The Making of a Gigolo (5) - Jill Trimble
Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9
Riding in the back of the pickup with four sisters was something Bobby had done many times. The two youngest sat up front with Mamma, who drove. Mary was going to be delivered back to the house by Fred, who had his own car. Her days of curfew were over, now that she was engaged, and the wedding was only a week away.
He found himself sitting between Bev and Flo, all three of them sitting with their backs against the cab. It just seemed natural to put his arms around them. Bev was on his right, and he squeezed the side of her breast playfully. She didn't react like he thought she would, jerking and slapping at him. Instead, she laid her hand on his thigh, and let her fingertips slowly move back and forth. It was dark when they left town, and then her hand moved to his crotch, to squeeze there.
Flo, on his other side, had leaned her head on his shoulder. Linda and Susie were sitting Indian style, in the back of the truck, their heads close as they talked above the wind and noise of the old truck.
It was one of those lazy summer nights, when all is right with the world, and you just can't help but be relaxed, and happy. Bobby's left hand was draped carelessly over Flo's left shoulder, and a bump in the road made it bounce against her breast. She turned her head up towards his face.
"Your hand just touched my boob!" she said.
"It felt like a nice boob," he said, turning his face toward her.
"My big brother is a dirty old man!" she said, smiling.
"What's the big deal?" he asked. "I'm sure a dozen guys have felt your boobs."
"They have not!" she yipped. She meant to slap him on his thigh, but missed, and her hand landed on Bev's, which just happened, at that moment to be squeezing the lump of his prick. Flo leaned forward and looked down at Bobby's lap.
"What are you doing?!" she yipped at Bev, as Bev snatched her hand away.
"Nothing!" said Bev.
Flo looked back at Bobby, who hadn't reacted at all.
"She was touching you!" she accused.
"It was just a bump in the road," said Bobby. "It moved her hand, like it moved mine."
"Don't give me that crap!" said Flo, indignantly. She was seventeen, and was well aware of the world of sexual things.
"It's no big deal," said Bobby.
"How can you say that!?" said Flo, stiffening.
Bobby was still relatively inexperienced with women. He remembered how kissing Bev had solved the problem of her catching him with Mary, and, in fact, had led to some fun. So he may be forgiven for sticking with what had worked before.
Bobby's hand moved to Flo’s shoulder and, before she could react, he had leaned over to press his lips to hers. He didn't make it a long kiss, but his lips were soft and warm, and completely unexpected on hers. It was over before she could react to it. As soon as he stopped kissing her, he let go of her shoulder.
She moved away from him, turning sideways, with her back to the side of the truck bed.
"Why did you do that?" she asked.
"You're my sister," he said. "I love you. I just wanted you to know that."
"But you kissed me!" she said.
"Was it really that big of a deal? Are you telling me you haven't kissed a boy before?"
"Well no, but they weren't my brother!"
"All I did was show you that I love you. That's all Bev was doing. Really, it's no big deal."
The rest of the ride was completed in silence. Flo didn't move back to nestle into Bobby's armpit, but Bev stayed right where she was.
A very nervous Bev slipped into his room, later that night. He had been expecting her.
"Is she going to say anything?" she asked.
"I don't know," said Bobby.
"I saw you kiss her."
"I didn't know what else to do," he said.
"What do we do?" she asked, shifting her feet nervously.
"Just go to bed," he said. "We'll see what happens in the morning."
"Okay," she said doubtfully.
Bobby was asleep, when Fred dropped Mary off. She entered the house as quietly as she could and went straight to his room, which was dark. She was in turmoil. She had jacked Fred off again in the car, right out front, and this time, she had wanted to take him in her mouth. She couldn't do that. It was only the second time she'd ever touched him there. She had also resisted letting him pet her, because she was quite sure she wouldn't be able to make herself stop him from doing everything.
"Bobby?" she whispered, and then moved to touch his shoulder.
He woke quickly, almost as if he'd been waiting for her.
"What's wrong?" he asked quietly.
"I need you," she moaned.
"It's late," he said.
"I know ... but I really need you!" she whined.
"Okay," he said. His prick stiffened, as he heard the rustle of her taking her clothes off.
When she climbed in bed with him, her need was obvious, in the way she writhed against him, rubbing her naked flesh against him in every way she could. He sucked at a nipple and she whined. When he slid a finger into her, she arched and bit at his shoulder.
Her hand went to his prick, and gripped it, almost painfully.
"I need this," she moaned. He sensed her definition of "need" had morphed to something other than just rubbing against it.
"I thought you were saving that for Fred," he cautioned.
"It's a whole week away," she panted. "I'm dying, Bobby. I got so horny tonight I almost let him do this."
"He's going to be your husband," said Bobby. "Just let him."
"I can't!" she gasped. "I've put him off so much I can't just change everything." She writhed against him. "Besides, I'm burning up now! Pleeeease, Bobby!"
"You can only do this one time," he said, meaning that she could only surrender her virginity once.
"I promise I won't ask you do to it again!" she panted, thinking that he meant that he'd only do this with her one time.
She was willing. She was actually begging. And Bobby was a man, after all.
He rolled to loom over her and she wiggled excitedly as, for the first time, she spread her legs for a man to have sex with her. She didn't know what to do, except open her legs for him. Unable to resist, she reached for his hanging phallus, and gripped it. Instinct told her where to direct the tip, as he lowered it to her pussy lips.
He began pushing. She was soaked, and there was plenty of lubrication so, as he slowly forced his way into her, he didn't stop, until his pubic hairs intertwined with hers. Her long groan of mixed satisfaction, at finally being filled, and discomfort, as her flesh was forced to stretch, made him as hard as he'd ever been in his life.
She was, within three strokes, completely overwhelmed by the myriad of sensations she was being bombarded with. The first was the unbelievable feeling of fullness, in her loins. She felt like she'd been starving for years, and had just eaten way too much. Added to that was his weight, as it settled on her, and for the first time, she was pressed helplessly to a bed by the inescapable pressure on her. Her clitty screamed at her, and his chest on her breasts sent electric jolts through her. When his lips crushed hers, her mind went into overload.
She would always remember this night as being something like the big wheel of fortune that came to town with the carnival every year. The big wheel spun, the pointer making a clacking sound as it flipped from peg to peg, each one signifying a different wonderful thing that could happen to the person who had given the carnie a dollar. As her virginity was surrendered, the feel of the penis in her, her clitty, her nipples, his skin against hers, and his lips were like the pegs on that wheel, with the pointer flicking against them, over and over. Her mind couldn't concentrate on just one thing, and kept flipping from one to another, to another, until all she could feel was the overwhelming ecstasy of being loved.
The wheel finally landed on orgasm, and she was a winner. This orgasm put to shame every other one she'd thought was the best that it could ever be. At one point, as she thrashed under him, a part of her overwhelmed mind separated, to float above them, looking down. It said, "Now that is an orgasm!" and then sank back into her, unwilling to be separated from the brain that was experiencing that orgasm.
Something bumped the wheel, and it clicked to the next space, which was also marked, "Orgasm". This one, though, was Bobby's. She heard it signaled in his groan, and then felt the wash of liquid heat spraying into her belly, which extended her own orgasm, or set off another one – she couldn’t tell which.
Had a genie from a bottle materialized in a puff of smoke, and said, "You have one wish," Mary's wish, at that moment, would have been, "Make this last forever."
As they panted for breath, she crushed him in her arms, unwilling to let him go, until she had no strength left in her body. When her arms flopped to the bed, the sadness she felt was because she didn't have enough energy to keep them wrapped around him.
Bobby kissed her, and whispered. "It will be even better when Fred does it to you."
"It can't," she panted. "I'll die if it's any better than that."
"You won't die."
"Thank you," she said.
"You're very welcome." She could sense him grinning, above her.
"No!" she whispered. "I mean it! I can't begin to tell you what that meant to me."
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too," she moaned.
"Well, then," he said, lifting himself onto his hands and knees, his prick slurping out of her with a squishy sound, "now that that's settled, you can go to bed."
"I don't want to move," she whined. "I don't want to leave."
"You have to. Flo caught Bev rubbing me on the way home. The last thing we need is for someone to find you in my bed in the morning."
"She caught you?"
"We were just riding home, and Bev was playing a little. Flo saw her hand in my lap."
"What did she do?" asked Mary.
"She got a little upset. I was trying to show her that it was no big deal, and I kissed her ... to show her. I don't know what I was thinking."
"You idiot!" said Mary. "I came to you. You don't go to them! You were lucky with Bev."
"I know," he said helplessly. "It just kind of happened. But you have to go to bed. She's in there, and if she gets up in the night and you're not there, she'll go looking for you."
"If you hadn't just made me the happiest woman in the world, I think I'd be really mad at you!" she said softly. "I'll talk to her in the morning."
"Do you think you should?" he asked.
"We've lived in the same room together all our lives," said Mary, getting up. "I know her better than I know any other person on earth. I'll talk to her."
"Okay," said Bobby.
"But you owe me," she said, putting her clothes back on in the dark.
"What do I owe you?" he asked.
"I know I said I'd only ask you to do this once," she whispered. "But if I have to wait a whole week to feel that again I won't be able to walk down the aisle. I'll be a basket case. You owe me this again ... maybe twice."
Bobby grinned in the dark, but made his voice sound contrite.
She bent over to kiss him.
"I really do love you, even if you're an idiot."
"I really do love you too," said Bobby, thinking of the sperm he'd put in other women, and what it had done to them.
The next morning went anticlimactically, with maybe a few exceptions which only Bobby and Bev noticed. Mary talked to Flo when they woke up. Bobby wouldn't find out what she said until later, but whatever it was made Flo simply stare at him, rather than saying anything about what had happened in the truck. She picked at her food, too, but nobody else noticed.
It was Matilda's turn to collect eggs. Bobby was the unofficial, official supervisor of that activity. His thirteen-year-old sister was more concerned with getting chores done, so she could shoot off firecrackers, than anything else, and the gathering went quickly.
Then Bobby borrowed the truck, and went to see about Jill Trimble's washing machine.
She met him at the door in short shorts and a halter top that exposed a deep crevice between her breasts. He looked straight into her eyes.
"I don't know if I should let you in or not," she said, blinking at him.
"Why's that?" he asked.
"I did talk to some of the women in ... that other group."
"And what did they say?" he asked.
"It wasn't so much what they said," she muttered. "It was more the way they said it."
"Okay," he said, standing there, holding his tool bag.
"Some of them like you," she said.
"And that's a bad thing?" he asked.
"They like you a lot," she said.
"They said that?" he queried.
"A woman can tell when another woman is ... let’s say ... infatuated, with a man."
"Well, I guess it's up to you," he said, finally.
"I'm very vulnerable, right now," she said.
Bobby cocked his head. Her hair was up in a pony tail again. She looked young, and healthy, and very desirable.
"I'm not sure what you're trying to say," he said.
"I'm recently divorced," she said. "You're young, and handsome, and a lot of women seem to be infatuated with you."
"I can't help who I am," he said.
"I don't want to get infatuated with anybody right now," she said.
"Then don't." He grinned. "I'm just here to look at your washer."
"If only it were that easy," she said. "You're too young to understand how complicated life is for a woman like me."
"If I can fix your washer, won't that make things a little less complicated?" he asked.
She looked frustrated, for a moment. "Oh, all right!" she sighed. "Come on in. I'll show you the washer!"
She led him to a utility room that was, in fact, piled with laundry waiting to be washed. Her choice of underwear was vastly different than that of the women he was already intimately acquainted with. Theirs was all utilitarian, and plain. Hers was all feminine, lacy, and thin. She had gone to no effort to hide any of it, and it was mixed in with everything else, in piles of clothing that were obviously sorted by color.
"That's it," she said, pointing needlessly to the white machine.
Bobby tried running it through a cycle, and heard the motor working, but nothing moved inside the basket. The pump worked, though, sucking the water out that he'd let run into the tub. When it was empty, he pulled the machine out and got behind it, to remove the back. He shone a flashlight into the guts, and saw two belts, one in place, the other hanging, with two broken ends visible.
He pulled it out. The hardware store would be closed today, but he had a collection of belts in the workshop at the farm, things that had been salvaged from this or that, as things were found un-repairable. He kept lots of parts from things other people had thrown out.
"If I've got a belt this size back home, I can get you up and washing today," he said, looking up. She was leaned over, watching him, and her cleavage was almost in his face.
"That's what's wrong?" she asked, looking at the broken belt in his hand.
"Yup," he said. "A new belt will get you going."
"It's that easy?" she asked, disbelief in her voice. "How much is a new belt?"
"I'll have to put a used one on, since today's a holiday. If you want, I can get a new one later. I guess I'd have to charge you ten dollars to make it worth my time."
"Ten bucks?" she said. "That's it?"
"I can charge you fifteen, if it will make you feel better," he said, grinning.
When Bobby got back with a belt he thought would work, Jill was ecstatic. She watched, as he had to remove some obstructions to get the belt on, and they chatted about things in general. He was busy with the innards of the machine, and did not look at her. When the belt was in place, he tried the cycle, and Jill gave a little yip of satisfaction when the agitator started moving. It only took him another ten minutes to put the back on the machine, and move it back into place. Jill was already sorting out her first load, which was an armful of panties and bras.
"Can I ask you a question?" Bobby queried.
"Sure," she said, stuffing things into the washer.
"If you aren't interested in men being interested in you, why do you dress like that?"
She closed the lid and looked down.
"What's wrong with how I'm dressed?" she asked.
"Nothing, as far as I'm concerned," he said. "I love it. You look very good that way. It's just that it brings out the man in me."
"It's just how I dress!" she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Every woman wants to look nice."
"That's fine," said Bobby, "but when I got here, you made it quite plain that you didn't want me to act like a man, and yet, you dressed in such a way that I couldn't help it."
Jill's eyes darted to his groin. He wasn't erect, but his jeans had a lump in them anyway.
"I didn't mean to," she said, frowning.
"I didn't think so," said Bobby. "Other men might not understand that, though. I just thought I'd point that out."
"Well," she said, frowning, "You did act like a perfect gentleman."
"I try to do that a lot," he said, grinning. "I may be twenty-three, but my Mamma still thinks she has the right to spank my bottom if she thinks I need it."
That got a grin. "Well, if I see your mother, I'll inform her that you were most polite."
"Thanks," he said. "I need all the help I can get. Now, what else needs fixing while I'm here?"
She threw up her hands. "Mark left all the junk here when he moved out. He took all the good stuff when I told him to get out. By the time we got to court, the Judge sided with me, but he'd already sold or given away a lot of stuff. He has to pay me alimony, but it's not enough to buy fancy stuff. Practically everything needs fixing."
They did a walk-through of the house, which was immaculate, except for the piles of clothes in the utility room. Mark had also punched or kicked holes in several walls, in his anger, and one door had been slammed so hard that the screws had been popped out of two of the hinges. He had taken the good car, and left the old junker there. She said it started sometimes, and didn't others. She had a job as a waitress, but it was close enough that she could walk to work. Bobby put two chairs and an end table in the back of his truck, to take home and re-glue legs onto. By the time he left, Jill was subdued.
"How much is all this going to cost?" she asked.
"Well, there's the fifteen dollars you already owe me ..."
"Hey! Wait a minute!" she yipped. "You said ten, before."
"I thought that wasn't enough for you," he teased.
She realized he'd been teasing, and laughed.
"It shouldn't be much," he said. "All I need is a little glue and some clamps. The screws for the door can be replaced with longer ones, and I'll glue toothpicks in the holes to make them solid again. Unless we find something really wrong, you'll get away for thirty bucks, tops."
Jill stared at him.
"I see one reason why all those women like you so much," she said. "You don't gouge them."
"Well … that wouldn't be polite, would it?" he said, smiling.
"Okay, deal!" she said, happily. "At your prices, I might even be able to afford a new belt for the washer."
"I wouldn't replace it until that one breaks," he said. "That one could last a year or two."
"See what I mean?" she said, excitedly. "You could have told me anything! But you were nice to me instead. I wish there were more men out there like you."
"Careful," he said, picking up his tool bag. "You don't want to get attracted to me." He grinned.
"Thank you," she said, handing him a ten dollar bill. "I mean that."
"You're welcome," he said. "I mean that too."
She walked him out to the truck.
"I'll have these things back in a couple of days, if I can get Mamma to let loose of the truck again," he said.
"You don't have your own car?" she asked.
"Saving up for it now," he said.
"At ten dollars a job, you'll have to save a long time," she said.
"Can't be helped," he said, smiling.
Bobby drove by Prudence's house, but her car was gone, so he didn't stop.
He found out why her car was gone when he got home, and saw it parked there. She and his mother were in the kitchen, shelling peas.
"I'm back," he said.
"How'd it go?" asked his mother, looking up.
"Fixed it," he said. "Got a few pieces of furniture out in the truck to mend too."
"Is that all?" she asked. Her tone of voice sounded suspicious.
"Mamma," he sighed. "I wish you'd quit worrying about me."
"Every mother worries about her child," said Prudence, smiling.
"It's just that Mrs. Trimble is divorced," said Mirriam.
Bobby grinned. "And you complain about people calling you a war-baby mother."
Mirriam looked shocked. "Where did you hear that?"
Bobby sat down. "I've known about that since I was little, Mamma," he said. "I never cared. You know that."
"I just didn't know," she said, softly. "Do the girls know about that ... name ... too?"
"Of course they do," said Bobby. "They don't care either."
"I'm so lucky to have you," moaned Mirriam. It was obvious she was talking about all of them.
"You are," said Prudence softly. Her eyes were damp.
"And it hasn't hurt you as much as you think," said Bobby. "I mean look ... you have a big date a week from next Saturday and everything."
His mother stopped looking sappy, and frowned.
"I'm not so sure that date is such a good idea," she said.
"Why not?" asked Bobby. "You deserve some attention. You both do."
Prudence blushed. Both Bobby and Mirriam noticed that her hands went to her pregnant belly. She looked distinctly uncomfortable for a few seconds, and then squared her shoulders.
"Bobby, would you please excuse us for a minute?" she asked. "I need to talk to your mother privately."
Bobby got up and went to his room, where he stretched out to take a nap. He'd have to do all the hauling for the picnic scheduled for that afternoon, and turn the crank on the ice cream freezer, when it got too hard for the girls to turn. He figured he was due a nap.
In the kitchen, Prudence looked nervous again.
"I like you," she said to Mirriam.
"I like you too," said Mirriam.
"We've only been friends since last night," said Prudence, "but if we're going to go on picnics together, and visit each other ... I want to be honest about it."
"You're talking about Bobby," said Mirriam.
Prudence's eyes opened wide.
"He's my son, Prudence. I know where he goes, and who he sees, for the most part. What I'm worried about is what you don't know."
"What I don't know?" said Prudence, weakly.
"How did you hear about him?" asked Mirriam.
"Bobby? Martha told me I should call him. Why?"
Mirriam fidgeted for fifteen seconds.
"He's worked for lots of people," she started. "Among them are Tilly Johnson, Martha, Sherry Winston ... and you."
Prudence looked confused for all of another fifteen seconds, as she reviewed the names Mirriam had spoken. Then her eyes opened wide again.
"You don't mean he ... with all of them?"
"You've been around him. You should know, as well as any, how he affects a woman. I'm his mother, for pity's sake, and he affects me the same way!"
"But they're married!" moaned Prudence.
"All with husbands who neglected them, or, bless poor Tilly's heart, had a husband who wasn't a real man."
"Still," moaned Prudence. "Even a neglectful man won't stand for something like that!"
"That's why I worry about him," said Mirriam. "Don't ask me how, or why, but at least two of those men know what happened. He's on speaking terms with both of them! It's the strangest thing I've ever seen."
"But he's worked for other women too ... right?" asked Prudence.
"Yes," said Mirriam. "And there are more of them than there are of ... these others. I just don't know what to think. I know it's none of my business, but I have to ask. Did he treat you well?"
Prudence felt her stomach do flip flops. She'd been ready to confess to Mirriam, and, in a way, hadn't had to. Now a direct question was on the table. She owed it to Mirriam, who could have snubbed her, and hadn't ... could have shunned her, but had accepted her apology, and offer of friendship.
"He's the finest man I've ever met in my life," she said softly.
"Did he offer to marry you?" asked Mirriam, dread in her voice.
"I wouldn't let him talk about it," said Prudence, feeling stronger now.
"Why not?" asked Mirriam, her voice rising.
"Would you take up ... publicly ... with a man half your age?" asked Prudence.
Mirriam frowned. "I suppose not ... but ... I don't think I'd take up with him privately either."
"I didn't intend to," said Prudence. "It was the farthest thing from my mind. But I needed him, Mirriam. I still need him ..." She stopped, and blushed furiously. "What I mean is that he made me come alive again. He changed my whole life, and Constance's too. We're both so much happier now, it's like we've awakened from a nightmare, and the sun is shining bright!"
"Constance too?" choked Mirriam.
Prudence blinked. "No! Not that!" She subsided, thinking about how happy her daughter was, and the way she was bubbly now, and outgoing. "At least I don't think so!" she said.
"You don't know?" asked Mirriam.
"I thought I did, but she's changed so much ... since she met him ... and I've changed so much ... Oh! Now I don't know what to think!"
"That's the nice thing about having a son like Bobby!" said Mirriam firmly. "Wait here."
Mirriam got up and went to Bobby's room. His door was closed, but that wasn't odd. The girls were in Bev and Linda's room, from the sounds of it, and they were, of course, making noise. She turned the knob and walked in.
The room was dim, because the shades had been pulled. Bobby was lying on top of his bed, asleep. He was in his briefs, and a fan was blowing on him. She hated to disturb him, but the question was too important. She stepped to the bed, and looked down.
He was so handsome. His chest, even in repose, was all sculpted muscle. A shock of his black hair drooped onto his forehead. She could see he needed a shave. Then her eyes fell on the briefs he was wearing. The bulge there was shaped such that she could see the outline of his shaft, and the twin bulges below that. He was all man. What was under his shorts had given babies to at least three, and possibly four women, if her suspicions were correct. She felt her own belly whirl, at the thought of being filled again. That had been her weakness with Joe. She had loved being filled ... had craved it ... even knowing that, as virile and potent as Joe obviously was, that he would probably impregnate her again. She had never been able to say "No" to him ... had never even wanted to say no to him. Joe had, for all intents and purposes, raised Bobby. And, apparently, whatever that special thing was that Joe had, had been taught to Bobby, because he seemed to have it too.
Firming her jaw, she touched his shoulder. His eyes opened, and she stared into them.
"We need to talk to you ... in the kitchen," she said softly.
"Okay," he said, sitting up. He reached for his shorts, and she watched him pull them on. Then he went to the dresser and got a T shirt, and pulled it over his head.
They said nothing to each other, as she walked him to the kitchen, where Prudence was sitting nervously. He sat down.
Mirriam took a breath. "Bobby," she said, her voice tight. "Have you ever made love to Constance?"
He stared at her, and then looked at Prudence, who was obviously looking at him with difficulty.
"No," he said. "Is that all?"
"Baby, we had to ask you," moaned Mirriam.
"Why?" he asked. "Is she pregnant too?"
"No!" yipped Prudence. Then her face twisted. "I don't know!"
"I thought you talked to her, after she saw us," he said.
"Saw you?" asked Mirriam, confused.
Bobby turned his level gaze on her. "Constance and Bev came into the house one time. We didn't expect them, or know they were there."
"Beverly saw you ..." Mirriam gasped.
"Yes," said Bobby. "I talked to her afterwards. We came home together."
"You talked to her?" whined Mirriam.
"I explained that Prudence and I were both adults," he said. "She knows about that kind of thing, Mamma. I suspect most of your daughters do."
Mirriam sat, stunned. He was right, of course. She had known about that long before she got married. She'd had Bobby when she, herself, was seventeen. She had two daughters older than that now, one of which was due to be married in less than a week. Her daughters were probably better informed than she had been, at their ages. She just hadn't thought about it.
Bobby had turned back to Prudence. "Didn't you talk to her?" he asked again.
"Yes!" she said.
"Then don't you think you should ask her if she's having sex?"
Prudence flushed. "I suppose so," she said, somewhat stiffly.
"Don't be mad at me," said "Bobby. "You asked some questions, and I answered them. Then I asked some questions, and you answered them. That's all that happened here." His voice wasn't as carefree as his words were, though.
"Stop it," said Mirriam. "Both of you. This is all my fault. You two were getting along fine until I butted in. I was being foolish." She looked at her son. "I'll try not to worry so much. Based on what Prudence said, you seem to be doing fine."
"Thank you," said Bobby. He got up to leave.
"Wait!" said Prudence. He paused. She got up and came to him. She gave him a quick kiss on the lips, her hands on his shoulders.
He grinned, and looked at his mother, who was looking a little startled.
"You can go finish your nap, now," she said weakly.
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