kids
was no easy task. Now, if I could just feign fullness when I got home, I could
get away without spending an hour crapping the meal I just ate. I was so
engrossed with my domestic affairs that I hadn't noticed someone calling to me
until I felt my arm was being pulled.

  "Oh hey-O!"

  I turned and came face to face with a pretty young girl. I immediately
recognized her from the class I had just adjourned for the semester. I was so
startled, I racked my brain for a name instead of quickly scanning her mind.

  "Miss Chae." I smiled thinly.

  Ah, there it was. I remembered her name. Rosalind Chae. She had that same
bright, wide-eyed look Melanie had, but she was waaaaay the fuck younger (like
borderline jail-bait). I remembered this young lady because she was one of the
few freshman students who wrangled a spot in studio. Normally, studio was
designed for juniors and seniors -- upperclassmen.

  However, she was suitably impressionable (that or I was interested in seeing
how things would turn out) that I approved her adding the course despite the
additional workload it implied. Rosalind did not disappoint; in fact, she
impressed. She was one of those who got a "straight-A" grade in the class. I
didn't mind fraternization with my students, but while I was friendly in
class, I wasn't particularly interested in being bothered outside of it.
Besides, I had six pieces of tail waiting for me at home (well, six once
Viktoriya and I could see each other).

  "Where're you headed off to Mr. Chen?" she asked brightly.

  "Just dinner," I said slowly.

  Rosalind spooked me, I realized. Melanie, despite her short stature,
ethnicity, and shared language was really nothing like the late, air-headed
Aurora. But this little Asian spinner was nearly a dead ringer for my cousin.

  "Oh." Rosalind smiled sheepishly then asked, "Um, would you like some
company?"

  "Sure why not." I smiled warmly as alarm bells sounded in my head.

  I sensed Rosalind's excitement as she uttered, "Great!"

  We made quiet chatter as we both waited for the crossing signal to change.
While we did, I kicked myself for having a dick. Janet was going to kill me. I
must be some kind of magnet for young women. I skimmed a bit deeper into
Rosalind's mind and grew hot under the collar. Correction, my mind yammered as
I collected more thoughts from Rosalind. Young women who were also star-struck
groupies. What the fuck was I doing?

  "Los Compadres okay?"

  I earnestly hoped it wasn't. My hopes were dashed though, when she quickly
agreed. We headed over to the place, only to find it had closed early.
However, the pho (Vietnamese noodles) place next door was still open, so we
went there instead. Rosalind was a sweet girl, but hardly shy. Her final
project had won admiration from not only me but also from the other
instructors and judges who attended (among them Gracia Kosugi) and gave
insightful criticism. Much like Melanie, Rosalind had hair that reached her
waist. She was as Aurora had been. I shuddered as old memories surfaced.

  I hadn't paid much attention to the appearance of my students, but I noticed
Rosalind had a small piercing on her nose, in addition to the ones on her
ears. Maybe she wasn't as innocent as I initially thought. I began some light
thought-mining her just in case. I had enough of a bad experience with George
Horten that I was leery of being close to anyone on a personal level. I found
that she had known me long before I even taught, which was weird since I
didn't remember ever meeting her.

  Fearing that I'd lose control and dig too deeply, I withdrew my focus and
concentrated on the audible 'normal' conversation at hand. Rosalind and I
talked as we leisurely ate. I revealed little apart from my work at DTE
(Down-To-Earth) and my involvement with the (now termed) Solar-Wall being
touted by Forrester-Duncan as the next new wave of wall (and curtain wall for
skyscrapers) design. The little lady revealed a bit about herself, how she got
into design, etc. It was all pretty boring but I feigned interest just the
same (having so many wives, I had it down to a science).

  "So like, thank you Mr. Chen," she said as we stepped outside the restaurant.

  "Don't mention it." I managed a small grin.

  "No seriously," Rosalind said brightly and smiled back, "For like, dinner and
everything. Are you going to teach next year?"

  "Seriously? I don't know." I shrugged but maintained my smile.

  "Oh." Rosalind smiled bravely, but I sensed she was disappointed with the
answer.

  Well, my answer was the honest truth. While the Company (CIA) had been
grabbing insurgents left and right for those of us at the Agency (NSA) to
question, Tseng and I had been noticing a steadily rising wave of domestic
unrest. For this we had no certain explanation, apart from the resentment of
the growing casualty lists from overseas. Hence, NSA-PSI was tasked to do more
and more interrogations against individuals suspected to be linked with
domestic terror groups.

  I also noticed there were also more missions that were physical retrieval
operations than "hands-off" surveillance. David leaked that shit to me after
he'd be asked to grab Mirage a few times when resistance was a little more
robust than expected. Of course, I got a bit more out of it than merely
David's own words. I bet Millie would probably be less than thrilled that her
husband David got a boner every time he put his hands on Phillipa. I had filed
that little tidbit away for future use.

  In any case, discontent was evident to all but the most thoughtfully
ignorant. Even the staunch early supporters of the war effort -- like Heidi
(Rachelle's old cheer squad buddy) -- apparently had their fill. Moods change
quickly if the "War on Terror" hit close to home. Heidi and her two daughters
were some of its victims. Her husband Jon-Peter, an Army Ranger, had survived
Bosnia (Operation Joint-Shield and Joint-Guard) and Afghanistan (when the
United States officially started operations there in October 2001) only to be
KIA when he went to Iraq as a security contractor in mid-2006.

  It was that incident, as well as that of Patrick Tillman's friendly fire
incident, that made me think twice about being so gung-ho patriotic in a
post-9/11 world. I knew for sure Janet was spooked by Tillman's death. It
didn't matter to her if the DOD (Department of Defence) fucked-up his citation
or the details of his death. Dead was dead, and Janet definitely felt
uncomfortable. It didn't help that it was being blasted over the news nearly
24/7 for a period of weeks.

  This thing hit close to us for different reasons: for me, it was the fear of
getting assigned to something that would force me to choose between following
agency directives, or the empire's principal rules. For Janet, it was simply a
matter of growing old. My lovely darling was just a year older than Tillman.
In the days after the details of his life came out, Janet would being eagerly
waiting for me when I paid her a visit. She was equally worried when I took
private calls, for she assumed Cox and the agency contacted me by phone. I had
to reassure Janet that I wasn't doing anything outside of the United States
(at least not knowingly). She relaxed, as much as she could relax, after that.

  While money could be a powerful tool, explosives were too. Both things were
highly indiscriminate when it came to doing their job. I realized I could
handle money easily, but it was explosives I was nervous about. Despite my
ability to "repel" certain substances, I wasn't able to telekinetically
control the air. A concussion or airborne shockwave would've ruptured my
insides. I wasn't stupid.

  Rachelle and I were at Jon-Peter's service when what was left of him got
scraped into a paint can so it could be shipped State-side for burial. I found
some new faces and very few old ones. Ghandia's current beau was a hawkish
fellow in both his nose and his political leanings. When he made a comment
about 'killing all those raghead bastards' to Heidi, Ghandia stood up and
walked out.

  "What's her problem?" he asked.

  Rachelle took a visibily upset Heidi aside as I smiled acidly at the ignorant
bastard. I escorted him away from the main function so as not to make a scene
with the family or in front of Heidi's children.

  "Did you know Ghandia's first husband?" I asked the man plainly.

  "Yeah, she mentioned him once or twice." The dumbshit was bewildered. "Died
in 9/11."

  "Yep." I nodded then asked, "And what else?"

  "What else?" he stared at me puzzled. "What do you mean, 'what else?'"

  I pinged his mind. He was so shallow, he hadn't even bothered to dig deeper.
He was sure he had done something wrong, but couldn't figure out what. Nice. I
made a mental note to talk with Ami and Rachelle about Ghandia's choice of
men.

  "His name was Faraz." I watched his face. His expression remained unchanged
until I began filling in the blanks Ghandia had omitted. It wasn't because she
was ashamed of Faraz, but she buried it because it reminded her of a painful
past. The look the outspoken man wore when I finished my tale was priceless.

  "He was Iraqi. Specifically, a Shia." I finished, "And he was our friend."

  He stood there mute and ashen-faced.

  "Good luck with the apology." I kept my tone casual. "I believe you'll need
it."

  With that kind of simple-minded ugliness running amok in the 'normal'
population's psyche, I knew NSA-PSI was likely going to pull me out of from my
life to work over cases both domestically and internationally. I would
definitely need the time to work with the agency in addition to my projects,
spend time with my family, and learn some new hobbies.

  New hobbies? Why of course! All this while, I was still broadening my
knowledge. I had taken up making Antediluvian flint knives and spear points
after watching (and being fully impressed by) Mel Gibson's "Apocalypto". I
found I was able to give Yu-Ching a run for her money when we had a little
meat-carving contest. Little Chen was so impressed, she asked (er, demanded) a
set of flint and obsidian blades for Christmas that year.

  Aside from going back and exploring the Stone Age, I was also boldly forging
ahead. The caseless rounds I had stolen from the raid in Colombia gave me an
idea to develop a "caseless cartridge" handgun. After three years of
tinkering, I had developed a system that used a gas operated rotating breech
system to load, fire, and clear (the fumes and heat from) caseless ammunition.
The whole package fit into the palm of my hand. It was a unique (and almost
steampunk) kind of weapon. The problem wasn't the gun though, it was the
ammunition. I hadn't come from a strong chemistry background, and I wanted to
use easily reloadable (and common) slugs for a caseless cartridge.

  As Tseng noted, I needed a method to neatly execute someone should the need
arise and the method had to be a recognizable, 'normal' phenomenon. Until I
was able to formulate and construct my own propellant and cartridge, I had a
nice gun-shaped paperweight when the caseless ammunition was used up. Of
course, there was also the little problem of forensic ballistics; those
cartridges were one of a kind and using them meant discovery. I had begun
tinkering with my gun to take in normal cartridges, the idea was that the
spent shell would be collected when I worked the action. However, the design
made the whole gun large and unwieldy.

  In any case, I figured that with so much work, Tseng would be called in as
much as I to take off some of the load. However, I had been seeing less and
less of the old Chinaman with the thinning hair. I wondered if my mentor was
really retiring, or if he was just not showing up. He looked as if he could
give it a few more years. The possibility he was up to something was just as
likely. David was more than pleased that Tseng wasn't around. Regardless if
everyone was present or not, with the amount of work I knew I was going to get
myself involved with, I honestly thought it better if I took remote learning
courses (like Janet). This way, I could work my hours at the firm, spend as
much time with my family as possible, and learn new methods of killing
'normals' with what little time I could spare.

  But I digress ... back to Rosalind and me in December 2007. We were about to
cross the street back into campus (I had to take the BART -- Bay Area Rapid
Transit -- train back to the city unless I wanted to telekinetically levitate
across the bay to get back home). Rosalind was still hitting on me and trying
to perk my interest.

  "So, would like to come back to my place?" Rosalind did her best to sound
alluring, "For some coffee I mean?"

  Coffee my ass, I thought. The girl was so nervous, she was practically about
to shit herself trying to get down my pants.

  "Sure, I guess, if it's not a problem." I nodded slowly.

  "Oh, great!" Rosalind smiled, her voice a little nervous.

  I sensed her excitement build as soon as she heard my reply. I needed to play
this hand adroitly or Viktoriya would know and leak the details to everyone.
Still, my Russian minx wasn't a blabbermouth like Melanie. Besides, knowing
Viktoriya's proclivities with other women, she might actually demand to be a
part of the fun.

  Still, I wanted to err on the side of caution. I also wanted to try a new
technique I had been experimenting with lately. It was something I called
"selective memory". Essentially, I was compartmentalizing my experiences into
small isolated portions of my mind. It was almost like consciously suppressing
a memory but better because in "selecting" what I could remember, I didn't
risk thinking of it when I was asleep or distracted. With this technique,
Viktoriya wouldn't be able to read my mind like an open book.

  I sometimes wondered if that was what she'd done too. Perhaps she only
remembered certain things to keep me ignorant about parts of her life. I
shrugged it off. There was nothing I could do even if Viktoriya had done that.
Of course, by using selective memory, I'd forget the experience. I wondered if
it was a good idea to try this "Johnny Mnemonic" bullshit. It might cause me
to forget who I am. Now THAT was a frightening thought.

  The curious may probably wonder why I was going to great lengths to hide what
I was doing. One could argue the whole point of being a "mind-reader" or
"mind-controller" was to bang the chicks (or dudes, whatever, I don't judge)
and have the memory of that experience to relive as much as one wanted. Well,
for one thing, people generally will remember what they've done. Only serious
intervention of a normal's mind (irreversibly damaging it and the persona) can
allow one of our kind to get a a person to do our bidding unwillingly. While
it was true I had done some earnest mind-control, it was against banditos and
coyotes down on the US-Mex border and Colombia. Even then, I stuck to passive
methods to incite violence. I hadn't used blatant mind-control on anyone I
didn't wish to seriously injure or kill.

  The permanent damage aside, I was also in a bind. Having a pack of wives at
home, the last thing I wanted was to raise the ire of any of the women; not to
mention the rage of my redoubtable First. I was sure this time, she'd
definitely leave me. Still, I was a man. And if a pretty young (legal) girl
wanted to pork your brains out, you should check your equipment (and your
preferences) if you refused her offer.

  "So, you like, have a girlfriend?" Rosalind had a few cases of wine cooler in
her fridge. She had gone through four bottles already and was a bit tipsy.

  "Do you have a boyfriend?" I countered gently. I was still on my first bottle
and it was barely half empty.

  "B'fair!" she burped, "I ash'ked you fu'rst."

  Since I didn't consider the girls my girlfriends anymore, I answered, "No."

  Lying by omission of course, was a standard agency interrogation technique.
So was twisting the meaning of words. I learned from the best at the NSA.

  "And you?" I pressed, "One question, one drink. Okay?"

  Rosalind grinned and nodded. I wondered if she'd feel the same way if she
knew I was calculating how to zap her synapses to erase what I wanted, but
leave the rest of her mind intact. I was also concentrating and placing all of
what I was doing into a portion of my memory that was "short term". That'd
mean I'd have no memory of this event after a few days, no matter how deep
Viktoriya would dig. It was all very similar to what I had done to the Sin
Titulo years ago, but far more refined.

  "No buff--boyfriend," Rosalind toyed with an empty bottle.

  I glanced at the clock. It was nearly 9:30. Today was supposedly "my day" (a
day that I didn't have to spend any time with the girls unless I wanted to)
but going home late wasn't really something I did unless the agency called me
out.

  "You married?" she asked.

  "Of course." I spread my hands and smiled.

  "But you haven't a ring!" Rosalind sounded more annoyed than angry.

  "We don't put our trust in jewelry." I chuckled at her strong sense of
righteousness. "Just each other."

  "Oooh, that's smarts!" She glanced hungrily at me, "And sweet. I wish I could
get a guy like you."

  At that point, I was glad I was a telepath. Most normal guys (well the cool
suave ones anyway) would be able to pounce on her line and get snagged by her
wiles. Half of those guys would probably be okay with what she was doing, the
other half probably not so much. I knew from actual experience that few
would've been able to afford it. Rosalind was trying to solicit me for sex.

  Now, I didn't mind sex. I wouldn't mind even paying for it (because all those
bills at the eco-condo were paid with actual money and not Monopoly money).
But to actually pare down the relationship to its most basic form was a mild
shock; I'd never paid for sex before (and Jamie didn't count -- prostituting
herself for the sake of her child was noble on her part and I gladly took them
into my household) nor did I anticipate doing any more screwing around after
the children were born.

  My girls were happy. I was happy. Heck, even the kids were happy (they'd
better be considering all the time, toys, and teaching the seven of us vested
in them). However, the current situation called to me. Aside from Rosalind's
implicit solicitation, I also picked up other thoughts that made me reconsider
the whole thing in a different light: 'Damn, he's fine.' 'I feel bad for him
though, pressuring him like this.' 'But damn it, I need money.' 'Stupid school
fees are so high.'

  Wow, I thought. Were things this bad now? My youngest darling Melanie had
been out of school for some time, and Rachelle had just finished her three
year vocational earlier in the year. Of course, with my backing, none of my
girls really had much of a problem with tuition and living expenses. Janet and
I both made well over a quarter million now (and some of my income was
augmented by special assignments) so we never felt a crunch.

  Of course, being the archetypical parsimonious Asians helped too. Janet's car
was the same one she had back in college: a 1989 Toyota Camry. My own car was
even older: a 1985 Toyota Corolla (both of our parents loved Toyota's
reliability records back in the 80s and early 90s; the company can thank
Consumer Reports for that). My dad transferred it to me when I was old enough
to drive.

  The other girls weren't slacking either. Shawn's income from Forrester-Duncan
brought the family haul even higher. The only thing that stopped us from joint
filing like that was it would be criminal (it was only evidence of bigamy) but
also highly unfair to other non-polygynandrous families who didn't have as
many deductions.

  In any case, Shawn was still flush with a lot of dough she kept stock-piling
either into her 401K or treasury bills. Since my plump pumpkin could only
deduct herself and that stubborn daughter of ours, I suggested that she should
plunk down some dough on a small place for her mom (since Laura couldn't live
with us forever). We did some shopping around and Shawn bought her mom a small
place in the Alamo Square Historic District shortly after Kady was born (in
2005).

  With a little help from my persuasion, I managed to ease the loan officer
into the deal. Hell, I eased the home's seller to settle it for far less than
three-quarters million due to the place's dilapidation (which isn't a problem
since Shawn and I were in the building business). All this, combined with the
other girl's incomes, meant our family lived quite comfortably. It hadn't
occurred to me that other people weren't as lucky as we were. I put my hand on
Rosalind's and squeezed. I couldn't believe I was jumping in with both feet
into this mess. I definitely needed to re-think about applying "selective
memory" now.

  "You're cute," I controlled my tone of voice carefully. "I can't believe you
don't have a boyfriend."

  "Aw, that's sweet." Rosalind smiled but eyed me warily. "But what about your
wife?"

  "She doesn't have to know." I lied.

  Well, Viktoriya might if I didn't forget this after a few hours. Thankfully,
my Russian bride and I had our mind-meld earlier that day. I knew she was out
partying with Freya tonight. Despite her offer to watch her lez-out with a
blonde rhythmic gymnast, I wanted to do other things that night; too bad I
didn't know I was going to do one of my students.

  "I see." Rosalind's tone quickly became cool, "Just for the record though, do
you have money?"

  "Money?" I feigned mild shock, "Wait, you mean you're --?!"

  "Don't say that!" Rosalind blurted suddenly. "I mean it's just that studio
was expensive, y'know?"

  "Yeah," I nodded as I replied, "Studio always is and always will be."
  
  "I mean, I'm not a hooker," she said flatly, "I just--!!"

  "Okay, calm down now." I stroked her hand gently. "Want to tell me about it?"

  Rosalind swallowed and recited verbally what I already knew from skimming her
mind. She was a student, born from Korean parents. Since she was one of four
kids, her parents were hard pressed to put them all through school. Rosalind
was lucky that she got accepted into the University of California. She was
something of a party girl; however, she managed to hang on and get herself
together and focus on tasks (unlike Rachelle).

  "So that's my story," Rosalind said sheepishly, "You must think I'm awful,
tricking you like this."

  I grinned at her choice of words. Trick indeed, I thought. Well, I was
willing to try anything once if it wasn't physically dangerous. I could
tolerate her for a little while.

  "I don't mind," I said.

  "Really?" Rosalind smiled wanly and purred, "I mean I'm being honest -- this
is the first time I've tried this!"

  "Really, I don't mind." I stroked her arm, "And don't worry about it."

  As she felt a thin trickle of my mental broadcast, she blushed crimson.

  "Officially, you're no longer my student," I said, "So whatever we do now is
fine."

  "Oh, okay. Great." Rosalind visibly relaxed, "So like how much you have on
you?"

  "Not much," I said. I only carried spare change for emergencies like the kids
or my darlings getting into some sort of horrific accident and I'd pay out of
my nose to keep them alive and well. I dug out my wallet and sifted through
the bills I had. Rosalind's eyes grew wide.

  "Holy moly," she gasped, "You carry around that much cash?"

  I glanced at her and realized that 'spare change' for me was probably a lot
of money to a starving student. I chuckled.

  "Too much?"

  "Oh, I didn't mean to sound greedy." Rosalind's eyes never left my wallet.

  Of course not you little gold-digger, I thought as I counted out five hundred
dollar bills. That still left me enough to buy her body a half-dozen times
over.

  "Wow, thanks!" She gingerly took the money into her trembling hands as I
stood up. "Er, wait! Where're you going?"

  "I'm just going to wash up," I said, "Put that away, okay sweetheart?"

  "Sure thing."

  She visibly blushed at the turn of phrase. Well, it was kinda kinky; like I
was her father or something. Or a sugar daddy. I laughed inwardly at the
thought. I headed to the restroom and washed my hands and face. I stared at
the man in the mirror. I hadn't done that in quite some time. The young cocky
teenager who had been bagging (and banging) a handful of girls way back in the
last century was now a hard-faced, thirty-something Chinaman.

  I was in good form, having worked out a telekinetic 'resistance training'
into my regimen. Originally, I did so because the people at Rossi pool were
becoming more annoying and less pleasant, but it was chiefly because Shawn no
longer cared to go there, leaving me rather lonely. Her increased workload
(and the kids) demanded that she increase her time at home or at the office.
So, my buxom Anglo-angel made the best of things; she traded "parent-time"
with Janet so she could wade in her pool while watching Michael, Milhail, and
Kady as soon as the little imp learned to walk. This let Shawn keep her
pudginess to a minimum, although she eventually skipped the pool once cold
weather arrived.

  I on the other hand, went a different route. I needed to practice more
telekinesis on the human body to know how much force was too much. By now, I
knew I could easily pierce several centimeters of reinforced steel and
concrete; however, I was more interested in the thresholds of telekinesis to
safely restrain people. Not having many choices, I used myself as the guinea
pig (although I was very careful throughout the process). Eventually, I had
designed my physical regimen around 'pushing' against myself with my own
telekinesis. In an odd way, I was getting a double work-out; I was training my
mind and my body at the same time.

  While I didn't need hardened thigh and calf muscles for physical running
(TK-skating was faster), I did enjoy the concentration required to hook myself
upside-down and attempt to curl my upper body forwards and upwards (or vice
versa), or by balancing on the back of a kitchen chair with one hand. While I
helped myself with a little "mind-lift", this also meant I had a fairly firm
body. I wasn't portly, nor did I have a male-model's build, but I didn't have
a lot of excess fat.

  I examined my face closely. Crow's feet were around my eyes and there was
some slight bruising -- bags -- under them from a mild lack of sleep. I had
shaved that morning, so there was only a faint shadow on my chin and lips. I
spotted a stack of razors in the bathroom and swiped one for myself. I was
sure as poor as Rosalind was, she could afford the nickel for a new disposable
razor. I primed my face smooth for what I was about to do and studied the
reflected image some more.

  My hairline wasn't receding, or it hadn't yet; I was most anxious about that
if only for different reasons. The man I called my father all my life had a
full head of hair, although his was streaked with white now that he was
approaching his sixties. Tseng though, was balding but appeared to be younger.
I knew male pattern baldness was hereditary. Part of me was dying to know the
truth about my mentor's personal interest in me, and I feared the day when I'd
find my answer.

  "Oh hey." Rosalind knocked on the door but didn't come in, "So um, like you
want me to come out now or what?"

  I considered her offer briefly before I opted for something else.

  "Grab a towel for me would you?" I rinsed the razor and wrapped it in a paper
towel. I'd probably take it home or get rid of it later.

  "Er, okay," she replied. "Just'a minute."

  I heard her shuffle away from the restroom, I opened the door and pinged
lightly as not to be detected. Five of my six lovelies were home in the "City
by the Bay", as were the children. Rachelle and Jamie were messing around with
a new version of video software (Jamie found that she enjoyed homemade porn --
something Viktoriya would find they had common interest later) while Shawn was
watching Jillian play dress up with her four younger sisters.

  A few floors above, Melanie and Mother Benton were trying to teach our oldest
boys Michael and Milhail how to cook some midnight munchies: macaroni and
luncheon meat with sweet peas. In the living room, Janet paced around with
little Norman in her arms while her own son Frederick clamored for attention
and begged his mother for a chance to hold the baby.

  In other words, it was all normal. I relaxed, knowing my family was safe and
preoccupied. I shifted focus a bit and zipped to New York City. I picked up
Viktoriya's rapid mile-a-minute train of thought as Freya eagerly fucked her
with a double-ended vibrating strap-on. Viktoriya's legs were splayed apart by
Freya's weight and my bisexual Baltic beauty was fixated on her "friend's"
perky breasts while she was being dyke-fucked. Well, at least she's having
fun. Now, I guess I can have mine with a nubile young hottie in relative
peace. Rosalind snapped me from my mental reverie when she pressed a fluffy
blue towel into my hands.

  "So, what's your first name?" She stopped and coughed lightly, "Or do you
just prefer Mr. Chen?"

  "Stan." I grinned and extended my hand. "Funny name, huh?"

  "Oh no." Rosalind managed to grin and suppress a giggle. "It's a classic
name. Guys are like all 'Theo' or 'Justin' or 'Matt' now."

  "I'm a classic," I eyed her hungrily. "You sure you're okay with this?"

  "Yeah sure," Rosalind nodded, "So, like, what do you wanna do?"

  I sensed her hesitation, and it wasn't just the mind-scan that gave me the
story. I felt it; she hadn't done this before. I also sensed Rosalind was
infatuated with me, but I hadn't realized why for the life of me. I needed to
dig a bit deeper if I wanted to know, but I hazarded a guess that it was
something akin to puppy love. What a foolish little girl.

  "Why don't we take a bath?" I pulled her gently towards me, "Get cleaned up
and chat a bit more?"

  "Oh, yeah." Rosalind was hesitant but smiled nervously. "Sure."

  We undressed slowly as the tub filled up. She wound her hair into a coil and
snapped a shower cap over it. That was odd. For a moment there, she reminded
me of Yu-Ching.

  "Hope you don't mind, but I washed it all this morning," she said, "Hate to
let it dry on a night like this."

  "Ah don't worry," I started, "Yuu--" I stopped myself before I named names.
"I know what you mean."

  She looked at me curiously. "You do?"

  "It takes about an hour or so to dry," I said and remembered Melanie's long
locks of hair.

  "Wow," Rosalind was impressed, "So you like, know every woman's secret or
what?"

  "C'mere," I drew her close, "Let's find out."

  My former student tip-toed closer and gingerly sat on my lap. I kissed her
lightly and felt my body react naturally to her touch. Compared to my
experienced darlings though, Rosalind was rather tepid. As I caressed and
squeezed her tender body, I realized that it was her inexperience rather than
lack of enthusiasm which made her less attractive. After some awkward kissing,
I bade her to take a dip. We both scrubbed in the tub and soaked for nearly a
quarter hour as the water cooled down. I used that opportunity to press my
body against hers to get both of our psyches in harmony. Rosalind sighed as I
rubbed her arms and nuzzled her neck. She leaned back against my body as I
gently kissed her cheeks and shoulders.

  "Feel good?" I asked softly.

  "Hmm, yeah," Rosalind turned her head and kissed me.

  Nude, I saw my innocent looking student still wore her decorations from her
party going ways. Beside her nose piercing, Rosalind had her nipple rings and
a shiny button gem on her naval. I knew Jamie once had a naval piercing a long
time ago; she told me about it when I asked her about the scar. My sultry
Asian siren had it removed when she had Jillian (it's embarrassing to have
that shiny dangling thing with a distended belly) and kept her tattoos
tasteful. Seeing Rosalind so devalue her own body, I felt more than glad to
forget the whole mess after tonight. Once we rinsed, the two of us toweled dry
before Rosalind led me to her bedroom. I lay down, eager to spoon her when she
hunched over my cock.

  "What the--?" I stopped and winced as I remembered how some girls thought
giving head was "only natural" when pleasing a man.

  Rachelle and Viktoriya gave great head, and that was only because my Slavic
siren would tickle my asshole with her telekinesis while she did. Rachelle
though, was utterly shameless when it came to gobbling cock. She enjoyed
swallowing my meat whole (balls and all) and seemed to get off on gagging
(that was what probably suggested to Craig she was a bit on the submissive
side). However, I never really enjoyed getting head. I disliked the chill of
the girl's spit or the messy clean-up afterwards.

  I liked Janet's method the best: body warm veggie oil, saran wrap, and a
hearty dive right into a moist cooze. Melanie and Shawn understood, and
neither minded my finicky love-making. Of late, I only made exceptions for
Jamie. She liked it because she enjoyed having her teeth right there. Like my
plump dumpling, Jamie developed into a biter; she had been directing her
efforts on my rock hard cock the past few years and I certainly didn't mind
it.

  Rosalind's technique was pretty simple, if boring. She slid her mouth over my
schlong but I felt little enjoyment. She didn't know how to tease a man apart
from taking him into her mouth. From the thoughts I'd gathered, I wagered she
was a virgin, and her technical display more or less removed all doubt. She
was on all fours, curled with her head towards me and her ass nowhere near my
face. It was great for giving head, but I could care less. I wanted some pussy
and I was going to get some. Rosalind gave a horrified squeak as I grabbed her
and flipped her around. She calmed down though, when she realized I wanted to
"sixty-nine" her. I spread her butt cheeks wide and buried my face into her
shaven cunt.

  "Mwhaa!" Rosalind cried out as I tongued her clit and squeezed her soft ass.

  Extending a bit of focus, I gently began rolling her insides with
telekinesis. The results were immediate and rather dramatic. A thin clear gush
of pee and cum sprayed from Rosalind's cunt onto my face as she came in an
uncontrolled upsurge of pleasure. Rosalind moaned softly as her body tensed up
from the feeling.

  "Ooogh!" She shivered as she sighed with delight.

  Wow, I thought as I tasted her musky juices. She was pretty backed up in
there. I snurbed her pussy and knew that the tingly sensation that Rosalind
felt wasn't simply from the rockin' orgasm she just had, but from my mild
mental broadcast. I wanted to fuck her brains out and she suspected it. I
sucked and tongued her sweet slice, and relished in the fresh taste of teenage
cum.

  By now, Rosalind had stopped sucking my cock. She was so thoroughly enjoying
the warm, fuzzy feeling of my face-fucking, she only held my semi-rigid staff
with a loose grip. However, her juices were definitely arousing. My dick was
hard and it needed attention. I reached down with a free hand and shoved it
into her face. Rosalind got the idea and began sucking me off once more.

  We continued for a time before I changed positions. I spooned her like a love
doll and played with her small perky titties and little pea-sized clit.
Because I could "roll" the telekinesis at will, my hands were free to touch,
grope, fondle, or otherwise molest different parts of her tight, young body. I
toyed with her piercings and found the parts of her which were sensitive.

  "Here do it this way," I flipped Rosalind onto her back and pulled her close.

  "What? You want to do it missionary style?"

  "Yeah," I said quickly.

  Rosalind handed me a condom as I sat on my haunches. I unwrapped the little
latex disc and pulled it over my erect cock.

  "A little large don't you think?" I knitted my brow. The condom was made for
Mandingo, not Charlie Chan.

  "Sorry," Rosalind murmured, "I was in a hurry. I didn't know, y'know?"

  I was able to easily grab a large swath of the condom, despite its slick
artificial oils. It was going to slip right off.

  "Well this won't do," I said. "You have food wrapping here?"

  "You mean like Cling Wrap?"

  I nodded but my former student shook her head, "That stuff won't do. It's too
thin!"

  Says you woman, I thought darkly. Janet and were fine fucking like that
before you were born. Still, Rosalind had a point. While wrap was fun and all,
it could easily break, and  a pregnancy from this would be ... disastrous.

  "Well. How 'bout a rubber band? One of the small ones?" I suggested.

  Rosalind thought a bit, hopped off the bed and came back with a small thin
rubber band. Its diameter was about that of my thumb. Perfect. I snapped it
(painfully) over the base of the condom. Rosalind bit her lip gently as a
smirk crossed her face.

  "Cool." She lay down and spread her legs apart.

  I leaned over her and thwapped her shaven cooze with my wrapped cock.
Rosalind sighed and I pushed into her slowly. She grimaced a bit. Like with
Aurora and Melanie, I went slow. Virgins were not my idea of a swell time.
They earnestly took too much work to get accustomed to. I felt Rosalind's cunt
relax as she acclimatized herself to having me in her.

  Once I knew she was comfortable, I began moving. The little Korean girl's
face went slack as her lips parted slightly. Her breaths came out in shallow
bursts as I pumped her slowly and rhythmically. Rosalind put a palm on my
shoulder and traced her delicate fingers over my chest as I fucked her. Her
eyes swam over me as I concentrated on getting off. Like Aurora, Rosalind was
a convenient piece of meat. Not quite the meal at home, but a handy sweet
treat right before the main course. As I came close to unloading, I slowed
down my thrusting. I stopped just short of cumming.

  "What's wrong?" Rosalind blinked in surprise. "Is it something I did?"

  "No." I shook my head and rolled her atop me. "Give it your best shot. I'll
stay hard for you."

  "What?" She gave me a confused look, then slowly realized what I was asking
her to do. "Oh. Okay. Just -- you -- ungh."

  Rosalind straddled me and bounced her ass over my rigid fuckstick. She leaned
over on all fours and I could see her face contort into beautiful agony as I
'rolled' her insides with a mixture of telekinesis and my physical cock.

  "Ugh--ungh--fuck!!" Rosalind closed her eyes and gripped me tightly by the
shoulders as she began slamming herself down on my erect unyielding dick at an
ever faster pace.

  "Feels good huh?" I scraped and scratched her back gently as she moved her
hips so forcefully, the bed began shaking.

  The skinny girl barely heard me as she came a second time, her quim rippling
as she squeezed my hardened joystick. She was unable to form coherent words as
a torrent of Korean and English curse words poured from her throat. My former
student opened her eyes, saw my saucy grin, and smiled bashfully.

  "Did you cum yet?" she asked shyly.

  I shook my head and her eyes grew wide.

  "I think you've got a few more left in you, sweetheart." I kissed her gently.
"Let it out. I'll wait."

  To entice her, I grabbed her ass and pressed my hips against hers while
'rolling' my telekinesis a bit. To Rosalind, it felt like my dick was this
unimaginably thick, massive fuckstick which was custom made just to fit and
pleasure her body.

  "Oh god," she gasped, spit and tears covering her face, "Oh my god."

  I bit her bare shoulders gently as I slowly fingered her puckered little
asshole. Incredibly, Rosalind cried out again and came a third time. Jesus
Christ, I thought; she was a sensitive little slut. She kissed me savagely,
biting my lips, tongue and mouth. I slowly began thrusting her on my own
accord and Rosalind swooned from the sheer amount of pleasure I was giving
her.

  "Feels good," Rosalind panted breathlessly, "So good -- ungh!"

  She tensed up, her cooze gripping my shaft and came yet again. By now, I
could smell her sweet sex scent filling the whole room, soiling the sheets,
and splashed all over my thighs. Rosalind collapsed breathless on top of me,
my hard-on still erect and deep inside her. After a few minutes, I picked her
up and put her on her back. Her eyes went wide as she realized I was still
hard.

  "Y--you're incredible!" she exclaimed with disbelief.

  "So are you." I murmured and licked her lips tenderly.

  I moved slow and rolled her G-spot with telekinesis as I smashed her tiny
cunt. I parlayed my twenty years of expertise into an incredible experience
that Rosalind wouldn't soon forget. Apparently, I didn't want to forget it
either. So, I shuttered the whole thing into a small part of me, and kept it
hidden as about as far away as I could do it. I "locked" it, with a note, a
number. It would be an interesting experiment, seeing which of my psionic
hotties -- my Ukrainian beauty or my dear Lady Chen -- will pick up on this
first. It was a risk I was willing to take, for the sake of exploring my gift
...

  In the meantime, the girl under me was being pummeled like she'd never been
before. Her eyes were glazed, her mouth open, but hardly any sound came out.
Just about when Rosalind thought she couldn't stand the building wave of
pleasure anymore, I mind-zapped her where it counted (just weakly). She
suddenly cried out as a crescendo of climaxes wracked her body. As she writhed
and trembled under me, I grunted and shot a massive load of love scuzz into
the waiting receptacle.

  I rolled her atop me as we both struggled for breath. Since neither of us
were drowsy, we talked a bit more. I revealed my love of seeking out new
experiences and learning (though I didn't reveal the more doubtful topics like
chemistry for explosives and bombs) while Rosalind filled me in on how her
parents (particularly her mother) guided her into design. What really perked
me up was when she mentioned she had met me before. Not at school, but long
before that.

  "I have?" I was mildly surprised.

  "Yeah." Rosalind blushed coyly as she ran her fingertips over my brow and
face, "My mom worked at Ferguson Graphics."

  "Oh yeah?" I grinned, "That's some time ago."

  "Mhm--hmm." She traced a line down my face, as if she wanted to remember it.
"I saw you when I came in on Bring-Your-Daughter to work day."

  "Oh." I knitted my brow. Now, THAT was some time ago. I ran through my list
of old co-workers but no one seemed to ring a bell, so I began fishing
Rosalind's memories.

  "You probably don't remember," she murmured, "I was like eleven."

  Holy shit. Now I DID remember, if only dimly. There was a pretty Korean woman
(whose named escaped me) in the old Ferguson office who was there when I
started. I barely remembered anything about her save that she had family in
the South Bay and she commuted about an hour on the Caltrain to get to the
city. Comparing my fuzzy memories with Rosalind's story more or less confirmed
my suspicion. I gave the sweet young thing a good look over.

  I was practically robbing the goddamned proverbial cradle. My heart skipped a
beat at the thought. She was even younger than Phillipa Roget. At least Mirage
was born during the Reagan Administration. As I sat wondering if Rosalind was
born before or after the Berlin Wall fell, I sensed her apprehension as she
kissed the side of my neck. I groaned as my body shivered reflexively with
delight, and hated myself for liking it.

  "Sorry it had to be like this," the Korean teenager murmured, "School's just
so expensive."

  "Don't remind me," I said dourly.

  I had paid off my student loans easily once I started working. Andrew though,
still had a ways to go. My problem was that in helping him, I'd leak out my
activities on the border. My family didn't need to know any of that. Still, I
made the occasional $300 deposit into his account, and told him it was from
the deli franchise, then told him to shut up and study. It helped somewhat.

  "So, like, would you wanna do this again?" Rosalind's fingers grazed my
forehead.

  To forestall her disappointment, I replied without hesitation. "Yeah sure."

  So we parted that night on good terms. I called her up again when she was
with her family in San Jose and arranged to meet her for a torrid evening of
dinner, clubbing, and fucking. After drilling her a second time at a posh
hotel near the San Jose Airport, I sensed what Rosalind wanted most with what
I knew she needed: love and money (respectively).

  I had to admit, the sex with Rosalind wasn't all that bad. It was just a bit
creepy. She was fourteen years my junior; nearly double the age gap that
Melanie and I had. As fun as it was, I was worried how much trouble I'd get
into if any of my darlings found out. Still, I couldn't ignore Rosalind's
potential. She was talented (in an architectural design) and it'd be a waste
to squander her skills. Besides, I suspected that if she was willing to
prostitute herself, she'd get into some sort of trouble sooner rather than
later. And it would be the same sort of trouble that Jamie got herself into
when she was younger. It would be wrong to ignore such promise, I argued to
myself.

  "So, here's the thing." I took her to a bar and grill after our latest fuck
session, "Let's make an arrangement."

  "What kind of arrangement?" Rosalind looked at me warily as we sat in the
booth.

  "I don't mind us hanging around for a while," I measured my words with care,
"But you know this isn't long-term."

  Rosalind nodded and did her best to keep smiling. I gave her arm an
encouraging squeeze.

  "You're a good designer," I said, "Or you have that potential to be. I don't
want you getting mixed up into anything crazy. So how about this ..."

  To Rosalind, I proposed a very straight-forward and practical solution. For a
monthly stipend of a hundred bucks a day (essentially $3000 USD a month), she
was to keep her nose out of trouble, her eyes on her books and academics, and
to forget about money until she finished her undergraduate courses. Rosalind's
face positively glowed when she heard what I was going to do.

  "Are you sure?" she asked pensively, "I mean, won't you get in trouble or
something?"

  "You let me worry about that," I slipped her an envelope of clean bills of
hundreds. "You worry about your studies."

  With that 'other thing' (Red Rock) I was busy with, the family and kids, I
was earnestly stretching things. Luckily business at NSA-PSI had been so
brutally busy, I had nearly quadrupled the money I'd accumulated before the
marriage. Tseng and I also found a few weekends to do follow-up hits on La
Corporacion in their expansion operations in Riohacha, Santa Marta, and
Barranquilla.

  I suspected the agency knew what Tseng was doing, or he had cut a deal with
them, and the DEA (Drug Enforcement Agency) certainly didn't mind an
independent contractor 'settling things' for the price of a song. Of course,
what we actually took vastly dwarfed the nominal 'fee' we were charging
American taxpayers (and you people should be glad for it).

  Another reason why we were on call almost every other day was due to David
Reese's talent. When he could displace operatives where they were needed in a
blink of an eye, the time required for pre-briefing was virtually restricted
to a pick-up time, location, and a brief chat of what to expect. By now, I had
earnestly hoped Ghost Light would drop out of sight, meet some unfortunate
"accident" (preferably displacing into solid matter or something), or
otherwise leave me alone. However, despite all my efforts to distance myself,
the guy talked incessantly when he and I were working together. I gathered he
had no close friends, just his wife Millie.

  So by 2007, I had the means to live lavishly, but I didn't. Instead I lived
within what means I reported to the tax collectors. While most of it was
ear-marked to be laundered or for family emergencies, it still left me with
more than enough spare change than I could legally spend. I couldn't just plop
it in front of my darlings; that was a sure way for the IRS to dig into the
family. So, I had to be careful with it. Now, what better use for it than
spending it on a struggling girl in the dawn of her prime?

  Rosalind counted the money and then looked at me with suspicion. "So, what am
I now? Your mistress?"

  I didn't like the term, but I kept my grin up. I sensed she had other
questions too, like could she see other people.

  "I don't think of you as --" I lowered my voice "-- a mistress. I'm not here
to control your life Rose. Do what you want. I just don't want to see you
squandering your time trying to make ends meet instead of devoting your time
to the craft."

  We ate quietly when our meals came. She poked the bits of her food she didn't
eat. As a matter of practice, I cleaned off my plate as efficiently as
possible. I sat patiently with a glass of water and waited while she finished
her meal.

  "Why me Stan?" Rosalind finally asked, "What makes me special?"

  We had pared our names down to single syllables. As an exercise in memory, it
helped me avoid any mistakes when I spoke with my own family.

  "Because you have potential." I passed her a pleasant smile. At least I was
more honest than Tseng.

  "You think so?" Rosalind grew thoughtful. "I never imagined my first love
would be my sugar daddy one day."

  "First love?" I chuckled and peered at her over the top of my glass. "Do
tell."

  "Don't be like that." She gave me a surly grin, "I'll be honest. You're the
first guy I fell in love with. I even wanted to give you a Valentine's Day
card, but I got scared 'cause of my mom. I still have it!"

  I was slightly taken aback. "Weren't you a little young to be sending out
Valentine's Day cards to grown men in sixth grade?"

  "You're like the coolest guy I ever met." Rosalind laughed, "And you have
that effect on girls, you know?"

  No, I tacitly corrected. I'm the richest guy you've met so far and I could
make you cum at will. I gave her a wry grin before I replied.

  "News to me."

  "The girls in studio all had the hots for you too." She lowered her voice a
bit. "Some of the guys too."

  "Now you're just flattering," I replied while wearing a genial smile.

  "No it's true!" Rosalind's face brightened, "You're like the best design
teacher they had."

  "Well, that's good to know."

  I knew I wouldn't be teaching for a while. As I mentioned before, the agency
kept NSA-PSI busy with tasks not just in the Middle East and Africa, but also
hitherto "medium risk" regions like South America, Central America, and -- of
all places -- North America. People were discontent for one reason or another,
and the United States was being every other countries' favorite (non-nuclear)
whipping boy. The invisible empire wouldn't care too much if America became a
hell-hole, but I did. I lived here, as did my darlings and my children. They
were all under my protection, hence it became the invisible empire's problem
when I thought anyone of them were threatened. The next year was going to be a
busy one indeed.

===============================================================================
  ISLAND OF DREAMS 
===============================================================================

  Oh, I should reveal more about that 'other' project I had, Red Rock. Despite
what one may think, Rosalind was actually more of a hobby than a project.
Aside from the opposite sex, I often had to make time for that one love which
earned my keep: architecture. Rosalind was a fun hobby, and as long as she
didn't get too rapacious or intrude too deeply into my life, I was content
with checking in on her once a month then putting her away after I was done
playing with her.

  When I was busy, I would only drop by and review what courses and materials
she had been studying. I'd do my best to bring out Rosalind's curiosity and
passion to learn, and made modest suggestions when she felt aggravated or
stuck. I celebrated her success, and did my best to help her analyze her
failures. But my personal project was something much more ambitious than a
mere girl. When completed, it would put my eco-condo on 43rd Avenue to shame.

  The Red Rock project started back in 2005. At first, it was supposed to be a
simple little thing. As the days and weeks and months went on though, I
obsessed with it more and more. It eventually took on a life of its own and
commanded nearly as much time for its financing, design, construction,
hood-winking the property assessors' office, and keeping it all a secret from
my family. It was also the closest thing to making myself a visible target;
something Tseng certainly frowned upon. I didn't care though, it was one of
those things that I knew I wanted to do, just so I'd know I could.

  My pet project was literally an island. I had first heard of the place after
the bigamy case was dismissed. Taking my considerate Lady Wu's suggestion, I
took Shawn and her mother Laura for a short weekend getaway on the bed and
breakfast inn on East Brother Island. The hotel (and the island it was on) was
part of the state park system but the place was run by a dedicated private
staff.

  That weekend was good for Shawn and me (I think that's where that roll of
saran wrap I brought along got all mucked up in the travel bag and I got her
pregnant) and at best, relaxing for Mother Benton. The island was just off the
coast of San Pablo point in the bay, but it seemed more isolated once the fog
rolled in. On our way back home, I overheard from the boat's skipper that
there was a privately owned island in the area, and it was undeveloped. The
place was called Red Rock Island, and it sat in a spot where three counties
intersected: San Francisco, Contra Costa, and Marin. First purchased in the
1920s, it was sold to different people at different times. All them had big
ideas, or were land speculators, or both. The latest owner was some gem trader
originally from San Francisco, but who lived in Thailand with his wife.

  It was early 2005 when I put out some feelers. There was no asking price but
I wagered the sale price would've gone up appreciably. The guy had tried to
sell it to California Fish and Game, but it was 2001; the dot-com bust had
just occurred and the state was in dire financial straits already (California
always seems to be). So the guy just sat on it. Red Rock was only 500 by 750
feet (a shade less than six acres and erosion would reduce that in a few
years), or roughly about 70 percent the diameter of the man-made Strawberry
Hill in Golden Gate park.

  I didn't want to charter a boat to see the place, nor did I want to risk
detection by levitating out there. I simply grabbed a copy of a map from
county records, and eyeballed the measurements from the Richmond-side
bridgehead using some binoculars. Apart from its unspoiled virginity, the
island was also obnoxiously close to one of the many bridges that
criss-crossed the San Francisco Bay Area (the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge).
Lastly, Red Rock had a tendency to attract trouble-making trespassers from the
Richmond** Marina. [** The city of Richmond in California. It shared the name
of the San Francisco district where most of my darlings and I grew up in.]

  Still, it was something unique and I wanted to do something with it. As a
matter of luck, I managed to catch up with Galen and Kari when the three of us
were in Africa (I was on an agency assignment and they were on vacation). They
suggested that I trade some gemstones for the island. It might work; the owner
being a gem trader and all. Galen suggested that I come visit them and they'd
"help" with my problem. The "help" they had in mind was apparently a series of
trades in eastern Angola and the Katanga region (of what was Zaire) that
extended into Zambia. Armed mercenary training camps, funded by blood
diamonds, were a source of ready buyers for the cut and processed drugs from
our tasks in Colombia.

  Of course, Galen and Kari were simply bringing me along for the ride. I had
already taken my share from La Corporacion and I wasn't there to do business.
However, I found it profitable just the same. With a little persuasion and
some light telekinesis, I managed to swipe a few of the largest uncut (and as
yet unexamined) rocks while no one was looking.

  With a sackful of these stones, I flew to Thailand to meet Red Rock's owner
to cut a deal. He had originally bought the damn thing for about $50,000 USD
in the mid 1960s. At first he tried to brush me off, but then I pulled out the
first of my hidden aces: a quarter of the blood diamonds I had acquired from
overseas. Now of course, he knew they were blood diamonds, but I didn't look
like anyone's errand boy. There was also no "real" way of proving or
disproving the rocks were being used to fund the operations of criminal
syndicates or insurgent groups. In any case, I was prepared to offer more if
the bastard was willing to sign it all over to me.

  I was unwilling to take "No" for an answer as I had some projects at
Down-To-Earth that needed my attention desperately back home. So I pulled out
my second hidden ace: persuasion. After a bit of arguing, we agreed to an
asking price of two million; as part of the agreement, he'd say that he sold
it to me in order to better humanity and for me to practice my method of
arcology (architectural ecology). In return, I gave him most of the gems I
acquired (okay, stole) from the insurgent camps. The half dozen pink and gold
uncut diamonds (big as golf balls) I had swiped from the Congolese mines were
worth considerably much more than the selling price of the island on paper. I
mean seriously, he didn't do much with the place in the first place now, did
he?

  Once the papers were signed, it made a bit of a buzz in local news. I was
incredibly lucky that my lovelies were too involved with work, school, and the
kids (or being pregnant with them) to have noticed. I had Red Rock now, and I
had plans for it. Dealing with the three different planning commissions in the
three counties was a hassle though. The guys in the San Francisco department I
had down pat. The ones I deemed helpful, I had entertained and feted well;
those who didn't often suffered a mild "breakdown" and prolonged migraines
until they resigned. The Contra Costa office didn't seem to have a problem
since most of the island was in their territory (hence, most of the taxes
would go to them).

  It was the Marin office that proved most difficult. They insisted on
re-assessing the value several times, despite the fact that the point of sale
was deliberately low so I could afford the property tax on the damn place
every year. I had deliberately bartered away some gems that would've made my
six lovely treasures even more lovely (especially if it was the only thing
they wore) just so we could keep the "official" price reasonable, but the tax
men in Marin were greedy beyond belief.

  So I did some rather brusque and heavy-handed "mind-twisting" while getting
some of the contractors who'd worked on my old building to start breaking
ground. The troublemakers suffered severe migraines when I confronted them;
essentially, it was me trying to wear them down, or drive them mad so I'd get
a replacement who would go with my flow. Eventually, I got what I wanted, but
the process was as exhausting for me as it was for them.

===============================================================================
  MISTER AWESOME 
===============================================================================

  Growing up, I was always the runt at school and in my class. I blamed this
partly on my birthday, September 30th. That made me just eligible for the
current class of students when the school year started in fall (the United
States had a school system that revolved around the summer agricultural
harvest due to its history of being an agricultural British colony; school
started in August or September and ended in May or June).

  So each year, I would likely be the youngest in my class. If not for my
gifts, I probably would've developed into quite the introvert. I did my best
to cope and had my fun. Still, I never saw myself as cool, suave or debonair.
I mean Hugh Hefner was cool when Playboy was at its height of popularity back
in the 1960s and 1970s, but not me. I was just plain old Stanley Chen. True, I
could screw with people's minds and stuff, but being cool or fashionable
wasn't in my deck of cards. Telepaths who opt for the shadowy, loner lifestyle
preying on teen girls and boys were hardly the cool bunch.

  A couple of wonderful women changed that. The first was my fashion conscious
Lady Wu. She dropped subtle hints on how I should dress when she'd pour over
GQ, Miss, and other magazines when we were younger. Viktoriya, despite her
love of long skirts (so she'd skip out on wearing underwear) had her say with
me too. In New York, the busy burg constantly bombarded her (and through her
mind-sight, me) with fashionable attire I emulated to please my dusky Russkie.

  Rachelle too, influenced me heavily despite our interregnum during the late
90s. She was as fashion conscious as Ling-Ling (if not more so) because she
lived in Los Angeles, and worked with cable broadcasters for a while. After my
dark beauty got her life back in order, the two of us occasionally did a
little shopping therapy.

  Without denigrating or dismissing Melanie, Shawn, or Jamie, my newest toy was
contributing to my playboy reputation if only unknowingly. Rosalind Chae was
young, vivacious, and a blank template for me to mold into a good woman. A
middle-aged man in the waning years of his prime with a good looking young
woman on his arm certainly turned heads. And despite the brief time we'd known
each other, her air-headed, pseudo-valley girl attitude was a refreshing
reminder of how much I'd grown.

  Rosalind was foolish to be sure, but her youthful energy instilled me with a
raw desire to better myself even further. I suppose one could call it a
burgeoning guilt, but I was able to spin the negativity of our secret liaison
into positive action: aside from dedicating more time into my hobbies, I
sought to hone the kids' development by broadening their interests, exposing
them to new experiences, and teaching them responsibilities with small
day-to-day tasks.

  With my darlings, I didn't find my libido waning when I was fucking Rosalind.
In fact, after a day of strenuous activity, I found myself more energized and
randy (physical limitations aside, I now think it may have been a psychic
by-product of the affair). I was more than ready to snuggle the living shit
out of my lovelies at night, much to their annoyance.

  "Jeez Stanley." Shawn pushed me off after one impromptu session. "What's
gotten into you lately?"

  "Nothing unhealthy I hope." I chuckled as I groped her massive mammaries.

  "Stop that." She swatted my hands. "It's not like you've been blue-balled
lately. Have you been taking Viagra?"

  "Now why would I do that?" I growled and bit her cheek lightly. "That crap
just slows me down."

  Shawn sighed and began picking at the frayed ends of her hair. I sensed her
anxiety and wished I could control myself. My buxom dumpling often
procrastinated when I was around and in the mood. It seemed that we were both
trying to re-capture those lazy weekends when we'd hit the books, did a little
homework, and then fucked like bunnies right before and after dinner in the
privacy of my old room.

  Those days were gone now, and replaced by demanding schedules, and time
consuming meetings. We also had a responsibility to our daughter Kady, who was
getting into her formative years. Everything we did or said seemed to have a
direct affect on the precocious little hard-case; it didn't help that she was
also a stubborn child. I rose, got dressed, and stepped out into the living
room so Shawn Ellen could be alone. Outside, little Kady was doodling on an
oversized sketchpad which doubled as her play-mat.

  "Da-daa! Look!" She started to get up awkwardly, her colored chalks
threatening to make a nice mess on the ivory carpet. I quickly scooped her and
her things up and set them all on the Teflon coated kitchen floor.

  "Didn't mom and I tell you to draw in the kitchen?" I gave her a quick,
playful swat on her bottom.

  "I dun'wanna!" Kady tried to squirm out of my grip.

  "It's so there's no big mess, understand?" I grabbed her tiny hands gently
and clapped them together. "See all this color chalk? It goes on what Kady?"

  "The skitch'bad!" she pointed helpfully.

  "And where should you put the sketch pad?" I asked her.

  "Th'kitchen," Kady mumbled.

  "Good girl." I gave her quick kiss and set her back down as her plump mother
stepped out from the bedroom, her clothes back on and neatly arranged.

  "C'mere Kady." Shawn grabbed the little girl gently and cleaned off the chalk
powder on her fingers. Despite Shawn's reservations about Kady's stubborness,
our little girl was thankfully obedient when both of us were there to teach
her. My Anglo angel looked at me expectantly.

  "So, are you going now?"

  "Yep." I managed a wry grin. "Dropping by Jay's to, um -- surprise her and
the girls."

  "Oh, yeah sure." Shawn cracked a funny little smile. "Like you did me?"

  "Of course, pumpkin." I winked and kissed her before she could protest. "Want
me to take Kady along? Let you do some work?"

  "Would you?" Shawn's eyes sparkled. "Thank you, Stanley."

  "You want to join us for dinner?" I asked, "Jay's trying her hand at some of
Melanie's dishes tonight."

  "No way." Shawn let out a bark of laughter. "Jamie? Cook?"

  My eyes and grin both grew wide as I wagged a finger at her. "You be nice
now, and give some support. Yu-Ching's going to rip ---"

  Shawn shot me a 'Hold it!' look, and I quickly corrected myself before Kady
picked up any new ideas. My dumpling may have been lenient on discipline, but
as I mentioned before, she was quick witted where it counted.

  "Melanie will probably be very critical. Jan's bringing a roll of Tums just
in case," I finished lamely.

  "All right. I'll drop by Rachelle's and keep her company."

  We both smiled weakly at that. My First and my mulatto darling still did
their best to avoid each other. While Frederick played well with Rachelle's
twin girls, Michael and (by extension due to Viktoriya's absence) Milhail
weren't so close to them (not that it mattered much since the boys could
sometimes get rowdy) but it was something I felt the children should decide
for themselves whom they liked and didn't like; not their parents.

  Shawn, Melanie, Jamie, and I would always try to schedule something of
playtime between all the kids. That was fine with Janet and Rachelle, but
getting the two into the same room (let alone sit at the same table) was
always a chore. It was yet another thing that kept me worrying late at night.

  "All right," I sighed and turned to our bi-racial little girl. "C'mon Kady,
we're going to let mommy work. Let's go to mother Jamie's and see your
sisters, okay?"

  "'Kay!!" Kady escaped her mother's clutches and ran to get her shoes on. The
girl liked playing with her sisters as much as she enjoyed rollicking with her
brothers.

  Kids, I thought wryly. At least they were enjoying themselves.

  Shawn remained sitting on her haunches while she watched our little dynamo
tie her shoelaces without help. She felt my hand on her shoulder and she
looked up at me. Seeing how she was kneeling before me, Shawn blushed and
quickly stood up. I pulled her back and gave her a light kiss before Kady and
I headed down one floor to Jamie's unit.

  That was just a snapshot in my family life as it stood as the new year 2008
started. I was riding high on many things, when the innocent (and private) fun
I enjoyed with Rosalind was turned on its head. I suppose I couldn't blame
her; being young and foolish, she had ideas of her own. Looking back now, I
guessed my crime was I didn't nudge Rosalind far enough, for fear of
potentially injuring her as I had with Rachelle; with my hesitation, things
rapidly spun out of control.

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     AUTHOR: MAXIMILLIAN ZHANG

     EDITOR: FERMAT and VOYER

     E-MAIL: GREY228 [ON] HOTMAIL
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