Gena kept her eye on the road. “We knew they would. We’re as ready as we’ll ever be.”
Quiti ranged out with her mind in a manner she had been able to do only recently; before, it had been only the hair doing it. “It seems they want to intercept us on the road, in anonymous country, so that there are no witnesses to my disappearance. So there will be no newspaper reports of any missing person, no hue and cry. No speculation about magic girls. I think that’s another reason they waited: as long as I was away from home, not in contact with my folks as far as they knew, no one should notice.”
“Do you have a better idea what they really want with you?”
“To virtually take me apart in the laboratory, examine every follicle of my hair, find out exactly what it is and how it works. Subject it to chemical and fire testing to destruction. They don’t know about the hairball; they think it’s a very special mutation, maybe sponsored by the cancer. A cure for cancer is the least of their aspirations.”
“And they don’t know the quarter of it.”
“They don’t. And I am not going to let them find out. Not yet. Not until I know more about the hairballs.”
“Plural?”
“I met only one, but he had to be a member of an alien species. I want to visit his flying saucer ship, or whatever, and learn why he contacted me.”
“Because you were a good person.”
“Because I sought to help a creature in evident need,” Quiti agreed. “Instead, he helped me. But I just don’t believe in decency or compassion with respect to interstellar alien species. There has to be a more practical reason. I want to know it.”
“More power to you, girl.”
“They are closing in. Gena, don’t stop, even if they try to flag you down.”
The woman laughed. “I know my role. Don’t worry. I won’t stop until it’s too late for them.”
“Thanks.” Quiti leaned across and kissed her on the cheek. “Farewell.”
“You too,” Gena said tightly. Quiti saw that there was a tear in her eye.
Then she accelerated, swinging through the turns at dangerous velocity. No one was going to catch her, let alone pull alongside her, let alone halt her.
Quiti wound down the window and set herself before it. Then she plunged out, her hair going conical as she took to the air. She flew, then faded to invisibility and hovered high enough to watch the action.
The rig zoomed on. Right behind it came the pursuit car and several others. They could take the turns more readily than the big truck could, but they could not pass it. Then there came a straightaway and they pulled up, honking and flashing lights.
The rig slowed but did not stop. It cruised on several more miles before finally yielding to the imperative of the cars and grinding to a halt beside the road. Men piled out, surrounding it, and these ones plainly were not looking for sex.
And of course all they found was an irate female driver, demanding to know what the sam hell they were bugging her for?! She had a load to haul.
Quiti smiled, invisibly. The trap had sprung, but missed the mouse.
Chapter 7:
Roque
Quiti flew to the ground, resumed physical visibility only, reset her clothing and appearance to something completely different from her norm, and walked to a nearby restaurant she had spied from the air. Now she resembled a tired older woman with spectacles and too prominent a behind.
She was in luck. There was an all you can eat entree. She took it, piled her plate modestly, but then went back twice more when others weren’t watching. She got a good bellyful.
It was still morning. She made sure no one was watching, then shifted to a new aspect: a young man roughly resembling Speedo. She got beside the highway and put out her thumb. Her mind was questing to be sure there was no dangerous driver in the vicinity. She was looking for a ride to take to a freight train stop about twenty miles distant. The train was going in a direction she wanted: where there was mental wind of a man. Would it work out? From this distance she could not be sure, but there was definite hope.
She was picked up, to her surprise, by a woman. She hesitated. “You sure, ma-am?”
“Get in, sonny. I’ve got a son like you.”
Oh. Quiti got into the car.
“Actually I had a son like you,” the woman said as she drove. “He’s dead. I miss him.”
“I’m sorry. If I may ask—?”
“Cancer. Melanoma. We thought the skin tumor wasn’t serious. Until it metastasized.”
This hit Quiti where she lived. “I—I know about cancer. My—my sister had it. Brain cancer. Inoperable. She’s gone now.”
“Maybe I knew it. There’s something about you that shows it.”
Quiti realized that that something might have been her mind questing out, intersecting the woman’s mind. Sometimes a person was aware. The woman had picked right up on that aspect, attuned to it. “It’s awful.”
“Where you going?”
“To the freight stop. Thought I’d hop a train.”
“My son did that. It’s illegal, you know.”
“I know. But affordable.”
“That’s how he saw it.”
“I think I would have liked him.”
The woman drove her to the stop. “Take care of yourself.”
“I will. Thanks.”
It was several hours before a train came. Quiti settled down against a wall and contacted Gena. Hairpower here. You okay?
Lonely.
So am I. I’m sorry. I’m waiting to catch a freight train.
Where are you going? No, cancel that; I don’t want to know anything that might mess you up.
This is okay. I’ve got mental wind of a man like me. With hair.
Oh, Quiti, I hope you find him.
I hope so too. I’ll be in touch again.
Then she contacted Speedo, letting him know that she was no longer with the trucker. I’m off their screen, I trust.
I hope. You’ll always be on my screen.
She laughed mentally. Remember: get yourself a girl. Not with hair like mine.
Got any in mind?
No. The ones I know are too old for you, or too young.
I’m at an awkward age.
Wait another year. She faded out of sight and napped.
The train came. While it was being re-tracked for its destination, she quietly climbed onto a car, up it, and settled on the roof. Her hair spread out and anchored her there, happy to be in the glare of the sun. None of the inordinate heat of it touched her body. She slept.
A thousand miles along, at night, she got off the train. There were no restaurants handy, and she was hungry. The hair still needed physical sustenance. She went to a grocery store and bought a bag full of turnips. Then she got private and ate them all.
Now she oriented on the man she was tracking. He was a hair suit! About six months behind her, on the hair, which was most of what counted. Now he was approximately ten miles away.
This time there was a bus going that way. She took it, now back as a young but not too attractive woman. Attraction was deadly when the object was to be unnoticed.
She got off two blocks from the man. This was a loading dock area, the kind she had encountered often enough when riding with Gena. He was a worker there.
She followed his mind with increasing definition, liking what she found. He had had a vaguely bad background, but the hair had changed him completely, and now he was a good man. Her man.
She halted near the dock where he worked. She watched him loading bales of clothing. He stood about five eleven, had nice musculature, and green eyes like hers. He would do, physically. Not that it mattered; what counted was the hair.
She sent him a thought. Hairpower.
Startled, he looked her way. He read her mind, which she had on display for him. We’ll marry next month.
Of course.
Then she went to him and sealed it with a kiss.
She waited while he complet
ed loading the truck, checked out, and went home, theoretically alone, as she arranged to be visible only to him. Then, secure in his spare apartment, they communed mentally, as only two hair brained people could. She gave him her history and he gave her his.
****
Roque was just 18 when his parents died in a car crash. The cause was unknown; there was no alcohol or drug residue in either of them. The vehicle had suddenly veered and crashed into a concrete bridge pylon, killing them instantly.
He had a fair guess why. Their marriage had lasted 21 years but was in trouble. Each had cheated on the other, and each blamed the other. They planned to divorce the moment they could afford to. They had argued constantly. They must have had a bad tiff in the car, weakened focus at a key moment, and lost control. He was shocked and grieved by their deaths, but most of what he had wanted was to get out of that house and on his own, to be free of the deadly tension. Now, abruptly, that had happened.
There was no money; their house had been underwater, owing more than it was worth, which was one reason they could neither sell it nor afford the divorce. Roque had no inheritance. He would have to try to get a job and survive, somehow.
Then his wealthy uncle Burke had stepped in. The man had never been close to the family, but felt obliged to see that Roque got a fair chance at his own life. He did not want to take in the surly teen, nor support him in an unsupervised life style. So he proffered a deal: go to college, work toward his degree, any degree, and Burke would support him as long as he maintained a passing average. Once he had his degree he would be on his own, but equipped for it.
Roque accepted the deal. He didn’t want to move in with his uncle any more than the uncle wanted him there. So he rented a cheap apartment near the campus, whose minimal rent Burke also covered, and walked to classes. His tight allowance also covered his food. The uncle was ungenerous but fair; it was enough. In fact, batching it like this worked; it was getting him there.
He was not really college material, but he applied himself, studying hard. He was tall and lean, but no athlete, and girls his age simply weren’t much interested in a car-less nobody, so he had time, to his deep regret. He dreamed of finding a pretty girl who liked him for himself, but knew that wouldn’t happen until he had his degree and a good-paying job. He got by generally with C grades. He made it through his freshman year, and his sophomore, unspectacular but steady.
In his third year luck struck. A luscious-looking woman his age hailed him as he walked to the campus. “Looking for a good time, handsome?”
Oh. A prostitute. No other girl would call him that. “I’d love to get laid by a creature like you,” he said. “But I lack the money. I don’t even have lunch money; I eat at home, and bring a sandwich.”
She did not move on immediately. “I’ve seen you around, hoofing it to the campus. You don’t seem to drink or gamble or eat fattening foods. You live with your folks while you go to college? I envy you.”
“No folks. They’re dead. I’m batching it alone.”
“Oh. Too bad. At least you’re smart enough to make it on your own. I’m not.”
“But aren’t you a—?”
“A whore. That’s what I mean. If I were smart, I’d go to college too, and make something of myself. As it is, all I’ve got is my body. When that wears out, I’m done for. My pimp abused me and took most of what I earned. I’d dump it all in a moment if I had any choice.”
This was curious. “He doesn’t abuse you anymore?”
“He ran afoul of a mobster and got rubbed out yesterday. So I’m between pimps. The next one will probably be worse.”
“A beautiful creature like you,” he said in wonder. “I thought all, um ladies of the evening were well off.”
She laughed. “No. We’re mostly dirt poor. That so-called beauty is mostly lean times and a push-up bra. At least I’m not on drugs, yet.”
Why was she talking to him? “I guess you’re worse off than I am, then. I’m sorry.”
“Listen, you seem like a good kid, not the kind I deal with every night. I need a place to crash days. Maybe this is my chance to make it on my own. How about a deal: let me use your place, and I’ll guarantee you sexual satisfaction from three AM to seven AM every morning. I won’t mess up your apartment. I’ll even kick in some cash toward the rent. I won’t bring in any johns. What do you say?”
This was more than interesting. “Where’s the catch?”
“Maybe it’s that you’ll be wasting your time, apart from the sex. I’m not relationship material. I’ll never be your girlfriend. We can’t be seen together outside. And one day I’ll be gone, either killed on the street, abducted by a mob, or arrested. When it happens, don’t try to locate me. Just accept that it’s over.”
Roque nodded. “It certainly isn’t perfect, but it will do. What’s your name?”
“Desiree. That’s my stage name. You’re better off not knowing my original name.”
“Roque.” He hesitated. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I see you need persuading. Okay, here’s a sample.” She put her back to a telephone pole, spread her legs, and hitched up her skirt. She wore no panties. “Put it in, soldier.”
He stood before her, but couldn’t act, daunted. He had never actually had sex with a woman before. “Uh—”
“Like this.” She reached for him, opened his fly, brought out his stiff member, and put it to her crotch. She actually produced a condom and efficiently put it on him. “Bend your knees, get down a little, then push up from below.” She lifted to her tiptoes.
He followed her instructions, while she kept her hand on his member, guiding it in and settling her body around it, and in moments he was pulsing into her. “Oh!” It was all he could manage to say at the moment.
“See? All done.” She removed the condom and put his spent member away. “But it’s better naked. See you in the morning.”
“Uh, here’s a duplicate key.” He detached it and handed it to her, then gave her the address.
“How sweet. I’ll be there.”
They separated, he going to his classes, she to parts unknown. He was in a daze. Would she really come next day?
She did, at three in the morning, as promised. She had a suitcase, which she set down. “Let me use your bathroom to clean up, then I’ll be with you.”
Roque waited awkwardly. He remained uncertain this was wise, on his part, but the temptation of easy, competent sex was overwhelming.
Soon she emerged, splendidly naked. She did have the figure, push-up bra or no. “Get your clothes off, Roque. We’ve got things to do.”
He stripped, then joined her on the bed. She conjured a condom from somewhere and got it quickly on him, then clasped him and drew him in for another instant climax. “You’re right!” he gasped. “It’s better naked.”
“Now I will do what I seldom do: I will remain to enjoy your company.”
Encouraged by her, he soon found himself telling her about his situation, the death of his parents, the somewhat stingy largess of his uncle. He didn’t even notice that she was sharing none of her own background.
Then she had him lie on his back, and she bestrode him. “Feel my boobs,” she said, taking his hands and putting them on her breasts.
His limp penis quickly thickened and stiffened again. She got another condom. “Always use protection,” she said. “You don’t know where I’ve been or what I’ve been exposed to. Assume the worst.” She lifted her torso, took his sheathed member, and held it in place as she descended on it. He saw it going into her vagina, and was so excited he climaxed almost before the penetration was complete. Then she lay on him and kissed him. “There’s more, but there’s no hurry.”
They talked some more. After a while she kneeled beside him, put her head down, and took his member into her mouth. She licked and gently sucked, and before long his penis was spouting again.
“That’s oral,” she said.
He simply lay there and savored the moment
.
A while later she had him lie behind her, cupping her body, and fed his member in to her vagina from that side. Soon he was thrusting and into his fourth orgasm. Each one was different, unique to itself. “Oh, Desiree!” he breathed.
She got up and went to the bathroom. “That’s how it’ll be every morning, if you want it, or any other way you want. But then you have to let me sleep. I’ve had a hard night’s work.”
“I don’t think I could do another anyway.”
“Oh, you could if I made you. But why push it? I’ll be here tomorrow.”
He got up, dressed, and fixed a breakfast of waffles for them both. She ate appreciatively. Then she handed him a twenty dollar bill. “Buy some eggs and bacon. We’ll have them tonight before I go out to work.”
He left for his classes, seeing her lying down alone on his bed. Would she really be there when he returned?
She was, and she fixed the bacon and eggs for them both. Then she went out, leaving him to do his homework, watch TV, and sleep.
At three in the morning she was back, her night done, using his key to let herself quietly in. He had remained awake late, too worked up to sleep, and so was asleep when she came. He woke to discover her beside him, naked. He clasped her, and climaxed in her, and returned to sleep in her embrace.
“Damn,” she said when they both woke later. “Forgot the condom. You should remember it when I don’t.”
“So you won’t get pregnant?”
“So you won’t get an STD.”
He didn’t argue the case, but he wasn’t always perfect about the condom.
So it continued. Roque was in a kind of heaven, loving not only the sex but the brief company. After the first day he was satisfied with a single sexual episode, followed by company at breakfast, which he liked almost as much.
“Don’t get hooked on me,” she reminded him. “I’m bad news, long term. Just enjoy the sex.”
“Do—do you enjoy it too?”
She laughed. “Roque, sex is my business, not my pleasure. I like doing my job well.”
“You don’t climax?”
“I’ll fake it for you, if you like, as I do with my johns.”
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