It was midnight, and the night was dark, of course. And you know what happens on dark, dark nights, for it is not the evil monsters that rise from their layers and snatch little children and gnash their bones in between their teeth, but it is dark, dark fantasies that rise from beneath a surface that no one can fathom—not even god—or Satan. . .

 

            Little Johnny lay awake in his bed, awaiting the sounds of footsteps ascending the stairs; however, he was not waiting in dire fear, but dire anticipation. Because he knew that when those footsteps were gone, and the hushed voices of his parents were quiet behind the bedroom door (or so he thought), for when they had gone to their beds, he could go downstairs. . .

 

            It all happened when he heard about it at school. Channel 99. The kids at the lunch table, of which Johnny sat at the periphery, were all talking about it. Big Bully Billy was talking about how, after his parents had gone to bed, he was watching “The Channel” (as it came to be called), and how he saw something so amazing, so awe-inspiring, that the other children dropped their sandwiches; their mouths were agape for at least thirty seconds.

            “You guys are not going to believe what I saw . . .” Billy boomed, the rest of the kids awaiting, acting as if Billy was delivering the State of the Union. “I actually saw—get this—a woman’s breast!”

            “Even the nipple?” One pipsqueak kid exclaimed.

            With a smirk on his face and a raise of his eyebrow, Billy nodded.

            Johnny knew what he had to do—to be cool once and for all. To stun even the biggest of bullies with his findings—to announce his coolness and proclaim his name to the fifth grade lunch table. So he would go—that night—and see just what Channel 99 was all about.

 

            The door to his parent’s bedroom had finally shut, and after waiting a few minutes to make sure that they were asleep, little Johnny crept downstairs, tip-toeing in his Jurassic Park pajamas. He heard a loud creak, and immediately lifted his foot, looking around the dark stairway, awaiting the thundering footsteps of his parents, the scolding from his father and the spanking from his mother (which he secretly hoped would happen). But after a few seconds had passed, and no noise had come from the lair of the parents, Johnny gingerly descended the stairs, knowing from then on to avoid the third step.

            The foyer was dark, for the moon was not out. Not even a star lit the sky. Little Johnny could not see a thing, and so he had to grope to find his way to the den, where the vacant TV lay. He groped the couch, the coffee table, and the wall until he found the light switch; however, he had only begun his groping . . .

            Sighing at the magnificent fact of sneaking past his parents, he plopped down on the couch; however, he did not see the cat, and upon impact, the cat screeched and scampered away, irked that its evening nap had been interrupted. Impulses of shock rushed through the boy’s body, and as they left, a feeling of exhilaration flooded through him, for the feeling that he might get caught—and might get a spanking—exhilarated him. He could feel his heart beating, and he stood erect and alert, but was unaware that “Little Johnny” was also standing at attention.

            His hands shaking, Johnny reached for the remote and turned on the TV. The loudness of the midnight game echoed through the empty den, and Johnny immediately reached for the volume control, but out of nervousness, turned the volume up, even when he meant to turn it down. When he finally got control of himself, he got the volume to a reasonable loudness.

            And then he pressed the buttons “9” and “9”, the green numbers glowing boldly in the top right corner of the screen, and then pressed Enter.

            At first, what he saw was just a rainbow of squiggly lines, and he wondered what was so interesting about it. He could not see a thing; however, he could hear the noises. It was a lot of moaning and groaning, similar to what he heard from his parent’s bedroom. After all, Little Johnny was ten, and had been educated about the birds and the bees enough to know that when the woman’s voice on the TV screamed “ram it in there hard!” he knew exactly what it meant. They were doing . . .IT.

            At this point, Little Johnny wondered whether he should turn back or keep watching, but it was too late. He was not only on the everlasting quest to see a woman’s full breast and hard nipple, but the noises captivated him. As their voices rose and fell, his excitement did too.

            As he tried and tried to search for the most private parts of the body and make out the pictures distorted by the lines, suddenly the lines disappeared, and what was left, for just one second, a clear picture. The couple was in a Laundromat. This blond bimbo with the biggest breasts he had ever seen was on all fours on top of one of the dryers, and some thickly muscled guy with no neck was behind her, thrusting his hips in and out. Johnny watched, his mouth completely agape, and he drooled on his nightshirt.

            Immediately, he turned off the TV and ran upstairs, pitter-pattering until he reached the safety of his bed. He was extremely excited, because he had a story that would even stun Billy the Bully. He saw it all—complete and sinful fornication. He would be popular—everyone would love him—maybe he could even get himself some eleven-year-old bitch.

            That, he thought to himself, was the way to get ahead.