"Somehow you don't strike me as an infantryman." No." He smiled. "I'm in supply. I'm a spec-two at the division warehouse." Really!" she exclaimed, su...denly interested. "What's your job there?" I keep track of stuff," he replied laconically."What kind of stuff?" Everything from bolts to howitzers." I suppose some things do go astray despite your efforts, don't they?" Yes, ma'am, but we try to keep the losses to a minimum."They rode on in renewed silence. The lights of La Estrada shimmered on. You get up and move to the over side of the bed. My sweaty body sags over the pillows, but you still have a raging hard-on to my disbelief. “Get on your back whore!” I must have moved too slow because your powerful arms forcefully push me on my back. Grabbing me by my fleshy ankles and right under my high-heels you drag me to the edge of the bed, then you fold me over, firmly pushing my legs back, so my feet are dangling straight in the air. “Being your Master is a wonderful thing, I get to. .. yeah, better. Some paint started to run. I reached to stop the runs, but hesitated. No, it's all right. Let the paint run. Let it take on a life of its own. No, no sharp edges.A palette knife feathered the edges.What fuels rage? Fear. Rage starts with fear. Is Sara full of rage beneath her fear and depression? Or is her fear and depression the result of rage?Try another direction. Cobalt violet. Yes! Texture. I need texture. Sand? Maybe. No, not there. Over... yes. Careful. Feather it. Good.. " She smiled sadly and patted my hand. "You're a good friend."We finished our drinks in silence. * * *The walk back to the house took us around the art college. The college itself was the same kind of bland concrete block that most of the buildings around the university were. The only good thing about it was that the area round the back was used as storage for sculptures. I don't know if they were successful ones that had been put on display or failures.