You run your fingers just above the warm bubbling surface, but you don’t dare put your hand in. That pleasure is not meant for you.

“What can you tell us about this one?” the sinful sinful sinful inter-racial couple will ask you.

“This is a fine machine,” you’ll respond. “You’ll have much pleasant unmarried sexual intercourse in this.”

“That sounds great!” They’ll buy two. You’ll make your target for the month.

How you long to plunge into the foamy depths of a Satan tub. That’s what your grandfather called them. He also called them “Satan’s Fuck Bins” once, but that was only once.

How wonderful would it be to lie back after a hard day of working the, let’s say, corn fields. You and your six wives. Well, not all six. Maybe the three hot ones. The frumpy ones can stand by making sandwiches and making sure the drinks are cold.

But you and the three hot ones lying back, enjoying the oscillating jets and massage settings. Maybe Hannah and Myriam will take off their work dresses to get more comfortable. Ruth won’t be as eager at first because she’s shy, but the other two will encourage her, telling her that she has a beautiful body and that she shouldn’t be ashamed. The three of them will probably start making out.

No, NO! You’ll banish those thoughts, just like your grandfather banished you from his, I don’t know, goat ranch. You wanted so badly to be a part of the world you saw on the sides of buses, but you were part of a noble tradition of barn-raisings and beards. So you left the goat ranch with your eight wives (the two other ones died of something Amish) and moved into an apartment just off the strip mall near the highway. You started selling Satan bins, but without ever forgetting your rich Amish heritage of wheat and some kind of sausage I think.

To be honest I don’t know a lot about the Amish way of life and I’m especially fuzzy on the mulitple wife thing. I might be thinking about someone else. But I love the part where the Amish wives started making out.

PS- One of the wives is Asian. Enjoy that.