Looking for Hope
By Dawn DeWinter
Chapter 5 – Maid for Little Bill
was wary. Bill was quizzing Dawn and
Frodo about their vital measurements.
He even wanted to know Dawn’s dress size. “What are you up to?” Mortimer whispered. “You’ll see,” Bill whispered back; then
louder -- “By the way, Mortimer, what is your dress size?”
oh no,” Mortimer squeaked. He fell
silent, his nose twitching nervously.
Salem Mall, Frodo and Bill headed off on their own, while Dawn stayed close to
Mortimer and his credit card. Bill was
checking out women’s clothing stores; Frodo, music and computer stores. As for Dawn, she had never been more
irresolute. Like a peasant seeing Notre
Dame Cathedral for the first time, she seemed mesmerized by the grandeur of the
Mall: “It’s so beautiful,” she
gushed. “It’s a veritable cathedral of
consumption, and we are two of its devotees.”
shook his head. A devotee of
consumerism? That didn’t describe
him: He hadn’t bought a new shirt in
twelve years. But Dawn? She had the dazed eyes of a zealot as she
hustled Mortimer around the Salem Mall trying to take in all of its marvels.
Mortimer whispered, “are you all right?”
She actually had black tears streaking her cheeks. “What’s the matter?” he asked as he dabbed
at Dawn’s cheeks. It was the most
intimate Mortimer had dared to be with anyone since his wife’s death.
reciprocated by tenderly smudging his eyeglasses. She wanted Mortimer to hold fast to his illusion that she was as
young as she dressed. “Don’t fret, Mortimer;
these are tears of joy. I’ve been so
poor and it’s been so long since I’ve been to a shopping mall. This is a shopper’s paradise! Look at the
dozens and dozens of stores, fully stocked with goods from around the
world. There’s something here for
everyone. Here each individual can
nurture and clothe his innermost being.
One person eats vegetarian, another a meatball sub. One person buys a peasant dress made by a
commune, another an army flak jacket once worn by a communist. One person listens to world music, another
to bluegrass. Name your soul food, and
this place has it.”
paused, then asked, “You’ll buy me some jalapeno-flavored popcorn, won’t you,
Mortimer? With candied garlic
course, my sweet,” Mortimer replied. He
looked at her worshipfully: Not until
now had he realized that Dawn was the Kierkegaard of the shopping set. “Never have I encountered,” Mortimer
thought, “a more profound philosopher.
Dawn is definitely the one who will find Hope for us. She has the simple, pure soul of a divine
fool. As the Bible says, ‘and the
children will lead us’.”
the children were following closely behind Dawn. At first, she had been pursued by hostile
stares from adults, but these had softened as people became aware of her
magical effect on young children. Some
of the kids were merely tittering and pointing, but others were skipping about
with glee and several little boys were doing the bunny hop in unison. “Look at me,” a seven-year-old Jewish girl
called out, “See me smile. I’m the
kosher cat.” She erupted into a
charity are you collecting for, dear?” asked the mother of a velvet-suited
toddler who was tugging on Dawn’s dress.
“Charity?” Dawn looked around in bewilderment; the
first thing she saw was a photo display commemorating the great Dayton flood of
1913. It gave her an idea:
relief. I’m collecting for disaster
seemed a better thing to say than, “What charity? I’m not collecting for anyone.
I’m dressed like this in front of your kids because I’ve always wanted
to go down the rabbit hole.” And if
anyone realized she was actually a male, she’d end up a no-hoper in the Dayton
dear, please give this money to Alice.
It’s going to a worthy cause. As
the precious child handed Dawn a ten-dollar bill, Dawn couldn’t help but notice
that he was wearing white tights under his red velvet shorts, as well as red
Mary Janes on his feet. His white
blouse and ribbon tie told Dawn all she needed to know about the little boy’s
future, but to make sure, she asked him in a stage whisper, “Are your panties
he nodded with a smile. Dawn patted his
head as she said to his mother, “He has such beautiful hair. I do hope you won’t be getting it cut
may not get his hair cut for years. He wants to grow his hair as long as
possible. Were you once like Chrissie,
wasn’t as precocious as Chrissie. But
I’ve been where he is going, and I know you’ll find him the most loving child
in the whole world, as long as you accept him heart and soul.”
you don’t have to worry about Chrissie.
He’s got a loving family. He’s
one of eight children and his father and I have agreed to let Chrissie follow
his lodestar as far as he wants to travel.
We’ve decided to let him pick out a special outfit for his fourth
birthday party; we expect him to select the pink cotton party dress with puff
sleeves he’s been eying at Sears. If he
does, we’ll not invite as many kids, but I know of at least six families with
children who’ll embrace Chrissie to their heart no matter what he wears.”
of joy filled Dawn’s eyes once again as she saw Chrissie turn to wave to her as
mother and son strolled off hand-in-hand.
didn’t have enough coffee this morning -- just six cups of Acapulco Brown. That’s why I’m so weepy today,” Dawn said to
herself. Or was it because she’d found
hope in Dayton, even if she hadn’t yet found Hope?
city had a charitable spirit, Dawn decided, as several children handed over
dollar bills, sticky with sugar, spittle and sweat, which they had wrung from
their parents. Dawn was so pleased with
herself that Mortimer suspected her motives; timidly he asked, “Dawn, you are
planning to give that money to disaster relief, right?”
course, silly. It’s all going to a good
cause.” And it did. Dawn collected $227 that day for disaster
relief. To Mortimer’s relief, she
actually gave the money to charity. She
was passing by three volunteers when she noticed that one of them was a short,
blue-eyed, blond teenager. His name was
Leif. Dawn hoped she’d get lucky.
gave Leif the money in exchange for his phone number. However, her dazzling smile or oversized breasts must have distracted
him because he gave her the wrong number.
Or possibly it had been recently reassigned to the Dayton Police. The police officer who answered the call
said he wanted to meet Dawn, and Dawn, flattered, almost agreed to a blind
date. But on second thought, she
decided it was time to continue her search for Hope – in another state.
we’re getting ahead of ourselves, as Dawn didn’t try to contact Leif until the
following day. Why the delay? Well, a threesome can be very diverting,
especially if it turns into a twosome from which one is excluded. The first hint of trouble came when Dawn and
Mortimer rendezvoused with Bill and Frodo at the entrance to Sears. Bill and Frodo were carrying a steamer
trunk. “It’s bloody heavy,” Frodo
said. However, he had no idea of its
contents. Bill had done his shopping
alone. Bill said that there was
something for everyone in the trunk.
trunk must have lots of clothes for me,” Dawn exulted. She remembered that Bill had asked for her
measurements. On the way home from the
Mall, she rewarded Bill with fellatio – or was it cunnilingus? – in the
backseat of the Chevy. It would have
been a memorable moment for Bill had Dawn not fallen asleep. Instead, there was an anti-climax. As Dawn dozed on his lap, Bill made his
final decision: He’d surprise Frodo
that very night with two of his purchases.
threesome that night started off badly, for Dawn was in a foul, uncooperative
mood after she found out that only one of Bill’s presents was for her, and even
it she’d not receive until the following day.
Spitefully, Dawn refused to do anything at all to bring her partners to
climax. Even by Dawn’s standards, she
was passive – indeed, so passive that Bill on two occasions took her pulse to
see if she were still alive. Each time
Dawn moaned, “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”
Frodo was discovering what it’s like to be an eighteen-year-old male naked in
bed with two live human beings and a third one watching from the closet with
high-powered binoculars (Bill’s gift to Mortimer). Frodo’s body, set to explode, craved release. He begged Bill for intercourse. “Bill, you’ve got a super body; it’s so
tight, so firm, it doesn’t sag like Dawn’s.
And you’ve got a … vagina. Oh
please, I’ve just got to have sex with you.
I’ve just got to be inside you.”
you’re asking too much of me. I’m a man
now. I want to forget the vagina. It’s a vestige of my old self. In time, when I’ve working again and making
some real money, I intend to get rid of it – to become a man through and
you’re still partly a woman! Bill, I
need to know what it’s like to have my cock inside a pussy. How can you refuse me? Weren’t you a virgin once yourself?”
it seemed like only yesterday,” Bill thought.
To Frodo, he said: “It will mess
up my mind to have sex with another man – especially that way.”
you’re willing to have sex with Dawn,” Frodo objected.
says she a pre-op transsexual. Maybe
she is; maybe she isn’t. Dawn herself
probably doesn’t know for sure. One
thing is definite, however, and that is the fact that she dresses like a woman
– well, like a little girl – and she does her best to behave like a female,
even though she’ll never be a lady.
That’s why I can have sex with her:
Dawn makes love like a woman.”
tongue caressed Frodo’s thigh as the boy deliberated. Not surprisingly – he had, after all, the biggest erection of his
life – Frodo was willing to do almost anything to get laid. “I could make love like a woman. I know I could. After all, I once took acting lessons.”
you be willing to dress like a woman and to let me enter you?”
not what I want,” Frodo objected. “I
want my cock inside you!”
can be, dear Frodo, just as soon as you agree on equal rights in the
bedroom. I’m a masculinist. That’s like being a feminist. We both insist on sexual equality. So every time you screw me, you have to let me screw you. And each time we have sex you have to look
more feminine than the time before.
That’s my terms. Take ‘em or
leave ‘em. It won’t cost you anything;
I’ll provide the clothes.” For the
first time, Bill put his hand around Frodo’s rod – just to make sure that it
did the boy’s thinking for him.
agreed to terms. He’d agreed to almost
anything to get his first pussy.
Consequently, he was wearing sheer white stockings and a white lace
garter belt the first time he ever had vaginal intercourse. He added a white lace chemise (graced with
several white ribbons) for their second embrace an hour later; this time Frodo
was on the receiving end of anal sex for the first time in his life.
men had never had better sex, unsurprisingly, since they had previously only
made love to Dawn. It turned out that
both would rather pitch than catch, but each was willing to play the backstop
so long as each got his turn on the mound.
As Frodo was wearing lingerie – and Bill feverishly caressing it – the
first time that they experienced the true joy of sex, both became confirmed
had that effect on people. After a
night with her, they became interested in sexual aids. They knew they’d need some help to get
aroused. Though Frodo refused for the moment to wear women’s lingerie outside
of the bedroom, he shyly admitted that he was looking forward to adding panties
during their second night of lovemaking.
what about Dawn?” Mortimer asked Bill and Frodo the morning after. Dawn was still in bed, and sound asleep,
judging from the snorts and snuffles issuing from her bedroom. “What’s she going to do, Bill, while you’re
getting into Frodo’s panties?”
Frodo and Bill blushed furiously at the memory of how much Mortimer had seen
and heard from the closet. Bill broke
the silence: “I’ve got plans for Dawn.
I’m going to keep her so busy that she’ll scarcely notice that she’d not
getting laid. And whenever she does
join Frodo and me in bed, she’ll obey our every command. She won’t even dare fall asleep.”
and Mortimer looked at each other in confusion. How was Bill going to control willful Dawn? How could anyone tame such a wild
child? When Bill saw the doubt on their
face, he said, “Let’s wake her up now.
It’s time for Dawn to learn her duties.”
first, Dawn was angry at being shaken awake from an erotic dream. She’d been Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, and
was – in her opinion – just about to seduce the Scarecrow. After all, how could any man of straw say no
to a woman with pick-up lines like “Come on, baby, light my fire”?
case, Dawn’s mood improved dramatically when Bill explained why she had to wake
up. “I know how much you enjoy playing
dress-up, dearest Dawn. How would you
like to be Fifi today?”
“Fifi? A French poodle?” Hmmm, the costume had possibilities, for Dawn loved sex
doggy-style. However, she announced
that she’d “refuse to wear a dog suit outside the house” unless it had a sign
saying that she was “collecting money for the Society for the Prevention of
Cruelty to Animals.” Dawn said she had
her “dignity” to consider and to protect.
don’t be silly. No one wants you in a
dog suit. That’s a goofy idea. Here – this is what I bought for you to
wear. It’s my gift to you.” Bill pointed to a black satin dress with a
rounded white lace collar; a white lace bonnet; white crinoline petticoats; a
small white lace apron; black patent leather shoes with four-inch heels; sheer
black stockings; a white satin garter belt; and white satin rumba panties with
frills on the seat.
clapped her hands with delight; she’d always wanted to dress like a French
Maid. Who doesn’t? Isn’t it the secret dream of all males to
spend a day as a French Maid? Well,
maybe not all males. There are some
who’d prefer to be an astronaut, a football quarterback, or a girl cheerleader. But being a maid was definitely one of
Dawn’s fantasies, and before you could say “Jabberwocky” she’d dressed as a
maid. As she twirled about in front of
a full-length mirror, Bill told her that everyone wanted Dawn not only to look
like a maid but also to serve as one.
“We all want you to be our sexy maid, isn’t that right, Mortimer?”
wasn’t about to tell Dawn what to do.
So he slunk into a corner, his nose twitching nervously. Mortimer had no
reason to worry. Dawn said she was
delighted to be their maid: “I’ll start
with the dusting,” she said. “Where is
a feather duster? I must have a feather
the French Maid ensemble even included a feather duster, and so Dawn set
immediately to work. She started with
the furniture in the combination living-dining room. Her three companions sat in the chairs to watch Dawn perform her
role. They soon decided that she’d had
been disastrously miscast. Never had
there been a more incompetent maid.
four-inch, spiked heels were part of the problem. As Dawn had never worn anything like them, she teetered about,
constantly losing her balance. She’d
grabbed onto whatever was handy as she felt herself falling. One time it was Bill’s most valuable
painting – an oil he’d bought in the Florida Everglades of alligators lunging
at land developers. Her fist
decapitated one of the gators, to Bill’s anguish and dismay.
couldn’t see what the big deal was:
“It’s not like I ruined a family portrait or something,” she said.
out that Bill’s single most valuable objet d’art also couldn’t keep Dawn
from falling. She and the antique
Tiffany lamp both crashed to the floor.
Once again, Dawn thought that Bill was getting unnecessarily hysterical. “Calm down,” she said, “Those lamps are easy
to make. You just glue together pieces
of cut glass. Anyone can do it.”
third time Dawn toppled into B ill’s china cabinet, breaking several
pieces. At that point, Bill hurriedly
moved all his valuables out of reach, as one does when a toddler comes
visiting. With less to break, and Dawn
gradually getting the hang of her spiked heels, the cost of employing Dawn as a
French Maid became more reasonable. Even
so, there was unanimous agreement that dusting should be removed from her list
of duties. And why was that? Well, in a word, flatulence.
dusted, she wanted to show off the frills on her rumba panties. So, bending over as far as she could, she’d
wiggle her derrière in front of her friends’ faces. Unfortunately, the closer that Dawn’s body came to doing a
ninety-degree angle, the more likely she was to break wind. After several noisy, smelly farts, Dawn was
told she never needs dust again.
why don’t you wash the windows?” Bill suggested. Dawn would be reaching upward while she did it. “That should clear the air,” Bill
wanted to be a good maid, just as much as she wanted to be a good girl. So she was determined to do a better job
with the windows than she had with the dusting. As the windows hadn’t been washed in years, it took a lot of
muscle to scrape off the caked-on dirt – so much muscle that Dawn accidentally
pushed the glass pane out of its frame and into the yard, where it broke into a
Bill had nailed some plywood into place, all agreed that Fifi’s duties should
be limited to waiting at table. But
that didn’t work out very well either on account of Dawn’s humongous
bosom. As she served the soup, her
breast dipped into each of their bowls.
woman’s breast in one’s soup can be erotic – as long as the broth is not too
hot – but Dawn’s breast forms, clothed in a dust-covered and glass-encrusted
maid’s uniform, were anything but arousing.
The soup course ruined, the intrepid diners huddled for a minute. Then Bill saying “you can only die once,”
asked Dawn to serve the fish course that she’d spent two hours in the kitchen
a large Atlantic salmon with glazed eyes that Bill had bought frozen while
visiting Seattle some years back. And
it was still frozen, indeed rock solid.
“Fifi,” Frodo asked, “what have you been doing in the kitchen for more
than hours? You didn’t even cook the
course not, silly. I made ceviche.”
“Kevikee? What’s that?” Frodo asked. He looked around. No one seemed to know.
is it? Am I the only gourmette
here? Really! Frodo, you are such an innocent!
But Mortimer, you must have had raw fish by now. It’s all the rage in the finer hash houses.”
why is that?” Bill asked.
it saves on fuel bills. All I had to do
was squeeze some lime juice on the fish – which was real easy because Bill was
thoughtful enough to have bought one of those plastic jobbies with real fruit
juice. Fish plus lime juice – presto,
change-o, you’ve got ceviche. It works
looked confused: “But, Fifi, why did it
take you so long to make this kevikee stuff?
It sounds real easy to prepare.
How come we had to wait for two hours?”
Dawn huffed. “Sometimes it’s not worth
being a serving maid. There is no fun
in dishing up a work of art to Philistines.
Didn’t you notice the lace doily under the fish? How about the little bonnet I made for its
head? And surely you noticed that I
painted its tail with all the colors of the rainbow. That fish is a work of art.”
only paint available,” Bill anxiously whispered to Frodo and Mortimer “is
exterior house paint. That fish is
toxic!” After another huddle, it was
decided to circumscribe Fifi’s duties.
She’d be strictly a chambermaid from now on, her primary duties being of
a sexual nature.
with Fifi was bound to be disappointing, given that everyone was famished and
in a bad mood. But it didn’t help that
Fifi ultimately proved to be no more responsive in bed than Dawn. True, for a while Dawn got into the spirit
of being ordered about, but as she grew fatigued, she became grumpy.
tired of being a maid,” she growled. “It’s no fun at all. Here,” she said to Frodo, “you wear my
outfit. You be the maid for a
then fell fast asleep. At Bill’s
urging, Frodo wore the rumba panties and lace bonnet as they made love. Frodo was so turned on that he didn’t notice
that he caught one more time than he threw that night.
the following morning Dawn wandered around with a bath towel wrapped around her
breasts. “I don’t know what to wear,”
she said. There was too much
choice: two outfits. Her phone call to the Dayton Police Station
seemed to make her decision for her.
Alice she’d be. And Alice was
anxious to get back onto the road looking for Hope.
Bill join them in their quest? Dawn
definitely wanted him to join their expedition, for otherwise Frodo might elect
to stay in Dayton. Bill reflected on
his options, then said: “Dawn, I’m an unemployed skywalker.” Everyone looked at him blankly. “That means I’m a high-steel
specialist. I build skyscrapers for a
was impressed: “You mean you rivet
steel girders together a thousand feet above the ground? I couldn’t do that. I’d be afraid.”
can. It’s in the blood. I’m half-Mohawk, you see. My grandfather helped build the Empire State
what are you doing here?” Dawn
asked. “There’s not much demand for
skywalkers in Dayton.”
sure right about that,” Bill sighed. “But there hasn’t been much work in the
Northeast in recent years and I kept moving west until I ended up here, out of
money and out of hope.”
looking for Hope,” said Dawn. “You
definitely should come along with us.
There may be more work for you further west, or even a new career. What do you have to lose?”
squeezed Bill’s hand: “You have
to come along with us. I’d be so desperately
unhappy if you stayed behind.”
the two men soul-kissed, Dawn had eight cups of strong coffee. Totally wired, she became frantic to leave
town. Only Mortimer had eaten any
breakfast – a hunk of cheese – but Dawn insisted that they couldn’t waste any
more time in Dayton. They must find
cars – the Chevy and the white Rabbit – played leapfrog as they headed for
Cincinnati, just sixty minutes away by the Interstate highway. They should have been in Kentucky for
lunch. Instead, by lunchtime they’d
lost Dawn somewhere in rural Ohio.
Chapter Six – A Smoking Caterpillar
it was her coffee addiction that got Dawn into trouble. She didn’t have a bladder large enough to
handle eight cups. So, about twenty
miles north of Cincinnati, she flashed her lights to signal that she and
Mortimer were getting off at the next exit; the white Rabbit would follow.
heading for Maud South,” she told Mortimer.
“Any place with a name like that is succor to a lady in distress.”
mean they’ll have a toilet?” Mortimer asked.
Dawn replied. “And if it’s a town run by
and for women it will have a heated seat.”
they missed the town entirely. Perhaps the town didn’t really exist. In any case, all that either car could find
was an outhouse in an immaculately kept park.
It looked out onto a small pond around which several willows wept. After relieving herself, Dawn wandered over
to the water’s edge where she espied some tasty-looking mushrooms. Or were they poisonous toadstools? Dawn didn’t know. She had no idea what toadstools looked like, but she was famished
– she had been so anxious to fill up on coffee that she’d quite forgotten to
eat anything for breakfast. These
“mushrooms” definitely looked like a tasty morsel even though she’d never seen
anything like them in the supermarkets.
munch,” Dawn said as she gobbled down several “mushrooms.” Almost immediately she felt woozy. She clutched at hear head: “Oh, oh, they’re having a magical effect on
me! My head is inflating like a
balloon! Oh my, it’s now as big as a
Dawn would be upset to be a blimp, but somehow it didn’t matter that her head
had caught the breeze and that she was soaring over the pond. Or that’s what Dawn thought was
happening. Her traveling companions
were appalled to see her dive into the pond and then breaststroke to the far
side. They watched her moving along at
hyper-speed once her feet found solid earth.
With her arms flapping like wings, she ran into a black forest.
threw himself into the pond in frustration, but Bill made sure he didn’t drown. Mouth-to-mouth reminded them of how much
they craved each other’s body. By the
time Mortimer reminded them that Dawn was missing, she truly was. Her friends had no idea of where she’d gone.
an hour of staggering through the woods, Dawn finally found a clearing and a
gravel road, on which she saw a Caterpillar tractor, a giant earth-moving
machine. It seemed to be saying
something to Dawn. What was it? Could it be, “Help, I need help! I’m on fire!” It did appear to be on fire, for smoke was billowing from its
engine. Dawn gawked in amazement: She’d never seen a Caterpillar smoke
before. And she’d definitely never
heard a Caterpillar talk.
it actually the Caterpillar that was talking?
Or was it the Caterpillar operator, the man who was rolling around in
the dirt to extinguish the flames that engulfed him? As the man got back on his feet, he seemed very angry. Maybe he was burned? Did that explain the color of his skin? No, Dawn decided, the man was an African
American. An angry black man, he was
alternately punching and kicking the Caterpillar.
useless piece of junk,” the Caterpillar operator was shouting. “That’s it.
I’m through with you. You can
stay here forever and rust, for all I care.
You’ve busted me. I’m flat
broke. You’re not worth fixing. You haven’t been for years.”
was non-plussed: she couldn’t decide
whether the Caterpillar operator was angry with the machine or with her. After all, Dawn had been rusting for years. Maybe she wasn’t worth fixing. Even plastic surgeons said she was beyond
rehabilitation. No, the man couldn’t
be criticizing Dawn. Even to imagine
that he would accuse her of terminal rust without first poking a finger into
her undercarriage meant that the magic mushrooms must be making Dawn
paranoid. There was no way the man
could be knocking Dawn, for everyone loved her. At least, they should.
guy will love me once he gets to know me,” thought Dawn.
Dawn want to get to know the Caterpillar operator? She observed him more closely: He was dressed in a hard hat, work
boots, a thick belt, an unbuttoned red flannel shirt, stained blue jeans with
an inviting rip near the crotch. And
there, hanging down the left leg, was one of the largest penises Dawn had ever
longed to worship the phallus at close quarters. It so mesmerized her that her eyes never moved north of the man’s
equator. Had she done so she would have
noticed that the “man” had two perfectly shaped breasts. They could be seen
through “his” sweat-soaked white T-shirt as clearly as if he’d entered a “wet
began to appreciate her error, however, when the caterpillar operator took the
“penis” out of his jeans pocket. It
turned out to be a giant cigar, and by the forceful way the caterpillar
operator bit off its end (Dawn almost said “ouch”), there was no possible way
that this “guy” could ever be trusted to give oral sex.
you’re no guy,” Dawn finally realized, as cigar smoke obscured the head of the
caterpillar operator, forcing Dawn’s gaze downward. Yep, the “guy” had breasts – pear-shaped ones that Dawn would
have given back her first-published story to acquire. Was Dawn looking at a woman?
Possibly. Or maybe the
Caterpillar operator was transitioning from one sex to the other. But which one had “he” started off
with? Dawn couldn’t tell.
his true sex, the Caterpillar operator was definitely a hunk. Built like a champion body-builder, with
muscles on his muscles, he resembled Arnold Schwarzenegger a lot more than he
did Bill. Bill looked like a drag queen
by comparison. If this wasn’t a guy,
“she” had to be Miss Universe, the world’s butchest woman. Dawn made a quiet decision: “I don’t care what sex she – or he –
actually is. I want to make wild
passionate love with her, him, it. Look
out world, Dawn is loaded for bear.”
Dawn wasn’t ready, however, for the
operator’s rudeness. “What in
the hell are you?” the operator asked
before spitting a piece of burning tobacco leaf onto Dawn’s right shoe.
“What do you mean?” Dawn asked as
her left foot scuffed dirt onto her right shoe.
“I’m asking whether you are male or
female or something in between? Explain
“I’m not sure I can explain
myself. I am really quite
confusing. I tried for several years to
explain my inner self to my psychotherapist, but she finally gave up on
me. I heard that she joined a Trappist
order – you know, they’re the monks who take a vow of silence. I suppose she never wanted to hear another
word. I guess some people must find you
a bit queer yourself,” Dawn suggested timidly.
“Queer? Me? No way! I’m a woman. That’s obvious to everyone but you. Possibly you need glasses.
People your age usually do.”
“I am not old! I’m in my prime,” Dawn objected. “You’re looking at a sex machine in peak
condition. My name is Dawn. What’s yours?”
“I only have sex with males,” the
Caterpillar operator replied. “So once
again, I’m asking you: What sex are
you? Before you answer, you should know
that I have a thing for older men.
You’re definitely an older something; but tell me, little Miss Alice,
are you a male? Your Adam’s apple tells me that you’re no Eve, but I want to
hear the truth from your own lips before I decide what to do you with you.”
That sounded like a threat. Dawn now feared for her safety. Here she was lost in the woods, her mind
racing through one hallucination after another thanks to the mushrooms and
coffee, and the most muscular woman she’d ever met was apparently threatening
her. Dawn had to say “apparently”
because she wasn’t entirely sure that the woman was real. Maybe she was an apparition. Did the woman really exist? Probably she did. As she wasn’t swirling around Dawn’s head like the liveried fish,
the talking mice, the horseshoe crabs, the dildos, and the cuckoo clocks were
doing, the woman was probably real.
Yet Dawn didn’t know what to
say. While it was conceivable that the
Caterpillar operator wanted Dawn to admit she was a male so that they could say
that she was in truth a male as a prelude to sex and intimacy, it was also
conceivable that Dawn’s admission would be the prelude to mayhem and
Dawn searched her mind for any
information she had filed about Ohio.
First, did it harbor any serial killers? Second, were its women likely to be TG-positive?
Its nickname was the first thing
that came into her mind. Ohio was the
buckeye state. That had to be clue of
some sort. But what was a buckeye? Dawn had no idea, but it did sound like
something you might use in a shotgun wedding. She shuddered at the thought.
Ohio had produced a lot of
presidents. “Let me see,” she
deliberated, “Garfield and McKinley were from Ohio. Oh my gosh, they were both
murdered!” She shivered at the memory. “There must be something else I know about
Ohio. Yes, I remember now: it’s famous for its giant, city-sized
mounds.” Her mind stopped what little
thinking it was doing when she realized that these might be burial
mounds. “Giant burial mounds! Oh my, oh
my. I am definitely in the wrong state.” Her mind then went as blank as her
“I’m getting tired of waiting for
your answer. What sex are you? One answer is right; the other is
wrong.” The Caterpillar operator stamped
her feet angrily.
“I’m a little girl,” Dawn
replied. She had heard that the big lie
worked best – at least for tyrants, terrorists and boxing promoters.
The Caterpillar operator
guffawed. “Look, honey, you may be
dressed like Alice in Wonderland, but you’re older than my Aunt Trixie; and she
was a cheerleader for the Cleveland Browns football team.”
“Okay, okay. You’ve got me. I am indeed a middle-aged man.
I know I look a lot younger, but I’m actually… thirty-nine years
old. I’m a member of the generation
that followed the baby boomers. You
know – Generation Xstacy.”
Dawn had given the right
answer: Yes, she was old, but she was
also a male. The Caterpillar operator
grinned broadly. She gave the finger to
Dawn. No, that wasn’t it; she was
beckoning to Dawn. “Move your little
skinny white ass over here, little Alice, because mama wants to show you how to
make love like a black man.”
Dawn panicked. “With a black man,” she’d heard. “Are you really a m…m…man?” she
stammered. “If you are, w…w…we
c…c...can’t have s…s…s…s…”
“What? Spit it out, little sissy
dude. What can’t we have?”
“S…s…sex! I…much too…virginal to have sex with…black man. You’ll s…s…split me open.” It was an odd thing for Dawn to say, never
mind think, considering that she owned the largest dildo ever sold in Jersey
City. The mushrooms must have been
fogging her mind. Maybe Dawn actually
fancied herself a virgin. If so, she
was dangerously delusional. The Caterpillar
operator should be on her guard.
Instead, the Caterpillar operator
laughed and laughed until her belly ached.
“Dawn, you’ve brightened a gloomy day.
I was really feeling down. My
tractor had just crapped out. But
aren’t you the joker! You a
virgin? And you think all African
Americans are hung like horses – even the women! Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have no plans for that
skinny little ass of yours, except maybe to spank it. You the man, and I the woman.
You got that?”
“Yep,” Dawn gulped.
“But I hope, honey, that you’ve got
a talented tongue ‘cause I ‘spect you’ve not got much yourself between your
legs if you think that all black men are built like King Kong.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind being a
little bigger. Three inches is a
wretched length to be.”
“Three inches!” The Caterpillar operator looked angry. Or at least disappointed. She finished off her cigar with three
Fortunately, Dawn got the math
wrong, as she almost always did. In
fact, she was – depending on how you counted up her sums – off by a factor of
two or three. How could she be so
wrong? It’s difficult to know for sure,
but possibly it had something to do with her short attention span. It seems that every time she tried to
measure her cock, sexual thoughts distracted her, and she was never able to
count past three.
The Caterpillar operator was
pleasantly surprised to discover that Dawn had an impressive “snake” that she
knew how to wriggle. To her own
amazement, Dawn never fell asleep once.
Not once did she remind her sex partner of the living dead. Indeed, she almost performed like the sex machine
she claimed to be. Granted, the
machine was a drip coffeemaker (her favorite appliance), but at least her body
was moving with some predictability and rhythm for a change.
This was Dawn’s first time with a
woman, as Bill didn’t count as one, at Bill’s own insistence. Dawn’s first sex with a woman was the best
sex she’d had in years. It wasn’t just
the novelty of being on the mound pitching, but it was also the way that the
Caterpillar operated. She took complete
command of their lovemaking. When she
saw that Dawn had difficulty rising beyond the perpendicular, she lay prone on
the ground and then bench-pressed Dawn, up and down, in and out, until Dawn
came inside her. For cunnilingus, she
moved Dawn’s entire body vertically up and down like a piston.
Afterwards, as the Caterpillar
operator smoked a gigantic cigar, Dawn thought to herself, “I’ve been a
dumbbell all my life. I had no idea
women made love that way! No wonder
there are so many straight men in the world!
Wow! Double wow! I’ve finally
found the perfect lover. I’ll never
Did that mean that Dawn no longer
wanted to dress like a woman? Was she
going to throw her Alice outfit down a rabbit hole and dress like a man
24-7? No way! What made the Caterpillar operator the perfect lover for Dawn is
that she wanted Dawn to look like a woman, yet make love like a man – or at
least, to have the right equipment for a sexual workout.
“Please, I’ve got to know your name”
were Dawn’s first words since she’d regained the horizontal. “I know it’s going to be the perfect name
for the perfect woman.”
“It’s Jim.” That’s what the Caterpillar operator seemed
to be saying. But she blew a huge cloud
of smoke Dawn’s way as she said it.
“I must have heard you wrong. Your name isn’t Jim, is it? That’s a man’s name, and you’re definitely a
“Look sugar, I’ve got a woman’s body
and I’m proud of it. I pity all you
men. You’re so incomplete. But construction is a man’s world. I started dressing like a man just to fit
in. But soon I dressed that way because
denim and flannel turn me on. My body
tingles all day when I’m wearing men ‘s briefs. I love the world of men.
I love making love to men. But
my lovers have to understand: I’m the
one who wears the pants in this relationship. You’ll stay in the dress if you
want to keep me happy. I like your
name, so I hope you’ll keep using it.
As for me, you either call me Jim or you call me from a distance.”
“I want to stay as close as possible
to you, Jim. I want to share your bed
every night. That’s why I’m asking you
to come away with me.”
“Now, why would I do that? This is my hood. I’ve got a trailer home beyond that thicket that you can see off
to the right.”
“But Jim, you’ve just lost your
Caterpillar. You’ve just lost your
means of making a living here. Come
along with me and my friends. We’re on
a quest. We’re looking for Hope. She is my best friend on the Internet, and
she’s been missing since the eleventh.
I got to find her. I need to
know she’s all right.”
Jim thought over her options: “I’ve got no hope here,” Jim decided. “Earth-moving work has been standing still
in this county since the economy went south.
I’ll have to move on anyway. I
might as well go off with Dawn. She’s
so damn foolish that she must be incredibly lucky to be still alive. That girl might have enough luck for the
both of us.”
And so it was agreed: Jim would join Dawn’s expedition. She’d even transform it into a caravan
of Hope by contributing a Jeep Cherokee and an Airstream trailer to the
cause. It was only after they’d sealed
their deal with an embrace that Dawn suddenly realized that she was lost – that
she had no idea of where Frodo, Mortimer and Bill were to be found.
“Stop worrying,” said Jim. “I’ve been living in this area for
years. I know exactly where your park
and pond are, and I bet your friends will be waiting there for you. It won’t take me long to hitch up the
Airstream; we can be with your friends in less than an hour.”
As they walked along, Jim had her
hands all over Dawn. She wanted to be
reassured before she pulled up stakes that Dawn had more than three inches to
offer. Dawn, turned-on, became quite
shameless: She took off her tights and
little-girl panties and then used the tights to cinch her dress at the waist,
leaving her “snake” dangling free for all the woodland creatures to see.
The pigeons didn’t like what they
saw. Somehow they thought Dawn’s snake
was a threat to their nests. At least,
that’s the only rational explanation for what followed. It was like a horror movie – like a scene
out of Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds”.
The pigeons started arriving, first singly, next in pairs, then in
flocks. Nervously Dawn could count at
least a hundred of them, and all of them were giving her that evil pigeon eye,
as they murmured angrily. Dawn had long
dreaded this moment. It had haunted her
nightmares for years.
She began to run. The pigeons ran after her, speedily leaving
Jim behind. Dawn could see the
Airstream. She picked up her pace. Never had she run faster. Safety beckoned. Shelter was so close.
And then they struck! The pigeons had caught up to her! It was horrible! The horror! The horror!
One hundred pigeons started taking
turns defecating on Dawn’s Mary Janes.
Her favorite shoes in the entire world were soon covered with white….
There is only one word powerful enough to describe the evil. Her Mary Janes were covered with shit! And did the pigeons care? Their red beady eyes told Dawn everything
she needed to know. They had done it on
Dawn was almost hysterical when Jim
caught up to her: “There, there,
Dawn. Don’t carry on so. They’re just shoes. I’ll buy you some new ones, and a little
girl’s dress to go with ‘em. Come
on! Stop crying. You’ve got Jim to protect you now.”
They went into Jim’s egg-shaped,
little trailer to make love. From a
distance, it seemed to be moving up and down like a piston. The pigeons, frightened by the ruckus, flew
in Chapter 7 – Kermesse the Frog