Message-ID: <13264eli$9807221213@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Subject: Camping Delights (MF, Nc, Hundands) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <3c5443f.35b5056e@aol.com> Attached are parts/Chapter 4 Camping Delights Chapter 4 (MF, Nc, Husbands) By Meiraj@aol.com Chapter 4. Johnny's journal for Saturday When the alarm on my wrist watch went beep, beep, my mind instantly shifted into full activity. Bill and I had planned on going to the lake very early in the morning which is the best time to go fishing. That is why I had set the alarum for daybreak. The birds were chirping and faint first light was peeking into the tent from the two tiny windows. As soon as I woke up, I had instant recall of all that had gone on at night. I glanced at my sleeping partner for yet another and final confirmation. She was facing the tent wall and I could not see her face. But what little of the hair I could make out in the dim light was enough to tell me that she was not Jill but Jill's friend Bonny. Yes, Bill's Bonny. However much I had wished for the night to have been only a nightmare, it had not been so. What had happened was real. Bill had slept with Jill, and I, well, had slept next to Bonny. I quickly and cautiously let myself out of the tent. As I was doing so I heard another alarm beep from the tent next door. In a few seconds as I was carefully zipping the tent entrance back from the outside so the cool morning draft did not bother Bonny, Bill emerged out of his tent - rather my tent, (well, at this point the tents should really be referred to as Bonny's or Jill's.) I did not look at him directly and I don't think he looked at me straight either. He said a meek and muffled 'good morning' which I barely acknowledged. We set off to the washrooms in silence. The chirping of the birds had gotten quite noisy, the people in other tents at the campsite were still sleeping. So we had all the excuses not to break the silence. Not wishing to make the trip back together, I rushed and got back to our campsite before Bill did. I readies my fishing gear and was pretending to look at something interesting behind some trees, Bill returned and got his gear ready. We both set off and since we had to pass through the area where people were camping and still not up for the morning, we maintained silence. We were both embarrassed by our errors of the night. Not until reaching the lake did we make any conversation. He would say a sentence or so on the natural beauty we were taking in, and I would mumble an acknowledging "Uh Huh." A long time of silence would follow and I would break it and make a trivial silence breaker comment, and he would acknowledge with an "Uh Huh." It was obvious both of us were feeling extremely uncomfortable. When we reached the lake we took our time to find a good place to sit and cast our fishing hooks. From time to time monosyllables escaped from us. Yes, monosyllables so as not to scare off the fish. I guess we were looking for ways to bring up the previous night. Both were very controlled, trying to be very modern and very civilized about it. Finally Bill said, " Johnny, I am sorry for the mix-up last night. By the time I realized, it was too late. Will you forgive me, please!" There was genuine regret in his voice. "Oh, was there a mix-up Bill? What kind?" I said sarcastically. My anger was finding a vent at last. "You know what kind Johnny; We entered the wrong tents. We are both equally guilty." Bill said. " Speak for yourself Bill, don't just assume we are both equally guilty. When I entered the tent, the lady was fast asleep, and I just lied down next to her. Didn't realize she was not who I thought she was until I heard and wondered about the racket coming from your tent - or rather my tent, or should I say Jill's tent. I took a while for me to realize we - you and me, had entered the wrong tents. Unlike you, I didn't touch your woman." I wasn't going to admit to him I had done anything close to what he had done. My fingering Bonny's lower-level lips, grasping and feeling her breasts and tits, touching her lips lightly with mine, and such other things I had done did not amount to what he had done. And I hadn't even gotten a full hard on when I did those things, to feel guilty about. Besides, what I did was investigative work, and because that was the only way in that pitch black darkness, to put an end to the doubts and suspicions that had sprung up in my mind after I had heard the love sounds from Bill's - I mean, Jill's tent. Bonny was the one, who in her sleep, had thrust her thigh between my thighs. What was I supposed to do? She is the one who had curled herself into my arms and molded to me. I couldn't just push her away and risk waking her. So I had given her the comfort and security that a woman seeks at night. I was entirely blameless. Bill looked at me for a few seconds while weighing my response, and spoke, "I believe you Johnny." Then he went into a confession, "When I entered the tent thinking it was my tent, all was quiet and I lied down next to who I thought was Bonny. Suddenly I heard a growl and I was startled. Before I could say Jack Rabbit, she was all over me. I was getting gagged by her, I couldn't get a word out,, and then likely-split, she was jigging on my you know what." I was listening to him carefully and also observed his non-verbals. He continued, "It was so sudden, I couldn't believe how quickly I was in deep waters, and past the point of no return. I don't think she realized it was not you. And at that point I felt it was best for her to think so. Telling her during or after the fact would have embarrassed her unbearably. I was also afraid that she might think that you and I had swapped. I was hoping you would come out of your tent, I mean my tent, I mean Bonny's tent, and make some noises, and I could use that excuse to come out to see why you had come out, giving us a chance to correct our errors, even belatedly. Anyway, I don't think your wife realized anything was amiss." I didn't answer Bill other than acknowledge him with a "Unhh huhh." His brief description had matched the scenario I had imagined. I don't know why, but listening to it was giving me a hard on. I didn't quite understand why I was getting turned on by hearing and picturing what Bill had done with Jill, or rather what Jill had done with Bill. "You sure Bonny didn't suspect anything? Notice anything different?" Bill asked. I can't blame him for wanting assurance that his Bonny was intact and undiminished, that I had only slept next to her as I had declared earlier. "How could she? She was fast asleep when I went in and was still sleeping when I got out. All she may have felt is my body heat from inches away. I swear I didn't touch her." I was lying through my teeth, and I didn't like that. But what else could I do? I didn't want to risk damage the relationship between them. I didn't want to do anything that could hurt Bonny. Time ticked away. He, immersed in his thoughts, playing and replaying his mental tapes, and I assessing things in my own mind. I did not detect the contented smirk of a conquest in his face. I couldn't help but feel he was a victim of circumstances. Yes, he buried his bone in my wife. But it was probably, as he said, more like a cave swallowing him. Yet I also felt angry at him and angry at Jill. 'Why was she so horny last night. Yes, she pulls that tigress act sometimes. I should never revealed to her that I liked it. I think she got that idea when we watched a Peter Sellers' movie, where his Chinese man-friday launches sudden karate attacks on the master. The fact that I had heard Jill's moans of ecstasy was telling me she had a very pleasurable experience. I had always felt happy when she had felt happy. In our social life, whoever she had felt comfortable with, I too had felt comfortable. That is probably why I hadn't flown off the handle at Bill now, although what had taken place was more than mere social intercourse. Also there was the fact that he was the victim, a rapee, not a raper. My thoughts went on and on. Neither of us caught any fish. After about two hours of no results we headed back to camp. On the way back Bill broke the silence. Well, he had done all the damage, and he knew he had to try to mend it. "Johnny," he said, "I think our friendship is going to dissipate, if it hasn't slided already. Bonny and I both like being friends with you and Jill. But I know you are going to hold this thing against me. Believe me, you will hate me more than you are hating me right now. This is going to become cancerous on our friendship. If Bonny ever finds out that her fried Jill slept with me, she is going to walk out on me; unless she has reasons of her own not to. We got to do some damage control. We have to even the score, and do so before we leave this camp site." He looked at me inquiringly and pleadingly. I looked at him non-plussed although I had a feeling about what he was driving at. Silence on my part would have told him I had grasped his meaning. I wanted to be sure. I said, "What do you mean? What do you mean even the score? What is done is done, it wasn't your fault, let's drop it." Bill wouldn't give up. He continued, "Thank you Johnny, it is very kind of you. You are a good and kind man and I want to stay friends with you. Anybody else would have stuck a knife into me by now." He became more explicit and spoke fast and in an insistent tone, "But, Johnny, you have got to even the score and give me a tit for tat. Believe me it will otherwise grow in your mind like a brain tumor. I want you to go into my tent to-night and have Bonny." Obviously little did he realize I had sort of touched two tits for his tat. That was in no way evening of the score as he put it. And whatever I had done was done in an investigative mode, and quite superficially too. I very quickly terminated this reminiscing in order to respond to his proposal. It did have a reasonable ring to it. But I did not want to accept it flippantly. I did not want it to be a 'satisficing' solution. I wanted a 'rational and optimal' resolution. I said, "Two wrongs don't make it right! Don't be silly! What is done, is done!" I put emphasis in my voice. But deep in my heart and below the belt line, there was a rebellion against my brain and my big mouth. But being inhibited and squeamish, I had to say what I had said. I also had the reputation of being a Mr. Right, a Mr. Straight. Privately though, I prayed for justice to prevail. "Think it over Johnny, we have all day! I hope you feel differently later in the day," he said. We were almost within ear shot of our wives now and our conversation quickly came to an end. Jill was very solicitous of me, serving breakfast, and all through the morning attending to me with overflowing love and affection, the way she does the morning after she has had a good and hard satisfying night. She was touching me, holding me, hugging me, and complimenting me every chance she got. She couldn't wait until we had a private moment to tell me how fantastic I was the previous night. She said the camping had been a good change for me, that I seemed to have relaxed and let go, and loosened out." Obviously she had not realized the switch that had occurred. 'I had let go and loosened out' is how she had explained to herself the difference in the manhood she had taken in last night. My penis is short and stubby - little more than four inches in its tumescent most, but fatter than average. So much so, getting it into her used to be a bit painful to her in the beginning. Then over the years I she had stretched a bit, learned to relax, and also use plenty of K-Y on her croissant. I had not expected what she said right after her comment about my having relaxed and loosened out, "Oh, Johnny, I am looking forward to the night." A snake ran up my spine, and a frog jumped deep inside, just where I hung out. My heart went into sudden death only to kick start itself at ten times the normal rate. When I recovered, all I could think was "Mama Mia! Holy Moly!! Son of a Gun!!!.... Jill had liked the "loosened-out" bit. Only, it must not have been a bit. A byte may be? A giga byte? " I couldn't help drawing obvious conclusions. Jill had had a peace-of-a-cake-time, putting the hot dog in the bun. She had had a crackerjack of a cock in place of the regular mini fat-cigar. According to the definitive survey of salami's on the internet, what I have tends to be towards the minimum recorded. From what she said, it looked like Jill had enjoyed sliding up and down the "loosened-out" (elongated) shaft, and its long rubbings against her clit. And she was looking forward to the elongated one again. I couldn't help looking at the pictures that were coming up in my mind. She, Jill, astride him, flopped forward against his chest, her face nuzzled against his face. Her hips moving up and down, riding him gently at first, then faster and faster. Then pushing herself upright like a jockey riding a stallion, pumping up and down the full length of the 'elongated' cock, alternately thrusting it to full depth, then withdrawing until it was in only by its foreskin. The whispering of her moist skin against his skin. And he the 'elongated,' sensing, feeling the big breasts jiggling, hanging heavy, and undulating. .... The finally at long last, she shuddering, moaning, slowing gradually, and moaning and quivering. their sweat mingling and merging together.... and finally the cuddle of blissful exhaustion. ... The pictures in my mind were swirling and repeating. And, damn it, I was hard again, from the moving pictures in my mind. The camping had definitely let loose the pervert in me. Jill is a one man woman, and I, a one woman man. She is the only woman I've ever ...., and I am the only man she has ever....... I admit I am however given to look. A guy can't help the urge to look. It is the testosterone in him that does it. Some people call that as mental fucking. But I've never cheated on her. How could I when she is so well endowed and so alluring, with her D size cups, hazel eyes, cute face, inviting lips, firm tummy, shapely legs, well proportioned corn-fed body, sexy voice, nice laughter, and an intelligent mind that understands current events as well as football. And her eyes don't wander. But me? I can't help it. It is just looking and not anything beyond. It is a guy thing. It doesn't mean anything. Bonny is equally charming lass. Younger, with a body frame (and cup size) a bit smaller than Jill's. She has a cute butt, real cute. Her skin is peachy smooth without any blemishes. The light and twinkle in her deep blue eyes give her radiance and gorgeousness. When she smiles she looks absolutely angelic. She would have no problem at all to get into shows like Bay Watch, full of life and estrogen! She is witty and extroverted. Yet there is something about her that said she is fragile, needed protection, needed comfort, needed joy, and needed to feel like a woman. In my process of checking my doubts and hypotheses last night, if I had pressed her thigh, and if I had run my hand on her bare back, if I had pulled and held her close to me, if I had wiped the sweat on her breasts and gently released the tension in her nipples, and if I had protectively shielded her luscious labia lips with my hand, I had done so with the protective, nurturing instinct. Touching my lips to her lips was a way of communicating to her that she had my protection, that I could offer whatever she needed. My intentions had been pure!!! There was no carnal thought. No! I hadn't even become fully tumescent when she had molded herself to me, and I to her. And certainly not as hard as I did from the chirpings of the love bird in the next tent, stuck with a hard bit in her wet slit. My mind went back to the suggestion that Bill had made: that the 'scores' should be evened. What right did Bill have to treat Bonny as his chattel. Yes, husbands have that right in some Eskimos tribes where a husband's friend/guest is offered food, water, shelter, and the wife as a belly warmer. But here in our civilized society, that is a no, no. Bonny is a person in her own right. Only she has the right to give herself. I thought of reporting Bill to the local feminist group. They would skin him alive, and may even bobbit him. I didn't like the idea of sneaking up on sweet Bonny, like a thief in the night. Boy, what if she comes to know that her husband had slept with his best friend's wife, and then to even the score, sent in his friend to sleep with her. "No, Bonny she is too sensitive and delicate, like a flower. She must be protected", I resolved. The rest of the day, I tried my best to appear normal in my interactions with Jill, Bonny and Bill. But by lunch time Jill had detected I was moody and distraught. After lunch, she pulled me out to go for a hike on the trail that meandered through the woods. When we sat down for a rest, she came to the point. "What is the matter Johnny, you seem to have become quiet and withdrawn. Don't you like camping anymore. You were fully relaxed and a joyous mood last evening. Was I too much of a bother last night? Did I suck you dry?" "No, it is not you Jill, it is me," I was half right. I continued on to spin a story and seek her counsel. Jill has a very pragmatic mind. She cuts through chaff quickly. I went on with the following story. " Well, yes, I guess I am a bit of a thinking mood. I ran into an old buddy of mine in the washroom this morning. He is in a great big dilemma, and asked my opinion. It is a very personal, delicate and potentially explosive situation. So I have been thinking about it." I had manufactured a white lie. I had to be circuitous in order to get her advice on Bill's suggestion that morning to balance out the score. "You want to tell me about it," She asked solicitously. "Well, it is kind of very personal. He confided in me only because way back he used to come and talk to me about his most personal problems. He used to feel that I point him in the right direction. Now that I am thinking about it, he hasn't given me much to go on. So, I am analyzing a fuzzy problem and feeling frustrated. He wants my advice to-day as he is leaving the camp late this evening." " Still, a woman's perspective may help. Why don't you tell me about it?" Jill insisted. "Well, O.K. From what I understand of the problem, it would appear that my buddy's wife has been made love to by his best friend, quite by accident, mind you. The wife thought it was her own husband. The lights had gone out, or something to that effect, in the hotel they were staying. I think it was a convention or something they were attending, I don't know exactly. The husbands had gone to sleep while the girls were in the lounge and chatting away, catching up, you know, and there was an electricity failure. And in the darkness the girls went into wrong rooms and crawled into wrong beds." I said introducing a lot of vagueness without leaving out the crucial parts. "Your buddy and his wife and this other couple accidentally switched partners, and each of the guys made love to the other's wife, is that what you are telling me?" Jill asked to clarify for herself. "No, no! Sexual activity occurred only among one of the switched couples. In the other case, the two slept like logs next to each other. My buddy's wife is the one who had sexual activity. But she has not realized she was with the wrong man." "So what is the problem. What is the dilemma your buddy wants your advice on?" Jill asked. "Jill, it is quite, quite delicate. The two guys know what happened. My buddy's friend feels very bad and very sorry about the mix up. He does not want to lose my buddy as a friend. He has suggested that my buddy should balance out the mishap so they can continue to be friends. He is afraid my buddy will hate him and not stay friends with him." "You mean he wants your buddy to make love to his wife, so the score is even?" Jill asked, astonished. "Yes, basically that is it!" "How does your buddy feel about it? Obviously, as you said, he is in a dilemma. How do the wives feel?" Jill probed. "He does not feel right. Since it was a freak accident and he feels responsible to some degree for the accident, mind you I don't know all the details, he feels there is no need to 'balance out the score'. And as for the girls, my buddy's wife seems to be oblivious to what happened. She seems to have detected no difference between the man she slept with and her regular partner, her husband. As for the other woman, she also does not seem to be aware that she slept next to the wrong man. She must have slept like a log." "I see, Humm........," Jill turned over the problem in her mind. She thought for a long time. We must have walked in silence for five minutes. Then she thought aloud, " The two guys want to keep their friendship; One of the guys has fucked the other's wife, and now wants the other guy to fuck his wife to even things out, otherwise he thinks he will never be forgiven." She went silent again. It didn't take her long to come back with her pronouncement. "I think your buddy should fuck his friend's wife, and be done with it, if he wants to keep their friendship, and if the friendship were to fizzle out in the future, he will at least have the satisfaction of having evened things out. You know as well as I do, even forgiven wrongs, healed wounds, begin to hurt deeply when psychic distance develops between the parties. Then , wars begin in the mind first and move on to blood and bones next." Wise words from my Jill. She should have been a judge. "I see your point. Let me think about it. I hope I will have something right to tell my buddy later before he leaves camp". I started talking about something else and soon we were back in the campsite. Although I tried to go about the day as normally as possible, my mind was turning things over even after I had seen the validity of Jill's wise advice. What she had opinioned did give some comfort, that if I took the offer that Bill had placed before me, it wouldn't be tantamount to being unfaithful to my wife. At least she wouldn't hold it against me, because it would be her advice rendered for my buddy, and you can't have one for the goose and one for the gander! As the afternoon was giving way to the evening I couldn't help wondering if Jill was really unaware of what had happened, what she had done the previous night. If she was unaware then her judgement in the case of my manufactured buddy could be considered objective. But if she was aware, and she is a pretty smart cookie, then her advice would not be neutral and objective. She had said in the morning that she was looking forward to the night, obviously for a repeat of the pleasures of the night before. If so, was she hinting that I should get lost again in the same manner, that I should loose my way? The thought was giving me a bulge in my pants. My thoughts kept going in an unending stream. Jill is a full blooded buxom lass raised on meat, potatoes and corn, and enjoys life and sex. And all I had offered her was a mini-cigar, not a real phallus. She deserved more than a short stubby piece of meat that never reached her depths. What little ingress it made had hurt her in the beginning until she had stretched and stretched. And it still was a tight fit, and needed lots of slippery stuff. If it was not for her being oversexed a bit, she would probably excused herself with a headache or something every time. Yes, she deserved better. I felt a debt of gratitude towards Bill for his having done Jill. He had probably penetrated into her depths more than the one other man in her life. Whether he had gone as far as the great barrier, only Jill would know. I felt my relationship with Bill had deepened, because of the depth he had probed. Now he wanted me to explore the cave that was his monopoly. I went for a long long walk again to think things through and to clear my head which was repeatedly going fuzzy. I felt bad for Bonny. I couldn't clear my mind of the thought she deserved more. I had been looking at her intermittently throughout the day. I appreciated her and admired her. My sixth sense told me that Bill had not been treating her right, selfishly taken his puck through her goal posts, taken his old log to her beaver, cooked his cucumber in her hot stove, and may have even put his salami over her veal, but he certainly hadn't given her enough love, enough physical assurance, enough satisfaction. I could hear my heart beating for her. I could feel my balls burning to empower her. I could feel the swelling in my loins to sooth her. I could feel the quiver in my lips to comfort her. I felt very empathic towards her. As these thoughts were floating across the wide blue skies in my mind, I was at the same time self critical. I was self critical that my thoughts were not decent in some sense, that I was not living up to my Mr. Clean image. I could not help suspect that perhaps there was a lewd vortex of a turbulence somewhere nearby that was responsible for some of my thoughts. Yes, that was it. The electrons in the turbulent air were responsible for the seismographic activity in my perineum region. Was the vortex my own repressed lasciviously intense desire for having Jill experience ecstatic pleasure through the medium of Bill's flute, the euphony of which I would partake through my Eustachian tubes? My analysis was giving me a paralysis. Who can tell what is real, what is true, what is correct, what is good, what is bad? The view depends upon the angle! It is said that the mind has several layers - five according to some, and seven according to some others. There are agendas and hidden agendas operating at each of these levels. I gave up, and went to the campsite store and bought a slurpee to cool my overheated neurons. After dinner we played Frisbee. What started as a four-way throw some how ended up as two teams, Bill and Jill as one team and Bonny and me as their opposite team. We were beating them pants down, when Bonny got on Bill's shoulder to play double-decker style. So I carried Bonny atop my neck and shoulders. Bonny and Jill were throwing and catching the Frisbee from their elevated double-decked position, and Bill and I were carrying them and running around to facilitate their catching the incoming Frisbee. Bonny was wearing a mini tennis skirt with a skimpy halter top. She sat on my shoulders with her thighs tightly clasped around my neck and tucked her feet behind my back. We had all been perspiring from the game, I could feel Bonny's perspiration around my neck. I felt it on the skin of her lower thighs where I had to hold her tightly so she didn't fall off. I liked the smell of her perspiration. Partway through the double-decker game, I could feel the wetness increase at the back of my neck where her rose was perched. Was it just the perspiration? I could hear my own heartbeat. One thing that had most troubled me with Bill's proposal was the thievery it called for on my part. I just didn't like the idea of sneaking in on her, under the cover of darkness, under false pretense, incognito. I examined if there was a different way 'to even things out', as Bill put it. Forcing myself to wear my creative hat, I was able to find a different angle. 'What if I thought of myself not as a thief, but as a anonymous donor, a gift wrapped in darkness? Then it would be up to Bonny to unwrap me and utilize me however she wanted. If she didn't want to use the gift, then that is fine too.' The idea appealed to me. The idea was similar to Santa Anonymous, who comes at night and leaves anonymous gifts. If the gift brings joy and smiles to the recipient, that is the most important thing. Also, playing the Frisbee game had helped me lower my stress level, and with lowered stress, my mind had resolved an important dilemma. The Frisbee game had helped me in two ways. Jill's climbing up on Bill's shoulder I took as a signal she was giving me as to which way she wanted to go. For her and me. That is, assuming that she was aware of what had taken place the previous night. But all her behavioral indications were that she was not. But then what if she was being a character in Mopasant's short stories? Secondly, the wetness I felt in the back of my neck made me wonder if Bill had confessed to his wife Jill. Had she produced anticipatory secretions, I wondered. Yes, now that I thought about it, it was too much of a risk for him to keep her totally in the dark about what might go on when daylight would give way to darkness. On the other hand, I am sure she would have given him hell for what he had done and what he was suggesting. Especially him knowing me as he did, would think that I would not take up his offer, and so he would feel it safe to let sleeping dogs sleep. (What a terrible expression! She certainly is no dog). Much hesitancy and unwillingness remained in my mind even when Bill and I had started walking back to our tents from our before-bedtime shower. Bill who hadn't said anything on this since we were on our way to fishing said, "Johnny, I know how you feel, but I would feel we are quits if you go into my tent to-night, even for a little while. I will sit out and watch the stars or go for a stroll." Then, casually he added, "And by the way, Bonny likes to 69." He looked at me, and I looked at him. His eyes said I WAS going to take his offer. My eyes said I was NOT going to take his offer. But what he said last made me remember african saying that, 'Tonguenikaa naa nikaa'. It seemed possible to climb down from the horns of the dilemma I was in and at the same time relieve the horniness I was feeling deep down. I was still thinking about it when we neared our tents. And Bill said loudly, "OK Johnny you want to sit out a bit and absorb the stillness of the night and watch the stars, But I am going in". Then he nudged me towards his tent. His loudness was obviously meant for the girls - for Bonny to think that Bill was coming in, and for Jill to think I was on a star gazing walk outside. He was providing a cover for me to go do his wife Bonny and come out, while he sat outside, and then we would return to our own tents. His pushing me towards his tent was the last straw. The die had been cast for me. I had to go in do the needful for the sake of retaining our friendship. I also had to abide by the advice that my wife had given, for my buddy presumably, but fit my situation to a T. So, half reluctantly, and with a throbbing heart and other body parts and tools, I entered Bill's (Bonny's ) tent and pulled the zipper down, the tent zipper I mean. ---------------------------------------------- Continued in Camping Delights Chapter 5. Jill's Diary for Saturday. By Meiraj@aol.com -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----