The woman ignored the ringing phone as her fingers moved furiously on the
keyboard. On the third ring, she grabbed an open cigarette pack and expertly
shook one cigarette free from the pack, with one hand as the other hand picked up
the phone. Still staring at the PC's display monitor, she answered "Washington
Post. You've got the City Desk, Hampton."

The caller's soft reply startled the reporter "Hi Trish. Got time to spend a few
minutes with an old buddy?"

An impish smile lit up the woman's normally tightly pursed lips as she recognized
the caller's voice "Bryan Patterson, you old has-been. What stump did you drag
yourself out from under? Do you still have your nose so far up Priscilla's ass
that you can't blow your nose without giving her an enema?"

His voice quaked slightly, as if he was fighting back tears "No, it's over
between us We're still friends and see each other occasionally, but ..."

She lit her cigarette, letting it dangle between her lips as she hunched over a
small mound of research paper spread across her desk "Well.., look I'm sorry. I
didn't know. Why don't you come by and I'll buy the first round of beer. Then we
can talk about old times and forget about those romances that didn't work out."

His voice sounded a little more cheery "I'd like to do that but I can't. Look I
need a favor - a big favor. Can you take a break and talk to me -sort of like old
times?"

She pushed her messy mane of thick curly hair back with one hand as she glanced
around to see if any supervisors were in the room. Leaning down over her desk a
little more to muffle her voice so that nearby reporters wouldn't hear her, her
voice dropped to just above a whisper "You want some dirty talk - some phone sex,
do you, my friend? What have you got in your hand?"

His loud reply was almost a scream "NO! I want to talk! TALK! You're the only one
that I trust and know that I can open up with.  Come on Trish, it's me and I need
your help."

She sat up straighter and blew a hard cloud of cigarette smoke like a steam
engine, from the side of her lips. Changing her tone of voice to a more
professional sound, she tried to hide her chagrin at misunderstanding him and his
obvious rebuff of her very personal overture "Look Bryan, it's twenty minutes
till press time and I've got a story to get out. How about a beer after work? I
get off in three hours."

There was no answer and she paused as she tried to figure out what was bugging
him. At one time, she knew him quite well - as inside out as two frequent lovers
could know each other. It wasn't a `sleep with me every night' type of
relationship, but a `you've had too much to drink and why don't you spend the
night in my bed' type of relationship. Both of them would get up and go their
separate ways the next morning as they fought each other for the choice newspaper
reporting assignments. If it hadn't been for that nerdy librarian, Priscilla
Larzing and her big, innocent doe-looking eyes, Bryan and Trish would have
continued their every two-three weeks all-night sexual release pattern and Bryan
would still be working at the paper as a reporter.

Glancing up at the clock, she saw that her deadline was fast approaching and her
story needed a little more re- writing. Holding the phone against her ear with
her shoulder, she began typing as she picked up where his phone call had
interrupted her. Recognizing that he hadn't answered her question nor said
anything in over five long seconds of silence, she asked "Bryan, are you
alright?"

His choked-up voice indicated that he wasn't alright "Trish, I have to talk to
someone. Do you know Gary Franks?"

The sound of her keyboard-clicking stopping signaled that he had re-grabbed her
attention. Her simple "I wish. He's the man of mystery - the sultan of sex - the
man that's got every woman in town fawning over him."

His voice became slightly higher pitched as he tried to regain his composure
"Well, I know all about him. I know his secrets. And that's why I have to talk to
you. I have to tell someone - someone that I trust - about his evil powers."

His voice became louder and more excited "He's pure evil - the devil incarnate on
Earth. And he must be exposed. That's why you must listen to me. YOU MUST WRITE
ABOUT HIM - TELL THE WORLD ABOUT HIS EVIL - YOU MUST HELP ME."

His sudden sobbing shook her up almost as much as his outburst. Looking at the
clock, she knew that if she listened to her upset friend, she would miss her
deadline. For just a moment, she considered her responsibility to her work, then
she quietly said "Bryan, it's alright. I'm going to put you on hold, get someone
to finish this article for me, and then I'll pick up the phone back in Mac's
office. Just hold on for two minutes and let me get some coverage."

His sobbing voice choked out the words "thank you."

She pressed the hold button, grabbed a junior reporter, gave him thirty seconds
of explanation and instructions on the story, then grabbed her pack of
cigarettes, her coffee cup and her steno pad. She rushed back into an empty
editor's office and sat down at his desk before picking up on the on-hold line.

"Bryan, I'm back. Now what's going on with Gary Franks? What do you know about
him and how did you become involved with him?"

His voice was very calm "I met him through Priscilla."

Trish laughed out loud "Priscilla? That wallflower knows Gary Franks?"

His crisp words indicated that she'd hit a sore point "You know nothing about
her. You hate her simply because I fell in love with her."

If he could've seen Trish's angry eyes, he would've known that he was right.
However, her professional cool voice replied "That has nothing to do with it. I
hated her before I found out that you were cheating on me with her. Afterwards, I
just had a larger reason to hate her besides the fact that she's a stupid,
fucking overweight, ugly nerd. She spends all day pouring through a couple of
hundred books to find some dumb obscure fact and then feels good about her
contribution to society. Face it, Bryan, she's a loser. Look at her closely and
you'll see what I see, Bryan. She is the world's worst sloppy dresser and can't
even put her lipstick on correctly. She might be able to instantly find forty-two
different ways to put on mascara in her research books but the way that she
looked every day that I saw her at work, shows that she doesn't know shit about
making herself look presentable. I've seen whores with better color coordination
and more up-to-date hairstyles. It hurt me to know that you left me for her."

Bryan's voice became softer, more apologetic "Look, I'm sorry that I hurt you.
You know that I didn't do it on purpose. It just happened between us. When I
became involved with her, I was stuck on that long multi-part story and needed a
lot of research. I spent a lot of time down there in the research department with
her going through file cabinet after file cabinet. We became very good friends
and she began to open up to me, revealing the real her, instead of that dumpy
little woman that everyone thought she was."

"Shit, you mean to tell me that the stupid bitch had a fucking personality that
she kept hid from everyone. Let me run out here and get them to stop the presses.
This is front page material." Trish's voice was both loud and sarcastic as she
lambasted her former co-worker.

"Shut up. I called you to talk to you, not to be screamed at." Screamed Bryan
through the phone again.

Her knuckles became white as she clinched the phone handset tightly, letting the
hard plastic absorb her anger. A second later, she put a phony smile on her face
so that her voice sounded more cheery "Sorry, just had to let you know that
talking with anyone about her is about as enjoyable as working in Mac's office
after he's had beans for lunch."

His real laugher indicated that her joking had broken the tension. For a moment,
both of the giggled and reminisced about the famous Mac's stinky farts. Then he
said "But I'm wasting time, which is something that I don't have. Let me tell you
the story as I would write it, for you to think about it, then you can write it
the way that you feel is best."

She shook out another cigarette and chain-lit it from her almost finished
cigarette as she flipped her notebook to a clean page. With the new cigarette
dangling from her lips, she suggested "I'm all ears."

"Where do I start? I suppose that I owe you an answer and reason as to why I
moved in with Priscilla and quit the paper. Yes, you were right. I was sleeping
with her and ignoring your suggestions for a date. After my first full day
working in the Research Department on that current project, I was all burnt out.
As I staggered out of that dusty file depository, all dirty and eye-strained from
hours of staring at faded documents, she grabbed my elbow and led me to the
nearest bar. And you know my weakness for alcohol and its side-effect on me. Give
me three beers and I become so horny that even Hillary Clinton looks good to me.
If it will make you feel any better, it took five beers before I became horny
from being around her. I tried to ignore it but the little head began making
suggestions to me - lewd suggestions about seeing if I could convince her to let
me tit-fuck her. But before I had a chance to remember my Catholic upbringing, I
was marching out of that bar with a six-pack under my arm and my hand tucked down
the back of her panties, feeling her chubby little warm ass. I admit it was my
suggestion that we go somewhere and fuck but she surprised me when she accepted."

"DO I HAVE TO LISTEN TO THIS CRAP?"

"Sorry, but I think so. It's important that you understand the relationship that
we had at first, then you'll see why I'm surprised at the way that she changed
when she met Franks."

She sipped her coffee, before responding "Ok, so tell me how you fucked her, but
first I have a professional question. Did she have as much hair on her boobs as
she had on her upper lips?"

The ten seconds pause startled Trish. She glanced at the lit-up button to make
sure that he was still on the phone, then he said, "I'll pretend that I didn't
hear that. And she wasn't into tit-fucking or other `weird' sexual act, as she
called them. But for the record, she had a decent body - not nice, but decent.
Not great but it was functional and able to service most of my needs. As for the
other facts, she's twenty-seven years old, and she's been heavy all her life. But
at five-foot six, her thirty pounds overweight looked like more. As for her upper
lip, she had a few wild hairs that she kept under control with tweezers. And no,
there was no thick pad of curly chest hair on her boobs. But I didn't fall in
love with her because of her body; I fell in love with her because of her mind.
After she got over her initial shyness with me, I discovered that she had the
most brilliant mind that I'd met. She could reel off facts all night long and
discuss anything from Plato's philosophy to naming all of Elvis's number one
hits, to naming all of the Little Rascals - Spanky, Buckwheat, Alfalfa, Carla
etc. I screwed her that first night and wished that I had more beer as I started
sobering up, recognizing whom was sharing my bed. But later laying there in the
dark, with her naked body lying next to my equally naked body, talking about life
and dreams, I recognized that there was more to her than just the bookworm that
we joked about. She had a truly wonderful personality. I made love to her again,
but this time it was because I wanted her, not because I was drunk."

"Out with it, Bryan. End the suspense. How many times did you pump her?"

"Only twice that first night. Then I went home and mulled about allowing myself
to become romantically involved with her. I had to go back to the Research Room
the next morning and work beside her all day and I kept asking myself how I
allowed myself to lower my personal standards to sleep with anyone that looked
the way that looked everyday. I kept questioning my judgement as I looked at how
she looked that day. As soon as my work shift was over, I slipped out the back
door, although she'd been hinting that she'd like a beer after work. I rushed
home, not trusting myself, and promised myself that I wouldn't have any more
personal involvement with her. But I came back to her bed that next evening which
started our affair. Two weeks later, you found out about us and raised hell."

"What did you expect? I thought that we had something special and you rubbed shit
in my face."

"Come on, Trish. We were only friends."

"Yeah, if I'd got pregnant from being `only friends' with you, would you upgrade
our relationship as being something special?"

"Trish, we both told each other that our careers came first and neither of us
wanted a relationship. It was a mutual decision to keep our relationship to an
occasional fuck basis."

"Yeah, well I lied." The snappy quick comeback from Trish revealed that the
discussion was getting a little too personal for her.

"I'm sorry. I know that won't change things. Let me sum up my relationship with
Priscilla quickly and I'll try not to hurt you. I fell in love with a dumpy,
frumpy unkempt woman because it was her brilliant mind and charming wit that
captivated me. When you turned against me, she was there to comfort me and to
help me with my work-related problems. When I got the job offer to write the book
on the Royal family, she supported my decision to quit the paper and work on the
book full time. She moved in with me and not only helped me with the research,
but opened up new insights for me to think about into the personalities of the
Royal family. I got enough up-front advance from my publisher to hire her to work
full-time as my researcher, so we both worked out of our shared apartment. And
then Gary Franks came to town with his sexy harem of beautiful women."

"He does have a harem of beautiful perfect women. Most men either hate him or
want to be him because of that mob of perfect woman-flesh that accompanies him
everywhere. As a woman, I can't personally see why all those women find him so
irresistible."

"Priscilla and I were in a restaurant. I'd promised her a decent meal when we
reached a certain milestone and was paying off my debt. He walked in, surrounded
by twelve of the most beautiful and sexy women that I'd ever seen in my life.
I've attended several beauty pageants during my reporting days and seen lots of
attractive women before, but this was different. Every woman in his party could
be rated as a perfect ten. It's something when one perfect woman walks into a
room, but when twelve of them walk in - it was absolute paradise. I'll admit that
I had a ragging hard-on by the third woman and was seriously considering pounding
my pud when the last one walked by."

Trish laughed a hearty laugh "Yeah, that's the way that I hear it too. Mac called
them the `Prime Pussy Parade' one day when we were thinking about doing a Style
section article on him and his women. I've heard that other men have been
affected that same way and that's part of the mystery of Gary Franks - what's he
got that can attract and hold such beautiful women?"

"After they walked by us and sat down at a nearby large table, I felt like
grabbing Priscilla and throwing her up on the table and relieving myself right
there on the spot. I was very aroused but knew it wasn't the time or place. But I
resisted the desire and watched the table of women as they sat down. Then one of
the women caught my eyes. I saw her staring at me as if she recognized me. I
stared back and she gave me a faint smile as if to say `who the fuck do you think
you are' but she kept looking my way. After they placed their order, she leaned
over and whispered something to Franks, then I saw him look at my table. I
pretended that I was more interested in my salad but when she strolled over to my
table, I had to hold back the drool. At a distance, she was perfection. Up close,
she was a perfect goddess. She had long dark hair, thick eyelashes, vibrant green
eyes, pouty kissable lips and a dress two sizes too small for her luscious
Playboy centerfold body. Did I mention that she had nice breasts? She stood
beside our table and asked `Hi, I'm Marcie Greene. Do you remember me?' It's an
understatement to say that you can never forget anyone as attractive as her, but
my mind was whirling with thousands of brilliant witticisms as my lips replied
`No.' She laughed a sexy bimbo-type laugh and said `Sorry, I was talking to your
friend.' I turned my head to see who she was talking about - after all; there was
just Priscilla and me. Then I heard Priscilla say `I used to know a Marcie Green.
She was a Financial Major at Harvard when I was doing some research there.' I
don't know who was more surprised - Priscilla or me - when the woman giggled
`that's little ol' me.' This woman looked like the stereotyped teenage boy's
fantasy woman and Priscilla remembered her as being nothing more than an ugly-
ducking Financial Wizard from Harvard. You can see why I was stunned."

"I've heard that rumor before. That most of the women are women who've got the
brains and education to do anything that they want, but instead choose to be
Frank's bimbo- like girlfriends."

"It's true. They all act like bimbos but when you ask one of them a highly
technical question, they can reel off an answer that'll stun you coming from
their lips. They remember every thing but act dumb. But back to my story - Marcie
giggled and grabbed Priscilla like they were long lost sisters. I was wishing
that it was me that she was rubbing those magnificent hooters against my chest
while Priscilla was looking at me slightly confused over Marcie's shoulder as if
she was saying `who the fuck is this'. Then Marcie turned to me and hugged me as
she declared `any friend of my good friend Priscilla, is a friend of mine'.
Needless to say, I was in seventh heaven with all that fantastic female body
rubbing against me. Then Marcie sat down at our table and began catching up on
old times with Priscilla. I thought that she would talk about stock market
fluctuations or something appropriately nerdy, but she was laughing and giggling
about how the two of them had wasted so much time with their noses buried in
books. It was Marcie's vivacious personality that directed the very short
discussion about what both women had been doing since those college days. Marcie
quickly let us both know that her days of being a `brain' were over and she was
out to enjoy life and to live every moment to the fullest. I was shocked but not
as much as Priscilla. Then he came over to our table."