The Butterfly Effect

by D. F. Roberts

  "Curiously, no, I don't feel as if my privacy was invaded. However, I didn't know she was watching until we were finished. If had seen her watching before, I might have minded. I don't know."

  Jill chuckled. “The two of you are quite a pair."

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  Chapter Eleven

  Marilyn arrived. We huddled in my sister's office applying various algorithms to the collated information Marilyn had inserted into her laptop. Our information was far from complete, but regardless, we determined it appropriate to alter the initial conditions of French's legitimate business systems as soon as possible. The immediate confusion resulting from the altered systems would put French off balance, a desirable result considering the intervention planned for Saturday. During the exercise, I also decided how I wanted to take French and Able down. We plugged this information into the total database, recalculated using the same algorithms, and the results were more definitive.

  Marilyn smiled. “This is going to be fun."

  Jill entered and sat at the corner of the desk. Ruth and Christie followed her and settled into a love seat.

  "The wing fluttering begins tomorrow morning,” I announced. “In thirty days or less, using the butterfly effect and a little help from my friends, French and Able will be under arrest, and the negatives and photographs of Jill and the men who raped her will be destroyed along with most of the damaging images of the children the evil bastards have abused."

  "I have champagne,” Ruth said. “Should we pop a few bottles and celebrate?"

  "No! No premature celebrations, but that doesn't preclude you from sharing your champagne if you wish,” I replied with a grin.

  Ruth rose. “Let's all belly up to the bar."

  "A stellar idea,” Jill said.

  I tended bar. Champagne flowed.

  "What is your plan tomorrow?” Ruth asked. She was in charge of the butterfly team. Appropriately, she wanted directions.

  "May I ask a question first, Mom?” Christie said.

  "Of course, Sweetheart,” Ruth said with love in her eyes. My sister's love for her daughter filled her so completely at moments that she looked like she would burst. This was one of those moments.

  "Uncle M, the butterfly effect can cause something to happen or cause something not to happen. How can you predict a possible outcome?"

  "Out of the mouth of babes,” Jill said. “I've been asking myself the same question."

  "I can't,” I answered, “not with any degree of accuracy because altering the initial state of a system can totally change the final results. Chaos theory tries to explain the fact that complex and unpredictable results can and will occur in systems that are sensitive to their initial conditions. A very small change can produce unpredictable and sometimes drastic results by triggering a series of increasingly significant events. Tomorrow, we will be altering as many initial conditions of French's legitimate business as we can. My only prediction is that significant results will occur. Some of the systems altered provide opportunity for disaster. Others will only create inconveniences. But the total changes we create will be additive, and the few that can be disastrous, we'll guide as much as possible. We will alter and observe, adjust and observe. The results aren't precisely predictable, errors will occur, but we can delicately guide the results, and the fact we can guide them, even to a small degree, alters the results yet again. Marilyn will be constantly applying the algorithms I have developed. The results will point us toward outcomes. If an outcome is not desirable, we'll adjust, and reapply the algorithm until the desired results are achieved."

  "I think I've almost got it,” Christie said brightly.

  "You're ahead of me,” Jill said. “I'm still in the dark about the butterfly effect, but I certainly understand the part about a little help from your friends, Martin, and I trust you."

  "What do you have planned for the butterfly team?” Ruth asked, getting back to her original question.

  "Tomorrow, Ruth, you will be working for French. You'll be his secretary, administrative assistant, whatever, and change the title from call to call. Also change your alias. You will call a list of vendors French uses. Robert is emailing the list late tonight or early tomorrow so it will be up to date. The list will include drycleaners, restaurants, photography supplies, his tailor, modeling agencies, magazine editors, and so forth. You will make calls on his behalf. You will order products, make reservations, and complain about service, whatever mayhem you can devise within the realm of possibility. Use a different approach for each call. Roy will be helping you."

  "What about me?” Christie asked, afraid she was being left out.

  "You won't be creating mayhem, little one, but your calls will be very important. Tomorrow morning, Robert will also email me a partial list of kids French has abused and discarded. I want you to call each of them and determine how he or she feels about the man. I anticipate three attitudes: for him, neutral, and against him. After each conversation, I want you to put the name of the person you just called under one of those headings. It's important that you put each of them into the correct column. If you are confused or unsure, place the name in a column labeled unsure and talk to that kid again later until you can categorize him or her correctly. We're particularly interested in the kids you place under the against heading. These children will need special treatment. The names in the other two columns we will ignore. Do you think you can do this, Christie? It's very important."

  She smiled brightly. “You bet, Uncle M. I'll do a good job, too. You'll see."

  I smiled and raised my champagne glass. “To Christie, the best wing flutterer I know."

  "Cheers!"

  "Here! Here!"

  Christie beamed, and Ruth lip-synced a thank you for me.

  "I'm for the hot tub,” Ruth stated and started to shuck her clothes. “You're all invited."

  Clothes flew. Christie was the first to plunge into the hot, bubbling water. Soon all four females leaned back and said a collective, “Ah!” The vibrating water relaxed and soothed nubile female forms while I settled into my cocoon and dialed my cell phone.

  Robert answered and I asked, “How are you coming with the surveillance teams?"

  "I don't have French covered 24/7 yet, but we'll know everything he does after you start your calls in the morning. Bugs were placed in his home and office today. We still need to wire his car, but he rarely uses it, prefers, like most New Yorkers, to take cabs. He's covered, Martin."

  "Great. We need feedback about his reactions to our calls. We'll need to adjust each day."

  "I know the drill, Martin. I've done this a few times with you. We're ready."

  "I'm sorry, Robert. I know you are more than capable. I'm a little nervous. Four beautiful females just shucked their clothes in front of me and jumped into the hot tub."

  Robert laughed so hard I had to move the phone from my ear.

  "Jesus Christ!” the big man said after he gained a little control. “Why are you talking with me, Boss? Are you a fucking idiot, or what? Join them, you fool."

  He hung up on me. I deserved it. A few seconds later, I performed a mean cannonball and splashed hot water on four beautiful, squealing females, who immediately converged on me, dunked me, pinched and bit me, little nips actually, and the pinches were more like tweaks, perhaps a fondle, or a grope, but who cares. I had fun.

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  Chapter Twelve

  That evening I took the ladies to Commander's Palace, a fine restaurant in the Garden District of New Orleans. It offers one of the finest dining experiences in the world—my opinion, but shared by others. No restaurant in Phoenix comes close, and whenever I visited New Orleans, I tried to spend one evening tasting unparalleled culinary delights from their kitchen, served impeccably in the garden room.

  The ladies were dressed in summer fashions. Fabrics of bright, cheerful colors coupled with twinkling eyes and dazzling smiles competed with the atmosphere at Commander's. The ladies
won. My selections for the meal included Shrimp Remoulade as my appetizer. Pecan Crusted Trout was my main entrée, prepared with crushed corn sauce and finished with a jumbo lump crabmeat and pinched herb salad. As usual, I couldn't resist their Bread Pudding Soufflé, the queen of Creole desserts. The ladies were equally inventive with their selections, and the wine flowed. It was a gay evening, perhaps our last opportunity for pure unadulterated fun until Operation Monarch concluded.

  After the delightful meal, we strolled down Bourbon Street, stopping briefly in various nightclubs to listen to jazz or other forms of music. We all piled into a horse drawn carriage and rode around the French Quarter. I was the envy of every man and some of the women who saw me with the four prettiest ladies in the Big Easy as we frolicked and laughed and thoroughly enjoyed living.

  Curiously, Marilyn and Jill paired off as a couple as we strolled down Bourbon Street. I didn't mind. My sister put her arm through mine and little Christie took my hand on the other side. I was in heaven. It was my happiest day since before my wife became ill. Dianna would have rejoiced with me, had she been here.

  Back at the house after Christie retired, the appearance of Marilyn and Jill as a couple changed without any decision on anyone's part. Jill went to Ruth and cuddled next to her, and Marilyn curled up on my lap in the big leather chair while we sipped brandy.

  Marilyn kissed me. “It's just you and me, tonight, Martin. Do you mind?"

  I smiled. “Actually, if I had a choice, just you and me would be my preference, Marilyn. I don't want the complication of a third person. I want to make love slowly and sensuously—and talk. I want to talk while we leisurely fuck."

  She rose and helped me up.

  "That sounds like a plan, you sweet talkin’ rascal."

  We fondled each other as we mounted the stairs and helped each other remove our clothing.

  I arranged Marilyn on her back while I reclined on my side. I raised her legs and slid my hips perpendicular to her butt and inserted my cock. Her soft, shapely legs dropped back down and splayed wide. I could move easily in and out of her and at the same time fondle her clitoris. Neither of us had to expend much energy while we fucked. The position allowed us to talk, and I could easily maintain, increase or decrease my arousal or Marilyn's by the speed of my thrusts or the pressure and touches at her clitoris. I could also reach one of her soft, feminine breasts. Kissing was the only drawback to the position. I couldn't reach her mouth with mine without withdrawing my cock from her cunt.

  "This is nice, Martin. I've never done the deed this way before."

  "Dianna and I fucked like this quite often. We talked while we fucked, sometimes about innocuous things, other times we told each other our fantasies or previous experiences. Those times were special. I remember a few times when she told an erotic tale about her and another man, and she took my arousal to a peak and maintained it with her words for over an hour. Does it disturb you for me to talk about my wife?"

  "No, I'm happy you feel comfortable enough with me to talk about her, especially while we are fucking. It's really rather amazing. We had little foreplay. We stripped and you slid your cock in me and told me about your wife, and I'm hot, very excited. Do you mind if I play with my tits while you fondle my clitoris and fuck me?"

  "Of course not. If you get the urge to fondle your clitoris as well as your breasts, go ahead. I'll put my fingers elsewhere."

  She reached down with one hand, and I removed mine. I could see her hand sliding back and forth over her clitoris.

  "Oh, this is sexy, Martin. It's masturbating and fucking at the same time. I can see why Dianna liked this."

  "Do you masturbate often? Dianna did. She masturbated nearly every day."

  "Yes, I make myself come a lot, even when I'm in a relationship."

  "Did someone teach you how to masturbate, or did you teach yourself through trial and error?"

  "My older sister showed me how. She was two years older than me. I don't know who taught her."

  "Did she fondle you, rub your pussy, or merely show you how it was done?"

  "She touched me. Oh, god, Martin, I'm so hot!"

  My cock throbbed inside her. The membranes of her cunt were swollen and wet, and I slipped in and out of her easily.

  "How old were you?” I asked.

  "Ten. She was twelve and had pubic hair, just a light patch. I remember petting it."

  Marilyn was reacting much like Dianna. She would make a statement and explore the memory in her mind, and in the process, her arousal heightened. I was fucking her, my cock was moving in her, but her own mind was really doing the fucking. Her mind was taking her through sensuous memories, making the memories real again.

  "Did she give you your first orgasm?"

  "Oh, yes! She taught me how to come by making me come. After that, I couldn't keep my fingers away from my cunt."

  "Did you experiment sexually with other girls or boys before puberty?"

  "Yes, my best girl friend, Sally. I taught her how to masturbate shortly after my sister taught me. We used to go to my room after school to study, and masturbate each other."

  "Thinking about Sally doesn't make you as hot as thinking about your sister. Why is that?"

  "How did you know?"

  "The way your cunt feels; how you reacted when you talked about each of them. If I were to guess, the sexual experience with your sister happened only once or twice, but the sex games with Sally happened many times. So you think of your experiences with Sally as commonplace."

  "Jeez, Martin. Can you read minds? I've never thought about it that way, but you are correct."

  She reached down and pulled my hand back up to her clitoris. It was swollen, completely exposed from its clitoral hood. I made certain my fingers were wet before I touched it directly with any force. She placed a hand on each of her breasts, squeezing the nipples between her thumbs and index fingers, and then grabbed them and pulled them out away from her body two or three inches. Her eyes watched while she performed the feat. Marilyn, I decided, enjoyed her body. I suspected she was much like my wife and gave herself an orgasm or two everyday.

  "After you were eighteen, did you ever fuck a teenaged boy?” I asked. Dianna's memory of such an event aroused her more than any other.

  Marilyn gasped. “Yes! You are a mind reader. You're a scary man, Martin Crowe. His name was Michael, and he was a virgin. I taught him how to fuck."

  I knew she was remembering, recalling little details, touches or words, or something unique. I felt her clitoris swell even larger, and the membranes in her cunt throbbed. She wouldn't be able to stop her climax this time, I realized, so I increased the pace of my thrusts into her cunt. I would climax just after she started hers. I could watch her move partway through her orgasm before mine took my senses away so I could no longer observe her.

  "You taught him how to suck, too, didn't you? You taught him how to suck and lick your cunt until you came all over his mouth?"

  "Oh, yes! God, yes! Martin, I can't stop it! Not this time. I'm coming! Coming! Fuck me! Come in me!"

  I lashed her clit hard, smashed it and released it as she went stiff and raised her hips from the bed. When I knew she didn't want her clitoris touched, but would continue to climax, I grabbed her buttocks and rammed myself forcefully into her. Back and forth, I slammed my cock as deeply as I could and pulled back only to slam it in again. All the while, I watched her. Her eyes had rolled back into her head and her face had taken on a grimace that expressed pain, but I knew the scrunched up face came from concentration on pleasurable sensations. Her mouth drooped wide and fixed, and her nostrils flared. The lids of her eyes were half-closed, and then I don't remember what she looked like or what she did because my orgasm overwhelmed me. I jammed my cock into her one last time and kept it deep inside her while ejaculation after ejaculation spurted. Each contraction wracked my body with pleasure, and I went through many of the contortions that Marilyn had just experienced.

  I collapsed where I was lying.
So did Marilyn, but she wanted me to kiss her, grabbed at me with her hands and pulled me up so she could put her mouth on mine.

  "That was wonderful, Martin,” she whispered passionately. “I loved it. My orgasm was intense, one of the most intense I've ever had. Thank you!"

  Shortly she fell asleep. I gazed into the darkness and lip-synced a thank you to my wife, my Dianna, for teaching me the slow sensuous fuck, the talking fuck, as she called it. I was healing, I knew. Even a few months ago, I would not have shared a talking fuck with anyone.

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  Chapter Thirteen

  When I returned from my morning run on the grass strip on St. Charles Avenue, Marilyn was already up and about. I showered, shaved and dressed, and bounced down the stairs ready to start the day.

  Marilyn poured coffee for me. I added cream and sugar and sipped. “Ah,” I said. “Ambrosia."

  "I answered the phone, while you were out. French is trying to contact Jill."

  "Is Jill awake yet?"

  "Yes. I knocked and told her about the call. She and Ruth are in the shower now.” Marilyn grinned without apparent innuendo or malice. Her smile brightened her face and enhanced her femininity. I loved her soft look.

  "You're beautiful this morning,” I said.

  "Why thank you, Martin,” she said, seemingly surprised by my comment. She bent and kissed me. “And thank you for a lovely time last night."

  "Me, too, Uncle M,” Christie's bright voice said behind me. “I had a wonderful time last night."

  The imp wrapped her arms around me and gave me a big little-girl smack on the lips.

  "Um,” I said. “I like kisses.” I tickled the scamp. She giggled and squirmed from my grasp. She wanted orange juice and opened the refrigerator.

  Ruth entered the kitchen in her obscene wrap, the gown she wore because of my prudish demand that she not saunter around the house nude. She, too, looked beautiful, but her beauty, unlike Marilyn's, exuded sex. It was the gown, I knew. I decided not to comment and merely greeted her with a good morning while she poured two cups of coffee.