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"Where are we?" John asked, "where are we going?" Benin looked apprehensive."Interior Ministry," Rhykov told them, smiling. "Is all right. You must be processed... is bullshit we must go through."They seemed to walk for miles along dim corridors with rows of doors. Occasionally a person appeared carrying a sheaf of papers. They'd look briefly at them before going about their business, head down.Benin had had enough and wanted to rest. Just as she was about to complain, they came to a door, Rhykov knocked, and ushered them inside.The office was large. A secretary banged away at an immense typewriter, totally ignoring them. Rhykov went to a door to an inner office and opened it without ceremony.A man sat at a large desk cluttered with papers. He smiled at Rhykov and greeted him warmly. He was in his forties, perhaps, bald headed and wore a white shirt and tie. On his lapel, Benin noticed, was a small Party badge."This is Mister Zusov of the Interior Ministry," Rhykov explained, "he. ."Ten minutes later Summer and I returned to the back porch where we found John perched precariously atop the waist-high railing, trying to demonstrate to Dave how to surf. It was a funny enough sight on its own, but everyone completely cracked up when Summer tossed John an orange and a banana at the same time. Looking like a faltering gymnast on the balance beam, John was already struggling with staying steady on the narrow railing. As he tried to maintain his pose while also catching both pieces of fruit, he became a slow-moving windmill of waving arms ... losing it ... losing it ... until finally he fell backwards off the railing. Landing on his back in the sand, he fell with all the grace of a drunken frat boy sleeping one off on a toilet.Summer leaned forward to check on him, her arms folded below her breasts atop the railing. With one ankle crossed over the other and her hip cocked at a jaunty angle, her legs and ass were a sight to behold in those see-through panties.Summer.
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