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Have you ever experienced a free porn amusement park ride? Well, this woman has and here is the story.

I’m an amusement park aficionado. A rollercoaster rambler. A thrill rider. I’ve been to just about every theme park in the continental United States and Mexico and Canada, ridden almost every coaster and ride wooden, steel or composite fibreglass. I’ve been on more log plumes than a Quebec lumberjack, more jungle cruises than a great white hunter, and plunged down more white-water adventures and splash mountains than an Olympic kayaker.

So, when I was walking away from Universal Studios Hollywood on a recent vacation/pilgrimage to Southern California park country during my third-year college summer break, I was more than a little intrigued by the dirty old man who jumped out from behind a tour bus and cried, ‘Wanna see an amusement park not on the maps?’

He had a crazy look in his eye. But not the kind you get from cheap booze. Rather, the kind you get when you’re pushing 4.2 G’s at 96 miles-per-hour in an eighty-degree freefall from the 310 foot high point on the Millennium Force rollercoaster at Cedar Point, Sandusky, Ohio.

I was instantly drawn to the man.

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Today, I’m fed up with winter, and stride boldly down the steps of my chic brownstone walk-up in new pink pumps, incongruous as they may seem under leaden grey skies. The shoes hurry down the block with their determined cheer, and me with them, past the row of brownstones to where the shops begin, the pink patent leather almost glowing against the damp pavement and the overall gloom of the day, as if everything else had somehow been drained of colour. The shops provide slightly more shelter against the cold wind. My pace slows and my eyes dart from store to store, taking in and filing away the latest specials, the tomatoes and egg bread on sale. The buildings have seen better days, their edges grimed from passing traffic, yet it’s a pleasing jumble of irregular shapes and odd store-fronts, not exactly upscale, but not down-market either.

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I peered out of the carriage as it rumbled its way along the rough stone road.

‘This is the beginning of Lord Harestone’s land Miss. It’ll be another five minutes till we reach the Manor.’

Exhausted though I was by this interminable journey, I studied the land. It was bleak with lumpy hills reminiscent of an old hag’s face with the odd tuft of sedge grass. The hillocks were cropped by sheep who stared as we rattled past, then went back to pulling at what nourishment the impoverished earth afforded them. Heavy drips of rainwater spilled off the sheep’s grey wool, and off the edges of the carriage window, splashing on to my cloak. Hunger, the aching cold in my bones and hours of journeying all sapped my strength.

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