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What’s your name?”

“Adam. Adam Colt,” I said.

“You know you have to have that form notarized. Doesn’t the firm your applying to have an in-house notary?”

“No, it’s still really new. I’m sure they’re looking for one though.” I asked the clerk at the Registrar of Manhattan Law School, “Why? Do you know of a good one?”

“I know of a very good one. He notarized my driver’s license application, but I don’t think he’s looking for work right now. I’ll give you the address anyway.”

The next thing I knew I was looking for a street I had never heard of before. It turned out to be just an alley in a really dangerous part of the North Side. It was amazing I wasn’t mugged before I stepped into a rundown building with a neon sign that read “notary” tucked away in one of the side alleys haplessly labeled Prospero Avenue.

There was no one at the disheveled desk in the front room of the building. There were stacks of papers everywhere. It smelled of cat urine and garlic. “This is clearly not my scene.” I had graduated eighth in my class from Yale as an undergrad. After attending Manhattan Law School, I had taken the bar, well, the first time. I had just broken up with my boyfriend then so I was a wreck. I had not been able to concentrate. So just last month, I had taken it again. Now I needed my school to transfer the records of my education and my passing the bar to my new place of employment.

I was going to be a lawyer. I got a head rush every time I thought about it.

I turned to go when a raspy voice from the backroom said, “There must be a reason you’re here.”

“Yes, I wanted to get something notarized,” I called back into the darkness of the hall leading back into the shadows of the office.

“Of course.” A man emerged. He was short and wrinkled and wore a wife beater and jeans with holes in the knees and an odd silver key around his neck.

“Here’s the form.” I placed the form onto his desk and pushed it across to him.

He picked up the form and then eyeballed me. “So… you wanna be a lawyer, do you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You look to be at least thirty pounds underweight.” It was true. I was abnormally skinny for my height.

“What does that have to do with becoming a lawyer?” I asked.

“Did you ever hear of the ‘partner fifty-five’?” he asked.

“No, what’s that?”

“The fifty-five pounds you gain the two years after you become partner.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think this is the form you need.”

“But I…”

“Trust me. I’m an expert at paperwork. It’s what I do,” he said.

He took the key from around his neck and opened a filing cabinet. The drawer was a rainbow of colors. He pulled out a green piece of paper and handed it to me. “It’s green,” I said.

“Yes, and it’s very special.”

“Special how?” I asked.

“Just trust me,” he said. “Fill that out, and bring it back to me tomorrow.”

“Can’t I just fill it out now?”

“Suit yourself,” he said, “but I am just about ready to close for lunch.” He moved to the door, adjusted the hands of the plastic clock, and flipped it over.

The man waited patiently at the desk while I filled out the form. It asked some very strange questions like my height, weight, and sexual orientation. Height: 5’ 11”. Weight: 130 pounds. I thought it was illegal to ask sexual orientation, but I didn’t care. I was very open about my homosexuality. Besides, only human resources would see this anyway. The form also had weird black border around it. I finished.

He said, “Please sign at the bottom.”

I signed and dated the form. Easy enough, I thought.

By the next week, I was hired at the law firm of my choice. I was a full-time attorney being mentored by one of the partners. I was going to be handling both civil and criminal lawsuits.

My mentor, Dick Rogers, seemed only to be in his early thirties, and yet he acted like he owned this place. He had the kind of style and confidence lesser men envy, older men lament, and women dream of in a man. He was quite sculpted, too.

Dick had told me that he worked out a lot, adding, “It’s best place to scope out the prospects if you know what I mean.” He chuckled to himself. I wasn’t sure if he was into men or women, but I’d like to get some of that. Though even if he were interested in guys, he’d never be interested in me. I sighed as I came to that conclusion sitting next to him at a hearing for a civil case, my very first case, a dispute between a tenant and a landlord over unpaid rent. The tenant had moved back in with his parents in Schenectady after missing three months rent. Now the landlord was suing for breaking the lease. It certainly wasn’t life or death. On top of that, the rent was only 500 dollars a month for a studio.

We are working for the landlord. The morbid obesity of this man seemed overshadowed only by his pettiness. And this guy was rich, a slumlord from the North Side. His name: Smith Palmer.

At the other end of the spectrum, we had the defendant, a young man whose rampant acne was overshadowed only by his blatant stupidity. He lost his job driving the bus when he got into an accident while texting on the job. He refused to pay the money he owed. His name: Lawrence Casey.

Palmer versus Casey actually went to trial. Casey was standing on the defense that he had filed for bankruptcy while Palmer was standing on the accusation that Casey still had 3000 dollars to his name. We won easily with Casey’s subpoenaed bank statements and a copy of the lease. For some odd reason, when the judge slammed the gavel that one last time, I felt a sudden orgasmic rush as if someone had just tweaked one of my nipples. Also, my clothes got a little tight. I noticed it most in my shoes and across my pecs.

Later that night, I practically needed a crowbar to get my loafers off. I usually took an eight narrow. I stepped onto the scale I had in the bathroom of my one bedroom apartment on the East Side.

One forty-five? That was fifteen pounds heavier than my weigh in and physical I had as a requirement for employer’s life insurance three weeks ago. I had had cheese steak last week, but other than that, I had been eating very healthily like I always did.

What’s stranger, the following morning when I went to put my shoes on, they wouldn’t fit. Before work, I was forced to go out in flip-flops to buy new shoes that would fit, which turned out to be nines with a standard width though I was still bordering on narrow width a bit. I asked the sales guy if he ever heard of someone’s feet growing a whole size in one day. He grunted, “Nope.”

I asked, “Can you help me checkout?”

He answered, “Yup.”

I said, “I’ll take that pair of Nikes as well.”

He said, “Kay,” as he grabbed the box and scanned my items. He hit the subtotal button and tapped the screen that was facing me. One forty-five? I gave him my credit card. He ran the card through, printed the slip, gave it to me and said, “Sign.” I signed, and he handed me the bag.

I said, “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

“See ya.”

“Bye.” Something about that monosyllabic twerp was actually attractive.

“Something on your mind?” asked Rogers as I sit next to him two days later during a hearing for Karen versus Mori.

“No, not really,” I responded.

Stacy Karen, a woman whose father’s fortune kept her in the highest opulence, had accused her Japanese-American cleaning lady of stealing a jeweled choker estimated value 5000 dollars. We supported Karen whose lavish lifestyle seemed overshadowed only by her emasculating beauty while the defendant was Asa Mori whose disappointing figure was overshadowed only by her illiteracy. However, this was only the civil case. She had already been convicted of petty larceny. The ensuing trial, if necessary, would only determine reparations.

This case also went to trial with Mori standing on the defense that she no longer had the money and Karen standing on the accusation of damages. We won simply, quickly, and easily. “The defendant shall pay an amount no less 5000 dollars to the plaintiff,” announced the judge with a smack of his gavel. I felt another orgasmic pulse wire directly to my half-hard dick. Again, I felt my clothes and shoes get tight.

I didn’t think much of it the first time it happened to me, but now, I knew something was up. Especially when after I got home, not only were my shoes so tight I could barely get them off, but I checked my weight on the scale, and I was exactly twenty-five pounds heavier than I was three days before. Stranger still, when I removed my shirt to examine myself in the mirror, the weight didn’t seem to be accumulating in my gut, but instead, my muscles seemed to be getting larger. Now I was toned, not buff, mind you, but shapely as opposed to bare-ass skinny like I was before. I was gaining muscle, but why?

What were the common denominators? I had won two cases, but getting more muscle from legal expertise? That seemed impossible. Lawyers weren’t exactly known for their physical prowess. I mean even like that notary said… Oh, my God! That green form must have done something to me when I signed it!

I calmed down, and I thought about it. Now how much weight have I gained? I gained exactly forty pounds. The monetary settlements of my first two cases combined were exactly 8000 dollars. Is that five pounds per thousand dollars? Yeah, I think it is. I took out my copy of the green form. I noticed nothing too strange about it other than its color and some slightly out of the ordinary questions. Wait! What’s that?

I realized that the black border around the form was composed of letters. A secret clause? I looked at it closely with my magnifying glass. Given that the applicant proves his case within letter of the law, he will be rewarded with five pounds of flesh for each one thousand dollars (or an equivalent monetary unit) awarded to the supported client at the conclusion of each civil trial he argues. Successful criminal trials will reward the applicant with five pounds of flesh for each one thousand dollars (or equivalent monetary unit) of the set bail

What? What’s a pound of flesh exactly?

We had a huge murder trial coming up. How much was the bail? Several hundred thousand dollars because the defendant was so rich. Holy shit! That would be more than a hundred pounds! And I wasn’t so skinny anymore.

Part of me was scared at what I might do to myself if I win that case, but at the same time, another part of me couldn’t wait for it to happen.

The next morning I went out again in flip-flops, and off of them my heels were hanging. And I saw that same monosyllabic sales guy again. He reminded me of my ex, not as uptight, not as snobbish, less severe, more easygoing and fun loving… Okay… so he didn’t remind me of my ex that much. Physically, he did though. I watched as he talked to another customer. I saw him casually readjust his ample bulge riding down into his left pant leg… And not as small.

He finished with the customer, and I asked him, “Could you measure my foot?”

“I will, but I don’t see the point. I doubt your feet could have grown another size already.”

So he remembers me. That’s a good sign.

He measured my foot. He murmured something under his breath. Probably a profanity of surprise. “Your feet measure size ten standard width.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Crazy, huh?”

“You don’t sound surprised.”

“I finally found out what’s happening.”

“What’s happening?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“I’m a lawyer, and every time I win a case, I get more muscular.”

“That sounds really…. really…”

“Unbelievable? Insane? Delusional?” I asked, attempting to finish his sentence.

“Hot!” He kissed me lightly at first, making sure I was comfortable before inserting his tongue. His tongue cautiously entered, probed my mouth. Then he plunged deeper, and the kiss became hungry with lust and insistence. He tongue-fucked me with his sensuous kiss that I could feel in my balls, that I could feel in my bones, that I could feel in my soul.

I broke the kiss long enough to ask, “What’s your name?”

“Derek.”

And, “Is there someplace we can go?”

“Yeah, c’mon!” He took my hand and led us to the backroom.

“The night manager’s got a cot back here somewhere,” he mumbled. “Yours?”

“What?”

“What’s your name?” Derek asked.

“Adam.”

We found the cot in the back office. I was dressed for work. Even though because I had an arraignment today I couldn’t afford to have my clothes wrinkled or cum-stained, I wanted him so much at that point that I really didn’t care if he ripped my suit off of me.

He dove in again, his tongue devilishly talented. An expert seducer he was, pulling my shirt untucked and unbuckling me as he kept our lips in that satisfying embrace. I could feel my dick becoming more and more constrained by my pants.

Finally, he tugged my hot hardness into the cold air He looked down at me, my pants hanging on my hips. Derek smiled as he said, “Oh, yeah. I knew you’d be big.”

What? I looked down at myself. Since about fifteen I had always been six inches long. Now I was eight thick inches. Oh, so that’s what flesh meant…

Gently, Derek took my quivering cock in his hands and began to stroke me. When I was painfully hard and ready for some more, he took my pulsating cock into his mouth to finish me off. He cleaned the head with his tongue, tasting my copious precum. He deep throated my hardened tool. He teased my asshole, sweet and soft circles before sticking two fingers up. My dick reacted with glee as he began to hum. I was on the verge. He opened his own fly and brought out his mast of a dick to hopefully get off, too. It was larger than I had imagined.

I said, “I want you to fuck me with that.”

“Sure. Anything you want. I’m all yours.” He unbuttoned his khakis and pulled down his pants. It was like unchaining the beast, unbinding the source of my pleasure, the arbiter of my next orgasm. “Get your fine ass in the air.” I bent over, and he attacked my butt with his tongue, moistening my rosy hole. His tongue penetrated me like a bite-sized juicy cock but much more active. He lubed my entrance with his thick stirring tongue inside my hot sweet asshole. He finally made penetration with his dick. The transition was so smooth that it almost seemed his tongue just suddenly got longer and thicker. My butt spasmed against the intruder. His fat prick filled me up entirely.

I stroked my own dick as he pounded my ass with his full-strength. His dick rubbed against my prostate, my most sensitive spot. I emit a deep moan of satisfaction. My dick throbbed in time with the contractions of my ass muscles.

He whispered in my ear, “How am I doing?”

I turned my head to say, “Great.”

He said, “You know I’m all about customer satisfaction.”

I laughed as my ass burned with pleasure. I was still stroking when he came in my ass. The flood of white heat in my guts summoned a sudden orgasmic rush for me. I came out of sympathy.

I left the department store with two new pairs of shoes, a new dress shirt to replace the cum-stained one from my encounter, and a brand new fuck buddy I had offered to escort home. The arraignment wasn’t until 4:00 anyway.

His apartment was even messier than the notary office. “Yeah, I’ve got three other jobs so it really doesn’t matter if they cut me from that one.”

“What else do you do?” I asked.

“I’m a waiter at the Chelsea Pier Golf Club three nights a week, a host at the Rainbow Room on weekends, and a temp worker for Riddell most afternoons.”

“What do you do at Riddell?” I asked.

“Mainly data entry. They just established a computer database. They need my help only until they get all the inactive files entered.”

“I was an intern for Riddell as an undergrad.”

“What did you go for?”

“Communications. I wanted to be on TV. When I couldn’t find a job in my field after graduation, my father told me to go to graduate school. Best decision I ever made.”

“You’re so lucky. I wish I could be a lawyer.”

“You could. You’re still young.” He looked to be in his early twenties. “You seem really motivated to make a living. Why don’t you just go back to school?”

“I’m not book smart like you. I don’t like to read. It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay… Hey, why did you believe me so easily when I said about the ‘getting more muscular’ thing?”

“I didn’t. I just thought it was a come-on. Why? You actually think that’s happening to you?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but it is happening.” I asked, “How else do you explain my feet suddenly getting larger at twenty-eight years of age?”

“I don’t know…”

“Am I… Am I taller than you now?” Last time, I had made a mental note that I was exactly his height.

“Maybe…”

“How tall are you?”

“Six foot.”

“Holy shit! I have been 5’ 11” ever since I was seventeen. I’m getting taller too…”

“Yeah, right…”

“I didn’t tell you this before, but today I realized that my dick grew larger as well.”

“Bullshit!”

“You don’t have to believe me, but you should know that I have a really huge murder trial coming up, and if we win, I will totally hulk out. I’ll call you when the jury gets done deliberating, and you can come to the courtroom to see for yourself.” We had already exchanged numbers. I left incensed.

Two weeks later was jury selection.

“Alexander Pryce’s ex-wife and her lover were both found shot in her Manhattan penthouse only three short weeks ago. Two weeks ago a grand jury indicted him with two charges of murder in the first degree along with several lesser charges that don’t warrant mentioning. The prosecution claimed after a bitter divorced, he was angry with his ex-wife for leaving him for a younger man and to collect the insurance money since he was still the primary beneficiary on her policy. As many of our viewers know, his ex-wife was beloved Mildred Rockefeller-Pryce, one of only two children of the late Steven Clark Rockefeller,” said Alicia Eliot outside the courthouse on the five o’ clock news.

“What else do we know about the trial and the players so far, Alicia?” asked Michael Roberts from the studio.

“Richard Rogers, who we all remember from the Del Monte mob shooting several years previous, and who has recently moved to a new firm, heads the defense. Roger’s confidence is his trademark and his greatest asset. District Attorney Bender, who is himself famous for his controversial triumph in the Sykes-Carnegie bomb scare five years prior, leads the prosecution. Bender’s calculated voracity is known for breaking down witnesses to their very core,” said Alicia. “Presiding is Judge Minerva Stone. Judge Stone is a moderate-conservative judge using fair and cautious judgment always. She has plans to sequester the jury for however long it takes them to reach a verdict.”

I would have thought Pryce did it, too… if it wasn’t for his alibi. He claims to have been having dinner with three colleagues at the time. The prosecution was prepared to argue that he had hired a hit man. During jury selection, we were instructed to look for middle-aged divorced white males that might sympathize with a man falsely accused of murdering his ex-wife.

After jury selection, Rogers and I reviewed the case for the final time before trial. I asked Rogers as I looked at my copy of the witness list, “So the waiter from the Golf Club is going to testify that Pryce was present on the night in question for two hours surrounding the incident?”

“Yeah,” said Rogers.

“What’s his name?” I asked. “My copy’s smudged.”

“Derek Green,” said Rogers. “And we also have Pryce’s phone records and bank statements from the weeks before and after the incident.”

Derek Green? Was that the name of the guy from my midmorning stand? I hadn’t talked to that guy in weeks. How awkward would it be for me to question him?

I announced less than a week later, “I call Derek Green to the stand.”

To my dismay, it was indeed the same man who I had neglected to call and who had neglected to call me. Derek was sworn in.

Regardless of our past, I asked, “Do you recall the night of April Fourth?”

“Yes, I was working at the Chelsea Pier Golf Club,” said Derek.

“Do you remember the defendant, Mister Pryce, from that night?” I asked.

“Yes, he came in around quarter to six.”

“Did he have anyone else with him?” I asked.

“No, he came in alone and sat at the bar for about half an hour. Mister Pryce got a call around six. And then around 6:15 he joined up with his colleagues, and they ate dinner. His colleagues left around 7:30. Mister Pryce asked me the time at eight and left. I remember because that was when I was cut.”

I said, “Let the record reflect that Mister Pryce was seen at the Chelsea Pier throughout grizzly murder of his ex-wife, Mildred Rockefeller-Pryce.” I sat back down.

Rogers said, “Well done.”

The prosecutor made an uncharacteristically weak effort to rebut our arguments.

Jury deliberation was pure agony. It took them eight days to decide. When the jury filed back in, the journalists stood on edge as the judge spoke for the first time.

Judge Stone had a special request of the jury. She said, “You should all have pride that you have come to a just and unanimous verdict. I would like for each member of the jury to stand, face the defendant, and give his or her individual decision. Please speak out with confidence and clarity for each of you have done your civil duty honorably.”

The jury foreman stood and announced, “Not guilty.” Oh, my God! I noticed my shirt crawling up my waist as my pecs thickened and filled with muscle. The skin of my waist stretched tanned and smooth, and I gasped as I saw a crease form and deepen to a valley between abdominal muscles. It was happening. I didn’t care who would notice. I ignored everyone else in the room, the reporters, the lawyers, the judge, everyone except the jurors.

Juror number two stood and announced, “Not guilty.” My shirt tightened about my chest and back, and I saw the muscles in my arms swell, filling the shirtsleeves tightly, stretching, and overflowing them. My entire stomach was revealed, clean-cut abs, my stomach fat evaporating above hard flat muscles as the shirt shrank and distorted to a tight band over my chest and back.

Juror number three announced, “Not guilty.” I started to sweat profusely as the orgasmic rush intensified. The stitches of my sleeves were groaning and popping, but my arms still kept growing. My shoulder muscles expanded to huge mountains, which opened my neckline wide, my shirtsleeves pulling to shreds over the rock hard biceps.

“Not guilty.” The buttons of the shirt fought to remain closed but one by one, were torn away by the massiveness of my pecs. My shirt was converted to a tight tank top. Almost casually, the top ripped down each side as I expanded further. The wetness of my pits opened up.

“Not guilty.” Several square feet of gleaming hard smooth chest muscle slid out from behind the helplessly stretched cloth. The shirt was hanging on by one button, now nothing more than a crumpled strip that lay in my deepening canyon of muscle cleavage, displaying my tanned and sweaty collection of meaty still developing pectorals. Exposed now were two gigantic mounds of solid muscle so overdeveloped that the nipples pointed at the floor.

“Not guilty.” The surge washed over me, but for some reason my dick was not erect. I felt the pleasure all over my body. I was being exalted with strength and gratification. I smelled my sweat on my muscles. The scent of the transformation stank a musky combination of beefy ass, dirty sweat, and salty cum with a hint of raw power.

“Not guilty.” I felt my denim jeans pull tight around my swelling thighs, and the cuffs slide up my legs, but conversely my belt suddenly slumped, loose about my shrinking waist. My cock felt like it was erecting yet staying stubbornly soft. The bulge was already obscene and getting bigger. My dick pushed the pants out and down, piling up over out the top, spilling over.

“Not guilty.” I still had my briefs, but they were stretched tight as a drum and starting to rip as a vast mass of bulging flesh overflowing them, expanding out on all sides. It kept growing, larger and heavier, stretching the briefs until they were nothing more than an afterthought of puny white straps. It was the genitals of a god, a dozen times bigger than any I had ever seen before. The head alone overflowed the poor straining briefs.

“Not guilty.” My pant legs, painfully tight, suddenly burst with an extraordinary loud ripping noise, and my pants were loose wreckage. My long rock-hard legs gleamed with powerful bulges and curves of muscle. My body was absolutely incredible! It was so hard and defined and absolutely unstoppably huge!

No one seemed to notice by some supernatural force. The jurors continued.

“Not guilty.” My arms were already great, giant, and yet still swelling with might. I raised my arms. There was no need to flex. The muscles expanded, huge and impossibly thick. My shoulders peaked almost to the level of my ears. I swung my arms forward and my shredded shirt disappeared as my inches-deep cleavage closed completely around it. I was already taller than eyelevel with the judge, and she was sitting high on the bench yet two more had to give their verdict.

“Not guilty.” I grabbed my crotch to feel my firm, juicy burden down below. My balls were already the size of apples and still growing. My briefs strained as my cock ripened, getting fatter and longer. My whole body glistened with sweat like polished metal, slick and smooth and perfect.

Juror number twelve announced, “Not guilty.” My cock was hit with the final sensation that brought it to life. I looked down just in time to see it violently rip apart my briefs. Holding nuts bigger than mangos, my huge sack fell and bounced halfway down my leg, but my glans passed them, swelling and lengthening with killer speed. As it seemed to be about to approach my calves it stiffened, and swung up so fast I felt the wind on it. It eased smoothly into position, 30 degrees from vertical, and swelled even longer and thicker as it hardened and grew so stiff that I almost shouted for joy. It felt so good. I grabbed and tore away the remains of my clothes, which shredded like tissue against my fantastic strength.

Clear cum oozed from my cock tip, then flowed copiously. It ran down all sides of my shaft, down my legs. It dripped on the floor, making a spreading puddle. I was unbelievably well lubricated! Needless to say, I couldn’t bear to not touch it, and when I did I almost fell from the sensation. I didn’t. Instead, I stayed there, stroking my new dick. It was absolutely solid as iron, coated frictionless with precum and was so sensitive I swam in ecstasy with each touch.

“You see, Mister Pryce, we are very good at what we do,” said Rogers. “Isn’t that right, Adam?”

I was abruptly rocketed back to the present. I suddenly realized where I was. I froze. I yanked my hand my dick as I was completely naked inside the Manhattan Criminal Court Building on Centre Street, New York, New York with perhaps 100 others in the courtroom including reporters, jury, and the judge.

I thought it was over. Everything, my career, my life. The judge would hold me in contempt of court, and I’ll go down in infamy as the defense attorney who jerked off in the middle of one of the most publicized criminal cases of the last decade. I sheepishly looked around.

But no one noticed… How can that be? There must have been at least twenty reporters in the room, and yet not one of them, not a single one looked at me. They were all looking at the judge for a closing statement ready with their pads and pens yet not writing about the naked behemoth standing before them with a fully erect monster cock still dripping precum.

“Adam, why don’t you sit down?” asked Pryce.

We won the case? We won the case!

I sat though I don’t even remember standing up. The chair under me wobbled. It came apart like kindling, and I fell on my ass. No one seemed to notice that either. I said as I got up from the floor, “I’d rather stand.”

“Psst… Adam.” Someone from the gallery tried to get my attention. The judge began speaking again so I ignored whoever it was. “The matter between Pryce and the State of New York has been settled as an acquittal. Case dismissed.”

Rogers turned to me and said, “He did it to you, too, didn’t he?”

“What?” I asked.

“The notary, prospero avenue. Ring any bells?”

“Oh, yeah… I guess.”

“Oh, my God!” yelled Rogers. “You’re completely naked!”

“He is?” Pryce said, “I can’t seem to tell. That’s weird.”

Rogers whispered in my ear, “And I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone more.”

“How come you didn’t hulk out, then?” I asked.

“After I reach my ideal weight, I had him reduce it to only maintenance. I only have to win 10,000 dollars or equivalent a year or more to maintain all of this.”

That’s when I looked at Rogers for the first time. The first time my eyes could take in all of his bulk. He was truly massive. I noted he was sitting in a custom made metal chair. I had been wondering why he had to make those arrangements ahead of time.

Suddenly, flashbulbs ignited into frenzy as Pryce and Rogers stood to talk to the press.

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Updated1 Sep 2009
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