Giving Back to Our People

Tim and I had been living selfish, self-centered lives for a long time. Yes, we had found sexual satisfaction and bliss in each other's arms, but what about the rest of the world? What about them? We looked around every day and saw bored, frustrated, unhappy men and women. We knew it was because they weren't getting off, but how could we help? After all, we were just ordinary people. Just one little couple. Nothing special. We felt helpless and decided we wanted to make a difference. And isn't that what makes life worth living? Hmm?

We discussed possibly launching a telethon, like a sexual "Jerry's Kids" type of deal. Tim had some excellent ideas along these lines. First, we'd have to get a phone bank going, with volunteers to work those ringing phones as donations poured in to help the victims of crippling sexual frustration and loneliness. Then, of course, we'd need a Poster Man or Poster Woman for sexual deprivation and unhappiness. (There'd be no sexual Poster Child of course, that's a WHOLE other telethon!).

Our next door neighbor, Josh, seemed to be the perfect and ideal candidate for Sexual Deprivation Poster Man. He was 45, married for 20 years to his beautiful yet materialistic high school sweetheart, and therefore, we knew for an absolute certainty and beyond all doubt, that he hadn't had any type of sexual relations for approximately 19 1/2 of the past 20 years. Yep, just your typical adult married male. Josh would be a wonderful Poster Man for sexual grief. We knew the minute the audience saw his sad, twisted face, his shoulders stooped, his shuffling, uneven walk and somewhat unbalanced gait, his pants lacking any visible signs of balls or a hard on, (he'd lost those years ago, poor guy), the donations would pour in like a huge ejaculation of love!

In all fairness, and to give equal time to the opposite sex, we also needed a Poster Woman of sexual bitterness. I suggested to Tim that his mother, Beth, would make an excellent candidate. He immediately agreed. At 65, she was the most sexually crippled person we knew. Her youthful looks now completely and utterly vanished, her breasts sagging to her knees, her vagina dry as the Sahara Desert, all she had in her rotten life was shopping, shopping and more shopping. But shopping excessively hadn't compensated for the lack of a good screwing. We both knew how tormented she was. Of course, sometimes the sexually disabled among us are the cause of their own "disability".

You see, Beth's husband had been totally impotent since he was 30, working 5 jobs so that Beth could live in the best of neighborhoods. But let's not blame the victim, okay? That would NOT be nice. That doesn't help Beth to heal! And healing is the goal of our little telethon. Again, a typically tragic but all too common story. So, it was settled. Josh and Beth would be the official faces of our telethon.

But what to call our show? We needed a really descriptive, catchy name. Tim thought and thought. He was so good at thinking!

"How about: "We Are The World"?

"Tim, that's been done."

"Well, can't we make it an Africa thing? Tie starving people into it somehow?"

"No! People in Africa aren't sexually deprived, Tim! They fuck even when they're starving to death! Our audience is the truly sexually miserable and disabled."

"You mean, like in suburbia?"

"Right, those poor, lost souls. Like Josh and Beth."

"Oh, you're right. I forgot. I need to stay focused. "

"I like acronyms, Tim, how about SOPAD"

"What's SOPAD, babe?"

"Save Our Pussies And Dicks!"

"Hmmm, maybe. How about, SODAP?"

"Gee, Tim, let me guess, that would be Save Our Dicks And Pussies? Very funny! The men always gotta have top billing, right?"

"Ha, yeah, babe! Lame joke. Well, okay, so what else do you suggest?"

"I like ROG - Rescue Our Genitals!"

"Okay, ROG it is. ROG ROG ROG! Rescue Our Genitals! NOW! I think people can get behind that! So to speak!"

Well, we're making progress. We've got our phone bank, our pathetic Poster Man and Woman, our catchy name, and now for the entertainment. Every telethon must have entertainment. We considered Charo, but decided she was lacking in even the most basic understanding of what it means to be sexually deprived. She would hurt and insult our poor, sensitive cripples, with her incessant "Coochie Coochie!" and her smutty jokes. Our people didn't need any of that in their sad faces! No.

We needed someone special. But who? The ultimate sexually deprived male comic, Rodney Dangerfield, unfortunately, had passed away recently and wasn't available, except to be with us all in spirit. Mr. "I Don't Get No Respect!" would have been a truly luminous star of our sex cripple telethon. He really understood what it meant to get no nookie on a regular basis, each and every day of his awful life. He didn't just talk the talk, he walked the walk! May he rest in peace. God bless his soul.

So who else? Who could cheer and entertain a horny, yet depressed crowd, give them back their self-esteem, make them feel like they were worthy of a good cock sucking or pussy licking? Who? Who? Who? We briefly considered Woody Allen, but crossed him off our list fast. Even that loser always got pussy, and young Asian pussy at that! All the really great sexually crippled entertainers seemed to be dead. Suicides, car accidents, dope, booze, sudden heart attack. The human carnage and sexual wreckage was strewn for miles.

Tim suggested Pee Wee Herman. I kind of liked the idea. After all, he had been arrested in a porn theater for jacking off in public. Obviously, Pee Wee was in a world of hurt. He understood what the word "lonely" really meant. Could he be the entertainment voice for ROG? Or was there too much "kiddie baggage"? We ultimately rejected Pee Wee, but not until much lively discussion.

Perhaps Martha Stewart? Strange, repressed, driven Martha. I knew our obsessive compulsive female sex cripples who regularly used home decor as a substitute for getting their pussies banged deep and hard and having their brains fucked til they screamed, would certainly identify. They knew Martha was seriously ill, just like they are. Maybe Martha could send out a healing message of hope on behalf of ROG? But unfortunately, all she could do was cook, and we needed a song and dance man, somebody who could make those starving clits and limp dicks come alive with renewed horniness!

While we thought about that, I suggested a sex toy donation drive. I knew from firsthand experience how expensive the basics (THE MERE BASICS OF LIFE!) had become: dildos, vibrators, lube, and garter belts. How could someone on a budget ever afford it all? These poor souls were left with only their fingers or their electric toothbrush for God's sake! That's nasty! No wonder sexual misery was rampant in our fine land!

Tim and I truly wanted to give back, and one way we could do it was to get those toys into the hands, pussies, and assholes of suffering men and women everywhere. I personally knew a nice girl up the street, working two jobs, who could never afford a really quality dildo, like a good silicone model, or better yet, a beautiful glass one. Wow. Would she ever be thrilled! We'd set up a sex toy hotline for everyone: 1-800-ROG , and we'd ship a spankin' new cock free of charge right to her doorstep. Talk about serving humanity.

And if the telethon really took off, maybe in the future we'd branch out into luxury items, cherry flavored condoms, Cinnamon lube, Victoria's Secret push up bras? Why should the deprived always have to scrape by on "just the basics", like Vaseline and KY, (or their own saliva!), while the wealthy, the privileged, were sucking and fucking in hot tubs worldwide, cuming with the very best and most colorful pink toys shoved up their golden chutes, soaking the most beautiful silken panties with their juices, chowing down on the yummiest love gels, sliding their greased poles up and down on platinum this and silver that, while the deprived sat weeping on the sidelines, their precious organs drying up? Not fair! Really, Tim and I wanted to change all that. We had a DREAM.

But back to the entertainment. I began to feel strongly, as did Tim, that perhaps what we needed was not a celeb, but the average Joe Blow ( if you'll pardon the expression.) An average guy in our very own community who had personally experienced sexual pain and torment. Why do we always look far afield for pain when it's often right under our own nose? I called our local hospital, and spoke with a wonderful lady who told me about a nice man who had broken his dick. That's right, snapped it right in half! (and yes, this CAN happen! But don't let it happen to YOU!)

His unfortunate broken dick accident occurred while he was banging a very tight young lady. Apparently, she was just a little too tight and BAM, he heard a snap and that's all he remembered. The wonderful thing about it this terrible tragedy was that he kept his sense of humour (isn't that great?) and volunteered to sing his heart out for the crowd, wrapping everything up with the inspirational song made famous by Jerry's telethon:

"When You Walk Through A Storm, Hold Your Head Up High And Don't Be Afraid Of The Dark!"

Amen, Brother! Now that's what I call walking through a storm, with your head held high! Turn a frown upside down!

People sure do talk a lot about doing something for the world, don't they? Talk, talk, talk. But that's where it usually ends. Tim and I were putting our pussy and dick where our mouths were...or have been quite often. Down there. Including, to be precise, on our buttholes ha ha. Well, gotta keep your sense of humor, right? BE PROUD! ROG NOW!