Trilobite (Part 1)

"Hurricane Reginald is on its way," said Greg Barron, walking into his bedroom. "It's losing its power, but the weathermen reckon it'll still pack a powerful wallop when it gets here on Saturday."

But Sophie Caldwell was not thinking about the weather. She was wrinkling her nose up in disgust as she held up the outfit her boyfriend had picked out for her. "You expect me to wear that?" she asked incredulously.

"Why not?" Greg responded defensively. "When else would you wear it except to go out of an evening?"

"I wouldn't! That's the point! I'd look like a slut, and I certainly don't want to project that impression, thank you very much."

"Do you think your sister looks like a slut when she wears similar things?" Greg inquired.

"Quite frankly, yes! Although I'd never say so to her face of course."

"Well I think she looks great," muttered Greg rebelliously. "I think it's very commendable that she isn't afraid to show a bit of leg and a bit of cleavage. This isn't the Victorian age, you know."

"Nor is it the sixties," replied Sophie sharply. "That skirt's a ridiculous length and few women these days would be seen dead in it."

"What rot!" retorted Greg. "If you go out to a night-club, you'll see plenty of skirts like this … and shorter! Your sister…"

"My sister," snapped Sophie, "has problems. But if you think she's so great, why don't you dump me and go out with her?"

This shut Greg up, as it usually did. Secretly Greg did indeed harbour a deep longing for Sophie's sister, but he knew the attraction was not mutual. Besides, of the two girls, Sophie was actually better looking, and also had more in common with him. Sophie loved classical music; Greg played second violin in his local orchestra. He also played the organ at his church, which Sophie attended. Both of them had had a strict religious upbringing (though Greg was not nearly so puritanical in outlook as Sophie). Most importantly perhaps, both of them were passionate about animals - Greg was a practising veterinarian, and Sophie worked part time as a volunteer at an Animal Rescue centre.

Greg loved Sophie, but sometimes his patience was worn rather thin by her propensity for changing the television channel if the programme looked like it was getting 'too racy'. He was also often frustrated by her unadventurousness in bed. She had held on to her virginity so long that their first time together had been a magical experience, but months of all-too-similar evenings in bed with her had taken their toll - Greg was bored.

He had tried all kinds of things. He had suggested other positions - Sophie was dead against that. He had tried to encourage her to dress sexily - but her preference was for jeans and long-sleeved woolly sweaters. He had once tried to fondle her in public, and she had almost bitten his head off in her fierce rebuke. He had bought her a vibrator for her last birthday (as well as a book he knew she wanted), and she had barely spoken to him for the rest of the day.

He really did love her, but unless something radical changed in their relationship he was not sure how long he could stick around. "Look sweetheart," he said gently, "we need to talk about our relationship. It's…"

Sophie stopped folding clothes and looked at him expectantly. "Yes?" she said, and pursed her lips as she awaited his explanation.

"Our sex life … it's … dull!" Greg shrugged and, ignoring the frown on Sophie's face, persisted. "You won't try anything new, you seem to see sex as a necessary evil or something … and you never show an inch of skin even though you've got a beautiful body… It's driving me nuts!"

"You set far too much store on sex, young man," said Sophie disapprovingly, and she resumed folding her clothes.

"And you set far too little store on it!" exclaimed Greg. "Sex is a big part of any relationship, and it's got to be fulfilling for both partners otherwise the relationship just can't work! Pretty soon you'll find I just won't be able to get it up one of these nights - and it'll be because there's never any variety in what we do in bed!"

"I don't see myself getting 'fulfilled'," observed Sophie. "But it's not important to me, because I know that relationships are founded on more than just sex."

"You're not fulfilled," said Greg, getting ever more worked up, "because you never want me to go down on you! I'm sorry my screwing technique doesn't seem to do the trick, but I would try other methods if I could!"

"Mouths are for mouths, genitals are for genitals," said Sophie. "And don't be crude. 'Screwing' indeed!"

"Somehow I don't think you're taking me seriously here!" exclaimed Greg. "Our relationship is in crisis, and you scold me for bad language?"

Sophie stopped folding her clothes and sighed. "I'm sorry Greg," she said. "But I guess you and I just have different attitudes to sex. I don't enjoy it - I admit that. But I don't feel I'm missing anything special - my life is just fine the way it is. Now answer me this: have I ever refused you sex?"

"Yes!" Greg threw up his hands. "That time in the woods, for a start."

"I meant at night, when we're in bed."

"No, but that's part of the problem - we only ever do it in one place. Even the sitting room floor … or something … would be nice. Different. A breath of fresh air!"

Sophie shook her head. "I don't understand how having sex in a different room would help."

"No," said Greg bitterly. "You don't understand… That's the problem. I know you think I'm some kind of pervert, but I'm not - I'm just an ordinary man with sexual needs. Look, perhaps we can go to a marriage guidance counsellor or something…"

"We're not married."

"Well we're living together - it's practically the same thing. See, now you're splitting hairs!" Greg took a deep breath, trying to keep calm. "We need to see somebody, Sophie … get some help … or our relationship will collapse."

Sophie feared this more than she was letting on. She had seen this coming, of course, though she had pretended not to. She had thought herself quite a good lover, allowing Greg to 'do his business' every night, or at least whenever he was in the mood. But lately he had been in the mood less and less, and although part of her welcomed this trend, another part worried that he was losing interest in her. From listening to her colleagues' chatter, she had realised that she was unusual in disliking sex, but she had put this thought to the back of her mind and hoped that Greg would remain happy with the status quo.

Was there something wrong with her? Her principles were those of her mother, she knew - but her mother's dominance over her timid father was not something she aspired to herself. Perhaps going to see a counsellor would help … but the idea was abhorrent. Maybe she could try to change … maybe it wouldn't be so bad … if the curtains were properly closed and if they put the inflatable mattress on the floor, maybe she could consent to having sex in the sitting room…

For she did love Greg. He was the nicest man she had ever met, and she was longing for him to ask her to marry him. She figured he would, eventually … but that was looking increasingly unlikely in the light of his current frustration. Yet if she made some small concessions, perhaps she could hang on to him. He had, after all, given up several things for her - his smoking and his unhealthy obsession with masturbation being the main bad habits she'd helped him break - so it was probably only fair that she make some kind of effort to allay his concerns about their relationship.

She picked up the short dress that her wayward sister had given her two years ago. "If I wear this," she said, "will it really make that much of a difference to how you feel?"

Greg's eyes widened. "Yes, absolutely!" he said. "You see it's not just the sex itself - it's the attitude, the approach to life… And if you wear that dress it will tell me that you're willing to make sacrifices to make our relationship work, which will mean a lot to me."

Sophie nodded. "Very well," she said, "I'll wear it."

Wordlessly Greg took her into his arms and hugged her tightly. Sophie hugged him back for a full minute before they drew apart.

"Want to see me in it?" she asked playfully, and Greg nodded with enthusiasm.

She took off her jeans, sweater and t-shirt, and donned the dress. It was skin-tight and stretchy, hugging her contours and showing off a good deal more cleavage than she had ever shown before. Her stomach seemed to be flipping over and over as she imagined herself outside, in public, showing so much of her chest. It was quite frightening. And it was so short! It did not even reach mid-thigh - she felt practically naked.

Bravely, she gave Greg a twirl, and said "How do I look?"

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Greg, clapping his hands. "You look amazing … perfect … sexy and beautiful. I'll be so proud to go out with you tonight, when you're wearing that!"

Sophie smiled, her stomach still skipping at the prospect of leaving the house in this outfit. "What time do you want to leave?" she asked.

Greg looked at his watch. "In about twenty minutes," he said. Then he regarded her bottom with narrowed eyes. "You have a bit of a visible panty-line thing going there," he observed.

Sophie walked over to the full-length mirror and turned around. "Oh, yes," she agreed, her expression troubled. "Well I'm not sure what I can do about that…"

"If you had any thongs, I'd suggest you wear one," remarked Greg.

"Yes, but I don't," said Sophie shortly.

"That leaves only one option, really," said Greg. "You'll have to go without panties."

"Gregory Valentine!" exclaimed Sophie in dismay. "How could you even suggest such a thing?"

Greg's eyebrows warred for control over his forehead. "Why not?" he responded, somewhat aggrieved. "The skirt's not so short that anyone would be seeing your panties anyway, so what would it matter if you weren't wearing any?"

"It's the principle of the thing!" replied Sophie hotly. "I'm not the kind of girl who goes around without underwear!"

Greg remained unflapped. "A few minutes ago," he said, "you weren't the kind of girl who'd wear a dress like that. But what kind of girl are you talking about? A girl who doesn't wear underwear is not by definition a slut, you know. Sometimes it's sheer practicality. I'd be making the same suggestion if that was a skin-tight ankle-length dress."

"That's as may be," said Sophie, struggling to control her temper, "but I'll keep my panties on, thank you very much. I'll live with the panty-line."

Greg sighed but did not argue.

Twenty minutes later they were getting into the car. Sophie was glad it was nearly dark, for she was none too keen on the idea of her neighbours seeing her in this dress. She was relieved when she was safely in the car with the door closed. The drive to the pub took a quarter of an hour, and Sophie fidgeted nervously all the way. Greg, noticing her discomfort, soothed her with words of encouragement, and held her hand when he was not changing gears.

Sophie still had stomach butterflies when they pulled into the pub car park, but she was feeling a little better thanks to Greg's reassuring tone and comforting words. This was a very big step for her, and it was entirely possible that the experience would be so awful that she would never contemplate repeating it, but if that was to be the case, she did not want such a failure to be her fault. She would do everything she could to play her part well - she would not defeat herself in her own head before she'd even given the experience a chance. Perhaps it would not be too horrible.

On an impulse, she lifted her bottom off the seat, reached up under her dress, and began to pull her panties down. Startled, Greg asked her what she was doing.

"What does it look like?" she said. "I'm fixing my panty-line." She tucked them under the seat.

They got out of the car, Sophie shivering as a cold breeze announced its presence against her bare pussy. Nervously she clung to Greg's arm as they walked into the pub, where a rather larger crowd than usual was gathered.

"Hullo," said Greg in puzzlement. "Looks like there's some kind of event going on here." He spotted one of his darts friends and tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey Steve, what's going on?"

"Hypnotist," replied Steve laconically. "You're just in time for the start of the show."

"Cool!" exclaimed Greg. "Sweetie look - there's a hypnotist here!"

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Oh yes? Looks like we came on the wrong night."

"The right night, you mean," said Greg. "What's the matter? Aren't you interested in seeing him practise his art?"

Sophie snorted in derision. "Art? He'll be a charlatan like all the rest. Hypnotism's just a big con. Only the truly weak-minded are really affected, and even then the suggestive power of the hypnotist's words are down purely and simply to psychology."

"That's a pretty sceptical view!" Greg frowned a little. "Well I'm interested in seeing him at work, even if you're not." He began to push his way towards the front, with Sophie in tow.

A number of seats had been laid out in front of a makeshift platform, and most were occupied. However, Greg and Sophie managed to find a pair of seats next to each other in the front row, and they sat down just as the hypnotist made his way on to the platform. Sophie, rather conscious of how short her skirt was, pulled it down as far as she could towards her knees. This did very little good - when she let go the hem sprang immediately back to mid-thigh.

"Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen," began the hypnotist in a thick North of England accent. "My name's 'Erbert. 'Erbert the 'Ypnotist. Kind thanks to all of you that turned up - donations to the 'Ypnotists Benevolence Fund will be gratefully received after the show. Right then, I need a volunteer, a gentleman per'aps, yes sir, you'll do very nicely. What's your name sir? Roger? Well we won't 'old that against you. Give the young man a nice round of applause ladies and gentlemen, won't you? Okay then young Roger, sit yourself down, there you go. Not an epileptic are you? That's good - sorry but I 'ave to ask. Now if you would be good enough to stare at this 'ere rotating card, don't worry if yer eyes go buggy, that's the general idea… Now then ladies and gents, Roger will shortly be entering a trance-like state, much as me wife does once a week in bed, or twice if I'm lucky. Still watching the card Roger? Good lad. Yer eyelids getting a bit droopy there? Don't worry about that - if you 'ave to close 'em, go ahead. You can feel yourself becoming sleepy there, can't you? Sleepier, and sleepier … your eyes are growing weary … I'll count to three, and on 'three' your eyes will close. One … two … three. There … that's it. Now Roger, the only thing you will 'ear from now on is the sound of me voice. Any other sounds you 'ear, or think you 'ear, will be coming from far away and you'll pay no 'eed to 'em. Nod once if you understand."

Roger nodded slowly.

"When I count to three, Roger, you'll find you can open your eyes. You'll try to get up. But you'll find yourself unable to lift yourself out of the chair. It will feel like someone's superglued you to the chair. You won't panic - you'll just keep trying unsuccessfully to pull your trousers free from the chair. Then, when I say 'sleep', you'll fall asleep again. One … two … three."

Immediately Roger opened his eyes and started to get up. A look of bewilderment crossed his face and he looked down at his legs. Frowning, he braced his hands against the chair and pushed hard, attempting to free his legs. The crowd roared with laughter but Roger did not appear to hear them.

"He's obviously a plant," whispered Sophie to Greg. "I've never seen anything so stupid."

"Lighten up, will you?" said Greg crossly. "I think it's genuine - and quite funny!"

Roger struggled valiantly with the chair for another few seconds before Herbert said 'Sleep', and once more he fell into a trance. Sophie clicked her tongue in disapproval.

"Now then Roger, this time when I count to three, you'll open your eyes and find that you 'ave an itch. It'll start on your left arm, then it'll move across your body, getting itchier all the time. You'll realise that there's some kind of bug under your clothes, per'aps a flea. So you'll go looking for it. When I tell you to 'sleep' again, the itching will stop and you'll fall asleep. One, two, three."

Roger woke up and began to scratch his left arm absent-mindedly. Then he started to scratch his chest, then his stomach, then his side, and then his back. Grimacing in frustration, he untucked his shirt and began rooting around underneath his clothing for the non-existent flea until Herbert, laughing along with the crowd, finally said 'Sleep'.

"All right Roger, when I count to three you'll wake up, and you'll remember nothing since you first sat down in this chair. One, two, three."

Roger opened his eyes, and continued sitting in the chair while the crowd applauded.

"Thanks very much Roger - you can go back to your seat now," said Herbert with a smile.

"Huh?" said Roger. "I thought you were going to hypnotise me."

The crowd howled with laughter. Bewildered, Roger got up and made his way back to his seat.

"Oh my God, that was so lame!" Sophie said loudly, wrinkled her nose in disgust. "So fake! Roger was so obviously in on it from the start."

"Give it a rest, will you?" hissed Greg, as the hypnotist glanced their way with a brief look of annoyance.

"Next volunteer please?" Herbert now announced. "A young lady this time?"

When no hands were raised, Greg nudged Sophie. "Why don't you volunteer?" he suggested. "If he's a fake you'll show him up."

"All right - I will!" Sophie stuck her hand in the air.

"Ah, the young sceptic at the front," said Herbert. "That's grand. 'Ow old are you Miss?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm twenty-four," said Sophie.

"Sit yourself down there. Actually it is my business - I can't 'ypnotise anyone under twenty-one. What's your name?"

"Sophie."

"Well Sophie, I take it you don't think I can 'ypnotise you, that right?"

"Quite frankly, no - I think you're a fraud," Sophie replied boldly.

"Is that so? Well it's impossible to 'ypnotise someone against their will - or very 'ard, anyway - so if yer goin' to fight it, I won't even bother tryin'."

"I won't fight," said Sophie with a shrug. "I won't have to."

"Okay, then if you could just stare at this card 'ere for a few moments…" He held a device with a rotating card in front of Sophie's face, about ten inches away from her eyes and a little above her line of sight. As she watched the spiral pattern go round and round, Sophie thought with amusement that this was going to be very embarrassing for Herbert - he obviously really thought he could hypnotise her. Nevertheless, the effort of both raising and converging her eyes made them somewhat tired after only a couple of minutes, and when Herbert told her that her eyelids were beginning to feel heavy, she had to concede that he was right. Pretty soon she was having to blink every few seconds, though she tried to keep focused on the card - she wanted to show Herbert up as a charlatan, but she knew that to do so she would have to pretend she was going along with it. If he thought that she was fighting against it, he would immediately cease his attempt to hypnotise her.

As Herbert's northern accent droned on, Sophie found it increasingly difficult to pay attention to both the card and his words. By the time she realised that she was no longer looking at the card but the inside of her own eyelids it was, of course, too late to do anything about it.

Greg chuckled to himself as he watched. Sophie certainly did look as if she was now in a trance. This would teach her to scoff at hypnotism! He found he was rather looking forward to seeing Sophie make a bit of a fool of herself - she was normally very prim and proper.

"You can 'ear nothing but me voice, Sophie," Herbert was saying. "Any other sounds you think you 'ear are just coming from the television in the other room. Now, when I count to three you'll open your eyes and suddenly realise that you're not as fit as you'd like to be. In fact you'll decide to start exercising at once. You'll jog on the spot, do star-jumps, stretching exercises … anything that comes to mind. If your dress starts riding up, you won't bother pulling it down as you're alone in the room and nobody can see you. You'll carry on exercising until I say 'sleep', whereupon you'll sit down in the chair and fall asleep. One … two … three."

Greg sat rooted to the spot, staring in shock as Sophie got to her feet and began jogging on the spot. Her hem immediately began to climb, and pretty soon Greg began to catch glimpses of her pubic hair as her knees kicked up to the horizontal. He wondered if he should call a halt to the proceedings - the crowd had gone utterly quiet and all the men were staring fixedly at Sophie's crotch - Sophie would be outraged if she knew what they were seeing!

Sophie now began touching her toes, and this caused the dress to climb still higher. By the time she began her star-jumps, the hem was on a level with her hips and her pussy was fully exposed. Greg squirmed in his seat, torn between his desire to protect his girlfriend and, well, his desire. Delaying his intervention a little longer and a little longer, he barely blinked as Sophie's dress parted company with her bottom entirely, the hem now gathered around her waist.

"Sleep," said Herbert, and Sophie immediately sat on the chair and closed her eyes, still breathing heavily from her exertions. "Now, when I count to three, you will realise you're now 'ot and sweaty after yer exercise. You'll take your clothes off, step into the shower (which you'll see just to the left of your chair), and you'll turn on the tap. You'll immediately feel warm water cascading over you, and you'll start to wash yourself. Whenever you 'ear this noise …" and here Herbert made a noise that sounded like a cork popping out of a wine bottle, "… you'll remember that there's an automatic soap dispenser attached to the wall, and you'll cup your 'ands beneath it to get some soap. 'Owever, next time you 'ear that sound you'll forget that you've already 'ad some soap out of it."

Now Herbert winked at the crowd, who stared back in expectant awe. Herbert walked off the platform, stepped behind the bar for a moment, and emerged pulling a makeshift 'shower' cubicle. It was really just a tough plastic square base with three transparent plastic walls about six-and-a-half feet high, and a ceiling to hold them in place. A non-functioning shower-head and tap were fixed to one of the walls. Herbert set this contraption next to Sophie's chair, and said "One, two, three."

Greg began to rise from his chair, transfixed by the sight of his beloved yet normally prudish Sophie beginning to disrobe in front of a room full of strangers. He stood up straight and opened his mouth to tell the hypnotist to stop Sophie from going any further, but he was unceremoniously shoved back into his seat by a man in the row behind. "Do you mind?" the man said irritably. "I'm trying to see!"

Stunned, Greg watched as Sophie pulled her dress up over her head and tossed it to one side, oblivious to the wolf-whistles and cheers that erupted from the crowd. She kicked off her shoes, then unclasped her bra, slipped it from her shoulders, and cast it aside. Now completely naked, she stepped into the 'shower', and turned on the tap. Instantly she reacted as if she had been hit by a spray of warm water, and she turned herself around slowly under the shower head, running her hands through her long auburn hair to get it wet. It didn't get even remotely damp, of course, but the power of the hypnotic delusion was so great that she did not notice this.

With her back to the shower head, Sophie was facing the audience, so the onlookers were treated to a full-frontal view of her shapely breasts and neatly-trimmed pussy. The noise was deafening, yet still Sophie heard nothing, until Herbert made a popping sound with his mouth. Immediately, Sophie blinked her eyes, screwing them up against the imaginary falling water, and put out her hands underneath a bottomless but currently empty dispenser that was affixed to one of the transparent walls. On the other side of the wall Herbert, with a knowing grin at the audience, unscrewed the lid of a bottle of salad cream. He shoved the opened bottle through a hole in the wall and into the dispenser, turned it upside down, and shook it. The contents of the bottle emptied into Sophie's cupped hands, and straight away she began applying it to her body as if it were soap.

She rubbed the salad cream into her breasts, over her arms, down her belly, and even massaged it into her pussy as she rubbed briefly between her legs. Then, covered in streaks of the pale yellow liquid, she began to give her legs a similar treatment. The audience whooped and cheered. Greg cringed into his seat, his thoughts see-sawing from arousal to terror at the thought of what Sophie would do when she snapped out of the trance. Could he stop this? Should he? If he broke the trance now, the consequences could be terrible. If, on the other hand, he waited until the end of the show, Herbert would ensure that Sophie remembered nothing about this little adventure.

Herbert made a popping sound again. Instantly Sophie stuck her hands back under the dispenser. This time Herbert was ready with an opened can of baked beans. Once its contents had been emptied into her hands, Sophie applied the beans liberally to her breasts, belly, pussy, legs and bottom (though sadly the audience did not get to see much of the last of these).

Another popping sound, and this time it was chocolate syrup. Sophie was by now coated in a thick and sticky covering made up of several messy foodstuffs, but somehow this escaped her attention. A jar of honey was the next item on the menu, and it was followed by a tin of creamed rice, a can of spaghetti hoops in tomato sauce, and a large tin of reddish-purple cherry pie filling. The last time Herbert made his popping sound, he filled Sophie's hands with a mountain of whipped cream which he sprayed from a can.

Finally, Herbert said "Sleep!" and Sophie's eyes closed. She swayed slightly on the spot, though she did not fall. "When I count to three," said Herbert, "you'll step out of the shower and realise you're dry. You'll put on yer bra, yer dress and yer shoes, and you'll go back to the chair next to the shower. You won't notice that yer body's sticky - you'll feel perfectly clean and refreshed. Yer 'ands will feel a bit damp so you'll wipe them thoroughly on yer dress."

A flash of light caught Greg's eye, and he turned to look behind him. There, in the seat just behind the one next to his, Greg saw one of his friends, Stan, who was a regular at this pub. Stan was holding a small digital camera and was staring wide-eyed at Sophie's naked, messy body.

"Hey!" exclaimed Greg. "Have you been taking pictures of my girlfriend?"

Stan nodded. "S-sorry," he said. "Am I n-not supposed to?"

Greg considered this, then shrugged. "Just keep them to yourself, will you?"

"Okay," said Stan. "G-good idea. Then n-nobody else b-but us two w…w…w-will kn-know w…w-what happened here."

Greg frowned. "Sarcastic bugger," he muttered.

Sophie was now putting on her bra, not noticing that Herbert had filled both cups with mounds of whipped cream. It splurged over the top of her bra as she pulled the garment taut and fastened it. Then she picked up her dress and pulled it over her head. Pulling it down to a respectable position, she stepped into her shoes, then wiped her hands on her bottom. Sitting down in the chair, she closed her eyes when Herbert said "Sleep" again.

"Now," said Herbert, once he had dragged the 'shower stall' off the platform and returned to Sophie's side. "When I count to three, you'll wake up. You still won't feel any stickiness, you'll feel clean, and you'll be convinced you weren't even 'ypnotised at all. When you get 'ome, you'll 'ave a shower and wash yer clothes, though you still won't notice that they're messy. One, two, three."

Sophie opened her eyes, just as Herbert put the rotating card back in front of her face.

"Nope," sighed Herbert. "I suppose some people are just immune to 'ypnotism. Shame really. Never mind. Well Sophie, you can go back to yer seat. Thanks for trying."

Sophie smirked as she rejoined Greg. "See?" she said. "Charlatan. If he doesn't have a plant, he's screwed."

Greg, rather red in the face, cleared his throat. "Well," he said, "it could be that you're just particularly strong-minded."

There was a choking noise from behind Sophie, and Greg turned to see Stan trying not to laugh. He glared at his friend, then turned back to Sophie. "Well, shall we go?" he suggested. "It's a bit more crowded in here than I would have liked, and this hypnotism show isn't proving that interesting."

"Okay." Sophie nodded. "Well, did I do my duty at least? Wearing this dress I mean?"

"Oh yes," said Greg heavily. "You certainly did your duty. Come on."

As they got to their feet, Greg noticed Stan flicking through the photos he'd taken on his camera. The screen was too small for Greg to see the photos properly, but he made a mental note to get a look at those pictures sometime…