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At the heart of this story is a nefarious plan to create the perfect mate for Sophie's gay brother, Carl. A person who would fit his attraction to men and meet their straitlaced father's approval as a woman. The young man, her prey, if you will, never saw it coming.

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    This was a blonde who could stop traffic; cause an accident at fifty paces; and make the holiest think impure thoughts.

    She walked into the office, pushed the half open door, and sat in front of the desk.

    Harry watched. The low-cut top left very little to the imagination. This was a blonde that blondes might dream about becoming when they grow up.

    "I need some help." She said.

    Her voice was gruff and masculine. It didn't match anything he was seeing. 

    Harry's mouth opened and remained frozen as he looked again, trying to make a little sense.

    "I know what you're thinking." I said; the voice as gruff as before. "It's not my fault."

    "I wasn't thinking," Harry coughed. "I was letting my eyes do that."

    "I can tell." I replied. "But your eyes can deceive you."

    Harry looked at me hard and shook his head slowly. "Are you for real?"

    "My reality may be a bit beyond you." I said. "I'm for real. Want to touch?" I saw his eyes light up and realised I'd said the wrong thing. "I mean, I am exactly what you see."

    "And what might that be?"

    "That's the problem." I confessed. "I don't know any more. What do you think I am?"