Professionals with Benefits

"And education doesn't change it," he continued, "which I personally found surprising. PhDs or public-school illiterates, it's all same-same.

"The viewer's sex doesn't seem to matter, either. The wash content we use is very carefully scripted, directed and edited to appeal to both sexes. Crude, raw porn wouldn't do it at all. We've got a team of shrinks checking and rechecking every bit.

"The only thing that does  seem to matter," Smith said with a small shrug, "is sexual orientation." He nodded at Richard in acknowledgement. "Gay males can certainly be influenced by a properly-crafted gay wash, but that would reverse the impact on the general public, the majority of viewers."

His eyes turned to Richard. "Sorry 'bout that, boss. We're working on it..."

Richard waved a hand. "No worries. All in due course. Breeder money still buys airplane seats."

Smith nodded, continued. "With that exception, almost the entire mainstream audience still reacts positively, including most bisexual individuals and even many self-ID'd lesbians."

I mulled it over. Frankly, I was having some trouble wrapping my head around it. I had questions; Smith had answers. We talked a while longer and I was convinced, mostly. T.C.A.'s initial program would run for six to eight weeks, depending on results, and take maybe a week to get up and running.

Smith finally looked at Richard, who nodded. He found a thumb drive in his case, without difficulty this time, laid it in the middle of the table.

"Over to you, Richard," he said, walking out the door.

Chapter 2

The room seemed very silent after he'd left. Peter and I were both lost in our own thoughts and Richard, good boss that he was, knew enough to let us think.

I was surprised when Peter spoke first.

"So, how do we come into this? I mean, assuming it's for real."

"Oh, it's very much for real," Richard replied. "And you two are going to be running it from our end."

He had my full attention now.

"That's the last we'll be dealing with Mr. Smith in person, by the way. It's all electronic from now." He pushed the thumb drive toward me. My purse was in my office, so I just put it on my tablet by way of acceptance.

"Is this legal?"

"Technically? Amy says yes, probably. OK, maybe. It's uncharted ground. But first they'd have to notice it. Then they'd have to track it, and it's onioned all over the place. Then they'd have to connect us -- you -- to it and that'd be a huge jump, because neither you nor the Agency are involved in inserting the washes. Then they'd have to prove criminal intent; merely running erotic segments that nobody can see proves nothing. Amy says we're all pretty fireproof."

I thought about that.

"I am, by the way," he said, "reluctantly accepting your resignations."

"What?"

Smiling, he pushed two more pieces of paper at each of us. Looking at mine, I saw the first was an unsigned memo from me to Richard, announcing my immediate resignation for an unspecified 'business opportunity'. From the shape of paragraphs on the memo in front of Peter, he had the same memo, needing only his signature.

The other one Richard had given me was an undated memo already signed by him accepting my request to return to my previous position with the Agency. The memo confirmed that my pay, benefits and options would carry over from when I had left and specified a signing bonus.

Six months salary.

I looked at Richard, then at Peter, then back to Richard.

"This puts you totally at arms-length from 'N-4-A'," he said. "If anybody comes looking for you, you're no longer with us and we think you've left the country. Nice guy that I am, the Agency's paying you a termination package - same salary and benefits as you're getting now - for the next three months." He passed us each what looked like a plane ticket and an envelope.

"Credit card and a bit of local cash," he said, pointing to the envelope. "A suite's been leased for you at a business hotel at the far end. It has full internet and has been swept for bugs. You'll need clothes, passports and your laptops. Don't forget to pay your rent here in advance before you leave."

I looked in my envelope. The credit card was issued by a Swiss bank. Oddly, it was a corporate card, for a company I'd never heard of. It looked real enough. I held up the card with my eyebrows raised.

"Smith is the expert in, shall we say, discretion. He assures me these cards will work just fine and he'll keep them topped up. Spend as you need to, but keep in mind that he'll include the bottom line on my bill when this is over."

We nodded.

"Any questions? I know this is rushed, but..."

"Why us?" I asked.

Richard smiled. "Well, you're both single, which simplifies things. No major attachments, right?"

We both nodded in agreement.

"It also means this project can have your full attention.

"So, why you two, specifically? Well, Peter, you're an IT genius. This needs computer savvy."

Peter shrugged. "I already guessed wrong once," he said.

"You missed a fastball thrown in the dark, in a game you didn't know you were playing," Richard soothed. He was good at that sort of thing. "Nobody outside T.C.A. understands the tech they're using, so it doesn't matter that you don't understand that kind of fine detail. I need a systems expert I can depend on."

Peter nodded.

"Betts, you're our Concepts Branch wunderkind . I need you to work the oversight and evaluations on T.C.A.'s efforts. It's right down your alley. You'll be in charge of this."

I nodded, reluctantly.

"And I want you both, as a team, to verify that they're actually doing something. The flash drive has a program you can download to allow you to separate primary from wash. Smith says it will work for the length of our contract. Don't lose that thing."

He looked at us, pointed at the memos and the pens.

"I accept your resignations. Your flight leaves in two days and you have some packing to do. Oh, you'll need to have a negative COVID test result to get through customs there, so that's probably your first stop.

"Have fun, you two."

+

Flying had never been something I enjoyed and COVID had made it that much worse. That said, I knew that 85% of the island nation's economy hinged on tourism and international finance. The first had gone to hell in a very tattered handbasket; we on the other hand had valid passports, good credit, proof of vaccination and a reservation for a business suite in a top-end hotel. Immigration, after taking our temperature twice and checking the results of our COVID tests, treated us gently.

The nice Customs man behind his plastic shield was huge, charming and darker than anyone I'd ever met in my life. He examined our documents carefully before giving us a friendly, welcoming smile. He regretfully informed us of the mandatory 10-day quarantine in our hotel. He confirmed with us that we were not bringing in more than our permitted amount of alcohol, then gave us a connoisseur's insight on local rums and where to get the best deals on them. The Department of Tourism should have taken him on.

Arriving at the hotel, we were told that while the bars, pools, gym, spa and restaurants were off-limits during the quarantine period, local custom permitted access to the beach, provided we kept our distance from other people. Room service, the man said, was excellent.

Peter brightened when the desk clerk added room service extended to the beach area.

+

"It's a tough life, Betts," he complained laughingly later that day, curled up in the shade of a beach umbrella, a cold bottle of local beer in his hand.

"It is, it is," I agreed. I thought for a moment. "We're in place. When do the washes kick in?"

"Two, three days, I think," he pronounced. "The day after that at worst. How's the tan coming?"

Yeah, OK, after looking at the forecast, I'd packed a couple of killer bikinis. I'd noticed Peter noticing, which I've always thought is good for a girl's morale.

The hotel was very nice. Very nice indeed. Our suite faced the ocean and had a good view of the beach. The suite had an office. And a mini kitchen. I liked to cook. Peter approved of the internet hookup, so we were in business.

"Off to a slow start," I said, "but I have a couple of days to work on it. Starting now."

I smiled, rolled over on my tummy. Reaching behind me, I untied my bikini top ties, pulled them aside, before snuggling into a towel pillow.

"Wake me up in 20 minutes," I said. "I'd hate to burn on our first day."

Peter was very silent.

Maybe he'd found something interesting on his laptop.

Chapter 3

It was a pleasant enough wait, I guess. Yes, I know, Mr. Sun is not our friend, but everybody needs one bad habit and a nice tan is so definitely mine.

That Peter seemed to appreciate the bikinis was a bonus. There were two bedrooms in the suite and I planned on keeping it that way, thank you so very much, but, hey, girls have figures for a reason and keeping a big, handsome guy just slightly on edge has to be on the list somewhere.

But I couldn't spend all my time in the sun. I knew I had to build up to it or I'd burn like spareribs.

I was no longer part of the Agency, so I had no 'work' work to look at. I caught up on some reading, got into some back-issues, struck out doing on-line research into T.C.A., tried to be patient. Then I had an idea.

Peter, predictably, had fallen in love with the big screen in our suite. Guys, right? I found him watching, of all things, Olympic hockey reruns. He looked up at me when I came in, sarong around me, beach towel over one shoulder.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey, yourself. Please confirm you can pass a message to Smith."

"Yup. It's encrypted with the most incredible..." He saw the don't-bother-me-with-techie-details look in my eyes, stopped.

"Yes," he repeated.

I smiled as sweetly as I could. "I'd appreciate it if you'd send him a note saying that I need to compare what he'll be doing for us with what he's done for other clients. That's not unreasonable. So, I'd like a look at what T.C.A. did for Three Tulips, both the washed primaries and access to the washes themselves."

"I can ask," he said, freezing the hockey and heading for the desk where he'd set up his laptop.

I was reading under a beach umbrella two hours later when my phone chirped with a text from Pete.

GOT SOMETHING COME ON UP

I hurried.

He was just finishing setting it up on my laptop when I arrived. I wondered how he'd opened it, then realized I hadn't changed my password since I'd left the Agency. Note to self...

"Got you access from our Mr. Smith," he said over his shoulder. Swivelling away from my machine, he smiled. "All yours," he said and went back to his hockey.

I was surprised at the number of suggested primaries on the list. There were of course shows on gardening in general, travelogues, documentaries on the 17th century tulip mania, shows about tulips, ok. What I hadn't realized were how many times tulips showed up in the background of widely different programs. Do you know how many films have been shot in Amsterdam alone? And just try to release a film set in Amsterdam without showing tulips, right? There was a movie on the list I remembered having watched.

Watch it again,  I thought to myself. See if you can notice a wash.

OK, it was a chick flick and I'm a chick and I was sniffling by half-way through.

Finished, I stuck out my tongue at a bemused Peter, blew my nose, washed my face and settled back in front of my computer. I'd noticed tulips, now that I'd been looking for them, but I'd seen nothing whatever 'washy'. Time to look behind the curtain...

The wash didn't break down into the 'tulip' segments, not the way I had it set up; I'd look at that later. I pushed the icon.

Ten seconds later, I realized I needed to start breathing again.

Two incredibly lovely women, one lush with dark hair, one paler, slender, hair like flame. Like in a dream, through some director's sorcery I could tell almost instantly that they were more than friends, more than a casual hookup, more than even friends with benefits. The two were deeply in love with each other. Every nuance of framing, every trick of lighting, all of it caught one's attention and made Love central.

I found that that mattered somehow. I approved.

They did normal girl stuff at first, talking, shopping, laughing, going on walks. Hands were held, hugs given. There was a first quick kiss.

It all flowed very naturally, yet took very little time by the clock.

As I watched, the scene shifted, with the two now taking a stroll through a field of some knee-high yellow flowers. They wandered hand in hand, in no apparent hurry, simply happy to spend time with each other. The taller ginger suddenly paused in her stride; still holding hands, the busty brunette was pulled in towards her.

Hands came up, faces were caressed and a long, gentle, soft kiss exchanged. Again, I knew, I was watching love,  not just sex.

They resumed their stroll, but this time with hands around waists. Both were wearing light blouses of some sort; one wore a pair of tight shorts and the other even tighter cut-off jeans.

As I watched, the red-haired girl, who seemed in my mind to be the more adventurous, dropped her hand over the other's bum, squeezed. The darker girl laughed, turned for a quick kiss. Her own hand slid other's behind, coming to rest in a back pocket. They started walking again, but closer, their hips now against each other.

The ground started to rise and the two emerged out of the sea of yellow flowers onto a hill of low, soft grass. The sun was quite bright; broad clumps of low trees here and there showed dark shadows under their canopies. The two stopped again. Again, it was the slim redhead who took the initiative. Pulling the other into a fond embrace, her lips sought hers, locked together. I saw the pale woman's skin flush slightly as her hands began to roam over more than just her friend's bottom. I could see the pleasure in the dark woman's eyes as pale hands found her breasts, squeezed them gently.

The brunette looked around, as if searching for other people. Having gained the impression of her as the shyer of the two, I was surprised to see her grasp her blouse and, wriggling slightly, pull it up and over her head, tossing it to one side. Smiling, she wiggled again, setting her full and braless breasts swaying in the sunshine.

Her friend's delighted laughter, while silent, was clear. I didn't have to hear the words she spoke as she untied her own top, tossed it on top of the other. The brunette again surprised me, cupping her breasts and holding them up as if for inspection. They were, were to my eyes, perfect - shapely, firm, tipped with dark areolae and long nipples. The smile on her face was brilliant.

I think my own matched it as I watched.

The redheaded girl's laughter faded into giggles. She too held up her breasts; they were smaller than the other's, but very shapely, very...

I was surprised at myself when the word 'desirable' popped into my head.

The two leaned in, brought their nipples together until just touching. Without leaning in further, each began to tease the other's nipples with her own. I found it extraordinarily erotic; I felt my own nipples spring to attention.

Breasts flattened against each other as the two women pulled each other into an extended kiss, arms running over each other's bare back.

I became aware that Peter, perhaps sensing my sudden silence, had come over to see what I was watching.

"Hey," I whispered, my eyes locked on the amorous pair.

The couch shifted as he sat down beside me.

Slender hands flowed over bare shoulders, wrapped around slender waists, clung to the other's warmth with sudden passion.

The two broke apart. I could see the brunette's breasts rise and fall as she struggled to catch her breath.

I understood. My breathing wasn't quite right, either.

A quick glance showed Peter's attention riveted to the screen. He was leaning towards it, his eyes wide.

The ginger girl's fingers fumbled for a second with the button of her cut-offs. Her smile was mischievous, daring her friend to follow. A silent peel of laughter showed the bet had been accepted; two pairs of bottoms hit the ground at about the same moment.

I heard Peter's breath catch as the two turned for the other's inspection. The brunette's skin was either naturally darker or else she had spent a lot of time getting an all-over tan. The other was much paler, but then gingers seldom tan. The brunette had left a landing strip of hair above her sex; the other looked like a Brazilian ad.

The two again walked, arms about each other's waists. Either they were very daring or else were very certain; in either case, their discarded clothes had been left behind and they were clad now only in smiles and shoes. They seemed utterly unconcerned, at peace with the world and one another.

Why not?  I thought suddenly. What's to fear? What could possibly go wrong in such an idyllic setting?

The paler girl looked up at the sun, pressed a forefinger into her shoulder, examined the result. The two altered their course towards one of the stands of trees.

OK, too much sun could be a problem.

They were more or less in step now, sweet buttocks swaying in the sun, but once in a while one would deliberately give the other a hip-bump. They seemed perfectly at ease with one another and part of the natural world around them. I couldn't make up my mind if this was the first time like this for them or if they were already lovers.

Watching them walk, I became aware that I was utterly jealous of the firm, shapely perfection of their bums.

Almost at the trees, the redhead laughed and spun around, arms outstretched, her smile elated. Sunlight poured through her hair like a waterfall of flame.

Her darker friend laughed, sat down inside on the carpet of soft grass and patted the ground beside her. The redhead sat beside her, their hips together, arms around waists. The camera showed a pastoral scene stretching out for miles. There were cattle, sheep, horses but not another person in sight. This was their world and, for the moment at least, they seemed to have it entirely to themselves. Their faces seemed blissfully content.

Again, the brunette surprised me, her hand slipping down from the other's waist to her bum cheeks, fondling and squeezing. The slender woman leaned her head to rest on dark hair pooled on a tanned shoulder. The brunette turned her head, lowered it to the other's lips.

Slowly, the two lay down on the grass, the redhead on her back and the dark-haired girl in her arms. Their lips were firmly together; their heads made slight motions speaking of tongues dancing and playing inside each other's mouths.

A pale, freckled hand swept over a tanned waist, paused for a loving squeeze, continued.

My nipples were hard as pebbles; there was a solid weight in my groin.

"Hey, explain something to me," I whispered as her finger trailed just inside the cleft of the brunette's firm bottom.

Peter didn't answer. Beside me, he shook himself slightly, like a dog emerging from a dream-filled sleep.

I knew how he felt.

The brunette broke the kiss. Her mouth slid down the other's slim body, caught a stiff nipple between her lips, pulled back. The nipple stretched behind her, slid from her lips with a pop. Then the other nipple. The redhead giggled, pulled her lover's head down more firmly onto her breast. I could see the latter's chin and cheeks move as her lips and unseen tongue explored and teased the expectant, welcoming bud.