South of the Border

"You'll never find it," the old man said. "Many a great man has sought out the g-spot, and returned with his head hanging in failure. You won't be any different. You'll see."

I had been searching for the g-spot all over South America for the last two months, and the search had finally lead me here: a small town in Paraguay where it was rumored that I could get more information that would hopefully lead me to the elusive hot spot.

It started back in June when I heard it mentioned in a conversation between two bar patrons in my hometown in Alabama.

"My wife said I couldn't find the g-spot if I had a compass and a map," one guy said. "But it would save our relationship if I could."

"What the hell's the g-spot?" the other asked.

"Search me. Another round, bartender."

It started the search, but little information had been revealed since that day. All I knew at this point was that it was south of the Border, and it took forty bucks and some awkward fumbling with a hooker named Moondust to find that out.

"Where's the g-spot?" I demanded, throwing her down on the bed. "Where is it?"

"Figure it out, smart guy," she hissed.

I tweaked her nipple. "Try again," she suggested.

"There's plenty more where that came from if you don't start talking."

I bit her tummy. "You might need to try going down a little further if you're looking for the g-spot."

I didn't understand. The road we were on dead-ended at the hourly-rate motel on whose bed we were currently laying. Suddenly, she took a big fistful of my hair and began grinding my face into her crotch.

"Mwwwhrre ss vuh eeeggh splttt?" I asked. "Mwwwwhrre sss vuh eeeghh splt?"

"Getting warmer," she said. That was it; I had had enough of the run-around. If she didn't start talking, then she'd get to know how persuasive I could really be. I freed myself from her grasp and handcuffed her wrists to the bedposts. Then I walked over to my briefcase and pulled out the enormous fake phallus I used as part of my disguise as an enormous fake phallus salesman, and held it up close to her face.

"Ya see this you filthy wench? If you don't show me where the g-spot is, you're gonna get a taste of it!"

"That's a good start," she said.

"That's it," I said, and I went to work.

I don't like to torture people, but it's all part of being an adventurer who's seeking out one of the most hidden locations that man is aware of. The treatment seemed to work.

"I think you're getting a good idea about the g-spoaaaauuuuggghhh," Moondust moaned. Soon she was thrashing and flailing about, and she managed to deter me slightly when she kicked me in the jaw with her heel-clad foot. I knew I was about to get some information. Soon the screaming subsided and she lay limp, begging me to stop.

"Tell me what I want to know," I said.

"Put the money on the counter before you leave," she said.

Disgusted and finally convinced she had nothing to say, I did as she asked and began to leave.

"Zane," she whispered, "if you want to find the g-spot, just go south of the Border with that little tool and you'll go far."

The search continues.