The rubric of Roxy DeVille's complicated sex life contains many panels. Often when she's contemplating her next move to solve the intricate puzzle, Roxy becomes vulnerable and often the tool of barbaric forces. Just last week she met this cultivated genius who struck her as diverting with a tendency towards the profound. He was boyish, shy, athletically graceful and single-minded as a Ganges mystic. This is far from Roxy's normal type which is often a rock-em, sock-em beer drinking sexual swine. So Roxy felt that an interlude with a refined Ganges mystic might offer nourishment for her empty, tormented soul. But as it turned out, he was a pig as well, and all he wanted was for Roxy to ride his thighs and spread her legs. No matter the hemisphere men are all the same.