It wasn’t when I heard the stories I decided I’d be that son of a bitch. It was when I first tried to be that son of a bitch and she shot me down ...hat I knew I would have to be that son of a bitch. * * * * * Markus Publishing dealt in all corners of the world. We weren’t a moralistic or upstanding company—we gladly made propaganda for dictators and lied and slandered innocents in the Western press. I had gotten into the inner circle thanks to my friendship with Arthur Markus—I had sent a few. She got the movie set up while I prepared popcorn. I don’t even remember what we ended up watching, some musical set during a war. Other events that night were far more memorable for me.She snuggled up next to me on the couch as soon as I sat down, our bodies pressed together, her lithe form rising and falling against me with each breath, impossible to ignore. Her hand kept creeping towards my crotch, greedily grabbing at popcorn, and then coming to a rest on my upper thigh. Part way through. More

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