In the moonlight, looking up at the yellow stars, a young couple strolled hand in hand, desperately in love. Near the river they had just reached a grassy spot where they started to search for a place to embrace each other. Looking around, Ray's gaze fell on Penelope's shadow. He realized how lovely she was with stars in her eyes. He whispered sweet nothings in her ears.
Penelope giggled, "What a romantic you are, my love. Unfortunately, I have herpes and it's quite catchy. Sorry."
Ray smiled, because he had herpes as well, and together they could infect Lynard Skynard and take over the Southern Rock scene.
"Wait a minute!" cautioned Penelope. "I just remembered! There's something else you need to know. Better sit down."
Ray sat down and shifted uncomfortably. "You're not pregnant, are you? You appear larger than you were last month."
"No, you idiot!"
"Idiot? That's not very Southern Rock."
"I'm just bloated! But I need something from you. Do you remember that night when you gave me an enema? It wasn't coffee like you said. It was gin and tonic. And NOW I've been gassy and need Gas-X. And maybe surgery."
Following a brief silence, Ray said, "This is silly. You want money? Why, you little......Some romantic evening!" He slapped his fingers and awoke in his bed.
Her heavy breathing reminded him of an army buddy. Jim died in battle. Ray still thought of him as a brother. Under hypnosis, he remembered his birth mother telling him his true identity. Somewhat comforted by the memory, he thought back to the time when he and Jim hired whores for the night. The smell of sex and coffee ememas, Jim and he had a blast. Where did they all go after all those years of searching for love? Ray rested his chin on his hand, weeping uncontrollably, feeling lost, wishing Jim were still alive. Whores were history. Now, a quest for this mysterious Penelope, his dream girl.
First, Ray needed a plan. Where are those toys I used to let Bear nibble on?
The phone was bloody from Ray's cut hand. Darn those big butter knives, but what the heck, ya gotta eat!
But then again...
He dialed the whorehouse nearest to his apartment.
"Hullo? House of Love, Sara the slave is out, Jill speaking."
"Hi there. I'm horny. Can you help me? I want you to tickle me."
"Sir, I think you've misdialed. We are dominatrixes. We excel in pure punishment not pleasure - everyone but me."
"I LIKE TICKLING!!! I'm on my knees begging you. I'll pay you ANYTHING!"
"Okay, okay. But Kate must approve this. She's a brutal vixen and ex-con."
"Yikes!" Ray's organ grew quite a bit louder, his music swelling in crescendo. His hands grabbed the nearby jar of Vick's Mentholatum.
"Tell me how this works," he said, closing the jar. "Check or credit card, babe?"
"CASH," said Jill. Her perfect bosoms fell out of her halter as she stretched. "Oops." That sexy VoteBot distracted her.
"Hello?" Ray said. He was waiting patiently with William nearby. "Lady? I'm gonna die unless you tickle me!!!! Meet me in the hallway now!"
"Okay buddy! Cash only, $100 bills."
"Steep! I'm broke. How about a pack of gum?" Ray was cheap.
"GUM! Forget it! Guinea pigs beat gum. Got one?"
Bear for Jill???? She wanted cigars.
"Want William instead?"
"A threesome, now! That'll cost more."
"How much more?"
"You can't afford William. The stud has a really erotic poem for sale for $250."
William spoke up. "Let's kill Vote-Bot, okay? Sound fun?"
"With ostrich feathers! Now THAT'S torture!"
William loved torture by a device unknown to others. His pen was mightier than his sword, he told everyone.
"Vote Bot, prepare to suffer unimaginable pain!" bellowed William. His retractable clothesline displayed vile poetry he forced enemies to read out loud until their ears bled.
Vote Bot hated poetry. "Make it stop! Have you no mercy!"
William guffawed. Fighting with himself was a turn-on. He self-flagellated until the moving cows came home. "Ooh, enough about me."
Jill slapped him. William shed tears like a baby. Submission settled him.
"Ray, tickle time!"
With that cheery announcement, Ray, Jill and William grabbed some feathers. Their orgasmic laughter bounced off their padded cell where Jill's phone rang.
"My dear patients, that must be my boss checking your pleasure meters."
She said, "Hello?"
"Aren't you finished yet?" asked Kate.
"They're SICK puppies."
"What torture method have you been using?"
"Tickle torture. They're near death."
"I didn't approve tickle torture, you naughty girl."
"Um, I climaxed so..."
"Unacceptable behavior! You're making lunch - now!"
"Oh crap! Guys, get the Kraft mayonnaise out."
"LUNCH!" Ray awoke in William's arms. "Ewww! Such small breasts! We need KFC."
Still naked, Ray called Jill, his eighteenth ex-fiance who loved to lick Ray's green goggles. "I just had that VoteBot nightmare again. The dog collar choked William and he slobbered, 'Kiss me, VoteBot.' I need therapy."
Jill pitied Ray, the ex-Soap hunk, now flaccid, smelly, a 200-pound gut, and no teeth. His rottweiler, William, was incontinent.
"I'm tired of your inability to satisfy my needs!" Jill's insatiable appetite required three servings of pimento-stuffed roasted eggs and goat's milk.
Poisoned by passion, she failed to do her taxes. Jill committed hari-kari
