That ceremony took forever. The priest was almost as old as this guy and I think he may have had a stroke during the ring exchange. And what was that smell? It was like menthol cigarettes and baby powder. Is that the smell of death? God, I hope I never get old.
Alright, just gotta man up here. This is it. The last speed bump on my road to easy street. If I go through with this, I’m set. I’ll be rich. And how bad could it be? I packed two bottles of Scope, a toothbrush, bleach and some Magic Erasers. It’ll be fine. I’ve done worse things, probably.
Oh God, look at him. His skin is almost transparent. It’s like he’s a paper mache troll. Just a gross old hobgoblin or something Jim Henson might make. Maybe if I wait for him to try to get undressed on his own he’ll fall and break a hip or something. Or get tired and just doze off. He sleeps all the time. He fell asleep in the car on the way here. With his hand on my thigh. His fingers are like bird talons. Do penises wrinkle? Or get callused? I bet it’s like a gnarled old potato. God, I don’t want to do this.
No, stop that. I’m not a baby. This man is worth $87.5 million dollars and now so am I. We just consummate and I’m rich. How long could he go for? He gets winded in the bathroom. I wonder if I slip a ham sandwich under the sheets if he’d just hump that for a few minutes and not know the difference.
Maybe Matlock is on. Or Diagnosis Murder. 60 Minutes. Christ, what channel is CBS on? This is a fancy hotel, I bet if I called room service they could send up some warm milk with brandy in it and a prune Danish. That’d knock him out for a while. I could tell him we did it and he was great. If I replace his night time pills with a Tic Tac he’ll probably black out and end up taking a train to Boise again.
This looked so easy when Anna Nicole did it. Maybe it was because her guy was richer. I wish I could have bagged a billionaire. I want to have my own island. If I have my own island, I think I can tax the people who live there and name a species of monkey after myself. That’s all I’ve ever wanted in my life.
He’s looking at me. I think he is anyway, his eyelids are kind of droopy. It’s go time. You can do this. You can do this! You’re a f*ckin’ beast! Yeah!
Get naked. That’s the key. He’ll keel over once he sees boobies, he’s a million. He probably hasn’t seen a pair of tits since back when people wore animal pelts and clubbed each other for kicks. Ha! I am brilliant. Let me just slip this dress off and… oh, f*ck me. What’s he doing? Is that…? Oh God, don’t puke. Don’t scream and don’t puke. It’s Viagra. He’s got Viagra.
I just need to focus. Focus is the key. I can be zen. I took a week of yoga. I can go to a happy place and be at peace with the universe. Wow, his body temperature is the same as the room. And, wait, what is that? What, ow. Is he eating a butterscotch candy? This is like being steamrolled by an old peach with a pencil jammed in it.
He’s twitching. Is that good? I should have read up on this, I don’t know how the decrepit have sex. Is he done? He stopped moving. Am I done? Did I win? Oh please say I won. I…hmmm. He’s really not moving. If I’m humping a dead man I will be so unhappy. Let me just…yeah, no. Dead. He died. That’s…wait. Oh, I did win. Yay me!