So, yes – it was a little weird being in the same room with a bunch of guys, standing around in a lazy circle (about two or three players deep), stroking off in roughly concentric circles like so many rows of shark teeth. Not gay, or anything, though. Weird, right? ‘Cause you’d kinda have to imagine it would be, but it wasn’t. At all. I don’t know about creative, but as far as I could tell, the Three Stooges thing went over pretty big-time. Right when I did the Curly laugh and tucked Larry in between my butt cheeks, I got a few pats on the back from a couple of the guys standing nearby. I could swear the hollering that sounded like wild Amazonian birds emanating from the shadows on the other side of the room – those were for me, too, I think. Seriously! Then I guess I went too far, or else I just misunderstood the part about no butthole play, ‘cause I had originally thought that they meant just don’t play with anyone else’s butthole. I didn’t realize they actually meant don’t play with any butthole in the entire room, including your own butthole. When I turned around, Honey, and bent over with my ass facing the middle of the circle, thinking I was gearing up to a grander finale after I had my first release, I must have gotten a little carried away. I don’t know what kind of weird confidence swept over me, but it was like getting hit in the face by a chilly Chicago wind or something, because it was powerful. For no reason at all, I stuck my thumb up my butt to further highlight the “Oops I just sat in hairy gum” visual. I hadn’t even practiced that part at the house, so I probably should have been more nervous about it anyway. But there I was, Sweetheart – bein’ all spontaneous, just like you always wished for me to be! I really did it, too! The next thing I know, I am being rather hastily (and somewhat awkwardly) rushed out through the two rows of guys behind me and toward the dressing rooms. I remembered the gentleman escorting me out was the self-proclaimed Master of Ceremonies who had announced, “Let the jack-offery begin!” around half past eight, just after they shut and locked the front doors. He had really hairy hands and his thumbs were cranked into my torso as he pulled me out of the group. He was so rough! I had bruises like from a seatbelt when you get in a car wreck. Back in the entry room of the club, I was rudely handed my clothes when the Master, addressing me in short, angry lines, asked me please go ahead and take at least a few weeks off before I made another appearance at the Jacks. He said he was intrigued, even impressed with my routine, but in the end, he had to make sure to look out for the more shy members of the club. Apparently, in his wisdom and experience with the Jacks, he figured that my high level of showmanship might actually be off-putting to some of the membership, and figured they’d be able to forgive and forget after a little while, just give them a chance by taking some time off. That was embarrassing, but also kinda nice to finally be singled out for something. Weird, right? I’m sure you can see through all that, and find some way to be proud of me for putting myself out there so much.
     More to the point, I had overheard some guys talking about something called “back ache” or “bake-off” or something like that, and I asked them about it during the pre-festivities in the locker room, and they said they would give me a number a little bit later. When I got home that night, I realized that when I bent over to do the trick with Larry from the Three Stooges, one of those guys must have been standing next to me (it was kind of dark, like I told you before). He had surreptitiously tucked a business card into the boots I was wearing with the phone number that he had mentioned earlier. Most of the guys at Jacks left their shoes on too, or at the very least their socks, so no – I didn’t feel weird about that at the time at all. And thank God, anyway, because I don’t know where he would have put the business card had I taken my shoes and socks off in the first place! I guess sometimes it really pays off to be such a practical thinker. Right, Honey?
     The card said “Bukkake Focus Group” in a very straightforward all caps font, and only had a phone number with an area code for somewhere in the middle of Los Angeles. I took the card home, and the next day at work started doing a little research on the Internet in between fillings and cleanings. It was easy to see why I had thought they were talking about a “back ache,” or whatever it was I thought I heard them saying. When I tried typing “bukkake” into the search engine, “back ache” was what it thought I was asking for, and all the search turned up was a bunch of local chiropractors and back pain specialists. Eventually I refined my search enough to figure out what was going on with the Focus Group whose card announced them so professionally. The recent cultural phenomenon that I discovered through this research needs a bit of explaining. Hey – if I didn’t know what it was, then there’s no way in heck that you would! And what good would this letter do for either of us if I didn’t make my new situation clear to both of us?