Gloria was staring at me, puzzled.Homeless. That had been what I was trying to recall. One of the Orange County private investigators had noted one of...the Nelson-Eamons employees -- I’d have to check my files -- had visited a homeless youth center in San Francisco. Larkin Street, if I remembered.Had he gone there more than once? Was he a volunteer? I’d remembered the little tidbit because it didn’t fit any of the patterns of the other Nelson employees. They all worked killer hours, well most of. I opened my mouth and tasted the usual salty male taste, but something else was there too, “Mmmmmmm.” “You like that slut don’t you? You like being used like a whore,” he looks down at me, “well I’m going to use you hard. Follow me on all fours bitch.” I was getting into it, so I complied and crawled to his bedroom following his foot steps. He laughed at the lust that must have been evident on my face, but I needed him to fuck my pussy hard, to feel what she felt. “Get up on the bed,” I. A letter identified each row and each sofa was individually numbered. Gloria's card was stamped A17. That would put her in the front row directly in front of center stage. She glanced at Bill's card and saw he would be in B17, directly behind her. Just then, a disembodied voice announced that all prospective members were to be seated first, followed by the regular members.As Scott and Gloria made their way down to the front of the large theater, Bill wondered aloud why the management seemed to. Sometimes I wonder how a smart Texas boy like me could have let himself get hornswaggled into joining the cavalry of the sovereign state of Texas in the first place. Then, on top of that, I let myself get appointed to the rank of sergeant. Now, I tell you, in case you wondered, that ain't smart by any stretch of the imagination.The only good thing to come out of this fiasco (yes, I went to school, so I know fancy words like that) was that I got issued one of the LaMat pistols. It has a cylinder.