"I am the President of the Mess," explained the Colonel, "and as such I am the host, and must be the last to leave. That can be very boring at times."...he other couple who stayed were an over-weight fairly elderly General and his companion, the reluctant red-haired Countess in the shockingly short dress. As soon as he had put down his coffee cup the General's arm went round his partner's shoulder and his hand wandered down to rest on the upper slopes of her breast. She squirmed unhappily and. At least, she amended, not for a long, long time... Gently she ran the tips of her fingernails down Jock's lean muscular flank and across his sinewy buttocks, marveling at how hard they were, inhaling his good clean male scent. She should have guessed that morning that those pimples were just make-up... a man with a superbly conditioned body like Jock's wouldn't have pimples like that... but she had been so groggy and confused. Even so, pimples and all, he had opened a gate to a whole unknown. It was flawlessly clean with a little chrome, and a lot of new paint."Flathead," I observed. "Original engine?" Mostly. I found some Edelbrock heads on a wreck and cleaned 'em up. Headers are mine. Tranny's rebuilt with a Hurst shifter. Bodywork's mine. Paint isn't."He was a man of few words. I looked at the car carefully. It had been thoroughly rebuilt with bigger brakes, heavier springs and all new wiring."How long did it take you?" Two years ... off and on." How do you know Mike?" We're in. I sighed. "Death is the mother of beauty," I said. Lauren looked questioningly at me as I got up from the desk and made sure the door was locked, then killed the light and got into bed, the room lit now by only by the city's ambient light. "It's from a poem," I said as I got settled. "The possibility of losing something is what makes us realize its value."She nodded. "I know. Wallace Stevens. Sunday Morning. And he's right, it does." She stared at the ceiling for a long moment, then said.
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