Date: Fri, 29 Mar 2013 16:03:51 +0000
From: Stuart James <guy_in_boots@hotmail.com>
Subject: Body Guard

While I enjoyed writing about the interactions of the two principal
characters, there is very little description of actual sex in this
story. That was not my intention at the start, but it is the way it turned
out. But there are, I think, plenty of places where you can let your
imagination fill in the blanks rather than have to read my turgid prose.

If you enjoy this story - or any others - remember that you can only read
them if Nifty remains online. For that they need our cash. If we all give
just a little, the site won't disappear and take our stories with them.

I would welcome any comments. It encourages me to keep writing!


Body Guard

The call came while I was unpacking my suitcase in the villa that had been
assigned to me. I was in ... well let's just say a middle eastern country,
installing a new computer system for a well known European oil company. One
of the perks, as well as the high pay, was to stay in this small but
luxurious one-bedroomed villa that clustered with 9 others around a large
swimming pool in a high fenced and guarded complex. The caller identified
himself as Lieutenant Truman, attached to the American embassy. As I was
British, I assumed that he had the wrong person. But he addressed me by
name - Paul Adams - and told me that they had 'Intel' that there was going
to be an attempt to kill me by some local terrorists on behalf, he said, of
Al Qaeda. He told me that they had decided to assign me a bodyguard. He did
not ask me. He just told me, and then he hung up.

My initial reaction was to put all my stuff back in the suitcase and go
home. The money was not that good! But others were depending on me. I had
to put the basic computer infrastructure in before others could do their
jobs. So I sat on the bed and pondered the problem. About 15 minutes later
the door buzzer rang. I have to say I nearly jumped out of my skin at the
noise. When I recovered my composure, I went to the door. 'Who is it?' I
called through the solid wood. "Sergeant Parker, of the US army reporting
for bodyguard duty, Sir," he barked at me at the top of his voice. I
wondered if he was actually saluting as he spoke.

I opened the door a crack and looked out. In the doorway stood an almost
Hollywood US soldier. I don't mean he was glamorous. But he clearly had big
muscles under his army uniform, and had one of those flat top haircuts -
sort of a small rectangle of blond hair across the top of his head. I
opened the door fully and he marched in (there is no other way to describe
his entrance) and stood to attention. I restrained the urge to say 'At
ease'. I just stood and looked at him. This seemed to make him a little
uncomfortable. Eventually I asked him his name and where he came
from. "Brad Parker from Houston Texas, Sir", he barked in reply.

"There is no need to call me Sir. Stand at ease or something." He relaxed a
little and stood with his legs apart and with his hands behind his back but
with his eyes facing forwards. This really showed off his muscles. I looked
at his square chin and straight white teeth. Guess he might be able to
protect me, I thought. He could certainly have my body any day. "How
exactly are you going to protect me Brad? The compound here is fenced in
and seems to have adequate security."

"Well, Sir...."

"Call me Paul, please," I asked.

"Well Paul, although security here is the responsibility of the oil
company, it is manned by locals. I would not put 100% faith in them,
certainly not with my life. You also have to leave this compound. I shall
go everywhere with you. I am highly trained to evaluate potentially hostile
environments and I am armed as well as being skilled in unarmed combat."

"I am not sure that would work. US soldiers are not exactly popular
here. You might end up provoking an attack. Do you have to wear the
uniform?"

He looked at me as if I had asked him to strip where he stood.

"I am proud to wear this uniform, Sir."

"I thought we agreed on Paul. I am sure you are proud to wear the uniform
of your great country's military". (OK so I was laying the flattery on with
a trowel.) "But it would be better not to die in it unnecessarily. If you
are from Texas, surely you have a pair of jeans and a Stetson or
something. If I am to believe the TV that is all anyone in Texas wears -
including the women."

"I guess so Si.....Paul. But I will have to go back to base to collect my
civilian clothes. You can either come with me or promise not to leave the
villa until I return. You are now my responsibility."

"OK. I will stay here. How long will you be?"

"Maybe an hour," he replied.

He marched out again, shutting the front door behind him. I got a cold
drink from the fridge and sat at the kitchen table drinking it. The airco
was on - I could hear it buzzing - but it was still hot. So I decided to go
for a swim. After all, I reasoned, it was technically part of the villa. I
changed into my Speedos and dived into the pool. It felt glorious. After
swimming for a few minutes I just floated around on my back with my eyes
shut against the fierce sunlight.

I heard a click and opened my eyes in the direction it came from. I could
only see a silhouette against the sun of a person with a gun. And that
person was definitely pointing it at me. I was beginning to wish Brad was
here to look after my body.

"I told you to stay in the villa, Sir." The switch back to formality mode
and the tone of his voice made it clear that he was more than a bit pissed
off. I swam to the side and got out of the pool. Brad came closer and I
could see him in greater detail. He had taken my suggestion completely on
board. In place of model soldier Brad stood model cowboy Brad. His blue
jeans and denim shirt, decorated with what looked like eagles, might have
been painted on. They snugly fitted the contours of his body. I noticed the
leather belt with the large brass buckle. He was wearing pointed dark brown
cowboy boots with two inch heels. And on his head was a white
Stetson. (This I assumed meant that he was a 'goody'). I picked up the
towel I had put at the side of the pool. I did not need it so much to dry
myself than to cover the growing embarrassment between my legs.

"Sorry Brad. I did not realise that the pool was also off limits."

"I am responsible for your well being. When I give you an order Sir, you
will obey it without question, Sir." Two 'sirs' in one sentence. I was in
the dark and smelly with Brad. "Do I make myself clear, Sir?" Three - it
was time to grovel.

"I truly am sorry. I promise that in future I will do what exactly what you
say without question. But please stop calling me 'Sir'. Is that a deal?"

"Paul, yes Paul," he replied and then his face broke into a grin showing
all those white teeth again. I made sure that the towel stayed in front of
me.

We went back towards the villa and I told him I would go and get
dressed. Brad insisted in checking the villa out first before he would let
me come out from behind his back. I changed into jeans and tee-shirt and
joined Brad on the villa's patio that overlooked the pool.

"Not sure how we are going to work this Brad," I said. "There is plenty of
food and drink in the place. The company keep me well supplied. Just help
yourself. Not sure where you are going to sleep. There is only one bed."

"This sofa will do just fine, Sir...Paul."

We had a beer each and sat on the patio until the sun was nearly set. We
chatted about many subjects. But I was most fascinated by his descriptions
of his childhood and life in the army. Actually that is not entirely
true. I loved listening to his soft Texas drawl and I was becoming
fascinated with all those white teeth above the square chin and prominent
Adam's apple.

As the sun set, I asked Brad if he was hungry and he said he was. He told
me about the huge Texas steaks his momma would prepare for the family,
while I prepared our dinner. More accurately I should say as I skilfully
opened two frozen pizzas and using all my highest culinary talents put them
in the oven to cook. When we sat down to eat I was amused that Brad cut
small pieces off his pizza and then swapped the fork to his right hand to
lever the pieces into his mouth. Then he would cut some more and repeat the
process. But he left his plate clean with the cutlery arranged just so. I
am sure he must have a badge for being house trained alongside those for
his many other accomplishments in unarmed combat.

After eating we agreed to watch a DVD. "Going into town for some recreation
would," he told me "be implanting myself into a potentially dangerous and
wholly avoidable hostile scenario." I decided that that meant we were going
to stop in. For some reason Brad did not seem keen to watch a DVD of
Rigoletto filmed at Covent Garden. He fancied one of the John Wayne cowboy
films that were in a boxed set on the bookcase. So in the end we agreed on
'Big Jake'. After all, I reasoned with myself, he was there to protect me,
so compromise on my part was in order. I soon became an expert in
compromise over the next couple of days. We just did whatever he said. We
sat side by side on the sofa. He kept nudging me when he particularly
enjoyed a scene. Normally I would have asked him to stop. But for some
reason I rather enjoyed the touches from my cowboy.

Surprisingly - to me anyway - the film was very good and I really enjoyed
it. "John Wayne was one hell of a good actor," I said, in a bad impression
of the Duke's - and Brad's - drawl.

"You're right there, buddy. Much better than all those squawking guys and
gals in fancy dress." I think he was referring to the missed delights of
Verdi's masterpiece. And that from a guy with a huge engraved brass buckle
on his belt, elaborately decorated shirt and with his high heeled cowboy
boots on the coffee table.

I told Brad I was going to bed and wished him a goodnight. When I left for
the bedroom, I saw him making up his bed on the sofa. It was not very late
and I was not very tired. So I undressed and got into bed and started to do
some work on my laptop looking at the wiring in the building I was to work
on. About an hour later there was a loud crash outside the patio doors of
my bedroom. I could not see anything as the curtains were closed. About one
second (or so it seemed) after the crash, my bedroom door flew open and I
looked to see a naked Brad crouched down with his gun pointing out in front
of him. The pose reminded me of Clint Eastwood in the 'Dirty Harry' films,
although I don't think Clint ever showed his weapons off in quite that
manner. Yes, he was certainly well muscled and the equipment dangling
between his legs made it obvious that he had no reason to be shy in the
locker room.

Having confirmed that I was alright, he carefully moved over to the
window. He turned on the patio light and looked out from one side of the
curtains. On the patio was a broken pottery vase.

He turned so that I got a perfect look at his naked front. (I had been
enjoying the look of his perfect naked back up to that point). He put his
mobile 'phone to his ear (not sure where he retrieved that from!) having
speed dialled someone. "Report on the truck I saw leaving the compound at
speed?" He listened. "What do you mean you did not bother to check it as it
was only delivering a pizza? If you ever fail to check anything ever again
I shall personally come and strangle you with that tea towel you wear round
your head." My cowboy clearly did not have a badge for political
correctness. He disconnected the call. "If that was an attempt on your
life, I guess they messed up. But security here is a joke. Just in case
they try again I had better sleep in here." He went and got his pillow and
sheet from the sofa and started to make up a bed on the floor.

"Look Brad, this is a big bed. You can have half if you want. That floor
does not look very comfortable."

"I'll sleep nearest the door" he said. That was where I was lying with my
computer on my lap. But I just turned it off and moved to the other side of
the bed. It was further good practise for the compromise thing. He got in
under the sheet that was all I had on the bed, put his gun under his pillow
and switched the light off. "Goodnight," he said.

Even though there must have been at least a foot between us, I could feel
the heat from his body, and I could hear his steady breathing. I tried
sleeping on both my sides but could not get comfortable. So I lay on my
back hoping that sleep would come over me. Brad seemed to be asleep. But
suddenly I felt a hand take hold of mine and he moved it to his crotch and
I took hold of Brad's solid cut cock. It was a beautiful handful.

"Would you mind doing your buddy a favour?" he asked.

"You mean....."

"Yes grip it tight and move it nice and slow."

As I began to massage his cock I could see him in the dim light reflected
from outside. He was laying with his hands behind his head, his eyes shut,
and a big grin revealing those teeth again. Neither of us said anything as
I performed for him. (Or should that be on him?) He did sigh a couple of
times and once he moved my hand with his so that I held his cock nearer his
cock head. I had expected to get a little warning of his climax. But I
guess his commando training encouraged stealth and silence. So quite a bit
of his spunk - of which there was a great deal - spurted over me and the
bed as well as his own chest without any warning shout of 'fire in the
hole' or whatever it was that American soldiers in films always say.

I got out of bed and went to the bathroom. I put the light on and could see
the thick white fluid on my hand and arm and chest. Whether it really had
been in my mind to lick the spunk off my hand I am not sure. But at that
moment Brad came into the bathroom.

"Great hand job, buddy. I was brought up that it was sinful to abuse
yourself. But I guess getting a buddy to do it for you is OK in the sight
of the Lord."

"Anytime" I replied.

"I just might keep you to that. I can normally go a week or so without
shooting. And by the look of the Jizz on you and me, I think that must be
two week's worth.  But I guess while I am here I might as well make use of
all the facilities." The teeth flashed again as he saw my cock standing to
attention. I was also naked. "Hope you don't mind if I don't return the
favour."

"That's just fine Brad. I come from an ungodly country so we do self abuse
all the time." Brad quickly cleaned himself up and after he left the
bathroom I decided it might be prudent to relieve myself rather than have a
boner all night. As I jerked myself off I looked at my face in the mirror
and wondered what it would be like to actually have all those perfect white
teeth and a square chin and just a patch of blond hair on my head. I
actually shot my load as I imagined what it would be like to have those big
arm and chest muscles. I went back to bed.

Brad shook me awake. I looked at my watch it was only 6.00am. "It's a bit
early Brad. I don't have to be in work until 9.30. I am going to get
another couple of hours. I have jet lag." I didn't have jet lag but I never
liked early mornings.

"Up you get soldier. We need to get some exercise before breakfast."

"What! You go," I said as I turned my back to him and closed my eyes. I
felt a foot in my back and I was soon on the floor.

"I need the exercise and you must stay with me." I could have sworn that
the arrangement was that he would stay with me. "And when I give you an
order soldier you will reply 'Sir, Yes Sir'. Now get up and get your
running gear on." I looked at him and it was obvious that he was deadly
serious. So once again in the spirit of camaraderie and compromise I did
exactly what he told me.

We started running around the villa complex. Every few minutes he would
stop and demand I do 20 press ups or 20 sit ups or whatever. In fairness he
did them himself as well. But he is a fit muscular soldier. And even though
in less exalted company my body would not be considered too bad, I am a
weakling computer technician alongside the Texan cowboy. By the time we got
back to our villa and the pool I was almost on my knees. "Twenty lengths of
the pool," he barked. He seemed to have a thing about the number 20. What
was wrong with 10 or even 5?

I mumbled "sir, yes sir" but either I was not loud enough or I was not
enthusiastic enough as he picked me up and dropped me into the water. For a
second or two I wondered if drowning would provide a good change of
career. But then I came back to the surface. By this time Brad had stripped
off his clothes and was in the pool flashing his meat and two veg at me. I
got my wet clothes off and threw them onto the side of the pool and then
started swimming alongside Brad as we went up and down. I was quite pleased
that for the first 18 lengths, and by swimming flat out, I kept up with the
soldier. But then I found out that he had only been playing with me as he
completed the final two lengths in less time than it took me to complete
one. I limped home to where Brad was waiting. "Not bad soldier," he said. I
was beginning to wonder when I had enlisted. Or had I been conscripted?
Would that be part of what was meant by the US's extra territorial reach?
"I will get you fit and get some proper muscles on that body of yours."

"I am not sure which will kill me first - you or Al Qaeda." He did not
respond, probably because I said it very much under my breath. It was not
that I did not want to offend him. It was just that I was beginning to
think that punishment might follow any answering back to my superior. I am
sure this one man army alongside me would have rules about insubordination.

We got out of the pool and dried ourselves. I showed commendable self
restraint. My cock only fattened and filled a little as I looked at the
swaying pendulum between his legs. As we went inside the villa he said "Ham
and eggs for breakfast. I'll do it."

"That's very kind. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No I will do the food. You can clean my boots. There is polish and rags in
my bag." I just looked at him. "Wrong answer soldier," he bellowed at
me. Fear won over bravado.

"Sir, yes sir" I replied.

So while he started in the kitchen I got the rags and polish and cleaned
his boots. Not, of course, that they were dirty. Even Middle Eastern dirt
knew its proper place - which was nowhere near this soldier's (or should it
be cowboy's?) boots. When I finished I put them on the table. I had meant
it to show that I had finished. But he actually came and inspected them in
minute detail. "Not bad, but you have not polished the heels" he said as he
pushed the boots into my chest. So I was wrong. I only thought that I had
finished. I went back to the rags and polish and did the heels. I left the
boots where they were rather than give him an excuse to inspect them
again. I had brown stains, like a bad fake tan, on my hands. Brad told me
not to worry as the polish was water soluble. Fortunately he was right.

His ham and eggs - which were actually 2 large pieces of bacon that looked
more like gammon steaks, together with 4 eggs each - were really very
good. I guess I was hungry after the exercise and I finished it all,
together with 3 pieces of toast, coffee and orange juice. Once again, Brad
did his 'cut it all up and then fork it in' routine. Perhaps he thought
that that was what 'ambidextrous' means.

I finished first and took my plates to the kitchen. The maid would sort
them out. I then went to the bathroom and got in the shower. I was washing
my hair when Brad came into the bathroom and got in the shower with me. It
was a big shower, so there was plenty of room. Even so I was a bit
surprised. Brad stood in the stream of water as I soaped a sponge and
washed myself. I offered Brad the sponge to wash himself. "No it's ok, you
can wash me buddy." So I was now buddy again. As a good soldier should, I
lathered up the sponge and started cleaning my best buddy. I worked my way
down from his shoulders. My cock started to misbehave as I took in every
contour of his perfectly sculptured body. If he noticed, he did not say
anything. When I got down to his crotch I looked up at him. He just nodded
so I soaped his cock and balls trying to kid myself that it was the most
natural thing in the world. It had one good effect as his cock began to
fill with blood and point at me. Actually I think 'good effect' is the
wrong term as I had a huge desire to take that great cockhead in my
mouth. Perhaps what I should have said was that his erection meant that we
were both on a level playing field. Although maybe that is also wrong as
his cock was half as big again as mine in both length and breadth. Well
never mind. You get the picture.

We rinsed off and then dried ourselves, although he dried my back and I
his. Which gave me a great chance to look at his arse. Did I mention that
he had a great arse? Like two ripe melons. We got dressed. I was 'smart but
casual', Brad was all cowboy. We went out to the SUV that the company had
given me. He told me he would drive as he was 'fully trained in extracting
us from a potentially hostile terrain'. I couldn't resist saying "You mean
you are better at running away from the bad guys." He punched my arm as if
he had enjoyed my little joke. And by the time we got to the oil company
office complex, my arm had almost come back to life. There was only a
slight residual numbness.

As I was installing the computer system for the company there were no oil
company staff yet working in the building. Just Brad and me and a few other
workmen finishing off the decoration. I got Brad to help me hump and open
boxes and open up the panelling to expose the complex wiring. I then
installed the routers and other devices that hide out of sight but without
which the internal network would not function. Over time Brad became more
and more helpful as he learnt my way of doing things.

While we were having a short break and a cold Coke, one of the locals - in
a sort of dressing gown with a tea towel on his head - came and nosed
around. He looked a little strange as he had very pale skin and I could see
Converse canvas basketball boots sticking out. He moved to put his hand
inside his robe. That is as far as he got before Brad was on him. He
grabbed his hand and carefully pulled it out. In his hand was a gun. Brad
almost broke his wrist until he dropped the gun, which clattered on the
ground. Then he pushed him to the floor, covering him with his own gun that
had, like the 'phone the night before, miraculously appeared in his hand.

"Pick up his gun and cover him while I call for backup." I picked it up and
sort of waved it in the general direction of the man on the floor. But if
he had made a move I could not have shot him. Not only did I have scruples
about such things, but I had not been trained in 'dealing with a one on one
combat scenario' (as Brad later described it) - even where only one of the
ones had a gun.

Brad called for backup, and a bit as if he had summoned up a genie by
rubbing the lamp, I could see through the window the 'backup' suddenly
appear (in a jeep) in a cloud of smoke down the dusty road. Two soldiers
ran in both waving large guns. (OK I can identify any piece of computer
equipment at 100 paces but military equipment is a mystery to me. Humour me
and accept my description). They dragged the man up and out of the door
through which they had entered, and disappeared in another puff of smoke.

"That is two attempts on your life. Aren't you glad I am here?" I said that
I was. But that was not only as I enjoyed living. I also enjoyed Brad
guarding my body and letting me service his.

The rest of the day went without incident, as did the next two weeks. It
was the same routine every day. Exercise followed by breakfast and boot
cleaning. Work. Beer on the patio - or if we were feeling really like
taking our lives in our own hands - a swim followed by a beer around the
pool. Then dinner, DVD (or two), me being a buddy and getting covered in
spunk, self abuse and sleep. Not that I was complaining. I was getting much
fitter, my muscles were getting bigger and Brad's boots kept shiny. I was
becoming an expert on John Wayne's back catalogue. I felt noble supporting
my buddy in the military in the best way I could. (OK I loved getting my
hand around his cock. And just in case you are curious, I did begin to lick
some of the jizz that he sprayed over me. I guess I needed the protein
after all the exercise he put me through. Well that's what I would tell my
priest if I were not a godforsaken self abuser.)

I say that the two weeks went without incident. That is not quite true. On
two occasion Brad took exception to two cars while we were driving
home. One he ran off the road and the other he outran back to the villa
complex. I caught sight of the guys in the cars on both occasions. They
were dressed in the local costume but both looked rather pale skinned and I
could have sworn that one must be wearing a blond wig as I could see short
straw coloured hair when his hood came off his head as the car slammed into
a tree. But maybe it was a trick of the sunlight.

On the third Tuesday, with the first phase of my work nearing its end, Brad
suggested we go to the newly installed kitchen area to have something hot
to eat. We helped ourselves to frozen pizza from the well stocked freezer
and were sitting eating at the table when the door burst open and we were
faced by the business end of one of those large guns that I mentioned
previously, in the hands of another member of the dressing gown and tea
towel brigade. The guy with the gun and two more members of his platoon
came in. They relieved Brad of his weapon and made us move our chairs so
they were back to back. Then they tied us together. I managed to hold
Brad's hands as they tied gags around our mouths. (I am sure I should have
had my mind on other things, but it had become a bit of a game for me to
see how and how often I could touch my cowboy). They didn't say anything
but the one with the gun sat at the table with Brad's Pizza in front of him
while the other two left. He put his gun down, rightly guessing that we
were not going anywhere, and started to eat pizza. I noticed that he had a
brownish skin colour. I also saw the same Converse canvas and rubber boots
on his feet. He cut small pieces off the pizza. I noticed that he was left
handed. Then he put the fork into his left hand and started to eat. The
whole thing soon disappeared.

One of the others appeared in the doorway and nodded to the gunman and then
moved out of sight again. The gunman came over and removed our gags. "Tell
me why I should not kill you Yankee swine?" He must have picked his English
up from watching the Godfather movies as his accent was thick and somewhat
theatrical. Then a bead of sweat fell from his brow onto his cream robe and
I noticed the damp stain. In that instant, everything clicked.

"I am not a Yankee. I am British. Well Scottish to be more precise. Nor
actually is my friend here as he comes from Texas. But then I suspect you
know all too well that 'Yankees' refers to people from the north east of
the US. Are you a Yankee or do you hale from another part of the good ol'
US of A?" He pointed the gun at me and I wondered if my computation might
have been wrong.

"You are crazy." His accent had become thicker - almost Hollywood
Mexican. Then a clearly American voice spoke from the doorway.

"How did you know?" I turned to see a man in a pale grey suit with grey
hair and even a grey complexion.

"You made too many mistakes. The broken vase on my first night was never a
proper attempt to kill me. No real terrorist would be so inept or be put
off by making a noise when they were so close to me. Then you made the
mistake of the supposed attackers having skin that was far too pale. Except
for my friend here. But I would recognise that shade of brown boot polish
that is stained on his robe, anywhere. I have had it all over my hands as I
polished my buddies boots. The clincher was the way he ate. No one else
cuts their food up into small pieces before eating it except maybe small
children and Americans. And no Arab eats with his left hand. He saves that
for more intimate tasks. Could you untie me?"

We were soon both free. I looked at Brad. "Were you in on this?"

"It was a training exercise. We have some important people coming over and
needed some real time training in a congenial environment."

"You mean important as in American as opposed to unimportant as in
British. And I thought we had special relationship, Brad," I said with a
broad grin.

Our captors and the grey man left. I went back and closed up the last of
the ducting panels and collected my tools. The subterranean wiring work was
complete. A few more days to complete the visible wiring and then I could
head back to the highlands where air conditioning is the name we give to
powerful room heaters.

Out of habit I let Brad drive me home. Not that I think he would have given
me the keys. The rest of the evening went beer - dinner - DVD - bed. Brad
grabbed my hand and moved it to his stiff cock. I took hold of it (of
course) but did not start to massage it. "You know I am not sure that God
would approve of a buddy abusing a friend."

"Oh come on. You have been doing it every night for the last couple of
weeks. If it is sinful then you are already dammed."

"I didn't mean that. I mean someone distracting a buddy in his work at just
the right moment for his friends to come in and attach monitoring equipment
to the computer systems of a foreign oil company."

Brad hitched himself up onto his elbows and looked at me. "You saw that?"

"It was a neat job, but I know how I left things. I am not sure that anyone
else will notice. Unless of course I tell them."

"Will you tell them?"

"You know I really believe in the special relationship and I think we
should firmly cement it here and now. So let's forget about the abuse/self
abuse thing. Just fuck me soldier."

"Sir, yes Sir" he replied as he climbed on top of me.

We only did it the once. (Well actually we did it twice. But I think it
only counts as once as they were both within an hour of each other). When I
think of that night in bed I always get a picture of a big Sherman tank
powering through the trees with its huge turret pointing slightly skywards.
Both it and Brad could home in on their target and pack one hell of a
punch.

Brad was not in bed when I woke in the morning. He left me his cowboy boots
with the brown polish and rags together with a post-it note saying 'Make
sure you make these shine, soldier.'