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I’m a surveillance
investigator.  I have
completed 48 assignments
in between creating lesbian psychological
brain teasers, writing a lesbian spy novel with
the lead femme character packing the best ejaculating
girl lock pick, lubricates the velvet key hole,

and reading
Lee Lapin, spy
gadget guru. My
surveillance and cool
computer gear gets me 
pumping! and I do mean
PUMPING! I have a sub-miniature
video cam that records in the dark, cell
phone interceptor, room bugs, computer
key stroke interceptor, reverse sunglasses,
and the best lock picks!  And don’t hire my
educated ass to investigate your f***ing Nigeria
email scam!  Wake up, people! But DO call me
if you need surveillance,

Lynette—I guess
that’s from the Arthurian
Tales—so like I’m saying,
Lynette comes into my office
later today...“Hi, my name is Lynette. 
I am in need of your services,” she says.

“Have a seat, Lynette,
I pronounce broadly for
effect, and from here on, I
will be pronouncing it broadly.
Do you smoke or will you admit to
it?” I ask, and fire up the joint just because
I feel like getting high on this woman—Lynette
her name, lovely.

“Yes, but I don’t
inhale—so what’s
the point Sadira, may
I call you Sadira?  That’s
French for lotus, isn’t it?”

“How perceptive of
you Lynette.” The game
between the two of us has
already begun—so like I’m
saying, I hand her the joint and
she is careful how she intercepts
it—BUT she does, so that’s the point!

The woman pulls on
it like it is some kind of
Ragoon Shrine, like she is
performing a Burmese purification
ritual, risking her life to talk to me—I
have to make sure her identity is protected,
our government might retaliate—two women
sharing a high five in close quarters, my office is
but no more than a cubicle.

“Inhale deeply Lynette,
and now tell me what I might
do for you—what services of
mine do you need, Lynette?” and
I do love the thought of offering my
services to this woman.  It’s become a
cliché to me, wannabe lesbians in contrast
to images of versed lesbians, how in step with
recent trends of lesbianism might she be I wonder,
charming and open-minded Lynette is, all the same. 
She blows high smoke toward me and I see her eye
flutter perhaps a gratuitous wink.

“It is painfully obvious
to me, Sadira, that my lover
is seeing someone else.  Stuck
in traffic today, I saw her go into
a downtown hotel.  I would like to
assign you to monitor her activities. 
I cannot bear watching.  To help me
understand what comes next, offer me
words and pictures.”

She has a beautiful face
to go with the gold figaro
chain around her neck, add
this to the see-through white crepe
blouse she is wearing, she shoots me
in the lips with her Dilinger bullet nipples,
her request is met by my approval. Holding
a bound copy of my contract, Lynette buttons 
up, goes out of my office door, leaving me flying
high as a purple kite.  Who knows when I will come
down off that piece of tail! Lynette!

days later...

I watch Lynette go
into the same hotel room 
for days, I installed a surveillance
video cam in the hotel room where
she said her woman lover was meeting
another woman, I watch from my monitor
in the parking lot, they get it on, things they
do keep me in business, I get paid to watch 
women's fantasies with other women, I'm packing
my ejaculating lock pick, I'm going in...Intimate strangers...




Copyright 2006 Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist