Date: Fri, 22 Apr 2005 23:31:34 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Labourer, Part 3

THE LABOURER  by Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories in
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part 3

Sean didn't hesitate.  And he didn't stop at one
stroke, either.  Three hard, harsh cuts of the cane
from his arm raised high in the air and brought down
onto the tightly-stretched fabric of my jeans over my
butt, as I knelt there fumbling with the paving.

With each one I cried out, and the pain went thorough
my body as if I had been scalded.  And I heard Sean
saying to himself "Fucking cocky bugger... I'll teach
him...." as numbers two and three landed.  I was
almost whimpering as that hot, molten glow spread
through my butt, and as Sean was still hovering over
me, I scrabbled frantically to lift the remaining
heavy paving stones and get them in place - there's
just no way that I could have done that without
assistance, had I not been "encouraged" like that.

It was almost dark then, and the job was over, and we
all dragged our weary selves back towards the truck,
and clambered into the back.  I couldn't sit there as
I had on the outward journey, as my butt was just too
tender, and I saw the other guys smiling with
amusement as I lay down the middle on my belly - they
had hardly been caned at all as Sean had mostly used
the tawse on their bare backs, and I supposed that
they were anyway used to more discomfort than I was.
I mean, no one had ever tanned my hide since I was a
little kid, and then dad had only used his bare hand,
and not very hard at all as it was more to humiliate
me, rather than hurt me.

I was literally stumbling around with tiredness when
we got back, as were we all, but the day was not over
yet.  Even though it had only been used to carry us to
and fro, the guys all set to cleaning the truck
thoroughly (I wondered how long it took if they'd been
using it all day for transporting materials - making
them do that in their state of exhaustion seemed
downright cruel.  But then, I suppose, they needed to
be fresh in the morning for a full day's work, so it
couldn't be postponed).  And they weren't finished
then, either - they trooped into the dormitory
building where the other ten indentured servants that
Mike "owned" were already as we were the last lot
back, and stood there at a table just inside the door
cleaning and polishing their work boots back to that
bright shine I'd so admired in the morning!  Only then
did I see them start to strip naked, and walk off to
the showers.

As I was standing, or rather leaning, as standing
seemed to be too much like hard work, and there was a
convenient rail to take some of my weight, Mike came
up.  He clapped me on the back in greeting, and I
winced as the action caused my muscles to tighten and
the fire in my butt to rekindle.  He saw my reaction,
and laughed.  "Yes, Sean said that he'd 'encouraged'
you, when you were pretty much tuckered out.  So I
guess I win, do I?  You did have some hidden reserves,
and you did get to use them?"

I smiled ruefully at him.  "Yes.  I never thought I'd
say it, but you're right."

He peeled a load of bills off a big wad that he got
out of his back pocket.  "Here, Steve.... You did a
really good day's work, and I said I'd pay you your
normal daily rate.... And I've added ten percent, as I
reckon I got at least that much more from you today as
your employer usually does!  Mind you, I ought to
reduce it really, for a cash payment, as I don't
suppose you're going to give the IRS their share!"

"You're fucking right!  Not after the way I've worked
for it!  But here....".  I peeled a ten off the top of
the pile in my hands, and handed it back to Mike.  "I
always pay up promptly on a bet that's been won fair
and square."

"I guess you're in no fit condition to ride that bike
of yours back to town", the said jovially.  "We
thought you might be too exhausted.... But I guess
sitting on that saddle wouldn't be too great tonight,
would it?"

"No..."

"Want to stay here?  You an I could have a few beers,
a bite to eat, get better acquainted, if you know what
I mean...."

I saw his eyes raking my body as I'd seen so many men
do before when we'd met in a bar or something and they
wanted to proposition me.  But I'm no fag.  Don't get
me wrong, I've got no problem with guys fucking each
other if they want to, but I just don't want to.  And
over the years I've found it better to get out early
if the evening looks as if it's going that way - guys
who've bought you a lot of beers and stuff seem to
turn nasty if you then turn them down later.  Not that
that's a problem for me, as I was usually younger,
fitter and tougher than those middle-aged men who
lusted after me, but, still, I don't really like
shouting arguments, and stupid fights.  I liked Mike,
he was great company, and I wanted him as a buddy, but
this wasn't going right, so I smiled and said "That's
a great idea, but even with one beer I'd collapse and
fall asleep!  And I have to be up really early
tomorrow morning, as I've got another early start...."

"You sure?"

"Yes... But you said that perhaps I could have a lift
back to town,  with my bike on the truck?"

He nodded, and went to the door of the dormitory and
barked some orders.   Four of the indentured servants
came out at once, and they must have been in the
shower, or in bed, as they were stark naked!  It
didn't seem to worry them, though, as under his orders
they got a big plank of wood to make a ramp, wheeled
my bike up long it into the back of the truck, and
tied it securely.  I couldn't take my eyes off them as
they swarmed around the place, their dicks flying
wildly, and under the lights that had come on in the
yard, I could see the ugly stripes of what must be the
marks of the cane across some of their butts!

Mike and I chatted on as they worked away, and
arranged to meet the following Thursday in my local
bar.  Then he said that Sean would have to drive me
home as he had a lot of paperwork to get through, and
he hollered for Sean, who came out looking as surly as
he had all day.  I think I was glad that I preferred
to ride home stretched out in the back rather than
ride up front with Sean because of the pain in my
butt, as it was the perfect excuse for not spending
time with a guy I'd come to dislike.

Back in my tiny apartment I really was absolutely
shattered and totally exhausted, and I was almost
stumbling around as I stripped off my clothes.  I
stank of sweat, and really I should have showered, but
I was so far gone that all  I wanted to do was
collapse into bed.  It didn't matter, after all,
whether my sheets stank of my man scent, as there was
no one to complain about it!  But as I was about to
lower myself gingerly onto the mattress, I caught
sight of my naked body in the mirror - my tanned
torso,  then the white bit where I had to wear shorts
in the summer, and my tanned legs;  there was a new
addition to the colours of my body now, a very visible
new addition:  the four angry-loooking red weals
across my butt muscles, standing out from the white
skin, and looking like tram lines or something in my
flesh.  I couldn't help but go closer to the mirror
and twist around to get as good a look as I could -
there was no doubt about what they were:  I'd never
seen cane marks before, of course, but I'd read some
stories on the Internet about the soft white flesh of
a woman's backside being marked like that when some
dominant guy caned her, and there was just no doubting
that this is what they looked like!

Oh fuck, I thought to myself.  I wouldn't be able to
go swimming for a week at least, as the ends of the
marks would extend well beyond my Speedos.  And
anyway, when I went into the showers.... There would
be other guys there who would recognise them, I
suppose, and know what had happened to me.  As I
continued to stare at myself I reached down and
touched the marks, very gingerly, and at once a fresh
flash of agony shot through me:  there was no doubt
about it - it was incredibly painful, and I was going
to have a difficult day at work tomorrow, even if I
wore my baggiest jeans and some old loose flannel
boxers.  I couldn't help but notice, though, that this
looking and touching was having an unexpected effect
on me - I'd sprung a boner, and my dick was even
harder than usual, and was almost throbbing as if it
wanted to be stroked to shooting.

I lay there in bed and jerked away as there was no
denying my dick's need for relief - I shot amazingly
quickly as my other hand was probing at my butt, and
this seemed to intensify the normal sexual rush I felt
whenever my hand strayed towards my dick.  But
afterwards I just couldn't get to sleep, in spite of
my incredible tiredness: I just kept thinking about
what Mike had said, and how he'd been right.  I knew
I'd never worked like that, never worn out my muscles
as much as I had today, never managed to coax my body
into really giving its all.  I felt dissatisfied, and
thought that all that hard work I'd done, all those
hours in the gym, had all been for nothing - a few
taps of the cane, and I'd gone way, way beyond
anything I'd been able to achieve by myself.

Next day at work was pure hell - every time I bent
over, and you bend  lot, labouring, believe me), I
"knew" about my butt!  I mean, you don't usually think
about it at all, do you, as it's just "there".  But
now I was conscious all the time of the shooting pain
as my clothes scraped over the weals and the slower
burning ache as my injured butt muscles struggled to
keep working. And this kept focussing my mind back to
what I'd experienced - you don't need to think about
what you're doing for most labouring jobs, and in fact
it's better if you have an unconscious "rhythm" about
repetitive tasks like digging or carrying or
shovelling - and the more I thought about it, the more
dissatisfied I became with almost all my working life
to date.  I'd always prided myself on working hard, on
using my body to the full, and now I knew this was
almost a sham, and I'd been fooling myself.

I got through the day somehow, and struggled home -
I'd had to ask one of my work buddies for a ride, as
there was no way I could still sit on my bike.  As I
showered I fingered my butt again, and it seemed to be
getting better, but the marks still showed, but
perhaps not as angrily.  I was dog tired, but my old
buddy Rob and I have a regular Monday night session at
the local bar and we make it a rule never to postpone
it.

Rob's one of my few friends - no, my only friend, I
guess, who I still know from High School.  I'd lost
touch with most of the others when they went off to
College, but somehow Rob and I had got together in
breaks, and we still liked to meet and discuss this
and that, put the world to rights, watch football
together, that kind of guy thing.  He was doing really
well, not that he ever pushed it down my throat - he'd
just been made a junior partner in some big law firm
in the city and was making a ton of money, and he'd
even recently moved to a big new house.  I'd gone
around there and laid them as new barbecue area as a
sort of housewarming present - not that Rob couldn't
have afforded to have got a contractor in, but I
wanted to do something for him, and there was no way I
could afford a fancy housewarming present.  That
hadn't pleased Karen, his wife, though:  I'd overheard
her saying as I worked away laying the paving, that
now they'd have to invite me to the barbecue the next
week!  Rob protested and said that he'd have invited
me anyway, but Karen really tore into him, saying that
she didn't want "my sort" mingling with all their
friends!

I don't know why Karen doesn't like me - she never
has, not from the first moment.  I think it's probably
because she knows that Rob secretly admires me, and in
spite of all his money, his big house, his BMW, the
holidays in St Thomas, and all that other stuff, he's
jealous.  Jealous because I've got something he hasn't
- freedom!  He has to go to that office and work away
long hours every day, and then worry about how his
cases are going, think about what the senior partners
are thinking about him, and all that stuff.  Whereas I
just go to work, then once I quit, it's all over - my
time's my own, and I've got nothing to worry about -
no work responsibilities, no huge bills, no big
mortgage....   I think Karen thinks that I'm a "bad
influence" on Rob, that I might tempt him to give it
all up and come and work alongside me.  Actually, I
was surprised that Rob married Karen at all - like me,
he was a real stud and played the field, and I didn't
think he'd marry until he was in his thirties (as I
vaguely thought I might).  But he'd met Karen at
College, and he father was a partner in his law firm,
and they'd got hitched so quickly that I hardly
noticed him slipping from being a real bachelor buddy
with us spending several nights a week together
drinking and whoring, to his boring respectability
where he still had Karen's "permission" to have one
night a week out without her, although he wasn't
allowed to be home late!

Rob's the closest friend I have, and we can talk about
everything and anything together.  Actually, at High
School I think he really wanted us to do more than
just hang around and talk  - I often caught him
looking at me as we changed for sports and stuff, and
if I hadn't always turned the conversation, I reckon
he might have suggested that we jerk off together.  I
mean, we were close, really close - I told Rob about
the first girl I ever fucked, and he told me all about
the ones he did, and stuff like that.  But I somehow
always knew that he'd like to mess around with me a
bit, even though he was basically straight.  That
night at the bar after we'd talked banalities as we
downed two beers, I started to talk about my meeting
with Mike and my Sunday, over the third and fourth.

He listened intently - I guess being a lawyer trains
you to listen - and then, when I fell silent, he
called the waitress to bring us another two beers.
"Look, Steve, I've known you a long time, right?  And
I've never known you like this", he began.  "You're
not usually this serious about things.  And I know you
like your body - who wouldn't, you handsome dog!  But
this desire to drive yourself to the limit... Well,
it's not 'natural', is it?"

"Aw, come on, Rob... A man likes to know he's doing
the best he possibly can.  I bet at that office of
yours you work hard..."

"Yes, but you're verging on the obsessional.  Look, my
advice is to forget it.  Keep away from this Mike.
Just go on living your life as normal - you enjoy
work, you like the gym and the pool, we get together
every week, that bike of yours is pretty special...."

"I can't Rob!  I want to know my real limits.  I need
to be pushed - I didn't think I did, as I thought I
had control of myself.  But now I've found out that I
don't...."

"Steve, you're the most 'in control' guy I've ever
known!  You always know what you want to do, and you
do it - all those rows with your dad about College,
and not wanting a career, and just wanting a job you
didn't need to worry about.... You're in control of
your life, Steve, believe me:  you've got a whole lot
more control than I have, with all the worry, the
bills, Karen going on at me...."

"But now I know it's not enough!".  At that moment the
waitress put our next beers down, I took a bit
draught, and went on "I've seriously thought about
becoming an indentured servant, and getting Mike to
buy my contract, and then I'd really get to know what
I was capable of physically... working under the
threat of punishment...."

"You can't be serious!"

"Yes I am.  If I'd been on my bike today I reckon I'd
have driven around until I found a cop, then
"challenged" him to a race - they can't resist, if you
deliberately overtake them.... A few speeding tickets,
which  I wouldn't pay.... Then I'd be an indentured
servant - one of the other guys at Mike's was there
for not paying fines..."

"Don't be such a fucking idiot, Steve!  Yes, if you
got the tickets, and if you didn't pay, then if the
bailiffs couldn't seize enough of your stuff to pay
off the fines, you'd be back in court and might well
be indentured.  But how do you know Mike would buy
your contract?  It might be sold off to a factory or
something, then you'd be inside all day, working a
machine, dull, dull, dull..."

"No, Mike would want a big strong guy like me -
someone who already knows construction."

"But he might not have the capital available -
indentured servants' contracts have to be paid for,
you know.  And he might get outbid in the auction.  Or
he might have enough already.... Look, this is just a
silly dream you have, I think.  You've met him once or
twice, he's made a big impression on you, and you've
spun this fantasy from there:  you'll work away for
him, constantly testing yourself... But it might not
work out at all, Steve, and then where would you be?
Stuck in a factory, never seeing the great outdoors -
and you like running, and hiking, and riding your
bike...."

I suppose Rob might have been right, but I couldn't
leave it alone.  I thought and fretted away as I
worked, now completely dissatisfied with what I was
doing as I knew I could be made to do more.  It was a
relief when Thursday came, and I was itching to get
off the site and get home to shower and change for my
rendezvous with Mark at the bar.  But, as sod's law
would have it, they wanted to finish up that night and
it just went on and on... Even though I worked  as
hard as I could (well, I said to myself bitterly, as
hard as I could without the threat of punishment!) I
couldn't get away, and it was no consolation when the
foreman told us about how much overtime we were
getting.  So I had to go straight to the bar in my
work clothes, stinking of sweat, and all crumpled and
dishevelled.

Mark was already there, immaculate as ever, and as we
shook hands he called for a beer for me.  "You sure do
look as if you need it, Steve...."

"Yes, the fucking job ran over.  I had to stay... I
wanted to get home and shower and change..."

"Well your clean clothes don't look all that
different, although they may smell better - when you
came to my place last weekend you were still all
crumpled."

"Oh, I don't bother ironing work clothes...."

"There, Steve, that's another difference with using
indentured servants:  most of my reputation now rests
on the fact that we do perfect work, to time, and
going along with that is the 'image' thing:  trucks
clean, workers smartly turned out and 'sharp' looking,
boots polished, all that sort of stuff."

"Well I could do that, Mark, if you say it's
important.  And I was going to ask you about that -
there's no work booked for Saturday and Sunday, and no
one wants me to do a little job on the side... So can
I come and work alongside your guys again?  Same deal,
you just pay me my standard wages, even if we work
over?  And no ten bucks, though - I know now that
you're right about that...."

"No, Steve, I'm sorry..."

"Why?  Oh, come on, surely you can use another worker?
 Look, I'll even come along and do it for free... I
want to use my body and I've got nothing else to do
this weekend...."

"No, Steve, I'm sorry.  I can't use you.  Not this
weekend, not ever."

I felt myself getting really angry.  I almost shouted
at him "Why the fuck not?  I work just as hard as all
those drug dealers and rapists...."

"Sure you do!  I didn't say you didn't.  Now, calm
down, OK?  It's nothing to do with you - I'd gladly
use you as an indentured servant, as I could really
get the work out of you!  No, it's the insurance - all
contractors have to have public liability insurance,
as you know, and it's a big expense item as if even
the tiniest thing goes wrong, someone will sue.  And
my premiums are prohibitive, as it is, so to try to
save money my policy only covers the situations where
I'm using my own, genuine, bona-fide workers -
indentured servants.  I hadn't realised what a risk I
was running by allowing you on the site last Sunday
until I was talking to my lawyer earlier in the
week....  Had there been an accident, I might have
been hundreds of thousands of dollars out of pocket
personally - and that would have meant bankruptcy....
And, who knows, I might have ended up as an indentured
servant myself, and I'm getting a bit old to have to
sweat away under the tawse!"  He smiled as he said
this, because he and I both knew he was still in good
shape.  He continued "So you see, I just can't take
the risk. Sorry."

"Not even if I joined in voluntarily, without being
paid?  You could say I was just a passer by, or
something, if there was a problem..."

"No, Steve.  Look, I'm sorry - it seemed to work out
well for both of us.  But you know what it's like,
with all the rules and regulations these days.  Now,
let's talk about something else, as we can't fix this
one...."

Look, Mark's a really interesting guy, and in spite of
my disappointment we had a great time talking about
the football and stuff.  But Friday was really boring
at work as I was so dissatisfied, and Saturday and
Sunday were hell:  I had nothing to do as I wasn't
working, and I even rode my bike around the place a
bit trying to see where Mark's crews were working - I
actually got up really early on Sunday and followed a
truck from his place, but it disappeared behind the
gates of a big factory complex, and so I was
frustrated there, too.  I had to spend most of the day
at the gym and the pool, and even though I tired
myself out, I was kind of seething with frustration
inside.  And when you're really pissed off with life
like that,  nothing goes right, does it?  The food I
bought tasted like crap, there seemed to be no one in
the bar who I was interested in talking to, the
receptionist at the gym who I could have fucked if I'd
made the effort was not on duty that weekend... all in
all, it was pretty shitty.

By Monday evening I was not only frustrated, but I was
getting kind of fractious - giving the finger to guys
who got in my way in the traffic, snapping at the
foreman at work, never even saying thank you at the
market.... All that sort of stuff.  When we met at the
bar, Rob could see at once that something was wrong,
and said quite sharply "Look, Steve, I have to put up
with Karen's surliness a lot of the time... I come
here to get away from all of that, old buddy... Now,
snap out of it, at least for tonight!"

Well it's not that easy, is it?  I tried, but after a
few beers I felt that feeling of inner desolation
coming over me again, and I went through things with
Rob again.  Finally, he sighed, and said "I come here
to get away from work, Steve!  But let me give you a
free consultation, some advice from a lawyer, OK?
Firstly, you friend Mark's right - if his insurance
only covers indentured servants working on the
contract, then it would be madness to use you, even
voluntarily.  If someone tripped over a paving slab
you'd laid, or something, and he was sued, his
insurers would back out and he would have the
liability.  And he's right, that would probably mean
bankruptcy, and a period of indenture for him!"

"Secondly, don't even think of doing something
completely fucking stupid like challenging the cops to
get tickets - as I said, you could end up indentured,
but at the sale of contracts Mark might get outbid.
Or the state might decide to sell a 'parcel' of
contracts next week - agreeing to hand over all the
new contracts for a fixed price.  Or something like
that.  Sod's law would say that you'd be indentured
and then not working for Mark.  Not working in any
kind of work that you'd want to do, in fact.  So
forget it, OK?"

I nodded, as I could see the sense in what he was
saying, but I had one last go.  "But isn't there any
way out of this?  I'm so frustrated, no, I'm getting
depressed.  Everything I've thought about work, what
makes me a man, seems to have been wrong... I don't
know what I'm going to do - there seems to be no point
in going on labouring when I know I'm not doing it as
well as I could, that there are guys out there who are
less strong, less tough, who can be 'encouraged' to
produce just as much as I can...."

"If you feel like that about it, there's a sensible
solution:  give it up.  Stop labouring.  Get another
job."

"But I don't have the qualifications.  And I've never
wanted to sit in an office, you know that... Remember
when we were at High School, and all the rows with my
dad?"

"You could still get the qualifications.  Didn't your
father say he was going to put your college fund in
trust for you, in the hope that you'd see sense one
day?  You could still go - and  I think you'd enjoy
it.  You're not stupid, Steve, you're just as clever
as the rest of us, except for this irrational streak
of wanting to do physical things.  You could go to
college now, as a mature student - and think of what
fun you'd have:  they have fantastic sports
facilities, an Olympic pool, and all those young girls
who are tired of their hometown boyfriends and who
want to try an older, more experienced guy.... Well,
there won't be many guys around with more experience
than you... It could be a three-year fuckfest!"

We had more beers and carried on talking.  When we
came to leave, Rob wanted to call a cab as I was way
over the limit.  "No!", I told him firmly.  "This is
it, Rob.  I'm going to get on my bike and drive past a
cop car, weaving around.... Then I'll be indentured
for DUI...  And you're my lawyer - you fix it:  make
sure my contract gets sold to Mark!"

"Listen, you fucking idiot, that's the craziest thing
I've ever heard.  Now listen to your oldest buddy:
you are NOT, I repeat NOT, getting on your bike in
that state - you might kill somebody, or yourself, or
even injure yourself really badly:  what would happen
to that body of yours if you were in a wheelchair for
the rest of your life?  And even though I am a pretty
good lawyer, I've told you that I can't guarantee what
happens to a contract - the state really might have a
'bulk supply contract' in force this month.  So forget
it, OK?"

I was really petulant now.  The alcohol swimming
around inside me had made it almost impossible to
control the feelings of frustration, hurt, depression
and anger that had been building all week.  I was
gratuitously cruel to Rob, and even as I said it,
although it caused me satisfaction at the time, I knew
it would hurt him:  "Call yourself a lawyer?  Call
yourself my oldest buddy?  You can't even control that
bitch of a wife of yours, so I shouldn't have expected
that you could do any good for me..."

Rob should have hit me.  I'd probably have taken it,
and gone down.  I mean, buddies can do that, can't
they?   I knew I'd gone too far, and if he'd just
swung at me, I'd have sprawled all over the floor,
then he'd have helped me up, and then everything would
have been back to normal between us.  Instead of that,
he didn't even raise his voice or seem to be angry.
Calmly and quietly he leaned over the table towards me
and said  "You really are a complete idiot, Steve.
I'll forget what you just said, but I'll stop
protecting you."

"Protecting me?  Forget it, Rob... You can't even
protect yourself from Karen...."

"Listen, you stupid fuck!  I have been protecting you.
 Protecting you from yourself.  That's what lawyers do
for clients most of the time, persuade them not to do
things that would be stupid or harmful.  I've tried to
dissuade you from this madness of becoming indentured
just so that you can be forced to work hard, but you
haven't listened.  And I think you'll go out there and
do something really fucking stupid, sooner or later,
something that might get you indentured, but might
equally get you injured, or which might really hurt
someone else.  I've been holding back about one
little-known provision of the Indentured Servants Act,
as I knew that if I told you, you'd want to do it.
And I don't think it's really right for you, Steve....
You like the idea of being made to use your body to
work hard, but I don't think you'll take well to all
the other stuff that goes along with it...."

I was astonished.  I almost grabbed his lapels and
dragged him towards me, I was so eager. "No, tell
me!", I demanded.

"Well, you can apply for voluntary indenture.  Almost
no one does, and most people don't even know you can.
You can apply to the court for a period of indenture
and they'll order it provided you have someone willing
to buy the contract - they have to pay into the court
all the money that a 'reasonable person' would
consider that you might have earned during your period
of indenture so that it can be held in trust for you,
as they don't want servants coming out of their
indenture and then being destitute.  Provided you can
find someone like that, you're indentured, and they
can use you, or sell your contract, or whatever, just
as if you were a criminal sentenced for your crimes."

"Will you do that for me, Rob?"

"Do what?"

"Be the person I can trust.  Will you have me as an
indentured servant... I know you could probably afford
it - you're doing well at work, and when they look at
how much I'm earning, it shouldn't be all that much
money to have to pay in to the court.  And I can trust
you to do the right thing - you can sell my contract
to Mark, or if he doesn't want to buy it, you can free
me...."

"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard...  Even if
I did it, I don't think you'd like all the other stuff
that goes with being an indentured servant..."

"Rob, please.  Please.  I've never asked you for
anything before.  You're my oldest buddy.   Who else
could I get that I could trust to do this for me?  And
you're a lawyer, too - you understand all the
contracts and stuff.  Please, Rob, do this for me."

And with a shrug, as if to say "well, I did warn you
that there were potential problems", he agreed.

End Of Part 3