Thursday, June 24, 2021

I Gotta Hang Up Now…. Part 2 of 2 Parts blog post #503

 Photo courtesy of 123RF

Last week, we met Tim and Petey, domestic partners, after Tim had been beaned by a baseball. While he couldn’t be certain because of swelling caused by the blow, the neurologist had expressed concern over early onset dementia. Petey’s mother had died of Alzheimer’s, so he was all too suggestive in that department.


The first installment of the story ended with Petey giving Tim some relief by hand. As he finishes cleaning up the mess, a pretty, young nurse named Angel comes in. Tim blithely announces that Petey had just taken care of his needs and was cleaning him up. Petey’s ears flame red; Angel acts like he’s heard it all before.



I left with my head spinning. I’d made the early visit because Tim had been upset by something I said on the phone. When I arrived, everything seemed okay. Had he simply been sexually frustrated? And what was that comment to the nurse? Tim wasn’t particularly cramped up about his orientation, but neither did he go about proclaiming it voluntarily. I had a sudden image of Angel… she’d been blonde and built and cute. He flirted with a lot of girls of that description, but he always went home with me. Aw, my imagination was running wild. He was still daffy from a blow to the head.

As I prepared to leave the office to grab a bite and visit the hospital, my boss caught me with some last-minute changes to some documents he needed for an early morning meeting. There wasn’t anything to do but sit back down at the desk and get busy. Halfway through it, my cell phone rang.

“Hey, man, where are you?” Tim complained in my ear.

“Still at the office.”

“Likely story.”

“True, old buddy. I’d like to say I’m out living it up, but nope. Here I am, stuck at the office doing clean-up work for the boss.” I glanced at the remaining changes I needed to make in the contract. “I’ll finish up in about half an hour. Then I’ll come over. Can I bring you anything?”

“Just your hunky self. But I can’t wait thirty minutes. Hell, talk dirty to me.”

I glanced around the darkened, deserted office. “Can you guess what I’m nursing?” I asked in a thick voice.”

“Same thing I got a fist wrapped around, I hope.”

“Right on. Now I’m gonna pump it a little.”

He gave a little gasp. “Not a little. A lot! Oh, man!”

His groan let me know he was into the spirit of the thing, and that put me in the proper mood. For a few minutes there were only grunts and groans until he let out a long moan. I wasn’t far behind him.

“How was it?” I asked in a ragged voice.

“Great. Almost as good as the real thing.”

I sighed. “Be over as soon as I can.”

He turned on a dime. “Yeah,” came the sarcastic reply. “As soon as you’re finished with Byron.”

“Byron’s not here. I’m at the office, guy. Working.”

“Yeah, sure.” He hung up.

When I walked into his hospital room an hour later, he seemed all right. Maybe a little too all right. Just a big smile and arms held out for a hug. I turned it into an abrazo, instead of a loving embrace. I don’t think he noticed.

“What did the doctor say today?” I asked, as I poked a straw into the strawberry shake I’d brought and handed it over. Tim was a sucker for strawberry shakes.

“Swelling’s going down. And his usual tricks. How many animal can you name in one minute. Draw a clock with the hands at four.” Tim snickered. “I asked him… a.m. or p.m. You know, all those memory games.”

“Any word about when you’re getting out of here?”

“Still Friday.”

After that, Tim went pensive. I related the events of my uneventful day. He glanced at his watch a couple of times and reached for his phone once, but he didn’t pick it up. By the time Nurse Angel, still looking pretty, kicked me out because visiting hours slipped by, I was suspicious. Something was going on with my guy. Was Angel doing for him what I’d done the other day? Another thought rocked me on my heels. Or was Byron—that good-looking bastard—paying him visits? What better way of throwing me off the track than accusing me of doing what he was. So help me, I called his cell as soon as I got home.

I didn’t even bother to say hello. “Has Byron been by to see you?”

“Byron? He came around that first day with most of the team, but haven’t seen him since. Figured he was checking on you now that I’m out of the way.”

Aware that I was spilling air from my own suspicions, I shook my head. “Tim, Byron isn’t even gay.”

“Then why all the flirting? All the suggestions?”

“He gets a bang out of teasing gays.”

“Until he gets caught with one,” Tim said.

“Not me. You?”

“Me to know and you to find out,” Tim said.

“I thought you were twenty-three, not thirteen.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t apply. You coming by to see me, lover?”

Jeez, I’d just left. Were the doctor’s fears about dementia coming true? “It’s after visiting hours. Besides, I just got home from seeing you.”


“See you tomorrow, Tim. Love you.”

The phone went dead. I undressed and took a shower. Standing beneath the warm, pelting water, I almost surrendered to despair. What would I do if the doctor was right? Could I handle him? Would he be able to work, take care of himself? Oh, Lord!

Then the little worm in my head turned. Or was he acting this way because of guilt? Had he gotten his little Angel of a nurse to help him out? Was Byron slipping by to give him a hand, so to speak. My earlier argument to Tim about Byron seemed to cut no mustard any longer. I could see the sly son of a bitch sneaking by to slip a hand under the bedcovers. He’d probably think it was fun to lead Tim on like that.


I did not sleep well that night. And when I did, I dreamed of a parade of people passing through Tim’s hospital room, all giving him intimate relief. Still exhausted, I got up early went into work early, and bugged out early to go see Tim. I’d parked and was walking into the hospital lobby when my phone rang.

“Hi Petey. Where are you. I’m missing you mightily.”

I smiled to myself and decided to surprise him. “Won’t be long. I’m aching to see you.”

“You’re aching? Man, I can hardly wait. I want you so bad, I can’t stand it.”

Eschewing the elevator, I took the stairs two-at-a-time to the second floor. “And what do you expect when I get there?”

“Some relief. Man, I’m so hard for you, I can’t even hide it anymore.”

I emerged from the stairwell and breezed down the hallway. “Can’t you take care of it yourself?”

“Not half as good as you can. Hurry.”

“It won’t be long now,” I said as I walked through the door and smiled at my lover.

Then I heard a hurried whisper in my ear. “I gotta hang up now. Here he comes.”

I stopped dead still as if pole axed. I was right, the poor, addled sap was cheating on me. With me!


Wow! I’m not certain I want to know what happens next. So I’ll leave it to your imagination to get Tim out of the hospital and back home with Petey. Set your imaginations free!

 Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so say it!

 A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:

 My personal links:



Twitter: @dontravis3

 See you next Thursday.



 New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.

Thursday, June 17, 2021

I Gotta Hang Up Now…. Part 1 of 2 Parts blog post #502

 Photo courtesy of 123RF:


Got a few comments on last week’s “Profane Eidolon.” By the way, I had to go to Word Hippo to come up with that title.


This week, I’d like to offer another two-parter. And I have to tell you the idea was given me by a friend who knew someone who had a similar experience. Anyway, the idea was too good to waste. The friend—who’s also a writer—gave me leave to steal her idea. So here goes.




I noticed Tim wasn’t quite right on a Monday morning after he got hit in the head on Saturday by a baseball during a local game, but it took until Wednesday before he agreed to let me drive him to the doctor. We were both nuts about participating in neighborhood affairs, and as we were both twenty-three-year-old athletic guys, sports seemed the way to do that.

The ball laid him out on the pitcher’s mound, but other than being dizzy, he insisted he was okay. Everyone on both teams pressed him to go be checked out, but aside from his handsome face and ripped body, Tim’s most outstanding feature was his belief he was indestructible. I have no idea where that tenet originated.

We’d been together for two years now, and I knew him as well as anyone… better than most because most people weren’t intimate with him and the beneficiary of pillow talk.

“Pete,” he would often say to me after a bout in bed, “I don’t know how we got together, but this thing is going to last forever!”

And I, usually exhausted from his antics, would dutifully remind him he’d come on to me when I hauled him back to the dorm dead—or so I thought—drunk. Instead, he looped an arm around my neck and gave me what I imagined would forever be denied me, a big, sloppy kiss on the lips. Ah, what a memorable night.

But now he was lying in a hospital bed, still addled from the baseball, and being examined by doctors of all stripes. The most prominent was a neurologist who, at the moment, was giving us a reading on Tim’s recent brain scan.

“There’s still some swelling from the blow to the head, and that’s normal. There is one condition I want to keep an eye on.”

“What is that?” I asked.

The medic, not yet fully appraised of our relationship, I suspect, gave me the fisheye and addressed his reply directly to Tim. “Difficult to say until the swelling goes down, but I do have a concern over dementia.”

“Dementia?” I exclaimed. “At his age? Doctor, he’s only twenty-three.

“There are types of early onset dementia. And a severe blow to the head may help it progress faster.”

During the entire discussion, Tim said not a word. He sat in bed looking handsome and vulnerable, the open backed gown he was wearing, drooping off one shoulder like the beginning of an enchanting strip tease.

“I want to observe you a few more days, Mr. Mason, the doctor finished. “So I won’t release you, at least not prior to this coming Friday.”

“That’ll be fine, Doctor. He’ll stay put” I said.

That was more than the doctor could stand. “And who are you?”

“Peter Flann.”

“And you are…?”

“His partner.”

“His business partner?”

“No, sir. His domestic partner.”

“Oh, I see.”

“And I’m listed in his living will as his administrator, or whatever you call it.”

His face cleared, and he asked for contact information. After he left I took the chair beside the bed.

“You get all that?” I asked.

He gave me the smile that always stirred my nether regions. “Enough. I’m going bananas before my time.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way. The doctor hasn’t diagnosed it yet, but we’ll fight it, whatever it is, together.” I mustered an uncertain grin. “Mason and Flann. Together they can fight off the world, right?”

He leaned back against his pillow. “Right.”

I left the hospital that evening conflicted. Tim wasn’t physically impaired, other than a bonk on the head. But my mother died of Alzheimer’s, and that scared the hell out of me. Of course, she’d been over seventy, and Tim was only twenty-three. So what did “early onset” mean. He started the symptoms earlier and stayed more or less okay until later in life? Or it started earlier and progressed faster?


My cell phone rang while I was at work the next morning. I relaxed when Tim’s baritone flowed from the receiver.

“Where are you, Pete? I’m lonesome.”

“At work, lover. Missing you like crazy. That was a lonely bed last night.”

“I’ll bet.” His tone changed. “It better have been. Or did you sample what Bryan’s always offering?”

“Don’t go nuts on me. You know it’s only you and me. Nobody else.”

“Then why does Bryan flirt with you every time we see him at the bar?”

“Hell, Tim, he flirts with everyone. With you too, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“So he wasn’t there.”

“Nope. Just lonely me, holding myself in my hand and thinking of you. And frankly fighting to keep from pumping the pipe.”

“Here I am lying in a hospital bed, and you’re home jerking off.”

“Not what I said. I said thinking of you and trying to keep from—”

“Oh, God!” he muttered and hung up.

I hadn’t planned on going to the hospital until after I finished my workday, but his reaction prompted me to alter my plans. I finished the task I was doing when he phoned, and took off across town to the hospital.

Tim brightened when I came through the door. He was in a semi-private room, but no one occupied the second bed at the moment.

“Just the man I need,” he said, fingering the large lump that distorted his blanket. He threw off the covers. “Hop in.”

I covered him up. “Jeez, can it, Tim. Somebody might come in.”

“But I need it,” he whined. The Tim I knew didn’t whine. “At least touch me.”

I placed my body between him and the door and pressed a hand against his groin.

“Ah, that feels good.” He pushed back the covers and pulled up his gown. Wasn’t anything to do but grab onto his excited pole. “Oh… better! Pump it.”

So against my better judgment, I masturbated that attractive tool attached to that super-handsome stud I loved, until he sprayed his essence all over both of us. I had barely finished cleaning him up with damp paper towels when I heard the door open behind me. I turned to find a young nurse entering. A pretty young nurse.

“Hello, Angel,” Tim said. “Have you met my partner? Pete, this is Angel.” He dropped his voice. “Don’t tell anyone, but Petey just took care of my need and was cleaning up.”

I felt my cheeks go hot. Tim’s Angel acted like she’d heard it all before.



Offhand, I’d say Tim wasn’t acting very rationally, although you never know. Getting his pipes drained… now I understand that. But blurting out the fact to a pretty young nurse of the female persuasion? That I don’t know about.


So let’s see what happens next week.


Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so say it!


A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:


My personal links:




Twitter: @dontravis3


See you next Thursday.




New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.

Thursday, June 10, 2021

Profane Eidolon – Part 2 blog post #501

 Photo Courtesy of Dreamstime: 

Last week, we left Dolph Hardy and his idol Damon Dutton in a car heading for a party when Damon suggests that after tonight, they forego sexual activity until after next week’s big tennis tournament—you know, to keep from draining their strength. So let’s see what happens next.



Suzie—the local who belonged to this house—opened the door and greeted us with the news her folks were out of town. Which meant the booze would flow. I got pleasantly loose but not drunk, and was enjoying myself talking to a couple of friends when Damon tapped me on the shoulder.

“Curfew,” he said.

“What curfew?”

“Self-imposed. You can catch a ride with somebody else if you want, but I’m leaving.”

“No, I’ll come too,” I said.

Saying hasty goodbyes to the people in the vicinity, we took our leave. No one spoke for a few minutes.

“Well, that was a bust.”

I frowned at him. “I thought it was a pretty good party.”

“Yeah, but neither of us scored.”

“There’s that.”

He banged the steering wheel with the palm of his left hand. “Well, the night’s not over yet.” He took a left and headed west.

“Where you going?” I asked.

“You’ll see.”

“Nothing down here but the city park.”

“You got it.”

I glued my lips together and did some fast thinking. Had he asked two babes to meet us there? That would explain the abrupt exit from the party. Would Phillipa be one of them?

He entered the park and headed for the most heavily forested area. After a couple of quick turns, he pulled into a secluded, well shielded area and parked.

Silence reigned until I asked, “Where are they?”

“Where are who?”

“The girls?”

“Aren’t any.”

A shiver ran down my back. “What?”

“Girls aren’t the only way to get it, you know.”


“Oh, come on, Dolph. I’ve seen the way you check me out in the shower. Losa times. I’ve done some checking of my own. Looks interesting. So let’s find out.”

My mouth was dry, but I managed to mutter, “I’ve never done anything like this.”

“You telling me you’ve never jerked off with a buddy?”

“N-not since the 9th grade. You?”

“Couple of times. Getting it’s getting it, you know. And having a buddy’s better’n doing it all by yourself.”

I tried not to look but couldn’t help it when he slid his trousers and shorts down over his strong thighs. He grasped himself and sighed.

“Feels good. Come on. Shuck ‘em.”

Not feeling as reluctant as I thought I should, my clothes were down around my ankles in moments. I was already ballooning. Fast.

I’d only pumped a couple of times before he spoke.

“Feel me.”


“Go ahead, feel me.”

He reached over and took me in hand. After an initial jump in surprise, I had to admit, his hand wrapped around me felt good. So I grabbed onto him.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, reclining his seat a bit.

Glad it was doing for him what his hand was doing for me, I said nothing… just swallowed noisily.

He moved his head to the back of my head and pulled me over atop him. Our lips were only inches apart.

He gave a low, growling laugh. “Stop looking like a deer caught in the headlight. Relax. Close your eyes, and imagine it’s Pillipa.”

I did, and when our lips met, I’ll swear the earth moved. I felt his kiss race down my torso to my privates, and right on down to my toes.

I exhaled, which sounded sort of like a whine.

“Feel anything?” A slight frown painted his face, or that’s the way it appeared in the gloom of the thicket.

Incapable of speech, I nodded my head.

“Me too,” he admitted. “First time… with a guy, that is.”


He shut me up with a second kiss that felt just as good as the first. After that, I was putty in his hands. He moved my head wherever he wanted, to his hard pecs to wash his nipples, down to the navel, which my tongue invaded, and then lower. I couldn’t believe it when I took him. But again, he manipulated my head however he wanted. I stopped resisting and did as he wished.

After a while, his moans grew louder, and I came up to meet his eyes. “Sorry, I’ve never done this before so I—”

“He pushed me down on him again. “You’re doing great, Dolphie. Just great. Oh, Oooh!”

Then he exploded! I didn’t know what to do, but he held me down on him, so I did what I had to. A long minute passed after he finally finished gushing before he removed his hand. In the grips of something I didn’t really understand, I sat up and grabbed my thing, pumping away as if there was no tomorrow.

Before long, he brushed my hand away, and grasped me in his own. As he worked, he leaned across the seat and gave me a long, blissful kiss. I couldn’t honestly say if it was his hand or his lips that did the trick, but I blasted like I’d never blasted before.

I hadn’t even finished my orgasm before a sharp rap on the window startled us. Quick as a whip, Damon sat up and yanked his britches into place. Still lethargic, I watched—entranced—as a flashlight played over my bare chest and belly, and then my wilting manhood.

“I oughta haul you in!” a voice yelled. “Go on, get outa here. And don’t come back!”

Damon didn’t waste time in obeying. He backed out of the sheltered nook, scratching the rear end of the Impala on some bushes behind us. Then he goosed the accelerator and roared down the road.

I restored my clothing in silence, except for the roar of the engine.

“Man, that was close,” Damon said.

“Closer’n you think,” I said quietly. “I recognized the cop when you pulled forward. It was Dolby.”

Damon gasped. “The cop who sometimes works the college?”

I nodded my head.

“Shit! He’s got a big mouth. He’ll tell everyone.”

Silence. Then. “You were great,” Damon said. “I knew you would be.”

I didn’t answer.


The cop had, indeed, been Dolby. And he might not have blabbed to the whole college, but he told someone, and pretty soon word spread all over the campus. I managed to hold my head up and plow through, until I heard another side of the story. Damon’s side.

I’d gotten him drunk at the party. I’d made the moves on him, taken advantage of his friendship. Pressed myself on him. Seduced him while drunk.

No one mentioned that he was driving. Dolby didn’t come forward with the fact when he turned that flashlight into the car, it had been Damon on me, not the other way around. Nonetheless, I kept my mouth shut, so his version prevailed. But I didn’t quit school. I stayed and pressed on and held my head up high.

Just before the term ended, Marlow Caffery caught me in the SUB, the Student Union Building. He put his hand on a chair at the table where I sat alone trying to study. “May I?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Free country.” Just what I needed, the guy everyone claimed was the school queer sitting alone at a table with me.

He leaned forward over the table. “Dolph, I’ve heard the stories. Everybody has, I guess. But I wanted you to know something. Whenever Damon got frustrated… you know, sexually, he’d sneak over to see me for relief. In the three years he’s been on campus, probably a dozen times or so.”

I looked over my textbook to peer into his eyes. Green they were. “Really?”

“Yeah. And he’s looked me up once since all the hullabaloo.”

“Since… we were caught?”

He nodded. “And you know what I said? I told him to piss off. Surprised the hell out of him. He bluffed and threatened, but he left when I shut the door in his face. Just thought you oughta know. He nodded and left.

And so my hero crashed. Damon Dutton, fallen idol, A profane eidolon.



How do you feel about it? Should Damon be given a second chance, or has he irredeemably proved himself a false friend? Let me know our thoughts.


Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so say it!


A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:         


My personal links:                                                                            




Twitter: @dontravis3


See you next Thursday.




New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.

Thursday, June 3, 2021

Profane Eidolon - Part 1 blog post #500

How about that… my 500th post, or so my count goes. The site probably differs because I occasionally forget to change the number. At any rate, that seems a milestone.

 This week, a short story in two parts. Here’s part one.



 Damon was his name, and Pythias was his game. But with a twist. There was none of that Pythagorean idealism of friendship told in that old Greek myth where brotherly love overcame the will of Dionysius I, Dictator of Syracuse. Oh, no

But I get ahead of myself. Let’s tell it as it happened.

Damon Dutton was the hero of Frijoles Cañon College. He was astonishingly handsome and oozed manliness. His graceful evasion of blockers on the football field was matched only by his lisson evasion of opponents on the basketball court. And we all admired his athleticism on the tennis courts. That’s where I met him.

“Dolph Hardy,” I said, offering him a hand across the net.

“Damon Dutton. Dolph. Is that Randolph or Rudolph?”

“Randolph,” I affirmed.

His smile seemed to light up the entire court. “Good to meet you.  I hear you’re a whizz with a racket. Try not to make me look too bad, okay?”

“From what I hear, that won’t be a problem.”

And it wasn’t. The first set lasted over an hour before I finally took it. The second set was hard-fought, but turned out to be his. The third set wasn’t even a contest. His stamina was worlds better than mine, and he ran me ragged chasing returns. He took the contest, beamed like he hadn’t even worked up a sweat, and then offered a milkshake after a shower.

I’d heard about Damon the first day I got to Frijoles. A junior standout who had it all. Brains. Beauty. Talent. Everyone’s hero. I figured he wouldn’t deign to cast a glance on a lowly underclassman, but he sorta adopted me after that match. Of course, I was flattered beyond reason by his attention. Before long, I became a member of the legion of Damon worshipers on campus.

In high school, I’d been a mini-Damon, myself. Good student. Athletics confined to tennis, but I was a star at that. Popular. No slouch in the looks department, I usually found a date whenever I wanted with whatever girl I wanted. In fact, I busted my cherry in my junior year at seventeen with the homecoming queen. And I dug it. Really dug it.

At Frijoles, I was just another freshman, except on the tennis court. Even here, I was a standout at that sport, and it was beginning to open doors for me by the time I had my match with Damon. After that, the embrace of his friendship got me everything I wanted, including a new girlfriend. Phillipa, a blue-eyed blond, was a terror on the court on the distaff side. We were already casting eyes at one another, but when Damon made clear his friendship, she stopped playing the “standoffish” game, and we became an item. Even so, it wasn’t until a double date with Damon and his playmate of the moment that I scored with her. While Damon drew cries of ecstasy from his girl in the front seat of his Chevvy Impala, I achieved nirvana in the back seat with Phillipa. College was going great!


Damon’s friendship came with benefits. Soon I was invited to parties where junior and even seniors engaged me in more or less adult discussions… and some serious drinking. Alcohol and I were never on a first-name basis, but we got close to it after that. I’d had an alcoholic Uncle Dewey, so I was well aware of the danger. Even so, I got snockered a couple of times.

By the time I returned for the second semester after spring break, I more or less recognized that my friendship with Damon had slipped into near idolatry. Almost everything I’d done on the break brought a vague “wondering what Damon would do” thought. I even called his cell a couple of times, but got sent to voicemail. I worried when he didn’t call back the first time, but he responded the second, sounding just like the Damon I knew, full of vitality and curiosity about what I’d been up to. Come to think of it, I didn’t call Phillipa once.

Everything seemed copacetic upon the beginning of the semester with both Damon and my girlfriend. I eased back into college life without a care in the world.

Things got even better when Damon selected me as his doubles partner for an upcoming tennis tournament. Some of the luster faded when he insisted I play for the opposite team in practice sessions, but his reasoning made sense. He wanted to play against the best. Then as the tournament neared, we teamed up to get accustomed to one another’s style of play. I played net, he played backfield. And it worked. We beat all the other local teams and advanced to playoffs.

It had sneaked up on me, but as we stood in the showers after our winning match, I noticed that I liked looking at him as he scrubbed away the sweat and grime of his efforts. I waited until he washed his hair or face before taking a good look south of the navel. And I always got a tingle when thinking of that thing buried in his girlfriend of the moment. I never mentioned anything because I liked the nonchalance with which he displayed his nakedness. Made it seem natural… normal.

A week before we were to meet the Rio Grande Valley champs for our leg of the playoff, we were driving to a party at the private home of one of the local campus girls, when he caught me by surprise.

“Okay, Dolph, we gotta get serious about this upcoming match.”

“I am serious, Damon.”

“No, what I mean is we gotta save our strength, build up our stamina.”

“Work on it every day.”

“You’re not getting my point. Tonight’s the last time we ought to get it off until after the meet. No more sex after tonight.”

I blinked. “But Phillipa’s not even going to be at the party.”


I laughed. “I’m not like you. I don’t have girlfriends all over the place.”

“We’ll see.”


Does Damon, that paragon of physical beauty and masculine demeanor, have a scheme in mind? Stay tuned.

 Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so say it!

 A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:       

 My personal links:                                                                            



Twitter: @dontravis3

 See you next Thursday.



 New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.

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