Caution: The following story does not easily get to the point of touch because it was told by a girl and girls need the right setting for producing oxytocin (as proven by The Scientific American).
One day I met a clown. He had strange blue gray eyes- dead like a fish, and he was very tired lugging his baggage. He asked me if I cared for some weed. I said ok. Then he asked me to massage his back because he was so tired. I tried but he said, “That’s awful!” and that I did not know anything. So I dropped a torch on his head and he howled. Then he tied me up and said that I ought to be beaten up and got a big stick. I struggled but he slapped me anyways and said it was nice to see me struggling and that it was funner than smoking weed. So that’s what he did and I thought it was very droll. Then he drew some on me and it sparkled. It sparkled and sparkled- blue, red and golden, till the police came up along with the goat-woman and asked us what we were doing. I said, “Making bombs,” and he colored their faces with a permanent marker and then we ran away.
Erotica for Clowns 