Sci Fry chap 1

October 8, 2008 by maxdname

The uniformed officers still had their disabling stun weapons (stingers) drawn, their arms extended guiding them forward, as they cautiously approached the lifeless body lying in the gutter. Paper, caught in the breeze of passing vehicles gathered around the dead man’s ankles. Detective Sergeant First Class Ulysses Simpson Brill slowly lowered his pulse weapon. He blinked deliberately and then stared at his hands still clutching the device that had, so recently, taken the man’s life. It crackled with residual energy, the glow only now dimming.

Shoving the weapon back into the shoulder holster under his jacket, Brill swallowed hard before yelling to the uniformed officers, “I’m GDF! Keep everybody away from the body and get me the night shift supervisor!”

Panting hard Brill consciously fought to slow his breathing, until he was sucking in deep breaths to calm his spinning head while the uniformed patrolmen scurried around the scene poking at the gathering crowd with their stingers at waist level. Trace cams hissed and sputtered overhead searching for camera angles not covered by the others.

Another uniformed officer arrived, carrying some modicum of authority on his broad shoulders. The average citizen could only afford enough food to carry more than a minimum of weight and muscle on their frame, greater affluence allowed someone to bulk up with either biostimulation (the easiest method) or by old fashioned exercise. Either way, without the addition daily caloric intake it was impossible to increase body size beyond embryonic DNA enhancement (expensive and illegal after the second trimester) or genetic predisposition.

Brill was a bigger man than most through neccessity: he was a Detective Sergeant First Class in the GDF. GDF was the Global Defense Force, the worldwide police agency, while these patrolmen were only local district enforcement, unsure of their authority with a dead body lying in the gutter.

Brill took one more deep gulp of air before holding his ID card, between his right thumb and index finger, to his right eye. Immediately a flat computer generated voice bleated out: “Identified. Brill, Ulysses Simpson. GDF rank Sergeant, access level 6, deadly force authorized…”

The large officer spun quickly barking orders to the others who pressed the crowd to disperse while their stingers snapped and sparked.

A 3D hologram projection of Ully materialized in front of him spinning slowly to insure positive identification.

Every citizen was required to carry their ID card at all times outside their private domicile by order of the world-wide government, Lloyds of London Ltd which now called itself Loyon. On each ID card all manner of information was channeled, through a central information database, to update and display all information requested within seconds.

An ID badge was every citizen’s link to the rest of the world. It contained a small imbedded computer that kept track of a citizen’s bank account, daily errands, security access, health records, in fact, every piece of data connected to that specific individual. To prevent theft the computer in the badge had a triple security system. One was a thumb print reader that sent a random bio-electrical current through the body to determine whether it matched the current received by a second security device: an iris print reader.

All of this was required for the badge to make a positive ID. Then the computer in the badge projected a full size 3D wire model of the person, facial photographs and all pertinent data in a holograph projection further reducing the chances of identity theft. Since the inception of the ID badge fewer than a hundred had ever been successfully stolen and reprogrammed. Blank ID badges could be forged but eventually the main computer system would catch up with the badge holder.

“…any use of such force will be reported…” the disembodied voice continued.

“Computer off…” Brill managed through his labored breathing. All computer systems responded to the address “computer.” Some individuals gave their personal codes for address, often cute names or silly titles, but all systems responded to the word “computer.”

“You okay, sergeant?” Turning back the large patrolman asked Brill when he sat down hard on the curb.

“Yeah,” he puffed heavily before he swatted at a trace cam that darted above his head.

Trace cams were the air-jet powered cameras launched by local and worldwide police agencies. The small plastic cameras relayed data to multiple agencies in real time, each unit was programmed to find an angle not covered by another. Consequently single trace cams whooshed about overhead normally, but anytime an incident triggered the unit’s “spotter” program a swarm would appear quickly. Furtive movements, aggressive motions, or acts that could be interpreted as belligerent would trigger nearby units to dart to the scene each unit jockeying to a new angle whenever another camera was spotted. Many couples engaged in outdoor sexual activities had triggered spotter response finding themselves at the center of a mass of sputtering, hissing trace cams.

People were still needed behind the cameras to determine the true nature of an act—human actions was still too random for a computer to infer motivation—and while law enforcement officials tried to convince the public that nothing escaped the computer’s attention and that all dissolute citizens would be caught eventually, reality was often much different.

“Get a CV in here.” Brill said to the large patrolmen. “And clear this sidewalk.” Brill swept his hand across the crowd milling about, either witnesses to the shooting or curious bystanders alerted by the trace cams speeding to the incident. Several bystanders had their ID cards held high taking pictures of the grisly scene. Brill knew everybody with a sense of the macabre could view this in a matter of minutes. These sorts of incidents sometimes caused flash crowds—crowds that come together rapidly without forethought—and Brill wasn’t ready for that. Not now.

CVs were the coroner vehicles that scurried throughout the city taking away anyone unfortunate enough to die outside the purview of institutional care. The vehicles and accompanying ‘bots removed bodies without complaint at any hour thus maintaining an illusion of perpetual salubrity. But this was the fourth person in a month that could not be taken down with stingers alone.

Only law enforcement agents with the rank of detective or higher even carried lethal force weapons. Stingers had made more powerful weapons impractical, long ago. In the past decade only twenty-three incidents had justified the use of lethal force in the Berlin-Warsaw-Krakow metropolitan area and fifteen of those involved purely psychotic episodes or “de-poles.” De-poles were caused by a sudden and often permanent depolarization of a body’s neurons usually brought about by chemical or electrical stimuli from illegal drugs or from a “wisp.” The only tie between the last four people was each was or had been a street hustler or procurer, known in the street as “wispers” because most were wisp addicts.

*****

Brill had never known a time when ordinary citizen’s access to wisp was common but in his great-great grandfather’s day it was a popular form of recreation. Wisp were the sentient creatures created by an ancient civilization believed long since extinct.

For five centuries humans explored the near galaxy collecting technology left behind by the vanished race. The technology was brought back to earth where companies bid for the right to use the advanced equipment and ideas. The moneys paid to the government covered the costs of further space exploration, until the debacle on M-Pollux 10/1 beta, some three and a half centuries prior. The trip was the most expensive undertaking to date and all the government had to show for it was nearly 25,000 creatures that did nothing more than affect human emotions.

Normally existing within plasma energy envelope, wisp stimulating the emotion centers in the human brain and reaped vital nutrition from the electric impulses carried through the synapse connectors while the human host would receive intensified emotional stimulus as a benefit. The wisp feasted while the host experienced a euphoria beyond any drug The alien creatures were created in the distant past to feed on bio-electrical impulses within the minds of their creators: a recreational stimulant used for relaxation and reward. But for an alien mind.

This self-feeding loop of host and symbiont had prompted some humans to act out antisocial impulses. Because of this, governmental control of the beings that thrived on human emotion was now the rule. High ranking or loyal bureaucrats and those rewarded for community actions could earn time hooked up to a these government controlled creatures with something called wisp time points: or more commonly just “points.” Uncharted or illegally obtained wisp became the milieu of criminals and professional risk takers. In the last couple of decades Lloylon, had dispensed fewer and fewer “whips” (short for wisp points) creating a vacuum in the wake. A vacuum ready to be filled by citizens with nothing to lose and access to an illicit wisp.

The creatures were called wisp because on their home planet the creatures looked like a purple swamp gas in the native noble gas atmosphere and therefore were likened to creatures from the children’s story “Will o’ the Wisp” and called euphemistically “wisp.” Battling against powerful religious leaders, ascetics, and self-proclaimed dervish the government found few licit buyers for the “found technology” causing Loylon, who had insured the near space explorations, to take the government into receivership when bidding was halted amidst the maelstrom of moral and religious controversy.

Loylon became the global administrators after the European Union’s space program lost everything on a mission to M-Pollux 10/1 beta searching for more technology from the mysterious race that left no written records. Their scattered technological devices fueled searches in the near space for any and all remainders. The EU had insured the space flight with Lloyds of London Limited and due to a cascade of fine print, the EU defaulted and Loylon took over the bulk of governmental activities prompting the remaining independent governments to defer their activates to the former insurance company.

Now all executive decisions were handled within a corporate structure, often with the “bottom line” as the overarching imperative. While this reduced international warring and competition between nations it made for lowered expectations in many areas of research and overall enthusiasm amongst the citizens. It was this lack of competition that seemed to breed a general malaise prompting some people to seek excitement outside the established boundaries of societal norms.

That’s when Ully Brill, sergeant Glocal Defence Force, stepped in. Those recruited into GDF were the best law enforcement agents available. In a metropolitan area that covered 140,000 square kilometers and contained over 200 million people, professional procurers could move from place to place or might live on the streets if they could dodge “trace cams.”

Trace cameras constantly hovered above the city streets sputtering and hissing quietly while the bulk of the cameras were at fixed locations, ever vigilant. Trace cams could be directed to the city’s blind spots in the camera network when required, making complete secrecy difficult but not impossible. These mobile cameras were also used to increase the number of supplemental angles crime prevention investigation units could record or monitor in real time.

Sophisticated criminals could alert the computer’s “spotter program” through a stationary camera in a sector far from a planned illegal activity and, before the trace cams and uniformed officers arrived, could disappear into a building or underground while the real crime was taking place elsewhere. By the time the incident was assessed and the spotter program reset itself the culprits could have conducted their illict operation leaving behind only a single video record of their actions.

Given five million live feeds into the central computer and the spotter program’s run and reset time, added to the normal random acts of almost a quarter billion people, a criminal’s chances of not being spotted in a criminal act was about even on any normal day. The ones who did not get caught hedged their bets, and often street hustlers were the people criminals used to engage the computer’s “eye.”

Brill, and those like him, were called in when the regular uniformed officers were stymied because the GDF were recruited from the highest criminal ranks. After a half-dozen close calls with the law Brill was referred to the GDF by a legal aide working for the prosecutor’s office. Evidence against Brill was thin but mounting.

Enter Tatya Chenkovich, Junior Assistant DA.

*****

“We got the whole thing on vid, Ully! You were authorized. Completely authorized!” A shapely young woman maneuvered thought the crowd that stood gawking along the sidewalk despite the unifromed officers. Few citizens had ever witnessed a pulse weapon discharge and fewer had ever seen a dead man lying in the street killed by one.

“Ully, we caught the whole thing. No inquest will be required.” Several uniformed officers started towards the beautiful woman striding confidently onto the scene.

Holding up a badge to her eye a life-size 3D projected picture flashed in front of her accompanied by a flat metallic voice spouting tired legalese.

“Identified. Chenkovich, Tatya Elena. Junior Assistant DA, access level 5, crime scene access authorized…” came the badge’s plaintive computer voice. All eyes turned towards Brill, who was the site commander by virtue of his rank as a GDF Detective.

Nodding, Brill’s gaze never left the body lying in the gutter.

“…. All incidents shall be reported through channels at…”

“Computer off,” the woman spoke in a hurried tone before she slumped onto the curb next to Brill sliding her arm around his shoulders.

“Ully, talk to me,” she begged. “Ully, did you hear me? We caught the whole thing in real time, You were authorized.” Tatya glanced at Brill’s hands. “Ulysses, you’re shaking.” There was concern in her voice.

Still staring at the body Brill drew a deep breath and released it slowly. Turning to face the newcomer he narrowed his eyes.

“You’re a little late to recruit this one unless you have a bent towards necrophilia. He was one of us, ya know, GDF.” Brill nodded towards the dead man.

“Ully, let it go, please! This is exactly why we…” She looked to him pleadingly.

“What are you doing ‘on scene?’ Have you been demoted?” Brill interrupted her.

Cocking her head to one side she replied, “No. I have been assigned to work with you on this incident.”

“Oh, come on. Did they assign you to have sex with me, too?”

Jumping up the woman grabbed at Brill’s elbow trying to pull him to his feet.

“Damn it, Ully…” she growled through clentched teeth.

Jerking his arm away from her grasp he snapped, “Detective First Class Brill…”

“Piss! I knew you when you were just a wisper hustling for a…” Tatya stopped when she noticed Brill staring towards the crowd. She spun her gaze in the same direction. The prying eyes of uniformed officers were staring at the two former lovers as they sparred.

Brill shouted to no one in particular, “Pay attention to you job! Keep those people away from the body.” The uniformed officers turned away from the two and back to the task of herding citizens along the sidewalks.

“Damn! What’s taking that CV so long?” Brill spat.

With his statement a CV slid to a stop on the scene scattering the crowd in the street. A tall smiling man wearing the rank of Captain of the GDF on his shoulder stepped out of vehicle as a forensic trace cam circled the body taking pictures from every possible angle. No provisions were made for humans in the CV, no humans alive anyway, so it was rather odd that the man used it for transportation.

Spotting Brill, the man moved towards him in even strides. Holding up a badge to his eye the computer introduced the man.

“Identified. Smith, Balkan Stephan. GDF rank Captain, Access level 4, deadly force authorized, supervisory level…” A murmer shot through the crowd as few citizens had ever seen an access level 4 on the street.

“Computer stop…” The man spoke quietly with a wide grin affixed as he approached the Brill.

“Detective Brill?”

“Yes sir,” Brill rose unsteadily and their hands met.

Brill returned his gaze to the dead body on the ground. He was responsible to make sure nothing happened to the body “…that might result in any loss of evidence.”

“Call me Smitty. I’m here to relieve you for an inquest.”

Stepping in between the men Tatya spoke, “That won’t be necessary, Captain.”

Smitty’s smile faded slightly. “And, who might you be?”

Holding up her badge to her eye as the computer began, “Identified. Chenkovich,Tatya Ele…”

“Computer off.” Brill interrupted. “Sir, I could use some time to… “

“Smitty, please. I’m here to help you.” The man beamed. “Is this the first time you’ve used lethal force?”

Nodding his head, Brill answered. “Yeah, I… I’m a little shook up…”

“That’s understandable.” Turning towards Tatya the captain continued. “Are you from the Coroner’s office?”

“No, Captain. I’m from the DA,” she answered pointedly. “We caught the incident in real time. Trace cams were on site and the DA’s already cleared Detective Brill of any culpability and would like to see him stay on duty.”

The Coroners’ attendant ‘bot scooped up the dead body slowly.

Smitty, snatched up his badge and spoke into it, “Computer, send a priority message to any 6-3 on duty, request for DA’s response to incident involving Detective Sergeant First Class Brill, this location.”

Smitty had put in a call for someone far up the chain of command. Any person designated as a “6″ was involved in law enforcement and the last number was their access rating. A rating of “3″ was very high. Brill had met only a dozen people with a “3″ access code and only once had he shaken hands in a reception line with a “2″. Smitty was looking for someone of importance.

Lowering his badge he glanced back to Tatya, still maintaining his serene smile. “The DA cleared this awfully fast don’t you think, young lady?”

“You condescending bastard! I have a 5 access and have worked hard to…”

His grin never faded. “Okay, okay. If you’ll allow me to talk with my sergeant I’d appreciate it.”

With a scowl she nodded her assent.

The man turned back towards Brill. “It’s a difficult thing to take a man’s life.” He was staring at Brill but addressing the young assistant DA.

Brill stumbled backward slightly grabbing hold of Smitty’s arm to steady himself.

“Sit down, Brill! Breathe deep, I need a med ‘bot!” The captain pushed Brill to the curb. Brill lowered his head until it was tucked between his knees. Smitty and Tatya spun towards the attendant Coroner’s ‘bot at the same time. The pulse weapon had liquefied a portion of the man’s body and an arm had fallen out of his sleeve, onto the ground. Brill was hit by a wave of nausea by the sight.

“Oh Jesus, Ully. Don’t look at it.,” Tatya whispered.

“Yeah,” Brill panted.

“Where’s that ‘bot!” Smitty yelled above the din.

From a nearby alcove a med ‘bot, shorter than the one from the CV, waddled out into the crowd apologizing with each new human encounter.

“Please, pardon me. A citizen is in need of assistance. Please, pardon me…”

Brill sucked in deep breaths now.

“Get that thing on the CV!” Smitty barked at the nearest patrolman. The uniformed officers did not move, but instead looked to one another wide-eyed instead.

“You,” Smitty barked, pointing to the man closest to the offending arm, “Get that outta here, now!”

With trepidation the man moved forward to the arm and snatched it up quickly, throwing it towards the back of the morgue vehicle quickly as though it were contagious. The arm bounced off a ‘bot and fell to the ground. The med ‘bot took a quick reading of the arm as it passed, finding it had no life readings continued towards Brill.

The Coroner’s ‘bot slowly picked up the limb and placed it inside the coffin shaped carrier.

The med ‘bot stopped at Brill’s side, and began measuring all vital signs from a distance of about half a meter.

“Sir, I’m afraid you’ve experienced a temporary lack of blood to the brain with accompanying dizziness and…”

“Shut up! Computer off!” Brill kicked at the device that hovered near his feet.

“Please, pardon me, while I check for damage to this unit.” The ‘bot was now silent as it ran internal system checks.

“Ully. Come on, look at me,” Tatya knelt down in front of Brill. When he finally stared up at her and focused his eyes she hugged him tightly.

“I’m okay, now,” Brill said hoarsely.

“You still think he should stay on duty, Miss..?”

“…Chenkovich and the DA’s report has…” Tatya stood up quickly to face Smitty.

Holding up his open palm, Smitty signaled Tatya to stop. He looked down at his badge as it flickered with text scrolling across its screen. After a  time he looked up. Smiling broadly at Tatya he said, “Miss Chenkovich, Detective Brill is on duty. I’ll take care of the body don’t worry about it.”

Brill struggled to get to his feet while the medical robot advised against it. “Sir, I’m afraid you’ve experienced a temporary lack of blood to the brain…”

“Computer stop!” Brill snapped. The computer voice in the medical robot immediately stopped speaking.

“I have to stay with the body until it’s turned over to the Coroner’s Office.” Brill murmured.

Smitty beamed. “Detective Brill, you have done a valuable service, and you’re under stress. Your duty’s completed, take some time, gather yourself…”

“I can’t hand this off to a ‘bot…”

Pointing to the vehicle, the Captain continued, “I’ll go with the body, okay? Get some rest. That’s an order.” Brill shrugged as Smitty held his smile and turned directly towards Tatya.

“Let the pretty lady take you home,” Smitty nodded at the woman while she scowled back at him. “Take care of him, okay? It’s difficult to take another man’s life.”

Tatya answered softly, “Sure, I’ll see that he gets…”

Smitty finished her sentence, “See that he gets drunk.” The captain turned on his, heel and walked to the Coroners’ vehicle. The door closed behind him and the vehicle silently slid away from the scene scattering the crowd once again.

Brill leaned in on Tatya and began to walk. The medical robot began asking him more questions as he moved. He kicked the robot squarely on the wheel assembly causing it withdraw both wheels inside for another assessment and repair.

“Sir, you may have injured your foot. Allow me to run a scan while I make repairs…”

“Computer, stop!” Brill yelled at the med robot. Snaking his arm around Tatya’s waist he pressed her body close to his and peered into her eyes.

“This is what I need.” Brill’s leer caused her to blush.

The pair stood as one, her arms around his chest supporting him.

“What an ass,” she whispered meaning the GDF captain.

Brill threw his head back so he could take in Tatya’s backside.

“Uh huh.” He replied musically.

“Stop it,” she giggled slapping at him playfully. “Let’s get you home.”

*****

When Brill had been recruited to GDF he underwent a period of evaluation lasting a year. Through the entire time his mentor had been Tatya Chenkovich. During that time they became intimate and Brill found himself deeply in love with her. She was funny, beautiful, and seemed to return his feelings. Two weeks after his evaluation period was over Tatya had moved from her apartment and Brill was instructed by his superiors not to contact her again.

*****

The moment the pair walked through the door to his apartment, Brill asked Tatya if she could stay.

“I’m not supposed to, Ully.”

“Sure, I get it. Your job was done after I agreed to join up, right?” Brill grabbed a bottle from a cabinet in the kitchen and spun the cap off. Then he leaned onto his elbows, resting on the counter while glaring into Tatya’s steely blue eyes, challenging her.

In a measured and controlled voice Tatya began. “I was ordered to break it off with you because I couldn’t be expected to maintain my impartiality in a case like today’s. My job is to decide whether a GDF agent acted in a manner befitting the crime.”

“You didn’t care about that when GDF came to my place and kicked in my door,” he said before he took a long pull on the bottle.

“I didn’t even know you then.”

*****

Before Brill was recruited by the GDF he had been a hardcore wisper.

Possessing the ability to coordinate large numbers of other wispers Brill had made off with several food shipments destined for entire sectors. His brazen ability to confuse the spotter programs and trace cams was legendary. His last great theft involved setting up mirrors inside the hallway of the food bank. When the alarms went off at the sector center, trace cams were immediately dispatched. With the fixed cams blacked out—balloons filled with paint tossed at them had done the job easily—the trace cams arrived.

Trace cams had no pre-programmed routes: this was done in order to eliminate detectable patterns of movement. Additionally, the floating cameras reported their positions only when they detected human activity that triggered their “spotter programs” thus insuring that no one could track the movements of the free flying devices.

Trace cams were programmed to move to a different area if another trace cam was on site. As each trace cam arrived on scene the mirrors created the illusion that another trace cam had arrived to survey the area. By the time the sector police had figured out what was going on Brill and his gang of thieves were long gone. Brill had spent an entire twelve hours connected to a wisp after that job.

One day a wisp dealer gave Brill over to the authorities rather than undergo a wisp police interrogation with a PNICR. A wisp could be trained to access fear or pain centers of the brain as well as pleasure and PNICRs, pronounced pincers, Police Non-cooperative Interrogation Control Regimen were nasty things to be avoided.

*****

“Okay, so what are you doing here now? Is there something I’m being recruited for?” Brill asked downing another swallow.

“Damn it, Ully! I volunteered to work with you on this assignment.”

Stopping the bottle halfway to the counter, Brill snapped, “What assignment?”

Tatya lowered her eyes and shifted her weight. “There was a request from an access level 2 to track down some college students who are suspected wispers.”

“Access level 2. You’re working the big room, huh?”

“Ully, please. I need somebody who knows the lifestyle. Someone they can trust.”

“Someone ‘who’ can trust?”

Looking at the tile on the floor for an answer. Tatya drew a deep breath and said, “‘Flo and Eddie’ and maybe Billy Weed.”

“I knew it,” Brill slammed down the bottle sloshing the contents inside. “What makes you think I would work against my old partners? They know I’m GDF.”

“Let the DA worry about that. My job is get your help.”

“Are you authorized to do whatever needs to be done to get me to work on this?”

“Yes, I am, Ully.” Tatya said plainly

“Including sleep with me?”

“Come on, Ully. That’s not fair! I almost lost my…” She stopped dead.

“Lost your what?”

“Nothing.”

“Answer me or find a new boy,” Brill took another long drink.

Exhaling sharply Tatya shook her head. “I almost lost my 5 access…”

An access rating was paramount to every citizen and losing it could mean losing everything.

Brill stared at Tatya for a long time. God, she is beautiful he thought. Slowly he spoke.

“I’m sorry. I…” he hesitated. “I had no idea. Was it because I was a wisper?”

“No,” Tatya replied quietly. “They wanted you to go underground and find something and I told them I didn’t think it would be wise… You were a new detective and you’d just gotten yourself straight and they told me I had lost my objectivity.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Go after that same wisp that made the guy you… um…”

Closing his eyes momentarily, Brill said softly, “… killed?”

“Yes,” Tatya finished. “You were supposed to find that wisp so it could be eliminated. You were supposed to hook up and then when you found it…”

“Wait a minute. That could’ve been me tonight,” Brill pushed himself away from the counter and stood tall. “They wanted me to catch a ‘bad brain?’ This guy de-poled on that wisp.”

A “bad brain” was street language for a wisp that might cause a human to have portions of their brain permanently depolarize. Electronic messages carried in the nervous system travel by a sudden change of the normally positive ions spreading a de-polarizing signal along nerve fibers. To have large number of nerve fibers fail to return to a normal balance could produce brutal behavior changes in humans. A couple of dozen “bad brains” had been seen in the last decade and every street wisper shared tales of these unpredictable wisp that could push a user to anything from manic violence to a catatonic stupor. Some wispers never fully recovered.

Tatya stared at the floor for a moment. Shaking her head sadly she continued. “That was a brand new detective. He was… they wanted you…”

 

Stepping forward Brill slid his arms around Tatya’s waist and she melted into him.

“Ully, I didn’t want anything to happen to you.” Now she was weeping softly and Brill let out a long sigh of resignation.

“Tea, I’ll do whatever you want.” Brill used his pet name for her.

“You know, that’s the first time you have called me that since you saw me again.” Brill kissed the top of her head just as his badge lit up and vibrated slightly. Sniffing Tatya pulled away from Brill.

“You better get that. You’re still on duty, you know,” she said with a weak smile.

Placing his thumb on the corner of the badge the computer ID’ed him and put the written message on the small screen. Most people of the present day could not read due to the ubiquitous verbal translators that existed in all aspects of everyday life. This created a self-selecting elite: those who could learn to read were often the ones in charge, or the ones to be watched closely.

Tatya had maneuvered into the bathroom to wash her face while Brill read the message. It made no sense to him. He spoke flatly into the card.

“Computer; message in reply: body in the custody of… um,” he struggled to remember the man’s name. “Smith… uh, captain, GDF, introduction on file, my card.” Badges recorded all introductions from other badges for a period of 72 hours internally and all others were logged in a data bank that could last a lifetime or longer.

Glancing up just as Tatya reentered the kitchen Brill spoke. “They’re calling about the body. Smitty must’ve taken a detour or something.”

Tatya’s brow furrowed. She pressed her thumb on the corner of her badge and snapped, “Computer, messages.” Scanning the glowing card briefly she then turned back to Brill. “The DA has no record of Balkan Smith in GDF. They must have ran his ID when he showed up on scene. It says ‘No release authorized.’”

Brill’s card flashed again. Watching as the words scrolled across his screen he slowly looked back at Tatya. “One of the officers on scene tonight, has just been found murdered,” Brill said incredulously. “I’m supposed to investigate.”

Murders were rare given the ubiquitous trace cams and fixed cameras. Violence was kept a minimum and citizens convicted of any previous violent were assisgned trace cams that followed their every move.

“I’m coming too,” Tatya replied.

“Wait a minute, we’re looking at a person who is patently dangerous with the ability to kill another person and…”

Tatya’s eyes searched his as she whispered, “So are you.”

Taking a deep breath Brill replied, “Yeah, I guess that’s true. Okay, stay close. I don’t want anything to happen you.” Brill pulled Tatya close to his side inhaling her scent deeply.

*****

Arriving on scene Brill held up his badge up to his eye, “Identified. Brill, Ulysses Simpson, Detective Sergeant First Class GDF. Access level 6…” droned the computer.

“Computer off. Who found him?” Brill asked without a break.

A uniformed officer pointed to a hovering trace cam. Tatya stepped forward and let the computer ID her and instructed the cam to download to her badge. All camera’s information was the purview of the DA’s office not law enforcement.

Brill peered over Tatya’s shoulder while her badge’s screen replayed the discovery. It held nothing of interest. Brill knelt to look closely at the body. This was only the second dead body he had seen but already he felt he was becoming an expert. Only a hand full of GDF agents had seen two dead bodies in a career. Brill was a hardened veteran with two in a single night.

“Stay with this body until the CV arrives and go to the morgue with it,” Brill barked at a uniformed officer standing nearest him. The officer glanced at the other officers and then back at Brill.

“Why me?”

Brill stepped towards the officer and asked, “What’s your name, officer?”

Confused, the man replied, “Michaels, Officer Second Class.”

With an overly serious expression pasted on his face Brill continued, “Would you like to be in the GDF, Michaels?”

Michaels’ face lit up. GDF were considered the elite law enforcement. “Sure.”

“Do this and I’ll see if I can get an interview for ya.”

Standing tall and throwing his shoulders back, Michaels barked, “You got it, detective.”

Tatya turned away to hide a smirk. Brill had no such power, but now he nodded sharply to the officer and stepped to Tatya’s side.

“Quit smiling.” Brill was fighting to hide his own amusement.

Standing tall and throwing her shoulders back, Tatya replied, “You got it, detective.” Clutching her elbow he spun Tatya away from scene and around the corner. He held her in his arms pressing himself into her pliant body.

“You never change, do you?” Then he leaned into her and kissed her deeply.

“And, neither do you,” she said pushing him away. “What do you think about this guy?”

“Oh yeah, that,” he joked before shifting gears. “Did you see the strap marks on his head?”

Straps with metal conductors were often used by low level or cut rate dealers to allow a wisp’s to enter and exit a human’s mind but always used if trying to retrieve one from a subject unwilling to release it. Most dealers could not afford the elaborate programming Lloylon used to coax a wisp back into a storage device, called a “sink.” In his wisper days Brill was often been called upon by dealers to train wisp to return to whatever sink the dealer might use to house them.

“It looks like the straps marks were tight so whoever did this was hoping to find a wisp, and probably didn’t. The next place I’d look would be in an electronic system. Like a ‘bot maybe.”

Beings that existed as a series of programmed electronic impulses could live inside a circuit providing the current was not too high. That’s where the bulk of the first wisp were found: inside the landing craft electronics systems that returned from Pollux M10/1beta.

“Why would anyone think this guy had a wisp on him?” Tatya asked.

“I don’t know, but that’s what they were looking for. Maybe they thought he got that wisp that de-poled that GDF guy. This is the guy who picked up the arm.” Brill recognized the officer from the crime scene.

Tatya picked up her card to report their discussion but Brill pulled her arm down. “I think we should keep things off line. This Smitty guy could be pulling strings.”

“You think it’s GDF doing this?”

“I don’t know about GDF but Smitty is the most likely suspect. And if he can produce a counterfeit ‘4′ level access badge he’s got friends inside. We need to go to the source to find every ‘bot at that site. Where is the med station closest to that site?”

“Probably, eighteenth sector. But why do you think someone would try to steal a bad brain?”

“It’s still a wisp and some people would do anything to get one.”

“Yeah, but if Smitty found it somewhere else then we’ve got no place to look.”

Brill shrugged. “Then we try something new.”

Looking at a map on her small screen, she pointed to the nearest med station in the sector where the shooting occurred. Brill offered his elbow to Tatya and together they headed down the street, arm in arm.

The med station was busy when they arrived. Tatya winked at Brill. “Let me get this one,” she said with a smile. Stepping forward to the scanner she ID’ed herself and told the desk cam to notify the human on duty. All computerized functions had some human working in the background. Whether they were paying attention or not, some human was responsible. A woman stepped from the back room rubbing sleep out of her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Yeah,” she croaked.

“DA’s office. I have a couple of questions.” The woman’s eyes opened wide. “We’re looking for a specific med ‘bot. Can we count on your discretion?” Now, it was Brill’s turn to hide a smile. The woman nodded. Tatya turned back to Brill questioningly.

Brill stared blankly for several seconds then his expression changed.

“I kicked that one ‘bot. Find out how many med ‘bots did field repairs tonight.”

The woman already was searching the log screen. Images flashed. A computer voice said, “B, two thirty six…”

The woman squinted at the stalls trying to determine the letter “B” and the numbers. Finally she said, “Um… B-236, right here did a field repair” Then the woman pointing to an empty stall. “It should be right there.”

Brill stepped forward, “Who else has been here tonight?”

The woman stared at the screen until a face flashed on it. Her mouth hung open. “Some captain, GDF. It was before I came on duty.”

“Thank you. Would you ‘override erase’ our visit?” Tatya still maintained her serious tone.

The woman nodded. As they left the building they looked at each other. Tatya spoke first. “Smith is the guy we need to talk to.”

“Well, let’s see what the morgue has, first.”

“Oh come on, Ully. You think he missed something there?” Tatya asked.

“We don’t have any other leads?” Brill stared at her as they both paused.

Tatya’s gaze wandered briefly then she gently pushed him backwards and broke into a run, “Race you there…” Several trace cams appeared following the couple briefly before they disappeared as quickly.

The human on duty at the morgue was not happy about being roused at such an late hour.

“Yeah, Smith was here. Told me, a lowly access 8, to call him Smitty,” the man replied caustically shaking his head. Brill asked what Smith had looked at. The man replied, “Why’re you asking me?”

Brill spoke. “This man Smith may be involved in a wisp theft…”

“Hey! I’ve been clean for two years now, I don’t need any trouble, okay?” The man blurted out.

Looking closely Brill noticed several small scars on his forehead: the marks of a long time whisper. A small time whisper could only afford a short time hook up so they had to visit the dealer often, which sometimes led to permanent scaring on the forehead; almost imperceptible, except to an expert… like a former whisper.

Brill rolled up his sleeve. There in blue ink was a tattoo symbol of Brill’s old gang (they often left their calling card with that symbol). It was something Brill refused to have removed when he became a GDF agent. The man’s eyes grew wide.

“Bullshit, that’d make you…” Brill held up his badge to his eye while the computer ID’ed him. Every wisper knew of Brill, at least by reputation.

“No way, Flo and Eddie said…” The man stopped speaking abruptly. Flo and Eddie, Brill’s old partners, were the biggest wisp dealers in the area.

“I’m not after you or Flo and Eddie. I need information on that Smitty guy. He may be carrying a ‘bad brain’ and if he comes back, run, then call GDF, got it?” Brill glared at the man.

“He’s really got a ‘bad brain?’” The man asked quietly.

“Don’t know.” Brill pointed towards Tatya and continued. “But the DA is looking for anybody who has had contact with this Smitty guy.”

The man nervously began, “He just came in and looked around and then took some equipment and left. I didn’t touch him or any metal surface that he did. Honestly.” Wisp could move across metal surfaces or between skin to skin contact.

Brill saw a flash of fear in the man’s eyes. Suspected wispers could be held by the DA for five days without cause. At the end of much time any hardcore wisper would be climbing the walls.

Tatya looked directly at Brill and spoke too loudly, “Detective, I’m here in an unofficial capacity. If you interrogate anyone here I have no knowledge of it.” With that she turned towards the door and took several steps.

Brill turned to look directly at the man and glared. “Interrogation” was a word that every wisper dreaded.

“He took… um,” the man stammered while he stared down at his screen, “…a retrieval ‘bot and… and a transport vehicle.”

“All right. Don’t say your name. I don’t want to know it.” Brill turned to leave but then turned back. “If you see Flo and Eddie, tell ‘em I said ‘hello.’”

“Oh no, Detective, I’m clean…” the man snapped.

Brill broke in, “I know, I know. I said ‘if.’” Brill walked towards the door with Tatya.

“Detective?” the man called out. Turning again Brill faced the man behind the counter. “That Smitty guy took the wrong transport vehicle.” Brill stepped back to the counter quickly.

“How’s that?”

“We recharge a vehicle after every trip but not the ‘bots. He took the right ‘bot but a different carrier. The one that was used is still on the charger.”

“Has it been taking current the whole time?”

The man glanced at his log again, “Yeah, it was really low for some reason.” Wisp, electronic by nature, could not travel against a positive current. That meant that the wisp, if it was in the vehicle, had not gotten into the power gird, where it could hide indefinitely.

Brill reached into his pocket and pulled out fifty food credits and handed it to the man saying, “Forget we were here, disconnect that vehicle and don’t touch it. It might have that a bad brain. And remember: if Smitty comes back, call GDF.” The man nodded in response.

Food credits were expenses not covered by ID cards. Loylon realized long ago that food credits exchanged without processing through the bureaucracy increased entrepreneurial spirit so the practice expanded to a point were it almost rivaled the “official” exchange medium conducted with ID cards.

Brill walked towards the door and stopped again. Turning towards the man Brill pointed at the food credits in his hand, “Don’t give that to Flo and Eddie. Tell ‘em they owe me one for this.”

Then Brill and Tatya disappeared into the night.

Walking along the sidewalk Tatya was obviously upset. “Why did you tell that guy what might be in that vehicle?”

“Who better to take care of a bad brain than Flo and Eddie. It’ll be safe with them and then we’ll know where to get it… if it’s in there. We’ll know for sure if Smitty comes back for that carrier.”

“All right, Sherlock Holmes, what do we do now?” she asked.

Brill smiled lasciviously as he pulled Tatya close pressing her hip to his waist.

She glanced down between them. “Put that thing away before you poke someone’s eye out!”

Brill laughed aloud. Shaking her head in resignation she sighed, “Okay, we’ll get a hotel room.”

They left with their arms entwined.

iGive Up

September 25, 2008 by maxdname

Today Macintosh Computers announced several new products in the development stage.

iBet-will allow gamblers to contact local bookies without using a normal phone line.

iQuit-users can tender their resignation without face-to-face confrontations.

iVay-a portable Talmud reader.

iDunno-this product is undergoing further definition.

Jillybean

August 11, 2008 by maxdname

Jillybean had always been my favorite in the neighborhood. She was part of the second wave of kids on our block: primarily girls about five years younger than the first wave and she stood out amongst them.



Mischief always seemed to accompany her. The flash of an unruly mop of red hair bobbing in the background usually announced her arrival. Freckles and a perpetually skinned knee were the badges she wore proclaiming her membership into our otherwise male only world. Anytime there were butterflies to chase or a new species of bug to inspect Jill could be found darting through my mom’s rose bed, swinging her white net wildly, or crawling on her hands and knees coaxing some uncatalogued insect into a glass jar.



The summer I received Mexican jumping beans, from a visiting aunt, Jill got her nickname. The endless movement of the small brown nuggets reminded me of Jill and her tireless blur of motion. The first time I called her Jillybean she let a funny smile spread across her face, before she punched me in the thigh and sprinted through a hole in the fence just large enough for her slender body. That same summer she took to calling me Spike. I never could figure out how she turned Sean into Spike but if anyone else called me Spike I would hold them down and punch them in the shoulder until they howled “Mother Mary berry,” the neighborhood equivalent of “uncle.”



When the other girls began to comb their hair straight and ‘dress for boys’ Jill was more interested in climbing trees and riding her bike through the nearby woods. 

Being the resident tomboy was sometimes difficult for the active redhead. When we boys–that made up the first wave of kids in our neighborhood–were sprinting through the woods clad only in loin-cloths salvaged from a rag barrel and shooting at squirrels with homemade bows and arrows, Jill was either ignored or she became the lost heroine tied to a tree by ‘the renegades’ only to be forgotten. She would cheerfully endure this treatment in order to be accepted as one of us. I was nice to her because she tried so hard to be accepted and, in fact, could run the woodland trails better than Matt, the husky kid from the next block over who suffered from asthma.



When I started high school, ecology became my all-consuming interest. The forest behind my parent’s house was a tangle of ivy, blackberries, laurel, and other assorted introduced species that had run amok in this new environment. I set about clearing the invasive greenery and replanting the native species. Every weekend and most afternoons after school, for almost four years, I could be found crashing around the dense woodlands nearby. At some point, Jill showed up and offered to assist me in my quest to rid the forest of all things foreign.



When friends my age came to help they usually saw the skinny little girl in pigtails as a pest, with her incessant questions and discoveries of ‘ancient artifacts’ that were mostly junk discarded decades earlier by the local farmers. One day she found a piece of worn glass with a hole in it. I laced a piece of broken shoestring through it and told her it was precious ambergris as I placed it around her neck. She smiled broadly and pressed the new found treasure to her chest.

Rain or shine I could count on Jill to show up. 

One afternoon she burst through the ferns at a dead run and tumbled down a slippery slope only to land in a pile at my feet. Rubbing her head gingerly she shrugged and told me she had ‘planned that.’ She was one tough kid.

But, by the time high school ended, girls had replaced ecology as my all-consuming interest, and I saw little of Jillybean after that.



I attended a college halfway across the country in hopes of escaping my small-town USA roots.



Pushing myself hard I graduated with a Master’s of Civil Engineering in five years and then decided home looked more inviting than I remembered. Back I went. Returning home I was disappointed to see heavy equipment nearby scratching at the earth, leaving angry red scars in the native clay.



My first Saturday home I trekked into my familiar woods to assess the recent damage. I pushed through the ferns and brush only to find, to my surprise, few of the foreign plants had made a resurgence. Thinking I had accomplished a major feat of removal, I bent over to pluck a stray piece of ivy.



“Hey! These are my woods. Don’t you dare pick anything!”



I stood up. A sibilant female voice echoed from the thicket of Indian plum by the creek. I squinted but couldn’t make out the form in the darkness of the woods.



“Shut up! I live here!” I barked back.



”That doesn’t give you the right to come in here and…” 

A figure burst out of the thicket and headed straight towards me quickly before tripping over a downed tree.



“Shit!”



Laughing hard I ambled towards the muddy prostrate body. I thrust my hand out to help the female figure to her feet.



“Go on! I don’t need your help!” She swatted at my outstretched hand.



Shaking her head vigorously her baseball cap plopped onto the muddy banks of the creek allowing a cascade of thick red hair to fall across her face. When I tugged at her arm the girl let loose with a string of profanities and punched me hard in the thigh. I lurched forward and grabbed my leg. The girl shook her hair away from her face and stood over me fuming with her fists clinched.



”I told you I didn’t need your help, damn it!”



“Jillybean?” I asked as I squinted up at her.



She froze. Her creamy white face turned crimson. The little freckled-faced tomboy I remembered had transformed into a beautiful young woman. 

It took her a moment before she cocked her head and gulped, “Spike? When did you get home?”



I bounded forward and tackled her. “That hurt, you little insect!”



She squealed as we tumbled down the bank and into the creek. We splashed around in the water for several moments before I picked her up and dropped her into the deepest pocket in the creek. She shrieked and grabbed my knee causing me to collapse backwards. When I came up she pounced on my head to hold me under.

”

Say ‘Mother Mary berry,’” she screamed. “Say it, or I’ll drown you!”



”Mother…” I swallowed a mouthful water. “Mother Mary berry,” I coughed out.

Suddenly, she was gone. I stood up sputtering. Then I spotted her running up the opposite bank towards the giant maple tree where she had so often been held captive. I ran after her, her giggles making it easy to follow her.



When I finally got to the top of bank I saw her standing beside the tree staring at the heavy equipment that waited patiently to continue its destructive path come Monday morning.



”Hey, you ragamuffin…” I started.



She turned to look me in the eye solemnly.



“I tried to get the city to save this little strip of woods as a park but they said it wasn’t big enough to worry about.”



”Yeah?” I puffed as I tried to shift gears to adult behavior again. “It’s still in good shape, though.”



“It ought to be. I came out here almost every day to work on it. I was an ecology major, too. And this was my ‘Senior Project.’”



I stood with my jaw slack. Jillybean had taken care of the forest while I was away. It was her forest, now. I shook my head and pulled my wet shirt off. 

Jill laughed out loud when water splashed onto the ground from the flannel material of my shirt as I wrung it out. I grimaced at her and hung it on a low hanging branch before I took off my shoes and socks. Jill sat down next to me and removed her shoes and socks too.



“I really missed you.”

I smiled at her comment.

“I kept your necklace.” She fished the piece of glass, now tied to a long strip of leather with a metal clasp, from inside her tee shirt.



”That’s not really ambergris, you know.”



“Duh. I kept it because…” she turned her gaze from mine, “…you gave it to me. I had quite a crush on you, then. You were the only boy who was ever nice to me.”



”Well, I thought you were an okay kid.” I didn’t like the way that came out. “I mean you were… I mean you are… um…” My gaze wandered over her burgeoning female physique.



Turning back towards me, her eyes grew wide and she bobbed her head to help me find the right words. They still escaped me. At last, she giggled and finished for me.



”How about ’stacked?’” She grabbed the front of her tee shirt with both hands. “These showed up a couple of years ago and they just keep getting bigger.”



“Well, some people consider those a good thing… uh, things.” I shook my head and smirked.



“Then you carry ‘em around.”



I held out my hands as an offer. She laughed and then looked uncomfortable. Haltingly, she put her hand on my thigh where she had punched me earlier.



“Sorry, I didn’t mean to punch you so hard.”



”It’s okay.” The words caught in my throat while the heat from her palm dug at my insides. “Ahem… So what’s going on over there?” I asked pointing to the exposed soil in attempt to change the subject.



”Condos for the elderly. Can you believe it? I begged the city to save this strip but it’s not gonna happen.”



“You’ve done a great job with it.”



She blushed deeply. “Thanks, I just… finished what you started.”



”Why did you pick ecology as your major?”



She plucked at several long green strands of grass growing near the tree. “Bear grass, Xerophyllum tenax. I was in class one day and realized I knew more about these native plants than the teacher.” The now attractive woman I remember from my youth as a skinny little pest shrugged. “You gave me a head start.”



We sat together for several hours talking about the things that had happened to us over the past five years. She confessed she had not found a steady boyfriend but was no longer a virgin, had done well in ecology at high school, and her parents had divorced. Because of the divorce, she had spent most of her free time out here in the woods to avoid the unpleasantness at home. We found we had many of the same teachers, at the local high school, and we laughed about the quirks of some and the silliness of the academic world in general.



I admitted that I had not found any women at college who could hold my attention for more than a weekend. The Civil Engineering program was not replete with female enrollees so I was not in close contact with many.

My degree sounded like treason to her. She bleated that I would be destroying other sacred strips of forest in somebody else’s backyard. I assured her that was not my intent but ecology and this tiny strip of forest seemed so far away now.



It was small talk, mostly, but I could feel a heat between us that was not brought on by the June weather. A lump in my throat kept threatening to choke off my words. Every time she laughed she leaned forward and the temperature increased. It threatened to burn me. This girl was only 18 years old but was fast becoming a woman who cared about the world around her instead of living to grab all that she could horde.



Her soft green eyes and sparkling red hair were all I could think about that night as I lay in my bed. The summer heat kept me on top of the sheets while my hand roamed down to my erection. I stroked it thinking of Jill’s metamorphosis. Like those butterflies she chased so often in our yard, she had become a flash of beauty seen from afar: difficult to capture without crushing the wings that held it aloft.

That red hair of hers had sparkled in the sun light, changing–shifting hues–each time she moved. As I approached an orgasm I imagined her under me responding to my urgent thrusts and returning each one of them while her red hair shimmered with our movements. I fell asleep with my softening flesh in my hands.



Sunday morning I lounged in bed until nine AM. A knock came at my bedroom door and I pulled the sheet around my waist.



“Come in.”



Jill burst through the door.



”Come on, Spike. You can help get some hawthorn out of the creek today…” She was almost breathless in her excitement.



“What makes you think I want to help you, ya rug rat. Look what you did to my leg.”



I peeled back the sheet and pointed to a bruise on my thigh.



”Oh, did I hurt da’ widdle baby?” Jill said mockingly in baby talk.



I flew out of the bed, pounced on her, and wrestled her to the floor, secretly hoping that my sheet would ‘accidentally’ fall from my hips. It stubbornly clung to my body.



“Say it!” I yelled.



Between giggles and her gasps, squeezed from her body by my weight, she managed to say the words.

”Mother Mary berry.”



I let her go but could not stand because I realized I had an erection. I had a king-sized woody that was not going away anytime soon. I think Jill noticed but she did not seem to be in a hurry to leave my room.



“Okay, I’ll help.” I raised my eyebrows. “But, can I have some privacy while I get dressed?”



”Have you got something I haven’t seen?” She cocked her head as she quizzed me.



I pointed to the door. “Get out!”



She rolled her eyes, shrugged, and went downstairs.



I managed to stuff my erection into my pants, where it finally began to subside.



“Sean, did you know Jill was in the same classes you took?” my mother asked in an insinuating tone as I hit the bottom of the stairs

.

“Yeah, Ma. I know.”



My mom smiled and looked at me in a way that said, “She’s nice. I like her. When are you going to go out with her instead of those trollops you see at college?”



I smiled back to say, “Ma, mind your own business.”



Jill and I stomped into the woods and attacked a copse of hawthorn that grew along the creek. We worked for hours clearing, cutting, and pulling the stubborn plants out of the ground. 

At last, exhausted, we sat down next to the creek.



Jill leaned in close to me and I turned my head to watch her. She sniffed at my clothes and let out a heavy sigh.



“Pee-you! You smell!”



She shoved me into the water and sprinted for the other side of the creek laughing. I caught her halfway up the bank and pulled her back down into the water. We wrestled in the water but I was determined not to get caught by surprise today. She suddenly stood up and put her fingers to her eye as though she had something in it.



“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I stopped my attack briefly.



I leaned forward to look closer. She let loose with a fountain of water from her mouth that hit me directly in the face. 

She shrieked wildly and bolted up the bank.



“Oh, that’s sick! That water’s awful.”



I let her get halfway up the bank before I set off after her. I caught up to her at our tree and I threw my arms around her so she could not escape. Her ragged breathing on my chest caused my stomach to twist in knots. Slowly, she tilted her chin towards mine and closed her eyes.



Our parted lips met. My heart was pounding as I gently sucked her tongue into my mouth and felt her body melt against mine. Her arms snaked around my neck as she tugged my head towards hers. Then, I felt her grind her hips against mine. She broke our kiss long enough to whisper in my ear.



”We need to dry out these clothes.”



She let go of me and I fell back onto the ground. Kicking off her shoes she then tugged at her socks. Standing in front of me, with an impish grin on her face, she toyed with the bottom hem of her tee shirt while her gaze held mine captive.



Slowly, very slowly, she pulled the hem up to her ribs before then turned away as she flipped the shirt over her head. Eying me over her shoulder she undid the clasp of her bra and let it fall to her feet. The buttons on her shorts popped open and her pants fell to her ankles in a pile. She stepped boldly out of the wet fabric.



I felt a lump in my throat and a bigger lump in my pants. Slim-hipped with peaches and cream skin, Jillybean turned slowly to face me. Ample pale breasts pointed towards me riding high on her ribcage.



She stuck her thumbs into the waistband of her simple white cotton panties and pushed them past her knees where they slid to the ground at her ankles. Youthful beauty opened itself to my gaze. Stepping out of her panties she faced me, her chin held high and her hands flat against her hips, staring into the distance. Staring at what? I could not tell but it seemed her body was playing her cards faster than her mind. I watched her swallow hard and the erratic rise and fall of her ribs as her passion rose within her chest.



Jillybean stood before me, naked as a newborn babe except for the necklace, I had given her so many years before. She stood against the tree–that stood in contrast to her long slow curves–the tree she had been willing to hold as the ‘damsel in distress’ awaiting some rescue by the ‘pony soldiers’ or some handsome man wearing a white hat astride a nervous palomino.



I drank in her smooth contours and round breasts: breasts that would not give in to the forces of gravity for many years to come. There was a soft crease between her breasts and her ribs: each rib standing prouder than the one above it until my attention fell to her soft pale belly. The expanse of buttery skin was interrupted by her belly button, that sat higher than I expected, and a small pink birthmark between her hip and a narrow patch of wispy auburn hair: this dainty spot of pink, the sole wayward traveler across her smooth skin.



At last, she turned her face towards me. Her face was different now, her eyes wide and inviting while her breathing was labored. Sparkling green eyes glinted through the dappled forest light flashing back the fire of the sun multiplied by a sum of her beauty. Her nostrils flared slightly as she drew a deep breath and her chest heaved gently.



She sucked in her bottom lip as she focused her eyes on me now and leaning forward she absent-mindedly ran her middle finger below her collar bone, tracing a line of sensation that ended circling her delicate pink nipple, causing it to stand high atop her breast begging for my attention.

Mouth parted, she tilted her chin towards my face and let her eyes close slowly.



I stood quickly and gently pulled her willing body to mine, her soft curves forming to my angular male physique. I slid my hand along her hips towards the soft swell of her belly and dipped my fingers into her warm slippery sex. She shivered at my touch and panted into my open mouth. I tapped lightly at the center of her auburn-fringed well which caused her to bite the cloth of my shirt while she her nails dug into my arm. When I touched the nubbin that controlled her pleasure her knees buckled slightly and I pulled her body tight against mine so she would not fall.



Jillybean’s hand searched blindly for my hard flesh: eager for her touch. Massaging my erection through the fabric of my jeans her body weighed on mine and I felt the entrance to her body yield as my finger broke through the sticky resistance between the swollen lips of her sex. A sigh escaped her lips and was captured in my flannel shirt while her grip on my erection slipped. Jillybean was lost in her pleasure now.



Eyes screwed shut, her face, in fact, her entire body slid down mine and I had to pull her back up to keep my busy fingers, between her quivering thighs. Staccato breaths from her open mouth warmed my skin and I felt, for a moment, that I was holding her with nothing more than my fingerips: fingers that were being pulled inside her hungry sex, milking them for whatever pleasure they possessed. The veins on her neck strained against her skin as she approached a satisfaction of body and spirit.



Her body quivered then twisted violently in my grasp and her mouth clamped shut as she whined quietly. It was the sweet whine of a young woman on the cusp of adult passion. Then she hit her apex and tilted her chin towards mine, she clutched the back of my head pulling my lips to hers roughly. A series of a squeaks came from deep inside her throat and her entire body shivered as her climax overtook her. The breath left her body in a rush and then her passion subsided leaving her to whimper softly against my chest.



At last, she was able to speak.



”I dreamt of this moment a million times, Sean. Please, say something,” she muttered sleepily.

I felt tears welling up in the corners of my eyes as I spoke.



”No one…” I choked. “No one has ever offered me something as beautiful or as special as this. I want you more than the breath of life. But not here. Please, put on your clothes. This will be our beginning and I want it to be something very special.”



She sucked in her bottom lip, nodded, and then I heard her sniffle as I watched a tear skid down her cheek.



”I love you, Sean.” She quickly threw her hand over her mouth. “Oops… I’m sorry. I mean… uh…” She cried quietly as she searched for the right words.



I kissed her lips shut. Then I trailed a string of kisses across her eyes, her neck, and then back to her lips again.



”Mother Mary berry,” I whispered. “Jillybean, I’m yours.”

She wept openly in my arms.

I saw you

August 7, 2008 by maxdname

I saw you.



It was yesterday…that I saw you.



It was in a dream yesterday that I saw you.



Between us, a crowd gathered and grew but still I saw you.



As I reached out, the crowd whirled like leaves in a fall tempest yet you remained in perfect focus and I saw you.



Miles sprang up between us, the crowd spun in tightening circles, keeping my body from the completion that only yours can give but still I saw you.



A roar in my ears recalled the moment when our passions were whole and I accepted your male power into my being and clouds became my bed when first I saw you.



Hours of passion, your eyes pierced the simple fabric that disguised my desires, tearing at my mask you devoured me leaving an empty shell of a girl as womanhood bloomed inside me, when I saw you.



Passion became want, then a need that your body filled to my depths and breadth leaving thin crimson trails down your perfect back. Your strong shoulder bore the purple details of my teeth as blinding sheets of pleasure filled my vision. I bucked the center of my open body against yours, clinging while you carried me down the path of ecstasy; til I opened my eyes again and I saw you.



I feel you in me, now. The reflection in the mirror contains two faces. Each footstep is weighted by yours and each thought is, of when I saw you.



A second is one that exists to bridge both time and space between us while every day closes it. Until again I whisper, I saw you.



It was in a dream yesterday that I saw you.



It was yesterday… that I saw you.



That’s when,

I saw you.

Valentine’s Day Gift to a Wife

August 7, 2008 by maxdname

My dearest wife, 



The most perfect gift I can offer you this Valentine’s Day, my lovely partner, is not one fashioned from diamonds or gold. Nor could it be purchased in the finest stores on Manhattan’s Fifth Avenue. The gift I give is one only I can give you: a remembrance all our years together and those many Valentine’s, our shared most special day.



I remember our first Valentine’s together. That tiny apartment filled to overflowing with the passion we shared. You stood in the hallway–awaiting my entrance–wearing nothing more than that wide red ribbon across your eyes, as a blindfold, your wrists bound behind your back in silken restraints. Standing before me, naked as you were, my heart raced at your perfect beauty. It is still etched in my mind. Erotic and languid: hands behind your back, your right foot pointed inward and your right knee bent slightly, you were the most beautiful creature on the planet and my lust arose before my coat and briefcase clattered to the floor.



The bated breaths you took revealed the pounding inside your chest, the passions you always carried hidden between your pretty slim thighs. Touching you with my fingertips and my hot breath in your ears brought a shudder over your entire body causing your small pink nipples to rise up in the expectation of my delicate attentions. When your mouth fell open to pull in air, fueling your raging sexual fires, I felt my pulsing flesh could tear though any simple fabric meant to contain it. It was desire personified.



As though the gods had reached through the clouds and touched one woman giving her all the gifts of desire, beauty, arousal; creating a perfect example of woman’s power over man and mankind, a power balanced by the delight man and mankind can bestow upon woman’s worried brow. The truest form of love and lust borne in one body and one soul: yours.



Deepest love, true love, can only fuel physical desire and our love fed the beast of our bodies’ raging want; that creation of delicious friction that overwhelms both our mind and soul leaving us bare to the other, completed but exposed with no place to hide ourselves except in each other’s arms; hidden, not from each other, but from the outside world’s interference. 

I took great comfort in your smooth thigh pressed against my cheek as I dipped my eager tongue inside the sweet dampness of your sex, sampling the mead of your womb. And your strained cries, from each climax, echoed in my ears and you had so many that evening I thought you might burst given such pressure.



I am sure that was the night you bore the fruit of our entwined love: our wonderful daughter.



That first Valentine’s after Kaitlin entered our world was another day I remember well. Rocking our infant daughter so gently till she was in the arms of Morpheus: fully embraced and silent. You leaped to your feet. Kicking off your clothing in a mad rush you whispered to me, “Take me, I need you inside me. Just don’t wake the baby.”



Your cries of completion, normally quite loud and impassioned, that Valentine’s, were but tiny squeaks lost in my neck, your teeth nipping at my skin to keep from shouting to the ceiling your love of my firmness held so tightly within the damp folds of your body.



I still laugh when I remember that day the previous fall. I arrived home to find you curled up on the couch weeping because you were “as big as a house” and feeling that you could never again spark that lust, we so often shared, while you looked as you did. Pulling you to your feet and peeling off that ratty old bathrobe brought me to a new sense of awe and filled me to the brim. Your plump flawless belly, filled with our love, and your engorged tender breasts ready to nurse our most precious possession caused inside me a sensual maelstrom I had never felt before. Making love to you, ever so gently, and the tears of joy you wept, crying “If you still love me when I look like this, you’ll always love me.”



In the afterglow, I tucked you under my arm, your warm smooth belly pressed into my side like the rib God took from Adam. At that moment your gentle snores filled me with something I could never explain with clumsy words, alone.



Your hand always seems to find my hardness in the bed we share. Many nights I awoke to the advance of your warm palm as it encircled my rigid flesh, both flesh and hand acting on orders, not from our conscious but some corporeal demands without our waking knowledge.



Your soft breathing, yet uninterrupted, you slumbered while your grasp held me tight. I would lay back and sigh some nights at the gift of your love while others I would take you, still half asleep, attacking the depths of body until you would relinquish your physical rapture to my intrusion.



Oh, and those Valentine’s without Kaitlin–off to visit her grandparents as so often on our Valentine’s celebrations–you would surrender once again to the carefree woman-child I knew in college, dancing throughout the house ecstatic in the joy of your own nakedness and that freedom to tease me at your own wont. And tease me, you would.



Through the passing years, you maintained your figure, your fiery lust, and the sense of our shared love and desire… it amazes me, somehow. The bond we share never diminished or even flickered.



What was it, four years ago? The Valentine’s you came to the dinner table wearing nothing but one of my white dress shirts, one with French cuffs. And you never laughed, but carried on like it was perfectly normal. And when you slowly popped each button after our meal and padded to my side of the table, open to me, watching my eyes to make sure I was enjoying the show. I loved every casual flick of your slender wrist.



Your fingers freed me quickly, as they always could. Some magic you possessed: your ability to find my lust and free it so readily. Swinging your leg over my chair you tucked me inside you, so comforting, you already wet from the anticipation that you so willfully kept at bay during our meal. When my body plumbed your depths your eyelids fluttered as usual–did I ever say that? When my hardness touches your womb your eyelids flutter… always have.

You bouncing in my lap, I watched your lovely familiar face. You have so many expressions when we make love I’m not sure I have categorized them all but they do so fire my ardor: each and every one.



The instant when my sticky warm seed, penetrating your deepest recesses or splashing gently onto your slim belly, sweet plump breasts, or your delightful tongue–your eager mouth open, awaiting my release–all those are etched in stone, never to be relinquished until no spirit remains in me to carry these loving images. Images of lust and desire that only two people deeply in love can share populate the rolling plains where my daydreams reside.



The peculiar tremble in your hips, on the verge of ecstasy brought on by the dancing of tongue, never failed to cause a joy in my heart and a rebirth in my flesh, ready to please your sensual being one last time before sleep overtook us both. Not one inch of your sweet flesh was left untouched or unexplored by my tongue, fingers, or firm male intrusion… and all were accepted and even welcomed into your open body. Each a gift exchanged between us with the hope of continued acceptance… postmarked with undying love.



Wait: the alarm for the rice just went off.

Now where was I? Oh yes,

That Valentine’s evening we took pictures of one another late into the night, each one a testament to our lustiest desires–no film was ever exposed, nor even inserted into the camera, our imaginations alone recording our physical love–was one of our greatest nights. It was a night of screaming lust, crushing desire, and physical expenditure. My secretary asked me the next morning if I had “pulled a muscle” the night before. I could barely contain my laughter, choosing instead to shake my head quickly before retiring to the seclusion of my office where I could recount every precious hour of our time together.



Every step, every one of your impassioned gyrations, twirls, leaps, pliés, performed for my eyes only on Valentine’s, are locked in my memory, ready for replay at the instant of my demise. All the romantic dinners, cards, small gifts, and each sacred minute we shared on that holiday, set aside to express ultimate love for another, wait in queue… the moments that made my life something valuable to me. And all those, are the most valuable moments to me, those moments we shared on Valentine’s Day… and nights.



Oh ho. I hear a key in the door. 


Back again, the key was just our lovely daughter. When she poked her head around the corner of the dining room I thought it was you briefly. Kaitlin, nineteen years old and so much like you. She peeked in at me with that sweet triangular smile–the same as yours–but then her open palm pressed against her forehead and her eyes squeezed shut.



She peered at the table–set for you and I–candles lit and lots of red hearts I cut out of some construction paper I found in the basement. Tears almost leaped from her eyes, screwed shut so tight. And then her chin wrinkled and her bottom lip quivered, exactly like you when you’re about to cry.



“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I pleaded.



She sniffed and a tremble in her voice tore at my heart. “Daddy, I miss her, too.” She whimpered. Our sweet daughter still calls me daddy.



”I’m sorry,” I replied in some confusion. “It’s Valentine’s. This is our special holiday. Your mother and I always celebrate together… alone.” I added hoping she wouldn’t be offended but would take my not so subtle hint.



”Daddy, I know. That’s why I drove down.”



I guess I forget sometimes, that the university is only a couple hours away.



”Daddy, sometimes good people die… People we love…”



Her tears were more than I could stand.

“Please, stop.” I begged, feeling my own eyes welling up.



“You have to go on with your life…” She paused in the doorway and then rushed to me throwing her arms around my head hugging me to her breast. I could smell bath power on her. It’s the same bath powder you use. I don’t know if you introduced Kaitlin to it or if you have such similar likes to find the same scents appeal to you both.



“Mom’s not coming home, Daddy.” Kaitlin was bawling aloud now.

I could feel her tears splashing onto my forehead as she held me close. 

I circled my arm around Kaitlin’s waist and hugged her.

“Of course she is, sweetheart. She’s always home with me on Valentine’s.”



I felt her nod, her chin flush against my head. She sighed and held me tight in her grasp, sobbing quietly.

Hot Crossed Nuns

June 3, 2008 by maxdname

A petite naked figure pulled a nun’s habit over her fresh-scrubbed flesh, shrugging her narrow shoulders to accommodate the starched coarse black fabric. She cocked her head so the stiff outer layer would open, allowing her short straw colored hair to emerge as though she were being reborn into this austere life each morning anew. Rummaging through the top drawer of her simple furnishings she pulled out a white wad of silk. The fishnet stockings felt lighter than ether in her hands as she opened them up to the light. A beam of sunshine shot through the wide-knit threads to bounce off the bristle-scratched wooden floor and caromed, from the mirror in the 20-year-old novice’s room, to dance on the wall above her simple cot.

 

A spider’s spun web of sensual threads tugged at her bellybutton when she unfurled the diaphanous fabric embracing and kneading her recently shaved legs. She knew banishment from the order would be immediate if her secret were discovered. The danger of it tickled at the damp spot between her legs, a spot that grew more damp each time she took a new risk. What would the Mother Superior look like wearing these? she pondered as she measured the wide-spaced threads atop her shiny legs.

 

For that moment Sylvia was back “on the block” where she grew up, before she was rushed into the conventual discipline. She was a young silly girl who fell in love with a married man, who offered her corporeal indulgence on an erudite platter. His world came replete with orgasms and pillow talk: two realms the married man was well versed in. Sylvia cried the night she lost her virginity, not because it hurt or that she felt short-changed but because this man did everything in his power to please her. She had discovered self-gratification at the age of fourteen but this older, masterful man was able to coax supreme physical delight from her body at his whim. Not just a simple orgasm but a sheet-clenching, pillow-biting climax that made her weep when the blue sheets of pleasure consumed her vision. The center of her lust would then wrap her in his arms and pull her close to his body while whispering sweet nothings into her ear. Little did she know that his whispers were mere nothings and that his promises held less weight than the stockings she now secreted under her nun’s habit. With her emotional stability trashed by the older man she fell directly into the orbit of one of the twin priests from the local parish.

 

The two identical brothers joined the seminary together after twelve years of Catholic education within the neighborhood diocese: Our Lady of Sorrows on the Bay Shore Business Loop Turnpike. The twins began their denominational life as a celebrated pair. Each proclaimed their devotion to a life in the service of God at an early age and, though more handsome and athletic than almost all of their peers, they were never observed in teenage sinful indiscretions. Legions of young females had plied their feminine wiles in an attempt to sway the pair’s faith, to no avail. Sylvia had, within the period of one short month, sullied the reputation of the oldest twin—a full fifteen minutes older—and might have brought about his ultimate downfall if she had not grabbed the wrong twin’s cassock directly below the sash knot in a moment of childish ardor.

 

With the secret out, Sylvia was labeled a Jezebel, packaged as the same, and offered few options for her penance. One of those choices included a gold band on her ring finger as a visible indication of a nuptial commitment to the Jesus Christ of the Holy Roman Catholic Church. 

Many a bony digit from the diocese pointed towards the nunnery as the only just atonement for this temptress of the fabled twin priests. She agreed to this rather than the alternative, a nursing assistant in a leper colony stationed on Prince Edward Island: a flyspeck on the map some 400 miles off the coast of South Africa. It was an island deemed ideal for a colony of this sort being far from civilization and yet marginally livable. Sylvia felt a nun’s habit was preferable to an island where penguins outnumbered humans 3000 to one during the summer months. 


 

 

The silk fabric of the stockings gliding along her smooth thighs brought a lump up into her throat. Unfurling the filmy white fabric to the top of her thighs, her thumb nudged her pubic mound and a sticky thread of fluid tethered her digit to its wetness, seeping out from between the warm folds of her body. A shudder coursed through her flesh bringing her nipples to attention, threatening to give away her secret arousal to any who might glance in her direction. A hard twist of her nipple, between her thumb and forefinger, only accentuated the problem rather than relieve it and it shot a current of sexual electricity deep into her belly. “Shit,” she whispered, only to suck her lips into her mouth in an attempt to swallow the words already in a balloon hovering above her head.

 

After six months in the nunnery she still felt as awkward as a ham sandwich at a Bar Mitzvah but her illicit pleasures built a nest for nervous butterflies in her stomach each time she broke the rules. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath to calm her trembling hands before she walked slowly to the door. Each step brought a tingle in the young woman’s sexual depths as the fishnet alternatively clinched and released the silky smooth skin of her legs. By the time she reached the end of the hall, she was nearing an orgasm. Staggering slightly, Sylvia made her way out into the garden through a side door and sat on a gnarled bench that contained several raised knots on the wooden seat. One of these knots had become Sylvia’s favorite. She rocked herself to a climax, strangling a rosary between her sweaty palms hoping that no one would notice her exceptional devotion to this early morning ritual. With a shudder, she was finished. She paused for several minutes to regain her breath and with a sigh—both of emptiness and physical satisfaction—rose to take her place at the convent’s breakfast table.

 

“You look flush and rosy, this morning,” the Mother Superior chirped when Sylvia scurried into the room, late as usual. Sylvia shot a weak smile at the head of the convent and sidled to her chair with her head held low, hoping to disguise her body’s lingering response to her recent climax.

 

The day she smuggled the stockings into the convent stood out in her memory. Before a weekly trip to buy groceries and necessary “feminine supplies” for her cloistered sisters, Sylvia telephoned a merchant—Randie’s Trampy Fashions and Lingerie Shop—near one of their usual stops to put in an order. Breaking away from the habit-clad gaggle, Sylvia slipped in a side entrance of Randie’s to spirit away her purchase. To the raised eyebrows of the proprietor, she prevaricated that she was a call girl who had a “special client” in town that begged for a certain look, which included Sylvia’s present clerical garb. The store was out of the black fishnet but still had one pair of white in her size. Sylvia took them knowing she would not be able to come back when the black ones were due in. She needed to don the stockings to hide them from her sisters’ prying gaze and in the fitting room; Sylvia had to masturbate twice in order to control her trembling. A quick lie about getting lost and no one suspected her surreptitious absence.

 

The buzz around the convent that week was about the twin priests. One of them had decided to leave the priesthood. No one was quite sure, at first, which priest because they were identical but eventually the truth came to light. The twin that had been tempted by the pretty Sylvia had found himself questioning his commitment to the service of God and had gone missing from a leper colony south of the equator that was sponsored by the church. A consensus of the cloistered women put Sylvia at the eye of the ecclesiastical hurricane. Their distaste for her grew rapidly and Sylvia was inconsolable. Even her daily “tickle-my-Elmo” sessions couldn’t bring her the ease her heart ache.

 

One bright summer morning as she sat brushing her hair the window to her cell squeaked as it tipped open rousing her from a lusty daydream involving creatures from an 18th-century Flemish painting representing hell and punish for sins of the flesh. She spun to face the intruder that clamored through her window. It was none other than the wayward twin priest. He smiled at her and she felt herself melting under his gaze. He shook his head sadly before he spoke.

 

“I took the assignment on Prince Edward Island, but was miserable there. Every penguin I saw, reminded me of you in miniature… wearing a habit, of course… and without breasts… or blond hair… and um…” He paused to gather himself: feeling like a small indecisive boy before her overwhelming beauty. “And I realized I didn’t really want to be a priest. I did it because my brother did it, that’s all.

 

“I wanted you. I’ve wanted you since the eighth grade. Remember when your fifth-grade class visited ours to reenact the flight from Sodom and Gomorrah? You were one of Lot’s daughters and I secretly wished that I had played Lot, instead of God, so that you would’ve offered yourself to me in that cave.” The former priest sighed heavily and fought back the tears filling the corners of his eyes. Sylvia’s stomach twisted into a knot. This man was everything she ever wanted: handsome, thoughtful, and desirable beyond simple words. His confession tugged at her heart and an overwhelming sense of desire filled the young woman’s entire being.

 

“I…” Sylvia choked on her words. “I love you more than anything.” She squeaked out her proclamation before she fell to weeping against his chest. His hands roamed up to her shoulders, down to her waist and back up again as he tried to soothe her trembling body. Gently, he kissed the top of her head while pressing her body flush against his. She sniffled quietly before she pushed him away stating softly, “I don’t want to sully these holy garments.”

 

She crossed her arms in front of her slim body and balled up the fabric in her tiny fists near her hips. In one smooth motion she pulled the vestments that separated her from the physical completion she craved over her head and free from her slender form. She wore only her white fishnet stockings under her habit.

 

The former priest drank in her delicate curves, his gaze lingering on the portions of Sylvia that made her a female and at last came to rest on the tops of her stockings a mere inches from the entrance to her womb.

 

“Daddy, likes.” He whispered.

 

“Good…” she whimpered before she pressed his hand to the wetness between her thighs. His fingers pulled the sticky lips of her labia apart while a clear fluid from deep within her fought to keep them closed. A tickle from his middle finger at her clitoris caused her to moan aloud and paw at his shirt with her free hand.

 

“…’cause from now on daddy’s gonna wear his baby like aftershave,” she finished, weeping.

Why hasn’t somebody come up with this before?

June 2, 2008 by maxdname

Newest coffee table book—”Ships That Pass in the Night: The Role of the Human Thumb in American Photography.”

 

One on One: The Ultimate History of  Sex

 

A new hit comedy based on the 1960’s television show, “My Mother The Car” and the recent smash comedy, “How I Met Your Mother,” combined with the recent glut of ‘reality’ shows: get ready America for, “How I Met Your Grandmother’s Uterus”

OR

If the 1960’s television program “My Mother the Car” was remade now it could star Will Farrell and would revolve around a down-on-his-luck NASCAR driver. This summer be sure to see: “Edselus Rex” or alternative title, “110 Octane Antigonne.”

Sons of sons…

May 29, 2008 by maxdname

In response to numerous photos and internet-forwarded tales of male children doing “male children stuff” presented along a specific format (i.e. if you have sons you have observed, these rules) I present to all readers (without admission of guilt and/or legal acceptance of any culpability in regards to any and all investigations or cases not closed by statute of limitation or any other legal… bullshit) a brief addendum of… “other lessons learned.”

The roof on the average single story house is not high enough to actually “open” a home-made parachute but IS high enough to turn an umbrella inside out thereby defeating any parachute-like capabilities it was thought to possess. The roof on the average single story house is high enough to break a seven year old’s leg even when utilizing an umbrella as a parachute. Leaving another parent’s son stranded atop the roof of the average single story house, because they were afraid to “parachute” off after watching someone else sustain injuries, will also warrant a beating from an irate parent. Parents may “laugh about stuff” between themselves but that does not mean they will laugh about those same things with the the guilty parties.

 

Using the Grandma-told-me-you-did-the-same-sorta-thing-when-you-were-my-age argument will invariably involve a beating while the parent exercises the yes-and-I-got-a-beating-for-it retort.

 

Drano and gasoline produce a violent reaction when mixed together. A reaction so violent that it’s impossible to outrun it on foot, regardless of the number of times and differing methods used to outrun it. The violent reaction of gasoline and Drano burns the skin no matter how times it splatters onto the same spot.

 

Stuffing mono filament fishing line inside a device containing multiple firecrackers duct-taped together, when ignited, sprays the nearby area with a burning debris that resembles napalm. Water will not extinguish a loose pile of burning mono filament fishing line, but instead will spread it out as the water floats the burning fishing line. It’s always wise to have a fire extinguisher at the ready when you have sons in your care. It’s even wiser to teach them how to use a fire extinguisher properly. That white powder in fire extinguishers tastes awful.

 

Nothing is as easy as it looks on television. Having a adult nearby to determine what is and what is not “easy” to do, even when seen on television, can prevent many injuries.

 

The concept of brakes and braking (or the safe egress from a speeding vehicle) should be considered before any exhibition of speed is attempted. At high speeds the cushioning effect of lawn is not as great as one might expect. Objects in motion tend to stay in motion (even when no longer under the control of a son) especially if that object is careening down a steep hill towards an uncontrolled intersection. Automobiles make short work of most unmanned wooden go-carts careening into uncontrolled intersections. Adults do not take such scientific experiments lightly. It’s tough to run away from an adult when nursing a broken collar bone. Parents always know when a child is hiding broken bones or serious physical injury. Adults will go to great lengths to find the parents of high-speed scientific experimenters AND will attempt to make any such financially responsible for the cost of vehicle reparation while completely overlooking the cost of wooden go-cart replacement and those parts involved. Parents will punish all sons involved even if one (or more) thought the planned act was dangerous and foolhardy. Just the afore knowledge of a planned dangerous and foolhardy act is, in the eyes of parents, a culpable act and ergo punishable by a beating. If the steering mechanism of wooden go-cart is found to be reversed (through faulty design), it’s best to fix it upon discovery of the fact rather than choosing to repair it “after primary high speed tests” have been affected. The phone number for medical emergencies is 911 but most children during those emergencies situations will either A) pretend they not injured in order to avoid punishment. B) threaten younger children if they report such injuries to any parent. C) deny it was their idea. D) run away from home. It’s difficult to runaway from home while sporting broken bones… Lastly, the beatings received after the fact are usually worse the initial injury.

 

In regards to the go-cart revelation let me further qualify. Of these “most infamous” past events the “go-cart affair” was the most studied. The male children from my neighborhood got together and built a go-cart (a design “by committee” is always bad) after seeing it done on TV. Wrapping the steering-control ropes around the steering column (surplus water pipe actually) and through the system of pulleys (we ‘requisitioned’ from dad’s work bench) actually set the steering function in reverse. Stan, my next oldest brother, begged to be the first pilot while… somebody, maybe with triple digit IQ… thought it best to change the steering (and even adding brakes) before we tried zipping down the nearby hill (which dumped out into a fairly busy cross street). No! Stan replied this was far too important to wait. We’d tend to the “details” after initially testing was completed he finished with a confident grin. Well, the damn thing bolted like a rabbit and ran away from us (we were trying to hold it, my brother claims otherwise). Stan, unable to steer the vehicle correctly, panicked, bouncing our timbered conveyance over a curb (where he affected an escape tumbling out of the vehicle onto a neighbor’s yard breaking his collar bone in the process). Our, now unmanned go-cart, careened downward into the cross street where it was immediately met by a speeding… [I don't remember what make or model car it was but since it was the mid-1960s when this tragedy played out it was no doubt some American-made behemoth created of steel and concrete, I'm sure] instantly disintegrating our experimental vehicle before our astonished eyes. After the smoke cleared (from the wheel wells of the cars formerly speeding along that avenue but now skidded to a complete stop) I swear to God there formed an angry mob like the one that hounded Frankenstein’s monster. All they needed were torches to complete the scene.

“There they are!” coming from a red-faced man, his finger pointed uphill towards our young clan was all I needed to hear to set my feet moving briskly. I climbed up onto our roof (yes, the one that broke so many bones and spirits over the years) to view the melee from afar. Stan was cradling his arm to his chest as he sprinted for cover, weeping the whole way because every step he took was torture, what with his broken collar bone. I was laughing and crying, because we, all of us in the neighborhood, were gonna get a beating but on the same hand it was a wholly glorious to see that wooden body disintegrate in an instant. The drivers from the go-cart destruction derby drove up and down the street until one of the “mom squad” (that was the elite ‘undercover division’ of neighborhood matriarchs ready to spirit through the neighborhood in Mrs. Smith’s Country  Squire wagon, flying around corners in a full four-wheel-drift, the engine screaming as these adult figures pursued us) figured these citizens were looking for one, or all of us. Yes, we ALL got beatings and yes, we ALL had to pitch in to pay for the damages on the guy’s car, but that incident is still recanted in hushed tones by the mom squad et al around the bar-b-que on summer evenings. Ah, youth. Where hast thou gone?

more junk

May 23, 2008 by maxdname

She had a V6 brain stuck in a V8 body…

 

My neighborhood was tough… The cockroaches were either Crips or Bloods

 

If time is money, my sex life is small change

Watch this movie or I’ll kill this car!

April 12, 2008 by maxdname

blah, blah, blah...

Ever wondered what happens to those leased beauties after the lease runs out?

Find out the shocking truth in “The Fleet Kings!”

Discover the disquieting revelations of car dealer fleet salesmen — they’ll make you laugh, they’ll make you cry, they’ll make you take a test drive… If you dare!

It’s about cars, guns, chicks, and more money wasted on one celluloid stink bomb than you’ll earn in your entire life… Unless… you’re one of “The Fleet Kings.”

See them sell cars below Kelly Blue Book. See used cars treated as chattel. See men slide their sweaty palms over the sleek lines of previously owed automobiles.

See Keanu Reeves flex. See his new watch. See his nice haircut.

See overpaid actors grimace while Reeves acts wooden–again–but looks great doing it! See scantily clad women grimace while Reeves acts wooden–again. See some guy with only one name grimace while Reeves acts wooden–again. See a guy who has “the” as a part of his name… but is not a wrestler or Cedric.

Filmed in patented “ink-o-vision” by famed artist Ralph Steadman.

Before you ever buy another car, See “The Fleet Kings.”

This film is rated IQ… No one with a triple digit IQ permitted without an accountant.