Romance Novel - A collective effort

Ronaldo quickly put on his jeans and raced out of the bedroom to meet Christina, his superior in the strike force, as she had directed. Time was of the essence, she had said, and he knew her well enough to know that a steamy tryst , no matter how tempting, would not be an acceptable excuse for delay.

Left suddenly by themselves, M-Glo and Rafe looked at each other, wondering what to do next. It had been so long since they'd made love without a third party, they'd both forgotten where to start. As Miriam Gloria shifted toward the opposite side of the bed, her voluminous right breast knocked Rafe sideways, and he landed on the floor.

Clearly, this wasn't going to be easy, he thought. Perhaps a shot of bourbon would give him courage. Rafe reached for the bottle on the nightstand and took a large swallow. The liquid burned his throat, but not in the old familiar way. M-Glo shrieked. "You just drank my new warming KY lubricant, you fool!"

Rafe gagged.

Meanwhile, Bristola Brush sharpened her claws, I mean her nails, being sure to maintain the cohesion of the embedded text message end code...

Hmm, my neural net is itchy, Christina mused. Must be that pesky conscience chip they keep trying to implant. Visions of Jiminy Cricket jumped into her head -- the company was sophisticated enough to be able to design and interface a conscience chip into her well-manicured lucite skull, but naive enough to evoke Disneyfied imagery to represent it. There's something very meta about all of this, Christina thought, as Ronaldo leaped into the Porsche.

Unfortunately, he landed on the stick shift.

Ronaldo screeched and then channelled his anguish to controlled moans.

Michael, meanwhile, was in the garden all this time, watching the house, wondering if anyone would notice the missing window. He hoped to approach the house again after the key parties would leave, if they ever would get off their asses and let him check out the premises. He was on a mission. He dealt with the anxiety by snipping twigs.

Christina was very well adept at walking, chewing gum, and formulating highly advanced theoretical physics at the same time.

With Ronaldo in the passenger seat, Christina grabbed hold of his left ear and kissed him so deeply on the mouth he knew what was on the bottom of the Mariana trench at that moment!

Ronaldo, always the worry wart, deep in the kiss started to panic as Christina was driving through the evening traffic at a blistering 112 MPH. She knew how to kiss and live to tell about it. This kissing and driving at the same time was kindergarten play to her.

As she came up for a brief bit of air, she noticed Ronaldo's anal predicament.

"You realize that's the third stick shift I'm going to have to replace after you landed on it the other two times! What?! Are you and the stick shift secret butt buddies?"

She loved teasing Ronaldo as she then dived into him for a second round of deep diving kisses. She was unperturbed by the fact that Constable DJ was out and out chasing her in his decked out Corvette PC car for the past 10 miles, siren and lights blaring and blazing.

Still, Christina thought, 'If I am to be ready for my assignment against Bristol, I need to continue my kissing training on poor dear Ronaldo.

"KY jelly! You've never needed that before." expostulated Rafe. "Unless you want to try Ronaldo's stick shift manoeuver." he added suggestively, moving uncomfortably as his jeans tightened. Miriam shot him a dirty yet limpid look and said, "I've already been stick-shifted once today, thank you." and she glided out of bed and stretched, naked, in front of the window. Down in the garden, Michael happened to look up and suddenly forgot all about the missing window and the plants he was snipping. OMG! He wanted her and he wanted her now. Throwing down his snippers, he headed for the front door.

In his short but promiscuous life, Michael had the enviable history of having made love to an elephant handler, a Chinese speed skater, an Islamic noodle chef, three dwarf accountants from Chattanooga and a constipated pole vaulter, but he had never...never...seen a lop-breasted, languid Southern belle. And he wanted her. Bad.

He also liked nutella quite a lot.

which he ascertained when he entered the pantry, stealthily.

mm, I edited.

Nutella tastes far better than KY, Michael thought. He knew -- it was because of those Chattanooga guys. He shuddered. It was not the happiest of memories, but at least they had paid him in Kroner.

But when he opened the jar of Nutella, Michael saw with dismay that it was the super-chunky version. Damn! That wasn't going to work. Quickly, and admittedly rather desperately, he search around the pantry for something more appropriate. Ah! His hand grabbed the giant jar of Hellman's Low Fat Mayonnaise, and he beat a hasty retreat from the pantry. Outside, in the foyer, he...

...saw a small ferret lying on the carpet.

Damn, I thought we'd had the exterminator in! he thought.

But then, with longing, he remembered the occasion he had lost his virginity. It involved Nutella, a ferret, and the Vienna Boys' Choir. Or perhaps Vienna sausages. The memory of that night was hazy, but it always is after you've had 16 roofies.

With his back to the wall, Michael began to massage his throbbing manhood in frenzied anticipation of plunging it into the moist, quivering depths of Mrs. Lake's nutella-slathered lady bits* upstairs. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he picked up his pace, moving to the beat of the song playing on the radio.

Just then, Mr. Lake began to descend the stairway in a furor. "What the hell! Where is that damn gardener anyway? And who switched radio stations?" he yelled, slamming a coral-manicured fist down on the stair railing. Rafe hated disco music.

Around the corner, Michael looked down sadly at his now-shrinking manhood, hating this unexpected rival for Miriam Gloria's passion all the more for making him lose a perfectly good erection. If only he hadn't dropped those garden shears just outside the back door, he thought. But fortunately, he always carried the pocket knife he'd owned since his Boy Scout days. Always prepared, as they say.


*thanks, dlowan

Michael quickly forgot his jealousy. He picked up the ferret and stared at it lovingly.

"Hey! You found my toupee!" the grateful Rafe exclaimed when he saw Michael.

When Rafe left the room, toupee/ferret in hand, from the shadow of the lesser known Michaelangelo statue of Nemesis came the siren's call out of the labyrinth of Michael's memory.

"Always paying homage to your pocket bishop Michael? Will you ever grow up?"

How could it be? Raina Rasputin was skulking around the shadows of the Lake Manor. Was she spying on Michael? Did Mr. Lake know Raina was there? How did she fit into this love hexagon?

She stepped out of the shadow of the marbled Greek god and she stared at Michael's flaccid scepter.

Raina was dressed in her usual...

red silk panties and nothing else. "Whatcha doing with that jar of Hellman's Low Fat Mayo?" she crooned. I mean, croaked, for all of sudden she was grasping her throat. "I can't breathe! I can't breathe!" Thinking quickly (no languid Mr., he), Michael opened the jar of Hellman's Low Fat Mayo and scooped up about 1/3 of a cup, raced over to Raina and shoved it into her mouth. Her eyes turned green (it was past its best before date) but as she swallowed, she began to breathe. The sight of her swallowing that glob of Hellman's Low Fat Mayo made Michael's bishop/sceptre rise to ascendancy, hard and throbbing, pulsing with life. Unfortunately...

...Raina sprayed some of the Mayo all over Michael's face when her breathing returned.

Effectively quenching his desire and reminding him of why he couldn't stand her in the first place. Coming to his wits, Michael brushed past her and accidentally on purpose knocked her really hard in the elbow with his muscly shoulder, causing it to hit her mouth and shatter two teeth, he raced up the stairs to his vision of loveliness. But when he got to the landing...