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The Simpsons was pre-empted for some political crap. No good shows or games on, no exciting disaster to watch, nobody getting kicked off an island or having their singing voice nationally insulted. Even the Spanish channels were boring, and they’re almost always good for a wild game show or a steamy soap. Feh! What was I supposed to do now? Read?

Ah, well. Like many another guy whose ladyfriend wasn’t in the mood, I turned to porn. Another benefit of living alone: you can whack off whenever and wherever you felt like it, a perk I took full advantage of as much as the flesh allowed. However, this required different props.

Lotion and a towel, first off. Whichever sin I ultimately committed, it would require lubricant and proper cleanup. If you’ve ever woken up in the morning to find that someone had broken into your house in the dead of the night and dripped airplane glue all over your stomach, you understand perfectly why cleanup is so very important. Doubly so if you used lotion, something that isn’t strictly necessary for successful and entertaining whacking, but the difference between slippery strokes and a dry hand was like filet mignon versus a Big Mac. Fortunately I keep both of these essentials close at hand.

Next was inspiration. This presented a problem. I was too wiped out to go online and surf for anything, and everything I had in the house was well-used and familiar. I really, really didn’t feel like going out to see what my favorite sleazy pornshop had going, and that left old memories or pay-per-view. For a brief second I thought back to the wild and intoxicating jackal sex I’d had with my ex-girlfriend, and even managed to start getting hard before the inevitable memory of her hurling a CD player at my head muscled into my brain.

Pay-per-view it was!

I set the tools of my trade on the coffee table and looked around for the remote. Whoops, there it was, up on the kitchen counter. What asshole left it there? Duh, me, five minutes ago, while I was pondering my options and getting another frosty one. I pushed off the couch, stumbled back into the kitchen and started to grab the remote to begin my wank session. Hey, there’s the camcorder!

I’m the first to admit, I’m a slob. I dress okay and keep myself cleaned up, but my apartment is a total wreck. No one here to please but myself, and as long as I know where everything is I’m okay. I’ve found that after a year or so the laundry and dishes have achieved a sort of balance where clean articles are produced at roughly the same rate as old ones are soiled, and most of the rest exist in a dream-state of various levels of dirtiness. But my electronics are different. They represent my main avenues of escape and as such must be kept in top working order at all times, which is why even in my current level of inebuation… inebreehation… inoob… shitfacedness I immediately grabbed the camcorder bag to get it charged up and put away.

Huh. It was fully charged. Now that was really cool of them, to give it back just like they borrowed it. Best fucking neighbors in the world! I raised my can to them, or at least towards our shared wall, and then went to put the camera away.

There was a tape in it.

Oh, man, that’s too bad. They forgot their tape! Shit. I’d better get it back to them, they might be going crazy trying to find it right now. I got halfway to the door before I remembered that Bert had left for Gina’s sister’s place, and that was an hour away. Oh, well, they can pick it up tomorrow, Maybe I can put it in their mailbox or something. I popped it out and looked at it. No label, and it was rewound. Maybe it was blank? I flipped the little window out and switched it to Play to check it out. No sense giving them back a blank tape, it might even be one of mine I left in there.

Nope, it wasn’t. Right away I saw Bert’s silly grin. He backed away from the screen and I could see a bedroom behind him, he must have been playing around with the camera to see how it worked. Ha! Too bad he didn’t point it at Gina! There’s someone I’d love to see barefoot up to her eyebrows. Hot, hot looking babe there. I hadn’t talked to her as much as I had Bert but every time I did I had to fight to keep my eyes above her neck. The cool thing was that it was always obvious she knew it, and was trying not to smile. I must’ve gotten points for trying. With any luck she’ll be home tomorrow when I hand this back, and she’ll smile at me again.

On the tiny screen, Bert sat on the bed, said something, and waved at the camera. I waved back, and then started to turn it off when Gina walked into view.

She wasn’t naked, but it was a near thing. It looked as if someone had thrown scarves at her from all directions and some of them had stuck. She stopped in front of Bert and a scarf slid off her thigh and fluttered to the ground. Bert took a deep breath. So did I. She was glorious. Thick auburn hair curled in jungle snarls halfway down her back, and there were no visible tan lines on her very visible ass. She put her hands on her hips and started to sway back and forth in a very slow, very rhythmic movement that had Bert’s full attention. There wasn’t a man alive who could tear his eyes away from that sight.

I slammed the screen shut. Holy shit holy shit holy shit!

Five minutes later I was still rocking back and forth on the couch with my arms wrapped around my knees, staring at the camcorder on the coffee table in front of me. I was proud of myself; I had only started to turn it back on about a thousand times. My neighbors, my incredibly attractive neighbors had taped themselves fucking and I had the tape. And they weren’t around. And I had no idea what to do about it.

I couldn’t keep it. Leaving it in the camera was too obvious a mistake, they’d ask me about it sooner or later and I always was a shitty liar. “Say, Lee,” they’d say. “Did we happen to leave one of our tapes in that camera?” And I’d say something brilliant and debonair like, “Why yes, I believe you did. Hang on while I go get it out of the bathroom.” I couldn’t hand it back because then they’d know I watched it or I wouldn’t have known it was theirs. “Here, this must be yours, I dusted it and none of my prints were on it.” What did that leave? Mail it to them anonymously?

You have to understand, I was a nervous wreck. Not only was I half-drunk and in a state of high arousal from just a glimpse of Gina’s scarf-wrapped behind, I was seriously worried that I was witnessing the crashing end of what should have been a pretty good friendship. If this had been two total strangers, or if I hadn’t liked them, no big deal. But even if they didn’t know I had seen this, in my mind it would push our relationship over an edge. All over a stupid mistake. Better if they lost the goddamn tape. Maybe I could destroy it and just act stupid if they ask about it.

Or… wait wait wait wait wait. If they can’t find it at all they’ll be worried sick wondering where it’s going to turn up. How about… how about if I just left it in the camera and stuck the whole thing in a closet somewhere? Then if they ask I could go, I dunno, lemme check, and we’ll find it together! Perfect! Then they’re happy and relieved, I’m happy (and relieved), and the problem is solved.

Except for one thing. I really, really wanted to watch that tape.

I mean, damn. Gina was probably the most incredible woman I had ever seen in real life. Bert wasn’t a dog himself, and if I were being completely honest (which I was, as long as no one could hear me) I wouldn’t mind seeing him naked either, but there was no question which one would have my attention. How could I let this once-in-a-million opportunity pass? My dick had already voted with a big thumbs-up. Maybe I could just watch the strip show part, and then stop before it got too intense. Maybe I could swim to the moon if I could hold my breath long enough.

I suddenly realized I was gripping my cock through my pants, just at the thought of watching the tape.

That did it; there was no way I could ever sleep again if I didn’t deal with it. I jumped over the coffee table and leaped at the video rack by the TV, hunting furiously for the minicassette adapter. Bad enough I was going to violate my friends’ trust, but damned if I was going to do it on a teeny little video screen. I found it under a stack of old vacation tapes and reverently laid Bert and Gina’s sex life into its snug container as I knelt before the TV like a kid watching cartoons on Saturday morning.

Then I panicked, and ran to lock the door and pull my shades down. And lock the cat in the bedroom. And unplug my phone. For the first time in two years I was feeling masturbation anxiety, and it was an odd sensation indeed. The feeling that there were eyes everywhere, that the second you let your guard down and relaxed in the moment, someone would bust the door down and catch you shooting goo all over your belly. It’s a truth that during masturbation the most sensitive part of your body is your ear. No matter how much your mind tells you that you’re deep-dicking Angelina Jolie in the forgotten tomb of an ancient pyramid, your ears know that your mom, wherever she is, can hear you, even if she’s dead. The feeling is exponentially worse relative to the amount of accessories or procedures you regularly enjoy. If someone strolls in while you’re just yanking away it’s not nearly as bad as if they caught you with a bucket of baby oil, a handful of goose feathers and a catcher’s mask on. It looks more premeditated.

In this case it was even worse. What could you say to someone who walked in you while you were pleasuring yourself to their sex life? “Hey, I was just thinking about you!” It lacked something.

I stopped short of taping over the keyhole, then I taped over it and the peephole anyway.

On the couch, got my beer, got the remote, lotion and towel are standing by. I clicked the remote and Bert was grinning at me again. Once more I watched him back away and sit down, again I watched him say something and wave. I didn’t dare turn up the sound for fear of hidden listening devices my priest might’ve planted (masturbation anxiety is a crippling thing) so I contented myself with pulling my pants down and waiting.

Gina came back out, and I thanked the gods I had popped for the 36″ Trinitron. Oh, Jesus. I couldn’t find a flaw on her, and I looked really hard.

This time when she danced I let her keep going. She kept eclipsing Bert as she jerked her hips in little hula movements, but I could tell he was smiling wide enough to hurt. She turned around and bent over a little, which put her exquisite butt in his face and let her breasts swing free and heavy under her scarves. I reached for the lotion. And she smiled at me.

What the fuck?

I paused the tape. She was bent low, hands on her knees, while Bert was gripping her legs and busily doing something between her legs. And she was smiling at me.

Duh! At the camera! She’s smiling at the camera, she doesn’t know I’m alive. Fucking paranoid idiot, drunk idiot. I clicked the Play button and she said something, still smiling, and suddenly it was vitally important to me to know what she said. I stood up and waddled to the set, pants around my ankles, turned it up (fucking remote’s for the VCR, no idea where the TV one is) and hit rewind. She wiggled crazily for a minute and stood up; I hit Play again and watched her bend forward slowly and smile up at me. “You like?” she said.

That didn’t sound like they were making it for themselves. Unless she was talking to some future Bert, and that didn’t sound right. I rewound the tape and started it again, and this time when Bert sat down he said, “You ready? Hope you like it.”

This was too fucking weird. They made a sex tape for somebody. They meant for someone else to see it.

Maybe me?

Maybe they left it in the camera on purpose?

No way. This doesn’t happen, I’m not one of those “I never thought it would happen to me” people, I’m not a student at a small Midwestern college, and I didn’t order pizza or maid service. They must’ve made it for friends. Only I’ve never noticed them socializing with other people. Their parties are usually people from the building or from their jobs, and I didn’t see them mailing it to her sister. Or maybe they did, what the fuck did I know?

Or – the thought wouldn’t go away – maybe they made it for me.

My cock certainly seemed to think so, but I couldn’t bring myself to continue. It still didn’t seem fair to me. What was I supposed to do now? Hand it back, go, “Thanks, nice tits, see ya later”? Whatever you can say about me, and people have said a lot, I believe in balance, fairness. And I was just drunk and horny enough to think of a way to make it seem right, or at least even the potential humiliational playing field.

I showered and shaved. Brushed my hair, put on nice clothes, the works, just like I was going out on a date. I set up the camcorder with a fresh tape and my tripod, pointing at the couch. I even cleaned up a little in that area, shoving papers and cups out of range. Then I hit Record, and sat on the couch. “Thanks,” I said to the camera, loud and clear, and I hit Play on the remote and watched my friends play with each other.

While it played through the opening scenes I unbuttoned my shirt. When it got to where she turned and bent over I let my hands roam over my chest the way I wanted to touch her tits. I was suddenly glad my job kept me in shape. I wasn’t Brad Pitt, but at least I wasn’t packing a spare tire yet. On the TV she cupped her magnificent breasts and held them up for me to see, and I let a hand drift down to rest on the length of my jeans zipper. She caught her nipples between her fingers and rubbed them for me. I spread a bit of lotion over my chest and my own erect nipples. One thing I’ll say for my ex-girlfriend, she helped me discover a lot more fun things you can do besides pump your dick.

Gina stepped away from Bert, who was looking a bit frazzled. His hair was messed up and his pants were definitely full. Gina walked towards the camera, curves combining and swaying, and adjusted it until it was focused tight on Bert’s crotch. While she walked back to him I unbuckled my belt and laid my right hand flat, ready, just underneath my waistband. She knelt on the floor by their bed and, watching something offscreen for guidance, she turned him so the camera caught them in profile. She rubbed her hands back and forth over the tented front of his shorts, and I ran my hands over my own bulging jeans in response.

A quick zip and my cock, impatient and angry, leapt forth even as she yanked Bert’s shorts down to release his own happy flagpole. She seized it in both hands, stroking and rubbing, before giggling at Bert. Then she turned and smiled at me, and, never losing eye contact, she opened her mouth and swallowed him.

I began to stroke in time with her.

Up and down and around and around she went. There are some girls who act too hesitant when they blow a guy. They’re afraid they’ll look weird, or they don’t want to do it in the first place, or they don’t really know how. Gina sucked cock like she lost her wedding ring in there and had to get it out quick. The urge to jackhammer myself and come right away was overpowering, but I restrained myself. I had my pride, and permanently recording my premature ejaculation on tape wasn’t the best way to win friends. Instead I downshifted and just gave myself maintenance strokes to keep things hard. Like it really needed it, my dick was so hard it felt like my entire lower body was erect.

Gina was using her hands on him now while she sucked. That seemed like a really good idea, so while I kept stroking with one hand I moved the other down to my balls. I tugged at the loose skin there and got everything in one hand, mostly, and gently squeezed and moved it around in a circle while I let my right hand slowly stroke from base to tip at the same time. Every time my hand hit the sweet spot under the head, my whole cock jumped and I made a little “ah!” noise that I hoped the camera was picking up.

Bert had had enough. He sat up, momentarily pushing Gina’s head out of the picture, and I was treated to a view of his wet cock bouncing madly as he twisted around on the bed. This was replaced with Gina’s stomach as she sat down, and then her beautiful pussy when she laid back and spread her legs. She had thick and meaty lips, already glistening and starting to gap open, and I hungered to taste them. Bert did it for me, with loud smacking sounds, and Gina made some loud smacking sounds of her own to encourage him. I stopped stroking almost entirely, afraid I’d lose it and wanting desperately to wait until he and I entered her. Also because, while I love few things better in life than to go down on a juicy woman, I usually fast-forward past that part in my porn. Not visual enough, I guess. Doing so here seemed rude however, so I waited it out and imagined being Bert just then.

He kept at it for an admirably long time until she finally came hard enough to bruise his nose, and the sound of that almost caused me to lose it no-hands. She sat up and kissed him deeply. I reached for the lotion and doled out a handful. Keeping one hand firmly on my nuts I brought the lotion-filled one around until it was just above my straining dick, and I waited. On the screen Bert laid down again and Gina straddled him, facing me. She lowered herself slowly until the head of his dick nudged the dripping lips of her pussy; I let my hand drop until my cock pushed against its slippery bottom. At the same instant he slid into her I forced my dick into my fist, and almost immediately I came hard and fast, long ropes launching from me like Silly String. My hips jerked over and over and I grabbed my cock with both hands, fucking them harder and harder until the spasms subsided.

When I could breathe again I was sitting half on and half off the couch, my hands and lower body a gooey mess, and on my television a beautiful girl was bouncing madly on a good-looking guy’s crank.

Okay, so he lasted longer than I did. But in my defense it must be noted that I had been saving up, and I had plenty more tape to fill before I gave the camera back to them.

Boy, I really, really hoped they did mean for me to see this.

The production assistant, who was also the weather spot’s cameraman, sound technician, and line editor, removed her headset and hung it over the camera lens. “You missed the handoff, Bob already made one.” She stuck her hands into her thick blond mop and began shaking out her headset hair.

“Crap. What did he say?”

“Never mind, you can’t hate him any more than you already do. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

Gary stormed over to his desk — which was maybe two baby steps from his “stage” — to check the weather feed from NOAA for the fiftieth time that evening. “I can’t leave until the show is over, Shari, they might call me. Sunny, sunny, sunny, dammit. Maybe Homestead’ll get a tornado or something…”

Shari moved behind him to massage his shoulders. “You known they won’t. This station isn’t big enough for actual news, it won’t fit. One more budget cut and they won’t even have a weather spot, they’ll just have Bob look out the window on camera. God, you are tense-”

“Maybe someone will push him out,” Gary said. “Look at this forecast, they could just rerun tonight’s spot ’til next Thursday! I hate living in Miami!”

She gave up and collapsed into her chair next to his. “Miami’s a great place for a weatherman and you know it. We’ve got rain every spring, torrential rain and heat waves all summer, tornados, flooding, lightning, and, if you’re lucky, a hurricane or two. Tell me honestly, which would you rather do the in-the-field spot for, choppy surf or hip-deep snow? Plus you’ve got me.”

“And where are all the hurricanes?” Gary continued, waving his arms around. “You guys got ‘em every fucking year until I move down here, and now it’s all a-surprisingly-calm-hurricane-season shit. Dave Marsh didn’t get his face on a tracking map because of a surprisingly calm season! I don’t even get to be near the main stage, I’m stuck in this fucking broom closet on the other side of the fucking building with a fucking green wall and a-”

He stopped mid-sentence, with his mouth still open, when Shari calmly pulled her blouse to her neck and held it there. Thick pink nipples bobbled before his eyes on round, tanned breasts. After a moment she pulled it back down and smoothed it over her slacks.

“Better?”

He shook his head once, violently, then sighed. “Yeah. Thanks. Let’s go, at least we can still get a good table.”

Shari powered down all the equipment and grabbed her purse. Never fuck the talent, she told herself for the millionth time. Never fuck the talent…

There was a hot dog skewered on the antenna of Gary’s Accord. “That was quick,” he said. “I’m impressed. Someone must’ve had one in the break room.”

Shari pushed past him to get to the passenger side. “Don’t worry about it. They’re a bunch of fratboy jocks who know which asses to kiss and how to twinkle on cue. Keep doing the incredible work you’re doing and the networks will pick you up by the end of the year.” She got inside and unbuttoned the top two buttons on her blouse while he was still opening his door.

“So you’re saying I don’t twinkle? At last you finally… are you trying to distract me?”

“Of course. How’s it going so far?”

“Not bad. Do one more button.” He smiled at her in the dim light from the dashboard.

“Damn,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “You twinkled.”

The next day Shari got to work a few hours early so she could get some work done before Gary got out of makeup and she had to morph into Chief Fan and Number One Weather Guy Supporter. This was getting old, especially since it was getting tougher and tougher to keep him happy. That was why she spent her extra time doing her other unofficial job; mailing demo tapes of Gary to anybody else with a TV camera.

She hadn’t started dating Gary to ride him to the top, but she knew he could do better than he was doing here at Channel 5. There had to be a way to get him noticed. Management never did, he might as well be invisible before-

Her phone buzzed at her. “Shari Bronson, Instant News at 5,” she said.

“Hi, this is Marcus Rice from Channel Nine. I understand you sent us the tape of Gary Monahan?”

Shari clutched her phone in both hands. “Yes?”

“Well, as it happens our weatherman is being transferred to a different affiliate, and we’re interested in your boy. Is he there?”

“No! I mean, no, not yet. He, uh… he drives around town every day before he comes in, looking at all the… all the weather,” she finished weakly. Stupid! Stupid!

“Sounds like quite a trooper. Ask him to give us a call after the show tonight. We’ll be watching.”

Shari babbled something approximating thanks and hung up. This was perfect! She knew he could do it! She knew he’d be great!

She knew she couldn’t tell him. He’d freeze up, no question. Shari took a deep breath. No problem. We’ll just go back in our little room and shoot the same great weather spot we always do, and then I’ll tell him. No problem.

Todd, one of the newsroom PAs, swung around the doorway and leaned in. “Hey! Bad news, Shari. You want it first?”

“Throw it on up, baby, I’m in too good a mood to float down and hear it.”

“This’ll bring you down all right. I just overheard the big bosses talking to your buddy. Starting Monday they’re cutting the weather spot down to just Friday-Saturday-Sunday, with a screen shot the rest of the week.”

Shari’s heart, full of hope and joy, drained like a leaking balloon. “Oh, you’re shitting me.” She thought furiously. Tonight was all or nothing, and now he was guaranteed to be at his worst. Maybe she could work the camera topless, or masturbate during his bit or something, keep him occupied. All he needed was three minutes of show-stopping brilliance and he’d never be invisible aga… Shari’s mind suddenly went crystal clear.

Todd was still describing the horror. “Serious, you could hear Gary yelling right through the phone. Hey, where you going?”

Shari all but shoved him out of the way and ran down the corridor, picking up speed as she went. “Cover for me!” she yelled back.

A room that’s only five feet square is a terrible place to pace, Gary thought, with the boiling heat of a person who’s been pissed off for over an hour and keeps finding more things to get enraged at. The show had started already, Shari was nowhere to be found, and the goddamn station was cutting him off at the knees. Weekend weather? Now he was doing fucking weekend weather?

I oughtta go out in style, he thought bitterly. Flip the viewers off, or tell them to go fuck themselves. You want weather? There’s gonna be a mile-high tidal wave, assholes, and you’re all gonna be crushed under the falling condos! Run! Run! Motherfucking sons of bitches…

Shari charged in and closed the door behind her, panting like a marathon runner. She was wearing a long raincoat and had her hair in a tight bun. Gary scowled at her. “What?” she asked.

“You don’t trust me either? Or were you in Homestead all day?”

“This? Oh, don’t worry about it.” She stepped around the camera and hugged him. “How you holding up?”

“Me? I’m fucking great!” Shari winced and went to check on the camera while Gary kept on yelling. “I renegotiated my contract, now I get four fucking days off a week! Ain’t that great?”

The camera set, Shari reached into her purse for her new makeup, which she started applying in handfuls. “Honey, you need to calm down, you’re on in five. You really need to do a good show tonight, it’s important.”

“Calm? Calm? How in the tenth secret circle of hell can I calm down? I’m ruined! Oh, forget it,” he said, as Shari unbuckled her raincoat. “A quick tittie shot ain’t gonna work tonight.”

She let the coat drop to the floor. Underneath she was wearing only a hooded green leotard that covered her entire body and clung to her lush curves. She turned around to display a matching green face and neck. “Gary?”

“What? What the hell are you-”

“Shut up.” She walked over to him and licked his bottom lip, reveling in the feel of his large hands as they automatically dropped to cup her ass. She wiggled it, once, to make him smile. “Come on weatherman,” she cooed, sinking slowly to her knees in front of him and yanking open his pants. “Give it to me straight.”

His penis was still soft, unaware of what was going on, but a few quick kitten licks on the underside woke it up and made it fit for company. She slathered her tongue up and down it while she had the luxury, getting it good and slippery for its big debut.

“Oh, God, that feels… what are you doing? You’ll get us both… unh! Fired! Shari! Jesus!”

Without stopping what she was doing Shari let go with one hand to point to the monitor over on the side, which showed Gary standing alone with a slightly blurry area below his belt. Thank god, Shari thought. She’d had to guess on the color that the camera’s chromakey filter would ignore and the Danskin place hadn’t had a lot of green to choose from. Now if she happened to pop into view, all anyone would see would be a chunk of weather map instead of her bobbing head.

She glanced back to the sweep hand on the wall clock, rubbing Gary’s rigid cock against her bright green cheek as she did so. She smiled up at him, knowing it would drive him crazy. “You’re on in five, Gary. Four, three… And she swallowed his dick whole, on cue.

CUT TO: Bob Tarkel, smirking into the camera.

BOB: And that’s why regular testicle examination is so important. And on that note, let’s turn to our head wienerman… I’m sorry, ha, ha, weatherman, Gary Monahan. Gary, what’s going on tonight?”

CUT TO: Gary, looking almost dangerously alert and curiously immobile.

GARY: What? We’ve, ah, we’ve just got weather all over the place, Bob! It was a NGH! A GLOrious day today, and it’ll be just as nice toMORrow! HIGHS as, um, as high as 89, with lows in the middle sexties. Sixties!

Although this was purely for Gary’s benefit and it wasn’t really her thing anyway, Shari found herself getting turned on. She’d never blown a guy in front of a few hundred thousand people before, and she suddenly found herself experiencing some serious ocean-level flooding herself. She kept an eye on the monitor to make sure nothing popped up and frightened the audience, and then she lost herself in the moment and worked both hands into his open pants to work his shaft and balls.

The studio was forgotten. The network was forgotten. All she wanted now was to make her lover come in front of a live camera, and she knew just what he liked…

BOB: Thank you, Gary, that was-

GARY: But if I can take… ah… take a moment, I’d like to ask everyone watching to get out tomorrow and REally enjoy the sunshine. Take your loved ones to a PARK or to the beach, show them how mu-uh-uch you CARE…

Faster and faster, deeper and deeper, Shari sucked and sucked and suddenly stopped dead, with only his head in her mouth, while her tongue swirled feverishly around the underside and both her hands blurred up and down his shaft, over and over. If she pulled away right now, she thought deliriously, would they see his come? Would it arc up in front of the camera, spurt all over the lens? If he shot thick streams over her invisible face, what would it look like to someone watching at home?

She let one hand slip down between her legs as she felt his balls tighten up…

BOB: I’m sure they will, Gary, but-

GARY: …because tomorrow’s weather will be GREAT! IN… INCREDIBLE! GOD! Just unbelievable weather tomorrow, BOB! It’ll be… whew…

CUT TO: Bob, looking a bit confused. He looked at his co-anchor, who shrugged.

BOB: Thank you Gary, for a very… impassioned… report. And now on to sports. Skip?

The red light blinked out and Shari leaned back with a very smug expression on her face. “That was a hell of a performance,” she said.

Gary knelt down to kiss her smeared green lips. “I was just going to say the same thing. Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”

“Channel 9 called,” Shari told him excitedly. “They were watching tonight, they need a weatherman! I was afraid to tell you, but you did an incredible spot and they’re sure to hire you!” She jumped up and hugged him. “Oh, you’re gonna be big time! You’ll be on the newsroom stage and on billboards and-”

Gary pulled her close and laid a finger on her lips. “And I owe it all to you. I do have a demand, though.”

“Oh, I don’t know if you can-”

“I want my own studio, just like this one. With you as my only camera operator.” He reached down to run a finger through the sopping wet crease between her legs, and he held her up with his other hand as her knees buckled. “And I want a rip in your leotard, right about here.”

“Oooh, God, Gary, that feels-”

“Come here, lady,” he said in a husky voice. “I have a wiener for you.”

CUT TO: The monitor, where we see GARY starting to do amazing things to absolutely nothing. Credits roll.

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