Mourning Dew -- Chp. 7

Chapter 7 –

Two men working at a library in Memphis met up in a break room. “Langely called and left us a message.”

“What did they say?”

“The trail is going to lead to our free lancer soon.”

“That isn’t good for our business, is it?”

“We have to neutralize him as soon as possible. He is becoming a liability for the company and could compromise a crucial relationship.”

“Sort of like Siegel?”

“No, far worse. He isn’t just a braggart. Or even like that idiot creator of The Gong Show. He has dirty blood soaked hands and could well prove to be an international embarrassment to enterprises he has touched. We can’t taint our corporate image.”


“Well, we can’t take him out if that is what you imply. No, this is best left to the cleaning crew. They will know what to do and how to do it.”

“Have they been engaged to clean up the mess?”

“As of an hour ago. The board of directors has voted to disavow his contract with us and disentangle our relationship with him in as discrete a manner as possible with no lose ends.”

“So, is there a delivery package for me then?”



Fairview High’s teacher’s lounge was typical. Plain and ordinary. A coffee pot with the kitty jar for buying more coffee. And a microwave and a refrigerator to keep the teacher’s lunch for the day. But, it kept the teacher’s sanity intact. It was a room sans students and their chatter. Which meant the teachers could chatter about.

“How are your students this year, Michael?”

“They are typical. My English classes are filled with the usual immature raging hormones. The boys trying to read the girls and not crack the books. The girls pretending to read while enjoying the attention. And the teacher caught in the middle.”

“Well, I have this one student who is a real interesting character. She moved back here recently from Mexico. She has really read a book instead of just pretending to read it. I am going to love having her in my history class.”

“Was it Jean Laignaux?”

“Oh, you know about her! She is real bright and I get the feeling that she doesn’t need us. I thought she was getting answers from her phone on the first day’s sample quiz, so I asked her questions about where things were. She knew where Wounded Knee Creek was for crying out loud. She accurately knew where the Strait of Magellan was. She could point to where the battle of Hastings was fought. I threw in the battles of Agincourt, Bosworth Field, Battle of the Bulge, and the Battle of Midway too. Switching gears on her, she traced the route of Lewis and Clark with reasonable accuracy, was able to identify countries in Africa, South American, and in Far East Asia.”

“Tell me about it. I have her for Algebra I. The class before hers is Trigonometry. One student asked another what the definition of a general solution was. Jean answered. And, she was correct. I mean, she is just starting Algebra. She ought not to even understand that concept yet let alone know about it.”

“From what I hear, she could easily advance a couple of grades.”

“I wonder why she doesn’t?”

Principal Clayton intervened, “Because her parents want her to have the benefit of going to high school, she is content to be where she is. She has been home schooled for a long time now. Apparently, she is a very good student, but needs help socializing with other children her age because of having lived in Mexico for so long.”

“Well, I love having her as a student. She is well behaved and participates well in class. Even more, she is developing quite a relationship with a certain boy too. I think they are falling in love. C’est l’amour, n’est pas ?”

Her biology teacher, Mrs. Dodson, thought for a moment, “Still, something is oddly familiar about her. I used to teach a 3rd grade boy named Camy Laignaux back when I taught elementary school before I got married.”

“Isn’t that the boy that got kidnapped?”

“Yes. Sad case that. He was only a student of mine for a little over a month before he disappeared. I hardly had the chance to get to know him.”

“Did they ever find him?”

“I haven’t heard anything. But it is interesting that this girl shares the same name almost.”

Principal Clayton stepped in. “Yes, they are the same family and the same parents who had a boy kidnapped. In any event, Jean’s parents are no longer with us and the Laignaux’s have adopted her as their own. It turns out that Jean is a cousin. Which should explain why Jean and Sally Larson look almost identical.”


Jean locked her door and went into the bathroom to prep her glass dildos. Her mom was well aware why she locked the door and removed into a private area three times a week. Her dilatation was the continued price of being a girl in addition to HRT that would follow her the rest of her life. It wasn’t so much a chore as it was a constant reminder of what she once was. Every so often, during her dilation, she would sometimes try to remember what it was like to have a penis. To stand and pee. The memory had long since faded. The high maintenance of her sex was worth it she had been told again and again by her captor.

In the beginning, Mr. Jack would supervise the ‘Blessed Time’ as he came to call it. He kept telling her that it was a blessing to her future lover and spouse as well as to her. That she was really doing it for them and not her. The Blessed Time was a duty and that duty was good and proper.

Realizing that for the rest of her life that she was condemned to use a sex toy on herself on a regular basis, she had come to understand how important it was that she made the decision by herself, not some stranger using a protocol to reassign her sex. She did resent that part enormously even if being a girl was something she enjoyed.

But now, this session took on a whole different twist. She stripped below the waist and looked at herself in the mirror. Her pubic hair covered her sex. She realized she looked like a woman in every respect. A woman that she hoped any man would find desirable and sexy. She pulled out a special water proof blanket and spread it on her bed. She lubed her sex and inserted the smaller appliance into herself gently. After five years, this process was now routine. She tensed and relaxed her muscles getting ready for the larger one. After about five minutes of getting warmed up, she lubed up the longer appliance and inserted it noting the depth was a little over eight inches now spreading the lubrication inside her first which got her ready for the final appliance. Finally, she inserted the 38 mm device that did the dirty work of dilation. She would have to ask the doctor if this was the correct procedure. It was what Mr. Jack taught her.

While marking the time on a clock to time her session, she started to think about Hank and his dreamy eyes. She longed for him to kiss her. She wondered what it would be like to have his hands all over her body and for him to kiss her passionately. Without thinking, she reached up and massaged her breasts giving special attention to her now erect nipples. They responded with incredible sensation. Her breathing deepened and she found herself panting as she traced with her finger her protruding nipples that pushed through her blouse. Almost without thought, she leaned forward and took of her blouse and sports bra. Little by little, she forgot about the duty she was supposed to focus on during the Blessed Time and began to translate the experience into a foreshadowing of real sex with a man. As she was about to complete her time, she moved the appliance in and out then rubbed the heel of her palm on her sex. The other hand continued to massage her breasts. Thoughts of Hank taking off her clothes and seeing him delight in her sexy body were peculating in her head. But, when she had thoughts about what his rock hard appendage might look like, her bubble burst in an explosion of quivering release that enveloped her entire corps and pleased it no end such that it shuddered like an earthquake.

For the first time in recent memory, the Blessed Time really lived up to its promise.

As she cleaned up quickly and got dressed, she said to herself with a smile and a bit of pride in her powerful reaction, “No turning back now. I know how to get my penis back. Borrow it.”

A knock came at her door. “Honey, are you okay?” Her Mom sounded concerned but also a little amused.

Having put on her pajamas quickly, Jean opened the door a crack, “Yes Mom. Sorry.”

“Well, next time, do what I used to do when I was your age.”

Awkwardly blushing, Jean stumbled out a simple interrogative. “W-what?”

Her mom winked and whispered, “Use a pillow to keep the noise down.”


His room looked the same, but something didn’t feel right. After a long nights work reworking how the city morgue worked, Paul just wanted to go to bed. But, when he entered his house, it seemed, somehow, like it had been violated. As he walked around his house, he carefully noted the look of everything. Something was out of place, but he couldn’t remember what. Finally, after thirty minutes of searching, he gave up.

Switching into his pajamas, he went to his laptop and opened a secure window into an email service. Opening an email from his contacts in Mexico, he read a short and loaded message, “Matter disposed of that we talked about. Now need your skills asap as payment. Individual needs a change. When can you come soonest?”

Flipping through his day planner, he wrote back, “Provided the need only takes a day and a half, I can come next week. Limited to El Paso though. And, I can’t come unless there is a good cover story.” He clicked send.

A moment later, he heard back. “Agreed. #06-384”

Paul looked up #06-384 in his files, which was a teenage male that was found in 2006 near Deming, New Mexico. He then booked a flight to El Paso. Next, he wrote Kevin a quick note. “Hey Kevin, I have a lead on a possible name for one of the set of bones I was assigned to identify. I will be out of town for two days next week during my ‘weekend’ off. Just letting you know in case there is an emergency need for me. Thanks, Paul.”

Paul climbed into bed and fell asleep right away.


“Ladies, these are your lockers. You have each been assigned a locker for this period. We expect you to take your uniforms home each week and wash the stink out of them. We also expect you to have extra undergarments in case it is that time of the month.” Coach Manson handed each girl a card with a combination on it. “These are for your lockers. Don’t lose them or give the combo out. We have keys to get into your locker should you forget your combo. Every Friday, your locker will be cleared out at the end of class and open for inspection at the end of class. That way the staff can clean the lockers during the weekend. Is this understood?”

Shelley smirked at her combo and said to Jean. “I have an easy one.”

“Get dressed ladies and meet me out at the basketball court.”

Jean looked around. All the girls were getting changed. It startled her to see them strip naked. She had never seen anyone other than herself and a few village girls half naked. And seeing the village girls was before any of them had boobs. It was, to be certain, every boys wet dream to be in here. But, after being around these girls, she smiled realizing that being in here had no effect on her desires sexually.

The girls were in all sorts of shapes and sizes. Frankly, it was dull. She put on her cotton underwear and sports bra. Then her top and shorts. Then came the crew socks. She hated that she couldn’t wear ankle socks, but the school insisted on tall socks that covered the ankle at least. She pulled her hair back and put a scrunchy on it. After changing, she put all of her clothes and backpack into the locker. She was mindful about putting the combo in her pocket, but memorized it first.

Jean was surprised that they weren’t going to play basketball. Instead, the first nine weeks was going to be volleyball. She hadn’t played it before, but it sounded fun.

The first order of the day was for them to do drills to teach the various techniques used in volleyball. Serving, spiking, setting, bumping, and spiking. Jean loved playing with the other girls and was surprised by how well she did. She wasn’t the best, but she wasn’t the worst either.

While standing in line to do a set as the coach instructed us, Jean was watching a junior or senior boy practice basketball in the court nearest them. He had his shirt off and was twirling the ball on his index finger to show off to the other guys. She was admiring how strong he was and his six packs. He was handsome too. All smiles and confident. Suddenly, a ball bounced off her head launched by the coach who was smiling at her reason for distraction. “Wake up girl! You can’t play volleyball if you are smitten by the basketball players!”

The class giggled. Jean smiled and blushed. Sharon, who was behind her in line, said, “Isn’t he a dream! Bet he would never show us any interest. We are just freshman.” Jean looked back over to the boy briefly and asked herself what would be to be held by him? What would he smell like? What would it be like to be kissed by him? After the last question, Jean turned her attention back to the class. She didn’t want to be called out again.

At the end of the class, the hardest part for her was the quick shower she needed to take with the other girls. The surprise was how few of the girls actually took a shower. The locker room seemed bathed in perfume rather than steam from the shower. Nevertheless, Jean took a quick shower, toweled off, and got dressed. Jean smiled at the fact that no one accused her of being a boy or even thought she looked manly. Of course, no one noticed her patch either which in a sense could have given it away. At least that she was on an HRT program. It was a great relief and bode well for the year.

As she closed her locker, Jean was startled back into reality when a kind voice behind her said, “Ginger Ann, got a moment?”

Jean turned and saw what was now a familiar face. “Oh, hi Phyllis! Sure.”

“Hey, the girls and I have been talking. I don’t know if you would be interested, but have you ever thought of trying out for the cheerleading squad?”

Jean sat down on a bench next to her locker. She was totally taken back by the question. “No, Phyllis. Not really. I don’t think I am pretty enough or talented enough to be a cheerleader. They are so perfect.”

Phyllis couldn’t help but smile. She sat down next to Jean. “Think about it. I know you would enjoy it. And it would be a way for you to get to know other people.”

“Well, I guess I should ask about it. I know nothing. I just see these cute girls running around in these darling outfits. And ...” Phyllis could tell by her face that she was open to doing it.

“Look, I know this is all new to you. But, that is what makes it special. The girls on the cheerleading squad aren’t stuck up. And they don’t want perfect. They even have a Down syndrome cheer leader. They heard about you being teased for not having a cell phone and not knowing anything about modern technology. And, they have observed how kind and considerate you are to others around you. I think you would enjoy becoming a cheer leader.”

“Thanks. I will think about it. How does one join?”

“There are going to be tryouts next Wednesday. I can come along and support you if you would like.”

“Oh yes. Thank you very much. I would very much appreciate it.”


Jason pulled out his notebook with pencil at the ready. “Hello, Mr. Laignaux?”

“Yes, may I ask who is calling?”

“Jason Mandrake of the Little Rock Herald. I am doing research on old stories and came across the disappearance of your son Camille. I was wondering if you had any updates.”

“Not right now. Or, should I say, ‘No Comment.’ Because of the nature of the case, we are referring all media to my attorney, Mr. Oscar Litner, phone number 555-3412. It is more for the family’s sanity than anything else. I hope you understand. If you want to arrange an interview and find out more, please go through him first.”

“I understand. In the meantime, I gather there is nothing new to report.”

Cam related his carefully scripted words for the reporter, “Nothing worth reporting, I am afraid. I wish I could tell you more.”

“Thank you very much for your time. And, I am sorry for your loss.” Jason hung up the phone. His years in newspaper work told him something was up. He just couldn’t put a finger on it. He replayed Cam’s remarks in his mind. The seemed sensible enough. Cam sounded resigned and no longer in denial. It was, if anything, a very cordial phone conversation. But, still, it bothered him. Maybe it was the contact from this mysterious informant that gave him pause.

“Hello, Officer Bishop?”


“I finally get a hold of you at last. This Jason Mandrake of the Little Rock Herald. Can I ask you a few questions about the Laignaux kidnapping case?”


“Are you the officer in charge now?”


“I talked to Mr. Laignaux this morning and he reports that there are no new developments worth reporting. I am just checking our cold case newspaper files and wondering if there has been any changes in the case?”

“Yes and no. Yes, I have been assigned the case as of the beginning of last month. I have been putting fresh eyes on the case to see if I can possibly ferret out something the prior investigators couldn’t. No, there hasn’t been any new developments that are getting us closer to the kidnapper and what happened to the Laignaux boy.”

“That is very interesting.”

The set up was beautiful. Jason would be squirming with the next question. Bishop knew he had to play his cards right. “Is it more than coincidence that you called me Jason? I don’t suppose you have come into information that could help us in our investigation? I have to ask. Because this case is very tough and, as I told a fellow officer the other day about this case, I am grasping at straws.”

“As a matter of fact, there is. Can we meet for lunch and can you promise me an exclusive if I do help.”

“I’d promise you the moon at this point, provided I could get funding for it. This case has me up at night and I am desperate for any new leads.”

“Three O’Clock at the Starbucks near my paper’s offices?”

“The one almost at Main Street and 2nd Avenue?”


“I’ll be there! I know what you look like from your picture at the newspaper.” Bishop hung up the phone.

Bishop’s one regret was that the DA wouldn’t authorize a wire tap. Freedom of the press allowed Jason to operate freely. He looked at the clock and headed over to the FBI office to talk to Agent Morrison about the case.


Paul tossed and turned in his bed. He was having a nightmare about his brother Jack. No, wait, no his sister Jacqueline. She was calling out to him. I am coming, he shouted. She was naked and running away from him not realizing it was him. “I am not Mom or Dad. Don’t run away from me, please! I am here for you! I should have been here for you and not off in India.” he shouted. He was too late in the dream. He found her dead and floating in a lake.

Paul never had friends in school or any other place. He was very close to his brother who would nurture him like a mother when he was growing up and keep the bullies away.

Paul woke up. He was seething in anger. Why did his parents have to destroy the one person in his life who loved him and watched out for him. Someone who knew how important he was to the world and appreciated it. Someone special like his Jack, his Jacqueline was too important to a man like him to leave in the hands of ignorant people like his parents. His brother who became his sister would still be alive today if she had the support to make her transition without parental interference and prejudice.

He looked over his journal notes from his observations, “Because Camille, now Jean, was allowed to transition in a supportive environment, her parents are now accepting her. I observed her walking with her mother. I overheard their conversation using a shotgun mike. Her mom and Jean were having a good conversation about her dating boys and having sex for the first time. This goes to show my method is the correct method. For Jack’s memory, what I am doing will save so many needless grief. I am doing the right thing. I did the right thing. My actions will save so many from wanting to kill themselves. It was worth the high cost.”

Paul smiled at his last paragraph in his journal. “In the future, I will be hailed as a hero, not a villain. The end justifies the means. This is working. Plus, as I had hoped, her sexuality is blossoming. She is becoming sexually active. And using my techniques, she will be forever too afraid to go back home.”

Then he felt so stimulated and aroused, he found pleasure in his own hands thinking about what he was doing to Jean. He then afterward cleaned up after himself. He had not had any in over a month. This shutting down of his usual appetites in Mexico was driving him nuts. He couldn’t wait to get back to where he would have sex on demand. But, he was excited that Camille was final maturing so she would be the one he would have sex with when ever he wanted. That was a nice advantage of the transgirl.

Yes, he thought, she would soon be ripe fruit he could pick and have all to himself. So, not only would it help people like his late sister, but he would have a lovely sex toy who was always ready, didn’t have to stop because of her period, or even could get pregnant. She would be smart. No more of these dumb ignorant Mexican whores he had to have to meet his needs. Not only would he out her, he would take her home to the hills of Argentina where he had already set up a retreat in the mountains. A new prison for her. His work for the cartels had brought him millions. Camille would be his forever because he would have a contract out on her so if she ever left, she would die and so would her family. This reunion only proved to him that he would win and her fear of seeing harm done to her family would over rule her inhibitions and make her his perfect woman.

Camille would be the perfect woman. Compliant and easily controlled. Paul will finally have his intellectual and sexual equal. In addition, he would be able to avenge those like his brother. A win win for him.

Copyright © 2017 by AuP reviner

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