All Things to All People

Reentry

What has gone on before

Graduate student Cynthia Halverston was poisoned in a lab accident. The poison transformed her into a sexual chameleon who becomes every man's sexual fantasy by means of smelling their desires. Before she and her friend Dave can start the search for a cure, she is kidnapped by a gang of meth cookers who expose her to more poisons, blocking most of her memory from her. She tries to survive on the streets, penniless and with no idea who she is by turning tricks under the tutelage of hooker Gloria. During this time, her mind creates a separate personality called Sex Kitten, who handles most of the sexual escapades. Her last trick wanted to cut her throat and fuck her while she bled to death. Barely getting out of the moving car in time, she rolls up against a tree and passes out, seriously injured. Waking 24 hours later, her memories are back, thanks to the adrenalin rush of almost being murdered...

**********************

The first thought in Cynthia's mind when she woke was, "I'm alive!" The second was, "Oh God, I hurt all over." She opened her eyes, taking in her surroundings. She was lying against a tree that was encircled by bushes. The ground was littered with discarded cans, butts and paper. It was dark, the only light a dull glow from one section of bushes. She went to sit up and fire poured out of her shoulder. "That's not good," she said, her voice raspy, as she took in the shoulder that had a large round lump poking out the front. "Dislocated, I'll bet."

She looked at herself, taking stock of her injuries. She had scrapes and cuts on most of her exposed flesh. There was a rash of bug bites on her. Her head ached and a knot had grown in the back and on the left side of it. Her clothes were ripped, her already displayed body now showing enough to be considered legally indecent. "Dave would probably tell me I look like a CSI body stand in. Dave! Dave Reston! I remember! I'm Cynthia Halverston. I'm a grad student. I was poisoned by my experiment. Praise God, I remember everything."

She looked around and saw her purse. Opening it, she saw that her cell phone and cough drops were still in it. She started to dial for help and stopped. "Who do I call? 911 will take me to the ER and Kitten will come on to every man there. Dave can't fix me up and reset the shoulder. Rob? Rob would have a fit, seeing me dressed like a hooker. How will I explain all this to him?" Thinking to herself while she checked the purse for any other useful items, she came upon a business card. "That's it! Monica. I can call Monica."

She dialed the number on the card. Her cell phone said it was 9 PM, not too late to call.

"Hello, this is Monica."

"Monica, this is Cynthia. We got together a few days back? You gave me your card in case my shoulder got worse?"

"Oh, Cynthia, Gloria's friend. Yes I do remember, fondly, actually. Did it get worse?"

"Yes and no. The original injury got no worse, but something new has happened. I'm hurt kind of bad and I need help."

"What's happened?"

"I had to jump out of a moving car and I'm pretty banged up. I've been out for almost a day. Can you come and get me? I know it's a lot to ask, but I can't go to an emergency room."

"What kind of trouble are you in? Drugs? Stealing?"

"No, nothing like that. A john tried to kill me."

"Why no ER?"

"It's really hard to explain. I can try once you're here. Please. I've got no one else to call."

Cynthia could almost hear Monica thinking. Treating her in secret could cost her her license. She could be setting the nurse up. In the end though, Monica had gone into nursing to help people.

"Okay, I'll come to you, but I'm bringing a friend."

"Okay, but no guys. Please."

"Is this another hard to explain thing?"

"Part of the same hard to explain thing."

"Where are you?" Monica said with a sigh.

"Under a tree, behind some bushes near exit..." she scooted close enough to see the sign, "exit 216."

"Okay. You've survived 24 hours so I'm not worried about bleeding. Is your head or neck hurt?"

"I have a couple of bumps on my head and I may have dislocated that shoulder."

"Lie down. Don't move unless your life depends on it. I'll be 45 minutes."

Disconnecting, she lie down, her head beginning to ache. She thought of Sex Kitten.

{Kitten, are you there?}

There was no response.

{Kitten! Are you there?}

{Go away. I don't like you.}

{I can't go away. We're part of the same person.}

{Oh yeah. Why don't you like me?}

{Kitten, I do like you. You do the hard sex things that I have trouble with. I need you.}

{But you took me away from him. It was sooooo important.}

{I'm sorry, but he wanted to kill us.}

{I know. But it's what he wanted, what he needed.}

{I know. But there are some things we can't give men, like our life.}

{Why?}

{Because then we could never give men what they want, ever again.}

{Oh. Okay. Do you remember all this stuff too?}

{Yes, that's our life, our past, before we became two.}

The sexual dynamo whispered meekly in their head, {Do you want to go back to that? Not have me any more?}

{I want to, but I don't think I will be able to.}

{Will I die?}

{I don't know. I think it's more likely we will both change, turn into something that is part both of us. The physical changes, they will never go away. So I will always need what you can do.}

{I don't want to die.}

{I don't want you to either. If it does happen, I'll be with you until the end. I promise.}

{Okay.}

{Kitten?}

{Yes.}

{What does Dave want?}

{He wants a woman who will defer to him in all things, treat him like he's the most important thing in the world and be willing to do anything he asks.}

{He wants a slave?}

{I think so, but it never feels like that when we are around him. It feels like he wants to protect us and let us be us while being whatever he asks us.}

{Kitten, that doesn't make sense.}

{I know. That's why we just don't do anything when we're around him.}

A car drove slowly along the on ramp and stopped. The door opened and they heard a familiar voice. "Cynthia? Are you here?"

"Monica, over here."

The nurse pushed through the bushes, followed by another woman, larger and stronger looking. Monica had a black bag with her. Taking in the extent of the immediately visible injuries, she came forward and started to examine the shoulder. What she had feared since hearing of the dislocation was true. It had been out of socket too long. Putting it back in would not just be painful, it would probably send her into shock, passing out. Much longer, though, and it would not be able to reset. First, however, she needed to talk.

"Okay, Cynthia, thanks to your call, I've got nothing on my plate tonight. Why can't you go to the ER?"

Cynthia briefly thought of trying to make up a plausible lie, given that the truth was so implausible. She just could not think of anything that was not lame and stupid. Remembering her father's words, "Always tell the truth. There's less to remember," she dove in.

As she talked, Monica, used to taking patient histories from people with reasons to lie, kept her face passive. Cynthia was unsure whether that was to be taken as an encouragement or not, but she just told all the details. The lab accident. The first signs that something was wrong. The commando raid on the vet school. The diagnosis by the doctor. The kidnapping and loss of memory. Trying to survive on the streets. Her alter ego, Sex Kitten. Hooking. And finally the murder attempt and her winding up here. Looking resigned, she ended her tale and waited.

Monica spoke up, her detached clinician voice speaking. "Well, your story has the beauty of being internally consistent. The brain damage you describe could, in a remotely conceivable way, have the effects you're describing. You realize just how far out this story is?"

"Yes. But it's true."

"Can I see Sex Kitten?"

Cynthia and Kitten swapped places, something they did with ease now, at least when no one was trying to kill them. Monica recognized a similar visible change that night from the limo. "At least she is consistent." She thought. Out loud, she said, "Okay, Cynthia back please."

"Do you believe me?"

"No. But I don't disbelieve you either. There is something weird going on, I'll grant you that. You say you saw the doctor at the woman's clinic?"

"Yes. She interpreted the CT scans."

Monica had every woman's clinic in the city in her phone book. She dialed the number.

"Yes, this is Monica Davis, I'm a nurse at Tellview General. Can I speak to Dr. Thenton please? Yes, it's about a patient of hers. Yes I'll wait. Doctor, I have a patient in front of me who claims to have been in your clinic two weeks ago to have you interpret some CT scans. A Cynthia..." Turning to Cynthia, she asked her last name. "...Halverston. Could you briefly describe what those scans showed? I see. I see. Dead? Irreversible. What about fumes from a meth lab, could they have halted the damage? Unpredictable, yes. Remotely possible, I see. She's claiming that she becomes a sex maniac when she is able to 'smell' men. I see. Did you see any evidence of a multiple personality? Pliant. Followed orders. Oh, his orders. Yes, thank you. You've been very helpful."

Hanging up, she turned back to Cynthia. "It seems this incredible story checks out. At least you've managed to give the same internally consistent story to two different medical experts. Let's get you taken care of. This is going to hurt, a lot."

Monica grabbed her arm, having her companion hold Cynthia's body firmly. With a silent count of three, she yanked the arm out, pulling the misplaced ball joint away and letting Cynthia's own muscles force it back into the socket. Cynthia screamed in pain and passed out. Monica and the lady picked her up and took her to the ER at Tellview. She spoke to the admitting nurse.

"This is Cynthia Halverston. Attempted rape. Keep men away, it will provoke a panic reaction. The left shoulder was dislocated and needs to be x-rayed. Remember, no males."

Monica hurried things along, cutting Cynthia in front of all the non-life threatening patients. The shoulder and head x-rays showed no broken bones, a minor miracle at on ramp speeds. Cynthia was a very lucky woman. Given the severity of what actually happened, she was lucky to be alive, let alone is as good a shape as she was. She came to again as Monica was explaining to the doctor, Dr. Lewis, that Cynthia did not want to stay in a hospital.

"No! You promised! No ER. I said no ER."

"Cynthia! It's okay. I told them you were almost raped and are terrified of men right now."

"No men?"

"That's right, no men."

"I want to go home, can I go home."

The doctor answered, "It would be best if we could keep you over night for observation."

"No, I don't want to stay." Looking at Monica, she asked, "they can't make me stay, can they."

"No we can't. If you'll sign this release miss, we'll wrap your shoulder and let you go."

Cynthia signed the release and her left arm was wrapped so the shoulder would not move. She had Monica drive her back to the Bel-Ayre motel. She had some serious thinking to do. Inside the motel, she fixed one of her meals and sat down in front of a blank TV. She was in the unenviable position of being terrified of every choice that was open to her, all two of them. She could ignore her past and keep hooking like she had been for the last week. In all likelihood, she would be dead in a few years on that choice. Prostitution was dangerous, as the last 24 hours had shown. Even if a psycho killer didn't get her, Kitten's proclivity for ignoring condoms would lead to some venereal disease eventually, possibly even aids. Or she could try to go back to the life she had left and search for a cure. She would have to become a tramp or slut if her sense of self was to survive. She would probably loose Rob anyway, since she was doubtful that she would be able to keep her identity intact with only him. The chance of finding a cure was slim, given that she needed to cure dead brain cells. Eventually, she would come up against someone dangerous and her life would end.

"Damn!" she thought to herself, "I'm looking at a short life no matter what I choose. The only guy I don't try to practically rape is Dave, and he wants some kind of slave. How can I possibly survive with a life that has worth? Hooking is all well and good for staying alive, but there's more to life than staying alive. If only I could pick the men I react to."

She ended up deciding to make no decision right away. Realizing that Gloria would be worrying about her, she dressed in something reasonably conservative, restocked her supply of cough drops and headed out to the corner. The walk was different that it had been. With the attack fresh on her mind, every car held a potential killer in it, every john was possibly a Jack the Ripper. By the time Gloria was in sight, she realized that the level of fear was too great. The only way she could keep hooking was to give Sex Kitten full control of those hours and she could not make rational enough decisions.

She did tell the other hookers she passed about the killer she had escaped from, starting the grapevine working. With luck, no one else would be taken by this madman. Gloria was standing in her usual spot when Cynthia reached 37th and axel.

"Damn girl! You had me worried. Where you been the last day? You get beat up by a john?"

"Kind of. That last trick from last night, he was a psycho. Kitten said he wanted to cut our throat and rape us while the blood poured over him. I had to jump out of his car as it hit the freeway ramp."

"Well you look like you've been through a wringer. You're not working tonight, are you?"

"No. In fact, I'm not sure I can any more. My memory's back Gloria. I know who I am."

"That's good girl. Don't get me wrong. Tricking is dangerous. If you can go back to what you was, do it. No matter how hard it be."

"I'm not sure it will work. I'm still going to vamp out around guys and I still need to be around a guy at least every two or three days. The only difference will be that I'm not getting paid for it."

"Listen girl. I'm a whore. That makes me not the brightest bulb. But I know there's more than two ways to do anything. This ain't the dark ages, hon. We got modern medicine and science. Surely there be some way to fix you up or at least let you choose who to vamp on. What were you before this?"

"I was a doctoral student in chemistry. I was working on a new fertility drug that avoided multiple births and there was an accidental leak and I breathed it in unknowing. Being kidnapped to a meth house just made matters worse, though it saved my life, by taking my memory."

"Can't you whip up some chemical or somethin that makes your nose more picky? I mean, I was watching animal planet and they were saying how some creatures can tell whose related to them by how they smell. Can't you whip somethin up that makes you only notice certain guys?"

Cynthia's mouth dropped open. She tried to think of why it wouldn't work. It wouldn't be easy. Keying her odor receptors for a specific scent might render her incapable of smelling anything else. She wasn't sure, She needed a biology expert, Dave.

"Gloria. That's brilliant. I don't know if it will work, but it's a hope. I can't think of anything but a lack of knowledge on my part that would keep it from working. I am so glad I came to talk to you. I think the hardest part will be surviving finding a cure, or whatever. Would you mind if I came back periodically to get my man fix? The usual terms, of course."

"Girl, you got me out from under Devon. You can come back whenever. You goin back tonight?"

"Probably, I have enough for a cab back to the university. This is my number at my old apartment. You call me if you need anything, anything at all." Cynthia scribbled her number down on a piece of paper and gave it to Gloria. Gloria knew she would never use it for herself, but kept it, just in case another lost soul who should not be in the business found herself on the street. The two hookers hugged and Cynthia walked out of the streets, heading back for the life she knew, hoping against hope, that she could survive it.

She cleaned out the hotel of the meager belongings she had acquired, keeping the slut clothes as a back up, just in case everything went to hell. She left money in the account for the same reason, taking only $300. $50 of that paid for the cab ride back to the university and her apartment. The first issue she would have to deal with was that she did not have a key anymore. That was lost in the attack, along with all her ID. With her belongings stacked in front of her door, she went to the unenviable task of talking to the manager about a replacement key.

When the door opened to her knock, she started to say, "Hi Mr. McMasters, I'm really sorry to..." and Cynthia knew she was in trouble. Even through the eucalyptus, she could smell the room clearly. And the room reeked of sex. Memories came to her. This was Wednesday. Standing orders are to never bother him on Wednesdays. Now she knew why. There were eight people in the room, all in various stages of undress, most involved in sexual activities. As she was trying to get her greeting out, the manager was saying, "Tom, it's about time you..." As they stared at one another, Sex Kitten, powered by the aroma of four men and active sex, displaced Cynthia and responded in her own special way.

"You're not Tom. Ms. Halverston, you know better than to come to me on Wednesday."

Cynthia put her arms around the man's neck, pulled her face to within an inch of his, cooing, "Don't tell me you're going to send me away." Swallowing the cough drop and inhaling deeply, she continue, "I would love to join your little party." She took one of his hands and brought it down to the crotch of her pants, rubbing it through the wet spot that was beginning to form in the thin fabric. "See how excited you've already gotten me."

"I thought you wouldn't be interested in this kind of party."

She inhaled again. "Oh, why would you think that. I love being fucked. I love it in my cunt and my ass and my mouth. Can you all help me get what I love?" she asked, a sultry pout on her face.

McMasters swung her into the small manager's house, closing the door with his foot. He didn't know how she knew about his weekly swinging parties, but he was not going to argue. Hand about her waist, he led Cynthia into the main room, the aromas getting even stronger, and introduced her to the group. "Everyone, this is Cynthia, she lives in the apartment complex and came to join us. Cynthia, this is everyone."

"Hi everyone," she said with a giggle. "Would someone please fuck me?"

"Well, as the host, I think I should get first crack at you. Do you give good head?"

"I'm the best there is. Now you just sit right down there while I slip out of something less comfortable." Cynthia, watching from inside, realized that the concentration of odors was too strong to break and decided to lie back and enjoy it, metaphorically speaking. Kitten engaged in a two minute long striptease that had everyone, all five men and three women, captivated. With slow sensuous movements, each item of clothing was caressed off of her body like a second skin that had to be enticed to leave with promises for the future.

Her manager had removed his robe by the time she had finished. Cynthia knelt at his feet and kissed the head of the cock that stared at her with its single eye. A drop of precum oozed out and she licked it off, audibly savoring the taste. Her hands danced lightly on the cock, drawing little jerks out of it and more precum to be slurped up. He reached down to pull her head closer and she allowed him, engulfing his penis in the warm wetness that was her mouth. She licked him from inside her mouth, her tongue making swirls around the tip, alternating with deep thrusts, forcing him all the way against the back of her throat.