Welcome to E. Mayberry

“When your job is to help people and solve crimes, you’d be surprised how turned on the women involved can get. I’ve fucked thankful wives, prostitute daughters, and horny widows.”

“So you’re a sex addict?”

“I’ve never had to put a label on it but since you put it that way, I think maybe I am.”

“And are you happy with the way your life is going right now?”

“I suppose not,” he said, swirling his glass around, refusing to look me in my eyes.

“Look at me,” I told him.

He lifted his gaze and I kissed his lips hard.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” I told him.

The pain in his eyes told me he didn’t believe me.

“I’ve only been told the opposite.”

“Sounds like you need a new group of friends,” I said.

“Easy for you to say,” he replied. “I’m a cop.”

“Do you like being a cop?”

“Not anymore. I used to.”

“So what did you like about it that you don’t like anymore?”

“I liked helping people, making a difference, keeping people safe. Now it’s nothing but endless arrests in this cesspool of a city.”

“Maybe you need to be a small town sheriff or something like that.”

He smiled.

“A small town sheriff with a sex addiction? Sounds dangerous for the females in town,” he said.

“Depends on the town,” I replied. “And speaking of sex addictions. Let me tell you more about my stay at Erotic Mayberry.”

He nodded and took a sip.

“When Bastian picked me up, I knew I was saying goodbye to my apartment for the last time, along with everything in it. None of that trash from my old life belonged in my new one. Not even my old attitude. I left it there on the kitchen counter next to some rotting fruit. That was, after all, what my old way of thinking was. Rotten fruit. My idea of what life was supposed to be was built on a foundation of lies. Like a circus monkey I’d performed for cameras and performed for everyone else in life when the truth is, I didn’t give a shit about any of it or anyone in that old life.

I only cared about Bastian and my newfound fondness for Erotic Mayberry. This was a community that had accepted me, a neighborhood full of welcoming people with no judgements. Those women at the sex toy party, the night they’d showed me Bastian and Suzanne on TV, they had no ill-will toward me. I didn’t realize it at first but then I understood they had no intention of hurting me. Watching their owners and pets fuck other people was what they did to get off, to get horny, and they’d only wanted me to participate. They’d been in Erotic Mayberry so long that it seemed absolutely normal and they didn’t know that I was still learning to cope with all the changes. What I’d misinterpreted as bitchy bullies was nothing more than a group of naïve and innocent women having a good time. They only wanted me to have a good time too. I owned them all an apology.

I returned home with Bastian as a proud early graduate of a 3-day Welcome to Erotic Mayberry class and I was ready to prove it. With my necklace returned to its place around my neck, I was a new person and Bastian couldn’t be happier. Of course, the initial sensitivity I’d experienced when strapped to the doctor’s bed had worn off and I was back to normal, or as normal as one can be while wearing an attitude-adjusting accessory. Bastian and I ate breakfast together outside on the front porch the day after my arrival. I waved at neighbors and even called a couple over to chat. No hypocrisy. Tina was one of those neighbors. When I did my best to quickly explain, she brushed it off and laughed.

Later that day, Bastian brought me a leash and held it up to see what I’d think. It was pink and had diamond-looking jewels all the way around it. A tag hung at its front with “Sunshine” pressed into it.

“What is this?” I asked.

“You don’t have to do it,” he said. “But today is a thing called Playdate in the Park. Pets can play with whatever pet they’d like, or multiple pets, whatever. Owners are there just to watch. We can play with each other if we want but no owner and pet interaction. It’s kind of a free-for-all meant for pets. So I was thinking. It’s a good chance for you to fuck Pasha.”

Unbelievable. He wants me to fuck Pasha.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked. “And what’s with the fucking collar?”

“It’s like a costume. Like if you went to a 1920s party and dressed like a flapper. It’s just for fun.”