The Naked Truth

Janine was just finishing her accounting for the week when the phone rang. It was Theresa, Peter’s date. He had just gone back downstairs to wash his last load of clothes. Janine put Theresa on hold and went to get him.

In the basement, Peter was just putting his last load into the washer. Poor Janine. She didn’t know that Peter put the sweats and briefs he’d had on in with the last load he washed and had not yet changed into his clean suit (or even his underwear for that matter).

“Oh for crying out loud! What the hell are you doing?!?”

“AH!!!! Janine!”

“Where are your clothes, Peter? Oh never mind! I don’t wanna know! Telephone! Theresa! Move your ass, uh . . . I mean . . . oh skip it!” she exclaimed huffily, before storming back upstairs. This was just too much.

As was Peter.

No wonder he had to beat them off with a stick. The man was hung like a horse. She’d always wondered how a man who was so shallow when it came to women could keep them for so long. Most of the gold diggers he dated should hanownnown he wasn’t rich, just famous by around the fourth or fifth date, and the decent girls should have been tired of his callous comments even sooner. Yet, not counting the girls who stopped seeing Peter because ghosts followed them on their dates, his shortest relationship was five dates. For a borderline womanizer like Dr. Peter Venkman, that was almost inconceivable . . . until now!

Having a package like Ron Jeremy without looking like Ron Jeremy certainly could do wonders for a man’s sex life.

Janine’s senses were now on sexual overload, and it didn’t help that Peter didn’t try to cover himself from her and had “stood at attention” at the mere mention of Theresa’s name.

A fully dressed Peter sauntered up the stairs a minute later, winked seductively at her, andt tot to his office to take the call.

Janine frowned darkly. ‘Damn handsome, well built, well hung, Ghostbuster bastards!’

“I wanna go home,” she moaned pitifully.