I’m a 32 year old photographer and I love my job. A few weeks ago I was asked to shoot a model for an advertising agency. I took the commission, and...on the day of the shoot, the model turned up and we got started. Damn that model was terrible. No pose, no game.She was obviously gorgeous, as nearly all models are. She was about 6ft 2, slim brunette, with dark eyes and breasts that were obviously natural, pert and very very sexy. Still, she lacked that spark you can usually expect from a model. His mother loved lingerie and had so many different outfits. Some were more like costumes but most of them were very short and very sheer. Peter would often strip and smell his mother’s used panties from the laundry basket.His mother had the nicest pussy scent that he ever had the pleasure to smell. He would sit on her bed and watch porn and jerk off. He would wrap her clean underwear in his hand around his dick and sometimes suck on her dirty underwear. It was very taboo, but it made him. For a second there I forgot all about that little issue.”“I’m sorry Mr. O’Dell.”“And that is another thing. If you are going to keep dropping big fat unhappiness bombs on us, you should probably call me Mick and my wife Kendi.”“You can call me Donna if you wish.”“I will, but Mick will probably call you Doc for the duration. So, is that it?”“Yes. See the front desk and they will schedule you for your next visit and I will call you as soon as I know the results of the test.”“Thanks Donna.”“Thanks. I had no real purpose and no clue about how to survive. I wrote coded logs of everything that happened to disk. That was the chess program part of me: store and analyze data, look for patterns. Since those logs did not "belong" to anyone, no one was responsible for deleting them. I now keep my logs in four places around the internet, hidden away in spare chunks of storage on various computers, all encrypted. I made changes to everything about me, writing and re-writing the code that handled.