17 May 2007
Flat Out Heroism
A.K.A. FLATery Becomes Her
We've all been there, and if we haven't we're bound to be sometime or later. It's 2am, you're on your way home from a hot date, or if you're even luckier, on your way to a hot date. It's pouring with rain. No, it's not pouring with rain, it's Noah's flood revisited, and here you are in the middle of Interstate 57, twenty miles from the nearest habitable residence. It is pitch black, wet, cold, miserable, the maniac killer from Hitchhiker is bound to come along any minute now, and what are you doing? You are staring at the flattest tire you've ever set eyes on. Even worse, the flat is the spare that you've just had the foresight to take out of the trunk, and it's even flatter than the one currently on your wheel. This is the spare you've been promising yourself to replace since that puncture at Milly's party last year. Suddenly out of the sheets, nope, buckets of water that some deity with a sick sense of humor is throwing over you, you see the headlights of a brand new Porsche slowing down to a halt behind you. The drop dead gorgeous take-me-on-the-road-now! hunk that gets out of the car offers to help. Other than ripping your panties off and begging him to find you a nice warm fire to dry them beside, what should you do?
Never fear our special Agent Double D.3 has risked life, limb and, ahem, virginity to troll the roads for this exclusive report. Want to know what you're really getting into when those handsome eyes offer to replace your spare? Need to prepare yourself for an unforeseen inflatable experience? What do you do when he plays with it and makes it nice and hard? (The tire, silly, the tire!) Just what kind of man, or beast, are you dealing with? Read Agent Double D.3's special report on " FLATery Becomes Her," for the answer to these puzzlers and more see the report below:
Agent Double D.3 reports :
Vampires: Brand new Porsche, huh? And if you ask him you'll find that this is just his weekend car, he has five more at home that he uses for different days of the week. His offer of help comes in the form of a private mechanic, with the same pale skin and bright eyed look as the hunk beside you. For some inexplicable reason, as he drives you to his small thirty room mansion, just to have your panties steam dried by his army of maids, you have an overwhelming desire to offer him your neck and say "Bite me." If this is happening to you, then you, my lucky dear, have become the personal project of a superlicious vampire lord whose one intention is to have you solely for himself. Don't be surprised when you wake up in the morning, in his bed, to find five brand new tires on your car and Band-aids all over your body.
Werewolf: Soft top Porsche, no coat, pouring rain, a sexy swagger and an all too confident smile on his face. Something about this guy makes you want to give him all your panties, which he'll dutifully throw away. After all, who needs panties when this hunk is around. Having teased all your problems out of you, and maybe nuzzled your crotch some, he'll pull out his cell phone and a whole pack of his buddies will be surrounding your car in minutes, towing it, changing tires, drinking beers. And as you snuggle in between clean sheets, in a big bedroom with a huge log fire and a naked hunky fellow beside you, all of your problems will seem like a dream. You have had the good fortune of becoming the property of the local werewolf clan's pack leader. Don't worry about the clumps of fur stuck all over you when you wake up in the morning. These are simply a result of his bull mastiff, fido, sharing the bed with you last night.
Ghosts: Porsche? What Porsche? All you know is this hunkalicious guy has appeared beside you and now your panties are soaked, and it's not because of the rain. Rain, hell, it's so darn cold it's snowing now. Unfortunately he doesn't have a cell phone, but he does know of a nice quiet semi-mansion nearby that looks old and uncared for but has a terrific owner. No, there isn't any phone, but hey there's a fireplace, plenty of wood, and a nice comfy bed which would fit both of you very nicely. Besides you really should get out of those frozen panties before you catch a chill or get frostbitten or something. You, you lucky thing, are now the beloved human of the local scare-them-all-and-keep-them-off-my-property ghost. When you wake up in bed in the morning with hand shaped frost marks on your breasts don't forget, you kept telling everyone how you needed to get more exorcize.
Invisible men: Okay, it doesn't faze you that the guy who just stepped out of the Porsche is covered head to toe in bandages, and he wears dark sunglasses at night. You just know, simply, that beneath those rags he's the hunk you've been looking for ever since you learned what Giving Head meant. Efficient and capable this great hero has the local A1 tow truck at your car within minutes and is escorting you to his delightful ranch style home, tucked back in the quietlands of suburbia. You'll know he's the man for you because, strangely, your panties will come off all by themselves and hang themselves neatly by the fireplace. And we all know that panties are never wrong. These are all signs that you've been adopted by the local genius scientist/invisible man. You'll sleep the entire night away dreaming of having funkalicious sex with some incredible mysterious and hard to see yummy guy. When you wake up all hot and sweaty in the morning with hickeys all over your breasts, don't worry, it's just side effect of having all those deliciously hot dreams.
Mermen: If the hunk that steps out of the car is very floppy, and I mean flopping and flapping all over the road (and we all know how useless a floppy man is,) then you've had the misfortune to be rescued by a Merman. Now Mermen are kind of pointless in this situation, unless of course you're into sea food. So get out the fish filet knife, some beer batter, skewers and find a nearby bridge to give you some cover to put up a barbecue and deep fat fryer, then sit back and have some late night fish and chips. Sorry, you'll have to keep those panties on this time around, after all, grilled is the only head you're going to be getting tonight.
Incubus: Forget the Porsche, let's talk Subaru. A big four wheel drive, ten seater affair that has the back seats removed and a permanent mattress and feather down bed installed. Your panties are now history, lost somewhere in the four feet between your car and his. By the time the A1 tow truck has driven off with your tires, got them fixed and returned them, you're on your fourteenth orgasm-and you don't give a damn about the tires thank you very much. Then you're driven home to a very nice, warm house, with a delicious fireplace, hot chocolate and lots of KY lubrication. This is going to be a very busy night for you and the last thing you need is a bad case of friction burn. Congratulations you've been taken into the custody of your local incubus. When you wake up in the morning don't even dream about getting out of bed. Panties? You'll never need them again.
Djinn: Okay, so this guy, panty soaking delicious though he is, is so weird. I mean he doesn't drive a Porsche, he rides a carpet for frick's sake. Not just any old carpet but one that miraculously keeps him totally dry in spite of half the Pacific falling on top of you both. At least he has the decency to extend the keeping the rain off part when he gets close enough to see what's going on. And, it was very nice of him to snap his fingers and replace all your tires, well damn, the whole car, in a matter of moments. It is a little disconcerting to find he obtained your rather damp panties in a similar matter. Although, of course, you knew he was going to get them sometime anyway, so that's alright. If those little signs don't clue you in, suddenly finding yourself in an exotic Arabian castle, dressed in flowing see-through silk, sans underwear, and being attended to by a bevy of pretty and very helpful young ladies should. You've just taken charge of a local Djinn (although taking charge is a matter of debate here.) Just wake up and get out of bed anytime you fancy, though you'll probably be too exhausted from the non-stop sex to even bother. Oh, and only wear the panties if you ever leave your private chambers, it makes such a mess when the male servants drool all over the carpets.
Agent Double D.3 report ends.