The Whole Person






By Perry Brass


(Perry writes per introduction: I wrote “The Whole Person” for Lou Thomas at FirstHand Magazine which had published the earlier story, “The Platinum Ring,” dealing with Devlin Hanson, Smoky’s Uptown wealthy sometime-boyfriend. There was a (slight) movement at the time, the late 1980s, to combine gay porno with other genres, like cowboy stories or who-done-its; this story is more of a thriller and Lou was very taken with it. The late great gay writer John Preston had been writing a series of gay thriller novels involving a character named Alex Kane. Lou thought this story was much better than the Alex Kane stories, which really pleased me. John Preston and I became friends toward the end of his life (he died of HIV complications in 1994); I always found him to be an incredibly sweet, courteous, and endearing man, without an ounce of pretension or egotism to him—rare certainly in that period of gay writers. )


     I got a call from Devlin that March. It was an early spring in New York, and it seemed that the city, even under the concrete, was stirring to life. I was feeling good about things, and although I hadn't heard from him in several weeks, just the sound of his voice got me excited. I was still in bed—alone this time—and my throat and head felt knotted with sleep when he spoke. He called me from his office and as usual made some comment about the fact that I hadn't got out of bed yet. "You people down there never get jumping till noon!" I could see his handsome, preppy face speaking into the phone, the funny smirk he had when his cheeks dimpled.

    "Why you call when you know I'm gonna be in bed?" I slurred.

What did he look like?

    He told me that gave him a charge. Was I alone? Yes. What did he look like, young and pretty, or older and hunky? I told him he was young, hunky, and invisible. I started jerking off while we talked. I wanted my hands around his dick. It was fat, short, kind of meaty. I saw his large furry nuts. I wanted his dick in my mouth. I was tired of talking already and just wanted to suck his cock.
    He stopped for a moment Then he said: "Would you go with me to Dayton tomorrow?"
    ''Dayton?"
    "Yeh. Ohio. Don't think about it, just say yes. It's a relaxing way to spend a long weekend. We'll be alone in a decent hotel. There's a very good steak restaurant in town. There's ..."


    Why Dayton? I asked. I tried to plug him for more information, but couldn't get any more. It was a business trip and everything would be "taken care of." He needed my company he told me. His voice took on that slight, boyish, pleading tone that I couldn't turn down. Mentally I began to get ready for the trip. A neighbor downstairs could take my mail, feed my cat, etc. "Should I meet you at your place?" No. "Don't go near Beekman Place, and we can't meet at my office." (That was no problem: I'd never been to his office.)
    "There's a Florsheim Shoe store at the corner of Fifty-Seventh Street and Madison Avenue."
    "Near the Fuller Building, the one with all the galleries?" I asked
    "Yes, meet me in front at five thirty tomorrow. I won't be late."

It was one of the centers of the art world

    It got cold that night and the next day I felt chilled to the bone while I waited, a speck, really, in rush hour on this crowded, very glamorous corner of Manhattan. It was one of the centers of the art world and the Uptown money world, and they both met there. For a second I lost myself watching very busy people pass me, then a large, deep blue Cadillac for hire drew up in front of me.
    "Glad you could make it," Dev said as he jumped out. He wore a light weight, gray wool suit from Dunhill, the waist slightly nipped in. A very discrete, window-pane check ran through it. I was wearing jeans and a peacoat. He formally shook my hand, like we were posing for photos, then he took my small overnight bag, threw it in the back, and we got in. He told the driver to go straight up, and we got to see all of Madison Avenue as it became less ritzy and finally settled into East Harlem.
    "Want a drink?" he asked. There was a cold chest, and Dev took out some vodka and quickly, like we were in his living room, stirred up two Gibsons, onions and all. I relaxed, then he whispered to me, "I'd like you to be very careful with this driver. Not a word about Dayton. We're going to Philadelphia and catching a plane from there."
    Why Philly, I wanted to ask, and what was so special about this driver? I looked ahead, past the glass partition. He looked inoffensive enough, big, in a rumpled, black uniform, driver's cap squashed down. I could see a lot of him in the mirror. Big, bruised face and hands, the kind of face that lost teeth from fights up in the Bronx.
    "You got some place special you want to go in Philadelphia, Mr. Hanson?"

    Devlin told him the Rittenhouse Square Hotel, then turned out the reading light in the back and drew his head over towards me and started to doze off. I pulled him onto my lap and pulled my hands through his thick hair. I was sure the driver couldn't see in the dark and if he could—well, everything had a price, so why not some pleasure to go with it? It was going to be a long night; I knew it. I unbuttoned my fly and let my cock flop out next to Devlin's cheek. He pretended to be asleep, then started to lick it into action, and took it softly in his mouth. A shudder of pleasure went through both of us. His tongue found the small platinum ring he'd inserted a few months back into my foreskin. He flicked at the ring back and forth, wetting it with his lips; the Cadillac easily slipped into the heavy traffic of the New Jersey Turnpike. The driver stopped for a toll ticket. I was sure he could see everything going on in the back—or at least see that something was going on in the back. I'd unbuttoned most of Dev's shirt and was playing with his tits as he sucked me. Things got hotter; I carefully unzipped his fly, reached into his briefs, and slowly jerked him off—sometimes wetting my left hand with my saliva, sometimes with his. I'd never done anything like this, but it did give me some sort of insight into the lifestyles of the rich and naughty. I spotted the driver's face in the mirror. It was cold. Ice cold. He never cracked any smile, or showed any interest.

    In Philadelphia, we took a cab for the airport, got an Eastern flight, and a little less than two hours later got off in Dayton. I started to feel dazed, but Dev took it in stride. He made jokes about going around his elbow to get to his thumb. He pulled out an airport rent-a-car reservation, and we got into a large Buick, brought to us by an attractive young man from Hertz. The young man smiled a lot, gave Mr. Hanson the keys, and helped us put our bags in. Dev did not travel light, I noticed. I guessed all the stock-broker drag added weight; but he did know how to get help when he needed it.

In Philadelphia, we took a cab to the airport

    "You'll be in Suite 303," the woman at the Chevalier Motor Hotel said. She asked my name, but Devlin told her there was no need to register me as well. She smiled and said, very matter-of-factly, "I understand." I was not terribly impressed by the place. It was way out of Dayton, spread out like a miniature shopping center. The grounds looked like just after the Bomb. She apologized and told us they'd just opened, also that one of the VIP suites had just been prepared for Mr. Hanson. Devlin smiled, all dimples. A cute-as-sin, corn-fed boy picked up Dev's bags, tossed my single overnight on top, and carried them onto the elevator to the suite. He carefully placed everything on one of the two double beds and asked if we needed help unpacking.
    "Maybe undressing," Dev said and winked. The boy pretended he hadn't heard. Dev gave him several bucks, and he left.
    I had already begun to strip out of my Levis. The bellboy must have spotted that I wasn't wearing underwear, because I couldn't seem to get rid of what we used to call a boner. I grabbed Dev and began to tear off his clothes—tie, shirt, belt, the whole deal.

    He laughed. No words. It was just going to be good sex. And real, real soon, rather than later.
    Naked, we both charged into the bathroom. It was a large, deluxe affair with a whirlpool, a shower, and the usual onyx, porcelain stuff to make you know they were serious about your money. We got into the whirlpool, turning it on just hot enough. After we settled in, Dev came over to me, and in the hot, rumbling water, sat on my dick. I grabbed him, bent him towards me, and chewed on his tough, little nipples. He wrapped his legs around me. I picked him up by his ass and moved him sopping wet onto the rug in the front sitting room. I pulled out of him for a moment and turned on the TV and turned the sound all the way down. The reflections of the colors spilt all over the dark room, like a fireplace.

    I went back to him and put my tongue in his sweet, firm ass and worked it around until I couldn't stand it any longer. Then I just fucked the hell out of him while I told him how much I liked doing it. A few seconds later, he came, jerking off on me, and I caught some of it in my mouth. I felt like I'd overeaten, although I hadn't eaten in quite a while. I was just tired and completely satisfied, the way I only got after sex. I didn't care if we were in Dayton—we could have been on the moon.
    We cleaned off some in the shower, then went to bed. It was somewhere between midnight and one. It had been a long day for me. I dozed right off. I can't remember any dreams, but I know that somewhere in the middle of the night, Dev got out of bed, changed into jeans, a polo, and a brown suede jacket. He said something to me, and I kept saying, "Yes, yes, yes," then I went back to sleep.
    The phone rang the next morning at nine. "Mr. Hanson?" a boy at the desk said. "Your wake up call." I thanked him and then realized Dev wasn't there. The room suddenly felt very strange and cold. My bare feet sank into a very thick carpet. By the TV I saw a note. "Business. Very early. Have a good time. Room Service. Use the gym. Use my name whenever. Dev."

    I wondered what kind of business could begin that early, then rang for room service and had breakfast sent in. Bacon and eggs came, with a mushy croissant, canned orange juice and coffee. I called the desk again. The clerk told me they had a complete gym for people in the VIP suites, just show the key.

    The gym really was very luxe, especially for some one used to New York YMCA's. I got a massage from an older Swedish guy who knew what he was doing. Then feeling about ten years younger, I dove into the pool. It was almost Olympic sized, and quite empty. I did ten laps and started to feel like those wires that get too crossed up in my brain were finally getting untangled. It was a moment of true relaxation and I fed on it while I went back into the large, tiled showers. I let the needle current of hot, pulsating water hit me, and closed my eyes. I was feeling no pain at all, when a cold hand suddenly started dripping water over my back.

    I turned slightly and opened my eyes. A young, naked, very trim man stood in front of me. All shoulders; strong feet; swimmer's legs. His face almost brushed mine. His cold shower dripped onto me. Water sheeted down his firm, tapered belly, onto his wild, young cock, down his balls, his knees, his calves again. I watched it. Smiled.

It was just going to be good sex

    I began to tingle. He was too close to me and I really had to push myself back from touching him, running my hands—maybe even my mouth—over him  He looked like he was made out of very shiny silver foil. "Your soap!" he shouted to me. "Can I use some of your soap? Mine's gone!"
    I told him he could use anything he wanted, and I would even help. He didn't even blink. I started to wonder, was Dayton really like this? Was I really in Dayton? He took a great gob of hot, syrupy soap from my shower dispenser and started to spread it over his body. He stood away from his cold water and came closer again to me. When he bent over away from me to get to his legs, I started to massage some of the soap into his back. There was no one else in the showers. I reached down and began working on his crotch. I rubbed lather into his firm, almost cold balls, and then onto his cock. He was cut; the head was thick and kind of velvety. It got warmer and bigger in my hands. I ran my fingers over his full shaft. His dick lengthened and popped out straight in front of him.

    My heart pounded. I realized that I had brought things to a place I couldn't control. Suppose Dev was now back in the suite? A moment later two business types who'd been playing squash until their pacemakers were ready to fritz came in. They gave us a funny look. I wondered what was wrong—they'd never seen two guys full of soap and hard-ons before? I decided before they called up the Pat Robertson brigade to ask him up.

I wondered what was wrong

    His name was Stephen and I found out in the elevator that he was a private member of the gym. He wasn't staying at the Chevalier. We exchanged some short pleasantries until we got back to the suite, where there was still no sign of Devlin. The maids, I saw, had come in and done an assaultive job of cleaning up the place. It was in the sort of immaculate order you expected in convents.

    A few seconds later, we had our clothes off. I knew this kid was no kid. He was very much a man. He knew everything and maybe some things I didn't. Besides having such a lovely body and cock, he had a beautiful mouth and I couldn't get enough of it. I was nuts about his mouth—in fact, I wanted my nuts in his mouth. I wanted to kiss him and have him suck me at the same time. I was that nuts about his mouth. Everything became an extension of something else. One moment my mouth would go to his, then down to his balls; then I'd feel his soft, wet tongue reaching for the head of my dick; or my own mouth all over his shaft, and it was all like we were exploring each other this way, going further and further.

    Nothing had prepared me for finding this beautiful man next to me in the showers at just the right moment. I wanted to have him—every part of him—maybe even all at once; to kiss the whole person, taste him completely, sexually, experience all of him. He started to vibrate while he knelt over me and I pressed his dick into my mouth. The muscles in his belly and ass quivered. I fed on more and more of his cock. My lips finally pressed the hairs next to his balls.

    He asked, "Do you like this?"  He smiled. He knew I did. I was getting closer and closer, just from the heat of sucking his cock
    I started to play with my dick. He pulled out of my mouth. Suddenly he said to me—just out of nowhere—"Would you like to get tied up?"

Jesus, bondage here in Dayton?

    I laughed. I thought, Jesus, bondage, here in Dayton? I could hardly take the idea seriously, which only goes to show you how much I know. So I thought, why not?

    He took some leather thongs out of his jacket pocket, and tied me down, fastening my hands to the front legs of one of the beds. I started to think: this is really crazy, but the whole time he was doing this, he kept me very excited, so I have to admit, I really wasn't doing much thinking at all. I was crazy with lust for him. He was beautiful enough with his young, athletic body to do a lot for me in the excitement department. He tied one of the thongs around my balls. I thought I was going to cream right then. Then he began carefully to tie my legs together.

    I watched him doing this. He was completely hard, and obviously really turned on. His cock, amazingly enough, got even bigger. It mushroomed out. Then suddenly I started thinking again—here I am, in a strange hotel, with a strange person. I'm older than he is. And stronger. I knew that. I'm smarter, too. I wasn't sure, but I could just tell it.

    But if I was so damned smart, why'd I let some one I didn't know tie me up?

    He began whipping me with another thong. It was actually a kind of leather tassel and reminded me of a cat-o-nine-tails. It was light and very exciting. Every time the rawhide went over my body, cold, raw delicious prickles of nerves shot up my legs. I felt the sensations run over my tight belly. It was a funny feeling. My tits hardened, like they'd been exposed to cold.

    My cock got, like they say, "rock" hard. I mean hard, very, very—almost painfully—hard. The tip was on fire. He brushed the leather whip over the tip of it, just grazing the hole several times. He smiled as he saw my body flutter from every jerk of my dick. I started whimpering like a dog. I couldn't help it. I lost control of myself. I begged him to make me come.

    He started to chuckle. Now he was in control. I told him I was tired of playing, and he really started laughing. The sound of it rattled the room. It went up my neck and I could feel the electric energy of his laugh getting to me.

A complete sexual explosion

    He started to feed his cock into my mouth. I sucked urgently at it, while my dick slapped back and forth in the air. I took his fat dick into me. Huge rushes of heat kept shooting through me. He licked his fingers and started to play with me, pushing and pinching my tits, then rubbing the head of my cock with his spit-wet hands. I was unable to change anything, to speed it along or slow it down, to control any part of me until a complete sexual explosion fired through my body. It began just below my navel and traveled on a road of raw nerves through my ass, then into my balls, and finally, like the wet-glow of a volcano, shot out of my near bursting cock.

    For a second, I thought I'd come on the ceiling. I felt it trickling all over me, running in thick white spurts down my belly. Then I realized that Stephen, too, had come and had shot all over me.
    I stopped breathing, closed my eyes, and let the whole, wild energy of the orgasm run its course through me. I was still tied down. The knots began to hurt, rub me just a bit. I looked up. He got closer to me, put his face next to mine, and told me to relax. I did. He untied the thongs. I was free of them, rubbed my hands and feet, then stretched out on the rug. "Why don't you come over here?" I said to him.

    He answered that he would in a minute. I know I should have watched what was going on, but I suddenly felt wiped out. I hadn't expected that kind of sex, so early, at least. I closed my eyes again. When I opened them, I realized it was a real mistake.

    He had disappeared, as suddenly as he had appeared in the gym. I jumped up. Suppose he'd stolen something? How could I explain it to Dev? I looked around the room, but everything was there. I felt very relieved, and just chalked it up as another strange event in Dayton. I got into the shower, then toweled off. I had on a pair of briefs when I heard a knock at the door. "May we come in a moment, Mr. Hanson?" a man asked.

    Cautiously, I opened the door. I wanted to explain that Mr. Hanson wasn't there, and frankly I didn't know where he was; but it was getting damn close to lunch and I was tired of waiting for him—when suddenly three men rushed me. Like a truck. Some one pushed a cloth doused with chemicals right into my nose. Instant nausea. My legs went watery. The blood left my head. I fell straight to the floor.

Three men rushed me

    "The plans you stole, Mr. Hanson. Where are the plans?" I tried to focus on this man who looked like a side of beef. He kept questioning me. I wasn't Mr. Hanson, I told him, and I didn't know what he was talking about. Suddenly, in my wacked-out state—which was like gazing through several sheets of rippled glass—I saw some one enter the room. "Are you through with me?" Stephen asked.
    "We're through," the side of beef answered. "You don't tell anyone what's gone on here, okay? You don't tell nobody, right?"

    Stephen shook his head  They started to throw some clothes at me and I knew I had to get into them. I managed to get on my jeans, and a flannel shirt, but it was difficult. Everything bewildered me. I felt stupid and impotent, two feelings I'm not crazy about. My limbs felt too Jello-y to resist. I started crying—actually, it was like some one else was crying—and I was only watching. Most of me was in a black-out, in a fog. "Who are you?" I shouted to Stephen, as he watched me passively. "Who the hell are you?"
    He didn't answer, but just disappeared.

    They seemed to know the whole layout of the Chevalier. They led me through a back exit, and we passed several boys in uniform who acted like this was just a normal event—three, very beefy types dragging someone either very drugged or drunk out the back. I passed the kid who'd brought in our bags. They smiled and gave him a couple of dollars. Then we got out into an overcast day, in the rear employees' parking lot.

    They threw me in the back of a van. After several miles of flat highway, the van turned off the road. Things got bumpier, then stopped. They opened up the back.

    "Alley-oop!" one shouted; two pulled me out. Mr. Beef, who I guessed was the Boss, injected something into my arm. I became instantly alert. "You got a lotta talking to do, Mr. Hanson," he growled. "We wanna hear it all."

"You've made a very bad mistake."

    In the distance I saw an old, abandoned farm house, surrounded by flat, open fields. With his two friends on either side, they made sure I got there. The Boss spoke to me. "Y' know, Mr. Hanson, when you play around with some people, you get burned bad. You spy on another country, maybe diplomats get you out. But this industrial spying—you're fucking around with computers. And computers mean a lot of money."
    At the door, he reminded me, "Mr. Hanson, you've made a very bad mistake."
    I agreed. I'd done it, and I wasn't even Mr. Hanson. Suddenly I hated Devlin very much. They switched on a small overhead light, tied me up, and literally threw me down a short flight of stairs into a dark basement. For a moment, all was extremely quiet. Then the basement door clicked closed.
    I could hear them upstairs going on about what they were going to do with me. They were going to make me talk, then—somewhere—soon, I was going to be fertilizing one of those fields in Ohio. My blood ran cold. I kept breathing deeply to keep from peeing in my jeans. Everything had seemed so unrreal, so nightmarish. I wasn't even sure how I'd managed to dress. In the dark, my hands ran down my jeans; then I realized I wasn't wearing socks.

    They were returning. The basement door snapped back open. The Boss stomped down the stairs, alone. He exploded: "You know what we're going to do with you, Mr. Hanson?"
    "For the last time," I pleaded, "I'm not Mr. - "
    "HE'S NOT—" Dev's voice rang out. He moved out from behind several large kegs. I looked at him; my mouth fell open. Calmly he raised a small pistol, just slightly.
    "Mr... Han-son..." the Boss said. His face dropped. Devlin nailed him right there. The pistol went off with a sharp, vicious crack. Then the large body fell down the short flight of stairs, until it landed in front of me. I looked down. "He's dead, alright," Dev said.
    I swallowed hard. "Why'd you do this to me?" I asked.
    "Shhh." He ran up the stairs, then fired two shots into the door. A moment later, I heard the van speed off. He came back down and untied me. "Where's Stephen?" he asked. I told him I had no idea. I didn't even know who this Stephen was.
    "You mean you let just anyone tie you up, fuck your mouth—the whole deal?"
    "How'd you know all this?"
    "I can't explain it right now," he said. He grabbed me, kissed me. "God, I'm glad you're okay. You know, I think I love you, even more than I let on."

The pistol went off

    I suddenly laughed. We went up the stairs. I was frightened but there was no one in the house. Dev assured me once the Boss was dead, they'd scram. "Come on," Dev smiled, as casually as if we were just leaving a bar. Still dazed, I followed him. The rented Buick was hidden about half a mile away in a grove of trees. We got in and he drove back to the house. "Stay for a sec," he said, the engine still running. I must have looked alarmed, so he gave me a quick, reassuring peck on the cheek. He got out; I heard the basement door slam again as he jumped back into the car. He threw the car into reverse and we were out of there. A moment later, the bottom floor of the house blew out. I swallowed hard. He drove me back to the Chevalier. I went in, got our bags, and the same boy helped me pile them into the car. I gave him five bucks for a tip. He thanked me.

    "You like Stephen?" Dev asked as we drove back towards the airport.
    "What does that have to do with it?" I asked. I was furious, still scared and fairly nauseated. "Was this some sort of test you put me through, Dev? I realize now I don't know you at all."
    He smiled with that open, disarming, dimpled smile. "It's hard to know the whole person, isn't it? I do what I do for many reasons. Money is certainly one of them. Sometimes, it's so that the right people get a chance. These computer plans, for instance, belong to a client of Stephen's. We both knew there was a plot to steal them—I just worked against that plot, that's all."
    "So you didn't steal them?"

    He shook his head no. He'd intercepted a drop-off of the plans at five o' clock that morning. "They're in the right hands now," he told me, and grabbed my hand. "Just like you are."
    "You almost got me killed," I said.
    "Hell, you should've seen what happened at five this morning! I met Stephen, intercepted the drop-off, followed these goons around so we'd know where they'd bring you. Gee, what a morning—worse than playing half a dozen games of squash at my club."
    "Is that what that was—just worse than," I sputtered, "squash?"
    "We play squash to kill, Smoky."
    "You rich bastards—you almost got me killed," I growled.
    Dev's face dropped. It was one of those rare moments when he realized I wasn't going to play his game. He stopped the car, and I saw that he was shaking now. I turned to him and touched his face gently.
    "It's okay, Dev. I don't hate you. I'm sorry what I said about rich bastards."
    "I would never get you killed. Never!"
    "So what about Stephen?" I asked.
    He smiled again, and started the car. "Gorgeous, isn't he?" That Devlin Hanson smirk went back into his face, the smile that was coy and full of nerves. It was a smile I could barely resist.

As soon as we walked in, I knew it was a gay bar

    Several flat miles later, he turned the car off the road to the airport. I thought we were just going back. Dev shook his head no, and headed for the other side of Dayton, to an empty shopping center where there was a bar, its parking lot filled with cars. As soon as we walked in, I knew it was a gay bar. Dev and I got through the crowd and the smoke. Suddenly, in a corner by himself, I saw Stephen. Dev went up to him and Stephen smiled at me. Dev led the two of us back out to the Buick. "Do you want to spend the next two nights at Stephen's house?"
    ''What?"
    "He's rented a place out in the country, near Antioch. It's completely secluded." He smiled.
    I looked over at Stephen, the picture of perfect innocence. Then suddenly—from who could guess what—I felt myself going wobbly. Stephen grabbed me, and Dev opened the door to the car. I got in. Stephen fell on top of me, kissing me, quickly running his hands inside my flannel shirt. I felt myself getting hotter, smoking like a gun for him. Just the sight of him had caused me to lose my balance. I shot my tongue into his mouth. He returned it, then pressed his lips to my neck. My hand went into his hair. I pulled him closer to me.

    "You'd better get into your car," Dev said to Stephen. I let him go.
    Stephen straightened himself up. "You have something for me?"
    "I almost forgot." Dev passed him the revolver. "Better get rid of it. I fixed it so that no one's going to be able to get to the body. I'm sure his goons won't get the cops involved."
    We followed Stephen's red Datson sedan onto the highway. I said to Dev, "Now, tell me all about Stephen."
    "Don't worry. He's a smart—and quite rich—kid, but you can trust him."
    "I hope more than I can trust you," I said.
    "Sorry, Smokes, but there was no way I could let you in on all this. Believe me, I wish I could—but I couldn't. My company can't even find out. Stephen's an old friend of mine. Okay, the truth is we were lovers once, so I did it for him. There are certain things you just don't let go of—know what I mean?"
    I told him I did. Devlin Hanson was certainly one of them.
    Dev looked relieved. The dimples in his smile didn't look so hard. He took my hand and softly kissed it. "Good. Stephen's nice, isn't he? Now, didn't I tell you we were going to have a very relaxing weekend in Dayton?"



Perry Brass’s 19 books include fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and short stories. His work often deals with the intense, heartfelt feelings of men and women that came from his radical roots in New York’s Gay Liberation Front directly after the Stonewall Uprising. He is a founding coordinator of the Rainbow Book Fair. More info: www.perrybrass.com

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