The Whistleblower Pt. 06

Nylon clad, well turned ankles. That's the first thing in my blurred vision from my perspective on the floor. Nylon clad feet in court shoes. A bit modest compared to Jess' usual look. A feather duster hanging down by her legs. Huh?

"Excuse me sir," - some kind of maybe Philippines accent. "Checkout passed already."

"Shit!" I utter under my breath, confused, but aware that I've overslept and this is clearly a maid shaping up to give the place a good clean ready for the next guest.

"Sorry! Gimme five," I say, hand and fingers out in the international language of 'hold on,' shifting upwards from my lying position until I realise I'm naked underneath.

"No poblem, no poblem," says the maid, a smile as wide as the River Thames.

Shuffling over towards the bathroom toga style as the maid beats a retreat, I search for Jess, who of course is nowhere to be seen in the tiny hotel room. There's no message on my phone either and dialling Jess' cell only gets me nowhere. It's like the line is maybe disconnected.

A sick, heavy feeling in my stomach grows as I frantically search for a clue as to where and why she's gone?

The writing bureaux is where I find it, on the hotel's complimentary yellow pad.

'So sorry Patrick! Got call this AM. Rock band Sleazy Sadie doing new video in NY. Been let down by wardrobe supplier. Paying me big bucks + flight. You wouldn't wake up! Don't worry, you're honour-bound to join me (wink wink). Call their man and he'll get you over here. Jess x x '

I have no idea what to make of it, and where to start, but at least my initial horror at walking around in daylight in my fetish evening wear is dampened when I find my parka long jacket. Now I just look like a random Irish/Scotsmen in winter time! That's not all I find either, Jess having written a number in her bright red lipstick on my inner thigh all the way up to my trapped genitals - which I seriously need to do something about. First though, I input the number into my phone with a view to calling them when I'm outta here.

Jess at least took care of the hotel bill, so wasn't a complete fly by night. I'm sure she's telling me the truth. Why wouldn't she? Its just too random to be made up.

I'm barely out of the hotel, intending to ring the number I'd been given before I get an incoming call, unfortunately not from Jess, but Katie. I'm more than happy to hear from my 'mate' though, always good in a crisis.

"So did she ride you like a racehorse Paddy? Shag you senseless?" she asks without even saying who it was when I pick up.

"Um, no unfortunately," I say. "But things are progressing. Also I nfortunately she's gone to New York."

"What!" Katie shouts down the phone, more exclamation than question. "So are you going to go after her?"

"I think so yes. I just need to call someone. She says they can get me over there. Paid for that is. She's part of a music video shoot. Providing the costumes I think."

"What the fuck Patrick! Get your arse in gear and get over there! Oh my god, this is like Sleepless in Seattle!"

"Hmm," I say. "More like groggy in London."

"Huh?" Katie enquires.

"Never mind. Hey are you at home?" I ask. "I need to get my gear. I'm not quite dressed for transatlantic travel.

"Nope, I'm at a girlfriend's house, but you've got the key. I can't believe you're doing this Pat. Its sooo romantic! Hey, I've got to go. You have a great time and be sure to give her one for me big boy."

I'm not so sure about the Sleepless in Seattle stuff, but I trust Katie's intuition implicitly and decided to go for it in my hungover state.

Turns out getting to the States is easy when you have a line to someone in the music industry. The R&R guy I speak to on Katie's scrawled number sorts me out with a flight real quick, and even promises a limo to get me to the destination once I arrive at JFK. "Easy peasy," says R&R guy with a drawl. "You should have seen the demands that Katie Perry made when I flew her home!"

Quickly throwing on some underpants at Katie's to a sigh of relief - though the cock cage still remains an issue - I put on some regular clothes on top. Contemplating my laptop, I decide to leave it at Katie's, the real tangible evidence being safe back in Boston.

Boston. Just the thought of heading back home leaves me ill at ease, despite the promise of something big happening with Jess. I also try to reconcile myself with the thought that I was making advancements with my problem; collecting the evidence I needed to take back to the UK and get me out of limbo. But I can't shake the bad vibes.

It doesn't help that I get to Gatwick real early, leaving way too much time on my hands to ruminate. Trying to kill time with a book that someone had left on the Gatwick Express train; 'Kidnapped', by Robert Louis Stephenson, the subject matter makes me even more anxious.

I recall having to dissect the book in class in my formative years, with themes including justice and the lack of a universal definition for it. For sure I have my own definition of justice regarding what my government has been doing, and doubtless they'd have their own version for me should they know what I'm up to.

And what of Jess? Is she the devil as an angel, a character type appearing in other Stephenson works, demonstrating the so called 'beauty of evil'? The sense of foreboding becomes so much that I end up throwing the book in the bin before they've even opened the check-in desk.

Turns out that the foreboding was exceptionally intuitive, for I realise with complete gut wrenching horror as I enter the airport's walkthrough metal detector that I'm still wearing the chastity device! In my rush, my groggy, befuddled mind hadn't even given it a moment's thought. I don't even recall needing to pee yet today, but then what with all the rushing around I just didn't get round to it ... and I'm probably dehydrated as hell from last night to boot.

Cue all sorts of alarms and bells whistling off, leading to the security officer in attendance asking the standard questions and instructions about things in my pocket, followed by the frisk down, thankfully by a male officer. I must look as guilty as hell too, and rightly so. Its at that point that I whisper a quiet, "Excuse me officer. There's something you need to know."

One very personal and very embarrassing strip search later, two highly amused British customs officials allow me into the departure lounge, with the words, "Good luck Mr Gold Member! I hope you get to find your woman, and the key! America's a bloody big country though!" ringing in my ears.

Figuring whisky would be my only saviour for now, I help things along by getting all the inflight complimentaries that I can from a rather attractive dark haired flight attendant; not unlike Jess.

Becoming too tipsy to concentrate on the movies available on the headrest console, I instead opt for a music documentary on Katy Perry. A montage of her in various latex outfits appear to the soundtrack of "I kissed a girl," superimposed with her quote. 'latex is probably the most comfortable thing I ever wear because it just sticks on you.'

As much as I'm enjoying Katy Perry, I struggle to concentrate, as the liquor kicks in more and I sense sleep coming, whatever malaise I had from the previous night still not out of my system yet.

My ebbing conscious thoughts are that of the pleasing spectacle of Katy Perry in a tight latex dress with a combined star spangled banner/ Union Jack banner pattern.

But is it Katy Perry? Katy has now morphed into Jess; still in the same latex dress. Someone - maybe me - is cowering beneath her as her pose is now a dominant one, her legs apart. Jess - or maybe Katy - has an arm aloft, holding onto something; the liberty torch. But now it's not a torch, it's a cane, threatening to punish me. But no, now its restraints she's holding

As she squats down to meet me I feel her breath as she quietly whispers questions I can barely make out, only making out the "Sss" sound of the words. Could it be the 'sss' in 'evidence' that she's saying?"

Feeling the sensation of a cuff clamping my wrist, I realise the game is up.

"Ssir.. excuse me Sir. The seatbelt sign is on. Please buckle up; we're going through some turbulence."

"Sir?"

I awake with a startle to find the attractive flight attendant crouching down by my seat, gently shaking my wrist.