Rayveness was seeing this guy. He was a writer of sorts who once wrote a play about a man in a play who, while at play, imagines a Shakespearean play in his mind. By the time he got through explaining this dramatic conceit to her, Ray, her head rattling with the nonsense, was ready to kill him or pound him in the ass. Being the diplomatic sort that she is, Ray figured that a good, punitive ass fuck generally beats the bullshit of disposing a body, so she told him about the play she was writing. It involved this guy who wakes up in a baby bonnet with 8-inches of plastic up his ass. And she demonstrated. The whole thing was like Lee Marvin on his last anti-terrorist raid. As the cool mud of evening touched his rectum, the wannabe playwright swam in the sweet soy milk of sexual creativity. He had an idea for a new play. It involved commandos in cribs.