S&P: Your Papa's a Pig

A sequel to the story "To Serve and Protect: Back to School" by Linda_s©

Based on the series of stories by patricia51 and Linda_s ©

Although this story is non-erotic, it is definitely not kid stuff. Or maybe it is, if you have teenagers at home and worry about what happens at school. In either case, I hope it's a cautionary tale and a study of characters I admire very much – not to mention their authors, who are among the best women I know.

You'll notice there are many characters I invented for this story (including one who's just a mention in Linda's story; I developed his personality on my own). If you like them, let me know and please also tell Patricia and Linda.

Patricia is wonderful at writing simple erotica (Linda hasn't tried so far, and neither have I if you don't count my first story). But when she and Linda write these stories, they turn into a whole lot more. They appear to be a lot more personal and human than a lot of bestselling novels (although that may be unfair to the novels, since I haven't read most of them). Sure, the stories are arousing when they're intended to be. But they ALWAYS draw you into the lives of the characters and make them real people (which some of them are). I've told Patricia and Linda that the real reason I wanted to write for S&P is that I wanted to do the best I could. Their "job" was to give me a mark to aim for. I always feel like I am writing for them first and for the rest of you after they've approved. If you approve too, thank them.

All the best,

Captain Midnight

* * * * *

"Senioritis," according to one high school newspaper, is characterized by laziness, uncertainty about the future, stocking up on Cliff's Notes, and other things associated with finally getting the hell out of public school.

To look at Carol Gibson, she displayed all of those qualities. As a matter of fact, when she pulled the covers off her head this morning, she was the subject of a joke pulled by her mother Patricia and her younger sister Stephanie. A Dr. Seuss book, entitledI am NOT Going to Get Up Today!, fell off the headboard of her bed and conked Carol on the noggin. It wasn't a heavy book and it didn't hurt much.

Carol allowed herself to smile while quickly thumbing through the book, full of Seussian rhymes and whimsy about the boy who would not get up forany reason. It was one of the good Doctor's last books, the one he wrote (but didn't illustrate) while preparingOh, The Places You'll Go! Unlike everything else he wrote in his last 20 years, this book was strictly for fun. Carol had never read it, but with the "Seusscentennial" of his 100^th birthday, everything was back in print. The message was clear – Carol needed a whimsical reminder that senioritis was no license to be lazy or indifferent about school.

But Carol wasn't suffering from senioritis.

Two nights ago, she had accessed the family computer. She had read, and almost immediately deleted, a chain E-mail. But she had printed out a copy and kept it in her notebook. The main message was innocuous, but there was an attachment. In its entirety, the attachment read:

Your Papa's a pig,
Your Mama's a sow,
But you must be a mutant,
Since you'd FUCK a cow!

That message had winged its way to a list of E-addresses at least four inches long, consisting of every person Carol knew and quite a few she didn't. She had studied the message all that night and the next. She didn't think she had had three hours sleep over the two nights combined, finally dropping off out of sheer exhaustion.

Mom – Patricia Gibson, technically Carol's stepmother but Mom nonetheless - didn't know about this. Six months pregnant, working as an investigator on child-abuse cases and seeing more horror in the last few months than most cops see in a lifetime, it was the last thing she needed.

Stephanie, a sophomore at the same school, didn't know either. Stephanie, a warm and sunny young lady by nature, would have totally flipped out had she known of her sister's harassment. Carol thought of telling Dad, SWAT Lieutenant Mike Gibson, but she knew he wouldn't know how to react.

That just left Aunt Linda and maybe "Cousin" Sue Adams – Carol had bestowed the name on Linda's lover and roommate without telling her. But Aunt Linda would have reacted even more strongly than Stephanie. Carol had fantasized about Linda charging into the school and grabbing every student by the throat until she found the perpetrator of the message.

Linda wasn't really like that, Carol knew, but she had so much going on in her life, with a rumored promotion to Captain about to become a reality and her life with Sue still a work in progress. Carol had thought of talking to Sue, but she had returned to the Narcotics task force after the bust and was unreachable except through Linda.

The worst part was that the message had been through many hands before reading Carol. Someone had originated the message from an untraceable address and forwarded it on. Many of the people who forwarded it had done so without looking at the attachment. But, Carol knew, some of themhad looked.

Carol was a straight-A student, never needing encouragement to study. But this day she could barely retain the information needed for an important test. She kept looking around the classroom, wondering who had read the E-mail and who had sent it. When she turned in her paper, she knew she had missed at least a third of the questions and had had to struggle with half the remaining ones. It didn't help that, all through the test, at least one pair of eyes had been fixed on her. Carol didn't look back.

So it was a surprise when two women, one a student and the other in her late twenties, approached Carol at her locker after class. Carol barely knew them. But the student started making hand motions as the older woman watched. Then it came back to her.

The student was Samantha Black, a deaf girl who had recently transferred into the school. The woman was Elaine Renfro, an interpreter who worked for the school district and accompanied Samantha everywhere, translating spoken words into sign language to and from Samantha.

"Are you all right, Carol?" Samantha asked, spelling out Carol's name. Carol thought quickly, trying to discern whether or not Samantha had read the E-message. She must have mouthed the words, because Samantha immediately started signing again.

"What message?" Elaine said. "I'm a very good lip reader. Did you get some kind of hate mail? These damned school cliques. They will dump on anybody."

"It wasn't a clique," Carol managed to get out. Elaine quickly signed to Samantha. Samantha stepped to one side, drawing Elaine with her. They had an animated sign conversation before turning back.

"Carol," Samantha signed. "I know this is private business. I'll butt out if you want me to. But I know what it's like being harassed. Believe me. If you want to talk about it, please ask." Elaine conveyed the words.

"I'll... I'll keep that in mind," Carol managed to get out. She excused herself and hurried to the next class, her mind whirling. Samantha seemed sincere, but...my God, whocan I trust?, she thought as the rest of the day went by in a blur.

The next message came through three days later. This time it was much more cunning. A regular message from a friend, containing a hyperlink. Carol almost never opened hyperlinks, but the friend was known for sending animated greetings and funny downloads. She double-clicked on the link...

Stephanie, in her room; Pat, in the living room watching a TV sitcom; and Mike, doing the supper dishes at the sink, all heard the scream simultaneously. Pat was closest, but she had trouble getting off the sofa and it took her over a minute to get to the den.

What Pat, Stephanie and Mike saw was Carol on her knees under the computer desk. She had ripped the computer mouse clear out of the tower and was frantically trying to repair it. She finally did so, scrolled up to a way to delete the image – and was stopped by her father's strong hands.

Because on the screen, in living color, was Carol Gibson in the flesh. Literally. Totally nude and spreading her thighs. She had two male sex organs in her two hands and appeared ready to impale herself on a third one. Her face was turned.

She was sucking the penis of a very aroused donkey.

"Call the Sheriff's Department," Mike said.

"No! Please, Daddy, let me get rid of this! I swear it isn't me! I swear, I swear..."

"Call the Sheriff's Department," Mike said.

* * * * *

The knock on the door came about 20 minutes later. A fresh-faced young man in a patrol officer's uniform was on the outside.

"Mr. Gibson? I'm Patrol Officer Josh Crane. You reported harassment?"

"Actually, I reported it," said Patricia, walking up beside her husband. "And it's Lieutenant and Sergeant Gibson. We're both with the Sheriff's Department. So are you, I understand."

"Oh, yes, sir! Yes, ma'am! Were you the victims of the harassment?"

"Actually, my daughter was. You'd better come in and look at it," said Mike gruffly. "We haven't touched anything. I hope you have a good note pad handy."

Carol was curled up on a chair in the den, weeping her eyes out. Stephanie was beside her. Stephanie looked at Crane like she wanted to kill him just for being alive and male at that point. The screen image did freeze Crane in his tracks for a moment. Then he marched up to the computer, sat down, and wrote down the URL from the screen. He stood again and addressed Carol.

"Miss Gibson, how did you come across this... site?"

Carol barely got it out, but Officer Crane had a sympathetic manner and he sounded like he knew something. "I was opening an E-mail from Cathy... she's a friend from way back. She sends hyperlinks in her messages. Little joke sites, or useless-information sites."

"Would she have any reason to send you this particular link?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Carol almost screamed it.

Crane looked at Carol for a long moment, and then said: "You've been harassed before, haven't you." A statement, not a question.

"Yes. An insult three days ago. Copied to God knows how many people by now."

"I'll need to see it. Lieutenant, Sergeant, do you own this computer yourselves?" Upon receiving an affirmative, Crane continued: "With your permission, I'd like to look at the site. Our computer experts may be able to find ways to identify the... person who designed it. Miss Gibson," this to Carol, "I know I will be accessing your private accounts. You may refuse permission to me at any time."

"Officer Crane, I'm a detective," Pat told him. "I keep a stack of consent forms in my desk. It will save a great deal of trouble later on if we all sign them." Crane said thank you as politely as he could, silently cursing himself for not thinking of the consent form on his own.

Stephanie left the room with her mother. The people still in the room heard the following discussion rather vividly:

"Stephanie," Pat said, "The law says you are too young to look at stuff like this. The law says your dad and I can forbid you from looking at it. I want you to go to your and Carol's room and wait until the officer leaves."

"Mom, please don't start a fight. One, I saw it when we came running into the room. Two, the kids at school access porn on the Internet all the time. Just because I refuse to do it doesn't mean that I haven'theard about wild sex online. Some of the couples there imitate what they've seen, and then tell all their buddies about it. Girlsknow about these things, Mom!"

"But you shouldn't have to see this stuff just because we have to, Stephanie. Now go upstairs!"

"Mom, that'sjustwhy I have to see it. We are all in this together. What ifI'm the star of a sex site next?"

"You're overdramatizing."

"Mom, the only girl I love more than you is Carol. She's been my best friend and protector whenever you or Aunt Linda or Mama Lori weren't around. These last six months, she's kept me from worrying about you on the new assignment and with the baby. You know she's a good woman. I know she's even better than that. It's time for me to stand up for her."

"Stephanie, it's legally and morally wrong for me to give you permission to see a porno site."

"Mom, I understand that. But you can't stop her from telling me what's on there, and she will. She can't even go to you or Dad with how she feels about this."

"She knows."

"I know we saw her reaction. But if we work together, we can find out who did this. You might as well let me find out how the site was put together so my computer class can help track the source."

"Stephanie..." Pat was running out of arguments.

"At least let me stay with her. You can talk to that patrolman and give him the information. I can comfort her and free you up."

A long sigh from Pat. "You go into the kitchen and sit with Carol while the Officer and Dad and I work on it. He'll call Carol in and ask her some questions. You let her go."

"Deal, Mom."

Officer Crane sat down and started noting all the sites. Whenever Carol came into the room, she sat in Mike's easy chair and curled up in a ball. Stephanie kept her promise and didn't follow, but she didn't have to – she could see the monitor from an angle and could hear the discussions between her parents, her sister and Officer Crane about what links were on the site.

There were a lot of them: a pseudo-biography of Carol, some legitimate photos of her as a kid and at thirteen, and doctored pictures of Carol engaging in every sex act known to humankind. There were links to lesbian, lactation, amateur and even – Mike and Pat shuddered as Crane opened them – child-pornography sites.

Crane remained professional, but his hand was shaking by the time he wrote down the last link on his fifth sheet of notebook paper and returned to the original message.

"Sergeant Gibson?" Crane inquired of Patricia, who had sat down with her head in her hands. Pat looked up. "I'd like to copy this message to a diskette and take it to Headquarters. Probably you or your C.O. will take it from there."

Stephanie strode into the room, an anger in her eyes that her parents had never seen. "Is that ALL, Officer? Just a clinical put-this-through-channels thing? Did you get horny seeing those pictures? Are you going to pass them on to –". Pat would have been cut her off, but Crane was a split second faster.

"Miss Gibson – I'm not an investigator. But I do know computers. I mean, Ireally know computers. Whoever created this site took a lot of time to work on it and spent a lot of money, and I meantensof thousands of dollars. All to make your sister look as bad as the worst pervert in a maximum-security lockup.

"There are ways to tell if a picture has been doctored." Crane summoned the Lieutenant and Sergeant to the monitor. "Take this lead picture, for example, and enlarge it." With some clicks of the mouse, he did so.

"Notice this straight flesh-colored line here? Your daughter was straddling something. From other clues in the picture, I'd say it's a bench in a locker room. The straight line is the line of the bench pressing against her hips and thighs. It's been edited out.

"Or, in the same photo –" click – "where her head is turned and her mouth open, like she's performing a sex act on the donkey? That's not a sucking position; she's looking over her shoulder and talking to somebody. Someone accessed a bestiality site and took a real photo of the donkey, then erased the person doingthat to him. The donkey's sex organ is sheared off where it entered the mouth of the real person, and the photo of Miss Gibson didn't quite compensate."

Click. "These are her hands. In the main picture, they look like she's gripping male sex organs. In this blowup, you can tell she's holding things between her fingers. Probably her gym clothes. Somebody probably took this picture while she was changing and looking away."

Click. "This one, where she's bent over. That's the old trick of dropping soap in the shower and having your victim bend over to pick it up." Click. "This is her right hand. You can tell it's braced against something, likely the wall of the shower." Click. "Look at her left hand, holding a man's sex organ and guiding it to –" He let that one hang. "The fingers are different in color and in shape. And look at the position of the elbow. If she was reaching backward and upward, to touch herself there, the elbow angle would be much sharper. At this elbow angle, her forearm would have to be a yard long to get her hand to that position."

Carol and Stephanie pushed their way to the monitor. Carol spoke. "So - you're convinced those photos are fakes?"

Crane sighed. "Looks like somebody took real pictures of you in the locker room, using a digital camera. I don't know how, maybe you can tell me if you noticed anything unusual. Then that somebody searched the Web until she or her found these pornographic pictures, downloaded them, and composed new pictures with digital technology. That's why digital cameras are forbidden at concerts these days – people take pictures of singers and sell them to the tabloids after working them over to make the stars look too fat or too thin or pregnant or on drugs. Or all of the above. Every supermarket shopper in America has seen at least 20 doctored photos, and none of them could tell you which were which."

Click. "These other pictures... can you identify them? Have you scanned old family photos onto your hard drive?" There were pictures of Carol as a child at play, but there were also pictures of Carol lying around nude or eating what had actually been a carrot or picking flowers in the garden – and those had been altered as well.

"Yes," Carol said. "The little-girl pictures – my first mom, the one who gave birth to me, took them. She kept them in a scrapbook when she was dying of cancer. The others – a lot of them are with Aunt Linda. She's a family friend, she helped raise me until my dad and my mom got married, and we're all still close. She's a Lieutenant on the Narcotics Task Force."

Oh, my God,thought the senior Gibsons. Linda had had affairs – as close to love affairs as you could get – with both of them. Nobody had ever photographed Linda, Mike or Patricia having sex, and neither Pat nor Mike had told the girls about the affairs. But they knew that the girls knew. And with that kind of digital technology available, any of them could be presented as the Whores of Babylon.

Crane was thinking along other lines. He had been a finalist for the Narcotics Task Force, with Lieutenant Shannon choosing Officer Adams instead. Since the Lieutenant and the Officer hadn't known each other, barring a nasty encounter at graduation (Crane had witnessed it), their subsequent affair had had nothing to do with Adams being picked over Crane – although Crane had been sweet on Adams.

The rumor mill had ground quite a bit, talking about the triangle of sentiment among the man and the women, but it had quieted as affairs sorted themselves out. Crane also knew a lot about the threesome's reputation for law enforcement. This factored heavily into Crane's next utterance.

"Lieutenant" - this to Mike – "as much money went into doctoring those photographs and inserting those links, it pales beside how much it cost to pay someone to hack your system. Have you had any visitors to the house lately who could have gotten a look at the computer and reported it? A really sophisticated hacker wouldn't need much, just a domain name."

Carol winced. "My boyfriend has been here. So has Aunt Linda – Lieutenant Shannon – and Officer Sue Adams, who works for her. I don't know anyone else."