My fingers edge to the fringeof my thin, sparse, whispy pubic hair, stretch slowly furtherdownward....... and further downward still. I feel nothing, ...nothing butthe pubic hair and soft skin of my smooth groin. Nothing. Please,please let there be something, let me have at least some trace ofmasculinity that will mask the true nature of my humiliation, of myself. I reach even further and my fingers eventually find the source ofthis angst, nestled languidly, softly, timidly on small, smooth,. .....”Brittany just didn't have the words to finish that sentence. Everything she thought of seemed to be too understated. Lisa, as usual, seemed to read her thoughts.“I know, Britt. That was so much more than I ever fantasised it would or could be.”“Oh yeah.”Lisa looked around the mostly deserted truck stop.“I guess we should get dressed and go before we get arrested.”Brittany couldn't believe their luck at not being caught so far. She wondered though if it really was luck or maybe misfortune.. He was here simply because he considered himself a soldier, and did not want another job. Sgt. Haskall was universally respected by the men stationed at Ft. Hayes, including Maj. Kreiker. I guessed that Sgt. Haskall had found a niche that fit him well enough to give him a happy life, and I wished him well.I found myself constantly in contact with Sally Bradford. The contact was very pleasant, especially after I had relieved some of the pressure on me with a visit to the unofficial fort. He only robbed in three directions, so that meant he was probably hiding out in Oklahoma.Our man had another thing that he repeated. He liked to drive an Oldsmobile. Since GM quit making them, he had to steal older cars instead of new, dependable rides. I checked in with the state police in Arkansas to have them check the surrounding states for stolen Olds. I came up with only seven. All were stolen in North Texas and Alabama. I'd bet they were all stolen by my guy. The latest theft was one.