August Moone
Book 4
Still Tripping
Chapter 7
Stateside Serenades

Almost A Good Idea 
	His eyes fluttered, the pain was intense.  A reflux action was going on in his belly, searing pain seethed throughout his whole body, mostly in his head, but his shoulder throbbed badly, too.
	How long it had been he didn’t know; he knew, though, that he was thirsty--damn thirsty.  It felt like a layer of salty dust had dried in his mouth.  He tried to move but found that he couldn’t.  There was the discovery that he was sitting on something, he knew instantly what it was--a bedpan.
	He couldn’t move his arms, or legs.  He wondered curiously and mildly if he was “restrained.”  Slowly he let his eyes fluttered to the point that he could just barely see.  Duly he could hear voices and feel some air moving.  A man stood nearby, at the end of his bed, or cot, or whatever.  An MP.  That wasn’t good.
	He tried moving his hand again, his other hand.
	Nope.
	Hmmmm
	How much trouble was he in?  Had the MPs fingered out what had happened?  Not a lot of forethought had gone into the thought that he had thought, it was a desperate measure.  If the MPs hadn’t fingered it out, surely a doctor may have.  Surely.  But maybe not.
	Suddenly someone came up and applied something cold to his face.
	There was the smell of lingering perfume.  A nurse.
	He mumbled and fluttered his eyes, trying to open them.
	“Sir, sir, he’s awake!” called out the nurse.  
	Presently a gray headed man in fatigues came, it was unclear of what kind of “sir” he was, captain, major, general.
	“How you feeling, son?” came a soft kind hearted voice.
	Finch tried to speak but the dryness in his mouth prevented that.
	A cold glass of water helped.  His brow and face as a whole were mopped down with a cooling rag.  He did feel better, just was terribly-terribly hungry, and sore.
	“W-here--uh, w-what’s going on?” he mumbled.  Trying his best to fake it.
	“Yer alright now, son.” spoke the soft voice of the man.  “Do you know where you are?”
	Honestly, “No.”
	“I’m Colonel Stoddar, One Oh Fifty-five MASH, yer in a hospital.  Do you remember anything?”
	His eyes fluttered and he screwed up his face, then shook his head.
	“Can you describe what happened?” came a new voice, a more sterner ‘I want to know’ voice.  The MP.  The Colonel gave the MP a bad look.
	Finch frowned and closed his eyes, he gulped and appeared to be confused.  Then, “Major Houla--hulahan,” he blurted, “where is she, is she alright--” he began to get frantic and thrash about, his arms DID move, he was NOT restrained.
	“Easy now, easy!” said the Colonel.  Both he and the nurse strove to keep him in the bed.
	Finch continued his inquiry, then supplied a tid bit of info, “We--we were on our way to the airport, Kimpo.”
	He breathed hard and struggled as best he could to recall that fateful day, how many had it been since he didn’t know.  He hoped he was convincing.
	“Something--something happened, the jeep.” he paused as if reflecting, trying to dredge up.  Pain surged thru his arm and shot thru his body, he wasn’t faking that.
	“Give him a shot.” said the Colonel.  The nurse did so, the MP wanted more information.  “You’ll git yer information when you get it, got it!?” said angrily the Colonel.
	“Colonel, I’m investigating an incident--”
	“I know that!” barked the Colonel, the rest of the convo Finch was oblivious to, he passed out--succumbing to the “shot” the nurse had given him.

	There was naught to do but the obvious--he had to make it look good.  There were many in the community surrounding the US military bases world wide who did NOT like the US military.  Although they appreciated their help in freeing them from oppression of one sort or another, afterward the US had overstayed its welcome and were no longer desired.
	But that was just some of the locals, the higher officials and government of the locals liked the US military sticking around, and so did some of the locals as it was ‘good for business.’
	But, be that as it may, US military personnel had to be on their guard when out of the base area; usually it was US MALE personnel who had run ins with locals, but there had been some incidences involving female personnel being assaulted, maimed, and raped by local villagers.
	Finch was aware of this fact and hoped to use it for his own purpose.
	After awhile of the major’s body basting nakedly in the noonday sun, SFC Finch dragged her carcass to the nearby woods, he then took the time to cover up the drag marks, then bring her clothing to her and rip it up good, and untie her hands.  The rock of which she had met her fate on he dug up and buried where she had been re-placed, blood stain up.
	Thereafter, the next phase to carry the plan thru:
	Which involved seeking out a local, a local youth.
	Sighting one Finch really wished he had his mental abilities, but alas he did not, so he had to deal with it the hard way--by force.  He had the Major’s side arm plus a rifle.  After securing the fifteen year old youth, he blindfolded the boy and marched him back to where the Major lay.  Then he stripped the boy down and positioned him onto the major, the boy realized what was up, er--what/who he was on.  His hands were frees and he fondled the breasts, he didn’t speak much English, but understood some.  The weapon barrel stuffed into his asshole prompted him to “fuck” as instructed the woman beneath him.
	It didn’t occur to him that anything was wrong with the woman he was forced to fuck, she didn’t move or make any noise.  The boy humped on her furry snatch and soon was IN her and completing the task.
	Afterwards, the boy was stood up and shot.  By the major.
	Her side arm, military .45 was clenched in her hand and she pulled the trigger, sending the naked boy with cum oozing from his cock around and onto the ground.  He was still alive, though.
	He stood up and kicked in the butt and sent on his way, whereupon Finch shot the youth in the back.  He once more whirled about and collapsed to the ground and lay motionless.  Forrest wasn’t too worried about the gunshots being heard, by the locals or military personnel; hunting was an ongoing thing in the back country.
	A good think or rethink was needed, and he took it.  His plan was not overly a good, but he was all for self-preservation.  He didn’t think that ONE local would be enough, be enough for convincing.  He stole back to where he had encountered the young Korean and found some homes; more importantly the wash.  He found some boots and suitable clothing.  With them securely in his hands he scurried back to the lifeless major and scattered the clothing.
	Then came the dangerous thing to do to ensure the convincing part.

	There was a very near possibility that he could very well kill himself.  And that just wouldn’t do.  But he needed his so-so plan to look as convincing as possible.  He firstly had scrub the few powder burns on his hand off, just in case some whiz bang investigator got nosey and checked.  There WOULD be powder burns--from the major’s .45 on HER hand, giving insight that SHE had shot the young Korean boy during and or after he had raped her.  The scattering of Korean boots and clothes would hopefully suggest that there were OTHERS involved.
	All that lingered was…
	Damned heroics.
	Using his shoe laces and vine string made from grass stalks he made his M16 discharge a bullet into him.  Not once but twice!  Both bullets went cleanly thru him, one shattered on a rock he was resting against and shards of bullet and rock splattered his face.
	The pain was immeasurable.
	Somehow he managed to undo the weapon lodged in the fork of a tree, put his shoe laces back and discard the vine string.  He gave no more thought to the major and was only so-so remorseful about her demise.  

	The pains in his body were increasing, it had almost been a good idea.  He stumbled his way down the road from the disabled jeep to the main road, a nice three mile jaunt.  It was near evening type time before he made it, he was suffering from some blood loss and actually had a low tolerance for pain.
	At the main road he fell, on purpose, keeping part of his body in the tall weeds with his arms out on the road so as to be seen.  It would be, though, a long wait.  It was evening type time and not a lot of traffic.  
	How long he actually lay there he didn’t know--he lost consciousness.  Yea, almost a good idea.
	The sponge baths were pretty cool.  He liked those.  His shoulder was pretty sore, and would be for a long while.  He had lost some hearng in his left ear and sight in his left eye.  There was nerve damage to the left side of his face, too.  Yep, almost a good idea.
	His stay at the One Oh Fifty-Five was short lived, he was transferred to Tokyo General for a marvelous 3-week stay; he was able to get around on his own.  He still was hospital bound but that eased when he was shipped to Honolulu!  A three week stay there, he went to the beach--every day.  A luau now and then and the time of his life!
	There was a couple of days of mild interrogation from a pesky CID man investigating the tragic rape/death of Major Houlahan, the Queen of Bitchdom.  Forrest managed to bluff his way thru, his story was collaborated and consistent.  No suspects, however, had ever been apprehended and the Korean community of the area were up in arms with the accusations.  It was a scooch from becoming an international incident.  The CID man hinted that he would like (like) Forrest to “return” to the “scene of the crime” to help aid in the continuing investigation.
	Forrest declined.  Flatly.  He couldn’t be forced, but there was the strong hint that it could.  Forrest knew better.  ’blow it out your ass.’ he decreed.  The CID man went away very unhappy.  Forrest knew that for a while he had best mind his little p’s & q’s, and the big ones, too.

                                                      *****

	The funeral of his parents put him in a foul depressing mood.  His father had passed first, then three months later his mother.  He no longer cared for military life and had moved home, securing a small local job that offered nothing more than a weekly paycheck.

Has It Been That Long Already
	“Hey Nice To See You, Bend Over Now, Please!”
	He was minding his own business when a pretty girl pulled up.  Something about her intrigued him, but he didn’t know what for sure.  Mainly it was those damn tight jeans.  Her top concealed a nice rack, long bouncy hair glistened in the afternoon sun, her smile was intoxicating.
	Then they met face to face as she handed him some paperwork and he directed some flunkies to unload her little delivery truck.  She was familiar to him but he couldn’t place her.  (although, he wanted to place her on his desk and ball to fuck out of her!)
	“You clowns got nothing to do?” he snapped at the drooling young men not quite out of their diapers yet.  The boys scurried and disappeared into the warehouse.  Forrest watched the girl hop off of the cement loading dock and back wiggle back into delivery truck.  His cock was as strong as any forklift.  Behind him in the warehouse of oilfield pipe related stuff he could hear the sneers and jeers of his flunkies.
	The girl hadn’t left yet, she came clambered back out of her pickup and up the stairs.  Forrest went to greet, ’Something wrong?’
	“You’re Forrest Finch?” she stated.
	“Uh, yeah,” he said with a smile noting his signature on the paperwork receipt.
	She smiled big, Forrest felt his asshole clench, his balls tighten, and his cock surging.
	“I’m Stephanie, Stephanie Krammer?”
	Stephanie Krammer.  STEPHANIE KRAMMER!  Holy sheep shit!!
	Stephanie Krammer was one of the few girls at Boron High who liked him.  Stephanie Krammer was one of the few girls he liked, but never dated.  They had gone thru school together, literally--since 2nd grade clear thru high school.
	“Damn!” he said being caught off guard.  They hugged and held hands, whoops and hollers were heard from deep inside the darkened warehouse.
	Stephanie smiled and blushed.  She was used to it, though, she STILL managed to retain a teenager’s body, despite the passage of time.
	Holding her hands Forrest noted the absence of any rings.  But that didn’t mean anything.  Usually it did to a girl, though; but there were mitigating circumstances--like the ring didn’t fit, it was regarded as a “tether” or the industry she was in pinched her finger(s) if wearing a ring.
	“So--so, how have you been?” he asked losing some composure.
	“Been good, got married, got divorced!” she smiled.  Screw time and things to do, he hadn’t seen anyone from his high school since he had left.
	“What have you been up to?  I haven’t seen you here before?”
	“I-I uhm,” tongue tied.  He couldn’t believe it.  Stephanie was smiling and blushing for him.
	“I--I just got out of the Army a while ago,” he told her,
	A beeper went off, hers.  She frowned and shook her head.
	The moment was spoiled.  “I gotta go.” she said, but they continued to hold hands.  She tugged in a lower lip and they gazed into one another’s eyes.  A strange feeling unknown to Forrest enveloped him.
	“Maybe we can get together sometime?” she said, still not letting go of his hands--as he was not letting go of hers.
	Forrest gulped and nodded, unable to speak.
	“Uh, yeah,” he said dumbly at last, “that--that would be great.”
	And how.
	She finally managed to pull away from his grip and scribble her number down on a business card.  “Call me.” she said.  He would.  Oh how he would call her.  It was Wednesday, 
	“Uhm, Friday free you be?”  
	Stephanie smiled and struggled to keep from laughing, she still had it, she still had the ability to fluster Forrest.  
	She nodded and scampered down the stairs back to her pickup.  She gave him one more smile and the hand motion of “call me.”

	Inside the warehouse it was damned difficult to live down the scene; his flunkies one-two-three-four razed him good.  Two were Mexican, one was black, one was white.  All were under 25 yrs of age.  He himself was the new man on the dock, a warehouse manager of an oilfield servicer.  The job wasn’t much, but there were benefits and a weekly wage.
	He shooed the flunkies on to other things and settled at his desk.  He could still hear the boys whooping and hollering, he let it go; Stephanie Krammer filled his noggin.  They had never connected, not in school.  But had palled around some.  They ran with different groups and only once during their four year “enlistment” did they share a class.  He was enamored with the girl, not just her fine shapely ass, bouncing titties--her smile.  Her brown eyes, incredible face--all fanciful and delicious.
	She was, though, just one of many.
	There were girls of his “class” as well as the others; he had girls he liked and shined to in the freshman class.  But the most were in his own.  Stephanie topped the list.  There were as many as fourteen girls he deeply wanted to fuck.  Twice that he wouldn’t mind just seeing naked.  There were a couple of teachers thrown in the mix, too.

	At the end of the day Forrest was still enveloped by Stephanie.
	So enveloped that he failed to see the hunk of pipe dangling off the end of a forklift’s forks; which it wasn’t supposed to be--but the operator (one of the flunkies) left the machine to re-open the main warehouse door to set the 90 degree angled 18 by 38 inch elbow pipe outside for to be picked up by a contractor.
	Forrest clunked into the pipe and stumbled back and then slumped to the ground.  His flunkies all raced to him with one calling the front office for help.  Forrest was okay, just a MAJOR ding to his noggin and a little ill; and a pesky whining in his ears.  A massive headache came soon thereafter.
	An assistant manager (of the front office) took Forrest home.
	The forklift operator who had left the forks up when he shouldn’t was banned from forklift operations for a while.  Forrest recovered, he got the next day off as a matter of fact, with pay.  His superior paid him a visit to see if he needed any hospitalization.  He didn’t.  that would be too much of a fuss and ruin the Safety Record.
	He was just a little dizzy and had the earache along with the headache.  He assured his superior that he would be fine.  After much ado about convincing, the superior left.
	Forrest now lived in an apartment, he would prefer a house but they were more costly.  He had sold his parents’ home and all the furnishings, paid off the bills and had a little to himself.  He was not into moving into the house of his upbringing.
	Along with living in an apartment complex--there’s the complimentary pool; also a laundry room and snack room by the clubhouse/meeting/bitching room and various soda dispensing machine at the stairwells and landings.
	Come the evening type time he phoned in an order for pizza.  Seemed like the thing to do, his headache was pissing him off and hopefully a good cheesy/meaty pizza would curb it.  (along with half the bottle of aspirin he had downed…)
	Lo and Behold if who didn’t appear to his steps but a lovely--simply fucking lovely 19 yr old vixen.  TIGHT black jeans and a snug fitting red top.  Beautiful eyes, a sweet-sweet smile, bubbly personality, perfect body.
	‘Damn almighty!’ he said to himself, ‘I’d like to see you bent over!’
	He scoffed to himself and then…
	She handed off the pizza box and turned about--and BENT THE FUCK OVER!!!
	Forrest gulped.
	‘Oh no!’ not again.  It had been months since his last fling with the Special Minding Abilities, he was getting rather used to it not being there.  There was a bit of a ringing in his ears and a slight blurry vision, but all in all--he was back online!
	He had the 19 yr old vixen come into the apartment.  He hoped she wasn’t seen.  He had he mind, putting her into a “dream-like” state of being, having her be oblivious to what was actually going on...  
	Which was a whole lot of hanky panky!
	Once safely inside he hugged the girl, sending his hands down her back to cop a serious feel of her ass.  Noting there was no adverse reactions from the near adult, he leaned back from the impromptu embraced and squeezed her young ripened melons.
	Nothing from the girl indicated that she was aware.
	He tugged the red uniform shirt up and pushed it over her head and locked it behind her at her neck.  A nice rack.  Small “B”s, but nice.  The bra cups were flipped up and he mauled each one in favor--before sinking to his knees and unhitching her black jeans.  She breathed in and out and steady.
	Nice white bikini panties with flowers all over them.  A well trimmed snatch box.  He feasted his eyes on it for a long time, too long perhaps.  But he didn’t mind, he marveled and liked it.
	Slowly he lowered the girl’s jeans, followed by the tugging down of her blue cotton undies.  A lovely naked cunny greeted him, his hands danced on her soft supple cool ass--his cock surged and demanded attention.
	It would not be denied.
	He guided the girl to the couch whereupon he slipped her jeans and undies off, parted her legs and went down on her.  With his tongue now dancing in her holy of holies there WAS some reaction from the girl--it was a natural thing.  Had she NOT reacted Forrest would have thought he screwing a lifeless body!
	She was not a virgin, but her cunny was still snug fitting and accepted his massive fuck stick quite well.  The pizza girl thrashed about as she should, her nipples perked up and her cunny became swamp-like.  Forrest drive the girl the very brink of orgasm--then pushed her onward until they fell off of the couch in a mass of legs and arms, but Forrest’s cock still embedded into the girl’s pussy still fucking.

	She wasn’t the last, he still took his time as well as many precautions.  He was still bothered about his Korean experience with Major Houlahan.  That just hadn’t gone well at all.  But he didn’t (wasn’t) losing any sleep over it.  		
	There was an incident involving a young girl.  (natch)

	She was a cutey, that was for sure.  Clad in a one piece yellow bathing suit with huge friendly flowers.  She was on her way back from the communal bathrooms; Forrest on his way down the stairs to run an errand.  He licked his lips and leaned against the wrought iron railing, his eyes marveled at her pert little ass as she jiggled her way back to the pool.  
	‘Stop.’ he commanded.  Just to check, just to see if she would, because of her young age.  Surprisingly--she did.  The noise of the other children at play for the summer, the traffic on the front end of the apartments, the soda machine kicking on, all did not interfere with his special Minding Ability.  
	Slowly he moved back up the stairs to the landing.
	‘Come up the stairs.’ he said.
	To his delight--she did!
	At the landing there were four apartments--one of which belonged to Forrest.  Though it was a very very dangerous thing to do--into his apartment they went.
	His windows were most always concealed anyways, apartment cool, and usually quite dim.  The Subject girl seemed to still be under his control, there was notably the lack of side effects to himself--no headache or toothache.
	Casually he wondered if he would ever develop something like a tumor or get cancer--brain cancer from the implant?
	It was a fleeting thought, he moved the little girl to his bedroom and onto his bed.  He lay beside her, lightly fingering her between her legs.  She lay completely oblivious.  His finger eased the crotch of her snug fitting swimsuit to one side to give him access (eye-view) to her hairless cunny.
	Soon he was too involved and pent up and easily removed the girl’s swimsuit.  He didn’t remove her “virginity”, but not for the lack of trying.  He fingered her young cunny more earnestly, licked her out and laid his pipe organ on her for a serious hump fest--eventually spilling his seed.
	After smearing the gooey spunk matter all over the child’s cunny he straddled her chest and brought her head up to kiss his cum laden cock head.  Thereafter he rolled her over and fondled her ass for a while.
	Thereafter--he dressed her and returned her back to her “starting” position before someone got freaky and noticed her “missing.”
	She was not the first--nor the last.
	A girl at his workplace fell victim to his Wills; so did a teenager in his apartment building as well as another young girl--but who was older than the first.  And it WAS Friday.  The day of days.  His day had already been “busy” doinking, and with much ease about it, too--he still was not bothered by pesky bothersome maladies.  Was this a good thing or not?
	Once the work day WAS complete he scurried home as quickly as possible, after depositing his meager paycheck.  After being in a funk about the Government taking more than their fare share just for the privilege of living in a “free” country, Forrest absconded with the two afore mention goodies.  The little girl of ten was first, a flat chested lovely with curly brown hair, a sweet-sweet face, way too curious for her own good--and right in the laundry room!
	It was a big risk.  Big.  Big-big-big.  While doing laundry (his own) “Aimee” waltzed in to check HER laundry.  He only knew the girl as she lived in the same apartment complex as did her--just by sight.
	She smiled friendly like, she was still just a teensy-weensy leery of him, being a man and all.  Forrest went about his business as did the girl.  Then, ‘I’d like to see you take your pants down.’
	There was some hesitation, then--
	Slowly with small nimble fingers the girl began undoing her jeans.
	Forrest gulped and began to sweat.
	Aimee undone her jeans and pushed them down to her knees.  Forrest could hardly move and/or think.  He checked the door.  This was incredibly dangerous.  Incredibly.  
	He eased the girl over to one side by the “folding tables”, here at least he hoped he would get a jump on anyone coming in as their footsteps would ring out alarm on the cobblestoned pathway to the door of the laundry room.
	Then, he went to his knees.  He firstly marveled at the young girl, she was a cutey.  A real cutey.  Old familiar feelings once more enveloped him, his heart throbbed--not in lust, but in love.  He desired her, not for sex, but just because.
	He smoothed his hand over her butt, up and down her legs with eyes focusing on her crotch.  Nice.  Real nice.  Just a slight “bulge” of her virgin cunny.  Near out of his mind he lowered the panties and knew that he wanted to have her, in his bedroom, naked, legs spread wide…
And then…
	Stephanie Krammer.
	It had been so long, calling a girl for a date.  He almost tripped up thru his brief convo with her, but came away with desired results; a date!  He sat in his chair for awhile, he was actually back in the game!
	Aimee still occupied his mind.  His soul and cock.  He had lowered her undies and took a more sterner gander at her nakedness; licking his lips all the while.  Up onto the laundry folding table he hoisted her, tugging her panties on down to her ankles and more and more wishing they were in his bedroom--she wouldn’t be virgin for long.
	He licked on her, driving his tongue into her most private of private, tasting her saltiness and a bit of her pee.  He could scarcely breathe.  There was no time to whip out his dick and hump on her, there were voices and footsteps encroaching.  He dressed her and returned her to her normal being.
	He himself collected his laundry and dashed back to his apartment and somehow managed to keep his hands from spanking the monkey!  (he would wait until he had Stephanie do it for him!!)
	Steph had an apartment house, it was quaint and nice and she had a roommate.  (another blast from the past.)  and speaking of which…
	“Do you know about the reunion?”
	Forrest looked dumb, ‘Nope.’ and he didn’t it.
	“It’s our ten year reunion get together shindig.” Stephanie announced.
	Ten years.  Had it been that long already?  

	Dinner was good, a nice steak dinner at a semi-popular hangout that the high schoolers (Forrest & Stephanie and the 210 other seniors had gone to on special occasions) “way back when.”  Stephanie had never left town during that time, the ten year span, she had married and divorced during that time, no children.  Five members of their graduating class had died, one by suicide, the others “had help.”
	Most of the girls of their class were married, pregnant, getting married, or getting divorced.  A few of the boys had gone into the service, one fellow had become a millionaire via computer technology and was still in town.  She filled Forrest in on several tid bits of info during the course of their meal, and then it was off for some dancing in the same establishment.
	A movie followed.
	And then a nice little walk at midnight along a waterway at a nearby park.  At first there was the holding off of utilizing the mental powers.  At first.  Noting that they were ultimately alone and in damn darkness, Forrest easily got Stephanie to undress for him.  He leaned against a large boulder by the creek and though he couldn’t see her exactly stripping off her clothes, he was delighted just the same.
	He pressed his own nude body against hers, kissed her deeply and fondled her ass greatly, guiding his cock into her furry well trimmed snatch seconds later.  It had been awhile since she had had some cock and was in great need of it.
	Forrest was only too happy to oblige.
	He didn’t get into her mind (Q&A), it just didn’t come to mind, he was preoccupied.  He loved on her, in her, all over her with at length bending her over and taking his cock up the ole Hershey Highway.
	There were sensations beyond belief in porking the gal, inasmuch as he had done unto general making love to her.  He was enamored with her, fully--wholly--in souly.  
	She was good, sexually speaking.  She looked good, WAS good, looked good.  She was still just as sweet as she had always been, and now--now there was the prime opportunity to make her his.
	H wondered about that.  Could he?  He knew he had the ability to dink with a Subject’s mind, to make them do as he pleased and even to think!  He could make them “act” and continue doing so.  But what about long term, could he make someone like Stephanie become his life mate?
	With Stephanie, though, he didn’t think that that would be too hard to do; he felt that she was already shining to him--he wasn’t abusive, talked down to her, “used” her, or any of the negative things that soured a relationship.
	He didn’t think she was the type that would so willingly spread her legs, though; or ass cheeks, give head, walk naked in the moonlight in a semi-private place, on the first date.
	Q&Aing her still didn’t come to his mind.
Has it been that long (again)
	Class Reunion Time!
	One hundred forty-seven of the two hundred ten came to meet old friends.  Some had kept in contact during the ten years, others were coming in from other parts of the nation, with one coming in from England!  Some members had indeed joined the services, others had gone into business, some in business for themselves, some were living at home with their parents, others were scrounging around sponging off of everyone else.
	He thought of coming in his uniform, as had others done so, he was entitled to do so, he was still connected to the service via being in the Reserves; besides, the uniform was his anyways.
	There were soooooooooo many choices.  Not just the chicken or steak choice, but girls.  Girls-girls-girls!  So many girls he loved, er, had loved back in high school, so many who had pissed him off, shined him on, or virtually ignored him.  There were girls who were uppity and girls who were too shy.  Girls who were known sluts (but probably weren’t) and girls who were chaste (who probably weren’t.)  
	There were “good girls” and bad girls.
	Girls who were friendly and outgoing and would acknowledge your presence on the Earth, and then there were girls who would avoid you as you had been declared stricken with the plague.
	There was the normal pre-socializing before the dinner, Forrest mingled with the other classmates; not interested in the least in any of the MALE members, but made friendly with the females.  And at length he managed to slip away privately with a few of the select ones.  He wished beyond wishes to have had the Minding Abilities back in high school, back then most of the girls were virgins!
	Not a whole lot of “messing” with the girl/women; privately he fondled their asses, pulled the “V” tops down to get a nice gander of their ten year older titties, raising their dresses to take nicer gander of what interested him the most.

                                                           *****
A Decent into Hell
	After the reunion he “dated” Stephanie.  Banged her roommate, too; another girl from his high school.  He put the two thru their paces--having them prance about their house naked, take a shower together, shower with him, and 69 for him on the floor.
	It was a good life.  But--something happened.  Unexplainable.  On reflection he couldn’t account for a period of time.  There was a void, a space unaccountable.  How much time in “years” this space encompassed he didn’t know, either.
	His next recollection came placing him in a warehouse.
	Not a warehouse that was functional, it was non-operational; it had been a former store house for oilfield related industries.  It was a bevy of piping and a plant for processing oil and producing oil related products.  Or it had been.  It was a derelict building not good for anything.
	Except underhanded secure things that good honest folk in the public sector were not privy to knowing about.  (you know the kind…)
	Some business was going on, not oilfield related in the least.
	In a chair that was also chained to a large pipe was chained a man.  A black man.  He wore good clothes, but they were messed up.  He was in his mid 40s and looked to be something of a professional.  He was.  A cop.  Er, more to the point, a detective for a large metropolitan police department.  And he was in a world of hurt.
	He was in the company of several men, most were in Suits, some were in regular type clothing.  All were packing “heat.”  
	“Where’s the shipment?” asked a gruff voiced man who was in his early fifties, well built, brusque, gray haired, stern features, sickly puke yellow golf slacks with something of a matching blazer/sports jacket with a matching puke yellow teeshirt.
	“Go fuck yourself!” spat the black man.
	It got him a smack across the face.  Already the detective had suffered a rash beating, he was cut up in the face badly, his eyes swollen almost shut, his speech slurred.
	“He aint gonna talk, Chief.” spouted a flunky.
	“Yes he will.” said confidently the “Chief.” he smiled and nodded to a hidden man in the darkness.  There was some scuffling noise as someone new was carted in under duress.  
	A girl.  A black girl.  About sixteen.  Closely related to the black man.  Very closely related.  Like his daughter?  She was mussed up a bit herself, but still clothed and secured with tight rope at the hands and feet.  Roughly she was thrusted into a chair and secured to it, the chair secured to another pipe.  The distance between father & daughter a matter of a few feet.
	The father recognized his daughter’s presence and began to rant and rave, “You bastards!” he shouted, which once more got him a smack to the face and a punch to the stomach.
	“I’ll ask again, Detective--WHERE’S my shipment?”
	“Have you checked up your ass?” mouthed off the detective.
	Not wise.  He was beaten severely before the “Chief” did realize it was fruitless to beat him, he would never give up the information requested.  So another option was needed, something more poignant that WOULD possibly loosen the Detective’s tongue.
	The beige silk blouse the black teenager wore was ripped off, her father began to rant and freak out, his speech was slurred as he cussed and flung his blood from his broken face.
	The teenagers white sleek bra was snapped off and her double barreled ski-slopped twin small “Bs” were ogled by all.  Her father was livid and cussed up a slurred storm.  
	The Chief gripped the arms of the chair the detective sat clenched in,
	“WHERE is my fucking shipment!?” and he was quite adamant for an answer.  For his answer, though, the black detective spat spittle and blood at the Chief.
	Not wise.
	He was slapped harder with such force that a filling from a tooth flew out of his mouth, along with more blood and slobber.   His head bobbled on his neck as if it were broken.  A head nod from the Chief and the gaggle of men took their pleasures, ripping the teenage girls clothes off of her body, positioning so as to sexually assault her to their whim.
	Her father drooled and was barely conscious.
	Suddenly, as the second flunky began penetrating the teen’s pussy, a naked scrawny hippie reject busted into room from an adjoining room; he had long straggly hair, wild eyes, covered in blood and burns, and a weapon in each hand--both of which began firing almost indiscriminately through the room.
	A lone figure in a darkened corner ducked down behind piping to avoid being hit.  Two flunkies went down quickly, nice clean shots to their noggins.  The flunky fucking the young black girl got one in the throat; he stomped around gagging and flinging his arms about madly and finally choked on his blood and slumped over an induction pipe.
	The chief was no where to be seen, he fled--quickly.
	Two more flunkies received another “hole” in their noggins, another got a hole straight thru his heart while one more choked on his blood and drowned.
	When the din of whizzing bullets ceased the wild crazy naked man came to the detective in the chair.  But he was dead.  Dead-dead-dead.  He looked around and saw that the girl was gone.  He cussed and then picked up tossed/lost weapons and began his pursuit of the Chief.
	Quietly and slowly the Lone Figure followed.

	The teenage girl’s screams could be heard deep inside the massive warehouse; there were many catwalks above the ancient machinery and refining vessels.  The entire place reeked of putridness.  The Lone Figure didn’t seem to be in any real hurry and followed at his leisure, pausing now and then to listen and catch glimpses of the naked wild man, who was also a metro detective, partner to the dead one in the beginning room.
	An Arms Deal had gone awry, very awry--the two detectives had stumbled upon something that got them WAY over their heads.  The incoming “shipment” of arms meant to go to an Asian dealer then bound for Middle East dealers had been intercepted and diverted.  The plan was initially to bring out Mr. Big, who was the Chief.  But in doing so they (the two detectives) had garnered his wrath.
	Shots rang out, some from the naked wild detective and some from the Chief.  The Lone Figure came to a crane operators hoist room and slipped inside for safety’s sake.  He glanced at the nudy books and then peered out the hazed/glazed windows--sighting in on the two adversaries.
	“I’ll blow her fucking brains out!  I will!” spatted the Chief.  He was pissed, angry, and pissed.  He plunged the barrel of his weapon into the terrified girl’s ear.  He was on a lower level catwalk, basically cornered as he would have to come further out to the open to make the stairs down to the bottom floor.  A door to the outside was close by.
	On an upper level catwalk the naked detective took aim, he stood trembling--with rage?  He wasn’t about to let the Chief go, he was to be held accountable for the death of his partner--among other things.
	“Throw your weapon down, “Detective”, and we can all walk away from this.”
	For an answer the “detective” fired a shot breaking the class of a small office behind the Chief and the girl.  The girl shrieked, the Chief flinched, the naked detective fired again.  The girl punched the Chief in the side and stepped on his foot, then brought his clasped hands up under his chin significantly forcing him to bite off the tip of his tongue.
	The Chief fired wildly, as did the naked detective.
	A wild bullet found the naked detective.  He whirled about in his upper position and fell thru the railing.  The Chief fired on him as he descended, smacking the hard broken concrete floor below.  The naked teenager screamed and vomited.
	The Chief wretched the girl to the wall of the small office, smashing her face into the broken window pane.  He was enraged and out of control.  The girl kicked and thrashed about; her face and neck and yea her throat were slashed.   She gurgled and blood spit up from her mouth.  The Chief threw a fit as the lifeless girl fell away from him.
	The Lone Figure stepped out onto the catwalk level with the enrage Chief.  The Chief pointed the .45 Automatic to the Lone Figure.  He trembled some, snot and blood flowing from his mouth and nose, he was still enraged and didn’t care WHO was about.
	“Where the HELL have YOU been!?” he asked in a demanding pissed tone.
	Nothing came from the Lone Figure, no acknowledgment of any kind.
	But from his black cowboy cut bullet proof full length duster he produced a long arm with at the end of which was a .357 Magnum, the most powerful and dangerous gun on earth.  (someone said that once…)  
	The Chief’s eyes widened with rage and he pulled the trigger of his own weapon.
	‘click’
	‘click-click-click’
	It was empty.  The Lone Figure knew that, lest he wouldn’t have drew down on his boss (former).  He pulled HIS trigger.  The echo of the report ricochet for some time, the body of the Chief slumped to the floor, his head “blown clean off”.

	Outside a dust storm was coming.  The sun was setting.  The City was miles away.  All around oil derricks and pumping units whined in the late of the day.  Jack rabbits and coyotes crisscross the large open area around the defunct warehouse.  There were several vehicles about of which to choose, none of their owners would be driving them.
	He selected the Limo and cruised back to the City, he was now essentially “unemployed” and needed another new job!
                                               *****

	Another “unaccountable lapse of time” came to be, and as to how much of that “time” elapsed there was was unknown, too.  Did he black out, was it a coma, induced coma, was it anything?  Or a simple case of a boring period not worth mentioning?
	It was unclear.
	He’s not recollection placed him in a room, a business room, a back room with a few lights; lots of expensive paintings on the wall, a thick carpet, a couple of doors leading to?  A very antique ornate cherry oak desk with all the accruements of a business desk; complete with a ten-key machine, a large calculator, an In-Box/Out-Box, Receivables, two ledger books, some paperweights, and lots and lots of paperwork papers strewn about.
	Behind the desk was a slightly pudgy man with a thick bushy mustache and equally bushy matching eyebrows.  He wore small bifocals, chomped on a cigar, had small beady narrow blue eyes, and a receding hairline.  Got the picture?  A jovial sort, jowls, bad eating habits and not caring one way or the other.  He was married, a staunch businessman and currently NOT in a good mood.
	In front of the desk in chairs were three women.
	At one of the doors was a Suit, a thin fellow with strong-strong Italian features.  Shaping up now for ya?  Another man his equal blocked a door directly before the desk that was obviously the main door in and out of the room.  Two more men were present, one lounged nonchalantly by a long sofa against a wall, the other picked at his fingers while leaning against an eighty-gallon fish tank.
	The three women, slenderly built; blond, brunette, red head.
	The blond looked the nervous and trembled in place as she occupied one of the “ends.”  in the middle the brunette sat defiant, rigid.  Her green eyes trying to stare down the jovial man behind the desk.  The red head was nervous, too.
	“You three bitches have something of mine.  I want it back.  NOW!” he said in a demanding voice.
	“We told you, we don’t know what you’re talking about!” said the obvious spokesperson, the brunette.
	The cigar puffing business man narrowed his eyes, shook his head and clasped his fingers together on the desk, “Look, I know you have my money.  Give it back and you can walk free and clear.” that was basic enough.
	“We don’t have your money, we don’t know what you are talking about!” repeated the brunette.
	The Businessman shook his head, leaned back and stared up to the stucco ceiling.  “That’s too bad, I thought we could make this an easy transaction, but apparently you see differently.” then, “You can’t bullshit an old bullshitter!”  and added, “You just can’t!” and with that he nodded to the man in the silk suit leaning against a door.
	The man came forward and with another subtle nod from Bullshitter Business man took the blond by the shoulders.  When she resisted the man at the sofa came to lend a hand.  The woman’s two slender friends tried to intervene, but were pushed into their seats by the other two men who packed “heat.”
	“He’s bluffing.” stated the brunette.  “He wouldn’t fucking dare do anything to us!”
	“You’re sure about that?” smiled the Bullshitter.
	“People know about us, they know--”
	“They know SHIT!” bitched the man.  “No one, NO ONE--no one knows you’re here.  No one!” he let that sink in.  it was a further clue that the proverbial “jig” was up, a slight inside straight that the three “suspects” DID have the Bullshitter’s money, all five hundred thousand dollars of it.
	The side door was left open a bit and some “slapping” noises could be heard.  Some wailing and light screams.  Also, ripping of clothing.  There were wild eyes from the two remaining woman, all three in their late 20s, nice looking, and in deep shit with the Mob.
	They had tried to pull a fast one, and for a time they had managed to get away with it.  But the jig was up and they were in DEEP SHIT.
	“You son-of-a-bitch!” shouted the brunette.
	The Bullshitter merely smiled back at her.
	The redhead, “Cheryl” looked panicky.  She looked to the door and then to her friend, “Kelly.”  it was on her face, ‘Tell him!’  but Kelly gave subtle returns of ‘No, he’s bluffing.’
	The side door opened fully and the Silk Suit man and another walked out.  The Silk Suiter tossed onto the floor by the blond woman’s feet a pair of ripped panties.  Cheryl began to seriously panic, she began to lose breath, she heaved and looked mournful and hopeless.
	“You son-of-a-bitch!” again repeated Kelly.
	And again, the Bullshitter merely smiled.
	“My money, where is it?”
	Kelly pursed her lips and held her tongue.  She was enraged inside.  Two men flanked her with their “heaters” at the ready.
	“Go fuck yourself you piece of slime!” she almost shouted.
	Bullshitter looked hurt, he sighed and shook his head, he then nodded to Silk Suit and the redhead was taken away.
	Kelly Brunette leaped up and placed her hands on the desk, infuriated and bellowed at the Bullshitter--who didn’t back down.  The flunkies grabbed the hysterical woman and flung her back into her chair.
	More insidious slappings, clothes being ripped, and screams came from the “other” room.  Moments later the Suit and another came out, adjusting their clothing, covered in sweat, some blood, some scratches.  The Silk Suit tossed another pair of panties onto the floor.
	“Your turn?”
	“You fucking monster!” declared Kelly.
	“Yes, why thank you!” chortled the Bullshitter.
	Kelly hung her head, eyes cast upon the two pair of panties.  She looked up locking her eyes to the Bullshitter.  
	“You can walk away from this--” he stated.
	Kelly doubted that.
	“All I want is my money.” 
	“Tell him.” came a weak voice.  From the open side door stood Cheryl clinging nakedly to the sill, she was bruised and bloodied, and naked.
	Kelly sighed deeply, she was broken.  She closed her eyes and shook her head, then gave up the info the Bullshitter wanted.  He nodded to the Silk Suit and he quickly slipped out the other door.
	“Now, if you would have done this in the beginning…” chided the Bullshitter.
	Cheryl slumped to the floor in a clump.  A remaining flunky picked her up and returned her to the other room.
	Kelly looked up to the lone figure (again?) standing by the fish tank, he still picked at his fingernails but didn’t seem to be too involved in anything else.  He looked normal, not Italian at all.  He wore a dark blazer, burgundy shirt, matching thin tie, dark gray slacks, tennis shoes!  Black tennis shoes non-descript.
	Bullshitter began scribbling on some paperwork and working the ten-key.  Business as usual!  
	“Are they dead?” Kelly asked at length.
	Bullshitter looked up, pausing from his work.
	“No.” he said, although he didn’t look for any confirmation.
	“Are-are we--are you going to kill us?” her lips almost trembled but she strove to maintain some semblance of control.  She wore a smart red deep V-neck sweater, non-matching yellow nylon blouse, simple designer jeans.  She was the smart one, fairly attractive, tall, sensible, and in DEEP SHIT.
	“No,” said the Bullshitter, “you girls have worked for me (although they didn’t know it) a long time.” he puffed and chomped on his fat Cuban, “I’m gonna let you live.” he said with a honest smile.
	Kelly couldn’t tell if he was lying or not.  He was SUCH a bullshitter!
	“I’m gonna let yous three broads live, so’s you can be a lesson to any other schmuck who thinks they can pull one over on me!  It aint gonna happen!” he then returned to his figuring.
	Thirty minutes later and the phone rang.
	Kelly tensed up.
	Bullshitter answered and spoke few words.  After concluding the call he folded his hands and leaned back in the chair, smiling big.
	“All is well, the money was there just as you said.”
	Kelly appeared relieved.
	There was another “wait” while the money was brought in.

	On the ornate cluttered desk a nylon gym bag was opened, revealing stacks and stacks of money--ill gotten but money just the same.  Some were wrapped, some were loose.  Bullshitter leaned to one side while the flunkies counted the dough, he winked to Kelly and smiled.
	After several minutes, the Silk Suit announced, “Four hundred, eighty-seven thousand, boss.”
	Bullshitter blinked, flared his nose, narrowed them again.
	He leaned to one side to lock eyes with Kelly, who sat on the edge of her seat tensed up to the max.
	“Do they need to recount or can you explain the missing thirteen thousand?”
	Kelly gulped and thought a moment, maybe if the flunkies DID do a recount they would come up with a new sum , maybe.  Maybe not.  She rolled her eyes in deep thought.  Then with a small sigh shook her head, no.
	The missing $13,000 the three girls had blew, within the week of “acquiring” the Bullshitter’s money from a workplace at the wharf.  The money was ill-gotten gains from drugs, numbers, and other assorted “profits” from other’s losings. 
	“Well, then--I guess I’ll just have to take that out of your salary!” he said with a chuckle.  His flunkies all began to laugh and giggle, snicker and snort.  For a moment Kelly felt good, maybe she WOULD get to walk out of this alive and well.
	Maybe.
	And maybe monkeys will fly out of my butt!

	On the floor that was thin green carpeting Kelly rocked with her shoulders gouging scraping against the carpet in a painful manner.  The room seemed to swirl about her, a light fixture in the ceiling she fixed her eyes on, trying to take her mind off of the horror that was upon her--specifically one of the Bullshitter’s flunkies.
	She had been firstly beaten into utter submission, then her clothes ripped from her body.  On the floor she was sent, legs spread, and mounted.  Just beyond reach lay Carol Anne, the blond, the first one.  Her green eyes revealed a lifeless soul within.  She had the face of a famous blond country singer, much younger and thinner, though.  
	On the other side of Kelly lay Cheryl, she was still alive, barely.
	The naked man fucking Kelly plowed her relentlessly, mawing her already tenderized breasts.  The man was not “making love” but simply fucking to get his nut.  She still thought she might be able to get out of the ordeal alive.
	Wishful thinking.
	Carol Anne was dead, Cheryl was close to it; two flunkies were double teaming her.  There was naught to do but cling to the thin carpet giving her rug burns and take it.  She had tried to make her life better, but she knew there was a risk in absconding away with obvious Mob money.  Retributions there would be plenty to pay.  They had all thought they had actually gotten away with it.
	They were wrong.
	Dead wrong.
	The man fucking her finally achieved his ultimate goal and languished on her a moment.  The man sodomized Carol Anne finished his task, pulled out and emptied some splooge onto Cheryl’s ass, the man boning her pussy continued to do so.
	Another man roughly turned Kelly over, smacking her ass and forcing her hips up.  She knew what was to come.  Cum.  Her ass was firstly smacked bare handedly, then her anus plunged and violated with fingers and probing tongue.  She heaved and retched, she then locked eyes with the lifeless Carol Anne.
	“I’m sorry.” she squeaked.  A cock came roughly plunging into her asshole, tearing her near virgin sphincter while another man came to sit down before her, offering her his soiled dirty fuck stick.
	He jeered her and taunted her before forcing her to service him.
	She bit him.
	She bit him good, severing the pecker in her mouth at the base, she had a clutch hold of his hairy balls and squeezed as tight as she could before she was pounced on by the other flunkies--who quickly beat her into near unconsciousness.
	The cock in her mouth was forced out of her and some of the naked men were quickly trying to see what they could do for the dickless friend, exclaiming that they had to get him to the hospital.  But there was mass confusion as to the end result, the questions the doctors would want answered, the doctors would most likely inform the police and so on.
	This only enraged the flunkies of the Bullshitter, who had left the office with intent on going home to “ball his wife” before dinner with his mistress.
	The flunkies began kicking Kelly.
	“Stop.” said a voice interrupting.
	There was a brief pause as the lackies looked to the Lone Figure.
	“Piss off!” shouted one of the flunkies and they again began a torrent of physical abuse on the hapless Kelly.
	“I said STOP!” and the Lone Figure took action as he did so; taking the lead flunkie, Silk Suit and bashing him about the cluttered small “interrogation” room until finally he was introduced to the fish tank in the main closed backroom office.  His head was plunged into the tank, the glass shattering and slicing nicely into the mob flunky’s neck.
	Chaos reigned supreme thereafter, but the Lone Figure was more in turn with his body and the wily ways of hand-to-hand combat, disabling the four flunkies in quick time.
	He squatted before the lone survivor, Kelly.  
	With eyes closed he began “communicating” with Kelly, trying to soothe her tortured frapped mind.  There wasn’t a lot of time for a lasting “fix”, just something temporary.  When completed, he knew again, it was time for another new job.

                                                    ****

Dark Insanity
	He no longer worried about the “gaps” in his life, he just went with it.  He mulled, dotted, wondered and considered; but didn’t worry.  There was the thought that he was STILL possibly a Test Subject.  The damnable “implant” in his noggin was possibly sending info to--to--someone, who was compiling the info and/or most likely manipulating HIM!
	That soured him.  Deeply.  Was he his own person or what?
	He’d have to settle for the “or what” and let it be.
	His current (new) job wasn’t so bad, still “connected” to the Mob in a way, mostly as a courier.  There was still the lingering desire for a better life, less hectic, peaceful tranquility everlasting.  Or some reasonable facsimile thereof.  To a point the knew of only one such place, in the Midwest.  At his earliest convenience he would make every effort to go there.  It had been a while since he had last seen his cousin Carl Mitchell.
	But in the interim:
	Shenanigans most high…

	As far as transportation, he had always liked sports cars, Arina had a sports car, the girl in Germany, the Austin Martin.  There were others, of course, American sports car were a draw for him.  But they were merely “playthings” and not suited for the “big picture.”
	For Forrest, the Big Picture was his future.  And he hoped he had one.
	He had an apartment in downtown Metropolis, but it wasn’t well suited for the high shenanigans he was aiming for.  In the ‘burbs there were houses but--the privacy (or lack there of) was the issue.  
	Modern technology was an intriguing thing, more to the point about the modernization of vehicles.  Virtually and practically anything a potential buyer/owner wanted on the Vehicle of Tomorrow could be done.  Especially if “money” was no object.
	And for Forrest Finch, it wasn’t.
	It wasn’t so much as the Mob paid him off well for his “unique” services, or even that he utilized said “uniqueness” for personal gains, he liked to gamble.  Sometimes in doing so while in progress he DID utilize his unique “gift”, but mostly he was good.
	Good at cards, dice, and horses.
	Sporting events like football and hockey helped out, too.  And perks from his newest Mob boss helped as well.  He was well rewarded for his ability.  His “abilities.”  When answers were needed, truthful answers, Forrest Finch had the means of getting the truth out of someone who desperately tried to keep it to himself.
	It helped weed out the “rats” in the organization and keep the Crime Boss Supreme in command and alive.  For that, Forrest was well rewarded.  Though he ate well, at the best restaurants, drove an Austin Martin, was as well respected and honored (if not feared) as much as Don Diago (Crime Syndicate Boss el Supereme-oh of Metropolis, USA) FF desired a different life.
	A course of events came to be that would indeed lead him down the road to such a desire.  Mostly it was his fleshy desires that helped this along.  He knew the consequences, there would be a few--for ditching out on the Mob.  It just wasn’t done, unless you of course had a debilitating cancer or some such junk and offing yourself wasn’t in your programming, so a “hit” by another Mob member was just the thing.
	Getting into the Mob was easy, getting out was another thing.
	An assignment came to be; an Acquisition.
	Normally FF worked alone, but the Acquisition was a two-fer and required teamwork.  Forrest knew that he could easily make a go of it single handedly, but why risk it?  He would see what the deal was first before making any rash decisions.
	The Acquisition(s) were located at a Central Metropolis Mall.
	That was dangerous enough.  It was decided to follow the Subject-Acquisitions until such a place was deemed worthy enough to complete the acquiring.  (HA!  Thought I was gonna say “acquisitions” didn’t you!?)
	Forrest had the photographs of two Subjects, their habits and whatnot, the Mall was a busy place, but not too busy.  It was decreed that the two Subjects had to be “acquired” before they went up to the 2nd floor or out the doors to their limo.
	The Subject that was most desirable was a one Blossom Graham and her bestest best friend and constant sidekick, Samaria Phisk.  Blossom was the only one required for Acquisition, but since both girls were never apart, both would have to be taken.
	Blossom was the fourteen year old daughter of an amazing industrialist.  He was extremely wealthy.  That alone garnered him unwanted attention to those who would like to do him in, or hold his offspring for ransom.  But there were other reasons.  Revenge was one such.  And it was revenge that was the instigator to the little escapade Forrest Finch was involved in via his Mob Boss’ desire.
	But it was an indirect desire.  The Mob Boss had a friend, it was the friend who was vengeful and in need of a “favor” from his old friend, the Mob Boss.  The Mob Boss owed such a favor.  Forrest and a Flunky were carrying out said favor.
	The girls were observed in a gift shop, charging various items with their own charge card--actually Blossom’s but bestest best friend Sam was included in on the deal.  And how.
	A record store came nextly on the girls’ agenda.
	Then a toy store featuring soft and cuddly toy animals.
	A clothing store was next.
	And last.
	When the girls came out all happy and giddy, they were nabbed.  Forrest had to make it look good and not easy, appearances met everything--he was aware of the security cameras in the mega mall.  But he cared less about them.  It was the Flunky he was teamed with.  He was suspecting the use of his mental abilities was beginning to stir the interest of Mob Boss Ass Kissers.  Too many times Forrest had come thru far too easily, it was deemed that Forrest wasn’t “kosher.”
	There was a slight worry from the Crime Lord of Metropolis.  That wasn’t a good thing.  No, not a good thing at all.
	He did make Blossom settle down as he clutched her and quickly scurried down the long janitor’s/access corridor to the basement parking lot.  Samaria kicked and lashed out at her abductor, kicking him in the balls and scratching him deeply to the point that when the group had gotten to the company van the Flunky was pissed and pulled out his piece.
	‘STOP!’ shouted in a Mind Link to the Flunky.
	The Flunky looked to Forrest, “What did you say?”
	Ut oh.
	‘Put the weapon in your pocket.’ Forrest tried to say flatly.
	Samaria was freaking out and recovering from being thrown against the non-descript beige van, Blossom was quiet and still, near lifeless.
	There was a stare down between Forrest and the Flunky.  The Flunky wasn’t so receptive to Forrest’s Special Abilities, just why wasn’t known.
	‘PUT THE WEAPON IN YER POCKET!’
	Slowly, the Flunky did comply, but he seemed unsure of what he was doing.  Just as he was complying, Samaria lashed out at the man and took off.  An alarm went off, too.
	Forrest flung Blossom into the passenger seat and connected an awesome blow to the Flunky.  He then chased after the fleeing freaking out Samaria Phisk.
	‘Stop!’ he Mindlinked yelled.
	The girl paid him no heed, her emotions were too high from the onset and he was unable to get a mind link lock.  ‘STOP!’ he yelled again, persistently.  The girl dove under cars, screaming, the alarms blasting all over--this was NOT a good thing, no NOT a good thing AT ALL!!

	Grabbing the hysterical girl’s foot got him a clip to the chin.  She was a fighter.  His Mental Abilities were nothing against her!  Sooooo, a little “brute” force would have to be introduced.  And he had to do so before the whole security force arrived.
	His sheer weight and determination thwarted the girl’s further attempts at causing distress, gaining attention, or resisting his attempts at subduction.
	With the girl somewhat more calmer, after being pressed against a car, slapped HARD and spanked just as hard, nipping her mind from further “freak out” was established.
	Sirens were coming.  Time was short.  Security were running amok into the basement parking structure.  Time was GONE!  Quickly he hurried the girl to the non-descript van and pulled the dazed Blossom out, his own mind was a little dazed, his balls ached from Sam’s kicking him--he would have to deal with her later about that.
	There was great chaos in the area, Forrest moved the girls now more easier to his OWN van.  He held the girls, but in a protective way and put on his “best face” of confusion and fright.
	A security cop rushed to him, but noted all seemed right, Forrest squeezed the girls’ shoulders and nodded, “That way!” he said indicating the “EXIT”.  ‘Go that way, schmuck.’ and take your buddies with you!

	A few miles out of Metropolis he finally pulled over.
	Had he gotten away with it?  What retributions would there be?  What was the future for his “cargo?”  what was HIS future?  He had no answers of course.  As normal, he would “play it by ear.”
	A roadblock was being established on all roads in and out of the City, the big ones as well as the small ones, waterways and airways--the kidnapping of an Industrialist’s daughter was big news.  He bet it was.  He figured his life of being a Mob Flunky was over.  It had run its course and now was time for something new.
	Running a roadblock was relatively easy--the laxidaisel attitude of the officer made it a cinch to “move along.”  he didn’t take notice of the interior of the custom van, just waved it on and that was that.
	At a few miles away where it was complimentary and safe to pull over, Forrest did so.  He had to think.  Clearly.  The van, a custom conversion, was stocked with food and accessories.  He was set for so-so RVing should he desire.  It was a LARGE van, extended with dual tandem rear wheels, extra storage tanks, sound insulated, a little of this, some of that…
	Blossom Graham--Samaria Phisk.  Lovely girls, fourteen, both having adorable features, both light brown haired; one tall--one kinda under tall.  Both slim.  Blossom was a little more outgoing and adventurous, Sam was a “go-along”.  she was more curious and somewhat naïve and more willing to explore forbidden fruit.
	Both were dressed in typical teenage attire--jeans and simple tops.
	For ease of what he was to do unto them, he firstly for the First Round kept their mind’s locked; this done while he took pleasure and time in undressing them, one piece of clothing at a time--s-l-o-w-l-y.
	Both girls were absolutely gorgeous.  Blossom was a virgin.  Samaria was not.  But peeking just slightly into her young mind, she had only been fucked once.  Well, “once” was never enough!  The fuck had been amicable, she had given several hand jobs and one blow job.  Her horny amorous boyfriend she had relinquished her body to had fingered her asshole and tried to fuck her there, but that was beyond the scope of her willingness.
	Blossom had given a brief hand job to her own horny boyfriend and let him suckle on her breasts.  But that was it.  
	Forrest’s eyes traveled the girls’ bodies, drinking in every inch of them; he firstly had them lay out in their panties only, then marveled at them for a long enduring time.  Then he stripped off his own clothes and hammered his cock before sending his tongue into Blossom’s tight virgin cunny.  His finger exploring her equally virgin asshole.
	In her mind she was semi-willing to get laid, even take it up the ass and even in the mouth!  She was ultra curious about such things, naïve to a point, too.  But she was wary that it could render her a slut or pregnant or socked with some lame disease.
	She was a quasi “good-girl.”  so was Samaria.
	But teenage curiosity was a big deal.
	Both were avid masturbators and often did so together.  Neither, though, were curious about sexual relations of any sort with one another.
	Forrest would change that.
	He lay beside the naked Blossom, still fingering her pussy.  Her mind was oblivious.  Slowly Forrest allowed her to know that her pussy was being fingered.  Slowly he allowed her to become sexual aware.  Slowly Blossom parted her legs and her pussy became “whetted” by the experience.
	So moaned some, her nipples perked up, her lips began to undulate and body began to tremble and sweat as a whole.  Forrest engulfed one whole mound and worked her cunny into a sheer frenzy.
	Using his Minding Powers, he had Samaria sit up and then get onto all fours.  She was still clad in just her panties, simple bikini undies; turquoise with roses.  The garment snuggly fit her very trim body nicely.  Slowly Forrest had the girl lower her panties, slowly exposing her ass just so.
	His cock was ready to shoot.
	His finger delved deeper into friggin’ the girl, finding the “guard” at the entrance to her interior.  He frigged.  Harder and harder until the girl herself was entering into orgasmic euphoria.  The time was right.  A handy-dandy towel he placed under the girl’s ass, a super absorbent towel so as no “stains” would stain the fresh new carpet beneath her.
	He then mounted her.
	His manly schlong rested dramatically on her sex, grinding and grinding before angling correctly and sliding inward.  The teen grabbed handfuls of carpet, mouth opened in shock, face of some mild horror; her mind was still “locked” into acceptance but the event of being laid took precedence.
	Several inches of love tool slid into the girly cunt, the hymen all but gave up resistance seeings as how it was a fruitless effort to try and hold back the mighty invader.  There was a minute experience of discomfort, which segued into some semblance of pleasure as the event of sexualizing took over.
	When entering into a rhythm of fucking, Forrest slipped his finger into Samaria’s upraised asshole.  His cock and balls were significantly coated in Blossom’s broken hymen, the girl continued to clutch the carpet beneath her until the ordeal was done.
	Forrest power fucked the girl into oblivion.  
	Blossom trembled from toes to fingers and all in between.

	Despite her pussy once having “received” a love tool, Samaria Phisk’s pussy bled a little.  Her body was much smaller than Blossom, she was shorter and “thinner” by far, a very trim body for sure.  Her poon was delicious, deliciously tight.  Firm--snug--tight.  Scarcely thirty minutes had elapsed from the onset of entering the young teenager.  She bit her lips, screwed up her pretty face and arched her back.
	Forrest loved on her breasts and marveled at her nakedness.
	She had her hair much longer than her friend; both girls, though had super soft fine hair.  On their poons, too!  Sam seemed to be more emotional about the ordeal, she clenched and tightened up nicely and even thrusted back into her lover!
	Afterwards, it was a cool down period.  He had plans for the two, great plans.  He washed them off, soothed them, then done likewise unto himself.  There was a slight pesky headache to contend with.  He placed the girls on a side bunk together and “put them to sleep.”  The solar panels installed on the roof of the custom mini-rv powered the air conditioning and kept the interior of the van cool.  Forrest climbed onto the opposite bunk and sought sleep.
	He was not denied.

                                                        ****

Circumstances & Happenstances
	He must have needed the sleep as it was dark when he awoke with a start(le).  A small panic had enveloped him, the automatic nite light had come on at the baseboards providing sufficient lighting enough to see his two “passengers” were still sleeping.
	The need to pee was great with them all and almost too late for one.  The custom van was equipped with a bathroom, it was small but suitable enough to be a bathroom.  Sam was directed to the bathroom and as she sat to relieve herself, Forrest stuffed her mouth to “relieve” himself!
	Once that was done--it was Blossom’s turn.
	Cum filled Sam’s young mouth, she was a good sucker.  He drenched her chin and face and let gobs of the milky goo splatter onto her chest.  She had peed up quite a storm, farted a couple of times but that was all.  She was truly a lovely-lovely girl.
	He pulled her up and pressed her nakedness to his own; hands to her ass he began kissing on her--never minding the goo that was his “essences” smeared upon her lips.  Familiar feelings came over him (again); a strong-strong desire to make Sam a “keeper.”
	He let her go and quickly guided Blossom to the toilet lest she make a puddle.  Into her mouth, too, he pumped.  His cock, though, was almost fucked out and a simple BJ wasn’t going to help.  He nuzzled the semi-soft schlong against her face and had her masturbate him.
	A small wad of ejaculate coated the Industrialist’s daughter’s face moments later.  He was well pleased.  He urinated down the girl’s chest thereafter and then took time to clean everyone up (and off.)
	A soda and some bologna w/cheese came nextly, a brief wake up period was needed--giving time and insight for Forrest to contemplate his next move.  His ultimate goal was essentially just to slide into the Midwest area of the country and check up on his ole cousin.  If he was still the same Carl Mitchell as he was when they were kids, then all would be kosher.
	If not, well--he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.
	There was the matter of the girls.  Blossom and Samaria.  What to do about them?  He still had yet to travel up their poop chutes or put them thru their paces of munching each other.  He wanted to see them 69, spank one another, pee & shit, be spanked by him, pissed on, and well fucked.  The thought of actually keeping them (like pets?) was a bit hard to swallow.
	If he WERE to keep them, for a while anyways, dinking with their minds would be apropos.  To have them accept him as their “father”, a big brother, something; to ensure that they would behave and be mindful and do as he told them, wanted them to act and be--would be apropos.
	It would be a tedious assignment and would take a while.
	For the moment, they were virtually mindless--merely going thru the motions of bathroom, oral sex, eating, drinking, and frigging themselves on a sort of methodically no-thought need approach.
	Forrest could live with that.  For the time being, anyways.
	Outside the air was sullen, there was no moon; jillions of stars, though.  It was quiet save for an occasional car and/or truck on the adjacent highway.  Back behind him the light of Metropolis beckoned him back.
	But there was no going back.  Not even if he could or wanted to; there was only the “going ahead.”  It had been a good run, a good life.  He had no regrets.  He had used his special ability in an esoteric manner--not so much as for “evil” purposes, but for self preservation to further (if not ensure) his career.  He took no part in killings or actually bank robbings or drug dealings.  He was a Truth Finder, weeding out the Flunkies that sought to do the Boss harm.
	He had a nice apartment downtown.
	Good furniture and good food--but mostly he ate out (and at the finest restaurants, too.)  he rode around usually in a limo.  He knew members of the local police force and judiary were “on the take.”  he knew a lot of things that he shouldn’t, dangerous things that he knew made him a liability.
	Would his friendship he had with the Boss keep him alive should something come of that?
	There had been many-many opportunities to do his shtick, the same oh-same oh of molesting his way to ultimate pleasure.  But in the genre he was in, he didn’t.  He hadn’t.  Why he didn’t know.  He just didn’t.  it didn’t bother him that he didn’t, but he was damned curious about just the same.

	 Six hours further away from Metropolis and there was a whole new environment.  Basically the scenery had changed.  There was lush landscape, thick hearty trees, greenery in abundance, clover laden hills and snow capped mountains.  Small towns were scattered in several directions with one popularized by having a rather large lake.
	At one of the towns he stopped at to stock the van with food items.
	He gave his cock the day off, but his tongue and fingers were another matter.  Dinking with the girls’ minds to bring them to utterly obey him and follow his commands precisely and always would be a time consuming thing to do and best done in small fifteen minute increments.
	After stocking the big heavy custom vehicle and gassing it up, too; he settled down for an afternoon of Mind Alterations.  A small storm was brewing and so it was a good day to be indoors anyways.
	Dinking with someone else’s mind was taxing on his own.  Which was why the fifteen minute increments, he would rest from further dinking for 45 minutes.  Then it was back to the rigors of dinking.
	Though he did find himself intrigued with the girls, that was as far as it went.  He still wanted them for sexual purposes--but there was a nagging thing going on that bothered (if not pestered) him.  Once “acquired”, then what?  Fuck ‘em and dump ‘em?
	He could do that.  But Blossom and Sam were adorable.  There was some sort of odd yearning he couldn’t explain.  Samaria very nearly was stealing his heart, but he deemed that it was basically a sexual thing and not love.
	By that evening he had gotten the girls to some decree of accepting him and following his commands.  It would allow him to “release” his mental hold on their minds and allow them to “be themselves” so to speak.
	He continued to break in the two, their pussies were still snug fitting and he filled them to the max.  By midnight of that day he had Blossom going down on her friend, 98% willingly while he plugged her asshole from behind.
	Samaria wriggled and giggled as her young cunny was munched on.  Blossom was fair at the task of munching, she hesitated at the deed, it went against the grain of her morals.  She was oblivious to the fact that her asshole was being pounded on (in).
	His butt pounding became--methodical.  It gave him the chance to think at least, Blossom asshole was TIGHT, virginal.  Breeching it been a tough go, but after having both girls suck him and adding a little lube (in the way of petroleum jelly) anal penetration there was!
	Blossom and Samaria’s ass wasn’t the only ones to receive Forrest’s bone of love…

Part II
	The storm that had been begging to come into the area finally arrived.  But as far as storms go it was a wussy.  Mostly wind with some rain, a lot of thunder, nothing more or worse.  
	For a reason unknown to him he held off making his way Midwestward.  He didn’t know why but felt some sort of “anchor” was holding, like there was something for him to do.  What exactly was elusive to him.  He continued his mind dinking with the girls and for a “test” took them out of the van and into a local super store for some shopping:  clothes from head to toe--two sets each (although in actuality they wouldn’t be WEARING clothes all that often) but there were occasions where they would, so a change of clothes was necessary.
	Along with feminine products, personal hygiene stuff, and the like.
	Back inside the custom mini-rv he had the girls “model” for him.  His cock was basically worn out so it needed the time off, but was enthused just the same watching the pair undress, dress, and undress again.  His mind dinking with them was working.  He was amazed.  They acted normal, well--as normal as possible, but quickly obeyed him--but there was just a small hint of hesitation so noted.  It was the deeply entrenched moral fiber in both of them.
	He was okay with this--so long as they ultimately obeyed and complied.  But he did admit, there was that other part of the Minding whereas he enjoyed--making Subjects act out his sexual fantasies with the knowledge of what they were doing--just unable to do squat about it.
	But for Blossom and Sam he had them in line of more acceptable.

	When darkness had settled in for the evening, and it was mid summer and only early evening, Forrest got restless, a mild case of the heebie-jeebies hit him.  Was it a sign, a precursor to something?  Time to move along?  Was it the storm?  Was it anything?
	He decided to move along.
	A brief stop at a fast food establishment for some road munchies and a slight destination plan of hitting the highway and going until he got tired & sleepy seemed the thing.
	He noted the lack of anyone about, the storm was keeping everyone in.  It was dark and gloomy.  But that was all, a bit of a wind that was damp, just a lot of “bark”, no bite.  There were some strange tales on the news casts, strange unexplained disappearances throughout the nation and the world.  There were “sightings” of tornadoes that lay flat on the ground and the twisters were “green” in color, they lasted only momentarily, though.
	Forrest only paid minor attention to it, but it rested on his mind.
	He moved slowly down a city road, wary of stray animals running amok, shopping carts being pushed by the wind, tumbleweeds, a possible power pole toppled, or an unwatchful motorist.
	Something caught his eye-attention.
	It was worthy of a better looksee, so at the drive-way into a mega mall emporium he pulled his van, shutting off the lights.  The grand parking lot was basically empty of vehicles.  The mall had been closed for some hours, a sweeper machine was up and running at he far end, a couple of lone cars were at a delivery/employee door.  One car was in the middle just out of lamp light.  It’s hood was up and two figures sat on the trunk.
	Two girl figures.
	Forrest smiled.
	He switched on the lights and moved the van to the Subjects.

	The girls exhibited some timidness and fright.  And genuinely so should they.  They were wary, tried to smile and be brave, one had a cell phone in hand.
	“Trouble?” Forrest asked staying inside the van.
	The girl with the cell phone nodded.
	“It won’t start,” she said, “I’ve been trying to call my dad.” both she and her friend were red heads.  “Katherine” was the owner/possessor of the disabled car, she was sixteen, nicely dressed, shivering a bit, and a bit miffed that she couldn’t get a hold of her father--who was most likely on the computer tying up the phone--unaware that his daughter was out passed the allotted time she was supposed to be in.
	Her friend, Jaylene, was the quiet one.  
	Both had lovely long red hair, Kathy’s was more fine tamed, Jaylene’s was bold, frizzy, and flew all over her face.  Both girls were lovely.  Simply-fucking-lovely!
	‘Why don’t you--put the cell phone down, on the trunk.’
	The teenager closed her eyes a moment, shook her head as if to clear it and tucked a stray strand of red hair behind her ears.  She looked curiously at the man in the van, then offered a meek smile and placed the cell phone on the trunk.
	‘Come get in the van.’ then, ‘Both of you, come get in the van.’
	Forrest opened the passenger door and Katherine and Jaylene scrambled into the van.