With whiskey on his breath and dying on his mind, he raised the gun to his temple. The pistol was hard and unforgiving, as he was hard and unforgiving... An instrument designed to do what guns do must be hard and unforgiving, no? Carefully, he toyed with the hammer, not quite pulling it back yet, but just getting a feel for it. The bullet should tear clean through his brain, killing him instantly. For a brief moment, it dawned on him that he was sitting in his chair, totally naked with a gun to. The pheromones the two were giving off buzzed around his nasal cavity like angry wasps in a jam jar. It was the hand holding and occasional clinches that really gave the game away though. Each clinch had her cardigan rise a little higher and one more button undone on her blouse. Rambo couldn’t see the problem, if they wanted to fuck each other’s brains out, why all the prelude? If it had been him and some horny bitch, he would have shafted her there and then; none of this screwing around, just. More

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