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Waiting…

I’m in the Main Library, waiting for Roland, who is going to pull up round the corner near the steps on Buccleuch Place. He’s texted me while I was on the bus that he’ll be late cos of something at work. I just replied to Leanne’s text but it looks like it didn’t send so I’ll resend it after I type this.

He just called me a second ago, after I wrote that sentence, but I won’t type what time he’ll arrive now because I’m utterly paranoid that, if I do, someone in Edinburgh who reads this will arrive in Buccleuch Place first to intercept us. (See, this is why I don’t watch police dramas or spy movies – I’m quite paranoid enough as it is.) Now, all you kids out there who are reading this disgusting x-rated blog without proper parental approval: WORK HARD, GO TO UNIVERSITY AND BE SUCCESSFUL. Because then you might end up being a) the boss of a company and b) well-off so that c) you can leave work whenever you want to pay someone less than half your age to have sex with you.

Dear God, what has happened to good old-fashioned values? I bet people like Lloyd George, Thomas Jefferson and Marilyn Monroe weren’t skiving off work to sleep with people…oh, wait…

What I’m afraid of (as I texted Leanne but it didn’t send) is that Roland (if he had his shirt off, which I haven’t yet seen) will look like a blancmange…wobble-wobble. And then I might vomit. I don’t like wine (love vodka) but maybe I’ll have some to prevent throwing up later on. It might be better if I’m out of it a little bit laer on. I just worry he has moobs (man-boobs) so yeah if I have something to drink I’ll do better. But he’s not actually fat or probably even overweight so maybe he has a stunning body and I’m worrying over nothing. At least he is tall, and has broad shoulders and a nice voice. Nice eyes, too. I like the way he looks at me. I’d better go now, dear readers.

I’ve come back into the library cos he’ll be another 20 mins.. I was half-suspecting he is doing this deliberately to get me more sexually frustrated so it’ll be easier for me and better for him, but then he told me someone got fired!! But he didn’t “directly” fire this person, they’ll “see how it goes”. Obv I sympathise this person and their children if they have any, and I hope everything goes well for them. But Roland actually firing someone is really sexy and I think it makes him more attractive. So no more worries about throwing up now! Yay! I wonder what he’s telling his colleagues about why he’s leaving? “Just off to fuck a hooker” doesn’t sound very professional. Maybe “just off to see my girlfriend who’s young enough to be my daughter and won’t do it unless I pay her” would sound better? Somehow, ‘girlfriend’ always legitimizes things, it sounds better than ‘FWB’ or ‘some woman’. Anyway, toodles.

 

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Being even happier than usual (if that’s even possible)

Before I continue the story in my next post, I wanted to tell you this stuff that happened over the last couple days which illustrates the similarities of poly relationships with mono relationships/similar problems, the unpredictability of social attitudes and just some random stuff that makes me so happy.

Firstly, remember the guy I mentioned who I would consider committing to? He dumped me because “I long ago told you that my personal version of Polyamory involves committed, loving, and trusting relationships.  This is not what you want; you have said as much…your comments made me realize that I should not be spending time talking with someone — especially long, drawn-out conversations which only lead to fights and disagreements — who doesn’t want security and care (the “white picket fence is a prison wall” comment was very revealing about your attitudes towards roots and stability) when I should be out there finding someone who does…you will become a formidable person, which is my sincerest wish for you.” Which is all true, so fair enough. I do miss him, though. I am far more attached to him than he realises. I wish I could make him happy forever and never have to be sad. But neither can I deny that since the moment when I read his email, I am the happiest I’ve been in several months; I guess lately I have been worrying about his desire for children; although I’d love to stay in America with him for a few months or even 1 or 2 years, it was getting more and more obvious that he wants much more than that. Being young and beautiful, I am not ready to settle down. I crave thrills, new experiences, adventure, exoticness in all aspects of life.

He claims to be able to pierce labia in a way that would time the piercing with orgasms, but in his infinite cruelty he did not give me the instructions for this when he left (or critique the UK Government Torture Act story, which he had nearly 2 months to do.) I will miss him soooo much! He taught me so many things which I’ll use for the rest of my life and he was someone I could trust with anything, and he made me not feel ashamed about my emotional weakness, which only occurs in a certain situation, but which was very shameful and confusing to me. I read his email just after modelling for the law school, and I was wearing a brown steampunk corset over a long-sleeved t-shirt, with a Goth silky red and black cardigan thing; it had ruffles at the wrist and edges. I was also wearing blue jeggings I got in Sainsbury’s. I got the corset online from an alternative store, and the cardigan thing from an alternative shop in Coburn Street which closed down. I got the tee in Hong Kong 4 years ago.

The next day (31st) I did some modelling for my university (to use in prospectuses, law school website and apparently bus shelters all over Britain to promote our law school). It was loads of fun and I met really nice people, we were actually talking far more than modelling because of all the waiting around. It was great getting to know people, especially Masters and Postgrads because our law school is quite socially “divided”, both from the rest of the University and internally among the different kinds of degrees and different kinds of people. The shoot was cancelled the day after because of rain, then I met up with Leanne, who I hadn’t seen in a while (she’s a law student in the same year as me.) We got takeout coffe in the Main Library cafe (I had a mocha with caramel syrup) and wandered out onto the big grass sqaure, which was sodden. So we were walking round this square (the benches were wet) drinking coffee and eating salad (her) and a double chocolate chip cookie (me) which are quite representative of what foods we like to eat respectively. She’s vegetarian and I subsist on chocolate, though I am eating more healthily now to make my hair grow faster.

Anyway, Leanne was saying she didn’t really want to graduate, which are my feelings exactly – I DON’T WANT TO LEAVE UNI!! She asked if I was going to the Grad Ball, and I said yeah, because I’d thought I might be in America with the guy at the time, but since he dumped me I would go to the ball then, as there’s no rason not to go. Leanne’s going. I told her about the guy. Then I wondered why I have way more friends from my societies and clubs than in the law school; I hardly have any in the law school but loads from other courses, universities, hugh school and work, which is a bit odd, I think. Though a couple of girls at the photoshoot were in exactly the same situation as me, so I guess I’m not that weird. And our law school is not exactly conducive to having lots of friends; we tend to have little groups at best.

Leanne said it’s  just about clicking with people and the overrepresentation of snobby students, and that I shouldn’t worry about it. I was saying that I wish I could travel, but for the moment I’ve got to stay here, cos I sort of met someone. She was all, “Cool, what’s he like?” and I didn’t want to lie, but neither did I want to admit that Roland is slightly chubby and really old, as well as only slightly above average in looks, so I just said “It’s complicated,” and I also didn’t want to lie to her that he is my boyfriend because I don’t like lying to her.

Of course she wanted me to spill, and I did want to tell her and had wished I could tell her. But Leanne is a very respectable, conservative sort of person – she even looks like a law student, unlike me and roughly 90% of our law school. (She even has nice sensible hair; its long and wavy but somehow looks sensible; I don’t know why.I mean, neither of us have an actual haircut; mine is shorter than hers and has a thicker fringe and highlights, but mine doesn’t look all sensible like hers and I can’t work out why. Maybe it’s her fringe? Because lots of girls don’t have an actual haircut and their hair doesn’t look sensible. So I don’t know why.) She’s a churchgoer and sort of Catholic-y without being Catholic, if that makes sense (does it? No, it doesn’t. And she is against some very fundamental Catholic principles). Anyway, she’s the sort of prim, proper girl that I would be if someone gave me a libidodectemy. Though she’s had several boyfriends while I haven’t had any which is unfair. But it’s not surprising cos she’s really pretty but then so am I. I sometimes worry what she thinks of me, and this was before I met Roland! So this is why I’m having reservations about telling her, even though I already told her friend Jay.

I said, “What if you don’t like it?”

“Well, I’ve heard a lot of pretty crazy stuff,” she said (it’s pretty much unavoidable at our uni.) “I’m not judgemental.”

“Yeah, I know you’re not…but it’s like, well, I told Jay. But I think that’s actually easier, because I care about, like, your opnion -I’m not saying I don’t care about Jay’s opnion. Just like if I tell you, and you didn’t like it…”

So far, only my best friend Lochlan and Jay knew about it. I was too paranoid to tell my friends in my town or my other Stirling friends. We were walking over the wet dirt-path with the Main Library in front of us again. Then I thought, well, if she’s your friend you should be able to tell her. And if she’s negative about it, she’s entitled to her reaction; and if she’s so negative and judgemental that she never speaks to you again then it’s better that it happens now rather than later when you’ve bonded more. And at least you’ll know what she’s like.

So I said, “OK, but you have to let me finish.” Then I told her: “OK I met this photographer guy on an art-sharing website, he does nude photography and he was based in Edinburgh and I liked his art so he did some photos of me.” There didn’t seem to be a reaction, so I went on “And…so he gave me 100 for that and…he gave me extra for letting him spank me. Like, we’d talked about it before on the website and stuff.” There didn’t seem to be a reaction to this either, or she’s really good at controlling facial expressions, which rather spoiled the dramatic effect. It made it easier to go on, though, instead of lying “…and that’s how we met and ended up dating.” So I went on, “Well, long story short, he’s paying me to sleep with him,” and I thought how simple life could be if we didn’t make symbolic associations to actions, gender and sexuality and make such a big deal out of everything.

“How much is he paying you?” she asked

“8,000. I’ve always wanted to sell my virginity,” I added, “It’s like a kink or a fantasy.”

“What did Jay say?”

“He said it was good that I’d have this experiencde that not many other people have and I’d always like be able to talk about it and have a good story to tell.”  and we came to a massive puddle and turned back, retracing our steps. Just for the record, I was earing my old leather jacket over a long cable knit fitted hoodie and black jeans with knitted shoes; Leanne was wearing a dark sensible-looking top, purple velvety skirt, tights and boots.

“My boyfriend’s into that – spanking,” she said.

I was incredulous. She was the last person I would’ve guessed to be one of my kind, and I wondered if he liked it and she just went along with it to please him.

“Are you into it, or is it like he is, so you just…”

“Well, he really likes it and yeah, I do. Don’t tell anyone.”

I wondered if she was a switch or a domme or sub, but the question just boggled my brain and slid away because I couldn’t deal with it. I could not believe it.

“I won’t tell anyone,” I said. Not that I could, anyway, even if I was a bitchy wee gossip, because she’d tell everyone I was a prostitute. Not that I’d care because I only care what people I like or respect think about me, so I don’t care what they think if I don’t know them, and lots of them are quite adventurous anyway if the goss is true. I thought of telling her not to tell anyone about it but I think she knows not to, and if she didn’t care about my privacy then telling her not to wouldn’t stop her. Actually, I might’ve told her not to tell anyone earlier, before I told her, while I was stalling and agonizing over it.

Leanne said something like “Well that’s not something I would do, I think losing virginity should be with someone special, but I’m not going to judge you for doing it, I think everyone should be able to do what they want.”

“Imagine how much peace there’d be in the world if everyone thought that,” I mused.

Then we went to do the personality test that the Church of Scientology on the South Bridge was offering. We were put in a room to do the test, it was a questionnaire, the Oxford Capacity test which is meant to be really accurate. Leanne showed me what she’d written on her phone: I put a fake name so don’t be surprised if they call me Elena.

I’d only put my first name. When the results came back Leanne was taken to a different room. The woman explained the results to me and said they were very unusual – my happiness and confidence/certainty were close to the 100 mark (extremely high) with aggressiveness (which they define as ambition, ability to initiate things, get organized, concentrate, etc) also very high, as was responsibility. She said the test showed I was very sociable and active and love getting involved so probably I was doing a lot of extracurricular activities/very sociable and generally I’m goal-oriented and don’t reveal my negative emotions to others. I think its 100% accurate. She said my results were the only ones she’d ever seen that were so positive. She then tried to sell me a Dianetics book. She left me to wait for Leanne, but she didn’t return for a long time and I knew I’d missed the bus home so I’d miss kickboxing class, which didn’t bother me cos I’d rather spend time with Leanne. I’d let my social life fall by the wayside because of the dissertation and the exams right after that, and she’d done pretty much the same thing. I then wondered why it was taking so long and if they were indoctrinating her or something, so I decided to go look for her and pretend she had to catch a bus/train so I could just open the door if I heard her voice and tell her it was time to go.

I went down the corridor but I couldn’t hear her at any of the doors, so I turned back to check out the other part of the building when I saw a cute guy with black hair. I’m a sucker for any boy with black hair and also I wondered if I could get it out of him where Leanne had got to/what they do with people who do the personality test, because it might be quicker to get it out of him where she was instead of listening at every door in the place. So I talked to him about Scientology, and he explained how the body could be healed by healing the mind, which I pointed out was similar to Freud’s study of Clara.I detected no lie in his eyes when I touched on where Leanne could have got to – he didn’t know which room, but I knew they weren’t doing anything weird, because he was telling what he believed to be true. So I decided to stop searching for Leanne and we chatted about Scientology and I asked if Scientology had any values; he suggested I buy a book from them. I asked if polyamory was allowed; he didn’t know the word so I explained, but before he answered Leanne turned up.

We left, and she said they didn’t get her test results right, which is true.

We went into our uni’s microlab and went online and I showed her the times of the modelling shoot tomorrow because they were short on models, but she couldn’t make it. I told her I was blogging about Roland. We were doing stuff online and then she goes, “How do I get to your blog?” and that absolutely floored me, I mean I thought Christians aren’t supposed to be reading blogs on BDSM prostitution! What was happening here?! I mean, I’d guessed she wouldn’t be too negative about it, but actually wanting to read about it?? Anyway I gave her the link and suggested she create a wordpress account so she desn’t have to type the link each time.

After that we met up with her friend Duncan and ended up in Beanscene discussing persecution of Gingers, human rights and the media, the answer to my neverending quest to find the best country to live in, equal marriage, and, because I was thinking about this issue, the liklihood of legalizing poly marriage.

Duncan was very nice. I had a mocha with marshmallows and cream, and a crispy cake thing that didn’t taste very nice. Leanne had a berryade that was too sweet and Duncan had a thingie.

I felt very happy as I went home on the bus.

The next day I did some modelling on Calton Hill and met Kimberley who I instantly took a liking to. She asked me if the gold-coloured handflower I was wearing was “my religion” but they’re cultural not religious. Not that it’s even my culture, I just got it off Ebay. We got talking and she saaid I was the most ‘out of the box’ law student ever and she liked me, I was like, “That’s a great compliment from someone who’s only known me five minutes!” and we were giggling and I was all “I wish I was bi then I could take you out on a date” and we were just rofl. Then we all modelled in Princess Street Gardens and about 6 of us who’d gotten pally during the 3 days of shooting went to Maggie’s Pub in Grassmarket afterwards for some food (I had chicken wings and my first taste of breaded mushrooms because Kimberley couldn’t finish hers, and a Vodka and Irn Bru.)We were talking about the Eurozone, EU free movement law, whether Indonesia has “too much freedom” (of the media) as a girl who is from Jakarta claims,  and Ellen gave Kimberley a 101 on the gold standard versus fiat currency, something I know about but don’t know where I learned this. We all added each other on Facebook and got the waitress to take pics. I just checked out the pics on Facebook 🙂

 

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Afterwards

We talked some more – musing over how the film would be done, discussing ideas, and also chatting about other things like Creationism, the Epic of Gilgamesh and world stuff/current events. It was very much like talking online with him on the art site, where this whole Virgin/Whore dichotomy idea had been born through our messages about the double standard and its creation of the dichotomy, as expressed in many ancient religions and texts such as the Bible (and, more recently, in the works of de Sade: Juliet v Justine). Roland thinks that de Sade “places pleasure (philosophically) where Nietzsche places the will, and the rest follows inexorably both through feeling and through logic.”

Roland had said online that he wanted to do photographs of me in a brothel for his project “the Virgin in the Whorehouse” which we’ll probably do along with the virginity film, or after. When I told him about looking into selling my virginity on adultwork.com (a site which my friend had told me that his friend, a sex worker, used) he said a girl who wants to sell her virginity is surely “the perfect VirginWhore”  He also said “you are a piquant combination of a pure body and an impure mind; the fantasies and curiosities of the Virgin conspiring inevitably to bring about her own Fall of her own volition, and for her own pleasure. Whether that pleasure be physical, material, spiritual, artistic or all of these at once. If man-meal you would have yourself be, then these pleasures are the exquisite spices that make it worth paying for – and, indeed, consuming. It is a very human story, an old story”.

I wrote to him: “Oh to be a Victorian, to transform in an instant from angel in the house into fallen woman! The American Tragedy of the beautiful, intelligent young sluts the psychiatrists fled from in horror when they percieved the sexuality of the 1950s/60s woman. Maybe they knew, even then, that the repression was falling; maybe they glimpsed in their unmarried pregnant patients’ eyes the courage and adventurousness of their innocent daughters.”

I include snippets of these conversations because I believe they form a backdrop to our arrangement, and are perhaps the reasons for this deal – without any connection through writing I doubt the deal would have happened, because for Roland sex is all to do with the mind and the mind is the greatest sexual organ. And so it is with me as well, I think.

Anyway, we continued talking and I remember thinking that I probably look hot eating the icecream (not that I was attempting to do so in a hot way; just not shovelling it in as I would do if I was at home). I eat lots of icecream and 5-6 bars of chocolate per day as well as coffee, hot chocolate and crisps; I’ve never dieted in my life. I was feeling sort of mentally dizzy after he said £8000 because although I’ve always wanted to sell my virginity, I never truly imagined I’d succeed!  And I would have, if necessary, sold it for £4000 or even £3000; (but then since Roland would be seeing me after getting my virginity and giving me the rest then, you could say that the virginity itself was being sold for £4k). Before he paid the bill, I went to the toilet to jump up and down and go “YES!YES!YES!” in private and look at my beautiful self in the mirror. I’m not one of those squealing fashion-slave divas who spends an eternity getting ready. In fact, I’ve never had my nails done professionally or been waxed; I only go to the hairdressers if I want highlights and trim my hair myself. And I LOVE LOVE my style which, although it incorporates the trends, is not at all dependent on the latest look (though I usually will have one or two items of clothing that reflect the latest look.) But, despite only taking about 5-10 minutes each morning to get ready, I always look fabulous. I’ve had total strangers from teens to little old ladies and accountants come up to me in the street and compliment my cheapo outfits that I buy in Internacionale, Primark, New Look and at best Topshop, Bank, Dorothy Perkins, Next and Republic. Anyway, I jumped up and down for a while before actually using the toilet and then staring at myself in the mirror and my reflection looked radiant and golden. I thought, ‘I have to tell Lochlan’ (my best friend) but my phone, Fire, wasn’t with me or I would have right then. I may have said “8000! You did it! You did it! Yes! Yes! 8000” but I’m not sure; my memory is very fuzzy at this point because this was the best moment of my life, and the fact that I was experiencing the best moment of my life in a toilet cubicle didn’t bother me at all. After a bit more screaming, I went back outside and Roland and I walked to his car (it’s a BMW convertible and, as he says, it’s a boy car with muscles. I won’t describe it further though). We had the run the last hundred metres to beat the traffic warden, which we managed by one minute.

 

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The Tower: How it started

So, it’s 1:17 am, I’ve finished all my exams, the summer is unrolling itself in front of me. And I’m lying here looking at the screen and wondering how on earth I’m going to get all my thoughts, facts and, well, everything onto WordPress in chronological order. This is a fun experiment, blogging, but I want to get it right. I’m known for being able to write well; I’ve had stuff published. So I don’t want this attempt to be a major screw-up, do I? Anyway, does chronological order matter – the film scriptwriters don’t seem to think so with their love affair with flashbacks. But let’s try for a little chronology here. I suppose it all really started in the Tower.

The Tower is a restaurant on top of the National Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh (it’s a great museum, by the way, you should go if you’re ever in Edinburgh.) Anyway I’d never been in a restaurant that expensive (from the perspective of students) before; I’m pretty sure I saw food that was £70 and that was a main course, excluding the starter. But I digress.

The Tower restaurant where we made the deal.

I was nearly at the museum but had to turn and come all the way back around, to avoid being spotted (for reasons not connected to this.) Roland had booked a table for us and it was lovely being in this restaurant because I’d never had this before, and it’s nice being treated as you deserve, I suppose. I’m not trying to say I’m a good person, just that I’m a pretty young girl and should be treated like a lady. (Yeah, I’m a spoilt bitch, as you guessed.) I hadn’t had time to flick my hair or reapply lippy/apply lipgloss or eyeliner after my exam (because of an incident unconnected to this) but it didn’t bother me Roland seeing me this way because I’m beautiful, even though my so-called hair has a life of its own. We were sitting talking, and it was kind of flirty; it was fun talking about these things in code in this restaurant. I had chicken – it was delicious.

I was wearing a long floaty opaque top with an embellished collar over a tight gold vest top and grey Aztec-print leggings. Roland is above average in looks, though not what I go for, and I was looking at him and thinking to myself ‘How on earth can you do this, you’re not attracted to him even one percent??’ but then I thought, ‘Kalika, you can do anything for money.’ And besides, he had a PhD, wasn’t fat, was tall, and was definetly someone I could talk to and connect with – we’re actually very similar in some ways. Even though he had a receding hairline and could’ve lost a couple of pounds, he wasn’t unattractive or wrinkly. So it wasn’t like he was totally unworthy of me or anything like that – in fact I like him. So why did I feel disgusted at the thought of it, since I genuinely liked this guy in every way except a sexual way? I decided that I must be even more interesting than I thought I was. If only we could control who we were attracted to! But then that is not true prostitution, is it, if you do for money what you would willingly do for free? That’s unfair to the client. I smiled and relaxed as I realised this.

I told Roland this, and he wasn’t surprised that I wasn’t attracted to him. I think he was amused by me saying that if I was it would not be true prostitution.

And the more we talked, the less disgusted I felt, as I realised how alike we were and the weird thing is, there was not one awkward moment.

Think about it.

We’d met in real life once, two weeks ago, to do a nude photoshoot and afterwards he spanked me (as we’d discussed online, or I wouldn’t have agreed to it. And come to think of it, he wouldn’t have done it, probably.) After that, I’d asked him if he wanted to buy my virginity online. Well, I didn’t ask just like that; I have well-honed social, negotiation and manipulation skills, though I deployed only the barest fraction of these skills to ask him this. He said yes and I said, good (that is what those messages boil down to, if you take out all the crap and posturing). Then he says, basically, that since we’re doing lunch tommorrow before he drives me to his company, Luxor Engineering, to spank and video me, we could talk about this over lunch.

So here we are. I’m very happy because I know my negotiation skills ensure me a good deal, even if I’ll be going up against a businessman. (Though my default state is being very happy, so this may not account for much.)

And it’s great; it feels right; I’m happy being here with Roland. If I were hearing about someone else doing this, I’d expect a lot of pauses and wondering what to say next. But that didn’t happen. We talked about all kinds of stuff; art, relationships, the stupidity of conspiracy theories, spanking, my BDSM political satire story; my other spanking story; America; stuff. When he mentioned he had bunny ears for me to be photographed in in his office after lunch, this oldguy in a red jumper stares and glares at him; it was hilarious.

I leaned forward and whispered that the oldyguy had given him a disgusted look; Roland said “I don’t really care what others think of me,” and sneaked a couple of glances over at him.

“So, what made you want to sell it?” he asked.

“I’ve always wanted to, since a couple years ago,” I said, looking directly at him. “Like, I think abstinence [the Christian ritual practice of not having sex until the night of marriage, similarly to Muslim and Middle Eastern/Asian cultural practice] is very erotic, but selling it is pretty sexy too…It’s just something I want to do.”

He said that he can understand why abstince can be sexy. “And of course, you’ve been doing something similar,” he pointed out. (Which is true; I am indeed sort of abstinent, but not until marriage. I am abstinent until either my virginity is sold or I find a guy who will “rape” me after a night of debasement, spanking, poop/pee desperation, enemas, diapers, babying, etc.) Being abstinent is, indeed, extremely sexual.

I told him about an abstinence indoctrination programme I saw once on a Christian channel and how very erotic it was (I disagree with its emphasis on female purity, its degradation of female sexuality and its perpetuating of the double standard, but abstinence as a concept is HOT!) and how Christian programs especially those which address fornication are wonderful to masturbate to; this made him laugh a lot.

Then we get onto dessert (icecream and sorbet, yum!) and start talking about selling virginity. Roland tells me, as he did online, that as an artist he’s interested in the art: making a film out of it and doing photography. The sex is only a part of the art, and it is the latter that he would pay for.

 

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