Chapter 52

~~Natasha~~

The Grand Cathedral of Dolareido was a terrifying place, she found, especially from the outside. The statues on the railings of the stairway, on the archways, and on the outcroppings of carved stone along the cathedral’s high walls, were nightmare fuel. Six-winged angels destroying demons beneath their feet, and gargoyles with mouths agape and fangs exposed within them. The archway over the main door had a crucifix, with doves perched upon it, as if the only way to find the peace those doves had, to escape the horrors displayed on the outside of the cathedral, was to pass through the gates beneath the cross.

She eased open the giant door of the cathedral, and slipped in.

She’d never understand why a vampire would agree to the philosophies of the Lancea et Sanctum. She wanted her feet firmly on the ground, rooted in evidence, not beliefs that were created to fill the hole evidence hadn’t filled yet. So what if vampires didn’t know where they came from? That was no reason to suddenly go believing in a higher power, believing that vampires were damned and doomed to suffer lest they fulfill God’s plan for them, to be monsters that scare the sheep into the protective arms of the shepherd.

But then, in absence of evidence, what do you do? For her, it meant a lifetime of digging through books and research articles, and now, relics and tomes, searching for truth. Damien was different than her. He had faith. A powerful weapon, and a massive weakness, depending on circumstance. She wanted to know if that circumstance was now, and if Damien had anything to do with what happened.

Maria wasn’t here, she knew that; it’s why she came now and not later. Still avoiding that conversation, still tiptoeing around that bitch of an elder, still being passive and refusing to be aggressive. She got aggressive with Jacob, maybe she could get aggressive with Maria? No, that wasn’t the same circumstance, not at all.

Natasha walked forward, slowly, and took a moment to straighten her business pantsuit. A pistol and two small swords, one of silver and one of carbon steel, were not easy to fit into a pantsuit jacket, but she made do. It would have been easier to leave the silver sword behind, and avoid potential questions from her boyfriends. They’d yet to ask about the extra sword; maybe they couldn’t tell it was silver? She did keep it in its sheath. Either way, she had to keep it on her at all times, but it wasn’t a strong enough material for proper sword work, hence the need for the other.

She made sure they were all there as she walked through the cathedral toward the dais, and the apse behind that that held the enormous pipe organ. Someone was playing them.

“D-Damien?” she said.

“ ... Natasha. I wasn’t expecting you.”

She came closer, and watched the man as his fingers moved across the keys. A pale comparison to Maria’s expert fingers, Damien’s playing was slow, imprecise, and lacked any texture. His timing was off too. But, he was playing Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, the famous first movement, and that wasn’t exactly Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

“Is Madam Turio ... Maria t-teaching you how to play?”

“Yes. I expressed interest, and she was more than willing.”

“She d-does love old, classical music a lot.”

“Indeed. And for good reason. It deserves to be loved. Modern music is ... well, that’s a rant I’m sure someone else could deliver better than I.” The man started playing again, and Natasha watched, a small smile on her lips. Something sexy about a man playing an instrument; a stereotype, but true.

“I’m not hearing the f-f-full p-pipes?” The sound was quiet, subdued, and didn’t have any of the power she assumed a pipe organ would have.

“No. This organ has a digital structure built in. I need to flip a switch to actually use the pipes. But, I foresee months, years of practice, before I’d be willing to try them.”

She nodded. Practical, sound, logical. You build up to something as grandiose as using the pipes in an actual full sized pipe organ.

“Is ... is it harder? Playing an organ, instead of a piano?”

“I wouldn’t know, haven’t played the piano. Madam Turio ... Maria, she says that, when all its elements are engaged, it is the most difficult instrument to play. It is a wind instrument at its core, and ... and I suspect you did not come to talk to me of music, Madam Vola.” The man didn’t know when to use titles, or he didn’t feel comfortable addressing her as Natasha. Maybe some time together could fix that?

“N-No, I ... wanted to talk to you about Jack. And, and you know ... t-t-to call me Natasha. You’re not Invictus, n-no need for the titles.”

“Very well, Natasha. Yes, I assumed the only reason you might visit now would be to talk about Jack. I may not be Invictus, but Maria keeps me in the loop. This whole right hand but not Invictus position she has given me is ... weird.”

“You thought I’d want to talk to you about Jack?”

“You suspect me, don’t you?”

“I ... I mean ... a little?” She squirmed, and leaned against a nearby railing that separated the organ from the rest of the stage. “You c-can ... imagine why.”

“ ... then let’s go talk to him.”

“What?”

Damien stood up, adjusted his tie, and turned to look at her. The half-shaved head, hair falling down his temple on one side of his head, was oddly fitting his dark suit, something Maria no doubt had him wearing. Sexy.

“Let’s go talk to him.”

Julias wasn’t home, but that’s why Natasha called him ahead of time. She couldn’t lie to him though, and spilled the truth that Damien was joining her. The man was hesitant, but he agreed to let them into the mansion and its underground bunker. It wasn’t like Damien would be able to kill Jack and make it seem like Natasha did it or something, and the man had had ample opportunity to kill Jack if he was willing to do it overtly.

So, Natasha knocked on the front door, and waited. Huge place. So huge. To own a mansion in a dense city, in an area where the real estate was kept free of any extra homes or anything that could possibly lower its value, was expensive. Of course the Invictus not only had money, they could bypass the money issues altogether, and turn such fantasies into reality. Only elders got to do something as extravagant as a mansion though.

“Madam Vola, and ... Mister Burksen, I believe?” A kind looking woman in a modern, but not too modern maid outfit answered the door. “I am sorry to answer myself, but Nathan has just let Master Terry feed, so he is sleeping.”

“Y-Yes, um, d-d-did Mister Mire call and—”

“Yes yes, come in, please. Master Terry is awake and expecting you.”

“Oh.” Natasha smiled, and followed after the thrall with Damien behind her. As they walked, several of the thralls stuck their heads out or up from their activities in cleaning the enormous house, and they watched Damien with squinted eyes. Well, they certainly didn’t like him, which was probably because of Julias. In fact, she imagined they were on standby to lock Damien into the bunker room, if something happened to Jack.

Well, she trusted him. Maybe she didn’t trust Maria, but she trusted him. A little.

The servant took them down a stairway, a long and deep stairway, before she gestured with open palm into the hallway ahead. Natasha had seen this bunker before, but Damien hadn’t, and the man stopped to take careful note of each barrier they crossed in the underground.

“ ... I would say these precautions are overkill, but I guess recent developments would prove me a fool.” He reached out, and ran his hands down one of the spiked gates that lined the path. Natasha pat his hand away from the metal. The gates were pulled aside, out of the way, but Natasha got the impression they’d come out with a hard snap and skewer trespassers if fiddled with.

It was a long tunnel, hardened with concrete. Viktor always thought for the future, and built things to last; understandable elder paranoia about preserving their long lives. In this circumstance, it was protecting Jack, and letting the boy sleep his injuries away. Triss had described the injuries to Natasha, and Natasha had winced with every mention of bone, flesh, sinew, and organs. Her first encounter with the werewolves had been a visceral amount of pain and injury, but she doubted she could compare it to what Jack had gone through with these hunters.

“Hey Natasha,” Jack said. The boy was sitting on the bed, dressed in suit pants and a white shirt, no jacket. He looked gaunt, despite the fresh meal Natasha knew the man had had. Recovering from such life-threatening wounds took time, especially for one as young as Jack.

But he was healing faster than a one-year-old neonate should, from those sorts of injuries at least. Impressive. Julias’s childe, he was.

“Hey Jack,” she said. How nice, to not have to call him Master Terry, or for him to call her Madam Vola. “The P-Prince has been anxious to see you.”

“Yeah, and I’m anxious as hell to see her. Moment I can actually walk around, I’m there.”

“You ... d-don’t want her to visit you here?”

“She could, but she thought it best to let me rest. We’ve sent each other a few messages.”

“Oh, sorry then, f-for ... int-t-terrupting your rest.”

“It’s ok. I should be good to go after one more night’s sleep.”

Natasha smiled, sat down on the edge of the bed near the boy, and reached out to touch his shoulder. Even little Jack was much bigger than her, but she still felt the bigger Kindred. She was half a century older than him, in Kindred years; and yet, it didn’t feel like that anymore. The beasts in their guts, hidden, forever tugging at their impulses and instincts, could sense each other, and hers found the boy to not be the little Ventrue he once was. Where before, she knew she could easily best the boy, now, she wasn’t sure it’d be so easy.

A powerful ally for the Invictus, indeed.

“Jack,” Damien said. “Glad to see you’re well.”

“Thanks. Kind of surprised you came though.”

“People suspect I had something to do with your kidnapping.”

“Ha, yeah I figured they might.” Jack shrugged, and turned a little on the bed, earning a pained wince. “They didn’t see how much you pulled through in the tunnels, against that giant spider monster.” The three of them shivered with the memory.

“That is true,” Natasha said. “B-But ... if Maria finds out—”

“I have told Maria nothing.” Damien offered a tiny frown, and slowly paced about the room, eyes wandering its extravagant decor. “Julias, Beatrice, the Prince, the sheriff, Natasha, Jack, and myself all know about what really happened to Lucas. That’s a lot of voices that could accidentally let slip an innocent detail that allows the elder to piece together what happened. But, I’m sure we all monitor our words carefully. We’re all glad Lucas is gone, and that includes me ... and Maria, to some extent.”

Natasha raised a brow as she watched Damien. It was rare to hear him speak so deliberately. The man who showed up at her door once, stabbed her in the heart, kidnapped her, his voice and his eyes had been wavering and weak. The man who spoke to his congregation, on the other hand, spoke with a solid voice and with solid eyes. That was this Damien. It was a pleasant sight, but also a frightening one; the man was scary when he was an enemy.

“I’d prefer to not let Maria find out, in either case.” Jack fell back against the sheets of his bed, head to the pillow, and looked up at the ceiling. “That Angela woman was a fucking psycho.”

Natasha raised a brow. “The hunter?” Antoinette had briefed her on the Invictus reports, Jack’s reports.

“Yeah. Damien was right that they’d target me, cause I’d be an easy target. But they didn’t come here for us vamps, they came for the monsters.”

She could tell them, about her conversation with Jacob and her eavesdropping of his conversation with Azamel. Always a tough game, figuring out what things were ok to tell your friends, and what you shouldn’t, to keep an advantage in the Danse Macabre. She told the Prince everything of course, but telling the other covenants every little detail was probably a bad idea. Exercise discretion, as Maria would say. Exercise wisdom, as Antoinette would say.

“So n-now, we have a bunch of hunters in the city, and they want Azamel.” Natasha pulled a knee up to her chest, and held it with wrapping arms as she teetered on Jack’s bed a little. “Poor Fiona. When she f-finds out, she’ll ... she’ll feel guilty.”

“They didn’t know about Avery,” Jack said. “They know about the Kindred here, know a lot, but they didn’t know about the Uratha. So, if I can convince Avery to help us out, we might just be able to turn this around.”

Damien came to stand beside Natasha, and he looked down at the two of them with a raised brow. “Easier said than done. Avery hates Maria and Michael, and all Invictus. Only reason she’s dealing with Jack is ... well, he’s Jack, I presume.”

Natasha smirked. Jack was Jack.

Jack raised a hand. “I’m Jack?”

“Y-You know, you’re Jack. You um ... you ... um...” How best to describe the Jack effect? “You t-talk where m-m-most wouldn’t.”

“ ... so I don’t know how to shut up.”

“Exactly.” Damien nodded, like it was very matter-of-fact information that everyone knew. “The Uratha couldn’t understand discretion to save their lives, so they appreciate your forwardness. Perhaps you can get them to help deal with this Jeremiah and Angela, and their hunters, but I think you’ll be hard pressed to convince them.”

The boy sighed, nodded, and raised a hand to scratched his buzzed head. “Avery likes Garry, or at least, they know each other, and don’t seem to hate each other. I might be able to use that angle.”

“H-How?” she said.

“Gotta become friends with Garry.”

Damien frowned, but shrugged as he took a seat by the desk. Natasha didn’t like the sounds of it either. Garry was volatile, like any freedom fighter was, especially when they already had freedom, were convinced that they didn’t, and continued to look for things to fight over. Rebels without a cause, damn Carthians. It would be one thing she’d carry with her from the Invictus, a dislike for the Carthian ideology.

“I’m glad you guys decided to visit,” Jack said. “Been a bit lonely. I’ve been ... wanting to break, ask the Prince to visit, but it really is best to wait until I don’t feel like my spleen is going to fall out.”

Damien shrugged. “You don’t need it.” Natasha and Jack both raised a brow, and stared at the man, until again he shrugged. “What, I can’t make a joke?”

“You c-could say, we might b-b-be a bit surprised.”

Jack nodded, and laughed, and almost screamed as he fell back onto the bed again, holding his side. “Fuck, fuck fuck fuck ... yeah, that’s why I can’t see Antoinette.”

“Sorry!” Natasha said. “Sorry, s-sorry. Um, yeah, you rest.”

“So, I’ll make friends with Garry. And Azamel. Already got Antoinette and Julias and ... Jacob, surprisingly. I’ll make friends with Avery and Michael, and hell, Maria too.” While still lying down, staring at the ceiling, he pointed his hands up at them like the ceiling was going to fall on him. “Cause these hunters are going to kill us all if they get the chance.”

~~Julias~~

He squeezed his arms around Beatrice, tight, close, as close as reality allowed, and groaned softly into her ear.

“Feeling awfully clingy, aren’t you?” she said.

“Very.”

“Needy guys are such a turn off.”

He chuckled into her. Juices, warm, heavenly, were dripping off of his testicles, despite her words.

The two of them were in Bloodlust, second floor as usual, and she was sitting on his lap, leaning back against him. She’d worn a short leather skirt to go with an almost fashionable black tank top, but had also worn a thong that went high enough on the hip that he couldn’t stop staring at it. Which led to present circumstances, her, sitting in his lap, facing away from him, her legs spread around his, and her slit spread open on his shaft.

She leaned forward, set her elbows on the table, and grinned back at him over her shoulder as she ground her ass down toward him.

“I needed this,” she said. “Just some nice, gentle fucking. Fucking hell, I’m still sore.”

“Getting filled with lead will do that.” He reached out with one hand and set it on her hip, while the other slipped underneath the bottom of her tank top to find her naked spine. Dancing fingers sneaked their way up her back, and caressed the grooves of her spin, and along various tattoos that played with her vertebrae, making beautiful, dark artwork of her lean body.

She moaned, and pushed herself back into him using her hands on the table. “See the Eric dude downstairs?”

“I did.”

“Heh, yeah, I winked at him as we came up here. Fucker knows what we’re up to.”

“Were you hoping he’d come up and watch?”

“ ... maybe. No secret now, I got a huge love for it. Call me an exhibitionist, but, god damn, something about people seeing me while you and I fuck, really turns me on.” And to prove her point, she raised her hands up from the table, slipped her claws under her tight tank top, and pulled it up enough to hook it over her breasts. There were people in nearby booths, watching, but with how dark it was and Triss’s hair over her cheeks, they wouldn’t be able to see her teeth. And Julias would wipe the mind of any kine who noticed anyway. A bit risky, fucking like this, but she initiated, and Julias could hardly say no.

He looked over at the woman beside them in the booth. A kine, a younger woman, maybe twenty years old. A short human, lacking in curves, but very, very cute. Drained, exhausted, and passed out, her shirt open, and her skirt zipper as well. Comatose, and thoroughly spent, as both Triss and Julias had fingered, licked, suckled, massaged, caressed, and forced the girl to cum her brains out several times as they drank her. And a full belly of blood was more than enough to have the two Kindred on each other immediately thereafter, high-riding thong or no.

Triss was trying to make him not think about Jack, not think about Dolareido, and worry about the hunters. She was trying to make him focus on something more positive, he could tell. And he loved her for that. Antoinette would probably do the same for Jack. Shit, he was already thinking about shit he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about. Focus on the beautiful woman in front of you, and how amazing her tight, wet, hot insides felt squeezing your cock.

“So I should have some people over more often?” he said. “Maybe some of my thralls, with a camera?”

“I ... wouldn’t mind a camera, actually. Could put it up on screen to watch while we fuck later.” She started to bounce faster, more of her juices trickling down his testicles as she got closer to orgasm. He’d had sex with women who squirted during orgasm before, but with Triss, it was a bit different. The more comfortable she grew with him, and herself, the more she let loose. He loved it. Though, if not for how their fluids would fade away in a short time, he’d be worried about the mess she’d leave on his clothes and the booth.

“I remember a time when you would have stabbed me for the suggestion.”

“Apparently, I’ve changed. You have too, right? Used to be all happy on the outside, sad on the inside. Seeing a bit of the reverse these days,” she said.

“ ... do I seem sad on the outside?”

“Like you got the weight of being a member of an Invictus high council on your shoulders.”

“Sounds suspiciously like reality.”

“But I know you’re a happier man than you used to be; mostly because I’m in your life, and I’m awesome.” Proving her point, she leaned forward more, weight on her elbows, and started to dance on his cock, literally. She dipped her hips left and right to the beat of the music, each dip causing her insides to clench, and for her small clit-hood chain to dangle and rub against his testicles. She didn’t always wear it, but when she did, he could tell every motion she made was sending pleasure sparks through it and into her, along with everything else.

He leaned back, and watched the most amazing ass in the world grind into him. She still had the thong on, and had her tiny skirt pulled up to sit on her hips along with it, thong pulled aside to cut across one of her large ass cheeks and stay out of the way.

Cumming was inevitable. First him, hands taking her hips and squeezing on her body as he felt the warm fluid gush up through his length, and into her squeezing insides. Moments later, she did as well, and her head fell to dangle between her arms, elbows still on the table, as she started to tremble. She still danced, still kept swaying, but no longer with the beat of the music. Woman was having trouble staying in control as the orgasm worked through, and Julias had lost all control already, just holding on as she milked him, and soaked him.

“At the same time again,” she said, looking back to him. “I’m getting good at this.” And, like she was getting comfortable in a lounge chair, she sat back, and put her back to his chest. Her pussy continued to shiver around his cock, and small trickles of her cum ran down his length to warm his testicles, along with his own. Divine.

His hands slid up, and found her breasts. Firm, handful breasts, and he massaged them as he hugged her against his chest. Nipple piercings were a delight, and he caressed them — and her — until she was melting into him.

“This quick fuck turned into a fifteen-minute tryst,” he said, “not even counting the meal.”

“Fifteen minutes is quick, you jackass.” She elbowed him in the side, but did nothing to stop his caressing of her body. Still sitting on him, still moaning, still shivering as the final waves of orgasm aftershocks worked through them. His were done long before hers though, and he delighted in feeling her pussy trembling, until it eventually forced out his softening shaft.

“I could do five minutes.”

“I’m sure you could do two, Superman, especially with me at the helm.” Instead of covering herself up, she let her head fall back and dangle onto his shoulder. Completely at ease with the idea of anyone seeing her with her tank top up.

The girl really did like to be watched. And whenever a third party was involved, the girl often came her brains out, very quickly. Something about another presence, a third — or fourth — body, being in the room, or sometimes in the bed, that set her blood on fire. If it was possible — and it was — he was sure she’d love it if he was having anal sex with her, lying underneath her, while six thralls stood around her and touched her, caressed her, and fingered her. Mental note: consider doing that for her birthday.

She slid off of him eventually, adjusted all her clothes, and adjusted the sleeping kine next to them so she wouldn’t fall over while Triss got snug against Julias’s side where the kine had been. Arm behind him, his arm over her shoulders, they held each other, and let the blood digest in their systems. The orgasm was the icing on the cake.

“So, you talk to Jack much?” she said.

“Yeah, was with him every day during his recovery.”

“Catch up with him?”

“He works for me, Triss. I’m always caught up.”

“Yeah but, I mean, stuff like ... you know, that emotional crap.”

Doing up his pants, it was hard to take the conversation too seriously. But after a moment, he thought about Jack, and let the gravity of Triss’s curiosity sink in.

“We all struggle with the beast.”

“Jacob doesn’t,” she said.

“No?”

She shrugged, and pulled at his hand that dangled from her far shoulder, arm hooked behind her head. And like a cat, she chewed on one of his fingers.

“Big part of who he is, who the Circle of the Crone are, and the blood magic shit; accepting the beast.”

“You sound like you’re fitting in then.”

“Yeah ... a lot more than I thought I would.” She chewed on his fingers a bit more, catching them between the points of the massive teeth along her jaw. Apparently she’d become a house cat when he wasn’t looking. “But Jack’s a fucking kid, and now he’s got kills under his belt.”

“He tell you about what happened?”

“Jacob did, filled me in on some details he got from the Prince. I knew about the kill on the first night, the frenzy kill, which is a major shitty situation. Dies and kills the same night? Definitely put a scar on him. Then the Viktor and Tony thing, then the Lucas thing, and then the spider monster thing, yeah, all crazy fucking shit, right? But this time it’s people, humans, and killing humans changes you, hunter or otherwise.”

He sighed, nodded, and hugged her a little closer. Killing Kindred was horrible, but at the same time, understandable. They were lone predators forced to share space and a food source; conflict was inevitable, including the occasional casualty. But killing humans was different. Killing a kine was like killing a part of yourself, your old self. Cliche, and true.

“I’ll have to spend some more one-on-one time with him, teach him some more things, maybe talk more about ... my past, I guess. Memories are starting to get hazy.” For the best. Memories of his wife, of his life before his embrace, it was easier to just forget them. Time heals all wounds because time tempered many things, like water against the rocks of a shore, until they were smooth. In this case, memories lost their details, and the visceral edge that they came with.

“Do you remember your first kill?”

“ ... I think so.”

“Cool to talk about it?”

“It was a hundred years ago. All I have are blurred memories. But, it was ... Viktor had me working a deal with a local crime circle, and I ... no, wait, that’s...” God, the memories, digging them up was painful in an almost literal sense. Internally resolved, externally forgotten. But, he could remember a face. “ ... someone I drank ... didn’t know when to stop.”

“ ... that’s rough. Fits right into the super depressed but confident, business dude you were when I met you.”

“And you?” He wasn’t sure why he asked. The macabre conversation was a weird aftertaste to seek after a great meal and great sex.

Many Kindred didn’t talk much about their old lives. All it did was bring painful memories to the surface, and force the particularly younger vampires into depression, as the sharp edges of their still fresh memories killed them with a thousand cuts. But if she wanted to talk about his past, he was happy to learn about hers. Almost felt like being human again, talking about old parts of life that didn’t matter, idle chitchat that lacked the usual emphasis on the now that most Kindred learned to adopt.

“My early years were pretty rough, you know? I figure it is for all Nosferatu. Waking up with fucking crocodile teeth, claws, and snake eyes? Yeah, angry. Then Antoinette executes my sire — deserved — and I’m left just ... yeah, not fun times. Found some scumbag kine, and let loose.”

Yeah, he remembered that. Invictus adjusted reports to hide the details on kills that looked odd, even if they came from someone not in the Invictus. It served no one to leave paranormal evidence lying about. A human getting ripped in half was paranormal evidence.

“Sorry I—”

She elbowed him in the ribs. “Don’t do that, jackass. You didn’t know me then, you got no reason to be sorry. And besides, it’s all turned around in the end. I don’t hate myself nearly as much anymore, and hell, find myself pitying other Nos a lot more than me. Some of them have it pretty bad.”

Yeah, true. Maria was one of the worst cases. To look like a deteriorating corpse for the rest of their second life was not a fate he wished on anyone.

“Jack’s young,” he said. “Younger than you, lot younger than me. I’m worried that, after everything he’s done, it’s going to start eating at him. I warned him long ago that it would, that being Kindred would start to wear on him, his humanity, and he’d have to struggle with that. That was after he killed Mrs. Pavala. Since then, kid’s been through one shit show after the other.”

“Exactly. We got our shit figured out, mostly, long ago, and our shit mountain was smaller in comparison. I’m thinking Jack might need a little more ... I don’t know, just keep an eye on him?”

He smiled at the woman, and nodded. She really cared about the kid. Maybe they’d bonded over their love of metal music, or the fact they both had zero tact.

“I will.”

“Course, he’s also sleeping on Antoinette’s tits near every night, so, I’m sure she’ll help him ... you ever wish I had tits that big?”

“All the time.”

She elbowed him, again, hard. “I wouldn’t be able to bend over without breaking my back! And at the ball? Practically had them out.” She held out her hands in front of her a foot, as if holding giant breasts of her own.

“You really love breasts.”

“I ... yeah, I guess I do.” She pulled up her tank top over one of her breasts, and traced her areola with a claw, where the snake tattoo was biting it.

“ ... you know who had great breasts? Jennifer.” Time to test the waters again. Planting thoughts of Jennifer in Triss’s head, while she was touching herself, was perhaps playing dirty, as Triss wore her arousal on her sleeve. But, sometimes, the best time to get someone to admit to what they wanted was when they were too horny, or drunk, to block their impulses.