An untitiled one where he gets married.
By Sarah Hutchings.
"JOVI! HUNGRY!" Richard yelled, as he picked sleep out of the
corners of his baby blues and scratched dried dribble off his cheeks.
"Hey honey," A voice beside him said. He jumped. A strange
woman lay beside him, a woman who bore an uncanny resemblance
to 'n' of Salt 'n' Pepa.
"This should cover it." She lay a $100 bill on the bedside table
and without so much as a 'how's your father,' she made like a tree
and left.
"Wait!" called Richard, "At least tell me it was special! JOVIIII!"
In stumbled the increasingly lax butler with a tray of cold pizza.
He flicked the pizza at Marxie and collapsed on the floor. Richard
tipped the remains of a bottle of beer in his face and questioned
him on the happenings of the previous night. It transpired that
Richie had thrown a party to celebrate the regrowth of his hair.
Unable to lure anybody to his bed, Richie had come up with the bright
idea of charging for his services. Used to distorting stories for his
boss's benefit, Jovi described Richard beating off customers with a
stick.
This got Richard thinking. Just like in the days of '88 he had
earned money doing what he did best, and it was here that Richie decided
on a career change. He made a vow to be the best darned prostitute
LA had ever seen! He donned his best white jeans, the ones that hugged
his buttocks, adding definition, and a simple brown leather jacket
through which his pecs peeked like two scoops of chocolate ice cream
with cherries on top. He looked so tasty he almost hired himself,
but thought better of it and sauntered out into his front yard.
He stood and stood but his neighbours passed him by, with comments
like "Enjoying the sun, Richard?" He tried hooking his thumbs in his
pockets, turning up his collar and sticking his crotch out suggestively
- but to no avail.
"Aha, I've got it! I'll stand next to the road!"
He walked out of his gorgeous garden, in which stood a proud
hedge sculpture of John Diesel, with a John Thomes to match his
musical ability.
He stood at the curb for an hour.
He did not become bored, however, as he was fascinated
by the aura of raw sex lent to his appearance by the sweat dripping
off his chest and the dark patches on his white jeans. His neighbour
Mrs Benson drove up to him and stopped.
"Want a lift, Richard?" Success! he hopped in.
"Is that a dance the kids are doing nowadays?" she asked, referring
to the large circular pelvic movements Richie had been using to
encourage business.
"Yeah, but it's usually done horizontally," Richard replied wittily.
"So how do you want it baby?" he asked, and unbuttoned his fly.
Apparently Mrs Benson was just being neighbourly and not in need
of a good seeing to. She threw him out on the curb.
"Must be a lesbian," thought Marxie sensibly and burst into tears.
A voice broke through his misery.
"Hey sexy, I'll give you some money in exchange for sex!"
Richard looked up like a child on Christmas morn. His eyes took
in the remarkably similar explosion of hair and the muscular
but vulnerable arms.
"J-J-Jon Bon Jovi!"
"That's right, Richard. Let's make beautiful music together,
and I don't mean beautiful rock 'n' roll ballads, no.
I mean let's have sex."
Richard punched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.
Bon Jovi revived him back at his place by giving him a golden shower.
Sweet nothings were whispered and bishops were buried. The night served
as an inspiration for Jovi's later album 'Slippery When Wet.'
They were married in a small private service at Jon's Dubbo love nest.
It was a ceremony fit for two rock stars. Richie blushed in white
leather, and Jovi was a dream in casual plastic sandals.
The wedding went smoothly until Richard had to put his hands down
his pants to fumble for the ring.
However, a good time was had
by all, and, unbeknownst to Richard, so was Jovi.
"You're the best, man," Richard said to Jovi after the vows were said.
"I thought Sambora was the best man!" Jovi japed. Everybody laughed
except for Richard, who frowned and then laughed loudly after everybody
had stopped.
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