Congratulations on Having Sex For The First Time In Like Five Years!

When you come to you’ll be tied to a bed with only a pillow covering your unmentionables. Your tuxedo will, thank god, be nowhere to be seen, presumably destroy by some kind, intrepid soul. In fact the room will be largely empty except for the bed you’re tied to, a discrete mini-fridge and a chair with that gorgeous Russian woman sitting in it.

She’ll be wearing a robe, high heeled shoes and a tasteful amount of makeup. Nothing whorish, just enough to cover up pock scars and reduce a pale slash running from her forehead, across her eye and down to her cheek to a sexy affectation rather than a grotesque disfigurement.

“Where are ze documents?” she’ll say in a way that simultaneously scares and arouses you.

“I’m not entirely sure!” you’ll shout back at the top of the lungs, uncomfortably aware of the erection that is now pushing the pillow up and away from your fetid (despite a fresh bathing courtesy of the Russian woman) body.

She’ll let loose another supervillain laugh, like the one she used when she drugged you, and slip out of her robe, revealing her naked body. It’ll be crisscrossed in scars, but toned and firm from a lifetime of combat and various laser avoidance maneuvers during heists, and it’s not like you’re in any position to judge. You haven’t even thought about a gym in years.

“I have vays of making you talk,” she’ll say, biting her lip and look at the pillow’s movement.

“Doesn’t this normally start with you in lingerie?” you’ll ask, still shouting all of your statements, hoping that someone will burst in and stop you from successfully having sex with a woman and (potentially) spilling any national secrets you might have concealed, even from your self, within your skull.

She’ll shake her head, still biting her lip, which will make the pillow shift even more. Her apparent genuine interest will reduce your nervousness, and you’ll ask your next question without shouting.

“And this generally helps you get information from people?” you’ll ask, now staring at her breasts and vagina in amazement.

She’ll nod and fall upon you, tearing the pillow away, her mouth moving ravenously across your body, hands scratching your stretch marked flesh, teeth seeking purchase on the accumulation of decades of heavy drinking and hard living.

Your wrists will chafe as you struggle away from the unfamiliar physical affection she showers upon you, but you’ll be unable to fight her. When she finally takes you inside of her you’ll have been yearning for what feels like an eternity. Her amused grin and rocking hips will be unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, a fantasy of pleasant and desirable sex pornography crammed down your throat and used to shame you each time you arhythmically rammed yourself inside of a barely conscious date.

You’ll hold on for as long as you can as she forces herself upon you, wanting your partner to relish sex for the first time in your life, but as it turns out you can only last for ninety seconds before awkwardly coming inside of her without sound or warning.

She’ll feel it instead of taking any sort of cue from you, immediately ceasing her motions and staring at you, taking you in for the first time. Then she’ll dismount, grab a handful of tissues from a nightstand by the bed and clean herself up. She’ll look back at you, shiver, and head to the shower.

While she’s in there you’ll hear the sound of weeping over the ambient noise of the shower. When she comes out, fresh, clean and without makeup, she’ll look battered and drained, just like every girlfriend you’ve ever had for a week. You’ll realize what has passed and strike her while her guard is down.

“Where are YOUR documents?!” you’ll shout at the top of your lungs.

Biting her lip to hold back the tears, she’ll withdraw a briefcase from beneath the bed and place it between your legs. Then she’ll don the robe, cut your bonds with a knife produced from whereabouts unknown and leave the room with her shoes in hand. She will not look back as your rub your wrists and scratch yourself, relishing the unfamiliar feel of sex on your genitals.

When you arise after a long, fitful sleep curled up next to the briefcase you’ll embark on a long, interminably boring journey to Washington DC, where you’ll walk into the FBI’s headquarters and hand over the briefcase to general confusion and suspicion. After a brief two day period of detainment and interrogation the men will recognize the woman you kind of had sex with as the head of an international terrorist organization bent on world domination.

They’ll congratulate you on giving them the information they need to take down a huge number of terrorist cells worldwide and place you under protective custody, giving you all the cash you need to survive for quite a while and leaving you in Wisconsin with a great story about why no one should ever let you anywhere near their genitals ever again.

Congratulations on Getting Laid for the First Time In Like Five Years!