If you’ve forgotten what happened in the two prior Low Jones episodes (since it takes me forever to write them) you can reread them here and refresh your memory. Here is a sneak preview to number III.

(This may or may not show up in the final draft, but it’ll at least be the same idea)

As he walked towards her porch, he didn’t notice that he wasn’t fully dressed for the occasion. He had a tuxedo jacket on, but he wasn’t wearing any pants. And the cumber bun was strapped over the jacket, rather than underneath. He was wearing his heart patterned boxers and his tube socks with the yellow stripes were pulled all the way up to his knees. Not usually the best way he’d meet his match made in heaven. But for some reason, this didn’t even phase Yeoman. Probably because he was about to make out with the girl of his dreams. He was about to make out with Jenna.

He rang the doorbell and anticipated her opening up the door to accept the rose that was ever so tightly held between his upper and bottom lip. He held is so tightly, yet so delicately. And when she would open the door, he would take the rose from his mouth, get one one knee and hand it to her gently. He heard someone creep up to the door and start to turn the knob. This was it. What he yearned for. The plot of his fantasies. The highlight of his night. She opened the door and she looked immaculate. She had on a light lip gloss, with only a modicum of make-up. He got on one knee and handed her the rose. As he stood back up, he made his move. He brought his head toward hers. Tongues were a waggin’ and lips were about to touch. As Yeoman crept ever so closely toward Jenna’s mouth with his, he felt a huge void ready to be lifted. His mouth was two inches away from hers. His tongue tried to creep out of his mouth early, like a false start, but he was able to pull it back in and puckered his lips like only he ever could. Her lips were like two melons sitting on her face. They were ripe and juicy. He went for it. As his lips devoured hers, he noticed a small, black, hairy mole where he’d never seen a mole before. But then again, he was never, ever this close to Jenna’s face. He was fulfilling his dream, but at the same time, watching this black blemish bounce up and down in front of his eyes. He was taken aback and although it killed him to do so, he pulled away. As he pulled away, his kitten, his dream girl, his reason for living on God’s green earth didn’t look quite the same. Her blond hair was now cropped short and wasn’t blond anymore. Her beautiful smile was corrupted with yellowish teeth and peach fuzz on her lips. Yeoman screeched in horror. Why was he kissing Enrique Iglesias?

He yelled again, “Ahhhhhhh………………………..!”

He awoke in a cold sweat as he jumped up into sitting position from his night of deep sleep. That damn Enrique Iglesias dream again. It was the kind of dream that just pissed you off. You were excited, doing something you wanted to be doing. And then bam, Enrique Iglesias shows up. Usually Yeoman was dreaming of eating a cheeseburger, or watching the Ricker put someone in his finishing move, the Urinal before Enrique showed up. But this time, Yeoman was about to make out with the girl that he has been saving his saliva for all his life. And rather than Jenna being on the receiving end of his best pillow kiss brought to life, it was damn Enrique Iglesias. He hated Enrique for it too.

Just as he was about to go back to sleep, Yeoman snapped back into the night that was. The reason he was dreaming about Jenna was because he finally was within earshot of her. He was Low Jones and he was a sexy beast. He and Jenna finally locked eyes on each other. Jenna looked into his eyes, well Low Jones’ eyes, but since it was still him, possibly his eyes, and she smiled. And as he thought about the night that was, he jumped out of bed and went straight to the mirror. As he turned on the light, he could already tell something was different. The way his fingers felt flipping the switch was different than how he remembered last night. They felt chubby rather than swift and lithe. As he glanced into the mirror, he was disappointed. He wasn’t Low Jones anymore. He was simply Yeoman Highsmith. And he was buck naked.

As he slumped back into bed, he didn’t even wonder why he was bare ass naked. He was just so sad that his transformation was nothing more than a one time thing. Nothing more than a whisper in the wind.

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