I recognized that backyard. It belonged to my Aunt Christine, Mom’s sister…that explains it.The accompanying note asked me if I could come for a v...sit and possibly spend the night. I replied that I didn’t drive.Within an hour she asked me if she could come to my place and spend the night. She said that sending me pictures made her awfully horny. I decided to tell her that I was just a kid. I did not get an immediate reply.At bedtime I found a message asking me my age, I replied that I was. Sure, she could be extremely charming and adorable when she wanted to be, but she usually found little pleasure in large gatherings. She hated attending balls of the nobility as much as she hated ceremonies, where she would only attend if her reputation as an archaeologist demanded it. In the whole of last year she had taken part in two such events: The inauguration of the Robert E. Hunter Wing of the British Museum in London, to the furnishing of which she had contributed several important. She was glad no one was behind her though.Her car was the only one on the floor. She was so tired, and looking forward to getting home. Maybe that was why she didn’t hear anything. She was about to unlock her car when a hand covered her mouth from behind. Something sharp pressed against her throat. “Don’t scream. Don’t fight,” hissed a man’s voice.Brenda froze. Oh my gawd.The man pulled her wrists behind her back, uncovering her mouth.“You bastard,” she snarled, “leave me alone!”Her hair. They'll be mightily offended if we don't do it their way." He really said, 'its consummated with a fuck on live TV, your president and our president'?" That's exactly what he said mr President." And we've confirmed that that's what he meant?" We asked most politely for clarification, and that is what he meant. He seemed perturbed by the question. We don't want to sabotage the negotiations, so we just moved politely onto the logistics of the act." This isn't going to kill me or maybe worse, kill.