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From: Incest Man <familyincest@graffiti.net>
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Subject: "A Helpful Wife" ch.3
Date: Wed, 01 Feb 2006 14:55:22 -0800
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===================
http://www.incesttabooo.com/helpwife.html
A Helpful Wife
Chapter 3
One month to the day after Tim Cartwright had flown to New York
City, his
wife stood in the ladies room of the Dew Drop Inn, primping her hair
before a
large oval mirror over the wash basins. She was a little inebriated,
although
far from being drunk, and a crystal stem-glass filled with a Brandy
Alexander
stood beside her elbow on the ceramic ledge of one sink.
Lord! she muttered under her breath as she reached for the
glass, she
had eaten nothing since a quick lunch, and here it was after midnight!
The
soothing warmth of the Alexanderher third since she'd arrived at the
Dew Drop
Innwas causing a slight tingling sensation to ripple through her blood.
She
raised the glass to her lips and finished the drink in one long sip.
It tasted
good; almost too good, she warned herself, and then she giggled at the
idea of
being in danger. What danger could she be in here, surrounded by all
the
richest people of Greenridge and a guest of Mr. and Mrs. Anderson?
None, of
course. The Dew Drop Inn was where only the most prominent and
civilized of
the local residents ate and drank and danced. Certainly nothing wrong
could
happen to her, she was certain of that. Why, she was as safe as if she
was in
her own home!
Home... the one word made her smile bitterly at her reflection.
Home and
Tim were where the last real danger had been. The thought of her
long-gone
husband made her remember vividly the last night they'd been together,
and
despite her promise not to dwell on the awful event, the liquor eased
her
defenses enough so that once more she reflected upon his savage attack.
How
could Tim have been so cruel to her, she thought. Why had he been such
a raging
animal.
She glanced around the ladies room and saw that she was still
alone, and
in a moment of recklessness she ran her hands over the sweater-enclosed
tips of
her round firm breasts. They had been so sore and swollen, and her
nipples so
raw, that she hadn't been able to wear the softest brassiere without
pain for a
week. Her shoulders trembled as she thought back to the horrible rape
of her
body by her husband and the way he had used her as a tool solely for
his own
gratification without even the slightest consideration for her wants or
needs.
He had used her like a slavehis own wifeand the memory sickened her
even after
all the days which had passed since then. Tears brimmed in her eyes as
she
recalled his last parting words just before he'd angrily stormed out
the door
with his suitcase. She could still hear his voice ringing in her ears
as he'd
yelled at her:
"I don't think you could make any man happy. Maybe when I'm in
New York
I'll go out and get myself some slut off the street who'll give me the
loving I
need!"
Dear God, would he? Has he? His letters had been so infrequent
and
vague, his answers to her own almost daily letters sometimes ignoring
the most
important parts. This was deeply distressing to Melanie, and she
sometimes had
difficulty in sleeping at night, wondering if Tim still cared for her
and was
being faithful to their marriage.
She looked again down her slim body, provocatively dressed as it
was in
the short mini-skirt and thin pullover which Mr. Anderson had said was
her
theater uniform. The rounded peaks of her breasts stood out defiantly,
and she
could almost see the taut curve of her buttocks where they flowed
gracefully
into her firm legs, the hem-line of her skirt being so daringly high.
She was
proud of her youthful, curvaceous body, and yet it was the reason for
all her
troubles. If she could have been a Plain-Jane, she would probably have
been
settled down with children and happily married to some average fellow.
She
would never have attracted such a popular boy as Tim, but then she
would never
have been cursed with being wanted just for her striking beauty.
The hazy effect the brandy was producing seemed to simplify
things into
an either-or kind of situation in her mind. She turned around and
started for
the door of the restroom, and as she stepped out into the dim warmth of
the Dew
Drop Inn, she fleetingly wondered if there couldn't be a middle ground
somewhere in between where she could find true happiness...
Melanie threaded her way unsteadily through the ring of small,
intimate
tables which surrounded a polished dance floor. Over in one corner was
her
table, the one she was sharing with Amos and Sybil Anderson. This was
the
first time that she had been with them socially, and though she had
been
reluctant at first, she was now glad that she had accepted their
invitation and
pleased that they had asked her to join them.
Both the Andersons, especially Amos, were so understanding and
nice to
talk to, and Melanie couldn't help feeling that her new employer had a
real
interest in her welfare. When she had gone to work that evening, Amos
had
invited her to a party at his house, which, he said, was being held
after the
theater closed for the night. She had made excuses at first, declining
the
invitation because she had never liked to drink much and would have
preferred a
quiet time at home alone. But Amos had persisted in his genial and
persuasive
way, saying that he was meeting Sybil for a cocktail after work, and
the least
Melanie could do was have one with them. She realized then that his
invitation
was really a good-natured attempt to get her out of the shell of
self-pity into
which she had withdrawn. For this, the lonely young wife was grateful
to him,
and had then accepted for both the cocktail and the party, suddenly
wanting a
few gay hours to help take her mind off of Tim's absence and seeming
neglect.
At first she had been very nervous in the Dew Drop Inn, feeling
improperly dressed in her scanty skirt and sweater, but there'd been no
chance
to rush home and change, and Amos had laughingly told her that it was
too dark
for anybody to be that inquisitive anyway. She had also felt unsettled
at just
being out like this, alone and without her husband, even though Amos
and Sybil
were only good friends. But, after a drink had calmed her nerves a
little, she
had mused that if Tim didn't think enough of her to return her daily
reminders
of love, then perhaps she deserved an innocent diversion like this.
"Well," Amos Anderson said expansively as she approached, "I
thought for
a minute you'd gotten lost. I was about to send a Saint Bernard out
looking
for you with a cask of Brandy Alexanders. Female Saint Bernard, of
course."
"No, no," Melanie giggled, sitting down. "You know how long it
takes
women to freshen up."
"Ah, how well I do," the handsome man sighed with exaggeration,
and then
winked broadly at his wife. "But you're back, my dear, and just in
time for
another round of drinks."
"But really, I don't think"
"Nonsense!" Amos boomed, signaling for a waiter. "Sybil has to
leave in
a few moments to drive some of the guests to our house, so we'll just
have time
for one more quick one. Waiter, bring us two scotch-and-waters and one
Brandy
Alexander."
"You like the Alexanders, Melanie?" Sybil asked.
"Oh yes, very much. I... don't like the taste of liquor very
much, but
these are very smooth and refreshing. I should have discovered them
before.
Thank you for suggesting them, Mrs. Anderson."
"Do call me Sybil," the older woman purred.
"That's for sure," Amos chimed in, a slight red flush of alcohol
covering
his cheeks. "We're out for a good time tonight. Let's eat, drink, and
be merry
as the saying goes, because we're all good friends together. Melanie,
Sybil
and Amos. One-Two-Three. Yes, siree."
The new round of drinks appeared, and after she had sipped almost
half of
her brandy, Melanie noticed that the lack of food was finally making a
difference. She was really beginning to feel the liquor, but in a most
pleasant manner as she relaxed and some of her mental caution
disappeared. She
soon found herself having a very animated conversation with both the
Andersons.
Amos was witty and could converse artfully on a dozen different
subjects, and
even his slightly naughty risque jokes didn't offend her, but set her
laughing
delightfully. He was a very nice, very handsome, very urbane man whom
she was
finding herself liking more and more. A rapport with Sybil also
developed
easily, and they were soon discussing the latest fashions and what it
would be
like to take a round-the-world cruise.
Melanie was enjoying herself more with every passing minute,
feeling
giddy and light-headed and almost carefree for the first time since Tim
had
departed. She was extremely happy that she'd agreed to go along
tonight, and
was looking forward to the rest of the night up at the Anderson house.
"Why don't you ask Melanie to dance, Amos?" Sybil suggested as
the
conversation hit a momentary lull. "I have to leave in just a moment
and want
to finish my drink, but you shouldn't let such good music go to waste."
"An excellent suggestion," her husband agreed with a smile, and
rose from
his chair to offer Melanie his arm. "Shall we, my dear?"
"Well..." She hesitated, but then thought if Sybil had suggested
it, it
must be all right. "I'd love to, Amos."
He led her out to the dance floor where the small combo was
playing one
of the quiet old favorites. She was taken by surprise when he curled
her
warmly in his arms, pushing the sharp, full tips of her breasts deeply
into his
chest. She wasn't sure how to react at first, and stiffened
automatically as
he hugged her close.
"Don't be afraid, my dear," her boss whispered warmly into her
ear. "I'm
not planning to bite you."
Melanie's face flushed in the dimness of the dance floor as she
felt him
push forward harder and spread her legs slightly so that the mound of
her loins
were forced against the top of his thigh. The soft silkiness of her
dress
seemed to hide nothing from her senses and she could feel the resilient
flesh
of her right thigh brushing tightly between the older man's legs as
they moved
slowly in time to the music. Inadvertently, she made contact with the
softness
of his trousered penis, and with a start, she felt a slight stirring of
his
manhood beneath his pants.
"We... we shouldn't be dancing like this, Amos. It... It doesn't
look
too good to be this close, and your wife might object."
"Oh, she won't care," Anderson said in an offhand way. "She
doesn't care
what I do."
"B-But you're a married man," she stammered in a whisper. "And...
and I'm
married, too."
"Yes, my dear," Anderson replied with oily smoothness. "That
always makes
it more exciting, don't you think?"
Melanie suddenly lost her tongue, surprised as she was by his
strange-sounding words to her. Before she could think of a proper
answer, the
music stopped and the combo leader announced it was time for
intermission.
"Your husband is a very good dancer," Melanie managed to say,
trying to
cover the blushing she was feeling in her cheeks.
"Sybil is too," Anderson said, smiling broadly. "Used to be the
best in
Vegas, and not too many years ago, either."
"Don't listen to him," Sybil said to Melanie. "When a man is as
good a
leader as he is, I could have two club feet and still dance well." She
tipped
the glass of scotch to her lips and drained it in two swift swallows,
then
collected her purse and stood up. "Well, I must be off."
"Oh," Melanie said, "must you?"
"If you want a party tonight, I do. I'm not sure when I'll get
back, so
you go ahead and have another drink, and I'll see you all at the house
later
on."
"Goodbye, dear," Amos said, and kissed his wife lightly on the
cheek. He
knew there was no turning back for the young wife sitting next to him
now. With
Sybil leaving, the stage was set for his seduction, just as they'd been
planning for the last thirty days. Yes, he was going to enjoy playing
husband
this evening with Melanie, now that his own wife had made her excuses
and left.
A slight twinge of anticipation rippled between his thighs as he
pictured
little Melanie nakedly groveling before him.
"Well," he said warmly, turning his attention to the lovely young
innocent sitting next to him, "Here's to us, Melanie. Here's to us and
our
getting to know each other better before the night's over."
Melanie tipped her glass to his and took a large, deep drink of
her
Brandy Alexander, her eyes sparkling at her handsome boss over the rim
of her
cocktail.
Another round of drinks was brought, and the two of them
continued to sit
in the Dew Drop Inn, talking for almost half an hour. For some reason
Melanie
couldn't explain, she was beginning to feel uneasy about being alone
with Amos
Anderson. She already felt wicked and worldly for being out with
another
maneven though it was not a datebut it was something else bothering her
slightly which she couldn't quite put her finger on. She knew that it
was
perfectly all right in this day and age for her to be in the company of
a nice
man like him, as it might not have been in her mother's day. She knew
nothing
would happen, just as she'd told herself in the ladies room, and Amos
Anderson
had been the very soul of gentlemanly discretion. Yet still there was
a
pervading air of something wrong, something deliciously wrong as though
she
were skirting some forbidden fate. She tried to recall what might have
caused
it, but she could find nothing on which to base her small twinge of
apprehension. As she set her glass down, she decided to relax and stop
being
such an old wet blanket, and that the tingling sensations in the depth
of her
belly were only the result of one too many Brandy Alexanders on an
empty
stomach.
"Well, my dear," Amos Anderson eventually said, "shall we drink
up and be
on the way to my house?"
"Yes," she replied gratefully. "Yes, let's. Maybe your wife
will be
there with the guests by now."
"Perhaps," Anderson said suavely, but inside his head he was
thinking:
not a chance, little one. Sybil won't be where you can see her, and
there
won't be any guests around to save you now...!
* * *
The ride to the Anderson home was beautiful, Melanie thought as
she sat
beside Amos in his large convertible. The road wound through the
lovely wooded
hills in back of Greenridge, and she could see out of the windows the
flat-lands below with their myriad of twinkling city lights shining
like a
thousand fireflies. She was impressed by the rolling, well-landscaped
grounds
around his spacious house when they arrived. But it was quiet, and the
house
was dark, with no cars parked in the large driveway, and Melanie
realized that
her employer's lovely wife had not yet returned from picking up the
other
guests. Amos noticed this as well, and as he drew up the car in front
of the
double-doored garage, he said jovially, "Well, my dear, we're on our
own for a
while longer. Come on in, and I'll get things ready for the party,
hmmm?"
He shut off the powerful engine, and was hardly out of his side
of the
car before he was opening the door for her. He offered his hand, and
Melanie
had a fleeting urge to refuse the proffered assistance, but then she
took it
and allowed the older man to help her out. They walked up the driveway
to a
crushed oyster-shell path which led around an outcropping of
moss-covered rock.
She could hear a soft trickling of water as a stream fell pleasantly
over the
rocks and flowed into a small Oriental pool. The path had a wooden
bridge over
the water, and then came to the front porch, where a massive wood door
was
recessed in green tiled framework.
Amos opened the front door, and Melanie followed him into the
living
room, where he switched on the overhead lights. The lamps were soft
and warm,
easing Melanie's small sense of apprehension, and she gazed around in
wonder at
the size and luxury of the room. All of the furniture except for a long
white
English lounge were of the finest Early American maple. One whole wall
was
glass, with sliding panels so that a person could step out onto the
flagstone
patio beyond. A large oil painting of the modernistic school hung
prominently
near a white porcelain fireplace.
"Sit down, my dear, and make yourself comfortable," Anderson said
as he
crossed the room to a maple console. "Slip out of your shoes, why
don't you?
I'm sure your feet must be tired after standing on them all evening."
"Thank you." Melanie answered, and she did as he suggested,
removing her
flats and then sitting down on the couch. She drew her bare legs up
under her
on the cushion, and primly tried to pull her short mini-skirt down as
far as it
would go.
Anderson leafed through a record album and said over his
shoulder: "Would
you like a little music while we're waiting?"
"That would be nice," she replied, dimpling. "Something soft and
soothing, if you have it."
"I most certainly do, my dear." In a moment, violins and muted
horns
drifted across the room like a cloud of relaxing warmth. "Percy Faith,
I hope
you like him?"
"Oh yes, very much." She tucked her legs further beneath her as
Amos
Anderson came over and sat down on the couch. She was pleased to see
that he
didn't try to sit next to her, but actually sat a little further away
than was
socially necessary. She had been foolish, she thought to herself.
Amos was a
handsome, appealing man with a certain allure which fascinated her, and
that
was the only reason for her slight uneasiness. Herself! And certainly
she
wasn't going to do anything wrong!
"It is nice, my dear, it is indeed." Anderson closed his eyes and
tapped
his fingers on the arm of the couch as though the only thing in the
room were
the strains of the music. For all his aching desire to thrust his
rapidly
hardening cock up into the narrow slit of her tight little cunt, he
knew that
to suddenly attack her would be the worst plan he could follow. She
would have
been pawed half to death by school-boy dates and more than likely by
that oaf
of a husband of her's, and he figured correctly that before any
physical
conquest of her tender young flesh, he would have to lessen her mental
barriers
with a sophisticated approach. And he had just the thing to do it
with, too...
He picked up a scrolled silver cigarette case from the table
beside him
and opened its hinged lid, selecting a thin brown cigarette from its
contents.
He held out the case.
"Have a cigarette, my dear?"
"No, thank you. I have my own in my purse."
"I noticed that you are just about out. Please try one of mine
and see
how you like them. They're as mild tasting as your filter-tips, only
with more
flavor."
"Really? What kind are they?"
"Mexican, my dear," Anderson said, and then to reassure her, he
added:
"The soil down there makes the tobacco look different."
"Well, I"
He urged the case closer to her hesitating fingers. "Just take a
few
puffs slowly and see, my dear. Go ahead. If you don't like it, put it
out,
and I'll mix you a drink."
"All... All right," she answered falteringly, and took a
cigarette,
bending her head so that Amos could light it for her.
"Slowly, slowly," Anderson instructed her. "That's the way they
taste
better." Melanie watched him as he took a drag and inhaled very
gently. She
followed his example, and found a strange but not unpleasant taste.
She
inhaled deeper on the next puff and held it down a few seconds. After
three or
four inhalations, she could hardly feel it go down her throat at all,
it was so
smooth. She continued to smoke, holding the air down for as long as
she could
each time...
"Do you feel anything?" Anderson asked blandly as she neared the
end of
her first cigarette.
"Why yes, I do. I feel... feel very nice," Melanie said in a
voice that
didn't seem to be her own. She glanced at the man sitting beside her,
and he
suddenly looked to be miles away. "What... What kind of cigarette did
you say
this was, Amos?"
He answered with a soft chuckle. "Marijuana."
"Marijuana!" She had heard about the drug only fleetingly, and
then
mostly to do with its being smoked at wild parties. "Will... Will this
make me
do things I don't... I don't want to?"
"No, of course not, my dear," Anderson scoffed. "You smoke it
because it
doesn't make you dull and sleepy like alcohol can. It leaves you mellow
and
feeling smooth, that's all. Isn't that how you feel now?"
"Yes, Amos, yes it does..."
Anderson smiled back at her, passing her another thin brown
cigarette to
replace the one she'd smoked. Without thinking, Melanie pressed it to
her lips
and pulled deeply, feeling this one heightening the pleasant sensation
the
first had caused. She felt strangely and euphorically bodyless and
liked it,
and the longer she held the curling smoke in her lungs, the softer her
world
became. She noticed the lights of the room becoming fuzzy, but the
thin, brown
cigarettes had dulled any fears she had about what she was doing... or
should
be doing. She was beginning not to mind anything now with the
delicious warmth
of the marijuana filtering through her blood and mixing headily with
the
alcohol she had already consumed. She could feel her flesh tingling
all over
deep inside... deep down where she had never felt anything before in
her
life...
The corrupting movie-maker caught the almost imperceptible
relaxing of
Melanie Cartwright's natural defenses, and inwardly gloated with
obscene
delight. He continued to talk with her as he watched her smoke the
strong
marijuana, his tones as warm and calm as the music and the cigarettes.
He was
experienced in the sensing of the most subtle of moods, knowing
perfectly when
to retreat or advance, and he moved inexorably from innocuous subjects
at first
to other, more intimate discussions. He was well aware that even the
mention
of sexual things would produce a passionate response in the drugged
soul of
this innocent young woman and cause a sensual tingle which would fill
her
slender, firm body until she would not be able to resist it... Or
him...
"How are you feeling now, my dear?" he asked, handing her a third
marijuana cigarette.
"I feel so wonderful, Amos. I wish I never had to go home."
"It must be miserable, there all alone without a man."
"Even with Tim, it's" Melanie caught herself just before she
blurted out
all her innermost troubles. She put the back of one slim hand to her
mouth in
a gesture of silence.
Anderson moved closer, sliding himself across the cushions of the
couch
until he was almost touching her voluptuous young body. "What is it,
my dear?"
he asked in a soothing voice. "Tell me, what is the problem. Maybe I
can help
you."
Melanie shook her head, taking another deep puff of her cigarette
in an
effort to still her beating heart. "N-No," she managed to whisper.
"I... I
can't tell."
"You should confide in somebody, Melanie. I can see that you're
very
upset about Tim for some reason, and it's no good to keep it bottled up
inside
you."
"M-Maybe not, but I can't." She swallowed thickly, her mind
dreamy from
the effects of the marijuana and brandy. "It... It has to do with sex,
you
see."
"Everybody has sex lives, my dear. In this day and age of sexual
freedom, sex is talked and shown everywhere you go. Look at the
advertisements, the books, the movies I show at my theater. You
shouldn't be
afraid to talk about sex with me..."
Melanie was dimly aware of Amos Anderson touching her shoulder
with his
hand and draw her closer to him. His arm feels good, she thought to
herself,
and so comforting... She pulled again on the cigarette in her lips.
The musky
odor of Amos' cologne filled her nostrils, stimulating her more, and
she
allowed herself to be pressed close against the firm supporting chest
of her
employer. She lowered her head against his muscular leanness and
thought
wretchedly of her marriage to Tim and how he hadn't held her in such a
warm
embrace for an awfully long time.
Amos felt the soft, resilient flesh of the unsuspecting young
wife press
tightly to his own body, and her firmly ripened breasts pulsing against
his
chest. He let the soft strands of her honey-colored hair brush against
his
nostrils as he whispered to her: "Maybe I can help, Melanie... Please
let me
help you..."
"No," she moaned against him. "No, nothing can make it right."
"Shhh, you're getting too upset, my dear..."
"Oh, Amos, I'm miserable!" she heard herself mewl involuntarily.
"I'm so
terribly miserable!"
"Then tell me about it, my dear. You'll feel better..."
Then, haltingly, she found herself unable to stop from pouring
out her
heart to him. Even though she knew she should be more discrete about
her
marital secrets, she was gripped by an overwhelming urge to confess to
this
strong handsome man who was holding her as her father had after a
nightmare.
Perhaps it was his soft, reassuring voice, or the influences of the
brandy and
the cigarettes, but whatever was urging her on, it was uncontrollable,
and she
unburdened her misery to Amos Anderson. She told him in half-sobbing,
broken
words about what had happened to her that last night before Tim had
left for
New York, and the nights which had preceded it in her less-than-perfect
marriage, and she even included the sordid incident in Tim's parked car
when
they'd been engaged. It all came out, and when she was finished, she
pressed
her tear-streaked face tight against Amos' chest, sobbing as though her
heart
was broken.
The lecherous older man stroked her hair lightly in gentle
comfort, and
then he stroked the satiny skin of her arm, a small smile playing
across his
handsome tanned features. So... just as he thought! A rutting boar of
a
husband, and a frigid mother! And yet, he could tell that irately
Melanie was a
very passionate woman beneath her surface, only waiting for the proper
combination to stroke her furnace to the boiling point. And he was
just the
man to do it.
By God, he was... and would be tonight!
In the same tone of voice as he'd been using all along, Anderson
said
softly into her ear, "Don't think about it any more, my dear. Don't
think
about how your husband took you all those times so brutally... Don't
think how
he hurt you inside..."
Despite herself, Melanie was beginning to slowly experience an
almost
soporific dream as she remained huddled in Anderson's strong, gentle
embrace.
His words were soothing and hypnotic to her, and though she was aware
that he
was telling her not to think of what she had done and felt with Tim,
the
visions were more clear in her mind than ever. She didn't want to
think about
it, but she couldn't seem to help herself. She clutched the thin
material of
Anderson's shirt, finding security in his masculine nearness and the
gentle
stroking of his hand on her bare arm...
Anderson could feel her warmly throbbing breasts harden beneath
her thin
sweater, and he knew his words were having the desired effect on her
mind. She
was thinking about it, seeing her and her husband mentally, and the
images were
causing her unmistakable, if unwanted, arousal in her body. It's
working, he
thought gleefully. I'm going to fuck this bitch yet!
"Don't think how he would press his naked body down on your's and
force
his hardened penis deep up inside your tender vagina with brutal force.
Don't
think how he would pump up and down frantically inside you..."
Strangely, perversely, the images of Tim raping her painfully
swollen
pussy came back to her a hundredfold. The marijuana and brandy swirled
heatedly through her bloodstream, and her nerve-ends seemed to tingle
for
reasons she could not understand. She could feel a taunting tendril of
some
unmentionable sensation creep slowly through her loins, and a strange
moistness
seep out from between her tightly clenched thighs to wet the soft white
nylon
of her panties. Her nipples were hardening under her brassiere, even
though
she willed them not to with all her strength. The images continued to
grow of
their own volition, and Amos was too close, too exciting...
"Don't think about you and Tim, Melanie. Don't think about how
he was
fucking you. Yes, fucking, my dear... fucking is exactly the right
word to
describe how he slid in and out of your sweet little cunt until he came
with
his sperm deep up inside you..."
Anderson could feel Melanie trembling beneath his arm, and now
with other
emotions than just misery and shame, he thought victoriously. Her
loneliness,
her physical needs, the aphrodisiac marijuana, and the alcohol in her
blood
were all working in harmony, on her basic sensual nature, breaking down
the
barriers of her false prudishness and baring the hot, wild woman
beneath. He
couldn't control his eagerly pulsating cock from leaping into full
erection at
the idea of sliding his own male hardness up inside the pussy which her
husband
had foolishly rejected. Damn, he couldn't wait another moment! She
was
breathing faster and faster with every word he cooed into her ear, and
if there
was ever going to be a time to make his play for her, it was right now!
Now was the time to strike!
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