The delectable PoiSINous classifies herself as "Some Other Pain in the Ass", but from a close anal-y-sis of her answers, and from what my spies (they're everywhere!) have told me, I deduce she is more accurately a 'BeatGoth", an increasingly rare, radical species ('Morticia' was surely the first) closely related to the beetroot. But something in PoiSINous' sensuously inviting expression 
promises she can be a lot more lively than a vegetable. ;)

I decide the Beat Route is the way to go, the one that will lead me directly into PoiSINous' arms and to the 'Bohemian Rhapsody' of her bedchamber.

Preparation

PoiSINous' idea of the perfect male is Manson.  Charles Manson, that is. She likes him and Allen Ginsberg - typical 50's Weird Beard types. Obviously I'll need a beard if I am to win her over - but I don't have two years to waste waiting for a decent one to grow. I try and borrow Froggy's chest wig, but the thoughtless frog has super-glued it to his chest, and after three attempts to wrench it off, I have to admit defeat.  Besides, I hate to hear a grown frog scream!  Instead,
I borrow his superglue and glue the ends of my shoulder-length hair to my chin. The result is quite interesting - a bit like I'm poking my nose through a gap in a curtain.

Next challenge... PoiSIN says says she prefers a guy with lotsa piercings. She would! Examination of photos sent me by my spies reveal that the PoiSINous One herself has no less than 23 piercings, most of them below her waist.
(I'm surprised the woman can still walk!) I fear she is not going to be very impressed by my lonely little belly button stud...  Fortunately I remember Butcher Bob has just been released from Arkham Asylum (the guards all threatened to quit if he stayed.) I call him up and tell him I'm ready for the 'Full Amontillado."  "The works?" he drools.  "The works," I agree, shuddering, and down the phone I hear his metal teeth grating together in joyful anticipation, and imagine the sparks flying...

The Seduction

One excruciatingly painful week later, I limp onto a Not-Quite-A-Virgin flight to Nashville, which, for reasons only she could possibly understand, is where PoiSIN now lives. When we get off the plane, I notice I am the only passenger not carrying a guitar. On the melting runway, the heat and humidity slap me in the face like a boiled fish. Breathing is like trying to snort hot soup up your nose in a sauna.

When I go through the security barrier, my new piercings set the alarm bells ringing.  I spend an hour having them thoroughly probed and examined by customs and FBI.  They try and stiff me for bulk importation of metals without a licence.  Finally they settle for a signed polaroid each.

Outside the airport I have to stuff chewing gum in my ears to block out the ghastly sound of Country & Western 'music' whining from every store-front and window.  I flag down a Checkered Demon cab, and have to pay the microcephalic driver an extra ten spot to take me to PoiSINous' part of town.Yes, it's that kind of neighborhood.

My spies have told me that the object of my lust runs an 'Adult Entertainment Service.'  I tell the driver to drop me off outside a bar and go inside and call the service. "Southern Fried Adult Entertainment.." answers a slurred-sounding voice punctuated by hiccups. "Kitty Kat speakin'...How may I hurt you ?" The question is followed by a loud prolonged belch.  I tell her I
desire company for the evening.  I describe my perfect date: a curvy, long-haired blonde dressed in black, with a wickedly dark sense of humor, who can read William Burroughs in the original language. "Ah think we got just what you're lookin' for," purrs Kitty, sounding perked up. I give her my name and tell her I'll be waiting in the Davy Crocked bar.

Twenty six minutes later, my dream date staggers in. As she enters, all the men in the bar (except me) raise their hats and chorus, "Hi, there, Miss Kitty..." PoiSINous flashes perfect white teeth as she greets them right back: "Howdy, boys, how they hangin' ?"  I'm reminded of an old Mae West movie.

PoiSIN looks a vision of loveliness as she weaves her way unsteadily to the counter. Her long, dishevelled hair flows riotously down over an ankle-length black velvet dress that barely contains her overflowing womanliness.
She wears enough gleaming silver jewelry around her neck and wrists to slay an army of werewolves. 

I notice her hair is strikingly divided into three sections.  The middle section is cornsilk blonde.  The flanking sections are red.  I know then I *have* to have her! My Little Pony collection wouldn't be complete without her.  I yearn to run a comb through her silky tail-hair.  I wonder what color that is.

PoiSIN slams her hand down on the bar.  "Anyone here called Charley Windsor?" she demands, narrowing her eyes and looking around.  I'd given my name as Charley, thinking it was bound to make a favorable impression on someone so enamoured of Charley Manson and Charley Bukowski.  I wave my beard at her to get her attention.

At the same time I reach into my pocket and switch on my Reverse Polarity Pocket Interrossiter (RPPI.)  This handy little gizmo has the immediate effect of turning my piercing rings, studs and bolts into super-powerful magnets!

PoiSINous yelps as she suddenly finds herself propelled across the room towards me at high speed as my male piercings exert their magnetic attraction on her female ones...(Technical Note for Science Nerds: It's an AC/DC type of thing they don't teach you in school.) Trying to resist,
she digs her heels in and leans back...but is still inexorably drawn towards me, her stiletto-heeled boots cutting an inch-deep groove in the floor behind her.

Our groins join together with a loud metallic CLINK. Followed by harsh, metal grating noises as piercing scrapes insatiably against piercing. PoiSIN is only about 5'3" so her ample breasts thump into my belly, winding me.  I have a bird's eye view of her creamy, underslung orbs straining against her dress as her magnetically-drawn nipple rings strive to make contact with my own. Her womanly shelf is, I judge, deep enough and wide enough to comfortably accomodate the Complete Works of William Burroughs AND Byron Gysin.

"What happened ?" asks PoiSINous, shaking her head as if to clear her head of the cobwebby residue of a thousand hangovers. "You felt my powerful magnetic attraction for you," I tell her, smoothly, "and were powerless to resist."

"Oh yeah?" She cocks a sceptical eye at me, giving me the slow once-over. The eye is violet, like Elizabeth Taylor's.  The other one, I realise, is purple.

PoiSINous peers down between her jutting jugs to where we're magnetically joined together like Siamese twins.  Her sweet face downtwists into a tauntingly knowing smile as she looks back up at me. 

"Is that a Reverse Polarity Interrossiter in your pocket, or are you just real glad to see me?" she asks insinuatingly.

"Actually, it's my dick," I reveal. "Butcher Bob made such a hash when he put in my Prince Albert and other ornaments, that my poor organ has swollen to ten times its normal outrageous size.  It looks - as I hope you will soon find out for yourself - like a big tenderised salami..."

"Hmmm, I do like my meat tender," says PoiSIN, with an appreciative look that suggests she's been round the track a few times and picked up a few things on the way.

I lean in closer to her - which is difficult because we're already pushed so close together that you couldn't slip a dime between us. "Why don't you and I go back to your place," I suggest.  "We can bang some bongos, blow some reefer, howl some Ferlinghetti, introduce Jack Daniels to Jim Beam, slot the Lizard King into the groove and see what pops up...Besides, I've got something for you..."

"Ah'll bet you have," says PoiSINous, but she keeps smiling.

An hour later we're in her apartment, a place where the 70's, 80s and 90's collide spectacularly while on a detour through the 50's by way of the 60's.  Jim Morrison is busy telling us "People Are Strange", as if we hadn't already figured that one out for ourselves.

poiSIN has slipped into "something a little more comfortable" - a pvc corset and knee-high bondage boots.  They don't look particularly comfortable to me.  Sexy as hell, yes...but not comfortable. I figure she will feel more comfortable when I have helped her take them off.

"Another one?" I ask, offering her another Jagermeister.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she playfully accuses. 

"Not drunk. DrunkER!"  We're into the second case already.

"Weren't you gonna give me something?" poiSINous asks. "Or was that just a line?"

"No line.  Got it right here." I open up my travel bag and take some things out.  "I was walking by the Elvis Presley Memorial Pyramid in Memphis", I explain, "when this shooting star fell out of the sky and crashed into the sidewalk right next to me. Nearly took my head off. Anyway, it
was some kind of satellite.  I just had time to rescue these things before it burned up completely."

I lay the things out on the table before her: a signed copy of 'The Psychedelic Book of the Dead' by Timothy Leary, a silver flask, and a singed letter that reads: "Dear Alien Brother, Please give these ashes to the most important person in your world. Peace and Love, Tim, PhD."

poiSIN snatches up the flask and looks at it with awe.  "Are these---?"

"Yes, Timothy Leary's ashes! The letter says to give them to an important person.  I'm giving them to you, poiSINous, because you're the most important person in my world..." 

(I'm thinking: if this doesn't get my one-eyed cat rootin' in her seafood store tonight, nothing will!)

poiSIN looks at me, obviously deeply touched by my sincerity. "That is so sweet, Charley. Thank you. I mean it."

Before I can stop her, in the twinkling of an eye, poiSINous empties the ashes into her beer, stirs them with a chubby finger, and chugs down the whole disgusting-looking mess...

I look at her in horror.

She explains: "The amount of LSD Tim put into his system, his ashes should still be good for a helluva buzz."  She burps delicately. "Pardon me."

I figure it's a poor man doesn't rise to the hardest challenge. I tell her admiringly: "There must be an empty pit in Hell, because, sho' nuff, there's a cute little devil walking the earth tonight..." ((c) 1399, Varney V.)

"Charley, that's the nicest thing anyone ever said to me!" says poiSIN, looking straight and deep into my eyes.  She rises up on her pointed toes, offering her big, full lips to mine.  I kiss her enthusiastically, trying to make out if those luscious lips are real or have silicone implants.
Far as I can tell, they're the genuine article.

We kiss harder, deeper, our tongues doing an erotic snake dance to Ray Manzarek's soaring organ-playing. As we kiss, and hug each other tight, my hands are busily exploring her pvc-restrained body, my fingers struggling to undo zips, laces, thongs, buckles and straps...What stupid fucking garment!

But it takes more than a few straps and buckles to keep out fingers that have picked locks and opened bank safes.  Soon, my hand closes on a warm, full breast,squeezing it, finger-tips closing in to caress a stubby, stirring nipple. 

Her nipples, I quickly discover, have got more rings in them than the Olympic symbol!

As my hands explore her body, I can feel poiSINous growing more and more aroused.  She moulds her body to mine, trapping my leg between hers, rubbing herself against me.  I figure there's no stopping me now.  Green light!

As my left hand strokes her candy cotton hair, my right slips down over her heaving body towards her Holy of Holies. I slip my eager hand between her legs, undo more zips, more buckles, and find...hardware!  Lots of it.  My fingers probe for the Holy Grail. I find about a half-ton of nobium.  Rings and studs and padlocks. It's like feeling around in a sinkfull of dirty cutlery, searching for that one less-filthy spoon you might just be able to eat your oatmeal with.  Oral sex with this babe, I realise, is gonna be like a visit to the orthodontist!

Then my probing finger strikes...oil.

poiSIN shivers at my touch. Then, as I go to slip my finger inside her, she suddenly pulls hard away from me. She looks deathly white, and this time it's not her white face powder.

"I-don't-feel-good..." she says in a low, croaking voice, then barfs spectacularly over the carpet. The condensed soup variety. Thick and yellow with meaty chunks. I guess old Tim's ashes didn't agree with her.

After the third volley of vomit hits the carpet, she takes a big breath, wipes her mouth and straightens up. "Ah just hate it when ah get vomit up my nose!"

I can feel the erotically-charged tension of just a moment ago slipping away.
Another few seconds and it will be gone.  Maybe forever for poiSIN and me.
Immediate action is called for!  There's only one thing to do.  And, bravely,  I do it.

I bend down, put my mouth over her nose and suck hard, syphoning out the vomit. There's a surprising amount of it.  I spit it onto the carpet, adding to what's fast becoming an attractive new pattern.

poiSINous looks up at me gratefully.  The light of love seems to be shining out of her eyes...or maybe it's the light flaring her contacts.

"No one's EVER done that for me before," she says in a low voice.

"Really?" I act surprised. "Nothing to it. I enjoyed it. Really." I hold out my arms to her. She steps into my embrace. I hold her close.  (Luckily, my sinuses are blocked.)

"I've got an idea," I tell her.  "Why don't I tie you up and do some stuff to you....And then you can tie me up and do stuff to me..."

"Great idea," says poiSINous.  "Ah was just about to suggest it myself. Ah'll just go get my speculum...."

"No need," I say, pulling a couple from my inside pocket.  "I've got two right here.  Never travel anywhere without 'em."

"Really?"  Her face lights up.  She doesn't look sick anymore.  Just excited.

Again there's a loud CLINK as our pierced parts come together, scraping and grinding against each other.  Only this time there's no magnetic trickery involved.  Just pure Lust.

And Love.