Outstripped

Table of
Contents

Chapter 1

Does it get any better than this?

Chapter 2

What happened?

Chapter 3

What ugly duckling?

Chapter 4

The ‘night life’ here sucks!

Chapter 5

The world is mine Oyster!

Chapter 6

1 plus 4 equals a lot more than 5

Chapter 7

Giving thanks

Chapter 8

It's the uniform

Chapter 9

Empire building

Chapter 10

Trojan (w) horse

Chapter 11

Boys and their toys

Chapter 12

Its all in the Music

Chapter 13

Mixing business with pleasure

Chapter 14

Rubber gloves

Chapter 15

Teenage voodoo

Chapter 16

Immaculate contraption

Chapter 17

What next?

Jody is
relaxing on a traditional teak steamer in the shade of her Bure (pronounced
“boo-ray”).

She’s on
a remote and exclusive island in the Yassawas off the North Western coast of
the Fiji mainland (Viti Levu). It would take less than ten minutes to walk
around the whole of this palm tree paradise and, as in all the best picture
postcards, its golden sand all the way round.

The Bure’s
bi-fold doors are open to the elements and to the spectacular view at one
strategically private end. Jody has her second margarita of the afternoon in
her right hand, waving gently back and forth, lightly caressing the air and is
quietly gazing out over the breathtaking turquoise sea, with some strong and
very friendly
local hunk lapping
diligently between her legs.

He comes
up for air (as he occasionally does) with a
dirty
big sticky smile on his face and blocks her unrestricted vista of tropical
perfection. Just a little! After all she can still see around the outside of
her knees and her open Sulu, which has now slipped down her soft, tanned and
shining thighs like a delicate chiffon scarf in a leg waxing advert.

"I haven't
finished with you yet." She says in an assured yet mockingly scolding
manner.

"Back
to work!" She snaps.

Whilst
Jody revels in her "nether pleasures" she rolls her tongue around the
straw a few times then draws in a little more citrus and alcohol and wallows in
the decadence of her situation with a huge and glorious sigh.

Jody is
reminiscing on how she ended up here.

A smile
came over her. Then an upwardly diagonal and unfocussed glance together with a
light pursing and squashing of her lips in a questioning but enjoyable moment.

It’s all
followed by a momentum-gathering, thoroughly confident, multi-nod and a
comprehensive, self-gratifying, mental acceptance of a monumental achievement
worthy of "back slap" and accolade.
O.M.G.
had she done well!

Smart?

Clever?

Best in class?

You bet
your ass!

Luke
Banner’s vehicle is just arriving at his pre-arranged destination.
Spacious and comfortable.
No expense has been spared here.

He’s
very smartly dressed, and deservedly so, like the businessman he's made of
himself.
Full suit and regalia.
One of his assistants
attends to the passenger door on his behalf and then stands to attention, one
pace back.
 

Luke
eases himself out onto the ancient, weathered and charactered cobblestones. He
always did like the feel (and sound)
of a ‘good
quality’ leather sole on stone. He arches his back, rises on the balls of his
feet, then down again. Stretching after his long journey without extending arms
but instead keeps them behind his back.

He takes
a look up and down his smartly dressed and regimented audience and then his
grand yet unfamiliar surroundings before being ushered towards the imposingly
large gates. He couldn't help thinking to himself how incredibly well
maintained and presented they were.

"Her
Majesty awaits" A deep and particularly common but authoritative accent,
hails.

“Definitely
somewhere up
North
.” He thinks to himself.

“Get “A”
fuckin’ move on
will
you?” The common, and
definitely
authoritative accent now
decides to show his true colours and spoils the moment for everyone. Well
especially Luke. And now the romance of prison is over before it ever had
chance to begin.

Luke is
trying to deal with his predicament in his usual irreverent manner.

“It’s
gotta be a joke.”

“It’s
got to be a fucking joke.”

“Surely?”

“Come
on.”

“This
isn’t happening.”

“How the
fuck can this have just happened?”

123
days, 5 hours and 17 minutes earlier, Luke's unwelcome and unfathomable ordeal
began. Or so
he
thought.

It began
far, far earlier for Jody.

“Stop
rabbiting on to yourself and get a fuckin’
move
on.”

We all
know the one about the "ugly duckling". Well I wouldn't call what
happened to Jody a fairy story but it did happen and, "Oh my God",
was it a big surprise? And not just to her.

Looking
back, she really didn't know how she made it through high school or rather
"Grammar School" as the chief nun insisted on calling it. It was
“Chiefy’s” way of harking back to the days of a "proper education" at
a "proper establishment", and although I say chief nun, she had heaps
of other names:

"The Dalek".
Which
was an obvious and funny reference to her habit (excuse the pun) and the way
she glided around like “Doctor Who's” nemesis.

"Mary
Madge". A rather derogatory dig at the fact she ran the school as a
Dickensian dictatorship and gave off the whiff of an absolute "legend in
her own knickers" or the reincarnation of the somewhat revered biblical
sinner turned good (true or otherwise). Mary Magdalene that is, and the very
name by which her penitentiary was known. I mean school.

"She
who must be obeyed."
An obvious one.

"The
Bitch." Not really called for but it seemed appropriate at the time.

“The
Anti-Christ."

“The
Boss."

"El
Diablo."

….
And at least several hundred more.

“Maggie”
also seemed spectacularly appropriate, especially in the light of Maggie
Smith’s stellar performance in the old classic “The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie”.
But the mentor like role, as it was, and the legend that actually is “Maggie
Smith” gave this term of endearment
too
much endearment
. It was consequently outlawed for use as a nickname in the
unspoken “
rules of school”
.

As I was
saying Jody really didn't have a clue how she made it through high school. She
wasn't particularly tall.
Not exactly popular.
Couldn’t be classed as attractive. Not even to
herself
.
At home.
With her mirror! Not even when she pleaded
with it (the mirror that is) with all her heart. She did think about the whole
poisoned apple
thing, back then, but
didn't have the guts to go through with it. There were too many "Bloody
Snow Whites" anyway. She wouldn't have been able to keep up with the lies
and the cover stories, even if she could have conjured them up. Too much of a
‘prig’ you see.

At the time.

So,
although not particularly attractive, or tall, or popular, Jody did have a certain
intellect. Above average but not a complete book wrangler. Smart but not super
intelligent.
Clever but occasionally lacking in wisdom (or
rather “street smarts”).

Her
underlying issues and consequently the cause of all her troubles revolved
around her
big problem
with the
"right and wrong" thing, and the logic, or rather the lack of it, in
bad behavior, breaking the rules and injustice.

Not
hers.

Everyone else’s.

Anyway,
collecting her thoughts, Jody turned to what used to be the happiest day of her
life. The day she finished high school.

It was
as if a two-ton weight had just been lifted from her chest and she could
immediately start to rise again. Resurface above her deep and dark river of
shame and ridicule and finger pointing and sniggering and bullying and just
about everything else you can curse an average downtrodden teenage misfit with.

It’s not
unusual of course but in Jody’s case this wasn’t your average teenage self-pity,
borne of pretend shyness and a defiant reluctance to actually meet the world
head on, and say “Hi.”

This was
real! It was real enough to touch. It was real enough to see and smell. And it
had left a lingering, festering, malignant anger ingrained in her psyche.

But
today, the day of her release, it would all disappear. She would be cleansed.
Washed with a spirit so heady it would make her lips curl upwards. It would
make her cheeks glow. It would make her eyes light. It would
even
make her smile!

Jody
collected her exam results from the Dean of year, Miss Jett, or “Suffra” as the
girls called her, on the grounds everyone under her command went through hell.
It was as though word hadn’t reached her yet that women had
got the vote
so everyone was treated to
her opinions on equality, and women's rights, and challenging the system, and
blah, blah, blah.

She
was
right of course, but she just came
across as some sort of “Super dyke”.

Jody’s
results were good.

Not
fantastic, but enough to get her where she wanted to be, which wasn’t just out
of school. It was out into the real world.
Somewhere away
from all this.
Somewhere new. Somewhere where nobody knew her.
A chance at a fresh start.
A chance to be
somebody else.
A new Jody.
A
phoenix of a girl.

She got
her “A” in Math’s and a “B” in English wasn’t too bad either. A couple of “C’s”
in General studies and Spanish completed the list. She was hoping for better in
Spanish but “Never mind. It’ll do.”

“Not as
good as we were hoping for Jody. Is it?” said Miss Jett.

Now Jody
had been brought up to respect her elders, not answer back, do as she was told,
and to always do the right thing.

Over the
last few years, however, her sadly dwindling resources of respect for others
had been metaphorically and literally beaten out of her.

The
first retort that came to mind was torturously held back before it caused any
unnecessary aggravation.

“Re
vera
, cara mea, mea nil refert.”

Which is
Latin for “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn!”

It was
not going to be prudent at this juncture.

Instead
she slowly looked up from her results sheet and rested her gaze on “Suffra”.
With closed lips she extended her jaw forwards, took a deep breath and snorted
her disdain.

She
looked down, again, at her results. Then, without lifting her eyes toward her
‘superior-no-more,’ bent her knees, reached to her side and picked up her
school bag. She turned around and huffed and puffed her way out of Miss Jett’s
office. Then, down the corridor, left into the cloakroom, out the other side
and through the double entry/exit doors, down the eight concrete steps, she
knew better than herself, and then counted her footsteps to the school gate.

One
hundred and seventeen purposeful paces later she was one step outside the
gates. Jody turned around and, in traditional “Three Amigos” fashion, she crisscrossed
her hands alternately between shoulders and hips and gave the best hip-thrust
she could muster.
Outside of
bedroom practice
that is.

“Fuck
this school, and all who sail in her.” She shouted, and then produced a host of
one and two fingered salutes, for good measure.

This was
the first time Jody had ever uttered anything stronger than “Piss, Bastard,
Bloody or Shit”. It felt good! And it showed!

Jody
then got a little carried away with the moment. Her derisory jubilance was
taking her places she had never been before. Knees bent and wide apart, tartan
skirt riding high up her thighs, she was now grinding out some challenging
tribal confrontation with all guns blazing and fingers firing obscenities. Even
the “All Blacks” would have been proud of this performance.

Jody’s
qualifications were enough to secure her position with a big travel agency in
London. She’d already received the job offer three weeks earlier but everything
was riding on these results.

University
never interested Jody. School was
enough
.
She wasn’t going to subject herself to any more of ‘that crap’. So a career,
straight out of school, was the target. There were not many firms taking high
school leavers at the time so she’d been very lucky to find one to take her on.
The agencies had come up trumps and although not her first choice, out of those
available, Jody’s soon-to-be employer was at least:

·
     
In the City. Which fell in
nicely with ‘her new life’

·
     
On the map. Which meant she
could ‘have a real career’

·
     
International. Which meant she
could really ‘go places’ and ‘do stuff.’ If she played her cards right.

The
little sheet of paper she now had in her possession, with the A’s, B’s and C’s
in all the right places, was her ticket to a new existence. The actual
certificates came later but the results were all that counted right now.

“Time
for some burning.”

Jody had
been planning this for ages. The thought of a fire was always exciting but this
occasion was a world way from ‘warm glows, marshmallows and introspective
reflection’. This was flame licking, heat seeking, memory wiping and
re-birthing all with a hint of sadism and ritualistic pleasure thrown in.

Jody was
meticulous. She didn’t just throw a pile of books and uniforms onto some
burning wood. She spent the best part of a day making sure each and every
school book
was connected somehow to “Those Bastards” and
remembered in all its shame, before watching it fall, darken, shrink, curl,
glow, burn, smoke and die in the flames. Some providing a myriad of extra
colours as the various prints and inks on the pages within gave off their own
little versions of the Aurora Borealis.

‘The
uniform’ provided her with
special
memories. The actual clothes she was wearing when “it” happened were marked and
could not be mistaken. These would be saved for last. Indelible ink had been
used to inscribe each and every item of clothing worn when “it” happened.

It read
“W.A.I.F.A.” and it was meaningless to all except Jody.

It meant
everything to her.

It was
her reason to be.

Her mantra.

The
following day Jody buried the ashes and embers from her ‘private ceremony’.
Somehow ‘deep in the dirt’ seemed a final and fitting end to that ‘bygone era’.
She would have preferred to bury them at sea, but that was
never
going to happen. Not only did they not deserve such an
honour,
but
she lived too far away. And anyway “what
did she know about boats”. And she didn’t want any bibles involved either.
Which were “probably a pre-requisite”, she thought, when you organize something
formal like this at sea.

Jody
spent the next two and a half weeks metamorphosing into her new self. It was
going to be “a mission” but she had mentally pre-prepared herself for the task.

School
days are over for good and in her own words “It was time to get all grown up”.

Now as
luck would have it, Jody’s family wasn’t poor. They weren’t wealthy either but
the ‘Hoolah’ required for a transformation of this magnitude wasn’t going to
hurt daddy’s retirement fund. He kind of expected it anyway. So, when his
‘little treasure’ asked for the coinage for a new wardrobe and makeover, he
gladly obliged.
“A reward” as he put it, for her success in
her exams and a ‘leg up’ to start her new career on the right footing.

Now, as
you’ve probably guessed, Jody
wasn't
well versed in the art of 'girly' stuff.
At least, not the
‘grown up’ version of 'girly' stuff.
A lot of homework was required,
which was, once again, per chance, well within her capabilities, given her
previous stereotypical (but practical) activities in her very recent and
already forgotten past.

As we
all now know, the Internet is a great place to start for everything, but
somehow, there was so much more to be gleaned at the coalface.
Hairdressers, Nail Salons and Beauticians that is.

“Who
knew?”

Jody was
enlightened like never before. She discovered what incredible places they are
for whiling away the time, ‘ear-wigging’ on gossip, joining in and even
creating more gossip, browsing, studying and mentally downloading magazine
after magazine on ‘what and what not to wear’, ‘how and how not to look’, ‘what
and what not to say’, ‘how and how not to act’, do, eat, sleep, shit, fuck and
everything else. Especially if you wanted to ‘get’ and ‘go’ places or
needed to
as in Jody’s case.

And from
the pages of these ‘
Power to the Pussy’
magazines Jody’s already growing confidence took an escalator ride to the
clouds.

After
five hairdo's, three nail jobs, countless massages, facials and waxing’s, forty
four clothing sessions (at least) and two jewellery parties, the new and
improved "Jody Mark II" had, not just been well and truly R & D’d
(researched and developed), she’d been put into production and constructed!

There
would be no more bad hair days, duffle-coats, boring outfits, cheap shoes, bras
that didn't fit, one color make-ups, unbranded handbags, men's watches, CND
badges, bobble hats, student seconds or charity shop specials. Never again!