Duel with The Devil

Duel With The Devil

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Sales of my novel, The Greatest Liar, Trans Erotica With A Purpose (TGL), had been tepid. The meager royalties didn't bother me: I have more assets than I ever dreamed of owning, and my professional career is thriving.

But it troubled me that the public didn't discover TGL's themes of transsexuals' troubles in transition, their fraught relationships with friends and family, the relentless threats and assaults of transphobes on their safety and security, the indignity of social and institutional discrimination, and the fragility of their lives even after they transcend these obstacles.

From my privileged Swiss home, I observed with increasing anxiety how every step that trans-rights took forward was repelled with a brutal backlash. From Russia to Africa to the Red States of America, reactionary politicians, feeding upon, and feeding the transphobia endemic in their societies, issued bathroom bans, decreed sports discrimination, mandated educational censorship, and deprived young transsexuals of medical treatment. Official opprobrium emboldened haters, and the morgues filled from an ever increasing holocaust of transsexual murders, setting horrifying new records every year.

Even J.K. Rowling, the literary idol of my youth, and the inspiration for countless transitions by questioning kids who believed that the magic of HRT could remake their bodies, and lives, turned against the trans world, revealing herself to be just another intolerant Muggle.

If only I had written a better book that attracted a broader readership, or even inspired a streaming miniseries. If only I had opened more eyes and minds to the impossibility of living a full life without transitioning, and to the boundless possibilities of life beyond the tortuous path through transition.

I'd failed as an author and advocate, and as the pandemic of violence and hatred against transsexuals raged on, I acquiesced, protected by my passability, the relative tolerance of Swiss society, and my success as a pioneer of regenerative medicine.

Then, the Covid pandemic repurposed me as a scientist. As the case count and death toll spiked, the resources and grants for my research dried up and the clinics I where supervised tissue regeneration filled up, like clinics everywhere, with desperately ill Covid patients. One of them was my husband, a native of Bergamo who was infected at a soccer match that sparked the onset of the pandemic in Italy and triaged to die alone in a hospital corridor.

The Swiss/Italian border was closed, so I said goodbye to Silvio over Facetime. Two months later I finally got the urn containing his ashes, and our daughters and I hiked his favorite glacier and sprinkled it with his ashes and our tears.

My father Eduardo Rios, who was already a pre-eminent virologist when the pandemic descended, recruited me to his team performing a global study of the spread of the disease for the World Health Organization. For the next two years I worked for his Institute, testing waste water samples from around the world, searching for and classifying new variants and sub-variants. After the pandemic subsided, an American billionaire funded us to look for the next pandemic lying in wait to ambush an all to forgetful human race.

I got assigned to Thailand because I speak the language, know the culture, and have even survived exposure to the bird flu that has been on WHO's diseases of concern list for more than a decade.. The only impediment, the Thai arrest warrant outstanding from my last visit to Thailand (chapter 14 of TGL), was handled discreetly and quickly with a donation from our billionaire sponsor to the Thai Prime Minister's favorite charity.

Stormy Forecast

I was dressed in a hazmat suit, sweltering beneath the tropical sun, supervising a group of sobbing Thai villagers sorting the chickens which had been killed in the cull that had destroyed their flocks and their livelihoods, separating the sickliest chickens from those not yet infected. They labored in tattered clothes, open sandals and cloth masks under the watchful eyes and rifles of the Thai Military Police, exposed to the pathogens oozing from the dead, decomposing flock.

My cell phone chirped, and my earbuds activated.

"Hello, this is Assistant District Attorney Glover, calling from New York. Is this Alexandra Rios."

"Yeah, but it's not a good time to talk."

"We need to talk about your memoir."

"I've got more important things to do than revisit my wasted youth."

"It won't take long, we only need to talk about three sections: 'NDA', 'My Turn as Apprentice' and 'Blast From the Past.'"

"If you've read them, then you know I can't talk about them."

"Nondisclosure agreements don't apply to me. I'm a criminal prosecutor, and if the NDAs don't exempt me, they're unenforceable."

"Read the prologue, it's just a novel."

"Your memoir ties to numerous verifiable occurrences. We need to know whether these episodes do too."

"I'm in a Thai jungle with a million dead chickens. And guess what, I prefer their company to yours."

"We know all about your bird flu research. We also know that you're an outstanding witness and a courageous fighter."

"My fighting days are done. I don't care about America or its crazed political culture. I'm Swiss, we're neutral."

"What's more important than truth, and the rule of law?"

"They're overrated luxuries for the chattering classes. Truth is relative to power, and reality is based on ratings."

"Not in the courts, as you well know. They are the last bastion, and we need your testimony."

"I'm busy saving the world from the next pandemic."

"What about saving the world from political gangsters like the lover boy who paid you the 150k to bury evidence we need for a trial."

"Call my lawyer, Phil Lake. Make your pitch to him, and I'll consider it after I'm done sorting these dead birds."

I hand signaled the commander of the Thai soldiers guarding the bird mortuary where the terrified, and now impoverished Thai farmers, had earned their last baht from their slaughtered flocks. I sealed the freezer-full of the sickest chicken carcasses with Biohazard Tape and the villagers loaded it into the back of a Humvee, tagged for delivery to Lugano, Switzerland.

I texted my LA lawyer, Phil Lake.

"Got a call from the New York DA. There's stormy weather ahead."

Grand Jury

Mom believed the vaccine skeptics, and needlessly died from Omicron. She didn't have a will, so I'd hired Phil to sort out the probate mess. Now, I was bringing him a much racier case.

Phil was practicing law from the extra bedroom of his Brentwood condo, blocks from my childhood home. The last vestiges of the suburban neighborhood of my childhood had been overtaken by the forces of densification and development.

The clutch of homeless veterans I'd befriended long ago had multiplied a hundred-fold. Their tents jammed the sidewalks and spilled onto the street along San Vicente Boulevard next to the VA. Guarded by wary security guards, the stores and restaurants that hadn't been shuttered by pandemic closures were packed, the always terrible traffic had intensified. I was lucky to find a parking place three blocks away from Phil's crowded block.

"Brentwood always finds new ways to become more intolerable."

"Made even worse by Covid, which killed off the last vestiges of civility in this society. But one great thing about the pandemic, it got me out of the office. Never realized how much I hated commuting and the jerks in Human Resources, always bitching about my demeanor."

Phil handed me a cappuccino and pushed the button to make another.

"I accepted service of the New York DA's subpoena. He wants some documents, bank records, emails, copies of the NDAs and he wants you, live and in person, in New York."

"But the tabloid press will out me as trans, and after the public inquisition, the transphobes in His Majesty's mob will burn me at the stake."

"It's not quite that bad. Grand jury testimony is secret. It's you, the jurors, the DA and a court reporter: The Fallen King's lawyers are excluded, and I only get to watch the show."

"That sounds too good to be true."

"It is, because you have the right to go public about your testimony. "

"No problem, I'm not telling anybody. I might sell a few more copies of The Greatest Liar and spend the rest of my brief life hiding from the former Liar in Chief's homicidal supporters."

"The problem is that you have the duty under the NDAs to notify his lawyers if you testify."

"That's like a death warrant. Can we fight the subpoena?"

"Sure, but your odds aren't good. And you'll call attention to yourself."

"Can I just go home and ignore it?"

"If you abscond to Switzerland, they'll serve the subpoena under the Hague Convention, and the DA could ask for extradition. Those proceedings would disclose your name and the 'oh so racy' facts. And you'll probably lose; in the 2010's the Swiss extradited a bunch of bankers to New York for aiding tax evasion."

"Can we negotiate?"

"Let's try. The Nevada NDA prohibits you from testifying without exhausting all legal remedies to avoid testifying, but the Swiss NDA only requires you to give notice. I'll ask the New York DA to request a Court order prohibiting you from fighting the DA under the Nevada NDA and from giving notice under the Swiss NDA, to prevent witness tampering or intimidation."

"I should never have taken the 150k."

"You're better off with it than without it. By the way, who paid?"

"The Nevada NDA came with a pile of poker chips."

"Untraceable."

"The Swiss NDA was a wire from JC's law firm."

"Perfect. Both of your old BF's are screwed."

"Somehow it seems like I'm the one getting screwed."

Too Perfect

My high school classmate and one-time lover Thad Jones was waiting for me at the Bar Milano with an open but untouched bottle of Dom Perignon. He nodded to the bar man, who brought two frosted glasses and expertly poured. Thad clinked my glass and started a toast.

"Sorry Thad, me first. 'To you, my savior on Prom Night and at the Stoner Park Reunion.'"

"To you, for opening my eyes to the splendors of your gender, which I would never have discovered if not for you."

"I probably wouldn't be here if not for you."

"And I'm glad I was there, because here you are, more beautiful than ever."

Dom's tart but soft flavors and delicate bubbles teased my lips, tongue and throat, priming them for more flavorful finishes.

"I love champagne, how it cleanses the palate, and empties the guilt from my soul."

Chad clinked my glass again.

"That's why we got to keep on sinning, to keep the champagne flowing. Not that it matters to me, but our mutual friend told me you're married "

"Widowed. Silvio died in Italy's first wave of Covid."

"That's terrible. My mom and dad too."

"And my mother. Here's to them, and to the other 50 million we didn't know well enough to love."

"May it never happen again."

"Thad, it will, and next time will be even worse. Live now, like it's starting again tomorrow."

"Meaning, drink champagne and fuck beautiful women like you?"

"Great minds think alike."

A stunning Latina, flaunting her augmented boobs, hips and lips, crowded to the bar between us. Her aromas were enticing, her manner threatening.

"Thad, I thought I was your new girlfriend, not this MILF."

"She's an old girlfriend, so get back on the waiting list, Maria."

She drew away, eyed me, closely and snorted.

"Look at her, she's too perfect, must be a fake. Hey boy, did you get your panocha in TJ?"

"Who knows, I don't remember, maybe at the same clinic that fixed your monkey face and bolted on your fake tits."

She flung her drink at me, I ducked, it splashed Thad.

Thad motioned to the bar man, who summoned security, and in a moment, Maria was in an Uber black.

"Sorry about that. The price of celebrity."

"Oh, do I know what you mean! Can we get this Dom to go?"

"Where to?"

"Your place, before the paparazzi descend."

The valet brought Thad's Lamborghini as a convoy of paparazzi careered onto San Vicente.

I handed the valet a twenty and grabbed the keys.

"I know this hood; I can lose those losers."

"You know how to drive one of these road rockets."

"My late husband collected them."

I cut through a gas station to a back street that led back to San Vicente, swerved around a homeless vet pushing a shopping cart, and escaped onto the far side of the divided boulevard. Three more turns down back streets, and I was at the next freeway entrance, without a paparazzi in sight.

"You never fail to impress, Ms. Rios."

"Have you got an NDA with that little bitch?"

"Of course, my agent requires it."

"Have him send her a cease and desist."

"Done. Take this exit."

I wound up the sinuous curves of Mulholland Drive and turned through a gate, which opened automatically as Lamborghini approached.

"Just wondering, Thad, do you have a neighbor named Jason Crockett?"

"Yeah, what an asshole. But his ex-wife gave me a pretty good blow job."

"Then you're even, because back in the day, I gave JC some pretty good blow jobs too."

Thad slapped his massive thighs and roared laughter.

"That's what I love about being rich in LA. Such a small world!"

"What happened to your semi pro career in Vancouver."

"I wiped out three quarterbacks in my first three games, sent game tape to the LA teams, and the money lured me back to good old So Cal. Only thing I miss about BC is that Asian girl you told me about. That was some tasty pussy."

"Tran is still my bestie. I'll make sure to mention it."

His mansion was eerily similar to my former lover JC's, but the furnishings were straight out of contemporary reality TV.

"I feel like I'm stepping onto a set."

"You are, during the football season they film that skanky housewives show here. And all three of those thick KK's asses have sat in that chair."

He pointed to a damask covered throne in a luxurious sunken media room.

"This place is fully equipped for filming. Should we shoot a special scene?"

"Don't want to wreck the chair or make a record of our rendezvous. By the way, do you need an NDA from me?"

"With all your scandalous secrets, you need one as much as me."

"Totally agree."

We DocuSign-ed on an iPad in his bedroom and he handed me instant tests for Syph, gonorrhea, chlamydia and Hep B. After I showered we exchanged our passing results.

"I have to admit, I got loaded in Phuket and let a couple of hot French guys DP me a couple of weeks ago. Here's my HIV test. I'm on PrEP just to be safe."

"Off season, I'm on PrEP too. It simplifies life."

Fifteen years as a pro linebacker had scarred him with surgeries but hardened him with the rigors of contact sport and training.

"The team should cast you bronze and put your statue in front of the stadium,"

"Great idea, I'll tell my agent, maybe I can get a fee."

He pointed to his knees, poke-a-dotted with epidural needle scars.

"I hope they have another year left. They're worth 2 million bucks a piece on the player option year of my contract. After that, I'm retiring, replacing them."

"I have a shortlist of surgeons to recommend. Do you have any groin injuries."

"Too many to count. They need your special therapy."

I massaged his massive thighs. His quads were dense and sinewy.

"Wow, these muscles are amazing, how much can you deadlift?"

"I've lifted a thousand or so, but my routine is twenty reps with 500."

"Fuck, I need to work out, but I hate weights."

"I got the perfect workout for you. Get to work on this."

He pulled his thighs apart, and his cock sprang forth like a startled black snake.

"See if that black mambo is poisonous."

I throated him until I gagged, repressed my reflex, then pushed in deeper until my eyes watered and my chest trembled. He cradled my head in his huge hands and guided his cock from my lips through my tonsils and deep into my gullet.

My boobs quivered against his muscled thighs, my neck pulsed with the thrust and plunge of his cock. I gasped for breath, as anoxia, the harbinger of mortality and sexual release, awoke the glands near my mons, and it twinged. I pushed back and released the monster from its oral captivity.

"Twenty years of aches and pains gone in a minute. You're a miracle, Madame Rios."

"Don't want to waste that load of killer venom on my mouth. My pussy needs that magic potion."

"Lube my dick and your snatch, then sit on it."

"Back door or front door?

"Lady's choice."

I poised his cock on my ass and pushed down.

"Fuck my ass, bad boy."

He whooped like a warrior and bucked upwards, breached my butt ring, and barged deep into my colon. Fireworks exploded in my brain, fire engulfed my hole, my body convulsed, a scream erupted from my lungs.

"Fuck me, mother fucker, fuck me dead."

Part of me wanted death, to join Silvio in the afterlife, or Miguel in hell, or Seth in paradise, or the dead T girls who'd perished in never-ending the trans holocaust, in limbo between the realization of their aspirations and the brutal reality of their lives and miserable deaths.

"Never killed a single quarterback, though I mangled a bunch of them."

"Then hit me harder."

He battered, bludgeoned, and brutalized my butt and boobs. I begged for mercy, he fucked me harder until he groaned, slowed, and screamed "Oh fuck" and a warm flood inundated my colon.

The hot wave of bubbling cum and the shiver of his dick inside me brought me to an anal orgasm. My body was possessed, I thrashed like a dervish.

"Goddamn, fucking awesome."

I kissed him.

"Totally."

"I can't wait to try the front pussy."

I got up, my ass splunked and a flood of cum drizzled down my thighs.

"Got to change these sheets first."

"Fuck it, let's switch to another bedroom."

"I could use a shower."

"How about a bath?"

The soothing sounds of taps that flowed like waterfalls almost lulled me to a post orgasmic slumber. He brought me a robe and slippers, helped me to my feet, caught me when I wobbled, and set me on a chaise.

"After the bedroom, this is my happy place."

He drizzled aromatherapy and Epsom salts into the swirling waters of a giant jacuzzi, gathered me in his arms, carried me like a baby, and baptized me in its waters.

"This is where I recover after a game day. Try it."

I lolled into the fragrant, rippling waters and found a jet for the hollow of my back, which had borne the brunt of his thrusts and my recoil.

"Oh, that's perfect."

"Finishing that Dom will make it perfect."

He handed me a flute, and his huge hand found my mons and massaged it.

"All that time and trouble to make this perfect pussy, and you still like it in the butt?"

"It's where I learned to love the big D, and I never got over it."

"The sports pros call it Big League birth control cuz it keeps us safe from wannabee baby mamas looking for a shiny new condo. And I've learned to love it too.

He put a rolled towel under my head, dimmed the lights, and I gazed at the lights of LA glittering in the basin below.

We cuddled in the eddies of his jacuzzi and I dreamed of an alternative life: me and Thad, the new Bel Air aristocrats. But I'm trans, and he's Black, and that's a dream that can never come true.

Take Notice

Thad's snoring woke me up at 5, too late for an Ambien. I logged onto his network, checked my email, and received bad news from Phil. I called; he was already awake.

"The court prohibited you from complying with the Nevada NDA. You don't have to fight the subpoena. But you have to testify and give notice under the Swiss NDA."

"OK, fuck them. I'll fight them from Switzerland."

"Don't overreact. You won half the battle, and you don't always win it all in court."