A much slenderer John Augustus waited until the guard escorted prison trustee removed his half-full lunch tray, then ceremonially marked another day off, on his personal calendar. Today was day sixty-eight. Since the onslaught of his illness, John hadn't eaten much. That combined with the other side effects of the medicine had greatly reduced his weight. The medicine stopped the pain but it also had other side effects. Since the first day of taking the medicine, John had been impotent and constantly felt like he was drugged. He recognized that he was in a drug-induced haze where it felt like he was inside a big bubble where he moved and thought slowly. He had discovered the impotence during his normal bedtime ritual that first night and tried to quit the medicine, but two days of increasing pain and discomfort made him change his mind. The choice had been simple - either spend a lot of time with his head next to the steel commode or give up his only sex partner of the last three years - his right hand. So now, he felt very mellow and relaxed - even with his cock's maximum hardness being similar to the hardness of a fresh marshmallow. Looking at his calendar, he knew that he only had fourteen more days until the first day that he could take the herbs that were hidden in his pepper shaker. Squatting on the floor in the corner of the cell where he had spent so many hours talking to Robert Williams, he wondered what the bastard was up to. He hadn't heard anything since the day that Robert had strolled in to the prison visiting area, in his new cunt body. That one-hour of private discussion with the innocent appearing and very attractive woman, had raised John's spirits. The old man's magic clearly had worked for Robert and would also work for him. The big question was, could he hold on to the slender thread of life still left in his body while he waited for the start to get into the right position. Gone was his reluctance to transfer into someone else's body - a woman's body. In its place was a desire to live. The sounds of a guard's shoes clicking on the floor, closely followed by the sounds of a mop bucket on wheels, pulled John from his reverie. He knew each guard's shift and the unique sound of their steps. This was Officer Mahoney walking down the corridor. The last several days, there had been something different about Mahoney's steps and his general attitude. He seemed so relaxed and at peace with the world. Gone was his pent-up frustration and occasional bouts of observable anger. John had recognized the change immediately and had teased the guard about finally getting some pussy. Instead of the guard's normal anger at having to respond to personal questions from John, there had been some friendly but vague answers. Over the last several days, the normally recalcitrant guard had been unusually friendly to everyone. As John listened to the approaching footsteps, he could tell that something had occurred. The fast pace of the guard's steps indicated an urgency that wasn't normal. John didn't move or turn his head, keeping his back to the bars, staring at the steel commode and the taped photographs of Candy above the commode. The footsteps stopped just behind John's back. There were several seconds of silence then the guard announced "I'm not satisfied with the way that you're keeping your cell clean. I've arranged for your cell to be cleaned properly and then I expect you to maintain the same high degree of cleanliness." John's head jerked up and a momentary rage roared through him as he glanced around his neat and clean cell. He always kept it clean. While Williams had failed the daily inspections on a frequent basis, this had never happened to John before. Jumping to his feet, he glared at the guard, immediately noticing that there was something wrong with the guard - Mahoney was almost shaking and his face was very pale. Standing behind the guard was a prison trustee that John had never seen before, holding a mop and the handle to a filled mop bucket. John wasn't sure what was going on, but recognized that he didn't have any say in the matter. Nodding acceptance, John turned around and put his hands behind his back, pushing his hands through the bars, so that the guard could secure his hands with handcuffs. The guard clicked one handcuff on, then pushed John's hands back within the bars before securing the other handcuff - so that John's hand were handcuffed behind his back but he wasn't locked to the unmoving jail bars. This was unusual because they usually secured the death row prisoner so that the prisoner's hands were locked behind his back and secured by the bars. The guard unlocked the cell and motioned the trustee to enter. After the trustee was in the cell, the guard turned and walked away so that he was standing in the corridor, but wasn't looking directly into John's cell. The trustee looked at John and smiled, his smile missing half of his teeth, then whispered "We don't have much time for romance or foreplay. I'm supposed to give you a blowjob." "What?" exclaimed a confused John. "My contractor got paid by someone - some bitch on the outside named Andrea - so he paid me to blow you. The guard that escorted me knows why I'm here and got me back here in this high security area, but he said I've only got twenty minutes. Do you want to lie down on your bunk or want me to do you standing up?" asked the trustee as he pulled off his prison cap, staring at John's crotch. A big smile lit up John's face "Where were you last month when I could get it up? This medicine the doc gives me, takes the iron out of my dick. I can't get it up and I've tried." "Shit. If we don't have sex, then I don't get paid. My contractor told me that I've got to give you a sexual experience that you'll never forget. I was hoping to blow you and get out; but it looks like we've got to figure out other ways for me to get paid. How tight is your cherry ass?" ****** The scruffy looking middle-aged man with a three-week-old salt and pepper beard and full head of uncombed hair was sitting at the desk; looking like a homeless person or a mad professor who didn't like to bathe. Drumming his fingers on the desktop, he leaned back in his chair and stared at the monitor, studying the words that he had just typed into the PC's word processing program. Satisfied with the progress so far, the man saved the draft document and turned off the PC, pocketing the floppy disk with the only copy of the draft document in his shirt pocket. Standing up and stretching his wiry body, the man said simply "Bathroom." A young muscular Chinaman standing in the doorway nodded and stepped aside, being careful to keep a little distance from the unkempt man. The man marched through the doorway and down the hall to the bathroom, followed at a respectful distance by his guard. As he walked into the bathroom, he slammed the door behind him, keeping the guard outside. The man rushed into a stall and produced a small adjustable wrench that he'd stolen earlier from the toolkit where he'd been allowed to work on the PC. The guard had been more interested in controlling the sharp screwdrivers than the other blunt tools. Placing the wrench on the two nuts holding the toilet seat, he quickly removed the solid wood seat. Previous visits to the bathroom had resulted in the commode tops being removed before he could use them for the same purpose that he removed the wooden toilet seat. Then he grabbed several handfuls of paper towels and began stopping the drains of the three bathroom sinks. When that was finished, he turned the bathroom faucets on wide open and stepped back watching while the sinks started filling up with water. As soon as the first little river overflowed the sink and splashed on the floor, the man picked up his solid wood toilet seat and stood beside the closed bathroom door, holding the toilet seat over his head while his beady eyes watched the water accumulate on the floor. A light sweat formed on his head as he kept his arms raised and stared at the rising water level, waiting for the second when the water would have to flow under the bathroom door. Forcing himself to take deep, regular breaths, ignoring the hammering of his heart, he waited for his guard to rush into the bathroom. ****** Andrea was wearing a blond wig to camouflage her normal appearance, blue jeans, sunglasses and a loose sweatshirt. Under her loose sweatshirt, her pistol was tucked into her jeans. As she walked through the liquor store aisle, she waited for a couple of customers to clear out. Her plan was simple - she would approach the cashier, pull the pistol, grab the cash from the drawer and run. Over the last two weeks, she'd spent a fortune on clothes and bribing people at the prison, and she could use this extra money. Greg was home and sleeping. He came home after his shift and told her about how he had followed her orders. About how he escorted the trustee then waited while the trustee had sex. Only the trustee hadn't blown John. Then Greg discovered afterwards that John was now impotent and the trustee couldn't get him aroused. So the trustee had pushed John onto the bed face down, pulled down his trousers and butt fucked him. John didn't resist or cry out. When the trustee had signaled to Greg to let him out, John's naked white butt was still sticking up in the air. Greg told Andrea how he had cried while he unfastened the handcuffs, while John stared straight ahead, his face buried in the pillow. The next time that Greg made his rounds, John was dressed and sitting in his corner on the floor, smoking his cigar although it wasn't smoking hours; his strong cigar smoke filling the corridor. Neither of them said a word although one of the other prisoners complained about the obvious smoking violation. Andrea recognized the hurt that Greg was experiencing and quickly pulled him into her arms, using sex to make him forget and to sleep. And as he slept, she packed her car with her clothes. This game was over, the trustee had fucked up and it appeared to be the time for her to move on. It was too bad, but there was no way they could continue with their living arrangement now, not after what had happened. She would miss living with Greg, he'd been a great lay, and had really known how to make a woman cum multiple times. Andrea shivered slightly as she thought about going back home and climbing back into bed with him, but she knew that living with Greg much longer would be similar to marriage. And she was too young, beautiful, sexy and had a full life ahead of her, to let herself get married now. She watched the last customer pick up his purchase and she timed her approach to the cash register. Placing a bottle picked at random from a shelf, she watched as the cashier rang up her purchase, then picked up the twenty-dollar bill she laid on the counter. As his cash drawer opened, she reached under her loose sweater and pulled her pistol out of her jeans. ****** Balancing himself on the limb, Jeff Conway leaned against the tree and wrapped the rope around his waist, tying himself to the tree so that he couldn't accidentally fall out. He was experienced with finding "comfortable" branches and sitting in trees for hours, waiting for the deer to wander within range of his hunting rifle. But tonight was different. He was using the equipment and ropes that he purchased for deer hunting, to support him as he sat in the upper branches of a tree staring in the upper bedroom windows of the old farmhouse. He was two hundred feet away but his powerful binoculars made it look as if he was only thirty feet away from the window. He opened his bag and removed the new camcorder from his hunting bag. Focusing on her bedroom window and using his knees to support the camera, he zoomed in on her bedroom windows. She was sitting at a makeup table, wearing only panties as she brushed her long, golden hair. He zoomed in so that he was filming her from the tip of her head to the curvature of her butt as she sat on the stool. She was using the brush with her right hand, and raising her left hand to tease and fluff her hair as she brushed it. Those simple motions frequently exposed her left boob's profile and her quick motions were causing her exposed boob to jiggle as she brushed her hair. A smile lit up Jeff's face as he thought about what Scotty would think when he got out of jail and saw these pictures. ****** The bartender poured another drink for his customer - someone that came in every Friday evening and sat for about three hours before leaving - Mickey somebody. The customer looked like one of those overpaid guys who had been a sports jock for a couple of years after college then switched into public relations when their career went downhill. Classical handsome face, solid wide shoulders, body still kept in shape, expensive suit, manicured fingers, and a company credit card to pay his tab. Wiping a glass as he stood in front of his customer, he asked "How's the job going?" The customer looked up from his glass, then picked up the glass, holding it up in the air, as he declared "Don't ever sign a contract based upon product delivery We're two months behind schedule and my wife is on the east coast in a rustic farmhouse and I'm sitting here. I've decided to start scheduling a flight home every weekend so I can spend a couple of days with her every week until this job is finished. It'll be expensive, but my wife is worth it." ****** The unkempt, scruffy-looking man carried his new bag of charity clothes back to the bunk bed that'd been assigned to him by the charity. The room was a bay full of bunk beds filled with homeless men. Men that looked very similar to this man with their charity provided clothes. The man selected a pair of jeans, a shirt, some underwear, and the toilet kit, knowing that the other people here in this shelter would probably go through his meager belongings while he was in the shower. Marching straight to the bathroom, he stood in front of the mirror staring at the heavy salt and pepper beard that covered the unkempt face staring back at him. Glancing into the small toilet kit that the charity workers had just given him, he selected the razor. Holding it up as he stared at it, he mumbled to himself "Andrea Bell, you've shaved your legs before so shaving a face can't be any worse." ****** The restaurant was a small, family type Italian restaurant. Outside the private dining room, stood two men in suits, watching everyone that approached the entrance to the private dining room. Inside the room, the air was thick with cigar smoke as three men sat around a table cluttered with dirty dishes that were being removed by their waiter. The men chatted as the waiter cleaned the table and wheeled his cart out of the room. As soon as it was just the three of them alone in the room, the man sitting at the table head asked "So what else does my brother want to do to me?" John Augustus's lawyer glanced at the bodyguard sitting next to Herbert Augustus, feeling reluctant to have witnesses to his betrayal of his long time client. Hesitantly he responded "I've prepared papers to cut you out of the will." Puffing on his large cigar, Herbert asked, "I expected him to do that. And what would happen if those papers were never filed?" "The old will would still be in effect - the one where you inherit half of his money." "Then rest assured that if something happens to my dear sick brother and the old will is the only will that's presented to the judge, that I'll remember your faithful service to my brother and to our family. I rely upon you to make the right decisions, knowing that I've got a long memory and take care of my friends. Thank you for coming by to share my meager supper with me and my friends." Recognizing that he had been given an order and dismissed by the mob leader, the lawyer nodded and left the room. After the door was shut, Herbert turned to his bodyguard and asked "So, Big Al, do you think that this body transfer is going to work for my brother?" "I saw it work for the other convict. If it worked for one, it should work for the other." "Hmmm. I agree that it's possible. So let's see what could happen. My brother could escape his death sentence and wind up in a cunt's body. A young, beautiful cunt from what I've seen in the photographs. Knowing my brother, he'll check on the processing of his will and when he discovers that his last wishes weren't carried out - he'll come looking for someone. And my brother will want revenge. I don't want to spend the rest of my life, hiding out, waiting for the bullet from the darkness to strike me down. Take some of your men and go back to that little town - blend in with the natives as much as possible." Herbert paused for a second thinking about his burley bodyguards trying to blend in with the general country lifestyle population and smirked at the mental image of Big Al wearing bib overalls and chewing tobacco as he held a pitchfork in one hand and a pistol in the other. The only place that Big Al blended in, was in police lineups. Glancing back, he resumed "Find some boys that my brother doesn't know to go with you. You remember Frankie Yarzenbac - he's Mack's boy -I paid to send young Frankie to that fancy college. Tell Mack that I want to see his son - that I've got a job that can use his special talents. He's one of those psychologists that know how to mess with people's minds. We're going to help my brother with his transformation into a healthy, vibrant woman, who keeps her body fit, and is attentive to her appearance instead of messing in my business. We're going to correct his personality and outlook so that he's deferential, affectionate and caring, and incredibly enthusiastic in bed. My new whore brother might need help in finding his true calling to make sure that he doesn't become a feminist bitch. When we're through with my brother and his new cunt body, he'll be too involved with his new life to bother me. I want my brother to enjoy keeping the house clean, and planning and cooking the meals. He'll either be a happy wife to a Virginia farmer with a kid sucking on his new boobs or a two-bit prostitute hooked on drugs, working in one of my houses to pay for her drugs - or he'll be dead." ****** John Augustus lay on his bunk staring at the ceiling. The guards on the midnight shift had confiscated his cigars because of his refusal to comply with the smoking rules. But he didn't care what they did to him. Nothing mattered anymore except to find some way to live as he waited for that day when he could take the herbs that he had hidden in his pepper shaker. He would escape this prison - the prison with the bars holding him in this cell and the prison of his dying body. The drugs had to be the reason why he'd let that man fuck him. He couldn't stand the idea of being laughed at or being thought queer for allowing that rape during a moment of weakness. The additional shock of having an opportunity to have sex and then being unable to perform had something to do with it. Loosing your manhood can shake up your thinking patterns. Looking back in retrospect, John decided that the real reason he allowed it to continue, was because he was bored and it was something out of the ordinary - something to make yesterday different from the many days before. It hadn't been painful - there was a lot of discomfort then a moment of pain followed by a weird sensation of being full. Then the pause in the humping as the trustee's cum flooded deep inside him. Thirty seconds later, there was the sound that he would never forget - the sound of the trustee's zipper being shut. John remembered that he lay on his bed, his butt still up in the air as the trustee waited for the guard to open the door. Then the guard's hands had shook as he removed the handcuffs. Then John rolled up into a fetal position, his trousers still down around his ankle, and stared at the wall. The guard had been Mahoney. Why did he participate? It was something that John never expected from him. ****** The big truck slowed as it approached the exit and pulled over to the side of the road. A moment later the passenger door opened and a man climbed down. As the truck pulled back out onto the Interstate highway, the man walked down the exit ramp, knowing that he had a long walk ahead of him before he got to town. Anyone who knew the former Bob Williams wouldn't easily recognize this hitchhiker. In addition to shaving the gaunt face clean except for a very David Niven thin mustache, Andrea had also shaved the head ala Yul Bryner. She knew that her former captors would be expecting her to return to the farm and would have the place covered. But she was in a dead convict's body with no other place to go. ****** Scotty Walsh drove his rusting pickup up the farm lane, taking his time, looking around as he drove up to the farmhouse. He pulled up beside her little Camaro and shut off his truck's noisy engine. Stepping out of the truck, he walked toward the back door as if he was a man on a mission - purposeful and his attention focused straight ahead at the back porch's screened backdoor. From the corner of his eye, he saw some movement behind the kitchen curtains and tried to hide his smile as he thought about what he was considering doing today. The door opened and Scotty's smile disappeared as a tall, muscular man stepped out on the porch; asking, "Can I help you?" The local bad boy paused as he sized up this unanticipated obstacle, immediately determining that this was probably her previously unseen husband. Nodding to the bigger man as he rubbed his three-day-old beard, Scotty smiled his normal shit- eating grin as he asked "Howdy. Lost a dog back in the woods a couple of days ago. Have you seen a black coon hound with a white throat?" "No, I haven't. Let me ask my wife." He instructed, turning toward the door, he said, "he's looking for a lost dog. Black with white throat missing for the last two days." The husband nodded his head to something that Scotty couldn't hear. Turning his attention back to Scotty, the man said, "No, we haven't seen him. Leave me your phone number and if we find him, we'll call you." Scotty's smile faded into the contemptuous set that his mouth usually displayed "It's 555-1219. Say, would you need any extra help around here? I'm a good handyman and don't mind swinging a paintbrush." "No, thanks. I'm here now and can take care of anything that needs to be done." Scotty nodded acceptance of his dismissal and walked back to the truck. After he backed up the truck, he noticed that the man was still standing on the porch watching him drive away. Reaching for the plastic jug of moonshine on the floorboard, Scotty started thinking about how he was going to spend his day now that his original plans had been changed. ****** "Amen." Ralph raised his head and smiled at his dinner guests that were seated at his dinning room table "Dig in. Martha's a good cook and I've been known to make a fool of myself by eating too much." Candy smiled at the friendly neighbor as she held her plate out to accept the meat that Martha had just sliced for her. She winked across the table to Mickey who was making himself at home as he matched the older man on filling up his plate. As they ate their meals, Mickey said, "Something strange happened today. Some disheveled man in an old green pickup truck came by the house looking for a lost dog. Or so he said. I didn't believe him and turned him away." Martha and Ralph looked at each other's face - she had a look of obvious concern on her normally calm face. Recognizing his responsibility, Ralph cleared his throat and responded as he stared at Candy. "Sounds like Scotty Walsh. He's a local bad boy. While he's never done anything to Martha or me because of our friendship with his father, he's got quite a record of brawling and minor disturbances. I'd suggest that you lock the door and keep it locked if you're the only one around."