Ten Tremont - Chapter 5
In which Marc and Adrian have visitors...ones with six legs:
Contrary to my partner’s belief, I do have a life. Not one as interesting as Brian Kinney’s, mind you, but a life none the less. I was an adventurous, intelligent, fully functioning adult before the magic play window came into existence, and I believe I still am. To Marc, however, I think it had gotten to the point where he felt I did little else all day but catalog the goings on over at 6 Tremont.
I guess I can see where he got that impression, but he was missing a big part of the picture. Marc consistently puts in 50 to 60 hours a week at the hospital while I work the majority of my time at home. Because he’s gone so much, in addition to my job, the routine tasks of running a household also fall to me. And, as any ‘housewife’ will tell you, most of it is either mind numbingly boring or so fucking frustrating that we have to take our diversions wherever we can find them.
I do my numerous tasks in fits and starts. It’s one of the small luxuries I get as a result of working from home. Each weekday morning, regardless of Marc’s schedule, I try to be up by 7:00, and the first thing I do after taking a leak is grab a cup of coffee and sit down at my computer to check e-mail. Now can I help it if Brian Kinney is usually exiting the shower at just about the same time? Like me, the man keeps a fairly regular schedule.
Unlike me, he is unrelentingly efficient. Most days he steps out of his bedroom wrapped in a towel or robe. If a trick has spent the night, the guy is already gone. Brian doesn’t appear to be much of a morning host. He goes to the kitchen, pours himself a cup of sugar and cuts it with a little coffee. I suspect, with his physique, this is his one caloric vice. He lights a cigarette, makes a quick check of the weather via his front window and heads back to the bedroom. The next time I get a good look at him, he’s dressed; always impeccably.
There is no doubt he is a professional of some sort: banker, lawyer, consultant, or maybe just an executive in one of Pittsburgh’s major companies. Whatever he does, he looks good doing it, that’s for sure. By the time he’s out the door, my e-mail has been thoroughly reviewed, so I put in a couple of hours on my own work. By 10:00 I’m ready for a break. Since there is never anything interesting happening at my neighbor’s during the day…or so I thought...I get moving. But I’m getting ahead of myself here.
After I shower and find myself something to eat, I get out of the apartment for awhile to take care of the never-ending list of mundane tasks necessary so that food, clean clothing, and entertainment magically appear in Marc’s life on a regular basis. I’m usually back by 1:00 and spend the better part of the afternoon in front of my computer, doing what I’m paid to do. Occasionally I have to meet with clients, as was the case last Thursday. It was also Marc’s day off, and when I left he said he’d use the peace and quiet to catch up on his sleep. Right.
Now ever since my new adventure in voyeurism began, it’s been no secret that Marc doesn’t approve. Even though he himself has been known to sneak a peek now and then, he really hadn’t had much more than a passing glance. And that, as it turned out, was of Brian, a baby, and a woman. That can hardly count. However, while he didn’t seem overly interested in Brian Kinney or the parade of men that came and went from his apartment, Marc certainly took every opportunity he could to tease me about my preoccupation with it.
“I see we’ve switched coffees, what…is this the kind Brian drinks?”
“Adrian, what color shirt would Brian wear with these pants?”
“Want to have sex tonight…or has Brian already taken care of that for you?”
I ignored him, but I got the point. I stopped telling Marc about every little detail I picked up in my casual observations. He wouldn’t be interested in knowing that Brian is barefoot 90 percent of the time he’s home and usually shirtless also. The fact that JB is Brian’s drink of choice would remain unknown to Marc, as would any familiarity with Brian’s taste in television programs, movies or porn. Details like that would only give him fodder to throw back at me at some later time.
As a matter-of-fact, all talk of Brian Kinney had pretty much dried up around our place until the other night when we discovered ants in our kitchen. Yup, ants. I was loading the dishwasher when I spotted one of the little critters scurrying through the crack between two of our cupboards. Fixing my eyes on the spot, I spied another and then another. The closer I looked, the more they seemed to materialize. I opened the cupboard door to find a bottle of maple syrup tipped on its side with the cap slightly opened and a small puddle of the sticky mess teaming with the little guys.
“Marc! Damn it, we have ants! You didn’t close the cap on the syrup and now we have fucking ants!” I was pulling shit out of the cupboard when he came moseying into the kitchen.
“I didn’t close the cap? Excuse me; I think you ate waffles Sunday morning too.”
“But I didn’t put the syrup away,” I reminded him as I ran a sink full of soapy water. “Help me wipe this stuff off and then we are going to have to go get some ant traps.”
“It’s 10:30, Adrian. Where are we going to find ant traps at 10:30? Can’t you just pick some up tomorrow?”
For some reason, that last question rubbed me the wrong way. Sure, I could have picked them up but that wasn’t the point. He’s the one who didn’t close the cap, and I was already the one cleaning up the mess. And just like everything else that got done around here, I was supposed to handle it.
“No, I can’t, or rather, I’m not going to,” I told him. “There’s a Big Q not too far from here and they are open until 11. Grab your car keys and let’s go.”
He knew better than to argue. Within ten minutes we were hurrying through the door of the Big Q junk emporium and making a beeline back to the garden supplies. Ant poison in hand, we heard the shoppers warning that the store would be closing soon and made our way to the check out and a perky brunette working the cash register.
“Hi guys, how’s it going?” she asked enthusiastically.
“Fine, how are you?” I heard Marc say.
“I’m just great!” she bubbled. “Did you find everything you needed?” I wondered to myself what kind of a person could be so happy working in a place like this at eleven o’clock at night.
“Yeah, just have to take care of a little problem at home,” he said.
“Well, I’m glad we could help,” she assured us as she attempted to scan our purchase. Leave it to me to pick the one box with a faulty UPC code. I offered to run back and grab another, but she picked up the phone next to her register and made a quick call. In a matter of seconds, a man who looked vaguely familiar rounded the aisle and handed her a new box.
“Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Novotny,” she said with a smile, and it appeared to me she put more emphasis in that statement than the situation warranted.
“No problem, Tracy. Go ahead and close out your drawer after this. If anyone else wants to check out, I’ll handle them up at the service desk."
“Okay, thanks again.” Her eyes followed him as he walked over to the service desk at the front of the store. I think Tracy has it bad for this guy and he doesn’t have a clue. I was starting to get one though.
He was pretty short but attractive enough in a little boy sort of way. Dark hair, beautiful eyes, nice smile. Where the fuck had I seen him before? Tracy bagged our purchase and handed it to Marc with her ever-present smile and a cheerful, “Have a nice night!”
Walking out of the store, I stole another quick glance at the guy wrapping things up behind the service desk and it hit me.
“Brian’s!” I muttered, possibly a little too loud because the guy immediately perked up and did a double take. I looked away and we were out the door.
“What?” Marc was asking.
“That’s why that guy looked so familiar! I’ve seen him at Brian’s a couple of times.”
“Oh, really.” Marc sounded bored but I liked this new development. The Big Q man was obviously more than a trick because tricks never make a repeat appearance.
“Yeah, he’s the guy who was yelling at Brian that first morning after he brought Justin home, and not too long ago he came over dressed in this really weird outfit: orange pants and a bright blue and black shirt. It must have been Bad Taste Day at work.”
“Isn’t that every day at the Big Q?” Marc smirked.
“You can be so gay sometimes,” I kidded him. “He changed his clothes at Brian’s that day and left. I’ve seen them talk, hug, and kiss, but he’s the only guy I ever see over there that doesn’t get fucked.”
Marc shrugged, “Maybe they’re related.”
I snickered, “With Brian Kinney’s libido, I don’t think that would matter. Maybe he’s going to be Brian’s next boy toy now that the kid’s gone.”
We were in the car now. Marc was driving, looking straight ahead when he asked, “What makes you think Justin’s gone?”
Oh my god! A question from Marc about Brian and Justin? Could he actually be... interested?
I proceeded cautiously, giving him a minimum of information. “Well, the last time he barged in, Brian had just arrived home with a trick. They had words that didn’t look too friendly. I can’t imagine what Justin said to make him do it, but Brian ended up kicking the trick out and sending Justin to sleep on the couch alone. They didn’t have sex and now he hasn’t been around. I think it just might be over.”
Marc nodded and a smug little smile crossed his lips.
“Do you know something I don’t?” I asked.
“Why would I?” he remarked nonchalantly.
He did. If there is one thing Marc is not capable of, it’s lying. Hence, answering my question with a question. I’ve often thought, because of this…flaw, that it was a good thing he chose anesthesiology for his specialty. There’s no need to sugar coat anything to a patient who’s unconscious.
“You saw something, didn’t you?”
He remained silent.
“Tell me!” I demanded.
He came to a stop at the light and turned to look at me. “You sound like a twelve-year-old girl, Adrian. You really should get a life.”
“Hey, you’re the one who brought it up. I told you why I thought Justin was gone, now you tell me what you know or I swear, you’re going to start hearing about what type of laundry detergent Brian uses.”
“Oh, spare me. Your threats will get you nowhere.” The light had changed and he was back to looking at the road.
“What will?”
“Hmm,” he stroked his chin, “How about your ass pointing north after we get the ant situation under control?”
“Why, sir, you drive a hard bargain…no pun intended.”
He smiled, “I like it when you call me sir. Reminds me of something I saw last week.”
“Go on!” I insisted.
“It was last Thursday, after you went to your meeting. Brian must have picked Justin up from school. Did you know he wears a uniform?”
My dick perked up at the thought. “You shit! Brian brought him home in the middle of the day to fuck him and you watched?! After all of your bitching to me?”
“Did you hear me? I said he wears a uniform.”
That cracked me up. Marc has always had a thing for a man in uniform, but I didn’t think it bled over to schoolboys. “Well, don’t stop now.” I nudged him.
“All right, but…you know…talking about it almost seems like…maybe like approving of it, and I don’t. Here’s this guy, 30 years’ old…..”
“I thought you said he was 29…?”
Marc made a face at me. “Okay, 29. Big fucking deal. Either way he’s fucking a kid young enough to still wear a prep school uniform. As soon as they get in the door, the kid…Justin…goes up on his toes and kisses Kinney. Kinney returns the favor but he’s already stripping off his jacket and loosening his tie. The kid pulls away from him, laughing, and starts stripping, too. He barely gets his tie loosened when Kinney stops him. I’m thinking I’m not the only one who thinks the kid looks hot in his uniform, because the next thing I know, Justin is down on his knees, fully dressed, hanging on to Brian for dear life and giving him a blow job, right in front of the fucking window!”
“I’ve told you before, a couple of times, Brian’s an exhibitionist.”
“Well, the kid’s not shy, either. As soon as they’re done, Brian pulls Justin to his feet and starts undressing him, slowly, with lots of licking and kissing and biting. The kid is going nuts, trying to move events along more quickly, but Brian won’t rush it.”
“And you are sure of the licking and kissing and biting and general horniness…how?”
“Asshole. I used your binoculars. Happy?”
“Delirious.”
“Well, I’m not so happy, myself. At the time, I told myself that if they’d wanted privacy, they could have shut the curtains or pulled down the blinds or whatever, so my watching was kind of consensual. Which is bullshit, and I knew it then and I know it now.”
“And your watching damaged them in some way?”
“It’s an invasion of privacy.”
”Like, you leaned out the window to get a better view, and they noticed you and waved?”
“No, idiot. As soon as I saw them, as soon as they came through the door, I backed off, away from the window. That’s why I picked up the binoculars.”
“Uh-huh. Okay, what happened next?”
“Brian took the kid to bed and fucked him into the mattress.”
“While you watched?”
“Sort of. I could see some of it, when they were in my line of vision, enough to see that they were going at it hot and heavy. Then they moved into a blind spot, and I remembered I was watching a 30-year-old man fucking a kid still in high school. I decided it was time to put in some work on that paper I’m supposed to be writing.”
“Tell me you don’t think those two are pretty fucking hot together.”
Marc managed to look prim. “You know I don’t like to lie." He gave me a quick grin. “Didn’t you suspect something when I was so horny when you got home?”
I smiled, remembering the welcome I received upon my arrival. “See, it’s pretty addicting, isn’t it?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t say addicting,” he replied as he pulled into our parking spot behind the loft. “It was hot, yeah, but only when I stopped thinking about their age difference. Brian’s your age, Adrian. I can’t imagine you with a 17-year-old.”
“I never would be,” I assured him.
“So what makes it okay for him?”
I was silent. I couldn’t answer that question. Right or wrong, all I knew was how they looked together and what that did for me. Selfish, I know, maybe even a little sick. Is that, I wondered, what made it all the more intriguing?
Go to Chapter 6
Contrary to my partner’s belief, I do have a life. Not one as interesting as Brian Kinney’s, mind you, but a life none the less. I was an adventurous, intelligent, fully functioning adult before the magic play window came into existence, and I believe I still am. To Marc, however, I think it had gotten to the point where he felt I did little else all day but catalog the goings on over at 6 Tremont.
I guess I can see where he got that impression, but he was missing a big part of the picture. Marc consistently puts in 50 to 60 hours a week at the hospital while I work the majority of my time at home. Because he’s gone so much, in addition to my job, the routine tasks of running a household also fall to me. And, as any ‘housewife’ will tell you, most of it is either mind numbingly boring or so fucking frustrating that we have to take our diversions wherever we can find them.
I do my numerous tasks in fits and starts. It’s one of the small luxuries I get as a result of working from home. Each weekday morning, regardless of Marc’s schedule, I try to be up by 7:00, and the first thing I do after taking a leak is grab a cup of coffee and sit down at my computer to check e-mail. Now can I help it if Brian Kinney is usually exiting the shower at just about the same time? Like me, the man keeps a fairly regular schedule.
Unlike me, he is unrelentingly efficient. Most days he steps out of his bedroom wrapped in a towel or robe. If a trick has spent the night, the guy is already gone. Brian doesn’t appear to be much of a morning host. He goes to the kitchen, pours himself a cup of sugar and cuts it with a little coffee. I suspect, with his physique, this is his one caloric vice. He lights a cigarette, makes a quick check of the weather via his front window and heads back to the bedroom. The next time I get a good look at him, he’s dressed; always impeccably.
There is no doubt he is a professional of some sort: banker, lawyer, consultant, or maybe just an executive in one of Pittsburgh’s major companies. Whatever he does, he looks good doing it, that’s for sure. By the time he’s out the door, my e-mail has been thoroughly reviewed, so I put in a couple of hours on my own work. By 10:00 I’m ready for a break. Since there is never anything interesting happening at my neighbor’s during the day…or so I thought...I get moving. But I’m getting ahead of myself here.
After I shower and find myself something to eat, I get out of the apartment for awhile to take care of the never-ending list of mundane tasks necessary so that food, clean clothing, and entertainment magically appear in Marc’s life on a regular basis. I’m usually back by 1:00 and spend the better part of the afternoon in front of my computer, doing what I’m paid to do. Occasionally I have to meet with clients, as was the case last Thursday. It was also Marc’s day off, and when I left he said he’d use the peace and quiet to catch up on his sleep. Right.
Now ever since my new adventure in voyeurism began, it’s been no secret that Marc doesn’t approve. Even though he himself has been known to sneak a peek now and then, he really hadn’t had much more than a passing glance. And that, as it turned out, was of Brian, a baby, and a woman. That can hardly count. However, while he didn’t seem overly interested in Brian Kinney or the parade of men that came and went from his apartment, Marc certainly took every opportunity he could to tease me about my preoccupation with it.
“I see we’ve switched coffees, what…is this the kind Brian drinks?”
“Adrian, what color shirt would Brian wear with these pants?”
“Want to have sex tonight…or has Brian already taken care of that for you?”
I ignored him, but I got the point. I stopped telling Marc about every little detail I picked up in my casual observations. He wouldn’t be interested in knowing that Brian is barefoot 90 percent of the time he’s home and usually shirtless also. The fact that JB is Brian’s drink of choice would remain unknown to Marc, as would any familiarity with Brian’s taste in television programs, movies or porn. Details like that would only give him fodder to throw back at me at some later time.
As a matter-of-fact, all talk of Brian Kinney had pretty much dried up around our place until the other night when we discovered ants in our kitchen. Yup, ants. I was loading the dishwasher when I spotted one of the little critters scurrying through the crack between two of our cupboards. Fixing my eyes on the spot, I spied another and then another. The closer I looked, the more they seemed to materialize. I opened the cupboard door to find a bottle of maple syrup tipped on its side with the cap slightly opened and a small puddle of the sticky mess teaming with the little guys.
“Marc! Damn it, we have ants! You didn’t close the cap on the syrup and now we have fucking ants!” I was pulling shit out of the cupboard when he came moseying into the kitchen.
“I didn’t close the cap? Excuse me; I think you ate waffles Sunday morning too.”
“But I didn’t put the syrup away,” I reminded him as I ran a sink full of soapy water. “Help me wipe this stuff off and then we are going to have to go get some ant traps.”
“It’s 10:30, Adrian. Where are we going to find ant traps at 10:30? Can’t you just pick some up tomorrow?”
For some reason, that last question rubbed me the wrong way. Sure, I could have picked them up but that wasn’t the point. He’s the one who didn’t close the cap, and I was already the one cleaning up the mess. And just like everything else that got done around here, I was supposed to handle it.
“No, I can’t, or rather, I’m not going to,” I told him. “There’s a Big Q not too far from here and they are open until 11. Grab your car keys and let’s go.”
He knew better than to argue. Within ten minutes we were hurrying through the door of the Big Q junk emporium and making a beeline back to the garden supplies. Ant poison in hand, we heard the shoppers warning that the store would be closing soon and made our way to the check out and a perky brunette working the cash register.
“Hi guys, how’s it going?” she asked enthusiastically.
“Fine, how are you?” I heard Marc say.
“I’m just great!” she bubbled. “Did you find everything you needed?” I wondered to myself what kind of a person could be so happy working in a place like this at eleven o’clock at night.
“Yeah, just have to take care of a little problem at home,” he said.
“Well, I’m glad we could help,” she assured us as she attempted to scan our purchase. Leave it to me to pick the one box with a faulty UPC code. I offered to run back and grab another, but she picked up the phone next to her register and made a quick call. In a matter of seconds, a man who looked vaguely familiar rounded the aisle and handed her a new box.
“Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Novotny,” she said with a smile, and it appeared to me she put more emphasis in that statement than the situation warranted.
“No problem, Tracy. Go ahead and close out your drawer after this. If anyone else wants to check out, I’ll handle them up at the service desk."
“Okay, thanks again.” Her eyes followed him as he walked over to the service desk at the front of the store. I think Tracy has it bad for this guy and he doesn’t have a clue. I was starting to get one though.
He was pretty short but attractive enough in a little boy sort of way. Dark hair, beautiful eyes, nice smile. Where the fuck had I seen him before? Tracy bagged our purchase and handed it to Marc with her ever-present smile and a cheerful, “Have a nice night!”
Walking out of the store, I stole another quick glance at the guy wrapping things up behind the service desk and it hit me.
“Brian’s!” I muttered, possibly a little too loud because the guy immediately perked up and did a double take. I looked away and we were out the door.
“What?” Marc was asking.
“That’s why that guy looked so familiar! I’ve seen him at Brian’s a couple of times.”
“Oh, really.” Marc sounded bored but I liked this new development. The Big Q man was obviously more than a trick because tricks never make a repeat appearance.
“Yeah, he’s the guy who was yelling at Brian that first morning after he brought Justin home, and not too long ago he came over dressed in this really weird outfit: orange pants and a bright blue and black shirt. It must have been Bad Taste Day at work.”
“Isn’t that every day at the Big Q?” Marc smirked.
“You can be so gay sometimes,” I kidded him. “He changed his clothes at Brian’s that day and left. I’ve seen them talk, hug, and kiss, but he’s the only guy I ever see over there that doesn’t get fucked.”
Marc shrugged, “Maybe they’re related.”
I snickered, “With Brian Kinney’s libido, I don’t think that would matter. Maybe he’s going to be Brian’s next boy toy now that the kid’s gone.”
We were in the car now. Marc was driving, looking straight ahead when he asked, “What makes you think Justin’s gone?”
Oh my god! A question from Marc about Brian and Justin? Could he actually be... interested?
I proceeded cautiously, giving him a minimum of information. “Well, the last time he barged in, Brian had just arrived home with a trick. They had words that didn’t look too friendly. I can’t imagine what Justin said to make him do it, but Brian ended up kicking the trick out and sending Justin to sleep on the couch alone. They didn’t have sex and now he hasn’t been around. I think it just might be over.”
Marc nodded and a smug little smile crossed his lips.
“Do you know something I don’t?” I asked.
“Why would I?” he remarked nonchalantly.
He did. If there is one thing Marc is not capable of, it’s lying. Hence, answering my question with a question. I’ve often thought, because of this…flaw, that it was a good thing he chose anesthesiology for his specialty. There’s no need to sugar coat anything to a patient who’s unconscious.
“You saw something, didn’t you?”
He remained silent.
“Tell me!” I demanded.
He came to a stop at the light and turned to look at me. “You sound like a twelve-year-old girl, Adrian. You really should get a life.”
“Hey, you’re the one who brought it up. I told you why I thought Justin was gone, now you tell me what you know or I swear, you’re going to start hearing about what type of laundry detergent Brian uses.”
“Oh, spare me. Your threats will get you nowhere.” The light had changed and he was back to looking at the road.
“What will?”
“Hmm,” he stroked his chin, “How about your ass pointing north after we get the ant situation under control?”
“Why, sir, you drive a hard bargain…no pun intended.”
He smiled, “I like it when you call me sir. Reminds me of something I saw last week.”
“Go on!” I insisted.
“It was last Thursday, after you went to your meeting. Brian must have picked Justin up from school. Did you know he wears a uniform?”
My dick perked up at the thought. “You shit! Brian brought him home in the middle of the day to fuck him and you watched?! After all of your bitching to me?”
“Did you hear me? I said he wears a uniform.”
That cracked me up. Marc has always had a thing for a man in uniform, but I didn’t think it bled over to schoolboys. “Well, don’t stop now.” I nudged him.
“All right, but…you know…talking about it almost seems like…maybe like approving of it, and I don’t. Here’s this guy, 30 years’ old…..”
“I thought you said he was 29…?”
Marc made a face at me. “Okay, 29. Big fucking deal. Either way he’s fucking a kid young enough to still wear a prep school uniform. As soon as they get in the door, the kid…Justin…goes up on his toes and kisses Kinney. Kinney returns the favor but he’s already stripping off his jacket and loosening his tie. The kid pulls away from him, laughing, and starts stripping, too. He barely gets his tie loosened when Kinney stops him. I’m thinking I’m not the only one who thinks the kid looks hot in his uniform, because the next thing I know, Justin is down on his knees, fully dressed, hanging on to Brian for dear life and giving him a blow job, right in front of the fucking window!”
“I’ve told you before, a couple of times, Brian’s an exhibitionist.”
“Well, the kid’s not shy, either. As soon as they’re done, Brian pulls Justin to his feet and starts undressing him, slowly, with lots of licking and kissing and biting. The kid is going nuts, trying to move events along more quickly, but Brian won’t rush it.”
“And you are sure of the licking and kissing and biting and general horniness…how?”
“Asshole. I used your binoculars. Happy?”
“Delirious.”
“Well, I’m not so happy, myself. At the time, I told myself that if they’d wanted privacy, they could have shut the curtains or pulled down the blinds or whatever, so my watching was kind of consensual. Which is bullshit, and I knew it then and I know it now.”
“And your watching damaged them in some way?”
“It’s an invasion of privacy.”
”Like, you leaned out the window to get a better view, and they noticed you and waved?”
“No, idiot. As soon as I saw them, as soon as they came through the door, I backed off, away from the window. That’s why I picked up the binoculars.”
“Uh-huh. Okay, what happened next?”
“Brian took the kid to bed and fucked him into the mattress.”
“While you watched?”
“Sort of. I could see some of it, when they were in my line of vision, enough to see that they were going at it hot and heavy. Then they moved into a blind spot, and I remembered I was watching a 30-year-old man fucking a kid still in high school. I decided it was time to put in some work on that paper I’m supposed to be writing.”
“Tell me you don’t think those two are pretty fucking hot together.”
Marc managed to look prim. “You know I don’t like to lie." He gave me a quick grin. “Didn’t you suspect something when I was so horny when you got home?”
I smiled, remembering the welcome I received upon my arrival. “See, it’s pretty addicting, isn’t it?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t say addicting,” he replied as he pulled into our parking spot behind the loft. “It was hot, yeah, but only when I stopped thinking about their age difference. Brian’s your age, Adrian. I can’t imagine you with a 17-year-old.”
“I never would be,” I assured him.
“So what makes it okay for him?”
I was silent. I couldn’t answer that question. Right or wrong, all I knew was how they looked together and what that did for me. Selfish, I know, maybe even a little sick. Is that, I wondered, what made it all the more intriguing?
Go to Chapter 6