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Message-ID: <35483asstr$1014955809@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: jimmy@jimmy-hat.com (Jimmy Hat)
Subject: {ASSM} Lou's Last Stand (MFF oral)  
Date: Thu, 28 Feb 2002 23:10:09 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

This work contains graphic depictions of sex acts.
Please do not continue if this makes you uncomfortable,
or violates laws in your part of the world.

This story is Copyright 2002 by Jimmy Hat (jimmy@jimmy-hat.com)
----------------------------------------------------------------------

LOU'S LAST STAND

ZERO 

Lou Cullen loved the hotel room. Plush carpet flowed from the
doorway, past the well-stocked refrigerator and two queen sized
beds, and terminated at the far wall, and the magnificent view of
the city beneath. The workspace was minimal, but it had space
enough for Lou to open the guest services guide and learn how to
order room service and view porn on the television set. There was
even a fully upholstered chair, complete with ottoman. corner. 

What impressed Lou the most, however, was the bathroom. Large
beige tiles lined the walls from top to bottom, and smaller white
squares composed the floor. From the door, which opened in and to
the right of the room, he saw the three standard features. Moving
clockwise, his eyes took note of the sink on the left hand wall,
then the tub and toilet against the long back wall. 

Bright lights around the mirror above the dual sinks made the
overhead lamp redundant. A long, wide, white tub, complete with
jacuzzi, lie in the corner, next to the sinks, but separated by a
wall that compartmentalized the counter top. Dispensers for soap
hung on the wall above the tub. 

While Lou examined the low seated toilet, and the extra telephone
mounted on the wall beside it, he noted with disappointment that
the tub had no shower curtain, or shower head for that matter.
When he turned to leave the room, however, he saw what waited in
the corner. 

The shower stall was magnificent. Two glass walls, completely
transparent, not frosted or scalloped, stood at right angles to
the walls of the room. A third panel, hinged as a door, cut
diagonally from one pane to the other. The whole of it reached
over six and a half feet from the shower base, a height more than
adequate for Lou Cullen. 

Inside the stall was the same oversized sandy tiles as the rest
of the room. In fact, the pattern was continuous in the corner.
If not for the glass walls, there would have simply been a shower
head, flow control, and a second bath gel and shampoo dispenser,
bare in the corner of the room. 

The clear glass barely changed that. It provided a barrier for
the spraying water, and marked a boundary between shower and the
rest of the bathroom. Yet it did nothing to stop the lines of
sight. 

Lou found it exceptionally sensual. 

He needed to use the toilet, and from that vantage point, he
decided this was the place to start the night's activity. He had
a plan well before he checked in, before he even found the hotel.
As often happened, though, plans changed. Besides, he thought to
himself, he had to take advantage of what this wonderful room
offered him. 

One such offering was the bath robe on the ledge between tub and
toilet. When he finished his planning, and his other business,
Lou wiped, flushed, then washed his hands and face. Returning to
the robe, he felt the thick, soft material. He put it on over his
clothes, and walked out of the bathroom. 

In the mirror, the heavy white robe looked peculiar over his
clothes. Lou liked it, though, especially the navy hotel insignia
over the left breast, and was determined to wear it later in his
stay. 

For the moment, he remained dressed, but did kick off his shoes
and peel away his socks. The naked feet made the robe appear more
natural, but Lou had a better reason for his action - to feel the
carpet. He balled up his feet in the thick fibers, and dragged
his heels as he walked over to the desk. My, my, he did love that
hotel room. 

At four times the price, it was at least fifty times better than
any motel Lou had ever used. He wished he had found it before
tonight. 

He wanted it for the view, and that aspect of his plan did not
change. Details changed, but otherwise it went as originally
devised. Indeed, his final momentous orgasm took place as he
looked over the city - his city. In the fantasy, he pulled out of
her mouth and came on her face as she kneeled in front of him. 

What actually happened, as he stood in front of her with his
white hotel robe open, and her fist pumped his cock over her
waiting tongue, was that the excitement swelled in him to propel
his ejaculate farther than he could ever remember it traveling. 

It leaped over the girl's head, and splashed white and wet
against the window. 

Lou first wanted to clean it with his robe, but then thought
better of it. In part because the girl playfully licked at some
of it on the glass with her tongue while running her thumb over
the slick tip of his deflating prick. Final spasms leaped through
his legs as she did so, and she smiled back at Lou and flashed
her emerald green eyes at him. 

Mostly, he left the semen streaks there because they struck him
as fitting imagery. In his last hurrah, he had managed to come
over the entire city. 

That part, though, would happen at three o'clock in the morning,
and except for the final unpredictable outcome, required advanced
arrangements. The girl he wanted was special to him, and
apparently many others, because she was often unavailable. She
had an uncanny talent for giving head, and producing an orgasm
that felt as if one's balls had been sucked directly through the
shaft of the cock and into her mouth. 

Nature had also blessed her with a pair of eyes whose color could
be found in peacocks, gemstones, and a few other select places in
the world's museums. Staring into them while she sucked cock only
added to the experience. 

To reserve her time, he made an appointment, at about the same
time he began to look for hotels with a good vantage point. His
newer plan, inspired by the spacious bathroom, required some
extra work. 

"I'm going to need two for tonight," he said into the phone. 

"Nine o'clock should be fine. 

"For a couple of hours or so. 

"Oh, and tell them to bring swimsuits. Preferably something
spaghetti string, barely there, you know what I mean." 

He called the agency and told them what he needed. After that, he
ordered a pizza from room service, had a beer from the
refrigerator, and waited. 

The sun had finished setting by the time they arrived. He was
worried that the agency might not have told them his requests, or
that the girls ignored them, but his fears were unwarranted. The
escort service was highly professional. The staff took
instructions well. 

Soon, Lou Cullen was where he wanted to be, sitting on the
porcelain throne of his tiled bath empire, watching first one
lithesome blonde and then a second getting wet in the shower. 
One wore a pink two
piece bikini, the other a bright yellow 'V': a strap that went
over each shoulder, flared somewhat to cover her nipples, then
joined together in the crotch, run straight up her ass, and split
in tow again to run over her shoulders. They were exactly as he
wanted. 

They looked fantastic as the shower flattened their hair against
their head, and ran in crooked streams along their backs. They
took turns under the water, twisting and turning to the harmonic
sounds of the myriad droplets bouncing off their own bodies and
onto the shower floor below. Steam filled the room, but did not
fog the shower stall or obscure Lou's view. It only raised the
temperature and added to his excitement. 

"Lather up," he told them, "Go on and get nice and soapy." 

"Do you want us to leave these on," said V, as she tugged at one
of her straps. 

"Please," Lou said, "Leave them on for now." 

The two took gel from the dispenser, and spread it over their
arms, their stomachs, their thighs, their asses, forming a white
foam over their bodies. Lou's hand made its way into his pants
and he stroked his bulging cock. 

He watched as they washed. Soon, they turned to each other.
Unguided by Lou's directions, they increased the lather by
soaping each other's backs, breasts, and calves. Pinky bent over
to wash the back's of V's legs, and Lou stared at her ass. It
blossomed around the pink triangle wedged along its crack, and
clumps of white suds slid along the curves. Accelerated as they
passed the flat sides of her cheeks, the lather ran quickly down
her leg. 

Pinky stood, and kissed V fully on the lips. V embraced her and
pulled her forward, so that her ass was now fully under the
shower and the water washed away the soapiness. V's hands took
its place, and soon ducked underneath the fabric, and her fingers
curled under the Pinky's bottom. They moaned. 

Lou had planned on watching the entire episode, and then slipping
with them into the other room. He was flexible, though. Overcome
by the sight of the water nymphs engaging each other, Lou removed
his hands from his pants, kicked off his shoes, and walked to the
shower stall. 

Without waiting another moment, or removing another article of
clothing, he opened the door and stepped inside. The ladies
cheered, and covered him with soapy embraces. They aimed the
shower head at him, and then removed his clothes, a task made
tough by the wet material clinging to his skin, the close quarters, and
his raging hard on. 

When he was finally stripped, he fucked each in turn against the
walls of the stall. Somehow, the two skipped the relatively
simple process of removing their own clothes, but Lou liked it
that way. He pushed aside the material and pushed his prick
inside the women. The thin strips of their bathing suits rubbed
against the side of his cock while he fucked. 

He came inside V in the shower stall, and later, he climaxed
inside Pinky on the bed while V licked his balls from behind. In
between, the three shared pizza, drank beer, and watched an old
Lee Marvin war movie on the television. 

He spent the rest of the night in that white bath robe. His
spontaneous jump in the shower led him to that. When he shot his
load over the green-eyed fellatist's face and onto the window,
his pants lie soaking wet, draped over the chair of the room's
workspace. Inside the front right pocket was a billfold, also
thoroughly wet, with the last three hundred dollars Lou Cullen
had to his name. 


ONE 

"Please have a seat, Mr. Cullen," said Agent Gerald Maytag.
Maytag wore the serious blue suit preferred by the FBI, but with
a stylish short lapel. Heather Stanton had teased him about it
this morning, but could not determine if a girlfriend had helped
him buy it. 

"Thank you for agreeing to see us," added Stanton, more concerned
now with finishing this interview than determining the current
state of Maytag's affairs. 

"My pleasure," said a beaming Lou Cullen. Indeed, he was quite
happy to sit with the FBI and answer a few questions. That the
Bureau was interested meant that his lawsuit was important. He
also enjoyed talking about his fight against the government. 

"Mr. Cullen," began Maytag, "You do realize that the justice
department believes your suit to be frivolous, and that the very
nature of your complaint implicates yourself in criminal
activity." 

Maytag had made more of a statement than a question. Lou took it
as in invitation to speak, though, and responded. 

"On the contrary, I think the fact that you two are here shows that this isn't
frivolous. And I would think any action against me now would be
seen as malicious prosecution. Besides, the whole point of my
lawsuit is that no one ever gets arrested for this kind of thing,
anyway." 

"I thought the whole point of your lawsuit was money," rebutted
Stanton. 

"I think a bankrupt man who takes up a worthy cause is entitled
to some payola. After all, the lawyers in the tobacco lawsuits
are getting some money." 

"Do you equate the two?" asked Stanton. 

"Of course not," said Lou, "But the suits are similar. The
questionable legal status of prostitution in the United States,
is damaging to consumers and taxpayers, and I intend to end it." 

That was the crux of Lou Cullen's lawsuit. Having gone bankrupt a
year earlier, a financial state brought on by a huge appetite for
hired sex, Lou Cullen had decided to sue the local government for
damages based on restraint of free trade. 

A novel suit, Cullen made some headlines, and even appeared on
some of the talk shows. But the legality of his actions was
suspect, and neither the Justice Department nor the Bureau of
Investigation were formally involved. Maytag had simply read an
account and thought it worthy of a quick interview, as long as
Cullen was in Washington for another television spot. 

"What do you mean by tentative?" Maytag asked. 

"Prostitution is legal in only a few counties in all the United
States, yet the business goes on. No one seems to mind, and no
one gets hurt. There is a huge taxable industry out there and the
government lets it happen without hardly lifting a finger." 

"Not only that," Lou continued, "But as a result, the prices are
higher. I've been to Amsterdam and Tiajuana, and trust me, your
dollar goes further. Even in Nevada, prices are high because of
the restraint of trade has created a near monolpoly for those 
few that operate legally. The current situation cuts two ways - higher
prices, no tax revenue." 

"And," he said, just as Stanton was about to speak, "It would be
safer for the girls, and disease could be monitored." 

Stanton then made her point, "This is essentially the same
argument made by marijuana legalization advocates. Tax revenue
and ease of monitoring that comes with the recognition of a
tolerated practice." 

"I've gotten this one from reporters, too," said Cullen, "But I
see two main differences. One of which I like to talk about, the
other is my little secret." 

"Let's start with the one you talk about," suggested Maytag. 

"The main difference is not in the benefits of making it legal
tomorrow, or in the future, but the way the government handles it
now, today. Marijuana users and dealers regularly go to jail, for
long sentences sometimes." 

"The only time johns or hookers get picked up," Lou contrasted,
"Is when street walkers annoy neighborhood groups. Sure there are
the usual round ups, but they usually result in fines and
suspended sentences." 

Lou Cullen took a deep breath in order to build dramatic tension
for his next point, "It's not as if these people hide from the
law. Just open any phone book in America, and look under escort
services. You sure as shit don't see any listings under 'Dope
Pushers' now do you?" 

Maytag and Stanton greeted his point with silence, unlike the
talk show audiences. 

"OK, that's clear," said Stanton dryly, "Now what's your secret." 

"Look," said Lou as he leaned closer to the two and lowered his
voice from his earlier preaching, "The marijuana folks usually
have some guys in dread locks named Bubukar from the Church of
the Sun God speaking in front of a crowd with a reggae band
behind him. Marijuana is the vice of the young, rebellious, and
minorities. In other words, people who don't vote." 

Once again, he let a pause build some anticipation.
"Prostitution, on the other hand, goes hand in hand with business
trips, conventions, and scotch and sodas: the vice of the middle
aged voter." 

"The middle aged male voter," said Maytag. 

"Fifty per cent might just be good enough!" replied a proud Lou
Cullen. 

Having let Mr. Cullen espouse his views, Maytag closed in on what
he really wanted to know. In the article he read, the author made
much of Cullen's implications that the government tolerated the
state of affairs. Possibly, the journalist implied, Cullen had
concrete information about police corruption. Maytag asked. 

"No, I'm happy to say I don't," replied Cullen. 

"Happy?" asked Stanton. 

"Of course," Lou said. "My whole argument is that the government
tolerates it, not through bribes, or anything illegal, but just
by apathy. And that apathy costs the citizens of the nation." 

"Before we let you go, Mr. Cullen," said Maytag, "Let me ask you
one more thing." 

"Shoot," replied Cullen. 

"Aren't you worried that your campaign might cause a backlash.
That the answer to that government apathy might be to establish a
war on prostitution, as it has a war on drugs." 

Lou chuckled a little bit and then stood up to leave. "No,
actually I'm not. In any case, that war on drugs hasn't exactly
been a real success now has it?" 

"Thank you again for speaking with us," said Stanton as she shook
his hand. 

"No problem," replied Cullen as he took the agents hands in turn.
"It was my pleasure. So, are you going to watch the show
tonight?" 

"Actually," said Stanton, "I'm washing my hair tonight." 

"I don't get that cable channel," offered Maytag, truthfully. 

"Well that shouldn't stop you," said Cullen, ignoring Stanton's
response and addressing Maytag personally. "The bartender in my
hotel recognized me and he says they watch the show there every
night. Capitol Suites, downtown, check it out." 

"I might just do that," said Maytag as they showed Cullen out of
the office and pointed towards the elevators. 

After he left, Stanton looked at Maytag and asked, "You aren't
really going to a bar to watch that show are you?" 

Maytag looked at her and smiled. "You're not really washing your
hair tonight, are you?" 

TWO 

In his apartment, Gerald Maytag had two paperbacks he had
recently bought: the last in Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicle
series, and a sci- fi novel. He had already regretted picking up
the Anne Rice story, because the works in the series had grown
worse. Instead, he took up the science fiction. 

It had attracted him because the dust jacket promised a near
future where contact has been made with aliens, but through
communications only. It looked to be good speculative fiction,
but after a few chapters it was little more than cyber punk
shoot 'em up. He grew disenchanted with it quickly. 

Restless, he decided to go to the bar and watch the talk show. At
around nine o'clock he dressed and headed out to the Capitol
Suites hotel. 

"Knaves of the Round Table" was an irreverent political debate
show hosted by Art Talbert, a comedian. He invited a diverse
panel to discuss hot button items, gave them free reign to wander
off on tangents, and he enjoyed very good ratings. The Bright
Channel, a cable network, broadcast the show live each week night
from the nation's Capitol. 

Although it made sense for the show to be on in the bar of the
hotel where guests stayed, it would not have surprised Maytag if
other local establishments made a point of tuning in to the show.
People inside the beltway of D.C. were always hungry for politics
and political humor, and "Knaves" had a good mix of both. 

The bar was mostly empty tonight, a chilly rain driving people
home early and keeping them there. Even hard congressional
working aides and pages would have made it an early night. 

Maytag sat at the bar an ordered a beer, just as the
introductions were made by Art Talbert. The panel that night
comprised Lou Cullen, Representative Pete Briggs, Republican from
Florida, the actress Julia Foust, and Art Talon himself. 

"What I want to know," Art Talon began with a wry grin, "Is just
how you spent enough money on hookers to go bankrupt?" 

The audience laughed, the camera showed Briggs giggling and
shaking his head, and then settled on Cullen. "I guess I just had
the bad combination of expensive tastes and a large appetite. I
could tell you stories, though." 

"I don't even think we can talk about those on cable," said
Talbert. 

Talbert quickly moved into a discussion of the legalization of
prostitution. Cullen made many of the same points he had that
afternoon, even stopping to make the same dramatic pauses. The
audience loved it. He was well practiced by now, and came across
as earnest. 

Briggs wanted to steer the conversation to the broader area of
failed liberal social policy, and succeeded into the commercial
break, with Foust and Talbert doing their best to counter. Maytag 
ordered another beer during the ads. 

When the program returned, Talbert said, "We're back, and we're
talking about the possibility of legalizing prostitution in the
United States. Here as a guest is Lou Cullen, who has filed suit
to that effect in the great state of Ohio. Lou, I have to ask
you, has anyone in the government shown any interest in your
ideas, or the suit." 

"Sure, Art," said Cullen, "Naturally I've met with judges and
other officials in Ohio, but just today I had an interesting
discussion with a pair of FBI agents." 

Maytag almost spit out his beer. 

"I hope they weren't going to arrest you for past activities,"
said Julia mischievously. 

"No," laughed Cullen, "But we did talk about the nature of the
sex industry and law enforcement in America." 

"Oh, no," said Maytag audibly. 

"Is something wrong?" said a woman next to Maytag. 

"I don't know yet", he said without looking. 

Maytag was transfixed, and so was Briggs it would seem. He
announced that he sat on the House Justice Committee and would be
interested to hear what the FBI had to say about the matter. 

"I wouldn't go so far as to say they were sympathetic, but I
think they appreciate that the law is not exactly enforced,"
Cullen stated. 

"Oh, shit," said Maytag. He increased the pace of his drinking. 

"So there is something wrong," said the voice again. 

Maytag turned to look at her. She looked to be around thirty
years of age, attractive, in a simple cotton dress red on top and
black on the bottom. She wore bright red lipstick and gold
earrings shaped like triangles. Eye liner and mascara made her
dark eyes darker, and her hair was a straw colored blonde. 

"You could say that," Maytag said. He then pointed to the
television and remarked, "I think he's talking about me up
there." 

Now the woman watched with equal interest, and they did not speak
again until the next commercial break. 

"So you're the FBI agent?" she asked. 

"Yes," Maytag conceded, "And I think that congressman s going to
be looking me up tomorrow, if he doesn't have an aide on the task
right now. I'd better get out of here." 

Maytag got off the bar stool, but stumbled somewhat. The woman
held him by the arm. 

"Whoa," she exclaimed, "How much have you had?" 

"Just a couple," said Maytag, as surprised as she was. "Maybe I
didn't have enough to eat or something." 

"Jack," said the woman addressing the bartender, "Get this guy a
sandwich. Do you like club sandwiches?" She addressed that
question to Maytag. 

"Yeah," said Maytag as he steadied himself. 

"Let's get a table," she said before standing and leading him to
a corner booth. "I'm Brittany." 

"Gerry." Maytag slumped into the booth. 

The sandwich arrived along with a cup of coffee. The bartender
walked away without a word. 

Maytag spoke, "I'm really okay. I think that was just a head rush
or something. Maybe the sudden stress." He attempted a laugh. 

"Well you should eat something anyway," said Brittany. "Can I ask
you a question, though? Did you really say those things about
hookers?" 

Maytag took a bite, chewed, and swallowed, and watched Brittany. 

"Are you a reporter?" he asked, wishing to avoid entrapment. 

"No," she said, "But I do listen to people's problems a lot." 

"Psychiatrist?" Maytag questioned before a second bite. 

"More of a therapist," she replied. 

Maytag finished chewing and spoke again, "I didn't say anything,
but I do understand his point of view. I know those laws get
applied selectively and that morality crimes are impossible to
police." 

"But you're going to take some heat for that aren't you?" 

"I imagine I will," said Maytag. 

He ate the rest of the overstuffed club sandwich in silence, as
the two watched more of the program. Often, Brittany would voice
approval or disagreement with one or two words. 

When he finished, he thanked her. "I guess I really did need
that." 

"No problem," she said with a grin, "I'm glad to help out the
nation's police. Actually, I feel bad that you're going to get in
trouble tomorrow. Would you let me buy you the sandwich." 

"Oh, I couldn't do that. Please, let me take care of that, and
your drinks," Maytag replied. 

"You are a gentleman," Brittany replied, assenting to his
request. Then after a brief pause, asked "Would you let me do
something for you?" 

"Sure, what's that?" 

Before his mouth puckered to make the 'whuh' sound, Brittany was
under the table. One hand was on his belt buckle, and the other
held him by the cloth of his shirt. 

"Brittany," he whispered towards the bulge of the table cloth
between his legs, "What the hell are you doing?" 

"Relax, Gerry," said the muffled voice under the table, "I know
what I'm doing." 

She certainly did. Maytag was taken by surprise, and he knew that
the last thing he needed now was an arrest and scandal for
indecent exposure. Nevertheless, as Brittany's hands loosened his
pants, Maytag's cock began to warm to the idea. Perhaps the beer
had a stronger effect than he realized. 

When Brittany moved to slide his pants down, he could see her
hands emerge from the tablecloth. Her nails were painted the same
bright red as her lips, and she wore a gold bracelet in the same
simple style as her earrings. 

The elastic band of his underwear caught on the head of his
swelling cock. After the garment war clear, the organ began to
flop back towards his torso until Brittany caught it in her
mouth. 

For the next few minute, Brittany gently sucked at his cock,
licked his balls, and pumped him with her fist. Furtively, Maytag
scanned the room. There was no one but the bartender, who seemed
oblivious to Brittany's disappearing act. 

When Brittany had his cock rigid, she began to stroke it with a
steady effort. Using both her hand and her mouth, she slid along
Maytag's pole with a deliberate and even pace. Her mouth was hot
and she was not shy about making the process wet and sloppy. 

Maytag wished he could see the blond hair bobbing up and down,
and the bright red lips sliding back and forth on his flesh.
Otherwise, all his favorite blow job qualities were present: a
good deal of pressure at the base, a warm and wet mouth tugging
at him, and a free hand wandering over his hips and lower
abdomen. Only the buzzing at his chest seemed out of place. 

"Oh, shit," he thought as he realized his cellular phone was
responsible for the slight electric hum. He reached into his
jacket, removed the phone, and answered. 

"Maytag," he said. He had placed his hand on Brittany's head to
encourage her to keep sucking, but his assurance was not needed.
Brittany not only ignored the possible interruption, she
quickened her strokes. 

"It's Stanton," said the familiar voice on the end of the line,
"Did you watch that show?" 

Maytag answered, "Uh-huh." 

"I feel like going down to the Capitol Suites and strangling that
twerp. Damn right we weren't sympathetic. Now we're going to have
to explain this to Assistant Director Schenk and maybe beyond." 

"Mmm," murmured Maytag. 

"Look," said Stanton, "I need to get to bed. Although I probably
won't sleep. I'll talk to you tomorrow." 

"Okay," said Maytag. He turned the phone off and let his arm fall
to the seat cushion. 

Brittany continued her work, and he soon gushed into her mouth.
The orgasm was intense, and Maytag found himself slamming his
fist onto the table at its peak, rattling the serving ware. 

She wiggled out from under the table, and then straightened her
dress. Maytag stared at her with mouth agape, and she answered
the question he had yet to ask. 

"Well, I had to do something for a law man with the courage to
stand up for my profession. I hope you don't mind. I mean, who
else is going to blow you under a table within twenty minutes of
meeting you." 

"So that's the therapy you do?" asked Maytag. 

"Yes, but like I said, that was a freebie. So I hope that doesn't
step on your ethics or anything." 

"Thank you for your concern," said Maytag. 

"I just wish I could do the same for that Cullen guy," said
Brittany. 

"He is staying at this hotel, you know," Maytag informed
Brittany. 

"Really? Maybe I can call up a couple of friends and show him a
good time." 

"He's bankrupt," Maytag said.

"But he has such a worthy cause."

"On the house?" Maytag asked.

"Or in the shower," Brittany said. "Wherever."

END
----------------------------------------------------------------------

I hope you enjoyed that, and I'd love to hear your comments.
There is an anonymous e-mail form (and more stories) at 
http://www.jimmy-hat.com , or you can mail me 
directly at jimmy@jimmy-hat.com

Anyone wishing to charge fees for access to this material, 
through any media or publication, must receive the written
permission of Jimmy Hat.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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