. . come on . . ." Again and again he turned the key,waiting for the familiar sound of a fuel-injected ignition coming tolife. "Oh, come on . . ." May...e the gas-gage was broken and he'd juststalled. Maybe he was sitting on a full tank and the engine was just alittle damp. The only thing he COULDN'T hope for was an extra can of gasin back -- between the smelly old bed, the monstrous speaker system, andthe beer- fridge, there was no room! "Fuck it!" With a sigh of disgust, he turned. Petersen and young JennyI was still a newby indeed and completely naive - she needed to explain me in private about PetersenI still remember that character very well: owner of an adult bookshop in England with spanking mags!I am a muse for my first female friend: the elder gentleman Mr. Peterson is me! - I still blushI learned from her private messages that she modelled that chap Petersen to the image she had of meIndeed my apartment is a bit similar: shelves with books everywhere, many with. More

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