Clifford and I got to talking about childhood toys, and he mentioned a plush giraffe, which he’d named Roll-o. “Ah, Jamie, I loved my Roll-o,” he said. “He was so squeezable and everything. If I didn’t have him in bed with me it was hard to fall asleep.”

“So Roll-o was a he?” I questioned.

“Oh, well, I don’t know,” Clifford said. “I don’t think I thought in terms of he or she. Roll-o was just Roll-o. My special pal. Thinking back, though, no question Roll-o did not have a penis. But he didn’t have a pussy either.”

Clifford’s face took on a strange expression.

“What?” I asked.

“Rollo-o did have a kind of button sort of thing. At his back end. I guess it was the place where he was stuffed. For some reason, maybe the texture of it, I kind of liked to feel it. I guess I felt it too much, because one day it came apart and some of the stuffing leaked out. I was sad and angry. Mad at myself for breaking Roll-o. Mad at Roll-o too, for breaking.”

“What happened then?”

“I’m not sure really. I guess I just sorta stopped playing with Roll-o. I haven’t thought of him in years. I guess he’s lost. I wish I had him now.”

The next day I went online looking for a Roll-o replacement. Amazon had one that looked just right, so I ordered it, and the very next day it arrived.

That night I presented Roll-o to Clifford.

“Oh my god, Jamie, this is so great! It’s almost exactly the same as my old Roll-o. It even has the little butt button sort of thing.”

“Well don’t pick at it,” I warned him.

“Don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson. Here, Roll-o needs to give you a kiss for being so special and reuniting us.”

The kiss turned out to be a little more than I expected. And Clifford assisted.

After a time Clifford pretty much took over, and I’m not sure what happened to Roll-o, but in the earliest morning I woke up with a start.

I must have been thrashing about, for Clifford was awake. “What’s wrong, Jamie?”

“I was having a dream,” I blurted. “I was in a field of flowers. Big red ones and pretty blue ones, and Rollo was in the dream, too.”

“He was? That sounds nice? Was he eating the flowers?”

“Ah ... not exactly. More like he was eating me. Or licking me. Licking my butt.” I shivered, remembering those licks. “His tongue, it licked closer and closer to my ... to my anus ... and then, oh gosh!”

“That’s terrible,” Clifford said.

“No. No, it felt so good. With each lick I came closer and closer to coming. And then ... I don’t know. I guess he went away.”

“Hm,” Clifford said. “That was naughty of him.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Maybe you could...”

“Of course,” Clifford said, bending to the task.

Clifford was even better than Roll-o.