Black Forest Bikers Camp

[With a tip of the hat to Tom of Finland]

Hansl was fully taken with just trying to catch his next breath, as the muscular man on top of him grasped his throat with a beefy hand and controlled the airflow. Crushing the smaller and much younger man under him, the big bruiser lay on top of Hansl and thrust up inside him again and again and again. Tensing and jerking, the bruiser came, and with a deep sigh of victory, he rolled off to the side, leaving Hansl on his back beside him, gasping for breath. His hand went immediately to Hansl’s snatch, exploring the difference in it, in its spread and the puffiness of the folds between pre- and post-coitus. Hansl moaned in response to the exploring fingers. His folds were spread and fingers were penetrating his passage, sliding through cum, testing the man’s new experience of fucking a male-to-female surgically provided cunt.

The completion of the surgery was so recent and Hansl had been given so little psychological support for the transformation that he had considered changing his gender words yet.

The attack, not the first one, had come in the dark of the night. The man had sniffed around Hansl for so long, intrigued in what Hansl had become, that, now that he’d gotten him into bed, he wanted it all, again and again, and Hansl, long anticipating this as well, just lay there, knees hooked on the big man’s hips and fingertips pressing into the man’s bulging biceps, and took the vigorous thrusting inside him, the release, the holding in suspension, the penetration again, the humping, the second release.

This was what Hansl had wanted out of making this transformation as well. Gerhardt went to sleep almost immediately after the taxing sex and pos-coitus fingering. It took Hansl longer.

Gerhardt’s snoring woke up the willowy, blond, twenty-year-old Hansl an hour after dawn. Hunky Gerhardt, in his late twenties and well-honed by hard manual work, lay naked, flat on his back on the bed. Hansl turned on his side and looked at his mother’s boyfriend. The man had finally gotten what he wanted from Hansl, his curiosity satiated. The young man had wondered for some time if the truck driver, younger than Hansl’s mother—halfway between her age and Hansl’s—showed up here to fuck his mother or because he was really sniffing after Hansl and the variety that Hansl represented. Not that Hansl’s mother wasn’t good-looking enough for a young, muscled-up truck driver to want to fuck, of course. But now Hansl knew that the man wanted to fuck younger men too—and younger men built like Hansl now was.

His mother was off in Frankfurt, buying cameras for her shop in Freudenstadt, and still, knowing she wouldn’t be there, Gerhardt had shown up, bringing whiskey, and sharing that with Hansl. The younger man had had no illusions about what the truck driver had come for, taking every advantage of seeing Hansl in the nude, and following months of pressure, Hansl’s defenses were giving out. He hadn’t been holding Gerhardt off because he was a man or because he wasn’t sexy and arousing; it had only been because he was Hansl’s mother’s boyfriend. It would be a betrayal of her to give into the man. But Hansl was weary of the resistance. He knew when Gerhardt showed up that evening that he’d be giving in.

He also found Gerhardt to be a big-cocked hunk. It was the chance of having a big bruiser like Gerhardt between his legs, inside two, not just one passages, that had encouraged Hansl to go through with the transformation.

A couple of hours drinking and watching football matches together on the sofa in front of the TV and Gerhardt wheedling Hansl about, “Slide your panties off. No, let me do it. Shit, just like a woman’s. Let me touch it. Does it really make you feel like a woman?” and a half-drunk and half-wanting Hansl spreading his legs open, turning his thighs out to give full access, and letting the man play in the folds with his fingers, and then Gerhart was on top of Hansl and inside him, and Hansl was beyond the stage of struggling against the bigger, much more muscular man. He lay stretched out on the sofa, back propped up on a sofa arm, and let the man pin him down, penetrate his surgically constructed cunt, and fuck him.

The moment the big cock slid into his snatch, Hansl surrendered with a sigh, spreading his legs wider, relaxing, feeling the shaft sink in deeper.

Hansl couldn’t deny that he wanted this from men—and that Gerhardt was all man. The man had been fascinated with the changes made with the young man—now a fully transformed T-girl, although not emotionally transformed, at least yet, enough to want to be called a “she” rather than a “he.” The truck driver had delighted on sucking on the nipples of Hansl’s pert new breasts and with playing in the folds of his new vagina, first with his fingers, then with his tongue, and, finally, with his dick.

“It’s not like it’s really you—that you’re really giving something God-given up,” he’d cajoled Hansl. “It just something the doctors had made for you for men like me to play with.”

Hansl hadn’t objected to that. He, indeed, had gone through the transformation because he wanted to be a woman for men sexually in the usual way. He even wanted to be with Gerhardt in this way. He just didn’t want to do this to his mother, who he’d been part of doing it to her before. Hansl’s father was long gone and his mother had gone through a succession of possible mates since then. One had been instrumental in convincing Hansl he wanted to be with men but had also caused Hansl to leave at eighteen and go to sea in the navy. That experience, of being used by men at sea, convinced Hansl he wanted to be transformed, though, and he’d come back for that surgery and to live with his mother and work in her shop.

Once having gotten Hansl under control and participating in the sex, Gerhardt had happily lapped at the vestigial penis clit at the head of the folds to hear Hansl pant and moan—and to have the young man come for him. He had made a big production of getting his shaft in the surgically provided cunt, playing in the folds of the snatch with the cap of his cock, teasing it, and sighing and groaning himself when he discovered that, yes, it did slide inside and function sheathed in the natural way. After that, it was much the same fuck as if he was screwing a woman, except that when Gerhardt turned Hansl and slid up into his ass, he found that passage more accommodating and accustomed to the cock than with most women. This was where Hansl took it before the transformation. Once Gerhardt was mounted on Hansl, inside him with that big cock of his, and moving his hips, forward and back, fucking Hansl deep, the young man couldn’t help himself. With whimper and moans, he dug his fingernails into the stud’s biceps and set his pelvis in motion, going with the fuck.

This was what Hansl wanted. This was why he had transformed. Having a man inside his anal channel wasn’t nearly as satisfying as inside a vaginal passage. He wanted it from a man of his own, though, not someone who also had done or was doing his mother.

When they’d moved the action into the bedroom—on Hansl’s bed because he balked at doing it in his mother’s bed—Hansl was as much into the fuck as Gerhardt was. Delighted he’d finally gotten him, Gerhardt fucked Hansl throughout the night, turning him after the variety of the lady fuck had worn off and entering him the former way, in the ass, and fucking him there too.

But it wasn’t right. Not because it was male-on-male action, but because Gerhardt was Hansl’s mom’s young boyfriend. It wasn’t fair to her. It needed to stop. Once she’d tossed Gerhardt out, then Hansl wouldn’t feel so bad about going with the hunk. But would she believe Hansl if he told her her young boyfriend was fucking him too? Whether or not she believed it just from what Hansl claimed, would she do anything about it? And would it further ruin her own self-esteem. Hadn’t his father done enough damage to her in that realm? Did he have to contribute to that as well?

He didn’t want to hurt his mother. He’d been unhappy with her when she made his first man, one of her earlier boyfriends, move away. He’d been happy with Siegmund and didn’t care what anyone else said about it. But she had supported Hansl. She had let him be fully transformed when that’s what he wanted. She had supported him in that, even as young as he had been. It was a private matter for him though. He still dressed as a young man and wanted to be addressed as such. It’s just that, privately, he now felt he was who he was meant to be all along.

He would discuss what was what with potential partners and go with them only if what he had become was what they wanted. Gerhardt had seen him as he was and had shown curiosity and interest ever since. Hansl couldn’t help but to have wondered how everything would fit with Gerhardt and did his best to suppress that. Gerhardt was his mother’s young boyfriend.

Gerhardt fit just fine inside him, though, in either passage, and that now complicated everything.

There was one thing he could do to change this situation. His mother owned a camera shop in Freudenstadt. Hansl had two of her cameras, an expensive Canon EOS 2000D and an equally expensive Panasonic Lumix, in the duffel bag beside his bed with the clothes in it he’d put there to go off with his friends camping outside Freudenstadt that weekend. His mother knew that’s what he was going to do—go to a camp with friends—and that he’d be gone when she returned from Frankfurt. She also knew he was taking the cameras. He wanted to be a photographer and she had the shop to support that wish. It was fine with her that he took the cameras. He worked in her shop and helped explain the cameras to prospective customers. It was good for him to be fully versed in using them.

If words wouldn’t get through to her, video might, Hansl thought. He quietly rolled off the bed, found a tripod, took the Canon out of his bag, and set it up for video, facing the bed.

Gerhardt was still half asleep when Hansl slid his lips down the man’s cock and started giving him head. The truck driver’s attention was fully focused on the sweet lay he’d worked so hard on getting into bed. Hansl saddled himself on top of the man, sliding down Gerhardt’s stiff pole, first taking the man in his lady part and then switching to his anal channel, palming the man’s bulging pecs, and beginning the dance of the cowboy-position fuck. Gerhardt was so involved in the fuck that he didn’t notice the clicking of the camera, memorializing the action.

It got even better in serving Hansl’s purpose. Half way through the fuck, Gerhardt wanted to assert control. He turned them so that Hansl was on his back, legs bent, feet on the surface of the mattress, and Gerhardt was kneeling between the young man’s thighs. Hansl made to roll away from Gerhardt and the man slapped him, hard, across the face, making Hansl collapse backward.

“Liege dort. Nimm es, Pussy Junge—Lay there. Take it pussy boy,” Gerhardt growled. “Du willst es—You want it.”

And that was true. Hansl did want it.

What happened then could be taken by viewing only that section of the action as Gerhardt just taking what he wanted no matter what Hansl wanted. Hansl could splice the video later to show what happened just as he wanted to.

Gerhardt grabbed Hansl’s ankles, painful wishboned the young man’s legs, pressed his pelvis into Hansl’s, penetrated Hansl’s cunt, and began to vigorously fuck the young man. Hansl raised his arms over his head and grasped the brass rungs of the headboard. He turned his face toward the camera, giving an “Look, Mutter, your junger Freund—young boyfriend—is raping me” look and turning his head back the other way in a “and you’re doing nothing to save me” expression, enjoyed the completion of the fuck.

Gerhardt, fully satisfied, and happy that the young T-girl was adjusting so well to being his pussy boy, drifted off to sleep again when they’d both shot their loads. He was asleep when Hansl slipped out of bed, returned the Canon to his duffel bag, showered and dressed, and left the flat to take the bus north to Berneck.

* * * *

Hansl was awakened by the unmistakable sounds of the grunts and groans of vigorous sex. He had arrived in the early afternoon, not at the youth camp near Freudenstadt he’d told his mother he was going to, but at her former boyfriend Siegmund’s isolated biker’s theme camp on a remote shore of the Stausee Kleine Kinzig lake in the Schwartzwald—the Black Forest—of Germany, north of Berneck. His mother had done everything she could to pull him away from Siegmund, who now ran this Tom of Finland-themed camp, and the man who had initiated Hansl to male-male sex had complied in the face of being criminally charged if he didn’t. But Hansl had a mind of his own in this regard.

Siegmund had been happy to see Hansl, but he could also see that the young man was exhausted from his sexual workout by and escape from his mother’s boyfriend, Gerhardt, the bus trip north, and the hitchhiking into the camp.

“Yes, I know Gerhardt,” he said. “He is so big and muscular. I know you could not have fought him off. And he has such a big cock. Did he hurt you? Can what you have now manage a man his size?”

Siegmund was a big-cocked man too. Hansl wasn’t sure if the man, a muscular bodybuilder himself who had manhandled Hansl like the youth had been just a ragdoll, asked that question because of Gerhardt or from his own curiosity—wondering if Hansl was going to be able to accommodate him in his new cunt. Hansl could tell the man was curious about his transformation from the looks he gave Hansl when they came back together and how he touched him, almost in shimmering anticipation. What the two, Siegmund and Hansl, had had together was before Hansl had transformed and what they had had with each other then was scintillating. Could it be the same or even more intense after the change in Hansl? In either case, Hansl didn’t directly answer. “He’s my mother’s boyfriend. It isn’t fair to her,” he said. This essentially was the same problem that had existed when Siegmund was with Hansl’s mother, and both men realized that.

Siegmund then said they’d talk later about what Hansl had to say about the boyfriend and took Hansl to a loft in one of the camp’s dormitories to rest. Hansl had been wrung out enough to almost immediately go to sleep.

He woke to the sound of two of the biker campers going at it on a bed in the dormitory below his loft. Seeing that they were engaged in rough bondage sex, he took his Canon 2000D out of his duffel bag and, coming close to the edge of the loft, filmed the sex scene from between the floor and the lower rung of the railing. The men below had no idea he was there.

Both bikers were following the theme of the camp. They were both naked other than black leather chest harnesses and black leather boots nearly reaching their knees. Both were burly bears, heavy but more from bulging muscles than fat. But both, like the drawings of Tom of Finland men, tapered down from massive chests to narrow waists and had bubble butts and massively muscular thighs and calves. One was face down on the bed, spread-eagled, with his wrists restrained at the corners of the headboard and his ankles at the corners of the footboard. The other biker, bullet-headed bald, was saddled on the bottom’s pelvis. The spread-eagled biker had a head of wavy, reddish hair, which the man on top was grasping with the fingers of one hand and beating the bottom’s head against the mattress, while he rode the man’s ass in a high-bouncing penetration and slapped the bottom’s bulbous bare buttocks with the other hand, riding the bottom like they were in a rodeo. They were both crying out—the man on the top like a cowboy rodeo star and the man on the bottom in pain-pleasure like a bucking horse.

Hansl filmed the performance to its ejaculative completion and then withdrew into the shadows of the loft while the two men cooled down, unentangled, left the bed, and went about whatever business they had in the camp.

The young man napped again, savoring what he had seen, looking forward to learning more of what was on offer at the camp, and feeling quite ready to become part of it. He was just a willowy-bodied young man, and certainly not looking to strutting around the camp roleplaying like a Tom of Finland character, but he was highly aroused by the thought of being used by Tom of Finland characters. He dozed off thinking of Siegmund, who had met him at the camp office in Tom of Finland mode. Siegmund was a muscled-up biker just like the men he was running this camp for. He’d been holding a hand whip, with leather strips, which he was flicking against the sides of his calf-high black leather boots when he came to the door to meet Hansl, and the memories had jolted the young man’s mind. Although he had inflicted little pain with the whip, Siegmund had been the one to introduce Hansl to bondage sex two years earlier.

They had been jolted again as they had passed a scene in the woods of two bikers—maybe the same ones Hansl recorded in the dormitory later—where one, naked save for his chest harness, boots, and a black leather captain’s hat, was suspended, standing, between two trees, his arms extended and restrained, while another biker, similarly costumed, except with a black leather jock strap, split open, with his erection hanging out, and the freely moving biker was whipping the bound one with a hand whip identical to the one Siegmund had in his office. The bound man’s magnificent erection and passionate cries indicated he did not mind being bound and whipped.

Hansl halted momentarily to watch and Siegmund didn’t hurry him away. He assured Hansl as they walked to the dormitory that the two bikers were indulging willingly in the services offered at the camp.

Those weren’t the only campers they saw as they walked. All of them were men. All of them were in Tom of Finland character, broad-chested, tapering down to narrow waists, all muscle, giant thighs and calves rammed into high-top, shiny black-leather boots. Several displayed big cocks and puffy nipples. They were in various guises, from cops to sailors to soldiers to cowboys, all in skin-tight costumes accentuating their fit physiques and the line of their cocks barely encased under the thin material of their pants.

Some were pursuing others. Some had been caught and were being covered. All turned their heads to see the delicious-looking, young willowy blond as Siegmund escorted Hansl to the dormitory. All leered. Many whistled and called out compliments and propositions. If Hansl had sought out Siegmund’s camp to be worshipped and totally taken, he had found what he was looking for. This even before they had found what made Hansl unique.

But, Hansl wondered, would any of these men—these bikers roleplaying Tom of Finland in the woods of the Black Forest lake—be interested in a young man who had transformed himself, who functionally now was more woman than young man? Would they be curious and adventuresome? All of the men in Tom of Finland drawings were interested in other men just like themselves—macho men. None of them were depicted making love—having sex, which is what Tom of Finland men did, not “make love.” How many of them would be interested in a young man with lady bits instead?

The looks he was getting as Siegmund guided him to the dormitory had indicated that maybe yes. If they were interested in a small, effeminate-looking young man. Maybe they’d be interested in one with budding breasts and a vagina—at least for variety’s sake. When these men smiled at him, Hansl smiled back. He wasn’t really sure what he wanted here—he initially had just wanted to stay away from Gerhardt in loyalty to his mother and knowing he was weak to the charms of the Gerhardts of the world—but, once here, he found he was weak to the allure of Tom of Finland types of men too. It was possible that he was aroused by several types of men, he was learning. There must have been a reason he’d sought out Siegmund.

Hansl looked at man who had been his first as they walked. Yes, he had certainly been aroused by Siegmund too.

* * * *

After the two studs who had engaged in bondage sex on the first floor of the dormitory below where Hansl was in the loft had finished and departed, he came down, just in shorts and sneakers, bringing his camera bag with him, deciding he’d take some shots down at the lake. After visiting the head, he headed through the woods in that direction.

He stopped up the slope from the lake’s edge, inside the fringe of trees, seeing that he wouldn’t be alone if he went down to the lake. One of the biker campers was there, tricked out as a Tom of Finland character and casting a fishing line into the water. He had a magnificent body, as all of the campers here seemed to have—and emerged straight out of a Tom of Finland drawing.

He was tall, bulked up in the chest, his torso tapering down to a narrow waist. The man was all hard muscle. He had a black-leather harness on his chest, black-leather bikini briefs buttoning closed on both sides, tight black-leather boots rising to just below his knees, black-leather wristbands, and a black captain’s hat. His hair was in a crew cut, of indeterminate color, but his mustache and close-cropped beard indicated he was a reddish blond, as did the swirl of chest hair circling his bulging pecs and running in a trail down his torso and under the bikini waistband. He was standing straight and tall, concentrating on working his fishing rod, casting the line out in the water, letting it drag, reeling it back in, and casting again. He seemed more interested in establishing a good arc of the cast and sending the lure far out into the water than he was in catching any fish. It was almost as if he was there to catch a man rather than a fish—and maybe he was. The almost dancing movement of the man’s beautiful body was a delight to follow with the yes.

Hansl watched for a while and, eventually, fished the Canon 2000D out of his camera bag and started clicking. The Tom wasn’t alone long and the view got more interesting. Another figure—another, differently costumed Tom of Finland, Tom Two, Hansl thought of him, came down a path off to Hansl’s right, causing the young man to shrink back behind a tree, and walked out onto the lake embankment to Tom One.

This one, Tom Two, was tricked out as a cop. He was bald, wore aviator sunglasses, and was wearing a blue cop-uniform shirt and navy-blue pants with black-leather high-top boots. He wasn’t just any cop in appearance, though. Like the Tom of Finland drawings, the clothes looked like they had been spray painted on his body, revealing every deep curve of his extraordinarily muscular body and the line of his gigantic cock in the crotch of his pants.

The first Tom emerged from behind his tree and the two men talked for a few minutes, but then they embraced, the cop unbuttoned and released the fisherman’s bikini briefs, and then, bent him over, released his own cock, mounted him, and fucked him. There was no preliminary preparation; they went right to it, moving slowly as if in an orchestrated film. It was like they knew someone was there, filming them.

Click went the shutter of Hansl’s Canon 2000D. He crept closer to get better shots, coming right up to the edge of the tree line to get unobstructed camera coverage. Of course, though, the two Toms now saw him. The cop pulled out of the fisherman and, his cock still proudly projecting from his open fly, turned and walked back up the pathway he’d come down.

Tom One stood there, looking at Hansl, his own magnificent cock in hand. Hansl slipped the Canon back into the bag.

“You’re a cute guy,” he called out to Hansl. “Something different for this camp. Did you enjoy what you saw?”

“You didn’t finish,” Hansl said. The disappointment was clear in his voice.

The fisherman laughed. “We saw you. We became interested in something other than each other. We didn’t know they offered young men at this camp.”

“A friend of mine owns the camp,” Hansl said. “You said ‘we.’”

“Yes, I did,” Tom One said. He looked beyond Hansl, causing the young man to look around. He saw that the cop, his erection still out of his pants and cupped in his hand, had come around behind him. The two men had Hansl between them now. Escape, even if he contemplated it, would have been difficult.

“How old are you?” Tom One asked.

“Twenty,” Hansl answered.

“Sweet,” Tom Two said from behind him. That caused Hansl to look around at him again, and when he looked back, Tom One was standing right there in front of him.

“Weißt du, wofür wir in dieses Camp kommen?—You know what we come to this camp to get? You ever been fucked by a real man?” Tom One asked. He reached out and took one of Hansl’s nipples between two fingers and rolled what was now a puffed-up nub. Hansl grimaced but held steady. He took Hansl’s hand and moved it down to his crotch, handing his thick erection. Hansl didn’t take his hand away.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Well, it’s going to happen again,” Tom One said, reaching down and unbuttoning and unzipping Hansl’s shorts and pushing them down to the ground.

“Well, shit. Look at what we have here. A pussy boy. You ever fucked a pussy boy?” He addressed this to Tom Two.

“Not until a few minutes from now,” Tom Two said.

“Take a look,” Tom One said, turning Hansl and pulling him in close to his body, but palming the small of Hansl’s back and jutting the young man’s pelvis out toward Tom Two.

“Well, would you look at that,” Tom Two said. “A man with a pussy.”

Hansl might have said something, but Tom One already was encircling his waist with one arm, lifting up, and setting Hansl’s ass channel on his erection. Hansl cried out in surprise and squirmed as his channel took the cock, but he settled down to moaning low and groaning, as, cock now buried, Tom One held him close into his muscular body and fucked him in the ass. Tom One pulled Hansl’s thighs up and around his, jutting the young man’s pelvis forward. Tom Two stepped forward and fingered Hansl’s fully exposed cunt, working the folds and clit with his fingers and penetrating. Hansl moaned in response.

Stepping back, Tom Two dug into Hansl’s bag and came up with a camera. He started filming the fuck. After a few minutes, though, he moved into Hansl’s body again, bringing the camera with him and filming the movement of the root of Tom One’s cock as it shortened and lengthened in Hansl’s asshole with his thrusts. Then Tom Two, maintaining a hold on the camera, was also grasping Hansl’s ankles and raising and spreading the young man’s legs. He nuzzled in between the young man’s thighs, and, after experimenting with playing in the folds of the T-girl’s snatch folds with the mushroom cap of his cock, took the plunge. Hansl cried out and was writhing, but he took the two men, sandwiching him between them, as Tom One fucked him in the ass and Tom Two fucked him in the cunt.

When they were done with him, Tom Two stepped away, laughed, pulled the SD card out of the camera, and, keeping it, walked off into the trees. Turning Hansl to facing him, and holding the moaning young man up with an arm under the small of his back, Tom One satisfied his own curiosity about the T-girl’s snatch, penetrating with his sustained erection and fucking Hansl in his cunt. Hansl lay, bent back, in the muscle stud’s arms, and savored the fuck.

When he was done, Tom One let Hansl sink to the ground, picked his leather bikini briefs up from the ground, buttoned the loincloth back into place, and strutted up the path into the trees, behind Tom Two, who had walked off with the camera’s SD card.

He hadn’t run off with everything Hansl had shot with the camera, though, as Tom Two had pulled the Panasonic Lumix camera out of the bag rather than the Canon 2000D with which Hansl had filmed Gerhardt, the guys in the dormitory, and these two Toms. Hansl still had his memories and evidence of new sexual experiences over the last twenty-four hours.

* * * *

Hansl walked gingerly back to the camp, smiling and purring to himself. That double fuck had been something else. He’d had no idea how much he would enjoy that. He wondered if any of the other role-playing bikers in the camp might do that with him.

Apparently so. When he got back to the camp office to check in with Siegmund, the man met him at the door. He was in full Tom of Finland form, chest harness, captain’s hat, leather armbands, black hip-high boots, and a raging erection. He was glowering at Hansl and flicking a hand whip against his leg.

“There you are. We wondered where you’d gotten to,” he said.

We? Hansl wondered. And then Siegmund moved in from the door, and Hansl saw into the room, where Gerhardt, his mother’s current boyfriend, also tricked out in Tom of Finland gear, shaft swinging free, was setting up the restraints on an X-frame.

“Gerhardt came to find you. I phoned him that you were here. You didn’t go to the camp where you told your mother you were going. Gerhardt guessed you came here instead. He guessed correctly. We’ve discussed what sort of punishment you deserved and we’ve come up with something.”

Hansl stepped back, but Siegmund pulled him into the room with a grip on his wrist, slammed the door behind them, and reached down and unbuttoned and unzipped Hansl’s shorts, sending them down to the floor.

Hansl began to pant and hyperventilate as he was pulled toward the X-frame. Siegmund was already fingering his cunt, spreading his labia and penetrating him with a finger. Maybe they were rushing him a bit, but he was quite willing to go with them.