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From: "Shannon" <PunkyGirl04@gmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} A Teen Slut's Saga, Chapter 1 (M/f, incest, non-consensual)
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Date: Sun, 31 Jul 2005 17:10:02 -0400
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=====
THIS story should only be read by adults who understand the difference
between fiction and reality.
=====
This story has lots of edgy sex (edgy = if-it-was-real-it'd-be-illegal)
involved. But they're not real!!! So enjoy with a clear conscience if
you're mature enough!
=====
To see all of my stories, and participate in a cool online community,
check out www.ffstories.com, my 100% free story review and collection
website!
=====

A Teen Slut's Saga
By PunkyGirl

Chapter One: It Just is Not Fair
(M/f, incest, non-consensual)

Life was being completely unfair to George Torch.

He sipped his beer with this thought in his head, his eyes staring
blankly at the television set. It was a Saturday night, almost eleven,
and here he was alone in his house, his empty house, feeling depressed
and angry and horny and alone. His wife, Mary, was visiting her sister
in the country. His daughter, Amy, was out past curfew. And his friends
were probably at the bowling alley or the titty bar, having a great
time, while he was stuck at home where he was supposed to be watching
that no good brat.

It was completely unfair. His wife had been visiting her sister's a
lot recently. Three months ago she'd gone to visit her for the first
time in years; since then she was spending practically every other
weekend with the bitch. And of course she never invited him, always
insisted he not go actually, not that he'd want to spend any time
with that fucked up family of hers anyway.

Amy was another matter. His 13-year-old daughter should have been home
by sunset. That was the rule. But now it was nearing eleven and the
brat still wasn't home. He had no way of getting a hold of her, had
no idea who she was with.

It wasn't that George was worried. Far from it. He was angry. Angry
at his wife, who he was sure had found some other guy who she was most
likely fucking at this very moment. Angry at his daughter, who defied
him at every turn and constantly rebelled against any form of
discipline he dished out. Angry at himself, too, for ever having taken
the girl. He should have just let her mom have custody, he now
realized. And George was angry at himself for marrying Mary when Amy
was a toddler: at the time he'd figured it would make raising her
easier. The idea of constant and easy pussy had been appealing,
too-Mary had a hot body and loved to fuck.

The problems with Mary had been going on for, well, ever since the
wedding day. He'd had to smack her around a lot more than he'd
imagined to keep her in line. It took years of constant pressure from
him to break her down into a good wife. But now she was out there,
fucking some other guy, probably getting set to leave him. He'd
broken her but now she was fixed because some fucking asshole had told
her she deserved better, or some shit like that. What fucking bullshit.

And Amy, damn. The girl had always been hard to control. For years a
good spanking or, if she was especially defiant, a few smacks with the
belt had set her straight. But ever since the little brat had grown
those little boobs of hers, ever since she'd started middle school,
ever since she'd become a hormone-ridden barely pubescent teenager,
well, nothing seemed to work.

He cracked open another beer and finally noticed the TV. Weather
report, breaking news. Severe Thunderstorm, news at eleven. No shit, he
thought. He could hear the rain outside accompanied by rolling thunder.
A good old-fashioned summer storm to clean the city.

George cracked open another beer and gulped down half of it in one
take. What had he ever done to deserve this shit? Nothing. He'd
worked hard his whole life. He'd gone to war for his country, had
seen friends die, had killed a whole lot of gooks. He paid his taxes
and kept a roof over his family's head and fed them three squares a
day. To be treated like this, with no respect, was total bullshit.

A flash of his naked wife getting hammered by some strange dude entered
his mind, and he clenched his fist. What a cunt. What a stupid, lying,
ungrateful cunt. Since that first visit to her sister's three months
ago she'd acted like her pussy was too good for him. He knew why. And
she knew he knew why, and she rubbed it in his face by declaring
practically every weekend that she would be visiting her sister again.

Her "sister". Code for "a hot stud who fucks me better than you
ever did". What a bitch. Divorce was right around the corner, he
could feel it. And that would mean alimony, probably, unless she
married the dude she would be leaving him for right away. What a
country-he was going to pay his double-crossing, louse of a wife for
leaving him?

Life was being mean and rough and unforgiving in every way possible.
With every sip of beer George grew angrier and hornier and more
depressed.

The horniness was something he could at least take care of. He had half
a mind to call an escort, but George hadn't paid for pussy since the
war. During the war, paying for pussy was normal. None of them
chink-sluts gave it up for free, back then. But he might as well just
jack off. Why pay for pussy when he should be getting it for free? Mary
should be here, fucking him.

He stood from his recliner and stumbled to his bedroom. Thunder boomed
outside the small house as he rumbled through his closet and grabbed
the first DVD from his stack of porno movies then made his way back to
the living room.

This was a good one, he realized immediately when the movie began.
He'd seen others in the series, and these girls were some of the
hottest yet. George had been buying porn for years, and had a huge
collection: movies, magazines, books. Hell, the only reason he ever
bought a computer was because of all the nasty-ass shit he'd heard
you could find on the internet. But nothing, he thought, beat a movie
like this.

Young, fresh looking women. A group of large, foreboding men. The plot
was always the same: the bitch wanted something, the first guy told her
to suck his cock. She'd get mad, disgusted, but then, ultimately, do
it. She'd get on her knees, she'd take his thing, and reluctantly
take it into her mouth. But the man would just laugh. He'd grab her
head, gag her on his prick. Later he'd bend her over, spank her ass,
make her beg for more. Then he'd invite his friends over, and by this
point the girl was so dominated and broken down that she would do
anything they wanted.

George hated the pornos that tried to have a plot, or any semblance of
romance. He liked these, the rougher ones, the ones where the men were
men and the women were sluts. Halfway into the first scene he had his
cock out and was stroking it with one hand and sipping a beer with his
other.

Another boom of thunder from outside. And then he heard a different
sort of "boom". It was the sound of a car door being slammed.
George sat up quickly, alert now, and shoved his thick hard member back
into his pants. He didn't bother to turn the TV off. He stood and
marched toward the front door.

He caught Amy there, trying to stealthily enter the house. The brat
probably figured she could sneak in, get to her room, and fall asleep,
her stupid old man none the wiser.

"Where the FUCK have you been?" he demanded.

She jumped in surprise at his sudden appearance, her large eyes going
wide with shock. She looked afraid. Good.

"I'm just, been out, I mean, uh, my friend was driving and we got
sorta lost and..."

"Save it," George simmered. Suddenly he smelled something. He
leaned in close to his daughter, who was soaking wet from the rain.

"You been drinking?" he asked coldly.

She stumbled to the side. Her clumsiness and slurred voice gave it
away: she was drunk. Just 13-years-old and smelling like a wino.

"Get to your room," he demanded, his voice on the verge of
exploding. "You're fucking grounded for a long time. Get to your
fucking ROOM!"

But the girl didn't hear him; she was laughing drunkenly. She
stumbled forward, leaving the front door hanging open, and grabbed at
him to keep from falling. She was soaking wet, and her small, budding
breasts were visible through her drenched white t-shirt. His fists were
clenched so tight they hurt.

She staggered away, toward the stairs, and nearly fell again. She
turned at him and laughed some more. She said something like, "I'm
not fucking drunk! Jesus, I'm not drunk!"

Every syllable was rolled, slurred, and forced. She was so hammered she
had no idea what she was saying.

He watched her stumble up the stairs, and then into her bedroom. He
heard a loud thump, and then more laughter, and then the sound of
springs being depressed as she undoubtedly fell onto her mattress.

George fumed there at the landing for a moment, then turned around and
slammed the door shut. The rain was pounding against the windows. He
made his way back to the recliner and grabbed another beer from the
case resting right next to it.

Tomorrow, he thought, Tomorrow I'll bring back the belt. Yeah. It's
been too long. I've let her get away with too much. Now she's
drinking? Thirteen and drinking? I'll wake her up early, so she'll
be hung over and miserable, and bend her over my lap, and beat the hell
out of her ass...

His hard-on had returned, but it wasn't because of the movie. The
thought of spanking his little girl again, for the first time in a
couple years, was making him hard as a pipe. The image of her
staggering into the house, her tight white shirt drenched with rain and
her tiny little boobs clearly visible through it, well, that image
wouldn't go away either.

His little girl. The little brat. He should have let her mom keep her,
shouldn't have demanded custody. If he'd never kept her, he
wouldn't have married Mary, who was out fucking some guy right this
instant. He'd be out with his friends, picking up hot sluts and doing
to them what these guys in this movie were doing right now.

His attention returned to the screen. The bitch was moaning, begging
for more as one guy fucked her from behind and another spurted his cum
onto her youthful face.

Still, though, it was the thought of Amy, his Amy, that was keeping him
hard. What had she been up to tonight? A 13-year-old little hottie,
getting drunk and staying out late? Maybe she'd sucked off some guy,
the way this porn-girl was doing on TV. Or, shit, who knows? The way
kids were nowadays, maybe she'd been fucked. Maybe she'd fucked a
few guys, even.

He slammed down his beer and began stroking himself again. God, it'd
been a long time since he'd been this hard. Images of his little girl
getting fucked flooded his brain. He'd just seen her tits tonight,
through that shirt. First time he'd seen his little girl naked since
she'd been a toddler. He wondered what her pussy looked like: was it
bald still? If she had pubes, did she shave them?

Amy was anything but innocent, that much he knew. He'd found missing
porn mags in her room before, he'd gone onto her computer and seen
the filth she'd downloaded. Mary had told him this was normal, and
not to embarrass her with his discoveries.

"She's just curious," his wife had said. "She's at a curious
age."

Curious my ass, he thought. She was definitely an out-of-control, horny
little slut. She'd probably be knocked up in a couple years. She'd
been drunk tonight, Jesus! She'd probably gotten fucked, she'd
probably sucked off at least one or two guys...

George nearly came as he thought these things, but he was good at
holding himself off. He didn't want to cum. The movie was going to
the next scene. Maybe he should watch it. Then again, his little girl
was passed out upstairs.

He'd seen her tits tonight. But he hadn't really seen her tits.
He'd seen them through her wet shirt. Maybe he deserved a peek, a
look at what the boys she was fucking got to see?

George stood up, then, and slammed down the rest of the beer. He was
drunk, and he knew it. He should probably just go to bed. But even as
he thought this, he left his cock hanging out in the open as he
staggered toward the stairs, and then made his way up them.

He paused at the door. It was the door to Amy's room. The light was
on, but no sound could be heard from within.

She's my daughter, he thought. She's mine! If I want to see her
tits, what's the fucking harm? Just one quick look. Just one little
peek, and I'll be set to jerk off and go to sleep. And besides, she
was passed out. No way she'd know.

And after all, she was his! She was his daughter! So what if she did
know? He turned the doorknob.

The room's décor belied his daughter's sluttiness. Her carpet was
a light pink, the walls were a light pink, her dresser and desk and bed
were all painted white. On the walls were posters of ponies and
boy-bands and female teeny-boppers. All of it was lit right now in the
soft glow of a single lamp on her nightstand. If he didn't know that
the computer sitting on her cute little desk was filled with
pornographic movies and pictures and stories and more, well, George
might have felt a paternal instinct to tuck her in, kiss her forehead,
and leave her in peace.

Instead the drunken man made a few cautious steps forward as he stared
at his little girl. She was passed out on her bed, lying atop her
disheveled covers. She way on her belly, her arms brought up around her
head, her long red hair covering her face and back.

To his disappointment, but not surprise, she was still fully clothed.
She'd simply staggered to her bed and plopped down on it and
summarily passed out. He could hear heavy breathing, which was rhythmic
with sleep. The only other sound was the booming of thunder and the
incessant panging of rain against the windows.

When he got to her bed his shadow fell across the form of his daughter.
She seemed so small, so delicate. She seemed almost innocent. His cock
was still sticking out from his pants, but who cared? No one knew. She
certainly didn't know. It was so hard that George felt like he was 18
again, back in Vietnam raping one of the chink-sluts in a battle's
aftermath during the last year of the war.

He went down to one knee and stared at his daughter. Just a peek at her
tits, he thought. I deserve a fucking peek, he thought. One peek and I
can jack off. A good man deserves a good cum. Fucking wife out fucking
some other guy, right now, and this little slut acting like she's all
that, shit, I deserve just a little peek, just a little peek to get a
good cum later. It's the least I deserve!

When his big, trembling hands made contact with her shoulders, George
inhaled deeply. Then he turned her over. The little girl, just shy of
five feet tall, rolled over easily. What's more, she didn't make a
peep. She continued to breathe slowly, heavily, rhythmically. Now she
was on her back. Now he got another look at those tits, still visible
through her tight little white t-shirt. This time he noticed what that
shirt had written on it.

The words were in large, bold, pink cursive. They read: "I'm cute?
No shit."

George felt the anger boil within him again. Who bought her this shirt?
Mary, her step-mom? George didn't think it was funny. He considered
it a slap in the face. Such fucking arrogance, coming from such a young
girl. It was the same arrogance that had let her laugh at him while he
yelled at her less than an hour before.

Where do these fucking bitches get off? he thought. Well, it's coming
off, and now.

It had to come off. The little barely pubescent brat had sealed her
fate by wearing such an arrogant shirt. Without pity, without remorse,
George grabbed the hem of the wet shirt and pulled it up his
daughter's body. When it got to the arms and head he struggled a
moment, but suddenly he didn't care if she awoke, so he got rough.
And the shirt came off. And then, there it was. There they were.

A trickle of pre-cum leaked from his still raging hard-on at the sight
of his daughter's now naked tits. They were bigger than he'd
thought; maybe he'd just been blind. But set free, god, they seemed
much too large for such a small girl. Perfectly formed, and defying
gravity, they still pointed up though she was on her back. They were
probably pushing b-cup, little orange-sized balls of perfect tit-meat.
They were creamy white, a little damp from the wet shirt, and the small
pink nipples that capped them were actually hard.

George couldn't stop staring at them. God, are they perfect! he
thought.

How many guys have seen these tits? he wondered. Are these the reason
you think you can defy me? Do you use these to get whatever you want,
whenever you want? Do you know their power, what they can get you from
men, is that why you don't wear a bra? Shit!

When his hand almost touched them, he stopped. That wasn't the plan.
I was just going to look, he reminded himself. Just a peek, remember?

He glanced up to her face. Her lips were slightly parted, her red hair
was damp and strands of it crossed her face. Such a cute face, he
thought. She almost looks innocent. I could take a picture of this
face, send it to friends, and they'd say I was the father of an
angel.

Then he looked back at her tits. Some guy touched these tonight, George
thought. Some guy, or maybe a bunch of guys, got you drunk, and you let
them touch you. And you knew they would be touching them, that's why
you didn't wear a bra. God knows I've bought you bras, so you have
them, you just didn't want to wear them.

His left hand, then, came down on her right breast. So slow. So softly.
And it happened so casually that he didn't even notice at first. But
then he noticed his large hand, because it had engulfed her small tit.
And then the sensation of her flesh registered throughout his body:
God, how fucking wonderful.

She's my daughter, he told himself. And then he thought: she's my
daughter! She's mine. She's fucking mine.

He began to knead her boob with his hand, and his eyes were on her
face. She was completely unaware. She was drunk, passed out, his little
girl passed out and drunk and unaware that her own dad was feeling her
up. So be it.

His other hand came up, and the kneading became more forceful. His
little girl's breathing didn't change. She was completely out.

Damn, George thought. Okay. It was time to leave. It was time to go
back to his room and call it a night. He'd seen her tits, he was
currently groping them-a few strokes of his shaft and he'd have an
orgasm that would rival even his 20-year-old self. But.

But.

But he was still curious about her pussy. He looked down at her legs.
They were so slender and almost awkward looking; her shorts were wet
with the rain that continued to rattle the bedroom window from outside.
She had kicked off her shoes before passing out; her little feet were
at an awkward angle.

He couldn't help himself. His hands went to the clasp of her shorts,
and moments later he had them off. Of course, she hadn't been wearing
panties. Now his red-headed little girl was completely nude, still
completely passed out, still completely unaware.

He had to stand up, even though he staggered; he had to look down at
her, his little girl, so naked and vulnerable and hot and sexy. She was
only thirteen and her tits were small but damn, they could be b-cup
soon, and damn, they had that pointy, awkward look that was so fucking
sexy. And yeah, she was his daughter but her legs were milky white and
smooth, a little too long for her body, a little too skinny and awkward
but so damned inviting. And yes, her cute little nose inhaled slowly,
and her soft lips parted to exhale, and she looked like an angel, but
she reeked of booze.

"Mine," he said aloud, just as the thought once again entered his
head. She was his, totally his. He could have let her mom have her, but
he'd taken her, he'd provided for her, he'd married an adulterous
slut for her. She was his. And he thought these things as he stared
from her tits slowly down to her pussy.

It was pink, like the room. Pink and barely fuzzed-she probably
shaves, he thought, when he noticed some stubble around the edges of
the patch. Either that or she was just beginning to fill out. But
either way the cunt itself was still naturally bald. It was a bit wet,
from the rain-soaked shorts, glistening like a damp sponge.

It felt like a sponge, too, once he touched it. He was still standing
above her. His breathing was now heavy and coarse. He stared at her
cute, oval face, waiting for a reaction, waiting for her to wake up,
and wondering what he'd do if she did. But her breathing didn't
change. His finger was gently sliding up and down the folds of her
pussy and she was oblivious to it all.

Soft and spongy, that's how she felt. Had it not been for the wet
shorts he'd just taken off her, she'd have been completely dry.
There was no reaction from his touch: her arms stayed limp at her
sides, her lips remained gently parted while she exhaled. She has no
idea I'm doing this to her, he thought.

The 51-year-old man no longer felt like he could cum with just a few
strokes anymore. He'd somehow transcended that point. His cock was
still rigid, still hard and pointing out from his unzipped jeans as he
stood above his passed out slut of a daughter. But as he slid his
finger more and more over his little girl's pussy, he realized that
jacking off wasn't going to satisfy him tonight.

"Mmmmmm."

George paused at this sound that suddenly issued from his daughter's
lips. It was like a sigh, or a simple exhaling of air, but there was
real recognition in it, too. Something carnal. Something wanton. His
naked little girl was enjoying his probing finger, even if she wasn't
aware of it at all on a conscious level.

This suspicion was confirmed when he felt the 13-year-old pussy grow
wet with its own juices for the first time. Suddenly it became easier
and easier to press his thick finger between his daughter's legs,
legs that were instinctively parting themselves, legs like nothing
he'd ever seen.

George had never fingered a girl so young. Once, back in 'Nam, he'd
fucked a girl who'd he'd been told was only fourteen. It had cost
him thirty American dollars, in Hanoi, but when he'd met her the
chink-of-a-girl had appeared 20-something to his eyes. He'd fucked
her anyway (he'd paid for it after all), but never really believed
her advertised age.

This was different. This was a girl he'd seen being born, a girl
he'd fought to keep despite her mom's insistence that she be with
her. George knew that Amy was only thirteen. He'd raised her. She was
his daughter.

His stupid, brat-of-a-slut daughter. A daughter who was now writhing
subtly, but uncontrollably, at his probing finger.

The young girl's cunt clenched that finger, as he stood there probing
her. Her eyes remained closed and her tits, ever-so-slightly, jiggled
as he stroked his finger it in and out of her young tight twat. She was
cumming, he realized. His little girl, drunk and passed out, was having
a fucking orgasm.

But what about him?

Mary, this girl's step-mom, his wife, was probably creaming her
juices around a thick hard rod right now. And Amy, his little girl, was
also enjoying a good finger-fuck, even if she was too drunk and passed
out to realize it. But he had a hard-on that he wasn't going to be
able to satisfy. It was so unfair.

Life had been so unfair to George. His cock was hard and thick and
ready. And this little girl, with her budding teeny breasts and soft,
pubescent curves, was the only thing in the world right now that could
make life fair again.

"Fuck it," he said aloud. With that he unbuckled his jeans and
pulled them down to his ankles. He kept his eye on her as he did this.
Her lips had parted even more during her orgasm; she looked like an
angel.

George, naked from the waist down, crawled carefully onto her bed. She
was still sound asleep. He wanted her like that when he did what he
suddenly knew he had to do.

He was above her, now, on her bed, his large 51-year-old frame towering
above her small 13-year-old body. She was snoring, though. She was
actually kind of whimpering, too. So when George took his naked cock
and placed it against the folds of her vagina, he didn't care.

So what if she was his daughter? She was his daughter. She was his.

And her pussy was wet, from the fingering. And her legs were already
spread. He stared at her parted lips, so soft and thick; at her arching
eyebrows; at her wavy red hair. And his hands came down onto her tits
once he let go of his cock and allowed it to slide, finally, into her
13-year-old snatch.

It was easily the tightest pussy he'd ever felt. Even that one girl,
back during the war, the one he'd raped at the insistence of his
comrades, had felt looser. That fuck had been a dry, rough affair.
Amy's cunt, right now, was tight and rough but it was also very ready
to receive a cock.

His hands came down on her shoulders. The sound of the incessant rain
pounding against the windows filled his ears as he pushed his
51-year-old prick into his little girl. It was slow going: her pussy
was impossibly tight, and warm, and shoving his cock into it turned out
to be quite a chore. After he got a few inches in, she began to gasp.
He stared at her face and saw her lips parting and showing off those
amazing white teeth. His beefy, wrinkled hands kneaded her small tits
again. He was fucking his little girl in her own bed and it was the
best fuck he'd ever had.

Finally, all nine inches of his thick cock were inside her small body.
He looked down. It was quite a sight. His long curly pubes pressed
against her fresh 13-year-old skin, his cock buried inside of her to
the hilt. He took a moment to rest, a moment to enjoy the incredible
feeling of this fresh, young pussy.

His daughter's breathing had picked up, but she was definitely still
unconscious. She had to be. But suddenly he wished she was awake so
that he could tell her, "This is what you get for defying me, this is
your punishment!"

He began to pull out of her. It was time to begin the real fucking: her
pussy had grown used to his size. She was ready.

He began slowly, keeping his eyes on her expression while he thrust in
and out of her. Her breathing had picked up even more, and her soft
lips were making that oval expression again. She was enjoying this, and
he grinned at that. Little sluts always enjoyed their punishments.

Thrust after thrust, he violated her. God she was tight. But even
though she was passed out and completely unaware of what was going on,
she had begun to unconsciously pant with each inward stroke he made.

Her pussy felt like wet velvet. Each time he thrust into her he felt
ready to explode, but he couldn't.

She was completely limp underneath him, and he fucked her like a rag
doll, each thrust jiggling her tits and moving her small light body
back and forth on her mattress. Minutes passed, and he was in ecstasy.
After ten minutes of pummeling the defenseless, passed-out girl, of
thrusting his hard cock in and out of her tight little cunt, he finally
felt ready to explode.

Then, suddenly, her legs wrapped around him, and her arms came alive.
They draped over his hairy shoulders. Her mouth parted even more. Moans
came crying from her lungs.

"Amy?" he panted, turned on even more at the thought that his
daughter had awoken.

But there was no response. She was still completely passed out. Her
eyes were closed and she mouth was motionless.

His balls began to tighten. He felt his rod harden even more. And
knowing that he couldn't possibly get her pregnant (he'd had a
vasectomy just after her birth), George Torch pushed his cock all the
way inside her once more and let it explode. He grunted and she groaned
as he pumped her little tummy full of his sperm.

After he finished cumming and pulled out, he studied his daughter's
expression. Her legs were no longer wrapped around him, and her arms
had fallen back to her sides, too. She was still completely passed out.
She'd probably wake in the morning thinking she'd had a wet dream,
or something.

But she had cum in her now, he realized. He could probably drag her to
the bathroom, wash her out, and bring her back, without her ever
waking. But what was the point? What's done was done.

And, he told himself, the girl was a little fucking whore of a slut. If
she noticed the cum in her twat the next morning, she'd probably
figure it was from one of the myriad of guys she'd fucked that night.
Because she was clearly a slut. A total slut. She'd probably banged
three or four guys at once, like that porn starlet in the movie he'd
been watching earlier. She probably banged three or four guys a night.

At least, that's what George told himself. Thinking of her as a whore
prevented any guilt of what he'd done from sinking in.

He crawled off the bed. He was totally winded. At some point he'd
torn off his shirt; he found it and pulled it on. After putting on his
jeans, too, he stared at his little brat again.

His cum was leaking out of her abused, reddened pussy. Her tits heaved
ever so slightly in time were her breathing. Her expression was one of
peaceful oblivion.

"Good," he said softly, nodding his head and speaking to no one.
"Good. That was right, that was right."

He stumbled out of the room and to his own. Moments later he, too, had
passed out.

==================
END OF CHAPTER ONE
==================
SEE all currently posted chapters of this stories, my other stories,
plus find reviews to similar stories I like at:
www.ffstories.com
...a 100% free collection and review website run by me, Shannon!
===================
IF (for some strange reason) you want to distribute this story without
my consent, well, there's nothing I can do about it is there? Frankly I
wouldn't mind either. But a simple e-mail in advance would make me feel
wanted!: PunkyGirl04@gmail.com
====================
PLEASE e-mail me with any comments/advice/mistakes... feedback makes
the 
world go round! :P
=====================

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