Well-Traveled

"Every magic trick consists of three parts, or acts.

The first part is called the Pledge: The magician shows you something ordinary.

The second act is called the Turn: The magician takes the ordinary something, and makes it into something extraordinary. But you wouldn't clap yet, because making something disappear isn't enough. You have to bring it back.

Now you're looking for the secret, but you won't find it because, of course, you're not really looking. You don't really want to work it out. You want to be...fooled."

― The Prestige

"If you weren't so large, I'd let you fuck my wife up the ass."

I was certain I'd heard Merlin Olsen utter the same sentiment in an FTD floral commercial. Disgusted, I gawked back at the small, brown businessman. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?!"

This conversation must've been as pleasant for the diminutive dude as waking up naked in an ice-filled bathtub, a crisp suture above his kidney. That said, this was all his idea. I mean, he was the one with the wife, right?

He was the one who wanted to see said significant other suckling strange schlong. I simply happened to have a weird wang. I could've been one of a million other random dorks.

From a pinpoint in this suburban rat maze, the man glared at me, as though attempting to siphon what was left of my brain through my eye sockets.

Tense, I glanced around for a topic of conversation that would deter hubby from homicidal thoughts. "E— Ever wonder why it's called a living room? Does that make all the other rooms dead?"

Akin to Larry Sellers' homework, it had nothing to do with anything. Still, I was desperate to keep this guy from envisioning what I was about to do to his wife.

"So, uh, you said you travel and, uh―?

"Melissa."

"Ah, yes. Melissa. Uh, Melissa doesn't always get the attention she needs? Where is it you, uh, travel to?"

Squinting, as if mentally measuring me for a body bag, the man took an extended amount of time to answer. "Recently, Peru, Columbia and some smaller countries in Africa I'm sure you've never heard of; but I'll be headed to Sicily and Scandinavia next week."

"Really?" I gulped, having barely made it to a handful of local motels within the last month. "I― I travel often, as well."

"Oh, yes?" The man questioned. "And where have you been, lately?"

"Monaco." It was the first country that came to mind. At least I'd hoped it was a country.

"Monaco? Impressive. How's the weather this time of year in the Middle East?"

Silence more painful than hearing the words, "Please welcome President Oprah―!"

"Uh, did I say Monaco? I meant Conoco―"

At that awkward moment ― more uncomfortable than a 28 year old at a junior high school dance ― the tallest female not playing in the WNBA entered the room, saving me from annihilation.

The Amazonian was definitely all woman.

Prior, the interrogating husband had informed me his wife ― who had yet to arrive ― was named Melissa. Fifteen minutes later, the lass in question ― with hands the size of first basemen's gloves ― ducked below the doorway, introducing herself as Ecstasy.

More confusing than a 14 year run of the TV show Survivor.

Said senorita was 6' 7" in heels, apprising me immediately she possessed a vagina twice as deep as the average female's.

The latter was info I was happy to hear, since I now knew she wasn't danglin' dong between her thighs.

Melissa/Ecstasy ― or whatever her name was ― asked her man for a glass of vodka. At this, I speculated ― similar to an old car in winter ― she'd require time to warm up.

More wrong than licking an electrical cord, to determine if it still had a charge. She downed the shot, and hit the bedroom. Within a minute, moans of rapture emanated from behind me.

I remained on the couch ― completely naked, watching reruns of Marlin Perkins castrating a feral cat the size of a Barcalounger, with a plastic convenience fork.

Deducing the event had begun, I entered the room. Hubby demanded I stuff my staff in his female power forward's mouth, as he played at the YMCA.

Before following orders, I glanced between this gorgeous girl's gams, ensuring she had feminine parts. She did, and they were more impressive than an eight year old kid who can speak 30 languages.

Melissa predicated I was "nothing more than a cock with legs," and only present for her pleasure. A tear cascaded down my cheek. "You've been hurt, haven't you?" I asked.

Said sally gagged on horny ham, drooling over salacious sausage, like a recently-converted vegetarian undergoing withdrawals.

Initially, it was solely hubby and I tracking this giraffe in the underbrush. Eventually, an additional suitor arrived, but appeared indecisive, since Melissa/Ecstasy was tall enough to dunk a basketball. After playing no more than 30 seconds, said stallion departed, and was quickly replaced by two other online courters.

This was my cue to make a rapid, yet acceptable, exit. "Thank you for your cervix!" I exclaimed, gathering my clothes and racing into the frosty, fall night.

— authored by Hugh Mungus