Killing Time
Prologue
“For years now, people have been suffering,” Senator Smith intoned. “For years, people have sacrificed, have watched the future grow dim. One question is on everyone’s mind: who is responsible for this?”
The young, up and coming Senator paused for a moment, allowing the crowd to consider the question carefully. “We’ve been fed a lot of lies about this one, of course. But most of us still know who the culprits are – the big banks.” Boos erupted from the crowd at the mention of that word.
“First they crashed our economy with their reckless speculation, then they got bailed out by Joe Taxpayer, now they’re refusing to lend to folks in need. Yet what price have they paid? CEO pay is up 25% this year alone! They’re giving the good life, while they are turning people out of their homes and onto the streets every single day,” the Senator continued. The crowd was again silent.
“Well, I’m here to tell you that, if you elect me as your President, the days of sitting back and taking it are over and done with. If you give me the great privilege of being your leader, I’ll implement a financial transaction tax, to limit reckless speculation. I’ll create a new tax bracket, at double the top rate, for millionaires only. Where will this tax money go, you ask? To the people! I’ll start a massive public works program and put the people back to work in this country!” Wild applause erupted, and signed emblazoned with Smith’s name and logo were waved.
“And I’ll create a government task force to investigate the banks for any crimes that they committed. I promise you, if I’m President, CEOs who cross the line will be in prison! I promise you…” Senator’s Smiths comments were abruptly cut off, mid sentence, by the click of a remote.
“Gentlemen, I don’t need to remind you that Smith is currently on top of the polls for his party’s nomination,” Bob Sherwood, the chairman of the Chamber of Banking Interests, droned ominously to his fellow members seated at the round table. “We’ve all known for quite some time that he’s been our biggest danger.”
“But nothing we’ve done as stopped him,” Lloyd Fielding, seated immediately to Sherwood’s left, opined. “We’ve tried digging up dirt, and he’s clean as a whistle…”
“And we’ve tried to bury him alive in negative ads with stuff we manufactured,” Dougal Sidney, sitting at the far right of the table, added. “Nothing seems to stick with this guy.”
“I’m very aware of all this,” Mr. Sherwood said quickly. “Which is why I’ve decided we might need to take…definitive action.”
“Definitive action?” Mr. Fielding asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?” At that very moment, the door to the boardroom opened.
“Gentlemen, may I present Megan Hunt.” In walked a tall, slender woman with flowing, disctinvely red hair, with the faintest scattering of freckles on her face. She wore a tight-fitting, expensive looking women’s suit and carried a briefcase in one hand.
“Are you a lobbyist?” Mr. Fielding asked, after a long, pregnant pause captured the room.
The woman answered with a throaty, low chuckle that almost seemed out of place coming from such a feminine mouth.
“Ms. Hunt is what we’re going to call a…problem solver.” Mr. Sherwood asserted with a great deal of vagueness.
“But, Mr. Sherwood,” Mr. Fielding whined, “surely you are going to have to explain…”
“I think it is better for everyone,” Mr. Sherwood interrupted, “if we leave it at that. Ms. Hunt is simply going to…solve our problem.” A grim understanding swept the room.
“What you are asking for is difficult,” Megan began, “but not impossible. But naturally, for a job like this, the price is going to reflect the challenge of the task at hand.”
“Well, that’s why I’ve invited you here. I wanted to make sure we are all committed to this, and negotiate your payment...”
“I’m committed,” Mr. Sidney responded quickly. The other men followed suit. Mr. Fielding spoke last, and looked nervous, but he too voiced his opinion in the affirmative.
“Then it’s settled,” Mr. Sherwood said with a slight smile. “Now, Ms. Hunt, the associate who introduced us informed me that your fee for your most recent job was seven figures. We are prepared to triple that.”
“My last job,” Megan Hunt began, “wasn’t someone who is currently under constant protection by the Secret Service.”
“Very well.” Mr. Sherwood said calmly. “Five million, then.”
“Let me show you something,” Ms. Hunt said as she opened her briefcase and pulled out several folders. “Last election cycle, your organization collectively spent $32 million on lobbying and campaign contributions.”
A bead of sweat started to make it’s way down Mr. Sherwood’s face. “We can’t commit that kind of money. Thirty two million! Let’s be reasonable...”
“I never asked for thirty two. I simply pointed out what your organization has been willing to spend in the past to influence the political process. Half of that amount would be acceptable,” Megan said calmly.
“Sixteen million?” Mr. Sherwood asked. “What could you possibly need...”
“If I do what you’re asking,” Megan interrupted, “It will be my last job, ever. I’ve have to disappear for good. Besides, the candidate for President you backed last time lost. With me you leave nothing to chance.”
“Wait just a minute,” Mr. Sidney said. “As we all know from those commercial disclaimers, past performance is no guarantee of future results. There’s no way for us to know for sure you’ll succeed.”
“That’s true. Which is why you’re going to pay me half now, half when the job is finished,” Megan responded. There was a brief period of quiet murmuring around the table.
“Done. Eight million now, eight more if you succeed,” Mr. Sherwood said.
“When I succeed,” she corrected him. “These are my offshore bank details. I expect the eight million to be there within 52 hours.” With that, she turned and confidently strutted out of the room.
Chapter One:
Megan Hunt returned to her modest apartment, first dusting the door for fingerprints to see if anyone had checked in on her while she was out. Once inside, she activated a small EMP device disguised as her gaudy wristwatch to short circuit any surveillance devices that might have been planted. Her laptop, encased in a lead shield in her safe, was the only electronic device she owned.
Megan was nothing if not careful. She knew that there was still some possibility that they would change their minds and the deal was off. She knew that even if she finished the job, there was a high probability that they’d decide not to pay her the remaining half of her reward, knowing that she’d have few avenues to contest the terms of their arrangement. That was why it was so important to get half right away.
She also knew that a significant portion of the money would have to go to expenses related to the job, relocation out of the country, bribes for sneaking the money in without getting noticed, expenses for setting up a “small business” to launder the money, and finally, taxes and deductions to be taken out of the “income” from such a business venture. Still, if she invested wisely and lived relatively modestly, what remained of her eight million would be more than enough to live comfortably for the rest of her life.
The money came through at 51 and a half hours after her meeting, and Megan wasted no time in getting to work. Within a few hours of research and some well placed phone calls, she found out that the Senator had almost been assassinated twice before. One would be killer tried to snipe him from the roof of a tall building, while another had tried to poison his food. Both of these attempts were kept under wraps, but as a result, Smith now was taking extraordinary precautions. From talking to a vendor for a stadium he had used for a rally, Megan learned that he never spoke at an event with any buildings or potential vantage points. She also heard from others that he would only travel by private jet or armored car, and that he subjected everything he ate to the highest level of scrutiny.
A few hours later, Megan called her favorite illegal weapons manufacturer, whom she was hoping would give her a few creative solutions to this increasingly complex job.
“That guy is one of the most protected people in the United States,” Boris said in his thick accent, after she revealed her target’s name. “ Aside from the President and the VP, I can’t think of anybody else. How much of a budget have you got?”
“Right now, eight million,” Megan said, her leg shaking a little with nerves. Boris whistled.
“I always hesitate to turn away a customer, but you’ve been very good to me over the years, so I’m going to be honest with you. Have you considered taking the money and running?”
For a brief moment, Megan pondered the enormity of the task at hand and considered his proposition. She had a fake passport, contacts in Thailand that could get her plastic surgery...she might be able to disguise herself to look like just about any ordinary person. Nobody would know who she was, nobody would suspect that there was a killer living in their midst...she could just vanish.
Then again, if she didn’t take care of Senator Smith, she knew the “banksters” would hire someone else. And whoever that person would be, they’d have two jobs: hunting Smith and hunting her.
“Boris, I’ve got to do this,” she said at last.
“It’s your decision,” Boris said with a long sigh. “Come on down, and we’ll see what we can find for you.”
“Sure thing,” Megan replied. “I was feeling hungry anyway,” she said, and hung up the phone.
A few minutes later, Megan made her way to the downtown, arriving at the Russian restaurant Vozrast Progressiy. It was an exorbitantly expensive place Boris used to set up meetings and disguise the true source of his income.
“It is good to see you again,” her young, very Eastern European stereotypical-looking waitress said upon seeing Megan at her regular table.
“It’s always good to be here, Tanya,” Megan responded. “I’ll have my usual.” After a lengthy interlude, the waitress brought over some hot Schci cabbage soup and a liver tort.
The food was excellent, but Megan tried not to make a habit out of eating it too often. Aside from the overly inflated prices, the food itself was very high in calories. Whenever she left the place, she always felt like she had put at least a pound or two. In addition, it was incredibly salty and dried out her skin. She swore when she woke up the next day after eating there, she looked a year older in the mirror.
When she had at least finished her meal, Tanya re-appeared, and it was time to see Boris.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked.
“What types of caviar does your boss have on reserve today?” Megan’s question was the password to see Boris.
“Ah, well, let’s get you down to his private anti-chamber and you two can discuss it,” Tanya said, and they headed to the back of the restaurant. Megan always disliked walking through the kitchen: after stuffing herself to near the bursting point full of the pungent cuisine, smelling it being prepared in full force was a bit much.
She finally reached the back of the kitchen, and Tanya entered a code on a keypad next to a steel re-enforced door. With a whir and a hiss of air escaping, the door opened, and Megan entered. There was nothing in the room except for a wrought iron, steep looking spiral staircase heading into the basement level.
Chapter Two:
Boris was near the bottom of the stairs to greet Megan with a chuckle and a strong hug. The mammoth of a man’s bushy beard scratched the side of her face as he nearly crushed her in his arms.
“Ouch,” Megan complained as he let her go. “What was that for?”
“You’re one of my best customers, Megan, and with what you’ve got ahead of you, I might never see you again,” Boris replied, a glint in his eye.
“You’re not exactly the beacon of hope and encouragement I was hoping for,” Megan said a bit defensively as she walked towards the shelves in the dank basement. Boris’s ‘private caviar room,’ was likely the largest cache of illegal weapons in the city, and thanks to his ingenious cover, few suspected him. This meant he could operate with the calm comfort of knowing an arrest warrant wasn’t just around the corner, but there were downsides to his well kept secret. He only had a few customers, so prices were high.
“What do you have that’s new?” Megan asked.
“You’re lucky you called, I’ve got some toys that are probably going to be sold quick,” Boris said, slipping into his salesman mode. “Perfect for a special case like this.”
“Well, out with it then,” Megan said. “What have you got for me?”
Boris pulled a remote from the tool belt wrapped around his massive waist and pressed a few buttons, causing the shelves to rotate and show different weapons. Automatic rifles were replaced with antique knives and daggers, which were in turn replaced with sniper rifles.
“No,” Megan said simply. “He’s taking precautions against that.” She similarly rejected a rotation of explosive devices, saying only “I am not a terrorist.”
“You’re going to have to make this up close and personal, then,” Boris said. “But you’ve got to have an escape plan...” Both of them stood silently for a moment, eyeing the plethora of weapons.
“I think I have something,” Boris said at last. “You need a weapon that won’t be detected by metal. You need it to function at close range without drawing attention. And ideally, you need to also provide for your unnoticed escape.” Boris entered a code into his remote, and a small panel revealed itself on the corner of the wall. He reached into it and pulled out a cell phone.
“That’s your best, Boris? A phone?” she asked.
“It looks like a phone, and it functions as one, with no more metal than an ordinary one. But it contains some extra parts in high pressure plastic,” Boris explained, with a glint in his eye.
“What kind of parts?” Megan asked, intrigued.
“It contains a spring powered launcher of a spiked, plastic projectile. Extremely small. Maybe half a centimeter,” Boris explained, “Nobody would hear it fire over the roar of a crowd. It’s so small that it wouldn’t be caught on camera easily. The target might not even notice being hit. The effect is so light, it might feel like the mosquito bite.”
“And like a mosquito bite,” Megan finished, finally putting it together in her mind, “it can carry a deadly consequence.”
“Inside this unit are three projectiles, each tipped with Ricin. He’ll be dead within a week. There is no antidote,” Boris explained.
“What’s the catch?” Megan asked.
“Well...because we are going for a disguised weapon here,” Boris said, “the effective range is quite low.”
“How low are we talking here?” Megan asked, sounding worried.
“Honestly? I wouldn’t use it past one or two feet,” Boris admitted.
“One or two feet?” Megan asked, incredulous. “Why?”
“Well, there’s no guarantee that you’d break the skin further away. And the accuracy also drops off pretty quickly, it’s not like there’s a barrel or anything for aiming...” Boris said, his voice trailing off.
“There’s no way I’m comfortable with that,” she said. “As soon as they figure out what happened, they are going to be pouring over the tapes of the public events. I can’t get that close to him without someone seeing me. They’ll figure out who I am and hunt me to the ends of the earth.”
“What if...” Boris began. “What if you were able to get away with it because everyone was hunting for someone else? What if you wore a really good disguise while you did it?”
“It would have to be very effective,” Megan replied.
“I have a friend who makes disguises a specialty. Let me give you her address and you can see her tomorrow,” Boris said as he jotted down details on a scrap of paper.
“I don’t see any other choice,” Megan said at last as she picked up the weaponized phone. “I not completely happy here, but I guess I’ll take it. How much?”
“For you, I give a discount,” Boris said. “Uh....” he hesitated, presumably calculating in his head. “One hundred thousand.”
“One hundred thousand?” Megan shouted, outraged. “I’ve never paid half that for a weapon from you!”
“Do you know what I had to do to acquire it?” Boris asked. “Do you want it or not?”
Megan sighed deeply. “Yes, I do.”
“Three days after I get the money, I’ll send you a box of caviar. The phone will be in a false bottom,” Boris said.
“The usual method, huh?” Megan scoffed, though in truth she enjoyed the caviar.
“I haven’t been caught yet,” Boris boasted proudly.
~
The next day, Megan drove to the location of the disguise purveyor Boris had recommended. From the dusty old windows, the store looked abandoned. A faded cardboard sign in the window, however, promised that the place was indeed “OPEN,” so Megan gingerly tried the front door. After a great deal of shoving, she finally manged to push it open.
Dust immediately flooded the room, as if the door had not been opened in years. The little particles flitted about visibly through the dim light, settling on various rusted pieces of antique furniture and old fashioned clothing encased in plastic.
“I’ve been expecting you,” an ancient sounding voice spoke, startling Megan. Soon, a hunched over, tiny old woman hobbled her way into view behind some dusty counters. The top of her head was covered with a kerchief, but wispy strands of white hair were visible poking out from it. She was wearing a scarf and a purple cardigan, and her misshapen, sagging flesh was barely contained by it. Her low hanging breasts drooped down to her midsection, while her gut sagged low on her lap like an apron. Her eyes were practically buried in bags and her mouth was slightly agape, with a snaggletooth sticking out. “You are in need of a disguise.”
“I need the best,” Megan said. “Something so good that nobody would ever know who I am underneath. Something so...bewitching that I could use it to...”
“Get away with murder?” the old woman finished for her. “I think I have just the thing for you,” she croaked out, and waddled her way over to and old fashioned jewelry box.
“Mmm...these pearls will do nicely,” she crooned, more to herself than to Megan.
“I’m not playing dress up here,” Megan said, beginning to feel a little impatient. “I need to look like a completely different person.”
“I know what I’m doing,” the old woman replied quickly, her voice now coldly stern. “You’ll need some shoes, too,” she mused, and started examining a pile of old fashioned looking footwear. After she found some hideous looking clogs, she moved on to a vast hamper filled with granny panties.
“How about these?” she asked out loud as she held out a pair of polka dotted underwear. The size was enormous.
“I think they might be a little big,” Megan said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Hush, you,” the woman replied. She moved on to selecting a paisley dress that was similarly over-sized, and a belt and girdle. For a moment, Megan silently wondered if the woman was picking out clothes for herself, rather than for her.
“Let’s go to the cardigan section,” she said. The back of the store seemed to be nothing but rack after rack of grandmotherly looking cardigans, in varying color combinations and sizes. Many of them were obviously secondhand, because the fabric was noticeably stretched and fraying around the bust area.
“How about this one?” she said, holding up a brown one that was quite frayed in the lower torso area. Megan guessed that it’s previous owner must have had massive breasts to cause such damage to the garment, and by a subconscious impulse, she cupped one her own small, youthful looking bosoms.
“I don’t...think that’s going to work,” Megan said at last. She started mentally debating the idea of leaving the store and looking elsewhere.
“I guarantee,” the old lady began, “that this will be the best disguise you will ever find,” she opined. “How does that sound?”
“It sounds great,” Megan said, rolling her eyes. “But won’t I need a body suit and a mask to pull this off?”
“Of course not,” the woman replied, sounding a little offended. “The clothes will be sufficient.”
“Fine,” Megan said, feeling through debating. “How much for everything?”
“It is a gift,” the woman replied.
“No way,” Megan insisted. “There’s got to be a catch somewhere.”
“You want to pay? But you seem so...skeptical that I can deliver for you,” the old woman responded.
“Well...” Megan hesitated, not wanting to be offensive.
“How about this, if you’re not satisfied, you can rest content that you did not need to pay me. But if it is indeed the disguise of a lifetime, make a donation to some good cause, say, the Twilight Wish Foundation for the elderly,” she said.
“How big of a donation?” Megan asked.
“Whatever you feel is appropriate, given the quality of my product,” the woman replied.
“Fair enough,” Megan said. The old woman handed Megan a monstrous, old fashioned handbag and crammed the pearls, the shoes, the dress, the underwear, the belt, and the cardigan into it.
“Use it well,” she said as she handed the bag to Megan. She took it and exited the store. Upon doing so, she was hit in the face with a massive gust of dusty wind. After closing her eyes and coughing for a moment, she made her way to her car. When she entered the driver’s seat, however, she noticed that the building in front of her was now completely empty. No dusty windows, no store, no old woman. Dull, white walls and a few hooks on the ceiling were all that existed inside.
The only evidence she had that her entire experience there wasn’t a dream was the handbag resting in her lap.
Chapter Three:
Megan drove home uneasily. The incident at the shop with the old woman made her feel wary and uncomfortable. She always felt ill at ease when presented with this kind of mystery. To her, a mystery existed to be solved, not simply accepted. And yet, the more she thought about what had happened, the more she felt incapable of explaining it in any rational context.
When Megan arrived home, she resolved to thoroughly examine her new disguise. Hopefully it would provide the clues as to what was really going on.
She laid the clothes out upon her bed and stared at them for a while. There was nothing at all remarkable about them, aside from the fact that they looked very old and frumpy and that they were clearly made for a much larger woman. The clothes even carried an odd odor, she found, like dried rose petals and mixed with the ancient must of some long discontinued brand of perfume. She found the scent reminiscent of her visits to her grandmother’s house when she was a child. The only thing she noticed that was at all unusual was an interesting insignia on the clasp of the pearl necklace.
“Might as well try them on,” Megan said aloud. Megan took off her tight jeans and halter top in front of her full body mirror and look at her body intently. Her skin was a little pale, but still had a nice, youthful glow to it. The freckles that decorated her face dusted the rest of her body were very light and barely noticeable. Her legs and upper arms were trim but very well toned and her stomach was flat, with a strong hint of abs. Her breasts, sitting inside her tiny sports bra, were on the smallish but pert and youthful looking. Her shoulders and waist here both narrow, giving her a pretty lithe look but hardly an hourglass figure. Megan’s face was a perfect diamond shape, and her lips were full and luscious looking.
She judiciously held the granny panties at arm’s length, wondering what could have possessed the old lady to recommend a pair so outlandishly big. Nevertheless, she put them on, crossing her legs slightly so that they wouldn’t slide down. Next went the big tend of a sack dress, which was equally unfitting on her. The uncomfortable, ugly shoes didn’t add much, though the belt was at least useful in keeping the dress in place. The cardigan felt very silly on her, and Megan almost laughed when she gazed at herself in the mirror.
“I look like a schoolgirl playing dress-up in her grandmother’s clothes,” she said. Megan was about to take the clothes off and throw them away, but then she spotted the last item on the bed: the string of pearls.
“I guess it’s not finished unless I try these on, too,” she thought, and clicked the clasp of the pearls in place behind her neck.
As soon as the clasp clicked into place, she felt as though she had received a static shock. As Megan gazed into the mirror, she noticed that the pearls were starting to glow just slightly.
Megan walked a little closer to the mirror, eager to see the pearls in greater detail. As she did so, she noticed something far stranger: her diamond shaped face seemed a little puffier. For a brief moment, she tried to pass this off as the natural consequence of her meal last night at the “Vozrast Progressiy,” but then she remembered that she had just looked at herself in the mirror before she put the clothes on, and she had noticed nothing. Her cheeks were clearly puffier now, and her angular chin seemed to have rounded out, with just the slight hint of potential doubling.
As she stared at her face in the mirror, she began to notice other changes. Her eyes now seemed to have the faintest shadows under them, though she had enjoyed plenty of sleep the night before. What was going on?
Megan’s attention to her face was momentarily diverted by a tight feeling across her chest. She reached down and felt her breasts through her chest and was surprised to find there was much more to feel. Her bosom was expanding and straining against the confines of her sports bra, which was now far too small to contain them. They pressed out and indented against her dress. She could feel a warm, tingly glow in her bosoms as they grew, and could feel the warmth spreading throughout her body. Whatever was happening, it was both exhilarating and terrifying.
Megan connected the mysterious changes with the pearl necklace, and decided it was time to take it off. Try as she might, though, the clasp simply wasn’t opening. She furiously picked at it until her she had nearly scraped she skin off of her cuticles, but it didn’t budge.
Mentally accepting defeat, Megan decided to simply continue to watch what was happening. Her breasts had continued their proud march outwards, and with a slight erotic twinge, she felt her nipples scrape against the top of her sports bra as the two orbs of flesh outgrew their hopelessly inadequate containers. The bra was now bunched up beneath her breasts, cradling them but otherwise offering no real support. Without it, her newly heavy breasts started to sag slightly down her chest, and Megan felt the unfamiliar sensation of her back straining against their new weight. Her breasts initial expansion had pressed against the fabric of her dress, and now they created two large, long indentations down the front.
Speaking of indentations, as her eyes made their way south she began to notice her stomach beginning to press against the dress as well. She gingerly prodded the material with her fingers, finding it to be warm, soft, and squishy. An authentic muffin top was growing, burying the results of her frequent, hard exercise in a mountain of flab. Megan initially felt disgusted to see her fit body suddenly claimed by so much fat, but as she poked and prodded at it through her dress, she felt increasingly intrigued. Where was the fat coming from, and how did it get there? Was she becoming disguised as a completely different person, or the woman who she was destined to be some far off day in the future? Would it be possible to take the disguise off once the process was complete? Even the scarier questions seemed somehow exciting to contemplate.
Her fingers slid down to feel her widening hips and expanding behind. She could feel the tops of her thighs starting to touch, and the ill-fitting shoes started to feel a little snugger as she developed “canckles.”
Megan stared up at her face again, and found it beset by an army of tiny wrinkles, which seemed to be rapidly conquering her face. Lines etched their way against her lips and the sides of her nose, and made large bags and crow’s feet around her eyes. Her forehead looked almost lacerated with deep lines, and even her nose looked a little bigger and more hooked. The youthful glow faded from her cheeks, and they got increasingly puffier. Earlier, she looked like a girl who had retained a tad too much baby fat, but now they simply made her look like an older woman with a fattened, round face. Her chin became clearly doubled and her neck started getting some very saggy jowls. Even the color of the whites of her eyes seemed to change, getting more bleary and yellowed.
As she opened her mouth in shock at the changes, she noticed that her eyes weren’t the only things getting yellow. Her excellent teeth, once of pride of her smile, had greatly deteriorated, becoming yellowed, chipped, cracked, worn down, and in a couple of places, outright missing. Her hair had changed too, losing its red hue and becoming as white as a sheet, with a couple of darker patches near the roots. It lost its wavy character as well, becoming wispy and ghostlike. It re-arranged itself on top of her head into a conservative bun.
Megan reached up and pulled her hair loose, but as soon as she did, it re-arranged itself into a bun again. She pulled against it furiously, but to no avail. The only thing she managed to accomplish was gaining an eyeful of her jiggling upper arms, which shook madly with that distinctive malady that seemed to plague older women.
When she finally gave up, she noticed her fingers looked different, too. Now they were covered in age spots, extra freckles, and tiny veins. The skin itself seemed more translucent, and her knuckled seemed more bony and misshapen. She felt shock at how thorough the disguise was being, but at the same time, she knew that it did suit her purposes perfectly. Nobody would ever recognize her in this.
She looked into the mirror again, and saw the stern expression of a matronly old woman staring back at her. The corners of her mouth seemed perpetually set in a slight frown, and only an exaggerated, slightly creepy smile seemed capable of altering her expression.
Her breasts had continued to grow, and now sagged ponderously upon her stomach. They bloated at the front of her dress comically, and she struggled to put them in their place through her clothing. The bottom of her bra seemed to keep them steady, but didn’t stop their slope. Megan though that it was just as well - even a proper bra would not be able to help a woman in her condition. She felt a little thrill as she touched her large, sagging breasts: they were so different than the ones she was used to. When she finally got them in a more comfortable position, they seemed to stretch the cardigan at just the points where it was the most frayed, leading her to believe that the woman who had owned it previously had a figure very similar to the one she had now - or else she was disguised as well.
Megan absentmindedly fiddled with the cardigan as she pondered that thought. What if the woman who sold her the disguise was herself in a similar disguise? She had no way of knowing. Perhaps the shop itself was a disguise as well - one that disappeared once it had served its function. She experimented with having the cardigan a little higher or a little lower, or with taking out a button or two, but no matter what she did, the outline of her massive, fallen breasts still strained against it, leaving little to the imagination. The shape and location could be varied just slightly by tugging it this way or that, but the fundamental way her breasts would look to the public seemed immutable. Their weight was no so great that it caused her to hunch her back over a little, making her seem shorter - or had her vertebrae somehow compressed?
Her stomach, upon which her breasts now rested, was now a massive gut, poured over her belt and down to her crotch. Try as she might, she seemed unable to decrease its size a bit by inhaling or sucking it in.
“This is so odd,” she mused out loud, and was surprised by the tone of her voice. It was now a low creaking, scratchy, gravelly bellow, a far cry from the high, feminine tone she was used to. “I really do sound like a granny,” she said, noticing how the words created a very slight whistle as they sailed through her ruined teeth.
Megan felt conflicted as she gazed at the disguise in the mirror. On the one hand, she felt like the imposing visage ought to horrify her, and the fact that it didn’t seemed slightly scary in and of itself. On the other hand, the disguise was so good, she could scarcely imagine a better way to commit a crime. Who would suspect such an old woman of even being capable of killing, much less who could link such a person back to her? The disguise was more perfect than any fat suit. She wasn’t simply bigger and rounder - her body seemed to positively ooze sagging flesh out of the tight container that was her clothing. She didn’t simply have a few extra wrinkles - she was covered in them.
She stared at her new body, and the person gazing back at her in the mirror seemed stern and harsh. Megan decided that her personality would be that way, too. She looked like a particularly cruel teacher she had in second grade, particularly in the eyes. Their color had changed as well, going from a bright blue to a muddy, dark brown.
Beyond the pearls, she game some thought to what she might use to accessorize the outfit. Perhaps some pearl earrings would go well with it, the kind her grandmother used to wear, she thought as she felt her enlarged earlobes. She touched her withered lips, wondering what shade of lipstick might be appropriate. Perhaps a darker, conservative shade would look appropriate. Or perhaps a sharp pink would do, giving her that odd look of an older woman who has forgotten what fashion means. She settled on the darker shade, and applied it liberally over her lips. The puckering required for this caused them to wrinkle even further, like two thin strips of prunes in the sun.
“I could get away with anything...” she said out loud. “Anything. Smith will never see it coming,” she said, and let out a long, wicked sounding cackle. Her tummy shook as she laughed, and soon she was rubbing her knobby, sinewy fingers together, thinking about what she might do next.
Chapter Four:
Megan could hardly believe her luck. Here she was, in possession of perhaps the world’s best cloak of metaphorical darkness. Her crimes would become easy, but of course, this disguise was so much more than that. She could use it to effectively manipulate and control others with ease. More importantly, they wouldn’t know that they were being manipulated overtly. As Megan, the young beautiful woman, she could manipulate others - particularly men - by virtue of her appearance. But that only went so far, and besides, it was obvious, crass, and degrading. It was limited in scope because most women were immune and even a few men seemed uninterested on occasion. With this disguise, she could interact with others in a whole different level, and nobody would possibly suspect a thing. The power was so tantalizing that Megan could barely contain herself.
Megan took a few moments to go online and make a suitable donation to the old woman’s cause - she had earned it well. Then she prepared to leave the apartment and see exactly what her new disguise could do in public.
She usually walked down the stairs for exercise, but now the thought of hobbling down so many steps seemed daunting, so she decided to take the slow moving elevator. Her fellow apartment member, John, joined after the elevator had gone down one floor.
John was a muscular young man in his 20’s who had always tried to catch an eyeful of Megan when they rode together, and although he had tried to make polite conversation a few times, he had never managed to get up the courage to ask her out. Now, John was barely paying attention to her! She decided to rectify the situation.
“Having a nice day, Johnny?” she asked, hoping the nickname would get under his skin.
“I suppose so - but, um, I go by John,” he replied, nervously fidgeting. He looked Megan over, seeing nothing other than an old woman wearing some ill-fitting clothes. Her hunched over posture made her look very stereotypical to him, and the fact that he could see the shape of her breasts through her stretched cardigan made him feel a little uncomfortable.
“What’s that?” she said, pretending to have a hearing problem. “Speak up, Johnny, I can’t hear you if you insist on being a mumbler.”
“I said...oh, never mind. Are you new to the building? How’d you even know who I am?” he asked.
“I’m uh...Megan’s grandmother,” she said, thinking quickly. She decided to really make him squirm. “Megan certainly talks about you a lot.”
“She does?” John replied, his ruddy cheeks becoming very flushed. “Really?”
“Oh yeah, how every time she rides the elevator, she’s wondering if you’re finally going to get the courage to ask her out,” she said.
“If that’s the way she feels about it, why doesn’t she just ask me out? I mean...that’s great, I, um...” John said, fumbling his words.
“Have all of the men of your age forgotten their chivalry? Don’t you have a good head on your shoulders? Or is your problem a little further...south?” She asked, and he looked horrified.
“Well, I’ve got to run,” she said, waddling out of the elevator when it mercifully opened. “Toodoloo.”
“I, wait...but...”John said, but was cut off by the sound of the doors shutting.
When Megan was a beautiful young woman, such bawdy talk would have come across as a provocation and a challenge. Now that she looked like an old woman it seemed more like an insult and a joke - a subtle but significant shift. She wondered how many other ways she’d be understood differently now.
Megan decided to make her way across town by bus instead of her car, realizing that her driver’s license would be useless now. She also relished the opportunity to interact with more people with her new disguise. When she hobbled onto the bus, the driver presented her with an awkward request.
“Can I see your bus pass?” the man asked.
“Bus pass?” Megan asked. She hadn’t ever ridden the bus in this city, so she wasn’t expecting it. “I, um, I don’t have one.”
“Everyone who rides this bus has one. You’re probably forgot where you put it,” the man explained patiently, as if he was used to dealing with the doddering nature of elderly folks. “Why don’t you try your purse?”
Megan had taken the bag the shopkeeper had given her, but had placed nothing into it prior to going out, save her wallet. She knew no bus pass would be found, but she humored the driver and searched anyway. She was astonished to find a pass with a picture of herself in disguise in the first slot of her wallet.
As she pulled it out and handed it to the driver, she noted the name on the side of the card, “Mildred Crabb.” Megan liked the name. It suited her, and she resolved to start thinking of herself with that name while in disguise.
As she made her way into the bus, a young man quickly sat up and offered her a seat. This wasn’t a new phenomenon - when she rode a bus route in college, she had experienced this behavior - but the motivation was entirely different. In college, men had offered her their seat to appear chivalrous and kind, and then used that to strike up some kind of flirtation. In short, they were offering up their seat to her in the hope that it might persuade Megan to offer her “seat” up to them later. The motive was entirely about admiration for her and lust in their heart. The young man standing up now likely had different motivations. He likely saw Mildred and felt pity, and his motivation for doing what he did was feeling like a good Samaritan.
She accented the seat, and the bus took off. The sudden starting of the bus startled her, and she felt pushed back into her seat, which was a little too small for her big, flabby body. Mildred realized she had no place to be in particular, but felt like this rather suited her. As Megan, she was often slavishly working to meet her goals, accomplish jobs, do research, and take precautions. As Mildred, she was the opposite: a carefree old woman who didn’t even need to know where her destination was in order to begin a journey. The contrast between the two could not be more different.
As she gazed out the window, she thought that this could be a hindrance to her task. Were her killer instincts also inverted while disguised? Would she have the coordination, the ability, and the inclination to commit a murder? She felt less than certain.
Throughout the journey, she took a great deal of interest in how others looked at her. Little kids stared openly, and a few pointed and whispered. Most of the adults averted their eyes to her, a gesture which seemed both polite and somewhat rude at the same time. A few of the men openly stared at her, especially at her chest. When one of them passed, she made sure to shift position in her chair, or tug on her cardigan, to make sure they got as nice of an eyeful as they desired. The experience was similar to, but distinctly different than when she was ogled as “Megan.” It was less of an open admiration and more a secret guilty pleasure. It was less outright flattery and more “wow...you don’t see that every day.”
Lost in thought, she barely noticed when the bus reached the end of the line. She took her time walking off of the vehicle, noticing that everyone was waiting behind her but not willing to risk rushing things with her awkward body.
There weren’t many buildings at the last stop - a printing facility, a furniture store, and a breakfast restaurant that displayed a banner prominently promising “breakfast all day.” Feeling her enormous belly growl, she decided to head for the breakfast placed, which was appropriately named “Granny’s Waffle Hut.”
“Table for how many, ma’am?” the woman asked her. Mildred paused, realizing that this was the first time she had ever been called that! Finally, she told the hostess that she was be dining alone, and then hobbled to her table.
Squeezing into the booth wasn’t exactly pleasant for Mildred. The space was a bit too narrow for her stomach, and the table was a little too high for her hunched form. Her hanging breasts sunk down to it, giving her a comically squished appearance.
“You better have a senior citizen’s discount,” Mildred snapped when the waitress came by. The young woman, who was pretty enough but looked like she had indulged in a few too many of “Granny’s Waffles,” stammered in the affirmative. A few minutes later, a stack of pancakes smothered in cheap syrup was brought over, and Mildred noisily and sloppily consumed them.
After paying for her meal (and leaving only a minuscule tip), Mildred rose with a defeated look in her yellowed, stern looking eyes. The food had been less than impressive, but more importantly, her lackadaisical journey had led her nowhere. Just when she thought that the trip had been for nothing, the front door to the restaurant opened.
In came a two young children, a boy and a girl, dressed in costumes. The boy wore plastic knight’s armor, while the girl wore a fairy-tale style dress. Their parents followed behind them, the father wearing a mouse-ears hat.
“Back from that Disney cartoon revival at the Cineplex?” the hostess asked.
“Yeah,” the father said. “I think it’s great that we can show the kids the classics on the big screen. Though,” he began, and then lowered his voice, “some of the scenes with the villainess were still pretty scary for them.”
As the two kids ran towards their table, well ahead of their parents, Mildred was suddenly seized by an irresistible impulse. She raised her fingers up above her head like claws and growled at the two kids.
“Wicked witch!” the little girl screamed. Mildred responded with a cackle and she waddled to the door as fast as her stubby legs would carry her. She felt pleased with herself - she erased her previous doubts. As different as Mildred was from Megan, she still had what it takes to be bad.
Chapter Five:
For the next two months, Megan, disguised as Mildred, drove across the country, following Senator Smith wherever he had a public rally. The first rally, she showed up six hours early, only to find others had been waiting since the night before. She didn’t get close enough to shake his hand, let alone make her move. On the plus side, she did enjoy his speech, as he was quite an eloquent orator.
After that, she began bringing a foldout chair and staying overnight to ensure she had the best possible vantage point. He was often greeted by thousands of of cheering supporters, but unlike other politicians, he never stopped to shake hands after a speech.
Mildred could usually use her status as a senior and her grumpy temperament to elbow her way to the front, but Smith was never close enough for her to get a clear shot. Her days were spent in waiting for hours upon hours for a rally to begin, followed by an hour of listening to the handsome young man speak, followed by hopeless pushing and shoving for an opportunity that never came.
She called Boris for advice after her 28th failure. “Why doesn’t he shake hands?” Mildred asked. The rally today was particularly disappointing given the amount of time she had invested in it. She had waited 13 hours in advance for the event, and once again, it was all for nothing.
“Come on, Megan,” Boris said. “You know he’s expecting something like this.”
“How could he possibly suspect something this elaborate?” Megan asked.
“Well...it is very similar to how Bulgarian dissent Georgi Markov was assassinated,” Boris said, with a little embarrassment in his voice.
“Boris, you bastard,” she spat. “You sold me a product at a premium price for the value of surprise, and it’s already been done?”
“Calm down. He used an umbrella, so it’s not entirely the same,” Boris explained. “But you have to realize that his people are taking every possible precaution. They aren’t going to let just anybody get near him.”
“You’re right...as usual,” Megan said. “I’ll have to find a way to get closer.”
~
The way came sooner then she had expected. In a few days, she saw an invitation for dinner in New York for top donors. It was billed as a very exclusive, intimate evening with the Senator, and Megan knew he would have to get physically closer to these people than the screaming mobs.
The asking price for the dinner was $30,000, which was the legal limit for what one person could donate to the candidate, the party, and the committees combined. Megan also needed to appear to be a well to do benefactor to fit in at the event, which required purchasing expensive formal wear, adding more to the cost. A penny-pincher, she cringed at the cuts to her long term profits from this venture, but she saw no other way to get close.
Megan also acquired a copy of the janitor’s uniforms for the building of the event. Her plan, which she had stayed up for days perfecting, was to get into the event as Megan. At a key moment, she’d excuse herself, go to the bathroom, and disguise herself as Mildred. She’d then exit and make her move.
She arrived at the event in a red sequin dress and white gloves. Her large bag full of her disguise looked a little out of place, but Megan was hoping that the low cut character of the dress would draw attention away from her handbag.
She used a fake name, Megan Silverstreet, to get into the event. Surprisingly, nobody asked to see her purse, and soon she was in the ballroom.
Megan was a bit surprised to see at least three or four hundred guests. Quite a lot of wealthy people were apparently quite content with the Senator’s message, unlike her “bankster” friends. There was a series of small tables where the guests sat and an immensely large glass bowl of punch sat near the rear of the room. Near it, she could see Senator Smith making the rounds and introducing himself.
Not wanting to appear awkward, Megan make her way towards one of the tables. An elderly couple was already sitting one two of the eight chairs, and Megan sat across from them.
“First time at an event for Dan Smith?” The old woman asked her.
“No, I’ve been to many of his rallies,” Megan replied.
“Us, too, though we can never seem to get up early enough to get a good seat,” the old man complained.
Megan engaged in polite small talk while her mind raced. No cleaning staff was visible, so she’d stick out like a sore thumb in her disguise and uniform. In addition, Smith’s security detail was still hovering right next to him as he talked with people. How would she make a clean getaway? She needed an excuse to leave the room, which could also serve as a reason to invite a cleaning lady onto the scene.
A single, horrifying idea crept into her mind like a fog. She accepted it only reluctantly, as she could see no alternative.
Megan slowly walked towards the punchbowl, her step determined. As she got closer, she deliberately wiggled her left foot out of one of her high heeled shoes. Just as she took a step right next to it, she pretended to slip and fell forwards. Her upper arm pushed against the table as she fell, and the glass punch bowl crashed to the ground, sending bits of shattered glass and punch everywhere.
Dan Smith looked towards the source of commotion, and for an embarrassing moment, their eyes locked. Megan pulled herself up as quickly as she could and made her way to the women’s restroom. Once inside a stall, her heart rate finally slowed.
She looked at her dress, surveying the damage. Surprisingly little punch had landed directly on it, and because both were red, it was barely noticeable. She quickly pulled it off and pulled out her disguise, along with her cleaner’s uniform.
When Megan had put on the disguise for the first time, it was with delicate care in front of her mirror. Each change had been witnessed in great detail due in part to the slow and careful nature in putting it on. Her goal now was to get to the scene of the accident as quickly as possible, so no such care was shown this time. She pulled and yanked each item on as fast as she could, and the changes followed suit. Where before her body had slowly expanded and aged, now it almost exploded. Her new girth seemed to shoot out of her like a cannon, and she could feel her skin wrinkling and stretching herself thin as if it was being pulled by a taffy machine. Her breasts grew painfully, as if a lusty man was pulling as hard as he could on them, and with each tug, they grew bigger and saggier, making more of an indentation upon her cardigan. Her stomach grew out as if it was being stuffed with food, or perhaps hot air, and she could feel her hair changing in style, color and consistency as if it it was being shocked by static electricity over and hover. Her teeth cracked and wore as though a million sour gummies were leeching at her mouth all at once.
She pulled out a small makeup mirror from her purse and saw her eyes fade and shift their color. Her hair changed its color and re-arranged itself without her help, too.
It was not a pleasant process, but mercifully it was over quickly. She pulled the cleaner’s uniform over her disguise, whipped out an retractable mop, and hobbled out of the restroom towards the spilled punch.
Megan, now Mildred, felt fortunate in that no other cleaner had beaten her to the mess. As she started to clean and looked upon the room, she felt more fortunate still due to the fact that nobody seemed to be viewing her as out of place.
She felt a bit more concerned, however, when she found that Senator Smith had made his way to the other end of the ballroom, busy chatting up other guests.
Mildred cleaned slowly, hoping that as more time passed, the Senator would come back in her direction. Though he moved from table to table, he remained in the opposite section. For a moment she considered dashing towards him, but realized it would attract too much attention. If she was captured, she’d have to reveal herself sooner or later - and then she was finished. She had to do this in disguise and escape capture to pull this off.
As a few members of the posh reception passed her by, she was treated mostly to averted gazes and silence. A few of them make scoffing sounds as they passed her, and Mildred even heard a few disparaging remarks made about her age and her weight. It was a remarkable reversal for her, as Megan was used to only compliments when it came to her looks.
When the mess was at last cleaned up and Dan Smith was still far off, Mildred had to concede defeat. This was no easy thing - she hated giving up. But there was no point in standing around aimlessly with a mop. She waddled back towards the lady’s room, feeling dejected. In her stall, she pulled off the disguise with sorrow.
When she exited the room as Megan again, she was surprised to noticed the Senator making his way towards her table. Trying to look natural, she turned her face away from his and tried to make her facial expressions appear calm.
“And who might you be?” Dan Smith asked in his golden voice. His secret service agents were relatively close, but gave the two their distance.
“Megan Silverstreet...” she began, her voice slightly trailing off.
“I know what just happened must have been embarrassing for you,” Dan said. “But please, try to put it out of your mind. I already have. I just hope you can still enjoy your evening. What is it you do by the way?” he asked in a disarming manner.
“I’m a...philanthropist,” she said, thinking quickly.
“Really? You know, that’s what my opponents have taken to calling me?” the Senator said with a grin.
“I’m surprised they are being that charitable,” Megan responded nervously.
“Well, in their words, I’ll be a philanthropist with other people’s money,” he concluded. “Why haven’t I seen you at any functions?”
“I’ve been to all of your rallies for the past several weeks,” Megan replied. “I...very much enjoy hearing what you have to say.”
“I meant, why haven’t you attended any of these private events?” Dan replied.
“Well, I...I don’t know, really. I’m here now, I hope that will do,” Megan replied with a smile, hoping she’d come off as funny and not rude. She found herself blushing, and feeling more concerned with impressing him than keeping her cover.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” an announcement suddenly began, “please choose a partner for the dance of the evening.”
“Dancing?” Megan said, feeling out of place. “Why?”
“Why not?” Dan replied. “Will you dance with me?”
“I don’t think it would make for good optics,” Megan responded, feeling very concerned. Her entire goal was to keep herself away from attention. That’s why she had a disguise. If she was seen with him...
“On the contrary, to dance with a philanthropist? Great optics. But what business have you talking like my campaign managers? Come on, I won’t take no for an answer.” The music began, and Dan took her by the hand. She felt as though she should try to stop it, but didn’t want to.
“I imagine you don’t do this often,” Megan tried to ask, though the remark came off as more of a statement than a question. Their dancing was slow and the step was an easy one, but Megan felt flustered all the same.
“Not since Molly died. I’ve been a widower for over three years now,” Dan responded. “But I suspect you already know that.”
“Yes,” Megan replied. “Are you able to be with your children much with your campaign schedule.”
“I don’t spend nearly as much time as I’d like with them, no. I have to outsource their raising to nannies, mostly.” Dan said.
“How is that working out?” Megan asked.
“Not as well as I’d like, to be honest. I’m not happy with any of the people who have tried their hand at it. They need someone loving, but who also understands the value of discipline and when to be firm. I think because I’m such a well known politician, nannies think my kids should be treated like royalty. That’s not how I’d like my household run - not even if I end up being President,” Dan said humbly.
“When you end up being President,” Megan said, correcting him. “I know you’ll win.”
“I’m glad you are so confident,” Dan said. “Sometimes I’m not that sure. You never know what will happen between now and election day.”
Megan swallowed hard. “I suppose not...”
The music finally came to an end, and Dan leaned down and gently kissed her hand. “Until we meet again,” he said, and left.
The thrill of Dan’s charm burned bright in her heart for hours. It was only when she started to drive home that the bitter mote of failure creeped in again. She had failed, and now she had no way to get close to him. Even if he did pursue a relationship with her, what good would it do? She needed to get close to him as Mildred, not Megan.
As she stepped into her elevator hours later, the idea finally dawned on her. Smith said he wasn’t happy with the nannies for his children. If she needed a way to get Mildred close...well, than it was time for her to become the new nanny.
Chapter Six:
Megan quickly found the company that had supplied Smith’s nannies, and found that it was large enough to be publicly traded. To buy a majority stake in the company, she’d need to put up 1.1 million for stock. Furthermore, she decided that to avoid any suspicion and awkward questions, she needed to sell only after the hit had taken place. If news that a nanny employed by the company was responsible for a murder broke quickly, the stock would be effectively worthless, and she’d be out that much of what was now a rapidly dwindling reward.
She gave it some serious thought, but saw no other way to get close enough to the Senator for the time she’d need to get the opportunity. It was a risk she felt compelled to take. Megan bought the stock that afternoon, using another alias. Her “Silverstreet” name was known now, so it was compromised.
Even with her precautions, Megan knew that once she had finished her task, it would only be a matter of time before those interested in solving the crime linked it back to her. Her Mildred disguise might throw off the scent for a while, but eventually someone will want to know why she was hired, and why it coincided with a corporate takeover. Somehow, she was sure, they’d find her. She couldn’t count on anybody. She was convinced that even Boris, the person she trusted the most, would likely give her up if the reward was big enough. Throughout her life, Megan had learned this painful lesson the hard way, and she wasn’t going to leave anything to chance on her final assignment.
What the disguise and the false names bought her was time. Time enough to flee the country with her cash, and construct yet another alternative identity. Perhaps she’d call Boris, and ask him to help her find the disguise shop again. She’d need to have a totally different persona, so that when the pieces were finally put together, she’d be invisible.
Who would she disguise herself as this time, she wondered? Perhaps as another old woman, this one tall and spindly, like a vulture. She’d be a librarian, with an eggshell voice, eager to correct the grammar mistakes of others. Or, Megan thought, perhaps a woman who was middle aged, with a luscious figure that time had only begun to deteriorate. She could still have a strong sex drive, perhaps preferring younger partners that were able to keep up with her.
If she wanted an even more thorough disguise, she might try becoming a different ethnicity as well. She imagined herself living in Thailand as a short, matronly, quiet woman - perhaps as a madam for young girls in a brothel. Or maybe she’d be a warm hearted, plump, grandmotherly cook in Mexico. The possibilities were endless, and were endlessly titillating.
As delightful as it was to ponder her options after this was over and done with, she knew that there was a great deal of work to do before she arrived there. She packed her belongings, determined to take the next train to Washington, D.C. and get Mildred hired as the new nanny for the Smith household.
~
It took only a few days to get everything arranged, and she was scheduled for her first shift at the Smith household by next week. She knew from following Dan’s itinerary that he wouldn’t be there, but that was fine. One task at a time.
Putting on the disguise with the intent of watching after children felt a little different than her previous times using it. At first, she hadn’t known what to expect from it. Then, at the fundraiser, she had hoped to simply be a different face - capable of making the hit without plastering Megan’s image all over the news, even if things went wrong.
Now, she had a specific use and function for her Mildred disguise: she was going to care for the Senator’s children as their nanny. Using it to pretend to be a different person was very different than using it simply as a getaway device, and as she put on her Mildred clothes, she felt a sense of determination.
As her body filled out, she no longer just saw a fat, old woman staring back at her in the mirror. Instead, she saw a woman with a large lap, perfect for kids sitting on. She imagined her fatness might even be seen as a sign of jolliness, as though she was an embodiment of Mrs. Claus. Her old fashioned clothes, rather than simply appearing frumpy, might appear odd and entertaining to small children.
But when she looked at her aged face, her summation of her persona changed. Her eyes were too harsh and too stern for that, and her wrinkled, turned down mouth displayed displeasure. She’d be a tough, business means business nanny, who’d take no “guff” from the kids. Yet, for those kids that learned to behave, she’d have a heart of gold.
Megan, now fully Mildred, tried to re-arrange the position of her breasts, which were protruding visibly from her strained cardigan. She wanted to appear modest, especially around kids. She pulled and tugged, but nothing she did could hide the fact that she was a woman with large, sagging breasts. She cupped them through the cardigan, giving them a futile squeeze and saying out loud “What am I going to do with you two?”
She wondered if their weight was contributing to her slouched posture, which try as she might, she could not right. Mildred accepted her look with a defeated sigh, which whistled through her decaying teeth.
When Mildred arrived at the door, she was greeted campaign aide, who showed her to the family room where the kids were waiting for her. Despite Dan’s prominence as a leader of his party and status as a US Senator, he had little personal wealth, and his home showed it. It was certainly on the small side for a home in the DC area, which was an expensive real estate market, and his furniture seemed very middle class.
Dan had two children, she knew. Edmund was 4 and Julia was 5 years old. As she entered the room to greet them, they pointed at her and shouted “Wicked Witch! Wicked Witch!” They screamed, and ran off.
“What’s the matter, just finish seeing that revival of Snow White?” Mildred asked the campaign aide.
“Well, yes actually, but it’s more than that. They try to poke fun at every nanny they’ve ever had. Probably a reaction to missing their mother,” the woman explained. “I know this isn’t the best start for you, but I’ve got to head to New York for a press junket. Good luck,” she said, and she walked out.
“Great,” Mildred groaned.
~
The rest of the day was anything but easy for Mildred. But, just as she had predicted, a stern attitude and an iron will eventually allowed her to gain control of the kids. Within a few hours, they stopped shrieking and running around wildly. She provided them with lots of entertainment when they learned to behave, including reading aloud Hansel and Gretel. They giggled when she used different funny voices for all of the characters, especially the wicked witch. No longer afraid of her, Mildred had won the kids over.
When the campaign aide who had left earlier in the day finally returned, she was shocked at how behaved the children had become and insisted on calling the Senator so that she could speak with him.
“I’ve heard good things about you,” he said. “Thank you for being so great with my kids.”
“It was my pleasure. They really are little darlings,” Mildred cooed out at him.
“Well I’m going to have to see this in person at some point. They haven’t responded well to anyone before you,” Dan replied.
“I’m looking forwards to it,” Mildred said. “I’m...quite the fan of yours.”
Chapter Seven:
As the weeks passed, Mildred continued to care for the children. Megan had not seriously thought about having kids, but as Mildred, she felt very satisfied and content to help raise Edmund and Julia. They formed a close bond very quickly.
The first time Dan Smith stopped by the Washington home, Mildred was not expecting him. The door opened, and Mildred expected that a campaign aide was arriving to give her supplies or tell her about when she’d be needed. Instead, Dan walked through the door, flanked by two bodyguards. They stood near the door as Dan walked towards her.
Realizing that she might not get another chance, Mildred reached into her pocket and grabbed the cell phone weapon. She pulled it out and began to raise it, but just as she did, Edmund and Julia ran right in front of her and tried to jump into their father’s arms.
“Aw, I missed you so much too!” he said as he embraced his children. As Mildred looked at the love on the faces of the children she had grown so close to, she felt horrified that she as about to take their father away from them, forever. She gazed at Dan’s face as well - the face of a man who loved his kids, though obviously he needed the help of someone like her to care for them. She remembered her brief conversation with him - and the dance - and felt ashamed of her intentions.
“And you must be Mildred, the nanny I’ve heard so many good things about,” Dan said, finally walking towards her. His children now longer in his arms, Dan was an easy target. Her arm shook, but as she gazed into his eyes, she could feel her hand putting the phone back into her pocket.
“I’m glad the little rascals have nice things to say about me,” Mildred croaked out.
“You’ve got to teach me how to get a handle on them,” Dan said.
“I’d like that,” Mildred replied.
They spent the rest of the day talking and playing with the kids. Dan was impressed by this woman: she had to have determination, kindness, and intellect to get a handle on the little ones. She was a strong, decent soul to be admired and trusted. Mildred, meanwhile, was impressed at how decently Dan treated her, even though he was obviously not interested in sex. It was a first for her - as Megan, she had received positive attention from men only when this was the case. She felt comfortable around Dan, as though he could talk to her simply for her own sake and not because he had an agenda. He seemed genuinely interested in who she was, not just putting it on to be friendly. Such a kind hearted and decent man, Mildred thought, would likely make a fine President of the United States.
~
Dan Smith ended up winning his party’s nomination for President, and as time passed, the date of the convention moved closer and closer. Mildred was having so much fun caring for the Senator’s kids and getting to know Dan that she could scarcely believe that it had been six months since she had been hired to assassinate him.
Time had not passed so quickly for the Chamber of Banking interests, and particularly its chairman, Bob Sherwood. He saw each day that passed as not only a missed opportunity, but as one less day for a successful attempt. When the Senator wrapped up the nomination, Mr. Sherwood became particularly agitated. When attempts to reach Megan were unsuccessful, he decided it was time to take matters into his own hands.
After a dinner at the Vozrast Progressiy, Mr. Sherwood asked about waitress about the private caviar reserve, and was escorted to the private room. He greeted Boris with a firm bear hug when he reached the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m having a problem with someone you know,” Mr. Sherwood began. “Megan Hunt.”
“I’m hardly surprised,” Boris replied. “I suspected her heart might not be into this one. I mean, when I heard her target was Senator Smith, I thought to myself, who wouldn’t jump at the chance to take out that son of a bitch? But she didn’t seem too excited about it.”
“Your suspicions were well founded. She hasn’t done her job and I don’t believe she will. She’s stolen 8 million from me, in effect,” Mr. Sherwood said angrily. “My only problem now is I need to hire two more hits.”
“Right,” Boris replied. “One for Smith, one for her.”
“I came to you because I know you run guns for the best. My question is, who is the best?” Sherwood asked.
“You want my honest opinion?” Boris asked without waiting for an answer. “Me.”
“You?” Sherwood asked, taken a little aback. “Are you kidding?”
“Let’s be honest, of the two hits, Megan will be far more difficult. The Senator has those bodyguards, but that’s nothing a determined assassin can’t handle,” Boris said.
“Boris, three have already tried and failed,” Sherwood replied.
“Not with this,” Boris said, his eyes flashing as he pressed some buttons on his control panel. “Just got it in last night.” The panels shifted, revealing an innocuous looking canister.
“A helium canister?” Sherwood asked incredulously.
“Looks like it, and scans through a machine like it,” Sherwood said. “Every convention has balloons, right? But it contains a radioactive isotope inside. Everyone in the convention hall will be dead,” Boris promised.
“You’ll wipe out most of his party too, huh? I like it. Teach those bastards a lesson,” Sherwood chortled. “But you said Megan would be more difficult, right?”
“Affirmative,” Boris replied. “She’s a pro. She won’t go down with a gimmick. That’s why you need me. I’ve worked with her for years. I know how she thinks. I know where she’ll hide. I know how to get to her.”
“All right,” Sherwood said. “Shall we say three million for the job?”
“Twenty,” Boris said, looking deadly serious. “Half now.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” Sherwood countered. “I’m not falling for that again. You can have ten, but only when the job is finished. And besides, I only offered Megan eight.”
“Do you think I’d make a dime if I sold my weapons and demanded payment only after the job is finished?” Boris asked loudly. “Half of them don’t make it back. And besides, you only hired Megan for one hit. And you gave Megan that eight up front, with the promise of more.”
“Twenty, half now.” Sherwood conceded after the two stared silently for several uncomfortable moments.
“Done,” Boris said. “I’m looking forwards to this already.”
~
Megan was brought to a rude awakening by a phone call late at night in her D.C. apartment.
A woman’s voice, in a Russian accent, spoke: “Megan, you’re in danger. They’re coming for you. You have to act now, or get away while you still can,” said the woman, then she hung up. Was the woman Tanya, from the Vozrast Progressiy? She could not be sure. Perhaps she had overheard someone buying a weapon from Boris? If so, they’d be well armed.
No explanation was given, though none was really necessary. Megan knew what had happened, more or less. The Chamber of Banking Interests had grown tired of waiting for her to finish the job, and had assumed she had taken the money and ran. Now, they had to kill her, to teach a lesson to anyone that would cross them.
She knew that if they were serious about stopping her, every commercial airport in the country would have a picture of her in their database. They had connections in many private airports as well, and might even be able to use connections in the FAA to force a plane to land if they knew she was on it.
Megan had one asset that they weren’t counting on: Mildred. There was no way for them to know, or even to suspect, that she could attempt an escape as a completely different person. For a few frantic minutes, she started to plan out how she should make her escape. When she should leave was critical, but so was her planned destination. She needed someplace as a stopover, someplace she could find to unload her money, assume a new identity, and plan another journey to another country still, just to be safe. Luxembourg, perhaps?
One thought suddenly sprang to mind, stopping her dead in her tracks. If the Chamber had decided that she wasn’t going to kill Dan, they likely would have hired someone else to do the job. Dan’s life was now as much on the line as hers. What’s more, there was no guarantee that the new assassin would be as careful as she was planning to be. Perhaps he’d plant a bomb and kill his entire family.
Megan first thought of trying to convince Dan to escape with her, but this plan was riddled with problems. First, it would be very difficult to travel with him unnoticed, given his status as a celebrity politician running for President. Second, even if they managed to somehow conceal him, he’d want to bring his kids, and how could they escape any close scrutiny? Third, she knew Dan would vehemently resist the idea, preferring to stay and fight, to meet danger head-on, as he had done his entire career. His previous assassination attempts had made him careful, but they did not cause him to run away.
Perhaps most importantly, Megan thought, was the fact that she did not want to run. She wanted to stay by his side, and she wanted him to win the election and become President. So there was no other option than to stay and fight, to confront the threat head-on. Megan mentally prepared herself for the most difficult call of her life.
“Mr. Smith,” she spoke into her cell phone. “This is Megan Silverstreet. I’m calling to warn you that your life is in danger.
Chapter Eight:
Understandably, Dan was reluctant to meet with Megan in person. Her phone call’s grim portent had made him wary, so he agreed only to speak on the phone.
“I don’t understand what you hope to achieve in telling me this,” Dan said defensively. “I’ve already faced this threat before. I live with it every day. I can’t just stop fighting for what I believe because of the depravity and desperation of my opponents,” he concluded eloquently.
“I’m asking you to take a leap of faith on this. You and your family have to go into hiding for a few days. This is very serious,” Megan said.
“And how can you be sure that when I come out of hiding afterwords, it will be safe?” Dan asked.
“Leave that to me, though...a promise of a pardon, if you get elected, would certainly help,” Megan said nervously.
“Let me get this straight,” Dan said, clearly becoming angry. “You want me to believe that there is a deadly threat against my life, and that I’d promise you a pardon for your murder of the people responsible? This is insanity. I’ve listed so far because of the connection we had at the fundraisier, Megan, but you are really pushing me here.”
“Why do you think I called?” Megan asked with hurt in her voice. “I care about you, too. I don’t want you to die. I don’t want your kids to die.”
“Well, whatever you plan to do about it, I won’t sanction or condone a murder to prevent a murder,” Dan replied.
Megan sighed and thought for a moment. “All right,” she said at last. “I have a plan.”
~
Mr. Sherwood, though confident things would go as he had planned, didn’t care to see them in person. In fact, he made sure he was out of the country when it happened. The entire affair was becoming far more messy than he originally intended, and he realized that people were going to ask a lot of questions. He therefore decided to enjoy a cruise around the tropics in his private yacht. He had a full staff, including a private chief, masseuses, his mistress, maids, and a fishing expert to help with deep sea fishing, one of his favorite hobbies. The boat contained accommodations for himself and up to 50 others, not including the servants. This time, however, he opted only to invite members from the Chamber, figuring they’d also appreciate the privacy.
The first night of the trip had gone exactly the way he wanted. He had enjoyed a dish prepared with French Black Winter truffles, an exceedingly rare and expensive type of mushroom that was a particular favorite of his. He dipped them in something called Prime Osetra caviar, which had been a gift from Boris and which had a delicious, salty tang. After that, he and the rest of his board members did some deep sea fishing, and he caught the biggest fish. When everyone had retired, he enjoyed the company of his mistress, who, unlike his wife, never hesitated to fulfill any of his wildest fantasies and role-plays.
When she had retired to her room, however, Don Sherwood still on edge. He couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something terrible was about to happen to him. He stared out the porthole of his master suite cabin, watching the waves through the thin lights issuing from the side of his boat. For a moment, he thought he saw a small vessel, which was dark and looked like a motorboat, heading for the ship.
Mr. Sherwood checked his watch, which showed the time as past 3 AM. He vigorously rubbed his eyes, and looked out the porthole again. This time, nothing. Deciding that he must be seeing things, he lay back down in bed and tried to sleep. Strange noises seemed to haunt his uneven rest, and in desperation he reached for the cabinet next to his bed. He found a bottle of Highland Park 40 year old Scotch, and casually guzzled down a substantial amount of the thousand dollar bottle without even bothering with a glass. Finally, he closed his eyes and found rest.
His rest was interrupted by a old, creaking voice. “Maid’s service?” the voice called out.
“Go away,” Sherwood replied, feeling hung over. He heard a click at the door, followed by creaking at the hinges. The light in the room went on, and Don Sherwood was face to face with a very old looking cleaning lady he didn’t recognize. She wore the tight uniform of all of the cleaning ladies on the ship, but it fit her plump, matronly body quite poorly, with excess flesh practically pouring out of it in an obscene manner. “I told you to go,” Don said, but instead she started to shuffle towards him. Don started to speak again, but with surprising speed, she took the rag in her hand and shoved it against his mouth. Within a few moments, he lost consciousness.
When he awoke, he was tied to a chair in a stucco room. Megan’s face was leering down at him, a grin wide across her face.
“Wake up, Sherwood. Wake up, Mr. Chairman,” she said in a sickly sweet voice.
“I’m awake,” Don growled. “Megan, what are you doing? Did someone pay you to take me out?”
“If someone paid me to make you dead,” Megan began, “you’d be dead.”
“Yet, when someone paid you to kill Senator Smith, you couldn’t do it,” Don shot back.
“Someone didn’t do that,” Megan countered. “It was you. Did you start looking for a replacement?”
“You were taking too long,” Don lamented. “I thought you had taken the money and ran.”
“But, what I wonder is, why? Why did you want anyone to kill the Senator?” Megan asked.
“He’s an ass,” Don shouted out. “Isn’t that enough? Why do you need a motive? You’re supposed to do what I tell you to do. I paid you to kill him and you didn’t do it. If you hadn’t gone soft, you’d see that...” his voice trailed off, as Megan had turned her back from him and left the room.
“I think that’s enough,” Megan called out to Dan, whom had been recording the conversation through a hidden camera in the ceiling. Dan agreed, and made a motion to the two men in military uniform sitting next to him in the recording booth.
“You shouldn’t have let your vessel stray so close to Jarvis island,” Megan chastised Mr. Sherwood. “It’s still US territory, and we can still arrest you for conspiracy to commit murder.” Don, looking outraged, started to sputter.
“You can’t...you can’t do this. I’m the Chairman! I’m the Chairman! You have no idea who you are dealing with. I’ll fight you even from prison! You’ll never safe, not while I breathe! Even if they give me the death penalty, I’ll change my will! Anyone who kills you inherits my fortune!” he raved. The uniformed men began to read him his Miranda rights as Megan and Dan left the room.
“It’s too bad there is no airport within 100 miles,” Dan complained. “Long trip that tiny boat...”
“Maybe that’s something I can help with,” a husky, Russian accented voice boomed out. Boris walked into the room sporting a wide smile. “I keep a registry of satellite signals for every stealth motor I sell, and you got yours from me...I saw you heading out this way and thought you might use some help.”
“What have you got?” Megan asked, relieved to see a friend.
“A much faster boat than yours,” Boris said. “We’ll get to an airport in a third the time. And a much bigger cabin. You’ll be much more comfortable and...perfectly safe,” he promised.
“Sounds good,” Dan said. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Nine:
“Tell me about this plan of yours,” Boris asked as soon as they were aboard his sleek, black cruiser.
“Well, Dan didn’t want to condone murder. I figured if I goaded him enough, he’d admit what he had done, and we can at least put him away for a long time,” Megan said. “I had to use some...creativity...to stow away onto the ship, and to get past his guards to the area with his cabin.”
“But, if your goal was a taped confession,” Boris asked, “aren’t you implicated, too?”
“I’m on good terms with the Attorney General,” Dan interjected. “He’s agreed to not press any charges against Megan in exchange for her help on this.” He sighed for a moment, gazing off into the sea. “It certainly feels good to have this entire thing over.”
“Not quite over,” Megan said, her red hair blowing in the ocean breeze. “We’ve still got to find the other person hired to kill the two of us. Their payday just went up, if Don was serious about promising his entire fortune to the would be killer.”
“Funny you should mention that,” Boris said with a grim tone. “I happen to know who that other killer is.”
“Who?” Megan asked.
“Me,” Boris said flatly, as if the information ought not to come as a surprise. Megan’s muscles tensed up, and she gave some thought to the combat knife she had next to her belt on the right side. If only she could both unsheath it and slash in one, smooth motion...
“You’re kidding, right?” Dan said, interrupting the pregnant pause in the conversation. He clearly had a worried look on his face.
“I am serious,” Boris replied, not making eye contact with either. “Dead serious.” Megan lowered her hand to the hilt of the weapon, knowing that she’d only have one chance for the element of surprise. “Of course, there’s and important caveat,” Boris added.
“Well?” Megan said, her voice sounding stiff and brittle with worry.
“I only accepted the job to kill you, in order to save your life,” Boris said.
“What do you mean,” asked Dan, confused.
“Well, I had to make sure he hired me. If he didn’t, he would have hired someone else, someone who would intend to go through with it. I sent you a message to give you a chance to try something creative to solve the problem,” Boris explained.
“I don’t know how I can repay you for this,” Megan said, when she was finally able to collect herself.
“A million dollars is a good start,” Boris said nonchalantly. Megan stared at his expression intently, unable to discern if he was joking. She was too relieved, though, to care either way. “You two have had a long day. Go ahead and relax, I’ve got the helm,” Boris said.
“One thing still is unexplained,” Dan asked once the two had made their way to their private cabin. “How did you move about Sherwood’s ship without being recognized?”
“You might already have an idea...” Megan replied sheepishly.
“I want to hear you say it,” Dan insisted, as he twirled a lock of her fiery hair with his finger.
“Later,” she said. “I’ll reveal everything to you at the proper time.”
“I was a bit worried there, for a moment,” Dan confessed.
“Don’t worry,” Megan said. “I’ll never let anything bad happen to you.” The two looked into each other’s eyes deeply for a moment. Megan was wearing jeans and a tight fitting tank top, which showed off her trim, toned body. As Dan allowed himself to admire her form, Megan snuggled in a little closer.
They leaned in to kiss, but just as their lips locked, Megan heard a faint scratching sound. She pulled back quickly, trying to listen for the noise again.
“Was it that bad?” Dan asked, assuming that he was the reason for the premature end to their lip lock.
“Shh,” Megan said. “I hear something.” She waited for a few more moments, and heard the distinctive hiss of a gunshot muffled by a silencer.
“Under the bed,” Megan ordered Dan. “Now.” Seeing the serious expression on her face, he obeyed. Megan sat up, and quickly reached into her purse for her Grizzly Win Mag, a gas powered, semi-automatic pistol. She stood directly behind the cabin door, and waited.
Before long, she heard a loud crack, and the door was kicked open, flying back and pinning Megan against the wall. A massive man dressed in thick body armor and ski mask stormed in, carrying an assault rifle.
“They’re not here,” he said, presumably to someone who was listening to him through his headset. Thinking fast, Megan pressed the EMP button on the side of her watch, hoping to knock out the communication between the man and his comrades. “Wait,” he added, looking closer at the casually draped blankets on the bed. He carefully positioned his gun as close to the bed as possible, and slowly bent his knees to look under the bed.
Megan saw her chance. With one swift motion, she pushed the door back with her leg and lifted her pistol. The man had just enough time to spin around before Megan emptied five rounds into him.
One of the bullets hit him in the arm, while the others hit his chest. The high powered munitions punctured his armor, and the man collapsed on the floor. His injured arm jerked uncontrollably, and he fired the rifle at the floor until the weapon was empty. The high powered weapons had boomed like firecrackers, and Megan knew that the man’s friends would come running soon.
“Stay here!” Megan shouted back at Dan. She turned her attention towards the hallway, where she could see another man in black armor barring down the long corridor. She quickly lowered her body to the prone position, and placed herself behind the fallen assailant.
He fired a couple of shots, but they flew over her. Megan took careful aim and returned fire, felling the man in the temple with a single well placed shot.
She slowly walked across the hallway, hugging her body to the left side. Since the only way to her was a left turn at the corner, she knew any assailant who tried to peek around would get a better shot at the right half of the corridor than the left. No reason to take any chances when dealing with professionals.
When she reached the edge, she paused, knowing that someone might be waiting up ahead for her, the way she had waited for her first attacker in the cabin. She pulled her makeup mirror from her right hand jean pocket. As she opened it, she remembered how she had once used it to check on her disguise at the fundraiser for Dan, in an effort to kill him. Now, she was using it to check corners, and possibly to save Dan’s life, along with her own.
The corner was clear, and Megan moved toward the top deck of the ship. As she reached for the door to the top deck, it opened on its own, away from her. A massive, black gloved fist was pulling it.
As soon as he saw her, he let go of the handle and reached for his machine gun. Thinking fast, Megan kicked at the door, and it swung towards him, knocking his weapon down down just as he began to fire. A round went off and presumably hit him in the leg or the foot, because a moment later he doubled over in pain.
Megan pulled out her Grizzly pistol. She only had one bullet left - she couldn’t afford to miss. She aimed at the squirming man on the floor carefully, but just before she pulled the trigger, he kicked at her legs and she toppled. Her gun went flying behind her.
The man aimed his weapon directly at Megan and fired, but a noisy clicking sound revealed the the gun had jammed. Unable to stand, the man hobbled towards her, the butt of his rifle raised. Before she could roll out of the way, the weapon fell upon her side. With a sicking crunch, it hit her in the ribs. Pain flooded through her body in such a strong wave that it was nearly nauseating. She fumbled for any weapon, and reached for the weaponized cell phone in her pocket. It wasn’t immediately lethal, but...if she was to go down, she wanted to go down swinging.
With a swing of his rifle, the phone flew from her from her hands and shattered against the wall. She reached for the knife attached to her belt, but before she could get to it, the man raised the rifle again. This time Megan managed to stop the oncoming blow with her arms. As she struggled to hold it in place, the man quickly whipped the weight of his shoulders forwards and bludgeoned her in the head.
Dazed, her vision blurred, Megan could barely see what was happening. She could see the man inching his way closer to her, trying to get better positioned for the coup de gras - the killing blow. With a sense of helplessness, she tried in vain to force her tired body to move. A blur of black swirled above her head as she saw the man lift, then bring down his rifle in a massive arc.
She saw the man’s weapon fall towards her, but too slowly to be a swing. At the same time, she heard a loud, distinctive bang - the sound of her Grizzly firing. As her vision focused, she saw the third, and she hoped, final assailant, lying dead in front of her.
“Great shot, Boris,” Megan said through a long, painful sigh. Each breath seemed cut through her wounded ribs.
“That one was mine,” Dan’s voice came from behind her.
“Dan?” Megan asked, surprised. “I thought I told you to stay safe.”
“I would never let you die out here alone. Not after all you’ve done for me,” Dan said.
With shooting pain, she pulled herself up and looked past the door. A few feet in, Boris’s body lay in a pool of blood, which was coming from wounds to his neck and forehead.
“I can’t believe it,” Megan said, feeling worse than she imagined possible. “He was my closest friend.”
“I guess it was his time,” Dan replied.
“It would have been mine, if you hadn’t intervened,” Megan admitted.
“Hey, you took out two and a half men, I just finished the last one off,” Dan countered. “It’s never going to be safe for you, knowing me. I’d understand if you didn’t want to.”
“The fact that you won’t be safe is all the more reason for me to stay, Dan. I can’t think of anything more important than protecting you - and loving you,” Megan said.
Chapter Ten:
Megan’s wounds healed quickly, and as soon as she was back on her feet, she started attending regular meetings with Dan’s secret service squad, giving them strategies for dealing with the threat of another attack. It had been foolish for her to assume that there would only be a single replacement killer, and now Boris was dead. She didn’t want to be equally stupid and assume there would not be any more replacements.
After Don Sherwood cut a deal with federal prosecutors in exchange for testimony about his fellow banking co-conspirators, though, that possibility looked increasingly remote. The people who had the most interest were no longer in any position to contract something like this out again.
Despite the pace of the Presidential race, Dan found the time to get to know Megan in earnest. Each day, they felt more and more in love with each other. Megan began a new life, becoming the philanthropist she once pretended to be. Of course, she still had a day job as a nanny for Dan’s kids, and of course she still did this job as Mildred. It was ironic, how such a stern exterior helped her to discover her soft side, but it was a pleasant twist nonetheless.
For the longest time, Megan had the distinct impression that Dan already knew her secret, though he didn’t understand how it was possible. Then again, she herself wasn’t quite aware how it was possible. She had not shown him the disguise, but he always gave her a knowing look when she talked about Mildred.
Eventually, the kids started asking more and more about the interesting young woman that their father was seeing so much of, and so after much deliberation, Dan and Megan decided it would be best if she became a part of their lives, in her natural form. She also decided it would be best to show him her disguise, at long last - but after the election was over, of course.
As the days counted down until the election, Dan found himself thinking about it less and less and thinking about Megan and Mildred more and more. His lead in the polls made the actual election night an afterthought: he had already won over the nation, and people knew it. Instead, he relished the chance to finally see the magical process that he suspected existed, but could not reconcile with his logical and empirically grounded mind. What’s more, he relished the though that she was finally willing to share the secret with him, to give him a privileged viewing of her most vulnerable secret. The thought of this beautiful, young, vibrant woman having a completely different side captivated him. Late at night, he would think about how it must happen, like a coin spinning in his mind. On one side was Megan, and the other, Mildred. It was almost intoxicating just to contemplate.
When election night finally arrived, Dan found himself elected President by an overwhelming margin. He was proud to walk onstage with Megan as he prepared to give his victory speech. It seemed fitting that someone like her should be the first lady.
Thankfully, there was a bit of free time for him between the election and the inauguration. Per Megan’s promise, the day had finally arrived for their relationship to go to the next level. Megan was going to reveal everything to him.
“You’ve been anticipating this for quite a while, huh?” Megan asked Dan.
“I can’t stop twirling it around in my head,” Dan confessed. He had, of course, spent time around Mildred. But since he had never seen the actual disguise take place, there was still some kind of plausible deniability in his mind. He still treated Megan and Mildred as though they were two different, distinct people, in part because he couldn’t believe what Megan had all but admitted to him. Not unless he saw it with his own two eyes.
“There certainly are a lot of possibilities here,” Megan said with a sultry lilt to her voice, as she started to remove her clothes.
“Such as?” Dan asked, his voice straining with anticipation.
“Well, Mildred can stay on, at least for a few months, until the kids adjust to seeing us together,” Megan started. “Or she can just come out to play with you. Our little secret.”
“What other options do I have?” Dan asked, as Megan stood before him, stark naked.
“Well...” Megan began, as she started to pull out her Mildred clothes. “Maybe you could even go on dates with Mildred. That would be interesting, wouldn’t it? They could be romantically themed, or staged so that it looks like you are just having a friendly meal with Megan’s great aunt...”
“It’s exciting,” Dan said, as Megan lifted her Mildred granny panties from her special, big purse. “Thinking about all the possibilities, I mean.”
“Is that all that’s exciting?” Megan asked with a smirk as she pulled the large dress over her lithe body.
“It’s so big on you...” Dan remarked.
“You’ve seen it on Mildred dozens of times,” Megan said.
“But, I’ve never seen it on you,” Dan said. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
“I was surprised the first time I saw it, too,” Megan confessed. “But, as you know, on Mildred, it’s practically too small.”
Dan found himself thinking of just how small that garment was, when stretched out across Mildred’s curves and sagging flesh.
He expected Megan to don a bodysuit, or some face makeup, or perhaps a mask of some kind. He was surprised when, at last, all she pulled out was string of pearls. She held them at arms length, her lips pouting seductively. Megan looked almost ridiculous, wearing clothes that fit her so poorly and so clearly represented a woman much older than she was. If he hadn’t known her, having seen her only at this moment, he might have thought she looked like a teenager playing dress-up in her grandmother’s clothes. She pulled a cardigan over the dress, but it was far too large as well, and it was frayed and stretched.
“I’m still a little nervous,” Megan said sheeplishly.
“Why? I can’t wait to see it,” Dan said.
“I know, it’s just...you’ll be the first one I show it to,” Megan began. “It’s very personal and I know some people could less than excited about it.”
“I don’t think that will be me, I’ve been thinking about it for quite some time now,” Dan tried to assure her.
“When a woman is pregnant, the man typically thinks about that for months,” Megan countered. “Yet there’s a well established phenomenon that when a man watches his wife give birth he often doesn’t feel as attracted to her anymore.”
“That sot of thing isn’t going to happen,” Dan insisted. He leaned forwards and gave her a little kiss. “I love you. I’ll always care for your and feel attracted to you.”
Megan sighed, nodded her head in agreement, and asked “Are you ready?”
“Of course,” Dan replied, grinning widely as he got into his favorite chair.
“Then sit back and enjoy the show,” Megan said, and clasped the pearls behind her neck. For a brief moment, they gave of the faintest glow of light.
“You must be joking,” Dan said. “That’s it?”
“I’m not joking!” Megan insisted, as she swiftly crossed the room to where he was sitting. She leaned in and straddled him in his chair, like she was a stripper giving him a lap dance.
As Dan was enjoying the pleasant grinding sensations, he gazed down the front of Megan’s super-sized dress. To his surprise, as he was enjoying an eyeful of Megan’s chest, he noticed that her breasts were bigger than he remembered. Megan had the body of a lithe, thin young woman, with the small, pert breasts that generally came with healthy food and regular exercise. Now, though, those small breasts were far larger, two white orbs barely contained in her sports bra.
“You like?” Megan asked. She leaned in further and rubbed her growing chest in his face. He moaned with appreciation, and Megan reached her arms around the back of his head, her fingernails penetrating his hair and dancing on his scalp. She tightened her arms and pressed him even closer, leaning down slightly to deliver a smooch to the top of his forehead.
“Mmm...Megan,” Dan said with appreciation, as she pulled back. “You’re so sexy.” When he saw Megan’s face, however, he suddenly saw that she was...not Megan, not anymore.
She wasn’t Mildred - she didn’t even look similar to Mildred. But Megan clearly had changed. Her face now contained laugh lines and shadows under her eyes. Her face was a little puffier, softer, and rounder, but the skin itself looked a little rougher. A few lines of white and grey had etchend themselves into her fiery red hair. The overall youthful glow had faded, and Dan guessed that she now looked like a woman in her late 30’s.
“Megan?” Dan asked, feeling surprised. She was changing, seemingly through pure magic, right before his eyes. His logical, scientific grounding could not explain it.
“What’s the matter? I’d guess I’m still a few years younger than you,” Megan replied. “I know, I know, normally, when a man begins a relationship with a younger woman, she’s always younger relative to him. But in this case...” Megan leaned in close, so close that her lips were practically touching his ear. “That distinction is rapidly fading away,” she cooed. Dan could feel his heart pounding his excitement.
Dan felt the pressure on his lap increasing. He figured that it was from her changing her position, but when he looked over her shoulder, he saw that she hadn’t shifted her weight. As he gazed at her body, he realized that wasn’t exactly accurate. She had shifted her weight - it had gone up.
Her shoulders were a little wider and rounder, as if an artist had painted a thin layer doughy fat over her entire upper torso. He tried to look down the front of her dress to take a look at her tummy, which he was used to being flat at toned. Dan quickly realized he was unable to see it, as her breasts had grown so large and luscious that they completely blocked out a view of anything south of them.
Dan resolved that if he couldn’t see what was happening, he would feel it. He moved his hands down from her wobbly shoulders down to her swelling breasts. They were almost impossibly large and ripe, but they felt surprisingly soft upon a firm squeeze, which was perhaps a sign of things to come. He moved his hands down, over her dress, and could feel a small pot belly blossoming underneath them. Moving further down still, he could feel a widening set of hips. Below them, he could see two thickening thighs splayed out around his.
He ran his arms up and down her growing, softening body, unable to get enough. Megan pressed herself up against him as close as she could and started to grind, moving up and down with increasing speed. With each undulation, he could feel Megan’s increasingly warm, soft body jiggling a bit more, enveloping him a little more, pressing him against his seat a little firmer.
“I’m glad you are enjoying it,” Megan said with a smile. Even her voice sounded different to Dan now. It was deeper and more husky, like a woman going through menopause.
Her breasts can continued to grow, and with her added mass, they had slumped and sagged downwards, pulling at her dress and distending her cardigan. Looking up at Megan’s face again, it now more closely resembled Mildred’s. Her wrinkles had only deepened, and they had multiplied, and been joined by some age spots. They now decorated not only under her eyes and the corners of her mouth, but also her forehead, her lips, around her nose, and her neck. The skin was now very rough and leathery. Her lips looked whithered and deflated, and her eyes seemed yellower on the outside and a stained, stern looking brown near the pupil. Despite the fact that her hands were nowhere near her hair, it seemed to be re-arranging itself into Mildred’s signature, conservative bun hairdo. There was a dark splotchy patch, but it was mostly white and grey.
“Wow,” Dan said with a whisper.
“Speak up, sonny, I can’t hear you,” Mildred responded, and then let out a long, witch sounding cackle. She reared her head back as she let it out, allowing Dan to see her deteriorating, yellowed teeth. Her body shook with the laughter, jiggling wildly.
“That’s amazing,” Dan said. “How does it work?”
“Who knows?” Mildred asked. “What matters is that it saved your life, helped me take care of your kids, and allowed me to become a different kind of person,” she said, her voice dry, rough, and brittle sounding, with a distinctive warble.
“It’s certainly a very...convincing disguise,” Dan hedged, not knowing quite what to say.
“Come on, Dan,” Mildred said. “I know you better than that. Sometimes I feel like I know you better than you know yourself. You knew it was convincing before this display. Something else is going on for you.”
“What do you mean?” Dan asked, feeling embarrassed.
“Come on, you were enjoying yourself. I could tell,” She said in her deep, gravelly, harsh sounding voice. Dan didn’t respond, fearing that the statement was an accusation. “It’s fine, don’t worry,” she said as she ran her hands up and down her massively plump body. “I had a feeling you might prefer me like this.” Dan merely nodded, and Mildred cupped her large breasts, which were protruding out of her dress and through her cardigan almost obscenely. She pushed and pulled on them, each change in movement producing a new shape and a new, unique way her breasts pressed their form into her clothing and her cardigan. With the skillful, teasing motions of her bony, age spotted fingers, Dan guessed she had done this in the mirror many times before.
“Come on, give Mildred a kiss,” she said as she leaned in. The chair creaked with the weight, and Mildred pressed her thin, lined lips against his. For a brief moment, his mouth was invaded by her tongue and he could feel her cracked teeth invading his mouth. Even her kiss tasted different. Megan’s strawberry mouth seemed to have vanished, replaced by a rough, musky taste that had just a hint of a sickly sweetness, like leather imbued with the essence of maple syrup. As Mildred leaned in, he could feel the weight of her ponderous, sagging bosom pressing heavily against his chest.
His resistance and reluctance to acknowledge his own desires collapsed, and he returned the the kiss with a hungry passion. When they broke the kiss, they were both panting and breathing heavily.
“This can be yours whenever you’d like,” Mildred promised. “When the kids are away, we can have our special time. Whenever you feel bored with Megan or just in the mood for something special...I’ll be here for you,” she said.
“I’ll take you up on that,” Dan replied. Mildred reached down and put a hand onto his shirt, which she pulled up slightly. She caressed the top of his stomach, before slipping her hand lower, into his underwear. Dan felt the grip of her wrinkled, bony hand on him and felt a shiver go up his spine.
“That’s why I like you young bucks,” Mildred said. “Full of such strength and stamina. You know what it’s like to enjoy someone younger, don’t you, Dan? How do you like the reversal now?”
“Shall we, uh?” Dan’s usual eloquence failed him as he reached for words.
“Retire to the bedroom?” Mildred finished for him. Dan nodded. The chair creaked again as the both rose and walked towards the bed.
Dan and Mildred walked towards the bed that Dan was used to sharing with Megan. Well, Dan walked, but Mildred shuffled with a kind of waddle to her gait.
When Mildred arrived on the bed, Dan had already taken his shirt off. Mildred helped him yank his pants down as well. When Dan moved to tug down her garments, Mildred slapped his hand away.
“I think it’s more interesting if they stay on,” Mildred cooed. Dan nodded, agreeing. “Well, if they stay mostly oh,” Mildred qualified, as she pulled down her granny panties. Dan got a good luck at her legs, which were large, rounded, and covered in cottage-cheese like cellulite and varicose veins. Her butt was also massive, sticking out behind her and hanging out like a shelf.
Mildred had a momentary inspiration and decided that she would try one final time to to remove the bun from her hair. She finally succeeded, and she was able to give Dan a face full of wispy white and gray locks, not to mention a nice view of her soft, jiggling upper arms as she undid her hair. She could feel their bodies mash together as they rolled around on the bed. Dan couldn’t stop groping her impossibly big, impossibly saggy breasts, and delighted in their soft, malleable texture. A firm squeeze by his eager fingers made them almost change change in his hands, and he wanted to explore how much they could look different and how they could strain her too-tight cardigan in differing ways. Her large tummy also stuck out of her clothing, and it felt warm and soft to the touch.
The moment of their coupling was almost at hand, and Dan could hardly be more excited. The woman he loved, Megan, was young, smart, beautiful, and had saved his life. The fact that she had a secret disguise as someone who looked so different made her even more appealing. Underneath, she was still Megan, but right now, she was sharing Mildred with him. And, she had promised to share her whenever he wanted.
Megan was young, thin, and very fit. Mildred was old, fat, and flabby. It was the perfect diguise and the perfect seduction. He gasped as they fit together, feeling a sense of purpose wash over him. All his life, he hadn’t quite understood what he wanted from women. His feeling had always been confusing and contradictory. Now, they were clear as day. What he wanted was this.
As she straddled herself onto him, he ran his hands up and down her body, trying to appreciate every curve, every sagging flab, and every wrinkle. He buried his face in her bountiful cleavage as she continued to build the rhythm. Dan wrapped his arms around her and grabbed her butt, both to knead its magnificent flabbiness and to pull them even closer together.
They both cried out together, his deep, manly voice accompanying the dry, gravelling, crooning tone of an old matron.
~
“I’m glad we decided Mildred will stay on,” Dan said, after they lay side by side. “I mean, Megan certainly should get to know the kids during the weekends, but...”
“You want me to be part of your life, part of your children’s lives,” Mildred finished. “I’m flattered, really.”
“You are a dream come true for me,” Dan said.
“And you are going to be dream come true for a whole country, young man” Mildred replied. “I hope you have the energy for being the leader of the free world and our little workouts.”
“Are you kidding?” Dan asked. “If I can’t find the the time and energy for this...”
“Good,” Mildred replied, stroking his bare chest with her spindly fingers. “Very good.”
“Would you like to go to the movies later today, with the kids?” Dan asked.
“I’d love to. I can’t imagine a better way to kill a couple of hours,” Mildred replied. “Well, aside from...a repeat of what we just did.”
“You read my mind...that was my plan for after dinner,” Dan said.
“Do you want to see me put on the disguise again?” Mildred asked.
“I could see that a thousand times and never tire of it,” Dan said as he leaned in to give Mildred a kiss.
~~~
The End
“For years now, people have been suffering,” Senator Smith intoned. “For years, people have sacrificed, have watched the future grow dim. One question is on everyone’s mind: who is responsible for this?”
The young, up and coming Senator paused for a moment, allowing the crowd to consider the question carefully. “We’ve been fed a lot of lies about this one, of course. But most of us still know who the culprits are – the big banks.” Boos erupted from the crowd at the mention of that word.
“First they crashed our economy with their reckless speculation, then they got bailed out by Joe Taxpayer, now they’re refusing to lend to folks in need. Yet what price have they paid? CEO pay is up 25% this year alone! They’re giving the good life, while they are turning people out of their homes and onto the streets every single day,” the Senator continued. The crowd was again silent.
“Well, I’m here to tell you that, if you elect me as your President, the days of sitting back and taking it are over and done with. If you give me the great privilege of being your leader, I’ll implement a financial transaction tax, to limit reckless speculation. I’ll create a new tax bracket, at double the top rate, for millionaires only. Where will this tax money go, you ask? To the people! I’ll start a massive public works program and put the people back to work in this country!” Wild applause erupted, and signed emblazoned with Smith’s name and logo were waved.
“And I’ll create a government task force to investigate the banks for any crimes that they committed. I promise you, if I’m President, CEOs who cross the line will be in prison! I promise you…” Senator’s Smiths comments were abruptly cut off, mid sentence, by the click of a remote.
“Gentlemen, I don’t need to remind you that Smith is currently on top of the polls for his party’s nomination,” Bob Sherwood, the chairman of the Chamber of Banking Interests, droned ominously to his fellow members seated at the round table. “We’ve all known for quite some time that he’s been our biggest danger.”
“But nothing we’ve done as stopped him,” Lloyd Fielding, seated immediately to Sherwood’s left, opined. “We’ve tried digging up dirt, and he’s clean as a whistle…”
“And we’ve tried to bury him alive in negative ads with stuff we manufactured,” Dougal Sidney, sitting at the far right of the table, added. “Nothing seems to stick with this guy.”
“I’m very aware of all this,” Mr. Sherwood said quickly. “Which is why I’ve decided we might need to take…definitive action.”
“Definitive action?” Mr. Fielding asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?” At that very moment, the door to the boardroom opened.
“Gentlemen, may I present Megan Hunt.” In walked a tall, slender woman with flowing, disctinvely red hair, with the faintest scattering of freckles on her face. She wore a tight-fitting, expensive looking women’s suit and carried a briefcase in one hand.
“Are you a lobbyist?” Mr. Fielding asked, after a long, pregnant pause captured the room.
The woman answered with a throaty, low chuckle that almost seemed out of place coming from such a feminine mouth.
“Ms. Hunt is what we’re going to call a…problem solver.” Mr. Sherwood asserted with a great deal of vagueness.
“But, Mr. Sherwood,” Mr. Fielding whined, “surely you are going to have to explain…”
“I think it is better for everyone,” Mr. Sherwood interrupted, “if we leave it at that. Ms. Hunt is simply going to…solve our problem.” A grim understanding swept the room.
“What you are asking for is difficult,” Megan began, “but not impossible. But naturally, for a job like this, the price is going to reflect the challenge of the task at hand.”
“Well, that’s why I’ve invited you here. I wanted to make sure we are all committed to this, and negotiate your payment...”
“I’m committed,” Mr. Sidney responded quickly. The other men followed suit. Mr. Fielding spoke last, and looked nervous, but he too voiced his opinion in the affirmative.
“Then it’s settled,” Mr. Sherwood said with a slight smile. “Now, Ms. Hunt, the associate who introduced us informed me that your fee for your most recent job was seven figures. We are prepared to triple that.”
“My last job,” Megan Hunt began, “wasn’t someone who is currently under constant protection by the Secret Service.”
“Very well.” Mr. Sherwood said calmly. “Five million, then.”
“Let me show you something,” Ms. Hunt said as she opened her briefcase and pulled out several folders. “Last election cycle, your organization collectively spent $32 million on lobbying and campaign contributions.”
A bead of sweat started to make it’s way down Mr. Sherwood’s face. “We can’t commit that kind of money. Thirty two million! Let’s be reasonable...”
“I never asked for thirty two. I simply pointed out what your organization has been willing to spend in the past to influence the political process. Half of that amount would be acceptable,” Megan said calmly.
“Sixteen million?” Mr. Sherwood asked. “What could you possibly need...”
“If I do what you’re asking,” Megan interrupted, “It will be my last job, ever. I’ve have to disappear for good. Besides, the candidate for President you backed last time lost. With me you leave nothing to chance.”
“Wait just a minute,” Mr. Sidney said. “As we all know from those commercial disclaimers, past performance is no guarantee of future results. There’s no way for us to know for sure you’ll succeed.”
“That’s true. Which is why you’re going to pay me half now, half when the job is finished,” Megan responded. There was a brief period of quiet murmuring around the table.
“Done. Eight million now, eight more if you succeed,” Mr. Sherwood said.
“When I succeed,” she corrected him. “These are my offshore bank details. I expect the eight million to be there within 52 hours.” With that, she turned and confidently strutted out of the room.
Chapter One:
Megan Hunt returned to her modest apartment, first dusting the door for fingerprints to see if anyone had checked in on her while she was out. Once inside, she activated a small EMP device disguised as her gaudy wristwatch to short circuit any surveillance devices that might have been planted. Her laptop, encased in a lead shield in her safe, was the only electronic device she owned.
Megan was nothing if not careful. She knew that there was still some possibility that they would change their minds and the deal was off. She knew that even if she finished the job, there was a high probability that they’d decide not to pay her the remaining half of her reward, knowing that she’d have few avenues to contest the terms of their arrangement. That was why it was so important to get half right away.
She also knew that a significant portion of the money would have to go to expenses related to the job, relocation out of the country, bribes for sneaking the money in without getting noticed, expenses for setting up a “small business” to launder the money, and finally, taxes and deductions to be taken out of the “income” from such a business venture. Still, if she invested wisely and lived relatively modestly, what remained of her eight million would be more than enough to live comfortably for the rest of her life.
The money came through at 51 and a half hours after her meeting, and Megan wasted no time in getting to work. Within a few hours of research and some well placed phone calls, she found out that the Senator had almost been assassinated twice before. One would be killer tried to snipe him from the roof of a tall building, while another had tried to poison his food. Both of these attempts were kept under wraps, but as a result, Smith now was taking extraordinary precautions. From talking to a vendor for a stadium he had used for a rally, Megan learned that he never spoke at an event with any buildings or potential vantage points. She also heard from others that he would only travel by private jet or armored car, and that he subjected everything he ate to the highest level of scrutiny.
A few hours later, Megan called her favorite illegal weapons manufacturer, whom she was hoping would give her a few creative solutions to this increasingly complex job.
“That guy is one of the most protected people in the United States,” Boris said in his thick accent, after she revealed her target’s name. “ Aside from the President and the VP, I can’t think of anybody else. How much of a budget have you got?”
“Right now, eight million,” Megan said, her leg shaking a little with nerves. Boris whistled.
“I always hesitate to turn away a customer, but you’ve been very good to me over the years, so I’m going to be honest with you. Have you considered taking the money and running?”
For a brief moment, Megan pondered the enormity of the task at hand and considered his proposition. She had a fake passport, contacts in Thailand that could get her plastic surgery...she might be able to disguise herself to look like just about any ordinary person. Nobody would know who she was, nobody would suspect that there was a killer living in their midst...she could just vanish.
Then again, if she didn’t take care of Senator Smith, she knew the “banksters” would hire someone else. And whoever that person would be, they’d have two jobs: hunting Smith and hunting her.
“Boris, I’ve got to do this,” she said at last.
“It’s your decision,” Boris said with a long sigh. “Come on down, and we’ll see what we can find for you.”
“Sure thing,” Megan replied. “I was feeling hungry anyway,” she said, and hung up the phone.
A few minutes later, Megan made her way to the downtown, arriving at the Russian restaurant Vozrast Progressiy. It was an exorbitantly expensive place Boris used to set up meetings and disguise the true source of his income.
“It is good to see you again,” her young, very Eastern European stereotypical-looking waitress said upon seeing Megan at her regular table.
“It’s always good to be here, Tanya,” Megan responded. “I’ll have my usual.” After a lengthy interlude, the waitress brought over some hot Schci cabbage soup and a liver tort.
The food was excellent, but Megan tried not to make a habit out of eating it too often. Aside from the overly inflated prices, the food itself was very high in calories. Whenever she left the place, she always felt like she had put at least a pound or two. In addition, it was incredibly salty and dried out her skin. She swore when she woke up the next day after eating there, she looked a year older in the mirror.
When she had at least finished her meal, Tanya re-appeared, and it was time to see Boris.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked.
“What types of caviar does your boss have on reserve today?” Megan’s question was the password to see Boris.
“Ah, well, let’s get you down to his private anti-chamber and you two can discuss it,” Tanya said, and they headed to the back of the restaurant. Megan always disliked walking through the kitchen: after stuffing herself to near the bursting point full of the pungent cuisine, smelling it being prepared in full force was a bit much.
She finally reached the back of the kitchen, and Tanya entered a code on a keypad next to a steel re-enforced door. With a whir and a hiss of air escaping, the door opened, and Megan entered. There was nothing in the room except for a wrought iron, steep looking spiral staircase heading into the basement level.
Chapter Two:
Boris was near the bottom of the stairs to greet Megan with a chuckle and a strong hug. The mammoth of a man’s bushy beard scratched the side of her face as he nearly crushed her in his arms.
“Ouch,” Megan complained as he let her go. “What was that for?”
“You’re one of my best customers, Megan, and with what you’ve got ahead of you, I might never see you again,” Boris replied, a glint in his eye.
“You’re not exactly the beacon of hope and encouragement I was hoping for,” Megan said a bit defensively as she walked towards the shelves in the dank basement. Boris’s ‘private caviar room,’ was likely the largest cache of illegal weapons in the city, and thanks to his ingenious cover, few suspected him. This meant he could operate with the calm comfort of knowing an arrest warrant wasn’t just around the corner, but there were downsides to his well kept secret. He only had a few customers, so prices were high.
“What do you have that’s new?” Megan asked.
“You’re lucky you called, I’ve got some toys that are probably going to be sold quick,” Boris said, slipping into his salesman mode. “Perfect for a special case like this.”
“Well, out with it then,” Megan said. “What have you got for me?”
Boris pulled a remote from the tool belt wrapped around his massive waist and pressed a few buttons, causing the shelves to rotate and show different weapons. Automatic rifles were replaced with antique knives and daggers, which were in turn replaced with sniper rifles.
“No,” Megan said simply. “He’s taking precautions against that.” She similarly rejected a rotation of explosive devices, saying only “I am not a terrorist.”
“You’re going to have to make this up close and personal, then,” Boris said. “But you’ve got to have an escape plan...” Both of them stood silently for a moment, eyeing the plethora of weapons.
“I think I have something,” Boris said at last. “You need a weapon that won’t be detected by metal. You need it to function at close range without drawing attention. And ideally, you need to also provide for your unnoticed escape.” Boris entered a code into his remote, and a small panel revealed itself on the corner of the wall. He reached into it and pulled out a cell phone.
“That’s your best, Boris? A phone?” she asked.
“It looks like a phone, and it functions as one, with no more metal than an ordinary one. But it contains some extra parts in high pressure plastic,” Boris explained, with a glint in his eye.
“What kind of parts?” Megan asked, intrigued.
“It contains a spring powered launcher of a spiked, plastic projectile. Extremely small. Maybe half a centimeter,” Boris explained, “Nobody would hear it fire over the roar of a crowd. It’s so small that it wouldn’t be caught on camera easily. The target might not even notice being hit. The effect is so light, it might feel like the mosquito bite.”
“And like a mosquito bite,” Megan finished, finally putting it together in her mind, “it can carry a deadly consequence.”
“Inside this unit are three projectiles, each tipped with Ricin. He’ll be dead within a week. There is no antidote,” Boris explained.
“What’s the catch?” Megan asked.
“Well...because we are going for a disguised weapon here,” Boris said, “the effective range is quite low.”
“How low are we talking here?” Megan asked, sounding worried.
“Honestly? I wouldn’t use it past one or two feet,” Boris admitted.
“One or two feet?” Megan asked, incredulous. “Why?”
“Well, there’s no guarantee that you’d break the skin further away. And the accuracy also drops off pretty quickly, it’s not like there’s a barrel or anything for aiming...” Boris said, his voice trailing off.
“There’s no way I’m comfortable with that,” she said. “As soon as they figure out what happened, they are going to be pouring over the tapes of the public events. I can’t get that close to him without someone seeing me. They’ll figure out who I am and hunt me to the ends of the earth.”
“What if...” Boris began. “What if you were able to get away with it because everyone was hunting for someone else? What if you wore a really good disguise while you did it?”
“It would have to be very effective,” Megan replied.
“I have a friend who makes disguises a specialty. Let me give you her address and you can see her tomorrow,” Boris said as he jotted down details on a scrap of paper.
“I don’t see any other choice,” Megan said at last as she picked up the weaponized phone. “I not completely happy here, but I guess I’ll take it. How much?”
“For you, I give a discount,” Boris said. “Uh....” he hesitated, presumably calculating in his head. “One hundred thousand.”
“One hundred thousand?” Megan shouted, outraged. “I’ve never paid half that for a weapon from you!”
“Do you know what I had to do to acquire it?” Boris asked. “Do you want it or not?”
Megan sighed deeply. “Yes, I do.”
“Three days after I get the money, I’ll send you a box of caviar. The phone will be in a false bottom,” Boris said.
“The usual method, huh?” Megan scoffed, though in truth she enjoyed the caviar.
“I haven’t been caught yet,” Boris boasted proudly.
~
The next day, Megan drove to the location of the disguise purveyor Boris had recommended. From the dusty old windows, the store looked abandoned. A faded cardboard sign in the window, however, promised that the place was indeed “OPEN,” so Megan gingerly tried the front door. After a great deal of shoving, she finally manged to push it open.
Dust immediately flooded the room, as if the door had not been opened in years. The little particles flitted about visibly through the dim light, settling on various rusted pieces of antique furniture and old fashioned clothing encased in plastic.
“I’ve been expecting you,” an ancient sounding voice spoke, startling Megan. Soon, a hunched over, tiny old woman hobbled her way into view behind some dusty counters. The top of her head was covered with a kerchief, but wispy strands of white hair were visible poking out from it. She was wearing a scarf and a purple cardigan, and her misshapen, sagging flesh was barely contained by it. Her low hanging breasts drooped down to her midsection, while her gut sagged low on her lap like an apron. Her eyes were practically buried in bags and her mouth was slightly agape, with a snaggletooth sticking out. “You are in need of a disguise.”
“I need the best,” Megan said. “Something so good that nobody would ever know who I am underneath. Something so...bewitching that I could use it to...”
“Get away with murder?” the old woman finished for her. “I think I have just the thing for you,” she croaked out, and waddled her way over to and old fashioned jewelry box.
“Mmm...these pearls will do nicely,” she crooned, more to herself than to Megan.
“I’m not playing dress up here,” Megan said, beginning to feel a little impatient. “I need to look like a completely different person.”
“I know what I’m doing,” the old woman replied quickly, her voice now coldly stern. “You’ll need some shoes, too,” she mused, and started examining a pile of old fashioned looking footwear. After she found some hideous looking clogs, she moved on to a vast hamper filled with granny panties.
“How about these?” she asked out loud as she held out a pair of polka dotted underwear. The size was enormous.
“I think they might be a little big,” Megan said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Hush, you,” the woman replied. She moved on to selecting a paisley dress that was similarly over-sized, and a belt and girdle. For a moment, Megan silently wondered if the woman was picking out clothes for herself, rather than for her.
“Let’s go to the cardigan section,” she said. The back of the store seemed to be nothing but rack after rack of grandmotherly looking cardigans, in varying color combinations and sizes. Many of them were obviously secondhand, because the fabric was noticeably stretched and fraying around the bust area.
“How about this one?” she said, holding up a brown one that was quite frayed in the lower torso area. Megan guessed that it’s previous owner must have had massive breasts to cause such damage to the garment, and by a subconscious impulse, she cupped one her own small, youthful looking bosoms.
“I don’t...think that’s going to work,” Megan said at last. She started mentally debating the idea of leaving the store and looking elsewhere.
“I guarantee,” the old lady began, “that this will be the best disguise you will ever find,” she opined. “How does that sound?”
“It sounds great,” Megan said, rolling her eyes. “But won’t I need a body suit and a mask to pull this off?”
“Of course not,” the woman replied, sounding a little offended. “The clothes will be sufficient.”
“Fine,” Megan said, feeling through debating. “How much for everything?”
“It is a gift,” the woman replied.
“No way,” Megan insisted. “There’s got to be a catch somewhere.”
“You want to pay? But you seem so...skeptical that I can deliver for you,” the old woman responded.
“Well...” Megan hesitated, not wanting to be offensive.
“How about this, if you’re not satisfied, you can rest content that you did not need to pay me. But if it is indeed the disguise of a lifetime, make a donation to some good cause, say, the Twilight Wish Foundation for the elderly,” she said.
“How big of a donation?” Megan asked.
“Whatever you feel is appropriate, given the quality of my product,” the woman replied.
“Fair enough,” Megan said. The old woman handed Megan a monstrous, old fashioned handbag and crammed the pearls, the shoes, the dress, the underwear, the belt, and the cardigan into it.
“Use it well,” she said as she handed the bag to Megan. She took it and exited the store. Upon doing so, she was hit in the face with a massive gust of dusty wind. After closing her eyes and coughing for a moment, she made her way to her car. When she entered the driver’s seat, however, she noticed that the building in front of her was now completely empty. No dusty windows, no store, no old woman. Dull, white walls and a few hooks on the ceiling were all that existed inside.
The only evidence she had that her entire experience there wasn’t a dream was the handbag resting in her lap.
Chapter Three:
Megan drove home uneasily. The incident at the shop with the old woman made her feel wary and uncomfortable. She always felt ill at ease when presented with this kind of mystery. To her, a mystery existed to be solved, not simply accepted. And yet, the more she thought about what had happened, the more she felt incapable of explaining it in any rational context.
When Megan arrived home, she resolved to thoroughly examine her new disguise. Hopefully it would provide the clues as to what was really going on.
She laid the clothes out upon her bed and stared at them for a while. There was nothing at all remarkable about them, aside from the fact that they looked very old and frumpy and that they were clearly made for a much larger woman. The clothes even carried an odd odor, she found, like dried rose petals and mixed with the ancient must of some long discontinued brand of perfume. She found the scent reminiscent of her visits to her grandmother’s house when she was a child. The only thing she noticed that was at all unusual was an interesting insignia on the clasp of the pearl necklace.
“Might as well try them on,” Megan said aloud. Megan took off her tight jeans and halter top in front of her full body mirror and look at her body intently. Her skin was a little pale, but still had a nice, youthful glow to it. The freckles that decorated her face dusted the rest of her body were very light and barely noticeable. Her legs and upper arms were trim but very well toned and her stomach was flat, with a strong hint of abs. Her breasts, sitting inside her tiny sports bra, were on the smallish but pert and youthful looking. Her shoulders and waist here both narrow, giving her a pretty lithe look but hardly an hourglass figure. Megan’s face was a perfect diamond shape, and her lips were full and luscious looking.
She judiciously held the granny panties at arm’s length, wondering what could have possessed the old lady to recommend a pair so outlandishly big. Nevertheless, she put them on, crossing her legs slightly so that they wouldn’t slide down. Next went the big tend of a sack dress, which was equally unfitting on her. The uncomfortable, ugly shoes didn’t add much, though the belt was at least useful in keeping the dress in place. The cardigan felt very silly on her, and Megan almost laughed when she gazed at herself in the mirror.
“I look like a schoolgirl playing dress-up in her grandmother’s clothes,” she said. Megan was about to take the clothes off and throw them away, but then she spotted the last item on the bed: the string of pearls.
“I guess it’s not finished unless I try these on, too,” she thought, and clicked the clasp of the pearls in place behind her neck.
As soon as the clasp clicked into place, she felt as though she had received a static shock. As Megan gazed into the mirror, she noticed that the pearls were starting to glow just slightly.
Megan walked a little closer to the mirror, eager to see the pearls in greater detail. As she did so, she noticed something far stranger: her diamond shaped face seemed a little puffier. For a brief moment, she tried to pass this off as the natural consequence of her meal last night at the “Vozrast Progressiy,” but then she remembered that she had just looked at herself in the mirror before she put the clothes on, and she had noticed nothing. Her cheeks were clearly puffier now, and her angular chin seemed to have rounded out, with just the slight hint of potential doubling.
As she stared at her face in the mirror, she began to notice other changes. Her eyes now seemed to have the faintest shadows under them, though she had enjoyed plenty of sleep the night before. What was going on?
Megan’s attention to her face was momentarily diverted by a tight feeling across her chest. She reached down and felt her breasts through her chest and was surprised to find there was much more to feel. Her bosom was expanding and straining against the confines of her sports bra, which was now far too small to contain them. They pressed out and indented against her dress. She could feel a warm, tingly glow in her bosoms as they grew, and could feel the warmth spreading throughout her body. Whatever was happening, it was both exhilarating and terrifying.
Megan connected the mysterious changes with the pearl necklace, and decided it was time to take it off. Try as she might, though, the clasp simply wasn’t opening. She furiously picked at it until her she had nearly scraped she skin off of her cuticles, but it didn’t budge.
Mentally accepting defeat, Megan decided to simply continue to watch what was happening. Her breasts had continued their proud march outwards, and with a slight erotic twinge, she felt her nipples scrape against the top of her sports bra as the two orbs of flesh outgrew their hopelessly inadequate containers. The bra was now bunched up beneath her breasts, cradling them but otherwise offering no real support. Without it, her newly heavy breasts started to sag slightly down her chest, and Megan felt the unfamiliar sensation of her back straining against their new weight. Her breasts initial expansion had pressed against the fabric of her dress, and now they created two large, long indentations down the front.
Speaking of indentations, as her eyes made their way south she began to notice her stomach beginning to press against the dress as well. She gingerly prodded the material with her fingers, finding it to be warm, soft, and squishy. An authentic muffin top was growing, burying the results of her frequent, hard exercise in a mountain of flab. Megan initially felt disgusted to see her fit body suddenly claimed by so much fat, but as she poked and prodded at it through her dress, she felt increasingly intrigued. Where was the fat coming from, and how did it get there? Was she becoming disguised as a completely different person, or the woman who she was destined to be some far off day in the future? Would it be possible to take the disguise off once the process was complete? Even the scarier questions seemed somehow exciting to contemplate.
Her fingers slid down to feel her widening hips and expanding behind. She could feel the tops of her thighs starting to touch, and the ill-fitting shoes started to feel a little snugger as she developed “canckles.”
Megan stared up at her face again, and found it beset by an army of tiny wrinkles, which seemed to be rapidly conquering her face. Lines etched their way against her lips and the sides of her nose, and made large bags and crow’s feet around her eyes. Her forehead looked almost lacerated with deep lines, and even her nose looked a little bigger and more hooked. The youthful glow faded from her cheeks, and they got increasingly puffier. Earlier, she looked like a girl who had retained a tad too much baby fat, but now they simply made her look like an older woman with a fattened, round face. Her chin became clearly doubled and her neck started getting some very saggy jowls. Even the color of the whites of her eyes seemed to change, getting more bleary and yellowed.
As she opened her mouth in shock at the changes, she noticed that her eyes weren’t the only things getting yellow. Her excellent teeth, once of pride of her smile, had greatly deteriorated, becoming yellowed, chipped, cracked, worn down, and in a couple of places, outright missing. Her hair had changed too, losing its red hue and becoming as white as a sheet, with a couple of darker patches near the roots. It lost its wavy character as well, becoming wispy and ghostlike. It re-arranged itself on top of her head into a conservative bun.
Megan reached up and pulled her hair loose, but as soon as she did, it re-arranged itself into a bun again. She pulled against it furiously, but to no avail. The only thing she managed to accomplish was gaining an eyeful of her jiggling upper arms, which shook madly with that distinctive malady that seemed to plague older women.
When she finally gave up, she noticed her fingers looked different, too. Now they were covered in age spots, extra freckles, and tiny veins. The skin itself seemed more translucent, and her knuckled seemed more bony and misshapen. She felt shock at how thorough the disguise was being, but at the same time, she knew that it did suit her purposes perfectly. Nobody would ever recognize her in this.
She looked into the mirror again, and saw the stern expression of a matronly old woman staring back at her. The corners of her mouth seemed perpetually set in a slight frown, and only an exaggerated, slightly creepy smile seemed capable of altering her expression.
Her breasts had continued to grow, and now sagged ponderously upon her stomach. They bloated at the front of her dress comically, and she struggled to put them in their place through her clothing. The bottom of her bra seemed to keep them steady, but didn’t stop their slope. Megan though that it was just as well - even a proper bra would not be able to help a woman in her condition. She felt a little thrill as she touched her large, sagging breasts: they were so different than the ones she was used to. When she finally got them in a more comfortable position, they seemed to stretch the cardigan at just the points where it was the most frayed, leading her to believe that the woman who had owned it previously had a figure very similar to the one she had now - or else she was disguised as well.
Megan absentmindedly fiddled with the cardigan as she pondered that thought. What if the woman who sold her the disguise was herself in a similar disguise? She had no way of knowing. Perhaps the shop itself was a disguise as well - one that disappeared once it had served its function. She experimented with having the cardigan a little higher or a little lower, or with taking out a button or two, but no matter what she did, the outline of her massive, fallen breasts still strained against it, leaving little to the imagination. The shape and location could be varied just slightly by tugging it this way or that, but the fundamental way her breasts would look to the public seemed immutable. Their weight was no so great that it caused her to hunch her back over a little, making her seem shorter - or had her vertebrae somehow compressed?
Her stomach, upon which her breasts now rested, was now a massive gut, poured over her belt and down to her crotch. Try as she might, she seemed unable to decrease its size a bit by inhaling or sucking it in.
“This is so odd,” she mused out loud, and was surprised by the tone of her voice. It was now a low creaking, scratchy, gravelly bellow, a far cry from the high, feminine tone she was used to. “I really do sound like a granny,” she said, noticing how the words created a very slight whistle as they sailed through her ruined teeth.
Megan felt conflicted as she gazed at the disguise in the mirror. On the one hand, she felt like the imposing visage ought to horrify her, and the fact that it didn’t seemed slightly scary in and of itself. On the other hand, the disguise was so good, she could scarcely imagine a better way to commit a crime. Who would suspect such an old woman of even being capable of killing, much less who could link such a person back to her? The disguise was more perfect than any fat suit. She wasn’t simply bigger and rounder - her body seemed to positively ooze sagging flesh out of the tight container that was her clothing. She didn’t simply have a few extra wrinkles - she was covered in them.
She stared at her new body, and the person gazing back at her in the mirror seemed stern and harsh. Megan decided that her personality would be that way, too. She looked like a particularly cruel teacher she had in second grade, particularly in the eyes. Their color had changed as well, going from a bright blue to a muddy, dark brown.
Beyond the pearls, she game some thought to what she might use to accessorize the outfit. Perhaps some pearl earrings would go well with it, the kind her grandmother used to wear, she thought as she felt her enlarged earlobes. She touched her withered lips, wondering what shade of lipstick might be appropriate. Perhaps a darker, conservative shade would look appropriate. Or perhaps a sharp pink would do, giving her that odd look of an older woman who has forgotten what fashion means. She settled on the darker shade, and applied it liberally over her lips. The puckering required for this caused them to wrinkle even further, like two thin strips of prunes in the sun.
“I could get away with anything...” she said out loud. “Anything. Smith will never see it coming,” she said, and let out a long, wicked sounding cackle. Her tummy shook as she laughed, and soon she was rubbing her knobby, sinewy fingers together, thinking about what she might do next.
Chapter Four:
Megan could hardly believe her luck. Here she was, in possession of perhaps the world’s best cloak of metaphorical darkness. Her crimes would become easy, but of course, this disguise was so much more than that. She could use it to effectively manipulate and control others with ease. More importantly, they wouldn’t know that they were being manipulated overtly. As Megan, the young beautiful woman, she could manipulate others - particularly men - by virtue of her appearance. But that only went so far, and besides, it was obvious, crass, and degrading. It was limited in scope because most women were immune and even a few men seemed uninterested on occasion. With this disguise, she could interact with others in a whole different level, and nobody would possibly suspect a thing. The power was so tantalizing that Megan could barely contain herself.
Megan took a few moments to go online and make a suitable donation to the old woman’s cause - she had earned it well. Then she prepared to leave the apartment and see exactly what her new disguise could do in public.
She usually walked down the stairs for exercise, but now the thought of hobbling down so many steps seemed daunting, so she decided to take the slow moving elevator. Her fellow apartment member, John, joined after the elevator had gone down one floor.
John was a muscular young man in his 20’s who had always tried to catch an eyeful of Megan when they rode together, and although he had tried to make polite conversation a few times, he had never managed to get up the courage to ask her out. Now, John was barely paying attention to her! She decided to rectify the situation.
“Having a nice day, Johnny?” she asked, hoping the nickname would get under his skin.
“I suppose so - but, um, I go by John,” he replied, nervously fidgeting. He looked Megan over, seeing nothing other than an old woman wearing some ill-fitting clothes. Her hunched over posture made her look very stereotypical to him, and the fact that he could see the shape of her breasts through her stretched cardigan made him feel a little uncomfortable.
“What’s that?” she said, pretending to have a hearing problem. “Speak up, Johnny, I can’t hear you if you insist on being a mumbler.”
“I said...oh, never mind. Are you new to the building? How’d you even know who I am?” he asked.
“I’m uh...Megan’s grandmother,” she said, thinking quickly. She decided to really make him squirm. “Megan certainly talks about you a lot.”
“She does?” John replied, his ruddy cheeks becoming very flushed. “Really?”
“Oh yeah, how every time she rides the elevator, she’s wondering if you’re finally going to get the courage to ask her out,” she said.
“If that’s the way she feels about it, why doesn’t she just ask me out? I mean...that’s great, I, um...” John said, fumbling his words.
“Have all of the men of your age forgotten their chivalry? Don’t you have a good head on your shoulders? Or is your problem a little further...south?” She asked, and he looked horrified.
“Well, I’ve got to run,” she said, waddling out of the elevator when it mercifully opened. “Toodoloo.”
“I, wait...but...”John said, but was cut off by the sound of the doors shutting.
When Megan was a beautiful young woman, such bawdy talk would have come across as a provocation and a challenge. Now that she looked like an old woman it seemed more like an insult and a joke - a subtle but significant shift. She wondered how many other ways she’d be understood differently now.
Megan decided to make her way across town by bus instead of her car, realizing that her driver’s license would be useless now. She also relished the opportunity to interact with more people with her new disguise. When she hobbled onto the bus, the driver presented her with an awkward request.
“Can I see your bus pass?” the man asked.
“Bus pass?” Megan asked. She hadn’t ever ridden the bus in this city, so she wasn’t expecting it. “I, um, I don’t have one.”
“Everyone who rides this bus has one. You’re probably forgot where you put it,” the man explained patiently, as if he was used to dealing with the doddering nature of elderly folks. “Why don’t you try your purse?”
Megan had taken the bag the shopkeeper had given her, but had placed nothing into it prior to going out, save her wallet. She knew no bus pass would be found, but she humored the driver and searched anyway. She was astonished to find a pass with a picture of herself in disguise in the first slot of her wallet.
As she pulled it out and handed it to the driver, she noted the name on the side of the card, “Mildred Crabb.” Megan liked the name. It suited her, and she resolved to start thinking of herself with that name while in disguise.
As she made her way into the bus, a young man quickly sat up and offered her a seat. This wasn’t a new phenomenon - when she rode a bus route in college, she had experienced this behavior - but the motivation was entirely different. In college, men had offered her their seat to appear chivalrous and kind, and then used that to strike up some kind of flirtation. In short, they were offering up their seat to her in the hope that it might persuade Megan to offer her “seat” up to them later. The motive was entirely about admiration for her and lust in their heart. The young man standing up now likely had different motivations. He likely saw Mildred and felt pity, and his motivation for doing what he did was feeling like a good Samaritan.
She accented the seat, and the bus took off. The sudden starting of the bus startled her, and she felt pushed back into her seat, which was a little too small for her big, flabby body. Mildred realized she had no place to be in particular, but felt like this rather suited her. As Megan, she was often slavishly working to meet her goals, accomplish jobs, do research, and take precautions. As Mildred, she was the opposite: a carefree old woman who didn’t even need to know where her destination was in order to begin a journey. The contrast between the two could not be more different.
As she gazed out the window, she thought that this could be a hindrance to her task. Were her killer instincts also inverted while disguised? Would she have the coordination, the ability, and the inclination to commit a murder? She felt less than certain.
Throughout the journey, she took a great deal of interest in how others looked at her. Little kids stared openly, and a few pointed and whispered. Most of the adults averted their eyes to her, a gesture which seemed both polite and somewhat rude at the same time. A few of the men openly stared at her, especially at her chest. When one of them passed, she made sure to shift position in her chair, or tug on her cardigan, to make sure they got as nice of an eyeful as they desired. The experience was similar to, but distinctly different than when she was ogled as “Megan.” It was less of an open admiration and more a secret guilty pleasure. It was less outright flattery and more “wow...you don’t see that every day.”
Lost in thought, she barely noticed when the bus reached the end of the line. She took her time walking off of the vehicle, noticing that everyone was waiting behind her but not willing to risk rushing things with her awkward body.
There weren’t many buildings at the last stop - a printing facility, a furniture store, and a breakfast restaurant that displayed a banner prominently promising “breakfast all day.” Feeling her enormous belly growl, she decided to head for the breakfast placed, which was appropriately named “Granny’s Waffle Hut.”
“Table for how many, ma’am?” the woman asked her. Mildred paused, realizing that this was the first time she had ever been called that! Finally, she told the hostess that she was be dining alone, and then hobbled to her table.
Squeezing into the booth wasn’t exactly pleasant for Mildred. The space was a bit too narrow for her stomach, and the table was a little too high for her hunched form. Her hanging breasts sunk down to it, giving her a comically squished appearance.
“You better have a senior citizen’s discount,” Mildred snapped when the waitress came by. The young woman, who was pretty enough but looked like she had indulged in a few too many of “Granny’s Waffles,” stammered in the affirmative. A few minutes later, a stack of pancakes smothered in cheap syrup was brought over, and Mildred noisily and sloppily consumed them.
After paying for her meal (and leaving only a minuscule tip), Mildred rose with a defeated look in her yellowed, stern looking eyes. The food had been less than impressive, but more importantly, her lackadaisical journey had led her nowhere. Just when she thought that the trip had been for nothing, the front door to the restaurant opened.
In came a two young children, a boy and a girl, dressed in costumes. The boy wore plastic knight’s armor, while the girl wore a fairy-tale style dress. Their parents followed behind them, the father wearing a mouse-ears hat.
“Back from that Disney cartoon revival at the Cineplex?” the hostess asked.
“Yeah,” the father said. “I think it’s great that we can show the kids the classics on the big screen. Though,” he began, and then lowered his voice, “some of the scenes with the villainess were still pretty scary for them.”
As the two kids ran towards their table, well ahead of their parents, Mildred was suddenly seized by an irresistible impulse. She raised her fingers up above her head like claws and growled at the two kids.
“Wicked witch!” the little girl screamed. Mildred responded with a cackle and she waddled to the door as fast as her stubby legs would carry her. She felt pleased with herself - she erased her previous doubts. As different as Mildred was from Megan, she still had what it takes to be bad.
Chapter Five:
For the next two months, Megan, disguised as Mildred, drove across the country, following Senator Smith wherever he had a public rally. The first rally, she showed up six hours early, only to find others had been waiting since the night before. She didn’t get close enough to shake his hand, let alone make her move. On the plus side, she did enjoy his speech, as he was quite an eloquent orator.
After that, she began bringing a foldout chair and staying overnight to ensure she had the best possible vantage point. He was often greeted by thousands of of cheering supporters, but unlike other politicians, he never stopped to shake hands after a speech.
Mildred could usually use her status as a senior and her grumpy temperament to elbow her way to the front, but Smith was never close enough for her to get a clear shot. Her days were spent in waiting for hours upon hours for a rally to begin, followed by an hour of listening to the handsome young man speak, followed by hopeless pushing and shoving for an opportunity that never came.
She called Boris for advice after her 28th failure. “Why doesn’t he shake hands?” Mildred asked. The rally today was particularly disappointing given the amount of time she had invested in it. She had waited 13 hours in advance for the event, and once again, it was all for nothing.
“Come on, Megan,” Boris said. “You know he’s expecting something like this.”
“How could he possibly suspect something this elaborate?” Megan asked.
“Well...it is very similar to how Bulgarian dissent Georgi Markov was assassinated,” Boris said, with a little embarrassment in his voice.
“Boris, you bastard,” she spat. “You sold me a product at a premium price for the value of surprise, and it’s already been done?”
“Calm down. He used an umbrella, so it’s not entirely the same,” Boris explained. “But you have to realize that his people are taking every possible precaution. They aren’t going to let just anybody get near him.”
“You’re right...as usual,” Megan said. “I’ll have to find a way to get closer.”
~
The way came sooner then she had expected. In a few days, she saw an invitation for dinner in New York for top donors. It was billed as a very exclusive, intimate evening with the Senator, and Megan knew he would have to get physically closer to these people than the screaming mobs.
The asking price for the dinner was $30,000, which was the legal limit for what one person could donate to the candidate, the party, and the committees combined. Megan also needed to appear to be a well to do benefactor to fit in at the event, which required purchasing expensive formal wear, adding more to the cost. A penny-pincher, she cringed at the cuts to her long term profits from this venture, but she saw no other way to get close.
Megan also acquired a copy of the janitor’s uniforms for the building of the event. Her plan, which she had stayed up for days perfecting, was to get into the event as Megan. At a key moment, she’d excuse herself, go to the bathroom, and disguise herself as Mildred. She’d then exit and make her move.
She arrived at the event in a red sequin dress and white gloves. Her large bag full of her disguise looked a little out of place, but Megan was hoping that the low cut character of the dress would draw attention away from her handbag.
She used a fake name, Megan Silverstreet, to get into the event. Surprisingly, nobody asked to see her purse, and soon she was in the ballroom.
Megan was a bit surprised to see at least three or four hundred guests. Quite a lot of wealthy people were apparently quite content with the Senator’s message, unlike her “bankster” friends. There was a series of small tables where the guests sat and an immensely large glass bowl of punch sat near the rear of the room. Near it, she could see Senator Smith making the rounds and introducing himself.
Not wanting to appear awkward, Megan make her way towards one of the tables. An elderly couple was already sitting one two of the eight chairs, and Megan sat across from them.
“First time at an event for Dan Smith?” The old woman asked her.
“No, I’ve been to many of his rallies,” Megan replied.
“Us, too, though we can never seem to get up early enough to get a good seat,” the old man complained.
Megan engaged in polite small talk while her mind raced. No cleaning staff was visible, so she’d stick out like a sore thumb in her disguise and uniform. In addition, Smith’s security detail was still hovering right next to him as he talked with people. How would she make a clean getaway? She needed an excuse to leave the room, which could also serve as a reason to invite a cleaning lady onto the scene.
A single, horrifying idea crept into her mind like a fog. She accepted it only reluctantly, as she could see no alternative.
Megan slowly walked towards the punchbowl, her step determined. As she got closer, she deliberately wiggled her left foot out of one of her high heeled shoes. Just as she took a step right next to it, she pretended to slip and fell forwards. Her upper arm pushed against the table as she fell, and the glass punch bowl crashed to the ground, sending bits of shattered glass and punch everywhere.
Dan Smith looked towards the source of commotion, and for an embarrassing moment, their eyes locked. Megan pulled herself up as quickly as she could and made her way to the women’s restroom. Once inside a stall, her heart rate finally slowed.
She looked at her dress, surveying the damage. Surprisingly little punch had landed directly on it, and because both were red, it was barely noticeable. She quickly pulled it off and pulled out her disguise, along with her cleaner’s uniform.
When Megan had put on the disguise for the first time, it was with delicate care in front of her mirror. Each change had been witnessed in great detail due in part to the slow and careful nature in putting it on. Her goal now was to get to the scene of the accident as quickly as possible, so no such care was shown this time. She pulled and yanked each item on as fast as she could, and the changes followed suit. Where before her body had slowly expanded and aged, now it almost exploded. Her new girth seemed to shoot out of her like a cannon, and she could feel her skin wrinkling and stretching herself thin as if it was being pulled by a taffy machine. Her breasts grew painfully, as if a lusty man was pulling as hard as he could on them, and with each tug, they grew bigger and saggier, making more of an indentation upon her cardigan. Her stomach grew out as if it was being stuffed with food, or perhaps hot air, and she could feel her hair changing in style, color and consistency as if it it was being shocked by static electricity over and hover. Her teeth cracked and wore as though a million sour gummies were leeching at her mouth all at once.
She pulled out a small makeup mirror from her purse and saw her eyes fade and shift their color. Her hair changed its color and re-arranged itself without her help, too.
It was not a pleasant process, but mercifully it was over quickly. She pulled the cleaner’s uniform over her disguise, whipped out an retractable mop, and hobbled out of the restroom towards the spilled punch.
Megan, now Mildred, felt fortunate in that no other cleaner had beaten her to the mess. As she started to clean and looked upon the room, she felt more fortunate still due to the fact that nobody seemed to be viewing her as out of place.
She felt a bit more concerned, however, when she found that Senator Smith had made his way to the other end of the ballroom, busy chatting up other guests.
Mildred cleaned slowly, hoping that as more time passed, the Senator would come back in her direction. Though he moved from table to table, he remained in the opposite section. For a moment she considered dashing towards him, but realized it would attract too much attention. If she was captured, she’d have to reveal herself sooner or later - and then she was finished. She had to do this in disguise and escape capture to pull this off.
As a few members of the posh reception passed her by, she was treated mostly to averted gazes and silence. A few of them make scoffing sounds as they passed her, and Mildred even heard a few disparaging remarks made about her age and her weight. It was a remarkable reversal for her, as Megan was used to only compliments when it came to her looks.
When the mess was at last cleaned up and Dan Smith was still far off, Mildred had to concede defeat. This was no easy thing - she hated giving up. But there was no point in standing around aimlessly with a mop. She waddled back towards the lady’s room, feeling dejected. In her stall, she pulled off the disguise with sorrow.
When she exited the room as Megan again, she was surprised to noticed the Senator making his way towards her table. Trying to look natural, she turned her face away from his and tried to make her facial expressions appear calm.
“And who might you be?” Dan Smith asked in his golden voice. His secret service agents were relatively close, but gave the two their distance.
“Megan Silverstreet...” she began, her voice slightly trailing off.
“I know what just happened must have been embarrassing for you,” Dan said. “But please, try to put it out of your mind. I already have. I just hope you can still enjoy your evening. What is it you do by the way?” he asked in a disarming manner.
“I’m a...philanthropist,” she said, thinking quickly.
“Really? You know, that’s what my opponents have taken to calling me?” the Senator said with a grin.
“I’m surprised they are being that charitable,” Megan responded nervously.
“Well, in their words, I’ll be a philanthropist with other people’s money,” he concluded. “Why haven’t I seen you at any functions?”
“I’ve been to all of your rallies for the past several weeks,” Megan replied. “I...very much enjoy hearing what you have to say.”
“I meant, why haven’t you attended any of these private events?” Dan replied.
“Well, I...I don’t know, really. I’m here now, I hope that will do,” Megan replied with a smile, hoping she’d come off as funny and not rude. She found herself blushing, and feeling more concerned with impressing him than keeping her cover.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” an announcement suddenly began, “please choose a partner for the dance of the evening.”
“Dancing?” Megan said, feeling out of place. “Why?”
“Why not?” Dan replied. “Will you dance with me?”
“I don’t think it would make for good optics,” Megan responded, feeling very concerned. Her entire goal was to keep herself away from attention. That’s why she had a disguise. If she was seen with him...
“On the contrary, to dance with a philanthropist? Great optics. But what business have you talking like my campaign managers? Come on, I won’t take no for an answer.” The music began, and Dan took her by the hand. She felt as though she should try to stop it, but didn’t want to.
“I imagine you don’t do this often,” Megan tried to ask, though the remark came off as more of a statement than a question. Their dancing was slow and the step was an easy one, but Megan felt flustered all the same.
“Not since Molly died. I’ve been a widower for over three years now,” Dan responded. “But I suspect you already know that.”
“Yes,” Megan replied. “Are you able to be with your children much with your campaign schedule.”
“I don’t spend nearly as much time as I’d like with them, no. I have to outsource their raising to nannies, mostly.” Dan said.
“How is that working out?” Megan asked.
“Not as well as I’d like, to be honest. I’m not happy with any of the people who have tried their hand at it. They need someone loving, but who also understands the value of discipline and when to be firm. I think because I’m such a well known politician, nannies think my kids should be treated like royalty. That’s not how I’d like my household run - not even if I end up being President,” Dan said humbly.
“When you end up being President,” Megan said, correcting him. “I know you’ll win.”
“I’m glad you are so confident,” Dan said. “Sometimes I’m not that sure. You never know what will happen between now and election day.”
Megan swallowed hard. “I suppose not...”
The music finally came to an end, and Dan leaned down and gently kissed her hand. “Until we meet again,” he said, and left.
The thrill of Dan’s charm burned bright in her heart for hours. It was only when she started to drive home that the bitter mote of failure creeped in again. She had failed, and now she had no way to get close to him. Even if he did pursue a relationship with her, what good would it do? She needed to get close to him as Mildred, not Megan.
As she stepped into her elevator hours later, the idea finally dawned on her. Smith said he wasn’t happy with the nannies for his children. If she needed a way to get Mildred close...well, than it was time for her to become the new nanny.
Chapter Six:
Megan quickly found the company that had supplied Smith’s nannies, and found that it was large enough to be publicly traded. To buy a majority stake in the company, she’d need to put up 1.1 million for stock. Furthermore, she decided that to avoid any suspicion and awkward questions, she needed to sell only after the hit had taken place. If news that a nanny employed by the company was responsible for a murder broke quickly, the stock would be effectively worthless, and she’d be out that much of what was now a rapidly dwindling reward.
She gave it some serious thought, but saw no other way to get close enough to the Senator for the time she’d need to get the opportunity. It was a risk she felt compelled to take. Megan bought the stock that afternoon, using another alias. Her “Silverstreet” name was known now, so it was compromised.
Even with her precautions, Megan knew that once she had finished her task, it would only be a matter of time before those interested in solving the crime linked it back to her. Her Mildred disguise might throw off the scent for a while, but eventually someone will want to know why she was hired, and why it coincided with a corporate takeover. Somehow, she was sure, they’d find her. She couldn’t count on anybody. She was convinced that even Boris, the person she trusted the most, would likely give her up if the reward was big enough. Throughout her life, Megan had learned this painful lesson the hard way, and she wasn’t going to leave anything to chance on her final assignment.
What the disguise and the false names bought her was time. Time enough to flee the country with her cash, and construct yet another alternative identity. Perhaps she’d call Boris, and ask him to help her find the disguise shop again. She’d need to have a totally different persona, so that when the pieces were finally put together, she’d be invisible.
Who would she disguise herself as this time, she wondered? Perhaps as another old woman, this one tall and spindly, like a vulture. She’d be a librarian, with an eggshell voice, eager to correct the grammar mistakes of others. Or, Megan thought, perhaps a woman who was middle aged, with a luscious figure that time had only begun to deteriorate. She could still have a strong sex drive, perhaps preferring younger partners that were able to keep up with her.
If she wanted an even more thorough disguise, she might try becoming a different ethnicity as well. She imagined herself living in Thailand as a short, matronly, quiet woman - perhaps as a madam for young girls in a brothel. Or maybe she’d be a warm hearted, plump, grandmotherly cook in Mexico. The possibilities were endless, and were endlessly titillating.
As delightful as it was to ponder her options after this was over and done with, she knew that there was a great deal of work to do before she arrived there. She packed her belongings, determined to take the next train to Washington, D.C. and get Mildred hired as the new nanny for the Smith household.
~
It took only a few days to get everything arranged, and she was scheduled for her first shift at the Smith household by next week. She knew from following Dan’s itinerary that he wouldn’t be there, but that was fine. One task at a time.
Putting on the disguise with the intent of watching after children felt a little different than her previous times using it. At first, she hadn’t known what to expect from it. Then, at the fundraiser, she had hoped to simply be a different face - capable of making the hit without plastering Megan’s image all over the news, even if things went wrong.
Now, she had a specific use and function for her Mildred disguise: she was going to care for the Senator’s children as their nanny. Using it to pretend to be a different person was very different than using it simply as a getaway device, and as she put on her Mildred clothes, she felt a sense of determination.
As her body filled out, she no longer just saw a fat, old woman staring back at her in the mirror. Instead, she saw a woman with a large lap, perfect for kids sitting on. She imagined her fatness might even be seen as a sign of jolliness, as though she was an embodiment of Mrs. Claus. Her old fashioned clothes, rather than simply appearing frumpy, might appear odd and entertaining to small children.
But when she looked at her aged face, her summation of her persona changed. Her eyes were too harsh and too stern for that, and her wrinkled, turned down mouth displayed displeasure. She’d be a tough, business means business nanny, who’d take no “guff” from the kids. Yet, for those kids that learned to behave, she’d have a heart of gold.
Megan, now fully Mildred, tried to re-arrange the position of her breasts, which were protruding visibly from her strained cardigan. She wanted to appear modest, especially around kids. She pulled and tugged, but nothing she did could hide the fact that she was a woman with large, sagging breasts. She cupped them through the cardigan, giving them a futile squeeze and saying out loud “What am I going to do with you two?”
She wondered if their weight was contributing to her slouched posture, which try as she might, she could not right. Mildred accepted her look with a defeated sigh, which whistled through her decaying teeth.
When Mildred arrived at the door, she was greeted campaign aide, who showed her to the family room where the kids were waiting for her. Despite Dan’s prominence as a leader of his party and status as a US Senator, he had little personal wealth, and his home showed it. It was certainly on the small side for a home in the DC area, which was an expensive real estate market, and his furniture seemed very middle class.
Dan had two children, she knew. Edmund was 4 and Julia was 5 years old. As she entered the room to greet them, they pointed at her and shouted “Wicked Witch! Wicked Witch!” They screamed, and ran off.
“What’s the matter, just finish seeing that revival of Snow White?” Mildred asked the campaign aide.
“Well, yes actually, but it’s more than that. They try to poke fun at every nanny they’ve ever had. Probably a reaction to missing their mother,” the woman explained. “I know this isn’t the best start for you, but I’ve got to head to New York for a press junket. Good luck,” she said, and she walked out.
“Great,” Mildred groaned.
~
The rest of the day was anything but easy for Mildred. But, just as she had predicted, a stern attitude and an iron will eventually allowed her to gain control of the kids. Within a few hours, they stopped shrieking and running around wildly. She provided them with lots of entertainment when they learned to behave, including reading aloud Hansel and Gretel. They giggled when she used different funny voices for all of the characters, especially the wicked witch. No longer afraid of her, Mildred had won the kids over.
When the campaign aide who had left earlier in the day finally returned, she was shocked at how behaved the children had become and insisted on calling the Senator so that she could speak with him.
“I’ve heard good things about you,” he said. “Thank you for being so great with my kids.”
“It was my pleasure. They really are little darlings,” Mildred cooed out at him.
“Well I’m going to have to see this in person at some point. They haven’t responded well to anyone before you,” Dan replied.
“I’m looking forwards to it,” Mildred said. “I’m...quite the fan of yours.”
Chapter Seven:
As the weeks passed, Mildred continued to care for the children. Megan had not seriously thought about having kids, but as Mildred, she felt very satisfied and content to help raise Edmund and Julia. They formed a close bond very quickly.
The first time Dan Smith stopped by the Washington home, Mildred was not expecting him. The door opened, and Mildred expected that a campaign aide was arriving to give her supplies or tell her about when she’d be needed. Instead, Dan walked through the door, flanked by two bodyguards. They stood near the door as Dan walked towards her.
Realizing that she might not get another chance, Mildred reached into her pocket and grabbed the cell phone weapon. She pulled it out and began to raise it, but just as she did, Edmund and Julia ran right in front of her and tried to jump into their father’s arms.
“Aw, I missed you so much too!” he said as he embraced his children. As Mildred looked at the love on the faces of the children she had grown so close to, she felt horrified that she as about to take their father away from them, forever. She gazed at Dan’s face as well - the face of a man who loved his kids, though obviously he needed the help of someone like her to care for them. She remembered her brief conversation with him - and the dance - and felt ashamed of her intentions.
“And you must be Mildred, the nanny I’ve heard so many good things about,” Dan said, finally walking towards her. His children now longer in his arms, Dan was an easy target. Her arm shook, but as she gazed into his eyes, she could feel her hand putting the phone back into her pocket.
“I’m glad the little rascals have nice things to say about me,” Mildred croaked out.
“You’ve got to teach me how to get a handle on them,” Dan said.
“I’d like that,” Mildred replied.
They spent the rest of the day talking and playing with the kids. Dan was impressed by this woman: she had to have determination, kindness, and intellect to get a handle on the little ones. She was a strong, decent soul to be admired and trusted. Mildred, meanwhile, was impressed at how decently Dan treated her, even though he was obviously not interested in sex. It was a first for her - as Megan, she had received positive attention from men only when this was the case. She felt comfortable around Dan, as though he could talk to her simply for her own sake and not because he had an agenda. He seemed genuinely interested in who she was, not just putting it on to be friendly. Such a kind hearted and decent man, Mildred thought, would likely make a fine President of the United States.
~
Dan Smith ended up winning his party’s nomination for President, and as time passed, the date of the convention moved closer and closer. Mildred was having so much fun caring for the Senator’s kids and getting to know Dan that she could scarcely believe that it had been six months since she had been hired to assassinate him.
Time had not passed so quickly for the Chamber of Banking interests, and particularly its chairman, Bob Sherwood. He saw each day that passed as not only a missed opportunity, but as one less day for a successful attempt. When the Senator wrapped up the nomination, Mr. Sherwood became particularly agitated. When attempts to reach Megan were unsuccessful, he decided it was time to take matters into his own hands.
After a dinner at the Vozrast Progressiy, Mr. Sherwood asked about waitress about the private caviar reserve, and was escorted to the private room. He greeted Boris with a firm bear hug when he reached the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m having a problem with someone you know,” Mr. Sherwood began. “Megan Hunt.”
“I’m hardly surprised,” Boris replied. “I suspected her heart might not be into this one. I mean, when I heard her target was Senator Smith, I thought to myself, who wouldn’t jump at the chance to take out that son of a bitch? But she didn’t seem too excited about it.”
“Your suspicions were well founded. She hasn’t done her job and I don’t believe she will. She’s stolen 8 million from me, in effect,” Mr. Sherwood said angrily. “My only problem now is I need to hire two more hits.”
“Right,” Boris replied. “One for Smith, one for her.”
“I came to you because I know you run guns for the best. My question is, who is the best?” Sherwood asked.
“You want my honest opinion?” Boris asked without waiting for an answer. “Me.”
“You?” Sherwood asked, taken a little aback. “Are you kidding?”
“Let’s be honest, of the two hits, Megan will be far more difficult. The Senator has those bodyguards, but that’s nothing a determined assassin can’t handle,” Boris said.
“Boris, three have already tried and failed,” Sherwood replied.
“Not with this,” Boris said, his eyes flashing as he pressed some buttons on his control panel. “Just got it in last night.” The panels shifted, revealing an innocuous looking canister.
“A helium canister?” Sherwood asked incredulously.
“Looks like it, and scans through a machine like it,” Sherwood said. “Every convention has balloons, right? But it contains a radioactive isotope inside. Everyone in the convention hall will be dead,” Boris promised.
“You’ll wipe out most of his party too, huh? I like it. Teach those bastards a lesson,” Sherwood chortled. “But you said Megan would be more difficult, right?”
“Affirmative,” Boris replied. “She’s a pro. She won’t go down with a gimmick. That’s why you need me. I’ve worked with her for years. I know how she thinks. I know where she’ll hide. I know how to get to her.”
“All right,” Sherwood said. “Shall we say three million for the job?”
“Twenty,” Boris said, looking deadly serious. “Half now.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” Sherwood countered. “I’m not falling for that again. You can have ten, but only when the job is finished. And besides, I only offered Megan eight.”
“Do you think I’d make a dime if I sold my weapons and demanded payment only after the job is finished?” Boris asked loudly. “Half of them don’t make it back. And besides, you only hired Megan for one hit. And you gave Megan that eight up front, with the promise of more.”
“Twenty, half now.” Sherwood conceded after the two stared silently for several uncomfortable moments.
“Done,” Boris said. “I’m looking forwards to this already.”
~
Megan was brought to a rude awakening by a phone call late at night in her D.C. apartment.
A woman’s voice, in a Russian accent, spoke: “Megan, you’re in danger. They’re coming for you. You have to act now, or get away while you still can,” said the woman, then she hung up. Was the woman Tanya, from the Vozrast Progressiy? She could not be sure. Perhaps she had overheard someone buying a weapon from Boris? If so, they’d be well armed.
No explanation was given, though none was really necessary. Megan knew what had happened, more or less. The Chamber of Banking Interests had grown tired of waiting for her to finish the job, and had assumed she had taken the money and ran. Now, they had to kill her, to teach a lesson to anyone that would cross them.
She knew that if they were serious about stopping her, every commercial airport in the country would have a picture of her in their database. They had connections in many private airports as well, and might even be able to use connections in the FAA to force a plane to land if they knew she was on it.
Megan had one asset that they weren’t counting on: Mildred. There was no way for them to know, or even to suspect, that she could attempt an escape as a completely different person. For a few frantic minutes, she started to plan out how she should make her escape. When she should leave was critical, but so was her planned destination. She needed someplace as a stopover, someplace she could find to unload her money, assume a new identity, and plan another journey to another country still, just to be safe. Luxembourg, perhaps?
One thought suddenly sprang to mind, stopping her dead in her tracks. If the Chamber had decided that she wasn’t going to kill Dan, they likely would have hired someone else to do the job. Dan’s life was now as much on the line as hers. What’s more, there was no guarantee that the new assassin would be as careful as she was planning to be. Perhaps he’d plant a bomb and kill his entire family.
Megan first thought of trying to convince Dan to escape with her, but this plan was riddled with problems. First, it would be very difficult to travel with him unnoticed, given his status as a celebrity politician running for President. Second, even if they managed to somehow conceal him, he’d want to bring his kids, and how could they escape any close scrutiny? Third, she knew Dan would vehemently resist the idea, preferring to stay and fight, to meet danger head-on, as he had done his entire career. His previous assassination attempts had made him careful, but they did not cause him to run away.
Perhaps most importantly, Megan thought, was the fact that she did not want to run. She wanted to stay by his side, and she wanted him to win the election and become President. So there was no other option than to stay and fight, to confront the threat head-on. Megan mentally prepared herself for the most difficult call of her life.
“Mr. Smith,” she spoke into her cell phone. “This is Megan Silverstreet. I’m calling to warn you that your life is in danger.
Chapter Eight:
Understandably, Dan was reluctant to meet with Megan in person. Her phone call’s grim portent had made him wary, so he agreed only to speak on the phone.
“I don’t understand what you hope to achieve in telling me this,” Dan said defensively. “I’ve already faced this threat before. I live with it every day. I can’t just stop fighting for what I believe because of the depravity and desperation of my opponents,” he concluded eloquently.
“I’m asking you to take a leap of faith on this. You and your family have to go into hiding for a few days. This is very serious,” Megan said.
“And how can you be sure that when I come out of hiding afterwords, it will be safe?” Dan asked.
“Leave that to me, though...a promise of a pardon, if you get elected, would certainly help,” Megan said nervously.
“Let me get this straight,” Dan said, clearly becoming angry. “You want me to believe that there is a deadly threat against my life, and that I’d promise you a pardon for your murder of the people responsible? This is insanity. I’ve listed so far because of the connection we had at the fundraisier, Megan, but you are really pushing me here.”
“Why do you think I called?” Megan asked with hurt in her voice. “I care about you, too. I don’t want you to die. I don’t want your kids to die.”
“Well, whatever you plan to do about it, I won’t sanction or condone a murder to prevent a murder,” Dan replied.
Megan sighed and thought for a moment. “All right,” she said at last. “I have a plan.”
~
Mr. Sherwood, though confident things would go as he had planned, didn’t care to see them in person. In fact, he made sure he was out of the country when it happened. The entire affair was becoming far more messy than he originally intended, and he realized that people were going to ask a lot of questions. He therefore decided to enjoy a cruise around the tropics in his private yacht. He had a full staff, including a private chief, masseuses, his mistress, maids, and a fishing expert to help with deep sea fishing, one of his favorite hobbies. The boat contained accommodations for himself and up to 50 others, not including the servants. This time, however, he opted only to invite members from the Chamber, figuring they’d also appreciate the privacy.
The first night of the trip had gone exactly the way he wanted. He had enjoyed a dish prepared with French Black Winter truffles, an exceedingly rare and expensive type of mushroom that was a particular favorite of his. He dipped them in something called Prime Osetra caviar, which had been a gift from Boris and which had a delicious, salty tang. After that, he and the rest of his board members did some deep sea fishing, and he caught the biggest fish. When everyone had retired, he enjoyed the company of his mistress, who, unlike his wife, never hesitated to fulfill any of his wildest fantasies and role-plays.
When she had retired to her room, however, Don Sherwood still on edge. He couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something terrible was about to happen to him. He stared out the porthole of his master suite cabin, watching the waves through the thin lights issuing from the side of his boat. For a moment, he thought he saw a small vessel, which was dark and looked like a motorboat, heading for the ship.
Mr. Sherwood checked his watch, which showed the time as past 3 AM. He vigorously rubbed his eyes, and looked out the porthole again. This time, nothing. Deciding that he must be seeing things, he lay back down in bed and tried to sleep. Strange noises seemed to haunt his uneven rest, and in desperation he reached for the cabinet next to his bed. He found a bottle of Highland Park 40 year old Scotch, and casually guzzled down a substantial amount of the thousand dollar bottle without even bothering with a glass. Finally, he closed his eyes and found rest.
His rest was interrupted by a old, creaking voice. “Maid’s service?” the voice called out.
“Go away,” Sherwood replied, feeling hung over. He heard a click at the door, followed by creaking at the hinges. The light in the room went on, and Don Sherwood was face to face with a very old looking cleaning lady he didn’t recognize. She wore the tight uniform of all of the cleaning ladies on the ship, but it fit her plump, matronly body quite poorly, with excess flesh practically pouring out of it in an obscene manner. “I told you to go,” Don said, but instead she started to shuffle towards him. Don started to speak again, but with surprising speed, she took the rag in her hand and shoved it against his mouth. Within a few moments, he lost consciousness.
When he awoke, he was tied to a chair in a stucco room. Megan’s face was leering down at him, a grin wide across her face.
“Wake up, Sherwood. Wake up, Mr. Chairman,” she said in a sickly sweet voice.
“I’m awake,” Don growled. “Megan, what are you doing? Did someone pay you to take me out?”
“If someone paid me to make you dead,” Megan began, “you’d be dead.”
“Yet, when someone paid you to kill Senator Smith, you couldn’t do it,” Don shot back.
“Someone didn’t do that,” Megan countered. “It was you. Did you start looking for a replacement?”
“You were taking too long,” Don lamented. “I thought you had taken the money and ran.”
“But, what I wonder is, why? Why did you want anyone to kill the Senator?” Megan asked.
“He’s an ass,” Don shouted out. “Isn’t that enough? Why do you need a motive? You’re supposed to do what I tell you to do. I paid you to kill him and you didn’t do it. If you hadn’t gone soft, you’d see that...” his voice trailed off, as Megan had turned her back from him and left the room.
“I think that’s enough,” Megan called out to Dan, whom had been recording the conversation through a hidden camera in the ceiling. Dan agreed, and made a motion to the two men in military uniform sitting next to him in the recording booth.
“You shouldn’t have let your vessel stray so close to Jarvis island,” Megan chastised Mr. Sherwood. “It’s still US territory, and we can still arrest you for conspiracy to commit murder.” Don, looking outraged, started to sputter.
“You can’t...you can’t do this. I’m the Chairman! I’m the Chairman! You have no idea who you are dealing with. I’ll fight you even from prison! You’ll never safe, not while I breathe! Even if they give me the death penalty, I’ll change my will! Anyone who kills you inherits my fortune!” he raved. The uniformed men began to read him his Miranda rights as Megan and Dan left the room.
“It’s too bad there is no airport within 100 miles,” Dan complained. “Long trip that tiny boat...”
“Maybe that’s something I can help with,” a husky, Russian accented voice boomed out. Boris walked into the room sporting a wide smile. “I keep a registry of satellite signals for every stealth motor I sell, and you got yours from me...I saw you heading out this way and thought you might use some help.”
“What have you got?” Megan asked, relieved to see a friend.
“A much faster boat than yours,” Boris said. “We’ll get to an airport in a third the time. And a much bigger cabin. You’ll be much more comfortable and...perfectly safe,” he promised.
“Sounds good,” Dan said. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Nine:
“Tell me about this plan of yours,” Boris asked as soon as they were aboard his sleek, black cruiser.
“Well, Dan didn’t want to condone murder. I figured if I goaded him enough, he’d admit what he had done, and we can at least put him away for a long time,” Megan said. “I had to use some...creativity...to stow away onto the ship, and to get past his guards to the area with his cabin.”
“But, if your goal was a taped confession,” Boris asked, “aren’t you implicated, too?”
“I’m on good terms with the Attorney General,” Dan interjected. “He’s agreed to not press any charges against Megan in exchange for her help on this.” He sighed for a moment, gazing off into the sea. “It certainly feels good to have this entire thing over.”
“Not quite over,” Megan said, her red hair blowing in the ocean breeze. “We’ve still got to find the other person hired to kill the two of us. Their payday just went up, if Don was serious about promising his entire fortune to the would be killer.”
“Funny you should mention that,” Boris said with a grim tone. “I happen to know who that other killer is.”
“Who?” Megan asked.
“Me,” Boris said flatly, as if the information ought not to come as a surprise. Megan’s muscles tensed up, and she gave some thought to the combat knife she had next to her belt on the right side. If only she could both unsheath it and slash in one, smooth motion...
“You’re kidding, right?” Dan said, interrupting the pregnant pause in the conversation. He clearly had a worried look on his face.
“I am serious,” Boris replied, not making eye contact with either. “Dead serious.” Megan lowered her hand to the hilt of the weapon, knowing that she’d only have one chance for the element of surprise. “Of course, there’s and important caveat,” Boris added.
“Well?” Megan said, her voice sounding stiff and brittle with worry.
“I only accepted the job to kill you, in order to save your life,” Boris said.
“What do you mean,” asked Dan, confused.
“Well, I had to make sure he hired me. If he didn’t, he would have hired someone else, someone who would intend to go through with it. I sent you a message to give you a chance to try something creative to solve the problem,” Boris explained.
“I don’t know how I can repay you for this,” Megan said, when she was finally able to collect herself.
“A million dollars is a good start,” Boris said nonchalantly. Megan stared at his expression intently, unable to discern if he was joking. She was too relieved, though, to care either way. “You two have had a long day. Go ahead and relax, I’ve got the helm,” Boris said.
“One thing still is unexplained,” Dan asked once the two had made their way to their private cabin. “How did you move about Sherwood’s ship without being recognized?”
“You might already have an idea...” Megan replied sheepishly.
“I want to hear you say it,” Dan insisted, as he twirled a lock of her fiery hair with his finger.
“Later,” she said. “I’ll reveal everything to you at the proper time.”
“I was a bit worried there, for a moment,” Dan confessed.
“Don’t worry,” Megan said. “I’ll never let anything bad happen to you.” The two looked into each other’s eyes deeply for a moment. Megan was wearing jeans and a tight fitting tank top, which showed off her trim, toned body. As Dan allowed himself to admire her form, Megan snuggled in a little closer.
They leaned in to kiss, but just as their lips locked, Megan heard a faint scratching sound. She pulled back quickly, trying to listen for the noise again.
“Was it that bad?” Dan asked, assuming that he was the reason for the premature end to their lip lock.
“Shh,” Megan said. “I hear something.” She waited for a few more moments, and heard the distinctive hiss of a gunshot muffled by a silencer.
“Under the bed,” Megan ordered Dan. “Now.” Seeing the serious expression on her face, he obeyed. Megan sat up, and quickly reached into her purse for her Grizzly Win Mag, a gas powered, semi-automatic pistol. She stood directly behind the cabin door, and waited.
Before long, she heard a loud crack, and the door was kicked open, flying back and pinning Megan against the wall. A massive man dressed in thick body armor and ski mask stormed in, carrying an assault rifle.
“They’re not here,” he said, presumably to someone who was listening to him through his headset. Thinking fast, Megan pressed the EMP button on the side of her watch, hoping to knock out the communication between the man and his comrades. “Wait,” he added, looking closer at the casually draped blankets on the bed. He carefully positioned his gun as close to the bed as possible, and slowly bent his knees to look under the bed.
Megan saw her chance. With one swift motion, she pushed the door back with her leg and lifted her pistol. The man had just enough time to spin around before Megan emptied five rounds into him.
One of the bullets hit him in the arm, while the others hit his chest. The high powered munitions punctured his armor, and the man collapsed on the floor. His injured arm jerked uncontrollably, and he fired the rifle at the floor until the weapon was empty. The high powered weapons had boomed like firecrackers, and Megan knew that the man’s friends would come running soon.
“Stay here!” Megan shouted back at Dan. She turned her attention towards the hallway, where she could see another man in black armor barring down the long corridor. She quickly lowered her body to the prone position, and placed herself behind the fallen assailant.
He fired a couple of shots, but they flew over her. Megan took careful aim and returned fire, felling the man in the temple with a single well placed shot.
She slowly walked across the hallway, hugging her body to the left side. Since the only way to her was a left turn at the corner, she knew any assailant who tried to peek around would get a better shot at the right half of the corridor than the left. No reason to take any chances when dealing with professionals.
When she reached the edge, she paused, knowing that someone might be waiting up ahead for her, the way she had waited for her first attacker in the cabin. She pulled her makeup mirror from her right hand jean pocket. As she opened it, she remembered how she had once used it to check on her disguise at the fundraiser for Dan, in an effort to kill him. Now, she was using it to check corners, and possibly to save Dan’s life, along with her own.
The corner was clear, and Megan moved toward the top deck of the ship. As she reached for the door to the top deck, it opened on its own, away from her. A massive, black gloved fist was pulling it.
As soon as he saw her, he let go of the handle and reached for his machine gun. Thinking fast, Megan kicked at the door, and it swung towards him, knocking his weapon down down just as he began to fire. A round went off and presumably hit him in the leg or the foot, because a moment later he doubled over in pain.
Megan pulled out her Grizzly pistol. She only had one bullet left - she couldn’t afford to miss. She aimed at the squirming man on the floor carefully, but just before she pulled the trigger, he kicked at her legs and she toppled. Her gun went flying behind her.
The man aimed his weapon directly at Megan and fired, but a noisy clicking sound revealed the the gun had jammed. Unable to stand, the man hobbled towards her, the butt of his rifle raised. Before she could roll out of the way, the weapon fell upon her side. With a sicking crunch, it hit her in the ribs. Pain flooded through her body in such a strong wave that it was nearly nauseating. She fumbled for any weapon, and reached for the weaponized cell phone in her pocket. It wasn’t immediately lethal, but...if she was to go down, she wanted to go down swinging.
With a swing of his rifle, the phone flew from her from her hands and shattered against the wall. She reached for the knife attached to her belt, but before she could get to it, the man raised the rifle again. This time Megan managed to stop the oncoming blow with her arms. As she struggled to hold it in place, the man quickly whipped the weight of his shoulders forwards and bludgeoned her in the head.
Dazed, her vision blurred, Megan could barely see what was happening. She could see the man inching his way closer to her, trying to get better positioned for the coup de gras - the killing blow. With a sense of helplessness, she tried in vain to force her tired body to move. A blur of black swirled above her head as she saw the man lift, then bring down his rifle in a massive arc.
She saw the man’s weapon fall towards her, but too slowly to be a swing. At the same time, she heard a loud, distinctive bang - the sound of her Grizzly firing. As her vision focused, she saw the third, and she hoped, final assailant, lying dead in front of her.
“Great shot, Boris,” Megan said through a long, painful sigh. Each breath seemed cut through her wounded ribs.
“That one was mine,” Dan’s voice came from behind her.
“Dan?” Megan asked, surprised. “I thought I told you to stay safe.”
“I would never let you die out here alone. Not after all you’ve done for me,” Dan said.
With shooting pain, she pulled herself up and looked past the door. A few feet in, Boris’s body lay in a pool of blood, which was coming from wounds to his neck and forehead.
“I can’t believe it,” Megan said, feeling worse than she imagined possible. “He was my closest friend.”
“I guess it was his time,” Dan replied.
“It would have been mine, if you hadn’t intervened,” Megan admitted.
“Hey, you took out two and a half men, I just finished the last one off,” Dan countered. “It’s never going to be safe for you, knowing me. I’d understand if you didn’t want to.”
“The fact that you won’t be safe is all the more reason for me to stay, Dan. I can’t think of anything more important than protecting you - and loving you,” Megan said.
Chapter Ten:
Megan’s wounds healed quickly, and as soon as she was back on her feet, she started attending regular meetings with Dan’s secret service squad, giving them strategies for dealing with the threat of another attack. It had been foolish for her to assume that there would only be a single replacement killer, and now Boris was dead. She didn’t want to be equally stupid and assume there would not be any more replacements.
After Don Sherwood cut a deal with federal prosecutors in exchange for testimony about his fellow banking co-conspirators, though, that possibility looked increasingly remote. The people who had the most interest were no longer in any position to contract something like this out again.
Despite the pace of the Presidential race, Dan found the time to get to know Megan in earnest. Each day, they felt more and more in love with each other. Megan began a new life, becoming the philanthropist she once pretended to be. Of course, she still had a day job as a nanny for Dan’s kids, and of course she still did this job as Mildred. It was ironic, how such a stern exterior helped her to discover her soft side, but it was a pleasant twist nonetheless.
For the longest time, Megan had the distinct impression that Dan already knew her secret, though he didn’t understand how it was possible. Then again, she herself wasn’t quite aware how it was possible. She had not shown him the disguise, but he always gave her a knowing look when she talked about Mildred.
Eventually, the kids started asking more and more about the interesting young woman that their father was seeing so much of, and so after much deliberation, Dan and Megan decided it would be best if she became a part of their lives, in her natural form. She also decided it would be best to show him her disguise, at long last - but after the election was over, of course.
As the days counted down until the election, Dan found himself thinking about it less and less and thinking about Megan and Mildred more and more. His lead in the polls made the actual election night an afterthought: he had already won over the nation, and people knew it. Instead, he relished the chance to finally see the magical process that he suspected existed, but could not reconcile with his logical and empirically grounded mind. What’s more, he relished the though that she was finally willing to share the secret with him, to give him a privileged viewing of her most vulnerable secret. The thought of this beautiful, young, vibrant woman having a completely different side captivated him. Late at night, he would think about how it must happen, like a coin spinning in his mind. On one side was Megan, and the other, Mildred. It was almost intoxicating just to contemplate.
When election night finally arrived, Dan found himself elected President by an overwhelming margin. He was proud to walk onstage with Megan as he prepared to give his victory speech. It seemed fitting that someone like her should be the first lady.
Thankfully, there was a bit of free time for him between the election and the inauguration. Per Megan’s promise, the day had finally arrived for their relationship to go to the next level. Megan was going to reveal everything to him.
“You’ve been anticipating this for quite a while, huh?” Megan asked Dan.
“I can’t stop twirling it around in my head,” Dan confessed. He had, of course, spent time around Mildred. But since he had never seen the actual disguise take place, there was still some kind of plausible deniability in his mind. He still treated Megan and Mildred as though they were two different, distinct people, in part because he couldn’t believe what Megan had all but admitted to him. Not unless he saw it with his own two eyes.
“There certainly are a lot of possibilities here,” Megan said with a sultry lilt to her voice, as she started to remove her clothes.
“Such as?” Dan asked, his voice straining with anticipation.
“Well, Mildred can stay on, at least for a few months, until the kids adjust to seeing us together,” Megan started. “Or she can just come out to play with you. Our little secret.”
“What other options do I have?” Dan asked, as Megan stood before him, stark naked.
“Well...” Megan began, as she started to pull out her Mildred clothes. “Maybe you could even go on dates with Mildred. That would be interesting, wouldn’t it? They could be romantically themed, or staged so that it looks like you are just having a friendly meal with Megan’s great aunt...”
“It’s exciting,” Dan said, as Megan lifted her Mildred granny panties from her special, big purse. “Thinking about all the possibilities, I mean.”
“Is that all that’s exciting?” Megan asked with a smirk as she pulled the large dress over her lithe body.
“It’s so big on you...” Dan remarked.
“You’ve seen it on Mildred dozens of times,” Megan said.
“But, I’ve never seen it on you,” Dan said. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
“I was surprised the first time I saw it, too,” Megan confessed. “But, as you know, on Mildred, it’s practically too small.”
Dan found himself thinking of just how small that garment was, when stretched out across Mildred’s curves and sagging flesh.
He expected Megan to don a bodysuit, or some face makeup, or perhaps a mask of some kind. He was surprised when, at last, all she pulled out was string of pearls. She held them at arms length, her lips pouting seductively. Megan looked almost ridiculous, wearing clothes that fit her so poorly and so clearly represented a woman much older than she was. If he hadn’t known her, having seen her only at this moment, he might have thought she looked like a teenager playing dress-up in her grandmother’s clothes. She pulled a cardigan over the dress, but it was far too large as well, and it was frayed and stretched.
“I’m still a little nervous,” Megan said sheeplishly.
“Why? I can’t wait to see it,” Dan said.
“I know, it’s just...you’ll be the first one I show it to,” Megan began. “It’s very personal and I know some people could less than excited about it.”
“I don’t think that will be me, I’ve been thinking about it for quite some time now,” Dan tried to assure her.
“When a woman is pregnant, the man typically thinks about that for months,” Megan countered. “Yet there’s a well established phenomenon that when a man watches his wife give birth he often doesn’t feel as attracted to her anymore.”
“That sot of thing isn’t going to happen,” Dan insisted. He leaned forwards and gave her a little kiss. “I love you. I’ll always care for your and feel attracted to you.”
Megan sighed, nodded her head in agreement, and asked “Are you ready?”
“Of course,” Dan replied, grinning widely as he got into his favorite chair.
“Then sit back and enjoy the show,” Megan said, and clasped the pearls behind her neck. For a brief moment, they gave of the faintest glow of light.
“You must be joking,” Dan said. “That’s it?”
“I’m not joking!” Megan insisted, as she swiftly crossed the room to where he was sitting. She leaned in and straddled him in his chair, like she was a stripper giving him a lap dance.
As Dan was enjoying the pleasant grinding sensations, he gazed down the front of Megan’s super-sized dress. To his surprise, as he was enjoying an eyeful of Megan’s chest, he noticed that her breasts were bigger than he remembered. Megan had the body of a lithe, thin young woman, with the small, pert breasts that generally came with healthy food and regular exercise. Now, though, those small breasts were far larger, two white orbs barely contained in her sports bra.
“You like?” Megan asked. She leaned in further and rubbed her growing chest in his face. He moaned with appreciation, and Megan reached her arms around the back of his head, her fingernails penetrating his hair and dancing on his scalp. She tightened her arms and pressed him even closer, leaning down slightly to deliver a smooch to the top of his forehead.
“Mmm...Megan,” Dan said with appreciation, as she pulled back. “You’re so sexy.” When he saw Megan’s face, however, he suddenly saw that she was...not Megan, not anymore.
She wasn’t Mildred - she didn’t even look similar to Mildred. But Megan clearly had changed. Her face now contained laugh lines and shadows under her eyes. Her face was a little puffier, softer, and rounder, but the skin itself looked a little rougher. A few lines of white and grey had etchend themselves into her fiery red hair. The overall youthful glow had faded, and Dan guessed that she now looked like a woman in her late 30’s.
“Megan?” Dan asked, feeling surprised. She was changing, seemingly through pure magic, right before his eyes. His logical, scientific grounding could not explain it.
“What’s the matter? I’d guess I’m still a few years younger than you,” Megan replied. “I know, I know, normally, when a man begins a relationship with a younger woman, she’s always younger relative to him. But in this case...” Megan leaned in close, so close that her lips were practically touching his ear. “That distinction is rapidly fading away,” she cooed. Dan could feel his heart pounding his excitement.
Dan felt the pressure on his lap increasing. He figured that it was from her changing her position, but when he looked over her shoulder, he saw that she hadn’t shifted her weight. As he gazed at her body, he realized that wasn’t exactly accurate. She had shifted her weight - it had gone up.
Her shoulders were a little wider and rounder, as if an artist had painted a thin layer doughy fat over her entire upper torso. He tried to look down the front of her dress to take a look at her tummy, which he was used to being flat at toned. Dan quickly realized he was unable to see it, as her breasts had grown so large and luscious that they completely blocked out a view of anything south of them.
Dan resolved that if he couldn’t see what was happening, he would feel it. He moved his hands down from her wobbly shoulders down to her swelling breasts. They were almost impossibly large and ripe, but they felt surprisingly soft upon a firm squeeze, which was perhaps a sign of things to come. He moved his hands down, over her dress, and could feel a small pot belly blossoming underneath them. Moving further down still, he could feel a widening set of hips. Below them, he could see two thickening thighs splayed out around his.
He ran his arms up and down her growing, softening body, unable to get enough. Megan pressed herself up against him as close as she could and started to grind, moving up and down with increasing speed. With each undulation, he could feel Megan’s increasingly warm, soft body jiggling a bit more, enveloping him a little more, pressing him against his seat a little firmer.
“I’m glad you are enjoying it,” Megan said with a smile. Even her voice sounded different to Dan now. It was deeper and more husky, like a woman going through menopause.
Her breasts can continued to grow, and with her added mass, they had slumped and sagged downwards, pulling at her dress and distending her cardigan. Looking up at Megan’s face again, it now more closely resembled Mildred’s. Her wrinkles had only deepened, and they had multiplied, and been joined by some age spots. They now decorated not only under her eyes and the corners of her mouth, but also her forehead, her lips, around her nose, and her neck. The skin was now very rough and leathery. Her lips looked whithered and deflated, and her eyes seemed yellower on the outside and a stained, stern looking brown near the pupil. Despite the fact that her hands were nowhere near her hair, it seemed to be re-arranging itself into Mildred’s signature, conservative bun hairdo. There was a dark splotchy patch, but it was mostly white and grey.
“Wow,” Dan said with a whisper.
“Speak up, sonny, I can’t hear you,” Mildred responded, and then let out a long, witch sounding cackle. She reared her head back as she let it out, allowing Dan to see her deteriorating, yellowed teeth. Her body shook with the laughter, jiggling wildly.
“That’s amazing,” Dan said. “How does it work?”
“Who knows?” Mildred asked. “What matters is that it saved your life, helped me take care of your kids, and allowed me to become a different kind of person,” she said, her voice dry, rough, and brittle sounding, with a distinctive warble.
“It’s certainly a very...convincing disguise,” Dan hedged, not knowing quite what to say.
“Come on, Dan,” Mildred said. “I know you better than that. Sometimes I feel like I know you better than you know yourself. You knew it was convincing before this display. Something else is going on for you.”
“What do you mean?” Dan asked, feeling embarrassed.
“Come on, you were enjoying yourself. I could tell,” She said in her deep, gravelly, harsh sounding voice. Dan didn’t respond, fearing that the statement was an accusation. “It’s fine, don’t worry,” she said as she ran her hands up and down her massively plump body. “I had a feeling you might prefer me like this.” Dan merely nodded, and Mildred cupped her large breasts, which were protruding out of her dress and through her cardigan almost obscenely. She pushed and pulled on them, each change in movement producing a new shape and a new, unique way her breasts pressed their form into her clothing and her cardigan. With the skillful, teasing motions of her bony, age spotted fingers, Dan guessed she had done this in the mirror many times before.
“Come on, give Mildred a kiss,” she said as she leaned in. The chair creaked with the weight, and Mildred pressed her thin, lined lips against his. For a brief moment, his mouth was invaded by her tongue and he could feel her cracked teeth invading his mouth. Even her kiss tasted different. Megan’s strawberry mouth seemed to have vanished, replaced by a rough, musky taste that had just a hint of a sickly sweetness, like leather imbued with the essence of maple syrup. As Mildred leaned in, he could feel the weight of her ponderous, sagging bosom pressing heavily against his chest.
His resistance and reluctance to acknowledge his own desires collapsed, and he returned the the kiss with a hungry passion. When they broke the kiss, they were both panting and breathing heavily.
“This can be yours whenever you’d like,” Mildred promised. “When the kids are away, we can have our special time. Whenever you feel bored with Megan or just in the mood for something special...I’ll be here for you,” she said.
“I’ll take you up on that,” Dan replied. Mildred reached down and put a hand onto his shirt, which she pulled up slightly. She caressed the top of his stomach, before slipping her hand lower, into his underwear. Dan felt the grip of her wrinkled, bony hand on him and felt a shiver go up his spine.
“That’s why I like you young bucks,” Mildred said. “Full of such strength and stamina. You know what it’s like to enjoy someone younger, don’t you, Dan? How do you like the reversal now?”
“Shall we, uh?” Dan’s usual eloquence failed him as he reached for words.
“Retire to the bedroom?” Mildred finished for him. Dan nodded. The chair creaked again as the both rose and walked towards the bed.
Dan and Mildred walked towards the bed that Dan was used to sharing with Megan. Well, Dan walked, but Mildred shuffled with a kind of waddle to her gait.
When Mildred arrived on the bed, Dan had already taken his shirt off. Mildred helped him yank his pants down as well. When Dan moved to tug down her garments, Mildred slapped his hand away.
“I think it’s more interesting if they stay on,” Mildred cooed. Dan nodded, agreeing. “Well, if they stay mostly oh,” Mildred qualified, as she pulled down her granny panties. Dan got a good luck at her legs, which were large, rounded, and covered in cottage-cheese like cellulite and varicose veins. Her butt was also massive, sticking out behind her and hanging out like a shelf.
Mildred had a momentary inspiration and decided that she would try one final time to to remove the bun from her hair. She finally succeeded, and she was able to give Dan a face full of wispy white and gray locks, not to mention a nice view of her soft, jiggling upper arms as she undid her hair. She could feel their bodies mash together as they rolled around on the bed. Dan couldn’t stop groping her impossibly big, impossibly saggy breasts, and delighted in their soft, malleable texture. A firm squeeze by his eager fingers made them almost change change in his hands, and he wanted to explore how much they could look different and how they could strain her too-tight cardigan in differing ways. Her large tummy also stuck out of her clothing, and it felt warm and soft to the touch.
The moment of their coupling was almost at hand, and Dan could hardly be more excited. The woman he loved, Megan, was young, smart, beautiful, and had saved his life. The fact that she had a secret disguise as someone who looked so different made her even more appealing. Underneath, she was still Megan, but right now, she was sharing Mildred with him. And, she had promised to share her whenever he wanted.
Megan was young, thin, and very fit. Mildred was old, fat, and flabby. It was the perfect diguise and the perfect seduction. He gasped as they fit together, feeling a sense of purpose wash over him. All his life, he hadn’t quite understood what he wanted from women. His feeling had always been confusing and contradictory. Now, they were clear as day. What he wanted was this.
As she straddled herself onto him, he ran his hands up and down her body, trying to appreciate every curve, every sagging flab, and every wrinkle. He buried his face in her bountiful cleavage as she continued to build the rhythm. Dan wrapped his arms around her and grabbed her butt, both to knead its magnificent flabbiness and to pull them even closer together.
They both cried out together, his deep, manly voice accompanying the dry, gravelling, crooning tone of an old matron.
~
“I’m glad we decided Mildred will stay on,” Dan said, after they lay side by side. “I mean, Megan certainly should get to know the kids during the weekends, but...”
“You want me to be part of your life, part of your children’s lives,” Mildred finished. “I’m flattered, really.”
“You are a dream come true for me,” Dan said.
“And you are going to be dream come true for a whole country, young man” Mildred replied. “I hope you have the energy for being the leader of the free world and our little workouts.”
“Are you kidding?” Dan asked. “If I can’t find the the time and energy for this...”
“Good,” Mildred replied, stroking his bare chest with her spindly fingers. “Very good.”
“Would you like to go to the movies later today, with the kids?” Dan asked.
“I’d love to. I can’t imagine a better way to kill a couple of hours,” Mildred replied. “Well, aside from...a repeat of what we just did.”
“You read my mind...that was my plan for after dinner,” Dan said.
“Do you want to see me put on the disguise again?” Mildred asked.
“I could see that a thousand times and never tire of it,” Dan said as he leaned in to give Mildred a kiss.
~~~
The End
Love age progression and politics? Check out The Candidate.
Becky, a young liberal activist, has been warned that people tend to grow more conservative as they get older. In her case, she's become the unwitting target of a top secret Republican plan to retake the White House. Her body and mind are transformed, making her the perfect GOP candidate for President. Unfortunately, altering reality isn't always so simple...
Becky, a young liberal activist, has been warned that people tend to grow more conservative as they get older. In her case, she's become the unwitting target of a top secret Republican plan to retake the White House. Her body and mind are transformed, making her the perfect GOP candidate for President. Unfortunately, altering reality isn't always so simple...