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The premiere nakation novel and the naturist experience

Since I seem to have written the premiere nakation novels click here for more info, I decided to post an essay on the clothing-optional experience for the curious and interested. There are a lot of misconceptions that go with the idea, and I will attempt to assuage any issues or fears associated with a first-time naturist experience.

Recent research suggests many folks out there are intrigued by the notion of baring it all at a clothing optional beach, resort, or campsite. However, there is a lot of trepidation that goes along with this concept. A recording engineer instructor once told me: “Fear is not knowing”, so I will address a variety of qualms one may have about taking the skinny dipping plunge.

First of all, nakationers are not weirdos. They are generally in their mid-thirties to mid-seventies, and come from all walks of life. People in the public eye tend to be discrete, and can usually afford to visit places where the chance of being photographed is near zilch.

While on the subject of photography; Taking pictures of nudists is a Cardinal sin, and perpetrators of such an act without permission can expect anything from a verbal drubbing to a physical confrontation. One resort in particular has a security staff that will throw your camera into the ocean. Problem solved. We used to become upset when we ventured into areas mixed with nudists and camera-wielding “textiles”, but have reached an age where we no longer care. Neither one of us plans to run for office or star in a movie. The latter would probably be beneficial promotionally anyway.

Perhaps the number one concern among women in particular is body image. They may fear being surrounded by magnificent specimens of womanhood; perfect bodies, toned in a gym and entirely deserving of display in an unencumbered state. Although you may see one or two that meet this description in a clothing optional setting, most nakationers are quite ordinary, regular folks who share an affinity for sunning and swimming au naturale . In fact, people that visit these places simply to look for perfect bodies are inevitably disappointed. A common phrase is that most of the people they see would look better with their clothes on. These people (usually gawkers) are completely missing the point. Nudists do not frequent c/o places to see nude; they are there to be nude. That is a big difference.

Women usually feel much better about themselves after visiting a nakation spot because they are in the company of other women much like themselves from a physical standpoint.

Men are generally less concerned with body image, and are more likely to encourage visiting a clothing optional environment than discourage it. But they too have qualms they are unlikely to talk about. These reservations generally fall into two areas:

Number one is that they won’t “measure up”.  Although it is true that a man will garner appreciative glances if he is particularly gifted, nakationers are by and large non-judgmental (pun intended). And it is true that well-endowed individuals will frequent nakation spots to flaunt this attribute, but they are commonly regarded as poseurs, and are also usually disappointed to harvest no more than a passing glance.

The other innate fear is what movie stars call “adult embarrassment” during bedroom scenes. Although this may be a problem on a first or second visit to a clothing optional setting, once you get used to those around you being nude, the atmosphere becomes as common as any other “textile” beach you might be visiting. In the meantime, you have the option of covering up, lying on your stomach, or hitting the pool, lake, or ocean until the animation passes. The time frame for acclimation varies from one individual to another.

To parade around in a state of excitement is a no-no! Your fellow sun-worshippers will let you know in no uncertain terms via non-verbal communication that you do not belong there if that is your intent.

Another concern shared by both men and women is being surrounded by swingers. Although there is always an element of singles and couples looking to hook up in these settings, they are a small minority and tend to gravitate to certain areas of the resort. If someone happens to ask in conversation if you are into the “lifestyle”, the answer would be a friendly no…unless of course you are there to swing. Nakationers are all about acceptance, so the sexual orientation and proclivities of their neighbors are much less inflammatory than say, their political beliefs.

The number of lifestylers also varies with the location. The proportion will be far greater at Hedonism in Negril, Jamaica than Club Orient on the Island of St. Martin. We are not swingers, but have no problem being in that environment. A simple no is all that is required when queried, and off they go to find another more willing couple. No one is going to waste time trying to convert you.

So, let us say you are both willing to take the clothing-optional plunge, but are reticent to drop four grand, only to find it is not for you. There is a way to ease into the scene affordably. Just about every state in the union has at least one clothing optional campsite or resort. AANR has complete listings of naturist resorts…you will be surprised how close one may be in relation to your doorstep. Fifty bucks is the average for a couple wanting to spend the day lounging by the pool or playing tennis or volleyball (I have never participated in the latter for fear of spikes). Another twenty dollars and you can pitch your tent and spend the night, or rent a mobile home for a few dollars more (highly recommended). Many of these resorts have nighttime activities such as theme dance parties. They are not to be missed. It pays to plan ahead if you like to party, but if you just need a day to experiment with the concept, any day will do.

If you like the experience on a local level, you might want to spend a little more and plan a trip to a stateside clothing-optional park such as Haulover Park in Florida. There are several hotels within a short drive, and the beach is quite large, and the clientele friendly. Haulover is just an example however. There may be a c/o state park much closer to your home.

If you decide to experience a 24/7 unencumbered experience, Club Orient in St. Martin is one of the premier naturist destinations. They have a variety of beachfront rooms, a restaurant, bar, and boutique/grocery store, all on site and all clothing optional. We have spoken with guests there that don’t even bother to pack a suitcase. Room prices vary with the season, and all rooms have kitchens completely stocked with cookware. This feature, along with free beach chairs and umbrellas makes the resort pretty affordable when compared to others that don’t offer these two amenities.

We have found that a diet and exercise program in anticipation of a trip always makes us feel better when we do get there. It is a great motivational tool, and makes us feel we have done our best to look our best when we hit the beach. This is not really necessary though; most are as accepting of your physical condition as they are of their own.

But I am not here to convince you to try something that does not sound the least bit appealing. This is simply a vignette for those that may be intrigued, or have ever wondered what it might be like to sun and swim au natural. When friends are confounded by our marked preference to clothing-optional vacation destinations, we simply explain that we want our vacation experience to be completely different than our ordinary day to day existence. For some, that is shaking hands with a giant mouse.

That just doesn’t do it for us.

Here is a short video from our last visit to Happy Bay:

Book excerpt: Sandy ponders her future

"Sandy was so lost in thought; she did not even realize someone had sat down beside her until he put his hand on her shoulder. Her heart stopped for a split second as she turned her head. It was not who she had expected, or hoped for. Getajob had noticed the bruises, and he was taking a closer look at them with concern and anger in his eyes. It wasn’t until then that the tears began to flow.

He sat quietly by her side as her body shook with sobs, until there were no more tears left inside. When her eyes finally dried, they both silently watched the sun move imperceptibly across the sky, as tourists and locals gathered to share this slice of heaven on earth around them.

 When she finally decided to go, Getajob walked with her until her parked car came into view near the bottom of the hill. She blew him a kiss before she got in. He nodded his head once, and returned to guard his self-proclaimed domain..."

Amazon author page

Book teaser, author info, pics, links, and how to order Happy Bay the Novel. Just follow this link:
:www.happybaynovel.com
Amazon, B&N, Sony, Apple, Kobo...everybody carries it. shouldn't you too?

Short Story: "Natural Selection"

This is a story I wrote some time ago, that seems appropriate in light of the rising problem of bullying. The protagonist learns there is little satisfaction on turning the tables on a bully when you are pure of heart. Or is he?
Please forgive the profanity. I felt it necessary to establish the character of the antagonist.

Natural Selection

Robbie took the short walk to the mailbox right off the street as he did every Monday through Friday at precisely 12:45. Bringing in the mail was one of the highlights of his day for two reasons; he liked to watch the cars go by for a while on the street before he went in, and he liked to sift through the correspondence to see if there was anything to bring up to Alfredo. Alfredo was the President of the small company Robbie was fortunate enough to find work with this year. Although he had been originally hired as a laborer, Robbie hurt his back pretty early on. He was short, overweight, and oddly built, so naturally the constant lifting of materials soon proved to be too much for him. Rather than fire him though, Alfredo had transferred him to the office, where Robbie did odds and ends and looked after Alfredo's personal errands. "Personal Assistant to the CEO". That would look good on his resume if this job were to someday end.

At twenty five years of age, Robbie had not lasted long at any job prior to this one. He was afflicted with genetic anomalies that were mysterious in origin, but it was pretty obvious to anyone that looked closely at him that something was not right. Being adopted, he would never really know what happened to him. Perhaps his Mother was a crack addict or alcoholic or both. It didn't really matter, since nothing was going to change, and he had a fine set of parents who never treated him like he was any different or less of a man than anyone else. It was the rest of the world that occasionally gave him trouble. He had learned to accept it, but was pretty sure he would never get used to it.

Robbie loved cars. He hoped someday he would be allowed to drive one. His dad was willing to teach him, but his reflexes were so slow that it seemed an accident would be inevitable. So they sat him down one night and told him this part of his life was probably not going to work out. That was tough to take. Robbie had spent years assembling model cars and had an impressive set of vintage Matchbox cars as well. He spent so many years waiting to own one, but now had to settle for admiring and building the miniature facsimiles.

One of his favorite models was the old El Camino. There was one just like the centerpiece of his collection that passed his work every day around this time. Although the car was in terrible shape, he still loved to watch it go by and dream of a day when he could have one of his own. He would even settle for this one and carefully repaint it with a brush to make it look just like the replica in his room. Although the El Camino usually roared by at 10 miles over the speed limit, today it slowed down after passing him and made a quick U-turn. The car sped into the company driveway and screeched to a halt just a few feet from Robbie.

“The Kid” was having a bad day. He had been out of pot for almost a week and gotten into a shouting match with his supervisor just before lunch. Getting through the workday without it was starting to drive him nuts. He sipped on a half pint of Popov and offered it to Mitch seated next to him. "Want some Cracker?" Mitch shook his head; he didn't like taking the chances that The Kid would take without a thought. In fact, if it wasn't for booze, Mitch would be in his own car driving with an unsuspended license right now. But there was nothing he could do about that at this moment. A little gas money, and he could go anywhere the Kid went; work, Karaoke bars, and the crapped out apartment they shared on the East Side. The Kid lived for those nights in the Karaoke bars. He knew every Kid Rock song by heart and screamed them out every chance he could get. He even went so far as to grow his hair out and dye it dirty blond in an effort to more closely resemble the singer.

"The Kid" was a nickname he had given himself, but fellow bar patrons and his coworkers liked to add a surname that rhymed with “Rock”. The Kid took it as a bow to his exaggerated sexual exploits while posing as the star, but it was actually a reference to his arrogant attitude and inflated self-importance. The Kid had a way of generalizing everything though. He even had a scar on his nose, given to him by Kid Rock's bodyguard when he made one too many drunken efforts to ingratiate himself to the real thing. Of course The Kid's own version of the story about the altercation evolved into a fist fight with the star; a fight The Kid had naturally won in his endless recantations. Mitch didn't care much for the "Cracker" sidekick status that The Kid kept trying to bestow upon him either, but again, there wasn't much he could do about it. He was biding his time and saving his money for the day when he could be out on his own again. Finding a girl to move in with was pretty much out of the question with The Kid constantly by his side. He had a way of cock-blocking and alienating women very quickly. Quite a contrast from the stories told to the unsuspecting fool that might happen into conversation with him.

But women, singing, and stories were not on The Kid's mind at this moment. He was staring at the short stubby guy standing next to a mailbox who seemed fixated on him as he drove by. "Dammit!" he shouted, "I am so sick of that little son of a bitch staring at me every God damn day. I'm gonna put a stop to this shit right now!" He wheeled into the driveway and was out of the car before it came to a full stop. The Kid stormed up to the bewildered looking guy clutching a fistful of correspondence. "Do you wanna tell me why the fuck you gotta stand there and stare at me every God damn day when I'm driving by?" The Kid was right up in the guy’s face. He looked more terrified than bewildered now and was only able to stammer out "Yes", "No", and some undecipherable sounds in retort. The Kid drew back a bit and eyed the guy with a bit more scrutiny. "There's something wrong with you isn't there?" he smiled the cruel smile of realization that Robbie had learned to fear and hate many years ago. "What are you, a retard or something?" The Kid took a step back to get a better look at Robbie. "I'm waiting for an answer moron!" Robbie felt frozen to the ground. He cast a furtive gaze towards the office, knowing no one inside would notice what was going on out front. "I like your car," he blurted out in a thick guttural tone. His parents had always told him that honesty was the best policy and he hoped they were right in this instance.

And it seemed to work. The Kid's rage softened into a smile of pride. "It is a fine machine, isn't it?" he replied as he turned to admire the classic-turned-beater. His father had given it to The Kid as a graduation present. Dad had reconditioned it from the ground up after discovering it in the barn of a client. It was showroom quality then, but after two accidents and years of misuse it now differed little from the vehicle his father had found abandoned years ago. The Kid thought about the bitter arguments and estrangement that followed his poor care of the vehicle and his rage began to resurface. He turned his attention back to Robbie. "I don't ever want to see you looking at me or this car ever again. You understand?" He was back in Robbie's face now, close enough for Robbie to recognize the odor of Big Mac and booze on the man's breath. "But I work here!" Robbie's head was spinning. He knew that was the wrong thing to say, but it spilled out of him nonetheless. The Kid drew in a breath of increasing anger and let it snort out his nostrils. "Gary! We gotta go!" Mitch intervened. They were going to be late coming back from lunch, and he had seen enough of this anyway. The Kid turned away from Robbie and headed back towards his car. "Just remember what I said!" he hollered through his open window as he squealed back onto the street, leaving a trail of dust and the smell of burned rubber for Robbie to inhale.

PART TWO

So Robbie had no choice. He changed his routine the following two days, waiting until one-fifteen to collect the mail. All the while, he kept a wary eye out for the hateful hippie with the El Camino. He reasoned the guy would be back at work by then. Problem solved. Instead of bringing Alfredo his mail, Robbie quietly left it with the receptionist, hoping Alfredo would call down and ask for it or pick it up as he went by. It seemed like a good plan, but when Alfredo called him in to his office Robbie's mind filled with dread. This new routine was not going down well. He sat in one of the chairs in front of Alfredo's desk where he normally would on the occasions when they would chat.

Alfredo looked angry. His brow was furrowed as he shuffled through papers on his desk, making Robbie wait in order to build the tension. Finally he stopped and looked up at Robbie. "You know I like to sit here at my desk every day and read my mail after lunch before I take my tour of the plant, don't you?" Robbie nodded yes. "But suddenly the mail, she no here when I sit down. You don't want to climb the stairs no more? You don't want to see Alfredo?" Robbie started to answer, but Alfredo silenced him with an upraised hand. "Tomorrow I want to sit down and read my mail after lunch. You're dismissed."

Robbie's boss was not a bad guy, but he was used to getting his way and he could become quite angry when his routine was disrupted. So Robbie's plan was not going to work. He would have to take his chances and hope that by not looking anywhere but down he would avoid another confrontation.

The next day he hurried over to the mailbox and grabbed the mail as quickly as he could, not daring even to glance at the street. His heart sank when he heard the squeal of tires and the roar of the El Camino's V-8 as it pulled again into the driveway. Still looking down, Robbie listened to the car door open and watched a small rock skitter past his feet as The Kid approached him. Robbie glanced over at the car, whose passenger was still seated with his head bowed and resting on his hand. At least the other guy wasn't going to assist in Robbie's thrashing.

"You forget what I told you boy?” The Kid demanded as he pushed his black, beaten up fedora down over his eyes. Mitch knew this was the first sign that The Kid was about to get his ass kicked, but today would probably be different. The Kid pushed Robbie with both hands, and was surprised to find he was unable to move him. For once, Robbie's weight and low center of gravity served him well. Bewildered for a moment, The Kid took a different approach and knocked the mail out of Robbie's hand. Robbie frantically gathered the scattered correspondence as the wind pushed it around the lawn and into the street. "Maybe this will keep you out of my sight!" The Kid shouted as he tried to wrestle the mailbox off its metal rail post. He worked furiously at the task, his boney arms straining as he twisted and yanked on the standard issue yellow plastic chute. Now in full possession of the mail again, Robbie shouted "No!" and ambled back to the box, only to be greeted by a backhanded slap from The Kid, who didn't even have to look up to make contact. He had lost many a fight, but The Kid had learned some surprise tactics in the process. Robbie put his free hand to the sting on his face as the Kid finally succeeded in tearing the plastic free from the metal post and threw it across the lawn. He finished the job by bending the metal rail in half using his leg for leverage. Having completed the task, He returned his attention to Robbie and peered at him through bloodshot eyes "If I ever see you out here again, I'm gonna fuckin' kill you!" The words rasped out of his mouth like a snake's hiss just before a strike. "Gary let's go!" Mitch implored through the open car window. "Leave the poor guy alone!" The Kid straightened himself and sauntered back towards his Junker. "We're done here anyway," he told Mitch as he re-entered his vehicle. He gave Robbie one more long, cold hard stare before peeling out of the lot and back onto the street. Robbie could see the two of them arguing through the rear window as they sped away. Robbie sadly surveyed the damage. He tried to bend the metal post back into its original shape without success, and then looked over the plastic chute. The guy had torn the mounting bracket apart; there was no way to reattach it. So there was nothing else he could do but bring this problem to the attention of Alfredo. His fears of losing the job he loved resurfaced as he trudged back into the office.

Alfredo looked from the broken mail chute in his hands to the bent pole where it used to rest. Robbie saw the disappointment on his face. "She no good anymore." Alfredo tossed the chute on the ground and looked up at Robbie. "You were standing here when this happened?" Robbie nodded solemnly. "You no try to stop him?" "No, no. I did. There were two of them." Robbie didn't want him to know he had been slapped, but Alfredo had a keen eye. He peered at the red mark on Robbie's cheek. "They do that to you?" "No." Robbie lied, "I fell trying to get all the mail out of the street." Alfredo eyed him suspiciously. "Let's go back inside then. I make some calls and we get a new mailbox. Something better." "What's the mailman going to do until then?" Robbie asked. "You stand and wait for him to come." Now he wished he could take back that lie; he was a sitting duck standing out there for a half hour or more every day. The thought made him stop in his tracks. "Is that a problem for you?" Alfredo looked like he was beginning to get angry. "No, no, I can do it." Robbie had to take that chance if he wanted to keep working there. He had been beaten up before, although it had been quite a few years since the last one. Maybe the guy would be afraid to stop again after destroying someone's property like that. But then again, the guy didn't really seem to care about much about anything. Dealing with the police was probably as routine as shaving to him. At least it was Friday. Robbie would have all weekend to decide how he would handle things if the guy came after him. It was going to be tough. There was no one he could confide in without risking the job. And this might be the last one he ever had.

The following Monday was a blessed event. It was one of those holidays when the government offices closed, but businesses stayed open. Robbie was spared a confrontation and the Kid felt smug satisfaction as he drove by the building and saw that not only Robbie, but the mailbox was gone as well. "Looks like he found a plan B," Kid cackled as he pointed to the empty space on the lawn. Mitch smiled and nodded. He was just plain relieved they weren't going to stop there again. The Kid was in good spirits for more than this reason though. He had finally scored some pot, and they were savoring the taste of it as he drove. He also had a little coke he was saving for the weekend. At least that is what he told Mitch. Mitch sucked leisurely on the joint and took in the warm air, bright colors, and summer sounds that now seemed much more vivid. An alternative reality, as he liked to think of it. The workbench would be much more interesting today.

Inside the office, Robbie knew his reprieve would be temporary. Tomorrow he would have to stand there and wait for the mail truck to pull up. He tried desperately to figure out exactly when the truck arrived, to narrow the window of opportunity as much as possible. The truck also approached from the same direction as that guy. He would have to look down the street in that direction, lest the truck pass him by in the absence of a mailbox.

He wondered if he could get all of these thoughts out his head long enough to sleep later that evening. He knew there was no way to avoid a fight. He would just have to take his chances and hope somehow that he still had a job when it was all over. Robbie lulled himself to sleep whispering “Tomorrow is another day”, a phrase his Father would invoke whenever Robbie was having tough times.

PART THREE

Tomorrow came with a drizzling cloud-filled day, carrying a hint of chill in the air; Nature's way of giving everyone a reminder that summer's day was numbered. Soon the leaves would fall and Robbie could plan his rounds for Halloween; his favorite holiday by far. The costumes were a great equalizing factor for him, and he could be anyone he wanted to be on that night like no other.

It had not been a pleasant morning for The Kid though. He had been pulled from the front counter at the auto supply store and sent to the stockroom for refusing to take off his borrowed trademark fedora while waiting on customers. After getting chewed out for bringing out the wrong generator he had thrown it to the floor, breaking his toe in the process. A visit to the clinic had included a piss test, one he was certainly going to fail. So his job was over. Prospects for the immediate future were not good either. He could buy a little free rent and food from Mitch by driving him where he needed to go, but Mitch would soon be getting his license back. The welcome mat would disappear soon after that. He dropped off Mitch at Mickey D's claiming he wasn't hungry and proceeded to the party store. The Kid huffed the quarter gram of coke he had been saving with the ferocity of a new Craftsman shop-vac, downed a pint of vodka, and returned to the fast food parking lot to wait for Mitch. He would be back at home by now if it wasn't for Mitch; there was little sense in returning to work. But he had to at least drop him off there and pick him up at five. It wouldn't be a good idea to alienate the guy who was going to be his meal ticket for a while. Mitch eyed him with concern when he got in the car. "You alright?" he asked, not used to seeing him in this shape so early in the day. "Couldn't be better!" The Kid exalted as he swung out of the lot "I think I'm gonna head home though. The toe hurts pretty bad. I'll come back and get you at five."

Mitch was looking down the road as they neared their destination and he sucked air through his teeth when he saw the little guy again standing where the mailbox used to be. The guy had his arms crossed as he stared down the road in their direction. He looked over at the Kid, who was concentrating on staying within the painted lane lines on the street. Mitch tried to distract him with conversation about the coming weekend. It almost worked. The Kid started to answer but trailed off as they drove by the defiant little man. "God damn it! God damn it!" the Kid's blood began to boil. "Forget it Gary," Mitch tried to soothe him, "Just let it go. That guy probably doesn't even know what year it is." Mitch's words were wasted; The Kid threw the El Camino into a skidding 180 that would have made Starsky and Hutch proud, and sped back towards the guy. Amazingly enough, the defiant one was again facing their direction; arms crossed and staring them down with an undeniable expression of determination. "You wanna taunt me Motherfucker?" The Kid screamed, "It's time I did the world a favor!" He pressed the accelerator to the floor and aimed the car to jump the curb. In anticipation of impact Mitch instinctively went into a fetal position, like a passenger on a doomed airliner. The Kid let out a scream of coke-fueled hatred as the car jumped the curb, heading straight for Robbie.

Robbie didn't have the quickest of reflexes, but he did manage to step away from the oncoming car just long enough for The Kid to see a mail chute surrounded by 100 pounds of concrete mounted on a 300 pound concrete post.

It was the last thing The Kid ever saw, as the impact ripped the chute off its base and sent it hurtling through the windshield at 45 miles an hour. It exited the back window just as quickly, taking The Kid's head with it. The concrete post wasn't mounted far enough into the ground to stop the car, but did send it airborne. The El Camino's front end came down on the hood of a parked car with a cacophony of impacting metal and glass, stopping its forward progress. Both cars moved up and down rhythmically on their shocks as a burst of steam shot from the car's twisted and mangled hood. Blood trickled from the bottom of the driver's side door, meeting curling pools of radiator fluid. The sickly mixture worked its way around shards of broken glass and pebbles on the pavement as it unhurriedly made its way down the driveway. Car alarms blared like a chorus of two-ton Katydids. People screamed and workers streamed out of offices and homes. Robbie barely heard any of it. He was unable to move, fixated on the wreckage and the carnage within.

PART FOUR

Forty years ago, when many of the businesses were constructed along this four lane street, the surrounding areas had been nothing but empty fields of grass and trees. But as the years went by, residential areas sprang up, leading to the now mostly harmonious combination of both industry and homes. This neighborhood was still fairly quiet with the exception of the occasional tractor trailer hauling product into and out of the businesses. Today, however, it was a hotbed of activity. Five police cars, two ambulances and a fire truck surrounded the accident scene. Curious onlookers and television news crews strained against yellow tape to see what exactly had happened. Police cars blocked all traffic as disgruntled motorists backed up and turned around to find another way to reach their destinations. An EMS worker rushed towards an ambulance carrying a plastic bag containing what was left of The Kid's head. Another tended to Mitch, who was sitting on the ground holding a bloody rag to his broken nose. His jeans were cut open to reveal kneecaps twice their normal size. A policeman crouched beside him and recorded Mitch's statement while the EMT examined the knee damage. Robbie was being interviewed as well. He could see his parents running from their car, his mother crying and his dad staring towards him with a look of helplessness. Alfredo was also being interviewed, showing the officer the city permit granting permission to construct the mailbox. All the blood had drained from Robbie's brain, and he forced himself to keep his balance and continue standing as he reported The Kid's history of destroying the mailboxes. Mitch, in his desire for self-preservation had not seen the accident itself, but did acknowledge The Kid's intent to kill Robbie and the intoxication that may have made him snap. He did not mention Robbie’s taunt. As far as Robbie knew, no one other than the crash survivor had noticed him standing there with his arms crossed, or saw him travel to the other side of the mailbox to obscure its view from The Kid when he turned the car around. So, for all intents and purposes, he was just getting the mail as he always did.

PART FIVE

Robbie walked his puppy through the neighborhood as he did every evening at ten o'clock. The streets were quiet, with few people out in their cars or walking, so he felt safe and comfortable at this time of night.

The puppy had been a gift from his parents, along with some shoeboxes full of baseball cards that his Father and Grandfather had collected decades ago. Between the two gifts, Robbie had found some level of comfort in his new life. Naturally his parents had made him quit the job, and Alfredo had not objected to the idea of his leaving either. It was the best thing to do for everyone involved. He was collecting Social Security disability, so money would not be a problem now, or ever in his life. Robbie spent his waking hours caring for the dog, who kept him active, and using the internet to buy, sell, and trade the baseball cards for fun and profit. He had even made some online friends, who knew little about him other than his being poor at spelling. His personal human contact was limited to shopping trips with his Mother, where he employed the technique he had learned as a child of pretending not to notice stares and whispers from strangers. And there was also the Corner Pub, where he would enjoy two beers every Saturday night. All the regulars knew him and liked him, and Robbie never stayed long enough to suffer the scrutiny of half in the bag bar hoppers who might come in later on.

The horror of that day where his former life ended still lingered in his memory, but with each passing day it became more like a bad dream than something that had really happened. Sometimes he would think about how he could have done things differently; after all he had lost the job anyways. The one thing he could not shake however was why he chose to do things the way that he did. It was not his idea to construct what would become the instrument of a man's death and it was not Alfredo's intention either. But a man did die.

It wasn't the death that haunted Robbie though. It was the grisly realization that he had wanted the man dead, if simply for the reason that he would no longer be able to do to anyone else what he had planned to do to Robbie. But the man called Gary had wanted Robbie dead too, simply for being who he was. So in that respect, they were exactly alike. It was this shared feeling of wanting the other dead for inhabiting the same earth that would haunt Robbie for the rest of his days.

The puppy stopped to sniff an area near the corner and Robbie heard a burst of laughter mixed with the sound of a radio coming from a car as it passed them by. The puppy's head jerked upward as he growled and bared its teeth. His eyes followed the cars path as it brake lights flashed momentarily, then continued on its journey. Robbie's body convulsed slightly as he bent over to pet his friend. "Come on boy," he said gently, "It's time to go home."

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