She finally asked my age, and when I told her I was twenty-five, she didn't believe me. I dug out my driver's license and handed it to her. After studying my license, she said, "Damn, you are twenty-five."I nodded my head affirmatively. Helga handed my driver's license back, looked me squarely in the eyes, and asked, "Officer, how would you like to fuck me?”Without a second thought, I answered, "Hell, yes! When do you want to do it?"Jelly-Jaws slammed his report book shut and stammered, “We have enough information to finish the report somewhere else. Let’s go. Rookie!” Jelly leaped to his feet and was almost to the front door when Helga slipped a piece of paper into my hand. She indicated she didn’t want my partner to see the note. I shoved it in my pocket without looking to see what was on it. I got a royal ass-chewing from my senior partner when I returned to the patrol car. He made it clear that he would never allow that conduct while on duty. I readily agreed with him. I assured. Just yesterday, Manfredo Hawkins, head of the Alchemy Department, had approached Frank about the Ball. "Just a thought, old man. If you attended as a... well, as a member of the opposite sex, that might sit well with Edgard. I mean, of course, J. Edgard Hoosier, a high muckamuck with the First Royal Countinghouse, who just happens to be one of our major patrons. Contributed five million last year, he did, and his associates raised an additional ten. It's just that..." Just that what, Savant Hawkins?" Well, my good fellow, Edgard seems, ah, a bit eccentric in certain of his... preferences. His weakness happens to be men who have crossed the Great Divide and become women. No, no! I'm not speaking of transvestites, transgendrals, or even partial transforms. I mean complete parasexuals. It's the esthetic clash of sensibilities, the conflict between nature-given form and function, the cognitive dissonance that hits one between the eyes when things are not quite as they seem. In short, he's.
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