It’s Hard To Be Me
Previous Chapter: Meet the Team
As I ride toward Agatha, I think about my purchase. The maker is sort of the "Hattori Hanzo" of sniper rifles. By far the best. He (or she, for all I know) also supplies matched ammo, which is guaranteed to put a fifty caliber bullet so close together that the holes overlap at a distance of nearly a mile. Of course, you have to have the skills to aim that well, but I’ve worked extensively to do so.
After a pleasant couple hour drive through the lands overlooking the Mediterranean, I reach Agatha’s place. Lots of security here, though mostly electronic. We’ve discussed her security several times as we relax after my “additional services” (this isn't the first time I’ve been so “charged”) and it’s good. She has several remote controlled (but over secure, wired connections in armored casings) machine guns and a very paranoid intrusion monitoring system, so I feel she’s safe. She has little to worry from her professional customers. As a class, we wouldn't do anything to endanger our supply. However, there are some fruitcakes out there that are sometimes unpredictable. In her business she often has to cater to those groups. As I go up her drive, I amuse myself trying to spot any additions to her security.
Agatha meets me at the door. She’s quite fetching in what she’s barely wearing. She’s very pale, almost ghost-like. Probably from spending her days in front of a computer. She has a very tight sweater barely buttoned together, with a loose weave that allows for intriguing peaks on what lies underneath. Sporting a short skirt that flares out at the waist, it’s carefully calculated to be revealing if she bends over or spins about. She understands that half the fun in getting a present is unwrapping it; plain nakedness leaves nothing to the imagination. Clearly she’s been anticipating the “extra service.” I admit I’ve had some anticipatory thoughts as well, choosing a “muscle tee” and tight shorts that display my assets.
She borders on the Rubenesque, reminding me somewhat of Melissa McCarthy, and has more generous curves than commonly seen on the Monaco beaches. She has a much larger chest than Isabel, DD, perhaps even larger. Gravity has taken its unkind toll on her bust, but through the use of her tight sweater (how do those buttons keep from bursting? The view is amazing but I can’t help but think of a button flying into an eye as I stare) she’s able to keep the focus on the assets and minimize the liabilities. She wears her extra curves well; she acts sexy, therefore she is sexy. When I’m doing the work to set up a one-night stand, I usually focus on conventional physical beauty, even though often the more beautiful a woman is the worse she is in bed. However, if a woman comes onto me, I’m quite agnostic with respect to her looks. In my experience, aggressive women tend to be quite amorous.
First, though, to work. Agatha shows me the rifle. It is as expected, though I field strip, reassemble and work a few rounds through it just to be thorough. I examine the supporting equipment, testing the mating to be sure everything is as advertised. She leans closely behind me, gently rubbing her breasts on my back. She’s letting her hair brush against my neck as she looks over my shoulder. I have to work to keep my mind on business. After finishing my examination, I lean back to give her a kiss, suggesting we complete the money transaction before we get distracted. Instead, distraction overwhelms. She kisses me on my neck and reaches around to run her fingers over my stomach and chest. I reach behind and run my fingers up and down her sturdy legs. She teases me by moving her caresses from my chest to my thighs, skipping the zone in between. I stand up and turn around to give her a hug, pressing hard against her to show my interest. She returns the grind and we exchange passionate kisses. I reach behind her as we hug, down to her ample behind. There are hints of Isabel’s curves. I’ve begun developing a taste for curvy women over the last eighteen months, so I focus on the ones I like best. She reaches to my behind and gives me a squeeze, pulling me against her.
As I look down, I’m incongruously reminded of a conversation we had last time. She’d been dyeing her hair to cover up her graying strands. I objected and told her it wasn’t good to conceal her guardian angels. I see she’s taken my advice; her angels are spread out as I look down. I find women with graying hair to be equally as sexy as young tender twenty-somethings. Besides, how many of those sexy twenty-somethings will spill beyond Rubenesque before they hit their thirties? A woman in her fifties who looks great will surely still look great in her sixties and likely well beyond.
Afterwards we chat, like we normally do. Because we aren’t competitors, and are discrete, we can talk about things we couldn't with anyone else. After I mention my mental conflict regarding my obsession with Isabel, particularly how my eyes are only drawn toward women that look like her, Agatha demands a thorough accounting and makes me go back to when Isabel and I first met (we haven't had cause to work together in a couple of years). She seems wistful as she asks questions, I’m not sure why. After she tires of Isabel, we talk about what’s new in the biz: people, tools, organizations, etc. It winds up being several hours, so we decide to get some dinner. She’s an excellent cook, as well as being a top-notch arms dealer (it’s always amusing to me to discover the skills people have outside of work). We enjoy one of her latest creations as we sit on the porch and gaze out over the Mediterranean, watching the sun go down. With very little insistence on her part, I agree it would be best for me to sleep for a few hours before heading back. But first: more service.
It’s about one in the morning when I take her leave. It’s always a joy to visit when she’s between boys. She’s still affectionate when she has one, but it stops at hugs.
The roads are nice, clear and quiet at this hour. I resist the urge to speed. No sense in drawing official attention with a blatantly illegal firearm in the trunk.
I’m back to my room early enough to catch a couple of hours of sleep. Despite being “on vacation,” I’ve been quite busy these last couple of days. I expect to be busier still in the next several, so might as well try to catch up. It’s around nine when I wake up. Too late for breakfast, given I’m meeting Tessa and Isabel for lunch, so I decide to do some of the exercises I’ve been skipping the last couple of days and work up a good sweat. As I shower, I start thinking about how narrow the target window is and my plans to prep for it.
Walking towards our meeting location, I’m doing my usual scan, but note nothing out of place. Once again, I spot Tessa sitting alone as I do a circuit around the area, looking for anything suspicious.
After the usual pleasantries, I ask her if she had any luck with secluded spaces to practice. She indicates a few hours inland there’s a location that should do the trick. She asks about my adventures yesterday. I comment that normally when I’m on a job I practice celibacy, to keep my energies focused, but my contact was between boyfriends and required extra service in addition to the fee. Tessa smiles at that and commiserates over the hardship I had to endure. Our conversation drifts off to irrelevancies as we wait for Isabel. This time she’s about an hour late and is frazzled when she shows up.
"Management! I really wish they could get their heads on straight. They went back and forth three times! The best I could get is a commitment to make one within thirty-six hours. I sure hope we haven't been wasting our time. Though I guess there are worse places to be stuck for a few weeks."
"Tell Isabel about your adventures last night," Tessa suggests.
Isabel looks at me in curiosity, so I regale her with the tale. I notice an interesting tightening around her eyes when I explain the “extra service” and Tessa has a particularly large grin on her face. Clearly something going on between them related to my story.
We start into our lunch, later than expected because of Isabel's tardiness. As we wrap up the meal, I discuss what I have in mind. The window is quite small, only a second or so. I want to practice in such a way that I mimic the angle and distance as much as possible. Because the “real deal” is a cold shot, I need extra time to let the rifle cool down between practice shots. It will take a number of hours to get my desired time in. Tessa offers to accompany me to the location. Isabel heaves a sigh and says she’ll stay here and keep an eye on things. The price of being the boss.
Because I’ll be wanting to do my practice at night, we’ll need to stay over. I guess Tessa and I will have the leisure to get to know one another. They already have a car. I get my rifle, ammo and a few other things and meet Tessa at the hotel’s loading dock.