The Brochure

The Brochure

      Aaron lived by the Golden Rule, which made law that much harder to practice.  As his success in the courtroom elevated his economic status, his social status followed suit.  Encouragement from his partners, their wives and his ostentatious mother, Aaron concluded that a wife seemed the only reasonable step on his stairway to death.    So he made Rebecca, the only significant woman in his life besides his mother, an offer no intelligent woman could decline.   

      The new Mr. and Mrs. Aaron Hernandez danced their final number after an exhausting day.  During the dance both agreed eloping might have been the better alternative.  However, Aaron reassured Rebecca “We only get married once.”  A comfort Rebecca longed to hear repeatedly.  If a broken record were to skip on “we will always be together” or “I will always be faithful” she’d never fix or purchase new vinyl; she wouldn’t need to.

      Mrs. Hernandez, an average looking woman, stood five foot five, 135 pounds; her short, just shy of shoulder length hair wisped out behind large copper eyes.  The artificial black hair matched her arced, electrolysized eyebrows and enhanced her full, naturally dark red lips.

      Aaron’s last name indicated he carried Hispanic traits, but his ancestors left him bland, Irish features:  pale freckled skin, reddish-brown hair, light green eyes, and a gradual chin consumed by an extremely late five o’clock shadow.

      The bride and groom’s families filled the quant church earlier that afternoon.  As a child Rebecca spent every Sunday attending service or Sunday school in a musty Assembly of God church.  Her religious family was less refined than his, but more honest and tightly knit.  Aaron’s parents, as flaunting and arrogant as they appeared were rather smitten by Aaron’s choice.  However, the rest of his family, not knowing Rebecca’s gentle demeanor, lifted their polished noses at Rebecca’s side of the family.  Her side all spoke with a country twang and, after few drinks, stumbled around the dance floor waving their elbows like chickens to that annoying polka song.  Embarrassed, Aaron’s side departed the reception as soon as the first stroke of the knife sliced the cake.

      With her high heels off Rebecca’s head fit comfortably in the crook of Aaron’s neck and her buxom chest pressed firmly against his tight abdomen.  They rocked back and forth on the dance floor until Rebecca’s friends and family cleaned out the bar.

      Worn out, Aaron and Rebecca stockpiled as many gifts as possible in Aaron’s BMW and returned to their ornate house in the suburbs.  Aaron carried Rebecca over the threshold before setting the alarm and staging their matching suitcases near the door.

      On the airplane the newlyweds settled in first-class. “A tropical island cruise without the boat” was the phrase he used to describe their honeymoon plans.  Rebecca dozed off with her own fictional image of the next two weeks.  As soon as Rebecca’s foot stopped twitching Aaron knew it was safe to peruse the resort’s brochure without waking her.

*

      “Check this out,” Aaron’s co-worker said handing him a brochure after a tennis match one afternoon.  “I had, by far, the best sex of my life right here.”  Theodore flicked the corner of the brochure as Aaron casually glanced at the detailed photos.

      Theodore and his wife Charlotte adhere to a verbal contract.  One evening Theodore walked in on his wife and the gardener frolicking under blankets and pillows.  Theodore, slightly agitated sat down on the foot of the bed, his back to Charlotte and Ron or Dan or whatever laboring name the man went by and said, “For the sake of our aristocratic persona we should stay together, but my faithfulness ends today.”  When he reached the doorframe she said “agreed.”  Ever since the two participate in the best sexual relations any feuding married couple can have:  anyone but each other. 

      Rebecca stirred so Aaron tossed the brochure in his carry-on.

      At the office: “Buddy, I know you believe in the whole faithful thing and I can respect that, but you need to honeymoon here,” Theodore said shaking the brochure.  Although rectangular, the brochure looked like a pineapple; green blossoming leaves on top and a thatched burnt yellow bottom. Aaron tried to delay his best man’s efforts by telling him he just got engaged and that Rebecca and he had not even set the date.  Theodore pressed the issue anyway so Aaron, promising to look at it later, deposited the flier in his office desk thus appeasing his overbearing friend.   

      The plane arrived in the Florida Keys.

      Awaiting the island’s charter boat, Aaron stood outside the bathroom door for his wife.  Standing in front of a large diagonal wooden shelf of brochures he scanned the rows looking for the one Theodore gave him almost a year ago.  Sticking a few fingers into an empty slot he concluded that the resort must be extremely popular or the brochure too enticing to resist.  He favored the former.  Rebecca and Aaron departed the boat, walked down the lonely pier, and scanned the deserted island.

      Triple canopy jungle and a wall of colorful plant life disguised the north face of the billion dollar resort. Standing at the end of the pier green leafy palms as large as banquet tables fanned out opening an elegant passageway.

      Thick powdery sand covered almost every inch of the resort grounds.  Tropical plants and fruit trees blossomed over hammocks and bar stools.  Barely clothed bodies absorbed the remaining sunlight as a white ball floated over a mesh net.  Coconuts, etched symmetrically around the sides with aquatic symbols, lit the green marble pathway leading to a door-less entryway.  Archways like rolling hills opened up corridors tunneling tropical air throughout the lobby.  The sun sank into the calm ocean water forcing an orange glow around fleeing feathery clouds.

      A bellhop led Aaron and Rebecca over a wooden, rope suspended bridge.  A large grass roofed bungalow rested just below the green foliage of the jungle crown.  A boardwalk surrounding the bungalow supported ropes and pulleys leading to movable awnings and alternative exits.  The Swiss Family Robinson’s did not have it this good.

      Once inside, the quant bungalow resembled a penthouse suite at the Waldorf Astoria and not the beach house the exterior portrayed.  The smell of fresh exotic flowers scattered in vases throughout the rooms filled the air.  A crystal chandelier illuminated the entryway.

      Rebecca and Aaron tipped the bellboy and settled in the bedroom.  A glass wall at the foot of the bed overlooked the moonlit water.  The newlyweds, sticky and jetlagged, curled up on the bed and kissed.  Not French kissing seventh graders do in cramped closet basements, but rather a gentle, content kiss like an elderly couple on their fiftieth wedding anniversary.

*

      Rebecca slid from the warm embrace of her new husband.  Walking away she undid her blouse buttons allowing the fabric to slide halfway down her back.  In the daylight her skin looked pale and blotchy, but in the moonlight it glistened with confidence.  She glanced back over an exposed shoulder catching her husband’s eye.  Her get-naked stare brought him to his feet.  Steam billowed against his bare legs as he kicked his sandals to the corner and aimlessly tossed his clothes into the air.

      They devoured one another like their first time.  Not their first sexual encounter—that was uncomfortable—but more like the first time she assumed they would spend a lifetime of love, trust, and devotion.

      The couple’s love feast carried on into the bedroom and, after appeasing their pallets with fresh melons and berries, ended in the kitchen.  In the morning, in silence, Rebecca and Aaron intertwined one more time before preparing themselves for a day of tropical pleasures and outlandish gratifications.

      Lightheartedly the couple created wooden waves on the bridge leading from their bungalow to the hotel corridor before moving into the dining hall. After a light breakfast they laid on massage tables awaiting soft hands and mysterious creams.

      “Was it me or was that shower ledge a little too convenient?” Aaron said looking at the sand covered floor of the gazebo.

      Rebecca’s cheeks pulled back by the headrest slurred her speech. “I know and the kitchen counters were just the right height.”

      “Yes they were.”  Aaron paused to reminisce.  “And the lotions in the headboard…”  Aaron noticed painted toes cross his line of sight and withdrew his comment on how satisfied he arose this morning.

      A sensual voice resonated in his ears while delicate hands kneaded, manipulated, and molded his muscles into euphoric elasticity. 

      The masseuse and Aaron engaged in harmless dialog during his scheduled forty-five minutes. However, Rebecca’s misinterpretation led to a serious discussion on adultery.  He tried to avoid the conversation by insisting he was just being friendly and that his firm’s expectations demanded friendly partners to radiate a trustworthy façade

      Even though the firm never encouraged fraternizing, he often admired some of their clients, Theodore’s secretary included.  As for now, he admired the masseuse’s legs—the dark brown tint and smooth texture—like a fine painting or delicate wine; nothing a man could live on.  Her toenails shimmered with scarlet nail polish.  One toe in particular carried a pewter ring stamped with a dragon blowing curling flames.  His blood raced with the impure thought of slamming the stranger against a wall as his wife lay obediently on the table.  But proper etiquette would find that savage.  Besides she disappeared before he could assess her upper half.

      Aaron turned their discussion by placing the blame on Rebecca’s jealousy.  It seemed a little contemptible, but he justified it by mentioning a few of her past misconceptions of him.  His verdict, out of respect for his wife, was to avoid the massage tables altogether.  She concurred and rewarded him with a little make-up sex on the pool table ending his polluted thoughts about the alluring toe-ringed stems.

      Parasailing and scuba diving finished the day.  In the evening Aaron and Rebecca enjoyed an acclaimed regalement and a few too many cocktails.  By midnight the inebriates found the eighteenth century cobblestone fireplace an ideal location to indulge in one another.

      Aaron waited at the craps tables for Rebecca to crawl from her cocoon.  Upon arising, slightly before dinner, Rebecca headed straight to the pool’s waterfall and ordered a daiquiri to realign her equilibrium.

      Aaron, rattling the dice, eyed a few ladies wearing no more material than his tuxedo’s handkerchief.  A blonde, holding a tray of drinks for a group of ladies at the Roulette wheel, caught his eye longer than the rest.  Her high heels shifted her hips to and fro, quivering her ass just enough for Aaron to crap out.  Relinquishing the ivory, he made his way to the thirty-eight spinning black, red, and green numbers.

      Just about to give up his hunt for the gorgeous specimen a scratchy voice asked, “Can I get you a drink?”

      “Tom Collins with a few extra lime wedges,” Aaron said as he spun his chair to make eye contact with his bad luck charm holding an empty tray dangerously close to his jugular.

      “Sorry my voice is shot from screaming all night…over the loud music.”  Her face caught the sun on the bridge of her nose emphasizing freckles down to her high cheek bones.  Ocean blue eyes competed with, and defeated, her long curled lashes.  “I’ll be right back with that drink.”  A yellow bikini string danced on her arched back as she strutted away.  He felt an urge to grasp the ponytail and drag her to his cave and force his seeds of life into her womb.

      “Are you winning?”  Rebecca’s voice said as a hot arm wrapped around his neck followed by a peck on the cheek.

      “Not yet,” he said watching a subtle finger pick at a yellow thong.

      “Let’s go back to our little bungalow and…”  Rebecca bit his earlobe.  Aaron moaned, handed his remaining chips to the thankful dealer and slid off the stool.  He thought momentarily about his drink, rather his drink’s gorgeous mode of transportation, before giving Rebecca his full attention.

      By the time Aaron and Rebecca entered their bungalow the sun disappeared behind the horizon.  Placing a few blankets on the deck, they made love under the stars as they listened to waves crash the sandy shore.

*

      Aaron changed for the island masquerade.  Digging through his bag in search of Chapstick—a full round of golf on a tropical island caused his dry, cracked lips—he came across the brochure.  He pulled it out and grinned.  Theodore was right; Aaron had been having more fun and sex than he could remember.

      Rebecca dressed in frill and lace shook a feathered mask over her eyes.  Fluorescent purple feathers flourished above the eye holes, while a small lily bloomed above dangling earrings.

      “You look stunning,” Aaron said twirling his finger forcing her to rotate her body in a similar motion.

      “Here,” she said handing him a ceramic mask.  The black cryptic mask resembled something out of The Phantom of the Opera.  “What’s that?”

      “A brochure Theodore gave me for this place,” Aaron said holding the disguise against his face.

      “Let me see.”

      Aaron handed her the brochure hesitantly.  He hid it from her for so long he forgot they were already living the brochures promise of a fun filled retreat.

      Rebecca opened the pineapple colored folds.  A picture of a woman sipping drinks near a tranquil waterfall reminded her of yesterday.  It looked like a well planned brochure; every caption suited its picture.  She especially liked the bungalow photo’s caption which read:

Such an Amazing Treetop Getaway You Won’t Want to Get Away

      “Where’s the last page?”  Rebecca asked.

      “What?”

      “The last page is missing; it looks as though it was cut off.”  She ran her index finger down the jagged edge.

      “I don’t know.”  Aaron, easing the brochure from Rebecca’s grasp, turned it over as if the other side held the answer.

      Aaron licked his dry lips, a habit he uses to help him think, and recalled why he came across the brochure in the first place.  “Do you have any Chapstick?”

      “No, but we can pick some up in the lobby if you like,” Rebecca said curiously scanning the pages in her husband’s hands.

      “Nah, I’ll be alright.”

      Masked men and women filled the resort grounds and overflowed the open ballroom.  Aaron and Rebecca crashed near the ocean water after coming off the dance floor.  A bon fire during a new moon cast enough light to see each other’s outline.

      “I love you, but…” Rebecca began after a moment of cuddling, “I gotta pee really bad.”  She hopped up, bent over kissing Aaron’s forehead, and scurried inside.

      A few minutes later a hand slid over his shoulder holding a green and white tube.  “Thanks dear,” Aaron said grabbing her wrist pulling her onto his lap.  A glittering red mask and a one-piece black suit covered the stranger.  “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

      “I know,” the hoarse voice said sliding off his lap before standing.

      “My unlucky waitress, right?” he said applying the lip balm. “Mmmm, watermelon,”

      “It’s mango,” the waitress said.  Reflecting the bon fire’s flames the woman’s blue eyes looked like burning ice.  “Wait a minute, ‘unlucky’?”  Her voice cracked trying to add inflection.  She snatched the lip balm as if genuinely mad and then giggled.

      “Oh I rolled a seven after watching you walk by the other day.”

      “Well I have that effect on people,” the waitress said with a smile.  The smile dropped suddenly, she cleared her throat and her voice grew serious and loud, “Drink?”

      “What?”

      “Do you want a drink?” she said.

      “I will,” Rebecca said falling at Aaron’s side.

      “Yes ma’am?” The waitress said pulling a pen from behind her twisted hair allowing her silky strands to fall flippantly.

      “Ma’am?”  Rebecca mocked.  “I’ll have a Bloody Mary.”  She never cared for them, but thought it would send a message.  This man is mine, find your own.  The waitress caught Rebecca’s symbolism and returned a retaliating smirk.

      “And you sir?”  She went through the formality of asking, but earlier she committed Tom Collins extra lime to memory.

      After kissing Aaron’s lips Rebecca licked her own and shot a look at the waitress waddling to the bar.  Rebecca put on a fake, effervescent exterior for her husband while telling herself it was a combination of strong alcohol and an uncontrollable imagination.  He must have located some Chapstick while I was in the bathroom because he’s a good man and I’m fortunate to be set apart from among the multitudes of unhappy relationships.

      Aaron tongued his incisors as the waitress floated to the bar.  He felt his canines grow.  He longed for the stranger.  To leap in a single bound across the sand, force her down, pin her wrists with a single overpowering grip, belligerently grope with the other, and gnaw at her exposed flesh.

      Aaron thought nothing of Rebecca’s kiss; he couldn’t even remember applying the mango gloss.  Rebecca led him away before the drinks arrived, but this time he could not shake the woman’s scent.

*

      Rebecca thought about canceling her appointment, but part of her knew she couldn’t always be by Aaron’s side.  Her mistake, she thought riding the elevator, was tactfully denying—he will never understand the inner workings of the female reproductive organ—him intercourse last night and this morning. But once again, Aaron could very well be tempted daily and she could not supply all his sexual needs once they returned to Chicago.

      Aaron made his way to the Craps tables while Rebecca received the full treatment:  pedicure, manicure, mud bath, facial, etc.

      A Tom Collins, placed on a napkin, appeared out of thin air.  A waiter walked away leaving Aaron somewhat confused.  It was not until he held his drink up did he realize who sent it.  Looking over the brim of his glass Aaron read the loopy cursive words on the napkin:

MEET ME BY THE ELEVATORS

                                          MANGO

      Collecting his winnings from the pass line Aaron dillydallied, contemplating every action.  He went anyway.  A tender ding, a wrenched arm, and a closed door all happened in seconds.  He stood beside Mango.  Without looking or speaking he admired her delightful aroma.  Once the elevator door opened she dragged him down an unfamiliar wing and into a cheap rundown room.

      Aaron spoke, “Is this your—” She jumped, straddled his waist, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and locked her lips to his.  The sudden attack forced him to fall backward onto the bed.    Hundreds of golden strands tickled his unshaven face as her tongue grazed his upper lip.  Pushing his shirt up to his neck she licked his chest from naval to nipple before biting.  Aaron reacted to the pain by ripping her blouse revealing a faint curving tan line.  Aaron’s hands explored every inch of her bare flesh.  The sensation of discovering fire would not have felt this good.

      Flinging her hair back she arched her spine placing her left hand on his chest.  The fingertips of her right hand vibrated down his rippled stomach before unbuttoning his khaki shorts.  She released her weight.  Heaving chests, rising and falling in succession, pressed in to each other.  Their tongues slipped in and out; she tasted lemon, he tasted pecan pie.

      Pinning him down, she slid to the edge of the bed.  She brought him in her mouth; running her tongue in circles as her eyes looked up.  She slurped.  He grabbed the bed posts.  As she rinsed him with saliva she slipped her heels off and climbed above his pelvic bone.  An oscillating fan blew her hair to the side spreading strands over a bare shoulder.  His veins swelled down his arms.  His biceps and chest bulged as her nails raked his skin.  Pulling the crease of her drenched shorts aside she eased him in.

      Screaming, she raised her hips slowly before slamming down.  Aaron’s hands, gliding on a moist layer of sweat, caressed her lightly freckled body.  With his mouth open and breaths deep she bounced up and down massaging his hands into her chest.  Remaining inside her Aaron wrapped his arms around her waist rotating her onto her back.

      Standing at the foot of the bed Aaron felt warm, wet ridges glide across his manhood.  The more thrusts the louder she got until her muscles, restrained by a rush of climax buckled around him in complete surrender.  Her beaming face turned to the side.  Her eyes slowly closed followed by a silly grin catching Aaron’s attention.  Her expressions lead him to climax.  Seconds later his orgasm wilted leaving him with guilt and regret.

      Sitting on the edge of the bed, between her long bent legs, Aaron’s eyes focused and dilated on her red toenails mirroring a fire breathing dragon.

  “Thanks, you’re incredible,” she said.  The sweet voice and the sight of her pewter ring brought him to the massage table; his innocent flirting and his wife’s suspicions and distrust.

      Clothing covered him once again.  He reached for the handle of his escape.  “Wait!”  She said.  “Aren’t you gonna pay me?”

      “A prostitute?  But you work here,” he said.  His face turned pale.  Betrayed by lust he reached for his wallet.  “How much to keep this quiet?”

      The woman, after-glowing with satisfaction, giggled.  “Free.  I do this for fun.  I was just messing with you.  I work here, but tips are graciously accepted.”  She laughed at her own amusing banter.

      Aaron shook his head.  He wasn’t sure if he was disgusted by her blatant covetousness or his unfaithful actions.

      “I won’t tell if you don’t,” a trailing voice said as the door closed behind him.

      “Aaron?” a familiar tone caught him as he turned from the doorway.

      “Ra, Rebecca.”

      “What are you doing in the employee wing?” she said barely moving her face.  A dry cracked green residue covered the tip of her earlobe. 

      “Looking for you,” he said knowing he could not support the lie.

      “How did you know I was up here?  I just finished my appointment and I…” She pointed to a woman behind her.  The round face looked down.  He could tell the woman knew whom he visited.  “We were talking about needlepoint and Debra,” again a finger reached over her shoulder, “Said she had a fantastic book I should re—how did you know?”

      “The uh…sales lady down at—” a door opened behind him.

      Making eye contact with the waitress, Rebecca began to hyperventilate.

      “I can explain.”  Aaron searched for a reason for being in her room; nothing.

      “Screw you!” Rebecca dropped the book and ran.

      A voice behind him spoke gently, “Sorry.”  The mistress, a term she’d grown accustomed to, looked to the ceiling, her palms opened as if carrying a large tray and her forehead wrinkled as if innocently puzzled.

      Aaron showing reluctance gave chase.  He watched as a door rattled against the rubber stopper.  Catching the handle on its way back, Aaron entered a dark passageway.  Track lighting, like in a movie theatre or airplane, narrowed to a vanishing point.  He lost sight of Rebecca.  On his right a closed door.  Aaron rattled the handle; locked.  He checked door after door until a pale glow revealed a narrow slit.

      A rave beat resonated through the crack.  Feeling a little uncomfortable, voyeuristic even, Aaron leaned into the crevice.  Naked and bruised, a pale, bald man hung suspended by hooks at a forty-five degree angle.  Drying before reaching the next hook, blood trails ran jagged courses over the man’s stretched yet wrinkled skin.  A metal cage trapped him inside like an animal.  A strobe light of horizontal and vertical shadows thatched his naked body.  An array of colors lit his flesh changing location, contrast, and hue in succession with the club beat.

      Curiosity, controlled by confused emotions, led Aaron inside. After sliding in he returned the door to its original position and looked at the man’s eyes and erection pointing to a wall of flat panel monitors laid like shower tiles.  Warmth flushed from Aaron’s veins.  His well of saliva dried, leaving his dehydrated, curling tongue helpless.  Piercing needles poked at his heart.  Lightheaded he watched as images flashed one after another.

      Rebecca spread on a shower ledge.  Rebecca bent over the kitchen counters.  In their bedroom, Rebecca applied edible lotion before going down on Aaron.  Night vision caught the newlyweds on the deck.  An overhead camera caught them in front of a fireplace stumbling in a drunken state.  Multiple cameras recorded their aggressive bodies on a pool table.  Every position caught on camera and played back to this sexually deprived freak.  To Aaron’s relief, none of the clips flashing before him showed Rebecca with another man.

      Suddenly every monitor became one large screen.  Aaron watched himself enter a well lit room behind his adulteress.  He remembered the woman attaching herself like a leach just before he succumbed to tearing her clothes.  He remembered her going down on him and mounting him like a saddled horse.  He remembered spinning her around and watching her face melt upon orgasm.  What he failed to remember and what each camera caught was how she looked sensuously into each lens staged strategically in an old alarm clock, a cracked mirror above her bed, a hideous painting on the wall, and a fan blowing at her blonde hair.  Each look came with a kiss or wink.

      From the moment he crawled onto the massage table, perhaps well before, he became a mark.  This woman worked wherever Aaron was easily accessible; planting her seed to get him into her room.  Every day Rebecca and Aaron enjoyed on the island was monitored; which explained how this temptress knew he needed Chapstick.  It explained how she knew his wife’s beauty appointment would give her time to complete her work.  It explained her shrug of disappointment to the camera outside her room.

      As the pixilated Aaron reached orgasm, the suspended man climaxed as well releasing fluids through the cage, over the span of the room and down the monitors in unimaginable quantities.

      Aaron dry-heaved.  He staggered down the hallway, opened the door, and ensured it closed and locked behind him.  He leaned his forehead on the Authorized Personnel Only sign before making his way to the closest bar.

      He thought about their, the criminals, illegal pornography operation; filming married couples having sex then releasing a shark to prey on the spouses.  A husband cheats on his wife, or vice versa, and then these freaks use this aphrodisiac to release built up sexual desires of adultery.  Aaron thought about the locked rooms.  The bald man’s fetish was to witness cheating couples, but what were the other fetishes?

*

      “Gaday mate.  Whaddle it be?”  A rugged Australian man in a leather vest said from behind the bar.

      “Maker’s Mark,” Aaron answered. The man cracked the wax seal, poured a neat shot and before the bottle found a seat on the shelf the shot glass slammed the bar.  “Another.”  This time the Aussie waited until Aaron’s hand stopped picking up shots.

      “You’re ‘ard mate.  Ya dan’t even grimace.”  He set the bottle down.  “Garl trouble eh?”

      Hotel trouble, Aaron thought.  A flash of Rebecca’s face pulled him from thoughts of courtroom litigation.  He looked at the woman through throbbing eyes.  He felt his bones crack and expand.  Massive wings ripped his shirt from his back.  Claws jotted out of his hair-cloaked fingers and toes.  He flapped his wings and clasped his claws into her shoulders to carry her from this horrid place.  But she was just a woman, no one special.  She was a woman who could just as easily have seduced him.  Or she was a woman like Rebecca; a woman he could fall in love with only to jeopardize their relationship by lusting after another.  “Yeah, my wife…or ex-wife,” Aaron said reaching for his whiskey.

      “Ya gotta get that…er…” the man paused and scratched his temple.  He reached under the bar, and opened a brochure.  Aaron looked between the numb fingers holding his head up and down at the brochure. The bartender’s finger stopped on the last page of a pineapple colored brochure.

Create and Live Your Fantasies

                  On Celoso Island your fantasies become realities,

                  Your sex life explodes with the erotic and kinky,

                  Your boring thoughts become wet uncensored dreams.

                  Nothing limits your imagination.

                  Set yourself free and become the beast within.

      Listed below a picture of two nearly naked women kissing a man’s air brushed chest, examples of sexual grotesquerie stood out in bold letters.  Aaron’s heart raced as he scanned down the list.  He stopped at infidelity and downed a shot of Maker’s Mark.  The bartender’s lips moved, but Aaron heard only his own rampant thoughts.