• fell upon it with great delight
• couldn’t tell my nose was bleeding
• threw her lipstick at me
• poses rarely seen outside of fetish art
• blow the lid off the whole thing

Tune in next time part 618      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I was unfamiliar with the style of the music. I couldn’t even be sure that every member of the orchestra was playing the same piece, but whatever each of them was chasing, they fell upon it with great delight and impressive volume. They shook the theatre, the vibrations making the emcee’s wig writhe, or displeasing the raccoon atop his head, whichever was really the case. I clamped my hands over my ears to protect them from the assault. Another glance around the empty auditorium and I lost all curiosity about any sex secrets that might be revealed in the show.

I headed back outside, where the orchestra’s performance was still oppressively loud. I couldn’t tell my nose was bleeding from the horrendous sound, and so when someone tapped my shoulder and I turned suddenly, droplets of blood flew onto her. She screamed and threw her lipstick at me and ran away, so I’ll never know why she tried to get my attention. The only other people on the street were a pair of old men on the next block, who seemed to be having a type of argument that involved vile name-calling and poses rarely seen outside of fetish art.

One of the geezers suddenly pointed at me. “I told you!” he hollered. “He’s here to blow the lid off the whole thing!”

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• The sex fundamentals you’re about to learn
• between musical numbers
• knowledge of hidden things
• “It is no longer open-faced.”
• I’m sorry, I have a cold

Tune in next time part 616      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The tunnel ended at a flap of plywood held shut only by the dense layer of cobwebs I had to fight through to push it open. I got my first look at Twerkistan, and my first whiff of its brimstone-tinged smog.

I had emerged into a narrow alleyway, and all I could see at the end of it was the blazing marquee of the theatre across the street. Moving out onto the sidewalk I read the name of the show: “How To Do It.”

No one manned the box office. No usher asked me for a ticket. The theatre’s seats were all empty, but the performance was in progress on the stage. It sounded like I hadn’t missed much, as the emcee was still explaining the premise.

“The sex fundamentals you’re about to learn — in between musical numbers where the choreography should help to clarify some of the more abstract principles — will arm you with a knowledge of hidden things that will give you a frankly unfair advantage in the mating scene.” He gestured grandly all around, especially up to the vacant balcony. “Oh, and before I forget, I must announce a change from what is printed in the program regarding Antionette’s sandwich in the second act.” He paused, presumably allowing the imaginary audience to thumb through their programs. Finally he delivered the actual news about the sandwich. “It is no longer open-faced.”

The orchestra unleashed a swirl of brass and strings, heralding the arrival of a few dozen athletic dancers. I could discern nothing of an instructional nature in their movements, but so far no “sex fundamentals” had been revealed for them to dance about.

The emcee finally looked directly my way, saying, “It’s time to compare the final digits on your ticket stub to those of the person seated on your left.”

I shrugged.

“I’m sorry, I have a cold,” he said. “Try the person on your right.”

I shrugged more elaborately, making sure it flowed as far as my elbows. “And anyway,” I said with a furtive glance around me, “no one in the audience has a ticket stub.”

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• approaches nonrelatives with similar gusto
• failed Peruvian rice scheme
• spicy aromas
• saying things like, “Nice, nice, nice,”
• day the blacksmith died

Tune in next time part 614      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa ignored my doorknob question and started dragging me down the tunnel. I had to free myself from her grip and backtrack to collect my clothes. I lingered a few moments over the sight of my new favorite Uncles, dozing satiated in a heap. Apparently in the local dialect an “uncle” must mean someone with whom to share a bikini, and someone who approaches nonrelatives with similar gusto.

I had to lug my clothing because Tessa resumed dragging me away and this time she was not letting me slip loose. When we were far enough away that her voice wouldn’t wake them, she gave me some facts about these so-called local bandits. Her explanation was hard to follow, something about a commune founded on a failed Peruvian rice scheme. The green wigs meant something, it all meant something, but I lost track of it as I hopped and shimmied in her wake to get dressed without falling too far behind.

In another minute I had to overtake the Tessabot and shush her. I’d noticed spicy aromas wafting from up ahead, something she’d be unable to detect. We advanced quietly until we began to hear voices saying things like, “Nice, nice, nice,” unless it was, “Rice, rice, rice.”

When we were near enough to make out the table and chairs as well as the cluster of miniature appliances huddled against the wall of the passageway, we heard a gruff voice say, “Is that stuff ready yet? I ain’t been so hungry since the day the blacksmith died.”

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• competing to see whose toolbox was bigger
• There are rules
• decided to do it confessional style
• attempt adult conversation while
• walking two dogs at the same time

Tune in next time part 612      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“We saw him first, didn’t we Uncle Marigold?” simpered Uncle Gossamer. Between them and the other pair was me, feeling like a birdhouse being assembled by carpenters competing to see whose toolbox was bigger.

“Ladies,” I said, but I couldn’t seem to find my voice. I cleared my throat and tried again. “There are rules for occasions like this.” None of the bandits knew about any such rules, and they weren’t letting me concentrate, but based on what little I managed to recall and articulate we eventually decided to do it confessional style.

I couldn’t imagine how this modus operandi earned them the moniker of bandits, and I had many questions about their customs and costumes, and about the two-dozen discarded wigs a little ways up the tunnel, but there was no reason to attempt adult conversation while our cries of pleasure echoed in the darkness.

“Oh!” squealed Uncle Periwinkle, “where did you learn this trick?”

“College,” I replied. By which of course I meant the Academy, but I didn’t trust any of them enough to mention it. Nor did I think it would be wise to mention just then that back at the Academy we called the trick “walking two dogs at the same time.”

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• Like peacock feathers,
• create a new surname entirely
• expertise in the art of seduction
• what is with all the boob tassels?
• his chair with his bare feet

Tune in next time part 610      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I tried to take a casual step back, but Uncle Gossamer’s grip on my shoulder was unyielding. “Hey, that sounds great,” I stammered. “But what I need to do is go the other way.”

The two uncles laughed in unison, throwing back their heads to display their smooth, slender throats. Their chests bounced, giving motion to the ornamental fringe dangling from their complex bikini top. Like peacock feathers, and like their wigs, these tassels possessed an irridescence that enhanced the effect of their swinging motion.

“But you really must come with us,” Uncle Marigold purred. She moved close without seeming to have moved at all, breathing on my ear as she said, “We’ll make you cry uncle. Uncle Gossamer, Uncle Marigold, why you’ll have to create a new surname entirely just so you can keep going. I promise you you’ve never met anyone before with greater expertise in the art of seduction.”

“Only because he hasn’t met us yet,” came another rich, sultry voice. Its owner was another pair of green-wigged women conjoined in a bathing suit even more perplexing than the first duo’s. Its main motif was tentacles, but there was more to it. They spoke again, in unison, but I missed what they said because I was preoccupied with the realization that their suit’s octopus was busy in its garden. A row of some undersea vegetable crossed the shared bust, with sprigs of iridescent fronds strategically placed over all four nipples.

I thought, “These must be the bandits, but what is with all the boob tassels? And why did Tessa want me to wait while she ran away!”

The octo-posse laughed then, just as hypnotically as Uncle Gossamer and Uncle Marigold. They moved around behind me, enfolding me in all four of their arms. “This poor, befuddled person,” they cooed. “He needs to sit in his chair with his bare feet in a nice warm bath.” She whispered in both ears at once. “But, not really his feet, or a bath. But certainly bare, and definitely nice and warm.”

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