We meet again (gaggirl & pantyhosethief)

[pantyhosethief]

I was surprised to see you coming out of that building the other day, but I put two and two together and checked the Yellow Pages phone-book. What a coincidence that you've moved your agency to the same city I came to! Back home get a bit too hot for you, finally investigate the wrong guy, did you?

I always idly figured I'd like to give myself a little holiday someday back in my home town and track you down... after all this time I reckon it's all forgotten, except maybe by my now-ex wife and me, and if anything happened to you no-one would think of me. (You must have ruined the reputation of plenty of other men since then, you're good, after all.) Seeing you in the street like that, though, all my rage came rushing back and I decided: I will take that little holiday, and I can stay right here in town to do it.

These days I've got contacts, grown my hair out and have to dress in working clothes instead of suits, so I figure it's safe enough to sit in the cafe opposite your office building with my morning coffee and wait for you to show up. I suppose you still mainly work on trapping suspected adulterers - you get such satisfaction out of that, I know - but I'm sure any potential client will be welcome.

[gaggirl]

My major client emailed me with Honey Trapping work months ago heralding a welcome change of scenery and as it happens country; and in the months since I’ve made a brisk trade helping out her and her wide circle of friends. It seems these days that everyone is out to have their own cake and greedily sample all the ones on the shelf as well! It’s quite challenging, given how discreet the English tend to be.

When I first began PI work many years I kind of felt sorry for the entrapped players, but after airing footage of the aftermath invariably filled with feeble lies and half truths as they claw their way up the black hole to save their sham of a marriage, as well as the accumulative years of seeing the bullshit with over half of the trappers forgiving and forgetting their partners transgressions, I’ve well and truly hardened. I mean, when your busted your busted, but for most of them, the verbal diarrhea doesn't stop. Now when I catch them, I simply love watching them squirm! And I get paid very handsomely for my expertise. To remain undetected I rarely if ever take on the role of trapper myself, but I have honeys female and male up to any task, since of course its not just men that are doing the wrong thing. The rare time I get to cut my teeth on a mark myself I love it even more.

My heels click on the pavement as I hurry into my office building sipping my takeaway coffee with an umbrella tucked under my arm. My pantyhose’s black line up the back disappears under my knee length clingy black skirt topped by a fitted suit jacket with nothing but a black bra on underneath. I left my hair out today, the blonde locks cascading over my shoulders and down past my shoulder blades. No nonsense outfit but still sexy and chic power, perfectly suited to the line of work I’m in.

[pantyhosethief]

I have a good long look over the top of my paper as you go up the steps to your building. Still the same confident, professional demeanour, all business but all woman at the same time. I was fooled by that look once... that slight but warm smile, for the guy who holds open the door... just as if it wasn't all ice underneath.

I take a few minutes to finish the paper, run over what I'm going to say. Then I casually go across the street, into the lobby, and take the lift to your office on the eighth floor. This early in the morning there's no other clients in your waiting room, but I can hear you talking on the phone to someone so I wait before knocking. I look around the room... hurry up on the phone... I hope no-one else comes in... my heart starts to beat harder. What am I doing? I've got a new business and a new reputation now (no new wife though). Fantasy is one thing, but actually taking revenge? Am I really going to do this? I shake my head - it's crazy. I turn to go.

Beyond the door to your office, you laugh as you finish your phone call. That laugh... just like you were laughing with my wife when I got home that evening, sitting together in the lounge, photos all spread out...

"Come in," you call when I knock. I go in, shake hands, take the seat you offer. I put my plain card, the one without the handcuffs and nightstick in the corner, on your desk; I come straight to the point. "My name is Smith, and I run a small private security firm. I need someone to do a covert surveillance job, it has to be a woman and she has to be someone who won't be recognised. You come highly recommended." I mention a name you recognise from back home. I can't stop looking at you, now. "It'd be starting this afternoon, I'd take you to the spot in one of our unmarked vans at 3 pm - unless you have a car? - and pick you up at 10 pm. If it goes well this could last a couple of weeks. £150 a night. Are you interested?"

[gaggirl]

A walk in client knocks and I beckon him in, a tall blue collar looking man in his thirties enters closing the door behind him. I ignore the little white card that sits on the surface as I go to shake his hand which is firm, something I always look out for. I don’t like cold fish they are the sneaky ones and are usually up to no good even if they pay without having to be visited by one of my more burly contacts. I only have one such man and cant afford too many cold fish clients, so this is welcome.

There is something in his manner too that’s suggests he wasn’t always this rough around the edges. I wonder if hes been to jail. I watch him closely as he proffers a job that pays rather well. A little too well for merely surveillance work.

So he’s hiding something. I nod to myself and sit back, half closing my eyes as I look over him seeing his reaction, clasping my hands in my lap and cross my legs, sliding the back of the heel on and off my foot. I like creating uncomfortable silences. Its amazing what comes out when you leave someone a long enough pause. However, he just sits there stoicly. What could he be hiding? Given his profession I decide whatever it is he’s not going to be telling me, but its still worth trying to find out. Of course I'm interested. The Mystery is making it seem even more tantalizing.

I sigh briefly and uncross my legs, leaning forward over to rest my elbows on the desk.

“Seems a little too well paid for mere surveillance work.” I pause, my bedroom eyes boring into yours. A flicker of all too brief recognition. Have I seen those eyes before? “Who’s the mark?”

[pantyhosethief]

Using the silent technique on me, eh? The less I say the better, the one thing that hasn't changed is my voice, but even though I recognise what you're doing I'm starting to get nervous when you just look at me, and play with your shoe... I've played enough poker to hide it, but it's still a relief when you lean forward and speak.

I feed you the story I've made up to grab your attention. Gathering evidence about the movements of a local businessman, thought by head office of dealing on the side, who suspects I'm onto him - I've shown my face a bit too often - and probably knows I only employ guys. He's known to be unscrupulous, so I need someone who can take care of herself - and hence the good money. I know it's a bit different to your usual line, and I'm a bit worried about not using a guy, but I've no choice - and from what I hear you'd be quite capable. (I try to look slightly dubious at this point.)

I meet your gaze when I start to tell you this, but it's starting to make me feel like you might recognise me. Either accidentally or on purpose, your manner is coming over as almost seductive. I figure you're using your "wiles" to try and get me to talk, and it's easy to play along... casually, I admire the display you're putting on by leaning forward. Is that a hint of black lace beneath your jacket? I check out your ankles as well, anything to plausibly not meet your eyes. Such nice, slender ankles. I start to think about what I might do later, then realise that's a bad idea - I lean back and cross my legs.

[gaggirl]

And there it is. The glance down my jacket. I smile encouragingly as you meet my gaze again and go about explaining to me who the mark is. I am surprised that I got it out of you so easily. I sit back again so that my cleavage is gone, and listen, swiveling in my chair with my elbow on the arm rest and my fingers up twirling my hair a little. My flirtatious smile. Usually it makes a man think more about whats going on between his legs than whats going on with his mouth. Such simple creatures.

The last remark freezes my smile and I lean forward again making sure you get another eyeful of my cleavage and in my iciest voice, reply.
"I assure you Mister "Smith" I am the consummate professional." I pause and sit still, with my elegantly manicured thumb on my chin and pointer up against my shapely temple. "I am second to none you already know that".

I look at the card on my desk and back up at you boring into your eyes again. Where have I seen them? They are like mirrors now, revealing nothing. Suddenly I feel impatient. Enough of this! I need time to digest and see if its to my liking with a hundred other things to do today.

"Tonight is the start? I have another appointment to make. Ill let you know if I'm interested by midday. I have your number." I stand and sashay past knowing your probably gawking at the lines on my hose going up under my skirt to my swaying ass as I walk. I turn and stand by the door.
"It was a pleasure to meet you, Smith."

[pantyhosethief]

I get another whiff of your scent as you show me to the door, and a close view of the backs of your legs for the first time, and I don't try and conceal my interest now as I get up and follow you to the door. What will they look like bound? I meet your glance - amused? - when I you open the door and show me out. "I look forward to that call, and to having you - on my team," I assure you.

On the way down in the lift, and on the way back to my own office, I think about the meeting. "Hook, line and sinker", I think to myself - I'm pretty certain you bought my story, and hopefully stinging your pride like that will have sealed the deal. I start to think about the kit I'll need to assemble - most of it I already have to hand. Will I need some more batteries? What about duct tape? Your legs sure did look nice in that black hose...

I realise I've been sitting at my desk for 15 minutes just thinking about how you looked. And thinking back - was I flirting a bit at the end of our meeting there? I didn't expect this - even knowing what you're like, your professional m.o. is still having that effect on me. I'll have to guard against that. I resolve that by the time I'm finished you won't have any of that attitude left.

I go out and check everything is in the van again, while I wait for your call. Can't be too prepared.

[gaggirl]

I didn’t really have another appointment, so I sit for a while pontificating on whether I can commit to a long term job right now, or whether I can afford not to. I’m not sure I have the time, but my reputations been called into judgement, and as much as I loathe those kinds of games, they do work on my psyche. I stare out the window and wonder who the businessman is, whats so important about him. Its alarming that he knows he’s being watched. But wouldn’t it be funny if he eventually was brought down by a woman? That’s just the kind of thing I like. A smile plays on my lips at the thought. Its actually arousing to think about. I wonder how close I could get as he’d never suspect me. I slip my hand down over my breast, over the hardened nipple I feel through the jacket, up my skirt under the hose and slip my fingers into my panties to caress myself. Stroking my clit absent mindedly and the little peive of jewellry.

The phone rings and I jump to reality. I’m a little annoyed at the intrusion. As it turns out its A VIP client, the little old lady who's using me to help her decide who of her large money conscious family will be her beneficiaries. I eye the little white card on the table as I swivel on the chair talking to her, pick it up and toy with it. By the time Ive hung up Ive made my decision. What the hell.

“Smith. I’m in. But first things first. I want half the money now as a gesture of good will wired into my account, and the other half on completion. Another thing. I dont work with partners, Ill take my own car. And I dont want any of your vans anywhere near me. They will stand out like a sore thumb.”

Silly man no wonder he kept catching them out.

[pantyhosethief]

You've got a high opinion of yourself, haven't you lady? Over £1000 pounds up front? I could hire five women for that price in this town. And a detective...

I don't say that, and I don't put the phone in the bin either. Maybe all those anger management classes are paying off, or maybe it's just the thought of your arrogant eyes. But I need to keep this credible, and I figure you might just smell a rat if I hand over that kind of cash without a quibble. "You'll have £300 in your account within the hour, and we'll see what the client says about the rest... if you've got your own wheels you can pick me up at your office at 3 and drive us down there, I'll show you where to park up, and you'll be set for the evening. I suppose you've got your own camera - it better be high quality. We're doing surveillance here, not playing peeping tom." I wait for your response.

I hope you don't push the money up, but I can afford to pay it if you do - and it'd certainly be worth it for the service I intend to get. In a strange way, it's like you're a whore I'm buying. A special whore. Not like the others... the Arab won't let me hurt them, not after Emily...

It's a blow about the van, but I can take the flask of coffee with me. And the abandoned warehouse is all prepared already. It feels good to be getting the better of you.

[gaggirl]

I know I asked a lot, but I have a reputation and know I am damn well worth it. But fuck it he refused to pay up offering less than a third! And how dare he insinuate that my equipment isn’t up to scratch. Like I am some amateur. My heart starts racing and I feel like I’m all flushed hot with anger and ready to let him have it.

In times gone by I would have muttered 'fuck off' and hung up but instead am forced to be businesslike. What is it with wankers like you who have an issue with women working and doing a good job at the same time? That you have to try and pull us down to bolster your own fragile ego? The foul taste of displeasure sits in my mouth as I consider what do say carefully.

“Your spoiling my good mood very quickly Mister Smith." I say coldly. "Cut the crap. You came to me, so you obviously recognize the talent. 600 up front take it or leave it. " In a condescending tone I add "If its as serious as you seem to think it is you'll take it, and if not, I will spend my time fruitfully pursing more important endeavors.” I hang up then, muttering “fuckwit” under my breath.

Right, time to leave for my afternoon lothario job. Every Tuesday afternoon like clockwork I set up at a coffee shop to watch a man and his mistress discreetly leave a downtown hotel. I've already wracked up four weeks worth of evidence for his wealthy wife. How boring must this guy be to have to plan his sex routine? Bread and butter....

[pantyhosethief]

Oops, in trying not to seem suspiciously eager to employ you I failed to take your overinflated sense of pride into account and went too far the other way. So touchy aren't you! Have to be careful not to make that mistake again. My first impulse is to call straight back and agree but I'll leave it a couple of hours. Time for me to call my hypothetical client again and discuss it, time for you to start to wonder if maybe you've been a bit hasty, giving up an interesting job...

It's easy enough to get your mobile number from your advert and find out which company you're with. A call to my regular contact there, the usual fee, and I get a few hours access to a website that allows me to track your phone. I watch as it leaves your office and hurries downtown to a certain street, where it takes up residence in a local coffee shop. Thirty minutes later I'm parking 20 yards away down the street - from this angle the sun's on my windscreen so there's little chance of being spotted.

You've got a window stool - a very pretty nylon display for fellows passing by! Supposedly reading a newspaper, it's fairly obvious you're watching the hotel opposite. I settle down to watch you watch... I don't want to get arrested so I keep my hands on the wheel, but from watching those lovely legs - teasingly never uncrossed - and thoughts about what I plan to do between them, I've soon got a very uncomfortable erection.

Suddenly you lift your camera phone and start taking pictures of a couple leaving the hotel. Time to appear before you finish the job and leave. I try and adjust myself to be less conspicuous before jumping out of my car, hurrying past the window - not looking at your legs! - and enter the shop. You're still taking pictures as I sit casually beside you and put down £600 in £50 notes.

You don't notice me until you've finished taking pictures. Before you can speak I say, "600 it is. And I can see you'll do a good job - that poor sap never even noticed you."

[gaggirl]

What took you so long? I smile without looking at you instead keeping my gaze on the retreating targets. “Of course not" I scoff. What did you think. That I was an amatuer?” I raise an arched eyebrow.

I dont take my eyes off my targets. As always, the lothario turns to look back at his muse when he reaches the intersection.
"I spotted you fifteen minutes ago" Seriously, like I didn’t know something was up? I sit here every week and nothing is really ever different and even with short term jobs I can sense the hint of unusual. I knew I was being watched and quickly calculated the probability was that it was 80% likely to be you.

"Dont worry, I have a sixth sense I tat into about these things." I pickup the cash and make a fan with it, checking to see all the notes required are there and pop it into my white handbag.

“Well, it seems that you know your stuff, managing to track me down. I don’t know how and I don’t care. I’m in.”

I visibly relax and finally look you in the eye. Again that fleeting feeling of recognition that makes me feel uneasy. Why? I cant put my finger on it… I uncross and recross my legs, my ankle accidentally brushing against your shin. I sense a very formidable physical strength making me feel unconsciously vulnerable. Perhaps that’s another reason I like my job, it’s a little power trip. What I may lack in physical strength I make up for with my ability to tear apart a persons life from the inside out.

“What time are you picking me up?”

[pantyhosethief]

I was starting to soften but when you brush my shin, I'm instantly hard again. I'm very aware of the fabric of my boxers on my exposed glans as I meet your eyes. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I want to touch you, rip open your blouse, cuff you from your stool to the floor, blood on your lips .... my fingers twich as I restrain myself. Not here. Not yet.

"Three o'clock," I say, steadily. "Outside your office."

That's only an hour away, but I stay put and watch as you leave - it's worth watching - then leave myself and take my own car back to the office. Here I switch to the van and give it a last check. It's fairly standard for my type of company - looks like nothing much from the outside, but it's got a good range of surveillance equipment. You'll be very comfortable in it, for a while. Most vans don't have remote controls on the door locks for the rear compartment though. Thoughtfully, I disable the rear camera. Finally, I prepare a nice big flask of coffee - you'll be cold on your watch, I'm sure. At the last minute, I still can't decide whether to put the ground-up sleeping tablets or the diuretic in. I shrug and add a little of each. You've proved to be more observant than I thought so far, so I can't quite trust my original plan; I'll play it by ear.

At three o'clock I'm outside your office again, waiting to pick you up and drive you to the stake-out.

[gaggirl]

Hmmm.. 3 o clock now. Wasn’t it 6 before? Maybe I misheard. I don’t bother saying it out loud, but bustle my things together and nod with a small smile as I leave. Your probably watching me walk away too like in the office. I hope that its not you I have to do the job with after the initial on field briefing later, or if it is with you, that I you don’t try to hit on me. As much fun as it is to toy with the lusts of men I don’t want it interfering when I’m on the case, at least if that’s not the mission, and a rejection could make things very uncomfortable.

At 245 I have a shower in my little ensuite and change into my more comfortable stake out ensemble: hair slickly tied back into a knot at the nape of my neck, black low slung too long yoga pants and tight low cut long sleeve top with a hood just in case I have to get out and go for a pretend jog to get a closer view, or stealthily sneak up to a targets window. An outfit also sexy enough if I happen to have to go face to face. I pop my black gloves, spy cam, mini digital taperecorder, assorted bugs, night vision glasses, taser, handgun, lip balm and filled waterbottle into the black Guess gym bag and make my way downstairs.

My lips form a thin line when I see the stupid van. Does he have a clue? He’s going to pick this white dinosaur out a mile away.

“Very subtle!”

[pantyhosethief]

This is the most dangerous bit - people from the building who know you might be around and see you getting into the van, and remember later. But at least it's nice and anonymous; just another white van man. Good for our supposed surveillance mission as well, of course. I know you were dubious about using my vehicle, but now you see it I can see you're impressed, although you stop yourself saying anything as you get in.

"Glad to see you've changed into something comfortable," I say, although I'm not. As we drive off I wonder what sort of exercise you do, how flexible you can be before your muscles strain... I concentrate on the driving, taking a confusing route through the back doubles and side streets. I don't want you to know where the warehouse is - just in case you ever get the chance to tell anyone.

Eventually we turn into a gloomy side street and I park up next to a little alley, across the road from the "target" building. We're in the middle of a run-down industrial estate in a poor inner-city borough. Most of the buildings and lots are vacant, and we're some way from the nearest residential estate, which is why I chose it. The "target" looks undisturbed since I was here last.

"Get in the back and familiarise yourself with the cameras and stuff... it's all fairly standard kit, monitors to look out each side of the van, infra-red... I'm sure you'll figure it out by the time I get back. I'm just going to have a shufti round the block then I'll be back to brief you on what to expect," I tell you. Leaving you to it I get out and walk down to the corner, and disappear up the street along the front of the warehouse.

---------------

btw I'm afk for the next few days ... happy new year

[gaggirl]

You seem so smug but I don’t know why. You certainly don’t deserve to be! Whatever. I shrug it off along with the comment about my clothing. As if I wouldn’t know to be comfortable.

Obviously we will never have a good working relationship with all these sniping comments, and I make a mental note to refuse any offer of work that come my way from you in future.

Finally we end up in some run down neighborhood that’s long been stripped of both business and residence by the looks of things, the streets of crumbling buildings and broken glassed warehouses lined with trash and the od battered car and derelict. What kind of target are we exactly looking at? Distasteful. I don’t think I will be jogging here I muse.

I’m almost too glad to get in the back of the van and not have to make any more idle useless chitchat. Get to work, and get out, especially here. Then it hits me. The vans not old and battered and it easily stands out. Surely you realize that this isn’t going to work!

“The van really does stand out here and it makes me nervous.” I say doubtfully, but get in the back anyway since I’ve already been paid (damn). I watch you wonder off, feeling like I should be better off jumping out of here and making a run for it rather than being a sitting duck. Paranoid!

I look at all the equipment. Its expensive I’ll grant you that. still... “What the hell have I gotten myself into” I mumble out loud. This just feels all kinds of wrong.

[pantyhosethief]

Once around the other side of the building I unlock a side door and slip inside. I have a quick check around. Good, everything looks undisturbed, not that I expected any trouble - whatever light industry they used to do in here, they must have made valuable goods since the windows are all barred and the doors are stout metal. All gone now though, stripped bare in the last recession.

I sit down on the old mattress, take out my iPhone and contact the van's surveillance computer. Handily, I can access all of the cameras remotely - including a few on the inside. I watch as you examine the equipment, flicking between different views of your front, back, from above and below. Being able to study you in detail without your knowledge is exciting in itself, and zooming in on your breasts, your bottom, your face and thinking about what I will soon to do to each is even better. Idly I rub myself through my trousers; soon becoming uncomforatble I unzip and, grasping myself, start pulling the looser skin at the head of my penis up and down the shaft while I continue to scrutinise you. Ahhhhh....

Suddenly I realise several minutes have passed and you're starting to look around. You're also muttering... I turn up the volume... sounds like you're having doubts about things! Time to get back. Hurriedly putting myself away, I leave the building and jog awkwardly back to the van. Luckily I'm mostly slack again by the time I open the door and get in - that wouldn't look too professional!

"It all looks as I expected, I think we're good to go," I say. "You've found your way around the cameras? Good...".

"This van, it really stands out," you say. Hmmm. You're right, of course. "Um, don't worry about that, they are used to seeing a white van here every few days," I reply. "I've established a pattern... usually it's full of plumbing equipment." I add vaguely. Moving on quickly: "Here's a flask of coffee, some biscuits, and, um, I hate to be indelicate, but there's a roll of toilet paper and a bottle in that box, just in case... I figured you wouldn't want to use the alley..." You don't look too impressed. Time to leave, I think.

"So, I'll be back to collect you in about seven hours." Or maybe less... I step down out of the van.

[gaggirl]

I nod even though I have my doubts about the plumbing equipment story. I guess that could work if people got nosy. I roll my eyes when you mention me finding the cameras. Please. I sigh audibly, impatient for you to go and increasingly getting vexed that your in my vicinity. “You were gone a while” I say, as I snatch the flask up and set it down next to me, before turning my nose up at the biscuits. “If you eat that crap on the job you’ll practically guarantee you’ll fall asleep!"

I take a swig of the coffee and swirl it around in my mouth. Passable. I can’t wait until this job is over! Toilet paper! Oh..my…god… I stare hatefully into his eyes. “How long are you planning on leaving me here?”

The door slams shut sealing me inside the uncomfortable van. 7 hours. At least I’m alone. “fucking hell. I’d so much rather be at home reading a good book right now” I grumble as I fiddle with one of the cameras, watching my new nemesis retreat into the shadows. He must have a car parked around here somewhere…. At least I can see if anyone is going to come close. Reaching into the front I drag my bag back and fetch the can of mace setting it aside the flask. Just in case.

I turn my attention back to the warehouse itself. And wait. More of the coffee. Read a little more with my peripheral vision cued to the camera now levelled at the building. Every page or so I look up and around. Nothing ever seems to change. More coffee. More.

Smash! My heart thuds and I jolt awake. What was I asleep?! I knocked over the can of mace. “Fuck!” Why do I feel so tired? This is not good! Stupid bitch. Dammnit. Not professional. I wonder how long I was out.. checking my watch I see it wasn’t that long. I'm hypervigilant at the camera as if it makes up for falling asleep.. but nothing seems different and I hope beyond hope I didn’t miss anything. I take an even longer deeper swig of the coffee hoping that it will kick in.

It seems like only minutes pass and I cant keep my eyes open. Eventually I stop the nodding off and jolting awake routine, and find I’m so relaxed and unable to fight it anymore, let sleep overtake me.

[pantyhosethief]

I go back inside and settle down to await my opportunity. For the first few minutes I watch keenly but you don't seem to be doing anything interesting... ah, good, you've taken the coffee. OK, that'll take about 40 minutes to work.

I'm content simply to watch and wait.

Eventually your book falls slowly from your hands to the floor as you slide down in your seat, and it's time. Returning to the van, I drive it around the side of the warehouse and in through the garage door, which I bring down and lock. Shutting us in. I open the rear van door - cautiously - and for a few moments indulge myself looking at you.

No doubt you're dreaming hard, cynical dreams, but in sleep your face is relaxed and smiling. I could almost think you were a nice person. Gently, I stroke your cheek, and you stir slightly; I recollect what I'm supposed to be doing.

Dragging you out of the van your foot catches something which clatters to the floor. Hmm, Mace is it? That's illegal in this country, you know. I pocket the can.

I've always fancied dragging a woman by her hair, and now seems a good time to try it - more difficult than you'd think, it turns out, I find as I pull you through to the next room.

I haven't got that much time before the drug wears off, but quickly enough you are prepared. I stand back and admire what I've done - the wax ear plugs, in the ears and the nose; the balaclava, eyes holes stiched up, with a thick strip of felt across the eyes for good measure; ear defenders on top of that; your hands each wrapped in a thick towel and strapped up with duct tape. Your ankles, each also wrapped in a thick towel, attached by foot-long straps to two convenient metal pins in the floor - mounting points for some old machine. I leave you lying face down on the floor, and sit down nearby to wait for you to wake.