home authors guest shorts graphical shorts
"What a vainglorious morning!" exclaimed the imposing figure behind the desk at Dr. Bronzz, the local tanning salon I had avoided for months until I finally decided to heed the advice of my coworker, Rip Simmons, who looked freakin' great in the dead of winter.
I wasn't so sure I could trust Dr. Bronzz. He was an aged, leathery man of Caucasian, Indian, or Mexican descent. A glittering cross about four inches tall, dangling from a silver rope chain, rested upon a gray turtleneck sweater that looked really itchy.
"Come this way, young man. I can see you're interested in becoming...dark." This last word he whispered. I couldn't imagine why he felt the need to be secretive like this, unless he feared I had something to be ashamed of.
But this wasn't an adult video store. Every customer was probably proud to patronize Dr. Bronzz.
"I'm Dr. Bronzz!" he bellowed. His dramatic volume changes were starting to make me a bit jumpy. "Come. Enter room 8 with me. This is the room for you."
Dr. Bronzz failed to knock upon opening the door, but the two people inside didn't seem annoyed or startled by our abrupt entrance.
"Some of our favorite customers!" An orange-colored man and woman offered reluctant smiles. Before they had finished dressing, the pair scurried out of the room. "I love those kids."
I was starting to feel more than a little uneasy when Dr. Bronzz began to remove his pants. "You wanna get a full tan, I'd say. There's no sense in having what we call tan lines." And before I could respond, Bronzz lay supine on the bed, naked from the waist down, but still with sweater and cross. An egg timer covered his genital region.
"You just turn it to 15 minutes, like so."
Part of me wanted to leave, but I had become entranced. This sales technique was working like a charm. I'd be dark as hell in no time.
Date Written: March 29, 2005
Average Vote: 4.125