Surprise in the Half-Light: Julie and Blake Chapter 2

Info CarlySands
10 Apr. '20

Surprise In the Half-Light: Julie and Blake Chapter 2

 

“Keep ‘em on the same page, honey,” I said, kissing my husband on the cheek.  He stepped out of the car onto the sidewalk, where caffeinated businessman jogged with their wheeled suitcases in tow and women tipped muscular porters.

Travis was on his way to St. Louis, and then to Minneapolis, where he’d meet with store managers from shopping centers all around the two metro areas to talk to them about capitalizing on the social media campaigns his women’s clothing company had been waging.  He’d probably bed one of them.  He just had to tell me about it, without too much information, if you know what I mean.  Over the years, we’d learned what to tell one another and what not to in our open marriage.

The next night, I was going to see some Blues with a few friends at a Midtown bar.  The guys in the group had all originally been Travis’s friend, while I’d become close with their girlfriends.  I felt bad that Travis wouldn’t be with us and knew he’d be missed by everyone.

Plus, it was my day off from the restaurant I managed, so I’d be at home alone, which I wasn’t really in the mood for.  Suffice to say, my mind was heavy on the ride home.

Just before arriving, though, I got a text.  It was from Blake, a guy I’d hooked up with the last time Travis had been out of town.  He said he wanted to cook me dinner that night and gave me his address.  Previously, we’d spent the night in a hotel and it was amazing.  He had the wand and the magic.  So it was shaping up to be a great night.  If I was going to partake in openness while Trav was away, there was no one I’d rather be opened up by than Blake.

He was tall and in shape, with adorable sandy-blonde hair and that perfect bad-boy’s stubble—which I sure hoped he’d still have tonight.  As I ran errands and did little chores at the apartment, I kept thinking of his body and the chemistry we had together.  I just tried to not build it up too much in my head and be let down.  The first time with a man can be incredible—a particular favorite of mine—and it can be hard to play a fitting encore.

I decided to cab it over to Blake’s, since I didn’t know what the parking situation would be. I’d chosen a black pullover that was tight enough to showcase my full breasts, and a pair of skinny jeans.  Simple and sexy.

Blake’s building was a lowrise in the shadows of the Hudson Park highrises. It was all brick, kind of somber-looking.  He was a pro poker player, not a hedge fund manager.  I took the elevator, got a bit misled by the numbering system, then found his door.  Putting on a smile, I gave him a couple of knocks.

I heard the padding of feet and then the door opened.

The man standing there wasn’t Blake.  When you’re going to someone’s place—particularly for steamy fun—and the roommate answers the door, you automatically get this “OK, you fuckin’ changed the plan on me” vibe that’s rather annoying.

“Uh, I’m here to see Blake,” I said.

“Come on in,” the guy said.

He had blonde hair that just sat atop his head, and a golden-brown beard.  It was kind of a hipster look, and he wore a black and silver bowling shirt that kind of reinforced it.  He was built kind of wide, with a bit of a gut but nothing bad.  He had one of those wholesome, trusting faces.  Good looking, even though he wasn’t my type, and not exactly attractive to me.

The apartment had hardwood floors, with a futon against the far wall and a couple of short book shelves with DVD’s and a few books.  A bike hung on a hook in the corner.

“So,” he said, “Blake will be here a bit later.  He just texted.”

“Oh.  OK.”

“Would you like a glass of wine?  I have zin and a cabernet.”

“Sure, cabernet would be great,” I said.  He shuffled into the kitchen. I could see that some vegetables were on a cutting board, and a steel saucepan was on the stove.

“So, dinner for three?” I asked.  If he was joining us, I couldn’t really say anything, and it looked he was the one doing the cooking.

“Yeah,” he said, bringing a glass of wine to me.

“Come into the kitchen, I’m making some shrimp scampi.”

“Uh, are you making a salad? I can help.”

“Sure, yeah, if you want to slice these,” he said, motioning to some button mushrooms, a cucumber, and a tomato.  There was already a big bowl of romaine on the countertop.

“Yeah, um, actually, to be honest,” he added, “Blake texted just before you got here.  He said he can’t make it.  He’s stuck a few hundred—dollars—you know, playing poker, and he needs to win his way back.”

“Wait a minute.  He didn’t text me.”  I double-checked my phone.  “He invited me over here for dinner, and then it turns out it’s not just me and him.  And now…”

This quasi-hipster was tossing minced garlic into a pan of butter. 

“It’s inconsiderate,” he said.  “The life of a gambler.  I mean, I’m one myself.  But, I’m not a bad cook, and if you like shrimp scampi.”

Sigh.

At least Blake wasn’t trying to set me up for some ridiculous threesome, like this little apartment was a porn set. 

“So,” I said, taking this all in “you’re trying to get in my pants with scampi?” I said. I tried to make it sound like a kind of joke at the end of the sentence.

His back and shoulders tightened.

“I mean, I’ve gotten much worse attempts.”

He turned to me, flummoxed.

“No-I-uh--”

I smiled.

“It’s OK.  I’m just messing with you.  Kind of.  But, I mean, Blake sends me over here with his roommate cooking date-night food, then he doesn’t text me to tell me what’s up?  See how a gal gets suspicious?”

“I’m always worried I’ll overcook the shrimp,” he said into his skillet.  Smart.

The room was humid and getting hotter from the cooking.

“I mean, usually with a guy and a girl alone in a room, some part of him is thinking about it.  That doesn’t bother me.”

“Well, how ‘bout if we have dinner and a conversation?” he said.

He was using quite a bit of garlic and butter—who was I to turn down a meal?

“I’ll be happy to,” I said, chop-chopping, thinking I’d interrogated him enough, and wanting to not be upset anymore.  “Thanks for the dinner.”

I finished with the produce and put it in the big salad bowl.  Roommate Guy pointed me to a dijon vinaigrette on the counter.  I drizzled and tossed.

He was doing much the same with his shrimp and in two shakes we were ready.

A round table sat next to the window, and I sat the salad bowl where I thought it wouldn’t get in the way.

Before long, we’d gotten settled in with a great looking meal. 

I was casting about for conversation as we began eating.  All I had to do was compliment the shrimp, but me being me, I said, “Seriously, though, I feel like you guys arranged this. I mean, Blake must’ve told you, you know, how he and I had met.”  The parmesan-crusted shrimp was nice.  You can’t go wrong with parmesan and garlic.

“He did,” chef said.  “Open marriage.  The color ivory came up.”

It took me a second: I’d been wearing ivory panties at the hotel hookup with Blake, our sex marathon.

“Well,” I said.  “This is good dinner conversation.  So, if he told you that, I mean, and then I come over…

He started blushing—and it was endearing. 

“I guess I should come clean a little,” he said.  “We sort of—basically, Blake thought you and I would hit it off.  So, yeah, he’s sort of, off playing poker.”

The vinegar’s bite, with a sharp twang of tomato, fit this news perfectly.

“You guys!  Listen, I met Blake on a site for this kind of thing.  All you had to do was—you could’ve made a profile, or he could’ve just given you my number.  He could’ve given me yours! You’re an all right-looking guy—and a way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.  It’s kind of insulting that you wanted to do it this way.  Like, tricking me into doing you.”

He laughed.

“No!  Just meeting—just going with the flow.  I wasn’t comfortable with setting things up with a profile.”

“But still.  I mean, didn’t you think this through?  You two thought this would work?”

He plunked his fork down.

“You’re right.  I can’t argue.  It’s a kind of ‘men are pigs’ thing to do.  I owe you an apology.”

I softened my expression.

“It’s OK,” I said.  I let go of my fork and set my arms on either side of my plate.  “

“Listen, it’s not that I’m offended by you guys thinking I’m easy.  I am easy, when I want to be.  It’s that you’re making sex out to be this thing that guys get from women.  I mean, imagine if some chick tried tricking you into sex.  You’d bust up laughing, right?  Like ‘oh, no, ya got me!’”

He laughed.  A nice, full laugh that did good things for his face.  His beard was kind of cute.

“I get what you’re saying.  No, totally, we were kind of frat boys about it.  You don’t deserve that.”

He wasn’t a bad guy. I didn’t want to fight.

“Shrimp is an amazing peace offering.  By the way, what’s your name?”

“Harris,” he said.

“I guess you know my name is Julie.”

We made chit-chat about jobs and a bit about Travis and basics like that.  Eventually, the conversation turned to a few years ago when Harris had spent some time in Rome.  He’d met a girl there and had stayed in her place for a while.

“So,” he said, kind of waving his fork at me without realizing it, “our electricity went out.  It’s not so uncommon in Italy.  It was probably 8 or 9 at night.  So, we didn’t want to just sit around in the dark, so we went outside.”

I was just about finishing the salad down to a clean plate, starting to feel the satisfaction of the meal in my belly.

He went on, “We lived basically downtown.  It’s where there are a lot of ancient ruins like temples and all sorts of statues like one of Julius Caesar.”

“Cool.  I’ve always wanted to go.”

“You totally should.  So, all the lights were off, so it was pitch black, and all these people were making cat calls and whistling and stuff, and you couldn’t see them.  It was creepy.”

He pushed back from his plate and looked me in the eye.

“So,” he continued, “As we were getting to the statue of Julius Caesar we got to the edge of the place where the power was still on.  So some light was kind of drifting in, and from that angle the statue was backlit.”

“I can picture it.”

“So, me and Amara went up to the statue.  We could just make it out.  Oh, the statue itself stands on this big concrete block that’s about seven feet tall.  So I boosted Amara up, like with her putting her foot in my hands.”

“Right.”

“And then she boosted me up.  So we were up on the platform of the Caesar statue late at night when it’s all pitch black.  You could never get up there in a normal situation.  So, we’re up there and we can kind of see, but not really.  It was just, being around this giant hunk of metal.  He’s about thirty feet tall.  We were jumping up trying to touch the top of the boots he had, which was over our heads.  Anyway, I guess you had to be there.”

“Amara sounds like a fun girl.”

“Oh, yeah.  And then,” he said, his face showing that he’d really just thought of this, “in the middle of the night, the electricity came back on.  We were asleep, right, and the music came back on, and we’d left every light in the place on.”

“What was the music?”

“It was a kind of house music, down-tempo.”

“And did you make love?”

“We did.  With the lights still on.”

I smiled.  He wasn’t going to elaborate, meaning a little awkward silence.

“So,” I said, just to say anything,  “are we going to do the dishes right now?”

We did, and I told him a bit about some trips with my husband.  Traffic outside died down and it was almost uncomfortably quiet in the apartment.

When we were finished we went and sat on the sofa.  I don’t know why he didn’t turn on the big silver stereo system across the room from us.  It was like I was a journalist who’d come over to interview him.

I looked at him a bit more.  He had that trustworthy look, even if he’d been involved in his little scheme.  He seemed a lot more innocent, less devious than Blake seemed to be, though I didn’t really know Blake. 

“Ok,” I said.  “You’re a poker player, right?”

“No doubt about it.”

“You like wagering.”  The room was taking on a duskiness, the night sky carving dark ovals on the walls. 

“How ‘bout this,” I said, “If you can get me wet without taking any clothes off, I’ll fuck you.”

He looked at me, nearly burning a hole into my cheek.

“I’m serious.”

“If I can get you wet—”

“Without taking any of my clothes off—and you can’t unzip my jeans either—then we’re good to go.  You would deserve it, and it’s very possible, I assure you.”

He sat silent for a moment, considering.

“I think I have just the way.”

He jumped up and went into what was presumably the bedroom—it was kind of odd to think of Blake sharing a room with someone, but that’s New York.

He came back holding an acoustic guitar, mostly that typical guitar color, with that little teardrop shape next to the opening—it was silver.  Kind of hipster-country.

“Ah, you’re going to play for me?  Don’t expect me to sing.”

He stopped five or six feet in front of me, messing with his strings a bit.

I felt uncomfortable.  I honestly didn’t know if I could get wet from a guy playing a song.  I didn’t know where this was headed exactly, but I hoped he had a good plan.  I wasn’t trying to show him up—if he could pull it off, more power to him.  I’d come over here to get laid.  In fact, I was ready to give it up to him even if he didn’t technically get me wet.  There were other switches he could flip before we got that far.

“Okay,” he said.  “I’m also a musician—just as a hobby, but I am in a band.”

“Songwriter?”

“You be the judge of that.”

He started playing a slow, spare tune, then picked up the speed and intensity a bit.

He sang:

You took me by surprise

A pleasant revelation

His singing voice was huskier than his speaking voice, just a bit breathy.  It very singer-songwriter, but not in the best ways. I knew exactly where this song was going, nothing but how much the guy needs the “you” and how he’s nothing without her.  Shrimp would work a lot better.

Could I be so wise

To change my destination

I jumped up.

“Listen, uh, Harris, you’re a good cook and all, but this just isn’t going to work.” I blasted past him.  “Tell Blake he’s a dick.”

I made it across the little room and walked out into the hall.  I was getting more angry as I went. I’d just been made a fool of, wasting a good hour, with this goose chase across town, and now what would I do? Take a cab to a movie theater? Get a drink by myself? Go home and watch Netflix?

It was one thing to tell a good story over a good dinner, but it was just wrong of Harris to think he was going to get me hot and bothered with his shitty lyrics.  Change my destination?  Cringing does not turn me on.

Plus, I’d thought Blake could turn into a solid hookup.  But he had bad judgement and no consideration.  The whole thing just didn’t make any sense.

I made it to the ground floor, passing only one chick on the stairs down. I noticed a billboard above the mailboxes with a bunch of takeout menus, as though this were a break room at work.  I opened the door to a dead street, barely lit, no one around. It was cold.  Not refreshingly crisp, but cold.

Well, there was someone, across the street, leaning against a car, not far from a street lamp.

It was fucking Blake.

I double-timed it across the street, exploding with emotion.  I was about to punch him in the mouth.

“You’re an asshole,” I shouted.

But I didn’t punch him.  I grabbed his goddamned gorgeous face and pulled it to me. I put a hard kiss on him and opened his mouth with my tongue.  He tasted of peppermint, and without missing a beat, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close.  I yanked my hands from his face and put my arms onto the back of his neck.

His kiss made it seem he’d anticipated this.  He was into it completely, as though I hadn’t called him an asshole, as though he hadn’t set all this up with Harris.

He reached behind him and pulled the door handle on his car.  With a bit of shuffling, without breaking the kiss, he got the door open.  He spun us around and pushed me in the car.  I scooted back and put one knee on the floorboard, giving him room.  He slid across the seat so he was in front of me and I straddled him.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” I shrieked.

In reply, he grabbed me as I had him and smothered my mouth with a hard kiss.  Then he reached down and unsnapped my jeans and went for my zipper.  I swooned inside.  And I was wet.

With impassioned struggle, I wriggled out of my pants, sending my pumps bouncing like dice across the car.

“I just wanted to see what would happen.  I was pretty sure you’d blow him off.”

He unzipped his pants and I tugged them down.  I went into a full-contact straddle now, feeling his hardness against my panties.  Our hands hit as each of us went to pull the garment to the side. I gracelessly reached down and got his underwear down by his pants.  Shuddering, I sat on his long cock.

A sharp breath shot through me.  And I got much wetter.  With no hesitation, I sank all the way down.  A moan popped out of my mouth, and my hands went to my tits through my blouse.  Rather than riding for long bounces up and down, I ground on him so he kept doing my g-spot.  It was amazing how fast my climax swept in.  I squeezed my eyes tight and felt nothing but the fire between my legs, this orgasm that was captivating me.  I started to tremble as my breath burst out uncontrollably.  The orgasm blasted from my pussy through my gut to my nipples.  Back to my pussy.

I gasped and tried to breathe, slowing down.  I got blasted by headlights of a car roaring by.  The driver honked the horn and we heard some whoops.

“We should take this somewhere,” he rasped.  “I don’t need to cum right now.”

“Maybe not your apartment, though.” I said, Blake still inside me and stiff as ever.

I moved up and off of the poor guy, left hanging like that. Ah, fuck him.

“No, it’s only a few blocks away. I’ll drive us there.”

“This isn’t even your fucking apartment?”

“No, I never said it was,” he huffed, battering the front seat trying to get into it.  “I just told you the address.”

“Fucking asshole!  Don’t even bother zipping up.  Just go.”

I made it into the passenger’s side in no time. Luckily, this little gremlin of a vehicle was an automatic.   

As Blake got the car in motion, my tongue found his shaft.  My hand found the base, and I licked up, then around the head.  Blake was saying something about it not being far to his place.  A smooch on the ridge.  Another lick around, his head all the way in.  I was floating.  Time to pull his just-fucked manhood into the back of my mouth.  Lovely.  I drooled, swirled, sucked, and began a fast rhythm.

I couldn’t slow down for the life of me, devouring his monster.  Frenzied sucking is its own reward and I was in ravenous mode.  I’d needed Blake’s cock far more than I’d realized since our first tryst.  I was sloppy and wet and fast as I attacked his dick.  My hand just rotated at the base, and all of him got my mouth’s attentions.  He was moaning adorably.  God, the feeling of his cock’s head at the opening to my throat. 


He started babbling about how he wasn’t going to make it, that he was going to…

And he did, sending his first shot into the back of my throat, then erupting.  I slid up so he was only half in me and just rotated with light contact as he kept giving me his warm load.  The man really made me swallow hard and repeatedly to take all of him. 

I then had to attend to getting his spent johnson into his underwear, pants zipped and snapped.  We pulled into an underground garage.  With any luck, this time the dude would really live there.

He groaned like he was a casualty on a battlefield.

“That was incredible,” he said.

“It was all right. This better be your apartment.”

“Second time’s the charm.”

“And there better not be some other dude in there.”

We made it to the ground floor entrance and went in.

“We’re going to have a lovely time, just the two of us,” my strange new buddy said.

“Listen, I don’t really care about that wild goose chase and all the awkwardness you put me through, but I don’t get it.  What was in it for you?”

Standing at the elevator, I heard it clattering down, about a floor above. 

“I don’t know,” he mumbled with a shrug.  “I never thought about it that way.”

We shuffled into the elevator and Blake hit the button for the 7th floor.

I made a little sound of skepticism.

He shrugged.

“Just to mess with me?”

“I mean, I guess I kind of wanted to see what would happen.  He’s a good guy, and you deserve a nice dinner. And, I’m out there in my car, kind of making up a story for what you guys were doing.  And after about half an hour I started to get a bit antsy.”

“About the threesome that may have been in store?”

“Umm, I may have gone up there in about another half an hour, I don’t know.  But it was kind of fun, wondering if you were going to or not.  I don’t know—I’d never done this before, so I guess I wanted to know how it would make me feel.”

“But I could’ve fucked him.  And if you didn’t come up, then what?”

“Then when you finally came down, I’d drink in the essence of a just fucked woman.  Fucked in a scenario I set up.  Performance art.”

We walked down the hallway of what I hoped was an empty apartment belonging to Blake.  I kind of fluttered inside, thinking of Blake scheming like that for me.  He wanted to have sex with me, but he needed it to be some weird psychodrama, the damsel in need of a savior after fending off a clumsy seduction attempt.  Or a variation, the smooth mover who could seduce me after his friend failed.  He’d said he knew I’d blow him off. 

“So,” I ventured, “speaking of performance, are you ready for a true round one?”

We reached his door.

“Not just yet,” he said.

The performance art that Blake had gotten was that I’d thrown myself at him.  I had to sort it all out, but I knew it hadn’t been a hate fuck.  I didn’t feel bad, though--I didn’t feel too eager, or that I was putting myself out there too far.  I felt like, well, no matter what, this was a game we were playing, and I figured I could go with Blake’s craziness and it would be fine.

His apartment was understated, with thin carpeting that was a gray that somehow wasn’t dull—a light, dolphin-gray.  All of the furniture was leather, the cases and end tables oak.  There wasn’t much to it—it kind of looked like a demo unit, but a bit more awkward.

We hung out in his living room for a while, drinking wine.  After a while we began kissing.  I started feeling something powerful, a warmth and a kind of swimmy feeling in my gut, almost a longing, something uncomfortable yet intoxicating.

He led me into his bedroom.  I flipped on the light switch.

“Why the light?” he said.

“Well, you may have forgotten what I looked like—without my clothes.”

“Not exactly, but carry on.”

He undressed to his briefs and set himself up comfortably on the bed.

“Hey, I’m not going to do some strip tease,” I said.  “I’m just undressing.”  I did give a sarcastic shimmy, though.  I took my shirt off and threw it at him.  Then my jeans.  I flashed him a smile as I unhooked my bra.”  I enjoyed his boyish grin when my boobs came into view.  I figured I’d crawl into bed with him before getting fully nude.  Doing so, I saw the movement inside his underwear.

We made out for a while, me playing with his cock under his briefs.  He got up, turned the light off, and returned.

“Lie on your back for me.”

Sounded good.  Not only did I do that, by I spread my legs for him.

He pulled my panties down, down, being slow for dramatics, then finally got them off me.

He surprised me—instead of going for the gold immediately he began kissing up my leg, adding some rubbing on the other one.  After all the conniving and the animal-fucking in his car, it was time for some first-class treatment.  He knew how to transition, knew how to meet the moment just as it arrived.  That feeling came back, a glowing inside, almost like you’d get from a really touching scene in a movie.

He lingered a bit at my thighs, but parted my lips as he did. When he began licking my labia, he opened up a whole new channel of energy inside me.  I’d missed this from him so much, even though this was the first time he’d done it for me.  There was something so familiar in it, or at least so perfect.

I threw my hands back over my head and luxuriated in the pleasure.  His approach on my clit was kinda circular, meaning that a certain spot would get full tongue for a split second, then tingle for another, and then get the full sensation, over and over and over.  It was enough to drive my toes into the sheets.  It was his finger in me that drew my deepest, most husky moans.  On he went with that round and round motion, his finger slowly venturing further into my wetness.  Ohhh, he was a master.  I sensed he did just a few things in his life, and focused maniacally on them—that’s just the way. 

“Just like that,” I hissed.

His wild motion never wavered, and he mostly kept his finger at the same depth, grazing my g spot so slightly.

My moans became uncontrollable gasps as I neared climax.  Blake sped up just a bit, being sure to push me over the edge.  I was grateful for the release.

I began to kick and arch my back as I came, some of my moans coming out raspy.  He kept licking as I came, as my orgasm lost strength, as it subsided.  My clit was so hypersensitive, I had to push his head away.

He seemed pleased with himself when he came up from air.  He was definitely hard.

“Do you want my mouth or my pussy?”

“Stay right where you are.  You don’t have to do a thing.”

And with that, he entered me.  I was of course insanely slippery, my clit still cooling off from his oral assault.  It was too sensitive at first, overwhelming.  I clinched him in something of a wrestling hold, fingernails digging in here and there.  I spread my legs wider and he began fucking me hard. 

There was passion in his thrusts, a desperation, as if each one brought him closer to a type of salvation.  My sensitivity gave way to pure, selfish pleasure.  All I thought about was how it felt inside, and concentrating made it feel better.  If all you want is pleasure, you’ll find it.  If the pleasure is strong enough, it will become your life.

It wasn’t about moaning or screaming or floating toward something we’ve grown to call “orgasm.” It wasn’t anything with a name, just pure bliss, a state of being that transcended penises or vaginas, anything so mundane.   It had nothing to do with Blake, or with me, even.  I was the bliss, because it was all I could be aware of.  I started off as a small being, then spread to the size of a body.

I did come, I know now, after experiencing something better than an orgasm for long minutes. Blake came then, having waited for me to do so.  He collapsed atop me, sweaty and beautiful.

He kissed my shoulder and neck.  We lay like that, my nails lightly raking his back.

The feeling came back, swimmy, warm, and poignant.  A pleasant tragedy of a feeling.  And I knew what it was.  In the dark, silent room, hearing this man’s breathing, I knew this feeling had been birthed when I saw Blake in the partial light, dark but with illumination approaching him.  It had stayed deep in me while I tried to put other emotion on top of it.  I’d wanted to be angry and to hate fuck him, to treat him like only a cock.

But that syrupy warm feeling was what made me go to him in the first place, to kiss him instead of smacking him.  It was how I really felt about him, which was nothing I could change.

I’d have to negotiate this odd feeling, this new territory.

“I need to see you again,” he whispered.

“I do too.  We will.”

“Monday.”

I felt my eyes moisten.  He knew my husband would be back in town, would’ve just arrived.

“Yes,” I said.  It was the only thing I could say.

I was married.  I loved my husband, and our relationship was what anchored me.  Because of Travis and what we had, I knew I could withstand the storms that Blake would propel toward my shores.

Finally, Blake rolled onto his back.  He fell asleep not long after.  I looked at his chest, at his rippled stomach, at his boyish and dangerous face.  It was too dark to really see much, so I felt him.  And then I lay my head on his chest and closed my eyes.

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