In a room awash with a reddish haze Bernard Ohara awakens to the cozy heat of
the bed and the warm, yielding pressure of a pair of female bodies, one on his 
left and the other on his right. The names that go with the bodies are Christie 
and Crystal. Both biffs are blue-eyed blondes; they look and sound and feel 
enough alike to be twins. Their figures are miraculous, exquisite, lush. Ohara 
is sure the biffs owe their extravagant proportions to Gold’s Premier Salon or
some other similar establishment specializing in body sculpture, but doesn’t
care.