Banjo Strings, by Larry Winfield

Chapters 1 - 3

(Contains graphic language and descriptions, especially Ch. 2)


Part I: November 2005

Chapter 1: Augustus' Ride


Augustus Wainwright was having an old familiar dream, of when he was
thirteen and caught the dark chocolate upstairs maid smoking in his
mother's bathroom, her private sanctuary. He'd fancied that gal all
summer, and now he had her, close enough to touch. His face stretched
into a goofy grin, he ordered the maid to his room near the back of the
mansion. He bent her over his desk, slid down her panties, undid his
pants and just watched, breathing in the faint new aroma, entranced by
his first real look at a woman's vagina. The best part of the dream came
when she, realizing her position and resigning herself to it, reached
back and took matters in hand. He shuddered in anticipation, then an
irritating noise, an itch he couldn't scratch, ice-picked its way
from...where?

He looked up, out through the window where he expected to see Mother
bent over the azaleas in the garden. Instead, she was standing, wearing
an old-time plantation ball gown, passionately kissing a shirtless,
barefoot black man. The noise scratched itself into a banjo being tuned,
then strum. It jarred him awake. He heard a murmur behind him on the
bed, sat up and looked over to see Rebecca Sandiford, the girl from last
night's party, curled up beside him. Damn, he groaned. She didn't leave
when the cops ran everybody off?

Downstairs, he heard the muffled sound of a banjo being strum. He
blinked his eyes, looked over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:02 AM.
"He'll come at three in the morning, the day after your birthday."
Auntie Aggie's words spilled from his lips, underscored by the banjo...

He slowly got out of bed, pausing as his heart thumped strongly for a
couple beats, then calmed back down as he eased away from the bed,
watching the girl sleeping. The first verse of "Dixie" began to softly
play and then repeat, at once coming from the parlor downstairs, and as
if from miles away, bringing a heaviness that settled around his chest
and squeezed. He fought to stay calm, force his breathing a little
closer to normal. He went to the window, peering through the blinds up
and down the street in search of the county sheriff's car. It was parked
right outside when he told Rebecca to leave with the rest of his
friends, half an hour later he'd passed out after finishing off another
bottle of Jack Daniels alone. She must've hid, and no deputy was around
either, he worried as the song began again, the dreamy echo of "Dixie"
outside the room.

That god damn cable show he'd been watching immediately sprang to mind.
"The File Room." He hated that show, though he'd watched every week for
the past year, growing more and more alarmed as they proved this
supernatural hogwash was real. Each episode that included a ghost
encounter filled him with sick dread. This would make one hell of an
episode, though, he thought.

For Augustus Wainwright, a life of luxury, parties and privilege, and
being spared the burden of inheriting any of the family businesses, had
come to a sudden end as his 20th birthday approached. A week ago he was
dragged from a beach bar in Rio and deposited in this small family-owned
house on the west side of Liberty Plaines, in the kingdom of Wainwright
county. It was his turn as the latest first-born son to go through this
ordeal or be disowned. He was only 19 when brought before his Auntie
Aggie, Agnes Wainwright, the matriarch of the family. She first spoke
the names Jacob and Polly, and told him about the old curse that
afflicted the Wainwrights and the LeChettes, another old plantation
family in the county. She shared with him the part of the family history
that had been kept from him his whole life.

She couldn't hide her embarrassment as she quietly told him that Jacob
was a runaway field nigger who was caught by Justin Wainwright and
Lucien LeChette in 1832. As they were bringing him back he put a curse
on them and they killed him. Polly was just a crazy old kitchen slave
who died when Jacob was a baby, but she appears as a little girl and
haunts Wainwright Park. Augustus could tell there was a lot more to it
than that, but Auntie wouldn't say, though her face tightened with the
knowing of it.

His Auntie showed him manila folders containing the original sheriffs
reports for his late uncle Jeffrey Wainwright in '67 and Oscar LeChette
in '83. The obituary pages folded inside listed their deaths as 'heart
attack' and 'stroke' the morning after their 20th birthdays.

Augustus never heard of Uncle Jeffrey. The family members never
mentioned him, far as he could remember. He supposed the LeChettes never
mentioned their first-born sons either, as if they didn't matter and
would be forgotten soon enough. At 19 he realized that he was never
challenged or encouraged in school like his siblings; he was indulged
and entertained, treated more like a child with a terminal disease. Soon
to be covered over and forgotten, like something shameful, like he was a
part of the curse, just accept it and die and let them all move on.

Well, two months ago he hired an attorney outside the family's influence
and shared the shameful family history, and gave him a letter with
instructions.

He glanced over at Rebecca and grimaced as the music downstairs paused.
In 83, Oscar LeChette had a young woman with him when the ghost twins
visited. She didn't survive. The girl being here was bad...

Augustus took a deep breath as the banjo playing started again, the
sound crawling up and down his spine. He slipped on a night robe and
walked slowly to the door, opened it as quietly as he could, watching
for any movement from Rebecca, he then eased himself out and closed it
with a muffled 'click,' slowly crept down the hall then, paused at the
stairs,the music drifting up from the parlor below. He started down,
close to the wall but staying clear of the paintings and portraits of
the proud lineage of Wainwrights through the past two hundred years, And
down the wall were the smaller solitary portraits of the firstborn sons
at age ten. Eight of them since the Northern Aggression and only two
ever lived past the age of 20. His picture wasn't there yet, but there
was space for it. The grim chain was begun by Beau II, the unfortunate
first son of Beauregard T Wainwright. Augustus passed his portrait as he
reached the bottom of the stairs, facing the entrance to the parlor.

The banjo playing stopped abruptly. Upstairs, the sudden absence of
sound stirred the girl awake. She reached out lazily for him, opened her
eyes, finding the bed empty. She looked around the dark room, shadows
draped over the Victorian and Colonial furniture. "Gus?"

She'd hid in the upstairs closet as the deputy was breaking up the
party, then went downstairs to the kitchen until Gus fell asleep. She
had decided at the party that the ghost story was romantic, it made her
like him even more, even though she'd never met him before tonight, but
they both felt an immediate attraction when they met in the kitchen. On
impulse she decided to stay and give him a wake up present, then go with
him wherever he would jet off to, whether it was Rio or Prague or
Timbuktu. Rebecca was taking a year off from college and exploring all
of her wild impulses. And she discovered Augustus liked to travel and
party. But, where was he?

In the middle of the parlor Augustus saw a young, powerfully built black
man, the man who invaded his dream, barefoot, shirtless, his face
sweltering from the sun. There was no sunlight in the room, but he could
see it glinting off the man's back and arms as he swung a hoe in short
sure downstrokes, with a phantom blade that chopped into the fine oak
floor but made no damage. Old Jacob....

Augustus winced as he felt his heart squeeze again. It passed after a
few seconds. He grunted, then straightened up, breathing hard as Jacob
stood upright, letting the hoe slip from his hands and fade away as it
fell.

Augustus shivered as Jacob calmly studied him. Jacob himself looked no
more than 19 or 20, his dark skin still shining from the hot sun of some
long gone day in the fields. His face was calm, serene, but the eyes
reflected all the ugliness and inhumanity captured those few years.

"You know who I am?" the ghost said. Augustus tried not to show his
fear. "Yes," he said just as calmly. Jacob smiled. "Yo uncle Jeffrey
pissed hisself 'fore he could even speak." In a split second Jacob was
standing a foot in front of him. Before he could react, Jacob placed his
broad dark hand squarely on his chest. "Time to see, Wainwright! See if
you get a taste, or take a ride."

The girl walked slowly from the bedroom to the top of the stairs,
wondering did she really hear a banjo playing? She finished tying up her
robe and, as silently as she could, quickly made her way downstairs,
stopping at the landing. She saw Gus standing in the doorway of the
parlor, shaking. There's somebody else in there, but she couldn't see.
She inched around Gus, craning her neck to see into the dark room who it
was. Rebecca and Jacob saw each other in the same instant.

Jacob froze her in place with a forceful wave of his hand. He clawed the
air in front of him the way you'd catch a fly, and she was instantly
standing before him. immobile and trembling. Jacob turned to Augustus,
his face registering disappointment. They know better than to have
anybody else there, but they still do it. He looked around at the
remains of a party decorating the parlor. Wainwright first born don't
deserve birthday parties either, even one so sickly.

He continued reading them, saw that they weren't nowhere near as bad as
some Wainwrights, so they would get off easy. He only had mild charms on
him this time, as concession to the tearful pleas of Agnes Wainwright.
Jacob pulled 'Gus closer till they were nose to nose. "You takin' a ride
alright, but you might just make it. Only on account of your weak heart,
and her."

His body glistened as he built himself up, his hands clutching the front
lapels of the helpless pair's robes. Two specks of sunlight appeared
before them, bright glowing embers. They began to shine and Augustus
stared into its bottomless light, his eyes beginning to shine. A flash
as his speck exploded and he suddenly gasped and began struggling
against unseen bonds. Jacob released his grip on Augustus, watched him
slowly fall backward, land gently on the floor.

Jacob watched Rebecca's eyes as they glowed in reflection of her speck
of light. After the flash he was completely caught off guard when he saw
which ride she began. Not Emma Jane, an older woman caught alone working
in a slave patch at dusk, forced to service two local town boys taking a
shortcut to Maison Road. This was Annie's ride, one of the worst ones he
had, but he wasn't carrying... He felt his pants pocket for the pouch,
and the two bones within, then he felt it resting on top of the pouch.
Annie's bone. He groaned, "Dammit, Polly..."

Jacob pulled the girl close, shaking with anger and regret. This girl
didn't deserve Annie's ride. Holding her head still, he whispered in her
ear "I'm sorry. I hope..." He released her, watched her settle gently to
the floor beside Augustus Wainwright, who twitched like a fish on a hook.

Jacob closed his eyes, began to search the surrounding countryside for
his companion, sweeping his gaze through the small town, past the
square, and out beyond the town to the farms and the old Maison Road
that once connected three great plantation houses, to the park where the
third and most beautiful mansion used to stand. There, on the swings
beside a gazebo, a young teenage girl wearing just a shirt was in the
middle swing, long dark legs kicking out as she swung forward. "What are
you up to now?" he muttered. Just then a car sped past, skidded to a
stop on the road past the gazebo, then roared away. Polly smiled, jumped
off the swing and started walking toward the road. When the car appeared
back on the road approaching the park, Jacob waited, wondering who Polly
was playing with.

-----------------------------------

Augustus spun, lost his balance, but didn't fall. He looked up, dazed,
and saw his hands, feeling funny, smaller than before, bound to ropes.
His arms were spread apart and tied to the large overhead branch of an
old tree. The high sun dappled through the leaves. His eyes finally
focused. His name was Samuel. And his skin was black as shit.

"...Tole you what I'd do if I caught you scratching on the ground again,
Samuel. Young miss ain't here now, nigger!" Augustus felt the spittle of
tobacco juice splatter against Samuel's bare back. The heaviness in his
chest returning, he tried desperately to yell out, beg, scream, but the
mouth had a mind of it's own, refusing to open. He felt Samuel straining
against his bonds until an ear-splitting crack exploded just behind his
head. "Hold still, nigger..." Samuel froze. Augustus was reduced to
shallow gulps. The frayed end of the whip exploded between his shoulder
blades, two, three times. He writhed between the ropes as the overseer
put just the tip of the whip next to the skin...

"...Now you see why I run the yard for Master Beauregard, boy! He say
'don't make no long ugly scars, make little pretty scars, like spring
blossoms..." Crack! Four and five split the air at Augustus' right ear.
His head snapped away. Six snapped just above the base of his spine and
his legs went numb. Augustus was in agony, struggling as a wave of pins
and needles cascaded down his legs, then the maddening mix of intense
pain and complete numbness swept in fading waves over his body. His
mouth finally opened, and Augustus screamed out, but it didn't sound
like him, but like a young boy. It was getting harder to breathe the
hot, humid air. He slumped to one side, looking like a marionette
dangling from it's strings. the heavy weight on his chest allowed him
small, gulping breaths.

Seven, Eight. The overseer enjoyed this part of the job, it was why he
was hired. Master Beauregard detested the long, ugly scars many slaves
carried on their backs. He considered it a failure in livestock
management. Still, slaves had to be corrected and trained. "Make the
scars smaller," he insisted, firing three overseers until he found one
with a deft touch and deadly accuracy.

Nine.

Ten snapped sharply at the base of the boy's skull. Augustus gasped in
shock, inhaled too quickly and swallowed his tongue. He flailed,
desperately, his blocked throat silent. He passed out at lash no. 13. He
was dead by the time the overseer untied Samuel from the tree...

--------------------------------

Rebecca found herself running, stumbling to a noisy stop inside a line
of trees, from the glow of a full moon into pitch darkness. She leaned
unsteadily against a tree, her head spinning from being at Gus' mansion,
then flashing eyes and sudden terror, and the sudden knowledge slammed
into her head that she was also a Wainwright house girl named Annie,
with a white man's blood on her hands, with her own blood staining her
thighs. She looked back through the trees to the LeChette House, grand
in its own way, but not as majestic as her massa's House. Screams inside
and four men tearing out the back door almost made her scream as she
froze behind a tree. When they went back inside she turned and ran
quickly and silently through the woods. South. Wainwright house is two
miles south at the other end of Maison Road, Annie whispered to her. The
three remaining cousins of Lucien LeChette, the Stonehill brothers,
would be on her soon enough if she didn't keep moving. And they knew
where she'd be running to.

Rebecca had no control of the body as Annie worked her way well off the
roads south to Wainwright House, but she saw, and felt the young house
girl's terror of being caught again by those boys. She'd already been
violated by master Franklin Stonehill, him still roughly pounding into
her on the floor of the upstairs bedroom by the time she got one of
Mistress LeChettes' knitting needles into his neck. She pulled herself
off of his rigid, trembling penis as she stabbed him a second time in
the neck, shoving him onto his back on the floor, pushing down her dress
and wiping the blood from her hand onto his undone pants. He shuddered
and came, arms flailing, grasping at the large needle, sputtering loudly
as death throes increased the intensity of his last orgasm. The other
brothers, still downstairs in the billiard room, laughed at Franklin's
garbled outcry. He stopped gurgling and struggling finally, and bending
over him, she took out the knitting needle. Blood sprayed from his neck,
splashing across the front of her dress, sprinkling her face and neck.

She sprang off him in a panic, scrambling to her feet. Heart pounding,
she took the dress off, wiped the blood from her face, then tossed it on
Franklin's exposed crotch. She found a plain yellow dress in mistress'
wardrobe and put it on, panic clawing at her fingers as she struggled
with the buttons. The other Stonehill brothers were just downstairs, any
of them could come up any moment to join Franklin in "gittin' some high
yella nigger juice...." Annie spent a long minute biting down on her
terror, remembering the advice of Old Ruth: "If you ever wind up havin'
to kill some damn white boy cause he won't leave you alone, only two
things you can do. Run, and don't stop. If you can't run, child, use
this..." And Old Ruth reached into her bosom and took out a small
leather pouch with a single-shot pistol and five bullets inside. "If it
comes down to it, save the last one for yourself, child..." The pistol,
hers now that Old Ruth passed over last year, was back at the cabin,
hidden underneath.

She moved steadily, walking fast through the woods, running full out
across the moonlit open fields at crossroads, till finally she reached
the cabins back of the Wainwright smokehouse. No time for good byes or
nothing, she thought, as she crept to the rear of Old Ruth's cabin and
felt around for the hidey hole. Make my way to New Orleans and
disappear. In the city she could pass...Rebecca felt the anger that
flared up in the girl at the thought of 'being able to pass,' the
monumental insult that being 'high yellow' was what drew the attention
of the damned cousins in the first place. Two days before they were
visiting young master Julius at LeChette House, stopping their game of
billiards when she walked pass the doorway carrying a parcel for
Mistress upstairs. They marveled at how similar she was to Alexander
Wainwright's dear sister Athena, who was a lovely girl, but spent far
too much time with her mother and her bible to be available, but this
young lass was very available and couldn't say no...

Annie found the pouch with the gun and bullets in a hole covered by a
rock. Clutching it in her shaking hands, she crept around the cabins,
scanning the yard between the cabins, the smokehouse and the main house.
Her satchel, with all her worldly possessions, was in the upstairs
sewing room. She dashed for the back door, praying the Stonehill boys
weren't already at the front door...



Chapter 2: Amanda's Plan


Amanda Harris was supremely pleased with herself as she drove down Hwy
12, cruising east toward the Louisiana-Mississippi borderline, on her
way to a live meeting in Mobile, instead of the teleconference her
'associate' Marcus Hudson had planned. She chuckled, thinking of her
'executive-level solution' that put a collar on "Sir Marcus," the
"Affirmative Action" MBA junior executive bucking for her spot on the
board after only a year with the firm. Before him, she was the rising
star at the regional headquarters; that board position was HERS.

Well, it only took a few months to get past his natural distrust and
suspicion, to change his view of her from hostile competitor to friend.
She started by having weekly "peace lunches" with him to share harmless
office gossip. He soon relaxed around her, demonstrating his profound
weakness by becoming far too trusting. Amanda took that time and used it
well. She had enough time to sneak a keylogger onto his unguarded laptop
to learn his passwords. She had enough time to gather together the
different drugs she'd need to mix up a batch of her "Zeta House party
potion," which made innocent freshmen and coeds very horny, very high,
and very cooperative. She laughed out loud driving through the early
morning countryside, remembering the bible study group Zeta House turned
into their personal harem. The two couples went from nervous and shy to
welcoming nymphos, taking on all comers. She remembered the strap-on she
shoved so far up that one boy's ass he shoulda screamed, but he just
wiggled and grunted as he fucked back onto the hard rubber phallus. It
sounded so much like a big dog barking, she couldn't help breaking out
in a fit of giggles.

When she got herself invited to one of his quarterly "presentation
tours" of teleconferences and personal meetings with a few current and
potential clients, she was ready. A week before the tour, from El Paso
to Atlanta, Amanda invited him to a bar near her apartment, where she
got "tipsy," requiring him to take her home. Once inside, she turned on
him, pushing him back against the door and kissing him as she fumbled
with his belt buckle. That's right nigger, you know you want it, she
thought. His pants dropped, as did she, to her knees, fishing his
impressive erection from his boxers. She stroked him and waited, looking
up with the babydoll face she used so well at frat parties in college.
He had to make the next move. When his hands guided her lips to the
bulbous, shiny head, she knew, she had him. She almost felt remorse for
Hudson the first time she rode with abandon on his thick non frat-party
sized dick, but she shoved that weakness aside; feeling sorry for his
black ass would PUT his black ass in that board seat instead of hers.

On day 2 of the tour, Amanda and Marcus arrived at their hotel near Bush
Intercontinental Houston Airport around 6 pm. He had a round of
one-on-one teleconferences planned, starting with the client in Mobile
tomorrow afternoon, and he wanted to go over it again. Amanda just
smiled and patted his arm, "relax, everything's ready." She lagged
behind at the front desk after Marcus took his keycard and walked to the
elevator. She asked the concierge for any messages for "Annie." He
checked the cork board behind the desk, out of Amanda's view, seeing,
yes, a post-it with "For Annie" written on it. He gave it to her with a
knowing smile she didn't notice as she snatched it, hurrying to catch up
with Marcus. She shoved it into her skirt pocket as she turned the
corner into the elevator banks and almost collided into him as he stood
waiting. Riding up to the fourth floor, she agreed to come by his room
in a few minutes, noticing the familiar hungry look in his eyes. Once in
her room, down the hall from his, Amanda pulled out the paper - "Betsy,
Rm. 732" was written in the center.

"Betsy" was the woman she'd found, and auditioned, after a month of
searching in LA. Smiling, Amanda called her, gave her Marcus' room
number and told her to be ready in an hour. She called room service,
then went to his room and said she'd ordered burgers, fries, and
mikshakes, was that ok?

A few minutes into the meal she told him she had a surprise - "some
really excellent pot from a friend of mine. I thought we could eat first
and then get high. But, I left it on the dresser in my room,' she said,
giving him a wicked grin as she took off her blouse and slipped out of
her shoes. He grinned, took her key card and hurried out. He was back in
a minute, but she only needed 30 seconds to get out the little bottle
from her skirt pocket, pop the lid and pour the red, sweet potion into
his chocolate shake, stirring the straw to mix it. He returned just as
she dropped her skirt, revealing a lacy black thong as she sat back in
the chair beside her tray. He brought her a small zippered pouch as he
admired her perky breasts in the french-cut bra.

Half an hour later, after finishing off a couple bowls of her potent
weed, he started getting a slightly goofy look on his face from the
potion as his penis began to stir on its own. He didn't notice.

"Isn't it hot in here, Marcus?" She remarked, and smiled as he slowly
attacked the buttons on his shirt. She moved the serving trays to the
cart and pushed him back onto the bed, removing the rest of his clothes
and stroking his erection. Five minutes later, Marcus had a tremendous
orgasm, lost to the wonderful sensations he felt, his nerve endings all
screaming pleasure as he spurted in a lazy arc that pooled on his chest.
His dick was still erect and would be for another hour or so, Amanda
thought as she lightly bit the drooling head and intently watched his
quivering response. It's time.

She rolled off the bed and dialed Betsy. "It's me. come down now!" she
hissed into the hotel phone. She grabbed a towel from the bathroom
gently wiped him off, savoring the moment. Enjoy your balls tonight, she
thought, I'll have them tomorrow, along with control of your precious
seat on the board.

She turned to his laptop on the dresser, powered it up, then opened a
browser and went to her travel site. A soft knock at the door and she
grinned at Marcus, rolling around on the bed in slow motion. Showtime,
big boy. At the door she took the "Do Not Disturb" sign off the inside
handle, quickly opened up and ushered in Betsy, tall, gorgeous, with
flowing shoulder-length red hair to match her full red lips, wearing a
slinky dark red evening dress, elegant sandals and pearls. She took in
Amanda's pert breasts and smiled as the lingerie-clad woman hooked the
sign on the outside and closed the door. They just stood there and drank
each other in, then embraced and kissed, long and slow.

"Hi. Annie," she said in a sweet lilt.

"Hello yourself." said Amanda. "We don't have much time. Your host is
this way, and he can't wait to meet you." Amanda led the way as Betsy
admired her cute ass in the thong.

They entered the dark bedroom to find Marcus propped up on his elbows,
eyes closed, his erection still strong. Amanda walked over to him and
kissed him. His eyes slowly opened and he tried to reach for her, but
she backed away. He noticed another woman standing beside Amanda, a tall
redhead with big lips peeling down a red dress to her slender waist. She
had beautiful grapefruit-sized breasts with little pink nipples sticking
through the open slits of a see-through bra. Betsy kneeled beside him on
the bed and guided a nipple between his lips as Marcus' hands slowly,
clumsily caressed Betsy.

Amanda returned to the computer and confirmed her red-eye flight to
Mobile on a small airline using her own money. Nobody in the LA office
needs to know about this trip yet, and Marcus will say what I damn well
tell him to after tonight, Amanda snorted. She watched him, still
sitting up, following Betsy's whispered instructions as she held him
close. Marcus, in a daze, squeezed her breasts together until the
nipples were inches apart, then alternated from one stiff nipple to the
other, suckling. "That's right, like that," Betsy purred, sliding a hand
down to his erection and lightly stroking him.

Amanda left the computer and crawled onto the bed at his legs, kissed up
his thighs, brushed her lips against Betsy's caressing fingers, then
captured his cock with her mouth. Marcus had barely come down from the
melting waves of bliss he was riding. He was one big pleasure center,
and he loved it. Nipples in his mouth and fingers stroking his dick was
the center of his world. He'd come already and was still hard as a rock,
and now a sudden wet warmth enveloped him...

Amanda kissed and swallowed the shiny head, rotating around it lovingly,
then went down further, meeting Betsy's fingers coming up, admiring his
cock the way she admired all her new toys. She glanced over at Betsy's
dress as she relinquished his dick, eyes lingering over the barely
noticeable bulge at the junction of her thighs. "Ok, ready?" she asked.
Betsy nodded and they stretched him out on the bed. The redhead quickly
finished undressing and got on the bed, straddling his face. Amanda
smiled, admiring Betsy's neat arrangement of a slightly smaller-sized
furry vagina tucked behind a small scrotum and a rigid four-inch dick.

Amanda returned to the stiff black cock, licking the head as she watched
Betsy. The readhead brought her pussy close to his face; he started
licking as soon as he felt her intoxicating wet folds brush his lips. He
couldn't see a thing, but he didn't care. About anything. This was the
best night of his life!

Amanda left the bed and went to her skirt in the chair, took the digital
camera out of the other pocket. She turned on the lamp in the furthest
corner of the room, giving just enough light to avoid using the flash.
She checked the camera and went to the foot of the bed and took in the
view.

Betsy was guiding Marcus, slowly sliding his tongue further and further
out of the wet furrow and onto her meat, getting it wet. Amanda climbed
aboard and resumed humming on his dick. As soon as he moaned loudly and
started shaking, Betsy slid her pelvis back and with her hand, stuck
just the tip of her penis into his mouth. His lips clamped on the small
head as Amanda rapidly bobbed her head on his stiff pole to keep his
senses reeling. She backed off as he started trembling. Not yet, big boy.

Betsy alternated Marcus from her dick to her pussy, sliding her cunt
lips, then her cock, over his busy tongue. Amanda got up and steadied
the camera as Betsy moved down and straddled Marcus, facing him. She
eased herself down on his rigid cock, stroking her own erection and
moaning in time with him. Amanda had a dozen shots by the time Betsy
climbed off his pulsing dick and slid down until her tongue found his
puckered anus and painted his balls and asshole. She straightened up,
reached for the pillows on the bed, shoved them under him.

Betsy wet two fingers and began slowly easing them into him as Amanda
leaned down and licked his dickhead to distract him. It took a few
minutes, but when he started fucking back onto Betsy's fingers, she
smoothly slid them out and positioned her stiff cock at his asshole.
Betsy slowly inched into him, then rocked back and forth, gasping as
Marcus' clenching ass gripped her throbbing dick. When she bottomed out,
Amanda moved back off the bed to get shots as Betsy stroked her full
length into Marcus, grasping his wet pole of flesh and stroking it in
time to her thrusts.

After five minutes of Betsy, Marcus cried out as he came again, three
spurts that puddled on his belly. Betsy kept stroking him as she pounded
his ass with her rigid cock. He remained hard.

Betsy felt herself about to come, so she pulled out of Marcus's ass and
plunged her steaming pussy back down on his cock, grinding on his meat
until she stiffened and squealed, gushed around his pole, spurted twice
on Hudson's chest. And Amanda had it all on film.

She cleaned Marcus off with the towel, then climbed back on the bed,
lowering her humid pussy down to his waiting mouth. The two of them rode
Marcus for another lazy half hour, Betsy slowly grinding his penis in
her tight snatch as Amanda trailed kisses from Betsy's lips to both
hard, plump nipples, down her quivering belly to her short, throbbing
dick. They got dressed while Amanda downloaded the photos into Marcus'
laptop (MY laptop, now, she thought). Marcus lay in the bed, sighing,
eyes barely open as his dick slowly began to deflate. Amanda flipped
through the shots, marking the best 10, showing Marcus' face, but not
Betsy's. Perfect.

At the door, they embraced and kissed, tenderly. Amanda promised Betsy
that "Annie" would see her in LA in a week. Amanda watched Betsy
gracefully stroll down the hall to the elevator, a smile of
accomplishment on her face.

Back in the room, Amanda giggled as she went to the computer to finish
her work. She printed out the 10 pictures, then retrieved a memory stick
from her skirt pocket. From it she printed the letter she'd already
written to Marcus - telling him in specific terms what she thought of
him, why teleconferencing Mobile instead of making a personal visit was
a stupid decision, not one a board member would ever make, what would
happen with the pictures if he didn't do exactly as ordered (stay in the
room for the next three days and hold your dick, cancel your meetings,
no phone calls other than room service, and no contact with LA, or
else), and what she expected of him when she got back. She took an empty
manila envelope from his bags and put the papers inside, wrote "Open
Immediately" on the front and left it on his chest.

Amanda looked over at Marcus. He was asleep, and would be for another
twelve hours, too late to interfere in her plans, but let's make sure.
She went into his pants and took out his wallet. He had four credit
cards and $2500 in cash. She took out $2000 and the cards, and returned
the wallet to his pants. That'll hold him for a couple days, she
thought. She turned off the laptop and took it, the sleek portable
printer and his cell phone back to her room. She left the "Do Not
Disturb" sign on the outside.

Amanda changed back into her traveling clothes and finished packing her
flight bag. It was a little after 9 pm, plenty of time to catch the
red-eye to Mobile for the afternoon meeting. With everything on Marcus'
computer, she could hold her own teleconference with the other clients
from any place with a connection. Like the Houston client later in the
week, who was just one of Marcus' friends from their college days. A
drunken blowhard who certainly didn't deserve a personal sit-down,
Amanda snorted. She stood at the door with her flight bag and the laptop
cases, feeling the rush of adrenalin wash over. We're crossing the
Rubicon, 'mandy, she thought. No turning back. She took a deep breath
and steeled herself, focusing on the image she saw last year during a
morning board meeting: all the members were assembled and waiting to
introduce Marcus. She'd been in the ladies' room and got back too late.
The board president had already begun talking and Marcus Hudson was
already positioned, standing a few feet back from the slightly ajar
double doors to the boardroom. Where she should be standing. The echoes
of applause filtered out from the boardroom as the doors opened to admit
him like a conquering hero.

At the desk downstairs, Amanda explained that she had to leave
unexpectedly and would be gone for a few days, but that her associate
would be staying. She strolled out to the waiting airport shuttle,
triumphant.



Chapter 3: Amanda Goes Down


After her flight took off for Mobile, things started to go bad for
Amanda Harris. Her plane developed engine trouble and had to land in
Baton Rogue. She didn't want to set foot in La., but now she was halfway
to Mobile and would have to drive through the swampy, backward,
backwoods Bayou country, and try to stay away from the Katrina devastation.

At Baton Rouge Metropolitan Airport, there were no other flights to
Mobile till morning. In a foul mood, she trudged to the car rental area,
but only found one agency still open, a light-skinned girl was sipping
coffee at the counter. She was such a bitch to the girl, she got an
older model car without the plug-in GPS alert system. "That's the only
car we have available at this hour with our garage closed, ma'am,' she
smirked politely. The girl handed Amanda a road map of the southern
states from a rack on the counter. "Just stay east on Hwy 12 till it
turns back into the 10 and you'll be in Mobile by morning," she said,
but Amanda barely listened as she took the map and lugged her things out
to pick up her rental. It was a brown 4-door with a nasty trunk, so the
flight bag went into the back seat, Amanda put the laptops in the front.

She drove out of the rental lot and made her way to Hwy 110, driving
south to 10 east, making sure she was on the right onramp to Hwy 12,
avoiding the depressing spectacle on the other side of Lake
Pontchartrain. The radio was tuned to a news station so she turned it up
as she hit the gas, speeding up on the deserted stretch of highway.
"It's 1:48 and time for weather and traffic..." Hm, it's a little over
200 miles to Mobile...I'll be there before sunrise, she thought, easing
back on the gas to the speed limit. Amanda began to feel her control
returning, once again driving instead of flying to meet clients like a
board member.

Her mind drifted as she fell into automatic driving mode, no longer
hearing the radio. She loved to fly. She loved taking red-eye flights on
one of the company's fleet of Lear jets, greeting the dawn in a new
city, a new day to conquer. And Marcus fucking Hudson wasn't even a
board member and he's already been on more flights than any of the other
junior associates. She remembered thinking he must be blowing one of the
senior members to get so many free trips. But what if he does for real?
What if he is 'on the downlow' and she could get proof? Amanda smiled.
That's where the old Zeta House party potion and "Betsy" came in, and
now I have Marcus fucking Hudson exactly where I want him. She burst out
in a fit of giggles, supremely pleased with herself and her 'executive
level solution.'

"...Toxic-chemical spill on Hwy 10, near the Pearl River bridge on the
La state line. It's already causing backups on both sides of Hwy 10, and
they don't expect this to be cleared up in time for the morning rush..."
Damn! She pulled over to the emergency lane and checked the map again.
Hwy 59 was a few miles ahead. It went up sharply northeast, deep into
Mississippi. The map didn't show any of the state roads, so she pulled
out her laptop, praying that a working cell phone tower was nearby. She
was able to get online and pull up Google Earth, and zoomed in on the
web of local state and county roads. She found an east-bound county road
turn-off from 59 near Picayune. She saved the map, bookmarked her place,
then turned off the laptop. She drove off with new determination; the
executive solution is flexible, I'll make it work!

Once she reached the county road turn-off, Amanda stopped and opened the
laptop back up to the Google map, listening to the news for any more on
the accident to the south, trying not to listen to the sudden small
voice of worry as she looked around at her surroundings. Hwy 59 shot
straight ahead, NNE, the highway lights suddenly smaller cutting through
the dark countryside. Up ahead, she saw the shallow offramp that curved
to the right and ended at an L-shaped intersection. The branch she had
to take shot east, away from the ribbon of lights and safety, into the
backwoods gloom. She thought back to the girl at the rental counter,
sticking her with this brown heap with no emergency call unit in the
car. "Little piss-colored bitch," she muttered. "I'll show her and
Marcus!" She snapped off any further nagging fears and got back to her
task, saving a picture of the area and pulling the small travel printer
out of Marcus' laptop case. Ten minutes later, she was rolling east with
the high-beams on, the computer gear stowed and three printed pages
showing a marked path all the way to Mobile laying beside her on the seat.

Leaving the cab light on, she checked the top page. The next 20 miles of
the road's route crossed sparse intersections and stretches of farmland
with scattered towns along the route. She drove on, making excellent
time on this also deserted road. Why didn't anyone else do what I'm
doing, she wondered. She'd only lost half an hour, she sighed, relaxing
as she drove on through the enveloping darkness.

The news update at 3AM didn't improve for the highway jam. Traffic was
still backed up, but the worst of it was miles behind her. There was
still no one else on this county road - all mine, she thought, turning
off the radio and the cab light, getting into the drive now, nothing
between her and Mobile...

The county road intersected Hwy 49 up ahead. Amanda saw a truck stop to
the left and and a motel on her right as she drove through. Once she
crossed the state highway, it was like the air had a different feel and
scent. Heady, familiar, but she couldn't quite place it...

She drove through broad fields and scattered farmhouses barely visible
in the dark, the horizon of faint lights sliding past. The marked trail
turned left at the next intersection. Now heading north, the car's
headlights flashed across a sign that read "Wainwright Park, 2 mi." She
sped down the deserted road, letting her high-beams play across the
trees and manicured lawns of a small public park. A small building that
looked like a one-room schoolhouse on the left. On the right, a gazebo
set off from the road, and beside it a child's swing set partly
illuminated by a solitary streetlight at the road. And a little black
girl in the swing...

It took Amanda a second to realize...there was a child in the swing in
the middle of the night. Wearing just a shirt...

The marked trail said a right turn at the corner was next. Past the
intersection she hit the gas, rolling through flatlands and more wide
fields, coming upon the trees and manicured lawns of a small park, with
the same little schoolhouse on the left, and a gazebo and swings on the
right. And a little black girl in just a shirt, now waving at the
approaching car, jumping off the swing and running toward the road.
Amanda felt everything slow down as the girl was caught in the wide beam
of the headlights. The girl looked older, maybe 15, standing over 5 feet
tall, most of it legs as she ran toward the car and a mesmerized Amanda.
Then she was past.

Amanda screeched to a halt. Part of her balked at stopping, but she
slowly backed up until she was between the schoolhouse and the swings.
She looked around for the girl, seeing no one. Amanda suddenly felt very
alone and small, felt the night pressing in on her again. She jammed on
the gas pedal and loudly skittered away from the park. All right, no
more stops until I find a gas station, she decided.

She looked at her paper map. Good, she thought; the trail was straight
for another 30 miles, far away from that disturbing, but exhilarating
vision of the girl in the park, she thought. The fact that the map
previously indicated a left turn at the intersection past the park was
completely missed by Amanda.

She replayed the image of the girl's young, forbidden fruit caught in
the headlights, not noticing that up ahead she was approaching the
schoolhouse, the gazebo, and the girl, now standing beside the road near
the gazebo.

Amanda slowed the car to a dead stop 10 feet from the girl. She began
walking toward the car, waving and smiling. Amanda was entranced by her
honey-brown legs, the deep chocolate-colored areola topping her
blossoming breasts, clearly visible through the shirt in the car's
headlights. The beautiful smile, the virginal eyes.

She no longer thought of running, she was excited at the thought of the
girl's open and available body. Her hands were sweating on the steering
wheel as she breathed uneasily, slowly, unsure what was going to happen
next, fear and desire coursing through her as the girl, still smiling
and waving, walked across to the car's driver side, stopping at the
window, her belly and breasts pressing against the glass. Amanda caught
her breath, gaze locked onto the hard thumb-sized nipples inches away.
She heard a gentle giggle behind her, turned to see the girl sitting in
the passenger seat. The shirt, an old fashioned faded white tuxedo
shirt, was now unbuttoned all the way down to her lap. Amanda could see
the swell of the girl's breasts under the shirt, the nipples hard. Her
eyes trailed back up to her full lips and innocent eyes.

"Hi. I'm Polly. You're pretty." She slid across the seat, the shirt
sliding away from her glowing skin, crumpling the paper under her.
Amanda looked down at the sound, heart racing as she watched the dark
thighs, intoxicated by the scent of an aroused female. Amanda's head was
spinning from the aroma, her own nipples, painfully stiff, sent
delicious shocks through her body. Polly finished taking off her shirt
and climbed onto Amanda's lap, bringing her handful-sized breasts up to
the captivated woman's lips as her eyes pleaded with Amanda to take her.
Amanda, trembling with desire and trepidation, brushed her lips against
the girl's nipple, lost as Polly sighed.

Amanda's hands roamed over Polly's breasts, her back, lightly squeezing
her ass, reaching around to the front, brushing her fingers against the
girl's soft, kinky mons. She lightly sucked and nibbled on the turgid
nipples as Polly unbuttoned Amanda's blouse and pushed up her bra. As
Polly touched and caressed Amanda's breasts, she read the shadows on the
woman's heart. The lust, the fear, the hate. And Marcus Hudson... The
woman felt her arms become heavy, unable to move as her arousal
increased. Polly leaned back, plucking her nipple from Amands's mouth,
taking in the woman, frozen, trembling on the edge of a small orgasm,
eyes wide in terror as the girl's face grew hard and cold.

"You really did Marcus wrong. I've known a white woman like you,
Mistress Olivia. She liked hurting people too."

The girl vanished from her perch on Amanda's lap, appeared in front of
the car, dressed again in the fully buttoned shirt. She looked up, as if
scanning the black sky. "Jacob?" she shouted, in a voice that cut
through Amanda with a piercing dread.

-----------------------------

Jacob stood before the contorted body of Augustus Wainwright, disgusted
with the young master's failure to endure even the suffering of a young
boy. Pitiful. That was the easiest ride I could give you, he thought,
glancing over to the girl Rebecca, who was still in the early part of
Annie's memory.

He closed his eyes and returned to the park. He closed in on the brown
sedan, saw the out of state plates and a young woman behind the wheel,
staring hard at Polly. Despite himself, he grinned at the teenaged
ghost, pressing against the car window as she slipped inside. It won't
take long now to get a read, he thought.

His gaze approached the car and slid into the back as Polly was
shrugging out of her shirt and climbing into the woman's lap. The
woman's lust was coming off her in waves, a familiar tang both he and
Polly recognized. As she caressed the girl's body and feasted on her
breasts, the woman ...Amanda, was being read by Polly. The darkness in
her heart, right on top, hot and thick, what she did with great pride
and anger a few years ago, and again to an innocent young black man just
a few hours ago. The tang of Mistress Olivia LeChette, who liked girls
and boys, liked them young, and often loved them to death. The young
ghost shivered at the memory; Amanda mistook the movement and clutched
her tighter, moaning around the girl's hard nipple between her lips.
Jacob saw Polly's face grow hard, knew that particular look would bear
down on the woman, make her arms and legs heavy and clamp her mouth
shut. Wrapping her up for me, he thought. She should, the way she messed
up my judging...

His gaze left the car, hovered above as Polly appeared back outside,
standing in front of the car, dressed again in the shirt. Polly called
his name as he returned to the parlor where the girl twitched on the
floor beside the latest weak-assed prospect from the Wainwright clan.
Young miss, you just got lucky, he thought.

Jacob left the parlor, stepping through a dark corner in the hallway and
emerging from the shadow of an old, gnarled tree. It was one of three
ancient Red Maple trees in a small stand of River Birch next to a creek
that meandered through an unkept field. He walked around to the opposite
side of the tree, stopping at a large knothole on the trunk above his
head, visible in the moonlight. He reached up and inside it, removed a
large leather bag and from it took out a piece of wood with blood stains
on it. He put the bag back inside the tree trunk and removed the smaller
pouch and Annie's bone from his pants pocket. Jacob added the wood to
the other charms inside, a folded scrap of paper covered in random
numbers and letters, for Samuel, and a small bone with a piece of faded
blue cloth tied to it. Annie's bone, with it's faded scrap of stained
yellow cloth tied around it, Polly snuck into his pocket. All the charms
in the pouch and back in his pocket, the ghost went back around to the
night shadows cast by the old Red Maples, entered them and appeared on
the road beside Polly.

Amanda, paralyzed, breathing rapid and shallow, began muffled wailing at
seeing the young, powerfully built black man appear, looking no
different than the average shirtless young ghetto thug as he walked to
the car, except his eyes were sad, not hard or feral. That frightened
her even more as he appeared next to her in the passenger seat. The
sense of sadness and regret plainly spoken in his eyes.

"It's ok," Jacob said as he stroked her hair, attempting to calm her as
he straightened up her clothes, feeling her finally relax. "I know you
don't understan', you ain't from round here, but that's ok. You gon'
help a young miss who's carrying a burden not meant for her."

Jacob took the pouch from his pocket and removed the piece of wood. The
hard glare of the streetlight revealed a rough heart scratched onto one
side. He placed it next to her cheek; she was powerless to resist him
turning her face toward his. Between them a speck of sunlight sparked
into being, glowed as she surrendered to it, let herself be submerged in
it, then it flashed and she screamed. He reappeared in front of the car
beside Polly, watched Amanda slump over in the seat and begin a
twitching dance.

Jacob turned to Polly, removing the pouch from his pocket, taking out
Annie's bone before putting away the little piece of wood. Her face
screwed up; she was about to start making excuses, but his eyes stopped
her.

"Polly, you playing around messed up my judging. That girl and this
woman is on you."

He put the little pouch away, held her by the shoulders and waited until
she looked him in the eyes. "It ain't over yet," he said, pointing at
the car. She looked away, anywhere but at Amanda's twitching form in the
car. It wasn't just the woman. It was the out of state license plates...

"We ain't never took this outside befo'." He looked beyond her to the
hard night horizon, to the world beyond the park, the town, his eyes
growing hard.

Polly, genuinely regretful now, murmured a low "I'm sorry." Jacob saw
her close to tears, embraced her gently, comforting the child she was.
"I know, I know... "

c. 2007, 2008, Larry Winfield

As a promotional tool, here's the beginning of my podcast novel in progress. I'm looking into creating a book trailer as well, but' it'll be something simple, like a teaser. I have 14 chapters up so far and about 250 - 300 total readers, but I'm shooting for my first thousand.

Anyway, the tag line for the book is "an epic and graphic tale of antebellum ghosts, supernatural spies, and a den of iniquity hiding amid the Red Maple and Magnolia trees."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Augustus Wainwright was having an old familiar dream, of when he was thirteen and caught the dark chocolate upstairs maid smoking in his mother's bathroom, her private sanctuary. He'd fancied that gal all summer and now he had her, close enough to touch. His face stretched into a goofy grin, he ordered the maid to his room near the back of the mansion. He bent her over his desk, slid down her panties, undid his pants and just watched, breathing in the faint new aroma, entranced by his first real look at a woman's vagina. The best part of the dream came when she, realizing her position and resigning herself to it, reached back and took matters in hand. He shuddered in anticipation, and then an irritating noise, an itch he couldn't scratch, ice-picked its way in from...where?


He looked up, out through the window, where he expected to see Mother bent over the azealas in the garden, instead, he saw her standing, wearing an old-time plantation ball gown, passionately kissing a shirtless, barefoot black man. The noise scratched itself into a banjo being tuned, then strum. It jarred him awake. He heard a murmur behind him on the bed, sat up and looked over to see Rebecca Sandiford, the girl from last night's party, curled up beside him. Damn, he whispered. She didn't leave when the cops ran everybody off. Downstairs, he heard a banjo being strum. He blinked his eyes, looking over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:02 AM. "He'll come at three in the morning, the day after your birthday."  Auntie Aggie's words spilled from his lips, underscored by the banjo...

Crossroads

in the city, it's hard work finding a crossroads -
the right mix of magic and midnight desolation;
my friend from New Orleans, John Sinclair, told me how
(never mind where it is)....
when the time was right, i sat on a pair of
plastic milk crates next to a dead fire hydrant,
pretended to work on a piece.
didn't hear her walk up,
didn't ask her name
didn't have to.
she said "read me something about being in love
and being alone."
i started, and she opened her throat,
poured music over the words -
tear-stained siren song,
stung my eyes, burned a hole in my chest.
she held my head, pressed my ear to her stomach
but i kept going till the words ran out and i started over
and the MUSIC
(god, her hands were warm)
the music
(on my neck, wet like tongues)
the music....
our voices mated, fused, faded to whispers.
stopped.
we slowly untangled,
she strolled off into the night, heels tapping,
my fingerprints on her legs
my face wet from her song.
with each step the city intruded,
filled the vacuum with noise and stench
till it wasn't my corner anymore.
it was hard work finding this crossroads
but i got a cab, moved on.
never mind where it    was.

In the mid-90's, I experimented with various version of Brass Orchids, my poetryband. This version (bass, percussion and tenor sax) played a feature gig at Estelle's, one of the hot poetry saloons on the corner of North, Damen, and Milwaukee Aves., the apex of Wicker Park when the poets ran the corner.

The poem is "Terra Cognita."

----------------------------------------------------

fading stabs of summer sun
rest on my kitchen table, on a map unfolded.
i look down upon a thousand square miles of west coast Motherland,
fingers lost in the paper ocean just beyond Dakar.
daydreaming.
a party, outside somewhere, jumps to life.
Bahia rhythms flow, daydreams overflow,
into rhythms............of creation,
of a million colors dancing out to the horizon,
rhythms of ritual, movements clear as fables
old as dust.
Bahia cadence takes a Zydeco twist, bounces into High Life symphony
suffused with grace.
i close my eyes and imagine claiming the whole incognita planet-
a foot on half the continent, fingers on the European shelf,
warm breath tracing an eastern path
through Asia Minor to India, Australia to Polynesia,
sweeping up Kamchatka through the Bering Strait
down to Tierra del Fuego.
now at the door, the music, spread out like summer smoke, is everywhere.
found the party at dusk, welcomed in,
everyone's bright colors merging
dark dancing drinking laughing writhing.........floating in sound.
damn.....just like New Orleans.....
parties just like this,
held out back of somebody's post-plantation style house;
the food and the music and the women and the food....
and having my palm read,
my heartline traced by Creole fingers.

left the party at dawn. could still see stars.
riding the watermelon line with no clear destination
and could just as easily have been on the Streetcar named Desire,
rumbling past diaspora landmarks,
the pure essence of the place
helping me conjure as i write.
it's been said Chicago and New Orleans shares an undertow,
ancient waters full of voices come and gone like shadows;
i hear you, whispers riding the music.
i hear you.

Well, well...

A week or so ago, because of some thievery by True.com, I thought I'd cancelled my account here, but it's still here. Huh?
And even though I requested a change to a 'musicians' type account, it's still here. So why am I here now?

Well, if these jokers are keeping this thing open (and maybe they just haven't gotten around to killing this account yet), I might as well exploit it while it's here. And since there's a thingy for feeding my podcast through here, I might as well get some face time on Myspace, while it lasts...

So here's show 68, cast on Friday.

My Halloween show, no. 69, will cast this coming Friday.

no. 68 - Oct 20th, 2K6 - 53:30

00:00 opening waves
00:27 open mic stage - "Venice Beach" - Anouschka (PMN)
05:08 welcome 
05:49 geeknotes - Parade for World Peace Shakeout, ...
07:59 open mic stage intro
09:03 open mic stage - Uncomfortable Questions Promo
10:03 open mic stage - "Head meditation" - RAYAE (Garageband)
11:49 open mic stage - "Up All Night" - Grammpa Spatula (Kitchen Demo)
16:11 open mic stage - "Hail To The King Baby" - Nasty Boy (PMN)
17:50 open mic stage - "Babylon System (Creeping Mix)" - Soul Captain Remixed by The Powersteppers (PMN)
22:50 open mic stage - Amateur Traveler Promo
23:21 open mic stage - "Blue Bird Tattoo" - Circe Link (Garageband)
26:58 open mic stage - "Baroque Assassin" - San Blas (Garageband)
28:42 open mic stage - The Infidel Guy Promo
29:55 open mic stage - "connection (movie mix)" - iNTERCOM (Garageband)
37:09 map room - African Mountains Losing Ice Caps, Facial Bones Fade With Age, Generating Power From Kites...
43:09 Venue Verite 
44:07 Poems by Denise Levertov, June Jordan and Charles Plymell... 
52:02 music bed: "Iantru," "Flower," and "Lightning Silence" from "Color Variations" by Sektor (Kahvi, 2006)
52:28 Comments, show info and closing