"Not at all," Patricia said.I took my patch out of my pocket and showed it to her and asked what she thought. She liked it and I handed it to her and ...he patch turned black."What happened?" The patch is genetically encoded, only the person Kristy assigns it to can wear it," I said."Wow, that is cool," she said."After lunch why don't you and your team get set up with uniforms and Kristy will get you some patches?" I have been watching the surveillance feeds I think almost everyone is gone from. I loved the way it felt and pretended it was Scott fucking me. Scott lived with his grandfather Vern because his mother had died when he was younger and he never knew his father. Vern was 69, muscular with a barrelled chest full of gray hair. He was always dark tanned because he too was a swimmer and always worked in the yard without a shirt. He was an attractive man but never took the time to date. He and I got along great and he helped me with my swimming techniques. He used to walk around. My entire body arches to your touch, losing my restraint my fingers come up and run the length of your back. My fingertips attempt to memorize the curves, the sensations. I feel the fever of your lips leave my skin slightly, and the warmth of your breath replace them as you whisper to me. ‘So long I have watched your movements in your garden. The way you stop to admire each new bud before moving on to your stone bench beneath the tree. And often I have listened from afar, your voice a mere. Opening the door of the cupboard, he removed a large jar of Vaseline, and carried it back to the table. Susan was moaning softly, still crying. Peter stood behind her, and opening the top of the jar, used the index and middle fingers of his right hand to scoop out a portion of the lubricant. He moved his fingers to the tiny orifice that was Susan’s rear aperture and applied the dollop of petroleum jelly around the hole. Susan stopped whimpering, as she felt the cool jelly being applied to that.