Preston grins, toothy & whispers, softly.
“I think we’re the same, Pamela. Love our jobs! Do our jobs! Live
in the ‘now’ because the ‘then’ is gone and the ‘next’ is coming
too fast and furious.”
“I agree, Preston.” Pamela purrs, sexy
finishing her eggroll.
Pamela lifts, preciously wine glass &
tumbler from table to sink in kitchen ending their evening meal.
Preston sneaks behind, wraps, tightly steel arms around her tiny
waist, touching gently her hands placing glasses in sink. He
whispers, softly. “I have a maid service. They enjoy working.” He
kisses, lightly her bare shoulders. She giggles, lightly.
Pamela talks, slowly then smiles, sweetly.
“That’s good. I enjoy reading.”
Preston requests, nicely. “I enjoy dancing.”
He kisses, lightly other side of bare shoulders. She giggles,
lightly.
“Is that Marilyn singing?” Pamela recognizes
music from living room.
Preston mutters, lightly in her ear. “Yeah!
‘Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend’…combination of sweetness and
sassy in her voice.”
“She’s has a nice voice, low and alto.”
Preston whispers, softly. “I prefer girls
with a flute fluttering tilt.” Pamela body spins into Preston’s
arms, smiles & giggles, lightly. He pulls, gently her hands
walking backwards into living room with piano encore pinging in
jazzy octave “C.” He stops as Pamela parks into his chest. Preston
pulls back, raising her left hand, twirling her body around floor
to beat of music. Preston sweeps, gracefully her into hug as both
bodies whirl, beautifully across the empty floor until music ends,
sweetly with high octave “A.” Preston grins, toothy. She smiles,
shyly.
Pamela talks, meekly after the deep tongue
kissing on her back. “Thank you, Preston.”
Preston grins, toothy, holds her close,
rushes finger pads, gently to her face, closes his eyelids, kisses,
tenderly her lips, lays on top in his bedroom. He emerges, slowly,
opens eyelids & smiles, devilishly. “Ya…ya seem…”
“Young.”
“Kinda inexperienced.” She nods, once.
Preston frowns, ugly, ponders, scary. “Lordy, how old are you,
girl?”
Preston inquires. “20.”
“20, then…” He pauses, dramatically. “I
almost feed a baby…alcohol.”
“I don’t drink or smoke nasty cigarettes
Preston. I just don’t like the taste of beer or wine.”
“A real babe in the woods.”
“How old are you, Preston?”
“25.”
“Old man.”
“Old man with young chick. I like that image.
I like disastrous.” Preston proposes, devilishly. She giggles,
lightly.
“You do not. You like demur.” Pamela names,
correctly. “You’re a lady’s man.”
Preston laughs, hardy as Pamela pins,
excellently him drawing lost memories of past with that high school
chick named Missy? Or maybe Molly? Or maybe Holly? Or maybe he
can’t remember that name? Preston remembers she wanted to join the
Quarterback Club in high school.
7 years ago.
Arthur & Preston are quarterbacks in high
school football & has created the “Quarterback Club” for any
female acquiring entrance. The only requirement female must be
virgin. This chick qualifies, highly.
Arthur calls “Dickhead” as Preston gets
“Asshole tails.” Quarter lands on tails giving Preston the grand
prize.
Preston drives, quickly them to lake house
practicing one-on-one offensive maneuvers. She poses naked, sexy in
bed as Preston kisses, roughly her pretty face. He covers,
completely with his body for the final move. She resists,
uselessly. Preston holds both wrists & forces his desire on the
virgin. He smirks, slightly as she screams, loudly bites with
teeth, scratches with nails then sobs, heavily.
Chick doesn’t come back to school the next
week. Preston doesn’t care about the chick but he does care being
close to 18, the legal age of something illegal. This is his last
pleasure until college. College girls can scream the same illegal
issues but he’s got a backup plan.
Dad guides, wisely if Preston gets into
trouble, come to him. If the trouble is girls, go to Mom. Mom is
nurse with tentacles extending to lots of different medical
physicians around Birmingham. Their only child isn’t getting marred
with marriage, babies, or bitches.
One high school chick claims pregnancy late
afternoon in English Lit class at school before the word, “baby” is
out her mouth, Preston has her feet in O.B. stirrups in doctor’s
office. Chick lies, honestly.
Present day.
“I…” Pamela confesses, softly.
“You’re precious to me, Pamela.” Preston
kisses her forehead, nose, cheekbone, lips, neckline then
beyond…
“I’m a virgin.”
“I’m a teacher.”
“I’m nervous, Preston.”
“I’m going to hold your wrists, here.” He
kisses, tenderly her wrists. She gasps, lightly. “You’re in good
care. Just believe me, Pamela.”
Pamela whispers, softly, closes eyelids. “I
do, Preston.” He kisses, tenderly lips.
Thursday. 7:01am. Two weeks later.
Preston feels, differently about Pamela. He
loves, preciously her scent, sweet smile & sexy legs. She’s the
one, girl of his past, present & future dreams and desires. He
smiles, slightly studying her sleeping profile as Marilyn’s alto
sings from clock.
“Alarm, Preston.” Pamela whispers, softly,
open eyelids, grins, toothy, tilts, angularly skull at Preston.
“Few more minutes.” Preston leans, heavily on
elbows viewing her beautiful body.
“I must get dressed for work, Preston.” She
uprights on elbows viewing his handsome features.
“Few more minutes.” He rolls, completely on
her body, not moving. Pamela giggles, lightly.
“Preston?” “Yes.” He chuckles, lightly in her
ear.
“I need to get up and get dressed.”
“You should work for me then, we can be
together 24/7.”
“Conflict of interest, master.”
“I was almost your boss.”
“My…boss?”
“Offered to head Cyber Crimes side along with
FBI but suggested it separated. I can’t stand that bitch.”
“Geneva.”
“Just told ya…that bitch.” Preston whispers.
Pamela giggles.
“You’re not a nice guy.”
“…not to them bitches, snitches or
snakes.”
“I presume I do not fall into one of your
specific riddling categories.”
“You’re babes, beauties and…mine.” He kisses
soft lips, tenderly.
“You’re so sweet.”
“Only to you, princess.” He kisses lips.
“I must agree…then dress.”
Preston orders, smiles, wickedly. “I give my
permission…” She tries, unsuccessfully to pull away. He raises
eyebrow, left. “…only if you promise to return.”
“I promise, Prince Preston.”
“Good forth, Princess Pamela.”
Time: 9:01 am. Federal Building. Level 11.
Division of Cyber Crimes. Partly cloudy. 85*F.
Geneva cries,
loudly & points, rudely unpolished & rouge finger nail at
screen. “See that marker of IP address in England then flips back
to New York then floats over to Canada and finally drifts back to
another new city. All emails, GPS locates, money wires, cell calls
can be tracked and traced back to the original input IP address
with all sources leading to the single hacker or group of
hackers.”
“Hacker interplayed Internet apps, mobile
phones and US bank accounts to commit his crime.” Pamela sums,
brilliantly. She gets it. For two weeks, two hours per day, Pamela
studies, traces, tracks, searches, checks, shows, changes, and
hides Internet Protocol (IP) addresses including location, ISP,
hostname, type, proxy direction, email tracking, speed testing
& blacklist status detailed by country, state, region, city,
town, village including Latitude and Longitude. She can
successfully do this in her sleep. Pamela frowns, ugly, reads,
slowly. “Enable IPv4 address conflict detection…”
Stockton explains. “IP address conflict
happens when two computers are battling for the same space.”
Pamela questions. “But in real world of
networking or wireless, Internet requires an address to possess a
unique identifier to function properly for transferring data or
else, that would mean only one traffic flow would end up that
unique address. What happens to other data?”
Stockton pitches. “Major disruption of
transferred monies/data/information causing conflicting conditions
within the address therefore, the computer shoots the other set of
data out into Cyber space…forever.”
“Does the source recover the data?” Pamela
bats.
“ARP or probe address resolution protocol
sends new signal back to conflicting host clearly identifying
stoppage of assigned IP address.” Stockton punts.
“If the conflicting host doesn’t complaint
with commands?” Geneva scores.
“Host tattles to IP Master, problem solved in
short-term order.” Pamela concludes.
“But there’s also a catch-22.” Stockton
threats, smiles, slightly.
“What catch-22?” Pamela frowns, funny,
inquires, mysteriously.
Stockton kicks. “ARP probe packets are
strings to control the IP address manually within the DHCP.”
“Don’t tell her that, Stockton. I training
retrievers, not hackers.” Geneva warns, warmingly, grins,
toothy.
“Tell me what, I don’t understand?” Pamela
insists.
“To assist in eliminated the conflict of two
hosts, with one address, a good programmer can override the IP
address to his/her network by manual entering the IP address, then
simply rebooting the server, PC, laptop or even cell phone.”
Stockton tattles.
Geneva lectures. “IP address conflicts are
almost always configuration mistakes by database administrators to
pride to show fear and too worried about losing their jobs. They
change it manually by-passing our passwords and security
protocols.”
“Technically, it’s a software bug so database
admin has an excuse to fix it within minutes, right?” Pamela
questions.
“Network administrator or another user
brilliant in programming, two DHCP servers on same network or long
address lease time with hosts lacking battery-based clock keeping
track of time when powered down or maybe suspended sleeping mode.
The most rarest DHCP scenario is an excluded range with static IP
within a DHCP-controlled subnet.” Stockton informs.
“Excluded range within DHCP-controlled
subnet, that’s kinda like stalling the computer mainframe to hack
into the system while...” Pamela dumps, incompletely.
“Exactly, Pamela. She’s smart.” Geneva nods,
once, compliments, greatly.
“She’s chatty.” Stockton smiles, adds,
curtly.
“Then the hacker might could in theory create
a new IP address and create chaos, conflict and control of all
transferred datum from single host.” Pamela concludes, firmly.
Geneva nods, once. “Holy cow! That’s…that’s wrong….” She finishes,
swiftly.
“…and illegal if you happen to get caught.”
Stockton reminds, boldly.
“Don’t fret, Pamela. Networking and wireless
system error event logs possess backtrack switches detailing all
occurrences of newly created IP addresses along with associated
conflicts from original devices and portals.” Geneva addresses.
“Not…” Pamela stops, suddenly talking then
ponders, heavily. “Not if multiple IP addresses are involved.
That’s a scary thought.”
Geneva concludes, scary. “This hacker used
ten IP addresses communicating offensives of stolen data, monies
and personally IDs. Let me emphasize, one and the same person did
this over and over again stealing valuable tangible and intangible
materials…until he/she was caught by us, of course.” She slams,
hardy back of leather chair ending her speech.
“I didn’t learn these kinds of brutal tactics
in my computer class.” Pamela shakes, sideways black skull then
frowns, ugly at screen & whines, baby-tonish.
Geneva remarks, pointedly. “Becausssse…” She
sounds like a reptile snake holding her ‘s’ too long. “…this is the
real barbaric classroom, Miss Craft, not play with dolly
world.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Pamela quotes, meekly. Geneva
intimidates, quickly her fearful opponents into withdrawing from
the battle. Pamela sighs then breathes, deeply from
withdrawing.
Geneva stands, upright & walks, slowly to
her desk fiddling with vanilla files and low stack of papers then
calls, loudly. “Exit out, Miss Craft. You’ll be using this
computer, here.” Geneva pats, gently thin plastic black frame of
plasma monitor. “Latest model from Uncle Sam, higher RAM with less
computing time. Time’s another factor that hackers hog when
defacing web sites. This is our grandest weapon.” She turns, slowly
& smiles, wickedly at Pamela. “Sign in, while I retrieve
Stockton.” Geneva leaves, quickly out door.
Pamela stares, studiously at new sleek black
computer plasma screen. ID as exposed password hangs, lifelessly in
Cyber space. She presses, lightly ENTER. Screen re-boots to gloomy
pic of dark, damp caves. Pamela observes, studiously the screen
saver. Geneva returns with Stockton from potty break as Pamela taps
single key, reveals, prettily vertically familiar ICONS on standard
PC of Word app, Excel app, Point power app, Internet app &
colorfully buttons.