2 comments/ 6065 views/ 0 favorites The Shooter By: rikkitampa2014 Another in the series I call Erotic Satire ***** I gave my daughter's bare ass a pat as I pulled out of her. "That was wonderful, darling," I said. "Thank you, daddy. I needed that." "It's been too long." "I know," she said, deftly avoiding the wet spot and crawling to bed's edge. "But there's been so many shootings lately. What time is it?" "Almost nine-thirty." "Oh shit. I've got to get going." "What time's your flight again?" "Um, noon," she replied, running for the bathroom with a hand cupped under her vagina, to catch any of my semen's latent drip. "We're good," I said. "I'll get you there in plenty of time." Though I'm not sure Headley heard this last part over the loud burst of shower water. My 25-year-old daughter Headley is a Gun Violence Grief Counselor employed by the American Center for Disease Control (ACDC). Whenever there's an act of gun violence in the United States involving two or more fatalities (not including the shooter), which is pretty much every day, Headley or one of her cohorts is dispatched to the scene to provide counseling and support to whomever needs it. Since she works for the Feds her presence commands, and receives, a lot of respect. She's high priority. Like an FBI agent arriving at the scene of another mass murder. Today's assignment takes her to a suburb of Chattanooga where yesterday a gunman burst into a pediatric clinic and opened fire with an automatic weapon. Eleven were killed, including women and children, while another fourteen were injured, some of them seriously. The shooter, the media is reporting, was pissed at his ex-fiance, who had just been granted a restraining order against him. His ex worked as a receptionist at the clinic, and she was one of the eleven. Perhaps the real problem is men? Heterosexual men? I love watching my daughter take a shower. There's something so suggestive, and almost surreal, about watching her naked, revolving body through the frosted glass. For a moment I could almost fool myself into thinking it's my ex-wife's body, from 20 years ago. They're built almost identically. The same thickish thighs. The same width hips. Same boobs...Her mother, Ariel, left me four years ago. Headley and I fucked for the first time just months later. Headley called it a "grief fuck." I called it...the most erotic experience of my life. Besides, I may've been lonely at the time but I wasn't feeling all that much "grief." Headley has a unique take on father-daughter incest—PROVIDED it is between consenting adults. "A friend tells me I'm crazy but...If you had to deal with the kind of shit I deal with on weekly basis, you'd have a different outlook on what's insane or not. The epidemic of gun violence in this country—that's insanity. Topped off by this delusory interpretation of the Second Amendment. A little recreational sex between two people who love other? What's the big fucking deal?" "You told a friend about...?" "Oh, just in general terms. He was jealous. Don't worry, you don't know him..." Headley's attitude reminds me somewhat of an ER nurse I once knew (via the internet). She was from Scotland, as I recall. Following her three-consecutive-day, twelve-hour-a-day shift, she liked to be bound up with ropes and then "mummified" in cellophane with breathing holes and placed in a dark closet for twelve hours. A doctor friend of hers she trusted did this for her. She told me that everyone she'd ever confessed her fetish to had expressed "horror." But the real horrors, she said, were what she witnessed in the ER on a regular basis. BDSM was her...decompression. I watched a dripping Headley step out of the shower but let her get her own towel. It's funny. She loves fucking me but doesn't like me "babying" her in any way. Such as wrapping my arms around her with a thick bath towel and drying her body off. "I can dry my own self off, daddy!" So I contented myself with jumping in the shower after her while she moved along to pulling on panties and applying some makeup. "The Viagra's working wonders today," she joked, as our bodies crossed paths. "I could go again." Headley rolled eyes. "Down, boy. We don't have time." "I know. I'm just...When will you be back home?" I asked over the rush of shower water. "I don't know. A few days? Depends on when the next shooting is." The home we now share is merely a waystation for Headley. She spends most of her life in hotels, while constantly traveling to the latest "tragedy zones." I would say, all total, she spends as much as 300 days a year providing gun violence grief counseling. A lot of that is to-and-from travel time, but still... Just last year she received a special commendation from the President for her "selfless" hard work. That would be...the President of the United States. Just before he was gunned down by a madman who believed President Luck had a secret agenda to suspend the Constitution and turn the government over to a ruling cabal of Jewish intellectuals and communists, of which Luck was one. The shooter was an ex-Army corporal who'd served in the Middle East. He'd been dishonorably discharged, ironically enough, for failing an advanced weapons class and going AWOL. Of course, I also love looking at Headley in her underwear. Her bra and matching panties. I look at her now from behind, and off to the side. She's leaning in toward the mirror applying eyeshadow. Headley's not big on makeup. Just a touch here and there. She's the kind of woman who doesn't need it to look attractive. "Is that the pair we bought at V.S. last trip?" "Pair? What pair?" I'm naked. I glance at myself in the mirror. At the sag of my own balls below my aching-hard erection. "Um, your bra and panties." "I don't know. What's V.S.?" "Oh. Victoria's Secret." I'd taken my daughter shopping at the mall during her last "visit." "What's with the jargon, dad? Maybe. I think so," she says noncommittally. "Very cute," I observe. I know I shouldn't but I can't help myself. My mouth is watering. I come up behind my daughter and press my hard on against her right butt cheek. She gives me the boot. Snaps: "Will you do something about that thing?" "Like what?" "Go...jack off!" "Here? Now?" The idea of masturbating in front of my daughter is a turn on. Maybe jack off on her— "After you get back from the airport! You're incorrigible!" I droop like a delating balloon. I've made a tactical error. Overstepped my bounds. The time for "relief" sex is over. Headley is in work mode. She's dressed—even though it's eighty bucks worth of overpriced and skimpy V.S. lingerie—for action. She has her war-paint on. Her mind is on the shooting victims she needs to help. "Get dressed, daddy," she says, turning from me. I feel like an idiot. Horny again, on the ride to the airport I slide my hand over onto Headley's left thigh. She doesn't shake it off. Good sign. I give it a squeeze. "You OK?" "Fine." She glances at her iWatch. "I'll get you there in plenty of time," I say. "You always do," she sighs. I wonder how long Headley can keep doing this job. Suppressing her own sorrows to provide grief counseling to shooting victims in this "half-savage" country as the poet Ezra Pound described it. And that was a hundred years ago. We're still half-savage. The rest of the civilized world looks at us and thinks: Insane. Not that jingoistic Americans care what the rest of the world thinks, or knows. Headley lifts my hand. But it's only while she crosses her thighs, then she replaces it. She's heading to colder country so she's wearing ribbed burgundy-brown stockings under her short but tasteful dark skirt. My hand is on the stockinged part. I wish it were inside her lace panties, fingering her honey... "I have an idea how to start to end all this," she says, dead serious. "What's that?" "The epidemic of gun violence in this country." I give her thigh another squeeze. I tell myself it's a squeeze of encouragement. Tell me. "What's that, darling?" "Bill Gates or somebody like that..." "Yeah?" "Somebody filthy rich. Money to burn. He contacts every member of Congress and every U.S. Senator..." "And?" "He offers to double every bribe...er, excuse me, contribution the gun lobby has made on their behalf. Every member of Congress who's accepted money from the gun lobby? He says... 'I'll double it.'" "In return for...?" "Voting for strict gun-control legislation that will start this fucking country on the path to sanity. It would just be a start. But it would be a start. The culture is the problem. It's an epidemic. Like AIDS or something. I'd love to see if these pricks' loyalty is really to the NRA...or simply to their money." "Wow," I said. "Great. But it'll never happen." "No. Just an idea." My strong-willed daughter crossed her arms. "I have another idea." We were on the approach to the airport, departing flights. "Yeah?" "But I can't tell you what it is." "Why not?" "It's too wicked." "What is it?" "I told you. Can't tell you." "I'm your father!" "With his hand on his daughter's thigh." I pulled it away. As if from an electrical shock. We'd arrived at the unloading zone. Departures. I jumped out and pulled Headley's travel bag on wheels from the backseat. Because of her crazy job she always keeps one packed, ready to roll. She stood on the curb, I stood below. "So email me, text me, once you know your..." "I will." "And when you'll be home." "I will, daddy!" with a roll of the brown eyes. Stop babying me! I'm an adult! I'm your lover! We kissed goodbye on the lips. I wondered, briefly, what her second idea was. I thought about calling Dr. Lance. Didn't the ads say...Call your doctor for an erection lasting more than four hours? Or was it six? I'd taken a pill around nine. Headley and I had fucked at 9:30. I still had a hard on. It was after one. Fuck! I ran upstairs to my daughter's bedroom and fished around in her panty drawer until I found something suitable. Nothing too skimpy, definitely not a thong. I settled on a relatively roomy ancient pink Hello Kitty panty. It wasn't even microfiber, but... I wrapped the ass of her panty around my hard on, went in the bathroom, stood before the mirror and went to work. Headley could be gone for weeks. I needed relief. More relief. I felt like I was 21 again (provided I didn't have a heart attack). As I masturbated in my daughter's panty I experienced flashing sensations. Heard crackling sounds. Like gunfire. The Shooting Party Major Ernest Fortescue-Smythe stepped lively down the steps that led from his house to the gravelled path outside of it. He smiled and whistled as he walked with a jaunty step to the trap and the four men waiting there. Happily he greeted his friends and waited as the valets stowed the guns and other equipment for their trip to the gorse fields nearby. The Major was considered by many to be a fortunate man in his mid fifties being of vigorous temperament and a thoroughly solid chap as they would say in society. His sons were safely on their careers, one following his father by going through the army in British India and the other well-respected in the city. He was a tall man with silver moustache and sideburns and a sprinkling of brown in his hair. Like the man he was he held himself erect and ready to take on the world with a solid body. He was also considered fortunate since his wife was considered to be a leading beauty in Society. A buxom woman of about twenty-two she had gold hair and brilliant blue eyes as well as the features of a china doll. This had been his second marriage since his previous wife had died over five years ago. Though with a large difference in ages it was generally considered that the Major adored and worshipped his wife and she was considered lucky to have married one of the richest men in the country. Everyone was here Dr Robert Browning his old school friend and a man who had served throughout the Mutiny and the adventures on the North-West frontier with him, Sir John Rotham the noted Barrister and man about town and of course Henry Smeeton the power behind a well-known banking house in the City who had young Ernest start his way in the city. It was the second day of the shooting trip and they were getting away from their women folk for the day. "How is your good wife Ernest?" John asked. He was a man of affable nature and was a noted raconteur as well an incorrigible bachelor for whom many a young lady had an eye on though he had treated with polite courtesy that did not express any desire for their company. Though in his forties he could easily pass for a man in his thirties and was in fine health. "Has one of those damned headaches women get. Says she didn't want to be disturbed all the morning," the Major growled with mock severity that brought an appreciative chuckle from his friends. As he thought of his wife he saw her with her legs pulled up so that the cock could plunge through that thick thatch of hair into her wet pussy. Her face in the rictus of pleasure. He could imagine her legs pressed against his sides as she called on him to push harder. To ravish her small but voluptuous body with his cock. The buttocks tightening and releasing as he pushed into her and then pulled away from her as she gasped her pleasure with that passionate nature of hers. He could see her pretty face framed in gold as her head rocked back and forth in the la petit mort as the French described it. A word broke his vision and he automatically answered, "No we will split up John and myself will make our way through the wood while you two will do a bit of pheasant shooting in the gorse. I heard that the buggers are quite thick on the ground and in the wood there are some foxes that must be taken care of." With his finishing statement the retrievers bounded into the trap and settled on the floor between the men just before with a sharp tug it began to move away from the house. The men spent the time in a companionable silence their comments few and far between as they made their way along the rutted path. They passed over a small bridge and entered a small copse of trees where the trap stopped. Both the Major and John jumped down joined by a dog and they made clear their intention of meeting the other two in time for lunch. Settled they watched as the trap slowly shook and rattled its way to the fields where the others would shoot pheasant. Then they entered the wood, it was easy going since it was mostly trees and very little undergrowth. As they walked the Major saw his wife again in his mind this time on all fours her rounded buttocks pressed to his muscular thighs as he took her from the rear. His hands had exposed her breasts and he was stroking and pinching her pink nipples as he thrust his cock in and out of her dripping pussy. The pleasure for both had been intense and he remembered that just as he came he had pulled his cock from her and squirted cum over her pale backside and lower back. They had rested then gathering more energy for their passions and desires laughing about his shooting his load over her backside saying it made her skin shine so enjoyably in the sunshine. "Your quiet this morning Ernest," John remarked as he stepped along the path that had been made by animals moving through the trees. "Sorry John must be a terrible bore but I have a few things on my mind, "then changing the subject he asked the other man," I hear that you may be joining the bench soon." "Well it might happen but best not to nose it about, the powers that be don't like when a man brags you know," the man replied but he had a slightly smug expression on his face. "Well if it is true they are choosing a man who certainly deserves to be there," he said in a way that made John look at his friend again. He seemed tense and also a little angry. Shrugging he moved along the path looking for the spoor of fox, the dog had bounded ahead his head smelling along the path. Ernest grunted as they walked deeper into the small wood. His mind remembered as his wife had taken his cock in her mouth. It had been near here, next to the small brook that snaked its way through the trees. Her form bent over his groin, her face pressed to his cock as he thrust his hardness between that cupid bow that was her lips. His cries of pleasure rising as he came and the smile on her face as she looked at him her expression one of intense passion and love. It had almost broken his heart seeing her like that. Then he realised that they were at the exact spot and he heard the guns shooting only 500 yards from where they stood. "I have always found this place to be so quiet," Ernest murmured. "Eh, what was that old fellow, do speak up, you are so melancholy man. What is wrong with you?" the barrister said sharply. After his words Ernest smiled and turned to his friend standing only five feet away from him. As he turned his shotgun came up as he cocked both barrels and pressed the trigger firing the shot deep into John's face that became a weeping ruined mess of shredded meat and dripping blood. "I saw both of you here," Ernest said as the body struck the ground and he watched the other man labour for a few breaths before he died. "I saw you as you took my precious darling and made her do those disgusting acts. I saw her as she looked at you with the love she has never given me. I saw how you looked at her another conquest of so many and how our friendship meant nothing to you," he spoke as he heard the laboured breathing of John's ruined mouth and the dog's howling near him. Just as the man breathed his last Ernest's other friends burst through the bushes to gaze upon the horrific scene before them. Robert rushed to John's side but easily saw that there was nothing he could do. As he knelt by the body Henry gently prised the shotgun from Ernest's nerveless hands and he gently asked what had happened. "I killed him just as I killed her," he told the horrified man. Haltingly he talked to his horrified friends who could barely believe their ears. He told of how he had come across them making love in this place. How John had ravished his beautiful wife and how she had begged for him to take her in ways that would make even a prostitute blush. He told of planning this day and that before he had joined them how he had pressed a pillow to his wife's face and had smothered the life and the lies she had lived from her. How he had cried with rage and sadness as he felt her slowly stop struggling as she died under his body. Then turning to his friends with tears in his eyes he, "How could I let them live after they had wronged him so badly and had known that he loved her so much." Now he had done the deed he spoke confessing everything weeping for the loss of both wife and friend but he knew he had been right to do this no matter what would be said later. He was making that plea as the police led him to the prison vehicle. * The author does not condone violence as revenge in any form. S M Stirling has a technical definition for a person who believes that an author believes in everything that he has written. The definition is: An Idiot. The Shootist My hand darted out to cover her mouth before she could scream. Pulling her backwards into my chest I leaned forward, put my lips to her ear and shushed her quietly. With my nose buried in her shaggy cropped hair I took in a lung full of her simple but pleasing scent. I'd been sent to do a simple mission. Aim a rifle at a target, pull the trigger and get back without being discovered. People in my business didn't ask who the target is or about their guilt or innocence. It was better, in my mind, to put a silhouette in the cross hairs and fire my weapon. Killing people was difficult. People had kids, liked baseball, told funny stories or didn't eat vegetables: but a silhouette existed only to catch a small piece of lead accelerated at great velocity. I was good at hitting silhouettes. Killing was something I could never grow accustomed to. When I slowly released the pressure on her mouth and allowed her to turn and look me in the eye, a hollow reflection was all I saw. Steel blue orbs showed no recognition. I pushed her back against the wall with my left elbow against the stucco exterior of the building and my forearm under her chin, tight against her throat. I needed to keep track of her until I was finished putting metal on target. The grip of my .300 Winchester Magnum rested comfortably on the palm of my hand which sat on her shoulder. She stared at me dully. I winked and leaned forward to the scope. It was risky to take this shot but I had wasted too much time waiting for the perfect shot. Through an open window I saw the silhouette lean forward in a belly laugh and then rock back in his chair. The tip of my right index finger applied 8.5 pounds of pressure to the trigger and the rifle bucked skyward smoothly. I opened my left eye to check my human gun rest. She blinked slightly at the muffled sound. A good weapon should be ported and have a muzzle break to reduce noise and flash register but this woman hardly flinched at its subdued violence. Right eye open. Check the silhouette. Several other silhouettes gathered quickly around my target brandishing automatic weapons. I saw the flash of weapons before I heard their distance reports. Half of my mission was completed. I leaned back and examined the girl. Her eyes searched mine blankly: blue marbles darted to and fro. She was trying to determine who I was: a man who had dropped another human being at more than 700 meters with no more regret than a fisherman pulling in a tuna caught on a brightly colored piece of felt. I threw the running sling over my shoulder and slowly smiled at her but still got no response In the distance I heard voices and I knew I had to make my escape. I touched her cheek with the back of my fingers and stroked her smooth skin. This got no response. It was time to leave. I did not turn away from her as I moved. She watched me back into the woods without any signs of emotion. I spun and moved quickly. Then I stopped. Ahead of me, the sound of footsteps in the dark meant I was trapped. I saw a blue flash and found myself on my hands and knees, my head whirling. A pair of strong hands pulled me to my feet. A man, close to my size, pulled the pistol out of my shoulder holster and was patting me down. An accomplice stood several feet away with a weapon held steady on my chest. A noise from behind caused him to turn quickly. A blond flash in the dim light appeared from the trees and hit the accomplice over the head with a piece of wood. The first guy swung around to take aim at the girl but my well-placed punch to his kidney effected his shot. As he reeled backwards I stomped on his calf and then drove my elbow into the soft spot between his collar bone and neck. He collapsed without a sound. Clonk! I looked up to see the girl, who had been my gun rest only moments before, deal the accomplice a second blow. Even in the darkness, I could see his skull was slightly crumpled on one side and blood ran freely from his ears. I turned to check my exit trail. I heard no more footsteps. Clonk! She extended her arms high above her head after yet another blow to the accomplice's lifeless body. She struck him again before I could intercede. Clonk! I leaped in front of her and intercepted the next delivery. With both arms above her head she prepared to drop another blow to the dead man's body. I held her arms above her head staring into the girl's wild eyes. What had caused this young girl to show such anger and brutality? I decided I didn't want to know. I collected my weapons, pulled her into my side tightly and continued deeper into the safety of the woods. She moved easily into the dark ahead of me. I couldn't leave her behind after she had saved my fat. The silhouettes in the building, that I had recently fired into, dealt in drugs, ethnic cleansing and government sanctioned mayhem: whichever government was in charge that month. It was likely the girl was not here voluntarily, as this paramilitary group was also known to deal in slavery from time to time. At last, I found my motorcycle. I left it against a fence post but noticed it had been moved a couple of feet. I strained my eyes to search the exterior of the engine, looking for any outward signs of tampering. The spark plug wire was missing. Taken, no doubt, by the pair that had intercepted me. It was too late to go back and search them. Desperately, I wheeled around looking for an alternative escape route while listenimg for more voices in the dark. Sensing the danger the girl pulled on my sleeve and pointed into a thicket before she sprinted towards it. There, in the tangled copse, was a small trail less than a couple of feet tall, undoubtedly kept open by this girl, or girls in the same situation, as a haven from some of the more abusive silhouettes that were my targets. I swung my weapon under my chest as I fell to my hands and knees and crawled into the thicket following close behind her. The narrow passage meandered for a long distance between hedgerows before it ended at the edge of a field near a ramshackle old barn. From the appearance of the building it had not been used by humans in many years but the girl grabbed my hand and together we sprinted towards it in the moon's light. In the distance I could hear vehicles and shouts. I must have hit my target well. The abandoned motorcycle and the two incapacitated guards would be sure signs that I was still nearby and on foot. Once inside the barn the girl led me into a pit that must have used to work under cars many years ago. Tapping on boards in the back of the dark pit my female savior located one that sounded hollow and swung it aside. She dropped to her knees and wriggled through a hole in the dirt wall behind the boards. I felt a tug on my pants legs and I followed. Entry into the narrow tunnel required me to crawl on my belly while pushing my rifle ahead of me. I could sense the tunnel opening up as the board at the entrance swung closed behind my feet. I sat cross-legged listening to the girl fumble in the pitch black. A match lit up the dirt room. When she lit a candle I could see the cavern more clearly. The room has about ten feet square with a low ceiling and a cot against the wall. Under the cot were some US Army MRE's in their distinctive brown plastic bags. The girl sat on the cot and pulled an MRE from under her seat. She opened it with her teeth and dumped the contents onto the floor. Then, the girl nibbled at a green foil packet she pulled from under the cot, tipped her head back and extended the bag to me. It was drinking water courtesy of the US Civil Defense circa 1965. Water was water no matter how old. It felt cool trickling down my throat. The girl rummaged through the MRE contents and opened one quickly. Her fingers dipped into the contents of the bag and she scooped a wad of something into her mouth with her fingers. She extended the bag towards me as she chewed but I shook my head. With a shrug she dipped into the bag again and continued to devour it's contents. Looking more closely at the walls I noticed names and dates carved into the dirt. One partially obscure name that ended in "...skowitz" was followed by "May 1943." Several other dates were from the early 1950's. This cave had been well-used but had somehow remained a closely guarded secret that had outlasted both the Nazis and the Soviets. I could only hope it was still a secret. Staying hidden for a couple of days wouldn't be a problem because my initial contact would not wait long at our meeting point. That was our plan. If, after five days, I failed to meet with my secondary contact I would be on my own and considered "lost." That was the term used: "contact lost." Like I was a radio signal and not a hired hand sent to exact payment from players of a high-stakes political card game. After the girl finished the contents of the bag she stood, wiped her face on the back of her forearm and moved to the corner where an empty coffee can sat. She lifted up her shabby dress and she squatted over the can. It was a toilet that could be easily emptied periodically. Her stare challenged mine and I looked away as she relieved herself. The girl returned to the pile of foodstuffs on the dirt floor to pick out a small white packet. Out of it, she pulled a lemon-scented damp napkin that she dabbed at her slender fingers with delicate strokes. I couldn't help but laugh to myself. This young girl dove into the bag of food like she had been raised by wolves. Then she squatted over a can in a dank dirt cave. But after all that she thoroughly cleaned her hands in a dainty display of tidiness. She watched me smile, trying to hide my laughter, without changing her expression. Once finished she patted the cot and pointed to me. I climbed onto the stretched canvas and stared at the low ceiling while I thought about my options. I had screwed this one up. Maybe I was getting too old or too clumsy for field work. I could take any number of office positions and wondered if that would be for the best. The girl rummaged through the MRE contents again and put everything back into the bag neatly. She walked to the candle and blew it out. The blackness was complete. I heard her pad to the cot and she climbed over me placing her back to the dirt wall. She lay more on my chest than on the narrow cot. She picked up her head from my chest and said something in an unfamiliar dialect. I pushed her head back to my chest. I didn't know the words but I knew what she meant. This girl must have been a slave to those silhouettes for a long time. Soon, she was snoring softly into my shirt. I woke with a start in the complete darkness of the cave. The pressure of the young girl on my chest reminded me where I was. She awoke quietly and stretched in the dark. She muttered a few words I couldn't understand and I answered by kissing her gently on the top of her head. She sucked in a deep breath and climbed off me to light the candle. Beneath the cot I found a tattered deck of cards and spread them on the floor for a game of solitaire while I thought over my situation. The girl busied herself with the stack of MRE's and sweeping the dirt floor with her bare hand. Again and again I tried to determine the point where I had lost my touch. This single mission seemed to be alive with mistakes. I waited too long, I moved in the open too often... I realized these mistakes were not the first but put together had been the worst. I had become too complacent, almost as if I wanted to vanish while on a mission: "contact lost." Contact lost, forever. There wasn't anything in my life, outside work, that required attention or devotion. No family to speak of. Hell, I didn't even have house plants in my apartment. Things that required love or attention made people vulnerable in field work. I engaged in a long self-examination sitting on that dirt floor. The final realization I arrived at was simple: I needed to get out of this line of work and join the human race while I still could. A slender finger pointed at the floor. I shook off my revelry and looked up towards the girl as she shook her finger several more times. Searching the floor for a clue I came up empty until she touched the three of clubs and then a four of diamonds. I had been told to always carry a deck of cards when you were someplace where you could get lost. If you needed help lay out your cards for solitaire and before too long someone will show up to tell you how to play a card. I gave her a half-annoyed look. She greeted this with a giggle before she returned to her cleaning. I crawled outside to determine how I might get back to the real world or if I was out of options. Each action now was careful and deliberate. Somehow this monumental fuck-up had awakened a desire inside of me to actually start living life instead of taking it, regardless of the good that might come from my actions. Getting this girl out of harm's way was a good thing, wasn't it? I reasoned with myself. It didn't take me long to determine where I was and how to get out of here. I could only hope the girl would do the same. It was an overcast morning so I decided to leave that night to make my secondary meeting point before it got light. When I crawled back into the cave I was surprised to find the girl still there. No longer cleaning, she was slapping well-worn cards around in a game of poker against herself. I picked up the other hand and we began a marathon devoid of conversation, our only communication was with smiles, gasps of disbelief and occasional laughter. After a while I looked at my watch and decided I needed to get some sleep before my exit. When I sat down on the edge of the cot the girl crawled to my feet and gazed up at me for a moment before she slowly rose. Peering into my eyes she grabbed the hem of her dress. With her wrists crossed in front of her she pulled her ragged gray garment over her head in a single swift move. Suddenly, I saw all her secrets. Her pouting breasts carried bruises above and below, sure signs of rope restraints. She was thin and much prettier than I realized. Her face seemed different now. Her eyes were wide open and inviting while her breathing seemed labored. The ragged clothing that covered her body fell to the floor as she stood before me. She had worn nothing but that simple dress. She had a young budding body with slim hips and firm pouty breasts. Her long-waisted body accentuated her small hips and sturdy but not muscular legs. A slight swell at the tops of her legs separated her girlish extremities from the womanly patch of wispy light brown pubic hair. Thin arms hung limp along the sides of her lean ribcage. The long expanse of her stomach was broken by a lone mole below her belly button: a signpost along the way to her womanhood. Sparkling blue eyes glinted, flashing back the glow of the candle light. Her nostrils flared slightly as she drew a deep breath and her chest trembled gently. She might have been young in age but her desires were that of a mature woman. As she crawled into my lap, her lips parted. She picked up my hand before she nestled her small buttocks into my lap. Her eyes dropped to my hand which she pulled level with her face. Kissing my hand she gentle sucked in one finger after another. I couldn't take my eyes off her slim young flesh as she formed her figure to mine, awaiting my entry. Both her hands rose to clasp the sides of my face and her tongue touched my lips before her mouth. It was her uneven breathing that caught me off guard. She wanted me. Not like a female contact working for one side or the other might do to accommodate a fellow agent, but as a woman wanted a man. Female agents weren't recruited because they were smart or particularly loyal but for sexual abilities and discretion. That was the nature of this business. If you wanted to find a wife, go to church. Finding a female agent was a completely different proposition. But this girl was not another 'spook'—we called ourselves spooks—she was a young woman who seemed to be interested in me. Breaking off our kiss, she slowly climbed off my lap so she could kneel in front of me to unzip my pants. When she fished my growing organ from my pants she kissed it lightly flicking her tongue along its length and sensitive underside, then she pressed her lips full against it. I slipped into her mouth easily when she lowered her chin to accommodate my girth. It was heaven inside her warmth. A quiet "schlorp" sound and my hips jerked involuntary. With one hand cradling my balls and the other wrapped around my stiff cock her mouth began to bob up and down on my shaft. My knees turned to rubber and I pulled her head away, regrettably, leaving my flesh covered in her saliva. The look on her face showed her intentions. She only wanted to make me happy. I pulled the young girl's face level with mine, pulling her up with only my index finger under her jaw. "Listen to me. You don't have to do this. I'm letting you go. Okay?" I was gesticulating and using mime that would have brought tears to Charlie Chaplin's eyes. She was too sweet, too innocent and much too young to stay with me. I was nearing the end of my life she was at the beginning. Her mouth was open wide as she attacked my lips, falling forward onto my body. She knew what I was offering her but she also knew that I was her best bet at safety, happiness and maybe even love... affection at the very least. Her eyes told the story plainly. I was the first man to treat her like a woman and not a sexual outlet. She moaned and ground her mons against my thigh. I broke our embrace and pointed to my chest with my index finger. "Maxwell," was all I said. She giggled. It was the giggle of a little girl on holiday. It was giddy. With a beaming smile she placed her palm flat above her breast. "Lena." Her voice was quiet and thin. I nodded and repeated her name. Lena. She pulled my hand forward and placed it on her warm breast and swallowed hard. "Max-well." She repeated my name staring directly into my eyes. I felt her words inside my stomach. I was too old for this nonsense. I was lost now. Beyond rescue. I stripped off my clothes rapidly and pulled the young girl onto the cot. I dove head first towards her warm wet sex hoping to lose myself in it. Her taste was slightly salty. The sticky juices covered my chin quickly as I tried to tickle her insides with my tongue. She shuddered and pulled me up onto her body. She wanted my manhood inside her, not my tongue. She grabbed the head of my cock and guided it inside her damp body as I leaned forward to kiss her puffy lips. When I hit the bottom of her sex she jumped slightly and bit into my shoulder. A growl came from her throat that turned into a whimper as she rolled her hips against mine. She was nearing ecstasy already. Eyes clamped shut her head fell back onto the cot and muscles deep inside her spasmed rapidly. Her neck was wide open to me now. I buried my mouth into the nape of her neck and sucked her fresh young skin into my mouth like a starving man. I felt her hands on my back urging me forward. She wanted me to consume her, leaving nothing but a empty shell. I thrust forward hard now and she bucked to counter each movement while she squealed with delight. I emptied myself deep inside her. All that I held now filled her. I felt her hands on the sides of my face as she guided my lips to hers. Leaving a trail of kisses down her neck my lips wandered to her pouty breasts. Her finger nails dug into my scalp while she repeated "Max-well" over and over. Taking her hard nipple into my mouth she hissed and she sucked in a deep breath. I wasn't finished yet. We made love twice more before the candle burned out. She awoke on top of my body and pulled in a long slow breath to rouse herself. A soft whimper came from deep in throat as she lay her head back on my chest. A small puddle of drool lay on my chest where her mouth had fallen open an hour earlier. I had only slept briefly, three hours by my watch, though the complete darkness of the cave made time even more transient The Shootist She stood in front of me in a short tight skirt and sleeveless shirt tied in front, mid-drift. Her legs covered in fishnet stockings and the tight skirt extenuating her round supple legs and buns. Her name was Argemone, an old Greek word meaning flower, as she'd once told me, but she liked to be called Damsel. "Shoot the picture," she said. She arched her back looking back at the camera, pouting slighting for me as I shot away three more. It was no secret she was driving me crazy, but I dare not touch her. Not if I wanted to see my money. She was a good client, always paid me well for my time, always insisting on multiple copies of the photos, sometimes even if there was no difference; she wanted every one of them. I always gave her exactly what she wanted only keeping a few for my portfolio. We shot in her basement, which she used as her studio for her work at home projects. I think she did some kind of customer service or marketing. I don't know, she made good money and paid me well. We did all matter of shots – artistic, historical, gothic, horror, sexy, even sleazy at times. She'd call me with a new idea and flirt with me on the phone to book an afternoon shoot. I always gave her my absolute best work, and upon her insistence the bad shots, either lighting gone or blurred – she took all of them. My best work - was actually more of a testament to how crazy she made me. She was in my dreams and all my fantasies. Her gorgeous brown eyes, her beautiful smile, and her goddess of a body! Fuck! I couldn't hold a regular job; I'd always think about her with enthusiasm and some hopelessness and never get a fucking thing done. She wasn't a model or some skinny rail with giant tits that was a marvel as to how she even walked. No, she was a real flesh and blood – beautiful, desirable woman. I took her pictures because I wanted her and a picture was the closest I could get. The money was just to pay the bills and for the film. "Rob," she said sweetly. Her deep seductive voice was like a symphony to my ears and I felt like one of those little winged cupid-bastards dancing around as two lovers walked together in the artwork of years past. "Shoot the fucking shot, ROB!" I took the picture, looking down to see the memory card was full. I looked at my watch and saw nearly 2 hours had past. I couldn't believe how fast time flew and I was now sitting on over 1000 new pictures. "We're done," I said. "Change the card." "Your two hours is up," I said, beginning to pack away my camera and turn off the lights. "Rob, I have some other ideas for our shoot." "I have another shoot across town," I said. I was a bit taken by how quickly the time had passed, was I really so obvious? Had I been so enamored by her I couldn't even focus on shooting nearly 1000 shots? "Rob, cancel the other shoot," she begged. "I'll pay you extra," she bit her lip, saying this. She won. I would have pulled my heart from my chest had she asked for it. "Damsel," I said. "I have other clients and I do run a business. I'll cancel my 4 'o'clock, but I have to be at the 6 'o'clock – wedding pictures, and they booked me three months in advance." "I'll make it worth your while," she said as she smiled. "Just give me a few seconds, change your memory card or something." It didn't matter what I said at this point, it wasn't at all intelligible. She did this to me. It made me a complete blob of jelly to even speak to her. Once she flashed her smile and I got caught in her gorgeous brown eyes, my thought process was done. What's worse, I think she secretly enjoyed having that power over me. Not that I'm complaining about being able to serve and having the attention of a good-lookin' lady, mind you. Definitely not, Damsel was a goddess of desire and beauty. But I'm pretty sure she could tell me I was a roast beef sandwich and I would nod my head in agreement. "Rob," she said from the other room. "Can you give me maybe a softer or darker light, maybe a blue backdrop?" "Sure thing, hon." I changed the lights out and pinned the blue floral pattern background. She came out in her robe and set a barstool down in front. Everything was lit. The shoot was on. Damsel sat down in her robe and began to remove it slowly. "Start shooting," she said. I began hitting the button, 2, then 5, then 7 shots in, making my way slowly up to 30 and 40. The first flashes of skin were her legs; I loved her legs and could probably spend an entire day kissing on them. They were shapely and fit, naturally beautiful running up her back leg to her butt. Damsel had an amazing butt and I often had to make myself not stare at it. Typically, Damsel would wear some kind of tight shorts or skirt, but this time, she wore nothing. She turned slightly to the left and let down her dark hair which tumbled over her right shoulder, then twisted her head so that it flowed down behind her. I loved her dark hair and had seen it short and long during the time we'd know each other. Under wigs, tied in braids, slicked back – it didn't matter to me. Her dark hair made her lovely brown eyes sparkle. There was always that sparkle in every picture she took. I made sure of it when I handed them over to her each time. And to be honest, there were very few shots of her where you couldn't see her eyes, just the occasional blink, or blur, or maybe she moved before a shot. Her smile, I could easily write another ten pages about it. Her smile made me fall in love with her the first time I saw it. It made me happy to see it and want to come up with excuses to make her smile each time I saw her. If she'd asked me not to charge her and then smiled, I'd be a poor starving photographer, but a completely content one, at that. Bent knee, she twisted both legs right and began exposing her chest, while the robed dropped down her back, hanging off her arms. Her porcelain breasts made the hair on my neck stand, this was the sculpture of a Greek goddess coming alive before me and my duty to her was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on. She shook her hair and it tumbled over the left half of her face. She turned more to the right dropping more of the robe as I shot her naked back and shoulder. Finally, the robe huddled around the small of her back, she turned to look at me, "You gonna shoot the picture, Rob?" She said, raising an eyebrow. I immediately dropped the camera and grabbed at her, pulling her off the stool as if she were a cherry blossom floating in the breeze. She wrapped her arms around my neck as I kissed her. The robe dropped to the floor as I pinned her to the basement wall kissing her in a furious storm, her legs wrapping around my waist. Her hands eagerly tore at my shirt as I grabbed her beautiful plump ass, running my hand up the small of her back. I dropped her down on her feet, turning her around to face the wall as I bit and kissed down her back. Pausing as I bit and kissed her butt, something I had wanted since the first day we'd met. My fingertips ran up and down the backs of her thighs as I bit, kissed and nibbled my way up her spine, kissing her on the back of her neck and shoulders. I thought about how long she'd teased me and flirted with me as I would stand in the shower after each session, beating off for nearly an hour. I worked my way down her back, seeing goose bumps on her skin as my hands reached around her, cupping her breasts. I turned her to suck on her tight budding nipples, rolling my tongue around the areola, kissing back down her stomach and around the edge of her right hip. My lips moving back across her buttocks, I bit her hard, to which she moaned and giggled with pleasure, turning around to face me and lifting one leg onto the barstool. Her legs were smooth, smelling faintly of a softly baby-powdered rose petal as I buried my face in her crotch seeking, with my togue, the tender most warm spot I could whilst enjoying her juices. She tasted sweet and warm and I let my tongue flick across her clit and deep inside her as she writhed around making some whimpering sounds. Each time I went back, it was as if I hungered for her, no longer allowing my passion to impede me, I overwhelmed her with pleasure and tenacity each time. "OH GOD! ROB! JESUS FUCK ME ROB!" she cried out as my tongue touched her clit again, swirling around in figure 8's and circles, with no real rhythm. I sucked on her wet nub as it became engorged and ever more sensitive. She ground her face into me as I slurped hard, wrapping my tongue around her, making my whole face wet from her as she continued whimpering, cursing, and begging god she not cum yet. I would toy with her as she had me, her hips grinding into my face with the rhythm of my tongue, only to stop and change against her. My chin dripped with her sweet carnal nectar as she let out yet another cry. I inserted a finger while as I caught my breath against her forceful pushing hands. "FUCK ME," she cried out again with increased sounds of whimpering and an almost begging whine as I, again, buried my face into her. My tongue bringing her an all new rhythm, drinking her juices as they flowed freely from her, my head of hair held tightly in her fingers, nearly ripped out as she moaned loudly again. At that moment, I could feel my dick was hard; I thought my pants would split the seams. "DEAR GOD, ROBBBBBBBB!" Damsel screamed nearly taking handfuls of hair as she tried to push my face back in. But I wasn't going to give into her this time. I picked her up in my arms and very nearly slammed her over my work table, knocking over lighting equipment and gear to wrap her firmly over the table's edge, spread eagle. I jerked the belt loose, very nearly ripping my fly open as a thin trickle of juices ran down Damsel's naked leg from her pussy. I grabbed my dick and rubbed it directly against the wet lips of her vulva, my head swollen and very nearly throbbing. "OH GOD YES, PUT IT IN ME, ROB!" She exclaimed as I ran the tip across her soft hairless snatch, picking up the wetness from her. As she laid there across the table enjoying me toy her most inner sanctum she purred contently. Before she had a chance to prepare herself, I plunged my cock into her the entire length, balls slapping against her as I repeatedly drove it into her wet snatch. She felt wonderful, a mixture of being drenched from her excitement and my earlier explorations, her love canal wrapped around my cock as I began thrusting into her from behind. "GOD DAMN!" she screamed, not realizing just how wide my cock was. I continued driving it into her hard, moving the table slightly each time, "OH FUCK," her beautiful ass slapping against the front of my legs, "FUCK ME HARDER, ROB," my balls getting wet as her pussy dripped with excitement. She was very wet, both from me eating her and from her enjoying all 8 inches of me being driven into her, hitting her in just the right spot to drive her wild. I turned her over on her back, and kissed her deeply sharing my tongue and with it, all the wonderful flavors from inside her. I, pausing halfway inside her, she delightfully drank from my face and tongue. "HARDER DAMMIT! HARDER," she cried out. I put her ankles on my shoulders as I continued to fuck her as hard as she had demanded. The old wooden table was beginning to make a squeaking noise, long ago dried glued wooden joints protesting as they began to give. I picked her up and laid her on the cold floor atop her robe, pants dangling around my ankles, pounding down into her between her legs as she dug her fingers into my back, reaching down to my ass to squeeze both cheeks and slapped my ass. "OHHHH! RIGHT THERE, ROB! OH GOD!!!!," she moaned. I continued ramming my cock into her as she let out a frenzied whimper and content moaning, her pleasure driving unspeakable words (and mostly unintelligible) from her mouth. She'd paw at my ass to push it down, so I'd push it in harder, she'd try to use her legs to dictate my rhythm, so I teased more with my own. I'd sensed she wanted more direct control of my cock. We rolled over and she carefully squatted down on top, aiming herself down my cock and it disappeared into her as she once again took the entire girth inside her, slowly. "HMMMPPPHHH" she moaned as she began pushing herself up and down the shaft and grinding against it, letting out some giggling. She knew precisely how to work my cock and felt when I was almost ready to lose it by letting off on her gait, but then continuing as she would lean back and grind herself against my increasing spasms of pleasure. She felt so good, as if she had been design by god to bring every inch of my body pleasure. "Don't you dare cum yet, or I won't pay you." She said with a mischievous grin on her face, as she continued bouncing on me, her tits bouncing as she again smiled. She put her ankles on my shoulders and began riding harder; I would attempt to help her by thrusting up. But I nearly lost my concentration when my bare ass hit the cold concrete floor. She giggled when she saw me shudder from the cold, but decided to try something different. She moved her legs back down, reached back, and grabbed my balls, while she ground against my cock. "OH SHIT!" I said, surprised by her grabbing me. "Just hold in there a little bit longer," she said as she eagerly ground away on my cock, using my balls in her hand as a sort of leash to move my cock inside her as she continued to ride. I was very close to coming at that point as she slowed and would just wiggle against me. She lifted her left leg and twisted to the right sitting on me side saddle. She seemed to enjoy the tightness of my cock's girth at this new angle and began inching herself slowly up and down as she moaned and grunted softly, approving of every single moment and biting her lower lip again. I prayed it would never stop but also was feeling as if my life would end upon my next orgasm. "Hmmmmm, "she said. "You've been a VERY good boy." She smiled dryly at me. "So I think in just a few seconds, I'm going to suck you dry. So don't cum just yet. And maybe you'll get some more of my pussy if you don't cum. "I'll do my best." "Of course you will, you always do." And with that, she climbed off me, straddled my face and then leaned over me to take my throbbing into her mouth. She started by sucking very lightly, moving her lips up and down and sucking when her head bobbed back up to the tip. It was as if she was going to begin a pipeline of my hot jizz, and she was the pump jack. "I want you to cum in my mouth, babe... Please, I need you to cum in my mouth," she said. She continued to bob her head up and down the shaft, grabbing my balls and squeezing lightly. I wanted to eat her pussy again, but sensing what I was trying to do, she would raise it just out of my reach. She wanted me to cum, and dammit, I was going to. "Not yet, dear! Come on, babe, cum in my mouth," she said right before going back down. I could feel myself letting go, but managed to hold it for a few more seconds, enjoying as her soft warm lips sucked her juices off my shaft. She sensed I was struggling and concentrating. "Let it all go, hon," her voice so innocently and sweetly stated. "And, I'll let you taste my pussy again. OK?" "Oh fuck!" I lost it right there spurting one gob right in her face. She hurried down to suck the next gob directly and pumped my cock with her hand to squeeze out every drop. With her fingers she wiped every drop off her face, slurping it off her fingers. I lay there trying to catch my breath as she continues sucking and licking all of our juices off my cock. "That's a good boy," she says lowering her now pink pussy back onto my face. I sink my tongue right into her, tasting my own cock as I fuck her with my tongue. I stick two fingers into her to rub against her g-spot. She moans loudly as I continue sucking on her tender lips. "OH GAWD! RIGHT THERE!" She says as I tongued her sweet wet hole. She shuddered and writhed in pleasure as it waved across her body. At times, she would lift her pussy away to catch her breath, others, she would grind gently against my tongue. I grab both of her as cheeks as I pull her closer onto my eager tongue. I could tell it was all building to a tremendous climax so I continued to suck on her clit, swirling in figure 8s and circles, trying to keep a head of her a surprise her. "JESUS!!! OH FUCK ME! FUCK ME!!!!!!" She cried out, then seemingly going limp and few last gasps she eventually collapses on top of me. She turns and lays down facing me resting her head on my chest. She sighs contently as her breathing slowed to normal. "You really fucked me hard, and I'm going to be sore as hell," she gave me a dirty grin reaching over to kiss me, again, tasting her own juices. "Hmmmm, we should really get off this floor," she said. I began to drift off, nearly exhausted from the last 45 minutes of work. She laid her head back down on my chest and I held her there. "We can sleep in my bed, if you're tired." I followed her up stairs to a nearly bare apartment with no furniture. She led me to her bedroom which had a large King size bed with soft silk sheets and a large cotton comforter. I dropped my remaining clothes and crawled under the comforter with her. "Will you need me to wake you at 6?" She asked. "Yeah, have to be across town around 6," I replied. "OK," she said, setting her alarm clock for 6 – almost 2 hours away. "Can I come?" "You sure can, lady!" She wrapped herself in my arms and I held her as we began to drift off again. I took in the smell of her beautiful dark hair and kissed her neck. Cozy. Warm. Safe. The Shootist During her dreams some horror had caused her to thrash about and whine for a moment. When I placed my arms around her shoulders and pulled her tight against my chest she nuzzled her head into me and sighed loudly before she was quiet again and peaceful. I was practiced at separating any emotional attachment when pulling a trigger but not when it came to this, more personal, aspect of field work. I had only worked with "targets." Usually these targets were responsible for atrocities comparable to the worst henchmen of the most evil regimes. Seldom do the top men actually do the blood letting, they always leave the messy work for the middle managers. That way the leaders can hold up their unsullied hands to the cameras secure in the knowledge that middle managers always want to move up the ladder and when things get dicey they can be purged, usually by some other middle managers eager for promotion, in a quick shift of blame. It was easy for me to internally justify my actions with targets but this young girl half-asleep on my chest required a new set of directives. I sighed and tangled my fingers in her short blond hair. This was answered with a contented moan and a hand that found my growing shaft in the darkness of the cave. Again I took this young girl, making love to her like that act alone was going to save me from my uncertain future. Slamming my flesh deep inside hers repeatedly brought pure joy to her and her lithesome body shook violently when I finally pumped her full of my seed. Lena was still clinging to me when I pulled her up. Hot tears rolled down her cheek as she pressed her face into my chest and shuddered against me. It was time to leave. I figured I could drop her somewhere along the way near her home and she could be free of the horrors of her servitude. We dressed in the dark quickly and crawled out into the open air of an overcast night. We made good time along a trail that I knew from my primary briefing would be nearby. I lit a fire on an outcrop and moved to my meeting place. The fire was a signal to my secondary contact and we were supposed to meet at a place well hidden from the fire's glow. Lena sat next to me shivering until I finally pulled her onto my lap and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. Quickly, she warmed up and nuzzled her head into my chest where she promptly fell asleep. I tried several times along the way to signal her leave whenever we got close to her home or something she recognized but I couldn't be sure she understood what I was trying to explain to her. A soft crumpling of leaves meant someone was approaching. I put my finger over Lena's lip and whispered into her ear. She awoke quietly. "Maxwell, it's Mikos. It is good." Our prearranged signal meant he had not been followed or suspected of helping the shooter that had put lead into an ill-fated distant silhouette. "Mikos, I need you to talk to someone for me." The footsteps stopped in the darkness. "Maxwell, you not alone?" I heard the soft click of his gun's safety. "It is good, Mikos. It's a girl." I spoke quickly and listened closely until I heard the safety click back on. "Why you have her?" The man asked. "Mikos, talk to her. I need to let her know she can go home, now." A short gnarled man stepped into view and he eyed the girl momentarily. She stood quickly and prattled to the short man. Then Mikos answered. They exchanged a minute's worth of conversation in an odd dialect that I could not determine. Mikos clicked the safety off on his weapon, again. "Go, Maxwell. I shoot girl." "No, Mikos. She's not one of them." "Girl cannot stay." "Well, I can't take her with me." "My friend," Mikos said in his heavily accented English. "She is not'ing. Family would have funeral when she is taken. Better she is dead than the whore for Serbs." "Can't you keep her?" "No. She will be recognized," he struggled with this last word. "Dey kill her... dey kill me." "What am I supposed to do with her?" I pleaded. Mikos shrugged in the pale light of the oncoming dawn. "Can I leave her in Zagreb?" "She will be whore 'til dey find her." "Until 'who' finds her?" Mikos turned his back and began marching down the trail. "We must hurry, my friend." I turned to look at Lena standing next to the trail. A quivering bottom lip and tear-filled eyes told me she knew the gist of my exchange with Mikos. My stomach churned to see her sadness in the dim light. I touched the hands she held clasped in front of her slim hips and I heard her sniff quietly. With a sigh of resignation I wrapped my hand around hers and pulled her ahead of me on the trail. A smile that threatened to outshine the new day burst onto her face and she dashed along the narrow pathway. A couple of hours later I was seated in an army Blackhawk helicopter with a young girl comfortably draped across my lap. The crew stared suspiciously at this unexpected passenger who nestled her face into my neck as we flew, mere yards, above the Adriatic Sea. The bosses wouldn't be happy about my cargo but I didn't care. I was done with their field work—I would be happily office bound—there was nothing they could threaten me with now. Life can be gone in an instant, I should know. Who can tell? We might be very happy while it lasts. That was a risk I was willing to take.