"You're sure you're all right about it?" Terry had asked when he joined me in the cabin; this was the fourth time he had said it.

"I'm all right about it. Honest. Delighted in fact. Ah...come on...all the shit about 'We- Are-Family...' I knew there was something not right. Dead giveaway. I just didn't know what they were going to do. But it was class. First rate. Those girls never let me down."

"So you're not angry and you don't intend to pursue the vendetta?"

"What? They are the champions! Any one who plays us at our own game and shafts us- deserves to wear the crown...except...something is out of kilter..." I stopped and jumped off the bed, pacing around the room as if deep in thought. " I got that wrong...plays us at our own game and shafts me...do I detect a double agent in the ranks? Oh dear...a traitor, it would appear! We have an enemy in our midst. A mole.  Someone on covert ops who thinks he's too clever to get caught.  Now, there's a character who deserves the full weight of my opprobrium, if ever I saw one."

Terry slumped back in the armchair. "So...It's all-out war, is it?"

"'Fraid so, lover. I will have to make the extreme sacrifice for my honour. I'm so glad you have a high pain threshold, Terry. This will only serve to extend the agony for you," I advanced on him menacingly.

"I'm supposed to be scared of that face? Is that your scary monster face? Not working, love," he smirked.

"No, darling, that's my 'I think I'll go and write a diary in which I rub your face in your own shit just like they do with naughty doggies' face." I folded my arms and smiled sweetly at him. Terry put his hands on my waist and pulled me to him, sitting me down on his lap.

"You wouldn't do that to me. I'm your number one. You love me above all things. I'm almost perfect. You said that in writing." He nuzzled up to me, nibbling at my ear and blowing on it sensuously.

"So...I lied..." I stuttered; he really was playing an unfair advantage.

"Then whatever you say won't be believed. You've shot yourself in your own little foot," he sniggered, releasing me and looking very pleased with himself.

"Not when what I write has the ring of truth. They'll know the difference. And when they read this, they will turn their guns on you...I'm going to get Jack and Bud out of the shit and you right up to your ears in it. This is so much more fun than playing scams on girls. I want me a big man's scalp." I wriggled with pleasure on his knee at the thought of it.

"Mate, you'll never get out of this room alive with it. You do know that?" He warned me.

"I'll email it as an attachment to everyone."

"I won't let you use my laptop."

"You have to sleep."

Terry laughed. "Just try it."

"Don't worry, I will. Let me make a deal with you. Let me on your laptop and I will give you any sexual service that you want. Can't say fairer than that, mate."

Terry looked taken aback. "You mean...I get sex?...Thought that privileges were withdrawn straight away..."

"You joking? Why should I suffer? No, soldier boy...I want to shaft you with the others...I still intend you to keep shafting me. Deal then...go on...you know it makes sense..."

He sat and thought about it a while and I knew he had a gambit; I wouldn't have it any other way. Let me tell you something about Terry Thorne when he isn't playing White Knight and Debonair Ladies' man. He is the king of the practical joke. It goes back to his early army days when they used to be stuck in barracks for days on end on training programmes and go a bit stir crazy. They did all sorts of stunts- one of the finest involved a stolen tank, a prostitute, the local vicar and a young corporal who none of them could stand- but it's too long to tell you the details here. Give him a sniff of a good scam and he is away...he cannot help himself. All those abilities to think on his feet, arrange things, talk someone round, appear plausible, take risks, get the adrenalin pumping...they come into their fore.

"While you are thinking...let me set the record straight. Up there, I was just about to say that you were the best kisser when they all interrupted me...you especially..."

"You were singing Il Duce's praises as I remember."

"I was not. I was merely agreeing with them. Then I was going to point out that you are the one who doles out five-alarm stunners on a regular basis..."

"So, I'm the best kisser, am I?" He grinned, pulling me close again.

"Let me just remind myself..." I wetted my lips and flexed my fingers before taking his face in my hands and whispering... "Lay one on me, Daddy..." He took my face in his fingers and brought it to his own and then gently rubbed his cheek against mine. My neck arched and he grabbed my parted lips, tugging on the bottom with his teeth tenderly and bringing his nose to touch my skin. I sighed with pleasure as he licked the inside of my mouth, grazing my teeth and then captured the upper lip, sucking slightly, his thumbs slipping into my ears and massaging me. My ears are so sensitive; I shivered at his touch and he took the opportunity to dive in for a deep kiss, tongue flickering around my own and then seizing it and sucking on it hard. I fought for control at the breathtaking sensuality of his actions.

Once he is into kiss mode, he is hard to stop. Terry loves a good snog. I heard his rumble of contentment as he rocked me, back and forth, his lips and mouth devouring me, deep wet kisses that just went on and on until my brain was spinning and my breathing was laboured. He broke away, let me breathe and continued to kiss and lick my ears, my neck, my throat, before settling back to another plunge into my mouth. Then he stopped, drew away and said "Well?"

I shook myself. "You win. No contest. Knockout. Nothing else even comes close."

"As I thought. It's something I am known for. While we're on the subject...I wonder how I fare in the rest of the Stats?"

"Stats?"

"The grading system...We all know you girls have one. Let me think...next category...bodies. Who's got the best body?" He leaned back in the chair and rested his elbow on the arm, rubbing his face thoughtfully.

"Body....whew...you are taking a chance there, love. Can you really compete with the love god, Hando? Or better still a naked East? Or all spunky like Colin? Or lean and mean like Cort? Or a butt like SID's? Or young and fuckable like Johnny?"

"Actually, I think I can..." he added smugly.

I hummed and hawed. "However as you know....I do prefer a bit of chunky muscle over toned young flesh so...Maximus must figure highly in my list."

"Yes, but we are talking numero uno, love, not nearly there..."

"Correct. However, before I can make my final choice...I need to remind myself of the goods. Strip down to your personals and I'll give you a once over." I stood up and he did the same, giving me a sexy strip, buttons of his shirt one by one, his head lolling to one side and his tongue at the side of his mouth. When the buttons were all open, he let it hang open, while he unbuckled his belt and played with his zipper, running it up and down suggestively. I eased the shirt from him and sat down while he teased me with his zip some more and then, he turned around, dropped his pants and stepped out of them.

"Back view. What do you reckon?" He asked.

I groaned. "That is what I call a back...and those thighs look very promising...front please..." He spun round and stood, hands on hips, in a rather body hugging pair of white Lycra boxer briefs. I almost lost my cool then, having only just got over the sight of his bum in them, but the front view was even more mouth-watering.

"Excuse me, judge...this is the body category...i.e. muscles and frame...thighs and legs included. Do not get distracted by other features. They come later..."

"You are so right. So, general body category...hmmm...I'm afraid there is only one candidate that has the total package....I give you Terrence Thorne!" I clapped my hands with glee.

"Wonderful choice...bookies' favourite. OK...let's move things on. Next category...brains. Let's hear your thoughts, professore."

"Ah...brains...now...that is a hard one. After all, you do have a Nobel Laureate in your ranks...Nashie's IQ adds up to the rest of you combined, I think. However, he knows nuts about important things. Jeff's good on sport and porn...Max is ace at philosophy but he's crap at Name that Group...Bud has the best vocabulary for swearing and dirty talk in the world, Cort is fantastic at Religious Knowledge- what a biblical scholar!...Jack is phenomenal at calculation, Wigand is a linguist as well as a chemist...you know...this is a toughie...but, for all-round general knowledge, political theory, economic analysis, stats on footie, rugby and cricket going back to Noah's Ark (and not bad on tennis and golf, either), formidable pop music trivia and respectable on the movies, excellent on current affairs, pretty damn good on literature and a useful linguist, not to mention his verbal skills and the minutely detailed anal crap he knows on every form of weapon, warfare, military engagement and other derring-do that boys and me enjoy so much...in short, the most fun guy with whom to spend an evening  cerebrally ....Mr. Thorne, step forward and claim your prize. By the way you also pick up an extra ribbon for being 'The one with the best sense of humour', too. Give him a round of applause, folks."

"Should I make a speech now or wait to see if I pick anything else up?" Terry asked, taking a bow and sitting cross legged on the floor, like a little infant kid at a school prize-giving.

"We have a few more gongs to allocate first...you're in the running although...we are getting to the most closely contested sections, I must warn you. There are others with incredible gifts in these areas."

Terry nodded sagely and awaited his fate.

"And now we come to the part of the evening which you have all been waiting for. The next category is for ...hair (including chest). Now, this is the toughie. It rather depends on your perve POV - and there have been some rather heated discussions on this topic. Here are the results in reverse order. In fourth place we have...Jack. Now, some would put him higher but, although the length is very appealing...many feel the colour is not to their best taste. Number three...only just in front, I may add....is Maximus. There is something about that manly style with the dinky fringe that sure does turn a girl on. Bet you can't guess whose next? Oh, yes...the man who looks good wet or dry and should be the next L'Oreal girl...Is he worth it? We think so....Cort!!!! But, for all round manliness, a touch of wayward curl( especially first thing in the morning), thick enough to run your fingers through...particularly appealing when accompanied by a two days' growth of beard...you knew it...Mr. Remington himself....Terry Thorne...."

Terry ran his hands through his hair and ruffled the top. "Great choice. 'Bout time one of you lot recognised a decent head of hair when you saw it."

I held up my hand for quiet.

"The penultimate award is for a subject very close to most women's hearts. I am of course referring to the male arse, which is the source of endless perving for the fairer sex. I have to say...there was not a single dud amongst the whole bunch. High up on the list came SID, obviously, Jeff was leading the pack for quite a while until East came and almost rode away with it. Andy was there in the running, Jack's breeches did a lot for his case, Max still managed to make an impression even when wearing a dress...but, my personal preference was the deciding factor and the sight of your bum in the shower this morning gave you the victory... Terry- the Rear of the Year...let's just have a look at the highlights again, shall we?"

Terry stood up, turned and whipped off his undies, throwing them back at me. It was a good decision; I patted myself on the back for selection under such conditions.

I waited until his applause for himself died down and until he sat back with his hands coyly cupping his equipment.

"And now we come to the final event of the evening. I must just say that there has been a complaint about this category. Some feel that it really should be two separate awards because of the singularly different experience that the Great Divide offers. However, I'm the boss of this so, we do it my way. In the most important award of the evening, that of "Penis of the Year," I have had to do a great deal of research. It has involved extensive sessions of touching, weighing, measuring, tasting, and an equal amount of stuffing. I had to keep going back to certain ones to ensure I was forgetting nothing."

"Come on, love...were getting a bit on edge here...tension is mounting...you know what that does to a bloke..."

"Silence from the floor! You'll get your 60 seconds in a minute...May I just add that we allowed testicles to be included if there should be a tie. And there was - about 20 ways...but we soldier on. Some of the members in question do merit separate mention. Young Hando obviously would win if it were merely a question of size and response time. Jack's is ...Jack. I can say no more about that experience- it is beyond words. Cort's would be my choice for taste and is to be given a special certificate for that (also for facial expression when having an orgasm, a new sub-category...Colin is the runner up), Arthur is a new talent in this group and can get it up faster than the lot of you put together- we will be hearing more of him in the future-, Maximus' is a hero who certainly will rise ( and does regularly), SID's is relentless and then... there is the Rat ...oh Mama...and his quadratic equation...Bud, you almost took it. But, due to the absence of a tiny piece of skin, and me being a lover of men as nature intended them to be....I'm afraid 'you- know- who' has cleared the boards again...Terry, take your hands away and give the girls a treat....no wonder I call it Oscar..."

He stood up, putting his award winning appendage in appetising reach. I stroked it and gave it a little suck. He groaned. "This my prize...?" He muttered.

"If you like..." I mumbled, as I settled down to dispensing lingual sensation.

Slipping to my knees, I knelt before him, tested the heft of his weighty balls, rolling each in return and I inhaled his smell, tickling the tiny hole with the tip of my tongue. I felt the shiver run through his body; his hands were in my hair and he was beginning to rock in that lovely way he has when he is on the edge of losing his cool. I ran my tongue under the ridge, the way he loves me to do, tormenting him but keeping him from coming all at the same time. His gasp told me I was hitting the mark. Sucking lightly on the tuck of skin on the tender underside and tracing down his engorged vein, pulsing and hot to my touch, I whirled and flickered, lapped and nipped. I bared my teeth and placed a slight pressure on the shaft, he hissed and whimpered, hardly from pain but more from the thought of it, anticipation, the knowledge that he was entrusting himself to me. I nibbled a little more and grazed him slightly but his grunt seemed to give me consent.

As my teeth played games, I felt him grow even harder, knew he found this game an extra notch of tension - he likes to play for raised stakes. He muttered something garbled, sounded like: "Suck... fucksuckmehard..." I lowered my mouth down and swallowed him deep. His moan was subterranean...I reckon he was probably heard by whales in the south Atlantic... reckon they heard it on deck, too. That would throw them...

He wanted a hard suck; he got one. I placed such suction on his beautiful dick that I thought my ears would pop. I could feel the movement in his balls, the tensing in his thighs, the clenching of his fingers as they scraped my scalp and his hips jerked against me. I steeled myself for the inevitable explosion- he was so close. But...this boy is good. He grunted and tensed, pulled back and breathed out evenly, rhythmic prana to control himself.

"No! Want you....no..." he mumbled, sinking to the floor. I pulled my tank top over my head and wriggled out of my shorts; he slid down to lie beneath me until I was straddling his head, on my knees. He parted me, widened my knees, lay there looking and making muffled comments and moans as he blew on my hair and ran his thumb down my folds. The creamy moisture slicked across my skin, his tongue dived in after it. Just like the kisses that had started off this whole episode, his intimate kiss, is second to none. The same amazing technique, the suckle on the upper and lower lips, the lick of the tongue to search for permission to enter and then the deep intrusion, drinking from me as he held my thighs apart and massaged them in his strong fingers.

I haven't his control. I slumped forward, my hands securing my balance on his legs. I reached for him to bury myself in his groin, rubbed my face in his thick hair and felt the thick shaft of his cock against my face, the softer, wrinkled scrotum in my nose, the warm musky scent of him, the sensitive sinews on his inner thigh, the effect of my fingers pressed beneath his balls and circling his anus.

He had found my clitoris and was torturing it with love and kisses, his thick fingers searching me, deep in my body, massaging that sweet place, his thumb moistened in my wetness, rotating the puckered skin of my hole as I did to the same to him. I knew I would come soon. The heat was building, anticipation so strong that I feel almost nauseous, a pain so agonisingly sweet burning in my hard little bud, my walls already clamping in spasms ...my only thought was 'I want to taste you'... I sucked down hard and as he worked me, I worked him...We spun around, rolled this way and that, both urging our bodies to find that extra inch they need to reach the peak and then- he cried out, I tasted the first spurt- it catapulted me into flight. Every sense was overloaded; smell, taste, touch, feel, sight, hearing...nothing in this world feels like this. I love him so much, I think I could simply die of pleasure.

We lay there, upside down, both cradled in the other's sex, like babies with a comforter, safeguarded by the other's gender. And then we came back to ourselves, rolled back, stretched and sighed, giggled a little at the sight of each other, sat up and kissed, the taste of the forbidden fruit still on our lips.

"Woo hoo!" he observed. "I should play you out every day of the week if this is my reward."

I gurgled. "You are so lucky that you are the object of my affections. Of course, you play on it quite shamelessly and are an absolute bugger but...I can deny you nothing."

He grinned and stood up, pulling me to my feet and hugging me close. Slapping my bum, he sauntered to the bathroom - another glimpse of his award winning butt- and took a leak, running water to enable himself get the old system going, so soon after orgasm. I followed him in and sat on the marble counter, watching his concentrated enjoyment of a good piss. He finished, flushed, washed his hands and looked at his stubble- it was distinctly beard-shaped by now.

"Should I shave it off? Can't be bothered with trimming it every day...might as well get rid of it..."

"It's nice...sexy...leave it...just for the holidays...you can shave it off before we go back to New York," I insisted. "Hey Terry...can I shave it off for you? I've always wanted to shave a man."

His look would have turned milk sour. "What? Let you near my face with a razor? You must be out of your tiny little mind. I can just see it now...ooops, sorry Terry, just slit your throat..." he exhaled and shook his head... "Not in this lifetime, baby."

I tutted. Then I had an idea. "Terry...would you shave me? Seeing as you're so good at it and all..."

"You don't have a beard."

"I do..." I giggled crudely and opened my legs suggestively.

"You mean...down there...shave you, Jesus...whew...yeah, why not...I've got a steady hand..." His eyes had filmed over again...I was betting this would speed up his refill time; his voice was already husky.

I watched him fill the bowl up with warm water and reach for some shaving foam. He gently laid me back against the cool mirror and pulled my hips forward so that my groin was raised and exposed. Winking, he shook the can and then sprayed some on his hands, smearing carefully over the already neat brown triangle. "Brazilian...I take it..."he muttered.

"Totally naked...all the bits I can't reach..." I purred back at him.

He wet the razor and set to work, I lay on my elbows, half sitting watching him. His head was turned to the side and his tongue was out - God, that makes me wet just seeing it! His left hand was resting on the inner side of my right thigh, holding it wide and he was expertly shaving me with smooth, deft strokes, rinsing off and then returning to my skin. My mound was quickly dealt with and then he turned to the more intricate areas, bending my knees up on the top and then widening. "Harder than a neck this..." he mumbled but made neat work of it, leaving only the sensitive area around my vagina; I could feel a hesitancy.

"Bit close this...need to think...inside out, I reckon..." and then he started to giggle, his hand shaking until he had to put down the blade.

"What's so funny?" I smiled.

"I was just thinking...you know when a guy shaves, he does this...." He pulled his mouth to the right and then left....could you just do that with your cunt?" He snorted and so did I. I flicked water on his face.

"I'm not a fucking circus act, Terry! Now stop laughing and do it...this is supposed to be turning you on..."

"It is. Look." He observed as he bit his lip and began to tackle the inner sanctum.  I looked and saw that Oscar was looking for the Multiple Ejaculation award again. Very welcome sight. I wriggled with anticipation.

"I'm wet, Terry."

"I know, it's a wet shave..." he muttered.

"No, I mean...I'm wet, you know - wet!...This is such a turn on...it tingles... you're hand is so steady and fast...I love the way you hold the razor...so masterful.." Terry looked up at me and grinned.

"How can holding a razor be masterful? It's not a fucking broadsword. You women say some shit about men, you know..." He finished with a flourish, rinsed the blade and wiped me clean with a soft hand towel. There I was, all pink and pale, even more so against my tan. Terry growled. "Jesus...that is so fucking pretty...I like hair but...boy, does that crank the old man up. I just want to...." He breathed deeply, still holding my thighs apart and staring at his artwork.

"Just want to what?" I whispered.

"Do some very naughty things to you, baby," he growled.

"Be my guest. Want me to give you an even better show...?"

I held out my fingers to his mouth, he licked them and I began to touch myself. Men love that, don't they? As much as we love to watch them wank, I suppose. I ran my finger up and down, coated it and gave it back to his lips; he inhaled, groaned and licked. I returned to my performance. I suppose it looked even cruder, shaved and exposed, as I inserted my finger in and rubbed my clit...his breathing changed and his cock was like rock...I could see he would soon be taking charge.

Closing my eyes, I lay back against the mirror and pleasured myself, while he let forth a continuous stream of crudeness, interspersed with love talk - the usual crazy nonsense that drives you wild at the time but would sound embarrassing if you overheard any one else saying it. He let me take it to the limit, urged me to come, described what I looked like, what he wanted to do to me, how much he loved me, how I drove him so wild that he could hardly control himself...his deep burr seemed to rub my sex like another hand.

As I shuddered my orgasm, he caught me, picked me up and carried me back to the room. On the soft bed, he laid me down, still whimpering, and came straight into me, pushed hard and rammed to the base, taking my breath away with shock. His lips found my neck as he crouched above me, drawing my legs up, one around his waist, the other over his shoulder and he gave me no quarter. I tell you, he pounded me so hard I thought we would break the bed. His cock felt like steel, I screamed for him to give me more of his sweetness; I was lost in my adoration of his manliness - and simply drowning in love.

Honesty. I believe in telling the truth now.  I know I have infuriated you all in the past with half-truths and blind alley ways, until I have made you think I am incapable of real emotion. I am not as hard as I appear to be. I just find it difficult to admit the way I really feel about Terry. It is my British sense of distance and privacy. But, I have come to understand that it is unworthy of the love and friendship you have all extended to me. I share your secrets, therefore I owe it to every last one of you to stop playing games, to stop being Miss Smarty Pants, and tell you a few secrets of mine.

Do you want to know how much I love this man? There aren't enough grains of sand on the seven beaches of Guana, or drops of water in the Caribbean, even to begin to compare with how he makes me feel. I love him totally. Mindlessly. Hopelessly. Endlessly. Definitively. Gloriously. My only aim in life is make him happy and safe in my love.  I know I am biased but I have to say: he is the best of them all. He takes all my prizes. I can forgive him anything.

Except...joining the enemy.

Oh, we made sweet, sweet love in our cabin and told each other how we felt and how much we loved each other. You would have wept at the sweeping (and genuine, whatever you may think) emotion of the occasion. Of course, by then, El Tel had forgotten how this interlude had actually started- he was in a satiated state of happiness, 'cos he's a man and his brains are in his delicious dick. So then...he did the thing I had been waiting for...HE FELL ASLEEP.

I jumped off the bed, pounced on the laptop and this is what I wrote. Check your mails. I sent the attachment. Might have even pressed the wrong key and informed the entire universe. Who knows?

Report into the covert activities of T. A. Thorne, double agent and traitor

1. May 30th.2003

On the occasion of the departure of his girlfriend for a weekend shopping in New York, he drove her to the airport, made his usual fond farewells and activated the deceptive five alarm stunner to convince her that this was indeed a sad parting (cf. file on Goodbye kisses...under A for Alice) Tears were duly shed, protestations of 'I will not be able to sleep without you, call me...think of me...'- this agent is a very convincing operative. He then drove away into the sunset.

An hour later, after said girlfriend had boarded, sat down and was browsing through the in-flight magazine, a voice said "This seat taken, Miss?" And to her amazement, our intrepid master of subterfuge was smiling down on her.

"What are you doing here?" the girlfriend asked in horror. "You can't come...it's a girls' weekend. They will kill me..."

He settled down and fastened his seat belt. "Sorry, but this is unavoidable. Rush job. Needed in New York office. I'll stay out of the way. Different hotel if you like...?"

It was the usual master ploy. How could any adoring young woman resist the lure of this seasoned operator? While she insisted that he must share her hotel room, he smiled in satisfaction to himself at a target achieved, and enjoyed the flight. His plans to infiltrate the inner workings of the Sisterhood were underway.

2. May 31st 2003

At exactly one forty five on the afternoon of Friday 31st May, T. Thorne was observed entering the New York restaurant 'Moda'. He was carrying a single rose in a box, bought from an expensive florist in the lobby of the hotel where he was staying. It contained a secret password that would enable him to pass safely through security and lure the cargo away from the protective blanket of her companions to the comparatively dangerous playground of his bed for the afternoon.

His performance was masterly. He strode in quietly, looked around, sighted the target and indicated to a waiter (to whom he slipped a rather large tip) to deliver the device. Within seconds of it being opened, the damage was done. The recipient, floored by the sentiments which were contained, lost her rational ability to think clearly and, in a momentary lapse of judgement (for which she would pay grievously in the future), the woman handed herself over to fate. We hold Mr. Thorne entirely responsible for the undue pressure he brought to bear on a fragile and trusting soul who was affected by a form of the Stockholm Syndrome (and she would probably throw in PMS in her defence as well not to mention the need to get as much in as she could 'avant la deluge'..)

3. June 14th 2003

There are several charges relating to this incident.

a) Conspiring with a partner to frighten and deceive shipmates by organising and planning a dangerous con trick to give the impression that a tragedy was only just averted by his quick reflexes and daring action (and he did suggest the bit about the neckerchiefs).

b) Making use of the goodwill and concern of several of his Brothers to innocently aid and abet his treachery- Bud and Jack were taken for a ride- do not hold their generosity of heart against them.

c) Abusing the affection and trust with which his Sisters hold him and receiving their apologies with a straight face- the bastard!

d) Beating me at Scrabble.

e) Writing a total pack of lies in my diary that gave the impression that he was a brave but sorely abused boyfriend who had no intention of assisting his girl in her perfectly understandable desire for righteous vengeance. In my defence indeed...where do you think I got the idea from?

3. June 16th 2003

This is the most serious episode of betrayal yet encountered. With full knowledge of his prior involvement in the declaration of war at sea, he told a further pack of lies, protesting his innocence in the previous incident and even stating that he felt it was necessary for him to assist THE ENEMY to show his abject apology and shame for having been duped by his partner. Following this, he used a combination of sexual and romantic entrapment, feigning concern and other diversionary tactics, to enable THE ENEMY to sneak up from the rear and launch their attack.  He also used his computer hacking skills to break a password on a poor and defenceless woman's email account to send mail of a singularly unpleasant and embarrassing nature, resulting in her virtue and honesty being brought into question. Furthermore, while the smitten and innocent victim was ensnared, he then became the foremost of her attackers. Judas himself could not have acted more cruelly...and like Judas... his treachery was begun with a kiss.

This man is dangerous and must be stopped. All women should be warned to keep their distance and not allow him close enough to use his undoubted skills upon them. Men should also be wary- he plays the team game on the surface but, in reality, he is a lone wolf and has only one side - his own.

Recommended action

Solitary confinement or take out at will. 
Feel free, Girls.

Uma xxxxxxxxxxx

'We have a chance if we work together.'