 This never happened.  I wish it had, but it's all fiction.  So, read and enjoy but remember, it's MY fantasy, not yours.  Please don't steal my fantasy without my permission and please don't do this stuff in real life.

   Secondly, no one ever writes to tell me they liked my story.  Well,
ALMOST no one.  I get maybe one acknowledgement for every 1,000 people who
read my stories.  PLEASE write to tell me what you liked or didn't like and
help me become better at this.  Besides, every writer likes to have his ego stroked.


                                There's A Price For Everything

I was in a gift shop in Mazatlan looking for a souvenir when I saw this girl of 12 or so -- maybe 11 but definitely not over 13. There are lots of 12 year-old girls in Mazatlan, few of whom I particularly notice. This one, however, had the world's cutest butt wrapped in a pair of white pedal pushers that looked like they had been spray-painted on her.

She had a long-sleeved T with narrow horizontal red stripes -- the sort Marcel Marceau used to wear -- a floppy white denim broad-brimmed sun hat, a large beach bag with 	FASHIONISTA
painted on it. Her flip-flops showed tiny toes painted red to match her top and her lips with their cherry-red lipstick. She didn't stand to look at items, she posed. This was a girl trying to be noticed. Big time!

I tried to appear to be moving  around the shop aimlessly but, in fact, I was tracking this little sweetie and that cute butt of hers. She never stood on both feet equally but always cocked one knee so that her hips were angled, the taut fabric over her butt defining its every curve and dimple. "Dehanchment," the artists call it. I was mesmerized. The broad-brimmed hat just added to the theatrical effect.

It was her butt that attracted my attention but it was her sweet face that held it. Her skin was pale, alabaster white -- undoubtedly the reason for the big floppy hat. Her features were fine -- a thin nose, small mouth, long neck and a pale blonde ponytail that descended from the back of her hat. She was quite thin -- tiny waist, thin thighs and calves. I don't know how she got her feet through the pencil-thin legs of her pants. I could see daylight between her legs at their apex but she had that nice, round, plump butt, tightly gift-wrapped in pure white stretch fabric of some sort.

She was with a woman who appeared to be her mother, joining her periodically to discuss some trinket before wandering off on her own again. It was one of those times that she was out of earshot of her mother that I couldn't help myself. I wandered up beside her and said quietly, "Nice butt."

Her head swiveled toward me. "What?" she asked, looking me up and down.

"I said 'Nice butt'," I repeated.

"That's what I thought you said." I remained silent and just smiled. She looked away and then back at me. "Why would you say that?"

"Because you've got a cute butt," I said. She was still halfway between being insulted and being complimented.

"Do you say stuff like that all the time?"

"No. Just when I see something extraordinary."

"So my butt is extraordinary?" she asked, turning her body to try to see it for herself.

"Yes, but you already know that." I fished a card from my wallet and handed it to her. "I'm a photographer and I make a point of noticing cute butts like yours. I hope you will consider posing for me sometime. My local cell number is on the back."

She looked at the card, turned it over and slipped it into her bag, suddenly realizing her mother might be nearby. "I gotta go," she said abruptly and strode off to join her.

I'm not really a photographer, not a professional one, that is, although I have been one in the past. Unfortunately, there are thousands of people with cameras willing to work for very little money. That reduces the money you can make to starvation wages unless you're one of the very few in great demand, the Annie Liebowitzes, who make unbelievable sums. It's like the rock band business. A few mega-stars and thousands of wannabes.

But I carry some business cards advertising myself as a photgrapher for use when I meet a promising young girl whose pants I'd like to get into. You see, I like girls half, no, make that a third my age -- 13 and 14 year-old lolitas who want to look and act like they're 21.

For every ten cards I hand out I'm lucky to get one call back. It's a numbers game. Guys used to whistle at every passing girl. They got their faces slapped a lot but they also got laid a lot. I hand my card to every girl I see who might be a prospect. If nothing else, they're flattered that a guy thinks they're pretty. If I'm lucky, they get curious about modelling and all the glamor they attribute to the profession.

I've learned not to get my hopes up. I don't hang by the phone waiting for a call when I've just handed a girl my card. This was no different. No call that day. But the following morning, as I sat in the little cafe downstairs from my hotel having my morning coffee and pineapple empanada, my cell phone came to life.

"Hi," the voice said. "Is this Richard?"

"Hi," I answered. "Yes. Who are you?"

"Oh, yeah. This is Angela...," she said. "...the girl in the shop. You know, the girl with the cute butt. Do you remember?"

"Of course I remember."

"Well...I...ummm....do you really want to take pictures of me?"

"Yes, I do. I was serious about that."

"Oh, ok. I'd like to have you do that," she said, almost in a whisper.

"Why are you whispering?"

"'Cause I don't want my mom to hear."

"Ok."

"When?"

"Whenever you can."

"Ok. Ummm... is this afternoon ok?"

"Sure. What time?"

"Anytime."

"Ok. Ummm...my mom is going to lunch with some ladies and then to play bridge here at the Playa. She won't be back until 5:30. Is that enough time?"

"Sure."

"Where do you live?"

"I'm at El Cid on Sabalo Camaron. Do you know it?"

"No."

"Ok. Go out front of the hotel and catch one of those little pulmonias. They always have two or three sitting waiting for customers. Tell the driver you want to go to the El Cid. I'll pay him when you get here."

"Ok."

"When would you be leaving?"

"In a few minutes, after mom leaves," she said. I could tell she was cupping the phone and whispering.

"One thing," I said. "Wear the same outfit you had on yesterday."

"Ummm...I can't. Mom would think something was fishy."

"Ok. Can you wear those white pants with something else?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Ok. The top you had on was a little bit tight and showed off your figure well. Can you wear something like that?"

"Yeah. I've got plenty of tops."

"Ok. Call me when you leave so I'll know to be waiting for you."

"Ok. 'Bye."

"'Bye."

I went around my hotel room picking up the clothes and dishes and books strewn about. The bedroom had an east-facing window with sheer curtains that would make an ideal light source. I took a chair from the dining table in there and set it where I thought she should be.

The phone rang about 30 minutes after our initial conversation. "I'm leaving now," she said simply."

"Ok. See you soon," I said. The line went dead. No goodbye.

I waited five minutes before I went downstairs and then at the curb another 10 minutes before the pulmonia drove up with her. "Cuanto le debo," I asked the driver. "Veinteseis," he answered. I gave him thirty as the girl -- I realized I didn't know her name -- got out and waited next to me. She could have been my daughter, easily.

She had on the white pants but a white long-sleeved T, tight like the striped one yesterday. Her little titties poked out nicely. She was wearing a bra. The floppy hat protected her pale face from the rays of the sun. She carried the same 
		FASH
		ION
		ISTA bag as yesterday. She DID have good fashion sense, I thought.  I realized then that she would be perfect as a nude model; none of those bright white triangles where her bikini covered her breasts and nether region.

"Thank you for coming to see me," I said as the pulmonia pulled away.

"Could we just go inside?" she asked nervously.

I hustled her inside and to the elevator. On the way up she confided, "My mom knows a lot of people here."

"I understand," I replied.

I unlocked the door to my room, pushed it open and allowed her to enter before me. She looked around, peeking into the kitchen and bedroom as she explored the layout. "Nice room," she volunteered at last. "Where should I sit?"

"I think the light is best by the window in the bedroom this time of day."

"Ok."

"Do you want something to eat or drink?"

"Could I have a Pina Colada?"

"Oof," I thought. "Alcohol for a pre-teen? Well, why not," I answered myself. "Here you have this underage girl in your room with thoughts of molesting her and you worry about giving her a drink?"

"Sure," I said. I called room service and ordered the drink for her. I figured I'd better not order a second drink. It would be best if they thought the Pina Colada was for me. I would just make sure she -- what the hell was her name -- was in the bedroom when they delivered it. I called and she sat on the little sofa.

"So, what's your name?"

"Angela. I told you on the phone."

"Oh, that's right. Sorry, Angela. I should have remembered."

"'sOk. So, you want to take some pictures of me?"

"I do. And you want to model for me?"

"Uh-huh." She was still looking around the room nervously.

"Relax, Angela," I told her. It's just you and me and you can go anytime you want. The door is locked from the outside but it opens from the inside without a key. You just turn the handle. Feel better?"

"What kind of pictures are you going to take?"

"Whatever you're comfortable with. We'll take some just like you are. Some girls are comfortable doing bathing suit shots and others are ok with nude photos. I like all of those."

Her eyes were locked on mine. She was studying me, trusting me enough to be here in my room but not quite at ease about the photos. I looked at how she was sitting -- posing. She was on the edge of the sofa, knees together, legs to one side, back straight, chest out, chin up. She must have studied modelling.

"Why have you agreed to let me photograph you?"

"Ummm," she said, looking away for a moment. "I think I'd like to be a model someday so I need to learn how to pose and what angles are best for me."

"This will be a good beginning."

"Yeah." She paused for a moment, thinking, then added, "I want to send some pictures to my Dad, too."

"Where is he?"

"He lives in Atlanta."

"Oh. He doesn't live with you and your mother?"

"No. They got a divorce."

I didn't want to pry. Some things are better left unasked and unanswered.

"She made him leave," she continued.

"I see," I said. Better just leave the conversation hanging here, I thought.

"No, you don't see," she said, sadness coming into her voice. Her back slumped and she looked down at the floor. "She made him leave."

I remained silent and unmoving.

"She made him leave," she said for the third time. This was driving me nuts. I couldn't stand the suspense.

"Why?" I asked as if someone was holding a big stick over my head to whack me one if I didn't ask.

Angela kept her gaze directed at the floor and spoke very softly. "Because of what we did together. That bitch ran him off." She looked up at me beseechingly, her forehead wrinkled, her pencil-thin eyebrows 'knitted,' as they say.

"Because of what you did?"

"Yeah. I love my daddy and she ran him off so I couldn't love him any more."

I saw the tears welling up. I gave her my handkerchief and she dabbed at her eyes.

"But I don't need to tell you all this. I just want some pictures for myself and some to send to him." She straightened up, sniffling but recomposing herself. She blew her nose and wadded the kerchief up in her hand. "I'm ready now."

"Your eyes are red now," I told her. "Why don't you go into the bathroom and refresh yourself until the room-service guy leaves."

"Ok," she said and rose and left the room.

I had my camera, a professional-grade digital already on the tripod before Angela had arrived. I moved it into position facing the chair I had placed in the bedroom. I turned on the bedroom's TV set and found a channel showing dumb children's cartoons. We needed something to brighten her face before we started shooting.

The guy arrived with the Pina Colada, took my tip and had me sign the bill. I got a beer from the fridge and sat on the bed. When Angela reappeared, she heard the cartoons and saw me sitting up against the headboard with a beer in one hand and her Pina Colada in the other. I motioned for her to sit next to me. She smiled and crawled across the bed to watch the cartoons with me. we were both giggling in less than a minute.

"Mom never lets me have a drink," she said in between sips. "Daddy and I would have Vodka and grapefruit juice when mom was away before we...ummm...before we did stuff." She looked at me and smiled. "This is kinda like that."

"Thanks," I said. I put my hand on her thigh as we watched and sipped. It wasn't long before she put her hand atop mine. We sat there sipping our drinks and watching cartoons for a few minutes. Soon we were laughing our heads off. The cartoons weren't that funny but the combination with the Pina Colada got her to giggling and her giggling got me started. She scooted closer and let her head rest on my shoulder.

In half an hour her moodiness was gone, her eyes were bright and her glass was empty. She set the glass on the nightstand and I rolled off the bed. "Ok, sweetie. It's picture time."

Still giggling, she got off her side and walked rather unsteadily around the bed. She gestured at the chair and said, "Here?" She still had her hat on.

"There," I said.

"Which way do I face?"

"Let's turn the chair around so you're facing along the wall with the window lighting just one side. Turn it so you're stradding the back."

She did just that, taking up a position that had a soft side-lighting. She folded her arms over the chair back and gave me a goofy squinty-eyed look, peeking out under the brim of her hat.  One drink was all it took for a girl not used to alcohol. I positioned the tripod and took a couple of shots. This pose showed her sweet face but obscured the rest of her body.

"That's fine," I said. "But let's turn the chair back around and have you sit on the edge of it. Put your hands on the seat between your legs and lean forward a little." She follwed my intructions exactly. This gave her body a more dynamic look and also scrunched her boobs together a little.  She swayed to and fro as she posed, her face changing from goofy to sexy. I was getting a come-hither look usually unknown to a girl under 16 or so.

"Tilt your head up a little." I took several shots and decided to do without the tripod. I wanted to move around easier and change the angles quickly. This was working much better but still no shots of her cute butt.

"Ok, sweetie...," I started to say.

"My daddy always called me sweetie," she said, smiling and slurring just a little. "... just like you do. I like that name."

I continued, "...get up on the chair on your knees facing the back. I want to see that fabulous butt of yours. Good. Now lean forward, away from me and turn your head to look back at me. Great! Just like that!"

She wiggled her butt at me and giggled. Now she had a big grin on her face. Her eyes were bright and flashing. I moved around, capturing her cute butt from every angle before I asked her to move the chair out of the frame and just stand at the window, looking out. Wow! She looked like something from a Vermeer painting, with the soft, diffused window light on one side and darkness on the other. I wasn't sure if I could capture the entire range but I knew Photoshop could help with shadow detail.

I had her turn slowly, looking for the best angle. I had her turn her upper body so I could see her small breasts in profile and her butt straight on. She was beautiful and
I had taken almost a hundred shots of her.

"I wanna doo shum with no clozhs on," she slurred. She walked around the bed, threw her hat on the dresser and pulled her T shirt off over her head, revealing a lacy white demi-bra on that pushed her small breasts up and in. "Can we doo shum now?" She kicked her sandals off and made a great show of pulling her pants down slowly, like a tease, revealing white nylon panties underneath. I kept the camera to my eye and made one photo after another of the process. She stripped the pants down over her kegs and feet, wobbling on one leg and then the other but managing not to fall in the process.

She snapped the waistband of her panties and said, "Momma won't let me wear a thong. These aren't very sexy so I'll just take them off." She turned away and shimmied the panties down and off slowly, shifting her butt from side to side as she did. "You like this better?" I didn't answer but I continued to snap as many pictures as I could while she stripped and taunted me with her cute butt  It looked even better out in the open but she had a welt from the elastic of her panties.

Still facing away, she reached back slowly and unfastened her bra, holding it in place over her breasts with her forearm. She was looking at me over her shoulder, her head tilted down and to one side. A very sexy look and she knew it. She turned slowly, still covering herself, and faced me head-on. Then she fixed her gaze on my eyes and slowly let her arm come down, uncovering two very delectable titties -- still A-cup, I guessed, with pink puffy nipples nicely centered and standing proudly. My erection was painful in my pants.

I snapped three or four photos of her like this before I had to lower the camera and take in the sight of this lovely creature before me. She watched my eyes travel down to take notice of a cute belly button, gently flaring hips framing a small very blonde patch of fine straight hair on her mons. Again, I could see between her legs even though her knees were together. 

There was no sign of a tan line anywhere. The flesh of her breasts was exactly the same as her tummy and face and legs, which made those pink nipples all the more exciting. She turned her upper body left and right and asked coyly, "You like?"

"I like," I responded, trying not to drool or otherwise give away my own state of excitement or appear too eager. But I noticed the mark left by her bra strap. Pictures would have to wait. "Today isn't good for pictures, sweetie."

"Why not?" she whined, curling her lower lip in a pout.

"You have marks from your underwear," I said. "They look terrible in photographs. We'll have to do the photos another time."

"When?"

"Whenever you can avoid wearing any elastic for a few hours beforehand. Both your bra and the elastic at the top of your pants and panties makes welts that take several hours to disappear. When can you come back?"

"Ummm...I dunno. Next week?"

"You're not free tomorrow or Friday?"

"Ummm... no. Mom plays bridge Wednesdays and Fridays. She thinks I study all afternoon but I finish my work in the mornings so I can ... ummm ... do stuff in the afternoons.

"So, how's Friday -- day after tomorrow?"

"Ummm...not so good. I...I'm meeting someone Friday."

"A guy?"

"Well, yeah, if you have to know."

"Ok."

"It's not like I do stuff with everybody, you know. Just him -- and my daddy -- and you, if you want." She continued before I could speak. He's older, like you, and he reminds me of daddy, too. I call him 'Daddy Two.' You can be 'Daddy Three.'" She laughed and ran her hands up under her breasts, cupping them and lifting them provacatively. Well, shit! This whole thing was provacative!

"So, we can take pictures next week but maybe we can do something else right now," she said in her best husky voice while kneading her cute little titties for my benefit.

"How old are you?"

"I'll be 13 in two months. Do you really care?" She took a step closer, dropping her hands.

"Not really, I guess."

"Good," she said, creeping toward me, her hands at her sides. She made exxagerated movements with her shoulders as she approached, making my eyes go side to side as they followed her little titties. "C'mon, Daddy Three. Don't you want to play a little game?"

She bumped her chest into me and I felt her hand searching for my stiff manhood. She found it quickly and squeezed it a few times. "Oh, Daddy. I think you're ready to play." She smiled at me and then began to unbutton my shirt. She tugged it out of my pants and then started on the belt. I had my shirt off and my pants around my ankles in short order.

"Just a second, hon," I said as I sat on the bed to take off shoes and socks and untangle my pants from my ankles. I stood and Angela again pressed her body against mine. What a difference it was to feel skin on skin and two hard nipples pressing against my stomach. She was shorter than I thought.

She stood on tiptoe and kissed me warmly. I pulled her up and tight against me by holding one cheek of her butt in each hand. Her boobs slid up across my chest. God, what an erotic sensation! I could feel her tight butt muscles as she strained to kiss me while standing. Then she worked her hand between us again and wrapped her fingers around my cock. Damn, that felt good!

Her mouth opened to accept my tongue. We both began to pant deeply and rapidly through our noses as we kissed. Then I took her hand and led her to the bed. She crawled on and lay back spread-eagle with her arms out to beckon me, fingers wiggling. I looked down at her pussy, already opening, glistening pale pink between her narrow labia. "Come, Daddy," she said.

I crawled between her legs and lowered myself over her, kissing her tummy and then each lovely breast. Yum! There's a flavor that young girls breasts have that is memorable. It's a fresh, clean taste, possibly from her soap but it's not a soapy or perfumed taste at all. It's uniquely young titty and delicious.

Her hands held my head gently as I feasted on her breasts, enveloping an entire breast in my wide-open mouth and then sucking it in and flicking the nipple with my tongue. "Mmmm," she moaned.

I moved upward and kissed her lips softly, then her nose and her eyelids. I was finally kissing her forehead when I felt the tip of my cock touch her wet pussy. "Oh, yeaah," she said at first contact. I thrust my hips down slowly, letting the underside of my cock run along her furrow. "Oh, yeaah," again.

"Do it now, Daddy," she moaned. "I'm ready, Daddy."

"Just a second, sweetie. I gotta do something first."

"But I want you now, Daddy," she wailed.

"Just a sec," I said again as I reached into the night stand drawer to retrieve a condom.

She looked at what I was doing and said, "No, Daddy. I want to feel you inside me, not some old rubber."

"Sorry, babe. The last thing I want to do is knock you up."

"But I'm on the pill. Nothing will happen."

"Well, there's another reason. I have a hair trigger. The condom makes me less sensitive so I can last longer."

"So," she complained, "if you're gonna wear that thing, at least let me put it on for you." She sat up and took the rubber from my hand. "Lie down," she commanded. She rolled the condom onto me and smoothed it, finally giving the little reservoir tip a little tug and giggling before she laid down next to me. I smeared some lubricant on the rubber. "I want you so bad," she said quietly. "Do me now...please."

She meant it as a request but I took it as an order I was all too happy to comply with.  She spread her legs to give me room. I crawled between them and smiled down at her. I wasn't used to porking a woman with so little foreplay but Angela said she was ready and her pussy was certainly wet and inviting. 

I crawled up on her again, supporting myself on one arm, I guided the head of my cock to the target. I found the spot, the soft folds of her inner lips, and pushed in slowly. My cock sank in with no effort, splitting her lips and working its way down through a tight sheath of smooth, wide, soft corrugations. I felt her tighten muscles around my cock several times as it descended into her depths. Our pelvic bones met and I could feel my balls resting against her. She squeezed my cock internally several more times as I remained motionless deep within her. "That feels nice," she said. This girl had more experience than a lot of twenty-year-olds.

I lifted my hips slowly, enjoying the feeling of her pussy walls receding against my cock. Not as overwhelming as it would have been if I had gone in bare but still an extraordinary massage of my most sensitive organ by hers. She pursed her lips and inhaled as I withdrew, making a soft, 'wwwhhhh' sound. I rested  for a few seconds at the top before moving down through the exquisite channel again, stopping at the bottom to feel her pussy clamping down on the head, trying to trap it and hold it. She was breathing as if she was in a Lamaze class, soft whooshes as she inhaled on the up stroke and exhaled on the down stroke.

I started moving faster, up and down. Her breathing kept pace. The whooshes got stronger as her breathing grew more audible. Her breathing was interspersed with, "Oh, yes," and "Oh, oh." 

I increased the pace again and Angela brought her feet up and locked her ankles behind my back. "Oh, yes, Daddy. Fuck me!" My butt was bouncing up and down now. Beads of perspiration were forming on my brow as I pounded this little girl's pussy. I lifted my torso, supported above her on two straight arms with my hips doing push-ups and my cock driving deep inside her.

"Aaaaahhhhhh," she wailed. "I'm cummmmmmmmmmming. OMIGOD! I'm coming!" She dug her nails into my back as her body spasmed and she ground her hips up at me, suddenly holding still, her pussy rythmically squeezing and release my cock.

That sent me over. I drove down against her rigid body and felt myself unload spurt after spurt into her -- or, rather, into the condom. My balls emptied as her pussy milked me and her fingernails tore at the flesh on my back. I collapsed on top of her.

"Oh, baby, baby, that was sooo good," I whispered in her ear.

"Thank you, Daddy," she replied.  We lay like that, locked at the hip, until my cock began to soften and shrink, maybe 10 minutes. I finally started to lift my hips to withdraw completely and she complained, "Don't go, Daddy, don't go. I want you inside me."

"It's gonna pop out on its own, sweetie."

"I HATE it when that happens," she said, giggling. "You feel so good inside me. Can we do this every Wednesday?"

"I'd love to," I said.

"But I still want some pictures," she said. "I want some really sexy pictures. Can you do that?"

"I can sure try."

"So, what do you like best about me?"

"Your butt," I answered.

"Silly. You're supposed to say 'My pussy' cuz you like to fuck me so much."

"Ok. Your pussy. But I like your butt, too." We lay together wrapped in each other's arms for half an hour or so before we noticed it was 4:30 and we had to get her back by 5:00 to avoid any problems with momma.

"Shall I phone you next Wednesday before I leave?" she asked as she dressed.

"I hope you will." I remained on the bed, lying on my back with the used rubber still encasing my now-shrunken dick.

"And will you take some sexy photos of me -- before we fuck?"

"I hope so. But remember not to wear anything with elastic that day."

"Ok. I'll just wear baggy stuff so mom won't notice."

"That's fine

"Are you gonna wear that condom all day?" she asked, laughing.

"I might. It's such a nice memento."

"You silly...," she said, leaning down to kiss me. "You stay there. I'll let myself out." She put her hat on, blew me a kiss and disappeared.

I heard the door open and close as I lay there, eyes closed, dreaming about next Wednesday. And I realized it didn't bother me that she was thinking of her daddy while she was fucking me. There's a price for everything. Sometimes you pay a trifle for a gem.

                                            ---- END ----

BTW, I've written this story twice now. I had this and Parts 4 & 5 of Four Sisters written but not yet posted to ASSTR while I was in Mazatlan. Unfortunately, I had all of them saved on a thumb drive that I found to be missing when I arrived home. I am still putting off rewriting part 4 of Four Sisters. I like the story but it's a lot of work to do twice -- about 70kB worth.

                                      -----------------------------------

   Read all my stories at: http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/cyberguy

   (Copy and paste this address into the address window at the top of your
browser window.)

   Needless to say, this story belongs to me.  You can share it with
friends but don't rip it off for any kind of personal gain without my
written authorization.

   -------------------------

   I write, usually about a young girl and an older man, for my own
pleasure.  My stories usually have a kernel of an actual event in them but
they are sheer fantasy.  I will sometimes see a young girl at the market or
riding a bicycle or waiting in line with friends for a movie and my body
will literally twitch with excitement.  Not just ANY girl; some girls. 
There is no way I would ever approach one of these girls but I do fix an
image in my mind of their faces, figures, clothes and body language.  I
then dream, like a perverted Walter Mitty, about what might have happened
had we actually met.

   I always enjoy comments, good or bad.  Nice things encourage me to write
more.  Critical things encourage me to write better.  Please encourage me,
one way or another, by emailing me at:

                         CYBERGUY20038@YAHOO.COM

