THIEF OF HEARTS: The Return by
Kimberly Zant
(c) copyright May 2003, Kimberly Zant Cover art by Eliza Black, (c) copy...
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THIEF OF HEARTS: The Return by
Kimberly Zant
(c) copyright May 2003, Kimberly Zant Cover art by Eliza Black, (c) copyright May 2003 New Concepts Publishing 4729 Humphreys Rd. Lake Park, GA 31636 www.newconceptspublishing.com
Dear Diary: I’ve always considered myself level headed, not at all the sort of person to believe in the ‘supernatural’, or any sort of myths, for that matter. The ‘Thief of Hearts’ threw all my beliefs into disarray, however. With little more than a whisper of sound, I found that the man who had come silently into my room in the night and had tortured me all night long with the most exquisite pleasure I had ever known had vanished as if he’d never existed. In the blink of an eye the room was empty of any presence save my own. I leapt from the bed. My muscles screamed with pain, but I ignored it, rushing down the hall, through the living room and kitchen. There was no sign of him. Having searched the entire house, I collapsed on my bed and wept until I fell asleep. When I woke it was late in the afternoon. I lay staring at the ceiling for a time. Finally, I roused myself and rose. I smelled him on my skin and was torn between an insane urge to keep that part of him with
me and an equal determination to wash all evidence of him from my body. Finally, I turned the hot water on and stepped into the shower, scrubbing myself thoroughly. I felt weak and listless when I was finished. Dressing, I left my room and went into the kitchen, grabbing an apple and munching it as I wandered around the house, checking every window, the doors. I had examined every opening to the house with great care twice before I even realized what I was doing. There was no sign of forced entry. The house, as usual, was locked up tight. Had I left the door unlocked? It was locked now, but he could have locked it on his way out. Despite a desperate wish to find a logical explanation, I found it very hard to believe that I had left any door or window unlocked, allowing him to gain entrance. I was a compulsive security freak. I had never, since I’d begun to live on my own, left a single door or window unlocked. And I checked each, over and over, before going to bed at night, fearful that I’d unlocked one and forgotten, or that someone else, my boyfriend or the handyman, had unlocked a window for some reason and not locked it again. Yet, he had been there. There was no question in my mind about that. My body still ached from his possession. It still quaked when I allowed memories of the night before to fill my mind. If I accepted that he had really been there, though, then I began to realize that I might also have to accept that he had entered my home by some sort of magic, because the security system was working and had not been tripped and the house was locked up as tightly as a prison.
Moreover, and though I had avoided all thought of it previously, I was not a heavy sleeper--far from it. I did not take drugs of any kind. How then could I explain that the ‘Thief’ had not only entered my room, but bound me hand and foot so that I was helpless against his assault, without me rousing even a little until he was done? I should have woke immediately at his first touch. Instead, it was almost as if I had been hypnotized, or drugged, or simply ‘bewitched’, for I had known nothing at all until he had wanted me to become aware of his presence. That night I checked every door and window over and over, making sure that each was locked. I had slept most of the day. I sat up most of the night. I found that I was both relieved and disappointed when he didn’t come. Days passed. I ceased to watch for him, or, at least that was what I told myself. But, when a week passed and he didn’t return, I began to grow restless, angry. I didn’t care who he was, or how he’d managed to find his way into my bedroom, or why he’d done what he’d done. I finally realized I simply couldn’t bear the thought that I might never experience anything like that again. By the time my boyfriend finally returned, I discovered that I had little interest in him. I could not bring myself to act as if I’d missed him, or that I was glad he’d returned. All I could think was that he would expect me
to want to make love to him and I had been spoiled to any other man. I wanted my phantom lover. I did not want my boyfriend even to kiss me. After his second day home, he erupted, demanding to know how I’d found out. I stared at him blankly. The only thing on my mind was the growing fear that my boyfriend would keep my phantom lover away. “Found out?” I echoed. He glared at me. “Look, there was nothing to it, all right? Me and Stacy just got caught up in the moment.” Stacy. My best friend Stacy? “You and Stacy…?” “You’re pissed. I know you are. I don’t blame you, but it just happened. It didn’t mean anything to either of us. Things just got a little out of hand. You know how it is.” I should have been furious, but I discovered that, except for feeling betrayed by my best friend, I just didn’t care. “Stacy fucked you?” He stared at me. “You didn’t know?” It should have been obvious to the knuckle head that I hadn’t, and I didn’t particularly care. Before my phantom lover, I would probably have felt devastated by the news. Now I was just indifferent. Except that I damn sure wouldn’t be trusting Stacy around any more boyfriends! Some friend! “No,” I said. “I didn’t. But, now that I do, I’ll expect you to gather your things and leave.” “We can work this out.” “I don’t want to work it out.” I was relieved, actually. The encounter with my phantom lover had not been by choice. No matter what, I had felt I had a commitment with my
boyfriend and I would not have willingly betrayed his trust. I hadn’t had a choice, but it had still altered the way I felt about myself, and my boyfriend. Even if I had not discovered that he’d betrayed my trust, I would have had a hard time going on with the relationship. Now I didn’t have to. I waited hopefully for the return of my lover when my boyfriend moved out. Days passed--a week and then another. I began to despair that he would ever come back and I had no idea who he was or how I could reach him. I was sleeping deeply, exhausted from days and days of waiting for his return, when I smelled his cologne. It rolled over me in a tidal wave of sensation that sent logical thought processes scattering, revving my libido at the same time. Despite my body’s instant recognition and reaction, I thought at first that it was only a dream. I’d dreamed of him night after night, hoping he would return, and each time I’d woke devastated to realize it had been no more than a dream. I felt certain I was dreaming again … then I felt a tug on my wrists. Had I descended once more into my dreams? Or had I surfaced to the reality I’d been waiting for? I became more aware of my surroundings as I felt my arms lifted above my head so that they framed my face. I felt a series of gentle tugs as they were bound in that position. I opened my eyes just as the scarf descended, catching no more than a fleeting glimpse of the man above me. The mattress dipped and he straddled my middle, though he held his weight off of me. Leaning forward, he whispered near my ear, “Miss me?”
A shiver of expectation raced along my spine as the whispered words caressed my ear with the hot moisture of his breath. I had, terribly. I wasn’t certain I wanted him to know, though, so I said nothing, instead tugging at the bindings on my arms. He had, I discovered, bound my wrists to the headboard above my head. I couldn’t lower them, could scarcely move at all. He chuckled, his mouth moving from my ear down along the side of my neck and then up my throat to my lips. He placed a light kiss at each corner, and I realized that he had not gagged me as before. I could bite him, if he came near enough. I could curse him. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to or not. I was furious, of course, because he had loved me as I had never been loved before and then abandoned me for weeks to wonder if I would never be touched in quite this way again. I was equally angry that he had come, again, without questioning whether or not he would be welcome. His lips brushed lightly across mine, feather light, teasingly, caressingly. My lips parted as I sucked in a shaky breath, all thoughts of retaliation vanishing as heat and adrenaline rushed through me, leaving me feeling weak. “Will you bite me if I kiss you?” There was laughter in his voice. I found myself responding, my lips curling despite the fact that I wasn’t certain how I felt about his abrupt appearance after having ignored me for weeks. “Maybe.” “I could always kiss your nether lips. Would that be more to your liking?” My breath caught in my chest. Before I could say anything, however, his lips covered mine. My body responded instantly to his smell and taste,
knowing him as its master. He plunged his tongue into my mouth and I felt a dizzying rush of pleasure. My body burgeoned with pleasurable heat. My sex moistened with anticipation. When he ended the kiss, I waited breathlessly to see what he would do next. He covered my mouth with the tape. As abruptly as I’d descended into lustful anticipation, I rose to clear headed concern. I jerked uselessly on the bindings. “Want to play?” he whispered near my ear. I’d spent weeks missing the game. Now that I finally had the opportunity again I wasn’t at all certain I could endure hours upon hours of torturous pleasure. I thought I would be just as happy with more conventional lovemaking … perhaps happier. I should not have felt that way about a mysterious stranger, I knew, but my will defied my attempts at logic. My body knew him. He ignored my muffled indignation, carefully removing my nightgown and panties as he’d removed them before. I felt fresh anger swell inside me. If he kept this up I’d soon find I had nothing to wear. I had actually considered sleeping nude. It wasn’t my habit, but I had toyed with the idea of being ready when he did return … and then discarded it because I didn’t like the idea of giving him the impression I was waiting hopefully. Now, I lay perfectly still while he removed the clothes I had worn to bed, angry but unmoving, telling myself it was not anticipation I felt, but fear that kept me immobile. It was pure rage that heated my flesh, that made me tremble.
Cool air caressed me, assuring me I was completely nude. I sensed that he had moved away. At once, and despite my annoyance, my body tensed in anticipation. I turned my head, trying to hear what he was doing. Was he merely studying me? Or was he preparing the swing as before? Did I want him to? My body answered by sending a wave of pleasurable expectancy through my muscles, my sex becoming awash with my body’s juices. Nothing happened for so long that I began to wonder if, this time, he meant to tease me by doing nothing at all. The thought was as effective as being doused with cold water. As abruptly as pleasure had suffused me, it ebbed, allowing doubt and fear to creep in. I felt a tug on my ankles. Alert at once, I turned my head, trying to peer through the scarf that covered my eyes. Disappointment rushed through me as I realized he, apparently, had no intention of using the swing again. I had loved/hated that swing, hated being bound so that I was completely and utterly at his mercy. And, yet, it had been liberating. I could not object, because he had gagged me. I could not fight, because he had bound me. I was free to completely enjoy everything he did to me because it was against my will, and because he was a stranger, not someone I would have to look in the eyes the morning after. Lying spread eagle on the bed might be somewhat more comfortable, but he would not have the access he’d had when I was suspended in the swing. I would not get to experience all those things he’d done the first time. I realized then that I’d lied to myself. I had missed all of it. I wanted it to be as it had been the first time.
To my surprise, instead of separating my legs, he lifted each leg in turn, until I was bent almost double, lying flat on the mattress with my legs almost straight up in the air. Puzzled, I remained motionless, wondering just what his intentions were. In a moment, I could feel the cuffs around my ankles tighten as he fastened the straps, I thought, to the headboard as he had my arms. The bindings tightened again, lifting my hips clear of the bed. Something soft … a pillow was wedged beneath my hips. Again I felt a tugging on my legs, outward this time. Instinctively, I clenched my leg muscles, trying to keep them together. I quickly found, however, that it was useless. My legs were separated, tugged until they were splayed wide, and then wider still. I felt the moist folds of flesh that guarded my sex part, felt cool air brush intimately against me. My sex responded to the cool air by growing damp. The muscles in my belly clenched almost painfully. I wasn’t certain whether it was from fear of what might come next, or hope that it would be all that I had experienced previously. I sensed when he leaned close. “Do you want to play?” I hesitated. If I nodded, would there be no love play first? I found I wanted the teasing, maybe not hours of it … but maybe that wasn’t what he was asking. Exactly what was the game, I wondered, realizing all at once that I only knew what it meant to me, not to him. I felt something, feather light, skate along the sole of one foot. I shook my head vigorously. He ignored me, teasing me with the light brushing strokes that heightened my senses, built pleasurable anticipation despite my best efforts to remain unmoved. I could neither see, nor hear,
nor speak, nor move. My mind focused in its entirety on the gentle strokes, up and down the sole of my foot, tickling at first, then around my ankles, along my calf, my thigh, heightening my awareness of each and every part of my body, sending little ripples of sensation at first that became harder and more recognizable surges of pleasure as he made his way with slow deliberation along my leg. I was struggling for air by the time he reached my sex, tense as I waited for what would happen next. He circled it, round and round with the faintest of touches, across the lower part of my buttocks, the intensely sensitive area of my upper thighs, along my belly. I caught my breath, held it as I waited for him to brush it across my clit. Instead, he began to tease my other leg as he had the first, stroking feather light, until my skin tingled, twitched in an effort to avoid the feathery touch. Then he retraced the path he’d taken before, moving along the inside of my leg until he reached the apex of my thighs. As he had before, he circled my sex, teasing, but never touching where I wanted him to touch me, and then I felt the skate of the soft brush across my belly. The delicate perfume of a rose tickled my nostrils as he circled my breasts and I realized that it was the soft, velvety petals of a rose blossom he used to tease me, not a feather as he’d used the time before. My nipples stood erect, became hard, pouting for attention that was withheld as he continued to circle my breasts, teasing, but never touching the most sensitive areas of my flesh. The rose was removed. I thought I knew the game by now. He would wait while my body cooled before he touched me again. I braced myself for it. Surprise made me jerk when I felt his mouth on my belly, felt his tongue
lathe me, dipping into my navel. He lifted his head after a moment, blowing. The moisture that remained on my skin chilled, sent a shiver through me. He moved lower, running his tongue along my sensitive lower belly so that my stomach muscles clenched almost painfully in response. Then, moving lower still, he nipped the soft flesh at the top of my inner thighs, first one side and then the other until my belly quivered with expectation, until my sex felt flushed, swollen, deprived. He moved away then. I waited in dread, certain I would feel the touch of ice on my heated skin. Instead, I felt the hot moisture of his mouth as it closed over the toes of one foot. I was too stunned with surprise, at first, even to think. The urge to giggle welled inside me as he sucked. It vanished when I felt the soft petals of the rose against my clit, brushing tiny circles, then back and forth. Heat flooded my belly, drenching my sex with moisture. I wanted to feel his mouth suckling my clit, or his cock inside me. Either, I knew, would build the pleasure already warming inside me to an almost unbearable rapture, but would also bring me to completion. Instead, he moved away. Moments passed. Slowly, the tension eased from me. Disappointment replaced it. I enjoyed the slow building of pleasure, but I wasn’t at all certain that I liked the roller coaster ride he was determined to take me on. Despite those misgivings, or perhaps because of it, I jumped when I felt his mouth cover my nether lips, felt his tongue part the folds of flesh to allow him complete access, tracing a hot, wet trail from the sensitive flesh just beyond my sex, up and across my clit. My heart leapt in my chest as he
began to tease my clit with his tongue, sending sharp needles of pleasure through me. The muscles in my belly clenched and unclenched as my body leapt into midstream and climbed quickly toward release. I had learned to expect that he would not give me release at once, and I was still desperately disappointed when he stopped when I was on the verge of reaching my goal. I remained fixated on my disappointment as the minutes ticked past after he’d withdrawn instead of bracing myself for a new assault, as I should have. The ice, skating over my heated flesh jolted through me, making every muscle clench. It was sheer torture, snatching me back from the edge of fulfillment to a place on the opposite end of the scale, the deepest valley of the roller coaster ride. He teased me on and on with the frigid crystals until my body felt as tense with resistance as it had previously felt taut with need. “Do you want to play?” I nodded vigorously, hoping that meant that he would cease to tease me and appease my need to find release. He chuckled. Doubt seized me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have nodded? Maybe ‘the game’ was hours of teasing, without fulfillment? I discovered it was. The sweet smell of roses tickled my nostrils again as he began to make teasing circles around each breast, circling, but not touching, each nipple. My nipples stood erect, pebble hard, desperate for just a light brush of a caress, but he never touched them, moving instead between my breasts, down along my bare stomach, sketching a circle on my belly. The muscles
in my belly tightened with expectation, but again he withheld even a light touch, circling my aching sex, running the blossom along my inner thighs to tickle the sole of one foot, skating downward again, then moving to my other leg. When he stopped, I waited, holding my breath, but, as before, he waited as well, until the tension slipped away from me and I was once more at ground zero, miles from any hope of release. I jerked in surprise when I felt his mouth settle over the nipple of one breast. The erectile tissue responded instantly. My body, unprepared, reacted more slowly. Nonetheless, my flesh reacted to the sharp contrast of the heat of his mouth so quickly upon the heels of the cold ice he’d rubbed them with before. Goose bumps radiated outward as he suckled me, heat waves followed in their wake. Before many moments had passed, I found myself gasping for air. He had sealed me inside my body with the blindfold. I could not see anything, could hear little above my own heartbeat. There was nothing to distract me, no way to focus my attention anywhere except on the actions of his mouth and tongue as it teased my nipple. When I had descended to mindless ecstasy, he drew away. The moisture from his mouth chilled in the air. My heart slowed. I ceased to gasp for air. I tensed immediately when I sensed his presence close by me, waiting, hoping he would caress my other breast, which felt swollen with need. Instead, I felt his mouth settle over my sex once more, felt the caress of his tongue. I resisted, knowing he would not allow me to find release,
knowing he would tease me until I was mindless, my body completely under his control. It was useless and only prolonged the torture. No matter how hard I tried to ignore the waves of pleasure that began as a gentle persuasion, they built slowly and inevitably with each stroke of his tongue, with the gentle sucking of his mouth on my clit, until the waves were cascading through me in ripples that grew harder and harder, until I was fighting for every breath I took, until the whole of my mind was focused on the center of pleasure, until I felt myself on the edge of explosive release--and then he pulled away. I jerked when I felt the ice, trying desperately to escape it. I couldn’t, of course. I was bound hand and foot, exposed, unable to escape or protect my vulnerable areas. The shock was so sharp I almost fainted when he rubbed it against my heated clit, around and around, numbing it finally to sensation. I began to shake my head again when I felt the rose once more, trying to speak, to demand that he give me release instead of teasing me. It no longer mattered that I knew the teasing only heightened my ultimate pleasure. I knew that he would tease me on and on until I experienced explosive climax, but I didn’t think I could stand climbing and falling over and over. I wanted mine now! It made no difference. I was fairly certain it wouldn’t have if I had not agreed to the game. But I had agreed. He moved away. I remained tense, expecting another assault on my senses, knowing it would come, but as the minute dragged slowly past, and then another,
despite my determination to control my body, I felt the tension flow away from me. As if he had only been waiting for that, his mouth settled over my nipple. My body responded instantaneously and aggressively. My heart slammed against my chest wall, making me gasp. Dizziness assailed me as I struggled to drag sufficient air into my laboring lungs. Minutes of pleasurable torture passed as he suckled, lathed my nipple with his tongue, suckled again. He touched me no where else, but he had teased every inch of my body with the delicate blossom, tortured me with the ice and my flesh was ultra sensitive by now. My erogenous zones seemed to have expanded with each pass until there was no place on my body that did not respond to his slightest touch with waves of pleasure. When I thought I couldn’t stand it anymore, he stopped. My body cooled, but he surprised me again--it seemed to be a part of the game, not just bringing me to the edge of climax over and over again, then forcing me as far from release as I had been close before--but making certain that I could only expect the unexpected. Hours passed and I lost myself in experiencing sensations to the fullest, riding the current upwards, nearly cresting and finding the ultimate ecstasy, before he plunged me to the depths once more. Each time I found myself nearing the peak of pleasure, I would close my mind to anything but achieving my goal, but it was as if he knew my body as well as I did, or better. He always seemed to know the moment to stop to keep me on the brink. He always seemed to know just how long it would take me to reach the bottom once more, the furthest point from climax.
Finally, when I thought I could take no more, when he had sent pleasure coursing through me over and over again until I was exhausted and wound tightly from finding no release, he whispered, “Do you want me?” I did. I think I wanted to kill him, but I also, desperately, wanted him inside me. I nodded … then waited tensely to see if he would give me what I was ready to beg for. I felt the head of his cock nudging me, parting the folds of flesh that protected my sex, penetrating. I held my breath. Slowly, he eased further into my passage. It clenched tightly around his erection. He pushed until he was deep inside me. Slowly, he withdrew … and pulled away. I could have cried in frustration. To my surprise, I felt a tug on my wrists and my ankles. He released me, pulled the tape from my lips, the scarf from my eyes. I blinked, looked up at him in the darkness. Shadows still lingered in the room, making it difficult to see him, but I could make out his features … and what I saw pleased me, very much. His face was all harsh angles and planes, the sort of face not generally thought handsome, but devastatingly attractive in a purely male sense. His body was taut with well defined muscles, not excessively bulky, but indicative of a great deal of strength—as if I could have been in any doubt. “Do you want me?” “Yes,” I said, placing my palms against his chest and sliding them upwards until my arms were locked around his neck. He kissed me, long, lingeringly, then pulled away. Grasping my legs, he lifted them up and entered me in one swift thrust. I gasped, arching my hips to receive his thrust, feeling my pulse race as he filled me.
His arms tightened around me as he jerked me upright so that I was sitting in his lap, could feel him more deeply inside me than I could’ve imagined. Grasping my hips, he lifted, then thrust, setting the pace. Within moments I found that I was nearing climax … and then it burst upon me, unexpectedly jolting through my body like the shock waves moving outward from a massive explosion. I felt his cock jerk as he, too, found release, and I melted bonelessly against him. Slowly, he lowered me to the bed, breathing raggedly, gasping for air as I did, following me down and lying next to me so that our breaths mingled in our ecstasy. I was only barely conscious when he began to fondle my breast. I was sated. I had no interest in sex again so soon after the soul shattering experience that I’d just had, but I was too weak still even to consider protesting. I should not have been surprised when my body responded instantly to his caress, but I was. Certain, at first, that it was no more than echoes from pleasure passed, I found myself fully aroused before I even realized that he was building me toward yet another climax. He lifted my leg, entering my body from behind. Shifting to get better penetration, he began to move slowly. It felt wonderful, but it teased me too, failed to satisfy my need to feel him deeply inside me. I draped my leg over his thighs, shifting so that he could penetrate me fully. He began to move more swiftly, building us both rapidly toward climax. Within moments, my crisis exploded inside me, harder than before. I was only vaguely aware of his culmination as I slipped weakly into darkness.
I don’t know how long I lay in a sated stupor, but I felt the bed shift, felt cool air caress me as he moved away. It roused me. “Don’t go,” I mumbled sleepily. He seemed to hesitate. “I have to. It’s time.” With a great effort, I opened my eyes. I saw the room was growing light as the new day crept in. “I don’t understand,” I said, more than a little plaintively. “The game’s over.” The words sent a jolt of panic through me. I caught his hand. “But we’ll play again?” I said, trying to sound seductive, not desperate. He studied me for a long moment and finally leaned over me, kissing me long, hard and deeply. I clung to him, kissed him back, putting as much longing in the kiss as I could, trying to force from my mind the possibility that he would not return to me at all. Finally, he pulled away, took my arms and untangled them from around his neck. “I’m not at all sure the game won’t be the death of me,” he murmured. There was wry humor in the words, but I couldn’t quite grasp his meaning. “You’re not a … uh … a ghost then?” My question surprised a laugh from him. “Not hardly.” It occurred to me that I should cease to question him. I might be running the risk of convincing him to go away for good if I continued, but he had already heightened my concern that he would leave and never come back. I couldn’t forgo the chance to find out something about my lover. “Is this something like dreamwalking, then? An out-of-body experience?” He looked at me curiously. “You think this is a dream?”
I shook my head. “It’s too real to be a dream.” He rose from the bed and moved toward the door. To my amazement, I saw that he was fully clothed. How and when had he done that? It was as if he’d magically become dressed. I sat up in the bed, studying him anxiously. “We’ll play the game again?” I insisted, aware that my desperation had crept into my voice, but uncaring. I couldn’t let him leave without a promise that he would come back. He paused in the doorway, turned back to study me. Slowly, he shook his head. “I think this is too dangerous.” A jolt of shock went through me. “How?” He smiled crookedly. “I’m the Thief of Hearts. I’m supposed to steal your heart. Have I?” I felt perfectly blank. I frowned, thinking about it. “My body, yes, my soul … I think so. My heart? I don’t honestly know.” “So you perceive the danger.” Thoroughly confused, I shook my head. “The Thief has lost his heart.” I felt my jaw go slack. “To me?” A look of confusion and anger crossed his features. He stood away from the door, turned. “An ideal. I can’t risk loosing my head, and heart, to a woman who doesn’t exist outside my mind.” He vanished. I stared at the empty doorway, too stunned to move for many minutes. “But … I am real!” I said aloud, knowing he was gone and could no longer hear me. “I do exist!” I shouted. My voice echoed back to me in the emptiness.
I leapt from the bed and raced from room to room, searching, knowing I would not find him, nor any sign that he had even been there, except for the signs he’d left upon my body. I stopped when I reached the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. My flesh was reddened in patches from whisker burn. My body still throbbed from his possession. The stickiness between my thighs was not from my body alone. There was no doubt in my mind that I had been thoroughly possessed by a man of flesh and blood. I had not imagined it. I had not dreamed it. He was as real as I was. I knew that he was. But why did he think that I wasn’t real? Distraught, I returned to my bed, covered myself, staring up at the ceiling. Unlike the time before when he had come to me, my thoughts were not focused upon the things that he had done to me, the wondrous ecstasy he’d wrung from my body. I could think of nothing but the man himself, about the desolation my world would become if he never returned. Would he come to me again?
The End
Watch for the next diary entry, coming soon....