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                                  HOT-SPOT.TXT


                               A LEOPARD'S SPOTS

                            (Another Hot Wife Tale)
                                 By J. Boswell

Ŀ
DO YOU FEEL LIKE TALKING TO ME ABOUT IT, SANDY?


      Look.  I'm no angel, okay?  Bobby knew he wasn't marrying a nun, but he
married me, anyway.  And I never once fooled around on him, or even flirted
very much with anyone else, after we got married.

      I'm not proud of the way I was making a living when we met, but he has no
idea how hard it was, and there isn't anything I can do, now, to change any of
that, anyway.
 
Ŀ
CHANGE WHAT?


      The way I lived.

      I was still in high school when things got so bad at home, I had to
split.  Mom was always pickled in her cheap wine and dad -- dear old dad --
when he wasn't slapping me around, he was giving me goo-goo eyes and coming
into my bedroom at night to grab some cheap feels of my `new equipment.'

      After he fell asleep one night, I grabbed his wallet and mom's `secret'
grocery money, hitchhiked to Bangor and hopped on a bus, buying a one way
ticket for as far away as I could get -- that happened to be downtown
Baltimore.

      I didn't expect the folks to come looking for me, and they didn't.  I was
on my own.  I was 17 (yeah, a young, innocent 17).

      I had about fifty dollars and a suitcase full of fairly decent clothes.
I had seen enough `Geraldos' and `Oprahs' about street kids to know I didn't
want to start hanging out like that. Living in a filthy, rat- and bug-infested
dump was worse than what I left.

Ŀ
SO, WHAT DID YOU DO?


      I worked.  I couldn't get a decent job, of course, because I didn't have
my diploma and I had no experience at anything.  I worked for `Mom and Pop'
type businesses because they'd pay me under the table and I didn't have to fill
out a lot of forms.  I lived in dumpy, but fairly clean, rooms and kept pretty
much to myself.  Always having someplace safe to sleep at night was my goal.

      It wasn't like the movies.  I never worked for any really nice people.
Never for a woman who was like some `TV mom' who wanted to take me into their
home and take care of me.  Just hard working people who wanted me to work hard,
too.

      The problem was always sex.

Ŀ
SEX?  WHAT DO YOU MEAN?


      Well, you see how I look, right?

Ŀ
YES.  OF COURSE.


      Well, either the guy running the place (and one time it was the woman) or
a customer would get to the point where they couldn't keep their hands off me.
It never failed to happen. I'd get my boobs grabbed in the back room or told I
had to fuck him to get my pay and I'd split.

      See, I was innocent, but not stupid.  I knew what they wanted and being
forced into something like that would wreck this sense of security I had built
up for myself.  And my security was all that I had.  I wasn't a virgin -- I had
had a boyfriend in tenth grade -- but this wasn't the same.

      Does any of this make sense to you?

Ŀ
SURE.  I UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU'RE SAYING, SANDY.  YOU HAD SET UP BOUNDARY 
LINES AROUND YOURSELF, AND THE SEXUAL HARASSMENT CROSSED THOSE LINES.   


      Exactly!

      Anyway, that's when I'd split.  Sometimes getting my last paycheck,
sometimes not.

      So, by now, I just had my 18th birthday and I'm out of work, again.  And
each time it seems to get harder and harder to find that next job.

      Well, I'm in my favorite Dunkin' Donuts, crying in my coffee, when one of
the other regulars sits down next to me.

      This guy, Mr. Harper, hung there, too, and was always polite but not
quite friendly, keeping his distance.  I could deal with that.  He wasn't like
the sleaziods always coming over and drooling down my neck.

      He asks what's wrong and I tell him.  I didn't have any friends, and
after almost a year on my own, it felt nice to have somebody to talk to.

      We talked and talked and he offered to buy me lunch down at Harbor Place.
It was a beautiful day and the food was great and Mr. Harper was so concerned
about my welfare.  His timing couldn't have been better.

Ŀ
FOR WHAT?


      His proposition.

Ŀ
HE PROPOSITIONED YOU?


      No, that's just it, HE didn't.  At least, not for what you think.

      Here's this older guy, who looks like he could be a college professor or
something, and he's being nice to me -- without any hint of coming on to me.
And I'm beginning to feel better.  I still feel safe and now I'm actually
laughing at some of the funny things he's saying.

      We spent the day at the harbor, and he even takes me on a boat ride.
Over dinner, in a `Little Italy' restaurant with candles on the tables, he asks
me where I'm staying.

      Immediately, my defenses come up.  Why's he want to know?

      He tells me he knows a place out in the county.  He said it's clean and
cheap and he knows the owner who would keep an eye out for my safety.

      I ask him why I'd want to move out of the city and he smiles and says
that he might have a good-paying job for me, if I want it.

      Here comes the proposition.

      He tells me a friend of his owns a couple of clubs, two on "The Block"
and two more in the county.  He says if I would dance (`AND ONLY DANCE, SANDY,'
he says), I could soon make enough money to really live on my own.

      I tell him no, but he's not done his sales pitch, yet.  He says with that
kind of money, I could get a real apartment, like the young singles have, get a
car, maybe even get my diploma and go to college.  He told me I could get a
real life -- something I wanted very much.

      I tell him I'm only 18 and he says `no problem.'

      He keeps talking and tells me a lot of college girls are dancers, earning
their tuition, and leaving as soon as they graduate; and how other girls make
enough money to start their own business from dancing.

      Talk, talk, talk.  He talked my ear off.

Ŀ
SO, WHAT HAPPENED?


      I got the job.

      That night, we drove out to the club and met the manager. He didn't even
make me undress.  He told me what hours I'd have to work and I'd have to stay
out of the booze and drugs (no problem for me, at that time).  When he told me
what I'd be making a week, I couldn't believe it.  It sounded like so much
money to me.  Enough money to make me think I could do exactly what Mr. Harper
said I could do -- work there a short time and quit into the real world.

      The next day, Mr. Harper helped me move into a decent
studio-apartment-type room in a motel about a hundred feet up the road from the
club.  He also took my picture and made me a driver's license, social security
card, and new birth certificate that said I was `Sandra Beech' (sandy beach --
get it?) and that I was just over 21 years old.

      I started dancing topless that night.

Ŀ
YOU STARTED A CAREER. 


      Very funny.

Ŀ
BECOMING A NUDE DANCER WAS THAT EASY FOR YOU, SANDY?


      Well, it may seem that easy to you, but you weren't living the life I
was, then.  I was alone and poor and scared and nervous and embarrassed, but I
was also young and had been convinced by a master salesman.  I was so excited
about making money, how I made it was secondary in my mind.  Besides, I knew
what I looked like and thought I might as well make some money out of showing
them what they all wanted to see, anyway.

      But, it didn't take me long to realize that it wasn't all hearts and
flowers the way it had been describe to me.

Ŀ
AND YOU WERE SURPRISED?


      Yes, I guess I was.

      Most of the other girls were on booze or coke or speed and all their
money went that way.  As a matter of fact, they couldn't make enough money
dancing.  But extra money was easy to make in the club -- you just let the guys
take you into the back room, or out to their pickup truck, or up the road to
the motel and buy whatever they could afford -- a hand-job, or blow-job, or a
fuck.  You gave a little piece of the profit to the club, and the rest was
yours.

Ŀ
HOOKING.  DID YOU HOOK, SANDY?


      Not right away.

      Of course, I told myself that I would never hook like that; that I didn't
have any addictions like the other girls.

      But I did.

      Here I am, this young, pretty girl, down from the backwoods of Maine and
all of a sudden, I have money.  More money than I ever had in my life.  It
wasn't long before I had a closet full of new clothes.  And then a car -- a
hot, new Mustang convertible.  Then I could afford a new apartment, which meant
I needed furniture and a TV and a stereo...

      I was addicted to shopping, and within months I was borrowing against my
next week's paycheck.  Nobody had ever taught me how to handle money and I was
still a kid.

      Finally, the manager refused to advance me any more money. He said if I
didn't stop spending, there was only one way of keeping up with my bills.

      I knew what he meant.  I also knew that I was the most popular girl in
the place.  I was young, pretty, had a great body with big tits...

Ŀ
THAT'S A FACT!


      Oh, hush!

      I also wasn't a burn-out like most of the other girls.

      Anyway, being very practical about the whole thing, I asked the other
girls what they charged and doubled it.  From that first weekend on, I had no
trouble filling my `dance card' for the back room.

      My biggest surprise was that it wasn't sex for me -- it was business.

Ŀ
DID YOU GET OUT OF DEBT?


      Did I!

      I was determined never to get in money problems again.  I worked five
nights a week, dancing for my salary and earning my bonus in the back room.  I
didn't turn anyone away and I didn't give discounts.

      I developed a right arm like Arnold Swartzenegger from all the hand-jobs
I gave and I really could suck a golf ball through a garden hose.  Tying knots
in cherry stems was kid's stuff!

      It was true piecework...

Ŀ
GROAN! 


      Stop it!  You know what I mean.  Now let me talk!

      Move'em in and move'em out.  High volume, low overhead. That's how I
worked.  Even my pussy developed very special talents.

Ŀ
DIDN'T YOU WORRY ABOUT CATCHING SOMETHING?


      No, not really.  I was 18 -- 19 years old and feeling immortal.  I got
the crabs a couple of times, but that was it. If they looked scrungy, I just
whipped a rubber on them.

      The important part for me was that, soon, I paid everyone off, and had
too much money to bank.  I started filling a safe deposit box with hundred
dollar bills.

      Anyway, that's who I was.  I didn't make any secrets about it.

      One night, while I'm dancing, a bunch of guys come in -- semi-regulars.
They stopped in about once every two weeks or so. Definitely Prep school
material -- all cotton and Docksides. Probably college guys.  They were always
well behaved and I had been in the back room with all of them, at one time or
another. They were even good tippers.

      So... anyway...

      That night, I'm dancing and they come in.  Only they have a new guy with
them.  He's shy and blushes a lot as I play up to him and jiggle my boobs and
wiggle my ass in his face.  Everybody else is going crazy, but this guy keeps
his hands to himself, except when he slips a fifty into my garter.

      His friends are razzing him and when my set ends, I sit with his crowd.
They want the new kid, Bobby, to take me in the back room, but he smiles at me
and says, `I'd rather take you out to dinner.'

      He's cute and nice and his friends are giving him such a hard time, I
feel sorry for him and want to cut him a break.  I tell him to pick me up in
front of the club the next night and we'll go out to dinner.

Ŀ
AND THE REST IS HISTORY?    


      You laugh, but it was almost that simple.

      He was a really nice guy.  He came from a large, rich family that lives
out in `The Valley' and he was always the `Black Sheep' because he didn't toe
daddy's line.  The final offense was when he enlisted in the Navy instead of
going to college.  He was ready to get out when I met him, and he was scared
and lonely about what was to come.  Cut out of the family's business, he was
looking for work and was determined to make it on his own.  He reminded me of
me when I showed up in Baltimore.

      He got my sympathy.  He never came to the club, again, but we dated on my
nights off.  We didn't have sex for months after we met, and when we did, it
was quiet and sweet and tender.

      I had been on my own for over three years, and dancing for over two, and
I was tired.  When he asked me to marry him, I accepted.

Ŀ
HOW DID BOBBY'S FAMILY TAKE IT?


      Well, there wasn't much to take.  The day after I quit dancing, we were
married in the Court House and only Matt, Bobby's younger brother, came.  We
had to borrow a secretary from down the hall to be our other witness.

      We were pretty sure they knew all about me.  Bobby's old high school
friends knew, of course, and we just assumed the word got back to Bobby's
parents.  He was probably embarrassed by that, but we didn't see them very
often, anyway.

      We got a new apartment and Bobby found a pretty good job because of his
Navy training.  I studied and got my GED, took courses at Essex community
college, transferred to Towson State University and got my A.A. -- all in just
three years.

      I was 23 when I was hired as an administrative assistant in the county
planning office.

Ŀ
PRETTY IMPRESSIVE, SANDY.  DID BOBBY EVER GET TO SEE HIS FAMILY?  WERE
YOU INVITED FOR HOLIDAYS AND CELEBRATIONS?                            


      Invited?  No.  Matt sometimes stopped by, but for years, we only saw his
family at wakes and funerals.

      His dad is a very cold guy.  No hugs, just handshakes. Bobby said he was
always like that -- always on this super-macho power and control trip.  And his
mom!  The biggest snob in the world.  She really looked down her nose at me.  I
think it really bothered her that I got my education and didn't talk and act
and dress like a hillbilly or a hooker.  And, other than Matt, Bobby's brothers
(and their wives) were all the same as his parents -- stuck-up snobs.

      It was a shame.  I think Bobby was too nice a person for their family and
he made them uncomfortable.  I was just the easy excuse why they shunned him.
It was sad to watch.  All Bobby wanted was to be accepted.  He would have done
anything for them. He was like a little puppy around his father.

      But they could never forgive him.  They were too proud.  All Bobby's past
sins were forgotten when he married me.  I was the focus of all of their
hatred.  I guess I can understand, to some degree.  I probably wouldn't be too
happy if my son married a whore.  But, I wasn't a whore any more.  I didn't do
those kinds of things any more -- I was respectable, or, at least, I thought I
was.  But it didn't matter to them.  They would have rather Bobby married some
little squeaky-clean little Yuppie girl -- some girl who probably fucked the
football team in her Ivy League college just to get into her sorority!

      See what just thinking about it does to me?

Ŀ
I SEE.                                                       
DOES ALL OF THIS HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH WHY YOU'RE HERE?  


      Of course!  It has EVERYTHING to do with why I'm here.

      It was because of Matt.  Matt, Bobby's younger brother was getting
married, and as a fence-mending idea, he asked Bobby to be his best man.  I'm
sure it pissed everybody off, but there was no way they could *NOT* invite us
to all the wedding dinners and things.

      The rehearsal dinner was bad enough -- talk about feeling a chill! -- but
the next night was the Bachelor Party and against my better judgement, but to
please Bobby, I agreed to spend the night at his parents' house while the guys
went out for dinner and then back to our place.

      After dinner with all the other wives and Bobby's mother, we all got into
the wine pretty good and Bobby's mom really got on her high horse.  I heard one
too many comments about my `less-than-reputable-past' and my `legendary
availability to the opposite sex' that I grabbed my overnight bag, my coat and
my car keys.  I wasn't spending one more second with the nasty, old bitch.

      When I got to our house, it was obvious the party had already moved here.
There were cars all over the place and I had to park a block away.

      I rang the bell and knocked and a very drunk Bobby answered the door,
yelling, "Let the games begin!"  Then, quieter, "Oh! Sandy.  I thought it was
the stripper."

      As I walked into the livingroom, I heard Bobby's father snicker, "Hmpf!
It is, isn't it?"  And a good chunk of the crowd joined him in a laugh.

      I felt myself blush as I passed through the room.  Bobby didn't come to
my defense and I had had enough of his family's cheap shots at me for one
night.  Furious, I grabbed two wine coolers out of the fridge and locked myself
in our bedroom.

      Downing the two coolers in record time, I sat on the bed so pissed off I
couldn't see straight.  It didn't matter to Bobby's family at all that the past
was long behind me, that I had worked hard to be respectable and get a good
job, that I was a good wife for their son.  And I saw red thinking of Bobby not
coming to my defense.  How could he let me down like that, especially in front
of his father?

      I could tell from the noise that the stripper had arrived. I was going to
stay in the bedroom until she left, but thought, `fuck it,' and walked into the
kitchen for a few more coolers.

      Bobby was standing in the doorway, watching the stripper.

      `Thanks for coming to my rescue, Sir Galahad,' I sneered.

      He turned and looked at me, `Big deal.  You fucked half the guys here for
money and you're offended my father called you a stripper?'

      Even as buzzed as I was, I knew it wasn't the time or place to get into
it with him.

      I looked over his shoulder.  The stripper was a short, cute redhead with
great legs, but no chest.  She was naked and taking Matt's cock out of his fly.
As she straddled his legs, I couldn't believe he was getting married on
Saturday night and sticking his cock up a strange cunt on Friday night -- what
a family!  I had always thought so highly of Matt, but he was just as low as
the rest of them.

      I couldn't let the moment go, without a shot at Bobby, `She's absolutely
tit-less.  I hope you didn't pay a lot for her, Bobby.'

      `Why don't you show us yours, Sandra, dear?  As a point of comparison.'
Bobby's dad had been standing next to the doorway and I hadn't seen him until
he turned and gave me his slimiest smile.

      Of course, if daddy said `jump,' Bobby was in the air asking `how high?'
He raised his glass and downed his Scotch and nodded, `Yeah, Sandy, show us
YOUR tits!'

      He said it loud enough that several people on either side of him began to
chant, `Show us your tits!  Show us your tits!'

      They followed me down the hall to the bedroom and banged on the locked
door as they chanted at me.

      The hurt, the booze, the put-downs, Bobby siding with his family, Matt
screwing a whore, guests in our house banging on my door...

      The wouldn't stop banging and chanting!

      I screamed as I opened the door.  They were quiet as they let me pass
through them into the livingroom.  I climbed up on to the coffeetable.  I found
Bobby's face in the drunken crowd.

      `Fuck all of you!  Start the music!'

      I was wearing a white crepe blouse and a black wool skirt. Under them, I
had on a camisole and halfslip, bra, panties and pantyhose.  Not the typical
stripper's costume.

      I grabbed a mug of beer out of the hand of a nearby spectator and chugged
it as I started to pick up the beat of the music.  I could feel it inside me
and all those thousands of hours dancing were not forgotten.  Though mostly
dancing topless or naked, I had done a few strips in my day, and I knew what
the boys liked.

      I undid my blouse buttons and dropped the feathery material off my
shoulders and arms, leaving my long scarf tied around my neck.  I lifted the
satin camisole up and over my head and threw it into the crowd.  I danced a
little bit, showing them my tits in my bra before I began unzipping my skirt.
When it fell to my feet, I kicked it away and dropped my halfslip quickly.
Knowing nobody found pantyhose sexy, I made short work of them, rolling them
down off my hips and having a couple of boys pull them off my feet.

      I was in my bra and panties, and no one had left the room. Bobby was
still standing next to his father, who was clapping to the beat like everyone
else.  The crowd was wild.  The stripper was sitting on the sofa, between two
of Bobby's brothers, giving both of them hand-jobs as she cheered me on.  "Do
it, Sister!"

      I reached behind me and undid my clasp.  The straps fell off my shoulders
and down my arms, but I held the cups to my breasts with my arms.  With the
boys yelling for more, I bent over in front of Bobby's dad and let the bra fall
to the floor.  As the boys roared their approval, I thrust my chest out until
they almost touched his nose.  He began to raise his hand to touch me and I
danced to the other side of the table.

      I owned the crowd and knew it.  This was MY powerplay.  I was in control
and I liked it.

      My panties disappeared in a flash and they all saw that I was a natural
blonde.  I untied the scarf from around my neck and let it drape over my
sweating, naked flesh like some demented snake.  I twisted it tight and ran it
between my tits and then between my legs, pulling it up tight into my ass and
cunt.

      I jumped off the table in front of Billy's dad and tossed the scarf
around the back of his neck.  I looked into Billy's eyes as I pulled his
father's face down to mine.  His father's lips met mine and his tongue exploded
into my mouth and his hands grabbed my asscheeks.  As his hands slid up my body
to pinch my hard nipples I confirmed what I had know all along about Billy's
dad -- he was just as dirty as I was.

Ŀ
WHEW!  WHAT HAPPENED NEXT, SANDY?  DID HE FUCK YOU? 


      Him and everybody else.  Well, not everybody.  Some guys cleared out fast
when Billy's dad plopped me down on the coffeetable and dropped his pants and
shorts.  His intentions were clear, as they say.

      What happened next?  It became a real family affair.  All four of Bobby's
brothers fucked me, including Matt, who I had always considered a friend, and
then whoever else was there took their shot.  There were enough guys left to
keep me and the stripper full of hard cock for the next two hours or so.

Ŀ
BOBBY'S FATHER AND THE SITUATION MANIPULATED YOU.  HOW COULD YOU LET 
THAT HAPPEN, SANDY?                                                  


      What can I say?  I lowered myself to their expectations.  I let myself
become exactly what they thought I was all along.

      Bobby just stood there and watched.  Sometime later in the evening, his
father was sitting on the sofa with his hands buried in my hair and his dick
buried in my mouth and I heard him say, `Bobby, my boy, you have great taste in
whores, but lousy taste in wives!' and then he laughed, and kept on laughing as
I swallowed his cum.

      It was a very bizarre night!

      I woke up with a real banger of a headache.  I was on our bed with two
guys I didn't recognize, and my ass slipped in a small puddle of still-wet cum
that had dripped out of my cunt.  I hadn't been in a gangbang like that since I
entertained at a Knights of Columbus party years ago.

      I peed and brushed my teeth and threw on a robe.  I smelled coffee.

      The sofa and chairs in the livingroom were filled with sleeping bodies.
The stripper was curled up on the floor with Bobby's naked 18 year old cousin
(yeah, he was at least 18), both snoring.  I winced as I remembered him cumming
in my pussy and mouth the night before.

      Bobby's father was in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee. He looked
like he was on his way out to the office -- clean shaven, hair combed, dressed
in his jacket and tie -- the perfect businessman.

      `Sandra,' he smiled, `you look like shit.'

      `I feel like shit.  Who are all these people?'  My feeble attempt at
hangover humor.

      `But, my dear, you know all of them intimately.'  Again, the
diamond-cutting smile.

      `Are you happy?  Did you prove to Bobby that he married a whore?'

      He handed me his empty cup and walked toward the front door, `No, Sandra,
*YOU* proved to Bobby he married a whore.'

      I threw the cup at him but it shattered against the wall.

Ŀ
WHAT A TERRIBLE SITUATION, SANDY!  I FEEL SO BAD FOR YOU. 
WHERE WAS BOBBY?  DID YOU GO TO THE WEDDING?              


      Wedding?  Ha!

      I found Bobby sleeping in the guest room.  I woke him up and told him to
get everybody out of the house.  I locked myself in the bathroom and stayed in
the shower until I couldn't cry anymore.

      Bobby and I argued all day about whether to go to the wedding.  Finally
we decided that he had to go because he was the best man, and I could go, but
didn't have to sit with his family.

      I sat in the car until it was almost time to start, and then I quietly
walked in and sat near the back of the church, alone in a pew.  None of the
ushers, who were all at the party, looked me in the eye, but the bride stared
at me as she walked past.  Her father looked familiar and I was trying to
remember if he was at the party, too.

      The ceremony began and when the priest asked if anyone knew why the
couple shouldn't be joined in `holy matrimony,' the bride whispered something
and the priest handed her the microphone. She turned around and faced the
congregation.  I hadn't been to enough formal weddings to know that this was
unusual.

      She lifted her veil and smiled at the crowd, `Good Evening, everyone.
I'm very pleased to see all of you here for this occasion.  I have a short
announcement to make.  I'm not getting married tonight.'

      Everyone in the church mumbled something and the bride continued over the
outburst `...You see, I found something out about my fiancee, and I don't think
I can go through with the wedding.'

      `Oh-oh,' I thought.  I grabbed my purse to make a fast getaway, but I
wasn't fast enough.

      `Can everyone see the pretty blonde in the back of the church?'  The
bride was pointing right at me!  And every eye in the place followed her pretty
index finger.

      `Well, she was my future sister-in-law.  She's married to the best man,
my fiancee's brother.  Well, last night, at the Bachelor Party, that pretty
blonde screwed my fiancee, his brothers, his father, all the ushers, and even
my father!'

      Well, that answered my question about him!  The bride's mother passed out
and her head hitting the pew front resounded throughout the silent church.

      `That slut,' the bride continued, `used to be a cheap barroom whore, and
last night she sucked and fucked every man at the bachelor party!'

Ŀ
HOLY SHIT!


      You can say that, again!

      Fortunately, I drove, so I hopped into the car and peeled rubber getting
out of there.  I went to the house, filled the car up with my clothes and
make-up and drove here.  I've been here since.

Ŀ
DO YOU THINK BOBBY WILL FIND YOU, HERE?  IT'S KIND OF AN OBVIOUS 
CHOICE.                                                          


      You're assuming he's looking.  I don't think he is.  And I can't blame
him if he's not.  You can't change a leopard's spots.

      Besides, except for my car and my clothes, I'm broke; and this is the
only way I know how to make some real money.

      So, did you come back here to talk or to fuck?  We better get it on.  It
looks like I was missed and my old fan club has been lining up all day to get a
piece of me since I came back. I've been on my back so much, I barely have time
to dance!

      No, don't worry about that -- save your condom and let's live dangerously
and do it bareback!

                          ............................
                          (c) J. BOSWELL, October 1991


                         ͻ
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