Time-Traveling Assassin - Assassination of Kennedy

I turned the steering wheel, and the 1960 Cadillac Eldorad
convertible, traveling along Palm Beach, glided onto a quiet side street, soon stopping in front of a country club.

"Excuse me, sir," the doorman stopped the Cadillac, "this is a private party today, not open to the public
."

"This is my invitation." As Agent Zero, nothing in this world, or any world, could
stop me from entering.

I got out, tossed the keys to the doorman, who was basking in Benjamin's smile, straightened my Pierre Cardin suit,
and stepped inside. This suit was bought online in China before my trip on Taobao for 666 RMB,
less than a hundred US dollars at today's exchange rate. Fortunately, it was December 1960; Pierre Cardin only offered bespoke
tailoring, a high-end, sophisticated brand.

Entering the banquet hall, a band played soft country music. Among the crowd, I saw the governor of Florida
, senators, the owner of the Palm Beach hotel chain, high-ranking officials of the Cuban government-in-exile… It was a
political gathering of politicians and wealthy businessmen.

Just as I was about to sit down at the corner bar, the party's most dazzling star, a handsome man
in his early forties, accompanied by a blonde, approached me.

"Hello, I'm John," the handsome man said with an irresistible smile. "Welcome."

"Bond, James Bond."

"MI6's top agent, I've heard so much about you, I'm a big fan."

I was taken aback, quickly checking the timeline. The first Bond movie was released in 1962, and this
was 1960. How did he know me?

"I've known your boss, M, for a long time," he explained, noticing my confusion.

I secretly wondered if the "M" he knew was the old man from the earlier episodes or the female
"M" from later ones? In this era, she was in her prime.

"Your film's shooting plans aren't exactly a secret; after all, I'm practically an insider myself," he
said, turning to the blonde beside him. "Am I right, Marilyn?"

The blonde smiled, her beauty mark above her lips particularly alluring.

Just as John was introducing the blonde to me, a commotion arose from the other side of the banquet hall.

"It's those Cubans, drinking, sleeping, cursing Castro—that's their way of life," John said. "
By the way, James, as a top agent, what suggestions do you have for dealing with this Cuban bearded man?"

Good people don't live long, but evil ones live a thousand years. Will he outlive you by half a century, or at least die a peaceful death? I
sighed inwardly. Unfortunately, I was powerless. My mission here was to maintain order, not change history.

"To deal with the bearded man, let's just take out his bearded man." "Since I can't offer any constructive suggestions,
I'll just make something up. 'We can spread rumors; you Americans are experts at that. Say that beards absorb radiation
and are harmful to health. Dictators are always the most afraid of death, and in the nuclear age, we're not worried about him not taking the bait. As long as he shaves off his
beard, his ability to sway people will decrease by at least half, and he'll be no longer a threat.' '

Haha, you're a real genius, damn it!' He laughed so hard he almost fell over. His threshold for laughter was a bit low, but
his exaggerated reaction and perfectly timed profanities were refreshing; his personal charm deserved full marks.

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, he apologetically said 'Excuse me,' and turned to attend to other guests,
but the blonde woman beside him didn't leave with him.

This beauty wore a white evening gown, her high waist accentuated by white strappy heels, making
her legs appear exceptionally long and shapely." She stood there casually, curiously observing me. Without needing to strike a pose
, she exuded charm that made my heart flutter.

"Give me a pair of high heels, and you can conquer the world," my compliment delighted her. It
was her own original saying, so it felt very thoughtful.

"Want to grab a drink?" I invited her to the bar counter. Watching her move gracefully, like
a springy jelly, her beautiful legs peeking out from beneath her knee-length skirt, I couldn't help but tease, "It's windy here
, be careful your skirt doesn't blow up."

"Is that mocking or flattering?" she asked, sitting on a high stool, leaning against the bar, her brow slightly furrowed, whether genuinely
confused or provocative.

"Of course it's flattering," I said, sitting down beside her, my hand naturally resting on her thigh. "
The sexiest moment of the 20th century, a classic in the history of cinema." This

apt historical assessment was shocking at the time. She was somewhat surprised, her red lips slightly parted,
unsure what to say, and she stuck out her small tongue, circling it on her lips. No man could resist
such unintentional teasing; I immediately felt a throbbing in my lower body and quickly crossed my legs to cover myself.

"What would you two like to drink?" Thanks to the bartender for arriving just in time to defuse the awkwardness. I immediately and skillfully
uttered my signature classic line: "Martini…"

But I was interrupted halfway through; the blonde beauty beside me stole the rest, "Shak
en, not stirred. Two, please." "

I didn't expect you to like strong liquor?" I tried my best to hide my disappointment, comforting myself that there would be
another episode.

"I love the name of this drink, Vesper Martini. It's such a romantic name,
from a romantic man." The soft, breathy voice uttered the word "Vesper,"
and I immediately felt shamefully hard again, like a virgin.

"Cheers!" I quickly raised the cocktail the bartender handed me to cover my burning face; it's true what they say, it's not the drink that makes you drunk,
it's the person.

"I've seen all of Ian Fleming's works, especially Casino Royale and Vesper. She's so
...charming," she rambled on, reminding me of the blonde bombshell who, beneath her seemingly naive exterior, was actually a voluptuous,
intelligent, and well-read woman, supposedly possessing an IQ comparable to Einstein. "It's a shame the first Bond film wasn't Casino Royale
. Do you think I could ever play a Bond girl in a movie?"

That would be a dream come true for millions of movie fans, I thought, but also a forever regret.

"To play my dream role," she said, a phrase that, while seemingly unrelated to the story, was actually
quite interesting, "far more interesting than real acting." This statement resonated deeply with her, her eyes sparkling.

After a few glasses of Vesper Martini, her beautiful eyes
became hazy and dreamy, her smile alluring and sweet, her lips slightly parted, releasing a tantalizing aroma of alcohol and her body fragrance blending into
the scent of Chanel No. 5. She seemed to radiate an aura of "Handsome, wanna hook up?"

"I'll take you home," she replied. I glanced at
John, who was still moving with ease among the impeccably dressed gray-haired crowd, and kissed him on the lips, whispering, "A wild girl kisses
but doesn't love, and leaves
before she is left."

Driving my Cadillac of unknown origin, following Marilyn's directions, I
drove for about ten minutes along the Palm Beach waterfront promenade, stopping in front of a seaside villa. In the dim starlight, the entire seaside villa complex
was silent, with the faint sound of waves crashing against the embankment behind the houses.

This was it, I thought with a sigh of relief. The villa right next door was John
's winter retreat in Florida. According to the investigation before my departure, the basements of the two villas were connected, and
in the early 1960s winters, they often used the underground passage to meet there. But tonight, there's no need to worry; without the butterfly effect
, John wouldn't be here.

I helped her into the house, and as soon as I closed the door, Marilyn immediately pulled away from my embrace, turned around, and pinned me
against the wall. A passionate kiss ensued, leaving me breathless. I fumbled for the light switch, lifted her by her
shapely buttocks, and carried her up. She wrapped her arms around my neck, her long legs around my waist, her tongue still
relentlessly launching wave after wave of attacks in my mouth. She clung to me, and I held her close
, climbing the stairs as if ascending a stairway to heaven.

Upstairs, into the bedroom, to the bedside, still unable to shake off the clingy octopus, I
threw myself and her body onto the soft bed. Her tongue was still entwined with mine, her long legs still wrapped around
my body, her arms leaving my neck, exploring my firm back.

I stroked her smooth back, casually unzipping her evening gown. She released me, stood up, took off her gown
, sat on the edge of the bed, raised her legs, her slender feet dangling before my eyes, her shoes as white as frost, clad only in
flesh-colored stockings. My fingers traced her straight, long calves, one large hand lifting her delicate ankles, loosening the straps
, her insteps straightening, a pair of high heels sliding off her feet, landing one after the other on the thick plush carpet.
Massaging the soles of her feet through the stockings, she let out a pleasurable moan, leaning back and lying on the bed.

My fingers danced on her legs, tracing the stockings upwards to the groin. With a flick of my fingers, I unfastened
the garter belt. Stockings from the 1960s, lacking advanced elastic materials, were
easily peeled off, revealing a pair of crystal-clear long legs. In that instant, I suddenly understood
why she called high heels a great invention but never mentioned stockings. Stockings were
a blessing for ordinary women to create beautiful legs, but for her, they were a constraint.　　　She straightened up, kneeling on the bed, her 36D breasts high and firm
. She reached behind her back, unhooked her bra, and pressed it against her breasts. She twisted her body, letting the bra straps slip off her shoulders. With a release, the bra fell, revealing her ample breasts, two bright red nipples standing erect. 　　I could no longer bear it, nor did I need to. I swiftly stripped off my clothes, lay back, feeling every muscle in my body taut as if about to explode, leaving only my erect penis standing tall. She knelt between my legs, leaning down, her breasts pressing against mine, locking it in place. My penis rolled and throbbed 　　in her gentle embrace , its tip just emerging from the depths of her cleavage. She licked the tip with her tongue, and it immediately ejaculated, milky white fluid splattering onto her snow-white breasts, turning into tiny, transparent dewdrops. 　　Startled, she couldn't help but smile, her face blooming like a flower, instinctively using her soft hands to stir the fluid on her breasts. Her nipples, like cream, became even more vibrant and delicate. Her face and the cherry blossoms reflected each other's redness, and the spring breeze reignited my erection, instantly making me hard again . 　　Her anger turned to joy, her slender waist trembled, her panties fell to the ground, and she straddled me, her smooth, pink vulva pressing down on my dragon, writhing back and forth. This dragon from the 21st century, equipped with GPS, locked onto the warm, moist secret passage, needing no guidance, thrusting straight in, penetrating the tight crevice and drilling into the honeyed cave. 　　She squeezed her legs together, her internal motor activating, three circles to the left, three circles to the right, her buttocks swaying… The dragon, unable to resist, surrendered again, foaming at the mouth, transforming into a small snake and slowly withdrawing. 　　The scene was somewhat awkward, but fortunately, time travelers always have the perks of cheat codes. I pulled my black-rimmed glasses from the pocket of my underwear on the ground, put them on, activated the rapid recovery function, and streams of energy flowed into every part of my body. The blue health bar in the virtual interface instantly filled up, and the dragon stood up menacingly again. If Grandpa Q knew I was using his high-tech invention as a super Viagra, I wonder what his expression would be. However, the newly appointed classmate Q in recent episodes hasn't been very serious either. I guess he won't blame me; he might even give me a thumbs up. 　　My virility has returned, the dragon has re-entered port, and with this golden cheat code, I freely squander my energy, unleashing limitless bursts and endless regeneration. So what if I'm a quick shooter? So what if I'm a one-shot kill? We're all about quantity; quantity is king. After an unknown amount of time , after countless orgasms, she finally succumbed to the onslaught and collapsed onto the bed, falling asleep. 　　Looking at the clock, it was already past 3 a.m. A dark and stormy night, time for some serious business. I kissed her forehead and got up to put on my clothes. 　　"Are you leaving too?" she asked, waking up. 　　I was speechless. 　　"I lie alone on this desolate beach, all my joys and sorrows, my rise and fall, all will be forever forgotten," she sang melancholically. "Where is my final resting place?" Is it under the utter silence of a dark night , or in a chilling white hospital ward? Is it the eternal shore where everything is severed, or the endless void of an empty sky?

"Cang."

I closed my eyes, pondered for a moment, and finally made a decision. I took
a glass and whiskey from the glass cabinet by the fireplace, poured a little less than half a glass, took out a bottle of medicine from my pocket, added a drop to the whiskey, and gently
handed it to her, saying tenderly, "This is the best sleeping pill. Sleep well, and tomorrow will be a sunny day."

She obediently drank the whiskey and quickly fell into a deep sleep. I put the glass, whiskey, and sleeping
pill into the glass cabinet, wrote down the usage instructions on a note, and placed it under the bottle. This is
a cutting-edge medical achievement of the 21st century, allowing the user to fall asleep quickly and sleep for a full eight hours, not a minute more
or less. Safe, green, and without side effects, suitable for men, women, young and old, with a dosage of only one drop. The best part is that whether you
drink one drop or a whole bottle, the effect is the same; there's no need to worry about overdosing. I kept a 5-ounce bottle
, enough for her for ten years. That's all I could do.

Setting aside my romantic thoughts, I turned off the lights, went downstairs, and went outside. I activated the night vision function on my black-rimmed glasses and
began searching the vicinity. Not long after, a few blocks away on a dark street corner, I spotted my prey: a
1950 blue Buick with license plate B1-606. Through my glasses, I could clearly see
a man in his seventies asleep at the wheel, his right hand clutching a
metal object.

I casually walked past the car; it was late, quiet, and no one was around. I bent down and stuck a piece of chewing gum-like material
under the car. Mission accomplished.

The next morning at 9:50, wearing my glasses, I stood by Marilyn's bedroom window, observing
the street below. A blue Buick slowly pulled up and stopped in an inconspicuous corner.

A few minutes later, the door of the villa next door opened, and several relaxed-looking bodyguards in black suits emerged,
followed by the newly elected US President John F. Kennedy, his wife Jacqueline
, and their two children.

I pressed a button on the remote control, and the chewing gum under the blue Buick exploded. It was a miniature
EMP bomb; the pulse from the explosion would disrupt the nearby electromagnetic field, causing all
electronic devices within a six-foot radius to malfunction for five minutes. All high-tech traces of the bomb were erased in the explosion, leaving only
a pile of ordinary chewing gum residue. I saw the old man inside the car try to start it, only to find it stalled.
He frantically turned the key and pressed the metal button, but to no avail. Just wait,
everything will be back to normal in five minutes.

The Kennedy family of four got into the car and drove to the nearby St. Edward's Church for Sunday service.

I took off my glasses and sat on the edge of the bed. The Sleeping Beauty drug hadn't worn off yet, and I was fast asleep. The winter sun
shone warmly on her long eyelashes, making them shimmer and look especially captivating. A faint scent of perfume wafted through the air;
I sniffed closely and realized it was Chanel No. 5—her natural fragrance. It turned out she hadn't just fallen asleep wearing Chanel No. 5
; rather, Chanel No. 5 had replicated her scent. Goodbye, my dream girl. I hope
to see you again in the 21st century.

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