About ten minutes go by and then I hear a knock at the door of my room. I look up to see a tall Black man in a business suit with a briefcase.“Welc...me back Lucas.” He speaks with a thick British accent. “Where...where am I? Who are you?”The guy smiles and introduces himself. “My name is Jeffrey Font. I’m an old friend of Violet Taylor’s. You’ve been in a coma for five months!” I’m laying there trying to figure out what the last thing I could remember was. All of a sudden, my mind flashes. If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is. . practically pleading for it already. They can’t hardly wait,” Charles noted, “but we should still set some boundaries ... otherwise we could end up with a society that fucks nine year olds or stupid shit like that.”“Or worse, true. I have been torn about allowing any breeding or mating at their age, but they are sixteen now, and face it, the age of consent laws are moot. Besides which, many states allowed it at sixteen and my own native Canada permitted it at fourteen, Richard’s present age.. Cheryl said, “That would be a lot of work.”Abby shrugged her shoulders and said, “I figure that I could do a walkthrough of a house in less than ten minutes. All I would be doing is checking the windows, make sure that the heat is still working, and see if there were any obvious signs of damage. I could do about five houses an hour if they are close together. Forty houses would be an eight hour day. I could go through the houses once every three days or so.”“What about when a storm comes?”.