Date: Wed, 1 Jun 2016 14:50:24 -0600
From: Colton <coltonaalto@gmail.com>
Subject: Spring Break Happens in Vegas - chapter 3

A disclaimer or two:

* My experiences - images, events, memories, words – flavor everything I
write. This story, however, is fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or
persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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* This story depicts unprotected sex. In real-life, be safe!

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SPRING BREAK HAPPENS IN VEGAS

By Colton Aalto

CHAPTER THREE – LAS VEGAS NIGHTS, PART ONE

My half-brother Jan and I had no more than finished toweling off after
making out in the shower when Jon appeared with clothes. My ass was still
feeling happy and it missed the feel of Jan's cock. I wondered if Jon knew
his twin brother had just fucked my ass. If so, Jon didn't let on. But
unless the twins were telepathic or had some other subtle way of
communicating, there was no way Jon would know.

"It's RevoSunday!" Jon announced, as if I knew what that was. "We're going
out. Here put this on!" He tossed me a silvery sliver of spandex strings
that turned out to be a singlet.

The singlet wasn't a normal singlet, but one that was designed to be as
skimpy as possible and made of the thinnest material ever created. After
some hesitation, I slithered into it, feeling the material cleave my
freshly fucked crack, and staring dumbly at my junk, which was clearly
outlined against the clingy material.

"You're not wearing it right," Jon said dryly. There was a right way to
wear a singlet? "There's a C ring inside," he continued. "You gotta stick
your dick and balls through the hole in the material." Sure enough, I found
a small circular hole in the material and was able to cram my cock and
balls through it. It was a built-in cock ring. My junk, barely masked by
the thin material before I collected it and shoved it into the C ring,
looked positively lurid afterwards. There was little if any doubt about
what my equipment looked like in the flesh. If I sucked my stomach in even
slightly, I could see all the way down to my trimmed pubes and the base of
my cock, imprisoned by the C ring.

Jon nodded approvingly, "Looks hot. Silver's good on you." He slapped my
ass with his bare hand, making me worry for a second that the gusher of cum
Jan had planted in my freshly-fucked hole might leak out.

Apparently my bag had still not been delivered from the airport, so Jon
gave me some of his clothes to put over the singlet. Fortunately, the rest
of my outfit was more mundane than the singlet. It included a polo shirt
that somehow made my chest and shoulders look big while highlighting my
narrow waist, and a pair of skinny jeans that were a size too big in the
waist. They were infinitely more stylish than anything I had ever worn and
rode low on my ass, but that was apparently the idea. Jon announced his
satisfaction with my outfit. Gesturing at the shirt, he said, "I found an
old Abercrombie polo for you. Now that Abercrombie's boring and not
subliminally gay, the brand is going down, big time, but you might as well
enjoy its last 15 minutes of fame."

Jan and Jon disappeared to get ready, telling me to meet them upstairs. I
wandered to the top floor of the penthouse and was stunned by the
incredible interior space and amazing external view. I could hear someone –
presumably my uncle – talking on the phone from a big study, but I
didn't interrupt him. Instead I stared at the lights of Vegas, bright
against the darkening sky, while trying to quiet my disgruntled and
increasingly angry stomach and get a grip on what had just happened to
me. My half-brother had just taken my cherry ass.

Jan appeared and stuck his head into my uncle's study. I heard a deep voice
say, "Let me hold you for a second."

"We're gonna hit Pizza Rock and spend the night on the houseboat," Jan
announced.

"Sure," my uncle replied. "Jen arrive okay?"

"Yeah, he's here," Jan said. "You wanna say hi to him?"

"Can't," my uncle said. "I'll see you boys tomorrow. Have fun." With that,
he returned to his phone call. I was relieved. I had no idea how my
father's feud with my uncle would play out while I was in Vegas, but I
dreaded finding out. My father would have been an icy jerk to my brothers
if they had been around him. And that would have been his good side.

Pizza Rock was in a big brick warehouse downtown. The restaurant got its
name because, in addition to serving pizza, a DJ in a booth constructed
from a semi-tractor trailer cab played loud rock music that blared from
huge speakers. We waited 20 minutes for a table, and I wondered what the
place would be like on Saturday night if it was this packed on Sunday
night.

After we were seated, Jon passed me a New York driver's license. "You're
gonna need this," he explained. "First for beer. And later, too. We told
Dad we were going to spend the night on the houseboat, and we
are. But... we're gonna make a tiny little detour on the way there." He
gave Jan a knowing smirk. "To RevoSunday. It's a hot gay dance
party. You'll love it."

Excited that I would be going to my first gay dance party, I stared at the
ID. The picture looked exactly like me but it was much too good of a photo
to be anything that my parents had ever taken. "Where'd you get the
picture?" I asked.

"It's a picture of a model named Paddy Mitchell," Jon said. "You look just
like him. The only problem may be that the photo has better resolution,
lighting and angles than any picture a driver's license bureau ever took."

"I told Jen about Paddy," Jan said nonchalantly. Jon gave Jan a suspicious
look.

"I'm not 21," I said dubiously, looking at the birth date on the driver's
license. I wasn't even 18. The license had my birth date, but the year was
four years before I was born.

"Sherlock," Jon said, sounding serious. He leaned over the table and cupped
his chin with his hands until he was staring directly into my eyes. "That
would be the main reason you need a fake ID," he said slowly, as if
explaining something elementary to an idiot. He held his serious look for a
second, and then smirked before he and Jan busted out laughing. Jon pulled
out his own fake ID. "We're not 21 either, not by a long shot. What do you
think?"

Jon had a New York license, too. I couldn't tell whether the picture was
Jon's or Freddie Fox's. "I guess it looks okay," I replied.

"Right," Jon replied, stuffing his ID back into his wallet. "If the bouncer
asks, you just gotta remember what's on that ID. You're 21 and you live in
New York City. New... York... City... Got that? If he asks what you do,
tell him you're a model," he snickered. I nodded.

Our waiter appeared with water, announcing, "You're mine tonight. I'm
Alec."

Fuck, with his long hair cascading over his ears and his hot body, I would
have loved to have been Alec's for the night. I stared at the hunk as Jan
ordered a pitcher of beer, producing his fake ID.

Alec gave us a long look and a knowing smile, nodding his head and saying,
"Right, pitcher and ... t h r e e glasses?" He stared at me as he drew out
`three.'

Jon produced his ID, so I pulled mine out too. Alec glanced at Jon's ID and
took his time with mine. "New York, eh?" he said, handing my ID back
slowly.

"Um, yeah," I replied. It wouldn't have surprised me if he had summoned the
manager and kicked the three of us out.

Instead a slight smile crossed Alec's face. "You dudes out for a night on
the town?" he asked. "Sunday night can be damn hot, at least at some
places."

"We have a hot place in mind," Jon replied. "RevoSunday. Maybe we'll see
you there?"

"Maybe," the waiter replied with a friendly grin. He added, "You're right
about it being hot. Can be a hell of a lot of fun." He headed off to get
our drinks.

Alec had barely disappeared when Jon gave me a leering smile and said,
"Fuck, our waiter thinks you're hot."

I gave Jon a mystified look. In southern Illinois, waiters did not think
guys were hot. Chicks, yes, but not guys. Even if a waiter might be gay, he
wouldn't think I was hot. I was the geek occupying the other end of the
spectrum from hot. Certainly a dude like the hunk that had just taken our
order would not think I was hot.

"Absolutely," Jan added. "I've seen that look before. Many times. Our
waiter was just calculating how hard he would have to work to get his cock
in your ass."

"Hell," Jon laughed. "Dude could tell by looking that it wouldn't take much
effort. Isn't that right, bro?"

I didn't speak, looking at the two identical Freddie Foxes smiling at
me. Having just plowed my ass, Jan obviously knew I was gay, but when did
Jon find out? Maybe Jan told him while they were getting dressed; after
all, my half-brothers were twins and probably shared everything.

But still, did they really think I would hook up with a waiter I had just
met? The guy was hot, and yes, if I had the opportunity to have sex with a
guy like that, I would have jumped on it. But was it that obvious?

Pizza Rock's menu featured a dizzying array of pizza. My father considered
pizza vaguely satanic, either because it was associated with Catholic
Italians or because beer was often consumed with it. So pizza was a rare
treat for me, and with the vast choices on the menu, I was relieved when
Jan ordered for us after Alec returned with the pitcher of beer. Jan and
Jon raised their glasses to toast spring break in Vegas. I did the same,
tasting my first beer.

The pizza was spectacular, although given my famished state, cardboard
probably would have tasted great. Jan paid the bill, leaving an
intentionally oversized tip for Alec, and pointed the black SUV towards the
Strip. Helped along by my first alcoholic buzz, I was amazed by the garish
neon lights, massive hotel towers and the throngs of people along Las Vegas
Boulevard. I had never seen a stretch limo before, and they surrounded us
on all sides.

Jan pulled into a valet stand at the Mirage. We made our way through the
casino, the first time I had ever seen one. The lights and sounds were
overwhelming. I glanced at the tiny sign on one of the blackjack tables and
saw the minimum was $100, a staggering sum to a kid from the sticks like
me.

Toward the back of the casino was a line of young men and a few women
waiting to gain entrance to Revolution, the club that hosted
RevoSunday. Instead of joining the line, Jon led us to a side door marked
"Guest List." Only six or seven men were in line at the Guest List door.

As we waited, I fixated on the men in the other line. RevoSunday had a
different theme every week, and a big sign announced this week was the
`Skin Party.' Half of the patrons were dressed normally – well, normally
for a night on the town in Las Vegas – but the other half looked like
they were headed to the beach or to some sex club. I thought only guys on
swim teams wore Speedos, but several were on display, and plenty of dudes
were in nothing but underwear, and not baggy boxer shorts, either. Skimpy
was in, from tiny bikini briefs to snug jock straps. It was the Skin Party
and skin was exactly what was showing, with bare chests, bare legs and bare
butts. I saw a group of five young men in thongs, narrow strings snaking
into their ass cracks and tiny pouches holding their junk. They were drunk
already.

The doorman took a skeptical look at Jan's ID, frowning, and when he looked
at me I knew we were in trouble, regardless of how convincing my New York
driver's license looked. It's one thing to sneak into a bar when you're
close to being 21 and maybe look older because of some scruff or something
like that. My brothers and I, on the other hand, resembled a famous male
actor and a famous male model, but our faces didn't make the cut as
21-year-olds.

"I can't let you in," the doorman announced.

"What do you mean?" Jon said. "We have IDs."

"They look good, too," the doorman acknowledged, "you got your money's
worth. But you boys aren't 21."

At that moment, someone inside the club spotted us and yelled, "Jan, Jon, I
was expecting you!" A young black man dressed in a stylish, skinny suit
emerged. "And who is this lovely specimen?" he asked, leering at me.

"A modeling buddy," Jan replied. "He's from New York."

"Well, I'm Tion, and let me give you my personal welcome to Sin City," the
young man said, hugging me. "And if you need help finding the sin, you just
let me know, honey, because for you, I'll make sure you get anything you
want. And maybe a few things you don't think you wanted, but after you get
them, you'll change your mind."

The doorman's perpetual frown had darkened into a glowering scowl, but our
savior said, "It's okay, Jake. They have table reservations." Tion pulled
us inside the club, prompting a disgusted look from Jake. I never even had
to show my New York driver's license.

Revolution was an ultra-swank nightclub that was straight six nights during
the week but gay on Sundays. It was the most incredible place I had ever
been inside, like nothing I had seen. Of course, as a 17-year-old
preacher's boy, I had never been inside a bar, even a honky-tonk pit stop
in southern Illinois. But my surreptitious tours of the internet hadn't
unearthed anything like Revolution either. The sound system was blaring so
loud that you had to shout to say anything, but the audience wasn't there
for deep conversations.

The crowd was all ages from 70 down to, yes, 17, but it mostly tilted to 20
somethings and the low end of 30 somethings. More men than women, and more
gays than straights, but it was mixed.

Jan and Jon had reserved a private table that consisted of a sectional
couch around a low table, surrounded by curtains on three sides. Tion
escorted us to the area, dropping a rope that said `reserved.' "What'll it
be tonight?" he shouted to Jan and Jon.

"I'm in the mood for Jack," Jon shouted back. "Tennessee Fire. Or maybe
honey. Hell, both."

"Coming right up," our escort said.

"Show time," Jon announced. He stripped off his shirt and shorts, tossing
them on the couch and revealing a singlet almost as lewd as mine. I had to
admit he looked hot, his wavy blond hair glowing in the bar lights and his
black singlet showing off his ripped muscles. "How do I look?" he asked.

"Never better," Jan replied. I was stunned when he pulled Jon into a long,
passionate kiss.

What I was witnessing wasn't a good natured hug between two brothers but
rather a tongue-in-mouth embrace between two lovers. The kind of kiss I had
shared with Jan a couple of hours ago. This was different, however. It was
one thing to commit incest with a half-brother in secret. It was another to
make out with your twin brother in public. Or was it?

Maybe Jan and Jon didn't care what others thought, which I suspected was
the case. And maybe they relished the potential scandal. That certainly
seemed to be the case as I watched Jan slip his hands inside Jon's singlet
and grab his ass. Jon responded by grinding his crotch against Jan's. It
was a fucking hot scene that was seared into my mind in a way that would
take a long, long time to forget. My recently relieved cock announced it
was wide awake, stirring inside my singlet and jeans.

Breaking the kiss, Jon announced, "I'm gonna look around."

"Yeah, you mean you're gonna shop around," Jan laughed. In a moment Jon
disappeared into the crowd.

Jan stripped, too, revealing a bright red singlet, the same design as
Jon's. Glancing at me, he said, "You, too, stud."

Before I could react, our waiter appeared with a tray of booze, mixers, ice
and glasses. He set the tray on the low table and asked, "Can I pour you a
drink?"

"Yeah, Fire 7Up," Jan said. The waiter looked at me and, having zero
experience in ordering drinks, I said, "Same." Moments later he handed Jan
and me two short glasses with what appeared to me to be an oversized ice
cube smothered in whiskey and a mist of 7Up.

"To your first night in Vegas," Jan said, raising his glass. "And your
first ass fucking! A day to remember forever!" He downed his drink and I
followed suit, not expecting the burning sensation as the whiskey rolled
down my throat. Jan quickly poured second drinks. At the rate the bottle of
whiskey was disappearing, the open can of 7Up was going to outlast it.

Jon reappeared, happy and smiling, and handed me a tiny pill. "Party on!"
he said, fixing himself a drink, too. I asked, "What's this?"

"It's a date rape drug," Jon said, bending close to me so I could
hear. "Guaranteed to make you wake up in the morning with a sore ass!"

"That detail has been taken care of already," Jan said with a knowing
smile.

Jon looked at Jan, glanced back at me and returned to stare at Jan before
mumbling, "When did..." Realizing that Jan and I had been alone in the
locker room and shower, Jon pieced it together. He turned to me and yelled,
"You fucking little slut!" A couple of guys at the table next to us turned
to stare. "You let my brother fuck you already?"

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I halfway
expected Jon to slug me, but instead he grabbed me and pressed his mouth
against mine. In no time he was French kissing me, grabbing my ass and
grinding his cock against me. He tasted of beer, whiskey and pizza. "He may
have drilled you first, slut, but the next cock in your ass is gonna be
mine," Jon growled. "It was my idea to get you here in the first place!"

Jon pulled my polo shirt over my head and fumbled with the buttons on the
jeans he had loaned me before realizing they would disappear much quicker
if he just slid them over my hips without unbuttoning them. He slipped his
hands inside my singlet to cup my ass cheeks. "I own this bubble butt,
understand?" he said. "Your ass is mine and I'm gonna party hard in it, got
that?" I nodded dumbly, telling myself that Jon surely wasn't going to fuck
me here in the bar. Maybe that was what the curtains around our table were
for, although that seemed improbable even by Vegas standards. It had
probably happened, however.

Jon tossed back his drink and hauled me onto the dance floor. I was
unnerved that virtually every man we squeezed past seemed to think it was
perfectly fine to tweak one of my tits or grab my ass or cop a feel of my
junk. Guys that merely felt my abs were tame. One man pressed my hand
against his crouch and whispered, "Hey, cutie, care for a piece of this?"
He wasn't bad looking.

The dance floor was marginally safer, although I can't say that constantly
brushing up against sweaty bodies did much for me. The skin part of the
Skin Party was evident. Guys in Speedos or bikini briefs looked
overdressed. The singlets Jon and I wore were conservative compared to what
many of the men around me wore. I saw a guy dressed in nothing more than a
tiny pouch, held in place by strings that looped over his shoulders and
down his ass crack. One guy was wearing a jock strap with a pouch that
snapped off, and three of the four snaps were already open. Even guys that
appeared to be mostly clothed weren't, because they wore see-through mesh
underwear.

The earlier beer and the two glasses of Jack I had downed began to catch up
to me, and whatever pill Jon had given me kicked in as well. Suddenly I was
very, very happy, enjoying myself immensely. I tried to mimic Jon's dance
steps, but he moved so fluidly and with such confidence that I gave up,
instead just moving to the music on my own. I found myself getting lost in
songs, hoping the music would last forever. Shirtless men swirled around me
everywhere I looked. I was a long, long ways from southern Illinois.

Jan appeared and the three of us danced together. I lost track of time as
we whirled to the music, surrounded by scores of shirtless, sweat drenched,
mostly naked men. The dance floor was dark enough that for the most part
guys were only shadows, but every so often a spotlight would pan the floor
and highlight a boy that would become suddenly visible, his image seared in
my mind until the next hot man appeared. My brothers' thick, wavy blond
hair grew damp and started to stick to their foreheads. I felt a trickle of
sweat run down the middle of my back, not stopping until it ran into my ass
crack. In short order, the trickle became a steady stream of sweat rivulets
pouring off my bare shoulders.

I could have danced all night, as the song goes, but Jon pulled us off the
dance floor, saying, "I need a drink!" We collapsed on the couch by our
table, and our waiter appeared out of nowhere to pour drinks. This time I
got the honey whiskey, which tasted incredible, though it still burned all
the way down. I downed the booze like it was water and our waiter
immediately refilled my glass.

My recollections of the rest of the night at the club are vague. We danced
endlessly, downing shots of Jack when we broke from the dance floor. Once I
saw Jon making out with a cute, older guy. Of course, everyone in the bar
was older than we were and the guy sucking Jon's face was probably only 22
or 23. He was dressed in microscopic white bikini briefs and Jon had pulled
the back of the briefs down until most of the guy's crack was showing. Jon
was using both of his hands to give the guy's ass cheeks a rough
massage. At one point I thought Jon was sticking a finger in the guy's ass,
but in the darkness I couldn't tell for sure.

Jon likes butts, I thought. I hoped Jon liked my butt as much as he seemed
to like the ass on the guy in the white briefs. I had a sudden pang of fear
that Jon would pick the other guy up and wouldn't fuck me like he said he
would. I wanted Jon to fuck me, wanted him in my ass the way Jan had
been. Sick. I was lusting after my half-brother.

During a break from the dance floor, Jan took me to the men's room. The
logistics of taking a piss while wearing tight C-ring singlets meant it was
easier to use a stall, and while we waited for one to open, a guy stepped
behind me and put his arms around me, running his hands across my sweaty
chest.

I started to turn around to see who was grabbing me, but
hesitated. Something about being accosted by a mystery man I could feel but
not see was exciting. Nothing of the man other than two muscular arms was
visible. A scruffy face rubbed against my neck. Deciding not to turn
around, I reached back with one hand and felt a bare, muscular leg,
slippery with sweat.

"You're a cute little cock tease," a deep voice whispered in my ear.

Jan heard the comment and turned around, asking, "What makes you think he's
a tease?" He reached for my face, surprising me by slipping a finger into
my mouth.

"Cuz he's too pretty," came the reply.

Jan laughed. "You think my baby's pretty?" he asked.

"Fuck, yeah," came the response. "He's damn pretty." Perhaps emboldened
because neither Jan nor I had stopped him, the mystery man pulled me
closer, pressing his bare chest against my back. One big hand gripped my
abs and another tweaked one of my bare nipples. I felt the dude's crotch
against my butt cheeks.

"Pretty enough to fuck?" Jan asked. "You like his hot body?"

"Damn right," the man said, beginning to grind his cock against my butt.

"What if I told you this boy was born to bottom and has a tight ass that
will suck the cum right out of your balls?" Jan asked. Where the hell was
this going?

An excited "Fuck!" was all the mystery man could utter.

Laughing, Jan said, "You're right that he's pretty," Jan said. "But you're
wrong about him being a tease. Trust me, I know." Jan bent forward and
French kissed me, stopping only when a stall opened. He slipped inside,
blowing me a kiss with a big smile.

I immediately wished Jan hadn't left me alone. With Jan out of the picture,
the hands holding me tightened around my chest and the dude began to thrust
his crotch against my butt. The man's bare, sweaty chest was warm against
my back and the cock pressed against my ass crack was semi-hard. The guy
purred, "If you're not a tease, pretty boy, let's see what you got."

My secret admirer slipped a hand inside my singlet. His fingers reached the
base of my cock before being stymied by the C ring, which imprisoned my
cock and balls in the singlet's pouch. He settled for squeezing the base of
my cock with an iron grip while kneading one of my pecs with his other
hand. He licked my neck, nibbling slightly with his teeth, and began to
thrust his crotch harder against my buns.

With the mystery man's fist clamping the base of my dick, my junk hardened
in no time. I was mesmerized by the muscles of the guy's arms. Both of his
big biceps were graced by double ring tattoos. I felt the man's breath in
my ear as he nuzzled my neck. "You wanna fuck, don't you hot stuff?" the
man asked.

I was frozen, unable to reply. "C'mon, baby," the man hissed. "Next stall
that opens, we'll take it. You wrap your pretty red lips around my cock and
get me hard, and then I'll bend you over, ram my dick in your tight boi
hole and fuck your brains out. I'll breed your ass like it was meant to be
bred."

I couldn't form words in my brain, much less speak. "One fuck from me and
I'll turn you into a cock whore, pretty boy. That's what you were born to
be. You know you want me to ride you like a bitch."

Drunk and flying high, I contemplated the thought of a complete stranger
shoving me into a stall and fucking my ass, without me knowing what he
looked like. It was trashy and intriguing and exciting at the same
time. And it scared the shit of me.

"C'mon, pretty boy," my admirer growled. "Your ass was made to take cock,
baby. My big cock. And we both know you want it. You're horny for a cock up
your ass. Your bubble butt was made to be used. You're a fuck toy if I ever
saw one."

The guy didn't seem to be waiting for a stall to open and instead was
trying to wedge his cock into the back of my singlet. Suddenly a stall door
opened and older guy in a leather jock strap emerged, giving us a passing
glance. I scampered inside, shutting the door and hoping that nobody could
see my raging hard on, jutting against the thin material of my singlet.

As I closed the door, I glanced back, for the first time seeing the man
that had propositioned me. He was wearing nothing but tan bikini
briefs. The color matched his skin perfectly, almost making him look
naked. The dude was young, handsome, and well-built. In short, a masculine
stud. He was a guy that I couldn't believe would be interested in me. Maybe
he was just drunk and high. But fuck! If I hadn't chickened out, he could
have been in the stall with me and I could have been slurping on his cock
as a prelude to getting my ass fucked. I wasn't so sure that I didn't want
exactly that.

By the time I extricated my engorged cock from the singlet, coaxed it into
softening enough for me to piss, emptied my bladder, and jammed my dick and
balls back inside the C-ring, the stud was long gone. As scared as I was
about what he might do to me, I was more disappointed he had disappeared. I
peered around the restroom in a futile effort to locate him, but he was
nowhere to be seen.

I rejoined Jan and Jon on the dance floor, wishing I had gotten a better
look at the mystery stud. Jan didn't do anything make me feel better about
the lost opportunity, raving a couple of times about how hot the guy was,
even telling me, "For that man, I'd probably bottom, and I never do
that. Yep, no doubt about it. That stud can have my ass for the asking."
Every time I thought about the man's hands on my body and the idea of him
fucking my ass in the stall, I got semi-hard.

I vaguely remember leaving the bar and being amazed I was still wide
awake. It must have been whatever pill Jon had given me. Accounting for the
time difference between Central time and Vegas, I had been up for almost 24
hours and should have been exhausted. Instead, I was higher than a kite.

Vegas was going strong at 3:30 a.m. on a Monday morning. As Jan piloted the
big SUV down Las Vegas Boulevard and out of town, the gigantic neon lights
of the Strip faded to a grid of street lights and suburban houses, and then
to the darkness of the desert night. The stars were incredible.


TO BE CONTINUED...

Sorry I broke the story before another sex scene.  But stay tuned, that is
coming (or cumming) quickly in chapter 4.

I love to hear readers' reactions and suggestions. And also your thoughts
about the next chapter (hopefully up in a week). Coltonaalto@gmail.com

© Copyright Colton Aalto 2016