"Caesar decided that he must act quickly. If he had to build bridges, a battle might be forced upon him; and in that case it would be better to fight before enemy reinforcements arrived." — Julius Caesar, The Conquest of Gaul

Boyer Coe had been having a rough time of it of late — he'd lost his woman, and then he got another one and lost her, too, and T. Rowe Price had nothing but bad news in the quarterly report and his Mazda's transmission had up and gone out. He'd stopped bathing and working out and was smoking about a quarter bag a day and drinking Beefeater out of espresso cups.

Boyer came round to deciding he needed a Mercy Fuck in a bad way, and that probably he could get one out of Luci Wilson, especially if he provided the X. After all, she'd Mercy-Fucked Ben Wilson, Claude Moody, Jed Montgomery, Warren Jones and Will McQueen when they'd all at one time or another in the past month up and lost THEIR shit. Coe sobered up and got on it, then. It was a beautiful thing, the adventure Boyer Coe had embarked on.

Luci was Mercy-Fucking Roland Kickinger when Boyer called, but she was making him wear a condom, so it wasn't like they were REALLY fucking or anything. I caught up with Luci about three days after she'd fucked Boyer. "What do you get out of all the Mercy Fucks?" I asked her. "I'm a woman who likes loser dick in my pussy, frankly," she explained. "See, I have a very low self-esteem. Mercy-Fucking people like Boyer, like Claude, I feel a little better. Especially when people like Ben and Jed tell me all about their shit and cry while they worm around in my cunt with their barely-hard peckers."

I was taking notes in shorthand on a steno pad and nodding.