I Spy On Love

[I]Dearest James,

I'm so sorry that I had to leave so soon. I love you with my very soul, and like my soul that love will never die. I know you loved me too. Ours was a love for the ages, and one day our souls will once again be united in love.

But it was my time to go, not yours. You can't mope around missing me forever. You have to get out there and live your life, and maybe live some of the life I didn't get to. So get up, go fish your dick out of the dumpster, and get your ass back to living Hotrod!

Mililani[/I]

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My handler didn't say a word. He didn't have to. He just handed me my next orders and left, snickering to himself as he walked passed the Vespa shaking his head and mumbling, "Hotrod... she still calls him Hotrod."

Well I had my orders. I rejoined the living. I was doing my job. Working the locals for information. Writing reports. Following poor saps that just wanted a vacation from being a bad guy. I was doing all of that, but nothing else. Months went by. I was alive alright, but just barely. For nearly a year I operated on autopilot.

Then I got the order. Yes that order. The one to follow the Ukrainian. The one that came with that stern warning of 'DO NOT ENGAGE'.

Being asked to follow someone so dangerous that it prompted an agency full of spies to put out that kind of made the hair on my neck stand. Something inside me flipped on like a switch. This was just what I needed. It was why I became a spy. I was fully alive again, and I knew that Mililani would have been proud of me.

I was up early that next morning, waiting by the marina well before sun up. My latest night vision gadget gave me eyes on the Ukrainian's boat. He had slipped in by the darkness of night, but that didn't fool me. There was no way I was going let this one get away.

Around noon the Ukrainian finally emerged from his craft. He didn't look so tough to me. An unbuttoned shirt, flip flops and a speedo were his garb of choice. He had a gold chain around his neck, and I could almost smell the overindulgence of cheap cologne just by looking at him.

If he had a wife he probably didn't bring her along. No woman in her right mind would have allowed her husband to wear what he was wearing, even if he was on vacation. Hell, the man could have been gay for all I knew. I really had no idea. My orders were to follow him, not to critique his life style.

Once the lazy bastard was finally up and about, I followed him everywhere. It wasn't hard. The guy barely left the marina. When he did, he would slowly saunter down to the beach. There he would sit a read, of all things, a spy novel.

I'd read that book. Not a word of it was believable. The spy in that story ran, drove and flew every contraption known to man at breakneck speed, traveling through most of the known world, just to kill one man.

The Ukrainian wasn't anything like the spy in that story. He wasn't running. He wasn't in a hurry to get anywhere. No one was chasing him. I'd seen snails that were harder to follow.

Every evening he would walk up from his boat and duck into this little touristy joint with a few tables and a standup bar. I knew this place well. It was the same place Mililani offered to marry me after I touched her some twenty years ago.

The first two days I just watched him from just outside the place, leaning on a post sucking on vape. I'm not a smoker, but for some reason most guys in my line of work are. It starts out as a cover and before they know it they are addicted. I found that vapor pens hold flavor only inserts, so I never got hooked.

Using the vapor pen gave me an excuse to just stand there, acting the just like the many smokers I've seen over the years, idly puffing away the hours, doing nothing, watching the world go by as they partake in their vice.

I didn't need to be inside that place to watch this guy. I didn't want to be so close to him that I would risk being made. After all, he was supposed to be dangerous. So I just stood outside and sucking in that vapor watching the Ukrainian as he sat alone in the corner savoring his food and a glass of wine.

This guy was there at the bar every evening like clockwork. I could have set my watch by it. When he wandered up towards that bar on the third day, I started to wonder. Was I missing something? Could his punctuality be the key? Could it be that the waitress was the Ukrainian's contact?

So that third day I kept my vape in my pocket and walked in right behind the guy acting like every other loud mouth tourist, asking the bartender for one of those fruity umbrella drinks like I owned the place.

The Ukrainian squeezed into his usual corner booth with his back to the wall and warily eyed everyone in the place. As I sat across from him with my drink he looked right at me. He didn't give my presence a second thought.

I was the spy that had been following him for days and he had no clue. I was so close I could almost hear to him breathe. It took no effort at all to hear his entire interaction with the waitress. He wasn't there to meet her. She wasn't a contact. They didn't speak in some secret code, or exchange a micro disk. In fact he only said four words to her, all in broken English.

Calamari, lemon, and muscato. That's what he said. Then he paused for a moment searching for that fourth word, before he finally blurted out "Please" as a forced grin slowly appeared on his face. Everyone knew he didn't mean it. That single word of politeness was as wrote, forced, and as insincere as they come.

Soon after his plate of fried squid arrived, the Ukrainian waived the waitress over to his table, scooping his hand in the air saying... "Lemon. More lemon," then finally slowly adding "Please," once again forcing a smile onto his face. Clearly this man was accustomed to having his orders carried out without question. The chore of being polite to a lowly waitress just seemed beneath him.

Despite his level of self-importance, this guy couldn't have too much of that sour yellow fruit. When he had finally drown his plate in citrus, the Ukrainian picked up each and every bite, kissing it into his mouth, licking his fingers, and savoring every morsel as if it were going to be his last, enjoying his meal in that way only eastern Europeans seem to do.

While I was watching the Ukrainian suck down his squid all I could think about that night in the bar with Mililani. I could almost hear her laughing at me, giving me grief about everything I was doing, and of course calling me Hotrod.

Then my trip down memory lane as interrupted. A woman came into the bar and as she walked past me she paused. For the briefest of moments our eyes met and the look on the woman's face was sweet and familiar. It was the same look Mililani would give me when she was horny. I was visited by an angel.

Now I have never been one to believe in ghosts, but after this woman gave me that look, she walked away from me with that same 'follow me' walk Mililani used when she wanted me to follow her to the bedroom. I have to admit that I almost got up and followed.

Then of all things, this woman stood in the exact place at the bar where I found Mililani the night I thought I'd lost her. This woman didn't look like Mililani, but her sexy mannerisms were all the same. She had to be an angel. This woman had to be channeling Mililani.

As I watched the woman all I could think about was Mililani's letter where she said her soul would be waiting for me, wanting to love me just one more time. With this woman's sparkling brown eyes and sly smile, I was sure I was looking at an angel. I was also pretty sure no one else in the place could see her.

The lack of sleep can do strange things to your mind, but I knew I was awake. Mililani's soul was reaching out to me in a vision. Then reality hit when a couple of gents joined this woman at the bar and she gave them both a sensual hug. Damn, it was all in my head. My mind really was playing tricks on me again.

It had been a full year since my wife passed, and it seemed that my grieving mind was still up to no good. Even if this wasn't Mililani's angel, I was still drawn to this woman. I wanted to know her. I wanted to touch her. I wanted to slip my fingers into her wetness, listening to her soft breaths of pleasure quietly panting in my ear.

I wanted to gaze into her deep brown eyes while she lovingly coaxed the pulsating flow of my desire into her soft wanting mouth. I wanted to wake up next to her in the morning with our arms and legs entangled in love's embrace, ready to take her one more time. Most of all I wanted to feel her arch and strain with pleasure as I pushed myself deep inside her.

For the first time in over a year I found a woman that was so sensual all I could think about was sex. I didn't know this woman. I had no idea what her name was or even where she was from. So I used my old spy trick and came up with the name Amy. Of all the names I could have used, the name Amy truly fit this woman.

Every Amy I'd ever known was pretty, and sexy, and sweet. As far as I know every woman named Amy is happy and smart. Everyone wants to be friends with Amy. Anyone that knows someone named Amy is better just being in her presence. If that is what it means to be an Amy, this woman had that and then some.

So I had the name Amy, but her two friends didn't have names. Even if I didn't end up seducing that woman I called Amy, all three of them were going into my report on the Ukrainian. I was going to need names for all three of them, and that wasn't hard to do.

The men weren't locals, but they did have a familiarity about them. They were both somewhat handsome fellows, but leaned a bit more toward being just regular guys than carrying the swagger of an international player. They also didn't carry the air of business moguls, but didn't act exactly like tourists either. It was as if I knew them, or at least knew their type.

Nonetheless, they were headed into my report on the Ukrainian so I came up with names. The taller of the two I named Bob, and the other man just had to be a Tom. That's right, they were a couple of good old Americans with good old American names, and they had one hot chick named Amy to share between them.

I shouldn't have been watching Amy and her friends. I should have been keeping an eye on my mark. But watching Amy wiggle and squirm every time one of the men touched her was a lot more fun than watching some smarmy Ukrainian eat his calamari.

He watches Amy, Tom and Bob. Bob was touching Amy every time Tom wasn't looking. As the night went on, Bob's touches became more and more intimate. At one point when Tom moved down toward the bartender to get another drink. As soon as Tom turned his back, Bob's hand went up Amy's skirt.

I saw purple. Amy was wearing purple panties. I also saw Bob's hand it pay dirt, sliding out of her crotch just in time for Tom not to notice as he came back with his drink. My god, Amy couldn't have been hornier. That Bob fellow had her squirming like crazy, and I wished it could have been me touching her instead that guy.

This little show went on the whole time the Ukrainian was eating. When he finished his meal he got up, left his money on the table and wandered down to his yacht. I didn't follow him. This night I stayed in the bar and watched the show.

It was now just the four of us in that bar. Amy and her two boyfriends were really putting away the drinks. I guess for some the lure of island rum is too much to resist. Whatever lured those three out that night, Amy was getting was squirming like crazy and getting hornier by the minute. I knew someone was going to get laid tonight, and it wasn't going to be me.

Just before the bar closed for the night, the three finally called it quits. It was late and they were pretty lit. I figured I should be a Good Samaritan and make sure they got home safe, so I followed them out of the bar.

As I followed it was obvious to see that the one I called Tom was flat out drunk. He could barely stumble, let alone walk. If it wasn't for his two friends I suspect he would just pull up a place in the gutter and sleep there. Fortunately for Tom, Bob and Amy were propping him back up and keeping him going.

While Bob wasn't busy helping keep Tom upright, he had his hands all over Amy, feeling her up every chance he got. I'm not sure why Amy didn't just peel off her panties and let Bob have at it. There was no doubt that Amy was loving the touch of Bob's inappropriately roaming hands.

The more this touchy feely routine went on, the more I figured that Bob was Amy's husband. Who else would have his hands up her skirt the way he did? That guy I called Bob was a very lucky man. He was the one that was about to get laid by Mililani's angel.

And poor Tom. No wonder he had gotten plastered. He was just a third wheel just along for the ride. He clearly had a thing for Amy, but what man wouldn't? It was clear to me that Bob was the man that really turned Amy on. I wondered why this Tom fellow didn't just go out find a girl of his own, especially in a place like this. It's well known that the locals here are very open and friendly.

I followed them until they got to what seemed to be their apartment complex. It was the same one Mililani and I lived in when we were first assigned here. This was a decent place. I knew they were safe. As I walked away I wondered if Mililani's soul would be able to feel what Bob was about to do to Amy. I wondered if a soul could come.

The next morning came way too soon. The shy four hours of sleep I got just didn't seem like enough. It didn't help that I'd spent nearly every hour tracking the Ukrainian for the last three days. If there was anything that would reunite my soul with Mililani's, it would be the lack of sleep.

There are many good reasons for deploying spies in pairs. One of those reasons is sleep. This tracking and trailing business is a twenty four hour a day job. Having a partner would have allowed me to take a break.

I knew I was slated to get a new partner. My fear was that it would be some young stud who would steal all my action on the island. But right then I didn't care. I was dead tired, and I wondered why the hell the agency hadn't already sent me someone new. I really could have used the help.

As I was plodding along watching the Ukrainian go about his lazy do nothing day, I saw Amy. She was with the man I called Tom walking among the shops. Once again, Amy smiled at me with that look that I'd only ever seen on Mililani when she was horny. Somehow I was wide awake again, or at least part of me was.

As I watched Amy and Tom, it became apparent that those were the two that were married, not Amy and Bob. Amy and Tom held hands and just fit together everywhere they went. I'm not sure how Bob fit into the whole equation, but one thing that was obvious. Last night Bob was doing his damnedest to get into the pants of another man's wife. Why Amy let Bob touch her like that last night was beyond me.

Then I remembered something. A vivid flashback to the night Mililani pulled her prank and made me act like her cuckold made me think. Was Tom one of those men? Was he the kind of guy that would allow his wife to hook up with other men just so he can watch? Does he get some weird pleasure jacking off while he watches his wife get plowed?

If that was the case. If Tom really was that kind of guy. If they actually had one of those cuckold relationships going on. I wondered if Amy's sly smile and sparkling eyes meant that she wanted me to fuck her while she made her husband watch. And if she did want that, would she make Tom eat her pussy after I was done?

I was enjoying watching the interactions between Tom and Amy, thinking up the nasty little things that Amy might say to Tom while I fucked her while he sat playing with himself in his cucky chair. I decided I had to give it a chance. As weird as it seemed, I wanted this.

This was going to be tricky. There was no way I could get away with those lame seduction moves I learned back at the academy. I really wanted to fuck her, and even if she was channeling the soul of my dead wife I needed a plan. I needed an opening line that wouldn't piss anyone off.

I finally came up with a couple of thoughts on how to befriend them and broach the subject, when the Ukrainian went on the move. Dammit, his timing couldn't be worse, but I was duty bound to follow him.

I figured he was off to his yacht for the evening and I'd be back working on seducing Amy in no time, but for the first time since he arrived the Ukrainian caught a cab into the city. Of all the luck. I had cool my jets and stop scheming about how I could slip my dick into an angel. I jumped on that fucking pink scooter and gave chase.

I should have stayed back and tried to get with Amy. Following the Ukrainian turned into an excruciating waste of time. He didn't jump up to meet a contact or do some other evil thing. He went to a discount jewelry place and bought a gaudy Rolex to match the gold chain he wore around his neck.

Of course he couldn't just grab a watch and go. The guy shopped like an old woman, trying on every watch in the store, tinkering with every knob and dial, wondering which one looked best on him. Believe me, no matter what the hell he tried on in that store, it damn sure wasn't going to go well with his speedos.

Watching this guy take somewhere north of forever to buy a fucking wristwatch was excruciating. The fact that I wanted to be elsewhere made it even worse. On top of that I had to take a leak.

I'd gotten pretty turned on thinking about Amy letting me fuck her in front of her husband. At first I didn't think something like that would do anything for me, but it did. Watching Amy's sexy teasing walk down by the marina had given me a nice tingly hard on, and after I've been hard I always have to pee. Now my hard on was nothing more than a painful piss boner.

Finally the Ukrainian picked out the ugliest watch in the place grabbed a cab back toward the marina. I jumped on the scooter and blasted past that cab doing close to a hundred. I knew the he wasn't going anywhere else. That road only goes one place. He had to end up at the marina and I'd be waiting there for him after I'd relieved myself. And with any luck Amy would still be strolling around with her cuckold husband.

When I came out of the men's room the Ukrainian's cab was there sitting empty. It didn't take long for me to spot him strolling down the walkway toward his yacht. He stuck out like a sore thumb the way he was holding his arm out in front of himself admiring his shiny new watch. This guy was such a fucking tool. I wondered how he could be even remotely dangerous.

While the Ukrainian spent the afternoon on his yacht, I spent the afternoon looking for Amy. I should have gone home to get a few winks of sleep. I'd been up way too long and I was dead tired. Still, I wanted to find my angel, but she was nowhere to be found. Damn that Ukrainian and his fucking watch. I'd lost her.

Then just after the sun went down the Ukrainian emerged from his yacht. It was time for the man to eat. He was like clockwork... acting as if he would die if he didn't eat on time. Of course he trudged his way up the walkway and ducked into the same little bar again.

Again I waltzed in behind him acting like I owned the place, and again he ordered calamari with lemon. I started to feel like I was stuck in that movie about the weatherman on Groundhog Day. Everything I was doing I felt I had just done the day before. When Amy walked in and smiled at me with that sexy fuck me smile again, I just about lost my mind. I thought if this is how my day was going to repeat itself over and over, I was all for it.

But unlike yesterday Amy's guy friends came in at the same time as her, instead of trailing behind. Amy still stood at the bar in the same spot, and she was once again flanked by Bob and Tom, just like before. I guess that made sense. We are all creatures of habit to some extent.