CHRONICLES OF AN ACADEMIC PREDATOR
Before you read this story, there are a few things you should consider:
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It contains graphic descriptions of sex between men. In some cases, these depictions may get kinky, and include borderline S&M.
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It is set in the early 1960s, an era before the Civil Rights Act of 1964 when segregation and discrimination were the norm. African Americans were referred to as Negroes or Coloreds, although the "N" word was offensive then as it is now. I have retained the language of the era because it reminds me how far we have come on race relations.
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Be aware that the effects of inflation have been profound. A good rule of thumb is to consider that $1 in 1962 is probably similar to $10 in 2008. So just add a zero at the end of any number.
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Some authors are good enough to create a mood through their words. I need help, so I'll be posted recommended musical selections throughout the story.
CHAPTER 21
Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TDQaK14wsNM "Rag Doll" by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons
September 4, 1962
The first day of school was always fun and always hectic. I liked to do my own lectures, but at the same time I recognized that Jason would need some practice. After all, that's part of being a T.A. I plotted out my schedule and set him up to handle classes around the days I'd be going to Claremont, and I figured maybe I could work in another long weekend and sneak off to see Andre. He'd sent me a brief telegram telling me that he was in Brussels and loving it. I'd tentatively planned to fly over there for the weekend of October 20th. I figured I could get away with missing two classes then, and I'd gotten all of that okayed by Peterson. In the meantime, Jason had been fabulous. He handled all the administrative issues with the classes, all the mimeographing, all the adds and drops, and all the attendance issues. I had promised to take him to dinner tonight to reward him.
Drs. Peterson and Broughton decided to sit in on my History lecture hall class. I didn't mind, I had the teaching thing down. So much so that I impressed even myself. I usually don't seek out the spotlight, and my focus at parties is on following the social mores and being as charming as possible. I was too introverted to be considered as good lecture hall material. But for some reason when I got up in front of a class, I was able to project the personality that otherwise would lie dormant. I was able to transfix my audience, for the most part, and maintain complete control. Peterson and Broughton both stopped me after class to rave about my performance. I was pretty much on cloud nine. Now if I could keep up the pace with my research, I'd be able to apply for tenure in just 5 years, and at this rate, I'd get it. It was a good feeling.
I planned to take Jason to one of Chicago's best steakhouses, so I agreed to meet him around 5pm at the El. I figured we could ding around downtown for awhile, have a drink or two, and then eat. He showed up right on time, looking horribly under-dressed in his dorky clothes. He sensed my scrutiny.
"I'm sorry Dr. Crampton, but I really don't have any nice clothes. I just haven't had the money to spend on them. If you want to go someplace more casual, that would be fine with me. I hope you're not mad."
"Of course I'm not mad Jason. Come on, let's catch the train." I knew what was coming next. I heard my own mind hatch the plan and I had to laugh at myself. Guess who was going shopping again?
We got off downtown and I dragged Jason into Marshall Fields. He was nervous to the point where I thought he would have an anxiety attack, so we left and went down a block to a small men's store. There was a flashy young clerk in there with a dazzling smile. I explained that we needed some new clothes for my friend, and he ripped through his merchandise with efficiency and speed. In 90 minutes we'd gotten Jason a whole new wardrobe, with a bunch of bags to carry as a result.
"Dr. Crampton, I can't keep all of this. This stuff cost a fortune. I could never pay you back. Please. Don't do this."
"Nonsense Jason. You've been terrific, and if you're going to work for me, and represent me, you're going to have to look the part. I won't have it any other way. Can't have you embarrassing me now, can I?" That was ridiculous and he probably knew it, but I was giving him a way out, a way to accept my generosity by assuming I'd done it for my own good.
"Well thank you very much," he said.
"That's the first lesson of good manners, Jason. When someone does something nice for you, you don't argue about it, you just say thank you. Unless you don't like that person. You do like me don't you?"
He laughed. "Yes sir. You've been great. I couldn't ask for a better boss."
The Maitre D' was awfully snobby, but I didn't let that faze me. I flipped him a buck and he cut the attitude and got us a great table. The food was fabulous. I didn't think Jason would be able to eat that much, skinny little shit that he was, but he just devoured food. He reminded me a little of Peter, same thin frame with a bottomless pit for a stomach.
"I've always been so poor. I've never been able to shop anywhere except a second-hand shop, or eat anywhere off campus. I think that's one of the reasons Sarah dumped me. Going to a movie is a once a month thing, and only if I budget for it."
"That's tough Jason, but with your stipend as a T.A. and your scholarships, I'd think life would be a little easier."
"I have to send money home every month. My dad is sick, pretty ill, and my mom can't work. She has to take care of him. So me and my sister help by sending them some money every month. It never seems to be enough, but we do our best." He seemed resigned to his fate.
"That's terrible. What's wrong with your father?" That question seemed to cause him some consternation.
"He's been ill for a long time. I'm not sure what the diagnosis is, but he just can't function."
"What about your mother? Can't she do anything to help out?" I knew I was prying, but there was something he wasn't telling me, and until he changed the subject, I was going to try and find out what it was.
"She spends her time taking care of him. She doesn't have much energy left after that, and what extra time she does have she donates to the church. She says that if she works for God, God will take care of them. Personally, I haven't seen it work, but that's what she thinks."
"That puts a huge burden on you." No wonder this kid was hungry. "Isn't there some other source of help?"
"They won't take public aid. They say that's relying on charity, and they won't have it."
"Isn't taking money from you the same thing?"
"They don't think that taking money from family is charity. They think we're just paying them back for raising us." I could tell that he didn't even believe that statement.
"So how much do you send home?"
"They make me send half of everything I make."
"That's ridiculous. You can't live on that. Do they know that you got the additional T.A. Position?"
"No. I'm not sure whether to tell them or not. They used to make me deposit my check into the bank and then take half out for myself and send them half. Then the statements would go home to Peoria and they'd be able to see how much I made. But after I went to grad school I decided that was bullshit." This was unbelievable.
"Jason, you are not responsible for supporting your parents if it means you can't make ends meet. How many nights do you go to bed hungry?" He looked down at the floor. "Too many," he answered.
"I want you to promise me that you won't tell them about the extra money, that you'll keep it for yourself." He looked at me doubtfully.
"If they find out, there will be problems." He said.
"What kind of problems?" How could they threaten him?
"I can't go into it. Really. I appreciate your concern, but I just can't risk it." He was clearly upset. What was that all about?
"So what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to have to watch my money. Or pick up another job." He looked downtrodden.
"Jason, I gave you the second T.A. position so you wouldn't have to do that. If you take on another job, you'll be so tired everything else you do will suffer." This was going to affect me, and that gave me an entrée to demand some answers.
"I promise it won't. I shouldn't have said anything about this. Please don't fire me." He was almost desperate now.
"I'm not going to fire you Jason. You do one helluva job. I've never had a more efficient T.A. Plus, I've got three trips planned this semester and I need you to be on top of things. I know you have the skills and ability, that's why I was comfortable scheduling them." He smiled at me, slightly relieved.
We finished dinner and headed back to the El, buried with our packages. I offered to help Jason carry the packages back to his place, but that made him extremely agitated. Then I offered to take him to my place so we could get my car and drive there, and that bothered him too. Finally, I insisted, and he relented to that plan.
We drove south on the Drive, way south, beyond downtown. "How do you get to school?" I asked him.
"I ride the El. I get student discount fares."
"What's your rent here?" I asked.
"I pay $15 a month. So it's pretty cheap. But it's not very nice."
We drove down a few side streets and I was getting pretty nervous. This was what you'd call a bad neighborhood by any standards. "You live here Jason?" I asked him, as we pulled up to a dilapidated multi-family flat. There were three or four guys lurking around outside, plainly they were hoods. This was ridiculous. I drove off.
"Hey, that's my place," he said.
"Not anymore. You can't live there. How many times have you been mugged?" He didn't answer.
"How many times have you been mugged Jason?" I was getting pissed off at his cluelessness.
"Lots. I have to leave most of my money at school. Those guys will shake me down for cash every day. But it's still cheaper to live here and deal with that than to live near campus."
"Do you realize how ridiculous this is? Do you?" I was getting pissed. "Your parents won't get public assistance because of their pride, and instead they lean on you and force you to live in the slums, risking your life every day. Is their pride worth your life?" He looked at me, stunned.
"Never thought about it that way." He seemed confused.
"Alright, you have your act together at school, but you are clueless outside of campus." He just nodded at that. "So, you're taking care of things on campus, and I'm going to make some decisions for you off campus. Got it?" He nodded again. No wonder his parents took advantage of him. He was easily cowed.
"You're going to stay with me for the time being. I've got a spare room. And you're not going to tell your parents about the extra T.A. assignment. You're going to keep the money to feed yourself." I glared at him, demanding his agreement, conscious that we'd finally escaped the South Side and were safely back on the Drive.
"I wouldn't feel right staying with you unless I could pay some rent," he muttered stubbornly.
"Jason, you better not be this big of a pain in the ass to live with." That made him laugh, and I laughed too. "You know how to cook?" I asked.
"Yeah. I'm pretty good at it."
"Good. You can pay me back by cooking for us, and keeping the place clean. Deal?" He looked at me, and I stuck out my hand to shake on it.
"Deal," he said and he shook my hand. And now I had a roommate. Great.
By the time I got back to the apartment we were both exhausted. I helped Jason lug all the bags up and showed him to his room. He was stunned by the condo, I mean it is beautiful, but I was too tired to listen. I headed to bed and left him to fend for himself.
September 5, 1962
I woke up sensing that something was different. There was something unusual about the condo. I looked at the bed. I was alone. Then I sniffed. Food. I smelled food. Someone was cooking. Last night's events came flowing back to me, and I realized that Jason had scrounged something up for breakfast. I stumbled out to the kitchen, still in my boxers. I'd learned one lesson though, and I made sure my morning hard on had gone down first.
"Morning!" Jason said cheerfully. "I ran down and grabbed some stuff for breakfast. When I get paid I'll get some more groceries."
I rubbed my eyes. "Smells great Jason." I walked over to one of the kitchen drawers, a small one, and opened it. "This is the household money. Use this to buy whatever groceries you want. I usually keep about $50 here, but I'll put some extra in since you'll probably need to buy more stuff the first time." He gaped at me but I ignored him and dug into the bacon and eggs he'd made.
I studied him as he moved around the kitchen. He really was cute in a dorky kind of way. He was wearing boxers and a t-shirt. He had almost no muscle tone, but I guessed that despite that wimpy exterior, he could probably be pretty strong if he had to be.
I finished, thanked him, and headed to the shower. The water made me horny like it always does, and I slowly stroked my cock as I let the water flow over my head and down my back. I tried to fantasize about Jason but it just didn't work. He didn't do it for me. Jeff on the other hand....
I had a few hours before I had to be on campus so I grabbed my papers and headed out to the balcony to do some writing. It was a glorious fall morning in Chicago, and I knew this wouldn't last long. Jason came out and interrupted me after about half an hour. He'd have to learn not to do that.
He sat down at the table and pulled out some work and joined me. At first I was irritated, then I got used to him being there and I decided that I liked having someone there working with me. It was motivating. He noticed that I'd stopped working and that I was staring at him.
"Is this OK? Me being out here with you? I figured that it was nice out here and..." I stopped him.
"It's fine Jason. In fact, I like it. I've been living by myself for awhile now, though, so it takes some getting used to, having someone else in the house."
"I don't want to bother you. I don't have to stay here you know. I mean, I love it here, but I ..." I stopped him again.
"If I didn't want you here, you wouldn't be here. I just said I need to get used to it, not that I didn't want to get used to it." He grinned at me like an idiot.
"You need to go down and get your stuff from your apartment today," I said, thinking practically.
"No I don't. I don't have anything there. Anything worth having I keep at school." I thought again about what a crappy life this poor, talented young man had.
We both went back to work, or at least Jason did. There was something on my mind, something plaguing me. I am a queer. It seems unfair to bring Jason in, to let him live here, without telling him that. I mean I'd done it to Andre, and to Jeff, and even to Stefan, but they all seemed worldlier, more able to take care of themselves. And with them there was the chance that I'd hit on them. That wasn't a problem with Jason. I had an overwhelming desire to be honest with Jason, to tell him about me and my sexuality. This could be professional suicide, but then, I controlled his livelihood, and he was indebted to me. I didn't think he'd out me. The desire built up in me, the desire to actually be honest with someone I didn't want to fuck. I felt like I did before I hit that cop with the fire extinguisher.
"Jason, I need to talk to you." He looked at me, full attention, very concerned.
"If you don't want me here, just say so. I won't be offended. My place..." I stopped him yet again. "Jason, you have to learn to let me finish my thoughts before you freak out, OK?" He smiled.
"I need to tell you something about myself, something that very few people know. After I tell you, you may not want to live here. I'll understand. But I need you to promise me that, regardless, you won't tell anyone else." He realized how serious I was; I could read it in his expression.
"I promise," he said, but it came out as a vow, a sacred oath. I just stared at him.
"I'm a fag." I watched him, studied him for a reaction. He didn't say anything, but appeared to be mulling it over. I could almost see the wheels in his brain spinning. He was silent for what seemed to be an eternity. I was bracing myself for his scorn, his condemnation, his moral judgement.
"Do you want to fuck me?" he asked, that being the conclusion he'd drawn from my statement. I couldn't help it, I started laughing. He looked offended.
"I'm sorry Jason, I'm sorry. Please don't be offended. That's just not the reaction that I expected." I tried to stop laughing but I couldn't. I was hysterical. Jason eventually joined me. I got a grip and stopped laughing, but then I thought about it again and started up all over again.
"I'm really sorry Jason. No, I don't want to fuck you."
"Why not? Is there something wrong with me?" He challenged.
"Do you want me to fuck you?" I asked.
"Well, no, I'm not queer. But I just wondered why you didn't want me." His insecurities were out of control.
"You really have to work on your insecurities Jason. I don't find you attractive because, well, you're not attracted to me. I never figured you to be anything other than straight, and I'm not trying to prey on hetero boys, trying to convert them to rampant sodomy." He smiled at me.
"Well, staying here is pretty cool, and if that's what it took to be here, I'd let you fuck me." I started laughing again.
"I've never told anyone, but you're going to be living here. And it may happen that I want to have someone over. I just didn't want there to be any misunderstandings." He pondered this new concept, the concept that there might be a string of guys coming through here, to, well, cum. "And I need you to promise that you won't out any of my friends. The same code of silence applies to them. If you can live with those conditions, you can live here."
He looked at me carefully. "No problem. I know how to keep my mouth shut."
"I don't," I taunted him, and it took him a few minutes to make the connection to blow jobs, then he blushed a crimson red. I laughed hysterically again. It was really liberating to be myself around someone, around a straight person.
"Does it bother you?" I asked him.
"The fact that you give head?" he asked, making me laugh again.
"No, the fact that I'm a fag?"
"No. Why would that bother me?" he said.
And with that, I had a new roommate, and a friend I could be almost completely honest with.
September 22, 1962
I sat in my living room watching the news on TV and going through my mail, enjoying having my place all to myself. Jason had actually gone out tonight, something that surprised both of us. He had settled in nicely here. He was a great cook, and I looked down at my stomach to make sure I wasn't gaining a paunch from eating too much. He pretty much stuck to himself unless he was working, in which case he'd set up camp at the dining room table. If I felt like joining him, which was often, I would. If I didn't, I'd go in my study, and he didn't bother me when I was in there.
I was kind of wondering what would happen if Scott came over, but he hadn't called. I was kind of surprised but not unhappy about that. Fucking around with him had been about getting even, then about a base physical release, and neither one of those had overwhelming appeal to me at this point. Still, it would be nice to find someone to be with every once in awhile.
Jason didn't pry into my personal life, didn't ask questions about letters I got, didn't bug me when I went out. In fact, he seemed to be gaining in confidence, and gaining in size. Eating regularly was filling him out, so much so that we'd had to get some of the clothes he'd bought altered. It was also making him much more attractive. His scrawny, dorky looks had given way to a more refined looking, substantial young man. He still didn't make it to my jack-off fantasy hit parade, but I wouldn't kick him out of bed. That thought made me smile. I'm such a slut.
I picked a letter from Andre out of the mail and opened it quickly. He was doing great, loving Brussels. I couldn't wait to go over there and see him. He claimed Brussels was a miniature version of Paris, but he promised me he wouldn't get into any compromising situations with Belgian girls. Right. I'd also gotten a letter from Billy, and that one was a little deeper and harder to digest.
Dear JP,
Mom is coming out to visit next week and I'm looking forward to seeing her. Things with Janice have gotten pretty bad. She went in to see the doctor yesterday and she was already dilating. They expect her to give birth any day now, and every indication is that the baby will be full term.
I confronted her about it and she finally admitted to having an affair. Can you believe she had the balls to blame me for it? Said I was away on patrol and she missed me so much she needed someone to comfort her, to be with her. I was so pissed off. I told her that comfort and companionship usually didn't include fucking. So she left and took the kids and got an apartment off the base. I don't think our marriage is going to survive this.
Then I found out that I was going to be assigned to the same ship as the guy she fucked, and worst of all, he would be my CO. My father, well actually your father, knows the Admiral on base here, and I used that as an intro to get an appointment. I explained everything, laying it all out for him, and asked if I could be transferred to another ship. I hate the son of a bitch for fucking my wife, but it's not the kid's fault. I'd never denounce him (or her). I'm going to claim it as my own. So the last thing I want is some big inquiry or permanent record.
So the Admiral was a great guy and pulled a few strings, got me transferred. Best of all, I go out on one of the navy's newest subs, the Thresher. There's so much shit in my life, but that's the one highlight.
I don't know when I'll be ashore, and I don't know how much spare time I'll have, but if you have a chance to make it to New York, or Boston, or anywhere close, and I am on dry land, I'll meet you.
Love,
Billy
It really sucks when your friends need you and you can't get to them. I'd already scheduled myself out for three trips. Adding a fourth would be pushing it. I'd have to try for Christmas break, or early next year. Damn, I wish I could help him.
Shocking as the letter and news was, it was nothing compared to what was on the T.V. No, the Russians weren't invading. No, there wasn't a revolution in Canada. It was just a simple commercial, a Chevrolet commercial, advertising the new 1963 Corvette. I really liked the new model, and was already plotting to trade mine it. Usually I got convertibles, but the new Stingray had a bitchin' split rear window that had to be the coolest thing. Yet it wasn't even the car that was the focus of my attention. It was the actors. There, sitting in the driver's seat with wind blowing in his hair was Peter Gordon. I got up and rushed toward the TV, staring intently to make sure I was right. If I had any doubts, that red hair gave him away immediately. I'm glad I coughed up the extra money for a color TV.
Peter in LA making commercials. Maybe he'd make it to the Soap Operas that were all the rage in suburbia, or even to TV? Maybe he could be one of "My Three Sons"? Or maybe even in the movies? I thought about how cool it would be to know a movie star. Although if Peter got that famous he'd probably forget all about me. Maybe so, but I'd never forget him. The thought that he'd made it, or at least it looked that way, blasted my mood through the roof. Helping other people out, helping them live up to their potential; isn't that what life was really about?
I dozed off contentedly on the couch, reading one of the latest publications on Vietnam, happy in the knowledge that Andre was safe and sound in Brussels. I was awakened by a loud bang; the door flying open and hitting the wall, and then stumbling and finally a falling noise as Jason came sliding, literally, into the living room. I could have been pissed at him waking me up and slamming the door, but he was drunk off his ass and, quite frankly, it was pretty funny.
"Ssssorrry JP," he said, and burped real loud. "Hard time walking. Drank at the party. Sorry for making so much noise. Don't be mad. OK?"
I got up and helped him over to the couch, laughing. "I'm not mad at you. I've never seen you drunk before. It's pretty funny."
He got all serious and scared. "Drinking's not funny. Don't want to catch the same disease as my dad." I just stared at him. So there's the other shoe dropping. The disease his father had was alcoholism. The drunk was making his kids support his habit. What an asshole. I put that out of my mind.
"You'll be fine. Sit down before you break something." He giggled at that.
I went and got him a glass of water. Seemed the best thing at the time. "So did you have fun?"
"Yeah I guess. I met this girl and we were getting along. I thought I might actually get somewhere but then she told me I couldn't kiss worth a shit and left me. Not much practice. I haven't had much, I mean. Made me feel like a total Melvin." He got sad as he said this, and his head slumped over into his hands.
I got up and sat next to him and put my arm around him. "Hey Jason, it just takes practice. Keep on trying and you'll get the hang of it." He mumbled something. "Besides, it's quite possible that you're the good kisser and she sucks, she just doesn't know it." That perked him up.
"You think so?" he asked. I nodded. Then he got nervous.
"JP, um, this is kind of embarrassing, but I know you like guys and, well, would you show me how? To kiss, you know, I mean?" He looked into my eyes and I could feel his insecurities. He was kind of cute, and it was just a kiss.
"OK, but don't think I'm gonna fuck you." He giggled and I moved in and our lips touched. She was right. He was a bad kisser. So we sat there on the couch, him drunk off his ass, me getting hard as a rock, showing him how to kiss. He had this nasty habit of starting a kiss with his mouth wide open like he wanted to swallow me whole. Once I broke him of that, and got him settled down, he wasn't too bad.
At some point, the lesson turned from practice to passion, and the next thing I knew I was lying on the couch with Jason on top of me, thrusting his hips into mine. I could feel his hard dick rubbing against mine and I wanted to stop him, but I couldn't. It just felt too good. He moved his mouth to my ear and whispered "I've never had a blow job before. I always wanted to try that."
I pushed him back on the couch and undid his zipper. His hard cock almost came flying out. He's a smaller guy, and I expected him to have a smaller package, but that wasn't the case. This guy was big. Bigger than Jeff. Bigger than Andre. I love a challenge. I took him in my mouth and worked that big cock, worked it so hard my jaws hurt from straining. Fortunately, he didn't last too long. I felt his guttural moan and then he shot salvos of cum down my throat. Almost as soon as he came he passed out. I put his dick away, covered him up, and went to bed. For the first time, I jacked off thinking about Jason.
September 23, 1962
When I'd blown Andre, and when Jeff had fucked me that first night, I'd been near panic over what would happen the next morning. This morning, though, I wasn't. My conscience was clear. I'd been upfront with Jason about being queer, and he was the one that hit on me. If he was pissed, he had only himself to blame. I got up and adjusted my hard on, the smell of food waking me up as usual.
"Morning," I said as I walked into the kitchen. A very hung-over, somber Jason mumbled "Morning" back at me. I sat down and helped myself to some food. He sat down across from me, an intent look on his face.
"JP, I'm really sorry about last night. I promise that will never happen again." I looked at him quizzically.
"What are you sorry for? Getting drunk? You're in college. That's what you're supposed to do." I'm not much for recriminations, unless I'm doing them inside myself where no one can see.
"No, for practically raping you last night." I looked up at him, shocked.
"You didn't rape me last night. We practiced kissing and got carried away, and I sucked your dick. It was fun. I liked it. What's the big deal?" He looked at me stunned.
"I thought you didn't want to fuck me? I thought you weren't attracted to me?" Now he was acting all indignant.
"Jason, for Christ's sake, will you line up your insecurities on one side of the fence or another. I like you. You're a good guy, and you're a great T.A., and you're a damn good roommate. And you're cute. But I don't want to run away with you and have your babies. It was hormonal, physical, fun. That's it."
I watched the wheels start turning in his brain again. I ignored him and ate my breakfast.
"So you liked kissing me?" he asked. Good lord.
"Yeah I liked it. You sucked at first, but then you got the hang of it and you were pretty good. You just have to watch that open mouth thing you do at the beginning. That's pretty raw." He blushed at that.
"And you liked, uh, the other thing?"
"You mean sucking your cock? Did I like having your dick rammed down my throat? Did I like swallowing a fucking lake of cum? Is that what you're asking?" He looked nervous and contrite. He nodded slightly.
"Hell yeah I liked it." The shocked look on his face made me start laughing. "Look Jason, we kissed, I blew you, and we both enjoyed it. Didn't we?" He blushed again and smiled. Then he nodded. "Now, this morning, after all that fun, would you rather fuck me, or that chick you were with last night?" He looked confused.
"No offense, but I'd rather fuck the chick I was with last night."
"I'm not offended. I know that. You're not queer. You were just horny. So deal with it, OK?" What was I, a fucking psychotherapist?
"OK. I'm just glad you're not mad at me." He said, smiling. I rolled my eyes.
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