Reveals the truth

A moment like this is something that every Toon in the bar would kill for. Jessica Rabbit, the sex symbol herself, dragging you into her personal room, away from the eyes of the public. You'd heard every dirty, nasty thing that the drunken patrons would do to her, praddling on with explicit detail before they were **** out the bar. All those horndogs, all their desires, and yet you end up in the place of anyone else. What would be a moment of bliss is instead a slow dread as Jessica orders you to sit on a couch. Dry throat, weak knees, and a heart beating out of your chest, you comply after a moment of hesitation. Jessica turns away for a moment, taking off her gloves in a manner that would seem mundane if anyone else was doing it. She paces in front of you, staring at you like an lion after a t-bone. You don't bother to understand her, as your mind traces the outlines of her figure.

Whoever designed this girl, you ponder, must have been incredibly sexually repressed. Either that, or they had a bad sex life. Her breasts, large and round, always looked like they'd pop free of her tight satin dress at the slightest movement, the jiggling numbing the imposing dread. The whole reason she was as attractive was because she was a toon - any woman with an ass as large and tight as hers, with her twig-like frame and hips ready for baby making would probably not even be able to walk, much less be available for sex. This was her appeal, and standing so close to you was something that you'd secretly wanted for ages now.

Jessica had stopped talking, turning to face me. I could see a sense of needy desperation in her eyes. She had to know the truth, as if her career depended upon your penis. With her usual sense of grace and prowess, she seductively saunters to you, each step a heavy-yet-dull 'thud' on the shaggy purple carpet.

"C'mon, barkeep," she growled, her voice dripping in anticipation as she kneeled in front of me, "I need to see it. Now." Her demanding was lined in a wrapper of smokiness that was her voice. You attempt to protest, stammering out sounds similar to what Porky Pig with tourettes syndrome might sound like, but Jessica was already undoing your belt. Inside your screaming, but outside you do nothing as she unbuttons your work slacks.

Time seems to slow to a crawl, and with a great haste, Jessica is front and center to your greatest shame.

"...Oh."