I have a very special friend who, by day, calls himself Ray Beddam. Now, Ray isn’t special in the same sense as the Special Olympics or special education. On the contrary, he’s actually very intelligent and currently working toward a doctorate at an Ivy League school in New Hampshire that shall remain undisclosed for the sake of his privacy.

You see, Ray is special because of his rather unique talent. A talent that can change lives. A talent powerful enough to forever alter the course of human existence. A talent that could end humanity as we know it, if it should ever fall into the wrong hands. Yes, Ray is very special, indeed.

During the fall semester of our sophomore year, Ray and I were roommates. A couple weeks into the semester, Ray started dating this girl Kara. Maybe she was a screamer; maybe she was a squirter; maybe she had chronic morning wood – I don’t know, I’m not one to speculate – but, for whatever reason, Kara never stayed over at our place. This struck me as odd, but she had a nice rack, so I was willing to look past it in order to stare at her tits. After a couple months, Ray confessed to me he wasn’t getting laid as often as he’d like, primarily because Kara preferred a little clitoral tongue bath to a hot, healthy serving of the D. Again, I found this a tad strange, but simply wrote it off as the literal manifestation of “different strokes for different folks”. All in all, as fall semester drew to a close, their quirky relationship seemed to be progressing rather well.

Ray returned for spring semester with high hopes. He had moved into a single and was looking forward to railing his girlfriend without having to bring along his contact case and toothbrush. Unfortunately for Ray, Kara did not want to be part of the plan. In fact, Kara wanted so badly to be excluded from the plan that she transferred schools without telling him. Kara wanted so badly to be excluded from the plan THAT SHE GAVE UP DICK ALTOGETHER.

Hey, it happens. I mean, somebody has to be the last guy to date a lesbian before she vows full-time allegiance to the double-headed dildo. Results vary, but the widely acknowledged rate of homosexuality in the general population is about 5%. So, it seemed Ray was simply the victim of bad luck.

Fast-forward to senior year. Ray greeted me one day with, “Dude, you’ll never believe this. You remember Gwen, right?”

Gwen was Ray’s first serious girlfriend. They had dated in high school and all the way through our freshman year in college.

“Yeah, of course I remember Gwen. What about her?” I predictably inquired.

“She just told me she’s a lesbian.”

I was speechless. (Okay, that’s not true. I made like 5000 jokes about it before I finally settled down. Then, once I ran out of breath, I was briefly speechless.) One girlfriend-turned-lesbo could be dismissed as bad luck. But two? Not only that, the first two? That had to be more than just coincidence. No, we were dealing with something far greater than mere coincidence. This was the stuff of legends, and like any legend, Ray needed a legendary name. I thought it appropriate to start calling him King Midol, because every woman he touched had turned into a penis-hating bulldyke.

Needless to say, Ray was anxious to test his newly discovered powers, so we went out in search of impressionable, young girls to lesbianize. As we pulled up to the bar, we spotted two intoxicated females about to get into a cab with a couple guys they had seemingly met that night. “I’ll save them!” Ray declared before springing into action.

“Hey womanizers!” he shouted, drawing the attention of the horny bad guys. With calculated precision and incredible ease, he subdued the would-be studs. “These girls won’t be needing your filthy, oppressive penises anymore!”

The girls were stunned. “Who are you?” they asked, obviously smitten.

“Ray Beddam,” he replied. And bed ‘em he did.

Early the next morning – around 2 PM or so – Ray started pounding on my door, but I was already out of bed, as I had awoken a few minutes earlier to the heavy thuds of combat boots outside my bedroom. “Hey man, I’m giving the girls a ride to their car. Wanna tag along?”

“Sure, but why are they wearing combat boots?”

“Honestly, I don’t know where the boots came from, but we couldn’t find their high-heels anywhere.”

We walked out to the car, where the girls were waiting. They looked a little manlier than I remembered and I didn’t recall seeing all that leather the night before, but I had been pretty drunk, so I dismissed it. At some point after the girls started grinding clits in the backseat and before they rode off on their Harleys, I emerged from my hungover fog and was able to piece together exactly what had happened. “Ray, do you reali”

“Yep,” he cut me off, as he eased back in his seat and let out a hearty laugh. King Midol's cock would be the last they’d ever taste.