Diana Moon was in deep shit.
She was supposed to break into the warehouse owned by the members of Clean Hearts Under Rapturous Christ’s Hierarchy and do some basic sabotage of their literature. C.H.U.R.C.H. had been distributing threatening pamphlets to pharmacies, teachers and librarians. Most groups just suggest that damnation might be the final reward of sinners, but these fliers have been explaining how an exploding car or maybe a sniper bullet was a more immediate concern. Diana’s superiors decided that maybe it would be best if such threatening literature never made it out of the warehouse.
The midnight break-in was a low risk operation with only one security guard expected. For such a simple operation, Diana only brought a pistol and fantastic low cut black catsuit. In Diana’s experience, cleavage was all you really needed to get by a guard these days. She figured that a little tit would get her in, a kick to the back of the head and an act of arson later and she would be on to her next mission.
What she found was a damn militia group using the warehouse as a late night training course. The pamphlets were apparently just the first warning meant to be followed up by full blown hit squads. The crazy religious militants had made a mock up of a local abortion clinic and apparently practiced full blown military raids every night. The bastards were packing assault rifles, night vision goggles and a lot of really bad haircuts.
They were practicing one of their bombing drills when Diana walked right into the warehouse. Forty armed nutjobs shit their pants and then decided to open fire on the unknown person. In her dark clothes, they probably assumed she was an ATF agent. Diana cursed her luck as she took cover behind a school bus.
Things looked really bleak. Diana considered her options. She could call in reinforcements but the thing about belonging to a secret organization dedicated to combating censorship and over bearing morality groups is that you have to keep it a secret. That means getting in and out with a minimum of violence and publicity. A hastily assembled squad of killer women in the sexiest spy fetish wear ever would sort of give that secret away.
A ripple of gunfire shot up a poor mannequin near the bus.
“Fuck,” Diana said. She took out her cell phone and dialled a number she had saved for an emergency like this.
“Hello?” a sleep voice answered.
“Jeffery Stillmann?” Diana said.
“Yeah,” the voice said. “Who is this? And why are you calling me at 2 in the morning?”
“Jeffery, you might not remember me, but we went to High School together. We sat together in Senior English. This is Diana.”
“Diana?” Jeffery said. “Holy shit. It’s been what, close to 20 years? Wait, was that gun fire?”
“Yeah but they are really shitty shots,” Diana said. “The thing is, do you remember me? I had long black hair and I was kind of flat chested. I didn’t get my tits till I was twenty fucking three.”
“I remember you,” he said. “I mean, I know we didn’t talk much but we sat right next to each other, right? You always had really pretty hair.”
“Aww, you do remember,” Diana said.
All of the glass on the bus blew out from the grenade that was tossed in. Diana ran from the cover of the bus and dived behind some sandbags. She shot at a sniper and put a bullet in his forehead.
“I’m sorry Jeffery, did you say something?”
“Diana, are you in trouble? Should I be calling 911?”
“Of course not silly,” Diana said. “Besides, I’m four states away. That’s sweet of you to offer.”
There was a pause on the line. “Diana, how the Hell did you get my number?”
Diana squeezed off a shot and hit an older lady in the leg. Predictably, the other militia people wasted time taking care of their wounded.
“Look Jeffery,” Diana said. “I had the biggest crush on you, alright? I wanted to kiss you, hold your hand and go to the prom with you. But I never said anything and you were always trying to get into that bitch Cindy Bolden”s pants. I went to college, got recruited by a secret agency and long story short, I run missions and get shot at a lot.”
“Are you a terrorist?” Jeffery asked.
“I prefer erotic freedom fighter,” Diana said. She started crawling towards a row of boxes.
“The thing is Jeffery,” Diana continued. “I tracked your number down a few years ago just for an emergency like this. Jeffery, I need you to tell me about your cock.”
“What?” he said.
“Jeffery, I was barely sixteen and I was masturbating to fantasies about you every night. I thought about sucking your cock, holding your cock and fucking your cock. Your cock was all I lived for when I was in high school, okay? I never saw your cock but it was my favorite cock. You understand that?”
“Wow,” Jeffery said.
“Yeah, so listen up Jeffery,” she said. “I’m hiding behind a box of flammable pamphlets. In a minute, I am going to set fire to this box and try to make a run for it. I count over thirty heavily armed psychos gunning for me. This might be my last fucking night on earth so if it is not too much trouble, could you please tell me what your cock looks like? I think I have a right to know.”
There was a long pause. “Well, it’s about seven inches. Umm, I lean a little to the left.”
“Really?” Diana said. “This is good to know. What about pubic hair?”
“Yeah, it’s brown. Really curly. I try to trim it you know. My ex-wife used to complain about it.”
“A little hair is okay,” Diana said. “Any moles or birthmarks?”
“I do have a little brown spot right below the head,” he said. “It’s more of a birthmark I guess. Want to know anything else?”
“No, I think it’s time I made my mistake,” Diana said. “Thanks a lot Jeffery, that really meant a lot to me.”
“Sure,” he said. “Hey umm, are you sure there’s nothing I can’t do to help?”
“Jeffery if I get out of this, I am flying to your house and I’m going to give you a blowjob.”
“Wow, umm, okay.”
Diana hung up. She peeked out at the armed people who were looking for her. She didn’t see them as insurmountable obstacles anymore. She saw them as the fuckers who were cockblocking her date with Jeffery.
They never stood a chance.