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An Amazing Evening
by Michael A. Kechula

“You’re truly amazing!” Cynthia exclaimed.

Fred nodded.

“I suppose you’ll tell all your friends what we did tonight.”

Fred nodded.

“Come to think of it, why should I be the center of raunchy man-talk, when I just gave you every ounce of my love? I can imagine how you’ll make this sound like the conquest of the century. And all the twisted, sleazy words you’ll use to impress your friends. And how this incident will grow until it ends up splashed across the front page of the International Tattler. My career will be ruined. Men will flock to my door waving money. Porno producers will haunt me, asking me to repeat before their cameras everything we did tonight. And we did everything , didn ’t we?

Fred nodded.

“We did things that don’t even have names yet---wouldn’t you say?”

Fred nodded.

“Actually, I kinda liked that thing with the rubber hose, with one end in your nostril, and the other in mine, while we jumped up and down on a Tempurpedic mattress to see if a glass of wine we’d set between us would spill. It was sublime, don’t you think?”

Fred nodded.

“And how we pressed our heels together while singing Three Blind Mice thirty-five times in a row. Left me breathless. Was it as good for you?”

Fred nodded, then said, “I gotta go. How about removing the chains that have me strapped to your refrigerator.”

“Do it yourself. I’m exhausted. That thing we did with the orange juice carton took my last ounce of energy.”

“You made these chains so tight, I can’t move.”

“Are you sure?”

“I can’t even wiggle my fingers.”

“So you’re completely helpless, eh?”

“Never been so helpless.” Then he quickly added, “Why are you looking at me so weird? What are you gonna do with that straight razor?”

“I wanna make damn sure you never tell anyone about this.”

“Don’t do it, Cynthia,” he hollered, as she inched toward him. “I’ll bleed all over your linoleum. You’ll end up in prison. And you won’t be able to do any of the things we did tonight---ever again.”

His words seemed to hit home. She dropped the razor.

“Atta girl. Now loosen the chains.”

“Not until you marry me. I’m no good to anybody else. Not after all the things we did tonight.”

“OK. I’ll do anything you say,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t go bonkers and grab the razor again.

Cynthia called neighbors to help roll the refrigerator, to which Fred was attached, to her pickup truck.

They woke up the nearest Justice of the Peace. Ninety, and partially blind, he thought the white refrigerator, to which Fred was chained, was the bride.

“Beautiful gown you have there, young lady,” said the justice. I know your husband-to-be is hot to go. Can’t say that I blame him. But would you ask him to climb off you long enough so we can perform the ceremony?”