He was dressed in a heavy sea coat, corduroy pants, hard-soled boots, and a knitted cap. About his waist he wore a gun belt and a holster that hung heavy with a weapon. It was the only one he was carrying, as far as I could see. The second he was ashore, he glanced about and then spotted me.“Who the hell are you?” the man demanded to know as he grabbed for his pistol.“Freeze,” I snapped in return bringing up my carbine, and lighting up the man’s chest with my laser range finder. “If you don’t you’re dead.”The man didn’t get a chance to reply. A shot rang out loud and clear across the water of the cove where the sloop had just anchored. The shot startled the man and his two companions. He spun about to see who’d fired it. He didn’t see the shooter, but he did see the results of the shooter’s work. To his surprise and obvious horror, the man watched as the body of his guard tumbled into the dark water of the cove.“I hope that makes my point,” I growled sharply at the man as he began. Was this the thrill Harry was expecting? Up to a point it was, but there was only so much fondling he could do without wanting something more. He withdrew his hand and put it on her thigh. Instantly, the girl opened her eyes, glared at Harry and removed his hand. Bewildered, he waited a few moments and then tried again. No go. Her knees were firmly clamped together. All Harry's attempts to prise them even a small distance apart were fruitless. They watched the rest of the film in sulky silence, she offended because Harry wouldn't play to her rules, Harry upset because he didn't know there were rules. He saw her to the bus stop and they never spoke again. The shower was running too hot. Harry turned the control down a notch, waited for the temperature to adjust while recalling another of his disappointments. During the final year of his teens, bolder but little more experienced, Harry found that women wearing spectacles began to take a prominent place in his masturbatory.
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