Archive-name: Slaves/harem2.txt Archive-author: Archive-title: Harem You probably can come to no valid conclusion about the events that occurred later, the episodes with Ted and with Doris without considering the episode with Tyrone. He is obviously a major element in the foundation. The incident described here, is factual, though it may seen to have been romanticized somewhat, and perhaps it was. Details may vary slightly from fact. If so, the reason is obvious- memory is irregular and faulty, and none of the details, unfortunately, were recorded as they happened. No diary was kept. Still, the events were shared almost on a daily basis with my friend Sara, and upon reading this file, she says that her recollection is essentially identical with the record. Whether she agrees with my conclusion is another matter. but then, you don't know my conclusion, do you? To tie down the event, consider the background. June, 1984. Herbert is in Europe, attending a major conference and staying on for other business. He will be there for six weeks, perhaps eight. Helen has not been able to go. She plans to join him in the South of France later after his conference is over, in two weeks or so. For now, she is still at home, busy but not overwhelmed with her work. Helen fancies herself a queen. She is intelligent, attractive, with a marvelous voluptuous body. But she has a haughty, imperious, I-am-superior-to-you attitude that annoys many people and absolutely infuriates others. She is married to an older man who obviously adores her, pampers her, caters to her every whim, but who cannot at all control her and has never satisfied her. Her husband travels extensively. The evening that this event began, a Friday, Helen had gone to the symphony, alone, and there met a man, Tyrone, whom she had known well once and disliked-a tall, spare man of curious temperament, a hedonist, a true male chauvinist, stubborn, opinionated, willful-a type that Helen usually detested. That evening, after the concert, he offered her a drink, and thinking of avoiding a long cab ride home alone, she accepted. The thought of physical involvement with this man, though perhaps not repulsive, was certainly far from her mind. After stopping for a drink and a late, light supper, he did drive her to her house, made the expected pass, and she responded by giving him a stinging slap in the face. He replied as no man had before. He twisted her arm, turned her away from him, and using a hard, bare hand, slapped her fiercely across the rump. She reacted immediately, and when he slapped her bottom hard again, she gasped aloud as if all thought of resistance was gone. Recognizing her reaction exactly for what it was, as complete submission, he led her to her bedroom, stripped her bare, spanked her further and harder, and soon joined her nude in her bed. He was rigidly erect and she was obviously totally acquiescent, totally passionate, totally responsive. He took her in strange positions and in strange ways, vanquishing her completely and perhaps satisfying her better than she had ever been satisfied. Now it was hours later. He had gone, almost without a word andshe had to deal mentally with the evening's almost incredible events. Well, one thing of which she was certain- she would not be seeing him again. He had brutalized her- well, not exactly brutalized, but he certainly had spanked her. Not that it had hurt especially, but it had cost her her dignity. And he had done strange things, disgusting things. Like putting his finger into her anus, and then, of all things, kissing her there, a wet, thrusting kiss, inserting his tongue as far as he could. That was absolutely bestial. Animals behaved like that, not intelligent people. And worst of all, he had taken her, made her whimper in pleasure, brought her to orgasm several times, and before leaving, firmly pinched her nipples, made her call him Master, and made her suck his then semi-soft cock, brought him back erect and was quickly impaled again on it. Now she lay resting in bed, thinking about all this, about the moment when he first took her into her bedroom, stripped her bare, and spanked her-- right here, she thought, in this very bed. And she found herself getting overheated once more, her nipples again erect, and her juices flowing. Crazy as it sounds, she was going to cum again. The thought about the spanking- actually several spankings thathe had given her, all with his bare hand against her naked bottom, with her trying to twist away from the strokes, but at the same time, raising up slightly, perhaps unconsciously, to be accessible, to offer a more tempting target. No man had ever spanked her before. In fact, in her entire life the only spanking she received was as a schoolgirl of 16, when one evening coming home late and slightly tipsy from a high-school dance, she had found her mother waiting up, furious. Her jeans were taken down, then and there, and her bottom basted by a very angry parent. That one, she reflected, hurt a great deal more than the one did tonight. Her strange thought was that she really wanted to share this experience. She would call Sara. Now that they were really close she would tell her everything. Sara would just love to hear about this adventure. She loved kinky things and kinky clothes and kinky adventures, and especially, intimate, kinky talk. Sara would flip!!! Yes, she thought, Sara WILL flip if I call her at 3:30 AM even to tell her THIS story. Helen lay back in bed, nude, voluptuously excited, sleepless, thinking strange thoughts. This WAS a strange adventure, a marvelous kinky adventure, one to be regretted, perhaps, but one to be savored, to be reflected on, to be shared with a really close, loved and understanding friend, one to be discussed with her in a particularly private moment (perhaps while lying with her face between Sara's elegant breasts, while kissing and gently sucking a delicious, responsive nipple). But this was an experience to be digested and analyzed and understood, but not one to be repeated. She chanced to look at her telephone, on the nightstand next to her bed. She willed it to ring. Let some one call me, she thought, anybody. Nobody did. She thought, what if it rings right now, and it is him- Tyrone, that bastard- and he orders me to get into my car and drive to his house, stark naked, right now!!! Would I? she thought. Helen had before tonight, very limited extramarital experience. On each of the three or four times that she had been bedded down, the man was of the same type- a mature, intellectual, professorial type, a man for whom she had profound respect, a man who respected her own intellectual strength and her polish, who treated her like a great lady is treated, a man who in each case was almost a clone for her husband. In each case so far the appeal had been mental. Heaven knows that Tyrone was none of these things that had interested her in the past. He was a totally different specimen- mature, yes, but not a great mind, not a scholar at all, not particularly physically attractive, not muscular, not strong, not especially talented in anything that she could identify. All he did was take charge, ignore what she wanted (or thought she wanted) take control of her, discipline her, and--- well, what else, she thought. The next morning she could think of nothing else. Now she had better personal insight in to what had really happened. He had somehow peeled off the veneer layer from her, and had gotten down to the core, to what she felt was the fundamental person inside. He made her feel like a true love slave, ready, anxious to please his every whim. And the funny thing, the absolutely wierd point about this whole episode was that she did not love this man- she did not even especially like him and did not respect him. He did not have the deep bass voice that she sometimes found sensuously attractive. He was not especially handsome nor tall. He had no great brain. What he did have was a certain presence, a command of the situation that she found just incredibly overpowering. And he wanted her, obviously wanted her, physically wanted her, carnally wanted her, and could and would all but own her, body and soul, but mostly body. She immediately began to share her experience with Sara, and found that Sara was, as expected, almost as delighted hearing the details as she was in telling them. Helen found this part of the adventure just delectably delectable- lying nude with Sara, her lips nuzzling Sara's shell pink ear, perhaps her tongue probing, her hands running across that ravishing rump, a hand searching between Sara's widespread thighs, a finger finding delicious moisture. As the adventure proceeded, Sara demanded to know, needed to know every detail- whom she had met, what they looked like, what they had done, for how long, how, when, where. Sara seemed to want to participate, but vicariously, afraid really to cross the line and join directly in the adventure. And this Helen wanted to protect her from, not really knowing where it was going. So Sara knew everything that happened between Helen and Tyrone and his friends, but Tyrone never knew about Sara. Helen thought through her situation--her husband will be gone for a month or more and for that month she has a master, one who owns her, will train her in the image that he finds desirable. He will spank her when he pleases, perhaps in the privacy of her bedroom and perhaps elsewhere, with others watching. That much he has already told her. She knows that she should flee him, refuse to see him again or ever speak to him. And she is entirely certain that she will not do that- that tomorrow she may be terrified of what can happen, but she knows that she WILL see him again. And she will be spanked by him- and she is, of course. Now these subsequent spankings that she gets later are not at all severe beatings- only fairly gentle spankings applied with a bare hand or mildly with a leather strop to her naked bottom. They do not even especially hurt. They perhaps more than anything else are symbolic, both to him and to her, of his sexual domination. They paint her rear end a bright pink, leaving her heaving and gasping, and incredibly lascivious, looking only for ways to please him even more. And he promises her nothing more than regular, almost constant excitement, wild new adventures, exciting new friends, and orgasm, orgasm, orgasm!!!! And so she does not go to Europe that summer. She decides thatthe pressures at work are too great, that she cannot get away, that Herbert will travel alone and enjoy himself, that his freedom will be good for him, invigorating. She tells all this to Sara, and she thinks it is hysterically funny. Sara believes that all women occasionally have their brains in their vaginas but that Helen's brains now are totally confined to the clitoris, (and on stating that conclusion, Sara leans forward, finds that delicious appendage, and emphasizes her point by giving it a lovely kiss). Sara thinks that Helen is currently involved in very private, intimate treatment, perhaps best called Mind Fuck, in Sara's judgment an effective and acceptable form of therapy. She approves of this adventure, totally. She has not met Tyrone, but she certainly now knows all about him, and she thinks that Helen has never looked so good or been so interesting. Her only complaint is that Helen does not have as much private time for Sra, but the time they do have together is absolutely marvelous- mre intimate and exciting than it had ever been before. So Helen has a master, a strong man on whom all her almost juvenile feminine wiles of the past are useless, a man who has raptured her, has used her thoroughly and often and made her love him for it, conquered her totally employed her sexually in every conceivable way, introduced her to threesomes and foursomes and orgies, photographed her nude body in unbelievable poses, kept her constantly aroused and is now putting her through her paces, a series of varied sexual adventures, all embarrassing to her but marvelously, deliciously dangerous and exciting at the same time. The queen has become a willing sex slave to a highly imaginative master, and never has she felt herself so much a woman as now. For the two year period prior to Tyrone she and Sara had been taking belly dancing lessons- at first with a group of woman at the local YWCA- and at the end of that series, from an older, very experienced belly dancer, an elegant, exotic lady of Turkish extraction who had learned this dance in the old country as a girl. This older woman, now about 60, is an incredible specimen. She is slim, lithe, with a marvelous body and more energetic than women half her age. She has continued the lessons with Sara and Helen and two other ladies as an advanced class in private lessons. She has taught them things that the YWCA classes did not- much more cosmopolitan things, and especially she has taught them about the sexuality of the dance. She believes that belly dancing is inherently erotic, that it is meant to excite both the dancer and the watchers, and that it is senseless and practically impossible- for the dancer not to have sex after she is through dancing. If she has no partner available, then masturbation is expected and encouraged. She believes that belly dancing without orgasm following is absolute nonsense. Sara, of course, has a young, strong, very vigorous husband. When she comes home from a lesson, he helps relieve her of her excess energy and strong erotic feelings in the time honored way. Helen's husband is not always there and is not as sexually involved. For her, masturbation after a dance lesson has become almost a ritual. Helen has been delighted with the lessons- they are real fun, marvelous exercise, and they give her the most erotic feelings imaginable. When she began her lessons, she thought that they might put some thrills in her otherwise hum-drum workaday existence. Well, she thought, they certainly have done that. Consider the basic movement in the belly dance- the thrusting forward and backwards of the pelvis, an almost perfect parody of the female movements in sexual intercourse. Consider the source, too. Belly dancing was first done in the Harems of the Sultans on the Ottoman Empire, and the dancers were always harem slaves, selected for having the perfect, voluptuous figure that the dance demands- full breasts, firm, shapely legs and thighs, and a delicious, magnificent bottom. Helen's figure matches this description exactly. And further, the slave is a Houri, a nubile female whose whole purpose is pleasing her master, however he might wish to be pleased. It is her responsibility to arouse him, almost beyond control, so that he will then take her, manfully, forcefully. During the early lessons at the YWCA, the students dress in sweatpants and shirts and tennis shoes, a ragpack looking group, not in the least pleasing in appearance. After the YWCA phase, the teacher suggested that Helen and Sara and the ladies buy the appropriate costumes, the diaphanous, filmy materials, designed to show more than they hide, so that beautiful breasts are apparent, nipples are protuberant and obvious, and thighs and bottoms carnally displayed as much as they are hid. One Saturday afternoon, the girls made an excursion to Greek Town to an obscure shop, and bought the costumes. Later in the week they met, each to see how the other looked dressed. Helen looked very attractive- but Sara was absolutely gorgeous. Her pitch black hair, intense brown eyes, full shapely mouth, and dark coloring gave her an Italian look, almost like Sophia Loren. She was sex personified in this costume, her gorgeous body almost completely revealed and still hidden slightly. She looked the perfect Houri, the beautiful, nubile, voluptuous maiden that Moslems think await them in Paradise, trained first to tease and then to satisfy, to give perfect, exotic, never-ending sex in ways almost beyond the comprehension of mortal man. Helen put on a tape, and they danced- first together, and then,one for the other, obviously both very stimulated. Sara approached the end of her dance, and in Harem manner, began to remove the few articles of clothing she wore. First the pantaloons came off so she was dancing in her vest and underpants. Helen removed her own pantaloons. Sara unbuttoned the vest, showing Helen her gorgeous breasts for the first time, utterly delicious looking love apples, high and full and firm, with chocolate brown aureoles and nipples, fully erect, almost demanding to be kissed. Helen stared, transfixed. Sara danced closer, took down her underpants, wiggled free of them and danced, her legs spread, her podex wiggling, her black pubic triangle in front of Helen's eyes. She turned, her gorgeous bare bottom weaving, the cute rosette now and then visible as the cheeks parted, almost beckoning to Helen to come forward and kiss it. Helen stared, absolutely entranced, unable to take her glance away from the heavenly sight of Sara, now turned again towards her, her legs slightly spread, her unbelievable femininity clearly visible, juicy, lovable, as it moved forward and back, offering itself for her kisses. Helen pulled off her few items of clothes and knelt before this dancing nymph and moved forward, her face now between the dancers legs. And for the first time, she kissed that glorious canny. Her tongue found the erect clit. She massaged it wetly. Now the two nude girls stand, the dancing stopped though the music goes on. They kiss deeply and wildly. In an instant they are on the couch, in a position of 69, each feasting on the sopping, squishy. delicious cunt of the other. Both have found the only logical, the only possible end of a true Harem belly dance when no man is present. And now, much later, after Helen was captured, her new master has decided that Helen will do a public performance of the belly dance, before a small audience, in his own home. The guests have finished dinner and are relaxed, and Helen has gone to don her costume. She will be wearing a semi-transparent vest, deeply cut to show her cleavage, and through which her nipples are easily visible. She is wearing the dancers pantaloons, again of a diaphanous material through which her panties can be seen, again almost transparent, and through which can be seen the shadow of her pubic triangle and the delightful cleavage of her behind. She is wearing a boxfull of junk jewelry, assorted baubles and bangles of glass, in bright colors, in vivid reds and greens and yellows and blues. She has on dazzling makeup, and a spray of perfume in strategic places. The perfume itself is a special type, with a very sweet, aromatic scent. It is potent when she is still, but later when her wild movements have caused her body to heat up, the perfume vaporizes further and the air takes on an exciting, erotic aroma, almost like incense. This arouses her, and she knows that it excites the audience. There will not be a flaccid cock in the room, later on. She hears the music begin- a tape of Turkish music, exotic and slow and rhythmic and intense, music one can almost taste as well as hear. She dances in, her body throbbing in time with the music, her sexuality obvious, her exhilaration clearly showing. Those present applaud, enjoying the private show. Very soon, the tempo changes, the beat picks up and the pace of her movements change. Quickly her master signals her. Her pantaloons are removed. She dances now, bare legged, her scrumptious bottom in constant motion, more excited now and more exciting now than before. The master signals again. Her vest flutters down. She now stands bare breasted before the audience, her nipples rigidly erect, her almost orgasmic feeling growing. Will her panties come off, next? Of course they do. Now she is nude, continuing the motions, the parody. She knows what to expect next. She is wild with shameless carnality, with arousal. The sensual music is itself seductively hypnotic. The aphrodisiac aromas, the mixture of her perfumes plus the wondrous scent of her permeate the room. In her mind she knows that never has she looked so exciting as at this instant, never has she felt so much like a true wanton, never so much like a woman. When the dance is done before a private audience in the Harem, it concludes with the nude dancer being given for the night to one or more of the guests. Sometimes the person selected will take her, then and there, with the others watching, cheering him on. She will already be fully ready. No foreplay is necessary. The male selected may or may not need further stimulation. If so, the dancer is fully trained, and will use her body in any way to excite him, to prepare him to take her. And when he takes her, he will take her however he pleases, in any orifice in any way. Will he want to spank her naked bottom with a strop or a cane? Then he will do so, without opposition from the Sultan or any other person there. He is the chosen guest and has been given the use of the dancer, and use her he will, as he pleases. There is another historical custom from the days of the Sultan.In those days, a eunuch was present, usually carrying a bamboo cane. If the Sultan decided that the dancer's pace was too slow, or if there was a certain movement that he wanted emphasized, a sign to the eunuch would tell him to slash the dancer across her behind, a stroke guaranteed to bring results. This might be repeated a few times, or many if the Sultan was cruel. Tonight, of course, there is no eunuch and none would be needed. This night, the audience is composed of the master, three othermen and a woman, her master's friends. She has not seen any of them before this evening. Helen dances on, now turning her back to the audience, bending far forward, and slightly spreading her legs. Her marvelous buttocks are only a foot away from those watching, her squishy femininity fully in sight, her podex wiggling and wobbling, the rosebud of her anus almost winking at those watching. As she is bent forward, her body so intimately exposed to those who watch, her own feelings are of gigantic stimulation. She knows that soon her master will give her for the night to one or another of the guests- perhaps one of the men, or perhaps to the woman, and she knows that she will do her part to please this person. She is playing out the part mentally of the harem slave, and it is as much as her life would be worth to displease the Sultan if she really was a slave. And in a sense she is. Since she has come under the control of this master, she has been getting regular punishment- which she loves and hates at the same time. There is no question about it being truly painful to be turned over, rump-up and stropped thoroughly with that leather or her master's hand- it is not. The spankings are not at all that hard. But at the same time, she adores the wild sexuality that she feels when spanked, knowing that her master will then use her in strange, exotic ways or give her body for use by his friends. Yes, in a sense he has converted her from lady to whore, but never has she felt as attached to or as involved with any man. Yes, he totally is boss and she would not willingly have him any other way. And she absolutely revels in the joy she feels as her master shows off her beautiful body to strangers and willingly shares her most intimate charms with others. She dances on, her nude body writhing and turning. At times her back is turned to the audience, and they then are treated to the sight of the muscles working in her beautiful thighs and ass, a particular delight in the eyes of her master and provocative absolutely to any man. Perhaps whomever gets her tonight will want her that way, she thinks, and gives a special wiggle and spread-legged bend forward that emphasizes that particular delight to the audience, signifying perhaps that there is orgasmic joy to be had right here for a strong man. And who will the winner be, the one selected to conquer her, perhaps right there in full view of all, on that pile of cushions? Maybe it will be the woman this time. She is attractive enough, about 40, shapely, quite well dressed, with a good, slim figure. Helen dances a little bit, just for her, and this is immediately obvious to all. Yes, that one might just spread her thighs and Helen would kneel between them cheerfully, gladly looking into and then kissing and worshiping her delicious femininity. Perhaps it will be one of the men. One, seated in the center, attracts her especially. He is tall and sturdy, perhaps 50, salt and pepper grey in his hair, and a strong, powerful look-- and obviously very aroused. Now, she dances especially for him, facing him, her thighs parted, her curly dark blonde triangle in full view, and as she moves back and forth, her vulva opens and closes slightly, her pink clit now erect and peeping out at him. The perfume is now at its fullest effect and the sight of her nude body, obviously totally passionate, fully ready to be conquered, has all of the audience incredibly excited. They now want the dance to end and to see Helen take up another challenge- the total satisfaction of another person. The master designates an individual who wins tonight's prize. As she had hoped, it is the stocky man with grey in his hair. He seizes her immediately, his hands rubbing across her back and down over her bottom, and as he grasps each cheek of her rump in his huge hand and squeezes, he kisses her, a long, wet kiss, his tongue plunging deep in her mouth. And of course she responds to his kiss, offering her hot tongue in a kind of duel, her nipples rubbing against his shirt. They are in full view of the others, but she does not care at all who watches- in her mind she is a fully stimulated slave girl who will do her utmost, her absolute utmost to satisfy this man, the man designated as her lover for tonight by her master. He bends slightly forward, taking a nipple between his lips and gives it a hard, sucking kiss- almost too hard for her comfort, but still tremendously stimulating. He stands and his trousers immediately drop to expose a monstrous erection, standing straight out, all but pointing at her. Helen drops to her knees as her master has taught her to do. She greets this appendage with a large, wet kiss, massaging the head with her slippery tongue. The dance has done what it always does for her-left her feeling almost orgasmic. Now she wants to pay homage to this lovely huge cock, to make it even more ready so that it will invade her body, give her spectacular pleasure and then squirt its full tribute into her. And she will willingly do as she has been taught- she will relax totally, no matter where this monstrous cock is put, and then participate in the pleasure whole-heartedly, giving as much as she can, and cummmming with her new lover, cummmming for him again and again until he has had enough. He takes her to the pile of cushions, and removes the rest of his clothing so that he, like she, is nude. She wonders if this new lover will want to spank her first- there is master's leather strop, hanging on a hook on the wall. Will he want to use this on her, to demonstrate his total control? He does not. She drops back on the cushions, thighs spread, ready to be pleasured by him. He kneels before her, first giving her delicious, wet pussy a deep tonguing kiss. She responds wildly, raising her bottom up to meet him, throwing her legs up and back so they rest on his shoulders. He raises his head, thrusts a finger into her wily, juicy nest, withdraws that finger and searches for and finds another orifice for it, thrusting it deep into her bottom. She gasps. She knows that he will very quickly make her cum for the first time this evening- that she had practically but not quite been there a number of times during the dance, and this oral stimulation and anal stimulation she cannot resist. But not yet. He moves his body forward so that his rigid cock is at her outer portals. She will get, will need, no further foreplay. Slowly, deeply, thickly, forcefully his rigid rod enters until it's entire depth is planted in her. It feels simply marvelous- stretching her, filling her with true masochistic joy to be impaled on this huge log of a cock in the presence of this very, very interested audience. He strokes back and then forward again- totally in control, setting the pace that pleases him best. And suddenly, after only a few strokes she throws her arms around his neck and says for all to hear, ooooooh,oooooo 'mcummmmmmmmmmmmmmminnnng!!!!". Her new lover smiles, his macho feelings satisfied. He has conquered this delicious bitch. He has caught her, fucked her, made her respond ecstatically and made her surrender her orgasm to him. He feels as if he is ten feet tall, a giant, a hero. And he is by no means through with her- a man of his experience and stature and strength can do this for another hour, perhaps. He continues the slow pace. Though she has just cum, her arousal has really not diminished at all. Her new lover is fucking her masterfully, slow, deep powerful strokes, his finger still imbedded in her anus, keeping time with the strokes of his cock. Never has she enjoyed intercourse so much as this instant, but at the moment she thinks how terrible it is to do this with people watching, how embarrassing, how awful, how dangerous, how absolutely delicious. And her thought goes to her master, who has orchestrated this whole event, choreographed it, and she loves him for understanding her so well, for analyzing her needs for sensation and humiliation and having them satisfied. Her head turns, she sees the audience watching, transfixed. The woman is obviously aroused, her legs now spread, her crotch pointed towards Helen, though she has her panty-hose on. They make eye contact. The woman's lips purse, making the sign of a kiss to Helen, and Helen makes the response, her tongue emerging and making a licking motion. Helen knows, just absolutely knows, that when the others leave, that lady will remain, those panty hose will come off, and Helen will be treated to a closer sight of those female delights and that Helen's master will give her to a second lover tonight, and at the thought, her body shakes and quivers as she goes through the throes of a second orgasm. Just for the record, where was Herbert all this time? Well, heregarded it as a marvelous opportunity for a bachelor trip through Europe with an aged colleague of his- a widower of 67. The gentlemen spent four delightful weeks carefully examining all the gothic cathedrals in France, dined at elegant and expensive restaurants, sampled various interesting and exotic vintages, stayed at small inns and castles other times, looked at the Chateaux on the Loire, went to Chartres and studied the historical architecture plus a square mile or so of fabled stained glass windows, excursioned to Brittany and saw Le Mont St Michael, went to Notre Dame (and perhaps found the hunchback?) met two delightful elderly English school teachers and took them to dinner, and for all I know, even got lucky- I did not ask. When he returned, much refreshed and rested and bubbling with a thousand stories, Herbert said that of course he missed me while he was gone, but that there is much to be said for an occasional separate vacation. He thinks that it gives one a chance to study, to think. It cleans the mind and gives one a clearer perspective of what things are all about. Tyrone, hearing this somewhat later, laughingly agreed absolutely. Sara says that the separate vacation idea is fine for the wife, but her husband is damn well never going to go without her. I believe her. It seems that she thinks that she had better keep an eye on him. So far as I am concerned, midnight came and the carriage turned back into a pumpkin, as it always seems to do. King Tyrone was delegated to the history books. He had been commanding. He had been interesting and fascinating in his way. He had shown a new path to explore that at the time seemed dangerous but fascinating. Still, it was time to move on to new challenges. --