Duel With The Devil
One Step Forward, Two Steps Back
Sales of my novel, The Greatest Liar, Trans Erotica With A Purpose (TGL), had been tepid, despite the generally positive reader comments on the publishing website of an e-commerce firm named for a large South American River. The meager royalties didn’t bother me: I have more assets than I ever dreamed of owning, and my professional career is thriving.
But it troubled me that the public didn’t discover TGL’s themes of transsexuals’ troubles in transition, their fraught relationships with friends and family, the relentless threats and assaults of transphobes on their safety and security, the indignity of social and institutional discrimination, and the fragility of their lives even after they transcend these obstacles.
From my privileged Swiss home, I observed with increasing anxiety how every step that trans-rights took forward was repelled with a brutal backlash. From Russia to Africa to the Red States of America, reactionary politicians, feeding upon, and feeding the transphobia endemic in their societies, issued bathroom bans, decreed sports discrimination, mandated educational censorship, and deprived young transsexuals of medical treatment. Official opprobrium emboldened haters, and the morgues filled from an ever increasing holocaust of transsexual murders, setting horrifying new records every year.
Even J.K. Rowling, the literary idol of my youth, and the inspiration for countless transitions by questioning kids who believed that the magic of HRT could remake their bodies, and lives, turned against the trans world, revealing herself to be just another intolerant Muggle.
If only I had written a better book that attracted a broader readership, or even inspired a streaming miniseries. If only I had opened more eyes and minds to the impossibility of living a full life without transitioning, and to the boundless possibilities of life beyond the tortuous path through transition. I’d failed as an author and advocate, and as the pandemic of violence and hatred against transsexuals raged on, I acquiesced, protected by my passability, the relative tolerance of Swiss society, and my success as a pioneer of regenerative medicine.
Then, the Covid pandemic repurposed me as a scientist. As the case count and death toll spiked, the resources and grants for my research dried up and the clinics I where supervised tissue regeneration filled up, like clinics everywhere, with desperately ill Covid patients. One of them was my husband, a native of Bergamo who was infected at a soccer match that sparked the onset of the pandemic in Italy and triaged to die alone in a hospital corridor.
The Swiss/Italian border was closed, so I said goodbye to Silvio over Facetime. Two months later I finally got the urn containing his ashes, and our daughters and I hiked his favorite glacier and sprinkled it with his ashes and our tears.
My father Eduardo Rios, who was already a pre-eminent virologist when the pandemic descended, recruited me to his team performing a global study of the spread of the disease for the World Health Organization. For the next two years I worked for his Institute, testing waste water samples from around the world, searching for and classifying new variants and sub-variants. After the pandemic subsided, an American billionaire funded us to look for the next pandemic lying in wait to ambush an all to forgetful human race.
I got assigned to Thailand because I speak the language, know the culture, and have even survived exposure to the bird flu that has been on WHO’s diseases of concern list for more than a decade.. The only impediment, the Thai arrest warrant outstanding from my last visit to Thailand (chapter 14 of TGL), was handled discreetly and quickly with a donation from our billionaire sponsor to the Thai Prime Minister’s favorite charity.
Stormy Forecast
I was dressed in a hazmat suit, sweltering beneath the tropical sun, supervising a group of sobbing Thai villagers sorting the chickens which had been killed in the cull that had destroyed their flocks and their
livelihoods, separating the sickliest chickens from those not yet infected. They labored in tattered clothes, open sandals and cloth masks under the watchful eyes and rifles of the Thai Military Police, exposed to the pathogens oozing from the dead, decomposing flock.
My cell phone chirped, and my earbuds activated.
“Hello, this is Assistant District Attorney Glover, calling from New York. Is this Alexandra Rios.”
“Yeah, but it’s not a good time to talk.”
“We need to talk about your memoir.”
“I’ve got more important things to do than revisit my wasted youth.”
“It won’t take long, we only need to talk about three sections: ‘NDA’, ’My Turn as Apprentice’ and ‘Blast From the Past.’”
“If you’ve read them, then you know I can’t talk about them.”
“Nondisclosure agreements don’t apply to me. I’m a criminal prosecutor, and if the NDAs don’t exempt me, they’re unenforceable.”
“Read the prologue, it’s just a novel.”
“Your memoir ties to numerous verifiable occurrences. We need to know whether these episodes do too.”
“I’m in a Thai jungle with a million dead chickens. And guess what, I prefer their company to yours.”
“We know all about your bird flu research. We also know that you’re an outstanding witness and a courageous fighter.”
\”My fighting days are done. I don't care about America or its crazed political culture. I’m Swiss, we’re neutral.”
“What’s more important than truth, and the rule of law?”
“They’re overrated luxuries for the chattering classes. Truth is relative to power, and reality is based on ratings.”
“Not in the courts, as you well know. They are the last bastion, and we need your testimony.”
”I’m busy saving the world from the next pandemic.”
“What about saving the world from political gangsters like the lover boy who paid you the 150k to bury evidence we need for a trial.”
“Call my lawyer, Phil Lake. Make your pitch to him, and I’ll consider it after I’m done sorting these dead birds.”
I hand signaled the commander of the Thai soldiers guarding the bird mortuary where the terrified, and now impoverished Thai farmers, had earned their last baht from their slaughtered flocks. I sealed the freezer-full of the sickest chicken carcasses with Biohazard Tape and the villagers loaded it into the back of a Humvee, tagged for delivery to Lugano, Switzerland.
I texted my LA lawyer, Phil Lake.
“Got a call from the New York DA. There’s stormy weather ahead.”
Grand Jury
Mom believed the vaccine skeptics, and needlessly died from Omicron. She didn’t have a will, so I’d hired Phil to sort out the probate mess. Now, I was bringing him a much racier case.
Phil was practicing law from the extra bedroom of his Brentwood condo, blocks from my childhood home. The last vestiges of the suburban neighborhood of my childhood had been overtaken by the forces of densification and development.
The clutch of homeless veterans I’d befriended long ago had multiplied a hundred-fold. Their tents jammed the sidewalks and spilled onto the street along San Vicente Boulevard next to the VA. Guarded by wary security guards, the stores and restaurants that hadn’t been shuttered by pandemic closures were packed, the always terrible traffic had intensified. I was lucky to find a parking place three blocks away from Phil’s crowded block.
“Brentwood always finds new ways to become more intolerable.”
“Made even worse by Covid, which killed off the last vestiges of civility in this society. But one great thing about the pandemic, it got me out of the office. Never realized how much I hated commuting and the jerks in Human Resources, always bitching about my demeanor.”
Phil handed me a cappuccino and pushed the button to make another.
“I accepted service of the New York DA’s subpoena. He wants some documents, bank records, emails, copies of the NDAs and he wants you, live and in person, in New York.”
“But the tabloid press will out me as trans, and after the public inquisition, the transphobes in His Majesty’s mob will burn me at the stake.”
“It’s not quite that bad. Grand jury testimony is secret. It’s you, the jurors, the DA and a court reporter: The Fallen King’s lawyers are excluded, and I only get to watch the show.”
“That sounds too good to be true.”
“It is, because you have the right to go public about your testimony. ”
“No problem, I’m not telling anybody. I might sell a few more copies of The Greatest Liar and spend the rest of my brief life hiding from the former Liar in Chief’s homicidal supporters.”
“The problem is that you have the duty under the NDAs to notify his lawyers if you testify.”
“That’s like a death warrant. Can we fight the subpoena?”
“Sure, but your odds aren’t good. And you’ll call attention to yourself.”
“Can I just go home and ignore it?”
“If you abscond to Switzerland, they’ll serve the subpoena under the Hague Convention, and the DA could ask for extradition. Those proceedings would disclose your name and the ‘oh so racy’ facts. And you’ll probably lose; in the 2010’s the Swiss extradited a bunch of bankers to New York for aiding tax evasion.”
“Can we negotiate?”
“Let’s try. The Nevada NDA prohibits you from testifying without exhausting all legal remedies to avoid testifying, but the Swiss NDA only requires you to give notice. I’ll ask the New York DA to request a Court order prohibiting you from fighting the DA under the Nevada NDA and from giving notice under the Swiss NDA, to prevent witness tampering or intimidation.”
“I should never have taken the 150k.”
“You’re better off with it than without it. By the way, who paid?”
“The Nevada NDA came with a pile of poker chips.”
“Untraceable.”
“The Swiss NDA was a wire from JC’s law firm.”
“Perfect. Both of your old BF’s are screwed.”
“Somehow it seems like I’m the one getting screwed.”
Too Perfect
My high school classmate and one-time lover Thad Jones was waiting for me at the Bar Milano with an open but untouched bottle of Dom Perignon. He nodded to the bar man, who brought two frosted glasses and expertly poured. Thad clinked my glass and started a toast.
“Sorry Thad, me first. ‘To you, my savior on Prom Night and at the Stoner Park Reunion.’”
“To you, for opening my eyes to the splendors of your gender, which I would never have discovered if not for you.”
“I probably wouldn’t be here if not for you.”
“And I’m glad I was there, because here you are, more beautiful than ever.”
Dom’s tart but soft flavors and delicate bubbles teased my lips, tongue and throat, priming them for more flavorful finishes.
“I love champagne, how it cleanses the palate, and empties the guilt from my soul.”
Chad clinked my glass again.
“That’s why we got to keep on sinning, to keep the champagne flowing. Not that it matters to me, but our mutual friend told me you’re married ”
“Widowed. Silvio died in Italy’s first wave of Covid.”
“That’s terrible. My mom and dad too.”
“And my mother. Here’s to them, and to the other 50 million we didn’t know well enough to love.”
“May it never happen again.”
“Thad, it will, and next time will be even worse. Live now, like it’s starting again tomorrow.”
“Meaning, drink champagne and fuck beautiful women like you?”
“Great minds think alike.”
A stunning Latina, flaunting her augmented boobs, hips and lips, crowded to the bar between us. Her aromas were enticing, her manner threatening.
“Thad, I thought I was your new girlfriend, not this MILF.”
“She’s an old girlfriend, so get back on the waiting list, Maria.”
She drew away, eyed me, closely and snorted.
“Look at her, she’s too perfect, must be a fake. Hey boy, did you get your panocha in TJ?”
“Who knows, I don’t remember, maybe at the same clinic that fixed your monkey face and bolted on your fake tits.”
She flung her drink at me, I ducked, it splashed Thad.
Thad motioned to the bar man, who summoned security, and in a moment, Maria was in an Uber black.
“Sorry about that. The price of celebrity.”
“Oh, do I know what you mean! Can we get this Dom to go?”
“Where to?”
“Your place, before the paparazzi descend.”
The valet brought Thad’s Lamborghini as a convoy of paparazzi careered onto San Vicente.
I handed the valet a twenty and grabbed the keys.
“I know this hood; I can lose those losers.”
“You know how to drive one of these road rockets.”
“My late husband collected them.”
I cut through a gas station to a back street that led back to San Vicente, swerved around a homeless vet pushing a shopping cart, and escaped onto the far side of the divided boulevard. Three more turns down back streets, and I was at the next freeway entrance, without a paparazzi in sight.
“You never fail to impress, Ms. Rios.”
“Have you got an NDA with that little bitch?”
“Of course, my agent requires it.”
“Have him send her a cease and desist.”
“Done. Take this exit.”
I wound up the sinuous curves of Mulholland Drive and turned through a gate, which opened automatically as Lamborghini approached.
“Just wondering, Thad, do you have a neighbor named Jason Crockett?”
“Yeah, what an asshole. But his ex-wife gave me a pretty good blow job.”
“Then you’re even, because back in the day, I gave JC some pretty good blow jobs too.”
Thad slapped his massive thighs and roared laughter.
“That’s what I love about being rich in LA. Such a small world!”
“What happened to your semi pro career in Vancouver.”
“I wiped out three quarterbacks in my first three games, sent game tape to the LA teams, and the money lured me back to good old So Cal. Only thing I miss about BC is that Asian girl you told me about. That was some tasty pussy.”
“Tran is still my bestie. I’ll make sure to mention it.”
His mansion was eerily similar to my former lover JC’s, but the furnishings were straight out of
contemporary reality TV.
“I feel like I’m stepping onto a set.”
“You are, during the football season they film that skanky housewives show here. And all three of those thick KK’s asses have sat in that chair.”
He pointed to a damask covered throne in a luxurious sunken media room.
“This place is fully equipped for filming. Should we shoot a special scene?”
“Don’t want to wreck the chair or make a record of our rendezvous. By the way, do you need an NDA from me?”
“With all your scandalous secrets, you need one as much as me.”
“Totally agree.”
We DocuSign-ed on an iPad in his bedroom and he handed me instant tests for Syph, gonorrhea, chlamydia and Hep B. After I showered we exchanged our passing results.
“I have to admit, I got loaded in Phuket and let a couple of hot French guys DP me a couple of weeks ago. Here’s my HIV test. I’m on PrEP just to be safe.”
“Off season, I’m on PrEP too. It simplifies life.”
Fifteen years as a pro linebacker had scarred him with surgeries but hardened him with the rigors of contact sport and training.
“The team should cast you bronze and put your statue in front of the stadium,”
“Great idea, I’ll tell my agent, maybe I can get a fee.”
He pointed to his knees, poke-a-dotted with epidural needle scars.
“I hope they have another year left. They’re worth 2 million bucks a piece on the player option year of my contract. After that, I’m retiring, replacing them.”
“I have a shortlist of surgeons to recommend. Do you have any groin injuries.”
“Too many to count. They need your special therapy.”
I massaged his massive thighs. His quads were dense and sinewy.
“Wow, these muscles are amazing, how much can you deadlift?”
“I’ve lifted a thousand or so, but my routine is twenty reps with 500.”
“Fuck, I need to work out, but I hate weights.”
“I got the perfect workout for you. Get to work on this.”
He pulled his thighs apart, and his cock sprang forth like a startled black snake.
“See if that black mambo is poisonous.”
I throated him until I gagged, repressed my reflex, then pushed in deeper until my eyes watered and my chest trembled. He cradled my head in his huge hands and guided his cock from my lips through my tonsils and deep into my gullet.
My boobs quivered against his muscled thighs, my neck pulsed with the thrust and plunge of his cock. I gasped for breath, as anoxia, the harbinger of mortality and sexual release, awoke the glands near my mons, and it twinged. I pushed back and released the monster from its oral captivity.
“Twenty years of aches and pains gone in a minute. You’re a miracle, Madame Rios.”
“Don’t want to waste that load of killer venom on my mouth. My pussy needs that magic potion.”
“Lube my dick and your snatch, then sit on it.”
“Back door or front door?
“Lady’s choice.”
I poised his cock on my ass and pushed down.
“Fuck my ass, bad boy.”
He whooped like a warrior and bucked upwards, breached my butt ring, and barged deep into my colon. Fireworks exploded in my brain, fire engulfed my hole, my body convulsed, a scream erupted from my lungs.
“Fuck me, mother fucker, fuck me dead.”
Part of me wanted death, to join Silvio in the afterlife, or Miguel in hell, or Seth in paradise, or the dead T
girls who’d perished in never-ending the trans holocaust, in limbo between the realization of their aspirations and the brutal reality of their lives and miserable deaths.
“Never killed a single quarterback, though I mangled a bunch of them.”
“Then hit me harder.”
He battered, bludgeoned, and brutalized my butt and boobs. I begged for mercy, he fucked me harder until he groaned, slowed, and screamed “Oh fuck” and a warm flood inundated my colon.
The hot wave of bubbling cum and the shiver of his dick inside me brought me to an anal orgasm. My body was possessed, I thrashed like a dervish.
“Goddamn, fucking awesome.”
I kissed him.
“Totally.”
“I can’t wait to try the front pussy.”
I got up, my ass splunked and a flood of cum drizzled down my thighs.
“Got to change these sheets first.”
“Fuck it, let’s switch to another bedroom.”
“I could use a shower.”
“How about a bath?”
The soothing sounds of taps that flowed like waterfalls almost lulled me to a post orgasmic slumber. He brought me a robe and slippers, helped me to my feet, caught me when I wobbled, and set me on a chaise.
“After the bedroom, this is my happy place.”
He drizzled aromatherapy and Epsom salts into the swirling waters of a giant jacuzzi, gathered me in his arms, carried me like a baby, and baptized me in its waters.
“This is where I recover after a game day. Try it.”
I lolled into the fragrant, rippling waters and found a jet for the hollow of my back, which had borne the brunt of his thrusts and my recoil.
“Oh, that’s perfect.”
“Finishing that Dom will make it perfect.”
He handed me a flute, and his huge hand found my mons and massaged it.
“All that time and trouble to make this perfect pussy, and you still like it in the butt?”
“It’s where I learned to love the big D, and I never got over it.”
“The sports pros call it Big League birth control cuz it keeps us safe from wannabee baby mamas looking for a shiny new condo. And I’ve learned to love it too.
He put a rolled towel under my head, dimmed the lights, and I gazed at the lights of LA glittering in the basin below.
We cuddled in the eddies of his jacuzzi and I dreamed of an alternative life: me and Thad, the new Bel Air aristocrats. But I’m trans, and he’s Black, and that’s a dream that can never come true.
Take Notice
Thad’s snoring woke me up at 5, too late for an Ambien. I logged onto his network, checked my email, and received bad news from Phil. I called; he was already awake.
“The court prohibited you from complying with the Nevada NDA. You don’t have to fight the subpoena. But you have to testify and give notice under the Swiss NDA.”
“OK, fuck them. I’ll fight them from Switzerland.”
“Don’t overreact. You won half the battle, and you don’t always win it all in court.”
“What happens if I testify, and don’t tell anyone. You said it’s confidential.”
“If the DA indicted based on your NDAs, they’ll be able to figure it out, and they’ll sue. But if you disclose under the Swiss NDA that you are testifying under the DA’s subpoena and he sues under the Nevada NDA, you’ll win. I’ll send notice.”
“Is Jason Crockett still involved?”
“He’s on the service list.”
“Then no need, I’m sitting in his neighbors mansion on the same block. My host sees him walking his pug every day.”
“Perfect. Get a video of you giving him notice.”
“Gotta wait for Fido’s next walk. My host is still sleeping.”
“Goddamn, I wish that was me.”
“Duly noted, counsel. I’ll put you in my calendar.”
“In our afterlives.”
“At least after this case.”
Giving Notice
I dipped my toe in Thad’s pool: the water was warm. I didn’t have a swim suit, so I swam naked in its smooth waters. Palm fronds danced above me in a cerulean sky, gilded by the sun’s slanting morning rays. My breasts lolled with each rhythmic stroke of my back crawl. My fluttering feet stirred the waters. Thad grinned as he filmed my workout.
“Great form. And you swim well too.”
“Lots of lessons in mom and dad’s pool. Yours is much nicer, though.”
“Guess what, we made the news after all. You never told me I was following in the footsteps of two giants of Euro football: You got DP-d on camera by Ronaldo and Marco?”
“My first paparazzi moment. It didn’t work out well.”
I got out, dried off and checked my phone. Phil had texted.
“Expect a service of subpoena momentarily.”
“Thad, unfortunately, those two crazy guys were not my most legendary lovers.”
“You got Beckham?”
“I wish. No, JC pimped me to his most important client: the asshole who’s in trouble for paying hush money to a porn star right before an election. Guess who’s going to be a witness.”
“No shit. That’s really one for the books, but I’m gonna sue that bitch Maria.”
“Thad, you’re the celeb, she’s a nobody, and anyone at Cafe Milano could have taken a pic and sold it to the paparazzi. The tabloid editor recognized me, connected the dots, and now we both get to bask in the glare of tabloid fame.”
Thad’s cell phone chimed.
“We got police at the door. Maybe it was that red light you ran.”
“I’m afraid it’s much worse.”
I put on a robe, Thad opened the door, and a cop handed me a sheaf of papers while his back up team eyed us warily, their hands on their weapons.”
“Alexandra Rios, you’re served.”
Thad closed the door and alarmed the gates.
“Shit, I thought we were going to have a BLM Moment.”
I flipped through the pages. I was summoned to Manhattan to testify, ordered to produce bank records and communications about my NDAs, and invited to a Zoom interview with the prosecutors.
I texted Phil that I’d been served. Thad and I sat on his front porch.
“Every time I see LAPD, I wonder, has my time come?”
“Black and trans have the same problem. In MAG-America, our lives don’t matter as much as the lives of CIS people or white people.”
Thad pointed toward one of his camera monitors. JC was being dragged by his pug uphill toward Thad’s house. I met him on the sidewalk in the midday sun, while Thad videoed our reunion from behind his wrought iron fence.
I brandished the subpoena like a battle banner.
“Hey JC, it’s your ex-girlfriend Alexandra. I’ve got something to show you.”
He rubbed his eyes, as if he could wipe me from his vision.
“What are you doing here? Go away.”
“I’m your neighbor Thad’s guest.”
“Take him away with you.”
“I wish. He’s as great as you and your client were mediocre. But enough small talk. I’ve been subpoenaed by a nosy New York prosecutor about the scumbag client that you pimped me to back in ’06, and about the NDAs you arranged for him.
“You’re not even supposed to be talking about them, much less in front of my least favorite neighbor, the football playing has-been.”
“He’s my witness because the Swiss NDA requires me to give notice. That I’m going to be testifying and producing your bank records about the NDAs and money you paid me to protect you know who.”
“Fight the subpoena, the NDA says you have to, we’ll hire the lawyer.”
“I already have one, Phil Lake. Can I have him send you his next bill?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll select the counsel, and you are going to do what he says.”
“Isn’t your offer an attempt to corrupt me, to obstruct justice.”
“You’re going down a dangerous path, Ms. Rios.”
“So are you, JC.”
Arbitration
I emailed Thad’s recording to Phil, and he called.
“Well done, Alexandra.”
“Did you notice the bit about finding me a lawyer?”
“What a boneheaded offer by JC. When we turn this over to the DA, he’ll probably get a subpoena, or maybe a witness tampering charge.”
“I’d be more than willing to testify against him too.”
“Someone from Crocket’s firm emailed me, asking if I can accept service of process for you.”
”Go ahead.”
“They already replied. It’s an arbitration demand, based on the original Nevada NDA. Let me read it and call you back.”
Thad was lifting weights in his home gym. I picked up a kettlebell and swung it.
“I need to work out some more.”
“That’s so hot. Your boobs are moving so smoothly.”
“Am I lifting this right?”
“Raise it a little higher, stop it sooner on the drop.”
I pointed to a weight bench.
“Should we make some gym porn?”
“I love the way you think, but let’s go to bed for your next set.”
“We made such a mess of it last night.”
He led me to a second master bedroom.
“Let’s mess up this one now.”
“How many bedrooms do you have?”
“Seven, I think. Have to ask the housekeeper to be sure, and it’s her day off. Let’s use them all.”
“Let’s go, I’m legally radioactive, and my half-life is probably short.”
He twirled me around, lifted me into his arms, and kissed me.”
“You’re right, you are way too hot.”
“Flood me like a Fukushima reactor.”
He stripped off my Athleisure wear, dropped me on the bed, grabbed my breasts to pin me to the sheets, and rubbed his nose on my clit.
“Smells like my roses.”
He thrust his tongue in my pussy. His stubble scoured my inner thighs and his mustache brushed my hairless mons. My legs shook, my ass quivered, my pussy twinged.
“Oh my god, that’s so good.”
“Inside tastes like gardenia, my favorite.”
“I’m hungry for some of that giant black mushroom.”
He spun us to 69, and thrust his cock down my throat, and pounded my throat so deep that his ball sac slapped my lips. My eyes watered, I suppressed a cough, and then a gag, and my throat was suffused with tidal flow of precum. Starved for breath, my senses overwhelmed by the depths of my submission and the power of Thad’s ascendance, I vibrated to a climax.
My voice chimed like a church belfry’s bell, my body spasmed like a sacrificial lamb, my mind opened to the hereafter, and descended into the mini death of sexual ecstasy.
Thad tapped his cock on my pulsating pussy, rousing me from my rapture.
“I throat fucked a lot of bitches, but I never heard anything like that.”
“You completely overwhelmed me.”
He kissed the watery effusions of my pussy and drizzled it on my nipples. I pulled my breasts toward my lips and kissed away the fragrant juices.
“I love that you think I taste like gardenia.”
“So, I’ll fuck the jasmine your sweet little garden box, and my work in the garden of Alexandra will be complete.”
He spit on his cock, I drizzled saliva into my palm, he blended the improvised lube on his cock, and guided it to my still moist and tingling pussy. He entered me, my vaginal walls welcomed the burrowing beast, and he filled me to the hilt. My back arched, then crunched, and arched again. My eyes rolled back, my head thrashed, my limbs trembled, I howled like a feline in heat.
“Oh my god, you’re huge, so deep, fuck me.”
He pounded me ‘til my pussy relaxed and self-lubricated, then slow-fucked me deep. My brain returned from its retreat to my cerebellum, and my power of speech and thought returned.
“Wow, that’s what I call an all pro fuck.”
“Damn, your pussy’s even tighter than your butt.”
“It’s been weeks since it’s had any dick, and about fifteen years since the last big black one.”
“Are you talking about our last fuck fest?”
I nodded.
“That’s so hot.”
He rolled back and pulled me into cowgirl, shifted his feet from the bed to the floor, and lifted me in his arms.
“I still think about that night. Wasn’t it something like this?”
“I remember being airborne. Make me fly again.”
He lunged and plunged, I jounced and bounced, enveloped in his grasp, utterly in his control. Gravity, the firm grip of his sinewy arms and the thrust of his thick thighs made me feel elfin, like a character in a blissful fantasy. My mind took wing, and cavorted like an astral, freed from the tumult of the world left behind.
Thad’s pace quickened, turned urgent.
“Damn, I’m going to cum.”
Jets of hot semen gushed like a torrent from within me. I spasmed to multiple orgasms as he fucked me, wrapped in his massive arms, like a nymph captured on the wing. As the vibrations coursing through me modulated, he lay me down on the bed and cuddled me.
“Never had a stand up orgasm before.”
“That was amazing, like a geyser, and I lost count of my orgasms.”
“You really put on a show, Ms. Rios.”
“And you got game, Mr. Jones.”
“Let’s not wait fifteen years for the sequel.”
“Fifteen hours, max.”
My phone chirped.
“OK if I check my message?”
“Yeah, I heard it while you were off in your paradise.”
“Damn, it’s a missed call from my lawyer. I need to return it.”
“Go ahead.”
“You don’t want to know anything about it, or the next subpoena could be yours.”
I put on a robe called Phil from Thad’s gym.
“Are you going to ruin my post-orgasmic bliss?”
“Definitely. Crocket got an ex parte injunction from an arbitrator. It bans you from talking to anyone about anything covered by the Nevada NDA, subpoena or not.”
“OK, send it to that nosy New York prosecutor and tell him that I can’t testify.”
“The DA’s not bound by the arbitrator’s injunction. You’ll still have to testify.”
“OK, then tell that to the arbitrator.”
“Then she’ll award a million dollars in damages, which is what the NDA calls for. We have to sue to void the injunction, and the NDA.”
“Let’s do it. How much is this going to cost me.”
“Could be as much as a hundred thousand dollars, but you’ll get it back after you win in court.”
“Are we going to win?”
“We’d better, or you’ll owe the million bucks, because we’re not supposed to sue either.”
“I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”
“The Nevada NDA is terrible, and they relied on that one. The second NDA, the one we worked on in Switzerland, is your escape hatch. We just have to persuade the Court of that.”
“OK, let’s do it.”
“I’ll send you a draft declaration tonight.”
I went back to the bedroom. Thad was in the shower. I opened the door.
He soaped me, I soaped him, and I whispered, “I need to get fucked again.”
His cock sprang to life.
“I was hoping you’d come back to tell me that.
Judgment Day
Thad walked me into the courtroom and sat behind me and Phil. JC’s team sat on the opposite side, all lawyers and no client. The judge, a scary curmudgeon well-known to Phil, took the bench, and Phil and JC made their appearances.
The judge said, “Counsel, I’ve the following documents.”
He rattled off a long list, including the Declarations of Jason Crocket and Alexandra Rios. Then he looked up and asked, “Does anyone have anything to add to their papers?
Phil had told me that in this judge’s courtroom, the answer to that question could only be “No, your honor.”
If anyone had told JC, he must have forgotten.
“Your honor, I’ll be brief. This case presents a chance for the Court to protect the rights of private parties, even private parties as prominent as my client, to avail themselves of arbitration pursuant to contract rather than being hauled into court in violation of contract.”
“I read that in your papers. Why are you repeating yourself and wasting the time of the Court into which you said, so impolitely, your client was hauled?”
“With all due respect…”
“With all due respect to you, counsel, you have shown the Court great disrespect in your papers by dwelling on the Nevada Non-Disclosure Agreement from 2006 and downplaying the Swiss Non-
Disclosure Agreement from 2016.”
“They should be viewed as a single document.”
“Nonsense. They were signed ten years and ten thousand miles apart from one another. I agree with Ms. Rios, that the Swiss contract from 2016 supersedes the 2006 Nevada Contract, and I agree with the New York court that it’s unenforceable. And as Ms. Rios has persuasively argued, Swiss law guarantees her the right to seek judicial interpretation of the NDA, as she has done by bringing this action, and to testify and produce documents under a lawfully issued subpoena.”
“But Swiss law has no application here.”
“This court can apply Swiss law to a Swiss contract just as it could have applied Nevada law to a Nevada contract. But the Court hereby rules that the Nevada NDA was superseded and violates public policy, and therefore enjoins and restrains all parties from enforcing it. Mr. Lake, please prepare a written order. However, my minute order takes effect immediately.
One of JC’s colleagues whispered to him.
“Your honor, we intend to appeal and request a stay pending appeal.”
“Denied. Mr. Lake, put that in your order too.”
“Thank you very much, your Honor.”
Settled Again
Thad and I celebrated my court win with a long, hard fuck, then he left me off at Phil’s office.
Phil was pounding away on his keyboard and motioned me to sit. His phone rang.
“Yeah, I got it, I’ve read it, and I’ll run it by the client.”
“They want a new NDA.”
“Not again, these things are like landmines strewn across my future.”
“Actually, that Swiss NDA I negotiated for you saved the day. And this one could protect you from what I think is your worst case scenario. What did you tell me about your biggest concern?”
“That in the course of this legal mess I get outed as transgendered, and some Proud Boy blows my brains out for sullying his hero with my gender fraud.”
“Exactly, and though I’m sure they would rather you were dead, they don’t want you to be known as a dead trans girl.”
“But the DA connected me to TGL, so he knows I’m trans. What if he asks me?”
“Grand jury testimony is secret. If the case goes to trial, it could come up, but not likely. Your being transsexual is irrelevant to that case, which is about financial fraud in connection with the payments to you and that porn star. It’s a rare win-win. Let’s take it, and the $200,000 they offered along with it.”
“Phil, you’re amazing. For the first time ever, my being transsexual is advantageous. Let’s do it.”
I texted Thad.
“Come pick me up. It’s time to party like it’s 2016!”
“I know just what you mean.”
To Be Continued
Like all of TGL, Duel With the Devil is a work of fiction. All characters (including the narrator), celebrities, places, residences, neighborhoods, restaurants, legal agreements and proceedings, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, celebrities, places, residences, neighborhoods, restaurants, legal agreements and proceedings, events and incidents is purely coincidental.
Or, as one of the characters might post on social media, "It never happened” because she’s “not my type” and she’s “false and extortionist.”
