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Well, hell, she was probably right. I'd got good enough and strong enough to fight off the bullies in high school, but somebody with that kind of background, no way. And my job was a desk job, I wasn't out of shape exactly but neither was I in training by any stretch of the imagination.I did, however, have one above-average muscle, and it had been working in high gear—the one in my head. Brodine and his buddies hadn't been any help to me but they had said one thing that was nagging at me. Why the hell was this guy after me at all? Just knowing Susan, or having known her from their perspective, couldn't be enough; I still wouldn't be a useful witness against this Senator, or a threat to him. Halfway back to the hotel I asked her that.There was a long silence before she finally spoke. "I suppose it's that damn flash drive," she muttered."What about it?" Shit. They think I still have it." What? How do they even know it exists?" Long story, dear. Wait'll we get back to the room, I'll. I start to tell you we don’t have time. You put your hand over my mouth and start to unzip my pants. Are you freaking crazy, it’s freezing out here!!! My cock is very hard but I am shivering from the cold. The sensation combination of the cold air and your hot, wet mouth wrapping around the head is insanely amazing. OMG, I can’t believe this. You are STILL finding ways to surprise me. I look around to see if anyone is looking. Only one house has a view of my porch. After a few seconds I don’t care anymore. You don’t play around. You immediately start to move your mouth up and down the shaft all the way. OMG, I am freezing on the outside but burning up on the inside. I reach my hand down and touch the sweat pants. You are so wet. I can feel they are already damp. I push in hard to find your clit. You can feel the soft, wet cotton rub against your clit. As I touch you, you jump slightly and moan. As I rub your clit you continue to suck harder and harder, almost.
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I tromped into my parents’ room, pulled Dad’s pistol from its case on the top shelf in the closet, and carted it back to my room. I tore a sheet of paper from a notebook and wrote down some undoubtedly pathetic stuff. The only part I remember was the ‘to whoever gives a shit’ salutation, which I’m still rather fond of. I then raised the gun to my head with full intentions of blowing my brains out. I even held a picture of Me and Ashley: Happy Smiling Couple to the other side of my head to catch the lovely splash from the exit wound. When I woke up a few hours later all wet and in the worst of pain, I knew I’d fucked it up somehow. I’m not really sure, but I assume that I sort of chickened out at the instant I pulled the trigger, and must’ve angled the gun up just enough to save my life. At any rate, though, the bullet caught some skin and actually did take out a chunk of the old gray matter. Dear old Dad’s .357 became a home lobotomy kit. Do-it-yourself! Unconsciousness, a head.

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