A Chance Meeting

Dana hurried down the back alley. She wanted to get some lingerie shopping in, and get some sex toys to use in her new pussy. It was odd, no longer having a cock. But it felt good, it felt ... right. The only problem was it didn't self-lubricate. So if she ever had a boyfriend, she'd need to buy some stock in a lube company.

She went around the corner, and there she bumped into ... him. Rocco Ferrari. For Douglas, he was a hated defense counsel, someone that Douglas tangled with dozens of times in trial over the years, and countless times outside of it. He was Italian, refined, hairy. He liked to wear his shirt collar unbuttoned a little to show just how hairy his chest was. He was also, at 52, newly widowed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie," Rocco said absentmindedly. And then their eyes met. Eyes that had met most often in hatred, occasionally in joviality. The eyes were the same. Rocco stared at Dana, disbelieving. "... Douglas?"

"It's Dana now," Dana said in her soft, measured, effeminate voice.

"I'd wondered where you'd disappeared off to. But I'd never expected ... this."

"I ... don't want it widely known ... please."

"You know, Maria died recently," Rocco said, looking at Dana's surgically enhanced curves.

"Yes, I did, and I'm very sorry about it, but --"

"So if you want ... this ... kept quiet. You'll need to give me some dates."

"I wish I could, but ... wait ... what did you say?" Rocco stared back at him evenly.

"You heard me, Dana." He wrote down his cell phone number. "Seven p.m. on Friday, you know where to show up. Don't be late."