The tragedy is, I knew what they were doing to her. It broke my heart!
Living in a close-knit neighborhood of Portland, it is impossible to keep secrets. The hills most definitely have eyes! When a thirteen-year old girl starts skipping classes and makes seemingly one call too many at the homestead of a renowned womaniser, it is going to arouse suspicion - my suspicion!
I can't say as I knew Patti that well. After all, I was just the humble mail-man and back then - still in my late twenties I guess. But ah, how beautiful was she? From the time she was knee-high to a grasshopper, she would so often run out to the mailbox and stare up at me with those alert little eyes scanning mine, her long dark hair cascading down to her backside almost, willing me to hand her the day's mail that she would then scamper inside with excitedly.
I saw less of her once she started school, but on occasions I would still see her strolling home in the summer months, skipping along the sidewalk and letting her hands run along the tops of hedgerows and picket fences, leaving in her wake, the very essence of seemingly incorruptible childhood innocence.
I was careful to never let her see me, but I would make a point of being on hand around the time school was out, just so I could watch her for a few moments. She captured my heart. . . . my very passion, if the truth be known.
Developmentally she was ahead of the pack, no doubt about that. Whether or not this contributed to her downfall though, I have no idea - nor is it really my place to speculate. All I know is, that first day I saw her stop-off at Dave Watkins' place some years later, watching from across the intersection as he took her inside, before closing the porch door with what I felt was undue haste, my heart sank. I think it deflated actually!
Desperately wanting to believe there might be some rational explanation for her house-call, my hopes were dashed however when the visits became a regular occurrence.
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I could not fail to notice that she was beginning to wag school on occasion now and the day I watched her winging her way towards his front gate, that frilly little white dress blowing wildly in the breezy conditions, long hair streaming off her shoulders as it glinted attractively in the morning sun, fully highlighting the fact she really was no longer a little girl as such, I just stood there gutted!
Worse was to transpire. I saw her going to Dave Watkins' house when I knew his two moronic buddies Greg Thomas and Steve Harrison were inside with him. That day, little Patti was inside for hours and I guessed what sordid and indecent secrets she was learning about.
In the coming months she would have beaten a well-worn track to Dave's front door and for the life of me I could not tell you with any conviction that she even once appeared reluctant to participate in what can only have been gratuitous sexual debasement, knowing Dave Watkins as many of us reluctantly did. Many were the occasions Steve, Greg and various other dickhead associates of Dave were on hand to take up the slack, as it were.
The day came of course when I simply had to see for myself.
From my vantage point across the intersection, I watched as Patti flounced up to Dave's front door, all frills and girlish mannerisms. I knew others were inside waiting. Figuring they would be ushering her into the lounge-room first, I hightailed it to the property's western boundary where I knew I would be able to see and overhear at least some of what might be happening courtesy of a half-open window there that Dave hardly ever closed, what with the dense shrubbery growing wild and unchecked along the border of his neighbor's cottage.
Imposing their botanical will on the structure itself, shade trees would afford me camouflage and darkened protection from the likelihood of discovery. In any event, I wasn't concerned for my own welfare - I could handle myself if it came to it. I just had to know.
In hindsight, I think the worst aspect of what I saw that morning was the young girl's "willingness. " A willingness to be debased, to be humiliated, to be "used" in every sense of the word.
No sooner had I taken up my place of concealment than I could see little Patti quite without duress, undressing right there on the carpet in front of them all.
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The sight of her smiling, hips wriggling provocatively, in just her skimpy little bra and panties was as distressing as it was arousing.
"That's it, little slut," Dave was saying, "Now get those hot little tits out for us baby-doll. Good girl - now pull your knickers down, yeah, real slow. . . that's right. Now turn around, show us all your little cunny. Real nice!. . . . . OK now bend over for us sweetheart. . .
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. . "
Steve I think it was, who then got down on his knees in front of her and began fingering her pussy it looked like. I saw Patti giggle and seemingly grind her hips against his face. A thirteen-tear old for God's sake! Then as she stood there completely naked, hands submissively above her head, I watched as the men - there were four others besides Dave, began molesting her - pulling her nipples, kissing her developing breasts and lips, smoothing their hands all over her still child-like bottom, defiling whatever innocence still remained and splintering my sanity in the process.
"Let's fuck the little cunt Dave," growled one of the other men - no-one I recognised. Although moving right to the periphery of my line of vision, I could still just make out Dave pinioning the girl's arms behind her back as two others held her legs apart, even as she was just standing on the carpet. Holding his engorged weapon like a lance, the man simply shoved it up her as she stood there - I heard her gasp, not in pain or fear sadly, but in what was obviously unbridled pleasure.
At the point I heard Patti crying out subsequently, as the man pumped her like a piece of horse-meat, "Ohhh, keep fucking me sir. . . harder, pleease," I knew that whatever had gone from her life, would never be coming back. No sooner had the man shot his load up inside that radically underage slit, than Steve muttered something I could not quite hear. In response though, the three of them lifted her body waist high, her legs spread like Nadia Comeneci on the parallel bars and she let herself be taken - fully airborne.
The language the young girl was being subjected to throughout her ordeal would have had most social workers blushing with embarrassment.
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If anything though. it was exciting her, catalysing an even deeper complicity with everything that they were doing to her.
Eventually they dragged her away to some upstairs room but not before I had seen her sucking their cocks by rotation, posing for them in every lewd stance you can imagine, being fucked on her hands and knees while they abused her, spanked her - even as they masturbated the length and breadth of that sweet little body.
I recall the exact moment something in my head shunted itself way out of alignment! It was 12. 33 p. m.
Patti must have been fifteen and in ninth-grade I imagine, when her family moved out of the immediate area. For more than two years the residents and guests of that house on the corner of Fremont Street had been fucking the young girl's lights out. I know - because I had watched. I made a resolution now to find her. After all, in a city of just 1. 9 million people, how hard could that be? and, I had a plan - ya gotta always have a plan!
"What bitter irony?" I thought to myself. There being two schools within walking distance of Dave Watkins' house of infamy, I doubt it would have taken him long to find a willing home-town replacement.
As it transpired, finding out where the family had moved to wasn't even a challenge. They had left an on-forwarding address with the Post Office.
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Just seven miles south west of Portland, Beaverton, although called a city, was really not much more than a large town back then, with barely fifty-five thousand people living there - it's grown a fair bit in the last thirty years. Patti's family had moved to a house in a newish area just off West Baseline Road.
Citing "stress" over a fully mythical family bereavement, I pulled down a couple of weeks leave - like I said, I had plans!
Spent the first week observing Patti's route to and from the Juventus College for Girls she now attended. Where and just how far she walked to the school bus (when she got it) what route she took coming home. It was all I could do not to let her see me, so much did I want to go hug her and tell her that never again would she have to submit to the whims of predatorial trash that passed themselves off as human beings.
Not a month later, having successfully negotiated a transfer with the mail office, I put down a sizeable deposit on a small two bedroom home, but a couple of blocks from the High School - right on a corner too.
Nights, I worked on that master bedroom until the early hours, fashioning a cocoon that my chrysalis would never want to leave.
That first day, as I watched the familiar figure coming down Summerfield Road my heart was in my mouth. Despite her recent history, she looked as sweet and innocent as ever she had. A little curvier perhaps - but that's to be expected with the onset of teenage bodily dynamics. I lit out for my mailbox.
"Patti?" I said, with hopefully the right mix of warmth and incredulity. She was right at my gate.
She looked at me, puzzled for a second.
"Jim," I said, "Your mailman back in Portland?.
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. . . . "
"Oh my God," she spluttered, "Oh I can't believe it - what are you doing here?"
"I was going to ask you the same question," I lied, "Actually I was handed a transfer to Beaverton just recently, which worked out pretty good for me as I already lived here. " I gestured towards the house behind me.
"Wow," she said, "I never expected to see you again. . . . . . . Jim," she added, rather endearingly.
"Well hey Patti, where do you live these days, how come you left Portland?" I opened the front gate for her.
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"Come inside for a few minutes and I'll get you a drink. "
I have the penultimate 'safe' and 'honest' face - she didn't even think twice about it.
I poured her a glass of lemonade and pushed a plate of fresh cookies her way as she told me about having to move, on account of her father's work commitments and where it was they now resided in Beaverton. As she talked, I just sat on that stool across from her at the workbench, remembering. . . . .
"Well I suppose I'd best be getting home," she said, putting the empty glass down, although I could detect little or no urgency in her voice. Giving her a quick hug, I told her she was more than welcome to drop by at any time and let me know how things were going, either at home or at school. The smile she tossed me as she turned to close the front gate, was sufficient to keep my peristaltic rate up in the high nineties all night!
I worked extra hard on the bedroom that evening.
Patti didn't call in for a couple of days but that Friday, I found reason to be out the front of my place fixing up the garden around the time school would be out. This time, she saw me!
"Hi Jim," she called out in that half-giggly teenage voice that adolescent girls perfect so well. I almost snipped off my index-finger in pleasure!
"Ohh, sorry Patti, I was miles away," I gushed, "Come inside girl. "
Just turned thirty, I certainly didn't look it.
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When Patty was around, I sure as hell didn't feel it either. Sometimes you just know things are happening, you don't need to go ticking off a thirty point check-list.
It all started innocuously enough. I poured the lemonade - she talked, I told the jokes - she laughed. Not sure exactly when it was that someone suddenly called "Lights, action," but I know we were crossing the kitchen at that particular moment and her arm caught mine. I turned, saw this beautiful and desirable set of teenage lips in passing, and next thing I knew I was kissing them. Looking back now, I suppose it is not beyond the bounds of possibility that her body was suffering withdrawal symptoms, following its previous two-year engagement.
Right then though, I had other things on my mind - getting that school-dress up around her waist for starters. Lifting her, and she was just so light I recall, I propped her up on the workbench, scattering utensils and God knows what else all over the place. Closing my hand around her right breast, I just squeezed that wonderfully soft mound - she still wasn't that big if the truth be known. But oh, how sexy was she? As I moved my attentions to the other breast I heard her beginning to moan her encouragement for me to become yet more daring.
With my left hand I was beginning to push her dress up and just as her hot little white panties became visible, she lay herself back on the bench, scattering yet more debris. I literally tore the buttons of her school blouse in my feverish need to explore those beautiful young breasts. Even as her flimsy little bra was exposed, she ripped the underwire upwards herself, freeing her nipples that last I had seen being sucked insensible by none other than Steve Harrison himself. Well fuck him!
Whether I spread her legs or she did it herself, I really don't remember but in the condition we both were, there was no time for social niceties here.
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I had my erection out in milliseconds whilst Patti obligingly held her panties so far to one side, they ripped across the top elastic. As I sank into the depths, she let out a cry of girlish pleasure that spurred me on to what, up until that moment, was the most intense few moments of love-making I had ever known.
Pulling her hips to the very edge of the workbench, I held her beneath each knee and spread her thighs to their physical limit, before penetrating her so hard and so deep that she could but whimper softly as her body was welded to mine in a union that produced enough donated semen I imagine, to have impregnated two hundred vestal virgins.
Such energy was expended by both of us in that wonderfully unplanned moment that Patti was just lying there afterwards smiling at me, tiny locks of her dark hair so wet with exertion, they clung to her forehead in little feathery bangs. Beads of sweat lined my brow and in terms of respiratory distress - we could each have used the services of a skilled paramedic.
It was kissing she needed more than anything right then, so pulling her gently to an upright position I found her lips and just held her.
So much more I wanted to do. . . but this wasn't the time. I knew it, she knew it. I was right about one thing though - that was one hell of a satisfied smile on her pretty little face when she left for home some twenty minutes later. I knew she'd be back Monday. It would give me time to finish my little project.
Sure enough, three days later, come 3.
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45 p. m. that familiar little giggle announced a caller that I was most definitely awaiting.
I had set-off down the 'honorable gentleman' path and was meekly apologising for my animalistic tendencies the following Friday when Patti dropped her schoolbag on the floor, waltzed over to me and slipping her arms round my neck nuzzled my face.
"Hmmmm so you don't ever want to do that again to me Jim. . . . right?" she teased.
"Well, no. . . . I mean yes. .
. . Oh God damn it, you know what I mean Patti," I replied, fully out of my depth.
"Mom's gonna be late home this afternoon," she drawled, then looking up at me like an acutely well-groomed Cheetah, purred "Just thought you might be interested. " Oh, I was!
The lounge was way more comfortable.
Having kissed her stupid, I maouevered her onto my lap and slipped a hand down her top where those hot little breasts lay in waiting. "I love that," she murmured dreamily as I passed my hand inside both cups, manipulating her nipples gently and just generally misbehaving.
"You'll probably like this too then," I suggested, slipping my free hand up her school-dress and just lightly brushing the front of her panties that even now I noticed were a little on the damp side.
"Uh huh," she muttered parting her legs to give me even better access. I began to rub her pussy its full length. I could hardly control myself.
"Would you like me to undress for you?" she asked rather thoughtfully. Immediately the image of a thirteen-year old girl stripping in front of five adult men, came to mind. I didn't want to be reminded of it.
"No honey," I replied somewhat curtly, then sensing her surprise at my reaction, covered it by saying,
"Can't have you stealing my fun, can I?" She giggled.
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Unzipping her dress, I had her down to her bra and panties in moments. Then, once topless, she just sat there arching her back sexily while I suckled those superbly erect nipples, my other hand well down inside her panties keeping the home fires burning.
Wriggling uncontrollably now, she just whispered softly "Fuck me Jim, pleeease. " How I had lasted this long even beats me.
Figuring to give her a taste of the rough-house, I virtually pushed her on to her back on the carpet. Then tugging her panties down with something less than finesse, I pretty much raped her. . . which was the treatment I'd say she was looking for. A leopard can't change its spots!
Perhaps not an ejaculatory high that would qualify for the Guinness Book of Records (that landmark was undoubtedly reached the previous Friday) but nevertheless I doubt her pussy had room left for much more than a few air-bubbles. Then it was my turn to stare, as she sat up, turned around, and then getting up on all fours simply turned her head towards me questioningly as she wiggled her butt in my face.
I could have fucked her straight off, but I didn't - instead I gave her a hard spank and followed this up with another on the other cheek. Hot damn, it felt sexy. Wasn't too hard on the visuals either.
"What was that for?" she yelped, reaching back and rubbing her hot little tushy.
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"No reason," I teased, "You just have a real sexy little bottom Patti and I was wondering how much you can take. "
"Try me," she dared.
Ok, now readers with an emotional disposition might be better skipping the next few paragraphs, It gets painful!
I began to spank her in earnest. Put it this way, red turns to crimson in a remarkably short time. That it was turning me on would be a classic understatement, that it was doing much the same for her was equally obvious, given her provocative wriggling, itself followed by some digital self-exploration up between her legs I noticed.
Stopping for a moment, mainly to give my own hand a rest, I was stunned when she turned her head and I could see her tear-tracked cheeks.
"Don't stop," she pleaded, rubbing herself now quite freely "I can take it,"
"But Patti," I started to say, alarmed at what pain I must be causing her. . . . .
"Keep doing it. . . hard," she begged, urgency creeping into her voice.
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So thoroughly did I spank her then, she was crying out in what might have been agony but what was probably real-time ecstasy. I was losing control and the spanks were landing in an arc anywhere between her lower back and upper thighs. Sinking fast in a frenzied mire of sado-masochistic power - her pain was becoming my pleasure. I began to palm areas of her bottom that had not yet received their due punishment. It was her literal scream of orgasmic bliss that finally stayed my hand.
I have never seen a girl's bottom so red and marked. It must have been killing her. She slipped her torn panties on gingerly and just knelt there. I asked her if she would like a cushion to sit on, but she settled for a glass of lemonade. I poured myself one too. I noticed my hands were beginning to shake fractionally. Guilt? I wondered or delayed excitement? I found it hard to sustain eye contact with her.
Thinking to ease her pain, I retrieved a clean face-washer from the bathroom and soaking it in cool water brought it back to the lounge-room where I had her lay face down on the sofa.
Slipping her panties down once more - an action that unavoidably renewed my erection, I started to gently pat her worst affected areas with the cloth.
"Mmmmm, that's nice," she said.
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I was thinking the same thing. It wasn't long before I was patting selected regions of her curve-infested body that were far distant from the damage-zone. Refreshing the face-washer, I returned this time with a couple of pieces of ice. Easing Patti on to her back, I began to slide the small cube along the underside of her right breast. She gave a little cry of shock. But lay there, hands above her head submissively allowing me free rein.
As I slowly iced her nipple she began to wriggle, seemingly oblivious to any pain on her underside. It was making me so damn hot, watching those teenage mounds becoming so aroused. I applied my exquisite torture to the other nipple, allowing then the ice to slide down the side of her breast, across her cleavage and up the other side. She was actually thrusting her chest upwards in pleasure, her eyes closed.
Between icings, I began to suckle her gently, alternating the hot with the cold.
Inevitably she began to masturbate, her moans knowing no limit.
I was developing a taste for this. Whilst my left hand continued to apply its super-chilled magic to the peaks and valleys of her upper chest, with my right , I eased those teasing fingers away from her pussy and setting down the other ice-cube at the very top of her labia, began to trace the outline of her lips very gradually, allowing the ice to slip marginally inside with each completed lap. I had her crazy in minutes.
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Opening her eyes in ecstasy, her expression said it all. No interpreter needed.
My erection primed, I just pushed one leg over the back of the sofa which offered up an angle of entry a blind man could have negotiated. She was an animal, no more no less. That's OK - I was a Neanderthal on heat, so it worked well. Even at the point of interactive orgasms, we couldn't stop, and I was just thrusting in to her wildly until we were both expended. Withdrawing, a literal flood of semen and naughty-girl stuff flooded out of her. Lucky I keep a supply of upholstery-cleaner on hand.
But for the fact my DNA factory was fresh out of stock I would probably have taken her upstairs there and then but I wanted to undertake that mission on her next visit, when both of us would be fresh and hot for more experimentation. Besides, holding and kissing her wasn't exactly a hardship and she did afford me the luxury of having a shower with her before she went home. I didn't fuck her either although I think she probably wanted me to. Just soaping her up, washing her hair and allowing the hot steaming water to work its recuperative powers on her sore but sexy little backside was more than enough to round off the afternoon. .
Patting her dry, I dressed her, then watched as she blow-dried that long dark hair of hers. Ever realised how sexy a girl looks drying her hair? Especially one that young.
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I was glad she didn't come back for a few days - gave her bottom time to recover. How she sat down at school the next day I don't know. . . . . ouch! Friday afternoon she just looked-in on the way home and told me her parents would be upstate until Sunday afternoon and that she would be free to drop by Saturday sometime. I set the stop-watch!
Skin-tight jeans, plunging neckline, even a damned ribbon in her hair? Was she trying to bring on cardiac arrest or what? Having ushered her across the thresh-hold, I almost lost my nerve. There's only so much a man can take.
Figured I'd play the gracious host first, well - just to get the ball rolling anyway. Plied her with soft-drink, nibblies and compliments. Whatever perfume that was she had on, was lethal - "teenage desire" I think must have been the literal translation. Eventually though, we came down to the business end of the visitation.
"Would you like to come up to my bedroom Patti?" I asked almost beseechingly. Evidently this was precisely the modus operendi she favored and holding my hand, we ascended the stairs.
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"What is that?" she asked, gazing at the ceiling directly over the King Size bed.
"Well Patti," I answered, "Just how adventurous do you feel?"
She giggled, which answered my question. Pushing her gently backwards on to the bed I removed her shoes. "You're gonna have to let me take these jeans off sweetie,' I said to her. She undid the belt-buckle herself.
Threading the ropes through the pulley system, Patti watched as I attached a rope to each ankle.
"You're tying me up?" she asked with absolutely no shred of fear I noted.
"Oh, its way better than that Patti," I grinned, "Trust me. " Foolishly, she did!
Having secured her arms behind her back also, I walked to the far wall and pulled hard on the guide rope. Not only were her legs spread at a magnificently obscene angle, her hips were lifted well clear of the bed.
"I can't move," she gasped.
"Well that's OK, I can. " I teased her, hastily removing my own pants and taking up residence on the nearside edge of the bed, directly between her gaping legs. Up close and personal like that, you have no idea how sexy she looked, the cleft of her beautiful pussy clearly outlined through the taut material between her legs. I allowed myself a caress of its entire length.
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She managed to wriggle her hips in spite of her constraints.
"You like that do you? " I asked, rubbing her once again. It was definitely time for some in depth therapy.
Pulling her panties to one side, I just pushed hard into her. It was a furnace in there. There was no need for any "are you comfortable with this sweetheart" crap, Rape being the order of the day. It was in fact, her very helplessness that made it so damned hot. Taking no prisoners, I penetrated her with such force she began crying out in unhinged ecstasy. Didn't bother me, every square centimetre of that room had been sound-proofed - the door included, although at that juncture it was still open.
She didn't even mind when I began shredding her panties in my latent desire to render her even more
vulnerable. Tearing the thin cotton along the elastic the width of her abdomen, the flap of material, at the angle she was partially suspended, hung down uselessly now between her legs, every aspect of her youthful sex fully exposed. . The sight of my cock embedded in her pretty much to the hilt, was definitely a picture no artist could paint.
Relinquishing my grip on her hips momentarily, I reached down and fondled her breasts, which served only to elicit a fresh wave of moaning and wriggling. Pushing her top up, I wrenched her bra free of those dynamically arousing little mounds and began kneading her nipples - all the time thrusting deeper into her.
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By now she was crying out in ecstasy and beyond caring what I did - well, so long as I kept doing it!
The last few day's observation of temperance in all things sexual, was proving to be a master-stroke. Re-invigorated and stocked-up, I was now primed to deliver a seismic rift of noble proportions. To say I came in her forcefully, would be to understate the reality of the situation. What we had here was a vaginal Armageddon - a shared nuclear holocaust.
"Christ Patti," was all I was able to get out before the quake hit. I seem to recall her crying out something at an ultra high frequency after which I was simply locked inside her and flooding that hot little cavern. Under-age sex? It's to die for!
Taking advantage of Patti's disorientated state - not that my own was much better - I removed/ripped/tore asunder, what clothing she had left. She looked so much better! Just for good measure, I tugged the pulley up one more notch. This accentuated the appeal of her naked little bottom, it being presented now as a prime target for whatever one might aspire to.
Spanking is always fun. . . . . so, following a couple of strategically-placed "hands-on" applications, I asked her how it felt?
"It hurt," she answered sulkily.
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"You want me to stop?" I queried.
"I didn't say that," she giggled. Music to my ears.
The next power-spank achieved the daily double. She squealed in something approaching pained-nirvana and a tablespoonful of cum squirted out of her pussy and down her rear cleft. Not very ladylike one would have to admit, but one hell of a side-show. I had an idea.
Releasing the pulley, her bottom was laid to rest once again on the bed.
"What are you doing now?" she asked, idly sucking on a couple of fingers. I could only imagine where they'd been.
"You'll see," I replied. "Can you stand up?"
Whilst not exactly copybook deportment, she pulled herself erect. Looking at her slim figure and jiggling breasts, her body wasn't the only thing in that condition. Already I noticed, her bottom cheeks were infused with a light glow.
Leading her to the bedroom door, I closed it.
She noticed immediately of course the snap-locks at head level - or in her case. . . several inches higher.
"Are they what I think they are?" she giggled.
"Probably," I grinned, snapping one lock shut across her left wrist. "Other hand please sweetie. "
Dutifully she raised her arm.
Now just take a moment if you will and visualise the scene. A young and exquisitely pretty, fully naked fifteen-year old girl standing flush up against a door, her arms pretty much handcuffed above her head and filmy strings of cum running down the inside of her leg. No way of escape, completely and utterly vulnerable to the whims of her captor. That curvy little bottom wriggling slightly as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. . . .
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waiting, ever waiting!
There was something missing from the tableau it occurred to me, other than possibly Jerry Springer. It came to me. Pulling open the top drawer of the little bedside table, I fished out a large man's handkerchief. It made the perfect gag. Now everything was ready, the moment was upon me
Sliding open the nearest wardrobe door - a mirrored beast some four foot across, I retrieved the leather whip. Patti had seen nothing.
"Indiana Jones" I never claimed to be, but that first lash brought up a welt across her right bottom cheek. I suppose she screamed. I actually planned on taking the gag off later to let her vent her displeasure. Meanwhile, I balanced up the equation by leaving a stinging welt across her left cheek. No wonder the Marquis De Sade got off on S & M - this was undoubtedly the first day of a new world order. I cracked the whip and another welt appeared just below her shoulder blades, although much of the impact was absorbed by her beautiful long hair. Talk about power to the people!
I suppose you could say I then "lost" it, after all, pain and pleasure really are so closely aligned - and I did want to give her pleasure. I put up the whip. Patti appeared to have passed-out, kept upright only by the manacles.
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Her bottom and lower back were criss-crossed with savage welts now, some of which were beginning to bleed profusely. I figured she might want a cool lemonade!
I knew what I had to do and I was fully resolved to stick to my guns.
One way or the other I was going to make sure that she completely forgot about Dave Watkins - even if it takes forever!
(c) Peter_Pan
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