Kelly had an insatiable libido.
Rory pounded on Kelly’s door. He yelled and screamed, but no answer forth came.
Kelly danced inside the house in a flimsy fuchsia skirt. It fluttered like the wings of a butterfly as Kelly twirled.
Rory was at a cross roads. His gypsy sisters lamp had reached its tipping point. Was Rory going to stop, stopping by Kelly’s house whenever he felt the urge to crawl out on a spindly thin limb or was he going to cry uncle and extinguish the kindling fire in his heart?