THE TARGET

EVENING SHADE is a Dutch delight who looks equally desireable in a long velvet dress or a little red vinyl fetish outfit. She call herself a "Pretentious Goth" but really she's the kind of arty hippy Euro-Goth who can't resist being photographed in front of any bright splodge of modern art...or even a passing Van Gogh.

She looks to me a natural blonde, but right now she wears her hair black. She looks good either way. With her hair black she looks a lot like Sigourney Weaver. A young Sigourney Weaver...and like any hot-blooded Alien with boiling acid in his veins, I WANT HER!

THE PLAN

Evening Shade is crazy about about furry animals (I know - yukh! - but what can you do, she a chick, right?) This is the key to my plan. I'll dress up as a big lovable furry animal. Naturally she'll find me irrisistible. I'll soon have her eating out of my, er, Muppet suit, if you get my drift.

Also, Evening says she likes a man to be her slave. Fine. I'll wear a spiky slave collar round my animal neck if that'll please her. She also prefers a man who's an "unstoppable sex machine". So no problem there, right? Full steam ahead to Holland!

THE SEDUCTION

I take the night train from Paris to Amsterdam. When I get out at Amsterdam Central Station, I set out on foot for Dam Square which is where I've heard all the Damned Souls hang out. I guess I take a wrong turning somewhere because next thing I'm in a narrow backstreet trying to force my way through a crowd of men gathered in front of a narrow building. I look to see what they're lookin at. A large African-looking woman is sitting in the front window of the house. Suddenly she points straight at me and beckons to me with her finger. I figure she needs help, maybe to find her clothes which she seems somehow to have lost.

I rush into the house and into the front room. The African woman grins and grabs me with wrestler's arms. Moments later my pants are down around my ankles and her strong white teeth are busy making permanent indentations in the most sensitive part of my anatomy. At the same time there's a loud cheer and a burst of clapping. Dammit, that crowd of men outside is still watching!

I just hope this is the only clap I get tonight.

An hour later I stagger out clutching what's left of my clothes. I've blown my wad - of money that is - and I haven't even caught sight of Evening yet! Plus I'm all sucked dry. The way I feel now I couldn't seduce Pamela Anderson if she mistook my face for a cushion.

Luckily I spot the local branch of the Church of Satan in the Red Light district (which it turns out is where I am.) I hurry inside and get the congregation to chant a spell to Raise the Dead. Plus I get them to part with some oil of monkey and some elk horn unguent to apply to my withered member. Hail Satan, it works! By the time I leave the church the old unstoppable sex machine is all oiled up and steaming ready for action again!

I have inside information and soon track down Evening Shade to a bar where it seems she likes to hang out. Doomy music trickles out from inside. The vocals sound like a depressed Dutch undertaker trying to drum up business at a funeral wake for Mandrax addicts. I start to go inside, cheerfully hoping to catch the Dutch Doll with her finger in a dyke. At that moment the door flies open and slams me in the face. Evening Shade herself comes traipsing out in Goddess-like fashion. She sweeps past, not even noticing me.

Never mind, this is my chance! I quickly put on my furry purple animal suit, and jam the big Muppet-like head over my own. I look like a cross between the Pink Panther and a mouldy yak. I run after Evening, loudly calling out her name and various endearments. She glances behind her. Her eyes widen. She screams. Then she takes off like a panicked gazelle. Who'd have thought she could run so fast in that long velvet dress!

I run after her, my attempts at explanation muffled by my animal head. I chase her through street after narrow street. As I run I push aside hundreds of people on bicycles: they topple like waves of falling dominos and drop screaming into bottomless canals.

As luck would have it, we run past a big hotel just as a convention crowd of Furries is coming out. The Furries see me and get very excited. VERY excited. "Look, a giant furby in heat!" shrieks one of them. Next moment the whole damn crowd of them are all chasing ME.

(Note: In case anyone reading this lacks the high level of knowledge and sophistication of our usual elite visitors, 'Furries' are sad humans who get turned on by any kind of furry crittur. Like, they even find a vixen...foxy!)

Like a pack of eager hounds, the demented Furries chase me all round the city. By this time I really am in heat, with the sweat sloshing around in the feet of my animal suit. I only give the fiends the slip by jamming my animal head over the head of a passing Moluccan, and then jumping into the nearest canal! For an hour I hear the screams of the unfortunate Moluccan as the Furries repeatedly have their bestial way with him. By the time the screams die away and I dare emerge, there's no sign of Evening Shade.

So much for the subtle approach! From now on no more Mr Tactful. Direct Action only! Except right now I'm too wet and exhausted to resume the chase. I head back to my hotel which is a narrow building in a narrow street overlooking a narrow canal. In fact, my room is so narrow, I have to sleep with my coffin standing upright!

As soon as the Moon has risen, I follow its example and launch into Plan Nine. I give Evening Shade a call. I tell her I'm the famous 'Goth Photographer' Heathcliff, in town to do a feature on Dutch fetish fashions for 'Deadboy' magazine. I tell her: "I want take peetchers ov you modeling you most sexiest i-tem..."

"Prima!" says Evening enthusiastically. She agrees to come straight round to my hotel. Good good good! Plan Nine is always the best! But first I have something to take care of. I make a quick search of the hash cafes until I find a mercenary-looking guy with a shaved head and two bulging arms covered with dumb tattoos. We make a deal (which costs me the last of my Dutch guilders) and I carefully hand him a package I picked up in Ireland. Then I hurry back to the hotel just in time to welcome Evening Shade.

Needless to say she's looking irresistible in a hot little red latex number which shows off the swell of her impressive bosom as well as revealing perfect long legs adorned by torn fishnets and ankle-boots.

In my hotel room she starts to model the dress and I start to click my instamatic. Presently I shake my head and tell her the vinyl just isn't shiny enough. It needs much more of a sheen to it if it's going to look really cool in my 'magnifique' photos...She looks disappointed. I tell her not to worry, I always travel with an industrial-sized super-tube of 'Shine-ease', the perfect stuff for making latex gleam shinier than Tom Cruise's smile.

"Don't bother taking it off," I tell her, and start to gently rub the 'Shine-ease' into the latex. Soon I'm casually, innocently, rubbing it into her chest area. She starts smiling a little distantly as I sensuously smooth the gloop over her breasts. Through the latex I can feel her nipples firming and hardening to diamond points. Aside from which I'm doing a really good job here - her breasts are starting to shine forth like blazing beacons!

Gradually, caressingly, rhythmically, I rub every inch of the red latex dress. By now Evning is making little whimpering noises like she really wants to object except that her protests come out sounding more like pleasure noises.

My restless hand slowly, gently makes its way down to the bottom of her thigh-length dress. Evening gives a little gasp as my hand at last slips under her skirt and between her legs. My oiled fingers slip easily over warm welcoming flesh. I go on rubbing in the 'Shine-ease', rubbing and rubbing with the tiniest, most subtle circular motions... Evening groans appreciatively from deep in her throat and rolls her head dreamily from side to side...

The earth moves for us!

A shockwave from a distant EXPLOSION, followed by an ominous rumbling roar that seems to be approaching fast.

"What was THAT?" asks Evening, head up, eyes wide.

"Sounds like someone blew up the dykes," I tell her. "The whole city's going to be flooded. That noise you hear is the tidal wave coming this way..."

"What are we going to DO? she asks, horrified.

"Don't panic, Patti. I'll lie down in this coffin and you can hop up on top of me. You'll be a good seven...er...eight inches above sea level. And the coffin floats."

So saying, I lie down in my coffin and she hurriedly climbs over and lowers her well- lubricated body down onto mine. Our bodies merge, two puzzle parts slotting neatly together.

In less than two minutes the tidal wave hits and the roaring waters sweep us away...but by then we are already swept away in the throes of passion and barely notice.

Love-rocked, our coffin drifts single-mindedly through the vast drowned, dead city.