When I was young and working in a small law firm, I was sort of adopted by one of the lawyers. Her name was Ricki and she absolutely fell in love with my son, Sean, who was only two-years old at the time. Since we were very poor and struggled with things like gas money and food, she would try and help us out whenever we had an emergency and that was weekly.
I recall that I admired here soft cotton nightgown once and the next time I came to visit, she had bought me one too. So not only did she help me with emergencies, she also recognized the importance of having something nice. She was another one of my Fairy God Mothers that I received from the Universe.
Her husband was a veterinarian and she was a lawyer. They had a big house, nice, cars, and two out-of-control children that I would babysit sometimes. I've never been naturally great with children. Mine, yes. Yours? It depends. But she helped me so much that I simply had to.
One afternoon, the little girl Chrissie was bawling and screaming and completely hysterical over the disappearance of her Barbie. I ran all over the McMansion hunting for Barbie. Out of frustration and necessity I employed the assistance of an expert, her big brother, Johnny. "Do you know where Barbie is?" I pleaded. Without making eye contact, he shrugged his shoulders with all the enthusiasm of a DMV employee. "If you help me find her, I'll pay you a QUARTER!" Kids are so easy to exploit.
He got off of the sofa and casually looked under the cushion he had been sitting on, then he walked over to the table and calmly looked at it. Suddenly he broke into a nervous fast paced walk down the hallway but I was hot on his tail because I sensed guilt and fear from him. With his head hung low, he opened the linen closet door and backed away.
I drew my breath as I witnessed a petite sex scene in progress. Upon the middle shelf, splayed out on a pile of fluffy ivory towels, Barbie lay naked on her back with her legs straight out and her little toes forever in the semi-point position. Her triangular tits at full attention were just a little less confident than usual. Despite her painted pink smile, I sensed that she was there against her will.
She was mounted by an action hero on steroids. His clothes were painted on so that he didn't have to suffer the same unimaginable shame that poor Barbie had to endure. He was obviously overcompensating with muscular overgrowth and that douche bag grin on his face. He likely suffered from impotence and tiny testicles from all the steroids he obviously shot up. No, he was not her American hero.
A small flashlight was turned on and balanced high on top of a washcloth stack, thus making the perfect spotlight for the hot action. I couldn't tell what I had stumbled upon: a plastic porno, a rape, or an excruciatingly well-lit and uncomfortable sleepover. I grabbed Barbie before Chrissie could see the damage and gave little Johnny a look of great disappointment and a quarter.