I lied to her and told her that her ass was perfection itself and that no other female ass I had ever diddled could possibly compare to hers to the very best of my knowledge.I never told either girl about my time traveling adventures.I had made that mistake with the VA doctors once and I came quite close to winding up in a mental facility and some harsh treatment to get me back to “reality” in medical terms and away from outrageous fantasies caused by my PTSD and combat fatigue. After that I was extremely careful about anything I related either orally or in answering a questionnaire about my thoughts.Strangely, I felt a little distorted in my place in the present because I kept having memories of my trips into the past confusing me about reality and fantasy in the real world.I decided that my best course of action was to just remain detached from the memories of the past and wait for my next trip which I suspected was not far in the future. I was starting to get those little hints of. All of it. None of it was true. She lived in a three bedroom suburban house with a husband called Charles and a blonde headed daughter with dimples. Cecily wasn't a spy! She'd never been to a war zone. She was a psychologist like it said on the door. She was a fake and a plant and it was a test: an interview. Everything about her was an invention.That's what he told himself as he pushed her against the tree and scooped up the hammer, and immediately he saw the terror in her eyes and knew he was right. There was the proof!"Oh my God!"He scooped two nails from the box, discarding the rest. This was it. Finally, after all the talking and the games, he was going to nail her: drill her - maybe tar and cover her in feathers."Keep your hands behind your back," he squawked, barely recognizing the hate of his voice as he waved the hammer, whooping like a Native Indian and enjoying her confusion and fear."If you move your hands, I'll make it worse. It won't be your tits that I nail... but your.
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