She was my middle daughter. Nineteen and turning into a clone of her older sister. At least my youngest, Ingrid, wasn't involved. She was an energetic...girl. She could bounce off the walls, but she didn't usually cause problems. I passed her in the living room with her feet curled up, her black hair framing her cute face. She had her hair in pigtails. “I bet Rafaela has that top in her closet still,” said Ingrid. She stared at her phone. Eighteen and acting so wise now. Like she hadn't been my. Well the men did, we saw a lot of young women or older teenagers. I was issuing orders to move our position to the south when one of the Royal Guards appeared, "these are our supplies."I snorted as I looked at the crates we had brought with us, "no. We brought these with us."He looked like he was in his late twenties and grinned and poked me in the chest, "I say they belong to us."I looked at his big hand before I looked up into his face, "do not do that."His grin widened and I saw several of. Among the things I love are music and big tits, and in San Francisco I could indulge in both my hobbies. So whenever one of my favorite bands played such legendary places like The Warfield, Slim's or The Fillmore, I would make sure to get into town early and spend a little time, and cash, at the infamous Market Street Cinema in downtown SF.It was during one of my first forays into the cinema's shadowy depths, that I became aware of the practice and dare I say, the art of lap dancing. Now for. It was far too stern a discipline for me and I welcomed the thought of being free once more.Mrs. Mahmoud had told me, “You have not suffered enough to be one of us, Mister Patel. I fear you will bring disgrace on the cause and never succeed in rising up against the wickedness of this decadent society. You are far too concerned with the “collateral damage” to these heathen than in righting the wrongs done to our people.”She had been spot on in her assessment of my inner thoughts and I was.