Chapter 07 - Air on a C-String

Friday 30th June

It was a little after eight in the morning and I had the kitchen all to myself. I’d heard Dad leave just shy of quarter-to as I was about to head down, and Mum had left just as I’d got down, so that meant that at least I was safe from any risk of Mum or Dad potentially witnessing another spontaneous outburst of intimacy from Stef. Consequently I was feeling much more relaxed about life today than I had been yesterday.

Except.

You know that one about ‘the other shoe’?

I couldn’t find it.

The shoe, I mean.

After yesterday’s uncharacteristic exchange at the breakfast table between Stef and me, we’d both been certain Mum would say at least something about what she’d witnessed, but she’d said nothing. Stef had kissed me on the top of my head after she’d got in from her morning ride, Mum had been right there and saw it all, but she hadn’t said a thing about it. If anything that was much more out of character than Stef’s kiss had been.

Sure, Mum had let me know she’d seen what had happened when she asked me about it, and she’d let Stef know she’d seen it when she kissed Stef on the head on her way out to work yesterday morning, but since then?

Nothing.

Of course, by the time Stef and I had back home yesterday afternoon from our ‘diversions’ in the clearing, we were a lot more blissed out about life and a little less anxious about what had happened.

But the silence had continued.

Mum had said nothing.

Dad had said nothing.

There’d be no ‘family meeting’ with us vs Mum and Dad.

Nothing.

To say that that was ‘odd’ would be to describe Wales as being ‘a bit rainy’.

Normally if Mum sees anything out of the ordinary, whether it’s in a film or in a book or whatever, she picks up on those kinds of things like a seagull snatches a chip on the promenade. Instead, nobody had said anything about any of it, adding to the sense of unreality to everything lately. I mean, a week ago I was sneaking looks down my sister’s tops, knowing I shouldn’t and feeling suitably guilty about it, but driven by my teen-aged hormones to do so anyway.

And now?

Now I knew she’d known what I’d been trying, I knew she was okay about it, and I knew she’d sometimes tried to make it easier for me to see her boobs. She’d flashed me, we’d seen each other fully naked, and I’d stood naked in a field as Stef examined my cock and wanked me, after which she’d lay down, taken me on a tour of her most intimate places, and got me to finger fuck her and whatever you call g-spot fucking until she came – in my hand! – with my finger still inside her hot wet rippling vagina.

You need more unreality?

How about that all through everything we’d learned, and seen, and done, none of it had felt ‘bad’ or ‘wrong’ or anything negative like that at all, not for even a second. Oh we were both wary about making each other uncomfortable or asking for something that was too much, but somehow, aside from a couple of wobbles, everything had been fine. Weirder still was the fact that, until I was actually touching Stef in those places, in all the time’s when I’d tried to snatch a peek at her boobs I’d never thought or imagined or fantasised or anythinged that we’d get that intimate, or even any kind of intimate at all. I’d had my fantasies about girls I knew at school or people I saw in films or whatever, but I’d never looked at my sister and imagined doing with her the things I’d imagined doing with them, and suddenly I was doing just those things – and more! – with my sister, and none of it felt wrong to either of us.

I was moving through and deeper into a world I had never imagined, and I wouldn’t have traded this new world we’d somehow fallen into for anything.

Why?

Somehow, through all of the craziness of the past few days, I’d learned was that it was possible to love my sister as more than ‘just’ my sister. We’d always been close, really, and we’d always got along without any real fights, though there was a whole bunch of good-natured teasing from both of us, but I’d learned soo much about her, not just as a young woman, but about her over the course of this week, and everything I’d learned had helped me love her more.

We weren’t only brother and sister anymore; somehow we’d ‘levelled up’. I felt like I was more connected or attuned to Stef than I’d ever been, more than I’d ever felt connected to anyone. Of course I knew that someone, anyone looking from the outside at what was going on between us would tell us it was wrong in many ways, but that’s not how it felt to me, and I knew Stef felt the same way too. Whatever ‘it’ was that was going on between us, this was our new reality.

Or should that be, our unreality?

As if on cue, my ‘unreal’ partner chose that moment to intrude into the peace of a breakfast shared only with the dulcet-toned announcers of Radio 3. Even though she was far from the noisiest in the house – Dad! - I could still clearly make out the unmistakable sounds as she came down the stairs, her shower concluded, and all that sweat and grime thoroughly scrubbed off. I turned round just in time to see her walk into the kitchen, dressed in one of her habitual oversized tees, this one a pale plum colour, though its sleeves were longer than most and reached almost to her elbows. In contrast, my matching sleeping shorts and tee were a pale sand coloured jaggy digital camouflage pattern I’d glommed onto for some reason a few months ago. Back then, I’d thought the pattern was ‘cool’ and even a little ‘edgy’. Now I felt very much the younger brother in comparison. How can she make a mere tee look sophisticated? Sisters!

“Hey, Little Brother,” Stef said as she sailed past in search of her breakfast, the faint perfume of her shampoo trailing behind her, her tee clinging slightly to what I deduced to be her not fully dried bum. It was a pleasant sight. Absently, I wondered whether there was anything underneath that tee other than the fragrance of my freshly soaped sister, and if there were some way of finding out.

I felt confident that I really wanted to know then I could probably just have ask, but where’s the fun in that?

As I watched, she opened the dishwasher and bent over, straight-legged, to fish a clean bowl from the overnight run. Did I mention how she has nice legs as well as a really nice bum?

As she stood up, I managed to look away just in time and succeeded in seeming to be busy munching the last of my cereal as Stef sat down to her bowl of strawberry-topped muesli. For a while, all was quiet as she ate her breakfast, I finished mine, I made a tea for me and, from the nod that a waggle of an espresso cup, I also made Stef her coffee, managing to time both hot drinks for when she’d finished eating.

“Thanks, Babes,” she said as she took her first sip. She had been allowed coffee since her sixteenth, along with access to Mum’s prized espresso maker, though it helped that all you really needed to do was push a couple of buttons, the machine taking care of rest and ensuring I was always thanked for an always perfect cup.

“So, Luke, today, you, me, plans; discuss,” Stef suggested as she put her cup down, already half drunk; it was an espresso cup.

“Well ... there was that recording I made of The Thing last night...” I said as I jolted her memory over the idea I record any fanfares The Thing might play.

“You recorded?”

“I did.”

“Well done,” Stef smiled, making me feel good about myself. You would think I would know better by now. “However, I’m still sipping coffee here, so don’t you think it’s a little early in the morning to ask me to listen to you wanking yourself silly last night?” she asked, her smile so sweet as to make you forget she was talking about sibling masturbation. And making fun of it. Or me. Or both. Or something.

“But I’m, uhm... quiet, y’know, as in I always try to be really quiet...” I protested, my face feeling really warm as we went straight from basic facts to intimate details. I knew we’d get there, but I hadn’t expected to get pushed into the deep end right away.

“It’s okay,” she smiled, making me relax a little as her voice dropped to a whisper as she coloured a little. “You’re not the only one who has ‘quiet moments’, Babes. Don’t forget, I have the whole thing about being next to the ‘rents’ room, too, remember?”

I nodded, I’d just never thought about it, about her ... and being quiet about it.

Stef smiled at me. “Can’t you ‘fast-forward’ past the ‘build up’?” she asked, joking but not teasing.

Fast-forward?

My sister is a genius!

“Yeah, I could do that, couldn’t I...”

Stef smiled. “Good. So, what are you waiting for? Go fetch it so we can both listen?”

“On it,” I said as I dashed upstairs, retrieved my phone, picked up The Thing for good measure, and arrived back in the kitchen just as she was finished the last of her coffee.

“You brought that, too?” Stef asked as I put The Thing down.

“I thought it might help...”

“How?”

Oh.

“Uhm...”

“Doesn’t matter,” Stef smiled. “It’s the thought that counts. So, what have you got for me to listen to so closely after my breakfast?”

“Riiight,” I muttered as I picked up my phone, found the recording and spooled it up to about a couple of minutes from the end, trusting that would be enough time to skip most of any ‘one handed clapping’ sounds – and possibly even my moment of ‘sockage’ – but with enough time left to hear the chime and the ticking. With my phone set to ‘speaker’ and 100% volume, I placed it on the table and pressed ‘play’.

Initially there was nothing to hear.

“Is it on?” Stef asked.

I checked and nodded; it was.

“Are you sure?”

I was, but I looked again anyway, and held the phone up for Stef to see; it really was.

“Let me listen closer?” Stef asked as she held her hand out and I passed the phone to her. After a moment’s cautious hesitation she held it up to her ear, not too close in case something suddenly sounded, but close enough to hear... something? Stef grinned. “Wow, Babes, you really are quiet.”

“Uhm, thanks.”

“No wonder I didn’t know how often you were ‘making laundry’.”

Oh yes, she knew about the socks, I remembered, as I felt my face warm up some more. “Again, uhm thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Babes. Of course I now know it’s what, every night?” she teased.

“Miss Stephanie Jayne Rowden,” I began in as lawyer-like a voice as I could. “That is a foul slur upon my good name and character. I will have you know that I only masturbate most nights, though I will also concede that, upon occasion, I have been known to masturbate more than once in a day.”

Stef’s left eyebrow of brother-worry cocked itself. “I put it to you, Luke NoMiddleName Rowden,” she began, her manner equally as preposterous as my own. “Were one to add together the number of times you masturbate in a week and take an average of that number, it would, in fact, be true to say that you masturbate on a slightly more than once-per-day average.”

I was on the point of my refutation, rebuttal, and retrenchment – I said we watch a lot BBC4 – when there was a sound from my phone.

“What is that... ?” Stef asked as she picked the phone up again ... and a moment later she got her answer as we both heard my ‘ahh’ followed almost immediately by the musical chiming of The Thing, followed by the sound of it ticking as the chiming ended.

Stef put the phone down and switched the playback off. “So, your orgasm sound is an ‘oh’?” she asked, left eyebrow now at its maximum setting.

“Maybe it was ‘oh’ as in ‘oh what a funny sound The Thing is making?” I suggested.

Stef nodded. “So when you come... ?”

“Sis, you were there when I came yesterday...”

Another nod. “So I was. More of an ‘ah’ than an ‘oh’, I would say.”

I had to chuckle. “And that’s what’s most interesting to you?”

Stef shrugged. “Luke, I’ve already told you that, erm, that I find listening to Mum and Dad ‘inspires’ me sometimes, remember? So listening to you I thought, no, I’d hoped for a little more...”

“But I wasn’t loud yesterday, either,” I said as I reminded her how quiet I had been when she’d wanked me.

Stef bit her bottom lip a moment, red as a radish. “Well, that’s true, but I wasn’t, erm, concentrating on how you sounded when you came; I was enjoying being there and how it looked and felt as it, erm, happened while I held it, Luke.”

Oh! “Uhm, maybe I’ll be more ‘relaxed’ about it next time...”

Stef grinned. “Next time. So we’re going to play that game again, are we?”

Had I presumed too far? “Uhm, well I’d like to but-”

Stef grinned some more. “Relax, Babes,” she said as she reached for and took my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before she continued. “I’m only teasing, and I think we’re going to have lots of fun this summer, don’t you?”

This summer? Oh.

“Hey, you okay?” Stef asked as she saw my reaction.

“You said ‘this summer’...” I said carefully.

Another squeeze of the hand. “Ohh, I see. Come on, Babes, you know that’s just a figure of speech. It just means that we’ve got a few weeks with only the weekends to worry about. Once we’ve started uni, well, we’ll have to work something else out, at least until we leave home and get married and have kids and get old and die and, you know, stuff like that.”

I gulped. Then I realised she was teasing me. Her left eyebrow gave it away but I still wasn’t quite certain what she meant. “So you and me, we’re... ?”

“So unless you’re going to say ‘stop’, this is how things will be with us, for a long time, I think, a long long time. It can’t be forever, of course, but while we can, I know I want this to be a part of our lives, of us, don’t you?”

“I do, Sis. I like how it feels, being around you, the ‘playing’ as well, but I really like being around you,” I said.

“Me too, Babes.”

“Of course, your being hot as the sun is really helpful with that,” I teased.

Mistake.

“It’s ‘helpful’ is it?” Stef asked as she grasped my thumb and started to squeeze it. Hard. Very hard.

“Ow!” I cried out, not entirely without pain.

“Want to try that again?” Stef asked. She didn’t let up her grip. Pain is really distracting when you’re in trouble like I was.

“Okay, okay ... I like being around you and I also like how you’re really hot, but that’s just like an added bonus, you know, the extra cherry on top of the sundae kinda thing?” I said, hopeful that it was enough to get me out of jail.

Stef grinned ... and relaxed her grip. “Okay, Babes, you’re forgiven for being just a hormone-struck boy of eighteen and a handful of days...”

“‘Boy’?”

Stef grinned. “You’re right. Now I’m not an expert or anything like that, but yes, now that I’ve seen that cock of yours I suppose I should start to call you a ‘young man’...”

“And should I call you a ‘young woman’ then?”

Time for me to learn that sauce for the goose is not shared with the gander.

“If you want to be formal and, oh what is the expression, ah yes, ‘celibate’...”

I grinned. I had the answer. Sometimes I can even impress myself. “You will always be my cariad,” I said.

“Haha, and now he remembers,” she said. I was sure her eyes looked a little moist, but she gave me no time to say anything as she said, “Sooo back to your Whatchamacallit and, just like you said, it plays a nice little tune and it can tick too.”

“When I come,” I insisted.

Stef sighed. “Well yes, you almost utterly silently came and it played, but that doesn’t mean it’s giving you a fanfare every time you come, Babes.”

“But I came and it played,” I said, even as I could feel the ground beneath me turn to sand.

“And you think one thing means the other?” Stef asked. Her tone wasn’t patronising, but that’s only because she loves me. I think.

I nodded. “Uhm, but scientific method...” I said, carefully, not wanting to annoy Stef who seemed to see something I didn’t.

“Oh, scientific method, is it?” she said, and I knew I was wrong. She’d deployed her ‘lecturing’ tone and now all that was left was for me to learn how wrong I’d been. “Okay, then, let’s consider the ‘facts’, shall we?

“One. You masturbate before sleep. A lot! I mean seriously, do you need to see a doctor about that?

“Moving on.

“Two. Your Whatchamacallit plays a fanfare.

“Three. You see the two as linked.

“But.

“One. You wank at night, around the same time every day.

“Two, Whatchamacallit plays its fanfare, again, at night.

“Proposal, correlation is not causation, and based on the scientific method of observation I put it to you, Sir, have you considered what if your Whatchamacallit is an alarm clock that rings at night but isn’t very accurate because it’s old and isn’t wound, or isn’t wound properly?

“Conclusion. It’s not a come-sensor or a spunk-sensor or an orgasm-sensor or anything like that, Luke. It’s too old, the technology for that didn’t exist when it was made, so it must be something else, and it being an alarm that isn’t working properly is a much better explanation, and it fits the facts.”

“Oh,” I said, sadly. She had a point, a good point, a better point. But I liked the idea that it was some kind of ‘orgasmic release sensing contraption’ or whatever the Victorians might have called it. “You know, we could prove this one way or another right now. What if I was wank myself, you know, right here and now, with The Thing sitting right there on the table, and then you’d be to see it sensing my coming?” I suggested, only realising what I was proposing as I finished proposing it, and as I was sure I could felt my eyebrows begin to smoke from the heat in my face.

Stef chuckled. “Well, Luke, there is a certain ‘scientific method’ to your idea,” Stef began, her tone that of a thirty-three percent teasing. I winced. She smiled, and continued. “And I won’t deny that I would enjoy watching you ‘rub your radish’, again, and maybe this time I would get to hear you, too, but if we did that then I’m pretty confident I’d need to ‘polish the pea’ and then we’d get nothing done today, and it’s a lovely day out. I know. I was riding in it before you had stumbled out of bed.

“Soo, here’s what we’ll do instead.

“First, maybe you might try wanking at different times, not just bedtime. Or instead of at bedtime? Or as well as at bedtime? Find a nice time, make sure your Whatchamacallit is nearby, take ‘matters in hand’, and see what comes of it,” Stef said as she giggled at her innuendous suggestion.

“You’re a ‘hard’ task-mistresses, Stef!”

“Oh it’s a ‘stiff’ task, Luke, I won’t deny that!”

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch what you said... ‘come’ again?”

And that was us done for as for the next minute or so all we could do was laugh, try to say something else, fail in gales of laughter, and repeat.

Finally the need to breathe kicked in and we sobered. Slightly.

“Seriously though, Luke. What are you going to do about it now that it’s somehow winding and working a bit? What do you think will happen when it’s wound up all the way? Do you think it’s a ‘cricket box’ like Mum said?””

I shrugged. “Dunno, Sis. I mean, I bought it because I think it’s a nice thing to look at, so if it starts working, that’s a bonus, but even if it doesn’t, I still think it’s a nice to look at anyway. I just hope there’s a way to control the alarm so it won’t go off in the middle of the night.”

“Haha, you mean like you do?”

“Stef...” I said in a comically threatening tone.

It didn’t work, of course. “Okay, okay, okay,” she said, picking up The Thing, looking at it for a moment, before turning her attention back to me. “Luke, have you looked at this this morning?”

I shook my head. “I just grabbed it on my way back down.”

“Maybe you should...” Stef suggested as she handed The Thing over to me.

It took a moment or two before I saw it. The smallest of the three main dials, the one that ranged from 1 to 17, was now turned so that the 8 was at the top, if the ‘top’ is in the same direction where the 1s on the two outer larger dials were aligned to the same point of the triangle. Somehow that felt like it was the top. “How did I miss that?”

“I guess you’d not looked at it for a couple of ... oh. Oh! Oh Luke!” Stef said as her face suddenly lit up as she began to laugh.

“What is it?” I asked, smiling at her humour even though I didn’t know what it was.

“Oh ... Luke ... oh my poor poor Luke ... okay Stefie girl, just breathe ... you remember how ... that’s it...” Stef said as she shook her head and managed to get the laughter under control as she stammered to explain. “You’re right, Babes, it’s not playing a little tune when you come ... it’s counting how often you wank!”

“I ... it’s... what?”

Stef shook her head, as if to loosen the silliness of her idea from her thoughts, before she grinned as she repeated herself, “Every time you wank, Little Brother, it’s keeping score for you. You said it yourself. You said it played a fanfare when you came. You recorded it doing it. Sooo, somehow, I don’t know, maybe you shake the bed when you come and that’s what’s doing it, but when you come, it’s tallying it.”

“Wait, you now think it can tell when I come, and it’s keeping count?”

Stef nodded, still far too close to laughter as she gasped, “Scientific ... method ... it’s a come clock!”

Suddenly the imp on my left shoulder whispered into my ear. I hate it when that happens, but still, it would be rude to ignore its suggestions, even if they might get me into trouble. “Okay Sis, if you think that’s what it is, and you think this can be proved with ‘scientific method’, then why don’t you try it.”

“What?” Stef squeaked, abruptly slightly sobered.

“Well, if you’re correct and, like you said, it’s keeping count when I come, what about someone else, someone, oh, let me think, oh yes, of course, someone called Stef, will it also count when she comes? We should use ‘scientific method’ to see if it counts just me, or if it counts you as well. Soo, why don’t you keep it in your room, and the next time you, uhm, well, you can see if it plays an alarm for you, and then we’ll know.”

Stef grinned mischievously, her left eyebrow now at seventy-five percent and still climbing. “An interesting proposition, Little Brother, and certainly ‘scientific’, but are you really asking your older sister when she is next going to ‘tiptoe through the two-lips’? Are you, perhaps, asking me whether I shall be entertaining myself tonight with a ménage à moi? Are you, even, thinking of asking me to ‘go deep sea diving’ as soon as possible, just so you can find out if your Whatchamacallit keeps track of my quivering quim as well as a jerking Jagdwurst?” she asked merrily, discussions about masturbation between us now somehow and insanely not just possible but even easy, though still with blushes and teases on both sides.

“Uhm, if I were to say ‘yes’... ?” I hinted, very cautiously.

Stef shook her head. “Oh Luke, don’t you know?” she began, using her ‘best explain it simply’ voice. “We women, we’re not like you boys. We need mood and romance before we get all sexy-sexy. You boys? A hint of a tit and you’re cock’s ready, and with a flash of a pussy you’re up for a spot of ‘dragon wrestling’ before anyone can say anything. And teen-aged boys? From just this last week and the number of times you have ‘stroked your sausage’ it seems you’ve no restraint at all, Luke, none.”

I shrugged. “It’s, uhm, nature,” I pleaded.

“Oh is it, Little Brother? Well, it may be your nature to wank at the slightest opportunity and on as many occasions as you can, but that is not how it is for me. So yes, I shall indeed be ‘teeing the tee’ in the near future I am sure, but no, I will not tell you whether or not it will be tonight and I shall certainly not do so to order, even in the name of Science. So you will just have to lie there in bed tonight and wonder.

“However.

“In the spirit of the flogged horse of ‘scientific curiosity’, you can pop your Whatchamacallit in my room for later, though I’m not going to say or vouch or guarantee when that ‘later’ will be, but first, come here...” she said as she held her arms open for me, her tone soft and loving as she finished toying with me.

What else was I going to do? I got up from my chair and moved to stand beside Stef who turned and hugged me.

“It’s a lot, isn’t it, being a teen-aged boy, especially with what we’ve done this week,” she said. “Plus I expect you’re still a bit distracted, you know, from leering at my bum when I got my bowl...”

“I, uhm, huh?”

“Oh come on, Luke. I came into the kitchen, I reached my bowl from the dishwasher, and you took the chance to admire my derriere.”

“But ... how ... I mean-”

Stef chuckled. “Oh Luke, you’re still playing catch-up to this new life we’re living, aren’t you. Let me break it down for you. One, you like looking at my bum. Two, I know this. Three, I’m okay with this because you’ve no problem with severely crushed testicles, and we’re talking grievously crushed, okay. Four, I told you I sometimes make things easier for you. Five, so I knew you’d be looking. Six, did you really think the dishwasher was the only place I could get my bowl from? Seven, you do know how many reflective surfaces there are in a polished, tiled, marbled kitchen like this, don’t you?”

“Oh,” I said, caught, pinned, and mounted.

Stef giggled. “It’s okay, Babes, really it is. Here, let me make it better for you,” she said as she put her lips to mine and kissed me.

I took a moment, but then I remembered to kiss her back.

Eventually, with us both a little more heated than I think she’d planned for, we came up for air. What do you know, it was a little better, too.

“So, before this turns into a day-long thing,” Stef said as she gently nudged my hard cock with the back of her hand. “I think we’d better dress. And, while you’re dressing, and not distracted by the hottest babe you’ll ever see in nothing but a T in case you were wondering – which I know you are – maybe you could think of something for us to do? If you can manage that, maybe you could also give a thought or two to what are we doing this weekend when Mum and Dad are around. Please tell me you’ve figured out that you can’t have your eyes or hands on me like you have this week, and that I can’t play with that thing you keep waving around in front of me either, haven’t you?

“Damn, the weekend is so inconvenient!

“Now, off you go,” she said as she added a friendly pat on my bum to hurry me along.

So hurry along I did as I went upstairs and quickly changed into a pair of black cargo shorts matched with a retro Star-Lord tee, the original Star-Lord and not the movie version. I read my comics, I knew the difference.

Back downstairs, I opened the door to the living room and was impressed to see Stef was already there waiting for me. She was dressed in a little dress I hadn’t seen before, khaki, with some kind of a rose print design on it, thin straps, quite high of the knee, and quite low of the neck. She looked sensational.

I felt underdressed.

“Wow, Sis. Do you have tickets to the opera or something?”

Stef smiled happily. “It is nice, isn’t it?”

“Very, but, uhm, are you wearing any smilies?”

Puzzled, Stef shook her head. “You haven’t thought of anything better for us to do today than going back to Jensen’s... ?”

“That’s not what I meant, Sis, but if you lean forward, don’t you think that dress might lean more forward than you and then...”

Stef smiled understandingly. “And then what? People can see my tits? You can say it you know, Babes. I know I’ve got eye-bee-tees.”

“Uhm... what?” I asked, not sure what I’d heard.

“Eye-Bee-Tees,” Stef repeated grinning. “You know, Itty Bitty Titties?”

“I-B-Ts?” I repeated.

“Uh-huh. IBTs. Remember when you were putting sun tan oil on them? Remember how much time you spent on them? Remember how when you cupped them there was more hand that tit? That’s how you know they’re IBTs. And Luke, I know they’re IBTs, so it’s nice and gallant and things like that of you, and I love you for thinking about it, but if you’re worried about me like I think you’re worried about me, you don’t need to. Believe me, I know they stopped growing when I was fourteen, and they’d only started when I was thirteen-and-a-half, so you won’t hurt my feelings about their size as long as you’re not mean about it, and I know you wouldn’t do that anyway. So, now my tits are out of the way, and they’re always out of the way, haha, what were you trying to warn me about?”