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Stephanie, Hostage Girl (Mb crossdress) Lizard69
It wasn't her fault. He had to get a physical if he wanted to play sports and mom needed to stop at the bank. Life would have been a lot less complicated if she had dropped him at school first but nobody could have predicted this. His first thought when the bank robber grabbed him as a hostage was that this was one hell of a time to break his record on not getting picked for anything.
They had left the main highway a while back but the mental alarms didn't start going off until he turned onto another road that was hardly more than a couple ruts where the off road crowd would play. By the time he found a level spot to turn the car around Stephan had a pretty solid hunch what was next. It was quiet enough he could hear the engine pop and ping as it cooled when he worked up the nerve to ask.
"So, is this the part where I take my clothes off?"
"What?!"
"Dude, I'm twelve, years, old. I can feed and dress myself but I haven't been alive long enough to learn most of the really important stuff. That doesn't mean I'm some kind of `tard. I've seen the crap they show us in school trying to scare us out of doing stupid shit. I also watch the TV crime shows. We just did the long drive to where you're going to dump the body... if we can't find something better to do."
"What do you have in mind?"
"Unless all the movies are telling the same lie, when you lock a kid in with a bank robber it doesn't make a whole lot of difference if the kid is a boy or girl. I'd bet that where they are and how they got there doesn't matter much either."
"Okay, you're not completely clueless. There are other options. If you stay on the road you're less than two miles off the highway. It's shorter as the crow flies but will take you longer to walk it even if you don't get lost. It's not exactly safe. There is no law that says you're only going to meet one criminal on any given day. Even this sorry excuse for a road wasn't built just for kicks. At least a few people use it to get from somewhere to somewhere else. The folks who choose to live out here don't always play nice with others."
"You're gonna let me go?"
"It's an option. There's a gallon of water in the back and even a gamer who lives on the couch should be able to make it to the main road in less than a hour. If you get out here you should be home by dark after the cops run out of questions. If you're still in the car when I leave we're going to a place I set up to drop out of sight until the cops find more urgent business. Call it a week, maybe ten days tops. You'll be locked in with me the same as if we were sharing a cell. But when I'm ready to leave I'll drop you close enough to home you won't have to worry about getting picked up by some back country nut job."
Stephan almost passed out from the heat on the rusty stairs as the guy reached around him to unlock the door of the trailer. It was nothing special, one more ancient single wide on a piece of desert land somebody bought cheap. It had to be cheap, with nothing but empty in every direction. It didn't take more than a quick look around to understand that nobody was leaving here on foot. The temperature was hitting triple digits and it was a long way back to the main road.
He turned on a TV in time to catch the most recent replay of the bank robbery. They only showed a ten second clip from the surveillance cameras. His memories of the event didn't seem much longer. He knew it had taken more than that for him to get the money and almost as an afterthought to grab the kid as a hostage. He turned the TV off and spent a long minute or two just looking at the kid.
"So... do I get to find out your name before you, uh, have your way with me?"
"Call me Sam. Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of lunch. Hope you're willing to settle for soup and a sandwich. I'm still so full of adrenaline I couldn't handle much more. While we eat I'll try to fill you in on the situation and we can discuss how to deal with it."
At first the thought of food made his stomach jump but half way through a BLT and a bowl of soup Stephan realized it was exactly what he needed.
"I hope it looked like I had a plan There was a lot of flexibility in it. Unfortunately, there wasn't quite enough. You should be at home right now, or as soon as the police finish talking to you. I was gonna leave you with the first getaway car. You shouldn't know this place exists. You should never have seen my face or be able to pick me out of a line up."
"This is getting a little too scary."
"Relax. If I was willing to kill you to cover my tracks I'd have followed through on the original plan. When I opened the trunk to put you in it was HOT. Not sweat box hot, I'm talking crock pot hot, maybe two hundred degrees. Even if I left you a cell phone and the location you might not stay conscious long enough to tell the cops where to find you. They could drive directly from the bank to the parking garage and wouldn't get there in time to save your life. I had to take off the ski mask when I got into the second car. If I had a roll of duct tape or something to blindfold you I wouldn't have had the time. Now I have to deal with the way things have changed."
Leaving him sitting at the table Sam continued talking while doing the dishes.
"If this was a straight robbery the heat would start to die down the moment I cleared the scene. Because I have you, it's going to get worse for at least a few days. The cops know that if they don't get a kidnap victim back in the first three days the odds of seeing him alive again get real thin. Right now some of them are imagining you lying on the ground somewhere, bound and gagged, watching me dig a hole. Others are imagining a trail of clothes leading to the spot where you're trying to convince me it's more fun to keep you alive. A few are imagining what you'd have to do to convince them. There are perverts in every occupation.
"When I grabbed you as a hostage all I was looking for was somebody small enough I could slap some sense into them if I had to, but intelligent and mature enough I probably wouldn't need to do that. I didn't look at you as a possible party girl until we stopped on the way here. Honestly, it was a little creepy. At the bank your age wasn't an issue but I would have guessed fourteen, tops. The tomboy clothes and your, 'got better things to do than mess with it', hairstyle are cute. The glasses, braces, and even a little acne can't hide what a pretty face you have. Your age would make it illegal but a guy who robs banks for a living doesn't have a lot of respect for the rules. I'd feel a little creepy about doing somebody that young but it would probably be fun.
"Then I got the news that my hostage is the innocent little twelve year old Stephan Parker. It was like flipping a light switch. I was looking at the exact same person I dragged out of the bank, only you were unmistakably a twelve year old boy. When you asked about taking your clothes off I got the biggest shock. I must be a total creep because even after seeing you as the kid you are, after you asked about it, well, the thought of, `having my way with you', still turns me on. I am a little curious about where you picked up that particular euphemism. It's been a while since I was twelve and I don't remember ever being a fan of Gothic romance novels."
For a while he just stared at the table and blushed. When he did start to speak it was too softly for Sam to hear and he blushed deeper at being asked to speak up.
"I... Uh... I'm not quite as innocent as you think. You, uh, wouldn't be my first."
"Your first what?"
By now his face was beet red and his attention seemed totally focused on the table top.
"My... My first anything."
"Well I'll be second hand damned! It looks like you're at least one up on me when it comes to secrets Stephan, or is it Steffi? Sounds like you're trying to tell me getting raped by some pervo isn't exactly what you'd call a fate worse than death."
"OK Sam, We're even. I can't tell about you without you telling about me. If everyone found out about this it would mess my life up as bad as going to prison would for you. Drop me where I can walk to a pay phone and we'll both forget about this."
"Will we? From the way you're talking there aren't so many people who know about you that I'd get lost in the crowd. I can't remember ever meeting a boy I thought was a girl. Maybe they're fairly common but it's not like I need to know bad enough to check the plumbing on somebody too young to date. If I ever want to know what it's like to fuck a hot little girlie boy this is my best shot. No self respecting perv would pass up a chance like this. Besides, from the way you asked about it I'd say you were expecting something like that and I wouldn't want to disappoint you."
"I'd manage to get over it, really. I don't suppose it would do any good to tell you I'm not queer."
"Uh-uh, though it would make me a little curious about you offering to do anything."
"It's hard to explain. I started cosplay when I was too young for sex to be an issue. It was sort of weird that I picked female characters. Mom freaked out the first couple of times she caught me, then decided not to make a big thing out of it. I guess she hoped it would just be a phase and I'd move on to something more normal."
"Only you didn't."
"Well, uh, that wasn't exactly my choice. When I was ten a neighbor came over to borrow some yard tools. Mom was out and... Looking back, he must have seen me dressed up more than once. Anyway, he used it as an excuse, like, any boy dressed that way was asking for it."
"Asking for what?"
"You know. Anyway, he wasn't deliberately rough but he knew what he wanted and I didn't. Besides, I think he was scared my mom might walk in on us. I was sure worried about it. He dragged me to the bathroom, bent me over and started trying to shove his cock down my throat. That worked about like you'd expect. Between gasping for air and puking my guts out I didn't put up much of a fight. I'm not sure how much I swallowed when he came. I was probably doing good not to inhale any of it. It wasn't until he pulled out that I saw he was only gripping my hair with one hand. The other was holding a cell phone making a close up video of my face."
"Uh-oh."
"Yeah, between what happened and wondering who might see the video I sort of lost interest in cosplay... for a while. It was so weird. When I was dressed normal, hanging out with the guys, it was like nothing happened. The creepy pervert stuff? That all happened to Stephanie. It can't be real because she isn't real, just a made up person I pretend to be sometimes.
"But... Pretending to be a girl is one of the ways I play. It isn't the only game I like. It's not even at the top of the list. In some ways it's hardly a game. A lot of the times I dress up it's just to make something dull or boring seem different. I'll put on a skirt and blouse, then clean my room, pretending I'm getting paid to be some lazy kids maid. Or I'll be brainiac Stephanie doing homework when Steve would rather be out playing basketball."
"So, if Stephanie gets stuck doing the things Steve doesn't want to, when some pervert wants his cock sucked..."
"Definitely a job for Steffi."
Carrie stared into the bathroom mirror at a woman she could hardly recognize. It had been the worst day of her life and longer than most. When the cops had left and Jen finally herded the friends and neighbors out of the house, she'd been surprised to find Carrie holding her purse and coat ready to help her leave as well. It was kind of mean to her sister. She'd apologize in the morning. Right then she needed to be alone. So exhausted she wasn't sure she'd make it as far as her bed, habit made her check Steve's room on the way. Tired or not it pretty well destroyed her chances of sleeping sometime soon. She wasn't going to turn on the TV and listen to more repetition of the few things they knew. Instead she fired up the computer for the first time since leaving to make that deposit at the bank.
After dumping the usual spam she read the mail that arrived before the robbery. Carrie wasn't ready to deal with any more sympathy at the moment, whether it was from friends or strangers. Then she noticed the subject line that said, "Hi Mom!", clicking on it before it occurred to her that somebody might be playing a cruel joke. The message was short. "Don't even think of sharing this with anyone, especially the police, if you ever want to see me again." Opening the attached video revealed her boy sitting on something covered with a sheet draped high enough to provide a background as well.
"Hi mom. Again, don't be in any hurry to share this. Ok? First the good news. I'm alive and it looks like I'm going to stay that way. He hasn't hurt me yet and doesn't seem to be planning anything like that. I'm in a really bad spot but it isn't hopeless and there are things I can do to improve it. You're not going to spend months or years wondering what happened to me. One way or another this will be over in less than two weeks, maybe less than one.
"It doesn't take a genius to figure out that he doesn't need a hostage any more. When we got here I kind of half seriously asked if this was the part where he has his way with me. We talked about that and how there really isn't a place for me here. We also talked about other things. When he grabbed me at the bank he thought I was a girl. This is like, really awkward. He isn't, uh, disappointed. When I started dressing up I was too young for it to matter. We sort of left it at that while every day I got a little bit older. Two years ago I found out why you went so nuts about me wearing girl clothes. It wasn't my idea. It wasn't fun. I should have told. There was no way I could imagine talking to cops and maybe having to get up in court and tell the whole world about it. I didn't know much about keeping secrets, not then, except that if you can't tell everybody you better not tell anybody, not even your mom.
"This probably wasn't the best time to tell you. I wanted you to know that I can do whatever it takes to come home alive."
Oh dear Lord... In less than two minutes he'd managed to punch a hole through the mental dam holding back everything that had happened. Some endless time later she'd progressed from hysterics, through tears, to the healing slumber of physical and emotional exhaustion.
It felt strange to be back at the house before noon on a work day. Carrie had tried to work. The idea of sitting around the house waiting for news was more than she could handle. After a few hours though, the office manager had taken her aside and gently explained that she not only wasn't up to anything like her usual standards, the other girls were walking on eggs around her and not getting their work done either.
She didn't have any real hope of hearing from Steve again so soon. The possibility gave her an excuse to fire up her computer and begin wading through all the well intentioned email. Another, "Hi Mom", message immediately put everything else on hold Hardly scanning the few words in the cover note, she opened the attached video. There he was, wearing the same clothes from yesterday, looking noticeably rumpled.
"Hi mom, uh, try not to be shocked. This wasn't my idea but he says it's safer for me if it isn't a secret. He... Uh... He's fucking me. I guess it's something we'll have to talk about when I get home. If there is any sort of silver lining to this mess it would be finding out how much there is that we need to talk about. You never think when you walk out the door about all the things that would be left unsaid if you don't come back.
"That's the other thing he wants to make, 'official'. I'm going home. He can't give an exact time, not unless he wants the cops picking him up when he drops me off. They would already be losing interest in the robbery but kidnapping is a crime in progress. The FBI got so good at catching crooks during the payoff that kidnapping for ransom doesn't really happen anymore. Most hostages get left at the scene of the crime. When somebody actually gets taken someplace, it's almost always for sex. The good news is that the kidnapper starts to lose interest as soon as he gets his, uh, ransom.
"The bad news is that everybody is a little crazy on that subject. After he's done, no matter what you mean by done, he'll usually start feeling at least a little guilty and maybe more than a little embarrassed. He'll want to put some distance between himself and his victim. At the same time, the idea that whoever it was might, 'kiss and tell', is enough to send a chilly breeze up his butt. If he's enough of a creep to make you do stuff, he's enough of a creep to think about making sure you won't tell... maybe can't tell.
"Sam isn't a nice guy. People who rob banks for a living usually aren't. He's not some kind of monster either. The thing is this whole situation is pretty far out there. He knows I can't count on him doing what's right. He's fixing it so nothing he can do will keep me from talking, because I already have. This isn't easy for me. It must be terrible for you. Try to imagine what it's like for him... and that he has a choice.
"I told you I stopped being a virgin a couple years ago. It would be nice if I could tell you it was only one time, or even that there has only been one creep. This isn't my day for nice. Tomorrow doesn't look good either. When Sam found out I wasn't a girl, he had to wonder exactly how much of a boy I was. By the time he got my pants off the idea that another pervert was going to make me do it again had me so stiff it was leaking. I'm not queer. At least I don't think so. If I choose to do it with a creep, there is always some kind of, 'or else'. I've done it so many times the, 'or else' doesn't actually have to be said out loud. After the first couple of times the bar kept getting set lower and lower. Sometimes it doesn't even have to come from the creep. It will be like, meet him somewhere private, or else worry about somebody walking in while he's doing it.
"Sam didn't actually tell me he needed a reason to keep me alive. Now that I know him a little, I can tell you he isn't that mean. I was more worried about how he'd react to the sausage in my shorts than I was about doing stuff with him. By the time I was on my knees with his cock in my mouth we each had our own reasons for thinking it was a good idea. I'm not sure which of us first thought of something better. On all fours with my pants down and my shirt bunched up, there isn't much difference between me and a girl my age, not to the pervert kneeling behind me. I didn't cum... the first time.
"My... I don't know what to call him, 'regular pervert', sounds completely warped. The one that first started having me, when he noticed me getting stiff sometimes, he started teasing. I'd get embarrassed listening to him and it would get soft. Then he'd play with it until it was stiff again. Soon I was getting embarrassed about how stiff it would get from listening to him. I suppose it was chance that he was the one playing with it the first time it squirted. The odds were in his favor. Anyway, after that he shifted to trying to get me as hard as he could for as long as possible without letting me cum. It's kind of a new thing for me, but if I'm close enough, long enough, sometimes the fucking alone will take me the rest of the way.
"There it is. You don't have a daughter. Sam didn't let that little problem stop him from raping his hostage. Being raped wasn't anything new to me or enough to keep me from getting physical pleasure out of it. None of us wants to call a press conference. Hurting me won't keep any of it secret. It's safer for everyone if I go home. It's still a little scary. You're my mom. You're not going to hate me because of what other people did. You're also not going to be happy if I won't do anything that would make it stop."
Oh Lord! Two years?! Two damned YEARS?! Were they even living in the same house? Ok, it's not like having a marching band in the living room. They were trying not to get caught. There still had to be some warning signs, some kind of psychic stench from this evil thing happening right under her nose. Or did there? She knew now... and the closest her mind could get to it was some half formed presence grabbing him while her attention was elsewhere. She left the computer to take another look at his room.
It was undoubtedly a boys room. Maybe that's why it was so easy for her affection to quench her exasperation regarding the mental, "quirk", of her problem child. Steve wasn't a bad boy. When she gave him a hard time about it, the fear of his, "friends", at school turning on him played a bigger role than worry that he might be stalked. Briefly she considered searching his room. Carrie didn't want to find anything that would support his claims and finding nothing wouldn't help. Absence of evidence isn't evidence of absence. No, it would be better to preserve his trust and let him bring it out at his own pace.
Her face felt odd. It took a moment to realize she was smiling. Her nice, safe, slightly abnormal life had been knocked completely off the rails. She was facing some incredibly awkward discussions with her adolescent son. Yet, in a strange way, her dread at the thought served to increase her certainty that the conversations would take place. She wasn't back to normal, not even close, but her personal crisis had passed. Steve was coming home.
It was still a shock to find him sitting at the kitchen table when she returned from a grocery run a few hours later. The way he tensed up as she hugged him sent her maternal worry gland into overdrive.
"I'm sorry hon. I needed to make sure you were really here."
"It's ok, I kind of expected you to make it a big deal. I'm sort of surprised there aren't any reporters parked out front. Sam said we should probably call a lawyer before we talk to the cops. When they're chasing a bad guy they don't care too much about the people they run over during the chase."
"I don't want to take his advice about anything but I guess a professional criminal would know how and when to use a lawyer. The reporters... This is going to sound terrible. When a young girl is abducted, they're going to bring up the subject of sex, it sells papers and gets ratings. Nothing really creepy, you won't see a reporter on camera saying police believe the kidnapper has had time to assault her more than once by now. But nobody watching the news will get the idea she's sitting in some quiet corner working on a jigsaw puzzle while she waits for the cops to show up. If it's a boy things are even more low key. 'No story here. Nothing to report. 'We're honoring the request of the victims family for privacy.' They're scared half to death they might get tagged as publicly outing a trans preteen. It's the sort of thing that could have protesters twelve deep in front of their office while they're being sued into bankruptcy.
"You were in boy clothes when he grabbed you. Nobody at work even mentioned the possibility of abuse. There's at least a chance none of the kids at school will make an issue out of it."
The cops were a little upset about him being, "uncooperative", but had better sense than to get aggressive in front of a lawyer. A short statement by the same lawyer to the media let them wrap up a story they weren't eager to pursue anyway. By supper time they were alone, except for the elephant in the room.
"I suppose it's up to me. No matter how hard he tried to, 'make you a woman', I'm still the adult here. You're home safe and if there really is a God, you will never in your entire life have a chance to know exactly how glad I am to say that. Because you didn't seem to be in any sort of distress I didn't drag you down to the emergency room. Should I make a doctors appointment?"
"Uh, I'm ok."
"No, you're not. From what you said in the videos you haven't been ok for a couple of years. I'm probably not the best person for you to talk to about that. If you like, I'll check my medical coverage and see how much and what sort of counseling it will pay for. I hate to say this but the deductible might not be the biggest roadblock to getting help for you."
"I'm not crazy."
"I didn't say you are and I'd love you no matter what. A counselor doesn't try to cut and paste until you match some dictionary definition of normal. They help you sort out how you feel about what's going on in your life. They can't always make you feel good about it. Pretty miserable things happen sometimes. Often the best they can manage is helping you learn how to cope. The good news is that most of the time that's good enough. The bad news is that kids never had the full benefit of doctor to patient confidentiality. To make matters worse, a while back the government decided their interest in pursuing sex offenders was more important than the doctors opinion about what was best for his patient. If, in the course of providing treatment a medical professional discovers evidence of sexual assault, especially involving a minor, they are required by law to contact the police and pass along any information that might lead to an arrest."
"You're kidding."
"I wish. It kind of puts the cops on the same level as the creeps. Either one is more concerned with getting what they want than what's best for you. I don't think they can actually force you to testify. It would be stupid to drag you into court and stick you in the witness stand if they don't know what you're going to say. I don't know if a counselor can repeat in a courtroom things you told them in a treatment setting. The video you sent me, all by its self, might or might not get a sex offense added to robbery and kidnapping. It would surely have the police interviewing any neighbor that ever borrowed my garden rake."
"Or your hoe?"
"Eeewww! That is sooo bad! Funny, but bad. I'm in a worse spot than a counselor. Family services will start an investigation on nothing more than an anonymous tip. Depending on how much I knew, when I knew it, and what I did or didn't do about it, things could get really ugly."
"Ugly compared to what?"
"I get your point. FS could do anything from random checks to sticking you in a foster home and me in jail. I'll admit, for the worst to happen they'd have to convince a jury I was taking an active part in passing you around. Simple ignorance probably wouldn't get me any more than probation. It's even possible that an investigation would turn up enough general information to jail me for failing to protect you, without discovering the sort of evidence needed to convict any of the men who have abused you. It isn't likely but stranger things have happened."
"Oh. Wow. I thought cops were supposed to help people."
"I think most of them want to, at least when they first get hired. Some of them still try, when nothing gets in the way, but their job is enforcing the laws. If enough of them are right there when a crime is being committed they will usually do something to stop it. If somebody calls them, sooner or later they will show up and investigate the complaint. If they find enough evidence that a law has been broken, they'll try to find whoever broke it then turn them and the evidence over to the district attorney. Depending on how busy he is and what kind of evidence they have there might or might not be formal charges filed. Most of the people charged with a crime never have a trial. Their attorney talks to a prosecution attorney about who can prove what in front of a jury. What usually happens is they plead guilty to a small part of whatever they're charged with in return for getting a smaller sentence than they would get if convicted on all the charges. Who goes to jail and how long they have to stay there, mostly depends on who is upset about what they did and how good one lawyer is at convincing another lawyer that he's not going to get what he wants."
"Do you want me to tell? About the creeps?"
"I want them caught and punished. I want them to know that it's not ok to abuse young boys. I want them to know that raping my son is a really, really, bad idea. But I'm not so crazy mad at them that I'll hurt you so I can hurt them worse. I want to protect you. Just because dealing with cops and courts is a bad thing for a criminal doesn't make it a good thing for his victim. The cops can't do anything until they know there's a problem. Anyone can call them, it doesn't have to be you. Whoever calls them doesn't get to put limits on who they talk to or the questions they ask.
"Remember that nature program we watched? The one where an angry rhino started ramming one of their trucks? Imagine somebody's pit bull got loose. It's in your yard. It's big, mean, and scary. Maybe it already bit you and will bite you worse if you try to make it leave. So you call 911 and ask them to send over something meaner than a pit bull. They send an angry rhino. Maybe the pit bull is gone by then. Maybe it's still there but the rhino is more interested in eating your garden than chasing it away. Maybe it goes around tapping everybody's door with its horn looking for the pit bull, scaring the crap out of people and finding things it would rather do than chase a stray dog. Maybe it chases the dog all over the neighborhood, on and off the streets, smashing through peoples back yards, trampling their stuff. What happens when the neighbor who wins awards for the flowers she grows gets her garden trampled? Or the neighbor that throws, 'no suits', pool parties has an angry rhino smashing through his fence?"
"One of our neighbors has naked pool parties?"
"Uh, that's not important. The important thing is that if the cops are running around bothering people because of your problem, the cops don't live here, we do. It will be a lot easier to get along with our neighbors if we don't send the cops to their house."
"So you want me to keep it a secret?"
"I want you to do whatever is best for you, long term, not just the next hour or week. Let's start with something that doesn't get anyone else involved..."
It wasn't more than twenty minutes after his mom left for work the next day before he heard someone at the back door. He won the bet, if he could figure out how to collect. Why did she make the bet if she didn't want to know if he came... and if he came.
"How's my favorite celebrity? Can I get you to autograph my nut sack?"
"You really want me holding your nuts in one hand and a sharp object in the other?"
"Why not? You're pretty good at doing what you're told. If it came right down to it I could probably snap your neck before you did too much permanent damage."
"Yeah, well, I got some news about that."
"Oh? The kidnapper was a surgeon? He found a spine donor and gave you a backbone transplant? I don't believe you worked up the nerve to tell mommy you're the pass around ass for every boy humper who knows about you."
"Not exactly. It's still too embarrassing to talk about and telling my mom what you do would be like some weird kind of incest. She had me write it down, dates, names, places, everything that happened, as much as I could remember. Then I put it in a sealed envelope and gave it to her so she could give it to somebody I don't know. It stays sealed as long as I keep telling them not to open it. If I go away, or just don't care anymore... It's like I already told everybody. I just don't know who was listening yet."
"Shit! Ok, what do you want? I'm retired on a disability so if it's money we're both out of luck."
"You can't kill me without getting caught. That means you can't hurt me in a way that would be hard to explain either. You're still bigger and stronger. I can't stop you from fucking me if you want it bad enough. If you give me some warning I'll try to meet you someplace once or twice a week. No more grabbing me any time you get horny and no more than twice a week. If you want to give me to one of your pervo buddies you have to skip a turn yourself."
"Ok, deal."
"One other thing. No more pool parties. They're not as big a secret as you think.
The End?