"No, no! You can't arrest me! It was all a misunderstanding!"
Despite my impassioned pleas for help, they fell upon deaf ears and kevlar helmets. I was led away by the police; away from my family, my friends, my life.
It had all started by over-hearing a hushed conversation in the basement of the country club.
"Yeah, you can do it all in West Virginia. The pickings, my friend, are ripe indeed".
The conversation then took a course (and me along with it) into details of hedonistic debauchary and the deepest, darkest corners of the libertine. Oh yes, dear reader, though it may be a crime against the law and against God himself, my most sadistic of sexual fantasies seemed, according to my unknowing partners, very much a possibility in that little slice of Heaven known as West Virginia.
The next day, I arranged a meeting with an underground agency who specialized in this type of endeavor, and who would arrange my trip not only into Appalachia, but into unadulterated passion.
When we arrived in West Virginia, our van drove down on of the avenues known for its "willing selection". We picked up a big, gruff one (just as I fantasized) and we drove on.
Finally, my smugglers dropped us off at a shady motel near a coal processing plant. They warned of midnight police raids, but I wasn't listening. As soon as they left, the fun truly began. We ravaged each other for hours, making love like there was no tomorrow. But what seemed like an eternity later, all hell broke loose.
The lights went out as a huge black boot kicked in the door to the room. Four SWAT cops, armed with an expansive array of nightsticks, came charging through the door. As my world went black, the last noise I remember hearing was the sheriff yelling,
"Get him boys! He's having sex with a miner!"
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