02-10-24
THE BIG SWITCH
By Christopher Leeson
Chapter 23
The Narrative of D.C. Callahan, continued
Martin suddenly changed the subject. "In the office, you said you loved me. I was so shocked that I didn’t realize that I should have told you that I loved you, too."
"You told me. In your Honda. Yesterday morning. But I didn't believe you."
"Why not?"
"I thought you were only looking at my body. If I was a fella, and I saw this bonanza of booty, I'd go bonkers, too."
He laughed. "I knew you were beautiful from the first day I set eyes on you. But it never grabbed me as being anything important until I found out what a brave and wonderful person you are, especially on the inside."
I looked away. Would I always have to put up with guys telling me mushy, embarrassing things?
His fingers closed around my wrist. "Too often folks don't level with the people that they care until it's too late. I’m not going to happen with us. Not this time; it's too important."
I shrugged off what he was saying. Who wouldn’t say that to a girl as gorgeous as me?
Just then, Martin put his fingers under my chin and turned my face his way. Suddenly his lips were coming in like a Mustang fighter and I tried to shove him away. "No! You don't know what that smoochy stuff does to me!"
"What I know is that you're a warm and responsive person, and I know that you’re going to do the right thing."
"Maybe, but it's not nice to exploit a guy's weaknesses," I complained.
"So, do you want me to leave?"
"No," I heard myself saying.
That “No” was the most important two-letter word I’d ever spoken before or since. My dad had always told me that a gentleman has to accept a lady's "no" for an answer. And that is exactly what Gentleman Martin did with my no. The next thing I knew he was under the sheet with me.
I sat bolt upright. "Martin, listen . . . !"
"Listen to what?" he murmured, shimmying closer.
"To what I’m saying. This is high risk. I think you should get a box of condoms."
My God! I should have asked him to get just one condom, not a whole case of them! Now I’d given him the wrong impression about me. Oh, blush!
"Don't sweat it, Princess. It’s not like I need a billfold to carry the little money I have around. I’ll go get my wallet."
Before I could offer an opinion, he was off to the living room. A minute later, he came back carrying his wallet. When he pushed down his shorts and started preparing for action, I rolled over, to stare at the wall with eyes as large as saucers.
If felt the mattress sink under Martin’s weight and in a wink he had me in his arms with his hands sliding down to my waist. He must have been an amateur magician, considering how quickly the lech managed to make my briefs disappear!
“Yipes!” I cried out when those fingers of his made contact with my guy-magnet!
"Sheila," he whispered, "is this your first time? I don’t want to be coming on too strong."
This was the moment when I had to either exit by the window or man up and take the medicine. I’d never done the deed as a girl been before, but I was no wimp. I was a man about town who knew how the sausage was made. "You talk too much," I answered. "I can take anything you can dish out!"
Had I really said that, or it is just something that I wished I'd have said?
In a flash, he was lip-nibbling my nipples; I felt his hands riding ‘home on the range” all over over my body. Just when my boobs were beginning to feel extremely well loved, he shifted his weight and pinned my shoulders to the mat, making me sink down into the mattress. I was very curious about finding out what a girl feels, but asphyxiation was something that I could do without.
Though startled at having his weight on top of me, instinct told me to lie still and let things happen. And what happened next was that something long, warm, and hard skittered across my thigh.
I couldn't help but lurch. This was getting fast and furious awfully quick!
Martin used a ton of foreplay to calm me down and he soon had me purring like a kitten. His hands were still doing their thing all over my body. It was like they could talk. I mean, they were telling me to relax and spread my thighs. My whole life seemed to flash before my eyes just then. What a sensation! Without my yet being brought to the proper mental state, a well aimed thrust let me know that I wasn't in Kansas anymore!
"Ay-yi-yi!" I yelped.
"You feel good, Sheila," he was whispering into my year."
"Yeah, ooooh." That was all I could say. Two words. One slang, one not even in the dictionary. Those were two words that were telling Martin Dewitt deed that he had just received title to my body and soul.
Like the pioneer he was, he began to develop his property. He started going up and down like a windmill with a big job ahead of it.
My dad had told me that if you find something you like to take more than you think you need, because a person always needs more than he thinks. I was doing that on pure instinct because I capable of putting me need into a coherent thought.
What I did know was that this was no Romeo and Juliet thing; this was an Operation Barbarossa! What Martin was doing to me was making my mind spun like a quarter on its edge. I'd lost all control and was running on automatic.
For about a quarter hour, we did everything that could be done with two bodies -- biting and clawing, kissing, licking. When that woman thing, that rush of pleasure, came, my brain went totally blank. What a man feels only in his Johnson, was was feeling all through my body. My hips jerked repeatedly and my nipples felt as hard as pen points. My mouth, wide open, gulped for air; my tears were in competition with Angel Falls. I must have swooned before the sea stopped surging, but when I got my wits back the two of us were wrapped in one another's arms. I snuggled up to Martin's fantastic hard body, feeling tingly all over . . . .
THE BIG SWITCH, Chapter 24
The General Narrative Continued….
Martin and Sheila had to do a lot of shucking and jiving for the next few days, but once the alien affair had finally been put to rest, the two of them got a needed rest and set their minds to making a new start on the rest of their lives.
Sheila had started wheedling -- not quite nagging -- for Martin to start dressing like "a real detective." Martin, because he already thought of himself as a real detective, dug in his heels against the idea until Sheila had put on the table a deal that he couldn't refuse: If he'd loosen up and start dressing like a real detective, she'd start dressing like a real detective's secretary.
"I thought you were already doing that," Martin had said. "I’d say that your office style is something that can't be improved upon."
Sheila gave no reply, just flashed him a smile that seemed to say, "You ain't seen nothin' yet, big boy!"
Martin was made curious enough about that reply to experiment with the idea of dressing like Nick Baxter. He had plenty of choice items from D.C.'s old wardrobe to draw from, and accessories were plentiful at the Goodwill store. Though he still disliked ties and the hats, he really liked the outfits that Sheila was coming up with. The two of them looked like a cover painting from Spicy Detective. And the change of fashion proved to be good for business. Clients didn't mind cooling their heels in the waiting room, not with Sheila wearing a tight mini-dress and plying them with steaming hot joe.
At the moment, Martin sat watching Sheila filing documents, bent over the lowest drawer of the file cabinet. She presented a wonderful view. "Don't you feel it, sexy?" he finally asked.
"Feel what?"
"Don't you feel a sort of ... presence...around this office? I'd swear that D.C. was still in here with us. It's like he's so close that I could reach out and touch him."
And he did reach out and touch something just then -- the snug stretch of her miniskirt.
Sheila, straightening, set aside her filing and looked his way admonishingly. "You've got to let go of the past, Martin. D.C.'s gone; we both have to go on without him."
The P.I. met Sheila's gaze quizzically. "Is that what you've done? Have you let go of your own past?"
"Yeah. That's what I've done. Why not? The past was never mungo on its best day, was it?"
Martin sighed and rested back into his swivel chair. "Maybe not. But the world is still a mess! Think of it! The government is full of human-hating infiltrators, obsessed with money, sex, and power –"
His secretary laughed. "What you're describing is politics as usual, Martin."
"I wish I could be as cool about problems as you are, baby."
Sheila stepped so close their legs touched. "I think you're plenty cool, too, big guy. Maybe even as cool as – well, as Kari Lake."
"Well, that a cool dame, I admit, but I don't exactly see myself in the Kari Lake image."
"I mean that she is another person with with her head on straight," Sheila said. “But forget about that. We’ve got something important to talk about."
He regarded her keenly.
To his surprise, the girl slithered onto his lap.
"You sure know how to get my attention, sweet stuff,” he said. “What do you want to talk about?" Then a terrible thought struck him. "Oh, Christ! Don't tell me you're pregnant!"
She swatted his cologned hair with an open palm. "No way! I'm not really for kids -- at least not yet."
"Then what is it?"
"I worry about you! You've been working too hard."
"Sure I have, hon. But, if you notice, I'm making up for it by not charging very much."
"I think it's time you took on a new partner."
"And why do I need a new partner? I don't want to be sharing you with some dude off the street."
She tossed her head. "Business has picked up now that we don't have Adam Schitz in Congress always bad-mouthing us. But more cases means that you've been working all the time. You need a back-up, you need relief."
"Are good help is hard to find."
She shook her head. "Not as hard as you think."
"What? You're not trying to push one of your cousins off on me, are you?"
Sheila was looking excited. "No, I’ve got a much better person in mind. It's somebody who knows the PI setup already."
He smiled. "Somebody like you, maybe?"
Her lips spread wide. "Sharp insight." She tousled his hair, like she thought he was a good boy.
"I'd hate to lose the best secretary that I’ve ever seen. Anyway, you haven't learned much about the gumshoe game just by filing and answering phones."
"I've learned a lot more than you give me credit for," Sheila pressed. "'Think of how it sounds: Dewitt and, uh, Coffin.'"
"More expense! I’ve already had the door glass painted with 'The D.C. Callahan Private Investigating Agency'. A repaint job is going to cost plenty. All the sign painters are unionized."
"We can get a set of rub-on letters at the art shop. They're cheap."
"Too cheap. I'd hate to look tacky! Anyway, the closest art shops have all gone out of business because of street crime."
"Crime can be blown away like dandelion down if we get the right man into office. You just have to have faith," she said.
"He pecked her cheek. "I've got plenty of faith in you, but I'll need time to think about giving you a partnership."
“You might end up with plenty of time to think if we’re not sleeping together.”
“What? You're going into the sexual blackmail thing? I thought you were a higher class dame than that.”
“Life is a rough game.”
“It is! But if you pull a stunt like that we’ll see who'll breaks first!”
“What’s your objection to progress?” Sheila asked. “Didn't I handle myself pretty well with the aliens -- for a dame, I mean. You said that I did."
Martin puckered his cheeks. "Well, I did, didn't I? It must be true then. But the street is a mean place and I can’t stand the idea of you being in danger all the time."
"The way I look at it, danger is my business."
"That’s another habit you picked up from DC. You keep working book titles into your conversation"
"So I’m literate. Sue me. But I haven’t even mentioned the real clincher to my idea.”
“What’s that?”
“If I were your partner, you could stop paying me a salary."
He looked genuinely amazed. "You'd want that?"
"Not especially, but I'm a gambler willing to bet high on the changes of our success."
Martin sighed. "I’m telling you Sheila, you shouldn’t want to get into the P.I. dodge. It's no fun watching a dark building from a stake-out car all through the night."
"As long as we're watching together, we'll do all right."
"Says you! How can we sight all the comings and goings if we're both distracted?"
“We’ll work out a technique. Just think about it.” Sheila kissed him abruptly and went back to her filing.
Martin Dewitt eased back, feeling relieved. He’d much rather have Sheila angling for a partnership than leveling with him on the secret that she’d been keeping for the last several weeks.
From now one, whenever the detective got too swellheaded, he only had to remember how clueless he'd been over those first couple days. It was only when Sheila had gotten up after their first night together that Martin had noticed that she seemed to act lost in her own apartment. He had watched her floundering around looking for things and he had supposed that sex and danger had left her dazzled. But when her difficulty persisted -- at finding the coffee, the cups,the dishes, the pans, and even the spatula -- he began to worry that the terror of the alien encounter had traumatized her. But then another idea started to nag at him.…
What if this woman wasn't the real Sheila? Lately, she hadn't been acting at all like the Sheila whom he had known for almost a year, neither at home nor at the office. Was she an alien? That thought sent a chill through his blood.
But, no, that couldn't be. An alien would have switched with him and/or murdered him by now. On the contrary, this girl had actually killed three aliens -- two of them to save his life. Besides, the spacemen always took with them not only the body but also the memories of their victims, making them perfect impostors. So why were there so many little things that this version of Sheila Coffin didn't seem to know?
If Sheila wasn't Sheila or an alien, could she be some ordinary person, one whom the aliens had switched into a new body for some reason?
But if that were the case, who could she be? Why was she pretending to be Sheila instead of admitting to her true identity? Martin tried to reason it out. What, exactly, might be stopping her from coming clean? Whoever this person was, she couldn't be just somebody off the street. She knew plenty about Callahan and Dewitt's everyday business.
Suddenly, a light went on.
Oh, God!
Martin, saying nothing, made an excuse to get out of Sheila’s proximity so he could spend the rest of the day alone. For hours, he simply shuffled around the city park, kicking at the pop cans in the grass, trying hard to come up with some alternative theory that would cancel out the one he had. By early afternoon, he’d decided that it wasn't possible to deny the truth any longer.
D.C. Callahan was alive!
D.C. Callahan was Sheila Coffin, and she'd remain Sheila Coffin for the rest of her life!
As soon as he accepted that idea as a fact, so many more things began to make sense!
The poor guy. He was keeping mum out of sheer humiliation.
But what should Martin himself be thinking about it? And why couldn't he shake the idea that it wasn't actually that much of a tragedy after all?
No! In fact, it was something good. Very good. Callahan was still alive! On the other hand, Martin Dewitt felt bothered by his own feelings about Sheila Coffin. Even now, knowing the truth, he couldn't turn those feelings off. Part of him was actually angry with D.C. for letting him fall in love with her -- him! Why had he – she-- let him treat her the way that he'd been treating her?
Well, he thought, it might just be that she was suffering from the same loss of sexual control that had overwhelmed Adam Schitz? It might be nothing personal.
Did that mean that Sheila didn’t actually feel anything special for him?
Anguishing brought him no answers. Instead, Martin began to cheer up again. Having Callahan still alive and kicking overrode everything else. It was like the dark and terrible avenue he'd been following had turned into a street with all its light posts lit. Wasn't the truth, as he now saw it, something to cheer about?
He started walking back to Sheila’s apartment.
Although he had intended to go back to his own digs right after checking on her, that damned chemistry they’d been sharing came alive as soon as he laid eyes on her again. Soon it had the two of them under the covers again. But Dewitt was a conflicted man and it showed in his lovemaking. When Sheila asked him why he was holding back, Dewitt could only yammer something about suffering from delayed shock.
By the third night, without any real effort on his part, Martin's original passion for Sheila had revived, but a sense of awe at the situation yet clung to him. His hostess, sensing it, had asked: "Are you making love to me, Martin, or is this some kind of worship service?"
The fourth time was the charm. The dark past faded under the bright light of the future. Martin was working his way toward forgiving himself. He had never had the hots for either Callahan or for the original Sheila. This person with him now was someone totally new and she was an absolutely wonderful...girl...gutsy, knowledgeable, caring -- and she had a personality that could make him laugh without even trying.
Martin kept asking himself if it was possible to love her knowing what he knew. Was this strange, urgent, and powerful thing inside of him really love? Martin tried other terms -- happiness, completion, satisfaction, contentment, attainment -- but none of them hit the spot like the word love did. If this wasn’t love, then love a thing absolutely beyond his ability to understand.
But that was then and this is now. Martin was holding this person, the new Sheila, in his arms, able to feel her heart beating. So far, he didn’t resented her lack of candor about her true identity. In fact, if keeping the secret made things easier for her, it everything easier for Martin, also. But Dewitt didn't suppose that D.C. would want to keep him in the dark forever. Even so, it worried him that her confession might change their relationship. Would those old ghosts from their past come fluttering up to get between the two of them?
He sighed. Until the moment of reckoning arrived, he didn’t intend to obsess about it. Martin's game plan was to keep doing his level best to make D.C. -- to make Sheila -- as happy as possible. He was hoping that she would decide that running into the aliens was the happiest day of her life.
"Do you love me, pudding?" Martin's partner suddenly murmured.
"Ah-huh," he whispered, inhaling the perfume placed with feminine precision behind her ear. Simultaneously he enjoyed the tickle of her hot breath on his neck.
"How much?"
"Much, much, Princess. Now let me taste that ruby lipstick of yours again; I'm still trying to figure out whether its flavor is cherry or strawberry."
"If you like it that much, maybe I should paint my whole body with it," she offered huskily.
The two of them kept on smooching, oblivious to time, until the clock in the tower hit noon. They would take a break. A special meal at the nearby Burger King would be able to restore their energy and give them the pep necessary to pick up where they'd left off.
THE END
