The Scientific MethodChapter 7 Publish Results
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Bewitched!Chapter 2 free porn video
A secure house has small windows, and I'm a private guy, so my small windows are covered most of the time. I have nothing against sunlight, but I can go outside to experience it.
Samantha squealed, and her mother gasped.
"Hang on," I said.
I don't smoke, but I carry a lighter. It's probably the cave man in me, cherishing fire or something. Who knows. But I was really glad, just then, that I had that lighter on me, because within a few seconds it wasn't so oppressively dark. There was an old fashioned oil lamp on top of my refrigerator. I left it there just for situations like this.
"Cool," said Chip as I lit the wick, replaced the chimney and trimmed the wick.
"I'm really going to have to get me a backup power supply," I said. "Then again, it wouldn't do to be the only house on the block with power. That has a tendency to make you stand out a bit."
"What happened?" asked Valerie.
"Rioters, most likely," I said. "I'm sure it will come back on soon."
But it didn't.
An hour later, with three lamps burning, and two kids yawning, she put them to bed. I have a natural gas stove, and that was working fine, so I'd made coffee the old fashioned way. I was finishing up the last cup of that when Valerie came back out. I don't know if she'd planned on going to bed too, and changed her mind, or gotten hot (those lamps put out more heat than you'd believe), but she'd taken off the modesty shirt I'd given her. I'm pretty certain it wasn't for my benefit, though I benefited all over the place. Her nipples weren't stiff, but those dark circles fired up my imagination. Normally, I do okay without a woman. I can handle things myself, if you get my drift. But that only counts when there's not a drop dead beautiful woman in a thin T shirt sitting across the kitchen table from me.
"Thank you," she said.
"No problem."
"Seriously, you've done way more than most people would have."
"I have a nefarious plan," I quipped. Then I was sorry I'd said it, because she had no place to go and had finally relaxed. I started to tell her I was joking.
"No you don't," she said. "I only met you five hours ago, but I can tell you're a gentleman."
"The curse of the Boy Scout," I sighed.
"What?"
"Boy Scouts," I said. "I'm an Eagle Scout. And they demand a high level of moral straightness that is what results in being a gentleman. Unfortunately, we often die virgins, because women expect us to be faultless and pure, and would never even think of doing something nefarious with us."
She didn't crack a smile.
"Yes they would," she said.
Now it was my turn to show confusion. "Beg pardon?"
"Don't beg," she said, folding her arms over her chest and hiding those dark spots. "It isn't seemly for an Eagle Scout to beg."
I blinked at her. Suddenly, we were talking about something ... else. The trouble was, I wasn't sure what that was.
"Thank you," she said again. "Good night."
"Night," I said, automatically.
She turned to go back to her children, and then stopped after two steps. She looked over her shoulder.
"I looked through your things. I'm sorry."
Since I couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't hurt her feelings, I stayed quiet.
"I just wanted to see what kind of man you were." Her brow furrowed briefly. "Are."
"And you can tell that from a man's sock drawer?"
"I looked at the pictures on your credenza. The kind of pictures a man has says a lot about what he cherishes. Some men have pictures of themselves with their dog, holding up the birds he just murdered. Others have pictures of family, people who are important in his life."
"I see," I said. I knew she hadn't looked in the gun safe. She'd have seen the shotgun I murdered birds with if she had.
"Anyway, I'm sorry I violated your space."
"Did you get into the medicine cabinet?" I asked.
She looked startled. "No."
"Go through all my drawers? Find my stash of girly mags?"
Even as far away as she was, and as dim as the light was, I could see her blush.
"No. I just looked around and gave the kids a snack."
"Snack? I have snacks?"
"Cheerios," she said. "You have Honey Nut Cheerios. They love those."
"So all you did was walk around soaking in the ambience that is ... well ... me," I said. "No harm done."
"I felt like I should tell you. You've been very kind to us."
I stood, and bowed at the waist, looking up at her from that position.
"You are forgiven, milady," I said as formally as I could.
She blushed again. She'd dropped her arms when she left, and those firm, round breasts were no longer covered.
I don't know what emotion she was feeling.
But those nipples popped out like they were whack-a-moles, just daring me to whack them.
I was glad she turned and actually did leave, because I was thinking about how delightful it would be to whack those moles with my tongue, and help her forget her troubles for half an hour.
Ten minutes later I settled on my back on the couch in my living room. I draped a blanket over me. I had a natural gas furnace too, but it wouldn't come on unless the fan was spinning, and the fan was electric. It was going to get cool if the power stayed off a long time.
But the primary reason I spread that blanket over me was because I had an iron hard penis to deal with before I could get to sleep.
And it would be just my luck for Valerie, or worse yet, one of the kids, to need something and catch me spanking the monkey right out in the open.
I confess, I thought of the woman thirty feet away from me as I jetted into a tissue.
Then I slept. Chances were I was going to have a full day too.
I did, in fact, have a full day. It turned out one school had been vandalized, and the others were closed. Valerie's babysitter was also one of the unlucky people whose house had burned. She was staying with a friend when Valerie called her. The friend still had power, and they had all the information that was being broadcast by the local news station. The rioting was over, but cleanup was going to take a while.
"I have to go to work," she moaned, as she hung up. "My boss is an asshole, and if I don't show up, he'll fire me for sure."
"Where do you work?" I asked.
"Milford-Watson," she said.
"The sweat shop?" I asked, raising one eyebrow.
"The garment factory," she corrected, gently.
"Not according to the labor unions I've heard mention it," I said.
"They're unhappy because the employees didn't vote to have a union," she said.
"Why didn't they?"
"Because Mister Milford said he'd close the factory if we did," she said. "He said he'd sell the property and move the equipment somewhere where people recognized, and appreciated his benevolence. He used that actual word."
"I see," I said.
"I hate to ask this ... but could you watch the kids?"
"I don't mind that at all," I said. "They seem like good kids, and I have a Play Station. But how are you going to deal with the insurance company and all that if you're making garments?"
"We get breaks. That's one of the benefits they gave us for not voting for the union."
"How benevolent," I said, dryly.
"We get one every two hours. I can make some calls while I'm on break."
"Maybe the factory is closed," I suggested. "Other places are. Isn't that what your friend said?"
"You're right!" she said. "I'll call in."
She did. Milford-Watson was open for business. She was warned not to be late. I could hear that part from five feet away.
"You need to find a new job," I said.
"I know, but you can't find a new job when you're busy working at the one you have."
"Hmmmm," I said.
She looked nervous.
"I need a ride to work."
"Look," I said, resisting the urge to reach out and take her chin in my gentle grasp. "You're in a difficult situation. I work when I feel like it, and I have the resources you need. I really am an Eagle Scout, and I have a whole year's worth of good deeds that sort of didn't get done. Do not worry about this. We're going to do whatever you need to get back on your feet. Okay? No more feeling bad about needing a little help."
Her cheeks got pink, but she nodded. She was wearing one of my shirts again, so I couldn't see other evidence of her emotions.
I got them all into the car and promised to go buy car seats as soon as I dropped her off.
"Booster seats," she said. "That's all they have to have now."
"Booster seats," I repeated. "Got it."
"And I'll pay you back," she said, earnestly. "I promise."
"Oh, you'll pay," I said with a gravelly voice, twirling the right end of my moustache, pretending there was actually enough moustache to twirl.
"Stop it!" she said.
But it was the first time I'd seen her smile since I met her.
Milford Watson had guards flanking the employee entrance door. They were armed with cudgels. I'm not shitting you. I hadn't seen a night stick since an episode of M A S * H, where an MP threatened somebody with one. The factory was in a section of town that had completely escaped the mobs, or any damage. They were checking employee IDs.
Valerie, of course, didn't have one.
I figured all this out because I had been waiting for her to go inside before I left. When she didn't go inside, and was obviously arguing with the guards, I told the kids to stay where they were and got out. I walked over to them.
"Problem?" I asked.
"Who are you?" asked one of the men, gruffly.
"I'm just a concerned citizen, who dropped off a Milford Watson employee so she could go to work, and who noticed she's having a hard time going to work."
"You can fucking leave," said the man, aggressively.
"Ahhh," I said, holding up one finger. "Let me correct my previous introduction. I'm the man who's going to kick your ass if you aren't more polite."
He lifted the nightstick and moved toward me.
When I didn't move, he swung it. Somebody must have put the fear of God in him, or told him that rioters would show up any minute, because he was clearly freaked out. So all I did was catch the stick in my left hand, and punch him gently in the stomach with my right fist. He flew backwards and ended up in a heap on the sidewalk. His friend looked at me, terrified.
"How much do they pay you here?" I asked Valerie, who looked horrified.
"What?"
"Doesn't matter. I'll double it. Come work for me. You don't need this shit."
"What?"
"I need an executive assistant," I said. "There's all this paperwork I have to deal with, and I hate it. Come be my executive assistant and these nice gentlemen can harass someone else."
"I can't quit," she moaned.
"Why not? I'm paying you double what these assholes were."
She blinked. I could tell she was rattled, but was actually thinking about it.
"Do you provide health insurance?" she asked, suddenly.
The standing guard moved. The other one had been groaning ever since I socked him, but the other guy had been like a statue. I looked past her at him.
"Don't do anything stupid," I said, casually. "I only hit him for threatening me. If I think you're threatening me too, I'm going to use this on you." I held up the night stick I'd taken away from the other one.
"No problem," he said. He held up the night stick in his hand, but I could tell it wasn't a show of force. He just didn't realize it was in his hand. "I don't want any trouble."
"Neither did I," I said, dryly. I looked back at her.
"Of course I provide health insurance. And if you want to join a union, you can."
She looked wary, suddenly.
"What do you get out of this?"
"An executive assistant," I said. "I told you. I hate paperwork."
"You're lying."
"Okay," I said, shrugging. "I'll just go get the kids some car seats. Call me when you get off work."
I turned and made it all the way to the car before she yelled, and ran to catch up with me.
"Do you mean it?"
"Of course I mean it. Why would I torture you with something like that when you're already having a tough time?"
"It's just so ... generous."
"You haven't worked for me yet. I could be like Simon Legree, for all you know."
Gert
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