RYN WITH A TWIST. THE WHOLE THING WOULDN'T FIT SO THERE ARE 2 SUBPARTS: 6A & 6B
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RYN
PART 6: PRIESTESS OF PAIN
The Whole World as Will and Idea:
George was finishing his second cup
of coffee when she brought him his
breakfast. She had made grilled
sausage, farm fresh eggs, chunks of
freshly baked french bread toasted
over a fire, and giant blueberry
pancakes almost as big as elephant
ears. It was a rare feast for him,
used as he was to trying to scrounge
stale bread from bakeries in the early
morning hours.
He vaguely recalled an exceptionally
vivid dream he had experienced last
evening. Was it a dream? Something
about a glass starting to fall, and Ryn
jumping six feet in an instant to pluck
it from the air before it shattered on
the ground. His memory was hazy
and uncertain. He struggled to
determine if it was a true dream, a
false memory, reality, or something
else that he couldn't define. He had
drunk a lot of wine last night, and he
had also rid himself of his virginity.
But when Ryn placed a hot, flaky
croissant in front of him he gave up
the struggle and resumed his
breakfast. Never before in his life
had he been plied with such good
food and he ate heartily.
"You look like you could eat a
horse" she teased him.
"And more! My god you are an
incredible cook!" The eggs were
perfectly done sunny-side up and
went so well with the grilled sausage.
He winced as he bit into the meat
and then rolled his eyes in ecstasy.
He used to believe an Egg McMuffin
was the best breakfast in the world.
Never again.
Ryn smiled watching him. "I make
my own sausage from the finest beef
and pork, and lots of pepper. You
don't even want to imagine what
store-bought sausage contains."
He read the label on the bottle of
maple syrup: "Made in Maine" it said
with justifiable pride. It reminded him
of the unmailed letter he had found
by the fridge yesterday. It was still
there in its yellowed envelope.
"Ryn, can I ask you a personal
question?" He watched her face
carefully and knew that whatever her
reply was she would always say
what she meant, and mean what she
said, or else she would be silent. He
found her truth and her silence a
refreshing antidote to the poisoned
lies and deceits of the world outside.
"What is it?" She would make him
no open promises, but no empty
promises either.
"I found a letter yesterday" he began
cautiously, finishing another pancake.
It was filled with moist blueberries
that went so well with the almost
pastry-like texture. He glanced out
the window briefly, noting the bright
patch of light in the East that was the
only harbinger of dawn still a hour
away.
She nodded at him, permitting him to
continue.
"It was addressed to someone, at
least I think it was. There's a name
on the outside of the envelope: Nyna
Nyr."
Ryn was silent, and her silence lasted
long enough that he believed she
would never answer him. He was on
the verge of apologizing for his
impertinence when she spoke.
"She was my sister. I may tell you
more about her later, but not now
please George...." Her face was
shrouded, concealing some bitter
pain that lay in her past. But he
noted her courtesy even in denying
him an answer and he changed the
subject. There was one thing he
feared more than her anger, and it
was that he would by any word or
deed ever hurt her in any way.
"So you're going to do a ...a cutting
today Ryn?"
"Yes....it's been planned for a while.
His name is Simon Rogers. He's a
minor dot.com millionaire from L.A.
Nouveau riche. He choose me to
fulfill his lifelong fantasy."
"So he does this willingly...of his own
free will?"
"Of course. All of my clients must
give me their full and informed
consent. My attorneys protect me
completely. But once a procedure is
underway I may very well disregard
any pleas to stop. I view such
requests merely as another part of
the fantasy realization. Some people
are more satisfied by being forced to
do what they both want and fear."
"So you only, uh, you just
...remove......you know what I
mean." He couldn't bring himself to
be specific.
"George, you can speak plainly here.
No need for reticence between us.
Not after what we have shared." She
smiled conspiratorially at him and he
lowered his eyes for a moment, his
face reddening slightly.
"I only perform penectomies- that's
your question isn't it?"
"Yes. I was curious about that. I
know some men just want to be
eunuchs."
"That's true George. Most cutting
initially involves the testicles either
first or at the same time the penis is
removed. But I have my own
reasons for preferring penectomies
only." She flashed him a demur grin
that he couldn't fathom. He realized
it would take a lifetime, or more, to
begin to understand her many
complexities.
"Some eunuchs may subsequently
desire a penectomy because their
cocks are of no use to them
anymore." And then she leaned
forward and spoke her next words
in a confident professional tone.
"But I tell you that ultimately there
are no eunuchs George, not without
the most radical brain surgery
imaginable. Presently, right now,
there is not a single eunuch in all the
world and there has never been a
single actual eunuch, in the sense of a
sexually voided former male."
He was astounded by her statement
and didn't understand.
"What do you mean Ryn? Once a
man's ball's are taken, he's a eunuch.
Period."
"Wrong!" She smiled like a Sphinx
guarding a mystery. Once again she
aroused his deepest curiosity.
"You men have made a fetish of
testosterone. In a sense that poor
hormone has been turned into the
ultimate fetish. You blame and praise
it for all male sexuality. But I tell you
that nothing could be further from the
truth."
"But Ryn, testosterone is the male
hormone...it stimulates the sex
drive....as a doctor you know
that....."
"Of course I know George. But
listen to me for a moment.
Testosterone is merely a catalyst that
acts upon the brain. It stimulates - to
use your own well-chosen word- the
corresponding portions of the brain
that ultimately control sexuality. In
the final analysis all sex is rooted in
the brain, in the limbic system and in
the genital portion of the neural
homunculus."
She paused for a moment and
finished the last of her pancakes,
then continued.
"It is the brain, George, that creates
all reality, including the reality of sex
for both women and men. The body
merely reports to the brain. It merely
transmits sensations to the final
receiver. All roads lead to Rome,
and all senses are focused at the one
center that is consciousness. Indeed
some have argued that it is this very
centralization of all senses that
creates consciousness as we know
it."
He considered what she said and a
thought struck him. "If that's true Ryn
that means you could turn a man into
a eunuch without ever touching his
balls..."
"True! And it has happened partially,
though never fully because then the
brain damage would be so extensive
as to result in death or its equivalent.
Oliver Sacks has reported some
extraordinary cases of what happens
when the brain is damaged. For
example, destroy Broca's Area," and
here she pointed to the part of her
skull above and in front of her left
ear, "and you destroy the ability to
speak, resulting in total aphasia."
"But sex is not localized to one part
of the brain. It is only the higher,
more advanced cognitive functions
that are so tightly focused at specific
regions. Lower, more basic functions
like sex, breathing, ect. are widely
dispersed through large tracts of
brain tissue. Sacks presented case
studies of people who lost the power
to speak, to do math, or to
remember what happened five
minutes ago. You will not find
people who have forgotten how to
breathe, how to sleep, or completely
lost the capacity for sex, because
these brain functions are so widely
distributed and so essential that their
destruction is tantamount to death,
or to becoming a vegetable."
They smiled at each other, sharing
their enjoyment of this conversation.
She had forgotten he was only 16. It
was a pleasure for her to be able to
converse with an intelligent,
knowledgeable person, with no need
for Dick and Jane talk.
George was trying to recognize the
name she had given him.
"Sacks.....he wrote some famous
book.....oh yes.....The Man Who
Mistook His Wife For a Hat."
"Yes. A fascinating collection of real
case studies of brain damaged
people. And to continue with my
analogy George, yes, you can
destroy all the roads to Rome but
the center will remain. Conversely,
destroy the center and the best
roads become useless." She was
talking passionately now. This was
her profession, and her knowledge
and skill was the equal of the finest
brain surgeons and neurologists in
the world.
"So...that means you could take
someone's cock and balls away...but
if...if..." his thought fizzled and she
helped him finish.
"Even if you completely nullified a
man, George, as long as his brain
was untouched then his full capacity
for sexuality would remain intact -
though it would become dormant
and might atrophy through lack of
stimulation. This is all I mean when I
say there are no true eunuchs and
never have been. People who are
not born blind but who lose their
vision by accident still have
memories of color, still dream in
color, and if their brains could be
stimulated properly they would again
see color. So-called eunuchs do not
really lose the possibility of orgasm
and sex any more than blind people
lose the capacity to see color. The
brain is the source of sexuality, not
body parts."
"Yes...I see Ryn. But there is no way
to stimulate the right parts of the
brain directly.....you have to go
through the senses. And if they are
lost or damaged then you are out of
luck. Like Christopher Reeves, the
quadriplegic paralyzed actor."
"Yes, you've got the right concept.
But you should know that there are
indeed ways to bypass the senses
and directly stimulate the brain.
Advanced hearing aids that bypass
the inner ear have already been
developed. You would be surprised
at how much progress has been
made."
"Really? I didn't know that. But there
is no way to help poor Christopher
Reeves have an orgasm is there?"
She didn't answer him directly, but a
sly smile appeared on her face, then
vanished. He knew she was holding
something back from him.
"I will tell you this George. Anyone
can connect wires to a brain and
stimulate it with electricity. That's not
the problem. Consciousness is like a
vast, complex concert with many
instruments playing together in
harmony. Just conducting electricity
into the brain to try to stimulate it to
respond in a certain
way.....why.....that's like trying to
play one of Beethoven's concertos
by having a monkey bang on a piano
with a hammer. It just won't work."
"So, you need some way of knowing
how to stimulate the brain? Some
code or key, like the Rosetta Stone,
that translates sensations into
corresponding electrical
representations within the brain. Is
that it Ryn?"
"Yes! You need to know what
precise electrical pattern in the brain
represents the reality of reading
Wordsworth's Ode to a Grecian
Urn.....what pattern corresponds to
the reality of drinking a glass of
vintage Chablis...." She paused and
looked at him, knowing he was
capable of continuing.
"I see now....and you'd need to
know what pattern....what electrical
pattern in the brain represents,
say....making love to a beautiful
woman." It was an incredible
thought. The brain seemingly had
trillions of buttons built into it. And if
one knew what exact combination of
buttons to push, then any experience
could be created regardless of the
body, or even if there was no body.
"It's like virtual reality Ryn! I saw a
great movie one time...a long time
ago...Lawnmower Man...based on
a story by Stephen King."
"Yes I remember Lawnmower
Man. An imaginative movie - the
sequel sucked though. But you're
right about virtual reality. Just
understand that all reality is virtual
reality. The sense impressions
conveyed to you right now by your
senses are not necessarily better or
more real or reliable than putting on
some virtual reality helmet George."
"What do you mean?"
"Look outside - it's getting light now.
Look at the horizon. Tell me what
you see." She was commanding him
and he obeyed, peering closely at
the red and orange presage of dawn
in the East over her lake.
"What do you see? What does the
world look like to you?" she asked
him.
"What does it look like? You mean
what am I seeing right now?"
"Yes."
"Well, the horizon...the earth...." He
was perplexed by her acute
questions.
"And what shape is it George? What
do your eyes tell you? Does the
earth appear curved or flat?"
"It looks flat, if that's what you're
asking me."
"Yes, that's what I want you to think
about. The world you can see in
front of your eyes right now looks
flat - utterly flat. It is obvious to your
vision that the world is flat- but it
isn't true, is it George?"
"No. The world is a sphere- I've
seen pictures taken from up in
space."
"Yes. But your senses right now are
telling you the world is flat. That is
the point I want you to grasp. There
is and always has been a deep and
profound conflict between the true
and the obvious. This is the first
lesson of philosophy: don't trust what
you see. It's obvious to your eyes
that the world is flat, and men
thought so for millennia. But it isn't
true. It's also obvious that the sun
moves through the sky and goes
around the earth. But that isn't true
either, is it George?"
"No...Copernicus...Galileo...." She
was right. All reality is virtual,
whether the biological machinery of
the body was used or some
mechanical substitute. Only thought
and logic could sometimes transcend
the limitations of flawed human
perception.
"Someday George when you have
time...and I suspect your reading list
has other authors with higher
priority" - her eyes gleamed at him
suddenly and he smiled,
remembering Lovecraft and the
secret government file on Clovis - "I
want you to read Schopenhauer, a
19th century German philosopher.
His best work is called The World
as Will and Idea. File him away in
your mind now for future reference.
In an important sense he was the
father of virtual reality, though
modern technology has progressed
far beyond his simple age."
He settled back in his chair, sated
from the breakfast feast. His mind
was buzzing with a million thoughts,
a million possibilities to think about
and explore. He had a lot of reading
to do and smiled handsomely as he
yielded to her piercing gaze. They
looked at each other for a few
minutes, comfortable with the sweet
silence that hung between them, that
caressed their ears with its soft
intimacy. Words could be so
superfluous with Ryn he thought. She
could read him like a book.
The clock struck 7 am. It was time
to leave for her office. He would be
coming with her today. And this time
he would not be pressing his face
against her door from the outside,
straining to catch a glimpse of her
divinity to warm his heart against a
cold world. He was feeling the
beginnings of true happiness. It was
a new experience for him and it took
a positive effort to throw off his
doubts and fears and accept this
new emotion. Given time, given
sunlight and continued nourishment,
it would grow and unfold within his
gentle spirit. He knew he was
embarked on a great journey with a
woman of profound mystery and
power, towards a destination that he
could not even guess.
Journey to Babylon:
He was filled with pride as he
walked beside her to the Barrington
Train Station. Her booted feet
clattered with military precision upon
the sidewalk leading to the ticket
counter, and her black full-length
leather coat caught the wind of her
speed and billowed out behind her
like a cape. She knew her way, and
followed it without hesitation. Seeing
her walk one perceived a person on
some grave errand, moved by a
hidden purpose of great import. She
did not mingle with crowds, did not
meander like fools, did not falter like
the lost. She knew her way.
The sound of her boots on the cold
pavement cleaved the early morning
air with the menace of sudden
authority - firm, sharp, with a
metallic snap as her steel-shod heels
struck the cement with iron discipline
and disdain. The most arrogant men
gave way before her, startled and
chagrined at finding themselves in her
path. Women stared, dogs cringed
and bowed low, birds seemingly
went silent at her approach. But
whether this was from fear of some
hidden power she possessed, or out
of respect and deference to the
dignity of her bearing, none could
say. A hushed silence fell before her
and settled upon all who saw or
perceived her presence. She was
shrouded in it, accepted it, bore it
quietly, more as a burden than with
any conscious relish of power.
George noted the cowed and
curious reactions of passersby, saw
how the whole world seemed to
subliminally bow before her as one
of high royalty. And this in a fiercely
egalitarian society that hated all elites
and trashed all aristocratic
pretensions, pulling even its
President down into the muck of
common depravity.
But Ryn did not need authority or
respect, she commanded them,
emanated them, was their source.
He felt in his heart that she was no
supercilious Dominatrix dabbling in
petty cruelties. She was above that.
Loftier. Beyond mere pretensions of
female domination. Ryn was the real
thing, imitated, copied, borrowed
from perhaps, but never duplicated.
He was the luckiest man alive.
They boarded the express and she
gave him the window seat while she
busied herself with the morning
paper. Slasher had struck again it
reported in screaming, banner
headlines. A young student from
DePaul University had been
abducted, beaten, and mutilated.
Her body was found by a dumpster
in the Loop. Ryn was self-absorbed
after reading the article, and she put
the paper aside.
He was bold enough to reach for her
right hand and give it a gentle
squeeze. She turned towards him
briefly and gave him a forced smile,
then swallowed his hand in hers.
They remained that way during the
forty minute ride into the city.
"So Slasher has been up to it again"
he commented to her.
She nodded curtly, but refused to be
drawn into conversation. He could
tell from her fixed expression that
something was going on inside her
mind. He was silent for the rest of
the train ride.
"Union Station!" the conductor
yelled. Ryn was the first to rise. She
led him to the door and walked with
him through the terminal.
"How about some more coffee?" she
asked him.
He would never turn down a good
cup of joe. They went to Starbucks
where he ordered a grande Gold
Coast and she had a tall latte. Even
in the busy station her presence
announced itself, and the cafe clerk
was rigid with attention. Clutching
their steaming cups in gloved hands
they wandered through the shopping
plaza inside the station. He felt guilty
accepting money, food, and gifts
from her, and privately vowed to do
house errands or anything else he
could do to pay her back in some
small, symbolic way. Little did he
know the true magnitude of her
wealth.
They stopped at a bookstore briefly
and he found two of Lovecraft's
stories. She smiled enigmatically as
they left the store with the books.
They were about to pass through the
doors leading outside when Ryn was
distracted by a ruckus. A burly
policeman was hassling an old
woman in a wheel chair. It was an
exceptionally cold day in the windy
city, with wind chills far below zero.
The mendicant had come inside and
preferred the risk of being caught
loitering to being caught dead in the
frigid weather. A stainless steel pan
lay on her lap, and in her excitement
it rattled in her trembling hands with
the few small coins that were her
only alms for the morning. She was
pleading to be left alone for a while,
just long enough to warm up so she
could face the bitter wind again.
Ryn's sense of justice and fair play
was highly developed and easily
prompted. She would never be silent
or passive in the face of plain wrong.
One unforgettable event in her past
dictated, required, that she be the
most responsive good Samaritan
possible. This sense of duty
coexisted with the deepest distaste
for people in general.
"Is there a problem officer?" she
asked in her most professional voice.
The cop spun about to face her,
disturbed at having someone
approach him from behind. And he
didn't like having to look up in order
to see her face. She dwarfed him by
many inches.
"Do you know this woman?" he
asked in a stern voice, his chest
puffed out in an unconscious show of
bravado.
He didn't give a fuck if it was cold
outside. So what? The old hag could
freeze for all he cared. She was not
going to loiter by the doors in his
station. The word had gone out to all
officers assigned to station duty.
Loiterers and beggars hurt business
and offended potential customers.
There were plenty of smart upscale
shops in the station that required
upscale people. The old woman
wasn't wanted here. The shop
owners had been quite clear on that
point.
"Yes I do. She is in my care officer.
My name is Dr. Ryn Nyr and I see
her every morning during the week"
she answered truthfully. She always
saw the woman somewhere in or
near the station, and frequently
dropped bills into her pan. Money
meant nothing to her. She drew
herself up to her full height and
stared fixedly at the cop.
"I want you to leave her alone and
let her warm up by the heaters
upstairs. I also want you to get her
some breakfast. A couple of bagels
and a hot cup of coffee will do.
Consider it a public service."
The cop was stunned and took a
step back. Unconsciously, as all
good policeman will do automatically
when they feel challenged, his hand
reached down nearer to his gun, and
the thought of calling for backup
crossed his mind. The boy at her
side was no threat, but this tall
woman had a look of keen
determination. Instinctively he knew
she would not back down. He felt
threatened by nothing in particular so
much as the gaze she cast upon him.
She took another step towards him,
her arms at her side. She could have
crushed him in an instant if she had
so desired. The cop began to panic.
He was simultaneously attracted to
her awesome beauty and restrained
by his fear. But she reached for no
gun, and did not threaten him in any
physical way. It was her eyes that
commanded him and they did not
blink or relent in holding him in their
keen gaze. He was in the presence
of something qualitatively different
from the typical street thugs he was
used to dealing with and he knew it.
"Do you want me to give you money
Officer so you can go upstairs and
get her some breakfast?"
She was giving him an out, a way to
back down that wouldn't injure his
pride, and would even allow him to
appear to be a good guy. His brown
eyes flickered briefly as he
considered what she said, then he
decided.
"No, that's ok miss. I'm glad to help
her."
The cop turned towards the old
woman.
"Ma'am let's get you into the elevator
over here and I'll get you upstairs."
He was agreeable now and lapsed
into the role of Officer Friendly.
Ryn turned and faced the old woman
with a smile on her face. "Is there
anything else you need?" she asked.
Martha Blake was surprised and had
never seen anything like this before.
All she wanted was to get out of the
killing wind, while avoiding the
dangerous, crime-ridden city shelters
that were supposedly her appointed
refuge.
"Oh, no...thank you so much....."
She turned to the cop and thanked
him as well. The policeman was
carried along by the wave of events.
The stunning babe in leather who
stood before him favored him with a
brief smile that dazzled him. He
would never forget it for the rest of
his life. He helped the old woman
over to the handicap elevator. Being
told what to do made it so much
easier for him. All he had to do was
carry out Ryn's instructions and
everything would be fine. There was
no point in making a scene he told
himself.
And he did just as he was told. Yet
afterward, when one of his cop
buddies asked him why he was
feeding a homeless tramp, he merely
smiled and waved him off. He
couldn't answer why. He merely felt
satisfied that he had obeyed some
charge laid upon him, and his only
emotion was one of relief.
They made it inside her office
without any further untoward events.
George looked around in awe. The
wall sized lava lamp evoked Hell in
all its fury and dark beauty. She
introduced him to her computer.
"Good morning Hal, say hi to
George. And give him Level Three
system access."
"Of course Ryn. Good morning
George." The mechanical,
unaccented voice seemingly came
from everywhere and George spun
about looking for where he should
direct his response. Ryn suppressed
a grin.
"Hi Hal...nice to meet you. I've
heard a lot about you." He spoke to
the ceiling, rightly thinking that the
soul of the computer somehow
inhabited the space above him.
He relaxed in Ryn's big leather chair
behind her ebony desk. She had
playfully beckoned him into it, and
made him put his feet up on her
desk. She sat on it before him and
he inhaled her clean perfumed body-
scent. He thought once again what a
magnificent specimen of womanhood
she was.
"George I am going to be working
nearby for a while. Around noon
Rogers will arrive with his girlfriend
and then all of us are going to head
back to the house."
"Sure Ryn. Is there anything I can do
for you?"
"Yes there is. Hal is going to test
you. I want to know just how good
that brain of yours is." She winked at
him and gestured for him to face the
giant computer monitor by the wall.
"Pay attention to Hal. You get no
scratch paper......just answer his
questions within the time frame
allowed. The two of you have about
three hours."
He was a little perturbed and felt on
the spot. He didn't want to
disappoint her in any way, but was
afraid he would. He had never had
his IQ tested before. While he knew
he was well above average, it was
Ryn's expectations that he wanted to
surpass.
"I'll do my best Ryn" he said
sheepishly.
"I know you will George. Relax and
don't worry. I want to do this so we
can plan your education. This is not
a test you can pass or fail. It's about
seeing what your strengths and
weaknesses are."
"Ok." He offered her a wan smile.
"Good luck! Hal initiate test
sequence." She disappeared into the
mirrored anteroom and entered an
adjoining hidden room that was part
of her office suite.
Hal pushed him to his limits during
the three hours of the grueling exam.
Every time George answered a
question in a given subject correctly
Hal increased the level of difficulty.
Wrong answers led to slightly easier
questions. And so it proceeded as
the testing program probed for
knowledge and ability. The result
would be a complete inventory of
the state of his education so far, and
areas for improvement. He began
sweating freely. The frenzy of pure
mental exertion far surpassed the
work involved in mere physical
labor. He was becoming exhausted
with the relentless questions and
checked his new Rolex watch to
monitor the time.
* * * *
*
Ryn settled into the spare office and
turned on another ubiquitous
computer monitor connecting her to
Hal. She liked dealing with the
computer. There was no need for
foreplay or small talk. She could
always be direct and plunge in with
her questions at any time.
"What's the situation with Joe? Have
you heard from him lately?"
There was an edge to her voice this
morning. The latest attack by Slasher
had caught her by surprise. He was
changing his modus operandi - a sign
that the attacks were probably
drawing to a climactic conclusion
followed by a long period of
inactivity, maybe years, before he
struck again. Unless he was caught
of course. She suspected that this
was not the first cycle of violence for
Slasher. His work was too
experienced.
There was little chance the
authorities would find him. He was
too clever for them, too careful to
eliminate any trails that could lead to
his lair. But he had not factored Ryn
into his calculations. He did not
know that a mind of prodigious
power and ruthless resources sought
to penetrate the shadows that
shielded him from her piercing gaze.
Soon, she told herself quietly. Soon
you will be mine and we will have a
chat, you and I. Cost what it may,
she would make it happen.
Hal had spoken to Joe twice since
Ryn's discussion with him Monday.
"He has obtained access to the court
records Ryn. But he is going to have
serious logistical problems without
your aid. I was going to notify you of
this on my own."
"What do you mean by logistical
difficulties Hal?"
"It will require a large staff to scan
the required files. He has limited
personnel available to him."
"So he needs bodies? Let's get him
some. Disburse $1,000,000 to
Action Company and tell Dave over
there what I need. Get competent
clerical help who can run scanners
and keep their mouths shut. Joe can
supervise them. I want those files by
Friday. Make it happen Hal. If more
money is needed let me know."
Hal acknowledged her order and
called the personnel company
immediately. He simultaneously
transferred $1,000,000 from an
account in Aruba. Within hours Joe
Miller from Chicago FBI would have
a team of 800 people and 500 state
of the art digital scanners to move
paper and haul ass.
Ryn was well known to various
Chicago-based personnel and other
service businesses. They jumped
when she or her assistant Hal called,
and made other customers wait. Her
name and her wealth were a legend
and an endless source of gossip and
mystery. But she frowned on
wagging tongues, and on several
occasions had demonstrated a
remarkable talent for removing them.
This skill remained secondary to her
primary vocation. Big mouths, while
presenting interesting technical
problems in their own right, did not
attract her attention in the same way
as big cocks.