It started as a simple home game, the Space Needle towering above me as I walked from the revolving café to the arena across Seattle Center plaza. My home was Seattle, but my heart was in New York, and with the looks of the native New Yorker in my home and the native hick in New York, that would be both of my hearts. I will not be ashamed of who I am: I am a lesbian groupie. It helps your confidence when your center has only been in the league 4 years, is 22 and is already well beyond Wilt Chamberlain's pace for the all-time bedding record. But I could have Lauren any night I wanted- that is, provided she has space in her appointment book. Even then, her pictorial can get me through the offseason well enough. I was here for the little one: little Becky, the sharpshooter, who from what I heard read enough about Seattle's club scene to leave her twin at home and try out some of the locals. My blue jersey shone bright at the game, a beacon among the red, green, and sienna of the Storm. As she reached over the railing to sign the back of my jersey my sly grin as I turned my head obviously caught her eye even if she did her best to hide it. After the game I met her again and she asked me where she could get a midnight latte. Anyone who is even the least bit attracted to the same sex knows what that means, so I gave her the name of the local lesbian bar called "The Eye" and proceeded to head over there myself. A half hour later she walked in with her teammates. All they said about her was true; she was truly a huntress, her eyes sweeping the room until she spotted me. Her hair was neatly undone, and she wore tight blue jeans with a faded Mt. Rushmore T-shirt. She walked straight over to me, a big smile on her face.

"You were expecting someone dainty?" she asked.

"No," I replied. "Since when are there dainty things in South Dakota?"

Becky just laughed and put her hand on my knee. I brushed back my bright red hair, feeling uncharacteristically nervous.

"Sometimes it seems everything in this league is the opposite of what it should be. Take Elena, for example, outside she looks butch and welcoming. She's cool and all, but well, she's a housewife. And me... only pretty things I like are girls and 12 gauges," Becky continued, and all I could was nod and stare at her well-built body, so girlish yet so unrefined. There was just something just damn sexy about it and she could tell as she led me back to her hotel.

"Don't think that coach is asking you for a quickie, the F word is all she can say," she warned as she led me in. She started undressing me and I started feeling strangely disconnected, more focused on her than I was on other girls I've had.

"You're good," I softly muttered as I fell into the bed, growing dizzier as she indulged in me and I closed my eyes.

I did not remember much after that until I awoke. Strangely I slept the whole night, and expected her not to be there, except that she was- somewhat.

Gone were the casual clothes, the plain cotton panties, the attitude, and the picture that she kept with her everywhere she went of her with her 12 gauge and a 12 point buck. Instead I found myself in a luxurious bed in the middle of a large bedroom on pink satin sheets. Becky seemed to be lying next to me, except she was in a pink nightgown, her bleach blonde highlights shining brighter than they ever had before, giggling in her sleep. The intense smell of perfume permeated the air and I had to stifle a sneeze as I got my jeans back on. I tried to head out the exit but I realized that for some reason, be it a weird dream or something, I wasn't in the hotel but in some suburban mansion. From the lack of rain and the brilliant sunshine, I wasn't in Seattle anymore, either. I found the door but not before being yipped at by a pet poodle. I quickly sneaked out the door, only to run into a large man who was looking at me strangely.

"I didn't think she brought back lost groupies anymore. You'd think she'd warn a husband... oh, well, welcome home. Have a good day. Game tonight at 7:30, here's a press pass. It's the least I can do; you'll never get back into the city in time to get tickets now."

I scratched my head as I walked outside, looking for anything at all familiar. Didn't take me long to figure out that I was in Westchester. I quickly found the train and made my way to New York. Next to me sat someone who strangely looked like Allison Feaster except she was dressed in a plain white dress and had a blank look on her face.

"Groupie is as groupie does," she said, her slow speech obviously showing that she was challenged not by the rigors of Harvard but by that of mental handicap.

"Excuse me? Who are you?"

"They call me Allie. My momma said that you can tell a girl from her clothes. That's why I always wear white."

I stifled my laughter. Even if it was some strange form of Allison, I realized she didn't know what she was saying.

"Yes, yes they do. You can tell I've traveled a long way."

"The longer you run the closer you get, even when you are further away."

This made no sense but I smiled at her as she got off two stops before I did.

As I got off I looked around and it all seemed like good old New York, the bustling, the bums, the beggars- ah, I knew there was a reason I moved out. Then I saw her, holding a tin can, dressed in rags, begging for change. I couldn't believe it at first but I could swear it was her even as I realized that she was not a beggar but a religious fanatic.

"Repent now!" she yelled at anyone who would listen, and even a lot of people who wouldn't.

"Sue? Sue Bird?"

"Yes! It is I, Suzanne. I am here from across the coast to deliver my message of hope and grace in the face of immorality!"

"Don't you have a game to get to?"

"I dedicate my life to spreading my message! That simple child's game is just a means to travel and to fund my crusade! I give back every dollar I earn to keep our children safe from the arms of the evil ones."

"What the hell?" I exclaimed.

"Do not doubt the word of God!" she screamed. That was when I ran to the subway, because I knew something strange was going on. Things looked different, so I pinched myself. Unfortunately, that did not deliver me back to my hotel room or even back to Becky.

I got off at 34th Street, looking for anything that appeared to be normal. I went to the Garden and I saw the box office line packed and it was only noon. Groans emerged when the sold out sign came up and people walked away.

"Glad I had my press pass!" I thought aloud.

I went to the press gate where I was invited in for afternoon warm-ups. Hopefully I'd meet Becky and I'd figure out what had happened to me, what kind of dream I was in or what kind of spell she put me under.

'Well, that's one way to stop groupies,' I thought. A tall woman loomed over me and tapped me on the shoulder.

"Hey, for once a press person who runs on Tari time! Well, let's get this interview over before everyone else shows up. After all, the last thing you want to do is be late- you might end up out for nine months, if you know what I mean."

I couldn't believe my ears- Tari Phillips, early? I knew now I was not in my own world. Her sloppy jeans, tangled hair, and casual demeanor cemented the idea. And then it happened.

"Ohhh, I get it, you're no reporter, you're my pregame warm-up! Well, then on your knees, bitch!"

Now, Tari Phillips as a dominatrix has been a long-standing fantasy of many of my butch counterparts. I, however, am not butch and don't get why getting your ass kicked is sexy. So as she changed into her leathers, I snuck out and reached the empty court area. Except there was the coach. Good old Pat Coyle, everyone's favorite target- except that she was strategizing, in a good way. I knew that team and I knew how they could be beat, and Pat didn't miss a step, or utter a swear, or even show any frustration. Her assistant, however, was doing nothing but swearing and seemed to be little more than a yes woman.

'When Pat Coyle is smart and Stanley is dumb, I know there is something wrong,' I thought and went out to see if I could find Becky, see if she could do whatever she did to me to bring me here to bring me back home.

"Are you lost, little girl? I can show you the path." A voice called to me from behind. It sounded somewhat familiar and the Mormonist rhetoric clued me in that it must be Erin Thorn. She was nice enough, meek, not really a converter and quite tolerant so I turned around and saw her. It was obviously her but she was anything but meek. She was in knee high boots, fishnet stockings, short black skirt, white blouse, and leather jacket, a bright dog collar necklace around her throat. Her hair was buzzed down and what was left of it was dyed a bright shade of green.

"Don't be afraid. God can only take you so far, but Satan can take you further than anything. Besides, those fundie bitches think you're halfway there to begin with, from the way you're staring down my shirt. Like what you see? Well, then..."

Erin took off her blouse to reveal a very sexy black bra and she could tell I couldn't keep my eyes off of it.

"I take it you must be Tari's dance partner," I replied, although my attention was rapidly fading as she inched nearer. Did I mention I like black bras? And forward girls with short hair?

"Ehh, she's good for exercise but she can be boring," Erin replied as she led me into the boiler room. From the looks of the cot in the corner and other implements this was obviously Tari and Erin's den.

An hour later I emerged. Aside from the new set of black jeans, matching top and pentagram necklace I got as a gift- as well as being able to use the team's showers- she was somewhat uneventful and I didn't feel any fangs growing in my mouth. Given the weirdness of this world I would not put it past her. It was now four and the rest of the team arrived as did my beloved Storm. I scrambled around the green rooms and other press areas to find Becky and see if she knew why I was here. But when I saw her and Sue Wicks entering together, I gave up any hope of her knowing anything.

"Like, I don't know, Suzie, I don't know how they sneak into my bed, and I don't feel anything or see anyone, they all just leave. It's Bobby who keeps complaining when I wake up."

Becky was carrying a four-year-old who looked just like her while Sue could do nothing but giggle as she pushed a baby carriage, dressed in a long dress and high heels. Becky was in blue jeans and a pink button-down blouse. It scarred me for life.

I thought I might jog her memory with a wisecrack about the Becky I knew. "Hey there, is that a 12 gauge, or are you just happy to see me?" I said. Becky just went pale, threw her wallet at me, secured her child, and screamed.

"D-d-don't hurt me! I-I-I just have a little, you can have it! I don't fight! I love people! I don't even like to foul on the court, it just seems wrong!" Becky said and I had to laugh out loud.

"Like, it's just one of Erin's vampire chicks. She won't hurt you, Beck, besides, like, she totally seems like she expected you to, like, shoot her. Like, I wonder where she got that idea. Erin so messes with the brain sometimes, you know? Totally freaky," Sue said, giggling throughout. Becky just turned paler at the thought of her harming anything.

"Doesn't she know that I raised a plague of flies rather than kill them? Why would she think such an awful thing?" Becky replied as she turned to run away.

"Like, I dunno. You know Erin is, like, a total freak. Must be that weird metal music, messes up the brain, you know, like in that movie we saw. Makes people think everyone's, like, crazy or something. And I so thought it was just a movie! Like, we better scoot, 'cause oh my God we're gonna be late! Ummm see ya, I think," Sue said as they walked away, Becky still hanging on to her daughter tightly and trembling somewhat.

As if it hadn't been blatantly obvious before, I knew that this was some strange opposite world, at least in the way of the people. Although, given Sue's speech, I once again ran my tongue over my teeth, but still no fangs. I took it Sue only knew one language- maybe not even that, judging from what she'd had to say- and had a few kids kicking around.

I continued my search and bumped into a woman who didn't look at all familiar, and definitely not like someone who belonged at the Garden.

"Watch where you're goin'!" she said and I recognized the voice easily.

"Vickie Johnson?" I asked.

"Well, yeah." She seemed surprised I didn't recognize her. "You lost, or just hungry for human flesh again after Erin got through with you?"

The voice was exactly the same; so was the sense of humor and the frankness. But, well, she was pure white, and with a different attitude, she would have been another Britney wannabe. I walked away dumbfounded. Then I met a large black woman who I first thought was Tari, but she was darker and spoke with a heavy Belgian accent. I realized it was Ann Wauters- just more proof that everything was some kind of reversed. Whoever was not opposite mentally was opposite physically. This would explain fundamentalist Sue Bird, pacifist Becky, and Valley girl Sue, although Erin as a Goth I don't think anyone could prepare for.

I went out into the arena, pretty much not wanting to see what became of my Storm but realizing I had to see them. Like a car wreck, I had to know what happened.

In the arena I saw Mrs. Becky, and of course she had 4 kids, was clinging to her husband and looked nothing like Becky; for one, she was still brunette. I then saw my Storm come out, and I had to smile, because it was either that or cry. We had Lauren wearing extra long leggings and a T shirt under her uniform to cover up any skin, Sue Bird the fundamentalist, Adia Barnes looking like a total gangster, and Anne Donovan holding her clipboard upside down before a rather serious-looking Simone Edwards set it right for her. The game was normal enough, but then came on the halftime poster children with the normal moral messages and I couldn't contain my laughter.

"As professional ballplayers, Tasha and I know we need to have every part of our game at our peak. And we know that you can't do that with drugs or liquor."

"Shit!" I thought. "Brandy Reed and Tot Byears as the anti-drug spokeswomen?!" I said the last sentence aloud and caught the eyes of some fans behind me.

"Of course! They're such model citizens! They make so much money and you'd think they were dirt poor and were grateful for every dime."

That made me even more determined to get home. I had to find that huntress, no matter what her name was, no matter what she did to me, I had to find her so I could get back to where I knew who I was. I knew there was another redhead like me somewhere in Seattle, most likely pushing a baby carriage and dumber than a rock.

I decided to use whatever money I had to get back to Seattle but instead I bumped into Betty Lennox, who was slower than molasses and built like a brick wall, but could handle the ball like nobody's business. She looked at me and saw my press pass and asked if I needed a ride to their next game. I nodded and the next thing I knew I was off to Detroit, hoping that someone would be able to lead me home.

I boarded the plane and the first thing I noticed was that it was a private plane. I scratched my head and asked if they always flew charter instead of commercial. This was met with a loud laugh and some jokes about the men's team. I was seated next to Lauren, which in my world would either mean we'd renew our membership in the Mile High Club, or I'd have no trouble sleeping on the flight. From what I had seen on the court, her body was still that mind-numbingly beautiful, but off the court she wore black drapery that covered her from head to toe. This would go along with the ski suit underneath her uniform at the game. She would not even turn her head away from the window and I just sighed. I could hear Sue in the back rattling off prayers and an occasional sarcastic murmur from Adia that let me know how disinterested she was in Sue's recitation. I then saw Michelle Marcinak sitting across the aisle. She was dressed in sweatpants and seemed to be nursing her wounds from the game. I went over to her, and she seemed so shy and frail. In one sense I should have expected it, but I was still surprised when I spoke to her.

"Hi," she said meekly, trying to hide her face, a far cry from the crazy woman I'd heard wild stories about at the Key. She looked at me strangely but smiled. "Oh, I know what you're thinking, and I think you're cute too, but game days just wear me out and we have back to back games, I don’t know how I’ll find the energy. Besides, I don't want to miss time with a broken nail."

Although I was relieved that she was still lesbian I couldn't believe how frail her opposite was. Everyone else on the team seemed to be as I remembered them if I put everything in reverse. However, I still thought a Lauren Jackson who covered up even her face was more than weird, even for this world. I noticed even the little things. The fancy mansion was Becky's and the women took team charters because they were the sold-out sensation while the men struggled to eat. I guess there was some good in that world.

I used the rest of the flight to catch up on some sleep, hoping that would get me somewhat closer to home. When I woke up on the ground, awakened by none other than a "Lord said you got to rise up" from Sue Bird, I realized that their next day was in Detroit "home of your 28-time World Series champion Detroit Tigers". So I knew I was still in reverse world.

Adia caught up to me as we deplaned. "You're staying for the game, I take it. Man, I saw you on the plane. Not much for us queers to do on a plane except maybe let Sue read us to sleep out of that Bible. It's a relaxing hobby, and we bust up once we're behind closed doors. Poor thing thinks I'm becoming like her. Ha! If she knew how good her lectures made for bedtime reading she'd be one of those TV God fools like Rosie O'Donnell. Me, I watch Jerry."

"Springer?" I asked coyly.

"The mayor of Cincy? Fuck no! Falwell, the ultimate gay entertainer! Sure he's one of the boys, but I don't care if she's a lesbian sex goddess, there ain't nothin' pretty about Tammy Fay!"

I almost broke up laughing at the idea of Jerry Falwell as a gay icon, but I guess the idea of Rosie O'Donnell as a lesbian ambassador in my world would be just as comical. I looked at Adia closer; as much as I wished she'd leave the stained glass closet in my world, this woman was completely butch, with no qualms about being big or strong. If I didn't know better I'd think the team traded for DeTrina White in the locker room. But I still liked her personality and I tried an experiment.

"What if I told you that I know that Ellen DeGeneres is a gay goddess?"

I promptly saw Adia run the other direction and Sue Bird run toward me spewing Bible rhetoric.

"How dare you call the head of the church a dyke!" she screamed.

Adia screened for me. "I'll hold her off, but you better run!" she yelled at me. It was a good idea.

I ran through the airport and made it outside and hitched a cab to the Palace. Indeed the Shock were there... well, some of them. There was a short black woman with short hair combed straight and glasses. She was out with the coaches and a woman who appeared to be Astou Ndiaye but, well, where were the triplets? And since when could she shoot free throws like she was Becky or something?

"Must I explain this again, William? The point of release of the shot determines its trajectory, which in turn fixes its flight path. The speed of the shot determines its relative shape as it enters the cylinder and therefore a hard shot is less likely to go through the cylinder than one with a high arc, like so-"

The woman stepped to the line, adjusted her glasses, and proceeded to hit a free throw... underhanded.

"An underhanded shot creates a high arc and low speed, creating a higher probability of the ball entering the cylinder. It also helps to account for the variables created by the glass backing of the cylinder, the outer edge of the cylinder and the metal block attaching the cylinder to the glass backing. I admit it is counterintuitive, especially considering the form of a game-action jump shot, but with time and training, it is far more effective than a standard position."

I shook my head in confusion and when the rather meek-looking Coach Laimbeer called her Tweety- at least that was what I thought I heard- my jaw all but dropped.

As she walked off the court I approached her. "Could I talk to you for a moment?"

"Indeed. Ah, a journalist? From which esteemed publication?" she asked.

"Umm, the Seattle Times."

"I would guess that you'd be here for the sport then. Any paper named Times is little more than gossip and hack writing. I'd rather read a distinguished paper like the New York Post any day. Anyway, I would still never say no to an object of beauty," she said with a smile.

I decided that if anyone knew how I got here and how to get back, it would be her. So I asked. "Deanna-"

She grimaced. "Please. It's Deana." She pronounced it DEE-nah.

Well, that was different. "Sorry. Deana. Anyway, I think something strange has happened to me. I used to live in a world like this, but different. For example, Lauren Jackson posed nude, your coach was a thug, and, well, you were..."

"Given your path of absurdities, I take it mental retardation was involved," she replied.

"I wouldn't say that. It's just that she'd need a calculator to figure out how much a three-pointer was worth."

She winced at the thought and headed to more pleasant topics. "If Lauren Jackson chose to disrobe for a pictorial, I would not object. I must say I have heard of this phenomenon before. It was rare, but it did happen to someone here, several years ago: one day she was an avid outdoorswoman and a lesbian, the next almost a caricature of femininity. In fact she plays in the league. Her name is Rebecca, though she prefers the diminutive Becky."

"That explains a lot. The last thing I remember of my world, I was just laying down for her."

"Ahh, yes, this would make sense. Was this one tall? When the huntress we remember returned as a feminine woman, she lost a substantial portion of her height."

"No, she's 5'6"."

"Our huntress was 6'5", and there was a 6'5" woman who changed like that at the same time, as excessively vapid as the other was hard-edged. It would be logical if there were some tie. Do you have a 6'5" giggler in your world?"

"Sort of. Same name, sorta, but she's like Ms In Between. And yeah, her name is Rebecca. She's never been a Becky, though."

"You said you woke up here after homosexual intercourse with the Becky of your world, correct?" Deana pondered.

"Yes, although I don't remember much of it."

"What a pity. Anyway, if there was some crossing of traits, one would fathom you need to find the other subject. My feeling is that sexual contact with someone of this condition acts as some sort of portal."

"Well, umm, I've done it here. Please tell me Erin Thorn hasn't converted to Mormonism."

"Oh, I doubt that is a danger; there would almost certainly have to be some colleague of hers as similarly linked to her as Becky and Rebecca are to one another. I believe two things must have happened at the same time at each end. I could elaborate, but it's really complicated and just a hypothesis."

I shook her hand. From the look on her face it was obvious that she demanded payment in one form or another for her advice. Fortunately, she was practical enough to have some necessities in the locker room. I wasn't a fan of having every move explained in Latin to me, but she knew what she was talking about. Unfortunately I did not wake up at home or have her replace the Tweety of my world.

"Homosexuality is a good thing; it carries no risk of pregnancy and is unknown enough you do not need to be bored by monogamy." Deana said absently as she put her uniform back on.

I had to laugh before I settled down to plan my next step. Deana had told me what I would have to do. I had to find and seduce Rebecca Lobo. But first I wandered into the ladies' room to try to regain my composure. Deana was not kidding when she said that there was a scientific location to make things everlasting. I wish she diagrammed it. I was just catching my breath and readjusting some things when I was damn near gassed by the smell of smoke from the next stall.

"Good God, whoever that is, do I need to call the fire department?" I asked.

"Oh fuck you, bitch! For fuck's sake, this is my place to do what I want and I won't let anyone stop me from my smokes or my whiskey. I went to fucking Notre Dame, and for fuck's sake, no one fucks around with the Irish. Now fuck off!" The voice sounded familiar despite the addition of a brogue. I saw her leave the stall, whiskey bottle in hand, barely able to stand but not seeming to notice. She had a leather jacket on over her uniform and the only thing that confirmed that it was Ruth Riley was her headband, even if it was in the form of an Irish flag bandanna.

"For fuck's sake, what are you staring at, you daft motherfucker? What, you don't think I can do well drunk? Don't you know I play all my games like this? That one time I was sober, I couldn't hit a shot. Now if you don't fucking like it, little girl, fuck the bloody hell back to where you came from!" I then couldn't breathe after she exhaled her cigarette in my face.

After catching my breath and trying desperately to wash out the stench of cigarettes from my clothes, I quickly realized that the best place to find this Lobo character would be in Connecticut, the first place she'd played and the last. I decided not to stick around for the game and instead hitched a ride for the plane. Back at the airport I noticed that there was someone familiar lurking around. It was none other than Kelly Mazzante; from this being the 2nd Sting player I'd seen out of any context at all, I assumed there had never been a Charlotte Sting. The footage on the TV of Tammy Sutton-Brown in training camp with the Maple Leafs seemed to second the motion. I quickly moved away from her. I didn't want to find out how Penn State ended up. But she followed me into the ladies' room.

"Hey there, baby, whatcha running away from a game for? Saw you come out of Tweedy's car. Brainiac knows the scientific formula for making everything linger on for a long time," she said with a leer.

"I'm trying to get back to Connecticut. I was here for the last game, and I gotta go home now. Deana just has her kinky ways of saying goodbye," I replied although I could see that Kelly found me attractive and there was no way she was going to let me pass without at least trying to seduce me.

"Please. Rhodes scholar and graduate of Georgia- hell, she passed Jim Harrick Jr's tests- and she still thinks the answer to life is 42. Any Penn State alum can tell you the answer to life is always 69!" Kelly said with a wink.

"Well, really, I must be going. Nice talking to you," I said, worried I'd miss my flight, which I did not want to do especially since the second time the person at the ticket counter might realize my credit card wasn't even from this universe.

"Ah c'mon, you ain't gonna shoot me down that easy. No lesbian has ever resisted a Nittany Lion! We practice more moves in the shower than we do on the court and you know how Rene feels about breeders. After all, we eat out first week on the athletic meal plan!" Kelly said. I must admit that she was a good kisser- almost good enough to get the images out of my head of Rene Portland offering herself. My defenses were weakening when Helen Darling appeared behind her, and she WAS a darling, all dolled up in a shimmering blue dress with matching high heels. I could easily guess her idea of triplets would be her getting in on the two of us, but instead she just looked at Kelly.

"C'mon, Kelly, there are better fucks than some out of work groupie. Besides, we're gonna be late for the game and I wanna tease that God freak Sue and those other Storm virgins. There'll be others- hell, better-looking ones. This one looks like one of Thorn's coven!"

Kelly nodded disappointedly but not without first stuffing a piece of paper down my jeans and looking at me longingly. She made the universal "call me" gesture as Helen dragged her into one of the stalls. I saved the phone number in case it was the same number Kelly Mazzante had in my world. That would make a great night of crank calling when Charlotte was in town.

I boarded my flight to Hartford and caught a bus to the casino. I quickly saw the Sun milling about the slots. What happened there? Well, that's a story in and of itself, but let's just say I saw HER. Oh, no, not Rebecca, but a gay Lindsay Whalen on the prowl, and there was no way I'd pass that up. Lucky for me, she felt the same way and for the first time in a while I slept comfortably. The next morning I woke up and saw my customary press pass for the game. Some people get money on the dresser; I got press passes. I wasn't sure if I wanted to see what San Antonio looked like but I was right in the assumption that they were undefeated. Again I showed up early looking for Rebecca, but instead there was a girl who hypnotized me with her beauty moreso than even Lindsay. Given the path of this world, I dreaded to think who it was wearing that tight purple dress, short enough that she all but gave a peep show with each step. I imagined that plenty of cleavage was showing in the front. The fact that she was nearly 7 feet tall with her high heels on gave me another hint, but the only possibilities I could think of were Debbie Black and...

"Like what you see there, Red? Lindsay said you were pretty good, but you know me, ladies are like potato chips- can't eat just one. Don't worry..." Katie smiled as she led me back up to her room. She whistled as she took off her dress to reveal nothing but a matching G-string. Out of the closet came a slim, muscled brunette crawling out on her knees in typical bitch attire. Almond-shaped brown eyes regarded me lustfully, and she flashed a toothy smile.

"Mind the black threads. She got her training in Utah, and you know how rough they like it over there. She's a fun pet, not boring like that poser from BYU," Katie said with a smile. I never was one for getting double teamed, but Katie certainly had the looks and she wasn't kidding about her bitch's skill set, so I laid back and enjoyed it. When we were finished, Katie pulled out a porno mag. I was hoping she wasn't going to start with a mock the position game because I hated those and now really wanted to get out of this world. I don't care how good she was, doing Katie Feenstra was just weird! But instead she flipped through, found the kinkiest pose of her pictorial and signed it with a reference to her favorite page from the Kama Sutra underneath it. "A video is worth another round, you know..." I nodded and got my clothes on as fast as possible. Katie Feenstra an exhibitionist with a pet bitch who looked eerily familiar was one thing. Katie Feenstra a porn queen was quite another. I went back down to the arena now desperately seeking Rebecca. I had had quite enough; this was echoed when I saw Chantelle Anderson as the biggest germaphobe this side of Howard Hughes and PeeWee Johnson taking the 2 sets of triplets that Darling and Ndiaye didn't have.

I searched high and low until I found her, a dead serious tall woman in a business suit. She looked like the one I needed, but I'd learned not to assume, so I asked her who she was. Then I came on to her, hoping she would be easily seduced. But she seemed to know what was going on.

"Did the violent half of myself get bored of that clone I made for her and screw another earthling? Grrr. What a pain! Meet me in the back poker room after the game. I gotta earn something for this still happening. And I thought I'd have some peace after she went blonde."

"Shows what you have to learn," I said with a wink.

After the game I went back to the poker room and it was obvious that I'd have to win my trip home, or would that be lose it? There were a few other women in the room, and I took it that this was a strip poker game. Rebecca walked in, game face still on. I doubted she ever smiled.

"5 card stud, winning hand loses an article of clothing, first one naked gets the trip, the others stay here another day. Goddamn it, five in one week! I must make that clone more attractive. Or maybe she likes having her girls fade into thin air halfway through?"

I knew watching those poker shows ESPN would put on instead of the W would pay off one day. I quickly was down to my panties and drew a full house the next hand. I smiled as I took them off, making as much of a production out of it as I could, and pushed them at Rebecca. She nodded acknowledgement and then laid me on the table with brisk efficiency. Sure enough, I started drifting off immediately.

Next thing I knew, I was back in Seattle. A week had passed and I had angry messages from my boss on the answering machine. I lied and said I'd been sick. Being transported to another universe isn't exactly a legit reason to miss work. Just to make sure I was in my world, I went to the game the next night and whistled at a couple of blondes. I never was happier to have Feenstra give me a dirty look, or to have Lauren wink at me. I had little to show of my trip, except one thing.

"Hiiiiiiiiiiiii there Kellllleeeeyyyyyy... remember me, sex-ay?"