She wanted to be prepared enough to run…preferrably clothed. The terminal seemed her best chance at this, perhaps providing access to a database or ... map. She fumbled her way towards the terminal, hands outstretched, the outlines of which were barely visible against the faint glow of the door and terminal. It should have more brightly illuminated the area, of that she was certain. Fumbling, she tried several buttons, dismayed at the accumulation of dust and grime upon the console. How long had. Perhaps belying my most authentic self, my dick leapt into battle station readiness. I must admit, on a cognitive level, this disappointed me. Where was my discipline, sense of dignity, my appreciation for the very dangerous territory this behavior had landed me in?For weeks, I’d tried to figure out a way to extricate myself from it all but there simply was no reasonable way out. That picture of me, in anyone’s hands, would be my professional end. All I needed to do was cross its owner,. More

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