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Cleopatra Vibrator

Alone yet again on Christmas Eve, Scroogette fell asleep in her rustic mansion—a home as empty as her bank of fond intimate memories—immediately after her dinner.

Minutes into her slumber; however, wind-propelled sand peppered her face, rousing her to consciousness.

“Meet Cleopatra, inventor of the world’s first classic vibrator,” said a tall woman still unbeknownst to Scroogette as the Ghost of Christmas Past. Stepping aside she revealed a massive desert palace, presided over by a woman as mighty and beautiful as the jewels adorning her body, surrounded by hundreds of men and women draped in plain, white cloths.

Rising from her courtyard throne, Cleopatra nodded, prompting two identical looking, bald-headed men to step closer. The man on the right wielded a hollowed gourd with a clay funnel in its spout; the one on the left, a glass jar appearing to vibrate ever so slightly. Prompted by another nod from their queen, the man on the right opened his now audibly buzzing jar and quickly flipped it upside-down atop the funnel.

Sealing the gourd with a cork, the man nervously walked up the steps and presented the bee-filled gourd, now tickling his hand, to his queen. With a wide smirk, Cleopatra confidently turned and returned to her palace.

“The bee-powered vibrator is one of Cleopatra’s least-known contributions to the world,” said the mysterious woman.

Scroogette wrinkled her brow. “But Cleopatra is one of the most famous women in history? You mean sex toys are as old…”

“Older actually,” the woman interrupted. “The first sex toy dates back to the Stone Age. But let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.”

“So why am I here? And who are you?”

“I’m here to show you that if you don’t lose this closed-minded attitude toward sex you’ve been clinging to, you’re destined for a life of sexual frustration. But fear not, I didn’t come all the way out here to get a tan. We have a lot to see before the break of dawn. Here, take my hand.”

Scroogette’s curiosity overpowered skepticism, and she obliged, feeling her palm in the hand of another’s for the first time in as long as she could remember—a hand of a ghost, maybe, but a hand nonetheless.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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