X-Ray Vision Ch. 07: Outreach

The crane was visible from blocks away. They were setting up some scaffolding, first to the lower roof, then again up to the penthouse. I imagine they'd put an elevator in there? To get the stuff down they wanted.

But what would that be? Why would they want it? For museum exhibits?

We tarried on the river, though I was anxious to talk to the crane crew.

"What exactly is in that old safe? You said, an old sex toy?"

I refocused my attention on the river bottom, scanned until I found the metal box, reviewed what was inside.

"There are stacks of Confederate..."

"Yes, yes. What about the sex stuff?"

Jillian could be single-minded sometimes. I grinned and considered the 'sex stuff'.

"A model penis, maybe a foot long! Curved. Made out of, I don't know, ivory? Marble? Something hard and seamed."

"Ow! That couldn't have been very nice. What else?"

"A thingy like an egg-beater, a handle and a crank on the side, something leather on the end. I think it's a vibrator? But before electricity."

Ok now that was funny; Jillian was giggling, pantomiming operating an egg-beater over her crotch. Hilarious!

"Then a harness. Like a halter for a horse? But much shorter. Maybe for a person? For some kind of role-play."

She thought about that, thought maybe a little too long for my comfort. No way was I going to put on a harness, get ridden by her!

"What else?"

"A bottle of olive oil? A personal lubricant?"

"That would be interesting! I wonder if it's still good."

"For what? For eating? Or for ... "

"For that. I wouldn't trust it for eating. I guess I wouldn't trust it at all!"

"Lastly, a small velvet bag full of marbles. They're hollow, ceramic, full of something metallic, liquid. Mercury?"

"Oh my god! I heard about those. You stuffed them up your cooch, they sloshed around as you walked. Like a kind of vibrator. But mercury? Poisonous!"

I couldn't imagine where she'd heard all that. I didn't ask.

"Any magazines? Postcards? Anything like that?"

There were some postcards. I hadn't paid any attention to the bound material before. Now that I looked, yes, indeed it was cards and photographs, pages and pages, old engravings of sex acts with lurid prose. I described them while Jillian took mental notes.

"I don't think that one is actually possible!" I was pretty sure I couldn't stand on my head long enough to make it worthwhile.

Jillian had other ideas. "Maybe against a wall!"

We exhausted the entertainment value pretty quickly. She asked about other river bottom artifacts; I described the masses of pins, coins, keys, padlocks, eyeglasses, plastic cards. I left out the guns and knives.

"Why that stuff, do you think?"

"It's what the water doesn't erode, what doesn't rot away?"

She thought that made sense. Plastic lasts pretty much forever.

We moved on. Next time we'd take the other bridge, look for more stuff.

A few folks were attending the crane, which towered over the building; most were at a truck unloading scaffolding parts. Another truck held an elevator; I was right, they were preparing to empty the content of the building! Else why bother with all this.

One fellow with a walkie talkie stood out from the rest. His ID said "Foreman" so I hailed him. He looked me over, hesitated, then signed off, came to the roped-off boundary, looked polite.

"You're looking for the old Richardson artifacts?"

He brightened. "You bet! Some investigator sent some photos!" I saw he had a copy of my snapshots in his coat, photocopies.

"The penthouse?" He nodded.

"There's more!"

Now I had his interest. He came right to the rope, stepped under, took us across the street to a bench.

"Tell me about it. Are you the mystery investigator?"

Jillian looked like she wanted to spill the beans, but I interrupted like I hadn't heard.

"There's a photo in the newspaper archives, shows the building as it was originally. It had a parking entrance on one side, a ramp going down. I guess when they raised the street, some flood control project, it all got paved over?"

He seemed to digest that. "Why is that interesting? The lower floors were looted, abandoned long ago."

"The article claimed he had cars down there. A Royce limo; one of those old ambulances like in that ghost movie. A Desoto cab from the 1950's for the hotel customers."

He was doubtful, speculated they might be long gone. I knew they weren't; they were parked right where Mr. Richardson left them, or his driver anyway, next to the long-missing original elevator. No way to get to them but dig the entrance out.

But how to convince him?

"Without a will, unless they were stolen they'd have to be still there, right?"

That alerted him; I'd given away too much by mentioning the will. He took it in stride, maybe understanding how I might be reluctant to spill the beans. In any case he was circumspect.

"I guess we could get a hoe down here, do some digging. A picture you say? What paper? What issue?"

I mentioned the paper, the year. He'd have to send somebody to find the particular issue.

"The entrance was on that side," I indicated the east, the alley, "and ramped down, turned under. I suppose it wouldn't take much to prove the ramp was there? Just a pick, a few minutes?"

He was on his radio, getting up, ready to leave, turned to us. "Thank you folks; you've been a big help. Expect an article in the paper later! Full disclosure! Nothing kept hidden; the Sierra Club wants the town to know all about their history."

He hared across the street, still talking.

"Why didn't you want him to know it was you? That had found the will?"

"I was trespassing! Remember?"

She shook her head. "They'd have nothing if it wasn't for you! They'd be on your side, not give you any trouble."

"But other people might! Folks learn I can find things, there would be a line at our door?"

She hadn't figured that far. Still dubious, she let it drop.

We hung around a while, saw a guy take a kind of jackhammer to the alley, ratcheted it around, dislodged some pavement. Got excited, the Foreman came over, got on his radio.

"I think our work here is done!"

Jillian agreed. "Another success for the Finder!" She kissed me thoroughly, which I had forgotten was my reward for helping people.

Releasing me, I commented "The Sierra Club has like a million members. Didn't I help all of them?" I looked hopeful.

She smiled, laughed. "Lets head back to the truck, go for lunch. Afterward we'll see what we can do." That sounded good.

The Foreman had returned, waved us over.

"We found the ramp! Looks like it wouldn't be too much trouble to excavate; a thin layer of asphalt, then dirt fill. I've ordered up a rig, a dump truck. If it all looks good structurally, we should know by tonight."

Jillian was excited. "Those folks were the Ritchie-Riches around here! Nothing but the best! Who knows what those cars will be like!" I did; they would be very pleased. The basement had remained dry, the cars were in mint condition even if a little dusty.

Nothing but the best! That reminded me.

"Oh! Our shoe repair shop has something belonging to the Richardsons! Oxfords, pumps, left all those years ago, kept! May as well be gathered up with the rest of it? Maybe some mention in the press of the shoe shop, how they've kept the trust faithfully for three generations?"

He smiled, entranced by the idea. "Now that would be something! Fits right in with the community-history angle! I'll send somebody over." I gave him the address, Mrs. Kumari's name.

We headed back, stopping on the bridge when I reminded Jillian of my good turn for Mrs. Kumari. That one was a good one; I think she likes Mrs. Kumari, wanted to do right by her, kissed me until I was out of breath.

I mentioned Mr. Chatterjee but she frowned, balked. "That's just getting greedy!" I admitted that was true.

By the time we'd gotten back to the truck I'd gotten more rewards, one for the Foreman who got to be a hero, finding the cars. One for Mr. Richardson, god rest his soul, rescuing his prized cars from ruin. For Mrs. Richardson, the shoes retrieved, her final task complete.

And finally for Mr. Chatterjee, I think just to shut me up.

...

"You know you can't remain hidden forever. Folks will get wind of you, spread the word."

That had been a nagging worry of mine for years. I'd hoped to put it off, maybe until I was too old to care, or something. Seemed like I needed to face it, at least for now.

"I have other reasons for keeping under the covers. It's like, if I help people and get famous, why am I doing it? To help them? Or to be famous?"

She looked at me all soft. "You want to be anonymous, so that you know you're doing right, only because it's right? Awwww." She gave me a very pouty look, gave me a hug.

Ok that wasn't painful. Maybe it was ok for some people to know. Jillian for sure. Her family? Probably was time to come clean with them.

"I'm willing to uh, come out? If it's done carefully. Not the entire world. Not even the entire Sierra Club. Maybe start small? With your family?"

That pleased her no end, that I wanted to be honest with her new relations. She took my head in her hands, forehead to forehead, nuzzled my nose, looked me right in the eyes.

"You can be Mr. Secret-Finder for as long as you want. I get it; exposure will add trouble and embarrassment to your life, our lives. Ok, lets start very small. I'll tell Khang, she knows most of it already, see who she thinks can be trusted to know next?"

That sounded a whole lot better. She saw me relax, knew I was good with this. It was good, to talk about the important stuff with somebody. And Jillian was more than somebody. She was the person I wanted to tell everything, for the rest of my life.

"And speaking of the Sierra Club! I owe you something for that."

I perked up. "A million kisses is going to take a little time. We could get started after lunch?"

She laughed, shook her head. "I'm thinking more like, a little role-playing, some bare-naked snuggling."

"It'll have to be something special, to be worth a million kisses. And no harnesses!"

"No harnesses! I promise! And now, food, I'm starved."

The nice thing about Jillian was when we worked hard and got hungry, she was motivated to cook something good. I like food; I'm very food-motivated. I think she is too. Part of growing up hungry?

I was her helper, which meant I tried to taste everything and got my hand smacked.

She started by browning some bacon - not enough, there's never enough, just a couple of pieces! And one extra, for me she said.

While I nibbled on that she cut the meat off two chicken thighs, fried that with the bacon fat. Good move! Then onion, a couple tomatoes. She crushed the tomatoes with her hands, seriously a ninja cook, just split them with a knife and then crushed them in her fist like a boss! Cool.

Some herbs and spices. Then lastly a can of white(!) beans. Not a thing for me growing up; we were always pinto beans or black beans. I reserved my judgement.

Some broth from a box, some water to make it enough, and bubble on the stove, set the timer for 10 minutes, me hanging around the whole time asking if it was done yet.

She surrendered after 9 minutes, rolling her eyes and dishing up. Had some crusty bread from the bakery section, supposed to be Bahn Mi rolls but crispy like baguettes, perfect for soup too.

She got a bag of grocery-store-shredded-cheese out, sprinkled some over our bowls, handed me one. I snagged a roll, headed for the porch.

Got there and forgot a spoon. She followed with two, handed me one, sat carefully.

Oh my! This was good stuff. Chicken and bacon and even those weird beans were good. All working together, sop up some broth with the bread, yum!

She looked at me strangely. "You do like to eat!"

I looked back, sheepish.

"I make noises; I know! Mom always scolded me. But this is so good!" I continued to slurp and chew and make yummy noises.

A companionable while later, bowls empty, nibbling on a crust, we look up, saw the day progressing.

"Maybe some storm rolling in?" She asked, like I was her personal weatherman.

"I don't see much rain." That was as far as I'd go. Air was weird, and I didn't like to try to 'see' it. It was everywhere, attending to it made everything else muddy and cluttered, took me a while to recover, relax and see regular again. But rainstorms looked, well, maybe tasted? like a streaky rough moving bank of wetness. And there wasn't much of that out there.

A flash went off high in the clouds offshore, just a brightening in the heavens, and quite a bit later we heard the rumble.

"Two miles offshore!"

She was impressed. "You got some sonar going on? You can tell how far away?"

I shook my head. "Scouts again. Sound travels a mile in four-and-a-half seconds. Just count from the flash to the thunder." I grinned; my woodcraft was strong today.

Next one, I saw her counting in her head. "Closer! Weather coming in."

We retreated to the condo, leaving the porch to whatever was coming.

While I washed the bowls, spoons, pots, Jillian went into her bedroom 'to change'. I suspected nothing, my mind on hot water and suds, my gaze on the sink (u-bend gonna need cleaning, her long hair gets into everything!)

"Oh! Mr. Park Ranger! I'm so glad to find you out here, on this lonely meadow! I'm lost and alone, and with this storm coming in! I need to find shelter quickly! Do you have a place I can snuggle, warm and safe, until it blows over?"

?! I turned to look, my hands covered in suds, the drain making a sucking sound as the water whirlpooled down. My mouth dropped open, and my shorts tented.

She wore those new hiking boots, thick white socks pulled nearly to her knees. Her shortest shorts with the waistband rolled up shamelessly. They hugged her crotch, outlined her sex, exposed her butt.

A headband holding her hair back. And nothing else. No panties; no shirt. And absolutely no bra; her sun-kissed shoulders moving up and back as she struck various quizzical and beseeching poses, her gorgeous breasts proud. Hands on waist, turning her torso so her abdomen flexed, the muscles of her belly moving, working, her belly button on her toned stomach high above her single almost non-existent garment.

I adjusted quickly. "Um. Where is your shirt, young hiker? You should really have some protection from the sun!"

She giggled, looked down pointedly at her tits.

"Oh, I lost it somewhere by the river, after I waded across. It was all wet! And I felt so much better when the sun dried my nipples. I hate wet nipples!" She bounced up and down to make her point, her pretty nipples bobbing with her supple breast.

"I, uh, think I can help you. I have a place, not far, where we can shelter from the dangers of the wilderness. Wild animals that might want to ravage you! Lightning! Rain that would, uh, get your nipples wet again." I wasn't really very good at this.

"Oooh! I suppose I can stay a while, until the raging storm passes. Then I was headed for Mount Hardon! I wanted to climb it, on it and off again, on and off, before dark! Can you help me find Mount Hardon? Is it so, so high? Too high for me to manage?" She put one crooked finger to her lips, opened her eyes wide in an expression of simple curiosity, bit her lower lip.

Jesus I was going to cum in my shorts at this rate. This was simultaneously so, so stupid and so, so hot.

"I think we can find, um, Mount Hardon. There's time before sunset to reach the summit, as many times as you like? But we'll have to stretch our legs first. And apply sunscreen!" I was ad-libbing now.

She stepped forward, took my hands still covered in soapsuds and splotted them to her breasts. I stared helplessly, still trying to keep up with her startling changes in plot.

"Oh Mr. Park Ranger! Can you apply sunscreen for me? Its hard to reach all the right places by myself!" She squished my hands around, making me munge her breasts, moving her chest back and forth, smearing slippery soap all over.

"I can do that." I began massaging her tits, her shoulders, her stomach. Reached to take her in my arms, but she pushed me back with one hand.

"Do my back!"

She dutifully hopped to show me her back. Naked to the waist, then again below those ever-so-brief shorts, naked from butt to the tops of those socks hugging her strong calves. I took a good look, just savoring the moment. I 'saw' her all the time, but not like this, not blatantly offered to me. Not as part of a play that was going to end in mind-blowing sex.

I squeezed her shoulders, working the muscles, her upper arms, worked down her back, slickering up her skin, pretending to rub in sunscreen but enjoying having my way with her flesh. She moaned, leaned into me.

Taking her in my arms from behind I reached around for her tits, found them, squeezed them, letting her butt feel my stiffness, ready to get down to some serious sexing.

She dodged away again, my hands slipping from her wet breast with a slurp!

"We have to stretch!" Going into a lunge she leaned into it, grabbed her forward ankle, brought her chest down to her thigh, bounced. Her strong back muscles flexing, two bulging ridges framing the valley of her spine. Her tiny shorts hiding nothing, her butt on display, her glutes prominent.

Oh to be so flexible!

I tried the stretch, got about halfway, my face near hers, looked her in the eye. She grinned.

"Switch!"

She straightened, hopped to reverse her stance which made her lovely breasts jiggle, went down again.

I straightened more slowly, not wanting to pull anything. Shuffled my legs to reverse, bent down, straining.

Her face was near, looking at me. She smiled, rocked forward, put her lips as if to kiss me, eyes half closed, rocked back without making contact, eyes flashing. Tease!

She stood abruptly when the sky lit up, our real storm arriving ahead of schedule. The crash! followed almost immediately.

"Oh! Mr. Ranger! We have to seek shelter right now! The scary lightning is here!"

She took my hand, skipped to her bedroom doorway, naked back and butt, bare legs flashing, those ridiculous clod-hoppers galumphing, pushed the door open.

"We can hide in here!"

She jumped on the bed, pulled at the covers, slithered her legs in and pulled the blanket up to her neck.

"It's getting cold and damp! Will you share your body heat with me? Since this is an emergency?" She opened the blanket to make room for me, all business. Exposing her delicious chest, stomach.

"That will require skin-to-skin contact, according to the Scout manual." I stripped my shirt, flung it away. Put my thumbs in my shorts, dropped them over my hips, stepped out, naked.

She was fumbling under the covers, thrashing, struggling, then stilled, brought her shorts out, swung them back and forth for me to see, tossed them away.

"We have to do what the manual says! In a survival situation!"

I nodded dumbly, having trouble finding something clever to say while a naked willing woman held her blankets open so I could crawl in and fuck her brains out.

She waited impatiently.

"Hurry! Before the storm hits and you get all wet!"

I unfroze, sat on the bed and swung my legs in, lay down. She covered us, immediately swarmed over on top of me face down, curled herself into a juicy female package, arms tucked in to her breasts, knees folded under her, face to my chest, burrowed in.

"Ohh! It is warmer this way!"

It was more that warmer; it was red-hot. I could feel every inch of her body against mine, feel her breath on my chest, her loose hair cascading around my neck. Her hips gently grinding on my crotch, her bush abrading my cock, absently running her fingers through my body fur.

"Can you hold me? I'm afraid of the thunder! It makes me shiver!"