Marlene’s artichoke dip was the talk of the town. In the small town of Bransford, she was the cutting edge of culture.

Jeremy stared at his picture above the mantelpiece. The picture mocked him. It was fit and trim. It had hair. It still had potential.

Nan rode the stallion toward the fence, leaping when they got close. The perfect escape if the horse had leapt with her.

Paul crunched all of the bags of potato chips on the store shelves. If he couldn’t eat them on his diet, neither would anyone else.

I swept the fear from the dark corners of my mind & stepped outside. There you were, standing in the sunshine of life, waiting to play with me.

Officer Ryan just missed the ledge as he leapt across buildings while pursuing the suspect. Thinking as he fell, “I hate Mondays.”

Chapter 4:

Sex

I answered the ad for “slave wanted,” ready for some adventure. That’s when I met Sheila, who was celibate but needed a lot of chores done.

“Again!” said Rosa. “Are you sure?” I asked. “Yes, do it!” She writhed on the bed as I dragged my nails down the chalkboard.

Nina’s primal scream filled the room. She felt better. Two hours till Mark. She could do this. She could figure out how to cook something.

“Like a Sprite?” she said, knowing it was my favorite. “Yes.” She put it on the bed just out of reach. I strained against the handcuffs.

Bert and Mary spiced things up, inviting Clara to join them for a threesome. Things went great till the nursing home staff walked in.

The leprechaun and I formed a partnership. He put up his pot of gold as collateral on my house loan, and I winged for him at the singles bar.

Karla snuck into my bed. “Oh, my God,” she said, “you’re wearing Spider-Man pajamas.” She left, returning quickly dressed as Wonder Woman.

Kim was stunned to find Donna in bed with the goat. “How could you? I thought you loved me!” There was no response from the goat.

“You are my canvas,” he whispered in her ear. “Paint me,” she said. He dripped the colors across her body, putting the food to good use.

Joan just lay there, waiting for Bert to finish. It seemed to be taking a long time. How long could an 85-year-old millionaire live?

Afterward, Dylan laid his head on the pleasure-bot’s chest. He tried not to cry. He had paid for sex, but what he needed was a cuddle.

“I like my sausages a little burnt,” she said, cooking our breakfast. I felt a desperate urge to put my pants on.

I watched you run down the field with the ball, knowing you only did it for the money, never letting the public see your true passion, dance.

Tim nervously lay in bed with Trixy. The lamp gave off just enough light for him to read. “Warning, do not over inflate. Doll may pop.”