The Invisible Tomboy.
By Henspurs cockscomb@juno.com
A feisty chick with a strange power takes charge.


Other than some wild details that I'll get to in a minute, I'm a typical young
tomboy with some pretty typical young tomboy urges. But not typical tomboy
problems.

For one damned thing, I'm now invisible.

No shit, invisible. Just like in the books and movies and in your daydreams
and erotic fantasies. THAT kind of invisible.

No one can see me. I can't even see myself.

I don't have a shadow, a reflection, and I don't show up on infrared or
ultraviolet. Those wacky night-vision goggles they've got can't pick me up.
I'm plain in-visible.

That can be a whole lot of no good, especially when a

tomboy is lonely and needs to take care of things.

I knew I was special though, so special that a lot of people with millions in
resources would be after me. And I knew I was vulnerable. I had to go around
naked. My clothes didn't turn invisible with me. Neither do the items I touch,
you know...food, money, keys, all that kind of crap. I had to do everything
without being observed and somehow avoid exposure. No chance to see a doctor
if I got hurt or sick. I was in a fix. A real fix, I guessed.

Yeah, but I'm solid for all that. I trip electric eye beams, register on
scales, affect air currents, leave footprints. I could get into a whole lot of
trouble even when no one sees me. I've had to attack and even kill people to,
you know...avoid capture, but that's the hand I was dealt, I guess.

Hate me if you want to, but I'm not a mean bitch, at least, I don't think I
am. My morals ain't exactly the same as my Great-grandparents, but he lived
way back in a different world than I do now. Than WE do now. I'm one of you,
after all. Just with a few significant differences.

And isn't everybody these days bitching about CHANGE?

Sure, I've had to do some low-down sneaky things, but only when I've...had to.
Me, I don't believe in hell.

That helps.

I'm a survivor.

My name?

Sorry, I can't give it out, but I've come up with some pretty awful nicknames,
monikers and aliases: Cleery, Ms. Glass, Ms. Pane, U.N. Owen, Van Eesh, Daisy
Peer, Yu

Nosimi, I.M. Ware.

How old am I? Good question. I've got no baby teeth left. I've got a big rack,
some grown-up body hair--not much, which is really cool because I can't shave
regularly, and I can't even see what I'm trying to shave off of places I can't
see in the first place. I'm not big-boned, and I've got some good muscles
which I mostly use for climbing.

People who are hunting for me rarely look straight up, so I've learned some
gymnastics to get off the ground in a hurry and hang on tight until it's safe
to walk again. I probably already said I leave footprints.

Once, I walked over a newly-waxed floor in my bare feet and that stuff was
hard as hell to clean off. Oh yeah, and I've accidentally brushed up against
wet paint, varnish.

There have been times I didn't rinse soap off me or brush away pet hair and
leaves and burrs and other crap that would tend to give me away...it's not
easy being invisible, let me tell you.

I go through periods and have mood swings and chocolate cravings and
masturbate a lot. The last time I tried on clothes, I wore sweat pants and a
jersey. I feel trim, maybe kind of athletic. I've walked over some fragile
things without breaking them and stowed away in small cars without the driver
getting suspicious about extra weight. I stepped on a scale recently---without
saying too much, I'm more or less fit. That's good news. Good news because I
can't, you know...go to a doctor. I don't dare get seriously hurt.

Oh wow! Who'da thought a nobody like me would turn into what I am now? Not me,
I can tell you. Trouble is, my big boobs flop and dangle and bounce and you
know...hang out without anything to cover up--usually. In really cold weather,
I can dress up in a "panoply" of ripped-off winter clothes with a scarf and
snow-goggles to cover my face.

When I'm dressed up like that, I look pretty weird, I guess, and nice kinds of
people don't come near me.

Other than that, my whole body is exposed to the cold a lot and my nipples are
almost always hard. When I can sneak into and stay overnight in a department
store with no motion sensors, I can feel my nipples, you know...relax at room
temperature. Convention centers and sports stadiums are good places to stay
warm and dry, provided I can make a

hidey-hole in an out of the way place.

People don't like to open up to a chick who with big problems, so for a long
time I got no action of my own...but I got a front row seat to lot of fucking
that went on when people didn't know I was a yard away. That changed. Because
if it hadn't changed, I wouldn't be around to tell this story.

I remember my twelth birthday party--the last one I actually celebrated.
Months after that, I began to show vague signs of translucence. The change was
very slow. I woke up alone one day wondering where my mom was. She didn't
show, but lots of other people did, oh, wow!

Smart me, I picked a good place to hide. While "they" searched the house for
hours, I hid on the roof naked without moving. I couldn't go back inside. That
was September; the warm weather would last a few more weeks and then the real
cold would set in.

Huntsville, you know...was no place to be naked in winter.

I might as well tell you about the time I had to get tough and low-down to
survive.

It was a breezy day and that made all the difference.

A late summer tourist, likely an American on his first (and last) trip north
of the line, was trying to carry on a spirited conversation on his cell phone
and count a handful of multi-colored bills and put away his shiny new
passport. Fumbling with the unfamiliar money, the bank receipt and the
passport he walked from the outside of the bank, making for a nearby coffee
shop with me behind and off to the side, completely unseen.

Whoops! Puddle. Little detour and back on track.

"Yeah," the tourist growled into the phone, squashing it between his shoulder
and his ear to speak hands-free.

"Awwwww, I dunno...some damn street...I'm not near a corner...No, I don't know
where I am! I just said that! No, I don't see one. I don't see one of those,
either. The fucking thing is in French, you know I can't read shit in French!
Oh. Oh, that's funny. I just exchanged $500.00 at some fucking bank...how much
did I get? Well, it came out like this...."

With the wind gusting, his jacket didn't stay put and he bungled a dip into
the pocket for his wallet.

He ducked into an alley to get off the sidewalk and that's when I struck.

I brought a hand up underneath his own, good and hard. That surprised him
enough to relax his grip and the wind did the rest. Some of the bills
fluttered and fell along with the passport and in another moment, his phone.

"Shit!"

Ignoring the blue bills, I went after the ones printed in light red and tan.
Oh, wow.

The tourist was too paranoid to ask anyone near him to help and he all but
threw himself on the little pile of blue and green currency, scooping and
clawing, unable to get it all within reach.

Pantomiming the wind, I lofted the high denomination bills, twirling them in
the air in my invisible fingers.

I hid the money and waited.

More than enough to get my "partner's" van out of police impound in Ottawa.
Rory drove his grandpa's battered VW around town while he worked up the cash
to take care of the impound. The VW was overdue for repairs. The roof leaked
and the heater didn't work. Pretty raw for living in. I wanted Rory's van. We
could live in that thing if we wanted to, and I wanted to. Of course, the cops
weren't going to release his wheels without being paid up first. Since Rory
didn't work regularly, I had to come up with the money. Any way I could. Even
stealing.

Swearing, the tourist stomped into the alley, knocking over everything he
could move to recover the bills...all the while wondering exactly how much he
had lost and if he was looking in the right spot.

When he didn't move on, I threw a good-sized cardboard box at him, waiting for
a wind gust to "sell" the illusion.

The box hit him squarely in the face and rolled on, flaps waggling in the
breeze.

Spooked, he ran for the street.

Well, forget him.

What I had to do next was convince Rory, an accomplice who maybe didn't want
to get into trouble. We had wind. Tonight, the news channel assured, we would
have rain and temperatures would plunge. I had no hiding place picked out and
I was hungry. I had a headache, too.

The VW bug was heavy, being loaded with all of Rory's worldly possessions. The
fuel tank was dry. His CPR dummy was in the driver's seat where I had
positioned it, looking like a human being with the addition of some heavy
clothes.

Meanwhile, I was outside, walking along with my arm in the window, holding the
steering wheel, pushing the car meter by meter to the water's edge.

Rory had moved to Buffalo with the idea of being a fireman, but he was too
wimpy and had a weed habit. He "flunked out" and came back to Ontario like a
sore loser.

Our argument that afternoon through a chain-link fence was a short one. I was
on the street by the drainage canal. Rory was in the fenced off yard of a
hostel, flaking out until supper.

"Awww, jeez," Rory said. "Ottawa's a good drive. I dont' feel like going all
the way up there in the rain."

"Check out of this place...or I'll push your grandpa's car in the canal."

He saw his grandpa's VW right where I said it was. I told him about the money,
but he still balked. I left him to go back to the VW and roll it a little
closer to the drop-off.

"Shit, you! That's not cool at all," Rory said. "I'd never do a thing like
that to you, eh?"

"Let's hit the road before it starts raining. Bum some gas off of somebody and
drive downtown. NOW!"

I pushed the fence hard, letting the crisscrossing metal mesh hit him in the
chin.

Unable to get through the fence, Rory had to run into the hostel where he was
staying and come around the front and then down a long street. When he got
there, he was more or less ready to cooperate.

Rory "bummed" some gas, but it wasn't enough to get us downtown. I ended up
pushing the VW again. This time, Rory was at the wheel. We, or rather, he
alone got some stares as the VW rolled along narrow streets without any engine
noise. Fortunately, it was only two blocks to the gas station and he pulled up
sharp.

The road, slick with the beginning of rain, hurt my feet and I slipped more
than twice, banging my knees on the bumper. But I was strong. My muscles were
good. No need to get exhausted, though. I couldn't chance falling asleep.

Our trust in each other was just about at the breaking point.

"Hey, why are we stopping here, eh?"

"This is good enough," I said. I told him where to find the money. But
something told me I'd better shadow him all the same. The first little drops
of rain were starting and it was getting cold.

"Stay in the car," Rory said. "I'll be right back."

"Hurry up!"

Rory found the money, all right, but with a small fortune (to us) now in his
pockets, wheels in his head started turning. With so much cash in hand, he
could go places and do things without me.

I couldn't let him do that. I had worked too hard to carve out a niche. I
needed a visible half to function.

"Don't get any ideas," I said, startling him. "Now gas up that heap of yours
and let's get on the road for Ottawa. It's getting dark, it's starting to
rain, you know."

"Now listen," he began.

"I'm in charge," I said, taking his arm, squeezing it.

"You're dumb if you thought I would stay in the car. I'm around even if you
can't see me."

There were people around us now.

Trying to look nonchalant, Rory hunched his shoulders and stepped out of the
alley and back onto the sidewalk.

"This isn't enough money," Rory said out the side of his mouth. "I want enough
at the end of the week to start over again. And I get to nail you, too. You
hear that?

$50,000. You need to hit a motel...and I know just the one.

So, you're not in charge. When the van is released from the impound yard, we
don't have much left. Unless we buy food and gas...and then we're completely
broke, eh? Did you think of that?"

I let go of him. "Once we're in Ottawa, I'll come up with some more money. And
maybe then I'll think about letting you ‘nail' me."

I had the advantage, but being invisible didn't make me invulnerable. I had to
fall asleep the same as him, maybe not in the car, but somewhere. I wanted to
sleep in a nice, warm, soft bed again, preferably without Rory, but if it had
to be with him, I could stand it for a single encounter.

Damn, I had to find another traveling companion, and soon.

But where?

(To be continued)