<div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/4474/fy1ijwqfvup45ew6g.jpg) <br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Peter Warcaof</span></strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">CGDA Benefactor</span></strong></div></div></div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;"><em>Unhand that woman!</em>  That’s what I’d normally say and intervene.  But it is I who is ‘handing’ that woman, that woman being Jaclyn.<br/><br/>I try to ignore the report of what has been going on: fucking good time and I am to fuck off.  Jaclyn is not herself.  I ball my hand into a fist, calculating where to land the blow to stun her.  I try not to, but do notice that she is rather seductively dressed and errrr undressed.  Oh my!  The blow should be to the jaw or side of the head, hard but not too hard.  <br/><br/>I slowly pull my hand back, Jaclyn is a fierce cat, caught in a bag, snarling, kicking, trying to punch and scream her way free.  I really would prefer not to do this.  But . . . <br/><br/>Jaclyn goes limp.  My hand is nowhere near her, still about to land a blow.  I see Ari with a sap in his hand, now followed by a shrug.  <br/><br/>I ask <strong>“Du Monde?”</strong>  We both look around the room.  Sex toys, clothes, but no du Monde.<br/><br/>I throw Jaclyn over my shoulder.  <strong>“Let’s go.”</strong>  We make a straight line for the front door.  And then down the drive.  And then to a car.  And then away.  <br/></span>