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Memories again burst into my head, this time of the day that David hadsurprised me with the car on Christmas, with one of the stupid redbows like in the commercials. I remembered how excited I was and thethrill of driving it to the beach that night, and of giving him atwenty minute-long blowjob in the passenger seat.I recoiled. I knew that the memories were Alexa's body's way ofintegrating the new consciousness, and I forced them aside. Still,memories of the taste of semen filling my mouth weren't exactly what Iwas looking for at 715 in the morning. Sex memories were often part ofthe process of integration; my consciousness was decidedly attractedto women, while the brain that inhabited Alexa's body clearly hadopposite preferences and the flow of memories was Alexa's body's wayof trying to reinforce the status quo. I had done plenty ofconsciousness transfers before taking tests for women (and a few withgay men) before so I knew what was happening, but it didn't make thevivid memory of. Her husband paced back and forth. "Can you tell me if there is anything about the man that attacked you that we might be able to use to identify him?" Janine began. "No, he had a stocking over his head; he was medium build and wore jeans and a Hoodie; that's all I remember," Michele answered. 'He had a nice thick long cock; a lot bigger than my husband's,' she thought but obviously didn't say. "Ok; his voice?" "Gruff, but I think he was putting the voice on; it didn't sound natural," Michele said. Janine glanced briefly at Mike; the other women reported that the Pantyhose Stalker had a similar inflection in his voice. Brusque but forced; like it was artificial. "And he didn't undress you?" "Christ! Do you have to go into all the gory details!" Harold Bouvier interrupted. "Mister Bouvier, we have to get all of the details we can if we are going to catch this man," Janine Munner said forcefully. Mike Harris had a huge erection that he was hiding under the legal pad he had placed in his.
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’ ‘No, really… what were you… reading? Yea, not reading… What were you looking at?’ ‘It’s not polite to read over someone else’s shoulder… let alone torment them about it.’ ‘What’s wrong with trashy romance?’ ‘Nothing, moving on.’ ‘Are you sure it wasn’t a girly magazine?’ he hassled, hanging on Rude as his hair dripped a bit onto Rude’s trouser leg. The bald man elbowed him away, irritated. ‘No. Quiddit… If you must know, it’s just a collaborative circular… there are many stories in it.’ It was quite obvious Rude wasn’t ready to be chummy. It was also quite obvious that what happened in the bedroom stayed in the bedroom. Reno sunk into an arm chair that sat directly in the corner and combed his fingers through his still loose hair. The chair was facing Rude, who couldn’t have looked any more or less bored with the situation. He chanced their usual verbal camaraderie. ‘At least it got a rise out of you,’ his banter matching the volume of his voice. He was barely breathing as he.

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