Fog of Lust, Beginning

Adele Thompson 4 yrs

Fog of Lust - 1

The 'Fog' has an affect on every person at one time or another.

Sometimes it appears suddenly, usually triggered by circumstance. I believe many people go through life and never understand how it works. I will be the first to admit not understanding this change in inhibitions and attitudes.

Sometimes this change appears suddenly, and, sometimes it is triggered by circumstance. Once you begin looking for this change, you may at least understand. Rarely in the moment, but when reflecting later. Good Luck!

Friday

Lisa Smith, a young woman in the full bloom of womanhood, stood alone on the sidewalk. The activity outside her office unnoticed.

She appeared to be taking in the skyline outside, but Lisa's unfocused eyes were not seeing anything outside. Her mind in another place, another time, a day not to long ago.

She shivered, her body responding to the memory. She felt aroused on one level, but ashamed on another.

She turned and looked around her new office. Modern, efficient, perfect on the surface, yet cold. Her eyes shifted and held on the wall behind the sleek desk.

The diploma, her diploma, placed in the center of a wall full of awards,

Dr. Lisa Rose Smith, PhD.

The wall includes additional certifications. The one she is truly proud of is Certified Forensic Analyst, Master. The ceremony for adding the word Master to the certification was unusual, a strange place. The 2 story, brick and granite building. It had many windows all perfectly aligned reflective like mirrors, it gave a nice appearance. There was a single door with a green canopy above. The dark gray door had the word, "No Admittance" engraved into the steel. From the taxi she couldn't read the lettering. She thought the address was wrong until a man stepped out to greet her. There wasn't a knob, key lock, or pad. The door just opened, from the inside only, she thought.

Inside, the furnishings were nice, warm, made her think of a gentleman's club from a fiction book she had read.     

She remembered the day of the presentation, the group of twenty-one, all men except two women made a big deal about her age, twenty years old, a first in her field.

The ceremony was not a big deal to Lisa at the time. She had been blessed with a mind for numbers and an unusual affinity for connections. She has a sixth sense about accounting for money and the trail it left behind, even more important, any missing trails.

She had taken the path of forensic accounting because it held the most curious and appealing puzzles. She loves puzzles and mysteries of all sorts, but money puzzles were her favorite. Dr. Pope, her mentor pulled her aside and said some words that stuck, she had a plaque made with his observation.

"An external auditor -- A guard dog - A Bulldog, he Nags"

"An internal auditor - A seeing eye dog, he Barks."

"A forensic accountant -- A Bloodhound - He Bites"

Most of her associates thought her odd. She always asked more questions about the people involved in these mysteries than the dollars and cents. For Lisa, it was intriguing to put herself into the mind of the person manipulating the money and guess the many possibilities that person might imagine.

Sometimes these people were smart, but frequently they just thought they were smart. She leaned early that when you are on the inside, it's difficult to see from different perspectives. Solving these puzzles gave her great satisfaction and the more difficult, the greater the pleasure.

Recently; she had apparently solved an important mystery, but she never got enough detail to finish. Lisa didn't feel confident. The lack of confidence bothered her, bothered a lot.

Monday

One of the government agencies had asked her to consult and she quickly gave them a possible solution. She had explained that more time and information would be needed to know what had gone on. Lisa's problem was the speed with which they had accepted her first blush opinion. Then, made an arrest based solely on her opinion, they stopped looking for other answers and never gave her enough information to thoroughly audit the situation.

Now, a young woman named Clarissa Perez was locked in a cell and Lisa could not talk to her. She should not have told them anything until she had more information.

Lisa met with the lead investigator and expressed her concerns, but he was only interested in closing this case and moving on to the stack of cases piled on his desk.

"Hey Girly, you gave us what we needed, that's it." He told her. She hated being referred to with stupid names.

What about evidence? She had asked.

Doesn't matter, we can take your expert opinion and either get a confession or a plea. Either way, it's done. He had made an imaginary mark in the air as if it was a scoring a point.

"I will not testify." she stated firmly.

"Doesn't matter, this one will never see a court room." Peter spat back.

Lisa had left his office feeling like she was the one guilty of a crime. That was two weeks ago and the Perez girl was still being held.

Eric Monroe was keeping keeping tabs on the young woman. Eric is Lisa's geek friend in the computer science lab. His area is more like a cave than a lab. He always insists she go to him, he refuses to show his face in her building, much less come to her office. He won't even call or take a call from her office. Lisa has told him he's paranoid but he just laughs at her.

Eric may be paranoid, but he is a genius with information technology and computer networks. Not only does he monitor the Perez case filings, he has shown Lisa screen captures of Clarissa in her cell and in the prison dining hall.

Tuesday

Lisa talked Eric into meeting her for coffee. He insisted on choosing the place and she agreed. She took an early lunch, planning to walk. The address arrived written on the plastic lid of her morning coffee from Starbucks. How he did that, she was left to wonder. Well, that's Eric, she thought. Two blocks from her building, waiting for the traffic signal, a motorcycle slid up to the crosswalk. The driver flipped up the dark shield on his helmet, she was shocked to recognize Eric.

"Hop on, Fast!" He said, handing her a helmet identical to his.

Without any thought, she hiked her skirt and climbed on the back. Holding on with both arms, she tried to use one hand and then the other to yank her skirt down. Useless! She thought.

Eric turned to the side, "What's all the moving around back there?

She laughed and yelled, "I can't get my skirt down."

She felt him laughing at her, and whacked him on the shoulder.

The rate they were passing other vehicles was scary, and then he really accelerated. Lisa held on like her life depended on it. She was surprised how quickly they cleared the city proper. He slowed to a reasonable speed and turned to the side again.

"You can stop squeezing me now, I can barely breath."

She realized her death grip and loosened her arms, embarrassed.

Over coffee she told Eric she was being followed.

He said she probably was since she's not helping the crooked cop. He did agree to look into it. The meeting was to give her a flash drive so she could keep working on the case.

Wednesday

I left my office in a huff. Of course no one saw me leave.

When I get mad, I hide it. I don't want to hurt other's feelings, but if I'm honest, I don't want others to know I'm not always in control. That would be out of character. I'm Lisa Smith, the quiet prodigy, the methodical accounting professor. Yeah, the one most of the faculty resents. It should be their problem, but I've let it become mine. Accomplishing full professor status, with tenure, at the ripe old age of 25 makes me a frequent target.

I let Dave Mathews soothe me, driving out of the faculty parking garage. Trying to forget Thomas Hardy, the most resentful associate professor. He thinks he should be head of forensic accounting. I laugh out loud, the imbecile can't find his way around a ledger. He doesn't even know what a T account is.

Dave continues to soothe me, and by the time I get on the interstate I'm better, relaxed and in my own world.

The problem with leaving mid afternoon is the crowd of people trying to avoid the rush, as if that's possible. Even though it's midweek, the traffic is thick and building.

I'm stuck in traffic, stop and go. I choose the middle lane because logically it has a small chance of moving along faster. Today, none of the lanes have an edge. Luckily, I have a great playlist, thanks to Eric, the cute geek in IT. I think he likes me, but NO way am I going to encourage that!

The middle lane of three is barley creeping north. I absently keep score of my pace, glancing in the rear view at a yellow Mayfield truck. I followed it on the highway and passed it when I got the middle lane. Looks like I'm winning so far, it's fallen at least ten car lengths back.

When I lean over to skip to the next song, I notice another truck, a big one, keeping pace in lane beside me. It's not an 18 wheeler, more of a delivery type.

I'm surprised people aren't blowing their horns. He's leaving a lot of space in from of him and other drivers are taking advantage, but I can't get enough space to change lanes.

Go figure.

Maybe he's not in a hurry.

Maybe he's texting.

Maybe he's dreaming.

I glance over at the pokey truck. The driver looks like an average white guy. Oh well, who knows, I'm just glad he's not in front of me.

I have to focus on the car ahead, we are now mostly stopped, not much go. After a few minutes we move slightly, then stop again. The average while guy stays right beside my car, even when traffic creeps forward. Strange, I say to myself, feeling suspicion.

In the rear view, the yellow truck is so far back I can't count now. I'm winning, a little.

I glance over at the average white guy again. What's with his phone. It's flat against the window. Maybe he has a cheap one with not much signal.

Or, is he an operative? My imagination goes into overdrive.

The players in one of the cases I'm analyzing has taken measures to stop our investigation. But following me with a big truck, that's new.... and not likely.

I can't look any more, the constant creeping requires my attention to avoid slamming into the car ahead.

Finally we start moving again, steadily, though slow. At least my foot isn't constantly on the brake.

My Dad taught me better than to two-foot the brake and accelerator, but today is an exception.

I kick my shoes off, the 4" heels are torture in this traffic, I try to pull a foot up to massage some feeling back into it. My skirt is too tight, it takes some twisting and yanking, but I manage to get my tired foot up.

After a few minutes, I glance right, the nut job average white guy still there. What the hell? Is he using the phone for pictures? Why would he take pictures of me. I've never seen the guy before. I Check myself in the vanity mirror to see if I have a blob or something on my face or in my hair.

My lane moves ahead and leaves the average white guy, and his 10 wheel truck behind. That was just weird. I never pay much attention to other people in traffic. Dad taught me to watch the cars, not the people. I got that lecture after waving at a boy when I was first driving.

We top a hill, the stream of cars looks like serpentine rows, barely moving along together. Occasion we slow to a crawl but now I can relax on the brake and idle along.

I'm startled by a horn. It's a window van, creeping along, just like all of us sheep. I've decided we are all sheep today.

When I glance over, there's man waving, holy cow. I don't know him, he appears to be eastern Indian. I snap my head forward as my mind scrolls through all the players in the Mawdood el-Matin case. We just put el-Matim away for tax evasion. His main cover was a remodeling company. This van has 'WC Drywall' on the side. I can't think of a single person connected to Mawdood el-Matin that would look for revenge. The entire crew was glad to see him gone. He was as much a threat to his people as to America.

Maybe this is another crazy knucklehead like the average white guy. Or is this one of the bad guys Eric has warned me about.

Maybe this is the day of the full moon. The man keeps the van right there for a minute or so, then it moves slightly ahead. I get a sense of relief that another crazy is moving on.

The relief doesn't last long.

When I glance over, the van driver has moved farther forward, but not passed. Now, I'm treated to multiple faces pasted to the windows that span the length of the van. Most appear Hispanic. They're all grinning. Well at least I'm surrounded by friendly people. No road rage today. I hope.

I think the van guy must be honking at someone else, but his passengers are waving at me. People are crazy, maybe I've hooked up with a caravan headed for the loony bin.

I glance again, faces still plastered against the windows. There's a lot of conversation going on over there. One of the men points my direction and motions to another man, now he's at the window too.

Sometimes I'm a little slow, but there's no doubt these men are looking at me. From their expressions, they are checking me out, but why?

Maybe because I'm obviously Caucasian? Surely not my dark auburn hair. This is crazy. They definitely are not any of the el-Matin people.

This is a major highway, good grief, it's broad daylight! There's a van load of men looking at me. Strange acting foreign men.

Should I be concerned? No I'm more like suspicious.

Or Scared? Maybe.

Flattered? I think NOT. They appear to be making fun of me.

I try not to stare, just take subtle peeks. With all the talking, laughing and pointing, I begin to think something is wrong with me or my car.

I check the gauges. normal.

Tires? The steering feels fine.

I touch my hair, it feels fine.

I glance around inside the car, nothing amiss.

I glance down, Oops, my skirt is up to the tops of my stockings.

The Fog rolls in.

My head snaps forward, not daring to look their way.

My hand moves too pull my skirt, but I stop myself.

I don't want them to know that I know. Better they think it's accidental, let them think I'm innocent and clueless. Better yet, forget me all together.

My heart beats faster, a crowd of very strange men are looking at me!

My embarrassment turns to, what, excitement?

NO! Never...! More Fog rolls in.

Maybe, I don't know.

My phone rings, damn, it's in my purse, which is in the floor because it fell when I had to slam on brakes. It keeps ringing.

I can't look, can't let this van load of strangers to think I see them looking.

The ring continues, insistent. Just ignore it!

It starts ringing again, ignore it.

I click my seat belt loose, check the traffic ahead, then stretch to reach my purse. It takes all my effort to get hold of the strap. I yank it up in the seat and feel for the ringing phone. It shows an 800 number. Probably only of those damn robo calls. This time, Eric's ringtone. Eric never calls to shoot the shit.. I fumble for the phone and look up again. Braking hard.

Pay attention Lisa!

"Hi Eric."

"What, No, I'm fine. Just a weird day in traffic. Can I call you back?"

I drop the phone back in my purse. I should have asked him about these weirdos. No, he would know I'm crazy.

In the process of all this. My skirt managed to get even higher. The skin above my stockings is showing. The mental Fog, thickens.

Damn Lisa, why don't you just strip for them, I think, exasperated. Yeah, you should give middle easterners a treat!

Hell, I should be in Foreign Relations.

I consider slamming on brakes or accelerating, but there's not more than a car length front or back.

I feel the fog, I affects my brain, takes this opportunity to hatch a thought.

Hell Lisa, why don't you undo some buttons, open your blouse, maybe they'll wreck or something. Fat chance, any way, I would never! Are you sure?

Finally I get a break, my lane begins to move slowly ahead of van. What a relief. I quickly try yanking my hem down, not all the way. Fog drifting away? Not yet, but rolling out, maybe? Who knows maybe someone else needs a quick flash from a nerdy girl.

That was kind of kinky, having all those strange men gawking. Actually the whole episode turns me on in a kinky kind of way.

I wonder if the average white guy got some good pictures. I hope they don't show up on the internet.

My mind curses over and over.

Why did I wait to pull my skirt down?

You didn't want them to think... What? Think you were showing off?

No, not me! It wasn't on purpose anyway. Was it?

Did I really like showing myself to strangers? No. But what about that time... Nope not going there, Past is better left forgotten.

Does this mean there's something wrong with me?

Nope, it was the Fog

I truly didn't want them to see my embarrassment. But, Yeah, that was kind of kinky. Plus, the trip home seemed to fly by, I'm almost to my exit. This ordeal has lasted for half an hour, at least.

What will I tell John? Oh Hell No, he's not hearing about this.

I know exactly how John would react. He would insist on a redo. He loves things like this. He would badger or bribe me until he had me in the car doing crazy stuff.

Whew! I pull safely in my garage, I breathe a long sigh and think about the Blackbox Cabernet waiting inside.

Saturday

Saturday morning I wake from a deep sleep, I didn't even undress. That was the Cabernet. It feels like I'm in the same position I fell asleep. I do feel refreshed. While brushing my teeth while my mind drifts to the previous day. What a day that was. In the bright light of a new day, it seems like I was in some sort of daze. Fully conscious, but not myself. Definitely not in control!

The memory of the guy taking photos with his phone gives me a shudder. Why did I let that happen? Truth is, I can't think of a way to have stopped him.

And all those strange men staring at me with my skirt pulled up obscenity exposing everything. They were going wild over there! They may have been cheering for more for all I know. Probably were cheering in some foreign language, middle eastern spanish maybe.

Oh, this is so frustrating. What's wrong with me? I'm missing something, I just know it. Things like this happen to other people, not me!

I take a long hot shower, hoping it will generate the solution.

It doesn't.

I towel down and slip into shorts and an old T-shirt.

I pick up a magazine and sit on my bed.

I can't get into it, so I pace about the room. I'm a caged cat. Or a rat?

A quick shower usually refreshes, not today.

Start over. Pull top off over my head, kick off shorts. Hmm, no underwear, I am weird today. I take another shower, washing my hair this time.

No silly, you are naked because you aren't dressed yet, Duh?

I stand naked. Hmm shorts and top, or a sundress, maybe skirt and top?

Decisions, decisions.

It's so hot out...

Sundress, yes that will be best, I have errands today.

Rifling through my closet, light and airy, and comfortable I'm thinking.

After holding up and nixing two possibilities, I pull out a bright yellow sundress, one of John's favorites. He has no say about it today. Thankfully he is not here, he would be ogling me constantly. That's his main hobby. Sometimes it drives me crazy. Well, not always.

I hold the dress up under my chin, look in the mirror, side to side. Yep, this is it.

This is actually a cover-up, John calls it a casual dress, but it will be cool and it looks really good.

It has little cap sleeves that position the shoulders. The front and back scoops made with a continuous drawstring that ties in front. There were tassels on the drawstring but I replaced them with small seashells last summer.

Continued....