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Through college I'd always been something of a recluse. Once I'd graduated and joined the workforce, my anxiety and lack of self confidence were less weird personality quirks and more liabilities for future success.

So I gritted my teeth and landed on a decision I was loath to initially consider. I signed up for week therapy sessions with doctor who specialized in these sorts of issues. He was a hippo of some small renown, even getting a few newspaper interviews where he described his thoughts on getting the best outcomes for his patients.

Begrudgingly, I had called Dr. Connor's office and scheduled an appointment. 'Just another canine chasing the ball of life' I'd told the receptionist, or something equally ridiculous. She was polite enough to chuckle.

Two years later and I was still a patient of his. It had been nearing the end of my final session with the middle aged man. He'd been a fantastic therapist for me -- really helping me boost my confidence and assertiveness. Over the two years I'd been coming to the dignified looking hippo's impressive office, I felt we'd really developed a healthy bond. A rapport of trust, as it were.

Which is why I was so dumbfounded with Dr. Connor's final words to me, just as I was getting ready to wish him the best of luck and leave his practice for good.

Taking off his glasses and cleaning them with a cloth napkin produced from his coat pocket, the hippo looked me square and the eyes, and after a small resigned sounding sigh said, "Blake, perhaps I shouldn't mention this... but after all our time together, I feel I owe you the truth. Very soon you're going to be raped."

I had already been pushing myself out of my chair, in anticipation of walking across the room to shake his hand. Instead, I froze in place with a blank look on my face.

All I could think to say was a confused sounding, "I'm sorry?"

Without expressing much emotion, Dr. Connor continued.

"I'm sure it's hard for you to accept that. It's probably even harder for you to believe it. But it's the truth. He'll be a large man, like me. Full bodied... lots of muscles. His strength will be plain to see. Undeniable even. And when he finds you, he'll use that strength to force you to please him. You won't be able to stop him. I recommend you not try."

I fell back into my chair, still not quite believing what I was hearing.

Anger began to rise within me. If this was his idea of a joke, it was a bad one.

"Doctor... I have to say this is in extremely bad taste. Why the hell would you say that? Is this suppose to be a final test or something? To see if I'm able to stand up for myself? Or are you having some kind of... mental break or something?"

The older man sighed again, this time more heavily.

Putting his glasses back on, he stood up out of his large, cushy chair and said, "Our time together is at an end, Blake. While I make no excuses for myself, I will say that I was given little choice in this matter. You see, I owed a great deal of money to some very serious people. As a last resort, I was forced to hand you over to them. This is a result of the particulars of my arrangement with them, and so for the last year or so I've been preparing you during our weekly hypnosis sessions, per their specifications. I'm told that one of their higher-ups has a thing for bull terriers. It's an unfortunate coincidence that you fit the bill. Now, if you'll join me, I'll escort you out."

My anger began to boil over. I didn't believe for even a moment that he'd been able to affect me in any serious way during the 'confidence building' hypnosis sessions, but it made my throat tight to consider the possibility that he might very well have give my information and home address to some bad, dangerous people.

"Dr. Connor, if anyone so much as touches me, I'm going to the police and yours will be the first name out of my mouth. Furthermore, I demand a refund. This goes so far beyond the realm of appropriate that--"

"Bitch, be silent. Now, follow me to your car."

Horrifying, I found myself cut off mid sentence, unable to speak. This couldn't be happening. It wasn't possible. Things like this... they didn't happen. Not really. At least that's what I began to silently tell myself.

Passing by me, the suited hippo lead the way to the back entrance of the building, unwilling to let his nosy receptionist or any potential patients in the lobby overhear our now one-sided conversation.

"Please know that this is not how I wanted our relationship to conclude, Blake. In our time together, you've come so very far. I'm extremely proud of the progress you've made. But there's times in life when hard decisions have to be made. I'm sorry that it has come to this. You know, I didn't have to mention any of this to you, yes? I certainly wasn't told to. I just felt you were owed the truth. No matter how hard or uncompromising it may be."

Reaching the exit, the therapist held the door for me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my dark green car.

The doctor placed a thick hand on my shoulder, squeezing it in what I could only assume was intended to be a comforting gesture.

"For both our sakes, don't resist him Blake. ... And thank you, friend. Thank you for your sacrifice. And thank you for your bravery. Off you go now. Consider getting a nap when you get home. You'll need your energy."

Nearly trembling with a combination of rage and fear I glared back up at him, unable to say a word.

Sighing heavily and for the final time, Dr. Connor took his hand off my shoulder and commanded, "Bitch, go home."

And so I turned around, got in my car, and drove home.

**********************************************

For the next few days, I lived as though standing on pins and needles. I was in constant fear. Fear for my life. Fear for my dignity. Fear of losing control.

I considered calling the cops, of course. But what would I tell them? That my well respected therapist said some lewd things to me as we parted ways? I considered buying a gun for self protection, but with my level of jumpiness and inexperience, I knew I was more likely to shoot some innocent bystander or myself.

My next thought was locking the doors and staying home, where I'd hopefully be safe. But then I recalled how easily the therapist bent me to his will. I could only assume that whoever was coming for me could and would do the same. They'd simply command me to unlock my door and let them in. Then they'd have me all alone and Id have no where to run.

So what I settled on was staying in public, as often as I could. At least until I figured something out. They couldn't get to me if I was constantly surrounded by onlookers, after all.

At least, that's what I had told myself.

It was three days after my unpleasant parting of ways with that damned hippo that I was proven wrong on that point.

I was at the grocery store, buying a clean pair of clothes and the microwaveable meal I planned to eat at the inside food court. Standing up on my tip toes, I stretched up and reached out my arm, trying to grab the last cup of instant noodles on top shelf. While I was decently well built, I happen to be somewhat short. Runs in the family.

About ready to give up, the tips of my fingers just brushing against the plastic wrapped noodle cup, a felt a body press up against me from behind. A long, spotted tan arm reached past me and grabbed the cup.

A moment later the person moved back, noodles in hand. Turning around as I let myself fall to my feet, I saw a smiling giraffe offering me the cup, dwarfed by his hand's loose grip. He was tall, which was kind of a given for his species, but something about his build gave him the illusion of being shorter. Not short... just shorter. It was his probably all his large muscles. They didn't quite make him barrel chested, but none the less, they definitely affected his proportions.

"Saw you were having trouble there. Here ya go."

Returning his smile, I took the instant noodles from him and thanked him. Then it hit me. When we looked into each other's eyes, I knew for sure. It was him.

Turning away, my breath caught in my throat, I made to leave when I heard, "Hey, hold up there a second."

My body froze. Not in fear, but in defiance of my will. I tried to force myself to run but my muscles didn't even so much as twitch. I opened my mouth and prepared to scream.

The giraffes' hand closed over my mouth and with polite insistent he said, "Whoa now, none of that. Just act normal, for fuck's sake."

Once more standing behind me, he slowly took his hand away from my mouth. Leaning down, the man whispered in my ear.

"Man, those pictures didn't do you near enough credit. You're a real cutie, you know that? There's just something about bull terriers... they're just so... fuckable. Know what I mean?"

I felt like passing out. This couldn't be happening. This was a dream. A bad, terrible, entirely fictional dream.

Taking me by the hand, the giraffe told me, "Come on, let's buy those noodles and jet. You and I got some things to chat about... and some uglies to bump."

The next few minutes passed by in a bit of a fuzzy haze. My heart was racing and my mind had slowed to a crawl. I was in hardcore denial mode and I stopped paying attention to what was happening around me.

I only really came to when the giraffe kept snapping his fingers in front of my face.

"Helloooo...? Anyone there, puppy?"

We were sitting in his van. Apparently. On the highway. He was driving us somewhere.

Turning to look at him, I found myself meeting his eyes. He smiled again and then turned his head back to the road.

"Lost you there for a minute, huh? Well, guess I can't blame you. I was actually told to expect this, you know. The shell shock. Guess it's kind of a hard thing to accept, yeah? Hey, you aren't the only one! It's kind of a mind trip for me too. If I hadn't of seen those pictures of you, I'd never have believed you could train a guy to do those things."

Finding my voice for the first time since our grocery store encounter, I tried to sound far more confident than I felt as I demanded, "What pictures?"

Giving me a quick glance, the man replied, "Don't remember those, huh? Well... I won't get into too much detail, but to make a long story short, that hippo has gotten you to do some pretty wild things over the last year. It's hard to tell from the photos if he was enjoying it, with that stoic face of his, but it was fairly obvious that you were."

"What do you mean?" I practically barked.

He shrugged. "You just always had a hard on, so I figured... Anyway, you always had a goofy smile too. Just seemed like you were having a good time. I dug it. Still have those pictures. They're in a shoebox in my closet. I pull 'em out from time to time."

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry. Trying to maintain self control, I took a few deep breathes. Then I asked, "Look, I don't know who you are, or what you want with me, but whatever it is, I don't want this. Whatever your problems with Dr. Connor, just leave me out of them. Okay?"

Silently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, the giraffe explained, "Sorry little man. No can do. Your therapist owes us some serious moola. While he figures out how to pay back us back, we're accepting you as a sort of peace offering. More specifically, you could say I'm accepting you as an interest payment. I fronted some cold hard cash for you and I'm not letting you go. And that fat hippo better thank his lucky stars I got a thing for your kind."

"...My kind?"

"Yeah... bull terriers. Not to sound racist, but young fit pups like you, get me sprung big time. What about you? Don't suppose you have a have a thing for giraffe salami, aye?". Watching me from his periphery, he tried to hide his seemingly genuine curiosity of my answer.

All I could think to say was, "I want out of this car. Now."

He chuckled, light heartedly.

"Guess I'll that as a no. Well, sorry pup. Thing is, giraffe salami is the only thing on the menu for you tonight. And for the foreseeable future, unless I decide to share you with any of my friends. Or 'business associates', I guess."

I did my best to try and bluff my way out of the situation, my eyes suddenly locked on the crotch area of his jeans.

Trying to keep my voice from cracking in nervousness, I proclaimed, "My boyfriend isn't going to put up with this. Even if I can't do anything, he will. And you and my therapist will go to jail. Stop this now, before things go too far."

My ears dropped flat when he outright laughed at this.

"You don't have no boyfriend. Hah! Please, I know all about you. What movies you've seen. What books you've read. Shit, I even read that lame dream journal of yours. Parts of it, anyway. That deadbeat doctor of yours handed over copies of your entire medical file. Nice of him, huh?"

A sudden sense of betrayal struck me. Part of me felt it was odd and a bit silly to only truly feel this way now, after everything that Dr. Connor had told me during his parting declaration. But silly or not, the betrayal suddenly became very real to me. My dream journal? How could that bastard do this to me.

Feeling my options dwindle to nothing, I asked, voice nearly pleading, "Just... what do you want from me?"

He steered the van towards an upcoming highway exit and shrugged again.

"Ain't no plan. Maybe lounge around on the coach. I'll put on one of those action movies you like. Maybe we'll mess around a bit... get a feel of each other, yeah? I've already seen you in the buff, but it'll be your first time getting an eyeful of me. Maybe... you'll want a lick. We'll play it by ear. Take our time."

I sat in stunned silence. He glanced at me a couple times over the next few minutes, perhaps trying to gauge my reaction to his words.

But after another five minutes or so had passed, he reached over to turn on the radio. Before he did so, the giraffe mumbled, "Names Dillon. It'd be cool if you could ummm... learn to like me... I guess."

The way he said it, it was as if he suddenly felt self-conscious, seeking my approval.

I stared ahead, clutching the unopened cup of noodles in my hands.

**********************************************

Twenty minutes later I was sitting on his couch, bowl of freshly microwaved popcorn in my lap. I sat up straight. Painfully so, like I was a vacationer bracing for an airplane crash during my first take off.

The giraffe, in contrast, looked laid back, his arms resting on the back of the couch as the movie played. Less than a foot separated the two of us, so the man's arm ran across my shoulders and the back of my neck.

Finding my voice, I asked, "May I... use the restroom?"

Grabbing some popcorn from the bowl in my lap, he sounded relaxed as he replied, "No prob. But don't try and sneak out. Come back here after you're done."

"...Of course." was all I could say, though I had no intention of doing so. I knew that if I saw an opportunity to make a break for it, I would. If my body would allow me to, that was.

But, frighteningly, I found that I could not as I passed the darkened hallway that led to the front door. I want to break out into a run and throw myself out the door, as legs would move. But I didn't. I couldn't.

Instead, I found the bathroom, pissed, washed my hands and face, and tried to resist his command to return. I only last a few seconds before my body once again betrayed me.

When I re-entered the living room, approaching from behind the black faux leather coach, I nearly gasped. Dillon was looking at the television, slowly stroking his jumbo erection, his pants and underwear tossed to the other side of the room. Equally bad, in my absence he had apparently scooted over farther to the left, leaving me barely enough room to sit down.

My body moved without consent as I squeeze in next to the masturbating giraffe, the side of naked thigh pressed against my leg.

For a minute, we both pretended as if nothing unusual was going on. Nothing at all. He even asked me for some popcorn, which I provided, grabbing the bowl from the table. Then things escalated enormously as he grabbed my wrist and placed my hand onto his swollen cock.

Too afraid of pissing him off, I half-heartedly stroked it, my eyes boring a hole in the TV set. His arm moved behind me until his hand was gently rubbing the back of neck, casually massaging me. Things continued on in this way for several long minutes, my hand pumping his surprisingly soft meat as I tried to ignore the warm precum dripping onto me from his the absurdly thick shaft head.

Then he spoke up, causing me to jump slightly a little in surprise.

"Hey, use your left hand and play with my balls some, yeah? I like that."

For some reason, I had this absurd sense that it was somehow too late to object, having already allowed permitted my hand to be used as a masturbation aid. Dutifully, I reached over with my other hand and rubbed his balls through the soft skin of his sack. They felt warm and alive in my hand as a bounced them in my palm, rubbing the hefty pair.

He was content with this, for a time. Occasionally he'd glance over to me, as if to see how I was handling this, but otherwise we just watched the movie, where yet another gun fight was taking place. Everyone always seemed to have unlimited bullets in these flicks, I noticed, trying to take my mind off what my hands were up to.

Which was hard to do, needless to say. Then impossible, when he addressed me again.

Cupping my hand in his, he encouraged me to stroke a bit faster as he inquired, "So... what do you think? Maybe something you can get use to, yeah? How is it? Size wise, that is. I've been told it's pretty impressive, but I want your opinion. Your honest opinion, I mean." He must have noticed my hesitation to verbally address the situation, because he told me, "Come on, tell me."

Realizing that he was serious and that I had no choice, I answered, "It's really big. Bigger than mine."

I stopped there, hoping that would be enough.

He nodded, saying, "Well, I already knew that. The hippo took a few up-close pictures, holding a dollar bill next to it for scale."

I felt hot under my collar, angry once more.

"He... he jerked me off?" I demanded, tone seething.

Noticing that I'd stopped jerking him off, Dillon used his grip around my hand to encourage me to resume as he replied, "Umm, he did a lot more than that, dog. You really don't remember any of it? He sent me like, an album's worth of pictures. Just you and him."

I squeezed on his cock in unconscious frustration, but he didn't seem to mind. His member just gushed out another dollop of clear pre seed.

"Like what? What did he do?" I insisted.

"Well, for one thing, over the last year you must have swallowed enough hippo seed to float a small boat. But I don't really want to talk about him, aye? I'd rather talk about you."

I could barely accept this. I didn't even recall a single memory of what the hippo looked like with his dress pants off, much less picture myself going down on him. And that's when it suddenly occurred to me. I had fucking paid for all those therapy sessions! I'd paid out the nose for his alleged miracle hypnotism treatments. Thousands of dollars, all said and done. And he'd used me like a slutty whore? I trembled with fury, even as I wanked off the big dicked giraffe.

Suddenly I had an idea.

"Hey, you're part of the mafia or something right? How much would it cost to put out a hit on him? I have money. I can pay."

Dillon looked at me in shock, then burst at laughing, slapping his naked thigh as he did so as he released his grip on my hand.

"I don't doubt that. But you got the wrong idea about us. We're not the mafia. We're just loan sharks, dude. Well, not just loan sharks. We're the meanest loan sharks in the whole damn city! But we only hurt people who don't pay us back. Anything else is bad for business. As for killing people? First of all, we don't call them 'hits'. Second, you have to owe us a shit ton of money before we'd take on that kind of heat just to square up. More likely we'd just seize your house and car. Or squeeze your parents and relatives. Whatever gets us paid."

I wasn't ready to let go of the idea yet. Not with the mental image of Dr. Connor stuffing my face with his fat, bloated hippo cock seared into my mind.

"He should pay for what he did to me!" I said this to the spotted giraffe, as if I expected him to do something about it. He smiled at me as I caressed his nuts with my left hand.

"Well, he will pay. But not for what he did to you. What he did to you is fucking great, in my opinion. Take my word for it. But I think that's enough of that for now." I blinked in surprise as he stopped rubbing the back of my neck and used that hand to firmly press my head down towards his lap. "Time for you to get a taste of me. If it helps, just think of it as washing the hippo's taste out of your mouth."

I opened my mouth to finally protest my treatment, but all this got me was a muzzle full of giraffe cock. The salt, musky taste invaded my mouth and the hand cupping his balls instinctively clenched.

Hissing between clenched, he exclaimed, "Ahhh! No, no, no. None of that... play nice, now.", reaching down and prying my hand off his protesting eggs.

He didn't seem to care that I didn't want to be fellating him. I tried to pull off to explain as much, but I only got a couple words out before the pre-slicked head of his rod popped right back into my mouth.

Taking my head in both of his hands, he Dillon guided me down his length as he mildly rebuked, "If you can gargle your therapist's jizz, then you can swallow mine. I'm not playing second fiddle to that deadbeat. I won't even make you lick it off the carpet afterwards, like he did."

I looked up at the giraffe, shooting him a challenging, disbelieving look.

Holding me in place with one hand, he grabbed his phone off the coffee table, then used his thumb to gesture several times, presumably navigating menus.

Finding what he was looking for, I was gagging lightly on his member when he held his phone up in front of my face, saying, "Don't believe me? Take a look for yourself."

The modern phone's screen was so large that I had no trouble at all making out what I was looking at. The device depicted a single moment in time, saved perpetually in digital form.

Dr. Connor sat resting in his traditional plush chair, his eyes closed and his head laid back as I knelt on the ground before him. With a goofy smile on my face, I looked up to him with worshipping eyes as I ran my wet tongue up the side of the hippo's broad cock, scooping up spent seed into my mouth as I went. One of my hands was rubbing his pool-ball sized nut, as if I were trying to coax out more cum from the recently emptied pair. My other hand was being put to use jerking myself off, a much smaller batch of cum squirting from my much smaller erection onto the therapist's nice carpet.

For a full minute I stared at the picture, taking every detail in as I absentmindedly began to suck on Dillon's weighty flesh. Taking note of my fascination with the image, the loan shark remarked, "Shit, if this turns you on that much, there's a ton more of 'em, like I said. You can go through later. I guess that pushes your buttons huh? Realizing that for a whole year that pompous, self-righteous shrink of yours treating you like his personal bitch-toy?"

Shaking my head no, despite his cock pressing towards the back of my throat, I tried to explain that his conclusion couldn't have been further from the truth. This only made me mumble pathetically around his hard shaft.

Raising an eyebrow at me, Dillon sardonically asked, "No? Then what's this then." As he spoke, he reached over and unbutton my pants, using his superior strength to tug them off despite my feeble resistance.

After tossing my clothes behind the coach, the giraffe pointed at my own stiff arousal and asked, "I'd ask you who's getting you off more: me or him, but I'd be a bit nervous about your answer. Hmmm... though, I suppose there's no reason to force you to pick, though. I'll call the shrink tomorrow. Let him know you'll be making next week's session after all. You two can get in some quality doctor/patient time. It'll be just like your first time together, since you'll actually remember this one. Fun, aye? Just spare me the details afterward. Oh, and he still isn't allowed to fuck you. Make sure he knows that."

Yanking my head off his cock, Dillon smiled and said, "So, what do you think? That sound fun? Or were you serious about that whole put-a-hit-out-on-him-because-he-gave-away-my-precious-dream-journal thing?"

I opened my mouth to tell man that I hoped the therapist would get hit by a bus and that of course I never wanted to see him again. Not in a million years.

Instead what I said was, "I'd like to see him again... that is, if that's okay, sir. That picture was kind of hot. I must have enjoyed myself if I made that big a mess on the carpet."

It took me embarrassingly long to comprehend what must have happened. Dr. Connor must have left me a hypnotic command to volunteer to return to him, if ever given the choice. I tried to fight it. I opened my mouth again what was happening, but things only got worse.

"Can you send him a picture of me going down on you? That way he knows I'm being put to good use, sir."

I followed this up with a long, wet lick up the length of his cock, balls to tip.

Smirking, Dillon shrugged. "Shit... why not. You're a kinky dog, aren't ya?"

Leaning over and going further down on the man than was comfortable, I looked up at the phone camera he was holding up and winked, holding out one hand in a two fingered 'peace' sign while using the other to run my fingers seductively down the portion of his shaft that didn't fit in my muzzle. The phone's tiny bulb flashed as the image was captured.

Some part of me knew that was the hidden code that only Dr. Connor would understand. The wink and peace sign likely signified that his programming had worked. That I'd asked the giraffe if I continue continue my therapy sessions with the hippo, and that Dillon had said yes. As evidenced by by the loan shark's willingness to send the kinky text.

The giraffe busied himself with shooting off the text as I unhappily busied myself with orally servicing him. Almost as soon as he'd sent off the message, Dillon's phone buzzed in response.

Glancing at the screen before setting the device back down on the coffee table, the man said, "Well, that reply was a bit disparaging towards you, so no need to repeat it. But he seemed happy with the picture. Anyway, enough about that old fart. How you doing down there, bull terrier? Getting enough air?"

He didn't take his arousal out of my mouth to hear my reply, so I took that to mean the question was rhetorical. The movie continued to play, but neither of us gave it any notice. Dillon was focused solely on me and my mind was racing, trying to come up with a workable idea to get out of this mess. No solutions were immediately apparent, though.

Dillon patted my head and told me, "Hell yeah, that's the spirit!"

It took me a second to figure out what he meant. Unconsciously, my right hand had drifted down to my crotch and had begun jacking my dick. Now I was blowing the giraffe as well as masturbating. I blushed in shame.

"Hey... want to try something kinky?" the loan shark asked, eyes sparking at the thought that had struck him.

He didn't really wait for me to try and answer before he said, "When you're ready to blow, let me know. I want you to jizz all over the end of my cock. Then you can finish sucking me off. Man, that's fucking great! Hurry though, dog, I'm pretty close."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He wanted me to blow my load on his erection, then suck my own load off his dick, then suck the cum out of his balls. God damn Dr. Connor. Damn him straight to hell!

Sure enough, after several more minutes of me running my lips and tongue up and down Dillon's shaft, over and over and over, while jerking myself off, I reached my peak. I tried to get my hand to stop, but it refused, driving me inexorably toward my humiliating climax. Pulling my mouth off his pole, I shuffled to adjust my position until I was leaning over him, and with a combination of growl and whimper, spewed molten cum all over the end of his much larger member, drenching it.

Seconds later, before I'd even had the chance to start coming down from my climax, the giraffe backed off the couch, stood up, and jammed his cum-painted shaft right back into my mouth. I immediately tasted myself, but I didn't really have time to react before I also tasted him. Dillon was blowing his own batch of swimmers, causing the two loads to intermingle in my mouth, forcing me to taste and swallow both at the same time.

It was too much, so even as I swallowed, doing my best to cope, thick rivulets of semen ran down my chin and onto my shirt. As I gulped and gagged, I noticed that my hand was once more flying back and forth over my hyper-sensitive flesh, milking every droplet possible out of my own rod.

Starting to come down himself, Dillon gave an exuberant "Whooo boy!" and followed that up by exclaiming, "Man, I fucking love bull terriers. Dirty dog... yeah, you fucking gag on that cock. Suck your slutty bitch cum off my stud-meat, boy. Then get me ready for round two. After that, you and I got some real work to do. Need to get your apartment's shit packed away into storage, break your lease, then move you in here. I just got the one bed, but it should do us fine, I reckon."

I wanted to protest. To rebel. To fight back.

Instead, I licked every inch of his giraffe cock until it was shining with my spit. Then I ran my thumb firmly up the bottom of his cock from base to tip, encouraging the last dregs of seed hiding inside to pour out over my tongue.

Finally I planted an affectionate kiss on the end of his still hard shaft, right on the piss slit, and looked up with a goofy smile.

After this, he slapped me with his cock hard on both sides of my muzzle, shocking me with the unexpected stinging discomfort. Then leaned down to kiss me on the forehead.

"Good dog, slutty bitch."

I kept up my playful smile, despite my smarting face.