Message-ID: <7542eli$9801191719@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: tooshoes Subject: SG4: Frisking The Cat - Part 2 (CR: 10,10,10) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii 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: <34C37046.2130020E@cris.com> (continuing) I twisted and moaned, half asleep and half awake, half remembering and half dreaming. I saw myself lying naked on the floor. I was paralyzed from extreme pain and pleasure. Scratches ran down the length of my sides and my legs. My nipples were sore from being sucked. My breasts were bruised from so much squeezing. My pussy was bleeding, and Selina was standing over me with my blood all over her face. She smiled at me. My blood dripped from her long fangs. Andrew crawled beside her and licked the blood from her lips. Then he turned his attention to me, and bore into me with a terrible glare, yelling something that didn't make sense. It sounded like . . . . . . the doorbell. I sat up quickly and looked around. I was in my bedroom, and the clock said 7 am. Calvin was lying at the foot of my bed, looking up at me. I was naked under the sheets. I wasn't bleeding or bruised, yet my heart was racing, and my pussy was wet with excitement, ready for fucking again. What was wrong with me? Was I a slave to my sexuality? The doorbell buzzed again, this time longer and more insistently. "Just a second," I yelled. I slipped into a bathrobe, carelessly tossed on my wig, and floated downstairs. I paused at the bottom of the stairs when, looking through the door, I saw who was on the other side. *Shit!* It was Andrew. I hesitated. Why was he here so early in the morning? He knows I sleep in late. He must have known about last night. *Oh, Shit!* What was I gonna say? "Open the door, Linda," he said impatiently from the other side. I unlatched the door and let him in. He didn't look at me or say hello. He walked right past me into the living room to a hard wooden chair, sat down and told me to do likewise. I sat in a wooden chair facing him. I crossed my legs and covered myself as best I could with the bathrobe. Andrew was very angry. He was so angry he wouldn't even look at me. He just stared at the ceiling, collecting himself. For almost a minute, he said nothing. The suspense was almost unbearable. Then he finally said, "Guess what I found in my mailbox about an hour ago." I shivered. "I don't know," I said, but I knew it must have been bad. "A video tape," he spitted out, and then he paused and let the words sink in. I covered my face with my hands and couldn't think of anything to say, except, "Fuck!" "Exactly," Andrew replied. "What the fuck happened? What makes you feel worse? That you let Selina get away, or that there were still a few men that you didn't fuck last night?" "Stop it!" I said, a little shocked, a little angry. He didn't have the right to talk to me that way. I didn't even think he was capable of talking that way. "It's not like I had a choice. She *made* me do it!" "That's not the way it looked on the tape," Andrew said. "You didn't even try to stop them." "I couldn't! She threatened to kill the security guards if I didn't do what she wanted," I told him, but not convincingly. It was the truth, but it felt like a lie. It was just a convenient excuse. Even so, it surprised Andrew, and he lowered his tone. "What do you mean?" "Weren't you listening? That's what she said." Andrew shook his head, "The tape didn't have sound, just visual. But what security guards? There were no security guards. And there was no bomb." "I thought they were guards. They looked like guards. I didn't know they were just her friends. And I thought maybe the bomb was hidden, maybe in lead." I said, clinging to my excuse, no matter how lame it seemed, no matter how much I might have even enjoyed last night, it wasn't something I chose to do. Andrew shook his head. "So you just let them all fuck you. With all of your powers, you could have done *something!*" "Like what?" "I don't know! You might have tried to threaten her. You might have at least objected, instead of begging for more. You are going to make me look really bad, when I have to show this tape to the agency. How can I justify hiring you now? What do we do if she makes this tape public?" I shuddered at the thought. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to let you down." "And what was all this crap about the t-shirt and the shorts? How did they get your costume?" "They stole it from me a few days ago on the train. I didn't know who they were then," I said, hoping he wouldn't press for details. "They stole it from you?" Andrew was surprised and more than a little confused. I just nodded, expecting to be grilled. *Please don't push me*, I wished. I knew if he pushed, I'd have to tell him the truth about that train ride. I was a terrible liar. "And when were you gonna share this information with me? I thought we were on the same team." "So did I," I replied, remembering Selina's last words before she left. I was grateful to turn the blame back on him. "When were *you* gonna tell *me* about your connection with Selina?" "My connection . . .?" Andrew paused as if hit from out of nowhere. "I didn't think that mattered. It was need- to-know information only." "I think I needed to know. Last night . . . the museum . . . it was all a trap. They knew I was coming. They knew you were sending me," I said angrily, fighting my way out of the corner of blame. "She told me to tell you that, like always, she was one step ahead of you." Andrew looked shocked. He stood up and looked around the apartment. He closed the blind to the window, then he examined the lamps and the furniture, until he found a thin wire emerging from a hole in the rug and disappearing into the sofa. He tore it loose with much more force than was necessary. "That bitch!" "So what is this all about?" I pushed, more curious than angry, now that I was no longer in the hot seat. Andrew shook his head and looked away. "I hired her to work for the agency several months ago." "You did what? You hired a criminal? What for?" "To help us get close to the major players in Gotham City. It made sense at the time. She had contacts we could never have. I thought she'd make a great double agent. We had a second agent watching her from the other side, in case she decided to betray us." Andrew shook his head, and either laughed or sighed. Despite his anger, he half smiled in amazement. "We never expected that she'd betray both sides." "What did she do?" I asked. "I mean, it must have been something pretty awful." Andrew glared at me and said, "I don't think you need to know any more." "Why? Was it something personal?" I asked, stepping closer. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. Let's just say we both have good reasons to get her now." So it *was* personal! My mind fluttered with ideas of what it might have been. Did she steal from him? Were they lovers? Andrew walked away from me, as if he was afraid I might ask these questions. He walked straight for the door, and then he half turned towards me, saying, "We can't let her get away with this. I'll contact you tonight." "So you still want me to work with you?" I asked, barely believing it. He nodded. "Sure, and you can keep the video tape. I made copies before I left." I watched him leave, wondering and worrying what he meant by that. I laid on the couch, trying to catch up on some of the sleep I had lost that morning, but I was too anxious. I stared unseeing at the television, instead, feeling confused and ashamed and afraid. And then, as my mind awakened, I began to feel angry. I guess I can be pretty dense sometimes. Anyone would have known what he meant by that, except me. Maybe I knew what he meant all along, but it took a while for me to believe the obvious. I liked Andrew ever since I had met him, and I thought that he liked me, too, even when he had trapped me, even when he spied on me. If I like a man, I can look past ten flaws to the one wonderful thing about him. Andrew trapped me, but then he let me go. He would spy on me, but then he'd apologize, saying sometimes he hated his job, but he had to do it. He'd talk to me for days like he was my best friend. I thought he had a weakness for me. I thought maybe part of him secretly loved me. Even if it were true, he still wanted to keep me on a leash. That video tape was a leash, and he could use it to keep me in line. He saw what happened when he let me loose, like at the museum. He was angry at me, like a master would be angry at a pet for pooping on the floor. He wouldn't let me loose again. He was even angrier at the Catwoman. It wasn't just the anger he might have towards just any criminal. She was like a disobedient pet. She was the pet that scratched up his prized possessions. She was the pet that knocked the vase off of the mantel. She was the pet that ran away. And I was the pet that would pay the price. I hated being a part of his control games. As these thoughts of pets and cats haunted my mind, I thought about Calvin, and how I hadn't seen him at all since Andrew left. Usually when I'm lying on the couch, Calvin will leap up and cuddle with me, purring and demanding attention, making me feel better, but when I looked for him now, I saw him crouching in the corner. "What's the matter, Calvin?" I asked. "Did that big, bad man scare you?" He just stared at me, as though I was the stranger, not Andrew. I waited for a minute, just watching him, wondering what was wrong. He didn't look hurt, yet he just eyed me suspiciously and kept his distance. I forgot about Andrew and Selina and the anger I was feeling, as I watched Calvin, His distrust made me feel lonely and rejected. Sad to say, Calvin was my best friend, and he had always loved me unconditionally. Until now, anyway. Finally, Calvin stood up, stretched and said, "Meow". He leaped onto the couch. He rubbed his head against my belly. When I stroked his neck and back, he arched into my hand and purred. "That's a good boy!" I whispered, as I rubbed his neck and back. I sheltered him and consoled him like I wished someone would do for me. I treated him like a pet should be treated. . . Not that I wanted for Andrew to treat me like a pet. I worked for him, and I only wanted for him to treat me with the respect an employer should have for his employees. Employees should be respected, and pets should be loved. No matter how he thought of me, he wasn't treating me right. He was using me, and I didn't want to be used anymore. My eye twitched and I felt my whole body shiver, when I had a shameful realization: I've let people use me for most of my life. Even worse, I think I *wanted* people to use me, to take control of me. Carol loved to play with my emotions, and I loved the games she played. My father was very stern, and sometimes I think I earned his love by always doing as I was told. I can barely even think about what I let happen with Sam, and I virtually begged Selina to do whatever she wanted with me. No wonder people didn't respect me. I was pretty pathetic! *I won't let anyone do that to me again!* My mind screamed in anger and shame and disgust. *Not Andrew, not anyone!* Just then, Calvin clawed his way from my arms and disappeared in the corner, again. He wouldn't even look out from behind the chair. I hadn't seen him so scared since. . . well, since he was Sam's pet three years ago. What happened? Maybe I let my anger get the best of me, and I squeezed him a little too tight. Maybe I pet him too hard. No, that wasn't it. I was angry, and maybe I wasn't being affectionate, but I was very gentle. I didn't even rub him the wrong way. I kept my ugly emotions inside, showing him only kindness, so unless he could read my mind . . . . . . read my mind! How could I have gone almost four years on Earth without realizing it? I guess I would have realized it earlier if I could read other people's (or cat's) minds. Discovering my other powers was easy. I couldn't miss floating down a flight of stairs, or crushing a telephone in my hand, or seeing through the walls of my dorm room. But how could I have guessed that I was sending psychic signals out? I closed my eyes, breathed in deeply, imagining that my body smelled like catnip and it felt like a warm, soft spot in the sunlight. A moment later, Calvin jumped back on the sofa and nuzzled against my belly. I smiled, now knowing that I was right. Calvin had read my mind. I closed my eyes again and imagined a familiar field with bushes and trees and small mice scurrying through the grass and darting into holes in the ground. Calvin looked quickly up at me, and then around the apartment. He leaped from the sofa and onto the window sill. He stared outside, looking for mice to chase. I closed my eyes again and thought of a giant Rottweiler, staring at Calvin, foaming at the mouth, and barking like thunder. Calvin spun around in panic, fell from the window sill and disappeared under the sofa, as deeply hidden as he could get. Why did I do that? I covered my face, laughing in shame and amazement. I looked under the sofa and saw Calvin staring suspiciously back at me. "I'm sorry Calvin. That was very mean of me." I felt really guilty for scaring him like that, betraying his trust. The funny thing was that I was still smiling, and not in a nice way. I was so amazed by how quickly the predator had become the prey. I hadn't walked the pathways of Metropolis University since I graduated several months ago, but I thought there was no better place to experiment with my newly discovered power. After all, everyone played mind games there, it seemed. When I was a student, I played them, too. I had been hungry for friends, until I learned that with a little teasing in my short skirts and tight t-shirts, I would have as many friends as I could handle. Just rummaging through my old school clothes made me shiver in excitement. I put on a one piece gold colored dress, with a matching gold jacket and gold shoes. Mary once told me that the gold highlighted my long brown hair. She had much better fashion sense than I did, so I believed her. As provocative as my work wardrobe was, my school clothes were twice that. The jacket completely covered my breasts, encouraging curious eyes to either look in my eyes -- or travel south. The dress ended in a microskirt that barely covered my ass and fell less than an inch below my pussy. Unlike the red skirt of my Supergirl costume, this skirt was form fitting, clinging to my ass. Even so, I didn't call very much attention to myself, because roughly half of the women on campus were dressed similarly. The rule among college girls, it seemed, was to dress to the extreme while still being legally decent. Right now, brightly colored tights seemed to be in fashion. I walked past one woman who was wearing purple from head to toe. She reminded me very much of how Selina looked in the museum, except this college girl's tights were not see through -- at least to ordinary eyes. She pushed the limits by shaving her pussy and wearing nothing under her tights, so the shape of her pussy lips were clearly visible, as if the tights were a second skin. I admired that. We were both pushing the limits, really, but she was getting more looks than I was. I could steal some of her attention by just reaching down to pick up a pen -- I might even get the police's attention. But without breaking the rules, I couldn't compete. Miniskirts were falling out of fashion. The skirt flirt has lost some of it's mystery, because everyone knew that most women were completely decent underneath. Tights gave men more too look at, but left less for their imagination or anticipation, so I knew that some day soon, miniskirts would come back. Men just needed to start believing again. They were tired of watching a closed cookie jar, just in case it might open. They were tired of the promise of paradise, but no sign of it. They wanted a glimmer of hope, like a mirage in the horizon, or a rumor of a sighting, just to keep their faith alive. And then I smiled as I realized I could give them exactly what they wanted. I paused for a moment at a crossroads, letting people pass around me, and I concentrated on my appearance. I thought especially hard about my miniskirt, imagining that it was two inches shorter. I imagined that my pussy lips were barely visible to people walking by. They were just a hint of pink below the gold hemline. When I opened my eyes, half of the people within thirty yards were staring at me. Maybe they were just staring at the weirdo who stopped in the middle of traffic with her eyes closed, I thought, so I started walking again, and sure enough, they were still looking, eyes slightly down, following my ass. This time, with my eyes opened, I concentrated on my leg, and I imagined that a drop of pussy juice was rolling down my thigh, glistening in the sunlight. And wow! What a reaction! I felt everyone's eyes on me now, and a few men were even following close behind. Then, as I emerged from the shadow of a building, I walked into a cool breeze that sent a chill over my body, between my legs, and over my thighs. That's when I felt the moisture -- the tracks of two *real* droplets that had settled behind my knee. I was having so much fun imagining that I didn't know how real my fantasy was. My pussy was overflowing. *Oh, God!* I thought, in shame, and I walked quickly now. Embarrassment brought more excitement, and more evidence. At least I was walking too fast now for people to see. I hurried into the Mulligan Social Science Hall, and found a deserted corner, where I paused to collect myself. This is becoming a habit, I thought to myself as I wiped my legs clean. I keep getting myself into these kinds of situations. I want to be a good girl. I want to be a bad girl. I want to do the right things -- but I want to break all the rules, and I don't want to be caught. Or do I? God, I'm messed up. I need to see a shrink. Which, in a way, is why I was here. "Linda!" Pamela shouted in surprise. She emerged from behind her desk to greet me. She was wearing one of those fashionable skin tight suits, and I felt a little more comfortable. She wouldn't give me those silly Freudian comments, like "penis envy" or like connecting my desires to the death of my father. She was a good-bad girl herself. Besides, she was into much more unorthodox theories. "Hi Pam," I said, as I wrote my name down on the sign-in sheet. "Not much of a crowd here." She shook her head, and glanced away. "Nope, I think I started about twenty years too late. It was a stupid idea for a thesis, really. People just laugh when you say "ESP" today. The only people who come in are religious freaks who think I'm some kind of witch, and students who are desperate for extra credit. Why are *you* here?" "Well, I'm not a religious freak, so I must be looking for extra credit, and I thought it would be kewl to get it from an old friend." Pam looked at me funny. "I thought you graduated." I shook my head, "Almost. I had an incomplete on a psych course, and I have to make it up." Pam looked skeptical, but she wouldn't call me a liar. Why would I lie, anyway? Just to see what I could get away with, of course. "Oh," she said. "So . . . are those the only reasons?" I shrugged. I think she probably asked everyone who walked through her door about their motivations, but it had a special meaning for me. A few years ago, when we were both undergrads, Pam had asked me maybe ten times to do ESP experiments with her, and I always refused. People talked about her behind her back, calling her a flake, and I didn't want to be a part of that. But more importantly, she had a reputation as a lesbian, and I was strictly hetero back then. I didn't want to be a part of her lesbian fantasies. I always suspected that the ESP experiments were just a scheme to get me in bed. But I underestimated Pam's devotion to ESP. She always hoped to do real research on the topic, and finally she had the chance as a graduate student. "I thought you didn't believe in this stuff, Linda," Pam said, maybe feeling used, because I would do this for extra credit, but not just to be a good friend. "I'm sorry, Pam. I guess I didn't have a very open mind back then. It just seemed so ... crazy, but I'm thinking now: if people can fly or turn invisible, anything is possible, right?" "I never thought of it that way," Pam said, less angry. "But you may have been right before. We've tested hundreds of people, and haven't found a single hint of psychic ability in anyone. I don't know why I even do it anymore, and I feel like I'm just going through the motions, now." "Well, let's go through the motions again," I said, with a smile. "You never know when the right person will come along." Pam introduced me to her creation: a kind of isolation booth for two people designed to keep out all noise and external stimuli, fascillitating psychic stimulation -- or so Pam says. To me it looked like one of those confessionals that Catholics use. It even had the slide-away door inside. If I could read Pam's mind, I'm sure I'd find out that she bought it from an old church. But I couldn't read her mind, as part one of her test bore out. Pam read silently from a passage in a book, and asked me what she had just read. "Something about disciplining pets?" I asked. "Huh? Uh, no. Just relax. Try to clear your mind," Pam said. Next she stared at a series of photographs and asked me what she was looking at. "Two women torturing a man?" I asked. "What?" Pam laughed. "No, it's just a picture of a chair. They are very simple pictures, Linda. Just one object." Then she told me that she was thinking of a part of her body -- that this somehow tested emotional signals. "Your nose?" "No," Pam replied, barely hiding her frustration. "I was thinking of my belly button." "Oh, I knew it was something with an opening." "Common, Linda, I know it sounds silly, but please take this seriously," she said as she turned off the light on her side of the booth. A moment later, my side lit up. "Your turn now. We are pretty sure that you aren't a receiver, so lets see if you are a transmitter. Remember, try to think only about the objects in your hand. The passage first . . ." I licked my lips, as I picked up a sealed envelop and opened it. I read silently: "The long playing record has withstood many challenges throughout the twentieth century, starting with wire recorders in the 1920's and then more serious challenges with magnetic tape technology, including reel-to- reel, 8-Track, and cassette tapes. Vinyl did not lose it's market until the advent of digitized sound, starting in the 1980's." "OK," I said, and then yawned. "What did I read?" Pam paused, then asked: "Something boring?" "Yeah . . .?" I said. "What else?" "Something about car tires?" Huh? Car tires? "No, let me read it again," I said and tried to concentrate very hard on what I was reading. "OK, I'm done." Pam paused, then finally guessed, almost desperately, "A chocolate donut?" "No," I said, feeling defeated. "The passage was about phonograph records." I was stunned. I had assumed she'd be able to read my mind -- I never even considered the possibility of failure. Had I just imagined having the power? What about my experiments with Calvin? Maybe I could only communicate with animals. What about the students on campus? Maybe they were just responding to my clothes and my attitude and the excitement running down my legs-- not to what I was thinking. "Hey," Pam said, with a touch of enthusiasm, "that's really not so far off. I mean, they are all round objects with holes. Try the pictures, next." I halfheartedly picked up the first photo. It was a picture of a red pickup truck, driving through a field. "A car," Pam instantly said. "No, a truck. Red, and a lot of grass." I gasped, suddenly awake again. "Well?" Pam asked. "You got it! Dead on!" "No way!" she said, trying to contain her excitement. Surely I must have been joking with her ... "Really, here, look," I said, holding the picture up to where she could see. Her eyes sparkled, but still she wouldn't let herself believe. "Try the next picture." Picture #2 was the Statue of Liberty, which immediately reminded me of Carol. "A dark haired woman," Pam said. "No, not a woman. A statue. The Statue of Liberty?" I showed her the picture, and she almost squealed in delight. "Oh, finally! Finally, we have proof! A real transmitter! Try the next picture." I was very excited, too, but a warning bell went off in my head. What did Pam mean by proof? Was she gonna hold me up as an example? Would she tell everyone about me? If an enemy knew he could read my mind, my power would become his power, and he could use it against me. I had to kill the experiment right now. I didn't look at the next picture. I closed my eyes and imagined a candle stick. "A candle?" Pam asked. I shook my head and showed her a picture of a grandfather clock. "Oh." Pam shrugged, but was still enthusiastic. "Just a fluke. Try the next one." I closed my eyes and imagined myself giving Pam a massage. I moved my hands under the towels, around her breasts. Then I rolled her over and sucked on her nipples. Pam paused, and when she spoke, she sounded embarrassed. "A, uh, massage parlor?" "What?" I asked, laughing and sounding as innocent as I could. I showed her the picture of a personal computer. "Damn," Pam said."The statue and the truck couldn't have just been a coincidence. Try the body part test. Just try and relax and think only about that one body part." I closed my eyes and focused my thoughts on my pussy. I touched myself with a finger, parting the lips, starting the flow. Pam didn't say anything. I slowly massaged my clit, imaging that my finger was her finger. I slipped another finger under the folds and pushed in deep. I hoped my excitement didn't show in my face. Pam still said nothing. I looked through the wall between us, and saw that Pam was shifting in her seat. She was wet, too. I could smell her excitement. "Well?" I asked. "What part of my body am I thinking of?" Pam finally burst out, not wanting to say it, but she probably couldn't think of any other body part at this point. "Your pus --, uh, your genitals?" "What?" I asked, trying to sound upset. "Oh, I'm sorry Linda, I don't know why I thought of that." "Really, Pam . . ." "Try one more picture, please! I know we had some kind of connection." "OK," I closed my eyes and imagined that I was kneeling between Pam's legs, sucking on her clit and squeezing her ass. She was twisting my hair in her hands and screaming out Linda, Oh Linda... "Linda ..." Pam whispered. She was breathing heavily now, and her face was almost red. "Yes, Pam? What was the picture?" "A woman licking..." Pam said, then took a breath, "I mean two women having oral sex." Denying my own needs, I rushed out of the confessional as if in rage. Pam stumbled out behind me. I thought for a second that she might try to kiss me -- she was so excited. I don't know what I would have done if she had kissed me. But she collected herself and said, "I'm really sorry Linda. I don't know why I said those things." "Well, I do," I replied. "And I'm sorry, Pam, but I'm not looking for a lover right now." "Maybe you are right," Pam said, looking totally confused. "Maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see. But please keep me in mind ... when you need a friend." "OK," I said, thinking I might just take her up on that offer someday. I turned towards the door. "Bye, Pam." "But Linda ... what about the extra credit?" I smiled at her, which must have confused her even more, and said, "That's OK. I've decided to go for the full course, instead.." *Oh, that was so MEAN, Linda!* that voice called a conscience said. I smiled. *Fuck that, it was fun! Stop second guessing yourself, girl. The world is yours, if you want it. It's a good day to be Supergirl!.* Why did I always feel that when I was having fun, I was losing control? I looked left and right as I left the Social Science building. A thousand students were walking around, but no one seemed to be watching me. They will be watching soon, I thought, as I removed my wig and put it in my purse. People lose control when they always do what society wants, when they always do what someone else wants, when they never do what they want. Pam should have done what she wanted. I kicked off my shoes. One of them took off like a rocket and landed on the roof of the cafeteria. A man walking nearby stopped dead in his tracks, and stared at me in awe. I smiled, blushing, "Oops!" I walked on the lawn along the sidewalk, feeling the grass between my toes. I had never done that before, even though my feet had begged me to for years. Why didn't I just do what I wanted? Who would it have hurt? Now many people were watching me. Was it really so strange to see someone walking barefoot? Or maybe they were seeing into my mind, anticipating. I slipped out of my jacket and dropped it on the ground, and kept on walking. *Litterbug*, complained my conscience. *Don't be silly -- it's gonna make a good souvenir for someone.* My skin tingled from the cool air and the awareness that a thousand eyes were watching me. A thousand imaginations were seeing my thoughts. So they weren't surprised when I lifted my shirt over my head. I tossed it high in the air. No one saw it land. They were watching my breasts jiggling back into place, finally free of that tight shirt. They were staring at my nipples, triggering that longing to suck, that everyone is born with, and no one quite completely forgets. I was sorry that I had only two nipples for this multitude. My conscience screamed, but the voice just didn't bother me, anymore. Why should I be modest when everyone can see what I'm thinking, anyway? Wherever I go, they are sharing my fantasies, and I never even knew it . . -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |